#ponytabonita

[maggieandthedragon]

ponytabonita asked: Can you write something about Credence getting a tattoo? Or something set after This Thing of Darkness where Percival first sees a tattoo he got while he was overseas w Newt? Graves hadn’t noticed the marks on Credence’s wrist when the young man had come into his office, fresh air on his tanned skin, confidence and magic in his smile. He’d been so frantic to touch, to kiss, to have his gorgeous wonder back in his arms.  They hadn’t even undressed. 

Graves had brought Credence home immediately after, sliding an arm around him and apparating them back to the brownstone. Credence’s bag shook and squeaked violently as soon as he set it down on the ground as Trouble scrambled her way out of it to throw herself at Graves’ feet, snuffling and squishing herself against his legs, leaving midnight blue hair dusted over his slacks.

 Graves crouched down and buried his fingers in her fur. “Hey girl. Miss me?” 

The Puffskein flopped on her side for the affection and began to hum in pleasure.

 “She did. She missed you,”  Credence said and his voice had gone hoarse.

 “I missed her too,” Graves said. He stood and brushed his knuckles against Credence’s cheek. “And you.”

 Credence hugged him tightly with a soft, choked sound. Their bodies collided again, hard enough that Graves’ unsteady leg wobbled again and would have collapsed entirely if he hadn’t apparated them upstairs and into his bed. 

Their bed.

 They took their time and lingered in each other and when they were done, Graves lit the fire in the small bedroom hearth with a flick of his fingers, the other wrapped around Credence pressed close against his side.  He glanced down at his lover’s dark tousled hair, then noticed something deep green and silvery twined around his wrist.“What’s that?”

“It’s a tattoo,” Credence said. “I got it in London. It’s suppose to be empathic like Theseus’ but it’s  never moved. I don’t know. Maybe my magic is still wrong.” “It’s beautiful. And so is your magic.” Graves slid his thumb over the delicate flora. “Rosevines?”

“Thistle.” Credence drew his wrist back slightly, biting his lip, shy, uncertain. 

“Nemo me impune lacessit,” Graves murmured. “No one touches me with impunity.” 

Credence nodded mutely, sitting up and Graves could see the curvature coming back into his spine. “When I left. I got so angry and so scared. You were this thing that kept me stable and then you weren’t there--”

“I’m sorry, Credence. I wouldn’t have done it so abruptly--”

“No. I don’t mean to--” Credence sighed, fingers rubbing over the thistle growing on his skin. “She hurt me so much and I didn’t-- I didn’t know how to not let that happen again. You had protected me; Newt was protecting me but--”

“It still meant you depended on us.”  Graves sat up and took his hands, tugging them into his lap. His fingers brushed over the leaves, sharp spines on the points, silvery fuzz in the center.  “You wanted to protect yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“Theseus taught me. The Langlock jinx, Petrificus Totalus. How to incapacitate without hurting. How--” and Credence’s dark eyes looked up at him. “How to be not be strong without being like her.”

Percival lifted his hands to his lips and kissed them, brushed his lips over the tattoo, the warning that Credence Barebone-- that Daniel Smoke-- would never be hurt again. “You aren’t like her.” 

“You don’t know that.”

 “I do. I know you have never been like her, not since we met,” Graves said. “Credence. When I took you to the Meadowlands and told you you’d been lied to and deceived for months. That I had no idea who you were. And you made me tea.”

Credence’s hand tightened on his. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I don’t think I am,” Graves answered. “Credence, you made me tea. You only let Theseus teach you spells that incapacitated.” He could see his lover’s brown eyes were still dark with worry. “I don’t think...I don’t think your Ma ever worried about who she hurt.”He took Credence’s free hand, placed the fingers over the thistle on his wrist. “Thistle doesn’t sting unless you try to rip it out.”

“Fair enough,”  Credence said softly and for a moment, there was something like belief in his face. The next morning, when Credence came downstairs groggily to find Graves making eggs and bacon in the kitchen, he didn’t notice the faint tufts of feathery purple ink starting to bud and bloom.