grave leg

anonymous asked:

May I request an imagine for Dick where he is a god who fell in love with a mortal s/o and he decided to become human to be with them, but he forgets about his s/o since he has to be reborn with a clean slate? Their s/o remembers of course and tries their best to get him to remember again. The ending is up to you~

y’all, when you say “the ending is up to you” 99%of the time it’s gonna be angst I am not a joyful person

anyways I’m back 

title: colder weather

theme: “I was born for leaving.”

warning: angst angst angst also like God!AU

Stories; that’s all you had believed about the myth of Nightwing, a bedtime story everyone heard in their childhood to give them peace so the Joker wouldn’t invade their dreams. It was a fairytale, an absolute myth of godlike proportions.

Dick stood protectively in front of you, eskrima sticks that had materialized out of thin air crackling with powerful electricity. You withdrew your hand as the nice button up and slack he was wearing dissolved and disintegrated, leaving him in an outfit you had only seen in children’s books.

You had a hard time finding words. “You…you’re…oh god…”

Dick turned his head to look at you, calm reassurance emanating from him despite the defensive stance he took. “(Y/N), I promise I will explain, but you need to stay behind me, okay? Someone is coming.”

Keep reading

thegaypumpingthroughyourveins  asked:

Fic idea : Newt (or whoever else) was hit by a spell and they need to have Graves now. Right fucking now. He doesn't care that Graves is in an important meeting, he bursts the door open and quickly walks to the other man, climbing on his lap and kissing him.

Originally posted by karlrincon

Consider it done.

WARNINGS: NSFW, non-con to dub-con, sex or die

Keep reading

hamelin-born  asked:

Mental image of Newt and a dragon-in-human-form!Graves. ...Newt would be over the moon. And also have an unfair advantage - he knows *exactly* how to handle dragons, after all.

oh man this makes me think of Dragon Percival and Explorer Newt.

Newt who is badly injured because he falls into a deep hole made to trap the dragon. Newt who cries for help because his wand is missing and he’s too weak to wandlessly cast warming charm when it starts to rain.

Graves who transforms into human so as not to startle Newt, helps him out from the deep hole and Graves knows he ought to kill Newt because Newt is human and human does not bring anything good to dragons except torture and murder but his rational side sympathises with Newt who is all bloodied and weak; shivering from the cold as he curls his frail body against Graves’ warmth.

Graves brings Newt back to his cave that is filled with shiny gold and glittering diamonds. If this human so much as steals one coin, Graves will not hesitate to breathe fire on him.

But Newt does nothing of the sort.

He sleeps and recovers as Graves makes his own medicine; plant oil essence and herbs that close the gashing wound on his leg.

Graves hunts food for Newt; he transforms back to his majestic form to fly over the valley to steal sheep. His big wings flapping over the skies as he soars up, up, up and flies down again; feeling the hot blood in his veins singing.

When Newt is conscious, Graves is hovering over him; a bowl of cool water in one hand and a cloth in another. Newt blinks his eyes and Graves sees another treasure; the human’s green golden eyes that burn brightly in the dimmed ember. Newt blinks again and the fire is gone and Graves shakes his head as if to expel as spell.

“Where am I?” The human croaks and Graves looks at him; opens his mouth to talk but the words are stuck in his throat. It’s been so long since he last talked to anyone. Hundred of years now.

But he tries; clears his throat and says, “You’re in my cave, human. You’re wounded…” Graves tilts his head to the side as if he’s searching for the right word and not knowing if he’s using the right word or not. “…you fell down the trap and I saved you.”

Newt blinks again; his hand twitching to find his wand but it’s not there and Graves senses the panic; hard not too when his vision is filled with red blue electric energy surrounding the man.

“Here,” Graves says, holding the end of the bend stick towards the man, thinking that it must be valuable for him to be this anxious parting with it. Graves doesn’t get the appeal of a stick that is not shiny but human is weird and this one is weirdly so.

“You saved me,” the man says and Graves hums his answer as he busies himself with the water. “I remember warmth. So much warmth before I collapse.”

Graves hums again, squatting down in front of the man’s bed; not quite know how to sit properly like a human. “It’s my blood.”

“Your… blood?”

Graves doesn’t know why he wants to divulge the information that he’s a dragon; a shape-shifting dragon but the man’s eyes are drawing him in; pulling him to be closer.

“I have… warm blood. Yes. Warm,” Graves nods, satisfied with his own explanation and when the man doesn’t say anything he pats the man on his head. “Rest now. I’ll bring food later.”

Days go by like that; with Graves casting his spell to hide his treasures and assuming a human body for Newt’s sake.

Newt doesn’t ask him much questions even when Graves sees the curious look in his eyes; the green gold that lures him back to the man every time he tries to look away.

Then one day, when Newt is strong enough to wobble around the small cave, he turns to Graves and says, “My name’s Newt. What’s yours?”

And Graves looks at this human —Newt— with his green gold eyes and coppery red hair that shines like gold in the streaming sunlight. Graves wants to keep Newt here; keep him hidden amongst his treasure. He wants Newt to be his.

He looks at Newt and says, “Percival. My name is Percival.”

thegaypumpingthroughyourveins  asked:

Graves innocently licking a lollipop, not noticing the way Newts eyes follow his every move.

Now with 1000% more vampire!Graves with Newt being in on the secret


Graves was looking pale. As to be expected from a man who refused to acknowledge the basic necessities of his nature for days at a time. Newt didn’t know exactly how Graves had survived this long without launching into a murderous spree, but that didn’t mean that his methods were exactly healthy.

“Here,” he said, digging in his pockets for the lollipops that he’d decided to carry with him for precisely this kind of moment. 

Graves looked shifty about accepting a Blood Pop, but Newt knew it to be a difficult thing to resist for a vampire. “Thanks,” he said, unwrapping it.

Ten minutes later, Newt was only just beginning to grasp the depths of his mistake. He’d never witnessed Graves when he was feeding before, but he understood now why Graves might try to go for long periods of time without feeding.

Eyes lidded heavily, Graves licked all over the lollipop, which wasn’t large but still made his mouth open wide to accommodate it between his fanged teeth. His mouth seemed twice as red as before, and his tongue too – a deep, bloody red that matched the lollipop. The treat had a hard outer shell that melted to reveal a syrupy center. Graves made a soft noise of surprise when he realized – a grunt that eased into a sucking inhale as he licked away what stuck at the corner of his mouth.

He licked and sucked at the lollipop with a hunger that had Newt swearing to himself. It was wrong to imagine Graves going after anything else in the same way that he did blood, but that did not stop the deluge of mental images. (Graves between Newt’s legs, mouth opened wide to accept the length of Newt’s cock, the thick groan as his mouth was filled to the brim.) Newt trembled at the thought of those fangs near his cock.

Graves sucked the little stick clean and then looked forlornly at it before turning to Newt. His eyes were limned with red. His cheeks were just faintly pink. His hunger barely satisfied.  

Newt dug around in his pockets again before handing a second lollipop over. He had six left. Newt silently resigned himself to a long afternoon.

Just a Little Bite


Based off this and this post from Mamin, which inspired this fic.

As it turns out, Newt really takes to Percival - so much so that when it’s time to go home, he won’t leave with the Goldsteins as they had planned. Or any other auror. In fact, they can’t seem to pry him out from behind Graves’ legs, and when he cries as they try, Graves can’t help but stop them.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll take him, leave him be.”

The aurors are stunned as they watch Graves gently pick up the small boy and walk off to the disapparation point, but no one says a word to stop him.

“Does Mr. Graves know how to take care a child?” Queenie asks innocently, a small smile on her lips. Tina shrugs.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

As it turns out, no, Mr. Graves does not know how to take care of a child. He feeds him easily enough. Shrinks down a shirt and soft pajama bottoms he never wears so they might fit Newt - cutting a hole in the back for his tail. In fact, it all goes well until it’s time for Graves to attend to his own needs.

Like showering. Or just using the bathroom in general.

Newt gets anxious when he closes the door and Graves can hear his bitty nails on the other side of the door, clicking sadly as he paws and whines and whimpers at him to be let in.

“I’m almost done, Mr. Sca—Newt. Just a moment.”

He finishes his business, but he still needs to shower and child though he may be, Graves will not allow the man he has a crush on (though he’ll never admit it) to watch him shower as a fox eared child. But he can’t just leave him alone, either. Jesus, how did his mother do it with six of them?

He pauses from that train of thought - frozen - when suddenly he realizes that outside the door, Newt has become quiet. He bursts through, eyes wide and heart beating - unsure of what he’ll find.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

My primary school's field shared a fence with a grave yard so we used to play this game where we climbed a tree on the field, jumped off it into the grave yard and legged it through the gap in the fence about 10 meters away. The winner did it without the dinner ladies noticing.

The term “primary school"always sounds so fancy

actual fairy!Graves headcanons

- Grindelwald decided he was too much of an inconvenience, and then he decided the man was pretty, and what better way to anger the Director of Magical Security than by turning him into a magical creature, the same ones that his kind would gladly hunt down and kill ? 

- Very painful magical ritual, yada yada. By the end of it, Percival Graves is but a tiny, 10 cm high fairy with silver and black wings, aching all over. 

- The Director is indignant. He gives Grindelwald the middle finger and tries to fly away, bite the man, do anything to give him a piece of his mind but Grindelwald just mockingly coos at him before placing the tiny man in a glass jar. 

- That’s where he stays for God knows how long. Grindelwald takes the habit of talking to him, teasing him about the fact that no one has noticed he’s been replaced yet. 

- Graves tries to break his glass prison multiple times, but his magic has been suppressed and changed - the most he can do is make flower crowns appear in thin air. Grindelwald died laughing the first time that happened. 

- Graves is not deterred. He keeps trying, sometimes to the point of exhaustion. Grindelwald comes home to find the fairy slumped against the glass, eyes closed, snoring, the shining white light surrounding his body greatly diminished. 

- He changes. Graves’ hair grows longer, but all his body hair is gone. He’s paler, more delicate, more like -well- an actual fairy, and he hates it. 

- He catches himself humming one day as he passes his fingers through his hair, trying to disentangle the knots, before he stops and wonders horrified what the hell it is he’s doing when he should be trying to escape. 

- He asks Grindelwald for clothes. His own human face stares at him and smirks, before conjuring a see-through black dress out of thin air and ordering him to put it on. Graves glares and fumes but does so anyway. “Cute,” Grindelwald whispers as Graves back away, sitting down in a corner of his prison, hands hugging his knees, trying to regain the little dignity he has left. So what if he has to wear women’s clothes? All of this is temporary. He’ll break away eventually, find a way to return to his normal body, and Grindelwald will be sorry. 

The dark wizard doesn’t come home one day. Graves waits, and waits. 

And waits. 

Was he captured? Graves is thrilled at the idea. But will they have the good sense to come looking for him? 

Did they discover who he really was, or was he killed wearing Graves’ face? 

One, two, three days pass. The apartment stays silent. Graves is hungry, restless, anxious. At least Grindelwald kept him fed. He tries to scream, call for help, send a patronus, anything - but his tiny voice is powerless, and his magic feeble. 

Finally, finally- he hears footsteps. He gets up immediately, using the glass as leverage, turning his head in all directions to see where the sound came from. “In here!” he croaks out, though his voice sounds pitiful even to his own ears. “I’m here!” 

And then a - man- walks into the room, blue coat billowing behind him, freckles and green eyes searching around until they settle on the glass jar. His face widens into a smile, and Graves stares, awestruck -because damn him if this stranger isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s seen in days - before calling out, “Tina! I found something!” 

Tina. Tina. 

Graves’ legs shake and give out under him. Tina Tina Tina. She’s not dead. 

Grindelwald made him believe he’d executed her. 

She’s not dead, and she’s here, and she’s an Auror, and she’ll know what to do. 

“Oh, you poor fella,” a voice says near him, and Graves jumps, not having noticed the man come closer and stare at him through the glass. “Come on, we’ll get you out of here. You must be famished. How long have you been here…” 

He introduces himself as Newt Scamander, magizoologist, and simply opens the lid of his prison before taking him by the waist delicately and placing him in his hand. Graves wants to scream. Hours of frustration and magical energy wasted trying to break the glass, and all it took was the twist of a human hand to set him free.

Fuck Grindelwald. 

“Can you understand me?” Newt asks cautiously. Graves frowns. 

“Of course I can,” he says, hating how weak his voice is. Newt’s eyes light up. 

“Wonderful!” and then he starts babbling, as if Graves cared, “What kind of fairy are you? I’ve only met a few who could speak our language and they were not Americans, but-”

“I’m not a fucking fairy,” Graves interrupts, glaring, and it certainly has the effect of shutting Newt up. 

“Percival Graves. Director of Magical Security at the MACUSA until a certain asshole decided to take my place. Pleased to meet you.” He gives Newt his tiny hand to shake. 

Newt gives him his little finger, and Graves wraps his hand around it, trying to make his grip firm. 

“Well, Mr Graves,” Newt says, quickly recovering from his surprise, “You need to feed, and rest, and then we’ll see what we can do about your current situation.” 

Graves hears a gasp behind him and sure enough, Tina is here, staring at him, mouth open, eyes full of relief and shock. 

“Stop gawking,” he mutters. Tina bites her lips, as if she was trying to suppress a laugh. 

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s just, I’m so happy to see you, but hm, you look, well…” 



“… Different,” Tina finally says. 

Yeah. Yeah, he can only imagine. 

Damage (Jay Park)

Requested by anon

Prompt: “After all this… you still want me?”, angst

Originally posted by aomgwithkids

     Jay’s brow creased as he saw the name on the screen of his phone. It was your mother’s. She hadn’t called him maybe ever, and it was late on a Thursday night, a very strange time for her to be calling in the first place. He picked up, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hi!”

    “Jay,” her voice said shakily and instantly he knew something was very, very wrong. “You need to come to the hospital right now. She… she was in an accident and she’s in surgery now. I just…” she took a deep, ragged breath, “You should come.”

    “Holy shit, is she going to be okay?” Jay asked, his chest tight with sudden anxiety.

    “They don’t know. We’ll tell you everything when you get here.”

    He sped to the hospital, his heart pounding, trying to push back the rising panic in the back of his head, and when he arrived, he found your parents sitting in the lobby of the hospital with cups of coffee clutched in their shaking hands, their faces haggard and pale as they explained that you’d been in an accident and you were currently in surgery for extensive damage to your facial bones and on top of that you had several broken ribs, an injured leg, and possibly a bad concussion.

    The three of them sat in the lobby in awful, heavy silence for hour after hour, as the monitor which indicated the status of all the surgeries going on got emptier and emptier until just one was still ongoing- yours. Your parents sat close but Jay stuck to the end of the couch until your mom said, “Come here, Jaebum,” and pulled him in as he shifted over, wrapping a tight arm around his shoulders. He lost track of how many times he silently prayed as the minutes ticked by and he couldn’t have distracted himself even if he wanted to.

    It was just past 4:00 in the morning when the screen showed you had moved to recovery and just minutes later, the doctor emerged from the hall.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

would you ever write a gradence star wars AU? not meant to be a request or to pressure you, just curious if those particular two jams of yours might ever result in a mashup. :D

Signs point to yes, noni-wan :3

The healers’ aides on Kyor Wen wore uniform jumpsuits of dove grey trimmed in green.  The color put Graves in mind of Initiates’ robes, or the mist that clung to the cloud forests beyond the Temple.  

A jumpsuit didn’t do much for anybody, even the young man of alarming beauty who was checking Graves in, but the color suited him.  MedCorps Assistant Barebone, read the badge at his breast.  He leaned over the medical droid’s display panel, attentive.  His hair fell in dark waves to the nape of his neck.  

“There’s a prescription for an anxiolytic–”

“No thanks,” Graves said.                                        

Dark eyes flickered up at him, then down.  "Just the analgesic, then.“

Graves stretched his right leg.  He’d torn a ligament or two clawing free from Grindelwald’s den, but the ache was mostly phantom now.  "Low dose,” he said.

He studied the young man, feeling a pull that was only part physical.  The Force swirled around him, around the two of them, in deep currents–not agitated but distinctly in motion, impossible to ignore.  Graves hadn’t felt the like since it had dragged him by the nose to Tina, back when she was a scrawny sprat, but this boy was too old to become a Padawan.  Too old by far. 

Even so, his presence in the Force was tremendous.  "How’d you wind up in the Corps?“ Graves asked. “If it’s not too cruel of me to ask.”

“As an Initiate I had problems with control,” said Barebone quietly.  

“Lots of Initiates have problems with control.”

“Mine were unusual.”  The dark eyes gave nothing away, but Graves felt a glint of old hurt through the Force. “No Jedi Master would have me.”

Graves grunted.  "Cowards.“  

It earned him a wan, fleeting smile.  The medi-droid blipped, whirred, and dispensed a payload of painkillers. Barebone handed the packet of capsules to Graves.  

"Your plan of treatment is rest, meditation, exercise in moderation, hydrotherapy, and cognitive sessions with a Healer.”

“Can’t wait,” said Graves.  It all sounded tolerable, actually, except for the last on the list.  He stuffed the pack of meds into the depths of his cloak.

Barebone glanced at the droid’s display again, then at Graves, eyes fixed on the general area of Graves’ shoulder.  His head bent with deference and doggedness in a peculiar mix.  

“The sessions are mandatory, it says.”

Grousing was beneath a Jedi, as was hiding a hand in his sleeve to flip the bird at Coruscant and Master Seraphina.  Graves settled for rising from his seat and smoothing his cloak.  "Where can a guy get a drink around here?“ he asked.

"The refectory serves wine with meals.”  Barebone spoke with clinical disinterest.  He poked at Graves’ chart with one long, elegant finger. Lucky chart.  "The commissary stocks other legal intoxicants.“  

"You don’t drink.”

A headshake.  So much for that tack.  Graves tried again.  "You play sabacc?“

Barebone opened his mouth, as if to issue another rote no, then paused.  His expression changed.  He blinked, mouth hanging on faint startlement, then straightened and stood eye to eye with Graves for the first time.  The Force swelled.  

Graves tilted an eyebrow, mildly enough–or so he thought.  Barebone promptly looked down again and colored.  He curled his hands into his uniform sleeves.

"I don’t, Master Graves.  But I’d like to learn,” he said.

So. SO. Guess who (finally) watched Fright Night. Guess who has just had an hour and a half of Colin Farrell playing a vampire. Guess what this means.

This means that Percival Graves, salty, bitchy fucker that we all know and love, is about to get very intimately acquainted with what it means to be a demon of the night.

It starts, as most of Graves’ troubles tend to, while he’s with Grindelwald. In this universe Grindelwald has gone down the cliched route, added a bit of drama and flair to his life. I mean, come on. Look at the way he swept about in Graves’ coat, look at the pretentious last line he threw Newt’s way when he was captured. You can’t tell me Grindelwald isn’t a complete dramaqueen underneath all of that spiked hair and bleach.

He keeps Graves locked to a wall, iron manacles around his wrists that suppress and block the flow of magic. A wizard’s hands are his life - who ever heard of someone shooting spells out their nose? (Graves will damn well try to sneeze fire if it gets him free, but as yet the most he’s done is made sparks dance through his eyebrows. Not useful.) The manacles are raised above his head, chained in place in a way that makes his shoulders ache and his hands numb.

At first, that’s all Grindelwald needs. But Graves - Graves’ city is in danger. Graves’ aurors are in danger. He floods the manacles, wearing away at the enchantments on them bit by runic bit, working his way to freedom one hour at a time. Grindelwald has met his type before. Dedicated. Driven. He won’t stop until he’s free or dead, not unless Grindelwald breaks him first.

So he breaks him. How could Graves still fight for his aurors, Grindelwald reasons, if he himself is a dark creature that his aurors would kill on sight?

Grindelwald. Grindelwald, darling, allow me to introduce you to Percival Graves. He does not stop. Ever. You could kill the man and he’d come back as a ghost if he thought his aurors needed him to. Being turned into a vampire is a trifling annoyance that Graves stubbornly refuses to acknowledge beyond investing in some heavy duty sun-blocker potion when the burns get too bad.

Graves gets himself free, in the end, and he storms back into the mess that Grindelwald left behind. He marches down his corridors barking insults and dragging the junior aurors back to the practice room to have their asses handed to them in training and throwing an absolute hissy fit about the fact that Grindelwald failed to complete even a single item of paperwork. He tears through his aurors like a foul mouthed jarvey and grumps at Picquery when she doesn’t get out his way fast enough and everyone is so damn relieved to have him back.

So relieved that they don’t notice the way his hands shake. The way he clutches at his coffee like a lifeline, hiding behind his mug whenever anyone gets too close. The way he all but flinches back from people, the way he keeps his windows open in the middle of winter and drinks in fresh air like a drowning man to keep from losing himself in the smell of blood. He’s going mad. He’s surrounded by living, breathing, beating hearts and he’ll die if he doesn’t give in soon - but he’d rather die than do that. It puts something of a time limit on his work, trying to fix things, trying to get everything ready for the successor he hasn’t yet picked to follow him. It makes for a lot of late nights and early starts, a lot of saying fuck it to pretences and just working round the clock. The vampiric lack of need for sleep is a mighty handy thing.

It’s on one of these all nighters that he meets Newt at three in the morning. Why exactly Newt is in the auror department at three in the morning he isn’t quite sure, because his mind is preoccupied with other things.

Namely, the fact that with no one else around to provide background noise, he can hear Newt’s heartbeat echoing like a siren call through the empty room. Or the fact that the auror department smells stale, old papers and coffee dregs, but Newt walks through the middle like something sweet and pure.

Keep reading