#Swallow is a good one for Grindel!Graves

[tmblrsnogoodverybadship]

Something about ‘Shalott’ by Emilie Autumn makes me think of our dear boys. Makes me want to write a fic.

A lot of songs by her would be really good Grindel!Graves inspiration tbh (at least for sure from her Opheliac album)

[opheliathedreamer-blog]

OKCryptid // Pt. 3 { Ghoul }

You decided to linger over one of your lower percentage matches out of curiosity. It consisted mainly of nighttime stills of the graveyard at the outskirts of the city and sound bites of popular Gothic rock bands. He didn’t post a photo of himself. The only hint you received as to his identity was that he was a male non-human of unspecified age whose name was Grindel. The tone of his profile description (Location: The Void. Occupation: Feasting on corpses overlooked by the machine) would have given you cause for concern if it weren’t for rare glimpses of his sardonic humor (Mood: Wake Me Up Inside).

You debated whether you should message him for a few moments before deciding to take the plunge. If he seemed a bit too off, you could always block him.

         You: Evanescence fan?

         Grindel: Unironically? Never

You snorted.

         You: Given the spooky aesthetic, I thought you would be

         You: Which I like btw

         You: There are a lot of gravestones on your profile

         You: Are you into history?

         Grindel: Of a sort

         You: It a secret?

         Grindel: Yes

         Grindel: I wouldn’t want to have to kill you

Although you rationalized that he must have meant it as a joke, a shiver raced up your spine. You didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Hell, your neighbor was married to an ogre that was at least twice his size, but, much to your chagrin, you couldn’t help but remember your parents’ stern warnings— Monsters can wear their masks in public but nothing’s changed. Our ancestors made us wary of them for a reason.

         Grindel: Where do you live?

Of course his next question didn’t alleviate your anxiety in the slightest. Icy tendrils slithered around your heart, and you debated following your plan B and blocking him, before your fingers typed a message of their own accord. Curiosity killed the cat, or so they say.

         You: The abyss. It’s right next door to the void. Can’t miss it

         Grindel: Nice

         Grindel: I see you too work in the food industry?

         You: A bartender, yeah

         You: Crappy job but it’s temporary

         You: I’m still looking for an artifact restoration position someplace local that doesn’t call for thousands of years of experience

         Grindel: Are you interested in history then?

         You: Of a sort

Two can play at this game, you thought. After he didn’t respond for five minutes, you pocketed your phone and started to load your washer before you felt it vibrate. He had responded by attaching a photo of a dilapidated mausoleum. A cracked stone family crest displayed a raven holding a chalice in its talons.

Your tension concerning his previous comments gradually melted away. This was an area in which you thrived. The carvings had to have been at least three centuries old, possibly older. It was, however, hard to tell due to the copious amounts of lichen and ivy decorating the tomb.

         Grindel: This belonged to the Korbin family. The last heir, Emelia Korbin, died in 1876. Since then, no one seems to pay attention to it.

         You: That’s a shame. I bet it was stunning in its hay day.

         You: Is this from the cemetery in town?

         You: I never knew it housed anything this old

         Grindel: There’s a lot of things people can overlook

         Grindel: Past things often fade away in the dark

         Grindel: I look after them though

Your ears all but pricked. Was that a clue?

         You: So, you’re a groundskeeper?

         Grindel: Undergroundskeeper

You mentally repeated the word, brow furrowing. Undergroundskeeper. Did he help construct coffins? Did the mausoleum vaults descend that far?

Or did he live underground? You knew some bat people and cave fae who were particularly sensitive to light. That would explain why all his photos were taken well after the sun had gone down.

Before you could offer a possible answer to the mystery, you glanced at your phone’s clock and saw that your shift started in half an hour. Cursing under your breath, you ran towards the door.

         You: Sorry shift starts soon

         You: I’ll text you later

         Grindel: Thank you

Although you hadn’t the time to reply, the odd nature of his statement kept your thoughts turning. Not “okay. Not “all right, ttyl.” He said, “thank you.” A part of you started to feel sympathy for the secretive monster. It seemed that not many took the time to get to know him.

You went through the motions at work, chatting with the regulars and painting on a smile whenever someone outstayed their welcome. The bouncer, a minotaur named Frank, was pretty good at looking out for everyone, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t experienced a few lewd comments and wandering hands.

You normally brushed it off and went about your night, head down and ears closed, but that night one of the patrons, a troll who had one too many, was far too insistent for comfort. You had told him you weren’t interested for the sixth time that evening and politely excused yourself in order to go wave down Frank before the troll’s calloused hand shot out and wrapped around your neck. Your breath caught in your chest as he pulled you forward. The scent of vodka and whatever trollish mead he had been pouring into it stung your nose. You weakly struggled as his tusks scraped against your face in an attempt at a kiss. 

You sent a silent prayer that someone would intervene and, a few seconds later, a few orc bikers that were regulars pulled him off. The troll growled something in his native tongue and threw a few punches. You watched in relief as Frank ran over and got him in a headlock from behind. One of the bikers—Zadok, you thought it was—bellowed at you to call the police.

The troll paled, blurry eyes rapidly blinking. He stopped struggling. “Whateva.’ Ah’ll leave. Jus’ let go o’ me.”

Zadok looked at you. “You want to press charges on this asshole?”

You looked at him, hand over your racing heart, and remembered a news headline from days prior. There was a robbery at a convenience store. Just some teenage kids sneaking around and trying to pilfer some booze. The elf got off scot free. The troll with him was sentenced to five years in prison because the police insisted that the necklace he wore, a collection of claws and fangs from kills starting after his coming-of-age ceremony, was a weapon.

You thickly swallowed and shook your head. “He’s drunk. Just let him go.”

Frank escorted him out, yelling after him that if he saw him in there again, he would call the cops. You glanced down at the counter and realized your splayed hands were faintly trembling. Glaring, you clenched them into fists and wrapped your arms around your middle, breathing deeply, in and out.

“Hey,” Zadok softly began.

You turned your head so sharply that the orc winced. “You okay?” he asked.

You exhaled roughly through your nose, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

“It’s almost closing time, and the boys and I ain’t got nowhere to be. Want us to help you home?”

“Nah. I know you have to work tomorrow, and Marnie’ll be worried. I’ll just call an Uber or something.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.

He didn’t look convinced but let any budding arguments die with a sigh. “Kay. Take care of yourself, all right, Y/N?”

“You too, Zadok. Thank you.”

Those who had witnessed the altercation went out of their way to leave extra tips and, when the Lagoon finally closed, Frank volunteered to drive you home himself. However, despite your previous promise to call an Uber, you found that the crisp night air was clearing your head. Your body was also so full of adrenaline that you feared if you were driven home and tried to sleep, you’d stay up all night thinking about it.

You thought back to the old cemetery. A foolish thing, perhaps, but your hobbies had always done wonders in alleviating your stress. You had your phone, and you had pepper spray hidden in your back pocket. And, with how taut your muscles felt, you thought you could outrun anything. Besides, you wanted to see the mausoleum for yourself.

Frank thought it was a terrible idea once you told him but, knowing how stubborn you were, he made you promise to text him once you arrived and once you were safely home. If he didn’t hear from you in twenty minutes, the time it would take for you to walk there, he said he was calling the police. You reassured him that you would and then set out for your walk.

The chilly weather caused you to huddle inside your hoody for warmth, but you appreciated the full moon and the scarce stars that could be seen through the haze of light pollution. The more you walked, the more you relaxed. As you texted Frank updates, you actually felt your eyelids droop. It had been a long night. After a few moments of looking, you’d head back home.

Upon reaching the cemetery, you drank everything in—the languid shadows birthed by the yellowed moonlight, the mournfully swaying weeping willows, the damp grass and time-stained stone, the scent of decaying flowers, incense, and overturned soil. You were surprised to notice how many prominent non-human families were there. You even saw a Baron or two, one an elf and the other a goblin. You silently wished you had brought a notebook so you could jot down dates and try engraving some of the more battered headstones, but you promised yourself you would return in the daylight.

You were leaning downward, poised to take a picture of the late Yera Offley’s stone, featuring her battle-ready relief, when you saw an approaching shadow out of your periphery. Remembering the previous events of the evening, you ducked behind a nearby mausoleum and waited. The quadrupedal creature drew closer. You hid your phone’s bright screen against your chest. No sound heralded its coming, and that somehow frightened you more than its actual presence. 

“You should have known better than to loiter in graveyards at night,” a throaty rasp announced. “Didn’t I warn you? If I found one more of you children defacing the graves, there would be the Underworld to pay.” 

You fumbled with your back pocket. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” 

When you finally retrieved the pepper spray, you struggled with the safety release and dropped the can.

“Shit!” you hissed under your breath. 

You reached for it and saw another hand emerge. Its elongated, emaciated fingers were tipped with ivory claws, and fine hair grew on its knuckles and what you glimpsed of its palm. Your breath caught in your chest, and you reeled back with wide eyes. It was gangly and faintly humanoid, even though it seemed to prefer traveling on all fours, and was clothed in a tattered button-up and trousers. Its ears were large and tapered into points, and its red eyes were a stark contrast to its colorless skin. Its nose, which consisted of two raw slits, flared and its mouth, filled with sharp, yellow teeth, shut with a snap.

You barely registered that you were hyperventilating until your head grew light and black spots danced in your vision. The creature retreated and held out up both its hands placatingly.

“Calm down, Y/N. I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else... I won’t hurt you.” It slowly retrieved the can of pepper spray and offered it to you. “Here. It’s all right.”

Seeing that it wasn’t going to eat you outright, you slowly accepted the proffered can and forced your breathing to slow.

“How do you know my name?”

It canted its head to the side. “The same way you know mine.”

You tried to organize your scrambled thoughts until it hit you. Undergroundskeeper. Cemetery pictures. Past things often fade away in the dark. I look after them, though. Grindel, one of your matches on that ridiculous dating app, was a ghoul.

“You’re not supposed to be real,” you said. Ghouls were a legend, a myth, a creature that humans and monsters alike referenced in scary stories to discourage rebellious teens from disrespecting the dead. 

“And you wonder why I don’t advertise what I am,” he snorted. “There are monsters that even monsters fear.”

You thought back to his listed occupation status: Feasting on corpses overlooked by the machine. You had thought it was a grunge reference, but he meant it literally. You shakily chuckled. A living myth was in front of you, one who killed grave robbers and could supposedly travel to and fro between the mortal realm and the Underworld.

And you had matched with him 65%. The incredulity of it wasn’t lost on you. 

He blinked, seemingly confused. “What?”

“I’m tired, terrified, and in disbelief at the fact that the cryptid among cryptids took the time to install a dating app.”

He glanced downward. “Tch, All the other ones have emerged. I thought…” He waved his skeletal hand vaguely before he shook his head. Thin, cracked lips frowned. “Ah, what was I thinking? If the others face persecution, the guardians of the dead will only face that much more.”

You grew silent at his morose tone, and a part of you felt sympathetic. You remembered how he thanked you when you told him you would talk to him again. 

“Maybe... but I think if there are people brave enough to get to know you, minds will change.” You paused and added, “Like mine. I... I’d like to get to know you.” 

He surveyed your face in disbelief before his eyes landed on your neck. He slowly reached forward a hand. You gasped, more out of surprise than fear, as you registered his cold hands. His claws, which could most likely rend bloated flesh like a scissor could paper, rested on your skin as softly as a breeze.

“Who did this?” he murmured. His breath smelt of carrion. You tried to ignore it, but your stomach still instinctively curled. 

“What?”

“There’s a bruise here.”

“Oh.” You exhaled. “Just some drunk asshole at work. It bad?” 

“It depends on your definition of bad.”

You cracked a smile. “You’re always so damn cryptic.” 

His sharp teeth winked in the shadows as he returned a roguish grin. “Mysteries are no fun if they are solved right away.” His grin faded and he withdrew. “Still, I apologize for that. You weren’t kidding when you said it was a crappy job.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I told you it’s only temporary.” 

You placed the can back in your pocket and slowly rose to your feet. Your legs briefly wobbled. Grindel reached up to help you stabilize.

“Are you all right?”

You nodded, barking a short laugh. “It’s been a ride. My body’s still trying to catch up.” After texting Frank another reassurance that you were all right, you turned to your newfound companion. “Grindel?” 

“Yes, Y/N?”

“The initial reason I came here was to see the Korbin mausoleum. Could you take me to it?”

“Of course.”

Pictures couldn’t do it justice. The Romanesque carvings were breath-taking, and Grindel showed you a secret passage into the tomb, where you were able to read walls of names and observe countless bas reliefs of the harpy family.

“You like it?”

“I love it. I’ll have to come back with some of my notebooks. I’d love to do research on them. They must have so many stories to tell.”

“You’ll come back?”

The fragile hope in his voice tugged at your heart. Before you realized what you were doing, you knelt down and wrapped your arms around his neck. His skin was still as frigid as you remember, and it was disturbing how you could feel every rib and bump in his spine. However, your sympathy outweighed every other thought when Grindel carefully returned your embrace, hands hovering just above your hoody. If you were still a little frightened, then he was terrified of this fragile tie between the two of you.

You mustered up the courage to turn your head and gently press your lips to his sharp cheekbone. He sharply inhaled. His breath still testified to his unorthodox diet, but you found you could grow used to that, too.

“I promise.”

@thetravelerwrites, @ban23

[skiplo-wave]

Why Not Both of You?

Idea based off @mamin-the-troll fanart. Also fic features oblivious!Newt because that's the best Newt

“ Newt why are we waiting here again? Shouldn’t we be walking around the park like you wanted?”

“ Yes Percy we will but I’m waiting for one more person that’s joining us. Oh there he is! Good morning Gellert!”

Percival almost spat out his choke but instead swallowed the hot liquid. Why in Merlin’s name is that man here!? “ Morning my dear Newt....Perry. I thought it was suppose to be just us. The older men stared at Newt one gave them an innocent look. Was this not a date between us? Newt tilted his head wondering why the two looked at him funny then he remembered why. “ I asked Percy if he wanted to go to the park he said yes. Same day Gellert asked if i wanted to do something not having a enough time to explain I busy he already agreed. But I don’t mind this will be fun with all three of us!”  Percival glared at Grindel while gave him a smug look. 

Both had the same idea  and that was to woo Newt Scamander before the other can.

The two did just that and Newt didn’t even seem aware of their little completion. As they walked hearing Newt talked about one of his creatures he stopped seeing a mother duck and her babies follow her. The young man gasped wishing he could pet them, “ Bugger I didn’t bring any snacks with me.” He said in defeat removing his hands from the coat pockets. Percival got an idea he excused himself heading to a food cart, ducks like pretzels right?  When he returned he saw Newt surround by many ducks quaking at him with joy. “ Percy look! Gellert got them all to follow me! I didn’t even need to make a duck call!.” Grindel gave a smug look sticking his tongue out in victory. Percival cursed the salted bread in his hand just how the hell he do that?

Gellert was enjoying their little outing for two reasons: one being with Newt and two seeing Percival suffer as he get’s closer to Newt . Illegal magic can get you many things Perry learn a thing or two next time “ Mind if I stop by the food cart I forgot to eat breakfast earlier, I can get you something too.” Gellert smiled at the gesture Newt was truly a sweetheart it made him feel warm on the inside. After paying for their little lunch  Percival pointed at a little spot they can sit at a bench meet for two but could also fit three, it had a beautiful view of the  lake in front of them.  Newt of course sat in the middle eating his hot dog talking about some bizarre facts on seahorses that males are the ones that give birth. “ Newt you got some mustard on you face let me fix that.”  Gellert turned his head mouth jaw dropping at what he was witnessing. Percival Graves was licking the yellow sauce off the side of Newt’s face very close to his lips and the bastard was proud of it. Gellert stood up dropping his popcorn shocked by the action. “ Percy I had a napkin but thank you- Gellert why are you standing was there a bug on you? Oh what kind was it by chance!” The white hair man covered his face saying it was nothing to worry about. Damn you Graves that should’ve been me!

 Newt was enjoy his time together with the two wizards they have being very nice with him. They have to do this again sometime maybe next week there’s suppose to be a carnival in town that also has a petting zoo. Drying his hands from the public restroom he stepped out but stopped hearing Percival and Gellert talking to one another. 

“  Give up Perry Newt likes me more you can go home now.”

“ And leave him with someone like you I don’t think so.”

“ Well at least I’m fun so piss off!”

“ Make me you bleached pineapple!”

Newt started laughing at the comment Gellert did look like that due to his hair.  Laughter dying down Newt looked up seeing the two men stare at him in confusion not even bothered they were bickering.  Percival frown for second then took a deep breath grabbing hold of Newt’s hand. “ Sorry for the question but if you had to choose who would you prefer being with, me or Grindel?” Gellert took Newt’s other hand wondering the same thing. Looking at both he bit his lip thinking. He liked being with around them each both having their own charm.  Both.....why not both? Looking up he got a great  an idea of his own.

“ Can I choose both of you? I rather like the last one better.”

Percival and Gellert looked at the smile on Newt’s face green eyes shining at the suggestion. How can any hate and deny someone with a display like that. Taking at glance at one another the two nodded their head in agreement

“ That can work.”

“ I’m fine with that whatever makes you happy.”

“ Great so next weekend there’s a petting zoo! I hope they have baby donkeys. Did yo know that they are related to zebras?”

*the end*

[funkzpiel]

And The Tag Read Simply: ‘Pretty’ - Ch3

Words of comfort and affirmation bubbled to his tongue – He’s caught, we have him. Don’t worry. He’s at MACUSA, he’ll never hurt you again. But one look, and Newt realized that the context of Graves’ question was not ‘please say he’s not here.’ It was 'please say he’s coming home soon.’

“He’s… away,” Newt said lamely, eyes flickering to glance at Graves now that the man felt confident enough to speak with him. Graves was leaning far enough forward now that his shoulders were visible, pale and naked. Newt felt his cheeks begin to burn at the implication, and even more so when he caught sight of the thick leather collar that hung snuggly around Graves’ throat – Grindelwald’s symbol hanging delicately next to a small gold tag that read simply: ‘Pretty’.

FANTASTIC BEASTS KINK MEME FILL Grindelwald is captured, they track down Graves, but instead of finding a locked up and tortured Graves they find Graves naked and in a collar, napping on a soft bed without a hint of recognition in his eyes. Turns out Grindelwald messed with Graves’ mind, removed all his memories and made him believe that he’s Grindelwald’s pet.

Includes: Gellert Grindelwald x Graves, Newt x Graves, Non-Con, Rape, Stockholm Syndrome, Pet Play, Forced Pet Play, Collars, Non-Con Body Modification, Animal Ears, Animal Behaviors/Qualities, Mind!Fuck, Memory Loss/Alteration, Master/Pet, Dubious Consent, Angst, Literally Graves Believes He’s A Dog, I AM TRASH

CHAPTER 3

He managed to move Graves back into the case before he woke – sparing the man the anxiety of waking up inside the cold, sterile walls of the hospital. Instead, he woke inside Newt’s case, currently stored in the Goldstein sisters’ apartment. He woke in Newt’s cozy little shed, nested into a twist of blankets that he had managed to kick up in his sleep, hair mused into all sort of directions, blinking sleepily – making Newt’s heart twist despite itself. He reminded himself for the umpteenth time not to get attached, because this wasn’t Graves, not the real Graves. And it would be a disservice to both himself and to the man they were trying to save to get attached to something temporary.

Newt tried to ignore the confused way that Graves lifted his arms, baffled by the loose dress sleeves that hung from them – the shirt too large on his malnourished frame. While Newt’s shirts shouldn’t have fit on a man as broad as Graves, it did. In fact, they were slightly loose. And thanks to the few inches of height he had on the man, slightly too long in the waist and arms, too. But Graves’ confusion seemed to quickly pass, replaced instead by: this isn’t home.

There was a moment where Newt was afraid the man might panic. He could see the way Graves’ pupils dilated, trying to assess his surroundings and how he got there. His ears were tucked back, and he ever so slightly began to crouch closer to the bed and back into his nest of blankets when his eyes suddenly fell upon Newt and he smiled, ears perked.

“You!” He said cheerfully, wiggling ever so slightly, and Newt tried to turn his sad grimace into a smile for the man.

“Hey there,” he said back.

“You’re not gone!”

Newt let out a soft huff of a chuckle.

“Right-o, still here.”

“Master’s here?”

Newt stuttered for words for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh, afraid not. He’s still away,” and when Graves face fell – Merlin, this was so fucked up – Newt raised his hands to stall his attention, “But I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll keep you company until he’s back.”

The fact that he wouldn’t be coming back would have to be a conversation for another time. Regardless, that did seem to brighten Graves’ mood somewhat. He looked up at the stairs, as if hoping Newt were wrong, before glancing back at him.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Newt repeated with a smile before slapping his hands onto his knees and rising. He approached the bed slowly but confidently, wary of any change in Graves’ body language, and reached to gently brush his fingertips across the man’s brow – brushing hair back while simultaneously checking the man’s temperature. So far, he’d been good about occasionally providing contact to Graves’ body to keep the heat at bay; a gentle cupping of the back of his neck, a soft touch to his brow, a gentle carding through his hair. Beneath his fingers, the man’s skin was still blessedly cool. “I have breakfast ready. Would you like that?”

He tried to ignore the gut deep instinct telling him ‘this is wrong, this is unnatural, humans don’t act this way,’ when Graves chased the comfort of his hand, seeking more pets. He tried instead to think of Graves as he would any living soul he would help, and if this was what the man needed – he’d provide it. He chuckled very lightly, if albeit somewhat uneasily, when Graves purred happily beneath his hand the moment he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Breakfast?” And the curiosity in the man’s tone made Newt’s fingers pause in their stroking.

“Yes, breakfast. You know, food?”

“Food,” Graves said. Then something lit up in his face. “Food today?”

Newt’s stomach twisted, and suddenly he found himself fiercely hoping that one of the Auror’s would snap. That they’d hurt Grindelwald. The man could do with a few less fingers. Or teeth.

“Yes,” he said calmly regardless, his tone soft and calming as he gently urged Graves up with his hands. “Let’s go, off to the table.”

The medics were still not sure how far the damage to Graves’ psyche extended, but Newt couldn’t help but feel a little tug of positivity, knowing that the man seemed to understand his mother tongue well enough despite the devolution of his own ability to communicate back. So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice until he was bringing the bowl of broth to the table – something thin and filling and easy on the stomach for someone as starved as Graves was – that the man in question was not in fact seated in a chair as he should be, but sitting rather patiently on the floor beside the chair at the head of the table. Newt felt a cold chill sweep down his spine.

“M-Mr. Graves?”

And when he didn’t answer, Newt felt his hands trembling, knowing what he’d have to say instead. The tags on Graves’ collar flashed in his mind. He grimaced.

“Pr-,” the name tasted like bile on his tongue, and he grimaced. “Pretty?”

Graves twisted quickly to look at him, ears perked and eyes eager.

“What are you doing?”

Graves blinked, as though trying to make sure himself that he was doing the right thing, before nodding to himself once and saying, “Being good.”

Being good.

Newt swallowed, the desire to vomit suddenly high in his throat.

“I-I can see that,” he stammered as he approached the table and gently set down the soup before his angry trembling split it everywhere. Both hands braced on the table, he took a breath and forced calmness into his voice. “Did Grindel– did your Master teach you that?”

“Yes,” Graves said with the determined confidence of a child repeating something they learned at school.

“I see… It’s a rule of his, is it?” Newt asked. And when Graves tilted his head, overly large ears quirked, Newt felt a little of his anger melt away. He cast a small spell over the bowl to keep it warm and said, “You don’t have to do that when you’re with me, Graves.”

Something indistinct flickered in Graves’ eyes, gone before Newt could so much as focus on it. The poor man scowled, confused.

“I don’t understand.”

“You can sit on the chair when you’re with me.”

Graves’ eyes widened and he flinched, his body suddenly leaning away from Newt without actually moving from his spot on the floor.

“No,” he whimpered, trembling ever so slightly.

“No?” Newt asked, concerned, and slowly bent down to crouch at Graves’ level, the chair between them.

“You’re tea– test–,” he stumbled for the word, brows drawn tight in earnest concentration. The longer it took to grasp the word, the more frustrated he appeared to grow – an expression beyond that of an eager puppy slowly evolving on his face. Newt found himself leaning forward, hoping. Hoping. “Tr– Tricking me.”

“Tricking you,” Newt said slowly, trying not to let his disappointment show as that little flicker of something higher began to fade away, lost beneath the earnest brown eyes of Grindelwald’s compulsion once more. “No, I wouldn’t do that. I’m… I’m a bit of a softy, I suppose you could say. I don’t have so many rules. If you want to sit at the table, I won’t tell if you won’t. It can be our secret.”

But Graves shook his head resolutely, his eyes slowly creasing at the corners as if in pain. Newt paused.

“Are you okay?”

Graves flinched and rubbed at his eyes. He nodded, no doubt in Newt’s mind because someone had likely told him that ‘good boys don’t feel pain’. Newt tried to ignore the way the man jumped when he slid his fingers consolingly back into his hair, brushing gently past the ears, before finally cupping the back of his neck.

“It’s okay,” Newt said even though, no, it was most certainly not okay – and once they got what they needed from Grindelwald, he’d be visiting the man himself for sure. “It’s okay. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. We can try again another day.”

Graves nodded, but didn’t look up again – eyes trained on the floor as Newt pushed the seat between them away, grabbed the bowl from the table and joined him on the floor. When he had finally settled down beside Graves, he looked up to see wide brown eyes staring at him, shocked.

“What’s wrong?” Newt asked.

“Y-you’re… you…”

And then, adorably, Graves tilted his head and keened; ears back, confused, unsure of where to go that would be below Newt.

“It’s alright,” Newt said pleasantly as he dipped one finger into the broth to check its temperature. “You’re okay. I just want to sit with you is all. You’re good.”

Graves looked at him for direction, and Newt felt his fingers tighten around the bowl.

“I’m good?”

“Yes,” he said, although it made his insides hollow to meet Graves within the limitations of a madman’s whims or limitations. “Yes, very good.”

He handed the bowl to Graves, then. And when the man took it, placed it on the floor and finally contorted his body so that he might bend down to drink from it like a dog, Newt bit his lip – hard – and said nothing. It would be a lesson for another day, for when Grindelwald’s “rules” had lessened and blurred within Graves’ mind. When his fear was not so tightly wound within the madman’s design.

Even so, he had to avert his gaze and dig his thumb and forefinger into his eyes to keep the burning from evolving into tears. He desperately wished to plug his ears, lest he continue to hear the gentle lapping of a man drinking soup from a bowl with nothing but the small curve of his own tongue. The sound of the spoon clinking around the edges of the bowl as it was pushed around uselessly by Graves’ face made Newt flinch.

Merlin, what had Grindelwald done to him?

And just when Newt thought it couldn’t get worse, Graves must have finished. Because then, he gently moved the bowl aside to scan the floor – for what, Newt couldn’t tell – until suddenly, the man leaned down and licked a tiny puddle from the floor. Immediately Newt leapt forward, hands out and reaching for Graves. And Graves flinched, eyes wide, the moment Newt seized him by his shoulders. He ducked his chin, tucked his ears back, averted his gaze and whined.

“Don’t,” Newt said, brushing soup-wet bangs back from Graves’ forehead, urging him to look him in the eyes – dipping this way and that until he caught the man’s gaze. “I can make you more, if you’re still hungry! You don’t have to do that.”

“Not hungry…” Graves said.

“What…? Then why?”

“I’ll clean it up,” he said, finally, and Newt’s eyes widened. He imagined Grindelwald forcing Graves’ face to the floor – one large hand wound tight in his hair and a cruel sneer on his lips as he waited for the confused man to lick up his mess. Rage flooded him.

“You don’t need to do that,” Newt said fiercely, staring straight into Graves’ eyes. “Not with me. I spill things all the time, don’t worry. You’re not bad. It was an accident. We can clean it up, just… please. Don’t do that. Not for me.”

“But…” He trailed off, eyes on the tiny splashes that had ended up on the floor – still untouched. And before Graves could so much as lean forward to try and finish what he started, Newt waved his hand and rushed out a soft “Scourgify” beneath his breath. Instantly, the tiny mess disappeared.

“See?” He said with a relieved huff, gesturing to the clean floor, “All better. No need to handle it yourself.”

He was afraid that when he looked back at Graves, he’d see the same terrified expression he had received every time he had contradicted one of Grindelwald’s “teachings”. Instead, all he found was wide-eyed wonderment as Graves reached out with long, trembling fingers to touch the floor – finger tips just barely peeking out of too long sleeves.

“How?”

“Magic,” Newt said softly, watching Graves carefully. After a moment of thought, he plucked the spoon from the bowl and held it in the middle of his hand before Graves, “Like this.”

And with another softly muttered spell, he ran a hand over the spoon and willed it into another shape. Before their very eyes, the metal folded in on itself until it no longer resembled a spoon at all, but rather a stem-less flower. Newt wasn’t extremely skilled with wandless magic, but this was something he had practiced many times – transforming mundane things into shiny, more interesting forms. Mostly to occupy his Niffler.

Gently, he deposited the little flower into Graves’ hand and watched as he twisted it around in his hands gently, as though afraid to break it. And then, there it was again – a flash of something in Graves’ eyes. Newt might even call it recognition. It was gone just as quick as before with a soft wince, but he had seen it this time for sure. Newt smiled.

“Did your Master never do things like this?” Newt asked.

Graves shook his head, eyes still stuck on the flower.

Newt felt something like triumph building in his chest; small now, but slowly growing. Grindelwald didn’t use magic in front of Graves. A man obsessed with revealing the existence of magic to the world didn’t use it in front of Graves. Surely, there was a reason – and Newt had inkling why.

He tucked that observation away for now, though, and instead rose to his feet and held out a hand to the man on the floor in front of him.

“Come with me,” he said, “There’s something else I’d like to show you. And I wouldn’t mind a little help either, if you’re up to it.”

If magic was what it took to spark recognition in Graves’ eyes, then by Merlin, Newt was going to show him everything magical he could think of – starting with his beasts.

a/n - got a suggestion on what you want to see? Send me a note. I can’t guarantee I’ll include it, but I love suggestions.