<b>Before seeing Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them:</b> Four more movies????? Holy shit, JKR, stop milking this fucking franchise before you ruin Harry Potter for all of us<p/><b>After seeing it:</b> Give me 300 more movies. Make it into a TV show. I need more soft Hufflepuff autistic Newt Scamander and his beautiful creatures. also Queenie, my dimpled flapper wife<p/></p>
<b>Newt:</b> I made this case so all my animals could live in a welcoming environment for them!<p/><b>Ravenclaw:</b> Wow this is some advanced magic, how did you do it? Did it take a while?<p/><b>Newt:</b> No it didn't take very long.<p/><b>Ravenclaw:</b> And everything is segmented into different weather for each species with enough space for them to roam if need be. That's amazing. Could you show me how you did it?<p/><b>Newt:</b> *shrugs* The animals needed it.<p/><b>Ravenclaw:</b> Right, but the magic you used...<p/><b>Newt:</b> *slight pause* The animals needed it.<p/><b>Ravenclaw:</b> Right, but it must have been difficult.<p/><b>Newt:</b> The animals-<p/><b>Ravenclaw:</b> Nevermind.<p/></p>
TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS (sorry if some of the gif’s aren’t working properly!)
On the first day of Christmas my true love Newt gave to me a thunderbird on a rock.
On the second day of Christmas my true love Newt gave to me two swooping evils and a thunderbird on a rock.
On the third day of Christmas my true love Newt gave to me three erumpents, two swooping evils, and a thunderbird on a rock.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love Newt gave to me four occamies, three erumpents, two swooping evils, and a thunderbird on a rock.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love Newt gave to me five billywigs, four occamies, three erumpents, two swooping evils, and a thunderbird on a rock.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love Newt gave to me six baby-a-sitting demiguise, five billywigs, four occamies, three erumpents, two swooping evils, and a thunderbird on a rock.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love Newt gave to me seven thieving nifflers, six baby-a-sitting demiguise, five billywigs, four occamies, three erumpents, two swooping evils, and a thunderbird on a rock.
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love Newt gave to me eight baby graphorns, seven thieving nifflers, six baby-a-sitting demiguise, five billywigs, four occamies, three erumpents, two swooping evils, and a thunderbird on a rock.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love Newt gave to me nine pixies dancing, eight baby graphorns, seven thieving nifflers, six baby-a-sitting demiguise, five billywigs, four occamies, three erumpents, two swooping evils, and a thunderbird on a rock.
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love Newt gave to me ten murtlaps a-leaping,
nine pixies dancing, eight baby graphorns, seven thieving nifflers, six baby-a-sitting demiguise, five billywigs, four occamies, three erumpents, two swooping evils, and a thunderbird on a rock.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love Newt gave to me eleven howling nundus,
ten murtlaps a-leaping, nine pixies dancing, eight baby graphorns, seven thieving nifflers, six baby-a-sitting demiguise, five billywigs, four occamies, three erumpents, two swooping evils, and a thunderbird on a rock.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love Newt gave to me twelve bowtruckles, eleven howling nundus, ten murtlaps a-leaping, nine pixies dancing, eight baby graphorns, seven thieving nifflers, six baby-a-sitting demiguise, five billywigs, four occamies, three erumpents, two swooping evils, and a thunderbird on a rock.
but newt has trust issues and how on earth will he fall for tina..he comes off so ace..plus in ther first meeting tina drags him to the macusa for letting lose the niffler and the second time she traps him in his suitcase and almost gets him killed and they barely talked at dinner..i can't see newt in love with tina after what happened with leta..he's too lonely and damaged to open up to another soul
Stop. Pause your scrolling. Wait. I have a thing for you.
Actual Mummy Newt.
That’s it. Resume scrolling if you want, but know that I’ll be judging you - Graves will be judging you, because actual Mummy Newt is the most adorable thing in all of creation and if you hurt his feelings by ignoring him then Graves will have to eviscerate you. He won’t want to do it. It’ll make him sad. But he’ll do it.
Now how, you might ask, does Newt evolve into Actual Mummy Newt? Like this:
There’s a girl. The girl is desperate, the girl is scared, but the girl saw Newt save a Jengu spirit from a hunter’s net on the river banks and she thinks - she hopes - that he will be kind. She tucks her baby’s blankets more tightly around her and kisses her tiny fingers and says goodbye, and she leaves the baby on the doorstep of the tiny hut. She retreats - but not far, because there are wild dogs and wild cats and she is determined to see her baby safe - and waits.
The door opens. A man peers out, cautious, wand raised. Her breath stutters to a halt and her heart freezes in her chest, because it isn’t Newt, it isn’t the kind man - it’s Graves. Graves stalks around glaring balefully at the world and it’s easy to mistake him for an angry man. The girl knows angry men. She readies herself to move forwards, to take her daughter and run, to forget this plan and ignore the better future she hoped her daughter would have -
Graves picks the baby up, gently, nervously, as though she were something precious and fragile. His face, when he looks at her, is blank; when he looks up and sees through the girl’s pitiful illusens, there is sorrow and fury and careful understanding in his gaze. Remember, Graves was an auror because he wanted to protect people. Remember, Graves was an auror who saw all the things people needed protecting from. He makes to step forwards, baby cradled in his arms, to say something, perhaps - the girl vanishes. Her heart pounds and she’s crying and that’s it, that’s goodbye, she’s done everything she can do.
(It’s not goodbye. It’s only until later, and later is sixteen years away when the girl - the woman - holds her daughter close and presses desperate kisses into her curly hair and smooths her hands over her perfect face. In the background the man she thought was kind and the man she thought was angry stand to the side and smile. The woman will be crying then, when she says goodbye for the second time, but they will be different tears and a different goodbye and her daughter will turn around and say I’ll write, mama, and I’ll bring you photos next time to show you where I’ve been.)
But that is then and this is now, and now Graves goes down the ladder one careful step at a time and stares at the bundle held against his chest. Tiny grey eyes and tiny snuffling nose and tiny dark eyelashes blinking against tiny dark cheeks - she’s tiny.
“We’ll take her to Nairobi,” he tells Newt. “They’ll have an orphanage there, or a family who can take her in.”
Newt lays her down on his lap - she’s no longer than his thigh, she fits in like she’s made to be there and curls her legs against his stomach - and runs gentle fingers over the fluff on her head. “We can’t apparate with a baby,” he says. “It’ll be slow - a month, maybe?” The baby sneezes and Newt waves his fingers at her, distracting her while he wipes the bubbles of milk-spit away.
“It takes as long as it takes,” Graves says, and maybe he honestly deludes himself into thinking that will only be a month.
Because. That month.
The baby is two weeks old, or thereabouts. She can’t see, not really - she scowls at the world as it fails to come into focus and Graves scowls right back and makes Newt laugh. She can smell though, and for the first few nights she is miserable and howling because she can smell that her mother is gone; she tugs at the cloth of Newt’s shirt and scrabbles for milk that he doesn’t have and she wriggles against a hold that isn’t the right hold and she screams.
Newt bounces her and talks to her, always talks to her non stop nonsense words, and waits for her to get used to him. He mixes four different kinds of milk to make the best substitute he can (and sends Graves out among the habitats to collect them) and feeds it to her with a careful diligence while Graves hovers and worries about it being the right temperature. When she fusses and squalls, Newt rubs her back until burps and makes a face as he cleans away the excess milk.
There are a lot of cleaning charms involved. Babies make a lot of mess. Newt switches into old clothes, comfy clothes, over-large button shirts with the sleeves rolled up soft cardigans that he can wrap around the baby like a blanket and hug her against his chest. He bounces her and he babbles to her and he coos in delight when she looks at him and smiles, even though he knows it doesn’t mean anything at that age. He gets up in the middle of the night and shambles over to the cot on the other side of the room and stifles a yawn as he picks her up and tries to convince her to tell him what’s wrong.
“She’s a baby,” Graves grumps from where he’s trying to osmose through the sheets and become one with the mattress. “She can’t tell you what’s wrong. She doesn’t speak English, she speaks loud.”
Graves’ reply contains several swear words at that and Newt pointedly covers the baby’s ears. Graves’ reply to that is to offer a rude hand gesture on his zombie-stumbling way down to the kitchen to retrieve and heat up the milk. He hands it to Newt and stands behind him while Newt feeds her, Graves’ arms wrapped around Newt’s waist and Graves’ chin balanced on Newt’s shoulders.
“She needs a name,” Newt says softly while he’s tucking her blanket around her and setting her back down to sleep.
“It’s only three weeks to Nairobi,” Graves says back just as softly.
“I was thinking Claire,” Newt continues as though Graves hadn’t spoken, and the stubborn tilt to his chin says that Newt is prepared to engage selective deafness however many times Graves tries to raise the point.
Graves doesn’t try that hard. Six weeks later - because Newt and schedules? No. - they arrive in Nairobi and take Claire to the local centre for magical fostering. Ten days after that they leave Nairobi as the official, legally recognised adoptive parents of one Claire Mathilda Scamander-Graves, and by that point Graves has even learnt to keep the milk in a coolbox in the bedroom instead of falling down the ladder to the kitchen every night in search of it.
My first requester asked for a jealous Newt and something smutty. Second requester said back after I said I don’t write smut: tbh I found the simple idea of “a story where newt gets super jealous of this guy flirting with you” great? Maybe the reader doesn’t know that Newt is in love at this point and it could lead to something fluffy or to a kinda dramatic confession instead?
WARNINGS: HEAVY cinnamon spice, but no sinnamon spice ;) BADUM TISH, okay sorry that was lame.
PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY STORY ON WATTPAD WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. IM GETTING REALLY SICK OF PEOPLE TAKING MY STORY WITHOUT MY KNOWLEDGE. OKAY? OKAY, movin’ on.
There was an indescribable pain in Newt’s heart. He couldn’t tell if it was physical or mental or maybe both, but it hurt. Like a shock or someone stabbing his heart with a needle.
The pain only came when he saw you around with other guys. And especially if another guy flirted with you.
Newt knew it was silly to feel jealous, you two weren’t even together, as far as he was aware, you thought of him as just a good friend. He also felt bad for the possessive feeling. You were entitled to flirt and talk to whoever you jolly well pleased.
It was one particular bad night for Newt when you and him had gone out to a bar. You looked irresistible all glamed up and most every man in the bar seemed to think so too.
Newt sat drinking in complete silence and pain as man after man came up to you and tried to buy you a drink.
He watched one particular man, tall and handsome, flirt with you. The handsomer the man was, the more Newt got jealous.
“I’d love to get to know you,” the man said, smirking and gently playing with your hair.
You pulled back, playfully flirting along. “Is that all you’d like to get to know?” You gave him a sly look.
The man grinned a not very nice grim, according to Newt. Newt frowned hard. He shouldn’t be here. But he also wanted to keep an eye on you and make sure you didn’t get yourself hurt. “Maybe you should stop by my place so I can get to know better?” He said seductively, his voice raspy and low.
You pushed him away and then winked at him. “Nice try, ace, maybe next time,” you chuckled, turning away from him. You made your way back to Newt, who was still frowning. “Are you alright, Newt?”
Newt pushed his drink back. “Ma-maybe we should go home…” He mumbled, his hands twitching as he fumbled with his napkin, folding it into some kind of origami.
You shrugged. “Yeah, okay, I’m kinda sick of these jerks anyway,” you said, standing up and glaring at the men around.
Newt likewise stood up, a little more pathetically and less graceful. He reached for your hand and pulled you out of the bar, using quick sharp strides. “Let’s go home,” he agreed briskly.
Newt didn’t let go of your hand, but kept dragging you along in a sort of hurried manner. “Newt, slow down, why are you in such a hurry? Why are you so tensed? What’s wrong?” You demanded, finally catching up with the fast strides.
“That’s three questions, I’m only answering one,” Newt replied back absentmindedly. He hated answering questions. He much preferred slithering out of them.
“Yes in deed. That’s your question answered.”
“No wait, that wasn’t my question!”
“You said wait what. That’s a question.”
You opened your mouth in rejection and then closed your mouth, trying to figure Newt out.
Newt didn’t let go of your hand until the two of you were safely back at the Goldstein sister’s apartment. You shared the apartment with the sisters and Newt was only there because he had nowhere to stay and at any rate he spent 90% of his time in his suitcase.
Newt quietly walked to his room, but you followed him, demanding to know more.
His room was tidy and clean, his bed made and his suitcase right next to it. You had never been into his room and you were surprised how not trashed it was, since his shed was trashed. “Newt, are you jealous?” You finally asked Newt, staring at him with a hard look.
Newt looked at you sheepishly, while he took his coat off and his vest. Loosening his shirt he grumbled, “I don’t know what you mean…”
You watched him sit on his bed and take off his shoes. You could see his fine collarbones in the dim room. You slowly walked over to him and sat beside him. “Why are you jealous?” you asked softly, already gathering what his answer would be.
Newt sighed, running his hand through his hair and avoiding eye contact. “B-because… I fancy you… a great deal and I don’t think you’re aware of how… attractive you are and how… I feel when… better looking men try to flirt with you…” Newt paused and then gave you a small lopsided smile. “I, uh, am slightly tipsy so I don’t know whether I’m making sense or not…”
You looked at him. He was slightly tipsy, you could tell, but at the same time you could see the pain in his eyes. He probably wouldn’t have been able to confess anything had he not been intoxicated. “I never cared for them anyway. They’re annoying…” You fidgeted with your hands. “The truth is… I, uh, fancy you too… what those men said to me, it doesn’t bother me.“
Newt gently put his hands around your waist. “Those men have no right to say anything like that… I should be the only one allowed to call you love, love…”
You looked at him again, mildly surprised by his sudden chance in posture. But you didn’t mind, what he said turned you on. “Newt…” You whispered quietly.
The next seconds were a blur, as Newt’s lips were on you and the subtle taste of alcohol filled your mouth. You were slightly aware of your hands shooting up to Newt’s disheveled hair.
Newt grabbed your waist and gently threw you onto your back. Hovering above you, Newt said quietly into your ear, “Who’s the only one who can kiss you like this?” His mouth landed on your jawline, giving you small kisses.
You gave a little gasp. “Uh… Y-you…” You whimpered quietly. You realized your hands were moving on their own again and were finishing unbuttoning Newt’s cotton shirt.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly?” Newt replied. He slowly forced opens your legs and slithered in between them, lowing himself down onto you and burring his face into your neck laying soft kisses on your bare neck.
“Y-you…!” You whimpered again, a little louder but not wanting to wake anyone else in the house.
You felt Newt’s hand rubbing your thigh. “Who’s the only man who can touch you like this?” Newt quietly demanded, slowly teasing you.
You gave out a strained noise, a burning sensation starting to form. You wrapped your arms around Newt’s back and pressed your mouth against Newt’s bare shoulder trying to muffle the noise coming from your mouth.
“C'mon, baby, don’t be shy,” Newt murmured into your ear. His breathing tickled your skin and made you shiver beneath him.
“N-Newt,” you moaned as he attacked your neck, forming a round red mark.
“What’s that? Say it louder, love…” Newt continued to tease you. He knew you wanted more. Much more, but he had patience.
you dug your nails into his back. “P-please… N-Newt…” You stuttered out, your voice only barely louder than the first plead.
Newt’s hand massage on your thigh grew a little harder, making your skin burn. “Say that again, this time try and—”
“NEEWTT! PLEASE!” You shrieked out loud, finally giving up on being quiet for the sake of others. You were basically now in tears wanting more than just kisses and thigh massages. “I-I’M YOURS!”
Newt looked a little startled at your audacity to finally stop being so shy and quiet. But he smiled down, gently planting a kiss on your mouth. “There it is… that’s my girl.”
Newt decided to join Queenie for breakfast today, since she often ate alone and Newt was feeling fantastic, aside from a minor headache.
“Hullo, Queenie, do you have anything for a hangover?” Newt asked, stumbling into the kitchen.
Queenie was at the table and was reading the paper. “Why should I help you?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.
Newt looked confused. Queenie was a morning person and was always bubbly in the morning. “What?” Newt asked completely baffled.
Queenie smirked. An unusually dark smirk. Newt was becoming uneasy. “Don’t act so innocent, Mr. Scamander. You and Y/N kept me up WAAAY past my bedtime with your little party!”
THE END!!! Hope you liked it even though it was so long, lol! This was pretty spicy, did ya like it?
Graves is an auror, a junior just started but already making a name for himself. He falls in love with Newt (slowly, all at once, always and without ever being able to stop) but is waiting to propose until he gets promoted and can offer Newt more than just a ramshackle apartment and a meagre junior’s pay.
Newt doesn’t care. To Newt, marriage is a promise to face life’s trials together, he’d say yes if Graves proposed with a piece of string to wind round his finger. But it matters to Graves and so Graves waits; he won’t be a junior for long, and he’s almost saved enough to move to a real house with a real garden for Newts creatures and all the little things Graves feels that Newt deserves.
Newt still winds a glowing length of spell-thread around his ring finger from Graves’ wand, and Graves still ties off the enchantment and anchors it to their love, because this is their life and their life is made of little gestures and gentle touches and strawberry-sweet kisses in the golden sun.
Newt finds Credence as a small child, tiny and underfed, cowering in the hate sickened squalor of Mary Lou Barebone’s brutish care. When he takes Credence away, it has nothing to do with the angry wisps of obscurus that is developing within him and everything to do with the way he reaches for Newt’s hand with something like fear and something like hope and something like a little boy in need of help.
He brings Credence home to the overfilled, cramped apartment that he shares with Graves, pushing stacks of books out of the way and emptying out a trunk of old clothes to transfigure it into a bed. Credence sits on the edge of his desk and swings his legs and Newt narrates the book he’s writing, stopping to explain every other sentence what dragons are, how they use magic to twist the air currents and help them fly, how many eggs they have in a clutch - eggs, does Credence want eggs for lunch? Egg in shell with buttered soldiers to dip in the yolk?
Credence ducks his head and nods shyly behind his fringe, not used to being asked his opinion. And not really sure what buttered soldiers are either, but if Mr Newt made it, then he knows he’ll like it. Because Mr Newt is like that and Credence loves Mr Newt.
And this could be the story. Graves could come home and find Newt waiting with big eyes and that hopeful, excited, slightly guilty expression that says he’s found a new stray. Graves could sigh and say, what have you rescued now, and, just tell me it won’t eat the roof again, and when Newt beckons Credence in Credence could hide behind the door and refuse to come out.
He’s shy, Newt could say, and take Graves by the hand to lead him into the kitchen. Credence - Credence, this is Graves, he won’t hurt you. I promise he won’t. Newt could bend down, lift Credence up under the arms and balance him on his hip. He’d stay behind the door for now and say, Do you want to meet him? and he’d wait until Credence, solemnly slow and with great deliberation, nods.
When Newt emerges, Credence in his arms and joy on his face, Graves could be there to feel his breath catch in his throat and his life reshape and resettle into husband and father and dad.
This could be the story.
This is not the story.
Graves is away this week, this one week of all weeks he’s the unlucky junior sent to shadow Picquery at the ICW conference in Nairobi. Graves is away, and when Grindelwald follows the trail of the obscurus he was tracking and prowls closer to Credence and closer to Newt - well. Graves is away.
Picquery gets tipped off that Graves is being investigated for treason. He’s just a junior. He’s good at what he does, one of the most promising they’ve had for a long time, but she has no particular reason to suspect the investigation is false. By the time she returns, enough evidence has been uncovered that Graves is arrested the moment his feet touch the ground. He’s led away, not even told what it is he’s done, not given any chance to protest or deny - how can he deny? That’s his face been used to commit crimes, his voice recorded plotting in the dark, how can he deny that? What reason would anyone have for impersonating a junior auror? What defence could Graves ever provide?
The wizarding prison of America is deep in the swamps of Louisiana, guarded by ghosts and spirits and crocodile gods. Graves shivers against the rain that seeps into his cell and kicks off the grasping letiche that haunt the prison for easy prey. He waits. He counts the days in scratch marks on the wall. He runs his sentence down, counting another day, another week, another month another year - and every day a little bit more of him dies.
He counts his sentence to the last day.
He counts his sentence beyond the last day when he’s days, weeks, months overdue for release.
He counts the days since food was last left by the rusted metal grate that marks the entrance to his cell.
He counts and counts and counts until he’s counted the days, the patterns, the flares of magic through the runic wards -
He should have been released over a year ago by the time he breaks out, but then, he should never have been arrested to begin with.
(yes, I will continue this one. Consider this part one.)