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personality-studies · 7 years

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Fine Distinctions / Enneagram Type Three

Self Preservation Threes • Self Preservation Threes are unusually capable, organized and efficient. • Especially good at discovering the best strategy for getting a job done; get from point A to point B as quickly and effectively as possible. • Think of Olympic athletes who are utterly focused on goals and make themselves into achievement machines. • This is subtype and personality style of uber athletes like Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods and Lance Armstrong. • Often have a prodigious work ethic. • Don’t have to have a massive amount of money, just enough according to how they have defined security. • Taking material care of their immediate family is high on their list of priorities and they may do a better job at this than they realize. • Tend to compete with themselves, try to break their own record rather than trying to out do their next door neighbor. • Preoccupied with acquiring material security as a way to calm their anxieties about survival. • May have a poverty model; could have grown up poor and insecure; could amass a fortune and yet harbor a morbid fear of dying broke. • This subtype has a stronger connection to Six; worry that their success is shaky. • May see the world as a harsh, dog-eat-dog place. • Can’t stop working, addicted to activity, continuously create new challenges. • Might use drugs and alcohol to take edge off their fears; prone to mid-life health crises. Intimate Threes • Healthy Intimate Threes are deft at wearing masks, choosing the roles they play either for the benefit of others or in the service of getting things done. • Know the difference between who they really are and who they seem to be. • Tuned to this difference in others and have a sensitive sympathy for the human frailties that we hide behind roles and posturing. • Charming, have a sense of humor about themselves; exceptionally good mentors. • Especially prone to persona – playing a role of one’s self. • Mask themselves with an image of an appealing man or woman. • Their image is based on community or cultural ideals of masculinity or femininity or matching a partner’s definition of an ideal mate. • Can be sexual imposters, faking intimacy; even when they are naked they are not naked. • Sometimes an Intimate Three’s persona is not based on overt sexual desirability but some other criteria, ie being interesting or smart. • They may be drawn to plastic surgery; keep their bodies fit and attractive. • Intimate Threes who need to be seen as desirable are hiding an exact opposite part of themselves, a self who feels anything but attractive. • His or her relationships could be short; might cycle through many partners, jettisoning each when they get too close to the truth. • Can be distinctly exhibitionistic. Social Threes • Healthy Social Threes are often status-conscious but clear-eyed about the true value of life’s prizes and awards. • Especially aware of the emptiness of success for its own sake and start to want more out of life. • Skilled networkers who use their reputations and social contacts for humanitarian ends, for example, using their power and prestige to benefit a charity. • Brings the leadership qualities; good at teaching groups of people or being the head coach of a team effort. • Reward and inspire those they lead; generous about giving credit. • Recognize that their own accomplishments partly rest on the efforts of others. • Unself-conscious examples of what they preach and teach. • Can display a seamless graceful merging of self and role and can be at their most authentic when wearing a mask. • Often invent themselves by consciously modeling others of a desired social or economic standing. • When less healthy, may directly confuse their inner self with the outer world’s badges,honors and totems. • Measure themselves by money, position, awards or results; strive to match group standards and have the right credentials. • Exceptionally worried about what other people think of them. • Materialistic, want to own the best brands and be identified with those products; the right possessions give the Three rub-off status. • Prone to hypocrisy; deny qualities or behaviors that contradict their self-image. • Some lead reckless double lives, implicitly daring the world to discover their secrets. • Can be self-sabotaging. If they were born poor and became rich they might bring themselves back down; for example, going bankrupt or getting caught with false credentials in a way that ruins their status and reputation. Three with a Two Wing • Often highly gregarious and good communicators. • This wing brings a measure of extraversion, an unforced charm and leadership qualities. • Honorable and sincere, try to do well by others. • Go out of their way to be honest and transparent. • Often genuinely nice people, warm-hearted, with a positive outlook and an uncomplicated, affectionate nature. • If they have achieved some measure of worldly success, they are generous in their support and mentoring of others. • Canny negotiators and efficient administrators. • Preoccupied with seeming ideal to others. This can extend to friendships, family, as well as at work. • Have a stronger social focus because they need so much external validation. • Stronger connection to Six; less likely to question authority and convention. • Capable of preening, boastful behavior and shameless self-promotion. • Some are openly competitive, revel in winning and believe that they are better than others. • Can develop messiah complexes, becoming convinced that they are exemplars of the right way to live. • May believe they are farther along a path than they really are; begin teaching others what they have not yet truly learned. • Easily slip into impersonation, falsifying their sentiments and intentionally lying to gain advantage; the behavior of con-artists and sociopaths. • Can be exceptionally hostile; see other people as two-dimensional objects to be manipulated. Three with a Four Wing • Have the motivation and ability to work on themselves. • Some accomplish everything they set out to do materially and then embark on a path of self-analysis, artistic exploration or teaching. • They like challenges, but are more thoughtful, intuitive and idealistic. • Generally more introverted; a little cooler and distant in their social presentation. • May have a strong romantic streak. • More ironic than Threes with a Two wing who tend to be enthusiastic and possibly naive. • Can lack a sense of humor about themselves and accuse their critics of being too plebeian to appreciate them. • Less obviously image conscious, but can still project a vague, implicit superiority;mistake their ambitions for principles. • Implicitly competitive but tend to compete with themselves first. • In some Threes the expression of their Four wing is chronic - a depressive quality or a running sense of dissatisfaction with what they have. • In others, the Fourness is episodic: listening to sad music for emotional release, being a scientist with a secret interest in the occult. • Self-pitying; may see themselves as victims when they fail. • Tend to be jealous in relationships. • Can overrate their accomplishments and uniqueness; could believe they are more talented than they are. Three’s Connection to Six • A healthy connection helps Threes drop their masks, admit their flaws and risk being seen for who they are. • A Three’s true feelings generally have a fearful quality; fear is a door to their other emotions. • They commit to ideals beyond just winning and succeeding. • Develop personal loyalties to family and friends; increased spirituality. • Ethical concerns become more important, moral courage emerges. • Stay faithful and keep their agreements, even at the risk of losing face. • Idealistic; work for social change. • Fear of revealing what is behind their image, their Achilles heel, the young insecure self the Three otherwise tries to conceal. • Connection brings anxiety that fuels the Three’s desire to mask; run from the “awful truth” about themselves. Imposter syndrome. • Can be nervously ambivalent about relationships, unable to decide or commit. • Want to choose the “right” person based on society’s criteria; underneath they fear that their unlovable “true” self will be unmasked. • Can over identify with hierarchies and traditions; give their power to authority and play good child roles that get them approval. • Sometimes the connection to Six is counter-phobic and takes the form of seeking constant challenge to overcome inner fears. • Can be afraid to stop because they sense an exhausted laziness beneath their hyperactivity – the shadow of the low side of Nine. • Prone to co-dependence and addiction. Three’s Connection to Nine • Brings a capacity to self-observe as well as a slower tempo of thought and action. • More receptive to the people in their lives; appreciate their idle time, especially when spent with family and friends. • Connection helps Threes emerge from their roles and relax into being themselves. • The modest, unpretentious quality of Nines is latent in Threes. • Winning becomes less important; success may be seen as an illusion; take “timeouts”from the world’s races. • New projects are entered because they look interesting, will benefit others or for intuitive reasons that the Three can’t explain. • A capacity for amiable peacemaking and a well-intended desire to make friends and family happy. • Prefer equal relationships, instead of competing with others. • Can bring a Nine-like confusion especially about action; may lose sight of their goals and start going in circles at high speeds, doing the wrong thing. • Neurotic habit of altering themselves for their environment can get worse. • May flip from hyperactivity to paralysis; become indolent and procrastinating like an unhealthy Nine. • Lack motivation and direction; become passively depressed, use drugs or alcohol to further deaden their feelings. • Nihilistic “what’s the use?” attitudes; numb, Nine-like apathy is possible. • Can feel depressed and futile about attempting anything. • This connection is especially evident when Threes have midlife crises. • The Nine’s emotional numbness reinforces the Three’s emotional absence. 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#enneagram #enneatype 3 #tom condon #3w2 #3w4

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ourmrsreynolds · 5 years

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stuff i read November 2019

Brandon Sanderson, Words of Radiance (2014) (Stormlight Archive #2) “I don’t want my life to change because I’ve become a lighteyes … I want the lives of people like me—like I am now—to change.” Kaladin Stormblessed, ACTUAL LOVE OF MY LIFE. Contrast: Dalinar whose “well you just have to be twice as good by distinguishing yourself in the position I gave you, that’s how you change the world” rhetoric makes my skin crawl. Nah it ain’t fam. Dalinar may be be a good person who has never personally mistreated a darkeyes, but that’s beside the point. He still benefits from a highly unequal, unjust arrangement that places him at the tippy top of the social, economic & political pyramid. And the parshmen at the bottom. If the next book isn’t 100% about Parshmen Rights I'm outta here. this book—well there were moments i was on my feet cheering, like that four-on-one-duel where Kaladin is the only one with the cojones to jump into the ring, and Adolin’s “bridgeboy” goes from a term of disparagement to a term of endearment. When we found out the Shardbearer whom Kaladin killed in Amaram’s service was Shallan’s brother that was WELL-PLAYED SIR that punch really landed. Renarin turning out to be a Radiant is a pretty harsh indictment of the overvaluation of martial prowess, and I liked that too, but on the whole I didn’t like this book as much as Book 1 because I wanted MOAR KALADIN.

Arkady Martine, A Memory Called Empire (2019) “Nothing empire touches remains itself.” They say that science fiction is psychology and fantasy is sociology. If that’s true (and I don’t remember where I heard it) this book bucks that trend because it’s all in for both sci-fi (it’s a space opera!) and sociology. It’s been getting a lot of well-deserved buzz and I really enjoyed it. I do think it’s fair to point out it’s a story centered on whip-smart highly-educated bureaucrats and the imperial court they orbit; that the perspective of “ordinary” people is missing, and you feel the lack because in the course of the book there’s a revolution/coup?? But I mean, if you think about the Roman Empire (the author is a Byzantine scholar) the kinds of “barbarians” it attracted were always from the better-off stratum of “barbarian” society. I guess the chimney sweeps wouldn’t have been reading Catullus. Nothing empire touches remains itself.

Robert Galbraith, Lethal White (2018) (Cormoran Strike Mysteries #4) The unresolved tension between the leads is A+ 10/10 but I feel like the actual mystery plot is not resolved as elegantly as I expected from JK Rowling? She’s like, the queen of tight plotting and I didn’t think she’d just round up 7 suspects only to let 6 of them off the hook with an apologetic shrug of “whoops that was a red herring.” There’s a metric shitton of gratuitous bashing of socialists & other lefties, which didn’t even faze me. What bothered me was the novel’s unevenness. The portion of it that was dedicated to character work was phenomenal. Rowling’s always had a gift for invoking petty and/or aggrieved secondary characters and she absolutely nailed it here, plus the main characters experience extraordinary personal growth while still bearing the scars of their traumas. Yet tbh Chamber of Secrets is a better mystery novel and I say this as someone who ranks Chamber of Secrets dead last on my personal “HP books, ranked” listicle.

Silvia Federici, Caliban and the Witch: Women, the body, and primitive accumulation (2004) Pluses of academic writing: you get to raid the ENDNOTES and BIBLIOGRAPHY for more texts devoted to your topic of interest. Minuses of academic writing: dense as hell, puts you to sleep. Praise be to Silvia Federici whose arguments are uncommonly lucid and contain almost no bloat, though the sections covering the New World are definitely weaker than the European sections, which is where Federici’s speciality lies. She argues that the witch hunts of the late Middle Ages were a political project, a campaign of terror designed to decimate the power of peasant women, sever them from their communities, and subjugate their reproductive capacities to doing USEFUL stuff like accumulating surplus for capitalists. The parallel between the enclosure of public commons and the enclosure of women’s bodies & labor power—all done with an eye towards private profit—is one that will haunt me for the rest of my life. What an absolutely staggering work of scholarship. So glad I sprung for the physical copy so I could annotate copiously.

Louisa May Alcott, Little Women (1848) It’s been 20 years and I’m still salty about Jo/Laurie. This is the first time I’ve actually reread it cover-to-cover instead of just reimbibing the shippiest bits and I gotta say, props to Louisa May Alcott who is a much better writer than I recalled. Her treatment of the process and the craft of writing is also right on; the 1994 movie by contrast just has Jo climb up into the garret and don her writing hat and hey presto, a manuscript. What I’d forgotten was Alcott’s mastery of tone to skewer a character—I don’t wanna say she rivals Jane Austen in this department but she comes close. I had also forgotten how much of Part I in particular is just Jo repressing her desire to marry Beth and cart her off to a lesbian utopia bursting with grand pianos. My girl is dead set against any of her sisters marrying, insists she’ll man up herself in order to keep the family intact, and if you only read Part I you may well conclude she’s not wrong. Part II is painful because it’s where Alcott sinks my ship. Hate to say I can see why she does it?? It’s because Amy and Laurie have the most to learn from each other, and Alcott is all about GROWING and LEARNING as a person. You know what, the text doesn’t belong to Alcott. The text belongs to all of us, and I will proclaim Death of the Author from the rooftops. Jo and Laurie love each other without labels, they’re not “romantic” or “platonic,” they set no limits on that love.

Cat Sebastian, The Lawrence Browne Affair (2017) (Turner Series #2) You know why this mlm Regency was absolutely DELIGHTFUL? Because it’s literally kidfic. They bond over the kid, that’s the story. It’s not the whole story, I just mean the arrival of the kid kicks the plot into high gear, even if there isn’t undue focus on the kid as a character in his own right. God this book is so relatable: They both have the worst case of imposter syndrome. “Neither of us is normal but have we ever thought to question whether fitting in is good, or normality is desirable?” It’s that trope where “I’ve insinuated myself into your life under false pretenses and now I’ve gone and fallen in love with you, how do I make a clean breast of it,” meanwhile your romantic interest knows FULL WELL you’re a con artist and it doesn’t lessen their attachment in the slightest. Also relatable: Lawrence likes being alone, clings to routine because unscripted social interactions give him anxiety.

Bernard Cornwell, The Last Kingdom (2004) (Saxon Stories #1) I marathoned all three seasons of the BBC/Netflix adaptation earlier this year and I gotta say, lead actor Alexander Dreymon and his combination of martial arts background and tenderness 100% makes the character. Whoever does the score for the show also knocked it out of the park. In comparison, the book falls flat. Uhtred comes off as merely bratty rather than deeply conflicted in his loyalties, which could be a function of his extreme youth—he’s 18 I think at the end of this installment. The Danish vs Saxon identity contest is less prominent here; he pretty much accepts he’s a Saxon. @Bernard Cornwell your English ass is showing. There isn’t a real tight three-act structure, the plot just sort of meanders along from one battle to another (which is a hallmark of Cornwell’s writing, and never bothered me in his Grail Quest trilogy which are some of my favorite books of all time, so idk why it seems like weak sauce here) . One thing that remains constant is that Uhtred becomes irrational when threatened with the loss of things or people he considers MINE. Uhtred: sees a random dog paddling along in the middle of a storm. Uhtred: IS THAT RAGNAR’S DOG. Lmao.

Brandon Sanderson Oathbringer (2017) (Stormlight Archive #3) I opened this book with some trepidation because it is Dalinar’s book, the way Book 1 was Kaladin’s book and Book 2 was Shallan’s. I mean, all the flashbacks belong to Dalinar. You can tell Brandon Sanderson built this world around Dalinar, that Dalinar is more foundational to this ‘verse than any other character. And I gotta hand it to him, when I put the book down there were actual tears in my eyes: “The ancient code of the Knights Radiant says ‘journey before destination.’ But if we stop, if we accept the person we are when we fall, he journey ends. That failure becomes our destination. To love to journey is to accept no such end. I have found, through painful experience, that the most important step a person can take is always the next one.” I think about when Kaladin took the first oath way back in Book 1, when we first heard “journey before destination,” and I say BRAVO SIR BRAVO. I think about how Gavilar’s assassination is this primordial scene we keep circling back to; with each new book we return to the scene of the crime with a different POV and we keep peeling back the layers and upending everything we thought we knew. Other things I am here for: Shallan referring to Kaladin internally as Brightlord Brooding Eyes (I’m still recovering from how Sanderson sank my Kaladin/Shallan ship). Kaladin running into his archnemesis & ex-bully and all he can think is “Adolin would never be caught dead in a coat three seasons out of date” lmao Kaladin x Adolin brOTP of the century. Ok but remember how I said while I was reading Book 2 “I hope Book 3 is 100% Rights for Parshmen”??? Well I called it didn’t I. Turns out humankind are the invaders—they literally rolled up from another planet which they had accidentally destroyed, they came as refugees and they proceeded to…enslave the indigenous parshmen. What. The fuck. Brandon Sanderson was born and raised in the USA, where the ideology of settler colonialism is fucking hegemonic. We are REALLY GOOD at conflating preemptive warfare with self-defense, dispossession with property rights enforcement. We tend to think of democratic self-rule as coextensive with coercive rule over alien subjects. Sanderson’s choice to dismiss out of hand the “would you give the land back to the parshmen” argument is troubling because it absolutely bolsters the settler colonial narrative that indigenous elimination is a necessary condition of settlers’ “freedom”. I realize that the parshmen are currently being led by Hitler but that’s a choice on Sanderson’s part. Giving us 95% human POVs is a choice. This is the story of humans reckoning with their blood-soaked history, not the story of parshmen throwing off their chains.

#stuff i read

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funkzpiel · 8 years

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And The Tag Read Simply: ‘Pretty’ - Ch5

Words of comfort and affirmation bubbled to his tongue – He’s caught, we have him. Don’t worry. He’s at MACUSA, he’ll never hurt you again. But one look, and Newt realized that the context of Graves’ question was not ‘please say he’s not here.’ It was ‘please say he’s coming home soon.’

“He’s… away,” Newt said lamely, eyes flickering to glance at Graves now that the man felt confident enough to speak with him. Graves was leaning far enough forward now that his shoulders were visible, pale and naked. Newt felt his cheeks begin to burn at the implication, and even more so when he caught sight of the thick leather collar that hung snuggly around Graves’ throat – Grindelwald’s symbol hanging delicately next to a small gold tag that read simply: ‘Pretty’.

FANTASTIC BEASTS KINK MEME FILL Grindelwald is captured, they track down Graves, but instead of finding a locked up and tortured Graves they find Graves naked and in a collar, napping on a soft bed without a hint of recognition in his eyes. Turns out Grindelwald messed with Graves’ mind, removed all his memories and made him believe that he’s Grindelwald’s pet.

Includes: Gellert Grindelwald x Graves, Newt x Graves, Non-Con, Rape, Stockholm Syndrome, Pet Play, Forced Pet Play, Collars, Non-Con Body Modification, Animal Ears, Animal Behaviors/Qualities, Mind!Fuck, Memory Loss/Alteration, Master/Pet, Dubious Consent, Angst, Literally Graves Believes He’s A Dog, I AM TRASH

CHAPTER 5

Newt watched Graves sleep from his work table, eyes distant as he took in the image of the frail man so still and peaceful – long lashes stark against pale cheeks. Newt had heard stories of the man Percival Graves had been, but Newt only knew two sides of the man first hand: the imposter and the victim. Not for the first time, he wondered what Graves had lost. What Grindelwald had stolen. Tina obviously held a great deal of respect for the man. Madam Picquery, too.

Newt imagined him, body healthy and pristine as Grindelwald portrayed him – broad and strong and imposing – with warm eyes and able hands. Just in his actions, clever is his work, and gentle with his people. But a part of him also knew the unfortunate truth. A man with friends is not a man easily replaced. A good boss, yes. A respected man, of course. But a friendly man… no. He must have been a distant man. A firm line set in the ground between home and work. A man dedicated to the letter of the law, to the very last detail of his job, to the welfare of his employees and their success, to the safety of the public – and nothing more. He had no family to miss him. No loved ones. His life was no doubt a lonely life, only made easier by the sheer weight of his work to distract him.

And this was how fate repaid his dedication.

He had to convince Graves that, no, your bed isn’t missing – you’re allowed to sleep on the actual bed, not some uncomfortable cushion on the floor. He had to ease his worries with soft words that, no, Grindelwald would not be mad at him, and yes, I’ll be to bed soon, and no, I promise I’m not leaving.

It was only then that Graves settled. The man, once so confident and powerful now sleeping in the baggy clothes of a scrawny man’s wardrobe, hair tousled and cheek still smudged with dirt because Newt hadn’t the energy to bathe him – too afraid the man would misread the situation and try to thank him again.

“Oh Tina,” Newt whispered, eyes falling to the report he had been writing. There was a dark blotch of ink at the end of an unfinished sentence; dark from hesitation. “I don’t know how much help I am in this…”

The letter read: I fear that Grindelwald has…

Newt bit his lip and clenched his quill a little harder, willing himself to finish what he started. But even now, he did not know the right way to phrase it.

I fear that Grindelwald has inflicted far more damage than we originally perceived, he finally wrote and proceeded to detail the events of the day, down to the moment of Graves’ possession.

And then he cast his gaze back unto the man in question, heart squeezing when he realized the man was snoring very lightly. In the dim light of the little shed, Grindelwald’s tags twinkled innocently against Graves’ pale flesh. Newt wished he could just remove them.

“Please come back,” Newt whispered.

It was then, as he was watching the man, that a small hand suddenly appeared on the other side of Graves’ body. Newt stiffened, worried for a moment that he was seeing things, when finally it clicked – the Niffler. Newt stood as quickly and quietly as he could, eyes narrowed as he watched a chubby little body suddenly follow that tiny hand, the beady eyes of the Niffler staring him down even as it slowly reached for the tags at Graves’ throat.

“No,” Newt said, and quickly cast a spell to call the little beast to him. Newt watched as the Niffler scrabbled its tiny little hands in Graves’ direction before it finally gave up and allowed the spell to continue to draw it through the air and into Newt’s awaiting grasp.

The Magizoologist scruffed him promptly and held him up so they were nose to nose.

“You can’t touch those,” Newt said, and the Niffler just crossed it’s flabby little arms and looked away. “No, please, please understand – you could really hurt him. He… He needs those tags. Please, just this once, don’t fight me.”

Newt wasn’t sure if it was the sheer pleading of his whispered voice or if the little creature was merely in a giving mood, but the Niffler slowly turned to look him in the eye before actually looking somewhat mollified. It sagged a little in his grasp before nodding.

Newt almost wanted to double check, but he was too blown away by the creature’s sudden change in nature to feel his normal sense of doubt in the little thing. So instead, he cautiously set it down, ready to cast the spell again, and watched. The moment the Niffler’s feet met the work table, it sat down in a heavy ball and merely watched Graves sleep. It cast its gaze from Newt to Graves and back again before suddenly scurrying down the work table’s leg and onto the floor. For a brief moment, Newt worried he had made a mistake, but the Niffler merely peered at Graves one last time before hurrying out of the shed as if on important business.

Newt blinked.

“That was odd,” he whispered, then returned his gaze back to his report – lost for words on how to tactfully tell Picquery that he had very good reason to believe Graves had been raped repeatedly. He sighed and rested his forehead on the paper, unheeding of the ink, and closed his eyes for just a moment.

Merlin, he was tired.

They repurposed the execution chamber to serve as one giant Pensieve. In its swirling depths, every memory that their Legilimens managed to lay bare played within it in striking detail – larger than life, louder than reality, and more overwhelming than Tina had been ready for. It was like this that she watched Grindelwald recall how he had cornered Graves after his walk home from a long stakeout turned case bust and Mercy Lewis, Tina could remember that night. She had been the last person from their department to say goodbye to him that night. Was her face the last he saw before... Before Grindelwald...

Just like that, the time with which Graves had been gone was dated. Months. Six months. Six months. Tina felt her breath seize in her chest. She could remember how tired he had looked when she found him in his office that night to let him know she was heading home. She had thought to ask if he was okay. She had thought to insist that he, too, should go home. But he had his paperwork to finish, and she knew him to be a man that wouldn’t go home until every last page was done. It didn’t matter how tired he was, if she pointed it out, he would just say that was what coffee was for.

So she didn’t point it out. Tired as she was, she let him be.

The last words her Graves had said to her played aloud in her head like a painful echo.

“Goldstein,” he had said, drawing her back to his office door.

“Yes, sir?” She asked, afraid he might ask he to fill out some form herself before she left.

Instead, his lips curled into the barest of smiles – something that was practically an all out grin in the books of those who knew him – and said, “Good work tonight, Tina. We’re lucky to have you.”

Her heart ached coldly in her chest, ever tightening as she watched the memory of Graves – tall and proud, and yet limping ever so slightly – walking just ahead of Grindelwald on the street; unaware of his stalker. She wanted to call out to him. To warn him. But all she could do was watch as the dark wizard purposefully apparated himself from behind Graves to the end of a dark alley on his left. The noise drew Graves in, his mouth set into a firm, displeased line at having caught someone displaying magic so openly. And when Grindelwald lit the end of his wand with a brilliant light, it was obvious that Graves had resigned himself to having to take the man back to the office despite his exhaustion.

“Someone will see you,” Graves said firmly from the end of the alley, squinting, trying to peer past the bright light of Grindelwald’s penetrating lumos but unable to see his face because of it.

“Let them,” Grindelwald purred.

Graves stiffened and drew his own wand. With a quick look left and right, he took several steps deeper into the dark of the alley to try and mask their altercation as best as he could. Late as it was, he had little to worry for. Maybe if someone had been there, Tina thought. Maybe if…

“If you don’t desist, I’ll be forced to relieve you of your wand and take you in for the night,” he said grimly, and Tina could suddenly see how Graves was trying his hardest to mask his limp, his exhaustion. Grindelwald smiled behind the glare of his spell.

“I’m afraid not, my dear director,” Grindelwald said. “In fact, tonight is the last night you will use your gifts to shackle your fellow witch or wizard.”

Graves stilled, his body suddenly stiff with dawning recognition. Tina thought he was going to call the man out as a Grindelwald follower, but instead Graves attacked without preamble. With a quick flick and a dodge to the right, Graves launched a harsh kinetic wall of energy at Grindelwald while simultaneously stepping out of the way of Grindelwald’s own spell. The concrete where Graves had been standing exploded, and in the building next to them, a light turned on. Graves looked at it and cursed before shoving off the wall he had stepped to and launching another attack.

Brick burst behind Grindelwald, but the man wasn’t fazed. Instead, he merely continued to advance on Graves, driving the director toward the street, making him panic – knowing how the Auror worried over prying eyes. Somewhere above, blinds rustled. Graves grit his teeth and finally held his ground, unwilling to let the dark wizard take their fight to the open.

“Your fear of our exposure will be your downfall, director,” Grindelwald said through a grin, and it was then that Graves could finally see his face, the concealing glare of Grindelwald’s lumos long since gone. Graves’ hand tightened on his wand.

“Grindelwald,” he said, voice gentled by shock.

“Director Graves,” Grindelwald greeted in return, his smile that of a cat’s.

Tina could see a hundred thoughts filtered through Graves’ eyes. Headlines from the papers, reports from the Ministry, operations from the support team MACUSA had offered. Graves frowned and set his feet, obviously no longer concerned with the world around them.

Grindelwald hummed his approval.

“Finally,” he said, his own wand raised and ready. “Yes. Show me what you can do without the shackles of our society holding you down. I want to see it for myself.”

Tina had seen Graves duel before. In practice and in the field. He was a clean, efficient spellcaster. He didn’t gloat, he didn’t underestimate, and he didn’t take chances. He cast his spells with the intention of ending any altercation immediately. The less time the enemy had the ability to cast a spell, the less likely one of his people got hurt. So his spells were fast, brutal things. Heavy hitters that slammed through tissue and concussed – and that was on a normal day.

But this… Tina had never seen Graves attack like this. Sharp, fast spells cast so pointedly, so intently, they practically cut the air like knives. She could hear the way they whistled through the air, and every strike that missed tore up pavement and brick alike. One shot in particular that Grindelwald only just managed to divert ended up turning the nearby fire escape into a hodgepodge of contorted, screaming metal. But Graves never waited to see if his work connected. One spell followed another followed another, and all the while, Graves advanced.

He was like a different man, his eyes alight with a dreadful determination that turned Tina’s veins to ice. This was the man who had fought in the war, the man they told stories about. She had thought she knew him. She had thought she knew his drive and his skill and his rigor. She was wrong.

Grindelwald was thrilled. In his manic eyes, she saw nothing but pleasure and excitement as he diverted one spell after another, guiding them away from his body with quick jabs but not having much more time than that to do anything else.

“You’re wasted at MACUSA, my dear,” Grindelwald howled over the cries of Graves’ spells.

“I’m precisely where I need to be,” Graves said, following one particularly harsh blow with a swipe of his free hand, using Grindelwald’s distraction of deflecting his spell to hit him with a dumpster and pin him to the wall.

Even caught as he was, Grindelwald laughed as though they were two friends having a merry old time rather than enemies aiming for the throat. Graves clenched his jaw, wand trained on Grindelwald as his other hand kept up the pressure on the dumpster – metal slowly warping to curl around Grindelwald’s frame.

“And where is that, pray tell?” Grindelwald asked, smiling so widely his gums showed.

“Here. Between you and the rest of society,” Graves said resolutely, but as their fight ebbed, so did his energy. Tina could see it in the softening of his shoulders and the tremble of his wand. So could Grindelwald.

“Long night, my dear?” Grindelwald asked.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Graves began, encouraging the metal to curl around Grindelwald that much quicker.

“I’m quite tired of silence, I’m afraid,” he said, something dark glimmering in his eyes.

Behind Graves, a shadow appeared. Then another and another. Men – Grindelwald’s followers.

“Crucio.”

The spell hit Graves in the back, pointblank between his shoulders, and felled him with a cry torn from the bottom of his chest. Tina watched as he shuddered on the ground, body seizing as Grindelwald easily detangled himself from Graves’ bindings.

“He’s as good with wandless enchantments as they say,” Grindelwald said, clearly excited as he swept the dirt from his coat and straightened himself out. Once put back together, his eyes fell on Graves and he grinned. “Let the good fellow go, won’t you?”

The spell dropped, but the men behind Graves advanced, forming a wall behind the man – blocking him from the road. Somewhere, Graves could hear the telltale beginning of sirens. He groaned and rolled from his side to his knees and tried to rise, ignoring the way his clothing dripped from the puddle he had landed in.

When he tried to get to his feet, one of the three wizards behind him raised a leg to kick him down, only to find a trash can lid suddenly flying through the air to greet him. It connected with his face with a wet crash that sent him tumbling backward, immediately unconscious and nose clearly broken. The wizard nearest Graves took two steps back. The other snarled and raised a wand, only to be disarmed.

Graves’ eyes shot up, shocked, when the wand flew to Grindelwald’s hand – the flunky’s magic stayed by the hand of a madman.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Grindelwald said, fiddling with the wand before tucking it away in his own coat. “I didn’t say to attack him, now did I, Peter?”

“But sir, he—!”

When Grindelwald raised his gaze from Graves, its humor was gone – replaced by something that made Tina shiver. “I have no use of the deaf or stupid.”

Peter shut up and took a step back. Grindelwald smiled, his farce mask returned.

“Good boy,” he said, then moved to address Graves. “As I was saying—“

Graves swept his hand just as he rose to his feet to sprint past the two goons, and instead of launching another trashcan lid at Grindelwald, he launched both of his flunkies at him instead. Tina watched, heart thundering, hoping – hoping – as Graves made a break for it. With a loud crash and an angry batch of yelling, the two men collided into Grindelwald, sending the dark wizard to the ground. And for a moment, Tina thought he was going to make it.

Graves stumbled into the road, obviously about to apparate, when a spell came arcing out of the alleyway and nailed him in the shoulder. It knocked him off balance, spinning him to once again face the alley he had come from, disorienting him. He clutched at his shoulder and panted, preparing himself to apparate – gathering energy – eyes all the while on the three men clambering to their feet.

“C’mon, Percival,” he whispered, blood oozing from his nose from exhaustion, and reached for the last dregs of his magic when a loud noise disrupted his attention. A horn.

That was when the car struck him, slamming him harshly into the hood before bouncing him into the road. Tina gasped and beside her, she heard one of the other staff members watching the memory vomit.

There was screaming. A woman in the passenger’s seat was crying, wailing. The man who was driving cut the car in reverse and drove away frantically, and suddenly, Tina hated them. She wanted to reverse the memory and look at them, find them, make them pay for not staying. If they had only stayed, then maybe…

They would have died, she realized, her anger flooding out of her in an exhaustive sheet. Grindelwald would have killed them. There was no saving Mr. Graves from this. There was no changing the past.

Instead, she watched as Graves slowly opened his eyes and moaned wetly. His wand had been knocked from his hand, but even now, Graves reached for it. Even now, Graves fought. Tina’s eyes burned, and slowly the image before her became blurry through her tears as her boss tried to pull himself across the short stretch of pavement between his crumpled body and his wand. When it was obvious that his legs – Merlin’s balls, his right leg wasn’t supposed to look that way – wouldn’t get him there, he extended a hand to call it to himself. The wand wiggled fiercely for a moment, then fell still. Graves’ eyes fluttered. More blood oozed from his nose.

He tried again to pull his body forward when his gaze caught sight of Grindelwald approaching. The Auror didn’t make it far. He merely wheezed as Grindelwald knelt down in the road and retrieved the wand, holding it up in the light to admire it. He turned it this way and that, as though familiarizing himself with some great weapon, all the while ignoring Graves on the ground.

“Truly a wand of some distinction,” Grindelwald said approvingly, weighing it in his hand before pocketing it as well. “Steadfast and powerful. And in such a pretty package, too. Quite like you.”

Graves tried to keep his gaze on Grindelwald, but his head lolled dangerously until finally, he could do not much else but glare at the man’s shoes. He watched as the dark wizard knelt before him, and moaned raggedly when a long finger grabbed him under the chin and lifted his gaze.

“Poor Mr. Graves, hit and left to die like some mangy old dog. Your underlings didn’t see the hit you took at that raid earlier, did they? Or is it that they just didn’t care to make sure you got home, hmm?” Grindelwald asked, eyes searching. “Nobody cares for you, not truly. If they did, they’d know that you need more care than what they give you. They think you so strong. They’d let you work yourself to death, my dear. They wouldn’t even notice if you were gone. Why do you fight for them?”

“Somebody has to protect them from men like you,” Graves said, his words garbled and faint, but there all the same.

Grindelwald’s hand moved from his chin to cup his jaw, and Graves shuddered when he realized the man was watching him with fascination and no small amount of pity. As though he were some poor creature caught in a net, ripe for saving - or slaughter.

“But my dear Mr. Graves,” he said, swiping a thumb along a quickly purpling bruise. “Who is going to protect you?”

Graves eyes fluttered as Grindelwald grabbed the Auror by the shoulder and disapparated the both of them away – just as sirens blared around the corner. Lights flashed, illuminating nothing but a barren road and the blood Graves left behind.

The memory softened, softened, then faded altogether and Tina shuddered. When she raised her gaze, the team of Legilimens they had brought in to fuel the execution chamber turned Pensieve were kneeling on each of their respective floating platforms above the black mass, exhausted, and at their center sat Grindelwald – bound to his chair, grinning from ear to ear.

She desperately wanted to say something, anything, to tear that smug look from his face. She couldn’t find the words.

“Your right hand man was quite something, Seraphina,” Grindelwald said, not even winded from the forced pulling of his memories from multiple witches and wizards. In the dim lights of the execution chamber, one eye glowed unnaturally – like a pearl in the dark. It made Tina’s stomach twist with dread. “I can see why you chose him to head up your security. He would have made it, if not for that car. Funny how fate works out. In another world, he’d be beside you. In this one, he’s mine.”

“Do not flatter yourself, Gellert,” she said, using his first name in kind with a wry brow that said, ‘fucking try me’. “Mr. Graves is beginning to heal quite excellently under the watchful eye of our expert. He’ll be beside me once more in no time.”

That only made Grindelwald’s grin widen.

“Lying now, are we?” He asked. “Oh, things must be so much worse than they appear. How wonderful.”

With a sharp movement that had Tina stumbling for her own wand, Picquery drew hers from her coat.

“Madam President?” Tina asked, eyes wide, heart thundering, but all Picquery did was conjure a chair with a precise flick of her wand. With the grace of a great cat, she lowered herself into it and said, “Again.”

A set of shocked and weary eyes fell upon her from the platforms, the team of Legilimens exhausted. But one by one, they stood – wands extended – and began the process once more. But Grindelwald did not care. He only had eyes for Picquery.

“Will we die, just a little?” He asked, repeating his words from the train station before the light of the Legilimens spells fell upon him, rolling his eyes into his head, making him seize in his bindings. Below, the next memory began to appear.

“Madam Picquery,” an Auror said, coming to stand beside her for a moment. “I can report to you, if you have something else—“

“He attacked one of our own, Smithfield,” she said, not even bothering to look at the man. “I will watch this. Every moment. Every second. I will know his pain, and when this is done, so will Grindelwald.”

“Madam President,” Smithfield said softly, obviously recognizing the dismissal, and backed away to his former spot.

“We’re ready, Madam President,” one of the Legilimens said, voice strained.

“Show me.”

Tina brushed away the cool, wet tracks on her cheek with a thumb and prepared for the next memory.

Newt hadn’t even realized he had been dozing at his work station until his leg began to fall sleep, alighting his calf and toes with pins and needles. He mumbled sleepily, confused when his leg was far heavier than it had any right to be, and looked down to see a dark mop of hair on his thigh. It was Graves. He was seated on the floor beside his chair, his cheek pressed to Newt’s thigh.

Newt blinked, then everything that had happened over the past two days came flooding back to him.

“Mr. Graves?” He mumbled and gently drew his fingers through the man’s hair to wake him. “What’re you doing on the floor?”

With a soft groan and a long yawn, Graves looked up to him and said, “You didn’t come to bed.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes crawling to the report Newt had been writing for President Picquery outlining Graves'… progress. He frowned ever so slightly, the expression only soothing out at the sound of Graves’ soft whine of recognition. With a wave of his wand, he transformed the report into a mouse and sent it off – eyes heavy as he watched it scurry up the ladder of his suitcase. “I’m coming.”

Newt rose from the chair, and when it became obvious that Graves would not settle on the bed without him, he made fast work of his nightly routine before finally laying down. But when Graves did nothing more but stand at the edge of his bed and whimper, obviously wanting something but conflicted, Newt reached out for him and grabbed his hand. Too exhausted to explain, Newt simply guided Graves down onto the bed, pulling only gently, giving Graves the option to pull away. He didn’t.

Instead, he pressed the long, lithe line of his body into Newt’s side. He was shorter than Newt, and that worked well with the size of Newt’s bed. He fit quite comfortably into the dip of Newt’s side, and they were down for no more than a handful of moments before Graves simply tucked his nose into Newt’s collarbone and fell asleep.

The warm weight of Graves’ body lured Newt into sleep easily. The icy, unnatural feel of his tags however – unable to warm, even pressed between them – woke him often through the night.

a/n - got a suggestion on what you want to see? Send me a note. I can’t guarantee I’ll include it, but I love suggestions.

#Fantastic Beasts Kink Meme #Fill #original percival graves #Percival graves #gellert grindelwald #gellert grindelwald x percival graves #grindelgraves #newt scamander #newt x graves #gramander #originally on ao3 #Graves Fic

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