#They construct elaborate lies to have an excuse to never be apart | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angstmongertina · 5 years ago

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oh what a tangled web we weave

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave/When first we practise to deceive!” —Sir Walter Scott, “Marmion”

In which Essek lies, confirms friendships, and then fails miserably at lying to the people he has grown to care about.

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It is a strange thing, friendship.

If he is to be perfectly honest with himself—and he must, to somebody at least, he cannot remember the last time he has felt such a sense of belonging. It is a truly ironic sentiment considering his original intention for being in close proximity to them, for understanding the individuals who brought one of the stolen beacons back to the Dynasty, but for all of his status and time spent in Rosohna, this ragtag group, this mismatched band of adventurers whom he has known for only a short few months, is the first in a long while to reach out to him, personally rather professionally. To be interested in him, Essek, rather than the Shadowhand, the young prodigy of Den Thelyss. It is, for lack of a better word, refreshing.

And so, he finds himself sitting in the drawing room of the house that his den purchased for the Mighty Nein on his recommendation, a small fey familiar in the form of a feline draped across his lap as he fields what seems like an endless stream of questions.

As he catches himself chuckling, genuine and in good humor, over the good-natured banter thrown between this tight-knit group of friends, drawn together through need and adversity, he allows himself to slowly, slowly, let his guard down. To elaborate on the concept of consecution and other aspects of Kryn culture. To tell them small hints of himself, to explain why he has even appeared on their doorstep like this. To give them a glimpse of his life and goals, his ambitions, and to ask theirs in return.

Of course it is Caleb, quick-minded Caleb with his sharp memory and haunted eyes carrying a lifetime’s worth of pain, who asks what the worst thing the tiefling has ever done is, following her… discussion on the Traveler. And of course the other human, Beauregard, blunt and direct and keen-eyed but somehow all the more likeable for it, turns the question on him.

He should have been expecting it. If he were being truly cautious, he would never have come in the first place, risking everything he has worked towards, putting it all on the line. He knows this, and perhaps that is what draws the chuckle from his chest as he stalls, wracking his memory.

Had he been asked only a few short months earlier, his answer would have been much easier but now… Now, he fights the perhaps dangerous and certainly foolish temptation to speak his newfound truth, to lay his crimes at their feet. Except… It is already too far in motion now to risk being found out, to risk putting others, putting them, in danger.

Instead, he sighs, casting his eyes upward, and surrounds himself in the memory of his past self, in the memory of finding out what happened to his father. It is�� strangely difficult, speaking of something he tries not to think of, and feeling the mood of the room shift, he offers a downplay with a nonchalance he is not entirely sure he feels. And thankfully, in part due to that incorrigibly cheerful tiefling, it is enough to inspire a topic change, without them prying too far into the matter.

After all, navigating the conversation, giving them just enough information to keep his plans—and by extension, them all—safe, already takes more effort than he cares to admit. Perhaps it is the wine, but even cautious as he is, when discussing the war and the importance, the desire, of regaining peace between the two nations, he finds himself telling bits of the truth, hinting at secret research and the safety of peace, and despite trying to avoid those bright blue eyes, knowing deep down that to be seen is to chance being understood, they pull him in, too, brimming with intelligence and curiosity and a spark of something he dare not try to identify. Not like this. Not now.

Whether he fears or craves discovery more, he cannot be certain.

He is taken aback by how thankful he is when the conversation turns to talk of friendship and camaraderie; somehow even discussing his own perpetual solitude is more comfortable than attempting to navigate the perilous waters of careful half-truths and dangerous lies in which he dwells. Then again, considering the odd warmth that seems to fill his chest when he glances among them, feeling their contentment with each other’s and oddly enough, from what he can tell, his own presence, perhaps that is not as surprising as it could be.

That, along with the alcohol, must be what compels him to join them by the hot tub they have constructed, listening to their teasing and, in some cases, more serious conversation. In fact, it is with almost reluctance that he remembers the time and the many tasks requiring his supervision before the peace summit, such as it is. Reluctance and a faint twinge of something that most resembles…

Well, it is already too late for that.

He is not entirely surprised when Caleb asks to see his home immediately, nor can he quite restrain his excitement; of everybody he has met in his life, this human is one of the few who shares his hunger, his respect and enthusiasm, for knowledge. And those eyes, world-weary with more suffering than most men at least double his age, sparkle with that familiar spark of scientific curiosity, of discovery and the promise of knowledge, that he too craves.

It is dangerous, how he feels, the kinship and understanding in his veins threatening to pull him from his path. For a long, precarious, second, he is almost disappointed when Beauregard elects to tag along.

He feels their eyes on him as well as their surroundings as he guides them down the familiar path to his abode and though none of them speak, it is a comfortable, warm peace, so unlike the thick, heavy weight of the past month, undisturbed in his home. It is not until the familiar three towers come into view that he interrupts the silence, indicating his home. Once again, he is not entirely surprised when the conversation turns once more towards the esoteric in the way that discussion between two minds matched in understanding and interests always does.

For a moment, he contemplates inviting his student, his friend, in, but the third in their party shifts, something resembling impatience in her stance, and he shakes himself as Caleb snaps his attention back to her, letting him wrap up the conversation with promises of breakfast and continuing their discussion.

When he bids the two good night, letting the gate close with a groan of iron, it is with a strange, faint tinge of emotion in his chest that he cannot quite bring himself to name.

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In retrospect, perhaps he should have been expecting it. Nothing about the Mighty Nein has been predictable, not since that day, months ago, when he first met them, standing before the Bright Queen, accused of crimes against the Dynasty, and bearing one of the beacons he had given to the Empire. No, they have always defied his expectations, breaking boundaries set upon them, creating outliers in the models he has tried to mentally build. In that sense, this is nothing new.

Except it is one thing to know this fact and another entirely to experience it when he least expects it. Not even the brief announcement of visitors is enough to prepare him for their arrival.

On the deck of the Wind of Eons, he freezes, recognizing the voices before he sees them. The Martinet hardly appears to react, his face its usual mask of inscrutable serenity as he turns to them with a polite greeting, introducing his alter ego alongside their third companion with calm dignity.

His spellwork is as impeccable as it always is and he knows this, yet the pairs of eyes, curious and earnest, sharp and cautious, that look him over seem to both charm him and cut straight through the illusion.

He does not need Da’leth’s slight shift in position to know that his attempt to excuse himself is a poor showing. Nor, he suspects, was his subconscious exclamation of surprise entirely unnoticed; he knows them all well enough now to know that Caduceus, though not as learned in many respects, has a keen eye, as does his… protege. It is, however, enough to earn him a reprieve.

Or, at least, it would have been if not for the damnably personable Uludan.

The tiefling is her usual cheerful self, chattering about her mother with all the enthusiasm of a friend, which, he supposes, she is, though not in the way she suspects. And behind her, those bright, intelligent eyes hooded with caution…

He listens to the conversation with one ear, doing his best to avoid meeting that gaze that, he senses, might be able to cut him to his core. His distraction is such that he almost misses the Martinet’s request for another conversation, no doubt the cause for the request in the first place, but he cannot help but be thankful at the direction the conversation turns and the abrupt manner in which it encourages the group to leave.

Of course, Caleb, clever, insightful Caleb, requests to see the beacon before they depart, insists upon it and refuses to delay until after they have set sail. The man has caution, has suspicion, in his veins, particularly where the Cerberus Assembly is involved, and in spite of himself, he glances from him to the archmage, curious and nervous in equal measure.

In some ways, it is a blessing that Da’leth has requested a private conversation; he is too tense, too ill-at-ease, to leave the boat at the same time as the group, and he is certain that, if he attempts any more conversation with his friends, the entire ruse will fall apart around him.

Breathing an audible sigh of relief, he follows the Martinet out of the sun and into the depths of the ship.

He is not surprised that his… reluctant ally notices his discomfort; he has long since been aware of the fact that Ludinus Da’leth is a highly intelligent man, that he must be to have kept his position in the Cerberus Assembly for so long, and he doubts that such levels of intelligence is strictly necessary, given his current state. The fact that Lord Uludan does not appear to notice is far more a statement on the perception of the latter than any on the former.

Then again, if he is to be perfectly honest, he cannot blame the Martinet for his displeasure and surprise; he cannot even explain it to himself. That he, the Shadowhand of the Bright Queen, who has always prided himself on his impartiality, his indifference, who has remained impassive countless times when facing his empress and his people, has dealt with untruths and subterfuge for so long… That he could be affected by the mere presence of his friends. That he has suddenly found that he cannot meet their eyes like this, that he struggles to lie to the ones who have come to trust him. He can hardly fathom it himself.

But to do anything other than continue might put everything he has risked, everything that he has worked towards, in jeopardy. To back out now, to reveal his hand or even just lose his concentration, let his guard down, might result in the truce, the attempt at peace, falling apart, might bring upon all of Wildemount more unnecessary death and suffering, more than he has always wrought.

Might put his friends’ lives in jeopardy, those stubborn, well-meaning, earnest friends of his, allied to neither dynasty nor empire but instead wholly devoted to the well-being of the general populace.

The antithesis to him.

If his act, his falsehoods and lies, will protect that, will protect them, then it is all worth his while in the end. He nods, squaring his shoulders, and lets the form of Lord Dezran Thane settle once more over him.

Much to his chagrin, his will is tested almost immediately; the group is still lingering on the docks when he emerges once more. Barely daring to meet their gaze, he straightens, forcing a smile, and offers a greeting. Thankfully, they appear to have little interest in continued conversation and he relaxes, just a fraction.

“It is a pleasure meeting you.”

In spite of himself, his eyes flicker to Caleb, to the thin face and the keen eyes that seem to hold something inscrutable in their depths, and he clears his throat, bowing his head again to hide any possible changes in his expression.

“You as well,” he returns, short and to the point… and all, he suspects, he can manage at this point.

Before they can respond once more, he hurries away, a quick enough speed that any attempts at polite conversation would be impossible, and returns to his sanctuary, of a sort, for when he has been forced to stay in Nicodranas for an extended time.

With the Mighty Nein now intending to attend the party in under two days’ time, he will need as much time as he can to regain his equilibrium before he can contemplate interacting with them once more.

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He has never been a fan of parties. Perhaps it is a result of his experience in Rosohna, of that feeling of isolation which permeated much of his past decades, focused as he has always been on his studies and research, on dunamancy and those things that much of the rest of the dynasty takes for granted. Or perhaps it is simply a part of who he is, more comfortable alone than in crowds, feigning enjoyment at interacting with those putting on a mask, in some cases literally, for the sake of the audience or their own gains.

Then again, in this particular case, that last complaint may only be an exercise in hypocrisy.

Still, regardless of the reason, the fact remains, and he finds it crossing his mind increasingly often the longer his charade continues. His disguise as one of the minor lords of Nicodranas, allowing him more access than an average citizen would have without compromising overly on recognition, does have the added caveat of necessitating his attendance at such functions. And while they can be tolerated in the best of times, the current situation was far from that. With the meeting between the Empire and the Dynasty looming overhead and the… inconvenient presence of his friends, he has too much on his mind to so much as even attempt to relax.

Judging from the way he remains within polite earshot at all times, it is a fact that the Martinet once again does not fail to notice.

Much to his relief, the commotion on their arrival is such that he cannot remain oblivious to it; even if Lord Robert Sharpe, with all of his unnecessarily… unsavory charm, had not drawn the gaze of the entire courtyard, it seemed, with his unwelcome attentions, the reputation of his friends has proceeded them and the Mighty Nein are whispered about on more than a few pairs of lips, particularly when arriving accompanied by the famed Ruby of the Sea.

He vaguely recalls that they had spoken of her before, during that too-long conversation with Uludan, and it is clear that Jester, whatever her name might imply, spoke true that her mother held some sway and fame over the elite of Nicodranas.

In spite of that, he finds his attention drawn back to the newly arrived group, and not solely due to the spectacle that Jester and Lord Sharpe have succeeded in creating. It is almost impressive, how swiftly and effectively she deals with the problem, and he finds himself hiding a chuckle of his own. As far as he is aware, Lord Sharpe will not be missed by any at the party, and no doubt the women will be more thankful than disappointed at his predicament. Any other day, any other function with less at stake, and he might have even found it making his unwilling attendance worth his while.

However, his amusement, thankfully, does not serve to distract him from his current mission, keeping an eye on the location of his friends to remain well out of conversation, Jester’s enthusiastic greeting notwithstanding. At least certain members among them have proven themselves to be gregarious even to those they have only just met, while others sharp enough to, if not deduce the truth, at least detect something suspicious about his behavior. And, if he is to be perfectly honest with himself, the task is made somewhat easier by the fact that his gaze is drawn back to them time and again.

When he first met them, months earlier in Rosohna, they had appeared, to put it politely, to have been run ragged, clothing dirty and ripped with the remnants of travel and battle. Then, it was their impact, their actions, that had caught the eye of the Bright Queen, far more than anything they might have donned. Even in more recent times, now established and accepted, or at least tolerated, within the dynasty and given all of the benefits that entails, they are often on the move, dressed for comfort and ease of movement far more than presentation, and it is… different to see them adorned so formally for the occasion.

From a safe distance, he glances over the dresses and suits, practiced eye catching the telltale signs of expertly tailored attire, no doubt under the guidance of Jester, given her mother’s own background. He lingers on some more than others: Fjord, his captain’s suit complete with a comically large hat, catches the attention, and amusement, of more than a few partygoers, while Beauregard appears far more collected and, for lack of a better word, approachable, than he has ever seen before, though considering her training, he doubts that it would be any safer for him to approach her now. And then there is Caleb…

He pauses, looking over his protege with a second, slower scan. The cut is modest, not entirely unlike most formal attire from both the dynasty and the empire, but carefully designed and selected to flatter his build, drawing attention to his slender frame. Silver embroidery offers character and intricacy, while the red lining complements the dark tone of the suit, emphasizing his fair skin and the fiery copper of his hair. All in all, the effect is masterful, simple but elegant, and puts the more ostentatious ensembles to shame.

Perhaps it is the prolonged distraction that causes his guard to drop, or perhaps it is his concern at the conversation between the Martinet and his… friend in question, but Jester approaches entirely unnoticed, and he has to actively prevent himself from jumping.

His performance, he knows, is atrocious. It is a strange thing, considering his experience dealing with deceit and his typical dispassionate attitude, but it seems the Mighty Nein has managed to tear down his walls, or at least find a chink in his armor, one that he is unable to repair quickly enough, leaving him exposed, vulnerable, in the face of his tiefling friend’s irrepressible and mostly one-sided conversation.

Though it is almost a blessing, it takes every ounce of will in his body to hold himself still as the Ruby of the Sea begins her performance, instead plotting scenarios in his head. It will no doubt arouse further suspicion, but he will have to try harder to excuse himself afterwards; he is not certain he can even attempt to lie to those earnest eyes any longer.

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He realizes the moment he takes another sip of his drink that something is wrong.

In spite of her mother’s performance, Jester still chatters brightly beside him, voice only marginally lower to accommodate the singing, and he struggles to reply, to force some semblance of normalcy back into the conversation, into himself, but it is too late. He feels as his body freezes, unable to move, or even to talk, and mentally swears as he attempts to speak to no avail.

Whatever is going on, his conversational partner clearly was not expecting it either; she panics, drawing more attention to them, and he can almost feel his plot coming to an end, unsuccessful despite the multitude of lives it has taken, as eyes turn in his direction. Except she is also redirecting their attention back to the performance, as though she also has no desire to request aid, and…

Shit.

She does not seem to be surprised when she tugs him away without too much difficulty and even frozen as he is, he still sees more members of the Nein following suit, and the truth of the situation sinks in.

They know.

Their conversation, hastily corrected at best, though he cannot blame them considering his own disastrous act moments earlier, only serves to confirm his suspicions. For once in this long night, however, it seems that the gods are on his side as his muscles finally relax, back under his control, and he straightens, meeting their gaze for one brief moment.

“I have to go.” His words are quiet, abrupt, as he pulls out of her grasp, but another voice cuts in, harsh and steely, the typically soft Zemnian accent now forceful, commanding, and in spite of himself, he freezes.

“I don’t think so.”

His eyes dart to Caleb’s, hard with determination, and he cannot seem to move as the pale hands close around his wrists, as he feels as the clasp of cold metal against his skin. He stumbles, a wave of exhaustion crashing over him, but frantic adrenaline and sheer desperation keep him upright. He has to escape. Before it all falls into pieces, before everything that has been sacrificed goes to waste, he has to…

Decades of experience has him speaking the incantation before he is fully aware of his own actions and he blinks, casting his gaze around. There had to be some spot…

There.

He focuses on the point outside the gates, as far from the group as he can manage. An instant later, he vanished, reappearing off the manor’s grounds unshackled and, more importantly, out of reach. He glances around, searching for the best path—

“Stop.”

The word is calm, almost exasperated in tone, but despite its mild nature, somehow impossible to ignore. Once again, he finds himself freezing, staring at the group, his heart beating a frantic staccato in his chest. Their conversation with the guards is quick, too quick, the pair managing to convince the sentries that they mean no harm, and they approach before he can shake himself, the tall, calm firbolg and his fiery student leading the way to where he stands, still motionless to the light admonishment.

“You really do want to talk to us. I think it’s really important. You do.”

He is not surprised when Caduceus speaks first, nor, he has to admit, is he surprised that they are the two who reach him first, staring him down. His previous encounters with them, his friendship with them, have done plenty to show him that they are two of the ones he would have expected to discover the truth, or at least part of it. And behind them, Yasha stands, her arms crossed over her chest, with Jester beside her and no doubt Nott somewhere equally nearby.

Still, for a moment, he contemplates trying yet again to escape, once he has full command of his faculties once more. He has plenty of spells in his arsenal, ways to shift location or move about unseen and surely they cannot possibly stop his every attempt, but… But as he looks at them, circling about him with serious, determined expressions, he finds himself doubting that even his prodigal abilities might save him from the perseverance of this group, even if his body, his subconscious, does not disobey him once more.

It is little surprise now that they, with Caleb’s clever thinking, Jester’s disarming charm, Nott’s quick movements, and Caduceus’ steadying force, have achieved what they have in spite of what might be considered insurmountable odds. He would be a fool to assume otherwise. He supposes he already is one, for thinking that he could have hidden anything from the only ones who have cared enough to reach out to him.

He was not wrong when he said that friendship has changed him, but in many ways, it has also made it all, this entire tangled mess of plans and plots and what was once secret betrayals, so much worse.

“A lot at stake here.” Caleb’s conversational tone cuts worse than any amount of anger, of hatred, would, and he barely resists the urge to flinch.

“A lot.”

He looks from one to the other, from sympathetic, compassionate eyes to hard, unflinching ones, and in this moment, he is not sure which are worse. Cold disdain he knows how to deal with, and dispassionate disapproval, but this… This mix of righteous anger and hurt and, underneath it all, a willingness to hear him out, to have a conversation, despite what he knows is a betrayal of the deepest kind, even if it was unwittingly put into motion years earlier, long before he ever met them.

This is new and foreign… and he knows he doesn’t deserve it. Doesn’t deserve them.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a slow, resigned sigh. “Fine, then. Show me where.”

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He tells them everything.

When they first lead him to their ship, he is still contemplating ways of hiding, of manipulating, the truth. To tell them just enough that they might let him go, to ascertain just how much they know and try to keep it at that. Whether it is so they do not think the worst of him, though he rather suspects that that ship has long sailed, or to protect them from the truth and what others might do to them, he is not certain.

That intention lasts only until Caleb speaks, slow and clear after Jester’s rambling speech. “Yes, friend. What are you doing?”

The word, the reminder of what they are to him, stings and before he can stop himself, he flinches, dropping his gaze to the floor.

He has imagined being found out in many ways, with many outcomes. Considering the extent of his actions, the depths of his treachery, it is not altogether an unexpected thing, after all, and he is nothing if not methodical. And yet, somehow, in all of his contingency plans, between all the plots of what to do should he be seen by a member of the Empire or preparations in case the Bright Queen were to catch wind of his betrayal, among all of the procedures for if his life and livelihood are at risk, he has not planned for this. For this motley crew that has unknowingly, determinedly, forced their way past all of his emotional defenses to ascertain the truth.

And now, all he can manage, all he can possibly tell, is the truth.

At Jester’s invitation, he moves a crate to his side, sitting on it with a heavy sigh, and tells them. He explains his ambitions, his foolhardy, selfish thought process, expanding on everything he has hinted at before. He confesses his crimes, the lies he has told them and the harm that his self-serving actions have caused, bares his soul before them, the only people who have attempted to understand him, who have even the faintest inkling of who he is.

Except even these people he has called, has believed to be, friends have been fooled by him as well; they must be, because in spite of everything, in spite of his falsehoods and treason, in spite of the countless lives that have been destroyed by his actions, they still believe that there is goodness in him.

He apologizes, because that is all he can do now, his every breath belabored and harsh in his chest, each word heavy and sharp in his throat. Each sentence he utters puts them all in more danger, and he knows it, except…

Except at the same time, as he bows his head, his gaze focused on the floor instead of the many pairs of eyes on him, there is some relief, as well. A certain amount of comfort in knowing that his actions have caused him pain as well, that he can still feel it, the regret and disgust and self-loathing that he so clearly deserves. And there is nothing left for him, now that he is burning this one, final, bridge by telling them the truth, nothing left but to carry his plans forward, to ensure that all of the pain and suffering he has caused is not in vain.

In spite of his determination—or perhaps more accurately, his cowardice—to see it through, he recoils at Caleb sinking to his knees before him, at the gentle touch he has done nothing to warrant, but he also cannot fight it, not any longer. Instead, he forces himself to meet those eyes that hold far more understanding, far more sympathy, than he could ever deserve.

And despite everything, despite his own better judgment, he listens, lets those words wash over him, somehow harsh and yet impossibly gentle at the same time. “You were not born with venom in your veins,” his friend, the man who at once mirrors and is also the better version of who he is, says, and part of him longs to argue, but there is pain in those bright blue eyes, a baring of souls that he cannot turn his back on, and he holds his tongue.

The hand that comes to rest on his shoulder, is solid and firm, and the plea, the emotions behind it, seems to cut him to the bone. He can feel himself trembling as he inhales, coarse and shaky, as he swallows against the strange lump in his throat, as he forces out his reply, his denial because he knows it cannot be.

“There is no path to redemption for me,” he says, and he knows it is true, has always known it to be true, so then why does it burn on his tongue now, acrid and bitter? He knows that any attempt to rectify the wrongs he has done, that any revelation to the powers that be will end in his demise, and yet he cannot meet the earnest gaze peering up at him, can only blink hard against the painful stinging behind his eyes.

For a heartbeat, there is nothing, silence but for his own heavy breathing, and then gentle lips press against his forehead, warm and solid, full of emotion that he does not dare to identify, not now. In that moment, that one moment of shock, frozen in time, as he finds himself leaning into that unfamiliar, tender touch, he feels his will begin to crumble.

“Maybe you and I are both damned, but we can choose to do something and leave it better than it was before.”

The words are a fierce whisper, an insistence that he knows he cannot fight, but for them, for him, he tries. Slowly, he draws a breath, forcing his body into some semblance of control, and lets it out in another slow, heavy sigh. “You weren’t part of the plan.” He looks up, meeting that warm gaze, willing him to understand. “And now you’re all in terrible danger for the things that you know.”

“So be it,” is the simple reply, and he closes his eyes.

They talk of plans, of what his goals going forward are, of trust and allegiances and the fate of the two nations, but in the end, it is what Nott, a goblin no longer, says that rings in his head as he makes his way back to the city proper, that he finds himself clinging to. That he has been heard by his friends. That he is not one against many.

That now, finally, he is no longer alone.

#Essek Thelyss #Essik Theylas #Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast #Shadowgast #Critical Role #cr season 2 #cr spoilers #Tina writes stuff.#MY SPARKLY BOY #otp: show me #I have been working on this fic since I finished chapter 97 pretty much.#And I regret nothing.

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azenta · 5 years ago

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how did you realise youre a 5w6 and not 1??

By actually reading decent posts and "sources" that actually explained and elaborated about 5s further than just being a miserable "knowledge" hoarder for the sake of it and unemotional dumbass. It then made me connect the dots properly. There was also small incoherences that I was noticing but couldn't explain better. Through the new information gained then I had an explanation that took account everything and also simplified everything.

Head vs Gut: Fact is my mind is a non stop mental chatter, and I please myself in it a lot. Gut cores, even if they are still human being and think, tend not to have this problem where they get stuck into loopholes of overthinking, because their issues lies in having instinctive gut reaction the moment their issues get triggered. 1s are known to actually correct/criticize the moment something cross the line of what they fundamentally deem correct/incorrect. Even if 1w9 may contain themselves more due to the w9 making them take pride into detachment, and so closer to 5s in addressing issues they deem wrong, the thing is the w9 also makes them to be even more rooted into their body, and therefore detached from the head and heart issues. Which is not my case. Head types are overthinking machine, they have problems with the head and all the thoughts that inhabit it. 5s will withdraw into it and construct some sort of palace of thoughts and knowledge as a way to stay away from the physical world. And that's my case. If I am not actively thinking, then i am probably sleeping tbh. 1w9s are grounded into their body, and my cognitive stack can't justify being so out of touch with reality on it's own.

Withdrawal vs compliant: The other problem is, I noticed my first strategy is really not to comply to rules or principles, internal or external, it is to withdraw, and withdraw in my head. In fact, my problem is I have a fucking hard time getting out of it, the moment I am bored or unpleased by what's happening around, I retreat in it, which points out to a withdrawal mechanism as a first response to uneasiness. Compliance on top of competency bs would make me freaking out if I would derogate from any responsibility i have, but i rather tend to withdraw to avoid responsibility because i am scared of not being prepared enough, to not have enough information, knowledge, capacity to own it well. 1s have a set of principles they always comply to or else they'll feel they are being Bad, but I rather withdraw (/read avoid -> phobic) to hoard more knowledge/information, or to analyze more to feel more prepared and so feel more apt to succeed in whatever tasks or principle I had in mind. I never feel like I have enough to do what I should, which is never the case for a 1 core even if INFJ, since a 1 core INFJ would imply they don't hesitate to act on Ni-Fe and feel justified in their Ti, however wrong it would truly be, since they'd feel the urge and need to comply asap. Not that I can't act, but it's astoundingly hard for me when I am faced to novelty since I would usually try to get some information and knowledge on the task instead of doing it first hand (by fear of making a mistake and prove myself how incompetent I am). Also, my many panick attacks by the past were happening because I was faced with something I was unused to and convinced that I was not prepared enough and would fail, or actually failed. A 1 core would have probably accuse anything else than themselves for having failed since they cannot be wrong. It is NOT an option nor a possibility. They don't fear being bad or wrong because "they ARE good/right" (counter phobic), if they are not they'll get into reaction because of disintegration (4 -> cp, and either 8 or 6 influence, both can be cp. Also, all reactive mechanism) and fight twice as hard to prove they are Good/Right.

1 vs 6 influence: Tho, the overlapping with 1 didn't happen for nothing. 6 component are similar to 1s on the surface. They are still compliant, so abide to some set of principles, and tend to be critical. However, the difference is that 6s have lingering doubts cornering their mind. And despite finding some sense of certainty I do still have doubts cornering my mind and contributing to me compulsing into reading, studying or analyse more, to feel I know enough and is competent enough. Also, my knowledge is quite influenced by takes of people I trust their knowledge (through reading them or talking to them). Like I have told before, 6s tend to take references to mold their mind and find security in this, and I lowkey find this aspect in myself, but the difference is I end up trusting more my own conclusions overall. I use references, which switch overtime depending of my own knowledge, but more as a backup to build on my own analysis. Also, Fe account into why I consider other's viewpoints, as it still talks of some truths through which I can Ti and find the logical framework that interrelates everything together.

5 vs 9 influence: I excused the withdrawal, detachment and avoidance of needs on the account of 9, but all the reason leading me to each of these aspect was not actually to reach a peace of mind or an apathy. I wanted to withdraw, but in my head because it feels more secure, I want to detach so I can better analyze and assess what's happening to handle it the most perfectly (competently) possible, and I detach from my needs so no one bothers me and I can stay longer into my mind instead of being forced to interact with the world/people. So well, this is all unrelated to any 9 aspect.

Disintegration and integration: I noticed that when I purposefully tried to go to 7 I was actually doing worse. I became irresponsible, more scattered than ever, and just purposeless. I didn't find any "letting go" in that process and felt I was growing further apart from what I actually wanted to achieve. It corresponds more to disintegrative component of 5 than any form of integration. Also, I noticed this pattern was way more frequent than when meeting pseudo 4w6 disintegration (1w9 disintegration). Actually, when I start to react, it is with actual anger and as a goal to reclaim my power over what's happening to me. Therefore, it's not an unhealthy tantrum to further assert how "right" I am, but rather a cry to live and a way to assert myself, which is in fact rather healthy as it means I am listening to my most inner need and reclaiming to exist. This points to integration to 8. Assertiveness of needs, wanting to have an impact and not shying to manifest my anger to show I actually reached a limit and will not tolerate anyone's else bs. So well, it made more sense, again, to be 5 over 1. It also explained without wing disintegration why I was getting even more anxious and avoidant of anxiety when disintegrating.

Childhood trauma: I really thought my most "traumatic* " experience made me feel like I was fundamentally Bad, but I remember very precisely that the one thing I told myself when it happened is: "I didn't see it coming...". I felt unprepared to what was happening, and from there was born a profound desire to prepare myself to actually be able to detach before anything this emotionally devastating happens again. It is this same year it happened that I also started doing shit load of anxiety. So, from that event was born fear, not anger. I felt powerless and from there did everything to not feel powerless again. The things I thought sure ended up being unpredictable. Also, the w6 grew there, as I lost trust in my father, which I had a very close relationship with. I was part mad at him and felt betrayed, as his choice was leading him further away from me, in my mind. I didn't tolerate this. Even if in the end, everything returned back to normal, I still as of today always prepare mentally for the day it could happen again.

*I put it in parenthesis because it is nothing that bad, but for me as a child, it disrupted everything. I thought everything was fine and perfect, but behind the scenes, it wasn't.

So, that's what lead me to retype. And I am pissed at actually failing so hard to notice it. But being an INFJ certainly didn't help my case 🙃 Tho, I am actually reluctant to other's views until I ask, because I am actually quite stubborn into believing I know better.,,, in part because admitting i don't know or that I am not sure is a fucking hard blow to my ego. aahhhhhh if that ain't a shitty mix

#ask #typing #about #e5 #e1 #1w9 #5w6 #en

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love-takes-work · 6 years ago

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The episode that hits you the hardest

There are many Steven Universe episodes that are basically designed to put your emotions through the spin cycle and hang you up to dry. We've all been there during one episode or another--excited, dismayed, inspired, devastated, blown away. But some of us have an episode that kicks us hard in the gut for personal reasons. An episode that's not just emotional, but intimately catastrophic for us. What's yours?

For me, that episode is "Cry for Help."

The character I relate to the most in the show, by far, is Garnet. A lot of people who love her say it's because she's ~so cool~ and aspirational with her self confidence (and believe me, I think that too) and because her relationship is inspiring, but for me, it's because I've never seen a fictional character get stability so right.

She may be on the stoic side and very much the strong and silent type, but she's not stable due to being unfeeling. She's definitely a squishy bundle of feelings under there. But she's utterly in control, knows her strengths and limitations, isn't ever self-deprecating about her talents, and understands herself in a complete and clear way. She can still be surprised or hurt. Being stable isn't about being numb.

Nearly all of the problems Garnet has to handle belong to someone else, and she rarely struggles with herself.

Characters like her and people like me find themselves, willingly and not so willingly, throwing life preservers and providing lifelines to people who are not stable. Many factors figure into why--you do it because you can, or because you know something about their problem, or because you love the person--but if you're a Garnet in a world of insecure Amethysts, inexperienced Stevens, and desperate Pearls, you've probably saved a person or two.

In "Cry for Help," we see Garnet exploited for her strength and stability--betrayed by Pearl, her literal oldest friend in the world--and we see how it (pretty much literally) tears her apart.

It's HARD to rattle someone as stable as Garnet so she shakes apart into her component pieces. It is very very hard to do that to someone with their feet so solidly on the ground. And when it happens, sometimes the pain that comes from it is so intense that you're not sure who you are anymore.

Let me elaborate in the context of the show. The Crystal Gems decide to destroy the partially rebuilt Communication Hub because Peridot's been using it to send messages to the enemy. But they can't destroy it the way they did last time because the Fusion chosen to handle the job, Sugilite, compromised everyone's safety. Garnet fusing with Amethyst is a no-go.

Garnet's handling of breaking that news to Amethyst left a few things to be desired, but ultimately, Pearl was so grateful and joyous to be chosen instead that it's hard not to be excited.

And even though Sardonyx was formed for a functional reason, it was also SO MUCH FUN!

They destroyed the Hub together and both personally enjoyed themselves. Even though Pearl was the most demonstrative about how much fun she had, you can see how caught up Garnet was in the joy. She loves fusion too, and she loves Pearl too, and she loves being Sardonyx too.

"Why don't we do that more often?" says Pearl.

Garnet and Pearl have an incredible history. They've known each other for over 5,500 years. They were allies and soldiers in a lengthy war, they endured hideous traumas together, and they are the only survivors of the final battle. They understand each other like no one else can. Surely they can trust one another.

Garnet found out she couldn't trust Pearl. It turned out Pearl enjoyed the fusion experience so much that she lied about similar threats to tempt Garnet into fusing with her again, and Garnet allowed herself to get distracted, never seeing the possibility of her oldest friend hurting her in such a personal way.

She was devastated. First it came out first as boiling, earsplitting anger.

And then it cooled to icy, silent rage.

What did Garnet say in the moment it happened? Almost all of her lines are about Pearl's actions derailing the mission.

"That's why I couldn't see us finding Peridot." "You've been fixing the Hub." "Peridot's out there somewhere and Pearl's been distracting us with NOTHING!"

She pretends the important thing is how she compromised the mission. But she also says another thing.

"You tricked me."

In this moment, everyone understands why she was furious to be misled. But I don't think the others recognized the depth of this wound because Garnet is very good at concealing her vulnerability. She doesn't want her team to think its leader has the capacity to be personally hurt in a way that limits her usefulness in a crisis. She's supposed to be strong and never let the others doubt her competence. And her confidence has never been a lie--she has never had to put on a face when it comes to that. But in this moment? She slammed all the doors shut. She had been sliced open with a very sharp knife and had to turn quickly so no one would see her guts. (Not the first time she’s done that, either.)

Because of the way she focused on the mission's importance, Pearl bumbled her way through antagonist-trapping attempts for multiple episodes trying to get back in Garnet's favor. And that was probably even more painful for Garnet--that Pearl fundamentally did not understand why a betrayal of this nature was so devastating. She had JUST been through a fusion-related trauma discovering the fusion experiments in the Kindergarten; the sanctity of consent in fusion had just been highlighted for her, in opposition to an extreme example of its violation, and then she gets personally subjected to false pretenses for fusion that negate her reasons for consent.

Pearl made up emergencies to steal Garnet's time and energy, and made her feel foolish for trusting her. She misrepresented the issue because she desired an intimate experience, and tricked Garnet into providing it under those false circumstances. Most importantly, she compromised the integrity of her body and mind using fusion--something Garnet is passionate about, something Garnet fought to defend and define, something at the core of Garnet's identity. Pearl perverted something sacred to Garnet and then she doesn't even realize how wrong it was. It must have been so awful for Garnet to discover that Pearl can lie as easily as she breathes just to get something she wants--something Garnet probably would have been willing to give to her if it had been requested in honesty!--and that she isn't really free to tell her how much it hurt because her longstanding trust had been used against her.

And that's the thing about relating to a character as strongly as I relate to Garnet. When you're the strong one but you're HURT, you still can't let yourself lash out at someone like Pearl. You could crush someone whose daily existence is so tortured and fragile. You know you won't do it. You'd be the bad guy if you stood there on your pedestal of stability and told them how much they've disappointed you, how much they've disgusted you, how much revulsion you feel at the breach of trust. Pearl and Garnet have both experienced trauma, but Garnet doesn't define herself by it--she has coping mechanisms Pearl lacks, and even at the peak of her anger she knows it would not be right to unleash all of that on a traumatized person who barely knows how to cope with her own destructive, damaged thoughts.

Garnet is the victim in this situation, but she's still got to think about how her brittle friend will handle the process of healing from what SHE did to them both. The silent treatment was horrible for Pearl--it made her frantic and drove her to additional terrible decisions--but it was the kindest thing Garnet could do while still simmering under the surface, smoldering with her own unhealed bruises.

Garnet took herself away to handle the internal conflict Pearl's breach caused in her. She went away with Steven and Greg, who wouldn't really be as affected by watching her breakdown as the others would, and even though that breakdown wasn't strictly controlled or ideal either, it was a choice she made during a personal crisis. Garnet fell apart.

I recognize this technique. Some people--myself included--can choose where and when to process emotions (including freakouts and breakdowns), but can first and foremost decide to hold it together when it's important. I could give you six examples from within the last two years when I had to do stuff like that. I'm not better than anybody else because I can. I have effective coping mechanisms. Many people don't have a choice about whether they freak out or if they get triggered. I'm fortunate. I use it to TAKE CARE OF THINGS IN THE MOMENT that I might have some nightmares about later, but I'm not going to fall apart NOW. I need to be able to do that for people who don't have the option. That's one of the things Garnet does well, too. That's why we've only seen her come apart unwillingly if she was lethally damaged or fundamentally shaken to the core.

When Garnet reconciled with Pearl at the end of "Friend Ship," she spoke very little about her own pain. She knew that making Pearl feel even guiltier about her betrayal was not going to be constructive. She already felt bad. She didn't go on at length about how hurt she was--she just said "I fell apart over this." "Ruby and Sapphire were in turmoil over how you deceived me." "I came undone." Most of what she said was focused on helping Pearl understand why her loneliness, her insecurity, and her weakness are not excuses to steal someone else's strength away from them without their permission.

"You lied to me. You need to learn that there are consequences to your actions."

"It's not easy being in control. I have weaknesses too. But I choose not to let them consume me."

"I struggle to stay strong because I know the impact I have on everyone. Please understand, Pearl. You have an impact too."

Garnet knew all along that everything she said and did--even in a crisis--would be an example for everyone else. She's rarely allowed to have selfish moments where she gives in to whimsy, sacrifices responsibilities for self care, compromises others' comfort for her needs. She was caught in the crossfire of Pearl's desperation and was betrayed intimately, but even after all was said and done, she still had to counsel Pearl through the consequences she pulled down on herself.

Even after all this, she does still care deeply for Pearl, and I'm sure it's painful to watch her struggle. But Garnet still had to be the one to answer "how can I make you forgive me?" with an explanation of why she can't. And you believe Pearl when she speaks about how useless she feels on her own. She's not manipulating Garnet or lying about how ineffectual and incompetent she feels. The problem is, she's still making all of that Garnet's problem. And Garnet accepts the responsibility of solving it.

She wants to be mad. The Ruby in Garnet is happy to state loudly that she DESERVES to be mad. Shouldn't she be allowed to stew, to rage, to feel? She was treated unforgivably and then had to tolerate Pearl doing backflips in the wrong direction to coax an undeserved resolution out of her. But she also wants to be practical. The fatalistic Sapphire in Garnet is ready to move on because she sees the big picture and knows her emotions aren't that critical when they're fighting to save the planet.

I went through a protracted "battle" like this recently. I had to solve a problem that was way bigger than me that started before I was born. I had to spend a lot of time, money, and energy learning things I never wanted to know and handling issues I wasn't even supposed to know about. And along the way I was treated horribly by several people, most notably the main person I was trying to protect. Sometimes it seemed like they were doing everything in their power to sabotage my efforts to help them, but I was patient and supportive, even when they were very rude, even when they refused to help accomplish the small things they could handle on their own, even when they treated ME like I was the source of their pain despite being the one trying to stop it.

One of my allies said it was baffling that I kept helping at all considering how I was treated. They were gobsmacked how I still offered respect and kindness to someone who was inadvertently causing me so much stress. And I always said the same thing: I do it because I can, because if I don't the consequences (which I will ALSO have to handle) will be worse, and because everyone else is in way worse shape than I am.

Yes, maybe I contain a little Ruby raging about how unfair this is and how personally hurt I am, but that's what texting my friends is for. I also contain a little Sapphire telling me I have to get A if I don't want B to happen, and I chose the uphill battle that let me achieve A. Ruby and Sapphire are both right. I deserved to be furious. I also needed to get the job done, and I did.

Ultimately Garnet learned that Pearl is a damaged person acting out of desperation, and even though the betrayal was personal and not okay in any way, it was rooted in loneliness and sorrow that Garnet does not experience. Stable people often help unstable people when they care about them. They shouldn't have to sacrifice themselves to do so, but they are usually able to figure out where the line is for how much they can reasonably give of themselves. Sometimes, when stable people still care about the people who hurt them, we feel like we've lost the rights to our feelings. That voicing those thoughts will just make it worse. That we will be the cruel one if we react incorrectly to being wronged. We solve it on our own. We go away and get a grip and come back ready to fight.

But seeing that, boy. Seeing the fresh wound in "Cry for Help" and knowing how that feels, when you're reeling and wondering how you're going to build yourself back up (while pretending nobody knocked you down), feeling so raw and punctured by someone you REALLY don't want to stop trusting . . . you wonder, if another person can do that to me, am I really that stable?

Or, conversely, would I even be stable if I didn't care about anyone strongly enough that their betrayal could be my undoing?

"Jailbreak" is my favorite episode, but "Cry for Help" eats me alive every time I watch it.

#steven universe #gif #long post #garnet #cry for help #personal tag #myblog

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inkstainedfanfics · 7 years ago

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Dinner for Three

Request: Hi. Could I request an imagine? Newt is dating Reader but doesnt know he is a wizard. One day niffler escapes (or any creature) and Reader goes to see what is happening and she discovers the trunk and she is freaked to the point of passing out.

Word Count: 2,027

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Special thanks to @drdanwrites for helping me realize I was starting this story in the wrong place. Go follow her for awesome writing!

Requested by Anonymous but also tagging @red-roses-and-stories @dont-give-a-bother @caseoffics @myrtus-amongst-the-stars @ly--canthrope @thosefantasticbeast2 @benniesgalaxy @whatinbenaddiction

Your face is red and you’re shifting nervously in your seat as Newt once again glances at the hallway over your shoulder. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is set in a half-frown as he stares at the shadows. The plate of your homemade spaghetti remains virtually untouched in front of him.

“So,” you begin, desperate to start some sort of conversation on this fifth date, “have you decided what you’re going to write about?”

His eyes snap back to you, anger fading into guilt. “Sorry, what?”

You force a smile to your face, acting as though this isn’t absolutely mortifying. He clearly doesn’t want to be here; you’re annoying your own boyfriend. Sure, you’ve only been dating for about a month now, but you’ve come to really care for him. The last thing you want to do is annoy him.

“Have you decided what you’re writing about yet?”

Newt drops your gaze as he lifts his fork. “Not quite. I’m mulling over some ideas still.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, nothing too interesting yet…” he trails off, looking at the hallway behind you again.

“I’m sure they’re fascinating.”

“Possibly.” Newt’s murmur is as distracted as everything else he’s said tonight.

You sigh and scoop up a bite, wondering just what you did to incite the obvious annoyance and anger he has. Does he not like pasta?

He doesn’t notice your despair as he scoots his chair back and sets his napkin on the table. “Excuse me for just one moment.”

“But where…” you begin, trailing off as he strides past you, attention on something else entirely.

He’s gone, leaving you alone with two plates of spaghetti and an empty chair.

You set down your fork, rubbing your forehead as his footsteps disappear into another room. The evening had started out so well. He’d taken your jacket, seemed excited for the dinner you’d brought over, even pulled your chair from the table for you. And the beginning of dinner had been as lovely as every other date with Newt. You’d discussed his recent business trip to Bolivia and hazarded a few more guesses about what he does for a living – accountant, photographer, cartographer – though none of them were correct. He’d even complimented the shirt you’d chosen (an hour’s worth of changing over and over was not wasted) and asked you to elaborate on how you’d learned to cook so well. Then, suddenly, halfway through the story about your mother helping your press garlic, something had changed.

Had it been something you said? Your mind goes into overdrive as you consider everything you’d brought up. You’d mentioned something about Newt’s mother in your story. What if she’s sick? What if she was just in a car crash? What if they can’t stand each other?

You drop your head into your hands, absolutely miserable. God, how can anyone stand dating someone? It’s too stressful, too full of rules and worries.

Something slams behind you, startling your thoughts away. “Newt?” You call out slowly. A sharp rap sounds from the door. “Newt, is everything all right?”

God, what if there’s an intruder he’s fighting? What if he expects you to be calling the police right now instead of sitting at the table. You stand, starting for the telephone but stop yourself as there’s another bang. If he’s fighting an intruder already, there’s really no time to wait for the police. He needs help now.

You make the decision in a split second and don’t let yourself consider any other approach. Snatching a large statue of a dragon from the mantel, you slowly walk to the door. The plates of spaghetti sit there, cold now, but the embarrassment you felt earlier over them is completely forgotten. Your entire focus is on the noises coming from the other room.

A huge crash rattles the door you’re staring at; a cry of pain follows. “Newt!” You cry, rushing forward.

You hesitate at the door for only a second before steeling yourself and pushing it open. It only moves a few inches before slamming against to a halt. Planting your feet and tightening your grip on the statue, you drive your shoulder into it and manage to push it open wide enough to squeeze through.

A wardrobe lies face down on the ground, blocking the door. The ground around it is covered in shattered glass: Once a vase, you assume, by the tulips now lying in a puddle of water. The curtain over the window has been torn in half and hangs by threads, and papers are strewn across the ground. The only thing in the room not overturned or destroyed is a small suitcase sitting open.

“Newt?” You call out tentatively, creeping forward, careful to watch where your feet land.

There’s no response.

You peer around the room, searching for some explanation, but there isn’t one. There’s no place he could have escaped to. The room’s on the third floor, the window’s shut, and the only way into or out of the room is through the door you managed to pry open.

You’re still baffled by his disappearance when you peer into his case. That, unfortunately, only makes this entire situation worse.

A staircase. There’s a staircase in this suitcase. Your hand shakes slightly as you try to reconcile the facts. Newt’s disappearance, the torn-up room, the suitcase with stairs… Oh mercy, what the hell?

“Newt?” You call, voice barely carrying through the room and certainly not making it down the short staircase. “Newt?” You try again as you work up the nerve to crawl down there.

You take a deep breath. Maybe this is just a weird decoration style that you’ve never seen before. Maybe Newt owns the apartment directly below this one and it was just weirdly constructed. You wrack your brain but come up with no better answer. Weird decoration. All right.

Stepping down the staircase, you keep the dragon statue firmly in one hand and up against your chest. At first, you think you’re hearing things, that all this stress has driven you to hallucinating, but with every step down, strange noises grow louder. There’s caws, croaks, tweets, and… roars?

You reach the bottom step, and the room opens up in front of you. You stare, eyes wide, at the place. This is no second floor, no apartment. This can only be described as a habitat.

Stone bites into your hand as you white-knuckle the statue. A long-necked grey … thing … wanders past you, giant eyes fixated on the moon above you. You’re grateful it doesn’t seem to notice you as it roams forward. A pack of birds you vaguely recognize roam past you, pecking at the ground. You nearly drop the statue when you realize they’re dodo birds. Dead creatures, extinct if you learned anything in school.

A shout bursts out in front of you, startling both you and the tiny, grey giraffe.

Newt’s a few yards away, chasing a mole, a branch extended in his hand. He doesn’t notice you as he yells something gibberish. You don’t know what the hell is happening, can’t reconcile it with the man you know. He’s not crazy, doesn’t use made up words or play around with tree branches. He also has never once mentioned having a staircase in the beat-up case he carries around everywhere, never talked about these strange creatures, never let on that he has a whole ecosystem here.

You stop breathing as a flash of green light seems to shoot from the end of the branch in Newt’s hand and streaks through the air. It connects with the mole, and the animal freezes as though its muscles just stopped working. Newt waves the branch again.

You pinch yourself, eyes wide, breathing stopped, as the creature slowly begins to move, jostling side to side first then rising into the air. Every part of you is screaming to run, that this isn’t natural and you need to get away, but your muscles don’t cooperate.

Your vision spiderwebs and disappears just as Newt turns in your direction, mole in his hand.

The world’s dark and black and all you can make out are some muffled sounds. Someone near you is speaking, saying something about Merlin and shocks. Something else caws near your ear, and the sounds grow louder with each passing second.

“There you are.” Newt’s words are muffled as he nods to himself, hand wrapped around your wrist, presumably taking your pulse. “You’re all right.”

You try to sit up as your vision returns, only managing with Newt’s aid as he wraps an arm around your back to support you.

He’s kneeling next to you, sleeves rolled up, branch in his mouth. His lips are curved up in an apologetic smile, and he reaches up to take the branch from his mouth. “Terribly sorry I didn’t mention something earlier.”

You blink, glancing around. The field still surrounds you. Creatures have appeared, poking up over the tall grass or peering at you from a distance. Animals you’ve never seen before slowly creeping forward.

“Where am I?” The question’s shaky, because of your recent fainting spell or because of the discomfort coursing through your veins, you’re not quite certain.

“My…” Newt pauses, appearing to be searching for the right word, “workplace.”

“But how? And why,” You jerk your chin at his wand. “are you carrying a branch?”

Newt attempts to suppress a grin. “It’s not a branch.”

Your head spins. “Where’d the green light come from?”

He opens and closes his mouth twice before dropping his head. “I think I have a lot to explain. Perhaps we should go upstairs and I can explain everything over dinner?”

You can’t tear your eyes away from the grey giraffe in front of you as you nod. Its adorable, blinking at you with those huge eyes. “What’s that?”

“A mooncalf.”

“Is it dangerous?”

Newt laughs. “Only if you’re a handful of grain.”

“May I pet it?” Your cheeks are flaming as you look up at Newt. The question seems so juvenile, but the creature’s too adorable as you watches you.

“You’d like to?”

“If he won’t hurt me.”

Newt’s grin softens as he looks at you.

“So, can I?” You question again.

“Of course. Would you like to feed him?”

The creature brightens at the word, letting out a soft caw that has your heart swelling. “I’d love to.”

Newt helps you to your feet, leading you through the area. “I suppose I don’t have to hide what I’m writing about now.”

“You’re writing about this? All of it?”

He chuckles. “All of it.”

“That’s… wow.”

He raises an eyebrow in response, but nods down at the statue you’d forgotten you’d brought down. “May I ask why you had my statue of a Hungarian Horntail?”

Your cheeks burn. “I, um, thought you needed help.”

“With what?”

“I, um, I thought maybe you were being attacked.”

Newt grins at the words. “And you were planning on fighting with that?”

“It was the first thing I saw. You were the one dropping everything in there. It sounded like you were being murdered.”

“Well,” he says between laughs, “thank you for your worry. I do appreciate your attempt to save my life even if it was misguided.”

You roll your eyes at his teasing, but he tugs you against his chest and you can’t help smiling. The rest of the night goes well. You learn about spells and creatures and a whole dimension of the world you wish you’d known your whole life. Newt lets you feed the creatures and shows you the bowtruckle’s trees. He walks you through the fields and, when the moon is at its height, kisses you quickly.

Both of your cheeks are red as you head back to the apartment.

The plates of spaghetti are still there, cold, a waste, but Newt warms them up quickly and you eat before finally grabbing your jacket and walking out the front door.

Later that week, a parcel arrives at your house. When you open it, a warm feeling floods your veins. Inside is a dragon statue and a note: Next Wednesday, thunderbird lessons. Newt.

#Newt scamander #newt Scamander x reader #newt Scamander imagine #newt Scamander one shot #fbawtft #requested #I'm alive #and writing #idek I hope you all enjoy this #thanks for all the kind comments I've received #have a lovely day!

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