#bamf!newt

[lollypuddn]

Hope this drawing isn’t sideways... Still isn’t getting how this works OMG I am soo stupid. 

Anyways this drawing is inspired by Dark!Newt, specificly the short prompt but I also imagined that it was newt smoking alone during the ball dance party.  *Hence the Bowtie,,,

A Secret Chord  by  jusrecht

Summery: Basically NEWT has a seconde/hiddn personality that’s not so bright....  He smokesss!!!!

As well as other fanfics that are on the archive of our own website. 

[tobiblack]

Inspired by pinchess07’s CODE: Blue Coat.

Done in pen and colored pencil.

[askdoratonks]

Just a Scratch

Something small I’m working on for Original Percival Graves / Newt Scamander  (minor warning for vague depictions of wounds and first aid)

Partially a gift for the magnificent @aethelar who started on a lovely piece for me while I was having dental surgery <3 Feedback is loved and appreciated! 1

The first thing he remembers other than pain is cool fingers at his side and then the blessed relief of numbing settling in. “That’s it Mr. Graves, that’s better now, isn’t it?” The hands are steady, the voice unfamiliar, a foreign lilt but it is soothing and calm. His head is still hazy, so much fuzz and lag and he can’t quite remember how to pry his eyes open.

He struggles with it, instinct drawing him forward and finally he manages, lids heavy and weak and he catches sight of ginger hair, curled and bent over his side. Steady hands are there, pushing a needle through his skin though he feels nothing, stitching up a rather nasty gash. No magic.. Why isn’t he using magic?

The head lifts and the eyes that catch his are a little dazed, clouded with concern as he reaches up to push Percival back down. “Easy there Mr Graves,” yes, a calm voice, steady and focused and firm, “Easy, I’ve got you, but I need to close this up.” A wet rag is pressed to his temple, cool and soothing with something that tingles and he winces as he settles back as instructed.

He doesn’t close his eyes, at least not for long. He can’t see much of where they are, a little shack, a makeshift bed but he can see potion bottles and books and scraps of paper and the boy, man? Leaning over him with freckles across his nose, curly red hair and a serious, focused expression.

When he ties off the suture Percival lets his head roll back against the pillow. The haze in his mind is pulling insistently at him but he’s been clouded for so long that each shiver of clarity is cool water against a scorched throat so he fights against it, focuses on the quiet man in the shack.

He’s pulling a vest off, the shirt underneath it torn and bloody, so much blood soaking through but the strange man tears the fabric away and lifts the makeshift gauze to reveal a large, angry opening down his side. Were he able Percival would be up, pushing him back into a chair to examine the wound or apparating them to a hospital but this man doesn’t pause, doesn’t flinch as he carefully moves to apply a fresh needle to his own side, pushing it through the skin in a steady even rhythm, one and then another without a sound.

“Who are you?” Percival says, or maybe he doesn’t. The haze has taken over again and he’s gone before he hears a response.

When he wakes he’s in a hospital bed, the room quiet other than the familiar hum of diagnostic spells. The sutures are gone, as is the pain and with no one to ask Percival is left to wonder if perhaps he’d dreamed it all after all. ~tbc (thanks and love to @darrenhasmyheart for letting me bounce ideas around ;) )

[liarlagoon]

I think one of my fav fantastic beasts tropes in fanfic is when someone is like "im pissed at theseus so im gonna attack his defenseless baby brother to get back at him" and theseus is like "lmao ur funeral" and then newt subdues/renders his opponent unconscious without even breaking a sweat