#macusan

Something felt peculiar. A shift in the air that wasn’t quite what it should be. A tug at the recesses of his mind somewhere in the woods. The call would often lead him to Mr. Grindlewald more often than not - the enchanter who brought him stories and goods. The one who took him far away from a life he could not recall and kept him safe in a decrepit castle. A life free from evil, he’d once said as a filed nail ran down Credence’s cheek, allowed to be who he was meant to be and kept from those who would change him. A life, it seemed, of isolation with only his presence every now and then. 

But there was something in him that knew it wasn’t Mr. Grindlewald. For this force was encroaching on the castle. 

Body jolting away from the arched window, Credence retreated into the darkened castle halls. Feet stumbling over themselves as he tried to find a place to hide. It was a big castle -- but he’d felt magic. This person would be able to find him. He had to think, had to remain calm, had to -- a clang and groan from the front doors. He was no longer alone. 

A shudder tore through his body as fear surged through him. Dark and all consuming as it spilled to the surface, body shifting and twitching as it seemed to pull itself apart bit by bit. Black and menacing magic oozed off him in waves until the pale lad was no longer in sight - melting upwards and slithering its way along the ceiling. Silent. Watching the world below as it waited for the person to come. 

“ — MISTER GRAVES, i just don’t think it was right for you to take that man’s case! i know some of his beasts may seem dangerous, but if you were to perceive every living creature as dangerous, would you really be getting anywhere? “

send me amortentia and i’ll say what your muse smells like to mine

Graves smells, plainly put, like magic. It's electrifying and it strikes chords in him, resonates with his own magic. He smells like the ground after rain, earthy and steady. Alluring, like a drug; Aaron can't help but be interested and want more. More than he deserves-- more than is safe. This is juvenile rebellion.

You can’t have this.

Watch me.

It's offset by the thick fabric scent of his scarf ( would it be scratchy? Woolen? It is built with twofold purpose; warmth and protection from those who forgo wands . ) His hands smell like the soft kidskin of his gloves. ( And he's had those hands on his face before, gripping just shy of bruising on his jaw-- well-learned to avoid his teeth ).  His cloak had smelled like pine that time he'd torn through the forest after him; thick and heady.

There they were again. Footsteps light and fleeting from just behind him - matching his pace near perfectly as he moved through the thinning night crowds. Every night this past week, it seemed, was the same. He would head back to the church. There would be the eerie sensation of being watched. At first he simply thought himself to be paranoid but now? There was no mistaking it. It was that figure he’d seen time and time again. 

Watching him. 

“ -- Excuse me, ” words soft as he spun on his heel, pamphlets held to his chest as if they were a shield. A frivolous way of protecting himself. But he could not ignore it any longer. “ I don’t -- I don’t know why you keep following me. . . But I’d appreciate it if-- ” stammering as his thoughts came to a slow halt, Credence found himself face to face with a man. Impeccably dressed. Eerily still as the crowd around him stumbled back to their homes - looking almost like he were made of marble. 

“ -- If you would. . . Stop. I-I’ve nothing you would want. . . If theft is your intention. ” 

It is often said that when a Graves is on a mission, everyone better get out of their way. 

And they wouldn’t be wrong. 

They all have that purposeful stride, strong intent and confident aura that easily intimidates. It’s something that’s innate, something most do not take the chance to test. 

And such was the case when Magnus practically stormed past concerned aurors to get to his uncle - chained and unmoving on the ground, but alive.

Pain twists in Magnus’ chest, coiled tightly. His uncle didn’t deserve this. He waves his hand over the chains. The moment they break, his uncle falls like a puppet whose strings have been cut, but Magnus is there immediately to catch him.

Wordlessly he forms a containment shield around the two, pushing everyone else standing within 5 feet away from their proximity. He remembers learning from healers that those rescued from captivity and torture can react badly, and given how powerful his uncle always has been, Magnus didn’t want to take the chance of unhinged magic breaking. But he knows his containment shield will hold, he will be fine within it.