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silvertonedwords · 1 year ago

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Together, Chapter 4: Sunday

It's heeeeeeeere. Seriously though, this is long. Comment if you can. It's like being taken out for dinner after a difficult exam. My favorite thing to know is which gesture or moment or line of dialogue touched you the most.

Dear Tina,

As I start to write this letter, it is Monday evening. It was grey and damp in London today, as it often is this time of year. Teddy becomes unaccountably cross in this sort of weather. Years ago, I attempted to convince him to move back to the wild. He always came clamoring back and chattered as if to scold me, and I had to accept that we are companions for good now. It worried me at first for his sake, you understand, although he seems to lead a happy existence. Not that you would know it from how he’s looking at me right now. I’ve dropped a sketch into the back of this letter. I hope it does his peevish expression justice, and that you can imagine him sitting, as he is now, on the corner of my desk while I write to you.

Theseus stopped by this evening for his usual visit. He drank three cups of tea, and even came down into the menagerie for a few minutes without grousing about whether I have the proper permits for the building and expansion charms. (Is this something we’ll need to discuss with regards to my case when I next come to New York? Are there such rules in America? I imagine it would be frowned upon for you to have a guest who might be in violation of those rules? You know I don’t set much store by these things in general, but I will do whatever you think is reasonable, or at the very least, learn which creatures in particular to keep quiet for a few days. I’ve been involved in quite enough risks to your career as it is.)

Theseus seemed alright today. That time I wrote you of a few weeks ago was the last when he arrived at my flat too inebriated to have a sensible conversation. He speaks of Leta more often than he used to. He also seems to enjoy when I tell stories about her from school, many of which he hasn’t heard before. You’ve mentioned that you enjoy when your colleagues who knew your father speak of him. I think perhaps Theseus feels the same. It makes them closer for a moment, doesn’t it, to know that they were real for other people, too?

Theseus mentioned to me, as you have, that you saw each other last week. I suppose I should’ve thought that you would both attend that conference in New York—you had mentioned that it was an international affair—but somehow I hadn’t. He brought you up first thing. He said that you had the chance to speak several times. Not that his opinion need carry much weight, but he said that he liked you very much, and that you are “both clever and reasonable, a rare combination in an auror”, which I would’ve thought was obvious. You described speaking about your encounter at the French Ministry, but I must say that he did not bring up that part of your conversation with me. He was gracious about it, you say. Perhaps I sell him short.

I do believe that will remain my favorite spell that you have ever cast, although I am open to something else taking its place. I remember your face as you cast it—so determined, so calm, and so delighted after.

Auror affairs aside, Theseus seems to think it his duty to investigate everyone with whom I spend any time. I have always found it tiresome. He has always been that way, as an elder brother, you know. He seems to think that it is his job both to warn me how the world will be, and to protect me from it. Perhaps this is something you understand more than I. I am hardly similar to Queenie, of course, and Theseus did not have to become a father or mother to me, but he is so much older, and our parents were so often busy with other concerns, that he took on something of that role. Perhaps elder siblings are often like this.

I remember one incident very clearly. I must’ve been about ten years old, so Theseus would’ve been eighteen or so, having just left school and started auror training. He took me aside one day to assure himself, in quite a serious manner, that I would of course be giving up “all of that creature nonsense” when I went to school. I now believe that he was worried that he wouldn’t be there to keep an eye on me, and that I would be lonely. He had seen, I think, that I did sometimes wish for friends, even though I rarely seemed to be able to make them. As a model student, he probably also found the prospect of my being around his former teachers and fellow students rather daunting. I say I believe this now. At the time, I was so enraged that I refused to speak to him for several weeks.

You and I are similar, I believe, in that we will not change ourselves simply to please someone else. I was like that from a very young age. I imagine you were too. I imagine you sometimes, all of eight or nine, telling older children off for being cruel.

I do not mean to suggest, by the way, that you have ever done anything like this story I told to your sister. You and Theseus are similar in some ways—you both carry heavy responsibilities, and you are both stubborn—but you are more flexible, more creative, and more curious than he is.

My mother apparently asked Theseus who I’ve been writing. She’s noticed me with your letters, you see, and told Theseus that I “looked far too enchanted for them to be letters of business”. I think I must look pleased when I receive letters from any of the few people to whom I write with any regularity—Lally, for instance, and Jacob—but she is perhaps right that it is not quite in the same way. Theseus told her some part of the story of how we met—he does not know it all—and I must say that she is rather taken with you. I had mentioned you before, but it seems she had never been certain of our still writing to each other.

I turned around in the menagerie last night to say something to you, before I recalled that you were, of course, an ocean away. Sometimes, when I’m carrying out the more mindless chores, I compose my letters to you in my mind. Not word for word, exactly, but I store up the things I’ve meant to tell you, and the questions I want to ask. I like how it almost makes you my companion in the work. I can almost see you curled up in a camp chair with a book or a report for work, reading away and keeping me company. I have just the chair—it’s very comfortable, and right now it’s set up next to the shed because it’s one of Dougal’s favorites.

You mentioned before that your apartment feels lonely, and I said that I am glad for the creatures, as my home never feels empty. I don’t know if that was right. It’s different when there’s a particular gap, a place that isn’t filled, isn’t it? Like your sister.

In reading over these last lines, I wonder if you will see disappointment—ridicule even—that you have not planned a visit, as I have offered. I don’t mean to suggest so. I only wish to be honest with you. I think perhaps, in our letters before Paris, I did not say enough.

All this to say, if you see an article proclaiming whatever exploits the papers have invented for the imagined figure of Newton Scamander, best-selling author, this week, I do hope you will ignore them entirely. Unless they say that he checks his mail every morning for letters from a certain American auror, devours them in minutes, and then reads them through carefully at least twice more, they are mistaken.

I must go for now. I can hear the young nifflers growing restless, and I cannot risk leaving them for too long. If you see Theseus again, promise me that you will not let him take himself too seriously. It is good for him.

You didn’t say last time how your research into Grindelwald’s associates is progressing. I would like to hear. And someday, you must tell me how you and Lally became friends.

Write me something, even if short, by Friday, if you can? I have a signing event on Saturday, and it will be much more tolerable if I have a letter to look forward to when I get home.

Be safe, and look after yourself.

Yours,

Newt

-&-

Newt drifts awake slowly. He laughs softly when he opens his eyes. Tina still sleeps facing him, with her dark hair fanned across the pillow, and her hand curled up beside her face. His smile is one of fondness, and of such relief. How often, these past months, has he wished that they were beside each other?

He reaches out and carefully brushes her hair from her forehead. It has grown so much longer than it was when they were last together.

She’d been different then—his one day in New York a few months ago—jumping at the slightest touch, and looking away whenever he accidentally caught her eyes on him. It hadn’t felt like rejection, hadn’t stung him at all in that way, but it had made him ache to be of more comfort. Sometimes, especially when she’d written about Queenie, her mood in her letters had felt dark. While reading them, he’d often wanted to board a ship back to New York. He’d ached to at least write more plainly, I love you. But he’d known from the tender but sometimes cautious tone of her letters, from her trembling smile and tearful eyes and tight grasp on his hand as they said goodbye, that she wasn’t ready to hear it.

Last night, he’d woken at a similar time with the cool almost-panic that he might’ve imagined everything. To have gone through such a day as that with her, and then to have fallen asleep alone in the same cot as always…

Tonight, he wakes only with relief that they are together.

Full of seeming contradictions as she is—gentle and stubborn, cautious and bold, strong and tender, perhaps it should not surprise him that this week has been the same. She wasn’t ready, until, one day, she was.

He closes his eyes to think back over the past few days. Yesterday morning, when he’d walked into her room, and she’d held him until he calmed. Her boldness as she’d led him away from the party. That cautiously hopeful look in her eyes after she’d first closed the apartment door, as though he could possibly want anything more than to kiss her back. Her fingers in his hair. Asking him to hold her and melting into him. The way she looks at him, always, Merlin—it’s familiar of course, the tenderness and laughter and slight hint of a challenge in her eyes—but there are also parts that he hadn’t known she’d been holding back. A sort of lightness. She looks almost giddy when she looks at him, and it makes him giddy, too.

She’s remarkable. He’s often thought apathy to be the worst of human traits—towards each other, towards creatures. Tina is a wonder to watch because she cares so deeply. And he is, somehow, one of the things she cares about.

She begins to stir. He opens his eyes to see hers.

She smiles, and his lips tug into a smile as well, before he has even noticed. “Hi,” she says.

She skims a few fingers along his jaw. “Hello.”

She sighs, closes her eyes, turns a little bit closer. Her knees bump into his thighs.

He wants…he wants…

He shifts closer, closer, until he can slide one arm beneath her ribs, the other around her waist, and push his face into her neck. Her breath stumbles for a moment, but then her arms come up around his neck and she weaves her fingers into his hair.

She strokes his hair slowly, from his temples around and down to the base of his skull. Pleasant shivers chase each other down his spine. “Are you alright?” she asks.

“Mm.” He draws his hand down to the center of her back. “I am,” he murmurs, relaxing against her. He feels her lips at his temple. “’s a lot. And good. Feels…”

“Yeah.”

So good. He lets out a shuddering breath. His voice grows quiet, pleading. “Don’t stop?”

“I won’t.” Her hand is still tangled in his hair, stroking slowly. She draws it down his neck, his shoulder. Her movements are slow and easy. She finds a gentle pattern: her hand combing thought his hair, then skating down his neck, across his shoulder. He whimpers and burrows closer, his hands settled on her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through her cotton pajamas.

Somewhere, someone must’ve come up with a word for this feeling, though nothing adequate comes to mind. To want and be wanted. To value and be valued. To love and be loved in return, and to feel it. He is in a state of restfulness just shy of sleep, where everything is calm and yet somehow acute.

He hears her sniff once—tears? He fumbles blindly for her hand. “I’m fine,” she murmurs, tucking her chin over his head.

He hums questioningly.

“You’re so relaxed.”

He tries to follow what she means through his sleepy haze. “Should I not be?”

“No. I mean yes I just…” He hopes these are the not-bad sort of tears, like the kind during the wedding when Queenie and Jacob stomped on a glass and he caught her eye. “Nobody wants me around this much.”

“Rubbish,” he says, his voice muffled by her skin.

She laughs and sounds a little tearful. Her hand moves through his hair now, from his temple back to the base of his skull. Merlin, it feels nice.

“You’re remarkable.”

“So are you,” she returns. She continues to card her fingers through the back of his hair. Her breathing calms, and whatever it is, it does not seem urgent or painful, for she is also deeply relaxed against him. “Sleep,” she whispers.

He hums again, this time in assent, and she laughs softly, her voice warm against his ear. Within a few moments, he has drifted back to sleep.

-&-

When Tina wakes, Newt sits at a small table just past the foot of the bed, writing a letter. He must’ve been quiet when he got up, for she is a light sleeper by force of professional habit. She had not considered that they might be well-matched in this way. Of course, working with creatures, he must be skilled at moving quietly.

She observes him for a moment. His messier-than usual hair, and the way the light bounces off of it. The soft smile pulling at his lips. The cotton shirt and trousers he sleeps in. His fingers spread across the surface of the page. His sun-warmed and faintly scarred chest just visible through the deep v of his shirt, and his muscular forearms where he has rolled up his shirtsleeves. He is beautiful. She knows what his skin feels like, now, but still she wants to touch.

“Morning,” she says.

He looks up. She thinks she will never tire of his expression when he sees her: the wonder and tenderness that soften his eyes. “Good morning,” he says.

Tina sits up in bed, bending her knees, the blankets pooling at her feet. She wraps an arm around her legs. “You’re awake early.”

“Time change, I’m afraid. Besides, once I woke I--” he looks down, smiling, “Now that I’ve gotten a bit of rest, I’m too exhilarated to sleep.”

She understands that all too well. Now that he’s here, she’s been sleeping soundly, but last week, she’d sometimes tossed and turned for an hour or more, thinking about what the next few days might bring.

She’d thought all these changes might feel unsteady for a while. That it would feel strange to enter into parts of each others’ lives that they hadn’t known before; sharing meals, early mornings, late nights. Sharing a bed. But for her at least, this kind of intimacy feels oddly natural. “This doesn’t feel strange,” she says, looking down and stretching her feet against the soft, worn linens. “Is that strange?”

He looks at her again, and this time, his gaze lingers. “No. It’s not.” He begins to smile. “At least, since I haven’t startled you like yesterday.”

Tina bites her lip against a grin. “I raised my wand at you, didn’t I?”

“Instantly. Very good reflexes. Slightly startling.”

She shakes her head, delighted, as she will almost always admit, by his teasing.

He leaves the letter and makes his way to the bed, sinking onto the mattress beside her.

She slides her hand onto his wrist and up his forearm. Her fingers pass over a few thin scars.

”I should’ve expected you to be awake by the time I reached your room. The aurors I knew during the war were light sleepers. So’s Theseus. I thought you would be.”

She melts a little at the thought of Newt trying to place such knowledge of her. “I am,” she agrees. “You��re not, are you?”

He shakes his head. “No. Except when something’s wrong with one of the creatures. Then I seem to wake easily.”

She smiles. “Like a parent.”

“I suppose so,” he agrees. He fingers the collar of her pajama shirt.

“What?” she asks.

“Looking, so I remember. You weren’t in bed anymore when I woke yesterday.”

She looks down with an almost shy smile, warmed by his attention.

They both watch as he takes her hand and brings it to his lap. “Tina, may I ask you something?”

“Mm?”

“What upset you last night?”

“Last night?” He draws circles into the back of her hand with his thumb.

“When we woke, I mean. You seemed—you were crying.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t look worried or judgmental; just curious.

She searches for the right words to explain what it feels like that he actually wants to be around her—and not only through touch, for that is but one sometimes-manifestation of it—but around her as a being.

Perhaps it shouldn’t take her breath away. He actually wants what she has to give. He looks at her—at things that other people have told her are too much, that she should dampen; her intensity and determination, stubbornness and curiosity, her love for him—and he enjoys them. He seeks her out. He wants more. She’s known that for many months, but to experience it in so many new ways feels both wonderful and unfamiliar.

She imagines he must know the feeling, at least a little, although perhaps he’s better than she is at ignoring what blinkered people think. She’s heard the snide comments that get made about him. She’s even heard some misplaced ones by people, like Theseus, who care about him. Mostly, she wants to turn around and snap at those people that whatever they’re describing is exactly what makes him extraordinary. What do they mean to say? That he’s too kind, too dedicated to his work, too uninterested in the opinions of those who have no imagination, too committed to bringing about change even when it is hard? The more she knows him, the more of himself he shares, the more drawn to him she feels, and it’s just a wonder, sometimes, to notice him feeling the same about her.

“I wasn’t upset, I was—“ he squeezes her hand, and her lips turn up briefly in gratitude. She looks at him. “You were so content. With me. Because of me?”

“Yes.” He looks slightly bewildered.

She laughs at her own muddled words. “I felt…”

“…loved?” he offers at last.

She nods toward their joined hands.

Carefully, he tucks her hair behind her ear. His fingertips graze her shoulder as he combs his fingers through the strands. He presses his thumb along her hairline, and her eyes slip shut.

A deep rumble makes them both turn to the shed door. “That’ll be Dorian. Bark much worse than his bite. Probably wants his breakfast.”

“I should go get changed and things.”

“And work down here?” he asks hopefully.

She laughs. “Sure.”

Newt stands and heads out the door.

Tina lingers, looking around the shed. Her surroundings are not quite familiar yet, but she knows that they will be.

Will she wake here, many years from now, and remember this morning, this Tina? By then, one of her favorite pens and a few letters that she needs to answer will rest on that table. She’ll leave a pair of boots in the case, and when they aren’t traveling, they will have a shared home outside of it, with a kitchen table where they talk over tea, and a shared bed, and—. Their little habits will be familiar and largely unspoken. She’s in no rush to get through these wonderful days, but what a pleasant future to dream.

She has just stood when Newt re-enters the shed, walks over to her, and drops a gentle kiss to her cheek. She feels his hand skim over her hair. “Forgot to do that,” he says.

She giggles, and almost doesn’t recognize her own carefree delight. Newt grabs the shawl she’d worn down to the case last night. He drapes it across her shoulders, adjusting its weight until she takes over, her hands brushing his. His earnestness makes her stomach jolt pleasantly, but it also chokes her throat with something else. “I won’t be long,” she whispers.

He nods, then backs away as quickly as he’d come.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling, and stay that way as she climbs the ladder into her apartment.

-&-

Tina takes a sip of her coffee and folds one leg beneath her on Newt’s camp chair, attempting to gather the patience to read the next case report before her. It is the last of the week by Auror Preston, and is almost certain to be dense and difficult to follow. Its heft, at least, attests to the fact that it will be longer than it has any need to be.

Newt had offered her his desk, but when she’s catching up on case reports over the weekend, she prefers something more casual. Besides, this seat makes it much easier to glance up and watch Newt as he works. She has not accomplished as much work this morning as she usually might, and she does not care.

Newt’s been in this section of the case for the past quarter of an hour building a new splint for Harriet’s growing wing. He has glanced at her every so often, as she has glanced at him. Sometimes, their eyes meet, and a thrill goes through her at the intimacy of it. Their own little world in the case, and all the things they’ve finally managed to say.

At one point, she catches him smiling at her.

“What?” she asks.

“I wrote about this. You sitting there.”

“You did,” she agrees, warmth filling her chest.

She looks to his writing desk beside her, trailing her fingers along its edge. He often wrote to her from this desk. She imagines him sitting here with his tattered newspaper clipping—later her professional portrait from work—his head bent over fresh parchment; his strong, gentle hands grasping a pen.

She can just imagine him looking to Teddy or Pick or Dougal for a moment, speaking to them briefly, and then turning back to the page to add their greetings. She can picture the paper filling up with his handwriting, which, contrary to her first suppositions when they’d met, is neat and graceful and somehow suits him exactly.

Above the desk is a series of shelves where Newt keeps a variety of haphazardly stacked papers. One pile seems to contain letters, while several others consist of field notes and sketches. On a couple of the shelves, she sees her own letters, with their familiar blue seals.

“My favorites are on the left,” Newt says.

Tina spins to his voice.

He continues looping twine around a piece of wood. “You keep your favorite letters on the writing desk in your bedroom.”

Tina blushes faintly to have been found out. “I do,” she admits.

She finds he’s looking at her, and shakes her head at his teasing smile. She looks back to the letters and gestures to the shelf in question. “May I look at them?”

“Yes.”

She stands and retrieves the letters from the left-most shelf, sliding them out with care, then drops back into her chair. She begins to look through them. Even though she wrote every word on these pages, it feels oddly like stepping into Newt’s space.

The topmost letters are recent and familiar. First is her letter written immediately after Queenie’s return: scattered, happy, and grateful; and second, the letter she’d sent right after, when Queenie and Jacob had told her that they were going to marry, and that Newt had promised to attend. She skims her own words with a laugh for her excitement. Newt is still working on the frame, but she can see out of the corner of her eye that he’s glancing up every so often to watch her.

The next letters are older. First, the very first letter she’d ever sent to him, which is familiar because she’d thought so much about what to write. And next, a letter congratulating him on finishing his manuscript. She would blush at her own exuberance, but she meant every word.

Next is her first letter after Paris. Kind, tentative, sad, exhilarated, tender; and, she’d hoped, healing to some of the wounds she’d seen in him on that trip. Looking back, she’d seen more clearly his fumbling confusion and hope and the slightly subdued way he’d looked at her, and she’d realized that in her own pain, she had unknowingly caused his. She touches the page gently, grateful that this is among his favorites. Its creases are worn, and the edges slightly frayed as though it has been carried around and read many times. She likes the thought of her words as a steadying reminder that things between them were well again—indeed, that things between them had never truly been broken.

She, too, has kept several of his first letters after Paris among her favorites, along with his unsent letters from the time when they’d stopped writing.

Tina had arranged a portkey home a few days after Paris. Newt had gone with her to see her off, and as they’d waited, he’d handed her a bundle of letters. At her confused look, he’d explained how he’d kept writing, and how they were rightfully hers of course, and would she like to have them? She remembers gathering them up and trying not to cry, lest he worry he’d done something wrong, when in fact she did not have words for her relief and joy and gratitude.

She’d brought those letters with her to bed many hours later, and had stayed up late reading every one. It had made her feel less alone, even as she shook with everything she’d lost. The thought of Newt continuing to write to her, telling her about his life and his work, wondering how her cases were going, writing cautious questions about why she’d stopped writing. Even when he must’ve been hurting, he’d respected her, valued her, cared for her so much. She’d felt so abandoned after fighting with Queenie and seeing that stupid article. By Queenie and by him. It had been such a comfort to have those letters to remind her that at least one of those things had never been true.

Shaking her head at her wandering thoughts, she carefully folds her letter and slips it back into the pile, taking up the next. It is from about six months ago; an everyday sort of letter with little stories from her day. And then, a long letter in which she remembers writing mostly about her parents. She has a few similar favorites upstairs; the letters about ordinary days that bring life and immediacy to ink and paper, and others with stories about his childhood or family that filled in the foundations of who he is.

There is another letter responding to his request that she comment on a few new passages meant for the second edition of his book. She grins, remembering how pleased she’d been that he wanted her opinion.

And then there is a letter she’d sent just after his visit to New York in July, describing how much she cared for him, and how much she missed him. She touches the words with light fingers.

“Is that from July?” He asks.

She looks up. “It is.”

“When I read that, I wanted to turn around and came back.”

“You didn’t,” she says gently. It’s such a relief to be able to talk about these things together so openly.

He rubs one index finger over a knot he’d just made.“That wasn’t what you needed from me. It was hard, but I knew…I knew that.”

She feels a rush of gratitude, and yet a touch of sadness. He doesn’t blame her for keeping him away, she knows that, but still it was hard for them both.

“It’s the same with creatures, you know. Especially the ones who’ve been hurt, or—what they need most is the space to feel safe again.”

“Yes,” she whispers, blinking back tears. She is…she is so in love with him, his kindness and intelligence and honesty and care.

She’s kept so much bottled up lately, letting things out in her letters to Newt, or in quiet moments alone or with her few true friends, and then carefully putting everything away again so that she could face the next day. It feels good to feel.

“Newt, could I…could I come hug you please?”

She looks up to find him nodding towards his work table. She sets aside the letters and walks to him. At first, she loops her arms around his neck and leans close and it is a gentle, soft hug. Then, he wraps his arms tightly around her waist and shoves his face into her shoulder, his hands pressing into her sides. She melts against him and holds him tighter. Perhaps he’s needed this too—perhaps he’s also been hiding things away. Knowing how hard this year has been on her, and on him as well, it couldn’t have been easy for him to be so far away. She’s begun to suspect that one of the ways that Newt looks after people is to be completely fine, even to himself, until it turns out that he is not. She rakes her hand through his hair—he likes that, she can tell from the way his shoulders relax—and feels as much as hears him let out a heavy breath. At last, he pulls back enough to look at her, and smoothes her hair back behind her shoulder.

She laughs with how light she feels, hiding her face in his neck. He wraps his arms around her, turning them gently from side to side.

“Will you come with me to check on Harriet?” Newt finally asks. “She’s taken a liking to you.”

Tina lifts her head. “Of course I will.”

He smiles.

“What?” She asks with a smile in her voice.

“Do you remember what we were like on my first visit, when we drank tea here?”

She chuckles warmly, resettling his shirt collar. “I, for one, was entirely innocent of staring at you whenever you turned your back.” She’d meant to sound teasing, but her voice is thick with emotion, remembering how those first days had been, feeling him see her and value her and watching him experience the same from her.

“Completely,” he agrees. He watches his thumb trace the line of her neck, as she presses gently into the touch.

And then, almost to herself, she adds. “I would catch you lookin’ at me…and you’re wonderful you know, runnin’ around lookin’ after the creatures. You’d grab my hand to drag me along like it was nothin’ and…”

He kisses her jaw softly. “I hoped that someday we would—perhaps not exactly—well, I didn’t not hope that we would be…here. It’s very, very nice.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been hoping for it for rather a long time.”

“For how long, then, Mr. Scamander?” she asks teasingly.

But his answer is in earnest. “Since about two days after I met you.”

She smiles more tenderly at his words. “Me, too,” she admits, her voice soft and warm.

“How much do you have left to read?”

She looks back. “There are only two more reports that I have to read today. Let’s check on Harriet first, and then I’ll come back and finish. After that we should go for a walk or somethin’. Get out for a bit.”

“Tired of case reports?”

“It’s not the most excitin’ part of my job.”

“Aurors.”

“Hey,” she nudges him.

His eyes are full of laughter. “Come on then.” He tugs her with him toward the forest.

-&-

“The next month or so shouldn’t be too busy, if nothing changes with Grindelwald, of course. January’ll be a headache though.” They’re walking along a heavily wooded path about forty miles outside the city. Both of them bundled up against the cold before they apparated out here. The tree coverage is thinner because of winter, and the exposed branches and bits of ground are blanketed by a light dusting of snow.

“What’s in January?”

“We hire out of the trainee class. I’ve seen it, obviously, but it hasn’t been my problem before. There’s all kinds of politics between the departments. Angry parents or family friends who think someone we passed over last year or the year before should get another chance. People from departments who have nothing to do with investigations always seem to think they know best. And the head auror pretty much gets none of the credit and all of the blame, no matter what happens. It’s a nightmare, honestly.”

“I could come stay with you for a week or two? Keep you company? I’ll promise Queenie not to let you eat hotdogs for every meal.”

Tina stops walking and looks at him. “I’d love that,” she says earnestly. “I’ll be at work most of the time. And I’ll definitely be in a temper.”

“I like your temper. Well, generally. When it’s not because of me. Well, sometimes then, too. As long as you’re not really angry.”

She narrows her eyes, but she is not really cross with him. A moment later, a smile spreads across her face. “Okay.”

She ducks under a tree branch and leads them down the path to their left.

“You’re goin’ to Spain next month aren’t you? For research?”

“Yes, I am,” Newt agrees.

“For how long?”

“For a few weeks, depending on what I find.” He tries not to be nervous as he offers, “I’d like to stop in New York on my way back.”

“It’s not exactly on the way.”

“No,” he admits.

Her smile is exhilarating. “I’d love that.”

He looks down, pleased.

“I do want to come to England, whenever I can get away.”

“That would be wonderful. You’ll like it, I think. You were only there for a few hours, before, and that was…”

“A terrible trip?” After Paris, they’d spent a few stressful hours being questioned by the Ministry, and only a few stolen minutes together over the next two days before her portkey back to America. “Mostly, anyway. I wasn’t angry with you anymore, and that was…”

He reaches for her hand and squeezes it, their leather gloves catching briefly. “Mum might be a bit…much, when you meet her.”

“That’s alright.”

“I’ve never brought anyone home, you see. I think she’d given up on the idea. She’s been asking when she’d meet you for months.”

“As Theseus said.”

Newt nods, hearing the smile in her voice.

“I’m excited to meet her, too.”

They walk in silence for a few minutes. Newt watches a fluttering wisp of hair that’s escaped from the pins she’s used to keep her hair out of her face. Her cheeks are bright from the chill. She has wrapped a deep blue scarf around her neck, and wears a wool coat the color of charcoal. Merlin, it’s lovely to see her, and not only imagine her and her voice in her letters. “I wish I could’ve met your parents. I would’ve liked them, I think.”

“I think they woulda liked you. Queenie’n I were talkin’ after you left New York—right after you left, only two or three days—I said somethin’ about how much Poppa woulda loved talkin’ to Jacob—he baked, you know. And she said—she said that Momma’n Poppa woulda loved you the minute they saw how you looked at me.”

Newt brushes her arm with the back of his hand, and she turns to smile at him, although it is a sad sort of smile.

She gathers herself a moment later. He thinks that it is not because she is avoiding the pain of it, but rather because it is a familiar wound. “What will your father think?” she asks.

“He’s…difficult.”

“You don’t mention him very often in your letters.”

“We hardly see each other. He wishes I lived a more…conventional life. He has since I was a boy.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “I’m used to it, I think.” Her hand grazes his arm. There’s something about her presence that keeps him from shoving away the uncomfortable memories.

“I suppose he also wishes you’d choose a more conventional girl?”

“If he’s going to be so proud of Theseus for his job, he’s hardly entitled to say anything about yours.”

He can hear the smile in her voice. “I doubt he sees it that way.”

“Perhaps you should tie him to an office chair. That worked brilliantly with my brother.”

She laughs. He’s good at making Tina laugh, he thinks, and proud of it.

“My father always thinks he knows what’s best. Perhaps he’ll see that I’m happy, and be glad. Perhaps he’ll only be disappointed that you have no intention of forcing me to take a dull office job at the Ministry. He’s always said that everything that disappoints him about me is…that it would disappoint any potential wife as well, if I ever found someone who would take a magizoologist with no ‘real employment’.”

“Then he’ll have the disappointment of being entirely wrong.” Her voice is firm. Newt catches her hand to briefly slow their walk, and closes the small distance between them. He kisses her hand as she turns to face him. Her eyes are bright and tender and just a touch indignant. For a moment, she looks at him, and he wonders if he understands a bit what Queenie had said about her sister. You need a giver. How it feels to have Tina’s strength and kindness with him.

He’d thought touch might be an adjustment once they finally…and it is, to a degree, but he feels free of judgement, and that makes such a difference. He could pull away or ask for more or less, and she is never anything but curious, gentle, understanding. He hopes he is never anything less to her, either. Figuring out this part of themselves together feels good in ways he hadn’t quite imagined before. He is able to simply be present with her.

They begin to walk again.

“Your potential wife, then?” she asks, repeating his words of a moment ago.

He hadn’t even thought—of course she is. In fact, potential seems terribly unnecessary. “Oh, I—”

But she is smiling and leaning towards him, and her lips touch the corner of his mouth. He stops her before she can pull away, opening his lips over hers and sighing when she responds in kind, their hands tangling between them. They manage to pull away only after several entirely pleasant minutes. She tugs his hand to bring him with her down the path, and after some trying, he convinces his feet to work again, feeling happy and dazed and rather thoroughly kissed.

“My aunt, before she died—she used to say similar things to me. She wanted me to be more…”

“Boring—” Newt says.

As Tina finishes “—ordinary.” She laughs and agrees. “Yes. Less myself.”

Newt has never been fond of this aunt who took the sisters in after their parents died. He doesn’t like the way she treated them, even if he’ll never meet her. “Utter rubbish,” he declares, still holding her hand. He isn’t ready to let go of it yet.

Tina’s voice goes soft. “Why can’t parents love the children they have?”

Her question hangs between them for a moment.“Yours did.”

“They did.”

He looks down. They haven’t spoken about having children, at least not explicitly. But that has not kept him from thinking of it. Tina would be such a wonderful mother. He almost says it aloud, but the last thing she’d written when they’d circled around the subject was that the thought of having children in such uncertain times terrified her. “We would,” he finally says.

She spins to look at him, but she does not seem surprised, and he wonders if her thoughts had taken a similar direction. Her expression is soft as she answers, “Yes, I hope we would.” She gently stops him at the edge of the path, leans forward, and kisses him. He closes his eyes as she pulls away, too lost in sensation to start walking again. Eventually, she tugs at his hand with a beautiful laugh, and they resume their walk.

“Was Theseus a little like your father with you? Before you and I met. Is that where he got…”

“Yes, he was.”

“He wanted you to be less…Newt.”

He laughs. “Yes.”

“He’s learning.”

“I suppose he is.”

“Older siblings. We worry in the wrong way, sometimes. I’m not excusing him, mind you. But I get it, a little, I think.”

“You are just a bit alike. Not too much.”

She laughs. The expression lights her eyes in a way that he thinks will always take his breath away.

“He thinks well of you.”

“And I think well of him. His respect is worth having, you know. He’s a good man.”

“I suppose he is.”

“He’s told me a few stories from when you were little. Did you really keep an entire litter of kittens in your wardrobe for a month without your parents finding out?”

“I did. They were sick and needed a lot of care.”

She grins. “I’m just picturin’ the moment when Theseus found them. How old were you?”

“Eight, perhaps?”

She looks at him fondly. It is impossible to be anything but happy, when she looks at him like that.

“Do you make a habit of asking him for stories about me as a child?”

“Hey, Queenie’s here now. I’m sure she’ll reciprocate.”

He finds he’s delighted at the prospect. “You were stubborn as a child, I’m guessing.”

“A little,” she admits.

“And you were showing signs of magic before you walked.”

“Mmhm.” She tilts her head as though not quite agreeing with that one, but he can guess from her half-smile and faint blush that he’s just about right.

Newt grins. “I never thought I’d be with someone who—with anyone for starters—but with someone who shared anything in common with my brother.”

“Next you’ll tell me you were resolved against Americans.”

“No, that suits me very well. You tend to communicate more bluntly, which I very much prefer. Not that I’d ever thought of it before…”

“I arrested you?”

“Tried to arrest me.”

“Newt Scamander.” He looks at her. “Alright. Tried to arrest you.”

He squeezes her hand, and enjoys how she drifts just a little closer.

“I forgot—I’m supposed to ask you for an autograph.”

“Certainly, love,” he agrees, perplexed but amused. His fans tend to make him uncomfortable, but Tina is a wholehearted exception. “What for?”

“One of my deputies has a sister who’s a fan. The funny thing is, I don’t think he knew that I knew you. What happened two years ago—the details haven’t exactly gotten around. He figured I’d be able to contact you because of Theseus.”

Newt laughs. “Why do I feel as though Theseus would enjoy having that credit?”

“He certainly would.”

“He did offer to, erm, create a meeting, as it were.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wrote yesterday that I wouldn’t—”

“—shut up about me?” she quotes, teasing.

“Yes. He determined who you were rather quickly, you see—I think it was months before Mum put together the auror who’d been in the papers with me and the woman I’d been writing—and he tried to convince me that it would be an easy thing to send me on some errand to New York for his department. Never mind that they denied six travel permit requests before Paris. When I pointed that out, he said that he could just as easily invite you to some meeting in London. I think he was imagining he’d call me into his office and surprise us both.”

“He’s as bad as Queenie,” Tina says, laughing.

“He is,” Newt agrees.

“At least he asked first?” She offers.

“Queenie does have the upper hand in guessing when her meddling might be welcome.”

“You spoke to her when you brought her back, didn’t you? About—about everythin’.”

“Yes. There was time, occasionally, as we travelled.”

“And you spoke about me?”

“Of course.” He looks at her, wondering what brought on the question. “She wanted to know how you were. Whether I thought that you would forgive her. And I wanted to know…”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to know how I could help you be happy.”

She stares at him. He wonders for a moment if he shouldn’t have said it. Then, he sees tears begin to slip down her cheeks, and draws her into his arms. She holds him tightly, shoving her face into his neck. And she begins to cry in earnest.

“Tina.” He rubs her back, and she clings impossibly tighter.

“I—I wasn’t—” she manages. “I wasn’t—for so long.”

“I know.”

“I was so lonely.”

“I know.” He drops a kiss into her hair. For several minutes, they hold each other, and he thinks as he had on Friday that Tina has not had enough of this in her life, particularly in Queenie’s absence. Perhaps he hasn’t either. The relief of someone whose presence and grasp reassures her that it’s alright to let go sometimes.

She laughs through her tears. “You must think I’m crazy, cryin’ so much when I’m so, so happy.”

He begins to stroke her hair. “No. I don’t.” He’s honored that she feels so safe with him.

At last, she lifts her face and swipes away her tears. He patiently thumbs away the ones she’d missed.

“Shall we go home?”

She looks around them. “Let’s walk a little longer?”

“Of course.”

-&-

Tina shushes Newt, laughing under her breath as they tiptoe up the stairs and he slips his hand into hers. They’ve both tugged off their gloves, and his skin is cool and rough and familiar.

“Tina!” a voice calls from below them. They freeze. “How’s your sister?”

“Very happy!” Tina calls back. They’d told the landlady a somewhat-abbreviated version of the somewhat-truth, that Queenie had been away on a trip with her fiance (chaperoned, of course), and that they’d returned to be married.

“You got yourself a fella yet?” she calls.

Newt and Tina look at each other; he, with barely suppressed mirth glistening in his eyes; she, trying to decide whether to be offended at the assumption that she needs a fella, or to give in to the butterflies filling her stomach at the idea of Newt as her fella.

Mrs. Esposito clearly finds an answer in her silence. “Uh huh, I thought so! All those letters I’ve seen you carrying about. I hope it’s not that British friend that Queenie was telling me about? He sounds so odd.”

Newt, pushed beyond his limits of self-control, drops his forehead onto her shoulder from behind her, laughing under his breath.

“Shh,” Tina admonishes, blushing and grinning and nearly laughing despite herself.

Newt uses their joined hands to guide her around to face him, and presses a kiss to her forehead. He is a step below her, and has to lift his head to reach.

She stares, wide-eyed, as he tenderly strokes her cheekbone with his thumb. Covering his hand with hers and leaning into his touch, she tries very hard to keep her voice from wobbling as she calls back, “of course not, Mrs. Esposito.”

Whatever response the landlady gives is lost to her as she grabs Newt’s hand and tugs him the rest of the way up the stairs.

The moment the door has closed behind them, she backs into it, pulling him with her. Their mouths crash together, frantic and a little clumsy, and he slides his hand around her neck to steady them, his fingers shockingly cool beneath her scarf. She cannot get enough. With their bodies pressed together like this, he surrounds her, and there is nothing but Newt’s lips teasing hers apart, and his cold hands and warm body against hers, and his answering whimper when she moans into his mouth.

He slides his hands beneath her coat at her shoulders, shoving until she opens her arms and the coat falls to the ground. She tugs at his until his coat falls, too.

“Tina,” he murmurs, kissing along her jaw.

She hums, holding onto his suit collar lest she float away. He brings his hands back to her neck, and then he stops kissing her for a moment, guiding her to stand more fully so that he can unwind her scarf. Their eyes catch, and her stomach leaps at the sight of his, even though she’s known, for months and months, that he loved her.

She smiles at him, gently taking the scarf from his hands and tossing it onto a small table near the entryway.

He weaves his fingers into the ends of her hair, leaning forward to kiss her again. This kiss is slower, and she basks in the feeling of it, the way that time has stretched out this weekend, the hours and hours of precious time in which to learn each other, to settle into being together.

Newt’s other hand skims down her back, nails just barely making contact over her blouse. Every touch is so much, it’s almost overwhelming. She wraps her arms around his neck, and feels that it is overwhelming in a good way, like laughter or tears that have been held back for far too long. Then, his lips catch on hers, and it is very hard to think of anything at all.

She brings one hand around to tug at his bow tie until the knot slips loose. She pulls at the ends of the tie until it unravels completely, feeling his throat move against the back of her fingers.

His hands are so gentle, roaming across her back, moving through her hair.

She breaks away to kiss his neck, shivering and smiling at the way he hums and melts into the touch. His hand joins hers and yanks his tie out from his collar, then drops it to the floor.

She gets her hands under his jacket, helping him shrug out of that as well. They both laugh when his arms get stuck halfway down the sleeves. He steps back a little to shed his suit jacket properly.

When he returns to her, he cups her face, and seems to be studying her.

“Newt?”

He watches strands of her hair slip through his fingers.

She weaves her hand into his hair.

“I didn’t know what to make of you when we met. Why I—But then we came here and you said you were always alone and I thought maybe, we’re not so different. Not that I wanted you to be. I wasn’t glad that you were…”

She shakes her head.

“But. I think that was the first time I really saw you.”

He looks up into her eyes. His fingertips skim the sensitive skin just beneath her eye.

“Have I said something?”

She smiles tenderly.

“No, no. Of course not. I only—that early?”

“Yes. That early.”

She bites her lip, her gaze bright and happy.

They stumble back into the apartment, kissing with abandon. She starts on the buttons of his vest, her knees weak as he begins to kiss her neck. He gasps against her skin each time her fingers brush his chest.

“Is this alright?” she asks, working her fingers beneath his vest and braces.

“Merlin, yes, Tina.” She feels his tongue brush her neck and whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut as the touch sears through her.

His hands are on her hips, bringing her with him. They fall onto the sofa in a tangle of eager limbs.

For a moment, they simply look at each other. His hands are on her hips, his thumb gently soothing her skin over her blouse. Hers settle on his neck.

“Hi,” she says, fixing a lock of his hair which is sticking out at an odd angle, and feeling not the slightest bit bad for having been the one to make a mess of his hair in the first place.

They are not sitting properly on the sofa at all, but rather turned into each other, with her legs bent and half draped over his.

He surges forward to kiss her once more. His hands leave her, but only to tug off his vest and throw it aside. He skims his lips over her pulse point, and she whispers his name and slides her hands down his chest, searching for more—more of him, more of being so marvelously close.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his lips skimming along her jaw. She tugs his shirt free from his trousers, sliding her hands beneath to map his bare skin and the scars that mark it.

“Yes. Yes.” He combs his fingers through her hair, and then his hands move down her back, and delve beneath her blouse, onto her bare skin.

“Merlin’s beard, that feels wonderful.” He presses his forehead to her temple. She doesn’t know if he means her hands on his back, or his on her back. Wordlessly, she claims his mouth with hers. She feels his fingers tracing every ridge of her spine.

Eventually, their kisses slow, stretching out until they are catching their breath between each one, and then stopping completely. She threads her fingers between his, and he kisses her shoulder through her blouse, and they both laugh, in pleasure and at how they’ve been carried away.

She lifts his hands between them, drawing circles across his knuckles. “I kept noticin’ your hands.”

“My hands?”

“Mm. When we met. I think that’s what I saw first.” She kisses his knuckles, then the back of his fingers. His hand shifts reflexively in hers, and he sighs. “When we were in that cell, and you explained everythin’ to Jacob? You were twistin’ your hands together. Everything cruel and unjust in the world makes you so angry and so kind. And I wanted—I wanted to hold your hands. So much. Even though we were in such a mess, some of which I’d caused.”

Newt strokes her cheekbone with his thumb.

Tina resettles the collar of his shirt, and realizes that the top few buttons are undone. She laughs, hardly remembering when she did that. He leans back, his eyes falling closed.

She sees a mark peeking out from beneath his shirt collar, and reaches beneath the fabric to touch it. He shivers. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t be. ’s nice.”

“This is from when you rescued Teddy.” She recognizes the placement and shape of the scar from the story he’d told her in one of his letters.

He nods, his eyes still peacefully closed. Carefully, she traces the scar, all the way across his chest to the tip of his shoulder.

Newt sighs, his body utterly relaxed under her touch. When she has satisfied herself in learning this particular mark, she turns and tucks herself into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. He holds her to him.

She stretches, and her shirt rides up, leaving his hand in contact with bare skin. “From auror training?” he observes, tracing a ridged mark on her hip.

“Yeah.” She yawns. “Shoulda let a healer fix it instead’a Queenie.”

“I like learning these things.”

“So do I.”

“Supper?”

She turns her face into his neck, her lips skimming across the top of his collarbone. “In a few minutes?”

-&-

“What’re you drawin’ then?” Tina asks, looking up from her book. Their dishes from supper click faintly behind them as the spell she cast washes them and puts them away.

Newt sits up a bit from the arm of the sofa opposite her. He offers her his leather-bound sketchbook, which is open to a page nearly full of pencil drawings. She reaches to take the book from him. Their calves and ankles brush as they shift closer.

The drawings look like texture studies of some sort of pattern, perhaps of feathers. Newt has written in notes among the drawings, noting which patterns belong to each part of the creature’s body.

The tips of his ears redden slightly as he reaches over and turns the page. She is met with a drawing of herself, as she looked on Friday, with her hair curled.

“When did you draw this?”

“That night. I couldn’t sleep until I’d…”

He trails off, and she looks up, smiling, almost teasing. Then she returns to the drawing, tracing her own features to feel the reverence with which they were drawn—the mix of serious study and joyful exuberance.

“You could look through it. If you want to.”

“Oh. Yes. I’d love to.” She glances up at him for a breath, then back down, and carefully opens the worn leather spine more fully, turning back to the beginning. She knows he draws—he’s often mentioned it, even in the first days of their acquaintance, when she asked after sketches she’d found lying about in the case. He’s also sent her a few little drawings as part of his letters. But being invited to peruse a whole sketchbook feels different, somehow.

Teddy looks up at her from that first page, mischief in his eyes, making her smile. She rests the book atop her bent knees and settles in to look, turning the pages slowly. She feels Newt’s gaze on her, and his presence is warm and intimate, with their quiet breaths, and the occasional rustling of clothes.

There are little sketches of landscapes—large and small—plains, trees, rivers, then close-up drawings of creatures, only some of which she recognizes from his book. Sometimes a touch of color has been added in, but most of the pages are pencil or charcoal and ink. A drawing of a sunset or sunrise. Pickett perched on the arm of a chair. The details of various leaves.

He has a keen eye for nature and for creatures in particular, of course, but he is almost equally skilled at noticing the details of the man made, even if those drawings are less frequent. A cobblestone street. The arch of a window. A bustling train station.

She laughs when she turns the page to find a portrait of Theseus, trying to look stern but really almost laughing, and thinks that Newt has captured his brother exactly right.

Newt slides his hand beneath the cuff of her casual trousers and onto her ankle. His skin is rough and warm.

She turns the page to a sketch of Jacob, who looks worn and tired as he sits on a stone wall, his shoulders hunched. Opposite that is a portrait of Queenie, smiling cautiously through tears in her eyes. Tina’s breath catches. She is completely taken with the honesty of his drawing. “This is from when you were with them? A few months ago?” She holds up the page, and Newt nods.

He begins to circle the knob of her ankle with his thumb. She sighs faintly at the pleasure of it, stretching out her toes and rolling her shoulders. Her head goes sort of fuzzy in a nice way as she turns to the next page.

Several pages follow with drawings of various creatures. The niffler sleeping sprawled on Newt’s desk. Harriet, much younger and smaller, nosing at something on the ground. There is precise detail in the creature’s posture—her bent legs and tilted head. Mixed among them she finds texture drawings of fur or feathers—Newt working out how to capture a texture or light.

And among all of that, more portraits of people—some she does not recognize, and some she does. Another sketch of Jacob, and of Theseus. The creature assistant she’d once seen in a magazine, who she now knows as Bunty. Lally.

“That’s Mum,” Newt says of a sketch of an older woman. Tina traces the resemblances between her and her sons, studying the kind, determined expression on her face.

Newt runs a finger up the tendon at the back of her ankle, then down again. He circles his fingers and the very tips of his nails at the base of her calf.

The drawings go briefly out of focus. She could turn her face into the sofa cushions and float for hours as he touches her. A shiver runs up her back and neck, and she would almost feel silly for enjoying such a simple thing so much, yet it feels so good. Her mind is pleasantly clouded and distant, and even as she goes back to the sketchbook and turns the page, she feels as though the whole world has gone soft and still.

She hadn’t had much physical contact with anyone for months and months, not until Queenie returned, and of course these past few days. Perhaps for others it’s easy, natural, ordinary, but to have his hand brushing her skin…It feels…she hadn’t known how much she’d been missing this.

She thinks for a moment to consider how Newt’s reacting, whether anything’s too much. As she does, she sees that his breathing is slow and even and calm, and his shoulders are as slumped with relaxation as hers. Until she’d grasped his hand on the way to the apartment Friday, he had seemed to be holding himself back at the wedding, as though he had to keep his hands at his side or tangled together lest he forget himself and reach for her. Perhaps it is a relief for him as well.

“I have others for work. For the book and such. This one is just for me.”

He switches his hand to her other leg. She’s never known her skin to be quite so sensitive.

“Oh, I also—one moment.” Resting one hand on her knee, he bends suddenly away towards a couple of loose note pages he’d brought up, which now rest on the floor beside the sofa. He brushes them aside and picks up a slim leather-bound book beneath them, bending back to offer it to her.

This book contains older drawings. Tina at the dinner table, her face turned shyly away. Jacob with his ill-fated case of pastries. Queenie laughing, surely at something Jacob had said. Tina and Queenie embracing in the subway. Jacob stepping into the rain. And again, and again, Tina finds her own figure on these pages. In the glittering dress at the speakeasy, and in her pajama shirt and coat at the Ministry, and on the city rooftops, her hair windswept. Sleeping fitfully in a chair at Flamel’s. Pointing her wand with a look of pure determination. Looking back at him as she reached for a portkey back to America.

A dashed together portrait of her on the docks.

“I drew that on the ship, that night,” Newt says.

She traces her own figure. It is drawn with such love. She begins to tear up. “Good tears,” she promises. “They’re beautiful.”

“Are they?”

“Of course.” She finds his hand and squeezes it. A yawn forces its way past her lips.

“Tired?” Newt asks.

“Mm.” She closes the sketchbook gently and smoothes her hand over the soft cover. “And I have work in the morning.”

“We should sleep. I’ll go settle everyone and change.”

She hesitates for a breath. They do this now, don’t they? Share a bed? “Where would you prefer to sleep?”

“Your bed’s more comfortable,” he confesses. She lets out a breath, relieved that he expects to share a bed with her as well, no matter where they are. “I’m used to the menagerie, but Dougal will come get me if there’s trouble.”

She squeezes his hand. “Alright.”

While Newt is changing, she packs her work bag with reports and letters. Friday had been a bit of a whirlwind, with the wedding and all, but she doesn’t intend to work extraordinary hours this week. Not while Newt’s here.

She has only just finished readying herself for bed when Newt reappears.

He climbs into bed first on the side against the wall, and Tina follows, lying on her side facing out towards the room. Even with a little expansion charm, the bed is small, and only a few inches separate them. Newt rests his hand on her hip.

She brushes her hand over his and laughs softly.

“What?” He asks, sounding amused. She feels the pillows shift as he resettles his head.

“I was thinkin’ about you, in this bed two years ago, pretendin’ that you weren’t still wearin’ your vest and bowtie, and that you were gonna go to sleep.”

“I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

She rolls her eyes, grinning. “Of course I noticed.”

“You brought me cocoa.”

“I was checkin’ up on you.”

“Is that why.”

Newt’s hand hovers above her shoulder, and then he begins to trace the seams of her pajama shirt and the lines of her shoulder blade with gentle fingers. Her hum of agreement turns to one of pleasure.

Newt adds, his hand never stilling across her back, “That’s what you wanted to think.”

She shifts a little, and his fingers brush her neck. “Mm. What’s that s’posed’t mean, Mr. Scamander?” She enjoys teasing him with his surname, a little reminder of how they started, and hopes the fact that their bodies are mere inches apart conveys that she means to put no bite into it.

She hears his smile in his voice, and relaxes. “You didn’t have to be kind to me. You wanted to keep an eye on me, but you offered me dinner, and a bed. Your bed.”

“Yes?” she concedes, trying to guess his line of thought.

“In fact, you practically dragged me here. You seem to be making a habit of that.”

“You didn’t seem to mind. And anyway, I did not drag you,” she protests, fighting a smile.

“Mm, true, I was very willing, at least on Friday. That first time I was simply intrigued.”

“You were bein’ very suspicious.”

“So, naturally, you brought me here.”

“To keep an eye on you.”

“But you were…kind.”

“Are you tryin’ to suggest I brought you cocoa because I liked you?”

“I am.”

He runs a single finger down the column of her neck, as light almost as a gust of wind. Then, he threads his hand into her hair and lifts it out of his way, smoothing the strands carefully against the pillow. He returns to tracing light lines out from her neck to her shoulder and back. “Feels nice,” she murmurs eventually, sinking contentedly into the pillows. She can feel him smile, perhaps at the sleepy tenor of her voice.

He skims his knuckles down her spine, and up again, then lightly circles the back of his hand against her back.

They stay like that for several minutes, the only sounds in the room the rustling of fabric and their even breaths. Tina lets her mind drift unhurriedly between the present moment and memories that pull her in. Newt tucking her hair back at the docks. Queenie laughing at dinner the night she returned. Newt’s sad smile as her portkey took her away from London. The excited-anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach as she bought a copy of his book a few days after it came out, so proud of him, so confused and hurt, and wondering what their future held.

“Hey, Newt?”

“Yes?” His fingertips are following the shape of her shoulder blade.

“Why did you think I’d stopped writing?”

“Hm?”

“Last night you asked me how I’d explained the magazine article about you. I mean, what I assumed you were thinkin’.”

“Yes.”

“But I didn’t ask you what you thought. About me.” His hand stills. “Would you tell me?”

The slow touch resumes. “I can try. If you like.”

“You don’t have to if you—”

“—no, I’d—I want to.” She holds her hand out to him, resting it on her hip. He slides his hand into hers a moment later.

“You said in one of your letters that after you saw the magazine article, you put my letters away.” His voice is warm and close.

“I did,” she agrees. He runs his thumb back and forth at the base of her neck. “I couldn’t look at them anymore when I thought…”

“I was the opposite, after you stopped writing. I must’ve read each of your letters a dozen times during those few weeks, trying to understand…” Newt lets out a heavy breath. “At first, I thought you might be upset about what I’d said about aurors.”

“You mentioned in Paris.”

“Mm.” He skims his knuckles across her shoulder, and doesn’t speak for a few moments.

“But you changed your mind?” She asks.

“It was all I could grasp from our letters. But I thought you’d practically agree with me. And you’d known what I’d meant, I hoped.”

“I had.” He runs one finger along her hairline to ease errant strands of her hair behind her shoulder. Then, she feels a few fingertips along her shoulder.

His fingers still once more. “I liked you.”

She smiles.

“And you liked me. I thought.”

“Newt,” she whispers. He briefly presses his forehead into her hair, and kisses her neck. She reaches over her shoulder to touch his hair, then settles her hand back beside her.

One finger taps against her shoulder. “I know you did, obviously. But, then, I wondered.”

“I understand.”

“You seemed to like me. When we sat in the case together. And at the docks when I left. And in your letters I thought…But people don’t like me, you see. Or they—they act like they do, and then…It’s terribly confusing. And you’d felt so different.”

She’s seen the way he seems to curl in on himself around new people. Newt isn’t shy, not really, and he isn’t fearful, but he can be wary, and from the casual way he’s written her stories about school and childhood that made her breath catch in her throat, she can guess where this wariness was learned. She couldn’t bear this story if he wasn’t close, she thinks. At least she can feel in his ease with her that all is well, now.

“Sometimes, I would think perhaps you hadn’t really liked me in the way I…But that couldn’t be right. You hadn’t seemed—you were— The way you were in Paris. I didn’t understand it. You were hurt and angry. But you cared.” He presses his forehead into her neck again, and she reaches her hand back into his hair. His voice is muffled against her hair. “Did I seem very different when you first saw me in Paris? I tried not to be. I wanted to be myself. I wanted you to remember why you’d liked me, before.”

“If I’d needed to be reminded, it would have worked in about two seconds. But I didn’t. I’ve always thought you were extraordinary.”

He resettles on the pillows just enough to speak clearly again, but it seems, cannot help bringing her hand to his lips to kiss. “It took you a few minutes. To develop that opinion of me."

“That’s true.”

“Not too many.”

“Fewer minutes than I admitted to myself, that’s for sure.”

“The thing is, I never thought I’d—I was content with my life before. Then, I met Jacob. And you, and Queenie. And there were these…gaps, where there never had been before. But if you didn’t want—me, there was nothing I could do to—but I hoped. I would say something to you and you would smile, or stare at me. And when we finally spoke, and you looked at me, and took a step closer, I thought…perhaps I’d been right to hope.”

Tina rolls over to face him. Cradling his head between her hands, she studies his damp eyes and trembling smile. And even though his tears have almost begun to fall, he looks relieved and happy. She drags his mouth onto hers. He hums in surprise, but catches on quickly, sliding his hands down to the small of her back to press her closer. She curls one hand into his hair. The kiss becomes deeper, open-mouthed, breathless. She kisses his jaw, his ear, his neck. His hands go slack, and she tugs at his hair, and he whimpers, making her smile. For several minutes she feels only his warm hands and body and their mingling breaths and the spine-tingling good of kissing him.

When they part, he lets out a wordless, rough sort of noise, and chases after her for one last kiss. He threads one hand into her hair and cradles her head, and she wraps an arm around his neck, arching into his touch. He rests his forehead on hers to catch his breath.

“When I read those letters you’d never sent, I wanted so much to look after the man who’d written them. You seemed bewildered, and hurt, and sad.”

He sniffs. “But I’m not, now.”

“No.” Tina is smiling, tearful. “You’re not.” She tucks her face into his chest. That time doesn’t sting anymore, not nearly in the way it used to. It seems that’s true for him, too. It’s becoming simply a part of their story.

“What are you thinking?” he asks. His hands have returned to stroking through her hair.

She curls her fingers into his shirt. “It might sound odd.”

“Mm?”

“I’m not—I don’t always show what I’m feeling. I’m not open like that. Like Queenie or...I’m sorry that meant that you wondered, but, I’m glad you saw eventually.”

“I haven’t wondered since.”

She kisses his chest through his shirt. “People never seem to see how much I care about things. They seem to think that because I’m…I appear strong, so I must not feel…”

He tucks his chin over her head. “I don’t understand how.”

“I know.” She brings her hand down his neck and under the edge of his shirt, and fingering the line of a long-faded scar.

“Tina, do you remember when we met—?”

“Completely forgotten,” she teases.

He nudges her shoulder. “At MACUSA, when we were being interrogated. Do you remember when they found the obscurial that I’d preserved in my case?”

“Yes.”

He plays with one of her hands. “I still remember the look of betrayal on your face. Like everything you’d perhaps begun to think of me had been wrong.” He kisses her wrist. “I wanted you to see me. So badly. I needed you to understand—it didn’t matter so much if you agreed with what I’d done, but I needed you to believe me when I explained why I’d done it.”

“I remember.”

“And you did.”

“I did.”

“You see me, I think. When other people don’t. Or wouldn’t.”

“Yes,” she breathes. She tightens her hand in his shirt and tucks one leg over his, wishing they could stay here forever.

“It was agonizing. That interrogation room and the cell. You were scared and crying and…Merlin it was horrible to watch. I felt…”

“You hate to see anyone in pain. But seeing me in pain hurt even more.”

She feels him nod above her head.

It is scary, she thinks. Making yourself vulnerable to this. And it is good.

He draws light patterns across her back. She sighs happily. His fingers skim up her neck.

“Keep goin’?” she requests.

And so he does. He rubs her back, at first above her shirt, and then beneath it. Sometimes he switches to combing her hair with his fingers.

“I sleep well next to you,” she murmurs, half asleep.

“So do I.”

“I wasn’t sure I would. I’ve shared a room with Queenie or the girls at school for most of my life, but…”

“I wasn’t sure how it would be either. I sleep next to creatures often. But not people. Only during the war, really, and that was—”

“—very different,” she agrees.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Very.” He laughs softly. “I’ve got you.”

She smiles, wondering, as she drifts into sleep, if he, too, is remembering the first time he promised that.

#newtina #newtina fanfiction #my writing #together updates #together #chapter 4 #together chapter 4 #sunday

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27dragons · 1 year ago

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New Year Countdown: Dec 12

Presenting the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur with Jaskier as the unlikely hero Theseus, Geralt as the minotaur, and Yennefer as the disdainful Princess Ariadne.

Dec 12 - Geraskifer - Mythology AU - Pine Cone

“You’re the hero?” the princess demanded. She was beautiful, with stunning violet eyes, but her expression as she looked upon Jaskier was beyond scornful. “Did you even bring a sword?”

“No,” Jaskier said, lifting his chin. “I don’t like killing. And they said we couldn’t have weapons in the Labyrinth, anyway. I brought my lute. Music, they say, soothes the savage breast.”

She looked him over slowly, and he waited for her to yell for the guards. “You’ll get lost and die of hunger before you even make it to the center,” she scoffed. “I’m going with you. Hold this.” She handed him a pine cone that had a bit of string tangled in its scales. She plucked up one end of the string and tied it to the pillar that marked the entrance to the Labyrinth.

“What is it?”

“String,” she said shortly. “Unwind it as we go, and we’ll use it to find our way back out.”

Jaskier looked dubiously at the pine cone, “It doesn’t look very long.”

“It’s magic,” the princess said, rolling her eyes. “It will grow as you unwind it, and it won’t break.”

“Very handy,” Jaskier allowed, and followed her into the famed maze, carefully unwinding the string as he went. True to her word, the amount of string tangled around the pine cone never seemed to shrink, and when he glanced back over his shoulder, it trailed back the way they’d come, an unbroken line.

“I’m Jaskier,” Jaskier introduced himself, if only to break the oppressive silence.

“Yennefer,” she said shortly.

After several more failed attempts at conversation, Jaskier pulled his lute over his shoulder and started composing a ballad about their trek through the dark and damp.

“Will you stop that?” Yennefer snapped while Jaskier was testing a bridge. “I’m trying to listen.”

Jaskier sighed and stilled the strings. As soon as he did, he heard what Yennefer was no doubt listening for: the rumbling snort of an enraged creature.

Footsteps rang out, then, like boots against the stonework floor. Or hooves. “If you have any hidden weapons or ideas about defense, now would be a good time to break them out,” Yennefer told him somewhat tensely.

“Right,” Jaskier said, his voice steady thanks to a dozen years of training it. “Well, here goes--” He strummed a chord and then began picking out the notes of his best, most popular tune, just as the first glimpse of white hair came around the corner.

His first thought was that he hadn’t expected the beast at the center of the Labyrinth to be so beautiful.

He looked like a man, only those snow-white locks and the corner-to-corner black of his eyes giving him away as something more than human. And even as he watched, the black was draining away, the snarl of his lip softening.

“What--” the man rumbled, and then Yennefer stepped between him and Jaskier.

“Geralt,” Yennefer said, reaching out a hand. “Don’t you remember me?”

“What are you doing?” Jaskier whispered furiously between choruses. “Get back!”

But the man -- Geralt? -- paused. He sniffed the air delicately and cocked his head, frowning at the princess. “...Yenn? Is that really you?”

“Geralt!” Yennefer flung herself into Geralt’s slightly bewildered embrace and kissed him with somewhat less decorum than Jaskier generally observed in princesses.

“But how?” Geralt asked. He looked at Jaskier sharply. “You?”

“I think so,” Yennefer said. “All these years, attempting to break the curse, and I never tried music!”

“It is possible,” Jaskier put in, letting the strings finally vibrate out their last notes, “that it’s because this lute was given to me by the Muses, and they told me it was crafted by Apollo himself.”

“Then I owe you a great debt,” Geralt said. He took Jaskier’s hand, and despite the obvious great strength of his grip, his touch was gentle, almost reverent.

“We both do,” Yennefer agreed. “Tell us what you would have of us, and it is yours.”

Jaskier looked at the two of them, beautiful enough to have been blessed by the gods, and knew he could never have what he truly desired. That didn't mean he wouldn't try, though. “Well first,” he said instead, “we’ll need to get off this island.”

#my writing #countdown to 2024 #the witcher #geraskifer #greek mythology au

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vallkary · 1 year ago

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Some of the things I really like in writing!

My favoritest things ever in the whole wide world (writing)

When an extremely traumatized character has all of their trauma regularly overlooked and is constantly told “someone else had it worse” and they don’t argue or nothing and just take it

When that some traumatized character snaps and does something big, and it feels like it scars the world itself from how intensely they showed the hurt others have caused them in such a visceral, or physical, way (example; someone setting like. A big, big thing on fire.)

When the people who traumatized the character feel, viscerally feel the hurt tenfold. They are forced to see the purest, ugliest reality that they created. The festering wounds that they refused to treat. They see the torment and torture and they are terrified.

Characters letting out the most guttural scream of pure anguish and rage, trying to hurt the person who hears. The one person who hears lets them. They let them take out their anger and rage because it would destroy them from the inside out if they didn’t. (subject to edits)

Adding onto before. When a character gets so fucking pissed you can like. See heat lines coming off of them. They are so full of rage that the ground quakes where they step. They can and will kill, and you’d be worse off if you got in the way. (subject to edits)

Tragedies. Any kind of tragedy.

When a young character is raised to be a hero, essentially brainwashed into believing they have to be the hero no matter what and get a hero complex. The same people who put them on this pedestal then tear them down and berate them while still bringing them higher. Like Jenga, you keep making the tower of glory and heroism better while simultaneously tormenting the prime spectacle, taking parts of their life and ruining things just to make the pillar higher. They break a child just to prove they can make a hero. And when the tower falls the hero turns into the villain in the eyes of all. The hero suffers for a fate out of their control. The hero suffers for things that were never their fault in the first place.

The hero is a child. A child that never grew up yet never had a childhood in the first place. And they are tormented and berated and blamed and tortured for the life they did not ask for. And the worst part is, there’s one person there to tell them that no; this isn’t rightful punishment. There’s only one there to tell them that they aren’t the pinnacle of evil for existing. One person… far too busy with their own matters to offer this reassurance to the hero. Their hero, their child that they love so dearly. Their only option is to watch their [son] suffer at the hands of those they call allies, or sometimes even friends.

When a character coming from nothing, perhaps poverty, leaves their 1(one) family or friend (WITH)!! Closure to go on a grand adventure. All contact is cut, (loved one) fears they may never see (character again), until they show up on the news. They see their beloved (character) injured, traumatized, probably on the news for murder, but all they can feel is relief.

Once they are able to reunite, (loved one) is met with a traumatized, marred and maimed version of their love, but they’re happy, they’re so much happier and they’re so much stronger and they’ve learned so much. When their paths part again, (loved one) isn’t worried anymore, their (character) can handle themselves now, they’ve all grown up. And (loved one) is so goddamn proud of (character)

The fucking. Theseus symbolism minus half the things that make Theseus Theseus. The hero gets killed for preforming a heroic duty. They are left to die alone and filthy and disgraced and they are not remembered. IM FROTHING TAT THE MOUTH

#vallkary #vallkary’s writing stuff #writing

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cyberneticlagomorph · 10 months ago

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“I love the things you hate about yourself.” - bccgersvgar

The sound you make is harsh, beyond mechanical. Once a laugh, now a strangled shriek like an animal in a trap looking for any way out, eyes alighting on your own mangled leg and pretending the flesh between your teeth tastes like hope.

You can't look at Angel.

Anger ground against anger and teeth and hatred, turning your other emotions to dust left to blow away in the wind.

You are not a person right now.

In truth, you never were a person, just a doll pretending to have life and love, stumbling through the world like a marionette on broken strings. Your eyes burn with sweat and tears, teeth breaking as you grit them, filling your mouth with butterscotch agony and the acrid iron tang of your own blood.

You can't breathe, air comes in short shallow gasps that leave you dizzy and even more upset as you sink to your knees and cover your head with your hands. The face in the mirror watches back with wide black eyes, full of tears and hate for a body that is and is not yours.

It never was yours.

A toy to be taken apart, to be played with and destroyed, over and over and over until you can't remember what you used to look like.

Ship of Theseus throw yourself against the cliffs and be done, smash their hard work to smithereens so you may truly die.

But that would be a kindness, something you don't get to have.

The face in the mirror does not blink, even as their skin blackens, skin splitting at hidden seams, eyes blooming like horrible blossoms. You watch the world double, triple, a tenfold fractal of rage half blurred by angry tears.

Ugly.

UGLY

You useless ugly thing.

Smooth curves become jagged lines, impossible structures and shapes wrought in writhing bone that tear through flesh before plunging back beneath the surface like ivory whales coming up for air.

You can't stop crying.

Your face is and is not Your Face

It is a mask you've worn a hundred years, 28 years, a year, a day, a second.

It's not real, it's a lie you tell yourself to make everyone worry less, and that's probably why it hurts to look at.

Do you have a real face Jack? Did you ever? Halfhearted mongrel child that you are. Looking at yourself makes you feel sick

sick

SICK

Your stomach hurts, your throat burns from wheezing, whining sobs.

You can't stop crying.

Angel says he loves you.

Hold onto that thread dear Theseus, wrap it tight around fingers and throat and let it pull you home.

Your body melts and melts, the fight pouring out of you as tears and snot until you are nothing but metal and wire and weeping left half curled on the bedroom floor, eyes still locked on the face in the mirror.

Angel says he loves you.

And you say "I know."

#ic #ask games #long post #ask to tag #hazbin hotel //

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jonathankatwhatever · 2 years ago

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Still 12 Apr 2023. Going to the farm tomorrow for the wedding.

I’m finally accepting the shell conception which I remember discussing years ago in great detail, but apparently without sufficient rigor, which means what? Interesting sentence, that.

We described a shell identity before, so why wasn’t that sufficient? What has changed? I’m dramatically farther along in my left handedness. What’s happening now is a shift of the voices so they line up as female. I’ve had a few interesting instances where I suddenly hear that all the voices are becoming female as the male becomes the enactor, the Ares, the Theseus form. Division of labor, yes. And the incorporation of 2. And the alternation of a series. And I//I. That gets back to putting 2 Things together to define the gs space. Interlocking the orthogonals.

Are you telling me he’s non-verbal? It would be simpler that way. The math is cleaner: shell 1 I//I to interior 0 and interior 1 I//I to shell 0. Would I have noticed this if not shifted to right? That shift created a mixture of perspectives, and a lot of that was using the left’s cooperativeness to make it subservient to neglected to being an object of shame.

You’re right that it’s liberating as fear dissipates.

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i-choose-the-danger · 2 years ago

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Brothers After All

It's finally finished! I fell in love with The Secrets of Dumbledore the first time I saw it and I couldn't get enough of the dynamic between Newt and Theseus. With this film, we really saw them as brothers. Working together, bonding, so perfect. There are a few FB fics out there from this community, and mostly with Newt, but I rarely see Theseus involved in the fics at all and NEVER as the one teasing his sweet little brother. After the dvd of The Secrets of Dumbledore was released and I saw the deleted scenes, I about lost my whole mind. There is a beautiful scene that takes place with Newt and Theseus in Newt's apartment with the qilin. I was absolutely furious that it was deleted and I need MORE. This fic that I wrote is actually an extension of that very scene. Seeing it is what got the idea brewing in my brain. I just wanted to see Newt and Theseus show some more of that brotherly bond that we finally saw with this recent film. I adore them, I adore Eddie and Callum, and I just hope that you enjoy the fic.

Author's note: The fic starts with a whole write-out of the actual deleted scene itself, dialogue included. I didn't alter a single word of that. If you've not seen the deleted footage, then hopefully I've described it well enough for you to get an idea of it. I wanted to write out what I felt was happening beyond the dialogue. So everything from the beginning up to the line "We are brothers after all, Newt," is taken right from that scene. That belongs to the writers, the director, and the actors. Everything after that is all from my head. If you love it, then please heart it and share it and leave feedback. If you don't like it... then be respectful and keep scrolling. Fic starts below the cut. :)

Newt startled awake. His sensitive ears were well-trained to pick up on even the slightest of cries from his creatures and he knew that he'd heard one of them in distress. He felt completely disoriented and could barely open his eyes in the sunlight. The jolt of pain he felt in his right hand kickstarted a flood of memories to rush back to him - traveling to Kweilin, finding the qilin, the birth of the twins, Credence, the waterfall, the wyvern, that's how he ended up here. Newt had traveled back home with the qilin fawn he was able to save and brought her down into one of the basement habitats that he had prepared for her. He had only laid down for a moment in a hammock. I don't remember falling asleep. How long has it been? What time is it? Ow... Newt bolted upright and looked down at his throbbing hand. He'd poorly bandaged his injury before laying down and blood was starting to seep through the material.

Newt looked around the bamboo clusters of the habitat and realized he was alone. He was still disoriented due to lack of sleep, but his worry for the qilin was all he needed to help him focus. As he made his way closer to the steps leading up to his apartment, Newt heard the qilin again along with a noise that sounded familiar but was one he couldn't yet identify. By the time he'd climbed the stairs to the hallway, he heard someone speaking and started to panic that the qilin was in danger until he peeked around the corner to see his own brother sitting on the bed. Theseus was cradling the fawn in his arms and rocking her like a parent would to soothe an infant child.

"Alright, alright. Huh? Alright. Hmm?" Theseus clicked his tongue calmly and continued to rock the qilin in his arms. Feeling that he was being watched, he glanced up to see a very confused and disheveled Newt staring at him from the hallway. "I don't know what got into her. I thought I had gotten her good and settled and then... Hmm?" He looked over his little brother and took note of the bloody bandages around his injured hand. "That's a nasty scrape then. And by the looks of it, it needs changing." Newt didn't even respond, still trying to process the scene before him. Theseus cradled the qilin more firmly in his arms to keep his balance as he stood. "Alright, alright, alright, hmm?"

"So, in my case..." Newt finally stepped into the room, realizing that he wouldn't be able to argue against Theseus redressing his wound. "Next to the dittany, there's a blue bottle with some crushed yerba leaves." Newt practically collapsed his achy body into a chair and watched his brother lay the qilin down on a folded blanket at the foot of his bed. A flash of green caught his eye and he turned his head to see Pickett resting on the arm of the small rust-colored sofa beside his chair. "Pick, morning. You alright?" The bowtruckle cooed and chirped in response, holding up a matching bandaged hand and wrist, and looked over at the other man who was carrying Newt's suitcase to a nearby end table. Newt felt a twinge of anxiety as Theseus eyed him. Any second now, he expected a lecture on danger and responsibility and secrets.

"You know, I was trying to recall the last time that I was here." Theseus opened the suitcase and peered down into a seemingly endless length of shelves inside a wooden shed. It reminded him of the shed their father had when they were children. He bent over and ducked his head into the case to reach the bottle of herbs that Newt needed. It was right where Newt said it would be, and thankfully on a shelf near the top. "Let's take a look, shall we?" he asked after grabbing a roll of bandages with some tape and locking the case closed. With a flick of his wand, Theseus opened the curtains to the single window beside the bed, allowing the room to be flooded with enough light for him to see better. The qilin trilled happily as a few stray sunbeams bathed her in their warmth. Theseus knelt down beside Newt and carefully unwrapped the bandages that were haphazardly woven around his hand. He didn't know what had caused the wound, but it looked angry. He couldn't imagine how painful it must've been or how his brother wasn't even showing a reaction to the pain. "Well that's coming along brilliantly, huh?" he joked. Newt huffed nervously and looked away. Theseus unraveled the rest of the blood-soaked bandage and placed it on the end table in a small pile. "Do you want the leaves here?" he asked, shaking the bottle a little before pulling the stopper from it with his teeth. Newt only nodded, still looking away. Theseus took a firm grip of his brother's hand and peppered the contents of the bottle over the wound. It made an awful searing sound as the skin smoked and healed. Theseus could feel his brother's hand shake in pain. "Enough?" He didn't want to let go until he felt the hand stopped shaking. Or was it his own hand that was shaking now?

"Mmhmm. Yeah." Newt tried to keep his voice calm, but his hand was throbbing as the powder dissolved through his wound. It only took a moment or two for the pain to subside as he watched his skin knit itself back together and his brother start to wrap his hand with a clean bandage. "So exactly how is it that you came to be here?" Theseus had never been one to visit Newt unannounced, or at all really. This visit definitely had a purpose.

"Dumbledore suggested that I pop by and look in on you. Very mysterious about it too. I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what you two are up to, huh?" He reached over to the end table to grab the roll of tape and waited for an answer that never came. "No, of course you don't."

"Well, you know how Dumbledore is..." Newt mumbled. He still didn't want to look up at his brother. He had seen what he called Theseus’s ‘disappointment face’ more than enough.

"Full of secrets... like you," Theseus replied, looking directly at Newt. He taped up the edge of the bandage to keep it from unraveling. Pickett tried to get his attention to get a new bandage for himself as well, but Theseus was too preoccupied with what his brother had gotten himself into to realize it. "She's a qilin isn't she?"

"No, she's not." Newt was definitely too quick and unconvincing with his response. He couldn't say the words to his brother's face either, which made the statement even less convincing.

"I believe she is.”

"She's not."

"She is." Theseus smirked out of frustration. He knew he was right but couldn't figure out why Newt wasn't telling the truth.

"She's n-..." Newt just couldn't do it. He couldn't lie to his own brother. He finally looked up and locked eyes with Theseus, almost frightened of what would happen once he admitted the truth. A sigh. "She is," left his lips in a choked whisper.

"She is. What are you doing with a qilin, Newt? Hmm? Or is she another one of your secrets?" Theseus shook his head. He couldn't believe that Newt brought a qilin back to his home. Actually, he could, but he couldn't figure out why he would want to do something this dangerous given the upcoming election and Grindelwald still on the loose and most likely trying to rig it in some way.

"Yes, and you mustn't tell anyone that you've seen her." Newt could feel his heart pounding. This was not a conversation that he wanted to have right now. "I'm quite serious, Theseus."

"Alright." Theseus shrugged and stayed knelt in front of Newt, unsure of how to respond to this information.

"Just out of interest, how did you get her to settle?" Newt asked, pointing towards the fawn.

"I uh..." Theseus peered over his shoulder and back at Newt. He didn't expect the question but lying about what he did would be pointless. "I sang to her."

"Y-, but wh-, sa-, excuse me?" Newt was convinced that he was overtired, or that he'd hit his head too hard when he hit the water after falling from the cliff in China, or that maybe Theseus had misspoke. There was no way that he had correctly heard what his brother just said.

"You know that song that Mum used to sing? The one about the muggle that fell down a well?" Theseus cringed. Newt was staring wide-eyed at him as if he'd just grown an extra head. Maybe it had been too long and Newt couldn't remember the song. So he started to sing. "There was an old muggle who fell down a well..." He waited. A moment later, he watched the realization show on Newt's face.

"But along came a witch who did do him a spell," Newt sang back. And then both men continued in unison.

"When the muggle awoke he said dear woman do tell, is it Heaven I'm in or have I gone straight to-"

A loud trill from the qilin interrupted the melody and Theseus turned around to see what had happened. The fawn seemed very enthused by the tune.

"Come to think of it, that might have been one of Dad's old drinking songs," Theseus offered, trying to diffuse the moment.

"Oh that's remarkable!" Newt sat up straight in the chair and watched the fawn continue to happily roll around on the blanket. "See, they rarely consent to human contact, you know. Unless they sense an affinity, and-"

"And she senses an affinity with you, does she?" Theseus interjected, looking back at his brother.

"Yes." Newt bit his lip and looked back between Theseus and the qilin, settling on looking at his brother and giving a stern stare to say that he was proud of having such a bond.

"Well, there you have it. We are brothers after all, Newt." Theseus went silent and tried to take in everything that had just happened. He still didn't know where Newt had been, how he got injured, what he was doing with a qilin, or what crazy scheme Dumbledore had roped him into carrying out. His little brother was far too trusting and it worried him.

"I didn't know you were questioning it." Newt pushed his elbows against the armrests of the chair and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking down at his lap.

"Truth be told, I was beginning to wonder." Theseus glanced back at the fawn again and quirked a brow. Pickett made a small chirp and tapped gently at the elder brother's arm. Theseus turned back around and looked over the little bowtruckle, who was holding out its bandaged wrist. Newt had done his best to wrap it, but having only one uninjured hand himself it needed to be redone. Theseus didn't mind. He missed being able to take care of his little brother. "Hmm," he sighed, carefully ripping a thin strip off of another clean bandage. "Is there any creature you don't have some kind of affinity with?"

"I believe anyone can have that with any creature if they had the knowledge and desire to understand them better and were trustworthy." Newt dropped his hands onto his lap and brushed his thumb over the bandages across his opposite palm, holding the hand tighter as the touch stung. He kept his head down, but his eyes stayed focused on his brother and Pickett. Theseus was concentrating on rewrapping the bowtruckle's wrist as gently as possible without causing further discomfort. "Pickett trusts you. That says a lot. He wouldn't let just anyone near him."

"Contrary to what you may have thought, I do pay attention to what you do, Newt. There you go, little man." Pickett expressed a few small chirps as Theseus tied off the end of the bandage around his twiggy wrist. "I always have," he added quietly, looking back at his brother.

"You've never actually shown an interest til now, though." Newt's reply was soft, said more aloud to himself than with a purpose for Theseus to hear it. His boots scuffed against each other as his anxiety made his legs too restless to stay still, the scraping sound being the only thing cutting through the awkward silence that had now taken over the room.

"Now that I think of it," Theseus noted as he stood and stretched his legs. He grabbed the bottle of medicinal leaves and the roll of bandages before turning to take them back to Newt's suitcase. "I remember only one creature you ever truly disliked."

"Hmm?" Newt's brow furrowed. There were creatures that frightened him as they were fierce and dangerous, ones that tested his patience like his young nifflers, even ones that perplexed him as he'd not yet studied them enough to fully understand them... but he couldn't think of a single creature he'd ever come across that he outright disliked, unless some humans counted. "What do you mean?"

"It was when you were little," Theseus muttered before pulling his head back out of the suitcase and closing its locks. He stared at the floor for a moment and huffed a laugh to himself at childhood memories that were coming to him. He noticed the confused expression Newt wore as he walked back towards him. "You used to run from it all the time. I guess I wouldn't really call it a creature." He stood in front of Newt and smirked. With a hushed tone and clawed hands lazily held in front of himself, he added, "It was more of a monster."

"Oh no." Newt shuddered and sunk back into his chair as far as he could. That last word clued him in to exactly what Theseus was talking about. The qilin was staring back and forth between the brothers, obviously sensing Newt's tension.

"Ahh, you do remember now, don't you?" Theseus asked. He strutted around behind Newt and rested folded arms over the back of Newt's chair, which startled the man sitting in it. "Why so jumpy?" Pickett squeaked out what sounded to Theseus like an inquisitive uh-oh, not that he understood bowtruckle language.

"I'm not." Newt hugged his left arm around his waist and clamped its hand under his right arm. "That doesn't bother me anymore."

"I remember that one time Mum asked you to clear the horklumps out of her garden." Theseus shook his head, sighing as he looked to the ceiling. "For whatever reason, you brought them into our room."

"She wanted me to feed them to the gnomes," Newt interjected.

"But you just had to-" Theseus shrugged a hand up in agitation trying to find the right words "-be you. Their little bristles were everywhere."

"I was studying them. They sprout so quickly. I was curious how they grew." Newt hugged his waist a bit tighter and sunk lower in his chair remembering how the rest of this story unfolded.

"Everywhere, Newt! I was so frustrated that I didn't know what to do with you."

"I think you overreacted." Newt kept looking from side to side, all of a sudden sensing that his brother was about to do something he'd not done since they were children and he was far too exhausted to defend himself. "You came home early and I didn't have the chance to clean everything up."

"Oh, so it’s my fault, was it? You were so quick. I chased you through every room and you almost got away. Mum could hear your giggling from the other side of the house, especially when I got you right here." Theseus's hands darted out around the sides of the chair and gave one quick squeeze to Newt's ribs.

"Oi!" Newt practically jumped out of his own skin. A forced smile was tugging at his lips.

"Now you've lied to me twice in one day," Theseus pointed out, slightly amused. The qilin was now standing up on all fours and eyeing both brothers cautiously. Pickett chirped at Theseus and hid his small eyes behind a tangle of twiggy fingers. "Once again, I find myself so frustrated that I don't know what to do with you."

"Theseus, don't." Newt's warning would have been taken more seriously if it hadn't been coupled with a small hiccup of nervous laughter.

"Don't what?"

"Tic-hmmph." Newt immediately pursed his lips as he caught himself about to be tricked into asking for something he really didn't want.

"Not falling for that anymore, huh?" Theseus sighed and shrugged. "Oh well." His hands snaked around the chair again and latched onto his brother's sides, fingers wiggling in between ribs.

"Ahaha, no! Theseus, ple-he-he-he-hease." Newt could barely string two thoughts together as he squirmed in his chair trying to block his brother's hands. He summoned whatever energy he could to keep from laughing. He heard the qilin cooing from the other side of the room. "This is ridi-hi-hi-hiculous. You're going to get her riled up again!"

"I don't know about that." Theseus looked up at the qilin, who was comfortably nestled on a folded blanket and sunning herself while watching the brothers. "I think she's pretty well-settled, aren't you, hmm?" he asked. The fawn trilled softly in response and laid down on her side. "See? Perfectly content. I rather think she likes your laughter. And her well-being is your priority, I would say. So technically I'm helping."

Theseus went to poke his brother again, but Newt scrambled out of the chair to try to save what was left of his dignity before he could attack. Newt felt another wave of exhaustion take over after only three steps and needed to steady himself against the arm of the small sofa in front of the fireplace as he slumped onto its seat. Theseus sat beside him and looked him over to make sure he hadn't caused Newt any serious distress.

"Rubbish. You're awful." Newt held his injured hand across his body up near his opposite shoulder and rested against the side of the sofa. A few stray giggles were still escaping him as he tried to catch his breath. "I thought you took an oath as an auror against torture." He cast a sideways glance at his brother.

"True, but I'm not here as an auror on Ministry business. I'm here as a worried older brother who needs to take out his frustrations." Theseus gripped one of Newt's legs just above the knee and gave it a few quick squeezes, causing the magizoologist to squeak and release a frantic string of snorts and giggles. "That spot still gets you when you're tired. So much has changed and yet so much stays the same."

"Thes... Thehehe... Theseus!" Newt had tried to put an authoritative growl in his voice, but it failed to come through as it mixed with the gentle laughter pouring from the sleepy grin he wore. The qilin sat up attentively on Newt's bed, her tail swishing back and forth with excitement as she continued to watch the brothers interact. A moment later, Pickett came toddling across the back of the sofa squeaking happily. The mischievous creature brushed the fingers of its uninjured hand over the nape of Newt's neck. "No! Don't you start!"

"Oh, I forgot all about how you'd squirm if Mum got you there when she'd cut your hair." Theseus reached out and fluttered his fingers across the same spot Pickett had touched, eliciting a snort from his brother whose shoulders were scrunching into his ears. "Besides, a little laughter'll do you some good."

"How is this goo-hoo-hood for ME?!" Newt squealed in response to a hand spidering over his ribs again. Newt brought his knees up and tried to twist himself into a protective ball. "Come on, I'm injured!" he added in between restless laughs as he held his bandaged hand away.

"They say laughter is the best medicine, don't they?" Theseus joked, continuing to poke around his brother's ribs.

"Theseus-s-s-s-s, this isn't funny! Merlin's be-he-he-heeeard!" Newt's voice had gone hoarse from laughter. He was in a fetal position, his reddened face buried in his arms over the arms of the sofa. His nerves were already over-sensitive due to his exhaustion, but the constant scratching and poking and wriggling against his most ticklish spots was quickly diminishing his sanity. "I can't. No more."

"Alright, I think you've had enough." Theseus sat against the other arm of the sofa and held his hands up to let Newt know he was stopping his torture. "You're completely knackered. Get yourself cleaned up and get some proper sleep in your bed for a bit instead of downstairs."

"But I have to meet with Dumbledore to-"

"Sleep, Newt. And then we can go see Dumbledore. I'll tell him we'll be a while."

"We?" Newt sat up properly and rubbed the heel of his uninjured hand over each eye to clear away the tears from laughing and to rid them of the sleepiness he was feeling. "I don't understand."

"He asked me to check on you... and then go back with you to talk to him about whatever it is that involves her I imagine."

"But what about-"

"I'll stay here. I don't mind watching her," Theseus explained before Newt could protest further. He stood and pointed in the direction of Newt's bathroom with the sternest expression he could muster. "Now, go. Get out of those muddy clothes, clean up, and get some sleep... or we can go for round two."

"No! No, no. Alright." Newt realized that he was defeated in this argument. He was far too tired to argue and knew that Theseus was right anyway. There was also no way he would live through another round of tickling. With what little energy Newt could summon, he pushed himself up from the sofa and shuffled past his brother towards the bathroom. "Thank you," he mumbled quietly, before shutting the bathroom door behind him. About twenty or so minutes later, he re-entered the room in a pair of blue, white, and tan striped pajama bottoms and a matching buttoned shirt. He was no longer caked in dirt, but bruising on his face, collarbone, and feet were starting to show against his pale freckled skin. Theseus was standing by the window looking out at the street below and pulling the curtain closed. "I don't need to sleep long," Newt announced. The statement was far less convincing than intended due to the massive yawn that accompanied it.

"If not for yourself, do it for her. You can't take proper care of her if you don't take care of yourself first. Honestly, you don't always have to take the difficult route, you know."

"Sleeping is the difficult route," Newt said amid a heavy yawn. He slid under the blankets on his bed, careful not to push against the qilin who was still sitting at the bottom of it. Newt slowly turned onto his side and dropped his head onto his pillow with yet another yawn.

"Now don't worry about her," Theseus assured. He grabbed the newspaper from the end table and folded it down to stick into the pocket of his jacket he'd thrown over the arm of the sofa. "I can take her downstairs to wherever you had her roaming around so you can get some peace and quiet, hmm?" Theseus waited for a response but heard nothing. "Newt?" He looked over his shoulder, letting out a sigh as his eyes fell to Newt. The magizoologist had fallen fast asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Theseus would have picked up the qilin and left the room, but she was already nestled up against Newt's hip and yawning herself. "Or I could just sit right here and babysit you both to make sure you get some sleep," Theseus added to himself. He yanked the newspaper free from his jacket pocket and carefully unfolded it before sitting down on the sofa. Noticing the qilin cuddle herself further against Newt, he took up his wand from the other arm of the couch and flicked his wrist while aiming it at the fireplace. A small flame grew and flickered over the logs. The room began to warm up in its glow almost immediately. Pickett hopped down onto the seat beside Theseus and held his hands out toward the fire to warm himself. The young bowtruckle voiced a few chirps and squeaks. "You can say that again, little man," Theseus replied, not even knowing what was said. He sighed and opened his newspaper, settling in to watch over his little brother.

#fanfic #Fantastic Beasts #The Secrets of Dumbledore #Newt Scamander #Theseus Scamander #deleted scene #ticklish!newt #the Scamander brothers #sorry this fic took so long #covid brain is no joke

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slytherinsnekxvii · 3 years ago

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let's talk about lily evans and the marauders, aka moony, wormtail, padfoot and prongs. given that i didn't use their actual names, i think you can figure out where this is going. it's also long as hell, so. canon vs fanon, marauder edition, except snek is sleep deprived.

now, before we begin, i don't dislike the marauders. or lily, tbh. if I'm being perfectly, genuinely honest, i still go back and forth sometimes but they've been growing on me for a while now. the canon versions, at least. fanon does them real dirty, and that's part of why i'm writing this, because i'm genuinely tired of it. it's an injustice.

you can at least make excuses for james and lily, who were so undeveloped that jkr practically dropped a fill-in-the-blank sheet of character information in our laps, but sirius, remus and peter were around long enough for y'all to get real acquainted with them.

in canon, sirius black is an unhinged mf. genuinely. this isn't to say he's a bad guy, in fact, we see that he's still capable of doing good things, still capable of love, still capable of all the things that prove he's actually not bad at heart, just,,, severely traumatised and very steeped in negativity from his time with the dementors. what i'm saying is that this man is absolutely, no questions asked, no holds barred demented, and how could he not be? the guy sat wrongfully imprisoned in azkaban for twelve years, a good portion of which he spent as a dog in order to protect himself from the dementors. he certainly wasn't completely insane, but you cannot tell me that he was all there. he got out of azkaban fuelled almost solely by the intent to get revenge on pettigrew, tried to commit murder in front of three witnesses who were also children—one of whom was his godson—ate rats and was also malnourished, which i'm certain did not help the situation any. this man is off his goddamn rocker, and you know what? you love to see it. good for him.

oh, but, snek, that's what he's like as an adult. what about when they were at school? before azkaban? my guy, the reaction he has to grimmauld place is not the reaction of someone without trauma. i don't believe that walburga and orion were the type to physically abuse their children, but whatever happened in that house helped to fuck him up enough that he skipped the joke of part of practical joke, and pranked snape by telling him how to meet a werewolf that he knew would be fully transformed and dangerous to humans. more than that, the werewolf was remus, whom he's friends with, and who—best case scenario—would be facing a trial if james hadn't stepped in. you can say that maybe he didn't think about or understand the gravitas of his actions, but at the end of it, that's not how properly sane people react to people they dislike, and that's not how they treat their friends. if anything, it reads like he was in the middle of a breakdown and absolutely losing his shit and he wasn't thinking at all.

my guy went through some serious shit, and was in no way completely mentally stable. we can see pretty clearly that he's got a serious dark side to him that probably would have gone unbridled had he not disagreed with his family, and yet, fanon took one look at him and went, "teehee, uwu bad boi go vroom."

fanon said padfoot is a pretty boy with nice hair who is tastefully traumatised from his horribly abusive household. sirius rides his motorcycle and plays jokes and flirts with anything that moves, but he can do no real wrong and always comes back to his soft, bookish, chocolate-loving boyfriend remus, who will laugh about his lycanthropy and quietly disapprove but secretly laugh at his friends' antics while hiding his smile in his cardigan.

respectfully, what in the absolute fuck.

i'd put that meme in here if i could, the one that's like, "well done, you've broken _______ down to its bare essentials," but no. i can't bc it doesn't even apply. this isn't a meme, it's theseus' fucking ship.

fanon broke it down, and replaced the pieces one by one until we got to this point, where we need to sit down and ask ourselves, "is this even the same character?"

the answer is no, by the way. it isn't. when people talk about woobifying characters—you know, taking away every flaw they have, romanticising everything they do and making them only capable of doing good, wonderful, lovely things?—this is what we mean.

and it'd be one thing if it was just the one character, but, no. fanon went all in and made them all squeaky clean and boring, especially peter, who draws the shortest of the straws.

remus got fucked, too. not just because fanon insists on sticking him into a relationship with sirius. which, we'll tackle wolfstar in a bit, but that's not even the worst of it. here, we have yet another example of blatant, rampant woobifying. again, is he a bad person? no. we know he's a good guy, we know he's generally kind and well-mannered, we know that he wants to fo the right thing but hey, fun fact. did you know that you can be nice and a coward? did you know that you can be benevolent and good and kindly and have the greatest of intentions and still be shady as fuck? no? ask dumbledore. the man played people like chess pieces when he needed to, and he was a twinkly grandpa. these are things that can coexist.

teenage remus is a coward who, understandably, does not stand up to his friends, likely for fear of being ostracised, and doesn't uphold his prefect duties as he should and takes part in their bullying of snape as a result. he lets them romp with him in werewolf form while they are in their animagus forms and then, he lets them continue to do so even after they have multiple close calls, which, again, had anything happened, would have resulted in a trial in the best case scenario.

grownup remus is still a coward, he tells no one that sirius can move about the school in his animagus form despite wholeheartedly believing that he's a mass murderer, he tries to run out on his wife and unborn kid. he isn't deliberately making attempts to harm anyone, but he's content to sit back and let things happen to him and around him so he doesn't rock the boat, although he is capable of action, which we see when he is more than willing to help sirius merk pettigrew in the shack. he can be careless, he runs out to the shack knowing he hasn't taken his wolfsbane and ends up transforming in front of the students he, as a teacher, is meant to be protecting. of course, this doesn't negate his good qualities, it just bears repeating that his flaws do exist, and they're pretty serious.

fanon moony is always pleasant and kind and soft-spoken and bookish, and he always has to have his chocolate. he knows when to tell off his friends, and he'll do it, even if he's secretly amused by everything they do and laughs about it with his best friend, lily evans, who coincidentally spends all her time with them so he and sirius can go on double dates with james and lily and no one has to remember peter exists.

why. theseus' ship 2.0. does the actual character still exist or is this something entirely different thing bearing the same name?

as for peter, who needs peter pettigrew, the actual, legitimate, fourth marauder when you have lily evans? canon pettigrew is opportunistic as fuck. he's latching himself to the biggest bad on the block and he's going all in. for teenage peter, that was james and sirius, and for adult peter, that's voldemort. canon peter is good enough at transfiguration to master the animagus transformation, just like his friends, and he's good enough at potions to brew the potion that gives voldemort a body. and honestly, you can't say he wasn't brave. he could've run off somewhere and died, or changed his identity or something after he faked his death and framed sirius, but, no. he goes and resurrects voldemort. that's fucked up, yeah, but it happened and honestly, i respect that it. he stuck to his guns.

fanon wormtail is lucky if he exists beyond being a spineless sycophant for james and sirius, or an evil conniving little rat who's looking to toss his entire friend group to the wolves at eleven.

of course, this isn't meant to negate his bad qualities, he still murdered people and framed sirius and sold out the potters to die, but his good characteristics do exist, and james, sirius and remus genuinely were his friends.

and now, we get to lily and james.

we have hardly any information on either of them. they're a pair of cardboard cutouts that we can paint and stick flyers to and colour outside the lines however we want. we can do whatever the fuck, as long lily is brave and smart and somewhat kind and james is brave and willing to die for his family. we were essentially handed a pair of ocs.

and yet.

what little bits of canon we have are thrown out of the window regardless.

james is privileged and rich, and he throws hexes for fun. he's willing to hex lily when she disagrees with him, and then, he goes behind her back to continue hexing snape after she believes that he's stopped doing so. and that's all we know about him until he dies for his family at twenty-one years old. once again, say it with me: this does not negate his good qualities. he definitely had them, he took sirius in when sirius ran away from home, he became an animagus to keep remus company as a wolf, and he saved snape in the shack, thereby saving remus and sirius by extension. him having flaws does not make him a bad person.

fanon prongs is a feminist. he fights for equal rights for women everywhere, and he constantly treats his girlfriend, lily, like an absolute queen. he's the hottest boy in school and everyone claps when he walks through the halls. mcgonagall and dumbledore are always patting him on the back and making jokes with him. he has a built-in dark detector that helps him sense when someone is a evil and needs to he punished.

give me a break. the dude's cool and all, but was the gary stu treatment necessary?

...oh, he needed to match fanon lily? right, right.

canon lily is a contradiction unto herself. she's supposedly a great friend, but since we see her at a point where they were already drifting apart, we see her putting little effort into keeping their friendship afloat. she victim blames based on rumours, she doesn't seem to care over much about what snape has to say about the people who have been tormenting him since day one. and she's justified, of course, she doesn't have to stick around. canon lily is a bit of hypocrite, she says that snape calls everyone of her birth mudblood, but then that begs the question why she still hangs around with him if that's the case. he calls her mudblood, she retaliates by calling him snivellus, and finishes up with a dig about his underwear, which, sure, it's kicking a man with a rusty spoon and pouring salt in the wound, but she's, again, justified. i get where she was coming from. and then, of course, she dies for her kid after marrying the guy who relentlessly bullied her quote-unquote best friend for their entire school careers. but, like i said, canon lily is, in many ways, a contradiction.

lily is basically a plot device. she pushes everyone's narrative but her own, and does little else.

of course, this trend would continue in fanon. fanon lily exists to be the perfect girl who gets really angry over the slightest injustice, and of course, she gets to be one half of one of the oldest enemies-to-lovers "it was just sexual tension" cliche pairings in the book. she's just,,, a mary sue. in so many fics, so many headcanons, she's just pettigrew's stand-in, a girl to form a gang with marlene, mary and dorcas—who happen to be more undeveloped ocs who also get the woobify mary sue treatment—to parallel the marauders. there is nothing compelling about her character when she's presented as a saint, and even less when she's supposedly the other moral compass for the marauders that doesn't actually work because she thinks that james is cute.

and this brings me to the next topic. jily. what, why, how. this was supposed to be a healthy, happy relationship that would have lasted in the long run? absolutely not. even for its time, i can't say that i see it lasting.

first of all, jkr presents james' crush on lily as just that: a crush. a mildly obsessive one, but a crush nonetheless, which she tries to liken to the pulling of pigtails. and then, we see that james' way of getting her to go out with him consists of blackmail, and when that doesn't work, he resorts to threatening her. this could have been set aside if he had actually, genuinely changed when they started spending more time together, but as we're told by sirius and remus, he didn't. he just got better at hiding what he was up to. and it has to be that he hid it, because if she knew, this further damages the character that she's set up to have and paints her out to be either unable to stand up to him or an enabler.

regardless, they get married. and while i have trouble believing that it was out of genuine love, there are scenarios that could make some semblance of sense. it's wartime, after all, and maybe lily is worried about her stability in the wizarding world, so why not marry into an established family whose son is already showing interest? or perhaps, she falls into the trap of every bad boy cliche ever, and she thinks to herself, well, i got him to be better then, maybe i can get him to do even better in the future. or maybe, she doesn't get into a relationship with him immediately and sees him on and off, until eventually, she accidentally gets pregnant and they scramble to have a shotgun wedding so as not to leave lily alone at nineteen with a baby. or maybe they marry each other because they're there and sure, neither of then is ready and they don't know what love even is but what else is there to do when there's a dark lord about? anyways, the point is, they get married.

and then what? if we count pottermore into canon, he goes on to further damage her relationship with petunia and vernon, to the point where she ends up crying. if we don't, she fades into the background enough that nobody has anything to say about her. she's harry's mum, she's james' wife, lily potter, she was kind and smart and brave and that's it. her agency is gone, anything else we have of her personality is gone.

jily just,,, wasn't built to last. and, yeah, this,,, this is a hill i'll die on.

same with wolfstar, honestly. there are so many reasons why it wouldn't work, but fanon has made it so fucking prevalent that it's literally everywhere no matter where you look.

first of all, i've said it before and i'll say it again. sirius is more likely to get with james that he is to ever end up in a relationship with remus. their chemistry is just,,, underdeveloped. net zero for a relationship.

secondly, sirius instigated the werewolf prank, and lupin would have paid the price for it. this could have been overlooked, but he doesn't seem the slightest bit guilty about any of it when it's brought up in poa. he could have been responsible for lupin losing the security of his place at hogwarts in the best case scenario, and in the worst case, his life. and he seems to look forward to full moons, even though they clearly aren't pleasant for remus, which,,, yeah, you're going to have fun, but like, maybe be concerned about the fact that your friend undergoes excruciating pain and it isn't a pleasant time for him? read the room, my g.

thirdly, they don't trust each other as much as fanon seems to think they do. they were both willing to believe each other the traitor before ever suspecting pettigrew. sirius thought remus gave away the potters, hell, he thought remus was a spy for voldemort, and remus was convinced that sirius was a mass murderer. neither of them needed to be convinced.

fourthly, maybe i'm reading too much into it, but like. sirius had money. remus had no money, since, yk, he was a werewolf and struggling for cash and still, sirius,,, did not leave him any money. i feel like if you had money to spare, you would give to your friend who is literally poor. but, again, maybe i'm reading too much into it and this isn't as valid a point as i think it is.

and ehh, the fifth reason is that it's,,, actually very much not the representation for the ltgbt community that fanon says it is but y'all aren't ready for that conversation.

anyways, just,,, even when you set the couple shit aside, the power dynamics between everyone here is fucked. like, james and sirius are clearly at the top of food chain calling the shots and egging each other on. then there's lily, who isn't even a marauder, but is always ever-so-slightly above remus but still not on their level, because, well. neither of them actually listen to her. remus is the novelty friend, the friend who's,,, alright, i guess, but you keep them around specifically because they're funny or they can dance or they have something that you can either show off to other people or keep as your little inside joke, your little secret, yk? and peter is just sort of there. like, yeah, he can do what we can but does that make him as good as we are? no. does he have a funny little something about him that we can exploit? nah. therefore he sits at the bottom. and like, yeah, james and sirius are on the same level, but james is yanking sirius' chain, not the other way around. anyways, like i said. power dynamic's fucked and it bothers me that we were given all of this, and fanon decided to take it all and throw it away so they could give us flamboyant!badboi!sirius black x softboi!motherhen!remus lupin going on double dates with feminist!trustfundbaby!james potter and saint!lily evans while ignoring peter pettiwho?

theseus' fucking ship, indeed.

anyways, this needed to be said. it might not make as much sense as i want it to, considering it's 4:12 in the morning as i'm posting this, after taking a break from writing to do some research and coming across way too much content about fanon marauders, but it's here and it still makes enough sense that you can read it and understand what i mean. and like, at the end of the day, you can go ahead and headcanon whatever you please, you can write fic and make art and do whatever you like, just,,, remember that they're exactly that. headcanons. stop presenting fanon as canon. please. i'm literally begging. we actually have evidence against it. just,,, acknowledge that they're headcanons and stop putting them forward as though they're able to fit into canon. please.

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technowoah · 3 years ago

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THESEUS - a dsmp story ( DreamSMP x Queen!Reader)

CHAPTER 3: YOU’LL BE BACK TIME WILL TELL, YOU’LL REMEMBER THAT I SERVED YOU WELL.

Chapter Summary: Declarations are written, you and Eret have a talk, finally you make a decision, and Tommy wants to fight someone.

pairing: c!wilbur x queen!reader

an// I hope you guys want more of this story cause I have some more ideas for y/n to go through.

⚠︎ swearing, dsmp spoliers(?), angst, mentions of fighting, not proofread.

word count: 4.0k

part 2 - part 4

"Life. Liberty. And the pursuit of victory." Wilbur finished closing the book with a huff.

You had been listening the whole time. Of course it was good, but you finally figured out what L'Manburg stands for even more. Wilbur made this place because of freedom. They wanted independence from the kingdom itself. It was sort of contradictory at first, You couldn't get your finger on it. All in all it was a beautiful piece of writing and it showed the true feelings of this land.

"What do you think?" Wilbur had gotten up and placed the book in a chest.

He stayed over there by the chest in the corner leaning against said chest while staring at You still sitting at the huge meeting table. You sat there for a good 5 minutes. He had read the book slowly emphasizing the parts which were supposed to hit hard. You had to admit it seemed rushed, but still beautiful.

"It was a beautiful piece!"

"Thank you! I wrote it myself." Wilbur smirked as he sat down on the edge of the table.

"I would've guessed so." You laughed a little. It was still a serious matter to you.

"I'm still curious as to why you are here." Wilbur had spoken out of nowhere. It was completely off topic.

"I'm curious as to why you still have me here." You shot back.

"Touchè" Wilbur thinned his lips as he looked out the van's window.

You followed his line of sight and saw what was happening outside. Tubbo was currently laying down on the grass while Tommy sat by him staring at the door of the van. Eret stood up talking to Tubbo and Fundy was lying on his stomach facing away from the group, but it seems like he was still listening because his fox ears kept perking up when Eret or Tubbo spoke.

It was a long silence before Wilbur spoke again and filled that silence.

"Tommy found a woman to join L'Manburg earlier on, but you were American so we didn't let you in. He didn't like that at all. I'm surprised he hasn't convinced Tubbo to shun you." Wilbur shook his head while laughing.

"So you let me in? Why?" You asked, still serious.

"You're Eret's wife now, also half American. Half." Wilbur explained while making pitching motions with his fingers.

Before You could speak Wilbur started again, "Also I said you intrigued me, you haven't found your place, I assume. L'Manburg might be your home."

You hummed in agreement. He was right, but you weren't going to tell him that. You were in the middle of a debacle all of a sudden. You just wanted to be a citizen of this new kingdom that your close friend was a part of. You felt so small, you felt like you had no purpose. Maybe this is your calling.

You were conflicted. This could be a new home. But then.

Your eyes widened as you stared out of the window looking at Tubbo and Fundy laughing in the grass at what Eret said, and Tommy tapping his fingers on his thigh staring worriedly at the van's door. This can't be youhome. You were a spy. You were going to be queen. This is youplace, not some fake country in the woods. You eventually had to go back to Dream, Sapnap and George. That's your purpose.

"I'll be a part of L'Manburg. I want to become a part of L'Manburg. " You stated strongly, trying to make your facadè stronger.

"What if I say no again?" Wilbur smirked.

"I am going to be a part of L'Manburg. This is my home right" You smugly.

"We'll see after today. I'm going to take this and go outside and read out the Declaration to my fellow L'Manburgians. C'mon." Wilbur walked back over to the chest and took out the book.

Wilbur beckoned You over to the door and they both exited the HTO Van together.

"Oh my gosh! What were you two doing in there?!" Tommy shot up from his seat on the grass and sped walked over to the duo. Fundy was finally sat up by both Tubbo and Eret.

"Having adult conversations, which you know nothing about." Wilbur said laughing.

"Hey! I am a grown adult! At least more grown up than Tubbo over there!" Tommy complained pointing at the other kid.

"Hey we are the same in maturity I like to think!" Tubbo sat up from his spot.

"I haven't been here for long, but Tommy is the least mature person here." You sighed.

"HEY!"

"THANK YOU!"

"Hey children gather around!" Wilbur finally interrupted the meaningless conversation.

Fundy, Eret, Tommy, and Tubbo gathered around Wilbur and You.

"You wanted to know what we two were doing, well." Wilbur brings the book from behind his back into their view.

"This is the new declaration! Gentlemen, I need you all to sign this." Wilbur handed the book to Tubbo first and then passed it around.

They all seemed proud. Their eyes lit up as the book was passed around. You could see Tubbo trying not to flip through the pages, Fundy was over Tubbos shoulder looking at how intricate the book was. Tommy was impatiently waiting while Eret stood calmer to the side.

All of a sudden You heard something around the walls of L'Manburg. It was like a loud rustling of somesort. You quickly scaled the walls with your eyes and found a familiar set of netherite armor and black hair. You saw three other figures in that same area as well. You saw Dream and George and a new face you haven't seen before. He had tufts on blonde hair coming out of his helmet. He looked dangerous.

"Um guys. You have visitors." You said while still looking at the four soldiers over the walls.

"Oh god." Eret whispered.

"Um they are in here. They're in HERE." Tommy said anxiously.

"It's fine they can watch this. I want them to hear." Wilbur said as he beckoned the five of them to the top of the HTO van.

Once they made it all on the top of the van Wilbur faced the four before speaking out in a loud strong voice.

"THE DECLARATION OFINDEPENDANCE

Signed: Wilbur Soot, Tubbo_, TommyInnit, ERET, Fundy

Forever the nation of the DreamSMP have cast great sins upon our great land of the hto dog van. They have robbed us. Imprisoned us. Threatened us. Killed many of our men. This time of tyranny ends with us this book declares that the nation which shall be henceforth known as L'Manberg is seperate, emancipated and independant from the nation of DreamSMP. The union of the masters of men.”

Wilbur began to pace around the area they were all in as he continued the long declaration.

“Together we are one. When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for one to dissolve the bonds which bind us. Disregarding of this truth is nothing short of tyranny. WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS TO BE SELF EVIDENT. THAT ALL _MEN_ ARE CREATED EQUAL The right of the people exists above the right of the king. The right of the government and the right of the economy. From the hto dog van we shall prevail. Life. Liberty. And the pursuit of victory." Wilbur ended.

"Im framing this fucker" The boys started cheering as Wilbur jumped down and entered the van.

You couldn't take your eyes off of the soldiers. You watched as there was something that fell inside the walls. From afar it looked like a book, a book that fell on the ground inside the walls. The boys were still talking and cheering, but apparently Tommy followed your gaze to the book that fell.

"What is that?" Tommy said and You and him hopped down and walked over to the book that was dropped.

It had to be from Dream. You looked up the walls and saw no one there, they must've left. Tommy picked up the book and flipped through it.

"Uh oh." Tommy said suddenly.

"Uh oh what?" You peaked over Tommy's shoulder.

He handed you the book and your heart dropped. "Declaration of War."

"Oh shit." You whispered

"Yeah" Tommy and You headed back to the van.

Tommy snatched the book from You's hand and yelled to Wilbur who was still in the van.

"Wilbur! There’s a book for you. He dropped a book!" Tommy yelled. Tommy and You made their way into the van and found Wilbur leaning underneath a door frame.

"Hold this for me. Let's swap books." Wilbur said.

Wilbur took the new book and began to read it aloud.

"Decla- uh oh."

"Wait, can you read it out loud?" Tubbo asked

"What was it called?" Eret asked as well.

Wilbur made his way back into the meeting room, sat down, plopped the book on the table and everyone followed suit into the room. He placed his head into his hands and began to speak again.

"The dec- the declaration of war." He finally said.

"OH!"

"Oh no!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are in a state of war." Eret said playfully next to me.

"This is how we consolidate our power! Men this is not something to fear, this is how we show that we are a nation. If we can hold this off, if we can thwart their advances. Do you know why they're attacking us? Power, greed," Wilbur paces around the HTO van angery still ranting about the situation.

"They're scared!" Tubbo added

"If we can show that our nation is strong enough to hold up against an army, then we can show that we are strong enough to run independently."

"You shouldn't have to prove yourself to Dream if you want independence." You spoke up.

The L'Manburgians were now outside since they followed Wilbur out here.

Wilbur turned around to face You with a neutral face. It was a contrast from just a few minutes ago.

"You're right. For now though we need to show we can stand up for ourselves, they think we are weak. We aren't."

"I understand." You hummed and an awkward silence fell upon L'Manburg.

"Y/N, would you like to become a citizen of L'Manburg?" Wilbur asked formally.

This was a part of the test wasn't it? So many thoughts were going through your head at the moment. This had to be a part of the plan. The whole Declaration of War. You wouldn't get hurt right? And then L'Manburg, you had to accept because if not everything would go to waste.

You smiled, "I would love to Wilbur."

Wilbur extended his hand out for you to shake and You grabbed it and shook hand firmly. It was official.

"Aye! Did I just see what I think I just saw?!" Tubbo and Fundy appeared out of nowhere.

"I saw a handshake~! Very professional." Fundy said, adding to what Tubbo said prior.

"Yes it did! I am a L'Manburgian now!" You cheered and so did Tubbo.

"The first woman in L'Manburg." Wilbur said.

"WHAT? The first woman in L'Manburg is American?!" Tommy angrily stomped out from around the van.

"You're a good addition I think." Wilbur smirked at Tommy, who was fuming.

"Hm, we'll see about that." Tommy narrowed his eyes at You, but you just smiled at the boy. Apparently that made him even more upset.

Tommy began to walk away before Wilbur began to speak again.

"Before you all leave, we need to have potions, more enchanted bows, arrows, and armor. That's all for now. I'll figure out the rest tomorrow." Wilbur finished and the others agreed.

"Goodbye everyone!"

"See you all tomorrow!"

Fundy and Tubbo left the L'Manburg walls leaving Tommy, Eret, You and Wilbur still inside the walls.

"Y/N can I talk to you for a minute?" Eret pulled you to the side. Currently Tommy and Wilbur were talking inside the van and You was chilling outside.

Eret took you away from the van and to a semi secluded place.

"Are you comfortable with what's happening?" Eret carefully asked.

"I'm unsure what's going to happen. I hate that feeling. I'm just worried that something will go wrong. I don't wanna die!" You said that last part while laughing.

Eret laughed a little too trying to lighten up the mood.

"I am too. We have to live long enough to become king and queen." Eret smiled and so did You.

"I don't want to die. Yeah that's one problem, but the other one is that I don't know where I belong. It's hard, is this your home Eret?"

Eret sighed, "Ahh! That's the problem! I would consider this my home."

Eret paused looking at Tommy and Wilbur talking by the HTO van. He took a second and looked You in the eyes again.

"I have the same feeling as you, but I feel like this can't be our purpose. This isn't meant to be, this home is temporary like a wilting home. We can always buy a new one after the old home withers away." Eret concluded.

You and Eret turned their heads to the noise of Wilbur and Tommy playfully bickering, they seemed like brothers, it was cute. The citizens of L'Manburg seemed like a family.

L'Manburg was a calm place. It was a calm house in a huge storm, but sometimes the house can get destroyed by the storm and it will be time to find a new house.

"We'll be okay. You're right by the way." You hummed looking up at Eret.

"I know." Eret smiled down at You.

"You know that we'll be okay? Or-"

Eret cut You off by pulling you into a comforting hug.

"We'll be okay, Dream would never hurt us. You know that. And I am always right." Eret laughed and You joined.

"Hey fuckers, I'm out!" Tommy yelled as he made his way towards the two in a hug.

They pulled away as Wilbur made his way over as well and spoke in a baby voice, "The baby needs someone to take him home~!"

"NO I DON'T! I'M NOT A BABY! I just don't want to get mugged." Tommy complained.

"He is a baby." Wilbur bluntly said.

"I AM NOT-"

"Hey! I can take you home!" You spoke over Tommy.

"Thank God, okay bye you two!" Eret laughed.

"Shouldn't you be with your wife?" Wilbur questioned Eret.

Eret shrugged, "I'm 100% sure you can take care of yourself, she can fight. Also she's not alone."

Wilbur slowly nodded and then began to walk away. The rest of them followed to the outskirts of L'Manburg. The group all ended outside of the walls and split apart. Wilbur goes with Eret and You with Tommy.

The walk through the forest was rough because Tommy always took the most difficult way. He walked his way into skeletons to fight them, He sometimes stopped to check his menu, He also kept talking while not waiting for an answer. It was a lot to travel with him.

They eventually made it into the greater part of the kingdom and saw the familiar sights. As Tommy led the way, he began another conversation from the long journey.

"So, I can't believe I haven't asked you this before," Tommy laughed "Let me begin with this: I don't like you, but I will put up with you"

Tommy walked backwards through grass as he talked.

"Wow what a great start." You sarcastically said, rolling your eyes.

"Don't test me. I just wanted to know why you married Eret in the first place." Tommy turned around and kept the pace You had while walking beside you.

Damn it. You were so close, of course Tommy would be suspicious of you. He basically said he hated you and now You think that he wants you out of L'Manburg. This might all go to shit if you can't get the right answer out of your mouth.

"I love him of course! Why wouldn't you want to marry someone you love?" What a lie.

You continued, "We were set up by a close friend, I am still getting to know him more and more each day, but isn't that with all relationships?"

"It seems so," Tommy spoke.

Tommy began stuttering over his words,

"Of course I know! I've been with women! Anyways, I didn't even know you were apart of the kingdom so-"

"So you wouldn't know how long me and Eret were together! So whatever you were gonna say would be invalid!" You shot back while pointing at him with a smirk.

Tommy hummed, "You're acting very territorial, very defensive."

"Is it bad that I am trying to defend my relationship?" You asked.

"You were very sudden with it." Tommy huffed.

An awkward silence fell upon the two as they kept walking, You not knowing where their destination was. After a while of nothing Tommy started a conversation again.

"I overheard Big E talking about fighting! Do you know how to fight?" Tommy asked enthusiastically.

"I like to think I do!" You said proudly.

You had learned everything you knew from your own self training and Dream of course. He always talked about how great a fighter you would be, so he took it into his hands to train You.

"Well, are you? I didn't see you fighting that many skeletons huh?!"

"Because you kept "running into them" and fighting them yourself!" You yelled back and did air quotations around certain words.

"Cause I wanna get stronger! Buffer! The alpha male!" Tommy boasted.

"Well why put yourself into trouble in the first place?" You sighed.

"Cause it's fun!" Tommy's voice got significantly higher the more he complained.

"You don't think I can fight?" You laughed in disbelief.

"Yeah!" Tommy challenged.

"Then I challenge you to a duel!" You crossed your arms over your chest and tried to size Tommy up, even though you were shorter than him.

"Woah, woah what?!"

You smirked, "You heard me Tommy! I want to fight you."

Tommy began walking faster and You had to do the same. He kept shaking his head and muttering something. You finally caught up with him and overheard what he was muttering.

"What would Wilbur think of this?"

He muttered.

"He would be okay! Fight me! C'mon pussy!"

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME!?"

You got him. You really wanted to fight this boy. You could prove yourself to him and even the rest of L'Manburg. You might've been contradicting yourself because of what you had said earlier.

"You shouldn't have to prove yourself to Dream if you want independence."

You shouldn't have to prove yourself to Tommy nor Wilbur to gain their trust. But at the same time you REALLY wanted to fight, have some drama. You're hard-headed just like Tommy, so either way they were going to fight.

"Fine! We will fight by the HTO van tomorrow!" Tommy said walking backwards heading off the path that they were going.

"Deal?" You reached out to shake his hand.

"Fucking deal!" Tommy exclaimed while shaking your hand.

Tommy walked in front of you and made his way to a house made of dirt. It was well made and, although it didn't look horrible, it was probably a secret base.

"This is my home! I'll see you tomorrow for our duel. Don't be late." Tommy said while entering his house and closing the door on You before you got the chance to speak.

This is going to be very interesting.

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here!" A british voice appeared to the side of You.

Approaching the Prime Path was of course George and Sapnap. They always appeared at the right time because You were getting nervous you wouldn't make it back to the castle.

"Guys!" You exclaimed.

"Hey! We wanted to talk to you before, but you were occupied with "L'Manburg"." Sapnap put air quotes around L'Manburg like it wasn't real.

"We also wanted to walk you back home. Eret’s not being a good husband huh?" George laughed.

You spoke,"I was fine! Almost blew my cover though."

"WHAT?"

"HUH?"

"Yeah I was walking Tommy home and he asked me why I married Eret and I panicked, but saved it!" You hurriedly explained to the two men.

"Jesus you would have ruined everything." Sapnap rubbed his face while walking ahead of George and You.

"But she didn't! You almost did." George sighed.

"I thought I did well." You hummed.

"Also sorry for the scare earlier." Sapnap said while laughing a bit.

You sarcastically stated, "Yeah the whole "Declaration of War" didn't scare me at all."

"Aw boo hoo!" Sapnap mocked.

George shook his head while trying to keep in a laugh beside You. They were almost to their destination because you saw the huge castle in your sights. Sapnap dragged his feet on the path tiredly while George still had a small pep in his step.

You finally spoke up again, "Who was that other guy with the three of you? I've never seen him before."

"OH you haven't met Punz! He's one of the best fighters in the kingdom." George explained.

"Dream wants him on his side, he's getting many more warriors, "warriors", to fight against your L'Manburg." George put air quotes around warriors as he continued to explain.

"He won't hurt you. None of us will, if that's what you're wondering." Sapnap said bluntly.

"I mean that makes me more comfortable now I definitely know." You hummed and so did Sapnap in agreement.

You would love to say that Dream would never hurt you, but that would be a lie. You never knew Dream's intentions from the beginning, but he always says that it's for your own good and it would work out in the end. You trusts Sapnap and George's word, you trust them with your life. Literally.

The trio made it to the castle's entrance and they all stopped. Sapnap yawned and George rubbed You on the back in a reassuring manner.

"Man, I have a lot to do." You sighed as you looked at the huge arches of the castle.

"Well get some rest! Ease your mind." George said.

"Yeah what he said." Sapnap said while stretching.

You smiled at the two of them before beginning to walk up to the main doors. Sapnap reached out to your shoulder and twisted you around to give the two boys a final look for the night.

"Are you 100% sure you are okay with this plan?" Sapnap said sternly.

"Cause you know we have to report back to the big guy." George added.

You paused for a moment. You looked back on the moment when Wilbur and yourself were in the HTO van

"You haven't found your place, I assume. L'Manburg might be your home."

That whole place could be your home. Her calling, but then Sapnap and George in front of you. What about them?

"When have I ever steered you wrong?!"

Dreams' words circled in your head again for what it seemed like the 5th time today. It was tiring, but it was true. Even if you weren't okay with it you would get killed, so you want Eret and yourself to be safe. You didn't have enough connection with the L'Manburgians to keep them alive. This has to be you calling. Please let this be your calling.

"I am 100% sure. Let's do this."

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