#seven and allen were great in this and i will love them no matter what baddd other drama they have done because they did this drama LOL | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nat-roman0ff · 5 years ago

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a lesson in shakesbeer

drunk!bestfriend shawn [fluff]

wc: 2,680

warnings: overzealous alcohol consumption, some bad words, & confessions.

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“Shawn Mendes, Lord of Pickering, Prince of Toronto, King of Adelaide Street, whilst thou please remove thy very large body from ye olde table before thoust gets thy ass kicked out?”

Shawn stands with his hands on his hips staring back down at you from the table he’s perched upon, “you didn’t say it rightttttt!” He slurs.

He is (very clearly) drunk and refusing to get down from the table at the local bar you and your friends are occupying. It’s a normal Saturday night, one that Shawn just happens to be home for. You miss him, like, every fucking waking moment of your life that you aren’t next to him. But we can save that for later.

Right now, you’re dealing with Drunk Shawn. He doesn’t come out to play very often, but when he does usually resembles a toddler during their terrible twos stage, except he’s six foot two and can usually outrun you. After about his fourth tequila shot, you noticed Normal Shawn starting to fade away, and Drunk Shawn starting to take over.

You see, Drunk Shawn isn’t just a giant man baby with no sense of direction, Bambi legs, and a knack for getting punched in the face. No, Drunk Shawn also has made a habit of quoting Shakespeare (completely out of context) while under the influence.

“I don’t care if I didn’t say it right. I care that you get off that table before you get your ass kicked or fall and crack your fucking head open,” you reply, hands on your hips and ready to leave.

It’s almost closing time, Shawn’s already been cut off, and three quarters of your group had already left for the night.

Shawn gasps, putting a hand over his mouth, “Princess of Tim Hortons said a bad word!” He points.

You roll your eyes, “Shawn I’m counting to three and if you’re not off this table I’m calling your mother-”

“Don’t call Karen! Ugh - FINE!” He groans and jumps off, barely managing to land on his two feet and still stumbles into you, knocking you into the barstool behind you, “hey pretty lady,” he giggles.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” you half laugh, half groan.

Shawn rests his head on your shoulder, because of the height difference most of his body is bent in half, his ass sticking straight out, “but you’re my best friend and you love meeeeeee!”

“Not by choice.”

Shawn gives a peck to your neck. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Shawn has always been a touchy person, even as your best friend. But some days, particularly the dark ones after a certain hour of the night has passed you hope one day his touches mean more. But right now you’re both twenty and he’s an international pop star and well, you’re just you.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Shawn replies, his arm curling around you, “that ones from Hamlet,” he whisper giggly into your ear as if you didn’t pass tenth grade English.

“Didn’t he fuck his mom?”

Shawn scoffs, “No, that was Oedipus and that’s Greek mythology you cultureless swine.”

You put up your hands defensively, “I’m sorry oh wise one. Put your goddamn coat on so we can leave.”

“Alrightttt,” Shawn pouts, “no more fine elixir for me tonight. Did you close my tab?”

You pull his credit card from you pocket, “yes I did, thank you for the Shirley Temples and nachos.”

He plucks the card from your fingertips, “you’re lucky I love you.”

You audibly sigh, “yeah, that’s it.”

“Love is a smoke, and is made with the fume of SIGHS,” he emphasises the last word.

“Honestly I’m impressed. I didn’t think you knew how to read,” you joke.

Shawn pushes himself into you while wrestling with his jacket, “I scorn you, scurvy companion,” he says, grabbing your hand and pulling you outside.

You fumble with your umbrella, trying not to get hit by the downpouring rain. It’s coming down in buckets, so hard and so fast that the water droplets bounce off the pavement on the road.

“This isn’t necessary,” Shawn states, pulling the umbrella from your hands and tossing it into the street, narrowly missing a passing car.

They scream some obscenities out the window and the next car that passes crushes it, shaking their fist at the two of you.

“Are you fucking insane!?” You squawk, half wet and fully pissed off.

“Madness in great ones must not unwatched go,” Shawn replies, bringing his face dangerously close to yours.

There’s a glint of something in his eye. He has that shit eating grin on his face and his eyes are all glassy and his hair is completely fucked.

“Fuck you William Shakespeare!” You shout into the street.

Shawn pulls you out into the rain. Thankfully it’s warm, but you’re soaked within seconds, “he was a great man, you know.”

“He married his cousin, he can’t be that great.”

Shawn stops dead in his tracks and glares at you like you just insulted all of his greatest ancestors, “that was Edgar Allen Poe, not Shakespeare. How did you even pass English in high school?”

“I cheated off you.”

Shawn shrugs, “true.” He pauses for a moment before his smile widens, “Let’s go!”

He pulls on your hand, hard, “shit, Shawn slow down you’re going to rip my arm out of its socket.”

He can’t hear you over the sound of the rain (or he’s ignoring you, which is also another viable option) and continues to run. At this point, you’re so goddamn soaked that it doesn’t matter how many puddles he pulls you through. There aren’t many people left on the streets at this point in the night. It’s late, and the rain tends to keep most people in cars or condos.

You were lucky enough to have neither right now.

Shawn continues to hold your hand as you run, your dress now clinging to your body so tightly you aren’t quite sure how you’re going to get it off. Your legs are slick and wet and you thank all of your lucky stars and sensibility that you wore normal shoes tonight.

He looks back periodically to check on you, his curly hair now sticking to the sides of his face. There’s a look of such fierce fearlessness that you’re taken back by it. Fearless not in the sense that he’d do something reckless and put himself in danger, but that he can finally just take a deep breath and let go.

Being the best friend of Shawn Mendes hadn’t come without a few (hundred) hurdles. Everything happened so quickly for him in the beginning and you were proud and happy for him. But there was a sense of you that felt left behind. Looking back it seems like it happened overnight; the fame, the touring, the constant fucking ache of missing him.

You had determined at a very young age that you were in love with Shawn. Now, hear this out. This wasn’t a can’t eat, can’t sleep without you type of thing. It ebbed and flowed. You’d gotten so used to the idea of never ever being with him that it only crept up on major holidays, birthdays, and some leap years, with a day or long weekend sprinkled in here and there. Brian was the only one who knew, and shockingly he’d managed to keep his fat mouth shut for this many years. This missing Shawn, though, that never left. That shit was constant.

The lights of Shawn’s condo building glows in the distance and you’re relieved. You’re soaked, mildly annoyed, and ready for bed.

“Welcome Home, m’lady,” Shawn says out of breath and opening the front door to the building.

The overnight doorman stares blankly at the both of you as you trail small puddles behind with each step to the elevator. Shawn lets you step in first and leans against the wall, his head lulling backwards as he shuts his eyes, “I’m so fucking drunk,” he mutters.

“No shit.”

His head falls forward and his eyes lock with yours, “how come you never drink with me?”

“One of us has to be the responsible one,” you answer.

Truthfully, you drank, sometimes. You suppose it wasn’t your thing and while you’re up for a good time, you feel like you can’t ever get that way with Shawn. God only knows what would fall out of your mouth when inhibitions were low.

The elevator opens to his floor and you follow him to the door. It takes him seven tries with his key before you pluck it from his fumbling fingertips and unlock the deadbolt. He trips and falls into the hallway as he pulls off his shoes and you roll your eyes at him. Shawn crawls behind you, grabbing at your legs and ankles, giggling every time he trips you up.

God, he really is annoying.

You stop in the hallway, opening the door to the closet where the washer and dryer are. Your jacket peels off with difficulty. Shawn senses your struggle and clammers to his feet to help you out of it. The dress you’re wearing comes off a little easier, and you throw both items of clothing into the washing machine. Shawn’s eyes are glued to your body as you’re wearing only a bra and underwear.

“Eyes up here,” you wave your finger up, “now you strip.”

It’s a struggle, truly, to watch Shawn try to wiggle out of his sopping wet clothes. Finally, after elbowing a wall, falling twice, knocking over a framed photo of Drake (don’t ask) and stepping on your foot, you offer to help him undress.

“Arms up,” you instruct and he grins sideways, his lazy eye more prominent than ever.

He follows your command and whips his arms up into the air. Your fingers graze his stomach and chest as you lift his wet shirt that clings to life on him. His skin is so impossibly warm and you resist the urge to run your palms across his broad chest and toned stomach. You look up only to catch him staring at you as you unbuckle his belt and undo his jeans. Slowly, you kneel down and peel the soaked denim away from his skin. Shawn steps backwards out of them and almost falls again. You throw the last of the clothes into the washer and start the machine.

“Let’s get you a nice hot shower and then into bed, hmm?” You suggest, he still hasn’t taken his eyes off of you.

Shawn swallows hard, “um, yeah,” he replies more soberly than you’ve heard him all night, his voice a touch deeper than usual.

He steps past you and into the bathroom. You’re left with the air of tension he left behind. What was going through his mind when he couldn’t take his eyes off of you? You’ve gotta stop thinking like that, you say to yourself, it’s never going to happen. You take a deep breath and shake off what you can.

When you’re in Shawn’s room you find one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants to change into. You peel off your wet undergarments and are welcomed with the feeling of clean, warm clothes. He’s put on some early John Mayer stuff and you can hear it echoing from the bathroom and floating into the bedroom along with his singing along.

You’re thinking too much about it again; these are the types of days and just around the time of night when you let your thoughts get loose and wander around the what ifs. What’s the worst that could happen if you tell him? Oh, just ruin a lifelong friendship because you can’t stand looking at his honey brown eyes and stupid curly hair without feeling like you’re going to burst.

Maybe one day you’ll get over it, maybe one day you’ll be able to wake up and that dull ache of longing won’t be there anymore. Time definitely makes it easier, and him being gone for most of it. But all it takes is a late night and an overactive imagination and it all comes bubbling back up like it had never gone away in the first place. And you’ll spend days cramming it all back down again and things will be good and normal once again.

Shawn shouts your name from the shower and you rush to the door, expecting him to have fallen or something equally as clumsy in his drunken state.

“What?! What’s wrong?” You ask from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Nothing, just come in here I’m bored.”

You roll your eyes, of course.

“Are you decent?” You ask.

“Never.”

“Am I going to see your ham and eggs if I come in there?” You groan.

Shawn laughs, “just come in pleaseeeee,” he whines.

The bathroom is full of steam and you can see the outline of Shawn’s body though the frosted glass shower. You sit on the edge of the sink, letting your legs dangle off the edge, “so what did you need me so badly for?”

Shawn’s head pops out when he cracks open the shower door, “just missed you. Come here!” He reaches out with a grabby hand.

“God, what?” You jump off the counter and stride over to the open shower door.

Careful not to look too far south you stand in front of him with your hands on your hips.

“Are those my clothes?” He asks.

You nod, “yeah, wasn’t about to sleep in my wet ones.”

Shawn smiles wide, “I know a way that’ll make them look better.”

Before you can formulate a response, he’s pulling you into the shower, your back pressed against the tiled wall. You can feel its hard chill against your back.

“Shawn! What the FUCK!” You yell, slapping his chest.

For the second time tonight, your clothing is drenched.

He takes a step to close the gap between you, his chest pressed into you. You watch the water cascade down his shoulders and disappear behind his back as his wet hair drops fat beads of water onto you.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your voice just barely a whisper.

Shawn curls his index finger and rests it under your chin, forcing your face up to look at him, “we gotta talk.”

“We’ve been talking all night -”

“I love you,” he blurts.

It’s not the first time he’s said it, not by any means. You’re best friends. It’s a normal thing to say to your best friend.

“Yes Shawn I love you too -”

He cuts you off again, but this time with a kiss. Your whole body freezes and your legs go numb. There’s a brief ringing in your ears and slowly it fades from static until you’re crash landed back onto planet Earth and the sounds of the shower are echoing around the two of you, his lips moving slowly and precisely against yours.

You place both hands on his chest to push him away, “Shawn, you’re drunk, you aren’t thinking straight.”

Your mind is a mess. Part of you is screaming that it’s real, and it’s finally happening. All the while the other is convincing you every which way that he’s just out of his goddamn mind drunk.

Shawn holds your face in both hands, “I’m not, I’m in love with you. Always have been and don’t act stupid because I know you are too. It just had to be one of us that finally did something about it.”

He gives you another kiss and it’s just as tender as the first one. Shawn leaves one hand on your face, and lets the other roam, staring at your hip, and sliding up the back of your wet shirt.

“Hold up,” you interrupt, his eyes still closed and lips still pressed together when you poke a finger into his chest, “you weren’t drunk at all this whole time?”

Shawn shakes his head.

“You absolute asshole!” You stomp, and he pulls you in flush against him for a hug.

“That’s my girl.”

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hello friends! this was a fun lil blurb to write tonight after a stressful day at work. i hope everyone else has as much fun with it as i did writing it. let me know what you think! :)

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine

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larinah · 5 years ago

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The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allen Poe

The red death had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal -- the madness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress, and termination of the disease, were incidents of half an hour.

But Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his crenellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince's own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts.

They resolved to leave means neither of ingress nor egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the "Red Death."

It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.

It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven -- an imperial suite, In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole extant is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very different; as might have been expected from the duke's love of the "bizarre." The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor of which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose color varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue -- and vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was furnished and lighted with orange -- the fifth with white -- the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. The panes were scarlet -- a deep blood color. Now in no one of any of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro and depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite each window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire, that projected its rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly lit the room. And thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or back chamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes was ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered, that there were few of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.

It was within this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. It pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to hearken to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company; and while the chimes of the clock yet rang. it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused revery or meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each other and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds of Time that flies), there came yet another chiming of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as before.

But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel. The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eye for color and effects. He disregarded the "decora" of mere fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure he was not.

He had directed, in great part, the movable embellishments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great fete; and it was his own guiding taste which had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy and phantasm -- much of what has been seen in "Hernani." There were arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There were much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these the dreams -- writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime die away -- they have endured but an instant -- and a light half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many-tinted windows through which stream the rays of the tripods. But to the chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven there are now none of the maskers who venture, for the night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery appalls; and to him whose foot falls on the sable carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the more remote gaieties of the other apartments.

But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps that more of thought crept, with more of time into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who revelled. And thus too, it happened, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, of horror, and of disgust.

In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade license of the night was nearly unlimited; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and gone beyond the bounds of even the prince's indefinite decorum. There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood -- and his broad brow, with all the features of his face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.

When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell on this spectral image (which, with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste; but in the next, his brow reddened with rage.

"Who dares" -- he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him -- "who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him -- that we may know whom we have to hang, at sunrise, from the battlements!"

It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood Prince Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven rooms loudly and clearly, for the prince was a bold and robust man, and the music had become hushed at the waving of his hand.

It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the intruder, who, at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker. But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of the mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found none who put forth a hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the prince's person; and while the vast assembly, as with one impulse, shrank from the centers of the rooms to the walls, he made his way uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step which had distinguished him from the first, through the blue chamber to the purple -- to the purple to the green -- through the green to the orange -- through this again to the white -- and even thence to the violet, ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him. It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddened with rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry -- and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which most instantly afterward, fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and seizing the mummer whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave cerements and corpse- like mask, which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.

And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the day. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.

You know, just in case you were wondering what people are referring to.

#edgar allen poe #the masque of the red death #interestingly i just read this for the first time about a month ago #because it was referred to in the book version of The Terror

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years ago

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Insecure

When gaggles of women start flooding his shop on their lunch hours just to gawk at his sexy husband, Aziraphale begins to succumb to the new doubts and fears that come as a result of going native.

Luckily, Crowley has a cure for that. (2260 words)

(AO3)

Aziraphale has noticed a disturbing trend in the customers who come into his shop lately. No longer do they seem to be interested in purchasing one of his many immaculate and prized first editions (thank God), but, instead, they come to gawk at his husband, who spends a great deal of his time draped over a chair in the corner reading. Or pretending to read. He’s mostly there to annoy Aziraphale – make suggestive remarks when the angel bends over, persuade him take long lunches and close up early, rearrange the books by random indicators like whether there’s an animal featured on the cover or not, the author’s hair color, or their perceived sexual orientation. Since Aziraphale can’t afford to waste miracles, that means he has to spend all day reorganizing his shelves.

Or leave them as is, which is Crowley’s aim really.

But the gaggle of teenaged girls who come in before and after school, and the business women who stop by on their lunch hour, annoy him more.

He’s tried to juggle his times of operation to avoid them – open later, close earlier, take off Mondays. But they don’t seem to mind being late to where they’re going just to catch a glimpse of his demon.

And it’s beginning to wear on him.

Crowley doesn’t seem to notice the attention. Aziraphale brought it up to him once over lunch, asking how it felt to be objectified by the female clientele that his presence has been attracting day after day after day (in part because he was irritated and in part because he was genuinely curious), to which Crowley said, “You’ve been getting customers? When was that? Last week?”

Since Aziraphale can usually tell when Crowley is lying, and he wasn’t this time around, that was the end of that discussion.

But this influx of admirers has begun to spotlight certain doubts in Aziraphale’s mind that have been hiding there for some time.

Do they belong together? Are they really a match?

He’s not even talking about the angel/demon dynamic. A lot of people would say that opposites attract and well, you can’t get much more opposite than good and evil.

Then again, they’ve come to discover that Crowley isn’t completely evil, and Aziraphale isn’t necessarily 100% good.

And that’s part of the point.

So many things have changed for Aziraphale lately, ever since he and his demon became husbands. Changes in life, changes in his shop … changes in him. Inadequacies, doubts, fears, no longer simply about himself or his job efficiency as an angel, but about this relationship – a relationship that had been a constant in his existence, one he didn’t have to think too hard on or worry too much about. Perhaps it’s a side-effect of going native, but being married to a sexy demon on a planet that values youth and beauty over wit and intelligence makes him question a lot of things, things he hadn’t thought to question for all the years they’d been friends.

If Aziraphale has begun to notice these things, will Crowley begin to notice them, too?

Will they become important to him?

Crowley is a demon, bound (for the most part) by demonic rules. When one takes into account the seven deadly sins - a page straight out of the demon playbook - technically, they already should be.

The door to the shop opens and a new wave of women walks through. Aziraphale rolls his eyes mentally but confronts them with a smile. He walks straight up to them, effectively blocking their way further than the counter unless they admit to wanting a book, which, at this point, he may just be willing to sell them if it means they leave without the requisite drooling over his husband.

“Good morning! May I help you young ladies?”

The three of them do their best to get around him, but with the only entrance into the belly of the shop being the narrow aisle behind him, it would be impossible to do without shoving him to the side.

Which one lady in a houndstooth jacket and blonde bob looks fully prepared to do.

They try to peek over him but to no avail as the chair his husband lounges on has been moved out of sight of the door. All three women deflate when they realize their trip to this otherwise dull and dusty little shop has all been for naught, and they sigh in unison.

“Uh … no. No, we’re … okay,” one of them says, and they turn and leave the shop, grumbling about the pudgy old troll popping out from under his bridge to ruin their fun.

The door slams shut and Aziraphale sighs, returning to his task of restocking the shelves.

“Now what was all that about?” Crowley asks, coming up behind his angel, having caught the final few seconds of that unfortunate interaction.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale replies, doing his best to try and smile as he tosses books onto shelves, barely paying mind to where they belong.

“Is that so?” Crowley rescues the next book, which had missed the shelf, before it lands on the floor. “The way you’re abusing these poor books, it doesn’t seem like nothing. What has …” He glances at the cover of the one he’s holding before sliding it into its place on the shelf “… Allen Ginsberg ever done to you?”

Aziraphale stops. Full stops. Stops stocking the shelves, stops smiling, stops trying to pretend. In the grand scheme of the universe and God’s ineffable plan, Aziraphale’s problems seem shallow and petty. But they are his problems, and right now, they’re bowing his back, weighing his shoulders down.

“Why did you ask me to marry you, Crowley?” he asks, staring down at his husband’s snakeskin shoes and hugging the remaining three books to his chest.

Crowley smirks since he knows full well his husband can’t see. “Well, it was about flippin’ time, wasn’t it?”

Aziraphale’s head snaps up, his eyes, full of angelic fire, meeting Crowley’s behind his dark glasses. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But Crowley doesn’t fear that fire. He welcomes it.

“It means I’ve loved you forever, Aziraphale. And the second I got my head out of my arse and figured it out, I wanted to make it official.”

Aziraphale nods and goes back to the task of examining his husband’s shoes. Crowley takes the books out of Aziraphale’s hands and places them on the shelf so he can wrap his husband up in his arms.

“Tell me. What’s this really all about, hmm? Does it have anything to do with that wench that called you a troll?”

“Don’t say that. I’m sure she’s a perfectly nice young woman, all things considered,” Aziraphale murmurs, not sounding all that convincing.

“Well, she’s a perfectly nice young woman who just dropped her lunch, missed her bus connection, and now has a huge runner in her stockings, so hopefully that makes your day a little bit better.”

Aziraphale smiles softly into the fabric of his husband’s shirt. “No. But I thank you for the effort.”

“What do you care what these mortals think of you?” Crowley squeezes his husband tight, hoping for a giggle. “You’re an angel! You’re Mr. Holier-than-thou! You perform miracles! You fight for the greater good! You’re not concerned with those things, right?”

“No.” Aziraphale clears his throat and straightens his back in an attempt to pull himself up from his bog of self-pity. “Not at all. At least … I wasn’t. I don’t know. This new life of ours … it’s doing things to me.”

“Well, I should hope so,” Crowley growls.

This time, Aziraphale does giggle. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Look …” Crowley leans back a few inches to look into his angel’s eyes “… you chose your human form, right?”

Aziraphale’s head bobs left to right, giving that some thought. “More or less. There were parameters.”

“And if there was something you didn’t like about it, you could change it?”

“I guess.”

“So, why haven’t you? I’ll tell you why. Because deep down inside, you like yourself just the way you are. You like your face because it’s kind. And you don’t mind the shape of your body because you feel your favorite clothes suit you. You’ve never had a single negative thought about yourself that wasn’t put into your head by someone else. You love yourself. And so do I. Because you’re not your body, Aziraphale. You’re your heart and your soul and your mind. You also happen to be one hell of a, as they say, bad ass.”

“Really?” Aziraphale says with a bitter little hiccup. “And how do you figure that?”

“Aziraphale! You wield a flaming sword! You stood in front of Satan himself, ready to defend the world! Humans who walk into this shop every day should genuflect and worship you.”

“That would fall under the category of false idols, so that’s a no-no.”

“Plus - and this is a huge plus - you’re the only being I know who’s looked Beelzebub in the face and asked for a rubber duck! Do you think there’s anyone else on this measly little planet that even compares to you? Because, to be honest, if there were, that would be terrifying!”

Aziraphale rests his head against his husband’s chest, melting into his words of praise. He’d never considered any of that, which proves how native he’s actually become. Humans, he’s noticed, do the same thing. What do degrees and accolades and charitable works matter so long as you’re aesthetically pleasing to any and all sexes? But he can’t allow his husband to lead him into the sin of pride. He knows Crowley isn’t trying to tempt him. He’s being supportive.

But as a demon, leading Aziraphale astray would fall under the umbrella of an occupational hazard.

“Would it make you feel better if I made a few alterations to my form?” Crowley asks. “Give myself a bit of a pooch? Perhaps a double chin?”

“No! I know how much you like the form you’re in. I know that you’re afraid to lose it. I don’t want you to go changing yourself for me.”

“Now that’s funny, because I feel exactly the same way about you.”

The clock on the wall strikes the hour and Crowley looks up. Through the window, he sees another wave of women heading for the shop, huddled together as if they’re embarking on a secret quest. “Do you really want to stop those women from coming in here all the time?”

“Not that I’m purposefully trying to drive away business …”

“Of course not.”

“… but it would be nice.”

Crowley pinches his angel’s chin and gives him a wink. “I’ll handle it.”

The bell over the door tinkles as it swings open. This time, instead of the shop’s portly proprietor greeting its customers, the tall, slender man they’ve been coming to see – the one who fills out a tight fitting shirt and black jeans like no one else in the world - does, and they’re instantly delighted. Their collective eyes brighten when they see that the object of their lustful gazes has finally risen out of his chair, and is now standing in front of them to see.

“Hello, ladies,” Crowley says to the obnoxious tittering of all, and Aziraphale shakes his head. How this is supposed to keep the birds out of the roost, he had no idea. This will probably make them stop by more.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“We didn’t realize you worked here,” one woman says, her eyes glowing with the possibilities.

“Ah, yes, yes. Alas, I do. Is there anything you ladies need? Something to tickle your literary taste buds?” Crowley meets them glasses to eyes, flashing the most charming smile he can conjure. “Some Shakespeare, a little Whitman … some Wilde, perhaps?”

“Why, yes,” one brave woman dares, taking Crowley in from head to toe, not even being subtle about it when her whole head moves, which makes the smiling brood beside her titter even more. “As a matter of fact, there is.”

“Well, well, well. One second and my husband will help you.”

It takes a moment for those words to hit, but the fallout is precious.

First comes the silence, then the confusion, followed by the disbelief.

“Husband?” Aziraphale hears one of the women say before Crowley grabs him around the waist, pulls him against him, and kisses him hard.

The gasp from their lips is positively delicious. Aziraphale would guffaw if not for his husband’s mouth on his, his serpent tongue slipping between his lips and giving him the most inappropriate things to think about in public. By the time Crowley lets his husband come up for air, the women are gone – vanished as if in a puff of smoke since Aziraphale never heard the bells over the door ring to announce their departure.

Of course, that could be because of the thoughts his husband had been projecting into his mind using a soupçon of his demonic power.

His sexy serpent has one vivid imagination.

“So, that’s the solution you came up with?” Aziraphale fixes his vest, tugging at the hem, pretending to act scandalized by the whole process even though the smile he can’t suppress begs to differ.

“Yup. I’d say it worked a treat, too. Besides, the best part about it is …” He slaps his husband playfully on the ass before he finishes “… we get to do that again for every lot that comes in.”

#Good Omens #Good Omens Fanfic #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #Frankie writes

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mosylufanfic · 5 years ago

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Name That Tune

Inspired by the pic that DP recently posted to Instagram of her and Carlos looking like a couple of badass rockstars.

Name That Tune

Over the sound of his piano, Cisco heard the front door open and the click of familiar high heels on the tile floor of his entryway. He didn't bother to call out. He was the only one who played this piano. She'd know where to find him.

Sure enough, his manager strode in a few minutes later, ferociously stylish in skinny jeans, silk blouse, high heels, and a leather jacket that was probably too warm for the southern California weather, but still looked like a million bucks. "Surprised to see you awake," she said, setting her leather satchel down next to her usual chair.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He noodled the same chord progression again, frowning. There was something off about it, but he couldn't figure out what.

"You had a late night last night." Caitlin pulled out her phone and tablet and laid them out on the black glass coffee table, all business as always.

"Of all people, you should know better than to believe what you see online."

"I don't," she retorted, waking up the tablet and checking something. Probably her schedule, or her to-do list with its hundreds of tasks and subtasks. "Ralph texted me."

"My driver ratted me out? Fired. Out on the street."

"I cut his checks," she said calmly. "So no. Not fired. And you were getting in at four, the morning before a performance. Did you even sleep?"

It wasn't an idle question. He'd been known to pull 48-hour stretches when the music grabbed him by the throat. "Yes," he said. "A few hours." He ran his fingers over the keys. "I'm fine. I'll take a nap later.”

"See that you do." She unfolded herself from the chair and strode over to his wet bar. He ignored the various clatters and thumps and kept banging away at the chords. He was no closer to figuring them out when she set a giant mug on the music shelf of the piano, with a coaster under it.

He picked it up and took a sip. Hot tea, lemon ginger with two squeezes of honey, just the way he liked it. He would drink at least three or four more cups before tonight's show. "Thanks," he said.

She shrugged and settled herself back in her chair with her bottle of kiwi strawberry sparkling water. He had no idea why she liked it - the stuff tasted like it had heard about kiwis and strawberries on the Internet once - but she did, so he always had at least a case in the house.

"Are you working on the new album or messing around?" she asked.

"Mmm. Working." He played the chord progression again. "This phrase won't get out of my head but I'm not sure what it's about. Thoughts?"

"You know I'm tone-deaf," she said.

He shrugged. "You know what you like, though. C'mon." He played it again, all the way through.

She listened, sipping her water. "It sounds like yearning," she said.

He lifted his hands from the keyboard and looked at her. "Yearning?"

"You know. Like there's something you want but can't have."

He lifted the tea to his lips again to hide the hard swallow he had to take then. When he was pretty sure he had himself under control, he said, "So something just out of reach?"

She looked away for a moment. "More like . . . it's within arm's length, but you're not brave enough to touch it."

He stared at her. She cleared her throat and took another sip of water. "Or, you know. Something like that."

"Hey," he said, and she looked up. He pointed at her. "I'm the singer-songwriter around here, don't you forget that."

She smiled a little.

"But I gotta admit that's . . . that was pretty good." He pulled his notebook toward him and scribbled down a few of the things she'd said. The musical phrase that had been circling his brain started to grow and expand, verses, chorus, bridge . . . He grabbed his phone and set it to record, then played a few of the threads spooling themselves out, before he forgot them.

Caitlin listened, sipping her water, her face calm and unreadable.

"Good," he said, ending the recording and taking a deep gulp of tea. "I can work with that." He got up from the piano, taking his tea with him, and went over to kiss her cheek. "Thanks."

"It's all you," she said, and picked up her tablet. "If you're at a good stopping place, we should go over your schedule for today."

He shrugged and dropped onto the couch, setting his tea on the coffee table. "Hit me."

She paused to glare at his coaster-less mug until he reached over and pulled one off the little rack. Then she picked up her phone and fired away like a Gatling gun.

"I'm going from here to the venue for last-minute logistics. You're due at three for a sound check and run-through. Allegra's arranging dinner from Sushi Ten for you and the crew."

He nodded. "Including the Legends?"

She checked a text on her phone. "The bassist is allergic to soy and shellfish, so he asked for another restaurant, but everyone else is getting an order."

Shellfish, Cisco thought, filing it away. And soy.

If this group did a good show opening for him tonight, they'd come with him on tour next month. Of course, Caitlin or her razor-efficient PA would make sure there weren't any allergens on the bus or at any of the stops, but it was good to remember anyway.

"At seven," she went on, "you've got a meet and greet with fans, including the Make a Wish kid you requested. Names and details on your calendar. The show starts at eight and you'll go on at nine-thirty. Rolling Stone wants an interview after."

"Who's the reporter?"

She checked her notes. "Iris West-Allen."

"Good. I like her. She doesn't spring shit on me."

"Yes," she said dryly, "I like that about her too. So that should be half an hour, an hour. I'll catch her on the way out and confirm any details." She tapped a few notes to herself and looked up. "Am I arranging any backstage passes tonight?"

"Yeah," he said, taking a sip of tea. "Couple of cuties I met at the bar. They follow me on Instagram."

She raised a brow. "You have over two hundred million followers on Instagram."

"They posted a pic last night. It was really nice meeting them." He smirked. "Really nice."

She picked up her phone, scrolled through his mentions, and found the post he was talking about. "These two?" she asked, holding it up to show a shot of a good-looking young couple, with him in the center, all three of them smiling brightly. Behind them the bar was dark and crowded.

"Yep. Jake and Christy . . . something. Forgot their last name." He waved a hand. "And while you're at it, bump up their seats as far as you can."

"I'll take care of it," she said, tapping a note to herself. Cool and unruffled, she continued, "Gatorade and condoms in your dressing room or back here?"

Because she was looking at her phone and not him, he allowed his eyes to narrow a little. "Let's say both," he said, pushing harder. "See where the night takes us."

She didn't react. "Okay. I'll be by tomorrow at noon. You've got another interview at two. Entertainment Weekly, they're coming here. So don't wear yourself out with your Instagram cuties tonight."

"Hawthorne," he said. "That's it. Jake and Christy Hawthorne."

"Good, that makes my job a little easier," she said, typing the name into her phone. "I'll have those passes waiting at the box office." She flipped the cover closed on her tablet and started packing it away. "Anything else you need before I go?"

He gazed up at her, thinking, your hands, your lips, your heart.

He shrugged and drained his tea. "I'm good."

She tucked her phone in its little outside pocket. "Don't get lost in the music," she said. "Remember to take that nap."

He checked the time. "I've already asked for a sandwich in an hour, and after that I'll crash for ninety minutes or so. I'll be there in plenty of time."

"I know," she said. "Text if you need me." She was off then, heels clicking on the tiles, voice echoing in the hallway as she delegated new tasks to her PA, door thumping closed behind her.

He stayed on the couch for a moment longer, telling himself it would be maudlin beyond belief if he went to the window and stared longingly after her sapphire blue car streaking down the driveway.

The least she could have done was look a little jealous when he'd implied he was going to have a wild threesome with a sexy couple tonight after the show.

Not that he was actually going to do much more than kiss Christy Hawthorne's cheek. This was her birthday present, her husband had told him in the bar last night, one that Jake had scrimped and saved his teacher’s salary for.

No matter what Cisco had implied, the backstage passes and upgraded seats were just something nice for a couple of fans that had been sweet and excited when they’d recognized him at the bar last night. He hadn't gotten the sense that either of them were open to a post-concert tryst, even with their favorite rock star.

So he'd walk around backstage with them, make chit-chat, sign some things, and wave good-bye. And if Caitlin thought they'd done anything more in his dressing room, well then, that was her problem.

He peeled himself off the couch and went back to the wet bar to get another mug of tea going. He grabbed his phone off the piano on the way, listening to the recording he'd made. The things she'd said swirled around his head.

Arm's length. Close enough to touch.

That was good. That could be something there. He played a silent string of notes on the edge of the bar as his tea steeped, hearing them swim in his head, aching. Longing.

Yearning.

If nothing else, unrequited love was great for his songwriting.

FINIS

#Cisco Ramon #Caitlin Snow #killervibe #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #rock star AU #unrequited #OR IS IT #heh heh #the flash

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dailyaudiobible · 4 years ago

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11/26/2020 DAB Transcript

Daniel 2:24-3:30, 1 Peter 4:7-5:14, Psalms 119:81-96, Proverbs 28:15-16

Today is the 26th day of November welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I’m Brian it is great to be here with you. It's great to be here with you any day and every day, and today it’s great to be here with you. Happy Thanksgiving to those of you here in the United States but happy Thanksgiving to everybody of those of you anywhere in the world. Happy Thanksgiving. It's Thanksgiving Day, which is a national holiday here in the United States where we…where we…we give thanks and practice gratitude. And today also happens to be my daughter China's birthday. So, happy birthday China. She…she won't be having another birthday before becoming a mother as we all know. And I think we’re all pretty excited about that, but happy birthday China. So, it is great to be here with you today and we gather here every day for one particular purpose, and that is to allow God's word to just wash over us and speak to us. And, so, let's dive in. We’re reading from the New International Version this week. We began the book of Daniel yesterday and we talked about that. And we talked about how it's…it’s got kind of a front half and a back half. It's not like split down the middle or anything. There's not like a part one or a part two, but the first part of the story is the story of Daniel. And, so, we learned about Daniel being exiled and then King Nebuchadnezzar having a dream that he was demanding that his…his wise people interpret. The catch was the king wasn't willing to tell what the dream was. Like in order to know that his…his wise people were actually wise people turned…turned into…tuned into the spiritual world he wanted them to tell him what he dreamed and then tell him what the interpretation of the dream was. And there was a back and forth about that until the king decided to kill all the wise people, which was going to kill Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. And, so, they went to prayer and God has given the answer. And as we begin our reading today Daniel will go before the king. Daniel chapter 2 verse 24 through 3 verse 30 today.

Prayer:

Thank You, Father for Your word. And on this day that, at least all around me, it is a day aimed at gratitude, a day of giving thanks, a day of understanding that without Your hand before us no path is getting cleared, we’re just moving in circles. And, so, we offer thanksgiving. We are giving You thanks for Your presence in our lives, for Your kindness, for Your care, for Your compassion, for Your goodness. We thank You. And we thank You for such a wonderful unspeakable gift, the gift of each other, that You have given us each other. And we make a mess of that and we often don't see it has a gift, but at its core if we can get over ourselves, if we can get beyond our own egos and desires and cravings and demands, underneath it all, it would be horrible to be on this planet alone, it would be so lonely. You have given us each other and we are thankful for that gift. And since…since China's birthday falls on Thanksgiving, we thank You for her and all that her life has meant and represented not only in our own family, but all around the world. We thank You for that. Come Holy Spirit today as we…as we try to live into gratitude and thanks. Lead our steps, lead our words, lead our deeds, lead our thoughts we pray. In Jesus name we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base, it is the websites, it’s where you find out what's going on around here. And, so…so, check out. Be aware of what's going on around here.

Be a regular at the Prayer Wall. There are so many needs, so many things to pray for and it’s such an opportunity to reach outward and just shoulder one another's burdens together letting each other know that we’re not alone. We’re not alone. We’re moving to life together. So be aware of that and check it out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com as well and a heart full of gratitude on a day of Thanksgiving is all I can say. Thank you with all of my heart. Thank you for your partnership. There is a link on the homepage. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address, if that is your preference, is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement 877-942-4253 is the number to dial or you can hit the hotline button in the app, it’s the red button up at the top, you can’t miss it, and you can share from there no matter where you are in the world.

And that's it for today but happy Thanksgiving everybody. Even if you’re not here in the United States have a happy Thanksgiving there’s never a wrong time to have a heart of gratitude and a thankful posture. So, happy Thanksgiving. That is it for today. I’m Brian I love you I'm thankful for you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi this is Saved by His Grace and Happy Valley. I’m calling in for Duane from Wisconsin who has been so faithful as long as I can remember, calling in and first of all giving praise to God the Father and then Duane prays specifically for sons and daughters that we have called in worrying about. And now he needs us. His son Nicholas is getting out of jail and needs a place to stay. Duane isn’t sure he’ll be able to stay with him and his wife. And, so, family please join me in prayer. Dear heavenly Father I know You love Your child Duane from Wisconsin. He is so faithful to You and he has been so faithful in praying for the sons and daughters of so many and his own sons are in crisis. Please, please look down on him and act in his behalf and on behalf of his son Nicholas and his other son, I can’t think of his name, but I know You know it and Duane knows it. Please bless this family. Let them feel Your peace. Let them know that even a sparrow doesn’t fall to the ground without You noticing and You will surely lift up Duane and his family and the sons.

Hey guys this is Sonny from Florida and I just wanted to call in for Asherah, Sheer Joy in Alabama. I just want to pray for her in regards to, yeah, just the loneliness that she’s facing. Father God I want to pay for Asherah Sheer Joy. I just pray that she would not feel alone in Alabama. I pray that she would have godly brothers and sisters in Christ to make her feel at home, make her feel that she has a family because she does Lord. She has a family in Christ. So Lord I just pray that You would provide the people in her life to help her in her walk and make her feel loved and known and that she might as a result just turn to You Lord more and more and just see how good You are and how much You are always there for her and I pray that in Jesus name. And I also want to lift up mama bear from Southern California, her brother who has stage IV stomach cancer. Father God I just pray for her brother, I pray for healing Lord. I pray for a miraculous healing. Lord You’re willing and able. You can and You want to. Lord You’re a God of healing. So, Father, God I pray for a miraculous healing and her brother stomach. I pray that the cancer will be gone, and I pray that he would come to know You as a result and that just many people come to know You that Your name will be glorified. God, we pray we pray in faith that she would heal because You can and You’re willing Lord and I pray that in the authority of the name of Jesus Christ. Amen. Hey guys just an update. My wife Amanda is doing well with her chemo and we pray that she just continues to do well as she continues chemo. Thank you, guys. I love you. Bye.

Hello everyone, this is Candace from Oregon. I want you to join me please, please and prayers right now for our beloved Duane from Wisconsin. Dear Lord, thank you so much for Duane from Wisconsin who has prayed over us time and again so faithfully and believed for us. And we want to do the same back for him Lord. It sounds like it was quite the surprise that his son has been released and…from…from incarceration and will need…need to…well he’s asked if he can live with…with Duane and his wife. So, Lord give them incredible insight, wisdom and ability to support and uphold their son in all the right ways and none of the long mornings. Lord, we need wisdom that really only you have. Would you give Duane and his wife unconditional love, unbelievable wisdom and strength and creativity and patience? And I pray that their son would have a new life and a new way forward found in Jesus Christ. And we ask all of this in Jesus’ name.

My wife Kate from St. Simons Allen Georgia has been bed bound for three months with 24 seven nausea dizziness and fainting. Many tests have not revealed any answers. I’m asking for prayers for healing and comfort for her and strength for her spirit. She has been a follower of DAB since the beginning. Thank you.

Hello Daily Audio Bible friends this is Valerie from Cape Spring Arkansas and I had called in on October concerning my 36-year-old son, the one in respiratory therapy school who is very suicidal and doesn’t feel like life is worth living. Anyway, my prayer request was played October 19th and, you know, he did so much better after that. You know, I was just so thrilled but now he’s really having trouble again and he is just not doing well at all. He’s talking about jumping off a cliff or just going out in the woods and killing himself and making everyone think he’s missing. And he talks about this all the time and you mothers out there that put up with this, you know how heart wrenching this is for a mom. So, I would appreciate your prayers too as his mother. And I thank you for all your prayers for him. I know there’s hope for him at the end of the tunnel. Thank you all so much. And I appreciate the Daily Audio Bible so much. It’s just helped me tremendously with my life.

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queercapwriting · 5 years ago

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An “it’s my birthday!!” prompt from my dear friend @supertworld - you are an amazing soul, and the world is so much more amazing because you’re in it. Thank you for you, Dec! <3 <3 <3

“Could I have enby Alex, Adrian, and trans Peter Parker, trans Steve Rogers, and trans Barry Allen (and I mean if you wanted you could throw in Winn cause we all know he's trans 😘) .... I'm partial to angsty fluff... Like Alex having dealt with a world that doesn't get them and the rest being there for them....”

Adrian leaned over Miles, mouth all agape at the doodles Miles thought were “just okay.”

“No, man, they’re amazing.”

“Yeah, okay, just like sticking to everything is amazing,” Miles rolled his eyes without taking his eyes off his sketchpad, but he grinned anyway.

Peter looked down from where he was clinging to the ceiling, hair flopping down chaotically. “Your stuff really is amazing, Miles. And come on, you know you love the sticking.” Peter released his fingers so he was straight-up upside down, almost thwacking Adrian in the head with his own.

“You’re like a damn bat now,” Adrian muttered, and Miles snickered.

Peter squinted, arms crossed across his chest like he wasn’t, in fact, hanging upside down. “I feel like Barry said there’s already a Batman. But I don’t think he’s got our particular brand of charm.”

A gush of wind threatening Miles’ entire sketchbook, but he and Peter had Barry-proofed it since the first disastrous incident. “Did I hear someone talk about Batman? Yeah, Gotham is hardcore.” Barry shook his head, collapsing his head onto Alex’s lap, who rolled their eyes but patted Barry’s shoulder anyway. “Your wife’s doing a great job down there, by the way. Here, she gave me this to give you,” Barry told Alex as Adrian, Miles, and Peter cooed and giggled because Alex has a wife.

Alex blushed when they opened the short letter Barry slipped them. “What’s it say, Alex?” Adrian tried waggling his eyebrows. Alex threw a pillow at him.

“There are children about,” they winked at Barry.

“I’m not a children!” Adrian pouted.

“We’re not kids!” Peter protested, still upside down with his hair absolutely everywhere.

“Who’s a child? What’s a child?” Miles asked.

Alex snorted at the boys’ antics. Barry took advantage of their distraction to steal the note from Alex, but he only blushed and spluttered intensely when they let him succeed. “Um, well, yes, these are... I need to step up my note-writing to Iris...”

Someone else stepped into the door Barry had left open, and Alex surrendered any hope of alone time. They’d been more than happy to open their home to all the trans superheroes they knew (Winn and Nia were with Maggie in Gotham for the weekend, and Fitz and Daisy were off in space somewhere with their girlfriend), because at least it protected them from numbness. At least these boys understood.

So they grinned when they looked up to see Steve towering over all the tiny boys, plus Alex. They could see how he could seem threatening, all muscley white man, but even the bulge of his biceps - the man didn’t seem to know what sleeves were except when in uniform - couldn’t take away from the sheer kindness of his eyes.

“Just checking,” he gave everyone a little wave, but his eyes found Miles. “Did you take off your binder today, kid? Stretch yet?”

Miles groaned and glared, utterly non-menacing, at everyone around him. “Just because I’m the youngest doesn’t mean you all have to take care of me - ”

“Sure we do,” Peter finally dropped down from the ceiling. “You’re a fetus.”

“A zygote, even,” Adrian added. Barry, Alex, and Steve met each other’s eyes and tried not to laugh.

“But did you, Miles?” Alex cut in.

“No,” he muttered, padding out of the room to take a binder break in Alex’s gigantic bathroom. “Thanks for looking out, guys. Pero no soy un niñito,” he added under his breath as he went.

Steve smiled after Miles before turning to Alex, leaning against the doorframe as he squinted at them critically. “You okay, Danvers? You seem off today. Do you need us to clear out?”

Barry sat up, ready to leave if Alex needed it, and Adrian and Peter looked over carefully. But Alex tugged Barry back down to relax, and just shook their head, leaning back against the wall and closing their eyes.

“Just. All the different timelines, all the different planets, right? All the different Earths.”

Steve sighed and crouched down to listen, nodding like he knew where this was going, and felt it, too.

Adrian crouched closer to Alex, and when Miles came back into the room, he climbed the walls quietly to be nearer to Peter, nearer to Alex.

“And none of them get it, you know? And you’d think, right, you’d think that at least some of them would be better. That it wouldn’t be such a rare damn relief to sit in a room and have everyone just get it, right? It shouldn’t be this hard. It shouldn’t be every day, not being enough of anything, or being too much of one thing or the other. It’s a double life with superheroing, it’s a double life with gender, and you and Miles, Adrian, and Daisy, I know you three have got an even tighter vice around you than even we do.”

Barry nodded, quiet, his fingers finding his wedding ring.

“But it’s not about the rest of the world, sometimes,” Miles put his hand on their shoulder. Alex grinned softly - from the mouth of the tiniest one - and let out a small chuckle when it took Miles a moment to unstick. “Sometimes, it’s about the refuge we give each other.”

“That’s a good one, Miles, you should catchphrase it or something,” Peter smiled, even as his hand found Alex’s.

“Or at least street art it somewhere,” Adrian agreed as he laid his head next to Barry’s on Alex’s lap.

“Or put it on a post-it for Alex for when they forget,” Steve smiled gently, his eyes never having left Alex’s face.

“You’ve lived for like, seven thousand generations, Cap,” Peter said earnestly. As an aside, he whispered to Miles and Adrian, “He’s great at helping with history homework.” But then he turned grave again. “What do you think? Is it worth it?”

“Worth being ourselves and finding solace in each other?” Steve asked. “Absolutely. Every single time, in every lifetime.”

“But sometimes it’s so...” Alex tossed up their hands, and they didn’t have to put the crush of depression into words. They all... knew.

“Yeah, it is,” Barry agreed. “It is so...” He played with his wedding ring again. “But the highs of it are better, too. We get the worst lows, sure, but we get the most amazing joy. I don’t think people can access it, when they don’t go through what we do.”

“Mood,” Miles muttered. Steve squinted, processing, but seemed to get the general idea.

“So you think I can do this?”

“This being... being you?” Adrian confirmed. Alex nodded, not bothering to hide the tears in their eyes. Some days were just like that, and if they couldn’t be real about that with their sister, that part of their family, and with these guys... they’d have no outlet, ever. And they needed one. Badly. So they let the tears drop.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can definitely do it. You taught me to be me,” Adrian shrugged, looking down with a small smile.

Alex leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Yeah, and I suffer for it every day,” they teased, and Adrian pretended to be offended. But only for a moment.

“I love you, Alex. We all do. And sometimes, that’s the bit that matters most, even when the world... all the worlds... just suck.”

“Permanent mood,” Peter muttered, and Steve looked, again, confounded.

Alex laughed. “We’ll get you into memes, Steve.”

“I think I’ll pass,” he laughed.

But suddenly Alex knew how to feel better. How to survive another day. They took out their phone, and pulled up the long set of images they sent around with the spider kids.

They pouted at Steve, and because it was the Danvers sibling pout, and because Steve’s heart was made of both marshmallows and steel, he relented right away, scooting closer until they were all leaning into Alex’s phone, teaching Captain America about memes.

It didn’t fix everything. But it made them more connected to the ground underneath their feet - ironic, since the spider boys were both now hanging from the ceiling for a better view - and Alex smiled. Because it didn’t need to fix everything to give them hope.

#okay so who even knows how to label this because just #trans arrowverse #plus like #trans mcu #and like #i mean???#i added miles because???#the more the merrier???

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best-life-hacks-on · 6 years ago

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20 Life-Changing Books!

By Seth Adam Smith

If you want to change your body, change what you eat and how you exercise. If you want to change your outlook on life, change what you read and put it into practice.

Listed below are twenty life-changing books. Unless you are determined to be miserable (which, strangely enough, some people are), these books will change your life for the better. Click on the titles to order a copy for yourself, then mark them up and put them into practice.

1. Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl - In this book, the author details his experiences in an Auschwitz concentration camp, while simultaneously sharing his perspective on living a meaningful life. The book has sold well over 10 million copies and has been consistently listed as one of the most influential books ever written. From the book: “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.”

2. As A Man Thinketh by James Allen - Although you could probably finish this little booklet in less than an hour or two, its words are powerful and profound. Words like these: “A man’s mind may be likened to a garden, which may be intelligently cultivated or allowed to run wild; but whether cultivated or neglected, it must, and will, bring forth. If no useful seeds are put into it, then an abundance of useless weed seeds will fall therein, and will continue to produce their kind.”

3. The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown - In this book, the author addresses how to find deep personal worth while living in a world that is constantly bombarded by messages of who, what, and how we should be. From the book: “Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”

4. The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho - This is a fantastic, beautiful narrative about finding out who we are and fearlessly chasing our own “personal legend.” In this book, Coelho says: “There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.”

5. Les Miserables by Victor Hugo - Does this book really need any explaining? It follows the life of reformed convict, Jean Valjean, and illustrates the power and beauty of redemption. From the book: “To love another person is to see the face of God.”

6. The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch - Diagnosed with terminal, pancreatic cancer, professor Randy Pausch delivered his “last lecture” at Carnegie Mellon in September of 2007. His lecture was structured around the hypothetical question: “What wisdom would you try to impart to the world if you knew it was your last chance?” The book fleshes out the ideas presented in the last lecture and was co-authored and approved by Pausch before he died. From the book: “The key question to keep asking is, Are you spending your time on the right things? Because time is all you have.”

7. To Kill a Mockingbird - To put it simply, Atticus Finch is one of the best, noblest characters ever written into existence. From the book: “I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.”

8. The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck - Where do I start? This book is honestly one of my absolute favorite books of all time. It is packed with incredible insight and solutions for confronting and solving some of life’s greatest problems. For example, consider this: “Problems call forth our courage and our wisdom; indeed, they create our courage and wisdom.”

9. Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff by Richard Carlson - This book helps you overcome “the small stuff” that can drive you crazy. It is filled with supportive and thoughtful suggestions on how to live a more peaceful life. From the book: “...when you let go of your expectations, when you accept life as it is, you’re free.To hold on is to be serious and uptight. To let go is to lighten up.”

10. The Seven Paths by the Anasazi Foundation - This poetic, evocative story presents the meditations of an ancient Anasazi tribesman who learns that the point of life’s walk is how one is moved in the heart. He walks seven paths, each teaching a lesson symbolized by an element of the natural world: light, wind, water, stone, plants, animals, and, finally, the unity of all beings with the Creator.

11. The Secret by Rhonda Byrne - In this bestselling book, various individuals share their insight and experience with “The Secret” (the law of attraction). While this book can get a little mystical, it does a really good job at explaining how our mental outlook can affect all areas of our lives (for you business types, I would also recommend Think And Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill).

12. 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Steven Covey - This book is consistently listed as one of the most inspiring books ever written and has sold more than 15 million copies worldwide. From the book: “But until a person can say deeply and honestly, “I am what I am today because of the choices I made yesterday,” that person cannot say, “I choose otherwise.”

13. The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis - If you’d like to read some more inspirational fiction, check out these classics by C. S. Lewis. Not only are they entertaining, but they’re also filled with timeless wisdom about addiction, sin, guilt, and the nature of man. Plus, the seventh book is quite possibly one of the most beautiful fiction books I’ve ever read. From the book: “Now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.”

14. How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie - I’m a fairly introverted person, so I’m not exactly going out of my way to meet new people. But this book provides some great, practical advice on working with and helping people. I’m a big believer in finding happiness. From the book: “You can make more friends in two months by becoming interested in other people than you can in two years by trying to get other people interested in you.”

15. The Greatest Salesman in the World by Og Mandino - This book probably isn’t what you think it is, but I won’t spoil the surprise. From the book: “Wealth, my son, should never be your goal in life. Your words are eloquent but they are mere words. True wealth is of the heart, not of the purse.”

16. The Great Divorce by C. S. Lewis - In this allegorical story, a busload of sinners leave the depths of hell to see what heaven might be like. When they get there, they are told that they can stay in heaven if they can give up the sins that are holding them back. Through an array of characters struggling with different vices, C. S. Lewis masterfully illustrates that, more often than not, we are the very things that are holding ourselves back.

17. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak - I don’t even know how to describe this book. It’s beautiful, heart-breaking, yet very comforting—all at the same time. It tells the story of a little girl growing up in Germany during World War II. There is one scene in the book (which was left out of the movie) that is absolutely astounding—reading that one scene is worth every minute spent reading the whole book.

18. The Shack by William P. Young - After his youngest daughter is murdered by a serial killer, Mackenzie Allen Phillips receives a mysterious note—apparently from God—telling him to return to “the shack,” the scene of the crime. What happens next is a spiritual journey of love and forgiveness that forever changes his life. From the book: “[...] love is much stronger than your fault could ever be.”

19. The Book of Virtues by William J. Bennett - This book is a massive collection of some of the greatest stories ever told. I actually have a copy of it on the corner of my desk right now—one of the stories in that book changed my life.

20. Sacred Writings - I don’t know if you’re a religious person or not, so this one is entirely up to you. But I believe that many religions contain incredible, invaluable, time-tested truths—and we would be foolish to simply ignore them. At the very least, there’s something to be said of getting in touch with your religious/cultural roots.

If you like any of these books, please be sure to check out my own book “Your Life Isn’t For You.” In it, I draw upon inspirational stories from history and literature to illustrate my deep conviction that the only way you can truly find and live your life is to give it away to others.

Follow Seth Adam Smith on Twitter:

www.twitter.com/SethAdamSmith

#books

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pbwsports · 5 years ago

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The all-time starting five for every NBA Western Conference team

What if the Splash Bros. had Wilt Chamberlain playing center? How many titles would the Lakers have won if Magic Johnson was running the break with Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O'Neal? Imagine Hakeem Olajuwon and James Hardenteaming up in Clutch City.

We asked our NBA writers to come up with an all-time starting five for every current NBA franchise, along with one additional blast from the past. Only a player's contributions during his time with that franchise were considered. (So, no, LeBron James doesn't crack the Lakers' all-time list ... yet.)

In this era of "positionless" basketball, traditional positions don't matter quite as much as they used to, so we allowed some flexibility in choosing a lineup -- but you won't see teams with four centers or three point guards. The idea was to dive into each team's history and create a group that could at least potentially share the floor together.

We rolled out the Eastern Conference on Wednesday. Here is the Western Conference:

Dallas Mavericks

G: Derek Harper G: Jason Terry G: Rolando Blackman F: Mark Aguirre F: Dirk Nowitzki

Terry joins Nowitzki as the only players on both of the Mavs' Finals teams and was the second-leading scorer on both squads. There's a reason Harper and Blackman, the backcourt for some good teams that just couldn't get past the Showtime Lakers, have their numbers in the American Airlines Center rafters. Aguirre's jersey probably won't ever be retired in Dallas because of his bitter departure, but you can't dismiss his 24.6 points per game in eight seasons with the Mavs.

The toughest cuts: Michael Finley and Jason Kidd, one of whom helped a young German kid find his way in the NBA and the other who helped Nowitzki finally deliver a title to Dallas.

-- Tim MacMahon

Denver Nuggets

G: Fat Lever G: David Thompson F: Alex English F: Carmelo Anthony C: Dikembe Mutombo

You're probably asking yourself the same question I debated for roughly 48 hours: Wait, no Nikola Jokic? There's a good chance Jokic eventually becomes the greatest player in franchise history, but he's just 25 years old.

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Mutombo, on the other hand, is a Hall of Famer and produced probably the most iconic image in franchise history, celebrating the historic upset of the top-seeded Seattle SuperSonics in the 1994 playoffs. Mutombo is the defensive anchor behind a pure scoring lineup that could outgun just about anybody.

English, Anthony and Thompson all averaged better than 20 points a game for their careers, but at their peaks were pushing 30 PPG. Add in a floor general like Lafayette "Fat" Lever to pull the strings, and it could work. Between Fat, Melo and Dikembe, the Nuggets can outname just about anybody, too.

-- Royce Young

Golden State Warriors

G: Stephen Curry G: Klay Thompson F: Kevin Durant F: Draymond Green C: Wilt Chamberlain

Adding Chamberlain to the Durant-era Warriors teams that won back-to-back titles would just be unfair. Can you even imagine how dominant that team would be? Curry, Thompson, Durant and Green already have won titles together -- and now they have one of the greatest big men of all time to drop the ball to down low? Unbelievable. The defense is great, the offense is otherworldly.

It's tough leaving Hall of Famers Rick Barry and Chris Mullin out of this group, but who would come out? Curry and Thompson form the best shooting backcourt of all time. Durant is one of the best players of his generation and Green provides the defensive intensity and glue that has propelled them for years -- plus those four already have played together. There is no stopping this team. A juggernaut for the ages.

-- Nick Friedell

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Houston Rockets

G: James Harden G: Calvin Murphy F: Tracy McGrady F: Rudy Tomjanovich C: Hakeem Olajuwon

Apologies to Hall of Fame big men Elvin Hayes, Moses Malone and Yao Ming, but it's hard to get one center in the Houston lineup these days. Of course, there's no debate about the candidacy of Olajuwon, who remains the best player in franchise history, even after Harden's run of historic offensive production.

Harden is 22 points away from passing Murphy for second on the Rockets' career scoring list, so for now the flamboyant, 5-foot-9 Murphy continues to be the only player who ranks among the franchise's top two in points and assists.

Rudy T is best remembered as the Clutch City-era coach and for the brutal punch that interrupted his playing career, but he earned his spot here with five All-Star appearances during a career spent entirely in a Rockets uniform.

-- MacMahon

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LA Clippers

G: Chris Paul F: Kawhi Leonard F: Blake Griffin F: Elton Brand C: Bob McAdoo

Paul and Griffin authored the greatest and most exciting era in Clippers basketball with Lob City. Paul spent six seasons with the Clips, was first-team All-NBA three times and led the league in assists twice during that span. Griffin was Rookie of the Year, a five-time All-Star and the exciting, above-the-rim player the franchise sorely needed.

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Brand spent seven seasons with the team and made both of his All-Star appearances as a Clipper. McAdoo started his Hall of Fame career when the franchise was in Buffalo, where he led the league in scoring three straight seasons and was MVP in 1974-75.

Leonard is just 51 games into his Clippers tenure, but his elite production already puts him on this roster. Averaging 26.9 points, 7.3 rebounds and 5.0 assists, a healthy Leonard can further validate this choice if he can get the Clippers to the conference finals for the first time.

-- Ohm Youngmisuk

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Los Angeles Lakers

G: Magic Johnson G: Jerry West G: Kobe Bryant F: Kareem Abdul-Jabbar C: Shaquille O'Neal

Four of these picks were no-brainers. Johnson (fifth in career assists) teamed up with Abdul-Jabbar, the NBA's career scoring leader, to win five championships. Bryant (fourth all time in scoring) paired with O'Neal (eighth in scoring) to win three.

The fifth pick was harder. Is it Elgin Baylor, the greatest small forward in franchise history? Or how about LeBron James, the greatest small forward in NBA history? How about James Worthy, who teamed up with Magic and Kareem and won a Finals MVP?

Ultimately, the pick is West. Baylor never won a ring. James hasn't been a Laker long enough. Worthy would have to play the 4 and you already have Shaq and the Captain on the blocks. The Logo brings shooting and toughness and leadership, and he is extremely important to the franchise as a whole for his post-playing days in the front office.

-- Dave McMenamin

Memphis Grizzlies

G: Mike Conley G: Tony Allen F: Shareef Abdur-Rahim F: Zach Randolph C: Marc Gasol

The question with the Grizzlies: Who should be the final player to fill out a lineup that features the Grit 'n' Grind mainstays called the Core Four? (I'd make a joke about Chandler Parsons' max contract, but I want to be welcomed back to Memphis.)

Based purely on merit, Pau Gasol would be the pick, but he doesn't fit alongside his brother Marc at center and Randolph at power forward. So we will go with Abdur-Rahim, who was a really good player for some really bad teams in Vancouver, averaging 20.8 points and 8.2 rebounds per game over five seasons in which the Grizzlies went a combined 86-292.

-- MacMahon

Minnesota Timberwolves

G: Ricky Rubio G: Sam Cassell F: Kevin Garnett F: Kevin Love C: Karl-Anthony Towns

The three best players in franchise history just all happen to be big men: Garnett, Love and Towns. Garnett is the franchise leader in points, rebounds, steals, assists and blocks; he's the only player in NBA history to lead a team in all five categories. Towns (22.7 points, 11.8 rebounds in 358 games) and Love (19.2 points, 12.2 rebounds in 364 games) each put up monster numbers, even though playoff success never came.

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(Side note: Towns is only 14 3-pointers away from becoming the franchise's all-time leader. Seriously.)

Rubio trails only Garnett in franchise history in steals and assists. Since Wally Szczerbiak and Andrew Wiggins were primarily listed as small forwards, the other guard spot goes to Cassell, who played only two years in Minnesota but had a career year and was a second-team All-NBA selection in 2003-04.

-- Andrew Lopez

New Orleans Pelicans

G: Chris Paul G: Jrue Holiday F: Jamal Mashburn F: David West C: Anthony Davis

(Just a reminder: The Pelicans' franchise history starts in 2002, when the team moved from Charlotte to New Orleans. Anything before that belongs to Charlotte, even though it's the same franchise. Got it? Cool, let's move on.)

First, the locks: Davis, Paul, Holiday and West. Now once you get to the wing ... oof. This spot came down to four players -- Mashburn, Peja Stojakovic, Eric Gordon and, yes, Brandon Ingram.

Mashburn, in the franchise's first season in New Orleans in 2002-03, made the All-Star team and was a third-team All-NBA selection. The Pelicans didn't get another All-Star selection from a wing player until this year, when Ingram made it. But with only 56 games under his belt, Ingram falls off this list. Gordon's time in New Orleans always seemed underwhelming. Stojakovic was a key cog on the 2007-08 team that won a franchise-best 56 games, but he struggled with injuries.

Mashburn was limited to 101 games for New Orleans, but his impact in Year 1 was unmistakable and he still sits second on the team's career scoring average list (21.5), behind only Davis.

-- Lopez

Oklahoma City Thunder

G: Russell Westbrook G: James Harden F: Kevin Durant F: Paul George F: Serge Ibaka

There's an irony to the Thunder's all-time starting five, because it features their best sixth man. The baggage of Harden's role looms large, whether he wanted to come off the bench, whether starting impacted his contract negotiations and ultimately facilitated the breakup of one of the greatest organically built superteams ever. That's a lot to unpack.

Hindsight and what-ifs aside, the Thunder's all-time group can stand with almost any in NBA history, and most certainly is among the most stout in the past 20 years. The Thunder have been around for just 12 years and boast a remarkable cupboard of talent: three MVPs (Durant, Westbrook, Harden) and piles of All-NBA and All-Star nods. Maybe one of the best examples of how deep they are is in showcasing who didn't make the cut: Carmelo Anthony and Chris Paul. Not a bad bench.

-- Young

Phoenix Suns

G: Steve Nash G: Kevin Johnson F: Walter Davis F: Charles Barkley C: Amar'e Stoudemire

No Shawn Marion? No Paul Westphal? No Alvan Adams? No Larry Nance? No Jason Kidd? You can make a solid starting five from the next group of Phoenix legends.

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The franchise's two MVP winners, Nash and Barkley, were locks. Westphal split time as a point guard and shooting guard during his six seasons, but we give the nod at the other guard spot to Johnson, who spent 12 years in Phoenix, and had three consecutive 20-point, 10-assist seasons and five All-NBA nods.

Davis vs. Marion was a tough battle. Both made a pair of All-NBA teams (two second-teams for Davis compared to two third-teams for Marion), but Davis gets the edge as the franchise's leading scorer. At center, Stoudemire stands supreme as his four All-NBA honors best Adams' longevity.

-- Lopez

Portland Trail Blazers

G: Damian Lillard G: Clyde Drexler G: Brandon Roy F: LaMarcus Aldridge C: Bill Walton

As with any conversation about Blazers history, their starting five comes with plenty of introspective sighing and deep what-iffing. Injuries to Walton and Roy abbreviated what would've been legendary Portland careers. But at their best versions, Walton was a transcendent big man with unique skills, and Roy was a gifted scorer with a knack for the moment.

Drexler is a Hall of Famer who led Portland to its best sustained run of success in franchise history. Aldridge is one of the dominant scoring big men of his era, and Lillard will likely go down as the franchise's all-time best. The Blazers are haunted by history and a compulsion to live in the anguish of what could've been, but there is also a beauty to their all-time five. It represents who they are, and forever, what they might've been.

-- Young

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Sacramento Kings

G: Oscar Robertson G: Tiny Archibald F: Peja Stojakovic F: Chris Webber C: Jerry Lucas

A Hall of Fame backcourt of Robertson and Archibald knocks Kings great Mitch Richmond out of one of the two guard spots. Lucas, another Hall of Famer, averaged 19.6 points and 19.1 rebounds in six seasons with the Cincinnati Royals. He gets the center position.

For the forwards, we look at two Kings from the early 2000s, when Sacramento was a perennial playoff team. Stojakovic is still the franchise's leader in 3-pointers made, and Webber averaged 23.5 points, 10.6 rebounds, 4.8 assists, 1.5 steals and 1.5 blocks in 377 career games in Sacramento.

It feels weird not to have DeMarcus Cousins on the all-time Kings squad, but when you look back at the franchise's history -- which dates back to the Rochester Royals and their first year in the NBA in 1949 -- it becomes clearer why he doesn't make the cut.

-- Lopez

San Antonio Spurs

G: Tony Parker G: Manu Ginobili F: George Gervin F: Tim Duncan C: David Robinson

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It took about as long as the average Gregg Popovich sideline interview to come up with this squad. These were all easy decisions, considering each player's combination of greatness and longevity with the Spurs. (Kawhi Leonard would have been in strong consideration if not for the lack of the latter.)

Duncan and Robinson are on the short list of MVPs who played their entire careers for one franchise. Ginobili and Parker were essential parts of a dynasty. Gervin was a must-see superstar whose presence made sure that pro basketball stuck in small-market San Antonio.

-- MacMahon

Seattle SuperSonics

G: Gary Payton G: Gus Williams F: Detlef Schrempf F: Shawn Kemp C: Jack Sikma

Payton, Kemp and Sikma, the three players to make at least five All-Star appearances in Sonics uniforms, are the three certain selections here. At the other guard spot, there are strong cases for Fred Brown (who's second in career scoring) and Ray Allen (a four-time All-Star in Seattle), but Gus Williams' key role in the Sonics' 1979 championship and pair of All-NBA picks give him the nod.

Spencer Haywood reached greater heights and Rashard Lewis had more longevity, but with the last spot I'm going with Schrempf, whose versatile and efficient game was ahead of its time in the 1990s.

-- Kevin Pelton

Utah Jazz

G: John Stockton G: Pete Maravich F: Adrian Dantley F: Karl Malone C: Rudy Gobert

The Jazz's arena is located at the intersection of Stockton and Malone, with statues of the legends prominently featured out front, so we figured those guys should make the cut. Dantley was a historically elite scorer for the Jazz, averaging 29.6 points on 56.2% shooting and winning a pair of NBA scoring titles during his seven-season tenure in Utah.

Gobert gets the nod over fellow dominant defensive anchor Mark Eaton because he's a far superior offensive player and rebounder. It was difficult not to include Darrell Griffith, aka "Dr. Dunkenstein," but Pistol Pete was too productive (25.7 points and 5.7 assists per game) with the New Orleans Jazz to be left out. Source - ESPN

#nba

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esytes69 · 5 years ago

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Hollywood Biggest Celebrity Scandal

Tim Allen arrested for dealing cocaine, 1978 Before he became everyone’s favorite Santa Clause (or the handy tool man, or Buzz Lightyear), Tim Allen was caught dealing drugs—specifically cocaine. He was arrested for possession of nearly a pound-and-a-half of cocaine at the Kalamazoo/Battle Creek International airport in Michigan in 1978. He spent 28 months in a federal prison, as opposed to a life sentence, for giving up the names of other drug offenders.

Marvin Gaye murdered by his father, 1984 The soul singer of the 80s, known as the Prince of Motown, was shot and killed by his father, Rev. Marvin Gay Sr. after an altercation. (Note: The "e" was added to the singer's stage name.) Gaye's brother Frankie, reportedly held him in his final moments. In his memoir, Frankie wrote that his brother's last words were, "I got what I wanted…I couldn’t do it myself, so I made him do it."

Rob Lowe made a sex tape with a 16-year-old, 1988 A video of the then-24-year-old Parks and Rec star having sex with two women was reportedly recorded the night before the 1988 Democratic National Convention in Atlanta. (Side note: Lowe was largely into politics before his acting career took off.) When it surfaced, it was discovered that one of the girls was only 16 years old. Her mother slapped him with a civil lawsuit, and he ended up settling, paying her a large sum of money and doing 20 hours of community service.

Michael Jackson accused of sexual assault, 1993 In 1993, Michael Jackson was accused of sexually assaulting a 13-year-old boy named Jordan Chandler. After the accusations went public, Jackson cancelled his tour due to health issues from the scandal. He later settled the case, paying the Chandlers $23,000.

O.J. Simpson arrested for the murder of his wife, 1994 Football star O.J. Simpson was arrested for the murder of his ex-wife Nicole Brown Simpson and her friend, Ronald Goldman, following a now-iconic car chase through Los Angeles. After 15 months in jail, Simpson was famously acquitted of both counts, thanks in part to his lawyer's "if the glove doesn't fit, you must acquit" line. In 2008, 13 years later, Simpson was convicted of robbery and kidnapping for a separate incident.

Hugh Grant caught with a prostitute, 1995 In 1995, Hugh Grant paid a sex worker to give him a blow job on the Sunset Strip but the two were found by police and the Four Weddings and a Funeral actor was arrested for "lewd conduct" in a public place. At the time of his arrest, he was with his longtime girlfriend Elizabeth Hurley, who tried to work through the incident. She ended up leaving Grant five years later.

Prince Charles and Princess Diana divorce, 1996 After years of marital strain and four years of separation, Prince Charles and Princess Diana formally divorced in August of 1996. Their marriage was tainted by controversy, especially at the end, with both sides cheating—Charles most famously with long-time love and now-wife, Camilla Parker Bowels. As the future King of England, Charles' status as a divorcee is particularly scandalous.

Princess Diana killed in a car accident, 1997 Less than a year after she and Prince Charles got divorced, Princess Diana was killed in a car accident in Paris after being chased by paparazzi—and it was rumored that the future king planned her death. Later a letter from the princess to her former butler was discovered. In it she wrote that she felt Charles was setting up an incident so he could marry Tiggy, the former nanny of Princes William and Harry, but many believe the note was forged and an inquest concluded in 2008 found no wrongdoing on the part of the royal family.

Bill Clinton's affair with Monica Lewinsky made public, 1998 In 1995, former President Bill Clinton began having an affair with a then-21-year-old Monica Lewinsky, who was an unpaid White House intern. The huge scandal was made public in 1998, and Clinton denied that he had "sexual relations" with Lewinsky. He later admitted that he did have an affair with her, which contributed to his impeachment in 1999.

Marilyn Manson's music blamed for the Columbine shooting, 1999 After one of the deadliest schools shootings—in which two seniors murdered 12 students and one teacher at Columbine High School—people pointed the finger at musician Marilyn Manson. It was thought that the two students loved Manson and his music, and it was said that the singer's songs inspired them to carry out the tragic act. The rumor was proven false, but Manson's reputation was hurt badly from the reports.

Winona Ryder arrested for shoplifting, 2001 In 2001, the Stranger Things actress was caught stealing over $5,560 worth of merchandise from a Saks Fifth Avenue in Beverly Hills, California. She reportedly ripped tags off of clothing items and stashed them in her bag. Ryder later spun the incident positively, telling Daily Mail, "In a weird way, it was almost like the best thing that could have happened, because I’d never asked myself the question before of, Is it okay if I’m not going to act? Is there anything else? because that was all that I really knew."

R. Kelly arrested for child pornography, 2002 R. Kelly was indicted on 21 counts of child pornography after a tape showing him having sex with and urinating on an underage woman was sent to the Chicago Sun Times. He plead not guilty to all charges. Since, dozens of women have claimed to have been held in a sex cult by the singer. The hashtag #MuteRKelly started spreading recently, and Spotify was the first company to actually take action.

Madonna and Britney Spears kissed on stage, 2003 During a 2003 MTV Video Music Award performance, Britney Spears and Madonna shocked everyone when they kissed on stage. Christina Aguilera was performing with them, too, and got a smooch from Madonna, but the cameras switched shots and their kiss wasn't televised. Videographers instead cut to a shot of Justin Timberlake's shocked face.

Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston announced their divorce, 2005 In January 2005, Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston made a shocking joint statement that revealed they were breaking up. "We would like to announce that after seven years together we have decided to formally separate. For those who follow these sorts of things, we would like to explain that our separation is not the result of any of the speculation reported by the tabloid media," they said in the statement. "This decision is the result of much thoughtful consideration," the statement continued. "We happily remain committed and caring friends with great love and admiration for one another. We ask in advance for your kindness and sensitivity in the coming months." It was thought that their divorce was the result of the scandalous affair Pitt had with Angelina Jolie while filming the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Britney Spears shaved her head, 2007 Also in 2007: Britney Spears shaved off all her hair. The "Oops I Did It Again" singer hit rock bottom, beating up a photographer's car with an umbrella just days after going at her head with a buzz cutter. That year was a rough year for Spears, and it started the famous meme: "If Britney Spears can make it through 2007, then I can make it through today."

Kim Kardashian's sex tape made public, 2007 Before she was married to Kanye West, Kim Kardashian was in a serious relationship with another singer: Willie "Ray J" Norwood. The couple reportedly filmed a sex tape back in 2002 during a trip to Cabo, Mexico, and it was released to the public five years later when Kim began getting more media attention for being friends with Paris Hilton (who also has a sex tape). Kim sued in an attempt to prevent the 41-minute film from being accessible, but it still found its way to the internet.

Heath Ledger found dead, 2008 In 2008, the 10 Things I Hate About You actor was found dead in his bed in New York city. The NYC Medical Examiner's Office later determined that the cause of death was an accidental overdose of prescription painkillers, including anti-anxiety meds and sleeping pills. The Dark Knight, starring Ledger as the Joker, was released that summer in theaters, and his performance won him a posthumous Oscar.

Chris Brown assaulted Rihanna, 2009 Back in 2009, Chris Brown beat up then-girlfriend Rihanna after she discovered a text message from one of Brown's former flames. The "Forever" singer reportedly punched her in the face, repeatedly bit her, and choked her, but not to the point of unconsciousness. In a 20/20 interview, Rihanna opened up about the incident. "It was ugly," she said. "I fended him off with my feet…but it was not like, it was not like a fight with each other. I just…I really just wanted it to stop."

Michael Jackson killed, 2009 Michael Jackson was found dead on June 25, 2009. The cause? Surgical anesthetic Propofol, which was given to him by his personal doctor, Conrad Murray. Murray claimed to be injecting the King of Pop with the drug as a treatment for his insomnia. Jackson's death was ruled a homicide, and Murray blamed for negligent monitoring. He spent two years in jail for involuntary manslaughter.

Whitney Houston found dead in a bathtub, 2012 The world was shocked when Whitney Houston was found dead in a bathtub at the Beverly Hilton Hotel in 2012. An autopsy revealed that the singer died from accidental drowning. Her body was found with numerous drugs in it, including cocaine, marijuana, Xanax, and Benadryl. Houston had heart disease, so it is thought that the disease mixed with cocaine contributed to her death.

Solange Knowles gets into elevator fight with Jay Z, 2014 Following the 2014 Met Gala, leaked surveillance video captured Solange Knowles physically fighting her brother-in-law Jay Z in an elevator at the Standard Hotel in New York City. Although there was no shortage of speculation on the internet, the Carter-Knowles family gave little information as to what actually went down. “They both acknowledge their role in this private matter that has played out in the public. They both have apologized to each other and we have moved forward as a united family,” they said in a statement given to the Associated Press. Although the family has remained incredibly mum’s the word on the situation, Jay Z broke his silence in 2017 to share that he and Solange truly have moved on. "We had one disagreement ever. Before and after, we've been cool. She's like my sister. I will protect her. That's my sister, not my sister-in-law. My sister. Period,” he said during an appearance on Rap Radar.

30 Kanye West, Kim Kardashian, and Taylor Swift feud over "Famous" lyrics, 2016 Kanye’s infamous “I’mma let you finish” at the 2008 Video Music Awards turned out to only be the beginning of his beef with Taylor Swift. In 2016, Kanye released the song “Famous” on his The Life of Pablo album, which explicitly mentions Swift in the opening: “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex/Why? I made that bitch famous/Goddamn, I made that bitch famous.” Although Swift claimed she didn’t know about the song, Kim Kardashian decided to interject on her husband’s behalf. In a series of Snapchats, Kardashian leaked a recorded phone call between Kanye and Swift—Kanye shares a clip of the song for Swift’s approval, and the singer is heard saying, “Yeah, I mean, what's dope about the line is it's very tongue in cheek either way. And I really appreciate you telling me about it, that's really nice.” Swift’s response to the Snapchats? The singer claimed Kanye never shared the most offensive part of the lyrics with her. “Where is the video of Kanye telling me he was going to call me ‘that bitch’ in his song? It doesn’t exist because it never happened. You don’t get to control someone’s emotional response to being called ‘that bitch’ in front of the entire world,” she wrote on Instagram. To this day, the feud still remains a case of he-said-she-said.

Harvey Weinstein accused of sexual assault, 2017 On October 5, 2017, Ashley Judd accused longtime movie mogul Harvey Weinstein of sexual harassment—a bombshell accusation that led to the historical Time's Up and #MeToo movements. Since the first allegations, a number of other actresses have come forward with their stories of being sexually harassed or assaulted by Weinstein. After eight months, he finally turned himself in to police in New York City.

20-year-old Kylie Jenner quietly gives birth to first child, 2018 After months of speculation, an uncharacteristically quiet Kylie Jenner took to Instagram to share that she had given birth to a baby girl on February 1. Although news of her reported pregnancy with boyfriend Travis Scott leaked in September 2017, the reality star chose to stay quiet through all nine months, never confirming the news. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark through all the assumptions. I understand you’re used to me bringing you along on all my journeys. My pregnancy was one I chose not to do in front of the world,” she wrote in an Instagram post announcing the news. The 20-year-old also released a home video, “To Our Daughter,” that gave fans a peek at her hidden pregnancy.

Princess Diana's phone calls with her lover, James Gilbey, released, 1992 In 1992 The Sun leaked a transcript of Princess Diana's secret phone calls with her lover, James Gilbey. Diana was still married to Prince Charles at the time, who was also reportedly having an affair of his own with now-wife Camila Parker-Bowles. Read the full article

#billclinton #bradpitt #britneyspears #heathledger #hollywoodcontroversies #jayz #jenniferaniston #kanyewest #kimkardashian #kyliejenner #maddona #michaeljackson #princecharles #princessdiana #rihanna #spotify #taylorswift #Timallen #whitneyhouston

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rockandrollstorytime · 5 years ago

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Rock and Roll Storytime #8: The Rolling Stones at Altamont (AKA One of the Worst Concert Disasters of All Time)

The year 1969 had been a hectic one, both for the world in general (with the continuing Vietnam War, the Chappaquiddick incident, and the moon landings) and especially for rock and roll (with the death of Brian Jones, Woodstock, and the Beatles starting to head full-steam down the road that led them to their break-up in April 1970). Capping off this year full of highs and lows, there was Altamont, which has been labelled by many as the death of the 60′s. At the very least, it certainly brought a premature end to the idealism that the youths of that generation held dear.

Lord knows, I will always say that Brian Jones should have had a chance to get back on his feet and I’m super salty that he’s dead, but honestly, I’m glad he missed out on this one.

Before I tell the story of Altamont though, I must ask… Whose bright idea was it to hire the Hell’s Angels as security for a Rolling Stones concert and pay them with $500 of beer?

Well, to answer that question, I’m going to have to begin this story with the ending of another. Truly, the roots of this ill-thought-out decision lies within events that had happened that summer.

I’ve mentioned Brian Jones already, but to give those of you who are new to this the rundown, Lewis Brian Hopkin Jones was the Stones’ first guitarist, and at the start, he was the brains of the band. Seven years, a bunch of internal conflict with Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Andrew Loog Oldham, a messy relationship with Anita Pallenberg, drug abuse and alcoholism, two drug trials, and a fuck-ton of stress later, Brian was in a state we’d call “mental exhaustion” (didn’t help that his physical health was shit too). Where in 1966 he was contributing some of the best parts of the Stones’ early music, such as the sitar on “Paint It Black”, in 1969, he’d rarely show up to the studio, and if he did, he would usually be too intoxicated to properly contribute. In fact, on Let It Bleed, he only contributed to two songs: “Midnight Rambler” (congas) and “You’ve Got the Silver” (autoharp).

In June 1969, the Stones decided they wanted to go on tour again, but then, they found out that due to the fact that Brian had twice been convicted of drug possession, it’d be unlikely that he could receive a visa to perform in the U.S.A., if at all. Ultimately, Mick and Keith decided that their best option would be to fire Brian, and so, on June 8, 1969, they went down to Brian’s home, Cotchford Farm, to tell him that he would no longer be with the group. According to those present, Brian had been expecting this, and in the various press releases, it was made to appear as if Brian had left the band on his own terms. His statement read, in part, “I no longer see eye to eye with the others over the discs we are cutting. We no longer communicate musically. The Stones’ music is not to my taste any more. The work of Mick and Keith has progressed at a tangent, at least to my way of thinking. I have a desire to play my own brand of music rather than that of others, no matter how much I appreciate their musical concepts.”

At this point in time, whether Brian was accepting of this turn of events or not is up to conjecture.

In either case, the Stones brought in 20-year-old Mick Taylor (previously of John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers) to replace Brian, and at a press conference on June 13, the Stones announced that they would be holding a free concert on July 5 in order to properly introduce their new guitarist.

And then, just three days before the concert was set to take place, Brian drowned in his backyard swimming pool, being just twenty-seven years old. Although the coroner ruled it death by misadventure (which personal research seems to support), theories have long persisted that Brian was, in fact, murdered, but that is, of course, a story for another day.

The Stones in the Park concert quickly became a tribute to Brian Jones, and at the start, Mick read two verses of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Adonais, and as the band launched into “I’m Yours and I’m Hers” by Johnny Winters (one of Brian’s favourite songs), thousands of butterflies were released, though this was against park stipulation, as they were voracious Cabbage White butterflies, and many had died due to the boxes not being properly ventilated.

What’s important to this story about the concert at Hyde Park is that the London chapter of the Hell’s Angels was there providing security that day. It is also important to note that the Grateful Dead (who, incidentally, also had a member of the 27 Club in their line-up) had also hired the Hell’s Angels as security numerous times.

Several months later, the Stones had been having a pretty good run with their American tour, which was able to slightly mitigate some of the shady business practices Allen Klein had subjected them to, but throughout, fans and journalists kept complaining about high ticket prices. If you ask me though, those bitches were lucky. I’d rather be paying three to eight dollars (equivalent to $21.21 to $56.57 in 2019) as opposed to a minimum of $159 that tickets to a Rolling Stones concert now sell for. Not to mention, Woodstock had happened in August that year, and that was a big success, so in Mick Jagger’s 26-year-old, immature, unwise brain, that obviously meant that they should have another free concert like the one at Hyde Park. Really, in his mind, the peace and love movement was only just beginning, so what could go wrong?

As Murphy’s Law will tell you, “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong”

Oh, and go wrong it did.

The first major problem was that they couldn’t get a venue.

The concert was set for December 6, and their tour manager, Sam Cutler, struggled to get them a venue. He tried San Jose’s State University, but there had been a three-day festival recently, and the city wasn’t exactly in the mood for another batch of hippies storming the city so soon afterward, so that was out of bounds. He then tried gunning for San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park, but there was a football game between the Chicago Bears and the San Francisco 49-ers taking place in the same general location, which made use of the venue impractical. He then tried getting Sears Point Raceway on board, but disputes quickly arose over filming distribution rights and an up-front fee of $300,000.

Finally, just two days before the concert was set to take place, the Stones’ management managed to get a hold of Altamont Speedway (it helped that the owner, Dick Carter, apparently offered the venue for free).

As you can imagine, there was a whole shit-ton of problems that arose from that, and Rolling Stone magazine, in its piece on the tragedy, listed the following logistical problems:

“1) Promise a free concert by a popular rock group which rarely appears in this country. Announce the site only four days in advance.

2) Change the location 20 hours before the concert.

3) The new concert site should be as close as possible to a giant freeway.

4) Make sure the grounds are barren, treeless, desolate.

5) Don’t warn neighboring landowners that hundreds of thousands of people are expected. Be unaware of their out-front hostility toward long hair and rock music.

6) Provide one-sixtieth the required toilet facilities to insure that people will use nearby fields, the sides of cars, etc.

7) The stage should be located in an area likely to be completely surrounded by people and their vehicles.

8) Build the stage low enough to be easily hurdled. Don’t secure a clear area between stage and audience.

9) Provide an unreliable barely audible low fidelity sound system.

10) Ask the Hell’s Angels to act as ‘security’ guards.”

Most sane people would have quit while they were ahead, but this is the Rolling Stones we’re talking about. Between Brian Jones having five kids by the age of twenty-three, Mick Jagger allegedly sleeping with over 4,000 women (and don’t get me started on him and David Bowie), Keith Richards’ drug habits and his snorting his dad’s ashes, Bill Wyman dating a teenager while he was in his forties, and Charlie Watts punching Mick Jagger in the face, we are absolutely not dealing with the most sane bunch of individuals on the planet.

And let’s not forget that some idiot decided it’d be a great idea to pay the Hell’s Angels in $500 of beer (the equivalent of $3,535.43 in 2019).

Yeah, if you listened closely to the sounds of the earth in 1969, I can guarantee you, you probably would have heard a barely-cold-in-the-ground Brian Jones spinning in his grave over this stupidity (because he was acting as the band’s manager for a time in their early days before Andrew Oldham came on board).

Let’s also not forget that they hired a particularly notorious batch of Hell’s Angels from Oakland, California, whereas the Grateful Dead found their “security bikers” in Sacramento. Apparently, Grateful Dead manager Rock Scully even tried to warn the Stones about the “real” Hell’s Angels after seeing the footage from Hyde Park, but obviously, they didn’t take whatever warning he tried to give them to heart. The hippies in general had a romanticized image of the Hell’s Angels in their heads, seeing them as “outlaw brothers of the counterculture.”

No points for guessing how that worked out, but let’s continue regardless.

Set to perform that night were Santana, Jefferson Airplane, The Flying Burrito Brothers, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, the Grateful Dead, and of course, the Rolling Stones.

They would all be performing on a stage that was just thirty-nine inches off the ground and surrounded on all sides by over 300,000 attendees. Apparently, this had been planned to create a more “intimate” experience.

From what I could tell, waivers were not involved.

For the sake of time, I can’t give you a minute-by-minute analysis of the event, but I can still provide a basic timeline of all that happened.

So, everything went relatively smoothly as Santana performed their set, but it was only downhill from there. As the day progressed, the crowd started fighting each other, and the “security” sure as hell didn’t help matters. At some point, someone knocked over one of the Angel’s motorcycles, which was likely an accident. However, the Angels were already pretty pissy, and plus, rule number one when it comes to the Angels is “Don’t mess with the motorcycles.” So, the Angels, already high thanks to someone spiking the beer with acid, started indiscriminately assaulting audience members they didn’t like with sawed-off pool cues and motorcycle chains, including a guy who was running around naked and someone else who was trying to take pictures of the stage. One woman who called in to a radio station the next day reported that she saw five fistfights, and the Angels were involved in every last one. She tried to intervene, but the people around her warned her not to, fearing for both their safety and hers.

During Jefferson Airplane’s set, Marty Balin was knocked unconscious when he tried to intervene in a fight between the audience members and Hell’s Angels. When Paul Kantner grabbed a mic and sarcastically thanked the Angels, Bill Fritsch grabbed the mic from him and started arguing with him about it. In addition, Denise Jewkes, lead singer of Ace of Cups, was hit in the head with a beer bottle and suffered a skull fracture. Her husband, Noel, had to lead his six-month pregnant wife through the sea of people so she could get medical attention. The Stones later paid her medical expenses. By this point, news of what was going on out front was beginning to seep into the backstage areas and even back to the Stones at their hotel room, but most of the acts decided to press on regardless. However, after hearing about what happened to Marty from Michael Shrieve, the guys from the Grateful Dead decided to book it.

Yeah. Thanks a bunch, assholes.

The crowd did calm down a bit for the Flying Burrito Brothers’ set, because really, who can say no to Gram Parsons? However, that calm was only temporary. When the Stones arrived by helicopter, it wasn’t even ten seconds before someone punched Mick Jagger in the face. Also, Bill Wyman missed the first helicopter out, so the Stones were already going to be late.

And then Mick Jagger decided he wanted to be all dramatic and shit, so the crowds were forced to wait until nightfall for the Stones’ set.

Meanwhile, during Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s set, a “stoned out” Angel reportedly stabbed Stephen Stills in the leg whenever he stepped forward to sing, leaving trails of blood running down his leg.

By the time the Stones were anywhere near ready to take the stage, things started to degenerate even further, to the point where the Angels (who already despised Mick’s scrawny, English arse) pretty much forced the Stones to go out on stage regardless of whether they were ready or not, just to prevent a full-scale riot.

It was in that moment Mick knew… he fucked up royally.

As Mick observed the constant fighting between the audience members and Hell’s Angels during the show as he sang “Sympathy for the Devil”, he desperately, defeatedly, pleaded for calm, his usual bravado completely absent for once in his adult life. However, it was clear that the Angels already weren’t going to listen to the flamboyant musician they clearly hated, and tensions had been simmering too long throughout the day, so Mick’s pleas for peace practically went completely unheard.

Mick Taylor later said, “The Hell’s Angels had a lot to do with it. The people that were working with us getting the concert together thought it would be a good idea to have them as a security force. But I got the impression that because they were a security force they were using it as an excuse. They’re just very, very violent people. I think we expected probably something like the Hell’s Angels that were our security force at Hyde Park, but of course they’re not the real Hell’s Angels, they’re completely phony. These guys in California are the real thing — they’re very violent. I had expected a nice sort of peaceful concert. I didn’t expect anything like that in San Francisco because they are so used to having nice things there. That’s where free concerts started, and I thought a society like San Francisco could have done much better. We were on the road when it was being organized, we weren’t involved at all. We would have liked to have been. Perhaps the only thing we needed security for was the Hell’s Angels. I really don’t know what caused it but it just depressed me because it could have been so beautiful that day”

(I feel so sorry for Mick Taylor. The kid was just twenty years old when he saw all this bullshit going down.)

Now, what I’m going to do with this go-around, before I describe what happened next, is tell you a little bit about Meredith Hunter. He was just eighteen when he went to Altamont with his girlfriend, Patti Bredehoft. The only reason he had a gun that day, according to his family, was for self-protection, given that he was basically a young black man with a white girlfriend in a sea of white people, at a time and place where racism was still very much prevalent. Allegedly, the gun didn’t even have any bullets in it; it would just be a last resort to deter anyone giving him trouble. Like most 18-year-olds, he was also a bit naive, and though his girlfriend wanted to leave, he convinced her to stay for the Rolling Stones’ set. At one point, he was already set upon by Hell’s Angels, but that time, it was only a scuffle. What is known is that he was high on methamphetamines, but what isn’t known for sure is his general demeanour. Some said he had a crazy look in his eye, while others said that he seemed calm, though he was upset at the violence.

And then, all hell broke loose.

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As “Under My Thumb” was ending, cameras found an opening into the crowd, into which stumbled Meredith Hunter. He grabbed his gun, a .22 calibre revolver, which was visible to cameras against Patti’s dress. When Alan Passaro saw this, he immediately assumed that Hunter was trying to shoot somebody, and started stabbing him (this was, again, in plain view of a bunch of cameras). Subsequently, he was repeatedly kicked in the head, trying to tell his attackers that he wasn’t trying to kill anybody. However, the Angels were convinced that he was attempting to shoot somebody, and that’s essentially what the narrative became- that a crazed black kid high on meth tried to shoot Mick or one of the other Rolling Stones (which, believe me, I’d be salty about even if I hadn’t read a Rolling Stone article about him).

It was little Mick Taylor who managed to keep things rolling (a bit) by suggesting they play “Brown Sugar”, which had only been recorded the previous Tuesday.

Somehow, after the vicious beating he’d suffered, Meredith was still alive, and a doctor at the scene looked at him and recommended that he get immediate medical attention, or else he’d die. However, the only helicopter at the scene was reserved for the Rolling Stones, and the pilot made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that no one else was allowed on board. Hunter ended up dying of his injuries while they waited for emergency responders.

I don’t quite know how well the situation was explained, but still, dick move on the part of the helicopter pilots.

In addition to Hunter, three other people died, one after falling into a fast-moving irrigation duct while tripping on LSD, and two others were killed in their sleeping bags during a hit-and-run accident. There were also four reported births, one of which occurred during Jefferson Airplane’s set.

The day after the concert, the Stones flew back to London, as the news slowly disseminated throughout the world.

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In 1971, a documentary about the tragedy, Gimme Shelter, was released to the public. However, in the years since, many have argued that is meant to excuse the Stones’ actions and is an apologist piece of media. Still, the footage itself does show a chilling account of what happened that day, if you can ignore that overall narrative (though you really shoudn’t ignore that).

Alan Passaro was later charged with Meredith’s murder, but was acquitted by an all-white jury, who likely either excused the crime due to racism, or just didn’t have the full story.

After Altamont, just about everybody turned on each other. The audience members, many of whom undoubtedly still live with the scars of that fateful night blamed the Hell’s Angels, whereas the Angels laid some of the blame on the audience members, and most of it on the people who hired them, whilst the Stones said they’d never work with the Hell’s Angels again (which, allegedly, almost resulted in some of them trying to assassinate Mick Jagger).

In my honest, humble, not-so-professional opinion, I say the blame should be laid with the Stones’ management, Mick Jagger, the Grateful Dead, and the Hell’s Angels. The concert should have been planned over a matter of months instead of weeks, held in a proper venue, and above all else, not had fucking Hell’s Angels as security guards.

While the Grateful Dead came out of it rather unscathed (mostly because they didn’t play), it’s been said that the Stones lost quite a bit of their edge. It’s easy to say that they grew up a lot because of this event, becoming a lot humbler, and a lot less greedy and risky as a direct result of this. It’s even to a point where people haven’t liked much of what they’ve put out since the 1980’s. Santana and Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young declined to have their performances shown in Gimme Shelter, and have since spoken very little about the event. Meanwhile, Alan Passaro drowned in 1985, though the circumstances of his death are suspicious, to say the least. Meanwhile, Meredith Hunter’s family still deals with the trauma of his death, and aside from a $10,000 ($70,708.59) settlement, the Stones never even approached the family to offer their condolences, or even a half-assed explanation (I don’t recommend the latter approach). The Hell’s Angels also had their reputations as dangerous outsiders cemented by this event, given that they’d caused at least 75-90% of the violence that took place that day.

Keith Richards has maintained his “fuck-all” attitude about this through the years, even writing in his 2010 autobiography “In actual fact, if it hadn’t been for the murder, we’d have thought it a very smooth gig by the skin of its fucking teeth.”

There is a reason that many of the dreams of the 60′s died at Altamont, and all the evidence you really need is the footage that was shot that night and the words of the people who saw the fiasco first hand.

Sources: https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/remembering-meredith-hunter-the-fan-killed-at-altamont-630260/ https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/the-rolling-stones-disaster-at-altamont-let-it-bleed-71299/ https://www.forbes.com/sites/davidchiu/2019/12/03/altamont-at-50-the-disastrous-concert-that-brought-the-60s-to-a-crashing-halt/#535871c31941 https://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/the-chaos-of-altamont-and-the-murder-of-meredith-hunter https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/the-altamont-festival-brings-the-1960s-to-a-violent-end https://datebook.sfchronicle.com/music/altamont-wasnt-the-end-of-the-60s-it-was-the-start-of-rock-n-roll-disasters https://worldhistoryproject.org/1969/12/6/altamont-free-concert Altamont by Joel Selvin Life by Keith Richards https://allthatsinteresting.com/altamont-speedway-free-concert https://www.washingtonpost.com/graphics/2019/lifestyle/altamont-rolling-stones-50th-anniversary/ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Altamont_Free_Concert https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_of_Meredith_Hunter http://timeisonourside.com/chron1969.html https://www.thevintagenews.com/2018/02/01/altamont-free-concert-in-1969/ https://www.ranker.com/list/altamont-free-concert-facts/jen-jeffers http://www.findingdulcinea.com/news/on-this-day/On-This-Day–Deaths-at-Rolling-Stones–Altamont-Concert-Shocks-the-Nation.html https://www.robertchristgau.com/xg/bk-aow/altamont.php https://westegg.com/inflation/ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JUlyVSfhgaM https://www.setlist.fm/setlist/the-rolling-stones/1969/altamont-speedway-tracy-ca-43d6fbb3.html https://slate.com/culture/2018/07/just-a-shot-away-a-history-of-altamont-by-saul-austerlitz-reviewed.html

#mick jagger #keith richards #brian jones #charlie watts #bill wyman #mick taylor #the rolling stones #jefferson airplane #santana #flying burrito brothers #the grateful dead #cw: drugs #cw: death #cw: racism #cw: murder #cw: assault #cw: violence #this concert was such a mess

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starletwriting · 5 years ago

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Killervibe Fic Week Day Seven: Fairytale

Word Count: 7.3k

Notes: This is so late I’m not even sure if I can consider it a part of fic week anymore, but I worked way too hard on this to let it go to waste. It’s 21 pages on Google Docs. It’s my longest fic for fic week. I’ve been working on this one for a while, so I hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: guns, bullets, description of a gunshot, bullet wound. Cisco says fuck. like. exactly one (1) time. It could be a PG-13 movie.

Tags: @thatkillervibe @shakesqueer-writes @narniasfinestavengingsociopath

~~~

They call her Killer Frost.

Cisco had heard the stories since he was a child. They told of a woman who was supposedly born from the ice, her body as old as the Earth itself, her immortal feet walking amongst the dirt and snow since the dawn of time. Her eyes have seen humanity rise and fall, her ears have heard the sobs of mankind, her fingers could either bless or curse with just one touch. She wasn’t a god, for people did not worship her. Rather, she was nature. She was the beauty of the snowy forests in which she lived. She was the harshness of blizzards and the delicacy of snowflakes. She was the calm before the storm, and the damage left behind once it’s gone.

Growing up, Cisco and his brother Dante would always ask to hear those stories again. Killer Frost fascinated them. Their mother would tell them the same story each night before bed, and each night they fell asleep in complete awe of the mysterious ice queen.

Both boys grew up wanting to be an adventurer. They played with sticks in their backyard and pretended to be fending off any danger that might arise. Dante got a children’s adventuring kit from his parents for his birthday one year, much to his younger brother’s dismay. Cisco stole that kit from him so many times that it became partly his, despite Dante complaining each time. The brothers once found a stray cat in the woods behind their house, and they imagined it as a magical creature they had stumbled upon in their travels. They ended up befriending and adopting the cat, and Dante later brought the cat along with him when he moved out.

When Dante started his first ever expedition, his parents were overwhelmed in their support for their son. They told everyone that would listen about what a great adventurer Dante would be, and how they simply couldn’t wait to hear about all the amazing things he’d find. And their pride wasn’t misplaced. Dante Ramon became a remarkable adventurer, admired by many, and the well-deserved winner of a few awards. He was the first person to get close to Bigfoot. He discovered a ring of faeries and brought back pictures to show it. He befriended some dwarves in Russia. He slayed a hostile vampire and saved a city in the process.

It seemed that Dante’s great achievements became the topic of all of Cisco’s conversations with his parents. His brother did this, his brother did that. Dante’s name was his mother’s favorite word. She and Cisco’s father were bursting with pride and affection for their older son, while their younger son was lost in his brother’s shadow. The longer it went on, the more Cisco became aware of the fundamental truth: Dante could do no wrong, whereas he could do no right.

Dante got married to a beautiful girl named Melinda Torres. His mother cried upon receiving the news of their engagement, his father patted him on the back in congratulations. Cisco was best man, and he gave a speech in front of everyone, looking back on past memories he shared with Dante and commemorating how far he’s come to become the man he is today. Cisco was happy to be by his brother’s side on his big day, but he couldn’t help but feel a lingering feeling of jealousy deep down. Not because of the marriage itself, but because it was just one more event with his brother’s name in lights. One more gathering in which everybody was looking at Dante Ramon, adventurer extraordinaire. It was just one more opportunity for Dante to outshine him.

But then, two years later, they received the news that changed everything.

Dante had been killed by a pack of werewolves while on an expedition. His family had been told first, but the press found out in a matter of days. He had a funeral immediately. His family members, no matter how distantly related, came to say goodbye to the boy they had known and whose blood they had shared.

While Dante’s family weren’t the only ones mourning his loss, Cisco mourned the most out of them all. He looked back on his childhood memories and remembered all the good times the two of them had shared. Every laugh, every playfight, every smile. The hours they spent playing together as kids. Cisco even looked back on their childish bickering fondly. He had lost his only brother, his childhood playmate, his partner in crime, his best friend.

Except… Cisco lost those things a long time ago. They were all victims of his jealousy. Cisco not only mourned the loss of his brother, but he also beared the weight of his regret. He regretted letting his spite get in the way of his relationship with his brother. It was never Dante’s fault. Dante didn’t ask to be the favorite. He rightfully earned his praise. Now Dante was gone and Cisco was out of opportunities to reconnect with his brother, all because Cisco refused to let go of his childish envy when he had the chance.

Two months after Dante’s death, Cisco got a call from his mother asking him to meet her at his childhood home. When he got there, he found her sitting in one of the wooden chairs surrounding the dining room table, with a cardboard packing box on the table in front of her.

“Come, sit.”

Cisco sat in the chair opposite her.

He had about a million questions. Why did she want to meet him here? Why did she want to meet at all? What was the purpose of talking to him now, after all those years of not caring?

Despite all his questions, he only voiced one. “What’s in the box?”

“Open it.” She said. “See for yourself.”

Cisco did so. Upon opening the box, Cisco gasped, and took out its contents to hold it in his hands ever-so-gently.

“Dante’s adventuring kit. I haven’t seen this since we were kids.” Cisco said. “Where’d you find it?”

“It was in his room.” Mrs. Ramon spoke delicately, as if she was trying her best to stay strong despite her mourning. “Your father and I were going through his stuff and we found it. I thought it would be best to give it to you.”

He went through its contents. A cheaply made pair of toy binoculars, a cheaply made flashlight that ran out of batteries years ago and never got a replacement, a handbook on the many different kinds of fantastical creatures out there.

“I want you to have it.”

Cisco met his mother’s eyes with an incredulous expression, as if asking if she was sure. “You do?”

She nodded. “You loved that kit as a kid. You and Dante, always playing in the backyard, always asking me for more stories about noble adventurers. You should have it.”

“I couldn’t. It’s Dante’s.”

“He isn’t here, mijo.” Her gentle voice reflected her own pain on the topic, but still she stayed strong. “Look, I know I haven’t been the best about encouraging your own aspirations like I did Dante’s. I’m sorry about that.”

The apology took Cisco off guard. He wasn’t sure how to respond at first. Does he tell her “It’s okay”, even when it’s not? Does he tell her about all the times in his youth he cried into his pillow because he knew he would always be second-best? Did it take Dante dying for his parents to remember they had a second son?

He decided against it, telling himself that his mother apologizing was a good thing, because it means that maybe the future will be different. So, instead he simply smiled.

“Thank you.” He said. “I appreciate the apology.”

“Are you still planning on becoming an adventurer?”

Cisco shook his head. “That was a long time ago.”

“You should.” She said. “It was your dream. You and Dante alike. Don’t give up on that now.”

“I dunno,” He sighed. “I don’t want to steal Dante’s spotlight.”

“You aren’t.” Mrs. Ramon met his eyes with a sincerity that he couldn’t explain. “Honor your brother by becoming an adventurer. Carry out his legacy. Finish what he started.”

Cisco furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“What was the one legend that you and Dante always admired? The one that Dante dreamed of finding for himself, but never did?”

His eyes grew as the realization dawned on him.

“Killer Frost.” The words came out as a soft exhale.

Mrs. Ramon nodded. “Continue Dante’s life’s work. Find Killer Frost. Be an adventurer not in spite of Dante, but to remember him.”

“Are you sure I’ll have what it takes?”

“Of course you will. You’re my son.” She said. “The Ramon family needs an adventurer. I may not have supported you as much as I should’ve, but that changes now. I will encourage you every step of the way.”

A smile grew on Cisco’s face.

“Thank you.”

Mrs. Ramon walked around the table to brush Cisco’s hair behind his ear and place a soft, motherly kiss to his forehead.

“I believe in you, mijo. Go show the world what you’re made of.”

And so, with that, Cisco started his career as an adventurer. He started off small and built his way up. In the first year, he searched forests for elves and faeries, ventured out into the sea in hopes of finding mermaids, visited Nessie’s lake, and even found a wild griffin. Meanwhile, on the side he researched as much as he could about Killer Frost. He visited libraries and read ancient books about her. He discussed the myths with locals who live near places she’s supposedly been sighted. He’s looked up everything he can about every alleged sighting. The most recent alleged sighting happened about ten years ago and was told by a man named Bartholomew Henry Allen. Cisco grimaced. That’s an unfortunate name. He looked up Bartholomew in hopes of interviewing him for more information, only to discover that Bartholomew had died a few years back. He was killed by a man named Eobard Thawne. Cisco grimaced again. That’s an even more unfortunate name.

It wasn’t until the December of Cisco’s second year being an adventurer that he decided he was ready to start tracking down Killer Frost.

He gathered information from various alleged sightings in hopes of pinpointing possible places Frost could be. She stayed in snowy biomes, ones with thick forestation, natural wildlife, and high elevation. There was one place that had all of those things. Far up north were taigas covered in snow, with high steeps of rock in which many natural caves could be found. He figured that was his best bet.

So he camped. He packed his travel backpack with all the compact packing methods he had taught himself growing up, so that he could fit everything he needed into one large backpack. He bought a compact tent that folded itself into the size of a small purse, and he attached that to the bottom of his backpack. He knew a trick to fold entire outfits into compact rolls as to fit more into smaller spaces. He was sure to pack lots of winter clothes as well as miniature heaters and heating pads to prepare him for the biome. He brought food that wouldn’t go bad and that he could prepare easily without any extra equipment. He carried a knife for self-defense, and so that he could hunt animals in the case that he ran out of food. He made sure to wear silver jewelry to protect him from werewolves. After losing his brother to them, he wanted to be safe.

With that, Cisco embarked on the expedition that would change everything.

Days and nights blurred together. Cisco brought along a handheld notebook and a miniature pencil, and he logged each day he spent in the forest, or else he would’ve lost track. He adjusted to his camping life after his first week, and it got easier from there. When Dante was alive, he would tell Cisco stories of his expeditions, and he’d talk about how hard it was to live out in the wilderness for long periods of time. The past year had been consisted of a ton of time in the wilderness for Cisco, so now he finally understood what he meant.

One morning, Cisco was inside his tent when he heard foosteps outside. He reminded himself to stay calm, and assured himself that it was probably just a deer. He grabbed his knife and held it out defensively, and prepared to open the tent flap and run out. He purposefully kept his breathing calm and slow, so that the animal outside couldn’t hear it. He ensured that he was still wearing his rings of silver and a silver chain around his neck, and then he opened the flap.

The second he did, he screamed.

It wasn’t a deer. It wasn’t werewolves or a bear, either. It was a woman.

Her hair was white as snow. Her lips were frozen and pale. She had no blood running through her veins, no heartbeat to keep her alive. Her skin was a ghostly color with a light blue undertone, like ice personified. Her eyes were a piercing white, as intense as the eyes of hawks but with the harsh cold of the Antarctic Ocean. And yet, they were staring at Cisco with fear and surprise and intrigue, all at once.

There she was.

The lady from the myths, the woman Cisco had longed to see in the flesh, the reason for this entire expedition, standing right before him.

Killer Frost.

In Cisco’s head, the moment he saw Killer Frost, he’d be gasping in awe at her beauty, recording this incredible sighting down in his notebook, never to forget it. He definitely didn’t imagine himself holding the tent flap open with one hand, holding his knife in the other, staring her in the eyes, and screaming his head off.

Cisco’s scream startled Frost, who was already greatly on edge. She started screaming as well, and she held her hands up defensively, her palms facing Cisco, conveying that she was ready to shoot ice blasts at Cisco at any given moment.

Cisco never thought his greatest achievement would be standing in front of one of Earth’s most majestic myths while they were both screaming at the top of their lungs.

Once Cisco registered that it was Killer Frost and not some scary werewolf, he shut his mouth and cut off his scream, but his mouth was only shut for a second before he opened it again, this time gaping at her in surprise. It was Killer Frost. The Killer Frost. The very being he had hoped to see.

He dropped his knife and it clattered to the ground. He didn’t mean her any harm. His mind was still processing. The wheels in his head turned as he stared at her, half-expecting it to all be a dream.

For an ice queen, she was gorgeous.

“What’re you doing here?!” She snapped. Her voice didn’t sound human. It sounded like ice and wind and harsh blizzards and deadly winters.

“I, uh-” Great. Cisco’s first words to the great legend Killer Frost and he stammers. “I came here to see you. I had heard the stories about Killer Frost and I wanted to see you for myself.”

“I see.” She glared at him, as if she hadn’t just been screaming with him a moment earlier. “Leave now, and I will spare you.”

“I don’t mean you any harm.” Cisco raised his hands in surrender. “I promise.”

She scoffed. “You humans are so alike. You all say the same things, and they’re all lies.”

“I’m not lying.” Cisco assured her. “Here, I’ll show you.”

He gently kicked his knife out of the tent and it landed softly on the snow next to her feet.

“That’s my only weapon.” He said. “Now it’s over by you. If I were to reach for it, you could stop me.”

Frost slid the knife behind her using her foot. “That was reckless. What’s to stop me from killing you?”

There was a certain smug twinkle in his eyes. “Trust.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re a very strange human.”

Cisco laughed. “Believe it or not, I get that a lot.”

~~~

The sun was beginning to set along the west horizon. A fire crackled and danced before them, putting on a show of red and orange, burning the wood underneath it and forming a thin stream of smoke above it. They heard calls from a distant owl, but they couldn’t see where it was hiding. At one point, Cisco saw a white hare jump into a bush, and he smiled and commented on how adorable it was.

Cisco had invited Frost to stay at his campsite. She didn’t respond, but the fact that she still remained even hours later gave Cisco his answer. After Cisco had gone through so much to find her, the last thing he wanted was for her to leave. Plus, she made surprisingly good company.

“You hurt yourself.”

“What?” Cisco furrowed his brow.

Frost pointed to a spot on his ankle, just above his shoe, where he had a few scrapes. They were enough to draw blood, but still, hardly an injury. They were already starting to heal.

“Oh, that.” Cisco waved his hand dismissively. “I walked too close to a thorn bush this morning and it scraped my ankle.”

She laughed. Her laugh was icy and inhuman, and yet at the same time, surprisingly warm and genuine. “Humans are so fragile.”

“I guess we are.” He shrugged. “I never really thought about it. What about you, then? Do you not get injured?”

Frost shook her head.

“Huh.” He said. “That must be nice.”

Cisco reached over and grabbed his backpack, and started rummaging through it. He pulled out a whole bag of granola, and started eating fistfuls of it straight out of the bag. Frost watched him with a raised eyebrow, her piercing eyes studying him up and down with an inquisitive look.

“What’s that?”

“Granola.” Cisco tilted the bag in her direction. “Want some?”

She shook her head. “I don’t eat.”

“Can you?”

Frost furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

“If you chose to eat, would you be able to?”

“I… guess so.” She said. “Why?”

“Do you want to try?”

Still a bit startled from the offer, she hesitantly took a handful of granola and placed it in her mouth and began to chew. She made a face of disgust a few moments later, and spit it out onto the snow.

Cisco couldn’t help but laugh. “Not a fan, huh?”

“It tastes bad.”

“Well, not all foods taste the same. If it’s the taste you don’t like, then you can try something else.” Cisco reached into his bag and pulled out some beef jerky he brought. “Here, try this.”

She took the piece that he offered her and bit into it. She chewed it hesitantly at first, then slowly warmed up to chewing it at a faster pace, then swallowed. She ate the rest of the strip in a matter of seconds.

“Yeah, that’s way better.” She said. “What’s it called?”

“Beef jerky.”

“Huh.” She blinked. “Eating is kinda fun. What else do you have?”

“I have lots.” Cisco zipped his bag open completely and started rummaging through the contents. “I have apples, raisins, dried peaches, cereal, energy bars, instant noodles, instant rice-” He cut himself off when he accidentally knocked his wallet out of his backpack. “Oops.”

Frost picked his wallet up off of the snow and brushed it off. “What’s this?”

“My wallet.” He zipped up his backpack. “It holds money and other important stuff.”

She opened it out of sheer curiosity, and pointed to the picture on the inner flap. “Who’s that?”

“My brother, Dante.” Cisco said. “He died about two years ago. I’ve kept his picture in my wallet ever since. It’s my way of remembering him. Well, that, and becoming an adventurer.”

“You became an adventurer to remember your brother?”

He nodded. “Dante was an adventurer. I’m continuing his legacy.”

“Legacies.” Killer Frost scoffed. “I never understood that about you humans. Live your own life, not your brother’s.”

Cisco faltered, unable to think of a reply. She hadn’t said much, and yet her words carried meaning. Cisco recalled a saying he heard once, “a life lived for someone else is a life wasted”. Frost’s words reminded him of that saying.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re very wise?”

“I don’t exactly socialize with humans much.”

“Right, of course.” Cisco said. “Have you ever had conversations, like this, with a human before?”

She didn’t respond. It wasn’t the first time Frost had stayed quiet when Cisco asked her a question she didn’t want to answer. She was selective, one moment she’d answer any question Cisco asked, and then, radio silence. He didn’t necessarily blame her, but it was a bit frustrating with how unpredictable it was.

“It’s getting late.” She said. “Doesn’t your body require sleep to function?”

Cisco nodded. “It’s the curse of being mortal.”

“Get some rest, then.” Frost stood up. “It’s time I left anyways.”

“Hey, Frost?”

She turned to face him.

“I’m glad you spent the day with me.”

Frost met his eyes with a certain… regret. Worry. She hesitated for a moment before simply nodding and walking off without saying anything.

~~~

The next day, the sun shined bright as Cisco walked across the padded snow, calling Frost’s name at the top of his lungs. He had ventured into the woods trying to find her, to no avail.

A white weasel heard Cisco’s voice and dashed into a bush.

“Hm.” Cisco stopped walking and turned to stare at the trail of footprints he had left behind him. “If I were a beautiful immortal ice queen, where would I hide out?”

He decided to search for caves. He walked along large rock precipices, searching for any openings he could find.

Eventually, he found one. It was a smaller cave, maybe about seven feet in height and eight in width. It was dark, and the pathway stretched around the corner, so if Frost was there, he couldn’t see her.

“Frooooost?”

The word echoed.

He walked further into the cave, and turned around the bend. He didn’t have to walk far. Right past the bend was a smaller round portion of the cave, about the size of a small hut. There she was, sitting with her back to the rock. She saw Cisco and her eyes widened to twice their size.

“Hey, Frost.” He held up his bag of beef jerky. “I brought some beef jerky.”

“What’re you doing here?” Her voice rebounded against the cave walls. Cisco could’ve sworn he felt the cave shake. “Go away!”

The harshness in her tone took Cisco off-guard. All he could do for a second was stand and blink. “Oh, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude-”

She flicked her hand and a wall of ice grew in between her and Cisco.

“Leave.” Her words were muffled from the ice, and yet still powerful. “Now.”

He did so.

~~~

Cisco stared at the roof of his tent. He had put up a small camping lantern the night before, and although he had turned it off, he hadn’t bothered it to take it down, even though it was morning and the tent’s walls were thin enough to let the natural sunlight through. He had wrapped himself up in a thick heat blanket and zipped up his sleeping bag so that it completely covered him, and yet he was still cold. He was eating from a bag of almonds, and was simply dropping them into his mouth from above. He missed a few times, and they fell onto his pillow instead.

He had been awake for over an hour. He had moved around and gotten dressed and started his day, but he came back to his sleeping bag when he got cold.

Although he tried not to, he couldn’t stop thinking about his last interaction with Killer Frost. The fear in her eyes, the anger in her tone. The wall of ice between them.

Did he just blow his chances of ever seeing her again? Does she hate him now?

Cisco shivered, despite the three layers he was wearing. He pulled the blanket closer to his face and curled up for extra warmth.

“Cisco?”

The voice came from outside his tent, but it was not the location of the voice that got Cisco’s attention, but the person it belonged to. Her voice sounded icy and yet soft, inhuman and yet gentle. There was only one person it could be.

Cisco crawled out of his sleeping bag and unzipped the tent.

“Frost?”

She was looking at him with a level of awkwardness that he never would’ve expected from a majestic immortal being. It was almost off-putting.

“Can I come in?” She asked.

He nodded, and so she did. Cisco zipped the tent back up, and Frost sat down with her hands in her lap. Unfortunately, her presence only made Cisco’s tent colder, so he got the blanket and wrapped it around his body again.

Frost opened her mouth to speak, but a few seconds of hesitation passed before words came. “I got you these.”

She opened her hand and revealed a few berries. They were coated in a thin layer of frost, but edible.

“They’re Fayeberries.”

“Whoa.” Cisco gently plucked them from her palm and held them in his hand. “I’ve only heard about these in books. Do they really taste like your favorite meal?”

Frost nodded.

Cisco let the frost thaw and plopped one in his mouth. “They taste like my mother’s enchiladas. Cool.”

“I wanted to apologize.” She looked as if the words for difficult for her to say, but she spoke them anyways. “For how I acted.”

“I just want to know why.” Cisco kept his voice even. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Frost shook her head. “No, not at all. It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?”

“You’re human.” She sighed, frustrated with herself. “And I didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

Cisco furrowed his brow. “What does that mean?”

She hesitated. “Do you remember when you asked me if I had known a human before?”

He nodded.

“The answer is yes.” Frost said. “It was about a hundred years ago, give or take. His name was Hunter Zolomon. He came into this forest, plentiful as it was back then, and he found me. We talked, and for a moment, I was starting to care for him.”

“What happened?”

“The next thing I knew, there were fifty humans crowding the forest trying to find me and take me away from this forest.” Frost said. “Hunter had told them where I was. He didn’t care about me, he only wanted recognition amongst the other humans.”

“That’s awful,” Cisco’s words came out as a soft whisper.

“After that, I was convinced that humans were liars.” She said. “When I met you, I was hesitant. But you, you’re different. Honestly, the moment you tossed me your knife and made yourself vulnerable… that’s when I knew you weren’t Hunter.”

“I’m not here to hurt you.” Cisco said. “And that’s a promise. I know some humans are awful, but I’m good on my word, I swear.”

“I realize that.” Frost said. “You’re a very strange human, Cisco. And I want to get to know you.”

Cisco couldn’t help the grin that was forming.

“In return, I promise to stop holding stuff back.” She said. “You can ask me anything.”

“Alright,” Cisco thought for a second. “Do you have a name? I mean, besides Killer Frost.”

“No.” Killer Frost said. “Names are a human concept. I am nature. The humans have come up with several names for me over the years. Killer Frost is just one of many things they’ve called me. The Greeks called me Khione. I was quite fond of that one.”

“I read about that.” Cisco said. “The name ‘Killer Frost’ came from harsh winters.”

Frost nodded. “I am everything ice is. The beauty of it, and the danger.”

“Did you used to be human?” Cisco asked. “Like in Greek mythology, when humans were turned into gods?”

She shook her head. “I was never really born in the way you humans mean it. I was formed from icicles. I’ve always been like this. I don’t age, I just am.”

“Alright, one last question.” Cisco said. “Does this jacket make me look cute?”

Frost erupted into icy laughter.

“You’re cute for a human, Cisco.”

Cisco found himself blushing. Why was he blushing?

~~~

Frost frequented Cisco’s campsite often after that day. They talked daily, as they were the only ones keeping each other company in the vast icy forest. She invited him into her cave, and they could sit and talk, away from the biting cold of the forest. They would light a fire for when Cisco got too cold. Frost had no need for warmth, but she liked admiring the bright colors as the flames danced back and forth.

“One of my favorite memories from when I was a kid is sitting by the fire on a cold winter day and drinking hot cocoa that my mom made.” Cisco said. “Campfires kinda remind me of that.”

“What’s it like, growing up?”

“Uh, I don’t really know how to explain it.” Cisco scratched the back of his neck. “It’s something so normal that you kinda take it for granted. You can look back on your memories from when you were younger, but you can’t remember things from when you were super young. Like, no one remembers anything from when they were a baby.”

“Why not?”

Cisco shrugged. “Your longterm memory doesn’t start until you’re two or three or so.”

“Humans are such a weird species. You need to eat and sleep to live, you grow up, and you don’t even retain all your memories.”

He laughed. “I guess it’s weird, when you put it like that.”

“I’ve been alive since the start of humanity.” Frost said. “Humans have such short lives compared to that.”

“Well,” A smug-yet-silly grin grew on Cisco’s face. “You don’t look a day over 30.”

“Huh?” Frost furrowed her brow.

“Nothing,” He shrugged it off. “It’s a joke.”

She smiled.

“Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be human.” She admitted. “I wish I could experience that, even just for a day. I get curious too, after all.”

“Maybe you can.”

Frost furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

“I have a hat and a scarf in my backpack. I could give you my bushy coat.” Cisco said. “We could disguise you enough to pass you off as human. Then maybe we could find a local town. Explore a bit.”

“Really?” A smile started to grow on her face. “You think it would work?”

Cisco nodded.

“There’s a town not too far from here.” Frost said. “If we leave in the morning, we could walk there.”

“Then it’s a plan.” Cisco met her eyes with an uplifting smile. “Tomorrow, you get to be human for a day.”

~~~

They had tied up all of Frost’s hair in Cisco’s beanie. Cisco had gotten the thickest scarf he had brought on the trip and wrapped it around her neck, propping it up so that it covered the bottom half of her face. He had an extra bulky coat which he had her wear, partly to cover the paleness of her skin, and partly because it would be suspicious to not wear a coat in this weather.

“Here, I have contacts.” Cisco dug into his bag and brought out a box of them. “They’re the disposable kind, so you can wear them.”

Frost held them in her hand. “What do you do with these?”

“Put them on your eyes.” Cisco said. “It’s always tricky to do it for the first time. Here. Hold your eyes open.”

He took the contacts and gently placed them on her eyes for her.

“There you go.” He said. “I don’t have a mirror, or else I would show you how human you look right now.”

“Wow.” Frost exhaled, creating a soft puff of swirling snow. “We’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this.” Cisco nodded. “Just don’t be suspicious, and don’t let anyone look at you too closely, and you’ll be fine. I’ll be with you the whole time in case you need me to cover for you.”

“Thank you, Cisco.” Her eyes practically melted with gratitude. “It means a lot that you’d be willing to do this for me.”

“Of course!” He said. “We will, however, need a fake name for you. I can’t exactly call you Frost when we’re in the town.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

Cisco thought for a moment. “Caitlin.”

She laughed. “Why Caitlin?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. It was just the first thing I thought of. Besides, I’ve always liked the name Caitlin.”

“Alright then.” She said. “Caitlin. It’s a nice name.”

“Caitlin Snow.” He decided. “Because you represent ice and snow.”

“Wouldn’t that be obvious?”

He shook his head. “Nah.”

When it was time for them to head out, Cisco put on a thick coat of his own and gave Frost a pair of gloves from his bag to hide her hands.

The walk didn’t seem like long, not to Cisco. They say time flies when you’re having fun. Sure, logically, the town was quite a ways away from Cisco’s campsite or Frost’s cave, but Cisco got caught up in telling Frost about his childhood memories that he didn’t even notice. He would tell her funny things that Dante used to do in middle school, and Frost would laugh in that way she always does, the laugh that always made Cisco’s heartbeat race.

“There it is,” He spoke when they were close enough to see buildings. “Here’s your shot at being human for a day.”

It was a pretty small town. The buildings were old and plain, and overall unimpressive. Wooden signs hung above the doors in order to differentiate one building from the next, because otherwise they were identical. Snow blanketed all the rooftops in the town, including the small well in the town’s center. Windows showed families inside, cuddled up next to the fire. Women were knitting, men were drinking, children were playing.

“So this is humanity.”

“This is a very, very small slice of humanity.” Cisco said. “But, yes. It’s humanity.”

They walked further into the town and discovered a snowman outside one of the homes. It had children’s gloves as its hands, implying that a child made it, maybe on their own, maybe with the help of a parent or two. Its coal smile seemed to be welcoming them into its home.

“What’s that?” Frost asked.

“That’s a snowman.” Cisco said. “Have you never made a snowman before?”

Frost shook her head.

“Huh, imagine that.” Cisco whistled. “You literally are snow, or at least the embodiment of it, and you’ve never made a snowman. Here, we need to rectify that.”

Cisco pulled Frost off to a corner of the town away from the buildings, and started packing up snow to roll in a ball.

“See, you get something like this…” He rolled it along the snow on the ground, demonstrating it for Frost. “And then you roll it until it’s big enough to be your base.”

“Or you could do it the easy way.”

Frost waved her hand, and a flurry of snow emerged from her fingertips and wrapped itself around Cisco’s attempt at a snowman base. It grew, and grew, and grew, until it was about the size of the base they saw on the other snowman, and oh-so-perfectly round. She made the torso and the head with two more perfect circles, and the buttons and facial features were made out of chunks of ice. It was the most flawless snowman Cisco had ever seen.

“That works too!”

She shrugged. “Magic makes things convenient.”

“Y’know,” Cisco said. “Since I’m holding snow anyways, there is another time-honored tradition for having fun in the snow.

“What is it?”

Cisco tossed the lump of snow at her.

“Snowball fights.”

The snow erupted across her face, causing her to explode into her usual icy laughter.

“Yeah?” She asked, still laughing. “How about this?”

She twirled her finger and created her own snowball from scratch, which she grabbed and held in her hand. She made playful eye contact with Cisco and smirked. There was a mischievous glint in her piercing white eyes as she threw the snowball at him.

“You got it!” Cisco grinned, brushing the snow out of his hair. “That’s the essence of snowball fights.”

“Humans have so much fun.”

“Really?” Cisco asked, confidence twinkling in his eyes. “Then how come I have the most fun when I’m around you?”

Frost blushed a shade of light blue.

“Here,” He fixed Frost’s scarf for her. “Let’s go see what this town has to offer.”

They found a pub nearby, indicated by a worn-down wooden sign with faded letters that were hardly readable anymore. Cisco held the door open for Frost, and the two of them walked in.

The pub was full of townsfolk. There were big, burly men with brown beards drinking beer at the far end of the bar, and they all turned to look at Frost and Cisco when they walked in. Frost gulped and stared at her feet. Cisco laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Cisco sat at the bar and gestured for Frost to take the seat next to him.

“Do you want a beer?”

Frost furrowed her brows. “What’s that?”

“It’s a human drink. It tastes awful and it messes with your brain, so you legally have to be 21 to drink it.”

“Then why do people drink it?”

Cisco shrugged. “No idea.”

He ordered a beer for himself.

“I get the feeling that people are staring at me.” Frost muttered. “I’m not used to it, and I don’t care for it.”

“Trust me, I’ve been there.” Cisco said. “Frankly, I haven’t seen a single person in this town that isn’t white, and that isn’t a very good look.”

“Do you think they can tell that I’m not human?”

“Nah. Humans are very good at seeing what they want to see. They’re just staring because we’re not townsfolk.” Cisco said. “And besides, whatever happens, I’ll be right by your side.”

“Thank you.”

Soon enough, the bartender slid Cisco’s beer to him. He took a few sips and turned to Frost.

“You wanna try some?” He offered.

“Um… okay.”

She took it from him and held it in her hands ever-so-delicately. The stares of the townsfolk sent chills down her spine. Closing her eyes as to tune them out, she hesitantly raised the glass to her mouth and went to take a sip.

“Oh, no.”

The dread in Cisco’s voice concerned Frost. She opened her eyes, and gasped.

As soon as her lips had touched the liquid, it had turned to ice. And the whole pub saw.

She turned to Cisco. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Cisco didn’t have time to reply. The men who had been sitting at the other end of the bar were now drilling holes in Frost’s spine with their glares. They packed a lot of hate in one look. Frost looked more terrified than Cisco had ever seen her before. They stood up, and grabbed guns from holsters at their waists that Cisco and Frost hadn’t noticed previously.

“Fuck.” Cisco muttered. “Run.”

They scrambled out the door. Cisco grabbed onto Frost’s wrist and kept running. He turned behind him and saw the men from the pub following behind them.

He felt his heart pounding in his chest. “Oh, god.”

Not fast enough. An ear-splitting gunshot sounded in the air, and Cisco felt dread sink in his chest. The bullet flew through the air and perfectly hit Frost’s chest… then it kept going, leaving Frost unharmed. It was as if the bullet had gone through a cloud.

“You’re immune to bullets.”

She nodded.

He let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god.” Cisco said. “Okay, let’s get out of here before-”

Too late. By the time they heard the gunshot, the damage had already been done. Cisco’s breath hitched, cutting off his words as he fell onto his knees, clutching his now-bloody gut.

“Cisco!”

More bullets flew through her head as she bent down to Cisco’s side. He was still breathing, but he was badly injured. She picked him up, flicked her hand and created a wall of ice between her and the men, and ran as fast as she could.

She ran far away from the town, all the way back into the woods. She surrounded herself with trees and bushes, and every so often she tossed ice blasts behind her with one hand to ensure she wasn’t being followed. The further she ran, the more her fear solidified, and the more her eyes welled up with tears. They streamed down her face, but she didn’t care. When she was sure she was far enough away from the town, she collapsed onto her knees, and laid Cisco down in front of her.

“I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, I wanted to go to the town, I blew my cover, I- I- I’m so sorry-”

“Hey,” Even when he was fighting the pain in his gut, he still managed to look at Frost as if she was the only thing that mattered in his life. “Don’t be sorry. I’m glad-” He winced. “I’m glad I met you. You… you gave my life meaning.”

“No, no, no-” If she had a heartbeat, it would be pounding. “This can’t be the end, it can’t be-”

An idea popped into Frost’s mind. Her eyes widened, and she looked at Cisco with newfound hope.

“I can save you.” She said. “I can make you immortal. Like me. But you have to be okay with it. There’s no going back. There’s no going back to your human life once I do it.”

Fighting the pain, he reached out and grabbed her hand.

“Do it.”

She nodded.

Frost leaned down and softly, lovingly placed a kiss on Cisco’s lips. The moment the contact happened, Cisco’s lips froze over and turned a shade of blue. His hair transformed from its usual black into a white that matched the snow his head laid on. His bullet wound froze over and healed instantly. He let out a soft exhale, the last breath he would ever need to take. His heartbeat stopped in his chest, and his body heat dropped to freezing temperatures. He wasn’t alive anymore, but he wasn’t dead, either.

He opened his chilling white eyes and sat up.

~~~

They call him Frostbite.

Children heard the stories. They told of a human who won over Killer Frost’s favor enough for her to make him immortal in the last second of his life. He walks with Frost side-by-side, hand-in-hand. They are equals, they are lovers, they are partners in crime. They were not gods, for people did not worship them. Rather, they were nature. They were the beauty of the snowy forests in which they lived. They were the harshness of blizzards and the delicacy of snowflakes. They were the calm before the storm, and the damage left behind once it’s gone.

They were not married, for their bond was much stronger than marriage. They were soulmates, through and through. And, as long as snow and ice existed on the Earth, so would their eternal love.

#killervibeweek19 #killervibeweek #killervibe #the flash #killer frost #cisco ramon #caitlin snow #fairytale au #did you guys pick up on all of my references to the canon #bc I'm actually pretty proud of myself for those #there are the obvious ones like Eobard Thawne or Bartholomew Allen or Hunter Zolomon or Caitlin Snow #but then there's more subtle ones #like when I said Killer Frost was born from icicles because on the show her dad's alter ego is named Icicle #I'm actually pretty proud of this fic. I worked rlly hard on it #it's probably my favorite of all the ones I've posted for Killervibe fic week

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