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fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-12-25 04:42 pm
fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-12-25 04:42 pm
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Prompt Post #2
ROUND 2
Seeing as we've reached 4,000 comments in Round 1, it's time to make a new one. Same (lack of) rules apply. Gentle reminder to everyone to refrain from posting extremely long prompts, though. While no word limit will be imposed, take note that it is very unlikely for someone to fulfill your prompt if your prompt alone is already several paragraphs long and containing a number of specifications.
ANNOUNCEMENTS:
-(01/14/2016) We now have a TRADING POST where you can exchange fills with people.
-The prompt freeze is over! You may resume posting prompts. The next freeze is scheduled on February 8, 12:00 AM (PST) or if this round reaches 4,000 comments; whichever comes first.
-Due to popular demand, we now have our first couple of rules!
RULE #1: No prompt must exceed 250 words. Any prompt that exceeds that WILL be screened.
RULE #2: Please state RPF in the subject line if your prompt involves real people.
RULE #3: No kinkshaming.
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-Mods to help manage the kinkmeme itself
-Volunteers to help update the tumblr page
If you have free time to do one or the other, go ahead and e-mail us at fantasticbeastskink@gmail.com.
Thank you to those who have already volunteered, and have a nice day.
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Fill: No
(Anonymous) 2017-02-07 08:04 pm (UTC)(link)**
The battlefield was never quiet, no matter what the poets might have you believe.
Even now, in the aftermath of a horrible accident, horrible even after all they’d seen, there was no silence. Certainly, no sound came from the scattering of bodies across the muddy, soaking, filthy ground. But still the silence was disturbed by the churning footsteps of survivors, reverent mutterings between them and the occasional gasp of pain.
They had all gasped, upon seeing the downed Iron Belly across the field.
Percival marched on through it, assessing and stoic as he could be. The line between “they’re just casualties” and “these are my men” was so fine at moments like this.
A few feet ahead, the low sounds were shattered by a familiar voice.
“NO!”
All heads turned to the broken shout, soon followed by a wet scream. Percival hurried, rounding the snout of the iron belly to see Theseus on the ground, uncaring of the mud and shitthat clung to his uniform as he cradled a body in his arms.
The screams didn’t cut off, only turning hoarse before he just had no breath left to give them. As he heaved desperately for air, wet hacking sounding from his mouth, Theseus’ head turned up to meet his friends gaze. His face was red, crinkled, uncomfortably ugly in the way people are when they show us just how heartbroken they can become. Tear and snot had cut through the dirt on his face, and his gaze soon fell to the body in his hands again.
The young man wore the uniform of the dragon corps, though now it was tarnished and torn. Theseus’ hand cradled the back of a head covered in red curls, he had the same cheekbones that Theseus possessed, though hidden in youthful face that was not quite ready for then yet. Percival couldn’t find other resemblances as any freckles were smothered by dirt and blood, and his eyes stayed stubbornly closed no matter how much the arms that held him shook.
There was never any doubt who this was, the moment he heard Theseus’ cry.
“He’s supposed to be home.” Theseus said, each word like a shaking sob. “He should be safe.”
Already his attention shot back to his brother, hand coming away from his head enough to see the blood now soaking his hand. With a choke, he pulled the body even closer, hiding his face in his brother’s shoulder as though to hide from it all.
A rhythmic stutter of sobs came from Theseus, too garbled to be words but Percival knew what his friend was trying to pray.
Newt Newt Newt Newt Newt.
He watched his friend, who had seen half their men massacred in France get up the next morning and fight, fall to pieces.
But still the war would go on, and they would have to as well.
“Theseus,” he said, gentle but firm, “You need to let him go so I can examine him.”
Theseus violently shook his head, still hiding in his brother.
“I’m sorry,but if you don’t we can’t bury him, you can’t carry him back.”
“I carried him since he was born, Perce, I’m not gonna stop now. I won’t just leave him.”
Percival pauses, knowing he had to separate Theseus from his beloved brother and march them back to the trenches, but how could he make his friend leave Newt, who he had talked about with such fondness all the time he had known the man?
The kid was only 17.
A struggling cough made the decision for them.
Theseus’ head shot up from its place, catching Percival’s gaze in wide eyed shock for a moment before putting distance between himself and his brother so he could properly assess his face.
Newt’s nose flared with a breath.
“MEDIC! WE NEED A MEDIC HERE NOW!”
***
Theseus didn’t move from Newt’s bedside.
He barely slept, fearing that if he did he would slip back to the moment when he spotted familiar red hair across the battlefield, and this time there would be no fluttering heartbeat to wake him up from the nightmare.
Theseus had been at the front for about a year, and had seen too many horrors to put into words. Frequently, his mind tried to make sense of it by playing the moments over and over in his dreams, though now with the helplessness of being unable to move or look away, waking with shaking hands but still feeling frozen.
None of that came close to holding Newt’s body in his arm. He’d go through all the nightmares a hundred times over to never know what Newt’s limp weight and cold skin felt like.
He had thought it was a nightmare at first, as he made his way towards Newt. The last person he expected to see flung from a dragon. Newt couldn’t be here, suffering through the same terrors he had. It was just his mind, torturing him with his deepest fears
But as he got closer and nothing changed, the realisation that his baby brother had come hear and died here couldn't be denied.
Even now, with the medi-witches reassuring him that his brother was making a full recovery, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Just in case.
A week after finding him, Newt woke up.
***
The world came back to him in stages.
Theseus.
Bed.
Cold.
“Newt?”
No, that wasn’t his brother, his brother was never so quiet or unsure.
“You back with us Newt?”
A hand came up, sweeping through his hair with familiar affection.
“Theese?”
A choked, wet laugh.
“Hey, yeah, yeah, it’s me.” a sob. “I’m here, baby brother.”
“...My nose itches.”
A full laugh came this time, and Newt’s vision came back enough to see the way Theseus clumsily covered his face with his hands.
“Of course, you take a nosedive on an Iron Belly and your nose is what bothers you.”
“Did he…?”
“I’m sorry Newt, he took most of the impact. Probably saved your life.” Theseus squeezed his hand. “Dragons, Newt? Really?”
“I wanted to make sure they were being treated right.”
“What are you even doing here? You should be home.”
Newt shifted in the itchy bed sheets, making an effort to look his brother in the eyes.
“Because you were here, Theseus. I love you, you’ve done, done-” he cut himself off with a cough, still weak, but soon steamed on “everything you’ve done for me, I had to make sure you were safe.”
A beat of quiet.
“With dragons?”
“With dragons.”
Theseus laughed, high pitched and undignified, like he hadn’t in months.
“I missed you, little brother.”
“Same here.”
“You’re still going home when you’re better.”
“Make me.”
***
Outside, Percival listened as both Scamander’s voices rose and became heated. Sounded like Newt was feeling better, and as stubborn as Theseus always said he was.
With a smile, he turned and walked away. Looks like the brothers would be at it for a while. He would leave them to it.
A few days later, he formally got to meet the infamous Newton Scamander, dragon rider, aspiring magizoologist and green eyed charmer. Theseus watched the meeting, a dawning horror in his eyes that only spurred Percival on.
It had been worth the wait.
Re: Fill: No
(Anonymous) 2017-02-07 08:23 pm (UTC)(link)