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ravens-ink:

I really hate how Theseus Scamander is portrayed in most of the fics I’ve read. Like, ok, we’ve got not to nothing on him, artistic license all the way, but the majority of people tend to do this specific type of way overprotective older sibling, “how dare you show interest in my innocent little brother, you pervert” Theseus.

and that is the quickest way for me to go NOPE, and I think I’ve finally pinned down why.

When Theseus is portrayed like this, it infantilizes Newt. It robs him of his agency in romantic matters (I see this portrayal of Theseus and Newt most often in Gramander ship fics, for some reason???) I mean, for fuck’s sake. Newt is a grown ass man, he’s been through a war, and travelled around the world, probably twice. He’s capable of making his own decisions without input or interference from his sibling.

So why does this trope pop up so much? Is it because it’s funny? I don’t think it’s very funny at all. Newt is an autistic-coded character—and I am saying this as an autistic person myself—it’s frankly obvious from the avoidance of eye contact to the difficulties with social interaction; hell, you could make an argument that magizoology is a special interest. And through the movie he’s portrayed as nothing less than a hero. Do you have any idea how rare that is? That an autistic character is treated like an adult in their canon material, let alone as a protagonist people root for?

Irl me and the people like me have already had issues with neurotypicals treating autistic adults like young children. And it infuriates me that once we get a character that ISN’T treated like that, the fandom turns right around and does the. Same. Exact. Thing.

Td;rl: overprotective Theseus fic trope is gross and ableist, and I really wish the fandom would think about these things.
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thegaypumpingthroughyourveins:

newt scamander || ❛My philosophy is worrying means you suffer twice.❜
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@lectorel @stylishbutdefinitelyillegal

There is very little left now.

Percival Graves has been rescued from torture and imprisonment at the hands of Gellert Grindelwald. And despite all claims to the contrary, the Director of Magical Law Enforcement is most decidedly not okay.

After.

After painfearagonyhumiliationpaindon’ttouchmepainbetrayalpainithurtithurtsitHURTS, Percival Graves is – empty. That’s the best description of his current state of being. He goes to work. He does his paperwork. He leads his aurors, stance firm and unfailing as he drags the scum of the Wizarding World to justice. I am fine. Director Graves tells himself, tells the world with every decisive footstep, every barked order. I am fine.

It is his mantra, and he mutters it with all the conviction of a convert hoping, desperately, that if he repeats it enough it might come true.

Percival Graves is not fine.

He comes home in the evenings, and just – stops.

Sometimes he manages to make himself a cup of tea. More often he doesn’t, and simply – sits. Stares into the distance, mind numb and hollow as memory drags him down like a rip current.  He sleeps very little. He only eats when prompted. He just – stops.

Sometimes Graves is vaguely concerned that no one’s noticed his slow decay, his subtle decline. But – it makes sense, doesn’t it? They didn’t notice when he was replaced by a genocidal psychopath. They didn’t notice when Grindelwald wore his face like a cheap suit. Why should they notice his breaking?

Percival Graves sits in an empty house in a darkened room and breathes.

There is very little left now.

He isn’t even curious when there’s a knock at his door. Or at the muffled curses that echo through unlit hallways as footsteps shuffle forward. He is indifferent to the tall body that blunders into his sitting room, or the sharp inhale as unfamiliar eyes land on his still form.

There is a hand beneath his chin, tilting his head upwards and Graves vaguely recognizes the individual in front of him. He’d arrested them once, hadn’t he? The memory is vague and unimportant, but it’s vaguely more interesting then the figure in front of him carefully calling him by name. Yes – a know associate of the Dark Lord (the other Dark Lord, the one who didn’t like humans very much). Graves had ended up releasing them; they’d committed no crime on American soil, and, technically, committed no acts of Black Magic (for all that their aura screamed with the cold of the Dark).

Graves notes their identity absently before letting his mind lapse back into perfect blankness.

There is an arm wrapping around his back, beneath his shoulders, and a sharp curse as he’s levered upright; Graves follows passively as the other magic-user urges them forward. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, not the squeeze of apparition as they clear the threshold, not the sick lurch in his stomach as they rematerialize beneath an undimmed canopy of stars –

There is a fire, and there are dark figures discernible only by the shape of their shadows lingering around the blaze. Heads turn as he is urged forward with a surprising gentleness – again, Graves follows. What else is he to do?

And there is a dark, dark figure sitting to one side of the burning logs.

The magic-user who is half-carrying him sinks to their knees, and Graves is forced to follow. He watches, vaguely curious, as they bow their head. And then – their voice is a whisper, a scream, a memory –

“My lord. Please. Have mercy.”

And this is the Dark Lord, this is the other Dark Lord, the one that Graves sank years of his life into finding, into hunting, into tracking without ever so much as glimpsing the man’s shadow, and faint curiosity strengthens into the first real emotion he’s felt in months as he raises his head and stares head-on at the seated figure.

(Later on, there will be tears and recriminations and explanations, there will be Newt practically diving off the log he was sitting on as he stumbles to Percival’s side, desperately trying to find out where the other man is hurt – he’d thought that the Director was bleeding out, that he’d been horribly maimed, that something was terribly, terribly wrong. There will be Newt sheepishly confessing how even though he’d never so much as touched black magic everyone still insisted on calling him a Dark Lord, there will be a rusty laugh bellowing from Percival’s throat because only you, Scamander, only you…)

There is a Dark Lord, they say. A Dark Lord who is terribly in his mercy, implacable in his fury. A Dark Lord, who has taken a consort, who has bound the man’s shadow and supped wisdom from his sighs.
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firebyfire:

natecchi:

thegaypumpingthroughyourveins:

what if during that scene in the subway Newt had seen immediately that he wouldn’t be able to beat Graves with magic? what if Newt went, “Fuck that, i’ve handled animals bigger and meaner than you,” and rugby tackled Graves to the floor before punching the living daylights out of him while Credence looked on in bewilderment ?

ohmygod this is precious

@firebyfire

“Mister Scamander, mister Scamander! Daily Prophet with a question! What was the spell you used to knock down Grindelwald?”

“Um… you see…”

“Was is illegal? Mister Scamander, public wants to know how their hero saved them!”

“I– What? No, of course not, I just…”

“You just what? Mister Scamander, no need to be so modest! We at Daily Prophet just want to know the truth!”

“…. I pushed him down like when wrestling a nundu and punched him a few times?”

“…”
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… YES. (Combining two of my favourite things, how could I say no.)

How about:

a) Newt is one of the wood elves, who have an affinity for nature anyway (and he hangs out with Radagast a lot), whereas Graves is one of the ‘high elves’, perhaps from Rivendell, who stumbles over Newt while on an errand for Elrond, delivering some kind of message to Thranduil. He probably gets attacked by the spiders, defends himeslf and then Newt swoops in and is all like ‘no no they’re harmless’.

b) Newt as some kind of high-born elf and Graves as his very long-suffering assigned guard. Trying to stop Newt from getting himself killed accidentally is a full time job.

“No, Newt, going to Erebor to poke around and wake the dragon is not a good idea.”

“Could you please not fly away on an eagle every time you think I’m getting overbearing, I’m supposed to be keeping you alive.”

“Yes, the watcher in the water seems to be some kind of creature, no, we can’t go and have a look. It eats people, Newt.”
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… YES. (Combining two of my favourite things, how could I say no.)

How about:

a) Newt is one of the wood elves, who have an affinity for nature anyway (and he hangs out with Radagast a lot), whereas Graves is one of the ‘high elves’, perhaps from Rivendell, who stumbles over Newt while on an errand for Elrond, delivering some kind of message to Thranduil. He probably gets attacked by the spiders, defends himeslf and then Newt swoops in and is all like ‘no no they’re harmless’.

b) Newt as some kind of high-born elf and Graves as his very long-suffering assigned guard. Trying to stop Newt from getting himself killed accidentally is a full time job.

“No, Newt, going to Erebor to poke around and wake the dragon is not a good idea.”

“Could you please not fly away on an eagle every time you think I’m getting overbearing, I’m supposed to be keeping you alive.”

“Yes, the watcher in the water seems to be some kind of creature, no, we can’t go and have a look. It eats people, Newt.”
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… YES. (Combining two of my favourite things, how could I say no.)

How about:

a) Newt is one of the wood elves, who have an affinity for nature anyway (and he hangs out with Radagast a lot), whereas Graves is one of the ‘high elves’, perhaps from Rivendell, who stumbles over Newt while on an errand for Elrond, delivering some kind of message to Thranduil. He probably gets attacked by the spiders, defends himeslf and then Newt swoops in and is all like ‘no no they’re harmless’.

b) Newt as some kind of high-born elf and Graves as his very long-suffering assigned guard. Trying to stop Newt from getting himself killed accidentally is a full time job.

“No, Newt, going to Erebor to poke around and wake the dragon is not a good idea.”

“Could you please not fly away on an eagle every time you think I’m getting overbearing, I’m supposed to be keeping you alive.”

“Yes, the watcher in the water seems to be some kind of creature, no, we can’t go and have a look. It eats people, Newt.”
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LMFAO OKAY I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA GET STALLED ON THIS BECAUSE OF SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT BUT I ~FOUND A WAY~

||

Newt claims curiosity as his reason. He wants to know how different Grindelwald and Graves really were. He has this impression of a man with poise and power, a gentle sort of gravity – but that was all Grindelwald, wasn’t it? Who knows how long that wizard had been undercover! Surely Grindelwald had been an excellent actor! But Newt doesn’t know for certain, and so he goes to see for himself.

Tina does warn him that there might be some unexpected differences. “We simply thought he’d taken certain meetings to heart,” she hedges without really explaining. “Just… whatever he says, don’t take it personally, alright?”

Newt begins to fear a nasty temper made worse by prolonged captivity and torture. He braces himself for scathing words, a scowl – for dark brows above dark eyes that wish only to see Newt reduced beneath the heel of his boot.

“Tina,” Graves starts off with his tone wicking toward warm amusement, “I knew you weren’t really all that angry with me.”

Tina sighs heavily. “Mr. Graves, this is Newt Scamander. He’s one of the wizards who helped with your rescue.”

“I know who he is,” Graves says. Newt is rather alarmed to see Graves smirk in his direction so lasciviously, especially for a man who’s bedridden at the moment. Graves doesn’t seem to think bedridden is anything more than a challenge, however, because he pats the side of his bed invitingly. “As if I would forget the gorgeous man who so obviously stood out among my aurors.”

Newt almost goes to sit where Graves wanted him, caught up in his own fascination with a personality difference so bizarre, but Tina yanks him back to her side. Newt is still staring at Graves’ face, so he doesn’t miss the way Graves pouts exaggeratedly at her.

“You’re ruining my fun, darling,” Graves scolds her lightly. “How ever is Mr. Scamander supposed to know how grateful I am if I can’t thank him appropriately?”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Tina replies, “but the last time you thanked someone appropriately, you nearly started an international incident with the Australian Prime Minister and the whole department had to take sexual harassment classes for a month.”

Graves doesn’t even look the slightest bit ashamed. He has eyes only for Newt. “Well, how was I supposed to know that he didn’t like tongue?” he says, licking over his top lip as if to invite Newt to investigate his meaning. “That kind of thing really should be in the dossier beforehand. Don’t you agree, Mr. Scamander?”

“I find your tongue rather interesting myself,” Newt says breathlessly before he can stop himself. Graves’ face splits into a grin, and Tina huffs in frustration before she starts pulling Newt out of the hospital room. “Oh, oh wait– Tina–”

Tina is relentless. “We’re leaving!”

Graves laughs. “Next time then, Mr. Scamander!” he calls out, wiggling his fingers at Newt as he’s pulled through the door.

“There won’t be a next time!” Tina shouts back.
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thegreencarousel:

I kept reading fanfics about Newt fighting in the dragon corps during WWI and also Theseus so killing two birds with one stone here is Newt in his dragon corps outfit and my take on a Theseus design so to speak. And an up close shot so you may appreciate the freckles on their widdle faces:D 

Newt does not look happy because I can see him objecting to the use of dragons in warfare but having no choice anyway because at least he tries to form an understanding with them instead of using brute force to control them. 
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firstly - i’m terribly sorry - i’m on queue most of the time. so i had to go through my dash trying to find the pic you were referring to. it’s this one right??

but oh gosh. can you IMAGINE? I LOVE IT? it also fits into an alternate verse i yelled a lot about earlier on but didn’t end up writing. i never quite decided if percival would also be mafia, or if he’d be part of the coppers tryin’ to catch newt, because it’s YUM either way. but that’s not the main point.

the main point is newt - cute innocent newt, with his wide eyes and shy tilt of a smile, is a mafia don only known on the street as ‘The Englishman’, because no one knows what he looks like, only that he’s got a posh english accent and he’s terrifyingly ruthless in regards to people who encroach on his territory.

there’s rumours across the channel that The Englishman first base of operations was there - in nice olde london town. and over there, no matter how dirty the witch or wizard was, they all knew not to do two things:

1. no trafficking of magical creatures

2. no involving innocent bystanders

that tough as nails bunch of ex-cons from azkaban? a gibbering mess within a week when they dared to capture a unicorn to trade its blood and hair and bone.

the hard ass street gang who’s granddaddies were running london back in the day? the moment they killed a civilian who was just in their line of fire, they’re destroyed - all their hideouts razed to the ground, each of them hexed to kingdom come that one night when The Englishman sweeps through, as unseen as a demiguise, as deadly as basilisk venom.

Keep reading
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This is actually something I’ve been pondering over, at length. But I think someone over on the prompt meme said it best - I can’t give you an exact source, I’m afraid, and I’m paraphrasing.

JK Rowling gave us a character named Wolfy Wolf, who could turn into a wolf. She also gave us a character literally named Black Dog, who could turn into - wait for it - a black dog. Now, she has given us a character named Amphibian Amphibian.

Any guesses what Newt can turn into?

My personal theory is that it’s some kind of amphibious dragon - perhaps more along the lines of a ‘traditional’ Chinese dragon, as opposed to the Western-style one.
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And Dumbledore finds himself pregnant. Understanding how badly society might react to him being an unwed father (I headcanon that the Wizarding community is much more liberal in its attitudes toward the LGBTQ community and doesn’t care asbout gender really) and afraid of what Gellert might do (accepting now what he is capable of), Albus breaks his heart once again and resolves to give the baby up. Cue the birth of Theseus and Newt (I headcanon that they are twins)

Heartbroken, but believing it to be necessary, (and we all know what Dumbledore is capable of if he believes it is necessary), he gives them up to one of his cousins and her husband who were unable to conceive. Thus they grow up none the wiser as Newt and Theseus Scamander with Dumbledore watching over them from afar. Cue the events of the movie and through circumstances that I can’t quite figure out, Grindelgraves figures this out during the subway battle. And thus Newt is abducted

Theseus is subsequently abducted as well (you can’t tell me that Grindelwald doesn’t have his plants in the British Ministry) and both brothers stashed in Nurmengard which is where the real Graves is also being held. Cue bonding between the brothers and Graves with Theseus introducing the two (as he and Graves write to each other in canon). Meanwhile Albus is out of his mind with worry when a familiar (dreaded) owl shows up. Grindelwald is not happy. At all.

He was content to let Albus hide away at Hogwarts until Grindelwald had established his new world order (and Albus had no choice but to accept him again). But now? Now, Grindelwald has issued an ultimatum. He wants to see their sons again? He surrenders himself to Grindelwald. Meanwhile, the Scamander brothers and Graves are planning their breakout with Newt and Graves slowly but surely falling in love. And on the outside, the Goldstein sisters and Jacob are planning their own rescue.

I am also planning an OT3 for this as I am partial to Newt/Graves/Tina as well as Gramander, Tina/Newt, and Tina/Graves.

First of all, I’m sorry it took me so long to reply to this! A combination of the internet cutting out at my house and a few nights when I simply collapsed when I got home kind of cut off my inspiration and willingness to write; I finally feel recovered enough to give this lovely prompt the attention that it deserves! Actually, it looks rather familiar – I think I saw something like this over at the prompt meme.

Honestly, I’m enjoying this scenario immensely. It has – everything that I like, and then some – forbidden romance! Long-lost children! Unknowing parents! Moral flexibility! And I too love the idea that Newt and Theseus are twins; it opens up any number of intriguing possibilities and fantastic scenarios. Do you think they would finish each others’ sentences? I think that they would, and sometimes switch identities and pretend to be one another – for fun, or to avoid a meeting that they’d rather not attend, or something similar.

And Grindlewald. How could Grindlewald find out? I think – Newt, possibly. If it’s the subway battle – Newt is on his knees, screaming in pain, staring up at Grindlewald through large, pain- and fear-filled eyes – his eyes. Blue. Blue-green eyes beneath a fringe of auburn hair. Those damn eyes – Grindlewald has seen those eyes before. He has seen that expression on that face before, he saw it that day – that last day. That last day, when he faced down three Dumbledores, and one of them died. She died, and he saw the heartbreak on the one face he loved more then anything else in the world, he saw the fear and, he saw the revulsion on the face of the other, and –

He knows that expression.

He knows those eyes.

And this youth – Newton Scamander – is obviously close kin to the Dumbledores. Either Albus’ son (impossible, Grindlewald thinks, impossible, he would know - ) or, more likely, Aberforth’s. And either way – either way, if this is Albus’ nephew, this is leverage. Perhaps the best leverage in the entire damn world – this is the one thing, the one thing that can bring Albus Dumbledore of the multiple middle names to the bargaining table. The one thing that can make him kneel. (And, quietly, perhaps Grindlewald refuses to let it happen again. The last time a Dumbledore died (was it at his hand? Was it? They’ll never know) it broke Albus. He can’t let that happen again).

So Grindlewald kidnaps Newt, and takes him back to Numengard. A few drops of Veritaserum, and Newt muzzily confesses that yes, he knew he and his twin were adopted, but no, he doesn’t know who their birth parents are – the Scamanders are their real parents, and anyway, they blood-adopted them. It isn’t good enough for Grindlewald, it isn’t good enough – he needs to know. Because Newt is probably Aberforth’s but if he isn’t, if he isn’t – then he needs to know the fucking name of the bastard (or bitch) that Albus spawned with. Er. Purely to use as future leverage, and not because he’s jealous or anything

Grindlewald, at this time period, probably has more access to Dark Lore and Artifacts then anyone else in the world. It’s probably child’s play to find one that can give him the names he’s looking for – Newt’s hand, held above a cauldron, a few drops of blood, and he has it. He has the names of Newt’s blood-kin.

Theseus Scamander shows up first – Newt’s brother, and the current head of the British DMLE. And then, his parents.

Albus Dumbledore. And Gellert Grindlewald.

And Grindlewald feels a hot surge of violent possession and vicious triumph swell in his chest as he looks as the dazed, confused face of the youth who is his son. His.

Theseus is next – Grindlewald probably broke into the Ministry of Magic for fun, and even a war hero like the older Scamander can be taken by surprise. There’s really only one room in the fortress set up for long-term use – the spartan, but habitable chambers where one Percival Graves is also currently being kept.

Graves is probably totally confused when his captor drags two almost-identical men in. He recognizes the eldest – that’s Theseus Scamander, his British counterpart, and the younger one is his – brother? They’re definitely blood kin. Is Grindlewald going to try the same ruse he’s currently pulling in America in England now? He doesn’t know –

And then he does, because Grindlewald unceremoniously ennervates the two men, slams them in a full body-bind, and tells them exactly what is going on. That he’s their blood-father. That Albus Dumbledore in their other parent. That they are his sons – and there is far too much glee in his triumphant smirk. He’s just going to get their other parent now, and they are going to stay here until he does…

This is, perhaps, Gellert Grindlewald’s greatest mistake.

Because Newt – Newt has everything he really, truly loves on the line right now. His brother. His case (Grindlewald promptly shoved all three of them inside, locked it from the outside, and stashed it beneath a table. It’ll keep his youngest happy, and it’s really a very effective way of storing his three most precious captives as well as keeping numerous potentially useful beasts alive). And – as Newt gets to know Graves, the real Percival Graves – someone he cares for romantically. He’s scared and confused and disgusted that that man is somehow related to him, but – but he has everything he really, truly cares about with him. And he will not let this Dark Lord hurt them.

…I have the mental image of Graves and Theseus putting Newt through an abbreviated version of Auror Boot Camp, and Graves is – relatively surprised at how little they really need to teach Newt. Newt’s always had the knowledge (being related to Theseus, who probably ensured that his little brother could take care of himself) and his experience interacting with and saving magical creatures probably helped hone them – he just lacks a reason to really apply those skills. Well, he does now.
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After reading your recent post about vampire!Newt, I was struck with the sudden image of werewolf!Graves. Of werewolf!Graves AND vampire!Newt. Imagine how that meeting would go differently if Graves was a werewolf. Graves has been a werewolf for – well, years now. He doesn’t count anymore (but that’s a lie. He knows the exact date and time fangs sank through his skin, lycanthropy flowing through his veins to tangle, almost lovingly, with his soul). 

It could have happened any number of ways – an arrest gone wrong, an accident as a child, a deliberate, revenge-driven attack as an adult – but however it happened, the result was the same. Graves has lived his life with discipline and self-control as his watchwords. He leads his aurors – his people, HIS – into and through the darker side of the human soul, and he does not flinch at silver and moonlight.

I am Percival Graves, and I am not a werewolf – that is his mantra, each morning, as he stares into the mirror. I am NOT a werewolf – it is his truth, it is the truth the world knows, and he will MAKE it be so. 

But then there is Newt. Newt, who is proud and cold and cruel, and so unashamedly, unreservedly, not human. Newt, who doesn’t hide what he is but almost seems to glory in it. Graves has been /alone/ for such a long time. Wolves are social creatures, and for all that he cares for his aurors, they are not like him. They are not pack. But Newt… Graves stares at him, and some small, secret part of his soul that he has never let himself acknowledge is envious.

Dark calls to Dark, and Newt smiles at him, slow and knowing, and the same secret, barred-off part of Graves’ soul /aches/ with want. The need to bare his throat to a superior predator, the desire to give in, submit – he wouldn’t be alone anymore. He wouldn’t have to hide. He’d have the moon, and someone who would tell him that he was /perfect/ just the way he is. Someone to stand by him, someone who could see and accept all that he is… Graves /wants/ and hates himself for wanting. 

*eternal screaming into the abyss*

LOOK AT THE GLORIOUSNESS

IT HAS DARK NEWT AND CREATURE GRAVES AND VAMPIRES IT’S LIKE YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT TO WRITE TO CHEER ME UP

AKSDLKJ LOVE
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aethelar:

thegaypumpingthroughyourveins:

@aethelar wrote a fanfic based on some of my small tags and i haven’t stopped screaming bye 

Comment fic in reply format: because sometime grammar only slows things down and these things just need to be typed :D
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right /there/ in front of him, and Newt can’t hold back -he just lunges.

Newt as a vampire. Newt as a vampire. That is indeed a very interesting thought.

It would happen… Where would it happen? Newt wasn’t born this way, he was turned for sure, but where? In St Petersburg, in the shadow of the Church of the Spilled Blood? The river runs close to the church, and the last time Newt saw that river through human eyes was in March when it was iced over and hidden under a dusting of snow. By the time he emerges, dazed, blinking, aching through every inch of his body, the ice has melted and the river runs freely. It’s been - what, five days? Five days. Summer comes quickly to Russia, but Newt’s last memories as a human were of the final threads of winter’s grip.

Or perhaps in China? The crowded streets of Macau, the busy press of people and sellers and shoppers - through the back of a medicine shop, down a narrow alley lined with dragons carved into the walls, out into a market where pixiu pups lean their paws against wire cages and howl at passers by, chained xiezhi are sold as guards for the wealthiest of patrons, bifangs perch on metal stakes and peck listlessly at the flames below.

It’s easy for a foreigner to disappear from the streets here, and easier when he won’t stop asking questions and working his way into places where he doesn’t belong. He remembers the fear of being surrounded, the patronising head shake when he takes out his wand, the grave-cold hand that clamped around his neck -

Ghana, maybe? The sun is strong in Ghana, too strong surely for a vampire to survive, but the forests are thick and deep and, yes, home to a type of vampire. They call it the asasabonsam, a creature with hooked iron claws in place of its feet. It hangs from the trees and falls on unsuspecting prey passing beneath; Newt was searching for anansi spiders and he dodged the first claw but the second sank into the meat of his shoulder and the curved iron hooked around his collar bone. His wand tumbled from blood-slicked fingers and the lumos at the tip stuttered and died.

Well. Maybe not Ghana; the vampire Newt becomes doesn’t have iron claws in place of his feet. I’m not entirely sure if asasabonsams even turn their victims, truth be told. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? Newt’s a vampire now, fine. He needs a fix of blood every now and then - he’s not going to squeamish about it. He has places to go, creatures to meet, and if some of them shy away from him, that’s part of life. There are others that crowd close, winding around his legs and sheltering under the curve of the bat-like wings he sometimes sports.

It’s a very different menagerie that Newt brings with him to New York, hidden away in his impossible suitcase. Not completely different - Frank’s still there. Thunderbirds are powerful things, he won’t be deterred by the cold taint of darkness that flows from Newt’s shadow. And Pickett, Pickett stays; bowtruckles are well versed in carnivorous trees so he’ll hardly be fazed by a bit of blood. Besides, every plant understands the value of good fertilizer. But Susie the little feathered occamy hatching from her silver egg; she’ll be gone. Dougal, too, with a world of possibilities swirling in his eyes.

In their place, lethifolds ripple over the workshop floor, flowing up to drape themselves over Newt’s shoulders like a living cloak. Serpentine aspids coil at his feet, beaks dripping with lethal poison; huge dog-like pesanta wag their tails and rest their hole-ridden steel paws on his shoulders. Newt doesn’t sleep, so the Nachtalbs can’t feed off his nightmares - but they trail behind him anyway and huddle in his shadow for the cold and darkness it brings.

A different menagerie, perhaps, and when they creep and sneak and slide through the gaps and crevasses of New York they leave more behind them than plundered jewellery shops and escaped zoo animals.

But this is the same: Newt is taken for questioning. Tina doesn’t stand behind him, and Jacob isn’t left in the cell to await obliviation; this Newt ran the nights and not the days, and he never gained a group of hangers-on who would become his friends. There are no executors waiting by the door and Grindelwald doesn’t sit opposite him, wearing Graves’ face and twisting it with his hatred; it’s Graves, in this universe, and his face is bored and blankly dismissive.

It’s the dismissal, Newt thinks, that does it. He’s been brought here, abandoned in an auror holding cell for who knows how many hours while his creatures wreak havoc across the city, and he’s had the manners not to flit away through cracks in the stone and the gaps between the bars. The patience to wait, to not tear this shiny building down stone by polished stone - the man, Percival Graves (and in Newt’s mind he sneers the syllables with dismissal), he has Newt’s case. He has Newt’s creatures. So fine, Newt will play nice, keep his wings pressed tight against the bones of his spine and keep his teeth sheathed in his gums. He can pretend to be human and pretend to be weak if it will get them back. But to be dismissed? Few would dare, not to him.

“Are you aware how many laws you’ve broken by smuggling that case in?” Graves asks, flipping idly through a stack of papers.

Newt pauses in the doorway, tilting his head as though in thought. “It doesn’t bother me,” he finally says, and resumes his languid walk across the room. The metal door swings shut behind him with the inaudible click of spells locking into place. Newt ignores it; the door won’t hold him, and this close he can smell the tense wary what is he not human keep up your guard radiating off Graves. Not that the auror shows it; his hands are rock steady, the pulse beating in his throat slow and even.

He is, objectively, attractive. Magic coils beneath his skin and the taste of it is electric on the air, and that is attractive too. It’s been too long since Newt last fed, and longer still since he’s enjoyed it.

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rootingformephistopheles:

Percy is helping Newt contain some creature that spits fireballs, and one catches his shirt on fire and in his haste to not be on fire he just rips the shirt off entirely.

so Newt and the handful of other aurors there all see the scars. Truthfully, about half of them were obtained while working in the field, but the other half…

Well, the other aurors don’t instantly notice the distinctive bite mark on his side despite their all staring at him like he’s going to be the new exhibit in Newt’s menagerie, or if they do they aren’t well-versed enough in magical creatures to spot a werewolf bite a mile away like Newt can. Percy sees Newt’s eyes widen in recognition and something that looks disgustingly like pity, but maybe he looked away too quickly to be sure, before Percy pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation and about makes the junior auror standing next to him piss himself when he yells at him to ‘STOP STARING AND HELP MR. SCAMANDER YOU IMBECILE!’ 

Newt looks like he more or less has the beast in hand at this point so Percy apparates back to his office in search of a replacement shirt. Alas there’s nothing to be done for the coat. And it was his favorite, too.  

About an hour later Newt pokes his head guiltily around Percy’s door, probably hoping that Percy would’ve gone home so Newt won’t have to give his report until tomorrow. The satisfaction Percy gets at this not being the case is minimal compared to the dread at what Newt now knows.

Newt slinks into one of the chairs opposite Percy’s desk, and a wave of Percy’s hand closes and locks the door behind him. If they really have to have this conversation, he’s not going to let just anyone walk in on them. Newt’s discomfort at being trapped shows in the increase of his fidgeting and the way his eyes won’t meet Percy’s for even a second. This does not inspire sympathy. 

‘Out with it, then.’

‘S-sorry?’ 

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