#grewt

[thez1337]

Did I just read that they’re gonna take the Gay outa Dumbledore for the new Fantastic Beasts?

You already took away my gay Credence, WHAT MORE COULD YOU WANT?!

[newton-af-scamander]

gramander, obviously

cause i write only about those two haha

Im also drunk, and bored af. S im pulling something from my idea page and im going to roll with it for now. 

Newt is the last surviving member of the Scamander family. He useshis parents vast fortune to purchase animals in black market deals and auctions. Its not legal at all, but the trade of animals is illegal. He buys them so that he can nurse them back to health, study them for his book, and then release them back into thier natural habitats. He just has a fuck ton of money, and thats all he wants to do.

So he goes to New York to participate in this auction involving what rumors tell him is a thunderbird. But when he arrives in New York he is arrested because he uses magic in front of Jacob nd all that. Then Percival (The real one, grindelwald didnt take overhis body in this one) get wind they have scamander in custody and Graves knows hes involved in that and they talk, and he offers scamander a deal. He will let Newt go and his creatures no charge, if he gets him into the auction. So newt agrees, and they end up working together. There will be lots of UST and also they like to head butt on things, because Percy is like RULES and Newt is like, MORALITY and Percival agrees that the animals need help, and he knows that the laws are lacking when it comes to creatures, but they are still rules, how many do you want me to bend for you because this is like against what i know dammit newt i think i love you. Hes so fiery and passionate about his creatures. 

and then LOVE obv. Im going to go to bed now probably.

[carolsdrawing]

Hello!! If you're still taking palette requests, could you do 311 and gramander please? Thanks!! :D

Hey darling! That was an unexpected ship. I hope I did it justice :)

Send me a palette and a ship until Valentine’s Day and I might draw it

[paintingraves]

Mute!Graves headcanons

So we already have a couple posts about it, but this idea keeps haunting me, so here’s everything : 

Grindelwald cuts his tongue. 

It’s messy, ugly, and Graves chokes on his own blood before Grindelwald waves his wand and cauterizes the wound with a spell, a malicious smile on his face. Then he leaves. 

Graves doesn’t know how much time passes. 

He is left alone, a prisoner in his own home, unable to speak or even use magic due to his restraints. And that’s how MACUSA finds him. 

- He’s lost half his weight, he is battered, bruised, deathly pale, but he is alive and even though he slips in and out of consciousness, he hears what he thinks are relieved sobs. He lets himself be carried away to safety and doesn’t make a sound. 

- The Aurors insist he gets medical care immediately. The President insists they check that it is the real Graves first. Her word is law, and Graves’ Aurors obey. So he gets the simplest healing spells before they put him in a while cell. To wait. 

- Cue the interrogation scene 

- He is finally taken to intensive care. 

- He recovers. It’s slow, and tedious, but eventually his wounds disappear and he can walk again. His magic is terribly weakened, and the doctors strongly advise against using it. He does it anyway. Little spells. It’s a good thing he was already good at wandless and wordless magic. After a while they give him back his wand. 

- “Not much we can do about the tongue”, the doctors say. Grindelwald was apparently kind enough to prevent an infection, but nothing can make it grow back. He’ll have to live with it. 

- Graves communicates with paper at first. It takes time, and it’s frustrating. Eventually he doesn’t want to say anything. 

- He asks the President if he’s going to be fired. “Why”, she asks. “Because,” he replies, “Because I failed. Because I let Grindelwald impersonate me and wreak havoc on this city. Because I can’t speak, because I’m unreliable.” 

- Picquery shuts him up. No. He will get his job back. What happened was out of his control. And they’ll find a way around his disability. 

- They look for spells. Tina and his other Aurors all search for one that would, for example, allow him to write out what he wants to say in the air in front of him, almost as quickly as when he spoke. They do find one that works. Everything appears in red flaming caps, but it’s something. 

- It demands, however, a lot of magical energy. More than what Graves can give at the moment. He still uses it, against doctor’s advice. 

- Since he wants to be informed and give his thoughts on literally everything -that’s just how Graves is-, he ends up overusing the spell and fainting from exhaustion, both physical and magical. Multiple times. 

- He’s back to square one after that. The doctors strictly forbid him to use the spell until he is fully recovered. If he does, they say, it will just make everything more painful and slow. 

- Graves grows frustrated. He wants to move, he wants to do something, he wants to stand up and pace the room and apparate to MACUSA and start ordering everyone to get a fucking move on and catch Grindelwald. But he can’t. Useless, his mind whispers, and he puts more effort into rebuilding the occlumency shields Grindelwald destroyed and willfully ignores the little voice. 

- Sometimes he wonders what Grindelwald wanted to accomplish with this. But he knows. Make him feel powerless. Destroy his life. And how do we feel about that ? 

- Angry. Angry. Graves goes back to work much sooner than advised, but it’s hellish. Everyone looks at him with pity. He can’t stand it. He’s less efficient than before, of course, but he tries to compensate by using wordless magic impressively. It is chaotic, as if it sensed his agitation, and he grits his teeth. People don’t pay as much attention to him as before. Hell, they don’t even seem to respect him. Just pity. Everywhere. 

- He uses the spell way too often. He faints in meetings, sleeps in his office, before President Picquery finally orders him to stop and take at least a week off. Find a solution. Get himself back together. She knows how unrealistic she sounds, and so does he, but he nods and does as she asks anyway. 

- He walks aimlessly through New York. No goal in mind. He looks at the people passing by and wonders what their lives are like. 

- It’s on his second day off, on one of these walks, that he spots him. A guy in a blue coat with curly hair, with a suitcase in one hand and a hotdog in the other. His face seems vaguely familiar until Graves finally remembers - Newt Scamander. The man who unmasked Grindelwald. 

- He walks towards him, intent on thanking him, before he spots two little paws innocently coming out of the suitcase. His eyes narrow. Is this man fucking serious ? Does he intend to wreak havoc on the city again with his beasts ? 

- More than ever, Graves wishes he could speak to give the man a proper tongue lashing. Instead, he introduces himself with a nod and his MACUSA badge, and drags a bewildered Newt by the arm to an alley away from the crowd. 

- He wants to yell at him and also to thank him. But he can’t. So instead he just crosses his arms and glares at Scamander, before purposefully pointing at his suitcase and raising his eyebrows. 

- Newt looks delighted to see him, and Graves can’t figure out why, before he sees what Graves is looking at. He starts stammering, “no, it’s temporary, i’m leaving tomorrow, you see, and all my creatures are actually with my brother, this is just the Niffler - oh, and Pickett, but Pickett has attachment issues-” and Graves has no idea what a Pickett is but damn him if Newt isn’t adorable. The Auror leans against the wall of the alley, shaking his head. 

- With so much silence on his side, Newt seems to finally understand. He asks if Graves can talk -surprisingly, there’s no pity in his voice, but what sounds like ... excitement?- before telling him he has learned a language for deaf and mute people during his travels. Sign language, he calls it, before demonstrating a few words and asking Graves to replicate them. 

- Feeling a bit ridiculous, Graves does so. Newt replies with a sign that he understands, and Graves feels hope blossoming in his chest. Maybe that’s it. He’ll be able to communicate. He’ll keep his job. 

- Newt smiles and offers to teach him everything. Graves offers his place for the young man to stay during that time. 

- He goes back to the MACUSA the newt morning, demanding to see President Picquery. She seems glad to know he has found an easier solution than the draining spell, and agrees to his demand that Newt also teaches all the Aurors of his team. 

- So they do. Graves takes a potion to memorize things more easily, and in one month, him and his Aurors know sign language. He can direct them again without exhausting himself. 

- Graves always had a bit of a dramatic touch. He gestures widely on purpose, and learns to express a multitude of emotions with his face to get his point across. Gone is the cold mask he donned before. Percival Graves is more alive than ever. 

- He takes back his job with renowned vigor. His magic heals with him, and he does everything wandlessly and wordlessly now. 

- Newt is so proud of him, and also in love. 

- Cue dramatic scene in which Newt has to leave because Percival doesn’t need him anymore, but in the end he stays and they confess their feelings to each other yada yada. 

- Newt will still travel, and Percival will worry, but he comes home often. 

- Graves makes himself be heard. He becomes more aware of how the magical world actually does not benefit disabled people, and does his best to rectify that. 

- Magical hearing aids. 

- He tells people they can become whatever they want to. Fuck what people say or think or how they look at you. 

- In the end, Grindelwald, who wanted to strip him of all power, only helped him become more powerful than ever. 

- He even gained a boyfriend along the way. 

- When they defeat Grindelwald, Graves still cuts the dark wizard’s tongue out of sheer spite. Just because he can. 

- Newt looks at him and shake his head. 

- They apparate into the sunset and live happily ever after. 

[grumpy-graves]

Concept: Newt is going somewhere by train and Percival is saying goodbye to him at the platform and then he has to run to give him the niffler through the window like Molly did with Ron's rat in the third hp film  

It would be kind of funny because Percival has more important things to do than run after his boyfriend who has lost his niffler again and he would be so done

(the gif isn’t mine)

[the-ninth-heaven]

drunkards XD

a little sketch about... New Year corporate party in MACUSA maybe? :D

[guanin]

And now, a quick Gramander cuddle fic that I just wrote up.

Percival held Newt against him, head lying on Percival’s shoulder as they stretched out on the couch, pressed close together so that Newt wouldn’t fall off the edge. He carded his fingers through the messy mop of curls, stroking along his scalp. Newt curled his right arm around his waist, hand resting on Percival’s back, his left folded on his chest.

“I love your hair,” Percival murmured.

So soft. So carefree and rumpled. Percival was always precise with his own, making sure that his undercut was just the right length, that the lotion that he used each morning kept his hair in place, while Newt simply ran his hands through his hair a few times, quickly checked the mirror, and went on his way. No fuss. Presentation didn’t matter much to him, preferring practicality and putting his energy towards wearing hardy clothes.

“Mum is after me to get a trim,” Newt said, words brushing Percival’s collarbone in a gust of warm breath.

“I hope you declined the suggestion.”

He rubbed down Newt’s nape with the tip of his fingers, caressing along his left shoulder inside his shirt.

“Of course. I’m perfectly fine with my hair the way it is. And I had guessed your admiration for it.”

Grateful eyes peered up at him, a beautiful flash of green behind golden lashes.

“Don’t change a thing.”

Percival pushed Newt’s shirt off his shoulder and kissed it, sinking his face into the softness of his skin. Newt poked his jaw with his nose as he rested his face against his, eyelashes fluttering on his cheek. Newt lifted his right hand and brushed it through Percival’s own hair, releasing the long strands from the position that his lotion had fixed them in, so that a lock fell across his forehead as Newt stroked down to his nape and up again.

“I love your hair, too,” Newt said.

Percival smiled on his shoulder.

[morningless]

reincarnation!fic

when you were once unknown (newt x percival, 878 words)

At first he is just a boy, and you care not for what makes him distinct from the other humans. Your eyes are keen, but you do not notice that his eyes are as vibrant as new spring grass or that his freckles dot his face like stars. All you know is that this boy is in your cave, and you must protect your treasure. Such is the nature of dragons.

But he does not do anything except lay a small goat at the entrance before fleeing. You sense no wrongdoing, so you eat it. At the time, you do not wonder how he might have known that your mate had died the previous winter, and that you had difficult hunting as she had. You do not know how long he has watched you.

He starts to come almost every day after that, and you let him, amused by this small creature who brings you food, who is barely bigger than the animals he brings. He does not even glance at your treasure, only stares up at you with what you learn to be wonder. You let him creep closer. You let him touch. And you listen, when he speaks in the quiet of the sunset, even though only half the words of humans make sense to you.

He tells you of fear, of looming war. He tells you of a longing to fly as you do, far away from his little village on the mountainside. He tells you about a girl more beautiful than any sunrise, and how it's the prospect of seeing her smile that makes him stay.

You unfold one wing and use it to bring him closer. He feels like a cool rock against your side. The boy sighs, and you wonder when he has become a man.

He asks if you hate humans, and maybe once you did, for humans destroy more than they give, have slaughtered your parents for the sole crime of causing fear. But you cannot hate this boy, who teaches you about the good things his kind can make. He brings a flute and plays a song that makes something in your blood rise and sway. He tells you stories, the lore of his people, and there is a touch of a smile in his voice whenever they involve dragons.

But most of all he teaches you how to see a human for all of the good they can be: the way a father holds his daughter, a child's sweet innocence, how people will help others in need without asking anything in return - like a boy and a starving dragon.

Then one day, the boy is gone.

You wait for him for a week before you venture outside your cave and see the smolders of his village. The war has finally reached your mountain, and most likely, him as well.

Such is the nature of humans. They live, they end, they begin again, ready to continue on in their destructive ways. You should not mourn the death of one.

Yet you do. You mourn him for years to come, your cries shaking the skies as you search for a glimpse of your human in the greenery down below. Your cave lies empty in your last days, for there is no gold that would have gleamed as brightly as his eyes, no gem that would have shimmered as beautifully as his laugh.

All you want, in the end, is to hear his soft voice again, to feel his hand on your scales.

Many, many years later you will find him again. Or rather, he will find you, be the one to draw your limp body from the ashes of your prison, restore you to your rightful place amongst your friends and coworkers. (Like before, you have no family to speak of.) He will linger, unable to let you be. Perhaps he senses  the wild creature you once were - or the one you had half-become in your captivity.

After a year, you will find that you are unable to let him go. This strange man, who does not know how to make friends but manages to gather a constellation of people willing to go to any length for him, who puts the life of a single creature before his own, who does not meet your eyes but will look at your scars more openly than anyone else. You cannot help but think there is something familiar about the way his eyes glow after you kiss him for the first time, but that cannot be true, because there has never been someone like Newt Scamander. Not in your lifetime.

And when that lifetime ends, and another begins, the dice will roll again. Perhaps he will be a woman this time. Perhaps you will have blond hair. You might meet as round-faced children, or as wizened old men. All the possibilities, but always just the two of you. Learning to care, to treasure the smallest moments, to find those things that transcend time and death and anything you could have ever known: his laugh, the outline of his long fingers in the moonlight, the feeling of his body slotted against yours.

Such is the nature of love, yours.