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klaineharmony · 5 years

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The Dark Knight/Newsies crossover that no one asked for

I have no idea, y’all. I am sure that in some way, somewhere in my brain, this was inspired by @thelittleredheadedmusician and her Justice Newsies (which is so amazing), but my brain took off on a bit of a different spin in the last few days, and this is what it came up with. Also, I know next to nothing about what goes on in DC comics, so this is my brain just running amok with movie information.

Sarah knocked at the door of the Kelly mansion, looking around her a bit sadly. This place was always so haunted. Fitting, for the man who now inhabited it, but it hadn’t always been this way.

The door opened, and Kloppman’s face relaxed into a smile when he saw her. “Miss Sarah. Always good to see you.”

Sarah smiled at the butler. “It’s good to see you, too, Kloppman. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you as well. You know you are always welcome here, Miss Sarah.”

Sarah’s smile faded. “I’m not so sure about that, but it doesn’t matter. Hopefully I’ll be here more often from now on, and David, too.”

Kloppman’s eyes sharpened; he knew her well enough to know when she was planning something. “I think that would be a wise idea, Miss Sarah.”

“How is he?” Sarah asked softly.

“He’s been better, Miss Sarah. He’s been worse, too, but the rumors about this . . . Joker, as he calls himself, have been eating at Master Kelly. The Kelly Enterprises board is nervous, not so much about the company itself but about the state of Gotham, and they have a right to be. It’s been wearing on him, trying to keep them calm.”

Sarah nodded. Kloppman was good, she had to admit that, but of course he always had been. There was no one who protected Jack better than Kloppman. He had just given her every valid reason for Jack Kelly, CEO, to be anxious and exhausted over The Joker, without saying anything that would make anyone think that his employer was also Batman.

Kloppman had to know - no one else was in a position to help Jack so thoroughly and discreetly - but he didn’t know that she knew.

However, if she succeeded, it wouldn’t stay that way for long, and he would have more secrets to keep. (She wouldn’t be at all surprised if he already suspected; he was smarter than almost anyone she knew in this place, and that was saying something.)

“Come this way,” Kloppman gestured, and Sarah followed him back into the house, through the foyer and living room and past the dining room to Jack’s study. Kloppman knocked, then opened the door to Jack’s summons.

“Miss Sarah to see you, sir.”

Jack looked up in surprise from his laptop and the piles of papers on his desk. Kloppman hadn’t been exaggerating, Sarah noted; he looked exhausted.

Hardly surprising, given his night job.

“Sarah, I’m so sorry, but this isn’t really a good time,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m not giving you a choice, Cowboy,” Sarah said with a little smile. “We need to talk. And Kloppman is on my side.”

Jack looked from Sarah’s determined face to his butler, who merely arched a brow at him. He sighed.

“All right. I’d much rather leave this mess and talk to you anyway,” he admitted, smiling back at her.

Kloppman nodded at them both, satisfied, and went out, closing the door behind him.

Jack looked at her expectantly, and Sarah didn’t waste time. “I know your secret, Jack. And it’s about time that you knew mine, and Davey’s. You need help, and I’ve let this go on way too long.”

Jack kept his face as smooth as marble, but Sarah saw the brief flicker of shock in his eyes before it disappeared. He snorted. “Sarah, I’m a CEO and the resident playboy and sob story of Gotham. I don’t think there’s a secret I have that hasn’t been splashed all over the tabloids.”

“Oh, so the fact that you’re Batman is an open secret?” Sarah said lightly, and Jack jerked, covering it quickly with a laugh.

“The Batman? Sarah, have you lost your mind?”

“Oh, trust me, Jack, I haven’t lost it,” Sarah said quietly. She walked over to him, where he sat in his desk chair, and laid a hand on his bicep. “I know that if I do this,” and she pressed just hard enough that she knew it would hurt, would make him wince, and it did; she saw the fingers on his opposite hand tighten and turn white around the chair arm, “it pains you, because I saw the footage of that fight you were in last night. Not even your armor could completely protect you from the full force of a car hitting your shoulder. You’re still human.”

Jack looked at her, then, and the fear in his eyes broke her heart. “Sarah. You shouldn’t know this; do you have any idea what could happen to you because of it? What any of these criminals could do to you, if you know who I am? If they know that you’re important to me?”

Sarah leaned in and kissed him softly. “Thank you for admitting it,” she murmured. “I wasn’t sure if the old Jack was in there anymore.” She straightened up and went around the desk so that she was facing him. “And that brings us to my secret. And Davey’s.”

“Christ, Davey,” Jack muttered. “Does he know, too?”

“Yes,” Sarah said bluntly. “He’s been dying to have words with you, but I thought this approach might be better. You two can fight about it afterward.”

Jack threw up his hands in a gesture of helpless resignation, and his lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile. “So you’re finally going to tell me why you’ve both looked the same for two decades and change? I mean, you’re both pretty good at hiding it, but not that good.”

Sarah reached over the desk and cupped his cheek. “Yes. And we’ve both always appreciated that you’ve never asked.”

Jack turned his head and kissed the base of her palm. “You two and Alfred have been the most important people in my life since my parents died. Until . . . all of this, Davey was my best friend. And you . . .” he trailed off. “I figured it was need-to-know.”

“Well, you need to know now,” Sarah said firmly. “Before now, really. You need help, Jack. Commissioner Larkin and DA Denton are good people, but they can’t fight in the streets with you.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at her. “And you can?”

Sarah took a breath and tugged at the belt of her trench coat, letting it slide off her shoulders and to the floor. Her red and gold armor with its blue skirt gleamed, and Sarah felt the weight of her secret slide off of her with her coat. It felt so good to tell Jack, to finally have him know after so long. The fact that Jack had tried to stay away from her and Davey after becoming Batman had made it easier to hide who she was, what they were doing, but his absence and the lie by omission hadn’t hurt any less.

Jack gaped at her. “You.”

Sarah smiled at him, a giddy smile of relief and joy. “Me.”

“Well, no wonder you were so careful about hiding your face!” Jack exclaimed, gesturing around his eyes.

“Oh, look who’s talking,” Sarah teased him. She had fitted Antiope’s headdress with an eye mask - right here, right now, it was less risky if her features were hidden, and no one could match Sarah Jacobs’ face with the distinctive armor of Wonder Woman. She and Jack had caught sight of each other on the streets, each fighting for Gotham in their own way, but she had been very, very careful not to get too close, and apparently even Jack had not recognized her through the armor and the mask.

Jack shook his head, looking dazed. “Sarah,” he breathed “I can’t believe you . . . are her.” He stood up and came around the desk, touching the gauntlet on her wrist in awe. “And can Davey. . . do what you can do?”

“He can,” Sarah affirmed, “but up to now he’s been using his abilities in more subtle ways. Unlike you and I, he’s pretty good at staying under the radar,” she laughed. “But we’ve both been thinking that it’s time he suits up, and he’s reached the point where he’s not going to give you a choice about it. Neither am I. The three of us have always made an amazing team, and you need all the help you can get to deal with this Joker creature, whoever and whatever he is. It’s time to go on offense.”

Jack nodded, taking her hands. “I don’t - I don’t know how to ask this, but - what are you? Why do you always look the same?”

Sarah tightened her hands around his. “We’re Amazons. The only children of Zeus and Hippolyta.”

#Newsies #Newsies 1992 #The Dark Knight #fusion #fic #Klaineharmony writes #DC #Sarah Jacobs #Jack Kelly #David Jacobs

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njcklenjart · 5 years

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I need more Nagini & Newt friendship in my life. The link to the other parts are at the bottom, but this can be read separately!

Newt learns that the name of the maledictus is Nagini, that she her family migrated to France from Indonesia when she was a little girl, that she was abandoned not soon after. Tina fills in the gaps.

“Skender said she was helping Credence find his family, but she never left the circus grounds with him until the day they escaped.” She presses a finger to her lips when they let reach the guest bedroom. It’s the last on the hall, farthest from the rest of their lodgings. “From what I saw, I don’t think she was let out her cage.”

“She’s not been treated well,” Yusuf agrees sadly. Like Tina, he is equally cautious, making not a sound when he lets them in.

The room is seemingly unoccupied, the bed perfectly made and the curtains drawn. Newt keeps his steps light and slow when he fully enters, the hair at his neck raising as a feeling washes over him, like he’s in the jungle and there’s a beast just out of view. He eyes the wardrobe, but it hasn’t been touched either.

“Where is she?” Yusuf says from the door, worried. “Has she left?”

Newt drops to his knees, presses his cheek to the lush carpet, and peers under the bed. Within the shadows, he see coils of dark-colored scales as thick as man’s thigh. “She’s still asleep.”

A low hiss.

“Waking up,” he corrects, keeping his eyes on the moving mass. “Sorry about the intrusion, Nagini, but I thought you’d be awake. I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

Newt waits patiently. A slim head emerges from the numerous coils and he knows there’s intelligence in the slitted eyes peering back at him. Nagini’s humanity isn’t entirely gone in this form, a good sign. As long as he’s recognized, she won’t try and strike out.

“I can wait outside if that’s what you want.” He’s already pressing the boundaries by entering without an invitation, but that can’t be help now. His best bet would to read and adhere to her body language and hope she interprets his as well-intentioned and welcoming. “Would you prefer that?”

There’s more movement, but he gets his answer rather quickly. Nagini slips out from her cover, a stream of mottled scales that’s never ending, until Newt’s face-to-face with one of the largest pythons he’s seen. He’s no stranger to reptiles, and large ones at that, but the one before him is a stunning creature, and his fascination is unbridled.

“Good morning,” he tells her. He offers a hand, smiling at the tickling sensation of her tongue. “I take it you can change back? It’d be awfully inconvenient to have a one-sided conversation.”

Behind him, there’s the creak of floorboards, muffled by the rugs, and Newt makes sure that he doesn’t give any indication to Tina and Yusuf watching for any sign of trouble. Rather, he gives the marvelous creature in front of him the attention she deserves. Whatever she wishes, he’ll go along with, and he conveys it the best he can through his eyes.

He’s rewards for his kindness. Scales turn to skin and it’s a strange sight, mesmerizing even, and Newt can see the battle in the way the body spasms, how the her hands barely manage to take shape until the very last second. The snake-turned-woman is pale-faced and shivering when it’s over. She hugs herself tighter when she meets his eye.

Newt tucks his chin. “There we are.”

Nagini mutters something in French when she and Yusuf answers in kind. She glances at Newt again and, in a small voice, asks, “Why are you interested in me?”

“Tending to magical creatures is my living, you see, and I’ve never met anyone with a blood curse likel yours.” Nagini winces as his words. “I’d like to help, but I’m not sure how. I can give you anything you might need if you’ll tell with me.”

“Anything I need?”

“For when you change.”

Here, Nagini looks anxious. “I always try to stay awake, so I’m not sure what happens. I don’t remember what I want when I’m…”

Newt ponders over this. Perhaps he should reevaluate of her consciousness as a beast; while there is a connection, basic and initially non-threatening, memory loss poses a problem. The best plan of action would be to slowly integrate himself to her as a beast, affiliate himself with a sense of safety, and that would allow him to work with her personally. “I noticed that you prefer small, enclosed spaces with minimal light. I’m sure we can transfigure your room to make you comfortable.”

She glances around the room like a cobbler might the queen’s palace, as out-of-place as a smudge of ash against pristine palace floors. “I’m not used to places like…this.”

Newt nods, understanding. “Not my taste either. I sleep in my workshop more often than naught. Still, better than your old home.”

“That place was not my home,” she says and Newt can’t argue with the finality of her voice. She wipes her nose with her sleeve, timid but not fully broken. Another good sign.

Newt takes notice of her clothes. Despite the days spent in London, she’s still in the rags she came in. Her dress is filthy, but she grips her skirts so tightly that Newt thinks it’s more of a crutch than anything else. “Why don’t you change and I can show you—my case, I mean.”

For once, he’s not the one shying away from eye contact.“I-I don’t have anything else,” Nagini admits in a small voice, her cheek and neck flushing bright red.

“We can ask Theseus if Leta—if she kept some of her things here.” Newt turns back to the duo patiently waiting at the door. Tina nods and goes to fetch his brother.

Newt doesn’t think it’ll be a problem (hopes it won’t), but is nonetheless relieved when Theseus doesn’t put up a fight. He acts like he’s only just waking from a dream that’s held him for days, with his shirt untucked and his hair uncombed. Some hint of understanding peaks through the haze when he sees Nagini and it’s like he’s finally noticing she’s there, that he should be playing host; he shows them Leta’s room, but doesn’t go inside after the women as if he’s barred from it by a spell. He stops Newt from entering as well.

“I need to see if she’s sustained any long term—”

His brother shakes his head and Yusuf is smiling softly. “My friend, while she is cursed to become a beast, she is a woman foremost.”

Newt blushes and lets them direct him to the parlor to wait. When Yusuf is confident that Nagini is in good hands, he sets off to find Jacob so that they can stock the pantries for a decent meal while Newt stares at Theseus as he prepares a drink. They don’t speak and his brother ultimately discards it, sighing.

“I’m fine, you know.”

Newt nods, picking at his nails. They’re really not.

The women come back into the main room and Nagini appears completely changed. She’s cleaner, her hair no longer a tangled mess of knots and Newt recognizes what she’s wearing as the dress Leta wore at the Ministry during his fifth appeal, only it’s tailored for her height. At the misalignment of the top buttons Newt remembers how Tina had once written that she was a poor seamstress compared to Queenie.

“We’ll get you some new clothes soon,” Tina promises, fixing her collar like it’s second nature. She steps back, close enough to Newt that he could reach out and touch her, and frowns at her less-than perfect spellwork.

Newt clears his throat. It’s completely new to be apart of a united front, but he follows Tina’s lead. “I can, um, show you Diagon Alley.”

“I have no money,” Nagini says, embarrassed.

“We’ll take care of that.” Tina’s stubbornly kind. She’s an unmovable pillar of strength and offers all that she has for this wayward soul.

Nagini shakes her head. She looks almost distressed, like it’s all becoming too much for her. Accepting so much charity must be a strange experience for her and that itself is depressing, that one person could live without kindness and care for so long.

“Then just take this then.” Theseus stares at the woman a moment longer than necessary. He makes a noncommittal motion toward Leta’s room. “You can take them all if you want.”

It shouldn’t mean much, merely a compromise to suit both parties, but one look at Nagini and it’s clear that such a notion is more than she expected. She clutches her old dress in her hands like its a string of pearls, crumbling in front of their very eyes.

Newt and Tina rush to her side when she drops to her knees, but Theseus gets there first. He catches her by the elbows and falls with her, wide-eyed at the women suddenly sobbing in his arms. He stares at them for guidance, out of his element, before carefully hugging tighter, like he’s handling a glass figurine that would shatter any second.

“Thank you.”

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

#fantastic beasts #hp #ftcog #nagini #newt scamander #theseus scamander #tina goldstein #yusuf kama #fantastic beasts: the crimes of grindelwald #cog #tcog #fcog #fantastic beasts the crimes of grindelwald #the crimes of grindlewald spoilers #crimes of grindelwald #njckle

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yanderehopecounty · 6 years

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Lost and Found - Jacob Seed x Female Deputy

Description: Jacob never meant to hurt her. He was only doing his job as per Joseph’s request, even though it broke his heart. After the war, she disappeared and he never thought he’d see her again. Little did he know, his pup had been right under his nose the whole time.

Warnings: MAJOR FLUFF Rating: G Words: 915

Requested by: @daddyseed030 (Since this one came out as fluff, I’ll do something more nsfw for John though it will probably be later today ^_^)

Could it be? No, it couldn’t. The gruffly handsome man lounging by the bar entrance was most definitely not Jacob Seed. He just shared the exact same overgrown, ginger beard and mountain-like stature. That’s all. But Rook kept staring nonetheless as she absent mindedly sipped a glass of whiskey.

In all truthfulness, she wasn’t even supposed to be here. The Hope County Sheriff’s department banned her from coming anywhere near this whole town after the entire cult war ended peacefully. The Seeds surrendered but, knowing they held all the cards, requested to stay here in Montana. Everyone was forced to comply with their demands. They just wanted it all over with but, unfortunately, that meant Rook would be ripped away from her place at Jacob’s side. The last time she saw him, his expression was frozen, locked in a perpetual gaze of chilled horror and confusion. He hadn’t understood why his pup had been wrenched from his loving embrace. Those darkened eyes as blue as the sky still haunted her dreams at night.

It was no wonder she found herself sneaking back here for one last drink at the Spread Eagle.

Downing the last bit of whiskey, she tossed some bills in the tip jar before hopping off the leather barstool. Mary May gave her a knowing glance, signaling she’d keep quiet about all of this. Rook silently thanked her with a nod and twisted on her heels to exit for the very last time. Almost involuntarily, her eyes flickered to where the ginger headed man had stood, surprised to find he was gone. She shrugged it off in a mere second, bursting out the front entrance and into the chilly night air. The moon was full and bright as day as she strolled quickly down the sidewalk. Not exactly proper conditions for sneaking about. Mary May might’ve been understanding, but she couldn’t say the same for Pastor Jerome.

An eerie howl pierced the midnight sky and she quickened her pace, unable to shake the thought that someone might be following her. Sure enough, when she quieted the wild pounding in her chest and listened very carefully, the thud of heavy footfalls steadily rose behind her. A scoff in the form of a frigid puff of air passed her lips and she whirled around, drawing the pistol kept at her hip in an instant. Immediately, she aimed straight at the chest of the mountain man from before and barked, “Stay back! I will shoot!”

He only let out a laugh of pure amusement, the noise rumbling through his chest as he rose two, rough hands in the air. “God, don’t I know that, pup?”

A gasp fell from her mouth and her gloved fingers began to tremble against the cold metal of the gun. There was only one person that used such ridiculous nicknames. “It really is you,” she breathed shakily, lowering the weapon ever so slowly. “Jacob.”

His arms wrapped her up in a tight embrace as he closed the space between them. “I thought you left,” he murmured, enormous hands pressing to the back of her head. Her nose dug into the crook of his neck, the rush of his blood beneath warming the chilled skin. The soft pulsing from his steady heartbeat washed over her senses with a calming wave.

“Not on purpose!” she cried, tears beginning to prickle the corners of her lids. Her much tinier arms desperately reached out, attempting to grasp the giant in a gentle hold. She could never quite get her hands all the way around.

“It doesn’t matter,” He shushed her sobs with long strokes of his fingers through her hair. “You’re here now.” Pulling back slightly, he slid his thumb beneath her chin and lifted with great care, as if she might crumble to dust before his very eyes. When she looked inside them, an ocean of worry stared right back. The stoic expression locked to his features began to waver, cracking apart for perhaps the very first time in his life. “I thought I scared you away for good. I never meant to cause you any harm. I promise, I was only following orders. I didn’t even want to!” The never ending string of words pouring from his mouth became frantic and it seemed he might drown in them.

So, Rook did something she’ d been dying for ever since she met him. Stretching onto her tip toes, she pressed her lips firmly to his, deftly shutting him up in an instant. His hands flew to either side of her face, desperately attempting to deepen the kiss he so wildly craved in this moment. They didn’t care if anyone on the street could possibly see. She didn’t even care if Jerome caught her at this point. Everything in the world was aligning just right for once and there was no way she’d ever give it up again.

Coming up breathless, chests heaving and cheeks flushed bright red, they simply gazed at each other. Jacob’s heart had never been filled with such a soft warmth. His lost pup had returned to him despite all his doubts, despite telling himself it was all his fault. Here she was, cuddling right into his awaiting arms. He swore things would be different this time, even if they had to abandon Hope County, he’d make it work. She made him feel deserving of love and she wanted nothing more than to give it for as long as they lived.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #jacob seed #female deputy #Jacob seed x female deputy #soft jacob #deputy rook #writing #short story #fluff

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ontowanderlust · 6 years

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See you again

Note: Congratulations to @delicrieux for the 11k followers! I know this isn’t my best work but I’m still taking the risk of putting this thing out there....

Fandom: Potterverse, Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery

Characters: Jacob, Jacob’s sibling, F!MC

Summary: This isn’t an illusion isn’t it? This isn’t a dream of a dream where your brother is right there, right within your reach, is it?

=Masterlist=

First year.

You should’ve known better.

You’re a L/N, are you not? Your blood runs purely through your veins, your family belongs to the elite, the most prominent; you’re an heiress to a vast fortune.

So the question now is why the hell are you cowering in fear on a random classroom like a frightened prey?

Why is it one of the pureblood princesses scared of a mere student who couldn’t even cast lumos?

It’s not like she has more power than you. It’s not like she has more experience than you-not like she’s better than you. But she did get the best of you, tricked you like a true Slytherin can.

Oh if your parent get the wind of this...

No! Your eyes widened as you pulled your knees tighter to your chest. No, please. They can’t find out about the devil snare incident...I can’t, I don’t know what I would do... Father will- and Mother might-

So why didn’t you do something? Why let your naivety run free?

Why didn’t you defend yourself-stood against that miss-I-can’t-cast-lumos?

Pathetic.

You let out a gasp as your thoughts began to swarm you. Is it just you or is the room seemed smaller to you?

You couldn’t stay here, you need to leave before suffocation claims you, before your thoughts consumed you-especially when you’re all alone in this room but you couldn’t go back.

Not when Merula’s out there. Not when you are called the cursed student.

Not without Jacob.

Why did you leave without telling me Jakey? You choked. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t happy with our family? With me?

You didn’t know for how long you stayed in that room but you knew you couldn’t hide in there forever.

Such disgrace. You could almost hear the sneer of your father. No daughter of mine cowers in fear. Chin up! Look straight. A L/N never hides from their enemies.

Swallowing a sob, you stood up and steeled yourself, about to leave your sanctuary when something caught your attention.

What... in the world? What’s the use of a full body mirror in a classroom like this? For Divination purposes? You wondered. But this...is a Transfiguration classroom. Everyone knows McGonagall hates Divination.

You took careful steps, curiosity took over your being as you marveled at the size and the beauty of the mirror, albeit old and dusty, you couldn’t help but drawn to it.

Looking up, you could see there was an inscription engraved but with your height, you couldn’t reach to read what it says. Instead, you looked straight into the mirror only for you to step back, your sight blurring as it widened in surprise; the onslaught of emotions attacking you all at once.

It couldn’t be...right?

“J-jake?” you whispered, reverently as if the utterance of his name will shatter this illusion your mind seemed to conjure out of nowhere, and you’ll find yourself staring back to plain old you.

But it didn’t.

What amazed you more was that the conjured illusion of your brother smiled and waved at you. Your brother! Your missing brother is there, right there within arm’s reach!

Jacob!

With shaking hands, you hesitantly reached out to touch the glass, your eyes overflowing with silent tears as your lips quivered in delight.

This is an illusion, a dream of a dream. You knew that, but would it be selfish to say you wouldn’t want to leave this room? Would it be selfish to simply stay here watching your brother through the looking glass?

“Y/N? Are you here?”

You snapped back. shattering the moment causing you to curse Rowan and her impeccable timing. Wait, how long were you in here anyway? You furiously wiped your tears as you glanced back at the mirror where your brother had this thoughtful look etched upon his face.

He’s still there!

You wanted to stay so badly, to stay with your big brother without any care in the world. No pressure from your family, no Merula acting all mighty and superior-y. No one but you and your brother.

But you have to go. Otherwise, they might take this mirror too, the only thing you have just to see your brother again.

“Y/N?”

You sighed. Even if you were feeling down earlier, the sight of your brother magicked every worry you had, gone in an instant. “I need to go, Jacob. I’ll be back for you.” You promised as you hurriedly went on your way, hesitating at the last step.

You stole one more glance at the mirror, sighing in relief to see your brother with his usual serene expression. “I love you,” you whispered with hope that he hears it...even from afar.

That night, Professor Flitwick agreed to help you with your Merula problem and that’s when you realized, your brother never truly deserted you- that he left you with something far more interesting, far greater than you hoped to be.

He’s out there, you could tell. After all, no one knows your brother better than you, right?

With renewed determination and dedication, you vowed you would do everything to bring him back. You decided that you’re going to set out and look for these famed cursed vaults.

And so, the quest to find him begins.

#deli11 #delicrieux #Harry Potter fanfiction #Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery #hphm #hphm imagines #imagines #fanfiction #moodboard #Jacob #Jacob's sibling #Hogwarts Mystery imagines #Hogwarts Mystery #reader insert #angst #congratulations on 11k followers!#Jacob Sanguine

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walkingshcdow-a · 5 years

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The Tiara: Finnegan/Felicity Drabble

Felicity tried on another veil and modeled in the mirror. From the front, it looked all well and good, but no matter how she turned, she couldn’t get a glimpse of her back.

“Well?”

“You can’t see the back,” Sarah said. Felicity turned to face her sister. She remembered fittings for Sarah’s wedding. Her mother had cooed over Sarah, made it seem very special. But after the way the dress selection had gone, Felicity could understand why her mother opted out of the fitting. She didn’t agree with Michael’s publicist having final say, even though Felicity and Michael had agreed upon it early on in the engagement. Her mother didn’t understand. She’d made a very lateral marriage – youngest daughter of an oil tycoon to an advertising mogul. Michael was technically a viscount. They’d be wed in England and the paparazzi were going nuts over the whole thing. “The Next Meghan Markle?” one magazine posited. From there, it had snowballed. Of course they needed a publicist. The media circus would trample her if she didn’t look just perfect. In fact, she was surprised the publicist hadn’t come to the fitting.

She was surprised, at least, that Michael hadn’t come.

Last night he’d left for Scotland unexpectedly. He’d come home, grabbed his spare suitcase, and all but dashed out the door. So strange. They’d been talking about the wedding mere hours before at lunch – she had voiced fears, which Sarah now confirmed:

“The dress needs something,” she had said. “But the back is the showpiece. I don’t think I’ll find a veil that works. Maybe a little Jackie O hat with a birdcage veil?”

Michael looked horrified for a moment and then was absorbed in his phone for a few minutes. When he looked up he said,

“I’m so sorry, darling. You’ll have to try on the pillbox hats without me, I’m afraid. There’s something very important I have to do at Erskine. I will try to be back in time. I really will.”

He hadn’t made it back in time.

Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt if things didn’t feel like they were undergoing some kind of sea change between them. He held her hand, in private now, as well as in public. He listened to her talk and remembered the details – not remind her, but to follow up. He’d even tried to give her a back massage last week. She’d laughed when he touched below her shoulders, unable to react in any other way to the strange buzzing sensation she felt when he touched her. Maybe she’d hurt his pride?

For all she knew, he wasn’t in Scotland.

“It needs something,” she told Sarah. “I don’t think even the best hairstylist can make up for the simplicity of this dress.”

“You should have picked something you actually liked,” Sarah said. “Why do you have to listen to Finnegan about everything? And his publicist? What was that about?”

“This is the dress,” Felicity said. She ran her hands over the sleek fabric, so close to her skin she felt like she could live in it. “I never wanted a princess ballgown.”

“I guess you’ll have plenty of opportunities to wear a princess dress when you move to England.”

Felicity’s eyes stung, as if she’d been slapped. The move was not finalized. Both she and Michael resisted it. Home was here, in New York. He had his company; she had her work. Inevitably, though, his aunt would either give Michael the earldom or die and they would have to live in London. Michael kept putting off arranging for a second headquarters in London. He kept saying FinneCorp wasn’t ready to expand. That wasn’t true, but she appreciated him for saying it. She wasn’t ready to move and admitting it one way or the other felt like a betrayal. Looking away from Sarah, Felicity blinked and turned in the mirror. The seamstress tugged on the hem to keep it straight so she could finish her last pinning.

“You always wanted the princess dress, the fairytale wedding. You and Jacob had a beautiful ceremony. Just let Michael and I do ours our way.”

Sarah was silent for a while. Felicity fought the urge to look back at her.

“You never wanted to get married,” Sarah said. “When we were kids, even when we grew up. What do you see in him?”

“I love Michael.”

Felicity felt something funny in her stomach when she said it. She knew the difference between loving and being in love. Michael Finnegan had been her best friend for seven years, her fiancé for two. Theirs was a long con. Her family was beginning to see through it. Something about that bothered Felicity. More than it scared her, it angered her that her family acted like they knew her mind, her heart. She didn’t know for certain that she wasn’t in love with Michael. Every now and then, she would catch sight of him and a tingling sensation shot through her. It’d been like that these last few months. And when he’d touched her- She hadn’t let him kiss her since. She was scared. He opened bottled lightning in her and no one before him ever had. They’d agreed: theirs was a platonic marriage. They were looking out for each other. That’s what friends did. She couldn’t go falling in love with him. It would ruin their arrangement. It would scare him away. It scared her: she had never fallen in love with anyone. She wanted to tell Sarah everything. How did you tell someone who had a perfect and perfectly normal marriage that you were only just now falling in love with your fiancé and that you didn’t know if he felt the same way? Felicity held her head high and watched in the mirror as the seamstress stepped away.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Felicity frowned. She didn’t know what to think. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. But with her sister three feet away, she didn’t feel like a bride. She felt like a fraud. The door creaked open.

“It needs something,” Felicity murmured. She didn’t know what else to say.

“It certainly does,” Michael said from the doorway. “May I come in?”

“It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the wedding,” Sarah said, standing up. “I thought you’d finally figured that out.”

“I don’t hold to superstition,” he said.

Stepping into the room fully, Michael carried a delicate, yellowed box. Felicity studied it, but then she looked back at him, searching his face. She couldn’t read it. Had he run all the way from Scotland? His slick hair stuck to his forehead; his cheeks flushed a deep pink. He seemed out of breath; his suit was uncharacteristically crumpled. Felicity had been trying not to cry, but the sight of her fiancé here forced her to stifle a sob. She wanted to fling herself into his arms, even though she knew he would never hold her closer than at arm’s length. She wanted to smack him for canceling on her only to show up at the last minute. Instead she swallowed. Lowering her hand from her mouth, she revealed a smile.

“I thought you were in Scotland.”

“I was. Forgive me, I only just landed. I wasn’t sure I’d make it in time…. Sarah, do you mind letting Felicity and I have the room?”

Her family were the only people Felicity ever heard Michael ask permission from. Sarah, crossing her arms, did not seem inclined to give it.

“How dare you,” she said. “How dare you treat my sister like she’s a second-class citizen in her own engagement. How dare you-“

“What’s in the box?” Felicity asked. Maybe she was desperate to change the subject.

Michael walked across the room to her.

“You said last night the dress needed something. I went home – back to Erskine – to see if this might do the trick.” He opened the box and its wrappings. Nestled inside was a diamond and silver tiara. “It’s been in my family for generations…”

It was his favorite piece. His aunt once told him that his grandmother refused to let his mother wear it on her wedding day to his father. Finnegan had never known his grandmother, but he wondered if she had seen his father, even then, for all that he was and all that he was not. Looking at the tiara between his hands and then looking at Felicity, he wondered if she could see him for all that he was and was not. Sometimes, he would swear she was the only person who could. He watched her face soften. The pale pads of her fingers touched the jewels.

“Oh, Michael…”

He could listen to her sigh his name like that forever. How did he tell her that? After he’d been such a disappointment? After he’d insisted theirs was a marriage of convenience for a number of years? After he’d ben such a coward?

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “May I?”

“Allow me,” he insisted.

Setting the box aside, Finnegan’s trembling hands picked the tiara out of the tissue paper. He gently arranged it in Felicity’s hair. If she had thought the tiara was beautiful, she should see if from where he stood. Crowning her head, the diamonds sparkled more. Felicity stood tall. Even if she decided on a veil instead, nothing could hide her beauty. Finnegan’s eyes burned. Before she turned away from him, he twirled a strand of her hair, fallen beside her ear, around his finger so it would curl. The heat emanating from her skin made him ache touch her. If Felicity noticed, she was kind enough not to say anything aloud. Instead, she looked at him.

“Well? What do you think.”

“Beautiful,” Finnegan said. His throat stuck together. He cleared it. “Radiant. Darling, take a look for yourself.”

Slowly she turned to the mirror. She touched her cheeks, then the place above her heart.

“Oh, Michael-“ he stepped forward when she said his name again. “This is… Perfect. I finally feel like a bride. Thank you.”

She turned to face him. He reached to thumb away a tear from the corner of her eye. He wondered if she felt it – the electric pulse between them. He was going to say something, maybe even kiss her but –

“Well, you look like one,” Sarah cut in. “Finnegan can you step away? I want to get some pictures for Mom. She’s gonna cry when she sees these…”

Finnegan stepped back, only to watch Felicity pose for her sister’s camera phone. She looked over her shoulder, towards the mirror, but their eyes met and he smiled. He loved her for a thousand reasons in that second alone, even if he didn’t understand all of it. He couldn’t understand, for example, he patience with her sister. That was all right, though. He, too, could wait. Soon, the appointment would be over and he could take Felicity somewhere quiet, just the two of them-

As the tumbled out into the streets after the appointment, Felicity in her regular clothes, hugging the box with the tiara inside to her chest as she walked between Finnegan and Sarah, spoke brightly of how little was left to do before the wedding.

“Really, all that’s left,” she said as they reached a corner, “is to get married.”

Finnegan laughed.

“And pack for the trip,” he said. “And the honeymoon. I think you’ll like the hotel I found in Madrid… But before any of that, I was wondering if you had lunch plans?”

“We do,” Sarah said. Finnegan wished she wasn’t here at all but he looked at her with understanding. “Girls only, actually.”

“Sarah!” Felicity turned to her sister. “You don’t have to be mean to Michael. He can come, if he’d like…”

He wanted to and normally he would have said yes. But he wanted Felicity alone. He wanted to confess how he felt for her. Not something he expected Sarah to give him a chance to do.

“Darling, it’s fine. I’ll see you at home. In fact, I can take the tiara home for you, keep it safe…”

“Could you?’

“It’s no trouble…”

“You’re the best.”

As Felicity bounced up to peck Finnegan on the lips, he caught her by the nape of the neck. Gently, he guided her face to his, so that their lips might brush. He felt it – that pang of something-more-than-desire. Felicity gasped into the kiss. Did she feel it too? Finnegan slid his hand down her back and reeled her in closer. Felicity sighed against his mouth and just as the kiss was deepening-

“And now we have the light,” Sarah said. “Felicity, are you coming?”

Felicity shoved the box into Finnegan’s chest and pulled away. He fumbled to hold it, watching jealously as Felicity crossed the street with her sister, watching until she was out of sight, before hailing a cab to take him home to wait for her.

#;;thy tongue; thy story quickly.| {drabble}#drabble #;;from the third richest family in england | {finnegan}#;;a young woman who takes life by the lapels | {felicity kingston}#r: somewhere in all the confusion you were so perfect | {finnegan x felicity kingston}#r: we've got a million dollar love so why is my heart broke? | {felicity x finnegan}

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lavender-noire · 6 years

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Read on MTS

As perfect as it is in theory, a white colonial style house with two stories, a big blue front door with a golden knocker emblazoned on the front is terribly unrealistic for life in the city. The property alone required for that sprawling backyard would cost a fortune worth several lifetimes over. Not to mention the price of that immaculate green lawn out front. Then there's the cost of the never-ending parade of gardeners for the grounds, housekeepers for the rooms, plumbers for those four bathrooms she insists were absolutely necessary, and of course, a nanny for the children, because how dare he expect her to renounce her career just because she's created a life. How god damn dare he. But no. Of course that's a ridiculous fantasy for a working couple living in the heart of Downtown Pleasantview. There's the cost. There's all that space, mocking her with its unresponsive emptiness. And moving back to the suburbs is obviously out of the question. The thought of being walking distance from her mother and sister makes her heartbeat spill into her ears. Not again. Besides, the apartment is nice enough. Nevermind that the floors creak and the porch light still isn't fixed after sixteen weeks of asking.

The apartment is cool inside, despite the heat of the day pooling just outside the kitchen window. Her tiny porcelain cups of wheat grass and soil are appreciative for the unobstructed light. Angela's gaze doesn't falter from looking across the table to admire her plants, proud as she is. A jolt of pain leaps up from the small of her back and across her vertebrae, then comes to rest somewhere at the base of her skull. Heat and throbbing soreness moans warily from the bottoms of her feet. Her skin chafes every second of every minute to accommodate her growing belly. To cope, she frantically applies butters and creams to her stomach at every trip to the bathroom. Sometimes she looks at her body in the mirror and grins, eager to meet the person sleeping inside it. Other times, she sobs as her mind suffers to reconcile her swollen belly and tired legs with the image of herself she's known for forever until now. Sometimes she plucks the hair from her scalp to regain some sense of control over the metamorphosing landscape of her own physical form. Sometimes she screams into a folded towel. Every time, she blots a makeup sponge under her eyes, reapplies her lipstick, and returns to society all clean and pretty.

Gazing back at his wife from across the table, Jake can't help the upward tilt of his lips. She's glowing. People always say that about pregnant women, but he's seen pregnant women, and nobody radiates like Angela. The muted scent of lavender and linen trails after her wherever she goes. Distant starlight catches the green of her eyes and blinds him with her absolute perfection. It wads his stomach in knots to look upon her and then remember himself.

She knows she's too good for him. She doesn't have to say as much, of course. The entire world showers cherry blossom petal praise and congratulations for her charming manner, pretty face, and sharp wit, then recoils in horror when they realize that man beside her is her husband. The sweet, sticky odor of hair gel and body spray heralds his presence before he even enters a room. Years of drunken revelry and cigarette smoke has made his voice husky. He saunters from place to place, constantly late, his attentions and affections carried on an unpredictable wind. They've moved more than twice because asking him to turn down the volume of his music is an assault on his creative expression. His reputation precedes him everywhere. "Him?" they all say. And it's getting harder to respond.

Her eyes linger on him as he walks past. She wrinkles her brow and implores his broad back to explain just what it is that tethers her to him. She hardly noticed him at all in college. He was her sister's plaything back then. Jacob Martin existed merely as a deep voice comingling in the raucous laughter that emanated from behind her sister's door. He was the nonchalant arm draped around Lilith's shoulders at the cafeteria. He was the lazy cheek kisses and the napping body beside her on the couch in the common room. He was an accessory to her antics, equally directionless and shallow. But a single drunken night of dancing and stolen kisses under the yellow glow of a streetlamp, and he's Mr. Pleasant-Martin. Angela smiles a meek smile. It had been a fun night, at least.

He perches on the couch beside her, crossing his legs at the ankles. "Angie, I've been thinking," he says. Angela cringes at the bastardization of her name. It's Angela, she wants to say. It's been six fucking years, Jacob, you know I like it "Angela", not "Angie", "Angel", or even goddamn "Jelly". But she steals a moment with eyes pinched close, a wrinkle of the nose, then responds, "What's that, babe?" He blossoms. Pet names are rare. "I want to throw you a baby shower. I promise, nothing big, just a little get-together for family and friends here at the house. I'll be conservative with the music, I'll leave the menu to you, and it'll just --" The corners of Angela's lips bow in not quite a smile. "It sounds great. Let's do it."

Of all the extended family, Jacob's dad is the over the most often. Angela thinks their relationship is unhealthy. Codependent. Jacob thinks that that's an overdramatic, assumptive assertion that she makes because she lives in abject fear of her own mother, and can't comprehend a relationship that deviates from that. He would never say so, but it's what he thinks. "Dude!" Jacob cries as he bats his father's hands away, "Don't tickle me, I'm like thirty." Andrew grins a lopsided grin and buries his fingers in Jacob's sides, "Shut up, you love it." They share a laugh.

Antithetical as they are, the two family groups mix without incident most of the time. Mary-Sue attempted a conversation with Jacob's father once. While the conversation languished around stocks and the state of the economy, she was perfectly enthused. Once Andrew decided to dust off the fart noises and impressions, Mary-Sue had written him off as an intellectual dead end. These days, she greets him with a single nod of acknowledgement and nothing more. Andrew, who cannot bear the thought of not being liked, nurses his hurt feelings with food every time he and Mary-Sue are in the same room. It works for them.

Lilith and Jacob remain friends, though not as close as they used to be. They lounge around the house together watching television or playing video games under Angela's skeptical surveillance. Neither one has any interest in rekindling their sexual relationship, but Lilith likes the anxiety in brings to her twin's stupidly immaculate household, so she lets Angela worry.

Angela's eyes flit between her sister's face and the protrusion of her own pregnant stomach. She surveys with displeasure the shaggy red tresses that drape across her twin's forehead and curl near her ears. It's better than when she was bald for a year, sure, but not by much. Angela finds it hard to look at her sister for more than a few minutes at a time. The familiarity of those features -- that same freckled nose and pale face, those same, cutting green eyes staring back into her own -- makes her want to peel her skin off and inhabit someone, anyone, else.

She dips her chin downward to draw attention to Lilith's belly. "That's new. Don's the dad?"

Lilith smirks. "Sure is."

"I'm glad we're pregnant at the same time, this way our kids can --"

Lilith cups her hand before her lips and shakes loose a yawn. "Angela, nothing would be more boring to me than playing the whole 'twinsies' game with our kids and forcing ourselves together for Sunday brunch or whatever contrived, inauthentic bullshit you've concocted to appease our terrible mother."

Anxious, incensed butterflies flood Angela's stomach. Their sickly yellow wings bat against each other. Scarlet heat rises to the surface of her skin. Her face flushes. Her ears numb. She can feel the blood swirling beneath her flesh, and it makes her sick. She fixes a smile upon her face as she winds her fingers into fists at her sides. She pictures glass fracturing in the beds of her palms, sheer edges pressing to her skin and alleviating the thrum of her heart, the rage in her veins, for just a moment.

It's fine.

"Congratulations, Lilith." she softly says.

It's fine. Angela is a great daughter-in-law. She's intelligent. She's lovely. She's kind. She is an excellent addition to any family, and anyone who doesn't see her value is obviously worthless, themselves. She throws her arms around her father-in-law and wraps him in a warm embrace. He smells like paperwork and brandy, and for a moment, Angela worries that he's driven here. Nevermind. She pulls back.

"Andrew, thanks for coming. We're always so happy to have you."

She wonders if he can tell her words are hollow.

Angela's mouth begins to water and her stomach lurches. Nausea blurs her vision and burns her throat. She touches a few fingertips to her lips and heads for the bathroom.

A melodic voice cuts through the mental noise awash in Angela's head.

"Angela!" the voice says, "Congratulations, sweetheart! Have you picked out any names?"

Her throat constricts and the gushing, angry bloodflow ebbs for a moment as she registers Meadow Broke's face. She can feel her pupils reduce to pinpricks in the center of her eyes, a thieving raccoon caught in the glow of a flashlight. Her attention bounds between Meadow and the man approaching behind her. Oh good, Dustin's here. It was only a kiss and she didn't know they were engaged. Either way, Meadow stole him from her first, so really, it all cancels out. They're over it. It's fine.

"Hey!" she says too loudly, "Th-thanks for being here. I have a few names I really like, but Jacob wants to wait until we meet the baby to decide."

Meadow chuckles. "And it's driving you crazy, right?"

She presses the inside of her lip between her teeth, then forces a laugh.

"Completely nuts."

Mary-Sue Pleasant has a way of looking through to the core of people. She sees through the miles of coping mechanisms, aesthetic distractions, and defensive walls to the heart of their character. In another life, she may very well have made an excellent therapist. But in this one, her perception and intuition about people is stained by the inky black streaks of judgment she paints upon them, deeming them worthy or not of her respect, her acceptance, her praise. Currently, she looks upon the unkempt frame of her son-in-law at a party he's cobbled together to celebrate the impending arrival of the child he's made with her daughter. Mary-Sue is elated at the thought of meeting this darling bundle of untapped potential, but immeasurably disappointed when she considers its father.

"Hello, Jacob," she says dully as he makes his approach. He looks stern.

"We need to talk. Before the baby comes, before anybody makes any decisions about childcare, education, expectations -- whatever -- you and me have to talk."

Mary-Sue cocks a brow and leans onto one hip, her arms fanned confidently at her sides and and utterly unimpressed frown scrawled across her face. "I agree, we do need to have a discussion."

Jacob parts his lips, but Mary-Sue plows through his opportunity.

"I'm not like everyone else, Jacob. I'm not going to do this dance with you, protect your flimsy self-esteem. Let me be transparent: I am unhappy with the choice my daughter has made. I don't think you're right for her or for this family, but I cannot make her decisions for her. What we're looking at is an eternity tethered to each other through this child, and while that's obviously not ideal for either of us --"

"I don't have a problem with you, Mary."

"Mary-Sue. And fine, obviously it's not ideal for me. But seeing as there's no way around it, there are a few things I'm going to need from you. One, find a real job. I will not have my daughter and grandchild's fate hinging on the potential for upward mobility for a DJ."

Jacob scowls. "Emcee."

"That is literally the exact same thing, Jacob. Do you even hear yourself?" The older woman sucks in a breath and releases it with great effort. "One, real job. I can get you a job at Dirk Dreamer's firm, and you will take it. Two, the child will attend private school and university, nonnegotiable. Three, get a real house. I will not have my grandchild raised in an apartment of this condition on the poor side of the city. Are we clear?"

Jacob grits his teeth. "You're being insanely demeaning to me in my own home at a party I threw to honor your daughter, and I won't take your --"

Mary-Sue clucks her tongue and shakes her head softly. "Mind your tone, Jacob. It's Angela's party and we don't want to cause her any undue stress, do we? Think of the baby."

Jacob sighs. "Fine. But we'll continue this later."

Mary-Sue chuckles. "If we must."

"Oh, hey Angela. You feeling okay?"

Angela brushes her wrist across her mouth, having emerged from the bathroom renewed. She glances down at Jules O'Mackey, sitting sentinel upon the sofa.

"Me? Yeah, I'm great."

Jules warms to her just a little. "Well, good. I've watched you run around all night long, and I wanna be sure you're okay. Want to sit?"

Angela shakes her head with a neighborly smile. "No, but thank you. I prefer to stand."

"Alright. Just mind your stress, alright? I have no doubt you can handle it, I'm just thinking of that kid in there."

Angela nods.

Jules glimpses some space else with a wistful sheen in her eyes. "I just can't believe Jake is having a kid. I mean we're all at that age, right? Everyone's got their partners now, Dustin and Meadow have Summer, and -- it's silly, but as a kid I was so sure Jake and I were gonna end up together. I wonder if he'll say anything about me to that little guy of yours."

In her stunned silence, Angela can hear the sound of Jacob's voice as he spins a mostly true story from the kitchen.

"Anyways, Lilith told me there was no way to crush a full can of soda against my head, and I said 'not with that attitude, there's not'. So that's how I wound up getting eight stitches in my head at the hospital on New Years Eve."

She watches Jules' smug, self-satisfied freckled fucking face, something monstrous bubbling to the surface. Her shoulders pitch and her nostrils flare once, then twice. She can feel her throat constrict and her muscles pull against the bone. She inhales through her nose and cool air meets her scalding lungs. She plants a loving hand upon her own stomach and glowers down the bridge of her nose at Jules. It's fine. It really is.

"Don't worry, Jules, I'm sure it'll happen for you eventually," she says, a cakey sweetness laden in her voice.

"And that's how I met Angela again after college!” she can hear Jacob sing from the kitchen.

Angela steals away to the bedroom after most the guests take their leave. She sleeps an uneasy rest, drenched in sweat, sharp pains electrifying her skin and insides from her navel outward. She yanks her entire body upright and fumbles with the blankets, hands shaking. The sheets are drenched down to the mattress, and her body aches under the immense pressure building in her abdomen. She can't catch her breath. She throws herself from the bed and wails, grasping at her stomach.

"Jacob, wake up!" she screams.

"Wait a minute, let me call the hospital." Jacob mutters as he tears himself from the bed.

"No time!"

"Holy shit, is that--?!"

The minutes pass like small eternities, one by one, and eventually, where before there were two, there are three.

Angela pulls the baby to her chest and wipes away the sweat from her forehead with an arm. She presses a few tired kisses to the baby's skin before inhaling his scent.

"Whoo! You did it, Angie! And I'm only sort of traumatized for life."

Angela smirks against the baby's shoulder. "Wanna hold him?"

“What do we call him?” she asks.

There’s a palpable thickness to the silence between them. Jacob gazes into the brand new face of his child -- his child -- and two little brown eyes gaze back. He chokes on the wet wad of emotion that eases up his throat, then replies.

“Munn.”

“What? ‘Munn’?”

“His name is Munn.”

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mysticalreadingnerd · 6 years

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Daisies Blooming by the Sidewalk (Credence Barebone x Reader Imagine)

Words: 1424

Summary: You have always felt insecure about yourself and when some local girls taunt you over your looks you turn back to old habits. Credence decides to show you that being plain doesn’t mean you are any less remarkable in his eyes.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fantastic Beasts or any of its characters, much to my regret. GIF credits to the owner.

Triggers: SELF HARM, mentions of bullying, blood.

You stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, the bright lights bathing you in a warm glow. But the eyes that gazed back into yours were dull, lifeless. As if a Dementor had sucked your soul and left an empty husk in its place. Ugly. That was the word which reverberated in your skull as you analysed your features. Pallid skin, with an off centre nose and stringy hair that hung limply around your head. If God was a generous being who created things of beauty, then he was definitely in a bad mood when he created you. At least that’s what the girls from the neighbourhood said. Weird, ugly Y/N L/N who always caused things to go wrong. Who couldn’t attract a guy even if her life depended on it.

A sigh escape your chapped lips. Where was the lie in that? The cold metal of the razor blade brought an odd comfort to you, almost bringing relief with its familiarity. You pulled back the long sleeves of your shirt. The skin on your arms was littered with jagged white lines, a testament of years spent in the comfort of the blade, of years being picked upon and called unflattering names. A misfit among your peers. You placed the tip against your skin gazing at the unmarred patch that would relieve your internal agony, even for just a while. Drops of red oozed out of the cut and you pulled it with calculated precision, the pain calming the fire that had erupted in your soul.

“Y/N… I was just wondering if you have some milk? We are out…” a soft voice trailed off, its owner looking at your deer caught in the headlights expression with confusion. Shit! You had forgotten to lock the door and Credence had chosen this very moment to enter unannounced. His eyebrows knitted and eyes widened in shock as he took in the image of you standing at the sink, a blade clutched in your fingers with blood pooling in the basin. “You are hurt!” he rushed to take the blade out of your reach but you were faster and hid it behind your back. “Y/N? What…?” You merely shook your head, ashamed that of all the people to see you in this state it was Credence who had found out.

Just your luck that the beautiful boy next door with the shy smiles and soft words, upon whom you had been crushing on from the moment your brother Jacob introduced you two, would be the one to discover you at your lowest. Credence Barebone. He of the strong jaw line and model like features. If looks could kill, you would have been six feet under ages ago. The guy who carried a weight in eyes from a dark past but still managed to bring sunshine in everyone’s life. Hot tears trailed down your cheeks as you refused to let go of the sharp instrument, your lone stress reliever ever since the mocking had started. Your bleeding hand hung limply at your side, staining the floor with drops of dark crimson.

He approached you with the caution of a wounded animal, gently taking your hand in his and loosening the grip on the blade. He kept it away before carefully caressing your bleeding arm, the cut sealing itself as if it had never been there. “Y/N, what happened?” He placed a finger under your chin, pulling your face upwards so that you were staring in his chocolate brown eyes. Three simple words were all it took to open the flood gates. Now you openly sobbed, burying your head in his chest, clutching his shirt with your recently healed hand. His hand tangled itself in your hair, stroking it gently while he returned the hug. “I just…I just can’t take it anymore. I can’t take the pain clawing at me, without feeling like it will tear me apart if I don’t find an outlet for it.” You pulled away from the embrace to stare in his confused eyes. A finger traced your scars, almost mocking you like the neighbourhood girls. “Look at me. Why am I so…ordinary? So plain? They call me the ugly duckling whenever I cross paths with them. Maybe they are right… maybe I’m just a waste of space.”

On hearing the words said in such a helpless tone, Credence’s heart broke at the pain you had been holding onto for so long. His fingers replaced yours, and he traced your scars with own calloused ones, gently gliding over your skin with his warm touch. Despite yourself and your recent outburst, you relaxed under his touch. It had always been so easy to be comfortable in his presence. “Y/N. I don’t know who these people are… who are blind enough to call you such horrid names but, I don’t think you are ugly.” You scoffed at his words. A part of you knew that he meant it to be comforting but you had been suffering from bottling it up for too long. “Ugly, plain, ordinary, average, unremarkable. You can try to soften the blow but that doesn’t change the truth.”

The tears gleamed on your cheeks which had become red and puffy from crying. Credence placed his hands on both of them, cupping your face so that your eyes wouldn’t escape the hypnotic trance of his gaze. He had your undivided attention. “You know, when we first met, you reminded me of daisies.” You idly wondered where he was going with this and what it had to do the current situation. “People often think that daisies are plain and unassuming, weeds that are meant to be uprooted. But their resilience in never giving up despite the world being against them is something that I really admire. It is also something that I find similar to you.” He tucked a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “And besides, I like how they bloom even in the harshest places, brightening up dull corners. Such innocent little ones that always take people by surprise.”

You stared at him, awestruck by his words. Never had anyone made plainness sound so desirable. He took your hand in his, bringing you closer and intertwining his fingers with yours. He stared at your joined hands and you were struck by the way in which the scars on his hands seemed to merge with your own. Almost like magic had left its mark in tangible form, transforming the scars into a thing of beauty. “I used to think on similar lines, that I would always be a tarnished boy who deserved the beatings that he got.” He whispered softly and you were taken aback by how close he was standing to you. The warmth of his body radiated towards you, engulfing you in a sense of security. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. How could someone as pure and wonderful as Credence deserve being beaten up so much that it left a lasting mark on him?

“But I have found that there are always things that we deserve far more than any pain we receive.” He looked up at you and it felt as if he was staring in your soul. Credence took another step towards you, so that you were standing an inch apart. His next words fanned your face with his warm breath. “Love is something that we all deserve.” His gaze drifted from your eyes to your lips, making his intentions clear. And as his lips descended on yours, warm and feather light in the faintest of touches, you couldn’t help but respond in equal fervour. You two broke apart and he bumped his forehead onto yours. “I love you, my daisy.” He brushed his nosed against yours, a small smile playing on his lips.

An hour back you would have never thought it possible. But now, the biggest grin you could manage stretched your cheeks into expanses of joy. “Finally!” You both jumped and stared up to see Queenie and Jacob standing at the door smiling at you two. “The two cuties are finally together! Don’t they look perfect with each other?” the chirpy blonde gave a cheer. “Young love”, Jacob shook his head, sighing wistfully. You grinned at their words, placing a quick kiss on Credence’s cheek as he took your hand in his. His calluses brushed roughly against your hand reminding you that not all scars were reminders of pain. Some were signs of strength and resilience. Maybe being plain wasn’t that bad after all.

A/N: This has taken ages for me to write not because I didn’t want to write it but because I’m a procrastinating little shit. Anyway, I hope you like this lovely anon. And never believe the haters, every person is beautiful in their own way. It just takes a while and the right person to discover and enhance it. I’m pretty sure you are just as beautiful as our lovely Credence basking in some well deserved love. With that wonderful imagery in mind, I send loads of virtual love!

~ Mystical Reading Nerd

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jaskiersbard · 7 years

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Least Wanted (Chapter 2/2) - A Tina/Newtina fic

Here it is, guys - the second and final chapter of "Least Wanted" :)

In this chapter, we've got a LOT - Newtina, Jakweenie, Scamander children, motherhood woes, fluff, implied stuff... It's all happening in this chapter!

I hope you guys enjoy :)

Queenie’s heart had broken cleanly in two when Jacob Kowalski had been obliviated, and Tina didn’t need to be a skilled Legilimens to know it – she and her sister knew each other that well.

Her own heart ached for Queenie, though she knew that it had been for the best; it had been quite obvious that her sister had developed feelings for the stout No-Maj, even before she had given him a parting kiss in the rain, and it had certainly been an affection he reciprocated. Tina, herself, was saddened by his departure; he had been a friend to them, after all, a great help in their quest to recapture several magical creatures…she had grown fond of him, certainly, and it had hurt to say goodbye to him.

It was a few nights later that she made some hot cocoa and decided that a conversation was needed; she was the older sister, for one, and while she didn’t get nearly as much out of these ‘ladies chats’ that Queenie did, it was clear that it was necessary. She made an extra mug for Newt and brought it down to him in his case (much to his surprise, she noticed) before entering the bedroom with the other two mugs; the blonde was curled up in bed, looking despondent and miserable – a far cry from her usual bubbly self.

“Queenie…” She put the tray down on the side table before sitting next to her sister and putting an arm around her tentatively. “I know. We can talk about it if you want – I even made hot drinks… Mama always said that things look better after a hot drink.”

Her younger sister sighed heavily but nodded in agreement. “I guess so. You’re right, Teen – thanks.”

The two were silent for a few minutes as they sipped at their drinks, waiting for the other to speak first; Tina honestly didn’t know what she could say at a time like this, unsure of how best to comfort her sister on such a matter. She’d never had to deal with love or romance, not like this, and a part of her felt guilty because as the older sister she should have been able to give advice.

“Don’t be silly, Teen,” Queenie mumbled, clasping her mug tightly. “You give great advice…and it ain’t like I’m experienced either, you know. Most the guys I been around are far from nice about their thoughts, thinking about me like a piece of meat…not Jacob though.” Her face fell, shoulders slumping. “Jacob is…was…a real gentleman.”

Tina gnawed on her lip anxiously as she moved closer to her sister, putting her drink aside. “I’m so sorry, Queenie. I know you were both…you liked each other a lot,” She said carefully. "I liked him too; he was pretty funny, and he didn’t seem like a bad guy.”

“It ain’t fair,” Her sister murmured, voice soft and weak. “Just ‘cause he’s a No-Maj…such a stupid law. He weren’t about to hurt anyone, let alone tell people about magic – he’d have kept it secret, I know he would have.”

“I think he would have too.”

“I ain’t ever met anyone like him,” Queenie continued, and she sounded close to tears. “I ain’t ever gonna find anyone else like him either – there’s only one like him, Teen, just him. When we was together, I felt so happy and…and he was so sweet to me, so wonderful. He didn’t just think what everyone else thought ‘bout me – he didn’t think I was ‘easy’ or just a pair of legs. He liked me, everything about me…not just the way I looked. It sounds silly, but it’s true.”

Tina was speechless, at a loss for what to say; it wasn’t too shocking, of course, but to find that her sister had developed such strong feelings for a man she’d known for just a few days was admittedly a slight surprise. Her sister – her little sister who she had tried to look after and take care of since childhood – was deeply in love.

Deeply in love with a man that she legally couldn’t be with.

Queenie reached out and took her sister’s hand. “I’m not a little girl anymore, Teen – neither of us are. I do love him – and he loved me, I know he did. If things were different, then maybe…” She stopped, eyes glistening.

“Maybe someday,” Tina said uselessly, squeezing the younger witch’s hand tightly. “They could change the law in the future, right?”

It was a poor attempt at comfort, and they both knew it; nonetheless, Queenie forced herself to smile – it looked hollow and bitter, a far cry from her usual happy beam. “Maybe. For all I know, he could go back to that fiancée – the one who gave him the brush off…she could change her mind, and they could get end up married after all.”

“Queenie, don’t,” She muttered half-heartedly. “You don’t know that. If she left him for…for whatever reason, then chances are she won’t wanna come back.”

Her sister’s bottom lip trembled. “He could find any girl in New York, any blonde, and marry her – any girl would be lucky to have him. He’d be happy and never have to know about any of this ever again…”

“Stop it,” Tina scolded, though there was no conviction behind it whatsoever. “Queenie, there’s no point in depressing yourself – we don’t know what’s gonna happen in the future, so there’s no reason to get upset over stuff that might not ever happen.”

A tear ran down Queenie’s cheek, and she didn’t bother to wipe it away; instead, she twisted and hid her face into her sister’s shoulder. It was mere seconds later that her shoulders were shaking with sobs, a wetness soaking through the collar of the older witch’s pyjama shirt, a gasp muffled by fabric.

Tina soothed her sister, brushing her curls back the way she had done when they were children and keeping an arm around her; she didn’t speak, instead silently offering what she knew Queenie needed most – a shoulder to cry on, someone to care. Her sister didn’t need to be told it would be okay, or that everything would be fine: she needed someone to be there to listen to her, to just be there.

The first time she had seen the picture had been the first time she’d been in Newt’s case; it had been a fleeting glimpse, a mere glance really, and she had soon become so occupied and amazed by the habitats outside the shed that she hadn’t paid it a great deal of thought. After all, things had suddenly gotten rather out of hand just half an hour later, what with the Obscurial and Grindelwald being revealed – by the end of the night, the picture was the very last thing on her mind.

She had seen it again just a few days later whilst helping Newt in his case; she had needed the distraction, frankly, needed something to do that would give her sister some space, and so she had offered to attempt to assist the Magizoologist in whatever way possible. Of course, the most she could really do was watch as Newt did his duties and occasionally help by preparing feed in a bowl, but it gave her something to do nonetheless. At one point he had sent her to his shed to collect a prepared bucket of meat for his Graphorns (“Don’t worry, I’ve chopped it up already – if you could just bring it, that would be most helpful”), and it was in this moment that she had looked around the enclosed space properly, taking everything in for herself without any rush or anyone to judge her.

This included the photograph.

It was framed and of a beautiful woman, smiling suggestively as she looked out of picture; something curled in Tina’s stomach at the sight, something unpleasant and uncomfortable. The girl was probably Newt’s lover back home, or something similar, she thought to herself – and for some reason, she felt saddened. Why she felt this way, she couldn’t say, but it made her shoulders droop and her heart ache in her chest. Whoever this mysterious girl was, Newt obviously cared deeply for her – he must have done to carry her picture in his suitcase.

Her mood had significantly lowered after getting a better look at the photograph, even as she returned to the habitats and continued to help Newt; it didn’t even lift after eating the delicious supper Queenie had prepared, nor when she excused herself early for bed. Her sister had frowned at her, clearly having sensed the thoughts in her head, but said nothing; the Magizoologist had joined them for dinner that night, and she knew it would be best to wait until he wasn’t within hearing range before pursuing such a conversation.

It was still rather early in the night when Queenie quietly entered the room, immediately looking to her sister; Tina merely gave a half-hearted smile and returned to her book – it was a conversation she knew was coming but still wished she could avoid.

The blonde sat down next to her on the bed, a look of understanding on her face. “You saw the picture.”

Tina kept her mouth pressed in a firm line, forcing her mind to focus on her book and not the memory of finding the photograph or on Newt.

“Teen,” Queenie said quietly. “It ain’t like that, him and her – they ain’t a thing, not anymore. She hurt him, hurt him real bad, and they haven’t spoken in years.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re an awful liar, Teenie,” Her sister tutted. “At least, you are when it’s something you care about. I know how you feel about him, even if you won’t admit it to yourself yet – and I know that you’re upset about the photo.”

Tina finally closed her book, nearly slamming it shut, and huffed. “He’s perfectly within his rights to carry a picture around, Queenie – I don’t care. And I don’t think of him as anything more than a friend,” She disagreed, though her heart still felt heavy in her chest. “Besides, even if I did think of him like that then there’d be no point in it… I mean, he’s heading back to London soon, for one, and…”

And it’s not like he’d ever feel that way about me, anyway.

“No, Teen, don’t think like that – any guy would be lucky to have your attention. Newt likes you, you know; he’s a lot more comfortable around you than me, and I know he does like you spending time with him in that case.” Queenie took her sister’s hands in her own, looking her straight in the eye. “That picture really upset you, and I know it did – but you don’t gotta worry about it, Tina, I promise.”

Tina knew better than to get her hopes up – she’d done so before and only had her heart broken – but a part of her felt admittedly curious. “The girl in that picture…do you know who she is?”

“An old friend of his from when he was at school,” Queenie said, giving her fingers a tight squeeze for reassurance. “Leta Lestrange – they were real close once but she…she hurt him, Teen, she took from him without giving. It’s why he has so much trouble with other people, why he ain’t got so many friends – because she hurt him so bad.”

She thought about Newt, about how awkward he was around other humans and how closely bonded he was with his creatures, and it made sense; his beasts wouldn’t judge him, would not consider him strange in any way – unlike people. The idea that someone had done something to him to make him feel so unable to connect with others – someone who had broken his heart – made her feel so angry, and she found herself disliking the girl from the picture for an entirely different reason.

“They’re through with, Teen,” Her sister continued softly. “She did break his heart, and he’s still hurting about it even now… A part of him still loves her, even after what she did – but that just makes it hurt more.”

Tina suddenly looked away and down at their linked hands, trying to find something she could say; there was so much swimming around in her head that she felt overwhelmed, a flurry of emotion making it difficult to respond. “That’s awful,” She muttered finally, shaking her head slowly. “It’s just…” Poor Newt.

Queenie smiled sadly. “I ain’t gonna push things, Teen – it’s none my business – but Leta Lestrange was a taker, someone who took so much from him without giving back…and what he needs is a giver.”

It was early morning when Tina accompanied Newt to the docks, preparing herself to see him off; he had stayed for another week, just to book his passage and gather his things together, and in that time she had grown accustomed to him being around. The fact that he was going to be gone made her more miserable than she cared to admit, though she passed it off as the fact that he was a friend – of course she would miss him, as would Queenie.

He stopped walking just before they reached the boarding gate, turning to her; she smiled somewhat anxiously at him, and he offered a shy grin in return. “Well, it’s been…”

“Hasn’t it!” There was a pause where they merely looked at each other, somewhat unsurely, before she continued quickly. “Listen, Newt, I wanted to thank you.”

“What on Earth for?”

“Well, if you hadn’t said all those nice things to Madam Picquery about me, I wouldn’t be back on the investigative team now.”

“Well…I can’t think of anyone that I’d rather have investigating me,” Newt said – and then he cringed, clearly regretting his choice of words.

Tina smiled appreciatively, somewhat amused even in the awkwardness that had followed. “Try not to need investigating for a bit.”

“I will,” He agreed, clearly relieved that she hadn’t taken his words the wrong way. “Quiet life for me from now on…back to the Ministry, deliver my manuscript…”

“I’ll look out for it,” She promised eagerly. “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.”

Newt looked simply stunned as he stared at her, clearly taken aback – almost as if he were seeing her in a new light for the first time. It was this that made Tina pluck up what courage she could, even though the words felt like tar in her throat.

“Does Leta Lestrange like to read?”

He blinked. “Who?”

“The girl whose picture you carry,” She said carefully, heart beating in her chest hard for some reason – she couldn’t quite place why though.

Newt hesitated before answering, his response careful. “I don’t really know what Leta likes these days, because people change.”

“…Yes.”

“I’ve changed, I think,” He continued, as though it were a dawning realization. “Maybe a little.”

Delight washed over Tina at his words, even as she tried her best not to allow herself to get her hopes up – it would only end with her getting hurt, she reminded herself, as it always did. Instead, she found herself struggling not to cry at the sudden flurry of conflicting emotions running through her.

The ship’s siren sounded, signalling for the last of the passengers to board; Newt turned to her quickly, his voice earnest and eager. “I’ll send you a copy of my book, if I may.”

Tina couldn’t stop herself from beaming, eyes still glistening with tears. “I’d like that.”

He gazed at her, awkwardly affectionate – and then he reached forwards, fingers gently pushing back a tuft of her hair behind her ear. Lingering, for a long intense moment they stared into each other’s eyes.

Before she could think of anything to say, Newt had moved away hurriedly and left her standing on her own; stunned but also feeling her heart sinking, Tina raised a hand to where his fingers had been on her hair just seconds previously. It had been so brief that she wondered if it was possible that she’d imagined it; even if she hadn’t, he probably hadn’t meant anything by it: of course he wouldn’t have-

Suddenly Newt had reappeared, speaking quickly and nervously. “I’m so sorry – how would you feel if I gave you your copy in person?”

In person – he would come back to New York just to give her his book, to see her.

“I’d like that.” A radiant smile broke out on Tina’s face, and she laughed tearfully. “Very much!”

He grinned at her, seeming almost relieved and pleased, before turning and walking away once more for the boat. She watched him, her smile still wide, as he started up the gangplank before stopping; he seemed unsure of how to act. He deliberated for a brief second before moving on without looking back, leaving her alone in the empty harbour.

Newt’s coming back, Tina thought, and a burst of happiness exploded in her chest – it wouldn’t be long until his book was published, surely, and then she would see him again. She would be eagerly awaiting his book, of course – all of these creatures were so interesting, and reading about them would provide her more insight on them – but it was undeniable that she would look forward to seeing him more.

With that in her mind, she allowed herself a small skip of excitement as she walked out of the harbour, overjoyed and happier than she had been in a long time.

The search for Grindelwald after his escape had led the Auror team to Paris; it was unknown as to what he was looking for or doing in the city, though it could be assumed that he was looking for others to join his cause. Tina had been among those sent to France to look for him, to help the British and French investigative teams, and while she was eager to do the right thing – in this case, hunting for an extremely dangerous wizard experienced in the Dark Arts – she did still feel slightly anxious as to what the future would hold.

Most importantly, she missed Queenie. It was difficult being separated from her sister, especially after so many years of cohabiting together. She had no doubts that Queenie could handle herself, of course, but it was only natural for her to worry – they were all each other had in the world, after all, and she still wanted to protect her sister in any way she could. The blonde had merely smiled and patted her arm when she left, telling her, “I’m a big girl now, Teen, don’t you worry about me. Just keep yourself safe.”

Frankly, there wasn’t anything to make her feel anything but safe so far; their search had been largely unsuccessful, with no trace of Grindelwald or his followers to go on. For all any of them knew, he had already left Paris and gone elsewhere – the possibility of this being the case increased with each day, and most of the team were getting rather frustrated. It was all Tina could think about and she threw herself into her work; she wanted to assist in recapturing Grindelwald, of course, but it was also because it provided her with a distraction from other things.

Like how Newt hadn’t written to her in several months.

It was a silly thing to get upset over, she knew, but she couldn’t help it; he was most likely busy with his book, of course, hence why he hadn’t written…but it still hurt. It was almost as if he had forgotten about his promises to her, about the goodbye they had shared at the harbour – forgotten about her. Tina didn’t want to admit it, but she had found her feelings developing for him ever since his visit; he had seemed so different, the first of so many men who actually seemed to respect her work or notice any potential, and it had made her feel warm inside.

Of course he doesn’t like me back like that, She would scold herself sternly, though her heart was aching; we’re friends and nothing more. Besides, he’s not the first guy to pass me off…why would he be any different?

A part of her wondered if Newt had rekindled his romance with Leta Lestrange – her sister had been wrong before on such matters, and it wouldn’t have surprised Tina if he had decided to return to Leta. She still remembered the photograph of the other woman, of how beautiful and sultry she had looked, and it would have made perfect sense for him to want to be with her again.

I don’t blame him, she thought miserably in bed one night, the one time she was unable to use work as a distraction. Who’d want plain old prickly Porpentina over someone like that Leta Lestrange girl?

But there were far more important things than men to worry over, Tina had told herself firmly, like Grindelwald being loose once more, like making sure that she and her sister had enough food to eat and enough money for the rent. If Newt didn’t want to write her back then that was his decision – he had his own life to lead, and she had hers.

After all, there were people being killed every day, wars brewing – feeling upset over not being wanted by a man was really ridiculously trivial in comparison.

The last person Tina would have expected to make her feel loved and beautiful was an awkward British Magizoologist with messy hair and freckles – but he did, and she couldn’t help but revel in it.

Newt had a way of looking at her, she noticed, as if she were the most important thing in the room sometimes – as if he couldn’t help himself from looking at her. It made her feel warm and tingly inside, a strange but not altogether unpleasant sensation, and she couldn’t help but allow herself to fall deeper in love with him. Even when her mind reminded her of how she had been hurt, of how things were before, her heart had overruled because she knew he was different – this was different.

What he saw in her, she couldn’t possibly tell – but she was happy, and so it seemed silly to question it.

It was only on their wedding night that these insecurities made themselves present once more; she had been nervous enough as it was, but then Tina found that Queenie had left rather racy lingerie in her suitcase – and her usual comfortable pyjamas were nowhere to be found. The delicate lacy slips were far too small for comfort, barely reaching her thigh and showing more than was necessary, and when she looked at her reflection in the mirror of the hotel bathroom she had found herself feeling and looking absolutely foolish.

And so she panicked.

She was not Queenie; she was not sexy or outgoing or even confident enough in herself to wear such a thing, even in front of her now-husband. Newt would most likely take one look at her and laugh, Tina thought miserably, because she looked ridiculous – no man in their right mind would have possibly thought her attractive in a slip…and then naked. No, he would most likely see her in either the slip or without any clothing and regret marrying her immediately.

As she made her way out of the bathroom, she prepared herself: once he had finished laughing, then she would offer to sleep on the couch (sofa, he would probably correct) so that he didn’t feel obligated to fulfil any intimate marital duties on her behalf. Perhaps they could have a happy marriage without such a thing, even if the thought itself made her feel saddened.

As it soon transpired, there had been no need to panic at all.

Once over the initial awkwardness and embarrassment of seeing the slip (or, rather, more skin than he ever had before), Newt had been nothing but adoring and doting to her; he had murmured endearments to her as he slipped the straps off her shoulders, his kisses making her skin warm and a fire in her belly alight. Even when the slip came off completely and she was left completely naked, he had looked at her with a mix of adoration and lust, a look of hunger and want.

Don’t hide, Tina…you’re beautiful.

I’m not really. I’m…I’m rather plain…plain old boring Porpentina.

You’re not. You’re absolutely perfect.

His kisses had chased her self-consciousness away, made her feel safe, and it hadn’t taken very long for things to progress from there. When they were joined in the most intimate way possible – and it was so much more intimate than Tina could have ever imagined – he had been attentive to her needs, unable to help himself from touching her; his words had been no louder than whispers, but they seemed so loud and firm to her as they made love.

So perfect…my beautiful wife. I love you so much.

Newt had satisfied her first, and it was this that seemed to be his own undoing as he fell over the edge just seconds later. He had pressed gentle kisses to her face, his smile shy but contagious as he looked down at her beneath him; he repeated his sentiments of love for her, voice soft with emotion, and it made her heart feel like it was about to explode from her chest.

Afterwards, as they drifted off to sleep together, Tina couldn’t help but smile to herself; she had never been so content and happy as she was with him as her husband beside her, and she found herself looking forward to spending the rest of her life with him just like this.

By the time Tina was four months along with their first child, Queenie was six along with her and Jacob’s second – and she looked extremely radiant with it too.

“I’m so happy for you and Newt!” Her sister hummed happily once they were alone together – Jacob had taken Newt out for a drink to celebrate the fact they were both to be fathers (for a second time, in the stouter man’s case), and it left the two witches some time to catch up. “He’s so thrilled about the baby, Teen – he’s gonna be a wonderful father.”

Tina couldn’t help but smile in agreement. “I know…He’s already started getting the nursery in the house ready, even though it’s not going to happen until June.”

“He’s just excited,” Queenie laughed fondly, and she placed a hand on her own round stomach. “Jacob’s been blissful since I told him about the second one – he already loves Toby so much, spoils him rotten, and he can’t wait for this one.” Her eyes were shining as she looked up, beaming to herself. “He don’t mind if it’s a boy or girl – neither of us do – but I know he’s secretly hoping it’s a girl.”

Tina honestly hadn’t thought about a preference on the baby’s gender, and she was certain Newt hadn’t either; they had both agreed that the only thing that mattered was the baby being healthy and safe. Given the brewing wars in Europe from both the magical and muggle communities, it was a practical and reasonable wish.

They had talked over mugs of hot cocoa (coffee was, sadly, out of the question) before a half-hearted wail had interrupted them; Queenie had practically bounced from her seat, even with a growing bump to impede her, and left to go to one of the bedrooms in the apartment. Less than a minute later she re-entered the kitchen, this time holding a small blonde toddler to her chest and cooing gently.

“It’s okay, Mama’s here…Mama’s got you, baby…”

Toby was much bigger than he’d been when Tina had last seen him – then again, that had been just after he’d been born. He seemed to be the perfect mix of her sister and Jacob, she mused, with blonde hair and pink chubby cheeks; when he peered over at her curiously from his mother’s arms, she noticed that he now had brown eyes like his father.

For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder what her and Newt’s child would look like; a little boy with dark hair, perhaps, or a girl with his ruddy coloured hair running about the case and giggling. Maybe their baby would take after their father completely or – Morrigan forbid – be her spitting image.

“…M’ma,” Toby lisped, suddenly burying his face into his mother’s shoulder. “M’ma…”

Queenie’s voice was a soft whisper as she murmured sweet nothings to him, rubbing his back and beaming to herself; her sister suited motherhood well, though this was far from a surprise. Toby seemed to melt into her touch, clinging to her and giving a small sleepy smile; it was obvious that he adored his mother and loved her unconditionally.

A flash of bitter panic ran through Tina as she watched her sister and nephew – she wasn’t anywhere near as maternal as Queenie, not even close, and it struck her that it was highly likely she never would be. Toby clearly loved his mother so much, loved her because she was soft and warm and a mother, but Tina couldn’t see herself as any of these things: she was practical, a career girl, an Auror – but she wasn’t a motherly person at all.

What if the baby hates me? She wondered anxiously, suddenly feeling unwell, What if they never want to be near me?

Queenie was suddenly frowning, even as she cradled her son in her arms and sat down. “Teenie, stop it: that’s not gonna happen and you know it. Of course the baby will love you.”

“I’m sorry,” Tina mumbled, and she lowered her head to hide the fact that the thought had made her eyes sting with tears. “It’s just…hormones, I guess. It’s stupid, don’t worry.”

“It ain’t stupid,” Her sister huffed. “Tina, you’re gonna be a wonderful mother and I know it - Newt knows it too.”

The older witch sighed, shaking her head. “It’s just… It’s silly, but…”

“It ain’t always been easy for me, actually,” Queenie said carefully, reading her thoughts. “I was scared too just before I had Toby; I was scared he wouldn’t like me, scared MACUSA would find out ‘bout our family and tear us apart… But when I held him, Teen, it fell into place so easy.”

“It…It did?”

The blonde nodded, her lips tugging up into a small fond smile. “Just you wait, Teenie; it all seems so scary now, waiting for all these months for it to happen, but when that baby comes you’ll know what I mean. You won’t be alone either,” She reminded her earnestly. “You’ll have Newt – and you know he’ll be a fantastic father.”

Despite the worries still nagging on her mind, Tina couldn’t help but smile to herself in agreement; her sister was right, of course. Even if she was an atrocious mother (and she desperately hoped she wasn’t), Newt would be by her side the entire way through; he would be there to help, no matter what, and they would be raising this baby together – as a team, she thought to herself.

The thought of impending motherhood still daunted Tina, and it would for some time, but she allowed herself to be comforted by the knowledge that she wouldn’t be completely alone.

The sound of Phoenix’s cries from the front room made Tina immediately start to panic; she had left the room for just a few seconds, just to collect some paperwork that needed finishing, and her son had been happily playing on the floor with some enchanted wooden blocks that his uncle and aunt had sent over for his first birthday. Her stomach – now noticeably swollen, thanks to another baby – prevented her from moving too quickly, but she hurried as fast as she could down the stairs and to the sitting room.

Her son – only barely seventeen months old – was on his side by the coffee table and screaming loudly; Tina felt her heart constrict as she bent to pick him up from the floor, worry overtaking her. “It’s alright, Phoenix, it’s okay…I’m here, it’s alright…”

He was still screaming as she checked him over for injuries; to her horror, a large egg-shaped bump was forming just above his eyebrow, the area already purple and bruised from where had presumably bumped his head. When she tried to get a better look, he merely squirmed and tried to pull away, wanting to get away from her touch – wanting to get away from her.

Tina felt like bursting into tears herself just as the fireplace roared to life; Newt stepped out, the grin on his face immediately fading as he took in the situation. “Merlin’s beard, what’s wrong?!” He dropped his case rather carelessly to the floor, hurriedly making his way over to the two of them. “Tina, is he alright? What’s happened?”

“I…I don’t know,” She choked out, shaking her head. “I think he bumped his head… I left the room for less than a minute, I needed the paperwork to send in to Dawkins, and he just started screaming…”

“It’s fine,” He assured her quickly, and he took their son into his arms. “Alright, Phee, I know that hurts…let me take a look at you…”

Phoenix started to quieten down as his father gently pushed his hair back to look at the area, still sniffling but growing calmer by the second. Newt hummed before rubbing at his son’s back to comfort him, his tone soft and low.

“That’s right, there’s no need to kick up such a fuss… You promised you’d behave for Mummy, didn’t you?” He joked weakly. “You need to look after her, remember? Wouldn’t want to tire her out when she’s carrying your little brother or sister now, would you?”

The calm look on their son’s face made Tina burst into tears as she left the room, hormones getting the better of her; leaving her husband bewildered, she retreated upstairs and to the bedroom before locking the door behind her and sitting down on the bed to have a good cry.

What kind of mother am I? I can’t even get my son to stop crying… Mercy Lewis, it’s no wonder he loves Newt more.

She really was an awful mother, she thought miserably: first, Phoenix had gotten hurt because she’d been stupid and left him alone – and then she couldn’t even comfort him when he needed it. He had wanted her to get away from him, and it hurt Tina more than she cared to admit; her own son hadn’t even wanted her near him, sensing how inadequate she was as his mother.

And then there was the new baby.

How was she supposed to be an adequate mother to two children when one already seemed to despise her? They hadn’t planned this at all – they hadn’t planned Phoenix, and they certainly hadn’t planned to have a second child so close after the first – and she found herself overwhelmed by it.

It was only ten minutes later that she heard a tentative knock on the door and her husband’s voice; he was capable of unlocking the door himself, of course, but she knew he would leave her for a while if she wanted. A part of her wanted to hide herself away, was too ashamed to face him – but the other part reasoned that she had to talk to him about it, to clarify and sort things out, and it was this that made her unlock the door for him.

Newt was silent as he entered the room, leaving the door slightly ajar before making his way over to the bed to sit with her. “Tina…”

“I’m sorry,” Tina blurted, hiding her face in her hands. “I shouldn’t have left him, I know, but it was for a few seconds and I thought it would be okay-”

“I’m not angry at all, love,” He interrupted, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Tina, this isn’t your fault – accidents happen, especially to children when they’re playing. It’s just a part of life.”

“But…But he didn’t want to be near me,” She disagreed tearfully. “He hates me.”

Newt looked appalled. “Of course he doesn’t hate you, Tina! Merlin, he absolutely loves you more than anything – he was just upset because he got hurt, that’s all. I put him down for a nap, and when he wakes up he’ll have forgotten the entire thing altogether-”

But she was shaking her head, hands on her stomach and shoulders trembling slightly. “I’m an awful mother, Newt: I’m usually at work and you’re with him, but the one day I’m left alone with him and he gets hurt. And then there’s this baby – this one will hate me too-”

“Tina, love, that’s ridiculous,” He muttered firmly. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, there have been days where I’ve been alone with him and he’s gotten hurt – or where he’s simply just continued to cry no matter what I do. It doesn’t mean he hates either of us, I promise you.”

“I know, it’s just…” Tina gnawed on her lower lip nervously. “I worry every day, Newt, that I’m not a good enough mother to him; I want to be, I do, and I want to keep him safe from these wars that are going on, but…but I feel like I’m failing.”

Newt’s arm tentatively wrapped around her shoulders, and she welcomed his embrace by leaning against his side. “You’re not failing at all – neither of us are; Phoenix is a healthy, wonderful little boy, and I’m sure that we’ll do just as well if this next one. You’re a fantastic mother, even if you can’t quite see it right now… Do you know how much he misses you when you’re away at work?” When she shook her head, he smiled. “He misses you terribly, Tina, and it’s only when he sees that you’ve come home that he seems light up. He loves you so much, and I know that the new baby will too when they arrive.”

Her eyes were filling with tears again but for a different reason entirely, and it felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders all of a sudden; it was almost certainly her hormones making her more emotional and self-conscious than usual, but it was still a relief to hear her husband say these things aloud. It seemed silly, in hindsight, to allow herself to grow self-conscious over this – but it was truly something that had been playing on her mind for some time.

When Phoenix woke from his nap an hour later, Tina was sure to be there immediately; the moment he saw her enter the room, he beamed and reached out for her. As she picked him up and held him against her chest, she couldn’t help but feel her heart soar in her chest.

Sure, she wasn’t a mother quite like Queenie was – she didn’t stay at home or know exactly what was bothering her child immediately – but Newt had been right: if the way their son had beamed at her was any indication, she really wasn’t doing such a bad job of motherhood after all.

The best part of the evenings were always when the children had been put to bed; they both loved the children dearly, of course, and they would do anything for them – but it was nice to have some time alone, even so.

The sky outside had turned a dark orange as the sun set, casting looming shadows across the Scamander property and bathing the grass in a warm glow. Newt had retreated inside just to make himself a cup of tea and a mug of hot cocoa for her, and so Tina was left alone outside to look over the garden.

The quiet evenings gave her a lot of time to think, she had found, especially with how busy things were during the day; between the children and work, it was difficult to have time to think properly. As she looked out at the countryside beyond their home, at trees and green hills, it was easy for her mind to wander and consider things.

In the aftermath of Grindelwald’s defeat just months previously, Tina had found herself remembering her encounter in New York with him more and more; something he had said to her whilst pretending to be Graves, whilst duelling her, had started to play in her mind recently. It was so many years ago now that it was irrelevant, really – but she couldn’t help it.

Tina, you’re always turning up where you’re least wanted.

Perhaps it had been because he’d been wearing Graves’ face – or maybe because she knew, deep down, he had been right. At Ilvermorny, the other students hadn’t wanted to be near her – they had thought her odd or strange because she felt out of place and awkward, because she wasn’t sure what to say to get them to like her; since she’d been a teenager, any boys she had ever felt even slightly attracted to had preferred her younger sister, finding her plain and boring in comparison. Even when she had worked at MACUSA, in a job she had loved more than anything, she had felt that her colleagues were irritated by her because she always stuck her nose into other people’s business.

But then she had met Newt, and it all changed.

Her husband was always sure to remind her how much he loved her, how much he appreciated her, and she always felt wanted by him: whether it was her company in his case or in bed he craved, he wanted her by his side and no one else. He wasn’t the only one who wanted her: their children – four beautiful, healthy children – wanted and needed her too, and she would have done anything for them. To add, her career since joining the British Ministry had taken a positive turn; she was a part of the Senior Team, highly-trained Aurors who dealt with the more dangerous and extreme criminals as well as training the younger and newer recruits – and she was well-respected for it, something she hadn’t quite achieved with MACUSA.

As Newt returned, setting her hot cocoa down and pressing a kiss to her forehead, Tina couldn’t help but smile to herself; here, with her husband and their children, she knew that she was far from unwanted at all.

So that ending sucked but…yeah. I tried :’)

I hope you all enjoyed this fic – I can’t believe it’s over! It’s been 9-10 months in the making, and I’m so glad that I’ve finally managed to post it because I wanted to get it out there. I have loved studying Tina, I really have, and I’ve put a lot of myself into her in this fic whilst also staying true to her character – I just hope I did her some justice.

Please let me know what you thought :D

#newtina #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #newt scamander #Tina Goldstein #porpentina goldstein #fantastic beasts and where to find them

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lokifiction · 7 years

Text

Unsinkable

A temporarily exiled god. A young woman with insatiable wanderlust. By chance they met, but when it became clear to them that their love was meant to be, they took matters into their own hands. Their story became an ocean-borne fairytale, until inescapable ghosts from the past and a certain iceberg threatened to ruin everything.

Category: Fanfic

Rating: M

Notes/Warnings: I think this chapter is free of anything that needs a warning, but I did figure out something of a solution for mobile users and my masterlist. I’ll now be including a link to it in each of my posts, so it will be a little more accessible if you’re just scrolling through. I hope that helps!

Also, side note: tumblr is being extra finicky lately and for some reason the links to the Unsinkable chapters on the masterlist aren’t working. If you want to access the first two parts, you’ll have to use the links below until I can get things fixed. I’m so sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused!

Masterlist

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Part 3

April 10th, 1912

Morning

“Are you ready to go, Miss Potts?”

“Just one more moment, please.” Camryn spoke to the porter over her shoulder, eyes still fixed on the hotel room that had just been cleared of any evidence of her stay there, yet she didn’t see a thing. “You can take those bags down now, though.”

She was grateful when her request was carried out, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Glancing over towards the door to make sure no stray maid had come along to strip the bed, she took the coat she currently carried on her arm, one she had not lost contact with since returning from the ball the previous night, and held it in her hands, squinting her eyes shut and burying her nose in Loki’s scent. When she pulled away, tears rolled down her cheeks and she choked back a sob. Since her departure from London she harbored hope that they might encounter each other again, but boarding the Titanic dashed that hope to pieces.

“You’re being silly,” she reprimanded herself, voice thick and shuddering. “You’ve only just met him, and were only around him for a few hours. That’s not enough to warrant this melodramatic reaction.”

Her heart pleaded a different case.

“Did you say something, miss?”

Camryn started as she noticed the porter, returned from his errand, at her side once more. She hurriedly cleared her throat and dried her eyes, bending over her last remaining bag to tuck the coat inside.

“No, I didn’t,” she replied once she had control of herself. She passed him the case and managed to muster up a fraction of her signature charming smile. “Shall we be off, then?”

She followed the porter down the stairs and into her waiting cab, passing him his tip as she slid into her seat.

“I wish you the safest of journeys, miss,” he bade. “The Titanic… that’s an opportunity of a lifetime. You’re making history today.”

“I hope so,” she replied. “It seems that’s the only thing that can make my heavy heart just a bit lighter.”

Before the porter could request an explanation, the driver shut the door and drove off, eager to avoid the traffic that the sure-to-be monumental day would bring.

It appeared that Camryn’s scheme to be early and board the ship before the crowds came pouring in was foiled, for everyone else seemed to have the same idea she did. The ride to the docks took much longer than it should have, and when she finally arrived, they were already packed and swarming with passengers standing in line to board, along with news reporters and photographers at every corner, even non-travelers only present to catch a glimpse of the ship and those fortunate enough to have passage on it.

Her driver, obviously in a dismal mood due to the impediment to his route the attendees caused, stopped in an awkward spot and began to unload the vehicle without even asking Camryn if their location was a good place for her to be left off, and drove away the moment she shut the door behind her. She sent him off with a scowl, performing the geometric trial of figuring out how to get all her bags into her arms at once, and only when she achieved it did she realize that the third-class passengers were to board first, and she had at least an hour of waiting before her turn came.

So much for departing early to make leaving Loki behind easier, she thought, wishing she could better enjoy the experience being a part of such a fantastic day in history.

Heaving a sigh, she lugged herself and her baggage over to a rare spot separate from the chaos, crumbling down on one of her larger suitcases and resting her chin in her hand, suddenly regretting the decision to leave her lady’s maid behind in her current journey, lamenting that she could have both assistance and companionship if she hadn’t. Her stature in those musings was quite an interesting sight to onlookers, contrasting heavily to her normal elegance: the daughter of a highly-esteemed millionaire, dressed in a pristine white travel suit and an elaborate, matching hat, a rebellious color smeared across her lips, lounging dejectedly atop her bag like a common nomad.

One of the crew paroling the docks noticed the strange sight, as well, and approached to closer investigate. He noticed her dress and her countenance, but he wondered why someone who appeared to be so wealthy was traveling without a single servant. He worried over the fact that she appeared to be on the docks utterly unattended, especially when she seemed to be so young.

“Excuse me, miss,” he began as he approached, and Camryn’s unsettlingly garnet colored eyes snapped to him. “Are you a passenger of the ship?”

“I am,” she replied, taking her boarding pass from her handbag and showing it to him. “I stupidly didn’t realize that my boarding time is later, though, so I have to wait here.”

The crewmember scanned he pass, eyes widening as he recognized her name. This was clearly not a girl that should be left alone amidst an immense crowd of people below her station, many of which would gladly take the opportunity to get their hands on her.

“We can certainly make an exception for you, Miss Potts,” he declared. “I’ll go inform some of the crew that you’re coming so they can prepare for your boarding. You can just follow me.”

The man jogged off ahead, but as Camryn attempted the arduous task of collecting her bags, he disappeared in a wave of people. She didn’t worry too excessively that she lost sight of him, seeing as her place of boarding was listed clearly on her pass, and she needed only find it. She bumbled along miserably, though, hindered by the luggage meant to last her a nine-month trip, until a timid tap on the shoulder roused her. She turned to discover a man, weathered beyond his years, attended by a skinny little boy, both having stepped out of their own boarding line. They had scrubbed themselves pink for the occasion of traveling on the Titanic and had put on their best clothes, yet even those were still riddled with patches and loose threads that displayed their low status. The man regarded Camryn nervously, expecting her to spit on him as most people as rich as her did to people as poor as him, but she merely smiled broadly and said a warm hello.

“Excuse me, miss.” The man took off his cap and clutched it in calloused hands. “I’m Jacob Greene, if it please you. This here is my son, Joshua.” Jacob gestured to the boy beside him, and Joshua conjured up a smile that proudly bore missing teeth, brilliant blue eyes closing with the width of the expression, lashes longer than a girl’s brushing his freckled cheeks. Camryn was instantly charmed by the boy, and giggled heartily.

“How wonderful to meet you, Jacob and Joshua. I’m Camryn Potts.”

“Well, Miss Potts, we noticed you trying to carry all of those bags by yourself,” Jacob began. “It’s not right for a lady to carry such a burden. You see, we’ve hardly got any possessions at all-” he broke off to shrug, bringing attention to the rucksack he carried on his shoulder- “and, if it please you, miss, we’d like to help you.”

“I’d be delighted to have the help, so long as it doesn’t trouble you.” She gladly dropped her bags to the ground, now utterly separated from the man escorting her to where she would board. “My only request is that you don’t make Joshua all tired out by having him carry the heavy things. He needs his strength for being a hero, like in the stories.”

The boy beamed at that, rolling up his shirtsleeve and displaying his lithe muscles, prematurely defined in a way that suggested he was not a stranger to manual labor.

“Normally, I’d say that it would be good for the boy, but now I’m obliged to agree with you.” Jacob gathered up the largest of her bags, and Camryn passed Joshua her handbag, taking the last remaining medium-sized cases for herself. The boy bore his charge proudly as they began to walk, as if he were carrying the crown at a coronation.

“Why? Is there something wrong with him?” Camryn asked, careful to keep her queries out of Joshua’s earshot.

“Joshie got very sick in the recent months, and he’s just now recovering,” Jacob explained. “That’s actually why we’re coming to America. My wife and I had been discussing going there for a while, better opportunities, you know, but we never could find the right time. When Joshie fell ill, it sent us into a panic, because his sister had never had his sickness, but my wife had, and she was weakened from it to a point where a relapse would kill her. She had family in New York that could house her in the meantime, so she packed up little Janie and left. I stayed behind and took care of Joshua, and once he got better I started working extra to earn money for tickets so we could join the rest of our family. I worry that I’m coming without securing a job there, but I’m sure it will all work out somehow. Back to elaborating on your original question, though, he’s better now, but sometimes he doesn’t feel quite right or will come down with a nasty fit of coughing, so I try to keep him from anything too strenuous.”

“I see.” Camryn tutted, casting another look back at Joshua. “Well, Mr. Greene, my father owns a successful, sprawling business, with headquarters in New York. They’ve not nearly enough people to fill all their positions, so they’re always hiring for one thing or another. I can guarantee you a job there. It may not be the career you want, but it’s an income, and a good one, at that, to have whilst you look for your dream position. I will be sure to find you later and give you some more comprehensive contact information, and once we get on the ship, I’ll send a wire ahead to my father and warn him that he’ll have to answer to me if he doesn’t offer you a job.”

Jacob flushed redder than Camryn thought possible. “You’re too kind, miss. Really, I can’t thank you enough. I was so worried that I wouldn’t find work when we got there…”

“Well, now you have.” Camryn looked back at him and grinned, but could not keep the contact for long, for she was stepping up onto the ramp to where she would board. The captain was stationed on the deck to receive her, accompanied by another uniformed crewmember. They greeted Camryn warmly, hardly even glancing over her boarding pass and chatting animatedly about the ship and the wonderful voyage she was to have, but their faces turned stony at the presence of Jacob and Joshua.

“What are the likes of you are doing at the first class entrance?” the crewmember spat. “Get away from here, and go back with your own kind.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Camryn interjected, hands trembling with anger. “They were very generously helping me with my bags, and are much better men than you have just proved yourself to be.”

“Well, they can’t go any further.”

“Then how am I to manage myself, with all of these things?”

“That’s what I’m for, miss,” a porter that had appeared from inside the ship during the hostile exchanges raised his hand, blushing for the sake of his colleague. “I’m to take you to your stateroom from here.”

“Really, Miss Potts, it’s alright,” Jacob insisted. Not wishing for him to linger in discomfort much longer, Camryn demanded a few moments before she went with the porter.

“If you’re going to have us open the entrance early for you, at least have the courtesy to pass through in a timely fashion,” the crewmember hissed.

“Perhaps I would, if you had the courtesy to not treat hardworking human beings like the dirt on your shoes.” She flashed him a glare that could freeze magma in its track, her countenance softening as she turned to her helpers.

“Could you pass me that bag you’re holding, Joshua?” she requested, and the boy did so proudly. She reached inside and extracted a handful of bills, giving Jacob the most generous tip of her life.

“Miss, this is too much,” he insisted, trying to pass it back. Camryn refused to take it, closing his fingers into his palm and holding his fist in her gloved hand.

“It’s compensation for that piece of scum behind me,” she explained, then bent down to Joshua’s eye level, reaching into the bag once again.

“You see, Joshua,” she explained, “I never travel without a hefty supply of sweets. I find that these in particular are a rather good pick-me-up, so I’ll let you have this bag. If you’re ever feeling poorly, just have a piece of the candy and you’ll feel better instantly. It’s the most delicious medicine in existence.”

“Thank you, miss,” Joshua gasped, taking the large bag in his small hands, but his eyes soon flashed with boyish mischief. “You know, I feel alright, but I really would like one now.”

Camryn smirked, inching closer to his face. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Joshua’s eyebrows shot upwards, and he eagerly tore into the bag and popped a candy into his mouth, glancing around as if someone was about to scold him. With that image lightening her heart, Camryn sent the Greenes away, and consented to the porter to lead her to her stateroom, but paused before the crewmember.

“You’d best stay away from the edge of this ship when I’m around,” she murmured menacingly in his ear. “You’re such a small man; it would take no more than a simple nudge for me to shove you overboard.”

With a cold laugh at his terrified expression, she followed the porter onto the ship.

Meanwhile, Loki was across town, drawing the conclusion that slow cabs would be the death of his relationship with Miss Potts. He knew his boarding time was not until later in the day, and therefore delayed his departure, but that soon proved to be a terrible decision, for the traffic was so thick that he wondered if it would be faster to get out of his cab and walk to the docks instead.

When he finally arrived, he bit back annoyed shouts at the hordes of people he was immediately immersed in, with seemingly no escape. Focused intently on achieving his purpose despite the obstacle, he didn’t even pause to admire the sprawling ship before him, which he later reflected upon as being fit for Asgard, for he had one task only: to find Camryn.

After a few moments of frantically scanning the area, he eventually caught sight of her boarding the ship, a porter trailing behind her, her brilliant white outfit shining out like a beacon amidst the drab colors of everyone else in the area, her form almost seeming to glow. Loki deflated in relief, for she was already aboard the ship, and as he was soon to get on, as well, there were very few things that could separate them now.

Now determined more than ever, Loki began to make use of his small suitcase, all he needed to carry the possessions he couldn’t easily acquire with magic, as a wedge to part the crowd. In his urgency, he pushed himself to the front of the boarding line, his silver tongue proving quite useful in excusing the offence.

Once over the ramp and on the deck, he didn’t stay long to chat with the captain, merely commenting that the ocean liner was one fit for the gods. The man was completely naïve to the truth in that statement, but he could barely utter his thanks before Loki was shoving his boarding pass under a porter’s nose and requesting to be directed to the stateroom listed. That particular porter was quite used to what he perceived as spoiled patrons, and relieved Loki of his case with a pleasant expression, for the spoiled were typically rich, and the rich tipped well if not provoked to do otherwise.

As Loki was guided through a ship dripping with splendor, only the handsome grand staircase caused him to pause. When his guide noticed his interest, he stepped aside to let Loki take in the area, as he had already done with many other travelers earlier in the day. However, though Loki would later note that the simple yet luxurious area was so regal that it was the only place on Midgard he had found truly reminiscent of his royal upbringing, Loki wasn’t admiring the staircase for its beauty. He was instead picturing Camryn in its elegant yet sturdy embrace, gazing down on him from the landing, moonlight filtering in from the crystalline dome above and giving her skin an ethereal glow. With a knowing smile playing at her ruby lips, the vision descended to him, her gloved hand sliding almost erotically down the bannister, even the cherub figurine seeming to stare at her in awe. When she at last halted in front of him, she held her hand out expectantly and cocked an eyebrow.

“Mr. Odinson,” she declared. “Are you going to ask me to dance or not?”

Loki chuckled to himself, turning away from the vision and motioning for the porter to continue.

When they arrived at Loki’s stateroom, it opened up on an ornately furnished parlor, but the porter promptly descended into the bedroom to relieve himself of the suitcase. Loki did not follow him to observe his sleeping quarters as many would have done, but instead stepped immediately back into the corridors with the mission to locate Camryn. He did not have to look for long, for the door directly across from his was ajar, revealing the servants inside bustling back and forth, unpacking a lady’s things, and her sweet voice carried over to him from within. His heart skipped a beat, and he entered the room with nary a concern for manners or pleasantries.

“Have you lost your way, sir?” a maid unboxing a hat inquired when she noticed his presence. “John can help you to your room. He’s arranging this lady’s bags now, but he’ll be finished in just a moment.”

“Actually, my business is with the occupant of this room.”

Camryn, behind a dressing screen in the bedroom at the time, was just about to inquire as to who the visitor was, but the sound of Loki’s voice made her blood run cold in all the right ways. With a gasp at his declaration, she rushed out without even fastening her fresh dress in the back, enlisting all of her effort to enter the next room calmly.

“Mr. Odinson!” she exclaimed, stepping up to him with a bright grin. “What a pleasant surprise! I was quite worried I’d never see you again.”

“As was I, but I vowed to not let that fear turn into a reality.” Loki reached down and took her hand, pressing a kiss to it. A girlish smile playing at her lips, she broke eye contact to address the staff in the room, informing them that they were dismissed.

“I have something for you,” she declared once they were alone. Without elaborating further, she momentarily returned to the bedroom to retrieve the coat she kept of Loki’s. She was wont to give up the souvenir, as it had brought her so much comfort in their parting, but she concluded that since they were together again, she didn’t have need for it.

“I believe you might have missed this,” she commented when she emerged back into the parlor, extending the coat to Loki. His eyes widened in realization.

“I did,” he commented. “You seem to have kept it quite safe, though.”

“In a manner of speaking.” Camryn felt heat creep up her neck at what she was about to confide in him. “Truthfully, I liked that I had it. It smelt of you, and reminded me of that wonderful night we had. I’d often put it round my shoulders when I was alone and dream that you were there, longing for us to meet again.”

Though these words tugged on Loki’s heart, he was never one to miss a beat in such a situation.

“If it’s brought you that much comfort, then I insist upon you keeping it.”

“Well, then, it’s only fair that you have a favor of mine.” Camryn pulled out her handkerchief, embroidered with her initials in red, and passed it into his grasp. “I know it’s not a suitcoat, but I daresay my dresses would be far too short for you.”

“This will do wonderfully.”

As Loki gratefully tucked the favor into a safe pocket, Camryn took his hand and led him to the sofa.

“So,” she began. “The wanderer wandered onto the Titanic. I wish you would have told me sooner, because then my anxiety these past days would have been far less.”

“I would have told you if I knew, but it was quite a spontaneous decision,” Loki explained, glancing down at their still-intertwined hands.

“And what spawned this spontaneous decision?”

Loki raised his gaze to meet hers, staring into her eyes with an intensity that could only come from a god.

“You,” he replied simply.

Camryn started at that, but before she could trouble herself with conjuring up a reply, the strap of her lilac-colored dress tumbled down, revealing a large amount of her milky white chest, and would have borne even more if she didn’t slap a hand on the rogue fabric to stop it.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “I forgot to have one of the staff fasten it; your arrival caused me too much excitement.”

“I’ve been wondering since I first met you at the hotel,” Loki said with a tone of scolding, “why are you not travelling with at least a lady’s maid, as is customary for girls of your status?”

“Well, you see, my lady’s maid is married to my father’s valet. The pair accompanied us on the business tour, and as my father and I are both rather self-sufficient, they had much free time and the trip was like a second honeymoon to them. When I got called back home, I thought it would be cruel to drag her away from that time with her husband.”

“That’s all very noble, Miss Potts, but what do you intend to do in situations such as this, when you need someone to fasten you into your clothes?”

“I just hope for some kind passerby to come and help me,” she answered with a giggle, rising to her feet. “Would you be my kind passerby today, sir?”

“I will.” Loki rose to join her, taking the clasps of her dress in his fingers and leaning down so that his lips were level with her ear. “Though, if I had it my way, I would not be putting you into your clothes, but rather taking you out of them.”

Camryn’s breath hitched in her throat. She blinked a few times and clenched her fists to stop them from trembling before replying in a wavering whisper:

“I would make some sort of comment regarding the impropriety of that statement, Mr. Odinson, but that would make quite a hypocrite of me, for I believe I would prefer that as well.”

Loki swiftly spun her in his arms, savoring the way her eyes widened and lips parted in surprise and anticipation, and was just guiding his mouth towards hers when a maid bustled into the room and caused the two to spring apart.

“I have the extra blankets you requested, miss,” she announced cheerfully. “Oh, and I thought I’d let you know that the ship is about to depart. It’ll be quite a sight, and everyone’s anxious to see it, so I’d suggest going now if you want a good viewing place on the deck.”

Camryn flashed Loki a resigned smile, reaching over to the arm of the sofa and wrapping a warm fur around her shoulders. “Shall we go, then? Just let me fetch my hat.”

Next Chapter

#loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson

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elfnerdherder · 7 years

Text

The Fault in My Code: Ch. 8

You can read Chapter 8 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 8: Two Baby Blues Pt. 2

Reba Dolarhyde-McClane had rich, sepia brown skin and a smile like a 100-watt bulb. Her matching brown eyes fixed where she heard the voice come from, and if Will hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn she could see right through him. Perhaps, being blind, she saw better than most.

Not enough, though. Not enough to see Francis Dolarhyde.

“He’d always been reclusive at work, but that suited me fine. People sometimes were rude to him, but he was always kind to me, always nice,” she said. She sat in her seat across from Jack and next to Will, hands clasped on her knees. “He never coddled me for being blind the way a lot of people do. He always respected my independence.”

“How long did he go to Dr. Lecter?” Jack asked. Will wasn’t supposed to ask anything, merely observe.

“About six months, and he said he’d gotten better. After Dr. Lecter was imprisoned, he took it pretty hard. He tried another therapist, but that fell through, then he said he’d be okay.” Her teeth bit over her bottom lip. “…I thought everything was okay.”

“What happened the night that he…lost control?”

Tactful, Jack. Will chewed on a hangnail and slumped lower in his chair, watching her. He felt Lecter’s indignation and mild unease like an ill-fitting suit. Four days strong without him. Will liked to pretend that he was doing just fine, like he didn’t wake sporadically and have to run himself to exhaustion on the treadmill at the hotel at 2 AM just to fucking sleep.

“He wanted to be intimate.” She said ‘intimate’ like she’d had to practice the sound of it not feeling so intimate to say in front of strangers. “I sat on the bed, but he left the room, and when he came back, it felt wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Serious. Dark. I asked what was wrong, and I smelled the gasoline…he said he had to. He loved me, but he had to. Then…” She nodded to herself, thinking of the timeline, “then the room went up, and a gunshot. I went to him, but he…his face was…”

She stopped, hands clenched. Will tasted sorrow on the tip of his tongue, followed by a hint of bitterness.

“I got out. I got to the neighbors, and they helped me call the police for a fire truck. It was all gone, though, all of it…” She sighed, composing herself. Reba had the poise of a Michelangelo painting, the grace of an angel. Will envied Dolarhyde’s time spent with her. “I miss him. He was troubled, but he was…he was so sweet. So gentle.”

Will and Jack exchanged a glance, and Will nodded. She wasn’t lying.

“Did he ever mention his eyes changing color, Ms. Dolarhyde-McClane?” Jack asked.

“…His eyes?”

“His eyes were different shades of brown.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, and Will felt the befuddlement, the confusion. That they would bother to tell her, after all this time…

“What’s that mean for me?” she asked.

“We ran a test, and the shades of brown in the left eye correspond to a 92.4% match of the color of your intermediate family members whose eyes are on record due to filing their soulmate eye color,” Will said, speaking up. Reba looked to him, and it pierced him in the chest. “We believe he had a partial soulmate bond with you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Jack waved a hand sharply in his direction, but Will ignored it. He leaned closer to her, studying the way her lips quivered, her hands fluttering to the necklace at her neck before falling back to her lap. She knew. She knew.

“You knew.”

“…He’s not dead, is he?” she asked, a mere whisper.

“He’s not,” Will said, “but he loved you enough to leave you. He loved you enough that when he started talking about red dragons and you got scared, he let you think he was dead rather than drag you into the mire he’d made for himself.”

“Will,” Jack warned.

“He said he was going to be okay,” Reba suddenly cried, and she covered her mouth with her hand, like she could hold back the words she’d kept to herself for so long. Like a wave cresting the breakers, tears began to fall, and she buried her face in her hands, sobbing soundlessly.

Will leaned back into his chair and stared at the desk leg. His stomach settled a little, now that the truth was out in the air, ugly in its reality. In that moment, Jack both loved and hated him.

Molly called him while he was getting lunch, and he sat outside, picking at a questionably soggy sandwich. Soulmates had half-off prices on Saturdays at the sub shop, but that hadn’t been enough for him to pull one of the contacts from his eyes. For what he’d paid for too much mayo, he wondered idly if he should have just bit the bullet.

“You should have told me, Will,” she said when he picked up. There was as much accusation in her voice as there was worry.

“Maybe,” he agreed. Then, “No, probably not.”

“Have you been to a doctor?”

“Yes,” he lied. Then, “No, no I haven’t.”

“Will,” she admonished. His ears grew hot at the lie, and he chewed morosely on the bread, gritting his teeth against the texture. If that’s how she sounded when he lied about a doctor, he wondered the tone she’d take when he finally showed her his eyes.

What did you do to your eyes, Will?

“I’m fine, Molly.”

“Is he going to try and kill you once he knows who you are?” she asked.

“Maybe,” Will admitted. “I’ll have people on me. SWAT.”

“They’re calling him Red Dragon in the news now, Will. Did he really eat that painting?”

Will laughed and looked up at the sky. Something inside of him was tearing, and he coughed at the shortness of breath. “Yeah, yeah he did.”

Silence. Will listened to her breathe as he chewed his dismally awful sandwich, and he wondered just what she’d say if he begged her to come visit. He thought of Red Dragon seeing her with him, though, and the thought was struck from his mind. He thought of Reba telling them everything she knew, how he’d found the painting one day by coincidence and began obsessing over it. How he’d wake her in the night sometimes, growling into a mirror in the upstairs spare bedroom. Guttural. Animalistic. He loved her, therefore he left her.

“I miss you,” he said, desperate. “You haven’t mentioned the news casters once.”

“Their eyes haven’t changed,” she assured him. “Not since the new guy.”

“Good, good.”

“Do you think about Garrett Jacob Hobbs a lot, now that you’re up there and alone?” she asked.

“I do.” Molly was the only one to be able to get away with asking that, and she knew it. He wondered if Alana had called her.

“I want you to come back down here. Forget what I said about helping people, I’m scared for you, Will.”

“Oh, Molly,” he sighed. “I think it’s too late for that.”

“Fuck Jack Crawford, just come back home. You want to come home, don’t you? Aren’t you already tired of this? You were tired before it even began.”

“My darling Molly,” he murmured to her. “I wish that I could. I really, really do. We’d get the boat and go along the coast, getting fat off of beer and mangos.”

“You hate mangos.”

“I’d eat a thousand mangos if you asked me to,” he vowed.

Another prolonged silence. He thought about Reba crying in Jack Crawford’s office, the stench of despair. She’d mourned Francis Dolaryhyde, but now she feared the Red Dragon like everyone else did. Jack promised to relocate her, that way she’d be safe in case she was the final product of his ‘transformation’. He wondered if in Reba’s dreams, she saw Red Dragon devouring her the same way Will did.

“Please be safe, darling,” she said. She’d never called him that before. Stud, dear, honey-bunches, and sometimes William, but not darling. He didn’t care for it. Too many new names; Red Dragon, darling, dear Will, my Will.

“I told you,” he said, and somehow she knew.

“You did,” she agreed. “You said you’d be different, and god dammit if you weren’t right.”

Will avoided the alcohol cabinet out of a stubborn need. He paced his room that evening, thought about Hannibal, cursed himself. When it began to rain, smeared images of a dark city with occasional bursts of light, he slumped into his chair and stared at the image of the Red Dragon next to The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun, trying to blend the two together. In the picture of Red Dragon, his cleft pallet was less noticeable due to the turn of his head, like he was used to trying to hide it. He didn’t look at the camera. Whoever had taken the photo, they’d done it against his will.

“I’m trying to see you,” Will said to him glumly. “Beneath the pixels, the blood, the mirrors, the photos, the…textbook analysis. One part of a whole that never finished, and you’re trying to fill in the pieces.

“How’d you talk to Hannibal Lecter in prison? How'd you get past the screening of letters? What’d you say that made him so delighted to pit you against me? Is that it? Is it a competition?”

Red Dragon didn’t say anything in return. Will laid his head on the small desk, staring sideways out of the window as the rain fell, mocking him with its steady pace. He wished he could be so steady. With every flash of light that leapt across the sky, he wished he could be so steady, able to catch the guy and keep the girl in the end.

He got a call early in the morning, a few days later, and he supposed he should get used to running on only a few hours of sleep. Seven days without Hannibal. Seven days with sleepless nights. He glared at the shadows under his eyes, and he resented them, resented the bastard that’d given them to him.

“Dr. Graham, there’s something of urgency that I think you should see here,” Dr. Chilton said. “I’ve already called Jack Crawford, and he’s on his way.”

Will didn’t realize he was wearing the same clothes as the day before until he walked into the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane –Jack’s facial expression made it painfully apparent. He looked down at his plaid shirt, brushed off a few crumbs from an English muffin, and followed Chilton into his office. Still two brown eyes.

“We were doing our cell-to-cell inspections, as we normally do, when Barney found this in Hannibal Lecter’s cell, wadded up inside of a roll of toilet paper.”

On the table, written in a short, neat script, was a letter.

“Is that toilet paper?” Jack asked, eyebrows lifted.

“Yes, very biodegradable from the feel of it. Not ours,” Chilton said with a sniff. He looked from the two-ply and fixed Will with a stare that he avoided. “Someone has been writing your ‘witness’ little love notes, Dr. Graham.”

My dear Dr. Lecter,

I wanted to tell you how happy I am that you’ve taken an interest in me, after all this time. I thought I was nothing more than a blip in your timeline, a mere shadow within the memories you no doubt hold dear from the time when you were free to do as you wished and conquer your small portion of the world.

When I heard from you, I thought, dare I? Of course I dare. It is of no consequence the body in which I am bound to, now, for this shell is not important –what is important is what I am becoming, and that is of greatness. You of all understand the power of transformation.

I keep cutouts of you whenever you are in the press. We have a lot in common, you and I, from our ways to the unfair names they sling at us. They call me Soul Stealer, like a thief in the night rather than a creator. I thought of you seeing such crude attempts at naming, but I know it is of little consequence to you. You who was also slurred in the newspapers, first Chesapeake Ripper, then Hannibal the Cannibal…

Dr. Will Graham interests me. He’s not very handsome, but there is something purposeful about him, even as I held him by the throat. He was not afraid as he looked at me. There was no fear in his eyes as he snarled. Perhaps he is a dragon, too.

How you managed to warn me of his scent on my artistic depiction gave me the time to do as I will; I hold myself indebted. Perhaps one day we will meet, and I will share with you the ways that I am utterly grateful to you.

Though the papers of this letter are insufficient, I thought it best under the circumstances, should you need to eat it. Your own note was on far better cardstock, something smacking of connections beyond your cell. I applaud your grace and wit, even as I learn from and ascend beyond it.

Until then, I remain your,

-Avid Fan

There were places ripped out, small spots where bits had been removed. Will had to resist reaching out to touch it, get a feel for the texture of the paper Red Dragon had so lovingly leaned over. He wondered if the smell of him was still ingrained in the fibers. Probably not.

He could hear him, though. In person, his speech would be slurred, rough. On paper, no matter the quality, his eloquence was far beyond the physical shell he thought himself doomed to.

“He bears screams like a sculptor bears dust from the beaten stone,” Will said quietly.

“What?” Chilton said, a curt burst of noise. Jack waved at him to be quiet, and Will found himself wandering over to the window, rubbing the sleep from his yawning mouth. Hannibal was close. Hannibal was so close, but not close enough. If anything, Red Dragon was closer. He wanted neither one of them close, but he needed both of them to be close.

“Is that what you get from this, Will?” Jack asked.

“Avid fan, indeed,” he muttered, staring out at the early morning. It already looked like midday due to the brightness, and he squinted at the wraparound parking lot at the front entrance. “He knew what Lecter was, even as he saw him for treatment. He knows Lecter relates to him.”

“Lecter reached out to him first,” Jack said.

“He knows we are not the sum of our parts. We are light, dust, spirit, the many parts of a whole that furthers his growth. His transformation.” Will fiddled with the blinds, knotting and re-knotting the pull-string. Red Dragon thought he was a dragon, too. Will noted the fact that he said a dragon, not a great dragon. One of potential many, but he was The, and Will was a.

Chilton opened his mouth, and Jack lifted a hand to silence him, staring at Will. “How’s he going to finish his transformation, Will?” he asked gently.

“Hannibal Lecter would be the final death. Beautiful. Glorious. Like John the Baptist taking a knee when Jesus waded into the water.” Will glanced to an orderly stepping outside to meet someone pulling up. “Did you read it? ‘Even as I learn from and ascend beyond it.’”

“How did he get the correspondence out?” Jack asked.

“Ask Chilton’s orderlies, Jack,” Will said with a snort. He abruptly dropped the pull-string and gave him a wan glance. “Enough money or persuasion, and he’d be able to get whatever letter out wherever he needed it to go.”

Matthew Brown was the easiest catch Will ever had while consulting with the FBI. Under the pressure of Jack, Will, and an indignant Chilton, he cracked and admitted to sending out letters unscreened for not only Lecter, but other inmates, too.

The last one confused him, though, he admitted. Lecter had it sent to the newspaper, Tattler, as a personal ad. It ran just yesterday, he said, an odd request for meeting a single young lady by the name of Molly.

Will Graham had to be held by back by Jack and Chilton both, fist halfway to Matthew Brown’s face before they hauled him out of the room. It took a while for him to realize, pacing the hall, that the ragged, guttural wheezing was coming from him and not the smoking, fiery maw of a dragon.

“Molly, my Molly, please answer the phone. If you get this, call 907-XXX-XXXX immediately. Find a safe space to hide in until they call back and give you further instructions. You know where I put the gun; find it and put one in the chamber, like we practiced. Please tell me you’ve still been practicing.

“I’m so sorry…my Molly, I’m so sorry. I love you.”

They were on a plane to Florida when Jack got a call from one of the guys at HQ. It was a skip code, and a rather decently complicated one at that.

‘Save yourself, kill Molly –Graham’s love,” Jack said. Will paced the length of the jet, turned around, eyed the liquor cabinet. Told himself no.

When they got another call that Molly had crashed a car into the hospital parking lot before falling out of the driver’s seat, unresponsive, he broke down and made himself a strong, strong drink. Three years sober, indeed.

He woke to someone finger-combing the back of his head, mindful of the rather large, ugly scab at the crown. Will lifted his head blearily, and at Molly’s pained, drawn face, pale but very much alive, he grabbed her hand and wept.

“Those aren’t your eyes,” were the first words out of her mouth to him.

“No,” he said hoarsely. She didn’t draw away from him, stuck as she was with a gunshot wound to the shoulder. She let him hold her hand and kiss it, pressing his face to her palm with a need border-lining on desperation.

“What’s underneath those eyes, Will?” she asked him. “What colors am I going to see?”

“One blue,” he said, and he dropped his gaze to the fine lines along her palm. He traced her life line, then the heart line. “The other’s maroon.”

“Do I want to know who it belongs to?”

“No…no, you really, really don’t.”

In his dreams, he took out both of his eyes and tried to crush them, a raging grief that took the breath from him, left him gasping for air that would not come. Before he could destroy them, someone reached out and took them from him. They held regret and sorrow with equal weight, and their kisses tasted like rotting flesh.

Once she was well enough to be moved, Jack had her taken to a safe house with a round-the-clock guard. Will would have thought about going with her, but the need to see Red Dragon dead burned him with such a fury that he didn’t offer to go. The look she gave him, equal parts betrayal and equal parts unease at his mismatched eyes was enough to send him after Jack’s heel like a well-trained dog to the master’s boot. She didn’t tell Jack about his eyes. He didn’t tell her about Hannibal. Thankfully, with her injuries, she didn’t ask.

“I’ve got my best guys on her, Will. Molly’s going to be okay,” he assured him. “She outsmarted the bastard. He tried to get her, and she got away.”

“He outsmarted us,” Will said after a prolonged pause. “Lecter outsmarted us.”

He felt a disquieted, uncertain sort of thing, and he wasn’t sure if it was Lecter’s pain at the distance, or if there was something more to it than that. He relished in the way that his skin burned, the way that he felt small cracks in the shell around him. Every time the pulsing pain faded, then returned, he reminded himself that if he was hurting, Lecter was, too. In the hotel room before they flew back to Baltimore, he drew idle designs with his finger on the table beside a glass of whiskey and his gun, staring for a long, long time. Only the burning need to see Red Dragon dead keeping him from doing something permanently destructive.

Chilton didn’t want to let Will see Hannibal; he said it wasn’t wise, what with the way he’d been able to put people in legitimate danger, even while incarcerated. It wasn’t until Will leaned over the desk at him, contacts burning holes into him, that his stubbornness was quelled and he relented.

“He almost killed Molly,” he said, a low growl. “I’m owed some answers.”

“Perhaps he supposes that one-sided soulmate relations are enough for him to claim you,” Chilton said, leading him towards maximum. He tone was petulant, even as he relented.

Will didn’t reply.

He let Barney set up the partitions and the chair alone, his skin on fire. It’d been three weeks, and the time away burned, blistered, and reeked of bruises that sunk too deep. He reveled in the pain. It was his bedmate, his food and his water. He reveled in the destructive thoughts it lent him, in the bleak way that it made him stare at a wall for minutes that stretched to hours until he realized just how much time had passed, uncaring in the zombie-like manner that it lent him. Molly almost died because of him. Molly almost died because of his games. Molly almost died because of Hannibal-Fucking-Lecter.

“Poor Dr. Graham,” Gideon said. He leaned against the bars of his cell, and if not for the nonchalant swing to his arm that hung, he’d have seemed truly piteous. “Word gets around quick.”

“Does it?”

“Matthew Brown; fired for smuggling contraband inside of these walls and willfully endangering the life of a person,” he said, ticking the acts off on his fingers. “Compromising a current investigation, impeding justice, and accessory to attempted murder. Quite the little naughty blend of illegal behaviors for an orderly of such a prestigious place as this, don’t you think?”

“Do you think so?” Will wondered. “You sound like you’re not surprised.”

“Oh, I’m really, really not, Dr. Graham,” Gideon said. He huffed a short laugh, lip quirking into a smile. “The orderlies here call this row the deadly crazies, but it’s here that they walk, isn’t it? Wouldn’t one of us, with practice, learn to walk as they do? Talk as they do?”

“Do you think he’s like you then?”

“No, he’s far uglier, far less sophisticated.” Abel shook his head, deep in thought. When one came to him, his eyes lightened and he looked back to Will. “I will say, though; he often condescended to have small little chats with Dr. Lecter, much like you do. Whisper on the row is that he’s going to find himself back here, in a uniform like mine rather than a uniform like Barney’s.”

“Justice at its finest,” Will found himself saying.

Gideon liked that. A lot. “Irony, too. I do feel bad for your girlfriend, though.”

“That word got around too?”

“Oh, yes,” he said with a somber nod. “When I was a surgeon, I was informed that I had hands that were just nimble and quick enough to do what other surgeons couldn’t do. If I was at that hospital, I’d have ensured she was taken care of.”

“That’s honestly very kind of you, Dr. Gideon,” said Will. If he’d been at that hospital, Will would have shot him dead.

“I think it’s because you have the ability to be just as rude, just as dismissive to me as the orderlies around here, but you aren’t. You give politeness where politeness is due, Dr. Graham, and I think about things like that.” Gideon smiled, dragged a finger along one of the bars of his cell. “I think about politeness, about who is and isn’t kind, about the people that show kindness even when they don’t have to.”

“The world is nasty enough, I think; me being rude would just add to a problem.”

“The world is nasty enough,” Gideon echoed. “Yes, with people like Matthew Brown lurking about, profiting from your woes, the world is nasty enough. I’m glad there are upstanding individuals like you to offset it.”

“Dr. Graham?”

Will looked over to see Barney hovering by the partitions, like he’d been there for quite some time. Will cleared his throat, looked to Abel, then back to Barney.

“You have business to take care of, I think,” Abel said slyly. He moved away from the bars, settled down on his cot. “Thank you for the chat, Dr. Graham. Thank you for always being kind.”

“Have a good day, Dr. Gideon,” Will found himself saying. He nodded to Barney, resisted the urge to press down on the indignant impatience curdling inside of him.

“He’s awake,” Barney said as Will went to the partitions. Will nodded, already well aware of that.

When Barney left, he walked around the partition and stared at Hannibal, his vision going red.

#LiaS scribbles #the fault in my code #suicide mention #hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal soulmates #soulmate au #hannibal soulmate au #will graham #hannigram #slow burn #hannibal slow burn #someone help will graham #red dragon

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witsyo · 4 years

Text

Sun and Moon 7

In case it isn’t completely obvious, Sun and Moon contains a ton of spoilers for Reinne? But again, I would recommend reading this one first then going back for Reinne as a prequel anyway.

This chapter has a couple of possible TW. If you would like to check them, they’re in the end notes on the Ao3 Chapter.

~~~

“Please,” she begged, falling to her knees as she grasped Tyrell’s arm. “Please, I’m begging you, I will give you anything--”

His hand connected with her face, sending her down to the cold tile floors. “You say that as though you have anything to bargain with, Basille!” Shakily, she propped herself up, gasping as he grabbed her by the hair, tilting her head back to examine her in disgust. “You’re an adulteress, a shame to the title of queen. I hereby cast you from the throne. You will be dyed as a betrayer.”

“Please,” she whispered. She didn’t care, she didn’t… It had been a long time since she’d wanted to be the queen. “Spare her, your highness, I beg you.”

The king laughed, throwing her away from him and sending her back to the floor. She could hear the advisors shifting uncomfortably in the background, and spared herself a moment of bitterness. It had never bothered them to know this happened out of their sight. Their weak stomachs couldn’t bear the proof of their broken kingdom when it was before their eyes, it seemed.

“Her? Your whore? She’s a traitor to the kingdom, Basille,” she looked up in horror, already knowing the words that were coming next. “There is but one sentence for traitors.”

“No--”

“Reinne, daughter of none, has committed treason against the king,” he purred, voice rising in volume. “She is hereby sentenced to death.”

Year 17, Month 10, Day 5

Basille shot up to sit, chest heaving as sweat poured down her forehead. The room was still dark, the fire long since gone out and the sun at least a few hours from rising. She reached for the dream, but it slipped through her fingers, making her sigh in utter frustration.

Reinne. She remembered Reinne’s name.

Her heart was twisting, grief and pain shooting through her body as she reached up to rub at her chest. She’d never had a dream about Reinne before. There was no way to, with no memory of her to grasp onto. She couldn’t even remember if the other had been in the dream, or if it had been a mere mention of her.

All she could think was that she didn’t like the feeling of the memory.

Glancing to the side, she noticed that Halle’s bed was empty. Basille frowned, glancing again out the window. It had to be the early hours of the morning, and though Halle was a very light sleeper, even the most hard-working priestesses would be long asleep by now. There should have been nothing to wake her.

Basille swung her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for her robe as the chill hit her bare arms. She padded to the water jug, pouring herself a cup and taking a deep drink. The cool liquid soothed the back of her stinging throat, and she wiped half-dried tears from her eyes.

Hopefully Halle would be back soon. She could feel herself jumping at every noise, wanted nothing more than a tight hug and Halle’s soothing voice telling her that she was going to be okay. Halle was wonderful with children, and though Halle was only a few months older than her, Basille wasn’t ashamed to say that she still felt like a child sometimes.

As if on cue, the door slid open, emitting a familiar dark outline. Basille smiled despite herself, set down her cup and started to cross the room. “Halle--”

The other jumped, turning to face her and allowing Basille to see the tears streaking down the other’s face. Basille’s eyes went wide. Halle wasn’t one to cry often, hadn’t even done it much when they were children.

“What happened?”

Halle wrung her hands, sobbing once, then hanging her head. Stepping forward, Basille wrapped her in a hug, tugging her down so that Halle could lean into her shoulder. Her breath caught in another cry, and Basille carefully rubbed her back as she waited for her answer.

“I-I didn’t want to wake you,” she finally said. “Emily came to get me, said there was a messenger from Skies Haven--” her voice broke, and Basille felt herself wilting. She thought she might know what was coming.

“Is it…?”

“Jacob slipped away,” Halle sobbed. “Just an hour ago. He was asking for me, but he stopped breathing before a messenger could be found. They said he went to sleep first, felt no more pain, but I--”

“I know.”

Basille felt strangely numb, the grief worming through her heart moving so sluggishly it barely seemed to be there at all. Halle was shaking in her arms, clearly trying to be quiet in her crying as she muffled herself in Basille’s shoulder.

Jacob was gone. A tiny child, who had done no wrong, and he was just… There was nothing they could have done. Nothing they could have--

“W-why do you doubt the gods?” Halle asked, and Basille froze.

“What?”

“We n-need the queen of suns. We need your magic, and we c-could have saved him. Why do you bring punishment to yourself, when y-you know it will only delay the inevitable?”

Basille’s heart constricted, and she detached her arms, stepping back out of Halle’s reaching grasp. “This isn’t my fault.”

“We need the gods, Basille!” Halle cried.

Betrayal reached through her, worming its way into the tips of her fingers. “Why would you--”

“He’s dead! We should have been able to stop it.” Hugging herself, Halle met her accusing gaze, tears still falling down her cheeks in shining lines. Despite the words, Basille felt herself softening for a moment. It was a horrible thing to say, a terrible thing to blame her for, but people said a lot of things when they were grieving.

This was so unlike her, it had anger sparking into Basille’s mind. Not at Halle. Not this time.

“I know you can feel it creeping up on you, I know that it scares you,” Halle was saying, tears starting to slow as she looked into Basille’s eyes. “But… have you ever wondered, if you didn’t doubt the goddesses, if Reinne would already be here? Maybe she’s waiting for you, and it’s your disbelief keeping her away.”

But Halle knew better. She, of all people, knew better than to accuse her of that.

“You want the gods?” Basille asked, pushing past her and throwing the door open. The hall was empty, and she started towards the door to the stairwell. Her bare feet padded against the cold marble as she started up the steps, hearing Halle rush after her.

“Basille, that’s not what I--”

“No, I’ll give you the gods!” Tears were starting in her eyes, an inscrutable combination of grief, betrayal, and anger making her head feel like it was swelling. She was so tired of everyone thinking she had any damn control over her fate. As though she controlled the goddesses. As though Cerulean and her sisters cared one bit about Basille’s doubts.

For all she was allowed to know, Jacob’s death had been written in the goddamn stars from the moment of his birth, but of course they were the stars in her moonlit sky. Everything was her fucking fault.

She burst onto the roof, making a beeline for the axe strapped to the column beside the altar. Behind her, Halle slowed to a stop, and she glanced back to see her standing in shock. She didn’t think Halle had ever been up here before, had actively refused to accompany her any time she asked.

Basille unstrapped the axe, yanking it down from the column and grasping it just behind the blade. Gasping, Halle rushed forward, trying to grab the weapon as Basille elbowed her off. “If the gods are punishing me for my doubts, then let them punish me! Let them stay their miracles! Cerulean, I pray to you, lady of the sky and clouds, I ask--”

“Basille!”

She shoved the other off again, gripped onto the altar with her free hand and continued to recite the prayer that had been driven into her head since she was a child. “I ask you to listen to your conduit. I ask as the Queen of Moons, the first of all demigods, I pray. If you and your coward of a court are punishing me, then let it be fucking known!”

With that, she swung wildly downward, aiming for the hand that lay across the altar.

Before it had gone more than an inch, the axe was ripped from her hands, ringing out with a clank as it connected with its column. The straps came up, wrapping themselves around the handle and binding it tightly to the column with a flourish, as though the goddesses were giving her the finger from another world.

Despite herself, Basille was relieved.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Halle hissed, smacking her on the back of the head.

Basille rubbed at the hit, leaning back against the altar and wrapping the other arm protectively across her chest. Before she could stop it, a laugh bubbled out of her throat. “Halle, what could I do to dissuade the gods in their own vision of my destiny? The journals are full of my attempts to hurry fate, to delay it or to break the cycle. They never work. The most I’ve ever done was run from it for a moment, but they always find me again. How could I doubt the gods when I have no way to escape them? Huh?!” She directed the last exclamation at the sky, then turned back to Halle. “Jacob was sick. He was going to pass on, and we knew that. It had nothing to do with my worthiness. What I can’t understand is why you would ever think I would delay my only chance to be happy with this cursed destiny. Halle, why wouldn’t I want Reinne to come?”

“I…” Halle was staring at her, expression one Basille had never seen directed at herself before. Softly, she sighed, straightening and holding out a hand.

“I’m sorry. I know I… overreacted, I just--”

“You think?!” Despite the exclamation, Halle took the hand, tugging sharply to pull Basille in for a hug. They were both quiet for a long time, then she murmured, “I’m sorry, too. And I… I understand. As much as I could ever. Even I feel helpless about it sometimes, and it’s not even me.”

“Helpless is a good word for it,” Basille whispered, pulling back just enough to see the other’s face. “But you know how it works. Punishment never comes to humanity at our hands. Reinne and I could… could hurt people, all we wanted, and the punishment would come only to us. Humanity brings their punishments on themselves, and if there was anything I could have done to save that child, Halle, I hope you know that I--”

“There was nothing you could have done. You did everything you were supposed to.” She hesitated, then, “You, Basille. Not the queen of moons.”

Basille wasn’t sure what to say to that, for a moment. “I am the queen of moons.”

“Not yet, you aren’t,” Halle leaned forward to press their foreheads together, squeezing her eyes shut as they filled with new tears. “I treasure the time I still have with you, Basille. Grief like this won’t compare to the day I lose my best friend. I love you as my sister, no matter my birth, and I should know better than to blame you when you did nothing wrong.”

Basille hugged her for a long time. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

Halle laughed. “Perhaps for a moment.”

“No, Halle. For the rest of my lives.”

#writingyo #tw #sun and moon #demigods #reincarnation #sacrifice

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jaskiersbard · 7 years

Note

For the angst prompts, can you do Jakweenie 12?

12 - Jakweenie/“Jesus, you’re acting like you don’t even want to touch me!”

(A/N: I changed “Jesus” to “Mercy Lewis” to fit the characters)

I’m sorry, this is so bad :( I tried, but I kinda lost the plot in my head and rushed it…I tried though, which is what counts! :)

And here we have, as requested, angsty Jakweenie - enjoy!

Toby and Daisy were both already in bed when Jacob arrived home that evening, having eaten and been bathed; Queenie was sitting at the kitchen table, looking down at her wand as she twirled it between her fingers. She was wearing a large nightgown that only barely reached her knees, having been hitched up by the large protruding baby bump; she didn’t look up as he entered and poured himself some water, instead still focusing diligently on her wand.

“Long day, I take it?” She said lightly.

Jacob nodded as he turned to her. “Oh, yeah. We’re gonna need to hire another guy soon to help out, you know? So many orders…there’s a lot of kids’ birthday parties too. I got no idea how we’re gonna manage, but…” He grinned tiredly. “How was your day, honey?”

Queenie glared at him - she’d never glared at him like that before, he thought. “Oh, just peachy… Yeah, stuck here all day feelin’ like a watermelon and having two kids screaming and crying every time I try to get some rest…but, yeah, it was peachy.”

He frowned, confused by her behaviour. “Queenie, I ain’t got no idea what’s going on right now… What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter?!” She stood up, her gown rising another few inches as it stretched to accommodate her stomach. “I’m exhausted, Jacob! It’s all okay for you, you get to go to the bakery every day and talk to people - I’m here with our children, all day without any break, and you don’t even care.”

I do care…What’s gotten into her? This isn’t like her at all.

She nearly burst into tears. “Don’t you see, Jacob?! I can’t even walk around the apartment anymore without waddling! I’m like a…like a ball or something, all swollen and heavy! I hate feeling like this, Jacob, I hate it! And you…” She straightened up, eyes glistening. “It feels like you’ve stopped loving me, Jacob…like you’re sick of me or something.”

“What?!” Jacob’s mouth fell agape, shocked by this. “I ain’t sick of you at all - why the heck would you think like that?”

“You’re never home,” She stated tearfully. “You’re always at the bakery - you’re gone before the kids get up and you’re not back until after they go to bed. Toby and Daisy, they wonder where their papa is all day - why you never play with them anymore, why they never see you.”

He shook his head. “No… No, it ain’t like that, Queenie, I promise. I love them both, you know I do…I just wanna make sure we got enough money to be comfortable, you know? What with the new baby on the way…”

“But that don’t explain why you’re ignoring me!” She cried out in frustration, balling her fists up. “You’re avoiding me - we barely speak anymore, you don’t look at me…Mercy Lewis, you’re acting like you don’t even want to touch me!”

Touching her…oh. His cheeks were red suddenly. “Queenie, we ain’t had time, and with the kids…I dunno, I guess I thought you wouldn’t want that. But it’s got nothing to do with-”

“Not like that! I mean touching at all,” Queenie reiterated miserably. “You used to give me little cheek kisses when you got home, used to touch and hold the baby, feel it kick…but now you don’t do any of that, you just avoid me like I’m sick or something. You won’t hold my hand, you won’t cuddle…and I feel so awful. I feel like you think I’m…I’m disgusting because I’m so…so big…”

As she started to sob, Jacob hurriedly moved forwards to carefully wrap his arms around her. “No, Queenie, no; it ain’t like that at all, I promise. I…I didn’t even realise that that’s what you wanted, and I should have…I guess I been so tired lately, what with the bakery and the kids and everything, I just lost track. But it ain’t because of you - and you ain’t disgusting.” He stated firmly. “You know how much I love you like this, Queenie, seeing you pregnant with our baby; I love looking at you and seeing this little bump here. It’s so perfect, you know that?”

She wrinkled her nose in disagreement, though he could feel the tension leave her shoulders slightly as she sank into him. “I know I’m not beautiful like this, Jacob; I’m all fat, and I got marks everywhere…they’re so horrible,” She stated, voice breaking. “Awful deep stretch marks…they’re all I can see anytime I look at myself now.”

“Stretch marks?” Jacob looked completely baffled. “They’re really bothering you, honey?”

“Like they don’t bother you-”

“They don’t,” He said, quite calmly as he looked her in the eye. “I like ‘em…I’m being serious!” He added at the face she made. “You have no idea how much I like seeing ‘em…they’re from having our babies, right? Our kids - what’s not to love 'bout that?” With this, he ran a hand over her bulging belly. “I love seeing 'em 'cause it’s proof, you know, proof that this is all real….that this ain’t some dream I’ve kidded myself into making up.”

Queenie looked simply stunned by this proclamation. “But…But they look awful.”

“They look beautiful,” He reiterated, and he was smiling at her - a warm smile that made her tingle all over. “They look natural, and they show off all the stuff we’ve done together: I mean, just look at our kids, Queenie. Toby and Daisy, they’re both so perfect and wonderful…and this baby,” He added, cupping her abdomen. “I’m gonna love 'em just as much as I love Toby and Daisy already - I know it. And all of this, it’s 'cause of you…these marks, they just show how much you’ve done, how amazing you are.”

There was so much floating through his mind, she realised; he had always known he would love their children, from the day he’d found out they’d been expecting their first baby, but even then he hadn’t been able to estimate just how intensely he’d love Toby, and then Daisy. Now it was all coming clearer to her, fitting together in pieces so perfectly; true to his words, he had merely wanted more money for the family so that they’d never go poor or hungry - he and his brother had never had a great number of toys or fancy things when they’d been children, and he wanted their children to have better.

They mean the world to me, She heard him think, and she knew it to be true; I just want the best for them.

“Oh, Jacob,” Queenie exhaled, now melting against him as closely as she was able with the bump. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I overreacted, I know…if I’d just taken two seconds to try and figure things out proper, then…” She took a deep breath, holding onto him tightly. "I’m sorry.“

"Don’t be,” Jacob said quickly, and she realised that he felt worried all of a sudden, even somewhat guilty. “I should’ve been here more, should’ve done more to help with the kids…I know I ain’t been home as much,” He admitted. “I didn’t think you’d mind, but I should’ve thought about it first - we should’ve talked it over first.”

“I didn’t mean to burst out like this,” She murmured, shaking her head. “It’s the hormones, you know? And…And I feel so much bigger now than I did with Toby or Daisy.”

Jacob grinned, slightly more cheerful. “This one must be a big baby,” He mused, spreading his fingers over where the fabric of her nightgown concealed her bump. “Nice and big and healthy - and it’s all thanks to you… God, I love you so much, Queenie.”

Queenie couldn’t help it; the enthusiasm he was feeling was contagious, making her suddenly feel better than she had before. “Oh, Jacob…I love you too.”

I wanna make up for it, She heard him think eagerly as his hands rested on her hips; I wanna show her, make sure she knows…but maybe she’s not in the mood for that tonight? I don’t wanna force her…

“Oh, you wouldn’t be forcing me at all, honey,” Queenie assured him, suddenly excited as she reached for his hand. “We got a lot of catching up to do.”

His mouth curved into a grin as he willingly followed her; she’d been right, after all - they had a lot of time to make up for.

FYI: Queenie is massive because it’s twins (Ruth and Abel, for my regular readers!)

This was really bad but I kinda rushed it :/ I hope it was okay, anyway. I might be using this in a future fic or something (I was planning to write a fic similar to this anyway), so…we’ll have to see! ;)

#asks #angst #Jakweenie #Jacob Kowalski #queenie goldstein #Jacob x queenie #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fanfiction #writing #anon #my fanfiction #my writing

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jaskiersbard · 7 years

Text

Protect Them - Part 4 (Wren) (FINAL PART) - a Newt/Tina fic

Tagging: @pinkdiamonddolphin

Here it is – the final chapter of “Protect Them”!

Set in September 1946.

Phoenix – 22nd June 1931 – 15 (5th Year at Hogwarts) Linnet – 13th January 1933 – 13 (3rd Year at Hogwarts) Leo – 3rd March 1935 – 11 (1st Year at Hogwarts) Wren – 5th May 1941 – 5

(Kowalski children:)

Tobias “Toby” – 15th October 1929 – 16 (nearly 17) (6th Year at Hogwarts) Daisy – 7th April 1931 – 15 and a half (5th Year at Hogwarts) Abel and Ruth (twins) – 20th November 1933 – 12 (nearly 13) (2nd Year at Hogwarts) Elijah “Eli” – 28th January 1939 – 7 (nearly 8) Lucy – 8th September 1941 – 5 Penny – 17th January 1943 – 3 (nearly 4)

(A/N: Penny is a child that Jacob and Queenie adopted – she’s got red hair and blue eyes, so that’s a heads-up!)

It hadn’t escaped Newt’s notice that his youngest daughter was extremely bored; with Leo now starting his first year at Hogwarts, it left Wren the only child still in the house. She had looked miserable when they had waved the others off on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters on the first of the month, tightly clutching Tina’s hand and voicing her wish to go to Hogwarts too; it would still be another six years until she was old enough, much to her disappointment.

At first, he had thought that perhaps allowing her to do more in the case would appease or at least distract her; for a short time she had looked cheered up by feeding the Mooncalves and Bowtruckles, but then a week passed and she returned to looking sullen. It was slightly off-putting, to the say the least, as she was usually so much brighter and alive.

Tina had seemed equally worried by their daughter’s melancholy behaviour. “Queenie suggested getting her a pet, but I don’t see how that will help…besides, there are enough creatures in this house as it is.”

“She’s not even enjoying being around the creatures anymore,” Newt sighed, shaking his head. “She really misses Leo…before, she could play with him, but now…”

There was a wet and rainy day a week later; while Tina had braved the storm to go to work, Newt had resigned himself to his case with Wren to check on his creatures. His daughter watched sadly as he tended to each of them, feeding them and making sure that they were content; she didn’t move when he gestured for her to come and help him, and so he ended up dropping the idea with sinking shoulders.

By the time all of the creatures were dealt with, it was lunchtime; Newt helped the five-year-old out of the case, making sure she didn’t slip on the steps, and then set about making some food for the two of them. Wren ate silently, keeping her eyes focused on her plate; it was slightly unnerving, if he was honest, for usually she was so bubbly and talkative.

She raised her eyes to meet his own, chewing slowly. “Don’t feel like talking…and what does ‘un-nerving’ mean?”

“Nothing,” Newt said quickly, forcing himself to smile. “I just miss your talking, that’s all.”

She watched out the window of the front as he cleaned up, chin on her hand as she studied the rain drops rolling down the window; she didn’t look his way when he entered the room or when he sat next to her on the sofa where she was kneeling.

“I like rain,” She announced thoughtfully. “It sounds pretty…but I don’t like it because it means that I can’t go and play. Is that strange, Daddy?”

“No, I don’t think so,” He assured her. “Well, I’ve done my jobs for the day – I shouldn’t need to feed the creatures until this evening now. Perhaps…Is there anything that you’d like to do?”

Wren shrugged. “Not really. I just want to play.”

Thankfully, Queenie decided to visit that day; she and the children were kept dry with a spell, and she beamed at him when she entered the house.

“Awful day, isn’t it?” She stated before pausing. “Is now a bad time?”

“Actually now is the perfect time,” He answered honestly. “I think Wren needs a playmate.”

“Missing her brothers and sister,” Queenie agreed, nodding in understanding. “Yeah, it’s no fun…Eli’s been all sad ‘cause he wants to go too; the girls ain’t as bad, but Eli knows and it’s getting him down.”

It didn’t take long for Wren’s spirits to lift when she and Eli started playing together; soon they were both laughing and giggling as they chased each other around the house, clearly happy. Lucy and Penny trailed behind, not quite able to keep up but having fun all the same. In the meantime, Newt made Queenie some coffee (she still thought that British coffee was worse, but she accepted it anyway) and himself a much-needed cup of tea before they sat down in the kitchen.

“I can’t believe Teen’s gone in today,” The blonde muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. “She’ll be stuck on deskwork – there ain’t no way they’re doing raids in this weather.”

“I know, but she insisted,” Newt said rather fondly; he wouldn’t have expected anything less from his wife. “How have things been with you?”

Queenie smiled. “We’re doing just fine; Jacob always misses the kids when they go back to school, misses having them visit the bakery…he’s gonna make some pastries to send up to the school soon, so that the kids don’t get too homesick… Not that Toby’s really a kid anymore.” Here she frowned, somewhat sadly. “He’s gonna be seventeen in October, you know.”

“He has grown rather fast,” He agreed, and he found himself thinking of his own children. “Phoenix is fifteen now; sometimes I forget how old he really is, and I’m surprised when he comes home for the holidays so tall...and Linnet isn’t a little girl anymore either.”

“I’m gonna be crying for weeks when Eli and Lucy both go off to school,” His sister-in-law remarked, and he didn’t doubt it. “I’m gonna miss having kids in the house. Me and Jacob, we keep thinking about adopting again…it would give Penny a brother or sister to grow up with, you know? A brother or sister who’s a No-Maj like her…and yes, I know you Brits call them muggles,” She added, rolling her eyes at his thoughts. “But No-Maj is a better term.”

Newt merely shook his head with a small grin, deciding it was best not to comment on cultural differences as he lifted his mug.

By the time four o’clock had rolled around, both Lucy and Penny were absolutely shattered; the younger of the girls had fallen asleep on Queenie’s lap in the kitchen, and her older sister didn’t look far behind as she rubbed her eyes.

“I should probably get them home,” Queenie mused fondly, running a hand through Penny’s red curls; her daughter stirred but didn’t wake. “I wonder where Eli got off to.”

“Here, I’ll go and fetch him,” Newt told her, standing up; she looked rather weighed down with two small girls leaning on her, unable to stand up just yet.

She smiled gratefully. “Thank you, honey.”

As it soon transpired, Eli and Wren were still playing together in the front room – and they’d made quite the mess of the furniture and cushions, much to his dismay: Tina was going to kill him if she knew he’d let the children destroy the front room.

“Alright, I think that’s enough fun for today,” He announced hurriedly. “Eli, I think your moth-”

“DADDY!” Wren was calling to him, beaming and giggling. “Catch me, Daddy! Catch me!”

Newt looked over at her – and his heart froze in his chest; she was standing on a chair, her short dark hair ruffled and sticking out in all directions. Suddenly he found himself thinking of an eerily similar image: it wasn’t Wren standing on a chair, but Tina, and he was no longer in the front room – he was in that bland white death cell, deep under the heart of MACUSA…and she was crying, terrified, thinking she was about to die…he had to catch her, and if he didn’t then it would be his fault-

“Daddy?” Wren was no longer smiling, looking confused. Eli had now stopped playing too, looking over with wide eyes. “What’s wrong? Why are you thinking about Mummy crying?”

“I’ll catch you,” He had told her, though he had been just as scared as she had. “I’ve got you, Tina.” And he had caught her, he forced himself to remember; he had caught her and held her close, and she was still very much alive…Tina was fine, she was absolutely fine, he didn’t need to panic…

Another image assaulted his mind quite suddenly: it was Wren standing on the chair in the Death Cells of MACUSA now, her face tear-stained and terrified as she pleaded for him to help her. The black potion was rising up around her, forming jaws ready to clamp down around her and burn her…she was screaming, he was supposed to protect her, she had trusted him…she was wailing and sobbing as the potion burnt her-

Wren clambered down from the chair and ran to him, tears in her eyes. “Daddy, stop! What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“I’ll get my Ma,” Eli decided, hurriedly leaving the room. “She’ll know what to do.”

“You’re scaring me, Daddy,” His daughter whimpered, clutching his arm; he hadn’t even realized he was shaking. “What’s that black stuff? Why are you thinking about it?”

“I’m fine,” Newt gasped, though he felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I’m fine.”

Wren frowned. “No, you’re not. You’re thinking about Mummy and you’re thinking about me, and I don’t like what you’re thinking; why was she on that chair?”

“She…” He could feel his chest start to tighten, and he cursed himself for losing composure over something so small; she’d just been standing on a chair, for Merlin’s sake, just playing and he’d lost his mind over it.

Tina’s fine…She’s fine, I caught her. Wren is fine, she’s right here. Stop it.

Queenie entered the room them, looking extremely worried as she walked towards him. “Newt, honey, it’s okay,” He heard her say calmingly, her soft hands cupping his face. “It’s okay.”

“What’s wrong with him, Auntie Queenie?” Wren asked, taking a few steps back; she looked terrified.

“Your Pa’s okay,” Queenie soothed her, though her eyes didn’t leave Newt. “He just needs a minute.”

“I’m fine,” He managed, pulling away from her as he finally – finally – found the strength to move. “I’m fine, really.”

The blonde sent him a look. “You ain’t fine…sit down a minute, alright? I’ll get you some tea.”

“But…But you said-”

“I can stay until Teen comes home,” Queenie said firmly, and it was obvious that she wasn’t going to budge on the matter. “It ain’t gonna be much longer ‘til she gets home anyway – come on, sit down.”

Newt grudgingly let her force him down on the sofa, his hands twitching; Wren sat down, keeping a distance between them, and watched him with wary eyes. He knew that he had scared her, and he found himself feeling awash with guilt because of it; she was only five, and he had subjected her to those thoughts – he still had nightmares about that day, Tina did too, and the last thing he wanted would be for their daughter to have them too now because of him.

After a moment, Wren hesitantly moved closer to him; she took his hand slowly and gave it a squeeze in her own tiny one. “I’m okay, Daddy,” She murmured quietly. “And Mummy’s okay too.”

“Yes, I know,” He muttered, and he found himself inexplicably glad that she had taken his hand. “I know.”

Tina arrived home shortly after five, looking rather tired and somewhat damp from the weather outside; she was surprised when Queenie was the first one to greet her, eyes soft and face concerned. She quietly told her sister a rather basic outline of what had transpired that afternoon before adding that it would be best if she spoke to Newt – he would probably benefit more from talking to her, after all.

“Wren can come over for dinner at our place tonight,” Queenie said tactfully, giving her sister a knowing look. “Give you and Newt some time to…to sort things out. I’ll talk to her, don’t worry.”

Wren had seemed rather puzzled as to why she was suddenly having dinner with the Kowalskis but didn’t argue; in fact, she seemed rather pleased to be going to their house – especially when her aunt mentioned that there’d be strudel for dessert. She waved goodbye to her parents happily as she left with Queenie and the other children, her voice clear and excitable as she chattered down the path.

Once she had gone, Tina placed a hand on her husband’s arm and took a deep breath; she smile she had put on had faded. “Newt…”

“Can we talk about this in the case?” Newt asked quickly, not meeting her eye. “I’d feel far more comfortable if we talked about it down there.”

It was a reasonable request – and she had expected nothing less really. “Yes, of course.”

The artificial light in the case was already starting to set, perhaps reflecting the autumn outside in the real world, and the two made to sit down to watch it on the grass near the Occamy nest. Surrounded by the chirping and grazing of their creatures, Newt relaxed visibly and looked down at the floor in thought; she didn’t push him, waiting instead for him to feel ready to speak.

Finally, after a good few minutes, he inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me today.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Tina muttered, and her hand was on his arm again. “It’s alright – just talk to me about it.”

He swallowed, shoulders drooping with defeat. “They were playing…Wren and Eli…Queenie, she wanted to get home so I said that I’d get Eli for her…I walked in and she was on a chair, just standing there and giggling – she saw me and asked me to…to catch her.” He closed his eyes. “She looks so much like you, Tina, that for a moment I forgot where I was…for a moment I was in that Death Cell with that death potion, and you were there panicking – you were about to die, and you needed me to catch you.”

“And you did catch me,” She reminded him softly. “You caught me and I’ve never forgotten it.”

“But what if I hadn’t?” Newt questioned, looking terrified by the prospect. “I used to have such awful dreams…what if Pickett hadn’t been in my pocket? Or if I hadn’t had the Swooping Evil in my sleeve?” He sighed heavily. “I know, it’s silly to dwell on the past… But there was a moment, Tina, where I looked at Wren and saw you instead – and then it was her. She was the one standing on the chair, and she was petrified…she was screaming for help…”

“That won’t be her,” His wife said firmly, though her face was nothing but understanding. “She’ll never be in that Death Cell, never.”

He looked away, down at his hands. “I know, I know, I’m being rather silly…but sometimes I wonder, Tina, if perhaps…perhaps I can’t protect her. She expects me to protect her, expects me to know what to do if things go wrong – I’m her father – but what if I can’t?”

Tina was silent for a moment, considering his words; when she spoke, her voice was quiet. “We won’t be able to protect them forever; children get hurt sometimes, and there’s nothing we can do about it.” She paused, shoulders drooping somewhat. “You’re not the only one who worries about her, Newt. She’s so much like Queenie – she has her spirit, and she’s so bubbly and bright… I know that she looks nothing like her, but sometimes I look at Wren and remember Queenie. I remember how I did my best to look after her, did my best to make sure that she was protected and safe…the world isn’t kind to orphans.”

Newt was stunned by this admission, but his mind was starting to understand just what she was talking about: somehow, they had managed to start and raise a family through two wars, wizarding and muggle, manging further to keep their family intact. However, there had always been the threat looming of what might happen to the children should anything happen to himself or Tina – neither of their occupations were risk-free by any stretch of the imagination, and the thought made a chill run down his spine.

“I used to look at her when she was a baby,” His wife continued carefully. “I used to look at her and wonder what would happen to her – to all of them – if either or both of us were hurt…or worse.”

“They’d have Queenie and Jacob,” He stated without hesitating – he was certain that this would be the case. “You and I both know that they’d make room for the children if need be, even with their own brood to concern themselves with.”

They both knew that this was the truth; Jacob and Queenie would never allow their nephews and nieces to suffer, would never let them starve or freeze – they would take in the Scamander children within a heartbeat, if the need did occur. It offered some slight comfort – not a great deal, but some.

After a few minutes of sitting side-by-side silently, Tina’s hand sought his own; Newt linked their fingers together, pressing their palms close. “We can’t protect them from everything,” He heard her tell him softly. “But I can promise you right now, Newt, that she won’t ever be in that awful Death Cell.”

“No,” He admitted, feeling more foolish than ever now. “I know…it’s not even here, it’s in America. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” She muttered, and she was resting her head on his shoulder. “We’ve both got our fair share of scars…not all of them are physical, but they’re still there.” She inhaled deeply, eyes gazing at the Fwooper nearby as it shook out its wings and shrieked. “We can’t pretend that dreadful things won’t happen…the world can be a terrible place. But we can make sure she knows she’s not alone in it – that none of them are alone; they’ve got us, and Jacob and Queenie, and each other to help them.”

Newt released the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding as he leaned into her. “Of course. Absolutely.” He hesitated for a few seconds, debating whether he needed to say it. “Thank you, Tina… If ever there’s been someone to put some sense into me, it’s you.”

“It goes both ways,” Tina murmured, squeezing his hand. “They’ll be okay: all four of them will. There’s no point in worrying – as you’d say, it only means you suffer twice.”

He couldn’t help the weak half-smile that turned his lips upwards; even now, he found himself thinking about how he really had gotten so incredibly, unbelievably lucky in marrying her.

It was just before midnight when the half-shut door slowly creaked to open all of the way; both Newt and Tina, sitting in the dim light of a lamp, both turned their gazes to see who or what had caused the door to open. To their surprise, Wren was standing in the doorway, looking rather unsure and cautious.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” Tina muttered, though she wasn’t angry; their daughter had been exhausted upon returning from Jacob and Queenie’s that evening, and she had immediately gone straight to bed.

“I know,” Wren said quietly, tugging at the tie on her dressing gown – pink and a birthday gift from Queenie – as she lowered her head. “I…I couldn’t sleep. I could hear you talking…hear you thinking, and I wanted to ask you – both of you – about something, but…but I didn’t want to upset you.”

Newt frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t think you’d upset us in any way… Come on, come and sit with us, and we’ll see if we can answer whatever’s on your mind.”

Their daughter clambered up onto the bed to sit between them; she was silent for a short time, avoiding their gazes as she tried to decide on how best to voice her feelings. She knew that they wouldn’t be angry, but all the same…

“This afternoon,” She started uncertainly, struggling to find the words to express how she was feeling. “You were thinking about some stuff, Daddy; about Mummy, and this chair, and this black stuff.”

Newt was silent for a moment, shoulders sinking ever so slightly. “Yes, I was thinking about that. I’m sorry that you had to see something like that.”

“It was scary,” She muttered quietly. “You were scared, Daddy, when you thought about Mummy…I didn’t like it.” She paused, now looking to her mother worriedly. “You were crying, Mummy…you were going to be hurt. You…You were in trouble…the black stuff…”

She was starting to look rather distraught now, both by the conversation and by the thoughts she was talking about; Tina found herself wrapping an arm around Wren’s shoulders, holding her tight to herself. This conversation was bringing up frightening memories, but she knew she had to keep them away from her daughter – the last thing they needed was to upset her more. “Wren…”

“It was real, wasn’t it?” The five-year-old asked tearfully, though she already knew it was true. “It wasn’t a…a bad dream like the one I had about the monsters…it really happened.”

There was no point in lying: their daughter would know immediately. “Yes, that’s true,” Newt admitted. “It did happen, I’m afraid.”

“You nearly died, Mummy,” Wren sniffled, absolutely horrified as her fingers started to cling to her mother’s pyjama shirt. “You really nearly died!”

“Yes – but I didn’t die,” Tina reassured her hurriedly, giving her a tight squeeze. “I’m right here, remember? I’m still very much alive because your Daddy saved me; he caught me when I jumped, and I’m alive.”

“And it was a very long time ago,” Newt added, placing a hand on their daughter’s back; she raised her eyes to look at him. “It was before your mother and I even got married – long before you children were born, at any rate.”

For a moment their daughter just frowned, clearly still very unsure. “If it’s okay now, then why are you still thinking about it? It was years ago, so…so why did you think about it?”

“Well…” The Magizoologist hesitated: how to describe the idea of trauma to a five-year-old? “The thing is that sometimes, when awful things happen, it can be rather difficult to forget…they can stay in your mind for a very long time because they’re so strong.”

Wren was still looking somewhat confused, and so Tina cleared her throat to speak. “It’s like… You know how we went swimming at the beach last Summer?” Their daughter nodded. “And do you remember how you asked about the marks on me and Daddy?”

“They’re scars,” She recalled.

“Yeah, exactly. Well…it’s kinda like that,” Tina explained carefully. “Do you remember that we told you that they didn’t hurt anymore? They’ve healed, but they’ve left marks – scars – that can sometimes bother us.”

“Uh-huh,” Wren agreed, her eyebrows furrowing a tad. “So…do you have scars from that black stuff too?”

Her mother hesitated. “Not exactly. Sometimes things that hurt us don’t leave actual scars, not ones that you can see – sometimes bad stuff, like memories or events, can still leave something behind that hurts, even if you can’t see it. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” The five-year-old said slowly. “It hurts but not on the outside – it’s on the inside…like when you’re angry or upset or scared?”

“Yes, exactly,” Newt acknowledged. “That’s why some memories are more painful than others – in fact, I’m sure you could say that certain memories are just like scars.” He paused before continuing, and when he spoke again he was quieter. “However, it doesn’t mean that they ruin things forever – not at all. You learn to accept it and it becomes less painful, and when it does then you go on with life.”

Wren started to nod, mind working hard to keep up – even being able to read his mind, she was struggling somewhat. “I think I understand. It was a scary thing that happened, so it’s something that hurts…but it hurt less after a while, and now you and Mummy are happy?”

“We’re very happy,” Tina assured her, and she was smiling softly. “As much as all of the bad experiences hurt, it’s nothing compared to the good things.”

The little girl suddenly started to beam as she caught a glimpse of the memories her mother was referring to. “You and Daddy getting married, and…and us being born! Those are nice!”

“Those are all wonderful things,” Newt agreed fondly, and he knew that she was looking through his thoughts too. “We wouldn’t trade those for anything in the world…you see, I think you’ll find, Wren, that the good in this world really does outweigh the bad.”

It was clear that she was relieved; sifting through her father’s thoughts, she could see that he was telling the truth. Knowing – not just hoping, but knowing – that the happy memories of family and love were far greater and stronger than any misfortune they had faced made her feel calmer. She found herself relaxing between them, finally feeling comforted.

With all of this in mind, Wren gave a small yawn and started to blink tiredly. “I don’t wanna go back to bed,” She confessed, somewhat sheepishly. “Can I…just for one night…stay with you?”

Her parents only had to share a look – the answer was immediately obvious.

“Alright,” Tina acquiesced, shuffling to make some room between herself and her husband. “Just for tonight.”

Once the lights were dimmed and all three of them were settled underneath the duvet comfortably, two small hands reached out, one for her mother’s own hand and one for her father’s. There was a silence in the air as she registered their ease, their love and affection for her, and she found herself feeling completely content as she closed her eyes.

It took just a few minutes before she had drifted off into a peaceful sleep; in the dark, Tina was sending her husband a rather tired smile. “See? She’ll be fine - she’s got us, no matter what happens.”

Newt couldn’t help but grin back at her before looking down at their daughter, nestled between them; she was curled towards him, her small fist barely touching his chest. “Yes…and we’ve got each other too.”

Urgh, sorry for the delay but my depression and stuff got a bit severe and shit happened so… :/ I was hoping to finish it sooner so that I could start a new fic but it looks like I won’t be posting anything until next week now because on Saturday night I’m going to take my dad to see Covenant, and then all-day Sunday I’m at Comic-Con.

But, yeah, I hope that you all enjoyed this or, you know, enjoyed it somewhat at least! Feedback, as always, is love!

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