rose is out of town

“The other day I was sitting at a café in LA, and someone came over and sat at the table next to me. There was a half-drunk coffee on the table and I said, ‘Feel free to finish that.’ I was being silly, obviously, but the person looked at me disapprovingly, as if I thought they were homeless or something. That’s such a New Zealand thing to have that kind of rapport with someone you don’t know. But that kind of humour doesn’t necessarily fly with people in the US.”


Catch Happily Ever After, Sundays 9|8c on Disney’s AU!

Regina Mills (Evil Queen, Victoria Stone) and Emma Swan (Savior and daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, Rose Turner) battle it out in the premier season of Disney’s new hit show! Fairytales come to life in this modern twist of the classic tales we all know and love when a curse sends all of our favorite characters to our world, a world without magic.

Will Rose Turner be able to save the town? Tune in to find out!

anonymous asked:

Connor tries to plan the perfect valentine's day to impress Oliver but everything that day goes awfully wrong,such as getting soaked in the rain,missing their reservations and food poisoning to name a few (I am hurt/comfort-fluff trash)

So am I;) Happy Valentine’s Day!

Connor wants tonight to be perfect. Not because he hasn’thad plenty of good Valentine’s Days or anything; he has. Awesome ones, actually. But tonight is going to be perfect in the sense of how romantic it is, and not just because the guy is good in bed—though that’s pretty great too.

It also needs to be perfect as a general I’m sorry for all the shit they’ve been through lately; after all, the last time Connor stood outside of Oliver’s door with a bouquet of flowers wasn’t the result of such pleasant circumstances. The flowers tonight are different, though. They’re not I’m-sorry-I-cheated-on-you yellow, but rather did-you-know-every-flower-shop-in-town-is-out-of-red-roses-by-three-on-Valentine’s-but-I-hope-you-like-these-anyway-because-I-like-you pink.  

“Hey,” Oliver says, pulling the door open almost as soon as Connor knocks. He’s wearing a black suit and his tie is Connor’s favorite shade of blue, and Connor can’t help but smile; they’re off to a good start already.

“You look great,” Connor breathes, and Oliver blushes.

He opens his mouth to respond, but cuts himself off with a violent sneeze—all over the flowers, and all over Connor.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs, pulling a tissue from his pocket— and the fact that he carries balled up tissues in his fancy suit jacket is a whole nother level of adorable— and wipes his nose. The tips of his ears turn as pink as the flowers, and he awkwardly reaches out, dabbing at Connor’s chest with a second tissue. “Stop laughing,” he demands.

Connor would like to, really, but Oliver is just too cute, and the way his voice had risen an octave with the request is unbearable. “I’m sorry,” he manages, plucking the tissue from Oliver’s hand and shoving it in his own pocket this time. “I’m sorry. I’m done.”

“Good,” Oliver says, but the flush has spread to his cheeks. “I um… I’m allergic to roses. I’m sorry, I should’ve said something before you bought them.”

“No,” Connor says, waving him off. “No big deal. C’mon, let’s just go get dinner.”

Oliver locks the door behind him, and Connor drops the flowers in the trash can at the end of the hall.


Connor turns the key in his car’s ignition, but nothing happens. He tries again. And again. And again.

“Uhh… it’s not working.”

“Has it been breaking down lately?”

“No. I drove it here, and it’s been fine for months.”


Connor tries again, only to be greeted with a pathetic whining sound. Probably an expensive whining sound.

“It’s not working,” he says again.

“My car’s in the shop,” Oliver sighs.

“Of course it is.”

Universe: 1, Connor: 0.

“We can walk,” Oliver offers.

Walking. Walking and holding hands. That could be romantic.

“Aright,” Connor agrees, opening his door and walking around to get Oliver’s. “Let’s walk.”


It rains.

Of course it rains. Why the hell shouldn’t it rain? That seems fair.

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Nowhere Where I Lived

they talk about nowhere. they talk about nowhere with their mouths curling viciously like pythons, eyes rolling up towards the sky as they shake their heads and wave off those holy places they grew up in. they don’t talk about how nowhere shapes you, how it primes you, how it’s as sublime as watching the moon still in calm waters. i was raised by nowhere, pampered by it; i take a part of nowhere with me, floating, always like the log, wherever i go.

i was a little bit in love with my little slice of no man’s land, or every man’s land, as they like to say in the desert. the suburbs stretch for miles, like an ancient quilt you might find at a curiosity store, worn & rugged and yet beautiful, laced in striking colors that make your eyes pop out of your head. had my first kiss in a nameless stretch of highway, one of the many ghost roads that rose out past the town’s limits. we’d drive out after midnight to a strip mall parking lot on a school night and chew on liquorice we bought from the dollar store atop hoods of our fathers’ old pick-ups, all drunk on youth & half-priced diner liquor. we would watch the late evening sunlight, bright as honey, bouncing off the sanddunes with soft serve ice cream drizzling down our chins and pupils eclipsed in wonder.

i made a prayer in a convinience store. i stole a few dimes off a dive bar counter. sometimes we’d throw empty beer bottles into our neighbour’s well-groomed front lawns, drift aimlessly around an abandoned church that evoked abandoned feelings, a worship that solidified our heartland. we circled each other like the beetles in May; round porch lights and antique malls and the strange coffee shop off Route 77. a forest where people oft dissapeared mysteriously embroidered our nowhere. we cut our wedding cakes where the stained glass paintings with moving eyes could watch. sold our souls on cross country roads. blamed the strange smells on the roadkill and the musk and the algae and the swamps.

it was like living in someone’s strange dream. it was like holding hands with a ghost. it was my oddest summer and my childhood home. it was my first heartbreak and my first love song. it was a graveyard and a temple. and maybe that’s what makes up the patchwork of all these cold warring states, nowheres stacked upon nowheres, a small town and then grassland and then highway and then another small town and then so forth. each one as insignificant as the last, and each one as vast as a planet of its very own, a snaking orbit of shifting, whirling, forgotten planets all named Nowhere.