Quick, self-indulgent MCxJaehee angst bc I love her, and it made me sad when she broke down crying bc we couldn’t be there to comfort her. I’m still pretty rusty at drawing, I’m trying to get back into it T_T I hate drawing heads/faces.
Lets…talk about the scars on our little Crewtons though.
Newt obviously, a very marked man, its canon though we didn’t see them. He works with wild animals, he takes their hits he earns their trust, he bears his trophies of a job well done like a map of his victories.
He doesn’t show them off, that’s not his personality, but he never heals them away, he never conceals the skin of his hands and cheeks and brow with masks of spells, though you’d be hard pressed to find the dimmed silvery lines on his face under his freckles. Many wounds leave no scars from the magic used to heal them, but the ones that held poison and venom and magic saliva or were sliced open with enchanted claws and ripped into being through cursed tendrils…those ones leave their marks and those he is most proud of. Those prove he did what he set out to do and that he lived to spread his knowledge.
Though of course you’d never see Newt blink one jot of acknowledgement for all he achieved.
Credence, his whole being is ingrained shame. He barely wants to exist as himself as he is, let alone bring more notice of the struggles he’s overcome. You won’t see more of his skin if he can ever help it. His body is just one more regret of his existence. But once you strip away the last of his fabric armor you’ll see the evidence of his bravery. He will never call it that.
Scars upon his palms for the small sins of every day, Scars upon his knuckles for the careless manner in which he treats himself. Scars upon his arms from the hard work only the eldest boy of the family could perform, scars upon his biceps from digging his nails in deep at night to stifle the effects of his nightmares.
Scars across the tops of his thighs for when Ma was more strict.
And scars upon the backs of his thighs for long old disciplines.
But the Scars across his shoulders were for infractions most dire. And those are the ones where his skin pulls tight when he twists a certain way.
He had many years learning to behave from his Ma, but he never did seem to manage it did he.
One day, Newt will make him understand that his skin is a triumph of his power and the strength of his life. That day is far away
Sometimes I just want my gays happy and kissing in dramatic lighting. It is all I need.
If Yall haven’t already read it, @littlefists Tuckington fic Put my Guns in the Ground it sooooooooo great and gives me a lot of feelings for these two, especially the last two chapters. Read it read it read it.
He’s going mad. It seems dramatic, though, so he doesn’t talk about it.
He knows that she would listen to him no matter what, tell him that she loves him, that she wishes that it could be different, that she would move heaven and earth and everything in the universe for him if she could. But he doesn’t want to worry her with things she can’t change. Things that don’t really matter.
He knows that she knows anyway.
He can see her watching him as he floats through the cottage, his hands shaking with nervous energy, his eyes flicking repeatedly, wistfully to the windows. He knows that she’s watching his dinners go untouched, realises that the boxes of biscuits in the cupboard are suddenly lasting them weeks and weeks instead of the usual two days. He knows that she’s tracing the lines of his body with her eyes, watching as the well-worked, hard-earned quidditch muscles get leaner and leaner with each passing day. He knows that she’s thinking that he’s never been this quiet, not in all the years she’s known him, and he feels even more guilty because he knows that his silence is making her worry. It isn’t fair for him to avoid talking about it, not when she’s suffering through this too.
She always was the stronger one of the two of them - of this, he’s acutely aware as she goes the extra mile to drag a laugh out of him, as she goes on and on to Harry about his uncles and Hogwarts and everything that exists outside of the walls of this fucking cottage that he can’t bring himself to think about anymore. She’s so much stronger than him and he needs her so much and he hopes she understands, but he also worries, obsessively, that she’ll think he doesn’t care about what she’s going through, that he isn’t giving her what she needs. He isn’t there for her, not like he should be, and that makes him hate himself. He’s never hated himself, not really, but there’s a first time for everything.
Letting her down is, easily, the worst thing he’s ever done. And he’s done some terrible things.
Loki is captured, stripped of his magic, and locked up to pay for his crimes– but not before him and Tony fall desperately for each other. Tony tries to get to him, though he knows he is lightyears away. With the Bifrost inaccessible, and the Tesseract way out of reach, Tony can only build a suit that will sustain travel between realms and galaxies.
But he gets too impatient and test drives the suits before they are ready. Each night, after each test, he crash lands violently. He’s broken and bloody and so, so mortal. But he welcomes it. He takes it punishment. Because at the same time, if he can’t be with Loki then he doesn’t want to survive the crash. And each night he feels himself weak and a disappointment to Loki. Because with all his genius why can’t he get to him?
Loki hears about Tony’s misadventures and it guts him. He needs to tell him to stop, to let him go and live. But he is also so weak that he can’t bring himself to send the message. Because if Tony stops trying to get to him, he won’t survive it. He wants Tony to keep trying until he succeeds. It’s so selfish but it’s also the only thing that keeps him holding on.