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broadghasting · 2 years

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The Hand that Rocks the World of Cinema

When people think of cult films, what comes to mind generally falls into two categories: masterful pieces of cinema generally lauded as "ahead of its time" or "poorly advertised", and hamfisted attempts at terror that fall short in a big way. The mind tends to drift to films like Cabin Fever, or Birdemic. These movies are short, violent, and generally pretty uninspired. Everyone by now knows about Birdemic thanks to its birth in the age of the internet, but it's most certainly not the first, with its butterfingers tossing around tone like a bar of soap, lingering idiotic shots and grade-school message of "save the environment" superimposed onto one amateur filmmaker's love for Hitchcock. It certainly wasn't the first however.

In the tumultuous 1960's, foolhardy and arrogant Harold Warren bet prolific screenwriter Stirling Silliphant that he could easily throw a film together, but little did he know that he was in for a little horror story of his own! Over the course of most of 1966, Warren stood out in the heat of the Texan desert with his cardigan surrounded by hands with a meager account to put towards this mess that was Manos: The Hands of Fate. When it came out in its era, Manos was quietly shelved and wasn't talked about afterward. Why was interest so quickly and brightly rekindled? People are putting this sad display on Blu-Ray, and there's even a phone game for it! You can buy it for five dollars on gaming platform Steam and use a controller to play it! What makes this film so special?

I'll admit, when I first watched it, I didn't get the appeal that everyone else surely did. Its introduction scene wasn't as tedious as Birdemic's 20-minute pat-yourself-on-the-back-athon, but I concede the make-out scene in Manos was a bit unwarranted and unnecessary. As it progresses, there is a calm, oppressive atmosphere that comes to a head immediately when Torgo, the apparently satyr-like groundskeeper stumbles around and picks up their luggage. his "suite" plays whenever he shows up, less like a theme for him, but more like he's carrying around a music box when his mechanized legs move within ear shot: defiant of any sort of nuance that the score otherwise attempts to convey.

As tact and skillful acting elude The Hands of Fate, the film is unique in that it doesn't exactly follow a lot of the rules for regular horror movies, and this is one of its strong points. It's a slow build, and in the weird scenes with Torgo and Margret never linger too long. The Master's wordless rise is made all the more unsettling. So much effort has been put into the build for the Master, that when the young couple come back in the night, the dialogue between them and the law is jarring. At a glance, the scene is unnecessary, and when I take a step back to take the whole film in, I myself as merely a child of film can't come up with a better way to convey that the home is a horror trope of "never there". When the Master's wives argue, "The man, yes. The child no" It's a breath of fresh air, and when the Master's wives do battle, It's a visceral, organic experience. They're really clawing away at each other.

It was the 60's, sure, so this kind of campy, in your face horror is warranted. Loud soundtracks, weird zoom shots; unlike Birdemic and other utter failures to enthrall, Manos: The Hands of Fate has everything you need in a film. The actors were in the middle of theater school, but the camera needed a crank, and was filmed in 30-second chunks! It had to be dubbed over afterward. Is it a cruel joke that this film is so popular?

I don't think so. In the beginning, and when we finally see the motor of cinema running, our hero Michael is always weary and frustrated. I see myself in him. I’ve seen a million of these movies and I know what to do when there's a supernatural problem. I'm asking the right questions. In that moment, I am him. He's got a gun to protect his family, but the dog still dies and his family is still taken from him. Torgo helps Michael with the luggage, but the car doesn't start. It's a new level of horror when you're sure you've done everything right, but the hands that guide fate have other plans. Unfortunately, thanks in part to the budget, Manos' development feels less like an unspeakable evil looming over them, and more like creative license for the sake of horror. I wonder how Manos: The Hands of Felt is.

#Manos #Manos: The Hands of Fate #cinema #film

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limerental · 4 years

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ficletvember - day 2

yennskier/yenralt/geraskefer - prompt: amnesia

"Ah, Geralt! There you are!"

Geralt looks up from his untouched morning meal of soggy groats, peering through the haze of cigar smoke that fills the mess hall of the boarding house even so early in the day. He does not quite have the patience or time to deal with the bard's theatrics, not when last night Yennefer had not met him at their first planned rendezvous or their second. Geralt has been reluctantly forced to fall back to their third option which is, infuriatingly, wait as instructed until something happens.

Jaskier, ignorant of or used to his tense mood, flops onto the stool across from him and leans to inspect Geralt's meal for anything worth stealing.

"Morning, good morning, I've uh, well, I've acquired something of a charity case since we last parted."

"Is that some code for something I’m meant to be savvy to?"

"Yes, yes, you old man, it's code for I found a lost girl last night with not a lick of memory. Must have bumped her head or something. And very poorly dressed. Barefoot on the streets. Brought her back to my room to--"

"Jaskier."

"Oh hush, always thinking the worst of me, Geralt. It's truly offensive. I fetched her some clothing and was quite gentlemanly. She's still sleeping."

"And?"

"And we're going to help her."

"I'm busy."

"What with your erm… what were you doing with Yennefer again? Tracking that mage?"

"She didn't meet me last night."

"Oh."

"Could be trouble."

"Right, yeah, and what's the plan then?"

"Wait for her," Geralt grits out. He hates this plan. But trusts Yennefer. The mage is dangerous and potentially ornery, and this is Yennefer's business, Geralt involved only by chance meeting and because she allowed it. Nothing to be done.

"Mmmm riveting. Sounds like you simply have too much on your plate to help one poor young maiden. Booked full."

Geralt sighs.

If this is just another of Jaskier's more elaborate methods of wooing some poor, confused, likely hungover girl, then he will have some choice words to say.

The girl is not hungover or otherwise impaired, the stink of enchantments hitting him before Geralt has even reached the landing on the narrow stairs that lead to the bard's rented rooms. Soot and copper and something else, something familiar.

The room is sparse but comfortable, a spare cot placed by the crackling fire and a lumpy shape on the mattress by the window. A woman, curled in a fetal position, slight and olive-skined, lies dressed in one of Jaskier's blue undershirts, her dark hair tangled across the pillows. At the sound of the door closing behind them, she startles awake and shoves herself up, the oversized shirt slumping off one shoulder and hair a mess of frizz.

Geralt knows her at once and in the same breath, she is a stranger. He grunts, his mind blurring as he resists whatever magic lies heavily on her. Simply requires some concentration.

"Here she is then, Geralt this is-- ah yes, she's forgotten her name. Poor dear. We can fix that though, yes? My friend is here to help you."

"I know her."

"Er…"

"It's a memory enchantment. I could push through it with a bit of time."

"Right, right, don't allow me to hold you back. Get right on that. Push on through."

"And quiet."

"Peace and quiet, yes, yeah. Undoubtedly. Makes a good bit of sense."

"Jaskier?" asks the woman, her voice soft and touched by uncertainty. "Is it too late to come back to bed? My head is killing me."

She gestures with an open palm, the other resting on her folded knees, as though expecting the bard to settle down with her on the mattress.

Jaskier reaches to take her hand.

Geralt gives him a Look.

"Thought you didn't--"

"I didn't! She had a nightmare. She--"

"I'm no maiden," says the girl. "I don't need your protection."

"Haven't you lost your memory? How could you know that?"

She goes a bit cross-eyed in consideration of this. Jaskier settles onto the bed beside her, his arm snug around her shoulders. She lets out an unsteady breath and slumps against him, turning her forehead into his side. Jaskier ignores Geralt's disapproving look to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

"Geralt can help. He'll moan about it, but he’s plenty good at helping. Except with sums, I swear, that man cannot count to ten to save his--"

"Jaskier. Concentration."

"Right. I'll just let you--"

"Jaskier!"

Geralt breathes through his nose, eyes closed, allowing the room to fall away and the enchantment to thrum around him. Wood-ash and smoke, a sharp, acrid scent, then lilacs and--

He opens his eyes to see Yennefer cradled under the bard's arm, brow relaxing its deep grooves as he hums something into her hair.

It may take only her name to dispel the fog in her mind and lift the curse.

Geralt hesitates.

"Would you sing the one you did last night?" Yen mutters, meant for only Jaskier to hear. How vulnerable she looks, voice heavy with sleep. "The one about the nightingale?"

He relents at once, whispering the lyrics against her hair, shifting subtly back and forth in time to the melody. How small Yennefer looks curled up next to Jaskier, how strangely well-suited they appear to one another. They scarcely can stand each other at the best of times, falling into nagging and bickering when forced into close proximity.

Not so now.

Yennefer balls her hands into fists against her the bard’s chest, her lashes dark against her cheeks. Jaskier's eyes drift shut, cheek against the crown of her head, shaping the lilting tones of the lullaby with rounded mouth.

Oh, neither of them are ever going to live this down.

"I know who she is," says Geralt softly, loathe to break the moment.

"And?"

"It will have to break naturally. Memory is fickle. Dangerous to mess with."

"And when will that be?"

"Not long. It's a strong enchantment. But not for one such as her."

"Come to bed," whispers Yennefer against Jaskier’s neck, her jaw stretching in an exaggerated yawn. "Fucking exhausted. Sing me the one about the housecat and the fiddle."

"Right away, my lady."

Geralt feels the curse break just past midday, Yennefer tensing suddenly in the sleeping bard's arms, her head lifting from his chest.

"Geralt," she says stiffly, rousing him from his light meditation near the threshold of the room. "How much did I fucking drink last night? And please, if I embarrassed myself -- which I clearly did -- tell me it wasn't in public."

"You'll be the talk of this town for ages."

"Shut up, Witcher. What did I--"

"Memory curse. On you and around you."

"Amateur bastard," she cursed. "He could have at least cast something more creative."

Jostled by her shifting and griping, Jaskier awakes with a sleepy moan, soon swallowed by a shrill squeak of alarm as he recognizes his bed partner. He seems ready to attempt a dramatic escape off the other side of the bed if not for the body pinning his arm.

"Yennefer! Lovely to er… remember you!"

"Good morning, darling. Give us a kiss," drawls Yennefer.

Jaskier blanches, looking from the mage in his arms to Geralt and back again, until his floundering is finally interrupted by his brain properly kicking back on.

"You!" He points at Yennefer who blinks at him innocently. "You made me sing you lullabies."

"Mmm doesn't sound like me."

"And you!” He swings to point at Geralt. “You knew and didn't say anything! Gah!"

Yennefer shoves herself up, narrowing her eyes. Uh-oh.

"You knew? And allowed this idiot to rock me in his arms like a babe?"

"You looked peaceful," says Geralt.

"Mmmm," hums Yennefer.

"Oh!" Jaskier exclaims, his hand curling around Yennefers hip as he snuggles down into the warmed linens. "I slept with Yennefer of Vengerberg."

Yennefer’s violet eyes gleam.

"You have permission to beat him," says Geralt.

"When did I ever need your permission to do anything?"

Alarmed shouts echo through the walls of the boarding house.

But that night, music.

#ficletvember #my fic #yennskier #yenralt

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thatfanficstuff · 5 years

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Battle Scars - 16

Pairing: Tony Stark x Soulmate!Reader

Warnings: not really. Language and dick jokes I guess

A/N: Two more chapters after this one my lovelies. The end is nigh. sigh.

***

“Has anyone seen, Y/N?” Tony asked as he walked into the common sitting area. Most of the team was there. He’d tried to call you twice only for there to be no answer. There was a general rumbling of ‘no’ from around the room and he sighed. “She isn’t answering my calls.”

“I’m not surprised,” Bruce said. “She wasn’t exactly pleased with you earlier.”

Tony frowned at his friend knowing he was right but he was unable to shake the uneasy feeling that had taken up residence in his gut. He shifted his gaze to Steve. “You try calling her, would you?”

The blond super soldier shrugged and pulled out his phone to call you. A short time later he slid it back into his pocket. “No answer.”

“I don’t like this,” Tony voiced his thoughts.

“It doesn’t mean anything, Stark. She probably just doesn’t want to be bothered. Are you picking up anything over that link the two of you have?” Natasha asked.

He shook his head and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “No, but this isn’t like her.”

Bucky huffed and rolled his eyes. “I got this.” He put his phone to his ear. After a moment, his smile fell and his gaze narrowed. “She’s not answering.”

The team exchanged a look. You always took Bucky’s calls. Always.

“Right. That’s enough of that.” Tony clapped his hands together. “Jarvis, trace Y/N’s cellphone. Get me a location.”

“At once, sir.” There was a pause. “Miss Y/L/N’s phone is in her office.”

Tony’s head jerked up. “I thought you said she wasn’t in the tower.” It had been the first thing he’d tried when she wouldn’t answer his calls.

“That is correct. She is not, but her phone is,” came the crisp, accented response.

“Shit,” Nat said after a moment’s pause, echoing Tony’s thoughts exactly.

***

You woke suddenly, with a gasp. After a moment’s confusion, it all swarmed back to you. You lifted your head to find you were in a chair in the middle of an otherwise empty room. One bare bulb hung above you to illuminate the room. It was almost as if someone had watched a lot of bad action movies and took notes on the stereotypical room to hold a kidnapping victim.

Your hands were tied behind the chair which made your shoulders ache. Once you realized you weren’t restrained in any other way, you frowned. Something seemed off about this whole thing. It screamed amateur, unprofessional, and given the plethora of enemies the Avengers had that was bizarre to say the least.

Of course, being kidnapped was odd in and of itself. At the thought you wondered how long you’d been out and if anyone was missing you yet. It shouldn’t take long for Tony to track you once he realized what had happened. After all, he could just have Jarvis trace your phone…which you left on your desk in the tower before you stormed out with nothing like a complete and utter dumbass. Son of a bitch.

Would it kill the universe to make things simple for once? You huffed out a sigh. Tony would still find you. It would just take longer, that’s all. Voices drifted to you from the hall, interrupting your internal pep talk. Your gaze darted to the door and your heart pounded as you waited to see who came through it.

***

Tony stood in front of the large screen in the living room. He chewed on the end of his thumb while he waited for Jarvis to finish his search. The AI was scanning through surveillance footage from a radius around the tower looking for any sign of what had happened to you.

“Anything?” Steve asked as he walked back into the room. He’d put on his suit, just in case they needed to go after you.

Tony glanced at him before shaking his head. “Not yet. You do realize she could just be sitting in a diner somewhere having coffee and pie, right?” He knew that scenario was unlikely, but he wasn’t going to panic until he had to. That wouldn’t do him, or you, any good.

“I believe I have ascertained what happened to Miss Y/L/N,” Jarvis’s voice suddenly interrupted.

“Show me,” Tony ordered at once, his attention now fully riveted to the screen in front of him. He was only vaguely aware of the rest of the team crowding around him. Jarvis had pieced together a video of you leaving the café and heading back to the tower.

Tony’s eyes stayed on your form as a man passed too close heading in the opposite direction and you frowned down at your arm. They followed you as another man stepped up beside you and draped an arm over your shoulders to steer you to gray sedan parked on the side of the road. His stomach flipped as he watched them put you in the back seat and drive off with you.

“See if you can get a locate on that car, Jarvis,” Steve barked.

“At once, Captain.”

Tony just kept staring at the screen, his mind playing over what happened as he formulated and discarded plans. He kept shifting his weight as he thought. Annoyance crawled under his skin and it took him longer than it should have to realize he was picking that up from you. The corner of his mouth kicked up in a small grin. Leave it to you to be frustrated instead of terrified when you get kidnapped. That’s his girl.

***

The person revealed when the door open was honestly one of the last people you had expected to see. He smiled at you, flashing too perfect white teeth as he pushed his glasses up with one finger. “Hello, Y/N.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

None other than Justin Hammer stood before you, hands shoved into the pockets of his poorly fitted suit. He had spent his professional life trying to be Tony Stark and always fell short in every aspect. He was an asshole, but you hadn’t thought him a complete idiot until today.

He frowned at you. “That language isn’t necessary, I assure you. I merely have a few questions. Answer them and you can get back to Tony.”

“Has it occurred to you that my soulmate is going to go full Iron Man on your ass once he finds out what happened?” Perhaps it was stupid to bring it up, but you were beyond annoyed to full on pissed by now. And the longer he stood there with that smug look on his face, the angrier you got. “Or that the rest of the Avengers will help him?”

He chuckled. “I assure you that I am not a complete idiot, Y/N. All probabilities have been considered and accounted for. I have another little drug that will ensure you remember none of this.”

You sighed. “What do you want, Hammer?”

“Stark is working on new tech. I want to know everything about it and you’re going to tell me.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

You blinked at him. He was quite possibly the least threatening looking interrogator ever. “No.”

His lips pulled down as his frown deepened. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“What has you confused—the lines or the circles?” You worked your hands behind your back as you talked to him, hoping he’d be too inept to notice you trying to loosen the ropes. So far, so good.

He started to pace the small room. “What is your problem? Why won’t you just cooperate? The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can go home. You might even make Tony’s little party.”

You snorted. “Little, my ass. There is nothing little about Tony Stark.”

He paused his pacing and scowled at you. “Did you just imply…” he trailed off.

Your brows shot up. “I didn’t imply anything, Hammer. Though I hear your name doesn’t really suit.”

His face reddened as his brow furrowed. “Where…where did you hear that?”

One side of your mouth kicked up in a smirk that rivaled Tony’s best any day. “That wasn’t a denial.”

He closed the distance between you and braced his hands on the arms of the chair to lean into you. “Damn it, Y/N. Do you think this is some sort of joke? Tell me what I want to know.”

You licked your lips to keep from telling him that he was a joke. “What makes you think I know anything about Tony’s work? I may know his schedule backward and forward, but as for what he’s actually working on in the lab, I have no idea.”

He smacked his palms against the arms. “That’s a lie. He tells you everything.”

“Says who?” Your gaze narrowed in suspicion. He didn’t just suddenly decide to kidnap you. Someone was behind this and you had a feeling that you knew precisely who.

He cleared his throat as he straightened and stepped away from you. “No one had to tell me anything. You’re his soulmate. It only makes sense that you would know what he was up to.”

“Hmmm.” You didn’t buy it, but what difference did it make really?

“Now, are you going to tell me what I want to know or not?”

“Let’s go with not.”

He sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.” Hammer opened the door and gestured to someone in the hallway. A man you had never seen before stepped into the room. His broad shoulders were enough to have you gulping nervously. One of Hammer’s hired thugs, no doubt. He gestured in your direction. “She won’t talk.”

The man nodded and stepped forward. He looked you over briefly before backhanding you across the cheek. Pain flared through you, vibrant and sharp, a wave of fury traveling in its wake.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark soulmate #soulmate au #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x you #avengers #avengers fanfiction #series #battle scars

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our-smooty · 5 years

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After All This Time You’re Still Here

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley

Tags: Kirst Kiss, Stargazing, Aziraphale is a Mess

Summary: Aziraphale wanted to kiss Crowley. And God did it feel good to finally admit that. Now he just had to figure out how to do it.

Aziraphale wanted to kiss Crowley. And God did it feel good to finally admit that. Now he just had to figure out how to do it.

It had to be perfect, of course. Crowley deserved perfection, and the angel wanted to give it to him. But Aziraphale, for all his gentlemen's clubs and romantic literature, was not particularly skilled in the art of seduction or kissing. Oh sure he knew the basics, and he wasn’t an amateur, but that didn’t seem like enough. Everything had to be precisely right. And so he began planning.

His initial plan was to do it at St. James’ Park, after they had a lovely dinner at the Ritz but before they went back to the bookshop for a nightcap. But halfway through the dessert course, he realized that this was the antithesis of special or perfect. They had been on thousands, if not tens of thousands of dinners, and nearly as many riversides walk. They had definitely gotten drunk together more times than either. No, he had to think of something better. Something that suited the warm, fluttering feeling he got in his chest when he looked at Crowley.

Museum trips, long car rides, even one well-intentioned but poorly executed trip to the mall in which Crowley caused a stamped at the Apple Store. Every single time Aziraphale tried to plan the Big Moment, he backed out at the last second because he thought he could do it better. Crowley hadn’t seemed to notice anything yet, but the angel knew he would eventually. He was running out of time. So this next attempt had to be The One.

Luckily the stars had aligned (both metaphorically and physically) and presented him with the perfect opportunity. Southern England was due for some fortuitously clear weather just in time for what was promising to be a rare and spectacular astrological event. Crowley loved the stars, even if he tried to pretend he didn’t whenever they had the pleasure of getting outside the city together. Add in a few special touches and it would be the perfect way to finally kiss the demon.

He made sure to ask Crowley to meet him at the bookshop on The Night and to have everything prepared beforehand and tucked away in a picnic basket so Crowley couldn’t see. As expected, the demon was right on time, waltzing through the doors with characteristic dramatic flair.

“Another picnic angel?” he asked, flopping himself down into an armchair while Aziraphale fussed about with closing the shop. If he really wanted to he could simply snap his fingers and everything would be settled, but he always was one to do things the proper way as much as he could.

“Sort of, you’ll see when we get there. You did drive the Bentley over like I asked, didn’t you?” Aziraphale hefted the basket up by the handle and stood, taking a last look around to make sure he had everything. “It would be much too far for us to walk I’m afraid.”

“Of course I did.” Aziraphale smiled and offered his free arm for Crowley to take, which he did after only a moment of hesitation.

“Jolly good then. We should get going then, wouldn’t want to miss the show.” Crowley raised an eyebrow but made no arguments, which was expected. In all of his long memory, Aziraphale could not remember a time when Crowley turned him down for one fo their meetings, so he didn’t even consider the option it might happen.

The drive to Aziraphale’s personally picked location was quiet outside of the soft crooning of Freddie Mercury and the occasional murmured directions. Once Crowley broke the silence to ask if Aziraphale knew where he was going, only to follow the angel’s directions to the letter without getting a solid answer. Luckily he had chosen a location that wasn’t too far out, just far enough to escape the sky-bleaching light of the city. They arrived within the hour, partially due to Crowley’s insane driving, to the large empty field he had picked.

“Uh, are you sure this is right? Kind of a strange place to be setting up in the middle of the night,” Crowley said, peering out the windscreen at the rather blank landscape. The field had been left to its natural state, which was beautiful all the same. It was covered in wildflowers and patches of tall billowing grass all draped in the moonlight. Aziraphale, who may have spent a few nights over the past week standing in similar fields, felt that this one had something special. He felt his stomach swoop as he looked it over. It had to go well this time.

“Yes well, I do have a few things that will make us more comfortable, though it’ll take a miracle to get them here form the bookshop,” Aziraphale explained with a slightly sheepish look. He hadn’t been able to figure out a better way to get the telescope and seating to the field without Crowley seeing.

“If you say so angel, lead the way.” Crowley got out of the car and Aziraphale followed, fiddling around with the basket before offering Crowley his hand this time. The demon hesitated again, those golden eyes peering over the top of his sunglasses before tentatively pressing his palm to Aziraphale’s. To his credit, Aziraphale only blushed a little, and it was mostly covered by the darkness.

He led them further into the field, far enough away from the road that they wouldn’t be interrupted by any cars (not that there would be any, with a little angelic intervention), to a clear area. The hand he held the basket with was shaking with anticipation and anxiety. The telescope, table, and chairs were already placed, Aziraphale having expected them to arrive just before the clearing came into view. He set the picnic basket down on the table and began to unpack; there was a thermos of tea still piping hot, biscuits, and a lovely Dom Pérignon hidden in the very bottom.

“Stargazing?” Crowley asked, doing a circle to take in the entire area. “We drove all that way outside London for stargazing?”

“Oh, be quiet. I know you adore it, Crowley. You’re very obvious dear,” Aziraphale laughed, pouring out the tea into two cups and handing his partner the one. Crowley took it with a put-out look, sipping dramatically.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Normally Aziraphale would roll his eyes, but he was trying to make this the most memorable night of their lives, so he abstained.

“Biscuit?” the angel offered, taking on himself and nibbling the corner. Crowley held a hand up in refusal and turned to the telescope, eyebrow raised.

“S’a powerful one, isn’t it? Where’d you get this?” He ran a finger down the body and around where the lens sat.

Aziraphale looked pleased as punch, happy that Crowley was showing some interest. “The internet, my dear. The loveliest attendant at the library helps me purchase it from some website called Rainforest?”

“Amazon,” Crowley corrected absentmindedly, setting his tea aside to get both hands on the telescope.

“Yes, that’s the one! I do so struggle with all these new internet companies. Anyway, the information online promised it was one of the best options for viewing this particular event.” Aziraphale set his tea aside as well and joined Crowley. “In fact, I do believe it should be starting soon if you’d like to take a look.”

He turned the eyepiece towards the demon and gestured for him to lean down. Crowley rolled his eyes but again, did as the angel instructed. With a precision that someone who never used a telescope before would not have, Crowley focused on the sky. Aziraphale, rather than looking up, studied Crowley’s face, waiting for the moment when he’d see it.

“Oh!” Crowley blurted, suddenly leaning in fully with interest. “Is that…?”

“I do believe it is, dearest,” Aziraphale murmured, tracing Crowley’s delighted expression with his eyes. It was rare that Crowley smiled his real smile, the one that wrinkled his cheeks and highlighted the sharpness of his face in a dashing way. Aziraphale had seen it only a handful of times over the millennia and could remember each one. “I was hoping we could enjoy it together. And maybe, when it’s over you could show me a few of your… well the ones you had a hand in making.”

Crowley studied the meteor shower quietly, oohing and awwing occasionally before stepping back. “You have to look, angel, the view is amazing.”

Aziraphale nodded, taking one last long look at Crowley before peering through the lens. The view truly was spectacular; he was able to see the intricate, swirling trail the hurtling debris left behind. But he was more focused on what he could see out of the corner of his eye; Crowley, gazing up with his sunglasses pushed up into his hair. The moonlight made his golden eyes glow with a cool fire, so unlike their usual hot blaze. Aziraphale straightened back up, knowing that it was now, or never.

“Crowley?” he began, wringing his hands nervously. The demon hummed in response, not turning away from the night sky. “There is something, I wish to do--o-or to speak with you about.”

That did get Crowley’s attention. He turned that glittering gaze on Aziraphale and the angel felt his heart stop--literally. “You can talk to me about anything angel.”

“I know, love,” Aziraphale murmured, taking a step closer. He saw the way Crowley’s mouth twitched at the pet name. Was that a smile or a frown? Once again he felt the extream desire to back out of his whole plan, but he had to keep it under control. He needed to do this. “It’s been some months since The Big One, and I’ve been thinking… There is something I’d very much like to try with you.”

“Anything,” Crowley said, glancing down at the space between them. Aziraphale nearly sent thanks to the heavens for the way the demon’s eyelashes brushed against his cheeks. “I’d do anything you want me to Aziraphale. Just say the word.”

How had he managed 6000 years without the taste of Crowley on his lips? How could he last another minute? “It’s more something I’d like to do to you?”

Crowley didn’t say anything, but Aziraphale knew what the answer would be and that gave him courage. “I wanted this to be perfect. To try and make up for, well, you going so slowly for me all these years.”

The demon made a tiny sound like he wanted to speak but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, he raised a hand, reaching out but not quite touching. The actual act of closing the gap would be up to the angel. Aziraphale promptly did so, clasping Crowley’s hand in his then reaching the other up to cup his jaw.

“I want to kiss you, darling. I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, and now I’m able to but I wanted it to be perfect.” His voice was shaking but Aziraphale was a longstanding champion of the Brittish “stiff upper lip”.

Crowley made another noise, this one like a choked sob. He could only nod his head and grip the angel’s hand tighter. Aziraphale took one last second to memorize the way Crowley looked in this moment, all starlight and love, then leaned in to press their lips together.

A long second or pure weightlessness, and then Aziraphale felt himself falling. Not Falling, falling, but diving endlessly into Crowley Crowley Crowley. All he could taste was Crowley and the tea he’d had and something like warmth. The press of his body was fresh apples and electric shocks. It was like Crowley was his other half and they were finally, finally coming together after an eternity apart. It felt like coming home.

“Aziraphale--” Crowley gasped into his mouth, shuddery and unsure. Aziraphale felt like the meteors above, burning up and leaving something beautiful in their wake. “Aziraphale I--”

“Crowley, my dearest Crowley,” he answered, kissing Crowley’s nose, his cheeks, his eyelids, light as feathers. “I don’t know how I’ve lived without you all these years.”

“You’ve had me, angel. Always,” Crowley said fervently. He cradled his arms around Azirapahel’s shoulder and hip, keeping them as close as possible. He was looking the angel in the eye now.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner,” Aziraphale breathed, regret dripping from each word. “I had to--I wanted it to be exactly right and every time I tried I would think it wasn’t good enough for you.”

The laugh that rattled out of Crowley’s throat was wet. “You could have kissed me in the bathroom of that ridiculous bar we went to a few weeks ago and it would have been perfect, angel.”

“I think I know that now. I’m so sorry Crowley.” He would apologize forever if the demon needed to hear it. It was the least he could do to make up for pushing him away time and time again.

“It’s OK. Or well, it’s going to be if you keep kissing me like that,” Crowley joked, but Aziraphale knew there would be another time, maybe many times where he’d feel the need to apologize again.

For now, though, he’d settle for whatever made Crowley the happiest at that moment. “Of course, my dear. Though I would still like it if you would show me your favourite stars.”

“My favourite stars are right here angel,” Crowley said, tracing his fingers over Aziraphale’s eyelids. With another vibrant blush, Aziraphale pressed another short kiss to his beloved’s lips.

“Your second and third favourite, then?” He cast a hand towards the telescope and picnic set up. “I have champagne.”

Crowley took a deep--only slightly shaky--breath. “Dom Pérignon?”

“Of course, I know it’s one of your favourites.”

“Well then, I could be tempted to show you a few of the stars I had a hand in creating. And there’s a certain nebula that we should be able to see from here, it’s the most beautiful shade of blue…”

“That sounds perfect. Why don’t you sort that out and I’ll get us a glass each.” Neither of them made any move to let go of the other. In fact, Crowley may have tightened his grip on the angel. Aziraphale threaded a hand through his lover’s hair and pulled Crowley impossibly closer, tucking his head under his neck. It let him indulge in the smell of the demon’s hair, that spice and mischief smell he’d come to covet so much on the rare occasions they were closer enough for him to get a whiff. He could experience this whenever he wanted now.

“I love you,” Crowley hissed, lips kissing against Aziraphale’s neck and making him twitch. “Love you do damn much Aziraphale, more than anything.”

“My love, my dearest, my light,” Aziraphale said each name like a promise, like a prayer. “My Crowley, I have loved you with the power of a hundred lives since I can remember.” His eyes were wet but he didn’t want to remove his hands from the other being to brush the tears away. There was a suspicious dampness near his collar that signalled that Crowley was having the same predicament. “Perhaps I should have brought a different type of seating.”

Instantly the setee from the bookshop back room appeared in the cleared space. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow that Crowley wasn’t able to see, but led them towards it all the same. They collapsed into the familiar upholstery with Crowley curled up on a sprawling Aziraphale’s lap, his slinky limbs folding in seemingly impossible ways. The champagne was miraculously open and within Aziraphale’s reach, the same with the glasses.

“Well I suppose the stars will still be there in an hour or two,” he admitted, carefully pouring two glasses and holding one out to Crowley. The demon took it, though he was forced to extract himself from Aziraphale’s neck to do so.

“We have all the time in the universe now angel. I could take you to every star and show you them close up if you wanted.”

Aziraphale shook his head softly. “That won’t be necessary, dear. I would much rather stay here with you if that’s alright.”

Crowley shifted so he could sip his drink. “But maybe someday? I would… I’d like to show you them. The things I made…”

“Of course, if that’s what you want. I want to see anything you want to show me.” He drank a little as well, savouring the way the bubbles popped on his tongue. He wondered how it would taste on Crowley’s tongue, so he kissed him again.

Crowley opened eagerly like Aziraphale was offering him water after he’d been stranded in the desert. The champagne sparkled along his lips and teeth, a taste Aziraphale couldn’t get enough of, though it may have been the taste of Crowley that made it better. Those lips that hissed and cursed and spat were undeniably soft against the angel’s, more so than any pillowy dessert ever created.

“Angel--” And Aziraphale didn’t need to hear anymore because he just knew what Crowley needed. He smoothed a hand through fiery hair, soothing, grounding, whispering softly.

“My dear, my best and brightest star, my world,” he repeated them over and over, uttering every endearment he’d held back over the years. Like a precious gift, he gave them all to Crowley now that he could. The fear he’d felt before, over everything being perfect was less because he was beginning to see that Crowley felt Aziraphale was just as perfect as Aziraphale considered Crowley. And it would be unfair, to cast the demon’s opinions aside again.

That went on for a very long time, long enough that the angel was beginning to suspect Crowley had drifted off. Just as he was about the check--and to make sure the glass of champagne held loosely in the demon’s hand did not end up in their laps--Crowley stirred, looking up at him with slitted eyes.

“So all those other times you took me out, those were you trying to do this?” he asked before finishing his glass and tossing it into the grass. Aziraphale noticed that the demon had also toed off his shoes and was busy tucking his socked feet under his calves.

“Yes. I very nearly did it a number of times, but I feel like they were really all leading up to this. Don’t you agree?” Though he wished he’d been able to kiss his love sooner, this really had been the perfect moment. And he hoped it could continue to be perfect until they were ready to leave.

Crowly shrugged, then nodded. “No, I guess I know what you mean. I just wish…”

“I know, me too. But from here one we can--”

“Together, I know.” It was nice, the closeness, the safety of knowing that Crowley knew him as well as he knew himself. But he wouldn’t punish himself over the time they had lost. It would be more productive, for both of them, if he focused on making the time they would have moving forward to best it could be. It was the least he could do, after keeping Crowley waiting for so long.

#good omens #gomens #aziraphale/crowley #ineffable husbands #fanfic

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sweet-taiyaki · 4 years

Text

Sin City Sour

Warning: Some violence, sexual themes, angst, gun violence, language

I was celebrating how I managed to smuggle in illegal drugs with my team. All of a sudden, I was approached by these men, that were armed. “Get dressed, we have to take a ride. The boss wants to meet you.” Oh, how romantic. Nothing like being blindfolded by a bag, hands zip tied, and legs strung together by rope. Unfortunately, I’m in this situation more than you think. Don’t tell the bad guys, but I’m actually a CIA agent undercover. My real name is Vincent Hawthorne and today I’m playing the part of Benito Salazar, a member of a Spanish cartel shipping an illegal drug to the States. I basically feel like an infamous citizen at this point by all the missions I’ve done. I barely even know who I am anymore.

The men tie me to a chair and remove the bag from my head. I can see my gun, my burner phone, and my speedo. There were two men on each side of me with AK-47s. They seem poorly built though. “The boss” comes out of the shadows and starts laughing. “Out of all the idiots in the world, this is the top Spanish cartel leader? ¿Cuál es tu propósito? (What is your purpose),” he asked. I stood silent. This guy seems like an amateur leader that just wants to move up in the cartel hierarchy. My job is to prevent that from happening. “Mi equipo no puede ser derrotado. Decidimos matar a cualquiera que se estorbo. (My team cannot be defeated. We decided to kill people that get in the way),” I said confidently. My Spanish is okay, well actually all the languages I’ve learned are okay. I just basically know the gist of killing people and it seems to work. His guys grip their guns. They seem pretty intimidated, or angry. I see my phone go off, Costa was the name of the contact. The boss looks at my phone. “Yo no respondería (I wouldn’t answer that),” I said. The boss answers it anyway. The first bombs go off as warnings. “Puta madre!” I bust out of the zip ties and run as I get shot at, but then I set off the second set of bombs that blow up the place. I jump into a properly timed CIA squad car as I peel away the prosthetics and got away before they could escape the building.

“Nice to see you again,” said Ivy. “Just because you are a princess that can’t break a nail, it would have been nice to have some back up,” I said to her as she rolled her eyes. Ivy was an undercover agent, but then she moved up to the head of Intelligence and Foreign Affairs, so now she’s my boss. “I’d love to sit and chat, Vince, but I have another assignment for you.” Spoiler alert, Ivy and I had a small fling when we were on an assignment together, and I think she still has feelings for me, but reading a woman is so hard. “Do you overwork me because you hate me, or you actually give a shit about these citizens? To be fair, I haven’t been called Vince in over 5 years by the amount of undercover work I’ve done.” “I put you on because you’re the best at it,” she said, “At the end of the day, you give a shit about saving the people in the end because you created a relationship with them.” Great. So, now I’m a superhero that comes and goes for people because they ask for help.

Ivy drops me off at my apartment. “See you at 7 am,” she says and drives off. I live in New York. I sleep in this crappy apartment, but the view at night overlooks the Brooklyn Bridge. You would think I’d date, but I can’t by working all over the world from bad guys.

I woke up at 6 am, showered, and stared at myself in the mirror. I almost didn’t recognize myself. The Spanish cartel mission lasted a year and I had my tattoos covered. I had a black wig, but my hair is brown. My nose and jaw were made of prosthetics and I wore brown contacts when my eyes were blue. I almost cried, but I got ready for work to meet the HBIC.

I sat down in a chair, drinking my coffee, then I was approached by this intern that seemed to be starstruck by me. This kid was almost on the verge of hyperventilating. “You’re Vince Hawthorne! I’ve heard so much about you and your work,” he said. I felt like I should play with the kid. “No, no, sir. My name is Fabio. Parli italiano,” I said. The kid seemed in shock. “Oh, I’m sorry, Fabio. I thought you were someone I read about.” Ivy stood up in front of the podium.

“Good morning, everybody. I’m sure you may have heard that the Spanish cartel has been shut down and have been taken into custody. However, we have another mission, and it’s gonna be a little different. This one will only last a month at the latest. Our citizen’s name is twenty-three-year-old, Hayley Fay. She also goes by the name of ‘Rosé’ since she strips on the side without her parents knowing. Fay lives in Las Vegas. She met a client that was acting creepy, bouncers kicked him out, found out he was one of the hitmen to kill her. The mission is to save her from harm and put an end to her creep stalker. Mr. Hawthorne will be with the citizen to keep her safe and I will organize a team to assist him in Vegas in 48 hours. Thank you.”

All the men approach me so they can go to Vegas with me. I immediately find Ivy. “Ma’am, with all due respect, please pick the right people with me. I don’t want these low life, creepy middle aged men working along side me.” She stopped in her tracks, “You really believe that I would do that to those girls, no way. I’m organizing a team strategically. You’ll find the results on your flight. Here’s your identity.” She hands me my passport and state id. Ryan Sparrow is my new name. “Thanks, I appreciate that you put in my love of Johnny Depp in there.” She smiled then said quietly “Captain” as she walked away.

I get on the plane and found out that I’m with the intern. I mean, he was younger than me, but I think the kid is 21. Of course, he sat next to me. “Vince—” “The name is Ryan. Nice to meet you kind sir.” I grabbed his hand and pull his ear to my face. “I realize that this is your first gig, but we are undercover. You reveal my identity, you die.” He was scared and intimidated. We lift off into the air and I took a nap. I woke up and the kid was still a deer in headlights. I roll my eyes, but I knew I had to do something. “Hey, kid. I’m sorry. I’m just in the mode and I don’t want any of us to get hurt.” He nodded and started to realize that this is the real deal and that people could die if he didn’t keep his mouth shut.

We land in Vegas and check in to the Cosmopolitan. My team consisted of 6 guys, we decided to take a bachelor party approach. Jake, the groom; Chase, the best man; Hunter, the little brother of groom; Dylan, childhood friend of groom; Tyler, the kid and coworker; and myself, friend of groom. We got to our rooms and we had the view of the Bellagio Fountains. “Boss, did good,” Chase said. I get a call from Ivy. “Well well well, does this remind you of when we were in Paris,” I smirked. “Enough, Vince. I have cars for everyone that is in the garage. You’ll find the keys in your room. Everything you need for the mission should be in the car. I’ll be on the first flight there if anything goes wrong.” She hung up and we made our way down to the garage to find Mustangs in different colors. The guys got all excited, but these are nothing compared to Lamborghinis. We found burner phones to keep in contact, some pistols fully loaded, earpieces, beer and liquor, and some essentials. Ivy even gifted each of us a designer suit for the occasion.

Unfortunately, I’m the only one in the group that has been to Vegas, so the guys don’t really understand the lifestyle. Tonight, we plan to let loose, so they know the ins and outs of Vegas. Hopefully, they will remember it all. We pregame with shots of liquor, then hit the strip. The guys were in awe how women would just flirt with them. I got a table at a club, which is instantly a chick magnet. The guys picked a girl to flirt with and I went to the bar. “A Boston Sour, please.” The bartender seemed surprised. “Any preference on bourbon,” she asked. “Whatever you like,” I said confidently. She smiled and made the cocktail. “It’s nice to make something that isn’t White Claw or a vodka lemonade,” she said. “Now I know what to order next.” She laughed and served another guest. I do some surveillance of the club. There seems to be a good amount of security around the club, but then I found out that there was a table across the club that had men in suits that didn’t want any women at their table unless they stepped on the dancefloor. I looked away before they could notice me. The group of men left the club. I told the team that I would follow them through the earpiece.

At this point, I sobered up and was in the mission. I followed the group of men to a strip club, which happened to be Harley’s workplace. They went inside, but I decided to take a detour by going around to the back door. Fortunately, I found Hayley before her shift started. She worked the graveyard shift, midnight to 6 am. Hayley and the dancers looked over to me. “Ms. Rosé,” I said. “Out of all the girls, you pick Rosé,” a woman said as if she was insulted. “May I have a word? Just a few seconds, no favors or anything. I just want to talk,” I offered my hand. She took it, but she was kinda nervous. I pulled her out to the alleyway. “I don’t have much time to explain, but my name is Ryan Sparrow. There is a group of gentlemen that are here to kidnap and kill you.” She immediately got scared. “How do I know that you’re not one of them,” she panicked. “I like to think of myself as the ‘superhero’ character. Usually people don’t say that they will kill you. They just do. I’m hired to protect you. Do you trust me?” Hayley looked me and she nodded. I stuck her in my car and drove off.

The last few guys from the group of men saw that I took Hayley. “Ah, shit,” I said. The men got into their SUV and chased me. Of course, they were armed. I knew my gut was right about these group of guys. I tried calling my team to help me out, but the car kept shooting at me. No one answered. I tried to lose them by going through some alleyways and difficult turns, but they didn’t seem to lose their speed. I released some small bombs to pop the tires, but not injure the people around the car. It worked and all four tires were popped. It created a small explosion, but not enough to kill them. The guys continued to shoot at my car, but I ended up losing them, for now.

I got Hayley back to the hotel. She looked around to see all the technology I had set up. She looked at me and started laughing. “So, you must really be my superhero,” she said in a flirtatious way. “Kind of. I like my job and saving lives. I just want to make the world a happier place.” Hayley leaned into me. “Well, you came to the right place. How can I be of service for you?” She stuck her fingers in my pants and ran them across my waistline and crotch. “Hayley,” I said. She stopped and looked at me in shock. “No one calls me Hayley, but my parents. Did they send you to look over me?” She started getting angry. “No, I told you that I’m here to save you. I’ve never met your parents. My job is to get rid of the bad guys so you can be safe,” I said, pretty much like a father. Dammit. “At least your parents are alive. Mine were killed in front of me and I couldn’t react because it would have blown my cover and true identity. After years of being undercover, I don’t even know who I am. I became this robot to save people because I give a shit about justice and doing the right thing. It fucking sucks that I see people die and I can’t have any emotion when all I want to do is bury myself and cry. But I wasn’t put on this Earth to cry. I knew that I wanted to help people.”

I can’t believe I just confessed that, but I knew that it would reel her in and trust me. “I never said that to anyone, and I don’t want to lose you. So please, stay with me and I’ll keep you safe here and get rid of these men out to get you.” I got up as she looked at me and I looked back to her. “You’re gonna kill them,” she asked. I chuckled. “It’s either them or you, and it won’t be you.” She got up, kissed me passionately, and wished me luck as I left the hotel room, which was kinda unexpected.

It’s around 3 am. I get down to the lobby and I found my team completely wasted. I tried to keep my head down, but they recognized me. “Hey man!” They all shouted. I grabbed everyone by the bathroom. “Guys, seriously. Don’t enter my room, the citizen is in there. She’s quite scared so please just act professional.” The intern looked at me and knew that I was serious. “Don’t worry, Ryan. I’ll make sure no one goes in your room.” I gave him a pat on the shoulder and it looked like he was gonna cry. I moved them away and continued my mission to find the group of men.

Surprisingly, I was walking through the Circus Circus casino and saw one of the guys. I stayed hidden, but followed him to the hotel room, assuming the boss would be there. I knocked out the guy I followed after he got to his floor, out of the camera view. There were two big guys chatting outside a room with double doors. A group of girls came to the floor and saw the guy I knocked out in front of them. “Sorry, my friend can’t hang,” I said. The girls laughed and I smiled and winked at one of them. They were going towards the room with the double doors. I follow them and was stopped by the two guys. They closed the door. “No men allowed, turn the other way, pretty boy.” I knocked them out and snuck my way into the room. There was a party going on with a DJ, liquor bottles everywhere and another guarded door.

The guards see me and I make my way to them. “You wouldn’t want to traumatize these women, by a blood bath, would you? Kill me in private, or even take me to your boss.” They patted me down, found my burner phone, and let me in. The boss was covered in girls. All of them were laughing, drunk. I closed the door behind me and the room went silent. “Ooooo he’s cute,” said one of the girls. The boss took out a gun and shot her. The other girls ran out in panic and the boss came up to me. “Pretty boy with the mustang, huh. You tried to save your whore,” he looked me up and down. “She is so beautiful, and out of all the women I’ve bought as my slave, I wanted her. She would have been a great showpiece in my collection.” I started to get angry, but I knew if I showed any emotion, it would blow my cover. “Actually, Mr. Barsotti, I’m a man like you. I cum in girls all day. And when I’m your age, I’m gonna be just like you, buried in women, wanting me. I’m inspired by you and thought that you could give me some tips. No hard feelings. I just want the best and I knew the girl I got was the best.” He laughed and patted my shoulders. “Atta boy, you could be my apprentice. Would you like to join the team?” I nodded and he gave me an M-15. “Do you know how to use it,” he asked me. I looked at it nervously. He pulled a gun to my head. “Well now you do, go out there and—”

I heard gunfire outside the room. I dropped the M-15 and punched Mr. Barsotti. He fell to the ground and his two bodyguards pointed their guns and me and started shooting. I took cover, but I knew they were coming closer. I escaped through the vent to the other room. I saw my team in the room. They killed the door guards and started to help the other women escape. I go back to the room with the bodyguards and fought them. One of them had a knife and managed to slash my right arm. Thankfully, I have even strength in both arms, but both of them were too strong. My face is covered in blood and they wouldn’t stop beating me until they knew I was dead. I could barely move and I knew this was probably the end. I saw them take their guns and point them at my face. I closed my eyes and I heard four guns shots.

“Ryan, Ryan” I heard faintly. I was outside the casino with police cars and an ambulance early in the morning. “Are the girls safe,” I said. “Yeah, they’re safe and Mr. Barsotti was taken into custody. We thought we lost you, man.” My arm was bandaged, and my face had some stiches, but I was okay. “I couldn’t have done it without you guys. Together we gave those women a future.” They all smiled at each other.

I decided to go back to the hotel to pack up and leave. I brought some coffee and a fruit cup for Hayley. I got in my room and she was sound asleep, knowing that she was safe. I woke her up, gave her breakfast. “You’re free, you are safe now. The boss was actually holding women hostage as his slaves and we saved them. So it’s like a double win.” She sighed in relief as she rolled out of bed. “Thank you, Ryan. Do you mind if I call you for all my stalkers? Oh my God, what happened to your arm,” she panicked. “I’m fine, I’ll escort you to your house, if that’s okay.” She nodded.

I took Hayley to her parent’s house. They hugged her as soon she opened the door. I walked back to my car when I heard a ‘wait’. “Please, may I call you,” Hayley asked me. I laughed, wrote on a piece of paper, and gave it to her. She opened it. “Seriously, 911?” I laughed and said, “I can’t always be there for you, unfortunately. I have more people to save. I hope it inspires you to save people.” She turned around to her parents and looked at me, “Thank you, Ryan.” She got back into her parent’s house. “It’s Vince,” I said softly. I drove off and left on the first flight back to New York.

I got back to work the following day. Ivy approached my team and congratulated them on their success defeating Mr. Barsotti and his cartel. “Hawthorne, see me in my office, please.” I sighed angrily. I was not ready to take on another mission. Thankfully, this last one was pretty short and sweet, but I felt another long mission ahead of me. She closed the door behind me and I let loose. “Ma’am, with all due respect, I am exhausted—” “Stop, that’s not what I called you in here.” I was confused, if it wasn’t about work, then what would I be in her office for? “Vince, you save lives, plenty of lives. And I know that what you’ve gone through is definitely not easy. I know you can’t save everybody, but you definitely make the world a better place by taking the bad people to justice. With that, I brought you in today to be yourself.” I laughed. “Be myself, what kind of advice is that?” She rolled her eyes and I know she was trying to be genuine. “We are giving you three months of paid time off. You deserve it after being my partner years ago to now. You are an incredible agent and this is my present to you so you can get back to your normal life.” I contemplated what she said and I know her intention was sincere and caring. “Thank you, Ivy.” We got up and hugged each other. “It’s good to have a friend like you,” I said as I left her office.

I celebrated with the team at a bar. We watched some sports, got a couple rounds of beers. This was me. It just felt right. I saw Ivy come into the bar with a guy and saw her join a group of their friends. I saw there was a ring on her finger, and they kissed. She looked at me and I raised my glass to her. She smiled. Dammit. I lost her.

#las vegas

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the-record-columns · 5 years

Text

Aug. 7, 2019: Columns

The irony of stamp values and

the visit from an old friend

While this doesn’t really relate to the column on this page, my visit from Carl Anderson, 88, clearly was the highlight of last week. I met Carl while working on the Mayflower apartment above The Record. He did an amazing amount of work, stripping old doors and furniture of multiple coats of paint, and then later, salvaging and restoring things from the horrible fire on E Street that destroyed our former offices in 2004. Carl has become a dear friend, whose visits are an absolute delight as we reminisce about folks we remember. This past Friday, his daughter, Carla, brought him by to see me, and I have no memory of an hour and a half passing that quickly. I am thankful to know and love this man, who truly has a heart of gold. Record photo by Ken Welborn

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

I am an amateur philatelist.

Now, before anyone thinks I need to begin a hearty round of penicillin to get over that malady, I hasten to point out that a philatelist is stamp collector; the word literally means “lover of stamps.”

Many years ago, as a young adult working for Paul Cashion at the then Top 40 radio station WWWC in Wilkesboro, he introduced me to the stamp collecting hobby. I also feel I should point out that, for 99.9 percent of us, stamp collecting is just that, a hobby, not an investment.

According to many sources, it has been the biggest hobby in the world since 1940, and, if for no other reason than that one, it is why I always emphasize that statement again; that it is a hobby, not an investment. Frankly put, anybody that wants a stamp probably has already got it, making the resale market thinner than a cheap suit. The folks who do invest in stamps, almost exclusively do so in stamps issued before 1940, and very carefully at that.

As an educational tool stamps are priceless. Just about anyone or anything that is significant in any way has been commemorated in a United States postage stamp, and, if not by the good ole U.S. of A., there are countless other countries that issue stamps as well.

One of my favorite examples of the learning value of stamps is the 13-cent stamp which commemorated the development of the “Pap Smear” or “Pap Test.” Of course I knew of the test which had saved countless lives by detecting cervical cancer, but I had no idea what a pap was and was afraid to ask. Turns out that the doctor who developed the test in the early 1940’s was named George Papanicolaou, hence the nickname “Pap Test.”

Another fun thing about the hobby is putting the right stamp on an envelope to fit the recipient. I always worked in an 8-cent Pharmacy stamp when writing to my friend Rick Brame at the Red Cross Pharmacy. Of course everything can backfire, and, after a friend of the second lovely Mrs. Welborn showed up pregnant with her second child before we had even sent a gift to the first one, I wallpapered the box the gift was shipped in with 4-cent Family Planning stamps.

Her friend did not think that was funny at all. Lesson learned.

Or was it?

In 1981, the Postal Service got a dose of what I got from the lady who had managed to get pregnant about an hour after she came home from the hospital with her new baby.

On Aug. 19, 1981, an 18-cent stamp was introduced which read: “Alcoholism You can beat it!” The idea was to promote the fact that alcoholism was indeed a disease and that there were many avenues available for treatment. It was a public education stamp, if you will. However, many of the folks who received letters with this particular stamp affixed took great offense, as if they were being singled out by the letter writer as an alcohol abuser. That word spread quickly and the stamp became an abysmal seller for the Post Office, and, after a time, thousands upon thousands were returned to headquarters, so to speak, and destroyed.

If I am not mistaken, the only stamp in the modern era that sold any more poorly than the “Alcoholism. You can beat it!” version was the 1995, 32-cent Richard Nixon stamp. The memories of Watergate and his resignation 20 years earlier were just too strong and, while I personally feel sorry for the man, not too many others did.

The absolute irony of these two stamps is the fact that because so many were returned and destroyed because of poor sales, this actually makes them a bit more valuable than most—simply because of this artificial scarcity. To put it in perspective, in 1981 the alcoholism stamp had a production run of 97,535,000 stamps; the Nixon one in 1995 was 80,000,000; but the Ronald Reagan stamp of 2005 had a run of 170,000,000. The Reagan stamp was unbelievably more popular than either of the other two, but today can actually be purchased cheaper by a new collector.

Now and then someone will stop in my office with an envelope or even a box full of full sheets of mint stamps that an uncle or parent had been buying up for 10 or 20 years. They always look at me like a man from Mars when I tell them that a generous offer is face value. At that point I get out my book of common stamps which features definitives and commemoratives back as far as 100 years.

After they ooh and aah over them for a while, I explain, usually to their great disbelief, that I use these to mail letters—because that is after all, actually what they were made for.

Millions upon millions at a time.

UNESCO - condemning Israel and rewriting history

By EARL COX and KATHLEEN COX

Special to The Record

As Israel continues to come under physical attack from Palestinians in Gaza, a desperate situation for those living in southern Israel which is not being reported here in the United States, Israel is also at war on another front in an effort to keep history accurate.

A favorite tactic of the Palestinian PR machine in their ongoing efforts to demonize and delegitimize Israel is the replacing of factual history with fake history. Working in conjunction with the greater Islamic world, the Palestinians are plotting a course to disconnect Jews, and by extension Christians, from the ancient city of Jerusalem and the entire land of Israel.

For more than fifteen years the United Nations has been assaulting Israel’s connection to Jerusalem by attempting to rewrite history replacing historical truths with outright lies despite tangible archaeological evidence supporting Israel’s position.

The fight for the truth should not be Israel’s fight alone. All who value freedom and democracy have an obligation to stand up against the diplomatic and public relations assaults being hurled at Israel and Jerusalem on an almost daily basis. Fake news and fake history must be challenged and corrected. The only force that will protect Jerusalem for all the world’s faiths is the modern State of Israel whose enemies throughout the ages have sought to forcibly erase all Jewish connection with the Holy City.

Three years ago the Palestinian Authority, backed by Arab states, succeeded in passing UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) resolutions that essentially denied any Jewish claims to the Temple Mount and Western Wall - two of the holiest sites in the Jewish faith. Throughout these and subsequent resolutions, Israel's Jewish holy sites were referred to by their Muslim names.

The UN’s disproportionate assault against the Jewish state undermines the institutional credibility of what is supposed to be an impartial international body. Politicization and selectivity harm its founding mission, eroding the UN Charter promise of equal treatment to all nations large and small.

It’s obvious that the UN is corrupted and manipulated by Israel’s enemies as it continually singles out the only Jewish state for condemnation continually bringing forth unbalanced or redundant resolutions against Israel. It is telling that not a single UN General Assembly resolution is planned for victims of gross human rights abusers such as Saudi Arabia, Burundi, Turkey, Venezuela, China, or Cuba. At a time when Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas and his state-controlled media continue to incite their people to stab and shoot Israeli Jews and riot on Israel’s southern border burning fields and crops, the UN’s inexplicable response is to reflexively condemn Israel while remaining mute on Palestinian abuses.

At the beginning of this year, both Israel and the United States pulled out of UNESCO. Israel's Prime Minister Netanyahu said, “We are not going to be a member of an organization that deliberately acts against us.”

Previously, the United States pulled out of UNESCO during the Reagan administration because it viewed the agency as mismanaged, corrupt and used to advance Soviet interests.

History does repeat itself. With the largest voting bloc in the UN comprised of Islamic countries, the deck is stacked against the only Jewish state in the world and the only democracy in the Middle East. UNESCO is again being used to advance an agenda and further Islamic interests.

Blackbeard and Goose Feathers

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

When traveling I find adventures far more exciting if you are open to new experiences. I have some friends who are satisfied with going to the same place all the time. The same hotels, the restaurants and the same shows. Year after year the same. No need for change. I have come to understand the comfort of the why however is still is not enough for me.

There are many places I enjoy return visits however I seem to be driven for the discovery of something new. I have the good fortune of necessity on my side as the telling of new stories dedicates that I visit new places and meet new people so that we can create new content to share.

I enjoy revisits to areas and adding new stories or updates to past stories. It’s a way for me to visit with friends I’ve made along the way and catch up on the progression of life. Often, we share those developments with our audience but not always. In this way we all get to know each other a bit better.

This week was coastal.

We visited Bath NC for the 300th Anniversary Festival of Blackbeard’s demise. It was a two-day affair starting on Friday in nearby Washington NC with trial. The focus was on the question of, did Virginias armed incursion and the Royal Navy have the right chase Blackbeard into Ocracoke capturing him and executing him. According to noted historian and author Kevin Duffus the answer is NO. According the jury the answer was NO, however the judge did not agree and the previous rulings of the crown was unchanged. To which “Long Live the King” echoed throughout the chamber.

Saturday was the big day in Historic Bath which was formed in 1705 and has the prestige of being the oldest town and oldest port in North Carolina. The streets were lined with vendors, many in period style, the enthused attendees were exited with all things Blackbeard. Our go to Blackbeard historian Kevin Duffus was the events primary organizer. There was a Blackbeard parade which boasts of having among other things the largest gathering of Blackbeard on Earth. The display and earth-shaking boom of the six-pounder cannon being fired along the banks of Bath Creek was an experience unlike any other in almost 300 years.

For the true Blackbeard traveling enthusiast the following week marked the annual gather of the Blackbeard Jamboree on Ocracoke Island. Another event that attracts attendees from near and far. So, if you are like me and you have interest in the history of Blackbeard and the quest for historic accuracy or something that resembles it anyway there is a place for us in the Carolinas.

It the midst of these Blackbeard adventures I had the opportunity to spend the night in Belhaven at the Bellport Inn B&B. Yvonne DeRuiz, the Inn Keeper, an abundance of stories of world travel and adventure. My night was spent in the Asia Room offers up wonderful collection of items acquired during Yvonne’s travels. The pillows on my bed were hand made by an 83 year on man in Budapest.

Yvonne told the story of the visit she had with her friend. They took the narrow steps leading down to his shop. When she told the master pillow-maker what she wanted he went to work. He grabbed a bolt of cloth, measured off the correct amount, cut and sewed. He then selected the feathers which he had previously hand sorted and in a short period of time the pillows were made. She witnessed the whole process and I had the honor of sleeping on those pillows. When I close my eyes and think about this story I see the man dressed in a suite with fine goose down feathers all about and with great pride he presents his handy craft to Yvonne and she now shares that feeling with guest from around the world who come to visit here in the little town of Belhaven.

On to the next adventure we go.

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