#but being utterly horrified of the idea of anyone seeing such a raw and painful part of yourself.

[demento-mori]

[the11tailed]

Fandom: The Magnus Archives, Star Wars The Clone Wars (2008), vague Dead by Daylight

Tags: @crc-general-orin, @crc-commodore-sana9

Reblogs are love ^-^

-

[Recorder click]

Statement of Tup Fett regarding an incident that occurred in a Junkyard when he was a child.

Audio recording by Tech Fett, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institution, London.

Statement begins

I never blamed my brothers for what happened, it was my fault in a way. I never should have gone to that junkyard. It was a dare. Just a dare. It was harmless. 

I was 7 at the time. My brother’s Fives and Echo had dared me to go into the weird junkyard out by our old house. It's not a bad junkyard. It's just a dump a few meters back of the houses. Someone started a rumor that dead bodies were found there, but many members of my family is in law enforcement and they stated that no bodies were ever found, so I never believed those tales. Fives and Echo had been charged with taking care of myself and my twin, Dogma as all other members of my family were busy. Fives and Echo are good brothers, don't misread this, but they were not babysitters.

It was obvious early on they did not know what they were doing. They took us to the Junkyard, as they went there for fun a lot. It was a short walk, and sooner than I'd like, we were at the entrance. I was a bit scared, but Dogma was petrified. He clung to Echo and refused to go in. He said the "shadow people" didn't like this place. The shadow people were Dogma's imaginary friends (yet on some days I wondered if they were really imaginary) and he had them since, well, he was four after our uncle...did some disgusting things to him. I won't go into detail, but you can guess what our uncle did. He started seeing these "shadow people" everywhere. Anyway, I'm getting off track.

Fives only laughed when Dogma mentioned the shadow people. He dared us to go in

"It'll be fun!" he had said this with such glee.

I wanted to prove to my big brother that I was brave. So I went in. It was like any junkyard I've ever seen. It was just stuff piled high with no real order to it. I wandered for a bit, not long. It was when I turned a corner did I see the gate. At first, I couldn't figure out why it put me on edge. It was pitch black, with vines from some plant coiling around it so tight it warped the metal. I could see strange flowers bloomed on various and random places on the gate. I was curious so I got closer. I wish I hadn't. I wished I had turned and walked back to Fives and Echo and didn't go through the gate. But I did.

I stepped through the gate and the world around me warped. I don't really know how to describe it. The world almost folded around me and I felt really hot and really cold at the same time. Then it unfolded and refolding again and again. When it stopped I was standing in a junkyard but it was different from the one I had been in. This one had broken down cars everywhere. The next thing I realized was that the sky had taken a red tint, casting the whole area in a red glow that sent shivers down my spine. I turned, wanting to go back, only to find the gate slammed shut. I ran to it, but it had no handle. I saw a lever, but when I pulled it, nothing happened. I was scared and so utterly alone. I reached into my pocket for my phone, I need to call for help, but found my pocket empty of any phone, lost I looked around. I spotted the generator. It was an old thing, just sitting there. It wasn't on and I got the odd feeling that I needed to fix it. I walked over to it. I didn't know what I hoped to do, I was 7 and sure as hell didn't know how to fix a generator, and yet I did. I worked on it for 2 and a half minutes and fixed it. I still have no idea how. When it clicked on I got this odd sense of dread. I got up and walked to one of the red lockers that was sitting near the generator as the sense of dread grew into terror. I opened it and climbed in, closing the door. The terror I felt made my heart hammer in my chest. And then I heard it. The thump thump of something heavy walking near. The smell of rotting flesh was so strong I nearly gagged. I knew the smell of rotting flesh anywhere. My Grandpappy Jaster owned a farm, and one time I had found a dead cow that had been missing for days. She had wandered up into a wooded area and died. I found her and vaguely remember losing my lunch and crying into my older brother, Fox's, shoulder. Grandpappy did feel real bad about that, even though it was not his fault.

I heard a snarl of rage before the heavy footfalls got quieter and quieter. The sense of fear and dread went with it. Once I could no longer feel the dread, I climbed out of the locker and hurried off in the opposite direction of the footfalls.

I have no idea how long I ran. It was a while before I ran into anyone. I mean literally, I ran right into someone. A man in his 20's wearing a suit, now torn, ripped, muddy, and bloody. He had black hair and green eyes and I would later learn his name was Anthony. Anthony looked horrified to see me. I was confused back then, but I know why now. He was scared because I was a seven-year-old kid put in a demented game with a ruthless killer, but I'm getting ahead of my self. Anthony helped me up and hurried me along. I was went with him, too scared not to. He led me to another generator.

"I'm guessing you got the 3rd generator," he said and I just nodded.

"We just need two more and then we are free," he said that with such a hopeful tone.

There was another person with us, a young woman named Sarah. She was a young woman, maybe 19 or 20 with short, dyed pink hair and a few piercings. Her clothes were tattered and bloody and I noted she had a bandaged wrapped around her shoulder, yet I could see no wound. She was already working on the gen. Myself and Anthony knelt and helped her. Soon, with a rumbling click, the gen turned on. Then the dread crept in. I looked around desperately for a locker, but found none. Anthony grabbed me and dragged me behind a stone wall. There was a tree near us and I had to hold in a gag at the scent of rotten meat wafted from the crow slung up on the bark of the tree, stomach open. Anthony put his finger to his lips and we sat there crouched. The dread turned into terror and I heard the footsteps. thump thump. Loud and commanding. I was scared, far more scared than I had ever been in my life. I was shaking and Anthony knew that. He placed a hand on my shoulder, trying to console me. Then I saw Sarah run and I got the first look at the monster. It was humanoid, an arm covered in strange, boil like spots. I think the most horrifying part was it's face. It's flesh there was pulled, I have no idea how else to explain it. There were staples on various parts of it's body. It was terrifying. It held a chainsaw in one hand and a hammer in the other and it ran after Sarah. It activated it's chainsaw and I heard it whir and then the squelch of it hitting flesh. I heard Sarah scream, a sound so raw and so painful I wanted to cry. I think I was. I watched as it threw Sarah over it's shoulder. It carried her to a hook standing in the field. It was nothing special, but I found it odd that the hook was just there, swaying ever so slightly in the wind. Then, it threw Sarah onto the hook and she screamed again. He watched her gag for a second before limping off and vanishing into the tall grass. I tugged at Anthony's sleeve

"Shouldn't we help her?" I had asked through tears but Anthony shook his head

"Death hook" was all he said

Sure enough, long spider like limps emerged from the hook and impaled her. I watched in horror as they lifted Sarah's body up as more spider-like limbs descended down and grabbed her body and lifted her up into the void above. Once her body was gone, the limbs emerging from the hook, knocked the hook off and onto the ground. I let out a chocked sob as the realization hit me. I had just watched a person die.

"C'mon kid," Anthony had said and ushered me along.

I followed numbly, I was in shock, but the gravity of our situation shook me out of it quick. We found the last gen quick. We worked on it fast, but slow enough as to not make mistakes.

"I have a kid around your age," said Anthony, smiling at me, "Once I get out of here I plan to hug them and remind them how much I love them. You got any family,"

I nodded,

"Lot's of big brothers, a dad," I sniffled, "How does time pass?"

"I've been here a few minutes, what's the date,"

"the first of august, 2009," I responded and he looked pale

"No, it's-it's the second of January," I shook my head at that and we lapsed into silence. The dread came just as the gen clicked on. We both shot up, but by that time the dread was terror. It was here. Anthony ran at it and tried to draw it away from me, but it didn't work. I ran as it chased me, fear surging through my limbs, but I was seven, I wasn't fast enough. Do you know what it feels like to be slammed in the back with a chainsaw? I can't even begin to describe the pain. It hurt worse than any injury I had ever gotten and I screamed. Next thing I knew, I was being carried over it's shoulder. It was taking me to an open field. There were two hooks. Both faced each other. He threw me on one. The pain from that was worse than the chainsaw as the metal hook ripped through soft flesh and muscles and threw bone and I screamed a blood curdling scream. I was only there for a moment when I heard a strange noise. The gate had been opened. A sense of panic hit me. Had Anthony left me to die. But then I heard the whir of a chainsaw and a cry. It hooked Anthony right in front of me. He gave me a small smile as the creature ambled off.

"Listen," he had said, "Gates open, straight ahead, hurl yourself off the hook and run, don't stop, don't try to get me, I'm on death hook, Just run,"

"How?" I cried in desperation.

"Throw yourself off the hook," he said before the limbs stabbed him and dragged him away.

I wanted to cry, but it would have to wait. I took a deep breath and threw myself forward and off the hook. There was an explosion of pain, but I didn't register it. I ran. Ran as fast as I could. I saw the gate, wide open and tore forward. The whir of the chainsaw came from behind me and I got the idea to bob and weave. I did and it worked. I knocked over a pallet with strength I didn't even know I had and tore to the gate. I ran threw the gate out without stopping. Like before, the world folded in on me and repeated until, it stopped. I was back in the junkyard, no broken cars in sight and a soft blue of the sky almost made me sob. Warm blood trickled down and, to my horror, I realized I was still hurt. I reached into my pocket and was greeted with my phone. I called the first number I could think of. 911. I just said I was hurt in the Junkyard, fell and hurt my shoulder and that I need help and fast. The operator was a nice lady, helped keep me calm. The fire and rescue arrived fast and I felt happiness when the words 212 came into view along with squad car 1010. I wanted to cry as I ran towards them. I watched Helix run and catch me and I collapsed into my cousin's arms.

"Tup?" he had sounded so horrified and I guess he had the right to.

Fox rushed over and froze when he saw me. Helix was treating me as fast as he could as Fox knelt beside me and cupped by face with his hand. He told me it was all okay now, and that I was safe. I knew I was.

I woke up in the hospital three days later. I learned that I had been missing for almost an entire month. Fives and Echo felt so guilty, blamed themselves, but I could never blame them. Never.

-

Statement ends.

Another victim of the Entity's twisted games, and my own cousin. I remember the scramble for search parties when Tup went missing, but I still lived with my abusive mom, so my brother's and I were unable to search for Tup, who had been a close friend in high school for me. After this, Tup went through a lot of therapy, but he still struggles. He informed me one day, years ago, that he too now sees the shadow people. I've seen the shadow people too. All my brother's have. They are always there, just watching us.

As for follow up, there is not much we can do. The entity exists in a realm outside of ours and we have no way of stopping it or telling who it's next victim will be.

So another dead end, but not matter. Unfortunately, most of the files in the archives have statements made by members of my family. A lot mention a horrible tragedy and the sudden appearance of these shadow people. I wish to look into them, but my own shadow people have grow restless, usually that means-

[Static on recorder]

Yes, I know

[Static]

Yes

[Static]

Fine

End recording

[Recorder click]

[ninacarstairss]

Hi 🙋🏻‍♂️

For the coi asks :

who was your favorite character? has it changed from the last book?

what did you want to see that didn’t happen?

what do you think will happen to grace? how do you think the clave will react to her powers?

what is the top thing you wish had been done differently?

thoughts on the epilogue? where do you think tatiana and belial are going and what do you think they are up to?

which scene in the book was your favorite?

Sorry i asked too much and i lost the numbers 😅

Hii sorry it took me so long to answer 😅 and don’t worry I loved to get all these questions!! 🤩 Thanks for the ask sweet pea! 💙

13. who was your favorite character? has it changed from the last book?

Alastair. No doubt. His arc in choi was amazing. We only got one pov of his but we got to see him from cordelia, from thomas and also sometimes from james’s eyes and I loved how other people described him or just thought about him, especially cordelia who actually gets him better than anyone else and shares some of his pains and also thomas, who can’t hate him because he sees him, he has known him to be kind and he has seen some of the parts of himself he keeps carefully hidden. I also loved how in his pov we got to see his thoughts on elias’s death, how he mourns but still can’t forget all the wrong things elias did in his life simply because he’s no longer there, it felt utterly real and raw.

In chog my favorite characters were both math and alastair, because they are so similar and complementary in some ways, and it hasn’t really changed, I still love math and I loved to see him finally share his secret, but his arc barely started, while alastair in this book really stands out.

17. what did you want to see that didn’t happen?

Some truthful old fashioned communication. I know the book wouldn’t even exist if they just talked freely but still I would have like to see at least some communication. I loved cordelia and math’s relationship in choi because they are the only ones who actually shared their secrets, they have the healthiest friendship atm because they aren’t lying to each other. I would have liked to see some more of the gang talk, especially cordelia and lucie, it shattered me to see how they left it off in choi, because cordelia feels betrayed by lucie helping grace and I wished they had just talked a little more.

And I really wanted to see alastair and cordelia get a chance to confront elias. They deserved a chance to tell him how much they both suffered and how high the cost of his drinking was, especially for alastair.

32. what do you think will happen to grace? how do you think the clave will react to her powers?

Nothing too bad actually. I think she’ll get mercy. The clave won’t be happy to hear about her powers and they’re definitely gonna be scared and horrified but at least they’ll start to look at the tatiana problem as an actual problem and threat. Anyway charlotte is not heartless and the claves still sees grace as a child. I think they’ll try and get to tatiana to punish her for real this time but of course they won’t find her. Grace will probably be questioned with the mortal sword and sent to the silent brothers to have her powers removed.

I think the more hate she’ll get will probably be from james himself and his family and friends who actually were close to him to see what the gracelet did to him. I mean cordelia and math are definitely gonna want to end her. But I think the clave would look at her as someone who was being used as a weapon by a mad woman and once she no longer has her powers will stop being a threat.

8. what is the top thing you wish had been done differently?

Ariadne’s characterization. She didn’t have enough space in this book and was only there because she wanted to win anna back. It looked like her whole life revolved around anna. We had her talking about how the bridgestocks erased her past and her culture but she barely mentions it, there’s no part where we get to really see her.

16. thoughts on the epilogue? where do you think tatiana and belial are going and what do you think they are up to?

I kinda think they’re going to a demon realm. They’ll probably return to edom since lilith is wounded and can’t take it back.

There’s this line in the epilogue “she could not outrun them [the nephilim] and their pursuit, not on this earth” so I think this means she’s gonna try to get her revenge someplace else, which I think is edom. Literally no idea why tatiana would prefer edom to the nephilim but that woman is clearly out of her mind.

As for what they’re up to, I think turning more weapons and getting more power. Tatiana already gave belial some adamas and he used it to create a “dark stele”. And now he’s got the key to the iron tombs. I don’t know if they were ever mentioned before in other tsc books but I don’t remember it. Anyway I think the iron sisters could maybe be buried with weapons or adamas or other important objects with angelic powers and they’re gonna steal what they can to turn it dark.

2. which scene in the book was your favorite?

Ohh so many! I loved all the domestic jordelia scenes, the scene with the whole gang together, the battles at the end and so many more.

But can I just be a basic simp and say the sanctuary scene? 😂 I’m a slut for thomastair at this point and that scene was just so beautiful and so truthful, they just talked and finally confessed their pasts and their feelings without barriers.

[akathecentimetre]

So here’s the thing.

Of course I love The Old Guard. Like, of COURSE I do. It is everything I like and everything you all have gotten used to knowing I like, from found family to unconditional love to the yummy yummy historical tidbits. It’s going to have a truly Great fandom.

But watching it was not, for me, some huge revelatory experience in media because - well, I’ve written it before. Many times, in scattered pieces, across a lot of my fic. And what made me cry last night when I finally watched it was that it’s the spitting image of an epic vampire story that I wrote, over a decade ago, with Rio (@aumerle-that-was​).

Who is now dead. Recently dead. [I wrote a post about her here.]

The Barrens will most likely never make it to publication. It’s huge, and unwieldy, and full of unnecessary crack because I was an 18-19-20-year-old virgin when we were spending the most time on it. But it’s 232,761 words of memories, of laughter, of love, and, as I mentioned in my previous post, of me learning how to write at all.

I miss her. I wish she was still here, to see The Old Guard and love it (GOD she would have loved it). I wish she was here so she could write the most beautiful, unbearable, Italianate fic of Joe & Nicky that anyone could have ever imagined. They deserve a gifset set to her Coldplay “roman cavalry choirs” singing. 

Here’s some tiny images of what we wrote, focusing on various characters (including one called Rio, of no relation; this epic started, if you can believe, as a football/soccer RPF AU). I’ve picked out some character moments rather than historical bits, but fair warning that there’s mention of some nasty/upsetting stuff.

*

It was the need to eat, and the need to live, and the need to go on, and it was, as the last sliver of sun splintered on the deep blue of Capri's sea, utterly unendurable, because he knew that he would, he would get up, he would go on, he would feed, and he would keep living. He would keep living, and the grief and anguish in his mind would keep on with him, the raw, still-bleeding edges of the severed bond breathing with him, and the new fear and hatred he had learned keeping him company with them.

He would just refuse to think, that was all. That couldn't be so hard.

It couldn't.

*

He closed his eyes, and swallowed, shutting down memories and envy and misery at once, and drew a deep, unnecessary breath before he looked out at the Mouth of Truth again. He walked over to it slowly, and put his hand in. "I don't miss you," he said. "And you needed to die." Robin whined sadly behind him. The Mouth stayed open.

*

Things were shutting down, blowing out like lamps at night, and all he could think was thank God, because he didn't want this anymore, couldn't stand it, and he thought it might be his life that was guttering out like a candle, and it was really too much effort to care, because peace.

...but as bad as dying was, it was nothing compared to waking up again.

Fingers were tapping him sharply on one cheek. "'Ey. 'Ey, come on, wake up."

He opened his eyes. And immediately shouted out in a mix of pain, terror, and absolutely overwhelming confusion, because his head hurt so badly he thought he just might have been brained with an axe, and when he struggled into a sitting position it was to the realization that his clothes were soaked with blood, and that just couldn't be good at all. His hands shot to his throat, but when he found that there was nothing there - no torn flesh, no blood, no wound, no nothing - all he could let out was a horrified sort of squeak.

There was the odd laugh again, and it didn't help at all to realize he could feel it now, as if he was tapped into the other man's amusement like some barrel of watered beer left running.

"Very good," the man's voice rumbled, making him jump again, because he didn't just hear it, it was like it was in his ear. "Now then. Follow these regles" - a piece of crumpled paper was thrust into his bloody palm - "and you shall be just fine, yes? Yes. I think you shall be fine." And then the man stood, stepped over him, and opened the door, pushing Rio's nerveless legs aside as it swung on its hinges. "I think I had better go. Too much - commotion. Bonsoir!"

"And fuck you," Rio managed to croak with some vehemence, feeling the amusement fade out and vanish, as though it had never been there at all. If it weren't for the way his head felt and the state of his hands and clothes, he'd have thought he'd dreamed it - got coshed, maybe, and dreamed it. The crumpled piece of paper was telling him otherwise. The slightly-mangled syntax was bad enough without it apparently being straight out of a child's fairy tale.

Never kill when you drink. Never go out in the sun unless you have strength enough. If it is possible, no churches. NEVER TOUCH SILVER. Run from Hunters, do not fight. Be polite when you use your mind, otherwise it will hurt.

Bonds of love are forever.

*

He had got as far as the steps when the world began to shatter, as though cacophony could be made into feeling, sending him in a kind of sideways fall against the stone balustrade, and wondering how he had never known there was this much pain in the world, because it was worse even than the night he had been left to bleed his life out on a London street, worse than silver, worse than anything he could begin to think of as comparison. It was the utter definition of agony, and all he could think was that he needed it to stop, it had to stop, before his mind fragmented and splintered along with it.

It came to him, distant and heartwrenching, that this was what Cruyff had meant by letting go, that he had to withdraw or risk going irrevocably mad, but - fuck, fuck, how could he let go of everything, Cruyff was everything, it was impossible that he should be - imposs -

He fell against the wall, toppled onto his knees, and screamed.

*

“And if you want immortality for someone, the last thing you want is to find yourself becoming a murderer. Unless you're Marco..."  he trailed off with a sigh, and shook his head. "Marco seduced a girl in Babylon --"

"Babylon --!"  Rio gaped.  Babylon didn't even exist any more, God, what sort of timescale were they talking about here?

"He went with Alexander," Gullit said patiently, "and if you want to know more about that, read a book."

*

Gullit bristled and snarled without actually saying anything, giving Rio the distinct impression that the master vampire was more of a real wolf than Robin would ever be. "Go on then," he snapped. "Tell me to my face that you will be able to wake up tomorrow night and do what you have to do. That is all the time I will allow you - and I will know if you are lying."

Rio swallowed.  He thought of silver, and the way it burned even when it wasn't a knife, thought of how it tainted everything, how the thought even of being there one more second alongside that pain was almost impossible.  He thought of how it was now his knife, how he had earned the pain and the ability both, and owned them by name and by right.

He thought, deliberately, of the scars on Ed's body, of the look in his eyes that first night at Stevie's, as though the world were a place of ash and horror and nothing good could even be imagined.

He thought of Gullit, whose sons were dead and had no-one to lay claim to him or who he could be part of but Marco, and who carried on, scarred and limping and casting his damn spells, trying to earn something Rio thought just might be the forgiveness of the twice-dead.

"Yeah," he said then, looking straight into Gullit's dark, hot eyes.  "I could."

"Could you really," Gullit said thoughtfully.  It wasn't, terrifyingly, anywhere near a question.

*

I can make no predictions, so consider this an indefinite promise: you are not going back.

Rio's mind turned into a perfect, careful blank of pure incomprehension.

Back here? he ventured, because if that was it, he really didn't understand, since how not coming back here was anything but good was absolutely and completely beyond him.  How he was supposed to feel anything but thank-you-God about even the idea of never coming back here was apparently a mental leap he was incapable of making.

There was a snort of derision, the horrid sound failing to arouse even a twitch of amusement from anyone. No, Rio, Gullit whispered. He had to live with the possibility of never - that his pain would never end. And now you’re going to live with it too. You’re going to live with the thought that you might never kill Marco... and, due to the extremes of unpredictability this world - and especially Marco - goes to, you’re going to live with the idea that you might never see, or be able to love, Edwin ever again.

He wasn't sure if he was being manipulated, or if it was real, but the sense of something that wasn't even grief – that was beyond grief, was nothing as human as grief – was shocking and immediate and all-consuming.  It was the knowledge that the last memories he might ever be able to make that were his own – even now, as his brain stuttered in a void, he knew that what he had seen here was not his for the taking – the last memories he could truly take for himself would be the look of joy in Ed's eyes, and the clean-cut Roman profile of the vampire who had been able to give and be all he had ever wanted.  The last memory he might ever be able to bring out of his mind in all the days that were his to pass from now until the end of some infinite horror was one of loss.  

It was devastation, wilderness, wasteland, the barrens.

It was exile, and eternity, and Christ! Laurent had given him no such thing as a gift of life, he had given him a curse.

Bonds of love are forever.

And without the ability to love, with only the bonds, with only shackles for his heart and soul worse than those that lay open in front of his mind's eye – with the only thing he had always known suddenly ripped from him and held up to the clear light of unforgiving truth, and shown as worthless, forever didn't seem like any kind of promise at all.

*

He had only recently started getting used to the concept of communicating with his mind, and what glimpses he had gotten of Ruud's had only convinced him that there was more in there than he could ever possibly hope to understand - so he didn't try. But he did know that London was important, and that something was going to happen, so he finished packing very carefully before moving on to Ruud's things, which were still scattered carelessly around the room (a rarity, because normally the captain was as neat as a pin). "You don't deserve this," he heard Ruud say quietly, and he shrugged without looking over his shoulder. "Well. I'm alive, sir." "No you're not," Ruud said - not unkindly.

"I'm here?"

"Yes," Ruud said. He sounded exhausted. "You are. Hooray for you."

*

"Give me one solitary fucking reason why I shouldn't throw you through this wall."

Ruud didn't have the energy to come up with something honest. "Goodwill towards your fellow man?"

He ended up flat on his back in the remains of what had been a parked cab instead, but he was pretty sure it hurt the same amount.

"Fellow man? You don't count," Rio said, sounding horrible and raspy from somewhere off to the side, as Ruud blinked away some interestingly-coloured sparkles and waited for his leg to heal up the nerve-endings enough for things to start being excruciating. "I'm not sure you count as a fucking vampire, you shit."

"No," Ruud grunted, swaying up to a seated position just in time to get punched in the face and fall back again with a broken nose, and the sparkles deciding to take up permanent residence behind his eyelids. "I don't. Tell me how he is."

Rio's skull-face didn't look any better in lamplight and through floating small pinpricks of fake stars. "Sorry, was that you asking for something?"

"Yes," he ground out, lifting a weary hand to his mouth and shoving a crooked incisor back into its place. "And you're going to tell me. I don't care if you feel like disembowelling me, though don't get any ideas - you're going to."

"I'm off disembowelling for the next century, don't worry yourself," Rio growled, and that was the nastiest way Ruud had ever got an answer in his life, and knowing he'd deserved it didn't help at all. "Fuck's sake. How do you think? You left." Right, so apparently git stood for Great Incompetent Tosser.

*

"Like you what?" the man said, getting right to the heart of Rio's inadequacy in the same death-warmed-up voice, and put a shaking hand down against the floor to try and pull his rag-covered body out of the bunk. "He said it would save me. Are you saved?"

Maybe he would just use the hook on Laurent, instead. "Um. Not - really, no." He hoped like hell the man wasn't talking about in the sight of God, because that was one can of worms Rio was never going anywhere near. "He made me, though, too. Just like he did you. So we don't die....yet." Life, Laurent had told him, and hadn't that been a terrifyingly unfunny joke? Rio didn't want to have to use the word 'vampire' among all these living corpses, but he was getting a nasty feeling that between necessary obliquity and whatever arsing terrible explanation Laurent had buggered off after giving, he was going to have to.

He straightened up without the help of Rio's hands, and for the first time Rio could put a face to the voice - he was Rio's height, and big, or should have been were it not for the thinness of his limbs, wrists and forearms Rio could have encircled with two fingers end-to-end, and a broad, now-pinched face which spoke of a starvation perhaps beyond all else Rio had seen, because he knew without even asking this man had not known, at least not consciously, to drink, and yet the strength of the vampire would have kept him from expiring even had he begged for it.

Laurent would have fed him, though. Laurent would have let him know at least what it took to keep going - wouldn't he? Perhaps not, any kind of feeding here was a death sentence to the donor, willing or not, and considering Laurent's one and only set of instructions, Rio guessed that the bastard had just been hoping for the best to work itself out - and in the meantime, what the fuck was he going to do? "Means you're my brother," he said at last, because that was what mattered, in the end, wasn't it, that was why he was here, why he'd ended up in a kind of Hell no-one had even thought of until now, not even the living dead. "An' I'm Rio." He'd first introduced himself as who and what he was so many lifetimes ago that he was amazed it still struck a chord of memory inside him, hearing his voice in the little hut as though he were back in the room in London, wondering why he'd saved a vamp who didn't even have the sense not to kill. "It's - we're gonna be all right. Honest."

[the--sad--hatter]

Name Changing (3)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU, X-MEN, DEADPOOL

PAIRING - BUCKY X READER (female reader, no physical descriptions)

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION -  Sequel to Name Calling

After merging with your bloodthirsty alternate personality things start getting a little dicey. You’ve got two decades worth of anger to sort through, a feral mutation to figure out how to live with, a biological father who you hate trying to teach you control and if your wedding planner suggests teal for the bridesmaids again you might just eat her liver.

Luckily you have Bucky Barnes by your side, helping you figure things out. What Bucky doesn’t know is that you have found an outlet for the uncontrollable rage, one that absolutely nobody can know about. If your friends and family knew that you were out slaughtering people in the dead of night while they slept, they might be a little annoyed. Wade Wilson is happy to keep your secret though, so long as you keep bribing him with Mexican food.

For as long as you could remember, all you had wanted was to be good. Now you’re seeing the temptation in the darkness.

Chapter Three - The Firing Line

“Do you want to bite down on this for me?”

You obliged him, biting down on the leather strap.

“Are you sure about this?” Bruce asked, yet again.

He did this every time, checked you weren’t going to change your mind. You wanted the chaotic disease gone, you’d endure whatever you had to. Even this. You nodded confidently to Banner.

“We’re taking tissue samples from the liver today, Dr. McCoy has a theory about the proteins...”

“gerf onwis hit.” You mumbled.

“Alright, making the first incision now.” He said and carefully sliced your abdomen open with the scalpel.

Ever since you merged with Vernichtung you had finally gained full access to your mutant abilities, including your accelerated healing. That allowed Bruce and Hank to have unlimited access to fresh samples. Bruce would word it a bit nicer but essentially he was loping bits off of you to study and experiment on.

You bit down on the leather strap and tried not to scream or be sick. Accelerated healing from the mutation and the super soldier serum meant knocking you out for the procedures was out of the question but at least he hadn’t decided to cut your heart out today. That had been a ridiculously unpleasant experience. Growing a new one had been worse.

The pain was easy to deal with, pain wasn’t a new experience for you, it was the strange tugging sensation that was making you nauseated. You closed your eyes and went to your happy place in your mind to get through it.

“Do you, James Buchanan Barnes take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

“And do you,...

“I’m finished.” Bruce interrupted your daydream and unstrapped your arms and legs from the table.

Your curiosity got the better of you like it did every time and you peered at the samples he’d taken.

“Wade would lose his mind if he saw this.” You groaned.

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

Steve stood in the middle of the room, the most horrified expression on his face. You looked up at him innocently.

“We didn't have any plates big enough.” You told him.

“So you used my shield?”

“He can’t eat off of the floor Steve!”

“So you used my shield?”

“I’ll clean it afterward, besides it’s basically a big metal bowl.” You said, shrugging.

Steve couldn’t stop watching in horror as Erlo tore at the raw beef you’d served him in the upturned shield.

“Cap I once saw you use that to bash a mans skull in, quit bitching.” Sam told him.

After the initial fear, Sam had decided that a pet lion was pretty cool and while he still wouldn’t get too close he was being supportive of Erlo’s presence.

“Is that good? Do you want some more?” You asked Erlo.

A wave of satisfaction washed over you from him and you patted him on the head before heading over to get your own breakfast off of Sam.

Sam shoved a piled plate of bacon and pancakes (there were at least 15 pancakes) at you and started the inquisition.

“So he understands English, he responds when you talk to him. But he doesn’t talk back?”

“No, he just sort of lets me feel how he feels.” You explained.

“How did that even happen? What did they do to him?” Sam said with a frown as Steve eventually dragged himself away from the horror show and sat next to you, helping you eat the mountain of food mama Sam had given you.

“Friday’s decrypting the files as we speak, hopefully we’ll find out something useful.” You said.

“Alright. Well on to better subjects... As your best man, I have made a decision.” Sam informed you.

You paused with a forkful of bacon halfway to your mouth and looked at him. He was grinning proudly and Steve squeezed your elbow comfortingly.

“I conferred with your maid of honor and she agreed that she would take the day before the wedding to throw you some sort of girly spa day and I get the hen do!” Sam announced happily.

“Don’t say it.” You warned.

“He’s going to say it.” Steve sighed.

“VEGAS BABY!”

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

“Miss Stark? The quarterly reports for you.”

“Thanks, put them in that little box over there.” You said dismissively.

“Miss? That’s the paper shredder.”

“Yup.”

The assistant looked utterly perplexed and torn. You took pity on him.

“Alternatively leave them on the desk and go get yourself a coffee, if anyone asks tell them it’s for me.” You told him.

He looked instantly relieved.

“Thanks Miss Stark!” He gushed, dropping the papers on your desk and rushing out before you could change your mind.

You sighed and text Peter.

You: Quarterly reports are a finance thing right?

You: Actually I don’t care, look over them for me?

You: Or alternatively lets blow this popsicle stand and go get a milkshake?

NOT Spiderman: I’m at school???

You: Ok.

You: I’ll pick you up.

NOT Spiderman: NO! I’ll come get a milkshake with you after school. Scan the reports and have Friday check them.

You: I’d be lost without you. You get an extra large milkshake.

NOT Spiderman: Ned’s making me ask if you’ll go to prom with him.

You: Sorry, bad signal. Can’t hear you.

You took Peters advice and scanned the reports.

“Friday, look these over for me?”

“Sure thing, and what exactly am I looking for?” She responded.

You narrowed your eyes at the ceiling.

“I don’t know.” You growled unhappily.

“I’ll check over and discrepancies with past reports and compare them to track the company’s growth and draw up a projection for future reports.” She told you with what you were 100% sure was a sigh.

“Have I told you lately I love you?” You asked.

“Not nearly as often as I deserve.” She deadpanned.

“Set up a daily reminder for me to tell you. Is Erlo doing ok?”

“He is currently in your bedroom eating Sargent Barnes’s shoes.”

“Aww, that’s my passive aggressive boy.” You cooed.

“Your father is asking if you would like to go get pizza for lunch with him.” She passed along.

You looked around at the pile of paperwork you had to get through.

“Absolutely.”  

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

“So how’s work?” Tony asked as you bit into your third pizza.

“I’m learning a lot, like for example did you know that flying a quinjet to Chicago to get pizza is increasing our carbon footprint?” You said.

Tony snapped his fingers at you like you’d just come up with a genius idea.

“You are absolutely right, we should invent a cleaner way to power the quinjets.”

“Not what I meant but ok.” You said, laughing at him.

“That’s exactly what you meant. If someone thinks you said something smart, never correct them.” He told you seriously.

“Can I ask you something?” You prodded.

“You just did.”

“Alright, enough with the dad jokes.” You said, chucking a scrunched up napkin at him which he batted away.

“Alright, ask away.” He said.

“Are you trying to groom me to take over the company?”

You’d overheard some people gossiping about it in the office earlier that day and it was weighing on your mind.

“Would it be a bad thing is I was?” He asked.

“I don’t know that I’m a businesswoman, dad. Even if I wanted it, I don’t think I’d be any good at it.” You admitted.

“I’m not trying to get you to take over, no. If I thought you wanted that, that it would make you happy then I would but I can tell it’s not your calling. But you need something. All you do is save people. You don’t even have any hobbies really.”

“That’s not true.” You insisted.

“Your fiancée is a fellow Avenger, your friends are all hero’s or vigilante’s or connected to that life in some way. You need a life Kit Kat, you need something else. You can’t let being an Avenger consume you.” He told you.

You tried to think of something in your life that didn’t come back to the Avengers but you couldn’t. Even your secret hobby of killing people with Wade was about killing bad guys, with a vigilante.

“I don’t know if I can ever do something normal.” You said sadly.

“You can’t. Nothing you do could ever be anything less than extraordinary. But it has to be yours, and just yours. Go traveling, take up painting, go to college, open a book shop. Whatever you want sweetheart, but try and find something. Please?”

“Wait... Is this your way of firing me?”

“I love you but you are literally the worst intern we have ever had. Yes, you’re fired.”

You made a strangled noise of offense.

“Well since I am jobless, I guess lunch is on you.” You said, sulking.

“Leech.”  Tony rolled his eyes at you.

“Hurry up, I have to pick Peter up from school.” You told, getting up and rubbing your full stomach.

“Bossy leech.”

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

“How did your history paper go?” You asked Peter as he slid into the passenger seat.

“I got an A! Thanks for getting Mr Bucky to help me out.” He said, showing you the paper with the big red A on it proudly.

“He just talked your ear off for a few hours, you actually made it into a coherent paper. You earned that A.” You told him seriously.

He looked embarrassed but proud as you pulled out of the school parking lot.

“So I got fired.” You told him casually.

“What? They can’t do that, you’re a Stark. Did you tell your dad? Do you want me to tell him?” Peter asked in a rash, incensed that someone would dare fire you.

“He knows, he was the one who did it. Took me out for a nice lunch, like a last meal.” You sniggered.

Peter looked outraged on your behalf.

“It’s alright Spiderboy, I didn’t fit in there and he knew it. He wants me to go and figure out what I want to do with my life.” You said, sighing.

“Oh. Well, what do you want to do with your life?” Peter asked.

“I’m not sure. I sort of accidentally stumbled into having one at all and I’m not sure what I want to do except save people.”  

“There are other ways to save people that don’t involve punching Nazi’s. There are nurses, firefighters, police officers, caretakers, therapists. Even people like musicians or authors can help people. If you wanna help others you can find ways to do it.” Peter told you.

“Huh.” You hadn’t thought of it like that.

“Just figure out what you’re good at, what you can do well and enjoy.” He said wisely.

You smiled gratefully at him for his advice. He had given you a lot to think about and you mulled it over as you pulled up and parked outside the diner and got out of the car.

“Come on oh wise one, I’ll even get you some fries with your milkshake.” You said, ruffling his hair as he joined you on the sidewalk.

He playfully shoved you and you stumbled and glared at him. He choked back a snort of laughter at your expression.

“Oh you better run.” You snarled.

He took your advice and bolted, laughing loudly as he sprinted down the sidewalk. You grinned and gave him a head start before stalking after your prey.

How hard could it be to catch a spider?

You were too low down on the street to catch sight of the man stood on the roof upwind, watching you with narrowed eyes. He was always careful to make sure you never noticed him, you would never see him coming until he decided it was time and by then it would be far too late. He would stick to the shadows until it was time to rip your life apart.

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

Peter Parker is one of the characters who gets more of a spotlight in the sequel. What do you think about Tony and Peter's advice?

Weirdish question, remember when Baby Stark was interviewed for a magazine last chapter? What questions would you like to ask her? She might just answer and you could get a mention in the chapter. 

@nerdandproud-86 @harrison-shot-first@thejourneyneverendsx @thelostallycat @inquisitor-selvala@the-corruptor @iovher @kendrawr-kitkat @phoenix-whiskey-tears @the--real--wombat @buckitybarnes@fairislesheets@angieptt @meganjonezzzz @dugan365@fluffeh-kitty@memanda17 @krystallynx @theonelittleone@piscesbarnes@free-as-fishes @tarastudiesalot@captainamericasbeard@dropthepizza346 @jaynnanadrews@likes-to-smell-books@drdorkus @life-wanderer@metalarmlover @animegirlgeeky@jsmith509 @chipilerendi@nerdy-bookworm-1998@ericasabe @gravedollie666@madlykpopfan @l0kisbitch@mywinterwolf@sassysweetstories @life-wanderer @jessieray98@littledeadrottinghood

[dxmagedrose]

@ninetyscnds sent:

nightmare.

SOME ONE WORD PROMPTS  ||  OPEN

Brilliant lights passed over head — a medley of white and gold shining from above, so heavenly, so divine from the nonexistent rafters above her childhood home. She stared above, watching, knowing something was watching her back when the twisted laughter of Thomas and Lauren Hauley echoed out, running through the house's hallways as Rosa rushed through, her hand trailing over nostalgic but oddly churning and unfamiliar knots in the wood paneling.

"  —  M o m ? "   She called out, the sound of her gentle ringing laughter an old song that sang her to sleep so, so many years ago. Her mom's voice echoed, wavering and slipping as she called her name, sounding so close and yet so, so far away. She sounded happy, a memory of Rosa's she clung to, but something was wrong, something was off.                                                                                                        ( She could feel it. )

"   I    l o v e    y o u ,   g i r l s ,   "  came the harsh whisper of her father's last words to her and her sister the night he left. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight up, the feeling of her being so lost and confused that day hitting her like a tsunami again, knocking her to the hardwood floors. The ground began to move quickly beneath her feet, shaking and crumbling in a whirlpool of creaking floors falling off into a slowly widening hole in the middle of where the living room used to be. The house no longer looked like theirs, the childhood artwork of hers on the wall turned black with scribbled circular crayon lines, desperately winding down further and further into the back hole. Their smiling faces, hers, her mothers, her fathers, the best friends in her siblings on their broken photographs scratched over, black goo leaking from their eyes and noses, too much, too much, spreading down the walls and pooling along the floor. Their furniture was rotten, moldy and dark, abandoned years ago.

" D A D !   Just tell me where you are!"  She cried out, trying to scramble to her feet and check the rest of the rooms as the house closed in on her— l o c k e d, locked, locked, locked,locked,lockedlockedlockedlockedlocked—

"  —   D A D  !  "  Rosa screamed harder, the handle of her own old bedroom door wiggling far more than the others had. The house was sinking, piece after piece behind her dropping off into an empty abyss she couldn't see the bottom of. Light shone brightly from the other side of the door, beckoning her forth if she could only, ONLY —

She burst through the dark room, light running in through the windows. Her old bedroom was empty, with nothing but a single empty journal open on the floor, a feather soaking in blood red ink poured into small droplets on the mildew-y pages.                                                                           ( Her dad wasn't here. )

She could, however, still hear their voices, their laughter, bright and happy from out the window. She slowly approached, shielding her eyes as best as she could from the heavenly lights, peering down to see her family standing around her body, her corpse, hiked up on a cross, talking and laughing among themselves as the flames licked against her feet. They basked in the warmth of her burning flesh, grinning and laughing to one another in the glee of seeing each other again.

She screamed, she screamed as loud as she could, and as such, watched herself scream, catching her own gaze as she simultaneously looked up at her horrified self in the bedroom window and down at the blackened eyes of her burning corpse. She squeezed her eyes shut, hands rushing to her face, thisisntrealthiscantbereal!  But she could still see it, could still see their  g r i n n i n g  faces as they watched her burn, could feel the heat scalding her ankles, bubbling up in blisters.

Harsh running footsteps came behind her and before she could turn around, crying out, her hair was pulled sharply and she was  d r a g  g e d  down the disappearing stairs, tumbling through the abyss until she saw tears in her eyes, gazing up again at another shining light, the only thing she was able to see in the emptiness. What's happening? A soft, broken cry of fear crawled through her throat again, staring up at the judgement of the heavenly light.

Y O U    D E S E R V E    I T  . . . 

The twisted black maws of distorted, indescribable creatures suddenly blocked her view, red hot scalding metal pokers gleaming in their thousands of empty eyes, yellowed rows of teeth twisting up into wicked grins of  H e l l. There were so, so many, and she tried to run, tried to hide, but she was frozen still, eyes widened in horror as her throat ran raw, horrible, nightmarish screams stopping in her throat as they shoved the metal through her skin, so broken it was lost to the blood bubbling through her lips, the sound of her cries just barely gurgling through. One after one they sank their unforgiving metal into her flesh, burning every square inch with an indescribable pain ripping through her.

In the darkness of their quiet motel room, the sharply twitching and frowning witch's restless sleep STOPPED with a bloodcurdling wail to wake both parties up, frantically ripping and clawing the sheets and clothes off of her skin as she tried to fight, tried to scramble her way out of their grip, to claw the metal rods out of her chest, to tear the raw fabric off her burning, torn flesh. She screamed, crying, tears in her eyes as she jumped awake. Her throat began to constrict in panic, and she quickly began to claw at her neck desperately, trying to pry the invisible force off of her as she began to hyperventilate, weeping at the fear paralyzing her entire body.

She saw it. She saw them. She saw where she was going. She saw kind of things they were going to do to her, felt the melting and piercing of her flesh beneath the heat, her voice rubbed so raw from the hellish screams ripping through her, pained croaks from the remnants of torture escaping her mouth...

She shakily placed her hands against her forehead, sobbing into the darkness of the motel room in pure horror, fingers trembling against her pale and sweaty face. She couldn't hear anything but her own wails in her ears, still couldn't see anything but her own burning body, the smell of the scorched fat in her nostrils, beaten and bloodied form beneath the monstrous figures. 

                                                                           ( She was paying the price. )

When the warm, calloused hands of the addict beside her reached out, her name called sharply from the dark, she shrieked louder at the figure next to her she couldn't make out yet. It took her a short minute of panting, gasping out and hyperventilating from absolute terror before she recalled that soft touch, the gentle warmth that was her companion.

" Luke, " Her mind reeled, reaching back out for his solid frame, her scream subsiding into soft shuddering cries as she recognized the safety of his arms — the motel bed beneath them, the locked door barring off any officers or dealers, warding sigils secretly hidden around the room — trembling as she pulled him close and buried her face into his shoulder, thin arms wrapping entirely around him. She gripped on to him tight, her breathing sharp and pained, quick and panicked against his ear, crying softly and weakly against his shoulder, her mind still reeling through the flashes of images, her parents laughing over her death in front of them, the sight of the gore and the carnage, the feeling of metal through her skin and muscles, bones snapped and lungs emptied...

That cold, hard-ass of a witch was gone in that moment. That lack of emotion in her dull eyes was replaced with the childlike fears of her bad dreams, so lost and scared all alone in the confines of her own mind

But she didn't know that it really was a dream. She didn't know how real it was, if she had actually been there beneath them, even momentarily, still imagining the trails of blood running down her form.

Her throat ached with effort, the sobs ripped through her labored panting still as she tried to order herself to be quiet, to pull away from him,  to   s h u t   u p  and silence her sniffles and sneezes; to cut her emotions up into those little pieces and organize them each in their own neat little boxes to be burned down on her own time, not on his.

But her eyes closed tightly shut as she drank in his gentle touch. His warm hands rubbing anxiously, cautiously against her back, her lungs hiccuping with uneven gasps and breaths as she groaned out her shuddering, horrified cries, listening in on his heartbeat to focus her attention on slowing down. Hatred for herself soaked into her momentarily as she bathed in his kindness, in his softness, burying a hand in his hair to grip him even closer to her. Completely ashamed of needing to be held, needing to be loved in that moment. It made her feel weak, pathetic, like that old little girl she used to be just wanting her dad to come back home to hug her again, not knowing why nobody wanted her anymore.

She sniffled against his steady form, holding him tightly.

"  T - thank  —  y-yo-u,  "  she barely managed to snort out, her chin wavering uncontrollably against him. She could feel her tears and snot staining his shirt, and, getting angry at herself, vehemently against the idea of needing someone, anyone to love her, to hold her, she sobbed harder, her iron grip squeezing him tighter. He didn't need to be here. She almost had preferred he wasn't. The idea of crying on his shoulder was so utterly humiliating, feeling like so much more of a low than the bone chilling cravings from sobriety in the morning of chemical dependence. She had never been touched like this. She'd never had her heart and stomach flip and churn against the still, comforting grasp of someone who knew her well enough, someone who was willing to be there with her through her worst nights. She nestled further into his chest, sniffling.

          "    I don't —                                                   — I don't w-want to die, Luke... "  she cried.

[starwarsnonsense]

Top 10 Films of 2018 (So Far)

Since I quite like continuing old traditions, I wanted to do a post rounding up what I consider to be the ten best films of 2018 so far. This list includes a few films that came out in 2017 in the US, since they were only released here in the UK this year.

Have you seen any of the films I cover below? Have I piqued your interest in a title you might not have heard before? Let me know, and do share your favourites too!

1. Annihilation, dir. Alex Garland

This was my most anticipated film of the year, and my hype for it was more than rewarded. This is a marvellously rich and transporting science fiction film that isn’t afraid of taking the viewer to some very weird places. However, Annihilation doesn’t simply rely on its strangeness to succeed - it is also firmly rooted in its characters and themes, which has made it incredibly rewarding to return to. Natalie Portman is fantastic as Lena, and Annihilation is a brilliant showcase for her - Lena is a complex and frequently self-destructive character, riddled by guilt and regrets that shape the pulsating, luminescent world of the mysterious ‘Shimmer’ that she has to venture into. The Shimmer might seem like an environmental phenomenon at first, but it’s really more psychological, being a space that adapts according to the people who enter into it. This film overflows with fascinating and thought-provoking ideas, and it was entirely worth the hike I made over to Brooklyn to catch one of the final showings at the theatre (since Annihilation was denied a theatrical release in the UK, I made a point of seeing it while I was on holiday in New York). I think it will go down as one of the great science fiction films, and it belongs in the same conversations as 2001: A Space Odyssey and Solaris.

2. Beast, dir. Michael Pearce

This little British film - shot mostly on location in Jersey by a first-time director - was easily the biggest (and best) surprise I’ve had so far at the cinema this year. I literally had no idea this film existed until a day or so before I watched it, and that made the experience of viewing it even more wonderful. Moll (Jessie Buckley) is an isolated young woman who is stifled by her controlling family and quiet life on a remote island, as well as a secret sin that bubbles away underneath the surface. Her life is predictable - safe, repetitive and dull - until she meets Pascal, a mysterious local man who she finds she has an affinity with. However, there is a murderer haunting the island, taking the lives of young girls in the night. Who’s to blame, and what impact will the killings have on Moll and Pascal’s swiftly escalating romance? While that is a synopsis more than a review, I felt it necessary to explain the premise to try and compel you to seek this one out. Beast is raw, woozy and utterly absorbing - the love story between Moll and Pascal is one of the most passionate and gripping you’ll ever see on screen, and their chemistry is simply sensational. There’s a real gothic, fairy-tale edge to the story which appealed perfectly to my (admittedly rather niche) tastes. This is a real hidden treasure of a film - do yourself a favour and make it your mission to watch it.

3. Lady Bird, dir. Greta Gerwig

This film was so, so relatable, despite my not really having experienced an adolescence anything like “Lady Bird’s”. While the details of her life are very different from mine, I think anyone can relate to the sweeping brushstrokes - the tensions that can arise between parents and children, the thirst for freedom and independence that builds the closer you get to the final days of school, and the feelings of love and loyalty that are always there even when they’re unspoken. Greta Gerwig captures all of this and so much more with marvellous delicacy, balancing little moments that add colour and spark with more serious scenes so deftly that it’s amazing to think that this is her first feature. Lady Bird is a very specific and very beautiful film, and it’s special precisely because it feels universal even as it feels small and personal to its director. 

4. Eighth Grade, dir. Bo Burnham

This is the perfect double bill with Lady Bird, and the people who have dubbed this film “Lady Bird Jr” are right on the money. Elsie Fisher has a real star turn as the heroine Kayla, who is a very special child - she’s kind, sensitive and thoughtful, which basically means she’s my kind of superhero. But even as she is a good and sweet person, she is also going through all of the trials you’d expect a 13 year old to be facing in 2018, as she wrestles with acne, confusing feelings about super-dreamy boys, and the escalating anxiety that comes with a comment-free Instagram post. Like Lady Bird, this film succeeds in being both very specific and highly universal - the only social media I had to deal with as a teen were MySpace and Bebo, and I found that seeing Kayla wrestle with a whole kaleidoscope of feeds, devices and platforms made her strong grip on her integrity as a  funny and deeply warm-hearted individual all the more remarkable. Bo Burnham, as with Gerwig, made a pretty incredible film here - in particular you should watch out for the father/daughter dynamic, which is my favourite part. Eighth Grade is funny and generous, and the perfect medicine if you’re feeling demoralised by the state of the world right now.

5. The Breadwinner, dir. Nora Twomey

The Breadwinner is a really lovely animated film telling the story of Parvana, a young girl living with her family under the Taliban. When her father is taken off to prison, Parvana sees no other choice but to dress as a boy to provide for her mother and siblings. But how long will her disguise last? The story here was what really gripped me - it’s very simple, in both the telling and the themes, but it is truly beautiful in that simplicity. The emotions are very raw, and this film goes to some shockingly dark places at times - while I think it can be watched with children as long as they are mature enough for some challenging themes and upsetting moments, it’s likely to speak most strongly to adult audiences with a fuller appreciation for the context in which the film is set. It’s a great and moving alternative to more mainstream animated efforts, and is well worth your time.

6. Phantom Thread, dir. Paul Thomas Anderson

This was a delightfully twisted film with an absorbingly complicated and twisty relationship at its centre. Vicky Krieps is an absolute marvel as Alma, and it’s wonderful to see how she battles to bring the fragile and austere designer  Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) to heel. It’s also a beautiful film with rather fabulous fashions - if you love couture, particularly from the ‘50s, this will be a real treat. I also appreciated the many allusions to classic cinema - there are strong shades of Hitchcock’s Rebecca, as well as the underrated David Lean film The Passionate Friends. Check this out if you like your romantic dramas weird and entirely unpredictable.

7. Revenge, dir. Coralie Fargeat

Revenge is angry, sun-soaked and batshit insane - and it is pretty great for all of those reasons. It follows Jennifer, the teenage mistress of a sleazy married man. After a horrifying assault Jennifer returns, phoenix-like, to wreak her revenge upon her attackers. This movie was very much inspired by exploitation flicks, with their penchant for showing scantily clad (and frequently bloody) women wielding shotguns to hunt down the brutes who did them wrong. However, first-time director Coralie Fargeat takes every one of those tropes and owns them, ramping up the blood and giving the action a propulsive energy that keeps you gripped even as you know exactly where things are going. The soundtrack here is also one to look out for - it’s all pulsating synths that do a great job of building the suspense and tension from the get-go.

8. Lean on Pete, dir. Andrew Haigh

This is a very painful film in many ways, but it’s only painful because it does such a great job of earning your emotional investment. The lead of this film is Charley, a sensitive and quiet teenage boy who becomes attached to an ailing race horse as he seeks to escape his troubled home-life. When he finds himself in crisis, Charley takes the horse and they head off on a journey across the American heartland. Charlie Plummer is extraordinary as the lead here - Charley is the kind of character that makes you want to reach through the screen so you can offer him a hug of reassurance and support. The photography of the American countryside is exquisite, and means this film really deserves to be seen on the big screen - the breadth of the landscape gives all of the emotional drama some (richly deserved, in my view) extra punch.

9. You Were Never Really Here, dir. Lynne Ramsay

This is a very weird film (you’re probably noticing a theme at this point) but it’s completely absorbing. It’s very much actor-led, and the film rests on the shoulders of Joaquin Phoenix’s gripping and unpredictable performance - in some scenes he’s muttering in deference to his mother like a modern-day Norman Bates, while in others he’s portrayed almost as a lost boy in an overgrown body, disorientated by his environment and engaging in acts of extreme violence as if in a sort of trance. The narrative is fuzzy and unfocused, but I didn’t find that mattered much since I was too busy following every evolution of Phoenix’s face.

10. Thoroughbreds, dir. Cory Finley

Olivia Cooke and Anya Taylor-Joy make fantastic foils to one another as two appallingly privileged teenagers whose obscene wealth is only matched by their resounding lack of morals. This is a film that plays with your loyalties, trying to wrong-foot you at every turn - it’s frequently difficult to figure out what’s genuine here, and while that did sometimes leave me feeling a bit emotionally detached that’s usually the point. This film is more of an intellectual puzzle than a lean, mean, emotion-extracting machine (see: Lean on Pete), and it succeeds brilliantly on that level. The simplicity of the story means the fun lies in picking apart lines and expressions, so go in prepared for some close viewing.

[adelmortescryche]

Halcyon Days (Evil Author Day III)

AN: And here’s my final post for EAD!  For those who aren’t familiar with EAD, Evil Author’s Day gives authors the opportunity to post WIPs guiltfree, with no promises attached. Meaning there’s no set date on when I plan to fully post or complete these fics, though they are WIPs.

This is the 3rd and final of three: 1, 2, 3

Warnings/Tags: Gen Fic, Crossover between KHR (Katekyo Hitman Reborn) and ES21 (Eyeshield 21). This was written... a while back? So the writing style is markedly different from what I use currently. *wry grin* It’s also a multichap fic.

Summary: Hiruma used to be an informant for the Vongola as a kid, but he wizens up and backs out of the temptation of mafia connections. Tsuna's on the run from the Vongola because he's tired of being treated like a monster in his Mafia Academy classes in Italy. While laying low in Tokyo, Timoteo offers him the opportunity to finish his education in Japan before returning to the Vongola, but only if he can find Hiruma Yoichi. 

(Queue a manhunt of epic proportions, because Hiruma? Does not want to be found. Especially not by the Vongola.)

Chapter One 

The incessant ringing had to stop.

There were no two ways about it. If it didn’t stop, he would melt its source to a molten puddle on the ground.

Gritting his teeth painfully and holding a pillow protectively over his head, one Sawada Tsunayoshi, tenth heir to the illustrious Vongola Famiglia, tried not to wail at the ear-splitting sound that was being emitted by the gadget sitting on a shelf high above his head. Where it had been placed by him the night before, since he knew that he wouldn’t wake up on time if he placed it anywhere closer at hand.

Flinching at the unending sound, Tsuna slowly extricated himself from under his barrier of cloth and feathers, eyes still closed against the light streaming in through the windows. Dragging his legs out from underneath the quilt and carefully pressing his feet to the ground, he glared blearily up at the inappropriately cute lion themed clock ringing above him. That was the last time he was going to accept any innocent looking gifts from Haru, even if this one was supposed to be a housewarming gift. Pushing himself off of the bed, he reached up with a sigh, fingers easily locating the right button to switch the alarm off. Eyeing the time flashing down at him from between the grinning lion’s teeth, he pursed his lips.

Right on time to start getting ready, of course. He’d made the right decision while putting the clock up so high.

Which wasn’t to say he wouldn’t like another, say, two hours of sleep. Of course.

Rolling his eyes at himself, he made his way to his closet, wondering what he should wear for the day. Something that wasn’t too eye-catching, definitely. No overly bright colours. And nothing too black, either. He needed to look normal, however difficult that seemed off late. Normal was good. Normal was what college students needed to be. And that was exactly what he was, as of his discussion with the Ninth a few days ago.

Just your average eighteen year old, joining up for his first day of college at Enma University.

*

Tugging his grey, hooded jacket a little closer around his form, Tsuna had to control the wide smile that was threatening to break out on his face. He’d stepped through the large gates of his new University, eyes focused on the ground and more than a little nervous and uncomfortable, but he’d been completely overlooked by anyone and everyone walking past. A few years ago, that might have made him feel resigned and even a little hurt, but currently, he felt like standing on a rooftop somewhere and cheering.

He’d been right. Joining a university in Japan had been the best decision he’d made in his entire life. This was so much better than going for classes in the Italian University he’d been enrolled in along with Gokudera. No one knew him here, and there was enough distance between here and Namimori that there weren’t any ugly rumors that had carried over from his high school days, either.

The sudden explosion of noise from a few meters away made him stumble back in shock. Turning apprehensively towards the admission boards and cursing his ability to find trouble everywhere he went, he couldn’t help but gape at the sight of two seniors tossing a freshman high in the air while two other freshmen screamed from below. Figuring that it could only be in his best interests to avoid such situations, he slowly backed away, keeping his eyes warily focused on the strange scene until he reached the main building, immediately ducking inside once he was certain he wouldn’t attract any untoward attention.

Once he had gotten as far away from the grounds as possible, he leaned back against a wall, breathing in deeply and wondering if he hadn’t made a mistake in coming to this university, after all. He’d considered Saikyoudai earlier, but his instinct had all but screamed for him to consider another option. Honestly, he didn’t think he could get the kind of grades Saikyoudai usually expected of its students, so he figured that it was for the best. But, even with his intuition telling him not to go anywhere near the much-touted ‘genius’ school, he still felt like he was making a mistake not going there.

Finally, after thinking over the issue, he’d decided that Enma would be the more comfortable option, as it had fewer constraints over the students. And, anyway, Saikyoudai was still relatively close by, so he could always check it out later.

Pulling away from the wall, he took a deep breath to calm himself down and then looked around. Which way to the office, again?

*

His quest to track down the office was taking a lot longer than he’d expected, seeing as he had managed to get himself utterly lost in his earlier unease. Sighing, he figured that it would be best if he back tracked the way he came back to the grounds, and see if he could find someone that could point the way out to him. Thankfully, that took a lot less time than tracking through the building itself.

He’d barely taken a step out into the grounds, though, when he heard a loud yell, telling him to get out of the way. Blinking, he glanced up, and tried not to scream when he noticed the slim figure running at full-pelt towards him. Too fast to stop. Too fast for him to even consider getting out of the way.

The crash that resulted was bad enough for both of them to get catapulted straight back into the main building. Tsuna tried to twist both himself and his unexpected assailant into a better angle, but they were inevitably covered in scratches and bruises when they finally screeched to a stop, colliding against a wall.

The low groan of pain that escaped from his throat was echoed by the teen that had collapsed on top of him. Obviously male; there was no scope for confusion with the way they were tangled together after their collision.

“Crap… I’m so sorry! I didn’t think I wouldn’t be able to stop, my shoes aren’t-”

Tsuna winced, and tried not to laugh right after at how ridiculous the situation was. The teen had somehow pried himself away and was waving his hands energetically, looking horrified, and more than a little embarrassed, his brown hair horribly mussed up from the tumble they had taken down the hall.

The hilarity of their predicament didn’t stop Tsuna from noticing the foreign expletive at the beginning of the other teen’s garbled apology, though.

“It’s okay, you obviously didn’t crash into me on purpose,” he offered wryly, smiling when the brunet stopped to grin awkwardly back at him.

“I don’t usually crash into people like this. I was late for a meeting, and I’d been looking around for my friends. I didn’t notice you when you stepped outside.”

“Like I said, it’s – ow – okay. Help me up and we can forget about this.” Tsuna flinched at the raw feeling in his wrist. And his back, since he’d been the one to hit the wall first. He couldn’t feel anything in his legs, since they’d gone numb, but he got the feeling that one of his ankles might be twisted.

What a great first day of college. And he hadn’t even figured out whether the management would let him enroll without giving the entrance exam, yet.

“Yeah, here-” the deceptively slim hand that wrapped around his arm right above the elbow smoothly guided him up to his feet, the teen easily lifting himself up at the same time. As they stood dusting themselves off, Tsuna couldn’t help but notice that his assailant was around the same height as him, and both of them had a similar build as well. And, if the small glances and bemused expression on the other’s face were any indication, he wasn’t the only one to notice.

“I’m Sawada Tsuna.” He offered impulsively. The teen looked up at him, the process of dusting off his jeans, and grinned.

“Kobayakawa Sena.”

Once they were done ensuring they were relatively clean and could move around comfortably, Tsuna looked behind him with a sigh. The questioning glance from the other brunet made him smile self-deprecatingly.

“I’d actually been coming outside because I couldn’t track down the office earlier. Do you know where it is, by any chance?” But the apologetic expression on his face immediately told Tsuna that the other teen had no idea where to go, either.

“You could come along with me, I’m sure one of my friends might know where to find it.”

Tsuna considered the offer, then shook his head with a sigh.

“No, I should get going. I’ll look around a bit more and see if I’m any luckier this time…”

“Well, I think I’ll be out on the football field. If you still can’t find it, I’ll help you look. It’s the least I can do for crashing into you like this.”

Both teens grinned at each other, mutually amused with their odd encounter, before turning and heading off in opposite directions.

Tsuna considered the strange, slight teen, and after noting the speed the teen was capable of in his mind, he carefully tucked the encounter away to think about later. Reborn had always taught him to keep the environment in mind, wherever he was. And, even if all he was trying to do was lead a normal college life over here until he had to return to Italy and the mafia, there was no telling what could happen. A freshman capable of the kind of speed necessary to leave even Tsuna unable to dodge definitely had to be remembered.

Growling at himself for the kind of thoughts he was having, he shook his head and shoved any mafia related thoughts out of his mind. He didn’t have the time to think about these things, and he didn’t even know the other teen all that well. He was probably just as normal as any other Japanese teenager, just a little faster than usual.

…

Okay, a lot faster than usual, but all the same. He didn’t have the time for this, he needed to find the office and convince them to let him enroll, somehow.

He was almost regretful about stopping Shoichi from hacking into the university database and entering his name into the list of accepted students, but he immediately shoved that thought away as well.

Normal. Was that so difficult to be, after the kind of things he had gone through in the last couple years?

*

To his relief, he did manage to find the office this time around. And surprisingly, it hadn’t even taken much convincing to let him enroll. The principal had told him to come in early the next day to give the entrance exam, but he had assured Tsuna that writing the exam was only a token, and that he would be accepted into the university anyway.

Leaving the office building and feeling more than a little uncomfortable with the fact that he had gotten in so easily, he quickly walked across the grounds towards the main gate. He’d been informed that the first day wasn’t much more than a meet-and-greet, giving them the opportunity to explore and acclimatize themselves to the grounds. But, the discomfort that still remained, both from the discussion with the principal as well as from the fall he had taken earlier, made him wish for nothing more than to get back home and sleep the rest of the day away.

Fate was never kind enough to let things go his way, of course.

The loud screech of a car coming to a halt right in front of him made him jump back in surprise, and he wasn’t given much of a chance to get his bearings right before he was hailed by the driver, who lithely threw himself over the side of the convertible.

The very red convertible. That was attracting far too much attention from other college students as well as people that were simply passing by, but not nearly as much as its driver, who was dressed about as eye-catching-ly as he usually was. 

“JUUDAIME!”

Tsuna paled instantly, and he didn’t stop to think, instead speeding forward to grab his loud friend by the wrist, dragging him back to the car and shoving him into the driver’s seat. Without further ado, he tossed himself into the passenger seat and tersely told the Gokudera to drive. Thankfully, he didn’t need much prompting. They were back on the roads before any spectators had the chance to memorize their features.

They didn’t speak until they were back at Tsuna’s apartment complex, and Tsuna ignored Gokudera’s increasingly pained glances until they were past his front door.

Once the lock was in place, he turned to stare at the fidgeting teen.

“What are you doing here?” he asked tightly, though he kept his face carefully blank. Gokudera didn’t shift his gaze away from the ground, though the expression that slid onto his face was all too stubborn.

“I’m here to help you, if you need me. I’m supposed to be your-”

“Yes, yes. My right hand. Which I agree with wholeheartedly, but you were already attending classes back in Palermo, in a very good university, so what are you doing here?”

Gokudera looked up to give him a very characteristic scowl, and Tsuna had to fight the exasperation that the expression gave rise to.

“I’m here for my own reasons; you shouldn’t neglect your education-”

“I’m not. I managed to get myself enrolled in Oujou University.”

Tsuna’s eyes almost bugged out. Oujou University? Oujou? The same Oujou that was supposed to have an entrance exam that was nearly impossible to get through? Of course, he knew just how intelligent Gokudera was, so he wasn’t surprised that he had managed to get into such a high level institution. Then again…

“I’m surprised you didn’t consider Saikyoudai.” He mused, strangely disappointed. If he had, then Tsuna wouldn’t have needed to keep and eye on the university at all; Gokudera would have been completely capable of finding any information that was required.

“I actually did. But, I heard a lot of troublesome students got enrolled last year, and that they’re expecting even more trouble this year. I didn’t think you’d want me to attract too much attention to myself, so I went with the more low-key option.”

Gokudera’s eyes were sharp, and Tsuna couldn’t contain the smile that slid into place on his face.

“Then, Oujou’s definitely the better option. Good call, Gokudera-kun.”

The sharp look was instantly traded for a beaming, giddy expression that made Tsuna laugh. He toed off his shoes, gesturing for Gokudera to do the same before showing him around the apartment. He listened intently as Gokudera described the apartment that he had taken up, surprisingly nearby to Tsuna’s, as well as Oujou’s grounds. Tsuna was actually a little relieved that he wouldn’t be going to Oujou, himself. The place sounded very rigid. When he asked why Gokudera hadn’t decided to follow him into Enma, the silver haired Italian looked a little embarrassed.

“I didn’t think you would want me to attend the same university, Juudaime, since we would attract a lot more attention if we were together. I’d definitely prefer attending the same university, though, since that would be safer.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything that could hurt me over here, Gokudera-kun.” Tsuna said patiently. And pointedly didn’t think of the way he had flown down a hallway and then crashed into a wall just an hour or so earlier.

Gokudera stared at him, the sharp look from earlier back in his eyes, but finally, he just huffed and leant back against the couch, looking irritated. Tsuna turned his face back to the sitcom running on the television, considering the battle won for now. He knew that Gokudera wouldn’t fight against anything he said, but that would hold good only as long as Tsuna took care of himself. The moment any trouble reared its ugly head, Tsuna wouldn’t be surprised if Gokudera managed to find some way to transfer himself over to Enma.

 Of course, if the situation ever got that bad, he knew that he would only be relieved for the additional company and support.

 “What about everyone else?”

 Gokudera hummed thoughtfully, before rolling his eyes. He looked even more irritated than before, if that were possible.

 “Exactly where they were before. The baseball idiot’s still in the US, and the lawn-head’s still running all over the place on that training trip that Colonello put him on. Though I heard a new rumor, that it’s gotten connected to the Varia in some way.”

Tsuna’s eyes narrowed immediately. He’d have to get in touch with Reborn and see if he could get the Arcobaleno to part with any information on that front, since no one else would be able to give a clear answer. His only other option would be to get in touch with either Ryohei or Xanxus, and he was all too sure that neither would be willing to give him any answers. Ryohei wouldn’t tell him anything about the training trip because Colonello would have told him not to. And Xanxus was, well… Xanxus. The man wouldn’t give him any information if he could help it. He wouldn’t give any information even if he couldn’t help it.

“As for the others, Hibari and Lambo are both still in Namimori, and Chrome’s still in Italy. She’s still lying low at the estate, but you can never say with her. Or Mukuro.”

Tsuna nodded in understanding, trying not to smile at how sour Gokudera’s expression was. Obviously because no one else had dropped everything and come running back to Japan right after him. As they were ‘supposed to’, Gokudera would say, and follow it with about a dozen expletives in Italian that Tsuna would pretend he couldn’t understand.

He carefully diverted his explosive storm guardian’s attention back towards the sitcom, and distracted him with questions about what courses he had taken up at the university.

Later, once Gokudera had left, though only after promising repeatedly that he would be back the next day, Tsuna collapsed bonelessly into his bed, wearily turning himself around to stare up at the ceiling.

He really didn’t understand how his supposedly normal, unassuming day of college had managed to go so pear-shaped.

Forcing any and all thoughts out of his head, the brunet sighed, and turned again, tiredly burrowing into his pillows. It felt like a million years had passed since morning. He could use the sleep. If nothing else, by the time he woke up, he would only need to eat and then get some more sleep before getting ready for the next day.

Joy. He was looking forward to it already.

[moiraineswife]

Do you have any Autistic!Rook headcanons you would like to share??

AS IT HAPPENS. I HAVE SEVERAL. BECAUSE THIS AS A CONCEPT DELIGHTED ME WHILE READING. HERE WE GO: 

(I would like to note that i am NOT reading this as a catch-all ‘fair folk in general are autistic’ bc a)- I don’t think they all do, Rook is specific and unique in this regard, and b)- I dislike the idea of just ‘all these inhuman characters are autistic’ bc icky associations with autistics then being inhuman...which we are not) 

ODD DISCLAIMER OVER. ONWARDS AND UPWARDS. 

Rook + Cat Metaphors: 

This sounds like an odd place to start but it was legit my favourite thing. Cats are fairly often associated with autistic people, as it happens, and are a generally more accepted symbol for it than...Other unspeakable things. Not getting into that, though, there were two things that made me die with delight...Which I will now explain: 

And yet looking at Rook Iimagined a cat proudly bringing its master dead chipmunks, only to watch thetwo-legged oaf lift these priceless gifts by the tail and fling them unceremoniously into thebushes.

Cats, like autistic people, generally have their actions/behaviours misunderstood. What they see as giving affection tends to be met with a reaction contrary to what they were expecting. See: above. 

Through it all Rook wore anexpression of aloof perplexity, as a cat might watching its favorite furnitureget moved about without its permission.

This one was The Best. Cats, like autistic people, typically have big problems with change, and can actually become genuinely stressed out/ill with changes in their household being made, such as moving the furniture around. Rook just being ???? ‘why are we doing this’ was too much. 

Then he strode right overand, in one smooth motion, insinuated himself into the bed next to me, facingme, under the covers, with the bold and unselfconscious vanity of a cat sittingdown on an open book.

I can’t explain exactly why this strikes me as being connected to an autistic thing but it just...It just does. and it’s another cat metaphor I deeply enjoy. 

Right, self-indulgent enjoyment of cat metaphors out the way, here are many more things: 

Difficulty Identifying Emotions/Trouble with Social Cues: 

“How can this be,” he said to himself quietly. That wasall it took; I gave a strangled sob. He crouched and scrutinized my face, whichI’m sure at that moment looked anything but attractive. “What do you require?”

Rook being baffled by the human notion of having to cook things is one thing, but the way he scrutinises her is more telling for me. Isobel gets caught up in thinking that she probably doesn’t look too attractive at this moment in time, but I’m pretty sure Rook is just trying to...Figure out wtf she’s feeling/how he should respond to this. And his response is deeply pragmatic. He doesn’t respond to her emotional needs/reactions, purely her practical ones. (There are a LOT of examples of this, I won’t go through them all) 

As an aside here, this is where I think Rook differs from other fair folk, and what tips him onto the spectrum. He isn’t human, so it’s reasonable to assume that human emotions are something he struggles with. But the thing is that the other fair folk who have experience with humans are much better at this than he is. The entire plot revolves around Gadfly knowing Isobel well enough to predict how she’ll respond to his promptings, so he can manipulate her into doing what he wants. 

Lark is also a good example of this. Before meeting Isobel, she had no contact with humans whatsoever. However, in a relatively very short space of time/very limited experience, she’s able to understand Isobel’s reactions/ways of displaying emotion and translate them to recognise other situations they should be used in. (She witnesses Isobel crying, understands it’s a display of sadness/upset, and correctly mimics it during her apology, because she understands that’s an instance where that emotion should/can be correctly applied) 

So the fair folk quite obviously have the capacity for recognising and understanding human emotions, as well as understanding how to respond to them. Rook, however, has definitely had contact with humans before, and has had enough of it to enable him to fall in love with another human before Isobel, but remains utterly hopeless at identifying her emotions. 

He drew in a breath. “I know it’s—wrong, that I care so much aboutthe pin. I can’t explain it. It’s—”

“It isn’t wrong.” My voice was so soft I barely heard myselfspeak. “Rook, it isn’t. It’s just human.”

This I’m saying is an example of Rook not being able to identify his own emotions (alexithmya) which is fairly common among autistic people. (Isobel’s response would be a tiny bit grating if Rook was canon!autistic, but given that he’s not, and given how ‘human emotion’ gets lumped together in this book, I’m dealing with it.) 

I whirled around. “Your blood did this.”

Rook stood watchingme, a conflicting clamor of emotions in his eyes: fascination observing myhuman response. Hope that I would find what he had created beautiful. Andbeneath that, sorrow, as raw as an open wound.

Desperation flashed across his features. He struggled to composehimself, but couldn’t. Finally he turned on his heel and put his back to mewith a dramatic billow of his coattails, drew his sword a few inches, and pretended toinspect the blade.

The way that he ‘observes’ her response, as though learning (which he likely is) consciously how to interpret her...But also the fact he has no idea how to process/regulate/respond to HIS OWN emotions, and that he retreats to something familiar to avoid looking at Isobel, and also to calm himself down. 

“You could offer to sleep on the floor, like a gentleman.”

He appeared horrified by the suggestion.

I love this bit, bc for all the fair folk are very much concerned with politeness and proper behaviour, this one is just...Totally lost on him. Like excuse u why would I offer to sleep on the floor Isobel??? The floor is hard and uncomfortable? How does this prove I am a gentleman? How is this polite??? Isobel I think this is impolite, that you would suggest I sleep on the floor. Do you not like me Isobel??? Do you not want me to be here?? Isobel?????? 

“And I’m not certain you’re in any state to protect me,” I wenton, sensing a lost cause. “Just now you were almost assassinated by a teapot.”

“Isobel.” Rook looked at me gravely. “Isobel, listen. The teapotis of no consequence. I can defeat anyone, at any time.”

“Oh, is that so? That’s the truth?”

“Yes,” he replied.

 I love the teapot line, you love the teapot line, we all love the teapot line. But I just...love the way that he talks. The pattern of it strikes me as an autistic thing. Just the way that he talks. And the very simple answer that he gives ‘yes’ it’s just a kneejerk thing, he doesn’t even think about it. (I know fair folk have to tell the truth, but that doesn’t mean that they have to answer questions like this) 

Especially when this one is definitely rhetorical. Because she knows full well that he’s speaking the truth, because he can’t lie. But this is another missed social cues thing: Isobel asks a question, Rook answers it. 

“Have you ever stopped to think that just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should?”

His eyes narrowed. “No,” he said.

 Same thing here. 

Comfort Objects/Stimming: 

He patted at his chest in alarm and then ducked to hunt throughthe wildflowers. This wasn’t the leisurely search of someone who’d lost apocket watch or a handkerchief. Rather, heclawed at the ground with a wide-eyed desperation that could be inspired onlyby the loss of a priceless and irreplaceable treasure. When he found it, hegripped it tightly in his hand. He moved his thumb to the hidden clasp. Butthen he stopped himself, remembering I was there, and started to put it in hispocket instead.

My heart hurt for him. It was painful to watch Rook reduced to this over something so small. He cared moreabout that pin than most people cared about everything they owned in the world.

I know the raven pin has sentimental significance because it was a goodbye present from his lost love, but this just reminds me of the panicked search for a lost comfort object, something which a lot of autistic people have. (Especially with the way his thumb moves towards the clasp even after his found it, which could definitely be a stim, because it’s clearly a habit he uses to soothe himself)  

Speaking of stimming...

His hand had wandered to myhair, and he spread it out on the moss, combingthrough the strands with his fingers until it gleamed as straight and smooth asit could get. It seemed impossible that someone who had lived for hundreds of years and hunted fairybeasts for sport could find this entertaining, but his expression wastransfixed. 

That’s definitely what this is. 

“What a lovely bird,” Irepeated in a syrupy voice. “Yes, you’re the loveliest bird.” I stroked hisback. He made a pleased muttering sound in his breast. Soon his smug silenceindicated that he was quite content to remain as he was, so long as I continuedmy praise.

and this tbh. 

Literal Thinking: 

“Rook,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “before I get up,you have to promise to never touch me again without my permission.”

“I can touch whomever I please.”

“Have you ever stopped to think that just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should?”

His eyes narrowed. “No,” he said.

“Well, this is one of those things.” I saw he didn’t understand.“Among humans it’s considered polite,” I added firmly.

A muscle jumped in his cheek, and his smile had faded. “Well, thatdoesn’t sound in the least reasonable. What if you were being attacked, and Ihad to touch you to save your life, but I couldn’t because I needed to requestyour permission first? Lettingyou die wouldn’t be polite.”

“Fine. You can touch me in that case, but every other time youneed to ask.”

 I really love this bit. She knows he doesn’t get what she’s saying, so she rephrases it somewhat to something that he will understand. But I love his response even more. He understands what she’s saying, but he still doesn’t quite GET it. And his brain goes immediately, (and often), to practical thoughts. 

She puts this rule in place, and he immediately starts...Not looking for loopholes, but considering the practical problems that it might pose. What if they’re in danger and he has to save her life? She would never have considered this as being unreasonable, because she would expect him to adapt, and realise that is a situation when it’s acceptable to touch her, because of the risk it poses. But he needs her to accept that as a limitation, and see his way of thinking. And they reach this...Little compromise that weaves through the rest of the story. Which I like a lot. 

Before I could find my voice and ask him to set me down, hedropped me like a hot coal. I landed inthe wildflowers with an undignified whump. Horrified, I squashed my legs together, hunchedinward with my arms clamped over my chest, and stared up at him. He looked asaghast as I did.

“Why did you just—” I began, at the same moment he blurted out:

“You stopped being in peril, and I couldn’t touch you any longer!Are you all right?”

 This harks back to their earlier promise, and poses some potential problems in the literal thinking category because there’s fair folk no lying/keeping promises magic wrapped up in it. But I think it’s still an expression of the way Rook’s mind works. I’m fairly sure other fair folk would have been able to work around their promise by telling themselves Isobel was still in enough danger to merit them touching her (still being naked and vulnerable in the spring court) but Rook is just....Too literal for that. 

“A fire, to start with. Some . . . some branches tomake a spit out of, I suppose. Or maybe we could cut it up and skewer it? I’venever cooked a rabbit outdoors before.” I might as well have started reciting an incantation. “Wood,” Irevised for him. “Some kindling about this size”—I spread my hands—“and a long,thin, sturdy stick with a pointy end.”

“Very well.” He rose. “I will bring you your sticks.”

 This isn’t strictly literal thinking but goddammit I love the ‘I will bring you your sticks’ line. But it also is. Isobel reels off her instructions and he just gets up and off he goes to get her what she needs. No muss, no fuss

. It’s also an example of rigid thinking. Isobel gives him a set of clear, precise instructions, and he follows them to the letter. (And I can get this in with APD, and the struggle to follow verbal lists, given his confusion of her initial explanation of what she needs. Once she gives clear, concise instructions, which she also pairs with a visual demonstration of what she wants, he understands and obeys) 

He halted just as he was about to disappear, shoulders stiff.“Will that be all?”

A devilish part of me wondered how far I could push him. If Ipretended it was necessary for my Craft, could I command him to stand on hishead or turn in a circle threetimes while he prepared the hare? Only my empty stomach’s increasingly urgentdemands prevented me from having some fun at his expense. “For now,” I replied.

 She probably could have done tbh. Not to say Rook, or autistic people, are incapable of critical thought but it’s more...A combination of literal thinking, and the struggle with reading people’s intentions. Isobel knows about this thing, and he does not, he has no reason to assume she would lie about what she needs, and without any knowledge of the required steps involved in cooking, and also without the inclination to suspect Isobel of having any intentions that aren’t purely practical/are in any way malicious, he’d probably be inclined to do whatever she asked, see: ‘I will bring you your sticks’. 

Organisation/Piling: 

However, as I crunched afterhim through the brambles, which disintegrated at a touch, my eyes fell on theneat pile of twigs and leaves he had taken from my hair—and despite myself Ismiled.

I love this little detail, too. Because not only did he pick the twigs and leaves out of her hair, but he further felt the need to pile them up neatly instead of just dumping them on the ground as twigs and leaves tend to be. This one is a little stereotypical but it’s also not false (and is a thing i know I would unconsciously do as well, so you know...) 

Difficulty With Empathy/Responding to Emotional Upheval: 

Grief smashed through my final defenses like a battering ram. Igave a strangled sob, so tired I couldn’t tell if my scratchy, aching eyes owedthemselves more to exhaustion or tears.

Rook sank onto the end of thesettee. He hesitated, then peeled his coat off and laid it over me. It was warmand smelled of him. Overwhelmed by his gentleness, I began weeping again inearnest. He drew back in alarm, clearly thinking he’d made things worse.

“Er,” he said. He patted the nearest part of me he could reach,which was my foot. “I apologize for . . . that. If you wouldstop crying now,” he added, a trifle desperately,with a note of princely command.

 This was the part that officially finished me. He knows Isobel is upset, and that he should do something to help/wants to help, but isn’t quite sure what to do. He also misreads her renewed crying, assuming that he’d done the wrong thing in giving her his coat. And then we reach the foot patting which is just...A hilarious ‘rules gone wrong’ type thing (Internal Rule: Human is upset - pat the human, this makes them better. Application: *Rook pats Isobel’s foot* A+++ Comfort Skills) 

And it’s all topped off by ‘If you would stop crying now’ which is just....The most wonderful response to a crying person EVER (and also mirrored in the way he orders her to get control of herself when she’s laughing hysterically over the hare incident near the beginning of the book). The desperation is perfect too, it’s like, I know this crying is an expression of your upset, and I don’t want that to be the case, I don’t know what to do, it’s making me uncomfortable please stop I don’t know how else to help you. 

The confusion in ‘I apologize for...that’ is good too bc he’s like ???? Isobel ???? Isobel what am I apologising for????? Isobel I did the right thing ???? Isobel why are you like this I do not understand. 

(the princely command is amazing too, like, maybe if I give it as an order that’ll work. Like we have transcended comfort here, he tried that, that didn’t work, now he’s just moving on to other ways of dealing with a situation. Which is grand in a practical problem but...Not ideal when it comes to emotional ones) 

OKAY. I THINK THAT’S ENOUGH TO BE GOING ALONG WITH. 

TL;DR: Rook is my precious autistic bean and this headcanon improved my enjoyment of this book by approximately 10000% bc god bless characters I can relate to on this level tbh. 

((As a fun side note: I also read Isobel as autistic, and did so before I did Rook. I think if she wasn’t set beside Rook, this would be far more obvious, but it’s still there with her. And honestly, I’m tripping over hc rep in this book and I’m Delighted. BLESS U FOR THIS QUESTION)) 

[luthientinuviiels]

quiescent (post gotg vol. 2 fic)

After everything - Nebula, Ego, those few awful minutes where she was sure Peter was dead - Gamora has a lot to think about. Preferably while using Peter as an exhausted but willing pillow.

(Alternately  I went into this movie expecting an amazing time and came out BRUTALLY DESTROYED BY FEELINGS.)

It’s quiet in the ship, the unnatural sort of quiet that follows the loud clamor of battle, usually leaving empty echoes of blaster fire and explosions ringing in Gamora’s ears. This time, however, the echoes are drowned out by the steady thump of a half-human heart beneath her cheek, a simple sound that brings her more happiness than she’d thought something so small could.

Her arms tighten imperceptibly where they’re wrapped around Peter’s chest, and she lives in the steady rise and fall of his chest. She’s sprawled on top of him, carefully positioned to avoid the various injuries they collected.

It’s more for his benefit than hers.

To his credit, the worst of the visible injuries he’s sporting is the jagged gash that spans his forehead to cheek, from where Ego’s hit cracked his mask open. She takes a moment to both hate the Celestial with a fiery passion and remind herself that they need to get a replacement for that mask sooner than later.

Peter has a penchant for trouble like that.

Apart from the same scrapes and bruises the rest of them are sporting, and the red rawness of his hands, Peter appears mostly unharmed. Gamora’s fingers ghost over the center of his chest before coming to rest, reminding herself that the skin beneath is smooth and unblemished, not burned and bloody and speared through with light-

Her grip tightens, and she has to remind herself to relax before she wakes him up. Much as she would love to see his eyes, the bright shade of green devoid of any of Ego’s toxic light, Peter needs rest to the point that it’s worrying. She’s still unsure of what exactly Ego did to him, but gathering that he was in the process of draining Peter’s life force, it makes sense that he’d be utterly exhausted. Which he was, barely making it two steps before collapsing heavily against her, the little color left in his face draining abruptly. So she lets him sleep where the others have left them in one of the ship’s old bunks, Peter’s arm a comforting where he clings to her waist in sleep.

She still wishes he would open his eyes. Her head is flicking between images of Peter strung up on Ego’s light, the ship exploding, and Peter’s lifeless body floating in space. Selfishly, maybe, but she’d really like Peter to drive those images away by flirting obnoxiously or telling her more stories about Terra.

It is sad, she thinks, that he often has to be drunk to tell those stories. She loves hearing of his childhood, imagining a smaller, gangly, more innocent Peter running around the fractured images she imagines Terra to look like. The only other times he tells her them are when his guard is completely down, his normally cocky grin unsure and almost timid as he opens up to her. She loves those moments.

Which is why she doesn’t understand why she’s always been so fast to walk away from them, especially when now, it’s a near possibility Peter will never open up to anyone again.

She takes a shuddering breath. That’s not true, and she knows it. Peter is far stronger than she gives him credit for, and he’ll bounce back. He’ll open up to her again because he’s stubborn and foolish and never knows when to quit, not when it comes to their family – to her.

Much unlike herself.

Gamora bites the inside of her cheek. It’s no secret that she’s guarded herself between tightly enforced walls formed from years under Thanos. She had to, to survive. The pain of those years is slow to fade, and she often fears his touch is something she’ll never shake.

She shudders, again taking comfort in the warmth of Peter beneath her.

She had to have those walls. To survive. It’s something she’s been telling herself, every moment since Nebula screamed at her in the caves of Ego’s planet.

You wanted to win. I just wanted a sister.

Is it true? Years of anger and pain and fighting and struggling to survive beneath Thanos, and Nebula had still wanted her as a sister?

And if it’s true…how could Gamora have failed to notice?

It’s a wake-up call, the uncomfortable, guilty painful kind. She’s prided herself for moving beyond her past, for keeping some semblance of the girl her parents raised all those years under Thanos. Through modification after modification, she prided herself on remaining Gamora. And she liked to think Gamora could, someday, be a person worthy of the love of her family.

But Nebula. She failed her, she failed her so badly. All those years and she never, not once, saw the struggle of her sister, made an effort to reach out to the girl just as wronged by Thanos as she was. She had to survive, yes, but-

If she had looked. If she had just reached out once to Nebula - maybe she wouldn’t have had to do it alone.

And that’s where her walls are leaving her, aren’t they? Alone. Like the little girl cowering in corner from Thanos and the grown woman staring at the destruction of a ship, every unspoken thing going up in flames. Leaving her and her walls alone.

A stinging warmth floods her eyes, and Gamora is horrified to find her nose running and her eyes blurry with welling tears. She takes a gasping breath, trying vainly to stop the shuddering of her chest as the past days crash down on her in full.

Warm fingertips brush gently beneath her eyes, and the arm around her back tightens. Gamora stiffens, glancing up to see the Peter’s bleary, sleepy eyes staring back at her.

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice cracked from sleep. “Gamora, what’s wrong?”

She takes another shuddering breath, blinking furiously against the tears. “Nothing,” she says, offering him a tremulous smile. “Go back to sleep, Peter.”

He shakes his head, awareness creeping slowly into his eyes. “No,” he murmurs. “Y’re a liar.”

She has a sharp retort, one she knows will silence him until he’s drifted back to sleep. But it dies on her tongue, between the images of the ship exploding and the reminder of being alone.  

“I’m just glad,” she finally says. “That you’re alive.”

Peter’s expression softens, and it takes everything in her not to pull away at the emotion she sees written across his face. Because Peter is more precious to her than words, but love is something she is so utterly unprepared to deal with it’s-

“M’ glad, too,” Peter murmurs, already drifting back under the pull of heavy exhaustion. “Glad you’re alive.”

Gamora shifts, making to rise and leave him to sleep more comfortably, but his arm tightens around her waist, the other coming up to trap her soundly against his chest.

Gamora feels a touch of exasperation to the whirl of emotions inside her. Though something inside her rebels at the idea of leaving his warmth, the steady sound of his heartbeat beneath her head - she’s already left part of his shirt damp with tears, and the last thing he needs is her lying on top of his probably-bruised ribs any longer. She prepares to wrestle her way out of his grasp – she’s stronger than him even when he’s not half-unconscious – but his words, barely audible as they’re whispered, stop her dead.

“Can’t lose you, too. Never.”

Gamora feels the traitorous tears build up behind her eyes again. She’s not the only one who fears being left alone.

In the end, it’s the stubborn pull to Peter inside her, the one that’s been growing stronger and stronger with each passing day since Xandar, that wins out.  She sighs, letting herself go limp and her head finds the spot on his chest where she can best hear his heartbeat again. Stupid, loving, beautiful idiot-

The sounds of the other Guardians moving around filter through the ship, muffled where they reach the bunks. Peter’s heart beats a steady drum in her ears, and she feels her own eyes flutter closed.

She’s not alone. It might do her good, she thinks, to enjoy that.

[welcometohellmouth]

Impossible

Credence Barebone x Reader

Rain fell fiercely, soaking the poor souls that passed by the dark streets in a hurry to just get home after a hard day of work.

His quiet, though watchful eyes stared at the people from above, blurred little ants that ran to escape the heavy water drops, same ones that hit against the thick window he stood by. His cheap hotel room was simple as himself; gray walls, lack of furniture and small bathroom with a tub that barely had space for his form.

He was a ticking bomb, but in his loneliness, he covertly learned how to control it.

He was out of radar and living in the shadows, gladly managing to escape Grindelwald’s grip. For all he knew, everyone in New York thought he was dead. At least he liked to think that way; deep inside he still had the feeling that the wizard knew about his whereabouts and that paranoid feeling of being watched never really faded away. Boston seemed like a good place to live, so far.

It was all going smoothly. No one minded him. He got a plain job and no one asked him questions, no one cared about where he was from, no one seemed to give him a second glance. It was much like New York itself…

… Until he met you.

You came along, pierced his heart and made yourself at home without any permission.

You were the woman who crashed into his life uninvited and ruined everything he worked so hard to sustain. Now it seemed as if to stop thinking about you, as simple as it sounded, was an impossible task. Your voice, your laugh, the way you would batter your eyelashes at him and blush whenever he looked at you the right way… Or was it wrong way? He did not even know.

Credence did not have a clue. He had never felt that way before.

He closed his eyes and sighed. It was not like him. What was happening?

All his life, Credence was deprived of love and affection. The closest he felt to cared about was when Tina saved him from his mother and when Mr. Scamander tried to help him, but that was a decade ago or more. He lost count.

These people were in the past, a past he wished to leave behind at all costs.

He did not need love. He was fine without it.

He could not trust anyone but himself.

So why did you insist on showing up? Or why was it that he often found himself inside the doors of the fancy club you sang at? Why did you want to destroy the walls he worked so hard to build back after feeling so betrayed by Mr. Graves, or whoever he thought was him?

He needed to let it go, to let you go.

He could not let you in. It had to stop.

He had to forget about you. He needed to push the thought of you away.

You did not know how long you spent looking at the same spot of the adorned mirror that reflected your exhausted complexion.

You saw him.

He did not notice you at all.

You could not stop the ironic chuckle that escaped your throat.

Since you turned sixteen… All those years you spent taking advantage of your stunning beauty, using men, making the rich give you all kinds of jewelry and luxurious gowns, shoes, taking you to the most expensive parties and clubs… You were charming, owner of a powerful and lovely voice, not to mention an actress of undeniable talent.

It was useless with him, though.

He simply did not see you.

You would get on stage with eyes that looked out for him and him only. Rare times, he would be there. In those days, it was as if the show was performed only for him. Nobody else existed in the crowd and still, every time your eyes met, he looked away, taking a nonchalant sip of whatever beverage he always had, his free hand inside his pocket, as if you were just a cheap act, as if you meant nothing.

You sighed, staring at your reflection once more, putting on a fake smile, the one that got you through every night.

How cruel life could be.

Months passed since you had last seen him.

It was crazy, you knew. A lady should not be doing this, but then again… Could you really be considered a lady? Who were you? You had no idea. Only thing you knew was that you always got what you wanted and right then, there was only one thing you wanted...

Him.

You were used to not seeing him for days, but he would show up at least once a week. Never gone for weeks, months! It was absurd! It was outrageous!

It was driving you insane.

You needed your dose of him and you had enough of the abstinence.

You knew you should not be doing what you were about to, but you felt crazed and acted as such. When you think you have nothing to lose, you are inclined to throw caution and common sense to the wind.

Footsteps were heard, louder and louder. Your heart raced. Was it he? You had second thoughts; biting one of your perfectly polished nails, you thought that if it was not him, maybe you should just leave and forget about this madness.

As the doorknob turned, though, you knew it was too late to go back.

After torturing minute of silence, you heard the door slide open. The pale moonlight lit up his face in the darkness as he moved.

You stared at him from across the room. As soon as his eyes fell upon you, he paused, a flash of shock showing through his stare.

You observed patiently, making no sound. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he took off his coat, let it hung up by the door, finally looking at you once more, and then out of his window. You leaned against his wall, staring at his ethereal complexion touched by the blueish rays of light.

“What are you doing in my room?” His deep, now steadier voice inquired, so cold and distant.

You knew you should feel discouraged by his words. You should be embarrassed. You probably should apologize and leave; you had intruded his place – it took you no more than a charming smile to the gatekeeper, an autograph and it was all needed to have his keys and a permit to get inside the building.You were out of line and you knew it.

You did not care, though.

You needed your dose of him. You wanted to look at him; you thought it would be enough to satisfy your heart.

Big mistake.

“I had to see you.” You stated, your enchanting voice faltering just slightly.

He hesitated. You watched the clash of feelings inside his eyes, but it was not long until that blank, expressionless look was back on his face.

He waited for you to speak, but no more words came. He closed his eyes, a hand running through his now disheveled, short but messy hair.

He had to push you away.

“Very well. You saw me. Please leave, now.”

Again, no words came from you. He took a deep breath. You were too persistent and he did not have the will to waste time with all of it. He was not like the men he thought you clung to. What did you want from him?

“Please do not let me ask you again.” Credence pressed on, noticing your coat and picking it up as if to give you a clue he was serious about it, opening the door and looking at his feet, waiting for you to move.

“Alright.” You whispered, sighing. Walking towards the door where he stood, you watched as he held out your coat for you to take, not even lifting his eyes to spare you one last glance.

It hurt. It hurt terribly and you fought the urge to press your hand to your heart.

“Y/N.” You spoke, so close that he could feel the lovely scent that came from your hair and clothes. It was somehow intoxicating.

He hesitated again. He should not care about it. He did not ask your name. In fact, he knew it from the many posters around town, posters that announced your shows, always showing your beautiful smiles and poses.

“Credence.” He murmured, his voice hoarse, raw.

Your heart skipped a thousand beats in one spare second.

It happened too fast… Before he could anticipate it, your hand reached out and touched his cheek tenderly. He hastily took a step back, as if you had burned him. You gasped softly, alarmed, recoiling and trying hard to ignore the sharp stab that assaulted your heart once more.

“Please leave, get out. Now! Get out!” His voice was louder and desperate.

You did not think twice and nodded nervously, storming out of the small apartment, tears streaming down your face as you hurried down stairs, walking out the building and running as fast as your heels allowed, the cold heavy rain striking every part of your body.

Credence breathed heavily, horrified. He stared at the opened door after a moment; his own heartbeats were painful inside his chest.

You probably hated him now.

It was probably for the good, as well.

So why did he feel so… Wrong?

He was about to run a hand through his hair again, but was stopped as he realized he was still holding your coat. He sighed, helplessly. He lived in a distant part of the town. It was a fact you had to cross a long way to reach him. Now you were out in the freezing rain in that ridiculously thin dress, most likely soaked to the bone. With no coat.

He grabbed his own coat and followed your steps the best he could. Luckily, your high, expensive and now ruined heels prevented you from going very far.

“Y/N!” He tried, calling out for you.

Your heart almost stopped, but you forced yourself to ignore his voice, walking faster instead.

Credence frowned, irritated. He definitely was not used to this. Where all people this confusing or was it only this woman?

Finally catching up, he hesitated before closing his hand around your slim arm and pulling you to a halt, accidentally making you spin and crash against his chest.

“Sorry, I…” He stared, blushing lightly.

“No, please save it.” You cut him, shakily. Your tears streamed down with the rain, ruining your make up. “You were in your right, I was completely out of line and I do apologize. Now, if you will excuse me.” You bowed shortly before turning around again to leave.

You did not go far, though, for he still had his soft, although firm grip on your arm.

“What?” You hissed, annoyed, feeling utterly humiliated and broken.

“You forgot this.” He stated, both now soaked from head to toe.

You looked at him and then at his hand, spotting your then ruined coat.

You blinked a couple of times, feeling a new wave of shame washing through… And laughed bitterly.

“Of course! Why, thank you, kind sir!” You exclaimed, feeling ridiculous. “And here was I, thinking you actually had come after me, that you were worried. No! You just wanted to return me a spoiled coat!”

He frowned. “I think the only spoiled thing here is you, miss.”

His words felt like a slap on your face. You tugged your arm free. “It was a mistake. I should never have come after you.” You spat, as a wounded animal, walking away again.

Credence had no idea why watching you go made him feel so lost.

“What do you want from me?” He shouted, frustrated.

You stopped as soon as you heard him; all your feelings needed an escape or else you would burst. What did you want from him? Did you hear him right?

All right then.

Turning around, you walked to him with determined steps, a look of pure anger in your face and he braced himself, sure that you would smack him or anything of the sort.

Stopping right in front of him, your delicate hands grasped fistfuls of his white shirt and you pulled him to a bruising, harsh kiss.

Suddenly the world stopped spinning and all sounds ceased for Credence. The cold rain had no effect against the burning fever your lips inflicted to him. Slowly and instinctively, his hands rested around you, still uncertain. One kiss followed the other, until you were both out of breath and broke apart, noticing people had started to give you disapproving looks due to the public display of affection.

“I have no money. No possessions. I am a no one.” He whispered, closing his eyes.

“I don’t care.” You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

He flinched lightly with the new contact. “I am not… I am not normal. I am not… safe. You do not understand.”

You lifted your head just enough to whisper in his ear. “I don’t care, Credence.” You sighed and the action brought shivers down his entire body. “Let me in.”

“I cannot. Please, I cannot.” He pleaded.

“What about what I want?” You pulled away, your hands still on his shirt. “Let me in… Credence, please!”

“I will never make you happy. There are so many secrets… Just please leave. Forget me.”

“How can I forget you… No, Credence. Please… Let me cherish you, love you and we will both be happy! You can make me happy! I care not about the money… And… And if you say you are dangerous… Is there people after you? I do not mind, we can go anywhere… P-Please!” You found yourself in despair without any clue of why. You felt him slipping away and for some reason, it broke your heart. Why could that be? When you knew so little about him?

Love? He only realized the importance of those words when they left your mouth, but it could not be helped. You had no idea of what he was. He was sure you would think differently if you ever found out.

He sighed, his hands trembling as he gently loosened your grip on him. His dark eyes found yours again and he handed you the coat, stepping away.

“Thank you…” He started, taking another step backwards. “Do not look for me anymore.” He said with a sad, almost imperceptible smile on his face. “Forget about me, Y/N. I am not who you think I am. Stay away from me.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you behind.

You stood in the rain, watching until he was out of sight. You felt as if he had stabbed your heart and left you there, to bleed.

It was over.

It was over before it had even begun.

[fantasticsoundtracks-blog]

Impossible ~ 1/2

Rain fell fiercely, soaking the poor souls that passed by the dark streets in a hurry to just get home after a hard day of work.

His quiet, though watchful eyes stared at the people from above, blurred little ants that ran to escape the heavy water drops, same ones that hit against the thick window he stood by. His cheap hotel room was simple as himself; gray walls, lack of furniture and small bathroom with a tub that barely had space for his form.

He was a ticking bomb, but in his loneliness, he covertly learned how to control it.

He was out of radar and living in the shadows, gladly managing to escape Grindelwald’s grip. For all he knew, everyone in New York thought he was dead. At least he liked to think that way; deep inside he still had the feeling that the wizard knew about his whereabouts and that paranoid feeling of being watched never really faded away. Boston seemed like a good place to live, so far.

It was all going smoothly. No one minded him. He got a plain job and no one asked him questions, no one cared about where he was from, no one seemed to give him a second glance. It was much like New York itself…

… Until he met her.

She came along, pierced his heart and made herself at home without any permission.

The woman crashed into his life uninvited and ruined everything he worked so hard to sustain. Now it seemed as if to stop thinking about her, as simple as it sounded, was an impossible task. Her voice, her laugh, the way she would batter her eyelashes at him and blush whenever he looked at her the right way… Or was it wrong way? He did not even know.

Credence did not have a clue. He had never felt that way before.

He closed his eyes and sighed. This was not like him. What was happening?

All his life, Credence was deprived of love and affection. The closest he felt to cared about was when Tina saved him from his mother and when Mr. Scamander tried to help him, but that was a decade ago or more. He lost count.

These people were in the past, a past he wished to leave behind at all costs.

He did not need love. He was fine without it.

He could not trust anyone but himself.

So why did that woman insist on showing up? Or why was it that he often found himself inside the doors of the fancy club she sang at? Why did she want to destroy the walls he worked so hard to build back after feeling so betrayed by Mr.Graves, or who he thought was him?

He needed to let it go, to let her go.

He could not let her in. It had to stop.

He had to forget about her. He needed to push the thought of her away.

She did not know how long she spent looking at the same spot of the adorned mirror that reflected her exhausted complexion.

She saw him.

He did not notice her at all.

She could not stop the ironic chuckle that escaped her throat.

Since she turned sixteen… All those years she spent taking advantage of her stunning beauty, using men, making the rich give her all kinds of jewelry and luxurious gowns, shoes, taking her to the most expensive parties and clubs… She was charming, owner of a powerful and lovely voice, not to mention an actress of undeniable talent.

It was useless with him, though.

He simply did not see her.

She would get on stage with eyes that looked out for him and him only. Rare times, he would be there. In those days, it was as if the show was performed only for him. Nobody else existed in the crowd and still, every time their eyes met, he looked away, taking a nonchalant sip of whatever beverage he always had, his free hand inside his pocket, as if she was just a cheap act, as if she meant nothing.

She sighed, staring at her reflection once more, putting on a fake smile, the one that got her through every night.

How cruel life could be.

Months passed since she had last seen him.

It was crazy, she knew. A lady should not be doing this, but then again… Could she be considered a lady? Who was she? She had no idea. Only thing she knew was she always got what she wanted and right then, there was only one thing she wanted.

Him.

She was used to not seeing him for days, but he would show up at least once a week. Never gone for weeks, months! It was absurd! It was outrageous!

It was driving her insane.

She needed her dose of him and she had enough of the abstinence.

She knew she should not be doing what she was about to, but she felt crazed and acted as such. When you think you have nothing to lose, you are inclined to throw caution and common sense to the wind.

Footsteps were heard, louder and louder. Her heart raced. Was it he? She had second thoughts; biting one of her perfectly polished nails, she thought that if it was not him, maybe she should just leave and forget about this madness.

As the doorknob turned, though, she knew it was too late to go back.

After torturing minute of silence, she heard the door slide open. The pale moonlight lit up his face in the darkness as he moved.

She stared at him from across the room. As soon as his eyes fell upon her, he paused, a flash of shock showing through his stare.

She observed patiently, making no sound. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he took off his coat, let it hung up by the door, finally looking at her once more, and then out of his window. She leaned against his wall, staring at his ethereal complexion touched by the blueish rays of light.

“What are you doing in my room?” His deep, now steadier voice inquired, so cold and distant.

She should feel discouraged by his words. She should be embarrassed. She probably should apologize and leave; she intruded his place – it took her no more than a charming smile to the gatekeeper, an autograph and it was all needed to have his keys and a permit to get inside the building.

She did not care, though.

She needed her dose of him. She wanted to look at him; she thought it would be enough to satisfy her.

Big mistake.

“I had to see you.” She stated, her enchanting voice faltering just slightly.

He hesitated. She watched the clash of feelings inside his eyes, but it was not long until that blank, expressionless look was back on his face.

He waited for her to speak, but no more words came. He closed his eyes, a hand running through his now disheveled, short but messy hair.

He had to push her away.

“Very well. You saw me. Please leave, now.”

Again, no words came from her. He took a deep breath. She was too persistent and he did not have the will to waste time with all of it. He was not like the men she clung to. What did she want from him?

“Please do not let me ask you again.” Credence pressed on, noticing her golden coat and picking it up as if to give her a clue he was serious about it, opening the door and looking at his feet, waiting for her to move.

“Alright.” She whispered, sighing. Walking towards the door where he stood, she watched as he held out her coat for her to take, not even lifting his eyes to spare her a last glance.

It hurt. It hurt terribly and she fought the urge to press her hand to her heart.

“Eleanor.” She spoke, so close that he could feel the scent of strawberries that came from her hair and clothes. It was too sweet and still, somehow intoxicating.

He hesitated again. He should not care about it. He did not ask her name. In fact, he knew it from the many posters around town, posters that announced her shows, always showing her beautiful smiles and poses.

“Credence.” He murmured, his voice hoarse, raw.

Her heart skipped a thousand beats in one spare second.

It happened too fast… Before he could anticipate it, her hand reached out and touched his cheek tenderly. He hastily took a step back, as if she had burned him. She gasped softly, alarmed, recoiling and trying hard to ignore the sharp stab that assaulted her heart once more.

“Please leave, get out! Now! Get out!” His voice was louder and desperate.

She did not think twice and nodded nervously, storming out of the small apartment, tears streaming down her face as she hurried down stairs, walking out the building and running as fast as her heels let her, the cold heavy rain striking every part of her body.

Credence breathed heavily, horrified. He stared at the opened door after a moment; his own heartbeats were painful inside his chest.

She probably hated him now.

It was probably for the good, as well.

So why did he feel so… Wrong?

He was about to run a hand through his hair again, but was stopped as he realized he was still holding her coat. He sighed, helplessly. He lived in a distant part of the town. It was a fact she had to cross a long way to reach him. Now she was out in the freezing rain in that ridiculously thin dress, most likely soaked to the bone. With no coat.

He grabbed his own coat and followed her steps the best he could. Luckily, her high, expensive and now ruined heels prevented her from going very far.

“Eleanor!” He tried, calling out for her.

Her heart almost stopped, but she ignored his voice, walking faster.

Credence frowned, irritated. He definitely was not used to this. Where all people this confusing or was it only this woman?

Finally catching up, he hesitated before closing his hand around her slim arm and pulling her to a halt, accidentally making her spin and crash against his chest.

“Sorry, I…” He stared, blushing lightly.

“No, save it.” She cut him, shakily. Her tears streamed down with the rain, but it was still perceptible. “You were in your right, I was completely out of line and I apologize. Now, if you will excuse me.” She bowed shortly before turning around again to leave.

She did not go far, though, for he still had his soft, although firm grip on her arm.  

“What?” She hissed, annoyed, feeling utterly humiliated and broken.

“You forgot this.” He stated, both now soaked from head to toe.

She looked at him and then at his hand, spotting her then ruined coat.

She blinked a couple of times, feeling a new wave of shame washing through… And she laughed bitterly.

“Of course! Why, thank you, kind sir!” She exclaimed, feeling ridiculous. “And here was I, thinking you actually had come after me, that you were worried. No! You just wanted to return me a spoiled coat!”

He frowned. “I think the only spoiled thing here is you, miss.”

His words felt like a slap on her face. She tugged her arm free. “It was a mistake.  I should never have come after you.” She spat, as a wounded animal, walking away again.

Credence had no idea why watching her go made him feel so lost.

“What do you want from me?” He shouted, frustrated.

She stopped as she heard him and all her own feelings needed an escape or else she would burst. What did she want from him? Did she hear him right? All right then. Turning around, she walked to him with determined steps, a look of pure anger in her face and he braced himself, sure that she would smack him or anything of the sort.

Stopping right in front of him, her delicate hands grasped fistfuls of his white shirt and she pulled him to a bruising, harsh kiss.

Suddenly the world stopped spinning and all sounds ceased for Credence. The cold rain had no effect against the burning fever her lips inflicted to him. Slowly and instinctively, his hands rested around her, still uncertain. One kiss followed the other, until they were out of breath and broke apart, noticing people had started to give them disapproving looks due to the public display of affection.

“I have no money. No possessions. I am a no one.” He whispered, closing his eyes.

“I don’t care.” She rested her forehead against his shoulder.

He flinched lightly with the new contact. “I am not… I am not normal. I am not… safe. You do not understand.”

She lifted her head just enough to whisper in his ear. “I don’t care, Credence.” She sighed and the action brought shivers down his entire body. “Let me in.”

“I cannot. Please, I cannot.” He pleaded.

“What about what I want?” She pulled away, her hands still on his shirt. “Let me in… Credence, please!”

“I will never make you happy. There are so many secrets… Just please leave. Forget me.”

“How can I forget you… No, Credence. Please… Let me cherish you, love you and we will both be happy! You can make me happy! I care not about the money… And… And if you say you are dangerous… Is there people after you? I do not mind, we can go anywhere… P-Please!” She found herself in despair without any clue of why. She felt him slipping away and for some reason, it broke her heart. How could that be? When she knew nothing about him?

Love? He only realized the importance of those words when they left her mouth, but it could not be helped. She had no idea of what he was. He knew she would think differently if she found out.

He sighed, his hands trembling as he loosened her grip on him. His dark eyes found hers again and he handed her the golden coat, stepping away.

“Thank you…” He started, taking another step backwards. “Do not look for me anymore.” He said with a sad, almost imperceptible smile on his face. “Forget about me, Eleanor. I am not who you think I am. Stay away from me.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her behind.

She stood there in the rain, watching until he was out of sight. She felt as if he had stabbed her heart and left her there, to bleed.

It was over.

It was over before it had even begun.