#IM SO SCARED ILL BE IN WASHINGTON AND ILL HAVE TO SAY A WORD THAT MAKES MY ACCENT STAND OUT

[nomaishuttle]

anxiety will have you convinced of the dumbest shit ever and yr like thats so fucking stupid <- gets scared anyway

[lefaystrent]

Has virgil ever had a break down infront of anyone in the nursing home au. Like freaked out becuse of police sirens outside of the building or on tv or a documetery of prision is played on the luchroom tv when he went to make" fucking mac and cheese™️" also im sad now cus all i think of is logan dying and then a when romans about to die he tells virgil "i know what my next adventure is. Im going to find Logan. Dont worry ill be fine" and thencloses his eyes to sleep but dosent wake up;-;.

First of all, hello sadness! Loganis the first to go yes, and you can bet your bottom dollar Roman would saysomething along those lines. (Or alternatively, the both of them discover thefountain of youth and never have to die. :D)

As for Virgil, he tries his very hardestnot to show his weaknesses, but sometimes…they just happen. The first time it happens in front of other people at the nursing home is written below the cut.

WARNINGS: in-depth descriptions of a panic attack, ptsd

Nursing Home AU Masterlist

It happens when Virgil is inRemus’s room cleaning up one of his messes.

Remus adamantly disagrees on theterminology of his ‘messes’.

“It’s art! You prudes wouldn’t haveany artistic sense if it bit you in the butthole!”

Virgil snorts, “You could have justleft it with ‘butt’.”

The old man grins, showing off asmile that’s missing half of its teeth. “But butthole sounds so much juicier.”

“I will pay you to never say thatagain.”

“This is payback for destroying mylife’s work.”

Virgil looks at him with a raisedbrow.

Then he looks pointedly back at thewall that features a giant penis drawn with smeared ketchup.

Virgil has no idea where Remussmuggled this much ketchup into his room.

Patton comes into the room. Heglances at the ‘artwork’ on the wall and doesn’t look the slightest bitsurprised. Someone must have spread the word to him.

Remus doesn’t look at all ashameddespite Patton’s disapproving expression.

“We’ve talk about this,” Pattonadmonishes.

“You talked, I ignored.”

“Remus. No…phallic imagerydisplayed in the building.”

“THIS IS HOMOPHOBIC!” Remusscreeches.

Virgil just shakes his head andcontinues wiping down the wall.

For the next couple of minutes helistens to the two of them talk behind him. Patton continues to try to reasonwith Remus, and Remus continues to be unreasonable. Same song and dance asevery day.

But then Remus yells something thatsticks with Virgil.

“This place is a prison!” hebemoans. “Give me back my freedom, George Washington!”

And it’s kinda funny and Remus’sstyle of random and dramatic, but …

This place is aprison.

Maybe. In some ways.

Like the small cell-like rooms.

Or not being allowed to leave for manyof those who lived here.

Seeing the same faces day in andday out.

Always having eyes on you, watchingeverything you do.

But for the most part?

You didn’t have to worry if yourcellmate would strangle you in your sleep.

Or keeping your head down in thecafeteria, because last time you made eye contact with someone they took it asa challenge.

Or choosing to forsake personalhygiene just so you wouldn’t leave yourself open to being cornered in theshowers.

The way they’d size you up quick aspredator or prey, and God help you if they thought of you as the latter.

As scared shitless as Virgil hadbeen, crying into his pillow almost every night because it was always so coldand the thin standard blanket did nothing to fight the chill…

Virgil had never in his life had toact so tough and mean. He learned to spit his words harshly enough to makeothers second guess their assumptions of an easy target. He hissed and bit anyhand that tried to touch him.

Virgil doesn’t realize at first,but he has stopped cleaning up Remus’s mess.

His hand lingers, rag pressedagainst the wall until it drags down and lays limply. 

He stares, and while the beigepaint brings warmth to the room, it somehow fades to the steel gray he had tosee day after day.

Distantly he hears voices behindhim, but they become a muted hum, like the echoes from down the row of cells.He can hear footsteps, the guards pacing up the corridor.

“Virgil?”

A hand on his shoulder.

It burns like acid.

Virgil’s entire body tenses up, alive wire ready to strike but his vision’s gone all tunnel-y and he can’t seewhere the enemy is.

“Virgil. Virgil, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” Virgil pushesthe words out with all the effort it takes to move a car out of a muddy bank.

He’s just now catching on thatmaybe he’s having a panic attack, but that doesn’t stop it from happening. Ifanything, it just makes it worse and he struggles to decipher past frompresent. It all muddles together, and he can’t move, can’t turn his head, can’tstop staring at the gray—brown—gray wall.

“Don’t touch me,” Virgil saysagain, breath kicking into a concerning pace. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me,don’t ever fucking touch me.”

All at once the hand is gone.

The burn of acid remains.

Patton is at a complete loss.

Virgil was fine just a minute ago.

But then he’d gotten quiet— which wasn’tunlike him, ya know? But he hadn’t responded to either of them when spoken todirectly, and that definitely was unlike him.

So Patton tried to get hisattention, thinking maybe he’d been lost in thought.

He’d never seen Virgil’s eyes sowide and terrified.

And his shoulders, they startedmoving up and down as his breathing shallowed out.

And his words—so aggressive thatPatton genuinely believed for a second that Virgil was one second away fromlashing out at him.

Patton keeps his hands to himselfafter that, but he lingers beside Virgil, reluctant to leave him likethis—whatever this is.

Is he angry at Patton? Upset withwhat they were talking about? Patton begs Virgil to tell him what’s going on,but it’s like Virgil can’t even hear him.

“Just keep talking to him,” Remussuggests.

“It’s not working though,” Pattonsays, voice dripping with worry. Virgil’s really starting to edge towardshyperventilating. An allergic reaction? But Virgil has never mentioned—and hehasn’t eaten anything recently—

“What’s going on here?” Dee asks,poking his head in.

Virgil can hear him at the doorway,kind of like in an out of body sort of way.

He’s never had a freak out this badaround them—had been so proud of himself for making it this long.

Now their eyes are on him, andVirgil feels their pinprick gazes stabbing into the back of his neck. The panicramps up another couple of notches.

Patton looks pleadingly at Dee.“He’s—he’s having some kind of attack. I don’t know what happened.”

“Oh shit,” Dee says eloquently.

For all that Dee oozes confidenceand spins pretty words, comforting an emotionally distressed rival is kinda outof his range of specialties. He stands there, slack-jawed and hesitating.

That won’t do at all.

“Just fucking talk to him,” Remussays bitingly and gets up from his bed.

He ambles over to Virgil and pullsa chair up close enough to him but far away enough to not startle him.

Virgil startles anyway.

“Whatever you’re seeing, kid, it’snot real,” Remus tells him. His eyes are bright and mad and clever. “They wantyou to think it’s real, and yeah okay, it was real at some point, wasn’t it? Butit’s not anymore. You’re not there. It’s over. You can come out now.”

It takes a minute, and Virgilshudders, and tears are streaming down his face.

But he’s listening.

Remus leans forward, elbows proppedon his knees. “You’re safe now. They already did the hurting. So tell them togo fuck themselves. They don’t get to touch you anymore.”

Virgil slows to a calm.

He feels numb.

Drained.

But the walls have stopped crushinghim and he can breathe again.

“Better?” Patton asks from theother side of him. He never left his side for a moment.

Virgil nods jerkily, unable to talkat the moment.

“Need anything? Water? Anything?”

Virgil takes too long to think,thoughts sluggish.

“Let’s go talk to Logan!” Remusblurts out.

He hops out of his chair andmotions for Virgil to stand. Noticeably, he doesn’t try touching Virgil. Heholds out his hand in offer if Virgil needs help standing up.

“His nerdy talk can bore you rightto sleep. Let’s go, Emo. Upsy-daisy.”

Virgil takes his hand and stands.

He hesitates, gesturing at the wallas if to say, “But I still need to clean it up.”

Remus waves his concern off. “Don’tworry about that. Dee will clean it up. Dee loves cleaning up mymesses.”

Dee gives him a dark look butdoesn’t say anything. He stands aside and lets the two of them leave the room,Remus guiding a quiet Virgil by the hand.

Patton remains, though he staresafter them. “I’m still not sure what happened. He was fine and then … Iguess something must have triggered it.”

Dee shrugs, rubbing his glovedhands together self-consciously. “Everyone has their own demons.”

And when Remus had seen Virgildescend into the madness of memory, like had recognized like.

 _______________________________________________________________

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Nursing Home List: @thirteenashmctrash @figurative-falsehood @oddball-wqri@comicsimpson @hit-or-mish @delphionix @rabbitsartcorner @nugs-and-hugs-not-drugs @toostressedforthisbs @fluctuating-fangirl @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @bestbluebouquet @the-aroace-queen-in-the-quiver @logans-doodles @herestheanxietea @theblankest123 @lia-quanz

[rthoney]

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7: What is your opinion on [insert person/thing here]?

8: What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic]

9: Are you ticklish?

10: Are you allergic to anything?

11: What’s your sexuality?

12: Do you prefer tea, coffee, or cocoa?

13: Are you a cat or dog person?

14: Would you rather be a vampire, elf, or merperson?

15: Do you have a favorite Youtuber?

16: How tall are you?

17: If you had to change your name, what would you change it to?

18: How much do you weigh? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!]

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20: Do you like space or the ocean more?

21: Are you religious?

22: Pet peeves?

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24: Favorite constellation?

25: Favorite star?

26: Do you like ball-jointed dolls?

27: Any phobias or fears?

28: Do you think global warming is real?

29: Do you believe in reincarnation?

30: Favorite movie?

31: Do you get scared easily?

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33: Blog rate? [You’ll rate the blog of the one who’s asking.]

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168: Do you like to wear makeup?

169: Can you stand on your hands or head for more than thirty seconds?

170: Did you answer the questions you were asked truthfully?

1. im ok with my height 2. Australian Shepard 3. not really.is a sweatshirt and leggings a style? 4. wii  5. probably like the 5 people i talk to every day, hamilton, music 6. i thought of like 6 different things.. 7. idk you pick something and ill answer it  8. fuck idk 9. YES BUT IF YOU TICKLE ME BE PREPARE TO BE KICKED  10. just pollen 11. straight  12. all three. 13. both 14. mermaid hehe i love swimming  15. no 16. 5′ 7″ 17. eliza idk i like my name  18. no 19. nope 20. ocean 21.  kinda more like my dad and stepmom are so like i kinda am too. idrk. 22. people umm idk 23. i dont know 24. i dont have one. they all kinda just look like stars to me.. 25. ^^ 26. wtf is that 27. heights. spiders. snake. most bugs in general. sleeping bags. 28. absoultely  29. no 30. H.A.M.I.L.T.O.N 31. i get startled pretty easily but like actually scared, a little less easly 32.fuck alot. ummm i think 14 not including all the fish ive had 33.well its anon so... 34. idk. 35. new york,  paris, austria, irleand,  36. in the same town i have lived in my whole life 37. meduim brown  38. both.. 39. naw 40. both 41. my mutals  42. my best friendsssss 43. i want another percing on my ear 44. ig 45. no 46. no thank you :) 47. i hate the sound of things being hit on metal 48. lin manuel mirandas voice <3 49. nope 50.NOPE 51. LIN. MANUEL. MIRANDA.  52. HAMILTON 53. im feeling good 54. the color that it is..... 55. idfk 56. listening for music 57. not that i know of  58. it means elizard hamilton 59. music. friends. art. thats probably not what it meant but idk  60. yes  61. being and asshole 62. hamilton and fanfics, mostly  63. idk what this means 64. DOGS. CATS. PANDAS. MOST ANIMALS. 65.i have wayyyy more than three tho..... 66.  idk. 67. i dont have one. 68. i dont know what that is... 69. aquaruis...? 70. no ones old and ones dumb 71. probably my pjs or my london tshirt and jeans/leggings 72. if anyone reminds me i will lol. i doubt anyone will read all of these tho. 73.yes but i dont wear them cause i cant walk in heals 74. idk.... 75. fuck no 76. yea 77. YES I LOVE SWIMMING 78. swimmingggg 79. wasps 80. every broadway show ever to be profretionally recorded. 81. i have two in each ear but i rarely wear the bottom one 82. paiting 83.any one of my best friends. 84. memes. depressed people. fandoms 85.166 86. fuck no. 87. nope. like %80 of the time they dont match 88. sometimes 89. amithest. 90. idk 91. daisiessss 92. idfk 93. 0-2 94.read minds 95. ..idk 96. WINTER 97. idk 98. this ass hole i used to be friends with. he was a racist dick and very toxic 99. i d k  100. idk 101. converse 102. Washington 103. No 104. idk  105. yes 106. some  107. nooooo 108. most things lol 109. kinda 110. idk 111. idrk 112. yea but just like tiny spiders 113. yessssssss 114. sunny unless its raining 115. i dont know. 116. i  dont fuccking know 117. blue...? 118. i wishhhh 119 personality 120. vegitables 121. watch hamilton 122. sky 123. sweet, i dont like sour things 124. dim 125. no 126. idk 127. my friends <3 128. what does this mean... 129. idfk 130. my brother  131. basically everything about me  132. sometimes but not really. 133. computer 134. FUCK YEA 135. no 136.what? 137. no 138. 6.7 139. ri ri, ri, genie, honey, riles, bitch, eliza, weirdo, trash, riley elizabeth gene (not my name) 140. no  141. once. but i was super awkward and didnt talk the enitre time amd never saw her again. i probably need theriapy  142. good 143. giving 144. racists, terfs, people who are assholes 145. 1 146. boys 147. what is that 148. my eyes :P 149. idk 150. lexi. peggy. alex. 151. early brodway era 152. yes. sometimes its a problem 153. LOL IM SINGLE  154. yess 155. yos. espisally when my friends hate it so i do it to mess with them 156. my family. talking about my life with my family. sharing things i like with my family, talking about who i like. 157. preforming 158. how i met my best friend. its a long story but ill say if anyone wants me to 159. 142 160. 3563 161. 7 162. 4641 163. i dont know 164. long 165. probably now is the longest its been. or like kindergarden lol 166. ? 167. no 168. a little 169. hell naw 170. yea.

HOLY FUCK THAT TOOK SO FUCKING LONG

thank you anon

[comicsnas]

showtime

WARNING: eye gore!!, violence Disclaimer: this is..... an au where guy fieri isnt a cool and chill dude that just likes food. i am very sorry for what i do to him in this. i dont mean it and if the cops knock at my door i will blame it on hussie word count: about 3.7k. i am so sorry

context john gets kidnapped by his mom dave doesnt panic

Los Angeles, CA, Wednesday

“No matter what happens, nobody cancels the premiere,” you say. “Okay? No matter what’s in the news. No matter how bad it gets. The movie drops on Thursday, and people are gonna watch it. Got it? This is a scare tactic and we’re not falling for it. Even if the world is ending, we are premiering this movie and going through with the promo. With or without me.”

Catalena, your manager, has been with you for too long to think that you’re joking. She was who flew you in from Houston to LA back when you were twenty, who let you sleep on your couch until you made enough money to get an apartment, who thought that the message you had for the world was one worthy of her help. She knows that all of this is real, and that she can’t stop you.

Her face says, Dave, you’re scaring me. Her mouth says, “You got it. Could you at least tell me… what you think is going to be in the news that would make us not premiere it?”

“Something bad,” you say. “Hopefully, anyway.”

She tilts her head. “Are you faking your death?”

“Lalonde and I are gonna disappear for a sec,” you say. “How people interpret that is gonna be up to them.”

“Not like you to leave things up to chance,” Catalena says. “Some will think it’s elaborate PR.”

“That’s why I’m only telling you. Lalonde and I are gonna frame this to look serious, and no one else is gonna know what’s going on. You keep your cool, but don’t let anyone know that you’re in on it.”

“I mean, I barely am.” She gives you a Look, a capital L Look, then sighs and nods. “Fine. So if I hear about your presumed death tomorrow, I won’t freak out. At what point am I allowed to assume you are actually dead, and freak out a little bit?”

“If you don’t hear from me in a week,” you say, “then Lalonde and I have been killed by Betty Crocker.”

Houston, TX, twelve years ago

You’re blind.

That’s not true. You’re not blind. You don’t think you are going to be blind. There is no way that you’re fully blind, because the assassin only got your right eye, so it doesn’t make sense for you to be blind, but you’re blind.

The pain might originate from your right eye, but it’s engulfing your entire head by now, and there is something sticky in your left eye and you can’t open it anymore and it burns, and you’re going to go blind, and then you’re going to die in a ditch, in a pool of your own blood, and this is it. It’s over. You and your half sister fucked around on the internet a bunch, got really deep into some conspiracy theories, and barely two weeks after you made the discovery that Betty Crocker definitely, undoubtedly, literally is an actual alien, someone was sent to kill you.

They didn’t manage, so far. They got your eye, and they broke your glasses, leaving a cut on your nose, and a bunch of cuts everywhere else, and you think you cracked your head open when you fell. But you cut their knife hand off, good and clean off, watched it fall to the ground right in front of you. By the time it hit the pavement, the assassin had already turned around and ran away, leaving you to crumple and suffer here by yourself.

This is it.

“Strider?” Rose says. Before the blood trickling into your good eye ruined your vision, you managed to dial her number and call her up, and now you’re lying on your side with your phone pressed to your ear, imagining her in her college dorm room in New York. You were going to visit her there, years ago, after you ran away from your parents. It never worked out. Neither of you has the money. You really wish you could have seen her at least once.

“Yeah,” you croak. “You at home?”

“At the dorm, yes. What’s going on?”

“You gotta go. She sent someone after me, she’s gonna come for you too. If she knows that I know, she’ll know that you know.”

One of the most comfortable parts of friendship with Rose, you’ve found, is that she never asks you to clarify what the fuck you’re talking about. Either she just lets you ramble, or she knows exactly what you mean. “Shit,” she hisses, and you can hear rustling on her side of the line, hopefully from her getting ready. She probably has a getaway bag somewhere, you think. You have one, but not on you right now. It’s too late for that.

“They’ve already hit me, so whoever she sent to you can’t be far,” you say. You try to blink your eye open, but then it hurts the other more, and it burns. You can’t even tell where exactly. It just burns. “Hurry up, Lalonde.”

“They’ve hit you?” she echoes, still rustling, breathing into the phone. On the move. Good. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you say. “Gonna call an ambulance after this. Just get the fuck out and text me later, yeah?”

Rose pauses. You can hear her pause, you can hear everything go very silent for a second. She says, “You called me before you called for help?”

“Yeah,” you say. She told you, once, that there is a quick and easy way out the window of her second-storey dorm room, that lets her balance over to her girlfriend’s room only a few windows ahead. She can’t hide there, it’s too close, but it’s a start. She’ll figure it out, she always will. She was the first person to ever have your back. “Of course I did.”

On a plane, Thursday morning

“What’s on your mind?” Rose asks.

You’re leaned back, staring out the window, listening to the clicking of her knitting needles next to you. The pilot here doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, just that he is flying two rich people and their car to Washington, DC. Your Mustang is in the cargo part of the plane, a vital part of the plan. You’ll torch it later. It was the first car you bought with your own money, after SBaHJ had become big and you had finally paid off your hospital debt.

Rose’s apartment isn’t that old, she got it after Roxy was born and she decided to move to Los Angeles, so you could help each other babysit. Trashing it still felt wrong. A home is a home, but you wanted it to look broken into, to make sure that people put two and two together. This isn’t a Dave Strider marketing scheme, you both got hit. After all the work that you’ve done, at least some of the public should understand what that means.

“Us,” you say.

“That’s very sentimental,” she says. “Are you sure you aren’t mourning your car again?”

“Shut up,” you say, and blindly swat at her, hitting her elbow. She hits you back, hand slapping your shoulder. “It’s a good car.”

Rose hums. When you look at her, she’s already back to knitting. You have no idea what she’s making, but it looks like a onesie for an octopus. “We will be fine,” she says. “We have to.”

You nod, and go back to staring out the window, thinking about what Alma said. “It’s just,” you say quietly. “We gotta start thinking about the endgame, here, don’t we.”

“Start?” Rose echoes. “Dave, we know the endgame to this. We’ve known for a while. The second you landed in the hospital with a cut inside your eyeball, you and I both knew that this would end in death.”

You don’t say anything. She’s right, of course she is. You knew then, and she knew, as soon as you texted her from your hospital bed, and she texted you back from a Greyhound bus. And you tried to forget, you both did, for a very long time. You almost managed, for a whole decade, until last year, someone made you scared and angry enough to ram a sword through his throat. Until Rose came and disassembled the body on your rooftop, and then helped you burn it. Reality has caught up with you, and someone is going to die.

The clicking of her needles has stopped again. You turn your head to look at her, and she’s looking back at you, and her face seems younger than it should be. She is just as scared as you are. Neither of you ever wanted it to go this far. Neither of you wanted to kill.

“I don’t like it either,” Rose says. “But someone is going to wind up dead, and it sure as shit isn’t gonna be us.”

Washington, DC, now

)(IC: u comin or what TG: yeah about that

You’re on the hood of your car. The children -- and Sally, John’s pet hedgehog -- are with the one sitter you still trust. Rose is in position, which means she is at a remote location outside the city holding Guy Fieri hostage. She has sent you a picture of him tied to a chair and gagged, which means that it’s go time.

All according to plan.

TG: how about you come kill me somewhere else instead of home sweet home )(IC: why would i do that TG: dying mans last request? )(IC: stfu lol this is so obviously a trap TG: wow ok so is yours )(IC: fair TG: just thought that you know TG: john means something to both of us and dont try to tell me no because i know he does TG: so like can we maybe duke it out somewhere where i wont accidentally blow him to smithereens TG: innuendo intended )(IC: UG)( )(IC: gross TG: lmao TG: anyway bethany you know me and you know im comin with c4 in my backpack if im comin TG: do you really want that around your son or can you just get off your ass and meet me here so john stays safe )(IC: u reely think ya have a fighting chance to even get that far )(IC: buoy you set one foot in my house and ya get spearfished TG: yeah not really making a great point for me to come there rn TG: just thought maybe youd wanna be with your guy guy )(IC: who TG: you know TG: guy the guy )(IC: tf

You text her the picture that Rose sent, just Guy Fieri looking miserable, no indication of whether or not you or Rose are with him.

)(IC: )(-EY )(IC: motherglubber what do u think yoar doin TG: yoar??? TG: thats literally not a word. wym you oar?? what TG: anyway im gonna dismember this asshole if you dont agree to keep john safe and come here and im gonna start with the frosted tips )(IC: FIN--E )(IC: cant effin wait to be done with you )(IC: ill come krill ya if its so shrimportant just gimme the location TG: ok shrimportant is actually pretty funny TG: [coordinates] TG: see you soon

She drives a fuchsia Jaguar that looks like Xzibit threw up all over it, because of course she does. You watch it leave from your perch on your Mustang, then slide off the hood. shes gone, you text Rose. get ready to bounce

Before you leave, you turn back toward you car, and gently pat the roof. “See you soon,” you repeat, “for one last ride.”

Look, it’s a good car, alright.

Later on in the plan, once you’ve convinced John to come with you, and Rose has joined you in the no doubt brutal course out of the house littered with security guards, the three of you will pack into this car, and you will drive. You will be tailed, you know you will. Rose and you estimate two to three SUVs with more security personnel that will follow you, and sooner or later, you won’t stand a chance against them.

So, you’ll call the cops. You don’t usually do this -- even during all these years, neither you nor Crocker ever called the police on each other, and technically, you still won’t, today. You will just anonymously call authorities, and tell them about a burning car by the side of the road. Then you will hang up, and you and Rose and John will hop out of a moving vehicle as you crash your beloved Mustang and have it go up in flames. Authorities will come and find Dave Strider’s infamous car, and hopefully that’ll get people talking.

Crocker’s guys will hopefully exit their cars and go looking for you, or at least for John. It’s an easy con from there -- while they look, you will steal their SUVs and drive off toward your safehouses. Simple. No sweat.

“This better work,” you mutter to yourself, then leave your car behind and start climbing the fence around Crocker manor.

You’ve been here once before, while she was out and John was showing you around. You weren’t actively trying to case the place back then, just spending time with your boyfriend and checking out where he grew up, but you couldn’t help how curious you were. You still remember the most important spots, and you did your best to paint a proper picture of them to Rose (you drew a map in MS Paint), so now you have a pretty good idea of where you need to go.

The guard posts, of course, are randomized. You’ll have to take these as they come, and you feel prepared enough, with just your sword and a handful of knives. You’re wearing the kevlar you wore to the Oscars. You’re gonna be fine.

It’s a race against time now, knowing that there is no guarantee when Crocker will be catching on and returning to her house, and knowing that you stand no chance actually fighting her face to face. You climbed in toward the side of the house, because it’s the shortest distance between fence and wall. The front and back yards are ridiculously huge and opulent, and while you would have plenty of gaudy statues to hide behind, you’re not looking to make your way through there.

The first guard spots you right as you hop down off the fence, and your knife is in his shoulder before he even finishes drawing his gun on you. He’s also wearing a vest, but those don’t stop blades, and you take offense in knowing that she made them dress up like that. As if either you or Rose were going to show up with guns. She really doesn’t know you at all. You knock out the guard with a hit of the knife grip against his temple. Maybe you can get through this without deaths.

One of them you comfortably take out from behind a useless fountain placed in this part of the garden for some reason, appreciating how quiet and low-key you can be about it so far. The bigger the ruckus, the sooner she’ll return, so having them all go down in silence is your best case scenario.

It’s the third guard that ruins your track record. You’re almost at the house wall, and you know you’re under the right window, which means all you have to do is scale it and climb right into John’s room, but for that to work you need to have a clean path behind you. Which you don’t, you realize the second a bullet hits your back.

Your vest catches it, but the momentum still knocks you down, and you scrape both of your palms open on the weird break between lawn and pavement. You hate this fucking garden. Who lives like this? You’re gasping for breath and trying not to inhale any grass, dealing with the reality that this is the first time someone has shot at you and actually hit you, and the bullet might not have penetrated skin at all, but Jesus Fucking Christ it still feels awful. Like someone kicked you in the spine, only with a bullet instead of a foot.

Onward. You hear footsteps behind you, and now it’s your turn to kick, hitting them in the face with your boot in the same motion that you’re pushing yourself up from the ground. As they curse and stumble, you draw your sword, but they catch their footing quickly, and you know you only have a split second to act. That gun is pointing at you, again, or still, and they’re going for your head this time, and if you don’t fight now, the journey ends for you here. Someone is going to die, and it sure as shit can’t be you. Your arm darts forward.

The sword goes through their vest, their ribs, and their heart -- you wouldn’t call it smoothly, you really wouldn’t. You can feel resistance with every inch, you feel it right up to your shoulder, and you hate it, and it makes you want to throw up, but you can’t, now. You shove them off your blade and watch them crumple to the ground, and turn right back toward the wall. They are not getting up again. That’s on you, and you can deal with that later. You have to get moving.

Your phone vibrates.

You manage to pull yourself up on a balcony and crouch there, hiding from whatever is going on in the yard now. Other guards must have heard the shot being fired, so you really need to get the fuck out of sight, but this has to do, for now. If Crocker is messaging you, you have to respond, so she doesn’t think you’re in her goddamn garden.

)(IC: yo )(IC: send me proof yoar still with him )(IC: almost there this betta be worth it TG: one sec

As expected. All according to plan, so far. You hope the blood on your sword won’t make the sheath sticky. You’ll have to clean it, later. You don’t want to.

TG: shes asking for proof TG: go ahead. sorry TT: No worries. TT: I know we don’t endorse violence, but honestly, Dawon, after being in a room with him for this long, I am quite happy to do this.

She sends you a picture, and you grimace at your phone. It takes a lot to make you grimace, as a Strider born and raised -- at the same time, you’re not easily shocked or grossed out, but this isn’t great to look at. Fieri’s eye has been pulled from its socket, dangling down his cheek suspended from the nerve, a hole in the eyeball. You hope Crocker won’t be able to tell that this was done with a knitting needle, and forward the photo to her.

TG: hows this )(IC: )(--EY FUCK OFF )(IC: stop i reely like guy 38( TG: yeah well i really like john TG: eye for an eye TG: hurry it up im waiting and theres a second eye to gauge out )(IC: ten minutes )(IC: ur gonna be so sorry buoy

TG: 10 mins TT: On my way.

Okay. Crocker is on her way to a location where there will only be Guy Fieri and a set of elaborate boobytraps which you know won’t kill her, but hopefully slow her down. Rose is on her way here, to help you and John get out of here. That’s plenty of time you still have. Things are going suspiciously well, you think, before you remember the ache in your back and the fact that you killed someone.

You have to get to John.

He’s another two floors up, but you are right in front of a balcony door. For a second, you wonder if you could get into the house from here and do the rest from inside, so you don’t present yourself to the mob of people with guns in the garden. Unfortunately, before you can do that, another person with a gun appears on the other side of that door, mouths an angry what the fuck at you, and draws an assault rifle. Alright, well.

The thing that has mostly kept you from becoming too violent in the past is the fact that you’re fast, and you’re a great climber, so when you hop backward onto the banister of the balcony and pull yourself up to the next one above you, it happens so fast that nobody in the garden reacts. It’s after you’re already crouching behind the balcony, thankfully made of robust concrete, that the shots start hitting it. You do nothing, count the bullets, wait for them to get rid of half of their magazines down there. Then you pull a knife, peek over the balcony, and throw it right into someone’s bicep.

More shots. More ducking and counting. You have two more knives to throw, and you do, rinse and repeat. The people down there are very angry with you now, and very much still able to shoot, but you figure at least their aim will be off, and they’ll be slower. You hope. You haven’t held a gun yourself in fucking forever.

You take a breath, and jump up to grab the balcony you know belongs to John.

As soon as you’re in the open, another bullet hits your back, further toward your side this time, and you almost let go. You let out an undignified noise instead, and hold on harder, focusing all you have into your arms to pull yourself up. Shots are ringing in your ears, and one hits the concrete right next to your head at almost the same time that another one grazes your leg. You hiss in pain, grunt in exertion, pull, pull, and roll yourself onto John’s balcony.

Someone in the garden yells, “Motherfucker!”

You sit, curled up, and pull apart the tear in your pants with your aching fingers to check the wound. It’s not deep, certainly not as bad as the chunk of missing flesh you have in your arm from being shot at last year. It’s fine. You’ll forget about it in a second, when your newest problem will be telling your amnesiac boyfriend that he needs to come with you.

You pull yourself up into a crouch, not more. You don’t want to risk getting shot in the head as you finally face him, so you just do it like this. Hunkered down, disheveled and bloody, you lean forward and knock on John’s window.

[freebooter4ever]

my dad group texted my brother and i, highly unusual, and i think jordan was weirded out too cause his response was equally short and confused. on the list of things my little brother and i have never discussed, our dad’s relative interest or lack there of in our lives is pretty high. dad’s been messaging me since october, asking about stuff like where my next living plans are (which he has never done since i first moved out age eighteen), and i’ve only been vaguely responding to the point blank questions cause its just. so. weird. i think my grandpa’s death has shaken dad’s worldview a bit more than he’s been letting on.

he alienated my brother and i pretty much immediately after his secretive marriage to the bottle blonde rich bitch when i was 22. he kicked my brother out as soon as jordan turned 18, and when i discovered this by coming home one summer and seeing jordan wasnt in the house, i got so fucking mad that it was the first time i ever had a full out screaming match at my dad. and apparently this display of anger was when rich bitch decided she didn’t like me (probably valid, but also ironic because pretty much from birth it was known in my entire extended family that dad and i were almost identical personality wise, and both of us have tempers where we will not get mad at anything but frustration will build up and up until on the rare blue moon it boils over, and oh boy. watch out. those moments were the only times i was ever scared of my dad as a kid and i think it only happened twice in my entire life)(if she thinks im crazy when im angry, she should see my dad)

but i was crazy mad because while i was lucky enough to be put in therapy due to attempting to starve myself into non existence at age 13 (many many sessions of ‘family’ therapy with me in the center of a long couch silently trying to pretend i was invisible and my mom two feet away at one end and dad on the opposite end of the couch, and my mom doing all the talking, ranting and raving about how im starving myself to punish her. and then the therapist kicking both my parents out and trying to convince me to say a few words, and her finally getting me to realize that how my mom treated me was not normal and not something i needed to put up with if it made me sad and scared, and then the therapist realizing that i was still too sad and scared to confront it, and her and i coming up with a compromise where we would tell my mom that i was just ‘really attached’ to dad’s house and it wasnt that i was terrified of living with my mom or liked my dad better, it was that i just really liked living in one place instead of out of a suitcase and moving every week), and so had both the therapist and my dad supporting me when at fourteen i finally said enough was enough and demanded that my dad get full custody so i didnt have to spend every other week with my abusive mother anymore - while i got out of that situation, my brother didnt. i tried, he knew that it was my decision to live full time with dad and i made it clear he could do the same, but just as it was a given that i was identical to dad’s personality, my brother was identical to mom’s so i think he was more attached to her than i was. either way, he always refused and insisted on continuing to live between both of them. after i hit driving age, my dad transferred responsibility to me for shuttling my brother to and from my dad’s house to my mom’s apartment. dad’d lock himself in his room, or go to the gym, and i’d turn on an endless rotation of star wars movies for jordan and i to watch before i had to take him to his next week’s place (phantom menace was our favorite cause darth maul was just cool ok, dont judge).

anyway, the last day i ever stayed at my moms house, my brother was there. and i must have been twenty or twenty one because he would have only been around seventeen. but even at seventeen he was well over six foot five cause he got all the height in the family which was totally not fair but thats besides the point. so while i was there my mom flew into one of her alcohol induced rages, and took it all out on my brother. i had intellectually figured that all the anger my mom used to take out on me had then transferred to my brother once i stopped living there every other week, but up until that point i hadn’t actually seen it. she started shoving him, and punching him, and not enough so it would hurt much, because as i said he was well over six feet and she was barely five six, so he could pretty well block any thing she dished out. but he was cornered, and he looked scared. and i was hiding useless on the stairwell, crying, and begging mom to stop. and it only stopped cause jordan managed to slip out the front door and once he escaped mom went back into the kitchen, still yelling and angry. and i took the chance to grab my school bag and leave in solidarity. and my brother and i stood there awkwardly on the porch, me still crying, and him smoking and trying to look cool and not like he just got chased out of the apartment by a woman half his size. and i promised him we wouldnt go back until she calmed down, and that she was being unreasonable and he didnt deserve any of it, and id figure out somewhere to go. and we started walking down the sidewalk, but not together because we were never that close. he wandered off somewhere to smoke. and that’s as far as i remember.

this day came up in conversation with my grandma in the months after grandpa’s death, during one of our many three am can’t sleep conversations in grandma’s kitchen (grandma would wake up, i’d hear her get out of bed and wake up too. she’d make herself tea and eat some graham crackers and we’d sit together at the table feeling the third empty chair like an ache). grandma brought it up, because apparently, even though i cant remember this at all, i had my no/kia brick phone in my school bag (a minor miracle because i hated carrying around cell phones for the longest time), and i actually called grandma. and grandpa and her came to pick me up, and they found me sitting on a wall a block away from my mom’s apartment, and then we drove around till we found jordan, and then we all went back to my grandparent’s house. after bringing this up, grandma then, completely unprompted, told me something that child me thought about regularly - she said that even though her mom died when she was 8, leaving her to help raise her two younger siblings, grandma thought in some ways it was easier than what my brother and i went through with the divorce and my mom leaving. i used to regularly - not wish my mom dead, exactly - but wish i could pretend she was dead, rather than her just not being there anymore. especially since, when i was suddenly thrown into being her sole emotional and physical punching bag now that dad wasn’t filling the role anymore, a lot of the times being around her post divorce was not a good thing. (I cut off all contact with my mom finally at age 25 and haven’t looked back)

so yeah, i was fucking pissed that i had worked so hard to try to mitigate the damage i caused by leaving jordan alone with my mom for pretty much the entirety of my high school years...only to have my dad kick him out barely a few years after i left for college and thus putting my brother at my mom’s mercy. ostensibly my dad kicked my brother out because of his drug addictions, but my brother was the most mild mannered addict i’ve ever known. the worst thing he ever did was steal a couple hundred dollars from me, but he never got violent, he never got angry. other people got angry at him. my aunt once tried to fight him in a hospital elevator because he sold my cousin heroin or meth or some shit and my cousin ended up impaling a knife in his chest in front of my grandma, which is a whole nother story. but jordan was only nineteen when that happened. my cousin? thirty six. and a long time violent and angry drug addict with a record (he threw a book at his professor’s head and got kicked out of grad school while on cocaine once, which is how he ended up back in washington state and needing a new drug dealer - hence my brother suddenly getting involved) (same cousin later flew into a drug fueled rage in his forties and almost beat his girlfriend to death) (my brother was long since clean by then and had nothing to do with our cousin getting drugs at that point)

all this to say my dad’s rich bitch new wife didn’t think a drug addict and mentally ill artist fit into her picture perfect family, so dad started making it clear we were not welcome at family functions unless we complied with very strict rules. ironically, jordan was let back into the fold first partially because i can hold a grudge for a very long time and i was very very terrified of my mom and dad was the sane stable one and i had trusted him to take care of everything even without me there and dad had failed pretty spectacularly at that. im still bitter at my dad for his secret marriage and subsequent moving into her million dollar mansion and throwing my brother out. but also partially because jordan started following all of dad’s rules, got himself cleaned up (he moved in with his girlfriend, and i think being out of mom’s house had a lot to do with getting over his addictions), started studying computer science, found a really good software engineering job, suddenly dad approved of him. i also partially antagonized rich bitch wife by doing silly things like wearing black leather pants and the most provocative clothes i owned whenever i went over to their house. rich bitch was a very simple narrow minded person with a lot of prejudices. i imagine i was not seen as a good influence on her two younger daughters. and eventually they stopped seeing me altogether. even when i was living in washington for all of 2017 - the only time i ever saw dad was when he’d come visit my grandparents alone. the day before i took grandma on the train to move to ohio, we were supposed to all have dinner together at our family’s favorite place to eat out - crossroads mall - and the rich bitch refused to show up. that’s how petty she is. she also is so dumb she’s under the delusion that kids get into drugs if they don’t have dogs (????) so that’s why she forced my dad to get a dog for her spoiled brat youngest when the girl went into high school. my dad dislikes animals, so i will say one of the highlights of this marriage is seeing my dad become a dog person. the rich bitch and her daughters mostly ignore the dog, but my dad is so attached to max that he even lets the little puppy sit in his lap while driving. anyway, anyone who thinks dogs are the sole answer to preventing drug addictions can go to hell.

yeah, blah blah blah, to sum up its WEIRD for my dad to suddenly be texting my brother and i unprompted, and asking me about my life and my plans. i dont really know how to deal. i miss him. he was always the closest person in my life to the point where even when i moved away for college, i still assumed after i graduated i’d just move back in with dad so it was only four years being gone, cause why would i ever want to live anywhere else?. i kept thinking if i could hit some level of success that he would approve of, that maybe eventually i could become somebody his rich bitch wife would associate with. but that never happened, obviously. 

[gray-autumn-sky]

Sleepless in Seattle, Chapter 9

March 6, 1993- Seattle, Washington:

Belle carries a bologna and cheese sandwich that’s cut up in quarters over to Roland, grinning as he grins up at her to accept it.

“So, she begins, sitting down across from him. “Your dad said you were having a friend over today after school. Did something happen?”

“No,” Roland says easily as he bites into the sandwich. “I ride the bus, but Gus doesn't, so his mom had to pick him up like she always does and bring him over.”

“Oh—“

“He said he had to make a stop.”

“He did,” Belle says, her brow arching. “Not his mum?”

“Nope. Him.”

“Ah—“

Roland nods as he chews  the bread’s crust. “We have a project we need to work on and we needed paper.”

“I’m sure you have paper here. You’ve got a whole bin of construction paper and—“

“No,” Roland says, cutting in and shaking his head. “We need nice paper for this.”

“Oh. Okay then.”

Roland grins and nods, then takes a bigger bite of the danish. “It’s really important that we have nice paper.”

“Oh…” Belle shifts and straws in a breath. “So your dad has been seeing my friend, Emma.”

“Emma is your friend?”

“Yes, mine and Ruby’s.”

“Oh, I… I didn’t know that.”

“Your dad says you don't like her.”

Roland shrugs. “I don’t really know her.”

“That’s fair,” Belle says slowly. “I just… I just want you to understand that just because they go on dates sometimes, that… that doesn't mean he’s going to marry her.”

Roland’s brow furrows as he looks back at her. “Then, what's the point of dating her?”

“Well, to… get out and get back in the swing of things and…”

“I don’t have a problem with my dad dating.”

“So, it’s...just Emma you don’t like?”

“I just don't think she’s right for him.”

“That’s why people date. To find someone who is right for them, and that’s a decision that no one else can make for another person.”

Roland nods, considering it. “Then why did you and Aunt Ruby set him up with Emma?”

“Because he’s a really good guy and she's nice and… we thought they might be good together.”

“I like Regina better.”

“Who?”

“Regina,” he says, as if she should know. “The lady who wrote the letter on the pretty paper.” He grins. “She likes Hemingway just like dad does, she has a son who is in Boy Scouts and I’ll be in Boy Scouts next year, and she makes great lasagna, dad’s favorite.” Roland grins as he considers it, and then his grin fades away. “Emma makes Shepherd’s pie. It was not good.”

“Not everyone is gifted in the kitchen.”

“I know, that’s why dad needs someone who is.”

At that, Belle laughs. “So where is this Regina person from?”

“Connecticut.”

“Roland, that’s really far away. It’s all the way on the other side of the country.”

“I know where Connecticut is. I looked it up on the big map at school.” He pauses and takes another bite of the sandwich. “But Gus says a long distance relationship can be a good thing because abstinence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Um, I think you mean absence, Roland.”

“Yeah. That. That’s what Gus said.”

Belle’s eyes narrow. “Gus as in the little boy that’s coming over to play?”

“To work on a project.”

“Oh, are you not friends with Gus that way?”

“He’s my best friend.”

“Oh, I just…” Belle stops. “Never mind.”

“Well, that may or may not be true, but who am I to argue with the sage advice of a six year old?”

“Gus is seven. He had a late birthday, so he could have been in second grade.”

A grin twists on to Belle’s lips. “That explains it then.”

“Yeah…”

The doorbell rings just as Roland is finishing his sandwich, and as soon as it does, he stuffs the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and runs to the door. And Belle can’t help but laugh as he pulls open the front door, grabs a hold of his friend’s wrist and drags him up the stairs without a word…

“You should see this letter,” Roland says, closing the door behind him.

“Is the paper nice? My mom says that’s how you know someone cares—when they send you something nice.” Gus nods with a serious expression on his round face. “It’s all about the effort, ya know.?”

Roland nods in agreement. “It’s very nice.”

“Then she really likes your dad.”

“Yeah,” Roland says, grabbing the letter from his night stand. “And she included so many of the things my dad likes, without even knowing it.”

“Wow.”

“I know,” Roland says handing his friend the letter. “Look.”

He watches as Gus looks at the envelope, examining it carefully as if looking for clues, then he unfolds the letter, his eyes slowly moving over the words. “You read this?”

“Well… not.. not all of it,” Roland admits. “Just the words I know. But I can tell it’s a really good letter.” He grins. “She quoted Hemingway, and one of the quotes she uses, my dad has a journal that says that same thing on the front.”

“Cool.”

“Right? She is a good cook, too.”

“My dad says that’s super important.”

“Her best meals are my dad’s favorite which is lasagna and then my favorite, apple pie.”

“That’s amazing,” Gus says, his eyes widening a little. “Why did your dad say?”

Roland frowns. “He didn’t read it.”

“Why not?”

“He’s got a girlfriend.”

“Does she make apple pie?”

“No, she makes Shepherd's pie.”

“Ew.”

Roland nods. “It had peas in it.”

“Gross. She’s gotta go.”

“Yeah,” Roland frowns. “She’s… not that bad, really. She rollerblades, I guess.”

“Has she taken you?”

“No.”

“Oh. Then what good is that?”

“I don't know,” Roland admits, “Maybe she will someday.”

“But maybe your Dad’ll dump her before that.”

“I hope so,” Roland says, a little grin pulling onto his lip. “That’s why I invited you over, actually.”

“Need me to throw a fire and scare her of? My dad says I’m ‘specially skilled at making people wanna leave when I get upset about stuff.” He giggles. “Have you ever seen Parent Trap?”

“No. “What’s that?”

“Only the best movie ever. Twins scare off their dad’s terrible girlfriend.”

“Well, I’m not a twin, so I don’t think that would work,” Roland says, considering it as he shifts a bit uncomfortably. “Plus, not actually terrible. I don’t want to scare her,” he says. “I just want her to break up with my dad ‘cause there’s someone better for him.”

“That’s the point,” Gus says. “To make Emma go away.”

“I have a better idea, though,” Roland says, sitting up a little straighter and smiling at his own cleverness. “We are going to write her.”

“Her—“

“Regina,” Roland says. “We are going to write back to her.”

“We’re in first grade, Roland.”

“But we’re the best writers in our class. Our teacher is always saying that.”

Gus nods. “That’s true.”

“So, together, I think we could probably write a pretty good one.”

For a moment, Gus considers it. “We did get an A on that Halloween story was wrote together.”

“Exactly.” Taking a breath, Gus looks down at the letter. “I have some ideas. I started yesterday.”

“Let’s see.”

Reaching back into the nightstand, Roland pulls a lined piece of paper from the drawer. “It’s, just a draft, obviously.” He says, handing the paper over to Gus, watching as Gus reads it to himself then clears his throat to read aloud.

“Dear Regina,” he begins.”You sound really neat—“ Gus grins up at him. “That's a good line.”

“I thought so,” Roland beams.

“You should tell her how much you like lasagna next.”

“Yeah! And why!”

“Good,” Gus nods, looking down at the rest of the letter. “That's good. She is going to love this!”

_____

March 6, 1993- Greenwich, Connecticut:

That evening she and Daniel went out on a date—dinner while Henry was at a friend’s working on a project for school. Daniel suggested the little place in Hartford where they’d gone on their first date, and she’d easily agreed—Henry didn't have to be picked up until nearly eight that evening and it’d have nice to eat in a restaurant that didn’t have children’s section on the menu.

They took her car and when they got into the freeway, Daniel flicked on the radio, and almost immediately her cheeks flushed at the sound of Doctor Hopper’s voice.

“Isn’t this that show you like so much?”

Regina shrugs. “I’m, um… I’m actually doing a story for work on this show.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s... it’s about its emotional appeal.”

“Ohh, that's… that’s actually really interesting. I’d like to hear about it sometime,” Daniel tells her, offering a quick little grin. “When did you start this?”

“Um, a couple of weeks ago.”

“Is it—“

“Can we… not talk about it right now? I’ve spent the whole day thinking about the angle I wasn’t to take for this story and what my argument is going to be, and I just… I just want to focus on something else.”

“Yeah, sure,” Daniel says easily, not seeming to pick up any any of her discomfort over this particular topic. “Do you want to change the station?”

“No,” she murmurs. “I do like this show. It’s… it’s oddly calming.”

“Alright then,” Daniel says, grinning as he looks over at her. “We’ll listen, but not discuss.”

“Perfect,” she says, grinning back.

Daniel tuns up the sound just as Doctor Hopper comes back informing listeners  that he’s talking to couples who are sure they’ve found the key to a long-lasting and healthy marriage. And then, they listen to a string of callers explain to Doctor Hopper and his listeners how they married someone they felt was their best friend.

When they arrive at the restaurant, the host leads them to the same table they’d ate at on their first date and she and Daniel had both laugh at the coincidence—and then something glitters in Daniel’s eyes.

And again, she found herself with an uneasy feeling that has become commonplace whenever she thinks he might be considering a proposal.

They get through an appetizer and dinner—and then, after their desert arrives, she watches Daniel reach into the breast pocket of his jacket and pull out a ring box.

She masks her discomfort with surprise and suddenly when the box opens, revealing to her a gorgeous antique ring that he tells her was his mother’s, the entire restaurant is staring that them.

She’s not even sure what he says when he asks because she can’t hear him over the beating of her heart and the voice in her head that tells her this is too soon—but he smiles and the crowded restaurant aww’s and she finds herself nodding, reminding herself that Daniel is, by far, the sweetest, kindest man she’s ever met, that he loves her son and that he loves her, and she reminds herself that she would be a complete fool not to want to marry him.

And as she stares at him with a hundred conflicting thoughts going through her head, she couldn’t help but think there were far worse things than marrying a man like Daniel Colter; and while she and Daniel might not have had passion, but perhaps they had something better.

She comfort and ease, understanding and trust and the sort of love that came from what seemed to be rekindled friendship.

So, she says yes.

The restaurant claps and Daniel pulls her into a warm hug—and she sort of melts into him as she feels a burst of contentment that lasts for the rest of the evening.

And then, she gets home.

Mal is there, curled up one he armchair with a glass of wine, her brow arched skeptically.

“Thank you, for, um,... for picking Henry up.”

“He’s never any trouble.”

Regina smiles. “Is he already asleep.”

“Yeah, He went to bed about a half an hour ago. You just—“ Mal stops and sits up a little straighter as her eyes fall to Regina’s hand. “Oh, so that’s why you were detained.”

Smiling Regina nods. “We… um… we had some unexpected celebrating to do.”

“I’ll say, Mal says, getting up and cross the room toward her. “He finally did it.”

“He finally did.”

“And, you obviously said yes.”

I did,” Regina says smiling a bit shyly. “I… wasn’t sure, but then there he was with the ring and—“

“Regina—“

“I love him. I do. And what we have might not be perfect, but it’s incredible and I’m happy and I’ve never been as happy as I am with him.”

“What about Sleepless in Seattle?”

“Sleepless in Seattle doesn't even know that I exist.”

Mal nods, biting down on her lip. “What happened to not being able to get him out of your head?”

“He’s a fantasy Mal. He’s not real… not… not to me anyway.” She shakes her head. “And Daniel is very real and when I’m with him I feel—“

“Magic?”

“Mal—“

“Please don’t do this, Mal,” Regina says, pressing her eyes closed as she sighs. “Please just let me have this.”

“What about your story?”

“What’s about it? Regina asks, stepping away from Mal. “I can still write it.”

“Really? Because I got the impression the story was an excuse.”

“The story isn’t an excuse. It’s… it’s just something I’m interested in.” She shakes her head. “I… I think I was going down a really unhealthy road, and… and tonight sort of… snapped me back and put me down a different path.”

“A better one?”

“A healthier one. One that’s based on something real, not… not some obsession.” Something about that makes Mal soften. “For so long I was so unhappy, and I spent years building up this idea of what love is supposed to be.”

“You deserve a fairytale.”

“Fairytales aren't real, Mal. They’re not and what I have with Daniel is very real.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“I love him, Mal, and when I envision what our life together would be like, I really like what I see.” She smiles gently. “We’ll be happy.”

“You don’t seem excited.”

“I am, and for the first time in my life, I feel like… like I’m finally in a good place. Please, Just… let me have that.”

Mal sighs and nods,m and then a warm smile pulls onto her lips. “Okay, fine,” Mal says, take a few steps in and pulling her into a hug. “If you're happy, then I’m happy.”

“Thank you,” Regina murmurs as Mal pulls back.

“Okay, so I want you to tell me everything, Mal says, her smile brightening as she takes Regina by the hand. “Don’t leave anything out!”

[wallysbestie]

50 Questions Tag

uwu i was tagged by @mias97! thanks sweetie!

ill put this under a read more because its pretty long :’)

1. what takes up too much of your time? homework and classes :’)

2. what makes you day better? being able to talk @felegs easily makes my day 110% better

3. what’s the best thing that happened to you today? i got to play dnd with my friends today and thats always one of my day’s biggest highlight on sundays

4. what fictional place would you like to go?  uhhhh i wiukd kive ti hope into the world of the Night Circus? like circuses popping up suddenly and randomly and showing cool magic?? i love

5. are you good at giving advice? i am yeah im a very motherly psyc major with too much experience under my belt so im usually really great at helping people

6. do you have any mental illness? i do yes~

7. have you ever experienced sleep paralysis? no luckily god i cant imagine ever going through that

8. what musician inspired you the most? Garret Rapp and Tablo

9. have you ever fallen in love? i have yeah

10. what’s your dream date? night time beach or park adventure

11. what do others notice about you? my motherly nature :’) i’m always immediately told how kind and uplifting i am upon meeting people

12. what is the annoying habit you have? i tend to bite on my lip or tug on my piercings way too much

13. do you still talk to you first love? god luckily not i hope this answer never changes

14. how many ex’s do you have? .....six? official ones? but also 3 of them i dated 2-3 times it was v toxic and like 4 of them really fucked me up emotionally so~~~

15. how many songs are on your playlist? usually range between 6-10 because thats how long it typically takes me to shower and thats the only reason i make them but my longest currently is 337 because its my high school throwback one lmao

16. what instruments can you play? guitar!

17. who do you have the most pictures of? my dog lmao

18. where would you like to go before you die? Seattle, Washington, Boston, Massachusetts, Florence, Italy again and Athens, Greece

19. what is your zodiac? capricorn

20. do you relate to it? oh definitely sadly im very stereotypical for my sign :’)

21. what is happiness to you? not to be like... cliche? but im most happiest when the people around me are safe and happy

22. are you going through anything right now? mmmm im struggling a lot with school and mental health but? thats life i guess?

23. what’s the worst decision you’ve ever made? i??? dont know??? i have a lot of shit i really regret saying/doing but i dont know which would be considered my worst decision? actually no i know its having given my mom a second chance to be back in my life when i was in high school

24. what’s your favourite store? mmmm bath and bodyworks. im a big slut for candles and they have many

25. what’s your opinion on abortion? im pro choice man its your life no one else should dictate what you do with it

26. do you keep a bucket list? kinda? yeah i guess lmao

27. do you have a favourite album at the moment? Dawn by The Rose and 4 Your Eyez by J. Cole

28. what do you want for your birthday? ideally? to see vivi. realistically? to get drunk and just forget about responsibilities for a bit

29. what are most peoples first impression of you? super kind and attentive lmao

30. what age do you seem according to most people? either 12 or 21

31. where do you keep your phone while you’re sleeping? in my hand near my ear because i cant sleep without music but i also try to keep my music low enough that my roommate wont hear it

32. what word do you say the most? interesting

33. what’s the oldest age you would date? probably like 25??

34. what’s the youngest age you would date? 18? 19?

35. what job/career do most people say would suit you? psychology, teaching or being an editor

36. what’s your favourite music genre? probably rnb or hiphop/rap

37. if you could live in any country in the world, where would it be? as much as i absolutely hate this country, id probably want to stay in America

38. what is your current favourite song? Glue by Planetarium Records or I’ll Still Have Me by CYN

39. how long have you had this blog for? this blog I’ve had since June

40. what are you excited for? going home and seeing my dog next month :’)

41. are you a better talker or listener? oh definitely listener

42. what is the last productive thing you did? .....i studied thursday morning for the exam i had that day??? i took this weekend off form college and avoided almost all my responsibilities tbh

43. what do you want for christmas? ideally? a rat. realistically? i dunno i asked my aunt to buy my Tablo’s two books and Ikon’s Return album so?

44. what class do you get the best grades in? English courses in general but I’m currently getting the best grades in my Social Influences class

45. on a scale from 1-10, how are you feeling right now? probably like a 4? ive been getting really shitty sleep lately and i think its finally catching up to me and i have a bunch of homework and studying to do so :’) im feeling like crap

46. what can you see yourself doing in 10 years? hopefully graduating with my psyd and working at a hospital in seattle?

47. when did you get your first heartbreak? mmmm probably when i was in 7th grade? that year was real rough and just had back to back heartbreak in romantic and platonic senses lmao

48. at what age do you want to get married? lmao never i don’t want to get married i don’t see a point in it and also the thought of being that fully committed scares the absolute crap outta me

49. what career did you want to have as a child? this is gonna sound weird but from 5-8th grade i really wanted to be a homicide photographer???

50. what do you crave right now? sleep but also caffeine and attention :’)

i dont really,,, have the spoons to think of people to tag lmao so for today, im not gonna tag anyone. if you see this and wanna do it then feel free to tag me but i leave my usual bunch alone for tonight lmao

[viralhottopics]

Fear and loathing in Washington DC: progressives dread Trump inauguration

Amid splendid pomp and pageantry, the eyes of the world are on Donald Trump as the capital is set to stage a battle for the heart of America

Its for real. Donald Trump, billionaire businessman, reality TV celebrity and to his foes bigot and demagogue will place his hand on a Bible, repeat a 35-word oath and be sworn in as the 45th president of the United States. What began with a stunt, lampooned as a joke and dismissed as a fantasy will at noon on Friday become historical truth. Trump will be the most powerful man in the world.

Only the wildest optimists believe his inauguration will deliver a moment of national healing and unity. It comes in the wake of another turbulent week that saw the publication of unverified documents alleging covert links between the Trump campaign and Russia. A chaotic press conference, in which Trump berated a CNN journalist for fake news, did little to instill confidence.

In Washington, hotels were booked and stands were erected in readiness for thousands of Trump loyalists, revelling in his upending of the political order, and thousands of protesters determined to gatecrash his coronation. Amid splendid pomp and pageantry, the capital is set to stage a battle for the heart of America.

This is unlike any inauguration weve seen, said Ben Wikler, Washington director of the progressive group MoveOn.org. Weve never seen a counter-inauguration that dwarfs the crowd at the inauguration itself. It will be unmistakeable where the energy is. It will be in the broad and diverse movement to oppose the Trump agenda.

The eyes of the world will be on Trump, derided by critics as a crude vulgarian who eschews books but is now asked to deliver an inspiring inaugural address just as Abraham Lincoln, Franklin D Roosevelt and John F Kennedy did before him. There will also be a jarring contrast between him and outgoing president Barack Obama, who with his family will depart the US Capitol by helicopter.

Indeed, Trump and Obamas inaugurations will be every bit as different as the men themselves. In 2009, amid the symbolism of Americas first black president, the prevailing theme was hope. Well in excess of a million people braved the cold to fill the National Mall. Yo-Yo Ma played the cello, Aretha Franklin sang and celebrity turnout was unusually high. Four years later, at Obamas second inauguration, performers included James Taylor and Beyonc.

Trumps announced headliners are 16-year-old singer Jackie Evancho who shot to fame on the reality TV show Americas Got Talent, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and the Radio City Rockettes. Several leading entertainers declined invitations to perform. British singer Charlotte Church tweeted: @realDonaldTrump Your staff have asked me to sing at your inauguration, a simple Internet search would show I think youre a tyrant. Bye. Actor Meryl Streep spoke for many in Hollywood when she eviscerated the president-elect at last weekends Golden Globe awards.

Trump and Obamas inaugurations will be every bit as different as the men themselves. Photograph: Timothy A. Clary/AFP/Getty Images

Trump, who at 70 will be the oldest person ever sworn in as US president, this week promised a very, very elegant day with massive crowds, a familiar boast at his campaign rallies. The joint congressional committee on inaugural activities, which oversees all ceremonies, is expecting 700,000 to 750,000 people well short of Obamas total.

The Republican, however, has outgunned Obama financially. Trumps presidential inaugural committee has raised a record sum, more than $90m in private donations, far more than Obamas two inaugural committees, which brought in $55m in 2009 and $43m in 2013. It says any money left over will be donated to charity.

Tom Barrack, the lead planner, told reporters he wanted to avoid a circus-like atmosphere in favour of a more back to work attitude that surrounds Trump with the soft sensuality of the place. Trump, whom Barrack described as the greatest celebrity in the world, is holding three inaugural balls. Obama had 10 after his first inauguration.

For the maverick businessmans voters, it will be a day to savour. Michael Barnett, chairperson of the Republican party in Palm Beach, Florida, said: Ive never been to an inauguration before. Weve worked so hard for the last 15 months and now we get to see our effort pay off. Im sure Ill be lost in the moment and it will take a while to sink in. Its going to be great but we know its just the beginning.

Barnett, a 39-year-old African American lawyer, believes Trump can help build unity. Your impression when you meet him face to face and talk to him is very different from what you see on TV, he said. Hes a really good guy and I really like him. Hell do a good job.

Benjamin Marchi, 38 and the owner of a healthcare business in Easton, Maryland, will also be present. Its going to be a great day, a wonderful day, full of excitement, he said. It might be similar to election night. He is truly our first independent president because of his willingness to not pander to segments of the Republican party that are typically pandered to.

Fear is an even stronger emotion than anger

But along with the celebrations, there will be a week of protest against a man who insulted Mexicans and Muslims and boasted about groping women. There were demonstrations against Richard Nixon in 1973 and George W Bush in 2001, but nothing on the scale Trump faces in Washington, a liberal bastion where he took just 4% of the vote (even Bush managed 9% in 2000).

About 30 groups have secured permits to protest before, during and after the inauguration. Photograph: Paul J. Richards/AFP/Getty Images

Bill Galston, a former policy adviser to Bill Clinton, said: The tone and temper of the election campaign has people worried. There are a lot of people genuinely scared. Fear is an even stronger emotion than anger.

About 30 groups have secured permits to protest before, during and after the inauguration. District police and the US secret service plan to have some 3,000 officers and 5,000 national guard troops available, claiming this will be enough to ensure the inauguration goes ahead even if protesters try to disrupt it.

The biggest gathering will be on Saturday, the Womens March on Washington, which organisers say could draw more than 200,000 people. Actors Amy Schumer, Scarlett Johansson, America Ferrera and Felicity Huffman will be among those taking part. Its organisers did not respond to requests for comment but Wikler of MoveOn.org said: The march will send a message to every policymaker in Washington that the public is mobilised and ready to fight.

The public is overwhelmingly opposed to Trumps attitudes on womens rights, immigrants rights and LGBT rights. Progressives are banding together in a way we havent seen in a decade. People are dusting off their marching shoes. A massive march can show which way the political wind is blowing.

Inaugurations are traditionally a time of bipartisan solidarity, and Trumps will be attended by Clinton and his wife Hillary Clinton, the shock loser in a uniquely poisonous election campaign. But some Democratic members of Congress are boycotting the event, among them John Lewis, a distinguished civil rights leader who told NBCs Meet the Press that he does not see Trump as a legitimate president, arguing that Russian interference helped get him elected.

On Saturday, Trump made his feelings about Lewis clear, using Twitter to say that Lewis should stop falsely complaining about the election results. Such critics, he said, were all talk, talk, talk no action or results.

Obama dedicates his final weekly address to the American people

Robert Schenkkan, a Pulitzer prize-winning playwright whose latest work, Building the Wall, tackles the rise of Trump, said: Its a tricky balance for the Democratic party. How much of this transition should be honoured in traditional ways and, given this is not business as usual, how much we should not be playing by the old rules?

Im among those who feel the Democrats are turning up at the gunfight at OK Corral with a knife. There is no polite resistance to this. There is nothing but all-out resistance.

Schenkkan, 63, said this inauguration was different from any he can remember. Its a deeply divisive day. There will be people there who are exultant because they feel theyve been wandering in the desert for the past eight years, but the majority of the country feels differently.

The social glue that holds politics together in this country is under assault. It feels like were entering uncharted territory.

The centrepiece of the day will be Trumps inaugural address. He told friends that Ronald Reagans style and Kennedys articulation of grand national ambitions were key to the drafting of his own speech, the Washington Post reported. Kennedys inaugural address, 56 years to the day before Trumps, included the now celebrated line: Ask not what your country can do for you ask what you can do for your country.

Bob Shrum, a political consultant, said: Kennedys address widened and deepened the definition of what it is to be an American. It had a rare eloquence.

I dont think you can expect that of Donald Trump.

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