#⤷ dashboard games. // once every few lifetimes

[unwaivering-archived]

dashboard game: CAN YOUR MUSE KILL GOD?

TAGGED BY @historiavn TAGGING @heavnstruck, @hstoryhuh, @jundlcndwastes, @immortalmuses, and you!

[longroadstonowhere]

doing the mental calculus of which friends i would lose if i moved for a job

there's no real job in question here, just thinking about years down the line, what if i worked for the library of congress, etc etc

like... i remember a while back, my mom saying to me, with all the blithe confidence my mom has sometimes when saying something about me with such absolutely certainty that i feel zero percent of, that of course i would move for a job if necessary

and like... maybe? for the absolutely perfect, once in a lifetime, i know this could fix me kinda job? but that's not going to happen, jobs like that don't exist for people like me who don't have game plans or life goals or ambitions, i just see the next step i wanna take and i take it

and i am such a geographical person, including online honestly (i dithered around on the ign forums and livejournal and ff.net until tumblr was thrust upon me and i have never left and i will not leave until the site shuts down or until everyone i care about is gone), and that last part of the parenthetical is the important part - i don't hold friendships well with people who aren't geographically near to me anymore

now, people who were once geographically close? sometimes i can hold onto those, by the barest of margins, by the tips of my fingers and the skin of my teeth, but it is such a fight to do so, and i can't do that for every person who's been a friend that i don't live near anymore, and sometimes i hate it but most of the time i just recognize it as a physical truth - i do not have the physical ability to do this, and i can wish it was different, but wishing won't make it so

(i have a ruthless, practical streak, in case you were unaware, and nowhere is this more true than for myself and my abilities)

for the most part, though, my friends are the people who i can drive to, the people who i can see every day, the people who show up on my dashboard (especially with their own text posts, their own words), and moving away? i would have to accept leaving so many people behind

and i know this is true, because it's happened already

and it doesn't mean they're gone forever

but there's a difference between seeing someone every few weeks, and seeing someone after ten years

they'd still be my friend, but not the same

[kelyon]

Golden Rings Chapter 4: A Light

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Rumple meets his new wife

Read on AO3

Leaning on his cane, Rumpelstiltskin staggered away from Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. Orange electric lights cast dark shadows along the empty streets. The shadows hid him from view. No resident of Storybrooke, Maine noticed any unusual behavior from the man they all knew as Mr. Gold.

A bright yellow car was parked along the curb. When he had walked by, Gold had recognized it as a 1972 Volkswagen Beetle and had priced it at under ten thousand dollars. The license plate was from Massachusetts, and no one in Storybrooke had a vehicle so distinctive and colorful. A stranger had come to town. Gold had gone inside, to collect either the rent or Ruby Lucas. He would inquire about this new arrival. 

But then he had heard the name Emma.

Snow White had told Rumpelstiltskin the name she would give to her unborn child. In exchange, he had told her that the child was the only one who could break the Queen’s curse. Emma, an infant princess, the product of True Love, would grow up to be the Savior of them all. On the child’s twenty-eighth birthday, she would be called to them. She would begin the battle that would break the curse, destroy the Evil Queen, and bring back the happy endings that were denied to them in this cruel land without magic.

Tonight, he had seen her.

Overwhelmed by the enormity of it all, Rumpelstiltskin braced himself on Gold’s cane. It had worked. All of it. Centuries of planning and manipulation. Failures and setbacks. Arranging everything and everyone into their proper places so that events led--slowly but surely--to one inevitable conclusion: True Love had triumphed in the old world, and a sorceress who was as full of power as she was of pain had destroyed that world and brought everyone to a place where they would all be loveless and miserable.

Exactly where he wanted to be.

His son was here. Somewhere in this world. Long ago, a Seer had told him that he would find Baelfire again. Now he was closer than he had ever been before. Somehow, even after centuries had passed in the old world, Bae was alive in this one. He could still be fourteen. Or he could be an old man. But he was out there. And Rumpelstiltskin would find him.

Turning the corner to where Gold had parked his Cadillac--five minutes and several lifetimes ago--Rumpelstiltskin stopped in his tracks. Feet were pressed up against the inside of the windshield on the passenger’s side of the car. Bare feet. Small, pale, women’s feet.

“Belle,” he whispered. 

His heart didn’t know whether to lighten or sink.

He looked down at the fourth finger of his left hand. Gold had a lifelong habit of wearing a moonstone ring there. To the few brave souls who asked, he would say it was a symbol of his bachelorhood. He neither wanted nor needed to marry. Even after he had married Mrs. Gold, he had kept the moonstone ring--because he still didn’t want or need to shackle himself to her. But he also wore a plain gold band, nearly hidden by the more ostentatious ring. Only Mrs. Gold knew it was there.

And now Rumpelstiltskin knew too. That band was his wedding ring, not Gold’s. Belle had the other half of the matched set. Once, their rings had been the cuffs that had bound her to the Dark One’s will, forced her to obey his every word. By the time he had married Belle, the rings had no magic, but more power than ever before. Even across worlds, the rings connected them to each other. They had always been a sign that he belonged to Belle--as much as she had ever belonged to him. Rumpelstiltskin wanted to be bound to his wife. He could think of no greater delight.       

But Mrs. Gold was not Belle. 

As he approached the car, he saw more of her. Sitting low in the passenger’s seat, she sprawled her bare legs over the dashboard in a lascivious display. Her mustard-yellow shirtdress had the top several buttons open to expose the pale skin of her chest. The lingerie shop in town didn’t sell a brassiere to match the underpants Gold wanted her to wear today, so she had gone without. The dress mostly covered her breasts, but their shapes were clearly outlined to anyone close enough to see. Her skirt was bunched up around her hips and one hand was tucked inside those lacy, poison-green underpants.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t breathe. 

Gold’s knowledge came to him then. Belle--Mrs. Gold--had been teasing herself since twelve o’clock that afternoon. It was one of the games they liked to play, particularly on rent day. On these days, Gold allowed her free access to her body, head to toe. While he collected other people’s money and misery, she would slowly work herself over. Hour by hour, Mrs. Gold would stroke and caress her legs, her neck, her chest. She would pinch and scratch and rub to her heart’s delight. About an hour before they were due to go home, Gold finally gave her permission to touch the sweet wetness between her legs. He allowed this so long as only teased and never gave in to full satisfaction. And Mrs. Gold knew better than to test her husband. 

The end of the game, of course, was when all the rent was collected. That was when Gold finally deigned to touch her himself. With one hand on the steering wheel and one between her thighs, he reclaimed his control over his wife’s pleasure, forcing or denying her completion as it suited him. When he chose to let her come, he rolled down the windows and made her moans last for the entire drive back to his house.  

Rumpelstiltskin opened the door and slid into the car. The dome light turned on when he put the key in the ignition. Mrs. Gold lit up just as much. 

“Welcome back!” she smiled. She pulled her legs down from the dashboard and slipped her feet into her high-heeled shoes. Her hand remained up her skirt. “No waitress?”

“No.” He said what Gold would say. “Somehow the Lucas women were able to gather up the necessary funds.”

“Oh I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.” She lowered her eyes. “That was my fault.”

He glanced at her, but couldn’t bear to look for long.

Mrs. Gold kept apologizing. “I shouldn’t have visited the diner so early yesterday. If I had been later, they wouldn’t have had enough time to get the money.”

She paused, and by the time Rumpelstiltskin realized that she was waiting for a response, she had started again.

 “My only excuse is that Ruby is always off on Saturday nights, and I wanted to make sure she got the message. I--I did do the best I could.”

Gold’s plan had been to coerce Ruby Lucas into offering to spend a night with them in exchange for a reprieve on her grandmother’s rent. It was the sort of scenario that amused him. Not only would he get to use the body of a beautiful young woman--in addition to the one he was already married to--but he would get to make Ruby feel cheap and helpless. Gold cared less about the sex than the selling. If he could get the girl to offer herself once, she would be more likely to try again the next time he arranged for her to be in a bind. Then she would be in his power. He could keep demanding more and more while providing less and less.

But then Emma Swan had entered the story. 

Rumpelstiltskin knew Emma was responsible for the Lucases having enough cash to get through the month. Gold’s plan had been foolproof, but Emma was a new variable in the equation. She was the Savior, and she was already making this town a better place. 

“Are you angry with me, Mr. Gold?” 

Rumpelstiltskin blinked. He looked over at the woman in the seat next to him. The hand between her legs had stopped moving. Her body was perched on the edge of the seat, nervous. Expectant. She thought he was going to punish her.

He couldn’t look at her face.

“No,” he said at last. “I’m not angry with you, Mrs. Gold.”

He allowed the motions of driving a car to busy his hands. He focused on the road to keep himself from looking at his wife. Rumpelstiltskin could use Gold’s knowledge to do things he had never learned. Gold’s hands and feet worked the wheel and the pedals. Gold’s memory knew which streets to take, when to stop at different lights and signs.

It was lucky Rumpelstiltskin had practice with hosting a second consciousness in his head. Becoming the Dark One had also given him knowledge he had never learned, abilities he could not fathom. To a crippled, mud-poor spinner, an automobile was just as much magic as a transportation spell. 

Once before, he had crafted a new identity out of disparate parts. He had decided how much of the Dark One he could bear to take on, how much of the spinner he couldn’t separate from. Now he would do the same with Gold. 

Everyone else in Storybrooke was fully entrenched in their cursed lives. They had no idea that it was possible to be someone else. And that was for the best. If you weren’t used to it, having two realities in your head at the same time could drive you mad. 

His wife was quiet on the drive back to the house. Despite what Rumpelstiltskin had said, she clearly still thought that she had disappointed Gold. If he was displeased with her, she knew better than to make matters worse with chit chat he would find tiresome.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled the car into the small garage that sat separate from the house. Mrs. Gold didn’t move. She didn’t unbuckle her safety belt or adjust her position on the seat. The woman stared at the darkness in front of her, her unmoving hand dutifully clasped between her thighs. 

He had to act. He had to do something. What would Gold do, to comfort his wife? How would he assure her that she had done no wrong?

But then the answer came to him: Gold wouldn’t care that his wife had done nothing wrong. He benefited from her thinking that she had, that she was obligated to make it up to him. Gold would unzip his trousers, pull his wife down by her hair, and stuff her sweet mouth with the full length of his cock before he would say a single word to comfort her. The man wouldn’t even offer her a patronizing “Good girl,” until his seed dribbled out from between her lips. And even then, he would force her to walk outside to the front door with it on her face. He wouldn’t let her clean herself until he grew bored with the sight of his “decoration”. 

Rumpelstiltskin had no stomach for that sort of thing. Not now. 

So he decided to do what Gold would do if he was pleased with his wife. Taking his cane, he got out of the car and walked around the front to her side. Then, he opened Mrs. Gold’s door for her. In this world, that was an old-fashioned, gentlemanly gesture. When Gold was feeling his best, he considered himself an old-fashioned gentleman. 

Mrs. Gold seemed to read the action in the way Rumpelstiltskin had intended it. She extended her free hand, and he helped her out of the car. Her smile was broad, and shaky with relief. 

“Thank you very much, Mr. Gold. You’re too good to me.”

Rumpelstiltskin clenched his teeth and said nothing. He let go of her hand as soon as she was on her feet.

She walked ahead of him, as Gold had trained her to do. He liked to admire the view. And it gave him a thrill to know that he could see her when she couldn’t see him. Gold liked to imagine that he was stalking his pretty wife. He fancied himself a predator, choosing the right moment to lunge at his unsuspecting prey.

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. 

By the standards of Storybrooke, Gold’s house was a palace. It was three stories high, with balconies and porches and bay windows. The style was named after queens and the house lived up to its royal pedigree. 

It was painted pink on the outside, which was unusual in this world. Once, some fool had questioned Gold about that. How could a real man bear to live in a pink house? Gold had quipped that yes, the house was the color of a woman--that was why he liked to go in and out as many times a day as possible. 

When Mrs. Gold got to the front door, she stood to the side on the porch and waited. For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin puzzled at that. Why didn’t she open the door and go in? This was her home too, wasn’t it? But then the nasty fact came to him: Mrs. Gold didn’t have a key to the house where she lived. Gold had made it very clear to her that this was his house. Whether or not she was allowed inside was entirely based on his pleasure.

But she was smiling, when he came up to the door. She presented herself with her arms behind her back. The posture pushed out her chest and further exposed her open shirtfront and bare skin. A chill wind blew through the autumn night, but Mrs. Gold didn’t flinch. She didn’t make a move to cover herself from his sight.

Rumpelstiltskin unlocked the door and held it open.

She hurried in with an enthusiastic, “Thank you, Mr. Gold!”  

He took a deep breath before he crossed the threshold into Gold’s mansion. Even once he was inside, Rumpelstiltskin kept his back to the interior for a moment. He took his time locking the double doors behind him. He pressed a button by the door and an electric light shone down through a crystal chandelier.  

When he turned around, Mrs. Gold was kneeling on the wooden floor in front of him. 

Her shoes were lined up neatly on a shoe rack. Her yellow dress was hanging from a coat hook on the wall. Her underpants were in her hands, offered up to him. The light green had become dark with the dampness of her pleasure.

Rumpelstiltskin froze. One hand gripped his cane. But his other hand didn’t hesitate to do what Gold would do. He took the underpants and brought them up to his nose.

Belle.

In that moment, it was her. He knew Belle’s scent, her taste. He knew the feeling of her wetness on his fingers. He knew her cunt, hot and slick and ready for him. He knew her breathing, her sighs, all those delectable noises she made as he pleasured her, over and over.

And now she was in front of him. Belle’s body, small and lovely. Belle’s skin, pale as cream and smooth as silk. Belle’s scars, scars he had inflicted in his passion and sewn up with golden thread. Belle’s hair, that wild tangle of brown curls he loved to tame. Belle’s eyes, crystalline blue, wide and pleading, yearning for him. She wanted his touch, his attention, even his cruelty. Whatever he chose to give her, she would take it gladly and hunger for more. 

Belle’s pink lips parted. Belle’s voice spoke. But the words that came out of her mouth were things that Belle would never say. 

“Well, Mr. Gold, you’ve got the rent money. Would you like to pour it out on the bed and rub my face in it while you fuck me from behind?” 

Gold wanted very much to do that, and Rumpelstiltskin felt his body responding. Why not? This woman was as much his wife now as she had ever been. She was Belle! She was beautiful, and she wanted him. He held the evidence of her desire in the palm of his hand. There was nothing to stop him from taking her upstairs and pounding his cock into her until she forgot her own name.

But that was exactly the problem. 

Mrs. Gold didn’t know her own name. She wasn’t Belle. 

And Rumpelstiltskin was not Gold. 

Then and there, he made the decision: He would never sleep with Mrs. Gold. She wanted someone he wasn’t, and he wanted someone she could never be. Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t married Belle for her body. It would be an insult to his true wife to use this woman for his pleasure just because the two shared a physical form.  

But he couldn’t let Mrs. Gold know that. Not yet, and preferably not ever. He didn’t know if anyone else in Storybrooke was awake from the curse. He didn’t even know who had survived the journey from one world to the other. He didn’t know how much time it would take before Emma Swan broke the curse. 

All Rumpelstiltskin knew was who he was, who his wife was, and how important it was to keep those facts a secret. Some might call it cowardice, but he knew it as wisdom. Just because he had made it to the new world, his work had not finished. He had to wait for the next phase of the plan. He had to lay low, he had to gather information, he had to appear as much like Gold as he could possibly stand.

He could not treat his wife the way Gold did. But nor could he let her know what he was doing. He’d be walking on a blade’s edge until the Savior broke the curse. 

For the present, Mrs. Gold stared up at him. Belle’s eyes, rimmed with paint and wide with want. Belle’s shoulders, rising and falling as she breathed. Even Belle’s petite, perfect breasts, her nipples pointed and red from the cold and the teasing she had given them.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t let a muscle move on his face as he took the underpants in his hand and slid them into the pocket of his suit coat, right next to the bag of rent money. It was the sort of thing Gold would do.

“I’m not going to fuck you tonight,” he announced coldly. 

Mrs. Gold’s face fell. “I--I said I was sorry, Mr. Gold.” She lowered her head down to the floor. “I know I should be punished. Please punish me, Mr. Gold. Please hurt me. But please don’t deny me yourself. Not on rent day.”

She turned her head in a motion Rumpelstiltskin knew too well. She was going to kiss his boots. She was going to grovel and beg for his affection, just like he used to order Belle to do. No. Never again!

He tried to dart away, but remembered his ankle--too late. Gold had a cane for a reason. He fell back against the door with a hard thud. Hands pressed against the wood, he just barely stopped himself from sliding down to the ground.

Mrs. Gold rose up on her knees, eyes wide with concern. Her hands were raised up, as if she thought she could catch him. There was a small scar on the same hand as her wedding band. Belle’s scar, Belle’s ring.

Rumpelstiltskin waved her away before he managed to stand. “Just go,” he snarled. The shock of the fall was giving way to embarrassment, but even that was less pressing than the aching throb in his ankle. 

After all these years, he had almost forgotten that pain.

“Where should I go?” Mrs. Gold got to her feet. Her voice was timid, but she looked steadily at him. “May I dress first?”

Rumpelstiltskin took a deep breath. Then another. He had taught Belle to calm her fears with breathing. As long as you can breathe, you are alive, sweetheart. As long as you can breathe, you can think. He had to think.

Mrs. Gold had taken him literally when he had told her to go. She was ready to walk out the door and stay away until he summoned her back. She was only mildly concerned that she might be naked in public outside on a late autumn night.

“You’ll stay in the house,” he clarified. He tried to keep his composure, even though he was breathing more heavily than Gold would. “You can do whatever you like, within the usual parameters. I’m going to my study to take care of the accounts. I do not wish to be distrubed. Is that understood?”

She nodded, like an obedient child. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

“I may be up quite late,” he went on. “You are to be asleep by ten.”

At that, she looked askance. Normally rent day was when Gold kept his wife up late. He let his twin vices of greed and lust feed off of each other, with wrath often adding to the frenzy. It was the highlight of their month. But Mrs. Gold knew better than to question her husband when he gave her an order.

“I’ll be ready for you whenever you want me, Mr. Gold.”

Rumpelstiltskin made himself grin. “Yes, dearie, I know you will.”

Gold regularly called his wife dearie. It was a term he used when he knew he was cheating someone out of something. Rumpelstiltskin had stopped thinking of Belle as dearie within a week of knowing her. 

Without another word, Mrs. Gold took her dress off the hook and went upstairs.

****

Even after Rumpelstiltskin turned on a desk lamp, Gold’s study remained dark and gloomy. Mahogany shelves full of thick books lined the walls, adding depth to the black shadows. A burgundy leather armchair and footstool lurked in the far corner. A matching couch stood in front of the fireplace, perpendicular to the large antique desk in front of the window.

Gold had many fond memories of having his wife bent over the arm of the couch while he worked at his desk. Sometimes he would spank her or fuck her. But just as often he would leave her for hours while she silently begged for his touch. Gold always made sure to angle her so that she couldn’t see him, or any other part of the room. She never knew where he was, if he was looking at her or ignoring her. He would keep her hands restrained behind her back and sometimes her ankles tied together so she was all but helpless. Naked and bound, with a ball gag in her mouth, her face pressed against a sheet of plastic to protect the leather and collect her tears and drool.

Shaking his head, Rumpelstiltskin looked away from the couch. He didn’t want to think about Mrs. Gold, about how cruelly her husband had treated her for twenty-eight years. He didn’t want to imagine Belle crying and pleading--or worse, falling silent because she knew better than to complain. Such images were too fresh in his mind. Before Belle had agreed to be his wife, he had made her cry far too many times. Was Gold the way he was because Rumpelstiltskin had been the way he was?

Sinking into the office chair, he rubbed his face. After a moment, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt. This was a truly hideous shirt. The pattern of black and white checks clashed with itself and did no favors for any suit that tried to match it. Did Gold think he looked handsome wearing this? Had he walked out of this house this morning confident that this was the best choice of wardrobe he could have made? 

What a fool.

Oddly, the thought comforted Rumpelstiltskin. He liked judging Gold’s taste. It was proof that they were not the same. His other self didn’t know how to dress any more than he knew how to treat his wife well. But he knew better.

Rumpelstiltskin was a better man than Gold. That wasn’t saying much, but it was something. Some little spark of hope to cling to.

The shelf nearest the desk was covered by a panel of dark wood on a hinge. Curious, Rumpelstiltskin pulled down gently on the top of the panel. It folded down to reveal a single cut glass tumbler and several bottles of liquor. A bar. A much-needed amenity on a day like today. 

He grabbed the first bottle he saw--it had a blue label that lay at an angle across the light blue glass--and poured a drink into the tumbler. The alcohol burned in his mouth like a cleansing fire.

He tried not to drink too quickly. What would his tolerance be in this new world? His body was what it had been as a spinner, just as lame, just as weak. In this world without magic, he had lost most of what made him the Dark One. The scales were gone. He couldn’t see without light anymore. He wouldn’t be able to go weeks without eating or sleeping any time soon. There was much that he would have to get used to again.

And there was his ankle.

Rumpelstiltskin leaned Gold’s cane against the desk. At least that looked less pathetic than the walking stick he’d relied on for fourteen years. Gods, was that really all it had been? He had been a cripple for the whole of Bae’s life--from the day Rumpelstiltskin had heard he would be a father until the moment he felt the old Dark One’s blood on his hands. One instant of cowardice had led to fourteen years of wretchedness, and even centuries later he was still branded by that choice.

Another swallow of liquor. Later, there would be time to wallow in self-pity over all the different ways he had ruined his own life. He knew from experience that such emotions never really went away. Regrets always lay dormant, like sleeping beasts waiting for the sound of a single wrong step in the forest to wake up and ravage the unsuspecting. 

Only Belle had ever helped him, with her steadfast stubbornness and gentle strength. She had cut through his years of pain to expose his soul and center. And she had called it beautiful. He could come to her with his weakness, his fear, the most ugly and most evil parts of him, and she would only see how much he needed love. 

And she would give him love. Even when he didn’t deserve it. And he loved her. He made her his wife and the mistress of his dagger. Everything he had, everything he was belonged to her. It wasn’t enough, but it was all he had to give. 

Tears pricked at his eyes. He reached into his jacket pocket for a handkerchief. Instead, his fingers grasped upon Mrs. Gold’s underpants and a bag of money. 

He tossed them both on the desk, quick to keep from touching either item. The whole of Gold’s life lay before him on the desk. No tears, no love. Just sex and money.

And power. A drawer in the desk opened up to reveal a leather-bound ledger book. This was where Gold’s power lay. This was the record of practically everyone in Storybrooke, everyone who was in his debt. In red and black ink, Gold had carefully written down all of their names, what they wanted, and how much they paid him every month to have it. 

Rumpelstiltskin read over the list. Row upon row of names that meant nothing to him--yet. Marco Beginini. Janine Woolverton. Mary Margaret Blanchard. Ashley Boyd. Mara Trudine. Archibald Hopper. On and on it went. Gold owned their homes or their places of business. He had loaned money to pay for their cars or medical bills. And now he had them in his book. Month by month, he kept tabs on these people’s lives. Diligently, he recorded how much trouble they had in keeping up with the payments, using that as an indicator of whether or not they could be manipulated into offering him more than just cash.  

 Gold had more than enough cash. Rumpelstiltskin’s fingers set to work counting out the strips of colored paper that served as money in this world. There were coins as well, silver and copper. People in Storybrooke were so desperate to appease their landlord that they emptied their change jars and counted up nickels and pennies to make sure the rent was paid. 

The money was grimy and sometimes sticky under his touch. Dirt-poor, Rumpelstiltskin thought. Desperate souls. The sort of people who would pick up a coin off a dirty sidewalk because you never knew if you might need it. Mr. Gold wouldn’t show mercy if you were even one penny short.

Rumpelstiltskin leaned back in the chair. How long would it have been before Gold started demanding fealty from these people? If he hadn’t woken up, how many more months would have passed before Gold started making people grovel in the streets and kiss his shiny black shoes? This world was supposed to have evolved beyond lords and peasants. There was a saying here that all men were created equal. How could anyone believe that, as long as men like Gold ruled over so many others?

Once the amounts were recorded--money counted, names amounts tidily written down--Rumpelstiltskin put the cash to rights. Gold had a system for this, as he did for everything in his life. The bills marked for one hundred dollars went into his safe. If anyone came to him for a loan, he would have the funds ready to disperse. Twenty dollar bills went to the bank, to be deposited in various bank accounts. Gold never deposited enough cash at one time to arouse suspicion--though of course there was nothing for anyone to suspect about his business interests, nothing at all. The coins and small bills went back to his pawn shop to fill out the cash register.

And the fifties went to Mrs. Gold. 

As far as Gold was concerned, his wife existed for two reasons: To get fucked and to spend his money. He gave her at least a thousand dollars a week and expected her to show him the receipts of what she bought. Jewelry, clothes, useless gadgets that would get thrown away within a month. The most practical errand she ever ran was going to the grocer’s and buying whatever gourmet food they had to sell. 

He liked her to go to as many places around Storybrooke as possible. Her mission was to flaunt his wealth and her sex. As many people as possible should see her, and they should all walk away knowing that she was nothing but a gold-digging fucktoy. That was what Gold wanted people to think about the woman he had married.

Rumpelstiltskin stood up from the desk with a heavy sigh. When was the last time he had been so tired? There was a watch in his trouser pocket. He pulled it out and saw that it was after midnight. Mrs. Gold would surely be asleep by now.

For a man who used a cane, Gold had an agonizing number of stairs in his house. Rumpelstiltskin made the climb with his free hand braced along the wall or the bannister. This house had been built in a time when guests and servants and large families were expected to take up space in a home. Perhaps that was why these dark halls and empty rooms felt more lonely than his castle in the old world ever had. 

Belle had made that castle into a home for both of them. Even when she was his thing, she had explored and poked around. Her very presence had changed it, quite without her knowing what she was doing. She had made the place feel wanted, and by wanting it, she had made it her own. 

Once she was his wife they had both been more deliberate about making the castle a place for her comfort. It had become a world of books and blankets, full of plush furniture big enough for them to snuggle up together. Heavy curtains had come down, and fires were always lit for warmth. Belle had brought light into his residence, and into his life.

Now, Rumpelstiltskin had to bring his own light into the gloom of Gold’s house. As he made his way to the master suite, he pushed buttons and switches to turn on the electric illumination.

But when he opened the door, a light was already lit for him. Adjoining Gold’s bedroom  there was a separate sitting area, with a fireplace and a wardrobe and a set of cloth-upholstered chairs. Between the chairs, an antique table lamp gave off a red glow. 

The lampshade was shaped like a crescent, with red beads dangling from the border on either side. The shade itself was covered with gold lace and embroidered silk roses. The light was dim and lurid. It was meant to be more alluring than illuminating. But it was better than the darkness in the hallway.

Mrs. Gold had left it on for when he came to bed. Gold never ordered her to do that. She had thought, she had planned. She wanted to welcome him, even in this small, silent way. She wanted to make him comfortable, in whatever way he allowed her.

“Are you awake?” 

He gave the question softly to the darkness in the next room. All he got in answer was the sound of heavy breathing, a steady rhythm he knew so well. For a single, wonderful year, he and Belle had been together in their marriage. For so many nights, they had shared a bed. While she slept, he would stay awake beside her. Listening to her breathing had contented him as much as spinning.   

He couldn’t look at the sleeping figure in Gold’s bed. Rumpelstiltskin went to the next room in this suite, the washroom. The light from the table lamp didn’t reach this far, so he shut the door to the bedroom before flipping the switch.

 He scrubbed the filthy money off of his hands. He let his body go through a series of nighttime rituals he was too tired to try to understand. Without thought, took off his clothes and dressed in a pair of navy blue silk pajamas.  

Gold’s side of the bed was near the wall. He would be able to get up without having to fumble for his cane. Rumpelstiltskin put the damn thing in the corner where it always went--where Gold’s body would know to find it at all hours of the day or night. Then he pulled back the blanket and got into bed with Mrs. Gold.

The movement didn’t wake her. Far too often, Rumpelstiltskin had only come to bed after Belle was already asleep, and he had learned how to keep from disturbing her. But even in sleep, Mrs. Gold was ready to welcome her husband. She scooted towards him without turning around and she wouldn’t stop until one of his legs was wrapped around her body, covering her, claiming her.

Exhausted beyond imagining and seeking any comfort he could find, Rumpelstiltskin didn’t pull away. He curled around her body and buried his face in her hair. He searched for the scent of Belle, underneath all of Mrs. Gold’s perfumes and products. His arm wrapped around her. She was so warm, so lovely. Her skin was smooth under his palms, soft as a rose petal. Half-asleep, Rumpelstiltskin stroked his wife’s arms, her sides. She felt so good to touch. And judging by her soft, slumbering noises, she enjoyed him touching her as well.

He wasn’t aware of how much skin he was touching until he felt the synthetic lace at her hip. Her underpants. Mrs. Gold had gone to bed wearing nothing but a pair of underpants. There was an obvious hole on the side. He remembered her words in the entryway. She had promised that she would be ready for him.

Ready for Gold.

Rumpelstiltskin’s hands balled into fists. He couldn’t bear to touch her anymore, but nor could he bear to let her go. Even as Mrs. Gold, she was too dear to him. In every other way, he was so far from Belle. He couldn’t allow even this scrap of her to slip through his fingers. In the dark of Gold’s bedroom, Rumpelstiltskin clung to his wife and wept.  

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

“Radio”

Spike x Summers!Reader

Warnings: S5 spoilers + cursing + violence

Description: You didn’t mean to become friends with a creature of the night. It just happened. But when a demon drives you off the road, the two of you have to develop more than a tentative friendship. You have to trust each other with your lives.

I’m trying to make these all linked, but also as fics that can be read alone? Kind of just can’t commit to doing it as a chaptered series oops

Sometimes, late at night, you and Spike go driving. You make sure to leave a note in case Buffy comes back from slaying early or Dawn wakes up, but you never mention who you’re with. Dawn and Spike get along okay, but Buffy is wary of him even though he’s helped out enough times to proved he’s changed. At least, he’s changed enough so that he’s not an immediate threat. And with all that’s happened, you find yourself so lonely that you almost don’t care that he’s a bloodsucking demon.

It started after your mom died. On the nights when you didn’t work, you would slip out of the house for some solitude and cruise around Sunnydale. Normally, that wouldn’t be the safest idea, especially with Glory around, but your car was stocked with slaying supplies and Willow had given you a charm that you hung from your front mirror, right next to your pair of lucky dice. It wouldn’t protect you from everything, but you figured that anything that wanted to hurt you could just as easily find you at home.

You had driven past the cemetery almost a month ago without any specific purpose in mind. Spike was sitting on top of one of the mausoleums that faced out to the gate, so you pulled into the parking lot. The two of you had been on good terms lately, though it was difficult to gauge how meaningful that really was. You had let him sleep at the house once while you were in class, but only last week he had tolerated the pain from his chip in order to knock the shit out of Xander. You guessed you preferred to live life on the edge.

He hopped down when he saw you coming through the front entrance, tossing the blood he had been drinking out into the bushes. A dribble streaked down his chin, spotting his shirt. Maybe that was why he always wore dark colors.

“To what do I owe the pleasant surprise?”

You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. You tucked your hands in your pockets to keep yourself from fidgeting.

“I just wanted to say hi.”

Your pasted smile faltered as Spike stepped into your personal bubble.

“Hi.”

You tilted your head back. His face was shadowed, his pupils as wide and dark and gleaming as oilspots. You had the sudden urge to reach out and comb your fingers through his Billy Idol hair. You had always wondered if it was softened by the gel, despite the bleach. Sometimes he tugged on strands of yours teasingly when it was just the two of you, so it seemed fair to return the favor. But something kept your hands glued to your side.

“Hi.”

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way...” He leaned down, his nose almost-but-not-quite brushing yours. “What are you really here for?”

“Do you want to go for a drive?” you blurted. You dangled the keys in front of him. “I’m... bored. By myself. I’d like some company.”

He eyed you like he thought Buffy was going to burst from the shadows and clock him for even considering your offer, but then he shrugged and joined you in the passenger seat of your mud-splattered sedan. Since then, you had been passing by the cemetery more often and he had been throwing rocks at your window. Both of you, it seemed, were restless.

Sometimes you picked up Anya so she and Spike could talk about the good old days when they could kill people. Neither of them would initiate the friendship themselves and you didn’t exactly love the topic, but it was good for them. A kind of support group. Though God forbid that anyone found out that you thought of it like that. Or that Xander discovered how you had facilitated contact between his girlfriend and the person—vampire?—he hated most in the world.

Tonight when you walked outside to your car, Spike was waiting.

“Took you long enough,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat.

It was a cool night, but true to form you rolled your windows down for the ride. You turned the radio on, loud enough so that you could feel the music in your chest but quiet enough that the two of you could have a conversation. Not that you usually did. Sometimes he would ask about Dawn or school and you’d ask about poker and demon hunting, but mostly you drove in comfortable silence. 

When Foreigner came on the radio, you turned the volume up absentmindedly, humming along as the breeze tousled your hair. You loosened your hands on the wheel, tapping on the dashboard. Sometimes you sang along, although it made you a little embarrassed to have Spike watch since you were so off-key. This time he surprised you, matching Lou Gramm’s deep, smoky voice with his own. 

“I would climb any mountain.” You could barely hear him over the wind, which made you wonder if your mind was playing tricks on you. But his mouth was moving in time with the music, forming around the well-loved words. “Sail across the stormy sea.”

Your eyes flickered to the road and then back to him. He was watching you, his lips pulled back in a wicked grin, less brooding than you had ever seen him. He could have been any boy you’d known all your life, engaging in the time-honored tradition of late night carpool karaoke. It was all you could do to remind yourself how dangerous he could be if he ever got the chip out of his head, how bad of an idea it would be to let yourself get wrapped up in the fantasy. You could hang out with Spike, try to humanize him, but he would never stop craving the kill. When he got tired of these games with you—

“If that’s what it takes me, baby, to show how much you mean to me.”

Your heart stuttered. Focus on the road, you told yourself, but it was hard when Spike’s fingers began creeping across the barren land of cupholders in between you. 

“And I guess it’s just the woman in you, that brings out the man in me.”

He unbuckled the seatbelt that you always insisted he wear, despite the deadness, and his hand hovered over yours for a moment before abandoning it in search of another target.

The two of you were usually a little flirty, but this was something else entirely. This crossed a line that you worried couldn’t be redrawn.

“Spike—”

“I know I can’t help myself,” he breathed, brushing a strand of your wind-blown hair behind your ear. He missed a line as he peeled your right hand off the wheel, threading your fingers with his. He placed your clasped hands over his heart almost playfully, leaning close and whispering, knowing you’d shove him off in a second and taking full advantage anyway. If you glanced over, you’d see him smouldering at you in the way only vampires seemed able to perfect. “It feels like the first time.”

“Spike, sit— Oh, god!”

You threw your arm across his chest to keep him from hurtling through the windshield as you swerved to avoid a demon that had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the road. It felt like your arm was going to be jerked out of its socket and he still hit his head hard on the dashboard, but he didn’t black out, which you were taking as a good sign. 

Spike slumped against the seat, dazed, as you pressed your foot down hard on the gas in an attempt to outrun whatever it was. The engine purred and you let yourself breathe a sigh of relief, but it cropped up again.

“I hope my insurance covers this,” you muttered, deciding to hit it head-on, but your car stopped mere feet before the creature. Everything except the radio shut down completely.

Well, at least my own personal horror movie has a great soundtrack, you thought. Then it grabbed at you through the window and you could barely hear the music over the sound of your own screaming.

I have waited a lifetime.

The yak-headed demon wrenched you from the car, slicing through your seatbelt and tossing you out onto the side of the road. You rolled, scraping every exposed piece of skin up on the tar. Before you could stand, it lifted you by the back of your shirt with one clawed hand, leaving you hanging helplessly in mid-air. Then it dropped you. You bent to your knees to soften the impact and then straightened. It caught your foot when you kicked out, twisting your ankle harshly. The bone gave a sickening pop! and you screeched into the night. You had spent the past few years training to be strong enough to help Buffy, but the Slayer strength was unfortunately not genetic, and you still weighed considerably less than a demon that was the size of a grizzly bear.

It yanked you off balance, dragging your body toward it by your ruined ankle as a deep, hoarse laughter bubbled from its throat. Its jaw unhinged, dropping to the ground, as it opened wide.

Spent my time so foolishly.

You didn’t see Spike drag himself from the car due to the crippling fear, but he got its attention when he clocked the demon on the side of the head. You scooted yourself backward in a weak imitation of the crab walks your gym teacher made you do in elementary to avoid being flattened.

If you could make it to the car, you could grab Buffy’s tools, but it was all the way on the other side of the road. You’d have to crawl. God knew you couldn’t stand, not right now. 

You cursed to yourself as you further scraped your tender skin, leaving it raw and bloody where it touched the ground. The demon almost tripped over you, but Spike hauled it off in another direction, trading blows that you could have sworn made the ground tremor. 

“Is that the best you can do, mate?” Spike taunted even as blood dripped down his chin. He flicked his tongue out and licked it up in a motion that could only be described as feral. “Her little sister can hit harder than—”

He was thrown backwards on his ass a second later. When you got out of this, you were going to let him have it for that one.

It feels like the first time.

It hurt like hell to put pressure on your ankle, but you hauled yourself up by gripping the car handle and opened the back door. You kept all of your supplies hidden behind your duffel bag of work clothes in case you got pulled over, in a case that you stashed under the passenger seat. You had a couple stakes, a butcher knife, pepper spray... But nothing big enough to hurt something like this.

“Could use a little help over here, love,” Spike gasped. He clawed against the demon’s grip on his throat, failing to even leave surface level scratches.

You tossed him your tire iron in a panic and he caught it with one hand, but he couldn’t get the strength for a hard blow in his position. As his face reddened, you rushed in from behind to crack the demon on the back on the skull with your industrial strength flashlight.

Most lower level demons had a short attention span, and this one was no exception. You got one more hit in before it sent Spike flying and whirled around to face you. With one swipe, it sent you careening into the car.

Your impact actually left a small dent in the side of the sedan. You could barely see straight, the demon doubling and then tripling in your vision, but now you were pissed. You stumbled to your feet, barely succeeding keeping your dinner from hours earlier down.

“Stay... away... from my baby,” you wheezed.

Spike leapt onto the demon’s back, cutting off its air with the tire iron pressed against its windpipe. “No concern for me? Not very nice, pet.”

The demon wheeled backward and tripped over its own enormous feet. It almost crushed Spike beneath it. His grip loosened for a moment, but then he reapplied pressure and didn’t stop until the demon had been lying stock still for two minutes.

It felt like a lifetime.

“Get this thing off me!” he grunted finally, and you found it in yourself to lumber over. You almost got a mouth full of the pavement because your balance was so shot, but together you eased the beast off him.

You collapsed next to them, the three of you lined up like victims of a very strange and supernaturally diverse massacre. The world was still spinning. You crawled off to be sick in the grass.

A moment later, there was a crunching noise and then he was holding back your hair for you, steadying you so that you wouldn’t fall over into your own sick.

“I think maybe I should drive you to the hospital,” Spike said when you had finished. You shook your head, wiping your mouth on what was left of your sleeve.

“We’ve got a social worker visit this week. I don’t want them seeing the records. Just get me to Willow and Tara.”

“Whatever you say.”

He loaded you into the car, buckling your seatbelt for you. You almost reminded him to clip himself in as well, but then you saw the tattered remnants of the driver’s side and closed your mouth.

He turned the keys in the ignition and the radio came back to life. Spike turned it up, ignoring your complaints that it hurt your head.

“We can’t have you falling asleep before we get you all magicked up,” he said, actually hushing you. There was a surprisingly tender expression on his bruised and bloody face. “I’ll sing again, if you want. If it’ll keep you awake.”

He was only teasing, but you could use something soft right about now.

“Please.”

Mötley Crüe was on. It was hard not to close your eyes to the slower, sweeter beginning. You focused on the sky outside your window instead, dark and deep and inviting. You watched it so you wouldn’t watch Spike’s hands wrapped around the steering wheel or his Adam’s apple bobbing as he sang.

Take me to your heart.

He was willing you to look at him. You could feel it. But if you did, his eyes were going to tell you something you didn’t want to hear.

Feel me in your bones.

It was only after he had pulled into the driveway and you were helping each other up the front steps that you allowed yourself a glance. He caught you in it; of course he did. His arm looped with yours, your fingers pressing against his ribs, tangled up in each other in a messy support system, which was how all of this had started anyway. For a moment, you saw yourself from his perspective. Your hair sticking to the bloody cut on your forehead, your complexion a little washed out, an unhealthy sheen to your skin. You wanted to turn your head to make him stop staring at you, but it came to you in a flash of certainty that he didn’t mind. He had never minded.

Just one more night and I’m comin’ off this long and winding road.

Your body drew closer to his without your own consent. You looked up through your eyelashes at him, breathing shallow but quickening.

You had thrown up not too long ago. You felt like you might throw up again. You couldn’t do this. It was— it was wrong. This went past late night drives. This—

He bent down, unwrapping himself from you for a brief second. You almost sunk down onto the stoop, but then he readjusted his grip.

I’m on my way.

“Summers,” he murmured. “Are you feeling all right?”

It was like having a heat flash. The embarrassment could have killed you.

“I— Let’s get inside.”

“Let’s not be hasty.”

The front porch lights snapped on. Neither of you noticed.

I’m on my way.

“Want me to kiss it better?”

Oh. Oh.

His lips sealed themselves to yours, as the hand that wasn’t keeping you from collapsing traced over the curve of your jaw. You ran your fingers through his hair. It was soft, just like you had thought it would be. When you tugged on it, he sighed into your mouth.

He separated himself from your lips to latch onto your neck. He was careful not to leave a hickey as he ghosted over your shoulder, sucked on your collarbones, bit down gently on your earlobe. He felt so warm and alive and human.

Then the door opened and he dropped you.

“Holy fuck.”

Your breath escaped in a low hiss. Your ankle bent underneath you, shooting with white hot pain. Willow burst from the house.

“(Y/n), is that— Oh, my God, you look terrible! What happened? Spike, what happened? Are you okay?”

Home sweet home.

[veridium]

stolen

Well, friends, what kicks off a weekend better than a College AU update? Titled after one of my favorite songs of all time, and definitely one of the best kinds of love songs to describe Cass and Liv, the dashboard confessional classic. :)

Fall Carnival fun pt. 2 commences now!

last chapter // fic masterpost

--

There’s walking on glass and eggshells, and then there’s the week Olivia has leading up to the fall carnival. Ellinor deserves a medal of service for dealing with her each and every day, hour by hour, every time something unsettles her anxiety. She had told her everything was fine when they were shoving sushi into their mouths and laughing about fish puns. If only she could hold onto the same kind of half-optimistic, half-resigned sensation she felt then. 

It’s not that Cassandra is mean, or even insensitive. Despite Olivia’s incessant ranting and brooding, she can’t really say it’s because of cruelty. 

The day after her and Ellinor’s sushi date, she texts to check in. Cassandra replies, answering her questions, and nothing more. Olivia once again restricts herself from prodding, and comes back to her dorm to complain to Ellinor. That night she receives texts from friends insisting that they meet up at the Carnival at some point to take a fall aesthetic selfie. The dread grows. 

Then it’s Thursday. To her surprise, Cassandra texts her first.

Cassandra: Hey, will you be around at 12? I have office hours, I thought we could have lunch. 

The cup runneth over -- too bad her request collides with a final project meeting, and by God, Liv  will not give her team more of an opportunity to disappoint. She was the one who scheduled it, set up the shared Google Doc, and delegated responsibilities. If she ducked out, the whole thing would come apart. So, as much as it makes her want to cut four of her fingers off, she tells Cassandra no. Of course, Cassandra isn’t one to give grief. 

Cassandra: No problem, just thought I would offer. Have a good meeting!

Later that night, Olivia takes some initiative. The Carnival is the next day and if Cassandra isn’t feeling it, she would rather go alone or not go at all than try to force it. Cute pictures would never be worth it, and Olivia has grown up experiencing enough cringey, orchestrated “outings” to last a lifetime. She paces the floor of her dorm after sending the text, expecting one of dozens of possible reasons. After all, who wants to endure a Carnival with an ankle boot on?

Apparently, Cassandra does. 

Cassandra: Yeah! Cullen and the team have been looking forward to it for weeks. I don’t see why not. 

Olivia stares perplexed at her screen. Okay. Okay? Okay. That’s it, then. They’ll go, and it’ll be great. Except it won’t be, because in that split second, she’s already charted in her head all of the awkward and potentially conflictive situations that could happen. What if Cassandra gets there and her mood changes? What if she wants to get on a ride, but can’t because of her injury? What if she loses at a Carnival game and it sets her off? What if someone makes fun of her? What if she trips and falls?

As if by divine providence, she gets a phone call during her spiral. And it’s none other than Theia, finally getting back to her after over a week of radio silence. Olivia doesn’t waste time asking what happened between her and Josie, but Theia doesn’t have much to offer:

“It’s a break. That’s all I can really say,” she says, voice going low while she’s on speaker phone. “It’s a long story. I’d rather not get into it tonight.” There’s a loopy sound, like the swig of a bottle.

Olivia, scrunching her face while she sits on her bed, figures she should change the subject. She tells Theia she needs to vent to someone else besides Ellinor about what is going on with her, and Theia is the only other person who’d understand. The only other person who would be able to provide any insight as to what is upsetting her so viscerally. 

When she gets to the bottom of it, Theia doesn’t speak immediately. The quiet pondering scares her, like the ominous stillwater before a gator attack on those Discovery channel shows. 

“Liv,” Theia finally says, reluctant like she’s a Doctor about to break some terminal news, “you’re gonna hate me for saying this.”

“What? No!” she disagrees. “Not at all, please, help me out here. I’ve been stewing all week.”

“Well…” she chuckles nervously, “you sound just like you did when I first met you.”

Theia doesn’t have to elaborate. The phrase is code for  “a couple years ago,” which comes with its own subtext, one everyone who’s gone through what she has can understand. The phrase has grown from “a few months,” to “last summer,” to “last year,” and now she’s here. Time sucks ass. At least in Theia’s use of it, it doesn’t come with the same feigned accepting grief that Olivia’s Mom has when they’re at “gatherings” with “loved ones” who Olivia hasn’t ever seen before. 

Her cheeks go hot and she tosses the phone onto the comforter and looks away, as if she’s eluding the discerning gaze of a close friend. Theia knows better.

“I know you hate me,” she says, vindicated. “But, you know. The fretting, and the worrying about things that haven’t even happened to her. You’re trying to figure out her needs before she even says them. That’s how you sounded every time I’d be on the phone with you during break. You’d just...completely turn everything on for him, then your Mom.”

Olivia criss-crosses her legs, and picks at the tufted fabric of her old pajama bottoms. “Yeah.”

“Hey, you good?” Theia is quick to check, her tone more concerned. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you.”

“Warned me for what?” Olivia smirks and rubs her neck. “Trigger warning: your own damn life?”

“I mean...yeah. That’s kind of how it works.”

“Not always,” she replies, and picks up the phone. “It’s fine, Theia. I appreciate your honesty.”

Theia lets out a discomfited sound. “Maybe you should...I don’t know. Maybe it’d be best to tell her. Unless you think you can figure this out on your own. It’s up to you.”

“Yeah, it is,” Olivia nods, trying to convince herself simultaneously. All this time she’s been so worried about getting to the bottom of Cassandra’s issues, she’s scarcely thought about the consequences of her own. As if only one of them had baggage to bring around. No shit, Olivia owns her own baggage terminal. Silly for her to believe it would just go away if she just cared enough about someone else’s problems. No matter how many times she tried that trick, it never worked. 

Her and Theia manage to wrap up their talk on kinder, easier terms. Both of them acknowledge they aren’t in a place to be fully open. Agreeing to be patient with each other, they hang up, and Olivia collapses back on her bed to overthink things while staring off into the ceiling. 

This can be a really happy time, if you just let it. She thinks it, over and over, like a song lyric. Just let it. 

--

The next day, Ellinor’s glee and the prospects of fun lighten her up. She puts on one of her favorite dresses, a tea-length button-up dress with short sleeves and a ribbon around the waist. It has a print, blue and white small flowers, and flows at every little move she makes. When Ellinor sees it, she damn-near tips over. 

“You’re wearing that?” she asks, slipping her coat on. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Olivia smirks, and the back of her throat stings with nerves. She locks the door to her dorm and then drops them into her black denim jacket. Just a little touch of the normal aesthetic. 

“It’s the carnival!” she replies, “gotta dress to the occasion.”

“Hah, well, Cass will probably...hey,” Ellinor tries to say something funny, but seeing the immediate change on Liv’s face, she stops herself. “Everything okay?”

Olivia blinks. “Yeah! Yeah. Just distracted by something. Um,” she checks her phone. No messages. “Let’s hurry, parking will be a nightmare.”

--

Whatever Ellinor meant to say about Cassandra’s reaction, she was likely spot on: the minute they see each other in their kitchen, it’s like the world freezes. The first time she’s seen her all week, and Cassandra looks just as beautiful as she looks in Olivia’s memory. Black leggings and a knit, sangria-colored sweater with a dress shirt underneath, all neat and fresh looking. They stand facing each other silently while Cullen and Ellinor are off somewhere making various happy noises, giggling and joking. 

Olivia feels the strap of her string purse slipping and adjusts, her grip on it atop her shoulder turning deadly. The way Cassandra is acting confirms it: she knows its strange, too, that it’s been this long. But, as she always does, Olivia finds the words. 

“Y-ou ready?” she asks, offering a smile. 

Cassandra returns it. “Yeah! I just have to go and get my jacket.”

“Oh, you want me to--”

“No, no, don’t worry,” she says kindly, “I’ve got it.” She’s walking easier than she did the first day. Still an uneven sway, but she’s about as fast as she would be without it. She goes and comes back from her room, a fresh new team jacket over her arm. Shit, they must have got their team jackets?

She’s met in the living room with Cullen and Ellinor, who are also ready to take off. And so, with grins and happy laughs from all, they head out. 

--

The entire drive Olivia is trying to walk herself back off the mental ledge. Now that she’s aware of what she’s doing, or at least more aware, it’s almost worse. How can she tell her new girlfriend that she’s lapsing into something that’s taken her 3 years of on-and-off counselors for her to know is even real? When she’s not thinking about that, she’s thinking about how she should have been more honest with her, especially when Cass was raw about her own issues. Then she feels unreasonable for her expectations, and then…

In the middle of it, her gaze wanders to the center console, and then to the left, where Cassandra is seated. She’s sitting there, and then she feels Olivia’s gaze and looks over, and she smiles. She’s smiling, and she’s looking so happy in the sunlight shades changing so fast as the car goes fast downtown. 

Hands gathered against her waist like a kid on a school field trip, she grins back. 

Next thing she knows they’ve arrived, and Ellinor and Cullen are romping in the parking lot like spring yearlings, egging each other on for donuts or something. They’re so happy it almost rots her teeth. Ellinor tries to stick with the group, and before Olivia can ask her to stay, Cassandra surprises her and waves them off. That’s all the lovebirds need to fly off. 

Olivia takes a stiff breath and slips her aviators on. Who would have thought being alone with Cassandra after the week she’s had would be the exact opposite of what she wanted?

“Well, we better catch up, right?” Cassandra smiles again -- she’s smiling so much -- and slides her hands in her jacket pockets. 

Olivia looks over, nods, and goes forward. “Yeah! Yeah.”

“Everything okay?” Cassandra asks as she starts walking. “You seem anxious.”

“I...I am, a bit.”

They’re near the entrance when Cassandra stops. Olivia jerks and turns around, immediately admonishing herself. “Am I going too fast? I’m sorry, shi--”

“No,” Cassandra shakes her head. She’s reaching into her pocket. “My wallet is just stuck in the pocket. Give me a sec.”

Oh. That’s...that’s okay. Ok. Everything’s good. 

“You don’t have to worry about getting your wallet out,” Olivia says, grabbing her purse. “I got us!”

Cassandra furrows her brow and meets her gaze. “What? You sure? It’s not a big deal, I…”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Olivia puts in the effort for a sweet smile. She already has her wallet out and ready by the time Cassandra gives up grabbing hers. 

“Oh, okay then.”

They get in through the ticket stand without trouble. Once they’re in, it’s a marathon for the senses: spices and sugary treats freshly made and slathered lace the air, groups of people in bright autumnal hues exchanging cotton candy and stuffed animals. Music plays low and abundantly on speakers staked throughout, echoing the party of the open dance floor and festival stage somewhere through the fray. Machines and games ring out their sirens, with all the bells and whistles. Far beyond the front is the ferris wheel towering over the rest of the park yard and its sea of striped spotted tent roofs. It’s paradise for a bunch of young hearts with sweet teeth and salty energy levels from a semester nearly concluded. 

Olivia and Cassandra walk at a glacial pace. Cassandra looks just as endeared, scanning slowly from side-to-side, a carefree expression on her face. She looks so much more content than the last time Olivia saw her in a celebratory crowd. She’s cooler than cool. They walk beside each other so closely their shoulders bump, and ever so often one glances over and the other smiles in reassurance.

Then, because of course, they are hollered at by familiar faces. 

“Cass! Liv!” 

Lysette is walking over -- no, sauntering -- complete with what looks to be a giant inflatable hammer under her arm, and an ember-colored soda bottle in the other. She looks like a fabulous lumberjack, flannel, belt, boots and all. And a smug face of victory. 

“High Striker champion strikes again?” Cassandra asks with a clever laugh. 

Behind Lysette, a man looking like Rylen...or, sounding like Rylen, the way he’s cussing, is taking his turn at the game. Surrounded by several other bros, all chuckling and gesturing towards him as if to give pointers. Pointers he’s definitely not taking. 

“Agh, what can I say,” Lysette shrugs, looking over her shoulder. “He’ll be the last to call himself a loser.”

“That’s for sure.” Cassandra tilts her head, brow raised. “He’s lucky I’ve retired.”

Olivia gapes a little at the tall machine. “You played that?” 

Lysette laughs and hits Cassandra playfully on the shoulder with her balloon trophy, which Cass brushes off while smirking. “Cass taught me the magic,” she corrects proudly and takes a swig, “it’s from her that I inherited this heavy crown.”

Olivia’s brows lift into outer space as she looks over at her girlfriend, thinking of course she would, and Cassandra looks modestly self-satisfied. 

“Eh, well--” Lysette is interrupted by Rylen’s roar. They all turn around and see him, huffing and puffing like the wolf from the three little pigs story, strike hammer in hand. 

“Lys, you get your ass ov--h-hey! Liv! Cass!”

Olivia waves a little sheepishly. Cass nods. Lysette takes another glug of her beer. Poor Rylen couldn’t be gesturing toward a more unimpressed crowd of women. But, never one to be discouraged, he struts over swinging the thing like a baseball bat. 

“Either of you wanna take me on for the Striker?” he asks it generally, but his eyes stay on Olivia. The petite dancer, of course. Easy target. 

“Almost didn’t recognize you in the dress, Liv. C’mon,” he says, holding it out to her. “Take a swing!”

Olivia lets out a cautious laugh, and gently pushes the hammer away. Before she can give an excuse, Cassandra inches closer to her, until their sides are up against each other. It sends an excited chill down her spine. 

“Don’t get her caught up in your losing streak, Rylen,” Cassandra defends her. 

“Yeah,” Lysette snickers, “no need to pull innocent lives down with you, dude.”

Rylen looks sincerely confused at this disrespect, spreading his arms out wide to puff out his chest. “Ya’ll just don’t want to mess with the hometown glory!”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Olivia giggles, taking the opportunity to slide an arm around Cassandra’s waist. Cassandra is steady and warm. Irresistable. 

“We’re going to walk around some more before getting looped into games,” Cassandra says to Lysette, who happily nods and side-steps toward Rylen. 

“Come on,” she says, nudging him, “I’m not done with my streak.”

Liberated, Cassandra and Olivia turn to the left and walk on, her arm staying around her and Cassandra sending hers over Olivia’s shoulder. It’s one of the first acts of public affection they’ve done in a place like this. Well, that is, as a definite couple. The milestone is not lost on Liv, who for the first time since waking up in the morning has started to let the anxious “what if’s” slide. Cassandra isn’t dodging her, nor is she ignoring her. She’s here, she’s cheerful, and they’re here, together. The way Olivia’s head fits against the crook of Cassandra’s neck is perfect. 

“He was right about one thing,” Cassandra says as they walk down an aisle of stands. “You in a bright blue dress feels like a rarity.”

Olivia smirks and folds some wisps of hair behind her ear. “I live to shock and amaze.”

“That you do. You hungry?”

“Actually, kinda. I was hoping we could go to--”

“--the funnel cake stand?”

Olivia freezes and pulls away just a bit, just to be able to look up at her with eyes wide and mouth open. Cassandra looks back at her, a bit surprised. 

“Yes…” Olivia says slowly, “but the only flavor that is valid is…” 

Cassandra, catching the hint, chuckles softly. “Strawberry.”

“Agh!” Olivia lays her head back and smiles, leaning into her some more like before. “See, babe, it’s the little things that get me.”

Cassandra’s chuckling continues to bubble as she wraps her arms around her. As she pulls her in, she mumbles a soft caution: “careful, easy on me.”

Olivia is eyes closed and latched onto her like a koala when she hears it, and immediately backs off like they’re suddenly magnet ends.  

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! Ugh, I forg--”

Cassandra tilts a bit in reaction to the sudden shift of weight, and takes hold of Olivia’s flailing hands before they make her airborne. “Hey! Easy!”

Hands secured and attention obtained, Olivia once again freezes in a state of stress. 

“Liv, I’m okay,” Cassandra comforts with confidence. “I’m not a piece of fine china.”

Olivia can feel the embarrassed blush as she relaxes her arms. They stay linked, Cassandra rubbing the back of her hands with her thumbs. 

“I...I know that, I so know that,” Olivia repeats, “I’m sorry. I’m s--”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Cassandra adds, further dispelling the worry. 

“No, yeah. Yeah,” Olivia shakes her head fast, almost dizzying herself if not for Cassandra’s close presence. “Um, listen. Uh, hm…”

Cassandra blinks. “You okay?”

She looks so open, so understanding. Liv could tell her, she could just say it. Or, she could have a bit more mercy for her and not unload all of this on what is supposed to be a good, lighthearted night out. But would it help the stone in her gut, or the noiseless but deafening sensation in her head, between her ears? Will it make the dull but deep sense of dread subside?

“Cass, I…” her voice shakes a bit. Now she’s starting to become overwhelmed by all of the sensory overload and busy energy around them. Her cheeks go from hot to cold. 

“Olivia,” Cass says softly, coming closer. There’s a new look in her eyes, one that is least lost and confused. “We should go over to the picnic tables, okay? Just hold onto my hand and follow me.”

Olivia follows the instructions to the letter. After all, it isn’t exactly an unthinkable task holding onto her and letting her take the lead. Cassandra leads them over to where a few picnic tables form a semi-circle facing the venue, all but one taken up by people. It’s as if the last empty one was reserved especially for her unpredictable episode should she need it. 

But this isn’t an episode, right? God, she hopes not. 

“Have a seat,” Cassandra requests. Olivia, ever the dissenting queer, sits on the edge of the picnic table rather than the bench seats on either side. Her hands clamp on the wood while Cassandra stands in front of her, taking off her prized new jacket. 

“W-what are you doing?” 

“The thing that happens in every teenage romance film pre-dating 2005,” Cassandra replies. She then loops the jacket up and around Olivia’s shoulders. It’s a size or two bigger than she would wear, which makes it perfect. Olivia’s spine goes straighter than she’s ever been in her life, and she clutches the ends of it against herself like a blanket. 

Cassandra rubs up and down Olivia’s arms, slow but vigorous. The athlete is showing. “There.”

Olivia, feeling so sheepish she could be cast as an extra for a Charlotte’s Web remake, stares and rolls her lips shut. She feels better, but if she doesn’t let herself breathe, it’ll all surely get worse. 

“Are you in a place to tell me what’s going on, or should I just distract you?” 

Olivia’s fast becoming enthralled in just how prepared Cassandra is. If only she could say marveling at her was distracting enough without sounding corny. Yet, she’s asked the million-dollar question: can she say it, or should she? Without thinking, her gaze flashes to either side of Cassandra’s shoulders toward the crowds. Cassandra notices and immediately hooks a finger under Olivia’s chin.

“Olivia, don’t worry about them,” she says and guides her attention back to her. Butterflies. 

Olivia parts her lips and lets herself sigh. “I can’t.” She takes hold of her hand and guides it to rest in both of hers in her lap. “I wish I could, but I can’t. I don’t want to. Not here. We’re supposed to be having a good time.”

“What we are supposed to be doing doesn’t matter.”

“I know, but, I’m okay. I just need a second. I promise.” She says it honestly. She can enjoy this, if she just gives herself permission to without scolding at every turn for mistakes she had no intention of making. “Just a minute to cool down.”

“Okay.” Cassandra turns and slides onto the table right next to her, for which Olivia gladly scoots over. She lets go of her just so she can hold onto the jacket again. The sun is heading toward the mountains in the distance, but the evening is still far out. 

After a moment’s silence -- well, silent as one can get amid a fall carnival -- Olivia takes her first solid breath. The feeling in her throat is cooling down, and the tension in her chest is releasing. Her wandering eyes go across from the horizon to the next tallest thing: the ferris wheel, where it looks like a couple very similar to Ellinor and Cullen are in one of the carts. If only she could see past the obstruction of a giant stuffed animal. 

Knowing them, that probably confirms that it is, in fact, them. It makes her snort. 

Cassandra picks up on the reappearance of good humor. “Feeling better?”

In return Olivia looks over and gives her perhaps the first real and relaxed smile of the entire day. “Yes, a lot. Thank you.”

Many yards away, near a ring toss stand, two people begin to wave. Olivia zeroes in and sees that one has a beautifully-crafted side-braid of black hair and a fabulous ruffled coat. The other is a less-familiar face, but not a stranger’s.

“Oh, Josie!” Olivia says, and waves back. Josie is holding a smaller stuffed animal, bright pink, looking like a teddy bear. The other person says some words to her, looking like a question. 

She looks happy. That’s good. 

“Where’s Theia?” Cassandra asks, sticking a pin in the moment without even knowing. 

Taking another breath, Olivia leans her shoulder into hers and groans. 

“Am I missing something?” 

Olivia sighs. “You and me both. I’ll explain later.” Her phone dings from her bag. She looks up and sees Josie and her company gone, only to look down at her phone and have an answer: 

Josie: I hope we can link up before either of us leaves and take a pic! You both look adorable!

She hums in speculation, and replies: 

Olivia: Yes please!! 

With one click and toss, her phone is back in her back, and her sense is back in her head. Ariana Grande’s song “Tattooed Heart” has started to play on the Carnival DJ speakers. 

“I love this song,” she smiles, and sways a little to the beat. “How are you feeling?”

Cassandra rolls her shoulders as she leans back a little. “Great, I have no complaints.”

“Really?”

She takes one look at Olivia’s hopeful look and bites the side of her lip. “I mean, I still have my expectations. Firstly, the funnel cake. Secondly, I do want to see you take a swing at the High Striker. Third, I--”

“Oh, what!” Olivia scoffs playfully, “That hammer looks taller than me and about as heavy!”

Cassandra smirks. “With me coaching you, Love, you can’t lose.”

Butterflies, part two. “I...suppose you have a point. But if it’s gonna happen, I’ll need that funnel cake to help hold me down.”

“Deal.”

Love. I like that nickname. Hell, I’d change my name to it, why not?

She hops down with her spirit anew, and helps Cassandra back onto her feet. Just a little help, as a treat, since Cass is right: she isn’t fragile, and Olivia doesn’t have to worry. Watching the people she depends on for strength deal with physical limitations doesn’t always have to be a crisis. It might have been in the past, but the here and now is what matters. And she is allowed to believe that. 

They hold hands that gently swing as walk back into the crowds. It goes from feeling like a minefield to that scene in Rapunzel where she and Eugene are frolicking among the city folk. Friendly faces turn and offer smiles and “hello’s,” and they wave back. It’s easy. It’s effortless and thrilling at the same time. The popping and bell sounds are no longer menacing. The heat of the day is no longer suffocating. 

And, at last, they find their way to the main event: that beautiful funnel cake truck, with its beautiful plates bigger than her faze of fried dough, strawberries, and whip cream. After dousing it in powdered sugar because, of course you douse it in powdered sugar, she approaches Cassandra with a bit of purposeful mischief.

Smart to the look, Cassandra raises a brow, holding her fork in ready. “You pull anything, Sinclair, and it’s war.”

“Whaaat?” Olivia asks coyly, pinning her own fork between her teeth and smiling. She’s holding the plate in both hands like a holiday pie. 

“You know what. Don’t even think about it.”

“I just thought maybe you could do a little taste test a--AAH!” she can’t even get the tagline out before Cassandra strikes the first blow, scooping a dollop of cream onto her fingers and smearing it across Olivia’s nose and cheek. She squeaks in a pitch nearly at Ellinor-level, and stands there, shocked and holding the pie while her fork falls from her mouth onto the plate. Eyes wide, mouth agape, and face whipped. 

She can’t believe it. Cassandra, standing there, smug and unable to run. But it’s not like she would, anyway. The woman stands and is judged for her crimes just as she is for her wins. 

“I…” Olivia huffs, “Did you just seriously…?”

Cassandra, folding her arms with one hand going to her mouth as she only half-conceals her kind of playful grin, only plays dumb: “What? I have no idea what you are referring to!”

“Is this revenge for the ice cream?”

“I would prefer to call it a preventative measure.”

“Preventative...for what? I was only going to feed you the first bite!”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “Sure, Olivia, sure.”

“I was! Dammit, I was being a nice girlfriend! I swear!”

“I suppose we will never know, now,” Cassandra laughs and takes the napkins Olivia has in her hand, the ones she’s forgotten about during this heinous act of assassination. Carefully she unfolds it and hooks her finger under Olivia’s chin like before, only now she tilts it to the side so as to get the prime angle. 

“Hold still,” she’s still laughing a little as she wipes off most of the whip cream. Olivia’s eyes are adrift to the floor but she can’t resist glancing. Glancing turns to staring. A brief moment in time where everything is messy, but everything is wonderful. Cassandra looks so thoughtful, so kind. 

Such a pity, since she’s in for it. 

Striking just as quick, Olivia leans her cheek in and rubs it across Cassandra’s mouth and tip of her nose. Most of the mess is already off her face, but they can still share in the stickiness. 

“Ha!” She beams, bouncing back. “Rules of engagement are rules of engagement, Pentaghast!” She grabs her fork and points it at her like a defensive weapon. 

Cassandra chuckles and folds the napkin she had in half, looking down at the floor modestly like she knew it was coming. She isn’t mad, though. Far from it. And she definitely isn’t mad when Olivia offers to take the napkin from her and pay her due, cleaning off her face. 

“You know, sometimes,” Cassandra says more quietly, as Olivia finishes with one last brush along her chin for good measure, “I...I can be very bad at allowing someone else to take care of me.” The silliness has slipped from her tone. 

Olivia goes still, her hand full of scrunched, stained napkin still caressing Cassandra’s jaw. Their eyes meet, and in the hazel hue she can see it. She can see the recognition, the apology for the amount of little things that have become a pile of a bigger thing. She knows. She knew in the kitchen earlier that day, and she knows now. And for some reason Olivia, who has always been team “an apology means saying the words,” this feels like it means something deep. Something trusting and vulnerable. 

Something definitely forgivable. 

And so, tossing the napkin to the trash a couple feet from where they stand, Olivia grins wide and cuts into the plate of precious funnel cake until she skewers a perfect bite-sized piece of cake, cream, and berries. Then, holding it up for just a few seconds, she then stuffs it into her own mouth. She then holds the plate out to Cassandra, who grasps the plate edge with one hand. 

“Don’t worry,” Olivia says with a mouth half-full, “I suck sometimes at letting others care for themselves. Maybe we both need to learn when to just stuff our faces and let things happen.”

Cassandra, looking relieved and with fondness, begins to dig in with her own fork. “You might be onto something, there.”

Though she can never not overthink things, Olivia is happy to think ahead with this one: their edges and sharp points aren’t what they used to be. The intuition she had to just ride the wave and let things play out proved vindicated. It’s uncertainty that isn’t tragic. It’s hopeful. Is this what it feels like, then, to be falling in love?

Bring it on, Hammer Strike. 

[parkrstark]

who needs pictures?

based on this song (X)

It took him a while after everything happened to even go near Peter’s side of the lab. It had been months, maybe even a year already since he’d be gone. It felt like a million lifetimes. Tony lost track of time when all of the days merged into one long nightmare.

He only started looking through all of the stuff he had shoved in the desk drawers because May was looking for one of Peter’s old notebooks. She couldn’t find it in his bedroom and of course, the only other place that managed to collect all of the kid’s things was in the tower. Either in the spare room that had slowly turned into Peter’s or his section in the lab.

He didn’t mean to make it an all day affair, but every little thing he found had him distracted for a while.

He clicked on the old DS he had shoved in the top drawer and it still had his Animal Crossing game inside. Tony winced as he walked the little guy character (Peter named him Han Solo. Of course, he did) around the town, through the weeds that had taken over every spot on the ground. Peter used to always make sure to check his town routinely so there was never one weed in sight.

There was a plastic spoon in the bottom drawer that once lit up when you clicked the button. It was red with a faded cartoon picture of both Iron Man and Spider-Man on it. Peter had gotten it out of a box of cereal when the public first started noticing Spider-Man and Iron Man’s unlikely partnership. He had it hidden in here so no one ever used it and “tainted its awesomeness”.

Peter kept his fidget toy, one of many, on his desk. It had been a present from Tony when he noticed how the kid was always fidgeting. Especially when he was sitting in the lab doing nothing else but homework or something that didn’t involve much moving. He threw it to the kid one day after school nonchalantly. He’d been hesitant to use it until Tony told him about the collection of stress balls he had; there wasn’t ever a time when he didn’t have one in his pocket. Tony had spoiled the kid with dozens of fidget toys; some he loved, some he liked, and some he wasn’t a big fan of. When Tony was in a store, usually a gas station, they’d sell them by the cash register and Tony bought one he thought Peter would like. He even ordered special Star Wars ones.

When he reached the camera however, he froze. Of course, it had its own special drawer. Peter took care of that thing like it was his literal baby. He used to talk to it sometimes. He named it...Tony thought hard to Peter got it for his birthday from May (she had saved up months to get it for him and the look on his face when he opened it was well worth, even Tony knew). He had been there, but Peter hadn’t named it until a few days. He claimed he needed to pick a name that felt right. Four days after his birthday, he walked into the lab with the strap around his neck and holding the camera tucked safely in his hands against his chest.

“Meet Paisley!”

“Finally named it, kid?”

“Named her, Mr. Stark.”

Tony smiled at the memory, lifting the camera up and brushed away the layer of dust that covered the screen. He tried the power button, but nothing happened. Dead. He sighed, ready to put it back in the drawer when something stopped him. He turned it carefully in his hands and popped open the SD card insert.

He put the camera in the drawer and then went over to his main desk where he had a computer capable of showing the contents of the SD card. He stuck it in and waited for the monitor to load the pictures.

The first on the screen hit hard.

Peter was staring right at the camera smiling so widely. And with the high quality the camera took pictures in and his compute showed pictures on, it was almost like Peter was right in front of him again. He reached a hand out and his fingers hit the screen.

Peter had a weird tradition of “baptizing” each of his SD cards. He always took the same first picture. Whoever he was with when he replaced it, he threw an arm around their shoulder and took a selfie. Tony was usually the one caught, though he had a few with May, Ned, Happy, Rhodey, and Pepper.

Tony was in this one. He was staring down at one of his tablets, not giving the camera a glance. But Peter was there, next to him on the couch, pulling him in close and smiling. Tony wished he had looked up...just to see that smile on the kid’s face. But he didn’t. Because that had be a normal thing for Peter to do. Tony never thought there’d be a day where he wasn’t there to fill up empty SD card and start with an impromptu photo session.

He’d never get a chance to do that again. He took that moment for granted just as often as Peter took the picture.  

He swiped to the next photo and smiled. They were a lot miscellaneous shots of people and places Peter loved.

There was May raising a pair of chopsticks to her mouth as she sat across from him in what looked like a restaurant. Which Tony bet it was. Whenever she tried to cook, that’s usually where they ended up.

Ned sitting in a pile of hundreds of Legos they had dumped all over Peter’s bedroom floor.

A view of the city streets from a very high spot somewhere Peter perched to get the perfect shot.

Happy petting a orange cat, Murphy was his name if Tony remembered correctly, that sat on a counter of Peter’s favorite deli.

May and Pepper laughing as they sat on a couch, each with a champagne glass in their hands.

Endless photos of dogs in the park.

Tony sitting on Rhodey as they played Mario Kart, so he could win.

Ned making a funny face in the camera as he sat in a library with a book open in front of him.

Happy yelling out his window as they drove, Peter was sitting in the passenger seat.

A duck walking down a city street.

Tony working on something in his lab.

Peter liked taking candid shots of Tony in the workshop. Sometimes Tony was glancing at the camera from the corner of his eyes, but most times he had no idea the picture was being taken.

God, Tony. Why didn't you ever take a fucking second just to look? Look up at what you had. The kid was always there. And now, he’d never be there again.

He swiped through the dozens of photos Peter took of Tony in the lab, mixed with a few of the bots hanging around.

(Tony’s favorite was the one he took himself. Peter, U, and Dum-E were sleeping on the floor in a sea of blankets Peter had set up for the four of them to watch a movie. He had made sure to drape a blanket over each of them.)

He smiled when he realized what the majority of this SD card was full of: Peter and Tony’s roadtrip to Florida over the summer. They had a big trip planned to Disney World for the kid’s 17th birthday. He’d always wanted to go to Disney World and one of the parks was practically throwing up Star Wars. There was a ride, character meet and greets, parades, firework, shows, and more just for this movie.

So, it was a no brainer where Peter was going to celebrate his day.

Except there was one problem: Peter was deathly afraid of planes. Ever since the night he crashed the Stark plane on Coney Island. So, flying to Florida was not an option. At least not for Peter.

Tony remembered when they surprised him with the tickets and told him about the private jet that would get them there in no more than 2 hours. He hands started to shake. Tony didn’t hesitate before saying Peter didn’t have to take the plane. (“I’m thinking about driving down, if you want to join. I could use the company”)

Sure, one day, Tony would help Peter get over his fear of flying, but he didn’t need to do that when he was going to celebrate his birthday. He didn’t want the kid to dread the trip. So, Tony and Peter left two days before everyone else did and they started their roadtrip.

It was the best trip Tony had ever taken. He enjoyed the car ride to and back more than the actual vacation, probably.

The collection of vacation photos started with Tony packing the car with their suitcases. Tony was looking over his shoulder as a bag on the top was about to fall over on his head. (“A little help, Parker?”).

Tony steering the wheel with one hand and shoving a fast food burger in his mouth with the other. (“Who the fuck puts mustard on a burger? Are their taste buds that dead?”)

A random horse Peter had made Tony stop driving for suddenly by screaming, “Stop!” (“Christ, Parker, you’re lucky no one was behind me. Don’t do that again.” “But he’s so pretty, Mr. Stark.”)

Peter’s dirty converse kicked up on the dash and a blur of Tony’s hand, swatting his feet off. (“Unless you want to clean the dashboard with your toothbrush, get your filthy feet off.”)

A sunset Peter made him spend 10 minutes driving to get the perfect shot. (“Peter, the sun is going to be gone by the time you find a spot you like.”)

One that Tony took of Peter fast asleep in the passenger seat, drooling slightly with his head at angle that couldn’t have been good for his neck. (“How do you even sleep like that?”)

Then the next one was Peter sleeping again, this time after Tony leaned over and fixed him so he was in a comfortable position. He leaned the seat back, laid his head in a normal position, and covered him in a blanket. (“See? I take care of you.”)

He continued to skim through the pictures and found the selection of pictured from the actual trip itself. Peter had gone crazy with photos. LIke he snapped a picture of every little thing. He was like those tourists they made fun of in Times Square.

Tony and May had taken a lot of them too when Peter wanted to be in the pictures. The kid almost cried when he saw all the Star Wars shit. There was a show that had an entire dedication to Han Solo, and Tony actually saw him wipe at his eyes quickly. Tony had rolled his eyes, ruffling the kid’s hair.

He continued through the hundred of pictures for what had to have been hours before he reached the last one. Tony packing a full car that overflowing with bags and bags of Disney souvenirs.

Tony didn’t realize he had been crying until there were no more photos to distract him. He sniffled and wiped his wet cheeks.

That was only one SD card...the kid had dozens in his drawer that Tony could look through.

He always took a picture of everything. His face was always behind the lens, taking a photo of something.

Tony told him to put the camera down and live in the moment, but Peter said he didn’t want to forget a single moment.

Tony didn’t understand how he could when it was all so clear in Tony’s mind. He could still close his eyes and remember what had happened in each photo before and after it was taken.

He didn’t need these photos to remember Peter.

Peter was the most vivid memory in his mind every time he closed his eyes.

Sometimes it was a blessing, sometimes it was a curse.

[raybansandcoffee]

Adventure of a Lifetime - Chapter Six

Since it’s Fan Fic Writer’s Appreciation Day I am going to give some love to my readers. So here we go - Chapter Six of Adventure of a Lifetime! You can find the rest of this story HERE. I hope you enjoy it!

**********

We spent a few more hours in the pool, eventually waking Axel up from his nap and bringing the little guy in the water with us. It was a truly awesome way to kick off summer. I loved getting to see the kids laugh and smile. It also felt like a giant weight had been lifted off of my chest that I had someone here to talk to about the fucked up year I’ve experienced. Sure, I could call home and talk to Alex or Frankie. I could only sort of talk to Savy and with Tony moving out here I’d maybe have someone to lean on when things got hard for me. But having someone who even had a slight understanding of what I might be going through as a single parent was a relief.

“We are going to get cleaned up and then we’ll be over at your place in an hour,” Jeremy said as he was helping me get the kids buckled into their seats. “Do you need me to bring anything over?”

“No, your help is seriously more than enough. We will see you in a little bit.” I hopped into the car and started to drive down the drive towards the gate. “Did you have fun today Elle?”

“I did. I had a lot of fun! Jeremy is really nice and I’m glad Papa FaceTimed us too. I miss Papa.”

“I miss Papa too, babe.” My phone started to ring through the car. It seemed like nearly every time I had the kids in the car, just as Axel was about to fall asleep the phone would ring. I saw that it was my brother on the screen in the dashboard.

“Hello,” I answered. “Charlie’s Carpool Service.”

“Hey sis,” Tony said.

“Uncle Tony!” Ellie yelled from the backseat.

“Ellery Marie, how is the first day of summer?”

“Awesome. I went swimming with Ava and her Dad Jeremy and Mom and Axel. Mom says you’re on your way to see me,” Ellie yelled from the backseat.

“I am E-Money. I am getting closer. Sis, you were so right. This is a beautiful drive. The mountains are gorgeous. If I wasn’t in a hurry to get to your place I’d totally stop.”

“Right? I keep telling myself that someday I’m going to drive through and actually stop and enjoy it. But I don’t. I should though. I think once the kids are older it will be easier.”

“I am so anxious to get there. I’m driving faster than I should but you know how well I sit still,” Tony said causing me to laugh.

“You don’t. Road trips with you when you were younger were a nightmare.”

“It’s not much easier now. Especially considering I’ve had 3 Red Bulls already.” I groaned.

“Anth, I have to be able to sleep tonight. I can’t stay up all night with you. I do have two kids to take care of. So you and your over-caffeinated self are on your own for an all-nighter.”

“I won’t make you pull an all-nighter tonight. But I am going to need some help getting stuff unpacked and moved around.”

“I know. We will have help too. Ava and her Dad are going to be there for dinner tonight and Jeremy offered to help us get everything moved around for you. You might want to take stuff from some of the other rooms in the house to make your room feel right.”

“True. So who is Jeremy? Someone I need to know about?”

“He’s Ava’s Dad. Ava is Ellie’s best friend from school. He’s a really nice guy.”

“Like are you dating him?” Tony asked.

“That’s the best joke I’ve ever heard. I don’t have time to date. Also, I just met him yesterday. Like I used to have decent luck with guys but not good enough luck that I could get a guy at school pick-up. He heard me on the phone with you and Dad today. He offered to help since I’m going to need to do some cleaning in the apartment. I don’t think it’s been used for a while.”

“As a single man, all I have to say is if I were to offer my assistance in cleaning an apartment and moving a woman’s brother into it I would only do it if I were interested in her. Well, or if she was super hot and I thought I might get laid. Speaking as your brother you’re super cool and from what I’ve heard from my friends my entire life, I have hot sisters. I personally find that absolutely disgusting to hear but it’s been said to me so I will repeat it to you to provide an ego boost before I arrive and take over a portion of your house.”

“It’s nothing. The babies are the priority. My non-existent love life is not. I’m home now. I need to get both of the kids rinsed off because we were in chlorine all day. Admittedly, I am so lucky that these kids aren’t biologically mine or I’d have two kids with green hair like Frankie and I had growing up.” We both had bright blonde hair as kids and spent enough time in the pool that by mid-summer we both had a greenish tint to our hair. It drove our mother crazy. She tried everything she could to get the tint out short of having her small children’s hair bleached before we went back to school.

“I’ll be there in a few more hours. I can’t wait to see you, Sis.”

“I can’t wait to see you either, Anth.”

“Bye Nugget,” he called to his niece who I caught smile through the rearview mirror in the backseat.

“Bye Meatball,” she replied before I heard him laugh and the call disconnected. I did my best to get both kids out and everything into the house in one trip. I found Savannah laying on the couch.

“Hey Sav. Did you have a good night off? Well, I guess night and half-day?” I asked.

“I did. Theo took me to dinner last night, we met up with some friends, and then went back to his place. He had to work at noon so I must’ve just missed you guys as you left.”

“Probably. How are things with Theo?” I asked.

“Okay,” she mumbled. “Last night was weird. Normally when I stay over he is happy about it, last night he just sort of acted annoyed by it. I need to go hose these two kids down since they spent the entire day in chlorine.”

“I’ll come help. You can fill me in on the playdate with Ava’s hot, single, superhero Dad.”

“I mean Hawkeye is a superhero but he has no superpowers, just an insane skillset.”

“God you are such a nerd,” she said through laughter. It was the same laugh her mother had and often used when I did something ridiculous.”

“It’s true though. But the day was nice. He’s an incredible guy, great dad, and obviously super fucking hot.” I whispered the last part hoping that Ellery didn’t hear it because lately, she’d been a parrot to everything I said. “I haven’t said anything to your mother about who he is. You know how she is. She’d immediately assume that because he’s an actor…”

“He’s an ass, I know. I didn’t tell her after Ava’s birthday party.” Savannah’s Dad was an aspiring actor when he met Alex and had managed to have a pretty steady career over the last two decades. Despite having always been a decent Dad there was a huge part of Alex that would never get over parts of who he was so every actor to her was an asshole.

“You didn’t even tell me, which is baffling. You live in my home and somehow forgot to tell me that my kid’s best friend’s Dad is Jeremy fucking Renner. I should fire you and kick you out.”

“First of all, this is way more entertaining. Second, you would be screwed without me.”

“Don’t be so sure. Tony is on his way here right now. So I need to go clean these monsters up quickly so I can go get the apartment ready so that my baby brother can move in.”

“Tony is moving in with us?! You forgot to mention that to me.”

“This is way more entertaining.” She flipped me off. Alex’s warning earlier wasn’t unwarranted. Savannah had an obvious crush on my little brother. She’d traveled with me to his graduation. I watched how she acted around him. The same way she had since she was about 12 and realized that he was cute. She’s also not good at hiding anything from me.

“I hate you but I’ll help you clean the kids up so that you can also shower.”

“You are forgiven.” Savannah took Ellie’s hand in hers and I followed them upstairs as I carried Axel. I could tell that he was tired from the pool today, despite his nap. We got both of the kids in the bathtub and cleaned up. I got Axel cleaned up and put into some clothes so he could take a short nap while I showered. Once he was in his crib I snuck into my bedroom to shower. I put on music that I could listen to in an attempt to calm down from the emotions of today and prepare myself for tonight.

I stood beneath the water as it cascaded over me and took a deep breath before the deep sigh came out, followed rapidly by the tears. They came faster accompanied by the sound of me struggling to breathe. I leaned back against the cold tile wall as the water mixed with my tears. I was hoping I’d left the music up loud enough that if anyone walked into my bedroom that they would only hear the music and not my sobbing. It wasn’t the normal crying I experienced. The crying from loneliness at night because I’d gone from sharing my bed with a man I loved to him walking away because he couldn’t handle the new life I’d been given. The crying that came when I sat at a piano trying to write the score to a scene, missing the suggestions and smart-assed remarks that came from my partner as I worked through a difficult part. The crying that came when I had a great day that I wanted to celebrate and knew the only way I could do it was via FaceTime or a phone call with my sister or my best friend. The crying because I missed another family dinner or my nieces’ dance recital, or another baseball game for my nephew. This crying was different. It was almost as if the tears were a sense of relief because I’d finally had the chance to grieve aloud with someone.

I hadn’t opened up about Sam and Michael to anyone new, until today. I’ve lived here for nearly 11 months and had been unable to make any friends because I couldn’t be open with them. I struggled in every single setting I’d found. I couldn’t relate to the stories of pregnancy and childbirth. The few people I’d met without kids I couldn’t relate to because I did have to go home to take care of the two I was raising. Jeremy was the first person in my new life that I’d been able to open up to. We’d only met yesterday but he was willing to listen and show that he cared. I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten lucky enough to finally meet someone who attempted to understand what happened. Someone who actually asked about their Dad. I’d always felt the judgment from the Mommy Groups. I had no wedding ring on my hand. There was never a mention of a father. I saw the way they looked at me, like the irresponsible person who got pregnant without a plan or a partner. At first, I was sad. Then I got angry. I felt they didn’t deserve the actual story of those two incredible babies I was given. They didn’t deserve to learn the tragedy we’d experienced and that I didn’t want to see the looks change from judgment to pity.

I finally stopped the crying enough to finish my shower. There was no point in trying to make my hair look great, it would inevitably end up in a messy bun while I helped Tony unpack. I did put on a little bit of makeup. The lack of sleep I’d been getting this week and the crying in the shower had my under-eyes dark and puffy. I took a deep breath as I looked in the mirror. I needed to get myself out of this funk and get ready. It wouldn’t be long before the house would be buzzing with energy and people. I needed to be prepared to have all of this enter my space.

I went into the closet and quickly threw on some clothes. I found a pair of cut-off denim shorts that were far too short but I didn’t care. I looked in the mirror after throwing on a bra and t-shirt. The clothes fit me differently than they had a year ago. As much as I’d believed that eating like a child for a year had changed my body, that hadn’t been it. It was grief and depression. It was the occasional drink I had at night to help me wind down and eventually find a few hours of sleep. It was the lack of sleep I’d had for the last year. My life had changed, it was the only reasonable excuse for my body to have changed. The shorts hung on me differently than they had last year. They were tighter in some places, looser in others. The t-shirt hung past my shorts so I tied a small knot in it, I didn’t want to look like I was running around the house without pants on. I heard my text alert go off on my phone from the bathroom.

We are on the way. Do you need us to pick anything up?

We are okay. We will just order pizza when it gets closer to dinner.   The gate code is 5309#.

Why leave off the 867?

The fact that you guessed where that came from cracks me up. It’s 100% Michael’s doing. Okay, I may have been an accomplice on it. Sam was so pissed at us.

We will see you in a little bit then.

I walked across the hall to get Axel out of his crib. He didn’t look like he’d actually taken a nap but hopefully, the time he spent in his crib made him a little bit rested. He was usually a pain to deal with if we did a lot during the day and he didn’t get enough of a nap. He was hitting growing spurts, he was experiencing a lot of firsts, and that took a lot more energy than before had. I bounced him on my hip to hear him giggle as we headed down to the living room.

“Jeremy and Ava are on their way. We are gonna do some work in the apartment so it’s ready for Tony when he gets here. Do you want me to take Axel with us? I can take a pack and play out there so he can hang with us.”

“Whatever you want to do,” Savannah replied. “I’m fine watching all three of them. But if you want him with you out there that’s fine too.”

“I think I’ll take him out there.” I handed Axel to Savannah before I went downstairs to my studio, grabbed the pack and play I kept in there and took it, along with some cleaning supplies, out to the apartment and set it back up. I opened up some of the windows in the apartment to air it out. It had been closed up for months.

I loved the apartment. It was so bright. There were so many windows that the natural light at times was almost blinding. The ceilings were made of beautiful wood beams. The living room had a great fireplace. It had a fantastic kitchen. There was a clawfoot bathtub that I’d taken more than one bath in over the years. The view out the bedroom was into the forest our compound was essentially plopped into. There was a little basketball court beside it, which my brother would love. It was nicer than the apartments any of my friends had lived in at Tony’s age. The furniture in here was perfect and picked to my style which was all Sam’s doing. They had really decorated this to be my Peter Pan house in the trees and here I was handing it over to my baby brother so he could spend some more time being one of the lost boys. I saw Jeremy’s truck pull up the driveway so I headed out of the apartment.

“Your land is gorgeous,” he said as he climbed down out of his truck. He opened the back door and Ava jumped out.

“Thanks,” I replied.

“How much do you have?”

“I think just shy of 8 acres, like 7.75. Michael wanted all of the land, Sam wanted close to the water. He won because she fell in love with this place.” Ava was walking ahead of us up the stairs towards the front door. I leaned over her to open the door and let them in. Ava hurried over to where Savannah, Ellery, and Axel were playing on the floor. “Want a tour?”

“Sure.” I took him through the first floor which was all living space before we headed upstairs. It was all bedrooms and bathrooms. It wasn’t perfect or clean, it was lived in. It was the home of a single parent, her two kids under 5 and their nanny. “The view from up here is gorgeous,” he said as he leaned down on the railing that ran along the deck that was on the upper level of the house.

“It is. The view and the house was what got Sam to agree to not be by the water. She walked out to exactly where you are standing and turned to look at me, because of course she’d drug me to house shop with them, and she said ‘how the fuck do I agree on this house instead of the water without letting him win?’ I died laughing. She didn’t like losing to Michael and she’d lost on the house in LA and the house here because Michael knew her better than she did.”

“That’s funny. They sound like great people.”

“The fucking best.”

“The only room in the house that looks like it’s been even remotely remodeled is yours. It’s the only one that doesn’t fit the style of the rest of the place.”

“The basement has had some major changes. But yes, of the bedrooms only mine. The first month we lived here I couldn’t sleep in here. I was sleeping on a couch or on the floor in Axel’s room. It was their bedroom it was too much for me to handle. So finally on her second visit, my sister drug me out shopping. New everything so that it was my bedroom, not theirs. The first night I slept in there was the first night I’d slept in almost two months. My sister stole the baby monitor that was in my room and she handled the kids. I slept for 16 straight hours.”

“You were physically and emotionally exhausted. You are definitely lucky to have your sister, though she seems like she’s a force to be reckoned with.”

“Oh, she definitely is.” I took him back through the house and to the basement. There was a pool table, bar, wine cellar, theater room, and my sanctuary. “This is my studio. My happy place.”

“It’s fucking amazing. You put a lot of work into this.”

“I did. I moved the stuff we had in LA out here. I had some renovations done to make more space in here. I made it the most perfect space to work.”

“You have three pianos in this house, two of which are baby grand. That’s just crazy.”

“I know. I feel spoiled because of it. This is the baby grand from our studio in LA. The goal when I redid this place was that it would fit. Every song we wrote together we essentially wrote on that piano. The piano upstairs is the one from their house in Los Angeles.”

“And that one?” he asked gesturing to the wooden upright that sat just outside of the studio in the bar area of the basement. It was beautiful but had clearly seen better days.

“That is the piano I grew up playing. It was in my Dad’s house when he grew up so my grandparents had it moved to our house when I was three because I loved playing with it at their house and neither of them played anymore. My Dad still remembered bits and pieces from when he was a kid. So he’d teach me what he could remember. At four I started trying to take lessons by six the lessons were twice a week that my piano teacher came to my house.”

“So that’s the family piano. I love that you moved it out here.”

“I couldn’t leave it in LA. It holds so much history. My grandpa bought it for my grandma as a wedding gift. By the time I was born she’d developed arthritis and couldn’t play anymore. My Dad still has a baby grand at his house because it fit the style of the house much better. That one lived in the basement bar room so it is pretty happy living here now. It always got played during parties at my Dad’s and hopefully, someday that happens here too.”

“That’s some awesome family tradition.”

“I like to think so.” I watched as he sat down at the baby grand in my studio and started to play. It was rare that people who sat down at one of my pianos actually knew how to play. Growing up it was friends thinking playing chopsticks was funny every time they were at my house. In my condo it was usually drunk people thinking they were writing a song. But here was one of the rare occasions where someone sat down and their fingers easily moved across the keys and beautiful music appeared. I sat down beside him on the bench and started to play with him. Adding higher notes to what he was playing that somehow mixed into his song beautifully. I looked over at him as he smiled and nudged me with his shoulder. Having musical chemistry with someone was a rare thing to find. The ability to just sit and make music together without any preconceived plans or music. In my lifetime I’d only ever found it with my brother and Sam, until this moment. “You are pretty damn talented, Jeremy.”

“You’re not too bad yourself. Okay, while I’d love to get lost in all of the instruments in here and play for hours we have to get an apartment ready for your brother,” Jeremy said as the sound of the music stopped.

“We do. He’s really good at ruining all of the fun.” We both stood up and headed upstairs to grab Axel and head out to the apartment. I had Axel expertly balanced on my hip as I opened the door and headed up to where my brother would be living. “Are you excited to get it ready for Uncle Ant to live out here, Axe-man?” He giggled a response at me.

“Do the kids like your brother?” Jeremy asked.

“They love him,” I replied. “He and Ellery have been close her whole life. If he was home for long he’d end up at the studio a lot with Sam and I. He is going to make a great Dad someday because he did everything he could to help us. He fed her, changed diapers, everything. And since I’ve had this little guy since he was three weeks old Axel won’t know life without Tony being Uncle Ant.” Axel started to squirm in my arms so I put him down in the pack and play.

“Your brother is super lucky.”

“Why is that?”

“This apartment is gorgeous. The view from here is almost as good as it is in the master. There’s so much natural light. It’s just absolutely beautiful.”

“That it is. I do love it out here.”

“I can see why,” he said as he walked over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows to look outside. “If someone had given me this place at 22 for free I’d have thought I was the luckiest guy alive.”

“If I’d been given it at 22 for free I would’ve felt that way too.”

“Even the furniture out here is amazing. You are right, it’s a much different style than the main house but is almost identical to the master. They clearly decorated it for you.”

“That they did,” I replied. “Eventually I’ll try to make the whole house more my style but for now it’s not worth the money to completely re-furnish the house. I spent the money on my spaces. Anything for the kids I’ve left the same. I did allow Savy to make whatever changes she wanted to her space too. It’s just super fucking tough to not know what is going to cause some major upheaval with the kids or anyone else.”

“It is a tough thing to navigate but you appear to be doing a great job. I tried not to change too much right away on Ava. I didn’t want the house to suddenly feel different beyond her Mom not being there. Over time she’s adjusted as well as can be expected. It’s tough to go back and forth between parents and cities.”

“Do you and your ex get along? I mean you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

“I feel like since you divulged the dead best friends’ kids info that I can share too. We don’t, not in the least bit. She’s been difficult to deal with and that’s putting it nicely. It gets easier the more removed we are from our divorce that we are. I hope that continues to be true because I feel like the older Ava gets the harder it’s going to be. Divorce is easy on no one.”

“I can confirm that. My parents’ divorce was a nightmare. Ava is maybe lucky that she was young enough that she won’t remember it. I remember my parents dealing with theirs. The arguing. The lawyers. The custody agreements. The uncomfortable kid swaps. And then out of nowhere my Mom got a new job and moved to a new country leaving us with my Dad permanently. Which seems super tragic because it’s these two teen girls growing up without their mother, but it was the best thing that could’ve happened to us.”

“It’s great that you feel that way now. Does your sister?”

“100%. One of the many reasons she was upset that I didn’t opt to buy the house down the canal from her was because it meant there was one more person to occupy our mother on her occasional trips back to California. I am usually very ‘go with the flow’ so I can handle her pretty easily. I mean she gives me more anxiety than just about anything outside of motherhood, but I’ve always been the one more capable of dealing with her. My sister gets so stressed out that she breaks out into hives. We both have some pretty serious anxiety issues and my Mom is a giant trigger to both of us. She is hard to describe.” I laughed a little because honestly, I wasn’t even sure where to start when it came to explaining my Mom. “She doesn’t understand boundaries, she is flighty, and just does whatever feels great to her. She’s never been able to put what someone else might need in front of what she wants. I almost envy that drive and ambition. There is literally nothing that will hold her back from doing what she wants. There was one night sitting that it was just Mom, Frankie and I sitting and talking, perhaps drinking too much wine, that my Mom admitted that she never wanted kids.”

“That had to be hard to hear.”

“Honestly, it was a relief. It wasn’t that Frankie and I sucked, she loved us and said she didn’t regret having kids but that she never really wanted them. My Dad did and she fell for him. She thought that if she was supposed to have kids it would happen and it happened…quickly. And then she thought what would it hurt to have a second because at least we could entertain each other. It did not turn out at all how she’d imagined and so she had two girls who were happy to move in full-time with their Dad when a new job came calling.”

“Parents can be interesting. It’s also crazy the way everything you thought as a kid flips as soon as you have kids. Like I could never understand why my parents wouldn’t let me do certain things as a kid and now the idea of Ava doing some of them is just flat out fucking terrifying.”

“Just wait. Those girls are cute now, they will grow to be teenagers before we know it. I’m terrified of raising teenagers. Teenage girls come with hormones, hatred for their mothers and teenage boys. Teenage boys will be the death of me.”

“I’ve had some tactical weapon training in my life. I’ll make sure we get some for you before the girls get that old and we can tag-team them.” I started to laugh probably too hard at that.

“I was a teenage girl once. I mean by the time they are teenagers they will have way more technology than I ever had but I will be able to figure out when they are lying to us. I mean I may have been a music nerd but that meant I hung out with musicians. There is nothing worse than a teenage boy in a band.”

“Hey! I was once a teenage boy in a band.”

“And I bet all of the girls loved you and that you broke all of their hearts.”

“Possibly.”

“Possibly my ass. I can see it in your eyes. You have the kind of eyes that can easily make a woman turn into mush and do whatever you ask them to.”

“Oh, I do?”

“Yes, you do,” I said firmly. He did. I was fairly certain that if he asked me to do anything at this moment I’d do it. With the only possible exception being abandoning my children. “I know eyes like that. They talked me into a lot of stupid shit in high school and even worse shit in college.” Jeremy started to laugh really loudly.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I looked over at him. I could sense already that he was mischievous, had a great sense of humor, he was obviously insanely handsome and was going to cause a shift in my life.

“Ugh, you’re gonna be the death of me. I can feel it already.” His laughter grew louder before I threw a dust rag at him. “Get to work, Renner.”

**********

First of all, THANK YOU for reading this or anything else I’ve ever written. I appreciate it and the feedback I get. I love writing. In fact, today in therapy my therapist asked me if there were no limits to what I could do and I could pick one thing to do as a career what it would be I said I’d be a writer. I mean if I could go back and redo my life I’d probably be in politics somehow. But ultimately, writing is my one true love. So thank you, from the bottom of my little black, jaded heart the most sincere thank you for supporting me.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I wanted there to be some one-on-one time with Jeremy and Charlie. Their banter makes me happy. The way he allowed her to talk so freely about the trauma in her life shows how caring of a person he is. I’m excited to continue to develop their friendship and see where it develops. I’m also super excited to get Tony to Tahoe! Charlie is obviously very close with her family and having her little brother with her will help her to develop the sense of calm she needs in her life. I think Jeremy will bring that to her too. And if nothing else, he’ll probably bring her a few laughs. 

I can’t wait to hear what you thought. Feel free to message me, comment, or whatever. Your feedback means so much to me. The only way for me to improve as a writer is through your feedback. Love what I’m doing? Awesome! It’s such a pick-me-up for a writer to hear someone loves their work. Trust me, with the stuff that goes on in my daily life those little nuggets of happiness mean everything. Hate the direction I took something? Confused by the wording I used? I want to hear that too. The only way to improve is to learn from my mistakes and move on from there. 

Again, thank you. You’re amazing.

xx. AM

[mindlessselfdeprivation]

The Nothing

It’s just like The Neverending Story. It’s not darkness, it’s not even a hole, because even hole would be something. No, this...this is just nothing.

That’s depression. That’s what true despair is, it’s The Nothing that eats up your everything. It bleaches your life, nothing has any color or flavor or texture anymore. Food sucks, company is annoying, being alone is excruciating and substances exist only as a shit-ass temporary floaty. Recreation means nothing anymore, every desperate action during the day is taken only to distract me from myself for a little bit longer. Sleep will come soon, and in sleep there’s just that sweet fucking nothing. 

Which is what you feel like you constantly have, at any given time. Nothing. The Nothing has it now. And now every memory is covered in spikes, too painful to even go near.

Nothing can make you feel ok anymore, and your good days are the ones where you only brood and lament your life for a few hours out of the day. You know, as opposed to every second you’re awake. 

Those days happen so much more often. I swear to fucking God, some days I feel like the pain inside me is gonna open a fucking hole in the earth. Like I’m no longer going to be able to keep this horrible monster at bay anymore, and the scream that finally peals out of me will shred my lungs and crack open an abyss that swallows me once and for all. 

I fear for anyone that might be around when that bomb goes off. Which is another problem. Although I’m desperate to be seen and heard and known and loved, I’m fucking terrified of getting near anyone ever again, it seems like an absurd idea to even say it out loud. I’m a goddamned hurricane, I’m a fucking natural disaster on legs, an extinction level event taken human form. All of my relationships....it’s just a festering sewage basin, that whole area of my life. Everything there, flies and pestilence, disease and rot. 

That’s my heart in there too. Fucking rotten, like an old forgotten tree stump wasting away in a swamp somewhere in whogivesafuck. Thinking on it, can I even love anymore? Do I even know what that is anymore? 

An older woman I work with asked me for a hug the other day cause she was a little sad, thinking about her brother that died...and I was happy to oblige, she’s the sweetest little thing. And I realized - holy shit, this is the first real hug I’ve had in an entire year. I’ve hardly touched anyone for ten months outside of a handshake or a friendly bro-hug. 

And afterwards she thanked me and said I gave great hugs, and it dawned on me...I remembered being a guy who loved hugs, remembered a guy that was very romantic and affectionate, that insisted on using physical touch to remind those around him that he loved them dearly....then I looked over from that guy to the one that’s in there now. What a shadow, what a husk he’s become. Empty and hollow and discarded. A lost soul...an inevitable consequence of The Nothing.

The worst thing? I mean, if there is a blacker black than all the rest...

The Apathy. That’s what The Nothing shits out and leaves behind for you. You just don’t....fucking....care...anymore.

I used to have passion, play music, learn language or just about any damn thing else (I was always such a junkie for knowledge), write stories or poetry or music or any one of a dozen other things that enjoyed. And I don’t even write this out of sadness or with some sense of self pity, this is just a cold, apathetic recall of facts. There was a guy who knew love and there’s the guy sitting there now. And those are simply two different guys. And the insurance adjuster in me is fairly certain that at this level of damage, it’ll cost more to repair the existing vehicle than it would to just buy a new one.

I don’t have any real relationships anymore. I have the ones that are necessary to maintain normal social function, but even those I put in just enough to get buy and no more. I’ve lost too much and hurt too deeply and hurt others far too much to let anyone close anymore. It’s hard to describe how it feels to look around you and realize you’re standing alone, no one around. 

The only times I hear from someone is when they need something from me. I’m like a tool for rent. Why buy this thing when I only ever need to use it once in a blue moon?

Family? No, two sisters and two brothers in law that I don’t know anymore and they definitely don’t know me. A mom that taught me to use people like pawns and a dad so devoid of emotion and connection that it’s impossible to communicate, a daughter I never see or speak to anymore and an ex that swore we’d remain amicable for the sake of our daughter but slowly, methodically, and fucking brilliantly shut me out of her life completely...and my daughter with her by extension. Friends? No one there that knows me either, just people I talk to on occasion to spend a little bit of my distraction time with someone else.

But no one around me knows this. I put on a pretty decent mask I suppose, my boss apparently thought I was a really happy guy and married with kids. Ha. Cool, it’s working. I’ve gotten good at camouflage. It’s just another form of lying, and I’m incredibly good at lying. 

Talking about it, is like...what’s the fucking point? This is a tar pit, baby. I’m not bringing anyone else in this. Even if you were standing right next to me with a brilliant torch, this darkness, this Nothing around me is far too thick to see it. 

I miss writing though, maybe that’s why I’m finally doing this. Putting something down. I’m going to commit to talking to this fucking thing everyday. No one knows me here, I barely use this website. I only ever got onto it for....well, another person who eventually left. Maybe that’s why I feel I can be ok here, being naked and bleeding and fucked up and real.....no one who knows me by my mask will have to know what lives underneath it. This is my tree of trust.

I don’t want this to just be a dumping ground for depressed Emo bullshit though, I can go listen to Dashboard Confessionals while cutting myself if I wanted to go there. What I want is a true exploration and record of The Nothing as it grows stronger, what it’s taking, what fuels it, can I escape. I don’t want help either, I don’t think there is any such thing (see tar pit reference above). Maybe you’re always alone too, maybe you’re also constantly afraid that the house of cards will get blown down and people will see the real ugly inside. 

Maybe this is just me yelling into the wind that you’re alone, but not so alone. Maybe all of us are and none of us. Maybe I don’t know what to believe anymore.

I’ve tried to remember it, you know. Happiness. I’ve tried to find that motherfucker like Sherlock and his dear Watson, complete with cocaine and violins. You ever try to think of a nice warm fire while you’re soaking wet and freezing your balls off? And how’d that work out for ya? Same idea - “Just think happy thoughts” is like telling someone that just fell into arctic waters that they should “Just think of a nice warm fire”.

Hopefully, they’re still giving you the finger when their body gets frozen in place. It’d be a bit of justice, if there is such a thing.

That happiness is like the thought of a warm blanket when I’m currently buried in snow. Doesn’t actually exist.

There’s not a day where I don’t wake up wishing to fuck that I hadn’t. And there isn’t a night that I go to sleep that I don’t pray that I won’t wake up this time. Life has become a grueling marathon of pain and most days I have trouble figuring out why I fucking bother. 

Even as I’m writing this, I’m constantly stopping to wonder what’s the fucking point. 

I’ve gone on dating apps, funny enough. But every time I actually think about having a connection with someone, it honestly freaks me the fuck out. I’m so fucking damaged, there’s just no fucking way I’ll find someone with a back strong enough to help me carry all this baggage. I freak out and delete the account.

It’s completely not about the sex for me, if you can believe it. I’ve got such a low libido recently that even the idea of it lately gives me paralyzing anxiety. I don’t want to have sex if it’s not with someone I have a good intellectual connection with, and I never have. The problem with that is that sex in my mind is held on this strange pedestal where it straddles the line between sacred entity and foul beast, and it’s gotten so complicated and ridiculous that I just don’t care anymore. 

There isn’t anything even tempting or alluring about sex anymore. Even masturbation is almost completely without enjoyment, used every so often as a tool for general upkeep. And even this The Nothing has it’s hands on. The other day, I stumbled on a video that looked almost exactly like my child’s mother with another man...and I got physically ill. After throwing up 3 times and shaking for nearly an hour, I slowly pulled myself back from the panic attack I was having.

I didn’t eat for 3 days and I couldn’t get another erection for more than a week. Suppose it’s safe to say I’m still in love with that woman, I guess. Not only did I feel like absolute shit that whole week, I felt like shit for feeling like shit. My Yin and my Yang were both very very pissed off. This is just one of a number of broken fuses and faulty wires inside this broken machine.

Sometimes I wish we had the ability to do a form of Vulcan Min-meld, but with emotions and empathy. Especially when someone asks what’s wrong. Just grab their hand and rest it gently over my heart and let it tell the story for which I’ll never have the words. 

That’s also why I’d be scared like hell if that were possible, I’d be afraid the weight of it would crush them. I’m not trying to be really morose or hyperbolic, I’m fairly certain the vast majority of people walking around out there don’t carry this. I’ve talked to them, I know them. When you’ve spent a fucking lifetime perfecting your camouflage and your tower of lies, you can spot someone else playing that game from a mile away. And I’m not saying everyone else out there is skipping through a magic pixie lolly-pop fairyland or anything, but most people out there are general pretty stoked about being alive and doing stuff. People like me are out there, but I don’t see very many people that are under the spell of The Nothing.

I fucking hope not, this is an existence I wouldn’t wish on anyone, friend or foe. On that note, I also hope you aren’t going through that as well if you’re reading this right now. If you’ve never counted the different ways you could choose to end your life instead of counting sheep to fall asleep at night, you are truly blessed. 

I hope you stay whole. And with whatever capacity I’m still capable of feeling it, I love you. Cause maybe you don’t hear it that often either, and for that I’m sorry. I’d rather go without food than love, and I’ve been in both spots before.

I hope The Nothing never finds you.

Until next time.

[junkpoetic]

Seven

I woke to a missed call from Louise. She left a message explaining that she was just checking in and that she had tried calling Elliot a few times with no luck, so she called me to make sure we were still alive. I found so much irony with the way she worded things, it made me wonder if the universe was constantly trolling us. When I told Elliot that she called he just shrugged and moved on to the next sentence. It had to be very difficult to be married to Elliot… I know I have no place to say that because I am the one whose wife left. Everything I have conveyed about him is true, but if you really knew him, if he let you close, it was magnified and probably impossible to put it all in ink. I often wonder if Louise knows him as well as I thought she did, for her to have been able to stay with him, I figured she must. He is a cyclone; he must keep spinning and the only way you could grasp would be if he let you.

We met down in the lobby for coffee. He was slow to get around again. I wonder if the marathon attempt destroyed his stamina. He looked like a corpse when I saw him in the hospital that day. I would have thought him dead if his eyes were closed, but they were just the opposite, beaming to match his smile. He almost had a look like he had destroyed an opponent, like his mind defeated his body or something. He wanted to go over the tapes and talk about the feelings that each mile elicited. Even though I was in communication with him, he said he’d have a lot more to add. I almost wish it would have possible to tap into his brain when he was really hitting his stride. To be able to see his synapses firing big colors like fireworks in an endless sea of sky; like I said, so incredible and beautiful putting it in ink onto paper and truly getting it right would be impossible. Maybe hearing his brain directly from him will allow you get to grasp onto of the whisps of his cyclone.

I pressed record.

“The first mile is like death. It’s composed of eternal hurt. I don’t know if I would call it purgatory… does such an awful place exist? It must, right? If we can imagine it then it exists. It’s a constant trudge that sends a ripple from the soles of your feet, all the way up through your bones and back again bouncing like a sonic wave. The beat goes back and forth and eventually a current is created and that current tries to pull you under. It sounds incredibly fucked up right? Like we create our demise. That’s the first mile… setting up the breakdown.” He explained.

“Has it always been that way? Even when you ran more consistently?”

“I think so. For me anyways, the first mile always felt like quicksand or as if you were running in wet boots.”

“How long does it take to melt that first mile?”

“I think that depends on experience. The taste of it still lingers into the beginning of the second mile.” He explained.

“The taste of what? Death?”

“Yeah. Death.” He laughed.

“On Monday the taste lasted for probably two and a half miles. It was the first sign of my body telling me that it hated me. I hadn’t exerted myself like that since I qualified. Then once I qualified, I did nothing. It’s like studying your ass off for a test and then once you pass it, you forget what you know. I have been that way my whole life with things. My mind just progresses to the next thing. I think that’s why when I found out how bad things were, I was able to shrug it off.”

“Have you shrugged off entirely?”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s inevitable for that taste to linger. It’s so profound you know? The monster always looms.”

“Very heavy.”

“Yeah.”

“It might have been better if I could have listened to music.” He teased.

“Ha, yeah, sorry about that… music always makes it better.”

“Mile three I started to feel good. Like suddenly I could remember the answers to the test. The dust fell off the muscle and I could run and feel good doing it. Emptying my bladder helped too.”

“Is the high real?”

“Yes, it’s very real.”

“Can you describe it? Did you feel it on Monday?”

“Yeah. I felt it maybe miles five through nine or ten? How far did I go?”

“I think just over eleven is when you broke down.”

“That’s right. My run tracker was still on, it kept spouting off in the ambulance. I think including the ride to the hospital, I hit a half marathon.” Elliot smirked.

“That’s something!” I laughed. “Tell me more about the high.”

“It’s a feeling of infinity. Like either the fog is lifted, or you become it… a weightless apparition. You’re familiar with the hypnotic jerk?”

“Hypnotic jerk?”

“No, no, like that feeling of falling when you’re about to fall asleep. That jolt of lightning through your entire body and then the fade into a comfortable nothingness. A dream.”

“Oh, yeah, I never knew what that was called. That’s pretty good, I like that.”

“Like lightning in your bones Paulie, and all the lights turn green. You feel like you can go forever.” He explained.

“How long does it last?”

“Well, that also depends. Not very long. I think if I had prepared better and was fighting illness it would have lasted a little longer. I definitely would have finished the race. That would have been a high in and of itself.

His eyes grew bleary while answering the last question. I could tell it bothered him the way it all played out. Even in sickness he still felt immortal for the most part. Falling and failing was the undeniable proof that he wasn’t.

Later that afternoon we put our wet suits on and went out to Nauset beach. The cab driver didn’t have room for our boards which was understandable. I feel like Kingston would have made room, but it was a much smoother driver this time. She was an elderly woman named Diana. She had old photographs of people she loved taped to her dashboard. The corners were curled and the tape that held them had yellowed. There’s no way that the people in the photos looked the same, these looked like they were from lifetimes ago. I wonder if she still had them in her life or if they were just pieces of memories that she held on too much too long. I couldn’t help but wonder if other passengers felt the same way that I did about the photos. I wonder if Elliot is thinking things about them. If he was, he’d probably be thinking something poetic like we’re all just pictures on life’s dashboard. I couldn’t help but laugh inside my head.

Elliot paid Diana to wait for us because we were expecting rain and it was a cold day for only being October. Maybe we just weren’t used to being in autumn on the coast. When we came through the dunes and became face to face with the Atlantic, I thought about how Elliot described the high. So clean and clear… purity. There were more people than I expected scattered about the beach among the wet sand and the seagulls. Elliot began running toward a cluster of gulls that sat on the fringe of foamy land and screamed as he ran through like a child running through a sprinkler, only birds. He kept running into the salty water and dove headfirst into the nearest wave. When he came back up for air, he let out scream of freedom. The water couldn’t have been more than fifty-five degrees. I screamed in a different way when I dove in. I could hear Elliot laughing when I came back above water. We didn’t stay long. We watched a group of surfers for a little while to try and get an idea but with the relentless wind against our wet faces we had to call it a day. Surfing should be fun… at least now we know what we’re dealing with.

Diana yelled at us when we climbed back into the cab wet and sandy. Elliot said he’d take care of her for the trouble, and I am sure he did. He always took care of people. When we got back, we returned to our rooms to clean up before meeting in the lobby. We walked around the streets of Boston until we were hungry. I hadn’t talked to Juno much that day, and I was surprised I felt a missing. It was a feeling I had not felt in years. It felt really good to feel. There was a guitar player at the pub we went to, he sounded like a young Bob Dylan. We got drunk and laughed together as we filled our bellies with clam chowder. Rain from a supposed tropical storm that ran up the entire east coast began falling. This was the storm Lorelei and Juno said would make for excellent surfing conditions. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. The Red Sox game was on almost every television in the crowded bar room and the cacophony of clanking and camaraderie while the hard rain fell outside was such a comfortable warm feeling.

It wasn’t long before my night took a turn. Juno Rafferty entered the pub, and she wasn’t alone. Half of me felt like hiding, the other half felt like dying. I no longer felt the missing. I now felt a little broken. I hoped she wouldn’t notice me, but she did. She approached our table and introduced to her husband Matthew. I don’t really know how the rest of the night want. I felt that jolt, that hypnotic jerk. I felt the feeling of falling and it wasn’t comfortable. I became one with the fog, a ghost, and I didn’t feel the least bit high. And I drank an amount of alcohol that could arguably kill a man and if Elliot wasn’t there I just may have died. It was his turn to save my life night.

The last thing I remember was stumbling onto wet concrete and trying to teach myself how to walk again. Then I felt my face kiss the dirty ground and blackness followed. I woke the next in my room covered in mud and blood and the feeling as if I had thrown from a train traveling at heartbreak speed. All the lights turned red, and it felt like my entire existence stopped on a dime. I walked into the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror. Eyes black and blue and bloodshot, my face cut up, and apparently, I had spent some time vomiting and spitting blood. The bathroom looked like murder and I felt dead. Elliot walked in to check me. I could tell he was trying not laugh, which me want to laugh.

“Fuck off.” I said.

And he could no longer hold back his laughter so naturally I couldn’t either. I’ll be honest, it hurt like hell to laugh I had to wonder if I broke rib… but I needed that laughter more anything right then and there. I think the weight of everything Elliot was going through finally broke me. I couldn’t help but wonder how he could keep it together. Maybe he felt strength in knowing the forecast. Knowledge of death fed his strength to live, which was already strong in the first place. It was as if his secret gave him superpowers or something I don’t know. I struggled through a piece of toast and half a glass of orange juice as Elliot wore a shit eating grin as I cringed painfully.

[resurrectonomitron]

the wish of a lifetime challenge! (aka complete every ltw in the sims 3) *disclaimer - there are many challenges like this but i’m bored okay and i wanted to create a points basis and mini-challenges (think side quests) per every lifetime wish also have you seen that dinosaurs face i’m screaming!!!

have you ever created a sim so perfect, so pure that you think ‘hmm i want them to live forever but for a purpose’ well do i have the challenge for you! inspired heavily by the sims 4 perfect sim challenge the goal is to (using one sim) complete every single ltw. yes, every single one! with every ep installed there is a whopping eighty-six to complete! 

the best thing is i’m not a serious person so you can do as many or as few as you like. use a random number generator and choose your 10/20/60 challenges, or do them all in order, or randomise the whole lot! don’t want to use a certain ep? that’s fine this game is laggy as hell anyway! there are endless possibilities with this, start with 2 sims, one sim, a family, a teenager, an elder desperate to fit in as much as they can before death creeps up on them. literally anything is possible go nuts!!

i know some *cough ea why are you like this* ltw’s are very glitchy at the best of times so if you get half way through and decide it’s not worth it just skip it and move on. also side quests are fun (and distracting) so an additional 1 x point is available per ltw for every side quest completed. the only way you’d fail is if your challenge sim dies and you don’t want to restart from your last save point (we’ve all been there)

okay are we ready? this is the order i’ll probably be attempting personally but feel free to deviate from this! if anyone does this please tag me!!!! i’ll only be doing this once the lepacy is done. also i’m not serious use cheats if you like but does it make it a “real” challenge?? up to you. also i’d like a little credit for typing out ALL of these ltw’s and creating a side quest for them too. cash is fine. 

the challenge is below the cut!!

i’d never spam your poor dashboards with all of these so i uploaded the pdf document, some of the suggestions are weird and a bit random but they’re all optional anyway and i was bored in work. 

this isn’t serious please have fun!!!!

download (sfs)

[unwaivering-archived]

MUN VS. MUSE

tagged by: @skysaunter Tagging: @scyrbe, @theresastargirl, @shadowedlights, @hyacinthoflamma

[jovialheartcupcake]

Free Ftp Software For Mac Os X

Cyberduck is a libre server and cloud storage browser for Mac and Windows with support for FTP, SFTP, WebDAV, Amazon S3, OpenStack Swift, Backblaze B2, Microsoft Azure & OneDrive, Google Drive and Dropbox. A native citizen of Mac OS X and Windows. Notification center. Free ftp and sftp client for mac os x free download. Invoice Ninja Invoice Ninja is a free and open source invoicing, expenses and time-tracking app built with Laravel. Mobirise is available for Windows and macOS and comes fully free of charge. If you need a fully responsive website in the fastest way possible, ditch the code editors and head over to Mobirise. Some of the best HTML editors for Mac OS X are free or available as an evaluation version with no enforced time limit.

Ftp Application For Mac

Free Ftp Software

Free Ftp Software For Mac Os Xp

My point here is this: every IT professional and practitioner needs a good FTP client (and possibly server) in their corner. Whether you’re building a site or sharing files, FTP provides ease and capacity unavailable in simple computer-to-computer transfers. The popularity and long history of this protocol means there are lots of players in the game—FTP clients for Windows, FTP clients for macOS, FTP clients for mobile, free FTP clients and paid FTP clients—and the right one for you depends on the client’s features and your needs. We’re here to help you sort through the clutter with the following list. Don’t have time to read through top FTP programs? My top pick is the SolarWinds® Serv-U® Managed File Transfer Server solution if you need reliable, business-level capabilities.

“Commander One looks like a great app to have on your Mac if you’re frustrated with OS X’s built-in file management.” Cultofmac.com ”Once it’s installed, you get dual pane browsing, unlimited tabs, a variety of sorting options, an easy toggle for revealing hidden files, and more. The Best Free FTP Software app downloads for Mac: Cyberduck Fetch Transmit CuteFTP Mac Professional Classic FTP Plus CrossFTP ForkLift Yummy FTP Pro C.

Here you can jump ahead to FTP Client Software reviews:

What to Keep in Mind When Choosing FTP Client Software

File Transfer Protocol is necessary when you’re communicating with a server. It’s the FTP client software that initiates the request of the server. That’s typically relevant when you’re building or maintaining a website but could also matter when transferring large files that can’t be stored on RAM. (This latter use has become less popular with the rise of cloud computing.) For smaller data transfers, going machine-to-machine is still fine.

A note on security: FTP was developed before cybersecurity was the concern that it is today, so data is sent unencrypted. That might be fine if you’re just hosting whitepapers for download or transferring non-private information. But if you have any sensitive documents or your industry has privacy regulations, using an unsecured connection could be a PR headache at best and regulatory negligence charges at worst.

That’s why Secure FTP, or SFTP, was developed. (FTPS is another, less common, encrypted form of FTP.) In fact, FTP and SFTP are often used interchangeably now, though you shouldn’t assume this is the case when choosing your client; verify that you’re getting SFTP if you need it.

Why pay for a top FTP program when there are so many popular free versions? As we’ve noted previously in this blog, “Open-source is only free if your time is worthless.” That’s a bit harsh, but the message is important: open-source and free proprietary options aren’t going to provide the support and customization of a paid service and team. You’ll spend a lot of time learning, customizing, and maintaining the program yourself, and it still might fail sometimes. This should be foremost on your mind if regular, secure, and reliable data transfer is mission-critical for your business and not just tangential.

Best FTP Client Overall

With SolarWinds Serv-U Managed File Transfer (MFT) Server, you get all the business-level capabilities you need at the affordable price you’ve come to expect from other Serv-U product offerings like Serv-U File Transfer Protocol (FTP) Server.

Like FTP Server, Serv-U MFT provides total control over your file transfers—even 3GB+ files—within your organization, over both web and mobile devices. It simplifies file transfer for users with single drag-and-drop features. I’d say the real advantage here is the intuitive dashboard that allows central control and customizable automation abilities (and the ability to look over activity logs as needed).

And of course, you get the crucial security features you need and expect for business functions, like Active Directory integration and authentication features. Files can be transferred over FTP, FTPS, SFTP, and HTTP/S protocols, over both IPv4 and IPv6 networks. Designed to deliver reliable and secure file transfers, this file transfer tool focuses on helping you ensure regulatory compliance for PCI DSS, HIPAA, and other standards that require secure data transfers. Serv-U MFT can take loads off your plate and keep your system running smoothly.

Serv-U MFT Server is designed to be easy to install and supports deployment on Windows and Linux® platforms.

Best Free FTP Client for Windows

WinSCP is like the Honda Civic of FTP clients—ubiquitous, relatively reliable, and affordable (free, in fact, because it’s open-source), all-in-all a decent option for a variety of users. It supports the SFTP protocol for added security and supports SCP (as the name suggests), as well as WebDAV and Amazon S3. WinSCP has an integrated text editor and allows for remote editing, which is then uploaded to the server automatically when saving, making editing a snap. And there are three portable versions, including one for Linux.

A few drawbacks: it’s built on Windows, so Mac users are out of luck. And if you use UNC to organize files on a LAN, WinSCP isn’t compatible with that either. Plus, some users criticize WinSCP’s odd keyboard command layout and the inability to customize shortcuts. (A minor gripe, but I bet it will annoy you after a while.)

Runner-Up, Best Free FTP Client for Windows

FileZilla might be the undisputed champ of open-source FTP clients if not for some unfortunate moves and PR. It works for Windows, macOS, and Linux, has drag-and-drop, tabbed interface, bookmarks, and remote editing as well as file search. Out since the early 2000s, FileZilla has racked up thousands of happy users and supporters.

But the program’s host, SourceForge, earned some ill will when it started bundling FileZilla downloads with adware or using deceiving tactics to get users to download unwanted programs. Some users even claimed malware was loaded onto their computers. Current versions still contain ads on update pages, so be careful. And in 2014, it was revealed that fake versions of FileZilla were loaded with malware that was stealing login credentials, so you should make sure you are downloading a legit version.

Best Free FTP Client for macOS

At first glance, Transmit might not seem like a standout. Like other competitive FTP clients, it supports FTP, FTPS, SFTP, Amazon S3, or WebDAV protocols, and integrates easily with Amazon Drive, Backblaze B2, DreamObjects, Dropbox, Google Drive, Microsoft Azure, Microsoft OneDrive, Microsoft OneDrive for Business, OpenStack Swift, and Rackspace Cloud Files cloud storage accounts. Transmit is also great for automated syncing.

What makes Transmit special? It does all this for macOS. In a field dominated by Windows FTP clients, this is easily the best FTP client for macOS. And as proprietary freeware, you get the updates and guidance of a paid service without spending a dime.

Runner-Up, Best Free FTP Client for macOS

Cyberduck is another big name among the best free FTP clients, especially among FTP clients for macOS. (There is also a Windows version, but because Cyberduck was built on macOS, its features are macOS-leaning.) It supports FTP and SFTP, WebDAV, OpenStack Swift, Amazon S3, Backblaze B2, and Microsoft Azure. Users love its simple and friendly graphic interface with drag-and-drop (for bookmarks too) and its support of dozens of languages. Cyberduck doesn’t have a built-in text editor but integrates with whichever your favorite is. And it allows for remote previewing of some files without downloading them.

However, that simple and easy user interface might not be sufficient for some power users. And though this is a free open-source program, it will prompt you for donations until you donate, which can get irritating.

Honorable Mentions

FireFTP is unique in that it’s not a standalone desktop program, but an add-on for the Mozilla Firefox browser (although the creators now recommend using Waterfox). This adds a lot of convenience for Firefox power users, but not much advantage for everyone else. If you prefer trees of directories and lists of files to a more dressed-up user interface, FireFTP’s two-pane display is for you.

CuteFTP is one of the most popular paid FTP clients on the web. Reviews tout its ease of use and simplicity. Standouts include the automation of file transfers and the built-in editor (Scintilla). Thanks to a feature called Tappin, you can easily share files between desktop and mobile devices. Available for Windows, CuteFTP is free to try and costs $59.99 standalone, with an additional $30 for a year of maintenance and support.

CloudMounter works a little differently because it’s not exactly an FTP client. It’s more like a direct connection to your FTP server as if the server were a removable drive. So instead of complicated software and interfaces, all you have to do is open up Finder. Few other FTP clients can say that they make it as easy as plugging in a thumbnail drive. CloudMounter is free to try and costs $29.99 (or an additional $10 for a “lifetime upgrades guarantee”). It’s primarily known for its macOS version but is also available for Windows and Linux according to its website.

One More Time: The Best FTP Client

The best FTP software depends all on your needs and budget, but I highly recommend looking at paid services to ensure regulatory compliance, security, and reliability. Check out SolarWinds Serv-U MFT for the most reliable option—and with all the security issues that can arise with transfers, you shouldn’t take that reliability lightly.

Related Articles

Best SIEM Tools 2020 – the best FTP Client software can support sending server logs to SIEM tools for help with deeper security analysis and compliance reporting. Check the list of best SIEM software.

Best Website Monitoring Tools 2020 – If you’re reading this article, you likely have a website to run. Monitoring is another important part of that and has a similar cost/benefit analysis between free and paid software.

Best Log Management Software 2020 – Time to update your strategy for log management? Here’s our 2020 list of tools with suggestions for every budget.

CrossFTP/Pro/Enterprise 1.99.6

Download CrossFTP/Pro/Enterprise for Windows, Mac, and Linux. CrossFTP Pro/Enterprise's evaluation will turn back to the Free CrossFTP after 30 days.

Windows Download (exe)

Mac OS X Download (zip, OS X 10.11+)

Debian Download (deb) for Ubuntu/Debian-based OS. (Installation guide)

Web Start Download (jnlp) run CrossFTP from web.Portable Download (Require JDK 7+) for Win, Mac, Linux, and Solaris. CrossFTP Commander is included.

Others Windows (exe, require JRE) Mac App Store (CrossFTP Pro) Mac (zip, require JDK7+) Mac (zip, require JDK5+)

(Upgrade to unlock Pro functions)

Installation Troubleshooting

- Mac Installation Issue:

'CrossFTP.app” is damaged and can’t be opened. You should move it to the Trash.

Solution: Please choose 'Allow apps downloaded from: Anywhere' in your System Preferences -> Security & Privacy.

- Linux Installation Issue:

How to install on non-debian linux?

Please download the portable package, extract the content to a folder, and go into that folder. After that,

1. Add the execution permission for run_client.sh by:

chmod +x ./run_client.sh

2. execute run_client.sh to start CrossFTP client by:

./run_client.sh

If you met any issues, please check if Java is properly installed on your system and available in the path; you are running CrossFTP in GUI.

- Debian based Linux installation guide:

System requirement: JDK 7+.

Use the following commands to install CrossFTP on Debian based Linux, such as Ubuntu. (Background context: Sometimes Ubuntu Software Center alerts me: 'Bad quality packet'):

1. Download the deb package, e.g., crossftp_deb_package.deb

2. Go to the downloaded deb file's folder, and execute:

sudo dpkg -i ./crossftp_deb_package.deb

For uninstall, you can use the following command:

sudo dpkg --remove corssftp

- JNLP web start issue:

If you met one of the following issues:

Java applications are blocked by your security settings.

Missing Application-Name manifest attribute

Missing required Permissions manifest attribute in main jar

On Windows, you can go to Java Control Center.

Or on Mac/Linux/Win, you can use 'javaws -viewer' command to open the Java Control Center

After that, follow this link to solve the blocked issue.

Ftp Application For Mac

Cannot edit/open file on Mac

On Mac, if you met issues to edit or open file, such as 'Cannot run program '/usr/bin/open': error=2, No such file or directory', please:

Download and install non-AppStore version CrossFTP from this page. See this page for details.

Free Ftp Software

Archived version:

Free Ftp Software For Mac Os Xp

Mac OS X 10.3 or JDK 1.4 users can download CrossFTP 1.53 here.

Documents

Blog - Our product news and intro.

Manual - CrossFTP User Manual.

Knowledge Base - Here you may find the answer for your question.

Tutorials - CrossFTP tutorials.

Privacy Policy - CrossFTP privacy policies.

PAD file - PAD file of CrossFTP.

Reseller Program - Become our affiliate partner.

[clarencenicholsonata]

9 Best Tools & Tactics to Skyrocket Your Webinar's Promotion

Webinars can be one of your greatest assets when it comes to generating leads. A single webinar could get you between 500 to over 1,000 leads. Maybe this is why 73% of B2B marketers say a webinar is the best way to generate high-quality leads.

But hosting a webinar isn't enough. It doesn't matter how great your webinar might be, but without attendants, you're sure to lose out. It's one of the main reasons you'll need to promote the heck out of your webinar. The more people see, click, and engage with your webinar landing page, the more sign-ups and seats you'll fill for the big day.

And who better to show you how to promote a webinar than Wishpond's marketing team. After all, our Wishpond team made over $11,000 with a singular webinar. So today, we'll be showing you the nine best tools & tactics to skyrocket your webinar's promotion.

1. Use Entry & Exit Pop-Up on Your Website

If you have a website, create an entry or exit pop-up to promote your webinar to new website visitors. Active Campaign found that pop-ups can convert up to 40% of your website visitors into subscribers and leads.

Let new and current website visitors know that you're hosting a website that you don't want them to miss out on joining. If you already have a sidebar promoting your website, then you might want to reconsider turning it into a pop-up. Aweber found moving from a sidebar opt-in form to a pop-up increased subscription by 1,375%.

To get started on your pop-up check out Wishpond's wide selection of pop-up templates and design based on industry, offer, and layout!

2. Promote Your Webinar on LinkedIn

If your webinar's target audience is more on the professional side, then you should consider using LinkedIn to promote it. In 2019, LinkedIn was voted the most trusted network. Not only that, but LinkedIn is the second most popular platform of B2B marketers, followed by Facebook, so you're supercharging your B2B lead sign-ups.

The best place to start is crafting a Linkedin post for your webinar and then connecting with people you'd like to invite or network with to help promote it further. In a study of over 5,000 businesses, HubSpot found that traffic from LinkedIn generated the highest visitor-to-lead conversion rate at 2.74%, almost three times or 277% higher than both Twitter (.69%) and Facebook (.77%).

If you're new to LinkedIn, here are some guides to help you get started:

10 Tips: How to Use LinkedIn to Drive Traffic to Your Blog

4 Powerful Ways to Use LinkedIn to Generate Leads

6 Experts Advice to Develop an Engaging LinkedIn Content Strategy

Pro Tip: data shows the most engaging LinkedIn posts are published on Wednesdays between 8 am to 10 am and noon, Thursday at 9 am and 1 pm to 2 pm, and Friday at 9 am.

3. Promote Your Webinar with Email Marketing

Email marketing should always be in your toolbox of items to promote your webinar. Around 45% of marketers choose emails as the most effective webinar promotion tool.

If you do plan on sending an email to promote your webinar, here are some email marketing tips to consider using:

Your subject lines sell first: Spend time crafting eye-catching subject lines that will entice readers to open your email. Your subject lines are your first line of defense. If they suck, no one will read how amazing your webinar is going to be. If you need help, here are 23 Email Copywriting Tips to Skyrocket Conversions.

Get to the point in your email: People get emails every day, so ensure that your email body gets to the point; what this webinar is about, who it's for and why they should sign up. Keep the CTA button nearby, so they don't miss it.

Send out your webinar promo emails early in the morning: GoToWebinar found that during the mornings, between 8–10 am, there is usually a spike in registrations. People are more prevalent opening email in the morning as they expect work and eCommerce promo emails to come their way.

Send out a webinar email marketing campaign: Start by crafting, automating, and sending emails promoting:

The days leading up to the launch

The day of the webinar

When speakers are live

Your closing offer 1-2 days after the webinar

Once you have your automation down, start monitoring how many opens, clicks, and sign-ups you get so that you can use the data to either pivot or increase your email marketing efforts.

With Wishpond, you can use or drag and drop feature to create your webinar's automated email marketing campaign. Segment your audience based on sign-ups or topics, send follow up emails even after your webinar to convert your leads into paying customers.

Need help marketing your webinar or workshop?

Book a free call to learn how our team of marketing experts can help you generate leads, boost traffic and drive MORE sales.

4. Start By Monitor Your Sign-Ups

Earlier, we spoke about monitoring your email marketing campaigns. The same goes for watching your sign-up numbers. During the first few days of launching, sign-ups might be a bit slow.

That's because almost 35% of attendees sign up 1 to 7 days before the webinar. But this doesn't mean you shouldn't be consistently promoting your webinar wherever you can. The more people see your webinar, the more likely they are to sign up.

Monitoring your webinar helps you to see if your promotional efforts are making an impact. It also allows you to project or estimate how many people might be attending.

First, let's talk about how you can effectively monitor your webinar sign-ups without stalking your webinar dashboard each day. You can start by:

Use a UTM code to track your sign-ups:A UTM code is a snippet of sample code that you can add to the end of a URL to track the performance of campaigns and content. You can integrate your UTM code with Google Analytics so that you view all of this data in one platform. You can also track where people fall off on your conversion path (the journey from knowing about your webinar to signing up).

Review your email sign-up list: Taking a look at how many leads you have signed up for your webinar from your email also gives you a good look at who's interested. Take a look at the type of emails currently on your list, as it shows a bit of who is attracted to your webinar. For example, if you see a lot of emails like john@wishpond.com rather than john67@yahoo.com then it means your B2B marketing efforts are in full effect. You can also know if you should be sending more emails or pushing your speakers to promote more.

Monitor your social media efforts: If you notice that your post might be getting little to no likes that could mean you are not engaging correctly or you're engaged on the wrong platform. Take a closer look at the results and engagement rather than posting and forgetting.

For more, check out Your Unique Guide to Use Google Analytics Integration for Webinars

5. Promote Your Webinar with Referral Marketing

Referral marketing can help your website promotion. It has been proved that we are four times more likely to buy from a friend's recommendation than from a paid advertisement. Not to mention that referred leads convert 30% better and have a 16% higher lifetime value than leads acquired via other channels.

Referral marketing can be as simple as sending an email asking your readers to share the good news about your webinar, sharing a post on social media, or adding a share button on your webinar landing page or pop-up after leads have signed up.

With Wishpond's Canvas, you can easily add social sharing icons or integrate your referral marketing campaign with your webinar landing page to boost. With Wishpond's lead generation tools, the possibilities are endless.

6. Go Live on Social Media to Promote Your Webinar

Use social media to its fullest abilities by doing a quick guest speaker shout out or webinar promotion to pique your followers' curiosity to drive them to sign up for your webinar.

This could mean doing a pre-event teaser. When you go live on social media, followers are instantly notified. But this doesn't mean that you shouldn't give them a heads up to remember to check their phones or desktop.

You can also go live across multiple platforms such as Instagram, YouTube, LinkedIn, Twitter, and more. So you have plenty of options and a wide range of people to showcase your webinar promotion.

Lastly, going live on social media isn't only reserved for the days leading up to the webinar, but you can use it as a Q&A session after the webinar to encourage leads to follow you on social media.

After all, 92% of webinar attendees want a live question and answer session at the end of the webinar. Use this data to your advantage to keep your leads connected to your brand even after the webinar.

7. Push Social Media Ads to Promote Your Webinar

Don't forget to create social media ads to promote your upcoming webinar to drive more sign-ups. Placing your ads in social media spaces that your target audience is most active works to your advantage.

One of the best social media platforms to start with is Facebook. Around 93% of social media, advertisers use Facebook ads on a regular basis. With the right Facebook ad for your webinar, you can target your ideal lead and jump-start sign-ups even days before your webinar is about to start.

Facebook ads are a topic all on their own, so I've gathered our best Facebook ad guides just for you! Check them out below:

10 Best Facebook Ads Changing The Game

12 Effective Ways to Use Facebook to Drive Traffic to Your Blog & Website

Facebook Advertising Costs: CPC, CPM, CPA & CPL Guide

8. Ask B2B Influencers to Promote Your Website

Influencers aren't just for selling products. You can also use influencer marketing for webinar promotions. B2B influencers can be thought leaders, well-known CEO's or social media personalities who mainly marketer to B2B or help B2C companies grow.

Start by finding B2B Influencers that align with your brand or webinar's topic so you can reach a wider audience and add credibility to your webinar.

For example, B2B influencer Larry Kim partners with marketing brands to promote webinars, live chats, and Q&A sessions to help bring exposure to their event.

When choosing an influencer, here are some basic guidelines to start with:

Set expectations and goals: Decide what results you'll need from your B2B influencer partnership from the get-go. This is a common mistake that most brands make. Thinking that if an influencer shares the post, then it will go viral. But that's not always the case. Decide how many likes, shares, and sign-ups you want this influencer to provide for your webinar promotion.

Start doing outreach: Reach out to your influencers through the right channels. Don't assume that if you DM them or shout out to them on social media, they'll respond. It's always best to find an email or go through their website to make your first contact professional and assured. Not sure how to get started? Check out this guide on How to Write the Perfect Influencer Outreach Email Template

Get the word out!: Once you and your influencer have agreed on your partnership, don't keep it a secret. Let people know that you and this influencer are working on something big, i.e, your webinar. Try to include them in as much content as possible to get maximum mileage from your collaboration.

9. Use a Contest or Giveaway to Promote Your Webinar

Contest and giveaways are an excellent way to get people excited about your webinar, and as unconventional as it may seem, it is also a popular method for webinar promotion. Oddly enough, contest landing pages and CTA's have the highest conversion rates when compared to others.

Summary

Hosting a webinar can be exciting, and even more so when it's a massive hit. As you continue to create more and more webinars, you'll also begin to learn the best methods, tools, and webinar promotion tactics that just seem to do your webinar justice.

Here's a quick recap of the nine best tools and tactics to skyrocket your webinar promotion:

Use Entry & Exit Pop-Up on Your Website

Promote Your Webinar on LinkedIn

Promote Your Webinar with Email Marketing

Start By Monitor Your Sign-Ups

Promote Your Webinar with Referral Marketing

Go Live on Social Media to Promote Your Webinar

Push Social Media Ads to Promote Your Webinar

Ask B2B Influencers to Promote Your Website

Use a Contest or Giveaway to Promote Your Webinar

That's also to say that you'll probably be making mistakes as well. Luckily most webinar attendants are more forgiving than most. As you continue to use webinars to generate leads, don't forget that the hard work starts after the webinar is done.

You'll need to turn that long list of emails into loyal paying customers. This means following-up, adding them to a CRM, and using lead conversion techniques and tools like Wishpond to do the heavy lifting. Are you ready?

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[woodys]

✸♡. Where would I be without   🎶  F R I E N D S  🎶  !! .♡✸

In the last few years i’ve always come to love and look forward to the summertime. It always seems to be the time of year I have the biggest adventures, funnest moments, and get into the craziest things. For instance, I got the once in a lifetime chance to see my favorite musical, Hamilton, live. At the same time, Magikarp became one of my top favorite beloved water Pokechildren, right after that I played myself getting tripped into infinite video game hell with four losers on a road trip in my first Final Fantasy game. I watched my favorite speedy hedgehog and his friends RISE BACK to their glory in a True Blue™ revive and just when I thought all dreams couldn’t be reality TOY STORY shows up in KINGDOM HEARTS ya’ll. TOY STORY GONNA BE IN KINGDOM HEARTS YA’LL.

That said, with all of those things, I took notice how just about everything this summer’s offered me has had some unifying line of friendship tucked in it somewhere. And as I rode out Hurricane Harvey, I realized just how great friends are and—just like the many video game characters I adore and love—how good are the ones that motivate, encourage, and surround me. As many of you do or don’t know by now i’ve always gotta close my a one great summer send off post! And though this one’s a bit LATE no thanks to Hurricane Harvey craziness, I couldn’t let the tradition die! For third year in a row ( ♫ WITH THE HELP OF HYPER POTIONS YET AGAIN ♥ ♫ )  here’s another commemoration a huge summer of growth in my life and a big thanks all of you for being a friend! Whether you realize you’ve been one to me or not! ♥ 

✨ — OLD FRIENDS!  

After all of my years saying that my summer commemoration posts aren’t follow forevers, ya’ll are the ones who finally make this post an Official™ “Follow Forever”. Cause I really have followed you for two to three years now! And I probably will again if I remade another blog! And a blog after that! Ya’ll make my dash HOME and the time that I waste here on Tumblr is always worth it because I get to see you. Thanks for being so epic for all these years! 

☼  @kiliroleplays ☼ @skiwalkerrey ☼ @kataaras ☼ @disappointedwrites ☼ @lucasdelcs ☼ @fitzsimmonsofrp  ☼ @jodiewrites ☼ @nickwldes ☼  @sweetpandarps ☼ @clairetvmples ☼ @jessicuhjcnes ☼ @billsprestonesquiree  ☼ @haywilliams ☼  @crystalreedwrites ☼ @atalantaa ☼

🌱 — NEW FRIENDS! 

I picked up a handful of you before the summer, but it doesn’t mean I love you any less. You’ve added new shades of color to my life and every time I see your url or when we talk it’s always the best reminder of why the days so far this year have been that much more brighter!

✧  @lizzyxrps ✧ @karlasouzawrites✧ @blu3crystalbrax ✧ @pastelseasidedancer✧ @reputationwrites✧ @qvakewrites / @starswritten​✧ @beverlymvrsh ✧ @tulirps ✧ @ladymacbeths ✧ @robertsonwrites  ✧ @trishwvlker  ✧ @kazdarling  ✧ @yourmuseco  ✧

👋🏾 — THE ‘YOU’VE GOT A FRIEND IN ME TOO’ FRIENDS!

Our posts are so very different, but here you are anyways! Though we hardly talk or chat, when we do there’s always a sparkle in my eyes because you’re always so kind to me and are all such wonderful people who I love to follow along with on my dash. If you ever need anything, i’ve gotchu! Because yes! I every much consider each of you as distant friends. ♥

@steinfeldofrph ✿ @victnam ✿ @dannyphantomrps ✿ @bobbybrigs ✿ @ofmymuses ✿ @queenchiddy ✿ @perfectxplaces ✿

There’s plenty more super special friends i’ve acknowledged under the cut, because I didn’t want this looking too long on your dashboards. But again, to all I say, thanks for another fantastic summer and even MORE thanks for being a Friend™! ♥ 

—Another special shoutout to @pandora-box-of-mind for the two wonderful, adorable, commissions that are apart of the gifs in my graphic. I can’t wait to commission you again, Pandora! ♥ (The art in middle graphic though, belongs to me y’all!! 😩 🙌🏽 )

🌻 — THE ‘ROYAL AVENUE’ FRIENDS

Ah yes, another year, another space to tag all of you in. Royal Avenue™ sounds fancy, but actually it’s just the name of a Pokemon theme I jam to all the time ;u;  Das because I love y’all and you’re my jam.♥   I probably tell some of yall that all the time by how much we talk. But now like this everyone can see me say it.  And most of you are my partners too and I’m sorry excessive yelling over video games kept me away from replies this summer.

❀ @pixiedustrps ❀ @maliatating ❀ @xkatiewrites ❀ @partycrouchwrites ❀ @elenaqilberts ❀ @fireheartwrites  ❀ @sherihollcnd  ❀ @whatsernamerps  ❀ @horan-rps  ❀ @alaskawritcs  ❀ @wcmanizer  ❀ @mezzymuffin  ❀ @asoftsounds  ❀ @maddybunny  ❀ @fist-of-derp  ❀

👾 🎮 — THE SUPER GAMING CREW FRIENDS

For as long as i’ve associated myself with the RPC I always used to feel so self conscious about posting gaming content because of how it didn’t meet whatever weird “aesthetic and FC” standard I felt RP blogs should have. I’m probably making a big deal out of nothing, but as i’ve finally grown to confidently reflect my interests onto my own blog, you three are the ones are the first i’ve personally ever seen in this community to do so with beauty and grace and it’s inspired me everyday to feel it’s okay not to post what everyone posts and love what you love! I love seeing the games you love, and I love talking with you about them too! I’m glad they led me to you!

@xgarnetwrites​ ϟ @arcvnums​ ϟ @flowerhelps​ ϟ 

💕 — THE FAMILY I NEVER KNEW FRIENDS!

I remember the first time Chris asked me to join the group chat back in y’alls Skype days and honestly, I can’t believe I went so long in my life without all of you. On nights I felt like endlessly crying, you made me laugh until my sides ached. On days I felt like giving up, all of you were there to cheer me on—even when you had your own burden of problems. They say friends are the family you choose for yourself, and i’m so blesst™ all of you chose little ole’ me. ☺️

♡ @jeauxlyne ♡ @josukegod ♡ @sharkmama ♡ @sauceaonmyballs ♡ @shinjiswhatever ♡ @sir-introvert ♡ AND OFC ALWAYS YOU @aeoneon ♡

And now for a set of LET ME HOLLA AT YOU FRIENDS

[ Taylor Swift’s Best Friend ( @starshineswrite ) ] - I know what you’re thinking: ‘wtf mimi we’re not even that close for me to earn this space’ but THAT doesn’t mean i’m not making this space for you anyways!!! I adore you so much Kat. You’re so strong even when you have to go through the stupidest stuff. I love when we talk. I loved earlier this year when we got to heart to heart. I just wanted to remind you again just how amazing you are and how much I love you. I’m actually high key excited to experience Reputation with you. :’D

[ The Ladybug Friend ( @pcnnywises ) ] - Even though I don’t say it as much as I used to, and when you doubt that I do, I love you so much bbgirl. I’ll never forget the day you messaged me and we talked the whole day nonstop and after being mutuals I was so happy that you did. I adore you. And all your 654654654651 celeb crushes. You’re wonderful and don’t you forget it. ♥

[ The Friend from the Lyon’s™ Den ( @b-almighty ) ] - Kay it always amuses me so much that I found you through your amazing Empire liveblogs and we ended up having RIDICULOUSLY so much more  in common. I know we hardly talk, but I really appreciate you and I love watching you blog about everything else you love. 

[The ‘dang I wish I could be you, Friend ( @plumwrites ) ] - For years now your posts have made me laugh and your no nonsense attitude has been a delight in my life. I love reading the posts, your tags, and responses you make to things and just thinking ‘dang I wish I could be like bridge about things’. I just love how real you are and I wish I can get some guts to be like that one day. I know you’ve been going through some things recently, but you’re always on my mind. ♥ If you need anything just shout!

[ Lady’s Best Friend ( @amcthystwrites) ] - I’m really sorry this summer wasn’t one of our best ones. That’s mostly on my part, but already I see things shaping back together as they were before and I never doubted that it’d happen that way.

[ Dearly Beloved™ ( @naaatalie ) ] - [ DOING THE 400 CHARACTERS OR LESS CHALLENGE ] I try my best not to get sappy on you often, but I do want you to know how happy you make me and that I can’t express how grateful I am for you. ♥ I’m genuinely so honored and fortunate that after these years you made the choice to Keep™ me and now we’ve got TWO giant, amazing, universes filled with the hugest variety characters that i’m far beyond excited to see grow with you. You’re the Umbra to my Pryna, my penpal, my bestie, The Ruthless Angst Master™. I’ve got so much to thank you for. ♥

TILL NEXT SUMMER YALL!!! ♥

[neonredhead]

An Ode to 1AM

The calm of the night, even in the chaos and smudged lights of the city did more to combat your loneliness than crowds ever did, even with the empty streets and stars hidden from your view.  

The night had always called to you, and you always answered the siren call. The calm of the night, even in the chaos and smudged lights of the city did more to combat your loneliness than crowds ever did, even with the empty streets and stars hidden from your view.  

You’ve written your name across this city, left a trail of brakelights and whispered dreams streaming across the streets, crisscrossing in so many ways it resembles a map of your heart, tattooed in streaks across the pavement.

Your soul has fought and bit and bled across this city, taking an unfamiliar place and bending it, folding it, burning it down to light the coals of your being, making it yours.

_

Neon signs began to feel more like friends than eyesores, often getting behind the wheel of your car and just driving in an attempt to move, to connect, to change with the hustle and bustle around you. In the dark of night, you could be anyone you ever wanted. Believe anything you wanted. Let the spotlights and streetlights wash over your skin and reveal the real you, the true you, one that the light of day had never become acquainted with.

Even though you longed for the stars, for the points of lights and tiny galaxies to reveal themselves to you even here, in the heart and the pulse of the city streets, never truly drenched in darkness and only revealed in the shadows that popped up between street lamps. Day and night, echoing in solemn clarity as you move through the streets like a ghost, revealing and hiding secrets and thoughts within one heartbeat to the next. The night always called to you, whispering secrets in your ears, whispering desire into your pulse with a pull more sweet than that of any lover. It pulled you out into the midst of the game, a part but always slight apart, an observer of the underbelly more than a partaker.

It was the night that made your eyes keen, made you notice the tiny details that others missed in the moonlight. It could be said it was some kind of sacrilege to worship the night in the middle of civilisation, where some had argued it never really existed, broken between one breath and the next by lights, sound, shattered hearts and shattered glass.

But it was this night that you cling to with all your strength, this night that you felt was truly yours, felt all the way to the marrow of your bones. This night that you let direct you, your cardinal north pointing whichever way the stars felt like shining, at their whim.

_

Illuminated by the glow from the dashboard, the streetlamps, you took on the hue of the life around you and made it your own. You were composed of chemicals now, boron blue and acid green, warm with the red of the neon on the corner, glowing false with love bought for and paid in full. You took all of this into you, made of street light, of shadow and secrets, moving through the city like you fashioned it all with your own hand.

Nothing ever felt truly yours like this night, this midnight that sang to your blood. You always found answers in the stars, content with throwing your thoughts out into galaxies and universes unknown as you traversed the city, more at home with the sky hearing your thoughts than the people on the ground. You, rooted in the earth, had always had a longing to fly, to flee, to move, and the stars held a promise you could never bear to turn from. They were always there, above and below and pressed into your skin, in ink and dark and shadow, even when they couldn't be seen. The old saying was that the city never slept. That was a lie. The streets stilled and grew silent, but the city never stopped breathing. It pulsed always, like a phantom organ that pulled at your skin and promised stories, stories and moments and life if you would only step out your front door. It caressed you, tracing your lips with a promise (belong, run, stay, fly) that changed with every shift of the wind.

Promises and lifetimes shifted in each flash of a headlight, in each door opening and each body tumbling out into the streets. Bleeding with possibilities innumerable, eons were made and destroyed in each passing second, dynasties climbing and falling with each step, each turn, each blink and each touch. 

_ Midnight was always there to catch you when you fell, wrapping around you with shadows sliding across your skin, rebounding you back to whatever misguided but well intentioned quest you had set out on. The truth of the night bit at you, nibbled away at your inhibitions as you watched each person fall behind the mask of who they wanted to be. But you, only you, found yourself with each minute ticking past midnight. You, who felt alive in the blue and dark of three am, who looked into every shadow and corner with more clarity than any drink or drug or just for a night partner could ever hope to bring.

You saw things that were, and are, and had not yet been with each passing through the streets, slinking through the arteries of the city and speaking a language that few paid any mind to listen to anymore.

Tongue loosened and soul warmed by whiskey, you whispered potentials into the night, setting them alight like fireflies and sparking the sky with your maybes. You created your own stars here in the center of chaos, content to draw those around you inwards, unthinkingly drifting towards your gravity like a black hole, whispering them forward and promising to hold their secrets close, to never let them see the light of day. You drink those secrets like wine, the truth and lies bursting on your tongue, the minutes on the clock blinking towards dawn, towards order, routine, and destruction.

You lived in the night, having decided once to never cherish the day.

You draw the shadows around you, allowing them to replace your armour and dress you in starlight. You, who were born in the morning but ruled over the night,

this kingdom of neon and starlight

that belonged to everyone

and no one

and answered to neither.

[opticien2-0]

2020 VISIONS Twenty Mobile trends for 2020

What does 2020 have in store for mobile and retail?

As the new year – nay, a new decade – hoves into view, we continue our look at what the future holds for mobile with these 20 predictions from Thomas Husson, VP Principal Analyst at Forrester

  I have just published a post sharing some of our marketing predictions for 2020. It made me realise that Forrester no longer publishes dedicated “mobile” predictions. Why? Because mobile has simply become a key driver and enabler of business transformation.

  Mobile is embedded everywhere. However, many brands wrongly think they have ticked the mobile box and move on to new and more disrupting technologies. In a nutshell, they want to move from mobile-first to AI-first.

  A couple of months ago, I published a report claiming that the concept of “mobile-first” was failing CMOs, that most brands were still not mature when it comes to mobile, and that they needed to reimagine mobile to activate the total brand experience.

  As a board member of the Mobile Marketing Association France (MMA) and an independent analyst, I was honored to give a keynote this week at the MMA Forum in Paris and share my perspective on what will happen in 2020 in the mobile space. In fact, I decided to share several mobile mega trends, some mobile media and advertising trends that I expect to happen or to accelerate, and some trends that will not happen!

  Mobile will be the catalyst for business transformation.The mobile revolution primarily consisted of changing customer expectations to be served in their moments of need and in their context. The age of the customer (the shift of power from institutions to customers) was accelerated because of mobile. To answer these growing expectations and make their own mobile mind shift, organizations had (and still have) to evolve their culture, organizations, and processes (think agile, DevOps, cross-functional pizza teams, etc.). This transition toward more adaptive enterprises is still a work in progress. This is not new but will accelerate next year.

  Mobile becomes the glue that connects new technologies at scale.Let’s not forget voice-based assistants (such as Amazon Alexa or Google Assistant) are primarily used on smartphones, not on smart home speakers. Augmented reality (AR) will start really taking off next year (think Google Maps’ AR experience or Snapchat’s augmented experiences) because it has become a platform play at scale: Developers can tap into more than 1 billion compatible smartphones to build new integrated experiences.

  Mobile will act as the personalization experience hub.It is not a channel but a way to deliver an integrated offline/online experience in real time. Some brands (think Starbucks, McDonald’s, Nike, Argos, John Lewis, and Schibsted, to name a few) get it and execute pretty well the integration of mobile into their marketing strategy. But most struggle and still need to fix their mobile foundation.

  Mobile becomes a key enabler of societal engagement for values-based customers.Think apps for good (e.g., Yuka), mobile accessibility (e.g., vocal commands for blind people), and green IT (including dark mode), even though the key issue here is when Gen Z will realize the largely negative impact of smartphone and digital on climate change.

  Leading CMOs will leverage mobile to optimize the marketing mix.MMA has proven through numerous cross marketing effectiveness research that many brands underinvest in mobile. We expect leaders to define the role of mobile in achieving growth objectives and to start measuring offline media impact in (almost) real time. For example, for retailers, to put it shortly, this is less about mCommerce and more about how mobile drives traffic to the store and generates total incremental revenue. Mobile contextual data and transactional point-of-service data are thus central to improving media attribution across every channel, not just mobile!

  Moment automation will require you to assemble your own (mobile) martech stack.Once you have defined key mobile moments across your customer journey, you must identify the right trigger points and automate content and messaging. Think push notifications and in-app messages on steroids. To do this right, it often means you need to assemble your own martech stack with leading mobile point solutions and integrate them with many other marketing systems. At the minimum, you need ASO (app store optimization), mobile CRM (customer relationship management), analytics, and attribution.

  Mobile data privacy becomes a strategic differentiator to establish trust.A lot of the hidden harvesting of consumer data happens through mobile. To establish trust and enable personalization (or lack thereof, if consumers precisely do not want to share data), it is key to integrate mobile into your privacy-by-design approach.

  App platforms will continue to get traction.The rise of super apps is not just happening with the likes of Tencent, Alibaba, and messaging apps such as WhatsApp, Instagram, etc. This trend is accelerating in other regions, too, such as in South America. See this TechCrunch article here.

  Expect more rationalization of mobile interfaces.Many brands I have spoken to recently told me they suffer a lot from hybrid development that’s supposed to work across different platforms (think Flutter, React, or Kotlin) and that they prefer to focus on native apps and/or mobile web-first experiences. Forrester has claimed for years that PWA (progressive web apps) are a key way to deliver applike experiences. According to Forrester’s Q2 2019 Global Emerging Technology Executive Online Survey, 18% of digital executives plan to pilot PWA in the next 12 months.

  Leaders will integrate meaningful mobile metrics into their dashboards.Marketers measure too many vanity KPIs when it comes to mobile. Let’s measure less pure digital KPIs and more meaningful metrics: customer experience, incremental revenue,DAU/MAU (daily/monthly active users), CLV (customer lifetime value), etc.

  Mobile will drive more than 80% of digital ad growth next year.Looking at the top five EU countries, we expect PC advertising spending to remain flat, while mobile advertising will grow from €22.9 billion at the end of 2019 to €26.1 billion by the end of 2020 (representing 64% of total digital advertising spend).

  Retail media is set to explode.Mobile is only a component of the retail media opportunity but will play a key role, when it comes to “drive-to-store” offerings, for example. More specifically, Amazon generated $10 billion of ad revenue last year, and next year it is likely that it will represent more than 5% of its total revenue, increasingly challenging Google/Facebook’s duopoly. For more information, see my colleague Collin Colburn’s report here.

  Streaming fatigue will lead to new offerings.Again, far from being just a mobile play, but the war between Disney+, WarnerMedia’s HBO Max, and low-cost Apple TV+ to compete with Netflix and Prime Video will exhaust consumers and lead to new content subscription models.

  Audio advertising will continue to grow fast, driven by podcasts as the next $1 billion ad format.Podcasts are massively listened to via mobile, and they will drive audio advertising more than voice-based assistants will.

  Visual search will take off for fashion and home decoration brands.Despite Pinterest’s initiatives, it is still early days for visual search. For selected brands, however, visual recommendations, and to a lesser extent, visual search will become key ways to engage consumers.

  And here are five trends of what will not happen…

5G will not matter to CMOs.Unless you’re a CMO at a telecom equipment company or a telco, you should not spend time thinking about 5G in the consumer space. Yes, it will matter for industrial players, but to consumers, 5G in 2020 will feel like 3G in 2004 or 4G in 2010; even urban areas in early-5G-rollout countries such as Finland, Sweden, and Switzerland will get an undifferentiated experience. And Apple’s launch of its 5G smartphone in Q3 of 2020 won’t change the game.

  Virtual reality (VR) marketing will remain niche.Despite more affordable VR headsets (Oculus Quest) and the success of the Beat Saber game, VR will mostly matter for B2B and industrial players or play a role in employee training. Marketing opportunities in the consumer space will grow but remain limited.

  More than 80% of AI conversations will not pass the Turing test.The vast majority of chatbot experiences will not leverage true NLG (natural language generation). Don’t get me wrong: Some chatbots will deliver value, but let’s not call them AI conversations.

  TikTok will not sell, and its IPO will be delayed until 2021.Explosion of mobile social videos will continue. TikTok would be an ideal target for the likes of Meredith, Snap, or Facebook but is not for sale and too costly anyway.

  RCS will not become a standard.Google and some telcos will roll out more rich communication service (think of it as the next generation of SMS), but they won’t truly scale in 2020. For more information about RCS, see Julie Ask’s report here.

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