#( sunlight & night | newt & graves )

[wizardingsouls]

tag dump five ft. ships* !!

*may be added to as needed

#( sweetest calm | newt & queenie ) #( found a giver | newt & tina | newtina ) #( sunlight & night | newt & graves ) #( saint & shadow | queenie & graves ) #( queen & her lionheart | graves & picquery ) #( i just see you | gravse & tina | goldgraves ) #( slowly then all at once | ron & hermione | romione ) #( destined from day one | ron & harry ) #( meant to be by your side | lily & james ) #( quite the double act | james & sirius ) #( home feels like you | viktor & hermione )

[bananamarshmallowz]

I think I might be a vampire

I can't invite myself places, or to online games or anything like that without someone else inviting me.

I spend most of my times in the dark. I'm mostly nocturnal, can sleep all day then have so much energy at night.

Garlic is hard for me to bare if it's too much, even subtly it hurts my stomach.

Funny enough, I like crosses on jewelry but don't really like to go to any churches.

There's one superstition that people would lay salt, rice or eye of newt near a vampire's grave so that vampires would have to count all the single grains and be delayed 'til sunlight. I fuckin' love rice.

I like the taste of blood and the smell. It's easy for me to smell subtle smells when others can't. Same with sounds.

That's about it but I think I'm a vampire.

[magickedsouls]

tag dump six ft. ships !!

*will be added to as needed

#( sorting hat | tag dump ) #( and i still reach out | wants | graves ) #( maybe more than a smidge | wants | newt ) #( if only if only | wants | ron ) #( more than just a school | hogwarts ) #( field trip goals | hogsmeade ) #( has a shop for everything | diagon alley ) #( roll and ramble on | places ) #( sweeter than anything | newt & queenie ) #( found a giver | newt & tina | newtina ) #( sunlight & night | newt & graves ) #( saint & shadow | queenie & graves ) #( queen & her lionheart | graves & picquery ) #( see the real you | graves & tina | goldgraves ) #( slowly then all at once | ron & hermione | romione ) #( meant to be by your side | lily & james ) #( quite the double act | james & sirius )

[frunbuns]

You’ve Been Hurting For a Long Time

Some days, when he sees someone on the street that looks just a little too like Graves, that makes his blood run cold. He’s quick to apparate home then, trembling hands trying desperately to open the front door until he remembers that the door is locked, and he’ll pull out his wand and wordlessly unlock it, slamming the door shut behind him. He stumbles into the flat, breathing so fast he feels light-headed. That he might pass out right then and there.

And the panicked feeling of; “This is it. He’s going to die. He’s going to die. He’s going to—”

Newt rides it out on the floor of his empty London flat, with only Pickett as company who chirps at him with concern, unable to do much to help him.

Read on Ao3

It’s a testament to how lonely he really is that he doesn’t even notice it until he’s alone again. New York had been an adventure he’d not forget any time soon. He’d spent a little under two weeks in the city, and yet it had made a larger impact on him than any place he’d ever been. And he had been all over the world.

As the boat had made its way to London Newt spent his time taking care of the creatures in his case. He’d kept himself busy as the journey had dragged on.

Theseus greets him at the docks. He welcomes him home with a tight hug and a pat on the back. He takes him home and they eat dinner together. He wants Newt to be his best man at his and Leta’s wedding. He tells him he’s proud of him and wishes him good luck on the book. Then he leaves for the night.

And suddenly Newt is alone again.

He gets to work on his book, looking through his countless notebooks full of scribbles and messily written notes. Months and months worth of research. He spends hours upon hours every day. 

When he’s not writing he takes care of his creatures. Feeding them, treating their injuries, and studying them.

At night, when every time he closes his eyes all he sees are the malicious eyes of Percival Graves as Newt writhes pathetically down on the train tracks - every part of his body screaming in pain - he stares up at the white ceiling of his bedroom. Heart pounding in his chest.

It’s when it’s pitch black outside and the silence in his flat is so quiet his ears almost start ringing that he feels it the most. The pressure pushing down at his chest, making it hard to breathe. The ache in his heart. The one that doesn’t ever quite go away, but had lessened in New York - and then gets even worse at nights like these.

The crippling loneliness.

Suddenly his creatures aren’t quite enough. It’s not quite the same, and now that he’s had it, losing it had been so hard.

He falls asleep after what feels like an eternity, and wakes up the next morning with the sun shining in through his curtains, and dry tear-tracks on his face. He doesn’t dwell on it for long. He has a basement full of magical creatures that needs taking care of.

He puts it in a small box and stores it away for later. (But later doesn’t come. It never does.)

Theseus talks to him at the Ministry. Asks him how the book is coming along and makes all kinds of small talk that Newt hates. He invites him to have dinner with him and Leta, but Newt declines. 

Every time.

(When he gets home again, to his quiet, empty flat, he wonders why he did it. He never has a good answer. He can’t even remember why he started saying no in the first place.)

Sometimes, when Theseus is talking to him - about the most casual of things - he’ll zone out. The world around him disappears entirely as he stares blankly forward, a faraway look. Theseus will stop talking, and when he comes to again he hears the snapping of fingers, and he sees Theseus’ concerned face in front of him. 

They never talk about it, but the older Scamander brother gives him worried glances at him from time to time. Like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure how - or even if he should.

Part of him wishes he would. (Just push a little harder. Prod a little more. And maybe then Newt would finally break apart and tell him everything.)

(“Newt,” her voice rings out from the other side of the door.  “Why don’t you come out? You’ve been holed up in your room for days.”

Newt stares at the floor, lips pressed into a thin line. He’s sat against the wall next to the door, knees drawn up to his chest. Around him, his bedroom is an untidy mess, more so than usually. The curtains are drawn, blocking most of the sunlight out.

Leta sighs. “We’re worried about you.”

Newt looks up then, eyeing the door. “We?” he asks, voice hoarse and quiet after so long of not using it.

“Yes, we,” she says. “Theseus is your brother, and I’m your friend. Of course we worry about you.”

Newt lets out a shuddering breath, blinking away the stinging sensation in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s sure if he did his voice would crack.

He hears Leta sigh. “Just… We care about you, Newt. I don't know what happened in New York, but it must have been bad. We just want to be there for you.”)

Some days, when he sees someone on the street that looks just a little too like Graves, that makes his blood run cold. He’s quick to apparate home then, trembling hands trying desperately to open the front door until he remembers that the door is locked, and he’ll pull out his wand and wordlessly unlock it, slamming the door shut behind him. He stumbles into the flat, breathing so fast he feels light-headed. That he might pass out right then and there.

And the panicked feeling of; “This is it. He’s going to die. He’s going to die. He’s going to—”

Newt rides it out on the floor of his empty London flat, with only Pickett as company who chirps at him with concern, unable to do much to help him.

(Logically, he knows that Grindelwald is locked away at MACUSA. That there’s no way he could be in London of all places. Especially not disguised as Graves again. That would be foolish of him.)

Newt can only describe it as if he's swimming in deep, freezing water, barely able to keep his head above the surface. He gasps for air that never quite reaches his lungs, unable to call for help. And just when he thinks he might have found his footing, a new wave rolls over him, pulling him back under. 

At times he's worried his body might give out to the exhaustion, and he'll succumb to the dark depths of the sea where no one can help him. (Or maybe he’s already there and he just can’t tell.)

—

It gets better after he receives the first letter from Tina. It says so little, but so much at the same time. He’s quick to write her back. It makes the feeling of loneliness - the loneliness that’s taken such hold of him that it never quite leaves - lessen slightly. 

It’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He smiles for what feels like the first time in forever. It feels good. He’s not quite so alone anymore. Tina is his friend. (The water doesn’t feel quite so bottomless now.)

He wants to go back to New York, but it's rather difficult when he's got an International Travel Ban hanging over his head. He tries to appeal it multiple times, but he's never successful, even with Theseus' help and influence.

— 

He sees Tina’s picture in the paper. Pride swells in his chest, warming his entire being. His heart flutters in his chest when he looks at it. MACUSA is lucky to have her with them.

He’s disappointed to see that the picture doesn’t give the full effect as seeing her in person does. He cuts it out anyway, and keeps it in his case where he can see it. (He’ll see her again in person, he tells himself.)

Theseus does his best to talk to him. (He’s insistent on dinner, even though he knows Newt won’t accept. It’s almost as if he’s on autopilot.) It almost feels like he’s walking on glass around Newt at times, but it still doesn’t mean they get along all the time. They argue. Usually about Aurors. It never gets too heated - Theseus always seems to know when to stop - but it can sour his mood for the rest of the day. (Newt actively avoids him the next day.)

He finishes the book, and he sends it to his publisher. It’s not too long until it’s out. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Theseus and Leta come with him to the book signing at Flourish and Blotts. Leta doesn't seem to be angry with him for not coming to dinner, but Newt has never been good at reading people. Still, it’s a bit of a relief that they’re there. (Theseus has always been a people pleaser, and he basks in the attention as Newt practically cowers behind the desk.)

He meets Bunty, an enthusiastic woman who shares a love for beasts only rivaled with his own. He decides he quite likes her, and she’s more than willing to become his assistant and help him take care of the creatures he has. With the book money Newt finds he can afford it, and decides to hire her.

The rest of the day goes by in a jiffy, and before he knows it he’s back in his quiet, empty flat. But it’s not as bad as before. (It’s as if the water is getting shallower.)

He waits for Tina’s next letter. He’s ecstatic to hear from her again. Even if he can’t keep his promise and deliver the book to her in person. Still, he keeps a copy for her hidden away for when he eventually can.

Tina’s letter never comes.

The weeks drag on, but not as much as an owl pecks at his window.

(She must have finally had enough of him, he thinks. He must have annoyed her too much. Written something he shouldn’t have. Said something wrong, like he always seem to do.)

(Maybe Newt Scamander just wasn’t meant to have friends after all…)

Still, he holds out hope for her. That it isn’t like that. That it’s not his fault. Something else just got in the way. But the emptiness in his heart, that had ever so slowly started to heal again, grows. (The water around him rises.)

Life goes on. He still can’t get his travel ban appealed. Bunty is nice company when she comes, but it’s just as lonely in his flat when she leaves again. It’s better than it was though, and it eventually fades a little into the background. Never quite forgotten, but never fully present either. 

It gets easier to breathe, he finds. The rainy days of England don't seem as bleak and dreary anymore. It gets better. (It’s not quite as empty anymore.)

Paris happens. Leta dies, and Queenie joins Grindelwald. And all the things he thought he had left behind in New York comes rushing back. Just when he thought he might be healing.

It feels like he’s drowning all over again. The waves crash into him with more force than ever and Newt can’t breathe. It feels like there are ankors tied to him, or that he’s suddenly forgotten how to swim.

It’s easy to shit himself in. Isolate from the rest of the world. From everything and everyone. He doesn’t leave his flat. He skips meals. Some days he sleeps the day away and others he doesn’t sleep at all. He stays away when Bunty comes. He never quite knows when the next time he’s going to burst into tears or have a panic attack might be - and he doesn’t want Bunty’s concern - so he doesn’t take any chances.

(It should have been him.)

Newt is not used to being angry so when he first notices it, he’s scared. He finds that he’s angry at Grindelwald. At the Ministry. At Queenie. At everyone, even himself. 

He’s not himself anymore, and he’s not sure if he ever will be again. (He will, but it will take time.)

At night he dreams of Grindelwald and Graves. He tosses and turns until he wakes with a yell on his lips. The nightmares are bad. Sometimes it’s just Grindelwald, other times they involve his Tina, and Jacob, and Queenie, and Theseus. Other nights the nightmares don’t even have anything to do with Paris or New York.

But some nights the dreams are pleasant. About him and Leta. Sometimes at Hogwarts. Sometimes not. He misses her.

(“You should come out,” she says, then after a pause, “I know you’re listening, Newt. You should talk to him.”

Newt closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall.

“I know you’re hurting… but so is he. He needs you just as much as you need him right now. You don’t have to go through this alone, Newt.”

He looks at the door separating them. 

“You’re the most important people in my life, and I hate to see you suffering like this. Just—” She pauses for a second. “Just let us in, Newt. Please.”

A beat. 

“I love you, you know.”

Newt stands up. He takes a shaky breath and goes to the door. He swallows thickly, hand hovering over the door handle. Leta remains silent, as if she’s expectantly waiting for him.

He opens the door.

And then he wakes up.)

Time goes on.

—

The cold winter air dances around him. Newt buries himself further into the coat. His shoulders are stiff as he walks the streets. Pickett chirps softly from his breast pocket.

He stops in front of Theseus’ door. He finds himself hesitating. This is the first time he’s been outside - properly outside - in weeks. It had all been on a whim. He hadn’t planned on going out today, and now he finds that he regrets it. 

He had gotten a quick look in the mirror as he threw on his coat and scarf. He’s a mess. Messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, ghostly pale skin, and sunken cheeks. He had barely recognised himself where he stood. Surely Theseus can wait another day. He can come back sometime else, when he’s not so disheveled.

Pickett chirps at him and Newt shakes his head.

‘Worrying means you suffer twice,’ he tells himself. A motto he hasn’t lived by in a while now. Something he hasn’t thought about in ages.

With a shaking hand he moves to ring the buzzer.

The door opens.

Newt gasps, breath hitching in the back of his throat as he jumps back in surprise.

“Newt—?” Theseus looks equally surprised to see him there, looking him down with wide eyes.

The older Scamander doesn’t look much better than Newt. He’s pale too, his normally pale freckles a stark contrast to his light skin. His hair is disheveled, like his, and he’s not wearing a suit like he usually does. It takes Newt by surprise.

They stare at each other in silence.

Then theseus clears his throat, looking him directly in the eyes. Newt wants to look away, but finds himself unable to. “Newt, what are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in weeks—”

Newt opens his mouth to answer, but he chokes over the sound, a wet sob passes through his lips. He blinks away tears. “I— I’m—”

Theseus sighs sadly. “Oh Newt,” he says softly before he pulls Newt into his arms. He rubs his back soothingly as the younger Scamander sobs into his shoulder, gasping for breath between each one as his body shakes as they rack his body. “I know, I know.”

“I’m— I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I—”

“It’s alright, Newt,” Theseus murmurs to him. “You’ve been hurting for a long time.”

They stand there for a while, taking comfort in each other’s presence, until Newt’s sobs subside to shuddering breaths and sniffles.

“I miss her.”

Theseus swallows thickly. “Me too,” he replies, voice thick with emotion and eyes filled with unshed tears. “Me too.”

The ocean splashes at his feat, but it’s alright. Newt knows how to swim now.

#fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts the crimes of grindelwald #fbawtft #fbtcog #newt scamander #theseus scamander #leta lestrange #tina goldstein #gellert grindelwald #percival graves #fics #my fics #mine #scamander brothers

[vintagediavolo]

Yours

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.

.

Darkness enveloped the streets of New York City, street-lights reflecting off the windows of all of the buildings as Newt Scamander shivered to himself, hurriedly strolling along as puffs of air rose from his mouth. At MACUSA, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement found itself busied with the case of the still-missing Percival Graves; no one knew exactly how long Grindelwald had been using his body, but they couldn’t find any leads as to where the man could be. Newt was shuffling through his own notes about the case at his desk (he’d been appointed Consultant for the department by Seraphina Picquery shortly after his help uncovering Grindelwald and obliviating the No-Maj population of the city) when his eyes grew unbearably heavy and his head fell forward onto the oak desk. It wasn’t that the case was boring, but there’d been no new information to come in about it and his sleep schedule happened to be rather inconsistent, making his tiredness catch up with him against his will.

Tightening his jacket around his lean form, he wished he could just apparate to the Goldsteins’ apartment, but he worried that his noisy arrival would rouse the sisters from their sleep and he didn’t wish to be rude; he was also still tired and he didn’t want to chance splinching himself in the middle of their living room.

A few minutes into his walk from the Woolworth Building, a deep unsettling feeling overturned his stomach and the skin on the back of his neck prickled, entire body wracked with a shiver that wasn’t from the cold. Chancing a glance behind him, he found only empty sidewalk and he tried to disregard his feelings as casual anxiety from being alone in the city at night, but he quickened his stride nonetheless. Ten minutes and a few blocks later, the tense atmosphere refused to settle and Newt’s hands began to clam up within his coat pockets. Unable to bear the feeling any longer, he stopped in the middle of the pavement and spun around, but still, nothing was there. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and let out a soft chuckle at his antics, trying to calm his beating heart with a hand over his chest. Turning back around, he reopened his eyes and screamed, startling a lone pigeon picking along the sidewalk for crumbs. Right in front of him was a dark pair of eyes scouring over his form, almost hungrily, and Newt immediately stepped back from the man, who, after narrowing his eyes, he realised was… “Director Graves?”

The man made no gesture to prove he heard his name; he only pursued Newt’s retreating body with flaring nostrils and a snarling expression, eyebrows drawn and forehead wrinkled. His skin was alabaster. Newt thought perhaps it was just from not making contact with sunlight for so long--who knows where and how Grindelwald had restrained him--but the man’s lips parted and he caught sight of the two sharp canines that gleamed threateningly. “Oh…” Oh… “Are you hungry, Director?”

“You smell… so good,” Graves drawled through a growl, rendering Newt a bit nervous, but he refused to back down. Unbuttoning his overcoat, he shrugged one arm out of the sleeve and leaned his head back, exposing his neck, which Graves’ eyes immediately narrowed in on.

“Come on. You must be starving,” Newt urged, maternal, creature-caring heart kicking in. He stood, rigid, as the man advanced with no hesitation. One of Graves’ hands found his waist, curling around it and sliding to the small of his back while his other hand gripped at his shoulder, tight enough to induce a wince out of him, but he kept his face stoic and breathing steady as he felt the man’s warm breath against his neck. He didn’t know how he expected it to feel, but as soon as the man’s fangs pierced his skin, a blinding, suffocating pleasure wracked his body and he had to hold himself up against Graves, hands gripping at the Director’s shoulders so that he wouldn’t crumble to the ground. The feeding continued for a minute before Graves unlatched from him, tongue caressing the broken skin so that it healed over.

Even though it was done, Newt didn’t release his hold on the man for he felt a bit lightheaded, but Graves didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he moved so that is face was right in front of his. “You taste as good as you look,” he complimented, Newt’s face flushing pink as the man returned to his neck, beginning to lick and suck at the skin. He was thankful it was nearing three in the morning, because if this had started happening in broad daylight--it wouldn’t have; vampires don’t feed during the day, but that was beside the point--the surrounding people would’ve been in for a shock.

“Are you giving me a hickey? Stop that!” Newt ordered, regaining his thoughts and pulling Graves’ away with his hands on either side of the man’s head, which was much more of a struggle than it should have been; the Director appeared keen on finishing his job. “Stop!”

“You are mine,” Graves growled so fiercely that Newt gasped, watching as the man’s eyes darkened further. He’d briefly studied vampires twice; once in school with Professor Dumbledore and another on his own, and he knew that born vampires possessed mates, but he couldn’t recall turned vampires having them, although that seemed to be the best explanation for Graves’ intimate behaviour. Stepping out of the man’s embrace, much to his chagrin if judged by the inhuman hiss that left his mouth, he took the man’s arm with his hand while ignoring the noise.

“I’m going to apparate, Director. Unless you want to stay here in the middle of the sidewalk in thirty degree weather.” Graves nodded his head for him to continue, and so the two of them disappeared from the city street with a sharp crack, startling the same pigeon that had returned after finding a discarded bagel, flapping its wings with a piece of it grasped in its beak.

As soon as they appeared in the Goldsteins’ living room, Graves took to pressing small kisses all over Newt’s face, making the distressed magizoologist sigh halfheartedly. “Newt, where you have you been?” Tina’s voice met his ears, and he didn’t get to warn the woman who had just came in from the kitchen about Graves. “Is that…?” She started, eyes wide.

“Yes,” Newt answered, struggling to get his jacket off with the man latched onto him like a lonely sloth. “Director, can you please stop touching me for a minute? Just for a minute.” Tina gaped as her boss pushed his bottom lip out in a pout.

“A minute.”

“A minute,” Newt confirmed, and Graves begrudgingly released him. Sighing with relief, Newt shuffled away as he was finally able to get out of his coat. Tina, watching as her boss’s eyes stayed fixed on her friend, slowly walked over to where Newt was hanging his coat on the hook beside the front door.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Grindelwald got someone to turn him into a vampire.” Tina gasped at this. “I expect he wanted to starve the man but didn’t want to waste his magic on keeping him alive, so instead turned him immortal,” he explained sadly. “Vampires don’t starve in the same way humans do. Instead of dying, the pain just increases and increases until it eventually turns them mad.” At the tone in his voice, she moved her eyes to his neck, and sure enough, two puncture marks stood prevalent amongst his freckles.

“You didn’t!” She ridiculed, raising her hand to touch the marks, only to stop when a hair-raising hiss ripped from her boss’s mouth. The man zipped across the room at impressive speed and enveloped Newt with his arms. His face, directed at her from over his shoulder, was one of pure rage, eyes black and fangs elongated. It sent chills down her spine.

“Director!” Newt scorned, turning around in the man’s arms. “She’s just a friend. Making sure if I’m okay. You know her; Tina Goldstein. She was one of your Aurors.” The man narrowed his eyes at the woman, nodding slightly. He didn’t seem to care too much though, choosing to just bury himself in Newt’s neck, nuzzling his nose into his scent. Exasperated, Newt turned his head as much as he could so he could continue addressing Tina. “I did. And I think I’m his mate… or something else, I’m not sure.”

“Mmm, mate. Mine,” Graves spoke, lips brushing against his collarbone, confirming his suspicions for the both of them.

“Well, I’ll leave you to deal with that. Just know we’ll have to take him into work tomorrow,” Tina said, voice infused with a bit of amusement at the sight of flustered Newt.

“Yeah,” he responded before she left to go back to bed. Now that she was gone, he could fully focus on the man who had begun opening his shirt, exposing his chest to the warm air of the apartment. “Director, none of that,” he reprimanded lightly, nudging the man’s fumbling hands away from the buttons. The man whined like a child not getting what he wanted in a sweets shop and Newt chuckled, buttoning his shirt back up as Graves just dropped his head onto his shoulder.

“Call me Percival,” the man mumbled.

“Okay,” Newt agreed, taking one of the man’s hands in his own. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” They moved as one through the kitchen and back into the guest bedroom, where he picked his suitcase up with his free hand and positioned it on the floor, opening the clasps and flipping it open. “In we go,” he stated simply at Percival’s confused expression. In his state of befuddlement, Newt was able to tug himself from the man’s grasp so that he could easily get down the ladder. Percival joined him so fast that he didn’t get a chance to browse through his books to see if he owned any volumes about vampires. Sighing, he decided it could wait until tomorrow, when his vampire was in a more sensible state of mind. Smacking the man’s roaming hand away from his lower back, he dragged him into the conjoined bedroom behind the ladder and forced him onto his bed. “You stay right there, mister,” Newt ordered with a finger pointed at him after seeing him go to stand again.

Percival huffed, but obeyed. After knowing he wouldn’t go anywhere, Newt began to undress himself. In the back of his head, he knew this would be torture for the man on his bed, and he revelled in the control he knew he had over him. Untucking his shirt from his trousers, he unbuttoned it all the way down before sliding the fabric down and off his arms, purposefully slow in his movements. He made way with his boots, and then his pants after unbuckling the belt that kept them snug around him, and when he turned around, he bit his lip at the man’s lustful expression. “Your turn.” Sauntering over, he straddled himself over Percival’s lap and began untying his tie, much to the man’s pleasure… evident in the way he could feel it under him. “Oh… you’re so turned on by me. Do you like me sat here?” He asked teasingly, batting his eyes at him.

“It’s where you belong,” Percival answered, voice unnaturally deep. In the blink of an eye, Newt found himself lying face-up on his bed under the man, whose clothes had suddenly vanished, leaving everything in its glory. Cheeks pink, Newt admired his toned body, which would undoubtedly look healthier after getting more blood into him.

“You can have more blood if you need it,” he whispered, gazing up at the man, who easily complied. The both of them were so aroused by the end of the second feeding that they couldn’t help but give in to each other’s pleasure, Newt moaning Percival’s name as the man emptied himself within him, Newt doing so onto his chest. He came back to his senses to watch the man lick it off of him, and he fell asleep within Percival’s strong embrace after his face and neck inflamed and Percival kissed his red cheeks. “You are mine,” the man spoke before Newt drifted off, affectionately nipping at his ear.

“Yours,” he affirmed.

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.

.

Love, BelovedBey

#gramander #newt scamander #newt #scamander #percival graves #percival #graves #slash #gay #fanfiction #fic #fluff #fantastic beasts and where to find them

[gold-from-straw]

Howl

This week’s entry for the @fantasticbeastscalendar! I hope you like it! The Fantastic Beasts crew form a pack and rescue abused children, and also Percy comforts Credence in a panic attack!

Read here on AO3 if you prefer.

Credence smiled down at the young alpha boy and suppressed a howl of rage and horror. The little boy Victor, he couldn’t have been more than eleven years old, smiled back up at him through black eyes and broken teeth, and trotted to keep up with Tina and Credence.

Percy, being the only sensible, level headed beta in their group, had to stay behind and deal with the no-maj police and Macusa, no matter how much Credence knew he wanted to rail and rage.

“Just is what it is,” he told Credence time after time. “Everyone knows betas can keep their temper the best, just like everyone knows an omega would never be able to defend themselves. Just like they know an alpha can’t be the victim.” He shrugged and put out his cigarette and straightened his shoulders, as much as he could now Grindelwald had had his way. “If we can make the system work for us, we do it. You and Tina as the frontmen, scaring the bastards off. Newt, Queenie and Jacob as the hand-wringing home front darlings for the front page. And me in the middle making sure the law works to back us up.”

The pack had formed soon after Tina and Newt found Percy, dug him out of the ground under his own family home. Jacob and Queenie had stumbled on Credence, or what was left of him, in an alleyway, and smuggled him to safety in Newt’s suitcase. It was Percy who’d sat them down together in the candlelit parlour, draped in the dust of generations, and told them about pack law.

As a no-maj, Jacob would have been obliviated. As a magical creature, Credence would have been ‘humanely destroyed’. As part of a pack with four powerful wizards, they were untouchable. It was an old magical law, one even Picquery hadn’t known about, but it was enough.

And now, rather than keep themselves sequestered away from polite society, they roamed, and they saw, and they grew.

“I got into Macusa to help people like you,” Tina once said, not looking at Credence. “And we failed. If we can do it this way, that’s where I’ll be.”

Tina walked up the stairs of the old brownstone, tapped the door with her wand and pushed it open. It led directly onto the Graves estate.

Victor stopped, his mouth gaping open as he stared around him at the vast entrance hall. The weak winter sunlight drifted in through high, dusty windows, and shouts and yells filtered in from the playground outside. “There’s more of us?” he asked, turning to Credence with wide, hopeful eyes.

Credence nodded. “Six boys and four girls now. Two of the girls and one other boy are alphas, like you. Would you like to join them now, or wait until dinner for us to introduce you?”

Victor chewed his lip, his eyes drawn to the window as another whoop cut the air. “I’d like… uh, may I please play a little?”

Credence showed him the way out, and the boy shot off into the group like a bullet from a gun. Credence swallowed and wondered maybe he could sneak off now, get a moment of solitude, curl into himself and howl.

“Credence?”

He turned at Newt’s soft voice. “Yessir?”

Newt stood next to an unknown woman who reeked of alpha, disdain, power, and he wanted to burn, wanted to explode, wanted to wipe her out like he’d wiped out his mother, her sour smell now cloying in his palate.

Newt smiled sympathetically and met his eye. “I’m sorry to bother you so soon after a mission, but Miss Henley is here to see to the defensive wards, and insists on speaking with an alpha.”

Credence bristled on Newt’s behalf, but Newt just shook his head surreptitiously and backed away. “It’s good to be underestimated, Credence,” he’d told him many times, his wiry muscles bunching under his skin as he lifted heavy bales of food in and out of the suitcase, not bothering with a leviosa. As someone who’d been fighting to escape his shell so long, the idea made Credence irrationally angry.

“Your omega offered to show me the wards, bless him,” smirked Henley. “I’d much rather work with someone whose magic actually lends itself to protection, rather than cooking and babysitting, don’t you agree?”

“It’s this way,” said Credence through his teeth, and led her into the core of the house, and tried not to think of his mother.

The room was stuffy and dusty. Somehow no matter what Percy did it stayed that way. Henley hummed and tutted, performing diagnostic spells with her stiff, solid wand and muttering to herself. Credence took slow breaths, counting in and out as Queenie had taught him, grounding himself in the feel of the ground under his feet and the prickle of dust in his nose rather than another alpha’s powerful assertion of space, her privilege and demand to exist in his space, in their space.

“You set these wards yourself?” she said at last, looking up.

Credence shook his head. “Mr Graves and Miss Tina did together, but Mr Graves decided it would be prudent to call in a professional.”

She nodded, pleased. “He’s the beta, right? I could tell the difference in their magic straight away, tough and solid beta, and then powerful magic with a hint of something almost artistic, that must be your alpha.”

Credence bit back the dry laugh that threatened. The idea that Tina could be anything approaching artistic was ridiculous. Percy, on the other hand…

“I’ll need to walk your perimeter once I’m done,” Henley said, and Credence watched her hungrily as she cast, the obscurus a taste under the air, keeping careful note of everything she did so that maybe he could replicate it next time and they wouldn’t have to call her back.

The fresh air was a welcome reprieve to the weight of dark rooms and power struggles that wanted to press his head down, bare the back of his neck. Credence saw the children running in the garden, playing with paper boats on the old fountain and hopscotch on the paved area. He straightened his spine and showed them how they could be one day. How they could push their past aside and stand tall. He was part of a pack, a defender, and the children he led needed to see him overcome.

“Mister Credence!” As they walked little running footsteps followed, and Credence turned his head to see Morris, Frederick and the new boy, Victor, run up with bright smiles. “What’cha doing, Mister Credence?”

He smiled down at the boys. “Miss Henley’s checking our wards,” he explained. “We want them to be as secure as possible to keep all of us safe.”

Frederick nodded sagely, but Morris frowned. “Will they keep Victor’s people out too? ‘Cause he’s new, will the wards know to look after him too?”

Credence held out a hand to just by the boy’s shoulder, and he closed the distance to snuggle into the touch. “The wards protect all of us,” Credence assured him fiercely. “Anyone under protection of the pack is protected by these wards.”

Morris reached up to squeeze Credence’s wrist as he brushed his fingers through the little alpha’s hair. “That’s tops, Mister Credence. Thank you.”

“Hey, let’s show Victor the maze,” Frederick said as they rounded the corner, and with a wave the trio was off.

“Those kids all part of your little establishment?” Henley asked.

The small semblance of peace Credence had earned by the boys’ presence dissolved into raised hackles and the expectation of judgement. “Yes, ma’am.”

She snorted. “Ain’t two of them alphas? I thought you ran a home for abused kids.”

The obscurus howled under his skin, scenting danger, scenting cruelty and judgement and a curled lip the only warning before a punishment. He straightened his back and felt the pull of scars. “It’s just up here, the weakest spot in the wards,” he said instead.

Credence was a machine ticking over, cogs and wheels with tiny teeth curling under his bones and moving one leg in front of the other, a clockwork curiosity in a sideshow, jerky and dead eyed and desperate for the end. He walked Henley to the door, holding the porcelain shards of his skin together over the mechanism beneath. “Thank you for your help today, Miss Henley,” he said at the door, calm and collected as any stereotypical beta.

“Not a problem,” she said, tucking her thumbs into her overalls. She turned her head as Frederick, Morris and Victor came into view around the great house, shrieking and laughing and children. “You wanna watch them,” she said, jerking her chin towards Frederick and Victor. “Ain’t right for an alpha to be weak like that. Might be some latent homosexual tendencies causing it.”

Credence nodded, his blood red hot and boiling. He might have said goodbye. He might have killed her. He might have watched until she was off the land, the wards closing behind her, he was no longer sure. When he turned and shut the door Queenie was standing behind him, her hands clasped and eyes very wide and sad. Credence nodded at her and walked past, a shell, such as one would fill with munitions and drop on the trenches.

“I’ll send Percy up,” she said softly as he was half way up the stairs. He paused in a step, the delicate webs holding him together seeming to break one by one. He nodded and walked on, but now the tears fell.

His breath was shaking, trembling and shuddering and small and childish and he needed… he needed…

There was a blanket on Percy’s bed, one they’d added last night during an unexpected cold snap, draping over themselves in the early hours as they lay in their sanctuary. He didn’t feel like he deserved it, couldn’t go to bed at this time, wasn’t worthy, but maybe… maybe he could… he pressed the blanket to his face, inhaling the sweet, crisp smell of Percy, of both of them at peace, as he stumbled on.

In the dressing room there was a chaise longue, and windows with heavy velvet curtains that shifted only slightly under the wind. Credence draped the blanket over his head so that the world reduced itself to a narrow vision of darkness and a warmth to protect his head, his back. He curled himself into the low seat, tugging cushions towards him and stacking them around him, pressing his face and his knees and his curled up hands into the back of the chaise, a little nest of warmth and comfort, and he cried.

“Credence?” said Percy, his voice soft in the darkness, and oh, how Credence wanted to call out, to beg for love and affection from a proven source, but the words stuck in his throat where they’d been trained.

Even so, Percy found him, and knew him. He knelt beside the chaise with a sad “oh, Credence,” and Credence ached and cried in silence.

“May I touch you?” Percy asked, and Credence nodded so vigorously a whimper was able to escape. Percy wrapped his arms around Credence’s back and pressed his forehead to his shoulder blade. “My poor love,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry, darling. It must have been terrible for you today.”

Credence cried until his body shook. He cried until the sounds escaped, angry and grieved and so in pain. He cried until he couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, until he could cry no more.

He lay exhausted, his hands barely twitching, his sinuses aching. Percy rubbed his back. “Would you mind very much moving to the bed, love? My knees are—“

“Oh, God, Percy, your knees,” he gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s really not - ah! Yes, a hand please. Thank you.” Percy smiled sheepishly at him and pressed in close, resting his forehead on Credence’s collarbone. He could see the curve of Percy’s cheek as he sighed into the embrace. “Now,” Percy said. “About that nest I’m going to make you.”

Credence blushed and looked down. “That’s really my job,” he protested.

“Who says so?” said Percy mildly, limping into the bedroom ahead of him. “You mean those same people who say Newt can’t possibly have fought in the war, a delicate little omega like him? Those who say Jacob must be a beta, he’s so easy going?” He tugged the pillows into a curve around Credence’s side, added two heavy quilts, looked at the bed critically. “The people who say an alpha can’t be traumatised?” he asked casually, an afterthought, a throwaway comment.

Credence flinched, tugged on the blanket still draped over his head, pulling it lower so he could only see the carpet in front of his feet.

Percy’s uneven footsteps came closer. He stood without touching Credence, then held his hand out, palm up, just in Credence’s field of vision. “You are a survivor, Credence. What was done to you… what was done to all of these children, was beyond contempt, beyond reproach. You have survived so well, for so long, and now you are learning how to live.”

Credence took his hand and peered up at him. Percy smiled, the lines around his eyes deepening. “You’re learning how to be loved.” Percy tugged him gently, tucking him into the nest, arranging pillows and blankets to the optimum for him, for Credence, and such an act of care made the ache behind Credence’s eyes thicken.

Finally Percy arranged himself in front of Credence, cupping his cheek and guiding his face up so their eyes met. “I don’t say you’re learning how to love,” Percy said, his voice soft in the warmth of this nest he’d built for him. “Because, Mercy Lewis, Credence, you know how to love. You love so much, you care so much. But you’ve never had people to care for you. And now you do. You have us.”

Credence snuggled closer and closed his eyes as more tears leaked from his lashes, soaking Percy’s shirt where he wrapped his arms around Credence, pulled him snug and stroked his back.

“You have a pack now, Credence. You’ve got an omega with authority issues - actually, more like three of those. Queenie and Jacob are just better at pretending than Newt. You’ve got an alpha who pretends she doesn’t want to wrap all these babies up in her arms and rock them to sleep, but really, those kids know where to go when they want a good cuddle. And you’ve got a beat-up old beta who’s torn between feeding you up and tearing your abusers down in a rage. And you know what?”

Credence shook his head, still tucked tight under Percy’s chin, his arms around his waist.

“I think I might do both,” he said, kissing Credence’s head. “So I’m meant to be even keeled? So what? I’m also meant to marry a good woman and continue the Graves line.” He shrugged. “You’re the better option.”

The corner of Credence’s lip curled up into a smile, uncontrollably. He turned his face to press kisses into Percy’s chest, almost certainly ruining his shirt further.

“Let them think what they want,” Percy said, his voice softening as he relaxed into the warmth of the nest, of the embrace and the early evening sunlight drizzling in through the high windows. “In this pack, you are who you are. And if that’s vulnerable sometimes, or scared, or hurt, or needing something, you don’t need to hide that. We are all yours.” He kissed him once more on the head. “Me especially,” he admitted.

Credence smiled and drifted in the peace and love of Percy’s arms. We are pack, he thought, and they abandoned us. We will pick up the pieces and share the shards of ourselves with bloody hands, and we will be what we’ve always needed.

We are pack.

#credence/graves #gradence #GraveBone #My writing #Howl #fantastic beasts and where to find them #abo dynamics #child abuse #inspired by #bikers against child abuse #established relationship #Credence Barebone #original percival graves #emotional hurt/comfort #panic attack

[funkzpiel]

Happy Birthday

In honor of the one-year anniversary of the first chapter of And The Tag Read Simply: Pretty.

“Wake up, Percy,” Newt said, and it was as gentle as it was soft; like breaking dawn. His heart was thick and fond as he watched dark, sooty lashes flutter sleepily against pale cheeks. Downy ears flickered and slowly, brown eyes raised to look at him - squinted and confused. Newt ran a hand through sleep-mused hair and let his palm trail down to trace the contours of a stubbled cheek, smiling all the while. 

Pretty whined softly and burrowed deeper into the warmth of the sheets and the scent of Newt that no doubt lingered, a soft but brave pout on his bottom lip as he took Newt’s hand and tried to gently guide the redhead back to bed. 

He chuckled, the edges of his eyes crinkled and warm.

“Any other morning, I’d take you up on that offer, but I have something special planned for us today.”

Black ears perked, and despite Pretty’s lazy bones, he was too curious to resist. They went about their morning routine first. A shower, a shave. Teeth and skin and clothing. They fed the creatures that needed feeding in the morning and Pretty made sure to greet his little flock of worried Mooncalves. The suitcase was particularly sunny, the grass more green than usual; and every glance Newt caught of Pretty seemed special -- poignant. 

Sunlight in his hair, a smile wide and open on his lips. Grass caught in the fabric of his rolled up shirt sleeves. Ears high and attentive and bold. 

And always smiling. 

When the chores were done, Newt finally led Pretty inside. As was their routine, the dog-earred man moved to settle into the pillows at the foot of Newt’s favorite chair, only to stop when the Magizoologist took him by the hand and smiled.

“We’re going to do something a little different today,” he said, and coaxed him gently to the steps. Pretty’s brown eyes are confused, perhaps a tad worried, but he follows Newt without hesitation up the stairs and out of the case.

It was not his first time in the Goldstein’s apartment, but it was his first time there sans Goldsteins. He seemed to settle somewhat at the sight, however; shoulders slack and ears up the moment he recognized the gentle warble of their favorite song from the record player and the scent of Queenie’s perfume.

“They’re not here?” He asked, and Newt shook his head.

“Not right now. They’re doing me a favor,” was all he said before heading into the kitchen, confident that Pretty would follow. 

Inside the little kitchen sat an island in its center, topped with mixing bowls and flours and sugars and spoons and aprons. Everything Newt requested, all out and easy to find. He made a note to thank Tina even more so -- a bouquet of flowers, perhaps -- and grabbed an apron from the counter. He put it on quickly with deft fingers, eyes on Pretty and adorable look on his face as he watched.

“You see, it’s a bit of a special day,” Newt said, “And I wanted to make something special to commemorate it. I was hoping maybe you’d like to help me? I thought you might enjoy it.”

Pretty’s eyes trailed across the counter, assessing, then flickered back to Newt. He stepped forward to pinch Newt’s apron between his fingers, curious, and tilted his head.

“I can help?”

Newt grabbed his hand and pulled him forward.

“Yes, you can, if you’d like,” he said, “In fact I have a feeling you’ll be quite good at it.”

Pretty smiled, soft and little and pleased.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” Newt responded and grabbed the other apron. It was easy to get the apron onto him, and Newt ignores the way it accents the horrible litheness of Pretty’s hips and torso, the gauntness of his wrists -- but he has gained weight in the time that they have been together and Newt has learned how to pay attention to the victories rather than overwhelm himself with the things that haven’t completely healed yet. The bow of leftover ribbon at the small of Pretty’s back was ridiculous, but he reminded himself it could be worse, and remembered to be grateful.

He led Pretty through the motions of making dough. He stepped up behind him to frame the smaller man’s hands with his own and went about blending the sugars with the flour, laughing when a puff of powder managed to cutely whiten the end of Pretty’s nose. 

Newt’s hands curled around his and ease him through the act of mixing the dough by hand, his chin tucked atop Pretty’s shoulder as he tells him of his mother’s recipe and how this is how she taught him to bake it. 

Together they baked. They shaped the dough, they poured softness and kindness and no shortage of gentle words and laughter and smiles into its making. The dough was wet and warm and full when finally Newt helped him ease the batter into a pan. Everything they did, they did by hand.

Everything they did, they did happily. The kitchen was warm with the heat of the oven, but even without it, Newt felt rightly toasty inside. He looked at Pretty -- at the sheer excitement in his eyes as he peered through the glass of the oven, the way his tail wagged -- and he felt right. As though everything would be alright. 

He took Pretty into the family room while the cake rose and eased him onto the couch after removing both their aprons. He read to him, the two of them curled as though loathe to part. Newt ran his fingers through Pretty’s hair as the scent of baking sweets and oven heat began to thicken inside the little apartment, making the man’s lashes flicker once more.

Eventually, Pretty fell asleep. It was easy, once the timer rang, to slip from his embrace. Newt snuck into the kitchen on feet sure and deft, and pulled the pan from the oven. He peeked into the family room only once or twice to ensure Pretty still slept until the cake was cool enough to ice, and when it was, he iced it. Chocolate covered in cream cheese icing, thick and decadent and what he had told was Graves’ favorite. 

And when finally it was done, he rose Pretty from sleep for the second time that day -- this time with a plate in hand, a slice of cake upon it.

Pretty blinked.

“What is it?”

“It’s what you helped me bake,” Newt said. “It’s cake.”

“Cake?”

“Yes. Birthday cake.”

Pretty tilted his head, ears soft and akimbo, and Newt wanted desperately to kiss that confused frown away.

He didn’t.

“Remember I told you it was a special day?” He asked, and when Pretty nodded, he continued. “I was told it’s your birthday today, Percy.”

“Mine?”

“Yes. Do you remember?”

He shook his head, and because the word held no meaning to him, he didn’t seem particularly upset. But it hurt Newt to see the absence of feeling in those brown eyes. To see he didn’t know what he had been robbed of.

Newt set the plate beside them on the couch and said, “A birthday is a celebration of the day someone first came to be. It’s an anniversary of the day a person was born. And you were born today, years ago.”

Pretty seemed to consider that, then looked to the plate beside them.

“And birthday cake?”

Newt chuckled, the sound thick where it escaped the tightness of his throat.

“It’s a part of how we celebrate the day. I... just have a hunch you’ll like it.”

He dipped the fork into the softness of the cake, icing and breading splitting easily upon its prongs, and slowly held it up between them. Pretty looked from it to Newt and back again before he finally eased forward, the pink of his lips splitting to open around the fork and take the little morsel in. 

His mouth fell shut around it. His teeth dragged against the fork. He pulled back, and he stilled, and his eyes went wide with childish wonder. He made a little noise, sharp and shocked, in the back of his throat and his hand shot up to flutter trembling fingers atop his lips. 

“Do you like it?” Newt asked.

Pretty nodded quickly, immediately, and Newt laughed.

“Swallow, Percy,” He said gently, and laughed even more when the man seemed to remember himself and did. They passed the treat like that: the fork switching between them as the devoured the slice of cake. 

Somewhere deep -- where Newt would not acknowledge the thought -- he had desperately hoped the flavor of his favorite cake would wake Graves. Somewhere deep -- where Newt would not acknowledge the thought -- he was grateful he didn’t.

And when the last bite of cake was gone, Pretty leaned into him, his head tucked beneath his chin, pleasantly full and loved, and said, “You made that for me?”

Newt held him tight and murmured into the softness of his hair and ears, “You helped me.”

Silence, soft and pregnant, and then: “Your mother made lovely cakes.”

Newt stilled. He held Pretty a little tighter.

“Thank you,” He said. “She would have been so flustered to hear you say that... She... She would have loved you.”

“She’s gone?” Pretty asked, whisper soft into the hollow of Newt’s throat.

“Yes,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

Newt kissed the temple of the man in his lap and said, “It won’t due to think of death on a birthday. You should make a wish instead. Bugger -- I should have lit a candle for you...”

“A wish?” Pretty asked.

“Yes. Every year on a person’s birthday, they get to make a wish. And sometimes, if you’re very lucky and very good, it comes true. It’s usually with a candle, but--”

A hand tightened around Newt’s, fierce and sudden, and Pretty said, “I wish whatever made you stop smiling sometimes would leave you alone.”

Outside, New York rumbled with life. Cars passed and people walked the streets. Somewhere out there, Grindelwald was waiting. Somewhere out there, the man responsible for all of this was grinning. 

But here, in the apartment, silence fell upon them like a heavy blanket. Newt held Pretty tightly, as he had been, but was sure the man could feel his sudden tremble. 

I wish whatever made you stop smiling sometimes would leave you alone.

He thought of Graves’ smile. He thought of his laugh. Of the surety of his stories, of the bravery of his decisions, of the calmness of his heart. He thought of Graves, laughing over the rim of his whiskey glass at the table that night they shared dinner.

He thought of Graves, small and shivering and bleeding in the corner of the bathroom -- the knife glinting at his throat.

I wish whatever made you stop smiling sometimes would leave you alone.

He thought of Pretty. Of his steadfast trust in the goodness of people. Of his smile when he romped with the Mooncalves in the meadows. Of the night he awoke in his stool to find the man had left the bed to fall asleep at his feet, chin on his thigh. 

I wish whatever made you stop smiling sometimes would leave you alone.

He thought of both of them, of their selflessness, of their kindness, and another crack spread across the dam holding his heart together.

He threaded his fingers into Pretty’s. He kissed their knuckles where they joined. He waited for his voice to find its legs.

He thought of the man who did this.

He kissed Pretty’s temple and buried his lips into his hair.

“You’re supposed to wish for something that would make you happy, Percy,” he said softly.

“That would,” Pretty said simply, as though it was obvious, and Newt swallowed.

“Happy birthday, Percy,” he said, and when he repeated the words, he repeated them in his heart like this: happy birthday, Mr. Graves, and makes a wish of his own.

I wish I could save you both.

#And The Tag Read Simply Pretty #percival graves #original percival graves #pretty #newt scamander #gramander #mini fic

[natecchi]

Everglow

A/N: Short fluff-attack for @thegaypumpingthroughyourveins, whom I want to bathe in fluffiness after the pain she writes for her Guilty fic.

Inspired by Starset’s Everglow (obviously).

AO3 link

Rating: None

Pairing: Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamander

Summary: Percival thinks about how beautiful Newt is.

It's around six in the morning when Percival stirs and opens an eye, face still pressed against his comfy pillow. The soft covers feel nice against his bare skin and warm him up. He doesn't want to get up, at least not in the next five minutes. His eyes shift to the window and there's sunlight beginning to peek into the room through open curtains. Glance drifting, he stops on a truly mesmerizing view he would not trade for anything in the whole world. Percival smiles absentmindedly.

Newt stays by the window, basking in the soft light of a summer morning. He wears nothing but a shirt, too big for his shoulders and long enough to hide everything would cause Percival to get excited first thing at the start of a new day. Percival breathes slowly and feels the faint smell of Newt's favorite tea before he actually sees the man bringing a cup to his lips and sipping soundlessly.

Newt puts the cup on the windowsill, a sigh escaping his mouth and then he leans his body onto the side where the curtain was gathered, resting his head against the window glass. Percival spots a soft smile curling up those pink plump lips and he wants to kiss them, to feel against his own, to taste Newt's tea on his tongue.

The sun makes its glorious appearance, making the last bits of night's darkness fade away as the sky colors in tranquil shades of pink and beautiful orange. Just like Newt's hair. Auburn soft curls fall on Newt's forehead, and the sides of his freckled cheeks. The freckles on that creamy skin are just like the stars on the unending night sky, and every single one of them contrasts, as if demanding attention.

Eyes so bright, a palette of blue and green and golden strikes. In the light they shine just like a pair of jewels, so ethereal and enchanting, Percival can only feel like he's drowning in them, in their depths of endless tenderness. Newt's eyes are the ninth wonder of the world, eighth being Newt himself.

Percival can't stay still anymore. Newt is here, he's real, he can touch him, Percival knows it and still. Still he needs proof.

Leaving the comfort of white sheets and delicate fabric of blanket, he stands up and walks up to Newt, who is still clueless of Percival approaching him. Percival doesn't want to startle him, so he just lightly touches Newt's shoulder blades. Muscles of a strong back tense for a split second under Percival's fingers, but then relax instantly.

Percival lets his hands run down Newt's spine until they are at the slim waist and he just snakes them around, holding the man close to his chest, where his heart is racing like mad. He hears Newt giggle and it is like music to Percival's ears. Everything about the man in his arms is endearing.

His scars are fascinating, mapping his body as a reminder of the endless adventures Newt had and the countless lives he saved. It shows just how big his heart is, how fearless and brave in front of dangers he is, and Percival can only admire the man named Newt Scamander.

Newt turns his head to the side, his curls tickling Percival's nose as that nuzzles the back of his neck, and when Percival opens and raises his eyes, the gaze in Newt's bright ones is breathtaking. Little wrinkles appear at the corner of Newt's eyes and he just smiles at Percival, and this is what Percival ever wanted.

Newt shines so daintily, so perfect, so real. He's Percival's source of light in the darkness he calls life.

His everglow.

#gramander #otp: we were inevitable #fanfiction #my writing #fluff #gift fic #hope you'll like it #<3

[jaskiersbard]

Fantastic Beasts Fanfics - Masterlist

I’ve tried to put them in chronological order, so hopefully that helps!

Wandwork and Stirring the Cauldron (PART 1: WANDWORK) (PART 2: CAULDRON) (NSFW) - Newt/Tina

I’ll Catch You/Nightmare (Part 2 coming soon!) - Newt/Tina

Make You Feel Wanted (NSFW) (PART 2) - Jacob/Queenie

Proposal (PART 1 - ASKING QUEENIE) (PART 2 - THE CHEEKY NIFFLER) - Newt/Tina

A Subdued Goodbye - Tina and Graves friendship, hints of Newt/Tina

Wedding Night - Newt/Tina

My Husband, My Wife (NSFW) - Newt/Tina

Warmth of Your Touch (NSFW) - Newt/Tina

Flu - Newt/Tina

Magnificent (NSFW)- Jacob/Queenie

Thread by Thread - Newt/Tina

Near Miss/Curse - Newt/Tina

All I Want, All I Need (NSFW) - Newt/Tina

Phoenix - Newt/Tina

A Most Wonderful Sight - Newt/Tina

In the Shed (NSFW) - Newt/Tina

Linnet - Newt/Tina

More than Worth It - Newt/Tina

Bye Bye Blackbird - Newt/Tina

Leo - Newt/Tina

Lay Your Body Down, Rock Your Tears Away (NSFW) - Newt/Tina

Small Bump (NSFW) - Jacob/Queenie

In My Veins (NSFW) - Newt/Tina

A Glimpse of Sunlight (PART 1) (PART 2) - Newt/Tina

Across Oceans (PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3) - Jacob/Queenie and Newt/Tina

Stitch by Stitch (PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3) (PART 4) - Newt/Tina

Wren - Newt/Tina

#fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #hoooly shit there's a lot here #o_O #newt scamander #tina goldstein #porpentina goldstein #Jacob kowalski #queenie goldstein #jakweenie #Jacob x queenie #scamander family #scamander children #Kowalski family #Kowalski children #masterlist #newt x Tina #newt x porpentina #newtina

[tkreactions-blog]

Their Reaction to You Telling Them You Love Them For The First Time (Fantastic Beasts)

Newt Scamander

You and Newt were having a casual day; nothing special, just some time at home for once. Music played nearby from the radio. Newt sat on one end of the couch with a book in hand. You stretched out along the couch, your head resting against his leg with a book of your own in your hands. Everything just seemed so peaceful, with the warm sunlight filling the room.

You weren’t sure if it was the warmth or the way everything just felt so right, but you looked up from our book to Newt. He looked rather lost in whatever it was he was reading--something on creatures of the South American jungle or something. You smiled slightly and muttered the fateful three words: I love you. You watched as his cheeks turned red and his gaze met yours in an almost panic. With a small laugh, you looked back to your book and listened to him stumble through the words; you knew they were sincere, he was just surprised and flustered.

Jacob Kowalski

You and Jacob were going for a picnic. He found a nice grassy hill and set things up while you stared out at the city. It had taken awhile to get to the location, but it seemed just perfect. He made all of the food himself after insisting to do so. You weren’t going to complain; he wasn’t so bad at cooking and it meant less that you had to do for things.

You sat down next to him and leaned back on your hands, staring up at the brilliantly blue sky and listening to the birds chirping in the trees around you. When you looked back at Jacob, your eyes met and you smiled some. You told him you loved him and he paused, staring at you for just a moment before grinning a bit and tell you that he loved you as well.

Queenie Goldstein

Queenie knew that you were thinking about saying the three words for awhile but she didn’t say anything. Just because you were thinking about it didn’t mean you were going to say it, or even knew how you fully felt. You, on the other hand, were stressing about it. You wanted to make sure it wasn’t some word vomit or otherwise just empty sounding or feeling.

You finally got your chance one night, though. The two of you were on a balcony at a friend’s house. It was a sort of get together with Tina, you, Queenie, and some old school buddies. Everyone else was still inside, just talking and laughing about old things. You had decided to get some air, still stressing over your thoughts. Queenie followed you out. She stood next to you silently before you looked toward her and finally told her you loved her. She grinned back and returned the sentiment.

Tina Goldstein

You and Tina were watching the boats go by on the dock. Graves had sent you two to wait for a wizard that was coming in. It was rather boring, standing there waiting. It was already passed the time as well, which worried Tina. It worried you some, but you figured it wasn’t really your problem either. All you had to do was tell Graves that the man didn’t show.

It was almost serene though, just watching the waves lap up and down against the boats and the dock. Gulls flew overhead with their telltale caw. As you watched them circle, you suddenly realized that you were glad to be there with Tina and not just anybody. You looked toward her and told her that you loved her. Her face turned pink but she couldn’t stop the grin as she asked if you really meant it. You couldn’t help your laugh as you stated that you did. She returned the sentiment.

Percival Graves

It was one of the rare nights where you and Graves could walk around town, just enjoying the night sky and the lights. You guys had walked several blocks in silence, just enjoying being with one another. Most nights were either a stressful rush from work or some secret meeting where you couldn’t help but feel like someone from work was going to see you. Tonight, it was entirely different.

And then the words slipped from your lips like a careless thought: I love you. You paused slightly, not really having meant to say it aloud, and looked to Percival. He had a knowing smirk on his lips. His arm wrapped around you and he pulled you against him, still walking. “I love you too,” he responded. You couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over your lips.

Seraphina Picquery

You and Madam Picquery were at your apartment. You had promised her a nice dinner since she was returning from an important trip overseas. It wasn’t anything too fancy, but it was the fanciest you could muster and it was better than just the average dinner. You even went so far as to get out the good china and fully set the table.

She came in later than expected, but you could see the smirk on her face. You decided to go the full nine yards and take her jacket, pull out her chair, and make sure she was seated and comfortable. Then, before you started, you decided to tell her that you loved her. You could see the momentary surprise flicker through her eyes as she processed it before laughing some as she realized it was actually pretty obvious. She leaned over some and gave you a kiss on the cheek before telling you that she loved you too.

Credence Barebone

You really didn’t mean to check up on Credence, but you found yourself heading that way anyway. It may have been for the best as it gave you time to think, but also psych yourself out. Your palms were sweaty and your hands were shaking. At first, you thought you were crazy. What you were planning to do shouldn’t be so hard, and yet, there you were, a nervous wreck.

You stopped next to him before pulling back into an alleyway. He stared up at you, startled, before you tell you him point blank that you love him. His eyes widened, his cheeks flushed, and he stared at you. You watched as his mouth opened as if to respond but he remained silent. You couldn’t help but laugh a little nervously and, despite your better judgement, you asked if he loved you too. He turned even redder and nodded, looking away. You laughed a little more, relieved this time, before pulling him into a tight hug.

#fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts preferences #fantastic beasts reactions #reader insert #newt scamander #jacob kowalski #queenie goldstein #tina goldstein #percival graves #seraphina picquery #credence barebone

[hilarioushilarity]

this is not a drive by

Monday morning starts the way any morning does for Graves - that is, unwillingly and in a foul-mouthed fashion. “Someone’s cheerful,” Newt teases. His voice echoes oddly from within the case that lies open on their bedroom floor. “You’d best get up soon, or you’ll be late for work.” Graves casts a tempus and swears some more. “I’m already late for work,” he groans, summoning a pair of pants to make himself decent. Diana trills at him cheerfully from where’s she’s curled herself in a patch of sunlight on the carpet, her blue-green Occamy scales iridescent. Mornings . “Mornings aren’t so bad, Percy.” Graves half-watches as a familiar curly mop appears over the side of the case. “You’re such a morning person,” Graves snarks, but there’s no malice behind it despite the stern expression he affects. Newt beams as he clambers onto their bed. “I should’ve known, Mr. Scamander.” The Mr. Scamander in question only grins wider as he leans in, the edge of his lips quirked up in a way Graves refuses to call adorable . “Perhaps I can persuade you on the merits of mornings, Mr. Graves,” he murmurs, close enough for Graves to feel the puff of breath on his lips. There’s the familiar rush as his heart beats faster in his chest “Oh?” he manages over the dizzying swell of affection, still as potent as the first time he had felt it under his skin. “Oh,” Newt agrees, and then there isn’t much talking for a while, and Graves is an hour late for work. *** “Mister Graves, sir,” says Goldstein, her sharp eyes spotting him in his attempt to slink unnoticed into his office. “We have a situation downtown.” “Auror Goldstein,” he sighs - and if the way her eyes narrow is any indicator, his subtle adjustment of Diana, who had claimed the spot around his neck this morning, doesn’t go unnoticed either. “Let’s talk in my office.” She nods and thankfully waits until after they’ve both settled down in his office to be insubordinate. “How’s Newt?” she asks, not quite managing the tone of innocence. The coffee she sets on the table between them barely makes up for the sheer cheek. He settles for glaring at her as busies himself with sorting through the contents of his in-tray, shooing Diana away when she slithers down his forearm to dunk her head enthusiastically into his cup. “As he always is, Goldstein,” he replies. A memo from Piquery regarding workplace behaviour goes sailing through the air to the recycler in the corner, as does another memo, this one from the Director of Finances, about improper usage of MACUSA funds to purchase alcohol and Valentine’s Day gifts. It’s only after he’s read and binned a memo about flooding in the men’s bathrooms on Level 30 that Goldstein speaks again. “You know,” the elder Goldstein says conversationally. “I was talking to Newt the other night.” “Were you?” Graves says, affecting boredom. “I was,” she confirms. “And it was very interesting to hear about your plans for a certain day coming up.” The other auror is treated to his best menacing glare for silencing minions. “Your point, Goldstein?” “You’re taking Newt to the most romantic restaurant in New York. On Valentine’s Day.” She says this - for a lack of a better word - pointedly. “It seemed appropriate,” Graves says acidly, but he’s clearly losing his touch because the sly grin on her face doesn’t falter even slightly. “Fine,” he grouses. “What about it?” Goldstein leans forward, impish grin still in place. “Queenie told me a while ago but I didn’t believe her. Are you actually going to-” she doesn’t finish her sentence. Graves thinks about the black velvet box hidden in the coffee pot that Newt religiously avoids, about the half-formed drafts of The Speech he’s had floating around in his mind ever since buying the ring two months ago on an uncharacteristic whim, about gentle smiles and gentler hands that still smooth away his nightmares as patiently as they had the first time, and - “Yes,” Graves says finally, kindly ignoring her excited gasp. “Now. I believe there was a situation?” (You can read the rest at ao3 :) @ archiveofourown.org/works/10088849 )

#newt x percival

[yinyangswings]

Sunlit Mornings-Tina Goldstein x fem!Reader

Fandom: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Characters: Tina Goldstein, (Mentioned) Percival Graves, Queenie Goldstein, Newt Scamander, Jacob Kowalski

Pairing: Tina Goldstein x Reader

Notes/Warnings: This is a lesbian relationship. Please keep comments mature. Otherwise, no other warning other than it is nothing but sweet fluff!

Word count: 1490

Imagine: Could you write a porpentina x fem reader headcanon/imagine please? So I wrote an imagine the reader making breakfast and Tina just watching her and recounting how the two met. Basically nothing but sweet, sweet fluff.

Tina slowly awoke to the smell of pancakes and shifted, stretching her leg out to the other side of the bed. To her surprise it was empty and she sat up, blinking sleepily, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

At first her mind drifted to Queenie, and she wanted to scold her sister because it was her turn to make breakfast. But then her sluggish mind reminded her that Queenie had gone over to Jacob’s.

Getting up she ambled out towards the kitchen, rubbing her eyes a bit more before pausing at the kitchen, just observing the scene. You have extreme bedhead, and the large male shirt you would wear to sleep slipped off of one shoulder, baggy socks keeping your feet warm, and you lazily waved your wand with one hand, yawning and scratching your side with the other, making breakfast.

Sunlight streamed into the kitchen lighting everything in a soft glow. She stared at you, all the puzzle pieces seeming to click together ever so slowly.

Tina had never really thought she would find someone to love. She was far too masculine in personality, a ‘career-girl’ as Queenie had kindly put it. Men found her too intimidating…besides the fact she had never really an interest in men, but when it  women…it was a different story altogether.

That had been a fun discovery.

It wasn’t any sort of stunning moment where it hit her like a truck. She had had crushes on girls before that…but hadn’t really ever thought much about it. It was just one day, when she was in her final year of school, saw a girl she found attractive, she had paused for a moment in realization.

“Oh…other girls don’t like girls like this, do they?” she thought, almost in amusement.

And that was that.

But, she kept it quiet. In the no-maj world it was illegal. In the Wizarding world, there was more to worry about than those types of relationships, but she didn’t want to deal with explaining it to everyone. The only one who had known was Queenie. She had just smiled, patted her hand and told her ‘you’ll find the one someday! And she’ll steal your heart!’.

But she never thought she would find ‘the one’. She never had those butterflies in the stomach, never had that walking on air moment…at least not how Queenie described it. So instead of enduring years of heartache, she joined the auror program, began her career as an auror, content with that.

She could be content with that.

But then you came along, with glittering (Y/E/C) eyes, a mass of (Y/H/C) curls shortened to a bob smiling brightly as you were introduced as a healer when she had gone to the medical wing.

“Hello, my name’s (Y/N) (L/N). Pleased to meet with you.” You had said with that brilliant smile.

And suddenly she wondered how she had been able to breathe before meeting you.

It hadn’t been easy even after that, Tina mused as she watched you hum to yourself. Finding out whether or not you liked women was hard and terrifying. And she had been petrified when she had asked you out on a date. Because what if… What if you didn’t, what if you were disgusted by the mere idea, what if…

You had replied with a kiss, a teasing smile, biting her bottom lip gently.

“It’s a date.”

And that was that.

Queenie adored you nearly right off the bat, and had decided to tell you that you must have been the one Tina had been thinking so much about. She had wanted to go crawl into a hole, you had laughed and kissed her cheek.

“Well that’s sweet.” You responded and she had groaned in exasperation.

Date nights were walks in the park, finger tips touching so gently, laughing at whatever the conversation was that the two of you were going on about, occasionally eating a hotdog, despite your misgivings.

“It’s not exactly healthy…”

“Now you sound like Queenie.”

She had found out your parents didn’t know who you were. You had been a witch born to no-maj’s…and when they had discovered the gender of who you loved…they had thrown you out, declaring you no longer a part of their family…and crying, you had obliviated them. Laws were laws and no-maj’s couldn’t know about the Wizarding World if there was no magic in the family. You had wondered how her parents would have reacted and Tina had just smiled, pressing a kiss to your head as you to sat curled up on the couch.

“They would have loved you.” She had said softly and that was the first time you had cried in front of her.

She in turn had cried the first time when she had been demoted after the Second Salemers. She had cried because she hadn’t wanted to lose her job, cried because Credence hadn’t deserved it or deserved the abuse he was receiving in that hell of a home.

Cried for so many injustices.

And you held her tightly, running your hand over her head, carding soft fingers through her hair as you whispered soft words of endearment, trying to comfort but unsure how to help.

What were you going to say?

Then Newt Scamander came into her now dreary work life and it had been an interesting experience for the both of you. She said she could handle it, while you worried she was getting into something way over her head.

In a way you had been right, and that was one December she would remember.

She also remembered what you had done in those few days, which was…quite a lot, and when she found out that you, her beautiful, quirky, gentle, with a pretty tinkling laugh (Y/N), had punched Percival Graves for sentencing her to death, she had been surprised and fearful what could happen. When it was discovered it had actually been Grindelwald you had technically punched, she wondered how many ‘cat lives’ (as you had called it once) you had used when so much as punching the dark wizard. At least Percival Graves had found it amusing when he had found out, and you became the only one to have made Percival Graves laugh loudly in public.

When she saw you again, you had quite literally tackled her, kissing her in the middle of the MACUSA main hall for all to see. Because at that moment, you didn’t care. She was alive and that was all you needed.

“Do that again, and I’ll be the one killing you.”

She had laughed when you had threatened her with tears in your eyes before she kissed you back, the promise heard and acknowledged.

And that was that.

“I can feel you staring.” You finally said calmly, breaking her out of her thoughts and leaving her blinking as you looked over your shoulder with a smile on your face and she came over to you sleepily, wrapping your arms around your waist, resting her head on your shoulder and kissing the crook of your neck gently.

She felt you lean slightly into her hold.

“Morning, hon.”

“Morning…are those pancakes?”

“Mhm…” You hummed, and she smiled, pressing another kiss to your neck. “Can’t have my favorite girl starving, hm?” You asked and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m your only girl.”

“That is true,” you conceded, before smiling, “but I like to spoil you.”

“I know.” She replied gently, watching as you flicked your wand casually, flipping another pancake. A twinge settled in her stomach. Only here could they be this affectionate. They couldn’t so much as kiss outside these walls. How difficult it was to not so much as show how much she loved someone. After all they had been through, didn’t they deserve as much?

Unconsciously her grip tightened around and you noticed it

You were quiet for a moment, before turning around and wrapping your arms around her waist. “I know it bothers you…” you finally said, “that it’s never going to be easy for us in the no-maj world. It’s not going to be easy for us in the wizarding world too…but you know what? Fuck it. I love you. There isn’t a moment I don’t regret meeting you. Good or bad.”

Tina smiled, her eyes watery.

“Oh…you’re not going to cry, are you?” You teased softly, pressing a quick kiss to her lips, “You’re going to make me cry too, ya know.”

“No, you moron.”

“Oh you wound me so!” You exclaimed dramatically, smiling as Tina laughed. “I love you…you know that right?”

“I know…and wouldn’t you know it…” Tina muttered pulling you in, breath warming your lips, and as she kissed you, you heard the softest sentence that warmed you right to your pinky toes.

“I love you too.”

And that was that.

#tina goldstein #tina goldstein imagine #tina x reader #porpentina goldstein #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fbawtft #jamfics

[ao3feed-gravesnewt]

It started with a kiss

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2i9EISC

by llilitia

Newt felt the warmth of the sun on his exposed shoulder. That was what stirred him up from his slumber. He squeezed his eyes tight and buried his face into the plush pillow that smell vaguely familiar. The glaring sunlight his head throbbed and his body had that feeling of pleasant aches one get after a really "good" night. He might have had a bit too many drinks last night at the MACUSA party as he can barely remember the rest of the night.

A small chuckle startled him from his thoughts. Newt turned around to the source of the sound curiously. The bright sunlight made him squint and his head hurt even more. After his eyesight had adjusted he was greeted with a surprise.

Words: 954, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Original Percival Graves, Newt Scamander

Relationships: Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamander

Additional Tags: Attraction, bathrobe porn, Fluff

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2i9EISC

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #gramander #original!percivalgraves #graves x newt #newt scamander #original percival graves x newt scamander

[funkzpiel]

I’ve been preparing the storyboard for the next chapter of Pretty... And although from the beginning I have known the journey they would go on, I never anticipated growing as attached to a shell of a character as Pretty was originally intended to be. And yet, despite my expectations, Pretty has grown into so much more than I ever predicted. I have grown attached. In him, I see so many things about humanity that are good. And so, after a day of storyboarding (and that 100% is not to advocate for whether or not this story will end happily or sadly, although I do not think stories or lives are quite so simple) I just... really wanted to make him happy. So please do not look at this as part of the fic, rather a spin off of what could be - and perhaps hope that it will be.

Queenie turns in the kitchen, a steaming mug between the softness of her palms, and startles at the sight of a familiar man seated on the couch in the other room. Graves is hunched over himself, tugging one large boot on at a time over the comfort of his favorite pair of pants, and Queenie can’t help but lean against the doorway that separates them and smile, thinking of how far he has come. His fingers do not hesitate as he laces his shoes. Nor do they flutter when they take the thick grey and yellow stripped scarf from the couch cushion beside him and wrap it around his neck. Above the thick curl of that familiar strip of fabric, two coffee stained eyes look up at her and in them, she can feel the first touch of morning sunlight, warm and excited for the day. And above them two ears, pert and soft, and no longer hidden.

“You’re up early, Percy,” Queenie giggles softly, gentle in her tone as she always is in the morning - as though the world itself is not awake yet, and if she whispers, she could retain the bliss of dawn’s peace just a moment longer.

“We are going on a hike,” he says, and although his tail is pinned beneath the coat he wears - less extravagent than before, but still perfectly Graves - and the couch itself, she can hear the patter of his excitement. “Would you like to come?”

She smiles and pointedly pulls her morning robe a little more tightly around the curve of her frame. 

“I’ll pass, sweetie. Thank you, though.”

He smiles, if a little abashedly for not noticing her garb, and nods as he stands. In the straightness of his spine and the sureness of his footing, she sees a fully realized man. And something within her swells, makes her eyes burn, and she waves him off to start his day before he can notice.

She watches through the window as he calmly strolls off to the trail outside his family’s mountain cabin, and holds onto the cheery whisper of his thoughts to sweeten her tea as she sips and watches and rests.

His excitement is enough to get her day started on the right foot.

It is snowing when Newt finally remembers he needs to go and meet Percy. It starts of light, but the further Newt goes, more and more of the ground seems to quickly disappear. It blankets the world in light, glowing despite the dreariness of the grey clouds above. Fair and bright, like a fresh start, and Newt cannot help but think it fitting.

He jogs ahead when he sees that there are fresh prints in the snow; boots the shape and size of Percy’s feet. He finds him not long after standing in the middle of a circle of trees. The branches nicker a soft and calming tune above, and all of it matches the sight of him - held tilted back, smiling and blinking up at the sky like life itself were a miracle he was blessed to witness.

Downy flakes catch in his hair and in the softness of his ears like stars caught up in the fabric of the night, and Newt stumbles to a halt the same he has a dozen times before when in the presence of something magical, something rare, something gorgeous. He stops and in the hush of winter, he watches Graves explore the snow.

"Newt.”

He jumps, caught, and only frozen further at the sight of Percy’s smile trained on him.

“We’re going to walk now?” He asks.

“Yes, Percy. Sorry for keeping you waiting,” Newt says hurriedly, rushing to catch up to Percy’s side. Despite the bitterness of the cold his cheeks feel warm when Percy grabs his hand.

“It’s alright,” he says. “It gave me time to say hello.”

“To who?” Newt blinks, looking around in case there was a creature he hadn’t seen, only to startle and still when looking back at Percy.

“Everything,” he says, as though it were no more strange than naming a well-loved friend, then tilts his head back again. “The earth really made something beautiful for us today, huh?”

Newt squeezes his hand a little tighter, eyes trained on the soft awe of Percy’s smile, and whispers, “Yea, Percy. It really did.”

They walk until their noses run and the fingers ache, but even so they end their walk with great hesitation, too in love with the peace of each other’s company the quiet whisper of winter to end it all at once.

When they get in, Tina fusses over the rosiness of their cheeks and the chill of their hands and rushes them to the fireplace. Queenie’s famous hot chocolate is quickly shoved into their hands, a lady on either side of them, and a pile of blankets so tall Newt can’t fathom how he’s supposed to stay awake. Queenie lays her head into Percy’s lap, nose pressed to his stomach, and listens to the alto of his voice as he reads Christmas stories straight from the pages of his family’s rich and eclectic library. He has one hand on the book, the other buried in Newt’s hair. His fingers scrawl senseless designs into his scalp and he feels safe between the steady curve of Percy’s body and the kind weight of Tina pressed into his side.

They all fall asleep, all except one - and Graves takes the silence as an opportunity to be grateful for the people and the places and the things he has then and there in that moment. The fire burbles a happy lullaby, but he fights sleep in lieu of carding his fingers through their hair and watching them sleep. These gentle souls, this man and two women who fought to bring him home. In peace they look so terribly young, and in another life and another state of mind, he would have cursed life and fate for the lines it had etched into their faces after the burden it had placed upon their shoulders. But he finds inside himself nothing but gratitude. Despite the many odds, they are here.

They are alive. They are happy. They are his. 

He whispers thank you into the fire, into the night, into winter’s bitter symphony, and like a child fighting sleep follows them into dreams.

#And The Tag Read Simply Pretty #pretty #newt scamander #tina goldstein #Queenie Goldstein #gramander #mini fic