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fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
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Prompt Post #1
ROUND 1
FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER
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De-aging past non-con underage hurt!newt hurt!credence
(Anonymous) 2016-12-09 08:44 am (UTC)(link)Essentially people get de-aged to the age they lost their virginity but instead of it being just Newt it's Newt and Credence together both de-aged to like 12-13 years old and find comfort in knowing someone else went through similar things and like comparing stories.
I mean we do know the church has a history of sexually abusing young boys, so...
and maybe Newt had bullies who thought he was pretty and weak to prey on
Re: De-aging past non-con underage hurt!newt hurt!credence
(Anonymous) 2016-12-12 09:15 pm (UTC)(link)[FILL] De-aging past non-con underage hurt!newt hurt!credence
(Anonymous) 2016-12-13 02:03 am (UTC)(link)Newt is enjoying a late breakfast at Jacobs bakery when the stranger enters. Newt doesn’t see them enter, and neither does Credence, but Newt sees Credence feel their entry. Credence freezes with his stickybun halfway to his face, his dark eyes going wide and shoulders stiffening and beginning to hunch forwards in fear. The obscurial had an uncanny ability to sense… off... people, and Newt trusted Credence’s senses as much his own.
So Newt poked his head out of the back room where they’d been sitting to see a tall person in a dark red coat. The coat was large and heavy, and the person had their hands shoved deep into it’s pockets. Their eyes seemed bright in the shadows of their broad-brimmed hat. Newt wasn’t much up to date with fashion himself, but he was nearly certain that style of hat had gone out of style decades ago. Their dark hair seemed to twist out from under the had in every direction, not so much curly as messy.
They locked pale eyes with Newt and broke into a predatory grin.
“Are you the baker? Tell me, what’s the sweetest treat in this shop?”
A hand grabbed Newts’ wrist just as he was about to duck back to call to Jacob.
“Stall them. Tina and Graves are coming, this is who they’ve been after these past few weeks.” Queenie’s voice whispers, and Newt catches Credence flinch at the mention of Graves. It’s not, of course, the Graves that had so easily wooed him to looking for the supposed obsucus close to Mary Lou, but Credence wasn’t easy to become trusting.
So Newt steeled himself and stepped out of the back room, brushing powdered sugar off his hands.
“No, I’m not the baker himself, but I could probably give you a pointer or two.”
The person grins again, and their teeth seem just a little too sharp to be normal, but Newt always seems to see something animal in everyone he meets, and dismisses the thought. He goes over all of the pastries to the best of his knowledge, likely butchering half their names, but takes his time in describing their flavor, especially the sweet ones. The person is looking over the meringues shaped like nifflers when Tina and Graves enter, the bell on the door chiming cheerfully. The person seems unstartled by their entry, and continues their examination of the sweets.
“Newt, where's Jacob?” Tina asks, and Newt gestures over his shoulder. Out back.
Finally, the strange customer seemed to make their choice.
“The jelly filled ones look good, although…”
Graves raises his wand just as Credence poked his head around the corner to see what was happening, and then everything seemed to happen at once.
Newt, who had been grabbing a jelly filled doughnut, had to duck under a spell, and the sweep of a red, heavy coat as the person launched themself over the counter. Credence tried to dodge out of the way, but the person grabbed him by the shoulders. Tina barked for them to release Credence, who was beginning to blur and drip into his second form, something that usually seemed to happen with unwanted contact.
“I haven’t had myself an obsucrial in ages, and there’s nothing sweeter than their pained memories-”
Tina’s hex hits them square between the shoulderblades, and they released Credence with a yelp. Credence scrambled back into a corner just as Jacob emerged from the back, holding a lump of dough.
“What on earth is going on?” he asked.
The person wheezed, and seemed to shake off whatever spell Tina had hurled at them, and the room plunged into darkness.
“Credence!” Newt shouted, fearing the darkness was the obsurial’s second form unleashed.
“Still here.” the young man choked out.
There was a loud shuffle, and a few shouted spells, and suddenly the darkness vanished with a small pop. The strange customer was gone.
Newt had squeezed the doughnut a little too hard during the few pitch-black moments, and now his hands were covered in the sticky-sweet insides. But other than the squashed doughnut, nobody seemed to be hurt.
“Well, we all seem to be alright…” Queenie said hesitantly, stepping out into the front room. “Nobody’s in pain, and the shop’s all in order…”
But Newt suddenly doubled over, clutching at his head with a groan.
“Something’s very wrong.” He choked out, an odd sensation running up his left arm. But it was nothing compared to the pain currently focused above his left eye, like the time he’d been pushed into the stream and hit his head…
Newt gasped, straightened, and released his aching head from his grasp. There was jelly in his hair now, but that wasn’t important. What was important, was that he had to get out of here before a certain legitimens began reading the cause of his pain.
His scars were all vanishing in the reverse order he got them, and as he looked up at the others, yes, similar things were happening to them. Graves’ hair was darkening, the lines on his face disappearing, and Tina looked a bit smaller in her coat than usual, Jacob’s clothing hanging a bit more loosely on his body…
Newt staggered forwards, pushing past his friends to grab his suitcase as the remaining stiffness in his back from a bad fall months ago releasing the occamys faded. And then the scar from a murtlap bite on his hand. The clawmarks up his side from his first run-in with a Nudu melted away just as he reached his case and apparated away.
He just caught Tina shouting his name in alarm as he did so.
But he wanted to be somewhere safe, somewhere alone, if he was going back as far as he thought, and when he appeared in Tina’s apartment, he could practically feel the cold water running about his knees and wrists again.
Newt hurried into the bedroom, and realized his sleeves were becoming far too long for his arms as he set down his case. He was positively swimming in his coat by the time he’d managed to get into said case, and push it under the bed as it shut. They wouldn’t expect to find him there.
The lightest, hardest to see scars on the side of his right thigh faded away just as Newt barricaded himself in his little room in the suitcase, the habitat of the elusive Newt Scamander, as Tina had once joked. Newt’s head was throbbing, like he was hitting his head on that rock, over and over and over, and he was freezing, and he had to hold up his pants to keep them from sliding off his hips, because goodness gracious, had he really been this tiny at 11?
Newt grabbed the softest, warmest blanket off the nest of his bed, wrapped himself in it, and retreated under said piece of furniture. He’d need that blanket to get through this, to anchor himself in the now that wasn’t hard and wet and painful.
Picket chirped hesitantly, climbing their way from Newt’s coat pocket to stand before Newt’s face. Asking what was wrong, why Newt was now so small and hiding under the bed like the child he appeared to be.
“Just a bit of bad magic and bad memories to go along with.” Newt said quietly, his voice sounding a lot higher than he thought it had been at the time he’d been that size.
Picket made a pitying noise and leaned against Newt’s blanketed shoulder, a twig to clutch in the frigid and mighty current of Newt’s least favorite memory.
Eventually, there is a knock on the door to Newt’s “habitat”.
“Mr. Scamander?” The voice is unmistakably belonging to Graves, although less deep, less tired.
“Newt? Are you alright?” The second is Tina’s, higher than normal, even when Newt thought her voice couldn’t be. “Queenie’s not here, she said it might help you to know that.”
It did make Newt relax slightly knowing the legitimens wouldn’t be around to see his mental struggles in shoving away the memory, but he didn’t want his friends to see him like this.
And on top of all the worries, Newt’s head still hurt like the time he’d been pushed into that stream. It made thinking coherently very difficult.
“Newt, please let us in, we have to talk about how to set all this normal.” Jacob said through the door.
“Hurts.” Newt croaked.
“Whatever spell that person used, it’s caused a bit of pain to the rest of us as well, but if you could just open the door, I could probably help.” Graves said, and Newt could suddenly see how easy it had been for Credence to fall for a persuasive voice like that. Even made lighter with youth, Newt wanted to let the others in, to come out from under the bed and let them fix his aching head.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let them see how small, how young, he was now. Especially now that the memory grabbed at him like prying hands, shoving him about in the stream and up onto the very rock he’d hit his head on…
“Can’t.” Newt said, and retreated deeper into the cocoon of blanket he’d made himself. Think about deserts, of soft warm beds, of the hot heat of facing down an angry dragon… anything but cold and hard and painful.
“Mr. Scamander?”
It had to be Credence, with how soft it was, despite being higher than Newt was used to hearing the obscurial’s voice.
“May I come in?”
“Don’t want you to see.” Newt said, nearly as soft.
But even as he said it, Newt could see the dark mist seeping under the door, and Newt watched as the mist billowed into a dense formation a few feet away from the bed, and how the dark cloud thinned to reveal Credence, looking not much older than Newt did now.
“Are you alright?” Credence asked softly, tipping his head to peer beneath the bed at Newt.
“No.” Newt breathed. “Hurts.”
“How’d they do it?” Credence asked, even quieter, if that was even possible.
Newt closed his eyes and willed away the cold feeling of stone against his bare back.
“Pushed me in a stream. I hit my head. It’s all muddled and confused in my mind but… it hurt.” Newt admitted, barely audible.
“I fell too.” Credence said, wrapping thin arms around his legs, drawing them close to his chest. “Fell down the steps on the way out and skinned my knee. Ma… Mary Lou pretended not to notice I came home late when… when they kept me after bandaging my knee.”
“My head hurts so much.” Newt said, reaching up to press at his forehead.
“I’m sure the others could help.”
Newt shook his head jerkily.
“Don’t want them to see.”
“Is there anything I can get you?” Credence asked. “To help?”
Newt told him what page the aging potions were found in the potion book in the front room, and what page the potions for pain were found on.
Credence looked doubtful.
“I’m not good with magic.” He said.
“Potions aren’t magic. Ask for help if you must. But I… I need both of them.”
Credence was just beginning to melt back into his second form to leave, when he hesitated.
“How old were you? When you… fell.”
Newt presses his aching head to the floor, and then whispered, rounding up a few months, “12.”
Credence’s eyes fill with something, either pity or sympathy.
“Same.” He replies, before wisping away under the door.
Re: [FILL] De-aging past non-con underage hurt!newt hurt!credence
(Anonymous) 2016-12-13 04:01 am (UTC)(link)(filler here) De-aging past non-con underage hurt!newt hurt!credence
(Anonymous) 2016-12-20 11:39 am (UTC)(link)