#wheatisstillwheat

to keep me honest - here's a WIP that I'm hoping to post TOMORROW!!!

a One Shot CrimeBoss AU! -- hands down, I'm too proud -- inspired by @inklessletter's INSANE fanart that has been living in my brain rent free for 2 months.

so here's a sneak peek:

Eddie Munson. 

Munson owns The Underdark, and Hellfire, and Speak(easy) Friend, as well as who knows how many other holdings around the city. But even Steve knew he must have his hand in damn near everything. 

They called him The Puppet Master, but godsforbid it was anywhere within his earshot. The man could pull and pluck strings like nobody’s business. And it was just that — nobody’s business. Munson worked hard to keep it that way.

Steve could appreciate that a nom de plume, even a cool one, didn’t exactly vibe with working in the dark. Can’t be a shadow if you have a fucking stage name.

But everything about this place spoke to the kind of man Munson was - a man of means. The lush colors: deep plum and peacock blue infused the velvet curtain lining seemingly every upholstered surface, fuchsia and deep gold brocade accenting every tucked away corner. The jewel tones complemented the art deco design as did the sumptuous marble and gleaming mirrored bar tops spanning the center of the large open room.

And somehow juxtaposing insanely and yet perfectly was the purple neon pulsing above said bar lauding The Underdark’s unofficial motto- “you can certainly try.”

what I wouldn’t give for your rough hand in mine wrap the rope around them tie the knots tight, pull the twine I don’t want to let go I won’t be bent to fate’s whims this tie that binds it won’t relent so let’s let the words out say them with all intent whatever we promise I promise to mean it I’ll do anything to hold you anything to hold fast and hold true -  hold fast,  Patron

Hi folks! I’m alive and (mostly) well - it’s finals week and I’m inching across that finish line for my semester.

but MANY WIPS ARE ON THEIR WAY.

so here’s a glimpse at the next part of my Apocalypse/Station 11 AU - Falls the Shadow:

Eddie thinks about Macbeth for the first time since his second time through senior English class. 

Look. Eddie might have struggled in school, but it’s like his Uncle always said: 

“Eds, if they judged folks on the kinda smarts they possessed instead of the kind of smarts they thought they ought to have, everyone’d be better off. You got all the brains you need, probably too much for your own good, really. Don’t let those letters get to you, kid.” 

Eddie’s smart, just not school smart. 

He’s music smart.  Learning songs just by listening to the radio, fingers bleeding over strings as he played and replayed the chords, bent over his guitar in his bedroom until he got his favorite tracks just right.

He was body smart. He could move his body around, always moving, he was, even as a child. Running, jumping, skidding over dirt roads, climbing up trees, skinning up knees. He was clumsy, yeah, but he was tough. Had to be. Earned every bruise and scar. Learned every way he could duck and weave his lean, wiry frame, so by the time the bullies came calling, Eddie was ready for ‘em. 

He was word smart. Not those long, long line after line of tiny textbook textcollege ruled notebook words, black inked marred with red kind of words – essays returned with letter grades below the ones he needed, teacher’s eyes narrowed, but also unsurprised. What could the trailer trash second year senior hope to comprehend about the Bard?

But the thing was, Eddie did get it. 

Eddie got all of it. He just didn’t want to write a stupid paper about it. For people that never gave two shits about him. Probably accuse him of plagiarism anyways.

No, Eddie felt every single one of those words. 

He devoured those plays (most of the novels they’d assigned too, although he’d pilfered the local comic book store’s supply of fantasy books pretty quickly, more his speed).

There was something about Shakespeare though. Something about plays. Theater. The drama of it all. 

He was a dungeon master for Christ's sakes. He lived for this shit:

what is past is prologue

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts

No sooner met but they looked, no sooner looked but they loved, no sooner loved, but they sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason. No sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy…

If we are true to ourselves, we can not be false to anyone

love is not love 

which alters when it alteration finds, 

or bends with the remover to remove: o no! it is an ever-fixed mark

that looks on tempests and is never shaken

present fears are less than horrible imaginings…

It was like slipping into a world where his characters from D&D came to life. Where people really did heroic shit. And villainous deeds. And murder most foul. And love felt like tempests and arrows and drowning and rescue. 

my blood the ink the night sky a scroll the constellation’s stars interlink and so too our souls from cradle to grave as our hearts decompose a stone overhead to mark our repose our love never dies like Valkyries we’ll take to the skies ascendant, transcendent radiant with light the world may forget but we’ll always know we’ll take the truth with us down below

-eternal epitaph, patron (from ch.18 of for this gift, I do feel blessed)

Check it out now: