Prompt Post #1

[fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme]

 ROUND 1

FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER

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Fill: Ab Irato (8/?)

[(Anonymous)]

“It’s okay sweetie…” Queenie murmured, leaning in towards Newt. She knew that they were safe. Director Graves was guarding the door. There was nothing to worry about, but the fear she could feel radiating from the young man was almost overwhelming. She reached out for his hand, wrapping her fingers over his palm. She closed her eyes, and focused on the thoughts.

The first thing she realised was a sense of the warmth of her own skin. Her perfume was slightly scented with apple, - she saw a floating red apple going through the air, followed by it being crunched – and then it rotted in front of her eyes, going dark, tasting bitter – there was blood on the floor, screaming, terror – there was a pile of white hair on the ground – a caged creature screamed – the man was sobbing – pain lanced through her shoulders, she saw marks branding her skin, and then everything went black as she managed to wrench herself away. Newt turned away, looking towards the basket where Spot was curled up, sleeping.

She looked at Newt again, saw that his skin was pale, that he was clammy. She got him some water, holding the cup to his lips because his hands were shaking so much that he couldn't hold it himself. He glanced towards Spot's basket, seeming to relax a little at the sight of it.

She reached out, stroking his hair, and he leaned into the touch. He needed affection, that much was clear, and she wanted to provide that. She took another deep breath.
"It's okay sweetie. We'll find out a way of doing this. It's okay, lots of people have problems keeping their thoughts in order, especially if they've been through a lot, we can use a scaffold to help if that would be okay?"

Newt nodded after a moment, his hand curling up into a fist. He was trying to make himself strong, even with all of his fear. But his fear would block that idea. His fear would stop her from being able to understand what he remembered. Normally a scaffold would be a positive memory, or a discussion that they could branch out of. Anything that they could focus on. But Newt wouldn’t talk, and had no memory to build on, other than those fears. The fears, and the bowtruckle that was sat on his shoulder, watching her with an intense and rather angry glare. The creatures were clearly the only memory that Newt had to hang on to. Perhaps those could be the scaffold.

"Here..." She reached for 'A Den of Dragons' and handing it to him. "Teenie gave you this right?" She asked, and Newt nodded. "Teenie's my sister, we had this book when we were little..."

Newt smiled then, his eyes brightening a little. Just for a moment, she could see the man he would have once been.
"We're going to flick through this book okay? You can help me by pointing out any creatures that you want to think about, and you can think about them. Does that sound good?"
Carefully, Newt nodded, his forehead creasing. He held the book carefully, flicking through the pages and starting off with the pictures of the bowtruckles. He held out his hand for hers.

There was sunlight, and a handful of small sticks climbing up a tree. One of them stepped forwards onto his hand, and the others followed close behind. The creatures grew stronger. Pickett settled on his hand and then on his shoulder. The sticks were grabbed, shaken. Pickett was brought back by the Director, sick and weakened. A goblin smirked, gripping one of the bowtruckles. She heard Newt’s voice, cracking as he tried to speak. She could feel the bruises that were blooming across his body, the fear that crawled beneath his skin as he tried desperately to save those he could.
"They pick locks. They can help. They can ... criminals will pay a lot of money. Please..." He was panicking and he took another breath, and she felt the cruciatus. He cut off that memory, panting. She squeezed his hand gently.
"That was good. Take a few moments if you need to pumpkin. There's no rush, no rush at all." She swallowed, and turned to the director.

"There were other bowtruckles. He managed to persuade someone, a goblin, to take them to sell them on to criminals. He saved some." She explained, and just for a moment she saw the faint ghost of a smile on Newt's face.

Newt nodded slowly, his attention back on the book. He paused by the dragon page. The air was full of the smell of smoke and gunpowder, and a dragon roared, its face just a few feet from her own, but she could tell Newt wasn't afraid. There was a sense of pride. The memory fragmented before she could get more of a grasp of it, but she scribbled down a few notes.

He saw the picture of a dugbog, a large creature like a giant axolotl or a submerged piece of wood. He turned the page away, shuddering in fear to keep that page away. She jotted down that fear. She was far from an expert on these creatures, but she knew they were nothing exceptional. Nothing he should worry about.

He turned a page. 'If wizardkind do not act now, then the graphorn will be extinct before 1930.' Some large creatures lumbered into view, tentacles dripping from their faces, their young close. She could hear Newt's voice, more confident than with the bowtruckle. "They're the only ones left. Please. They're worth so much to the world..." There was laughter, and then she felt a flood of relief. It was only then that her gaze was drawn to the large carcass of a rhinocerous-like creature, lying on its side, blood pooling on the ground. There was a pile of broken eggs with silver shells beside the corpse.

She opened her eyes to see tears were rolling down Newt's face.
"Oh pumpkin..." She murmured. "It wasn't your fault. You did so well. Were there any others you saved?"

He turned forwards another few pages, showing her the picture of a niffler. He frowned a little and shrugged, and she considered. He wasn't sure if it would have lasted. It was too playful, didn't listen to what it was meant to - but he was hoping that somehow, the niffler had escaped. It was scurrying through the mixture of environments, and had stolen his keys. He was chasing after it and she could hear him laughing.

"How is it going Goldstein?" The Director's voice broke through, and she flashed a smile.
“A happy memory."
"Good. How's he doing?" The director asked.
"I don't know." She said softly. "I've never tried to deal with something... something like this before. But he's strong." She could tell that. She was sure he was fighting. Whoever he had been, it was someone who wouldn't surrender without a fight.

He turned to the unicorn page, and then pointed at Spot, and opened to his care instructions. He'd written out pages of notes. Piles of parchment, all carefully written out by hand. Hours of work. A sense of hope. Something he had dreamed of for as long as he could remember. She gasped as flames consumed them. He reached for the water, and she gave him a few moments.

"We don't have to carry on right now if you aren't ready." She told him. "If you need more time, we can leave it. We want to help you, if we can..." She tried to keep her voice gentle, to soothe him. The fear was still there. She didn't know how to soothe that terror.

He was staring at a page with an image of a centaur, and then reached for her pen. She relinquished it, and he started correcting it carefully. He wrote 'Centaurs are intelligent. They have a strong belief system. They are capable of great kindness, and they choose to keep their distance from humans. They deserve respect.'

"You knew centaurs?" She asked, and he shrugged a little. She could hear the sound of hooves in the shadow. He wasn't meant to be here. He had snuck out of bed, past the smell of pastry, and made his way towards a darkness. She couldn't remember. He couldn't remember more. She wrote down a few more notes.

He was trying to remember. He saw the puffskein page and smiled a little. There was a fire, a home, not like the one that had destroyed his notes. There was a tree, a surprisingly tall tree for inside the house, and she realised at that moment that this was a memory from childhood. There were parents, and she couldn't see the faces, but what she could see was the small ball of fluff sat in his lap, a blue ribbon wrapped around it. Another child, one slightly taller, leans in and grabs the puffskein, cuddling them close She saw soft red hair and a brilliant smile.

"Is that Theseus?" She asked softly, and she saw Newt mouthing the word, still silent. He nodded, and closed his eyes. She could feel how exhausted he was. "I think that's enough for now pumpkin, you did so well, I'm really proud of you..." She wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and stroked his hair. "You did so well."

The fear wasn't gone. But there was a certainty that wasn't there before, and he smiled a little, one hand resting on the children's book.