#percival graves

[kazuza-art]

The liar’s curse is one of my favorite Grindeldore fic and I wanted to illustrate it for such a long time. If you like ggad too please give it a try and leave to the author a little word so they write many more amazing grindeldore fic

[devoted-to-colin-farrell]

Colin Farrell in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

[darkmacadamien]

I know the fandom is dead but I have the most incredible and dastardly plans for a gramander fic which I will begin as soon as finals are over and work on all during Winter break. Fantastic beasts fandom WAKE UP

[uneasywolf]

the red string of fate

[lavandulalu]

newt: you love me, right?

percy: of course!

newt: even if i did something bad?

percy: of… course

newt: no, i mean like something really, really —

percy: WHAT DID YOU DO

[inastarlesssky]

Can we talk about Percival Graves' sleeves please? I feel like that coat is just very dramatic and it definitely called my attention when I first saw him with it.

[saddywitdaphatty]

Fact: This is what Percival Graves’ singing voice would sound like

[keepmeinmind-01]

what if Percival lived and while he was recovering and bored out of his mind without work, Newt recruited him to help with the manuscripts of his books.

at first, the former Auror is terrible at it, but when Newt notices the man has a good eye for art suddenly he’s being dragged along on field trips with a sketchbook in hand and finding himself carefully rendering every feather on a watercolour Occamy

[sophielovescolinfarrell]

revue internationale:

-The Times magazine 01. decembre 2012 (UK)

collection personnelle

[thesonofgaytan]

I will not accept any version of Percival Graves where he didn’t have a huge hoe phase in his early twenties. Idc what sexuality you headcanon him as, just know that when he was younger he got more ass than a toilet seat. The man tries to act like he’s not and never was a slut, but you know.

You know.

That deep down he’s a whore.

[lilyerida]

Percival Graves x Tina Goldstein (x files au)

Im in looove with this fandom and GoldGraves!!

Inspired by this fanfic (use google translate, you wouldn’t regret, I promise 🥹): https://ficbook.net/readfic/9851535

Small description:

Percival Graves is entrusted with a difficult task: to infiltrate the FBI X-Files department and convince agent Goldstein that magic doesn’t exist.

[defectivevillain]

by your side

pairing: percival graves x reader

reader’s pronouns: unspecified but masc-intended

warnings: mentions of blood and injury, fainting

You’re starting to suspect that Director Graves thinks you to be incompetent.

It all starts in the halls of MACUSA’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement [as most things do]. You’re minding your own business, filling out some paperwork, when a sudden crash sounds. You quickly get up from your desk and run out to the hallway, only mildly surprised to see several Aurors. They evidently just Apparated back from their mission. Admittedly, they look to be in a pretty bad state. 

“We need backup,” one of the Aurors manages to say, as they lead another Auror down the hall with their arm slung around their shoulder. There’s blood seeping from their robes, tinting their skin red. You’re quick to get the details from another Auror before Apparating there yourself. From what you’d heard, some Grindelwald sympathizers are fighting back against the initial group of Aurors.

The moment you appear, you have to dodge spellfire. There’s nothing but chaos. You cast a few haphazard shields and look around for any of the other Aurors. There are a few scattered about, but they look outnumbered. 

As you fight, you make sure not to use lethal spells—despite your knowledge that the wizards casting at you definitely are. You take a deep breath and spin around, just barely dodging a curse that hurtles at you. Despite your speed, you’re beginning to be surrounded. You try your best to defend yourself, but it’s nearly impossible to do so with the opposition of several different people. A wayward curse barrels towards you and you’re not fast enough to dodge it. Pain shoots through you and you fall to the ground. Shadows creep across your vision and you blearily look up to the sky. Eventually, you succumb to the rather powerful exhaustion that pulls at your core.

You dazedly register someone leaning over you. Their face is entirely blurry and all you can make out are deep brown eyes and dark hair. The person brings a hand to your cheek and their lips move, but you can’t hear what they’re saying. Your ears are ringing and your eyelids sting with the exertion of staying awake. You’re shaken a bit roughly by the shoulders, but by then, your eyes are closed and you’re unconscious. 

The next time you wake, there are pins and needles shooting through your arm. You try to lift your arm, only to find that it’s weighed down. You squint in confusion. It takes a moment for you to process what’s happening. It seems that you’re in St. Mungo’s. Your arms are bandaged and your entire body feels incredibly stiff. It’s only then that you realize why your arm is hurting. Director Graves is draped over your arm, his head rested on his arms as he.... well, you’re not quite sure what he’s doing here. You tap him on the shoulder and he jolts awake, looking incredibly startled until he meets your eyes. 

“You’re awake,” the director remarks, a strange sense of relief almost invading his voice. You squint at him in confusion. You must be dreaming. That’s the only explanation for why the Director of Magical Law Enforcement is sitting next to your hospital bed. 

“Why-” You try to say, only for a cough to crawl out of your dry throat. Graves is quick to get you a glass of water, which you drink greedily. It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts, before you start again. “Why are you here?”

“How are you feeling?” the director asks. You level him with an unimpressed gaze. Graves doesn’t react. You shake your head in disbelief, fully aware that he didn’t even bother to answer the question. 

“I’m fine,” you reply habitually. Your entire body is aching and stiff, but it’s not an unbearable pain. You've regained control of your right arm too, thankfully. You try to push yourself up to a sitting position, but your arms are too shaky to provide much support. Graves levels you with an accusatory glare that you promptly ignore. 

“You’re lucky to be alive,” the director remarks. You don’t quite know what to say to that, so you remain silent. Evidently, there’s something else the director wants to say, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead, Graves sighs and crosses one leg over the other. He makes no move to leave. Your heart starts to race. 

“Now, rest,” the director commands. “That’s a direct order from your commanding officer.” You roll your eyes and fall into the pillow at your back. You stare up at the ceiling resolutely, not wanting to go to sleep. The universe seems to have other plans for you, however. The last thing you register is the brief press of lips to your forehead before you’re drifting off. 

The rest of your hospital stay isn’t nearly as... intriguing. You don’t get any more visitors—least of all Director Graves—and you’re discharged within two days. The nurse firmly orders you to stay out of the field for a week and you sigh. 

During the ensuing days, you’re incredibly bored. You still go to work, but you’re confined to your desk and a seemingly infinite stack of paperwork. The week passes and, on the eighth day, you’re extremely excited to return to normal work. Safe to say, you aren’t anticipating the continued influx of paperwork. 

At first, you think it must be coincidence. You’ve always been assigned paperwork sporadically throughout the year. However, as the days pass and you continue to be assigned paperwork and nothing else, you start to suspect that something’s wrong. Ultimately, it takes another week of zero fieldwork for you to lose patience and walk over to Graves’s office. 

Before you know it, you’re knocking on the door to his office. “Director Graves, can I speak with you?” You hear a voice allowing you in and you open the door. Tina Goldstein stands at the director’s side. The two of them turn to look at you the moment you enter the room. 

“Goldstein, we’ll continue this later,” Graves says. Goldstein’s gaze flits between the two of you and a mischievous smile appears on her face. You’re quick to push her out of the space and dissuade her from any deluded fantasies. The moment you return, your impatience gets the best of you. 

“Why are you keeping me from the field?” You blurt out. The director doesn’t seem surprised by the question. If anything, it seems as if he was expecting it. That sends off some red flags in your head. Did he mean for you to be assigned to paperwork this whole time? Shaking your head, you turn your attention back to him.

“You need rest,” the director replies, rather predictably. Graves taps his fingers against the surface of his desk. You’re unable to keep your irritation at bay anymore. 

“Yes, for one week, not two,” you snap, quickly regretting doing so when you see the blank expression on the director’s face. Graves stands up and ambles over to you. Your heart is racing in your chest, but you grit your teeth and stand your ground. He’s nearly looming over you now. Merlin, I’m going to die, you can’t help but think. 

“I... apologize,” is just about the last thing you’re expecting to hear. Your surprise must show on your face, because Graves chuckles. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was just... worried.” Why would he be worried? You frown. 

“I can explain,” the director starts. You raise an eyebrow and he doesn’t make a move to explain. “Perhaps... over coffee?” You’re certain your jaw is wide open now. Is he... asking you out? You look at him for a moment longer, trying to find any hint of emotion on his face. His expression is surprisingly blank. Well, fuck it, you think to yourself. There’s nothing to lose, really.

“Sure,” you respond. Somehow, it seems as if Graves hadn’t expected you to agree because his eyebrows rise high on his forehead. The display isn’t for more than a mere fraction of a second, yet it’s somewhat refreshing to know that the director isn’t as robotic as you thought him to be. 

“It’s a date,” the man says, a hint of a smile creeping up on his face. You nod and dismiss yourself, walking out into the hall. It doesn’t take long for you to bury your head in your hands in simultaneous embarrassment and excitement.

y’all i had such a moral dilemma about how to write this... cause percival’s the head of the aurors and the reader is an auror so there are obvious power dynamics there.... thus the lack of explicit romance and emphasis on moving to an alternate location without work labels... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

[ba-mu]

[uneasywolf]

[lavandulalu]

PERCIVAL: why do you think I don’t like you? I do. I would kill for you.

PERCIVAL: ask me to kill for you.

NEWT: ...first of all, calm down-

[fantasticbeastsenjoyer]

I am once again thinking about percival graves’ sick ass coat