I’m Not a Second Fiddle Anymore, Part 1 (One Sided Reader/Newt, Doctor/Reader)
With a heavy heart, you watched as Tina and Newt swayed to the soft jazz playing in the background. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you turned your back to the couple and made your way through the small apartment, Queenie following close behind. Soon, you were at the coat rack, shrugging into your jacket and wrapping your scarf around your neck.
The blonde raised an eyebrow.
“Surely you aren’t going out, not at this time of night.” You shrugged in response and tapped your concealed wand holster.
“I’ll be fine, Queenie. I am a Ravenclaw after all.” It was an age-old joke, one you came up with Newt after a nasty affair with a pillywiggin and a beehive, and you always said it before following through with an ill-thought out plan. The frown that marred Queenie’s face told you that she knew and didn’t approve. It hurt, but you brushed her off. You were an adult, damn it, and you were going to mope the proper, adult way, which meant copious amounts of alcohol.
She sighed, probably catching the wafting thoughts that managed to slip through your occlumency.
“Alright, sweetie, but do try to be back soon. Please?”
You gave her a sweet smile, one of the few that you haven’t forced this evening, and touched her arm gently.
“So, why 1922 New York?” Rose asked; clinging onto the Doctor’s arm as they navigated the many twists and turns that made up New York’s back streets.
“Well,” he started, “supposedly there was a terror attack that destroyed a nearby subway. However, when witnesses were questioned, no one was able to remember exact details. In fact, no one even knew what they were doing beforehand, which was strange considering the damage that was done to the place.”
The blonde nodded, keeping her eyes locked onto the tall, blue-eyed man in front of her.
“So what? You think the entire population of New York had their memories wiped?” The grin he gave her made her heart flutter and his laugh bounced off the walls.
“That is exactly what I think. I don’t know how it happened, but it happened and we’re going to find out!”
Despite being the city that never sleeps, New York really wasn’t that active at midnight. At least, not the civilized part of town.
You passed by seedy bars that made you feel dirty just by looking at them and leering drunks that made crude remarks when you passed. Your knuckles were white as you gripped your wand.
Maybe, just maybe, your nighttime stroll was a bad idea.
That thought was amplified when you heard a yell echo throughout the air.
A part of you, the cold, logical part that you made an effort to push down whenever you were around the others, told you to just leave. To turn around and make your way back to the apartment. No one would know, not even Queenie if you made sure not to think too strongly about it around her.
…but that wasn’t who you were.
Swallowing down your fear, you gripped your wand and an all too familiar façade of cool arrogance settled over you. Raising your head, you strolled forward with a confidence that had taken years to perfect and imitate.
A tall, broad man was standing in front of a pretty blonde and the pair was surrounded by four, drunken men. They ogled the girl and a feeling of disgust welled up in you. Bringing your fingers to your mouth, you let out a sharp whistle. Six sets of eyes snapped up to stare at you.
“Oi,” you spat, “bugger off!”
The drunks sneered, taking in your petite stature and soft features, and the biggest (read: stupidest) one of the group lumbered up to you. You barely even flinched as his hot breath washed over you and instead, you raised your wand and pressed its tip against his chest. The way his eyes widened reinforced your hypothesis that they were wizards, but then a nasty snarl marred his features.
Oh, seemed he didn’t take kindly to having a woman question his authority. Bloody Americans.
His ‘friends’ noticed the change and they too drew their own wands and you sighed internally. Honestly, what were you expecting?
“Trust me, mate, you don’t want to do this.”
“She’s right, you know,” the broad-shouldered man from before said and you raised an eyebrow. “My friend there? Renowned fighter back in London. Called her ‘Madame Warrior’. You should see the last bloke that crossed her, still in hospital.”
You almost snorted at that.
‘Madame Warrior’? Merlin’s beard…
A cruel smile curled his lip and the look he gave you was nothing short of chilling.
“Is that so? Sounds like the little miss here needs a lesson in proper conduct for ladies.”
He shot up into the air and hit the ground a few feet away. The startled gasps from the man and his companion nearly made you groan. You’d have to do some serious obliviating after this.
You deflected the flurry of curses that followed with a quick shield charm and countered back with a rather violent everte statum, sending them all back into the wall. They landed in a heap and you lunged forward, gripping the stunned pair’s wrists and dragged them out of the alley. Once you were a safe distance away, you apparated, stumbling as they collapsed onto the grass of Central Park.
You dropped their arms like hot stones and rocked back on your heels as you waited for them to gather themselves.
“Sorry about that,” you muttered, “nasty shock when you’re prepared, downright horrid when you’re not.”
They both moaned and the blonde turned away to vomit. You immediately vanished it away, your stomach churning as you did. You never were good with sick people.
A sigh escaped you and you turned your wand on them. Why put it back further? They were safe and far from danger. Besides, Central Park was lovely and the trees did a lot to shield them from the wind and rain.
“Well it was lovely, but law’s the law and I’m happy to say you won’t remember any of this come morning. Oh, and do try to stay out of trouble. I can’t be there to save you every time.
Two weeks after Manchester’s nail-bombing, there’s more blood in the streets of the United Kingdom. It’s been a pretty busy Ramadan. It’s also been a pretty busy weekend for Jihad’s greatest sponsor and defender: the Marxist left and their wholly owned media.
Stumbled upon these sketches I did the week before I flew out to Japan last September… thought I’d chuck them on here, surprised I hadn’t already! At the time it was London Fashion Week and I had a hankering for illustrating some badass female warriors, this was the result. Would love to move them on from just sketches and give them the Jack Hughes treatment. Maybe one day!