#THAT POEM IS ALREADY TOO SWEET AND HAVING TO SING IT WAS A DEATH SENTENCE

[ghostpebble]

"#i carry your heart with me by ee cummings"

i got to sing that with my choir and when i say the song does SO right by the poem, the story feels so much like pouring your heart out because you can't keep it all inside

Alright tell me in the tags, what’s Your Poem? That poem you heard once and it has dwelt within you ever since?

[lesbiulmo]

Be Fruitful And Multiply

The sweet sound of a child struggling through the first sentence of Rochon Methestel greet the captain of the guard as he turns the corner. Strange, that this family chose to do a chalakah around the white tree- that practice was all but abandoned in 2872 with its death. Most of the residents of Minas Tirith began to do it around regular fruit trees like everyone else. A very few abandoned the ceremony altogether, saying anyone who still celebrates this tradition in the face of the death of the tree of Gondor is a fool. Only the stewards still do the ceremony around the white tree.

The somewhat somber air lent by the dead tree was dispelled in a sudden burst of laughter as the boy licked the honey off of the entire first sentence. "Damrod, sweetie, you need to say each word before you lick it," his mother reminds him. He nods, bashful, and more honey is spread on the wooden board inscribed with the song that tells of the ride of Borondir.

Boromir had made no such mistakes at his own chalakah. He read each word loud and clear, then carefully licked the honey, making sure not to get any from the words he wasn't up to. That morning he had walked around with his chest puffed out, so proud. He wasn't a baby anymore! He was a budding hero! Five years old, like all the fingers on his hand, and one day they would sing of him like they do of Borondir. Already his worries from the night before had dissipated. He had been a bit nervous, despite his parents promise that it doesn't hurt to have your hair cut, that it's just like nails. He didn't want to say goodbye to his long gorgeous curls, even if there was no pain.

No, he was over that already. Boromir learned young that the sacrifice of beauty was a small price to pay for the safety of his home. But back then he still thought being a hero would be sweet as the honey the story was coated in.

The boy finishes reading. All the schoolchildren clap for him. His father gives him a bag of sweets to hand out to the students, and laughter fills the yard again as he tries to discreetly stuff some in his pocket.

Boromir closes his eyes and allows himself half a minute to imagine Theodred's laugh amongst the rest.

Theodred. Ah, Theodred. The sweetest reminder of the failure of all that his chalakah stood for. Once, soon after they had discovered all the ways that they are the same, Theodred had joked that Boromir was this way because his chalakah had been under a dead and fruitless tree. Theodred always managed to make him laugh at the things that plagued his sleepless nights. Sometimes Boromir wondered if Tarannon Falastur was like this, too, and Narmacil. 

It was Narmacil's brother who instituted the tradition. Until five years of age (to represent the five generations between the two childless kings), sons in the king's line should have no haircuts, as a symbol for his line not to be cut off early. It was meant only for the royal family, but everyone liked the idea and it became a nationwide tradition. Those who lived near the tree did it there, as another symbol for a fruitful life, and those who lived farther away did it by their own fruit trees. After Borondir's time, the honey-licking was added to the ceremony. At five years old, a child is no longer a baby, and he starts his journey to serve his country with the taste of honey on his tongue.

Sometimes Boromir wondered, if Gondor survived past his time, would his own brother be left to take over his destiny? Would he be the next Narmacil? Boromir II, first childless steward of Gondor. No, he didn't wonder. Somehow he always knew that if anyone was left to write, it would be his brother's name written after his father's.

Boromir sighs and leaves the boy to his celebration. In his room, he takes out a drawing Theodred made for him that same night he jokes about Boromir's chalakah. It's a drawing of young Boromir, huge round cheeks smeared with honey. His curls have the sharp look of freshly cut hair, and he grins, eyes sparkling. He looks so alive. Theodred had made two copies, one for each of them, and it was a comfort to know that his beloved might right now be holding the copy of what he has in his hands. Almost as if they're holding hands from far away, looking at the same sky when they can't look at each other.

Boromir could not forget those fruits; destiny, ancient childless kings, what they lived for and he will die for- but he is alive now, and he has Theodred now. 

Background

A chalakah (also called upsherin) is the Jewish tradition for boys to get their first haircut at age three. It's when little boys take on a lot of other traditions:

Peyot- sidelocks. This is the primary purpose of the chalakah. Jewish men are not allowed to cut certain areas of hair around the temples, and the first haircut is when that becomes visible.

Boys get their first kipah and tzitzit at the chalakah.

Some have the tradition to bring boys to a school after the chalakah. There, they lick honey off a board printed with the aleph-bet (Hebrew alphabet) so that learning Torah should be sweet for them. I substituted the aleph-bet for Rochon Methestel, Ride of the Last Hope, which is an epic poem/song that tells of Borondir's ride. When Balchoth threatened Gondor, six riders were sent to seek help from Eorl, but only Borondir returned. Heroic deeds to save the country is similar enough to being central to Gondorian life in the way Torah is to Jewish life.

There are a couple reasons cited as the source of the tradition. Some sources say to do the first haircut as early as thirteen weeks while other say as late as five years. I chose five years to fit with the five generations between Falastur and Narmacil.

There was a feast when Isaac was weaned on his third birthday.

Three years old marks the transition from babyhood to childhood, when the child is no longer completely dependent on the mother.

For three years after a fruit tree is planted, the fruit cannot be eaten. This is where I got the theme of fruitfulness.

:)

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Trieste Venture (End) - S Nami Bolg

In this entry, the MC sings a song that is commonly heard in Russia around Christmas time though it’s not necessarily a Christmas Song.

"We actually survived." Lu Mingfei gasped. "I thought several times that I should start chanting poems."

Chu Zihang was next to you, checking your blood pressure. You were still far too weak to participate in the conversation. Or even get annoyed at Mingfei again. All your strength reserves were completely exhausted. Caesar was strapped into his seat but still out cold.

So he prattled on. "I used to read a book and said that Japanese generals would recite a death poem when they died." He rolled his eyes up to the sky. "What is "Heaven" There must be light at the end, and the clouds and mists are scattered. There is only a bright moon in the heart. Forty-nine years of prosperity, a dream, a wine cup in the first phase of glory, and what else is there? When I wake up, I will go to sleep", he recited. "I thought that was particularly sensational."

　　"It wasn't that they started chanting just before they died," Chu Zihang said. "In fact, most Japanese military commanders have a mediocre level of education. They used to find someone who could write poetry to do it well, and they just chanted before they died. "

　　"That’s what I said. What if I only say 'Heroes forgive me, there are no poems left?’"

Chu Zihang let the air out of the blood pressure cuff and held up his blade. "I need to check your blood. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." You turn away but can help but flinch when the blade scores your skin.

What comes out is a mixture of crimson and inky black ooze. It seemed to be a fifty fifty ratio. 

"Is it bad?"

"It's not good. If you use Blood Rage again there's no saving you. I'll have to kill you."

"Thanks."

Chu Zihang suddenly stared at you, unsure of what you're thanking him for. If he asked, you're not sure you could answer.

"I feel dizzy."

"We're low on oxygen… but also Something else survived," Chu Zihang said.

You looked at the screen, thousands of black shadows were floating up from the bottom of the sea at high speed, gathering together like black vortexes. The group of mermaid hybrids, the last group who escaped from Takamagahara, was exceptionally large; they were not affected by the nuclear explosion. A huge figure appeared in the black whirlpool formed by the mermaid group. Every time it swept the sea with its long tail, it was accompanied by countless undercurrents and countless whirlpools. The mermaids floated around it, because when the thing was swimming, an upward high-speed current was formed around it, just like fish schools like to migrate with giant whales sometimes. The fastest were already approaching the Trieste, and under the spotlight, their ice crystal-like tusks reflected dazzling light.

"Do you still want to chant poems now?" Chu Zihang asked.

"Like a hero!" Lu Mingfei sobbed.

The depth is about 3,000 meters, and when the inertia brought by the nuclear explosion shock wave is exhausted, they will have no way to accelerate.

Chu Zihang might be able to release Royal Fire again, but the submersible could not withstand the impact. The outer shell was making a frightening tearing sound, and the resin porthole was deforming at a speed visible to the naked eye. Royal Fire and the nuclear explosion shock wave caused irreversible damage to the shell of the deep submersible, so it would be nice if they could float to the surface in this way. The remaining hope is the safety rope. You're just waiting for Chisei's safety rope to pull.

"I seem to hear the sound of cracking eggs." Lu Mingfei whispered.

"This is our shell cracking." Chu Zihang said.

It did sound like the sound of an eggshell breaking, and the cracks slowly extended on the surface. The sound of metal tearing and curling was sickening, and it was followed by a "pop", and then the sound of fluid surging.

"It is leaking, but the water has not intruded into the cockpit." Chu Zihang said, "Trieste has a double metal shell, with light kerosene between the two layers. Now the shell is perforated and the kerosene is leaking."

"Hey Sumeru! Sumeru! Hurry! We need the support of a safety cable!" Chu Zihang yelled.

"They're not answering." You whisper. You're feeling sleepy. At any moment, your eyes will close and you won't open them again. Exhausted from the fight, Blood Rage and the serum, the lack of oxygen won't allow you to regain strength.

The Trieste stopped ascending, and now it was surrounded by a group of mermaids.

The behemoth floated in the observation window. It was a black dragon swinging its long tail in the sea. That was the thing that was struggling in the crack in the seabed just now. At the last moment it finally broke through the seabed and escaped. Its golden pupils are like giant candles, and its decayed body is draped with ancient armor. The armor is connected by layers of bronze chains. Between the bare ribs, swimming in the abdominal cavity, were a swarm of ghost tooth dragon vipers! It turns out that the body of this thing is the nest of the ghost tooth dragon viper. As if thousands of lights were lit at the same moment, the eyes of the sleeping fish all awoke. Endless numbers press to chew their way into the cockpit. The king of these mutants opens its mouth in a silent roar, and his teeth are as transparent as crystal.

To your oxygen starved brain, the lights of their eyes and the silvery flashing of scales and teeth become mixed with the dreamy memory of Christmas lights and falling snow.  You suddenly feel warm inside and smile. It was irritating, but Racoon Boy is right. You really want to sing right now.

S Nami Bolg, ‘God is With Us’ was that old Christmas song, a triumphant challenge to opponents. The lyrics said that if they so much as dared come against them, they would be met with a resounding defeat. But it was easy for children to learn, because all they needed to know were the words “God is With Us” to sing along after every verse.

In your mind, as you sing the lyrics in the mix of a voice and a hoarse whisper, you can hear the voices of your friends, older and younger, singing with you as you stare into the eyes of the decayed dragon without a trace of fear. You can almost feel Renata standing beside you. She always had a sweet voice and you worked to match the way hers sounded in your mind. You imagine her glancing at you with her coquettish, mischievous manner. Your attempts to match hers weren’t a challenge but what was friendship without at least a little rivalry?

So your voice grows stronger with hers trembling in the soprano range.

“God is with us! Understand this, O nations, and submit yourselves! Hear this, even to the farthest bounds of the earth. For God is With us… God is with us…”

Chu Zihang sat back in his seat with a soft sigh. By the third lyric, he could mouth the words, God is with us, in Russian.

The dragon slowly opened its ribs as to though answer this challenge, and the ghost tooth dragon vipers leaped out of their nest. They pounced on the Trieste. It was like the sound of millions of silkworms chewing on mulberry leaves, violently biting. Outside, the portholes are densely packed with the golden eyes of the fish and the teeth marks on the plexiglass are growing deeper. There were terrible sounds in all directions. The fish were not only biting the plexiglass, but also drilling holes in the metal bulkhead. Thousands of them are now swimming between the outer shell and the inner shell. These fish that can chew through anything, are eating the fiber optic cables and the insulation as though it were food.

The lights on the control consoles went out. The water pressure meter and the ampere meter swung to zero.

The last layer to protect them was the metal inner shell.

Chu Zihang reached out his hand to you and it closed around your fingers. “It was nice meeting you.” He said.

“Same.” You replied.

You turn to Lu Mingfei who took your other hand. “I’m also… very happy.” His voice was choked. “I’m sure… the Boss would say something heroic but… I’m sure he’s happy he met you too.”

You let out a breath. “It’s weird… I’m saying good-bye ag-...”

You never finish that sentence. The porthole collapsed and the sea filled the cockpit like a sledgehammer, breaking the supports holding your seat to the deck and then tearing you out of the seatbelts themselves. You’re violently sucked out of the cockpit and into the swirling ocean with nothing to protect you from the frigid water or the debris. Things are striking you and you’re filled with fear, but your eyes are squeezed tightly shut.

You feel a sudden burst of heat and the debris striking you is blown away. Royal Fire? You open your eyes but you can’t see anything but blue ocean and a bit of shining light. Your mind, finally starved completely, mercifully shuts down before you can even start to drown.

[daisiesforlacey]

clouds - chapter 4 : altostratus

Pair : Julie x Alive!Luke

Summary : After her mother’s death, Julie Molina moved away from Hollywood, across the country, to Ithaca, New York. She’s left behind her two loves in life: her best friend, Luke, and her music. There, she finds new friends and enemies, new experiences and joys, she might even find herself. Every night, Luke calls Julie to talk about the clouds. But what if Luke is hiding something?

Word Court : 4,148

Warnings : N/A (Unless you see any, if so please notify me!)

Notes : This is really just fluff!! I love Alex and Willie, absolute babies. Please please leave feedback, I love knowing my writing is appreciated!!

Masterlist

Taglist

---

Julie didn’t hate English. In fact, it was quite the opposite. She was good with words, they came naturally to her. She seemed to think in sentences, which made writing essays one of the easiest things for her to do in school. Her favorite thing to do was to write songs, and they seemed to be everywhere, in every part of literature: poems were songs without a backing track, metaphors described heartbreak and being alive and feeling free just the way lyrics do, sentences were structured with a sort of reading rhythm, a pulse. She really did enjoy English. 

It was just sometimes, English could be a bore. 

Her teacher was going on and on about the importance of how authors write their stories or tales, and yeah, Julie could get behind that. But right now, as she drew shapes with her eraser on her desk, the monologue was putting her to sleep.

She pushed her loose curls back from where they were casting a curtain over her eyes and looked across the classroom until her mind wandered far enough away to where she couldn’t hear the teacher.

Last night, Luke had seemed weird. Weirder than normal. She wasn’t used to having to pry information out of the boy, he was usually an open book. Her brow furrowed; he had seemed so reluctant to tell her about Reggie and Alex, people she had already met last year. 

And why hadn’t he told her about his family? Emily and Mitch had treated her like their own daughter, always inviting her to stay for dinner and to ‘stop by whenever, you’re no burden,’ and they treated Luke like he had hung the moon. The last thing she had heard about them was a few months ago, when Luke had ranted about how they just didn’t understand them sometimes, but Julie had figured that that was pretty normal. She pursed her lips and thought maybe it had just slipped his mind; she didn’t tell him too much about Carlos’ ghost hunting, or her father’s new photography excursions. 

But she couldn’t help but worry. She and Luke were thick as thieves, they would talk for hours, although that had been cut short as of late, about everything. What if he was hiding something big from her? What had happened to one of his parents? Julie would totally understand his aversion of the topic. 

But what if he and his friends were in trouble? What if they had gotten arrested? What if he was locked away in some juvenile institute where he only had one call a day, and he had used that to call her? What if he had tripped, or fell off of a ladder, or got hit by a car, or done something so completely Luke that he had landed himself in the ICU?

Oh god, what if he was doing drugs! Julie didn’t know if she could handle it if Luke had gone off the deep end. 

“Partners?”

Julie stopped her doodling to look up to her left at the blond. She smiled sheepishly, “Yeah, of course.”

Nick was in two of her classes, music and English, and so far, had proved to be nothing like his girlfriend. He was sweet and smart and all around helpful; he had been her tour guide on the first day of school. She just didn’t understand how someone as nice as him, could end up with such a foil of himself as Carrie. See, she did pay attention. 

“I’m not going to lie, I completely zoned out. What are we doing?” She looked down to see that she had an assignment on her desk.

Nick laughed as he explained the assignment to her, having to do with last night's reading. As they completed it, they chatted.

“Your guitar solo yesterday was pretty killer,” Julie winced, she was yet again picking up more traits of Luke’s, “Did you write that yourself?,”

“Thanks! Yep, I tried to make it Brian May-esque with a hint of Jeremy Spencer. I don’t know if that had translated, though.”

To be honest, Julie didn’t know either. She knew some names here and there, she certainly knew Brian May, but this was more Luke’s territory. And even if she did, she wasn’t exactly paying close attention to it. So she played it safe.

“I think you definitely achieved the vibe you wanted.” Julie scribbled down an answer. She knew he wouldn’t bring up her lack of a performance.

Nick hummed, changing the subject, “You go to the park a lot.” Her eyebrows shot up as his eyes widened. “Oh, um, not to be creepy or anying. Although that really did sound creepy, it’s not like I watch you or where you go. I barely notice you! I mean, no, not like that, well I mean I do notice you, we have classes together. We’re talking, we work on projects, but I guess you know that.” He hadn’t looked up from his paper, if anything, his shoulder seemed to shrink in on themselves. 

“What I meant to say is that I have workouts out there sometimes, and you always seem to be there.” He ran a hand over his face before shooting her a lopsided grin. 

Julie huffed, “Yeah I like to look at the sky a lot. Or sometimes I just go there to clear my head.” She sent a sideways glance his way, she had never heard him rant like that, “Are you okay?”

“For sure. Me? Tip-top shape.” He nodded before flicking his hair back. 

While she didn’t particularly like small talk, yet she somehow felt obligated to continue, “How’s practice been going?”

Nick launched into a full fledged word dump of phrases she didn’t know the meanings of, and didn’t want to interrupt to ask. He became enthusiastically animated, forgetting his work and talking with his hands, seeming to bounce out of the seat. His face shone like the sun in the dreary classroom as he went on to talk about strategies and game plays and how they would win this year's championship if only so and so would tighten up here. She didn’t comprehend half of what he was saying, but she couldn’t help but listen. 

She wondered if that’s what she looked like talking about music.

---

Julie sat down at the piano bench with a sigh. Mrs. Harrison, thankfully, had let her redo her piano piece today, which would hopefully save her spot in the music program. Her class stared at her with disinterest, she knew that they didn’t expect anything, but she was ready to prove them wrong. She had copied down Luke’s song onto sheet music and had set it on the piano, then looked to Flynn. She shot her an ear splitting grin and a rigid thumbs up.

Julie could do this.

She played the opening chords of the song, hearing a few gasps from her classmates. Julie moved her hands up, then down, down, down, then back up. The chord progression was nothing revolutionary, but for her, it was everything. This was Luke’s song. She could see Nick smiling from the corner of her eye. 

“‘Sometimes I think, I’m falling down. I wanna cry, I’m calling out, for one more try to come alive.’” Her voice was strong, and had yet to fail her. Julie had worked on the song before the school day with Flynn’s support. She could feel a smile carving onto her face.

“‘And when I feel lost and alone, I know that I can make it home. Fight through the dark and find the spark.” She could feel pure joy fill her soul, “‘Life is a risk, but I will take it, close my eyes and jump. Together, I think that we can make it. C’mon let’s run!’”

Julie threw her head back, “‘And rise, through the night, you and I, we will fight to shine together, bright forever. And rise, through the night, you and I, we will fight to shine together, bright forever.” These were Luke’s lyrics, about the two of them, about their friendship. She could almost hear him singing along with her. 

Julie could hear Carrie whisper to Nick, “Is this really happening?”

Nick nodded, not taking his eyes off of Julie, “Just go with it.”

“‘In times that I doubted myself, I felt like I needed somе help, stuck in my head with nothing left. I feel somеthing around me now, so unclear, lifting me out. I found the ground I'm marching on!’” Julie nodded her head along with her fingers running across the keys. Luke had been there for her through all of this; her mother’s death, her moving away, her finding new friends. This was their song. 

As she finished playing, she didn’t register what was happening. She stood up and Flynn raced to tackle her in a hug. Her class clapped politely, but she could hear Nick over them all. Maybe she shouldn’t have played such a song like that in front of all of her classmates, but she couldn’t take it back now. Anyway, it seemed like she had done a pretty good job.

Mrs. Harrison set a hand on her shoulder, “That was wonderful! I’m so glad that you have decided to share that with us, what a song!” She spoke in a quieter tone only for Julie to hear, “I’ll email your father later.”

At lunch, Flynn showed her the video that she had taken. It was grainy and a backpack was covering half of the screen, but you could hear her voice ring out. She had Flynn send it to her, to which she then texted it to Luke.

“That was Luke’s song?” Flynn screeched. “All about you two; your friendship, you supporting each other? Where can I order friends like that, because it’s not on Amazon!”

Julie blushed, “Luke and I used to write songs all of the time. And, hey! I’m your supporting friend! You didn’t even have to order me, I was delivered from L.A just for you.”

“True, true. You also have unparalleled math skills.”

“Try telling that to Pythagoras.” 

Julie almost choked on her chicken nuggets as Nick walked over to their table, having to go out of his way to get to their part of the cafeteria. Carrie and the rest of her friends had yet to show up, and Nick had already set his lunch box at his own table. He slid into the seat across from Flynn and Julie. 

“That was amazing! Your performance in music class! If you have a talent like that, why haven’t you used it beforehand!” He unknowingly echoed Luke’s words.

Julie tried to act casual and shrugged stiffly, “I don’t know. It just hasn’t been the right time.” That wasn’t completely a lie. 

“You have to perform at the dance! Literally, you belong on stage. That was pure magic.” Nick’s eyes were wide in disbelief and he had a stunned smile on his face.

Julie froze, “Oh, I don’t know, that was only in front of the other kids in music class-”

“That’s perfect!” Flynn cut Julie off, “You have to!”

Julie gave Flynn the most withering glare she could muster, “I don’t think I’ll be able to come up with a whole set in two weeks. Although, thanks for thinking so. Anyway, they probably already have a band booked and everything.”

Nick shook his head, “Nope, they were just going to get the computer teacher to jerry rig a playlist, or at least that’s what I overheard. And Dirty Candi will also be performing, so I’m sure Carrie wouldn’t mind sharing the stage for a song or two.”

Julie and Flynn shared a glance. There was no way that Carrie would do such a thing. 

But Julie nodded, knowing that she definitely wouldn’t play at the dance, “I’ll think about it.”

---

Alex had had a pretty rough day so far. He had woken up late for school, smashing his hand on his alarm in frustration. The sky was way too light for him to have not slept in. When he saw the time, he quickly moved to put on clothes, hopping into his shorts as he ran to his bathroom to brush his teeth. His hair was a wreck, his eyes were bloodshot, and he had dried drool on his cheek, but before he could fix anything, he heard Reggie’s blaring car horn and a muffled shout.

“Alex! Your friends are here!” His mother yelled from the kitchen. 

He grabbed his jean jacket and an apple from the kitchen, before kissing his mom on the cheek and dashing out the door. He got into the passenger's seat of the blue Honda Civic, taking a bite.

“Wow, you look absolutely terrible.” Reggie said with a low whistle.

Luke punched his shoulder from the back seat, but then ruefully nodded. “You’re not exactly prime Alex right now.”

He glared at the two of them, grumbling around his apple.

Reggie raised an eyebrow, not taking his eyes off of the road because he was a safe driver, thank you very much. “What was that?”

“I said, at least my bad days look better than you guys’ good days.”

Luke let out a hearty laugh, “Sure, like you didn’t just find out how to dress yourself.” Alex had had a… difficult time figuring out what his personal style was. As they moved out of middle school and into high school, everyone seemed to find their signature thing except for him: Luke barely knew what sleeves were, and Reggie wouldn’t be caught dead out of his leather jacket-flannel combo. Alex had tried a few different things but nothing seemed to feel like him. After a few years, he decidedly settled on a few signature items; a pale pink hoodie, a denim jacket, and his fanny pack, which carried around his EpiPen and inhaler along with a few first aid supplies. He quickly found out that Luke’s sudden growth spurt over the summer before junior year came with it’s fair share of clumsiness. 

Alex went to reach for his fanny pack before realizing that he forgot it at his house. “We have to turn around. I left my fanny pack at home.”

Reggie tapped his finger on the steering wheel, “If we do we’ll be late. Again.” He shot a look through his mirror at Luke who gave a timid smile. 

“Please,” Alex whined, drawing out the ‘e,’ “I’ll go pick up a pizza for practice if we do! I promise.”

Reggie mulled it over in his head before swinging a uey, “Fine. But you better not get pineapple on it. That shit’s nasty.”

“It is not!” Luke placed a hand over his heart as if he was Caesar on the Ides of March. “Pineapple on pizza is a gift!”

“No! What’s a gift is my country songs, especially Home is Where My Horse Is. Pineapple is unnecessary and an unholy offense.”

“Puh-leeze, your country songs are the unholy offenses! Don’t even try it!”

Alex just rolled his eyes at them.

Now, Alex was walking downtown to pick up said pizza; half ham and pineapple, half pepperoni. The pizza shop was only a few minutes from his house, and yeah, he could’ve borrowed Reggie’s car, but he needed to clear his head. Twilight was setting in like a blanket over the world. Or at least, his part of the world. There was a slight chill in the air as he gripped his fanny pack slung across his chest with two hands.

The day just kept getting worse. He had failed a Physics test, even after Reggie had helped him study. He spilt chili from his hot dog on his hoodie, leading him to steal one of Luke’s extra shirts he kept in the car, surprisingly one with sleeves. He then proceeded to choke on that same hotdog in front of the whole cafeteria, forcing Luke to perform the Heimlich. And after all of that, his hair still wasn’t even remotely tamed, sticking up in every direction. 

His terrible day wasn’t helped by being crashed into. 

He fell to the ground with a yelp, and so did the skateboarder. The wind was knocked out of him as he tumbled and coughed, before standing up.

“Aw man, you dinged my board.” The other boy said, inspecting his skateboard. 

Alex couldn’t believe him and scoffed. The nerve on some people. “I dinged your board? Dude, you ran me over! You’re lucky I didn’t-”

The skateboarder took off his helmet to reveal locks of soft looking brown hair. Time seemed to slow down, or maybe stop, Alex couldn’t be sure. What he was sure about was that he was one of the most handsome people he had ever seen. He had high cheekbones and warm looking brown eyes and the softest looking lips. Alex was going to hyperventilate if he would ever remember to breathe. 

He swallowed as the boy's eyes softened, “Hey, sorry I ran into you. I thought you could hear me coming.”

Alex let out a nervous laugh, “Yeah, sometimes I just get wrapped up in my head.”

They stared at each other, and he was sure that the skater’s eyes traced him up and down as he stuck his hand out, “I’m, uh, I’m Willie.”

Alex grabbed his hand to shake. Could a handshake really be that attractive? “Oh, uh, Alex.”

“So, um, what brings you to downtown, man? You sightseeing?” Willie gestured up to the brick buildings lining the street.

Alex nodded before letting out a humorless chuckle, “Yeah, actually I was having a minor crisis. I came to pick up a pizza for my friends, but my day has not been too great. I was just trying to clear my head before you tried to crack it open.” He wanted to facepalm, his attempt at small talk was abominable. And why the hell was he telling a complete stranger all of this information? For all he knew, Willie could be a secret spy looking to murder him in a back alley for some reason unbeknownst to him. 

Willie laughed, his eyes crinkling, “I did pancake you, huh?” Alex nodded at the ground, before he heard his laugh die. “Uh sorry, minor crisis?”

“I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, literally. And my day hasn’t gotten any better, it’s just been mishap after mishap. Shouldn’t we catch a break?”

Willie tilted his head, “Who’s we?”

“Oh, uh, me and my band mates. We all seem to have the worst luck in the world.” Alex shoved his hands in his pockets and chuckled. “Yeah, I almost died eating a hotdog.”

“Woah! No way! Weirdly,” Willie gave him a lopsided smile, “Mozart died eating a hotdog.”

Alex nodded, “Wow, that’s actually comforting. Thank you.” He smiled at Willie, “Hey do you mind if I ask you to tag along to come pick up this pizza? I mean, if you’re busy then obviously don’t, or like, if you have someplace to be. But I mean it’s almost dinner, and you can have some of it, I mean I didn’t pay for it, as long as you like ham and pineapple, because only one of my bandmates like it-”

“Yeah, totally. I don’t have anything on my schedule.” Willie smiled, and Alex knew then that his day had gotten exponentially better.

---

“I love my family, I really do, but I’m so glad that I can come over to your house.” Flynn had flopped on Julie's made up bed, scrolling on her phone, as Julie finished up her homework at her desk. “Like three screaming brothers? No thanks.”

Julie nodded as her phone dinged, “Well you’re always welcome here, you know Dad loves having someone to rant to about his photography.” She checked the message, it was from Luke.

Luke : You killed it! Stabbed-it-in-the-heart killed it! Knew you would :D

Julie rolled her eyes and shot him back a message.

Julie : Thanks for the song! I won’t be able to talk today, Flynn’s spending the night and I don’t want to be rude :(

The three little dots showed up, then disappeared. She frowned. It’s not like they haven’t missed a call before, so she sent him another text.

Julie : Maybe we could facetime and write some songs tomorrow???

When she didn’t get a response she set her phone down and finished the English assignment from earlier. When she finished, she pulled up their favorite show on her laptop, then joined Flynn on her bed. “I thought we could catch up, I missed Sunday’s episode.”

Flynn’s eyes bugged out of her head, as she whipped her neck so hard Julie thought she had gotten whiplash. “You missed it? Oh my god! You know I’m not one for spoilers, but shit went down. Like seriously. You’re going to blow a fuse. We are totally watching it.”

And they did. And Flynn was right. Shit did go down. And Julie totally blew a fuse. Turns out, her favorite ghost boy band characters had gotten themselves trapped in a deal with some other evil ghost: either they play at his club forever or they disappear from existence. It was a lot more emotional baggage than Flynn and Julie had signed up for when they first started watching, but now they were hooked.

“Oh my god, that was such a cliffhanger. How could they do that?” Julie wailed as she threaded her fingers through her hair. “They deserve so much better than this cruel world!”

Flynn nodded solemnly, “And we have to wait until Sunday to see what happens next. Life just isn’t fair.”

Julie hadn’t noticed Luke had texted her back until she got up to use the restroom.

Luke : Ok

Julie scoffed. The response was totally unlike Luke. No, it was totally like Luke when he was in a bad mood that he knew, deep down, was just him being overdramatic. She rolled her eyes and she knew she shouldn’t take it personally, but it still stung. They had told each other everything, even something as menial as a bad day. Whatever, his bad mood wasn’t going to stop her from having a fun night with her friends.

Her father called from downstairs for the two girls to come and eat dinner, and as she raced downstairs, she could smell the microwaved spaghetti. 

They made their way to the set dinner table, before they prayed and dug in.

“I think we’re being haunted.” Carlos started. 

Flynn rolled her eyes, “Nobody has died in this house or mine. It’s nothing like Kira and her Hologram Band.”

Carlos wagged his piece of garlic bread at her, “No, we’re definitely being haunted. By a ghost chef who never got to achieve his dream of making the best French Dip in the world. I have definitive proof.”

“Oh really? And where is this proof?”

“On my iPad.” Carlos made the move to get up from his seat.

“Mijo, eat your salad.” Ray said, then turned to the girl, “How was your day Flynn?”

“Pretty good, Mr.Molina. Julie performed that song that she was working on this morning, and let me tell you, it was amazing!” Flynn gushed.

“I saw the email. I’m glad that we don’t have to go through the options of choosing another elective for you. What were the options? Hospitality and Tourism and Marketing?”

“Yeah, nothing I am remotely interested in.” Julie picked the tomatoes out of her salad. “I think Mrs.Harrison and the class really liked the song, or at least my friends did.”

Flynn nodded, “Especially Nick.”:

Julie paled and fought the urge to elbow her friend. She looked down at her lap.

Carlos’ eyebrows shot up, “Lacrosse Nick?”

Flynn looked skeptical, “...Yes? How do you know about Lacrosse Nick? Floppy hair? Dating a demon?”

“Yeah, he’s an assistant coach for my baseball team. Something about community service and all of that. There’s another Nick on my team, but we call that one Lacrosse Nick. Because, well, that’s all that he talks about.” Carlos explained.

“Yes, it does make you wonder why he doesn’t coach a Lacrosse team, but nevertheless. Julie, how was your day?”

Julie looked up at her father, “About the same. I guess there's a dance in a couple weeks and I was wondering if I could go with Flynn.” She didn’t dare mention the part of her playing. She didn’t want her father as well and Flynn to egg her on. She wasn’t ready to go onstage, by herself, in front of the entire school.

“Of course, as long as it’s alright with her parents.” 

Flynn nodded, responding with a mouthful of spaghetti, making Ray cringe, “Yep, as long as I babysit the next day, they’re totally cool with it.” Flynn looked to Julie, but said nothing of playing the dance. 

--

Taglist: @siennanoelle01, @ scootermccall, @roses-and-ponds-and-bowties​ 

[lovelylogans]

golden light and black clouds

Always keep mint on your windowsill in August, to ensure that buzzing flies will stay outside, where they belong. Don’t think the summer is over, even when roses droop and turn brown and the stars shift position in the sky. Never presume August is a safe or reliable time of the year. It is the season of reversals, when the birds no longer sing in the morning and the evenings are made up of equal parts golden light and black clouds. The rock-solid and the tenuous can easily exchange places until everything you know can be questioned and put into doubt.

-practical magic, alice hoffman.

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: superstition, food mention, death mention, a bit of anxiety, deceit mention

pairings: polyamlamp (analogical specific)

words: 1,501

notes: so, this is for the 13 days of halloween prompt over at @sanderssidescelebrations​! today’s prompt is friday the 13th! this also ties into my fic, lavender for luck—you don’t necessarily need to have read it to understand, but it would probably help!

It should not have been necessarily surprising, that his witch boyfriend was superstitious, but this bordered on the absurd.

“Are you sure you’ve got—?” Virgil asks, poking his head into Logan’s bedroom again, his hair messy and tousled and generally untidy.

Virgil’s looked stressed for the whole of the month—he isn’t particularly prone to smiling, but usually, when he does, it’s genuine and soft and sweet. Since they’d all come back to school, he’s been stressed—shoulders hiked up close to his ears, a tightness around his eyes, the bags under his typical eyeshadow growing deeper and darker, and when he smiles, it’s almost like it’s just for their sake. He’s used to Roman doing something similiar to that. Not Virgil.

It still confounds Logan, that a Friday the 13th could really have Virgil that rattled.

“Yes,” Logan says wearily. “I haven’t moved the mint on the sill and I have the lavender oil in the bathroom.”

“Good,” Virgil says, already distracted, “right, good,” and he closes Logan’s door behind him.

Logan returns to annotating his textbook. He’s only read a page more by the time Virgil sticks his head in again.

“And you—you know a lemonade recipe, right?”

“Lemonade?” Logan repeats skeptically, looking up from the textbook.

Virgil looks abruptly embarrassed, before he scuffs his toe along the carpet and mumbles, “Look, just—if someone irritates you tomorrow, don’t—don’t retaliate too excessively, yeah? Just drink lemonade instead.”

“All right,” Logan says. “Sure. I’ll drink lemonade if I get particularly annoyed with someone.”

He must not sound particularly dedicated to the idea, because Virgil glowers at him a little.

“And you have class at noon, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Cool,” Virgil says, “that’s cool,” and then he shuffles a little further into the room. “Can I take a look at your ceiling fan?”

“My ceiling fan?” Logan repeats.

“I just want to be sure that it works well,” Virgil says. 

“That’s outlined in your family’s mythos?” Logan says. 

“Yeah, actually,” Virgil says, and flicks on the ceiling fan. He watches it circle a few times, eyes narrowed, before he flicks it off again. “Can I stand on your bed?”

Logan considers this, before he says, “As long as your shoes are off.”

Virgil wiggles his socked toes at him in answer (purple with cartoonish black cats on them, undoubtedly a gift from Patton) and clambers onto his bed. 

That’s the point when turning back to his textbook loses any hope, because Virgil hums thoughtfully, and then Logan’s ceiling fan begins to dissemble itself into his hands.

Logan stares, jaw slightly unhinged, as Virgil seems to investigate each piece, before just—sticking it back on, not with any particular sense of order, but it seems that as long as he puts the pieces back and if he wills it to happen then it would just... happen.

It’s nonsensical. It’s utterly, completely unrealistic.

It’s magic.

Logan’s known Virgil’s magic for months, of course. But when they first came back to the apartment, Virgil was shy about doing magic in front of them, and then they spent a summer parted, but now, Logan supposes, with all the supposed dangers of a Friday the 13th and three more people to look after than he’s used to...

Virgil sneezes once, flicks a finger dismissively in the air, and Logan watches as the dust seems to disintegrate from everywhere in the room—the fan’s inner machinery, which is what seems to have made him sneeze in the first place, the top of the bookshelf, the inside of grates that he can’t reach with a feather duster—and the air immediately smells cleaner, sweeter, like lavender and honey.

“That’s remarkable,” Logan says, before he can help himself. Really, it’s a wonder he’s managed to keep quiet for so long.

“What, cleaning?” Virgil says, but his pink cheeks give away how flustered he is.

“All of it,” Logan says, and squints up at the fan, as if the magic will dispense itself into formulas that will float in the air until he can solve them and figure it all out. “How do you know how to make it work?”

“Well, I’ve repaired a couple over the years, but it’s mostly,” Virgil says, and makes a vague hand gesture. “Intention, I guess? I mean, I have to know my limits, but. Stuff like this, the magic’s mostly wanting.”

“Limits?” Logan repeats.

“Mostly the cliché stuff,” Virgil says absently. “You know, bringing back the dead, love, that kind of thing. It’s pretty individualized, though—apparently Sally’s kid’s resurrected a few sparrows or something, so she might have a necromancy gift. First in the family, we think, but it’s still pretty early to tell.”

“Is there a particular age at which gifts manifest?” Logan said, debating if he wanted to dig out the notebook he’s started to keep about Fae family traditions.

“Eh, not really?” Virgil said. “Apparently mine started showing around the time I started talking, which makes sense, since mine’s communication-based.”

“With cats.”

“Yeah,” Virgil says. “My—“

He hesitates, clears his throat, and says, quieter, “My dad’s gift didn’t show up until late, I think. He was about eleven or twelve.”

Virgil’s never really mentioned his parents, outside of their deaths.

“What was his?” Logan asks, grateful that, for once, his voice seems to have taken the hint and gentled.

“Prophecy,” Virgil says. “Dreams, mostly, but stuff like tarot and tea leaves.” A pause, and then Virgil shakes himself. “Uncle’s showed up way earlier—he was young, too, he can talk with snakes and he’s got a gift with plants.”

“Even with identical twins, there’s variance,” Logan says. “Interesting.”

He wants to ask more—he always does, whenever Virgil mentions something about magic like it’s a common, well-known fact to everyone and Logan doesn’t know it—but he isn’t quite sure how to ask it. He isn’t Patton—he can’t gently approach the subject of Virgil’s dead parents, who have died from the same thing that Virgil fears might take him and Roman and Patton one day. 

So he changes the subject back to the other slightly more pressing worry to Virgil. “Are Friday the thirteenths really so dangerous? I mean, this seems like a lot of—precaution.”

“I mean, they’re,” Virgil says, and hesitates even more, before he says, “They’re, I mean. You’re more prone to bad luck and everything, but it’s—it’s the August ones that are—“ He fumbles the end of his sentence. Logan disregards this.

“August is more dangerous, really?” He says. “I’d have assumed—October. Or a solstice month, at least, you’ve mentioned the importance of those.”

It really didn’t seem to fit—the heat of summer, the sunny, bright days. Roman taking them all swimming in the pool, Patton making homemade popsicles and the way they melted over Logan’s fingers, Virgil blowing a breath across the back of Logan’s neck and it moving his body from overheated and sweaty and uncomfortable to cooler and more comfortable and sated in the space of seconds—none of it seemed particularly dangerous.

But then—the stress that Virgil’s so clearly been under, since they all moved back to school.

“My parents died in August,” Virgil says, and Logan closes his mouth. Virgil smiles—tight, humorless. Logan hates it. “Well, around this time, anyway. Whenever the curse takes place, it takes into account the—the continuation of the line, or whatever, but most of the time, it’s...”

“In August,” Logan realizes, quiet—from his own research, even months ago, he can remember the number of deaths of the spouses of Fae.

“Right.”

Logan hesitates, before he reaches out and takes Virgil’s hand. He, certainly, isn’t the most comforting boyfriend of the four of them, but he’ll certainly have to try.

“There’s a vending machine in the astronomy building that sells lemonade,” Logan says, as a peace offering. “I can buy one in the morning. Just to be prepared.”

Virgil smiles, and, for the first time since the calendar changed months, there isn’t quite the same tightness around his eyes. Logan leans close, and kisses his cheek, before he digs out the notebook he’s kept for Fae magic, and heads the paper with FRIDAY THE 13TH.

“You can tell me the things I should do or avoid,” Logan suggests, clicking a pen. “If you’d like.”

Virgil lets out a slow breath, before he starts to speak, like he’s reciting a poem.

“Make certain never to step on one of the crickets that may have taken refuge in a dark corner of your living room, or your luck will change for the worse. Avoid men who call you Baby, and women who have no friends, and dogs that scratch at their bellies and refuse to lie down at your feet. Crossed knives set out on the dinner table means there’s bound to be a quarrel...”

Logan takes dedicated notes, the whole time. If he’d looked up as he asked his questions of clarification (”this applies to women specifically?”) then he would have seen Virgil smiling softer and fonder, and while he stared at Logan, he wasn’t too anxious at all.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Countless Roads - Chapter 6

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 6 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

A/N: The timing of this is completely coincidental, this whole fic having been written over the last year or so, but this chapter happens to be Halloween-themed. So happy Halloween, everyone!

———————————————————————————-

All things considered, Len's amazed that it takes Lisa until her junior year to think of it.

Perhaps the real reason is that that's the first year Len and Mick start going to the university area to visit her. It's noticeably more high class an area than the ones they usually frequent, and Len only gives the okay because the statutes of limitation have run out on all of their currently outstanding warrants, which means that even if the cops do finger them, they can't do anything about it.

The area's also got a lot more people with a lot more leisure time than the areas Len prefers.

That's probably why Lisa had her no-good, awful, terrible idea.

"No," Len tells her, but he already knows he's going to give in. He's never been able to deny Lisa anything she really wanted. Well, nothing but the ability to ruin her life by taking up crime the way he has. Her record is clean and it's staying that way as long as Len can manage it - probably not forever, he's acknowledging it now, but he's going to hold off until there's no way to avoid it.

This, though, this isn't crime.

This is just dumb.

"C'mon, Lenny! It'll be great!"

"No."

Len glances over at Mick in hopes of some back-up, but no, Mick's grinning his head off like the goddamn troll that he is.

"No!"

"He's giving in," Mick tells Lisa wisely. "You can hear it in the growing desperation in his voice."

"You sure can," she agrees.

"This is stupid," Len argues. "Too stupid for words!"

"It'll be fun."

"No, it won't."

"Give me one good reason why it won't be fun."

"Because I see actual ghosts!" Len exclaims. "I have no reason to go to a haunted house!"

"Lenny," Lisa says with a giant grin. "That's why it's gonna be so much fun. You've never been, have you?"

"Never saw the point," Len says grumpily.

"I can't believe you've been denying Mick the pleasure all these years," Lisa says. "He wants to go, doesn't he?"

"You bet I do," Mick agrees enthusiastically.

"He only wants to go so he can laugh at me," Len argues.

"You bet I do," Mick says, sweet as he can manage with a shit-eating grin on his face. "What's your point?"

Len groans.

Looks like they're going to a haunted house.

Which apparently has all sorts of bizarre preconditions Len would never have guessed.

"What do you mean I can't bring my gun?" he asks Lisa, scowling. "I paid money for this concealed carry license."

"Money that wasn't yours," Mick points out, which, yes, but it doesn't matter; Len actually spent it. It's damn hard to find a judge corrupt enough to sign off on a gun license for a felon.

Luckily, this is Central City, and damn hard doesn't mean impossible.

"You still can't bring it into a haunted house," Lisa says firmly, hands on hips. "You might shoot one of the performers."

Len scowls at her. Sure, he's been forced to up his game recently, thanks to the mob war between the Santinis and Darbyninans that just got started, and upping his game at this stage means higher end heists, higher end heists means more risk, more danger, and more ruthlessness – and yes, sometimes killing people, especially people that threatened to back out of major jobs in the middle, people that Len couldn't trust wouldn't go running to the cops to squeal in exchange for a cut-down sentence on something else. But just because he's gotten to the 'killing people' point in his career doesn't mean that he's going to shoot innocent performers. He doesn't shoot innocents, and he would've thought Lisa would've known that.

"Out of fright," Lisa clarifies.

That just makes Len scowl even more.

"Relax, will you? It'll be fine, boss," Mick says, laughing. Officially, that's just something he uses for jobs in public, but he's started calling Len that, off and on; says it helps him remember.

He also says he likes the way Len's cheeks flush sometimes when he calls him that, but whatever. Len does not blush. He's cool and cold, damnit.

...he's working on it, anyway.

Len's newly imposed rule – you're in, you're in; you're out, you're dead – has at least and at last started getting him some respect in criminal circles, which always appreciate seeing ruthlessness when it's accompanied by success.

And Len has been successful. Other than those first early convictions for burglary, he's gotten better and better at getting away clear. The most the cops have had on him recently are a few jobs they can't pin on him and one or two misdemeanor trespassing charges.

They're starting to remember his name.

Not as much as they remember Mick's, mind you. Mick's pyromania remains as strong as ever, and during the lean times when the criminal underworld has gone underground to avoid renewed police focus – usually during election years – and there's no easy targets that haven't already been hit by others, there's more call for arsonists than there is for thieves, even highly skilled thieves.

Not that the police could pin those on so-called 'notorious arsonist' Mick Rory.

It helps that, as a ghost, he doesn't leave any DNA evidence.

But either way, all this led to one conclusion: Len and Mick are mad, bad and dangerous to know. They're the sort of people who carry weapons and know how, and when, to use them.

They do not get scared at haunted houses.

"You're gonna scream like a little girl," Daniela cackles.

"I hate you all," Len says.

"Have fun!" she sings out.

"Just for that, you're coming with us," Len tells her.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Daniela says. "Or, well, anything other than another lead on that asshole who murdered me – " Len is still looking, damnit! Serial killers don't walk around with a goddamn sign on! "—but hell yes, I'm there with bells on."

"Where are we going?" Nora asks, emerging from the kitchen.

"Len's never been to a haunted house before," Daniela says gleefully. "Ever."

"I have my own actual dead people! I ain't gonna be scared of some assholes in sheets!"

"Oh, my, you're going to be in for a surprise," Nora laughs. "I'm definitely coming."

Len rolls his eyes.

"How's your baby boy?" Mick asks Nora politely.

"College applications," she says, mingled joy and sadness at it: joy, for her son's growth; sadness, that she's not there to help him through it. She consistently declines Len's offers to give her some life to go say goodbye, though; she says that just saying something to him wouldn't be enough for her to pass on and anyway she's afraid that seeing her would only make him relapse into the anxiety attacks he'd been having for years after her death. It's a tough situation she's stuck with, and Len feel pretty bad for her, but he can't bring himself to be too upset; she's great to have around, very level-headed but with a wicked sense of humor and, at times, a temper as fiery as Mick's. "He's starting to send them out."

"Graduating senior already?" Len asks, then shakes his head at her nod. "Wow. Your baby boy's only five years younger than Lisa."

"Closer to four," Nora says. "He's nearly nineteen; he had to repeat a year due to family trauma."

Due to her murder, that is.

"See, this is why going to a haunted house is dumb," Len says to Lisa, opting to lighten the mood back up. "We have two real life murder victims right here with us."

"I'll ask Serafina to join us," Daniela decides. "She's just a hit-and-run, but it still counts. Then we'll have three murder victims to go a-haunted housing with us!"

Serafina, a law school graduate of Korean descent and non-binary gender, turns out to be more than happy to join them.

Lisa can't stop cackling with glee, and that makes everyone smile.

"I'm outnumbered," Len grumbles, and picks up the brochure Lisa obtained to figure out where he'll be driving the lot of them. "Wait, hold it! This says it's at an abandoned cemetery! I ain't going to no abandoned cemetery! Do you know how many dead will be there?!"

"It's an exaggeration," Lisa says, rolling her eyes.

"If there are any unquiet dead there, we'll protect you," Mick reminds Len.

"Nice try," Nora says.

Damnit.

The drive there is relatively uneventful – Mick watches Len like a hawk, which is thoroughly unhelpful and kind of insulting, given that Len's the one who taught Mick how to drive in the first place – and then even once they arrive, it turns out there's a line.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Len grumbles. "Not only do we have to pay for the privilege, they make us wait for it, too?"

"Grow up, babykins," Daniela says, skipping away to go gawk. "Go stand in the line."

Len goes.

He wishes he had his gun.

He wishes he had his gun even more when one of the fake tombstones (rather amusing little poems on them) shoots open and someone – or something – leaps out at them from a trapdoor hidden underneath.

The only reason Len is certain that the apparition is part of the haunted house is because everyone else in the crowd shrieks and jumps as well.

"Lenny," Lisa says patiently. "Lenny. You're very nice, very brave, jumping in front of me and all that, but you're blocking my view."

Len sighs and returns to his place in line, watching as what is now obviously a (surprisingly detailed) zombie limps around the line, groaning at people.

Mick prods at Len's arm. Len looks at him.

"I leap in front of you," Mick says. "Not you in front of me."

"It was instinct."

"It was shitty instinct. You soccer-mom-armed me! And I'm the invulnerable one!"

No kidding. Len remembers very well how Mick's invulnerability had been the only thing that'd saved their hides when they'd been dumb enough to get involved in the stupid mob war with a job that wasn't as well-thought-out as Len had thought it was. It isn't just Len getting his stupid ass kidnapped because of payments anymore, oh no, now it's the Santinis and the Darbyinians, each with a grudge and a hell of a lot of firepower. Len and Mick had gotten the hell out of the war for now, making it clear they were purely freelancers, but the war was becoming more and more all-encompassing and they'd end up having to either side with a Family or making themselves respected and feared enough to be able to scare both sides off when the inevitable came calling.

Since neither Mick nor Len has any interest in working on Family lines, that meant that these days they're focusing on establishing their own reputations.

And part of that, yes, meant using things like Mick's invulnerability to its best advantage.

"I'll let you take the real threats," Len offers.

Mick rolls his eyes at him.

Len has only ever walked by the haunted houses they'd had in his neighborhood when he was younger, the ones in the poorer parts of town that even the slums looked down their noses at, and he hadn't been impressed by the quality.

Apparently, and no one had told him this, haunted houses have seriously upped their game in recent years.

"What the fuck?!" Len shouts.

Lisa is dying. "Oh man," she cackles. "Oh, man, Lenny, your face!"

"The fuck even was that?!"

"The half-spider mutated monster or the evil scientist with the rotting arm?"

"Neither! The other thing!"

"Really?" Daniela asks, eyebrows arched and shit-eating grin on her face. "Out of everything in the hallway of horrors, the cannibal is the thing that gets you?"

"He was eating someone's face off! That’s just wrong!"

Nora cackles behind him.

"I'm glad I'm amusing the lot of you," Len grumbles. He actually is glad, especially poor Nora's been sad recently about missing all of her baby boy's important milestones. But still. A man's got a reputation to uphold, and this stupid haunted house is doing nothing for it.

And then Len jumps half a foot into the air because some demonic squid shoots out its tentacles from the wall.

"Your face," Mick wheezes. "Oh God. Lisa. Lise. Tell me there will be photos."

"So many photos," Lisa says happily, leading the way into the next chamber.

Len's idly tracking the number (this is room ten – how big is this place, anyhow?) and mentally mapping the place, mostly to keep from strangling anybody – Lisa was right to take away his gun, sadly; he's reached for a weapon at least three times so far. Still, it’s fine. Not having it doesn't make him less dangerous.

Though it does make him think that assassinating someone at a haunted housed would be a great way to go about it – an audience already geared to assume that any screams or dying noises are fake, that any bloodied corpses are special effects, that any smell is clever chemicals...

The thought occupies him a bit (mostly through the cockroach room – Lord, why is there a cockroach room?!), enough that he only vaguely notices one of the haunted house attendees, face painted white and his clothing dusted with flour, coming forward to tap Lisa on the shoulder and explain that she should follow him for the next segment.

Some multipart horror involving Lisa spitted on a stake, Len can only assume, and that's what he does assume right up until Daniela turns to ask him something and sees the guy leading Lisa away.

"Len!" she shouts. "That's him!"

"What?" Len asks, bemused. No one else responds, of course; he doesn't have enough energy to make three people as strong as Mick, and at any rate being invisible means that Daniela, Nora and Serafina don't have to pay for a ticket. Mick turns with a frown.

"Him!" Daniela shrieks. "Him! The one! The one who beat in my face, Len!"

"Wait," Mick says. "The serial killer?"

"We've already seen the serial killer exhibit, guys," Lisa calls over her shoulder.

"No," Len says, eyes going wide as he puts it together. Daniela's been on his case to find the asshole who murdered her – and a number of other sex workers in the years since – since day one. "Lisa, the guy next to you is an actual serial killer!"

"What?" Lisa asks.

"Don't be crazy," the guy next to her scoffs, putting his hand on her arm. "Come this way or you won't be able to participate in the next room's haunt."

Nora dashes forward, through the wall, and shouts, "The next room's about killer robots! No audience participation!"

"You're lying," Mick growls, stepping forward.

"Get your hands off my sister," Len adds.

The guy takes one look at the two of them and turns to run.

His mistake is in trying to pull Lisa along with him.

She spins around and knees him in the balls. "Don't you ever grab me!" she shouts.

"He's the one who killed Daniela," Mick snarls.

"Get him!" Daniela shouts, lunging at him, but she's too weak; she passes straight through and all he does is shudder.

Mick and Len both step forward, but that's when the guy pulls out a gun.

"Who the fuck is Daniela?" he pants. "How'd you know?"

"Ooooh, if I could strangle you!" Daniela hisses.

"I told you to let me bring a gun," Len bitches to Lisa.

"There aren't normally actual serial killers in haunted houses, Lenny!"

"With your brother's luck, we shoulda known," Mick says, taking a half-step over until he's blocking Len.

Len scowls at him and nudges him in Lisa's direction. He can take care of himself.

Mick scowls back.

"Will you all stop talking?!" the guy shouts. "I've got a gun!"

"Yeah, and from the way you're waving it around like a kid's toy, I bet you know how to use it about as well as your undoubtedly limp dick," Lisa snaps.

Mick and Len share a glance – only Lisa – and Mick charges forward to get between the serial killer and Lisa just in time for the guy to pull the trigger.

Mick catches the bullet in his shoulder, of course. "See what you did?" he tells her, plucking it out and waving it at her. He doesn’t bother faking the bleeding. "No sense of self-preservation, you Snarts."

"How'd I get pulled in there?" Len protests. "I ain't the one that mouthed off to the serial killer with a gun!"

"Don't get me started on people you've mouthed off to, buster!"

"What the hell is wrong with you people?!" the guy shouts, but by this point the noise and the commotion and – Len would bet – the backed-up line has drawn over some actual haunted house employees. Volunteers? Len's not sure.

Their makeup's a lot better than the killer's, anyway.

"Excuse me – " a realistic skeleton starts.

"This man was trying to get me to go with him so I could be part of the haunt," Lisa announces, pointing at the killer. "He said he was an employee here, and when I refused, he aimed a gun at me!"

The guy looks down at his hand to confirm that yes, the gun's still there.

Not for long, though; Len plucks it out of his hand - way too easily because the guy barely had a grip on it by this point, too slack-jawed with disbelief - and offers it to the skeleton. "Careful with that," he says mildly. "It's got live ammo."

The skeleton looks at the gun in horror, then at the guy. "Uh, he's definitely not one of the volunteers –"

"Maybe you should call the cops," Mick suggests.

"Fuck no," the killer says, and tries to run.

None of them were really expecting it – it's a one-way haunted house starting to fill up with people on each side, where the hell does he think he's going to go? – which is probably why he gets as far into a hidden passage by the wall as he does.

Doesn't help, of course.

By that point, Daniela's run back to Len to wordlessly beg for some extra life, which he's given her, and she uses everything he gave her in a single burst of poltergeist power, snaking out the audio-visual cables that were threaded through the walls to wrap around him.

"Asshole," she says, not without some serious amount of satisfaction. "I'm gonna love watching your trial."

"What the fuck was that," the skeleton says, high pitched. "That wasn't part of the set up!"

"A ghost," Len says innocently. "Ain't this place supposedly haunted?"

Lisa elbows him in the ribs.

It's all terribly anticlimactic after that, of course. Someone calls the police and they all have to give statements, with one of the detectives (some guy named Joe West) commenting that this might very well be the only night he actually believes Leonard Snart to have an alibi.

Very funny.

They end up charging the guy on attempted kidnapping just to get him with something, but Len insists on the fact that he's a serial killer with enough emotive force that West reluctantly calls up a judge and gets a warrant for the guy's house, where they find two of the girls that have gone missing from the streets recently, one a prostitute and the other a college student with bad taste in makeup - apparently he targeted them based on that? Fucking people sometimes. It mostly resulted with Lisa getting incredibly insulted about the guy's inability to tell a classy traditional smokey eye from a trashy raccoon or something like that, anyway, since Len's honestly got no idea what the words coming out of her mouth meant after the first minute. But the two rescued girls agreed with her, so, okay.

West goes into hyper alert after that, which is all to the good, and Len even manages to get in there that the guy's responsible for killing Daniela, though he obviously can't provide proof. They find some evidence in the guy's house, though, which means he is definitely not long for this world – through the justice system's mercy, or through Len's. He's got enough friends in prison willing to shiv a particularly sick fuck if the justice system can't bring itself to do it for them.

And, of course, a few people caught blurry images of Daniela's trick with the cables, and the line to go to that particular haunted house the next year is five times as long.

Lisa insists on going again.

Len still thinks it's stupid.

Lisa says he's just scared.

Which is totally not true.

(But do they have to keep using that cannibal makeup?!)

"You got a problem, huh?" Mick growls in the other man's face, the fierceness of his glare not at all dimmed by the manic grin that shows how much he's enjoying himself.

"Mick," Len says, long-suffering. He’s reclining by the table, a position of power. “Let him go.”

"Nah, boss," Mick says, not turning away from the man he’s got pressed up against a wall. Not that Len actually intended him to – they’ve got a reputation to uphold now, after all. They have to show that they’re willing to put their hand in when someone is screwing with one of their jobs, no matter who it is. It's all according to plan; Mick's just freestyling a bit. “See, I think he's got a problem. I think he wants to say something. That right?"

"No! No, not at all, nothing to say," the man gibbers. Mick is very large and very intimidating, even to powerful mobsters' sons like Nicolas Santini, who are notably less confident when their bodyguards get beaten up and knocked out, and they're being held up three inches from the floor by their jacket lapels. Len and Mick had nabbed three targets before the Santinis could get to them, which pissed them off, and little Nicholas had been sent to “solve” the problem through the usual bull-headed Santini approach of threats and intimidation.

He hadn’t exactly gotten very far.

A blood family member of one of the most fearsome Families in Central City, technically even a Don by their standards, and yet here he is, quivering like a bowl of jello before a pair of freelance thieves.

Very good freelance thieves.

Nicholas Santini really should’ve listened to his cousin’s stories about how they’re not just thieves, they’re monsters that rise from the dead.

Len smirks.

They’ve gone a long way from the days when Len got kidnapped and Mick got shot trying to rescue him, and Len likes it this way much better.

Not that this solves the problem for good, of course. Sending a member of the actual Family against them meant that the Santinis were taking Len and Mick’s firm no-Family-affiliation freelance position a bit personally, which both wasn't a surprise but was still really annoying. Len’d have to make a point of hitting some Darbyinian targets in the next few months just to make clear that their neutrality was unaffected; that should be enough.

Personally, Len’s just happy that he was able to get Lisa to go out of town after she’d graduated. Now that’d been a fight for the ages – the way this one definitely wasn’t – because Lisa had been reluctant to leave Len even if she didn’t have the same attachment to Central City that he did.

An attachment that she referred to as “idiotic” and “unhealthy”, which it was not. A man can love the city he was raised in, even if that city was objectively a hellhole ripe with corruption, poverty and crime.

Huh, maybe that’s why Len likes it so much. He fits in so well here.

Okay, sure, there’s been the growing number of weird science laboratories getting settled here – Mercury, Star, the whole sheebang – but there’s an army base not far away to serve as clientele, cheap land with very low environmental regulations, and by this point Len’s honestly used to the idea of his slums being used as rich people’s dumping grounds.

He doesn’t like it when they do that, mind you, which is why he robs the rich assholes in charge of bringing toxic dumps to his city more often than he does anyone else, but there’s not much else he can do to express his displeasure.

At any rate, Lisa had managed to get a job offer at one of the most prestigious engineering firms in the country, all the way out in Boston, and that’d gotten her to go when none of Len’s other arguments had worked, if only because Len had refused to let her pass up the opportunity and she’d reluctantly agreed.

Sure, she still visits regularly – Len visit her, too, but he can’t force her not to come to Central – but at least she’s out of the worst of the mob war.

“I swear!” Seriously, is the guy still whining? Honestly, Len’s ashamed of him; he’s born and raised Family, he ought to have a bit of a backbone. They’re not even torturing him! They’re not even threatening to torture him! The worst they’re threatening him with is a bit roughing up! They really don’t make them like they used to, and thank heaven for that. Len’d far rather put up with idiots like little Nicholas here than the big kahunas that his dad swam with when Len was a kid: Don Cesare, Don Giovanni, Don Tomio of the asshole-kid-smashed-up-Len’s-head fame... “I didn’t say anything! I didn’t mean anything!”

"That right?" Mick growls. "'cause I woulda sworn I heard you talking earlier, saying things about Snart here..."

"No!"

"Mick," Len says, finally managing to quash down his amusement enough to sound appropriately stern. "He's not worth wasting your energy on."

"Fine," Mick says, and releases the guy's jacket. "Looks like it's your lucky day. Now go."

The guy goes as quickly as he can manage.

Mick returns to Len's side, now grinning like a loon.

"Was that extra bit entirely necessary?" Len asks, trying not to smile. Mick does so enjoy himself when there are people to push around...

"You know it is," Mick says firmly. "We gotta make clear you’re the one in charge of me, so that your reputation’ll get even more fearsome than mine; that's the only way they'll respect you. Order of operations, boss."

Len shakes his head. It’s not that he isn’t convinced – Mick can be very convincing when he wants to be – but at the same time…

"You'll get in trouble one of these days," he warns, not really meaning it.

Mick snorts. "What's the worst that can happen?" he asks, rolling his eyes ostentatiously. "They gonna kill me?"

They end up shooting him.

Len groans in annoyance.

Not again.

You’d think they’d learn by now.

"I'm thinking of going back for my masters," Lisa says. "Maybe a PhD."

"Really?" Len asks, phone shoved between his shoulder and his ear. "I thought you said you were done with school. Straight into the workforce, you said."

"Things were said," she sniffs. “I’m not going to be held responsible for past-Lisa’s statements.”

Len chuckles and steps around the still-cooling corpse on the floor – an ex-associate who'd thought he was above such things as rules. Len squelches the feeling of guilt: the guy had thought he could get away with skimming off the top of the funds they'd collected for the job because he was buddies with Mick, even though Mick'd warned him he wouldn't get any special favors, and then to add insult to injury, when Len'd called him out on it, he'd had the arrogance to try to pull out of the job entirely.

Len's reputation makes it very clear what happens if you're out, and that reputation makes it impossible not to do what he did next.

Still, Len can't help feeling bad about it. He hates killing people – it only adds to the number of ghosts in the world, unless he's lucky, and ghosts of people he killed are always unquiet – but not killing's a luxury he can't afford if he wants to survive in the criminal underworld.

He has to be cold and heartless, just like dear old dad – may he rot in hell or a jail cell, wherever he is now – always said.

Plus, this means he needs to get someone new, and he hates mid-job recruiting.

"If it's what you want, Lise, you should go for it," Len tells her. "You know you don't need my permission."

"I know," she says. "But there's always the matter of money to think about."

"Ahhhh, I see," Len teases. "This is less of an FYI and more of a call to the big brother bank, huh?"

"Actually, I'd been hoping to earn my own way," Lisa replies. "Unfortunately, doing grunt work as a baby engineer in a big company that pays peanuts –" The market for bachelors-only engineers is a tough one, according to Lisa. "— and skating in some ice shows in my spare time only gets me so much."

Len has the sinking feeling he knows what her next comment is going to be. "Lise, I can just give you the money," he points out, trying to forestall the inevitable.

It doesn't help.

"I want in on one of your jobs," she says firmly. "Time for me to earn my own way."

"I've let you in on jobs before," Len protests.

"Sure, in baby jobs," Lisa says. "I know you're planning something big, and I want in."

"I've already collected a crew, Lise."

"Mick says you need a new ringer."

Len stops, affronted, and glares at Mick, who shrugs, clearly well aware of what's being discussed. Undoubtedly why he’s hiding behind a newspaper across the room.

That doesn't make it any less inappropriate. Len literally just shot the guy! How did Mick even find time to tell her?!

"Lise – "

"I can do the job, Lenny. Gimme a chance."

"I know you can do it – " Lisa's one of the natural grifters of this world; Len's always been impressed by her skills. That’s never been his problem. "—the question is, why would you risk a perfectly good, clean record when I can just get you the cash?"

"Oh, please," Lisa scoffs. "You haven't been caught in ages. And if you're feeling particularly paranoid about my record, you can plan me a nice getaway. Ghost-amplified, if necessary."

Len scowls. He still doesn't like it.

"I already owe you so much, Lenny," Lisa continues. "Let me actually help with this one. Please?"

"What's your real motive here?" Len asks, suddenly suspicious. "You like it when I give you gifts."

Lisa sighs.

Hah! Len knew there was another reason.

"I need it for my resume," she finally admits.

Which –

"What? How?"

"Not my work resume, you jerk," Lisa says, sounding amused. "In case I ever need to pull a job, really need to, and you're not around to vouch for me. The Snart name goes a fair way towards it, but nothing substitutes for actual experience – you've said so yourself."

Len grumbles. He has said so, damnit.

"I have the baby jobs you let me help out with," Lisa continues. "One or two big-name heists with notable takes that I can name-drop would let me skip the little leagues, go straight in with the guys that know what they're doing instead of the crappy ones that need to go back to con school –" Meaning prison. "— before they get their act together."

"But why do you need to do crime at all?" Len asks, aware that he's whining. "Lise -"

"Even with your talents, you might get caught one day," Lisa says, her voice suddenly hard. "And if that day comes, when that day comes, I want to be the person you call to help mastermind your escape. Me. I want to be second in line in your phone –"

"You're my first speed-dial, Lise; you know that."

"— second only to Mick."

Well, yes. Len's always going to go to Mick first, but he doesn't need a speed dial for him.

"You know what I meant," Lisa says warningly.

Len sighs. She's not wrong. It would be good to have another person he can rely on, someone he can really trust, especially if it comes to a question of needing to plan an exit route that relies on revealing the full extent of Mick's ghostly abilities. Going temporarily invisible and intangible is incredibly useful for a thief, but Len’s determined to make sure that no one else in the underworld ever figures out what they can do. He’s been threatened too many times to be comfortable with anyone knowing all of his tricks, and his tricks include Mick.

He’s done a good job of it so far, making sure that everyone thought the stories about Mick rising from the dead are just exaggerations, but there will undoubtedly be jobs, or at least prison breaks, where he’ll need to use Mick’s abilities and rely on a crew, and that crew had better be only made up of people he really, truly trusts.

But this is his baby sister.

“Lenny, please,” Lisa wheedles. “It’s important to me. I want you to be able to count on me the way I’ve always counted on you and Mick.”

Well, if she puts it that way, it’s hard to say no.

And, well, they do need a new ringer now that what’s-his-name is no longer going to be available on account of being dead and having passed on…

“Fine,” Len says, giving in with a sigh.

Lisa cheers.

“How long till you can get to Central City?”

“Couple of hours,” she says promptly. “I’m already on my way to the airport.”

Len rolls his eyes. Of course she is.

“Great, I’ll fill you in on the job when you get here,” he says. “You’ll need to be in tip-top grifting to do it, though; it’s going to be a tricky one.”

“A tricky one?” Lisa asks, sounding amused. “Is there something the great thief Leonard Snart, robber of ATMs and breaker of jewelry stores and museums, still considers tricky?”

Just for that, Len’s going to tell her now.

“We’re gonna rob a moving train.”

Lisa laughs.

Len doesn’t.

“…you’re joking, right?”

Len smirks.

“Lenny!”

“I was getting bored with the ATMs and the jewelry stores and the museums,” Len says innocently. “Wanted to up my game a bit. What’s wrong with that?”

“Are you insane? We don’t live in a Western!”

“Now, now, Lisa, you never know when you might need to be able to ride a horse or a fire a six-shooter,” Len says, starting to laugh, his straight face breaking at the tone in her voice.

“Just for that, we’re taking horseback riding lessons with some of the leftover money,” Lisa warns. “You, me, and Mick.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Len lies. How hard can riding a horse be, anyway?

Lisa is still mumbling curses on his name when Len hangs up the phone.

“It go well?” Mick asks, looking up from his newspaper hopefully.

“Yes, Lisa’s joining us for this one,” Len tells him, rolling his eyes again when Mick breaks out into a broad smile. “And afterwards, we’re all going horseback riding.”

The smile disappears.

“…what?” Len asks. “They can’t be that tough.” But he’s uncertain now. Mick’s expression of horror is really convincing.

“We had horses on my farm,” Mick says grimly. “You are not getting on one of those hell-beasts.”

“You know what,” Len says, “I’ll just – let you tell Lisa that when she arrives.”

And then he flees, laughing his head off, because now Mick’s shouting curses after him.

Serves him right, conspiring behind Len’s back like that.

[surveystodestressme]

48.

5000 Question Survey Pt. 9

801. How often do you change your mood in a day? not a lot 802. When you ask people how they are doing you actually care about their answer or is it just polite? well, when i ask while i’m at work i’m just doing it to be polite but when i ask someone i know, i care. 803. Would you consider yourself to be very polite? yeah, i think so 804. Do you like movies and books that involve nuclear holocaust? sure? lol i don’t think i’ve ever read/seen any 805. Have you ever had a lucid dream (a dream in which you knew you were dreaming and had complete control over what happened in the dream)? i don’t think so.  i’ve tried to lucid dream (apparently there’s a specific way that you have to fall asleep in order to be able to do it.  i don’t think it works tho)

806. Have you ever had a flying dream? i’m sure as a kid i did 807. Have you ever had a lucid flying dream? nope 808. What’s the oddest law you ever heard of? none at the top of my head but i’ve looked up stupid laws before and there is plenty lol 809. What is the ultimate way to connect with another person? just getting to know each other and sharing things about yourself with them 810. Can you be intimate with someone without touching him or her? i think so? sexting ig 811. Can men and women ever really be ‘just friends’ with no interest in anything more? absolutely.  i have plenty of male friends and i don’t have interest in them whatsoever.  813. Are you addicted to this survey like drugs? no lol 814. If your significant other wanted to wait for marriage could you hold out or would you leave them (or would you cheat)? well, if you’re talking about sex we’ve already done it lol.  but if he wanted to wait, i would wait for him.  i love him 815. What’s the longest sentence you can make using only words that start with the same letter as your first name? cierra cried continuously covering curious cats cruelly.  that’s all i got 816. If you had a theme song what would it be? i’d have my friends write it for me 817. Are you cranky? yeah 818. Which group generally annoys you more, people older than you, or people younger than you? people younger than me for sure 819. Do you refer to older people as old farts? lol sometimes 820. Do you refer to younger people as the kids? usually 821. Which is better: Poems that everyone can relate to or poems that are intensely personal to the author? both are good honestly. 822. Is it worse to be too hot or too cold? too hot. 823. Are you so flexible that you can put your feet behind your head? nope 824. Would you enjoy reading fairy tales written about robots? i enjoy reading lots of things 825. Is smoking a turn on or gross? not a turn on lol kinda gross 826. What is the one way you wouldn’t want to die? drowning 827. Which would look sillier on you: A cowboy hat or a Rasta hat? a cowboy hat 828. Would you rather have a job doing something indoors or outdoors? indoors. 829. Would you rather learn more about human nutrition or meteorology? meteorology 830. Have you ever taken honors courses? yeah 831. What do you think of crop circles? they’re weird 832. Where do they come from? aliens??? 833. When was the last time you screwed up big time? a couple weeks ago 834. You have a choice. What do you eat: A veggie burger this one A turkey dog A cheese sandwich 835. Do you get a lot of random instant messages? nope 836. Do you have a paper journal also?

yes 837. VHS or DVD? i don’t care either way 838. Vinyl, cassette tape, or CD? casette man.  i never got a mix tape and i’ve always wanted one 839. Have you ever seen the video/heard the song Days Go By, performed by Dirty Vegas? nope 840. MTV: should it play more videos or more shows? more videos for sure 841. Name a band: five finger death punch Do fans of that band tend to share any characteristics with each other? i don’t know? i guess so 842. What does the expression 'touch and go’ mean? do something fast 843. Caffeine or alcohol? caffeine 844. Betty or Veronica? betty Archie or Reggie or Jughead? jughead 845. What book are you reading right now? i’m not currently reading a book although i need to 846. Is the news too depressing? sometimes 847. Would you rather have a stuffed lion, elephant, pig or duck? pig 848. Are you late for a very important date? not that i remember 849. Ever use star 69? yeah 850. Is everyone as smart as you? sure 851. Have you ever seen the musical Annie? nope 852. Sheets: silk or satin? silk 853. Bath: soap or bubbles? bubbles 854. Your best color: blue or red? blue. 855. What’s your favorite candy? sour punch straws 856. Can you sing? somewhat 857. It’s the end of the world, as we know it. How do you feel? a lil mad 858. You take your little sister (she’s 12) shopping for school clothes. Mom gave you the money to hold. She picks out a skimpy top emblazoned “Hottie” and hip-hugging pants that leave at least two inches of skin north and south of her navel exposed to the wind. She insists: If she doesn’t have these clothes, she’ll look awful, the other kids will tease her, and she’ll feel like a nerd. Do you think she should or should not wear these clothes? hell fucking no Do you buy them for her? absolutely not 859. What do you think is the most annoying cliché? everything will be okay 860. What band is underground right now but will one day get really popular? uhh.. idk 861. Of the following which word best describes you: versatile (flexible): this i guess. wonderful: x-tra special: your own best friend: zany: 862. What does BYOB stand for? bring your own beer 863. Who is sexiest: Marilyn Monroe James Dean yesss Elvis Jim Morrison Madonna Cyndi Lauper 864. Do you always do what’s expected of you? i try to 865. Do you believe everything you hear on the news? nope 866. Would you prefer a $100.00 gift certificate to Hot Topic or Abercrombie & Fitch (assuming neither store gives change, so you’ll have to spend the whole thing)? hot topic 867. Have you ever won a competition? not that i remember 868. Who looks sloppier when they are over weight, guys or girls? either honestly.  but only when it’s severely overwight 869. At what age do you become all grown up? in your late 20s or early 30s 870. Have you ever written graffiti on anything? nope 871. Can you remember what you wrote? - 872. Are you a force of nature? sure??? 873. What do you think of blue eye shadow? How about gold eye shadow? they can look good 874. Would you ever wear any of the following Halloween costumes: Flapper? Hippie? Disco dancer? i’d wear all of them. 875. Should birth control be taught in high school? How about in jr. high or elementary school? yes to both 876. Would you consider yourself a genius? not at all 877. What did you think of the movie Solaris? never seen it 878. Which is usually better movies or books? books allll the way.  but i love movies too 879. Do you think The Hobbit will be made into a movie? it already is 880. Do you research which brands use sweatshops to make their clothing before you shop? no but i probably should 881. What gives you a magical feeling? love? lol idk 882. Have you ever pulled apart a Christmas cracker? i don’t even know what that is 883. Would you rather watch basketball or play basketball? watch 884. Do you think that everyone makes his or her own problems? most of the time 885. Do you often consider how your actions will affect other people? sometimes 886. Are J-Lo and Ben Afleck interesting to you at all? not really 887. Do you use bad grammar or hate bad grammar? i hate it but i occasionally use it lol 888. Make up a tabloid headline: morgan freeman lives forever 889. Do you like to learn new things? yes. 890. What’s more important, fame or personal accomplishment? personal accomplishment. 891. Sweet dreams are made of this….What are they made of? goals? lol happiness??? idk man 892. Two trailer park girls go round the outside…Round the outside of what? idk 893. Are you wearing a piece of jewelry that means a lot to you right now? nope i don’t wear jewelry 894. If someone was going to inscribe a message on a ring and give it to you what would you want it to say? i love you? 895. Guys who are losing their hair: Should they shave their heads? Get implants? Or let it go? whatever they want to do 896. Do rock stars work hard or lead the easy life? a little bit of both 897. How much water do you drink every day? ,maybe a glass of day sometimes more 898. Are you driven or kinda apathetic? driven mostly 899. Who do you turn to when you are down? jack 900. Would you ever wear seran-wrap? no??? lol

[surveysonfleek]

377.

5000 Question Survey Pt. 9

801. How often do you change your mood in a day? not too often unless something happens. 802. When you ask people how they are doing you actually care about their answer or is it just polite? i usually mean it, only because i don’t ask that too often haha. 803. Would you consider yourself to be very polite? polite, but not ‘very’. 804. Do you like movies and books that involve nuclear holocaust? not particularly, but some of them are well done. 805. Have you ever had a lucid dream (a dream in which you knew you were dreaming and had complete control over what happened in the dream)? nope.

806. Have you ever had a flying dream? not that i can remember. 807. Have you ever had a lucid flying dream? no. 808. What's the oddest law you ever heard of? man there’s plenty, i just can’t remember. 809. What is the ultimate way to connect with another person? honestly just the process of getting to know each other. that’s when you know if you have a connection or not. 810. Can you be intimate with someone without touching him or her? yes. there’s always facetime haha. 811. Can men and women ever really be 'just friends' with no interest in anything more? yes, 100%. i have plenty of guy friends i could never feel anything for. 813. Are you addicted to this survey like drugs? no. 814. If your significant other wanted to wait for marriage could you hold out or would you leave them (or would you cheat)? i’m not sure... depends at what stage we are in the relationship when they tell me. 815. What's the longest sentence you can make using only words that start with the same letter as your first name? no thanks. 816. If you had a theme song what would it be? no idea. i’d get it made. 817. Are you cranky? no. 818. Which group generally annoys you more, people older than you, or people younger than you? younger than me. 819. Do you refer to older people as old farts? no. 820. Do you refer to younger people as the kids? sometimes. 821. Which is better: Poems that everyone can relate to or poems that are intensely personal to the author? either or. depends on the reader. i personally don’t bother with poems. 822. Is it worse to be too hot or too cold? too hot. 823. Are you so flexible that you can put your feet behind your head? no. 824. Would you enjoy reading fairy tales written about robots? um, no. 825. Is smoking a turn on or gross? def not a turn on lol. 826. What is the one way you wouldn't want to die? being burned to death. 827. Which would look sillier on you: A cowboy hat or a Rasta hat? rasta hat for sure. 828. Would you rather have a job doing something indoors or outdoors? indoors. 829. Would you rather learn more about human nutrition or meteorology? human nutrition. 830. Have you ever taken honors courses? nope. 831. What do you think of crop circles? interesting... 832. Where do they come from? no idea. 833. When was the last time you screwed up big time? idk. 834. You have a choice. What do you eat: A veggie burger A turkey dog <---- this A cheese sandwich 835. Do you get a lot of random instant messages? not random. 836. Do you have a paper journal also? nope. 837. VHS or DVD? neither. streaming ftw. 838. Vinyl, cassette tape, or CD? none, streaming again lol. 839. Have you ever seen the video/heard the song Days Go By, performed by Dirty Vegas? nope. 840. MTV: should it play more videos or more shows? more videos. 841. Name a band: destiny’s child. Do fans of that band tend to share any characteristics with each other? ummm, not really. 842. What does the expression 'touch and go' mean? something you can do quickly? 843. Caffeine or alcohol? alcohol. 844. Betty or Veronica? veronica. Archie or Reggie or Jughead? archie. 845. What book are you reading right now? sometimes i lie. 846. Is the news too depressing? yeah, sometimes. 847. Would you rather have a stuffed lion, elephant, pig or duck? duck. 848. Are you late for a very important date? nope. 849. Ever use star 69? no. 850. Is everyone as smart as you? haha who knows. 851. Have you ever seen the musical Annie? only the movie. 852. Sheets: silk or satin? i’d love silk sheets. 853. Bath: soap or bubbles? bubbles. 854. Your best color: blue or red? blue. 855. What's your favorite candy? chocolate. 856. Can you sing? not well. 857. It's the end of the world, as we know it. How do you feel? pretty sad. 858. You take your little sister (she's 12) shopping for school clothes. Mom gave you the money to hold. She picks out a skimpy top emblazoned "Hottie" and hip-hugging pants that leave at least two inches of skin north and south of her navel exposed to the wind. She insists: If she doesn't have these clothes, she'll look awful, the other kids will tease her, and she’ll feel like a nerd. Do you think she should or should not wear these clothes? definitely not. she’s 12. Do you buy them for her? hell no. 859. What do you think is the most annoying cliché? happy endings. 860. What band is underground right now but will one day get really popular? idk. 861. Of the following which word best describes you: versatile (flexible): this i guess. wonderful: x-tra special: your own best friend: zany: 862. What does BYOB stand for? bring your own booze? 863. Who is sexiest: Marilyn Monroe <---- definitely marilyn James Dean Elvis Jim Morrison Madonna Cyndi Lauper 864. Do you always do what's expected of you? most of the time. 865. Do you believe everything you hear on the news? most of the time. i probably shouldn’t. 866. Would you prefer a $100.00 gift certificate to Hot Topic or Abercrombie & Fitch (assuming neither store gives change, so you'll have to spend the whole thing)? omg like neither. i’d take any then just buy gifts. 867. Have you ever won a competition? yes. 868. Who looks sloppier when they are over weight, guys or girls? it actually doesn’t matter, it depends more on how they dress and carry themselves. 869. At what age do you become all grown up? sometimes in your 20s. 870. Have you ever written graffiti on anything? no. 871. Can you remember what you wrote? - 872. Are you a force of nature? somewhat. 873. What do you think of blue eye shadow? How about gold eye shadow? they can both work, depends on how you apply it. 874. Would you ever wear any of the following Halloween costumes: Flapper? Hippie? Disco dancer? i’d wear all of them. 875. Should birth control be taught in high school? How about in jr. high or elementary school? definitely jr high and high school. 876. Would you consider yourself a genius? no. 877. What did you think of the movie Solaris? never heard of it. 878. Which is usually better movies or books? it depends solely on the book/movie. 879. Do you think The Hobbit will be made into a movie? haaa, it already did. 880. Do you research which brands use sweatshops to make their clothing before you shop? sadly no. 881. What gives you a magical feeling? adrenaline. 882. Have you ever pulled apart a Christmas cracker? yes. 883. Would you rather watch basketball or play basketball? watch. 884. Do you think that everyone makes his or her own problems? not always. 885. Do you often consider how your actions will affect other people? not often, no. 886. Are J-Lo and Ben Afleck interesting to you at all? i love j-lo, don’t follow ben affleck at all. 887. Do you use bad grammar or hate bad grammar? i hate it. 888. Make up a tabloid headline: no. 889. Do you like to learn new things? yes. 890. What's more important, fame or personal accomplishment? personal accomplishment. 891. Sweet dreams are made of this....What are they made of? idk. 892. Two trailer park girls go round the outside...Round the outside of what? the trailer? 893. Are you wearing a piece of jewelry that means a lot to you right now? yes. 894. If someone was going to inscribe a message on a ring and give it to you what would you want it to say? something personal i guess. 895. Guys who are losing their hair: Should they shave their heads? Get implants? Or let it go? it’s totally up to them. 896. Do rock stars work hard or lead the easy life? they would have to work hard to a certain extent. 897. How much water do you drink every day? maybe 6 glasses a day. 898. Are you driven or kinda apathetic? apathetic right now. 899. Who do you turn to when you are down? my boyfriend. 900. Would you ever wear seran-wrap? no.

[toldnews-blog]

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Vows: The Writer Anne Lamott Gets to the Happily-Ever-After Part

The writer Anne Lamott recently sat in the living room of her Fairfax, Calif., house, wearing her signature dreadlocks, a loose cotton shirt and baggy jeans (skinny jeans are definitely not her style). At 65, she was about to get married for the first time.

When asked why she stayed single so long, she replied that she was shy and introverted and hated leaving the house, particularly for parties.

“If I go to a party, I become a Roz Chast character with my arms hanging at my sides and I feel like I’m developing a tic,” said Ms. Lamott, who has published 18 memoirs and novels, many about being a recovering alcoholic, single mother, incessant worrier and late-in-life churchgoer.

Yet in recent years, she found herself admitting to friends and fans (otherwise known as “Annieholics”) that a good marriage was the one thing she wanted but had not achieved. So she joined OurTime, a matchmaking site for people over 50, and forced herself to go on dates and make small talk. “Then, I saw this really handsome, soulful guy on OurTime and he was like me,” she said. “He was hard-core left wing, an intellectual, spiritual seeker.”

His name was Neal Allen, and she contacted him in August 2016. He promptly wrote back: “You rejected me already!”

He reminded her that they had exchanged messages on the site a few months earlier, but she had stopped communicating with him after learning he was allergic to cats (she sleeps with hers, which could also explain why she hadn’t found a partner sooner). Mr. Allen, 63, had left his job as a vice president for marketing at the McKesson Corporation in San Francisco to become a writer. He lived alone in a house in the woods in Lagunitas, Calif., and he had a wide range of interests that included Plato, bluegrass music, the New Testament and Vipassana meditation. He sounded much cooler than she remembered. “I said, ‘Take me back! Take me back!’” she said.

On Aug. 30, 2016, they met for coffee at the Two Bird Cafe in San Geronimo, halfway between their homes. “My first impression was that he was so handsome and I loved his nose,” she said.” We were just jamming. Life, God, books, movies. Life, God, books, movies.”

Mr. Allen, who was divorced twice and has four children, loved her “casual prettiness, “trippy dreads,” “kissable lips” and willingness to tell him everything, absolutely everything, about herself. “That kind of openness, it was like being sucked into a spider web,” he said.

The coffee date was followed, she said, by a “period of not only being in love but being sickeningly in love, it being like a mental illness.”

They spent every day together. They had long, heart-to-heart talks on her secondhand couch about things like how to approach death more mindfully or mistakes they’d made in the past as parents and as lovers. They took daily walks, either on the many trails that cover Mount Tamalpais, or up and down the aisles of Good Earth, a health food emporium in Fairfax, where they invariably bought too much chocolate. He said the only downside of falling in love with Ms. Lamott was that he gained 17 pounds in the first six months.

In some ways, they are opposites. She is afraid of almost everything, whereas he’s afraid of almost nothing. “It never occurs to me that anything will go wrong,” he said. Whenever she got overly anxious about a deadline, or climate change, or whether that shaking sensation was an earthquake, Mr. Allen made a cheese omelet for her. “Neal cooks, he cleans and yet he’s still a man’s man,” said Annette Lopez-Lamott, Ms. Lamott’s sister-in-law. “He respects women and that was very important to Annie who’s very power to the people, women’s rights.”

Crucially, Mr. Neal said, they got each other’s jokes “95 to 98 percent” of the time. “I have never, ever spent time with somebody as funny, as brilliantly funny,” he said. “Living with Annie is like being in a comedy sketch.”

Seven months after their first date, they bought a dilapidated house on a narrow, hidden lane in Fairfax. Now renovated, the house is airy and uncluttered inside, like a sentence with all the extra words removed. Ms. Lamott has her first new couch (all the others have been hand-me-downs) where she and Mr. Allen spend their evenings watching the news on television, dissecting the news, eating dinner and bingeing on dark Scandinavian movies, which they both love. “The level of brown bear-like comfort we find in each other is just amazing,” she said.

There’s also a renovated barn behind the house where her son, Sam Lamott, 29, and grandson, Jax Lamott, 9, live part time. When asked if everyone gets along, Ms. Lamott said, “It’s kind of like a wedding where there are all these disparate elements and you just hope there’s enough love and compromise that everything will work out fine, and most of the time it does.”

On Aug. 30, 2018, exactly two years after their first date, Mr. Allen pressed the pause button while they watching the United States Open and proposed.

They were married April 13 at Deer Park Villa, an events space near their house, in a redwood grove with Christmas lights swooping between the trees. The 150 guests were asked to “dress happily” and the Grateful Dead song, “Ripple,” played through speakers as the wedding party, ranging in ages from 9 to 80-plus, entered the grove in no particular order and at no particular pace. There was the sense that anybody could have joined them if they wanted to.

The tall bridegroom towered over everyone, looking somewhat like a basketball player in a black suit, while the bride wore a calf-length white dress she bought on eBay, Mary Jane shoes and a furry white cardigan.

The ceremony reflected the couple’s idiosyncratic patchwork of spiritual and political interests. The officiant, the Rev. William Rankin, an Episcopal minister and a founder of the Global AIDS Interfaith Alliance, read a passage from the benediction at Barack Obama’s 2009 inauguration, pushing for racial equality, global peace and turning tractors into tanks. Jack Kornfield, a Buddhist meditation teacher, presented the couple with his version of a “ring,” a Tibetan singing bowl and a wooden mallet. He suggested they tap the bowl and listen to its ring whenever they had a “How did I get into this feeling?” mood as husband and wife.

The Rev. Tom Weston, a Jesuit priest, also stood with the couple. He didn’t speak much, but he did exude a kind of fatherly benevolence, as he does in some of the bride’s memoirs.

Sam Lamott, the man of honor, read an E.E. Cummings poem; and Marina Allen, a daughter of the groom, sang “Let Me,” a sweet, quirky love song she wrote for the couple.

The bride and bridegroom each took out a piece of paper, and their reading glasses, and recited the vows they had written. Hers were neither writerly nor weighty. She just made a few simple observations like, “Your love has given me permission to be softer, wilder and more real.” His were also spare, mere brush strokes of promises and intentions. “I’d very much like to continue our exploration of love indefinitely,” he said politely, as if he were asking her to dance. The couple have a light touch with everything, especially each other. Out in public, friends said, she’ll just barely hold on to his belt loop, or his sleeve.

They left the grove to the Van Morrison song, “Into the Mystic.” Meg Lundstrom, a longtime friend of the bridegroom, said afterward, “I’ve been telling my friends that the smartest person I know is marrying the kindest person I know but I don’t know which is which.”

Everyone gathered inside the “villa,” a rustic house next to the grove, for dinner at long tables that were decorated with pink paper runners and colorful leis. It looked like a child’s birthday party.

Laura Neely catered the dinner, along with her staff of mostly middle-age women who called themselves “the old gangster catering crew.” Ms. Neely said she particularly admired Ms. Lamott for not leaping into marriage, until now. “Getting married now is the best thing ever because that’s for sure going to be your toe-tag husband,” she said.

Now that Ms. Lamott has found her lifelong partner, does she have any advice for those who might still be looking? “If you’re paying attention and making your own life as beautiful and rich and fun as it can be, you might just attract someone who’s doing the same thing,” she said. “You can give up on tracking someone down with your butterfly net.”

A natural cheerleader, especially for underdogs, she also posted this on her Facebook page: “Never give up, no matter how things look or how long they take. Don’t quit before the miracle.”