#gravebone au

[starry-eyed-cryptid]

Gradence Titanic AU

Credence is the the young wealthy son about to head to America with his family and on board he meets the handsome Irish Artist Graves.

They survive, Credence is able to get on a life boat with Graves and they live happily ever after in America.

[telepathicteacup]

- He was a lighthouse keeper and I was a Prince from another world. We were never meant to meet, but our love saved our worlds. -

Gravebone Aquaman AU!

Finish the story with me, I am looking for a Percival Graves to write a lenghty, detailed roleplay!

♡ Contact me for more details! ♡

[fckimlovingit]

'Lover, where do you live? In the skies, in the clouds, in the ocean? I learned a lesson 'bout bad ideas, we're really out in the middle of it now' 

Gradence Medieval AU:

[daddygraves]

The Gravebone/Gradence Tidelands AU

Credence Barebone in place of Calliope McTeer, who spent 10 years behind bars and comes home to sleepy Orphelin Bay to find out he's a Tidelander- half-human, half-siren.

Percival Graves in place of Dylan Sauge, justice bringer and loyal protector of the Tidelander queen, yet who can't seem to stay away from infamous youngest McTeer.

~~~~~~~

Netflix's Tidelands is worth a watch if you're into sirens, crime, boobs and lots of Aussie accents. Even more worth it if you can imagine Gravebone in place of the leads, it's better (plus Elsa Pataky is pretty terrifying).

[weconqueratdawn]

chapter seven - gradence catboy au

[pretty sure links are back and working so we’re all back to normal *phew* though the tags still hate them]

Pussycat, Pussycat

Rating: Explicit Chapter: 7 of 8 (c. 30k words in total) Tags: Catboys/Human Hybrids, AU - no Grindelwald or Mary Lou, Master/pet, Humour, Graves Is Honestly So Fucked, Happy!Credence, Porn With Plot, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love

Fic Summary: Three months ago, Percival Graves was surprised to receive delivery of one (1) pet catboy after winning him in a raffle. Now Credence has decided Percival is his Owner, leaving Percival no option but to play along and without a clue what he should do next. All he knows is Credence has nowhere else to go. And also that he has the biggest dick Percival’s ever seen…

Chapter Summary: Back home again and Percival has more than one confession to make to Credence…

*

They took another taxi home.

Credence had grumbled about having to dress again--a rebellion which was a sure sign he was overtired--so Percival allowed him to take off his hat and coat off in the cab. A certain devil-may-care attitude had befallen his own self--probably a sign that Percival was overtired too. But what did it matter what the taxi driver thought? Who cared if they saw Credence’s ears or tail and realised what he was? Or what Percival was?

He was an Owner, that’s what he was.

Percival spent a little time practicing that in his mind. I am an Owner. This is my pet, Credence. Yes, he is beautiful, isn’t he? Touch him and I’ll snap your spine in two. That sort of thing. It was surprisingly satisfying and he found he was feeling quite good about himself.

Credence, however, was restless. It was dark in the back of the cab and the lights outside blurred past as they moved with unlikely speed through the streets. Percival got flashes of his face--he was drooping with tiredness but too distracted by the busyness outside to settle.

Percival reached for his hand and squeezed it. Credence turned to him and tugged at the neck of his sweater.

“Can I take these off too?” he asked.

“Wait until we get home,” Percival said.

Credence let go of the sweater and blinked owlishly around the cab. Percival saw the driver catch a glimpse of him in the mirror. He stared only for a second before he turned back to the wheel.

“Can I sit here?” Credence asked, pointing at Percival’s lap.

Usually, Percival would’ve said no. But tonight was different. Tonight he felt different, about Credence and about himself as well.

And Credence was in dire need of a nap.

“Yes, okay,” he said, and lifted his arm to admit him.

There wasn’t a lot of space on the backseat and, after some fidgeting around, Credence decided the best thing to do was to curl up with his back to the front seats and lay his head on Percival’s thigh. Percival’s hand went automatically to the back of his neck; he slowly massaged the soothing spot there, just under his collar. It didn’t take long for Credence to relax into something like sleep.

“Hey you back there!” the driver piped up. His face in the mirror was red, his hands gesturing angrily. “No funny business in my cab!”

Inside, mild irritation at the man’s stupidity warred with protectiveness. Percival glared fiercely and leaned closer to the driver.

“He’s sleeping,” he said in a harsh whisper. “What’s funny about that? Just keep your voice down and your eyes on the road. You’d better not wake him--especially if you want a tip.”

The driver huffed, cast a suspicious glance at Credence’s still form, but didn’t make another peep. Not even to say thank you at the end of the ride, when Percival handed him a whole dragot and told him to keep the change. 

read chapter on ao3 | read from the beginning

Fic is complete and will update every Sunday.

Huge thanks to @pangaeastarseed and @soz for letting me play in their ‘verse, which began life with @pangaeastarseed ‘s magnificent NSFW art(available in a wonderful art book here) and the fic “…Kitten” written by them both, which this fic is inspired by/a remix of.

AND ALSO featuring artwork by @theseavoices - cute kitty Credence animation here and NSFW illustration here XD

ko-fi | what is weconqueratdawn up to?

[abi-does-stuff]

The Changeling: Snippet

Credence doesn’t dare let go of him again. Even though he’s burning with fever and his skin is clammy with sweat, Credence still wants to run his hands over the black feathers inked into the other boy’s back. He wants to touch every inch of him, map every mole and freckle.

Credence pulls Percival back against his chest so he can lean against him, while Credence unscrews the taps. Percival tips his head back over Credence’s shoulder and looks into his face.

“You’re nice,” he says and closes his eyes. “But you’re strange. How can you want me when I look like something that’s died but doesn’t know it yet?”

Credence almost drops him. “W-what?”

“I can always tell,” he says tiredly. “I don’t mind. I’m used to it, but I’m usually not this disgusting. Did you like the other… the other one? Is that it?”

Credence bites the inside of his cheek as he wets the towel and rings it out. When he glances at Percival, he has one eye open and is studying him with it knowingly.

“Oh,” he says. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Don’t get mad at me. It isn’t my fault.”

“What isn’t your fault?"

“Whatever you’re mad about." He pushes Credence away from him and stumbles forward catching himself on the sink. He bends at the waist, doubles himself over so he can dunk his head directly into the basin.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a bath?” Credence says. He places the wet towel on Percival’s back and starts to wipe away the sweat and grime.

Percival pulls his head out of the basin splashing water on the floor. “Might pass out and drown in it,” he says. He looks up into the mirror. “Ugh.”

“I could watch you - not like that,” he quickly adds as Percival raises an eyebrow. He turns to look at Credence over his shoulder through dripping wet hair. “I mean I could make sure you don’t fall or drown or -”

“I know what you meant. Not now. Maybe later.”

[toffyandsalt]

I Love You Forte

here is a story for @emthrys and @angst-wizard, as well as for all of you who enjoy period au and piano playing. fluff, love confessions and regency era are waiting for you ahead. best read with this beautiful nocturne in the background

also on AO3

Young Credence Barebone is about to begin undressing for sleep when he hears it. A sweet gentle sound of a piano forte. It’s immensely soft, and although he can only hear the forte of the piece, he knows that if he were to go downstairs and investigate, music will sound as sweet as he imagines with all its dolce and leggiero.

Unable to resist, young Barebone leaves his room and follows the sound of the instrument.

The estate is vast and in the few days he’s been staying there by Mr. and Mrs. Kowalski’s invitation, he still can’t find his way around easily. There are bedrooms, and walkway halls, and studies, and a spacious library with endless shelves of books. All the rooms are of an exquisite taste in decoration, comfortable and appealing. Yet no piano forte is to be found in them, nor any mysterious musician with fingers that run the keys with particular delicacy and skill.

As Credence walks through the halls, he contemplates on who the musician might be. The two sisters, Mrs. Kowalski and Miss Goldstein are accomplished talented ladies who are most certainly skilled in the matters of music. But it is a widespread knowledge that Miss Goldstein prefers a harp while Mrs. Kowalski sings.

Mr. Kowalski possesses no music talent, nor does his close friend Mr. Scamander. It leaves out a solemn and reserved Mr. Graves who Credence simply can’t imagine being a pianist. He has never expressed passion and has always been a calm man of a formal tone, almost strict. And much to Credence’s dismay it is a set of these inexpressive qualities which drew his attention towards the man in the first place. Not only has he expressed genuine, though taciturn, concern for his well-being during their brief encounters, not only has he graced Credence with a dance at the assembly but a month ago, he has become an object of Credence’s infatuation ever since.

Every following meeting is a step towards the inevitable.

Music sounds louder now, a stream of notes jumping across the octaves, an almost dancing movement of a hand to a waltz-like rhythm. Credence can’t help but adapt his walk to the rhythm, one-two-three, one-two-three.

The door of the music room is only slightly opened, but enough for Credence to see a bouquet of lit candleholders, a black back of a vest and the movement of white sleeves. His heart misses a beat as recognition dawns on him. It’s Mr. Graves, absorbed with music he is playing, merged with the instrument in a loving dance. Mr. Graves, whose heart Credence has been craving for for many a month. Mr. Graves who is oblivious to how much he is loved by his only secret listener.

The tune ends and the man starts over with the same one, which pleases Credence immensely. He quite likes its stretching overflows, and the way Mr. Graves leans into the instrument, his broad shoulders spread and his torso moving to the rhythm.

Careful to make no sound, Credence enters the room and stands behind the sofa, watching Mr. Graves play. The tune is gentle, romantic, a foreign matter coming from under Mr. Graves’ skillful fingers. They make no mistakes and they confidently guide the music. Credence is mesmerized, enthralled, he finds himself mirroring Mr. Graves’ movement because the tune demands it. His heart demands it equally strong.

When the tune ends again, Mr. Graves lowers his hands and contemplates. For Credence it’s a chance to retreat to where he can go on with his secret, put it in a corner of his mind where all good things about Mr. Graves are. But he doesn’t take this chance. Instead, he reaches out for another one, which consumes all of his bravery. He stays rooted to the spot behind the sofa, his eyes trained directly on Mr. Graves’ back.

Mr. Graves rises from the cushioned piano seat and turns around. He doesn’t jump up in surprise nor does he show any sign of being startled. He is smiling softly and his cheeks are tinted with red.

“Mr. Barebone,” he greets him softly. “I didn’t hear you enter, my apologies.”

“I didn’t know you can play.”

“It’s not a common knowledge. I do not often entertain my acquaintance with my playing, but I hope what you’ve heard did not offend your taste.”

“Offend! Sir, I have never heard anything quite so beautiful before.”

Credence blushes from the amount of pleasantries he has just blurted out. Mr. Graves, however, doesn’t seem to be bothered by this, on the contrary, he looks away with pleasure of compliments, his smile awkwardly happy. It puzzles Credence.

“Do you play?”

“No, sir. My Mother never acquired an instrument. My sisters and I found enjoyment in other things, such as drawing, for instance.”

“Ah, this is a skill I do not possess.”

They stand looking at each other awkwardly, neither making a move for furthering the conversation or at least escaping the pause, hanging in the air. When they do speak, it’s in unison.

“Perhaps, you could draw--”

“Perhaps, you could play--”

They stop and laugh lightly. Credence falls silent, his lips pressed. Mr. Graves gestures for him to talk.

“Perhaps, you could play something else, Mr. Graves.”

“Is there anything particular you would like to hear?”

“Anything you prefer.”

“Very well, but I have one request. Do not consider it impudent, but would you sit by my side while I play?”

Credence stares at the man across the room. A request such as this and from Mr. Graves himself!

“I will need your help to turn the pages.”

Credence is flustered, but pleased to be invited in such a circle of intimacy. He walks towards the piano forte and joins Graves on the cushioned bench, their arms touching. Mr. Graves flips through a folder of sheet music and chooses one blindly, pulling it out from the stack and spreading it on the rack. Credence can’t help a burst of glee in his chest as Mr. Graves raises his hands over the keyboard and sinks long fingers in it. Credence watches those fingers move over the keys as if they are kissing the surface, light or deep. The sounds which those movements create are beautiful and passionate. He would gladly listen to them repeated many times, only to have an honour of sitting by Mr. Graves’ side and watching him play.

It’s through music, Credence realises, that Mr. Graves expresses his passion. Only through legato and sudden fortissimo can he say what busies his heart. And Credence listens carefully, needing no words. Whatever Mr. Graves is saying, it’s honourable and honest.

“Mr. Barebone, I would greatly appreciate you turning the page,” says Mr. Graves softly, his hands still sunk in the keyboard. Credence awakens from his enthrallment and reaches out for the sheet of paper when Mr. Graves’ hand stops him. Oh.

“But I would enjoy a conversation as much as playing the instrument.”

Credence smiles. The tips of his fingers are trapped in Mr. Graves’ gentle hold and he relishes the warm feeling.

“We have shared quite a few moments since our first meeting,” Mr. Graves shakes his head a little, he looks nervous and Credence can’t blame him. He himself hears the mad beating of his heart in his chest and hopes it is not as loud as it seems. Mr. Graves rubs the top of his fingers and continues. “Mr. Barebone, put my mind to rest. I have struggled with my feelings, unsure if they are returned. Command me to go, and go I shall, but if there is a chance my feelings are returned…”

Credence stares at his hand in Mr. Graves’ hold and attempts to understand what he has just heard. It sounded sweeter than music, more gentle than a song of the piano forte. It came from Mr. Graves’ thin smiling mouth in a low quiet voice, trembling and eager.

“Mr. Graves…” he swallows. “Rest assured that this feeling is quite mutual.”

He brings his eyes up for a mere second, eager to know what eyes of a man in love might reflect. Mr. Graves’ eyes are dark and fixed on him with a most gentle expression, a most loving one. He feels a touch of Mr. Graves’ fingers on his chin and he cannot resist slowly leaning forward. Their lips meet in a brief sweet encounter, much like the very one that ignited this affair when they were introduced. As they pull away from each other, smiling and feeling dizzy, Credence braves another look at Mr. Graves. The man’s face is set in such an expression that leaves no doubts, only a promise.

“Shall I play for you now, my dear Mr. Barebone?”

“Please.”

[typhongeneocratis]

AU where Credence wants to go camping after the events of the movie, but Graves is not very enthusiastic about it.

Credence wanted to go camping. Fine. Graves couldn't really refuse anything to the boy, so he just kept his mouth shut and found a good place in the forest. Not too far away from the city, in case anything happened, but far enough for the kid to feel in vacation. Graves never liked camping. He had all the confort he wanted in his house, so what was the point of going out in the middle of nowhere and just sit on the grass, hours long, staring at nothing but the emptiness of the forest, and the deep darkness of the sky ? But Credence had been through a lot lately, and Percival could understand that he needed to blow off some steam.

So here they were, a little woodfire lightening their faces. Credence sounded very happy to be here, and kept smiling at the man, who, on the other hand, was snuggled under a blanket, obviously very tired. The kid was talking a lot, more than usual. Graves glanced at him. Some of the scars on his face were still healing, and yet, here he was, happy, free, laughing.

«And you, Mister Graves. You never talk about you, but I'm sure you have tons of stories to tell. »

Graves sighed, turning his head to look at the boy.

«They're not that interesting, really. Gangs, murders, drugs, nothing very joyfull. Oh there was that time when a psychopath took my place and no one noticed, but you already know everything about this one. »

«Alright, no work stories, I get it. But what about you ? Where do you come from ? What do you like to eat ? What's your favorite color ? Who's the person for whom you would give up anything ? I want to know more about my savior, sir. »

The man giggled. Credence was giving him his biggest smile. Despite his bruises, the boy's skin seemed perfect under the moonlight.

«Alright. I come from a rich family in New York, family who gave me the taste of sophisticated food, my favorite color is onyx, and, well, you know the answer of the last question. »

Credence's face illuminated with a smile. He then turned his head and looked in the darkness of the woods during a few seconds, his mind wandering. Finally, he shivered, and immeditly got closer to Graves.

«I'm cold, Mister Graves, can I come under the blanket ? »

«Of course, Credence. »

Graves lifted his blanket, and let Credence cuddle against him. He could feel his cold skin against his. Graves exhaled loudly, and put his arm around his way too thin body. Credence purred, and closed his eyes, his head leaning on the man's shoulder.

«I'm glad you saved me, Mister Graves. »

One of the man's hand gently caressed Credence's face and he softly kissed the boy's forehead.

«I'm glad I saved you. »