(Thanks so much for the comments, kind anons! To the above anon, I'm so glad that the whole "associating kinks with psychological factors" thing didn't come across as heavy handed and that the Newt chapter connected with you! Personally, the most real for me was Tina. I'm a big sadist/dom and I've had my share of frightening fantasies too.)
iv. Credence
Whereas Newt bit himself, Credence sucked his thumb.
A year after Newt had taken him on as an assistant, the young man was unrecognisable. He no longer walked with his head bowed, or clutched his scarred hands in front of his face when he spoke. But Queenie found that he dreamed the sweetest dreams when he fell asleep with his thumb between his lips.
For Queenie, his desires didn’t burn. Rather, they unfolded like the pearl-pink petals of a flower, delicate as gossamer and yet strong enough to shrug off the hard outer shell of rot and ruin. But strong was not a word Credence would use to describe himself. Strength meant fighting, running, surviving amidst decay. Weakness meant rest, so weak was what he longed to be with his entire being.
Credence had never had a girlfriend. Queenie could see the marks of cigarette ash on his soul, where he had stamped on each tiny flame before it had the chance to bloom. But there had been a woman who loved him once. Credence wasn’t always sure if she had actually existed, or if she was simply an idea that he had willed into being. She was so strong, and he buried her so deep, that not even Mary Lou could have destroyed her. When he sucked on his thumb, it was her breast he was sucking on, fanning her sweet life-giving milk across his palate. She was soft, and she loved to smile as her velvet hands rubbed the knots from his back. She loved him not for what he had done or who he had grown up to be, but simply because he was.
Tina gave Credence warm milk with honey every night when he and Newt visited. He always drank it as if he had never seen food before, peering shyly up at her through his dark eyelashes, but Queenie knew that he wished she would give it to him in one of the little glass bottles Newt kept for orphaned baby animals. He considered stealing one sometimes, but stealing was bad. He did, however, take old bits of towelling that had been put aside for cleaning, and wrap them around his hips in place of underwear. His soul glowed like an ember when he walked around the house secretly dressed like this, and when night came, he would pop his left thumb in his mouth and slip his right hand between his legs, letting the warm towelling scrape the back of his hand as he stroked, piercing the silence with broken cries of mommy… mommy!
Once, Credence grew bold and took sips of milk and water throughout the day. Then he sat down to read a tome on the history of magic, and as the liquid made itself felt, he sighed and squirmed and pressed his thighs together. Queenie had to go to the ladies’ room twice, just from looking at him. Finally, he dropped the book and ran to the bathroom, where he knelt in the bath and stripped off all his clothes except for the diaper he had made. Please, mommy, let me pee, he whimpered as he shook and chewed his lip and lost control, flooding the cloth with piss, tears welling up in his eyes as most of it overflowed into a golden puddle around his legs. He wept, rocking and hugging himself with thin arms, and when he could weep no more the world somehow seemed brighter, as if washed by a fresh spring rain.
“Good morning, Miss Goldstein,” he whispered, peeking out from the suitcase as Queenie sat and chewed her toast the next morning. She smiled, deciding against berating the poor boy for not using her name for the thousandth time. “Could you please teach me how to do a cleaning spell? Newt’s sleeping. Molly had a rough birth last night. Molly’s a murtlap,” he offered in explanation. “I’d like to clean the grindelow tank before he wakes up.”
“I’m sure he’ll be tickled pink when he finds out!” She beamed, knowing at once that the grindelow tank was only the second of his concerns. His eyes widened as she held a dishcloth under the tap, then pointed her wand at the soaked fabric. “It’s a nice, easy, point-n-shoot kind of spell. Say it with me: Tergeo!”
“Tergeo!” he repeated, miming flicking a wand and smiling the toothy smile she knew was the genuine one. “Thank you, Miss Goldstein!” He ducked back into the suitcase like a prairie dog.
Queenie chuckled. Tomorrow, she would teach him how to waterproof things.
FILL 4/6
iv. Credence
Whereas Newt bit himself, Credence sucked his thumb.
A year after Newt had taken him on as an assistant, the young man was unrecognisable. He no longer walked with his head bowed, or clutched his scarred hands in front of his face when he spoke. But Queenie found that he dreamed the sweetest dreams when he fell asleep with his thumb between his lips.
For Queenie, his desires didn’t burn. Rather, they unfolded like the pearl-pink petals of a flower, delicate as gossamer and yet strong enough to shrug off the hard outer shell of rot and ruin. But strong was not a word Credence would use to describe himself. Strength meant fighting, running, surviving amidst decay. Weakness meant rest, so weak was what he longed to be with his entire being.
Credence had never had a girlfriend. Queenie could see the marks of cigarette ash on his soul, where he had stamped on each tiny flame before it had the chance to bloom. But there had been a woman who loved him once. Credence wasn’t always sure if she had actually existed, or if she was simply an idea that he had willed into being. She was so strong, and he buried her so deep, that not even Mary Lou could have destroyed her. When he sucked on his thumb, it was her breast he was sucking on, fanning her sweet life-giving milk across his palate. She was soft, and she loved to smile as her velvet hands rubbed the knots from his back. She loved him not for what he had done or who he had grown up to be, but simply because he was.
Tina gave Credence warm milk with honey every night when he and Newt visited. He always drank it as if he had never seen food before, peering shyly up at her through his dark eyelashes, but Queenie knew that he wished she would give it to him in one of the little glass bottles Newt kept for orphaned baby animals. He considered stealing one sometimes, but stealing was bad. He did, however, take old bits of towelling that had been put aside for cleaning, and wrap them around his hips in place of underwear. His soul glowed like an ember when he walked around the house secretly dressed like this, and when night came, he would pop his left thumb in his mouth and slip his right hand between his legs, letting the warm towelling scrape the back of his hand as he stroked, piercing the silence with broken cries of mommy… mommy!
Once, Credence grew bold and took sips of milk and water throughout the day. Then he sat down to read a tome on the history of magic, and as the liquid made itself felt, he sighed and squirmed and pressed his thighs together. Queenie had to go to the ladies’ room twice, just from looking at him. Finally, he dropped the book and ran to the bathroom, where he knelt in the bath and stripped off all his clothes except for the diaper he had made. Please, mommy, let me pee, he whimpered as he shook and chewed his lip and lost control, flooding the cloth with piss, tears welling up in his eyes as most of it overflowed into a golden puddle around his legs. He wept, rocking and hugging himself with thin arms, and when he could weep no more the world somehow seemed brighter, as if washed by a fresh spring rain.
“Good morning, Miss Goldstein,” he whispered, peeking out from the suitcase as Queenie sat and chewed her toast the next morning. She smiled, deciding against berating the poor boy for not using her name for the thousandth time. “Could you please teach me how to do a cleaning spell? Newt’s sleeping. Molly had a rough birth last night. Molly’s a murtlap,” he offered in explanation. “I’d like to clean the grindelow tank before he wakes up.”
“I’m sure he’ll be tickled pink when he finds out!” She beamed, knowing at once that the grindelow tank was only the second of his concerns. His eyes widened as she held a dishcloth under the tap, then pointed her wand at the soaked fabric. “It’s a nice, easy, point-n-shoot kind of spell. Say it with me: Tergeo!”
“Tergeo!” he repeated, miming flicking a wand and smiling the toothy smile she knew was the genuine one. “Thank you, Miss Goldstein!” He ducked back into the suitcase like a prairie dog.
Queenie chuckled. Tomorrow, she would teach him how to waterproof things.