#ii. stardust memories ( credence : ic )

[hatigave]

BOY UNDERSTANDS THE NEED TO change shape and to begin again. He has done it before and will do so again. Now is no different when he takes up residence in another town that shall not hold him for long ( he has grown tired of moving, and longs for a place to put down roots and sink into the waiting earth. ) after all this time, he can still work       ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ HE CAN STILL BE GOOD FOR SOMETHING ! Dark eyes flicker across the open space of the rodeo as he rests his arms on the fence. It's not much for some, but to him, it is a fleeting joy not brutally stripped from his aching hands. That, and there is a particularly brave niffler trying to somehow undo and steal a freshly polished stirrup buckle from one of the saddles.

Credence almost has the creature safe and secure in his pocket when he appears in his line of vision. The niffler gets away from his hands, settling for a weak attempt at taking the button of his jeans with it as it slides down to the ground, IT'S SOMEHOW ALL WORTH IT. The wave Credence offers Dodge is weak, practised meticulously under the cover of safety of the barn loft ; it still feels all wrong.

@notefinal

[hatigave]

CREATURE OF SMOKE WAITS WITH UNEASE . inside of him, the secret lurks. it pushes and pulls at the boundaries of his frame, gnaws on the supple flesh of his intestines. he dares to close his eyes for a moment  ⎯⎯⎯⎯ underneath the lights it grows bolder, more demanding than in has ever done when he had been alone. perhaps it wants to be seen, too. AUDIENCE LAUGHS, AND HE IMPLODES. blinking slowly against the noise, retreating further inside himself. he trusts her. but the eyes locked to the shape of his trembling frame do not hold the same title. mouth opens, immediately closes too. it refuses to shape itself around the words that ask for relieve. he has to do the things he is terrified of, otherwise, he will never abandon fear and shed the skin of a terrified child.

ma had told him to follow the word of the lord. and what was a mother, if not the divine in her own right ? the club becomes a church. the podium, an altar for the faithful to lower themselves down into forgiveness. pious preaching is abandoned in favour of self-love. the hymns remain, all in search of salvation sway to the tune of music. he likes this music best. the type which he feels in his chest, rattling between his ribs. ATTENTION OF THE BELIEVERS SHIFTS. falls on her, eyes shift to where they should have been all this time. he watches too. in awe as always, jealous for the security which much come with knowing one's own worth. he wants that too. inside of him, the monster shifts, teeth sinking into the muscle of his heart. obscurus agrees.

reprieve does not last long. the woman moves first. she's not as graceful as his new-found friend, how could she be ? mortals do not come close to touching the divine. but she walks. imperfect or not, she still dares for her feet to follow through the motions. jealousy rots away inside of him. back at the church there had been a cat, a feral creature who had given him one more scar on his arm when he had tried to pet it once. still, he had been unable to look away from it as it prowled by the cracked glass of his bedroom. BEAUTY HAD BEEN SO SIMPLE BACK THEN. he thinks of the cat when he stumbles towards her, eyes directed to the podium before his feet. he had survived so much worse. or so he tries to tell himself, a meaningless attempt at finding bravery even when he knows he carries none.

from the rubble of a shattered dream, he wakes. a tentative step forward, a weak motion as he looks over his shoulder at her. he could run. he could tear this whole place to shreds in order to get away ! there are so many things he could do, and yet, he does none of them. SHE WANTS HIM TO WALK, and he, in turn, wants to make her proud. his second step is barely more certain. still wobbling on his feet. there is no resemblance of a cat in his motions, but still, he walks. the third step comes closer, a shift of his hip, a step taken with more certainty.

fourth and fifth bring him even closer. by the ninth step, he almost believes that he could do it. he is still the boy plucked from the pews of a church with a leaking roof ⎯⎯⎯⎯ he is still terrified. and yet, when he looks back at her, he nearly finds religious faith once more. ❝ like this, mother ? ❞ are you proud of me for doing this ?

Usually, Hyacinthe would never do this. Even though the show was very losely scripted and she was free to add whatever she wanted, she would hardly ever go as far as add one more person on stage, just because the stage was their own world, their private, safe space. It was sacred for the family but they always wanted to share it with the audience. And this time, she also wanted to share it with Credence. He had lived in the shadows for way too long and the queen wanted to show him a world filled with lights, like she loved it so much.

She always wanted to say she wanted to die on the stage, not this one in particular, just any stage, performing. This, drag, performing, was her entire life and she could not imagine herself doing anything else. Her life burnt under way too many lights that she could not fathom leaving under the shadows. She wanted to die under the stage lights, in front of a full house. She was not made to stay hidden in the dark anymore. Too many years, she had been forced to hide. Now, all she wanted was to shine.

With proud, long steps, as long as her 3'7 long legs, she joined Credence and gently guided him around the stage. "Some of you regulars may have seen him around before. He's my soon-to-be baby drag, aka I'm working on it." The audience laughed. "But tonight is his first time on stage so give him a round of applause!" She did not even need to ask them twice as everyone in the audience broke into cheers and applause. Her arms she had flung around his shoulders tightened its grip on him to prevent him from being startled and make sure he knew she was here.

Finally, everyone was on stage and she could resume her little act. Credence was probably thankful, at this point, that everyone was focused on her. It would not necessarily last for long, but at least, for now, he could relax. Slightly. "Okay, so how does a supermodel walk? How do I walk? Three important points. Shoulders down, walk feline and sway that ass. And be fierce. That's four, oopsie." She snickered to herself, shaking her head in a silly manner. The music started slowly, creeping up behind her voice. "Don't worry, I'm gonna show you first and then you'll go each person at a time, okay?"

She shook her head again, playing dramatically with her long blonde hair, swaying her hips even. The first time she catwalked across the stage, everything was exaggerate. The lean, the long, slender steps, the hips. When she got to the other end, Hyacinthe could not help but do a little dance that made everyone laugh. The clown. But when she whirled around and walked back, the supermodel who had her entitled places on the Fashion Weeks runways was back, a lot more serious and poised.

After sending first a woman in her mid-forties she had selected from the audience - and how incredible was she, even though her walk was not exceptionnal, the sass! -, Hyacinthe walked towards Credence with a knowing smile. Oh, she knew he was probably dying for her to walk with him, but she could not. She did not want to treat him differently, not only because of the other patrons on stage, but also and mostly because it was his time to shine. And his only. At least, she accompanied him towards one end of the stage, like a mother bird watching her child take its first flight. "Go, baby, it's your turn," she hummed softly, gently tugging at his hand to send him forward as loud music was beating hard in their ears.

[hatilead]

         THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT THE MAN         which screams richness.  mother spoke of enchanted smiles,  but surely she did not know they could be    this bright.   boy looks at a mouth that surely has never known hunger,  has been told about an author       ;        someone who makes a living with words and books     (     strange.  once he’d thought his mother had done the same.  lately he isn’t so sure anymore.    )       ❝  you write   ?   ❞

@meltedwiing​     //    for gil    (  because you didn’t specify who’s gil and guess what alex,  i’m a simp for yours   !    )     starter call

[hatigave]

HE SHUFFLES HIS FEET tries to plant himself onto solid ground  ⎯⎯⎯⎯ finds nothing to hold him down. the world still feels hostile to him, perhaps one day it will stop doing so ( today, at least, it still reaches for his throat ) ghost walked too fast. head turned downwards, eyes forever cast towards the floor. HE HAS NOT YET LEARNED THE ART OF LOOKING UP. shoulder meets that of another living being. crashes against the frame of a boy equally dressed in black robes. green details are beautiful, especially so when compared to the yellow of his own.

❝ sorry ⎯⎯ ❞ voice is a whisper. words are spoken more to himself than to the other. he flinches, retreats into himself once more. prepares for the sharp sting of a blow.

@scrpnts ♡'d

[hatigave]

@wolfwithin​  said  :    ❝ look at that. you wear fine things well. ❞    for credence.

                   GHOST DOES NOT BELIEVE SPOKEN WORDS         .          no matter how much he believes that the woman before him does not lie,  he can’t seem to believe that he is destined to receive such kindness.   trembling hands touch fine fabric.   never before has he felt something quite so soft against his skin.   something to be worn for pleasure,   something that provides no pain to scabbed flesh.    ❝ it is beautiful, ma’am. ❞    gaze remains fixated on the floor.   fingers clutching to his sleeve        ;         fearful that it is to vanish if he lets go of it.    ❝ but i should not wear this. ❞ 

beautiful things such as this are wasted on him.  and yet,   so is her kindness.  given without demanding something in return.  fabric is clutched between fingertips.  action does not follow words,  for he should pull it off    ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯   should ensure that it remains save.   HE IS TOO FRAGILE.   TOO RAW AROUND THE EDGES OF HIS BEING.      ❝  i must disagree. ❞

[hatigave]

                 HAND REACHING OUT TO HER FINDS NOTHING              but air.   trembles before dropping back down to his side.   he’d known her,  once.  but now that dreams are shattered and darkness once more roams freely,   he can’t be sure if she ever knew him to begin with.   broken bones and torn ligaments recover with time       ⎯⎯⎯⎯      bleeding hearts tend not to be quite so lucky.    ❝  i am sorry. ❞        control is an illusion which he chases with open hands.   boots cross the distance,  track mud through the room.    clings to the hope of leaving an imprint     ;        no matter how fleeting. 

❝ you were always kind to me.  but i need to know.    I NEED TO FIND A FAMILY. ❞

          @wolfwithin​   can put this nasty murder cloud back up for adoption  -

[hatilead]

3. for one muse to come to the other in the middle of the night to crawl in bed with them     @starfalled​   +    newt  

              THERE ARE STILL WISPS OF BLACK SMOKE SURROUNDING HIM       .       still not completely human in his grief.   a bad memory to the city nearly turned to ash,  a passing danger to the community that had simply raised their wands both towards the destruction caused by him,  as well as he himself.  he remembers,  more often than sometimes,  the sensation of being pulled apart.  of being devoured by the maw of god and made anew underneath dawn’s light.  

wizard has shown him kindness.  understanding even.  when the rest of the world hadn’t.  he is barefoot when he walks into newt’s bedroom,  stares at the shape of the man laying in his bed for a moment     ;       wishes,  not for the first time,   that he could turn to smoke at will,  rather than with the guiding ache of heartbreak.    

❝ i couldn’t sleep.  ❞   it’s an explanation spoken with bleeding tongue as eyes are focused on the floor,  rather than the man who surely looks up at him with kindness in his eyes rather than annoyance   (    it’s a habit he’s trying to break,  the seeing of anger in everywhere who looks at him.  the seeing of disgust at twiddling fingers and the uncomfortable shifting of weight.  )     ❝ i can go if ... ❞ 

he speaks,  yet breathes deeply at the same time.  his spine is not yet straightened.  does not yet bear the weight of the world.  but at least he has mastered the art of moving his feet without being explicitly told to do so.  puppet who’s had his strings cut falls to earth,  yet fiddles with bed sheets all the same.  wonders what if  more often than not.    ❝  can i stay here.  tonight  ?  ❞

[hatilead]

          𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃         to reach for something he longs to touch .         shadow of the boy he used to be once no longer wisps away like shadows exposed to light          /           thunder and lightning no longer pulsing underneath pallid skin ,       like death ,       like the memory of it settled deep into his bones .        𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐌     and patience taught in years of life .       hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth ,      not quite there yet        (      not quite brave enough  ,      but trying all the same .     )          ❝   she is wonderful .  ❞

        @iinmortales​      /       [  tosses random starters at you ]       (     newt   +    credence  )   

[hatilead]

         BOY IS MORE SHADOW THAN MAN       .       lurks at the edges of society      (       pray tell,  what is left of daniel when the lions devour,   when the beasts grow hungry   ?    )      finds places to hide at night,  steps further come morning.  magic hums in his veins still       /       still nips at the edges of his being.  frayed,  at the best of days.     undone like silver thread at the worst of them   !        ❝  i don’t want to run anymore.  ❞

@mariette​      //       starter call

[hatilead]

“  look at me. hey— i’m right here. you’re not alone.  ”      @starfalled​   +   newt 

           THE BOY HE USED TO BE IS DEAD      .         corpse rots in the ground of forgiveness,  clings to the flowers that bloom to the promise of a kinder tomorrow.  he will find use when beetles make a home out of exposed ribcage.   the boy is dead.   dead to both the world as to everyone who has ever known him.  but the wizard,  the wizard rises.  straightens his back against the weight of the world.  breathes now with lungs that remember how to do so. 

he is scared.  but such a thing is far from new. 

❝ i ... i can’t. ❞    he can.  knows he can.  he has survived worse.  but right now,  the grounding weight of his arms wrapped around his own knees feels like the only thing holding him steady in a world that is so prone to falling away    ;      ripped to shreds,  rebuild out of the ashes left when angels turned their wrath ‘pon the believers instead of the sinners.   ❝  i’m scared.  ❞

[hatilead]

❛❛ This smell… it brings back childhood memories. ❜❜        @sacramort​     +     newt.

               MEMORY OF THE MOTHER BECOMES A GHOST             chasing after the son with the vengeance of the scorned .      he cannot be sure if any time has passed at all between the death that did not claim him and the rebuilding of a boy who never quite existed in the first place .        more often than sometimes he forgets he is a breathing being     -      more often than sometimes he finds himself becoming the haunting of the soul ,        rather than the haunted .           HE HASN’T LEARNED HOW TO LOOK THE OTHER IN THE EYE YET         ;        luckily ,        mister newt doesn’t expect him to .        hands clasped together as he stands in silence .      green grass of unfamiliar hill ,        rain coming down like the wrath of God himself .    he wonders if rain is nothing but mother’s tears .         

❝   what was your childhood like      ?     ❞        that too is a thing he is learning .     how to ask questions .        to build connections that run deeper than the need to be wanted .       to serve .       to be of use .       he does ,     he tries to help out where he can  ,          BUT THAT TOO IS NOT EXPECTED OF HIM     .          and that too ,        leaves him a little scared and rough around the edges .          he is a cracked mirror            /            a piece of glass sticking through the outstretched palm of the few who have ever tried to help him .         eventually ,       mister newt will be let down by him too  .         such is the truth of life .     

feet shuffle in the grass .       tries to find a bearing among mud and puddles .      to either sprout roots that keep him steady or to slip and be swallowed by the earth .     he dares to glance over at other man ,       once ,      maybe twice before his eyes are once more fixated on the ground .         HE DOES NOT QUITE INHABIT HIS OWN SPACE YET     ,          but one day he will .        one day he will and someone will be proud of him     !           ❝   i did not think a smell could remind you of your childhood .      but maybe i am just broken .  ❞

[hatilead]

i hate every single one of you who enabled me by nothing nothing but liking a post      except i absolutely adore you         credence barebone tag drop   !    

[hatigave]

Kiss me like white bread, stick to my teeth even after the whiskey. I want memories of your mouth lodged beneath my tongue to wake me at two in the morning, hungry.        @timelcved​    &   rio  

                        hungry mouths don’t recall the taste of bread        -       especially not white bread,  does not know if it sticks or not,   only knows that it satisfies an ache deep within him      ;       only knows that it keeps him human in a sense.  hands tremble as he reaches out to touch other.  asks for permission in the way they hover for a moment.   NEVER LEARNED HOW TO ASK FOR THE THINGS HE WANTS.  does not know how to open his mouth and speak the truth about his loneliness.  only knows what he wants now,   only knows this when he reaches out to touch a cheek stained slight pink. 

❝   i am always hungry.  ❞    knows he must miss a point somewhere.   knows he must be failing at this too     (    as he is failing at everything since he first drew breath   )      ❝  but lately not so much for food.   ❞     HE KNOWS THE TASTE OF STARVATION WELL.    knows it like a friend,  like a lover perhaps.  recalls the taste of whiskey like a dream          /               feverish,  gone within the blink of an eye.   he is starving over and over again.    rio asks for something which he doesn’t know if he can give,  utters a simple enough request         -           and yet he does not know if his body can comply.   but he has to try.   kisses other softly.  knows only of a soft brush of lips.  waits for the blow that never comes.   tries again with lacking courage,  waits to be told to leave.    

[hatigave]

hard not to spot the only person actively Not having a good time , it’s why he swoops in . gently , of course - taught well by hands that carved out their spaces in the world’s stage . it’s not where he wants to be , really . he slides against wall next to him , signs first , just as he does with cousin who is also easily overwhelmed by roar of a race , speaks quietly - so as to not add another fifty decibels to the mix , ‘ want to get out of here ? someplace quiet ? ’    @timelcved​   &  rio 

                     sadness has turned his body into a church a long time ago.  there is nothing living inside the darkness of his ribs,  nothing but sorrow which clings to the back of his throat.  he’s overwhelmed,  the surrounding sounds far too loud for him to focus.  ENGINES ROAR AND HE SHIVERS AS IF SOUND BECOMES A BLADE PRESSED AGAINST HIS THROAT.   stranger’s voice is soothing, clear even when the world is crumbling around him. instinct takes over, makes him reach out to grasp stranger's hand.  squeezes in search of comfort.  

❝  yes, please.  ❞  heart is ripped out, fed to him by tongue called kindness. obscures pushes against the boundaries of his flesh     (   a moment longer and he’s about to burst.  rip everything around him to shreds  )    ❝  but i don’t want to be alone.  ❞

[hatigave]

tag dump part 12: dennis and credence

#xxxvii.  WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING ( dennis : visage )

#xxxvii.  HEART OF ROSES. CUT THORNS ( dennis : study )

#xxxvii.  SAINT SEBASTIAN ( dennis : headcanon )

#ii.  STARDUST MEMORIES  ( dennis : ic )

#xxvii.   HOLY LANDS BURIED IN YOUR SPINE     (     credence   :    visage   )

#xxvii.   & LET GRIEF BE THE ONLY FRIEND YOU'VE EVER KNOWN    (    credence  :   study   )

#xxvii.   CRACKED MIRROR    ;    NO FLOWERS JUST THORNS    (     credence  :   headcanon   )

#ii.    STARDUST MEMORIES    (     credence  :    ic    )

[hatigave]

SOMETIMES HE FEARS THE GHOST OF HIS MA her features seeped in the cold of her annoyance. Obvious regret in the way she would regard her children, but especially him. All he has done since his survival has been in an attempt to settle. To begin anew in a place where he never has to see similar glances again. Dodge looks at him as if he is surprised. As if he is uncertain, but there is no malice. There is no hint of festering anger and disgust that Credence has grown so familiar with. He returns like a beaten dog begging for a kinder touch     ⎯⎯⎯⎯ on instinct, without rhyme or reason. Not because he is called, but because he thinks this is where he wants to be.

The niffler tries to pluck the shiny bit of metal on the end of his shoelaces off, before retreating out of sight empty-handed.

❝ I thought... ❞ He doesn't know what he thought. ❝ Perhaps I can help ? Idle hands are the devil's playthings. ❞ Credence nods, more to himself than to Dodge, as if that is an explanation for his presence. It isn't. He still does not know how to be honest.

Dodge doesn’t really know what to make of Credence. He likes him. He’s a good worker, and a hard worker. He seems to be the type of person that needs everyone to like him, although Dodge has tried to tell him that he doesn’t need to be that type of person a few times. He doesn’t know if it’s sunk in yet. He hadn’t been expecting him to be here, though. Maybe Anne had given him the day off and told him to go watch Dodge. Why she might’ve told Credence this, Dodge has no idea. He’s good at rodeo, but he doesn’t think he’s good enough to watch. He’s pretty sure that Anne would disagree, though.

He waves back as he walks over. “Why are you here?” He doesn’t think about how accusatory it sounds until it’s out of his mouth and then he winces a little. “Sorry.” He’s trying to be less suspicious of people following the end of Panic, but it’s hard when he’s spent the whole summer on edge. “It’s just—you don’t need to be here.” He’s never had an audience before. Even when he broke the state record, he didn’t have an audience. He doesn’t mind. It helps him focus better if there’s no one watching him.