#might post bleeding heart this week if i can finish editing and beat it into something i like lol

[kithj]

we're at about the halfway mark with 22 days left to submit something to the queer vampire jam! we already have 5 submissions so far, you can check them out here!

[sojourner-between-worlds]

Holding On (Why is everything so heavy?)

Summary: The world keeps turning after Tony Stark’s untimely death. Peter is stuck in place.

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: Finished just in time to post before going to see Far From Home! I just really hope I can get in tonight or I won’t be able to until Friday. If there’s anything weird, it’s because I don’t usually write in present tense, and this has only been very lightly edited because I started it in the aftermath of Endgame and finished it on a whim yesterday, soooo.....

Content warnings: Grief and unhealthy coping in the way of non-graphic self-harm and one (brief) instance of suicidal ideation (blink and you might miss it).

=================================================

The first time he sees it not even a month has passed, and it catches him completely off-guard, knocking the breath from his lungs.

He’s walking casually down the street with Ned, desperately searching for some sense of normal, and it catches in the corner of his vision, stopping him dead in his path.

“Oh,” Ned breathes when he picks up what Peter is staring at. “You didn’t know.”

Across the street, at the corner of the park, is a memorial. Candles half burned, art work, photos, newspaper clippings. All of it of Iron Man.

Peter feels as though the rug has been pulled from under his feet yet again. He thought he was past this, but his eyes are burning, and he can’t stop staring, and the hurt surfaces anew. He only manages one word. “Why?”

Ned swallows, takes a deep breath, speaks the hard truth: “You’re not the only one hurting. He was their hero, too. This is how they cope.”

He wishes it wasn’t.

===========================================

The second time he spots one, he’s out on patrol for the first time since then.

The memorial is a spray painted mural taking up a good chunk of the side of a brick building, and he wonders who in the world managed to make it. He sits and stares -- for a few minutes, a few hours, who knows -- before shooting a web towards a building in the opposite direction. Queens is quiet tonight; he heads home early.

He slips in through his bedroom window even though he doesn’t need to anymore, and it’s only when the mask comes off that the grief hits him full-force once again. Two months have passed already, and despite that he knows grief has no timeline, he thinks he should definitely be passed the tears he can feel pressing and the tightness caving his chest in.

He doesn’t realize he’s not breathing until suddenly he’s sitting on the floor (how did he get there?) and May is crouched in front of him (when did she come in?), telling him to “breathe, baby; breathe. Everything’s okay. Just breathe.”

He does eventually, but he wonders if he really wants to.

===========================================

The third time one shows up, he’s getting dinner with May at their favorite Thai place.

It’s the smallest one he’s seen, sitting innocently in one corner towards the back. More candles, more photos, placed under a sign, the text in Thai. (He doesn’t know what it says, but he can guess.)

He says he’s not hungry anymore, and when May sees it too, she lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Peter.”

“I can’t help it. It’s not like I chose to lose my appetite just now.”

She doesn’t understand, he knows. He was there, and she wasn’t, and he can’t just move on like the rest of the world has.

Or, rather, maybe he could if he tried, but he’s tired. He can’t find it in himself to want to.

He knows she wouldn’t understand that either, so he forces down the grief and the guilt, and when their food arrives, he eats. When they finish, May pays the bill, and they leave, and still he shoves it all down. Maybe if he stuffs it far enough back -- sticks it in all in a box and buries it, he can at least pretend to be normal for awhile.

He decides that night that maybe numb isn’t such a bad thing to feel.

============================================

The fourth one is, even after four months, new. It would seem that the people of Queens haven’t given themselves enough even yet.

This time, he feels nothing.

It’s just another mural on just another brick building.

The night is quiet again, and he swings home from patrol early. May is out, and he thinks it’ll be nice to have the place to himself for a little while.

He slips in through his window, leaves his suit in a heap on the floor, and goes to hunt down something to eat in the kitchen as he pulls a t-shirt over his head. He can hear the distant whisper shoved in one corner of his mind escaping its box: “Kid, I know I’m practically made of money, but put that away properly, please. Take care of your stuff so it lasts, ya know?” He promptly ignores it, and puts on water for mac ‘n cheese. It’s way past dinnertime, but he doesn’t care.

Distantly, as he watches the pot, he wonders when he stopped caring about anything at all. The cork on his bottled-up emotions threatens to pop out, but he tamps down on it quickly. If he cares, that means he has to feel, and he doesn’t want to feel. If he doesn’t feel anything at all, then he doesn’t have to deal with the bad feelings either. It’s all or nothing, and nothing is decidedly better.

Some part of him knows that being numb isn’t really a good thing, but it is better than too much all at once. ...right? If only there was a way to feel the bad things in moderation, on his time, only when it was convenient.

But there isn’t.

He turns away from the stove and leans back against the counter. That’s when he sees it, and a whisper of a thought folds itself into his mind. He takes this idea, grabs it, holds onto it, mulls it over. There’s more than one way to feel pain, after all, and maybe if he can let himself a little of that, then he can feel a little of other things -- good things -- again, too.

No one would ever even know.

He takes two steps across the kitchen and opens the drawer where his aunt keeps the knives. He can’t control grief -- can only keep it safely bottled up -- but he can certainly control pain and when he feels it.

Numb isn’t so bad, but he decides measured pain is better.

==============================================

The fifth one he finds while avoiding Pepper.

He takes the long way home from school that day, knowing that she’s waiting at the apartment for him. Despite all other previous attempts on her part, he hasn’t seen her since the funeral. Seeing her and Morgan is just too much. But, apparently, his excuses to avoid her for months have finally run out, and he can’t avoid it any longer.

He can’t avoid it, but he can put it off as long as possible.

So he purposely stays on a stop past his, and plans to walk his way back as slowly as he feels he can get away with.

He turns the corner out of the station, and it’s right there in front of him. It’s not the largest he’s seen, or the most detailed, but it hits hard regardless. Painted on the side of the building is the Iron Man helmet and around it are painted the names of people he’s saved over the years. There’s a wooden sign standing next to it inviting people to add their name, to ask the shopkeeper for paint to do so, and he can’t help but wander over to read the names sprawled over the wall.

There are a lot, but he’s not surprised.

He wanders into the shop, and before he can think about it too much, he asks for paint. The man behind the counter smiles fondly if not a little sadly and hands him a can and a brush.

Finding a space as close to the helmet as possible, he squeezes in his name in careful white letters.  The man had saved him in more ways than one, and he knows he’ll have to bleed out the grief later, but he doesn’t regret doing this. It’s the only thing he can do.

He returns the paint and brush with a quiet ‘thank you’ and continues on his way home. He’ll be even later than he’d intended, and he knows May is getting worried when she calls.

“I’m two blocks away,” he replies, heart dropping into his stomach at the thought of facing Pepper. “I missed my stop.”  And he knows she’ll worry more at that because he has unintentionally missed his stop before, stuck in his own head, but he’ll deal with that later.

Pepper is sitting on the couch when he enters, and it’s only after he greets her that he realizes she didn’t bring Morgan. He’s grateful, though. Seeing her five months ago had been difficult enough, and he isn’t sure he would have been able to hold himself together right now if she was here.

He goes to drop his bag in his room, and he considers just not going back out. He does anyway.

May is nowhere in sight now, and he wonders why but sits across from Pepper without asking.

She doesn’t beat around the bush. “Tony had hoped that everything would work out, but he was also prepared for it not to.” She picks up a package wrapped in brown paper from beside her that he hadn’t noticed before. “I’m not sure what’s in here, but it’s got your name on it. I would have given it to you at the funeral, but… I didn’t find it until about a week after.” She stood and set it on the table in front of him. “I know this has been hard on you. You can open it when you’re ready.”

He picks it up, thanks her, and after she leaves, buries it in the bottom drawer of his desk.

That is one thing he knows for certain: he’ll never be ready to open it.

==============================================

The sixth he sees on purpose but not by choice.

It’s a Saturday, barely passed noon, when Happy shows up at the door. ‘Surprised’ didn’t even begin to cover it. At least Pepper has been texting him these last six months, but he had shared a pained look with Happy at the funeral and that had been it.

“Let’s go, kid. Put your shoes on. We’re taking a little trip.”

He’s too stunned to protest, and Happy doesn’t offer any more information during the silent car ride. He’s only more confused when they pull into a cemetery.

And then he sees it.

Tony may have been cremated, but that hadn’t stopped someone from erecting a monument here anyway.

Happy gets out of the car before he can protest, so he gets out, too. “Happy, why did you bring me here?”

Happy stops but doesn’t turn around to face him. “Because I’ve talked to Pepper, kid. And I’ve talked to your aunt, too. You’re avoiding this, and that’s not healthy. You’ve got to face this eventually.”

“I’m not avoiding anything.”

Happy spins around. “Yes, you are. You’re more or less ghosting Pepper and Morgan, and according to May, you won’t talk about Tony at all or go anywhere you know there’s a memorial erected. That’s not coping, Peter.”

Something inside him snaps. “So, what? I’m just supposed to pretend like everything’s okay? LIke I wasn’t there to hear his heart stop? Like it doesn’t kill me to talk about him? Because I can’t do that. I can’t!”

“No one is asking you to fake it,” Happy replies quietly. “But it’s okay to feel. It’s okay to be angry.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t have the right to be.”

“But you still are.”

“Why did it have to be him, Happy? Why did this happen at all? He should have just...left it alone! I don’t know! But it shouldn’t have been him!”

“I know, kid; I know.” Happy sighs. “I keep asking myself that, too. But that was just Tony. Couldn’t leave anything alone.”

He’s crying now, but he doesn’t care. He’s angry and he can’t stuff if down any longer.

He’s so, so angry, and he doesn’t know what to do about it anymore.

=============================================

The seventh time, he’s desperate.

A week has passed since Happy showed up at his door, and he decides that maybe the man is right, and he remembers the package Pepper gave him.

He’s still not ready -- not really, because he never will be -- but he opens it anyway.

It’s a leather-bound book, and when he opens it, he finds his mentor’s handwriting scrawled across the unlined pages. The only thing on the first page is “This probably isn’t healthy, but I don’t care. Because maybe someday it’ll all be okay again.”

He turns the page and his eyes grow wide because he doesn’t believe it. He turns another and another and another, and he finds the same on every page. It’s a book of letters, photos tucked between the pages. To him. From Tony.

He wants to look away.

But he can’t.

So he keeps reading.

He reads about their small wedding ceremony and finding out about Morgan, and Tony even tells him about all the projects he was working on. But they all end the same way: “Wish you were here, buddy. I miss you. -- Tony.”

He’s about halfway through -- Morgan is two now -- when he breaks.

The letter starts out normal enough, but when he gets near the end, it shifts. The ink is smeared and the writing is even shakier than usual, but he still manages to make it out.

“Having Morgan has changed me a lot. Losing you did, too. There are a lot of things I regret in my life, and losing you? Yeah, that trumps them all, kid. I never said it before, so I’m saying it now. You mean a lot to me, and I love you, Pete. Happy birthday.”

He curls up in his place on the floor, and he sobs because it hurts, and he just wants it to stop, but he’s not sure it ever really will.

He cries until there’s nothing left, until his eyes are dry and burning and his chest aches, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

When he can finally catch his breath, he sits up from where he had tipped over to lying down and picks up the book again and turns the page because it hurts but he still has to know what else Tony wrote in those five years.

And he reads more about Morgan and Pepper and the lake house and Tony’s projects. And they all end the same way: “Love you, kid. Wish you were here. -- Tony.”

He reaches the last letter, and he’s terrified to read it.

He thought he didn’t have any tears left, but by the end, he is definitely crying again.

“You’re better than I could ever hope to be. You had a future, and it was stolen from you so easily. But now… If this works? You’re gonna go places, kid. I just know it.

“We have a chance to get everyone back again. I have a chance to get you back again. I don’t want to lose everything I have now, but Peter…

“I would give ANYTHING to get you back.”

He reads the last line over and over and over again. Tucked between the pages is the photo of them with his SI certificate, and he cries harder because there’s nothing else he can do.

And then he’s running.

Out the door, through the apartment with May’s worried voice echoing behind him, down the stairs, out of the building.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, but somehow he ends up at the cemetary Happy brought him to last week, and his feet carry him all the way to the memorial.

He screams at the sky -- no actual words, just pure anguish, because he doesn’t have any words left to say.

He falls to his knees, he sobs until he feels like he might throw up, and he finds one word tearing through his lips over and over again.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

But there is no one to answer, and he doesn’t expect anyone to anyway. After all, the only person who can is gone forever.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but here’s movement behind him, and after a moment Rhodey sits down next to him.

“Happy thought this is where you might go. May is pretty worried, you know.”

He doesn’t reply. He has nothing to say.

He thinks Rhodey will make him leave, but he doesn’t. Rhodey just sits with him in silence.

“Did you know?” he finally croaks. “Did you know why he did it?”

Rhodey sighs softly. “He’d been adamant at first to not even try, so, yeah, I did ask why he changed his mind. And, ya know, he looked me dead in the eye when he said, ‘I’d do anything to get my kid back. I know everyone who lost someone feels the same. We have a chance, and I can’t rest until I know.’” He pauses then adds, “I’ve never seen such conviction from him. He was a father who had lost his child. Nothing can stand in the way of that.”

He feels another tear break free and he whispers, “Then why don’t you hate? You and Pepper and Morgan and Happy? He did it because of me. It’s my fault.”

“No. The only person to blame is Thanos, and he already paid for what he did. It doesn’t feel like enough, and it probably never will, but putting the blame on you for his choices?” Rhodey sighs again. “Tony knew what he was doing. Can’t blame anyone for that -- not even Thanos.”

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, it’s not working.”

“Good thing that’s not what I was going for then. Sometimes the facts don’t make us feel better, but that doesn’t change them. We have to take what we know and somehow learn to feel better in spite of that.”

“What if I can’t?” He finally looks over at Rhodey.

Rhodey meets his gaze. “You will. It’s not easy, but you will.”

“How did you do it?”

“Who says that I have?”

He’s not okay, but, then again, maybe no one else is either.

=============================================

The eighth time, he’s there because he wants to be.

He has a framed photo clutched in his hands, and he’s a bit nervous, but he’s not alone. May and Pepper and Morgan. Rhodey and Happy and Ned. They are all there with him, and they give him strength.

He steps away from them and finds a space to add his photograph among all the other mementos people have left. It’s one of his favorites -- one Pepper took of them in the lab when they weren’t looking.

He takes a moment to take in the memorial itself, the words ‘Whatever It Takes’ etched into the stone over reliefs of both Tony and Natasha. His lips quirk up in something reminiscent of a grin as he thinks about what they would say if they saw all of this.

Despite his resolve, tears find their way down his cheeks. He’s not okay, but he’s not pretending anymore.

“Thank you for everything. You gave me a second chance, and I won’t waste it. I won’t.”

He won’t waste it. That’s all he can do, but maybe it’s enough.

[trojanjean]

questions for ao3 writers

tagged by @meimagino, thank you dsgsfa !! <3 <3 

Tagging: @kumikirin and @rayraywrites ! i don’t actually know a lot of ao3 writers SO PLEASE DO THIS AND TAG ME? <3 i’ve LOVED reading other people doing this tag and it’s so exciting to know more abt your stuff so please please if u use ao3 and wanna do this, please let me know! <3

1. How did you come up with your username and what does it mean?

my username is seaworn. i didn’t want my ao3 username to be the same as my tumblr url because my tumblr url is pretty much always associated with a certain fandom and i didn’t want that because i had a feeling that i’m going to write something for different fandoms. seaworn is a word i came across in one of nightwish’s lyrics, “sea-worn driftwood”. i just thought that was nice, and everything sea-related is really close to my heart. 

2. Which fanfic of yours has the most feedback? (bookmarks/subscriptions/hits/kudos)

fingers crossed my obsession with you is tameable has most hits, kudos and bookmarks, but my heart’s a stereo (it beats for you so listen close) has most subscriptions (because it’s an ongoing series).

3. What is your AO3 profile icon, and why did you choose it?

it’s a picture of some random boy who i think looks a lot like my favourite trainwreck boy harry and i wanted it lmao 

4. Do you have any regular/favourite commenters?

 i get really warm and giddy if someone i know comments something on my fics because it means the world to me that my friends read my shit asdgdfs. but i also get warm and giddy and excited when i get any kinds of comments!! <3 i appreciate every single comment i get and i sometimes cry when i get an email notification about a comment someone left me asfsg <3 i notice a few “regulars” that always comment of my stories when i publish something new and i LOVE them and it means the world to me that someone has subscribed to me/checks out my page to see whether i’ve published smth new. but i ALSO love people who just leave kudos bc seeing that someone has actually read my stuff? amazing. i love every single one of you so much. i go through my comments and my kudos/hits whenever i’m feeling down/insecure and they give me so much confidence and make me feel better about everything

5. Is there a fanfic that you keep going back to read again and again?

oh yeah, i have plenty!! i mean, i have over 500 bookmarks and i go through them a lot to read many of my old favourites. i’m going to list a few i could remember without actually browsing through my bookmarks! :) they’re mostly drarry because i’m super into that again. also i really wanna scream about all of these but i’m just gonna link them and let them speak for themselves sdgdfsg 

Twingenuity by Caeseria. Viktuuri, explicit, 160k. summary: “Victor arrives in Hasetsu, completely unaware that Yuuri has an identical, overly affectionate, twin brother. The resulting temptation might actually kill him before he gets Yuuri to the GPF like he promised.”

Coffee, Cakes And Doorknob Snakes by Omi_Ohmy. drarry, explicit, 40k. summary: “Harry's house is trying to kill him, and only one person can help him: pity it's Draco Malfoy”

Eternally Consistent by kitsunealyc. drarry, explicit, 40k. summary: “Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter assumed they would never be anything but civil enemies, until Potter lands on Malfoy's doorstep, bleeding, covered in curses, and acting very strangely indeed.”

Reparations by Saras_Girl. drarry, explicit, 87k. summary: “Harry is about to discover that the steepest learning curve comes after Healer training, and that second chances can be found in unexpected places.”

Winter Song by proantagonist. viktuuri, explicit, 149k. summary: “The set of Yuuri’s mouth softened into a private smile as Victor squeezed his knee beneath the table. His hands were bare, free from the gloves he so often wore when they were together on the rink, and the heat of his palm burned straight through the denim of Yuuri’s jeans. He slipped his own hand beneath the table and found Victor’s. Hidden from sight, their fingers began to flirt and play. A secret conversation all their own that needed no words.

Yuuri was aware that at some point—a moment in time he couldn’t quite place—Victor had become his boyfriend.

There wasn’t a single instant when it happened. It was a slow awareness, as if Victor had silently been asking the question for months now, and Yuuri had been giving him the answer a little more with each passing day.”

i’d love to link everything i like but aSFASD!! just believe me when i say that with 500 bookmarks and having lots of writer friends in tumblr, i read a LOT of the same fics over and over and over again. the ones i mentioned just now are all longer stories i fell in love with because it took me days and maybe even weeks to read them and it’s like i’d found a whole new universe?? you can def ask me for fic recs because all i do is read fics but i found it really hard to just pick a few so i decided to pick just a few longer ones for this question!! but ask me for my favourite coffee shop aus? do it. favourit otayuri fics? ya please. fav modern au captive prince fics? you really should. 

6. How many stories are you subscribed to? How many do you have bookmarked?

i can’t see the number of my subscriptions anywhere? but i get maybe 3-10 email notifications every day about an updated work so i guess it’s a lot. i have a little over 500 bookmarks! :)) 

7. Which AU do you find yourself writing the most?

hmm, i maybe haven’t written enough to have, like, a special au i enjoy writing? but i DO think about coffee shop au’s and writing them a lot so i guess it’s that asfdsf. i just really really love coffee shops?? 

8. How many people are subscribed and bookmarked to you in total? (you can view this on the stats page)

274 subscriptions and 704 bookmarks holy sHIT hey i love every single one of you?? 

9. Is there something you’d like to write about but are afraid of people judging you for it? (Feeling brave? If so, share it!)

i have a bunch of really, really sad and depressing headcanons i would love to write but i’m probably never gonna? like, lots of things about eating disorders and cutting and someone getting injured or cheated on, someone losing an important person or having to give up on their dreams, etc. lots of sad characters trying to be brave on their own and slowly fading away :’’)) i don’t want to write then because i haven’t come up with any good endings for those and i DON’T want to write stuff with no happy ending, so. i just really think i need to get out all kinds of crap rn and writing them would make me feel better but i think i’m too involved to actually write something worth reading? i fear that if i wrote smth i’ve headcanoned, it would end up being super immature and illogical. idk. my point it that i’m afraid to write really self-indulgent, depressing angst sadgsghdf 

10. Is there anything you would like to be better at? Writing certain scenes or genres, replying to comments, updating better, etc.

i would love to be a little more consistent in writing. my concentration is bad and often i can’t get into the flow when i’m working on something. usually i add something to a wip every few days, then one day i write 1000 words and then continue editing sentences here and there, jumping from scene to scene, deleting smth and then adding 57 words. like...i often feel like i can’t get into the scene i’m writing and it feels like i’m watching it on the outside instead of being the writer? whenever i can focus properly i get solid, consistent, meaningful writing done, but honestly 80% of me doing anything is messing around and i have to do A LOT of damage control before everything is finished? 

this is related to what i just described but i’d also love to be able to write chronologically because i feel it makes the story and the journey more real when i’m actually working through what my characters are feeling/experiencing throughout the story? instead of writing an exciting plot thing A and an exciting plot thing number B and then later writing the boring parts inbetween. 

i have a lot of problems with plots in general - i feel it’s easier for me to write 2 k about, like, yuuri making tea in the morning, than writing 2k about someone walking to the store and buying milk. i’m better at describing moments and feelings than concrete plot points or someone dojng something? idk. 

11. Do you write rarepairs or popular ships more often?

popular ships. i mean, i might read rarepairs but i usually have one or two otp’s from each fandom i write about. i’d love to write about chrisabek one day though sgdfg. 

12. How many stories have you posted on AO3 to this day (finished and unfinished)?

18 ???? what how when has this happened?? .  13 of those are yoi and the rest either drarry or johnlock. 

13. How many stories do you have saved in/with your writing program?

18 published works and about....25-30 unfinished things? some over 10k words, some less than 500. also but i wrote A LOT of original shit when i was like 16-18 so if i count those in the number would be about 100 probably

14. Do you write down story ideas, or just keep them in your head?

i write them down potential ideas, but i have a lot of headcanons i don’t write down because i don’t think i have the ability to write them. but most of my ideas go to google docs/notes. 

15. Have you ever co-authored a story?

yeah, i actually have one wip going on with someone :) it’s unfinished but maybe we’ll finish it one day? it’s drarry and super sweet. 

16. How did you discover AO3?

i really can’t remember? i wish i could? but it probably in 2012 when i got into the sherlock fandom. 

17. Do you consider yourself to be a popular or famous author in your fandom(s) on AO3?

i don’t think so omg, but i’m really glad people read my stuff! but i’m definitely more known in the yoi fandom than the others i’m in bc my drarry/johnlock fics get like 5 comments, max, whereas i can get 20 comments to my yuri on ice stuff! :) it’s really nice that people read my stuff fhdh 

18. Do you have a nickname or fandom name for your readers?

omfg no but everyone who reads my stuff is an actual Angel  

19. Was there an author who inspired or encouraged you to write?

yeah, a lot! a lot of original fiction authors & a lot of fanfiction authors! whenever i read a good text i’m like “wow, this is awesome, i wish i could write this well” and that always gives me a huge boost. the support of my friends is really encouraging and inspiring, too. 

20. What writing advice would you give to a beginning author?

the “i will be a stronger writer after i finish this piece” is REALLY good advice, because...not everything you write will be the best you’ve done and you maybe feel like your writing has some flaws or something. but you know what? even if it’s not perfect, you’re a lot more experienced writer when you’ve done it. i do the “it’s gonna be shit anyway so i’m not gonna write it” thing quite often but then i have to remind myself that every single word i write gets me closer to being better, so i plunder through. and when i get finished with something, i usually think “well, this is not my strongest work but i’m glad i did it” and!!!! that’s really it!! i took part in otayuri reverse bang this spring and god i wanted to give up so so many times and i wrote lots of plots for it because i didn’t like ANYTHING i did. but i got through it, and while i think that the two stories i did for it are the worst i’ve written, it’s still 18 000 words more than i would have written if i hadn’t participated :) be your own biggest supporter & give yourself time to practise & be super proud and happy about what you’ve achieved so far!! <3 you wrote 10 words today? THAT’S 10 WORDS MORE THAN IT WAS BEFORE. you had a huge writer’s block so instead of writing you just wrote down some plot point you wanna write later? YOU PLANNED SOMETHING. you couldn’t even plan, you just opened your computer and gave up? YOU TRIED AND RESPECTED YOUR LIMITS TODAY AND THAT’S AMAZING. 

21. Do you plot out your stories, or do you just figure it out as you go?

i usually plan big plot points but figure everything else out as i go? planning in actually one of my weaknesses and instead of making a plan and sticking to it, i just wait for inspiration and get as much done as i can before it goes away, lol. 

22. Have you ever gotten a bad comment on a story? If so, what did you do?

not really :) everyone has been really sweet to me. 

23. Is there a certain type of scene that you have a hard time writing? (action, smut, etc..)

action scenes are pretty hard? i think i’m better at writing dialogue and feelings than action or something dramatic happening. i’m working on it and i would love to get more edge to my writing! 

24. What story(s) are you working on now?

i’m finishing the last part of my heart’s a radio (it beats for you so listen close). the chapter is what i intended to write in the first place (yuri and otabek seeing each other at world’s and getting it on in a hotel room) but then i just....needed to have 14 000 words of stuff before it, apparently. 

i’m also working on a drarry fic that has been in my drafts for a long time. it’s about 8k and i think it’s going to be 10-13k, and that’s fine. it’s all about margaritas and blowjobs and being hungover, basically. it’s really fun to write lol.

and then i have this captive prince smut one shot that’s also like half-done. it’s really fluffy and sappy but still just smut. 

aaaaalso i’m trying to finish the next chapter for my viktuuri dog sitter au fic now my heart stumbles on things i don’t know ! i’ve been procrastinating because i don’t really have a plot for it planned yet. 

25. Do you plan your next project(s) before you finish your current ongoing story(s)?

i have too many ideas in my head constantly and that makes it reaally hard to focus on finishing something before jumping onto something else. that’s why i have tons of wips and no finished works, lmao. 

26. Do you have a daily writing goal set for yourself?

not really. sometimes i try to push myself by setting goals, but in the end it really stresses me out because i’m usually away from home at least 9 hours every day and my work is really physical and tiring so asfsgas i really don’t have the strength to write every day. now my goal is to finish three fics before the year ends. they’re all oneshots that are maybe 80% done, so i should be able to do it. 

27. Do you think you’ve improved as a writer since you first started?

i hope so but i really don’t know?? 

28. What is your favorite story that you’ve written?

hmm. it’se been really fun writing i am to see to it that i do not lose you series because i’ve gotten a LOT of positive feedback along the way! and i’m not done with the series - i have a chrisviktuuri smut oneshot planned in this universe, happening at the same time when yuri’s figuring out how to date™. it was the first part of the series that made me think that maybe people actually enjoy my stuff & that encouraged me to write more!

I also really liked writing a oneshot i hust posted yesterday - listen how, under the breastbone, the rhythm changes . i wrote my first yuri on ice fic about a year ago and i just really wanted to return to that moment and write smth sweet about viktor and yuuri. the story has no plot or anything, but it felt REALLY good to write bc i sort of want and need a lot of soft things right now! 

also i’m having SO MUCH FUN with the drarry fic i haven’t posted yet, omg. 

29. What is your least favorite story that you’ve written?

hmm. probably cautiously peering, absorbing, translating hey eve stop with the pretentious fic names  because it was basically my first multichapter fic and i feel like it fell apart a little? i had to write it in less than a month bc it was part of otayuri reversebang. i felt like the idea was good and that it didn’t reach its full potential? i have very mixed feelings about this fic. i haven’t been able to read it even once after i published it bc i’m so afraid of what i’ll find lmao 

30. Where do you see yourself (as a writer) in 5 years?

hopefully my english is a lot better then, at least! i hope that i’ve started writing original fiction, really :) 

31. What is the easiest thing about writing?

coming up with ideas!!! i don’t even use most of the ideas hat get in my head and i get lots of new ideas especially when i’m at work, out doing shopping, basically doing anything active??  but writing everything down, especially ideas you know will get 20-30k long once you start...damn. 

32. What is the hardest thing about writing?

managing long stories? i haven’t written very many longer (like, over 10k?) stories and dgsgsg it’s just hard to make the plot interesting with lots of interesting cliffhangers, sad parts, etc? it’s hard to balance everything. 

and yeah writing just in general is hard because it’s at least 80% writer’s block but having ideas flood your head and making it hard to focus on real life sfsg

33. Why do you write?

to express myself, i think? i still haven’t learn how to process my more uglier emotions through writing (it would be really helpful if i could) but i’m definitely writing about the kind of things i miss and would like to have for myself - someone being really happy, having lots of quiet mornings, being loved, maybe being a trainwreck but having something to cope through it, having a special connection with someone. idk. all kinds of things.

writing is fun and actually writing down the fics you’d want to read is super duper cool. i don’t get very much done in my life otherwise, so writing gives me the feeling of accomplishment i’m not getting anywhere else. 

i’m not very good at expressing myself so writing definitely helps with that, too. 

[jaskiersbard]

Barely Holding Onto You - a Newt/Tina fic (Clean Version)

Tagging: @pinkdiamonddolphin

Based on THIS post

Basically, due to the lightning curse/whatever Grindel!Graves used on Newt in the movie, it’s left him infertile. Now Newt and Tina are married, and they’ve been discussing having a family but nothing’s working.

This fic has been…painful to write. Not because I have experience with the topic(s) but because I just struggled writing it. It’s been a labour of love, blood, sweat and tears (literally that last one), so I hope that I’ve done it some justice.

This is NOT related to any of my other Newtina fics – this is a one off. As such, some other things are different too so that I can separate it more clearly from my other fics: for example, Jacob/Queenie and their kids are different, as are the years that everything happened etc. etc. It’s a whole new fic-verse!

To add a few other notes:

I’m not sure how much they knew regarding sperm and eggs during the mid-30s but I’ve tried to be somewhat accurate on everything else historically.

The “glass/jar” was used instead of a plastic cup for male (in)fertility tests – thank you @katiehavok for that information!

This post is for the CLEAN VERSION OF THE FIC. If you want to read the explicit, read it HERE. Because this one is the clean one, I’ve had to edit the original smutty fic down – it’s still heavily implied what is going on, but I have done my best to make it clean without taking out important parts of the story.

Anyway, here’s the fic - enjoy!

She already knew what she’d find before she pushed back the duvet – she knew because of the tell-tale cramp in her lower abdomen, because of the sudden stickiness between her legs, because she just knew.

It didn’t soften the blow at all when she saw the crimson stain on the sheets and her pyjamas.

Tina inhaled heavily, closing her eyes and lowering her head; it wasn’t the first time she had gotten her hopes up, and it probably wouldn’t be the last…but she had hoped so desperately, and for a moment that seemed like it might have been enough. She allowed herself a few seconds to wallow in her own self-pity before pulling herself together; there was no point in sitting in bed depressed over such a thing, and she had to get ready for work.

All it took was a quick Scourgify for the evidence to be removed from the sheets – it was as if it hadn’t happened. Newt would never know any different, really.

Tina had a quick shower before dressing, ignoring the pain she felt inside as she pulled on the elastic belt that always pinched at her skin, the one with the persistently-stained cloths that never seemed quite clean no matter how much she washed them, and hurriedly finished dressing. When she re-entered the bedroom, her husband was still blissfully unaware as he continued to sleep; he would be rather disappointed, she knew, once he found out that another month had passed and they still hadn’t been able to conceive a baby. It had been more than two years now since they had discussed and agreed on starting a family, more than two years of regular trying…but nothing was happening, no matter how hard they tried.

It’ll happen soon, Queenie had assured her just a few days ago, just you wait.

It was easy for her to say, Tina had thought, for her sister and Jacob already had three children of their own (with many more sure to be on the way, the rate they were going).

She immediately felt guilty for thinking that; she adored her niece and nephews – she and Newt both – and she was of course happy for her sister because she knew that it was what Queenie had wanted since she and Jacob married. Having said that, it was difficult not to feel slightly bitter that her sister was able to do yet another thing that she didn’t seem to be able to: perfect blonde Queenie was of course able to have as many children as she wanted without really trying while Tina – bland, plain, prickly Porpentina – struggled with something that should have come so naturally to her.

She slipped on her shoes and shrugged on her jacket before casting one last look at Newt; he would see the bloodied pyjamas in the wash basket and he’d know that this month had brought yet another failure – that she had failed him again – and she didn’t really want to be around when that happened.

I’m sorry, Newt. You deserve so much better.

Newt was silent when Tina joined him the case that evening, not even looking her way as he finished throwing pellets for the mooncalves; she didn’t say a word either, watching him intensely as she waited for him to speak. When he didn’t, merely casting a glance her way before moving on to the next habitat, she cleared her throat loudly.

“Newt.”

He stopped, slowly turning to look at her; his eyes, usually so alive and bright, seemed dullened with misery. For a moment they just took each other in, waiting for the other to say something to break the course tension in the air – neither of them wanted to be the one to do it, even if it was a topic they absolutely needed to discuss.

Finally, Tina looked down at the ground and folded her arms. “I got my period.”

“I know,” Newt muttered, voice rather hoarse. “I saw your pyjamas in the basket this morning. I’m…I’m sorry.”

Her glare was half-hearted, clearly not convinced by his feeble words.

“No, I really am sorry,” He repeated, louder this time. “Next month…maybe things will be different.”

“You say that every month,” She stated, and though she was trying to stay strong there was the faintest waver to her tone. “And they never are different.”

Newt swallowed the lump in his throat, suddenly wishing that he knew the right things to say, the right things to do. “Oh, Tina… I’m so sorry.”

Perhaps it was the tenderness in his own voice that caused her to crack, or maybe the pained expression on his face – but either way, Tina found herself suddenly moving forward into her husband’s arms as she struggled not to allow her feelings to overcome her. He held her dutifully as she pressed her face into his shoulder, his hold on her secure and comforting as he listened.

“I’ve let you down again.”

“You could never let me down, love. Never.”

“What if it’s my fault?” She asked, no louder than a whisper – but he heard it as if she were shouting, painfully clear. “What if it’s my fault we can’t have a baby?”

“It could just as easily be me,” Newt reminded her despondently. “There are a number of things that mean it could be my fault…the war, an experimental potion gone wrong without me realizing…”

She pressed closer to him, obviously trying to hide the fact that she had broken into tears. “I’m sorry, Newt.”

It was a word that was continuously being used between them lately, it seemed – but it was also the only word that really seemed to fit their situation too.

Later that night, as they lay in bed tucked closely together, Tina rested her head on his shoulder and took a deep breath, avoiding his eyes.

“What if I can’t have children?”

“Tina…”

“What if…if I’m physically incapable?” Her eyes were glistening again. “What if I can’t give you children?”

Newt brushed a finger against her jaw before using it to tilt her chin up to look at him. “Don’t say that. I’m more than sure that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you – it could just as easily be me.”

“But what if-?”

“Then that’s fine,” He interrupted gently. “We’ll love each other and grow old without children; we’ll have all of our creatures to love, and our nieces and nephews. Besides, for all we know, we could conceive in just a couple of weeks from now if we continue trying regularly.”

“I…I suppose.” Her fingers drifted over the hard lines of his chest slowly, her mind clearly miles away. “I didn’t think I’d want a baby this much…but I do. I want our baby.”

He exhaled heavily, closing his eyes as his lips brushed over the top of her head. “I know. I want that too, Tina; I want more than anything for us to have a child together…we’ll just have to wait and hope that it will happen soon.”

As always, the bleeding came and went within just a few days that seemed to stretch on more than they should; as soon as their creatures had been fed and settled for the night, Tina had taken his hand and led him upstairs to their bedroom. She was somewhat unsure as she kissed him, and it was this uncertainty that made him falter.

“Hang on, love,” Newt murmured, hands resting gently on her shoulders. “We don’t have to…not tonight, not if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to,” She stated quietly. “Not because of a baby – I just need to know that…that you do still love me, even if no baby does come of it.”

“Oh, Tina… Always,” He affirmed, leaning in to-capture her mouth in a searing kiss. When they pulled away briefly, his words were warm and soft against her lips. “Always and forever.”

They turned down the lights in the bedroom completely before moving to the bed, kissing and stripping off the layers of clothing bit-by-bit; they were slow as they laid together, whispering words of love and devotion to each other.

“I love you.” His words were muffled into her skin as he pressed his lips to her neck, inhaling her. “Don’t forget that…I want you, no matter what.”

Their love-making was tender and sweet beneath the covers, thriving on the touch of skin-on-skin as they moved together. They held each other close as they finished, sighing and gasping with relieved relief.

Afterwards, as they shifted and he tucked her underneath his chin, he felt her crying openly; he didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what was bothering her. “Tina…”

“I’m fine,” She dismissed weakly, pressing her ear against his chest; she could hear the steady beat of his heart, a strong thrum.

He ignored the burn of his own tears, clouding his vision, and instead closed his eyes. “Please don’t forget… I need you, Tina – no matter what comes, I need you.”

Tina remembered how it used to be before – before they had started trying for a baby, before things started to go wrong – and ached at the memory of what she was now missing; instead of passionate love-making it was now the business of trying. Each time they both worried if it might have worked, and each time it was proven that it hadn’t; it was tiring, a routine…and she hated it, she hated that something so intimate and wonderful felt like a chore.

But this hadn’t been trying – this had been different, this hadn’t been about if they could conceive a baby, but rather just being together, loving each other. She didn’t want to lose him – couldn’t – because she knew, as self-sufficient as she made herself to be, that she needed him too.

Over the years, Credence had found himself growing more and more at home inside the case; perhaps because, when he was there, he didn’t feel so strange or like a freak (a word he still hated with a passion, a word that brought back awful memories he’d rather forget), not when he was surrounded by all of these wondrous beasts. While at first he had been hesitant to come out of his shell, scarred in more ways than one by the past, he was now a far cry from the frightened young man who had repressed his magic with frightful consequences – and he had two people in particular to thank for that.

It was more than easy to quietly study Newt and Tina in the case; both of them were rather awkward in the real world, outsiders like himself, but down here they both seemed just as at home as he himself felt. They had helped him more than they could possibly imagine, giving him shelter and protecting him, making sure that MACUSA were unaware he had in fact survived their attempt to kill him, and they had even helped to teach him magic in whatever ways they could – they had given him a place he could call home, and that was this case.

Credence usually enjoyed watching them from afar: they had both grown as much as he had with time, their relationship moving and blossoming like the various herbs that Newt grew in and around his shed, and while they weren’t overly affectionate as a couple there was still a certain aura that seemed to encompass them when they were together. He knew that they were both very happy together, that they certainly loved each other (unlike some couples he had occasionally witnessed); in a strange way, being in their presence put him at ease and watching the small moments between them gave him an inexplicable warmth.

Things hadn’t been like that recently.

A certain tension had seemed to materialise between the couple over the past few months, driving an invisible wall between them that neither acknowledged – but Credence knew about it, and he felt it as though he were trapped in the wall like a ghost, caught between the two. There were no arguments, of course, for they weren’t the type – but their interactions had turned rather frosty with the time that passed, as if they were avoiding talking about something they should and instead fumbling for something else, something meaningless. It was clear that things had changed, and certainly not for the better.

It greatly unsettled Credence, if he was being honest: he didn’t like the terse interactions he witnessed, didn’t like how cold things had become – it reminded him too much of how things had once been, and he hated it. The comfort and ease he had once felt at being surrounded by wondrous magical creatures had faded into something strange and unpleasant because it didn’t feel right at all.

That July afternoon, Newt had appeared somewhat more frustrated than usual; he had lost his temper quicker than usual when the Niffler stole his wedding ring, shaking it more vigorously than he normally did, and Credence could just tell that something was very wrong. This was why he approached the older man with slight trepidation later, debating just how best to discuss the matter.

“Mr Newt?” It was a habit he still hadn’t shaken, no matter how many times they corrected him for it. “Is…everything okay?”

“Completely,” Newt stated firmly, not even looking up from the Occamy he was tending to. “I’m absolutely fine.”

Credence gave a nod. “O-Oh. Well. It’s just that…that you seem kind of tense. You and Miss Gol- Miss Tina both, I mean.”

The Magizoologist seemed to freeze at his words; the Occamy in his hands gave an indignant chirp at being ignored, and after a moment he lowered it back into the nest. “I see. What makes you say that, Credence?”

“Nothing really,” He hurriedly dismissed, suddenly worried he’d annoyed the older man further with his remark. “It’s just that I’ve noticed you and Miss Tina are…cold. Neither of you smile so much, and I just thought…it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Newt assured him half-heartedly, looking somewhat surprised. “I suppose…you’re not wrong, really.” He sighed as he straightened up, avoiding his assistant’s eye as he tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. “Things aren’t exactly…easy for us at the moment, I’m afraid…you see, Tina and I have been hoping for a while now that we might have a baby.”

Credence blinked owlishly at this, clearly taken aback. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” He muttered. “We’ve been trying for two years now to have a baby, you see.”

“Two years?” The younger man was quite shocked by this revelation. “Does it usually take that long?”

Newt’s expression darkened. “No.”

Finally Credence understood where the sudden tension had come from – while he wasn’t quite an expert on human relations (he felt himself grow pink in the cheeks just imagining it sometimes), it made some sense that having trouble having a baby might cause a couple to grow apart with time with stress. “I’m sorry, Mr Newt; I had no idea that-”

“It’s fine,” Newt interrupted, looking up; his eyes were glistening with tears, a clear sign that he was pained by the subject. “We’re going to continue trying…it will happen at some point, of course…sooner or later.”

Credence wasn’t so sure that this was true – even he knew that two years was a rather long time to be trying and waiting to have a baby. He didn’t dare say this, however, out of the fear that he would upset or push Newt away if he did; instead, he gave a small nod and merely said, “I’m sure it will, Mr Newt.”

He hoped it would – in his opinion, if two people deserved to be happy and get what they wanted, it was Newt and Tina.

She could have sobbed when she woke up to blood-stained pyjamas that morning, any hope she had held broken and shattered.

Instead Tina cast a cleaning spell on the bedsheets before retreating to the bathroom to clean up; she let the water in the shower run blisteringly hot, scorching her skin and turning it pink, hoping that perhaps the pain she felt inside would be numbed by a different kind of pain outside. She put on the awful cloths and belt again, hands shaking somewhat, and left the ruined pyjamas in the washing basket – a silent sign for her husband to notice every month, a representation of her failure.

She dressed for work quickly, not wanting to have to face him when he woke now, before taking a moment just to study him; Newt was blissfully oblivious to her agony as he slept on peacefully, and a tiny part of her wanted to hate him for it. He would wake in an hour or so, go to the bathroom and see the pyjamas in the basket – and then any affection he felt for her would probably ebb away, perhaps replaced by loathing or disappointment.

I can’t even give him a child – something that should be so natural and easy.

Not for the first time, Tina wished that she were more like Queenie; usually it had been some envy that her younger sister was so confident, so vivacious, so perfect – now it was resentment due to the undeniable fact that her sister had no trouble whatsoever having children. She still loved Queenie, of course, but it was unfair that her perfect blonde sister had to be able to do yet another thing that Tina herself couldn’t.

No matter what her husband said, she still felt that she had let him down – that he deserved someone else, someone who could give him what he wanted…someone who wasn’t her.

As had become the custom, things were once again tense between the two of them: they barely spoke for the next few days, awkwardly avoiding any topic of conversation that would have required them to speak more than a few words. It was only at the end of the week, when things seemed unbearable, that Newt finally brought the topic up whilst they were working in the shed together.

“Tina, I know that you…you had your period this week,” He stated carefully. “I think that perhaps we should talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” She denied, gritting her teeth together as she plucked some herbs from a plant.

He gave a sigh. “Tina-”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Tina snapped, turning on him. “Mercy Lewis, Newt, can’t you just leave it alone?!”

“I’m trying to help!” Newt defended, frowning deeply at her. “Tina, it’s been well over two years now since we started trying for a baby and nothing has come of it – something is wrong, and we both know it!”

“Nothing is wrong!” She snarled, slamming her hands down on the wood of the workbench. “Everything is perfectly fine-”

“We both know that’s not true!” He interrupted, and his voice sounded harsh even to his own ears. “If it were perfectly fine then we would have a child by now – we would probably have several, the way we’ve been going – but we don’t and there’s something not right about this! Merlin, Tina, can’t you see that something must be wrong with one of us?!”

Tina straightened up, her glare almost-murderous. “How dare you?!”

“Can’t you see that we need to seek out some help?” Newt questioned. “If there’s something wrong with either of us then we need to be aware of it so that something can be done… The way we’re carrying on, Tina, we’re never going to have a child and we’ll end up hating each other because of it!”

There was a long silence that seemed to stretch and settle over them as they stared each other down, the tension reaching a painful peak that only served to remind them how far a chasm had been created.

Suddenly, there were tears in Tina’s eyes – and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop them from rolling down her cheeks; Newt was by her side immediately, anger vanished and replaced by concern as he embraced her. “Tina…”

“If you want a family and I can’t give it to you,” Tina wept, shoulders shaking. “I’d…I’d understand if you wanted someone else.”

“What?” He felt his heart sink into the deepest pit of his stomach at her words; for a moment he was quiet, avoiding her eyes as he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Is that what you want? Is this what this is truly about? You…You want to be shot of me?”

“No, that’s not what I meant at all!” She choked out. “No, I mean…if you want children and if I can’t give them to you, you…you should just put me away, get rid of me, and… I wouldn’t blame you, Newt, if you wanted to marry someone else, someone who can give you children and a family.”

Newt pulled away, shaking his head as his eyes filled with tears. “No…No, don’t say that…don’t ever say that, Tina!” Suddenly he was sobbing, pressing their foreheads together as he broke down without any warning. “Never…Never, I could never want anyone but you.”

They were crying together steadily, holding each other in the middle of the dimly-lit shed as all of the feelings and emotions they had kept hidden poured out into the open; Tina buried her face into his shoulder, clutching to her husband as though he would be pulled from her grasp at any moment. “Of course I want you too, I could never want anyone else either, but…but you deserve so much better, you deserve someone who can give you what you want-”

“I crossed oceans to be with you,” He whispered, still crying heavily. “Do you not know how…how awful it was, some days, being separated from you? I wouldn’t ever be fool enough to give you up, Tina, never, never in a thousand years would I be that big a fool… What I want is you, as trite as that sounds, a-and I want you for as long as you’ll have me.”

The noise she made was somewhere between a laugh and another sob. “I know, I know…I waited for you too: I waited for your letters, for your book, for you… Do you think I’d push you away after all that?” She took his face into her hands, pressing their foreheads closer together. “I’m not going to abandon you, Newt, not now and not ever…but if you really want children, and I can’t give them to you-”

“Stop it,” Newt interrupted, his hold on her tightening just a tad. “If we end up never having children, then so be it – you’re all I need, Tina, and I mean that. I’m not going to leave you, I’ll never leave you.”

He was surprised when she pressed a kiss to his mouth, but he responded all the same; she was still crying, her body trembling somewhat, but he pressed himself against her as his hands drifted to her waist. When they separated, both somewhat out of breath, Newt could feel his eyes stinging with tears again.

“Tina…”

“I need you,” Tina exhaled, voice breaking. “I need you, Newt, I need to know for certain that…that you mean it.”

Somehow they managed to stumble to the bunk that was in his shed, never once separating; he laid her down beneath him, licking his lips before leaning down to trail kisses down the soft expanse of her bare throat. She sighed, a mangled variant of his name mixed with pleasure and tears, hands tangling in his hair. He was tender as he undressed her, his lips following his hands in worshipping her body devotedly.

“Is this still okay?”

“Yes,” Tina agreed, voice tremoring slightly. “Completely.”

It wasn’t long until he undressed too, leaning over her and stroking her cheek. “My absolutely stunning wife. I love you so very much.”

“I love you too,” She managed. “It’s only ever been you. Please, Newt, do it…make love to me.”

As they made love, he mumbled loving sentiments into the hollow of her throat, holding her to him; he would never abandon her, he told her, for she was his wife and she was his – and he was hers too. He didn’t want some exotic wife, not even one whom could give him a family, for all he wanted was this beautiful woman he loved so dearly.

He was there to catch her as she finished, and he was not far behind. They held each other close for a few moments afterwards, recovering from their activities; both were blissful and sated, if only for a short time.

And then she felt the wetness of tears against her collarbone.

“Newt?” Tina whispered, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Dear, what’s the matter?”

Her husband was silent for a long moment, body still shaking from the intensity of his release, before lifting his head to gaze at her. “I’m sorry, it’s just…I’m so sorry…”

“Shhh, love,” She soothed gently. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’m here.”

“I know, I know, it’s…I just…you are everything,” Newt admitted, face flushed from their activities – but also some embarrassment. “I don’t want to be without you, Tina.”

Tina was suddenly cupping his face, her eyes also filled with tears. “Without me? You won’t be, Newt, I promise.”

“But…” He choked, suddenly overcome. “What if it’s my fault we can’t have a child? I know you’re convinced that it’s somehow your fault, but what if it’s my fault? It’s a fair possibility…”

And just like that, she understood. “Newt…”

“What if it’s because of me that we’re not having children? What if I’m…I’m the problem?”

Tina had grown very quiet, clearly trying to sort through the thoughts in her head and comfort her distraught lover efficiently. “Perhaps…Perhaps you had a point earlier.” She took a deep breath, swiftly looking away from him. “Perhaps we should seek out some help.”

A torturous silence fell in the room at her words, and it took a moment for Newt to find the words to respond. “Okay,” He muttered weakly. “Okay.”

They didn’t speak as they separated, moving to clamber underneath the covers of the bed – usually they would sleep outside of the case, in their usual bedroom, but for some reason it seemed only right that they rest in the shed, near to their creatures. Once they were both settled somewhat (not bothering to dress, for there didn’t seem much point), Tina rolled over onto her side to face him; even in the dark, he could tell that she was torn.

“I’m sorry I reacted badly earlier,” She said finally. “But I think you were right and we should see a Healer…like you said, at least we’d know for sure.”

Newt found himself reaching for her, needing to feel the warmth of her bare body against his own, his favourite comfort. “Yes…I do suppose that would be for the best really. There’s no point in continuing this cycle, not when it’s making us both so miserable.”

Tina pressed herself into his side, resting her head on his chest – her preferred position to sleep in – and closed her eyes. “No matter what happens…no matter what they say…you’ll still love me?”

“Of course,” He agreed, his hold on her tightening just a tad. “No matter what, we’ll still love each other…nothing will change that, love. Nothing.”

As expected, the Healers at St Mungo’s had decided that the best course of action would be to run various tests in order to determine any possible problems. An additional appointment was made for a week later to run a few examinations on Tina – and, as it turned out, for Newt to “leave a sample” for testing.

It was a week later, and they were once more seated before Healer McCarthy, Newt bouncing his leg nervously as Tina chewed at her bottom lip. The older woman smiled kindly at them as she went through their papers, making sure that everything was in order; finally, she stood up and used her wand to levitate the files into the air.

“Alright, Mrs Scamander, if you just come with me then we can start the physical examination. Mr Scamander, one of my colleagues will be with you in just a moment to take you to a quieter room.”

Tina looked rather nervous as she was led away, and Newt wished he could go with her, if only to make sure that she wasn’t alone; instead he looked down at the floor and tried to calm the beating of his heart. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done this, if he was being honest, far from it – but it was rather embarrassing all the same.

The male Healer who came to accompany him looked rather sympathetic and smiled cheerily at Newt as he took him down a long corridor and to a small room; it was white-walled, sparse, little furniture save for a few chairs and a table. There was an empty glass object on the table, and he tried not to go too red-faced at the sight of it – he knew exactly what it was for.

“Take as long as you need,” The Healer said kindly, still grinning somewhat as he closed the door behind him. “Just leave it behind the glass window when you’re done.”

Newt sat down on one of the chairs nearest to the table, trying to avoid looking at the cup again just yet; of all the things he had been asked to do, this might have been the most embarrassing – it was one thing in the privacy of a place you called home, but a hospital did not qualify as that at all. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and willing himself to remain level-headed: the sooner he got this over and done with the better.

What a coward he was, he thought to himself: the only contribution he really had to make was by pleasuring himself – Tina would be prodded and interrogated mercilessly, asked intimate questions that even he wasn’t quite sure the answers to, and yet she had gone ahead without a single complaint. He knew that it was because she wanted a child – she had for two years now – and if this perhaps brought them one step closer to achieving that then it would be worth it.

Truthfully, he was terrified of what the results would be: he had made sure to constantly assure Tina that, should the blame lie with her, then he would love her no matter what – but what if it was his fault? What if he was the reason that they had been so far incapable of producing children?

Thoughts like this weren’t helping him in any way – especially not with this – but he couldn’t help it; once the sample was tested and the Healers had the results, that would be it. There would be no uncertainty, no returning to how things had been before – there would be a final outcome, and they would have to work around it no matter what it was.

Newt thought about his wife – how she was most likely feeling the same way he was – and sighed; she was the reason he was doing this, he reminded himself, the reason he was sitting in a small room with a glass jar on a table. For the past two years, he had watched Tina grow more and more disheartened, more depressed with each month where they didn’t conceive a child, and it pained him to see her so unhappy. They had been stuck in the same dreary cycle for two years now: trying to conceive, failing to do so, feeling miserable, trying again…it was exhausting, and it had taken a toll on Tina as well as himself.

He cast a look at the cup and looked away again hurriedly; pleasuring himself into a small cup had not been something he’d ever imagined doing, yet here he was.

I’m doing this for Tina – if this is what she needs me to do, then so be it.

With that in mind, he tried to force himself into that headspace: he’d never get anything done worrying about the future, and he had been the one to suggest seeking help…he had to square up and get on with things, as one might say.

Alright, Newt forced himself to think: I’m doing this for Tina. She’s the reason I am here – I’d do anything for her if it made her happy, even this… She wants for us to have a baby, my baby, and I want her to, so I have to do this…

Somehow he manged to get it done; it took a great deal of imagination and recalling memories on his part, but eventually he managed to do what he needed to into the cup. He took a few minutes to recover, cheeks flushed; when he opened his eyes, he was rather embarrassed by the sight of the cup and had to drag his gaze away to look at something – anything – else. He knew that there was a reason he had done it, but all the same…it was not something he would ever want to do again.

The hardest part was over, Newt told himself as he readjusted his clothing; he just had to leave the cup behind the small sliding glass door on the other side of the room, and that was it. The Healers would test it to determine if there was any problems and give them results in a week or so.

Being honest, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the results or not.

He carefully placed the lid on the cup, making sure not to spill anything, and silently left it behind the sliding glass door; no one appeared to be on the other side watching him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone knew what he’d been doing in this small bare room. Briefly, he found himself wondering just how many other men had been in his position – how many had done the same thing he had just done in a moment of desperation.

It’s okay, Newt told himself in a half-hearted attempt to reassure himself; after all, it’s not as if anyone but myself or the Healers will see it…it’s for us to have a family, it’s important. No need to be so embarrassed really.

Even with that frame of mind, he didn’t want to remain in this room for much longer – the sooner he left and attempted to forget this the better.

Tina’s examination and questions ended that afternoon with the conclusion that she was healthy and didn’t appear to possess any illnesses that would have made it difficult to conceive; far from putting Newt at ease, it only increased his anxiousness for his own results, which would not be available for another week or so. The Healer affirmed that she would let them know when his results were ready so that they could come in for another discussion on what the next step would be.

As soon as they had apparated home, Tina looked visibly relieved.

“I thought…I thought there was something wrong,” She admitted. “When they started asking about my…periods…and they asked if I got them heavy, I was certain that they were gonna say it was me.”

“Well, it doesn’t appear to be you,” Newt assured her, forcing himself to smile despite the fact he was internally worrying very much. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

It had been a week since they had last been intimate together, and so as soon as all of their creatures were settled for the night the two retreated to the bedroom for some very much needed time alone. There were no words as they kissed and embraced, moving together in a way they were rather fond of, and it wasn’t long until they were cuddled underneath the covers together, both sweaty and sated.

Newt’s eyes closed as he inhaled deeply. “If it’s me-”

“I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with either of us,” Tina interrupted quickly, sensing the silent struggle he was enduring. “Maybe we’ve just been trying at the wrong times…maybe there’s nothing at all to be worried about.” Her hand cupped his cheek gently, a kind warmth in her touch. “Don’t fret over this, Newt. Please. There’s no use in it.”

There was no disagreeing with her when she used that tone of voice, firm and set, so he simply nodded and pulled her closer to him so that they could get some much needed sleep; as Tina dozed off beside him, rather content, he couldn’t help but wonder just how much longer he had left to enjoy sleeping beside her before it all crumbled away.

Healer McCarthy was smiling as she greeted Newt and Tina a week later, a folder full of papers in arm. “It’s lovely to see you both again. Now, Mr Scamander, you have a choice; some men prefer to be given their results in private, as a matter of pride – so if you’d prefer for your wife to wait outside then that’s perfectly fine.”

Newt cast a look at Tina – and he knew immediately what his answer would. “No, I’d prefer for Tina to be with me, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” The Healer agreed kindly. “If you’ll just come with me then, we’ll go to my office for a chat.”

Her hand slipped into his, a small comfort but a comfort nonetheless, as they followed the older witch down the corridor and into a small but well-decorated room. As soon as they were seated, Healer McCarthy looked at them both seriously – and it was obvious that whatever the news, it wasn’t good.

“As you’re both aware by now, the examination that we performed on you, Mrs Scamander, showed that you’re relatively healthy – even with a heavy cycle, it should still be more than possible for you to carry children.” Her eyes shifted to Newt, and he felt his stomach drop. “I’m afraid, Mr Scamander, that the issue here seems to lie with you.”

He could feel his wife’s hand squeezing his own, an anchor as he listened to the very news he had dreaded hearing for so long.

Healer McCarthy looked rather sympathetic as she gazed at him, her papers and folders spread out before her on the desk. “In the sample you gave, we found that while there were plenty of seminal fluids, there weren’t very many… “swimmers”, as it were – certainly not enough to impregnate your wife. To add, the ones that were there had a low motility…any would have died before having the chance to join an egg.” She paused. “I’m very sorry. I know that this is very difficult for you both to take in. If you like, I can leave you two alone for a moment before we discuss the options that you both now have.”

Tina gnawed on her bottom lip, looking to her husband; his face was uncharacteristically darkened, angered, as he swallowed. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Alright then,” The Healer acquiesced calmly. “The chances of you getting pregnant with your husband’s child, Mrs Scamander, are extremely low.”

“But not impossible?”

Healer McCarthy gave a small nod. “Nothing’s impossible, dear, but it’s extremely unlikely – I wouldn’t count on it happening, I’m afraid. Now, if you both decide that you still want children, then there are other options; adoption, fostering…they’re both very big decisions, not to be taken lightly, so I don’t recommend making your mind up immediately, especially after the news you’ve just received.” She paused. “Again, I am…truly sorry.”

Neither of them spoke as they returned home and went through the usual daily motions without enthusiasm; immediately after they returned, Newt retreated into the case with his creatures – Tina knew, even without him saying a word, that he needed to be alone for a while. Instead, she settled for making herself a cup of coffee (as strong as she could) and curling up in the bedroom upstairs with a book.

Newt appeared a few hours later, avoiding her gaze as he walked into the room and started to undress; by this time, Tina had changed into her nightclothes and was waiting for him in the dark whilst sitting against the headboard. She silently watched him as he undressed and changed into his own pyjamas before settling into bed; he didn’t look at her as he rolled onto his side to face away from her, clearly not in the mood for words.

But it needed to be spoken about, whether they liked it or not, and they both knew it.

They were silent for a few minutes, both waiting for the other to speak first; finally, Newt gave a sigh, his voice quiet as he finally allowed himself to speak to her.

“I’m sorry,” He muttered, still not looking at his wife. “I’m so sorry.”

Tina’s heart clenched in her chest. “Newt…”

“This is my fault,” He stated, tears glistening in his eyes. “It’s all my fault we can’t have a child…it’s all because of me. I’ve…I’ve failed you as a husband, Tina.”

“No, you haven’t,” She denied weakly, putting a hand on his shoulder and turning him towards her. “You haven’t failed me at all, dear, I promise.”

“It’s my fault that we don’t have a baby,” Newt murmured, looking up at her through bleary and tired eyes. “You deserve so much better…you deserve a husband who can give you what you want.” He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes. “I know I’ve let you down…and so if you wish to end our marriage, to wed someone who can give you what you want, then I won’t blame you-”

“Stop it, Newt!” Tina exclaimed, though it was clear she wasn’t angry. “Don’t be so ridiculous – I’m not going to ask to annul our marriage because of this, not at all!” She cupped his face with her hands, forcing him to look up at her so he knew she was serious. “We promised in our vows that we’d never leave each other, and I intend to stick by that promise until I die – nothing will change that, Newt, nothing.”

He choked, emotions suddenly getting the best of him. “But…But you want a child…”

“I wanted a child with you,” She reiterated firmly. “Our child, something we made together – but if we can’t have one then I will learn to accept it. I don’t need a herd of children to make me happy because I’m at my happiest when I’m with you, Newt, and I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“Tina-”

“We have our creatures,” Tina stated firmly. “They’re our children already, even if they’re not human; we already protect and love them so much, both of us. Besides, you heard the Healer: there’s a chance that someday we will have a child – nothing is impossible.”

She wrapped him in her embrace, holding him as he started to sob into her side; she said nothing, instead waiting patiently as he finally release the emotions and heartbreak he was feeling to her. She was also disappointed by what they had been told, just as much as he was – but she had meant every word of what she had said too: there was no one else she could imagine spending the rest of her life with, no one else who made her feel the way he did.

“I love you,” She told him firmly, turning his face up towards her. “Baby or no baby, I will always love you.”

Newt was still crying as Tina brushed the hair from his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead; for a few moments they remained this way, a quiet calm settling over them. After a short time he shifted, and she could feel his warm breath on the skin of her neck and chin – and then his lips seeking hers; despite her surprise, she found herself kissing him back on instinct, and for a moment it was easy to forget.

But then she felt him tense, and he was pulling away suddenly.

“You don’t have to,” He muttered, avoiding her gaze. “There’s…There’s really no point, we won’t make a baby…”

“I am not doing this to make a baby,” Tina stated firmly. “I’m doing this because I want you… But if you don’t want me to, then that’s fine; I won’t force you, Newt, not if it makes you uncomfortable. We can just sleep if you want.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, casting his eyes downwards before closing them tightly. “I…I don’t know,” He finally said. “I feel silly and pathetic saying this aloud but…but I do need you, Tina.”

“Yes… I need you too,” She agreed, cupping his face and trying to pull him back towards her. “Let me show you, Newt: let me show you how much I want you.”

“I…I need you,” He repeated, voice extremely weak. “I need you, Tina…I need you…”

She shushed him gently, pressing small kisses to his face; when she reached his mouth, however, she hesitated for just a moment. “Let me look after you, just this once…let me take control of things.“

He gave a small nod, and with that she leaned forwards to kiss him; there was no fire or passion but a loving tenderness, as if she was waiting for him to push her away again. It took a few moments for him to respond, and she wondered if he did want this – but then she felt his mouth working against hers slowly, his hands coming to grip her own tightly, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

When they separated, his eyes were glistening again. “I…I…”

“I know,” Tina said sincerely, rubbing her thumb over his cheek; he hadn’t shaved over the past few days, and his stubble felt rough to touch. “You don’t need to say it – I know. You’re mine, Newt, alright? You’re always mine.”

For a few minutes they merely kissed, slow but warm, familiarising themselves with each other. As her hands drifted down to his pyjama shirt, she pulled back somewhat and looked at him seriously, a question.

“Is this…still okay?” She asked, resting their foreheads together. “You can say ‘no’ at any time if you want, I promise.”

“No,” Newt said hoarsely. “Still okay. Please, Tina…”

There was no rush as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down his shoulders; with this off, she leaned in to press another kiss to his mouth, reassuring him gently. She could feel the tears wetting his cheeks as he returned the kiss, could feel the pain he was going through as keenly as her own.

“Hold on,” Tina whispered, reaching for the buttons on her own nightwear. “Only fair.”

He was reminded of their first time all of a sudden, of how tentative they had been, and his heart ached at how simple things had been once. Not for the first time, he became aware of just how lucky he really was to have her – why she would have wanted to marry him in the first place had always been a mystery to him, but he hadn’t questioned it in case it ruined things.

Tina embraced him once more, her arms welcoming and as familiar to him now as his case with his creatures; as her mouth found his in another soft kiss, he hesitantly found himself moving his hands to her back so as to hold her. He wanted to feel her, not out of lust but because he needed to know she was still there, that she hadn’t abandoned him: he wanted to hold her close, just to know that she was there with him.

“I love you,” She murmured again between kisses, one hand cupping his face while the other slid around his shoulders. “I don’t want you to ever think otherwise.”

Newt closed his eyes as he tried to relax more into the kiss; he had been admittedly worried that she would no longer want him after the news, that she would want to leave and find a husband who could give her what she wanted…but she hadn’t, she had proclaimed that she still loved and wanted him. A part of him was relieved – the other slightly less rational part was still waiting for her to turn around and kick him out of their bed.

A soft hand dusted over his shoulders, down over the hard planes of his chest and his stomach; it stopped just above this waistband of his pyjama bottoms, and she pulled away to allow them both some space to breathe and to look him in the eye. “Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to push you-”

“No,” He interrupted, not looking at her. “I don’t want to stop. Keep going.”

She remained slow as she continued, reaching for him – only to falter when she found evidence that he was not quite enjoying this as she had hoped.

He choked suddenly, lurching away from her. “I’m sorry-”

“No,” Tina said quickly, pulling him back towards her. “Newt, listen to me; I’m not upset. If you don’t want to do this then please don’t force yourself – I won’t be angry or disappointed. I only thought that…I mean it, if you want to stop then I promise that I will not mind.”

“It’s not that,” Newt muttered, and he was starting to cry again. “I want to, I do, but…but I keep thinking about it, Tina, that I can’t give you a baby and…and I can’t help it.”

“Newt…”

But he was moving away, hiding his face like a wounded animal. “I can’t give you children – the one thing I should be able to do naturally. You deserve so much better, Tina, and I am…so sorry.”

“No, love,” She disagreed, shaking her head as her own tears started to prick at her eyes. He was surprised when her hands suddenly cupped his face, steering him towards her. “Listen to me, Newt: you are more than…than that to me. Nature doesn’t always get things right, and you know this better than anyone. I won’t lie to you, I’m…I’m devastated that we can’t have a baby,” She admitted carefully, wary of hurting him. “I wanted to have our baby more than I thought I would…But this doesn’t change how I feel about you at all. I married you because I love you – if we cannot have children together, then we have nieces and nephews and our creatures.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” He sniffed, looking away.

“I am not lying!” Tina stated, clearly appalled by this. “Newt, look at me: I would never lie to you, never." A tear rolled down her face, and he watched it fall with wide eyes. “You promised that if it was because of me then you’d still love me…why can’t you believe the same of me?”

Newt swallowed thickly. “I…I don’t know.”

“I do still love you,” She insisted fiercely, and she was suddenly crying with him – he couldn’t remember a time when she had cried quite like this. “For better or for worse. Please don’t think I don’t, Newt, please… I don’t need a baby to make me happy – you’ve already made me so much happier than I imagined ever being.”

For a few minutes they just held each other, sharing the grief that they both felt as they cried and embraced; it felt painful and raw as they both came undone, trying to offer each other comfort whilst also allowing their own miseries to wash over them. It was only as they both started to calm down, sobs dying into hiccups and sniffles, that Tina pulled away and rubbed at her eyes; underneath the hurt and sorrow, he could see that she was understanding too – giving even when she was upset herself.

“I don’t think we should,” She whispered mournfully, reaching for where her pyjama shirt had been discarded further up the bed. “I…I don’t want to force you.”

Newt felt his heart constrict in his chest. “No, you’re not forcing me at all, I promise. I do want you…I need you. I want to do this – I want to be close to you.”

Tina hesitated, her shirt clutched between her fingers as she considered what he had said. “Are you sure?” She questioned uncertainly. “Are you really sure about this?”

“Yes,” Newt affirmed, and he suddenly found himself reaching out for her, needing to feel her skin against his own. “Please, Tina…please.”

She dropped the garment back onto the bed, moving closer to him; she still looked unsure, even somewhat anxious. “Only if this is what you really want…as I’ve said, we don’t have to-”

“I want to,” He repeated, bringing his fingers to brush along the edge of her cheek. “I… A part of me needs to know that you do still want me.”

She took a deep breath, resting their foreheads together for a moment. “I do…always, Newt. Always.”

It was a newfound tenderness that they joined together in the dark; Tina continued to murmur and breathe reassuring sentiments into his ear – he could feel his heart swell when she called him “My Newt”, but he tried not to show it, for getting too emotional would do him no good really. He agreed, instead, for he was hers. Each kiss that she peppered him with was to convey to him everything she wanted him to know; she wanted him to know that she loved him so much more than she would have dared admit aloud, to know that she would never leave him, that of course she wanted him, in all the ways it was possible to want another person. His response was somewhat more obvious this time, fumbling as he kissed and drank in everything she had to offer like it was his last chance.

When they broke apart again for much needed air, Tina’s hands came to gently push at his shoulders. “Lie down for me, Newt; let me show you.”

Newt did as she asked, somewhat hesitantly, and watched as she moved to hover over him. Her mouth started near to his ear, kissing softly at first before moving down to his bare throat and nipping – not hard enough to hurt but enough to make him gasp out her name.

“Mine,” He heard her murmur into his skin. “Always mine…always.”

The kisses started to trail lower, over his collarbones and his chest; she paused over a particularly visible scar, just a few inches from where she knew his heart was, and brushed her lips over it. He couldn’t help but shiver slightly at the feeling, tilting his head back with a low sigh.

“My brave husband,” Tina stated, moving onto another scar. “You’re so brave and I am so lucky…and nothing will change how I feel…nothing…”

He closed his eyes as her kisses drifted down his torso, worshipping each of the scars she found and whispering an adoration into his skin to reassure him. She watched his face as she did this, studying his reactions to be sure that he was still completely consenting and comfortable; when she had finished kissing a scar on his lower stomach, she sat up and slipped her hands in his, squeezing his fingers in her own.

“Don’t you see?” She whispered to him, suddenly emotional. “You’re so much more to me than…than having children; you’re my husband, and I love you. I will keep saying it until you realize it, Newt – I love you, and I’ll always be here for you.”

Newt felt the air catch in his throat as he looked up at her, suddenly struck by the realisation that he was so ridiculously, unbelievably blessed; that afternoon as they had returned from their appointment he had thought that she would surely leave him, be so repelled by the fact he was the reason they could not conceive a child – but she hadn’t talked of leaving him at all, instead being so incredibly understanding and giving. She was a giver in every sense of the word, giving him so much more than he felt he deserved sometimes, and he found himself overwhelmed.

Tina brought one his hands, still linked with her own, to her lips and pressed a kiss to where their fingers interlocked; she maintained eye contact with him, gazing with unabashed adoration. “My Newt.”

“Please,” He found himself muttering, a surprising desperation in his voice. “Tina, I want you…will you show me?”

The corners of her lips lifted as she leaned down over him. “Of course, love.”

Newt found himself watching as she unlinked their hands and peppered kisses back down his body; when she had finished worshipping him once more, they met in an impassioned kiss that caused him to reach for her. They sat up together, holding each other close, as they continued their activities; when they were joined in the most intimate way possible, Tina shifted and looked down at his face – even in the dark it was obvious that he was trying to stop himself from crying.

“I love you,” She found herself murmuring softly, pressing her lips against his temple.

It took him a moment to reply, and when he spoke his voice was quiet. “I love you too.”

The pace that they made love with was erratic and heated – but it wasn’t about the physical gratification, really; he could hear her soft adorations in the air around them, could feel the love in her touch. Similarly, he wanted to drink her in and forget himself; it was a wonderful dance, he found himself thinking, a dance where they both gave and took in equal abundances.

He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, to thank her for still wanting and needing him – but he couldn’t find the words, instead only the occasional sound of pleasure.  He refused to cry – not now, not while he had her loving him in such a way. He wanted this moment to last forever, this moment where they were intimately close and connected.

It didn’t last particularly long, but that was hardly the point.

Tina recovered first, her breathing shallow; she retracted her nails from his shoulders and instead slowly spread her hands over his skin – she had left light scratches and marks across his torso, marking him as hers and hers only. He had pushed his face into her chest when he had finished, and his entire body was shaking with small tremors; she pressed a kiss to his forehead, running her hand through his hair and feeling the sweat-soaked curls through her fingers.

It didn’t surprise her when she felt his tears on her chest, his quiet muffled sniffles echoing in the air.

“Newt, love,” She whispered, still slightly out of breath. “Talk to me – tell me what you’re thinking.”

Newt gave a choke, trying to contain himself. “I’m…I’m sorry,” Her husband croaked, lifting his face to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Tina stated calmly, brushing her thumb over his cheek ever so softly.

She held him as he cried, burying his face into the crook of her neck; it was uncomfortable for them to remain in this position, especially seeing as they were both sated and sweaty, but neither of them made to part just yet. She didn’t say a word as he allowed his emotions to pour out, instead dutifully stroking his hair back and holding him against her body.

Eventually his tears stopped, replaced by unsteady exhales and a slight hiccup as he forced himself to calm down; she was still there with him, gently cupping his face and tilting it towards her so that they were eye-to-eye.

“I’m sorry,” Newt said again quietly.

“You don’t need to be,” Tina repeated, resting her forehead against his. “It’s not your fault – you had no control over something like this… Besides, I don’t need a child to be happy, not really – I just need you. We can continue trying because it’s not impossible, the Healer herself said so, and if nothing comes of it then that will be fine because we’ll have our creatures and our nieces and nephews…and we’ll have each other, of course.”

His grip on her tightened, firm but not painful, and he inhaled heavily; for a moment he was silent, and she waited patiently for him to speak again. When he finally did just minutes later, his voice was weak and pained – but there was also a sense of relief too, she noted.

“Thank you.” His eyes were teary once more, though not with misery now. “Thank you, Tina.”

They slowly separated, not bothering with their nightclothes and instead slipping beneath the sheets; immediately Tina was wrapping her arms around him, nestling into his side with her head on his chest – as normal, as if nothing had changed between them.

Nothing had changed, Newt realized, and he felt the slightest feelings of hope and warmth settle in his stomach at the thought.

“I love you,” He murmured, closing his eyes as he relaxed into her touch.

Her voice came to him in the dark, clear as day and like a shining beacon. “I love you too – always, love.”

Two Years Later

It was relatively late when Tina joined him in the case that evening; Credence had gone home, and most of the creatures were either asleep or preparing to rest. She looked somewhat tired, but her smile was genuine – and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Long day at work then?” Newt mused, turning back to the Graphorn he had been attending to; it wasn’t the first night she had come home late, usually caught up with paperwork or another task at the office. “You should get to bed early, love, I can settle everyone for the night.”

“Actually,” Tina said quickly, and there was the slightest hint of nervousness hidden in her voice. “I’ll wait for you to finish your rounds…we need to talk.”

He was admittedly surprised by this but nodded nonetheless. “I see. Very well then – I won’t be long.”

It took just ten minutes to finish putting all of their creatures to rest for the night; his wife was waiting patiently for him near the tree that homed their Bowtruckles, arms folded as she gnawed on her lip. She forced herself to smile, however, as he approached and took the hand he offered without hesitation.

“Alright, what do we need to talk about?” Newt asked, looking her over.

Tina hesitated, looking across the expanse of the case – their case – at all of their creatures. “I…haven’t been feeling all that well lately.”

Ah, yes, he knew that already: she had come down with quite a nasty bout of flu just a couple of weeks previously, and he had helped to nurse her back to full health despite her complaints. “Are you feeling ill again?”

“Not quite,” She said slowly, looking back up at him. “But I haven’t exactly been feeling myself, so I thought I’d go to the Healer to check – just to be sure.”

“You should have told me,” He stated, somewhat anxiously. “I would have come with you-”

“It was a last minute appointment,” She confessed quickly, casting her eyes down at the floor. “I…I wasn’t sure if I should go, really, it seemed silly…”

Newt frowned but didn’t comment on her latter comment. “Well, what did the Healer say? Is there something that we need to be concerned about?”

Again, Tina paused and seemed to consider something before speaking. “I’m just thinking… Do you think we’ll have room for a new addition?”

“Well, I suppose it depends on the size,” He pondered thoughtfully. “There’s only so much space, even if I do extend some of it more. To add, there are some creatures that I’m sure we sadly can’t keep down here, no matter how much we might want to-”

“Newt,” Tina interrupted, and she waited until he looked at her. “I’m not talking about a creature…not really…”

He stared at her for a long moment, not quite understanding – and then their eyes met, and it hit him suddenly just what she meant. She waited with bated breath to see how he would respond, not looking away.

“Tina.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you mean…?”

And then she beamed at him, tears in her eyes as she nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

Suddenly Newt was kissing her hard on the mouth, pulling her towards him; when they broke away, he gave a shaky delirious laugh. “Oh Merlin…”

Before she could respond, her husband had sunk to his knees in front of her; he placed his hands on her stomach, spreading his palms wide as he looked on with wonder. Tina felt her heart warm when he pushed his face into her stomach, kissing it through the fabric of her work blouse – when he pulled away, however, he was sobbing.

“Newt, what’s the matter?” She asked anxiously. “Have I done something wrong?”

He choked, shaking his head. “No, no, not at all, it’s just…” His hands slipped into hers, fingers intertwined as he struggled to find words. “I think I need to hear you say it. Please, Tina, say it so I know for certain…”

She tearfully laughed, squeezing his hands tightly. “Newt…I’m pregnant.”

The noise he made was halfway between a sob and a chuckle. “Again.”

“I’m pregnant,” Tina repeated, and there were tears streaming down her face now too. “I’m pregnant – we’re having a baby, Newt.”

“Yes,” Newt gasped, resting his head against her abdomen. “Merlin, we are.”

“We’re having a baby,” She cried joyously, heart feeling as though it were about to explode through her chest. “We made a baby.”

His breath caught in his chest.

“We made a baby, Newt,” She reiterated tearfully. “After so long…”

He unlinked their hands so that he could push up the fabric of her shirt; before she could say anything else, he was pressing soft kisses to her navel as his shoulders shook. “We did it,” He whispered disbelievingly. “Tina…this is real.”

“You’re happy.”

“Of course,” He agreed, standing now; his hands remained on her stomach as he leaned in towards her, lips brushing against her temple. “I am so…so unbelievably happy and overjoyed, Tina. You are…glorious…magnificent. And you, you’re happy too?”

Tina forced back a sob of her own as she held him close to her, mouth turning up into one of the most beautiful smiles he had seen. “Yes, yes, I am!”

“I’m going to worship you,” Newt declared, taking her hand and leading her towards the shed. “I’m going to worship you and every single moment of this…I love you so much, Tina. Thank you.”

Tina gave a small laugh as she followed him eagerly, squeezing his fingers tightly in her own. “I love you too, Newt – always.”

*

THIS BASTARD IS FINISHED, THANK FUCK FOR THAT.

Literally. This fic is like…an alien, and I have finally killed it. (okay that’s a weird thing to say but it’s late and I’m tired)

I hope you all enjoyed (kind of). I kind of did enjoy writing it on a weird level…? If only because it was something new and separate from what I’ve written before.

Anyway, thanks for reading, I love you all!

[welcometocaritas]

CHAPTER 4 IS UP!

Title: The Ghosts of What Happened

Characters: Marina Andrieski, Julia Wicker

Pairing: Julia/Marina

Fandom: The Magicians, Hannibal

Format: Multi-Chap

Summary:  

Reynard’s gone. It’s the first thing she notices when they pop back into Marina’s apartment. The next is the body. Marina, sprawled unceremoniously in the center of the carpet, eyes closed, lips parted with blood.

links: A03,  FF.Net

So I’m sorry for the late update. My anxiety’s been running me ragged. I’ve been editing and re-editing this chapter again and again. I still hate it but I’ve decided to bite the bullet and post because otherwise I don’t think I ever will. Anyway, apologies in advance for the crappy chapter.

Also for those readers who haven’t seen Hannibal, Garret Jacob Hobbs was Abigail’s dad. You know, that lovely guy who decided to shoot for parent of the year by trying to her. Fun times.

Another week, another let’s fuck with Julia episode. Raise your hand if your uncomfortable with the fact that this is yet another thing that’s been forced on Julia without her consent? And as a consequence (punishment) for getting an abortion? That said, it’s nice to see her smiling for a change.

Trigger Warnings: Very brief description of rape (about a sentence), violence/gore, panic attack

Weakness

noun

the fact or state of not being strong or powerful

a particular part or quality of someone or something that is not good or effective

a strong liking, usually for something that might have unpleasant or unwanted effects

...

"My worst enemy is my memory."

- Unknown

. . .

"Lie down," Marina says, tone perhaps a little more commanding than the situation warrants. She's used to ordering people around and being obeyed in equal measure. But exerting that kind of power over Julia at the moment is probably the last thing she should be doing.

The other woman only looks at her with confusion, though, and the beginnings of suspicion. "Why?"

She thinks about softening her voice, of extending reassurances - she knows how to play the part, even if it doesn't fit quite right - but that might just throw Julia off more. Add weight to her misgivings. The unfamiliar is a source of discontent, not to be trusted. Best not to coddle her too much then.

"Because you don't want to be standing when this spell knocks you out. You'll be asleep for a few hours, probably more, and that sounds like something that would be best carried out in a bed."

Brusque, to the point and Julia nods, seeming to accept that. "And when I wake up, I won't remember anything?"

"That's the drill." Marina hesitates. "There's a catch, though." And she's been thinking about it ever since Julia confessed what she wanted from her. Mulling it over, brainstorming various loopholes and ultimately scratching them out. Mostly, she's been trying to determine how best to tell Julia - and what her reaction might be. "Doing this will involve sifting through the memories you want gone, in order to get the right ones."

Julia blinks. "So that means you'll. . ."

Marina doesn't leave her to flounder. "I'll see everything, yeah. And so will you. Basically it's gonna get worse before it gets better."

The shower did wonders in cleansing Julia of the tears, blood and various other bodily fluids the day had left her with but there was no scrubbing away that sallow look to her skin. She's alarmingly pale, especially given her natural olive complexion. As Marina's words sink in, the little color that's left in her face escapes in a rush and she's not sure if she's about to pass out, or vomit. Again.

She puts a hand out just in case.

Doesn't touch.

The moment stretches on.

When it ends, a shutter has fallen over Julia's face, locking the emotions away from Marina's prying gaze. Her stance hardens and her jaw clenches.

She knows the answer before it comes.

"Do it."

The color still hasn't returned to her face.

"Julia, are you sure you want to-"

She doesn't let her finish. "I said do it. You owe me that much."

Her voice is as stony as her expression, hard, impenetrable, utterly without remorse.

Marina withdraws at the words, itching to lash out, wound. The standard response. But her quarry has already been struck, butchered, so she forces the urge down, just this once.

Taking a deep breath, she resolves to be kind.

Well, kind for her.

She knew how to be once. She can bring that back. Just for a little while. For julia.

(why? Why for Julia?)

But not because she owes her.

"Fine." The word is toxic, scorching her throat on the way out. Her pride burns. "Whatever. Just lie the fuck down already. I'd like to be out of here by morning."

The brunette says nothing, only approaches the bed with impassive silence. Her actions are rigid with tension and strain as she lowers herself down. Marina hovers, ready, just in case.

Julia has started to shake.

…

"People always talk about how hard it can be to remember things - where they left their keys, or the name of an acquaintance - but no one ever talks about how much effort we put into forgetting. I am exhausted from the effort to forget... There are things that have to be forgotten if you want to go on living."

― Stephen Carpenter, Killer

…

Julia gives it a few minutes after hearing the shower stop before coming back into the bedroom. It's a good call because Marina is only just sliding the black singlet over her head when she enters - she left the 'pajamas' from yesterday outside the bathroom door before going to check that Martin wasn't about to burn down her apartment. As her bare back disappears from sight, Julia's gaze gravitates up to her throat. No longer hidden by the turtleneck, inflamed patches of red mottle the pale skin with distressing contrast.

She looks away.

Marina, for her part, ignores her presence entirely.

"I was going to make dinner. You want something?"

"I'm fine."

Spurning her offer of food, she collapses onto Julia's side of the bed - an obvious slight - and refuses to budge thereafter. Not exactly the response she was hoping for. She tries again, this time trying to tempt her with ordering pizza, which she knows to be the older woman's weakness, but it does nothing to rouse her.

Julia sighs and starts calculating the benefits of rest vs food when recovering from a near death experience.

After a few minutes of tense silence pass, she decides that the benefits of not poking a sleeping bear far outweigh those of either food or rest.

Though, as far as sleeping goes, she suspects Marina's is more or less feigned. She's too stiff, too harsh in her breathing. In all honesty, she doesn't even seem to be at rest. But she keeps her back to Julia and refuses to acknowledge her - and she has to assume that poking a bear that's pretending to be asleep just so you'll go the fuck away is just as bad as poking one that's actually asleep.

So she gives up, leaves the room and goes to make some dinner that she isn't hungry for. The food will taste like ash in her mouth, she already knows, but she skipped lunch and sustenance is a necessity if she plans on having enough strength to kill Reynard.

(and how the fuck are you going to do that, now that he has the knife?)

She sits on the couch with Martin and spends an hour and a half picking away at a slice of toast - one loaded with enough marmite to give even her sorry tastebuds a stir. They watch Gilmore Girls reruns for a while - he's scarily into it - and twice she talks him down from paying either of the actresses a surprise visit. Imagining the kind of headlines that would cause only worsens her headache and she ends up escaping to the bathroom for some aspirin and a shower. Someone has left cracks in the mirror and she traces them with a sigh. Probably Marina. There was that suspect noise she heard this morning whilst she was in there and if it had been Martin he would have taken pains to rub it in her face by now.

The mirror heals under her touch, surface returning to its unblemished state. As though it was never hurt in the first place.

If only everything could be that easy to fix.

By the time she returns to the bedroom, Marina's act seems to have ceased and she looks to have fallen into a deep sleep. Pushing down a surge of envy, she changes and climbs into bed, succumbing to exhaustion not an hour later.

    . . .

"This is the moment I realize that our traumas never really go away. They live inside of us, in the deepest darkest pits of our own tiny hells. Cocked and loaded, waiting for someone to come along and pull the trigger."

― A. Zavarelli, Crow

. . .

She's back in her apartment. Cupcake's mutilated body bleeding all over her lap - heart still beating - her hands working behind her, fingers weaving -

If she can just -

And he's there, a lightning flash of movement, iron hand crushing hers, yanking, up, up, up -

She cries out.

Wrenching pain. Something coming away. Her finger. Her fucking finger.

Release. Her hand, hers again

She cradles it against her chest, pumping blood, blood, blood . . .

"So much more fun to be had."

That voice.

(don 't look up, don't look up, don't look up)

She looks up and the image shifts. It isn't Reynard. Not Reynard at all. That smile is his.

She scrambles back as far as the chair will allow, pushes, pushes, pushes until blood vessels break under pressure.

This isn't happening. This can't be happening. Dead is dead is dead.

Garret Jacob Hobbs approaches, blood running from his mouth, her severed finger diving in for another bite.

Chewing, he reaches out for her face, palming her wet cheek, thumb stroking bitten lips.

"Shh, I'm going to make it all go away."

The sob tears her chest apart. She can't contain it.

He wipes a tear away with his thumb. Such regret, such sorrow in those eyes.

Such hunger.

The scene morphs, bleeds into the past.

And she's back in that kitchen.

Something sharp and cold digging into her neck.

What happens next is inevitable.

She knows it is.

And still she begs.

Still she hopes.

She cries and she pleads until the blood drowns her.

It always does.

. . .

"But the fact is, dreams catch us with our armor off." ― Victoria Schwab, The Unbound

. . .

It's still dark out when Julia opens her eyes and she fumbles for a moment, disoriented. Why is she awake?

Not a nightmare. Not this time. No, she suffered through that earlier in the night already. It didn't feel right asking Marina to cast that spell on her again, requesting her help after everything that happened. In truth, she's just relieved the other hedge witch didn't kick her out of her own bed in a fit of spite.

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.

And maybe Marina would have evicted her, if she wasn't so clearly exhausted. The day had definitely worn her down. She might not even have been able to manage the spell, drained as she was.

There's a buzzing in her ear. High key, insistent. Almost frantic.

She attempts to shake it away and, with some hesitance, it lowers to a smothered keen. Blinking, she tries to orient herself, wondering if it's some weird version of tinnitus that's the culprit for waking her up.

Sudden movement disturbs that train of thought. The bed shifting, sheets tugging against her in protest.

A low, distorted mumbling finds her hearing.

Glancing over, she's able to make out the body of the woman beside her - and that it seems to be in distress.

Is she awake? Facing away as Marina is, Julia can't tell. But she's not sleeping peacefully, that much is plain.

"No, please."

The groan stills her thoughts and she hesitates, not knowing what to do.

A nightmare? It only makes sense, after the day she's had.

Reynard has a habit of disturbing people's sleep.

"Marina?" she whispers, not sure yet if she wants to wake her. Sometimes that can be worse. The memory of the dream stays with you then, rather then disappearing into the night as mercy sometimes allows. "Are you awake?"

The body twists beside her, more muffled noises but otherwise no response. Definitely asleep then. Chewing her lip, she wonders if Marina would thank her for waking her, or if she would just get her head bitten off for the effort.

What is she saying? This is Marina, of course it would be the latter.

She sighs and considers leaving it, rolling over and going back to sleep. Selfish but tempting. Maybe even what Marina would prefer - to be able to believe that this moment of 'weakness' escaped Julia's notice.

Though the odds of falling back into blissful unconsciousness are pitiful at best.

A noise.

OK, that sounded like a sob.

"Daddy, please."

And it triggers something in her memory, something she can't quite grasp. A phantom left over from That Night.

She hasn't thought about it since. The murder. The r-

that.

Those things are clear in her mind. Crystal, sharp enough to cut. But after that, events start to blur, become hazy. As if her brain just gave up, stopped trying to process space and time. It's hard seeing through the haze to make out what really happened, reminds her of how sometimes she'll look at the clock and realize whole hours have gone by without her noticing - and that she has no idea what happened in them. There are gaps in her life now that aren't caused by any spell (she checked).

Missing chunks of her she may never get back.

Julia can't find it in her to care.

This thing that tugs at her now is even more dreamlike and she can't be sure that the thread she's pulling at is real and not imaginary.

It just . . . It feels like Marina's words should mean something to her.

But they don't.

Either way, going back to sleep is no longer an option.

"Marina." No response. She tries again, a little louder. "Marina."

Again, nothing. But now she can definitely make out the telltale chokes and gasps of somebody crying.

Julia swallows, something hot and sticky ensnaring her chest. "Marina."

When her voice still fails to get the job done, she reaches out a hand. "Fuck it." Clasping the woman's shoulder, she gives it a gentle squeeze-

And jumps back just in time as Marina springs up, gasping, choking and heaving as she struggles for breath. Even in the limited light, Julia can make out the wide, desperate eyes and the gleam of wetness on her cheeks.

That snare in her chest tightens, strangling the muscle within.

Trying to steady her breathing, she waits for Marina to calm, for the shock to wear off and awareness to set in - that sudden break from nightmare to reality can be slow to come, not to mention jarring - but it never does. She just continues to fight for breath. Flailing hands find her throat, grasping, fumbling, checking for something. Her chest heaves, sharper now, and Julia recognizes the signs of hyperventilation from growing up with a sister with generalized anxiety.

Panic attack.

Since she got her memories back, she's been suffering them herself, though it took her a while to label them as such. They come on at the slightest trigger and most of the time she doesn't even know what that trigger is. It's like walking barefoot on a floor covered with broken glass and she can't look down to see where not to step. When the glass pierces her skin, what little control she has left disappears in a torrent of blood. She'll try to fight it, to yank her foot off the shard but something fastens her there, drives the piece further in.

All she can do is wait to be released, wait for the nightmare to end.

Again.

For her body to return to being hers and not just some weapon to be used against her.

It makes the suffering numbness she usually goes about her day in seem like paradise.

Julia shakes her head, drags herself back to the present.

"It's okay. You're okay," she says for the second time that night, wonders how a lie can come so easily.

Marina shakes her head, not seeing her. "I can't breathe."

"Look at me, Marina. Look at me." She wants to reach out to her, to take her face in her hands and lock their gazes together; to anchor her. But she's aware that contact can do more harm than good sometimes, and she doesn't know Marina's boundaries. She's never seen her like this, never thought she would.

Not even when she woke up after Julia healed her was she this terrified, this out of control.

It takes a few more attempts but eventually she turns, wide eyes locking on Julia's face. She still doesn't know if Marina's really seeing her, though. "I want you to take a deep breath in with me, OK? Deep into your stomach."

She may not be able to wrestle her way out of her own panic attacks but at least she has some experience in helping others out of theirs.

She shakes her head, panic rising. "I-"

"You can do this, Marina. You're the strongest person I know, just focus on me." Eyes still wide, she manages what might be a nod between gasps. "Alright, deep breath in."

Julia breathes in, waiting for Marina to do the same. She relaxes slightly when, after a moment, Marina inhales her own shaky, little breath.

It's a start.

1, 2, 3, 4

Julia exhales, nodding encouragingly at her to do the same. She does and, although she's still shaking and panicked, Julia can see that she at least has her attention, and is holding it. That can be the hardest part.

1, 2, 3, 4

"Breathe in."

They breathe in unison.

1, 2, 3, 4

"And out."

1, 2, 3, 4

"And in."

1, 2, 3, 4

This continues for a few minutes. Julia places a hand on her own stomach to demonstrate the rise and fall and eases slightly when Marina shakily does the same. It's been a long time since she's done this for someone, can only vaguely remember some of the techniques, but thankfully it seems to be working. Marina's taut body is gradually beginning to sag as intelligence returns to her gaze.

It's going to be okay now.

(it 'll never be okay)

Marina is the one who stops it, breaking their stare and looking away as she shuffles back.

"I'm okay." She won't meet her eyes. Julia can't blame her.

"It's alright. I get them, too." The words feel as heavy as lead to heave out of her mouth and just as poisonous/dangerous. She wants to recoil at the vulnerability they reveal, to force them back down and pretend.

There's shame, too, despite her assurance. Logically, she knows there's nothing to be ashamed of. She understands the physical process, the nervous systems and chemicals involved. That it's not her fault her fight-or-flight response is working over time and fucking up as a result; that her amygdala has chosen now to become a hyperactive little shit.

It's not her fault.

But it still makes her feel weak. And she hates being weak in front of Marina. In front of anyone, really. But especially her.

However, given what she's just witnessed, it feels only fair that Marina have this piece of information, if only so she's not the only one bearing her belly. This sudden, uneven power between them must have her uneasy and Julia doesn't want her to see claws poised to strike where there aren't any.

And she owes her.

Silence. Face still determinedly turned away.

Julia tries again. "Yesterday was shit. It only makes sense that your body would respond to that." That you would dream of Reynard. Except, she wasn't dreaming of Reynard - 'Daddy, please'. Julia swallows. "It's not something to be ashamed of."

It doesn 't make you weak.

Or maybe it does. Julia doesn't know anymore.

If their roles were reversed, weak is exactly how she would be feeling right now. Maybe not if it was Quentin or her sister, but in front of Marina?

Yeah, she gets why the other hedge won't meet her gaze.

A scoff. "I'm fine. And I don't want to talk about it, okay, so shut up."

At some point in the night, Marina's pajamas reverted back to their original form and they now swamp her thin frame - no surprise, considering they once belonged to James. It has the effect of making her look smaller than she is, fragile. Like she needs to be protected.

Julia knows this is anything but true.

- 'You're the strongest person I know'-

Desperation might have driven the declaration from her but it weighs heavy with truth nonetheless. Whatever Marina's faults, weakness isn't one of them.

But even the strong can be hurt.

"Yeah. Cool. Whatever." Julia doesn't really want to talk about it either. Though she would be lying if she said she isn't curious (concerned).

Marina closes her eyes and breathes out through her nose, a heavy gust of frustration. "I'm fine, I just want to forget about it, okay. Forget it happened, forget that you saw it happen."

"Forget what happened?"

Marina looks at her, blinks. For the longest time she says nothing but then a faint twitch of her lips breaks through, not quite a smile but a victory nonetheless. There might even bit a sliver of appreciation in her voice when she says, "Alright then."

She lays back down, shuffling further under the covers. Julia can't help but notice the way she still trembles, how her hands clench tight around the sheets, tight enough to be painful.

But she says nothing, instead proceeding to settle herself.

That Marina is once more facing away from her, can't be an accident and she takes the hint for what it is - the need for distance, for the barrier to once again right itself between them.

Blinking back sleep from her eyes, she tries to calm the unease in her gut. It's just Marina. She shouldn't care this much.

Marina who hurt her, who cast her out into the cold and then murdered Kady's mum.

Marina who came when she called, without question. Who was there for her that night and erased all evidence and memories of horror without cost.

Marina who may have just been triggered into a panic attack because of her. Who has lost a finger and a cat all because Julia forgot that you can have a genius IQ and still be so fucking stupid.

Summoning a God level stupid.

In the next moment she finds herself reaching out, hesitant at first but then determined. Marina's good hand is resting at her side, on top of the covers. Julia covers it with her own, light, easy to escape.

A flinch jolts the appendage and she holds her breath.

Minutes drag by but the hand doesn't pull away. Ever so slowly, the stiffness begins to melt and she waits until it becomes lax in her grip.

Victory.

Exhaling, she gives the hand a small squeeze. Doesn't feel one back.

That's OK.

Gratitude and guilt could explain this. But it's not that. At least, not completely. She doesn't know what it is. Only that the hand in hers somehow matters beyond the constraints of debt and atonement.

Whatever it is, it's not something she can afford to think about now. Maybe not ever.

Closing her eyes, she prays that the coming days will be kinder, knowing no god is listening.

. . .

"Sometimes, reaching out and taking someone's hand is the beginning of a journey. At other times, it is allowing another to take yours."

― Vera Nazarian

  . . .

"Memory gives moments immortality, but forgetfulness promotes a healthy mind. It is good to forget."

- Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal

. . .

When Marina was ten, her family went to a visiting carnival. It was alive with rides of all shapes and sizes, colors whizzing by, lights dancing in the night. She she was so excited that she forgot to be scared for once, demanding that her dad take her on all of them. Unable to deny her anything but life, he caved within thirty seconds.

It was a mistake.

Sure, some of the rides were tame enough to be fun. The ferris wheel, bumper cars, the scrambler, even one of the roller coasters. But the rest were a recipe for disaster.

Because here's the thing, Marina hates being out of control. It's a feeling that's only intensified with time but she can't remember a point where it didn't exist at some level. And that's basically all amusement park rides are. You get on, strap in, and the rest is out of your hands. The next however many minutes belong to the controller. You can't control the pace, you can't stop, you can't get out. And that powerlessness overwhelms the thrill of the rush.

It's a nightmare.

One ride she went on involved a hell of a lot of spinning, stopping and false starts. It jostled her around and threw her up and down until she clung to her dad's hand, tears streaming down her face as she pleaded for it to be over. Taking a trip through Julia's mind is not unlike that, complete with near debilitating motion sickness and an unfortunate case of vertigo that comes and goes - it's a rougher ride than normal, no doubt the result of the emotional and mental state of the host. Only difference is, there's no safety bar to hold onto or father to clutch. As they spin in and out of the caverns of Julia's memory, she more than once finds herself reaching out to the other woman to steady herself.

Always, she retracts at the last moment. Before contact can ever be made.

The only moments of blessed, disorienting stillness are when they stop on a particular memory for inspection. These are just short breaks, however, as most of them prove too unpleasant to stick around for more than a second or two.

There's a peak into a scene with Julia and some man - wait, is that Richard? Of course he added Julia to his band of little lost ducklings - fucking in bed. She rolls her eyes but Julia grows pale, looks even sicker, and has to turn away.

"Forward?"

"Forward."

She pulls out of the scene and immediately the memories are rushing past again. Too fast. Too far.

That's Marina herself coming in through the door. Julia stumbling, her racing to catch her in time.

She pulls them out. Back, back, back . . .

There's a man on top of Julia, grunting, holding her in place as she struggles-

Marina flicks her hand, the image disappears, and she puts a hand out just in time to support the real Julia as she sways. She doesn't think she's ever seen her so pale, even right before they started this little mind trip.

She wants to continue, to get it all over with, like ripping off a bandaid, but senses that it's too much too fast. That anymore right now and she might break Julia's mind in half. It can happen.

A whisper of words and the world becomes utterly still as darkness takes its place. A respite.

For too long, the Julia only stares sightlessly ahead, and even though the memory is gone, for her it's still probably playing out, in perfect clarity. Again and again. She knows the look. Seen it on others. Has worn it herself more than once.

Marina waits.

And waits.

Debates how long she can keep the spell in place. She might have worked hard to master it during her time at Brakebills - figured it would come in handy if she was ever accused of murder again - but it's not one she's performed since and she's out of practice. Professor Van Der Weghe could manage it with far greater elegance and speed. He knew how to not only erase but to glean the particulars of a person's mind and weave a story with those shadowy threads. A believable story. Though even he got it wrong sometimes.

Marina only knows one way and it's crude at best. To travel back through the memories you up for erasure and put a pin in where you want the new ones to start. Then you manipulate the subconscious to fill in the gaps with an alternative version of events, preferably something the subject won't question. And if you're not a professor who's done it a thousand times, it leaves more room for mistakes. So she's taken Julia along for the ride to collaborate with her. She'll leave it up to her to decide the lie Marina will use to cover the truth with. It has to be as believable as possible, no holes, or Julia, stubborn, questioning Julia, will find them and tear them apart.

And they'll be right back where they started.

It's unfortunate that this way just so happens to be more traumatic.

"If wanting to forget this makes me weak, I don't care."

The confession is hoarse, cracked. It rips the silence apart.

Marina startles. She was starting to get used to the idea that Julia might never speak again, was even beginning to formulate a plan B (it was pretty lousy).

She considers the words for a moment, rolling them over in her mind and trying to determine the best course of action.

- 'You're such a bitch.'

'And you're weak!'-

It's a shock to realize that she doesn't want to be a bitch or for Julia to think that she's weak. Not when it comes to this.

"My father killed my mother."

She just kind of blurts it out, before she can stop herself. Knows it's the only way she'll ever work the secret free.

It's safe to do so, she knows it's safe. Even if her enchantment is somehow broken, Julia won't be able to remember this nauseating mindtrip. If the memory of it remains at all, it will be no better than a distant dream, distorted, fading, impossible to grasp.

It's safe.

It doesn't feel safe.

Julia glances up at her, some surprise breaking through the dead expression.

Marina tries not to see her. "Cut her throat. Right before he cut mine." She swallows, hand itching to come up, to check. A reflex she's never quite been able to shake.

Said aloud, it sounds like something out of a horror movie - or at least an episode of CSI. Not something that actually happens in real life. Or if it does, it's some poor distant stranger you hear about on the news. Someone who might as well be a character in a movie. But it doesn't happen to you.

Only it does. It happens. It happened.

It seems even more out of place in a world of magic, where even murders are tied up in the fantastical. But serial killers? Unenchanted knives? It's a bizarre crossing of genres.

But serial killers were the norm for her once, as mundane as the lesser demons and fairies that haunt your local safe house. More than that, they were her world - as surely as magic is now.

But they don't fit in this one.

No, it is another girl she speaks of. Another girl left behind in another world.

So why is she trying to bring her across into this one?

(for Julia)

Of course.

That really needs to fucking stop.

Silence stretches on. She thinks Julia's not going to say anything, then, "How did you survive?"

Another girl, another world.

"The police were there. An agent shot him. Took a couple of tries to get the job done. Luckily there was a man there who had some medical training. He saved my life. And when I woke up next I was in a hospital, both my parents were dead, and everything as I knew it was over." The words grate against her throat, each one is like a nail she has to pull loose, and she imagines she can almost taste the blood by the end of it. Somehow, though, her voice remains steady, even blank.

(not her, not her, not her)

Julia watches her, waiting for her to continue maybe. She doesn't for a long time.

"My dad killed my mum. And then he tried to kill me. If I could have forgotten that back then I would have have. But I couldn't." And in some ways that's best. She doesn't ever want to forget who her dad really was, how everyone is just waiting to reveal the monster inside. "I had to learn to live with it and I did. Doesn't mean you should, too."

It doesn 't mean you're weak.

Or maybe it does. But not in a way that can be used to hurt you.

Because Marina doesn't feel stronger for the things she can't forget. Stronger for surviving them, maybe. But the memories are a source of pain no matter how many layers of iron she walls around them. They can make her weak. Just as they warn her of the dangers hidden around every corner, the monsters lurking behind benevolent eyes, they can just as easily turn against her.

It's a precarious balance.

Julia stares at her. Maybe believing it, maybe not. She can't tell. For the first time since she's known her, the younger woman is unreadable. "Why are you telling me this?"

"It's not like you're going to remember any of it." It's true and it's not. It's easier to admit than the fact that she cares. Cares more than she should. Maybe a little too much.

(far too much)

"Right." Julia nods, still staring. "Thanks."

If it's a staring contest, Marina's willing to lose for once. She breaks away, looks back out into the darkness.

"Ready to dive back in?"

The answer is slow in coming but certain.

"Yeah."

Through some uncommon mercy, the scene they arrive on is free of both violence and sex. The alter set up in the corner of the room, the Free Traders gathered near it in a circle, frozen in time, in hope. Completely unaware of the trap they're about to trip, the bar that will slam down just as they grasp that longed for cheese.

As a child, she would rise after everyone had fallen asleep and hunt down the various mousetraps her parents set out for that night. It was her mission to disarm them, to end the needless slaughter. She feared the crushed little bodies the traps would leave behind if she didn't, hated to watch them be so carelessly discarded in the trash. And given the intelligence and emotional capacity of mice - she read once that they were such social creatures that, like humans, they could become anxious and depressed when isolated; they even had empathy! - it just didn't seem right. If they had to die, they deserved a better death. Something that would honor them.

She thinks her dad might have suspected but he never told - even then they knew how to keep each other's secrets. Her mum definitely knew given the subsequent scoldings she would endure each day. The dark circles under her eyes as she sat at the breakfast table before school were probably a dead give away. Also the growing collection of moldy cheese under her bed that was eventually found - there was no hiding that stench.

In the end, they compromised. One of her father's clients had a python with a healthy appetite. He promised to hand the dead mice over to its owner where they could be repurposed as food. If she stopped taking the traps apart. It wasn't a victory but she did feel slightly better about it. There was worth in the deaths, at least. No part of them would go to waste.

But she still wished there had been a way to save them. For a while there she even had nightmares. Being lost in a world far too big, searching for something, always searching, searching. When she finally found it, a force would slam into her, driving her into the ground until her bones turned to powder and her organs splattered apart. She was dead. She knew she was dead. But it didn't matter.

As she sunk into the darkness, a thousand little bodies would burst from the shadows and swarm her devastated form. What was left they ravaged with vengeance, tiny teeth needling flesh, chewing, tearing. They consumed her until there was nothing left.

She still can't look at mouse or rat without some lingering trace of nausea and fear.

Marina and Julia exchange a look.

This is the moment. The starting thread that Marina will weave into a beautiful tapestry. This is the end of the truth.

Luckily for Julia, she has some experience in disarming mouse traps.

…

"Forgetting isn't enough. You can paddle away from the memories and think they are gone. But they will keep floating back, again and again and agian. They circle you, like sharks. Until, unless, something, someone? Can do more than just cover the wound. "

― Sara Zarr , Story of a Girl

So I hope this chapter wasn’t too horrible. Again sorry. There’s two little nods The Magician’s King in this chapter (ie. The marmite and genius iq) Also, Jane calls the memory spell Marina used ‘crude’ and identifies it as likely being done by a hedge. I find this interesting because Marina know how to do magic in both the Brakebills fashion and the hedge way. We also know that she’s really fucking good at it given the whole ‘best student’ thing. That her spell is crude makes me feel that memory spells must be really tricky and require a lot of training/practice in order to be seamless (and I suspect it’s something she’s done before, though, because it’s something she’s able to perform off the top of her head, without a reference). This also means that the way she does it would be different to how the professors do it in Brakebills. Therefore I’m not suggesting that the little mindtrip she goes on with Julia in this chapter is the norm (ie. What the professors at Brakebills do with a student, though if it is then that’s even more of a violation). Honestly, I think the writers just had Jane say that to drop hints for audience but it was said so I’m running with it.