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nestasgalpal · 4 years

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The voyage of the smuggler [Emeriel]

Part 2

Summary: Rhysand has been killed by his enemies from Hewn City, and Feyre has died with him because of a secret pact between them no one knew about. Keir, Rhysan’s only male relative, has inherited the crown of the Night Court and the High Lord’s magic, and he is taking revenge on each and every member of Rhysand’s Inner Circle one by one. Azriel’s been taken, and Emerie has only one chance to save him before he is executed in two days.

A/N: To the people who thought the last chapter had a lot of angst... sorry in advance. This is a long one.

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Azriel

Azriel’s cell under Hewn City hadn’t existed a year ago, when he was still the Spymaster of the Night Court. The space had been built in record time just for him, and the spymaster couldn’t help but wonder if Keir had given an order to create a personal nightmare for each member or Rhysand’s Inner Circle, or if it was just for him. The light was blinding and came from the ceiling. Not even his body could cast a shadow on the marble floor because of how intense it was. It felt like an endless noon, with the sun right above and not a shadow to be seen. The cell’s walls were not average either. They were not made of raw stone or bricks, it was a flat rock surface without any breaks or divisions where a tiny shadow could grow. He was absolutely powerless there.

“Maybe this is life’s way to punish me for my crimes” he thought. The white floor was so smooth he could get a glimpse of his own reflection. It was not neat, but he could still tell that his black hair was long enough to almost cover his eyes.

That’s what gave him the idea.

Azriel knew for sure it had been less than a day since they shove him inside of the cubicle. His whole body was tense, eager to get out before he had the chance of discovering the variety of tortures Keir and his subjects had planned for him. To take revenge on him. Azriel had known a day might come in which he had to answer for all the pain he inflicted on others, and he had been ready to endure it. But now that his destiny was so close, he felt scared. He hadn’t thought he would feel that way when death lastly approached him, but he did. Because he had dreamed of his own life ending many nights, but in his reveries, Rhysand and Feyre were alive, Amren was alive, Mor and Cassian were safe, and Emerie was still a stranger who had recently befriended Nesta Archeron.

He realized with horror that he hadn’t dreamed about his final day coming since they met. Not once had the urge of punishing himself with self-inflicted nightmares come to him since Emerie forced herself into his life with her loud arrogance and big presence. He could only look forward, to what the next day by her side might bring.

The bright light of his cell didn’t allow him to sleep, so he didn’t even get the chance of trying to imagine her in the scenario. That was probably for the best. Azriel didn’t want her to see him when his life was taken from him, even if her face was the one thing he wished to see before his eyes were closed forever.

Azriel had always understood balance. He thived from it. His power was not darkness, like many people assumed, but the mastering of shadows; those that came from both obscurity and light. He was sure darkness would come into his cell sooner or later. They had built new spaces to torture them, sure, but the protocol of Hewn City’s prison was sill the same. He only had to wait and it would come to him.

“For how long?” he asked himself. They kept Amren there for a month, but Keir’s people would probably hold him for a longer time just to enjoy torturing him with no hurry.

Vengeance upon him, what Keir had wanted from the moment Rhysand sittted on the Night Court throne’s for the first time and declared him his enemy instead of making him his mentor. Azriel, a bastard born and a lesser faerie having a bigger role in the Court’s politics than he did. He was above Keir, who was of royal blood, and that couldn’t be forgiven. Nor all the humiliations that came next.

Azriel stood up and walked around his cell. There was nowhere to sit or lay, so he had to “go for a walk” pretty often to avoid his muscles becoming sore. It was tiring, and he thought it could help him get some sleep. His wings were tied, but no one touched them further. They didn’t dare. His name still had power in the Night Court, battle-hardened soldiers flinched at the sound of it. He had a reputation, and even the people who found an imprisoned him were wise enough to be scared of the tied up and unarmed Illyrian shadowsinger.

Besides, if he stayed on the floor, he would eventually get bored, and when that happened, his thoughts went straight back to Emerie. Every moment he didn’t spend scheming a way out of the prison was invested into regretting their last encounter.

After a lifetime of chasing the wrong love, he found her, and barely a year after, they were forced to part. He could have proposed to her, but instead, he was the one who suggested never binding themselves together.

“For your safety” he had said. And she had agreed.

At least, he knew it had been worth it, because she was safe and out of this big mess Rhysand and Feyre’s death had led them into.

The loud steps of a prison guard on the corridor took him out of his trance. Azriel noted he was having too much trouble unlocking the three latches. He pushed the thick door open only enough to come inside. The male was armed to the teeth and held a bucket in one hand.

“For you” he threw it on the ground before Azriel’s feet, but the Illyrian had his stare fixed somewhere else, on the guard’s eyes, covered in shadows cast by his hood.

Azriel didn’t even had to think about it, his own instinct commanded the power in his veins to come out, the darkness that was supposed to protect the male’s eyes from the bright light of the cell, becoming his death sentence. His shadows weren’t just the union of light and obscurity, but the absence of both. They were voids shaped like black snakes with a life of their own, and they were now corrupting the male’s yes, covering them, getting inside, feeding themselves with his flesh and absorbing his life into the nothingness they were.

He died before he had a chance to scream, and the shadowsinger was there to hold his body so he didn’t make any noise when falling down. Still, he was not gentle when he dropped him on the marble floor and run out of his cell.

As soon as he stepped out into the corridor, he realized why it had taken the guard so long to open the door. The absence of light after so many hours trapped in a cube of white shine made him go completely blind. His eyes simply couldn’t see anything, not even perceive the walls around him. Azriel had to use his hands to grope for the stone partitions that formed the passageway.

“Where am I?” he didn’t know. He thought he had an idea of where his confinement might be taking place, but he didn’t recognize the texture of the walls around him. He didn’t know what way to go, and he hadn’t expected that at all. He was the Spymaster, he had been for almost 300 years now, and he used to know the space under Hewn City they used as a prison as the palm of his hand. “Where am I?”

He had to think quickly, because his options were narrower than he anticipated. And he hadn’t thought he had that many to start with. Keir had put a lot of effort into making sure he was confined in the appropiate space, because he had been in a room too well illuminated to let him find his shadows in it, and now he found himself in a corridor too dark to get a glimpse of light. If he remained near to the door, he could still gather a few shadows and send them to explore the labyrinth, but they would only go so far before the darkness was too vast for them to thrive.

But he couldn’t stay there for long either, or some other guard might go check on him and find him sitting next to the dead body on the floor. He couldn’t just go now, or he would get lost too soon to be worth it.

He needed to find the way out.

Azriel recoiled a few steps and sent his shadows to explore the way ahead. He could sense what they saw... endless walls, cold floors, and if he took three turns right, he would find... Mor? No, not her, but a familiar warmth that reminded him of his friend.

“Could it be Keir?”, he wondered; they were family, after all. No, he never reminded him of her. Their auras were almost opposites. This wasn’t Mor, but it was a feeling of safety that guided him in the darkness. Azriel was disoriented, and maybe that’s why he decided to follow what would stink like a trap if he hadn’t been so desperate.

His shadows couldn’t go far enough to tell him what was it three turns to the right that called him so badly, but he put his hands to that side of the wall, and started walking, trusting it blindly.

Only when he finally saw the orb on the floor, its silver light illuminating the space enough for him to distinguish its round shape against the rest of the tunnel, he recognized the Veritas. Mor’s family treasure had once belonged to her father. Azriel himself stole it from him and gave it to Rhysand. The last time he had seen it, it had been used to negotiate with the Mortal Queens, before the war.

The shadowsinger knew it was a trap, a piece put there by Mor’s father to play mind games with him. If he had learned anything from his missions during the centuries, it was that one should never, under any circumstances, take Keir for granted. Rhysand had thought he would be able to keep him in line if he opened up Velaris, and Caldroun knew how that had worked out for him.

Yet, the magical object had an aura so strong he couldhear it calling his name.

“Azriel, Azriel, Azriel”. It was a familiar voice. Azriel touched the orb, and a vision of the past projected into his mind without giving him the chance of resisting.

They were in Emerie’s bedroom, the snowstorm outside so dangerous she had offered him to stay for the night. They had been seeing each other for half a year, but they had never spent the night in the same house before. That night they had sex, and she made dinner for both of them. At first he thought they had been lucky Nesta was with Cassian, or elsewhere it would be the three of them having dinner in silence. Then, he remembered they only met in there when Nesta wasn’t around, so it was not a coincidence at all.

Emerie didn’t like silence, but she also hated small talk, and getting into deep conversations made her uncomfortable -At least with him. At least for now-, so when they didn’t know what to say, she would start talking about her childhood and all the good memories she treasured of the time. He had been afraid it triggered him, or it made her uncomfortable if he told her about his own past, but it didn’t, and she found the right way to mix his experience into the conversation with that dark humour of hers he enjoyed so much.

“You whiny bitch” she had called him that night. He knew a fire-related joke was coming, and a smile was already forming on his lips. “Oh, my dad set me on fire” she mocked “That’s nothing, Az. My dad...” she made a pause and pinched the bridge of her nose in a dramatic gesture, like she was trying to overcome a wave of emotion. All faked. “... My dad gave me the worst haircut I have ever seen when I was 17 years old”.

Azriel held his smile and put a comforting hand on her shoulder “Em, I...” he pretended he had no words to ease her pain. She pushed him away.

“You what?” she fake-cried. There were no tears on her face, but if she could cry on command, it would have been the perfect charade “You feel me? No you don’t! I was 17, and I looked so bad not a single boy asked me out for a year. At 17, Az! That’s like the most important age for dating”.

He thought she was funny. He thought her effort to make it easy for him to talk about his childhood without throwing a pity party for him was endearing. And she always made sure she wasn’t overstepping and hurting his feelings. She had finally mastered the fire jokes, after getting bored of the not-knowing-how-to-fly ones. Those had been the first ones she came up with, because, ironically, she couldn’t fly either.

“Em, I don’t even know what to say. I can’t even start to imagine what you went through. I mean, I can’t even remember what I was doing at 17″ He made a dramatic pause too, but his weren’t as good “Oh, wait, I was getting laid every night. Yeah, that’s why I can’t really feel your pain, sorry". He held her hand in his. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, she said she liked his scarred hands better. He didn’t believe it, but took them off every time anyway. “Maybe you should try sharing this story with someone who is ugly. Maybe they’ll know what to say”

“I’m never cutting my kid’s hair” she said. She was smiling, and he was too.

“Yeah, I’m okay with that. And if they want to cut it, I can probably do it better than you, anyway” he answered.

The room went silent. They looked at each other, suddenly serious. Azriel panicked, realizing the implications of his words. When he didn’t know what to say, the shadowsinger stayed quiet, in fear he would add the wrong thing and make things worse. So it was Emerie who said:

“Well, if you want your kids and my kids to be the same kids, you’ll have to do something about your friends who hate me”. Her voice was firm, not nearly as loud as it had been moments ago. He nodded and silence reigned in the room again. “I’m serious, Azriel. I would like to have a life with you, but... I’m not doing it unless I know I’m going to be a priority”

It was fair. She had complained about his friend’s co-dependency before, and he knew sooner or later she would bring it up again and he would have to either break up with her, or grow some balls and talk to them.

Azriel had done a good amount of unforgivable things in his lifetime. He knew that, and he had never tried to make excuses for it. After all he had been through as a child, he genuinely had trouble sometimes telling where the line was. And knowing he had already crossed it once, he thought his soul would be cursed forever, no matter if he never did it again or if he did it a hundred times over. At least he was useful, and his family loved him regardless.

He thought no other female but Mor would be able to see his darkness and embrace it, and that was why he had been pining for her for so many years. He had thought Morrigan was the only chance of love he would ever have. It was either her or solitude. But Emerie saw him, everything he had done to others, and still loved him somehow. The only thing she asked of hin in return, was the certainty that she would never be harmed or neglected even if Rhysand asked him to hunt her down, which was fair. She had wanted to know that he would always put her first, and no matter what the High Lord from the Night Court commanded, she would never suffer by his hand.

“He would never ask that from me”

“Still”

So he went to Mor and talked things out. He told her about Emerie and how deeply rooted his love for her was after less than a year of knowing her. He told her about the bond he had felt between them that night in her house, and how every fiber in his body had known he simply wasn’t capable of staying away from her, no matter what.

He then talked to Rhysand, who was his friend, but also his High Lord, and who could, technically, use his power over him to force him. Azriel was convinced Rhysand would never cross that line, but Emerie had asked for certainty, and he was going to give it to her. Rhysand had been happy to grant him his wish, and had been eager to celebrate his bond with Emerie. It had snapped for him, not for her. Azriel was not sure if it had actually fallen into place and she was being cautious, or if her fear for his job and duties in Court was so big it was the one thing preventing it from snapping for her.

Emerie and Nest had their onw party the night they all met to have dinner together in Velaris, and he didn’t mind her not attending, it was just onther one of Feyre’s endless fancy meetings. He thought there would be many more to come. The Inner Circle reunited and they drank too much while celebrating life, and happiness, and how lucky they all had been founding each other.

When the sun came out, Azriel was the one who found Rhysand’s body in the gardens.

Stabbed in the heart, his High Lord had been killed in a city that used to be safe. Inside his house. Cassian’s hungover had disappeared in less than a second when he saw Azriel carrying their friend inside the house and had run for Feyre. Their High Lady didn’t have a dagger forged in Hewn City coming out of her chest, like Rhysand did, but somehow she was dead too. Cassian was out of his mind, desperately wanting to get out of the city and go to his own house to make sure Nesta was okay, the bond pulling, but knowing his High Lord had been murdered, and he had a duty to attend. Watching him like that, so desperate, so lost and overwhelmed by feelings, made Azriel realize he couldn’t marry Emerie now. She still had a chance of having a normal life, and he wasn’t cruel enough to ask her to leave with him into exile, not knowing when they would be caught by the enemy. By his enemy, not hers. Not if they didn’t bind themselves together.

He took care of the bodies while the rest decided what their next move was going to be, because he already knew: to escape.

The the vision changed, and he was now seeing a letter. He knew the handwriting, it was Emerie’s. It was addressed to Keir. The piece of paper was folded on a familiar wooden desk, so he could only see Keir’s name and address on it.This wasn’t a memory of his own making, but if the Veritas was showing it to him, it must have been true.

Emerie sat on the desk and with a perfect trace, she flipped the paper and signed it at the end of the page. Then she put it inside an envelope, and sealed it with a wax seal Nesta had gifted her for her birthday.

The spymaster knew this game. He understood what Keir was trying to make by showing him the letter: creating doubt. He had used the technique on countless prisoners to get information from them, to drive them crazy. That’s how he knew it was working. Because he knew Emerie would never contact Keir, he would bet his life on it, on her innocence, even after seeing her hadwriting on it, her signature. But if the Veritas was showing it to him, it must have somehow happened.

How? Why would Emerie do such thing? There must have been an answer, a trick hidden inthe text he wasn’t allowed to read, even if he couldn’t come up with anything at the moment. He hoplessly wanted to believe in her.

He woke up numb, his wings still tied together, and alone back in his cell. The bucket the prison guard he killed had brought him was right where he had dropped it, but there was no trace of the body.

Azriel knew he was not making it out alive. What he didn’t know, was that Emerie was on her way.

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tagging: @illyrianwitchling @arin1030 @bookstantrash @mireillemystique @silvernesta @thatoddgirl777 @angrypotatofairy @azrielsgirl @thalia-2-rose

#emeriel #emeriel fanfic #emeriel fanfiction #emerie #emerie acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #emerie x azriel #azriel x emerie

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violet-author · 5 years

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Your Wallet And Your Heart, She Has Both ((18+))

This fic is the product of over a weeks worth of work, as compared to my usual stuff that only takes a few hours or so, I think it may be my longest fic yet. Inspired by the Author of the Spinel Fic titled “Yearning” ((Read it here! )) And to anyone questioning what Spinel actually IS in this fic, I don’t even know myself. Spookier that way. Warnings: Death, Yandere, Stalking, Discussion Of Domestic Abuse, Light Horror, Cake

“Nevah had a reason ‘til tonight, to chase a fella down, then I looked at you leaving the hotel, so I followed. Cause I just had to know… who was that othah chick you were with? They seemed pretty miffed when ya left yer room, you dropped ya key on the way too so… I had another reason to follow you… and the third… I guess I just like ya face. Cute like a doll It… spoke to me, if that makes any sense…”, she stops to take a sip of her drink, “I’m surprised you didn’t notice me, what with the pink hair an’ all, so uh… I’m Spinel.”

Another sip of her drink, and a gentle chuckle as she looked down into her glass, “Don’t worry about tellin me yer name. I already know it.”, she held ip your wallet, and slid it back to you, “again honey, don’t worry. All your money is safe and sound where you left it. I’m not a thief, well, maybe I am… but… I don’t like stealin from pretty people like you, and ah… I got reasons to follow ya… I won’t be too far if ya evah need me for anythin, and I mean that, anything.”, she finished her drink and stood up, she pushed you down into your chair when you tried to follow, she put down some cash to pay for the drinks too. “No pal, I follow you, you don’t get to follow me ok? And ah… check you wallet. Left a present.”, and so… she left the bar. You check your wallet, her phone number was written on a piece of paper neatly tucked inside… along with 300 extra dollars. You feel as if she’s special to you already. A new best friend… You head back to your hotel room and pack your things, you’re breaking up with the beast of a person you were with… true love’s on its way, and so are you. Getting into your car… Lightning strikes behind you, the outline of her in your back seat… you check… no one there, you turn on the radio… just static… you drive off anyways. You want to call her as soon as you get home. “I just couldn’t leave em alone now could I? But… One look at em while I sat on the balcony next to their window the first night they were here… and I just finished offin my now late boyfriend too, kinda glad I wear these gloves all the time too… who am I talkin to? Oh yeah, me. So anyways… I just had to meet em… not like they had a choice… I covered my tracks pretty well and kept the ‘do not disturb’ sign up on the door with a sock on the knob… staff musta thought we was bein reeeeal quiet with the lovemakin… Hmm… what did he even do for me to waste one o’ my favorite butterflies in the back o’ his heart… oh yeaaaah… caught him smoochin some other broad in the same bar I found my new lovie dovie… hehe place o’ fate I tell ya, who? Me!”, she laughed at her little half joke…“Anyways… so now they’re in their house and I’m just sittin here in the backseat of their car, planning my next move… who knows, maybe ah… maybe I’ll marry this one… or are they gonna be number 12… I hope not… that face of theirs… oof… nevah seen a prettier picture, would look even bettah with plenty of my lipstick marks all over their cheeks…. damn I wish I could gotten out with em buuuut…. people freak out when someone they just met is suddenly on their car… looks like I got a long night… bettah get some sleep too… gotta be well rested for our dare tomorrow… not that they have a choice, it’s their neck on the line aftah all… but they don’t know that yet… they will. I’ll make sure of it.” Later on in the day, Spinel knocks on your door “Ok so uh, well I got outta your car and I locked it like a good girl, cause I know I am one, I knocked on your door hopin for a chance to see ya again and it’s real cold out here, so let me in ok?”, said Spinel after you opened your front door. Shocking it were to see her, to know she was hiding in your car the whole time… you figure she’d break into your home if you denied her now, so you let her in. She walked past you with a tired looking smile, and you took in the sight of her, pink hair in a pair long pony tails, long sleeve black shirt, form fitting with a black tank top adorned with a pink skull having a heart shaped crack on the forehead, a dark pink skirt looking stylishly tattered, and stockings stripped with pink and black, with a pair of thrice belted heavy looking knee height heeled boots, by all accounts… she should be noticed anywhere. You noticed her footsteps don’t make a sound… and you ask why.“Uuuh, I dunno either I just… step lightly? Kind of a wiiiierd question to ask babe, why don'tcha let me handle the questions ok? Number one, who was that bitch you were with? Number two, do ya live alone?”, You sigh and respond, she is your ex-girlfriend, you broke up with her a few hours ago. And you reluctantly say yes, you do live alone. “Hmmm great! Guess you’re all mine then!” You ask what she means “What do ya think it means pal? Means I’m your girlfriend! Ain’t ya happy for that? I mean… look at me? The cute skirt, the thick legs, my adorable face, plenty of hair for ya to pull, you’d be stupid to reject me, and you look pretty smart to me hun, so say yes. Say I’m yours”, her expression hardened, “Say it. 'Spinel, you’re mine’, I want to hear it straight from those pretty lips.You hold yourself silent for a few seconds… and relent, you guess you need to be with someone… you can’t imagine being alone again… you say what she asked you to say, suddenly you feel a prick on your finger, it starts to bleed pretty badly, she holds your hand up and licks the blood away with a teasing giggle in her throat. "There, all better, now you’re stuck with me, I don’t leave you and you don’t leave me, got it hun?” You feel clawed hands crawling on your back… you don’t remember what happened next. You wake up next to Spinel. Trying to understand what just happened… you fail miserably. “M, m, mmm… last night was fun buuuut… I didn’t get to go as far as I wanted, they passed out before I could actually do anything, guess lettin em feel that clawin fear mighta been too much for em to handle. Still, maybe I oughta hold off on doin anythin freaky. They don’t seem like the lewd type anyways… heh, but the look on their face, if I wasnt already in love with em I woulda fallen for em right then and there, oh gosh their eyes were practically burning in terror! And the way their mouth hung open like they were aboutta scream, ooh that was bliss… hm, oh? Looks like they forgot somethin. They were sure scramblin outta bed when they woke up… hmmm., now that I think about it… oh. Oh no. No no no no… nobody rushes that fast at 5 in the mornin…”You were at work, a boring office job, but your coworkers kept to themselves, so you had no issues most of the time. But today, they put in a little pink palm tree in your cubicle, you nearly fell over on sight of it, thinking it was Spinel. You held your heart, feeling the thumping flesh within pounding a beat you could almost dance to, with a nervous chuckle you cover it with the seat cover on your chair and get straight to work. You pushed away every thought of her that you could, focusing solely on your work, typing code and responses, sending reports, the kind of mind numbing work your brain can just check out from. As you dozed off by little degrees your fingers quickened… until it was four hours later, and you realized you finished everything early, gleefully you hop from your chair, with plans to go down to your favorite café for a treat, do you head into the bathroom, change clothes, and head to your car. And you freeze. The night before the last the lightning struck and you saw her shadow in your car… and then she appeared at your house the next day. You remember that very well. So you make a point of checking every inch of your car as thoroughly as you can, the back seat, the front, the trunk, under the car as the wheels on yours put it a foot and a half off the ground… and curiously you check in both small compartments in the front of the car, you haven’t the slightest idea why, you just had to be sure she wasn’t hiding anywhere. With the check complete, you carefully got inside your car and drove off to taste some sweetness. You park, get out, check your car once more, then lock everything that could be locked on it before heading inside. The dimly lit room spoke of serenity as piano played to some slow classical tune from speakers overhead, the sound of rain played softly along with low thunder rolling away to add to the calming aura of this revered area, revered by you at least, here you felt the safest you could be outside your own home, but with her… you felt this was you last bastion of comfort. And you were already reconsidering staying with her. But those thoughts had no place here, you looked over the menu, burying your gaze in it completely and said to yourself you’d have a pumpkin cake and hot chocolate. Your heart beat swift on feeling a familiar voice rattle through your skull. “And how are ya gonna pay for that babe?”, Spinel said in an agitated tone while waving your wallet in one hand while she supported her head on the table with the other. She stared you down, her expression? Wrath. Directed all on you. You froze under her glare, speechless. “5 in the morning. Who rushes out of the house at five in the morning? Were you late for work? Or… did you just wanna get away from me? Didn’t even give me a kiss to say goodbye, didn’t check if I was awake, didn’t even offer breakfast. What kind of a lover are you huh? Hmph… doesn’t matter now. You’re gonna make it up to me, ok?”, she slammed the wallet on the table, “I’ll have what you’re having, and after this you’re takin me to see a movie, got it? Maybe more time in a dark room with me’ll teach ya to appreciate me more, little reminder honey, I came to you, and you said yes, so start acting like you want me.” The dim cafe grew silent with your focus narrowing on her, and all you heard was your heart beating steady as the booming tick of the clock sounded off every second to the unerring passage of time. And she stared. She stared and waited for an answer. the lightless void casted by failing shine seemed to grow ever deeper, surrounding you both and trapping you with her in an infinite darkness, such was her chokingly gripped presence around you, her small stature exuded energies unheard, and you swore you could see the inky tendrils of the depths emanating from her, a being incomprehensible to mortal ken. Her truest nature forever concealed as this negative glare only gave the hollow shell of what she really is, shaded by the limits of your mind. You stared into those eyes, a lover scorned she felt she were, and your silence only confirmed and fed the flowing madness slithering from her…Each ticking clang of the clock sounded closer to your demise, here and now. Speech had found you once more to snatch you from the jaws of Cerberus. You apologize. You tell her an excuse along with it, or rather, attempt to before she cuts you off. “Oh you’re sorry now? Well how sorry are ya honey? Sorry enough to get me all the deserts I want? Sorry enough to take me out dancing? Sorry enough to… propose to me?” That last question ended with a grin as wide as her mystery, and as the darkness surrounding you both. You’re left speechless, blushing through the shock and scrambling in your mind for an answer when she takes the reigns of the conversation once more. “Ok that last one maaaay have been a bit too far, I mean… we’ve only been datin a few days now, and to be honest, while I ain’t lettin another girl even touch you, I’m not too sure I wanna spend the rest of your life on me! And I do mean that. Mean what? darlin ain’t ya listening? The rest of your life, not my life. I get the feelin I’ll still be around when you’re gone… but uuuh… I’ll enjoy every moment you’re alive. Oop! Changed my mind, Your life’s mine, the rest of you too, and ain’t nothin you can do about that ok? Nope, not gonna wait for an answer. Way I see it… we’re already a married couple, I mean… you did sign me in blood and all. But let’s drop this discussion and pick it up never, the waitress is comin ovah to take our ordahs!"And in a single moment as if on the flick of a switch, even the dim light of the cafe blinded you with the darkness disappearing behind the curtain of reality, though what reality even is you scarcely have a grasp on with the realizations of otherworldly powers that exist in front of you in the form of Spinel. You check the backlit clock on the wall, time had stayed still as the darkness enveloped you, and you laid back in your chair while trying to make sense of what just happened, what felt like hours was no time at all, but interrupted you were again by the waitress, asking what you wanted to order. Spinel only had a smile on her face while you placed the order, she held up the menu you had and pointed to a large vanilla cake topped with fudge and strawberries, did what she said in the darkness even happen? Either way, you order that cake for her, in addition to getting for her and yourself a hot chocolate and a pumpkin cake. You’re looking at the waitress as she write down the orders, and as she walks off as well, and a pulse is felt, a ringing in your ears deep as ocean, and a foul taste in your mouth as you look back at her, a closed smile on her lips, but her eyes wider than ever. "Does she look good to ya honey? Does she tickle your fancy?” You immediately reply in a nervous tone that she doesn’t. that he girl in front of you is prettier than she’ll ever be. “Good answer babe, she’s a fuckin mess compared to me, right? O’ course I’m right!” The confections both drink and dessert were served to the both of you, a second person coming to drop of the cake, it was big enough for three, but she parried your spoon away from it, claiming the whole thing hers. So the spectacle began, Her sipping the cocoa in her tall cup alongside heavy bites of this behemoth straight from a baker’s dream. It took her a mere half hour to consume the whole of it, and like a good lover you lean over with a napkin and wipe the frosting from her lips, a shy smile as your expression, your simple actions sparking a tender moment through the confusion and creeping terror in the back of your mind, and that moment was watching her cheeks flush a gorgeously vibrant shade of pink, and in that instant, everything seemed to click. She was just as nervous around you as you were around her, without the upper hand the air of danger just faded away to the dullest rhythm in the background, until her hand snapped to grip your wrist. “Oh now I know I made the right choice… my last love ain’t never did something like this, would you believe I caught the bastard cheating on me with some tart, some junky trollop? You wouldn’t do that to me right? No… I know you wouldn’t, you’re sweet. You just want a hug, a kiss, and a kind little word whispered into your ear, yeah? You just want someone who wants you, someone that won’t make you feel like you’re just another problem to deal with. Someone like me, who won’t let you go. Who’ll never let you go. Someone like me that’ll keep loving you 'til…“, She inched in closer, "You’re…”, and her lips brushed by your ear… “Dead." Stunned by that she shoved you back down into your seat. "What’s wrong babe? Don’t like that? Oh… you do? Well aren’t you starved for affectio- oh… So that’s why you were with the girl with the bad attitude… You know I… I watched you when you checked into the hotel, a whole week of seeing her yell at you… sayin stuff like no one would love you like her, that you were lucky she even looked at you.” She sniffled, sounding on the cusp of a rising weeping sorrow, “But it’s ok now honey. It’ll be ok, cause you have me!”, she sighed, a sort of content flow to her breath, while she relaxed in her chair, “And I have you. Were you scared of me before? I’m not sorry for that. That’s just how I am, but I won’t hurt you. Not enough to kill ya anyways. Not enough to make you hate me. I don’t think my heart could take another crack. Darling… If you left me now. I think I’d just break. We kinda just met and already I don’t think I can live without you. You can feel it too right? Our souls tyin themselves to each other? Actually ah… they’re already pretty tied up. Signed me in blood remember?” You certainly do remember, that night your finger bled and the claws creeped upon you, you remember that much and nothing more, how you felt then feels so far away now, her love is different, it’s a confusing amalgam of tenderness and terror, when once you only felt a terror from the last one you were with, but even the fear strikes you oddly, like a sickening wine who’s taste leaves you only wanting another drink of it, a long and slow swig of the emotions she has you pour from your very core, reveling in the swirling dizzy tones of this deep song she played for you with every motion she made toward, away, and around you, with every word spoken, she enthralls you. The same feeling you had when you wanted to call her, a soul bewitched by a strange woman… and whatever trance she had you in just now from her confession, lifted when you snapped back to lucidity at home. Herself snuggled up on your lap, a horror movie playing while she smiled, your hand in hers, clutching each other warmly… a moment that your realization of the sudden shift in scenery did not ruin… she was in love, and so were you, and while love itself seems blind, love itself would blind you, and you would let it cloud your vision as long as you loved her, and as long as she loved you. This one tender moment, It’ll remain one of your greatest treasures, and as the movie ended, she sat up and stood, offering her hand to you, eyes sleepy and showing a soft joy plain as day, she led you upstairs, she led you to bed, shoes kicked off the both of you, she eased you into bed atop her, and held you close, tight, and the covers seemed to jump over you both to guard from the chill mysteriously entering the room, you closed your eyes while the pair of you turned onto your sides, and a kiss marked the occasion, brief it were on the lips, but the love? Eternal. And so it were that you slept in her arms and her in yours. Ready to give her the rest of your life. Ready to give her your very soul. and in all honesty, she already owns it.

#Spinel #Selfshipping #self shipping #yandere #light horror #steven universe

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bubblesthemonsterartist · 5 years

Note

Prompt: "I'm your husband. It's my job". Congrats on 300!!

Prompts are currently closed while I catch up. I will announce when I am open! :)

A/N: I hope you don’t mind, Miinah, but this prompt was a perfect excuse to do the prologue for my single dad au, which is theoretically happier than your single dad au. Not exactly Obiyuki - not yet. More like Obi x OC with the promise of improving on that later.

Content warning: Teenage parents, postpartum depression (leaning towards postpartum psychosis), emotional abuse, parental abandonment

Series: I Should Have Met You Yesterday

Before the Beginning

Wrinkly skin, beet red and shriveled up like a prune arounda scrunched up face. A soft swirl of black on a mostly bald head. Two feet, barelyrestrained by their swaddle, trying to kick off their hospital issued blanket.Ten tiny fingers, arched back and palms stretched out to the wide world.

Obi brushes his index across one of them andfive of those tiny digits wrap around his whole heart.

“Wow.” He can hardly believe this is his ownvoice, the way it is so giddy and high. “He’s so strong.”

Aki grunts in response, pale eyes startled andunfocused, head wobbling as he rolls his head this way and that across thecrook of Obi’s arm.

“Is there something wrong with his eyes?”Angela asks, fretful, from her hospital bed. “He didn’t really look at me andnow he’s not looking at Obi, either.”

Dr. Sakimoto is reading something off of themonitor and doesn’t really even look at them. “Probably not,” he says absently,ticking a couple of notes off on his clipboard, and the tone would annoy Obi ifhe didn’t… understand. They’re 18. If they weren’t responsible enough to listen in Sex Ed, why would they bother being responsible enough to listen now? “Your-”

“Husband,” Obi supplies, sitting up a littlestraighter, hoping he looks th role.

“Hmm, yes, husband.” The doctor clucks his tongue.“His face is too far away.”

They both blink at him.

“So I should… movecloser?” Obi ventures.

“Yes, I mean-” Dr. Sakmito squeezes the bridgeof his nose and props the clipboard against his hip. From the sound of things, they’re idiots for not knowing this already. “Newborns can’t reallydistinguish shapes at this point so he won’t make eye contact with you for a monthor so. But he can see light. And hear your voice.”

“Oh.” Chest swelling with purpose, Obi leansin until his forehead just brushes the soft down of his son’s- oh god, his son’s- hair. “Hi, buddy,” Obiwhispers, bobbing the finger that is still trapped in its tiny vice up and down.“Hi.”

Aki’s head wobbles, eyes wide, and Obi thinks– he thinks – that those pale eyesfocus on his. Just for a second. Maybe.

“I still can’t believe he’s here,” Obiwhispers, smile taking up his whole face as he lifts his head up, but thedoctor- Well, he’s gone. Slipped out while he was distracted. Obi’s smile wiltsa little at the edge, eyes sliding from the door to where Angela watches him,suspiciously silent.

Faintly, she replies, “Me, neither.”

Her face is still pale, ashen, and she’s notlooking at him. Not even smiling, really. But he supposes that makes sense. Ifhe had to do what she just did, he doubt he’d be smiling either. Shifting Akiin his arms, he leans over the bed, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

“You did great, babe.”

She’s watching Aki with nothing short of shock as Obi passes him back to her. And she’s still a little awkward, the way her eyes widen inalarm, her arms tense as plywood that he has to help arrange to properly supportAki’s head.

“Just like that,” he murmurs. “Just like the nurseshowed us.”

Her smooth brow crinkles, distressed. “They’rejust… going to let us take it home?”

Barking out a laugh, Obi perches his hip on theside of her bed, hooking his arm around her shoulder. “Looks to be that way.”

“Have they met me?” The question comes out like a joke, but is strained like a legitimate question.

Tilting his head, Obi waits until her eyescatch his, flickering away and then shyly back. “You’re already a great mom,”he says, so soft. “Just look at how perfect he is.”

This was the wrong thing to say, apparently.

“Obi.” Clear blue eyes round with a fear hedoesn’t understand, voice high pitched and hesitant and scared, and her arms stiffenawkwardly around the little goblin rooting against her hospital gown. “I don’tknow how I am going to do this.”

His heart lurches and- he’s scared, too.That’s what he wants to say.

“You’re not going to be in it alone, babe,” hewhispers instead, because that’s what men should do when their wives are scared, and he squeezes her near. Rubbing her shoulder, he rests his cheek on hercrown. “I’m here.”

This close, he can feel the heave of her backagainst his arm; the quick pace of shallow breath moving in and out. “Yea, buthow are we-”

“I’ll take care of it,” he assures them both,pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. It’s still a little sweaty and the salt of her skin lingers on his lips. “I’myour husband. It’s my job to take care of you.”

~ ~ ~

“This was a mistake.”

Angela’s baby blues are rimmed in red andbruised with exhaustion. Aki’s pressed up against her breast but she’s stillwearing the same clothes she was when he left the house hours ago. The sameclothes she was wearing yesterday. And Obi is standing there, at theirthreshold, in a food soiled uniform and the house keys still in hishand.

“No, no, no.” He’s across the room, on hisknees and in front of their couch in a breath. A brightly colored piece of plastic digsinto his shin and he ignores it, smoothing back her tangled hair – it’s greasy – twinstreams pouring from her eyes like he just turned on the faucet. “None of this wasa mistake. This is just that– what did the doctor call it? – that postpartumdepression. Yea. You should call the hospital and see if they have anyone totalk to.”

A dry huff of air escapes her with no humorand Aki grunts, disturbed. “With what, Obi? Doctors cost money.”

He grits his teeth around his smile, a jolt ofpain stabbing him cleanly in the gut. “We can figure it out,” he tries. “The SuperBowl is coming up and I’ll probably get good tips then.”

Eyes squeezing shut, she shakes her head. “Youwould going to use that money to fix the car, remember?”

The pain is in his lungs now, creeping deepbeneath his shoulder blade. “I’ll just… walk for a bit. You know, until we’resaved up.”

Her voice may as well be a scream for the wayit rattles between his ears. “And leave me alone with him even longer? I don’t get any time by myself as it is.”

“Babe-” The air punches out of him and hegrasps at the cushions on either side of her thighs to stay upright. “Maybe you could ask your sister…?”

“She works almost as much as you and you know it,” Angela snaps.

His face flinches, eyes dropping to where those long slender fingers of hers pat against Aki’s back. The paint on her nails are fresh. Tiffany blue. “I don’t-” he licks his lips, searching for words. “I don’t know what you want.”

“You promised.”She’s so quiet, the countenance of her voice every bit as sweet as her name, but it comes out as a hiss. “You promised me you would take careof everything.”

His head snaps up, and she’s- she’s blurrierthan he likes. “I am,” he promisesagain. “I will. It’s fine, babe.We’re gonna be- just fine. This is just a little rough patch.”

“A rough-” She bites down on her tongue,shifting Aki from her breast to her shoulder. “We’re not, Obi, aren’t you even listening?”

“Just you wait, it’ll get better.” Taking herface between his palms, he brushes his thumbs down her cool cheeks. It’sheartening, somewhat, that she doesn’t pull away.

“I just-” She stares at the wall as if itmight have better answers than he has. Maybe it does. “I feel so trapped. Ididn’t think it would be like this…”

Heart lurching in his throat, he rests hishand on top of hers where it smooths down Aki’s back. “I’ll take care ofeverything,” he whispers, fierce. “Just focus on Aki.”

That finally gets her. That finally makes herlook at him, beseeching. “How, though? How will it get better?”

He doesn’t know.

“Just leave it to me. I’m your husband,remember?” he grins, spreading his lips so broad it hurts. “It’s my job!”

~ ~ ~

He tries. He tries and he tries and he tries, but nothing seems to work.

Each day, he comes home with news of failure. Each day, he drags his stomach over the threshold with no more salary than he had the day before.

And this, in the end, is how she chooses to greet him not twoweeks later.

~ ~ ~

“Where have you been?!” The words stab him inthe ear, and between his bone weary exhaustion and her ire, he doesn’t think he can take another step. “I’ve been calling!”

“I was at work, remember?” he answers numbly,toeing off his boots. Sharp shards of glass travel up the soles of his feet tohis calves and then his knees. Somewhere in the apartment, Aki is crying. “Andmy phone died.”

This does little to satisfy her. He thinks hemight have made her angrier.

“So I’mhere, taking care of your son, andyou can’t even bring a charger?”

“I know,” he breathes, weary. She’s right.“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll pack it in my bag from now on.”

“What makes you think there’s going to be anext time?” She’s right up in his face, eyes blazing, and that- that gets hisattention. He only just manages not to take a step back. “Do you think I’m justgoing to stick around, like some- some cow,pumping out milk all day every day while you’re out on the town?!”

It’s not like he’s out there to have fun, is what he wants to say. It isn’t what he actually says.

“No,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Of coursenot. I just didn’t want to put pressure on you by-”

“Stop making excuses. You do nothing but put pressure on me, Obi!” Her ponytail nearly slaps him in theface when she turns from him with an aggravated groan, knocking over a lamp when it catches on her oversized sweater. It hits the ground with a crash, the light bulb flickering outand Aki’s cries turn into shrieks in the bedroom.Angela looks back at it over her shoulder, her mouth slightly agape, staring wherethe blue polished porcelain split in two.

“Lookwhat you did!” she yells.

He didn’t- hedidn’t- she did, but… it’s not worth arguing about. Not today. Maybe not ever. “I’ll see if I can findsomething at the Goodwill tomorrow.”

Angela snorts. “That’s just like you,” shegrumbles, crossing her arms, and it strikes him that she’s- she’s dressed up.She’s dressed like she’s ready to go out.“Always trying to fix the mess you made. But let me tell you something, Obi,some things can’t be fixed.”

“Iknow.”

He didn’t want this- not for his son. He thought- he thought he wasgoing to do this better. Thought he was going to do this right.

He shakes himself.

No. They can still do this right. Only if he tries harder.

“But we’re working for what we want, remember?” He rubs the back of his head and smiles. “We’rebuilding a home!”

“Inever wanted this!” she screams, rounding on him with an accusing finger andAki- he screeches. “You wanted this! Iwanted to be a teenager and go to parties and meet new people! I can’t do any of that with an infant, Obi! And Ishouldn’t have to be responsible for something I didn’t even want!”

It’s hard to breath - so hard - but, gently, slowly, with barely trembling hands, he wraps his hand around heroutstretched one, cupping it with the other and holding it safely against his chest.

“Babe,” he tries again. “You canhave all that. Let me just see what I can figure out with work and I-”

“I’mdone waiting,” she says, so flat. Yanking her hand out of his, Angela shoulders past him, flinging the door open.

“Wait-”he says. “What about-”

“Youfigure it out,” she snaps over her shoulder, right before the door slams shut in her wake. “You’re the husband here. Isn’tthat your job?”

~~ ~

He doesn’t know what time it is. Maybe 1? 2? Morning or afternoon, it doesn’t really matter.

Aki’scries are soft and fussy, a threat of things to come, and Obi stumbles out ofthe bedroom and into the kitchen. Catching his bare toe against the kitchentable, he cusses a blue streak under his breath, hopping the last few steps tothe stove.

Hiseyes are barely open, hands flailing aimlessly until they slam the stove lamp on.

Thelight barely improves the situation. Flinching, he squishes his face shut against it,running his hands blindly across the countertop. Fingers bump against pots andpans and knock over plastic bottles until-

Plasticcrinkles under his hand.

Squintinghis eyes open, Obi frowns, confused. It takes much longer than it should torecognize the packaging, the bright blue and pink and black with a wave ofwhite.

“What?”he mutters to no one, lifting it up.

DOUBLESTUFFED OREOS! scream back at him in big, happy letters. FAMILY SIZED!

He’sawake instantly, twirling on his heel, eyes scanning the dark-

Asmall lump is curled up on the couch, still fully dressed and turned towardsthe seat cushions. Her shirt is riding up, her bare back exposed to the chill,and she shivers.

Obibreathes out a sigh of relief.

Paddingacross the room, he grabs a blanket along the way and fans it over her. Tuckingit all the way up to her chin, Obi hesitates. Her hair curls across her cheeks,some of those wild, sun kissed waves caught in the corner of her mouth. Smiling, he slowly,carefully, brushes it away, pressing a kiss to her temple.

The panic in his heart slowly unravels. Shejust-

She just needed time. That’s all. Things were already getting better. In the meantime, he would just have to tryharder.

~~ ~

Takingthe third story apartment may have been a mistake on his part.

It seemed a smart choice at the time. Harder for burglars to get to. No upstairs neighbors clomping around. Further from the street noise.

But days like today, he has- regrets.

Grunting,Obi trudges up the stairs, plastic handles biting into his skin and cutting offthe circulation to his fingers. Each step feels heavier than the last, but whiffs of slowly defrosting food chases him steadily home.

Hisshirt is plastered to his back by the time he reaches the top of the stairs,the humidity thick and promising rain. Staring out over the balcony, he thinkshe really needs to get that car fixed if he’s going to survive the summer.

Freeingone arm of its load is easy. Fishing his keys out of his pockets and gettingthe door open, even easier. But it’s picking those bags back up that’s the hardpart.

Justa few more steps and-

Theair feels stale when the door clicks shut behind him, like the A/C hasn’t beenon all day. He frowns, worried that it went out again - that he was going to have to have words with the property manager - when it occurs to him thatthe house is… quiet. Not even the dull hum of the TV is there to drown out the carspassing outside.

“Hello?”he winces at the sound of his own voice. “Babe?” he tries again, softer.

Maybethey were sleeping.

Kickingoff his shoes, Obi scans the living room as if in slow motion. It’s cleanerthan yesterday. Lighter. It reminds him of that time someone had robbed the place that he had been crashing at. There hadn’t been a lot to take, but if it was worth five bucks, they had taken it.

But this isn’t- isn’t that. Not precisely.

Aki’s toys still lay about. The kitchen sink is still full of dirty dishes. Laundry still needs to be done and the TV is still there. But still- something is.. amiss.

Shaking off the odd feeling, Obi unloads everything onto the kitchen counter. The little bouquet chrysanthemums, bruised and a little bare, peak out from the mound of plastic bags. Smiling to himself, he gently extracts them and tip toes towards the bedroom.

Bypassing every creaky floorboard is a talent he has honed over years - not his favorite thing to think about, but at times like these it does have its advantages. He’s still as good as ever, he thinks, when he presses his ear to the bedroom door and there’s no indication that a soul is stirring on the other side. Tilting his shoulder into it with a grin, thedoor slow creaks open, but it’s-

It’s bare.

Well, not bare exactly. The window is open, a slow summer breeze creeping in through the curtains. The bed is, as always, unmade. But still, no Angela flung across it’s rumpled sheets. No Aki passed out on his back in his crib.

Against all reason, hisheart rate doubles in tempo and he- he slowly exhales to smooth it out. Peeking over his shoulder, he breathes even easier. The stroller is gone from its place by the front door. They must have just goneout- for a walk. Or something. With the A/C out, the apartment might as well bean oven.

Settingthe flowers on the dresser – he’ll find some water to put them in in a minute –Obi strips off his shirt and opens the closet for a fresh one.

Halfof it is empty.

Later, if someone asked him what he did next, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them. He knows that he felt… cold. A particular type of chill that he couldn’t shake for weeks after, no matter how hot the day. And that he checked under the bed and found that ratty thrift store suitcase was gone. He knows he looked for his jar of tips and that only the change remained. He knows he stalked outto the kitchen, hands trembling, and picked up his phone from where he leftit next to the groceries.

He knows that there were no missed messages.

Obi’s hands are flying over the screen of his phone, and he has just pulled up Angela’s number when a note on the fridge catches his eyes, the script painfully familiar.

We went over to my sisters.

That’s it. Nothing else.

It’slike falling down a hole, that feeling. Maybe that’s what people call tunnel vision is - he doesn’t know. But in the next moment, he’s hitting the green call button, only the sound of the phone ringing and the blood rushing in his ears to remind him that he’s human.

The receiver on the other end picks up, and before anyone can say anything, a baby’s malcontent fussing bleeds through the speaker.

He’s knees nearly give out. He wants to let them. There’s more pressing matters at hand, though; like getting his heart started. It’s dead, the cavern of his chest still and quiet.

“Where the hell have you been?” The woman on the other end is - understandably - annoyed, but not as much as she is confused. “Angela ask meto just watch him for an hour! I’ve got to go to work soon and I can’t build my empire with an infant on my hip.”

Obi doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry, but what comes out of his mouth does not belong to him. It’s too loud, sounds too much like hisfather’s when he snaps, “Where’s my son?”

“Here?With me?” Torou’s voice tilts up in confusion and Obi almost faints from relief. Whatever irritation was left in her fades to worry. “Obi, what’s going on?”

“I’mcoming over.”

~~ ~

He’spanting when he presses the call button at Torou’s apartment. Then again. Andagain and again.

“I’mhere, I’m here! Just a minute, oh my god.”

The lock gives a harsh buzz and click and he flies through the lobby and up the stairs, taking two at a time. When he reaches her floor, Torou is already standing in the open door, phone in hand. “I’ve been trying to call her but she’s not pickingup! I texted, too, and-”

Obi’sjaw sets, shouldering past her.

“Hejust fell asleep, Obi. Don’t-“

Hecomes up short, just inside her living room, and finally- finally- his heart starts up again when he sees that tiny little body with its sweaty mess of dark curls curled up on thecouch. Obi only makes it two more wobbling steps before he falls to his knees at the edge of it.

It’sfine- it’s fine- Aki is fine.

“Obi.”

He touches his lips to Aki’s crown and takes a deep, slow inhale, drawing the smell of him into his lungs, before releasing it all in a shaky rush of air.

Torou is standing there in the doorway when he finally looks up, her face torn between anger andconfusion and not uncertainty about which is more important. “What the fuck is going on?”

Funny, he would like to know the answer to that, too. “We had a fight last night,” he says, because that’s all he has to offer.

She snorts and it’s- it’s too much like her sisters to not make his stomach churn. “Whatelse is new?”

“ButI thought we had it figured out,” he says, lost. “She even apologized, sorta. She got mad and left but then she came back and left me some cookies. Double stuffed, even. They’re her favorite.”

Torou’s expression looks far too much like pity for his comfort.

Pressing his lips together, Obi flops onto his seat on the floor, and pulls the phone out from his pocket. It takes no time at all to pull her name back up, to press send.

It goes straight to voicemail.

“Itold you,” Torou says softly, kneeling in front of him with that- that same awful expression. “She’s not answering”

Thumbflying over the keyboard, Obi grumbles, “Like hell she’s not.”

where r u?angela pick up the phonepls

The minutes tick by, his strange standoff with Torou getting more and more hopeless with every second. He draws up his knees, eyes stinging like he’s got something in them, and he’s about to fall apart right here in his sister-in-laws living room when- the phone vibrates. Just once, then several more times in rapid succession.

He swipes if off the floor before Torou can even get it in her to tell him to stop.

leave me alonei need space!i told u, i’m notready for this!i’ll be back soon

Obi thinks he might vomit. Right here. Right now.

But Angela, she- she’s been so stressed. Maybe this is what she needs. Maybe this is what has to happen so she can get better. Can be a better mother.

when

i don’t knowjustsoon okay?i gtgdon’t call me againi’m srry

~ ~ ~

Obi doesn’t know how much time has passed, how long he has been there with his knees up to his elbows and head hung between his legs, but he likes to imagine that it’s been a while.

The phone, laying guiltlessly between his feet, slides across the carpet into a pair of slim hands. Torou reads it. He watches her read it. The way the furrow between her brow slowly eases, replaced by the slow arch of two well shaped eyebrows. For some reason she doesn’t look surprised. Just angry.

Maybe she has right to be. He didn’t follow through with his promise to her sister, after all.

“Whatthe fuck?” Torou mouths, then winces, her gaze darting over to Aki and then back to him. “Sorry.”

His mouth gapes slightly. “Don’t worry about it.”

His face… It must look a mess, because hers twists uncomfortably before dropping to read the messages again. “What does she mean?” Torou asks. “Doesshe just… expect you to figure this out on your own?”

Obi hears each and every noisy little breath escaping Aki’s lungs behind him. Starts to reorganize every step of his day from here on out because to think- to do- anything else about any of this might break him.

“Of courseshe does,” he croaks. Already, the world feels ten times heavier. “I’m herhusband. It’s my job.”

#bubbleswrites #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #happier single dad au #obiyuki #eventually #backstory #miinah13

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meliecho · 6 years

Text

Hearts and Heroes: One Shot - Chpt. 1 - Weekend Warriors

Summary: Setting up for a new mission, but something doesn't sit right with Mark...

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The dream world. Recreation room of the Markihub...

“Hah! Connect 4! I win. You loose. Time to pay the piper, old man,” Mark waggled his fingers in the direction of the pink-mustached gentleman frowning at him across the small game table. “And by 'piper,' I mean me, and by 'old man,' I mean you.”

Wilford Warfstache speared a metallic disk that resembled a poker chip with a dagger and pointed it at his competitor. “You win this round, Markiboy.”

“What do you mean ‘this round? You lost to me 5 times in a row,” Mark’s lack of intimidation shown through in a victorious smirk. “I am the King of Connect 4. You knew this when you challenged me.”

“It’s not very sporting of you to mock the loser, Mark. There could be…pointy repercussions.”

Mark adopted a perfectly mirrored mannerism with a red game token between two fingers. “And it’s not very sporting to back out of a bet in a gentleman’s game, Warfy. You’ve racked up quit a tab, my good man. Are you going to pony up, or do you…not have the brass?”

Wilford huffed air across his bushy mustache. “Your blatant misuse of a euphemism for the dangly bits of the vulnerable nether region only shows your lack of proper upbringing.”

He dropped the impression. “Oh yeah? Well, what would you say?”

Wilford leaned back, idly playing with the disk on the end of the blade. “I’d simply take it outside and battle it out in fisty-cuffs mano-a-mano and end with a shooty to the face.”

Mark blinked behind his slim black-framed wire glasses. “You call that better?”

“I call it effective.”

He shrugged. “Eh. Can’t argue there.”

“Much as I’d like to stay and chew the fat, I have business to attend to.” Wilford stretched his arms over his head, dagger and all, and stood. “This has been a bully of a time. ‘GG,’ as the kids say.”

“Hold it, Speedy McDodgerson,” Mark held out his hand. “The Dream Points. You owe me 500.”

Wilford wordlessly flicked the dagger with the disk speared through into the table in front of him, gently rattling the remaining game tokens.

Mark removed the disk and peered through the hole. “Hey, this is only 300!”

“Compensation for the dagger,” Wilford waved it off as he walked away.

“Compen—What kind of dagger costs 200 DrP?! Who's your supplier, anyway?!”

“It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mark. Come around again soon.” And with that, the weaponsmonger escaped back to his shop of damage-dealing goodies.

“Mother f—“ Mark ground his teeth. Wilford had this planned the whole time. “Grifted by a stab-happy madman in pink suspenders. Story of my life.”

Even though he was dreaming, and knew he was dreaming, Markiplier didn't have control over what anyone else did in this hub. This constant, safe haven in the dream world was one of who-knew-how-many in existence. It was home to those bearing a glowing pink heart on their left sleeve: the mark of the hero. Even if they arrived in a tank top, the heart remained, proving that it was imprinted on the soul of the person, and would shine through no matter what they wore.

This hub --ingeniously deemed 'The Markihub' --technically belonged to him, though he hadn't heard anyone else refer to it as that besides himself. But who cares! This was his hub, so he could call it whatever he damn well pleased. He could call it the 'Hub-booski' and no one could object. ...Actually, that one wasn't that bad. He'd put it in his mental 'save' file for later...just in case. He and the permanent residents had a little more power than the others who came and went, but other than that, everyone moved around with the same level of free will.

He turned the silver dagger over in the light, then shrugged and lazily swiped his middle finger—for emphasis on this particular situation—down the air at chest height in time to a half-second thought-command of 'menu.' As predicted, the commonly used and familiar, semi-transparent menu screen popped up. He tapped on the 'Items' option listed at the top –right above 'Go Home,' the teleporter back to the hub. As a Hero Class, he was the only one here with this option. It could be extracted and given to anyone, but not replicated. This was listed above 'Wake Up' (akin to Log Out), 'Current Mission' (basic mission briefing info), and 'Party' (self explanatory with sub categories like ‘add,’ ‘leave,’ and ‘member details’).

He added this new item to his inventory under ‘weapons.’ The dagger evaporated in his hand. At that exact moment, its icon and name appeared on the short list.

“'Fate Sealer.' Ballsy name. Hopefully damage-causing enough for the price.” It might come in handy later during a rescue mission. It was a crying shame this mechanic didn't exist in the waking world. That would make carrying things much easier. He'd hack into it and add in a 'Skip Rush Hour Bullshit' option.

The second bell sent its low tone through the recreation room. A few people hanging out with their teammates got up to attend to the second shift. He left with them to pick up a few more supplies before the third bell rang signaling the third shift – his shift.

He heard the 'fwoosh!' of the portal opening to someone's dream as he passed through the center of the hub on his way to Octodad's store. The midshift teams waited patiently to go through when their assigned mission came up. A few fidgeted from nervousness.

“Good luck guys!” He called out to them. “And remember: I'm handsome. And don't you forget it.”

Some of them chuckled. Others rolled their eyes. Either way, he got them to relax a little before setting off on a mission. Objective: cleared.

He used the newly obtained DrP to stock up on mostly Ultra balls—per usual—a couple of full hearts, chicken and dumplings (those long missions can get rough, man), some hot sauce in case anyone passed out, and a piece of toast. Just one. He hated using that item with a clear and absolute passion, but something nagged at him to walk away with at least one today.

Being the dream world, everyone here was instructed to pay closer attention to said 'naggy feels,' due to one not-so-simple but obvious reason: They weren't physically here. They were spirits, souls, consciousness. Whatever label people wanted to put to it, that was them. So stuff with the physical body didn't matter here –except eating. Whatever you ate upped energy or gave you boosts in battle with their enemy, the Terrorlings. When someone gets the urge to say 'I have a bad feeling about this,' it's a good idea not to ignore it, because it's coming from their subconscious that's being a douche and not letting their spirit in on the whole plan.

Mark added the goods to his inventory, bid the 8 armed bad-human-cosplaying octopus adieu, and left.

“Hey, Mark!” A high pitched voice called out from across the hall.

“Hey, Tim. What's up, little buddy?” He looked down at his feet as the small sentient brown wooden box bobbled over.

“Good, I caught you. It's about your mission.”

“What about it?”

“You're not going alone, are you?”

“No. I've got my team.”

Tim smiled. “So you decided to quit playing solo after all?”

He shrugged. “Hey, I don't play 'solo.' I join newbies and whatever team needs help, you know that.”

“But you never called any of them 'my team' before.”

“Eh, well, they were the ones to dive into my nightmare and pull my ass out of the fire. I owe 'em. Besides, they're good people. It's not so bad being on a team. Kinda takes me back to my roots.”

Although he had his original team that always aided him in the waking world, they, too, had obligations to their own hubs in the dream world. He loved it when they could get together for those rare group missions, though.

His new team here adopted him. He wasn’t an elitist outsider tagging along. He was one of them, subjected to the same rules as they were (almost—well, he is the only Hero Class after all), but shockingly enough, he wasn’t the team leader. He had to abide by the leader’s ultimate decision like everyone else. “Anyway, is there something you need help with?

Tim held up a piece of paper. “I checked the file just in case I'd need to prep for higher damage injuries. Nothing really dangerous popped out at me, but I noticed something weird. I pulled the hard copy to make sure. Look at the initiation date.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Hm? One year ago? This is a typo. The month and day are the same.”

“That's what I thought, too. I checked it with Google. He said he doesn't make typos.”

Mark pursed his lips. “Mmhmm. Sure. Right. Uh huh. Ok. Yeah. Ask him about Google Feud next time.”

“But—”

“Relax. It'll be fine.” It was then that the upward look of concern from Tiny Box Tim surpassed the surface of 'this could be a dangerous mission,' into more poignant territory with years of personal history behind it. Mark crouched down and patted him lightly on top of his head...er...body, and his voice took on a sincere, disarming tone. “I'll be fine. Don't worry, little buddy. This looks rough on the outside, but it’s gooey in the middle. My team and I can handle it. We've been through worse.”

Tim took the paper back when Mark handed it over and looked up as the other stood, towering over him. “Mmm…Ok. But I still have a bad feeling about this. You’re not completely back to normal yet. You went through something not a lot of people can come back from. It’s only been a few weeks, and PAX stretched you thin.”

“Hey, give me a little credit here. I’m a lot better off than I was.”

“That’s true,” Tim had to agree. “And I’m proud of you for that.” He knew Mark had an excellent support system in the waking world. He was recovering, and thankfully, those who knew him and even those who didn’t, flooded his notifications with positive messages.

The ‘Mark’ that returned to an empty hub the next night after he’d defeated Dark just sat on the stage staring at all the vacant seats once filled with the souls of those who believed in their missions, and in him. Tiny Box Tim, as his first Somni and closest to him, was the only resident of the hub to remain. He could sense Mark’s raw, eviscerated state. He was a mess. Because of the negativity flooding the hub, Mark wondered if anyone would even want to come back at all. Tim assured him that they would. They’d sat alone in silence until five people suddenly appeared at the back of the room. Both of them hadn’t expected anyone to show up for a while yet, but he could tell his friend was happy that it was the five who’d saved him. Mark saw them off on their mission, but didn’t leave on his own until a few days later when Blue extended the offer to join her team for the third time. He’d accepted. He had a duty to the hub, to the people who’d found their way back, and most importantly to himself to move forward. A little bit of ‘fuck you’ energy was all he needed to give him that essential push.

“Just do me a favor and be extra careful, ok, Mark?”

“You got it. We'll be in and out with time to spare. It'll be easy-peazy-lemon-squeeze-me.”

The tiny box boy didn't look any less placated by that answer.

A slim pillar of sky-blue luminescence swirled up from the floor in the main room lasting the length of a second. The figure of a teenage girl in a knee-length blue dress and knee socks materialized within its apex.

“Hey, Blue.” Mark cast Tiny Box Tim a reassuring nod before joining his teammate.

“Oh, hey, Mark.” She smiled. Seeing her other team member, and the leader of the hub they called a second home, warmed her heart every time. She still wasn't sure why he acquiesced to her being this particular team's leader—she was ready to give up the title after extending the offer to join her team--, but she respected and appreciated his faith in her. “Where's everyone else?”

“Not here yet. You are numero uno.”

“I hope they get here soon. I was afraid I'd be late. We all decided this would be the weekend we'd go full throttle and do as much as we can.”

“You're all sleeping in?” Mark folded his arms.

Blue nodded. “That's the plan. Also fixing our sleep schedules, too. Those last few missions really threw off Peach. She blew up the group chat at 3am last night binge watching an anime Jade suggested. Went through a whole box of Cinnamon Squares.”

“Yikes.”

The areas to their left and right lit up from three more identical shifting columns of light.

Red stretched his arms over his head and yawned. Tufts of black hair stuck out from beneath his favorite, worn, red cotton beanie.

Purple waved softly to everyone with a small smile and a light, “I'm not late. Yay!”

Peach danced lightly on her tip toes. “This is gonna be the best weekend ever! I cleared all my plans to make sure I could get to bed early each night.”

“What about that show you were watching?” Blue asked.

“I finished it this morning,” she sound proudly.

Red eyed her like she'd grown a second head. “This morning? As in...'before-the-butt-crack-of-dawn' this morning?”

She nodded, still smiling. “It was so good. The feels alone!”

Purple furrowed her brow in concern. “How many boxes of cereal did you eat in the past few days?”

“I don't know, but we're out, now.” She shrugged.

The group exchanged glances, and an unspoken agreement that their weather mage's sleep schedule needed to be fixed first.

The quick 'woosh' of a pillar of light formed just outside the group. Their last team member's form appeared. “You guys are already here?” Jade stepped into the nearest open space.

“We were just waiting on you,” Mark said casually.

“I watched the whole show,” Peach's smile never disappeared. “It's so good!”

Jade's face lit up. “I know, right?”

“Please tell me there's a season 2.”

“Hell yeah! Who's your favorite?”

“I like them all! But mostly the guy with the—“

“I know you're excited, but we have a mission to go on. We gotta focus,” Blue interrupted.

“Right, right,” Peach settled down, “Sorry.”

“Ok. Everybody take five to get what you need, then meet back here. Sound good?” Blue said.

Everyone nodded and scattered to refill their supplies. A few minutes later, they returned to the main room of the hub and gathered at the wide-open area in front of the portal's spawn point. Peach and Jade took their places last, having talked about their new favorite in-common show as much as they could before embarking.

The bell for the third shift echoed its low tone through the hall, alerting everyone in the hub. People appeared within columns of light, and some filtered in from the surrounding rooms.

“That's our cue,” Red cracked his neck. “Let's do this.”

The air crackled ahead of them. A dark vortex formed from a point no larger than a thumbnail and quickly blossomed out to form a dark blue, violet, and black event horizon wide enough to easily encompass two people standing shoulder to shoulder. Its center was thick and black as ink, swirling as if time itself gave way to the will of the universe.

The first time they saw this, everyone—including Mark—felt trepidation. They were both excited and afraid to step through into the unknown. This portal created a wormhole connection into one person's dream, like an Einstein-Rosen bridge in space, but within the ethereal and mailable dream world that seemed to punt physics out the window.

Sometimes the sight of this incredible phenomenon struck him with awe at what it could do, and what it allowed him and many others to accomplish: saving the spirits of those crying out for help.

The waking world knew nothing of this.

Mark turned his back on the portal to address the team. “Normally I'd say this is one where we can go in for the snipes and be back by lunch. It seems pretty cut and dry, but...” he glanced in the distance to the hall leading to the infirmary. Regardless of his own machismo, hearing Tim say 'I have a bad feeling about this' was rare, and didn't sit well in his gut –like that ghost pepper. What the hell was he thinking? “...just remember not to let your guard down, ok? It may look tame, but very often it's a rouse; A cleaver, dubious rouse. As dubious as rouses get.”

“I don't care what it 'do,' it 'be us' who take it down,” Jade thumbed toward themselves. “We're pros. We got this. Now let's go kick some Terrorling ass!” They jumped through the portal with a loud battle cry, 'Lerooy Jenkins!'

Peach followed with a light 'woohoo!' and leaped in.

Red simply face palmed at his companions and stepped through.

“Whoever you are, don't worry,” Purple set her jaw in determination, “We'll find you.” And with that resolve steeling her bravery, she leaped through after her friends.

Blue and Mark stepped up last. “You seem a little out of it, Mark. Everything all right?”

“What, me? Nah, it's good. It's all gravy. We can take whatever this nightmare throws at us. Let's start off the weekend with a bang!”

Blue grinned at the animated finger guns and quickly knelt down at a small hole off to the side in the wall. A few tiny mouse sounds emitted from it. She smiled. “Squeaks for luck,” then gave him a thumbs up and jumped through the portal. She trusted her friends—all of them. They'll save this person and be on to the next mission before they knew it.

Mark followed through. The portal closed, locking them into the connection to the other person's nightmare. It quickly reset for the next team.

Though he had confidence in his team, he still couldn't shake Tim's warning. Something about this mission might go tits up if they weren't prepared. Mark, as a veteran of rescuing people in the dream world, knew that all too well. This one, however...felt different.

And that worried him most of all.

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TBC

Prologue: A Light in the Darkness

Chapter 1: Weekend Warriors

Chapter 2: Something’s Suspishy

Chapter 3: Chasing the Sun

Chapter 4: The Nightmare’s Truth

Chapter 5: Light and Shadow

Chapter 6: Lifeline - part 1

Chapter 7: Lifeline - part 2

Chapter 8: Phantom Power

Chapter 9: Mark’s Past

Chapter 10: A Second Chance

Chapter 11: Learning to Breathe

Epilogue: Ad Infinitum

#Hearts and heroes #markiplier fan game #markiplier fanfiction #still going on this. It feels odd #but I keep reminding myself that these are characters and not real people. Still not breaking my rule.#Peach is an anime fan #I love all these cinnamon rolls #Warfstache is just that crafty #fanfiction #fanfic

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freddielocks · 4 years

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Here are, by Discogs' ratings, the 10 most valuable singles in my collection. The descriptions will aim to give you as much detail as they can about each, if there's any terminology that needs explaining just ask!

They'll go in reverse order:

10) John's Children - Desdemona

B-side: Remember Thomas a Becket

Label: Track, cat 604003

Year: 1967

Highest sold for on Discogs: £122

Rare Record Price Guide Value (in mint near unplayed condition): £150

Price paid: £30 on eBay

Condition: Record and sleeve VG (some noise)

This Desdemona, the rarest of all the singles I own by my hero Marc Bolan, is made much more valuable as it has the rare picture sleeve, an oddity for British singles at the time. Both sides are decent mod tracks and the A-side was banned by the BBC for the lyrics 'Lift up your skirt and fly' which Bolan maintained was about a witch.

9) Nicky James - So Glad We Made It

A-side: I Need To Be Needed

Label: Philips, cat BF 1566

Year: 1967

Highest on Discogs: £140

RRPG mint Value: £7 (!)

Price paid: 40p in Plastic Wax Records

Condition: Solid VG (edge cracked but not affecting grooves)

Nicky James aka 'Thunderthroat' was a big voiced but obscure singer, who came close to hits and almost joined the Moody Blues, who later went on to enormous success, signing him to their record label Threshold. I found this after hours of searching and got really excited (confused stares in the shop) and got it home only to see its low book value. However, it was not listed on Discogs, and so I put it in the database myself, to find a few years later that the B-side is considered a collectible Northern Soul record and it had started to sell for way more money! Not my favourite record by him though, which is Reaching For The Sun.

8) The Creation - Making Time

B-side: Try And Stop Me

Label: Planet, cat PLF 116

Year: 1966, charted at #49 for 1 week

Highest on Discogs: £150

Book value: £35 (would be £50 with sleeve)

Price paid: £25 on Discogs (lucky!)

Condition: largely VG+ but one deeper scratch causes pops

The mod band The Creation were rivals to the Who in their heyday, and this aggressive punky single, produced by the renowned Shel Talmy and issued on his (uber-cool) Planet label, showcases their talent, as well as the invention of playing the electric guitar with a violin bow to crunchy effect! It's a classic and a must-have for any collector.

7) The Misunderstood - I Can Take You To The Sun

B-side: Who Do You Love

Label: Fontana, cat. TF 777

Year: 1966

Highest on Discogs: £150

Book value: £80

Price paid: 50p in a warehouse clearance in Cadoxton, Wales

Condition: it appears that this was left by the radiator at some point, and it's a bit wavey around the edge. This causes a few wobbles in the sound and a little sizzle at the end, but still listenable

The Misunderstood were a mysterious American outfit, who only released this single while in their original line up, with the dual guitars of Englishman Tony Hill and Glenn Ross Campbell (not the famous one). 1966 puts it at the cutting edge of psychedelia, and both tracks are amazing and utter classics, with the A-side taking you to space and back and the B-side being the most screechy Bo Diddley cover ever! It was a dream to find a copy in the dingiest place in the world, and well worth the damp knees and hours without any natural light.

6) The Maytones - Botheration and The G.G. Rhythm Section - TNT

Label: Blue Cat, cat. (Haha) BS 165

Year: 1969

Highest on Discogs: £150

Book price: £35

Paid: it's still a secret but it's around £30-35, from Plastic Wax

Condition: solid VG again, which for a reggae/rocksteady single is practically a dream.

This single split between two artists very popular in Jamaica (The G.G. All Stars were connected to pioneer Ernest Ranglin) was released on the Blue Cat label, arguably the rarest of the numerous sub-labels of legendary company Trojan Records. Both sides are chilled rocksteady and among the label's best work, justifying the steep rise in prices for it. My reggae buying career has been essentially for the labels they were released on, but this was a huge coup as it was a brilliant record too!

5) James Royal - I Can't Stand It

B-side: A Little Bit Of Rain

Label: CBS, cat. 2959

Year: 1967

Highest on Discogs (and only sale to date): £150

Book price: £125

Price paid: 50p in Rick's Records (rip), Hastings

Condition: looks utterly trashed and has a small crack going into the playing surface alas. However it plays very well given its appearance - it's loud!

James Royal is not a well known name - he made a fair few singles before joining a covers band and leaving the big time for Australia, having played with a host of future stars (Rick Wakeman of Yes, John Entwistle of the Who, Nick Simper from Deep Purple) along the way. This classy two-sider is his rarest record and shows his vocals to great effect against an amazingly lavish production. As usual with soul records, the demo copy (which amazingly was the reason I didn't leave it in the box for so cheap!) doubles the value, although any copy of this fetches big prices - that £150 is looking a little low. I more treasure it because musically it's superb. Check it out!

4) Kaleidoscope - A Dream For Julie

B-side: Please Excuse My Face

Label: Fontana, cat. TF 895

Year: 1968

Highest Discogs: £175

Book price: £40

Paid: £5 on eBay

Condition: has a crack which has led to a small piece missing. I have just about got it to play without the needle getting stuck in there. You can appreciate this one's a 'collection filler' (for someone who didn't care - I bought it for the music obviously!)

Kaleidoscope are a now legendary English psych-pop outfit, who narrowly missed success both in this form, making waves with 'Flight From Ashiya' (which I also own after a long and arduous search) and as their later Fairfield Parlour incarnation, scoring a near-hit with 'Bordeaux Rosé'. As I Luv Wight they recorded the theme for the Isle Of Wight Festival in 1970, but the festival DJ ignored instructions to play it in between every act and tossed his copy into the crowd (it was perhaps a little too advanced, but I like it (and own it)). A Dream For Julie is a bizarre danceable record with sheer nonsense lyrics ('Mexican clowns' and 'strawberry monkeys' surround Julie for starters). The B-side is typically mellow and stately.

3) The Kinks - Long Tall Sally

B-side: I Took My Baby Home

Label: Pye, cat. 7N.15611

Year: 1964

Highest on Discogs: £207

Book price: £120

Paid: £16 on eBay

Condition: VG playing above grade - a surprisingly great copy! Probably one of the best in this list

The Kinks need no introduction, but this was their first ever single released just two records before You Really Got Me practcially invented fuzz guitar and changed rock forever. Both sides are snappy beat numbers with character and the characteristic weird vocals of Ray Davies. eBay does have miracles - this bidding war happened in prime hours (8pm) and I held on by 50p or so, for a record which otherwise would fetch much higher and has a huge collector's market in beat and Kinks fans alike.

2) Crocheted Doughnut Ring - Two Little Ladies (Azalea and Rhododendron)

B-side: Nice

Year: 1967

Label: Polydor, cat. 56204

Highest on Discogs: £307

Book value: £40

Paid: £12.50 on eBay

Condition: VG-, crackles a fair bit as both sides are quiet.

The (Crocheted) Doughnut Ring were an obscure outfit who issued around four singles in the late 60s. This record's A-side is a rather meandering psych-pop affair which is rather soft. Having no other material for a B-side, producer Peter Eden (who lent his talents to a whole other bunch of records and adds collectibility) fooled around with the A-side tapes and created an incredible soundscape - inventing ambient music in 1967! There's nothing else like it for at least another four years, when Brian Eno and Robert Fripp released (No Pussyfooting) (which I do own, and yes, the brackets are part of the title), the first major incidence of tape manipulation in popular music after The CDR's accident!

1) The Spectres - I (Who Have Nothing)

B-side: Neighbour Neighbour

Label: Piccadilly, cat. 7N.35339

Year: 1966

Highest on Discogs: £350

Book value: £300

Paid: Nothing! This was in my aunt's garage in Manchester, although mum has no idea who owned it in the first place - mysterious Auntie Laura was the only candidate. Other records in the box were also rare, causing disbelief as mum thought they were awful!

Condition: incredibly for a record stored without any protective sleeve in a flimsy box in the dankest most cluttered garage in existence, it's a solid VG with great sound.

This record, the first of three, was the first recorded appearance of Status Quo! This creates its incredible value, although it is the most common of the three (not saying much). Both sides are not brilliant versions of standards recorded by lots of bands, although I (like others) have a soft spot for the B-side, which is an R&B number with traces of the psychedelic sound early Quo (before they decided to only write songs with three chords!) were to hit success with, as Pictures of Matchstick Men became a top 10 hit. In between the Spectres and that single, the band were known as Traffic Jam, and the Almost But Not Quite There (accurate name!) single is the most sought after. My aunt nearly threw it away! Jesus!

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engl699readingjournal-blog · 7 years

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during my first seven months in Berlin, I lived in the heart of a wealthy neighborhood that absolutely did not want me there. if that wasn’t made clear enough to me by the old people with whom I engaged in regular stare-downs on the bus toward Wannsee or on the U3 between Krumme Lanke and Wittenbergplatz, it was made clear to me when I took walks around the Schlachtensee or around the Spanische Allee in Nikolassee. especially at night. I very quickly realized that I was Scary because I wore black coats and my boots made a lot of noise on the street cobbles at night, and I took a lot of walks at night, and at one or two houses the curtains of an upstairs window never failed to twitch, once someone even put the effort into raising up those outside-the-window blinds that Germans put down over their windows at night, making their houses look like closed stores at the mall, and looking out to see what manner of ruffian was tromping down the street at 11:00PM to disturb the idyll. it was literally just me, though, three nights into another bout of not sleeping or eating because the bupropion made it hard to sit still or keep food down. if I kept moving through neighborhoods that were not mine at unacceptable hours I could at least ignore the persistent cold-sweating, the drastic weight loss, and the fact that my apartment sucked. during the daytime I walked around the Rehwiese, sometimes accidentally turning into people’s private driveways and always blatantly reading the nameplates on the front gates to their mansions as if casing the property for a robbery. really I just wanted to know what they did for a living and from there proceeded to wonder what I had to do in life to be able to afford a fucking Prussian country house with ornate Jugendstil decor. “, Arzt” and “, Rechtsanwalt” were the most common two declarations I found attached to names, unsurprisingly. “, Architekt” was another. particularly manic episodes involved the charade of me finding a bench and attempting to read a book because at least it looked like I had a purpose being there, the book and all, I looked a little more like a student than a starving unshowered piece of trash, synapses firing uncontrollably and all. this display was met with disapproval from the universal powers that be when I was shit on by a bird while reading the first sentence of Fabian by Erich Kästner over and over again. it wasn’t until later that I actually learned this meadow was called die Rehwiese, which in German means “the roe deer meadow.” in old English my name means the exact same thing. so it was my fucking meadow all along.

in Goodbye to Berlin Isherwood writes of the Grünewald as an area inhabited by most of the richest Berlin families, though “it is difficult to understand why”:

“Their villas,” he writes, “in all known styles of expensive ugliness, ranging from the eccentric-rococo folly to the cubist flat-roofed steel-and-glass box, are crowded together in this dank, dreary pinewood. Few of them can afford large gardens, for the ground is fabulously dear; their only view is of their neighbour’s backyard, each one protected by a wire fence and a savage dog. Terror of burglary and revolution has reduced these miserable people to a state of siege. They have neither privacy nor sunshine. The district is really a millionaire’s slum.” (14)

I have already talked a little bit about how I felt when I rode the S7 train from Nikolassee to the Grünewald S-Bahnhof. I have been on a lot of unnecessarily long bus- and train- and plane-journeys out of sheer cheapness and am still convinced that the stretch between those two train stations is the longest I have ever experienced in my entire life. aside from it being one of the prime stretches during which it was popular for ticket agents to slither out of the cut and start checking for proof that you were allowed to be there, because they knew you couldn’t escape during the suspension of time and civilization and molecular structure and oxygen that occurred in that really wretched sliver of misery, it was also one of those non-spaces in life where you sense that the veil is thin and someone dead from any point or place in history could just materialize across from you reading the Bild-Zeit and wearing a Jack Wolfskin half-zip. staring out the window is actually not something I remember doing much; I feel like it took a while for me to finally look and realize that the stretch was so god damn long precisely because we were going through the middle of the fucking forest. when I finally did look I realized it wasn’t even pretty. to my left I could see the Autobahn in the distance, which was especially depressing on rainy days. I tweeted, to all my friends back home who had no idea what I was talking about, that “the stretch on the S7 between Nikolassee and Grünewald is one of those places that proves God has abandoned the earth.” when I had finally made friends this was the easiest way to reach Mitte and meet them. the Grünewald was a reminder that it was a Homerian epic for me to get anywhere and that I was an idiot for choosing an apartment where I had. getting to my destinations was always like reaching Canaan because of that. for those months I think I actually spent more time engaged with the BVG somehow than I did scowling in the corner of any bar or drinking hot water with ginger and squeezed lemon (see: not “tea”) in people’s flats. later I learned that the Grünewald train station was a major hub for the deportation of Jews who lived in Berlin and its suburbs. Isherwood’s pupil was herself Jewish, as were many of the wealthy people who inhabited the dismal landscape of the cloistered Grünewald district. I wasn’t too far off about it being a place where God had abandoned the earth. a place without sunshine, definitely.

in “Sally Bowles,” Isherwood writes a close character study of a young English singer of mediocre talent and enormous ambition who puts up sexual services as collateral for opportunities to become a famous singer and actress. multiple times he uses the term “demi-monde” and describes Sally as a demimondaine at least once – its meaning as a loan word and its literal translation from the French differ slightly. the cultural meaning of the demi-monde refers to the bohemian lifestyle, transience, the eschewing of traditional morals and the running in hedonistic circles of those who do the same. in French it literally means “half-world,” or almost-world, insinuating an artificiality of the entire structure, a fragility. for the most part Isherwood considers himself outside of the influence of this phenomenon despite brushing elbows with the friends Sally makes, who make grand promises and then melt away like wet crepe paper or just dissolve away into Argentina or some shit. though he does write of an American called Clive, one of many older men who promise the nineteen-year-old Sally an audition with a film producer or other prominent show-business figure. this encounter is intriguingly different, however; Sally, who liberally calls herself a “gold-digger” and a “whore” with no reservations whatever, pulls Isherwood himself into this bizarre triangle in which sex and money are inevitably intertwined, and the “ménage-à-trois” begins making arrangements for the long term: to France and Italy, Clive promises them, then to South America, the United States, Japan, Tahiti. Sally and Isherwood have a brief moment of delusion in which they both think they’ve found someone who will lift them out of their destitution. days after this trip is planned, Clive departs for Budapest, leaving behind an envelope with 300 Marks to be split between them both (50 of which are spent on a lavish dinner that neither enjoys, 200 of which are spent on an abortion). early on, I once joked to a new friend in Berlin that my friends back home urged me not to come back from my time in the city without finding a “sugar-parent” who insisted on supporting me financially for no reason other than that they found me interesting. “everyone in Berlin is poor,” she said, “or they tell you they are, anyway.” needless to say I still have a 28K student loan.

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blookmallow · 7 years

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hey wow look what i found buried in my drafts from 300 years ago

this started as Bits Of Story Notes but then i kinda ran with it and let it become more drawn out prose so now its like. a lil writing blurb

specifically, about antis and their formations. its kind of a nonspecific narrative voice i didnt want to try to work into particular characters bc then id be limited by which characters know what/who would be willing to tell who what/etc so its not anyone in particular (theres also some names missing bc i havent figured out all the details)

“But what IS an Anti? How could something so... sinister come from someone so kind?”

“Well... that’s the trouble of it, you’re looking at it all backwards.”

“Backwards?”

“Well, to start, they come from nothing. It’s no fault of the Origin’s, after all. ...and you speak as if humans are inherently something kind, Antis inherently something cruel. I can promise you that simply isn’t the case.”

Antis are not literal pieces of their origins - it isn’t so much “my dark side, embodied,” no proper Hyde to one’s Jekyll, as it were. An Anti comes not from within, but without; like a formless, nonsentient parasite locking itself to an unwary host. This occurs at random, of course- anyone could have an Anti.

Any human, that is.

Though they’re said to be particularly drawn to those with high propensity for magic.

The nebulous spirit matter from which they come is all around us- no, don’t look, you can’t see it. Not even the Soul Collectors can. But something invisible, no matter how transient and slight, is none the less real. They have no self yet; no mind to think or to consider, no consciousness at all. Only the instinctive drive to become. Antis long to exist before the conception of “longing” exists within them. They form themselves as a sentient, corporeal being through the unconsenting assistance of the Origin. That person becomes a sort of mold, a self and a form from which the Anti creates a kind of reversed mirror image to inhabit itself.

The very moment of formation is still quite mysterious even to Antis themselves; how exactly it occurs, or why this moment and not that, and each Anti is quite different just as humans are from one another. It is not impossible for two Antis to form in the same way, but the variation is infinite.

However, it is as of now believed that an Anti comes to fruition upon achieving some kind of inciting incident which serves to shove the dormant spirit into physical reality, such as a moment of intense emotion, contact with magic, a traumatic event - something to release the spirit that has been quietly building itself up.

“But-...what if it doesn’t? What if there is no incident, the spirit never released-? What would that... do to a person?”

Well... Nobody knows. Possibly it might kill the both of them. Possibly something more sinister may occur, an amalgamate form never meant to be. But we need not worry about that. One could hardly imagine a person who never has a moment of intensity in their entire life. It is most likely the case that the spirit, upon having built itself up long enough, eventually will release on its own, anyhow.

Now, some Antis have an immediate fixation on their origin, some are an immediate destructive force, some are scared and confused by their own sudden existence, and... some just want to get as far away from them as quickly as possible. It’s not entirely fair to compare them to parasites - their formation is not harmful to the Origin, after all. But it is said that they are never quite the same afterward.

Damian Nightfall - yes, that one - formed from shadows one night when young Skye Blue had a particularly violent nightmare; he was suddenly awoken in the middle of the night and overwhelmed with dread in the darkness of his room. He had never been afraid of the dark before. He had sensed a growing anxiety every time the lights went out for weeks beforehand, but never told anyone; it felt silly and irrational to him- why would I be scared now? Why, I’ll be turning thirteen soon! I ought not to be afraid of dark rooms.

But he was, anyway.

He watched in confused horror as his own shadow turned into a dripping, crawling darkness that slowly gained mass and moved sluggishly across the floor on its own terms.

the thing on the floor immediately fixated on him, and while it was only half-formed and still an amorphous shambling mass of shadow, it lunged out of the darkness to attempt to strangle the boy the moment it had anything resembling hands

Miss Shuri immediately felt the intense distress - and the threat to Skye’s life, as it most definitely was - and appeared at once to cast the Anti out. But she refrained from killing him, though she could have, because a soul collector never kills if it can be avoided - and Damian was really only a child then.

He slithered off somewhere into the woods, and continues to terrorize Skye to this day - though he’s no longer interested in actually killing him. An Anti without an Origin becomes mortal and powerless, as he’s learned all too well.

And so that was Skye’s first encounter with Damian. He still suffers from frequent nightmares, and cannot sleep in the dark anymore. His shadow, even in bright sunlight, is oddly faded and light - not terribly noticeable, but almost as if there’s less of it somehow.

Miss Iris appeared as a sudden face in the mist of toxic fumes that erupted when Christina had fallen into a patch of mushrooms in the woods

there was a brief moment of grotesque entanglement as Iris’s body formed against her; both confused and trapped against each other, but both struggling to get away, each in disgust of the other

the moment they became untangled, there was a brief instant of hatred between them, and Iris vanished in smoke. These days, the two are content just to live their lives completely away from each other - neither acknowledges the other’s existence, and both are better off because of it.

Laelia Thorne’s Origin’s hand was cut off in an accident - and moments later, the severed, still-bleeding hand suddenly began spasming and mutating, growing itself out hideously, red blood pouring out in a bright rush as if it were being purged out - until Laelia was formed.

The poor girl was so horrified, she passed out from the shock. When she finally came to, Laelia was gone. No one believes her, supposing her to have been in a state of hysteria from the traumatic event - but the hand was never found.

She never saw Laelia again.

Lex Calamity’s Origin was looking into a mirror one day; feeling a crisis of identity, stressed and alone and feeling lost, when she realized suddenly that her reflection looked somehow wrong.

It wasn’t following her movements anymore, as if it were frozen in wide-eyed horror. She stared back into the mirror, feeling as if she were looking into a stranger’s eyes. A wild impulse to smash the glass to pieces came over her, but she could not bring herself to move.

Tears slowly slipped from the reflection’s eyes - which were rapidly changing color - but not from her own. In a sudden movement, she reached to touch her own face, but the tear was not there. The reflection did not move.

Inky black spread over the reflection’s blonde hair, consuming it as if a bucket of paint had been dropped over its head, as she could only watch in horror.

She slowly, slowly reached for the mirror. This time, the reflection moved in sync - but when their hands touched, she felt cold skin instead of glass, and the fingers twisted into hers.

She screamed and pulled back, inadvertently pulling the reflection out with her, and they both tumbled to the floor.

The reflection scrambled to its feet like a frightened cat and ran.

They found her, hours later, sobbing on the bathroom floor, shattered glass everywhere. After they heard her story, the sisters took her away to be exorcised of the evil she professed immediately. There was no trace of the demon reflection, and it was never seen again.

She is to this day desperately afraid of mirrors - and if ever she dares to look, her reflection is distorted and blurry- like some part of it has left.

Sage Blackburn’s Origin nearly drowned in the sea; She was desperately tangled up in seaweed that suddenly became arms - she saw bright yellow eyes glowing in the dark of the water, and felt someone holding her, pulling her up toward the surface.

Those eyes were the last thing she was conscious of before she passed out - the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, she says.

She awoke on the beach, alone, but alive.

She believes a mermaid came and saved her. She calls her her Muse; she paints pictures of her all the time, trying to remember, and dreams of one day finding her again. She has overcome her fear of the ocean after this event, determined to return to the sea that she loves, and find her Muse again.

Sage knows nothing of this, and left the girl on the beach, hurrying away to discover her own life. She has told no one of this story; and so no one knows if she saved her Origin out of compassion, or just so that she herself would survive - and Sage wouldn’t tell you if you asked her.

[-unfinished-]

[roach: origin was very, very sick for a long time - and suddenly coughed up a huge bug that skittered away into the dark (and later, unseen, became Roach). they coughed up a few small, repugnant mushrooms, and immediately felt better. They recovered rapidly and seemed completely unphased by the whole ordeal.]

[gasket keskar: formed in a spark of lightning that destroyed a tree, but did not harm anyone. Origin (Kavi Narang) knows he exists, but has never seen him again - though he is actually interested to meet him again.]

[malkin erebus: formed in an explosion which destroyed Origin (Cyril Flintwitch)’s home and killed their mother. malkin did not intend to do this, and feels terrible for it, having never intended harm. cyril has permanent mental scars and has never been well since, though their paranoia and anxiety has improved recently - as well as their relationship with malkin. malkin is at times infatuated with cyril - and has had a very tumultuous history with them - but is learning to respect boundaries, and is accepting the responsibility for the things he has done.]

[crow hackett: unknown]

[crank: unknown]

[zyx: formed from the dust under Origin (Cody Jemson)’s bed. lives there still. unsettling, but not actually harmful. yet.]

[siren hemlock: unknown]

#cellophane rose #cr ref

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sheminecrafts · 5 years

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How Peloton made sweat addictive enough to IPO

It makes lazy people like me work out. That’s the genius of the Peloton bicycle. All you have to do is velcro on the shoes and you’re trapped. You’ve eliminated choice and you will exercise. Through a succession of savvy product design choice I’ll break down here, Peloton removes the friction to getting fit. It’s the leader in a movement I call “pushbutton health”. And this is why I think Peloton will be a big succes no matter what short-term investors do when it IPOs this week after raising $994 million in venture capital.

The bike

Basically, Peloton is a $2300 stationary bike with an iPad stuck to the front. The $40 per month subscription unlocks thousands of live and on-demand video cycling classes where instructors positively yell at you. When you think you’re tired already, they look into your eyes, tell you “you got this”, the soundtrack crescendos, you crank up the resistance, and you pedal harder at home. The resulting endorphin rush is addictive, and you find yourself persuading friends they need a Peloton too.

That viral loop which adds to its 500,000 subscribers is how Peloton plans to raise ~$1.16 billion going public this week at an ~$8 billion valuation. Its revenue doubled this year as it began to dominate the connected exercise equipment market, though losses quadrupled as it burned cash to become a household name. But after riding 110 of 150 days I’ve been home since buying its bike, I’m confident in the company. Whatever it invests now to build its lead will likely be paid back handsomely by its increasingly handsome customers who can’t bear to clip out. Here’s why.

Peloton classes are recorded in front of a live studio audience of riders

The Brilliance Of This Bike

The Shoes – Usually the activation energy to start a workout requires dragging yourself to the gym or suiting up to face the elements outside. That can be daunting enough that you rarely do. But once you slip into the Peloton bike shoes, you can hardly walk normally which means you can hardly procrastinate. You’re home so you don’t even need clothes. Just a few velcro straps and you’re over the hump and resigned to exercise.

The Clips – Home gym equipments reduces the barrier to entry but also the barrier to exit. You can tell yourself you’ll keep doing push-up sets or squats jumping rope, but you can stop any time. Yet after you’re clipped into the Peloton bike, you’re almost assured to keep pedaling until the instructor gives you that end-of-ride congratulations.

Just put the shoes on and you’ll exercise

The Schedule – You can get a sweat in just 10 or 20 minutes going hard on a Peloton. Combined with zero commute, that means you’ll practically always be able fit in a ride regardless of how busy you are. No more “I don’t have time to make it to the gym so I’ll just skip out”. When my calendar gets crunched or I dawdle a little before deciding to ride, classes as short as 5 minutes ensure there’s no weaseling out.

The Instructors – I wish I had these coaches to motivate me through sorting email. Peloton’s 20+ instructors range from hippie-dippie gurus to no-nonsense trainers that fit your personality type. You find yourself craving your favorite’s special brand of relentless positivity. I burn far more calories in a shorter time than exercising solo because they inspire me to push a little harder or they slow their countdown to add a couple all-out seconds to the end of a sprint. They’re even becoming celebrities, with bankers lining up for selfies during Peloton’s IPO road show. Sick of them? You can always Scenic Ride through video of some of the world’s prettiest bike paths.

Peloton instructors (from left): Alex Toussaint, Emma Lovewell, Ben Alldis, and Leane Hainsby

The Intimacy – You’re eye-to-eye with those instructors as they stare into the camera and out of the giant screen bolted to your handlebars. That generates intimacy despite them broadcasting to thousands. Even in person, a SoulCycle coach across the room can feel further away. You’re mostly guided by audio cues, but their gaze compels you to perform. Peloton almost feels like FaceTime, and that’s a sense of connection many long for more of these days.

The Pavlovian Response – Your brain quickly begins to associate the sounds of Peloton with the glowing feeling of finishing a workout. The rip of the velcro shoe straps, the click of clipping into the bike, but most of all the instructor catch-phrases. You get hooked on hear the bubbling British accent of “I’mmmm Leeaannne Haaaaainsby” as she introduces herself, Ben Alldis’ infectious “You got 5, you got 4…” countdowns, or Emma Lovewell reminding you to “Live, learn, love well”. That final ‘namaste’ followed by wiping down the bike and jumping in a cold shower forms a ritual you’re inclined to repeat.

Eye-contact with the instructors creates an intimate bond

The Soundtrack – Popular songs are more than just a pump-up accompaniment to Peloton classes. Your pedaling pace is often pegged to the tempo, with sprints starting when the beat drops. As your legs tire, you feel obliged to maintain your speed so you don’t fall behind the drums. You can even search classes by music genre and preview each’s playlist. Peloton has paid out $50 million in royalties for its music, and faces $300 million-plus in lawsuits for copyright infringement. But having the best tunes to bike to might end up worth the penalty since it helped Peloton race ahead in a lucrative market.

The Bike As Decor – Most home exercise equipment ends up in a closet or as a clothing rack. By designing its bicycles for beauty, Peloton coerces you to place them conspicuously in your home. You might have seen the hysterical Twitter thread parodying this practice, but it’s funny because it’s true. You’re a lot more likely to ride it if it’s central to your home (ours is between our bed and the doors to the veranda), and you’ll be embarassed if visitors ask about it and you haven’t hopped on recently.

“A good place for your Peloton bike is between your kitchen and your living room facing the cactus garden so you always remember virtual spin class” –ClueHeywood on Twitter

The Network Effect – Many of these smart product design moves could be copied by competitors. But by amassing a community of 1.4 million members to date, Peloton benefits from social features and economies of scale. You can ride together with pals over video chat, send each other digital high fives, or race and compare achievements. Each friend that joins Peloton is one more reason not to sign up for a competitor. The whole concept virtual personal training is being legitimized. And the cost of producing more classes gets spread wider as membership grows.

The Shared Accounts – Peloton has even built in a way to feel noble about your sanctimonious prosyletizing about how it “jumpstarted your metabolism”. Each $39 on-bike subscription allows unlimited accounts on up to three devices, so you can hook up some friends if you convince them to buy the big-budget gadget.

High-five fellow riders as you virtuall pass them

The Growth Hacks – Peloton streaks are for adults what Snapchat streaks are to kids: a clever way to reward consistent usage. But beyond the achievement badges displayed on your profile, you’ll get in-ride leaderboards full of people to proudly pass, progress bars to fill by pedaling, and kilojoule output high scores to beat. Peloton makes exercise a game you want to win.

The Shoutouts – Yet Peloton’s most explicit levering of our psychology comes from the in-class name-drop shoutouts instructors give. Whether mentioning the screen names of a few participants at the start of a session or congratulating users hitting their 50th, 200th, or 500th ride, the recognition pushes people to join the dozen live-streamed classes each day that add urgency to the on-demand catalog. Proof it works? People strategize to ensure their 100th ride is a long live class to maximize the chance of a shout-out.

A free cult shirt after your 100th ride

The ‘Transcendence’ – Peloton minimizes the isolation from working out at home. In fact, its whole product enables people to feel ‘glamorous’ and ‘manifested’ yet nonchalant in ways going to a sweaty gym or using a personal trainer can’t. It’s like being able to buy a little piece of the smug satisfaction and in-group affiliation of going to Burning Man. That’s why the company even sends you a free “Century Club” t-shirt when you hit your 100th ride. You’re meant to feel cool sharing that you “Peloton”, using the startup’s name as a verb.

—

Conspicuous Self-Actualization

Still, Peloton has plenty left to optimize. There’s room to expand use of its camera to offer premium one-on-one coaching, head-to-head racing, group video chat with friends, and augmented reality filters to make people feel comfortable on screen and take shareable selfies. A wider range of intense but short classes could appeal to overworked professionals who picked Peloton precisely because they don’t have an hour for the gym.

Novelty could come from celebrity guest instructors, or themed classes for pre-gaming for a night out, fans of a particular artist, or songs about a certain topic. And it should definitely have some iconic sounds like an om or singing bowl chime that play before each class to center you and after to release you.

Most excitingly, the Peloton screen has the potential to be a platform for exercise-controlled gaming and apps. Whether pedaling to escape zombies chasing you or piece together a puzzle, maintaining an output level to keep your cross-hairs locked on an enemy plane as you dogfight, or making a garden bloom by growing each flower during a different interval, Peloton could evolve riding to be much more interactive. Apps could offer training simulators for different sports focused on sprints for basketball or marathons for soccer. Or just put Netflix on it! By opening up to outside developers, Peloton could build a moat of extra experiences competitors can’t match.

With the strengths and opportunities of its core product, Peloton is poised to absorb more of your fitness time and money. It’s already branching out with yoga, meditation, lifting, bootcamp, and jazzercise classes you can do standing next to your bike or without one on its $19 per month app. Its second gadget is a $4300 treadmill.

From there it could break into more of the “pushbutton health” business. I categorize these as wellness products and services that rely on convenience instead of your will power. Think delivery health food instead calorie-counting apps that are a chore. My pushbutton regimen includes Peloton, six salads per week dropped off in batches by Thistle, monthly packages of Nomiku vacuum-sealed meals that RFID scan into its sous vide machine, and a Future remote personal trainer who nags me by text message.

It’s easy to get hooked on the positivity

Peloton could easily dive into selling meal kits, personal training, or a wider range of workout clothes to compete with Lulu Lemon. If it’s the center of your fitness routine, the company could become a gateway to new health products it owns or partners with.

I’m bullish on Peloton because I’m betting people are going to stay busy, lazy, and competitive. It offers the effectiveness of a spin class but with scheduling flexibility. It removes every excuse for staying on the couch. And in an age of visual communication where many seek to share both the journey to and the destination of an Instagrammable body and the discipline to ge there, Peloton provides conspicuous self-actualization through consumerism. Plus, finishing a ride feels damn good.

from iraidajzsmmwtv https://ift.tt/3505bqp via IFTTT

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technicalsolutions88 · 5 years

Link

The bike

Peloton classes are recorded in front of a live studio audience of riders

The Brilliance Of This Bike

Just put the shoes on and you’ll exercise

Peloton instructors (from left): Alex Toussaint, Emma Lovewell, Ben Alldis, and Leane Hainsby

Eye-contact with the instructors creates an intimate bond

“A good place for your Peloton bike is between your kitchen and your living room facing the cactus garden so you always remember virtual spin class” –ClueHeywood on Twitter

High-five fellow riders as you virtuall pass them

A free cult shirt after your 100th ride

—

Conspicuous Self-Actualization

It’s easy to get hooked on the positivity

from Social – TechCrunch https://ift.tt/3505bqp Original Content From: https://techcrunch.com

#Technical Solutions #SEO #Online Earning #Youtube Marketing #Android Developer

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axiom-of-man-blog · 8 years

Text

Chapter 3 Year 44 DE June 2nd (Dawn of Eminence)

My mother has returned to her normal self, puttering around the house like a cracked out humming bird from one chore to another; never quite finishing any. She works tirelessly till she succumbs to exhaustion, although she cannot fall asleep without the guiding hand of Temazepam. It messes with her sleep schedule where she will be up 30 hours at a time before she sleeps hard for a good 12 hours. Despite her presence it still feels empty here; my father’s stays are too fleeting for his absence to feel anything but typical. The absence that has affected me recently is that of my uncle Henry. He hasn’t been home since I last bested him in archery, two weeks ago or so now. The days blend since I graduated from school. This small town hardly offers any opportunities to stimulate me. I find myself just wandering around this sad excuse for a town called Perdition That I have the pleasure of living just outside of. A whopping population of 400, Most everyone kept to themselves: it Is a town of recluses trying to escape something. It’s not uncommon to walk into a store and see the same person behind the register you have for years, and not know their name. Small talk was not something people practiced here: A populated ghost town. I started walking in the woods; there was more noise and presence here. It was a cacophony of sounds of every animal around me pushed by their primal urges to pass on their genetic line. I am surrounded by birds, bugs, loons and even the occasional wolf howling at night. The receding wilderness contains more life than any city, where most people are barely even human, just walking machines. A city filled mechanical ghost, possessing the bodies of the unfortunate. I keep walking, the sounds of the woods taste like a mouthful of grass and wet dirt, while not unpleasant I still place a piece of strong mint gum in my mouth. As I meander through the woods on no set path or given direction my stomach starts to grumble. Weighing the options of either a burger in town or searching for something at home only looking at the ground in front of me I step into something slick and sticky. I stop and I come out of my preoccupation to notice that its blood The smell of a corpse overwhelms the gum in my mouth and fills it with the taste of copper and rot. At first it was hard to tell what it was, there wasn’t much left other than a large rib cage and carnage. The head, tossed aside was a large buck’s, the cheeks were chewed away and there is blood on its antler that isn’t broken off. Whatever did this, the deer tried to fight back, and judging by the size this was a 300 pound buck. I grab the broken off antler its heavy and cool in my hands, but the blood on it is still warm. I walk away from the mess looking for any clues of what did this. A bear? Mountain lion? Both are rare in these parts anymore. Even what few wolves are around wouldn’t be able to manage this with their small packs. A twig snaps behind me. I scan the woods while mostly open from the old growth trees there are a few large boulders scattered in these woods where ancient glaciers melted and dropped their loads from the mountains haphazardly all over the valley. My blood runs cold as the woods become silent. Nothing moved the wind didn’t even dare stir. The taste of copper went to stone. I stood there froze holding the antler like a weapon in anticipation. I almost jumped when the breeze started to blow again and the despotic silence lifted. The woods exhaled its held breath. What the hell was that I think to myself as I start to walk away still holding the antler. I start following the stream, it eventually leads towards town. I can’t shake the feeling of being watched despite being hyper aware of my surroundings. I still would hear some movement here and there a ways back, sometimes in the trees sometimes a rustling of leaves. I came to clearing next to a road the stream continued under the road, I jumped the ditch and started walking the shoulder. My eyes on the woods, I see a large figuring standing 30 feet in the woods only for a moment and like a flash it was gone, as if it was never there. I half wonder if I imagined the whole thing. As I walk I realize I am still clutching the antler in a white knuckle grip. I drop it and it rattles on the pavement and my hand is stiff from the strain. An ancient pickup truck rattles by, a rare site if even so far away from the cities. Electric, hydrogen or even ethanol cars are the standard anymore with the oil business going under after the coast cities started losing their beaches and real-estate. The obdurate rural bumpkins like their fuel though. The emissions fill my nose, and my mouth with a sweet chemical taste.

The morning coolness was burning off by the time I wandered into town, I go from walking on the road to enjoying the shaded sidewalks. The towns quiet was refreshing after straining every sliver of perception in the woods for so long, only having to make sure not to trip over the cracks where tree roots have raised parts of the sidewalk. The town has a sort of hush over it more than usual. I approach my usual pick for food, Garlands a Deli Dinner and local hangout spot, the usual empty space is filled and everyone crowds the couple of TVS suspending from the ceiling. Rose, the smiley but quiet waitress stairs at the TV with a look of dread on her face. The news is blaring as I open the door, no one notices as I slide in next to them on one of the only available bar stools. “.. so far we have reports of 40 people dead and the number is rising every as we speak” The News man with perfect hair and teeth whiter than paper reports. He doesn’t smile as he talks. “The rally in Austin that started yesterday brought in a crowd of an estimated 700 thousand and close to a 2 million people have entered Texas hoping to be a part of this historic event.” “The governor gave his speech, to the whole city it was on every TV and his voice was broadcasted over the streets.” “Every man woman and child heard his call to action to take up arms against the quote… “Tyrannical government who is trying to make humanity obsolete”… Millions of people moved by this message chose to join him lets go to our lady on the scene, Rebecca” The clips goes to a young pretty woman with brown hair and highlights, her eyes a green glow but still filled with fear as she stands in the street with visible fires in the back ground. “Hi Tom, the riots here have turned extremely violent in the wake of the speech, people are hunting down and killing anyone with implants-“ She turns as a man is running towards her with a large crowbar in his hand She screams as he raises the weapon, the camera man backs away holding up his hands and screaming for him to stop, his Omni-vision contacts still recording and capturing it all. As the man gets close, his chest is pierced and he falls backwards, the camera man turns to see a half dozen hulking military exo-skeletons, fully equipped and armored. Standing seven feet tall the Solider looked at the camera man its helmet giving no sympathy or compassion. Over the dark grey metal you could see the splashes of blood and the marks where bullets had only scuffed the outer finish. The TV turns back to Tom as the on scene reporter is cut off halfway through his “Holy shit”. As a molotov explodes on the side of the armor engulfing it in flames and it turns inhumanly quick and starts firing off screen unaffected. Tom with his perfect teeth stairs wide eyed for a moment before he shakes the shock off his face. “It would appear the military is on the scene. What we just saw was one of the militaries new state of the art battle field exo-skeletons.” “The Ancile and Even more advanced Aegis armor is a product of Prometheus systems who want to ensure our soldiers safety-“ “Holy shit” says a man rubbing the side of his face. “Those god damn luddites are trying to fight walking tanks, this won’t last long.” “I use one of those at the factory but it’s a Wayland Suit, could still punch my way through a brick wall and lift a car… those bastards don’t stand a chance.” says another man. A woman sighs “what is this coming to”

In the shock of seeing the start of what seems to be a civil war unfolding I ran out of the place and towards my home. I didn’t stop, my legs pumped till they were numb, my heart pumped acid. In a daze, the four miles passed in a daze. I slammed on my uncles door, knowing that he wouldn’t answer, now or ever.

I felt under the porch for the key dangling from a pin. I grabbed it and pressed it into the door swinging it open, searching for anything indicating where he went. The house was humble, old furniture, electronics from sixty years ago at least. I hear his computer chime from somewhere in the living room. The whole place feels like something different now, no longer a refuge but a place of secrets. I open his laptop, to the desktop of a picture of my uncle and I my father took of us drawing back our bows at a target. I stopped for a moment staring at the picture. I was younger, It was shortly after the accident and my father tried to absorb as much time with me as he could. It was short lived but it was great while it lasted. He soon drifted as my mother’s disconnect got worse. We saw him less and less, and I saw my uncle more and more. I noticed the note on his desk with an old flint arrow head holding it down. I held the note in my now shaking hands.

Dear Icky, I am leaving this note because I know you would convince me to stay. I know you wouldn’t agree with me, but I had to go join this gathering the Free thought Movement is forming. I know you will come looking for me and find this note, this is what I believe. Maybe I can meet my man Percy himself.

I am not leaving you. I will be back. Take care of your mother till I get back, take care of yourself and stay safe. Hard times are ahead of us.

-Henry

P.s Hold onto this arrow head, they are rare these days just happened to find it digging a compost pit, neat huh?

My uncle is in a war zone. My heart is in my throat. That asshole, running off to be in some movement and probably getting himself killed. I noticed my hand bleeding from clutching the arrow head in my fist. The flint shard: still sharp after hundreds of years of being in the soil. Still clenched in my fist I walk across the lawn that conjoins my uncles with my own place. I walk in the back door and up the stairs into my room. I collapse on my bed and lay there in the silence when its interrupted by a chirp from my laptop laying on the floor next to by bed. I reach down and grab it. The whole device is a screen and functions closed or open. It has no physical keyboard, and is slightly transparent. The chirp was a mandatory announcement. This meant every screen, radio, omni-vision contact, and other device was showing the same message. I touched the screen and watched as a large burly man with a red face, whicker hat, pounding fist and large grey mustache. This was Governor Percy, and his message was clear despite his heavy drawl. “This was not an attack; this was a declaration of war!” he slams his fist on his podium. “Too long we have had these devices pushed on us, trying to make us all machines trying to take away our souls.” “We were not meant to live forever as artificial people.” “When did we lose our humanity?” When did we stray from our natural paths? Forty four years ago. When this great possession started, the mechanical devil seeped into the fabric of our very being.” “Texas is leaving the states, and we will fight anyone who tries to stop us.” “Texans, take up your arms against these mechanical invaders.” A fit of static and the live broadcast switches off. “Holy shit” I say to myself. The whole speech left a sour taste in my mouth. I never thought it would come to war, Texas is huge, and with as many people who have travelled there to join the movement… this could be a huge issue. Where is my uncle in all of this? He wouldn’t have joined the fight would he? It looks like a massacre there is he even alive. What the hell do I do? The thoughts plague me as I slowly drift off to sleep to the sound of peepers and my mother scurrying about the house dusting, cleaning and rearranging the furniture.

I woke to her standing over me, although this time she didn’t appear as an apparition, her face was flushed, pink and full of life. Her eyes filled with tears. “Icarus… The Texans… Those stupid people…” her eyes started to well up with tears. “They dropped a bomb on on on… They dropped a nuke on New York City.” “Your father… I don’t think he ever left I think he probably died oh god Icarus.” She curled over and collapsed to her knees sobbing. “Mom… He is backed up, more so than anyone else he is still-” “No you don’t understand… The servers where they back up everyone is there. They targeted the memory farms. Everyone in the city is gone for good.” She explained through her tears I hadn’t thought of this. In the cities there were skyscrapers that no one lived that were large storage facilities for everyone’s memory. New York had a huge concentration of them, but every major city does. This just means everyone in New York is staying dead. My laptop starts chirping again. It won’t stop till I look and when I open it for another mandatory message I see him, my father Jason Carway Standing along with other government leaders as the President addressed the war. They were already halfway through their speech when I opened it up.

“We will deal a quick and blow and end this war, we have the owner of Prometheus systems who has been building for the military and with his advances we should put a swift end to this rebellion. And-” My mother cut off the President’s speech in my ear

“He’s alive!”

Yes but for how long, this war is more against him than it even against our government. The strangest part of seeing him during such a fearful time is he looked as if he was smiling. f��9��

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