Prompt Post #1

[fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme]

 ROUND 1

FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER

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Fill: Would You Stay 2c/?

[(Anonymous)]

For that, he received a rude noise in return from Pickett, who looked rather put off by Graves’ comment. Somehow, Graves wasn’t all that concerned about hurting the feelings of a Bowtruckle, but he didn’t press the matter. If the creature wanted to stay close and watch over its owner- owner, not mummy- then Graves wouldn’t be the one to stop it. No point in making the effort.

Though he did have one thing in common with the Bowtruckle right now- that infuriating feeling of helplessness. He was out of his league here, and it was a feeling that he couldn’t stand. He wanted to be angry at Newt- after all, what wizard in their right mind would take on a group of traffickers, free a wounded, traumatized manticore, and then try to administer first aid?

But honestly, he wasn’t surprised. He’d heard much about who Newt Scamander was and what he’d done, and this was the furthest thing from out of character for him. This was what he did with his whole life- get into bad situations in the hopes of saving a creature that no one else in their right mind would go near.

It was admirable, even in its insanity. Admirable unless you considered the fact that if Newt had been killed by the manticore- or indeed, if he died tonight from his wounds and the venom running through his veins- the rest of his menagerie would be in jeopardy.

Graves hadn’t thought about that until now. With Newt lying before him, breathing labored, skin still hot to the touch, Graves wondered what they would do with the creatures if the magizoologist didn’t make it through the night. Graves surely didn’t have time to take care of them, and Tina and Queenie didn’t have the permits or clearance for this kind of endeavor.

If Newt died today, they were in for a world of trouble.

“He won’t,” a feminine voice said from the door, and Graves lifted his head to see Queenie standing in the doorway, clutching a bundle of papers to her chest. Graves leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“What did I say about reading my mind?”

“You’re worrying about him loud enough for half of New York to hear,” she replied, and then she held out the pages. “Look at this.”

Graves took the pages from her. It seemed to be a hastily handwritten account of an interview with a wizard whose great-grandfather had attempted to use manticore venom in various potions, trying to find other uses for the potent liquid. He certainly hadn’t had any luck.

“So there’s no hope,” Graves said with a huff of frustration, and Queenie shook her head quickly.

“Look at the last page.”

Graves gave her a skeptical look, but then turned to the last page of the notes. It seemed there was one survivor of the wizard’s mad experiments- someone who’d been given a diluted form of a young manticore’s venom. The patient had evidently suffered greatly for days, but he’d come back to make a full recovery.

The other four fed the same concoction hadn’t lasted through the first night.

“So…if he lasts the night, he might survive,” he paraphrased, and Queenie nodded with a weak smile.

“Yeah. So there is hope.”

“Hope based on an interview with a wizard who listened to the crazy ranting of her grandfather about her lunatic great-grandfather doing illegal human experimentation using incredibly rare lethal poisons,” Graves said dryly. He liked solid evidence- and this was anything but solid. It was the very picture of hearsay, passed down over generations of wizards. It was the kind of useless ‘evidence’ he would have the paper mice shred just to keep them entertained to keep them from destroying the actually important papers.

“It’s better than nothing. And if anyone can pull through it, it’s him. We should just keep his fever down and keep watch,” she pointed out, taking the papers back from him. “I’m going to have a closer look at these notes and see if there’s anything else about the experiments in them. “

She gave him a hopeful look and left again, and Graves took in a deep breath and reached out to check Newt’s temperature again. It wasn’t dangerously high anymore, it seemed, but it hadn’t gone down any, either.

He knew better than to get his hopes up, but he couldn’t help the slight hope that there was a bit of truth to the accounts in the interview. That there was a chance that Newt could pull through this and come out the other side no worse for the wear.

He leaned back in the chair again and grabbed a book at random off the shelves- one about the cultures of Merpeople, it seemed- and settled in for what would probably be a very long night.

Re: Fill: Would You Stay 2c/?

[(Anonymous)]

This is a perfect sickfic and I cant wait for more!

Re: Fill: Would You Stay 2c/?

[(Anonymous)]

This is so awesome.