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scamanderishredmayniac · 1 year

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February word challenge!!

I decided to take part in a word challenge, for writing or doodling which you can find here

For this prompt I chose word number 12: Ring! This is a two part fic! This is a one shot, dialogue type way . Hope you like it. I may or may not do a fan art to go with this later. We’ll see. This is actually a two part story. This is part 1. It was inspired by part 2, which I’m working on and did a fan art for. The picture for that one is finished, but just need to write up the story. It all started with that picture, and then half way through writing I asked a friend about dating etiquettes, and found my original idea wouldn’t have worked and then this story here formed in my head while thinking of how to rectify that. Anyway here it is.

The Ring!

Newt tried hard to stand still as Theseus straightened his tie for the umpteenth time. He was starting to regret the whole thing.

“Theseus are you sure this is a good idea? Why can’t I just cook her something nice at home instead?” He asked pushing Theseus’s hands away.

“Because Newt it isn’t the done thing, of course doing this is a good idea. Actually I’m not sure this is a good idea at all, I mean technically since you’re not married yet, you shouldn’t be eating out in a fancy restaurant anymore than cooking dinner at home. But I suppose you’re used to sneaking around and doing what you shouldn’t.” Theseus said, looking Newt over.

“So why can’t I just cook her something nice at home, if going to a restaurant is no better?” Newt frowned as Theseus went to pat down his hair. “In fact what do normal none married couples do?”

“Normally in your situation couples go for long walks, or go for ice cream together. Nothing too extravagant. Cooking at home would suggest other things, it’s too easy to go places you probably shouldn’t little brother. Places you’re not ready for.” Theseus replied, bouncing Newt’s hair and pressing it to his head.

“Places I’m not ready for?” Newt frowned, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you have to ask,” Theseus rolled his eyes, “I’m talking about the bedroom, doing more than just holding hands, you know.” Theseus grinned while pushing down on Newt’s hair, causing him to blush a deep red.

“Why does your hair not stay down?” Perhaps a bit of potion jell would do it.” Newt swatted his brother’s hands away, forgetting what they’d just been talking about.

“No, no jell, no potions to flatten my hair, no nothing. Listen I came here to pick up Tina, not have you fuss at me.” Tina had been staying at Theseus’s for the past few weeks, while visiting England on a work permit; since MACUSA and the ministry were working together for a top mission, in hunting down Grindelwald and his acolytes. There had been a few sightings near Britain, leading Tina and a few of her team to come to England and work with the Ministry alongside Theseus and his team. Newt had offered his house as a lodging for Tina, but Theseus had strongly advised against it, reminding him that everyone knew that he had a thing for Tina, whereas Theseus did not. It would cause scandal as a head auror, so Theseus’s it was.

“Come on Newt just a little potion, or jell, I’ll lend you the stuff I use for mine, at least to slick your hair down a little.” Theseus made to get some, but Newt grabbled his hand stopping him in his track.

“No, I don’t want anything in my hair, especially anything you use. I don’t want my hair looking like yours.” Newt almost shouted with horror, eyes wide now staring at Theseus’s flat side hair do.

“Hey what’s wrong with my hair? I don’t see anything wrong with it. I’ll have you know it looks more presentable than that fluffy mop on your head.” He teased ruffling Newt’s hair messing it up a little more. “Don’t you want it looking decent for Tina? Come on not even just a little?”

“No, I like my hair this way, and I’m sure Tina doesn’t mind. She’s dating me isn’t she? If she didn’t like it, and didn’t find me attractive with my hair as it is, she wouldn’t even be seeing me.” Newt huffed trying to repair the damage Theseus had done from ruffling it.

“Oh come on Newt, just a little wouldn’t hurt.” Theseus protested.

“No, it’s my hair and I can do with it what I like.”

“Alright, alright. Fine leave it then. Sometimes I wonder how you even pulled off getting a date, you really do need to grow up some.” Theseus sighed, as Newt jerked himself out of Theseus’s grasp and moved towards the front door, ready to bolt if needs be. Newt wished Tina would hurry up, he didn’t want to spend anymore time with Theseus making remarks about his appearance or his maturity.

“Newt listen, you’ll need to convince the doorman and the waiters at the restaurant that you’re married.” Theseus said scratching his neck and licking his lips. “I’m sorry I should have said when I first made the suggestion and made the booking. It just hadn’t occurred to me at the time, but it’s like I said earlier for couples at your stage of a relationship it’s just not the done thing to eat out.” Theseus hesitated, but Newt could tell there was more to come. But whatever had made Theseus nervous couldn’t possibly be goof. There was none of his earlier playfulness now, and it made Newt’s stomach twist and turn.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine Theseus, we’ll talk our way through it somehow.” Newt reassured, not believing his own words.

“No Sebastian said you’d have to do more than talk your way through it, he warned they’d be looking for evidence.

“So? Why can’t your friend Sebastian meet us at the door, and let us in? That way we won’t have too much of a problem would we?” Newt argued.

“It’s not as simple as that, he doesn’t work the doors. Besides there’s all sorts of complications and circumstances that could prevent him meeting you both at the door. But he’s promised he’d be your waiter for the night and cater to your needs at least.” Newt was about to respond, but Theseus went on nervously before Newt could say anything more.

“Listen, I’ve thought of a solution of sorts. It’s just an idea, and maybe a little complicated and delicate but it’ll have to do.” Theseus scratched his neck again, now looking away from Newt.

“What is it Theseus?” Newt rubbed his hands together, anticipating the worst.

Theseus looked past Newt somewhere behind him, above his head. Newt watched him from the side of his eyes, as he so often did unsure of where this was going. ‘Surely it couldn’t be that bad could it?’ Newt thought to himself. There was a far away look in his brother’s eyes that frightened him. When Theseus managed to bring his gaze back on Newt, there was a hard resolve, as though he’d made up his mind about whatever it was that had filled his thoughts. He squared his shoulders before continuing.

“I was thinking the best option would be a ring.” He said with a slight nod.

“A ring?” Newt frowned. “Whatever for?”

“It’s the best way to prove the two of you are married.”

“Alright that makes sense, but I didn’t bring my case with me, so I can’t see if Teddy has any rings among his many treasures.” Newt sighed. “Perhaps I have time to quickly apparate home and quickly find one.” Newt made to move, Theseus quickly grabbed his arm stopping him in his tracks.

“No, listen Newt, Tina will be ready in a minute. Besides it can’t just be any old ring.”

“So what do you suggest I do then Theseus? You’re the one that said I needed one.” Newt yanked his arm out of his brother’s grasp with a scowl.

“I’ve already thought of a solution,” Theseus said, rubbing his face and with a shaky hand, he put it into his pocket and hesitantly brought out a little box. “I was thinking,” he hesitated now with a shaky voice, “that perhaps you could borrow this one here.” Theseus opened the box with quivering hands. Newt peered down at the tiny silver ring, with it’s fancy intricate design. The twinkling of diamonds glinting in the light.

“It’s beautiful Theseus, where did you get it from?” Newt gasped, it must have cost a lot, and more to the point, why did Theseus even have an expensive diamond ring in his preseason anyhow?

“It was the ring that was supposed to be Leta’s wedding ring. I thought maybe you could use it tonight.” Theseus whispered, looking down at the item in his hands. Newt detected a wobble to his brother’s voice. He shook his head vigorously.

“No, no, I Theseus, I possibly couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Why ever not, look Newt Leta’s never going to wear it, never going to see it. You might as well make some use out of it.”

“No, Theseus you should keep it. Give it to the next love of your life.” He pushed the little box away from himself, towards Theseus’s chest. “I can’t take that.”

“There is no one else, and there won’t be. Not for a long time yet anyway. Look I’m not asking you to propose to Tina with it, or give it to her. Just to use it for tonight, one night only and then give it me back.” Theseus hissed, shutting the box with a snap and thrusting it back in Newt’s direction. Newt reluctantly took the box in his hands, and stared hard at it’s red velvet lid.

“It still feels wrong Theseus, Tina won’t like it. She won’t want to wear this knowing it’s Leta’s, besides I don’t feel comfortable giving her this.” He whispered.

“What are you talking about Newt?” Theseus frowned.

“Leta and I had a fling at school if you remember. How can I lend her that knowing that? Like I say, Tina would be upset if she knew.”

“She doesn’t have to know Newt, you don’t have to tell her who’d ring it is. She won’t hear it from me either. Come on Newt this is the best chance you’ve got taking her out, you do want Tina to have a good time don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I do, but,”

“Then take the ring. It’s just for one night. I just want to help Newt. I never got to get married to the love of my life, but I want to see that for you. I want you to find true love and happiness and have the chance of marrying and having a family of your own. Even if that doesn’t happen for me. At least it happen for you. You’re my little brother Newt and all I want is for you to be happy ok. I miss her Newt, I miss her every day, but I’ll never get the chance to marry her and be with her. But you, you have that chance. You have the chance to be with the one you love, don’t throw that chance away, do whatever it takes to have that chance Newt. So please just do this for me. Theseus begged tears welling up in his eyes.

“Ok.” Newt said with a nod of the head, pressing his lips tight and fighting tears of his own. Theseus was right, he had wanted to do something different and make their first date special. This had been the best idea so far, Newt needed to at least try make it work. If using this ring could get them into the restaurant then he ought to take his chance and try. It didn’t stop him from feeling guilty of using Leta’s ring, but for now it would have to do. After tonight he would return the ring and forget it ever existed. It wasn’t like he’d chosen to use that specific ring, it was Theseus’s choice, not his. Not to mention his feelings for Leta were in the past. He stilled cared about her, and missed her, but not as his lover. So what did it matter? Feeling slightly better, Newt let held the box letting relaxing his hands to his side. For awhile the brothers stood and said nothing, silent tears falling down their eyes.

“Look at us, we’re a right pair.” Theseus laughed, wiping the tears from his eyes. Newt followed suit and they both began to laugh before lapsing into silence once more.

“I do wish Tina would hurry up.” Newt sighed, “I’m starting to feel nervous now.”

“Don’t worry she’ll be down in a minute, it’s quite normal. Leta was the same, always liked to take her time to look her best. The wait is always worth it though.” The two brothers looked towards the stairs and not a moment too soon.

“Theseus is that Newt I heard you bickering with just now?” Tina’s voice floated down the stairs as she made her way out of her room and to the top of the stairs.

“Ah Newt you’re here.” She smiled looking down at the brothers, who stood gaping up towards her.

Newt’s breath caught in his throat, as he gazed in awe. Tina wore a beautiful long, blue gown, with short netted sleeves. She’d done up her hair the way Newt had liked, remembering his compliments at Jacob and Queenie’s wedding.

“You look wonderful.” Newt called up at her, as Tina made her slow decent down, feeling conscious of his own appearance wondering if he should have made more of an effort.

“You don’t look too bad yourself” Tina remarked now standing in front of him. Newt felt his face heating up as he smiled shyly and looked to the floor.

“Are you ready to go?” Tina’s smiled.

“Erm. Yes, yes of course, but em, first you’ll need to wear this.” He said bringing out the ring. “To prove we’re married, or they won’t let us in. It’s only for tonight.” Newt rushed by way of explanation.

“It’s beautiful.” Tina breathed as Newt opened the box and held out the ring for her to wear.

“It’s not mine, I’m just borrowing it, I’ll return it to it’s owner once we’ve done.”

“Oh.” Tina raised her eyebrows.

“Well you’d better get going, or you’ll be late. I don’t want you to waste time, it took a lot to book this for you both and since my friend is doing you a favour, best not to keep him waiting.” Theseus said hurrying the couple out of the door.

“Alright, shall we?” Newt said, offering his arm. Tina linked her arm in his and soon the pair were out the door and on their way.

#fan fiction #my writing #fantastic beasts #newt scamander #theseus scamander #newTina #the ring

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drizzlederg · 1 year

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everyones talking about queenie when it comes to the crossed off doors but i just realized that one of the more blurrier images could actually be the second zooble from gooseworx's concept art

Just for reference, this is what the ask is talking about:

Now, checking up with the icons.

I think the anon is trying to say that either of these three ones could be another assembly toy. I kinda see it on the clown-thing, assuming that's not a spherical body and rather, that's it's beige head (although it seems unlikely there would be two of the same antennae). I'm pretty sure it's not the blue thing, and the light green thing is the only one I can hedge my bets on being an assembly toy because it's so blurry. Since the concept art is uncolored, it's hard to tell...

That being said, this ask did lead me to something else which is probably even more vague, but worth a shot:

Just right to the left of the Kaufmo doodle on the same page is what looks to be another character in starry clothes. This one looks like a cartoon wizard, since they have starry clothes and a conical hat. What else looks like a wizard? This thing, of course!

I'm somewhat tempted to believe that the character to the left of Kaufmo might be an early design for the blurry blue performer that looks like a wizard. The performer's design doesn't look to have the star pattern though, but either way I think there's a pretty good chance that the blue performer is supposed to be a wizard.

To be honest, I think the other assembly toy on the concept art is actually just meant to show Zooble in a different configuration. That does get me curious about what makes Zooble themselves.

We haven't really seen yet where Zooble keeps all their parts (I assume it's located in their room), and we do know they have more parts since their icon has a different configuration on parts on display that weren't shown anywhere else on their body. Is Zooble just in control of every single one of their parts at all time? Can Zooble construct another Zooble out of their parts and control both bodies at the same time? Is Zooble like, I dunno, the Ship of Theseus, in a way?

#the amazing digital circus spoilers #the amazing digital circus #tadc spoilers #tadc #spoilers

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kingsbride-moved · 2 years

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I posted 443 times in 2022

That's 443 more posts than 2021!

251 posts created (57%)

192 posts reblogged (43%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@passionflare

@mikeyrealman

@championofelysium

@minoanbull

@of-comfort-and-love

I tagged 441 of my posts in 2022

#👑: champion of my heart - 104 posts

#🌺: sing clear voiced muse... - 95 posts

#🌺: daughter of chloris - 59 posts

#🌺: painted fragrance and all - 51 posts

#🐂: the light of the stars - 41 posts

#🌺: sing clear-voiced muse... - 37 posts

#self ship - 30 posts

#oc x canon - 29 posts

#🌺: other's ships - 29 posts

#🌺: misc - 28 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#best thing about theseus is that i can write him doing this all the time because he does it in game 💖 to asterius of course but still

My Top Posts in 2022:

Did a quick doodle of her 😭

14 notes - Posted August 19, 2022

doodle from a lil ago I decided to slap some colour on 😭 a summery day in Elysium...

15 notes - Posted November 9, 2022

Tiny Thesedia... they got caught smooching 💔

16 notes - Posted December 3, 2022

See the full post

16 notes - Posted December 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

a little ago I drew Dia in the Hades style 💖 I'm not so good at realism but I tried 😭

23 notes - Posted July 31, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#[ sing clear voiced muse ]#Luv that miss myrtle got on the leader board 💖

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rosiechameleon · 2 years

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I posted 25 times in 2022

That's 25 more posts than 2021!

9 posts created (36%)

16 posts reblogged (64%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lilliths-httyd-blog

@shadowofshipper

@evandarya

@nyamafriend

@catchymemes

I tagged 25 of my posts in 2022

#random - 11 posts

#fandom stuff - 9 posts

#hiccup - 5 posts

#httyd - 5 posts

#how to train your dragon - 5 posts

#fanfic - 4 posts

#fanfiction - 4 posts

#ao3 - 4 posts

#shitpost - 3 posts

#toothless - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 131 characters

#i’ve been on a real intense httyd kick lately and as soon as this song started i immediately thought it suited hiccup and toothless

My Top Posts in 2022:

That overjoyed feeling when you’re listening to a new song and it just immediately /clicks/ with the fandom you’re currently hyper fixating on

3 notes - Posted December 3, 2022

Rewatching old Game Theory videos, as one does, and I'm watching the one where he calculates how much money a Pokemon master makes but every other sentence I just hear the song remix. It's been literal years, how do I still remember this so clearly.

4 notes - Posted November 18, 2022

Playing Hades and oh my god, I finally got to the point where Asterius gives Hypnos his autograph and I am so happy.

It was actually a really nice (not impersonal) message? And he drew him a little bull doodle!? And then Theseus was so fricking bitter when Zagreus didn’t want one from him. I burst out laughing guys.

6 notes - Posted November 17, 2022

Welcome to my Rose Garden!

We don't have much growing here at the moment, but a few fics have popped up. At the moment they're only Danny Phantom fics, so I do hope you enjoy that sort of thing.

Here's my latest and currently most popular fic, featuring Badass Danny Fenton, Skulker being a bit of an idiot, and many confused high school students:

And here's the first one I ever wrote, focusing on some angsty introspection:

Happy reading!

7 notes - Posted October 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Ya like Gray Ghost?

Valerie and Danny is my favourite ship in the show (not to say that Sam and Danny isn't valid too) and I know that many other DP fans like them as well. But because this is the Phandom and their relationship is already tragic by nature, there is a severe lack of fluff for these two. So I'm writing my own!

You can find it on Ao3 here:

25 notes - Posted October 22, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Wow #look at my fancy little Tumblr stats #Not bad #:)#random

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noctilionoidea · 2 years

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Here’s an Ariadne doodle from work! I had a moment tm today but I managed to make this which made me feel better about taking over a superior’s shift with the same pay as the usual power rank I’m at.

I’ve had brain rot recently, my statuettes of her is already halfway constructed and it’s been two days lol

of all mortal/mortal starting women of myth, it goes Ariadne, Pysche, Ino, Helen, Atalanta, Medea in terms of my particular favourites. Obviously I adore her the most also because of the context and mystery behind her like?? Is she the mistress of the labyrinth? What did homer mean by the labyrinth was her dancing path? It’s really interesting that some writers had to divide her into two different characters as both the princess priestess who aided Theseus and the mysterious wife of Dionysos. To be clear I do think she’s a continuation of a Minoan deity but to make a “complete” claim does a disservice to both cultures.

I’ll try and make this a charm like I did Aphrodite, but this one is drawn on a plastic tag rather than a paper one so that’s gonna be a bitch to sew lol

#ariadne #greek mythology #art #ramblings #greek myths #doodles #mythology #traditional art #sketch #minoan #minoan crete #Minoan dress #I love her #women of myth #greek gods

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diathadevil · 3 years

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ALRIGHT LET'S SEE WHAT I HAVE ACHIEVED HERE.

I posted 1,147 times in 2021

190 posts created (17%)

957 posts reblogged (83%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 5.0 posts.

I added 975 tags in 2021

#meme hell - 325 posts

#self reblog - 121 posts

#princess tutu - 93 posts

#dia talks - 84 posts

#doodle - 69 posts

#video - 67 posts

#tiktok - 61 posts

#animals - 58 posts

#digital art - 49 posts

#eurovision - 48 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#edit: i just found out its a 2010s game so its a bit cringe they kept some sentences there but oh well im still enjoying the game n story

My Top Posts in 2021

AU where Albedo does his prank but Lumine’s emotionally reactive about it because she doesn’t wanna lose her close companions…..

( aka why must you toy with us and our hEARTS– )

808 notes • Posted 2021-12-08 16:52:33 GMT

first legitimate FE3H fan art I make and of COURSE it's a meme redraw.

The Golden Deer Experience be like:

851 notes • Posted 2021-09-24 19:28:04 GMT

See the full post

907 notes • Posted 2021-07-26 19:08:47 GMT

So basically Act 2 of patch 2.3 was just that one scene from the office, right?

See the full post

1222 notes • Posted 2021-12-02 22:51:27 GMT

Finally drew Theseus/Asterius for the first time and it had to be a meme doodle lmao

(requested by @bigbootgotdamn !)

11367 notes • Posted 2021-03-22 18:14:11 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #that number 1 doodle is my magnum opus at this point and i dont know whether to be disappointed or proud #dia talks #long post

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lesserfandomappreciation · 4 years

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Ariadne and why the Mycenaeans can fuck right off

Warning: Includes brief mentions of r*pe, cultural destruction, ancient patriarchy reminding us why no woman would ever time-travel more than 5 years into the past if that and a great deal of spite for male historians/public education history/mythology classes.

Possible side effects may include a sudden intense rage for an ancient society equivalent to the innate rage one has for the Romans burning the library of Alexandria, a distinct hatred for ancient men not being able to let anyone have nice things, and a sudden fascination for Minoa.

Usually, I stick to writing imagines and being happy with that. It’s fun! I love it! But every now and again, in an attempt to escape the crushing forces known as reality and responsibilities I’ll put on a few cutscenes from games I’m: A) Too lazy to play B) Too broke to play C) Too unskilled to play D) All of the above

because cutscenes are free and why torture yourself with impossible levels when its free on Youtube?* *In all seriousness please support video games and video game creators, but no shame to those of us who prefer cutscenes to gameplay. A few weeks ago I added the game Hades made by Supergiant to the list because the cutscenes were bomb and the characters are so much fun! Intricate as all hell! Hella cute too but that’s unrelated! Now my pretty little simp patootie is especially a big fan of Dionysus and his gorgeous design so the cutscenes with him are my favorite.

I’m re-watching his cutscenes a few nights ago for fun as background when he has a certain line about Theseus. Don’t quote me on this since my memory is foggy at best but roughly it was: Dionysus: Good job with Theseus. Never cared much for him- what he did to that girl was just horrible.*

*I know that’s not his exact line but this is clearly a rant post fueled by spite and ADD-hyper-focused obsessions with ancient civilizations so let’s not worry too too much about the semantics here.

Now, I like mythology! Personally, I prefer the Norse mythology due to the general lack of very very gross dynamics that several other ancient mythologies seem to include, but I’m decently familiar with Greek mythos. Enough to go - “Why does the God of Wine give a single fuck about the frat bro of Greek heroes being a dick to a woman? Grossness is embedded into the very DNA of all distant relatives of Zeus, a woman being harassed by Zeus or his bastard army is a typical Tuesday in ancient Greece.”

Wikipedia confirms that Ariadne is the only woman in the story of Theseus and the Minotaur, which I kinda knew already so unless Theseus did some f’ed up shit to some other princess of Minos, Dionysus could only be referring to her. Disregarding what I know about Wikipedia and how it can suck you down the rabbit hole of rabbit holes through sheer fury I stupidly clicked the link to Ariadne’s article.

By the time we get to the end of this shitstorm, I will have two separate plotlines for two separate stories based of Ariadne, 2k+ notes (and going) on an ancient civilization prior to a week ago I didn’t know existed and within me there will be a rage towards a different ancient civilization I vaguely recall learning about in high school.

Here’s how this shit went down.

First of all, apparently after Theseus abandoned Ariadne on an island to die (yep! He did that! To the one person who is the only reason he defeated the minotaur! Fuck this guy.) there are multiple storylines where Dionysus takes a single look at Ariadne and falls in love.

“A god falls in love?” you say, aware of how most love stories in Greek mythos can be summed up with Unfortunately, Zeus got horny and Hera is a firm believer in victim blaming. “This poor woman is about to go through hell!” I thought so too! And in one variation of the story, Dionysus does his daddy proud by being an absolute tool to Ariadne. In the majority though? He woos the fuck out of her, and ultimately marries her by consent!

Her consent!

In ancient Greece!

The party dude of the Greek pantheon knows more about consent then his father and modern day frat brothers!

Okay! That’s interesting, so I keep reading.

Ariadne getting hitched to Dionysus is a big deal in Olympus, to the point of getting a crown made of the Aurora Borealis from Aphrodite who is bro-fisting Dionysus, beyond glad she didn’t have to give him the talk about consent. The rest of the gods are pissy especially Hera who doesn’t like Dionysus much since he is the son of Zeus and Semele but they don’t do much. Ariadne ascends to godhood, becomes the goddess of Labyrinths with the snake and bull as her symbol and that’s that on that.

Colorin, colorado, este cuento se acabado. And they lived happily ever after. That’s the end of the post right?

NO! Because curiosity has made me their bitch and there’s more to this calling me.

Also, I was pissed! Still am! Why the fuck-a-doodle-do did I have to learn about the time Poseidon r*ped a priestess instead of the arguably healthiest relationship in the entirety of the pantheon? Why is Persephone and Hades’ story (which has improved since it was first written and I like more modern versions of it, no hate) the only healthy-ish Greek love story I had to learn when Dionysus and Ariadne were right there? The rage of having endured several grade levels of “Zeus got horny and Hera found out” stories in the nightmare of public education led me to keep looking into this.

There’s this wonderful Youtube channel called Overly Sarcastic Productions that I highly recommend that delves a lot into mythology, and I have seen their bombass video about Dionysus and how his godhood has changed since he was potentially first written in a language we comprehend.

Did ya’ll know this man is the heir apparent to Zeus? ‘Cause I didn’t know that!

YEA! Dionysus, man of parties, king of hangovers and inducer of madness, is set to inherit the throne of Olympus! Ariadne didn’t husband up the God of Wine, she husbanded up the Prince of Olympus and heir apparent to the throne! Holy shit! No wonder some of the gods were against her marriage to Dionysus - can you imagine the drama of an ex-mortal woman sitting on the Queen’s throne of Olympus? Hera must have been pissed.

BUT WAIT.

There’s more.

The reason we know Dionysus is a very important god and is possibly even more important than we think is because of a handy-dandy language known as Linear B, otherwise known as the language of the Mycenaeans!

For those of you fortunate enough to have normal hobbies and interests, the Mycenaeans were the beta version of the Greeks. Their written language of Linear B is one of, if not the first recorded instance of a written Indo-European language. This language, having been translated, gives us an interesting look at what the Greek gods were like back in their beta-stages before they fixed the coding and released the pantheon.

Interesting side facts of the Mycenaean Greek gods include:

Poseidon being the head god with an emphasis on his Earthquake aspect, and being much more of a cthonic god in general.

Take that Zeus, for being so gross.

The gods in general being more cthonic, as Mycenaeans were obsessed with cthonic gods (probably due to all the earthquakes and natural disasters in Greece and Crete at that time)

Several of the gods and goddesses that we know being listed, alongside some that we don’t consider as important (Dione)

The first mention of Kore, later Persephone, but no Hades because since a lot of gods were cthonic, there would be no need for one, specific cthonic god to represent the majority of death-related rituals.

That’s not what we’re focusing on though! What we’re focusing on is a specific translated portion of Linear B that we have. One of the translated portions of Linear B that for the life of me I can’t find (someone please help me find it and send the link so I can edit this post) says an interesting phrase. “Honey to the gods. Honey to the Mistress of Labyrinths.”

One more time. “Honey to the gods. Honey to the Mistress of Labyrinths.”

Mistress of Labyrinths.

Now wait a gosh darn minute. Isn’t there a goddess of labyrinths in the Greek mythos? Why yes! Yes there is! Ariadne!

Here’s a question for you. If Ariadne is but a minor god in the pantheon, a wife to a more predominant god, why is it that while all the other gods and goddesses are bunched together in a sentence of praise, the so-called ex-mortal gets a whole-ass sentence to herself singing praises?

And thus, we have arrived to Minoa!

What is Minoa, you ask? Minoa is to Rome what Rome is to us. An old-ass civilization either older than or younger by a hundred years to ancient Egypt. Egypt, that started in 3200 B.C-ish depending on who you ask. That’s old. Old as balls. They were contemporaries to their trading partner, Egypt until 1450 BC-ish. A 2000 year old civilization.

Minoa was founded on the island of Crete, and was by what artifacts we have found a merchant civilization with its central economy centered on the cultivation of saffron and the development of bronze/iron statues of bulls. Most of what we know about them comes from artifacts and frescoes found on Crete that managed to survive everything else I will mention later, but what matters is that we know a few things about them.

Obsessed with marine life for some time, given their pottery.

Had the first palaces in all of Europe, some of them ridiculously big.

Wrote in Linear A and Cretan Hieroglyphs, both still untranslated languages.

Had a ritual involving jumping over a bull, for some reason.

Firm believers in “Suns out, Tits out.”

You’d think I’m kidding on the last one but no! No no no! All the women apparently rocked the tits-out look in Minoa!

^^^^One of many, many Minoan works featuring women giving their titties fresh air. ^^^^

“Wait a second Pinks! What does this have to do with Ariadne being the Mistress of labyrinths?”

Well you see dear wonderful darling, while we know very little about Minoan religion because Mycenaeans (we will get to those bastards in a second), we do know this:

All the religious figures appear to be exclusively women.

The most important figures of their religion seem to be goddesses as there are few artifacts featuring male gods.

Because of the religion, the culture may have been an equal society or even a matriarchy! Historians who are male aren’t sure.

A frankly ridiculous amount of their temples, including the ones in caves in the middle of fuck-all feature labyrinths. A lot of labyrinths!

Their head god is a goddess! Whose temples have labyrinths and whose main symbols are snakes and bulls. Who do we know is a) the mistress of labyrinths and b) is symbolized a lot by snakes and bulls?

ARI-fucking-ADNE THAT’S WHO!

Ariadne didn’t upgrade by marrying the prince of Olympus! Dionysus wifed up possibly the most important goddess in all of Crete and becoming her boy-toy!

I’m not even kidding, most Minoan depictions of the goddess’ consort features a boy/man who cycles through the stages of death. Dionysus himself in several myths goes through the same cycle - life, being crushed, death, rebirth, repeat. Cycles the consort goes through in Minoan legend depictions too!

Okay, that’s great, but what does that have to do with the Mycenaeans? Why do you want to single-handedly go back in time and strangle the beta-Greeks with the nearest belt?

Everything I just said about Ariadne being a Minoan goddess, the Mistress of Labyrinths being hella important on Minoa, is all theoretical. The Mycenaeans are partially to blame for making it theoretical.

Minoa thrived for 2000 years but it had a lot of issues, mostly caused by natural disasters. Towards the end of their civilization (1500 BC-ish), the nearby island of Thera, today known as Santorini, decided to blow up. The island was a hella-active volcano that when erupted, destroyed a lot.

How big was the eruption? Well when Pompeii was wasted by Mt. Vesuvius, the blast was heard from roughly 120 miles away, 200 km.

The blast on Thera was heard from 3000 miles away. 4800 km away.

Fuck me, the environmental effects of the explosion were felt in imperialistic CHINA.

Holy shit that would waste anybody! And it did! Minoa went from being a powerhouse in the Mediterranean to scrambling to recover from losing 40,000 citizens and who knows how many cities. Tsunamis may have followed the blast, further destroying ports which for a navy-powerhouse of an island nation is a bad thing and the theorized temperature drops caused by a cloud of ash lingering for a while would have destroyed crops for the year.

Minoa was fucked.

The Mycenaeans and all their bullshit made it worse.

Up until a few hundred years prior to Thera’s explosion, Minoan artifacts don’t depict much in terms of military power. Why would it? Crete is a natural defense post. Sheer cliffs, high mountains and a few semi-fortified areas would make it pointless to invade. It’s only when the Mycenaeans in all their bullshit decided to attack/compete that Minoa really needed any army to speak of.

Guess who decided to invade while Minoa was reeling from an incredibly shitty year? Mycenaea!

Guess who won?

Also Mycenaea!

Nobody knows how this shit went down though because wouldn’t you know it, the Mycenaeans in all their superiority-complex glory decided to destroy most written accounts about Minoa, a good junk of the temples and culturally eliminated most of Minoan beliefs.

Minoa isn’t even the real name of the civilization! It’s just the name Arthur Evans, the guy who re-motivate interest in Minoan archaeology, gave to the civilization because the writings that would have included the name of the civilization were destroyed.

“That sucks!” Fuck yes that sucks! “What does that have to do with Ariadne though?”

Oh ho ho. Strap in because you’re about to be pissed.

Those of us unfortunate enough to be aware of all the bullshit the Christians pulled on the European pagan belief system are familiar with the concept of cultural, religious destruction. There’s a special name for it I don’t know but if I did I would curse it to be absorbed by the horrendous will of fungi.

An example: Christianity was not the most popular of religions amongst the Vikings. A monotheistic religion that is heavily controlled did not strongly appeal to anyone with a pantheon as rad as the Norse one.

In order to appeal to the Vikings, what monks would do is they would write down traditionally Viking stories which up until that point were orally passed down. Beowulf, the story of the most Viking Viking to have every Vikinged, was one of these first stories.

However! Did these monks write Beowulf as closely to the original oral transcript as possible? Of course not! They took liberties! While Norse features such as trolls and dragons and all sorts of Norse magic occur, there is a lot of Christian features added in.

This happened across all Pagan religions that Christianity came into contact with in Europe. Stories would be altered when written down to be more Christian (this happened to the Greek Pantheon too btw), holidays that were Pagan magically lined up with ones the Vatican just happened to suddenly have. Even names of mythological figures were taken and added onto Christian figure names. Consequently, a lot of pagan religions they did this to got erased over time, with many of their traditions and details being lost forever, and the details we do know being tinted by Christianity.

The Mycenaeans were likely no different.

Minoa and Mycenaea were as culturally opposite as can be. Minoa is theorized to be a matriarchal or equal society*. Mycenaea and most of early Greece absolutely was not. In fact, during early stages of their religion where they believed in reincarnation, the Mycenaeans believed the worst thing to come back as was a woman.

Did you get that? With your options ranging from man to ever single animal on Earth, a woman was ranked as beneath literal animals in Mycenaean society.

Fuck the Mycenaeans.

* This is not to say Minoa was without fault, as a society that is matriarchal or equal can still have rampant issues such as privilege, classism, racism, sexism and more, but when history has a shortage of civilizations that didn’t treat women like shit, you find yourself rooting for them more.

What do you do then, when you take over a society that is very much the opposite of a nightmare of a patriarchy? You fold their beliefs into your own to bait them into yours. Going back to the Linear B line about “Mistress of Labyrinths” that line would/could have been an early tactic of incorporating Minoan belief into Mycenaean belief. Other goddesses and gods were made into aspects of Mycenaean gods. Bristomartis, the Minoan goddess of the hunt, would become Artmeis. Velchanos, a god of the sky, would become Zeus.

With more time, the religion shifted more into Mycenaean and eventually into ancient Greece as we know it. Through trade other gods and goddesses would continue to shift and change, some being straight up imported (Aphrodite for example). Dionysus himself changed a lot too, going from a God representing freedom and attracting slaves, women and those with limited power into his cult, to a God of parties for the wealthy.

Theseus and the Minotaur was a myth likely based on a Mycenaean myth based on a Minoan myth that changes Ariadne from an important, possibly the important goddess of an ancient religion and relegates her to a side character in a pantheon so vast that she would be lost within it.

All of this brings us to today. Today, where as soon as work ended I spent most of the day, as well as the past two days, looking up everything I can on Minoan civilization and added it to my notes. Spite is fueling me to write two possible different stories for two different fandoms where Minoa dunks of Mycenaea and it is giving me life. Expect an update within the next two weeks folks as I lose control of my writing life once more.

In summary: Ariadne deserves more respect, fuck the public education system for skipping over the good parts of Greek mythology instead of the r*pey as shit parts, the Mycenaeans can eat my shorts, and a world were Minoa became the predominant power instead of Greece would be an amazing world to live in.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk. Pink out.

#minoa #minoan #crete #ancient history #ariadne #mycenaea #mycenaean #I hate #HATE #HATE HATE HATE the Greeks so much #homer is a dick #So much spite and curiosity went into this #if I ever get a time machine I will travel to the first years of Mycenaea for the express purpose of burning it to the ground before #they get a chance #the opportunity #to look at Minoa wrong

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chronologer · 7 months

Text

posting some portrait redraws of my favorite stardew valley bachelor for Valentine’s Day :)

been working on turning them into a portrait mod for myself, but there’s still some workshopping to do haha

#these have been wips forever lmao #I only got around to finishing them this past week or so #sdv elliott #stardew valley #sdv #theseus does doodles #the ramblings of theseus #gave him brown eyes bc i think he deserves them

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bubble-tea-bunny · 6 years

Text

to feel the sun from both sides

[newt scamander x reader]

author’s note: shorter than the stuff i’ve been writing lately but still just as nice i hope(: might write for theseus next

word count: 2,330

The months are growing colder, and the drop in temperature becomes even more apparent at the day’s end, when the sun is on its way out. A gust of wind blows strong enough to ruffle Newt’s robes and a shiver runs down his spine. His cheeks and his nose are probably red from the chill, and he manages to free a hand in the midst of his task to bring his scarf up over the bottom half of his face. Ah. That feels better.

He doesn’t see you approach because his back is turned, and he would’ve heard you, would’ve heard the sound of your shoes sifting along the cool grass, if he weren’t preoccupied with the little animal cradled his palm. He’s alerted to your presence when you speak up, and he twists around, but carefully so as not to jostle the small bowtruckle.

“I was wondering where you were,” you state with a smile.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Newt’s tone is apologetic as he pulls down his scarf to be heard clearly, the cool air once more nipping at his skin. He talks quietly but he always does, and you don’t mind one bit. “I wasn’t able to find you after dinner and I wanted to come here before it got dark, so…”

“It’s fine.” You wave your hand dismissively. It’s easy to be lost in the sea of students flooding out of the Great Hall, so you don’t blame him. You sit down against the trunk of the tree, and Newt follows suit. “I’m sure they missed you.”

Newt looks over, wondering what you mean, and notices your attention is on the creature in his hand. He glances down at it as well. “Yeah… I guess they have.” It’s silent for a moment, then he continues: “Hold out your hand.”

Your eyes widen a fraction but you do as he says, and you go stock still as he sets the bowtruckle into your awaiting hand. Its little legs feel odd on the sensitive expanse of your palm, and it takes several steps, so you rotate your wrist to accommodate it. It walks across your knuckles, where it chooses to remain. Newt watches it fondly, and it looks right back at him, like it knows who he is. And then from beneath floppy brown hair his gaze slides up to you—you’re considerably more relaxed now, and your features are so soft in the radiance of dusk.

“I don’t know why you get so nervous,” he remarks. “You’re a natural.”

You chuckle and as the bowtruckle resumes walking, you hold up your other hand for it to transfer onto so it doesn’t fall off. “You’re the natural, Newt. Simply holding them is nothing compared to what you can do.”

Newt smiles. “But they like you, you know. I can tell.”

You hum, as if to ask Yeah? but you don’t say anything else. Newt assumes that to be the end of the conversation, and he leans his head back on the tree trunk. The bowtruckle appears to have found a comfortable position to rest in, and you allow yourself to return to watching the setting sun. It’s nearly gone, and your breath materializes in front of you with every exhale. Soon the moon and stars will emerge, and they’ll light your path to the castle.

“Would you write a book?” you ask out of the blue.

Newt purses his lips and contemplates the inquiry for a few seconds. He doesn’t ask about what because it’s obvious what he’d write about. The idea isn’t out of the realm of possibility. He keeps journals on his research, though it’s only been on creatures found here at Hogwarts. There are many out there still, throughout the world, to be sought after and studied and cared for. An expansive task but a wonderful one.

“I would,” he responds finally. “But it’d be hard to do that research alone.”

This prompts you to look at him, and he’s watching you with utmost sincerity. The implication of the statement pulls a grin from you, and he mirrors it subconsciously. You’d been attached at the hip from the moment you started talking to each other as first years, and though your adventures have begun at Hogwarts, they wouldn’t end there.

You sigh lightly and take in the night that has fallen around you, stare up at the sky like you’re in a crystal ball and you’re looking past the glass. “Will I never be rid of you, Scamander?” you tease.

Newt shakes his head. “Not at all,” he shoots back playfully.

You laugh, then sigh as you settle down. “I’ll gladly join you, Newt. Just don’t go falling in love with me while we’re at it.”

There’s a twinkle in your gaze to accompany your smile, and he knows you’re playing around, but he swallows as he mulls over what you’ve said. The smile drops from his own face once you turn away and attend to the bowtruckle in your hand. He hears you asking it if it’s doing okay, and if it’s sleepy, but your voice sounds distant, like you’re farther than you actually are, his own thoughts at the forefront and pushing everything else to the margins. He traces the line of your profile with his eyes, from your forehead to the slope of your nose to your lips, and farther still he follows the curve of your chin as it leads to your jaw, and the sleek column of your neck. And as he continues to sit here next to you, so close he can feel your body heat, and you grin at the animal you’re holding and he swears it’s enough to light up a whole room, he thinks it’s a little too late for that.

———

He tries though. By Merlin, does he try. Being out on the field helps distract him, because there, the work comes first, and in these instances you maintain a professional relationship, that of researcher and assistant. You take notes while his hands are busy looking over the current beast of interest, and he knows he rambles and his brain can move faster than his mouth at times and it does but you’ve always been able to turn it into something cohesive. He gives you his journals to write in, and it’s easy to figure out which sections are yours because they’re neater, and in addition to the skillfully done diagrams of hippogriff talons and erumpet horns, you leave silly doodles in the margins.

The bounds of professionalism aren’t concrete, and neither of you wished them to be anyway. When he’s working late into the night, nothing but a candle to illuminate the pages, you come to him as his friend once more, his best friend, and you tell him he needs to rest and you won’t take any excuses. You set your hand on his to stop his writing, and he glances up at you sheepishly because he knows you’re right but really, he’ll be done soon, just one more sentence—

“There will always be tomorrow,” you murmur.

And the corner of his lip twitches, a smile fighting its way to the surface. You’ve never had to do much to convince him. “Okay.”

For all your denials that you could never be as well-versed in magical creatures as he, over the years, that’s changed, whether or not you even noticed. He taught you as you both went along, traveled from country to country, and it hadn’t been long before you had his confidence in the subject. Or at least something very close. And in those times where you may falter he’s the one to reassure you, telling you it’s okay to approach the thunderbird you’re observing and who’s looking at you closely in kind, two curious souls observing each other.

Gently he takes your wrist and guides your hand to rest on the soft feathers, and your eyes glow and so does your smile and he’s left wondering if he’s seeing things that aren’t actually there because maybe just maybe he’s imagining you like you’re the face he’s given to the beautiful haze of color just before the sun disappears behind the horizon and oh how he hopes desperately this isn’t the case.

But your skin is warm and as his hand slips down to his side, some of that residual heat remains in his palm, and it feels too real to be any figment of the imagination. In the subsequent moments filled only by the low rasps from the thunderbird’s throat that mean it’s happy, Newt looks from it to you and back again and maybe it’s more like you’re the same soul and in an exercise of extraordinary self-awareness the splendid beast that towers over you has looked into a mirror and understood that those are its eyes gazing back. And the flood of love Newt has for you rushes in like it had on day one of an undetermined total (for he’d really like to be with you forever).

He’s honestly not sure if he’ll ever tell you how he feels, because stuff like that, it isn’t his thing. He trips over his words whenever he’s not talking about his research and he has trouble maintaining eye contact with people, and the issue is increased tenfold when it involves you because the way your eyes seem to burn into him, see through him, is altogether too intense and he loves it but he also hates it because you pull him apart so easily. And maybe he should mind it but he doesn’t because you’re also the one to put him back, not with a wave of your wand and a whispered spell but with your hands, lithe fingers taking each fragment and fitting them together, one by one, slowly and surely, until he’s whole before you, and he would stand prepared for the next time he falls for you, into a million tiny pieces.

A portion of your notes doesn’t sound complete to Newt as he reads it over, then re-reads it a few times in an attempt to make sense of them. A few thoughts jotted down at the bottom are scrambled and disconnected. Usually he wouldn’t linger on these points and would move on, but it just so happens that he needs these particular lines for what he’s working on. With a sigh rife with exhaustion from hours of work, he stands and, journal in hand, exits the study and walks to the lounge, where he knows you’ll be.

There’s shuffling and the sound of your footsteps as you exclaim Poppy! and Newt’s not thinking much of it, but he should have and he understands that now because he turns the corner and says your name to announce his presence, and he’s startled first by your kneazle who just barely avoids running into his legs as it scampers off, and second by you, who’s taken off after her and you barrel into him, knocking you both off your feet.

“Oof!” Newt hits the floor with a thud, you on top of him. His journal had slipped out of his hand and lays face down to his right, but he doesn’t take notice. You push yourself up to look at him properly, eyes wide and brows knitted together in worry.

“Are you okay?” you ask. “I’m so sorry, Newt. It’s just, Poppy stole my pen and wouldn’t give it back and—”

“It’s fine,” he assures you, smiling. The concern starts to slip away and you nod, and then it occurs to him that neither of you has made any moves to stand. Your hands are braced against his chest, and his arms are wrapped around your waist, having found their way there by instinct when you’d run into him and he went to cushion your fall. Laying on the hardwood floor is hardly comfortable but he’s comfortable holding you, and you seem to be comfortable being held by him.

You stare at each other, and again Newt is overwhelmed and he has to avert his gaze and it goes to your lips and they look so soft, like velvet, and he wonders if they feel like it too. He swallows hard, and his mouth opens to say something but what? He has no idea what to say, and should he speak up he doesn’t know what would leave his mouth.

His mouth merely hangs open slightly, words not quite reaching his tongue, and he figures he must look rather stupid, but you seem to pay no mind or even notice as you lean in those last few inches and he learns you taste of caramel creams and peach blossoms. His eyes slide closed as he kisses you and his senses are filled with you you you and he’s breathing you in like you’re keeping him alive. It is a little ridiculous to still be wondering if this is truly happening, that this isn’t some hallucination, but he can’t help it because years have been spent thinking about it, dwelling on it, on all the what-could-be’s and what-if’s, and suddenly it’s what-can-be’s and what is.

You pull away just enough to allow yourself to breathe, and your eyes remain closed. Newt focuses on your lashes that delicately kiss your cheeks, and he wants to do that too. To kiss your cheeks and your nose and each corner of your lips because he loves you so much it hurts. When your eyes open, revealing that charming gaze that holds so much power over him, to a degree he’s not certain you’d ever understand, his heart drops into his stomach and it rouses the butterflies there, and they take flight. He can’t think straight but that’s okay, and at the sight of your captivating, marvelous, lovely, brilliant and every other word which might represent magnificence smile, he smiles too, in disbelief and relief and everything in between.

#newt scamander x reader #newt scamander imagine #fantastic beasts imagine #fantastic beasts #newt scamander #crimes of grindelwald #fantastic beasts and where to find them #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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terriblelifechoices · 5 years

Note

How about Graves and Credence with prompt 103? Or 113

Sorry, @tora42 This one kind of got away from me.

From the send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write you a drabble thing. To the surprise of probably no one, I fail at drabbles. What is brevity, anyway.

103. “Does this happen to you a lot? Because ‘not again’ isn’t the response I’d expect from someone I just found unconscious in my garden.”

“Is this really necessary?” Graves asked, trying – and failing, if Tina’s unimpressed expression was anything to go by – not to sound desperate.

“Well,” Newt began, in what Graves felt was a promisingly reasonable tone of voice. Graves had hired Newt as a favor to Theseus, but he’d always had a soft spot for the younger Scamander. “I suppose –”

“Yes,” said Tina, over anything else Newt might have said.

“Right,” Newt said, changing course with the split second rapidity that made him such a menace in the field. There were days when Graves deeply regretted hiring Newt. “It’s absolutely necessary.”

“Of course it is,” Graves muttered.

“Besides, it all works out rather nicely, doesn’t it?” Tina inquired. “Newt and I need a pet sitter, and you need something that will keep you out of trouble while you’re convalescing –”

“On administrative leave!” Graves interjected, affronted.

Tina had the audacity to roll her eyes at him. “While you’re convalescing on administrative leave,” she amended.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” said Graves. “Why is everyone acting like I’ve never been shot before? I’m fine.”

Granted, it had been a lot easier to shake this sort of thing off when he’d been Tina’s age, but he was hardly on death’s doorstep. It had been a simple through and through GSW, with minimal muscle damage. Graves didn’t even really need the sling that everyone was (somewhat melodramatically, in his opinion) insisting that he wear; so far the fucking thing had hindered more than it had helped. Graves would never have fallen off of that damned ladder if he hadn’t been wearing it.

Unfortunately, no one else saw the ladder incident quite as reasonably as he did. Which was why his protege was now lecturing him as if she were his Great Aunt Ethel, and not young enough to be his daughter.

Tina nodded. “Right,” she said. “You’re Special Agent Percival fucking Graves: the man, the myth, the legend –” Each ridiculous epithet was accompanied with an equally ridiculous gesture. Graves had never seen anyone make jazz hands look sarcastic before. He was a little impressed in spite of himself.

“Is this level of sarcasm really necessary?” Graves asked.

Tina ignored him in favor of adding, “And you’re fine. You absolutely did not show up to my wedding six hours late with a GSW and faint during the reception!”

“I was not late!” Graves protested. “I showed up in time to walk you down the aisle, didn’t I?”

“You showed up thirty seconds before it was time to walk me down the aisle,” Tina shot back. “You were a member of my damned bridal party. You were supposed to be there at seven, and you went off and got yourself shot instead.”

Graves wanted to argue that point, and couldn’t. It was all true.

“I’m sorry,” he said, for the thousandth time. He meant it, every time. But he couldn’t erase the hurt he’d caused just because he meant it. Tina knew he meant it, and she’d forgive him when she was ready to. That was enough.

And, in the meantime, Graves would prove that he meant it by babysitting Tina and Newt’s menagerie of adopted strays.

Tina sighed. “You were there for the important part,” she conceded.

“And he’s looking after everyone while we’re gone,” Newt added. He made it sound like this was something Graves had volunteered to do, rather than something Seraphina and Tina had blackmailed him into. Newt was kind like that. Newt was always kind.

Graves had always liked that about him; had liked what it meant for Tina, who needed someone kind whether she would admit it or not. Graves could still remember the girl she’d been when they’d first met – the one who’d worn her reckless crusader’s heart on her sleeve and dared the world to try and break it. Twenty years old and fresh out of the Academy, Tina had been brilliant and sharp as mirror-glass – blinding when the light caught her just right, but terribly breakable, too. She’d needed someone kind to shelter her heart, although she never would have admitted it.

At twenty-six, Tina’s sharpness and brilliance were diamond, not glass. Anyone else would have let their heart go diamond hard to match, but not Tina. She was kind, too. Graves was glad that she and Newt had each other. They could shelter each other’s hearts, and keep the world from breaking them.

Graves held up the terrifyingly thick binder of care instructions Newt had shoved into his good arm. Someone – Graves strongly suspected Newt, who was prone to doodling during meetings he found too boring to pay attention to, which was pretty much all of them as far as Newt was concerned – had drawn most of Newt’s menagerie as mythological creatures on the front cover and titled it Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

“They won’t even know you’re gone,” he promised.

Tina smirked at him. “I’m going to remind you that you said that when we check in tomorrow.”

“I’m sure you’ll have better things to do on your honeymoon,” Graves said blandly.

Tina’s answering smile had teeth in it this time. “I’m going to remind you that you said that, too.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” said Newt. “But just in case, maybe don’t leave anything valuable that you absolutely don’t want stolen where Cecil can get to it. And don’t be offended if Pickett doesn’t want anything to do with you. He’s gotten rather attached to me and –”

“You wrote all of that down,” Tina reminded him. “In sixteen point Times New Roman.”

“Sixteen, really?” Graves asked. He despaired of Newt’s approach to paperwork, he really did.

“I wanted to make it twenty-four, but Newt thought it was a bit insulting,” said Tina. “I did bold certain items for emphasis, though.”

“Keep giving me attitude, Goldstein. I outrank you.”

“Not while you’re on administrative leave, you don’t,” Tina said.

“We should head to the airport, Tina,” Newt said, obviously trying to head off another argument. “We don’t want to miss our flight.”

Graves gave him an unimpressed look, because that particular attempt at a distraction had been extremely unsubtle. Newt was a professional spy, for God’s sake. That was just embarrassing.

He was somewhat amused to find that Tina was giving her husband an identical unimpressed look.

Newt shrugged, not particularly bothered by their censure. “It worked, didn’t it?” he asked with a grin.

“I suppose it did,” Tina allowed. She let Newt tug her towards their front door, but couldn’t resist a few last minute instructions of her own. “Please try not to do anything stupid while we’re gone,” she said. “The number for the hotel is in the binder, and on the fridge next to the phone. And if you run into trouble, Credence can help you.”

“I’m sure Graves will be fine,” Newt said. “But if you need help feeding everyone, Credence did volunteer to help.”

“Leave, before I call in a favor and have your flight grounded out of spite,” Graves commanded, in lieu of saying that he’d rather lose a finger to one of Frank’s fits of temper than bother the only human member of Newt and Tina’s menagerie of adopted strays. Credence Barebone had suffered enough at the hands of someone wearing Graves’ face, and Graves could not bring himself to add to the harm that had already been done.

Tina and Newt both insisted that Credence bore Graves no ill-will for what Grindelwald had done. Graves appreciated their well-intentioned sugar-coating of the situation, but he was well aware of the fact that the mere sight of him still spooked the boy.

Credence had been part of the bridal party, too. Someone – Tina or Tina’s younger sister Queenie or maybe Credence himself – had managed to keep his interactions with Graves to the bare minimum. Graves had not actually had all that much to do with the wedding, outside of walking Tina down the aisle. He’d surreptitiously paid for as much of it as he could get away with, as was his right as Tina’s adopted older brother/surrogate father figure, but that was more or less the extent of his involvement. Credence had been very much in the thick of things. He’d been Queenie’s unofficial assistant for all wedding planning related duties. Graves had seen plenty of Queenie in the weeks leading up to the wedding, but he hadn’t interacted with Credence at all. It took real effort to avoid someone like that.

Graves had been a professional spy for longer than Credence had been alive, and he was not kind. Not the way that Tina and Newt were: a conscious choice made so consistently and so often that it became the default. Graves had closed the door on kindness long ago, trying to protect what was left of his heart. But even he had enough kindness left in him to recognize that the kindest thing he could do for Credence was to leave the boy alone.

“You are not actually a corvid,” Graves told Cecil, attempting to wrest his one of his cufflinks from the guinea pig’s greedy little paws without hurting him. “I know Newt raised you with the ravens, but you are a guinea pig and your obsession with shiny things makes no sense.”

Newt’s binder – which had actually been written in sixteen point Times New Roman, thank you so much, Tina – had expressly forbidden shaming Cecil for his terrible behavior, but as far as Graves was concerned, the furry little con artist had earned a healthy dose of Irish Catholic guilt. Cecil had managed to steal one of Graves’ cufflinks while Graves was still wearing it. Graves had met professional pickpockets who couldn’t manage the same feat, and it pissed him off that Cecil could.

Cecil made a pitiful crying noise, his dark eyes going liquid and pleading.

“No,” Graves said sternly, in the tone of voice that brought junior Agents to heel.

The pleading look intensified.

“No,” Graves said again, determined to hold his ground.

Cecil gave a little heartbroken chirp and relinquished his hold on Graves’ cufflink. His entire body radiated dejection.

“Oh, for –” Graves bit back a curse. He had gone toe to toe with Vinda Rosier, who had learned emotional manipulation at her father’s knee and perfected it under Grindelwald’s tutelage. Rosier hadn’t been able to break him, so Graves was absolutely not falling prey to the machinations of a guinea pig.

Cecil made another heartbroken little chirp, almost as if he were crying.

Could guinea pigs cry? Nothing in Newt’s ridiculous binder had indicated that they could, but Graves wouldn’t put it past this one.

“Look,” he said, feeling more than a little absurd. “Cufflinks are a choking hazard. You can have my tie bar instead if you leave my cufflinks alone. Does that sound fair?”

Cecil actually seemed to be considering that.

“You’re a fuzzy con artist,” Graves told him. He set Cecil back in his habitat and passed over his tie bar. Graves was a man of his word, even when dealing with guinea pigs. Cecil seemed pleased with this tribute, and scampered off to hide it.

Graves snorted in amusement, glad that none of his subordinates – or worse, Seraphina – could see him now. He dragged his tie off over his head and hung it on the corner of Cecil’s habitat. He told himself it was because it wouldn’t hang right without the tie bar, and not so the tiny grifter could use the shiny fabric as a victory flag.

The rest of Newt’s menagerie were fed and petted and – Jesus Christ, Newt, seriously? – sung to in short order. If footage of Graves singing to the lorikeets surfaced at the next Christmas party, Graves would know who to blame.

He saved Pickett for last, in case Pickett was still pissed about being left behind.

Graves actually liked Newt’s tiny demon cat. He had a weakness for anything with more fight in it than common sense. (See Exhibit A: Tina Goldstein.) Pickett was basically five and a half pounds of pure attitude. Graves had given up on trying to force Newt to leave the exploding ball of fluff at home after he’d seen the little cat savage a rogue operative on Newt’s behalf. Pickett always turned up in Newt’s pockets, anyway.

The earlier battle to evict Pickett from Newt’s coat pocket had been brief and very bloody, which was why Graves had donned a pair of oven mitts as a precautionary measure. The oven mitts were an eye-searing shade of pink with polka dotted ruffles. The right one advised Graves to “rock out with his crock out” and the left one featured an embroidered crock pot, just in case Graves failed to grasp the pun.

“Pickett?” Graves called. There was no answering growl from the cat carrier, which Graves did not think was a good sign. “Are you –” He cut himself off when he noticed that the door to the cat carrier was ever so slightly ajar.

Graves pulled one of the ridiculous oven mitts off and picked up the cat carrier, tilting it slightly so that the door swung completely open. Pickett failed to explode out of it like a miniature Tasmanian devil, which was his usual response to captivity. The cat carrier was empty.

“Well, fuck,” said Graves.

Two goddamn hours of fruitless searching proved that Pickett was nowhere to be found inside the house, and that Graves ought to gift the Goldstein-Scamander’s with the name of his cleaning service as a wedding present.

Graves had never really believed Newt when Newt said that Pickett could pick locks. Pickett was a cat, for fuck’s sake. Cats couldn’t pick locks. He still didn’t believe that, but he was fairly certain that Pickett, at least, understood how locks worked. Because Graves sure as hell hadn’t left the back door unlocked, much less open just wide enough for an undersized demon cat to escape out of.

If anything happened to Pickett while he was under Graves’ care, Tina would murder him. It would make the grudge she was carrying over his late arrival to and disruption of her wedding look like a walk in the park by a tranquil spring lake. No one held grudges like Tina Goldstein, except maybe her sister Queenie.

Graves grabbed a bag of cat treats and went to look for Pickett. He searched the yard methodically, working in a grid the way he would if he’d been looking for a missing person or a body.

“Pickett?” he called, shaking the bag of cat treats. Pickett could occasionally be bribed with treats, and he was hoping that the little cat would recognize the sound and come running. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

Newt and Tina lived on a two and a half acre plot that butted up against a nearby nature preserve. A lot of Newt’s strays came from the preserve; they seemed to show up outside the house whenever they were sick and in need of healing. Graves had no idea how Newt kept the wild animals from eating his (comparatively) more domesticated ones, but he’d seen Frank the bald eagle sunning himself in the windows with Cecil curled up on his back like Frank was a feather mattress and not a feathery predator more than once. It was adorable. He might have taken a picture, but he’d be damned if he admitted to doing so, even under torture. Special Agent Graves did not have unlikely animal friendship photos on his phone.

Credence Barebone lived in the little gamekeeper’s cottage on the back of the property. It was leftover from when the property and at least two of the surrounding homes had all been part of the same estate. It was the perfect size for a traumatized young man who simply needed time and space and a little peace and quiet to heal.

Graves didn’t realize how close he was to the cottage until he was practically standing in the front garden. Stained glass windchimes hung under the eaves, making a pleasant tinkling sound in the faint breeze. They threw colored flecks of light all over the cottage walls, blending nicely with the riot of color emerging from the flowerbeds. It looked nice, Graves thought. Peaceful.

He turned away, not wanting to bother the little cottage or it’s occupant. Except he still hadn’t found Pickett, and he could hardly say he had done his due diligence and looked everywhere if he didn’t at least ask Credence if he’d seen Pickett.

“Fuck,” Graves muttered.

Well. There was no help for it. He’d just have to ask.

Something above his head meowed.

Graves paused. Then he tipped his head back and looked up into the branches of the oak tree next to the cottage. Newt’s tiny demon cat stared down at him. Graves was no expert in feline body language, but he was pretty sure that Pickett was laughing at him.

“Pickett,” he said sternly. “Come down here.”

Pickett was definitely laughing at him now. He meowed again. Graves was pretty sure Pickett had just said, Why don’t you come up here and make me, human.

“Fine,” said Graves, toeing off his shoes and socks. “Be that way. You think you’re the only one who can climb trees? Because newsflash: I can climb trees too.” He took the stupid sling off and dropped it next to his shoes and socks, using his good arm to boost himself in the tree.

His suit pants had definitely not been made with climbing trees in mind. Graves gritted his teeth and concentrated on getting closer to Pickett, who had retreated farther up the tree just to be a dick.

“Please come down,” Graves tried. “Newt will be upset if something happens to you.”

Pickett growled at the mention of Newt. It sounded a lot like the little cat had just blown a raspberry at him.

“Okay, fine. How about bribery? Would bribing you with wet food work?” Graves inquired.

Pickett turned and climbed higher. Graves swore under his breath and did his best to follow. He was not prepared for a large feathery creatures to suddenly fly at his face.

“Jesus fuck!” said Graves, jerking backwards. His left heel slid off the branch he’d been standing on and Graves flailed. He tried to catch his balance, but his injured arm wouldn’t support his weight.

Graves’ last thought before he fell out of the fucking tree was that this was going to be a really embarrassing way to die.

Frank tapped at Credence’s window, trying to get his attention.

Credence unlatched the window in front of his desk and let it swing open. Frank landed on the windowsill, which was scratched and worn from frequent visits.

“Hi, Frank,” Credence said. He reached a hand out carefully, waiting to see if Frank wanted to be petted.

Frank blinked one large golden eye at him and bowed his head. He let Credence stroke his head and scratch gently for just a second, and then he took a half step back and fluffed his feathers up.

“What’s up?” Credence asked.

There was something magical about interacting with Newt’s creatures. It was like one of the stories he’d read, once he was free of Ma’s influence and allowed to read stories that weren’t in the Bible. Newt was probably not actually magic the way that Daine Sarrasri was, but he talked to his creatures like they were people and tried to protect everyone the way that Daine did, which Credence figured made him the closest thing the real world had to a Wildmage. Newt’s creatures always seemed smarter than other animals, the way the ones who’d been exposed to Daine did. Credence couldn’t understand them as intuitively as Newt could, but there were days when he swore Frank was trying to communicate with him. He was just too dumb to understand him.

Frank considered Credence for a long moment. Then he hopped forward and screeched in Credence’s face.

Credence yelped in surprise and almost fell out of his desk chair. “Frank!” he said, channeling Newt as best he could. “That was rude! What are you yelling at me for?”

Frank hopped on Credence’s desk. He raised his wings like he was trying to make himself bigger, shifting his weight back and forth in agitation.

“What?” Credence asked. “What’s wrong? Do you miss Newt?”

Frank screeched again.

“I am not playing twenty questions with you if all you’re going to do is yell at me!” Credence yelled back.

Frank took off out the window, knocking books and knicknacks off of Credence’s desk as he went. Then he swooped back and landed on the windowsill and screamed again.

“What?” Credence asked again. “Do you want me to follow you?”

Frank bobbed his head.

“Did you just nod?” Credence asked.

Frank flapped his wings impatiently, as if to say, Yes, I did. Keep up, would you?

“Right,” Credence said. “Okay. I’ll just … follow you outside, I guess.”

Newt made communicating with his creatures look so much easier than this. Credence wondered what his secret was. He felt stupid for not asking before now, but Newt always seemed so magical that Credence hadn’t wanted to risk breaking the spell just in case it broke everything else along with it. Credence had been free of Ma’s influence for over a year now, and sometimes he still woke up thinking that he’d dreamed the whole thing up; that it was just an illusion he’d built in his mind to shield himself from the pain while she beat him. Real life could not possibly be this magical.

Frank took off as soon as Credence opened his front door, heading straight for the oak tree in the front garden. He didn’t land in the branches the way Credence expected him to, though. He landed on the ground instead.

There was a man lying unconscious at Frank’s feet. Or at least, Credence hoped he was just unconscious.

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” he asked Frank.

Frank fluffed his feathers up again and looked guilty.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, you did,” Credence breathed.

Frank made an indignant sound.

“Or … not?” Credence asked.

Frank opened his wings and flapped them impatiently at Credence.

“Right,” said Credence. “I guess you want me to check, huh? Okay. I can do that.” He stared at the hopefully unconscious man for another minute. “Maybe,” he admitted.

If the man needed medical attention, Newt and Tina and Queenie and Jacob would have helped him without a second thought.

Credence had plenty of second thoughts. What if the man was an enemy agent, looking for Newt or Tina? What if he wanted to hurt Credence? What if he wanted to hurt Frank? Or one of Newt’s other creatures?

Credence also wanted to be good, like Newt and Tina and Queenie and Jacob were. He wanted to help people the way that they’d helped him.

“Okay,” he said again. He approached the man cautiously, just in case he was an enemy agent and only pretending to be unconscious. There was something strangely familiar about the man’s broad shoulders and the faint touch of silver threading through his dark hair. Credence didn’t realize who he was until he’d pressed two shaking fingers to the man’s throat looking for a pulse and got a good look at his profile.

He knew that profile. He knew the face it belonged to – both the real one and the fake.

Credence turned the man’s face gently to the side, running his fingers along the stubborn jawline to behind his ear, where the control chip for a Protean mask would rest. He couldn’t feel any kind of telltale bump or incision scar. This wasn’t a clever holographic illusion.

This was the real Mr. Graves.

Credence couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse. He had never apologized to the real Mr. Graves for all the things he’d wanted from the fake one, but he was shamefully certain that the real Mr. Graves knew about them anyway. There was rather a lot of surveillance footage, after all.

Thinking about the surveillance footage made Credence want to dig a hole in the garden and bury himself in it. Grindelwald hadn’t needed to work very hard to make Credence do what he wanted. All it had taken was a handsome face and the odd caress to go along with his liar’s tongue. Credence should have known better than to think that someone like Mr. Graves would ever want someone like him.

Credence knew from long experience that if he continued down that line of thought he’d wind up having a panic attack in his bedroom closet again. He shoved the knot of confusion and residual shame down and made himself focus on Mr. Graves.

He pressed his fingers to Mr. Graves’ throat again, resolutely not thinking about what it had been like to tuck his face against the curve of the fake Mr. Graves’ throat – Grindelwald had smelled of blood beneath Mr. Graves’ stolen cologne, but Credence hadn’t cared because he’d thought that Mr. Graves – that Grindelwald – would keep him safe.

He’d never dared to touch the real Mr. Graves before this.

The heartbeat under his fingertips was strong and steady and strangely ordinary on such an extraordinary man.

“Thank God,” Credence breathed. He sat back on his heels, trying to think of what to do next. His first instinct was to call Newt and Tina, because Newt and Tina were professional spies and terrifyingly competent at everything they did, albeit in different ways.

Newt and Tina were on their honeymoon, though. They had both assured him that he could call them at any time, but Credence would rather have cut off his own arm than actually do it. He would have to handle this himself.

Mr. Graves made a faint noise and stirred slightly.

“Oh no,” Credence said. He had a vague notion that you weren’t supposed to move unconscious people in case they had spinal damage or brain injuries. He was less clear on whether or not you should allow the recently unconscious to move for the same reasons, but he didn’t want Mr. Graves to add potential spinal damage on top of his recent gunshot wound. He reached out and grasped Mr. Graves’ shoulder, trying to keep him from moving.

Mr. Graves twisted, moving faster than a striking snake. He grabbed Credence’s wrist and used it to roll them both so that Credence was pinned beneath him.

Frank screeched in surprise and took off for the safety of the oak tree, yelling abuse down at both of them.

Credence yelped in surprise and said something blasphemous, looking up at Mr. Graves in stunned incomprehension.

“Credence?” asked Mr. Graves, sounding just as baffled as Credence felt.

“Um. Yes,” said Credence. “Sorry. I was trying to keep you from moving, in case you had a spinal injury or something, but I guess you’re okay?”

“Why would I have a spinal injury?” Mr. Graves asked, still sounding baffled. He let Credence up.

“I – you were unconscious,” Credence told him.

“I was – Fuck,” said Mr. Graves. “Not again.”

Credence stared at him. That was … not really the response he was expecting, honestly.

“What?” asked Mr. Graves.

“Nothing,” Credence said quickly. “It’s just … Does this happen to you a lot? Because ‘not again’ isn’t the response I’d expect from someone I just found unconscious in my garden.”

“Not a lot, no,” said Mr.Graves, wincing as he reached up to brush leaves out of his hair. “There may have been an incident with a ladder earlier this week.”

“An incident,” Credence repeated. He was aware of the fact that he was still staring at Mr. Graves and that it was rude, but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop.

Mr. Graves raised an eyebrow at him. “Tina didn’t tell you?”

“Not exactly,” Credence said, in lieu of admitting that what Tina had actually said was that Mr. Graves had the survival instincts of a squirrel on methamphetamines and couldn’t be trusted to stay out of trouble without a babysitter.

“Ah,” said Mr. Graves. “Well. I may have slipped.” He gestured to the sling lying abandoned on the ground next to his socks and shoes. “The damn thing got in my way.”

Credence ran that sentence through his ‘spy to normal people’ filter and suspected that what Mr. Graves meant was that he had slipped off the ladder and hit his head. If he’d done that while he was wearing the sling, that made this the second time in under a week he had fallen off of something and knocked himself unconscious. Mr. Graves’ exasperated not again supported that theory.

“Right,” he said, standing up. “We need to go to Medical.”

“What? Why?” Mr. Graves asked, getting up. He didn’t move like someone who was recovering from a gunshot wound, but he was favoring his right arm just a little. He reached for Credence, cupping Credence’s face in his left hand and peering into his eyes. “Are you hurt?”

“Not for me,” Credence said, stepping back so that he wouldn’t lean pathetically into Mr. Graves’ touch the way he used to lean into Grindelwald’s. “For you.”

“For me?” Mr. Graves repeated, sounding baffled again.

Credence put his hands on his hips and tried to channel the Goldstein sisters. “I found you unconscious on the ground after you fell out of a tree,” he said, taking a guess at what had happened. “I’m guessing you also fell off a ladder at some point, which means that this is the second time this week you’ve knocked yourself unconscious. You need to go to Medical so they can check you for a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” said Mr. Graves. “Trust me. I’ve had enough of them to recognize the symptoms. I appreciate your concern, Credence, but I’m fine.”

Credence folded his arms across his chest. “You were unconscious,” he said.

“I was unconscious for what, not even five minutes? That doesn’t even count. It’s more like being momentarily stunned,” Mr. Graves said, dismissive.

Credence was starting to understand why Tina thought that Mr. Graves couldn’t be left to his own devices. He’d never met anyone with such blatant disregard for their own health. It was a little infuriating. Credence had ignored his hurts because he had to. Because he couldn’t afford to go to a hospital and he’d been too afraid to even he could have afforded it. Ma had forbidden them to go to the doctor. She hadn’t wanted any record of the things she’d done.

Mr. Graves had access to the best medical care the Agency could pay for, which meant that it was good enough to almost qualify as a divine miracle. If he chose not to make use of those services, well. He was a grown man and he could make his own decisions.

Mr. Graves peered up at the tree. He did a little running leap and caught one of the branches, hanging from it by his good arm in a way Credence would have found brain-meltingly attractive if he had not been completely furious.

“Are you stupid?” he demanded, grabbing hold of Mr. Graves’ belt when Mr. Graves twisted to haul himself back into the tree he’d literally just fallen out of. “Or brain damaged?”

Mr. Graves dropped out of the tree and gently pried Credence’s hand off of his belt. “I beg your pardon?”

“You just fell out of that tree,” Credence said. “Was once not enough? Are you trying to give yourself brain damage? Because you could just let Queenie hit you over the head with one of her frying pans if that’s what you want. It’d be faster and less traumatic.”

Mr. Graves stared at him. Credence suspected that he was not exactly making a good first impression on the real Mr. Graves and decided that he didn’t really care. If Mr. Graves wanted to foolishly risk his own life and upset the people who cared about him, he could do it somewhere else.

“Pickett,” said Mr. Graves.

“What?”

Mr. Graves pointed. “Pickett’s in that tree. I was trying to get him down. Frank startled me.”

“Oh,” said Credence. “Why didn’t you just tell Pickett to come down?”

“Pickett’s a cat. They don’t exactly do things on command.”

Credence tilted his head back, peering into the leaves until he spotted Pickett’s surprisingly well camouflaged tabby stripes. “Pickett,” he said sternly.

“Mrow,” said Pickett, defiant.

“Pickett, you get out of that tree right now,” Credence said.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to – son of a bitch,” said Mr. Graves.

Pickett wound his way through the branches and down the tree trunk. The bells on his collar jingled cheerfully as he landed on the ground between them.

Credence bent down and picked the little cat up. He didn’t have a convenient jacket pocket to tuck Pickett into, so he settled for putting Pickett on his shoulder instead. “You and I are going to have a long talk about this,” he warned. “And I’m going to tell Newt on you. Just you see if I don’t.”

Pickett gave a very innocent sounding meow. Credence did not believe it for a second, but he scratched Pickett’s ears anyway.

“And you,” Credence said to Mr. Graves, “are coming with me to get your head checked out.” He took off towards the house, not waiting to see if Mr. Graves would follow. He couldn’t make Mr. Graves come with him – Mr. Graves was stronger and better trained than he was – but Pickett needed to be brushed and fed and someone had to be on hand to dial 911 just in case Mr. Graves decided to do something stupid.

“Do you know,” Mr. Graves said, sounding amused. “I thought you were afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” said Credence. It would have been better if he’d been afraid, but he wasn’t.

“Yes, I can see that,” said Mr. Graves. He was quiet for a moment. “I owe you an apology.”

Credence stopped. “What?”

Mr. Graves looked him in the eye. Grindelwald had never bothered to do that, not that he’d needed to. Credence wouldn’t have dared to meet his gaze back then. It sent a weird flutter through Credence’s stomach now. He liked that Mr. Graves treated him like a man – like an equal.

“I’m sorry,” said Mr. Graves. “Grindelwald wronged you, but he did it with my face and my name, and I owe you an apology for that. I should have spoken to you sooner, but I thought it would be kinder to leave you be. You didn’t seem to like the sight of me.”

Credence had rather the opposite problem, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to admit that.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Credence said. “If anything, I’m the one who owes you an apology. I wanted –” He made a faint gesture in Mr. Graves’ direction, trying to communicate all the shameful things he’d wanted, back when he thought that Grindelwald was Mr. Graves. He had lusted after Mr. Graves’ body, and that seemed disrespectful now that he knew the real man.

“Well,” said Mr. Graves. “Either we both owe each other an apology, or neither of us do. Perhaps we can start over. Percival Graves,” he said, holding out his hand.

Credence shook it. “Credence Barebone,” he said.

Mr. Graves smiled. It was a brief, fleeting thing that made Credence’s insides feel like there was a swarm of butterflies inside of them.

“There’s an Italian restaurant near headquarters,” Mr. Graves said. “What do you say we go there for dinner after Medical clears me of imaginary head injuries?”

“I’m starting to see why Tina says that there’s nothing in your head to injure,” Credence said, and then the rest of what Mr. Graves said hit him. “Wait, dinner?”

Mr. Graves shrugged. “We have some friends in common,” he said. “If we’re starting over, perhaps we can be friends as well. Dinner seems like a good place to start.”

The swarm of butterflies were doing the butterfly equivalent of the Agency’s obstacle course with his internal organs.

This is not a date, Credence told himself. Mr. Graves was just being nice.

“I’d like that,” he said.

#my fic #graves/credence #fbawtft #tora42 #ask me anything

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