#Newt's Novelties

[synthapostate]

I’m sitting in the break room waiting for my shift to start, writing fic, pausing to do some research and hoping none of my coworkers come in and ask why I appear to be shopping for a sexy Sasquatch calendar. Like, I could explain, but it would take a long time and I have work to do.

[normal-newt]

Got a gift card present! Happy smiling very pleased.

It's for a stationary shop + there are many things there that can help manage executive functions. Also novelty pens and stuff.

Also definitely getting a new notebook. (This one is going to be the one that organizes my whole life. Probably. Possibly. Maybe ?)

[lacollectionneuse1967]

slip of the tongue part 4 - the last train home

Theseus Scamander x Reader

summary: you are kidnapped by grindelwald and theseus is stranded alone, unaware, at a train station--he's left to believe that you do not love him and you are left in enemy custody with no one coming to save you. the world always had a way of finding out what you loved and taking it from you. but you always found a way to hold onto hope until your hands were bloody, and you always hoped you'd still make the last train home...

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: hurt-comfort. romance.

warnings: none

part one / part two / part three / part four

author's note: yeah i wrote another long chapter again sorryyyyy! also there are no sexy times in this one haha.. this is actually the last part of this fic! taking requests for other theseus fics after. hope you enjoy :)

November, King's Cross Station

"Don't come. Don't come," Theseus thinks. "Be safe and happy and do not come."

And then, with a selfish tug of panic, he relinquishes the hideous truth of his desire:

"Come. Please come."

Theseus is standing at Platform 9 3/4, craning his neck over the crowds of wizards in their mismatched regalia, some in whimsical velvet robes and long caps and others in London business suits. The existence of the magical world alongside this one always did seem to him an impractical, impossible thing. Clunky and disjointed parts clacking together.

Until, until...

You. Muggle girl, born and bred, but you were the best wizard he'd ever met. The whole world seemed to make sense, suddenly, with your introduction into his life, these two worlds, magical and unmagical, were contained within your very existence, perfectly.

For the first time in his life, the thought of you brings him pain.

"She'll come," he thinks again. Banish the pain. Banish all that isn't useful or good.

The train whistle blows, his wristwatch reads 7:14. There's hardly anyone on the platform anymore.

He knew, knew that you wanted him too. Loved him. He saw it in your beautiful, hopeful face every time he reached out and touched you, you were so willing to fall into his touch, to surrender yourself. Sweet angel in his bed, in his arms.

"Last call!" A train attendant leans out from the car up ahead to shout it. Misery snakes around his heart. It's an icy and menacing revelation, that you might not choose to be with him.

He has never asked much of you, was always afraid to as your boss and your friend. But in these last days he's realized he's underestimated you, critically. He was so afraid of scaring you off he hadn't recognized that you don't scare easy.

He glances at the train attendant's cinched expression and then around the platform again, with blind urgency, eyes darting to every face, hardly seeing the strangers at all.

"I didn't push her too far this time. She'll come. She'll come."

"Last call!" The train attendant calls again, irritably. She's doing him a favor by waiting at all.

When Theseus steps up into the train car he politely apologizes to her. He even smiles charitably. She returns it with a blush, but rolls her eyes, taking his ticket.

He settles down and pulls out his book to read. Orders a coffee. Nothing is out of the ordinary.

Theseus has always been a sensible man, a capable one. He'll tell Newt you didn't want him. He'll put his energy and efforts into the resistance against Grindelwald. He looks fine, and maybe one day he will be.

He knows, logically, that you will be too. But he cannot deny that part of him was left on that platform tonight, and he cannot deny that it might remain there for good.

----

January 

The woman lingers in the shop, her gaze flitting from shelf to shelf without much intention.

Theseus knows that he's ceased to be a novelty. Small as Hogsmeade was, he's been living there for a little over two months. The village's residents no longer looked to him or Newt, or Newt's "friends," with any curiosity or suspicion. If the woman is loitering around, it's because she wants to speak to him.

"Mrs. Beaumont," he inquires, trying to be as patient as he can, wiping his hands off on a rag before placing them flat on the counter. "Can I help you with something?"

"Oh!" She seems relieved he's broached conversation, walking eagerly to the front counter that he's behind. "Mr. Scamander, I just wanted to say how very happy we are to have you and your brother here. Apart from the students, it always gives me hope, seeing young people and newcomers moving here."

He nods warmly, offers a closed-lip smile, but says nothing. He knows Mrs. Beaumont is one for long, chatty, pointless conversation. If he struck one up he'd never hear the end of it.

Theseus wants to close up for the evening. He wants to return to his living quarters at the inn. The potion shop was supposed to have closed ten minutes ago.

From Head Auror to humble assistant shopkeeper. If he thinks about that disparity too much he starts to go insane. Veritably insane. But he tries to rid himself of useless pride, something he'd been so occupied with before. Tries to remember what he's doing here, what's at stake. The position at the potion shop was just a cover. The evenings and long nights--that's when he, Dumbledore, and Newt did their real work.

Mrs. Beaumont shuffles out of the shop, made shy by her confession.

It's unseasonably warm for mid-January, the snow patchy, in wet-looking, thin sheets of ice spread over yellowing grass. Most days the sky is mercifully blue, bright and pale. But the sun still sets early, and it's a purple evening by the time Theseus locks up.

"Dammit," he curses softly. The key gets jammed in the lock sometimes. He's sure there's some way this could be made more efficient through magic.

The potion shop where he works is at the very edge of the village. The back window overlooks a white, roaring river that crumbles rockily down the hillside towards the Black Lake. Theseus starts his walk back towards the inn, back into town, unseeingly.

He knows the way so well by now that sometimes he just winds up in his room, with no memory of the walk at all.

Theseus looks forward to meeting up with his younger brother tonight.

Their relationship has improved, considerably, within the last two months. At nights when they have no other work to do and no Grindelwald-related assignments from Dumbledore, Theseus helps Newt on his book about magical beasts. Newt's notes were these soul-crushingly disorganized collections of writings and sketches, his findings all haphazardly piled together in a barely-bound journal. Theseus had been helping him turn his work into a more readable format, maybe something that could one day be published. Theseus had forgotten how much he enjoyed working with magical creatures in school, had forgotten that he was quite good at it too.

A loose paper currently adhering itself to his boot breaks him out of his reverie. It crunches when he tries to walk. He stops to kick it off, unsuccessfully. It looks quite old, half-torn and filthily brown, and a bit frozen as well. He leans down to pick it from his shoe with a grimace, lifting it up in curiosity.

WANTED.

The image of your face on the paper is enough to make him stop walking completely, stop breathing. At first he thinks he's hallucinating, he'd always known you'd come back to haunt him.

He's in an alleyway, one he doesn't take often, he doesn't know what compelled him to take this route today. He looks up in horror at the grey brick walls. They're plastered with the same, tattered poster of you, the one calling for your arrest, who knows how long they've been up.

WANTED: Have You Seen This Witch? Y/N Y/L/N.

Contact the Ministry of Magic immediately if you have any information concerning her whereabouts.

The posted reward money makes his stomach turn. But the sight of your face, that does something far worse to him.

The photo they used of you is from your first day at the Ministry. A cropped and zoomed-in image of you smiling, with eye-welling pride, in front of the huge wooden door to the Auror Office. In the image you move after smiling for the picture, you look around with an anxious, unsure sort of happiness. He draws his thumb over the dirty paper, the picture of your face.

This isn't possible. This can't be real.

He runs to the inn. His lungs are burning from the cold, dry air, but he doesn't stop. He pushes through the doors and Aberforth stands up from one of the tables by the bar, startled.

"What do you think you're-"

Theseus ignores him, breaking into the back room and falling to his knees before the fireplace. Wand shaking in his hand, he places a Floo Call to Thatcher Birchen. He's an Auror. More importantly, he was Theseus's friend from his Hufflepuff days. He wouldn't betray Theseus, not willingly.

When Thatcher's face materializes in the coals of the fireplace it looks unhappy to see him.

"Theseus, you shouldn't be calling me here. You didn't leave us on the best terms-"

"I know, I'm sorry. I wouldn't reach out if it wasn't an emergency."

"I'm not keen to talk to you regardless," Thatcher snaps. But he doesn't end the Floo Call.

Theseus realizes with a pang that Thatcher is scared. But Theseus doesn't understand why. He's diligently avoided all news press and talk about the Ministry these last two months, hoping to avoid you. No Ministry talk, no new editions of The Daily Prophet, just work with his hands. Moving a rag over the wooden counters at the potion shop, running the numbers and taking up accounting. Restocking boxes of ingredients.

This seems to him, now, to have been a great and careless mistake.

He thought you'd be running the Auror Office now, taking names, that Newt could reach out to you at a crucial, appropriate time.

"Did..." He has to ready himself to say your name aloud. "Thatcher, did something happen to Y/N? I saw a flyer today that said she's missing, that she is wanted under suspicion of espionage. Did something happen while she was working as an Auror?"

Theseus doesn't want to reveal too much. He's worried bringing you to the gala in Berlin and the Mausoleum in France that weekend in November might have already incriminated you.

"Theseus," Thatcher explains in a hushed tone. "Y/N Y/L/N never filled the post at all. I-I heard something about a potential offer the day you quit, but she disappeared that very night."

Theseus can hardly hear the rest of what Thatcher is saying, his whole body has gone numb.

"No one saw her in the weeks after her disappearance. It was assumed she'd taken up with Grindelwald. It had already been proven that she'd stolen some important documents from the Ministry Archives-"

"How?" Theseus's voice breaks on the word, miserably.

Thatcher sighs sympathetically.

"They found her wand and analyzed it. Found a spell that made copies of documents associated with the Ministry Archives. Hence the assumption, hence the wanted posters they put up a while ago..."

Theseus knows this could never be true. You and Grindelwald.

"What do you mean by 'found her wand''?" He asks with sudden, horrific clarity. You've been missing this whole time. Without a wand.

"That same night you resigned. They found it in front of Kings Cross Station."

The air is sapped from the room, Theseus unthinkingly flings some fresh coals onto the Floo Call with a limp palm, it collapses the shape of Thatcher's face and the call crumbles into nothing. He didn't say goodbye, he has to get some air.

He's so taken aback, reeling with nausea, that he has to brace himself against the wall with both hands. He keels over and dry heaves for a few seconds.

Two months you'd been missing.

And they'd found your wand at the station. You'd been coming, coming for him. This whole time he'd thought...

Newt bursts into the room, Aberforth is standing behind him looking uncertain, alert.

"Theseus! Aberforth told me--But... What's going on?!"

Theseus stands and closes the door so it's just the two of them. He's wearing the apathetic, half-conscious expression of a sleepwalker.

Newt takes a seat in the wooden chair.

"Newt... Grindelwald has her. He's had her this whole time. Since the day I quit the Ministry."

"I..." Newt's reaction doesn't satisfy Theseus. He looks troubled, but only vaguely.

"Newt," Theseus starts again with newfound frustration, passion. "While we were laying low, writing your book, restocking shelves, while we were brought up to the castle at Christmastime, Y/N has been in his custody! Tortured, starving, alone, I don't know. When I think about it, it kills me. I can't handle it-"

"We don't know if she's even alive, Theseus," Newt says this rationally, albeit unhappily. "Grindelwald doesn't keep prisoners unless they are valuable, important. She might be dead. When I heard she wasn't promoted to an Auror in November-"

"November?"

Cold rushes into Theseus's veins. There is no silence as deadly as the one that follows. He can feel his blood crystallize and crack, it’s too bodily a sensation to even call it shock. It’s betrayal. 

“You knew?” 

All those months collapse into nothing, they mean nothing to him.

For so long Newt kept his distance, felt misunderstood by Theseus and their mother for the path he chose in life. And yes, perhaps Theseus did misunderstand, did judge him for it, never took his career or his interest in magical beasts seriously. Maybe he was berating at times, suffocating with his good, brotherly intentions, and they’d drifted apart as adults. 

But these last eight weeks in Hogsmeade they’d mended that, delicately, bruisingly, as one mends small bones, with small intrusions and concessions. Quiet conversations, sessions where Theseus helped him turn his work into something resembling a book, living together for the first time since they were children. 

But that means nothing to Theseus now, nothing. 

Newt doesn’t meet his eyes, the shame too heavy to lift his head. He’s sitting, hunched over in his chair like it is mounted to the floor.

“No,” Newt breathes out. “No, Theseus. I knew she never became Head Auror. I knew it went to… to someone else, but I didn’t know she was missing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?" His voice is torn-sounding. More hurt than enraged. "You didn’t even suspect—you didn’t reach out once?! I don’t believe you.”

“I swear it to you—“

“You should’ve told me.”

“You told me she didn’t love you!” Newt looks up at last, eyes wild with the panic of a cornered animal. “That she didn’t choose you! I-I don’t know what we could’ve done for her even if we did know…” 

That there is a new wound, it blackens Theseus’s heart to hear it.

“I know Dumbledore knows where Grindelwald is. Christ, it was Y/N who stole those documents from the Ministry archives, those maps! We can go to her."

Newt just keeps shaking his head at the floor. It makes Theseus want to go up to him and shake him.

"If it were me, Newt, you would’ve come for me….”

“That’s different. We don’t do these sort of rescue missions, they’re too dangerous. Grindelwald, he—he’s untouchable.” 

“You make me ashamed. You have always, always been braver than me. I didn’t realize it before, when we were kids, but you have. You were never a coward, Newt. Don’t let this fight change you.”

“Theseus, if we try to rescue her we will lose everything. I cannot risk this, cannot risk them.”

No one else is in the room but Theseus knows who he means. Jacob. Tina. And the other ragtag insurgents who have found their way into Newt’s crew over the last two months, who have decided to set aside their lives to fight.

Newt is staring at him pleadingly. Theseus feels he doesn’t recognize him anymore, feels as if he is standing in the room all alone. The space between them stretches and stretches until Theseus speaks again.

“No,” Theseus’s throat is dry, his voice subdued. He shakes his head. “No, I wouldn’t ask you to… I’ll go alone.”

“Theseus, please don’t—“

He turns and leaves, cutting the conversation short.

This has never been negotiable. He let you slip away from him once, asked you to, encouraged you to in his last letter.

He would not let you be lost again.

——— 

You almost miss being tortured. Well, no, that isn't true.

But anything seems preferable to this ever-expanding, engulfing nothingness. After that first week of torture and questioning in which you revealed nothing they wanted to hear (thankful that Newt had kept you in the dark), none of Grindelwald's followers entered your cell. They don't even feed you often enough to keep you alive, but it seems more like carelessness, derision for your muggleborn blood status, than like they are trying to kill you.

If it weren't for Queenie you would've starved to death.

The first time Queenie slipped into your cell to sneak you some bread you tried to kill her. Her reading your thoughts and reciting them aloud, frantically, as if they would save her or prove her allyship, actually did save her. She stunned you into a dumbfounded stupor. You'd never met someone with her abilities before.

She was a funny woman. A devoted follower of Grindelwald who revealed little and had an oversensitive disposition, but you soon grew to appreciate her clandestine visits. She was kind. Remarkably so. Not only for feeding you, but for sitting and talking to you at all. That was its own kindness.

You thought you knew loneliness before, but this...

You knew your mind was a hostile place, even before you were brought here. But being left alone with yourself was the worst torture Grindelwald could've thought up.

You distract yourself with your less injurious thoughts, and avoid thoughts of Theseus at all costs.

Those are so painful you dare not think his name. In your mind, a blotted, blacked-out figure remains in his stead, a hole you've torn out yourself. In those first days, you'd repeated his name out loud, like a mantra, and thought of him liberally and without pause, even while you were being tortured.

"Theseus. Theseus. Theseus. Come save me. Please, come find me."

What waste. No one was coming. All you had ahead of you was this nothingness.

Sometimes, lights move outside the slit in your wall--too pathetic of an opening to be called a window. You can’t even see out of it, it just lets in cold air. Those shadows and flashes of light are the only color in your world. Sometimes when you look down at yourself, even your hands look black and white, made sepia and sickly gray.  

The lights are sometimes orange, swooping lights, like arcs of fire being dropped overhead. Sometimes green, watery, glowing darkly like moonstone or bioluminescence. What you see aren't the spells themselves, but just the brilliance they cast into your room from the courtyard.

You don't know what Grindelwald is doing, what sort of spells are producing these bursting, sporadic hues.

You lie sideways on the floor and stare at them playing out against your wall, soft glowing spots sinking and rising.

They remind you of the magical lights, bobbing and hanging mid-air, that the Ministry decorated the Atrium ceiling with for the annual Christmas party. That was one year ago, though it feels like a past life, or a dream...

----

One Year Ago, December

You'd never heard the Atrium so full of people and life. It was usually bustling with conversation and noise, but this sort of noise, the happy noise of laughter and popping champagne bottles and high-spirited chatter, that was new.

You crossed your arms, glass in hand, watching contentedly from the sidelines. You never knew how to conduct yourself when Theseus was with Leta, you strangely felt as if you'd be caught doing something wrong. So you endeavored to avoid them both.

And besides, it had shocked you, the dull knife-turn of pain you felt watching him with her, talking to her in the corner at the beginning of the party.

You'd gone mute for the night, head swimming, gazing at the decorative lights floating overhead. All your thoughts felt buoyant, distant and hard to grasp, bobbing in and out. You knew you were spacing out, but you couldn't stop, maybe it was the mulled wine.

You had just turned down the promotion earlier that day.

"We're going to you directly to ask if you want it. We wanted to ask you first," the department head had said with great satisfaction, like he was delivering you a personal gift. "We know if it were up to Theseus he'd have you by his side 'till he retires!"

The last part was said with a half-joking laugh, but you'd tilted your head in confusion.

"Sorry, what?"

The man scoffed.

"He likes you very, very much, Y/N," the man said, like it was obvious. "He's made that explicitly clear to his colleagues who were hoping to share you as an assistant early on. It was his express wish that you work with him alone."

'He likes you very, very much.'

The idea of being liked, chosen by him... It was like a shooting star crashing over your head, light falling around you in bright shards, fatal, dazzling, undeserved.

You startled when you felt a hand on your forearm.

"Y/N," Theseus said, pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are."

He'd been looking for you. The thought made your heart soar, felt like being chosen all over again.

There was a wild merriment in his eyes. You couldn't tell if he was tipsy or just happy to see you.

"Here I am," you echoed in confirmation.

"Dance with me?" Before you could answer he cautiously pulled both of your hands, winding his fingers through yours and slowly guiding your arms in and out to the rhythm of the song.

You couldn't help but give into him, smile, laugh, you were never not going to say yes.

"Where's Leta?" You didn't want to ask, to ruin the moment, but it seemed right to.

Theseus shook his head and made a tutting, disappointed noise, twirling you around.

You dipped your head back and the lights whirled overhead, too radiant to be stars.

"She left. She doesn't like to dance. Doesn't like parties, actually."

As if afraid you were going to leave him, as if just to hear your laugh again, he spun you once more, more vigorously.

"Dance with me, Y/N," he bemoaned.

You laughed again and let yourself be spun and caught by his arms.

"Aren't I doing that now?"

"Good," he said resolutely, pleased. His smile was infectious. "Don't stop."

You felt like a girl again, weak in the limbs and susceptible to all sorts of hope, the dangerous kind. His hands in yours, the dazzled look in his eyes as they beheld you.. You regretted nothing.

"I won't leave until you tell me to, sir." You added in the honorific sarcastically, to keep the tone light, but the look on your face was terribly earnest. "I promise. You'll have to send me away."

----------

You don't remember falling asleep while looking at the lights on your wall. You didn't mean to think about the Christmas party, about him.

More often than not, more often than even the nightmares about rabid dogs and black water rising and the orphanage, you dream about the last train home. About the night your parents died.

Your family was poor. You did not hold this against them. You were too young to do anything but love your parents dearly, indiscriminately. You were barely seven years old, but you worked most days in the factories of East London and were happy to help, to not be burdensome like the hungry, needy children in story books.

That evening after work you'd been distracted, playing with a stray dog with some other children, and you missed the last train home. You resolved to sleep at the station, flat on the ground of the platform, and take the first train in the morning.

Your parents had gone out looking for you and were killed in a nondescript alleyway, found with their empty pockets turned-out. You dream about that night, that platform on the London Overground, you fear missing that train.

And, now, that is not the only missed train that haunts you.

Someone's here.

You wake, instantly. Your eyes open with a dispassionate immediacy.

There's no train. Fingers twitching, you instinctually reach for your wand for what must be the thousandth time, to protect yourself. Its absence feels full-circle almost.

You remember how you couldn't sleep your first year at Hogwarts, you'd stumble to class with tormented little dark circles under your eyes. You were too terrified to sleep, kept fearing you'd wake up and be back at the orphanage, that it would all be taken away from you if you didn't keep your eyes open.

Strangely, since you arrived in this cell, you haven't had any trouble sleeping at all. You sleep most of the day away curled up on the floor like a baby.

"Queenie," you mutter, sitting up falteringly. "Watching me sleep, are you?"

Queenie is standing with perfect posture in the corner of your cell, by the door, wringing her hands.

"I don't know how you sleep like that, on the floor..." She seems genuinely upset when you look up at her. “You must miss all your things. Your home. Your family… I’m so sorry this has happened to you.”

You shake your head slowly.

“No. I was born with nothing, nothing. This room it feels…” You glance around, as if seeing it through Queenie’s eyes, seeing it for the very first time.

Metal chair with a missing leg in the corner. Filthy blanket on the floor. It’s more barren than awful, anyone could’ve lived here. 

“It feels familiar to me," you admit.

Queenie says nothing, eyes wide. Since you met her here, she’s never seemed at ease, never seems to know what to say. For a moment the two of you just sit there in vacant silence, neither of you really present.

"You don't say his name anymore."

You don't even want to acknowledge the comment, you stare at the corner of the wall and hope what she's said will just go away if you don't.

"Theseus," she says explanatorily, as if you didn't understand her. The word is an affront from her mouth, worse than a slap, it makes your stomach twist. You feel exposed. "Do you...Do you feel betrayed by him? That he hasn't come..."

You close your eyes to gather your bearings.

"No," you say. "It would be very strange, almost a pleasure, if anyone in the world could betray me. Stab me in the back. I don't trust or know anyone well enough for that. I wish."

You're trying to sound self-deprecating, maybe even funny, but there's no energy behind it.

Queen looks at you sadly, sympathetically. Sometimes you forget about her ability to hear your thoughts. How futile it is to lie to her now. It embarrasses you, that you still care what she thinks. That you're still attempting to shirk off your pain for her sake.

“But Queenie,” you turn your head to her, defeat written all over your face. “Queenie, my God, what am I doing here?”

Your life is in tatters again and you don’t even know why. They tortured and questioned you when you first arrived, but you hadn't seen anyone but Queenie since.

“You’re a spy. You were working with the Scamanders,” she recites this as if reading off a rap sheet. It’s clear it’s what she’s been told, and is the flimsy, defensive logic she’s using to justify you being here.

“So why hasn’t he killed me already?” You can’t help how lifeless your voice sounds, almost bored.

Too much pain is a deadening, desensitizing thing. At some point, it ceases to be effective. Grindelwald’s followers have pushed you past that point. 

Queenie’s expression shutters closed.

She always seems so conflicted, whether she’s helping you or following Grindelwald’s orders, there’s some secret turmoil eating her up inside.

“Please,” you say.

“Grindelwald thinks you could play an important part in his plans, in the Spring. It’s… Do you know The Predictions of Tycho Dodonus?”

You know it from school. You think back to the Lestrange Mausoleum, to what Newt told you. 

“Prophecy 20? But Credence he can’t be-“

“No, Prophecy 21.” 

You stare at her, not following. 

When she speaks it’s as if her voice comes from behind her, not from her. The prophecy tumbles from her painted mouth and fills the desolate cell:

“Come bleeding springtime,

come new leaves, come bone:

A lone daughter destined,

Without bloodline or home,

To transform darkest skies,

With great power, unknown.” 

She looks at you meaningfully. 

You scoff.

“Kill me then. That I am living…. Your Grindelwald is a fool.”

Queenie bristles defensively. “No! H-He is a great man who-“

You wave her off, weakly.

“There are plenty of muggleborn witches without homes, Queenie. Just head to the orphanage Hogwarts plucked me from in North London and you’ll see. The prophecy is not about me. I’m nothing special. I’m nothing…” 

You know your fatigue isn’t natural. Despite Queenie’s best efforts, you are malnourished. Made simple-minded and irritable because of it. Frail.

You don’t hide your spell of faintness as well as you hoped to. Your eyelids are low, sedated.

Ever the mother hen, Queenie rushes to your side, kneeling.

“Let me sneak in more food, honey. Just give me a moment, I can-“

“Wand,” you say, your voice battered and forceless. It’s a strain to lift your eyes to meet Queenie’s then, to open them. But you make a point to.

Your voice is feeble, but your eyes are challenging, fierce.

“Queenie, if you really want to help me, get me a wand.” 

“Y-You’re too weak. Even if I could get one to you, it would be too difficult for you to escape, to fight them, there’s—“

Your laugh is so deranged sounding, so sharp and unhinged that it silences her, cuts through the empty room bright and blade-like.

“Queenie,” you sigh. “Why do all wizards talk like that? Magic is the easiest thing in the world. Besides, you haven’t seen me fight.” 

-----

No one expects it.

You've been so docile and half-alive after being tortured, the guard who brought your meal is so confused he doesn't fight back at all, merely tumbles backwards with astonished, wide eyes until you're able to knock him unconscious.

When Queenie brought you the wand earlier that day you'd tried in vain to convince her to come along with you. To escape and return to her sister, Tina.

She hadn't even said no, she just said, "I'm sorry."

Your legs wobble with every hurried, barefoot step. God, you don't know when the last time you walked was, nevertheless ran. It doesn't help that the castle is foreign to you. Queenie's succinct directions did little to capture the sheer, gargantuan size of the building.

Turn left. Down the staircase. Turn right. There's a locked door at the end of the hall. There might be guards on the other side.

You recite the instructions again and again, more to stay sane than to memorize them.

You round a corner too fast and are met with three men, dressed in dark tailored-suits. You unleash three spells, one for each, quick, tearing through them before they can even turn. You don't breathe, you don't miss.

You feel sorry for it, but you can't afford to be delicate or careful or merciful. Every second you're here is a moment Grindelwald could realize what's going on and come kill you in a heartbeat.

Hearing the ruckus, another man comes flying down the main hall, snarling.

"Avada Kedavr-"

You spot the exit and don't stick around, ducking your head and tumbling out into the courtyard, twisting your ankle but not missing a beat.

You keep running forward, stumbling, half-delirious, out towards the main iron gate.

You're shocked to find yourself at the summit of some snowy mountain. The world is blindingly white. The building you've come from is some stony fortress, more grand than you'd imagined from the bleak confines of your cell.

The air is arid, thin and dry with brutal cold. It burns to breathe in. Cuts like sandpaper in your throat.

You have to get past the gate to surpass Grindelwald's anti-apparition charm.

Almost there, I'm almost-

With a jolt you turn around. You can feel him looking at you, feel the strength of his gaze with the same recognition of a prey animal realizing they're being watched, hunted.

Grindelwald.

From the high tower window his face has gone serene with fury. Almost blank. The look in his eyes is beyond angry, it is rage in its purest, most distilled form, he hardly moves.

You tear your gaze away and lurch your body through the front gate.

You don't know where you are, you thought about apparating to London, but that's the first place they'd go to find you again.

Then you think of Hogsmeade, but it fell under the same anti-apparition wards that guarded Hogwarts.

"Nearby, then." You direct your magic, channel and funnel it all in the direction of the place before the image of it is even fully formed in your mind. "Feldcroft."

In a cutting, dizzying whoosh you are spelled away.

Feldcroft was an inconsequential village of wizardfolk, small, rural, not too far afield of Hogwarts. You'd spent one summer holiday there rather than go back to the orphanage, after your first year.

You'd helped a farmer work his land during the long summer days in return for meals and lodging. You were twelve and it was the hottest summer of your life, you hadn't known Scotland could be so hot, but anything was better than going back where you came from, terrified you'd never find your way back.

Before you've even landed you realize your folly. You were too weakened by the torture and starvation, and too far away.

You hit the ground bone-breakingly hard, but you hardly notice that dull, throbbing pain over the sharper, louder pain of being cut to slithers. Your skin twists and tears away from itself, from your muscles, in spirals and stripes. You couldn't fully stick the landing, it's an imperfect apparition, and this is the consequence.

You cry out, a crumpled heap on the frozen ground, limbs twisted and bloody.

With a rapidly blotting vision you strain your neck upwards.

"Did I make it? Am I safe?"

You don't even recognize Feldcroft. Winter had stripped all the fields and mountains of life. Summer, your childhood there, it's all long gone.

Some prophetic witch destined for greatness.

You see the blurred legs of a man approaching. When he leans down to look at your face, your limbs twitch in agonizing protest, but you're too injured to move.

"Y/N?" He says.

You inhale sharply, in pained horror.

"Y/N, I didn't recognize you."

You still can't see very well, but the liquid panic in your veins dissipates at the sound of his voice. You know him.

You hadn't recognized him at first, but it was the farmer, Mr. Howell, from what must've been a decade ago. The old man who had taken you in that summer when you were twelve. You remember him being old then, but he looks impossibly older now, ancient, really.

You don't know what to do with the recognition, with this information, but it doesn't matter because you are bleeding out and, within seconds, you feel a sweet and pain-sapping unconsciousness take you.

----

When you wake your consciousness is a flimsy, fragile thing, like trying to float a feather in air. Your vision is black and brown around the edges.

You're in a bed and Mr. Howell is putting a kettle on. You feel worse than you ever did in captivity of Grindelwald, closer to death.

"It still looks the same," you say, rasping. "I didn't recognize the village, but this house..."

A swell of weakness overtakes you again and your vision almost blacks out completely before returning in a soft vignette.

You can see the farmer, Mr. Howell, staring at you from across the room, at your starved body, your bloodless face.

"What happened to you?" It's so direct a question it's almost startling, almost rude. But it's said with such genuine remorse and concern that your heart softens.

"I..." He licks his lips before starting again. "When I told Minerva I'd agree to take you in that summer... Well, I thought your life was so sad. It was sad you had no one to go home to for the holiday. That your life had been so hard, she told me, about the abuse... But you were so young, such a skinny, hopeful thing. So talented. And good. I was sure it had to get better."

You smile at him, it pains you to do so. The old-you would've bristled, pride scorched, at anyone pitying you. But now you can only smile.

"I always thought the same too, sir."

"Are you in some sort of trouble?" he asks earnestly. "If you are, you're always welcome back at the farm. You know that."

Your heart seizes, your eyes well. You haven't spoken to him since that summer when you were twelve, that September when you thanked him hurriedly and spirited off with badly concealed eagerness to rejoin your friends at Hogwarts, without a glance behind.

"Thank you. It's more than I deserve, but thank you... And, yes. I'm afraid I am in trouble. I've just been a prisoner of Gellert Grindelwald. I'm sorry, I should be leaving, he could come after me."

The man looks taken aback, but ignores your words and asks instead: "Oh, Y/N, you look so unwell. Should I call for someone up at Hogwarts? The hospital wing is obviously reserved for students, but I'm sure-"

"I believe I am going to faint now, I apologize." The words come out of your mouth in an embarrassed rush. The dark edges close in and swallow you up, life itself extinguishes like a candle.

------

Theseus towers over the students at Hogwarts, he tries his best to push his way through the crowded halls without trampling them.

"Professor Dumbledore!" He calls out, giving up. Getting the man's attention must be easier than reaching him at this point.

Dumbledore looks up, startled, from across the sea of black-robed students. He's standing in the doorframe to his classroom.

Theseus imagines how he looks in Dumbledore's eyes--helpless, drowned. Maybe insane.

When Dumbledore waves him over he continues to gently push his way forward.

"I love her, I love her," he's thinking with a plummeting urgency, each internal admission of "I love her" bringing him closer to tears.

"She's not dead. If she was I'd know. I'd feel it. I'd feel her leaving me for good."

"Theseus," Dumbledore shoos the remaining students out and shuts the thick wooden door once Theseus enters. "What is this about?"

Theseus swallows hard and holds Dumbledore's gaze, trying to effuse authority.

"I need you to tell me where Gellert Grindelwald is. Right now."

Dumbledore opens his mouth in a stunted exhale, at a loss for words.

"Pardon?"

"Y/N has been taken prisoner."

"So, what, you're going to charge in there, alone, against Gellert Grindelwald and who knows how many of his supporters?"

Theseus tries not to waver, but the panic is beginning to set in. What if Dumbledore denies him?

"If I have to," he says, purposefully.

Dumbledore walks over to his desk and sits on it, stunned.

"Theseus," he says. "I've known you since you were a boy. I-I'm sorry, but I hardly recognize you. Have you no appeal to reason?"

"None at all, sir."

Dumbledore laughs, and the sound confuses Theseus, upsets him.

"You love her? God, you really do..."

Theseus is willing to destroy himself for it, for you.

"Help me. Tell me where to find her, or I'll find her on my own."

The heavy creaking sound of the door being pushed open causes Theseus to turn in agitation.

A woman in a nurse's uniform glides right past him and up to Dumbledore.

"Albus," she says in apparent distress. Theseus can't make out the rest.

After a moment of the woman's whispering, Dumbledore turns to Theseus, looking at him in sharp alarm.

"What is it?" Theseus says, unkindly. He doesn't care. He just wants to know where you are.

"Fate," answers Dumbledore. The line of his mouth is grave but his eyes are twinkling. "We've had a request from a farmer out in Feldcroft. He says a former student has apparated onto his land and is in dire need of medical care, and protection. That there could be followers of Grindelwald's coming after her shortly."

Theseus doesn't dare breathe. Doesn't let himself feel the acute bite of hope nipping at his heels, at his heart.

"He says her name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N."

--------

"Wake up, Y/N."

There are hands on your shoulders. Someone is touching you. Someone is-

Your whole body jerks awake. Your limbs are lashing out, fighting, before your eyes are even open.

"Get off me! Don't fucking touch me! Don't-"

"Y/N! Y/N, it's Theseus," Dumbledore is shouting. "It's okay you're safe-"

"What's happened to her?!"

Even his name didn't stall you, but the sound of his voice, pure and surreal, reaches you through the din of panic roaring in your ears. You exhale.

Once you've stopped kicking and struggling, the room comes into vision.

There are four people surrounding your bed. You're in Mr. Howell's house, of course, of course you are...

There in front of you are Professor Dumbledore, an older woman in a Hogwarts nurse uniform, Mr. Howell, and, impossibly, Theseus Scamander.

Theseus is staring at you, wide-eyed, like he doesn't recognize you. A dot of blood marks his temple, you wonder if it was you who did that just now.

"What's happened to her?" He repeats, his voice cracks. "What--Who did this to her?"

"She's been tortured, Theseus. And starved, maybe worse," says Dumbledore in a clipped, hushed way. "Please, understand, and give her some time to-"

"You're real," your voice is so quiet, so full of wonder, but it captures his full attention.

Theseus is holding his breath in apprehension. You're still staring at him in horrific fascination.

"This isn't--This is real?"

Theseus comes forward and kneels beside the bed, reaches for your arm. You can hardly look at his face, it's so startlingly beautiful. Dark blue eyes. The curve of his lips. It's really him.

"Y/N." He retracts his hand when you flinch, involuntarily. "Y/N, I'm not going to hurt you. I swear, I'm not gonna hurt you..."

You remember that you secretly love when he talks to you like this, whispers like he would to an animal he's trying to soothe, or like he's trying not to wake you. He's speaking so delicately, but you can hear in his voice how his heart is crushed.

Everyone is staring down at you in the bed. You figure you've already been treated from the wet rag on your sweaty forehead and the way every second more and more sensation returns to your fingertips and toes. Your body itches and tingles with a crawling warmth that feels like fever where your flesh has begun to stitch itself back together--the nurse's work, no doubt.

With every breath you return more and more to yourself, the dulled sensations of the world come back in startling pinpricks of color and sound and vividness. The parts of your consciousness that make you you flood back into the frail animal of your body.

"Oh," you say, with a groan, pinching your eyes closed.

Theseus looks startled, turning from the nurse to you frantically.

"Y/N! Are you okay, what's-"

"Oh, Theseus!" You sigh at last, and he looks back to you, his brow still furrowed. You smile at him, not caring how wretched and sickly you look, you're just so happy to see him. "Theseus, you came! I love you, I love you, I love-"

He throws his arms around you, leaning over the bed.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you can't stop smiling.

He won't let go of you, so you don't realize he's crying until you feel his shoulders shaking, the gentle rocking of his frame.

"You're supposed to be the one who is good at being in control," you murmur fondly.

When he pulls away he's collected himself, sniffles once and then groans.

"Oh, God. For a second there I thought you didn't recognize me, that you were scared of me."

"Not of you," you shake your head. "Of...."

The reality of your situation settles like ash in your mouth.

"Albus," you say, turning to others. "We need to go now. I escaped as quickly as I could, but they could follow me here any second. Please."

Dumbledore nods, and then whispers something to the nurse.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. But I don't believe you'll be strong enough to stand. Not yet."

"I've got it," Theseus says cooly, before you can even respond.

"Too weak to stand," you want to snicker but can't summon the energy.

"I knew that was some bullshit prophecy," you mutter, lifting your arms to help Theseus, who is leaning by the bed to pick you up.

He stops. So does Dumbledore. They're both frowning.

"What?"

"Oh," you huff. "Grindelwald thinks Tycho Dodonus's twenty-first prophecy is about me. I'm supposed to be this great witch with the power to transform the world, didn't you know?"

There is a beat of shocked silence before Theseus begins to laugh, heartily so.

You scowl. "Why is that funny?!"

"It's not funny," He caresses your face affectionately with the back of his hand. "It's just that I knew it. I always knew you were destined for greatness. Of course there's a prophecy about you. Of course the world saw you coming..."

Your heart sputters dutifully, weakly. You're torn between leaning into the feeling of his hand on your face and turning away, protecting yourself from what you cannot have.

It still feels so ruined to you. You know he must be doing this out of pity. Out of guilt.

It had been more than two months since he asked you to come with him. Who knows what he's been doing, what he thought of you now...

Your eyes prick with tears at this realization.

You see him through the lens of the memory even as he stands before you. You remember shaking his hand on your first day at the Ministry, dancing with him under twirling lights at the Christmas party, his booming laugh, his gentle chuckle. The warm, growing feeling in your chest knowing you were the cause.

You remember laying naked with him in bed, his broad hands, the barely-there freckles at his temple, the light-colored hair trailing down from his navel, the way he held your legs up when he made love to you, when he was inside you, spreading them, always trying to get deeper, closer. It should be vulgar, the memory, but it doesn't feel that way to you. Every moment of it felt clean, bathed in light and goodness.

Your heart pounds heavily, pathetically. As he helps you up from the bed you have the sickening feeling that you are saying goodbye.

Your vision swoons, sways like an overhead light. Your legs tingle, half-numb.

"I-I can't stand," you whisper. In a swift motion Theseus scoops you into his arms, bridal style.

He has to hold you sideways and duck his head to get through the narrow doorframe, he's so tall. You're asleep again, this time safe in his arms, before you're out of the village, before you can even tell Mr. Howell thank you.

Goodbye! You think. Goodbye...

------

You’re on a train again and Theseus is holding you. You hardly feel the rumble of the train car on the tracks, hardly feel anything at all but his arms around you.

“Where are we going?” You don’t even care, it’s almost perfunctory that you ask. But some distant part of your brain tells you that it does matter where you are, where you’re going in the world. 

“London. You’re weak, we need to take you home.”

Home. You feel so little affection for your apartment that you’re barely able to make the connection.

“I don’t have a home.”

“We can go to mine. We can go anywhere you want.”

“I want to go…” You feel breathless, feeble. Delusional. “I want to pretend that we’re on a different train.”

“Hm?” Theseus strokes your shoulders, your back comfortingly. Since he met you, all he’s ever wanted to do was hug you, hold you. It’s as if he was meant to, how good it feels to be doing it now. 

It's a terrible thing, how badly he wants to kiss you. But he's willing to wait.

“Can we pretend that I made it on time?" you say. "That I made it to the platform, got on the train that day in November and we’re in it now… Pretend that you’re still asking me to love you and that I said yes.”

He turns to you then, you’re still slouched in his arms. You’re looking up at him so brokenly, there’s hardly any of you left. No sign of that headstrong girl who withheld herself from him so vigorously, who built up walls around herself so high no one could hurt her again. 

“Y/N…” The words have been stolen from him, his heart swiped from his chest at the sight of you, at the knowledge that any part of you believes that he might not want you anymore, might not feel the same.

“Y/N, will you love me?” His voice is a quiet, determined plea. “Will you say yes? I am asking you now. The offer still stands, it always will.”

It's Theseus, your handsome, wonderful Theseus, asking you this. He was the best man you knew, but, even if he wasn’t, you couldn't help but love him. It wasn't a choice for you anymore.

Your lip trembles, but you somehow manage to get the words out without whimpering, without collapsing into him outright.

“Yes,” you say. “Always.”

--

taglist: @karashaw99 @gracieroxzy @mystic-mara

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 7!!!

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It will not surprise you at all, dear Reader, to learn that Aziraphale keeps very little in his kitchen cupboards. There is no stove or oven, and the only thing in the fridge is milk (for his tea no doubt). When you start opening cupboards, you find one pack of custard creams, and a second one of chocolate digestives. Well, it will have to do. You find yourself a small plate and fill it half and half before heading back into the shop just in time to say goodbye to Anathema and Newt.

As they leave, you turn to the supernatural entities in the room.

“So,” You say, “If we’re going to the States, then we have a few problems. First, I don’t have my passport or any ID at all, so airport security is going to be fun. Second, I have no money. Third, I’m gonna need a Walmart or something because I don’t even have a toothbrush, my dudes. Fourth, these,” You indicate the cookies, “are fine for a snack, but overall they’re not gonna cut it.”

“You just leave the airport security to us,” Aziraphale replies. You make a note that he glided right past ‘my dudes,’ they’re getting used to you already. Dammit. “As for the rest of it,” Aziraphale continues, “I suppose a trip to Tesco’s is in order.”

Crowley produces a shiny black credit card from nowhere and hands it to you. “We’ll take the Bentley,” he says. He starts to stand, but you shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, you both stay here,” You say. Crowley raises his eyebrow.

“You realize we can take care of ourselves,” he says, “We’ve been doing it for a few millennia.”

“I’m not talking about that,” You say, “Look, what we’re going into is really dangerous. And I know that your pattern is to just wait to talk about things until you’re in the clear, but that’s not a good idea anymore. I mean, I get that I’m not exactly an expert, but I read just as much as you do and I’ve heard a million stories by this point in my life, and in NONE of them do people ever say ‘I’m so glad I never told them how I feel’ - you know? It’s always ‘I wish I would have’ or ‘I should have told them every day.’ So Muriel and I will go ask Maggie to take us to Tesco, and you two need to talk. Please. While it’s safe, while you have the chance, before things get dangerous and possibly deadly.”

Crowley and Aziraphale are silent. You notice that they aren’t looking at each other. Well, you’ve done your best. Now you need to trust them.

At this point, dear Reader, you are probably thinking to yourself ‘well I would snoop and spy on them while they talk! I want to watch them make out!’ But here is the thing – in this world they are real people, not characters. It’s one thing to say that you would creep on them from the other side of this fiction, but when they’re very real and looking at you in person, things are a little different. For one thing, you realize that real people deserve things like boundaries and privacy, especially for sensitive conversations.

And so, you take Muriel over to Maggie’s shop, where you explain that Mr. Fell has sent the two of you on an errand and you need to stop for dinner somewhere and have no idea where anything is. You flash her the credit card and say ‘It’s all on me,’ and she conveniently agrees with a look on her face that says something like ‘least they could do after all that shit they put us through.’

So the three of you go for dinner at the nearest Weatherspoons, where you and Maggie eat while Muriel watches in morbid fascination. Then you all take the bus to Tesco where you buy yourself a small wardrobe, and manage to coax Muriel into some light blue jeans and an argyle jumper so they look a little less like the Beacon of Gondor. You quickly find out that Muriel has an adorable fascination with fuzzy socks, novelty mugs, and coloured pencils. Of course, you enable their fascinations with a happy heart, and as an afterthought, you grab them a small pot of orange daisies from the flower section. It will give them something alive to tend to while you’re gone. Muriel appreciates the thought. All in all, it’s a long but good time.

You don’t know about the talk, and you’re worried about asking when you get back.

THAT BEING SAID

You and I, dear Reader, not actually being in that world, are allowed certain privileges.

The bookshop is silent for a long time. Both of them are thinking, digesting, processing. Feelings are hard to feel, and harder to put into words. Especially when it has been made clear, twice now in the span of a number of hours, that you absolutely need to put them into words.

It isn’t until after Crowley notices you, Muriel, and Maggie heading down the street that he stands up and begins to pace. A few more minutes pass before he speaks.

“So...uhm...are you going to go first or should I?”

“Are we...are we actually going to do this? Have this talk I mean?” Aziraphale has been shelving books to try and take the edge off. Now he puts down the book in his hands and absent-mindedly fidgets with his ring.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” Crowley says, aiming for non-chalance and missing ever-so-slightly, “No one can actually make us.”

“Yes, except it feels very much like everyone is trying to.”

“Trying is the key word there.”

“That’s true enough I suppose.”

The silence returns and stretches. It is anything but comfortable. The air is full of words that they have been told they should say, words that perhaps they want to say, but words that have been dammed up with fear and uncertainty for so long now that they’ve become very hard to un-stick. After a while, Aziraphale clears his throat and speaks.

“I, erm, I suppose you had better go first.”

“Me, right, okay.” Crowley clears his throat now and stops his pacing near the desk. He looks down at the scattered papers and books, the pens and photos and newspaper clippings. The assorted clutter of Aziraphale’s life. Looking away makes it easier to start. He takes a breath. “Um..right...well...we’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet a long time – you and me, I mean. I’ve always been able to rely on you, and you’ve always relied on me,” another breath, “We’re a team, yeah? A group of the two of us. And...erm...we pretend that we aren’t. Always have. Safer that way I guess.” He looks up at Aziraphale. The angel isn’t looking at him, but he nods anyway to show that he’s listening. Crowley continues. “And I mean...I’ve tried not to think about it much before but...but it would be nice, I mean, UGH” He takes off his sunglasses and rubs a hand over his eyes as though he can massage the words and make them easier to say. “I mean, I would like to spend...mmm….I would like to spend the rest not pretending anymore. Be an us. I mean,” suddenly the dam breaks, and Crowley finds the words come tumbling out, “If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, we can. We don’t need Heaven or Hell, they’re both toxic. We can be an us, on our side. You and me. What do you say?” He looks at Aziraphale without reservation now. His angel looks back at him, eyes wide. When he does speak, it’s with a smile and a small nod of acknowledgment rather than agreement.

“That was very well done Crowley,” he says. This isn’t an answer.

“Nnyeah, thanks. Your turn though.”

“Right, I suppose it is.” Aziraphale takes a moment to gather himself. After hearing Crowley be so open about this, he feels more resolved himself to do this properly. He faces Crowley and folds his hands to keep himself grounded. “Crowley,” he begins, “I...I wish that this conversation were happening under better circumstances. Although it’s been pointed out that ideal circumstances aren’t a promise that we can wait around for. Well, the thing is that I would like the same thing. Very much in fact. My biggest concern by far is for your safety because, well, frankly I don’t see the point in saving the world again if you’re not around to enjoy it with me. An us, as you said. You and me.” He smiles. Crowley smiles.

“Guess we’d better save the world together then. And try not to die.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“You’re my angel. No one else.”

“And you, my wiley serpent. No one else.”

The shop bell dings.

“We’re baaaaaack!” You sing as you waltz through the door, shopping bags in hand. Muriel follows after you, carefully carrying their daisies. “Did you miss us?”

When you eventually get the courage to ask them about their talk later, you get a “ngk” from Crowley, and a “We’ve said all that needs to be said, for now.” from Aziraphale. And that, you suppose, will have to do.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning|| Previous || Next

[jakowskis]

Day 1 - How did you first get into Torchwood?

fdhkf ok ok so basically. i do not remember exactly what happened. this happens to me often like i can never remember what i came across that first got me into the media. with torchwood i at least know it was the fact that everyone was bi, but i dont rmr if i saw a post about it, or if i was fucking around on tvtropes or something - i legit cannot remember. i remember seeing a gifset of gay torchwood kisses p early on, but i dont think that was like the inciting incident? that mighta come about when i was doing research into the alleged fruitiness FHSJDFKDS. i do know i've been aware of jack as a character for at least a decade, like i'd heard of the harkness test + i was aware that he was 'that slutty doctor who guy', and also, coincidentally, in the fandom i was in in 2015, someone wrote a crossover fic where my fav slept with jack and ianto and i read it 😭 had no idea who they were, i hopefully at least googled them but fhsdjkf. but anyway i was like 'ooh a show with an all bisexual cast? color me intrigued.' i'd never touched dw either, i had friends who liked it when i was in middle school but i always saw it as kinda dorky fhsdkj (namely cuz my friends were dorks), but yeah, i was reeled in by the concept of sci-fi bisexuals. but not fully! it was in like 'yeah ill put that on my watchlist and get around to it in 2 yrs' territory

but then, as im looking into it, i realize owen's played by burn gorman, who i only knew from pac rim, which i'd fixated on briefly in 2018, riiiight before pru came out. my pr fixation p much revolved entirely around newt; i liked newmann, but i didn't get super into it. hermann himself was kind of an afterthought, i wasn't big on him at the time. anyway i saw owen and recognized hermann's actor, and my initial reaction was like "WHAT DO U MEAN HERMANN FUCKING GOTTLIEB'S IN THE SLUTTY BISEXUAL SHOW??? THIS I MUST SEE! HERMANN GOTTLIEB KISS MEN REAL NOT CLICKBAIT?!?!?!!??" and that was literally the thing that made me watch it. LAWL and the first few eps were so damn jarring bc i continued to just associate owen with hermann initially. and worse yet, ive now developed a hefty crush on burn himself lmao, i think he's gorg and ive watched a lot of his stuff, but before i got into torchwood i only knew him from PR and i didnt find hermann attractive or even rlly compelling in the slightest (this has changed significantly; im in my hermann era as a pr fan. newt who). so it was also a lot of "WTF WHY IS HE HOT??? HUH???? DUDE NO WAY." it's since lost its novelty, but it was very jarring + amusing to me at first, trying to reconcile owen n hermann. its like if u ran into ur frumpy weird professor at leather night and he was the twink of ur dreams FDSKJFHDSKJFDSK

yeah so then i watched the show and it fucking smacked me over the head with a shovel bc its so fucking bad but its so fucking good. and very quickly my view of owen went from "wait a mf second why is not-hermann kind of 🫦 hiii mean slutty hermann hiii" to "wait. oh hes fucked up. oh hes sad. oh no i love him" to him being my third favorite character of all time. fff. but more on that tomorrow! hehehehe

[driftwithme]

Imagine Hermann and Newton giving classes to their K-Science recruits.

They all have to wear patches that identify them either as Gottlieb or Geiszler students, for their sanity and safety. Mainly because Newt's assistants are completely banned from most places given Newt tendency of asking them to do illegal things like they are his evil minions.

They are even flirting with the pilot cadets and trying to rope them into their hella weird experiments. Chuck, who is now responsible for the cadets, has had at least four separate screaming matches with Newton about it.

In turn, Hermann's assistants treat Mako like an older or little cousin. He's reminds them all the time to please not bother Miss Mori if it can avoided. She finds it flattering that they admire her so much, but she does have her own group of j-tech recruits to worry about, now that she's leading the design and build of new jaegers.

Herc holds one or two meetings with them each month. Since they are starting again, he needs to decide who gets which part of the founding, so it becomes an constant battle of who's research is more urgent or useful or whatever. He can't even send his assistant for those meetings. He doesn't trust the man would know the danger for what it is and not play it as exaggeration.

Tendo is temporarily in leave, spending time with his family. He works some weeks and those are full of reminding people to present Dr. Gottlieb, Dr. Geiszler and their assistances with the most accurate reports and info. The scientists won't say it but they miss Tendo!!! There was no one better at LOCCENT when it came to efficient readings and relying only the most important information. Tendo finds it unnerving lol, but cute.

Finally, there's Raleigh. Within the first three weeks, the novelty wears off. The assistants stop marvelling at him and start to notice all they could help with. After Pitfall, he needs a lot of support to do the daily stuff. Newton is trying to find something on the kaiju DNA to help him recover his health or at least slow the damage. Newton leads the project along with the new research branch of the medical division and given that Herc has assign it to top priority (meaning most money/founding), Newt has some of his assistants working on it with him. They are all bright and almost too eager to help. Prosthetics prototypes based on the neural-handshake (project they lead along some of the j-tech division on the drift study branch). Constant investigations trying to decipher how the precursors cloned their kaijus so maybe they can clone human body parts too (along with the medical division). "Natural medicine" properties of harvested parts of kaijus, based on all Newt saw on the Hannibal Chau store. And it keeps going!

Raleigh becomes a regular on the lad and on the medical bay, the same as Chuck.

Hermann makes fucking sure to orientate all the assistants over how to properly treat a person with disabilities the first day of work. He knows ('cause he saw it with Newt) that Raleigh has the patience of a saint. And he knows too that Chuck would probably swing at anyone, not matter the number of degrees or doctorates. Hermann just wants a proper work environment, okay? Professionalism.

Newt does it too some tine later. He casually threatens them and reminds that if they fuck around with either his or Dr. Gottlieb research *inserts him something he thinks Hannibal Chau would say because he thinks it sounds cool and delivers the message*. He shoots that comment with the most manic look on his face, btw. They joke about it with Raleigh and because he is a bit of an ass, he goes: "haha yeah better be careful with them haha, you never know what changed in them after they drifted with that kaiju".

I just think it'd be a great great thing to have a bunch of scientists on the Shatterdome for Hermann and Newton amusement and help. Restore the K-Science Division to his former glory lol.

[aquariuminfobureau]

Until the widespread promotion of a related African genus, which is also known as a clawed frog, the common or African clawed frog or toad, Xenopus laevis, was undoubtedly the commonest anuran in tbe aquarium trade, available in both normal wild and depigmented, domesticated color variants. The only other aquatic amphibians to share such popularity, were axolotls and fire bellied newts. Common clawed frogs are so popular in captive settings, because of their resilience and fecundity. Wild clawed frogs have a broad habitat tolerance, successfully adapting to environments that are highly modified by the hand of man. Though they seem to spawn only in lentic waters, they are present in streams. This species is able to move overland, although clumsily, between bodies of water, and burrows to avoid drying out during the dry season. Together with their high reproductive potential, because females of this species may deposit tbousands of eggs, these abilities contribute to its success. It also tolerates a wide swathe of temperatures, pH, and to a degree that is unusual for a frog, salinity. Under favorable conditions, this species in the wild can lay several clutches during the course of the wet season, which optimizes their survival through a good season. Mating takes place up to four times throughout the year, when the climate permits. Both the male and the female have different mating calls.

Common clawed frogs are a sexually dimorphic species, with male frogs about half the length of the females. Thus the males grow to around 5 to 10 centimeters or 2 to 4 inches long, and the females grow to 10 to 15 centimeters, or about 4 to 6 inches. The species shows adaptations towards benthic life and burrowing in soft substrates, with dorsally positioned eyes, and a squat phenotype, for which the members of genus Xenopus are also known as the platannas, a word of Afrikaans etymology that refers to their apoearance. By habit, X. laevis is not highly active, though it can swim powerfully in all directions. Typically inhabiting murky waters, this species detects moving objects, such as prey and predators, through subtle changes in the water pressure. It's own diet is wide and includes small prey, that are ingested using powers of suction, but also large items that are torn apart with assistance from their limbs. Although it has smooth skin, this amphibian species relies heavily upon atmospheric air for its oxygen supply. Because it aestivates for entire months out of the water, natural selection has ensured these frogs are efficient air breathers.

The ability to breathe air well was also favored by their associating with stagnant water bodies with low oxygen content. Though they may be found in streams, they avoid large river channels and appear excluded by predatory fishes, which are both competitors and predators. The biology of X. laevis is optimized therefore, for life in habitats these fish find too difficult, through seasonal drying, low dissolved oxygen levels, or the like.

The wild habitat of X. laevis was originally a swathe of southeastern sub-Saharan Africa, in tropical to Mediterranean climates, and most captive and naturalized frogs appear to originate from south of the Transvaal. Because it is widely traded and versatile, the human assisted translocation of this species has allowed it to colonise Eurasia and both of the Americas. This species was formerly traded often as juveniles, and they were bought by aquarists as novelties, not knowing their eventual size or feeding habits. People found the growing frogs, when placed in community tanks, began to consume community fish. Nowadays the related African genus Hymenochirus, which remains small as an adult frog, has overtaken X. laevis as the standard frog species in aquarium retail. But small X. laevis are still traded and sometimes confused with this genus, because both of them are clawed frogs

Xenopus and Hymenochirus belong to an ancient clade of frogs known as the pipids, or tongueless toads, that are endemic to South America and Africa. Formerly some very similar and closely related frogs, palaeobatrachids, were a part of European and Siberian faunas before their extinction during the Quarternary, when they failed to adapt to natural climate changes. Zoologists are unsure as to the relationships between living pipid genera, which vary wildly in their feeding ecology. Most frogs have conserved craniofacial form and function, and certain phenotypes seen in other carnivorous vertebrates, are absent from the frogs. For example none of them has a face like a crocodile or a pike, and the faces of frogs tend to remain recognizably similar. Pipids however include highly divergent suction feeding forms Adult Xenopus, with their broad spectrum of prey and feeding behaviors, are the most protomorphic of adult pipid morphs. All pipid tadpoles are suction feeders, and they do not have a life stage as herbivorous grazers.

Xenopus laevis are remarkable for their tolerance of pH values from 5 to 9, although they probably fare better where the pH is not at these extremes, and even a tolerance of salinity up to 8 or 9 ppt, or 25% seawater, which would be 1.005 in a specific gravity reading. Conversely they are adverse to metallic ions in their environment, such as those in medications containing copper. The temperatures encountered by these frogs vary by month, and their spawning is triggered when the water temperature has risen by 7 degrees centigrade The temperature of pools inhabited by wild Xenopus there, is 17 to 25 degrees centigrade in the months when they are most active. Temperatures above 35 degrees centigrade may be lethal to frogs raised at such temperatures. Because X. laevis also knows a cold season in the Cape, they have been acclimatized to aquarium temperatures as low as 8 degrees centigrade, and frogs that are used to cold temperatures should not suddenly be exposed to temperatures of 30 degrees, as this can be similarly fatal. These frogs are wary that predators might grab them from above, and they are greatly calmed by the presence of growing, floating plants, or of submerged decor, that they cannot destabilize, which forms caves and overhangs for their use. It should be noted that they avoid activity in bright light, so they will take shade by day.

X. laevis do not like strong water currents, and they are burrowers that can make a mess when they dig. They require a soft substrate for this natural behavior, which unfortunately can make the water turbid, and harm live plants. The frogs should not damage underwater epiphytes or floating vegetation, but they can harm plants that are rooted in the substrate. They are generalist carnivorous feeders, but typically consume small aquatic prey such as water snails and benthic midge larvae near the water bottom. Although they can and do consume larger nektonic prey, such as fish and amphibians, they do not pursue them into the water column. These frogs are also opportunistic scavengers, and they are well known to eat vertebrate carrion. So the food provided for X. laevis in the aquarium should this be meaty and lean, and they also take to consuming non-motile dried preparations, ideally sinking pellets. These animals are triggered to compete for food in a frenzy, when they are cohabited in a group, which also reduces stress. Therefore they eat better when housed together in small numbers, as long as they are not overcrowded, but the largest frogs must not be so much larger than the smaller frogs, that cannibalism might be possible. Each frog needs access to retreats created by decor, to avoid antagonistic tankmates. Small prey will be ingested by hungry X. laevis, as might slender animals if their heads or tails can fit into their mouths. Confrontations might also arise with other benthic species in the aquarium, so fish cohabitants must be too large to be prey, not compete with them vigorously for retreats, and ideally use a different region in the water aquarium than do the clawed frogs. Tankmates are not seen as food If they are 1/3 of the snout to vent length of the frog, and cannot be stuffed into its mouth.

[newtsnovelties]

[thehogwarts-chronicles]

Wizarding Schools Aesthetic

Castelobruxo School of Magic

Located deep in the jungles of Brazil, Castelbruxo stands as beautiful golden castle but only ruins to Muggle eyes. Almost as old as Hogwarts, South American students are especially skilled in Herbology and Magizoology.

[emma-d-klutz]

I disagree when fanfics say of Bruce Wayne, “He’s so hard to shop for because he has everything.” I headcanon that Batman is very easy to shop for. He loves stuff. Look at his cave - he loves stuff. Just get him stuff! 

You can’t get him things that are meant to be useful. No, there’s your trap. Anything useful you could get him, he could probably buy or make a more useful one himself. It’s gotta be mostly-useless novelty items. You gotta get him, like, merch. Neat little figurines that exist only to be cool. A blanket with a photo of a bat printed on it. Fun facts about newts and salamanders. You gotta shop like he’s both a proud dad and a little boy. If Billy Batson just gave him a drawing of a bat he put a decent amount of time and effort into, Batman would lose his mind. His expression wouldn’t change, but he’d lose his mind. If you gave him a $7.99 bag of glow in the dark stars, he would snarl at you, “I have no place to put these,” but in his head, he’d be like, “I have to find some place to put these!!!! :O″ And he would. 

[camtankerous]

Newt cuffs his jeans because he wants people to catch glimpses of the goofy little novelty socks hermann buys for him

[normal-newt]

maybe. maybe people could give me five fucking minutes of not hating myself + everything else before they remind me that the course of my life relies on mercy from the people around me + surviving this is turning me into someone who would have completely disgusted my younger self.

[limetameta]

Idk if you already did this but tombrax confessing to each other would be amazing like maybe an angry confession

''Do you know how hard it is to love someone like you!'' Abraxas was shouting.

Tom Riddle barked out a laugh. ''As if you love me! I'm a novelty for you and your pureblood friends. Let's include Slytherin's Mudblood with second hand robes into our bit of fun so we can gang up on him - don't think me so naive, Malfoy.'' There was a rage in his eyes that couldn't be explained. Not that Abraxas tried to.

''Do you think I choose to spend my time with you because I want to make fun of you?'' Abraxas faltered for a moment. His eyes shone with hurt.

''I fail to see any other reason.'' Tom Riddle on the other hand was growing more agitated by the minute. They'd taken their row on the outskirts of the forest (not forbidden then, only mildly disallowed) so as not to be ambushed by Slytherins looking for ripe gossip.

''I love you.'' Abraxas Malfoy said.

Tom Riddle's fingers curled inwardly and he distastefully grimaced at the words. ''No, you don't.'' The more agitated Tom Riddle got, the less he looked like that picture perfect prefect. The less he spoke like that persona he'd crafted to endear himself with the teachers.

''Don't you love me?'' Abraxas asked.

Tom Riddle, in that moment, thought Abraxas Malfoy the most cruel man he'd ever encountered. And he'd encountered Dumbledore, which was saying a lot.

''This is a trap.'' Tom Riddle glared. ''If I say yes, you go back to your goons and Walburga Black and you get out a pensieve and have a ball laughing at my feelings.'' Abraxas sputtered indignantly at this and tried to explain that that was the farthest thing from the truth. But Tom was still speaking. He was gesticulating madly and angrily shouting. ''However, if I say NO, and you're being honest for once in your life - don't look at me like that I've helped you cheat on exams more than I've helped myself through life - I'm going to be an arse.''

''So it's a yes?'' Abraxas took a step forward.

Much alike a feral and wild animal, Tom Riddle started shouting at him again. ''Fucking stay away from me. I've been studying for NEWTs for the past two weeks and I don't know about you, Lord Malfoy, but I need to sit my exams. And I can't do that from Azkaban.''

''Why would you even be in Azkaban? Are you planning on killing me?'' Abraxas grimaced at him. He was more confused than disgusted. ''Who's to say I can't kill you? I could go for your diary right now.''

''Don't you fucking threaten me.'' Tom Riddle's eyes widened. ''I'm high on spite and caffeine. I will sit these exams and then afterwards I'll have my way with y ou - no - wait -''

''Ooooh you'll have your way with me?''

''I'll DO you - wait - ''

''DO go on, mon chou!''

''FUCK. I'LL DO AWAY WITH YOU.''

''I'm looking forward to it, mon chou~''

Tom Riddle was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

[literary-creature]

Our Days in New York: Chapter 3

December 9th, 1926

Newt fixed his bowtie with more care than usual that morning. He had woken up earlier to leave his case in order and get in a presentable state before heading for MACUSA.

The previous day had been quiet, but amicable. After their late breakfast, they had all decided to rest for a few hours. Newt had retired to his case, and fallen into a dreamless sleep, worn down. Hadn't it been for his creatures demanding food, he might have slept even longer. When he emerged into the living room again it was near dinner time.

He liked Tina and Queenie. They were both keen on making him feel comfortable, including him in their conversation and asking questions about his creatures and his case. Having people show interest in his work was a novelty to Newt, but that didn't mean it was unwelcomed.

Queenie sometimes made him uneasy with her mind-reading abilities, but she was so bubbly and charming that he couldn't be upset over it. She talked to him as freely as if he was an old acquaintance, never getting impatient by his awkwardness. And her food was delicious.

Tina, on the other hand, was more difficult to read. Since her visit to the case, she looked at him with newfound respect, but while she was very kind and welcoming, she was not as doting as Queenie. Her manners were far more reserved than her younger sister's, her attention to him more formal.

But what he had taken as condescension in their first meeting, now he had a strong suspicion it was mostly shyness and the habit of not sitting well with people. He could relate to that. The genuine interest she revealed with her questions and the speed at which she absorbed the information made him aware she was curious and intelligent. By the end of the first day of his visit, Newt was intrigued by her.

It was obvious that the sisters' bond was strong, despite them not being at all alike. He noted that Tina was very protective of Queenie, and she was mindful of how her thoughts affected her. Even though she scolded the legilimens for reading her mind, Newt realized she appreciated the closeness it brought with it. Queenie looked up to Tina but also tended to mother her, making sure she ate enough food or reprimanding her for working too much.

When Newt stepped into the living room that morning, he wasn't surprised to see Tina already sitting in front of her breakfast. She looked as if she had not slept; her face was pale, and she had dark circles around her eyes. Still, she smiled at him as he sat down, and pushed the plate of toast towards him.

“We're in for a long day, I'm afraid. You better have something in your stomach,” she advised. He observed she wasn't eating much herself. She seemed to be making a big effort to swallow her coffee.

“Newt's right. You have to eat as well.” Queenie intervened, coming from the bedroom. She also grinned at Newt in greeting. “I'll bring you some tea, honey.”

“Don't read his mind.” Tina reproached her.

“Sorry Newt, I do it out of habit.”

“It's alright,” Newt murmured, sitting down.

“I'm not pestering him.” Queenie protested, staring at her sister.

“Don't read mine either.”

“There’s nothing I can do, it’s like you’re screaming at me,” she retorted, passing Newt his cup of tea and falling in the seat next to him.

Tina sighed. “I know, I'm sorry Queen, I'm insufferable this morning.”

“You're nervous, but it's all gonna be good. Try to eat, would you?”

Newt drank his tea in silence, watching Tina discreetly. She took some toast from the plate and started to eat it in tiny bites, just to please her sister, her gaze fixed on the opposite wall. She stayed like that for the next ten minutes, without saying much. Queenie made some efforts to make conversation, but in vain. Then Tina happened to glance at her guest and caught him staring.

Newt looked away, blushing. “I...We can be going if you want.” he stammered. “I'm done with my tea, and I don’t have an appetite either.”

“Yes, that would be for the best. I can't sit still, and I don’t want to give Queenie a headache.” Tina said, standing up and reaching for her coat and hat.

“Oh, I'm fine. I'll see you later.” Queenie came over and gave her a light hug. “Good luck to you too Newt.”

“Thanks.”

Tina walked downstairs first, to make sure Mrs. Esposito wasn't around and gestured for Newt to follow her. They managed to get through the front door, and into the cold December air, without being noticed.

“I was thinking…Maybe we can walk for a few minutes?” Newt suggested, eyeing Tina’s colorless face. “Take some air.”

“Not a bad idea, I could do with some air. And it’s early.” Tina accepted. “The next apparition point is about ten blocks away. We can walk there.”

Tina remained silent for the first half of the trip, lost in thought. He remembered how smiling and talkative she had been the day before in the case. Right now, all her features revealed tension.

As worried as he was about her state, he took the unique opportunity to study her without impediments. Her features were soft but had character. Her lips were pink and thin; they showed more when she smiled. He liked it when she smiled. Her eyes were cast away from him, but he hadn't failed to notice the color and the expression the previous day. Dark, fierce, but also very warm and with a permanent hint of sadness. They reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.

Her hair was short and a little messy, now hidden by her hat. American fashion, perhaps? He didn't know a thing about hairstyles, but the way it framed her face was suiting.

She was pretty, objectively speaking, wasn't she? Newt wondered. And yet, she carried herself as if she wasn't aware of it.

It wasn't common for him to pay so much attention to humans. They were far too complicated for his understanding and much less interesting than magical beasts could be. But there was something mysterious about Tina, that picked his interest.

“Tina.”

The woman turned to him, startled. She seemed to have forgotten he was there.

“It's going to be fine. The creatures escaping was my fault, I'm telling them the truth,” he promised. “You won't be in trouble.”

She managed a faint smile. “You're very kind. But I don't want you to get in trouble either.” she observed him with curiosity “Aren't you scared of the consequences of what happened? I believe that given the circumstances MACUSA will go easy on you, but won't you have problems with your Ministry once you're back in England?”

“I've been a nuisance to the Ministry ever since I started working there, I'm used to it,” he told her, without giving it much importance. “Besides, worrying means you suffer twice.”

This time around she giggled and shook her head. Making her laugh gave him a strange satisfaction. “That's my philosophy.”

“Why doesn't it surprise me?”

“Well, there are certain things that can't be helped. Why take such pains with them?”

“And getting in trouble with the authorities is one of those inevitable things, I take?”

“Apparently it is for me.”

“And government officials don't impress you much either, as far as I’ve seen.”

“I don't have much regard for people who think the law is over humanity. So I don't care if they approve of me.”

“Laws are made to protect people,” Tina stated her tone one of seriousness.

“Yes, but most of the time those same laws are used to oppress the more vulnerable ones. It’s not unusual for people of power to ignore those who need them.”

Newt had a brief moment of panic taking in Tina's frown, but when she spoke, her voice had no edge. “I'm not saying laws can't be used to cause harm or to chase personal interests. But there are people with good intentions, that can use the law to make the world a better place.” she lit up as she spoke, her voice suddenly full of purpose. He wished he could listen to her talking for a while. “That's why I wanted to be an auror, I think the law can make a difference for the reality of many.”

His attentive stare must have inhibited her because she fixed her hat nervously. Her face was flushed by the exercise and the discussion. “The apparition point is right there.”

Newt followed her into a discreet alley and offered the witch his arm bashfully. “Whenever you’re ready.”

With her cheeks a little pink, Tina held on to him, taking the lead. A second later, they were no longer there.

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

Despite the commotion of the past days, MACUSA’s lobby was back to its normal rhythm. Newt became aware of some people staring at him and Tina as they walked by, but the woman just ignored them.

“We still got over half an hour, let's get your wand permit first,” she suggested, getting him into the elevator. “Abernathy doesn't come in until eight, if we hurry we can avoid him.”

“It had seemed to me you weren’t fond of him the other day,” Newt commented, remembering how she had practically thrown herself behind her desk to hide from him.

“That’s an understatement. He’s the typical mediocre guy, that thinks he is going to climb up ranks by being a toady with the superiors. He loves to believe he has authority, so he takes every opportunity to boss me around in front of the other employees ever since I was demoted.” Tina said spitefully. “He has made my job here a nightmare. And he’s constantly salivating over Queenie, it’s disgusting.”

As Tina had predicted, the offending individual wasn’t in sight. The whole office was quite empty, as he could see when they walked through the place to Tina’s desk.

“Take a seat.” with a flick of her wand, the papers covering the desk tidied themselves, and made enough room for them both. “This won’t take long, I'm gonna ask you some questions. You know, name, country, a wand description.”

Opening one of the desk drawers, she took out the form, back to her business-like self. “Alright, let's start with full name.”

“Newton Artemis Fido Scamander.”

If she found his name amusing, she didn't let it show. Tina wrote it down carefully, muttering every word under her breath.

“That's why I go by Newt.” he clarified.

“My full name is Porpentina,” she confessed with a grimace. “I'm in no position to judge you. Now, residence?”

Tina asked and wrote every piece of information in her small and neat handwriting. He observed her pale and delicate hand holding the quill. It was soft as well, he knew that much from those few minutes that hand has been in his. Her other hand came up to her face once in a while, to remove a rebel strand of hair that kept falling out of place.

“That would be all,” she declared fifteen minutes later, sealing the document. “Congratulations, you're here legally now.”

“I am. At least until the president kicks me out, what is bound to happen in about twenty minutes.”

“I’m sure it won’t be as bad as that.” she sounded more hopeful than convinced. “Let’s get going.”

The Investigation Department was buzzing with activity, aurors, and secretaries running around carrying paperwork, and organizing task forces to check the no-maj neighborhoods.

As soon as they step out of the elevator they were accosted by a stern-looking man in a black suit.

“We were waiting for you two,” he said as only greeting. “Goldstein, you go with Avery, I'll be there soon. We have questions for you.”

Tina gulped. “Yes, Mr.Kleeman.” Newt could tell she was intimidated but determined to keep her ground. She stayed where she was. “What about Mr. Scamander, sir?”

“The president wants to speak to him right away.”

Tina glanced at Newt, concern evident, but nodded and headed in Avery’s direction as commanded. As she walked away, she turned to him again and muttered the words “Good luck.”

“Follow me, Mr. Scamander,” Kleeman ordered, watching his suitcase in suspicion.

The president's office was on the top floor of the Woolworth Building. Pickery sat behind a magnificent carved-wood desk, concentrated in a pile of reports. She stood up to receive the magizoologist.

“Mr. Scamander.”

“Madame President.”

“Please, take a seat. I see you brought your suitcase with you.”

“Yes. I’ve reinforced the protective spells to make sure there won't be any other incident.” Newt assured her. “Miss Goldstein was as kind as to check on it, and suggest more protective measures, just to be on the safe side.”

Fixing the latches would require some careful revision, so he had settled for a string, and strengthened it with every charm he could think of. Instructed by Tina, he had also confectioned a list of all the creatures living in the case. She had advised him to show himself as cooperative as possible; that way he would have the chance to negotiate. Newt took the list out of his coat pocket and handed it to the president.

“These are all the creatures that came to New York inside my case. I'm willing to let someone in to corroborate that the information I'm presenting is veridic, but I'll be more comfortable if I could be present to prevent any problem.”

“That'd be useful; we'll take care of your suitcase later,” she told him, taking the list and leaving it aside. “I called you to my office because I wanted to discuss a few things regarding yesterday's events.”

“We have strict policies when it comes to magical creatures, Mr. Scamander. Compromising the National Statute of Secrecy is a major infraction, one that is severely punished. Under normal circumstances, I would impound that case and you would be deported with effect immediate.” Her tone was so severe, Newt didn’t dare say a word. “But I can’t ignore your participation in the capture of Grindelwald. I also can't ignore that it was your intervention that contained the exposure of the magical world. We owe you a great debt.”

“The British Ministry has been informed of the whole situation, but we're not presenting charges against you.”

Newt blinked. That was more than he expected. “Thank you, Madame President.”

“Provided, of course, that you collaborate with the investigation.”

“Certainly.”

“And about that thunderbird you brought… As I've said before, we have strict policies, but I’ve become aware that some changes need to be made. I'm intending to promote a protective order on thunderbirds.”

His eyes widened. “You would do that?”

“Yes, Mr. Scamander. But for that, I have one condition.”

She waited for the man to nod, before continuing. “It has come to my knowledge that you're currently writing a book on magical creatures. MACUSA’s goodwill can only go so far; wizards going sightseeing or looking for those creatures are a danger to the Statute of Secrecy, and I can't encourage that.” she paused. “I would want the American beasts not to be included in that book of yours.”

Newt thought about it for a moment. He didn't like the idea of leaving any creature out of the book. He had devoted hours to investigation and wanted it to be as complete as possible. But it would be for a good cause, and he could see that Pickery was acting in good faith.

“I understand Madame President.” He said after a minute. “I agree to your condition. You have no idea how much good you’d be doing. I appreciate it.”

“I'm glad.” she offered him a polite smile. “Now, if you had no further question, I think the Investigative Team needs your testimony.”

Newt nodded. He was about to stand up when he had a sudden idea.

“Actually Madame President, there’s a subject I'd like to bring to your attention, if I may.”

“Of course.”

“It's about Miss Goldstein.”

The president seemed surprised but made a gesture to indicate she was listening.

“You see Madame President, she didn't receive fair treatment.” he blurted. “She arrested me as soon as the first creature escaped but nobody paid attention to her. When she brought me in again she was accused of betrayal and almost murdered by Grindelwald. As far as I know, she lost her job for trying to stop an injustice.”

“Miss Goldstein broke the Statute of Secrecy by attacking a no-maj…”

“Excuse me, Madame.” he interrupted. “But had she been allowed to help Credence, maybe Grindelwald wouldn't have been able to manipulate him, and many deaths could have been avoided.”

The truth of that couldn't be denied, and Pickery pressed her lips together.

“Miss Goldstein told me today that she became an auror because she believed that law can protect people, that making a difference is possible.” Newt continued, emboldened. “In all honesty, I don't have the highest idea of aurors as a whole, but knowing she risked the career she worked so hard for to protect someone who needed her... It makes me believe too. Many aurors could learn a thing or two from Miss Goldstein's compassion and courage.”

“Where are going with this, Mr. Scamander?” the president asked impatiently.

“I was hoping you would consider reappointing Miss Goldstein as an auror.” Newt concluded. “She is wasted in the Wand Permit Office. You have a witch of proved potential, sealing passports Madame President.”

It was evident that Pickery would have loved to kick him out, judging by the cold stare he was giving him. Not that Newt minded; he had said what needed to be said.

“I will consider it, Mr.Scamander.” the president answered at last. “Now, unless you have more…suggestions, I have some other business to attend to.”

“Of course Madame President. Thank you for your time.”

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

Walking up the stairs as quietly as he could manage, Newt made her way to the apartment. Only then did he take off the disillusionment charm he had cast out of precaution and knock on the door. Queenie opened so fast he was sure she had heard him coming. She hurried him inside, making sure the landlady hadn't become aware of the guest's presence.

“How did it go? How come Teenie did not come with you?”

“She was still needed. But we were interrogated separately, I only saw her for a moment.” Newt explained. “She looked more relaxed than this morning.”

“I'm glad.” Queenie was relieved. “And what about you?”

“It came out alright after all.”

The day had gone between long hours of interrogation and the revision of his suitcase. That last part, though being the one he was more apprehensive about, proved to be more entertaining than he has expected. The two young aurors assigned to do the job were terrified by the beasts, and would not come close enough to get a proper look. Newt doubted those two would have been able to tell an erumpent from an occamy anyways. He had caught a glimpse of Tina, immerse in a discussion with Mr.Kleeman and two other men, but he didn’t have the chance to talk to her.

“That's good to hear,” Queenie walked back to the table, where she was occupied with the mending of some clothes. “You must be hungry. Did you stop for lunch at all?”

“No, there was no time for that. But before anything I should tend to my creatures, I'm afraid I'm quite late for feedings.”

“Go ahead. Teen may be back for when you're done and we can get have some tea together.”

But when Newt finished the feeding rounds, about an hour later, there was still no sign of Tina. Queenie was already busy preparing dinner.

“Do you think they'll keep her for much longer?” he asked, trying not to sound too anxious.

“I don't know. But it would not be the first time she works till late.”

“May I help you with dinner?” he offered.

“Oh, there's no need honey,” she smiled at him. “I can handle it on my own.”

“I'd like to. I'm not that bad in the kitchen, I could be of some use.”

“If you insist, you can chop the onions,” she passed him a knife with a smirk.

Newt observed the progress of the meal. “Are we doing it muggle way?”

“Mugg...oh, you mean without magic!” she exclaimed. “Yes, I thought it would be a good distraction while I waited for Tina.”

Queenie added some vegetables to the cooking pot. “So, tell me about your day at MACUSA. You said it went well?”

“Yes, it was not as bad as I expected. I did as Tina said last night, and I think I gave a good enough impression.” Newt started, as he chopped with careful movements. “The president said they wouldn't present charges.”

“You had a meeting with the president?”

As hard as he tried to conceal the content of the short interview, he couldn't help but let the memories of it cross his mind. It took Queenie a few seconds to snatch the whole story out of his head, and she gasped in shock, dinner forgotten.

“Don't read my mind.”

The woman was exhilarated. “Your thoughts are going too fast, and the accent makes it harder, I can't get all... Please, tell me everything about it.”

Newt sighed. He knew it was a matter of time before she found out; his occlumency skills were not amazing. “I just... I had a word with the president regarding Tina's situation.”

His confession and his recalling of the moment provided Queenie with even more information. She was in awe. “You called her brave and compassionate. You told the president she was a role model. And you meant it.”

“Well, yes I...”

“Oh, Newt! I can't believe you did that!” Queenie was moved. “Wait until Teenie knows about it, she is going to be...”

“Don't tell her.”

“But why not?”

“Pickery didn't agree to give her job back, she said she would consider it. I wouldn't want to raise her expectations beforehand. Besides...” Newt was unsure how to explain it. “I'm not sure she will appreciate my intromission.”

“Of course, she will! I know Teen can be headstrong sometimes, but she loves her job more than anything.” Queenie assured him. But the man’s alarmed expression convinced her to back off. “Alright, I won't tell her…yet. But if she does get her job back I'll make sure she knows you got a hand in this.”

“Sounds like a fair deal.” Newt agreed.

"Thanks, Newt," she said heartily.

“You don't have to...”

“Yes, I do,” Queenie cut him off. “You know, I'm concerned about Teen. She's always worried about something: About me, about her job, about money.”

She stirred the stew as she talked. “I understand being an auror means a lot to her but...” Queenie sighed. “She is young! I would like her to have fun once in a while, to meet people, to make some friends. Ever since her demotion, she has been even more hectic than usual. If it wasn't for my legilimency I wouldn't even know what she is feeling, because she doesn't talk about it.”

“She talked a little yesterday,” Newt told her, trying to make a useful contribution to the topic. “She said she was worried that being involved in all this Grindelwald affair would put her in an even worse position in MACUSA...”

“You made my Tina talk?” Queenie interrupted, impressed.

“I... We were chatting about other things and the topic sort of came up,” he explained, blushing. “That's why I saw fit to say something to Pickery. I don't know much about MACUSA's policies, but Tina seemed to believe she was going to be punished when she did nothing wrong. The president humiliated her even though she was on the right trail all the time. The least she could do is reconsider Tina’s demotion.”

“I'm sure the president loved it when you put her on the spot like that.”

“I tried her patience very much. I just hope I didn’t make it worse for Tina.” It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that his actions could go in her prejudice. “What if I’ve harmed her by opening my mouth?”

“Hey, don’t worry. You did it with the best intention, and you had good arguments.” Queenie soothed him. “The president has her issues, but she’s a fair person.”

Neither of them spoke for a while. Newt felt more distressed by the second. What if the president took her anger with him out on Tina? What if he had ruined her only chance of getting her career back after all she had done for him? Tina had helped him to find his creatures and to handle MACUSA. She had received him in her home, been kind to him, and even made the effort to spend time in his case and learn about his beasts.

“You know, Teenie liked it.”

Queenie's words brought him back to reality, but he wasn't sure what she was talking about. “Excuse me?”

“When you invited her into the case yesterday. She really liked it.”

“Did she?”

“Yes. She wouldn't stop talking about it.”

“Oh.” Newt felt a slight warmth spreading through his body. She had liked it! A person had liked his case and his creatures!

“Don't say that. I liked it too. And Jacob, he…” Queenie stopped, biting her lip. She had not mentioned Jacob to him since they had parted, but he suspected that her insistence on cooking without magic had something to do with that.

“I miss him too.”

“I know,” she murmured. But she shook her head and put on her cheerful mask again before he could try to comfort her. Which was lucky, because he wouldn’t have known what to say to make her feel better. “Anyways, I'm glad you and Tina are getting on. Teen is not one to have many friends. I don't get why; she can be a little intense sometimes, but she is a loving person once you get to know her. Maybe the problem is that she doesn't let people get close enough to see that.”

“I'm not very good at making friends either. Human friends, I mean.”

“You two have a lot in common.”

“Yes, I suppose we do in some way.” Now that he was thinking about it, he realized she was right. That must be the reason he was so comfortable around Tina.

He raised his eyes, and saw Queenie was smirking in a particular way, looking at him as if she knew something he didn't. He was about to inquire on the subject when the woman's expression changed.

“Tina is coming.”

Newt hurried to the window and saw Tina's figure reaching for the building's door.

“Can you hear things from that far?”

“Usually no. But Tina's thoughts are so familiar, I could distinguish them in a crowd of thousands.”

A minute later, they heard slow steps coming upstairs. The lock squeaked, and the witch in question appeared at the doorframe, looking exhausted. And also surprised to find both Newt and Queenie hovering over her.

“How did it go?” Newt beat Queenie to ask.

“Well enough, I think,” she yawned as she got out of her coat. “They interrogated me for hours. Kleeman needed all the information I could give him about Credence and his background; he’ll be in charge of the department for now. There’s an operation underway to find Mr.Graves, but Morrigan knows what Grindelwald has done with him.”

Without saying a word, Queenie came over to her, taking her arm and conducting her to a chair.

“I’m required to hand in a detailed report about the event tomorrow.”

“Never mind that now Teen. First, you need to eat.” she interrupted, putting the plate of stew in front of her.

“This smells great Queen,” she commented, accepting the plate. “What about you Newt? How did it go with Madame Pickery? Kleeman said they were not presenting charges against you.”

“No, indeed. It went well,” he muttered, avoiding Queenie's gaze. “Pickery said she would consider putting a protective order on Thunderbirds.”

“A protective order?” Tina was astounded.

“Yes, I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t,” he confessed. “Let me help you with that, Queenie.”

“That’s great news,” she exclaimed, following his movements as he carried the missing plates to the table. “I was hoping Madame Pickery would make an exception for your creatures, but I didn’t expect this from her. I’m so glad. And this stew tastes like heaven, you outdid yourself this time Queen.”

“Thanks, Teenie. Newt assisted me in the making.”

“You barely let me do anything.” Newt protested. “The credit is all yours.”

He perceived that Tina approved of his initiative. She took a few more spoonfuls from her plate, then turned to Newt again. “By the way, how's everybody in the case today?”

He felt pleased. Queenie was telling him the truth, then. “They are all quite well. The erumpent's leg is much better, and the niffler hasn't stolen anything.”

“That’s good.”

“I've been having some difficulties with Pickett though. He refuses to go back to his tree.”

An offended chirp came out of Newt's pocket. The bowltruckle took his head out and addressed Newt, furious.

“We agreed that you were going back to the tree as soon as I was done with the feeding rounds, but when I tried to leave you there, you made scene again.” Newt scolded him, but the creature kept talking back. “He says it’s a lie, and that I'm making him look bad in front of you.” He translated for Tina and Queenie.

Pickett climbed out of his pocket and landed over the table. He came closer to Tina and continued chirping, his arms pointing accusatorily at his caretaker.

“I don't understand him much, but I think he is complaining about you.” she sniggered.

She spread her hand, hesitant, but Pickett climbed up right away. Newt didn't miss the amazement on Queenie's face at seeing her sister’s handling of the situation.

Tina held her hand close to her eyes to take in the tiny features. The bowltruckle changed his tone to a questioning one.

“What is he saying now?”

“He wants to know if he can stay with you because he can't stand me right now,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I don't mind Pick, but I'm afraid I don't have pockets,” Tina told him, charmed by the request.

Pickett understood, for he moved across her arm and sat on her shoulder. From there, he blew a raspberry at Newt, making both Tina and Queenie laugh out loud.

“A beautiful display of your good manners. Then I'm the one who makes you look bad.”

Tina straightened her back so the bowltruckle could be comfortable, and kept eating dinner.

“Why doesn't he like his tree?” Queenie asked, observing Pickett.

“He has a complicated relationship with the other bowltruckles. He can be picky with food and with sharing his space, and the others are not very accommodating,” he explained. “It's my fault, I've spoiled him too much.”

“Do you have more bowltruckles?” Tina inquired.

“Yes, Titus, Finn, Poppy, Marlow, and Tom,” he answered, delighting in her interest. “I can show them to you tomorrow if you want.” the words left his mouth without permission.

“That would be nice,” Tina accepted immediately. “I'd like to meet Pickett's friends.”

From his shoulder, Pickett let out another sound of distaste.

“They are not your friends? And is the term 'fellow bowltruckles' acceptable?”

She looked adorable talking to Pickett, and he rejoiced at another chance to have Tina over in his case. She'd like the bowltruckles, and he could show her the diricawls too. Or they could visit the rescued occamy.

He was already pondering the different possibilities when his eyes stumbled with Queenie's amused smile and he felt color rise to his cheeks.

“I mean, I can show both of you,” he added in a rush. “You're invited as well, Queenie.”

“Sure Newt,” Queenie teased.

"You said earlier that it was good we get on well. I thought...Is it not alright?”

His confusion made the legilimens laugh. “I’m messing with you, of course it’s fine. You two could use a friend.”

Newt thanked Merlin that Pickett was holding all of Tina's attention, because the exchange went unnoticed by her. Watching the bowltruckle playing with her hair, he decided there was nothing he wanted more than to be her friend.

I took my time, but I'm back. Now you can read in AO3 as well https://archiveofourown.org/works/36348679/chapters/91099090

[teeth-farie]

pls someone help WHAT is the chapter w the newt sauce 😭😭

Levi orders himself novelty golden hellfire newt syrup and he’s like, nothing wrong could ever stem from this! Well mammon happened. Mams, dear poor mams dumps it into the soup he’s making as a secret ingredient and unknowingly juices everyone with horny sauce aldjfjfjfj

(The fact that Lucifer snatches the second bottle and uses it on himself later in the game skdkkfkf)

[thetypedwriter]

Cold Iron Heart Book Review

Cold Iron Heart by Melissa Marr Book Review 

I don’t think many people are aware or have read the Wicked Lovely series by Melissa Marr, but that’s alright. I originally started this book blog as I had so many thoughts and feelings about the books I was reading and yet no one to share them with. 

So I might be talking to me, myself and I in this book review, but at the end of the day, it’s still a way for me to express how I feel about the literature I’m consuming even if no one else is reading this. 

Wicked Lovely is one of my favorite series from when I was young. I still remember very clearly how my love story with these books started as it was odd and coincidental. I was at the grocery store with my mom and a promised “quick” trip quickly turned into an hour-long shopping spree as my mother was prone to do. 

Back then I was in middle school, had no cell phone, and was bored out of my mind. So what is any pre-teen to do? I went over to the small, sad book selection in the grocery story and picked up the novel with the most interesting cover. 

This book was Wicked Lovely by Melissa Marr. 

I read it the rest of the day and finished it that night, consuming page after page. I was completely transfixed. It was dark, gritty, violent, sexy-all things that my twelve-year old self found entirely fascinating. 

It was a fantasy book about fairies, but these fairies were deadly, life-sized, cruel, violent, beautiful and loving. 

I’ve been enamored with fairies and fairy lore ever since. All because of this book and the series that followed. It hooked me in ways that I still don’t fully comprehend, but I understood then that I hadn’t read anything like it before and I was drawn into Melissa Marr’s world and never quite left it, even all these years later. I’ve gone back and re-read Wicked Lovely multiple times and each time I still found it enjoyable and alluring. 

Cold Iron Heart is a different beast. 

A few days ago, my best friend (who is a journalist) sent me an email saying that local Arizona author, Melissa Marr, was releasing a new book and that she might have the opportunity to interview her. 

I was ecstatic, of course, and not so subtly tried to persuade my friend to let me silently snoop in on the interview (I didn’t, by the way). 

It was then that I realized I hadn’t checked in on Melissa Marr for some time-what had she been writing? Imagine my surprise that one of my favorite series of all time not only had a new book-a prequel no less, but also several new short stories. 

I was flabbergasted. And beyond excited. 

So I ordered the book immediately and read it the moment it arrived on my doorstep to eventually find myself with...mixed feelings with a negative tinge. Okay, more than a tinge, more like a cascading waterfall of negative feelings. 

First off, the book is a prequel. 

Now. Melissa Marr could have done so many cool things with this. There are so many interesting characters that I would have loved to see more in depth or delve into their histories. 

Like Miach and Beira, for example. I’ve heard about the late Summer King since book 1, but never got to read about him as he was dead before the series began. However, his legendary love with Beira, the Winter Queen, would have been so incredibly bewitching to read about it, especially if it involved the birth of Keenan. 

This would have been an awesome choice. 

Irial and Niall would have been another incredible one, probably the best one. We’ve been told over and over again throughout the series that these two hot-heads with a past used to run the Dark Court together, wreaking havoc, taking lovers, seeking new heights, etc. 

But do we get to see this transfixing time? Nope. 

I would even have settled for a story about the Hunt, Sorcha and Bannanach, literally any character done in the right way. 

But...no. Melissa Marr decides to write a prequel that is literally a carbon copy of the first book Wicked Lovely, but innumerably worse. 

Everything in the prequel is exactly the same as the original novels. Miach is dead, Keenan is looking for his Summer Queen, the Winter Girl is pissed off for not being the chosen love of Keenan’s, Irial is temptation in the flesh, Niall and Irial are at odds, Bananach is causing discord, Sorcha is isolated and frigid, the list goes on and on. 

Nothing of consequence, novelty, or importance happens in this book. 

Frankly, it just felt like a terrible redo of the first novel, just set 100 years back. 

I didn’t give a single flying crap about Thelma or Tam or whatever her name was. She was a worse version of Leslie, of Aislinn, of every other cool female character we eventually get to read about in the main series. 

Thelma was contradictory in the worst of ways. She said one thing, like she would rely on no man and never have children and then turned around and did every single one of them like some sort of hypocrite galore. 

She was so irritating and boring to read about that I tended to skim her parts because it was just paragraph after paragraph of bitching and moaning about the same goddamn things over and over again: stay away from fairies, oh god this fairy likes me, no sex, no children, no love and then bam! She just throws it all away. 

Urgh. 

The worst part too is that this isn’t a well written book. It’s repetitive, quite boring at times, and caters way too much to the reader. 

Something I loved about the first Wicked Lovely is that Melissa Marr kinda just tosses you into her world and calls it a day. She doesn’t hold your hand or over explain. She just describes and lets you glean for yourself. 

I loved this aspect of the original series. I liked learning about her world and the characters this way. 

Cold Iron Heart spits on the idea of this concept. Marr repeats herself so much about the same things, who Irial is, what fairies are, why this is happening, that I grew increasingly irritated as the book went on. 

Who on earth is she explaining this for? New readers? Why in the world would any new reader start with this book? The newest one that comes after six others???? It makes no goddamn sense. 

So not only did I feel patronized and aggravated, but the love story between Thelma and Irial grated on me as there was no basis for their love. 

It was ridiculous with no shred of authenticity and I hated it, especially knowing that he already loves Niall and Leslie only to come back and say, “wait a moment! I had another true love that I’ve never mentioned before. Yeah. Her name was Thelma. Or Tam. Or whatever, I don’t know. I knew her for three days, most of which was just sex, and then I lost her after she had my baby but I conveniently forgot about it because of nonsensical plot! Hahahah, good right?”

No. Not good. Horrible. 

Overall, this book is a waste of time and trees. 

I don’t know why Melissa Marr even wrote and published this. I can see her writing this for herself because why not, but as a fan and a reader this was beyond disappointing. 

It’s like how all Harry Potter fans felt when J.K. Rowling wrote The Cursed Child and we got movies about Newt Scamander when we literally wanted anything else-Marauder series anyone??

It’s a particular kind of egregious offense when a favorite series or author of yours ends up ruining the canon you’re in love with. For that reason alone, I am stripping Cold Iron Heart from my heart and mind, like it never existed. 

Just like I did with Cursed Child, or the fact that you-know-who dies in Death Note (if you know, you know). I just...don’t believe it. It ruined all the lovely things Marr had previously written and the stories that defined so much of my love for YA, for fantasy, and for my own writing as a whole. 

I know for a lot of you this was a bumbling mess of a review with little to no clarity of the plot or who these characters are. Frankly, I’d be surprised if you are still reading if you didn’t know the book or the series in the first place, but that’s alright. 

Like I said at the beginning, this is a way to get my intense feelings and thoughts down onto paper and now that I have I feel marginally better, although still pissed off that this book exists and that I currently own it. 

Sigh. 

Well if you stuck around for the ride, I appreciate it. If you skipped this particular book review, I understand that too. 

Recommendation: Burn this book. However, if you want a gritty, tantalizing fantasy story, pick up the original Wicked Lovely and be whisked away into a world that has stuck with me since the first moment I read it on the fateful day at the grocery store. 

Score: 3/10