#putting the grind into grindelwald

[foolishlywandwaving]

Oooo good luck on your exams!!!

What are your favorite study/learning methods? I love a good flashcards situation, plus just writing down everything I know.

THANK YOU - think they went well! I'm excited to catch up on fic updates and reply to stuff generally :)

good q on study methods - I've found a pattern that works for me over the years, and how I study/learn now is v different to how I studied for exams when I was a teenager/undergraduate.

thoughts on cramming can cramming work? yes and no. I crammed throughout my undergrad, all-nighters, covering a module's worth of lectures in 24 hours. did I do well? actually yes. I had decent short-term memory back in the day, so my method then was to take out my old notes/audio transcripts from my dictaphone (long before recorded lectures were A Thing), and write everything down verbatim. everything. in tiny, cramped handwriting. the success of cramming depends on the subject and what is expected of you. anything more engineering/maths-based is difficult. more essay/factual recall-based? I could absolutely get way with cramming HOWEVER cramming is simply awful for your physical and mental well-being. I swore to myself I would never live like that again lmao, off red bull and monster, terrible takeaway meals, two hours of sleep a night, high-level anxiety bowel movements (tmi). just. hell no. I was a wreck after my finals

being an Adult and work-life balance it turns out you DON'T have to live like the above. who knew??? I still have to do professional exams in my thirties, when I have so many other commitments than before. sometimes I wonder where I would be professionally if I hadn't pissed away my twenties ... anyway. I had fun. nowadays I think you're better off turning up to class and working through your problem sheets, practicing past papers, going through extra worksheets, teaching your friends. is that more effort? of course it is, and I obviously didn't do this when I was eighteen. I sort of have a list now of what's important to keep myself sane during mandatory exam prep:

nothing I learn during revision is new. it is revision. throughout the year/term/module, I keep up in class, ask questions throughout if I don't know, form study groups (with a highly selective group of friends, no deadweights), find and collate all the past paper questions, practice my examinations/clinical reasoning, and most importantly, spend the most time possible on the job with people I admire professionally.

batch cook. batch cook. batch cook. no takeaways, no shit meals. have a set time for food breaks in the day

eat healthily throughout. drink lots of herbal tea because I hate water. a big salad a day. lots of study snacks and treats to keep going

exercise!! don't neglect that. have socialisation with friends during a group sport activity. following that ...

don't neglect friendships; they just might have to change during a busy period. I won't drink but I'll go to the pub for a couple hours after studying. I won't miss a big birthday, I just may join for the dinner and not the party after. I will never miss a wedding

set goals and stick to them. I have so many tips and tricks now on how to keep myself motivated and have a high-output I may write down.

if you have a writing (rather than exam) deadline, don't be afraid of writing absolute garbage and then EDIT. don't be scared of the blank page. just shit it out

rely on your partner/friends/family. and do the same back for them when they are busy. get a hype man, be the hype man

and good luck with all your exams! I have faith in you anons. now eat your vegetables

[wellpresseddaisy]

Many Happy Returns

January 9, 1883

Severus stretched as a blast of humid air followed him out of the bath. His dressing gown hung open over a damp shift and his hair busily soaked through the dressing gown halfway down his back.

When had it grown so long? He didn't remember it being that long. But no, when he put a hand back to smooth the length of it, it was. Perhaps Lucius and Cissa were right. Perhaps he needed to get out more, get away from marking and students needing him and teaching and his own research.

Well, not his own research. He'd happily spend all day moving from library to lab and back. Lucius had offered him a place at Malfoy Manor - the old families used to support their scholars. They'd even had a sort of rudimentary interlibrary loan system.

All that, of course, had gone to rot after Grindelwald. The bastard. The old families began hoarding their books and knowledge instead of sharing as they had for so long. With no formal university system, sharing was vital to keeping high standards of scholarship.

No wonder so many students could barely brew a Boil Cure.

But he couldn't accept the position Lucius offered, though it was a wrench. Just what he wanted and just out of reach. Maybe...maybe after he could. If Lucius and Cissa would receive him ever again. They were so steady together. They made the world seem less terrifying and chaotic.

He finished sopping the worst of the wet out of his hair and went to his clothes press. The stone floors of his room, void of carpet, felt bracingly cold against his feet. He'd given in to Cissa's fretting and put down a very good rug next his bed, but he liked the cold stone. He had socks and slippers if he needed them.

He hesitated for only a moment before he made a decision. Sunday meant no need for his usual brewing clothing. At least not at breakfast.

He pulled his underthings off a shelf and shimmied into the garment. Wool and silk knit, long legged and long sleeved, it fit much better than the jaegers of his youth. Itched less, too. He'd have been one of the unfortunates trying to delicately scratch without being noticed if Cissa hadn't intervened all those years ago.

Wooly stockings followed. He pulled them up his legs and gartered them just below the knee. They'd stay up on their own, but he liked the jaunty green snakes that slithered over the silver ribbon. A woolen shift went overtop his underclothes. He hadn't known non-itchy wool existed until Cissa hauled him off to the Bulstrode's fabric...store didn't quite encompass the breadth of their offerings. Emporium? In any case, she and Madam Bulstrode spent a few hours teaching him about quality materials.

And then Cissa, the demon, hauled him off to a tailor. And a hairdresser (discreet and willing to sign a binding contract that there would be no chicanery with his discarded hair). And a healer.

He debated undergowns while trying to decide what to wear over top. He generally saved these things for visits to the Manor, but he wanted the comfort of enveloping fabric and sweeping skirt.

And in any case, staying warm at Hogwarts in winter required layers. Many, many layers. No matter how assiduously the elves tended the fires and how often he and the other House Heads renewed the runic heating sequences, drafts prevailed.

As he'd said over top of many complaints, they lived in a castle, which had not been built at a time when insulation was the norm. There would be exceedingly inconvenient drafts. And rising damp. And regular damp. And a pervading chill.

He loved Hogwarts, though. She remained a venerable bulwark against the world. And maybe, just maybe one day they would be able to expand. She had the space; why not start a visiting scholar program? Why not encourage students with an academic bent to remain and do their research within Hogwarts?

Why not try to create an academic community?

How many true scholars had been turned out to drudge through the Ministry grinding cogs?

How different would his life be now if he'd had such a refuge?

Severus sighed. Perhaps in a world without the threat of Voldemort returning hanging over their heads.

He jumped as a brightly wrapped package popped into existence on his bed. Who on earth…

He poked at it and a letter popped on top of it. The script...of course it would be Lucius. The man was as showy as his peacocks. He sighed and opened the letter.

Dear Severus,

We wish you a most joyous birthday. We hope you'll be free for dinner Saturday next at seven o'clock.

Warm regards and wishes for a happy birthday,

Lucius

PS Getting up there, now, aren't you? Twenty-three is quite the birthday. Should I expect to smell liniment?

Darling,

A most happy birthday to you. Be warm and well and as happy as you can be today. I do hope we'll see you next Saturday.

With love,

Cissa

A childish scribble ended the letter, with a note from Lucius that Draco sent his wishes for a most happy birthday (and also that Severus should ask for a pony because Papa and Mama were brilliant at presents and maybe they could ride together that Summer).

Chuckling, Severus opened the box and pulled away the tissue. Deep green wool, so deeply green it almost looked black, greeted him. He picked up the card that lay atop it.

Wear this in good health, knowing that your friends wish you warmth and comfort.

He lifted the garment out with careful hands. It revealed itself as a full-cut houpeland, lined with a dull, icy silver silk. A length of silver and green caught his eye...the belt, one side deep green silk and the other matching the lining. How would they know?

The way they always knew exactly what would be needed and wanted.

Smiling, he went back to his clothes press and took out a silvery grey woolen undergown. The long, tight sleeves should show well against the houpeland. He slipped it over his head and pulled it right, letting the sweeping skirt settle. Cissa hated skimpy undergowns. He buttoned the sleeves from elbow to wrist, appreciating once again the delicately embroidered potions ingredients on each - the flora on this undergown. He had another in black with the fauna embroidered on the buttons.

Cissa liked a theme.

He shook out the houpeland, letting the small packing creases release, before he squirmed into it. It fit perfectly across his shoulders and he was immediately enveloped in the most wonderful warmth. He leaned down and flipped up the hem. Cissa's flowing runic embroidery greeted him. He ran his finger over the sequence - warming when worn - and smiled softly.

She thought of everything. Always did.

He noticed a few bobbly stitches above the sequence and bit his lip - Draco loved to be involved in anything his mama and papa did.

Well, past time to get to the Hall for breakfast. He fastened the belt, green side out, and arranged the heavy folds of skirt. The wide sleeves folded back to show the silk lining. It matched the undergown perfectly. He stepped into a pair of soft shoes and stopped at the mirror only long enough to pull his hair back into a neat tail at the nape of his neck. It sat heavily between his shoulder blades.

He really did need a haircut.

He stopped before the door and took his teaching robes from the rack. He settled his them over his shoulders, immediately shifting the fabric in the exact way it needed to hang properly. Ingenious things, really. He could wear anything underneath, provided it had appropriate sleeves. Usually, he wore the type of brewing clothes he'd worn as an apprentice. Today, the teaching robes flowed gracefully over the fabric below. He didn't, technically, need them but he wanted the reminder for students.

Thus girded for the day, he took a deep breath and left his rooms. The Great Hall awaited.

---------

Severus leaned back against his door and sighed before putting his teaching robes back on the rack.

He'd made it through breakfast by bringing a journal to read. He couldn't stand all the other professors trying to be chummy, not after he'd stood before each of them looking for help, only to be turned away. Sprout had done her best. He rather liked her. And Flitwick didn't seem to know what to do with bullies. He could, in time, forgive ignorance. Possibly.

Burbage remained the one bright spot. He'd promised to help her practice her appeal to the Board for modernizing the Muggle Studies curriculum. They both knew it might...probably would...fail, but neither wanted to give up the fight. Students deserved an up-to-date education.

She promised to help him appeal for an updated Potions curriculum later that term. Another likely losing battle, but they tried. He groaned, thinking of the pile of marking still waiting on his desk and dragged toward the study. The need for updating Potions was never more apparent than in student essays.

They wouldn't let him get too far into theory until NEWTs, for pity's sake. The underpinning of all they did in class and he couldn't discuss it until half of them dropped off. He ought to be covering things like wand type/match and potion making in their first year. Students with difficult or handed down wands needed to know how that might make Potions a more difficult subject. Handedness, too, needed to be covered. Left-handed students needed to know how to stir properly.

And he really needed to do a crossover symposium with Sprout on how ingredient growing conditions could affect the end product. So many of them would go on to have personal Potions gardens without knowing the most effective ways to go about it.

Distracted by his own thoughts, he wandered vaguely into his study and palmed the light panel by the door. Ingenious things, lightstones. All the ambiance of an oil lamp with none of the fuss or fire danger.

He blinked at his desk. He knew he'd left three piles of marking that morning, one each for his first, second, and third years. But the parchments had disappeared and brightly wrapped presents sat in their place.

He hadn't expected...any of this. He swallowed hard and consciously stopped his hand from gripping the doorframe.

They wouldn't bite. Most likely. He'd learned that lesson third year when Potter and Black got into things. They'd never done it again, not after Cissa hauled them off, one ear in each hand. Still, one couldn't be too careful. His wand slipped into his palm at the twitch of his wrist and he went over things, thoroughly.

Nothing. All safe. Just nauseatingly cheerful wrapping. One had little slices of birthday cake dancing across it. Soppy nonsense.

But it wouldn't hurt to open them. Would it?

On the whole, probably not. He moved out of the doorway and to his desk. As he sat, a small cake popped onto it.

Many happy returns from the Hogwarts Elves scrolled across the top in perfect icing script.

Oh.

Well, it was nice to know the elves liked him, at least. He'd send a thank you note to the kitchen. They seemed to like the one from Christmas.

He stared down at his desk, still reeling a little from the surprise. A bright green scroll of parchment caught his eye and he picked it up, slipping the silver ribbon off it.

Dear Professor Snape,

We clubbed together to think of a present for you, and we thought you'd like this best:

For the next week not one of us will antagonize the Gryffindors with whom we share classes. Nor will we antagonize them in the halls, the Great Hall, or anywhere else we may encounter them.

Happy Birthday, sir.

Every first, second, and third year Slytherin had signed it.

And he had a similar one from the fourth, fifth, and seventh years.

Truly a birthday miracle.

The next package seemed to be from Flitwick (the handwriting) and Sprout (the slightly earthy smudges around the tape). He opened the card first.

Dear Severus,

You're one of us now and it's time to take care of you as a fellow professor and House Head. Filius and I distributed the marking on your desk to your 7th year class. They'll do the first pass for you. You deserve a free day.

The package is something you'll find comes in handy when you have more essays to mark than flat surfaces. Just be sure the connected ink bottle is full and you'll never run out.

Many happy returns,

Pomona and Filius

He opened the package to reveal a handsome pen case. The case opened smoothly, showing a truly beautiful fountain pen fashioned of a dark, jade-colored material. Stone, perhaps? He lifted the card out of the case.

Harrison's Ever-Full Fountain Pens

Keep the connected bottles of ink full and you'll never run out in the middle of a sentence. These handsome, quality fountain pens reduce fatigue while writing and produce a line exactly like a quill. Nib catalog available on request.

Can be connected to up to four bottles of ink. Switch by saying the color. Not recommended for Howler Ink.

His lips twitched. Howler Ink gave even the most robust quill problems.

The next package (the one with the dancing cake slices) proved to be from his sixth years. What had they concocted? Only one way to find out. He opened the card.

Happy Birthday, Professor!

We got together to bring you some birthday joy. For one, you needn't spend the evening in the Common Room. We'll keep a lid on things (although if you could turn up about tea time I think some would like to wish you a happy birthday in person). To keep everyone occupied, we consulted your book of parlor games. It should be a gala evening for us, too.

It turns out that we all have at least one recipe kicking about the family for candy. Please enjoy a little taste of our homes.

And yes, we compounded the candy in the kitchen, under supervision of the House Elves. No one was burned with boiling sugar to make your present.

The chocolate caramels are particularly good. And there's drinking chocolate.

We wish you a wonderful day, full of quiet.

All of them signed it. He took the kid from the box and reached inside. Little packages met his fingers. He pulled one out and looked at the label...peppermint fancies, plain and with chocolate. Chocolate caramels, regular caramels, butter crunch, and toffee followed. And there were more packages in the box.

He would have to ration it. The best gift, of course, was that group working together. They'd change the world one of these days, even if only by their example. He would ask the elves to send down a gala evening tea. Playing some of those games worked up an appetite.

The last package bore familiar handwriting. How had Da gotten a gift to him?

Dear Russ,

I wasn't sure what to get you, what you might need, so I wrote to that bookstore you were on about and asked what you might like. I hope you enjoy it.

Your Nan sends her love and a gift included in the box. She thought of asking the bookstore how to get it to you. And then she just walked bold as brass into one of your post offices and told them she needed to owl her grandson.

We both hope you have a happy birthday.

Love,

Da

And your Nan

Severus folded his lips together. How many years it had taken to get here. That Da had thought to...and Nan. That was like her. There wasn't any place on this earth she wouldn't walk into like she belonged. He'd learned so much from her that helped when...better not to think of that, not today.

The package contained a new biography of Merlin, the scholarly one he'd had his eye on, a tin of Man's flapjack, and three records. He pulled the note out of the sleeve of the top one

My darling boy,

I've been busy this year. The old pipes aren't quite what they were, but I can still carry a tune. I wanted you to have a way to hear me sing you happy birthday, even when I've gone on. The others are ones I think you'll like. I went for certain themes this year. See if you can figure them out.

All my love,

Nan

He spread the records on his desk - Songs That Got Us Through, Madge Sings Cole Porter, and Songs for My Grandson - and drifted his fingers over the colorful covers.

He had an unexpectedly free day. He picked up Songs for My Grandson and his new book and went back to his sitting room. As soon as he set the book on the table next his favorite chair (previously his grandfather's), the cake appeared there too, with a gently steaming tea service popping into existence on the sideboard.

He cranked up the gramophone and put his record on before settling into his chair. A cup of tea, cake, a book, the gently crackling fire in the grate...a very happy birthday indeed.

He opened his book to Nan singing Friday, I'm in Love and took a sip of his favorite tea.

[theunusualcaseofv]

I’ve always had a problem with the way JK Rowling has treated Draco Malfoy over the years. Her whole rhetoric is based on disliking Draco because he was a snobby bully. However, she is very insistent on making us forgive James Potter, Sirius Black and Severus Snape for essentially the same transgressions. Snape worst of all considering he spends years bullying children as a grown ass man.

But the one that really grinds my gears is Dumbledore. Please don’t get me wrong, I have an immense amount of admiration for the man, but he is by no means a saint. The more we learn about him, the more we know that he is hardly flawless. Dumbledore made a lot of bad decisions, specifically regarding Grindelwald, and his treatment of Harry over the years. Allow me to remind you that Dumbledore knew that Harry was being abused at home and allowed it to continue instead of intervening. Even the Weasley’s, an overpopulated family of extremely limited resources took Harry in, on more than one occasion, to help him get away from the Dursleys. Dumbledore put Harry’s life in danger more than any other character in the book, and used him as a means to an end. And it wasn’t just Harry. He used Newt Scamander just the same, risking him ending up in Azkaban, just so he could go fight Grindelwald on his behalf.

If we can forgive all of these flawed adults, why can’t we forgive and redeem a child who made poor decisions based on his upbringing?

Draco Malfoy grew up surrounded by bigotry and pure-blood supremacy, yet acted hesitantly when involved in the Death Eater business. A truly ruthless and evil person would have killed just to have the chance that Draco had to prove himself to the Dark Lord, and would’ve enjoyed every second of it. Not Draco though. He cried over this horrible task he was given. Draco was a afraid, for himself and his family. Draco could’ve identified Harry, but didn’t. He was just a child who acted out of fear.

Why is it such a sin to want him redeemed?

Anyhow, what do you guys think? And pardon my rant lol.

V.

[long-cosmos-overhead]

Prompt: And since I saw you write for Barty Crouch Jr too (and I have a soft spot for him because.. David Tennant) could you write something with him in which he falls for Reader whos kind, gentle and affectionate towards him even though they barely know each other bcs shes part of a death eater family and he tries to protect her? And I would be eternally grateful for a kissing scene :3

Ugh David Tennant I love that man 👌

(I do not own Harry Potter or its characters/ gif not mine)

Sorry for the time this took

I promise those who have requested I haven’t forgotten about you I’m on it xx

Y/n. Such a simple thing was a name yet it made his stomach turn and his heart quench in desire. Barty had undoubtedly fallen for you he didn’t know when or even how all his life he never cared much for anyone yet here he was pawning after you. Each day he would become more and more consumed in his desire his mind always racing full of scenarios about you, having you, holding you, sometimes even simple things like talking to you. He wondered how your hand would feel in his, how your lips would feel upon his he was mad for you.

In truth he barely knew you but you were different anyone could see that. Unlike the savage Greyback, the twisted Bellatrix, the narcissistic Lucius you were kind and gentle you knew of the horrible things people had done yet you treated them as if they were normal. In fact Barty had never seen you treat anyone wrong. It was also well known that everyone liked you they trusted you even seeking comfort in you and you never faltered in your ways.

However what made Barty grind his teeth and growl in frustration was how you treated everyone equally. He was madly in love with you so much that he was loosing his mind. He did everything he could to go out of his way to be kind scrambling for your favouritism yet you flashed him a charming genuine smile that made his knees weak and thanked him sincerely. He loved it so much that he even put you in a position where he could assist you just to see you smile at him and him alone but he wanted more. Barty craved for you to see him as more than just a death eater.

You were scared to the point of salty tears sliding down your face and dripping off your chin. You barely made a sound aside from a few stray sobs, staring from your position on the bed at the shelf in front of you. The cracked spines of the books that lay heavy on the shelf stared back at your shaking body. Most had gone unread for years some even pushing far past decades. They weren’t anything special, an assortment of greys and browns. Once they had been someone’s treasure their pages turned eagerly, their spines cracked with use until they had nothing left to give. Stored away never looked at the same again just gathering dust and withering in age.

You glanced away squeezing your eyes shut feeling the moisture welling up in your eyes run down your cheeks. You felt completely helpless waves carrying huge quantities of insecurities crashed into your body seeping into any corner it could probe into. You were scared not of any monster but the world. It seemed so surprising, you served directly under the most feared wizard since Grindelwald and with that came dangerous people but God forbid anyone know you’d be mocked, ridiculed, humiliated and dropped from your services.

That’s when you thought of him. The man that captivated you trapping you in a steel grip that you yourself held but by god he was perfect. His brown eyes practically tormenting you. They held such unfathomable depth seeping with underlying torment and wrath yet they were the most perfect thing you’d ever seen. They drew you in like a drug making your heart flutter wildly at the simplest glance and your mind stray ever so far from reality. It may be covered up under layers upon layers but he had a heart.

Barty wanted love, he wanted praise, he wanted someone to love him to feel the world stop and melt away, stripped of sin. For breathless moments of otherworldly affections, to feel continents collide within the very essence of life, to watch the colours explode yet it all happen within one human body at the very look of another. He wanted you.

You needed his comfort so desperately. You only knew him a little, before your heart fell for another you’d have thought it an impossibility to desire someone you knew little about so much but here you were running through the empty halls towards that very man. You noticed almost nothing. Not the clothes creasing and moulding around your skin at every step you took, not the stray portion of the hallway that illuminated like stardust under the moonlight split by the window, you barely noticed you were running at all. Your heart carrying your body blinded by love.

Silver tear tracks were still evident on your cheeks as you came to a halt at his door. Your breath slightly quickened from running and your chest visibly rising and falling. Your mind barely processed knocking on the wooden door that stood a few inches from your face. For a short amount of time you understood none of your actions - some state of ignorant bliss heightened on the thought of love but that high had since dimmed and you were suddenly aware. All too aware. You noticed that what you could not moments previous. Everything.

You saw the dents and scratches that forever marred the door, the long looming corridor that seemed a lot more imposing than when you had been gliding though it freely. A heavy weight lay upon your shoulders, an overwhelming sense of dread and helplessness. What had you done? You were too scared to think of any outcome your head dipping to stare at your feet as you were seemingly paralysed, even your clothes felt heavy.

You flinched as you heard the the latch click. The door swung open yet you could not find the power in any quantity to face the man that made your heart flutter. The silence that followed was filled with anxiety and dread. A deafening abstract concept.

“Y/n?” To any other his voice would inflict terror or authority but standing in front of him at night in baggy clothes cheeks covered by tear tracks he was gentle, soothing almost. Still you couldn’t face him.

“Barty I-,”

The words you tried to speak held less confidence than you quickly disappearing as though they wanted no part in your humiliation.

Two fingers slipped beneath your chin gently pressing your head up allowing your eyes to meet with his. Gentleness did not come easy to Barty but he’d rather cut off his hand before hurting you in any way. His eyes shifted from confusion to shock almost sympathy when he saw the silver lines down your cheeks.

“You’re upset.”

He said it as more of a statement than a question. Truely Barty had never seen you upset. The words he said were useless you and him both knew you were upset and his mind skipped to an answer as to why he stated such an obvious deduction perhaps to solidify the fact that you weren’t bulletproof. To realise you broke and needed fixing.

The words were so simple, so hideously obvious yet they reduced you to tears in front of him. You were expecting Barty to discard you, send you away after all what deatheater cried at two simple words yet you were quickly wrapped into his arms and pulled into his room. His hold was exhilarating your heart pounded inside your chest. He was clearly foreign to affection yet he was trying for you. He didn’t know what came over him when he held you in his arms but it felt right.

The fact you were sobbing into his chest shifted his mood considerably yet being able to finally hold you in his arms was the most complex feeling he’d ever been riddled with. It was a prefect feeling having your body pressed tightly up to his, you fit like two pieces of a puzzle. Your height made it so you were slotted up to him just tall enough for his chin to rest against your head and for his hands to weave through your hair. You allowed naturally for your body to be encased in his easily allowing him to curl around you and protect you from the world. A feeling he’d lusted and longed for for the moment he laid eyes on you.

You began to shift slowly removing yourself from his embrace. You didn’t want to by any means but you felt as if you’d overstayed your welcome the moment he opened the door. Barty had finally had you in his arms right where he wanted you he wasn’t willing to let you go anytime soon. He almost feared the loss of contact would destroy his very being. His hands tightened round your waist forbidding you leave his embrace.

“No, let me hold you.”

Your heart flipped quenching with love. Your body tingled in euphoria and you obeyed sinking into his chest once more. A few minutes passed yet they felt like a blissful eternity. You were still partially in shock that he even let you in and he was drunk on happiness of having finally got you.

He couldn’t hold back he wanted, needed you to be his. He didn’t know much of love but nothing in his life had felt more right. He twisted his neck a few inches to the side and pressed his lips to yours. It was exactly how he thought it would be and more. Like all the worlds colliding and time stopping a breathless exchange of pure love, no feeling in the world brought him closer to immortality than this. He was needy and rough expressing each desire within an exchange he hoped he’d have far many more times.

“I’ll protect you.”

@softheartedsnake

[arrow-guy]

Author and Auror (7/??)

Synopsis: Eleanore Vaughan has never been one for the spotlight. Her cousin, Rosaline, is the one best suited to the limelight, and is happier for the attention. Though Nora is most comfortable tucked away in her book shop, what happens when Grindelwald’s sudden takeover flips her world upside-down and thrusts her into the inner circle?

A/N: Okay, this chapter is particularly Dramatic and we’ll learn a little more about Nora than we have in other chapters. She’s a little more assertive than she’s been in previous chapters, which was kind of fun to play around with. Again, I am quite a bit behind where @thorne93​ is in our collaboration, but I’ll catch up eventually. Until then, please enjoy lmao

Previously, with Rosaline....

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong​

Pairing: Theseus ScamanderxOFC

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Canon typical violence, dueling, minor injury

part 6

Twelve aurors sit around the table with Theseus at the head. Tina sits to his right with me on his left and Newt next to me. The aurors grow restless after fifteen minutes of silence and Theseus finally decides to start the meeting.

“As you all very well know, we’ve had a break in the Rosaline Vaughan case,” he says. “Seeing as she’s paired with one of the most feared wizards in the world, we should be wary of what this could mean for the wizarding leadership in England.”

“And just what does that mean?” a blond auror asks.

“I’m sure you all remember Ms. Vaughan’s campaign for minister several years back, Dawes. While I myself have not been fully privy to her dealings between then and now, I’m certain that her cousin is more than capable of explaining.” He gestures for me to speak.

“Rosaline was at the top of her class at Hogwarts. She worked her way through the ministry ranks in a few short years and began campaigning for Minister. She’s powerful and wicked smart. Grindelwald, as you very well know, is also powerful, and extremely dangerous. Now he’s coupled himself with Rosaline. I don’t know what he’s planning to do with her, but she’s still very influential in many ministry circles and has maintained just about every contact from when she was running for minister. If he can use that to his advantage, all hope for us could be lost.”

“And what makes you think she’d do any of that?”

I snort. “Who in their right mind would get engaged to Grindelwald? She’s probably bewitched, or something.”

“You’ve got no way to prove that. What if she just wanted more power for herself?” Dawes asks, looking much too smug for my liking.

“Are you mad?!” I hiss, my anger getting the better of me.

“Rosaline wasn’t power hungry,” Newt interjects. “She stepped away from her campaign, didn’t she? She was a hair's breadth away from being one of the most powerful people in wizarding London, and she walked away. Why would anyone looking for power take a job as an assistant to a magizoologist? The closest they’d ever get to power is a dragon, and they’re not exactly the type to help anyone with anything.”

Dawes goes silent, scowling at both Newt and I.

“What’s wrong, Dawes?” I ask. “ You look as if someone stuffed a wedge of lemon in your mouth.”

He snorts. “It’s just that I’ve got to wonder exactly why a shop attendant and a zookeeper are being brought onto a case as important as this.”

I shove my chair back from the table, wand already in hand. Theseus places a hand on my shoulder, silently telling me to stand down.

“Are you questioning my judgement?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

“No, sir, I just-”

“You don’t seem to understand these two as well as I do,” Theseus says. “Eleanore Vaughan was the best dueler in her graduating year. Newton Scamander, my brother, has more experience tracking and detaining living beings than anyone in this room.” Dawes says nothing. “Do you need a demonstration?”

I watch as he tries to sink down into his chair.

“I’d pay to see that,” the witch sitting next to Tina says.

Murmurs of agreement ripple through the Aurors in the room and I look to Theseus with satisfaction. Newt has one hand covering his mouth to hide his smile and I see Tina choke back a laugh.

“Do you think you’re up for a duel, Dawes?” I ask. “It’s been nearly fifteen years since I was in school. A lot can change.” Theseus snorts and I smack his arm.

I can see Dawes eye twitch. “Only if you want to,” he says indignantly.

“Then it’s settled!” I push myself up from my chair and gesture to the doorway. “Shall we take this outside?”

“Fine,” he grumbles.

It’s a quick walk down to the training rooms. There are still groups of young aurors working out and duelling one another when we walk in. All activity ceases as soon as Theseus walks through the doors. Every single trainee stands at attention until Theseus says otherwise. He tells them to line up against the walls and put up shield charms to protect them from any stray spells, jinxes, or hexes.

“Sorry, sir, but who exactly’s gonna be duelin’?” one trainee asks.

“Auror Dawes has so kindly volunteered himself to duel Ms. Vaughan today,” Theseus explains. “I expect you’ll understand what you’re meant to learn once the duel is over.”

Murmurs ripple through the congregated aurors and trainees. I block them out as I get into position at one end of the gym. Dawes takes his time getting into position, stripping his jacket and shirt off as he goes, leaving him in a white singlet and his slacks. I raise my eyebrows and look to Theseus who just shrugs and walks over.

“He’s trying to intimidate you, I think,” he says.

“Hm,” I hum and tuck my wand back into my pocket and work open the top button of my blouse. “Suppose I’ll have to do the same, yeah?”

Theseus blushes but laughs all the same when I’m down to my crimson silk camisole. He takes my vest and top from me and backs off to the sidelines to referee. There are several whistles from the trainees as I pull my hair back into a loose bun and ready my wand.

“Come on, Dawes. You may be under the employ of the Ministry, but I haven't the time to stand around all day and wait for you to finish with your little stretches.”

Dawes looks up and his face goes beet red when he takes in my appearance. “Aren’t you a little indecent?”

“Same could be said of you with that gut you’re working on there. I should expect an experienced dueler to appreciate a full range of motion. Now,” I lift my wand. “Shall we blither on like idiots, or duel?”

I can practically hear him grind his teeth from where I stand and I have to forcibly keep a smirk from my face. We bow to one another and ready our wands. Dawes is the first to act, throwing a loud and aggressive incarcerous at me with little thought. I cast a quick protego and the spell fizzles out before it even reaches me. In retaliation, I cast a stinging jinx and a full body bind one after the other. Dawes is only able to protect against the first jinx and his hit with the body bind immediately after. He struggles against the spell and growls angrily. I tilt my head to the side and wait for him to break free of the spell.

“Nora…” Theseus warns.

I wave him off and turn back just in time to see Dawes free himself and advance on me, sending a cutting curse my way. I dodge it and glare at him.

“You tried to cut me?!” I hiss.

“We never set rules, remember?” He seems much too pleased with himself

“Diffindo,” I hiss. I flick my wand at him and a small cut slices vertically up his bicep.

He cries out and grabs at his injured arm. He tries to fire off another spell but I shield myself from it before casting silencio coupled with a flipendo. He manages to right himself and stumbles to his feet, hands immediately flying to his mouth. He tries to say something and nothing comes out. I cast locomotor mortis and his legs snap together. Next comes a full body bind, and a quick depulso sends him flying across the room. He slides to a stop against the wall. I crouch down beside him and tilt his chin up with the tip of my wand.

“Don’t ever fucking question me again. Do you understand me?” He nods frantically and I point my wand at his mouth. “Finite incantatem.”

I walk away from him and he calls after me.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I shake my head. “No you’re not.”

Theseus snorts and hands my blouse back. I spell the wrinkles from it and shrug into it, swiftly doing up the buttons and tucking it into my slacks. I leave my vest unbuttoned and turn to address the onlookers.

“So. What have we learned today?” I ask.

“That you should be a fucking auror, that’s what,” one young man says. The room erupts into laughter.

“Aside from that,” Theseus says.

“Overconfidence is useless,” a mousy girl says. “And underestimating our opponents can be deadly, if not, in the very least, bad for our health.”

“Exactly. Now, as you were.” Theseus pulls one of his aurors to the side as we’re headed for the door. “Get him to a healer. If they ask what happened, just tell them he was a prick and got what was coming to him.”

They nod and hurry over to help Dawes to his feet and usher him out the door as soon as he’s steady enough.

“I genuinely didn’t mean to cut him that deep,” I mutter as they stumble past. “Think I may have gone a little overboard there at the end.”

Theseus shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I meant what I said. He got what was coming to him. After all this time out of school, you’re still a brilliant dueler.”

“Aw, you’re just saying that.”

He shakes his head and slings one arm over my shoulders, pulling me into his side. “I would never, and will never say anything to you that I don’t mean.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I need to ask you something.”

“Of course, what is it?”

“Newt has been avoiding Tina, hasn't he? And whenever Rosaline is mentioned he goes quiet,” I lift my eyebrows and he presses his lips together. “Quieter than usual, anyways. I was told he wouldn't stop talking about Tina after he came back from the state's, but something has changed since Paris.”

“I can't answer a question you haven't asked, Theseus.”

“Has he got feelings for Rosaline?”

I nod slowly. Theseus sighs. “I haven't known very long. He told me when we were in Norway.”

“Why didn't he say anything sooner?”

I glance around and pull him into his office when I'm sure the coast is clear. “You know how your brother is. He's not exactly the most socially adept, he'll admit that freely enough, and when Rosaline started working with him she'd said something about not wanting anyone to break her heart.”

He scowls. “Surely that couldn't have been true after all these years.”

“Perhaps, but he took it to heart and did his best to move on. But Rosaline confessed that she loved him in Paris and then, well… everything went pear shaped. Newt is still processing things, and certain things have been pushed aside while he does that.”

“His relationship with Tina.” I nod and he scrubs a hand over his face. “Alright then… do you think it's wise to have her on this case given the circumstances?”

“She's a damn good auror. It'd be a shame to waste her skills, especially given the fact that her sister joined Grindelwald.”

“Of course. Then we've got our team then, don't we?”

-------------

Part 8

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please reblog, comment, and/or shoot me ask! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

[musingsoflulu]

eiger ultra race 101k recap i’ve spent the past few days trying to process my day in the mountains. it was something so special, i’m not even sure i can properly describe it or put it into words. the whole experience was nothing short of extraordinary. 23 precious hours i’ll cherish always; a day i will describe fondly to my kids and my grandkids when i’m older and not able to climb mountains anymore. when i signed up for this race, i knew it would be tough. but i couldn’t have ever fully comprehended how tough it would be. it took me 22 hours, 48 minutes, and 38 seconds to conquer 63 miles in the swiss alps. ann trason described running 100 miles as “life in a day.” i didn’t run 100 miles, but i did push my body to do hard things for a full day and i can say that she was right. i experienced moments of heartbreaking despair, like when i realized i was only halfway through at mile 30 and could not imagine grinding out 30 more miles up and down 4 more mountains. or when i stumbled and sat on someone’s front porch at midnight because i couldn’t imagine doing another climb. or when i broke down crying at 2 AM near the top of pfingstegg with 7 km more to go, emotionally and physically exhausted and not knowing how i could will myself to keep going. i saw moments of unconditional human kindness. like when a fellow runner gave me his hand to hold when my ankle buckled after climbing the faulhorn. or when an aid station volunteer came back with 5 pieces of watermelon when I just asked for 3 pieces. or the man who grabbed my phone after he saw i left it when i rested going up the faulhorn and carried it with him until he saw me again. or when my sister changed my dirty socks for me at the aid station in kleine scheidegg. or when she brushed my hair at 4 AM because my arms were too tired. i experienced many moments of joy so big i felt my heart might burst, like when the moon shone big and bright over the watterhorn and i could look down on hundreds of headlamps moving up the mountain behind me. or when i felt the sun warming my shoulders and the breeze on my face and admired the wildflowers blowing in the wind on a meadow near schnigye platte. or when my sister surprised me in the streets of wengen with a can of vanilla coke after 35 miles of relentless climbing and descending. or when i ran along the face of the eiger at midnight, with a calm and chilling breeze blowing over us and the lights of grindelwald sparkling below. or finally, when i made the final ascent into grindelwald and saw my sister at the top of the hill, when she ran with me the final 100 feet until i reached the finish line chute, when i turned the corner and ran down the ramp, when i crossed the finish line and broke down into tears in my husband’s arms.

[theivorybilledwoodpecker]

Not For Sale

Note: I'm not the owner of Fantastic Beasts, nor am I writing this for profit.

Graves scanned the crowd despondently. The first few times that Grindelwald had taken him out, Percival had hoped for a chance at rescue. But even if anyone here wanted to help Graves, no one dared defy Gellert Grindelwald.

He didn't know why Grindelwald insisted on bringing him places. Sometimes Graves thought it was to show him off. His pet auror. Other times Graves thought it was to taunt him. To show Graves that even in public there was no escape. Sometimes Graves thought Grindelwald just enjoyed his company. But whatever the reason, it always meant the same thing. Being perched by Grindelwald's side, glared at and oggled by everyone they met while Grindelwald discussed business with his associates.

Currently Grindelwald was chatting with the owner of the bar they were in, a rather ordinary-looking man in his late thirties. Graves was only half listening to their conversation. In the early stages of his captivity, he'd made note of every detail, hoping that it might help him escape or at least be useful in court later on. But this was 6 months later. If M.A.C.U.S.A wanted to rescue him, they could take what information Graves could give them and find the rest out themselves. This specific conversation was about some illegal potion ingredients, and Graves wasn't particularly interested in it. His attention was turned back to the conversation, though, when he had the uncomfortable feeling of eyes on him.

Graves turned back to see Grindelwald's companion leering at him. Percival glared back defiantly.

"Yes," Grindelwald was saying, "I'm quite fond of him."

"How much do you want for him?"

Graves's heart jumped, and a cold, jittery sensation swept over him. He looked to Grindelwald. It wasn't as though Percival trusted the man, but this...

Grindelwald's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm sorry?"

"A lot of patrons would spend good money for even an hour with him." The man explained.

"I'd tear their throats out." Graves snarled. "Give me to them and I'll make sure you have no patrons left." It was bullshit of course. All it would take would be some enchantment and Graves wouldn't have a choice, but damned if he was going to submit to this humiliation without a fight.

Grindelwald had the nerve to give a chuckle, looking at Graves with indulgent amusement. "Well, I guess that's your answer then."

"His compliance wouldn't be required. Some might even prefer it if he weren't quite enjoying himself." The other man turned back to Grindelwald, clearly regarding Graves's protest as inconsequential. "We could work out a deal. A certain percentage of the earnings-"

Graves started to rise. "I'm not-"

But Grindelwald put a restraining hand on his shoulder, pressing Percival down into his seat. The humor was gone from his eyes now. "I'm afraid Director Graves isn't for sale. Now, about the-"

"It's the fact that he's the Director of Magical Law Enforcement that makes him so valuable." The man continued earnestly. "No one here-"

"I don't share my toys." Grindelwald cut him off abruptly.

Percival bristled at this but remained silent. Better to pick his battles.

"But when you get bored with-"

There was a screeching sound as Grindelwald lunged forward, knocking into the table and grabbing the bar owner's hair. The man was yanked out of his seat, head slammed against the table. Some of the plates crashed to the floor, and a glass shattered, spraying gin on Percival's face.

"What the-"

"Percival Graves belongs to me!" Grindelwald hissed. "Do you understand? He is mine! No matter what happens, whether he's with me or I decide to let him leave, he will always be mine, and I do not like when people touch my things. Do you understand?"

The owner nodded frantically, cheek grinding against bits of broken glass.

"Good. I trust you'll spread the word." Grindelwald let the man go and turned his attention on Graves.

Percival pressed himself back into his chair, not sure what to expect from his captor. Grindelwald reached forward and grabbed Graves's arm. Percival struggled, but Grindelwald pulled him into an embrace.

"Let's go, pet. I think we've outstayed our welcome."

[funkzpiel]

Muggle!Cop AU | Pt 4

Trigger Warning(s): Non-Con/Rape, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Shrinking Cock/Balls, Size Theft

[ Read it on AO3 ]

After his public claiming, much of the night was a blur that Graves was ashamed to admit he didn’t quite recall. He only had bits and fragments of it to reflect on; feelings rather than concrete moments. He could remember being boneless in Grindelwald’s lap long after the fucking had stopped, the man’s dick still buried in his slack hole with no intention of leaving it would seem. He remembered compliments that made him blush, but not why. He remembered fingers idly toying with him, his dick gone soft from the fucking and unable to rise again despite the gentle teasing or how pleasant it felt. He remembered floating, and only that it felt nice not to feel at all, for once.

He didn’t remember much about coming home or what happened there after. All he knew was that when he woke, it was to the feeling of his body being jerked in tough little pulls, something winding around his naked flesh, burying him in an intricate web of red.

“I have to go to work, pet,” the words greeted him, but it took a moment for their meaning to sink in. He moaned and lulled until he caught sight of deft fingers coaxing red rope around his limbs, guiding him into place.

“Nnn—”

“Ssh, you were being so good,” Grindelwald said, stopping his tying to pet Graves’ swollen bottom lip, teasing at his teeth. “I almost considered not punishing you for your little stunt on our outing.”

His brows furrowed. But you did punish me…

The thought must have slipped from his lips in a slur, because Grindelwald chuckled, voice smooth with amusement, and said, “Oh darling, that was hardly a fitting punishment. I’ll need some time to think of what will truly nip your disobedient streak in the bud. Until then, I expect you to be a good boy and wait patiently for your punishment. Understood?”

Something thick was shoved into his ass before he could so much as utter a word yes or no, filling him so fully that his mouth spilled open on a surprised little breath, trying to survive the sparks of sensation as it just brushed his prostate.

The width of it caught on his rim and he growled brokenly, “It won’t fit,” but then it did, the widest bit of it popping in like it belonged there, sucked in all at once down to the little neck that curled back out to a cute blossoming gem nestled right against his anus. His heart fluttered. His brain struggled to react, nerves crossed on get it out and can I grind on it. Grindelwald stroked his rim and praised him as he tied the final rope, dividing his cheeks and keeping the plug firmly in place – as if it were going anywhere without a hand to drag it forcefully from his greedy insides.

With a snap of his fingers, Grindelwald left him and in response the plug in his ass began to vibrate, loosening him slowly.

“Nnn, nn, no! Wait!”

Only the silence answered. The plug buzzed and as he struggled against the ropes it shifted until finally it sat heavily upon his prostate, buzzing and buzzing and buzzing in little constant pulses. Graves hung his head and whined, his flanks and shoulders quivering as between his legs his cock attempted to grow only – it didn’t. He couldn’t get a good look to tell if it had been tied up in rope or bound down or what, but no matter how the plug pressed, he couldn’t get hard. It was mercy and a curse. His hips bucked sometimes, wriggling within the ropes, and it chafed; but even so, his cock stayed soft beneath all those lines of red. Limp and weeping, each buzz oozing another little plume of – God help him – cum from his soft dick. And it seemed to have no intention of stopping.

“Fuck!” He snarled when the thin strand of his sanity began to fray. On the bed he jerked and tugged and writhed angrily against the ropes until they left angry bruises on his skin and left him numb in strange places. He fought until the sheets were tossed all around him and his chest was heaving, having fallen onto his side. Then he finally grew slack, mouth open against the sheets as he panted, and simply melted into the bed.

On and on, the plug buzzed, coaxing another slow little spurt of sperm from him. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to calm down and think. As he did, feeling began to return to his limbs and fingers and toes.

And perhaps that was the worst cruelty of all: Grindelwald had taken a startling amount of care to tie him up just so. Graves found as the hours passed that if he struggled against the red lines that divided him like a map – tying his thighs to his calves, splitting his lap lewdly, keeping his wrists pinned behind him and his arms a straight line that framed his spine – that he’d quickly go numb. Struggling brought blood loss and pins and needles far too quickly. It wasn’t until he had exhausted himself in utter frustration – pecs cut out in a lewd exaggeration from his flesh and ribs heaving, framed in taut rope – that he found the true genius to this particular punishment.

If he was good and slack and obedient, it didn’t hurt. Grindelwald had tied each and every knot and placed every rope and line so delicately that, if left exactly as it had been tied, it did not pinch Graves’ blood flow or nerves. He found he could sit there for hours easily, if only he were good.

But of course, that would mean giving in, so he was anything but good; even if it hurt no one but himself. As soon as he caught his breath and could feel all his limbs, his struggles began anew. He spent most of his time alone like that, wearing himself out in bursts that grew shorter and shorter – the ropes constant and unforgiving.

Grindelwald returned hours later and found his little cop in a puddle of his own cold pearly spend, the sheets an utter mess. He clucked his tongue when Percival turned slowly to look at him, eyes barely open, his flank and back still shivering from expended effort. All of his muscles had long gone slack. The man looked barely conscious, made ever more evident by the fact that when Grindelwald drew near and cupped his cheek, the cop didn’t immediately recognize he should pull away.

“I see you did a lot of the work for me,” Grindelwald crooned. “How lovely.”

Graves opened his mouth to curse him, to snarl something furious, only the words spilled from him in an exhausted slur; unrecognizable, more befitting a tired kitten. Grindelwald cooed and pat his cheek before twirling his fingers idly, magically shifting Graves back into the position he had originally left him in. The man swayed in place, thighs shivering harder, but managed to stay upright with a glare.

“Still feisty I see. Good,” he purred, easing Graves down despite his wriggling so that his knees and collarbone bore the brunt of his weight, his ass in the air, gem winking. He thumbed and traced it, tugged it in and out lightly as he admired the swollenness of the man’s over sensitized rim and the way that even now lube oozed from it.

Graves squeezed his eyes shut as fury began to soothe into something icy and inevitable: resignation. This was happening. Just like how he had been kidnapped. Just like when Grindelwald had made his ass grow. Just like when he had taken him right in front of his old boss. Whatever Grindelwald had in mind now, it was happening. And there was nothing he could do about it.

A whine left his throat at the thought, and behind him Grindelwald chuckled, mistaking it for something else.

“So needy. Don’t worry, pet. I thought long and hard on how best to discipline you. But first I had to riddle out why you’ve been… misbehaving,” he said, as though it were some great mystery rather than as simple as Graves wanted to be free. The muggle barely bit down on a whimper as Grindelwald found his tied-up balls and began to trace them, just shy of too much after so much stimulation. “You see, an associate of mine admitted that his farm dog was utterly unruly until he had the poor thing neutered. A shame, but those big balls were driving the little mutt insane with all these mixed messages about who was in control.”

Grindelwald drawled casually as though speaking about the weather, but the words made every muscle in Graves’ body lock. His balls. Christ, was the man going to take his balls?

“Now I don’t want to remove these handsome boys,” Grindelwald purred as he fondled Graves’ sack, rolling them in his hands, sending the very faintest hint of magic into his palm all the while. “But I do think we can make things… more manageable.”

Relief bloomed in Graves’ belly, catching that while Grindelwald had plans, at least he wasn’t about to be castrated.

“I think we merely need to make it more obvious as to what your place is,” Grindelwald cooed. He hadn’t ceased rolling Graves’ balls and an uncomfortable pressure was beginning to build. Even though Graves could feel that the man’s fingers were not particularly tight, his balls felt more and more as though they were beginning to be crushed ever so slightly. Beneath the warning tingles of pain, pleasure began to bloom – singing in crescendo with the vibrating of the plug – Graves became keenly aware of how many times he had already been forced to climax. He felt raw, scrapped clean and empty in a way he hadn’t thought possible. And the more his balls tightened, and the plug buzzed away, the more his body shivered, bracing for a climax it had nothing left to give.

“Yes… a visual reminder will work perfectly. Hmm… good thing you’re already dry.”

Graves’ confused grunt broke into a weak moan when the familiar sensation of lubricant blooming within him grew, oozing around the plug and easing the way for Grindelwald to remove it. He buried his face into the bedding to hide the flush that burned his cheeks when he realized his hole was gaping, loose and open for Grindelwald’s upcoming abuse.

“So eager to be put in your place, too. Look how open your body is for me; so greedy.”

It took a moment to realize Grindelwald had entered him. The buzzing had left him numb to something as simple as the touch of flesh on flesh, and the plug’s girth had left him senseless. Were it not for the gentle coaxing of Grindelwald’s magic as he traced Graves’ slack hole, convincing it to tighten once more, he might not have felt him at all.

He felt Grindelwald cover him with his weight. Felt the column of strong arms bar either side of his shoulders as a firm belly rested on his back, lips and facial hair tickling the nape of his neck as Grindelwald whispered, “You are mine and mine alone, and if you need more proof to accept that, then I’ll happily oblige.”

He began to move, and yet it was in a way so purposeful that Graves could not simply think it was just to get Grindelwald himself off. Every thrust was made with intention, slow and drawn out and calculated. Every jostle left him this shy of keening even as ever nerve ending screamed that he had already felt too much, come too much. His intention was to make him come again, no telling how many times, and Graves felt tears prickle hotly against his lashes even as his prick twitched, soft but interested. Fuck, was he broken? Had the man finally broken him?

That feeling from his balls was spreading. Crawling up and into his dick with every thrust – a transition so slow Graves almost didn’t notice it until it was so cloying it could no longer be ignored; as though it had always been there, its onset had been so gradual.

“Can you feel it?” Grindelwald asked, hovering close to his ear as he continued his onslaught, pace steadily increasing as subtly as the feeling in Graves’ groin. “Every thrust makes you perfect. Every pulse, every tightening feeling here,” he drawled, one hand moving back to cup his limp dick, “Makes you mine.”

God, he was doing something, but press shoulders first into the mattress as he was, he could hardly look back to see what. There was only the feeling of his magically healed hole spreading once more around the girth of the madman’s cock. The feeling of him making room for himself inside Graves’ body. The ever-crushing tightness of what felt like a hand squeezing his genitals firmly.

That squeezing turning steadily into stroking, only… somewhere in his short-circuiting brain, Graves realized it wasn’t exactly moving much even though he felt that touch from root to head. His heart stuttered and he jerked, ropes cutting into him as he tried to get away. Grindelwald pressed down with his weight, pinning him, kissing his victory into the skin of Graves’ shoulders as he purred, “So glad I found you, pet. You’re just too much fun. And isn’t this better than dying on the job? I’m going to take such good care of you. Going to make you so perfect. Now… Don’t. Move.”

He pulled away, not that it mattered. Between the ropes and the madman’s magic, it wasn’t as though Graves had a chance. He pressed his face into the bed to hide that realization. Just as much to hide his tears as to hide the blush of want creeping up his neck and into his face the more Grindelwald plowed into him, sending shivers and wracking cramps of pleasure through his body. Hands found his ass cheeks and spread them wide to reveal his taut hole speared on Grindelwald’s dick. Those fingers squeezed, dimpling the new flesh the man had given him, and the maniac moaned lewdly in appreciation.

“So beautiful,” he said. “You’re going to be so good for me, right pet? You’ll show them all that this is where you Muggles truly belong. This is what you were made for.”

He wanted to throw up. The realization that this wasn’t just a game, but that this was a test to a greater machination, left him reeling – a revelation buried beneath the pounding of a dick against that place inside him that made it so very hard to concentrate. And worse yet, every thrust made it feel as though that dick inside him was growing. Thickening, lengthening, carving out a deeper and wider space inside him with every pulse.

“Just about done, I think, pet,” Grindelwald said, petting the column of his throat with one hand as he reached down to fondle him with the other. “So, let’s seal the deal and move on, shall we? I think you’ll be much better behaved from now on.”

Before Graves could even digest the meaning of those words Grindelwald pressed him even harder into the mattress, hips slamming into the ample swell of his ass in powerful, bruising thrusts that tore every breath from him, blinding him of reason, mouth pressed open against the sheets, struck dumb with passion. Relentless and driven, until a blossom of pleasure began to warm and grow in his gut to the point of overflowing, tipping over the brink and dragging him down into the abyss of orgasm with it. He might have screamed. His throat certainly hurt as though he had, but he couldn’t hear. Everything was just a roar of blood in his ears, the thunder it made as it coursed through his body. Drowning out the sound of Grindelwald’s crooning, leaving him with only the sight of those smiling lips moving soundlessly. He felt too detached from himself to recognized he was being moved into a kinder position. That those hands were petting him, releasing him from the ropes in a gesture of one hand until it was as though, in just a second, they had never been there at all. As though he had allowed it to happen, wanted it to happen. If not for all he had seen so far – so many horridly impossible things – he’d almost wonder if he had gone mad. If he had only imagined the ropes as an excuse to avoid guilt.

Not that it mattered anymore. There was no escaping.

“Good, so good,” Grindelwald cooed, petting him, his voice finding him from afar. One moment they were on the bed and the next arms were folding him up into a strong embrace. Carrying him – one room blurring into another – and then he was being lowered into a tub, settled back into the straddle of strong legs and a firm chest. Fingers exploring him as though he were something new and not the same old toy he had become. Thumbing across nipples he had never remembered being so sensitive – too much, right now, so soon after everything. He whined and Grindelwald shushed him, grabbing his hand in the water to thread their fingers together lovingly.

“Don’t worry, pet, it’s over now,” he said, drawing both their hands down between Graves’ legs. “You don’t have to put up that fierce front anymore, love, I’ve handled it.”

Fingers curled his own around the length of his own cock and he sucked in a short, painful breath. A ‘length’ was a bit generous to label what he felt. Lips pressed against this throat and that hand squeezed his own in warning to keep it where it was as it withdrew to trace Graves’ jaw and lead his wide-eyed gaze down.

“See what I do for you, pet?” Grindelwald said as though he had bought the imprisoned detective something special rather than alter him in every sense of the word. He tried not to look, he did, but morbid curiosity brought his gaze to the inevitable – to the sight of his large hand around such a small cock. His cock. He could fit both cock and balls into his hand without much effort at all, if any. He could only watch, air coming shorter and shorter to him, as Grindelwald reached between his legs to idly toy with the head of his tiny prick – not even the span of the width of his palm – as though it were some cute toy. “Now you can rest. Now you can simply enjoy it, as I know you want to. No more fighting,” he said, pressing a kiss to Graves’ neck. “Although… this has been fun. Perhaps a warning instead?”

Graves stilled. His heart throbbed with every racing beat.

Grindelwald was hardening beneath him and fuck – had the man always been that large? That thick? His guts tightened in fear, but somewhere inside his soul – some hungry, depraved part of him Grindelwald had no doubt carved out and placed inside – wanted to know what that thick cock might feel like.

“Continue to disobey me,” Grindelwald crooned, “And I will continue to… make adjustments. After all, I can only assume that’s what you want if you keep up these willful acts of disobedience. I am a generous man, pet. I’ll give you as much attention as you need until you’re perfect.”

Graves stilled, trying to ignore the idle pleasure Grindelwald’s toying brought and coiled in his gut. Oblivious to the man’s growing smile and the hungry look that followed.

[grimalkinmessor]

Newt sat stiffly in the metal chair he’d been tied to. He had schooled his face into an emotionless mask, but inside he was cursing himself. Albus had taught him better. Theseus had taught him better. And while Percival may have made his mistakes as well, he would have certainly known better.

But Newt had been desperate. It had been years since Theseus had pressured him into joining the Ministry Family, but he was still underestimated. Overlooked. Well, he supposed that was part of his job description, but still.

He was the best spy the Ministry had, and they hated to acknowledge it. So they put him down, stifled him, again and again. It was beyond patronizing. Irritating.

No one was telling him anything, his friend and old professor Albus had almost been killed, and Theseus had gone off on a secret mission that he couldn’t tell Newt anything about. So he decided to take matters into his own hands.

Somehow, he thought of approaching Nurmengard. Alone. Like an idiot.

Newt should have known something was up. There were only three guards around the entire perimeter, and he hadn’t even thought of casting a spell to check for more. Newt’s eyes were good, and he relied heavily on being able to go unnoticed by most people, but really, he should have at least checked. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going either, so he couldn’t count on a rescue.

The sound of squealing metal made Newt jerk a bit, just minutely, and his eyes darted up to see the lift grinding down from the cieling. He steeled himself and made sure his expression revealed nothing. Theseus had trained him well. Harshly, but well.

The gold lattice clanged to a halt and squeaked open. Newt held back a wince. The Dark Lord himself, Gellert Grindelwald, stepped out of the lift, a coy smile on his lips and his hands clasped behind his back.

“Hello, Newton,” Grindelwald mused as he made his way leisurely forward. “Welcome. Do you like the mountain?” Newt stayed silent, jaw tight and eyes icy. Grindelwald chuckled. “I prefer the tropics myself. Sand over snow. My Oma owned a private island, you know—small thing, nothing to boast of. One summer however, I went for a visit and discovered the place had been absolutely infested with rats.”

Newt swallowed. His glare sharpened.

Grindelwald took his hands apart and placed them in his cloak pockets. “They would ride over on the fishing boats and devour the coconuts. But how does one get rats off an island?” He held up a finger with a sly smile. “My Oma showed me. We buried an oil drum and changed the lid to one wired with coconut bait. Then, we left it. The rats would run to the coconut and,” He trailed his fingers down in a jerky flutter. “They would fall into the drum. And after a month? You have trapped all the rats.”

Confusion and apprehension swirled in Newt’s mind, but he didn’t let it phase him. The longer Grindelwald rambled on with pointless stories about rats, the more time Newt would have to figure things out. But Newt was oddly...enraptured with the story.

“But what do you do then? Throw the drum into the ocean? Burn it?” A grin curled Grindelwald’s lips and he shook his head. “No. You simply leave it. And then they begin to get hungry. Then, one by one—they start eating each other,”

Newt’s eyes flashed.

Grindelwald spread his hands as he waltzed into Newt’s space. “Until there are only two left. The two survivors. Then what? Do you kill them? No! You take them, and release them into the trees. But now they do not eat coconut anymore—they only eat rat. You have changed their nature.”

Something in Grindelwald’s posture changed then, softened and straightened at the same time. He stopped in front of Newt, looked down at him. “I have heard a lot about you, Newton. Your tenacity, your penchant for trouble, your apprenticeship to Albus,” He murmured, gaze dim and glittering. Lifting his chin, his eyes sharpened, searing. “The two survivors. This is what he made us.”

Newt met Grindelwald’s corybantic gaze with a cool stare of his own. His chest felt flinty. “I made my own choices.”

Grindelwald laughed then, a gritty thing. He wagged a playful finger at Newt. “You think you did. That is Albus’ genius. His master manipulation. Getting everyone else to do his dirty work for him.”

Theseus’ stern face flashed in his mind. Newt leveled Grindelwald with an unimpressed look, a copper curl in his eyes. “Godric’s Hollow. Ariana. He told me.”

“My late teen years, I remember. I had thought Albus easy—I was the most important thing in his world back then. But then he turned his back on me when I least expected it. And now he has you.” Grindelwald tipped his head, curious. “I wondered what it was about you. You are not nearly the wizard I am. A bit pathetic, if I am honest. A mess held together by his brother’s iron grip and few unruly pets in his basement.” It was a clear jibe. An pointed insult.

“Don’t forget my horrific love of muggles,” Newt drawled, unruffled.

Grindelwald laughed again, his condescending smirk morphing back into the glimmer from before. He leaned back and sat down in the chair placed across from Newt, hands folded in his lap. “You are still clinging to your faith in that old man,” He sighed. “When all he does is lie to you.”

“He never lied to me.”

“No?”

“No.” Newt answered immediately, perhaps a little more sharply than he’d meant to. He grit his teeth and soothed his ire down.

Grindelwald grinned. “Tell me, what did he say to you about the attack? Did he tell you to come after me?”

Newt stared forwards, resolutely not looking at him. “I came of my own accord.”

“No, you came of Albus’ accord.” Grindelwald leaned forward and fixed Newt with an intense stare. “Did he tell you that it was clearly me? That the Ministry would not take it seriously? That he had very few he could trust with the information that he had handed to you?”

Newt’s nails dug into his palms. That was exactly what Albus has told him. His silence was enough of an answer.

“And your brother.”

No.

“He prodded you into your position, yes? Told you they wanted you there?” Grindelwald shook his head. With a flick of his wrist he had a file in his hand. He let it fall open. “Newton Artemis Fido Scamander. Subject is uncooperative, unpredictable, and impulsive. Immediate suspension from government and traveling advised. Overridden by Theseus Apollo Fortem Scamander.” Newt chest froze. Grindelwald stood again, file thrown aside and arms up as if in question.

“What is this if not betrayal? Albus—not your brother, perhaps, but your mentor—sent you off to me, knowing you were not ready, knowing you would likely die—Albus is a very bad role model, Newton. He will lead you, blind mule that you are, to ruin.”

Grindelwald leaned down and curled his fingers around Newt’s collar, then down to flick open the buttons of his dress shirt. Newt tensed but kept his gaze level, breathing even. Lithe fingertips smoothed the right side of his shirt away to reveal the claw marks of a nundu. One that had gotten him expelled. One that Albus had known about.

The Dark Lord clicked his tongue and slid his palm almost pityingly along the gouges. “Oh, look what he has done to you.”

“Well, he never tied me to a chair.”

“His loss,” Grindelwald purred, pity vanished in the face of something sly. Something sensual. His fingertips trailed lightly over Newt’s chest to tap lovingly at his collarbones.

“Are you sure this about Albus?” Newt raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the hand tracing over his chest. Surely this man hadn’t gone through all that trouble to incriminate Albus, deprecate Newt’s confidence, just to try and seduce him? Perhaps without the ropes and the ever-close threat of painful death, it would have worked.

“It is about him,” He mused, a bit distractedly. “And you, and me. We are the last two rats on the island, Newton. So we can either eat each other...” He trailed off and cupped Newt’s neck, a thumb across his jaw. “Or we can eat everyone else.”

He smirked. Newt’s pulse was quick beneath his palm, the barest hint of a flush on his cheeks, hidden by freckles.

“Oh, how hard you are trying to remember your training now, hm? What is your Ministry’s regulation for this?” He slid his hands down to squeeze Newt’s thighs, slid them up and back to his knees. “Well, first time for everything.”

He expected a flush, perhaps anger or embarrassment. Grindelwald did not expect Newt to raise his eyebrows, lean forward, and murmur, “What makes you think this is my first time?”

Startled, but not one to be deterred, Grindelwald flourished a hand to his own chest with faux innocence. “Oh, Mr. Scamander. To find the physical things so dull!” He stepped back and swept around Newt to tap his wand to the ropes. They fell away and Newt quickly swung his arms around to rub at his wrists. Grindelwald smirked. “Ha! England, the empire. With their complacencies and corruption—ruin. You are living in their ruin as well; you just do not see it yet. At least here, there are no old Professors skating around orders, yes?”

Grindelwald walked away from Newt to stand in front of him again. “If you wanted, you could rise above them all, as I do. With me, you would be able to pick your own path, as you currently do, just without consequence. With praise. Name a place, name a person, and you may go. You could live a life without restrictions, Newton.”

“Just your restrictions, you mean?” Newt muttered, eyes narrowed.

“You wound me, Newton,” The Dark Lord was amused. He stretched an arm out. “I offer you a way out of Albus’ web, a way to freedom, and how you scorn me.” He spun on heel and tipped his head meaningfully. “Come. Perhaps if I show you what I mean, you will see sense.”

Newt bit down on the caustic remark that wanted to escape and stood. He followed after Grindelwald silently.

He wasn’t the Ministry’s best for nothing, after all.

For @needycharcoal

[galaxiesandstarlightinherveins]

Fae!AU Chapter 3

It had been almost two months since the fateful encounter in the woods. Newt had decided to behave and stuck to London, hardly leaving the boundaries for anything. The meeting with the dark lord had left him spooked, afraid that he was going to pop out at any moment to try and convince him to join his cause. Theseus was both  overjoyed at keeping Newt close to him and baffled at the change in Newt’s behavior.  Though Newt knew that if Theseus was ever to find out about his encounter with dark lord, there would be a guard on him 24/7 and no chance of leaving London until this bloody war was over. 

Not after yet another failed meeting to appeal his travel ban. The ministry was willing to lift it on the condition that Newt joined his brother in taking down Grindelwald. That meant an office job which therefore means limited traveling regardless if any at all. Not only that, but he’d be force to work the daily grind with paperwork and people who won’t even pretend to like him. It was his worse fear, especially after years of being free to go where he wanted and do what he wished. The fair folk he dealt with often called him a wild thing, one who shouldn’t be bound by such things human rules and office jobs. No, he belonged to the forests and the beasts and places left untouched by man, such was his namesake. 

Newt made his way back to his house wary of the auror that Theseus had warned would follow him. Dumbledore was trying to get his attention and it couldn’t have come at a worse time. The ministry was already suspicious of their interactions and of Dumbledore’s influence. He really didn’t need to give them anymore reasons to keep him trapped in London.  He lost his tail in a hurricane and grabbed the glove apparating him to his former professor on what was perhaps the most conspicuous rooftop in all of London. 

Albus Dumbledore, his former professor and what was probably one of his only and consequently closest friends, stood on the ledge. He casted a nebulous spell causing a fog to descend upon London. The disappareated to Trafalgar Square. Dumbledore asked him about his meeting with the ministry. Newt explained that they suspected Dumbledore of sending Newt to New York. Which was true. 

It was Dumbledore that led him to the thunderbird in Egypt and he must have known that, of course, Newt was going to take him back home by taking a muggle port through New York City. Where Grindelwald was masquerading as the Director of Magical Security with an obscurial on the lose. An obscurial that Newt would not, could not, leave behind so obviously Newt was going to get involved thus leading them to current affairs. 

Then they head up in a muggle bus and Dumbledore had the nerve to ask him to go to Paris. The city that Newt had no desire to be anywhere near for the rest of eternity. Dumbledore wanted him to go to Credence and do what exactly? Protect him? Or protect others from him?  Hope that the rumors were true and that he was Leta’s long lost brother. His former professor handed him a card. Written on it was the address to a safe house in Paris for, you know, a cup of tea. 

They end up on Lambeth Bridge and Newt had to explain, again, that he was banned from international travel lest he gets put into Azkaban. Dumbledore tells him that he admires him and isn’t that a shocker. Someone as esteemed as Dumbledore admires him, the strange magizoologist who spends more time amongst beasts then men.  He respects him for the fact that Newt didn’t want power or fame. No, he simply just wanted to do what is right. 

Dumbledore tells him that it has to be him to go against Grindelwald, but would he be saying that if he knew what happened two months ago in that forest. Would he still be sending to help Credence despite that? Or would he shun him like most everybody else does and look at with barely concealed annoyance?

Dumbledore leaves him with the card. 

Later on that evening, after dealing with the baby nifflers and the kelpie, Newt finds Queenie and Jacob in his house. It was a surprise, especially considering that Jacob wasn’t supposed to have any memory of him whatsoever. The two came to England to get married, but Newt could tell that something was wrong. A sense for magic came with his Sight and he knew that Jacob was under an enchantment. Newt undid the magic and watched as Jacob became more alert and focused. He felt remorse when Jacob returned from running after Queenie, despondent and confused. What to do now? 

Queenie went after Tina who was in Paris, for what purpose though? Paris. The city that Dumbledore wanted to him go against his ban to go to. The city where Credence was rumored to be in. It was where Grindelwald had invited him to months ago. Something big was happening and it was going be in Paris. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good and a sense of dread crept down his spine and settled heavily in his stomach.  

Newt glanced at the drawer where he had hidden an invitation from a certain dark lord. It gave him the exact details of the night which Grindelwald had so graciously invited him to all those weeks ago. He really had tried to burn the damned thing, but every attempt at destroying it was thwarted by whatever charms Grindelwald had been inclined to cast on it. He was suspicious that it was a port key of some kind, designed to take him Paris when it was time. He was rather fortunate that the invitation held no clue as to who the sender was and that the message in it was vague enough that no one else could decipher its meaning. 

Jacob looked at him bemused and Newt stared back in resignation. In a flurry of movements, Newt left multiple notes for Bunty for her to take care of everyone why he was gone and that he took the nifflers. Jacob is elated that they’re going to Paris to follow after Queenie. 

“You mustn’t tell anyone of this, ok?” He grabbed ahold of Jacob as to not lose the muggle in the Faeryland.  It was easy for him to go from one side of the veil to the other and it made it convenient to travel between countries without being traced. It was quick. 

So, the two ended in Paris. Jacob was still reeling from the sensation of traveling between realms even though to Jacob it was just a rather simple journey through a rather unremarkable forest. Newt immediately set to track Tina, knowing that Queenie would go to her. Niff was a huge help in that regard. He was disconcerted by the presence of a Zouwu and knew that he’ll be needing to go after it sooner rather then later. 

Newt tracks Tina through a man who then goes to trap them both only to convulse and pass out on the ground. Well, this certainly was a fantastic start to a rescue attempt. Picket gets them out of the prison and they hear a deafening roar. He immediately knows it to be the zouwu. 

It’s scared and lashing out and Newt will not leave it behind regardless of the current happenings. Newt goes to the zouwu and, much to the surprise of everyone watching, lures it into his case. Amid the following chaos, the four of them -Newt, Tina, Jacob, and the one guy- disapparate to Dumbledore’s safe house. 

Newt allows Tina to handle the man while he takes care of the zouwu. He wanted to make sure it was settled in and to get that Merlin forsaken harness off of it. Just looking at him filled him with disdained and anger. 

Tina calls him up and with one last look, Newt reluctantly leaves his case. There are water parasites in the man’s -his name is Kama according to Tina- eyes and he manages to pull them out. Tina starts to head out to the French ministry to tell them of what she knows. Newt follows her after Jacob tells him to go after her. He’s not sure as to why Jacob is so insistent of him and her together. Though he supposes that this isn’t the time or place to think much of it. He made a mental note to ask Jacob later about it. 

Grindelwald’s banners take over the city and the damnable invitation in his pocket felt heavier then ever. He knew not why he decided to bring it with him. Maybe he thought it could aid them? Or perhaps there was a part of him that wanted to hear what Grindelwald had to say. A dark part that grew up amongst fae and elves. That has experienced the darker wonders of magic and seen the stuff that nightmares are made of. The part of him that traveled between realms at a whim. That changling side of him who is attracted by power. Grindelwald’s power. 

Dumbledore was correct in that Newt didn’t want power for himself. However, like most faeries, there was something about magical power that drew him in. The fae were often attracted by those who were talented and powerful in one way or another and he, as he has learned, was no different. The side of him that was still moral, still human, knew that Grindelwald must be stopped. 

Newt leads Tina to the French Ministry of Magic in hopes that the Lestrange box could be what helps them to save Credence. Grindelwald may have him now, but there is still hope that they can reach him. Credence had to be his priority and not the warring between the two different aspects of himself. 

He transfigures himself to look like Theseus using the Polyjuice potion he keeps on hand just in case. Tina puts Theseus into his place and it was glorious. Perhaps the best thing he’s ever seen. The two of them sneak into the archives only to find Leta and that the box was missing. All three of them escape via zouwu after being attacked by the metagots. 

A sense of dread settles into the bottom of his stomach. All of this didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t adding up. Though it was funny, he supposed, that he was going to end up in the one place he swore to never go. Grindelwald got what he wanted after all. One night to change his mind. To make him choose a side. 

They end up in the Lestrange tomb at Père Lachaise and somehow Newt is not surprise to see Credence or Kama. Then Kama tells them of the story of the Lestrange and the baby that Leta and thought for the longest time was lost. Still is for Credence wasn’t a Lestrange and the look upon his face breaks his heart. 

A doorway opens up suddenly and it leads them to an amphitheater. Newt follows after Jacob (how did he?) and the rest follow thereafter. He loses track of Jacob and they are surrounded by Grindelwald’s followers. He fears for his muggle friend but can’t go to help him lest they attract attention. 

It’s a trap. All of this was bait to lure Credence... To lure him, he realized with a sickening start. Grindelwald knew he wouldn’t leave Credence once he found him. He gets Credence and Newt will follow. Newt’s never been one to leave anyone behind after all. Tina and him separate, her to find the others and him to do something. He’ll think of something, he said, but what could he do? All he wants to do is grab his friends and leave this Morgana forsake place before Grindelwald sees him. 

He’s being watched and so he joins the crowd, hoping to hide among the others. Grindelwald comes out on the stage acting every ounce of the prima donna he is. 

Newt knows instantly when the dark lord sees him for his eyes brighten and focus on him for a moment before sweeping across the rest of the crowd. 

Grindelwald speaks of a new world. A world where they could be free, no longer in hiding from muggles. He shows them yet another war among the muggles. An all encompassing war that will leave millions dead. How long until the muggles wage war upon them? 

Aurors arrive and Grindelwald calls them out into the open. A young witch goes to attack an auror but the auror strikes first and she falls down dead. Outrage sweeps the the crowd as Grindelwald goes to the fallen witch to cradle her. He gives her to her companions and tells the crowd to leave and tell the world of what occurred here. That the aurors were the ones to strike first. 

The dark lord surrounds himself with fiendfyre and his followers come to surround him. All but one who is consumed by the flames and turned into dust. The dark lord commands the aurors to pledge their loyalty to him or suffer the consequence. 

Newt sees Credence start to cross the flames to reach Grindelwald and tries to rush to his side. He couldn’t let Credence cross. Couldn’t let the dark lord get his hands on him. He failed him the first time, he couldn’t do so the again. He is joined by his brother and together they try to fight the flames. He sees his Niffler and quickly picks her up. He hides her in his coat as he tighten his grip on his case. 

Leta calls out to Grindelwald and Newt is terrified. He doesn’t think, can only act. He doesn’t realize that his eyes are a shining gold as he fights across the flames, using every bit of magic he knows - fae and human. Theseus calls out his name, calls out Leta’s name, and tries to follow; but he can only do so much to keep the fire at bay. 

Grindelwald’s eyes focus on him and he’s grinning. Newt realizes that he’s fallen in some kind of trap only when he pushes Leta towards his brother and away from harm. He, himself, now faces the fire’s threat of being consumed. 

“Mr. Scamander, surely you see the truth of what I say.” He says, holding his wand towards him. Newt feels the pull of magic trying to bring him to the dark lord. “Think of the world we could create for your creatures. Isn’t that what you want? What of a world where you wouldn’t be shun for being different.”

His words triggered something in him. That fae in him, that is already attracted to the dark lords particular brand of magic, wants to follow. The freedom that is promised is such sweet temptation. Freedom for himself and for his creatures. That’s all he’s ever wanted. But at what cost? How many will die? 

“They don’t understand you, do they?” Grindelwald continues as if he senses the internal debate. The two sides of him at war: the fae that wants nothing more than what is promised and the human that is tired of death and just wants peace.  “Not even your brother, I wonder?” 

The fire parts between them. Newt tries to run, tries to get back to Theseus who reaches out to him in the flames. But something holds him still. No, Grindelwald holds him still. He looks to Leta in desperation and she nods at him in understanding. He sees her pull Theseus away from the flames, away from him just as he finds himself in Grindelwald’s arms. 

He hears the others call his name and he reaches out again but they disappear in a blur as he is apparated away. They land in in what appears to be a castle. Disorientated, he turns around to face Grindelwald who’s eyes are alight and there is a smirk on his face.

“You said I had a choice” Newt whispers before fainting in the dark lord’s arms. 

[auroargraves]

obviously I gotta go with Gramander for the ship ask. Hit me up with them tropes if you please ! :D

1. Fake dating— I’m thinking modern AU and it’s Percival’s mom’s birthday and she’s having a big birthday party and Percival is expected to bring someone, otherwise his mom will matchmake him with one of her friends’ daughters which no, thanks mom.

Enters Newt; awkward, nerdy Newt who loves animals so much and who is very good at sketching and Percival is begging Newt to help him out because Theseus is busy to be his pretend boyfriend.

“I’ll pay you,” Percival begs and Newt mulls over it; petting his black cat and trying not to let the little devil pawing off the shiny button on Percival’s shirt.

Newt agrees in the end because he can use that money to help out the animal shelter in the neighbourhood.

Cue many awkward hand holdings and shy glances and genuine fond smiles and laughters when Newt manages to dazzle not only Percival’s nieces and nephews with his animal anecdotes and drawings; but he also manages to make Percival’s mom falls in love with Newt.

“He’s so charming! And polite! Bit awkward and shy but that just makes you want to protect him even more!”

When the night has winding down and Newt says his goodbyes and receives hugs and kisses with a promise to come and visit again; Percival feels a bit sad. So sad that he ends leaning in to kiss Newt softly on the corner of his mouth with a quiet murmur of thank you.

And Newt — well, when Percival turns around to leave — he calls out to Percival and says, “If you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend again for the next time, I’ll be willing to go!”

Of course the next time Percival’s mom asks him to bring Newt around, Newt readily agrees to go.

2. Bodyswap

— Oh man, I keep thinking that when you swapped bodies, you only change your outer appearance but your magic core stays the same.

So please imagine the formidable Percival Graves who looks so stoic and unapproachable with an occamy chick wrapped around his arm, a bowtruckle is in his hair, and he’s running around MACUSA chasing after the damned niffler and when he has caught the thing; he is scolding her in his deep whiskey soaked voice while calling himself “Mommy.”

Meanwhile, Newt Scamander is patrolling MACUSA hallways with a glower on his face; his head held high and his chest puffed out — looking every bit of an alpha male, the dragon wrangler coming out to play.

The awkward, shy Newt being replaced by this confident man.

3. Sexpollen/fuck or die/aliens made them do it— oh boy sexpollen!

It happens in the suitcase when they are both trying to list down the creatures and beasts Newt has in order for Percival to sort the permits when one of the wild flowers Newt had collected from his oversea trip blooms and releases pheromones like smell in the air; potent enough to make any creatures go into a rut.

I imagine them trying to fight the throbbing sensation, the yearning to touch each other’s body but they succumb to their desires in the end; with Newt straddling Percival’s lap and grinding down his clothed prick against Percival’s rapidly hardening dick.

Their coupling will be wild; out in the open. Very loud and very feral with Newt spearing himself on Percival’s hot rod; riding the man like his life depends on it. Sweat trickling down both of their bare bodies; gasp and moan and whimper and groan being amplified in the suitcase.

When they come to completion, they do it together; with Percival pushing Newt on his back; the grass cushioning them as he thrusts deeper. They think that that’s the end of it. But Newt hook his leg around Percival’s waist; gazes up to look at Percival’s flushed face; runs his fingers into Percival’s mussed up hair.

“More,” Newt whispers. “Please.”

And how can Percival deny such sweet request after all.

4. Dark!fic— mhhhmmm let’s go down to a new path. I don’t want Grindelwald in this or Newt having no remorse about hurting/killing people.

I want Percival Graves who seduces Newt Scamander and manages to be with the magizoologist. I want Percival Graves who is a sly man, a manipulator who manages to make Newt falls in love with him. I want Percival Graves who does everything to make Newt trust in him so much not just with his feelings. heart, and body.

But also with his suitcase and creatures.

And I want Percival Graves to break that trust by stealing Newt’s creatures right underneath his nose and selling them to the highest bidders — trading the beasts with the poachers for money and power.

I want Newt to find out about this but he can’t do anything as he is locked away in a magical cell; powerful enough for him to break free.

I want Percival Graves to thank Newt for the creatures and the beasts.

“They bring me good money, sweet.”

I want Percival Graves to leave Newt there for his men to do how ever they please because Percival Graves has no use of Newt Scamander anymore.

5. Secret kinks— Percival Graves being power bottom and loves to be dominated with a slap of breeding kink and a pinch of lactation kink and a whole bottle of voyeurism/exhibitionism kinks for Newt.

And all of this happens in Percival’s pristine Director of Magical Security office.

Yes, thank you. Now I have a mighty need for it.

6. Their first kiss— eeeeeeee I’m imagining it happening after office hours.

Maybe after a long day of solving a case and I’m imagining at this point Newt and Percival have worked a lot together so they’re comfortable with each other. I imagine Percival and Newt going out drinking with the Aurors and officers who helped out with solving the case.

I’m imagining there’s drinking game going on, mixed with truth-or-dare. I’m imagining someone daring Newt to kiss Percival and I imagine the little, shy grin on Newt’s face as he leans in across the table to cradle Percival’s jaw gently; asking, “Is this alright with you?”

Percival nods, smiles slyly when he tells Newt to do it.

And Newt does it; a shy press of his lush mouth against Percival’s own dry lips. I imagine the kiss to be sweet and tender. Newt pouring out all of his hidden affection towards Percival and not surprisingly, Percival presses back just as softly, just as gently; running his fingers into Newt’s curls to pull him closer.

Time stops, the crowds dissolve. There’s nothing more important for Newt and Percival but the press of their lips together in soft kisses.

7. Meeting the parents

— here!

8. Moving in together— can you imagine the amount of clothes Percival has? his shoes collection? his ties and coats?

“Why do you have so many handkerchiefs, Percy?”

“You collect creatures. I collect clothes. We all have our own interest, Newt.”

Can you imagine Newt and Percival arguing over what colour should they paint the bedroom?

“Black.”

“This is not a torture chamber, Mr. Graves. It’s our room!”

“You can put yellow on one side of the wall, then we will have the Hufflepuff colour.”

“… that’s actually a good idea.”

Moving day is tedious because the things are not in the labeled boxes; they’re all over the place.

Percival grumbles and Newt complains. But they get it done late in the evening with the help of Dougal and a lot of magic.

And their first night in as a couple in their shared apartment, their home is of them cuddling on the sofa in the living room because their bed has not arrived yet but that’s okay because the sofa is wide enough for the both of them and it’s fun this way too.

Like a sleepover but they get to do it with the love of their life.

[rospeaks]

not!fic: myriad of subtleties

@firebyfire @silverynight -- so milarca ( @gramanderlove ) and i saw your post on grindelwald/newt, where newt falls in love with grindelwald!graves without realizing who it is he’s in love with until it’s too late! it gave us a lot of feels and is truly lovely

READ ORIGINAL POST HERE

we ended up thinking about how the story might continue, and ended up with some gramander and crying in the end. (very sorry if gramander is not yall’s thing, but the ending for yall’s thread was just so sad!)

Anyway, behind the cut: approx 4k words of Newt/Graves with background of Grindelwald/Newt with obsessive!Grindelwald)

M: I want Newt to be a wreck. I want Grindelwald to try and comfort him and he just screams at him. Because it's been too long and he wants to leave. he knows it's a miracle he's still alive and he knows he should be complacent - an obedient little pet - but surely...... if Grindelwald loved him then he would let him go?

R: God like. If they got attacked and Grindelwald just took Newt's suitcase, shoved it in his arms, told him to run.

"You're letting me go?" Newt asks, wonderingly

"Not even a little," Grindelwald says darkly. "I'll find you again. You'll never be rid of me, not that easily."

(M: That's a perfect way to 'end' it. Let Newt go but let him know he'll never be free of him. he checks up on him occasionally, Sends him messages. It drives Newt nuts, to near insanity or sickness. He wished he'd never stepped foot in America, for all the good it's done him)

R: Also, the awful taunt that comes with passing the real Percival Graves on the street (the wizard is sans memories, sans everything that made him Director, and though Newt aches at the sight of his face, a few day's observation makes it abundantly clear that the man that Newt loves is not the one he is watching now.)

M: Oh no.... so Newt was in love with the Graves Grindelwald made him out to be and not what the real Graves was actually like?

R: The base is there, I imagine. There's the potential. Perhaps under the right circumstances, in the right moment, something might spark between Newt and the original Graves. But the things that made Newt love him were the things that Grindelwald did. The focus, the longing, the way he seemed to care singularly about Newt's concerns.

M: Maybe Newt would want to keep his distance, but then there's also a drive in him that tells him, but what if they could make it work?)

It just hurts for Newt so much. The crushing weight of falling for someone and having the rug pulled out from under him. He wouldn't trust anyone for a long time

The agony of knowing the dark wizard is watching him would taint everything he did. Until Grindelwald was killed and even then it would hurt Newt because even tho he's a mass murderer, Newt loved him once, and it twists at his heart and makes him feel positively ill at the thought, but it happened and he can't go back in time and change it

R: Newt and Graves fuck once without exchanging names. Graves does it, he imagines, because he finds Newt attractive in some way, which is heartening. Newt does it for less savory reasons. He does it to see if he can fuck Grindelwald out of him, does it to spite Grindelwald—let Graves have this first, let Graves trespass where Newt has not allowed Grindelwald to even imagine. It's agony.

Afterward, Graves sits up from the bed, lights a smoke at the window, looks over Newt's sweaty heaving body with eyes that are so dark that Newt is afraid that he's been tricked again—that surely this is just Grindelwald once more, hiding behind a familiar face and teasing Newt with freedom.

"Do you..." Graves begins. Then stops. Licks over the front of his teeth. He rephrases it into a statement, rather than a question. "You know me, from before."

M: Newt looks so dark and bitter

R: Newt avoids his stare. "What makes you say that?" he says, but cannot avoid the ugly twist of his mouth. Of course he would get caught out. Of course.

"You don't kiss like a stranger," Graves says.

"But," Graves adds, finally breaking off his stare to grind the stub of his cigarette into the windowsill. "That said, you didn't seem to be kissing me either, so perhaps you didn't know me at all."

Newt wants to spit out that Graves has no idea how right he is. He wants to shout that Graves has no idea what name he almost said when he came.

The name he had to swallow back and smother into the sheets.

Regardless, Graves does not seem to care, and why would he—living like he is, on the fringes of Europe’s wizarding society, aware of Grindelwald's name and politics but not how deeply he's connected to Graves' past.

Graves waves a hand at the pile of their clothes on the floor, and without a word, Newt's items separate and fold themselves, suddenly clean with a silent scourgify. Graves casts his own clothing to a little hamper and hikes his low slung sleep pants higher as he wanders into the kitchen nook.

"There's a shower if you want it,” he says. “Breakfast too. You can stay, but whatever it was that happened last night, it won't happen again." and then months pass where Newt just lives with Graves, learning him in ways that he never did Grindelwald.

M: Newt staring at Graves with dark eyes all the time, trying to see something of the Graves he once knew. Maybe getting a glimpse of it sometimes. Then Graves starts to warm to him—this strange man who stumbled into his life rambling about dark wizards and dark secrets—despite himself

Because Newt is still fundamentally himself, if more hardened around the edges. But he survived WWI and he can survive this. His eyes are a little dimmer but his will to live and survive and thrive is fierce

He stays with Graves in his little shack somewhere in Europe, on the edges of society. He's not sure if he'll ever be ready to go back. Newt is perfectly happy hanging around. He never liked the city anyway, and now he has even more reason to hate it. And as Graves gets more and more attached to the man who gets the groceries and keeps house and maybe starts a garden while tending to his creatures, the thought of going back to work in New York at MACUSA gets even more absurd.

And Newt follows Graves' lead where intimacy is concerned. He knows he's the interloper here. Graves didn't ask for any of this. But then, Newt himself hardly had any say in falling for a dark wizard when he was in disguise as a charming man of the law. It's all so complicated and confusing, it makes him cry sometimes. Great heaving sobs that leave him feeling part empty and part cleansed. He walks and explores the land around the house. He disappears for days and weeks at a time but always comes back. He always comes back. And sometimes Graves goes to the village and fucks a pretty, willing girl, but he can't forget the softness of Newt's body or the pretty way he cried out when the pleasure was too much.

And he starts to like it when Newt comes back. He finds himself waiting for him and he knows it's insane to get attached but there's just something about Newt that clings to him like honey. The boy is sweetness and light and as the months go on he can't help but see that, see the light return somewhat to his eyes. He helps with Newt's creatures and Newt appreciates him but tries not to get attached himself..... but they both know deep down that it's too late for that. If Graves didn't want him there he would have shoved him out the front door and yelled at him to never come back. But he didn't.

R: Graves can tell that Newt has been burned by previous lovers. The way that Newt looks at him but also flinches away from him... it's telling. Worse still is the way that Newt is aware of himself, actively seems to fight his own instinct.

He tries to gentle Newt. Soft touches telegraphed early are accepted easily. They have Newt melting into his palm, even when they both know that Graves has no intention of giving him anything further.

"Why don't you tell me about him?" Graves says one evening.

Newt plays dumb. He does that a lot. "Who?"

"The one who hurt you so badly."

Newt's mouth does that twist again, that tight lipped grimace that says more than Newt's words ever will. "He was a lot like you," he says. "And very different from you, at the same time."

So Newt tell Graves about Grindelwald, in the vaguest of terms possible. No names. No physical description at all, where he can help it . Newt's never let himself think of Grindelwald in this way, if he's honest with himself—like an ex-boyfriend, an old lover, like someone that used to know and adore him.

He's always tried to put Grindelwald very firmly into the category of liar, abuser, betrayer, murderer. It had never been enough to help Newt resolve himself about how his gut wrenched every time he even half acknowledged what he felt for Grindelwald.

Graves nods in all the right areas, but does not comment. A part of Graves is very worried that the man Newt is speaking of was him—the him that he'd been before he'd lost his memories. Because there are times when Newt looks at him, looks at Graves' face and seems confused.

What if he was this man that Newt talks about, what if he's the reason for this pain?

The first kiss they have after... after everything... is almost apologetic.

Graves, fingertips trembling against Newt's jaw, whispers, "You're welcome here, for as long as you like."

As if Newt has not already stayed for half a year.

"This can be your home too," Graves says, as if Newt has not already started taking over part of the kitchen to help prepare the food for his creatures. As if they don't share a bed or meals or quiet moments in between. Newt wonders at this, at the frightened hopefulness in Graves' demeanor and it’s hard echo in Newt's bones.

Perhaps this is the fundamental difference between Graves and Grindelwald. They both love Newt. They both care for him. Ground down to the essentials, they even have some of the same mannerisms, the same turns of speech. The way they look at Newt, startlingly similar, every time. Graves is as capable as Grindelwald at killing in the name of a cause he believes in. But where Grindelwald held fast to his possession of Newt, denied him escape at every turn, Graves sees Newt's hesitation and simply nods.

"He'll come after me," Newt explains. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"It's okay," Graves says. "You don't have to tell me why."

"But it's true—he's—"

Graves holds up a hand to stave off further excuses. "It's okay," he stresses. Cups Newt's cheeks, kisses him softly. "Run if you have to, but know that you can always come back here if you need to."

Newt runs—for thousands of miles, through dozens of countries.

For months, for a year—for three years.

He doesn't write to Graves, does his best not to think of him even. He keeps abreast of what Grindelwald has been up to in Europe, but even halfway around the world, he never truly feels free of him. He's certain that Grindelwald has had some way of keeping an eye on him all this time.

The war gets worse. There's talk that Dumbledore will eventually duel him.

Before then, Newt risks a final trip back.

A part of him wants to look Grindelwald in the eye before watching the other wizard lose everything. In truth, he just wants to come home.

Graves' home is obliterated.

The slim shack remains a half-standing pile of rickety boards, stripped of anything valuable by raiders. The little garden that Graves had so carefully fostered was a black scorch. Everything that Newt had come to associate with warmth and happiness, with love, had been utterly and ruthlessly cut down to the foundations.

He searches for signs—anything that might tell him what happened. The feel of dark magic is strong in the air, but there are no bones, no body—not even a blood stain on the concrete. Newt's grateful for what little hope that gives him, but with it comes a fresh wave of anxiety. What if Grindelwald had found Graves, captured him again? What if Grindelwald was, at this very moment, torturing him? Or—and this Newt thought was the most likely—erasing Graves' memories again, removing every happy moment he'd had with Newt from his mind? 

What if Graves really is... dead?

Newt spends the next month fighting alongside the Ministry with grief as his fuel. He never should have left. Even with Grindelwald on his tail, Newt should have savored every last moment he could wring out of Graves' life before it was snatched away from them. Who knows how much longer they might have had? A year, a month? Even a single day would have been worth fighting for. There's much to be done. Muggles that need protecting. Followers of Grindelwald that need to be subdued. Newt finds himself very busy indeed.

At one point, he's achingly aware of how close they are to Grindelwald's headquarters. Grindelwald is somewhere in this city. The awareness makes Newt a tad sloppy, especially after a week of working with little sleep.

He slips, nearly falls off the edge of a building. Someone catches him. It's Graves, handsome as the day that Newt left him.

"Darling," Graves says sweetly, all crooked smile and charm.

Horror dawns on Newt's face.

"I told you that you'd never be rid of me."

As soon as Newt is back on his feet, he jerks away from Grindelwald. "What did you do to him?"

Grindelwald's smile broadens. "Him?"

"You know who I'm talking about! Percival Graves! Where is he? Did you kill him?"

Grindelwald dismisses Newt's questions with a wave. "He doesn't matter anymore. You had your dalliance and I allowed it. Consider it a gift."

Newt lashes out without thinking—slaps his hand hard across Grindelwald's face. The mask Grindelwald wears melts away—dark hair giving way to blonde, Graves' features easting subtly into Grindelwald's natural features. He looks much older than Newt remembers.

"Now, darling," he coaxes.

"Shut up!" Newt hisses, casting a hex that gets blocked. "I am not—" another hex, "your—" another, "DARLING!"

Rage boils over Grindelwald's face. He raises his wand—the elder wand—and Newt freezes, afraid.

A snap of magic sounds at Newt's elbow. A second snap behind Grindelwald. Newt gets the impression of Dumbledore's face as he confronts Grindelwald before Newt's suddenly swept away in a side-along apparition.

Newt sags in his rescuer's hold, relieved at being free of Grindelwald's presence.

Grindelwald's aura, his magic, everything about him had pressed in on Newt from all sides. Impossible to escape, and now he's on his own again and glad for it.

“So, that's him, huh?"

Newt shakes his head, clearing it of his dizziness. "What?"

"Your previous lover," his rescuer says. "I don't think I ever would have guessed Grindelwald, even if you had told me that he'd worn my face."

Newt looks up sharply, eyes widening as he takes in black robes with dragon leather vest-guard underneath. And then—Oh, Graves' face, softened with affection.

"I thought you might be dead," Newt whispers.

"I'm sorry," Graves says. "I would have told you, had I known you were here."

Newt shakes his head. He doesn't care that Graves hadn't known. It only matters that he is alive, that he is well, that he's here. He throws his arms around Graves' neck and hugs him tightly, kissing his ear and then his cheek and then his mouth with tearful happiness.

"Your house was destroyed," Newt says.

"I'll build a new one," Graves tells him.

"Your garden was burned."

"It can be replanted."

Newt nods, kisses Graves again—chaste and sweet. "Take me with you," he says. "Please."

Graves smiles, rests their foreheads together. "As if I would have you anywhere else."

("And my creatures, of course," Newt adds, more quietly, still crying. Graves laughs, "Of course, of course. Dougal can help with the garden.")

THE END

[aethelar]

See, the first time that Newt got lost in Asclepius’ hospital and ended up in Graves’ highly warded highly secret room, he could chalk it up to a strange set of coincidences. An accident, maybe. He took a few wrong turns, a couple of wrong staircases, somehow got an overly pushy snidget soft toy foisted on him by an insistent gift shop, and ended up explaining his theory of flight magic to a comatose director for... a while? He kind of lost track of the time. The charmed window had rolled over to a balmy sunset by the time the door reappeared and the snidget chivvied him out of the room, but Newt hadn’t thought it was that long.

But that’s beside the point. The first time it happened, Newt thought it was an accident. A one off at the very least - he was hardly in the habit of visiting the hospital and wandering off by himself. He wasn’t, in fact, anywhere near the hospital, and Graves wasn’t on his mind, and the door leading out of the gents on MACUSA’s third floor was not supposed to lead to a familiar room with a familiar occupant in the single bed.

The snidget - Steve, it was a stuffed toy but it was a remarkably animated stuffed toy and it deserved a name - wormed its way out of his pocket and chirrupped hopefully at him. He looked over his shoulder but without much optimism; the door he had just walked through was, indeed, gone.

“My apologies, Mr Graves,” Newt said to the sleeping figure. “I won’t be a moment, sorry for disturbing you.” He ushered the snidget away to the furthest corner and lowered his voice.

“Now, listen,” he told it as sternly as he could manage. “You can’t make a habit of kidnapping people like this. I can’t make a habit of being kidnapped like this. I got in enough trouble last time, thank you, so take me back.”

Peep?

“Back, Steve. I’m not leaving my case in the Auror department by itself.”

Steve gave a low, despondent whistle and landed back on his shoulder, but at least the door rematerialised. How, exactly, it managed to drop him off halfway across the city at the Woolworth’s building Newt didn’t know, but it seemed petty to question it at this point.

He quashed the feelings of guilt about leaving Graves behind. The man had the best care MACUSA could give him, and really, Newt was a complete stranger. He shouldn’t be interfering. What he should be doing is reporting the hole in the wards to Tina or at the very least working out exactly what magic was powering Steve and how it was connected to the hospital. Somehow Newt was never very good at doing what he should, and somehow it was strangely difficult to put Graves out of his mind and focus on the various forms and legislation Tina needed him to run through.

Somehow he wasn’t surprised that walking out the door an hour later with his coat on and his case in hand did not, in fact, lead him to the apparition point.

“Hello again, Mr Graves,” he greeted with a feeling of cautious relief. He’d hoped to be able to come back, but it never did to count on such things. “I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly earlier, but I’m free for the evening if you don’t mind me staying.” He slipped his coat off and hung it on the hook that materialised from the wall and walked over to his chair by the bed without needing prompting. Steve, whizzing in lazy circles around his head, looked insufferably proud.

“I brought my notes this time,” Newt said conversationally as he opened his case. “I won’t be a moment.”

It was... nice, would be the best way to describe it. Newt had his notes, had Steve trying to make a nest out of his hair (and Newt really needed to check on Steve’s animation charms, this was getting ridiculous), Pickett sat on his shoulder and fussily untangling Steve’s work, and Graves’ sleeping form as his patient audience. He was mostly in the editing stage by this point, condensing entire notebooks of research down into a short entry for each creature he’d come across - 

“ - but I was thinking, maybe, of leaving this one as a sort of quick reference encyclopedia book and writing more in depth books on each species, what do you think? Or maybe not each species but maybe the groups of them, each continent perhaps - no those books would be too big. Maybe I should just make the entries longer and stick to one book. One giant book. I could put expandable charms on each section so you could tap your wand to the creature’s name and get a whole chapter dedicated to them, how amazing would that be? A mite impractical, but maybe for special editions... “

It was nice to talk it over with Graves. It helped Newt organise his thoughts, and let’s face it, he liked talking about his creatures. He just very rarely found someone who would listen, and maybe it was a bit unfair to be taking advantage of Graves like this but... Well. It was nice.

So the first time was an accident, the second time lasted all of a minute, and the third time went long into the night before the sleepy snidget started tugging Newt towards the door. He left reluctantly, still juggling papers on lethifolds and wondering whether to include the eyewitness account he’d been given or stick to his own research.

“Oh stop fussing, I’m going, I’m going - I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr Graves, have a good night - good grief Steve calm down - “

The door closed behind him with hurried but silent force and Newt blinked owlishly at the deserted alley he found himself in. It seemed to be one of the back exits to the MACUSA building; the sunken cellar door behind him was layered with enough muggle repellents to give him a headache just standing there. He peered suspiciously at Steve. “How, exactly, are you managing this?” he asked the stuffed toy. If it even was a stuffed toy. Steve tucked himself into Newt’s pocket with Pickett and refused to answer.

He didn’t answer the fourth time, when Newt stumbled through a door in his flat and arrived in Graves’ room half dressed with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, or the fifth time when Newt carried a steaming mug of tea and a sandwich through to what should have been his living room. By the sixth time, Newt had started keeping his notes shrunk in his pocket rather than his case; times seven and eight he’d added an expansion charm, a thermos of tea and a portable cooking stove and regaled Graves with stories of misadventures in local cuisine as he put together a basic stew. Chili, that’s all Newt was saying. Entirely unreasonable quantities of hot chili. 

“You know,” he remarked, somewhere around time ten - eleven? - that he’d set up camp in the corner of Graves’ room, “I think I spend more time here than in my actual flat. Between here and the case, I do wonder why I’m paying the rent on it.” He lent forward, chin resting on his knees and wrists loosely crossed over his ankles. Graves was - as ever - still and silent, but Newt had managed to add a few bits and pieces. Weightless charms, to reduce the risk of bedsores. Tweaks to the lighting charms on the ceiling, to better mimic the sun and the rhythm of the day. A bit of a breeze. Smells, outdoor smells - people tended to overlook smell, but it was one of the most important senses. If Graves was even a little aware of his surroundings, Newt thought he should have some better smells around than sterile hospital linen.

He could do more, if he wasn’t worried about tripping the monitoring wards. Turning artificial spaces into natural habitats was what Newt did, what he was good at, and Asclepius’ hospital was all but overflowing with ambient magic that existed to heal - Newt could have turned the cramped room into open Savannah plains if he could convince the hospital it would help Graves. He itched to, occasionally; maybe not plains, but maybe New York? Maybe Graves would prefer the feel of his city, the sounds of busy streets and the rumbling grind of daily life. Newt would like to ask him.

Steve perked up suddenly, interrupting Newt’s thoughts as he took wing and hovered by the door that melted out of the wall. And there, ultimately, was the only thing stopping Newt from moving in: the irregular check ups from Graves’ doctors and guards. Technically, Newt wasn’t supposed to be there. Even if he was eighty seven percent sure that it was the hospital itself that kept dragging him back, Newt doubted that the aurors would take kindly to his intrusion.

“I’ve got to go,” he told Graves regretfully as he moved over to the anchor stones he’d placed around the bed. A wave of his wand collected them and cancelled the atmosphere charms he’d been running, and he felt the walls sigh as Asclepius’ resettled the usual window illusions and wards into place. “We need to talk about your sentient buildings when you wake up though, because I’m starting to lean towards your hospital being possessed. In a good way - did I tell you about the Lares spirits I met? You’d like those, I think.”

He stopped for a moment, staring at Graves and wondering if Graves would, in fact, like them. Newt knew nothing about Graves. He could infer a lot from the auror’s near devotion to him - from Tina’s devotion - and from the harsh persona Grindelwald had pulled on to impersonate him, but.

But.

Graves was pale, in a way that said he was usually tanned but had been kept away from the sun for too long. His hair was dark brown, not black, and it fanned around his head on the pillow. There were furrows etched into his forehead and the beginnings of crows feet at the edge of his eyes, and Newt pushed a stray strand of hair back and wondered if they were from anger or stress. If you worry you suffer twice, but even Newt can’t help but worry when his creatures are in danger and if what Tina said was true - well, maybe Graves worried for his aurors the same as Newt did for his creatures?

“If you’d only wake up,” he whispered, allowing his fingers to rest in Graves’ surprisingly soft hair, “I could ask.”

Steve flittered urgently at the door. Newt couldn’t hear the footsteps on the other side of the wall, but he knew better than to push his luck. He picked up his case and slipped through the door and into an innocuous back street just as the wards peeled back to allow the aurors into the room.

[esamastation]

slow and abrupt change, 3

Newt keeps his pace slow as he walks next to Graves.

The man's walking has gotten a little slower and little more laborious as they've been going and a while Newt has wanted to suggest apparating, just to save the man the strain he's putting on his no doubt still badly injured knee. But he doesn't.

It's not his shadows they're facing after all. Graves would probably do better facing them his own terms.

"It's a nice sort of neighbourhood," Newt comments, though he really can't tell one way or the other. He doesn't know that much about New  York really.

"It's quiet," Graves says, and through his gritted teeth it comes out less like statement and more like accusation. "Usually anyway."

Newt nods, shifting his fingers on the handle of his suitcase before glancing at the man. Bead of sweat on his brow, a vein slightly throbbing at his neck, a sort of pinched, pale tint to his skin – but he keeps going. Idly Newt wonders if it would be too much to suggest…

"I have murtlap essence," he offers. "For – for the knee, I mean. When strained fresh, it can help with deep tissue aches. It might…"

Graves swallows and closes his eyes and then he lets out an impatient sigh. "Thank you," he says. "I'd appreciate it."

Newt nods and looks down. It's awkward, watching someone put themselves through such pain and not being able to do much about it. Maybe that was what Theseus felt, that time Belgium – no wonder he'd been so awkward. It doesn't seem like there is anything he can say either, out of fear of distracting man from the effort he's putting into the whole ordeal.

"I'm fine," Graves grinds out at him. "Stop fidgeting, Mr. Scamander, I'm not about to drop down and die."

"Yes, I mean, no, of course not," Newt says and glances at him. The Auror's cheek twitches – grinding his teeth together now. "Are you sure we can't apparate?" he finally asks, rather plaintive.

"No need," Graves says and nods ahead. "We're here."

Almost there turns out to be a two story house at the end of the dimly lit street, with black metal fence around it and elaborate gate in front of it. As newt watches Graves runs his fingers over the gate, running his thumb slowly over the lock, and it clicks open.

Beyond it there is a lawn that looks like it used to be well maintained, with decorative bushes and even some flowers under the window sills, but which has been allowed to grow out in the last couple of months. Grindelwald apparently hadn't bothered with doing Graves' gardening, Newt muses and looks at the house itself.

It's a fairly normal sort of house, not so different from the other houses on the street. White with black door and window frames, black tiles for the roof, curtains on all the windows. It looks nice, even.

Graves hesitates at the steps of the porch and because Newt is looking for it he can easily discern the slight shake of the man's hand. Looking between him and the house, Newt makes a face. He can't imagine what it might be like. Something like when Grindelwald took his case, but instead of getting it back relatively unharmed he would've found it ransacked, maybe.

"Do you want me to go in first?" Newt offers.

"No," Graves says, startling out of his stupor and then, grimly determined, he steps closer. A touch unlocks the door and Graves pulls it open, his shoulders tight and tense.

Inside the house is dark and somewhat cold, the shadows deep and what few light screens through windows is stark and cold. Newt looks around the forayer and then, tentative, presses his hand on Graves' back.

The man gasps a breath. "It's my own fucking house – why is this so hard?" he asks, sounding furious.

Because it's been violated and turned into a prison, because this is where he hurt you, Newt thinks but doesn't say it. He runs an awkward hand over the man's shaking shoulder and then peers into the dark house. "Maybe we should light the place up a little."

Graves shakes his head and in the end Newt's the one who goes around, at first checking if Graves has electric lighting at all and when it turns out he doesn't, lighting the gas lamps and candles instead. It gives him the chance to snoop around a bit, while Graves leans against the hall wall and just breathes, trying to gather himself.

The house is nice. Newt had thought Tina and Queenie had a nice house, and they did sure, but Graves' house has been decorated with obvious intent and theme. Everything is old, dark wood and gold, and the carpets are all match both with their colour and their simple, elegant richness. Newt had always gotten the impression that Graves wasn't exactly in dire straits when money was concerned, but the house just… fine.

It's also clean to the point of ridiculousness, every bit of metal polished, not a hint of dust in sight.

Newt lights the candles in the living room chandelier and then heads back to hall, where Graves has his eyes closed and is just breathing, slow and methodical, through whatever is going on in his head. Newt hesitates for a moment and then steps closer. "Your coat?" he asks tentatively.

Not opening his eyes Graves eases the sling off and then moves to shrug off his long coat. With his bad arm it seems bit of a task, so Newt steps in to take the coat by the collar and ease it over his shoulders, wincing a little at the slightly pained breath the man lets out.

"Thank you – just put it over there," Graves says and Newt takes out a hanger from the near by closet to hang it properly. He does the same for his coat, wincing a little when he noticed that he has bit of dirt on the coat hem – he's probably been tracking dirt all over Graves' fine house.

Newt turns to Graves, wondering if he should maybe apologise, to find the man watching him. Newt stops, awkwardly tugging at his waist coat, wondering if he looks rumbled – he probably does, he always looks a bit rumbled. He certainly doesn't look like he belongs in this place.

"I suppose I should offer you a drink?" Graves says, frowning a little as he eases the sling back on, resting his arm on it with a slight sigh.

"If you'd like, it's… really not necessary," Newt says and looks down awkwardly. Now that they're here he's not entirely sure what he's doing. He'd wanted to help and Graves had given him the opportunity – which he undoubtedly did not give to many. But now…

Graves turns and looks at the house. He frowns and hesitates for another split of a second before stepping forward. Newt quickly takes his suitcase in hand, and follows him.

"It's a nice house," Newt offers, because that's what people did, wasn't it, offer compliments for other people's houses.

"I suppose," Graves says, leading him slowly to the living room. It is the nicest room in the house as far as newt has seen – with comfortable couches, a big fireplace and glass cabinets full of all sorts of interesting looking knickknacks. There is also a cabinet there which Newt soon realises is where Graves keeps his spirits – because that's the one the man goes for, all the while wandlessly summoning a pair of glasses from the kitchen. They float over just as the man opens the liquor cabinet.

"What's your poison, Mr. Scamander?"

Newt hesitates and then sets his case down on the floor beside one of the cabinets. "Whiskey – fire whiskey if you have it," he then says.

"I have Dragon Fire," Graves offers.

"That sounds wonderful, thank you."

Graves pours the liquor and then floats it over, letting Newt catch the glass from the air. The man himself hesitates for a moment before reaching out a hand. Handful of logs float out of a case by the fireplace, and into it. They light up in flames at snap of Graves' fingers.

"You're very talented with wandless magic," Newt comments, watching the fire quickly take.

"Levitation and the occasional bit of pyrotechnics," Graves says, his lips twitching into something wry that's not quite a smile. "Most of it's just cheap trickery. Handy, though, when you only got the one functioning arm."

Newt nods slowly, watching him, as Graves turns to him with a glass in hand. "To your health?" the man offers, lifting his glass.

Newt smiles awkwardly and lifts his glass in answer before taking a sip, just enough to feel the heat spread across his tongue. Graves drinks almost all of his in one go, blowing out a small breath of smoke after swallowing.

"I made a conscious effort not to drink when I was trapped here," the man comments, eyeing the glass. "This is only the second drink I've had here since then"

"That was probably very wise," Newt comments and then glances over the man.

Graves shakes his head at that and then walks over. Newt tenses uncertainly, but the man is aiming for the couch instead, sitting down slowly and carefully before straightening out his bad leg with a sigh. "It was stubbornness. If I had spend the time drunk, it might've passed quicker," he muses and sips his drink, glaring at his knee.

"Maybe, but that's hardly healthy," Newt says, fiddling with his glass for a moment before setting it down. "I – could get the murtlap essence, if you'd like?"

Graves frowns and glances up at him. "If you wouldn't mind," he says then.

Newt nods, grateful to have something to do, and quickly turns to his suitcase, setting it down. He feels Graves' eyes on him the whole time as he opens the case, to reveal the top of the ladder. "I'll be back in a moment," Newt says and Graves salutes him with his whiskey glass as Newt hurries down.

It's weirdly guilty feeling, to go down into the suitcase in such situation. His home remains his sanctuary, for him and all of his creatures, but Graves home isn't anything of the sort to him. While checking his phials and looking for the most resent clippings of murtlap tentacles, Newt wonders if Graves would end up moving. Probably.

Easing his tie open and pushing his sleeves up, Newt quickly minces the tentacle clippings before getting out a strainer. With bit of gentle pressure, he has ounce or two of the essence strained into a phial, a bit of aloe vera and peppermint mixed in for a nice cooling effect. Quickly Newt tests the mixture on couple of his own wounds – the ragged edge of scales at his hip which cuts a little into the soft skin of his belly and his left calf which always aches a little bit – and it works perfectly well.

Before heading back up, Newt checks to see that the shed door is properly locked and no sneaky mufflers are about to get out, before turning back to the ladder. With phial clutched in hand, he quickly climbs up, hoping he hasn't taken too long.

Graves is still sitting in the same spot as before, but now he's leaning forward, his forehead resting on his palm, his shoulders even tenser than before.

"Graves?" Newt asks worriedly.

The man draws a breath that rattles a little in his nose and looks up. "All done then?" he asks and reaches a shaking hand for the glass – which he has refilled, judging by the looks of the bottle now sitting on the table.

"Yes, I have the essence – are you…" Newt starts to ask and then stops. Of course the man isn't alright, what is he even thinking. "I have the essence," he says again and hops up the last couple of steps, closing the case behind him. "It might do some good to your arm too, if you'd like…"

Graves takes a drink and nods. "I wouldn't mind it," he says, taking a breath and setting the glass down again.

As Newt watches, feeling weirdly anxious, Graves opens his shift cuff on his bad hand and then eases the arm off the sling again. Slowly he eases the sleeve back, and bit by bit the damage is revealed. The skin is more or less intact – but it's swollen and discoloured, splotches of black and blue and sickly yellow in place of healthy pink.

Newt cautiously sits beside him while Graves eases the sleeve as far up as it will go – the terrible, terrible bruises cover his entire arm and elbow all the way up to his upper arm. No wonder he needs a sling – and yet, using the sling must hurt too, Newt thinks desperately, while taking out his handkerchief and pouring some of the essence on it.

He doesn't think twice about applying the salve himself, and Graves doesn't stop him, watching him spread it gently over the discoloured skin in soft, careful circles.

"I'm not sure if I made enough," Newt admits worriedly.

"It's fine – that's… that's already better," Graves says, taking hold of his own wrist to keep his injured arm up for Newt to apply the salve to. "Just, save some for my knee."

Newt nods and carefully covers every bruise with the salve, trying desperately to not apply too much pressure. The man's arm is almost completely hairless, he notes absently. They must've removed all hair while fixing it.

"Um, your knee – can you…?" Newt hesitates, glancing down.

Graves takes a breath, considering it and then shakes his head and shifting forward and easing his shoes off. Then he stands up. Newt stares at first, weirdly breathless and then quickly looks away – Graves is undoing his belt now, easing open the buttons of his trousers.

Then Newt sees the mans knee.

"You shouldn't be walking at all, should you?" he whispers

Graves falls to sit with a grunt and eases the bad leg out of his trousers, stretching it out with a wince, resting his ankle on the table. "Probably not," he admits. "But they didn't tell me I couldn't, and it does hold my weight… most of the time."

Newt shakes his head and then applies the murtlap essence directly onto the gruesome amount of bruising. He wants to ask what on earth happened to it, what had Grindelwald done – jumped on it? But he doesn't dare, and instead just makes sure to get the essence as thickly over the damage as he can manage, running his fingers gently over the swollen, hot skin of the man's knee. Then he dips his fingers around the man's knee, to apply the salve behind the knee as well, rubbing it in with circling motions until Graves sighs.

He's on his knees between Graves' legs and the table by the time he's finished, something he realises only after he's spend good five minutes there.

"Um," Newt says, awkwardly withdrawing his hands.

"Thank you," Graves says, watching him with dark eyes. "That feels much better, thank you."

Newt swallows and nods, looking down – except then he is staring at the man's crotch, covered only by a set of underwear now, and has to quickly look away again. "I'll just - " he mumbles and quickly gets up. Graves keeps staring at him darkly and Newt awkwardly twiddles with his hands – except they're slick and a little numb with the murtlap essence.

Awkwardly he takes his hanky and tries to clean his fingers with it without meeting Graves' eyes. The man keeps staring at him.

"Mr. Scamander," Graves says quietly, his voice low. "Why did you come here?"

Newt pauses between picking salve from under his fingernails. "Because… I want to help?" he offers. "And it's Newt, please."

"Newt," Graves says slowly. "You don't even know me."

Newt shrugs. "Nobody knows anybody until they do," he says. And lately he's figured out just how easy it is to get to know people, really. All you really have to do is put effort to it, something he's never dared to do, before Jacob and Tina an Queenie…

He looks at Graves – at his bruised arm and near waist coat, the scorpion collar pins… the still stiff propriety somehow clinging to the man even as he sits there with no trousers. "And I think I'm learning to know you, a little," newt says with awkward smile.

Graves watches him silently for a while and then looks down at newt's hands. He reaches his good hand out and uncertain Newt takes it in his.

"Newt," the man says and pulls him in, to sit down beside him. "Tell me about yourself."

"There's not that much to know, really," Newt murmurs awkwardly, not sure where to look. Graves is still staring at him. He thinks it might be that the man is distracting himself from the house around them, concentrating onto him instead but does it have to involve so much eye contact? "And – and you have my file, I think."

"The file only tells the overall story and little of the details," Graves says. "And I think the impression of a Hogwarts drop-out is entirely wrong in your case. You still have your wand too – which I understand they snap, when you are expelled."

Newt coughs. "Yes, well – they did," he admits and takes his wand out, desperate for something to distract him from Graves. He turns the worm eaten, scratched, beaten bit of wood in his hand and fondly runs his fingers over the seam. "Right here," he says and shows it. "I got it a new handle and fixed it – took me several months, but…"

Graves frowns and finally looks away. "You… fixed it?"

"Mm-hm," Newt agrees. "Resin, bit of coral, and lot of patience – and bit of mother of pearl here at the base, to stabilise the result. It was an effort, and I had some mishaps, but yes… I fixed it."

Graves blinks at him and then holds out his hand. "May I?"

Newt sets the wand on his palm and watches the man examine it curiously. "This is one… well worn wand," Graves comments rather diplomatically, examining the pores left behind by woodworms. Newt had switched over to woodlice for bowtruckles after that particular incident – they weren't as keen on wand wood as the larvae of some beetles.

"Barely a wand according to some, but I think it suits me," Newt smiles at the wand proudly. "It works better for me now than it did before as well."

Graves shakes his head, examining the pit of mother of pearl at the end of the wand. Then he hands it back. "You, sir, are a mess," he comments with a sort of wondering disapproval. "Most people would just buy a new one."

"Why? There was nothing wrong with the old wand," Newt says with a little grin, giving it a fond twirl before pushing it back to it's holster. "All it needed was a little healing and then it was perfectly good for me."

Graves looks at him at that, searching his face. Newt meets his eyes for as long as he can manage but it's ever so awkward, meeting people's eyes – soon he has to look away, at Graves' collar instead. The scorpions are interesting, he muses, and opens his mouth to ask about them.

Then he feels Graves' hand on his cheek, fingers dipping under his chin to lift it up slightly. Newt's eyes snap open wide and he meets Graves' gaze with surprise. Graves looks at him darkly for a moment, eyes searching for something and Newt hasn't the foggiest what, but Graves seems to find it because the corner of his lips curls a little, maybe with displeasure, Newt doesn't know but it makes his heart suddenly beat at double pace.

And then Graves kisses him.

- - - 

Goddamn it. this whole fic I’ve been trying to make Newt Thirsty but I failed.

[funkzpiel]

Do you have a to do list for your writing projects? Can we see?

I do have a to do list. I was keeping it all in a journal, which eventually migrated to my basecamp profile (online calendar/organizer thing). I am more than happy to share it with you! Be forewarned, my inbox is currently 50 messages deep…so there’s at least 50 things on my to-do list. XD It’s not in any specific order.PROMPTS:- 4 Music Prompts from today- Famous!NewtxOblivious(Not Famous)!Graves- Howl, Florence + The Machine - Werewolf!Graves- Multiple Orgasms (Gramander)- Graves in work boots/casual wear + Auror!Squad reactions- Bottom!Graves/Hung!Credence- Graves/Auror!Squad Shenanigans- Vampire!Graves- Newt Enjoying Graves’ Smol-ness Way Too Much >:)- “Are You Limping?”- Grindelwald in a collar- Newt/Percival fight - Cue Sadness when Newt almost Dies in battle- Newt thinks Percival is a magical creature because he sees how his Auror!Squad (and everyone, really) thirsts after him- Dragon!Newt/Dragon!Graves- Chubby Retired!GravesxNewt- Newt has a competency kink; Graves is quite competent - On the Run AU - Gramander (with mpreg!)- Dragon!Newt gives Werewolf!Graves a belly rub (⺣◡⺣)♡*- Gravesx??? (Scar Worship)- Gravesx??? “you’re trembling so much, does the vibrator feel that good?”- Graves w/ a Praise Kink!- “Kindness is a choice. Mercy is a choice. And now I am inclined to choose neither.”- Dragon!Newt teaches Dragon!Graves to fly feat. Graves is afraid of heights (I’m crying!)- “oh, you look so frustrated…” with Dom!Newt and Bottom!Graves- Gramander “Go on, you said you could get away from me. You lose, pet.”- “See? You can’t move at all, you’re completely under my control” gramander with top newt?- “Face down, ass up. This is how I want you.” with Percival?- “You’re going to take all of me, I don’t care if it’s too much.” for Graves- Pilot!Graves x Cocky customer!Grindelwald “Do you want that hot guy be your new daddy?” Grindelwald asks his son, Credence. (I’M STILL CRYING)- During WWI, Percival Graves saves Theseus Scamander by taking a curse intended for him. Theseus returns the favor by performing triage healing to stop the bleeding and getting Percival the hell out of there.- Gramander AU: The Graves family are, secretly, selkies. Newt finds Percival’s stolen sealskin.- Gramander AU, where both Newt and Original!Graves are Grindelwald’s captives - and end up falling in love in the Dark Lord’s dungeon.- add more onto the newt/graves fic where newt gets a crush after graves saves him from the nundu??- May I softly demand for Graves riding Newt and calling him Mummy- Shy!Anon: power bottom!Graves - have him tie Newt up and ride him silly- Shy!Anon: Alpha!Credence’s first time- vampire!gramander AU: how about sire!Newt and fledgling!Graves exploring the bond between them?- Graves struggles with ptsd and depression after being rescued. Newt slowly helps him get better, i.e. talk and smile again.- Can you expand more on that Graves being hopelessly attracted to himself idea?- Graves and Grindelwald being normal actors, Co staring in a movie with dark vibes and Grindelwald being a little TOO MUCH into it during a sex scene. Like. Really too much. Manhandling Graves, grinding down on him. The director thinks it’s good acting on his part, a nice personal touch, and then he has to yell cut and put a stop to this bc wtf. And Graves is just a little bit shocked.- Ghost!Graves living in the same house he died in, and Newt moving in bc it’s cheap. Graves tries to chase him at first but Newt keeps being unimpressed by the supernatural displays so Graves tentatively appears in front of Newt at night, at dinner. Just materializes in the chair in front of Newt while the latter is chewing on his hot dog. Newt has a heart attack but then he’s like “Holy shit, it’s you? You’re… You’re gorgeous!” Newt says excitedly. Graves gawks at him. What?! - Newt doting on Graves (Who doesn’t know how to handle being loved)- Graves is accidentally made young (like, early twenties) during a raid gone wrong and Charles/Oliver take care of him more than ever >:)

PERSONAL PROJECTS:- And The Tag Read Simply: Pretty- Say When (Prequel to above fic)- Merman AU (Grindelgraves)- Pirate AU (Grindelgraves) (Maybe Gramander)- To Die Just A Little (Obscurial Graves) (Gramander)- In Plain Sight (Grindelgraves) (Maybe Gramander)- True Nature of Percival Graves (Grindelgraves)- When You Were Young (Gen)- Fairy!Graves AU- Little Blue Riding Newt- Dark Creature AU (Graves’ Turned Into Werewolf)- The Beguiled AU- Shameless (w/ @fantastic-beasts-smut)…I think that’s everything…XD 

OH WAIT NO I FORGOT - Gangster AU w/ Grindelgramander for @firebyfireNow I think that's everything... xD