#theodore+j+flicker

[gatutor]

James Coburn-Jill Banner "Demasiados secretos para un hombre solo" (The president´s analyst) 1967, de Theodore J. Flicker.

#Jill Banner #James Coburn #Theodore J. Flicker

[goldenlilium-ocs]

Destroying Angel

Here's a shitty little Dani and Theo blurb only loosely copy-edited because I'm lazy. Thank you to @oceanmusings @vxntxque and @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts for reading it over.

TW: What Dani does isn't exactly s/h but could still be triggering

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

‘This deadly herb is in itself fate,

Many times given through anger and hate,

Some take it to find everlasting peace,

For a beating heart it will quickly cease’

-Kieran J

There was no magic in the world that could bring back the dead. No potion, enchantment or curse. Once the line between the living and the death was crossed, no soul would ever return. That did not mean the line couldn’t be tiptoed. 

Danielle Price would never set eyes on her parents in the land of the living, so instead she traded moments of her mortal life with the land of the dead.

Five berries was all it took. Usually, Dani would wait longer between experiments, both to allow her body to remove the poison in her system, and to avoid any unfortunate run-ins with the other girls in the dormitory. She couldn’t wait this time. Not when she was so close to a breakthrough.

It began first as a shortness of breath as she was slowly suffocated from the inside. This was not a pastime Dani would recommend trying at home. Despite the way her skin chilled, a red flush rose to her cheeks. The process took longer each time, yet remained consistent in its discomfort. Her hands became clammy as the last remaining berry fell from her grip before it could reach her violet lips.

Suddenly they were before her. Albeit slightly translucent, the image of Atlas and Genevieve Price was almost clear as day. 

“Mama.” Dani made to step forward, but her legs were jelly and the ground was swirling mist. Each heightened dose always worked a little harder to try and kill her. 

Purple foam bubbled and dripped from her lips as her knees buckled beneath her. She hit the ground and something snapped beneath her. Her wrist. She glanced up, her parents were already flickering in and out of existence. No. She needed to stay in this moment. She was so close. 

Tucking her injured wrist beneath her, Dani used her other hand to drag herself toward the fallen berry. Bile burned her throat and she coughed, gasping for any sliver of oxygen she could get. Just a little longer, that was all she needed. Her veins were solid ice, but she was not deterred. With a trembling hand she reached out, her juice-stained fingertips just brushing the berry before it was crushed by polished black leather. 

Dani’s eyes trailed from the intruder's shoe up to the face that hovered over her, features etched in concern.

“Teddy.”

He looked like a wingless angel who had been tossed from the heavens and landed on his feet. Instead, he had landed on her last chance to see her parents. Their image was almost completely transparent now, flickering in and out of life. So much had led to this moment. The air was sharp with the sense of finality. Somehow, this felt like the end.

“No, no I need to see them! Mama! Papa!” She tried to push past Theodore, scrambling toward the illusion, but his hands wrapped around her waist and hoisted her up and away from the scene. Still, she clawed at his arms and squirmed like a wild creature, fighting for one more glimpse until exhaustion gave out. 

When her panic ebbed she realised she was cradled in Theo’s arms, her cheek pressed against the soft jumper covering his chest. She wasn’t sure when the tears had started but she was more than crying. Great sobs wracked through her body as the illusion vanished and she gulped down heaving breaths of air. 

At some point she found herself perched on the edge of her bed. The poison had been wiped away from her skin, though her fingertips appeared more magenta than pink. Theo’s fingers in her hair were trembling but gentle and comforting and wrong.

Suddenly she whirled on Theo, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You had no right!”

“No right? Merlin, Dan, I just saved your life!”

“I don’t need your help. It never lasts long.” She had never pushed herself too far before. Today had just been a fluke, a consequence of ingesting the poison too soon since the last time.

“How long, Dani?” The edge of fear in his voice was off putting. Nott feared nothing. 

There was a certain weight to the feeling of someone fearing for you rather than simply fearing you. It was nothing like the concern of a parent at the playground or a professor when your grade slipped. The seriousness of Theo’s gaze ran so much deeper, enough to make Dani a little sorry for what she had been doing.

“It has nothing to do with you.” She spoke low, trying to rekindle the fire in which her fury had burned. Instead, she felt defeated. 

“It has everything to do with me,” Theo insisted. He was gripping her shoulders firmly, wether to keep her anchored or stop her from trying to get away, Dani didn’t know. “Did you ever stop to think about the living people who cared about you? You’re killing yourself for something that isn’t even real.”

“They’re real enough.” They were all she had. 

“No, they’re not. No magic in the world can make an illusion care for you. I- we, the living, care about you. You don’t need to poison yourself for that.” He picked up the remnants of the crushed belladonna and tossed it into the fire. “The rest?”

“That was all I had.” She kept her eyes focused on the fire, her tears blurring the flames so that it looked as if she were swimming in them. She truly felt as if she were burning, incinerating months of the disillusion that her mother and father hadn’t left her for good.

Theodore knelt down before her, there was a cut on his cheek from her nails that made Dani wince, and brushed a sweat soaked strand of hair from her face. She hated when he became soft. It made her feel as though she deserved it. 

“Show me the rest, Dani.”

With a sigh, Dani stumbled to her dresser, opening the top draw to reveal several vials of plants and berries. Lily of the Valley, black bryony, Thornapple and all manners of poisons, some of which she had grown herself. She hesitated, moving to shut the draw again but Theo’s hand circled her wrist, gently prying it away. Dani dropped her hands to her sides in shame while Theodore moved with determination between the dresser and the fireplace in the center of the dorm. One by one Theo uncapped each vial, discarding the contents into the flames as if each pour didn’t twist Danielle’s heart into knots as she let go of the one connection to her parents. 

It was easier to hold herself back from stopping him than she’d imagined. The land of the living had been waiting for her with open arms, leading her down from the tightrope between line and death until it was her time.

#my writing #nott x price #theodore nott x oc #tw: self halm #Theodore nott

[kiurit]

the president's analyst (1967) dir. theodore j. flicker

#the president's analyst #* #we used to have a proper movie stars etc

[pacingmusings]

Seen in 2021:

The President’s Analyst (Theodore J. Flicker), 1967

#films #movies #stills #The President's Analyst #Theodore J Flicker #James Coburn #Joan Delaney #1960s #seen in 2021 #Criterion Channel

[oldshowbiz]

#Buck Henry #theodore j. flicker #writers

[theendofthefilm]

The President's Analyst

Theodore J. Flicker USA, 1967

#The President's Analyst #Theodore J. Flicker #1967 #The End #gif #1960s #USA #Paramount Pictures

[thebestican]

Crystal Palace Double-Feature:  “For Madmen Only” is a great new documentary on the life of improv comedy pioneer and legend Del Close, who honed his almost religious devotion to furthering the art of improv at St. Louis’ famed Crystal Palace with Elaine May, Mike Nichols and others.  To Close, there was something mystical, some ultimate answers for life to be found, when going out on the stage without a script.

Close carried his torch of improv evangelism around the country (and Canada), mentoring/directing/teaching groups like The Committee and Second City in Chicago (and Canada).  What we know as comedy today exists because of what Close grew from his experience here in St. Louis.   Or was it that the -madness- of Close grew from this same experience? 

Whatever the case, the documentary has a couple of special (and spoiler-filled) twists which makes me want to watch this again, makes this more than just an entertaining look at the past of popular culture.

The director of Close at the Crystal Palace was Theodore J. Flicker, another very interesting character who went on to write and direct films like “The President’s Analyst”.  Starring James Coburn and Godfrey Cambridge, this 1967 piece of paranoid absurdity follows the adventures of a psychiatric analyst for the President of the United States, who discovers there’s as much to worry about from the Russians and Chinese as there is from the various competing agencies of American intelligence. 

Very entertaining hoot, with Coburn playing against type — as more of a lover than a fighter — and with hip and groovy people and places of the times he encounters in his escape to somewhere.   There’s even a street fight in front of the Cafe Wha? 

Cambridge is excellent, as always — Criterion Channel is streaming his Watermelon Man and Cotton Comes to Harlem right now, which you should watch, as well — and “Analyst” also features very funny co-starring bits from the memorable character actor Severn Darden, who was part of the original improv group at the Crystal Palace with Close and Flicker.

“For Madmen Only” and “The President’s Analyst” are both rentable from Amazon Prime, though “Madmen” may be making an appearance at a theater around town too, if we’re lucky.

#2021 #screentime

[firefork]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Regulus Black & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape

Characters: Harry Potter, Regulus Black, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black Additional Tags: Regulus Black Deserves Better, Regulus Black Feels, Regulus Black Lives, kind of, Good Slytherins, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Ghosts, Dark Magic, Harry Needs a Hug, Walburga Black's A+ Parenting, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, sirius isn't alive in this i'm sorry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Horcrux Hunting, Family Feels, harry drinks lots of mental-health-is-important juice, Harry Potter Has Issues, and 99 of them are regulus black, but they get over it, please sir i just want the boys to be besties, No beta we die like regulus

Summary:

I’m going bonkers, Harry thinks to himself as he tears through the pile of Muggle pamphlets. He scowls at the titles, things like ‘Foolproof Guide to Losing a Loved One’ or ‘Navigating the Stages of Grief.’ Like another tasteless advert in the Daily Prophet: Muggle Therapist Version.

But what can he do? One, he’s desperate for any answer, magical or not. And, two, he’s pretty sure that it is not normal to cope with Sirius’s death accident by hallucinating his dead ex-Death Eater little brother as his personal pet ghost.

Which is why, as he checks over his shoulder, he’s hoping really, really hard that the problem is gone. But—

“Loath as I am to say it, Potter,” drawls the flickering, irritated spirit of Regulus Arcturus Black, “I’m inclined to believe that we are stuck together. Indefinitely.”

…

( Or, a foolproof guide to mourning your dead godfather, getting haunted by his dead brother, befriending snakes, smashing lockets, and defeating the Dark Lord in the process. )

#harry potter #regulus black #ao3 #ao3 harry potter #please sir i crave validation from internet strangers #writing

[gatutor]

James Coburn-Joan Delaney "Demasiados secretos para un hombre solo" (The president´s analyst) 1967, de Theodore J. Flicker.

#Joan Delaney #James Coburn #Theodore J. Flicker

[thekingsofitall]

Okay, when I said recently that "political comedies from the Cold War era are usually absolutely delightful" (forgive the self-quote), I actually meant that they often tend to be something of the "so bad, it's good" kind. Amusing snapshots of the most widespread stereotypes, fears and prejudices of their time, cartoonish and grotesque. I love this genre dearly, I really do.

But "The President's Analyst" is something else entirely. It's really good - like high quality good, amazingly clever, accurate and good-natured. It was made in 1967 - the Cuban Missile Crisis was the thing of the past already, the Prague Spring didn't happen yet, and I'm not well-versed enough in the political climate of the decade to make an educated guess about the reasons for such an adorably friendly tone of this movie. I mean, sure, it couldn't be perceived that way in the USSR at the time, but now it is evident.

For one thing, the Russian spy - who has an absolutely adequate Russian name Feodor Kropotkin (when and why did Hollywood start messing up Russian names? It's the easiest thing to get right, you just take any book by Tolstoy or Chekhov and pick any name you see) and looks a lot like Pierre Bezukhov, by the way - is the most interesting and complex character in the movie, dare I say, even more than Dr. Sidney Schaefer, our main guy (although Coburn is his usual charming-your-socks-off self). 

Kropotkin's old friendship with his American colleague/adversary Don Masters is a trope, of course; but what's interesting is the fact that he is more capable, resourceful and successful than all the other - quite numerous - intelligence operatives from around the globe.

And the writing, especially dialogue, is just exquisite. The plausibility of Masters' tragic backstory is perfectly understandable (according to IMDb, it's a true story); but with Kropotkin it's immediately obvious that Theodore J. Flicker, the writer/director of the movie, knew his material very well.

- Your father was a spy? - Oh, not "was", is. He's the head of the foreign section central office, in Moscow. - And your mother? - Dead. Purge of 1937. She was a revisionist. - Well, your father, now, is he a good spy? - Good? He is the very best. Ruthless, cunning. You know, I've often thought that if he had that much more ambition, he could have been the premier of Russia. - Who arrested your mother in 1937? - My father. Ruthless.

Well, they weren't called "revisionists," they were "enemies of the people," but other than that it's so damn accurate, it's not even funny. Then some optimistic prognoses:

- This isn't a case of a world struggle between two divergent ideologies or different economic systems. Every day, your country becomes more socialistic, my country becomes more capitalistic. Pretty soon we'll meet in the middle and join hands.

If only!.. Then two more gems.

- All my life I've been miserably unhappy. But I always thought it was my Russian soul. Only Woody Allen with his parodic masterpiece "Love and Death" can top that.

- Russia? What's a man like you doing going to Russia? It's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there. I know. I've lived there. I swear, I wouldn't be surprised if those were the actual words of some of our famous defectors, like, say, Rudolf Nureyev ('cause Baryshnikov and Brodsky left Russia much later, in the '70s).

There is also some great commentary on American domestic issues, but I don't think it's my place to discuss that; although this one - "Look, you wanna save the world? You're the great humanitarian? Take the gun," - sounds awfully loaded.

And what is totally mindblowing, this movie ends with disrupting a villanous plan... to chip the whole human race. And the nefarious organization behind this outrageous plot is... The Phone Company. 

I shit you not. I mean, now, in 2020, 53 years after its release, this movie once again is relevant as fuck. Unbelievable.  

#the president's analyst #james coburn #severn darden #1967 #spy movies #parody #old hollywood #usa #russia #cold war #the phone company #and all the russian spoken language is correct too

[ceruleanmusings]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott Characters: Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, brief Tom Riddle | Voldemort, brief mention of Vincent Crabbe Additional Tags: Angst, Did I Mention Angst?, like this is really angsty, Battle of Hogwarts, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Cruciatus Summary:

“Was it worth it?” Theo demanded, his hazel eyes blazing, a sharp turn at the corner of his mouth.

“What’re you—?” Draco’s words died on his tongue as his brain registered just who it was that had a hold on him and who it was that spoke to him. His lips parted for a second, disbelief shooting out of him in a single breath, and he moved to push Theo away. “You’re not supposed to be here you idiot.”

Theo ignored him, a skill that he’d mastered years ago but still rubbed Draco’s nerves after all this time. His grip shifted to the sleeve of Draco’s shirt, yanking it upwards in one deft and fluid motion. Even seething, Theo had a way of making all his movements graceful.

“This!” Theo jerked Draco’s arm upwards and a burn of bile shot up his throat that the sight of it. The black mark etched into his skin; flickering beneath the nearby torch lights. The snake seeping out of the mouth of the skull seemed to wag its tongue at him, winking, taunting. “Was this worth it?”

#draco malfoy #theo nott #theodore nott #dreo #harry potter rare pair #mine #if this doesn't show up in the tags i'll flip a table #i worked hard on this

[timeless-hollywood-classics]

Julia Faye (born Julia Faye Maloney, September 24, 1892 – April 6, 1966) was an American actress of silent and sound films. She was known for her appearances in more than 30 Cecil B. DeMille productions. Her various roles ranged from maids and ingénues to vamps and queens.

She was "famed throughout Hollywood for her perfect legs" until her performance in Cecil B. DeMille's The Volga Boatman (1926) established her as "one of Hollywood's popular leading ladies."

Faye was born at her grandmother's home near Richmond, Virginia. Her father, Robert J. Maloney (born c. 1865), worked for the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway. Her mother, Emma Louise Elliott (1872–1955), was from New Castle, Indiana.[9] Her parents had married in 1890 in Newton, Kansas. Faye's paternal grandfather, Thomas Maloney, was born in Ireland and had immigrated to the United States in the 1850s.

Faye's father died sometime before 1901, when her widowed mother married Cyrus Demetrios Covell (1862–1941) in Indiana. Faye took her stepfather's name and listed him as her father.

She had lived in St. Louis, Missouri, prior to coming to Hollywood in 1915, to visit friends. She visited one of the film studios and was introduced to actor and director Christy Cabanne. The two reminisced about St. Louis and discovered that they had lived next door to one another there. Cabanne persuaded Faye's reluctant mother to allow her to be in motion pictures.

Faye made her debut in silent films with bit roles in Martyrs of the Alamo and The Lamb, both directed by Christy Cabanne for Triangle Film Corporation in 1915. Her first credited and important role was as Dorothea opposite DeWolf Hopper's Don Quixote in the 1915 Fine Arts adaptation of the famous Miguel de Cervantes novel. Neil G. Caward, a reviewer for the film journal Motography, wrote, in his review of Don Quixote, that "both Fay Tincher as Dulcinea and Julia Faye as Dorothea add much enjoyment to the picture." Faye's growing popularity increased with her appearances in several Keystone comedies, including A Movie Star, His Auto Ruination, His Last Laugh, Bucking Society, The Surf Girl, and A Lover's Might, all released in 1916. She also worked for D. W. Griffith, who gave her a minor role in Intolerance (1916).

Faye's first role for Cecil B. DeMille was featured in The Woman God Forgot (1917). She continued working for DeMille in The Whispering Chorus, Old Wives for New, The Squaw Man and Till I Come Back to You (all 1918).

In 1919, Faye played the stenographer in Stepping Out. Cast with Enid Bennett, Niles Welch, and Gertrude Claire, Faye was complimented by a critic for playing her role with "class". In DeMille's Male and Female (1919), she played Gloria Swanson's maid.

Her next film, It Pays To Advertise (1919), was a Paramount Pictures release adapted by Elmer Harris from the play of the same name by Rol Cooper Megrue and Walter Hackett. It was directed by Donald Crisp. Faye was among the actors with Lois Wilson depicting the leading lady.

Faye was listed as a member of the Paramount Stock Company School in July 1922. Its noteworthy personalities included Rudolph Valentino, Gloria Swanson, Betty Compson, Wallace Reid, Bebe Daniels, and Pola Negri.

In 1923, she played The Wife of Pharaoh, one of her most famous roles, in the prologue of DeMille's The Ten Commandments.

Faye joined Raymond Griffith and ZaSu Pitts in the screen feature Changing Husbands (1924), a Leatrice Joy comedy adapted from a magazine story entitled Roles.

When DeMille resigned as director general of Famous Players-Lasky, in January 1925, he became the production head of Cinema Corporation of America. He planned to direct two or three films per year and supervise the making of between ten and twenty more. Faye came along with him as did Joy, Rod La Roque, Florence Vidor, Mary Astor, and Vera Reynolds.

The Volga Boatman (1926) was directed by DeMille and named for the noted Russian song. William Boyd, Elinor Fair, and Faye have primary roles in a production DeMille called "his greatest achievement in picture making." Faye's depiction of a "tiger woman" was esteemed as the most captivating of her career, to this point. Before this role she had been known for "silken siren roles". Theodore Kosloff played opposite her as a stupid blacksmith.

Faye played Martha in The King of Kings (1927). Christ, portrayed by H.B. Warner, is introduced with great majesty in the DeMille photodrama. A blind child searches for the Lord and the producer/director turns the camera gradually down to the child's eyes. The viewer sees Christ initially like the blind child whose sight is restored. Faye traveled to New York City for personal appearances in association with The King of Kings and to address a sales convention in Chicago, Illinois.

Faye won critical acclaim for her leading performance in the 60-minute silent comedy Turkish Delight (1927), directed by Paul Sloane for DeMille Pictures Corporation. She was featured as Velma in the 1927 DeMille-produced film adaptation of the play Chicago; she has the distinction of being the first actress to portray Velma on-screen.

Faye had a small role as an inmate in DeMille's The Godless Girl (1929), which featured some talking sequences, but she made her "talkie" debut playing Marcia Towne in DeMille's first sound film, Dynamite (1929), co-starring Conrad Nagel, Kay Johnson, and Charles Bickford. Dynamite was also her first Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer film. She also appeared in two other MGM productions, the Marion Davies comedy Not So Dumb (1930) and DeMille's third and final remake of The Squaw Man (1931), before her brief retirement from films in the early 1930s.

After a short-lived marriage, Faye returned to films with a minor role in Till We Meet Again (1936) and would go on to appear in every one of DeMille's films after Union Pacific (1939), which marked her return to DeMille films. In Samson and Delilah (1949), she had a prominent supporting role as Delilah's maidservant, Hisham. In The Ten Commandments (1956), she played Elisheba, Aaron's wife. Her last role was as a dowager in the 1958 remake of DeMille's The Buccaneer, produced by DeMille himself but directed by his son-in-law Anthony Quinn.

Faye married Harold Leroy Wallick on August 2, 1913, in Manhattan. Wallick predeceased her, and she is listed as a widow in the 1930 census.

Faye first met Cecil B. DeMille in 1917 and became one of his mistresses. In 1920, Faye resided at 2450 Glendower Avenue in Los Feliz.[32] She later bought a Colonial Revival-style mansion at 2338 Observatory Avenue, also in Los Feliz.

Faye married screenwriter Walter Anthony Merrill on October 24, 1935, in Los Angeles. In April 1936, she announced that she had obtained a Nevada divorce from Merrill.

Faye began writing a memoir, Flicker Faces, in the mid-1940s. Although it remains unpublished, some excerpts from the memoir are included in author Scott Eyman's 2010 biography of DeMille, Empire of Dreams: The Epic Life of Cecil B. DeMille.

Faye died of cancer at her home in Pacific Palisades, Los Angeles, on April 6, 1966, at the age of 73. Her cremated remains rest in the Colonnade at Hollywood Forever Cemetery.

#silent movie stars #silent stars #golden age of hollywood

[magnetothemagnificent]

Ineffable Honeymoon: Part 4 {a}

(Our favourite couple runs into some trouble in North Dakota, and Aziraphale goes ballistic)

From Philadelphia, Aziraphale and Crowley set off to drive West to California, planning to stop at various landmarks and cities along the way. Their path would wisely snake around the Bible Belt, as it would be too risky for them, and not only as supernatural entities. 

In South Dakota, they visited an old Western ghost town, and of course, Mount Rushmore. 

"Why do you think they chose those four?" Crowley asked as they trekked up the mountain. 

"George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, and Theodore Roosevelt?"

"Yeah, I get George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, but Tom? I met him, he was a real twat. And from what I hear, Roosevelt was also quite the bugger."

"Well, I presume since Jefferson wrote the Declaration-"

"Twas a committee!"

"Yes, well, he was quite eloquent, and they had to choose someone."

"Did they? Did they have to deface a mountain and drive out its inhabitants?" Crowley challenged.

"No, I suppose not. But you must admit, the artistry is magnificent," Aziraphale conceded. 

"It is."

They reached the top of the mountain, and continued on into the forest. 

"This is quite romantic, isn't it?" Aziraphale observed.

They were alone, surrounded by the tall trees.

"Yeah, perfect place for a murder," Crowley joked, licking their lips.

"Oh, yes," Aziraphale agreed. 

"No one would hear you scream," the demon said softly from behind Aziraphale. 

"Whatever shall I do?" he whispered demurely. 

They were kissing passionately when they heard a rustling coming from the woods. 

Crowley instinctively took a protective stance in front of Aziraphale, holding out their walking stick as a weapon. 

"I'm warning you, I'm armed," they shouted, stepping toward the sounds.

"Crowley, it's probably an animal."

The demon flicked their tongue out, testing the air. 

Alarm bells rang in their head, but before they could register the thread, a Holy trap closed around them and dragged the demon deeper in the woods.

"Aziraphale!" they screamed as their vision clouded into black nothingness.

Crowley opened their eyes with great difficulty, their head throbbing painfully, and the glaring light not helping at all.

"It's awake," they heard a gruff voice say.

"Good," another voice responded.

Their vision still blurry, Crowley tentatively flicked out their tongue.

There was an angelic presence, wherever they were.

"Gabriel! You promised you'd leave us alone. When I'm on my feet-" they slurred before being slapped.

Crowley stiffened.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing, demon?" 

Crowley blinked, their vision becoming clearer. 

They could make out two men standing imposingly over them. That's when they realized they were tied to a chair. 

Crowley struggled at their restraints, their confusion turning to panic. 

"What do you want?" they asked weakly.

"What are you doing in our territory? Who sent you?" the shorter of the men drilled.

"Territory? I wasn't sent by anyone, m on vacation," Crowley protested, noticing the holy water in the corner. 

"What's your name?" the taller demanded.

"Anthony J Crowley!" the demon answered.

The two men narrowed their eyes.

"Wrong answer," the shorter seethed.

"S my name! I swear!" 

"No it's not! You must have changed it," the shorter accused.

Crowley bit their lip anxiously.

"Fine, fine, I did change it, but I haven't used my old name in two thousand years," they rambled.

"What was it then?"

"Crawly," they rasped.

"Do you think we're idiots?" the shorter growled, walking towards the holy water.

"Okay, okay, I was the Archangel Raphael! Is this what this about?" Crowley gasped.

Suddenly, the taller man held an angelic blade to their throat. 

"Is this some sort of joke to you?!" he shouted.

"No! I don't know what's going on! We were promised to be left alone!" Crowley swore fearfully.

"Who is we?" a third voice asked.

Crowley immediately closed their mouth.

"Who is we?" the voice repeated, and it was an angelic voice.

"N-no one. I didn't say 'we,' did I?" Crowley stammered quickly. 

The blade was pressed closer to their throat, and Crowley anxiously thought of Aziraphale. They hoped he was alright.

"Who are you working for, angelic person?" Crowley asked shakily, refusing to use the word that had become a term of endearment for Aziraphale. 

"Who are you working for, demon?" the voice countered, still out of Crowley's line of sight. 

"I don't work for anyone. I resigned from Hell."

"Then what were you doing with an angel?!"

If it weren't painful to do so, Crowley would have rolled their eyes. 

"Don't tell me you just left him there in the forest," Crowley muttered.

The two men looked at each other guiltily. 

"We saved his life," the shorter insisted.

"Bullssshit, you probably gave him a heart attack, or the angelic equivalent of one. Not to mention ruined his vacation."

At that, Crowley looked down, and realized he was missing his ring that he always wore on a chain around his neck. 

"Did you sssteal my ring?" 

"Your ring? Why were you wearing angelic material laced with occult and ethereal wards?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"I've had enough," the shorter man grunted impatiently, reaching for huge pliers. 

"Hey, wait, what're you doing with the bloody contraption?!"

The taller man grabbed Crowley's face and forced his mouth open.

"We don't like doin' it, but we'll get answers out of you, demon."

Crowley tried to wriggle out their bondings, but they were growing weaker by the minute. They tried spitting at the men, who slowly and painfully twisted out their molars. Blood and mucus gathered in the back of their throat, and Crowley gagged, sputtering blood from their mouth. 

"What were you doing with the angel?!"

"N-nusssin" Crowley garbled tearfully.

The men tied a gag around Crowley's mouth, and the demon's slitted pupils widened in terror as the shorter man reached for the holy water. 

"We're not getting anything out of it, Sam, may as well get rid of it."

Crowley closed their eyes, and tried to conjure up a pleasant memory of Aziraphale. If they were going to die, at least the last thing they'd see would be the love of their life. Crowley braced themself for the agonizing end.

But the end didn't come. 

"Release the demon!" a blessed voice rang out, and Crowley heard the sound of a door being kicked down. 

"Aziraphale! What are you doing here?"

"Castiel! Who gave you the right to kidnap my partner?!"

Crowley craned their neck to see their husband, eyes filled with righteous fury, strong hands clenching a flaming sword. They gazed adoringly at their angel.

"Crowley! What have they done to you?!" Aziraphale cried, kneeling in front of his spouse, and gently removing his gag.

"A-angel," Crowley mumbled adoringly.

"My darling, I am so sorry it took me so long to find you," Aziraphale apologized, carefully removing Crowley's restraints.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" the two men exclaimed.

"Releasing my life partner from your terrible bonds."

"Life partner?" the other angel echoed as Crowley collapsed in Aziraphale's arms.

"You must not have gotten the memo, Castiel," Aziraphale told him coolly, gently running his hands along Crowley's wounds, healing them.

"I haven't been in Heaven for a while," Castiel admitted.

"Nor have I. Crowley and I renounced both Heaven and Hell ages ago," Aziraphale informed him.

"Are you alright, my dear?" he turned to Crowley, who was wincing.

"Yeah, ngh, better now that you're here, love."

Aziraphale pressed his forehead to Crowley, radiating loving and healing warmth. 

"I do not understand. Why do you care about this demon?" Castiel asked.

"You really...ngh...are denser than Gabriel," Crowley groaned, "he's my bloody husband."

The two men and Castiel gasped.

"Do close your mouth, you'll catch flies," Aziraphale told them sarcastically.

"Did you give it the ring?" Castiel asked when he recovered from shock. 

"You took their ring?!" Aziraphale almost shouted.

"Ooh, you made him angry. You won't like him when he'ssss angry," Crowley hissed proudly. 

Aziraphale pressed his hands together and breathed in through his teeth.

"Kindly return my partner's ring-"

"Dean"

"Dean," he glared.

The shorter man, Dean, clutched the ring behind his back. 

Aziraphale's blue eyes flickered angrily.

"Return the ring, apologize to my darling, and maybe I'll forget you rudely interrupted our honeymoon," he commanded testily.

"I'd listen to him, if I were you," Crowley warned in a sing-song voice.

#goodomens #ineffable lovers #ineffable idiots #just enough of a bastard

[dewitty1]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Theodore Nott, Ginny Weasley Additional Tags: Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Bondage, Switching, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs Summary:

Harry Potter is the most sought after celebrity in wizarding Britain. His every movement is scrutinised, his relationships questioned and his photographs plastered over every paper. Harry’s used to everyone thinking he’s a hero and has had plenty of time to learn how to keep his biggest secrets hidden from the press. As Draco Malfoy negotiates his feelings for the wizarding world’s brightest star, he becomes increasingly attached to Harry and unravels the secrets he keeps hidden from the rest of the world.

Excerpt: It almost hurts to look at Harry and Draco mutters a curse under his breath. He stands and moves opposite Harry, making a pretence of arranging his t-shirt so it hangs better on his body. “You look horrible.” It sounds like you look amazing and he can’t even be bothered to catch himself anymore. 

His fingers tangle in the hot, thin cotton of Harry’s t-shirt. “This is a terrible idea. All of it.”

“Because I had too much to drink?” Harry’s voice is sleep-rough and husky, his breath warm on Draco’s cheeks. They really are almost exactly the same height, with Potter having to look up just a little to meet Draco’s eyes head on.

“Hardly.” Draco’s fists tighten in Harry’s t-shirt and he hates himself for being so weak and malleable around Potter. He tugs Harry close and a ragged breath leaves Harry’s parted lips. “It’s a terrible idea because we’re not friends.”

“We’re not?” Harry’s eyes narrow and he stares at Draco, now impossibly close.

“Tell me we are. Tell me that’s all we are.” Draco licks his lips, remembering how Harry reacted to being teased about being scared. “If that’s what you really think, it shouldn’t be that hard.” He gives Harry the kind of look he’s used before. The kind of look that lets Harry know in no uncertain terms that Draco isn’t looking for a new pal. He’s looking for Harry, hard and warm in his arms. In his bed.

When Harry speaks there’s no waver in his voice. No uncertainty. Just the kind of conviction that makes Draco feel hot all over. “No, I can’t tell you we’re friends. I can’t tell you that’s all I want.”

“Then what the fuck are we doing?”

“This.” Harry’s voice is rough, firm and hard. He hauls Draco close and kisses him, hard and desperate.

It takes Draco’s brain a moment to catch up with his mouth and Harry’s well into the kiss before Draco begins to give as good as he’s getting. He fists his hands in Harry’s t-shirt – hands full of cotton and knuckles grazing the lines of Harry’s torso. He pushes Harry back against the wall and slides a hand into Harry’s hair because there really can’t be any air separating them right now. He grips Harry’s jaw with his other hand, pulling him deeper into the hot, filthy kiss. Harry’s breath is warm against his lips and he makes these eager noises when Draco takes control. He fights it at first, his hands shoving and pulling at Draco until – right in between one soulful, messy kiss and another – he surrenders. He leans back against the wall and wraps his arms around Draco, rocking against him and losing himself completely in the way Draco pushes him closer to the wall and demands everything Harry can give with the sheer force of his kisses.

Draco’s head spins and he feels drunk on Harry’s scent – the thudof his heart, the flicker of his pulse in his neck, the scent of him and the heat of his skin under Draco’s fingers. Draco releases Harry’s jaw and slides a hand under his t-shirt, drawing a low groan from Harry. He slides his fingers over Harry’s hot skin and drags his knuckles over the line of Harry’s spine where his back arches as he pushes into Draco’s body. It’s not a practiced moment for the cameras kind of kiss. It’s without question the best kiss Draco’s ever had in his life. It’s like kissing was just a perfunctory means to an end before Harry. It’s messy and desperate, full of eager whimpers and shuddery exhales. It’s the kind of kiss that ends everything – the kind that leaves Draco’s legs wobbly and his heart pounding through his chest. He’s so goddamn full of Harry but he’s not full enough. He wants to kiss him inside out. He wants to scratch into him and taste the way his heart beats. He wants to rip every item of clothing from Potter’s body and suck him and fuck him until they don’t have air left to breathe.

It’s like Draco’s been waiting for this moment for half his life – like there’s not actually been a kiss before now and there’s certainly never been a Harry before now, warm and shuddery in Draco’s arms and barely able to stay upright against the wall. 

Draco tugs Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth, pulling back just enough to let himself breathe and remember how to think again. Harry makes the most delicious sound, a grumbly kind of protest as if the loss of Draco’s mouth against his skin isn’t acceptable.

“I don’t want to be your friend either,” Draco says. He says it in a husky, well-kissed voice and his words huff against Harry’s red lips, parted and ready for more kissing.

#Expecto Patronum #Author: Writcraft #Drarry #Drarry fic rec #fic rec #Drarry squad #Drarry fanfiction #Drarry smut #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #Ao3 bookmark fic rec no 140 #Carey's personal bookmarks #Carey's bookmark fic recs #My Recs

[oldshowbiz]

Theodore J. Flicker was an improvisational theater impresario, a contemporary of Mike Nichols and Elaine May, and the director of what is widely considered one of the best films of the late 1960s - The President’s Analyst (1967)

#theodore j. flicker #ted flicker #televisions on television

[tj-hearteyes-kippen]

What's in a name

This is very silly, but I decided I needed a name on wrist soulmate au after we found out TJs real name (and how ridiculous it is). So, uh, here it is.

(ao3)

~

The day Cyrus's name finally came in was a weird one.

For one, it was generally just a bit strange for him to see these letters that he'd heard so much about finally appearing on his own wrist. But that wasn't all.

Cyrus had woken up that morning and it took him a minute to catch the faint 'T' that appeared, and when he saw it he nearly screamed. He ran downstairs in a hurry, holding his arm straight out in front of him.

His parents had never seen him hustle that much on his own accord. "Cyrus, honey, is everything alright?"

Cyrus didn't wait to catch his breath. "T! I have a T!"

His mind was whirring with possibilities. Tyler? Thomas? Timothy? Oh God he thought. He wanted to know now. He wanted to know yesterday.

By the time Cyrus made it to school to show Andi and Buffy, an 'h' had appeared next to the T. Andi and Buffy squealed and wrapped him up in a big hug. After they stepped back, Buffy looked at the 'Th' on his wrist thoughtfully for a second. "Theodore" she said confidently. "I bet his name is Theodore."

She was incredibly smug after their first class when Cyrus showed her the 'e' that came in. "Theodore" Cyrus said dreamily, testing the name out. "Theodore."

So the 'l' was a bit of a wrench.

"Thel…" Andi said slowly. "Well. I can't actually think of a name that starts like that."

"Maybe he's foreign?" Buffy offered.

Cyrus gasped. "What if he has an accent?"

The 'o' that followed wasn't any more helpful, and neither was the 'n'.

Buffy patted his shoulder as he stared at his wrist in confusion. "We're probably not going to figure it out until the whole thing shows up."

They were at The Spoon that afternoon when the final letter appeared. Cyrus completely zoned out of the conversation as the 's' appeared and the faint letters began to darken.

"Guys," he interrupted, voice a bit shaky, "I think it's done."

"Let me see, let me see!"

Cyrus raised his arm to place it palm up on the table in front of them, letting them read his soulmates full first name for the first time. Thelonious

"Thelonious. Huh."

"Well, at least he shouldn't be hard to find."

"Yeah, you'll probably know right away!"

Cyrus was sort of disappointed that they clearly didn't go to Jefferson. He would know if there was a Thelonious at their school, it felt like the sort of name that was hard to miss.

He was giddy though. The idea of having a soulmate felt so much more real with a name attached to it. Thelonious. And Buffy and Andi were right, Cyrus wouldn't have to go through a weird period of uncertainty everyone he met someone with his wristname.

Cyrus felt a tiny bit bad for having such a generic name, comparatively. His soulmate, his Thelonious had a much higher chance of running into another Cyrus before they met.

When he got home he excitedly showed it off to his parents, who were initially pretty surprised at the name. They brought out a wrist guard for him and showed him how to put it on, for courtesy's sake. "We can't wait to meet him, honey." His mom said, giving Cyrus a squeeze and kissing his forehead before letting him run up to his room where he may or may not have spent the rest of the day testing out the name in his handwriting.

It worried him a little bit, when he thought of how things went for his parents. How they had spent enough time waiting, how they were tired of not knowing, and how all the love and determination in the world didn't end up being enough to overpower fate. He wondered if it ran in the family, not meeting them till late. He wondered if genetics had any effect on soulmates at all. He resigned himself to the fact that he was probably not going to meet his soulmate in Shadyside.

It took a while before he got any kind of answers.

Cyrus was watching the flickering glow on TJ's skin as they sat by the fire in Andi's backyard. "I'm not mysterious," he had said. "Ask me anything."

It still took a little convincing for him to share his name. It only made Cyrus more curious as TJ swore him to secrecy. Tyler? Thomas? James? Jackson? What could TJ's initials really be hiding?

"TJ stands for… Thelonious… Jagger."

Cyrus short circuited. "Thelonious Jagger? Are you kidding?"

TJ looked away, embarrassed, as Cyrus made a move for his wrist guard.

"Thelonious like this?" He asked, holding his arm out to TJ. TJ froze for a second before grabbing Cyrus's arm and reading his own name on it in awe.

"You're my Cyrus." He said breathily before turning his palm to interlace his fingers with Cyrus's outstretched hand. Cyrus's heart was racing a million miles a minute, and if TJ's sigh of relief was anything to go by he was in a similar state.

The sat in silence for a minute, laced hands resting between them as they smiled at each other and took in the moment. Cyrus could not believe his life. TJ Kippen. His Thelonious.

"Sorry you have to spend your whole life with such a stupid name on your arm."

Cyrus was somewhat offended that TJ called it a stupid name when Cyrus had spent so much time obsessed with it since it showed up. "Seriously? It's a great name! I love that name."

"You do?"

"Yes!"

"What was your first thought when you saw it on your arm?"

"That I couldn't wait to meet you." TJ's eyes went softer and he gave Cyrus's hands a squeeze. Cyrus grinned. "And that I would know right away when I did"

TJ looked a little sheepish. "I kind of thought… or hoped, I guess, that my soulmate would get TJ. Everyone's called me that since I was like 3 days old so figured there was a chance."

"If my wrist just said TJ, would you ever have told me what it stood for?"

"I told you just now didn't I? Even though I had no idea."

"Yeah," Cyrus said with a happy sigh. He took the opportunity to scoot over a bit and rest his head on TJ's shoulder.

"Wait!" TJ said abruptly. "Who else has seen your wrist?"

"Just my parents, Buffy, Andi, and Jonah."

TJs eyes got huge. "You're telling me that Buffy knows the T stands for Thelonious?"

"Well, not yet technically, but I suppose that's not going to last long."

TJ groaned. "Oh God, I'm never going to hear the end of it."

"Hey, look on the bright side!"

"Which is?"

"She doesn't know what the J stands for yet."

TJ groaned. "You're lucky you're cute underdog."

"And that I'm your soulmate?"

TJ smiled and tucked Cyrus under his shoulder. "Were both lucky about that."

#andi mack #tyrus #fic stuff #im sorry i have no rights for this its so dumb #i just couldn't stop thinking about it