while he is sleeping in his grave

tacticalgrandma  asked:

non-chudley ask which location would you choose to fight each of the hamilton characters?

i’ve been preparing for this question my entire life. thank u. here are my thoughts

Alexander: i would fight alexander hamilton in his own office. i know it seems counterintuitive but i feel like i could distract him by destroying a bunch of his shit. our respective scrappiness would ensure a close match, there would probably be biting involved and it would culminate in me stabbing him in the chest with a letter opener

Burr: I don’t want to fight burr. i think it’d be really depressing, like beating up an old man. i’ll pass on this one

Eliza: eliza and i would fight in a sunlit baroque dining room at precisely 10:00am and it would be preceded by 15 minutes of drinking tea and having a very calm yet ominous and metaphor-laden conversation from opposite sides of the dining table. the fight would end in a tie where we both decide to spare each others lives and part ways with a newfound sense of mutual respect

Washington: i would literally fight this man anywhere. any time, any place, i will fight george washington, and lose magnificently

Angelica: angelica and i would recreate the blacksmith scene from Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl

Peggy: i would fight peggy in a grassy field dotted with wildflowers in the early autumn sunlight and it wouldnt be a real fight it’d be a pretend fight with our dog and then we’d kiss

Lafayette: i’d fight laf in the park next to my parents’ house because its where he got supremely fucked up one time in a humiliating defeat and his bad memories may give me the upper hand. JUST KIDDING not only would he kick my ass extremely easily he’d probably be charming and kind to me the entire time, and then i would feel bad

Laurens: i would fight laurens in bed. not in a sexy way, just because i feel like the only way i would stand a chance is by ambushing him in his sleep and smothering him

Mulligan: why would i bother honestly. i’d fight herc in a cemetery next to a freshly dug grave so he could just dunk me right in. i trust him to give me a proper burial and come back every once in a while to leave flowers

Maria: i wouldn’t fight maria what the fuck

Jefferson: here it is: i would fight jefferson in the parking lot behind a denny’s at 3 in the morning

Madison: i kind of just assumed madison and jefferson would attempt to tag-team me, therefore i would also fight madison in the denny’s parking lot. i use the word “fight” very loosely here since i feel like i would just have to yell at him or like gently tip him over or something

Philip: philip is a child but i would still fight him. maybe just a little though. maybe just a heated debate

KGIII: i would slap-fight king george in ye olde royal boxing ring surrounded by royal subjects and press photographers. he’d go down pretty quickly and hopefully i’d get to wear the cape

Hey Cuck I’m here with your husband in your room, I took this picture last weekend when you threw a party. He took me upstairs and couldn’t control himself . He was telling him how he really needed great sex because you couldn’t handle him. I started to grind my ass against his junk and asked him what would we do if you found out. He said he didn’t care that he just needed to have me that nigh, he graved my pipe and pressed me against himself. I felt his dick and i slowly started to push my shorts down exposing my ass. He bent me over the dresser and ate me out slowly giving my hole sweet little kisses and soft bites while jacking me off. After eating me out for 10 minutes I pushed him to the bed, he took his dick out and I sat on his thick headed cock . He was fucking me senselessly until you started knocking on the door at that point he graved my legs and fucked so hard against the door ignoring after a while you gave up and left humiliated back to your friends. We finished fucking and cleaned our cum covered bodies with your pillow. He laid down, hugged me . I laid my head on his chest and we passed out until the next day.. I can’t believe he made you sleep outside and that you fell asleep outside the door spying on us hahaha 🍆💪💙

Coran HC

★  I don’t care what anyone says, he was the previous Blue paladin

  • Have you seen his reflexes??? Look at those and tell me he wasn’t a paladin

★ HE WAS IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH ALFOR AND THE QUEEN FIGHT ME

  • This makes him the perfect person for Allura to come to for Matt and Shiro

★ Every time he sees Keith he gets reminded of his edgy phase

★ He’s able to make any species love him
  • It’s a gift

★ On a dare he ran through those boiling rocks that fell from the sky on Altea and somehow made it through without a scratch???

★ The first batch of nunvil he made was actually made from sweaty clothes to “test” the paladins

  • Nobody knows, It’s a secret he’ll take to his grave

★ Is one of the biggest pranksters ever

He and Keith get stranded of some random planet: Hmm… Delectable tea or deadly poison?

★ Nobody has ever seen him go to sleep

  • Does he need sleep? Nobody knows

★ Covered in badass scars because y e s

★ Can and will beat you up while giving you a lecture on safety

★ The reason the red lion didn’t let him in is cause he pulled a prank on her once and she holds a grudge

★ Was the mom friend of the old paladins

★ His hair was as long as Allura’s at one point but during a mission it got cut off

  • All the paladins cried for his loss, even Zarkon shed a few tears

★ Lance is his favorite without a doubt but he loves all the other paladins as well

  • They all bond over different things it’s great

★ They went on a planet with tiny creatures and they follows him around the entire time they were there

★ Has like no idea of how self-preservation works

  • That alien has razor sharp teeth and is like 10xs his size? Must be friendly

★ Sometimes he just makes up some random creatures to mess with the Paladins

★ He somewhat drugged Allura and Shiro once so they could go tf to sleep

★ He somehow got his mustache stuck in some doors once

  • No one lets him live it down

★ Has at least 20 different types of poison up his sleeve “just in case”

★ He still chills with Blue in his very little free time

Percival just being a cute little shit

Percival playing with newts hair to relax him.

Percival massaging newts shoulders/back when he’s stressed.

Percival holding newts cheeks when they kiss.

Percival burying his head into newts neck when they cuddle.

Percival constantly having to stroke some part of newts skin (arm, cheek, neck e.t.c).

Percival not being able to take his eyes off of newt when they’re in the same room because he just thinks he’s so damn beautiful.

Percival counting the freckles on newts back on a lazy Sunday morning.

Percival cooking newts favourite meal to make sure he eats.

Percival bringing newt flowers because he saw them on his walk home and they made him think of him.

Percival loving when newt gets lost in his own little world while he talks about his creatures.

Percival planning the rest of their lives together because he knows he wants no one but newt.

How you sleep together

Newt Scamander

He loves it when you rest your head on his chest, combing his fingers through your hair, while you both drift off

Originally posted by justdrethings

Jacob Kowalski

He Likes to spoon, making Sure you’re safe, stroking his fingers over your arm

Originally posted by lovershub


Tina Goldstein

She’s a wriggle sleeper, but she does like to hold your hand, and will keep your fingers intertwined.

Originally posted by sensualkisses

Queenie Goldstein

She likes to snuggle into your side

Originally posted by pleasingpics

Credence barebone

He likes to sleep with his head on your chest, so that he can hear your heartbeat.

Originally posted by couplenotes

Perceval Graves

He like his own space, but he also likes you close, so that he can pull you in

Originally posted by perfectfeelings

Have a great day and be safe

Master list

@fiddlesticksimagines

Negan Imagine ~ Stormy Times

After the reader loses her last family member she refuses to leave the grave and Negan decides to stay by her side

Requested as a prompt:
“Did you even sleep last night?” “I’ll sleep when I’m dead”


Originally posted by rickdixonandthefandomlifeposts

You saw the clouds above you becoming darker, the rumbling of the upcoming storm becoming louder while you stared at your brothers grave. 

One day was it now.
One day since you lost your last family member.
One day since you had seen him die on a run. 

And one day since you had barely moved from the place where they had buried him. 
You tried to suppress the pictures that tried to find their way into your mind.

All the pictures of how the walker ripped your brothers neck open, of the blood that shot out of the wound while your beloved brother sunk screaming to his knees, of the last time you looked into his eyes before he died and of the moment you had to dig your knife into his skull.

All you felt was emptiness in your body and a horrible pressure on your ribcage that didnt want to allow you to breath freely.


You suddenly heard heavy footsteps behind you coming closer that ripped you away from the pictures, but you didn’t turn around. 

You knew it was him.

He was checking often on you since you sat there, but you had never heard him coming as close as now.
There was definitely something between you and him for some time now, even when you didn’t really know what it was.

He knew what you thought about his methods, about his “wives” and still he seemed to somehow care about you more than about anybody else.

“You should come in Sweetheart, it’s gonna rain damn soon”, you heard his deep voice say.

You swallowed but didn’t respond, you just kept staring at the grave. 

You heard Negan scoff stressed before you heard the footsteps coming even closer.

“You can’t sit here for fucking ever”, you heard his voice adding.

“You’re underestimating me”, you muttered while you didn’t look back to him.

You felt definitely something for him, even if you had tried to suppress it long enough and you knew that if you would look at him now, would see into his eyes, that it would break out of you. 

You couldnt cry yet, the shock of having to see how the walker ripped your brothers neck open stuck in your bones and didnt let you cry.

And you didnt know if you even wanted to.

The shock protected you from the horrible pain that would fill your body up once the first tear would roll down your cheeks.

You werent ready for that and you knew that Negan’s glance, his touch or anything else would let that facade fall apart.

On one side you wanted him to go due to that fear, on the other one you felt the feeling inside you that you just wanted to be hugged.

You saw from the corner of your eyes how he walked next to you but didn’t sit down yet. 

“Did you even sleep last night?”, you heard him ask swallowing. 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead as well”, you just muttered in response. 

“Don’t fucking ever say that again”, you heard him say before he sat down next to you.

It was the first time you looked into another direction than the grave as you turned a little surprised to him but didnt look directly into his eyes. 

“Listen you’re not gonna fucking die. Not gonna let that happen”, he said while you swallowed before looking back to the grave. 

You felt how his glance was laying on your face as he sighed.

“I’m sorry for your loss. Just wanted you to know”, he said stroking over his beard and looking at you while you nodded slowly.

The sky grumbled while you felt how the first raindrops fell onto you
.
You saw from the corner of your eyes how Negan looked up to the sky but then back to you. 

“God fucking damn it…”, you heard him mumble while the rain began to intensify. 

You didn’t care about the rain becoming stronger and the rumble of the closer coming thunder more menacing, all you cared about was your dead brother and the wish he would come back while you knew the painful truth.

You felt how Negan put a hand onto your back and with that, he broke the small glas spheric the shock had build around you.

You felt your chest trembling, a mix of cold and heat streaming through your body before you felt how the very first tear rolled down your cheek. 

”Fuck, Sweetheart”, you heard Negan sigh before you felt how he pulled you close to him and slung his arms around you.

With the moment you felt his warmth it broke completely out of you, you gasped for air while the tears began rolling down your face and the pain you had feared that much conquered your body and took it completely over.

You dug your face into his shirt while you sunk into his arms and felt how he laid his head on yours.

His hand run up and down your back, stroking soothing over it while he pulled deeper into his embrace as you sobbed trembling into his shirt.

“Its okay…”, you heard him mumble into your hair before he placed a kiss onto your head.
While the rain got heavier you began to tremble more while your head pounded even stronger.
It mixed with the horrific pictures that finally made their way into your head.
The blood that had streamed over his body and your hands while you had tried to stop it and which you still couldn’t entirely remove from your skin.
The bashed head of the walker you had killed directly after your brother had sunken to his knees.
The last twitching of your brothers body in your arms before he was gone entirely.

“He’s never coming back…”, you whimpered into his chest while you still trembled and as you felt how the rain that became slowly heavier turned your clothes wet.

You heard Negan whispering soothing words into your hair, stroking with his thumb over your cheek while your pounding head didn’t really let you hear his words.

You and your brother had sworn to do everything to protect each other and you had done everything to full fill that until that one day you werent able too.
And you still felt guilty for it.
All you wanted was to turn back time and save him.
“I’m alone…”, you sobbed while your voice cracked.

“You’re not fucking alone, you got me”, you heard him say while his words brought a little warmth back into your cold body.

You stayed for a while like that, deep sunken into his arms while the rain pelted down on you.
After some time you felt how he lifted you slowly up, pressed your rain and tears soaked body closer to himself and began to walk.
Even if you had earlier refused to leave his grave due to the feeling that it seemed like the only way to you to be at least a bit close to him, you let Negan carry you away from it.
While he walked through the rain you laid your head onto his shoulder, nuzzling it into the curve of his neck. 


After some moments you felt how with one second the rain stopped pouring on your body.

You were inside.

Your still quiet whimper sounded through the hallways, as well as Negans heavy footsteps while he made his way through the sanctuary.
“Boss, we-”, you suddenly heard a mans voice begin but was interupted by Negan.
“Not fucking now, Simon”, Negan growled while he kept walking.

After some time you suddenly heard how a door opened.
You slowly raised your head a little bit and found yourself in Negans room.
But you didnt stay there, Negan carried you further into his bathroom.

He let you softly down on the ground of the shower before he backed away to look at you while you looked a bit asking at him. 

“You’ll catch a damn cold otherwise”, you heard him mumble as response to your glance.

“Can I…?”, he asked as he pointed to your soaked clothes before you nodded slowly. 

You didn’t care if he saw you naked right now.

To be honest, you cared about as good as nothing right now.

Negan began to slowly and carefully slip the wet clothes from your body while you kept looking at him. 

The rain had let a few hair strands detach from their normal gelled back shape so that they now hung wet and loose into his face.

His eyes were concentrated on you but not in some lewd way like you had always expected him to look at a naked body, it was more concerned, more focused on what seemed to be more important to him than anything sexual right now. 

Your well being. 

You saw how he removed the last piece of clothing from your body, stroke some hairstrands out of your face before he grabbed the shower head and began to carefully pour warm water over your body.

“Is it alright that way?”, you heard Negan say after some moments. 

You nodded slowly before some small smile flashed over his face.

For the next moments he stayed silent, just focusing on your body until he raised his voice again.
”Just that you know,.. I meant what I said outside, you got me. Always”, he said while not just the warm water turned your body warm again.
”Thank you”, you breathed while you looked at him and he slightly smiling got to your hands.
He washed the last bit of blood from your hands while they almost vanished in his big ones and then carefully continued with the rest of your body.

“Never imagined seeing you the first time naked like that”, he said with a small smirk on his lips while he quietly laughed to himself and brought a small grin up to your lips.

You saw how he smirked to successfully cheering you up a little bit for a moment while he kept going.

Negan turned the water off and grabbed a towel to carefully dry your body and your hair while his glance went in-between to your face, checking if you were mostly alright.


After you were ready, he stood up and left you for a few seconds before he came back with his big bathrobe and pulled you carefully up before he put the white bathrobe onto your body.

Noticing that you were still not stable on your feet he suddenly lifted you up again and carried you over to his big bed.
Negan laid you carefully onto the bed and pulled the dark blanket over your body while his glance checked on you before he went over to the wardrobe.
You looked out of the window where the storm raged outside before you looked over to Negan again.

He pulled his wet clothes from his body while you felt how a small blush creeped up your cheeks as you heard him chuckle.

Negan smirked slightly at you while he chuckled to himself before he pulled a shirt over his torso and walked back to you.

He slipped to you under the blankets, shifted next to you and pulled you back into his arms.

The storm shook on the windows of his room, the rain drummed against them while Negans fingers run softly up and down your arm while his lips rested on your temple.
You had already seen him softer in your presence, but never as soft and as caring as now and you enjoyed it to the fullest.
His warmth, his scent, everything of him let the pain wash slowly out of your body.
The grief was still there and you knew it would rest there for a whole while but Negan made it way more bearable.
“Everything’s gonna fucking work out, Sweetheart. I promise”, you heard Negan mumble against your skin.
You cuddled closer to him while you felt how his lips formed a smile against your temple and while you knew that you would do everything to keep on fighting you could finally and peacefully doze off in Negan’s arms. 


@myrabbitholetoneverland  @dasani-saraai

  • What she says: im fine.
  • What she means: Can you BELIVE that actual human being Marius Pontmercy picked up Valjean's handkerchief and decided it was Cosette's so he could fantasize about her name being Ursula while he walked by her every day for months? Also, that this sweet gazelle child left her a long confused letter pouring his heart out to this girl he'd never talked to, and that once he did he forgets to introduce himself to the very end? And that this human disaster bangs his head on a tree one night while Cosette cries and then decides to join a bloody revolution? What about the time his grandpa thought he was having an affair when really he was just visiting his dad's grave like a NERD. Or the time he had to yell out of his window his love for Napoleon Bonaparte? This beautiful moth even asked his best friend if he could sleep with him? And to top it all off, this sweetly oblivious butterfly had to get dragged through the sewers of Paris by his future father-in-law, can you imagine family dinners? This booby is a national hero and must be protected at all costs.

IN MEMORY OF MAY 1ST, 1945

Great Eagle, fold your wings awhile
And turn away your eyes;
In smoke and thunder, flame and blood
Your Best and Highest dies;
And all His happy Land,
His great emprise,
A shattered wreck of ugly ruin lies.

Great Eagle, flee a little while
To some far lonely height.
There shall you watch and wait …
Your land is sunk in night:
All, all those cities bright
In ruins far and wide torment the night.

Oh Eagle, did you hear that shout,
That thundered triple roar?
Its clamourous echoes smote the earth
And rolled from shore to shore;
And all the glorious Dead,
Who fealty swore,
Received Him home;

His earthly flight is o’er.His fight, that made the nations shake,
And hearts and pulses leap,
Is over now. He rests. But we
Are sunk in anguish deep.
He rests,—at last. No dreams
Torture His sleep,
While grave-eyed Angel-guards their watches keep.

Great Eagle, that He worked to save,
And fought to guard,—and died,
Flee from this piteous German wreck,
In some far corner hide,
Until the Land is free
And far and wide,
Throughout the world His name is glorified!

Meanwhile, we hold the heights He won,
And keep His torch aflame;
No slothful ease for us who bear
The honour of His name.
To do His work we count
Higher than fame,
Indifferent to earthly praise or blame.

~Savitri Devi

Just a Little Bite

For @mamin-the-troll​ because she’s FILLING MY LIFE WITH SUCH ADORABLE AND LOVELY DRAWINGS AND I CAN’T FUCKING RESIST, OKAY, I AM WEAK?! I NEVER USED TO WRITE FLUFF BEFORE THIS FANDOM, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!

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

Visions

NOW PROPERLY EDITED || Angsty Levi drabble to try and get back into my writing groove. I left the other character extremely vague so feel free to imagine the other half of your Levi otp if you wish. Otherwise, enjoy and hit me with some feedback if you do not mind~! Special thanks to @perksofbeingawaifu for inspiring me to write more drabbles! Definitely check out her works!!


Levi’s eyes always seemed to wander over his surroundings with a meticulous edge. Lids heavy over piercing irises as he scanned every inch of each environment he stepped into. Nothing ever seemed to slip past his vision. Even the dust particles that would float and dance in the light of the mid-morning sun were completely visible to him in shadow.

This was a skill he had honed in his earlier years. Always needing to be aware of what was behind him or who was around each corner in the darkness of the underground. Always wanting to avoid unnecessary attention and unwelcomed company as he would weave his way through damp back alleys and overcrowded walkways. Without a doubt, his hands were fine tools. Eleminating danger in a matter of seconds with a sharp slash of his shining blade before cleaning the mess left behind on his slender fingers.

However, he didn’t trust his hands. Lethal things coated in death and destruction. Only able to save a few while harming many. His hands moved as ordered and they served him well, but sometimes they would fail him and leave him grasping at cold air instead of something solid and warm. The lives of those dear to him have slipped through his fingers too many times for him to have faith in their truth. His eyes showed him possibilities and outcomes. They showed him what was and what could be, but a majority of the time, his hands would fail to deliver the proper results.

But his eyes…

His eyes were his veil. His way of masking himself into the low of society he had spent his entire life surrounded by. His way of blending into shadows and vast seas of people to hide his existence from those who would seek to end it. His eyes were his shield and his first line of defense. They never lied and they never failed him. He trusted his eyes. He believed in the images they painted for him, even if they were hard to process or even accept.

So, even now, as he stood in front of the mirror with his ghastly physical appearance being projected before him; he fully trusted what he saw. The bags under his eyes had become severe. A faint hue of red bleeding into the whites while the blue in his irises appeared dull and grey. Lifeless and sleep deprived from years of painting blood soaked images of his corpse ridden reality, only for his mind to process and use as haunts for his short lived dreams.

He looked like shit and there was no hiding it either.

He was much older now and it showed. The life he was leading showed, and the weight of the lives he carried to the grave showed. All of it was apparent in his eyes. A man who was exhausted, but strong. Lonely, but stable. Empty, but still alive. It was all there and staring back at him as he towel dried the scruff of his hair.

He needed to sleep, he determined. Setting the towel aside as he ran his fingers over the course hair coating his jaw.

His eyes were indeed windows, he surmised as he heaved a sigh at the reflective glass. Windows he desperately needed to shut if only for a couple of hours, but when he did, the images they had painted over the years would slide through his dreams like a moving picture. Replaying his darkest moments over and over again until his mind would scream at him to wake up. For him to open the windows and to let them paint more pictures for him to continuously relive.

Slowly, he rubbed his lids with the pads of his fingers. Pushing himself away from the mirror and out of the door frame of the washroom and into the soft candle glow of his quiet office. Looking at himself was hard. Seeing himself with the eyes he so trusted and having to accept that that was indeed how he currently appeared made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

He always made it a point to be presentable, but today he was just too tired to do so. Three days with no sleep and little to no food quickly took it’s toll, and his body was now at an age where he couldn’t outright hide his shitty sleeping habits, or lack thereof, with a clean shave, and a few cups of strong tea.

His hands moved back to his jaw. Scratching at the rough hairs he wasn’t used to wearing as he strode over towards his clean, hung up shirt, and laid out uniform boots. The nights were getting colder and longer and his health wasn’t in top form at this point. The last thing he needed was to get sick on top of his already piss poor condition.

“You look pretty rough.” A soft voice chimed. An echo Levi had long thought lost and a sound that made his heart clench in his chest.

“I know.” He answered firmly. Rounding his trustworthy eyes towards his office chair that was positioned behind him where a shadowed silhouette sat comfortably.

“You should sleep.” The voice resounded. The leather of his chair squeaking as the figure adjusted their body to face him more clearly.

“I know.” He responded again. His feet slowly stepping across the wood of the floor while his hands remained stock still at his hips.

The figure was a familiar one. One he hadn’t seen for quite some time and one he’d admittedly missed and cared for quite deeply. Still though, that didn’t negate the fact that they were sitting their precious ass in his office chair.

“Get your ass out of my chair.”

The figure laughed heartily. Standing up completely straight in one smooth, eerily quiet motion before moving around the desk and stepping into the dim light of a single flame that danced atop a mostly melted candle.

“Sorry.”

“Why are you here?” Levi asked sharply. His tired eyes staying locked on the person in front of him while his body moved around them and toward his oak desk. Each of his steps precise and angled so not to cause a floorboard to squeak.

“I just… wanted to see you. That’s all.”

Levi let out a huff. Blinking his eyes a couple of times as he picked up a file from his desk with his clever fingers. Tapping the tip of his index against the paper sharply as he evened out his breathing and began moving toward the elegantly lit body in front of him.

“I wanted to see you too, but you shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

“Then go.”

“Can’t we just tal-”

“No.”

Levi’s body had stopped only a few inches from the figment in front of him. His free hand reaching out to grasp at a lock of hair. To run his fingers through it and touch the silky strands that his eyes showed him were there. But his hands were only met with cold air. A breeze in the night against his still damp skin. With an exasperated hum, Levi retracted his fingers. Silently turning and moving his body toward his office chair and sitting down with a hard thump.

“Disappointed?” The figure questioned cheekily. Stepping to sit in the front facing chair directly across from Levi’s own. Their movements making no sounds and their voice barely audible enough for his overly tired ears to hear.

“Of course.” He murmured. Staring at the smiling face in front of him with honest regret and exhaustion.

His chest hurt terribly while his eyes burned with leashed tears and rapidly approaching sleep. He was losing his mind. He was sure of it, but his eyes had never failed him before. Not even in his deepest pits of exhaustion and not even when he silently begged a god he doesn’t believe in to let him see this face smiling at him one last time as he stared down at their pale, blood drained body.

The sadness and greif he felt as he peered into the glowing eyes of the other across from him matched the fear of them disappearing in his gut. His face remained as passive as ever, but emotion boiled over internally to the point of rising acidic bile in his throat as he leaned forward and rested his head against the cold slab of the desk.

“Sleep. I’ll stay.”

“You’re not even real.” He stated sharply. Reaching one hand out while placing the other under his head as a cushion.

“Of course I am. You can see me, can’t you?”

Levi remained quiet for a moment. Watching with hopeful, tired eyes as the figures hand reached over and met his own. Gracing his sense of touch with nothing but cold air yet again. A frown pulling at his lips and his brows furrowing while his ears rang acutely. His vision slowly but surely going dark, and the view of he and his lovers interlocking fingers slowly fading to black.

“Yeah.” He whispered. Sleep washing over him in a deep wave and pulling him under.

He trusted his eyes. He believed in the images they painted for him, even if they were hard to process or even accept. However, he didn’t trust his hands. Sometimes they would fail him, and leave him grasping at cold air instead of something solid and warm. Sometimes, they would let precious things slip from his grip and shatter into tiny pieces that would scatter to the wind.

But, most of the time, they would leave him yearning for a touch of warmth that he could no longer feel.

firebyfire  asked:

Newt giving Percival massage using fancy oils from the other side of the world? Percival had a very long, tiring day at work and seeing how tense he is, Newt asked if Percival wouldn't like a massage - Percival simply melts under Newt's hands.

Oh, this is dangerously bordering on smut, but I’ll leave that for another time *winks*

A bit deviated, because they’re not in an established relationship there, oops. And second oops, have another one-shot lengthy thing.


Graves was dead tired. Not your usual type of tired. He simply had a torturing day at MACUSA’s headquarters that day, and he questioned himself: why didn’t Grindelwald use this type of torture instead of his plain Cruciatus? Because Graves was sure, if Grindelwald gave him tons of paperwork and told him that the American wizarding community depended on how he succeeds, then he’d exhaust himself to the point of dying.

And as if to torture him some more, Seraphina ordered him to check up on the junior aurors, who investigated a banal thievery case. Thing which resulted with a caught niffler, an injured junior, and with Graves’ back almost being broken. Because Cooper didn’t know if you point your wand at a desk and Accio it, then it will fly directly in your face. Even if it happened while trying to stop the niffler.

Graves, naturally, being responsible of his subordinates’ well-being, - Mercy Lewis, give him strength - rushed to get the unfortunate idiot from under the desk, which unceremoniously squashed the guy under itself. It was a massive desk, made of hard wood, and it was heavy as hell. He did try to use wandless magic, even a verbal spell with his wand, but as he will find out moments later, the surprises didn’t finish.

The desk was spelled, the magic didn’t work on it. Graves groaned and used all of his physical strength to get the poor guy out. He had at least three broken ribs and his chest was heavily raising and falling. Obviously he had difficulties with his respiration, so by the time the other newbies ran back and forth after the little thief, Graves took the guy in his hands and apparated them directly to MACUSA’s hospital.

Leaving junior auror Cooper in the care of experienced hands, he went back to his office, back to his new prison cell, back to the pile of never ending documents. He shrugged off his coat and just when he wanted to finally sit, to relax a goddamned second, Tina barged in and Graves let out a sigh, rubbing a hand down his face.

“What is it, Goldstein?“ he hissed at her.

“Mr. Graves, sir, Mr. Scamander wants to talk to you about one of his beasts-“

“Tell him to come in.“ he cut her blabbering by raising a hand.

“Sure.“ she disappeared through the door of his office and after a moment of stretched silence - while he still was standing - a hesitant knock on his door made him roll his eyes in annoyance.

“Come in, Scamander.”

“Mr. Graves?“ A ginger head peeked inside and then a full body, wrapped in that blue coat with a case dragged after, made its appearance as well.

“Scamander,“ Graves started carefully, eyeing the slumped shoulders and ducked head of the Brit. He knew it. Somewhere, deep inside, he fucking knew it. “don’t tell me that bloody niffler is yours.“

Newt’s head snapped up “Did you find him? Where is he? You didn’t treat him badly, did you?“

Graves didn’t like that accusatory tone. Like he was evil, and killed or maltreated everyone- every magical beast he crossed paths with.

He clicked his tongue “Scamander, your niffler caused such a disaster, you’ll have to use Reparo over and over for some hours straight.“ Newt ducked his head again, but watched Graves intently from under that messy fringe of his. Graves could feel those eyes burning holes in his chest. “Your niffler was captured, and is safe.“

Newt relaxed visibly “Can I…?“ he asked uncertain.

“Yeah, of course you can. But-“ Graves stopped, eyeing the brown leather case “for Lewis’ sake, Scamander, repair those latches and make sure no one escapes anymore.“

“Oh, s-sure, Mr. Graves, thank you very much.“ Newt beamed, holding onto his case with both hands and ready to dash out any moment.

Graves waved a hand in a dismissing gesture and sat down on his chair.

All the bloody nifflers and spelled desks in the world, what the fuck.

A pain shot right through his spine and he growled. Or yelled. Or started cursing loudly. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, because holy shit, the pain dulled all of other senses, shooting through him whenever he moved a goddamn muscle.

Perhaps he was older than he thought of himself.

Newt hurried over, holding his head in those hands and Graves tried to blink the tears out of his eyes before focusing on the man in front of him.

“Mr. Graves, what happened? Mr. Graves, where hurts?“

Graves swatted his hands in annoyance “Scamander,“ he hissed and groaned as another wave of hellish pain washed over him “fuck you.“

He paid no attention to Newt’s baffled look, and continued cursing “You, your bloody niffler, Picquery, Cooper - that imbecile, the freaking spelled desk and my age. Fuck everything.“ he finished and tried to stand up, only to fall back into his chair and howl in pain, this time he was sure.

“Mr. Graves.“

Probably Scamander didn’t understand just how much he suffered, probably he wanted to make him suffer some more-

“Let’s get you home and I’ll take care of… everything.“ Newt said, and when Graves looked at him, glared at him, his glare was met with nothing but determination.

Scamander was determined to kill him completely.

Newt helped him up and Accio’ed his case before grabbing firmly onto his hand.

“Lead the way, Mr. Graves.“ Newt told him and Graves pondered for a moment there, that it was much better to die at home, on his comfortable bed than in this office, in this gigantic pile of papers.

Graves apparated both of them into his appartment and supported himself off a wall. Newt propped him up and dragged into his bedroom. Graves was kind of taken aback by the strength in those hands.

Newt put him carefully on the bed and easing himself out of his coat, vest and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he demanded “Take off your clothes, Mr. Graves.“

Graves sputtered and looked up at him as if Newt grew another head. What the fuck, Scamander?

“Scamander, if you want to kill me, I prefer to die clothed, thank you very much.“

“W-what?“ Newt’s eyebrows shot up in surprise “What made you think so, h-how even-?“

“I don’t know.“ Graves said and winced. His body surely wanted him dead, for example.”Because we caught your niffler and all that.“

“That little bugger deserved to be caught, I wanted to catch him myself, but you were faster, I suppose.” Newt explained as his hand worked on Graves’ vest and only when he took it off and started unbuttoning Graves’ shirt, that snapped out of his haze.

“Scamander, what the hell. I’m capable of undressing myself.“ he said and tried to shrug off his shirt. Another wave of pain abused the muscles of his back. He shuddered and grimaced at the feeling.

“Mr. Graves, Percival, please.“ Newt said softly “Let me take care of it. Okay?“

Graves nodded absentminded, and let Newt push him gently onto his bed.

“I’ll be right back in a minute.“ Graves heard Newt say through the increasing pulse beating in his ears. The pain was insufferable. Not as that one caused by the Cruciatus curse, obviously, but really close.

In what seemed to be like eternity, - in fact only two or so minutes - Newt was back and holding a lot of small colorful bottles. He made Graves lie on his stomach, helping him to flip carefully, then poured something on Graves back and after that, Graves legit thought he died, because this was heaven, for sure.

The pain slowly  was reduced and Graves could finally breathe properly and not suffocate because of it. He felt Newt’s hands roaming all over his back, rubbing oils into his skin, massaging his sore muscles using just the right amount of pressure.

Another bottle opened and the room was filled with a sweet scent. Graves found himself humming in contentment as his limbs became all mushy.

Newt chuckled and it was such a pretty sound, Graves wanted to hear more of it.

“These were a gift from a tribe in South Africa.“ A thumb traced up and down Graves’ vertebral column “They were really grateful when I treated their chimaera-” Newt stopped himself abruptly and slapped himself mentally for mentioning such a highly illegal and dangerous beast in the presence of an auror, the director of Magical Security himself.

But Graves didn’t really catch that, or better said, didn’t even want to, because thinking of something else while having those hands on him, was a crime itself.

Newt kept rubbing and massaging and Graves lost himself in sensations completely. He drifted off to sleep in the middle of it.

He woke up in the morning to a ginger head pressed closely to his side and Newt Scamander wrapped in a blanket next to him, on his bed, snoring lightly and mumbling something in his sleep.

What did Scamander do in his apartment? Hopefully, he was dressed under his own blanket, because if not, that meant- Graves carefully lifted the blanket off him and gaped. Oh, no.

Newt stirred and opened an eye to look at him. Graves stopped moving.

“Morning, Percival.“

P-Percival??? Since when???

“How is your back? Does it hurt?“

Bloody hell. He wasn’t drunk the previous day, was he?

“N-no.“ Graves stuttered. “Scamander, I mean, Newt.“ he started, clearing his throat. “Did we…?“ he said and gestured suggestively between them.

Newt’s reaction was immediate. His blush expanded up to the tips of his ears and down to his neck.

“O-of course n-not!“ Newt mumbled, looking away, hiding his eyes “Your back. You hurt your back and I gave you a massage.“

Graves’ eyebrow shot up at that “But how the hell I ended up naked then?“

“Well,“ Newt chewed on his bottom lip “it didn’t limit only to your back?“

“I just hope you didn’t massage my…“ Graves hid his face in an open palm and sighed heavily.

“No, but that can be fixed!“ Completely misunderstanding his words, Newt reached to tug at Graves’ blanket. Holy fuck.

Graves looked up, catching the blanket and threw his pillow at him.

“Get the fuck out, Scamander!“

RFA: Untreatably Sick MC

The original request was MC having a brain tumor, but I am not a neurologist, and it would be difficult to write seven scenarios about something so specific. I hope you enjoy nevertheless!  

Yoosung

   Diagnosis

- The news hit him like a truck

- He just held onto your hand tightly, face frozen in shock, words just flowing through his ears without being registered

- He hoped it was a joke. It was just a prank by Seven right? He was going to pull off that wig, and begin laughing

- But there was no annoyingly hysterical laughter

- Every day, he would spend all his free time spoiling you, taking your mind of your pain 

- He rarely played LOLOL, and the only time he did was to entertain you

-  He tried to keep a smile on his face as to not worry you, but whenever you turned away, he felt tears come to his eyes

   Death

- When you were carried away in an ambulance one day, he sat on the pavement near your apartment, just crying on the streets

- He begged Jumin to help with the expenses, and took a few days off University to stay by your side 

- But one day, he skipped into your room with an over exaggerated smile, only to be met with a group of doctors rushing around

- “I’m sorry…” And that’s all Yoosung heard, before the world froze around him

- Yoosung cried for hours by your cold body, eventually collapsing of exhaustion 

- He never opened LOLOL again, let his hair dye grow out, and he rarely texted

-  He only put on a fake smile when he met the members in real life, knowing that MC would have wanted him to be happy

Zen

    Diagnosis

- Zen held onto your hand tightly as the doctor spoke, looking at your face 

- He pressed his lips to the top of your hand, holding it there, hoping you could feel how much he loved you 

- You gave a weak smile, looking up at Zen with teary eyes

- He would always try to joke around with you, smiling the brightest when you smiled 

- Zen was very overprotective over you, keeping an arm around your shoulder even while on a date 

    Death

- He was devastated 

- He began to drink more, and ended up isolating himself

- After your funeral, he went to your grave and vowed to leave you roses every week, and visit you whenever he could

- Zen was never in the mood to argue with Jumin, or even act narcissistic 

- He just stood in his quiet apartment, sleeping for hours, dreaming that MC was still there

Jaehee

    Diagnosis

- When the doctor said your diagnosis, she reached out for your hand

- She carefully intertwined her fingers with yours as she felt her eyes begin to water

- Jaehee wiped her tears and promised to stay with you, trying to give you a soft smile

- Every day, he brought you sweet little baked goods to cheer you up, and brought movies to watch together

    Death

- She knew it would happen at some point, but she would be lying if she said she was prepared

- She took a few days off, and her calm composure cracked completely

- She cried at the smallest mention of MC, and seeing even Zen’s musicals reminded her of MC

- After a week, she seemed to have returned to her normal self

- But she was still broken inside, reading the old messages with MC, and trying to think of the happier past 

Jumin

    Diagnosis

- His already stiff expression seemed to turn to stone as the doctor told him your condition

- Jumin held you tightly, patting your hair as you cried into his shoulder

- “Are you sure there is no cure in the making? I can help fund the research program.” His voice was as steady as ever, as he tried to reason with the doctor

- He was breaking down inside as he heard the doctor’s answer, but he knew he had to be strong for you

- He tried to cheer you up by bringing you into his house and spoiling you with anything you wanted 

- Jumin wasn’t one to joke around, but whenever he saw you giggle, he vowed to keep the smile on your face

    Death

- Funding the vaccine research was no help 

- You had collapsed while Jumin was at work, and he had rushed home, only to find you being carried away on a stretcher

- Jumin followed along, and he felt himself tear up as he looked at the paramedics trying to restart your heartbeat 

- He held onto your hand, and sadly smiled at your weak grip 

- By the time the ambulance left, it was evident that you would not make it

- When you left, Jumin organized a funeral that was sure to keep you remembered, and drowned himself in work - 

Seven

    Diagnosis

- He looked at the doctor 

- No, that’s not an RFA member

- Was it an enemy hacker?

- But he knew it was true 

- Seven blew into your ear, trying to cheer you up, frowning when you didn’t giggle

- He would come over every day, bringing so many snacks that the other patients and doctors began to like him too

- But he always focused on you, joking in a 707 manner to cheer you up

    Death

- Tears began to slow as soon as he heard the news, and it took all his self control to not punch the computer right there and then

- How stupid could he be? Working when the love of his life was dangerously sick….

- Wiping his eyes, he ran outside to his sports cars and began to speed towards the hospital 

- When he saw your dead body, something inside him broke, and he became afraid of losing more people he cared about

- So he cried on the other side of the screen, pretending he was 707 again

- The 707 she fell in love with 

[V and Unknown]

Keep reading

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.”

“Can too,” Newt protests. “She says she’s hungry.”

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.

hamelin-born  asked:

Now that you've posted it, I can't stop thinking about the Dark Creatures!Fluff! Did Grindelwald actually try to /recreate/ the original lycanthropy curse? (It's just the kind of thing he'd do, you must admit). What /did/ happen after Graves' first transformation? Does dragon-shaped Newt curl up with him in the case during Full moons, and thus keep him from mauling himself? How did Graves react to the realization that Newt was a /dragon/? (reminds me of a dragon!Newt worldbuild I did once.)

@hamelin-born You actually just nailed a lot of my headcanons I eventually want to explore with this AU. 

How Graves was turned - 
In my mind, werewolves (I’m thinking of that scrawny looking Chihuahua thing Remus turned into in the movies, I will never not be upset about that abysmal creature design) in the Harry Potter universe have slowly been degrading over the generations - the original line of creatures being powerful things of legends as most of us think of them today (so in my mind, something like below)

Originally posted by hey-there-little-red-riding-hood

Their venom being the most potent. And each bite victim from there becoming steadily weaker and weaker (until you have something like Remus - scrawny and rabid and balding). Remus being the result of many generations of bite victims until the man that infected him had venom so impotent, it resulted in the following…

Originally posted by suitelikechocolate

Grindelwald is interested in the old ways. In restoring old magic and old rituals and old orders. That includes creatures. In his mind, lack of teaching and knowledge and protection of werewolves (in order to shield the no-majs and keep the secret of magic) has forced werewolves into repopulating in this quick and dirty way as compared to the old ways.

Knowing he would have a decent amount of time with Graves as his captive, he decides to punish the man while also using him in such a way that would most benefit Grindelwald - seeing if the old ways still worked. He doesn’t tell Graves this, lest the man try and resist. Most don’t know of the old ways anymore. Most wouldn’t recognize the ritual. He keeps Graves bound to a comfortable bed lined with enchanted wolf pelts - plush and rich and exotic. In the meager food he feeds him, he hides subtle hints of herbs made to encourage the change - unnoticeable if you don’t know what to look for. Graves no doubt thinks the horrid taste of his food to be part of his captivity.

And when Graves sleeps, Grindelwald performs the rituals. First he leads Graves deeper into slumber lest he wake. Then he fills the room with incense and chants spells in old tongues - and little by little each night, Graves dreams transform from him huddled in a dark cell, awaiting execution at the hands of Grindelwald to him running through a dark forest. And every night, his vision is a little lower to the ground and a little lower to the ground and a little lower to the ground.

It takes three months to complete the change - but when it finally happens, Graves is stunning. A pure image of what lycans once were - tall and proud and majestic. And Grindelwald couldn’t be prouder. He is caught before he could begin to curtail Graves’ will to his own. 

Graves struggles with the transformations once he is free - not because he lusts for human blood or anything that most werewolves of his generation (those changed via bites) experience. But because his wolf half is afraid of the city and the bright lights and the strange smells and the loud noises. What is this place? Where are the woods? He runs and he runs but cannot find them - until finally, a wooded place. It had strange, hard paths but it also has grass and trees and earth. It’s there that Newt finds him, exhausted from captivity and starving and afraid. He recognizes the length of wood in Newt’s hand. He knows its bad. But Newt rids himself of the stick and holds out his hands until dark sigils of tattoo like scales suddenly blared to life along the backs of his hands and the pale underside of his wrists. Warm and dark and ancient and understanding. His words are soft and assuring as he tells him he has somewhere Graves can stay. Somewhere he can eat and rest. Somewhere with other creatures. Graves is enough man still to know that while he can’t completely follow what Newt’s suggesting, the man is offering safe harbor. And the wolf cares only for food and woods and kin and somewhere to rest. 

They go into the case together. Newt gives him space. He places meat into the field and leaves so that Graves might eat in peace. He lets him rest. He lets him sleep in the dark grass. And when Graves finally wakes, he’s naked and staring up at a smiling, innocent face.

“Feeling better?”

Graves doesn’t remember the scales at first. But he connects the dots after a while. Newt runs to hot to be human. He speaks in tongues. There’s an ancientness to him that calms other creatures - and when he interacts with Newt, the creature inside himself immediately stills and calms beneath the softness of Newt’s voice. But its a dream that finally reminds him. A dream, a memory, from the war. Of Theseus suddenly disappearing and a dragon coming to save their squad at the last conceivable moment. Of hot hands hands sealing his sucking gut wound shut and soothing back sweat slick bangs as Graves tried to feverish tell Theseus all about the dragon he had seen. Theseus to this day mocks him for it. He didn’t see it. So Graves must have been delusional. 

But Newt was Theseus Scamander’s brother - a man who had served in the war with dragons. He connects the dots. He’s not crazy. Newt is surprised by how well Graves takes it.

“Do I need special paperwork to be here, director?” Newt says as he lazily rocks himself on Graves’ hips, grinding sensually. A teasing smile on his lips. “Being an illegal creature and what not?”

Graves rescue - could have gone smoother. No one anticipated he was a werewolf. He had no markings to suggest it. He nearly mauls a young auror in fear from so many crowding him. He acts on instinct. Barrels through a window and runs. Newt knows if the man knew how close he had come to slaughtering the men and women he had sworn to protect, Graves would have put himself down right then and there - no questions asked. No one blames him for reacting as a cornered and injured creature would. So no one tells him. And that’s that.

amarynthian-fortress  asked:

For the prompts, 15 "a gentle “i love you” whispered after a soft kiss, followed immediately by a stronger kiss", please :3 :3

15: a gentle “I love you” whispered after a soft kiss, followed immediately by a stronger kiss. 

When Credence wakes up at two thirty in the morning, he doesn’t slide from the bed to his knees to pray as he has every night before when the nightmares have woken him, hunched over, holding himself like he’s afraid he’ll fall apart as tears and cold sweat slide down his face. His wooden rosary beads stay tucked away inside his bedside table. His Bible remains unopened on the writing-desk. 

Instead, he thinks about what Mr Graves said to him yesterday. You don’t need to suffer alone anymore. He doesn’t think he’s quite brave enough to go and knock on Mr Graves’ bedroom door, but he’s been plied with enough cups of tea that he thinks he’d be able to make one for himself. When his heart is no longer threatening to pound out of his chest, Credence wobbles out of his room on unsteady legs. 

The living room is still lit by the dying embers of the fire in the grate, bathing the room in a soft and unholy glow. He doesn’t know the spells to make the kettle boil itself or to make the tea brew in mid-air, but he finds comfort in fetching the cup from the draining board and filling the kettle from the sink. Mindful of the late hour, the kettle doesn’t shriek when it’s boiled; instead, it hisses at him – “Hey, you, I’m ready over here, hurry up!” 

“Thank you,” Credence whispers back, swirling his spoon through his cup. He burns his tongue when he takes a sip, but it settles in his stomach, warming him from the inside out. He’s clutching the hot tea between his cold palms when he returns to the living room, planning to curl up on the sofa with his Magical History textbook, only to nearly lose his grip on it in fright. 

Stretched out on the sofa lies Mr Graves, haphazard piles of crumpled reports and letters sitting on his chest and scattered to the floor. Credence hadn’t seen him earlier, he’d been half-asleep still. His hair has fallen out of its usual strict pomaded style and long strands of it frame his face like a halo. One hand is twisted up in a loose fist beside his head; the other lies splayed over his hip. 

Credence stumbles back, hitting the wall with a soft thump that makes the faint line between Mr Graves’ eyes deepen. He holds his breath, pressed along the wall until the line smooths out again and Mr Graves turns his head, huffing a grumpy little sigh. It sounds almost exactly like he might open his eyes and snap something in an annoyed tone. Goldstein, he’ll bark, where’s your report on yesterday’s Section 7B on 44th Avenue? 

Even in sleep, his guardian looks so wary it hurts Credence to look at. He has the sense he’s peeking in at something very private. There a certain tenseness about the line of his shoulders, a taut power curled in the expanse of his chest, something about the corded muscles of his forearms that suggest that he could spring from the sofa and into action at any moment, wand whirling and spitting out half a dozen curses before his attacker could even blink. 

Credence creeps closer, cup of tea quite forgotten on the table. He skirts around the dining table, rolling his bare feet over the wooden floor toe-to-heel, outside-to-arch, his footsteps entirely silent. 

Mr Graves wouldn’t attack Credence, of course. If he were to wake up now, fury and fear would probably swirl in his eyes before blunt recognition took over and his face would relax, the anxious line of his lips drooping, shoulders dropping. He’d sit up, rubbing his eyes blearily. Later than I thought, he might say drily, trying to hide his weariness. Credence is the only one with the privilege to see him this way, to see what he looks like in those bare instants between opening his eyes and waking up. 

It’s a strange, sad sort of intimacy, but Credence treasures it all the same. 

He lives for these little moments. In the mornings he wakes up as the sun rises, ready to greet Mr Graves with a cup of coffee in the kitchen. If he’s very lucky, he might see Mr Graves emerge from his bedroom in his pyjamas. Once, Credence had seen him leave the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel and he’d tripped over his own feet, heart seizing inside his chest. The memory of his guardian framed in billowing clouds of steam, freshly shaved and hair not yet combed back for the day, is one that haunts him in the long hours of the afternoon when Magical History fails to grip his interest. 

Credence is not one given to unnecessary words, and neither is Mr Graves. They suit each other well in this regard. They dance around each other, silent, slow, each move unpredicted and unpredictable. Mr Graves’ fingers brushing Credence’s shoulder as he reads his textbooks. Credence making eye contact as he drinks his coffee each morning (he can’t hold it for very long, and he knows he’s blushing the most unfortunate shade of pink, but he likes the way Mr Graves’ eyes widen ever so slightly as he drinks his coffee deep). Mr Graves correcting his posture as he practices his Charms, one hand wrapped around the back of his hip and the other pressing fingertips soft into his sternum, forcing him to straighten, leaning into that warm contact. Soft words of praise that make Credence preen, although vanity is a sin, but he can’t help the smile tucked away in the corners of his mouth when Mr Graves approves of the way he stands when he casts a spell. 

Every touch, every look, makes something inside Credence’s chest ache. It is like hunger, a terrible and painful black void that threatens to consume him whole, and all Credence wants is more. Selfish, selfish, he knows, but all he wants is Mr Graves to look at him like that all the time, the brushes of fingers against his wrist to last longer, to feel the whole press of his hand. 

It will never happen. So Credence cherishes each threadbare moment. Mr Graves permitting Credence to see him in those quiet moments when his guard is down as much as it ever will be is enough for him. Coffee in the mornings; steam on the bathroom mirror; a gentle hand on the nape of his neck, correcting, before it moves away and the skin prickles, cold. 

He kneels before his guardian, watching him for any signs of wakefulness. He reaches out, trembling, to ghost his hand along the starched fabric of Mr Graves’ shirt, feeling the heat radiating from him as much as he feels the fire warming his back. His heart is fluttering in his chest, a wounded bird. He wishes Mr Graves would open his eyes and reach out to him, palm heavy on his ribs, a burning echo inside his chest. 

Mr Graves no longer trusts himself, Credence knows. He would never be so undignified as to startle like a frightened cat, but Credence sees the way he grips his wand inside his coat when he apparates, how his brows draw down over his dark eyes as he reads the wards every time they come back from an errand, how he favours his left leg over his right when he’s tired. Credence silently brings him pain potions, sometimes, in the evenings when his face is drawn and he won’t stop rubbing his thigh, the tremor in his jaw like a butterfly. 

But Credence trusts him. Credence would trust him with his very soul. This man who lies asleep before him is the strongest person Credence has met. He did not buckle beneath Grindelwald’s imprisonment. Percival Graves is a man who would be loyal and good and true until his very last breath. 

Credence would trust him with his heart. 

Slowly, slowly, Credence brings his face down, breathing fanning over Mr Graves’ temple. He closes his eyes, like he’s praying. This is a prayer, of sorts. “I – I,” he says, so quietly it’s only his lips moving, unsure, uncertain, “I wish I were brave enough to tell you while you were awake. I wish you had never gone through – everything that happened to you. More than anything, I wish I could heal all your hurts and make it so you could sleep peacefully again. Mister Graves, I think – I love you.” 

And before he can lose his nerve he brushes his lips over his guardians’, heart pounding in his throat. 

He pulls away, eyes screwed shut. Even without touching his face he can feel his eyes burning, the pulse at his throat turned heavy, making it hard to breathe. He rubs his knuckles angrily over his eyes and leans back. A terrible, traitorous knot has formed inside his chest. 

A strong hand grips the front of his pyjama shirt and Credence opens his eyes, startled. Mr Graves stares straight at him, the firelight reflected in his dark eyes. “Credence,” he says, quietly. 

And Credence can’t help it – he rushes forward with a terrible sob, a hot desperate press of lips and teeth and tears. He’s ruined it, he’s ruined it. Mr Graves will surely shove him away, use his magic to bind him and cast him out to the street, refuse to ever even look at him ever again – 

Only his mouth opens with a gasp, and he’s licking up into Credence’s mouth, kissing him back with just as much unrestrained passion. Credence pushes back hungrily, greedily, revelling in the plush press of his lips made softer by the rasp of his stubble against Credence’s cheek. His hands move from gripping the front of his shirt to slide around to his back, cradling the sharp wings of his shoulder blades, fingers curling into the hollow spaces between each rib. He’s drawing Credence in to him, into the circle of his arms and his embrace, mouth hot on his. Credence wails, overwhelmed, and then Mr Graves is pulling away; but only to press another soft kiss to his lips, soft now, gentle. 

“I’m – I’m sorry,” Credence says, chest still heaving. Tears spill from his eyes, running down his face, and he’s so full of foreign emotion it hurts to breathe. 

“No, no,” Mr Graves murmurs against his cheek. “Don’t apologise, sweet boy, darling, please, I thought – I thought I was dreaming, but I could never dream this. I could never dream you.” 

And then they’re kissing again, consumed. Credence gasps into his mouth, he can’t stop, he can’t stop the words from spilling out, the well of emotion in his chest overflowing, “I love you, I love you, I love you – “

anonymous asked:

The hunted by snow ghosts for Grindelwald manhunting graves???

HOLY SHIT !!! 

You wandered through the willows
In the forest you were found
Trying to hide your footprints in the ground
It’s not so wise, if you try to run
It’s not so wise, you know I’ve won, you know I’ve won

Percival doesn’t stand a chance. 

I imagine this hunt to be like some sick Hunger Games. Grindelwald sets the rule, and at his signal Graves is free to go. He runs and runs, ignoring the ache in his side, ignoring how the rags he wears as clothes get caught in branches and brambles, slowing down his course. He only needs to reach the edge of the forest, Grindelwald had said. If he can live long enough to get there, he will be free. 

Of course, Graves doesn’t know that the forest is a fake. That once he reaches the edge and tries to go past it, he will encounter a solid shield that will send him crashing backwards into a tree while Grindelwald’s laugh echoes in his ears. 

Percival doesn’t know. So for now he runs, and he hopes. 

Night falls and Percival needs to get some sleep. He climbs up a tree, trying to ignore the cold settling in his bones, and settles into the most comfortable position he can. He dozes, waking up at the slightest sound he hears. His teeth are chattering. He can neither feel his toes -because of course, Grindelwald didn’t see fit to provide him shoes- nor the tip of his fingers. But all of that doesn’t matter, he thinks. It doesn’t matter because soon. Soon. 

He’ll be free. 

Graves thinks of the pie his Mama baked when he was a kid, of his first kiss with Theseus Scamander, of Seraphina’s laughter when they danced together at a MACUSA ball. He thinks of his parents’ pride when he made it to Director of Magical Security. He thinks of his Aurors. Of Tina. Of Credence Barebone. 

And he lives. Just a little longer.

When dawn breaks Percival is on the run again. He hungers and thirsts. He hears the sound of running water and seeks out the source, only for the precious liquid to disappear between his fingers once it gets close to his mouth. Percival grits his teeth. No matter what he collects the water with -his shirt, a leave, a hollow rock- it always vanishes. Percival understands. Grindelwald is having fun. Taunting him. Percival is not meant to survive to make it to the end. 

But he is Percival Graves, and he is a warrior, and he will make it or die trying.

That night Grindelwald sends direwolves after him. Huge, snarling beasts that Graves can’t fight. He’s so afraid he somehow manages to create fire wandlessly, despite the crushing hold Grindelwald keeps on his magic. He repels the creatures, but not before one of them catches his arm and bites down. Graves howls in pain, and there’s Grindelwald’s laughter echoing in his ears, louder and louder and louder- 

The wolves disappear. Graves sobs, uncaring if Grindelwald sees him and cradles his injured arm to his chest. The wound is ugly, messy, bloody, and Graves is pretty sure he heard bones snap. He pales when he does catch sight of the bone protruding from his arm and has to take a few deep breathes to avoid throwing up. 

Fuck. 

He rips the rest of his shirt apart, half with magic and half with despair, until he can finally wrap the dirty cloth around his arm to try and slow the bleeding. That’ll have to do for now. 

He doesn’t run again. He walks. He sees the edge of the clearing nearby and his legs nearly buckle at the sight. But no. Not yet. Just a bit more. 

He feels dizzy with pain and blood loss but the light is getting clearer. The forest has become strangely silent as he walks. Closer to freedom. Forward. Forward. Always forward. 

He repeats it like a mantra in his head, going on by sheer force of will. 

The last tree. It’s there, it’s finally there 

- one step forward - one step more - 

- his hand reaches out, towards the light, towards the field he sees, towards safety - 

and Grindelwald laughs. 

Favorite part II

✖ Characters/relationships: Original!Percival Graves x Reader, Seraphina Picquery

✖ Genres: Teasing, power play, sexual tension

✖ Summary: It wasn’t a one time thing but to keep your appearances both you and Percival have to keep your relationship secret. Yet when he’s purposely harsh with you, you have your own way to get back at him. @Ashley_Winchester_77 (at AO3)

✖ Disclaimer: All characters are at least 21 y/o unless stated otherwise.

✖ Word count: 1896

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Meet me in my room - Part 4 (Sirius x reader)

Originally posted by one-more-kiss-dear

Meet me in my room-    Part 1       Part 2       Part 3

“I am single Sirius”, you tell him and see the relief in his eyes and because you do not know what else to say you lean towards him and kiss him. You kissed as if there were only you on this planet. As if this was the last thing you were able to do before dying. His lips are incredibly soft and you can feel his beard rubbing against your skin. His hands wander towards you hips and he holds you tight as if someone was about to take you away from him.

Sirius then ends the kiss and looks you deeply in the eyes. And in exact this moment you knew you were lost, lost in the love for the man you just kissed. Lost in the your love towards Sirius black.


“I should go to my room now, to get some rest. The day was kind of stressful for me.”, you break the silence. Sirius’ eyes seem to look sad, but only for a second and then you can see the mask on his face again. The mask he puts on every time he does not want to show his real emotions. He often did this when he fought with his parents, to not show that he was hurt. 

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