#that doesn’t sound like caution that sounds like eugenics

[dilfsisko]

At what point does PGT in ivf just become eugenics I wonder

[hurlumerlu]

Bitter, bitter

(another little Not Me fic)

They take way too long to spot him – especially Gram, who should know better and who, when he finally realizes they aren’t alone, just pushes Gene behind him and then fucking freezes, the moron.

Funny, the effect Black tends to have on people.

"Gonna have a panic attack ?" He does not bother to sound sympathetic.

"Heart attack, actually." Hard to tell what’s more insulting : that Gram relaxes when he recognizes him, or that he doesn’t relax entirely. "And if I drop dead because of you Eugene will hate you for life, and that will serve you right."

"Don’t decide what I would or wouldn’t do", she chides, her head popping up over his shoulder. Her cheeks are flushed – unsurprising, given how giddily and enthusiastically they were making out a minute ago – and she seems a little embarassed, but her gaze has its usual quiet, attentive quality. Did he even know she could kiss like that, so recklessly ? He was always careful with her. Caution is all you’ve got when you're bad at tenderness. "Good evening, Black. It’s been a while."

"Eugene."

"Really ?" cuts Gram, propping himself up on his desk. "This is how we’re gonna do this ?" His lips are very red. That makes sense. They would be.

"Mind your own business," Black shoots back before he can think better of it. Behind strands of bleached hair, two incredulous eyes meet his :

"This is my dorm. My door which lock you picked –"

"Great job noticing it, by the way."

"– my beer you’re drinking in my chair. But please tell me how this isn’t my business."

"Eloquent," Black deadpans. "What happened to property is theft ?"

"And what happened to anarchy is an ideology for artists, only applicable in the abstract ?" retorts Gene, because she has a phenomenal memory when it comes to winning an argument.

He shrugs. "I stand by it."

"I’m with him on that one."

"Yeah, because neither of you will open a history book that doesn’t have Laws written on the cover."

For a moment, it almost feels like nothing has changed, like everything is the same as before – before he’d understood just how urgently Todd had to be dealt with and that this was something he needed to do alone.

But if nothing had changed Gene would be nestled against him, not positioned carefully equidistant from the two people facing her. He wonders how Gram feels about that. How he felt about it back then. He always looked happy, and inordinately fond, but – as Black should have kept in mind – that doesn’t actually mean shit. He certainly feels neither joy nor fondness at Gram’s red lips and Gene’s flushed cheeks. Maybe that’s his punishment for choosing Todd over them.

"I came to talk," he says, and drowns Gram’s sarcastic "he wants to talk but it’s not my business" with "I didn’t know Eugene would be here." A mistake.

"What, you can’t talk when I’m here ?"

"No." It’s the truth. Black’s a lousy liar, and he always tells her the truth. The problem is that he can’t voice the rest of it : that he wishes he could, that he’s never been good at it and that wanting only makes things worse. That he remembers exactly how soft her hair was under his palm, and that he may not know how Gram’s hair feel but he does know it smells of basil. That those two phantom sensations burn in his throat, not unlike teargas.

"I promised I’d get out of your life."

"So I should just let you two discuss me between men ?"

"That’s not –" starts Gram. Black shuts him down fast.

"You take it however you want. I have no right to tell you how to feel."

"You could explain, Black ! For once in your life, you could explain yourself !"

"No," he repeats, and pushes himself up. "I’ve taken enough of your time. I’m off."

"Wait !" Gram grabs him by the arm, then winces and lets go before Black can finish weighting the pros and cons of punching him in his fucking mouth. "Wait, please."

"Did you come on your bike ?" asks Gene. She’s eyeing the empty beer bottles. "You should spend the night here."

He doesn’t remind her that she is mad at him, or that this isn’t her room. "I’m not drunk." Maybe he would have been if White hadn’t teased him the other day. Eugene said you’re sooo gentle when you’re wasted. Perhaps he is. He couldn’t risk it.

"But you wouldn’t pass breath-testing. Sleep here, man. Eugene can take the bed and we can take the floor."

"Stop acting like you’re not dating her."

"It’s a one person bed."

"Right. You were absolutely planning to sleep on the floor tonight. That’s why you came in with your hands so far down her –"

"Enough." Anger is back in Gene’s tone. Good. He cannot stand one more second of sad concern. "We just want you to stay."

"Yeah, well," and he’s finally outside, in the corridor, in the clear. "We don’t always get what we want, do we ?"

He turns to look at them, both standing in the doorway, so close to each other like a proper couple, cheeks still a little flushed, lips still a little red. What a waste of an evening.

"See you later I guess," he says, and makes his way down the stairs.

[avatarvyakara]

Strands of Webbing

A Spiderverse Fanfic

Prompts 193-204

“On the Job”

CAUTION: contains references to Naziism and eugenics. (Leading to a punch in the face because it’s Noir.)

193. Pun

Of course Peter B. is late meeting for coffee in Peter’s world. It’s part of the risks of the job. But when he does turn up—

“What happened to you?”

Peter B. is stumbling, he seems to be taking the toon reality worse than usual, and his suit looks like he’s been mugged at the beach.

“Sandman. Fifth Avenue. Holdup. Crushed. Bleh.”

“Oof. I get ya. Still, all part of the daily gri—”

“So help me I will web your mouth shut, Porker.”

“Buy me dinner first?”

“Shut up. Owwww.”

“Who’s your friend, Spider-Ham?” asks Mr. Leo, bringing out a coffee. “Some kinda mandrill?”

“But horribly disfigured, that’s why he wears the mask,” says Peter cheerfully. “Still, he’s obviously a fan, so I don’t mind.”

“...black coffee with a cinnamon stick, please.”

Mr. Leo beams. “Whatever you look like under there, buddy, you’re obviously a mandrill of quality and I won’t judge you for it.”

“Er...thanks.”

Peter takes his own beverage. Ah, extra sprinkles on the whipped cream. Life is good.

194. Percussive

Gwen’s head is usually full of music in one way or another. She likes to time her motions around it. Sometimes she makes a game of it. Actually, sometimes she uses the long hours to work on the songs Betty and MJ compose.

“I think we can work in a slightly different tempo for this one,” she says to MJ. “Make it faster, but use three-four time instead of four-four.”

Marie-Jane raises an eyebrow, like she always does. “Where’d you come up with that one?”

“On the mean streets of Queens, obviously,” Gwen teases back.

(Actually, it did work quite well back there. The Rhino didn’t even see those moves coming.)

It works. She knew it would.

195. Source

Takara sits in the heart of the machine, the tesseract spider providing both power and memory storage for the robot. Peni activates the interface, and the engine fires up. Screens pop into view. Peni could control SP//dr by channeling commands along the psychic link and leaving it at that, but this way it's more enjoyable for the both of them.

It’s also more enjoyable for them both when there’s something to eat. Of course, Takara doesn’t really need it, not with the nutrient packs surrounding her compartment. But Peni eating makes them both feel good, and it’s positive encouragement for Takara as much as a feel-good thing for herself.

And the programming data for the robot itself—her father’s work, even if it’s no longer his robot, and his memory sits in a new form—reflects that happiness. Becomes part-and-parcel with Takara, extending her capabilities as she extends his memory.

SP//dr is powered up and ready to go.

(Which is good, because that giant lightning-generating flamingo isn't going to leave Staten Island alone any time soon.)

196. Symbiosis

“Hey, Ock? You might wanna ignore the weird lady,” says Peter, trapped in tentacles. “Just to warn you.”

“Be silent, Spider-Ham! I am talking to my deformed mandrill counterpart.”

Olivia Octavius looks...nonplussed. Genuinely nonplussed.

“...you know, when I thought about being an animal, I didn’t honestly plan on being a cat.”

“...nnno, I can see it,” says Peter.

“What’s wrong with cats?” demands Doctor Octopussycat.

But Olivia’s now looking at the arms. Eight of them, instead of four. And...

“...why are you wearing an octopus? I mean, an actual octopus?”

“I am not wearing her, we are committed.”

Olivia looks helplessly at Spider-Ham.

“What can I say? Power couple. I’m happy for you two, Molly!” he calls out.

“Thanks, Spider-Ham!” comes the somewhat muffled voice of the octopus. “Looking forward to eating you!”

“You,” says Olivia to Spider-Ham. “You’re sane. Probably. Tell me this isn’t actually happening?”

“Welcome to my world, lady. Literally.”

197. Pugilist

“What will we find behind that mask, hmm, Spinnemensch?” drawls the man in military uniform. He sounds Scottish; his German is utterly terrible. “Fangs and claws? Eyes glowing like blood-gems?”

It’s a chilly, gloomy day, and the smell of the rain washes over the city in the way only the smell of rain can.

“I doubt it’d mean a thing to ya,” says Peter, “but it's so I don't frighten the life out of people.”

“I think it a sign of weakness, Spinnemensch. After all, we wear our allegiance proudly. You're just another mafia goon trying to poison this city.”

Peter doesn’t usually prefer to talk, but he’s also not averse to it if it gives him time to get himself into a better position to fight.

He snorts.

“Mafia? Really? Please. Anyway, you really wanna go down that road? You’re literally wearing the symbols of a defeated enemy of the US.”

“America has not defeated us, and they never will,” spits another thug, and this one is German. “They can take apart our country and leave it for the lessers to pick clean for oil and free labour, but they lost the last war. And it’s only by making common cause with us that they can win the next.”

“By, what, putting people into camps and burning down their businesses?”

“Why not? It’s what they did to us. We’re simply continuing time-honoured practices. And eugenics will prove that we are equal in all ways to the Whites of America, so there can be none of this foolishness about us being lessers anymore.” He sneers. “Not like those pets they keep to make pretence at being ‘a world within a world’.”

“...you know, I hear Sigmund Freud’s insane asylum is taking inpatients—”

The second man throws a punch.

Peter grabs it easily, and behind his mask and goggles the Spider-Man grins.

Finally.

And into the fray he goes.

198. Truant

“Look, ma’am, I know this is a long shot, but is there any way I can persuade you to put the stuff from the jewellery store back and run? I got a geography presentation in fifteen minutes and I’m not even in the right borough.”

Felicia gives this some consideration.

“Alright, newbie, you got me,” she says. “Just this one time.”

Miles gets back in time, gives the presentation, takes a moment to rest, checks the news—

Half an hour later, as the sun sets, he’s out in the Bronx.

“You know that wasn’t a free pass to rob a different one, right?”

“I said one time, Spider-Man,” Black Cat replies with a grin. “Presentation go okay?”

“Eh,” shrugs Spider-Man, as they start throwing punches. “Indian history was never that big a thing for me.”

Felicia laughs.

199. Reunion

“What the [bleep]?”

Miguel blinks, then glances at El Porco.

“What? It’s a side-effect. Why is ‘shock’ a bad word anyway?”

“Um. Hey, Gabe? Meet my insane new friend, Peter Porker. Porquito, meet my loser brother, Gabriel O’Hara.”

His younger brother stares. “Migs, what...”

“Pleasure to meet ya, big fella! I’m the Spider-Ham.”

“...”

“Stunned into speechlessness by my good looks, no doubt.”

Both O’Haras snort at that.

“There, see! And you said getting your brother to smile was the hardest part of your day. Obviously you’re not trying hard enough.”

Gabriel looks surprised, Miguel mildly furious.

“One more word and it’s the oven for you.”

“No, no, I wanna hear this,” says Gabriel, waving a hand. “Mán, are you...like, a real pig with the Alchemax treatment, or some kind of hologram, or...”

“One hundred percent genuine pork. But I keep kosher, if it helps.”

“Keep him. He’s like you but nicer.”

“Gee, thanks, Gabe.”

But both O’Haras are smiling at the same thing, which is a rare enough event that Miguel won’t pound El Porco for revealing embarrassing secrets. Yet. Guy just bounces back anyway.

200. Power

At the end of the day, it's not about beating people up. It's not about daring feats of heroics. It's about doing with one's abilities what needs to be done, so that everyone else can do what they need to do. You get on with your side of the job, and they get on with theirs.

Not that there isn't such a thing as job satisfaction.

201. Wash

Cindy’s world is...curious, Peter thinks. There are faint outlines around people and buildings, and the colours are always vivid but...just a little pale. Spectacular, but pale. With people, it gets more or less vivid depending on how well they fit. Like a jigsaw puzzle.

In black and white and red, Cindy takes the limelight.

(He’s going to have to talk to the Spider-God at some point and work out what the heck is going on, there is no way these are normal feelings. Peter B. mentioned something called “pheromones” when he and Gwen met Miles’ version of Silk—Silkworm, in fact, living in San Fransisco with her nearly-dead boyfriend. Nobody talks about that meeting, although Gwen blushes a bit. Must be what’s happening here. Only...they apparently had the same spider. His is definitely different from hers. So—)

“You need a refill?” she asks, settling down on a rooftop and gesturing to her fingertips. (She can shoot silk from her fingertips. Complicated silk, in colours. That’s...new.)

“Think I’m okay for the next few years or so,” he reassures her, and shoots out a line from his wrist.

She grins. (All in the eyes.) “Nice. So you’re one of the freaky spiders. Like me.”

Peter shrugs. “Guess so, doll. Webs aren’t a patch on yours, though.”

There’s a silence which might be awkward. Slightly.

“So...is this what your day looks like, mostly?”

“Pretty much. Wake up early, take the web to work, find some new story for J.J.J., do some...other stuff, come home, spend a bit of time looking for my family, grab a few minutes’ sleep, rinse and repeat.”

“...doesn’t actually sound too bad.”

Now Cindy shrugs. “Better than being in that bunker for five years.”

“Gotta admit, sounds a lot more fast-paced.”

“Heh. Plus a bit of catching up. You would not believe how much the world has changed in the past five years.”

“Nearly ninety years for me, kid.”

“Kid, though? I’m pretty sure we’re the same age. Even if you do look a bit...Cage-y.”

“Gotta preserve the mystery...ma’am.”

Silk snorts. It’s a very un-ladylike and very friendly snort. “You’re like Slenderman with a trench coat, it’s not that mysterious.”

“Who again?”

“...I don’t believe it, there’s actually someone alive who knows less about modern pop culture than I do.”

It turns out to be quite a pleasant world. Peter thinks he may come back at some point.

202. Limbs

“Mister Morales, you’re nearly late!” exclaims Doctor Octavius, which is her usual hello. “Come on in! I could really use a hand with this...”

203. Daily

“Okay, seriously,” says Peter, “how many of us actually work or have worked for the Bugle?”

His hand goes up. So do others.

“It’s the Beagle in my world.”

“Fact Channel for me, but Jonah’s still my boss.”

“Tried to get the guy to publish Urich’s blackmail material. Didn’t really work out. He accepts an article every now and then.”

“I actually played a bugle for Mr. Jameson before he proclaimed the local news. Well, for about a week.”

“...I may have gotten slightly higher in the ranks.”

Everyone turns to Mayday’s Dad.

“What? It’s a good career. Plus this way the media can actually support a Spider for once.”

“...can you do J.J.J. impressions too?”

“Oh, no,” groans Mayday.

“Can I ever!”

204. Nap

Rio is a nurse, and a pretty darn good one if she says so herself. It’s actually how she met Jeff, believe it or not. (Although admittedly it was less “let me heal your wounds, brave sir” and more “ma’am, I don’t want to panic you because I am definitely not panicking but we were messing around and I accidentally knocked out my big brother and I swear it was an accident and I think he’s gonna kill me so please help me get him to the point where he can kill me?”) And part of that is being able to take care of the people around her.

She’s just in on a quick break—double shifts this week—and she takes a moment to see how her son is doing.

Miles, conked out on his bed in his school uniform, cuddling that strange stuffed pig with the Spider-Man pattern that shows up once in a while, sighs when she adds the blanket but doesn’t stir. Poor boy. Working so hard. They all do, they all have jobs of their own—and they can all spare sympathy for one another and make it easier. Her son makes it easier for his parents every day just by being there.

(She makes a point of ignoring the gentle snores coming from the white-and-black Spider-girl on the ceiling. It’s perfectly innocent, and Miles will tell her and Jeff when he’s ready.)

Might be worth having a quick lie down herself...

[midnights-calm]

Suffering Snowfall

Ao3 link

So... I went completely off prompt. Like almost immediately. But I’m still really proud of this and I hope you enjoy!

Again, this was (sorta) inspired by a prompt from the lovely @dangara2610

--------------------------- Even though he had only been here for a few short months, Hugo could confidently say that Corona was the sunniest kingdom ever to exist. Sure there was the occasional rainstorm, but those were rare enough that his opinion on the warm weather held true. Until today that is. At the moment, dark clouds covered every inch of the normal blue sky and the temperature  matched that of an Arendllen winter.

 Hugo readjusted his scarf and hurried his way to the castle. Varain had run out of powdered calcium, and being the loving boyfriend that he is, the blond had offered to go get some more. A decision he quickly regretted when he felt his fingers freezing through his gloves. 

Seeing the gates ahead of him, Hugo quickened his already speedy steps. He gave a quick nod to the guards and rushed into the warm embrace of the castle. He really hoped that this weather would pass soon.

*****

“It’s snowing.” Varian flinched in Hugo’s embrace, causing the blond to raise an eyebrow. Both males looked out the window to indeed see soft white flakes floating down to meet the ground. Rapunzel sighed as she and Eugene observed the snowfall. “Hopefully it doesn’t get as bad as last time.” 

Varian tensed for a few moments before burying himself deeper into Hugo’s side. This prompted the blond to lightly squeeze the smaller male. He really hoped that this would pass soon.

****

It was well into the evening and most had retired to their rooms for the night, leaving only Hugo awake as he lay trapped underneath an unconscious Varian.

 The weather outside had gotten progressively worse, and Varian had practically become stone with how tense he became, only slightly relaxing as he dozed. The younger alchemist’s behavior really had Hugo concerned, especially after Eugene and the princess both gave each other concerned looks before asking if Hugo was okay with staying with him. 

The wind howled, blowing the snow in every which way as Hugo tried to pinpoint the cause. Everyone had been acting normally prior to the snow’s descent. This truly concerned the blond, seeing as he was used to people being excited about the appearance of the crystalline flakes. Even he could admit a small fondness for the weather despite the hindrances and chill it brings. But the way his boyfriend and friends had been acting… What was it about the snow that caused such caution?

Hugo was brought out of his thoughts by a whimper. He looked down to see Varian tightly clutching a fistful of the blond’s shirt. Another whimper escaped the ravenette as he shifted in his sleep. 

A nightmare Hugo thought, gently moving himself to better hold the younger alchemist. This wasn’t the first time the two had dealt with nightmares. Throughout their journey, Hugo would wake up only to find Varian sitting next to the fire, looking dead tired, but afraid to fall asleep. On those nights, the blond would forgo going back to sleep and sit with the raven haired boy. Some nights he’d strike up a conversation to draw Varian’s mind off the terror of the dream, others they’d just sit offering nothing but a shoulder to lean on as a silent comfort. When Hugo began to realize his feelings for the younger, nights like this happened more frequently. The only difference on these nights would be who would be the one comforting the other. 

Hugo carefully began to run a hand through Varian’s dark locks, hoping to at least soothe the nightmare a little. He knew of Varian’s past, and many of the traumatic experiences that followed. It was honestly a wonder that the boy got any sleep. (And Hugo may have become a bit more mindful of the younger’s placement near long drops after a particularly bad night.)

Another whimper escaped Varian’s lips, this one louder and sounding a bit closer to words. Hugo stopped, straining to hear what his boyfriend was saying. He was able to catch a few ‘help’s and a ‘promised’ here and there. But what really broke the blond’s heart was the sound of his own name and repeated ‘no’s, as if he’d just… found his father….

He needed to wake Varian up right now.

“Var.” Hugo tried, gently shaking the other’s shoulder. “Varian, please. You need to wake up.”

No change. He shook a bit harder. “Please, Var it’s just a nightmare! Please wake up!”

Varian’s ‘no’s became faster, like he was begging for it to end. 

“Varian! Wake Up!” Hugo pleaded. 

“No! Hugo!” Varian cried, jolting awake. He panickedly looked around, before making eye contact with the concerned blond. 

“H-Hugo?” The younger asked, dazed. Hugo sighed, letting his shoulders drop.

“Hey Goggles.”

Varian barely let him finish his sentence before he shot up and wrapped the blond in a bone crushing hug. Hugo let him, repeating the action and lowering his head to rest on the smaller male’s.

“Y-you were- and I-I, the s-snowstorm-, a-and Rapunzel couldn’t, th-then the others wouldn’t- then I- Oh gods H-hugo, y-you w-were-”

“Shhhh. It’s okay, Var.” Hugo shushed him. “It wasn’t real. I’m right here. It���ll be okay.”

They stayed like that, holding each other close as Hugo whispers comforting words and sweet nothings. Once he had calmed down, Varian began to tiredly slump against the blond. Hugo placed a kiss into his hair and leaned back, humming a lullaby in hopes of helping ease the younger back to sleep. It soon proved successful as the ravenette’s breathing evened out.

Hugo began to feel his own eyes droop as he continued to hum. He knew that they’d have to talk about the nightmare and how the snowstorm brought back those horrible memories, but for now the two boys were content being in each other's embrace.

[polymathart]

Cassarian Dump #3

(Platonic, Varian is still 14) Between “Great Expotations” and “Queen for a Day,” Cassandra gives Varian lessons on how to ride on horseback. Varian is cautious around Fidella. He fumbles awkwardly trying to put the saddle on her back. Cass does so with ease. Varian gets his hands tangled in the reigns. Cass rolls her eyes and mounts behind Varian while taking the reigns in her hands. She slowly demonstrates to Varian how to control the reigns. Eventually the two of them make progress. Varian starts to blush because Cass is holding his hands. Seeing that Varian is getting the hang of things, Cass jumps off while Varian keeps riding. When his little test ride is over, she helps him carefully dismount. “Thank you, m’lady,” he says with a slight bow. “Don’t thank me.” She points to Fidella who nudges Varian’s shoulder. He chuckles and shyly pets her head. He grows fond of her, noting the beautiful braids of her mane. “Th-thank you, Fidella.” Cass offers to give Varian another lesson next week. “It’s a date, then!” laughs Varian. “It’s a what?” Cass asks. “I’ll, uh, save the date! I’ll save the date on my schedule! That’s what I said.”

“Varian,” Cass asks sadly, “why are you always so patient with me? Even when I lose my temper?” “It’s simple,” Varian answers with loving eyes, “you’re completely worth it all.”

While Rapunzel and Eugene paint Easter Eggs, Cass and Varian celebrate by just throwing normal eggs at each other.

Cassandra is pregnant. While reading in bed, Varian comes in with an armful of plush animals. Cass is flattered but says it isn’t necessary, only to be cut off by Varian calling in Lance and Eugene to haul in the rest of the plushies. Eugene is very unenthusiastic about it.

Pregnant Cass lying down in bed with Varian gently brushing his hand along her baby bump. He starts singing lullabies as “practice.”

Cass cuts herself on some alchemy glassware. Varian dashes to her side and tends to her wound. While she sits down to rest, Varian makes her feel-better cookies. He then covers her in a blanket and fluffs her pillow and everything to help her relax. Ruddiger curls up on her lap like a cat.

Cass not so secretly loves to give their kids baby talk and funny faces. She tries to cover it up but Varian knows

Cassandra just gives birth. Rapunzel is first to hold the baby. “Congratulations, guys! It’s a boy. Cmon,” Rapunzel softly cheers, “let’s go meet Mom and Dad!” Rapunzel hands the newborn to Cass and Varian. “...hi,” Cass whispers. Baby opens eyes and makes little noises. Cass laughs and begins to cry. Varian holds her. “You did it, Cassie.” “No, Varian. We did.” She kisses him on the cheek before resting her head on his shoulder.

Cass is always on her guard right? Even when she sleeps. So she sleeps pretty tensely. But when she feels safe and comfortable, she relaxes. And that’s how she sleeps when she’s near Varian. Soundly. Happily. Probably even sores and drools a bit. Only when she’s with her VariBear.

Varian trips while serving Cass the wedding cake. It lands on her face. “Cassie! I’m so so—” Cass holds her hand up and removes the cake from her face with a scowl. Suddenly she smiles and pulls her arm back before chucking the cake back at Varian. Varian ducks and it hits Eugene. Varian throws cake and it hits Rapunzel. “Alright!” Rapunzel yells. “The Queen’s in on this!” And the whole reception becomes a food fight. During the fight, Varian feeds a bit of cake to Cass before throwing it over her.

The Assassin’s shoots his bow at Eugene and Rapunzel’s daughter. Varian throws himself in line to shield her. He collapses. Lance disarms and pins the Assassin while Cass runs to Varian. “C-Cass-an-dra,” Varian groans, “You’re my hero...” Cass presses his hand to her lips. “And you’re my hero, Varian.” There’s no healing incantation. Varian’s eyes close. Varian breathes his last. Cass gives him one last kiss. She weeps into his chest. Rapunzel, Eugene, Lance, Angry, and Catalina and all the animals arrive too. Cass slowly looks up. Filled with fury, she rises up, wrenches the elixir from the shooter, and pours it down Varian’s throat. “Please bring my hero back,” she whimpers. Varian coughs.

New Dream: Watching the sunset on the beach. / Cassarian: Sword fighting on the beach.

Varian checking up on Cass resting in bed after getting injured. Her back is turned so he thinks she’s fast asleep. He whispers that he loves her. Camera pans down to reveal that Cass was awake.

“Cass!” Varian calls, “guess how many kittens I can hold at once!” Cass shrugs. “I don’t know. Three?” “Varian, covered in kittens, responds, “Fifteen! I would say sixteen but I can’t lift you up like this.” Cass blushes.

(Platonic, Varian is around 20) While listening to Cassandra’s recollections of all her daring adventures, Varian’s eyes light up. “Cassie! You’re like a real life Flynn Rider!” “Don’t liken me to that fictional crook!” Varian nods. “You’re right... you’re definitely way cooler!” “I,” Cass stutters. She pouts, reluctantly flattered by the compliment.

Angst where one of Varian’s inventions seriously hurts Cass—a cut or a burn or something—and Cass is livid. At first she tells Varian off and not to try to help. She calls his inventions stupid and and dangerous and him inconsiderate and oblivious to just how much danger he keeps putting everyone into for his own success. Varian makes an antidote nevertheless. He gives it to Rapunzel to hand to Cass. Cass wants nothing to do with any more of Varian’s inventions. But eventually she has no other choice but to try the antidote and it heals her. Cass realizes just how much Varian cares about her even after what she said. She finds Varian the next day tearing down his invention solemnly. He admits that she was right and that maybe it was time he took a break from his work. It’d be safer for everyone. Cass apologizes for insulting Varian. And she says that, yes, maybe he should take a break, it doesn’t mean he should give up entirely. And that it’s okay for him to keep doing what he loves so long as he exercises more caution. Varian thanks Cass and puts away his equipment. Now that he is on “vacation,” he wants something new to do. Next day he arrives to Cass while she is training and he shyly asks if he could join her in training...

Hi, everyone! It’s me, Rapunzel. Eugene and I just wanted to take this time to say a few words for the newly weds. Varian, when we first met you, you were a short, clumsy, excited ball of curiosity. Cass, when we first met, you were stubborn, quick-tongued, and just roaring to fight. I know in the past we’ve had our differences. I know that there were times that really tested our friendships. But even then we were so happy to have you back. You’ve both become such a big part of our lives. You are both courageous, sincere, and total inspirations to everyone you meet. You’ve both grown so much as people that we love, respect, and cherish. You two complete each other. You’ve both experienced similar struggles and pains before and have come out on top. Your cleverness and fearlessness go unmatched. We believe that you two are capable of so many great things. You two were made for each other. We are so proud you, Cass and Varian, and love you more than you can ever imagine.

Varian begging Cass to trust him when he wants her to take a flight with him in his new flying machine. How to Train Your Dragon style.

For Cass’ birthday, Varian will make her a sword. Like his nerdy Flynn Rider sword. Because you know there’s no way he just bought that from somewhere.

“I would never date anyone who is loud, obnoxious, and annoying,” Cass proclaims. “So,” asks Rapunzel, “who would you date?” “Gosh, I don’t know. Probably someone soft spoken and patient, I guess.” Varian runs in with a smile on his face. “Guys! I just found a whole litter of kittens under my house! Come on! They’re so fuzzy and small! “Like him?” Rapunzel teases Cass. Cass blushes. “Shut it.”

Varian runs up to Cass with one of the kittens. “Cass, look! This one is all dark and grumpy! Just like you!” Varian proceeds to play with the kitten before Cass, imitating Cass and making the kitten play-sword fight. “...I don’t sound like that,” she blushes. “You do,” cuts Eugene. “Get out, Fitzherbert.”

Cass chilling with her hand on the table. Varian walks up and just puts his hand on hers like a cat. No exchanges. Just bap.

AU where Cass is foreign and Varian has trouble communicating his love to Cass since she doesn’t speak English. Rapunzel translates. And Eugene who speaks many languages casually talks to her.

BoxingAU. Cass is a boxer Varian meets and has a crush on during a match. He’s a nerdy dorky guy who’s never been in a fight. But one day Cass is jumped by a gang of crooks and Varian KOs one of them.

Hacksaw Ridge AU where Varian is a conscientious objector and Cass is his rough and tough fiancé waiting for him to come back. Eugene is the top dog in his platoon and constantly berates Varian. Quirin is Varian’s WWI veteran father. Ulla has long since passed away.

Angst AU where Varian is smitten over Cass and isn’t afraid to show it. Cass is aware of it but is herself not sure if she’s ready to enter a relationship with him. And at some point Cass begs Varian to quit loving her because she feels guilty for repeatedly rejecting him.

[freebooter4ever]

Eugene’s Third Date

AU where Eugene and Merriell meet before the war. The boys have been seeing each other for a number of weeks now, sharing lunches and kisses. But Eugene is disappointed by Merriell’s lack of enthusiasm for supporting the war and going off to fight - he is jealous of the fact that Merriell has a choice over enlisting while Eugene’s choice has been made for him due to physical limitations. At first Eugene avoids Merriell for an entire day, but of course the stupid lovebirds can’t stay away from each other so that night, pining hard full of remorse, he hunts Merriell down, and discovers Merriell doesn’t have many choices either.

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After missing third and fourth period for a month, the school finally sends a letter home to his parents. Eugene learns of this when he comes home one day to find both his mother and father waiting for him in the parlor with grim expressions.

"You've been missing class?" his father asks. His father sounds doubtful, like he is ready to listen to his dutiful son explain how the school made a mistake.

Eugene wonders if the trust he built up with his parents over the years will survive this. "I went today," he says sourly. He had thought about meeting Shelton for lunch again, but Eugene's eyes were still red and puffy, and his pride still hurt. He won't go back until Shelton asks him to.

"Eugene, we are worried you are risking your future," his mother says.

"What future?" Eugene demands, "Because from where I stand, mine looks awfully constrained."

"I hope you still plan on attending college?" his father asks, always the calm one.

"Of course, father," Eugene sighs, "What else would I do?"

"Good," his father nods, "Luckily the school informed us none of your grades have dropped, so as long as you return to class and make up assignments, things will go back to normal."

The minute Eugene's father says the word 'normal', Eugene realizes what life has been missing lately. Nothing has felt 'normal' for a long time - not since meeting Shelton - not even since a year ago when Mobile started filling with impoverished migrant workers answering the demands of the war effort. He doesn't know how to put any of this into words. And he definitely doesn't know how to make his father understand his need to do something beyond sitting by and watching from a safe distance.

His mother notices his silence. She's the observant one in the family. Eugene's father will take his son's word at face value, but his mother always knows. "Where have you been disappearing to all day if not at school?" she asks.

"The docks…" Eugene answers, "And I've only been missing lunch and a few minutes of each class. They're light subjects, nothing important like math or literature."

"Why are you going to the docks?" his mother clutches her necklace, "Eugene, it's become downright dangerous there nowadays…"

"I've been perfectly safe, mother," Eugene says impatiently, "I've been drawing the ships before they are sent overseas. Been watching their construction." And locking lips with Merriell Shelton who makes Eugene feel like he doesn't even need normal because he's already lost his mind to him.

"I hardly think drawing ships is a worthwhile expenditure of your time…" his mother begins.

Eugene doesn't listen to the rest of her sentence. He tosses his books on the hall table, sets his lunchbox down next to it, and walks right out the door.

"Where are you going?" his mother insists.

"Out," he says sharply.

He collects his bike from where he last left it and turns in the direction of town. The sun is setting by the time he reaches the docks. Shelton is nowhere to be seen. He cycles several laps around the area until he finds someone working late who recognizes Merriell's name. 

"Sent him home early," the man says, "Doubt he went there though. He got so distracted during the second half of the day he almost cut a finger off. Dumb kid, I couldn't have him hurt himself. Told him to sleep it off, whatever it is. Hope he took my advice but if I had to guess...I'd bet he's at the gambling tables again."

The man points Eugene in the direction of a bar.

Eugene parks his bike outside the place, and is very grateful he had the foresight to bring a lock. It's not a nice building and not in a nice area. There are no windows, only a single door built into the wood siding. It looks like an early pioneer building, or the kind of house a child might draw. And it leans, just a little, to the side.

The minute he steps inside he wants to turn around. He doesn't belong here, not in the way the grizzled looking older men hanging around the bar do. They eye him like he's a creature in the zoo. He tries not to stare back. This is the kind of place where a person has to earn their welcome. 

Somehow, deep in the reserves of his stubborn personality, he shoves all his feelings of inadequacy aside in order to ask after Merriell Shelton. He fakes confidence, but he feels a fool.

The bartender nods in recognition and directs him towards a walled-in circular staircase at the front of the dark room. Eugene tries to act as casual as possible when he starts to climb to the second floor. 

He hears Merriell's voice before he sees him.

He stops himself just as he hits the top of the staircase. At this level he can peer into the room without being seen himself, and he decides he needs to assess the situation before stumbling into it.

Eugene lifts his head ever so slowly and Merriell comes into view.

Merriell is laughing, his smile is wide. He's seated at a table with six other guys, all of whom are significantly older than him. And whatever card game they're playing, Merriell seems to be winning. If the large stack on the table cradled possessively just inside his elbow is anything to go by.

Merriell is beautiful. He plays cards with a confidence that can't be faked. And underneath the smiles and jolly banter, Eugene sees keen shrewdness in Shelton's eyes. The boy is calculating every move he takes in the game, while making it seem effortless.

Suddenly someone jostles into Eugene on the stairs. The man had been coming up with a full beer in hand. The beer spills down Eugene's shoulder, and the man complains, making a scene. Eugene tries to flatten himself against the stair wall and turn invisible.

But any attempts to hide are useless, the game is up, the minute Eugene dares to peek at Merriell's table again his gaze is met by pale ocean eyes staring directly at him. Eugene stays frozen in the stairwell, watching, unsure what his next move should be.

Merriell drains his beer, and says something to the men around him that makes them all groan with disappointment. Merriell stands and starts folding his large stack.

"You'll have plenty opportunity to win it back," he tells the table good naturedly as he weaves across the floor to the staircase. He's still smiling but that disappears by the time he reaches Eugene. Partially because Merriell trips over his own two feet and goes sprawling to the floor. He picks himself up pretty neatly - nearly gracefully, but he's still unsteady on his feet as he continues on.

Merriell takes the stairs two at a time till he and Eugene are on the same level. He collides into the wall in order to stop his downward momentum, and stares blankly at Eugene for what feels like a full minute.

"You weren't at the docks," Merriell comments with a slight shrug and a sway.

"I know," Eugene responds, "I'm sorry."

Merriell steps close and presses his lips against Eugene's so quick Eugene barely feels it. Eugene catches his elbow, shoves him away, and tries to keep him at a distance. They're hidden from view by the staircase but someone could go up or down at any time.

"Let's go someplace to talk," Eugene says low in Merriell's ear. He keeps his hand on Merriell's wrist, light enough to be a suggestion rather than a demand.

Merriell laughs and staggers backward. He lifts his chin and says, "Ain't going nowhere. Can't walk, can't drive," as if he is proud of the fact. As if determined to prove his own words wrong, Merriell walks down the rest of the stairs backwards and it's only a small miracle that he doesn't trip.

Eugene almost trips himself in his haste to keep pace with Shelton. At the base of the stairs he loops one of Merriell's arms over his own shoulder and supports him around his waist. The very second Eugene's arm tightens protectively around his hips, Merriell's body goes limp like a marionette with its strings cut. It forces all of Merriell's weight onto Eugene and for such a skinny guy he's as heavy and slippery as a giant catfish.

Eugene barely remembers to thank the bartender as the two of them stumble out the door. The night is unusually quiet, and the street they are on is even quieter, which is the only excuse Eugene can think of for why Merriell throws caution to the wind and throws both arms around Eugene's neck. Mer drags him into a sloppy, searing kiss while simultaneously flopping against him like he's trying to get his leg up around Eugene's hip.

Rather a lot like how Eugene imagines kissing a giant floppy catfish might be.

He pries Merriell's hands off his body and, having had enough, scoops him up bridal style. Merriell offers little resistance to this and instead seems to enjoy it immensely.

"How drunk are you?" Eugene asks, not actually expecting an answer.

"Shamefully so," Merriell croons into Eugene's ear while putting heavy emphasis on the word 'shame'.

"Are you even old enough to drink legally?" Eugene asks. He tries to ignore the jolt of arousal he feels at hearing Merriell's voice so full of mischief and so close to his ear.

"Eighteen," Merriell says, "Old enough to die." He pantomimes a salute.

Eugene sighs, "Where did you park?"

"Don't remember," is exactly the answer Eugene is expecting.

They manage to make it to an alley near Eugene's bike. He gently lowers Merriell to the ground where Merriell sits up against the wall.

Eugene pokes and prods Merriell's limbs about trying to find his car keys. Merriell gets giggly and twitchy. Apparently he's ticklish.

Luckily he's also responsible enough to not have lost his keys and Eugene finds them in his pants.

"Wrong pocket," Merriell drawls. Merriell's hands find the button on his own trousers and he starts to undo them.

Eugene hastily stops him, "Mer. Please. Slow down."

And surprisingly, Merriell listens. "I'm sorry," he says, staring at Eugene with remorse.

Eugene sits heavily on the ground beside Merriell's legs, facing him. Merriell leans forward and slumps his forehead against Eugene's shoulder. Eugene gives in. He scoots closer and cradles his arms around Merriell's body in a hug.

"Gene," Merriell breathes, sounding completely content with the world.

"Where's Mairzy?" Eugene asks quietly.

"Old lady," Merriell answers, "Better parent than me. Better home than me."

"As long as she's safe," Eugene says and tightens his hold around Merriell.

Merriell nods.

And then goes quiet, except for his breathing. And Eugene realizes he's sleeping. His idle daydream of rocking Merriell in his arms all night is coming true. Just not exactly in the way he expected. It surprises him to discover he's not disappointed one bit.

"God, I might be falling in love with you," Eugene despairs.

Merriell says nothing. He's fast asleep. He doesn't even snore.

When he does start to stir it's near dawn. The sky is lighter, and Eugene feels drawn and haggard. Merriell lifts his head. He meets Eugene's eyes. And looks very confused.

Eugene chuckles. He leans his forehead against Merriell's and smiles tiredly. "You forgot where you parked," he informs him.

Merriell starts laughing, "Didn't drive to work. Took the bus. Knew it would be a hard night after you didn't..." He trails off.

At first Eugene is irritated. Blinding, sharp irritation. But after seeing Merriell's soppy smile, Eugene laughs along. Together they wobble to their feet, limbs and extremities sore from sitting on cobblestone for a few long hours. Eugene unlocks his bike. And they start to walk. Merriell leads the way. Most of their time is spent in silence.

When they reach the park and are coming up on the boarding house, Merriell leans his head back and says to the sky, "Didn't think I'd ever see you again." And then rolls his neck to glance cautiously back at Eugene.

"Don't be dramatic," Eugene says.

"You stormed off in a huff, I think I'm allowed a little dramatics," Merriell argues. Eugene can hear the damn smirk on his face even though he's walking behind him.

"I shouldn't have left," Eugene answers, "Not without finishing the conversation."

"What else did you want to say?"

"Well, I thought about it," Eugene starts. He takes a deep breath, "I've decided I'm going to convince you to enlist."

Merriell snorts and turns back to Eugene in amusement. "Yeah?" he asks. His eyes linger over Eugene's form, "You that good with your mouth?"

Eugene stops short. He glances down at Merriell's crotch, and then back at his face. "Would that work? To convince you, I mean."

Merriell laughs and continues walking. "I ain't fighting for Uncle Sam," he says.

"Why not?" Eugene asks.

"You see anybody around here to take care of Mairzy if I go?" Merriell extends his arms wide.

"The old woman…"

"Is someone I rely on too much already," Merriell says.

"Your parents?" Eugene asks.

Merriel stops and pivots to face him, "You really think, if my parents were alive, I'd have brought my nine year old sister out here to live in a shitty migrant hut? When if I came alone I could've rented the night shift in a boarding room and saved a third of my pay?"

"You have no living relatives?" he asks.

Merriell shakes his head, "I'm all she has."

"All right," Eugene sighs. He takes Merriell's hand in his and places the truck keys in his palm. "Go collect your truck. Put my bike in the back for me. I'm going to go tell the generous elderly lady you're ill and will be in bed for the day."

"Why do I need my truck if I'm gonna be in bed?" Merriell asks.

"Cause it's my bed you'll be in," Eugene replies glibly. He's already halfway across the street heading towards the old woman's house, so he doesn't see Merriell's reaction. There's no parting comment thrown Eugene's way, though. For once Merriell doesn't insist on having the last word. So perhaps Eugene won this round.

The little old lady who answers the door looks terribly exhausted with worry. She is happy to hear Merriell is being looked after, and avidly agrees that Mairzy should be kept away for a short time so Merriell can heal up. She informs Eugene she already knows where Mairzy's school is, and has all her things, so he is not to worry his head about it.

After that, all that's left is sneaking Shelton into his parents home.

Eugene drives. Merriell lies down with his head on Eugene's lap and groans every time they go over the slightest bump. Luckily the sun isn't even up yet so the streets remain empty. Getting Merriell into his house is easy. Leaving the truck on the side of the driveway is a bit too obvious, but Eugene's parents are good at not noticing things they don't want to see, so he doesn't worry about it.

Eugene quietly leads Merriell to his room and turns on the light. He points Merriell to the bed, and pulls a set of pajamas out of his drawers. Merriell takes it without a word.

"I'll be right back," Eugene whispers. He kisses Merriell quickly to reassure him.

He goes to find Rose, who is already awake and baking bread for the day. He grabs a bowl of biscuits, gives Rose a kiss on the cheek, and asks if she would bring food up to his room for lunch today. She pats him on the shoulder and agrees, and if she suspects it won't be Eugene in his room eating the food, she shows no sign.

When Eugene does return to his room the lights are out, the curtains drawn, and everything is silent. Eugene sits on the bed next to the lump of covers he assumes is Merriell.

"Mer?" he whispers.

A bony wrist reaches out and takes Eugene's hand. Eugene smiles and follows the trajectory of the arm to find an opening in the blankets where he eventually uncovers a boy with big eyes and an even bigger mess of curls. He leans down to kiss him.

"I'm going to school," Eugene says.

Merriell starts to try to get up, "I thought you'd stay?"

Eugene shakes his head and weighs him down. "You stay. Sleep. Please stick to the room as much as possible. Rose will bring you food."

Merriell flops back onto the pillows and closes his eyes, "Too much shame for me to be seen?" When Merriell's brain latches onto a topic it does not let go.

"Pretty sure my parents would kick out anyone they found in my bed, no matter who, shame or no shame," Eugene grins.

"Fair enough," Merriell agrees. He rolls over, drags the covers with him, and for all appearances goes to sleep.

At breakfast Eugene's parents are unusually quiet. Perhaps they saw the truck.

"Eugene, we talked it over," his mother starts, "And if your teacher agrees, we think you can do an apprenticeship down at the docks in place of fourth period woodshop."

"You'll get a lot more worldly experience and industrial woodworking knowledge there than at school, that's for certain," his father adds.

"Third period art class would also have to be waived, obviously," his mother concludes.

"That's perfect," Eugene perks up, "Yes. I'd like that."

"Good," his mother smiles with relief.

The rest of the day goes by like normal. He shows his art teacher the sketches in his journal of the docks, and they both agree that Eugene will come into class once a week to receive guidance but otherwise will be under self study. The teacher lingers on the one sketch of Shelton that Eugene liked enough to not destroy. He looks at Eugene curiously. But he closes the journal, hands it back, and says nothing.

The wood shop teacher is less amenable and instead grumps about Eugene being useless at carpentry anyway. Eugene resolves to convince Merriell to do all of his wood shop work from then on in order to ace the class and make the teacher eat his words.

When he returns home his bedroom door is safely closed and inside there is a tray full of empty dirty dishes, signifying the lump on the bed moved at least once. Eugene smiles and sits next to it again.

This time Merriell is awake because he shoves the covers off his face and looks at Eugene.

"I don't think I've spent a whole day in bed since I was five," Merriell confesses.

"Not even when you're sick?" Eugene asks.

"I don't get sick."

"You looked ill last night."

"Just drunk." He sits up to better face Eugene. His expression is apologetic. Maybe a little bit guilty.

Eugene leans in to reassure him, places a hand on Merriell's hip, and notices the rough fabric.

"You slept in your work clothes?" he asks in disbelief, "In my bed?"

"No one took me out of 'em," Merriell whines. He slithers back down underneath the covers and grins at Eugene from a safe distance.

"I gave you pajamas," Eugene protests. He kicks off his own shoes and crawls onto the bed.

"Never said what to do with them," Merriell argues.

"These can't be comfortable," Eugene flicks at the metal hooks on Merriell's overalls.

"I did succeed in one act of personal hygiene," Merriell says, as if the bare minimum is all that can be expected from him, "Used your toothbrush."

"Well," Eugene says, feigning exasperation, "Thank god for small mercies."

Merriell smiles and bites his lip. His hips shift underneath the covers, and Eugene playfully leans on top of him to stop his wiggling.

"You up for dinner with my parents tonight?" Eugene asks, "I was thinking you could take the truck, pick up Mairzy, then come back at seven when my father's home."

Merriell nods, eyes wide.

"Good," Eugene says. He settles more comfortably on top of Shelton's chest and pillows his head in his arms while still keeping an eye on the boy underneath him. Eugene can feel every breath Merriell takes, even through the thick layer of quilts between them.

"I'm sorry," Eugene says quietly.

"Why are you apologizing?" Merriell asks. He scowls and shifts uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry for assuming your life is like mine," Eugene says. It was the thought that had been bouncing around in his head all day, and the thing that made him realize neither of their choices about the war were formed in a vacuum.

Merriell's expression switches over to surprise. He frowns a little. And then tentatively wriggles an arm out from underneath the blankets and combs his fingers through Eugene's hair.

"I guess I'm sorry too then," he says, still frowning about it, "For acting like an ass and going out to get piss drunk the first minute you break my heart."

"I didn't break your heart," Eugene scoffs.

"You walked away from me…"

"Never said I wasn't coming back."

Merriell laughs.

"Besides, I took your stand-in with me when I turned away," Eugene props himself up on his elbows and reaches over Shelton's shoulder to grab the stuffed teddy bear, "I had him to keep me company." He uses the bear for a pillow, and it's very comfortable until he notices something. "Why does my teddy smell like you?"

Shelton looks guilty.

"Were you hugging my teddy bear all day?" Eugene demands to know.

"You left me here all alone…"

"Well, now I'm jealous," Eugene says with movk seriousness. He discards the bear (safely against the corner of the wall where it can't fall off the bed) and drags the quilts down till he frees both of Merriell's arms. "You dirty my bed with greasy overalls, ignore me when I get home, deny me kisses, and I find out you've been cuddling my teddy bear," Eugene accuses.

"Ain't denying no one kisses," Merriell protests.

Eugene crawls over him till their faces are level. "Yeah?" he asks.

"Try me," Merriell says, tilting his head stubbornly.

So Eugene does.

Holding Merriell in bed is infinitely better than holding a stuffed animal. For one thing, Merriell moves in response to every one of Eugene's touches. And he kisses back with equal desperation. The only downside is - he makes noise.

"Shhh!" Eugene covers Merriell's mouth with his hand, "If we get caught…"

Merriell sucks in his lips and then licks Eugene's palm. Merriell's mouth is wet, and warm, and plush. And his tongue slides across Eugene's skin like velvet. The feeling sends tingles through Eugene's body so intense it startles him and he pulls away. 

"Gross!" Eugene retracts his hand hastily and wipes the spit off on Merriell's shirt sleeve.

"If that grosses you out, I don't know what to tell you about what comes next…" Merriell teases, a big grin on his face.

"Just stop talking," Eugene prompts, "Please!" He seals his lips to Merriell's - seemingly the only thing capable of keeping the other boy quiet.

He notices Merriell slows down after that. Merriell still kisses Eugene passionately, but he stops pulling at Eugene's clothes, and doesn't grab at Eugene's body so demandingly. It's up to Eugene to pull his own shirt over his head and toss it into the depths of his room.

Merriell stops him with a hand to his chest before Eugene can lean down to resume the kissing.

Eugene sits on the bed, somewhere on top of Merriell's legs under the quilts.

Merriell's hand trails over Eugene's bare chest and down his arm.

"Wow," Merriell says reverently.

Eugene huffs a laugh, "Don't see what all the fuss is." he looks down at his own chest.

"I'd marry you," Merriell declares, "Just like that. If I could see this."

"Don't think they'd let me into the church to get married without a shirt," Eugene says, wry.

"Don't think they'd let me in any church period," Merriell retorts.

"Then shut up about marriage and let me kiss you again," Eugene complains with a smile.

"What, I can't take a minute to admire you?" Merriell grins. His hand moves from Eugene's arm down to his belly and then to his hip.

"Not if you're gonna be this loud about it," Eugene says. He gets an idea and looks around his room for the old radio he used as a kid. He briefly gets up from the bed - Merriell whines - and grabs the radio to bring it closer. Eugene flicks it on and fiddles with the dial until he finds music loud enough to hide the noises Shelton won't stop making.

"What you gonna do now, Sledge?" Merriell taunts, "Under the cover of ambiance?"

"Admire you," Eugene answers as he rejoins Merriell in bed and straddles his waist. Eugene snaps the hooks off Shelton's overalls and lets the flap drop down. He gets his hands under the hem of Shelton's thin undershirt and pushes it up till he can feel the bare skin of his stomach. He follows the trail of hair below Merriell's stomach with his thumb, drawing it up from the waistband of his underwear to his belly button. And from there the next obvious destination is to explore Merriell's chest.

Eugene cups a hand around Merriell's pec and swipes his thumb across his nipple.

"Gene…" Merriell sighs. He closes his eyes and stretches on the bed like a cat.

Eugene leans down and kisses him, keeping one hand on his chest. The deeper the kiss gets, the farther Eugene leans in, until the quilts get squashed to the end of the bed and Merriell's legs become entwined with his, and Eugene's chest is flush against Merriell's. Eugene rolls his hips into Merriell and it relieves some of the tension twisted up through his body. Merriell wraps his arms around Eugene's neck and encourages him.

Eugene rocks into Merriell again, falls into a rhythm with him, and then starts to pick up the pace.

He's lost in their movement together until it feels so fucking good Eugene almost feels dizzy, and he realizes in his haste he keeps forgetting to breathe.

Eugene pauses for a minute to take a gasping breath. He loses his concentration and the music playing in the background filters into his thoughts - 'If it's a crime then I'm guilty, guilty of dreaming of you' Al Bowlly croons.

Eugene freezes, sudden pressure crashing down over his shoulders and deadening all sensation.

"Eugene?" Merriell whispers.

Eugene can't seem to catch his breath. He presses himself in as tight as he can get next to Merriell, and wraps legs and arms around the other boy's body. And then holds on for dear life.

"Gene…?" Merriell sounds concerned.

"Heart might be murmuring again," Eugene warns him in a scared whisper.

Merriell gently rolls them over so they are lying next to each other and he can put his hand to Eugene's cheek. "Okay, Gene…" Merriell says calmly though his voice is nervous, "It's gonna be okay...don't think about that just...just hold me," Merriell cradles him loosely, "Quiet your mind."

"Feeling too much for you," Eugene whispers.

Merriell pulls away and meets Eugene's eyes. He swallows thickly. And drags Eugene into a tight embrace. Merriell's arms wrap around Eugene's shoulders. He presses his face into Eugene's hair. And takes a shuddering breath.

Eugene runs his hands down Merriell's back and then returns the embrace. His arms against Merriell's skin

"I don't know how I ever lived without you," Eugene confesses.

"Probably lived a good deal more responsibly back then," Merriell jokes, "No missed classes."

"But none of this," Eugene replies with honest need.

Merriell has no counter arguement for that.

They lie together listening to the radio as Eugene's heart calms down. Slowly the one song ends and another begins. Eugene doesn't recognize the tune, but Merriell does. He starts singing along while brushing Eugene's hair with his hands.

"Here we are out of cigarettes - Holding hands and yawning," Merriell sings, quiet and low, "Look how late it gets. Two sleepy people by dawn's early light, and too much in love to say goodnight."

Eugene likes Merriell's voice. It does soothe him as Merriell intended. Unfortunately it soothes him a little too much. Eugene isn't sure who falls asleep first but he's the one to wake when he hears a knock on his bedroom door. The song previously playing is long over and Merriell's hand lies next to Eugene's head instead of in his hair. Merriell himself is sleeping peacefully.

"Eugene," his mother calls through the door, "Supper in an hour."

"Thank you, mother," Eugene replies. He shakes Merriell awake and cups a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. Merriell nods in understanding, his eyes wide and unblinking.

As soon as Eugene stops hearing his mother's footsteps in the hall he stumbles out of bed and opens the window. 

Merriell follows close on Eugene's heels. He barely makes it out the window with his clothes still on. The bib of his overalls flaps wildly as he sneaks around the bushes and runs to his truck. He keeps one hand gripped tight on the hip of his jeans or else the whole thing would fall off entirely.

Eugene watches him go with amusement. When Shelton makes it to the truck and climbs into the cab, the boy throws one final grin in Eugene's direction before starting the engine and backing off down the driveway.

Once Merriell is safe, Eugene leaves his room to find his mother and do damage control.

"Who was coming up the drive?" his mother asks him when he finds her in the dining room.

"That was my friend, Merriell Shelton," Eugene replies, "He's the one who works down at the docks for the war effort. He stopped by to ask why he didn't see me today. I invited him for dinner tonight, is that okay?"

"Of course!" his mother agrees, ever eager for guests.

"He's gone home to get cleaned up, but he'll be back soon," Eugene says, "And he's bringing his little sister."

"I'll arrange everything," his mother nods, "You go get ready, and make sure to use a comb, your hair looks like it's been slept on."

Eugene runs a hand over his hair, and sure enough it's tangled and clumped together in tufts from where Merriell had been playing with it. He smiles involuntarily at the memory. "I did take a nap earlier," he explains truthfully.

He smiles at Merriell too, when the Shelton siblings arrive on Eugene's doorstep at precisely seven. Both Merriell and Mairzy are pristine, with neatly pressed clothes, twin new bows in Mairzy's hair, and shiny clean shoes on Merriell's feet.

"We wore our Sunday best," Merriell whispers when Eugene pulls him into a quick hug before anyone else sees.

"Good evening!" Eugene's mother announces, bustling to the door from the dining room. Her step falters when she sees Mairzy's curly hair, and she sends a startled glance Eugene's way.

"Mother, you've met Merriell Shelton of course. After he helped out with the mailbox I destroyed," Eugene says and claps his arm around Shelton's shoulder casually, "This is his sister, Mairzy."

"Pleased to meet you ma'am," Mairzy attempts a curtsey.

Eugene's mother beams and disguises all traces of hesitation in her face. "How wonderful!" she exclaims, "Come in, come in." His mother leads Mairzy inside and Eugene can hear her asking if Mairzy likes pecan pie.

Her voice fades into the distance, which leaves Shelton and Eugene standing alone on the porch in silence.

"Sorry about her," Eugene says quietly, "My mother's social circle is narrow."

Merriell shrugs. He steps close, slides his hand into Eugene's pants pocket, and uses it to pull Eugene closer. He looks deep into Eugene's eyes and smirks. This close Eugene can smell some kind of cologne on him. And whatever gel Merriell used to slick his hair back so neatly.

But underneath all that is something else, more familiar; a smell Eugene recognizes as that of his own room.

"Missed you, cher," Merriell murmurs and plants a sensual kiss on Eugene's lips before letting him go and following his sister into the house.

Eugene breathes out the tension he hadn't even realized he was holding. He takes a minute to school his emotions. And when he's confident he won't fall all over himself trying to swoon into Shelton's arms every time Merriell looks at him, Eugene finally decides to join the party. He also comes up with a proper counter argument to Shelton's parting comment.

"You've only been gone five minutes," Eugene mutters - to himself since Shelton's long out of hearing range - and closes the door. 

Edit: I always forget to add the tags, i get so nervous about posting, im sorry! @xmxisxforxmaybe @diasimar

[2700fstreet]

OPERA / 2018-2019

EUGENE ONEGIN

STUDENT GUIDE

Washington National Opera Open Rehearsal Music by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky Libretto by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky and Konstantin Shilovsky Based on the novel by Alexander Pushkin

School show: March 5

Teacher and Parent Guide: Eugene Onegin

Who’s Who

Main Characters

Eugene Onegin, a young Russian nobleman (baritone—a middle-range male voice) Tatiana, a wealthy young woman from the country (soprano—the highest female voice) Olga, her sister (mezzo-soprano—a middle-range female voice) Madame Larina, their mother (mezzo-soprano) Filippyevna, Larina’s servant and Tatiana’s nanny (mezzo-soprano) Vladimir Lensky, a poet, Onegin’s good friend, and Olga’s fiancé (tenor—the highest male voice) Prince Gremin (bass—the lowest male voice)

So, What’s Going On?

Outside of the opera house, Eugene Onegin lives a whole other life as one of the most celebrated pieces of Russian literature of all time. Written over a span of eight years by the eminent national author Alexander Pushkin, the unusual novel-in-rhyming-verse is equal parts satirical social commentary and pure, unadulterated nostalgia. Its central tragic love story (boy meets girl, boy snubs girl only to discover, too late, he actually loves her) is about as good as dramatic irony gets, and its heroine, Tatiana, is viewed by many as the ultimate moral ideal—a perfect example of grace and dignity under pressure.

Act 1

The Russian countryside: Larin Estate, early 1800s.

Meet the Larin sisters. These two ladies couldn’t be more different—Tatiana (tah-tee-YA-nah) is dreamy and loves to read, Olga (OHL-gah) is feisty and likes to dance…you get the idea—but neither of them can resist a good song. Together with their mother, Madame Larina (lah-REE-nah), they celebrate the fall season along with a chorus of servants preparing for harvest.

Enter Eugene Onegin and his friend, a poet named Vladimir Lensky (LEHN-ski). At just under 20 years old, former city dweller Onegin is the new owner of a nearby estate (thanks to an inheritance). But Onegin is bored. With everything. Books, parties, polite society…nothing seems to please him. Least of all, women. Still, he agrees to visit the Larin sisters with Lensky, who’s happily engaged to Olga.

Onegin does Lensky the favor of entertaining Tatiana while the lovebirds flirt among the Larin woods. And while Onegin thinks Tatiana is somewhat interesting, he doesn’t find her captivating enough to give up his bachelor ways.

But here comes the first twist: After just one conversation, Tatiana is instantly and permanently smitten with the cynical and distant Onegin. (Yup, you read that right.)

A short time later, a sleepless Tatiana impulsively decides to write an impassioned letter to Onegin, pouring out her heart on paper and confessing her undying love, claiming her future is now in his hands.

Take a listen…

Tatiana completes her letter to Onegin and considers her fate. Listen for the repeated melody that descends the musical scale and pay attention to how it transforms over the course of the scene. Also, listen to how Tatiana’s voice rises to impressive heights when she’s feeling hopeful and sinks down low when she sings about Onegin’s possible rejection.

Tatiana asks her nanny, Filippyevna (fee-LEEP-nyehv-nah), to help her deliver the letter to Onegin and, for days, waits anxiously for his reply.

When he finally does respond, things don’t go well.

Deciding to break the news to her face to face, Onegin returns to Tatiana’s estate and does his best to let her down gently. But his “It’s not you, it’s me” approach falls short when he implies that, though he’s attracted to her, he’d soon grow tired of her. Arrogantly dismissing her love as youthful folly, he cautions her to control her emotions. (Yeah, it’s pretty brutal.)

Take a listen…

Onegin tells Tatiana he’s not the man for her. Check out how the lightly swirling wind instruments (think flute and clarinet) and Onegin’s balanced phrases (with very few high or low extremes) are used to signify how smooth and callous he is in contrast to Tatiana’s earlier anguish.

Act 2

A few months later, Onegin unwisely lets Lensky drag him to a dance in honor of Tatiana’s name day (a Russian Orthodox tradition that’s sort of like a birthday party). Onegin equally unwisely asks Tatiana to dance, and as soon as they’re spotted together, gossipy whispers are heard among the crowd.

Take a listen…

Country high society gathers at the Larin Estate for a ball. During this catchy waltz, listen for the way the chorus sings its own melodies instead of following the main dance tune. This helps achieve the effect that the party guests are gossiping under their breath while live music plays in front of them.

As the guests wonder aloud if the conceited Onegin is good enough for Tatiana, Onegin decides he’s had it. Annoyed at Lensky for bringing him in the first place, Onegin resolves to flirt shamelessly with Olga for revenge.

Olga and Onegin get a bit too close during the next few waltzes, and Lensky is frustrated and confused. He demands Olga save the next dance for him, but she announces she plans to dance with Onegin one more time to punish Lensky for being overly jealous.

The flirting between Olga and Onegin continues during a French poet’s performance of a song for Tatiana, and Lensky is beside himself. In front of the entire ballroom, he denounces Onegin as an evil seducer of women and challenges him to a duel (…yikes). Realizing he’s gone too far but still wanting to save face, Onegin accepts.

Take a listen…

Lensky recalls happier times with Olga while contemplating what the duel holds in store. Listen for the brief interlude where the music suddenly sounds more hopeful and calm. Paradoxically, this is when Lensky considers what the world would be like without him. Why do you think the composer chose to have such peaceful music accompany such grim lyrics?

Just before dawn, the two men meet in the snowy countryside. After briefly recollecting how close they once were and how angry and bitter they’ve become, they take aim and fire… and Lensky falls to the ground dead.

Act 3

Moscow: some years later.

Onegin, haunted by the memory of Lensky, has tried to bury his sorrows in travel. Wandering aimlessly, he’s arrived in Moscow hoping for some distraction (good luck with that, buddy).

At a ball in the city—much more upscale than the country dance at the Larin Estate—he runs into Prince Gremin (GREH-min), a relative of Onegin’s who’s recently been married to…wait for it…Tatiana. Onegin is shocked to discover Tatiana isn’t at all like he remembers; where she once seemed simple and naive, she now appears regal and mature. Even more strange? She barely seems to remember him.

And here’s the second twist: Onegin finds this newer, more self-possessed Tatiana irresistible. That’s right, now that she’s avoiding him, he’s fallen hard…and he’s completely aware of the cruel irony.

Determined to take one final stab at happiness, Onegin decides to write Tatiana his own letter in the hopes of winning her back.

But will his words be enough to undo the damage he’s done? Can Tatiana forget what’s passed and run away with him? Will first love triumph over honor?

Good to Know

Picture this: A well-meaning but slightly misguided young woman writes a love letter to a successful man. He’s flattered, but rejects her. Later, though, he recognizes his actions toward the young woman were less than kind, and, in an effort to make amends, asks the young woman to spend her life with him.

Sound familiar?

If you’re thinking this is a replay of the opera summary you’ve just read, you’re wrong. (But nice try.) It’s actually the story of what was going on behind the scenes when the opera was composed.

When a singer friend of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (cheye-KOFF-skee, 1840–1893) suggested the composer write an opera based on Eugene Onegin, the iconic Russian novel by Alexander Pushkin (POOSH-kin, 1799–1837), Tchaikovsky thought it was a “curious” but risky idea. Yet once he read the book, he found himself inexplicably drawn to Pushkin’s innocent heroine and the novel’s straightforward themes of young life and love—so much so, that he decided to get composing right away. This was perhaps in part because, only weeks before, Tchaikovsky had himself received a love letter much like the one Tatiana writes to Onegin in the story. And, like Onegin, Tchaikovsky had chosen to distance himself from his young admirer, Antonina.

But (also kind of like Onegin) Tchaikovsky changed his mind. His courtship with Antonina was complicated and tumultuous, and yet—perhaps inspired by his deep respect for Tatiana’s character—Tchaikovsky eventually proposed marriage. The date of Tchaikovsky’s proposal and the composition of Tatiana’s famous “Letter Scene” came within days of each other. Antonina accepted. The marriage didn’t last long, but the opera remains a success to this day.

Learning to Listen

Going to the opera means you’ll have to start listening in a new way if you want to take in everything the music and the voices have to offer. And guess what? This is less difficult than it sounds.

Try thinking of opera singing as its own type of language or speech. When we’re speaking, our emotions can change the way our voices sound from moment to moment—and one word can have a thousand different meanings depending on how we say it (loudly, softly, quickly, slowly, with a high- or low-pitched voice, etc.). The same is true for the characters in an opera. Each voice you’ll hear will have its own special flavor depending on who the character is and what he or she is saying.

Tatiana, for example, is a shy young woman with a very romantic streak. Her voice, therefore, will be on the higher side (to provide a clue that she’s innocent and wistful) but will occasionally soar above the orchestra (to represent her passionate hopes and dreams). Her singing will also sound weightier and more dramatic when we meet her as a mature woman in Act 3.

Onegin, on the other hand, is a brooding young aristocrat with a serious attitude problem. His darker baritone voice (a departure from the typical heroic sound that’s usually represented by the higher-voiced tenor) indicates he’s a bit more confident and experienced than the standard romantic lead. His short, elegant phrases also tend to suggest his character is mostly calm and in control.

When in doubt about how a character is feeling or what they’re thinking, always pay close attention to exactly how they sound. (The instruments in the orchestra will give you hints as well.)

Check This Out…

In this production of Eugene Onegin, the title character is often seen alone on stage. What clues, if any, do you think this device gives you about his character? Does it force you to look at him in a new way? Do you believe Onegin is a different man in private than in public?

Both Pushkin’s story and Tchaikovsky’s opera pay special attention to the contrast between rural and urban lifestyles. How do the sets and costumes in this production help remind you which scenes take place in the country and which take place in the city? And does the music take on a different quality once the action moves to Moscow? (Hint: Listen for the lively waltz music in Act 2 versus the more syncopated dance—known as a polonaise (pohl-oh-NAISE)—in Act 3.)

The director of this Eugene Onegin opted to have the end of Act 2 feed directly into the beginning of Act 3. What effect, if any, do you think this has on the audience? Does the upbeat, frenzied music at the start of Act 3 help you forget Lensky’s death in Act 2? Or does it make the aftermath of his murder feel that much worse?

Onegin’s pompous and restrained singing style goes completely out the window the moment he realizes he’s in love with Tatiana. Does his aria at the end of Act 3’s ballroom scene recall the scene in which Tatiana writes her infamous love letter? How so?

Think About This…

Tchaikovsky excelled at hummable melodies (if you don’t believe us, just think about The Nutcracker or Swan Lake for a second), and, in the mid-to-late nineteenth century, memorable tunes often made several returns throughout an opera. Can you identify any recurring musical themes in Eugene Onegin? If so, why do think they repeat themselves when they do? Does their recurrence cause you to remember a specific character or event? (Hint: Listen closely to Tatiana’s “Letter Scene” in Act 1 and Lensky’s solo aria in Act 2; melodies from both of these pieces will show up more than once.)

Throughout the novel of Eugene Onegin, Pushkin made no secret of the fact he loved and admired his heroine, Tatiana. Tchaikovsky likewise found himself “in love with her image” (as in, moved by her plight) and ended up honoring her with a near-20-minute solo in his opera. Why do you think Tatiana inspires so much affection? Do you agree with her choices at the start of the opera? What about at the end?

Lensky’s aria in Act 2 has been regarded as one of the opera’s most crucial moments since the piece debuted in 1879. Beyond the melancholy musical themes that cascade downward (as if the singer were sighing), the aria—and the Pushkin verse that inspired it—also tackles the age-old subjects of fleeting youth, impending death, and what happens when a person dies. Do the lyrics of this aria remind you of any other literary or musical works?

Take Action: Bring the Letter Back

Letters clearly play a major role in Eugene Onegin just as they did in Tchaikovsky’s real life (in addition to his correspondence with his fiancée, Tchaikovsky struck up a literary relationship with a woman who would become his long-time friend and patron, but who would refuse to meet him in person). In the opera, Tatiana and Onegin each serve as both writer and receiver of a painfully honest letter—and the results are entirely mixed. And with good reason. A long-form letter acts as a window into another person’s emotions and can leave both writer and reader feeling exposed.

But that’s not always a bad thing.

In the age of texting and Twitter, it’s become less and less common to express yourself using more than a few characters, words, or sentences. Why not try and break that 280-character barrier and explore writing about your feelings over several paragraphs…or even pages?

Pick a current topic, news story, or cause you’re passionate about and construct a long letter (we’re talking over 500 words) about why it moves you or why it holds your interest. Don’t be afraid to dig deep and expose your innermost thoughts on the matter. Dive into the subject and look at it from as many angles as possible. Try and put down on paper exactly how it makes you feel and why. (Extra points if you write it out by hand instead of type it.)

If you’re comfortable, share your letter with friends and family, or take things a step further and send it to a local legislator or journalist who you think might be willing to hear your opinion on an important issue.

EXPLORE MORE

Go even deeper with the Eugene Onegin Extras.

-

All photos by Todd Rosenberg for the Lyric Opera of Chicago

Writer: Eleni Hagen

Content Editor: Lisa Resnick

Logistics Coordination: Katherine Huseman

Producer and Program Manager: Tiffany A. Bryant

-

David M. Rubenstein Chairman

Deborah F. Rutter President

Mario R. Rossero Senior Vice President Education

Timothy O’Leary General Director

Francesca Zambello Artistic Director

Major support for WNO is provided by Jacqueline Badger Mars.

David M. Rubenstein is the Presenting Underwriter of WNO.

WNO acknowledges the longstanding generosity of Life Chairman Mrs. Eugene B. Casey.

WNO's Presenting Sponsor

This performance is made possible by the Kimsey Endowment; The Morris and Gwendolyn Cafritz Foundation and the U.S. Department of Education.

Major support for educational programs at the Kennedy Center is provided by David M. Rubenstein through the Rubenstein Arts Access Program.

© 2019 The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts

[dailynewswebsite]

The spooky and dangerous side of black licorice

Black licorice will get its distinctive taste from licorice root. PicturePartners/Getty Pictures

Black licorice might look and style like an harmless deal with, however this sweet has a darkish aspect. On Sept. 23, 2020, it was reported that black licorice was the offender within the demise of a 54-year-old man in Massachusetts. How may this be? Overdosing on licorice sounds extra like a twisted story than a believable truth.

I’ve a longstanding curiosity in how chemical compounds in our meals and the setting have an effect on our physique and thoughts. When one thing seemingly innocent like licorice is implicated in a demise, we’re reminded of the well-known proclamation by Swiss doctor Paracelsus, the Father of Toxicology: “All issues are poison, and nothing is with out poison; the dosage alone makes it so a factor just isn’t a poison.”

I’m a professor within the division of pharmacology and toxicology and creator of the ebook “Happy to Meet Me: Genes, Germs, and the Curious Forces That Make Us Who We Are.”

The basis of the issue

The unlucky man who not too long ago succumbed to extreme black licorice consumption just isn’t alone. There are a smattering of comparable case reviews in medical journals, during which sufferers expertise hypertension disaster, muscle breakdown and even demise. Antagonistic reactions are most regularly seen in folks over the age of 40 who’re consuming way more black licorice than the typical individual. As well as, they’re normally consuming the product for extended durations of time. In the newest case, the Massachusetts man had been consuming a bag and a half of black licorice day-after-day for 3 weeks.

Glycyrrhiza glabra is a species native to Eurasia and North Africa from which most confectionery licorice is produced. Franz Eugen Köhler, Köhler’s Medizinal-Pflanzen through Wikimedia Commons

Licorice is a flowering plant native to components of Europe and Asia. Its scientific title, Glycyrrhiza, is derived from the Greek phrases “glykos” (candy) and “rhiza” (root). The fragrant and candy extract from its root has lengthy been used as an natural treatment for all kinds of well being maladies, from heartburn and abdomen points to sore throats and cough. Nevertheless, there may be inadequate proof to help that licorice is efficient in treating any medical situation.

Glycyrrhizin (additionally known as glycyrrhizic acid) is the chemical in black licorice that provides the sweet its signature taste, nevertheless it additionally results in its poisonous results.

Glycyrrhizin mimics the hormone aldosterone, which is made by the adrenal glands when the physique must retain sodium and excrete potassium. Sodium and potassium work collectively as a form of mobile battery that drives communication between nerves and the contraction of muscle tissues. An excessive amount of glycyrrhizin upsets the steadiness of those electrolytes, which may elevate blood stress and disturb the guts’s rhythm. Different signs of extreme licorice consumption embrace swelling, muscle ache, numbness and headache. Examination of the person who died from consuming an excessive amount of licorice revealed that he had dangerously low ranges of potassium, in line with glycyrrhizin toxicity.

It must be famous that plenty of licorice-based meals don’t comprise actual licorice, however use a flavoring substitute known as anise oil, which doesn’t pose the risks mentioned right here. As well as, regardless of its title, purple licorice hardly ever accommodates licorice extract. As a substitute, purple licorice is infused with chemical compounds that impart its cherry or strawberry taste.

Merchandise that comprise actual licorice are normally labeled as such, and record licorice extract or glycyrrhizic acid among the many elements. Be suggested that some merchandise, comparable to black jelly beans or Good & A lot, are mixtures of various candies that comprise each anise oil and licorice extract.

Purple licorice is sickly candy however suitable for eating. Darren Boucher/Getty Pictures

Hidden risks that enhance danger

Glycyrrhizin has the distinct licorice taste and is 50 instances sweeter than sugar and has been utilized in different kinds of sweet, tender drinks, tea, Belgian beers, throat lozenges and tobacco. This will make it difficult to maintain monitor of how a lot glycyrrhizin has been consumed, and a mix of those merchandise may set off opposed results.

Some folks take dietary or well being dietary supplements that already comprise licorice, which will increase the danger of poisonous results from consuming black licorice sweet. Sure drugs comparable to hydrochlorothiazide are diuretics that trigger elevated urination, which may decrease potassium ranges within the physique. Glycyrrhizin additionally lowers potassium ranges, additional disrupting the steadiness of electrolytes, which may produce muscle cramps and irregular coronary heart rhythms.

Individuals with sure preexisting situations are extra inclined to black licorice overdose.

For instance, sufferers who have already got low potassium ranges (hypokalemia), hypertension or coronary heart arrhythmia are more likely to have better sensitivity to the consequences of extreme licorice. These with liver or kidney deficiencies will even retain glycyrrhizin of their bloodstream for longer instances, growing their danger of experiencing its opposed results.

What to do?

Should you’re a fan of black licorice, there isn’t any must ban it out of your pantry. Eaten in small portions every now and then, licorice poses no important menace to in any other case wholesome adults and kids. However it’s advisable to observe your consumption.

[Deep knowledge, daily. Sign up for The Conversation’s newsletter.]

With Halloween approaching, remember to remind your children that sweet is a “typically meals,” particularly the black licorice. The FDA has issued warnings concerning the uncommon however severe results of an excessive amount of black licorice, advising that folks keep away from consuming greater than two ounces of black licorice a day for 2 weeks or longer. The company states that when you have been consuming plenty of black licorice and expertise an irregular coronary heart rhythm or muscle weak point, cease consuming it instantly and call your well being care supplier.

Some scientists have additional cautioned in opposition to the routine use of licorice within the type of a dietary complement or tea for its alleged well being advantages. A assessment article from 2012 warned that “the day by day consumption of licorice isn’t justified as a result of its advantages are minor in comparison with the opposed outcomes of power consumption.”

Invoice Sullivan doesn’t work for, seek the advice of, personal shares in or obtain funding from any firm or group that will profit from this text, and has disclosed no related affiliations past their tutorial appointment.

from Growth News https://growthnews.in/the-spooky-and-dangerous-side-of-black-licorice/ via https://growthnews.in

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

Find Your Purpose Before It’s Too Late

Daryl x Reader / Reader x Carol / Reader x Rick

Part 2 

Song Prompt: The Scientist by Coldplay

Warnings: Language, Depression, Talk of Rape, Violence

Word Count: Approx. 5K (Ugh, sorry again for the long chapters!)

Rick gave you a nod and a grateful smile, “Be careful, but hurry back.”

Daryl jumped into the driver’s seat and waited for Eugene to open the gate. He let out a deep breath of adrenaline and looked over at you. “Never a dull moment, huh?”

“That’s an understatement,” you said, and suddenly found yourself smiling a little. “You really think you can pull this off? Find the meds, I mean…”

Daryl was thoughtful for a moment. He finally looked over at you and nodded, “Mhmm. I do. We,” he said moving his finger back and forth between you and him, “are gonna pull this off. We can do anything if we all do it together.”

 The map was open in front of you, your eyes scanning the coordinates for the area where the industrial park was.

“Here,” you said, pointing out the little red dot on the map to Daryl. “Looks like we can head up 22. If the highway is clear, we may have a chance to get there and back in one day.”

Daryl looked at you and nodded, “That would be a very good thing.”

“Yeah, especially since I left my pack at the house,” you said shaking your head.

Daryl snorted a laugh. “Well, good for you that I come prepared I guess,” he motioned to the back seat where you saw the extra backpack and rifle laying across the seat.

“Guess we’re even now,” you managed to smile at him. “I saved your ass yesterday, and you save mine today.”

“We ain’t even,” Daryl said, now offering a playful smirk, “day ain’t over yet girl. Let’s see who owes who by the end of the day.”

You couldn’t help but find his current demeanor amusing. Since you got into the car with him, any of the shame you felt about breaking down the night before was fading. It was like being around a completely different person than you had known all this time.

Daryl navigated the car per your directions and wound up on a clear highway. Route 22 stretched out before you as far as the eye could see. For twenty miles you had a straight shot, barely passing any cars or walkers along the way. Feeling the car slow down, you looked over to Daryl who wore a look of frustration.

“Damn gas ran out,” he growled and threw the car in park. “I got some more in the trunk. Why don’t you take the rifle and head up to the car up yonder; check the tank.”

“Okay,” you said calmly, yet you felt anything but. Getting out of the car, you retrieved the rifle and slowly approached the car. Every few steps you would turn to check on Daryl, as well as your perimeter for any signs of hostility.

Off in the distance, you heard a lone crow’s cry and looked around anxiously. Other than the slight breeze rattling through the trees and asphalt crunching under your feet, it was completely silent.

As the car came into your view, you saw the passenger door was wide open and a trail of blood and guts emptied onto the shoulder and down the grassy embankment. Looking back at Daryl, you saw he was placing the gas can back in the trunk and getting back in the car. You waited until you saw him driving towards you before getting any closer. With your attention at full tilt, you found yourself slipping into survival mode.

Just like your father had taught you and your brother – eyes up, ears open, finger steady – your gun was raised, finger near but not on the trigger, and took slow, even breaths. Narrowing your focus back to the car, you approached it with caution. When there was no movement inside, you opened the driver’s side door and found the gas release lever.

By the time you had it open and was checking the levels, Daryl had joined you, leaving your ride idling on the highway.

“Anything?” he asked.

“No, not really.”

“Damn. Can’s kicked. We’ll have to look as we go to refuel but it should hopefully get us back.” Daryl noticed you staring at the car. “What? Somethin’ wong?”

“I don’t know,” you motioned to the door being open, “there’s fresh blood here. The car itself doesn’t have a speck of dust. I don’t know… something feels…”

The click of a revolver sounded in your ear and you felt the pressure of cold steel to the back of your head. Afraid to move, your eyes shifted to Daryl and saw he was in a similar predicament.

“I would stay really still if I were you, pretty lady,” a voice whispered too close to your ear. “You to fella.”

The stranger's arm wrapped around you, relieving you of your gun. You fought at first, but the man grabbed your neck, yanking you backward.

“Hey!” Daryl yelled, “Get your hands off’er!”

“Now, we ain’t gonna hurt your girlfriend fella. We just wanna borrow her real quick,” the man sneered at Daryl. He roughly rubbed his dirty hands over your breasts and gritted his teeth.

Daryl’s face contorted into that of a wild animal as he thrashed against the man holding him back. The man who gripped you tightly let out a whistle and turned you around. From up the other side of the highway embankment, two other men came creeping up; each was holding a small handgun and armed with a knife. Both you and Daryl seemed to notice at the same time, and you caught him looking between you and the two new men.

Look girl, your father’s words echoed in your head, just look. What do you see…

You looked the men over and thought it odd they approached with handguns and knives. If they had bullets, why would they need the knives out?

What else do you see?

They were scared.

And…

You weren’t.

Above you the crow seemed to be circling and when it let out another cry, it was just enough of a distraction for you to act. As if Daryl could read your mind, you both lashed out at the same time.

You quickly bent at your waist against the man’s grip and used a forceful blow from your elbow into his crotch, causing him to double over. You grabbed your rifle back from his hand and had it pointed at the man holding Daryl.

Daryl got free and immediately punched the guy across his face, causing him and hiss gun to fall to the asphalt. Daryl was able to kick it away from him, while simultaneously grabbing his crossbow off the ground. The two men that had approached stood frozen staring at their companions on the ground.

Without hesitation, you pointed your rifle at the man who grabbed you and shot him in the head. You could feel yourself moving on auto pilot. In the background, Daryl was trying to get your attention as you raised the rifle to the two men frozen in place. You could feel the tears barreling down your face, but paid them no attention.

Suddenly, the highway melted around you and you could only see the dark and dingy hallways of Grady Memorial. The men coming at you weren’t just degenerates, they were the uniformed cops… they were Officer Gorman. You remembered how it felt whenever you saw him approaching you; the fear of knowing what he wanted from you. In the same instant, you flashed to the stranger’s hand rubbing across your chest.

You felt a guttural scream rising from deep within you. Nothing Daryl could have said or done would have stopped you. You hammered back the trigger three more times. Hitting each of the remaining men squarely between the eyes. The echoes of the rifle rang through the trees, scaring up the remaining murder of crows to take off into the horizon.

Coming back to your true surroundings, you looked over at Daryl who was cautiously approaching you. He was saying something, but your ears were still ringing and fuzzy.

“Hey, Y/N, hey… look at me…” Daryl had his hands on your shoulders, “We gotta go. The sound of the shots will draw more…” you saw him turn towards where the men came up the embankment. Six walkers were now shambling towards you. It was the sight of them that finally broke your trance, allowing you to shake off the last of the haze.

You bent down and picked up the dropped hand guns and ran to the idling car. No sooner did you close the door, did the walkers crash into the windows, leaving streaks of dirt and blood down the sides. Daryl put the car in drive and took off before they could do any further damage, leaving the bloody scene far in the distance.

  You never did look back, nor did you look at him. For the rest of the drive to the industrial park you rode in a silence. You were thankful that it was Daryl there with you because anyone else may have wanted to talk it to death.

You could feel him occasionally throw a glance your way, but not in the way he did before. It wasn’t a ‘are you okay?’ look either. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that he looked proud of you.

“How much further?” he asked finally, snapping you back to the present.

“Should be about ten more miles up,” you said examining the map. Route 22 had been clear all the way up, but there were still a couple rural roads that you needed to pass to reach the park.

“Right,” he said and furrowed his brow. “Look, about that… what you did… you had too.” Daryl’s eyes flashed back and forth between you and the road. “The way you…” Daryl stopped and you looked at him matter-of-factly.

“I will not be raped again, Daryl. I won’t.” Your dead pan stare caused him visible discomfort. “You’re right. I did what I had too. I just wish I didn’t have to.”

You looked back out the window, waiting for him to press you with questions. But he didn’t, not yet anyway. Daryl went silent and didn’t speak again until you pulled up in front of the industrial park.

As if the universe was granting you a break, the path was completely clear right up to the gates of the industrial park. Four different warehouses sat behind the fence, each with a different, nondescript name and logo on the front.

“Great, it’ll take all day to go through this,” Daryl said as he took care of the two walkers behind the fence still dressed in their guard uniforms.

You looked at each one of the buildings and saw something you recognized.

“Nah, it won’t. C’mon I know where to go,” you said and started to climb the fence. Daryl followed close behind you.

He followed you across the empty parking lots towards a building that had a bright yellow and blue symbol, with the letters RGN Inc. written in small block letters below it.

“What is this place?” Daryl asked squinting against the sun as he looked it over.

“This company manufactures certain types of medication. I don’t know about these other ones, but I know RGN makes drugs. Any chance of finding what Carl needs will be in here.”

“How’d you know that?” Daryl asked and you heard the hesitation in his voice.

“My brother took a lot of antipsychotic meds. For a while there I was the only one helping him. So, after a while, you get used to seeing certain labels. That,” you said pointing up at the bold yellow and blue lines, “is a symbol I saw quite often.”

“Good ‘nough for me,” Daryl said as you both approached the door. He pulled it open carefully, and it gave way with no objection.

The smell that hit you as you walked into the building was pungent; a sour mix of rotten food and flesh. You and Daryl started searching the building only stumbling across one or two walkers along the way. Once you rounded through offices, you found the storage area where they kept all the meds that were ready to ship out. The warehouse was stacked top to bottom with boxes.

“We should spread out, look for anything that says antibiotics. We’ll grab everything we can and let Denise sort it out.”

“Nah, stay together,” Daryl said. “I’m not takin’ any more chances today. We’ll go through quick and grab what we can. Come back for the rest.”

Aisle by aisle you found just what you were looking for. Daryl found an old pull cart down one of the walkways and starting piling box after box until it was nearly too full to drag along.

“We got a lot of choices here for Denise. We should get these home and come back for the rest. Now that we know the highway is clear, it’s an easy run. Also, be good to check those other buildings.” You said, taking the handle for the cart and trying to pull it along.

The boxes made it nearly impossible to move, and after letting you struggle for a moment or two Daryl came over and effortlessly yanked it forward. Shaking your head, you lead him through the warehouse and back into the corridors leading to the exit.

Daryl checked the one car that had been left in the parking lot and was able to siphon some gas into the can before heading out. As you were driving back down Route 22, you were nearing the spot where the incident had occurred earlier.

There was enough daylight left that you could see the four men lying dead on the ground. You didn’t want to look but couldn’t help it. One lone walker was still making a meal out of the one who had held the gun to your head.

A sick feeling of satisfaction grew in your gut, and as if sensing your thoughts, Daryl caught your eye and gave you a knowing nod.

“Don’t look,” he said, keeping his eyes on you and not the road.

“Well, you better,” you said and motioned forward towards the highway.

Ignoring your directive, Daryl glanced quickly at the spot where you’d been attacked and then back at you, chewing on his lip.

“What you said before… before we got to the warehouse. That happen to you at Grady.. or before?”

You knew what he meant and only offered a slight nod. Those memories were locked up tight and while you had absolutely no intention of ever talking about it, something about the way Daryl was looking at you, you felt like you could.

“Grady. There were these two cops,” you said hesitantly, then looked at Daryl. His eyes were back on the road, but you knew you had his full attention. “They were the lowest forms of life. They would make the women do… God awful things just so they could eat, or get the medicine they needed.”

Sighing heavy, you thought back to that first time Gorman entered your room uninvited. “If you refused, then they just found you later and got what they wanted anyway.”

“Last night, when you grabbed my arm… I’m just not good with people touching me suddenly. I know that it’s over, that he’s dead. But sometimes I have to force myself to remember that, you know?”

Daryl’s face was hard and angry. He still didn’t say a word, but you knew that if Gorman and Dawn weren’t already dead, he’d pull a U-turn and head straight back to Atlanta to do it himself.

“Beth was okay though,” you said. “Thought you’d want to know that. As far as I know they never touched her other than a hard smack across the face.”

Daryl caught your gaze and there was a look of relief that washed over him.

“She helped kill him, you know. Gorman, I mean… She knew what he was. I don’t know how it went down exactly, but I know she was partially responsible. After that I knew that I had to do everything I could to help her. She was strong and did something to save us from that monster.”

“Beth had a way of doin’ that,” Daryl said quietly. “She wasn’t always that way. Took a while, but she figured out how to be strong; to be a survivor.”

“She was lucky to have had you all,” you said and wondered if you had a group like this from the start, how different things would have been. “She was lucky that you loved her.”

“It was my fault she ended up there,” Daryl said quietly. “It was just us out there. We got cornered and I told her to run. I got back to her and she was gone. If I had just kept her with me…”

“Stop. No use in going down that road Daryl. Trust me. Why the hell do you think my head’s been so fucked up these last few months? I can’t stop playing ‘what if’. What if I tried to kill Dawn earlier. What if I hadn’t gone back into the city to look for my brother. What if I hadn’t let a man in uniform convince me to go with him for my own safety? What if… what if Beth hadn’t been at that hospital.”

This time when the tears threatened to fall, you found your resolve and pushed them back. Sitting up straighter in the seat you felt the familiar burn of anger starting to bubble in the pit of your stomach.

“I can’t begin to tell you what it feels like to know that the woman you loved died and I am only here because she’s dead. That kind of guilt is not easy to live with Daryl.”  

For the second time that day, Daryl pulled the car to a stop and put it in park. He turned his attention fully to you, his eyes soft and thoughtful.

“Y/N, you gotta stop. I miss her, I do. Took me a way to get over the fact that she’s gone… but she’s gone. You’re not. Beth would be the first one to tell ya that she’s glad you’re alive and with us. She’d want us to care for you, look out for you…” Daryl trailed off. “Why do you think Carol is always on your ass?”

You shook your head and couldn’t help but crack a smile. Carol was relentless but you were starting to get why. They did care. All of them. Even Daryl… the one person in the group you assumed resented you the most was the one who was now comforting you and telling you it’ll be alright.

“We should get home,” you said motioning to the road again, “I don’t know Rick as well as you, but somethin’ tells me he’s not the most patient man.”

“Yeah,” Daryl smirked as he got the car in gear, “you got that right.”

 Once again making it through the gates as dusk gave way to nighttime, Rick greeted you outside the infirmary.

“You’re back,” he said with a great deal of relief. Peering into the back seat, a smile broke out on his wearied face at the sight of the haul you returned with. “You found ‘em.”

“And then some,” Daryl responded as he opened the trunk revealing the rest of the boxes. “This one over here made it easy to find,” Daryl smiled, gesturing in your direction.

Rick placed his hand on your shoulder and met your eyes with his cool blue ones, “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you…” he pulled you into a hug, and your body stiffened against his. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Your fearless leader hugged you gratefully, but more surprising was that you found yourself hugging him back.

Giving Daryl a nod of gratitude, Rick followed Denise, Tara and the boxes of meds back to the infirmary. You caught sight of Daryl glancing at you through his long wisps of hair, no longer with a smile on his face, but couldn’t read his expression. Without saying a word, he reached back into the trunk and pulled out more of the boxes and carried them to the porch.

“Want some help?” You asked, picking up a box.

“Nah, go on home. I got this.” Confused by the sudden coldness you felt from him, you turned and started walking towards the house. Just as you did the night before, you saw the house illuminated and shadows walking past the drawn shades.

Glancing back over your shoulder to Daryl loading the last boxes on the porch, you decided to go back to the gazebo. At least there you could look for the big dipper again. Maybe if you could locate the north star again, it could help keep you on the path of the living.

  Daryl entered the infirmary and saw Denise hovering over Carl. He was sleeping soundly, sweat glistening across his forehead. Michonne was sitting on his other side, brushing strands of sticky hair from his face.

“He alright?” Daryl asked placing the box on the empty gurney.

“He should be,” Denise said without looking up. “Getting the new antibiotics in the IV now. Luckily his fever stopped rising, now we just have to get it to break.”

Daryl walked to Rick who was standing in the corner watching Denise care for Carl.

“You alright?” Daryl asked Rick in somber tone.

“I am now that you guys are back. Everything go ok?”

“Yeah, you know…” Daryl shrugged. “Went like it always does. Bad guys, walkers. Whatever. We got back.” Rick nodded in acknowledgement not needing any more details.

“And the warehouse?” “Stocked. Floor to ceiling with meds. Should take a bigger group and head back out that way,” Daryl said but looked at Carl. “When this one’s better we’ll go. This way you can come too.”

“You seemed to do alright without me,” Rick said with half a smile, clapping his best friend on the shoulder.

“Maybe,” Daryl said, thinking back to the men who tried to jump them. “Rick… Y/N…”

“What about her?”

Before Daryl could speak, Carl stirred at the feeling of a new IV being put in his arm. Rick jumped forward to see if his son would open his eye, forgetting Daryl was even there. As Rick and Michonne hovered protectively over Carl, Daryl slipped out on the porch and saw you sitting in the gazebo.

  “Hey,” he said as he approached you, a newly lit cigarette hanging from his lip. “Can I sit?”

“Sure,” you said and moved over on the bench. “You got another one of those?” Daryl reached in his pocket and handed the pack to you. As the cigarette touched your lips, he was igniting his lighter in front of you.

It had been years since you had one, but that familiar feeling of the smoke cascading down into your lungs felt like a sweet release after the day you had experienced.

“You said somethin’ before that I don’t get,” Daryl said without looking at you.

“What?”

“You said Beth was lucky we loved her,” He turned, meeting your eyes.

“Yeah, okay…What about it?” You asked a little confused as to why that statement, out of all of them, was the one that stuck with him.

“We did… we all did. But it wasn’t like that. She wasn’t just Maggie’s kid sister, she was all of ours.”

“Oh, I just assumed she was your girlfriend,” you said, thinking about the day Beth died and how Daryl had reacted.

“She was just a kid. She deserved more time,” he said, finally looking at you. “But you’re wrong to think what you did.”

A light breeze tumbled through the gazebo causing your arms to break out in goosebumps. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you suddenly felt very self-conscious sitting next to Daryl. His broad, welcoming shoulders were barely grazing yours and for the first time in a long time, the feel of someone else’s touch didn’t make you feel the need to shower.

Releasing yourself, you took another drag from the cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke be tossed away by the breeze. Turning to face Daryl, his eyes were already narrowed on you, causing a new sensation to stir deep down.

The intensity of his azure eyes fell on top of you and you couldn’t decide if it was a look like he wanted to kill you or kiss you. The way your time with him had been going the last couple days, you thought it could really be either option.

“What?” You said a little annoyed, feeling uncomfortable under his glare.

“Do you got a thing for Rick?” Daryl asked, taking you completely by surprise.

The chill on your skin a moment ago was suddenly replaced by that fire that always seemed to be burning somewhere in you.

“Rick?” You half asked half accused. “Seriously? What the fuck dude…” you shook your head at Daryl and took another drag off the cigarette. “Where did that come from?”

No answer, just a shrug of his shoulder.

“Bullshit,” you said. “Why do you think that?”

“Why’d you think I was with Beth?” He asked and by the look on his face, you knew he was serious in his question.

“The way you talk about her sometimes… the way you looked when she died… I dunno. I guess I just assumed. I don’t ever see you with anyone else, so...”

“Right,” he growled, “and you should see your face when Rick walks into a room. You light up like a damn Christmas tree. He’s the only one who could get you to do somethin’ you didn’t want to do…”

You felt like the kettle that sat on the stove back home; ready for your top to blow from the steam spiraling through you.

“You know what, fuck you,” you said as calmly as possible and turned towards home. Only taking a few steps, you stopped and turned back to face him. “You know, after yesterday and today, I thought maybe, just maybe, you could be a decent guy. You sat there today and listened to me tell you some of the worst moments of my life, and then you turn around and…”

You threw your arms up in the air, unsure of what you could say to convey how angry you felt.

“Despite those assholes that got in the way, I felt like today went really well. We worked good together. We were getting along. Why’d you have to go say something stupid like that…”

Without giving him a chance to respond, you turned towards home again. This time you didn’t stop until you stepped inside.

 The glow of the light over the kitchen sink was the only illumination in the lower part of the house. Any signs of life that were apparent earlier had disappeared and you found yourself alone in the kitchen. Pacing frantically and mumbling to yourself, you didn’t notice Carol walk into the room.

“Shhhh,” she said, startling you.

“Shit!” You said clutching your chest. “Sorry.”

“Just got Judith down. What’s wrong with you? What happened?” Carol asked going into mom mode.

“Nothing. Everyone’s fine. We got the meds for Carl, Rick is there with him now while Denise tries the new antibiotics.”

“Good,” Carol said looking you up and down, “then why do you look like you are ready to kill someone?”

“Fucking Daryl,” you mumbled just loud enough for her to hear you.

“I see,” she smirked, “What did he do now?”

“Just being his usual asshole-y self,” you said, taking in a deep breath trying to calm down. “Sorry, he just knows the right buttons to push,.”

“Hmmm, wonder why that is,” Carol muttered before flashing you a smile. “Look, I’m going to go check on Carl, can you keep an eye and ear out for Judith. She shouldn’t wake up, but just in case.” Carol put the monitor on the counter and grabbed her jacket from the hook.

“Oh, and if Daryl comes home, please keep in mind the sleeping baby while you two duke it out.” She tossed you another smirk on the way out the door, and you found yourself alone again.

When the door opened a minute later, you thought it would be Carol coming back in with more words of wisdom, or another task to keep you busy. Turning to confront her, you found Daryl instead.

His broad frame was merely a silhouette against the door, but you could still see his chest rising and falling in frustration. As Daryl walked into the kitchen, the soft light above the sink cast a shadow across his face, but his eyes still seemed bright and fixed right on you.

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracked as he took another tentative step towards you. “I was a dick.”

You stepped back until your back hit the edge of the sink. You crossed your arms across your chest and wanted to desperately hold onto the anger you felt. But with each step he took towards you, it faded away more and more.

“I don’t always know what to say,” Daryl looked down at his feet. “Most times, I end up saying the wrong thing.”

Drawing in a deep breath he took the last step toward you, placing himself squarely in front of you at the sink. When his hand reached out to pull yours from the clutches of your crossed arms, you gave it to him without argument.

Daryl swallowed hard.

“Reason I ain’t been with anyone was because I didn’t think I could be. For a long time, it was hard to feel anything. When I was out there with Beth, she helped me see that I could… one day when I was ready.”

Your hand felt lost, yet somehow safe being held in his. The feeling of Daryl’s rough fingers on yours was suddenly everything you didn’t realize you needed. You wanted to say something, but the energy Daryl had around him told you that you shouldn’t.

“You’re trying to let us in,” he continued, offering you a soft smile. “You let me in, and I guess when that made me kinda feel somethin’, it scared the shit outta me. So, I did what I do and acted like a dick.”

“Oh,” escaped your lips in a whisper. “You feel something… for me?”

“I know it feels nice to hold your hand,” he said squeezing yours in his. His other hand reached up to touch the side of your face but hesitated. You knew that he was trying to respect your space; trying not to have you flinch from him.

In a split second, you had yet another decision to make. Lean into his touch and confirm the growing ache you felt, or run away… again.

This time you didn’t have to even consider the other options. You leaned your cheek into his touch, closing your eyes and drawing in a deep breath at the feel of him. Your eyes opened just in time to see Daryl leaning into you, inches from your face.

His eyes locked with yours, searching for permission to kiss you. He found it in your expression and leaned in, brushing his lips hesitantly against yours. His mouth opened, ever so slightly to take in more of you, and you happily let him. He let go of your hand and face and let his hands fall to your hips as he kissed you softly. Resting your hands on his chest, he pulled back from you and rested his forehead against yours.

“Daryl…”

“I’m sorry, if it’s too much. I don’t want you to feel… uncomfortable,” he said, sounding nervous.

Your hands started shaking on his chest. Daryl covered your hands with his and held them against himself.

“Is this your way of telling me that you’re ready… now? With me?”

“Mhm hmm,” he nodded, biting on his bottom lip. “I think it is.”

“You think?” You couldn’t help the laugh in your voice.

Daryl smiled, but his expression remained serious. “Yeah, it is.”

He leaned in to kiss you again, and just before your lips touched, the monitor exploded with sounds of Judith from the other room, wide awake and considerably unhappy.

You laughed and leaned your head into his chest. You felt a growl of frustration from deep within him.

“Damn kids,” he said and looked down smiling at you.

“I’ll go,” you smiled and went to walk around him. Before you were out of his reach, Daryl gently grabbed your elbow.

“Hey, don’t be too long,” Daryl said, his voice gruff and low, “Think we’ve both wasted enough damn time already.”

```````````````````````````````````````````

PART 3

[britishchick09]

Make Snowballs, Not War: A Wadlow Sibling Fic

it’s the first senpai fic of 2020! this one took just 2 days to write (january 20th to the 21st) and it’s a fun one. enjoy! :)

on a snowy afternoon, betty asks helen and eugene if they want to play outside. then the second great war erupts. just another day with the wadlows!

Snowflakes gently fell from the sky in Alton. Betty Wadlow looked out the window with an excited smile and rushed to Robert, who was in his chair.

“It’s so snowy out there!” she said. “We should go out and play.”

“Me too!” Harold Jr. added while toddling over to his sister.

Robert smiled. “You two can go out there and have fun.”

“You don’t want to?” Betty asked with a frown.

“I would, but I’m afraid I might slip and fall. And that wouldn’t be good.”

“But it’s snow!”

“And if there’s snow, there’s ice. And if there’s ice, there’s a trip to the hospital.”

Betty sighed. “You’re right. You can just watch if you want,” She took Harold Jr’s hand. “Let’s see if Helen and Gene want to play!”

“I told you, you don’t divide by thirty-one!” a voice hollered. “You can’t divide anything by thirty-one!”

“Well, what am I supposed to do, huh?” another asked. “And there is a number that divides by thirty-one. One!”

“That’s how many brain-cells I still have when working with you!” “And that’s how many things divide by thirty-one!”

Harold Jr. looked up at Betty. “I don’t think they wanna play.”

Betty smiled. “Maybe it’ll cheer them up, then!”

Despite the tension in the air, she still had high spirits as she went to her room. Helen and Eugene were on the floor surrounded by a textbook and multiple sheets of paper.

“What are you doing?” Betty asked.

“We’re going over math stuff.” Eugene replied.

“You mean dying.” Helen corrected him.

Betty smiled. “How about you two cool off by playing outside with us?”

“It’s a snow day!” Harold Jr. exclaimed happily.

Helen glared at Eugene. “I’d sure like to stuff a snowball down your face.”

“Well, I’d like to shove one down your pants!” Eugene retorted.

“I don’t even wear pants! ...And why would you do that?”

“Because it’s a great way to get back at someone. I know first-hand. ...I wish I didn’t.”

“So are you guys playing with us or not?” Betty asked. Helen stood up. “I sure am.���

“Same here. It’ll be good to take a break from Math,” Eugene added before giving Helen a look. “And a great way to get back at you.”

“Or a way to get back at you.”

Helen and Eugene coldly stared at each other before walking out of the room, almost shoving Betty and Harold Jr. aside.

“Are they going out?” Robert asked Betty.

Betty frowned. “I think they’re going out on each other.”

Helen pulled on a coat and mittens before stomping outside with Eugene. He ran back inside a moment later to put his own coat on.

Robert looked at Betty. “What’s going on?”

“Well, I’m hoping they’ll just play with each other, but-” Betty stopped at the sound of Helen and Eugene yelling, “This means war!”

“...Oh no.” Robert put his book aside and stood up, sauntering over to the door as quickly as he could.

He opened the door and shivered at the chilly air. Helen and Eugene were easy to spot past the almost blindingly white snow. They stood in front of each other, arms crossed and eyes glaring.

“You two better not start the Second Great War.” Robert warned them.

Eugene scooped up a snowball and threw it at Helen. “Whoops. Just did!”

Helen threw her own ball of snow at Eugene. “And I just did, too!”

Robert sighed. “Perhaps I spoke way too soon.”

He closed the door as Helen and Eugene began throwing snowballs at each other.

“Nice show, huh?” Betty asked from her spot near the window.

“Yeah,” Robert sarcastically agreed. “Them throwing snowballs at each other is really nice.”

While Betty viewed the war outside, Robert continued to read his book while Harold Jr. played with his train. Harold walked by a few minutes later and opened the door.

“Kids, quiet down over there!” he told Helen and Eugene. “Your mother’s trying to get some rest.”

Helen looked up from her snowball. “Sorry, Dad. We’re just having a war.”

“You know, typical teenager stuff.” Eugene chimed in.

Harold sighed and looked back at the other siblings. “You all should go out there with them. Get some energy out of your system, get some fresh air, get a chance to calm the war... Typical sibling things.”

He went outside to grab the shovel, leaving the siblings to think about his suggestion.

“Should we go?” Harold Jr. asked. Robert frowned. “I don’t really want to, but if Dad wants us to, then we should.”

“Yay!” Betty exclaimed with a grin. “Now you’ll go out and play. All it takes is a little bit of Pops!”

She grabbed her coat and skipped outside.

“You coming, Junior?” Robert asked Harold Jr.

“I dunno,” Harold Jr. replied with a shrug. “I have my train... but I like a snow day!”

Robert helped his baby brother get his coat and mittens on before taking him outside.

“Are you coming, Big Brother?” Harold Jr. asked.

Robert shivered slightly as he considered. “...Alright, I guess I will. But I’ll only be watching. That’s the safest thing to do.”

After fetching his long coat and somewhat small gloves from his room and putting it on, Robert went outside to join his siblings. He went down the porch steps as carefully as he could, grabbing tightly onto the banister. Not wanting to fall, he slowly sat down on the last step.

“Robert!” Betty called. “Harold Jr. and I are going to build a snowman!”

Robert smiled. “Sounds fun.”

“You should join us!”

“I’d like to, but I’m afraid I’ll fall if I take even a single step.”

Betty and Harold Jr. looked at each other before coming up with a solution. They scooped up big piles of snow and went over to Robert. They were just a couple feet away when Harold Jr. was smacked in the cheek by a snowball.

“Eugene!” Helen exclaimed. “You’re supposed to hit me, not Junior!”

“Sorry,” Eugene apologized. “You’re starting to get stale.”

Harold Jr. dropped his snow pile and ran to Robert. “Big Brother! He hit me!”

“Are you hurt at all?” Robert asked, giving his baby brother a warm hug.

“It feels cold,” Harold Jr. frowned. “And now I’m scared.”

“Gene won’t hit you again,” Robert reassured him before giving Eugene a look. “Right?”

Eugene nodded. “I promise I won’t.”

Harold Jr. leaned into Robert’s coat, not convinced.

“How about you go inside and play with your train?” Robert suggested. “You can come back out when Helen and Eugene are done.”

“Train!” Harold Jr. exclaimed, his face brightening.

He ran up the porch steps and Robert got up to open the door for him. Once Harold Jr. was inside, Robert sat back down on the porch.

“How about we make a different kind of war?” Eugene asked.

“You mean one that doesn’t happen?” Robert asked back.

“Boys vs. girls!”

“It’s not as good as smacking you in the face, but sure!” Helen told Eugene before going over to Betty. “Ready to join the war?”

Betty frowned. “I’d rather make snowmen.”

“You always make snowmen when it snows. Why not change it up a bit?”

“Like a snowman-building contest?”

“...Like a-”

“I’m not enlisting in the snowman war if that’s what you’re-” Betty felt something cold hit her back and looked behind her. “That was mean!”

Eugene snickered. “Looks like you gotta enlist in the war now!”

Betty rolled up a pile of snow and chucked it at Eugene. The snowball hit him square in the face.

“Hey, that was pretty satisfying!” she remarked.

“Now do you want to enlist?” Helen asked her.

“If it’s a war against Eugene, then sure!”

The sisters began making snowballs and throwing them at Eugene, who made snowballs of his own. All Robert did was sit on the porch and watch as the next chapter of the war unfolded.

“Come on!” Eugene called out to him. “It’s two against one! I need a two-man team!”

“I’m not much for assaulting people with snow,” Robert said. “But thanks for the offer.”

Eugene rolled his eyes and scooped up a snowball. He was about to throw it at Robert when Helen ran in front of him, getting a face-full of snow.

“You got right into that one!” Eugene said through a laugh.

Helen gave him a kick in the shin. “You got into that one, too!”

Betty smacked Eugene’s side with half of a snowball and stuck the other one in his pocket. “Now you’ve had it shoved down your pants!”

“You’re supposed to shove it- Not down there!” Eugene exclaimed at Helen, who laughed.

“You said it was a way to get back at someone,” she pointed out. “And I sure did!”

Eugene scowled at Helen and chased her around the yard. Betty followed Eugene, pelting him with snowballs. Every so often, Helen would bend down for a brief moment to make a snow pile, which she would throw at Eugene. Eugene retaliated with his own quickly made piles of snow. 

A few minutes into the fight, Helen stopped running. Eugene assumed she was about to do her usual routine and made a snowball in the meantime. She lifted herself up slightly and Eugene chucked the snow at her. To his surprise, Helen went back down again, causing the snow to sail past her.

“No!” Betty cried out, running towards the snowball.

But she was too late. Robert looked up and was instantly greeted by a face-full of snow.

Helen and Betty glared at Eugene, who said, “Sorry about that, Bob. It wasn’t my fault, honest!” He pointed at Helen. “It was hers!”

Helen frowned. “It was not!”

“You bent back down again.”

“Yeah, to tie my shoe. I was going to make a snowball right after. But no. You just had to smack Robert, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Are you okay, Robert?” Betty cut into Helen and Eugene’s arguing.

Robert responded by taking his glasses off and wiping snow off the lenses with his coat, not saying a word. Once his glasses were on, he slowly rose from the porch, walked down the steps with extreme caution and crouched down to make a snowball.

Then he smacked his siblings in the face with it.

“That’s what you all get for fighting,” Robert said as he stood up. “I’m sick of all this war stuff and I want you to stop. The war’s over now.”

“But how are we gonna get back at each other?” Eugene asked.

“Oh, I don’t know, by... talking it out, maybe?” Robert ran a gloved hand through his blonde hair and sighed, giving himself a chance to cool off a bit. “I know this snow war thing is ‘fun’ and all, but that’s what it should be: fun. You all have turned it into... well... a real war. You’ve taken sides and assaulted the enemy. Sure, it sort of works sometimes in the world, but not in ours. Siblings don’t need wars. They just need to talk,” He crossed his arms in an authorial manner. “I expect you all to do that starting now. Right now.”

The siblings didn’t want to disobey their big brother, so they decided to talk it out.

“You’re terrible at math.” Helen told Eugene.

Eugene smiled. “I know.”

“And I can’t help you with it.”

“I know.”

“And you’ll need someone else to help you.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t know everything.”

“I-” Eugene stopped to give Helen a squint. “Well, you’re too fussy. You always expect me to do the problems like how you do it.”

“That’s because I know the right way. If you were just patient with me-”

“Says you! You’re the most impatient person I’ve ever met!”

“Well, I can’t help it! It’s who I am. And like it or not, you’ll just have to get used to it.”

“Like how bad I am with math?”

Helen smiled. “Exactly. We both need to get used to each other.”

“Now it’s time for what I have to say!” Betty announced before telling Eugene, “You’re annoying.”

“Gee, thanks,” Eugene said. “I’ll make a soon-to-be-failed attempt to work on it.”

“Have anything to say about me?” Helen asked.

Betty nodded. “You’re too fussy like what Gene said, but it’s not as annoying as he is,” She turned to Robert. “As for you...” She broke out into a wide smile. “You’re the best big brother ever!”

“I can’t be fussy about that.” Helen said.

“And I can’t argue with it.” Eugene added.

Robert’s ears turned pink at the praise (and the cold). “Gee, thanks. You’re all the est siblings, fussy or annoying or not at all.”

Betty, Helen and Eugene gave him a hug just as Harold Jr. toddled outside.

“Is it safe to go out?” he asked.

“It’s Armistice Day,” Betty told him. “That means the war is over!”

”Yay!” Harold Jr. exclaimed as he ran down the steps and joined the hug. “Now we can have fun!”

“Who’s up for a snowman?” Betty asked the siblings once the let go.

Everyone chattered and nodded in agreement, ready to sign their treaty with piles of snow and a carrot on top.

[cajunroe]

baberoe + cyberpunk!au (mercenary!babe + hacker!gene) ↳ their lives were dangerous, babe knew that. they lived in a world where even looking at someone sideways could have you sleeping in the morgue…if there was room. but babe knew they were good. him and gene were very good at their jobs and they were even better together, lethal. they were so good that it’s only natural to have made plenty of enemies. babe’s a hired gun for christ’s sake and gene? well let’s just say he’s been able to take down entire gangs with the push of a button. on some level, babe knew their luck couldn’t last forever. so when gene doesn’t answer his calls and he’s not at their apartment, babe knows he’s in for a fight. his enemies count on his anger, they count on him being reckless because they took the only thing babe cares about, the only person he loves. what they don’t count on are the rumors being true. the rumors that babe is ruthless, precise, and operates without caution. babe gears up, preparing for a fight he may not make it out of. but the only thing that matters is gene. if gene lives, babe can die happy.

the smoke billowed around babe as he approached the turned over car.

rifle by his side, a practical extension of his arm at this point, he strides over to the man attempting to pull himself from the wreckage.

babe looked at the man in disgust, rage allowing no sympathy.

“where is he?” he asked, tone clipped.

the man groaned in response.

babe shot a single round into the man’s leg.

over the sound of a loud scream, babe asked again.

“where is he?!”

“at the scrapyard across town!” the man shouted, still trying to free himself from the wreckage.

“thank you,” was all babe said before sending another round into the man’s skull.

gene was livid. not because he was being held hostage. not because they’d had to beat him unconscious in order to get him here. 

no.

he was pissed because they’d broken the screen on his laptop. no one, not even babe, could get away with such a disrespect.

“you coulda at least handled it with care.” 

“shut up!”

gene laughed and spit out a mouthful of blood.

“i’m just sayin’, if you want people to cooperate you could at least treat their possessions with a little more finesse.”

one of the men assigned to watch him was getting annoyed and gene loved when that happened. when they were annoyed, they got careless.

the man in question raised a gun to his head and gene didn’t so much as flinch.

“say one more damn word about your fucking computer. i dare you!”

gene was about to say something, knowing that these men were not allowed to kill him, when screams and gunfire hailed from outside the door.

“what the fuck is that?” the other guard asked, nervous and fidgety.

gene smile, teeth still slightly red, “that would be my husband.”

babe shot the last six men, panting and bleeding. as long as he made it to gene, he’d be fine.

he dropped his rifle to the ground, opting for his pistols in what he assumed would be closer ranged fighting.

wincing as he lifted his arms, he tapped on the thin metal door.

“gene, honey, you in there?”

the two men looked in question to gene and the door and back again.

“yeah, babe. i’m here.”

“did they hurt you?”

“a little bit, nothing to write home about, they don’t know how to hit, not like you.”

one guard went behind gene and put a gun to his temple.

“gene, combien?”

the guards looked at one another again.

“deux.”

“où?”

“un derrière moi et un à ma gauche.”

“merci, mon amour.”

babe took a deep breath. he prided himself on his accuracy and precision. it was the reason he was so good at his job and why he made so much doing it. he could shoot a fly on a wall from a mile away. based on gene’s voice, babe could gauge, roughly, where he was in the room and where the guards would be.

he listened for feet shuffling or anything else determining movement.

when nothing came, he fired. 

one dropped.

the second dropped.

babe ripped the door open so hard, it nearly came off it’s hinges. 

he ran to gene who was smiling at him.

“stop smiling gene! i can’t believe i married someone with no sense of preservation.”

babe undid the ropes that were binding gene’s hands behind him. all the technology they have and these guys still use rope? amateurs.

“you always come to my rescue.”

“yeah this what? fourth time this month? i swear, it’s like you let yourself be kidnapped so i come save you.”

babe finished ripping off the bindings on his legs and helped him stand up.

“no! would i do a thing like that?” gene laughed and the look on babe’s face was worth it.

“eugene roe! i oughta divorce you right now.” 

gene pulled babe into a heated kiss, the taste of iron flooding their senses.

“you love me too much to divorce me.”

babe laughed and shoved gene lightly.

“i do love you, but i could try to divorce you. i hear the makeup sex is worth it.”

gene walked over to where his laptop sat, looking down sadly at the broken screen.

“they broke the screen, babe.”

“fuck! well, there’s no one else to make pay and i gotta have spina patch me up.”

gene sighed, dejected, “yeah, let’s just go home.”

babe hated to see gene so upset. his computer was as important to him as babe’s guns. 

“hey, gene?” he asked as they made their way to the basement.

“wanna blow the building up? i got a ton of explosives in the car.”

the small smile that babe got in return was worth it all.

their live were dangerous, sure. their city was dangerous. 

but together, they were more dangerous, absolutely lethal and unapologetic. 

they stared at one another when they both pushed the detonator and as the building crashed to the ground, their lips crashed together in a passionate display of love. they’d survived another day, and couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow would bring them.

anonymous - thank you!

send me a pairing and an au and i’ll make an aesthetic post + ficlet 

[ralphspina-blog1]

SAPPY PROMPTS NUMBER EIGHT

8: “Can I touch you?”

got some baberoe here, being slightly ridiculous about how head over heels they are as per usual. ridiculous and adorable.

They move forward in small, shivering increments: small because Eugene has so obviously been in over his head from the moment Babe smiled at him with just a hint of extra warmth, and shivering because even once they escape the deep freeze of Bois Jacques and start to hide in cramped, dusty basements instead of foxholes, Eugene always seems to tremble when Babe gets close.

He’s not scared. Babe knows he’s not scared, and would back off so far he’d land in the ocean if he ever thought that had changed. And it doesn’t even seem like a blushing virgin thing - at least not in the archetypal sense, though Babe wouldn’t be at all surprised if it were true in a more literal one - because there’s no shying away or coy recriminations or even nervous pleas to stop, wait, not yet.

Best as Babe can figure, Eugene just has a way of getting overwhelmed by odd things. The mannever even flinches if a mortar shell explodes a few feet from where he’s seeing to a man’s wound, but Babe shifting the grip of their intertwined hands to drag a thumb lightly across Eugene’s inner wrist is enough to make him gasp. Every time they kiss, Eugene fumbles with his hands a bit before deciding to rest one at the nape of Babe’s neck like always, as if he’s forgotten what to do with them between then and now. It’s sweet, but a little bit nerve-wracking at times, and it makes Babe move forward with much more caution and patience than he thought he could ever give anything.

Eugene is just… he’s different all the way around, and the amazing, breathtaking differences make up for the ones that cause Babe’s own confidence to stumble in its steps.

It’s the eve of the second stupid patrol over that stupid river to get more stupid prisoners and probably lose more men to stupid mistakes when Babe once again seeks out Eugene’s company. They end up in an unused upstairs bedroom this time, sitting side by side on a bed with dust-coated flounces and ruffles that make the entire scene a bit ludicrous, bodies turned inward so that they can share kiss after breathless, pulse-jolting kiss. Babe’s teeth find Eugene’s lower lip before he can think at all about what he’s doing, the morbid futility of the night’s coming events making him more urgent than usual, and Eugene gasps so loudly at the light nip that he jerks away with wide, apologetic eyes.

“Gene, I’m sorry, I didn’t - I wasn’t thinkin’,” he babbles out with what he hopes is a reassuring smile, not a panicked one. He thinks his heart might actually have stopped as he waits for Eugene to answer, but then Eugene reaches up a hand to touch the spot where Babe bit him with a deeply pensive expression, and just watching makes Babe shiver like he’s the one brushing a finger over Eugene’s mouth.

Who’s overwhelmed now? He thinks to himself. Get it together, Babe.

“S’alright,” Eugene finally says with his own quiet but rigidly firm brand of certainty. “S’alright, Babe, I -”

Babe searches Eugene’s face for some sort of answers when he falls silent again, but aside from general impressions like upset or confused or lost in thought, that face is a lock box - it’s sometimes possible to guess his emotions, but never his thoughts. “Gene,” he says hesitantly, shifting close enough that their legs press together from hip to knee, and either the sound of his name or the new point of contact snaps Eugene right out of his reverie; he looks Babe dead in the eye, expression serious as a heart attack, and says something that nearly causes Babe to pass out cold where he sits.

“Babe, can I touch you?”

For what feels like an eternity, all Babe can do is open his mouth and close it again, and he gets a very good idea of how foolish he looks from how quickly Gene’s serious expression turns amused. “C-Can you?” He finally manages to sputter out with a high-pitched, disbelieving laugh. “You’re askin’ permission? You think I’d ever say no to that?”

“I dunno,” Eugene says, right back at serious again as he considers the question. “You’re always real careful with me. Figure I oughta give you the same courtesy… right?”

This time, Babe’s laugh is warm with baffled but overwhelming affection, the sort he always feels when Eugene says things like that. “Nah, Gene, that’s just ‘cause you’re always so nervous. You don’t gotta be careful with me.”

“I ain’t nervous.”

Before Babe has a chance to respond or even react to those words, Eugene’s hands find the bottom of his coat and then the hem of his shirt, and he shudders from head to toe when he feels them press warm and soft against his bare abdomen. So soft for a soldier’s hands, but then, he’s a medic - the fruits of his labor aren’t calluses but dark red-brown lines criscrossing his palms where the blood of other men has been ground in too deep to scrub clean, and still there’s something so pure about his touch that Babe feels it right to his very soul.

Healing hands. Is this what those words mean? He closes his eyes, listens to the slow heave of his breathing until Eugene speaks again: “It ain’t a case of bein’ nervous. Everything just - feels so good. I can’t help reactin’ like I do.”

He slides his hands around to Babe’s sides, drags them partway down, then wraps his arms right around Babe’s middle to stroke the small of his back. Babe can’t catch his breath; his heart’s racing so fast he swears it’s starting to hurt. And Eugene hasn’t even really done anything that could be called suggestive.

“Was it the shakin’ made you think so?”

“Huh?” Blinking heavily, Babe drags himself out of pure sensation to focus on Eugene’s question. “Yeah, I - just that, an’ -”

A few seconds pass without Babe showing any sign that he plans to finish his thought. Eugene finally says, a smile in his voice: “You’re shakin’ right now.”

And God, he is. He hasn’t stopped since that first shudder. He pulls back just enough to capture Eugene’s lips in another kiss, one that makes his toes curl and a moan catch in the back of his throat, then shivers even harder when Eugene’s hands shift to get a solid grip on his waist and his nails bite ever so slightly into bare skin.

Eugene, of course, is the one who eventually pulls away to talk some sense: “Whatever we’re startin’ here, I don’t know that we’re gonna get the chance to finish it,” he says with genuine regret tugging at his voice. “Not how we’d like, not right now.”

“But sometime? We will?” For someone who’s always considered himself a bit of a ladykiller, Babe can’t believe how pathetically eager he sounds as he asks that question. But Eugene is different, in every single way.

“Yeah,” he says, averting his eyes with a small, shy smile. “Sometime we will.”

[b-does-the-write-thing]

Oh dear, it has been a minute, hasn't it?

Thanks as always to @ramloth for beta-ing this beast!

Read it on A03

Chapter 41

“Done!” Lacey announced, sitting back proudly to admire her handiwork.

From where she was seated on the floor between Lacey’s legs, Rapunzel reached a tentative hand to her head, gently tracing the intricate starts of her new french braid. It had taken Lacey nearly an hour, and her fingers had cramped up twice, but Rapunzel’s black hair dangled just off the floor, thanks to Lacey’s creativity. A crown of braided hair wrapped artfully around Rapunzel’s head before descending into a braid. The hair was pulled so taut it gave the young girl a slightly permanent surprised look, though she had assured Lacey it didn’t hurt at all multiple times throughout the process.

“How does it look, Just Eugene?” Rapunzel asked her new friend, turning to look at where he was loitering against the mantle. There was no flirtation in her voice, just an honest curiosity. Rapunzel regard Eugene as a very trustworthy, knowledgeable source as both man and horse. He gawked back at her, too busy admiring her to answer. At least, he had stopped blushing every time she looked at him.

“Looks fine,” Gold replied, not bothering to look up from the book he had retreated to. Rapunzel ducked her head in embarrassment, still clearly shy around the older, gruffer man. “Can we go now?”

Lacey scowled at him over Rapunzel’s head. “Yes, now that I’ve single-handedly fixed the problem of what to do with all this hair, we can go.” Lacey stood, stretching her arms overhead before letting out a yawn. “God,” Lacey said, rubbing her eyes as exhaustion returned harder than ever. “I haven’t slept in-”

“Twenty four hours,” Gold interrupted as he turned the page. “Same as Eugene and myself and probably the young miss here as well.”

As if reminded, Eugene opened his mouth a in jaw-cracking yawn. Rapunzel brightened, hopping up in excitement. “You could all stay here with me!” she suggested. She pointed to a small staircase that went up into an overhead loft. “You could sleep for a bit and perhaps Mother might return. We wouldn’t have to go anywhere after all!”

Lacey put her hand over her face, and resisted the temptation to groan. Gold, meanwhile, was nodding in agreement. “Wonderful idea. How about you three stay here? I have the lone steed. I would make better time back to Corona on my own.”

“What about,” Eugene shot a look at Rapunzel who was following this with unveiled interest, “the… you know… witch?”

“The Imp- I mean Lesak- has it under control,” Lacey assured him, moving towards the window. Outside, the late morning air was crisp and smelled of pine and fresh air. Lacey would have killed for even just the smell of a decent cup of coffee. Below, the kelpie was flicking his tail in boredom; there was no sign of any other creature in the glen or its surroundings. “I think we should stick together,” she told the group behind her. “We only got this far because we worked together.” She paused, and turned back to level Gold with a dark look. “Well, most of us at least.”

He opened his mouth as if to protest, but Rapunzel cut him off. “Please,” she murmured with an imploring look. “Please stay. I’ve never had any visitors before and I’m sure Mother would be happy to help you.”

“Doubtful,” Eugene muttered. Lacey and Gold exchanged a taken back look over his head causing the young man to bristle. “What?” he said, holding his hands up. “In a couple of hours, I’m turning back into a horse, I haven’t slept since we left Hill House, and the current plan is to return to a kingdom where I’m threatened with death if I so much as cross the border. ”

Rapunzel seized his arm, grinning at Lacey while Eugene froze completely. “See?” she said to Lacey. “You must stay here. For Just Eugene.”

Eugene nodded as best he could. He was rapidly going red either from embarrassment or not being able to breath properly. “Maybe she’s right,” he managed, his voice squeaking slightly. “We could stay here while Lesak is handling the witch.”

“Enough already,” Lacey declared. “Gold, we’re going with you. Last time you left us to ride off into the distance we nearly got killed.” She turned to the stable boy. “Eugene, we’re not going to let anything happen to you, trust me. And Rapunzel,” she took a deep breath,” I don’t want to hear another word about staying. You’re coming with us, so put some shoes on and let’s go.”

“Shoes?”

Though neither Gold or Eugene had moved, their attention diverted from arguing long enough to look at Rapunzel. Her bare feet peeked out under her hem, though she did not so much as glance down at them.

Lacey hiked up her own skirt to point at her toe. “You know, slippers, shoes, boots. You name it.”

Rapunzel shook her head. “I don’t have anything like that.”

“You don’t have shoes?”

Rapunzel shrugged. “I don’t think so. I have some dresses but nothing like those.”

Gold had been surprisingly quiet. “Belle…” he started carefully but Lacey lifted a hand, too incensed to respond tactfully.

“She’ll ride,” Lacey gritted. Her experience in the woods barefoot had been due to poor footwear, fate and luck. Rapunzel… Rapunzel’s “mother” had withheld shoes, trapped her in a tower, emotionally abused her in every way imaginable, and kept her powerless and helpless in even the smallest of ways.

Rapunzel clung harder to Eugene. “Belle, please, I’m… I’m scared.”

“It’s alright,” Eugene replied. “We won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

“No, we won’t,” Lacey seconded. She shot Gold a look as if to dare him to contradict them.

He simply sighed, and set his book down. He didn’t look as if he had been up all night, though Lacey felt it in every one of her goddamn miserable bones. “Fine. Eugene, if you could help get the young lady situated so we can begin our journey?”

Eugene looked over to Lacey, and she nodded at him. “Come on,” Eugene murmured to Rapunzel as he moved towards the trap door. The girl didn’t budge at first. She stared at Lacey as if she might relent but Lacey didn’t meet her eyes. After a moment, the girl’s shoulders deflated and Eugene guided her out of sight.

“That was cruel,” Gold said softly, and Lacey’s head jerked up, smelling a fight.

“Cruel?” Lacey spat back. “Me rescuing her from captivity is cruel?”

“She doesn’t see it that way,” he replied. “This is all she’s ever known. You barged in here last night, probably scared the child half to death, and then decided you knew best.”

“I do!”

“You sound like her mother,” Gold pointed out. “What makes you qualified to make such a decision?”

Lacey scoffed. “She’s the lost princess,” she said. “You know that, I mean, just look at her! She’s the same age, looks just like her parents, and is being held captive by the witch that just stole the royal tiara.” She lifted it from her pocket to wave it in his face. “I may not be from around here, but I know I’m doing the right thing.”

Gold’s face remained neutral as the footsteps of Eugene and Rapunzel receded further and further away. “I do not doubt her true parentage,” he conceded, looking around the room. “Nor do I disagree that Gothel has been holding the child captive for her own reasons, but tell me, Belle. What do you hope to gain from all this?”

“Gain?” Lacey repeated. “I’m not gaining anything, I’m just doing the right thing.”

“Since when?” She gaped at him, but he continued before she could respond. “Gothel has taken care of her. She is perfectly healthy, has everything she might need at her fingertips, and out of harm’s way, which is more than most heirs to the throne can say. Who’s to say this isn’t the best place for her?”

“Who’s to say?” Lacey said slowly. “Who’s to say?”

Anger was buzzing in her ears, loud enough to drum out whatever tripe he was sprouting now. Lacey’s knuckles were white around the tiara, fingers digging into her own arm as she tried to see past the haze of red filling her vision.

“She’s being held captive by a monster,” she said furiously, cutting off whatever he had been saying about prudence and caution. “Emotionally abused by the very creature that robbed her of her life, who she calls ‘Mother’ and relies on for everything. That girl needs help, and if you and your master think I am going to sit by and pretend everything's okay, ride back into the capital and hand over this tiara knowing all the while their daughter is alive and whole, you have another thing coming, you bastard.”

His jaw tightened but he did not rise to the bait. “If you would just think before you acted,” he said pointedly, “perhaps we might have been able to come up with a better plan of action.”

“Excuse me if I don’t just sit, dawdling my thumbs while people’s lives are on the line.”

“Lives that you put there,” he said archly, his eyes now ablaze with indignation. “Eugene has been exiled, threatened with death, and cursed thanks to your inability to stay in a carriage and wait as you were instructed. He’s a mere boy, his whole life was ahead of him, and now he’s a fugitive. The girl was safe here, damn you. Gothel had no interest in harming her, or she would have done so long ago. She’s a pet, a pampered pet safe in her tower, who would have remained here safely until her real parents could collect her.”

Lacey’s self-righteous fury wavered as his words sank in. “Oh yes,” he said as he paced closer. “You think I would let a golden opportunity like this slip through my fingers? We could have negotiated for anything for the location of the lost princess, and instead now, if we withhold her, we are no better than Gothel. We are duty bound to deliver her safe and sound lest we risk an outright war with the Second Kingdom. Not to mention we are responsible for her safety out there in the woods, traveling with one steed, little food, and no sleep. As soon as Gothel realizes her little pet is gone, she will not rest until she has slaughtered every last one of us and gotten her prize back.”

“The Imp-”

“The Imp is not here,” he hissed, grabbing the tiara out of her numb fingers. “You have me and an Enchanted stable boy, so you had better hope we manage to last the day or all our deaths will be on your head.”

“Oh?” Lacey said in a low voice, barely more than a whisper. “So, we should have just pretended we didn’t know? Left here there even though we sat there in front of her parents who have been grieving eighteen years and told them we would do what we could?”

“Life is not always as easy as right and wrong.”

“What if it was your son?” Lacey dared.

He did not have a reply for this. Without a sound, he turned his back on her and disappeared down the trapdoor. Outside, the kelpie neighed as Eugene and Rapunzel arrived outside. A cloud shifted, and the midday sun reached into the window, castling a bright light upon where Lacey stood all alone.

She was buzzing with emotions, heightened no doubt by lack of sleep, adrenaline, and the knowledge that Gold might be right, damn him.

Swallowing roughly, Lacey looked around the room. Blankets and pillows draped over chairs, books piled in every corner, art supplies in the oddest of places… but in her mind, Lacey saw a dungeon.

She could almost feel the chill of her old rooms in the Imp’s castle. The sterility of it, the lack of anything remotely comforting. It had been a prison, but she had known it was a prison. She had known something outside of it. This tower may not look like a cell, it may have the makings of a home, but the girl who had lived in this cage had been as trapped as Lacey had been in her locked cell.

She headed down the stairs, not going too terribly quickly as she did not want to overcome Gold on the staircase. She may not handled this entire thing correctly, but she was not going to apologize for doing the right thing.

--

Having grown up in cities, Lacey’s idea of a hike was going from downtown to the suburbs in a cab. Nowadays, she was growing used to forest trails, though as another jaw-cracking yawn split her face, she would kill for a kelpie.

Up ahead, their lone rider was too busy staring about her in wonder to notice. Rapunzel had nearly fallen off the kelpie twice until Eugene had tied his belt into the reins and looped it around her. He currently walked beside the lost princess, and despite the occasional yawn, he didn’t seem too terribly fatigued.

“It’s the enchantment,” Gold told her, noticing her gaze. “As it progresses, he’ll need less sleep until eventually,” he shrugged. “He won’t sleep at all.”

“Ariel slept,” Lacey pointed out, still slightly irritated. Gold had remained quiet all day, only speaking to her when they had breaked for lunch. Cold meats and cheeses from the tower and a bubbling brook had only made her the more sleepy. “She was a mermaid I met back in the Seventh Kingdom.”

“If I remember correctly,” the ambassador said, “the mermaid wore an enchanted bracelet? She wasn’t enchanted herself?”

“She is now,” Lacey said grumpily. “So, enchanted objects bearers aren’t Enchanted themselves?”

He shook his head, but did not clarify. Lacey frowned at him, waiting for him to respond but as usual, it seemed he had gone mute as soon as something interesting came up.

“Tell me more about the Enchanted,” Lacey said as they continued down the path. He looked at her askance, but she kept looking forward. As pissed as she was at him, she was so tired any distraction was a welcome one, even talking to Gold.

“Well,” he started, casting about for a good starting place, Lacey wagered. “What would you like to know exactly?”

She huffed. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know there was such a thing until I met a guy who could turn into a cricket.”

“He couldn’t ‘turn into a cricket’,” Gold sighed. “He was enchanted to turn into a cricket.”

“Okay, so you can’t just,” Lacey clicked her fingers together, “change whenever you want?”

He side-eyed her, shaking his head. “Enchantments are typically punishments,” he explained. “Most people consider it a fate worse than death.”

Lacey shook her head. “Ariel was enchanted to be human,” she told him, “so, she could marry her prince.”

“By day a mermaid, by night a princess?” Gold said, rubbing his chin. “An interesting choice. I suppose the King and Queen approved the marriage?”

“They didn’t get a say,” Lacey told him crossly. “They were in love.”

“Love?” he laughed. “Oh, well, only love would make a mermaid so crazy that she would agree to live half a life for the rest of her days. She’ll spent half of her life in a tub, and the other half up all night with the children while her dear prince distracts himself with-”

Lacey kicked him. He was so stunned, he stopped dead and glared at her in astonishment.

“Did you just kick me?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah, and I’ll do it again if you don't shut up about things you don’t know,” Lacey told him crossly. “Ariel loved that boy with every fiber of her being, and he loved her just as much if not more. It’s stupid and weird, and not at all reasonable, but it’s true.”

He continued to gawk at her. “Why not just say that instead of acting like a five year old and kicking me?”

Lacey shrugged, starting to walk again. “Seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

He grumbled something, but he joined her, though at a slightly safer distance. “If you are to be believed,” he continued. “The mermaid’s Enchantment would be one of a few to have a happy ending.”

“The Blue Fairy undid Jiminy’s curse,” Lacey told him. “The cricket guy’s name was Jiminy.”

At the name of the Blue Fairy, Gold’s face darkened. “Reul Ghorm,” he spat. “Always in everyone else’s business.”

“You and your master sure hate her,” Lacey whistled. “She seemed like a fine fairy to me.”

He glared at her, but wisely did not say anything.

Up ahead, Eugene scooped up a pinecone off the trail to hold up to Rapunzel’s wide eyed amazement. The girl’s braid dangled down over the horse’s rear quarters, gathering dust and leaves as they went. Neither of the them seemed to remember they weren’t alone, and Lacey was fine to leave it like that. Rapunzel was enjoying herself, though time to time her shoulders slumped or quivered as emotion overcame her. Luckily, Eugene seemed to know just what to say to distract her, and the journey had been pleasant, although tiring.

“What about Eugene?” Lacey said softly. “Gothel tried to kill him and the Imp intervened somehow but… I’m not sure what happened exactly.”

“Then, young Eugene’s case is slightly different,” Gold assured her “Less of an Enchantment than a freak accident.”

“He turns into a horse,” Lacey deadpanned. “It’s better than a cricket but still.”

“If a spell contamination occurred, an Enchantment is possible,” Gold mused. “Unlikely, but not impossible.”

Rapunzel must have said something, because up ahead, Eugene broke out braying in laughter before clapping a hand to his mouth in embarrassment. Rapunzel did not notice, but he turned back to Lacey with a scared look. She could only give him a reassuring smile in response. Thankfully, Rapunzel, realizing she had lost Eugene’s attention, used her braid to flick his shoulder. The boy nearly broke his head, he whipped his neck back around so quickly.

“I see you two are as close as ever,” Gold said blandly, stepping neatly around a fallen tree branch. Lacey had to lift her skirts to get over it, and it still caught her hem, nearly making her fall flat on her face. Gold kept walking, though she could practically hear his smirk.

“For your information,” Lacey growled, hurrying to catch up with him. “I don’t rob the cradle. I prefer older men actually.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but words seemed to fail him. He swallowed roughly as she grinned back at him. Before she lost the advantage, Lacey moved to walk ahead of him to join Rapunzel and Eugene.

“Mind the road apple.”

Lacey turned back to him, about to ask what in the world a road apple was when her foot sank in the recent droppings of the kelpie, still steaming fresh.

Gold walked straight past her, smirking broadly as she frantically shook the excrement off her foot.

--

“Thank God,” Lacey groaned, slipping her feet into the small creek. They had stopped at an apple tree, which Gold assured them was not cursed, bewitched or an illusion. Behind her, Eugene was tending to the kelpie. Rapunzel helped him, combing out the kelpie’s mane, and giggling when the creature turned to nudge her, hoping for more food.

“She’s got a handkerchief full of ham she’s been feeding it,” Gold sighed, coming to stand beside where Lacey sat. “Going to ruin it.”

“It’s a kelpie,” Lacey reminded him. “A girl sneaking it snacks isn’t going to do much beside endear her to it.”

He looked disgruntled. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to domesticate kelpies?” he asked, more to himself than to her. “And a teenager has managed it in less than one afternoon!”

“Good, let’s hope we find more,” Lacey sighed, wiggling her toes in the mud. “I don’t want to walk anymore.”

“We’ll make it back to Hill House by tomorrow afternoon,” Gold said, looking up at the sky. It was still early evening, the sun still overhead despite the growing chill. “We should make camp here tonight.”

“Camp?” Lacey said, turning to look at him. “Eugene turns into a horse come sundown and you said he won’t get sleepy. Let’s just keep going before Gothel finds us.”

Gold gave her a pointed look. “The kelpie needs rest as do you and the girl. We’ll stay here for the night.”

“If you’re tired, old man, just say so.”

“I believe I recall you saying something about preferring older men?”

Before Lacey could even the score, Gold declared he was going off to find something to eat.

“It’s nearly dark,” Eugene said, looking up at the sky nervously. “Shouldn’t you… I don’t know… stay with us?”

“We have enough food,” Lacey said, gesturing towards the kelpie’s saddlebags.

“If we make it to Hill House without any trouble,” Gold corrected. “I won’t go far but you three stay by the fire and make sure it doesn’t go out.”

“What about the witch?” Eugene said.

“What’s this witch you keep talking about?” Rapunzel asked.

“Just an annoyance,” Lacey said. “Make it quick, Gold.”

“As my lady commands,” he drawled. Lacey flung a pinecone at his head, which he easily ducked. “Eugene.”

“Flynn,” he corrected, though not with much spirit.

The shadows were starting to lengthen around them. “When the sun falls, you will change back into a horse. This will be your first actual transformation, and I warn you, it will not be pleasant.”

Eugene nodded, though it seemed he had something lodged in his throat.

“Relax into it, don’t fight it, and it will be less traumatic,” Gold told him, and to Lacey’s and Eugene’s surprise, he gripped the boy’s shoulder. “Stay with them, and if anything should happen, run. Don’t fight.”

Eugene nodded hastily. Rapunzel tapped Lacey’s arm politely, leaning up to whisper. “Should we be frightened?”

Lacey tried to smile, but her cheeks refused to cooperate. “No,” she lied. “We’re going to be just fine.”

--

When night fell, Eugene transformed.

He had sat at the edge of the woods, watching for Gold to return until the sun had faded away from the small glen entirely. When the last rays disappeared from his back, the boy gave a sort of strangled, surprised noise and jumped to his feet.

Rapunzel hid her face in Lacey’s chest, but Lacey did not turn away. She owed it to Eugene to watch, to see, to understand in a way she had never really done with any of the others. She had not been responsible for their Enchantments.

It was thankfully quick. Eugene’s lanky frame stretched out, his arms grew long and thick and his back arched as his head lengthened. His eyes, already wide with surprise, rounded and moved apart, and his hair grew long as his clothes disappeared under a thick coat of hair.

“Is it… is it over?” Rapunzel whispered. Her fists were clenched under her chin, her voice slightly muffled from where she was pressed against Lacey’s breasts. Lacey idly patted her hair, before moving towards Eugene.

He stared down into the creek at his reflection in the moon’s dim light. He startled slightly when Lacey touched his shoulder. After a moment, he relaxed enough to let her stroke his mane without a fuss. Rapunzel stayed by the fire to watch from a safe distance.

“You okay?” Lacey asked him. He nickered in response, his muscles shifting in a horse equivalent to a shrug. Lacey chuckled. “You did great.”

He tossed his head towards where Gold had disappeared and it was Lacey’s turn to shrug. “He said he’d be back,” she told him. “It’s only been a hour. I’m sure he’s fine. Come back by the fire and lay down.”

The kelpie was tied at the water’s edge, enough to stand in the shallows but not where it could swim off. Eugene trotted by it, snorting at its stare. Rapunzel was enthralled by Eugene’s transformation, but did not move any closer. He shuffled over to her, nudging her head gently to reassure her. A brilliant, relieved smile broke out over Rapunzel’s face and she threw her arms around him in a hug. His equine eyes went wide with surprise over her shoulder.

“Rapunzel,” Lacey said, handing her a tin cup from the bag. “Go and fetch me some water, will you?”

The girl peeled herself away from Eugene, and hurried to be of help. Lacey watched her go before looking up to Eugene. “Fair warning,” she said softly. “I know you like her, but you have to remember she’s spent her whole life locked in a tower with no one but a witch filling her head with lies.”

He stared back at her, and in the distance, Rapunzel snuck the Kelpie more ham.

“She doesn’t know about men and women, the birds or the bees, and if you aren’t going to be okay with just being there for her...”

Eugene pawed the ground and shook his head. Lacey let out the breath she had been holding. She reached her palm to him. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”

The horse looked over at where Rapunzel stood in the water. Her skirts were spread out around her, fingers stretched out to touch the ripples, utterly entranced by the dark blackness of the water in the nighttime. She was beautiful and sweet, and Lacey understood how someone like Eugene who had been bullied and looked down upon his whole life might be drawn to such an innocent.

Lacey did not need to remind him she was a princess and he was an exile. Or that soon, he would have to say goodbye to Rapunzel forever.

Some things went without saying.

Notes:

Had this chapter sitting in my folders for when the time was right, but I was recently honored to be nominated as one of the rumbelle fandoms best writers and well, since the Gate won last year, I thought perhaps a update for this work would be a suitable thank you.

*waves* hope you all are well!

[kiss-my-freckle]

Earl Fagen

I’ve been long-considering Red’s intent for hiring a man like Earl Fagen. It’s the accumulation of storylines this season that brought me to my theory on this. Resolution, purification by fire, Ressler walking back into the light, and Tom’s death changing the course. 

My Theory: Red hired Fagen because he plans to recreate the fire in order to restore Liz’s memory of that night as well as Red and the role he played in it. 

After long-consideration, it’s something that I feel goes back to the pilot. 

Red: Everything about me is a lie. But if anyone can give me a second chance, it’s you. 

In Braxton: Conclusion, being pained by Liz’s distorted belief.

Liz: There were people with the woman, looking for it. The Fulcrum. You were one of them. Red: It’s not that simple. Liz: But that’s why you were there. That’s why you came into my life then. And that’s why you’re here now. Not because of me or who I am to you, whatever connection we might have, but because of some object. Some thing. Red: Whatever you remember - Liz: What I remember, is leaving my father dying on the floor of a burning house. There’s no way he could have survived that. Red: Lizzy, the memories of a four-year-old are unreliable.

In The Longevity Initiative, questioning Dr. Powell about his research.

Red: My name is Raymond Reddington. I’m the man who was sent by Roger Hobbs to get rid of you. Relax, Doctor. I have no intention of killing you. You are a potential solution to a problem. Powell: How so? A young woman I know and care for had a distant memory quite literally taken away from her when she was a little girl - erased. Powell: So, you want to apply my work to the field of memory extraction. Red: Not your work, Doctor - your research. If you’ve been able to prove that brain cells can regenerate, with time, would your breakthrough relate in any way to the restoration of this young woman’s memory?

Various dialogues regarding the truth.  Red [1x2]: How close to the truth do you think you can really get? Tell me my profile.

Red [1x2]: Please understand I want more than anything to help you. It’s the reason why I’m here. But I won’t say another word until the terms of my deal are met. I’m so sorry to bother you with these trivial details, but it’s a simple yes or no.

Red [1x7]: You may not like me. You may not understand how or why I do what I do. But I’m here because you want answers to questions you haven’t even thought of yet. Now, if that doesn’t matter to you, the solution is simple - I get in this car and I disappear.

Red [1x7]: I’m not going to beg you to allow me the privilege of helping you. So say the word, and I’m gone.

1x18 -

Liz: How are we connected? Red: That is just a distraction. Liz: No, that is all that matters! This is my life! Tell me! Red: Right now, the only thing that matters, is the immediate threat - your husband - finding out who he is and who he works for. The rest will come. I promise you.

I believe that could be what his intent was for hiring Vanessa Cruz, but because of Kaplan’s war, wasn’t able to keep her on retainer. 

Red: Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. Liz: I came home, and Tom was here. Red: He’s back in your life. Liz: He is not in my life. Red: I understand what it’s like to be drawn to something that is unhealthy, to a part of yourself that you are afraid of. But I want you to remember what your life really was with him, and imagine all that it could be without him. Liz: I don’t have to imagine. Red: Good. Because I have a case.

With Red’s dialogue in this conversation, as well as his plan to hire Vanessa, he’s basically telling Liz to imagine all that her life could be without Tom because he’s hiring Vanessa Cruz. A blacklister who faked her death similar to Katarina’s, left her clothes and made it appear as though she drowned. 

Red [2x19]: I turned myself in to the FBI to point you toward a truth that inevitably you would have to discover for yourself.

Cutting into the very thing Red said to Liz before she faked her death, which goes along with what he said to her as she sat watching over the daughter of Eugene Ames. 

Red [2x16]: Be careful, Lizzy. Because the truth of it is, once you start down this road -there’s no logical place to stop. You can see to her education, health insurance, housing. You can watch her or have her watched, keep her safe, try to ascertain her hopes, dreams, desires. Pull strings, call in favors to discreetly smooth the path. And for the first few years, it may work. You’ll draw some measure of virtue from being her invisible benefactor. But that won’t last. It’s all a fraud. That it’s really not about her at all. That it’s all about you. And you’re just going through the motions to salve your own guilt. Look, all the money, all the time and effort, all the favors in the world cannot possibly equal what you took away from her. Everything else is just a nice gesture.

Red: I’ve done nothing for you, Lizzy.

Red’s only reason for turning himself in. He’s there for her. Then he burned the envelope in The Caretaker, which I felt was in response to their conversation about Tom. Originally planning for her to learn this truth if something were to happen to him. 

Red: If anything happened to me, this was to go to Elizabeth. So she would know. Now I’m not sure I ever want her to know.

Then we cut into storylines and dialogues this season. Especially now that Tom’s out of the picture, and that’ll have an affect on Red just as much as it would on Liz. Because he was willing to die to get this truth to Liz, and he had real things to say to Red over the suitcase and the secrets they keep. Things that he should’ve been following to his own secrets, but I feel this allows Red his second chance if he’s willing to take it. 

If Red wanted someone to die by fire, he’d set them on fire himself. 

Red: First, you won’t so much as light a match. Second, when you do, it’ll be at my instruction. 

Different with the IRS office. Had it not looked like natural causes, he’d have been their primary suspect. If he simply wanted to keep his hands clean of the fire, he’d just hire himself an arsonist instead of going through the trouble of pulling Fagen out of prison early. I highly doubt he’d go through the hassle of recreating the night of the fire for vengeance. And as simple as it sounds, he could blow his enemy down as Dembe assisted him with the Takoma house. 

Red’s purchase of a book meant to assist Fagen in controlling his urges. Not something I believe he’d buy just to keep him out of prison. If Red were worried about Fagen lighting up and getting put away again, he’d not bother buying the book, but opt to have him followed until he was needed for the job. 

Red: I realize that I’ve stoked the flame, so to speak, which is why I brought you this. Fagen: “Embrace the Struggle”? Red: Zig Ziglar at his most persuasive. Are you familiar with his work? Fagen: He’s a motivational speaker. Red: Who motivated me to quit smoking and shoot from the neck down.

Something he also spoke about to Liz while she was in search of Tom’s killer. Obviously said to her off-screen, as he spoke of already having cautioned her. 

Red: I’ve cautioned you that in your pursuit of Tom’s killer, you need to restrain your darker impulses. The help I need violates the spirit of that advice. I wouldn’t even ask for it if it wasn’t critical.

Ressler’s words influencing the parole board. I can’t imagine Red having the task force speak on Fagen’s behalf, getting that early release just to put him at risk of going back to prison for committing a murder that Red can easily commit himself. And by doing so, ruining Ressler’s good word as a character witness. 

Ressler: I used to think in terms of black and white. You were either a bad guy or you weren’t. I’m not sure about that anymore. Under the right circumstances, I’ve come to believe that even the best of us are capable of - almost anything. I only mention that because, well, I figure everyone deserves a second chance.

The end of Red’s conversation with Fagen furthers this for me. 

Fagen: You think he can motivate me not to burn those trees. Red: A retainer. For services not yet rendered. Read the book, think positive, control your urges, and I’ll put your gift to good use.

I believe Red meant what he said, “good” being the key word. That’s why I can’t imagine him hiring Earl Fagen to commit murder.

Red planning to fake his death now is quite silly. 

He has no reason to pre-plan his death now more than any other time in the series. And if he were to plan faking his death, he surely wouldn’t need an arsonist to do it. He’s been assisting people in disappearing for years, surely a few faked deaths. I see no reason why Red would feel the need to fake his death at this point in the story. That’d be more like a series ender IF it were to happen at all. 

So I believe Red kept his secrets secret because Liz gave Tom a second chance. Now that Tom is out of the picture, I believe he’s preparing to offer her the chance of reliving the fire in order for her to learn the full truth of his involvement, as well as his connection to her. 

I believe something about the Fritzle’s fire prompted Red to want Fagen on his payroll. Perhaps not just his skill set, but also Fagen as a human being. Perhaps he believes Fagen worthy of a second chance, so he gave him one. 

Add in the dialogue Red gave to Samar in S5 about memory being more like a puzzle when handing Sinclair as a blacklister, a master at misleading. Such was the case with Krilov’s memory wipe, using an implanted memory to mislead Liz, which I believe caused her to switch roles in her Braxton recall. 

He also stated that he can only lead her to the truth, he can’t make her believe it, and I believe he was the one who led her out of the fire 30 years ago.

[takebackthedream]

Two Congressmen Nail The Problem With The Jeff Sessions Makeover by Isaiah J. Poole

The face of Jim Crow wasn’t always the hooded Klansman, the defiant governor at the schoolhouse door or the club-wielding sheriff. It often smiled, uttered smooth words and offered a pat on the shoulder to quell the bubbling uprising.

Racism, in other words, could wear the mask of congeniality, beckoning its prey into a can’t-we-all-just-get-along world in which members of every race could live peaceably in their assigned place – white people at the top, black people at the bottom.

Jeffrey Beauregard Sessions would have us believe that because he has distanced himself from the inflammatory racist rhetoric of such fellow Alabamans as George Wallace or Theophilus Eugene “Bull” Connor, or for that matter of his own past, that we should be at ease allowing him to be our next attorney general, with responsibility for ensuring that our laws are applied with fairness, justice and equality.

But two African-American members of Congress – New Jersey Sen. Cory Booker and Georgia Rep. John Lewis – on Wednesday made sure that the Senate and the country was not distracted by the makeover that Sessions presented to the country during his appearance before the Senate Judiciary Committee on Tuesday.

When the Alabama senator went through questioning before the committee, he “sounded more MLK than KKK,” columnist Dana Milbank of The Washington Post observed, adding that “at least for a day, Sessions took pains to present himself as inoffensive.”

But the cautions of Lewis and Booker were clear and pointed.

“It doesn’t matter how Sen. Sessions may smile, how friendly he may be, how he speaks to you, but we need someone who’s going to stand up, speak up and speak out for the people who need help for people who have been discriminated against,” Lewis, the civil rights veteran, said. “We need someone as a attorney general who can look out for all of us and not just for some of us.”

Booker, taking the extraordinary step of testifying against a sitting senator during a cabinet confirmation hearing, also cut to the heart of why Sessions is not qualified to be attorney general.

“Sen. Sessions has has not demonstrated a commitment to a central requisite of the job to aggressively pursue the Congressional mandate of civil rights, equal light rights and justice for all of its citizens,” he said. “In fact, in numerous times during his career he has demonstrated a hostility towards these convictions, and has worked to frustrate attempts to elevate these ideals.

“If confirmed, Sen. Sessions will be required to pursue justice for women, but his record indicates that he won’t. He will be expected to defend the equal rights of gay and lesbian and transgender Americans, but his record indicates that he won’t. He will be expected to defend voting rights, but his record indicates that he won’t. He will be expected to defend the rights of immigrants, and affirm their human dignity, but the record indicates that he won’t. His record as attorney General indicates that he would object to that the growing national bipartisan movement toward criminal justice reform. His record indicates that we cannot count on him to support state and national average toward bringing justice to the criminal justice system.”

The Center for American Progress has produced a Facebook video with the five key things you need to know about Jeff Sessions, from his time as Alabama state attorney general to his recent votes in the Senate.

“The next attorney general must bring hope and healing to the country. And this requires a more courageous empathy than Sen. Session’s record demonstrates,” Booker said.

Sessions’ lack of “courageous empathy” leaks through even as he promises for the sake of the spotlight trained on him right now that he will enforce the laws of the land. As a new administration takes power that was elected in part as a backlash against a more inclusive understanding of what justice requires, it is imperative that we have an attorney general that pushes against that backlash, not a person, like Sessions, who symbolizes it.