noacaffrey123
noacaffrey123
Noa Caffrey
315 posts
My daddy is Colin Farrell, and my baby Percival deserves fucking better
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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I wanna destroy the culture of “women have to wear makeup to be considered presentable” and replace it with “makeup is a fun accessory that allows u to have horribly fake purple lips and green eyelids if u want yee haw who wants some glitter on their nose” who’s with me on this
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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*thinking of tragic backstory for your OCs*
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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Fantastic Beasts & Clickbait
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Someone stop me
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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My point exactly XD
When the ending sucked, but fan artists and fic writers got your back
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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He’s so fuckin sassy lmaooOOOO *side-eyes* “I know, I heard the accent-” 
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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People have written a lot of touchy-feely pieces on this subject but I thought I’d get right to the heart of the matter
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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Oh my god that was SO HOT and such a treat, thank you for writing this!!!
I tend to shy away from hurtful sex but Damn, your “you’re under my mercy”-dom-Gaves made my submissive side surface and gods that was so delicious.
Credence tho, poor thing...
Day 8 - Gradence
Prompts: Blood/Gore | Prostitution/Sex Work | Fisting | Hate-fucking/Angry Sex
Rape/Non-Con Chapter tags: Original Percival Graves/Credence Barebone, Gellert Grindelwald (Mentioned), Verbal Humiliation, Degradation, Objectification, Coercion, Sex Work, Fisting, Anal Gaping, Dissociation
Read it on AO3!
“Oh, oh fuck -”
Credence jerks as fingers slide back inside him, squelching with the come and lube already coating his insides.  His rim is already lax, he’d been pounded so hard it made him dizzy, but he’d thought he was done. He thought he’d get to rest now, before the next customer was sent in.  If Mr. Grindelwald tries to send the next customer in and Credence is still being used -
“You can’t… you - you have to ask Mr. Grindelwald before you -”
There’s a resounding smack as the man - what had Grindelwald called him, Graves? - brings his hand down hard across Credence’s ass.
Keep reading
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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Did a harmless lil’ fanart of @funkzpiel’s Pretty. Pretty when he’s not frightened?
Huge brown eyes, perked up ears, adorable as hell, and very very pretty.
There’s canine teeth too if you squint.
I tried drawing his lower body before realizing that I couldn’t do it because I could feel the tears welling up and I can’t *whimpers and curls up into a sobbing mess
But then...this Pretty looks way too happy doesn’t he. So I found this German Shepard doggo that’s probably more of an accurate depiction. Like, his worried eyes and eyebrows and flattened ears are like super duper cute?!! Like, I bet that’s how Pretty looks, so lost, when he’s torn between his two precious people who are clearly on opposite sides??!!!
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@funkzpiel, all of your writing takes my breath away (and mercilessly shattering my heart into pieces before mending it with the cuteness here and there) and it makes our readers’ lives so much brighter.
Especially Pretty, he is THE most adorable pup I’ve ever met in my life. I swooned every single time the canine gestures were mentioned, when his ears perked up and his tail wagged and he rubbed himself affectionately on Newt’s legs etc. Thank you so much for gifting us with a masterpiece as Pretty!
Siriusly, if you haven’t read “and the tag read simply pretty,” I strongly recommend that you do, ‘cause you’re missing out on the following:
CUTE AND ADORABLE PERCY
EARS THAT PERK UP AND FLATTEN
A TAIL THAT THUMPS AND WAGGS
Having your heart broken and left with a paw print 🐾 on your heart instead.
Have you ever swooned over a cute doggo? Because you’ll be reduced to that when you meet Pretty, Funkz’s dog-earred son.
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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Omg this sort of torture is so DELISH...!!
Because you would feel eternal shame for “willingly” choosing pleasure over the “courageous” pain. Ohmygosh this torture is so goooooood the pain the pain
I’m sobbing because this form of torture is THE BEST bless you
Not a fic request more like thinking a loud but like, what if like everyday grindelwald comes to Graves's cell and asks, pain or pleasure? He lets graves choose. Pain is crucio, memories torn from him, nerves on fire, but there's dignity. Pleasure is grindelwald's mouth on his cock, grindelwald fucking him to a mess, leaving him sleepless and ashamed but not hurthurthurt, graves hates himself for stuttering out 'pleasure', he's so weak and pathetic
B-b-but Anon, how could I resist such a lovely idea? Hot. FUCKING. DAMN.
Graves counts the days easily, because Grindelwald visits him like clockwork. Every night, after work, whiskey hot on his tongue, Grindelwald releases him in a twirl of smoke from his cigarette case prison and brings him to his knees on the plush carpet of his library. His clothes are in tatters, his wrists bound behind his back in a pair of thorny elegant cuffs, cuffs that tighten if he uses magic, poison on their tips that make him paralyze him for an hour or two when he tries. His feet are bare, his stubble is growing in, his hair is an untidy parody of the precise and meticulous look Grindelwald has stolen from him.
But for a moment, he basks in the feel of the fire place’s warmth at his back and closes his eyes - he knows what is to come. It makes the mere seconds of bliss all the more worth cherishing. 
“What will it be tonight, Mr. Graves?” Grindelwald asks clinically, neither cold nor warm nor particularly entertained. He knows what Graves will choose. It is what he has chosen every night since his capture. “Pain or Pleasure?”
When Graves swallows, it clicks dry in his throat. He clenches his jaw and slowly opens his eyes to glare at his enemy.
“Pain.”
Keep reading
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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This is so beautiful I’m crying
Grindelgraves + "do you hate me, too?" :3
“You kept me,” Graves says, straddling Grindelwald’s lap, arms curled in an elegant loop around the man’s neck as he gyrates and purrs, “Why?”
Hands claim him by his hips, thumbs bruise into his bones - possessive and unable to resist.
“Because I could.”
The man below him licks into his mouth with a fever Graves has never felt before. This man, this revolutionary – he wants him. It is an odd heat, something hard to describe. To be wanted by a man who can make fire bloom on his fingers and inspire death by a simple touch. Wizard, Grindelwald calls himself. Muggle, he calls Graves; an entity of a people that is unwanted, dirty, simpleminded.
Beautiful, he calls him too. Lovely, splendid, delicious. 
Graves writhes upon the man’s lap and he is all curves and elegant motions and gorgeous lines. He smiles sweetly, like a doll, and reminds Grindelwald of who is in his lap.
“Even though I am worthless? You could have killed me all those months ago. Faster than I ever could have pulled the trigger. But you took me. Loved me. Kept me.”
“I did.”
“Even though I’m one of them,” he prompts, nuzzling into Grindelwald’s jaw, rolling himself against his chest, dancing on the hard press of the wizard’s cock against the seat of his pants. 
“To put you in your place,” he purrs into the pretty sigh of Graves’ smile. “To show the rest of your kind that their strongest was not enough. And look at you now. You barely resemble them.”
He smiles pretty, like he was taught, and flutters his lashes shyly, coyly, knowingly. His lips are pink like his cheeks, like his nipples that peek through the sheer of the shirt Grindelwald allowed him. Pink like the skin at his back where the knife’s hilt bites into his skin, held fast by the waist of his trousers.
“You hate them,” Graves guides him.
“I do,” and he knows it is not a lie.
“Do you hate me, too?” He asks.
Grindelwald makes a show of thinking about it, his unnatural eyes taking in the pretty curve of his jaw, the soft slope of his nose, the glimmer of his eyes – just as he had sculpted him since his capture. 
“I did,” he admits, “Once.”
Graves smiles, elated, and presses his forehead down upon the madman’s brow.
“But not anymore?”
“No. How could I?”
Graves kisses him sweetly. Once, twice, to hide the arm that reaches for the knife.
“You should,” he whispers into the softness of Grindelwald’s lips and tongue, make pliant by his touch, his power over the man. “You forgot who I am, but I didn’t.”
Grindelwald opens his eyes, calls magic to his fingers, but not before Graves can plunge the knife home. Deep into the hollow of his chest where his heart had died long ago. Blood wets them both and for a moment they are bonded by the red they wear; this yoke of death.
“Long live the king,” the muggle says, bidding him farewell, and lowers the wizard gently to his death bed – cradled in rose petals and silks like a god, mortal trifles he cannot take with him. As superficial as the world he had tried to build around him. Pale and perfect and dead.
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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Sore everywhere because your body just fucking decides to slowly break down once you hit adulthood. A heavy heart because everyday brings not the days you dreamt,
Adulthood appears to be comprised mostly of:
1. sore back
2. kinda tired
3. i can do what the fuck i want~~~
3a. but mostly i’m too sore
3b. and too tired
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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Fictober 2018 | Day 6
Whump!Fic | Sick, Hurt / Comfort - Gramander And The Tag Read Simply: Pretty AU (note: unrelated to fic timeline)
The cold had caught up on him seemingly out of nowhere, although Newt knew that was a lie. He had seen the cold coming, if he were being honest. He had felt it in his bones when he woke in the morning just as achy as he had gone to bed. He had felt it in the sniffles he couldn’t quite dry up and the chill that wouldn’t leave him. 
But he had so much work to be done, it was hard to give it the time of day it deserved; until it was too late, of course.
He heard Pretty yelp when finally it had fully caught up with him, leaving him light headed and collapsing in the middle of a field. Just a yelp and his name, and terrified hands.
He woke warm – finally, blessedly warm. There were sheets all wrapping him up and strong arms looped around him from behind, pressing a lithe body to his broad back. Hands over his chest, his heart, feeling for his raspy breathing.
“Pretty?” He croaked, trying to bite back an ache-filled moaned when the body behind him suddenly sprung into action to hover over him, eyes so brown and worried.
“Are you ok?” He rushed, “You collapsed, and–”
Newt brushed his jaw and immediately Pretty calmed, leaning into the gentle gesture.
“M’fine. You carried me?”
Pretty nodded, ears flopping.
“My creatures?” Newt asked, eyelids already so heavy, but if they needed him he could get up… He’d find a way.
“Dougal helped,” Pretty said.
Newt melted into the bed. Dougal, bless him, must have led Pretty through the last of the chores – or at least the most immediate ones. He’d have to thank him. Buy him a special treat.
He startled when Pretty suddenly disappeared from the bed, the unexpected motion making him nauseous. Pretty returned more gingerly and when Newt opened his eyes, he saw why.
Hot tea, and by the smell of it, tea laced with pepper-up. He wondered if that was also Dougal’s doing or Pretty’s or the man behind the gentle eyes. He leaned up with a groan to take a generous sip from the mug, then another – sea glass eyes caught on hopeful brown – before setting it aside and rasping with a throat a little more soothed, “Thank you, Pretty.”
He cupped that jaw again as the tea began to heat him from the inside out before falling slack into the bed once more, too tired to do much else. Pretty immediately curled back into him and he knew he should turn the poor man away lest he catch ill too, but seeing Pretty’s worry and his earnestness to help, he couldn’t bare to do it.
And selfishly, he enjoyed the man’s presence. Selfishly, he was tired and this comforted him. Before he could convince himself of anything – to give in or protect the other man – his eyes fell closed and his breath evened.
Pretty traced his auburn curls and followed every freckle, too afraid to sleep.
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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me talking about how attractive I find guys my age: ▶🔘──────── 0:04 me talking about men much older than me: ▶🔘──────── 60:56:19
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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For @funkzpiel because of this wonderful and perfect fic. Your fic make me wanna draw a lot more omg (Please excuse me but I think I won’t be able to stop doodling ; w ;). Thank you so much :D
Who haven’t read the fic please go and read it. It’s so amazing I wanna scream. Funkzpiel’s Newt is VERY ADORABLE and Wolf!Graves is FREAKING GOOD TO MY HEART!!! That’s all the reasons to read this fic!!!
PS: The original design of the wolf is Stephen Cartwright’s I own nothing! (except I made his brows thicker… wayyyyy thicker lol)
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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Huh?
I drew them through tears because I read angst fic and I needed some fluff to stop my tears. (It didn’t work ; w ;;;;)
They’re asking me why I must hurt myself at this hour…
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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noacaffrey123 · 7 years ago
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Percival Graves’ return to MACUSA is not celebrated. There is no fanfare, no teary-eyed speeches about duty and justice. Graves was never one for all of that, he didn’t take the job for fame or glory, he just wanted to do his duty efficiently and effectively and expected each of his aurors to do the same.
Though few things have changed since Grindlewald’s attack, there are certain tangible differences now. Graves’ aurors conduct themselves diligently and professionally. They are by far the most efficient department in MACUSA.
Graves himself is changed as well. Oh, he still takes his coffee the same way, still arrives at work at the same time, still has a habit of lecturing aurors who loiter in the office kitchen. The heels of his shoes still click loudly against the tile floors, and his long overcoat still makes a soft noise as it brushes against his calves. He still waters the little plant in his office and organizes his files into a series of logically sorted piles. His hair is still slicked back in the familiar style and his clothes are still clean and pressed, with precise creases. He still unfolds his newspaper in the same way when he sits down at his desk in the morning and folds it up again when he’s finished.
What has changed for Graves is intangible. He sometimes finds himself dropping objects when he stops concentrating on the feel of them in his hands. His wandless magic seems more powerful than before, while his wand is altogether useless to him. Graves has not been on a case since before Grindlewald which, while not uncommon, is certainly unusual. He just doesn’t seem to want to leave the building. And in the evenings as people are leaving for home, sometimes the light will catch him just right and it almost seems that if you squinted you would be able to see right through him. He doesn’t remember going home or sleeping, but he knows that he must have. Every morning he opens his eyes in the elevator, and Vince, the new goblin, greets him with a tremulous “good morning, sir.” Which Graves returns.
And no one can look him in the eye, but that’s not unusual. Graves has always had an intimidating presence, and since his death it has only intensified.
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