#(puts red string all over my board) FEAR SOUP

[equalseleventhirds]

this episode fed me so well in so many ways BUT ALSO i’m gonna soup the fear. bcos there were SO MANY fears smushed into this one i LOVED it

(warning for quotes from the episode itself, ofc)

end: ok yeah the whole thing

eye, like a LOT of eye: ‘waiting granite and watching marble’, ‘these graves, they are not silent - they are listening’, ‘they keep their eager vigil’, ‘telling you that it has something to show you, secrets that it wishes to share’, ‘keep it to yourself, though. don’t mention it', ‘the faceless gaze of each sepulchre angel fixes itself upon you’, ‘so keenly aware of the stark imprint you would leave, the marks of your presence’, ‘you know that nothing escapes his eyes’, ‘One hundred and sixty pairs of misty eyes follow your slow procession down the room’, ‘why are her eyes open?‘

spiral? ‘the dates do not make sense’, ‘it calls itself a home, but it lies’

a little dark! which i don’t often get from s5 statements, altho that MIGHT be my fault for being unobservant. anyway: ‘the avenues of darkened, not-quite-moonlit, paving slabs’, ‘jagged peaks of darked wood, and windows from which no light escapes’, ‘a dark shadow moves, a shape that seems to slither from the coffin’

the like, threat of buried: ‘paving slabs, which buckle ever so slightly every step, as though the soil beneath is damp and yielding. hungry’, ‘keep to the middle of the narrowing alley’, ‘the stones, the ones beneath your feet that sink and shift on the swampy ground’

hunt (and like, more so after that one hunt domain that was abt ppl turning against u for acting wrong): ‘a comment, a word, a breath out of place against which they might strike’

corruption: ‘a bloated, purple tongue that tries to whisper reassurance, but can only gurgle promises that smell like sour fruit’, ‘lakes of fly-blown blood’, ‘the air smells of decay and lavender and something else you can’t quite place’, ‘the gushing flow of love and forgiveness you vomit out into the nodding crowd’

vast too, ‘how big is this place? how many miles of eerie edifice’, ‘away and around and away they stretch, row upon row’

mmmmmaybe desolation? ‘the scars that lattice across your body ache and burn at the sight of the one who gave them to you’ has the burning and the destruction vibes but also... could be slaughter?? hm.

‘how can they not smell the blood she spilled? the path of scars and pain she left behind her every minute of her life? she was a monster, brutal and unrepentant’ fucking vibes slaughter-wards tho, and ‘the needle-sharp teeth of her corpse begin to dig into your shoulder’ feels slaughtery AND fleshy

there is... some loneliness in walking among the graves, in being the only living among the dead, and in standing before dozens of people who do not understand your pain and want to hear you lie, but like... there aren’t specific phrases i could find? but it’s a Feeling for sure

i’m... not sure if the faceless angels and the thing abt zombie faces Totally Not Stained With Sin counts as stranger? the fear didn’t seem to be like, about how strange they were, they just happened to be... blank and wrong and stuff. hm.

web (not in the spider sense, in the control sense, which i am noting more and more, not bcos there’s more just bcos i NOTICED it): ‘behind you comes the inescapable, the inevitable sound of an old wooden door being opened’, ‘you feel yourself turning back towards the house, though every muscle in your body screams at you to run’, ‘his hand moves and you move with it, unable to stand against the unyielding strength of his simplest gesture’

fsdljfjk and i’ve hit all 14 now (altho a couple are only Sorta) so might as well say, zombies are the end but they also belong to the extinction, fuck u i do what i want, especially if they’ve got that ‘blood left to bake in the unrelenting sun’ thing going on, and also the idea that they’ll destroy u and be left when u are gone. bingo, even if it’s a stretch in Several places.

[gravelgirty]

There is No Quiet Night in the Rainy Season: A Hogan’s Heroes fanfic

Part 1 of Tape and Needle and Scissors and String And...

Part 2: Irish Rejected Potatoes...

Part 3: Above My Pay Grade...

Part 4:

Deep in the Germans’ mess hall—a place LeBeau was grudgingly willing to consign as one of the less-well-thought-out circles of hell—there was a lot of noise. You could almost hear it over the artillery-grade raindrops smashing into the galvanized tin roof.

Banging. Rattling. Thumping. Muffled cursing.

“Every time we let those prisoners into the kitchen, this happens. Every time!”

The grumbler was the cook—He was from a very poor part of Germany. So poor, in fact, that he owned the dubious ability of being able to identify every form of edible vegetation in the forest. He’d grown up next to one of the more pretentious parks under the Kaiser, and the Kaiser had a habit of throwing entire families in prison if a single member trespassed on his territory.

(And as Hans knew, urinating across the fenceline into the hunting preserve counted as an encroachment. He still missed the Donners…even if they had been an indispensable part of WWI’s civil engineering projects…)

Hans was treasured and feared in equal measure. There was always a ratio of soldiers that didn’t know which part of the potato plant to peel. But Hans’ skills with meat were between ‘doesn’t bear thinking about’ and ‘unmitigated disaster’.

He grumbled in his drafty old kitchen. He puffed and muttered and banged things back and forth. That little Frenchman and his foreign ways! How dare he touch his tools of trade? Was there no respect in the profession between equals? For Hans considered LeBeau his counterpart to the prisoners—forced to make do with the miserable ingredients, and serve them up to a sourly ungrateful populace.

“Unbelievable!” He swore as he found another exhibit for offense—the Frenchman had sharpened all of his knives! They hung gleaming on their bar—and sorted according to size! How hard could it be to put things back exactly as they had been?

There was nothing for it. Hans wearily sat down and started on the largest cleaver—it was an excellent beast for skinning vegetable marrows or taking the rinds of very tough turnips. But too sharp by half. With his lips set, he started a long, boring campaign of running the bladed edge across the cutting board.

 - - -

The remainder of the day—if “day” meant weather that the Black Forest would call unfit for mushrooms—was spent with the Stalag in a consensual state of misery.

Hogan split his men and put them in short teams—half to transfer the latrine to a spot that was far too close to Barracks noses for comfort—and the other half underground hastily shoring up, blocking up, and doing whatever they could to fill up what had once been a comfortable and useful section of tunnel. When it looked like it was time for a break, he made them switch.

It was back-breaking, grueling work but no-one complained. They all sensed urgency if not impending disaster.

Anyway, some idiot pointed out, it was at least quieter outside than it was inside. The newer prisoners were starting to show signs of psychological breakdown--weeks of heavy cold raindrops on the roof could do that to anybody, but especially to men who had been three feet from the front lines less than two months ago.

The only exceptions to the workplan besides Hogan:

Baker, who had shaken off Klink’s hooch in record time and was now sleeping it off to a three-octave, one-man chorus with his uvula and soft palate. Wilson had the throat-drops waiting for when he woke up.

LeBeau, a man under fire, working frantically to produce enough hot caffeine to get the men through this dire period.

And Newkirk. The Brit hunkered dangerously close to LeBeau’s stirring-elbow, whip-stitching up a contraption at record speed. His earlier depression was gone as if it never existed; he was on a man with a mission, and he was cheerful. This would worry Schultz to see it, even if he wanted Newkirk to snap out of his mood as much as anyone else.

A happy, cheerful Newkirk was a Newkirk presented with a solvable challenge that would discomfit Germans. Even Cpl Fritz, the only man in the Stalag dumber than Klink, knew this.

Ill-feelings were running amuck and morale was AWOL for guards and prisoners alike.

The guards were sopping wet  because ‘sideways’ was a perfectly normal direction for winter rains. They thought longingly of LeBeau’s patented, secret, imitation coffee and wondered if their lot would improve if they just took off their uniforms the second they returned to their own dank barracks and stood naked by the stove. They envied the wretched POWs, who hadn’t any reason to be outside other than roll call and latrine-digging, and they knew from long, long experience that the mud cladding the POWs was a wonderful insulation.

“Lucky swine.” Wolfe shouted over the rain.

“What??” Langenscheidt yelled.

“I said, Lucky swine!”

“I know you’re Langenscheidt!”

“That is not what I said!”

“What??”

“The swine! The swine!” Wolfe had no choice but to carry on--he was committed. “They’re no wetter than we are, and they don’t have rain falling on metal hats!”

“Eh?” Langensheidt looked over the edge to the prisoners below. “Hah! You know, they look like swine! At least they don’t have a tin roof on their head!” He laughed and rapped his sodden knuckles on his own helmet.

Wolfe gave up. he just wanted to live. He wasn’t sure what he had to live for, but anything was worth avoiding Hell, which might be what he was seeing in the mud right now.

---

The POWs were achy, sniffly, and sweating under their layer of this mud because this natural insulation wasn’t letting an atom of respiration out of their pores. They collectively wondered if a few well-placed holes drilled into their shoes would let the sop out from between their toes. They envied the bloody Germans, who could at least breathe inside their wool uniforms.

---

In the Kommandant’s office, Klink was writing a very stern note to his cigar-supplier. Contrary to all claims and the expensive installment, the humidor was worthless. He now needed a dehumidifier. This was the third in a series of such letters, which boiled down to the company thinking Klink was insane because everybody knew, Germany didn’t get that wet—where did he think he was, Podgorica? But Klink’s clerical talents had risen to the challenge--he couldn’t do anything about Hogan stealing his Cubans, but the complete lack of any decent tobacco could get him sent to the Russian Front if the wrong official came by.

Or Hochstetter. He didn’t need cigars--real or withheld--to send him to the Russian Front.

- - - 

Hogan was in his office and trying to think of the fastest journey to Stage II of his plans. If he could get the latrine moved, it would be an effective if smelly temporary blind for their attempts to build a new tunnel. The guards had their own latrine—and loathed theirs.

And with good reason, he thought glumly. Rats loved the POW latrines—it was a straight shot between the back of the soldiers’ mess, and on the other side, a thick bramble thicket. The brush was only waist-high and not worth the effort of trying to escape through the cover—there was no human-worthy cover with that vegetable barbed wire.

That was alright for the non-human--or should we say, inhuman, infernal things that did use the brambles for camouflage and hideaways.

Like the creepy, pallid, humpbacked crickets that lurked in the dark and crawled at you with terrifying purpose when you weren’t looking.  Or the toads, which looked like clods of earth with eyeballs. Nobody knew what those things were, but the guards and guard-dogs were terrified of them.  Carter said they looked like the ‘lil’ hoppers’ back in Bullfrog, and if you ate one you’d be talking to gigantic furry lemon-yellow polka dots that whistled show tunes. Hogan had made it very clear that he was not allowed to test for comparison, and no, Newkirk, we aren’t putting it in the guards’ soup-pot. Yes, I am a spoil-sport. Part of the privilege of command.

The rats reigned over all these beasts, and ate them with relish. Perhaps a daily diet of poisonous toads explained their behavior--they didn’t act like the rattus of Hogan’s tough childhood. They didn’t act like any rats he’d ever heard of.

The latrines were horrible but they were the perfect place to hide and chew on one’s ill-gotten contraband or secret stash of chocolate, gum, and the home-made raisin moonshine that nobody would ever admit to making but somehow, the stuff just kept…happening. And since the brambles still had tons of weathered fruit still hanging on to the vine from summer, the damned vermin had the best living arrangements of every living thing in the Stalag—possible exception being Oscar and Heidi’s dogs, who had the closest thing to red carpet treatment.

It was very ironic that the superior supply lines of Stalag XIII was nurturing these foul creatures. Klink had his excellent black market-skimming campaign going on that shorted everybody but himself (and Hogan would give one of Klink’s stolen cigars to learn his secret), but Hogan also had his Top-Notch smuggling and supply lines over and under the Stalag thanks to willing POWs and good old Oscar and Heidi. Between all these avenues sang opportunity for the bold rodent that saw anything unguarded and un-poisoned. There was also the third underground grocery store on part of the guards--willing to sell out either Klink or Hogan’s pass of chocolate or cheese if they got their own cut.

The guards’ latrines weren’t all that charming, but they were well-built and clean and built over one of the original concrete foundations. The POWs had a packed-earth foundation topped with old pallets. It was leaky and drafty and cold even in the dead of summer. In the drought season they had to hose it down in case it would burst into flames. It was the best place to go for contraband deals because the roof was airtight. The rats found easier pickings with the POWs than the guards. At least, Newkirk said snidely, the rats the POWs caught had more meat on their bones.

Hogan sipped his coffee and continued to think. Outside LeBeau was struggling to wring another miracle out of rations, potable water, and if you believed his rants, cinnamon-sprinkled sawdust. For some reason he was angry that he couldn’t get all of Carter’s hot peppers.

Hogan was also getting down because the men were supplying him with increasingly dismaying reports on the soil. Who would have thought any amount of rainfall would get through that brick-hard dirt? They needed dry earth to dig if they all didn’t want to die, and dry earth was so far as concept as realistic as glass slippers and talking wolves.

And…Germany was the country for both…

He glared at the tiny bookshelf nailed to the wall. GRIMM’S FAIRY TALES sat next to his mothy reading collection—a surprise birthday present from Schultz. The sergeant had made a comment about idle time was better spent reading than ‘naughty doings’. Hogan still didn’t know what to give him back for thoughtful revenge.

BANG-BANG.

Hogan jumped slightly and beat Carter to the door before the young man could filthy up his doorknob. The pyrotech was a walking lump of mud but at least one could see his eyes and mouth.

“What is it, Carter?”

“Aw, how’d you know it was me?” Carter pouted. Behind him Newkirk and LeBeau were snickering in that fond, cruel way good mates had, even as they hovered protectively over the stove and stitching.

“You left your hat on, Carter.” Hogan pointed out the obvious. “That makes the shape of your head a little distinctive.”

“Oh. Aw, shoot. Well, at least it kept me from hearin’ the rain. Honestly, its a lot quieter outside--”

“What is it?”

“Oh. The boys wanted you to know we’ve got as far as we can for the day. The walls of the pit are startin’ to, uh…jellify.”

“’Jellify?’” Hogan repeated. Behind Carter, Newkirk and LeBeau imitated this, and both looked as confused as Hogan felt.

“Yeah, they jiggle when you slap ‘em.” Carter nodded, which sent a good chunk of the Stalag’s terra firma hit the ground with a splat-splat. “Like pipeclay.”

“Pipeclay?”

Newkirk sucked in his breath with the force of his mother’s Electrolux vacuum. “Gov! Get ‘em out if that’s the case! Pipeclay’s not stable! The walls’ll be falling in and they’ll be in the bottom--!”

“You heard him, move!” Hogan barked.

Shaken, Newkirk watched them vanish into thin air. Only Hogan’s missing jacket and a trail of mud proved they ever existed. He risked looking at LeBeau. He was willing to bet they were both the same shade of pale. Over their heads, the relentless rain hammered and hammered and hammered...

“Mon d--.” LeBeau murmured. “Now what will we do? The Colonel needs this dug out.”

“Oh, uh…he’ll think of summat.” Newkirk rucked in as much optimism as he could manage, consider the circumstances. “The lads’ll need a lot of something hot to drink. Do you think you have enough?”

LeBeau grimaced. “Perhaps. I could do miracles with another pot, but I don’t think that old mushroom in the mess hall will let me borrow one for a while.”

“Did you sharpen his knives again? Shame on you.”

“The greater shame is to Krupp Steel!”

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll get you one. I’ll just pop--“ Newkirk realized what he was saying and closed his eyes. “Bloody ‘ell. We’re all gunna go stir-crazy, aren’t we? What’s that word Carter uses…cabin fever?”

“Yes.” LeBeau assured him with deadly calm. “And this fever, I do not have soup for.”

[maealbert]

Get To Know Me More!

These are just some random questions I found from a website! Feel free to copy and paste and your own answers!! To my followers, here's some more things you can get to know about me!!

Favorite fast food restaurant? TACO BELL

Favorite ice cream flavor? Strawberry, Moose Tracks, French Vanilla

Favorite chocolate candy? M&Ms, Ferrero Rocher (not sure I spelt that correctly)

Favorite fruity candy? Jolly Ranchers or cherry lollipops

Favorite flavor Starburst? PINK or red Favorite dish at Olive Garden? THEIR SALAD IS THE BOMB! But I love their chicken parmesean (spelling?)

Favorite kind of sushi? I'm the type who does not like sushi at all.

Favorite Asian dish? If it involves rice, bean sprouts, steak, and veggies I will love it.

Favorite Italian dish? Uh, pizza duh. NO. My boyfriend's mother makes such good food! (perks of dating an italian family)

Favorite food of all time? My grandmother Portuguese Soup recipe.

Favorite way to cook a steak? Medium and juicy.

Favorite pasta dish? Chicken Alfredo

Favorite cookie? Chocolate chip, helloooooo. All Girl Scout cookies!

Favorite fast food French fries? WENDY'S!!

Favorite cereal? Fruit Loops, Reese's Puffs, Captain Crunch

Favorite breakfast food? PANKCAKES or waffles

Favorite pizza toppings? This is a lot, here we go. Pepperoni, cheese, onions, green peppers, sausage, Canadian bacon, chicken, banana peppers

Favorite fruit? STRAWBERRIES or cherries

Favorite vegetable? Any color bell peppers, onions, RAW broccoli, green beans, peas, carrots

Favorite dessert? Cheesecake or ice cream (both are so good fried 😍)

Favorite comfort food? Lime tortilla chips, ramen noodles, pickles

Favorite way to eat bacon? Crispy Favorite thing at a buffet? Mashed potatoes

Favorite pumpkin-flavored treat? Pumpkin pie and pumpkin butter

Favorite dish at Thanksgiving? Stuffing for sure

Favorite cake? Vanilla

Favorite ice cream sundae toppings? Sprinkles, cherries, and chocolate syrup

Favorite thing to cook? Pasta and veggie

Favorite soda? Root beer! 

Favorite alcoholic drink? Not legal yet so nothing

Favorite drink at Starbucks? Caffe Mocha

Favorite flavor coffee? French vanilla, caffe mocha

Favorite 80's movie? THE GOONIES or The Breakfast Club

Favorite Harry Potter movie? Half Blood Prince

Favorite Hobbit from the Lord of the Rings? They're all so cute I can't pick one!

Favorite Simpson's character? Bart Favorite cartoon cat? Garfield duh 😂

Favorite TV sitcom? FRIENDS

Favorite cartoon? RUGRATS or Hey Arnold!

Favorite scary movie? Scream 1,2,3,4 (even though they aren't really scary 😂)

Favorite funny movie? Good Burger

Favorite celebrity? Paget Brewster, Gal Gadot

Favorite South Park character? Kenny

Favorite chick flick? The Notebook (sorry not sorry)

Favorite Pixar movie? THE INCREDIBLES or TOY STORY!

Favorite Family Guy character? Don't have a favorite

Favorite Leonardo Dicaprio movie? Titanic or Inception

Favorite actress over 50? MERYL STREEP

Favorite Marvel movie? Spiderman 😍 

Favorite TV show? Criminal Minds, Supergirl, The Vampire Diaries, Ridiculous

Favorite cancelled TV series? Grandfathered (so not fair 😩)

Favorite show on the Discovery Channel? I don't watch this channel much...

Favorite classic movie? Chitty Chitty Bang Bang 😍😍 

Favorite Beatles song? Hey Jude, All You Need Is Love, Come Together, Let It Be

Favorite string instrument? Guitar

Favorite instrument? Trumpet

Favorite band or music artist? Twenty One Pilots, Justin Bieber, The Beatles, Nancy Sinatra, Frank Sinatra, James Bay (birthday twin, AYYYYE!)

Favorite music genre? Christian, Country, Indie, Pop, (open to others)

Favorite style of dance? Waltz Favorite boy band? N*SYNC!! 😍😍 

Favorite disco song? Can't choose a favorite

Favorite 80's song? Everyone Wants To Rule The World - Tears for Fear & Jesse's Girl - Rick Springfield

Favorite cover song? Dream - Priscilla Ahm (covered by Selena Gomez)

Favorite one-hit wonder? I don't have one

Favorite song you're embarrassed to like? Overboard - Justin Bieber

Favorite foreign band/artist? - John Lennon

Favorite state you’ve visited? Kentucky

Favorite country you want to visit? Portugal

Favorite thing about America? Scenery 

Favorite kind of vacation? Road trip 

Favorite car? Chevy Suburban, Range Rover, Jeep

Favorite road to drive on? Backroads

Favorite way to travel? By car

Favorite beach? Lake Logan's beach

Favorite place to go with family? Amish Country

Favorite vacation you’ve taken? Family vacation to Put-In-Bay

Favorite fictional place you’d want to visit? GENOVIA

Favorite ride at a carnival? Zero gravity

Favorite thing to do at the beach? Find seashells

Favorite rollercoaster? The Beast at King's Island

Favorite theme park? Not sure

Favorite thing about traveling? Seeing new places and meeting new people, learning new things

Favorite dinosaur? T-rex

Favorite breed of dog? Bernese Mountain Dog and Husky

Favorite season? SPRING! It's just pretty!

Favorite flower? DAISY or Lily

Favorite animal at the zoo? Polar Bear, Elephant, Koala Bear

Favorite type of bear? Polar bear

Favorite natural disaster? What kind of question is this? 

Favorite reptile? Snake

Favorite animal? Elephant

Favorite bird? Cardinal or Blue Jay

Favorite thing in the sky? Sun

Favorite thing about a rainy day? The sound of the rain

Favorite sea creature? Sea turtle or manatee

Favorite color rose? Red or white

Favorite small mammal? Chipmunks

Favorite big cat? Lion

Favorite thing about spring? The beautiful flowers and trees

Favorite wild animal you’d like as a pet? Monkey

Favorite sport? Hockey and volleyball

Favorite extreme sport you're too scared to do? BMX

Favorite Olympic sport? Hockey, volleyball, gymnastics

Favorite football team? College: Ohio State University NFL: Cleveland Browns, Dallas Cowboys

Favorite basketball team? College: Ohio State NBA: Cleveland Cavaliers

Favorite hockey team? Columbus Blue Jackets, Toronto Maple Leafs, Nashville Predators

Favorite baseball team? Cleveland Indians 

Favorite sport to play? Volleyball

Favorite winter sport? Hockey

Favorite sport you wish you were a pro at? Volleyball

Favorite professional athlete? Zach Werenski

Favorite sport to watch in person? Hockey

Favorite nursery rhyme? Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

Favorite childhood memory? Christmas with my grandparents

Favorite board game? Aggravation 

Favorite children’s show? Blue's Clues 

Favorite toy as a child? Barbie Doll

Favorite teacher? My 1st grade teacher, Mrs. Geilings

Favorite thing about school? Class trips

Favorite age? 4 

Favorite Christmas present? My first digital Nikon camera

Favorite Dr. Seuss book? Green Eggs & Ham, Cat In The Hat

Favorite Halloween costume you've worn? Princess Anna from Frozen]

Favorite lunchbox snack? Pudding

Favorite Winnie the Pooh character? Roo or Piglet

Favorite thing to do during recess? Playground or tetherball 

Favorite superhero? SUPERMAN 

Favorite video game? Left 4 Dead 1,2 

Favorite color Power Ranger? Yellow

Favorite fairy tale? Cinderella 

Favorite game to play outside? Hide-n-seek

Favorite department store? Maurice's

Favorite place to shop? Rue 21

Favorite store in the mall? Forever 21

Favorite perfume/cologne? White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor or A Thousand Wishes from Bath & Body Works

Favorite hair color? Brown or black

Favorite makeup you can't live without? Mascara 

Favorite shoes? Booties

Favorite occasion to dress up for? Weddings

Favorite hairstyle? French braids

Favorite outfit you have? Floral dress

Favorite soap scent? Coconut

Favorite article of clothing? Leggings 

Favorite place for a piercing? Ears

Favorite piece of jewelry? Rings

Favorite thing to wear to bed? Tank top and shorts

Favorite luxury brand? Not a clue 

Favorite brand of toilet paper? Charmin Ultra

Favorite candle scent? A Thousand Wishes or Vanilla

Favorite extracurricular activity? Science Olympiad

Favorite day of the week? Thursday 

Favorite holiday? Christmas or Easter 

Favorite website? Smile More Store

Favorite way to communicate? Text or email

Favorite Youtube video? All of Roman Atwood's videos

Favorite kind of house? Two floors

Favorite car color? White or black

Favorite baby boy name? Joseph or Alexander

Favorite baby girl name? Ruth or Lillian

Favorite thing to do when you’re sick? Binge tv shows or movies on Netflix

Favorite person you’ve never met? Gal Gadot, Paget Brewster

Favorite question you’ve answered so far? Favorite season]

Favorite thing you’ve done in the last 24 hours? Babysittig kiddos

Favorite place to meet up with friends? Parks

Favorite hobby? Writing and photography

Favorite way to cheer you up? Say you bet you can make me smile

Favorite thing to look forward to? The birth of my first kid

Favorite kind of gift to receive? Candy or succulents

Favorite crafty thing to make? Bracelets

Favorite way to relax? Listen to music while I calm myself

Want to know more? Just drop a question in my ask box! :)

[foslad]

Almost Too Good (A Chris Evans Story): Part 15 - 1/2

A/N: Not quite the Monday I promised, but it’s better than four months later, right!? ANYHOO, enjoy this two-parter you lovely diamonds!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

LA was not a place I could ever consider home. Under any circumstances.

Sure it was a nice place to visit, spend some time with people you’ve come to know over the years, visit the attractions, etc. But to live? Hell no.

As I finally got round to unpacking the last of the clothes I had brought with me, I did my best to try and think of the positives around me.

Credit where it’s due, my rented apartment was very nice. Small, but it had a comfy living room/kitchen/dining space that was full of warm tones and the bedroom had everything I needed, even an en-suite.

I liked that it had a breakfast bar and that if I had people over, I could talk to them from the kitchen. The only down side to that of course is that the only ‘people’ to have actually visited so far have just been a solo Amy…

Even then it was because she’d rented the apartment a couple of floors below me to stay close in case I needed anything.

I took my eyes off of the clothing in front of me and gazed out of the window.

The one thing that did make up for it all however, was the view.

At night, my favorite thing to do was go out onto the tiny balcony that was home to two steel chairs with cushions laced onto them and watch as the view sparkled and stayed alive no matter what time it was. The lights reminded me of NYC and in its own little way, they made this place feel a little more welcoming. I’d sit out there most nights and just reflect on the past few weeks.

My time with my sister Gracey had been interesting, to say the least. What is it about siblings and the insistent need to butt into every aspect of your life, no matter what age you are?

Each night I was there, I found myself planted at her dining room table with a glass of something strong in front of me as she and her fiancé Oscar rallied off a list of people that they knew who “would be so perfect” for me. And whilst I could understand that they only wanted to help and see me get back onto the dating wagon after so long, all I really wanted to do was hop back on the plane that brought me there in the first place and go home and barricade myself in a blanket fort and not think about men or dating ever again.

Even now, having been in LA for a couple of weeks, I was still finding it hard to adjust. Maybe if I knew more people it’d help. What’s worse was that I didn’t even have my one visitor Amy at the moment after she flew home with my blessing for a couple of weeks to help nurse her boyfriend Corey, who’d broken both his arms after getting hit by a car late last week, back to health. The whole thing had been very traumatic and had really shaken Amy; to the point where I could tell her priorities in life had shifted, drastically.

Having said that, whilst I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, it did mean I was pretty much out here by myself. It wasn’t necessarily the idea that I was missing her as my assistant, but I never realized how much I valued her company until it wasn’t around.

I mean, I knew some people out here, mainly old co-stars and such, but I’d feel so uncomfortable reaching out; like “Hey long time no speak, just checking in to let you know that I’m now in LA and I’m lonely and desperate for friends. K. Call me back. Byyyeeeee.” or something.

I shivered at the thought. No.

Come on, less negativity and more clothes folding positivity Adrian.

At least work was going well! That, I had to admit, I was pleased about. Every day when I’d arrive on set, I felt like pinching myself.

Ben Affleck.

What a dream…

He made it seem like directing and starring in your own movie was a walk in the park and transitioned between the two parts flawlessly during and after each take. With every day that passed, I gained more and more confidence under his direction and I was proud of the little improvements I’d made in such little time already.

This role was unlike anything I’d ever done before. For a while now, I had been so ready to break free of the romantic/teen/rom-com typecasting I’d fallen into in my younger years and transition into more gritty roles that really challenged me. Midsummer was a good start, but The Eyes of Nobody was exactly what I needed to prove that I could actually act beyond a few pouts here and there.

Pulling my sweater up onto my shoulder after it had fallen down for what felt like the millionth time today, I looked away from the pile of clothes in front of me and saw that it was starting to get dark out. I decided to do my nightly ritual of closing all of my blinds before making myself a cup of green tea. (I had made a conscious effort to give up coffee in order to help my sleeping pattern and I was damn well going to stick to it).

Going around, one by one, I began to close the world off from my little hideaway, making sure to leave the one in my bedroom for last.

As I made my way past the double bed and towards the far corner, I mentally prepared myself for the image that should’ve probably sunk in by now, but hadn’t.

I slowly reached the destination of the window ledge and despite curling my fingers around the pull string, I paused. Like always.

In some cruel twist of fate, each morning and night, I was greeted by a pair of glittering blue eyes from the billboard across the street. The face was bathed in a warm spring glow as a pair of very familiar hands draped themselves around his chiseled features.

Gucci Guilty – Pour Homme

The New Fragrance for Him

Rolling my eyes, I let out a sigh as I let blackness slide his face out of my view. Goodnight Chris. See you in the morning “bud”.

Our promise to stay friends had equated to pretty much radio silence.

In fact, I’d spoken more to his brother than I had to him.

I’d exchanged a few texts here and there with Scott after he had acquired my number from Chris to apologize for having called me so late that one night and how all he wanted to do, after Chris eventually told him we’d actually cooled things, was build a wall of shame around himself to ‘contain how extra I am sometimes’. Although it wasn’t long before we were making political jokes about the actual image of that and how people would be coming to him for wall building advice because of how extra they were…

Other than that, however, not a thing with the other Evans brother.

Except, of course, our nightly stare down. And that was how it was to remain I guess.

-

‘Hey Adrian, can I get a sec?’

I inwardly wept as Marco, the production assistant on set, caught me just as I was about to dive into a delicious bowl of hot vegetable soup I’d acquired from the craft table. ‘Ben wants to see you in his trailer.'

After a quick and insincere “no problem”, a sloooooow placement of the soup back down onto the table, a fond look of regret as I walked away, I eventually set off towards the boss’ gaff that resided on the other side of the set that had been built for the day.

I was pleased with the working relationship I had gained with Ben over the past few weeks and so my mind couldn’t help but wander to the task at hand and what this could possibly mean. Was I in trouble? Why in his trailer? We’d been very open with each other up until now and I just prayed I hadn’t done anything to screw this opportunity up.

I wringed my hands together and pressed the creases in my outfit down as the silver of his trailer came into my peripheral. I strode up to it and, taking a deep breath, I knocked in a rhythmic pattern until a quiet ‘come in’ reached my ears.

-

‘I’m just gonna get right to it, because I’m not one to beat around the bush.’ His strong Boston accent resonated around the trailer as he clasped his hands together onto the desk and leaned forward to look at me properly. His stance was doing nothing to subside my worries and I could feel the tension starting to build in my stomach.

‘You’ve really impressed me Adrian.’ Okay, good start… ‘I can see you’re a good actor. You’re versatile, you take feedback on board, your nice to cast and crew alike’ Mhmm… ‘I like you a lot.’ He finished off.

Despite the slew of compliments, I could tell he wasn’t saying them just for the sake of it.

‘So, having said that… I have a proposition for you.’ He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over, studying me closely. ‘After this project is done, I’m directing and starring in a movie that is part of a series of movies..’

Without missing a beat, I knew exactly what this mysterious series was. The new Batman and Justice League movies, of course! I had been one of the few to actually really enjoy the last Batman v Superman movie. I had gone to see it with my brothers and their children and it hurt to recall that it had probably been the last time I’d properly spent time with any of them.

Through the silence, he retained eye contact for a moment before he reached down into his desk drawer and pulled out a small stack of white documents. I watched as he carefully unraveled the binding that held them together and as he slid one of them across the desk towards me, the blinding red “CONFIDENTIAL” took my attention. Wait… He wasn’t…

SHAYERA HOL/HAWKGIRL

I was frozen on the spot. He isn’t seriously….

‘To cut to the chase - I want to put your name forward for this role.’

He is. Holy shit, he is.

‘Let me just preface, before we get too excited, if you decide to accept my offer, it’s just talks. You’ll still have to audition and test, which can be a hefty process Adrian, I’m not gonna lie and even then, there is zero guarantee you’ll actually get the part. I don’t have much say in this, I’m just the “messenger”, if you will.’

I could feel my head nodding but it wasn’t necessarily corresponding with what was going on inside my brain. I literally couldn’t corroborate my thoughts down to one emotion. Not being able to differentiate between excitement, fear and sheer perplexity, was quickly becoming my biggest battle.

‘I know this is a pretty big deal and I’m well aware you haven’t done any franchise work before, so why don’t you take this,’ he picked up the CONFIDENTIAL document and physically handed it to my slightly shaking hands, ‘have a read over lunch, show NO ONE, and let me know what you think.’

-

Even now as I sat in my trailer, I felt as though I didn’t have the strength to even pick up the paper.

Shayera Hol/Hawkgirl

As I gazed at the name, a warming sensation washed over me and I was instantly transported back to my younger years, sitting in the kitchen at the breakfast bar. There was a cartoon adaptation of Justice League on at the time and despite most of them being a little too old for it, my siblings and I would sit and watch it on the tiny TV we had on the wall whilst we got ready for school.

And Hawkgirl had been my favorite..

I didn’t even know where to begin in terms of processing what the hell just happened. I felt like I needed to talk to someone about this. To hear my own voice blurt it out as a means of verification this was not a dream!?

Different names swirled in my head but none seemed like the right person to call. Amy was busy with Corey no doubt, Magda would read me the riot act on how if I passed this up, I may as well die, Mom and Dad would be clueless….  None of them felt like the right person to call…

Against my better judgement, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and drew up a now dormant number.

A: This is so random, I know, but are you busy right now? No worries if you are, but I could really do with some honest advice x

Tapping my phone against my chin, I was thankful that I didn’t have to wait long for a response.

-Of course! Did you wanna call me?

A: I have 35 minutes, now a good time?

-Fire away.

It took me a few seconds to finally build up the courage to actually press the call button, but the loud, ticking, clock in my trailer told me that I was just wasting time.

‘Well this is a nice surprise…’ He mused upon answering.

I gave a little nervous laugh before emitting the most awkward ‘Heeey’ imaginable.

‘Your advice guru awaits..’ He joked. ‘What’s up sport?’

‘Okay, I don’t have very long but I just really feel like I need to talk to someone about this before I give Ben an answer.’ I let out in one breath, my jitters plain to see (or hear in this case).

‘An answer to what?’

I took one more deep breath, trying, and failing, to calm myself down from the building anxiety in my stomach.

‘Do you ever have those days where you’re just sat there, minding your own business, so excited to eat some soup and then all of a sudden your boss intervenes by throwing you a curve ball and asking to put your name forward as a candidate to be a part of his franchise film series!?’

‘Ben!?’ He asked, surprised. ‘We talking DC here?’

‘He’s given me a tiny sliver of the Justice League script that focuses on Hawkgirl…’

‘Fuck me! Adrian that’s huge!’ To his credit, he sounded genuinely delighted.

‘I know it is! It’s SO big and I’m so… little. I don’t know if I can do this!’ I put my hand up to my forehead to somehow stabilize myself.

‘Of course you can! Adrian this is a huge opportunity for you, think what it could do for your career!’

‘If I wanted that answer, I would’ve called my agent.’ I deadpanned.

He gave a low laugh. ‘Fair enough. Point taken. Lay it on me, what do you want to know?’

My voice grew shy. ‘I’m so aware that this is a huge opportunity, I’m too aware. I have never even been in the stratosphere of a franchise before, never mind potentially be in one!? It seems so absurd and, beyond me!? I mean, think about it! I’m freaking out over a part I’m never going to get but even the thought alone is overwhelming me.’

‘Trust me Adrian, there is no one that knows what you’re going through right now better than me. I turned down Cap THREE TIMES before I finally accepted it. Can you believe that?’

‘Did you really?’ I pulled my legs up onto the couch and leant my head back onto the top of the sofa as I listened to his soothing voice.

‘I didn’t want to do it. At all. It scared the shit out of me and it made me feel uncomfortable to even think about the scale of it all.’

‘Exactly!’ I knew Chris was the right person to call. ‘What made you change your mind?’

‘It’s been batted around so much that it’s probably the cliché of all cliché’s but that Babe Ruth quote? You know the one. “Never let the fear of striking out get in your way.” It reeeallly resonated with me. It took a while but in time, I learnt to feed and grow off of my fear of this… thing. It’s insane, and now I look back and I’m like “how much would I be kicking myself if I hadn’t taken this chance and this opportunity?” It still scares me, even to this day, but fear is good. Fear pushes you to do things that you don’t feel comfortable doing, and I’ll tell you; when you overcome that fear? It’s pure ecstasy.’

I smiled, absorbing every word as though it was the oxygen I breathed.

‘You never know unless you try, right?’ He rounded off, his voice sweet like honey.

‘Thank you. You have no idea what hearing you say that has done for me.’ His words had helped me in ways I didn’t even think were possible when I’d been landed with this bombshell not ten minutes ago.

‘Ah, no worries, sometimes you just need someone who’s “been there-done that” to offer some advice.’

‘Exactly.’ I smiled. ‘This was just what I needed.’

After thanking him again and bidding him goodbye, I pressed end call.

With my new found confidence, I picked up the papers and began to read.

-

‘Yeah? You happy for me to put your name forward?’

I nodded, still feeling slightly shaky but a little more at ease after having spoken to Chris.

‘Before we can go ahead with anything, I can’t stress enough how confidential this is. You can’t talk about this to anyone Adrian. Not your parent’s, not siblings, not friends, not boyfriends, no one! This is strictly on a need-to-know basis. Anyone on your team who needs to know will be informed but other than that, this stays a secret. Capeesh?’

‘Absolutely.’ I lied. Well, damn. I’ve already fucked up.

‘A’rite great. It’s corporate bullshit, but there will be a confidentiality agreement to sign at some point but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.’ He smiled wide at me. ‘Well, good luck champ.’ He took the script back and locked it away back into the drawer that it came from originally.

He then clapped his hands together loudly. ‘Now then, chit-chat-paddy-wack time is over, back to work!’ He joked as he stood up, readying himself to shoot some more takes.

-

I flopped down onto my couch that night, exhausted from the emotional scenes I’d just wrapped, and hovered over a number on my phone. Surely Amy was one of those ‘need-to-know’ people, right? She’d be the one getting me there…

After my daily routine of asking how Corey and she were doing, I decided to take a leaf out of Ben’s book and not beat around the bush.

‘So you’ll never guess what happened to me today.’ I purred.

‘You made a friend?’ She joked, her voice sounding like a Mom picking up their child from day-care.

‘No. I’m still very much aloooone.’ I joked. ‘BUT….’ I regaled to her my encounter with Ben, from the moment I laid eyes on the vegetable soup to the closing of the drawer at the end of it all; taking care to leave out one minor detail…

‘ADRIAN! AHHH! THAT’S AMAZING! I MIGHT VOMIT!’ She squealed! ‘IN A GOOD WAY!’

After calming down, she stated the obvious. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t freak out!?’

‘I did!’ I laughed. ‘Trust me, I DID!’

‘I’m surprised you didn’t call me then!’

My laugh turned nervous almost. ‘Ha, yeah, well, I didn’t want to disturb you. And then.. I kinda wanted the opinion of someone who’s “been there-done that”, you know?’

‘So you talked to Ben about it?’ She queried.

‘Noooo…’ I trailed off. I felt fidgety all of a sudden, the skin on my thumbs suddenly becoming fascinating to me. She remained silent, waiting for me to finish. ‘… I called Chris.’

Her eyebrow arched. I wasn’t even in the same room as her, I had no visual on her face. But I knew. The brow was arched.

‘Did you now?’

I nodded even though she couldn’t see it, finally tearing my eyes off of the pesky piece of skin on my thumb.

‘And what did he have to say?’ Her tone was sickly sweet, rife with intrigue.

‘He was actually really helpful. He talked to me about what it was like when he was debating accepting Captain America and stuff.’

Not wanting her to make a big deal out of it, I began to wrap it up after that. I’d had a long day and listening to Amy go on and on about a dead romance wasn’t on my list of priorities right now. Besides, I had one more phone call to make…

As the dial tone began to resonate, I thought about what I was doing.

Why was I calling him? I could’ve easily just texted him to say “hey don’t tell people.” Maybe I’m bothering him if I call?

‘Hello again.’ A cheery voice greeted, breaking my train of thought.

‘Hey! I was just thinking about how I probably could’ve just texted you instead. You’re probably busy enough without me annoying you.’ I began to ramble, nervous off the bat.

‘No, not at all. I’m glad you called. How did it go?’

‘Well, I’m in the running at the very least.’ I gushed, my mind still having not fully processed it all.

‘Adrian you have no idea what this will do for your confidence. Regardless of the outcome, you’ve taken a risk and you should be proud of yourself. Not to toot my own horn, but it’s pretty awesome to even be considered. It’s not like they just let anyone audition.’ He paused for a second. ‘That sounded so pretentious didn’t it?’

‘Maybe a liiittle, but I get you.’ I chuckled.

‘So how have you been besides?’

‘I’ve been good. Working hard I guess. It’s a little overwhelming trying to do this Gucci trail alongside the long shooting hours, but I’m hanging in there. What about you?’

I pulled a faux fur throw from the bottom of the sofa up and tucked myself into it and leant my head against the soft cushions. I noticed that this had happened earlier too. Just listening to his voice was so calming to me. It felt so natural to talk to him.

‘Pretty much the exact opposite. I’ve been doing… fuck all basically.’

I laughed lightly and I could hear him crack one too.

‘Do you miss working?’ I smiled, wanting to hear him talk for as long as possible.

‘God no! I don’t really miss anything about LA.’

I could feel my bubble burst a tad as I was brought back to reality. Back to the realization that I had been dumped weeks ago and that I was still lamely hanging on to nothing. Stop fooling yourself Adrian.

I coughed a little to clear my throat and my mind, willing it to just skip right to the point before I started to look like an idiot. ‘Anyways, I was just calling because what I confided to you earlier… well, turns out that kind of information is top secret and I prooobably shouldn’t have talked to you about it. So if you could just keep that between us and save me from my own stupidity that would be great.’

‘Eh, I know how these things work, I’m an old hand at it now.’ He relayed, his tone still light and friendly. ‘Don’t worry Warner, your secret’s safe with me.’

‘Cool, thank you.’ I debated saying my next words for a couple of seconds but I guess my heart won out overall. ‘Seriously Chris, thanks again for talking to me about all of this. I really, really appreciated it.’

‘Ahhh, it was nothing.’ He replied softly. ‘I’m glad good things are happening for you.’

I was about to open my mouth and start my goodbyes when he rushed a statement out so quick I only barely caught what he’d said.

‘So, I’m, uh, back in LA next week to do a podcast for a friend of mine. You wanna grab some dinner? Catch up?’

My eyes popped. My brain was screaming. My hands wanted to flail like a wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube man. YES I WANTED TO HAVE DINNER. YES I WANTED TO CATCH UP.

‘Sure, sounds good.’ I replied coolly.

‘A’rite, solid. Shall we say Thursday? After you get off work?’

‘Thursday it is.’

-----------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Continued in 2/2

[weepingstar]

Eros Shakes My Heart

He’d well and truly fucked up. Even more so than the time in sixth year when he’d drunk too much Butterbeer with his friend Marcus Ginty and woken up with the worst hangover of his life and stories he would spend the latter half of his teenage years living down. It was certainly worse than the violent sickness he'd experienced and then the memory of vomiting in front of Madame Pinkwick the charms teacher.

Graves had kissed Credence.

Read on AO3

He’d gone and ruined the perfect peace he’d worked so hard to construct for Credence. He’d ruined the sense of trust he’d managed to instil in the boy who surely now thought him a pervert and would no doubt have left his home to go ask Goldstein to harbour him there until leaving for boarding school. Going anywhere that wasn't with Graves.

Graves had fought with the Magical Education ministers on that particular subject. Told them Credence was too special to go to board in Ilvermorny alone, needed a stable influence in his life, and had offered himself up as that. Had fought so hard to be able to have him tutored in the safety of his home. Knew he had selfishly done so to keep Credence close, to cosset him and wrap him in cotton wool within the walls of his brownstone building.

Surely Credence must hate him now, likely already left. Probably happy to go, Graves thought, he’d likely smothered the boy although he’d tried so very hard not to.

-

Graves doesn’t come home.

Credence sighs when it hits four hours since The Incident. Wonders how Graves must be punishing himself. Wishes that he’d have waited two seconds after kissing him to simply ask how Credence felt about it, instead of disapparating so fast it must have given him whiplash.

Credence decides to get started on dinner early, thinks that if his Graves comes back, at least he’ll be well fed if not delusional as to the nature of their relationship. Tries his best to find comfort in the slow and easy cutting of vegetables, stirring the pot slowly, decides on an Italian Pappa al pomodoro soup, to feed the soul Graves would have said if he was here. Credence knows if he tries he can stretch out the time to an hour and a half at least, can keep his hands and mind busy instead of worrying over an absent Graves. Pushes to the back of his mind the thought that maybe Graves won’t ever come back, doesn’t let himself think that, pours his prayers into the creation of his soup.

Credence decides that perhaps he’ll make dessert too, keep him busy some more. And perhaps some baking. Maybe biscuits. Maybe biscuits and a cake. Credence wonders if Graves might want anything to take to work this week when he comes back.

-

Graves rubbed his back, grumbling over the whiplash, most likely, tries to stretch it out unsuccessfully. He was drinking himself to a stupor in a no-maj speakeasy. Thought he could see Credence’s face amongst the pretty and waif dancers on the stage, only became more lovesick as he searches for the glowing skin, the elegant nose, the plush lips of his Credence. Graves knows that he must truly be infatuated, must love Credence like he’d feared, had never felt the ache so keenly as he does now, the thought of Credence not in his home, safe and sound and happy, tightens his heart strings and makes it all the more difficult to breathe.

Graves hadn’t coveted Credence from the start, he assures himself somewhat defensively. It was just how the boy acted, how he looked after Graves, and allowed himself to be looked after in return that really did Graves in. The thought of going home to his little darling, sitting down to a home-cooked dinner, sitting in the company of the boy, taking a stroll out on a Sunday, had all too quickly wound Credence around his heart, as sticky and sweet as honey. Credence was too beautiful, ethereal even - no, not even, certainly. Graves could barely go a day without giving in to brush a stray lock of hair from his face, or slowly rubbing a thumb against his soft jaw. Knew his small indiscretions would get him into trouble sooner or later, and here he was. Knew his dear boy had only been so pliant and sweet to him out of a sense of duty, a feeling that he owed Graves something, Graves feels his stomach lurch at the thought of taking advantage of his sweet boy. Sick, you sick, sick bastard, Graves mutters under his breath, downing another glass of something that was most likely made in a no-maj's tub.

As the home-made alcohol makes it’s way down his throat, burning all the way, Graves supposes that his love for Credence had started and bloomed in much the same way as his kiss with Credence had happened. Sudden and violent, unexpected and inevitable.

It had been the 17th of April, Graves remembers, of course. A warm breeze in the air as Graves had left for work. When entering the house his usual welcoming party of one was absent, immediately, worry had set in. He’d searched high and low for Credence, even checking in the pantry just in case, wracking his brains for how someone could have gotten through his high wards. On the brink of sending a patronus to Madam Picquery in a state of panic, Graves had spied the outside door was slightly ajar. Taking a deep breath and his wand in hand, expecting the worst, he still gets quite the shock.

Credence - his Credence - is asleep on the neat grass of the lawn, breeze gently ruffling his grown out fringe. Graves isn’t much for gardening but he does suddenly wish he’d planted an entire meadow for Credence, bright red poppies to contrast perfectly with his pale skin and shiny black hair. His sleeping cherub was shaded partially by a cherry tree, laying peacefully with a book still just in the reach of his hand, a glass of cordial set on the ground. Graves knows he’s been caught, snagged with the arrow of love, can’t move from the door to allow Credence the privacy of sleep, too enchanted by his darling boy, slumbering on and doing nothing more. Realises eventually that he’s gripped the door handle so hard that it’s warped the shape of it. Lets go, makes his way over to Credence, and, as quietly as he can, sits next to him, 50 galleon suit and all. Graves tries to figure out what it is he’s feeling, it feels like an odd fullness, buoyant, but, yes, full. Not like he’d eaten too much, but just kind of, complete.

-

That utter bastard, Credence thinks. Graves had forgotten he’d left his wards on when he’d so suddenly left after kissing the life out of Credence. Credence had become panicked when it had gotten late (6:30pm) and there was still no sign of Graves, still not scuffle of heavy boots or distinct smell of woodsmoke and cigars. And Credence had no way to leave the house and search for him, hated the thought of making his way out into the world again, especially without Graves but he would have done it, for him. That utter bastard had kissed him and left and made Credence feel so happy and then left and had finally done what Credence had been begging for for months and then left. Credence was going to murder him. He’d made his soup, a tiramisu, sugar biscuits, tried his hand at cauldron cakes and then decided to make a vat of pasta sauce to either use over the next few weeks at dinner or to drown Graves in on his return.

Credence had been so immensely happy when he’d moved in with Graves, hadn’t expected anything else from the man but he had been given so much. Had seen the pains Graves had gone to for him, fought tooth and nail to keep him. Had felt so hot and flustered at the thought of being in Graves’ home, happy to cook and clean and have a few tutoring sessions a week, mainly now taught by Graves as he'd found the tutors insufficient and slowly dismissed them all. Had been so happy to catch the rare loving glance from Graves and hope and pray it had meant more. Had, for once in his life, believed in more.

Credence had kept scraps of his secret love affair with this spectre of Graves', this ghost he could see hiding behind the man, whisper thin but there. Had saved the tissue paper when the man had bought him chocolate hearts on Valentine’s day, had retained the tickets from when Graves had spontaneously taken him on a ride around the park in a horse and trap. Had, sinfully, secretly stolen a jumper out of Graves’ hamper, pressing it to his face and breathing in as deeply as possible, kept the jumper under his pillow to hide and then retrieve when he was having trouble sleeping. Had even gone as far as to make a special deal with Effie the house elf to promise not to tell Mr. Graves where his favourite jumper was, even though the master of the house had been stumped as to where it could have possibly gone. Credence lived with the guilt of taking away Graves’ jumper with the utmost grace.

-

Graves knew he was completely too drunk when he found himself telling the barkeep just how sweet his darling was, his precious Credence. Smells so heavenly it almost couldn’t be real, thought to himself it couldn’t be normal, surely. Thought about the scarf Credence had looked around the house to find for two weeks straight, becoming very distressed when he couldn’t locate it, because it was a gift from Graves and the boy felt terribly guilty. Graves thought about how it was lying in his desk draw in his office, and thought about when he would sometimes bring the scarf up to his nose and breathe in the vanilla and the sugar and the soft smell of baking.

Suddenly jolting out of his reverie, Graves realised he was purposefully keeping himself away from his sweet smelling angel, why would he do that! He couldn’t remember. Slamming down some random amount of no-maj money, he left the bar and made his slightly sore (whiplash, definitely) way home.

-

Hearing the clumsy steps of someone who had surely had too much to drink, Credence, incensed at Graves’ cheek in leaving him all alone, makes his way downstairs. Entirely too happy to see Graves even though he wishes he wasn’t, putting on a very stern face which he surely won’t hold for long because relief is flowing through his veins. Following a trail of boots and coat to the study he’s greeted to an inebriated Graves, with, well... with his face buried in the scarf he’d been trying oh so hard to find weeks ago...

Graves looks up from his sinful scarf sniffing to see the subject of his heart-ache.

“Credence?”

Credence doesn’t have the time to answer and ask what on God’s green earth he’s doing because he’s swept up in a bear hug, crushed to Graves’ chest and can barely speak.

“I thought you would have left already,” Graves murmurs into Credence’s crown, breath disturbing the flyaway hairs.

“Why would I leave, you silly man,” Credence replies breathlessly, Graves realising small specks of liquid are soaking through his shirt, realises little Credence’s voice is strained and broken up.

Loosening his grip somewhat, he tilts his darling boy's head up to face his own, little tears are clinging to Credence's inky black lashes, he brushes some away with his thumb, frowning because he seems to be going about everything wrong.

Graves can’t help himself, disregarding the last few hours of mentally lecturing himself for kissing his vulnerable ward, he bends his head down, brushes his nose against Credence’s, and softly, so softly, kisses him again.

Eventually pulling back, sure that Credence will leave now, he knocks his forehead against his darling's, wishing he could hear what he was thinking, wincing and thinking perhaps not. Stroking Credence’s cheekbones with his hands at either side of his face, trying to memorise his boy now he’s finally close. Waiting for the inevitable disgust from his darling, instead, he’s immensely surprised to hear, so very quietly but clearly spoken by his Credence

“I love you, stupid.”

Credence pushes his face up towards Graves' who’s standing stock still, not reacting for a few moments until he suddenly seizes up Credence in his arms and gasps a laugh that sounds a little like a sob. The both of them entirely involved in the other for long moments, brushing away tears and murmuring confessions of love, and oh how stupid I’ve been my darling, oh I’m sorry sweet boy, I promise I’ll never leave again. Laying little kisses on Credence's mouth, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, his chin.

It feels right, it feels like coming Home.

[fengshuiatl]

Atlanta: Word on the Street

This is the first thing I’d hand the players once they were on board with playing the game. At this point, all they’d really need to know is:

The game is set in Atlanta.

They’d be playing criminals.

The game is based on action and crime films.

They could have a character idea in mind, or could be completely clueless outside of those three points above. This was to get them to start the wheels turning and hopefully get them more interested in the world. You’ll also notice where the John Wick influence comes in pretty easily. I wasn’t subtle, heh. Additionally, this game is loosely connected to the last Feng Shui campaign I ran, set in 1996 L.A. The PCs foiled a drug trafficking and land deal conspiracy that spanned two different time periods. It also connected the Feng Shui antagonist faction The Ascended to the LAPD, drug cartels, and national level politicians. My players dealt a massive blow to them, so I did a bit of thinking about how that would look 20 or so years later.

There's a few things that everybody in this thing of ours knows about, from the biggest boss on down to the lowest corner hustler. Get familiar.

The Conglomerate - Organized crime in America as of late is an increasingly outsourced affair. The RICO Act laid a significant haymaker on La Cosa Nostra, and truly organized operations traditionally based around American gangs have fractured and splintered. One organization that's emerged and flourished as a completely homegrown entity is the mysterious Conglomerate. Having their fingers in everything from white collar crime, to jewel heists, and underworld hits, authorities liken them to an organized crime version of hacker collectives like Anonymous. No one knows of any central leader, and whenever law enforcement agents believe they have one pegged, it turns out to be a red herring. Likewise, denizens of the underworld don't have any solid idea of who is ultimately pulling the strings, and most assume that this is the result of several well-moneyed and connected individuals simply pooling their resources and coordinating their efforts. The only semblance of a hint as to who could be running The Conglomerate is that a favored target of its activities is the corporate world. Many of the aforementioned red herrings are CEOs, CFOs, and politicians who have either had their hand in the cookie jar, or were indeed using their power to lead a criminal life clandestinely. Another favorite target of The Conglomerate are drug cartels and smugglers. Curiously, rumors abound that The Conglomerate is behind some of the more recent pushes toward decriminalization and legalization of marijuana in the U.S. Working with The Conglomerate is both easier and harder than one might expect. No one ever seems to work with them directly, but nearly every hood on the street “knows a guy” or has ��heard about a job” that somehow leads back to the group. These jobs pay not only in cash and valuable connections, but in a currency that The Conglomerate circulates called Denarius.

Denarius – These silver coins minted by The Conglomerate are used to pay for business and services that group provides to individuals who have completed tasks for them. Their origin comes from the Ancient Roman military, where generals had special denarii minted for their soldiers to commemorate their participation in certain battles, or specific deeds undertaken. Much like these coins, The Conglomerate's coins have special designs on their faces, a new one for each year of their minting. This year's coin design: A Wagyu cow, drinking from a large bottle of beer. While there are numerous underground businesses and services that can be patronized with denarii, the most well-known is a network of hotels known as Kakurega.

Kakurega - Kakurega are way stations for the criminal underworld, run as parallel businesses by an organization known only as The Conglomerate. Usually operating out of existing hotels, “criminals of a certain class” are able to take a load off without fear of cops, or other crooks. Kakurega operate due to a shadow economy of silver coins, granted to criminals as payment for services rendered to the owner of this enterprise. Typically these coins and the jobs from which they're earned are tendered through an individual Kakurega's manager. These coins can also be passed from one individual who's earned them to another, as a special payment for favors. When someone's ready to patronize a Kakurega, they call ahead to hotel and announce that they're a member of the “rewards program.” From there, they're transferred from the legitimate business to Kakurega staff. The exact number of Kakurega isn't known, but if you have an ear to the criminal underworld, there isn't a crook in the United States of America who hasn't heard of one.

The City of Dope - In the Southeast’s drug scene, the key moneymakers are meth, pills, and heroin. Cocaine, thanks regionally to the fall of the Black Mafia Family and nationally due to the several exposés from 1996 to 1999 linking Mexican and Latin American drug cartels to prominent politicians and police administrations, has fallen mostly out of favor with everyone but the rich and powerful. Pills are for partiers and hustlers, both for the means of staying awake. Heroin and meth are the purview of proper junkies, though in truth their audiences are really all one and the same. Though national trends for illicit drug use have dropped dramatically, rates for drug use in Atlanta and the surrounding area—particularly heroin—have been relatively high in comparison. The flow of all these drugs seems to be coming from Southeast Asia, produced by countries like Myanmar, and then trafficked by Triad gangs. Once it gets to the U.S., it somehow completely bypasses any other middlemen or other traffickers before getting to the tri-state area of Alabama, Tennessee, and Georgia. The end result is a kind of Golden Triangle. Those with their ears to the ground will hear some variant of this phrase very often: “Dog food (heroin) go in ATL, crystal go in Tennessee, and e’rythang go in ‘Bama.” As far as distribution of heroin is concerned, one crew seems to have everything on lock. The Grip Boys were originally a robbing crew and low-end drug dealers (mostly of stashes that were stolen from other crews), but their leader Soup somehow connected with a supplier plugged in with the Triads and managed to gain a degree of exclusivity. Stories about how exactly that happened are varied and taken with extremely large grains of salt. Everyone in Atlanta knows who the Grip Boys are, as they are seen as the successors of BMF’s legacy, with a more outlandish sense of fashion (Soup is known for his signature sleeveless floral-print, knee length trenchcoat), and a less generous nature. They aren’t sharing with any other crews or looking to absorb any others into their number. Normally this would spell a short reign, followed by a violent end from other crews tired of subsisting on crumbs. The homicide rates in tri-state owe their spike over the past few years to those that rolled the dice on this traditional wisdom paying off.

Precious Gems - Word has gone around more than once that the Taipei Economic and Cultural Office is involved in some shady dealings, as far as Atlanta’s relationship with China is concerned. Specifically, that the acquisitions for the High Museum’s upcoming exhibit on Southeast Asian jewelry and decorative artifacts don’t all come from officially sanctioned sources. Furthermore, someone based in the Atlanta is in the market for Asian artifacts of all stripes. That’s turned the area into a hotbed for black market jewels and goods. If you’re looking to fence, steal, or broker, Hotlanta is an apt nickname.

“Never sold dope, but I kick doors.” - Times being as lean as they are for drug dealers, with the near-disappearance of the small time coke market and The Grip Boys’ stranglehold on heroin, money has to be made some other way. As a result, there have been a rise in home invasions, colloquially called ‘kick doors’, all across the tri-state. Some are of the homes of honest citizens, but these are often edged out by attacks on stash houses. The former largely is the result of neighborhoods like Atlanta’s Edgewood, where gentrification have put new luxury apartments with uninformed (or willfully ignorant) consumers flush up against housing projects and inner-city residents. To quote Outkast, “Bill Gates don’t dangle diamonds in the face/Of peasants when he Microsoftin’ in the place.” Even those who aren’t normally disposed to commit crime have gotten caught up in this rash of strongarm burglaries, for the simple fact that they’ve seen one too many people forced out of their lifelong neighborhoods. The latter are purely due to the drug supply drought. In these cases, the invaders in question often consider it to be the perfect crime, after all drug dealers won’t go to the cops. Most of these jack boys learn entirely too late that drug dealers also don’t have any qualms about taking matters into their own hands, especially The Grip Boys.