fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
Entry tags:
Prompt Post #1
ROUND 1
FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER
Important links:
You can check for fill updates at our tumblr page
You can upload your stories on AO3 anonymously here
You can alert us that you've filled a prompt here
You can talk about anything here
FILL [14/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust
(Anonymous) 2018-01-05 05:32 pm (UTC)(link)In fact, Dougal has only woken Newt from nightmares about a fiancé who isn't under any influence at all but believes in Grindelwald's truth, four times. (Because what if Theseus was wrong about Mr. Graves? What if Mr. Graves simply believes that mixed Muggle and magical blood is lesser than pure magical blood, or that creatures only exist for bits that can be used by wizards? What if, what if, what if?) Newt almost believes he’s gotten over it entirely.
And then the ship’s imminent arrival in New York harbor is announced with a long blast of the foghorn, and Newt’s whole body seizes.
The crewmen begin shouting instructions, indistinct and muffled and echoing through the ship’s corridors. An announcement system starts up, but Newt can hardly understand the words. His fingers go numb and he drops his teacup. He doesn’t feel the still hot liquid splash over his knees or hear the cup shatter over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. He must look a sight, because Hobbs, whose hobby on the boat is scratching at the cabin door and trying to get out around Newt’s charms, actually stops occupying himself and wiggles into Newt’s lap.
The niffler’s low rumbling sound (Newt tries not to think of it as a purr since the niffler is very much not a feline, but it’s quite hard to describe otherwise) brings Newt out of his stupor. He forces himself to relax; concentrates on his own breathing as he scratches behind Hobbs’s ear. When his hands stop trembling, a couple quick spells put the teacup back together and dry the spilled tea from the floor and his trousers.
“Sorry,” he murmurs to Hobbs, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I know you worry.”
Hobbs looks indignant and snorts what he thinks of that but otherwise doesn’t move.
“Oh, yes,” Newt chuckles, “That’s right, of course, you don’t.”
He and Hobbs may be comfortable with each other now, but it’s not often that Hobbs allows himself to be touched like this- Hobbs is not exactly a cuddler- so Newt sits there several moments longer to indulge in scratching him behind the ears.
There is another series of announcements that run into each other (why can’t Americans enunciate, anyway?). Newt eventually picks out the requests for passengers to ready for a final cabin inspection, as they will be docking at the harbor in fifteen minutes.
He stands and starts the process of trying to persuade Hobbs to get in, and stay in, the suitcase. After weeks of relative freedom in the cabin, Hobbs is not amused. It doesn’t help that Pickett has taken to living in the breast pocket of Newt’s winter coat. (He’s so small and he has a cold, and more importantly, he doesn’t spend his free time stealing from all and sundry, so Newt hasn’t bothered to remove him.) It takes Newt a bribe of three galleons and his favorite watch to get Hobbs into the suitcase at all, and when he does, Dougal is perched on the stairs, ready to climb out. Newt pushes Hobbs into Dougal’s arms.
“Dougal, no, we’re about to dock,” Newt says, “You can’t come out now. You’ll have to wait until we reach the train.”
Dougal looks mutinous as they hold a staring contest, though he doesn’t persist in trying to climb out. He slinks down the stairs into the shack, Hobbs in his arms, shoulders hunched. He looks distinctly like a sulky child who’s just been told off.
Newt bites on his inner cheek and frowns slightly. “I’m sorry, Dougal, but- ”
A knock on his cabin door cuts him off.
“Good morning, Mr. Scamander. Final inspections.”
Newt latches the suitcase shut behind Hobbs. His hands are trembling when he lifts it from the bed, though not as much as he’d half thought they might be. Dougal hasn’t come to him with any new visions, so perhaps he’s just gotten used to knowing that whatever happens, it won’t be good, which is not so different from most of his experience with fiancees and spouses.
“Yes, of course,” he says. He opens the door to allow the crewman in.
The man smiles and touches the brim of his cap as he steps inside. “Thank you, sir,” he says. His accent is broad and jarring after a year of rolling eastern accents. “The date is December 6th, 1926. We expect we should have the ship ready to debark at 9:30 this morning, precisely.”
“Thank you,” Newt mumbles, glancing at the uniform tag on the man’s breast, “Hugh.”
“It’s a good time to be in New York, sir,” Hugh says, pulling on white gloves and nodding his appreciation.
Newt watches him begin to pat down the bed, the dresser, opening the desk drawers and chest at the foot of the bed. “What is it that gets taken most?”
“Nowadays, alcohol,” Hugh says. He grimaces somewhat regretfully at the idea. “If you can keep it in your personals, well, we can’t go through those, and it was at least purchased legally. But with the amendment and the new law...” he shrugs as though he expects Newt to know what they are.
Newt nods along, even though he’s not entirely sure what required amending. He did hear vague complaints about an alcohol ban from American tourists drinking far too much in hotel bars while Egypt, but he’d not stopped to ask for specifics.
“You’d be surprised how many people try to smuggle so much in they need to hide it around the cabins,” Hugh continues, “and then we have to take it unless the Captain has orders.”
The way he says ‘orders’ tells Newt that he means ‘bribes’.
Hugh keeps talking as he does his inspection of Newt’s cabin. Newt puts on his coat and scarf and makes sure Pickett is comfortable when Hugh isn’t looking. When he gets the all-clear, Newt extricates himself from the cabin and climbs to the deck to watch the ship pull into New York’s harbor.
It’s been quite a while since he was last in cold weather- with a start he realizes he’s forgotten what winter felt like. He takes a seat on a bench and breathes in wintry air. It’s the Christmas season; he wonders if the city will feel like it. From the ship, it just looks gray, dirty, and mean. His heart starts to hammer in his chest as the New York skyline grows and grows until it seems to loom above him. There is something glorious about it, despite its intimidating and gray quality.
His suitcase squeaks as the latch flips open.
“Dougal,” Newt mutters- only Dougal has ever managed to mess with the charms on his suitcase. He bends down over the case and props his chin on his hands. They’re still trembling. It’s not the most comfortable, but he can at least keep his voice down enough that the Muggle passengers don’t hear him. “You settle down, please. It won’t be long- we need to get through to the train station before I can let everyone out again.”
He closes the latch again and worries at the suitcase, absently reminding himself to take it to a repair shop. When he gets home he should also have someone in magical repairs take a look- maybe between himself and someone who specializes in repairs a solution to keep Dougal from messing with the latch will present itself.
By the time the ship is docked and debarking can begin, Newt gets his hands under control. He nonetheless keeps his head down as he walks down the gang rail and proceeds to the port customs tables, passport clutched tightly inside his pocket.
“British, huh?” says the customs agent when he passes over the little book.
“Yes,” Newt agrees.
“First visit to New York?”
“Yes,” he repeats.
He glances quickly from side to side. There aren’t any obvious signs of Aurors. Relief almost behinds to well up in his throat- they must really not know of his travel. Then he recalls that American wizards try to segregate themselves, so it’s just as likely that they’re either invisible or hiding, and the relief disappears. There’s a sudden, sharper edge to the customs officer’s voice and Newt blinks. He follows the line of the pen in the officer’s hand down to his suitcase.
“Oh. No,” he says, realizing he's been asked if there is anything edible in his suitcase.
Pickett stirs in his pocket, perhaps indignant over the idea of being edible- Newt’s still not sure how much exactly he understands. Newt puts a hand over the pocket soothingly and has to turn it into an awkward rearranging of his pocket square when the officer looks at him again. He bites down on the inside of his cheek and tells himself to pay attention and stop looking for signs of his fiancé.
Just because Newt has been worrying over this for a year, doesn’t mean he’s going to be whisked off as soon as he gets through customs. Even if Percival had had informants looking for him, he can't have been warned of Newt’s arrival here today. Theseus will have stopped regular correspondence with Percival the second he sensed wrongness. And anyway, Newt still has a letter of reply to his brother in the inside pocket of his coat. Theseus can’t be sure Newt is even in New York yet.
“Livestock?” asks the agent.
His suitcase latch pops again and Newt winces. The agent zeroes in on the latch immediately.
“Must get that fixed,” Newt murmurs, closing the latch quickly, trying to smile and hoping the agent will think it’s just the malfunctions of an old piece of equipment. “Ah, no, no.”
“Let me take a look.”
Not a request. The customs agent looks fairly suspicious now.
Newt forces his hands to be steady as he puts the case on the table and flicks the Muggle-worthy switch. With any luck, his creatures will behave themselves long enough to get out of this. He opens the suitcase and turns it to face the agent. There's a long silence while the meager contents- his clothing, his house scarf, a series of maps, his notebooks- are poked through with the tip of the agent’s pen.
The agent nods his satisfaction at last and stamps the passport with more force than Newt thinks is strictly necessary. “Welcome to New York.”
“Thank you,” Newt sighs out. He takes back his passport and hears the agent shouting for the next person in line.
One obstacle down, just the whole of New York until Pennsylvania Station to go. He could look for public transportation, perhaps, magical or Muggle. But he’s been on a boat for so long, and he’s never been to New York. If he has his way he’ll never come back. He should see at least a little of the city.
But first, the letter to Theseus, if only because his brother should at least have some idea that Newt has taken his warnings seriously.
Somewhat oddly for a community so small, there are establishments catering to the magical community everywhere- you just have to know where to look (Newt has gotten very good at looking in order to avoid them over the last year). Travel over oceans is as difficult for magical folk He finds a messenger service specializing in international seagull messengers fairly quickly.
“British, huh?” asks the wizard.
Newt looks at him blankly. Is everybody going to ask that?
It takes him a moment to find the right amount of wizarding money- there aren’t nearly so many variations in wizard currency as there are in Muggle currencies, but they do exist. When he and the shopkeeper figure it out, he pays to have his letter sent to Theseus at the Ministry. (The clerk doesn’t seem unduly interested in the recipient, which is a relief.)
Once he’s seen the seagull off at the pier, Newt steps into the streets of downtown Manhattan. Tentatively, he lets himself hope that maybe this will all work out after all.
Re: FILL [14/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust
(Anonymous) 2018-02-10 07:10 am (UTC)(link)Sorry I didn't come to this update sooner, thanks god I still manage to catch your new chapters, the brand new two updates!!
Thanks for shairng this story with us. I'm glad you didn't lost your interest in writing this story.