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fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
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Prompt Post #1
ROUND 1
FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER
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Grindelwald makes Graves be a domestic servant/OP has a weird kink
(Anonymous) 2016-12-12 02:35 am (UTC)(link)Basically Grindelwald watches him as he serves him food made the Muggle/No-Maj way or has to scrub floors or something. Maybe Grindelwald threatened the Imperius curse or to harm Graves coworkers or something to make him cooperate
Probably would have to be GrindelGraves but if Grindelwald lifts his disguise, I will imagine him as Tilda Swinton regardless of gender. Speaking of which, you can genderbend either if you want.
Sex, creepering, etc. is welcome but not necessary.
TL;DR: Graves in pretty cuffs and collar while Grindelwald makes Graves do chores
Re: Grindelwald makes Graves be a domestic servant/OP has a weird kink
(Anonymous) 2016-12-12 04:06 am (UTC)(link)Re: Grindelwald makes Graves be a domestic servant/OP has a weird kink
(Anonymous) 2016-12-12 04:32 am (UTC)(link)[Fill] Without effusion of blood
(Anonymous) 2016-12-16 04:57 am (UTC)(link)There were only twelve hours in the Polyjuice at an absolute maximum, so Grindelwald returned every night, like Cinderella after the ball, if her face had been about to shift painfully from one middle-aged man’s to another’s. Every night he went to his home with great anticipation, perfectly in character as an impatient man, jogging up his steps with one hand in the pocket of his overcoat and the other shrugging his wristwatch out of his cuff.
As always, the light was already on behind his windows, beckoning him cheerfully home. As always, the door opened without even the application of a key, inviting and simple.
And as always, the unfortunate Percival Graves was waiting inside to take his coat. He met Grindelwald’s eyes, but as always he did not speak, or greet him in any way except to help him out of the coat and fold it across his arm.
“I’ll take brandy in the library while I shake this awful face off,” Grindelwald told him. “And dinner at eight, I think. There’s a seam pulling on one of those sleeves, shall I tell you which one? Never mind, you’ll find it. I put my faith in your ingenuity. Did you have a pleasant day?”
Graves stared back at him. The subtle, well-enchanted collar kept him silent, and he had long since stopped trying to answer when Grindelwald asked him questions.
“Hmm,” said Grindelwald, stepping in close, and lifted Graves’s chin like he cared enough to try to discern the answer. “Probably not. Too bad. Cheer up, tomorrow will be better,” he paused. “Or -- well. Like I said, I’ll be in the library.”
It took Graves a few minutes to bring him a drink, which was just enough time for the last of the Polyjuice to fade out, leaving Grindelwald comfortably inhabiting his own skin again. He stretched his neck, his arms, and fidgeted with one of his ankles. It was so much easier to think when looking out from his own eyes, easier to gesture with his own hands, easier to say interesting things with his own tongue. It was even easier to be cruel.
Graves had come back with a glass and the bottle of Lepanto, and set the glass beside Grindelwald’s hand before leaning in to pour. He was sometimes unobtrusive, but mostly he was direct and belligerent. He was breathing very close to Grindelwald’s ear.
“What took so long?” Grindelwald asked. The gentle pour of brandy shuddered, hit the rim of the glass, and puddled onto the parquetry inlaid tilt top. Graves straightened abruptly.
Grindelwald enjoyed the fear stiffening the air, but not for too long. He was not a man of simple pleasures, and never would be. He softened his voice. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that I hope everything is alright.”
Graves just looked at him. If he could speak, he would have said something like, “The Magical Congress of the United States of America will never let you get away with this,” or attempted to use magic, which argued convincingly for the wisdom of the silencing charm. Instead he stood there, looking at everything but Grindelwald, waiting to be instructed.
And this man’s colleagues feared him. This same man, who stood in his own home, dressed in nothing more than his white pinpoint shirt and wool trousers, imprisoned by a few pieces of expertly-enchanted curb chain and expertly-applied threats, afraid to even clean up a spill of his own liquor on his own table.
“You should clean it up,” said Grindelwald, and rescued the half-full glass. He stopped Graves before he could leave the room in search of a rag. “But I don’t think you should leave, after all, it will be very hard on me to be alone after such a long day. Do you know how boring your very precious job is to me? I keep myself occupied destroying whatever’s left in your desk, but even that isn’t infinite. You should be cleaning while you listen.”
Graves was looking around the library.
“There’s nothing you can use in here,” said Grindelwald, and smiled. “But I know that you’ll think of a solution.”
Graves leaned over and sopped up the spill with the right sleeve of his shirt.
“I should have expected that from an American,” Grindelwald sighed. “Lick it up next time, it’s shameful to waste what your meager salary buys us.”
Graves’s wet sleeve was sticking to his forearm. The chain on his wrist was clearly visible, along with a hard muscle that probably saw a lot of action inking stamps and arresting wizards for daring to show themselves.
Grindelwald took a sip of brandy. “You should really should start cooking. But change, first, and bring the shirt back in here when you’ve finished.”
Grindelwald removed the silencing charm when Graves served him dinner, bored of the quiet even if the alternative was potentially more tiring.
“The Magical Congress of the United States of America will never let you get away with this,” was the first thing Graves said.
“Maybe not,” said Grindelwald, used to it. “But it seems they’ll let you get away with almost anything. By the way, I’ve made you a friend. His name is actually Credence Barebone, if it can be believed. He’s a squib, but one with access to great power. And he likes you, probably because he doesn’t actually know you. Are you holding onto that lamb, or do I get any?”
Graves put the plate down in front of him. “Why are you here?”
“To eat, my poor dear man, have you already forgotten? How marvelous it must be to be handsome and from an old family. I’d wondered why your colleagues seem to expect so little of you.”
“You know what I mean, Grindelwald,” Graves, curling his lip.
Grindelwald cut his meat. “I wish I did.”
“What did you do with my shirt?”
“It’s not polite to say,” Grindelwald replied, for the pleasure of watching Graves try to control his expression. “This lamb is prepared very well. One day, all you will have to remember of our time together is a new ability to cook.”
“And your head in my trophy case.”
“Nonsense. It would never fit. And I’m sure to kill you first, because I am not beholden by your Congress’s stupid laws, and am of course a much more powerful wizard.”
“Say that again,” said Graves.
“And you’ll what? Overcook something? Let me go out with some lint on my shoulder? Stop trying to threaten me. Take a seat, instead, and tell me about your day.”
“I won’t tell you a goddamn thing,” said Graves.
“Imperio,” said Grindelwald.
Graves grit his teeth. “I dusted in the library,” he said. “Cleaned some shoes, ironed your shirts, and,” he was fighting what he had to say next, which made Grindelwald lean forward with great interest.
“And?”
Graves fought the curse, which he usually did, to the point that there were almost tears in his eyes. Though he could not last forever, he did at least hold out long enough for Grindelwald to finish his medallion of lamb.
“I sent a cable to President Picquery,” Graves whispered, clenching his fists over his knees as he tried to stop himself from saying it.
“Well, you tried, anyway. I’ve asked President Picquery to divert all mundane communication to my -- excuse me, your office, so of course that message was intercepted, but I applauded the effort then and I do so again now. Cheer up, there’s a chap, you’ll have another chance tomorrow. Then what?”
“I fixed a seam on a pair of trousers,” said Graves, “wound the clocks, spit in the brandy, and greeted you at the door.”
Grindelwald stood up, deposited his napkin on the table, and stopped next to Graves on his way out of the dining room.
“Well then,” he said, and lifted his wand, bringing it close enough to Graves’s face that he flinched. “It was a pleasant enough meal. I should have mentioned earlier that the brandy was particularly fine this evening. Silencio, by the way, before you reply. I’m off to the study for the night, please don’t let me be disturbed. And see that you wake me at the customary hour. Goodnight, Mr. Graves.”
He left the room quietly enough to hear Graves exhale with relief, pleased that he was still afraid. In America one had to entertain oneself.
Re: [Fill] Without effusion of blood
(Anonymous) 2016-12-16 06:04 am (UTC)(link)This is amazing, Graves's fear is perfect and Grindelwald's nonchalant use of him is just great. But like Graves's defiance is great too with the attempt to contact the President to spitting in the brandy. Also the image of Graves having to lick up spilled alcohol right next to where Grindelwald can condensingly stroke his hair is a beautiful picture indeed.
Best 1 am surprise ever.
Re: [Fill] Without effusion of blood
(Anonymous) 2016-12-16 08:28 am (UTC)(link)By which I mean, well done. This story made my skin crawl in the rightest of ways.
Re: [Fill] Without effusion of blood
(Anonymous) 2016-12-16 08:36 am (UTC)(link)Would OP or Author!Anon mind if I wrote a small follow-up? I was just super inspired. I totally understand if Author!non prefers for me not to or has other plans, though!
Re: [Fill] Without effusion of blood-OP
(Anonymous) 2016-12-16 03:03 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [Fill] Without effusion of blood
(Anonymous) 2016-12-16 07:47 pm (UTC)(link)[Fill] Alt. Continuation: An Attempt at Turning Tables
(Anonymous) 2016-12-17 07:09 am (UTC)(link)While direct belligerence was, perhaps, the easiest way for Percival to engage in small rebellion against Grindelwald, it was swiftly losing whatever small effect it had initially had. He was growing (rather understandably) predictable, and actions that Grindelwald had once treated with the slightest twitches to indicate his annoyance were now only met with an equanimity that Percival frankly found… disturbing. (Not that there was much about Grindelwald that he did not find disturbing). Which meant that it was time to change strategies.
He traced over the links of bespelled collar, and the easy way the cable chain settled into the hollow of his throat, mirroring the matching bracelet-cuffs that slid around his wrists (and his ankles, for that matter, though those were usually hidden by the hem of his trousers). Objectively, the jewelry pieces were rather flattering for a male, and Percival had to wonder what had possessed Grindelwald to enchant and use these particular pieces, or—perhaps more curiously—who had been their original intended wearer— the poor, wretched soul. (The irony of him pitying another trapped in the tender mercies of Grindelwald's bizarre fascination did not escape him.) Regardless, they were flattering, and it was clear enough by now that at least a third of Grindelwald's general entertainment was derived from lording his status and power over others.
He debated a few more moments, before resolutely unbuttoning the first two button of his shirt, and neatly rolled his sleeves just below his elbow, with a hint of the cuff peeking out from the roll. Goldstein had mentioned it was a flattering look, once, as they were preparing for an undercover operation. Even more importantly, it served to highlight the presence of the cuffs and collar. Percival glanced at the wall clock, and hastily folded and tucked a spare pair of handkerchiefs into his trouser-pocket. Grindelwald would be returning from the office, soon, and he had a few more things to prepare before the dark wizard made it back to his apartment. And while he might be attempting a new approach this evening, like hell was he going to clean up any spills with his tongue.
Percival went ahead and checked on the brine for the pork tenderloin, prepped the filling, and went back to finishing up the generic straightening up to do, as well as setting the library to rights, especially after his impromptu research topics earlierHe returned to the kitchen and eyed the icebox, which he knew still held a couple bottles of a very excellent dry Vermouth. As reluctant as he was to part with a bottle, it would definitely make for an excellent start for an alternative strategy. At the last moment, he pulled out a bottle and set it in a cooler, popping it open and pouring a small glass, half-full, and set the whole thing just out of sight on the kitchen counter, before moving swiftly to the door to let Grindelwald in.
Today, he didn't even bother meeting Grindelwald's gaze as he helped the wizard out of the coat, working with a simple efficiency that Percival was sure Grindelwald liked to imagine he had instilled. As Grindelwald mouthed off the usual pleasantries–dinner at 8, bring drinks to the library, oh this sock needed to be darned–Percival went ahead and dusted off the coat, hanging it neatly, so that when Grindelwald got around to asking how his day was (likely for the joy of talking at something that physically could not speak back at him), Percival deliberately, casually shrugged, as if to reply 'it was uneventful'. Grindelwald actually came to a full stop for a moment, almost staring, and Percival had to curl his toes tightly to keep from smirking, instead moving on as though nothing had changed, and his response had been the typical, blankly aggressive stare. Grindelwald didn't even bother invading his personal space, though Percival felt fairly sure he could sense the other wizard's eyes settling on the gold chain around his exposed throat, and the way it glimmered in the soft lamplight, before swiftly heading into the library.
Percival ducked quickly into the kitchen to grab the glass and bottle of Vermouth and ended up entering the library almost just as Grindelwald was settling down into the usual armchair. Grindelwald glanced at the vintage on the bottle, froze, took the time to look again, reading carefully, and then stared at the glass Percival sat down, as if it might bite him. Percival didn't think he'd ever seen the wizard so unsettled, and the sight warmed him from the pit of his stomach and outward. Grindelwald recovered quickly, however, and then waved an imperious hand at both the glass and Percival, as if attempting to tell the man to try it, without actually voicing the thought that Percival might have found a way to achieve the upper hand. Percival topped the glass, before taking a long, deliberate sip and setting the glass down and away, before grabbing a second glass at random and pouring out the Vermouth again, taking the soiled glass with him silently to the kitchen to place in the sink before Grindelwald could think to have him stay around… and also to give the wizard time to magically check the contents of it all himself, without Percival around to see.
Percival let the corner of his lips tick up as he heard the quiet flick of a wand sliding from Grindelwald's sleeve.
He returned, and stood silently near the side of the armchair, going for unobtrusive but available if needed. Perhaps not as fun as his normal level of direct belligerence, but the continuous slight hints of Grindelwald's surprise as Percival was genuinely accommodating made the change worthwhile. Grindelwald clearly wasn't sure whether or not it was to be trusted, and that was good enough. When the dark wizard 'carelessly' knocked over his glass, Percival knelt and pulled out one of his spare handkerchiefs to sop up the drink, and didn't bother to hide the brief look of distaste at the move. When Grindelwald gently gripped his chin to turn it to face him (an unfortunately all-too-common breech of his personal space) Percival tensed, not even trying to relax himself. Those more 'typical' reactions seemed to reassure Grindelwald that things hadn't gotten too out of hand, and Percival masked his relief.
Better to let Grindelwald slip back into the security of his oppressively massive superiority complex.
The dark wizard was now contented and taking the time to actually enjoy the bottle Vermouth and let Percival set about finishing preparations for dinner in peace.
When Percival walked in with the plate of stuffed pork tenderloin before Grindelwald, the wizard's eyebrows rose, slightly, before he waved his wand—apparently bored of the continued silence. Percival inhaled a short breath, and watched as Grindelwald's shoulders settled into the typical annoyance of what he was quite certain Percival would say.
Instead, Percival set the plate down easily in front of Grindelwald, and commented, quietly. "You know, I have wondered why a wizard such as you, so secure in wizarding superiority, enjoys watching things done the Muggle way–" Muggle, not No-Maj, Europeans, "–instead of with magic. Surely you don't think it is better done without magic?" Grindelwald froze so still, Percival couldn't have done more to stop the wizard if he'd cast Stupefy. It only took a few seconds for Grindelwald to recover, but those seconds were still a memory Percival was going to cherish, and the greatest victory he'd had yet.
"My dear Graves, it is less the actions themselves, and more spectacle of watching you to do them," Grindelwald drawled as he finally recovered his equanimity. Percival only dipped his head, in acknowledgement. It was better to cede that as a victory than it was attempt to make the point that he honestly had done many of the tasks the 'No-Maj way' before Grindelwald had seemed so intent on it. Better it seem a hardship than encourage the man to devise new ones.
"You've been in such an amicable mood today, will you be sitting down and telling me of your day without the usual 'encouragement', then?" Grindelwald asked as he began to cut into his tenderloin, mostly facetious.
So, Percival sat down, even as he made a slight face of disgust, and did exactly that.
"I finished mending the two dress shirts, rethreaded the buttons on the greatcoat. Wound the clocks, reorganized the library, sat down and read for a few hours," and here Percival hesitates, the way he would have if he were fighting the awful, dragging pull of attempting to resist Imperio, "–attempted to Floo the office and found that I could not–" because the secretary was out to brunch, and the office wards weren't sure what to do with two Percival Graves, not because the Floo failed to work at all. He would definitely have to attempt contacting Goldstein at home, though his timing would have to be perfect if he were to avoid any potential No-Maj discovery. "tucked the hem of a pair of trousers, started the brine for the tenderloin, and then spent an inordinate amount of time deciding where I would display your shrunken head. I then prepared for your return from work, checked the brine, and debated about whether or not I was going to bring out the Vermouth, decided yes, and then greeted you at the door." Percival swallowed, staring down at the knots in the wood of his dining table, mind suddenly racing at the possibilities of omission open to him if he outwardly cooperated more openly. It would be a very, very dangerous path to walk but maybe–
He was jolted out of such thoughts by Grindelwald's low chuckle. Percival stood abruptly, and goes to clear away Grindelwald's empty plate when the man grasped his wrist and held him still. Grindelwald dragged his thumb over the wrist-cuff briefly—intimately–before rotating his grip to rest two fingers over the pulse-point, feeling the way Percival could hear the uptake of his heart thundering in his ears.
"I much prefer you like this, " Grindelwald said, masking the way that–for a moment–his eyes flickered, unsettled, before he drew Percival's wrist in to inhale against the pulse point, as though breathing in the scent of him. Percival yanked his wrist away, and Grindelwald let go. Grindelwald then stood and grasped Percival's chin, tilting his face upwards.
Looking up into the dark wizard's eyes, there was some strange, unidentifiable emotion that Percival had not seen before, and as Grindelwald's hand slid down his neck to trace along the collar, Percival was reminded, again, of the threats made against those that he cares for and how very tenuous his position was. And, how little he knew of Grindelwald's motives. For a moment, he could have almost sworn the dark wizard was upset at the fear Percival knew he was not hiding well, stemming from the abrupt change of atmosphere and responses. He didsn't know this Grindelwald, didn't know what he wanted, didn't know why his eyes lingered so long at the way the chain dipped into the hollow of this throat, at the flex of his muscles as his frame tightened as he flinched away. (Or perhaps Percival didn't want to think about what it could have meant, sweet Merlin, he did not want to contemplate such possibilities.) But that fey expression passed, and the return of Grindelwald's casual cruelty and pleasure in fear was almost a relief.
"Thank you, Graves, for your exemplary behavior this evening and goodnight. I'll be retiring to the library for a short while longer, and I expect you to wake me at the usual hour."
As Graves returned to the kitchen, he could feel Grindelwald's eyes following him with a new sort of weight, a new fascination.
Percival wasn't sure if he won this round or not. Something had most definitely changed, between them but perhaps that was not a good thing.
Re: [Fill] Alt. Continuation: An Attempt at Turning Tables
(Anonymous) 2016-12-23 03:17 am (UTC)(link)Re: [Fill] Alt. Continuation: An Attempt at Turning Tables
(Anonymous) 2017-01-06 10:26 pm (UTC)(link)I LOVE IT
GOD
WILL YOU DO MORE??? PLEASE??
[Fill] Alt. Continuation: An Attempt at Turning Tables
(Anonymous) 2016-12-17 07:11 am (UTC)(link)EDIT: NOW in the proper place and hopefully no formatting errors
While direct belligerence was, perhaps, the easiest way for Percival to engage in small rebellion against Grindelwald, it was swiftly losing whatever small effect it had initially had. He was growing (rather understandably) predictable, and actions that Grindelwald had once treated with the slightest twitches to indicate his annoyance were now only met with an equanimity that Percival frankly found… disturbing. (Not that there was much about Grindelwald that he did not find disturbing). Which meant that it was time to change strategies.
He traced over the links of bespelled collar, and the easy way the cable chain settled into the hollow of his throat, mirroring the matching bracelet-cuffs that slid around his wrists (and his ankles, for that matter, though those were usually hidden by the hem of his trousers). Objectively, the jewelry pieces were rather flattering for a male, and Percival had to wonder what had possessed Grindelwald to enchant and use these particular pieces, or—perhaps more curiously—who had been their original intended wearer— the poor, wretched soul. (The irony of him pitying another trapped in the tender mercies of Grindelwald's bizarre fascination did not escape him.) Regardless, they were flattering, and it was clear enough by now that at least a third of Grindelwald's general entertainment was derived from lording his status and power over others.
He debated a few more moments, before resolutely unbuttoning the first two button of his shirt, and neatly rolled his sleeves just below his elbow, with a hint of the cuff peeking out from the roll. Goldstein had mentioned it was a flattering look, once, as they were preparing for an undercover operation. Even more importantly, it served to highlight the presence of the cuffs and collar. Percival glanced at the wall clock, and hastily folded and tucked a spare pair of handkerchiefs into his trouser-pocket. Grindelwald would be returning from the office, soon, and he had a few more things to prepare before the dark wizard made it back to his apartment. And while he might be attempting a new approach this evening, like hell was he going to clean up any spills with his tongue.
Percival went ahead and checked on the brine for the pork tenderloin, prepped the filling, and went back to finishing up the generic straightening up to do, as well as setting the library to rights, especially after his impromptu research topics earlierHe returned to the kitchen and eyed the icebox, which he knew still held a couple bottles of a very excellent dry Vermouth. As reluctant as he was to part with a bottle, it would definitely make for an excellent start for an alternative strategy. At the last moment, he pulled out a bottle and set it in a cooler, popping it open and pouring a small glass, half-full, and set the whole thing just out of sight on the kitchen counter, before moving swiftly to the door to let Grindelwald in.
Today, he didn't even bother meeting Grindelwald's gaze as he helped the wizard out of the coat, working with a simple efficiency that Percival was sure Grindelwald liked to imagine he had instilled. As Grindelwald mouthed off the usual pleasantries–dinner at 8, bring drinks to the library, oh this sock needed to be darned–Percival went ahead and dusted off the coat, hanging it neatly, so that when Grindelwald got around to asking how his day was (likely for the joy of talking at something that physically could not speak back at him), Percival deliberately, casually shrugged, as if to reply 'it was uneventful'. Grindelwald actually came to a full stop for a moment, almost staring, and Percival had to curl his toes tightly to keep from smirking, instead moving on as though nothing had changed, and his response had been the typical, blankly aggressive stare. Grindelwald didn't even bother invading his personal space, though Percival felt fairly sure he could sense the other wizard's eyes settling on the gold chain around his exposed throat, and the way it glimmered in the soft lamplight, before swiftly heading into the library.
Percival ducked quickly into the kitchen to grab the glass and bottle of Vermouth and ended up entering the library almost just as Grindelwald was settling down into the usual armchair. Grindelwald glanced at the vintage on the bottle, froze, took the time to look again, reading carefully, and then stared at the glass Percival sat down, as if it might bite him. Percival didn't think he'd ever seen the wizard so unsettled, and the sight warmed him from the pit of his stomach and outward. Grindelwald recovered quickly, however, and then waved an imperious hand at both the glass and Percival, as if attempting to tell the man to try it, without actually voicing the thought that Percival might have found a way to achieve the upper hand. Percival topped the glass, before taking a long, deliberate sip and setting the glass down and away, before grabbing a second glass at random and pouring out the Vermouth again, taking the soiled glass with him silently to the kitchen to place in the sink before Grindelwald could think to have him stay around… and also to give the wizard time to magically check the contents of it all himself, without Percival around to see.
Percival let the corner of his lips tick up as he heard the quiet flick of a wand sliding from Grindelwald's sleeve.
He returned, and stood silently near the side of the armchair, going for unobtrusive but available if needed. Perhaps not as fun as his normal level of direct belligerence, but the continuous slight hints of Grindelwald's surprise as Percival was genuinely accommodating made the change worthwhile. Grindelwald clearly wasn't sure whether or not it was to be trusted, and that was good enough. When the dark wizard 'carelessly' knocked over his glass, Percival knelt and pulled out one of his spare handkerchiefs to sop up the drink, and didn't bother to hide the brief look of distaste at the move. When Grindelwald gently gripped his chin to turn it to face him (an unfortunately all-too-common breech of his personal space) Percival tensed, not even trying to relax himself. Those more 'typical' reactions seemed to reassure Grindelwald that things hadn't gotten too out of hand, and Percival masked his relief.
Better to let Grindelwald slip back into the security of his oppressively massive superiority complex.
The dark wizard was now contented and taking the time to actually enjoy the bottle Vermouth and let Percival set about finishing preparations for dinner in peace.
When Percival walked in with the plate of stuffed pork tenderloin before Grindelwald, the wizard's eyebrows rose, slightly, before he waved his wand—apparently bored of the continued silence. Percival inhaled a short breath, and watched as Grindelwald's shoulders settled into the typical annoyance of what he was quite certain Percival would say.
Instead, Percival set the plate down easily in front of Grindelwald, and commented, quietly. "You know, I have wondered why a wizard such as you, so secure in wizarding superiority, enjoys watching things done the Muggle way–" Muggle, not No-Maj, Europeans, "–instead of with magic. Surely you don't think it is better done without magic?" Grindelwald froze so still, Percival couldn't have done more to stop the wizard if he'd cast Stupefy. It only took a few seconds for Grindelwald to recover, but those seconds were still a memory Percival was going to cherish, and the greatest victory he'd had yet.
"My dear Graves, it is less the actions themselves, and more spectacle of watching you to do them," Grindelwald drawled as he finally recovered his equanimity. Percival only dipped his head, in acknowledgement. It was better to cede that as a victory than it was attempt to make the point that he honestly had done many of the tasks the 'No-Maj way' before Grindelwald had seemed so intent on it. Better it seem a hardship than encourage the man to devise new ones.
"You've been in such an amicable mood today, will you be sitting down and telling me of your day without the usual 'encouragement', then?" Grindelwald asked as he began to cut into his tenderloin, mostly facetious.
So, Percival sat down, even as he made a slight face of disgust, and did exactly that.
"I finished mending the two dress shirts, rethreaded the buttons on the greatcoat. Wound the clocks, reorganized the library, sat down and read for a few hours," and here Percival hesitates, the way he would have if he were fighting the awful, dragging pull of attempting to resist Imperio, "–attempted to Floo the office and found that I could not–" because the secretary was out to brunch, and the office wards weren't sure what to do with two Percival Graves, not because the Floo failed to work at all. He would definitely have to attempt contacting Goldstein at home, though his timing would have to be perfect if he were to avoid any potential No-Maj discovery. "tucked the hem of a pair of trousers, started the brine for the tenderloin, and then spent an inordinate amount of time deciding where I would display your shrunken head. I then prepared for your return from work, checked the brine, and debated about whether or not I was going to bring out the Vermouth, decided yes, and then greeted you at the door." Percival swallowed, staring down at the knots in the wood of his dining table, mind suddenly racing at the possibilities of omission open to him if he outwardly cooperated more openly. It would be a very, very dangerous path to walk but maybe–
He was jolted out of such thoughts by Grindelwald's low chuckle. Percival stood abruptly, and goes to clear away Grindelwald's empty plate when the man grasped his wrist and held him still. Grindelwald dragged his thumb over the wrist-cuff briefly—intimately–before rotating his grip to rest two fingers over the pulse-point, feeling the way Percival could hear the uptake of his heart thundering in his ears.
"I much prefer you like this, " Grindelwald said, masking the way that–for a moment–his eyes flickered, unsettled, before he drew Percival's wrist in to inhale against the pulse point, as though breathing in the scent of him. Percival yanked his wrist away, and Grindelwald let go. Grindelwald then stood and grasped Percival's chin, tilting his face upwards.
Looking up into the dark wizard's eyes, there was some strange, unidentifiable emotion that Percival had not seen before, and as Grindelwald's hand slid down his neck to trace along the collar, Percival was reminded, again, of the threats made against those that he cares for and how very tenuous his position was. And, how little he knew of Grindelwald's motives. For a moment, he could have almost sworn the dark wizard was upset at the fear Percival knew he was not hiding well, stemming from the abrupt change of atmosphere and responses. He didsn't know this Grindelwald, didn't know what he wanted, didn't know why his eyes lingered so long at the way the chain dipped into the hollow of this throat, at the flex of his muscles as his frame tightened as he flinched away. (Or perhaps Percival didn't want to think about what it could have meant, sweet Merlin, he did not want to contemplate such possibilities.) But that fey expression passed, and the return of Grindelwald's casual cruelty and pleasure in fear was almost a relief.
"Thank you, Graves, for your exemplary behavior this evening and goodnight. I'll be retiring to the library for a short while longer, and I expect you to wake me at the usual hour."
As Graves returned to the kitchen, he could feel Grindelwald's eyes following him with a new sort of weight, a new fascination.
Percival wasn't sure if he won this round or not. Something had most definitely changed, between them but perhaps that was not a good thing.
Re: [Fill] Alt. Continuation: An Attempt at Turning Tables OP
(Anonymous) 2016-12-17 01:02 pm (UTC)(link)This is a fantastic continuation and I'm so happy I got two amazing fillers *worships you both*
I love the fact that Grindelwald seems to take a moment to contemplate using Graves as something a bit more then an indetured servant.
Re: [Fill] Alt. Continuation: An Attempt at Turning Tables
(Anonymous) 2016-12-17 05:52 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [Fill] Alt. Continuation: An Attempt at Turning Tables
(Anonymous) 2016-12-18 02:03 am (UTC)(link)Re: [Fill] Alt. Continuation: An Attempt at Turning Tables
(Anonymous) 2016-12-18 10:25 am (UTC)(link)And Grindelwald? He was a perfect creep; Graves is in such big troubles now.
OP again, Re: [Fill] Alt. Continuation: An Attempt at Turning Tables
(Anonymous) 2016-12-23 03:37 am (UTC)(link)Also have I mentioned how I love the detail put into this? The descriptions of the preparations just kill me, I feel as though I am reading a published story, one written for me as well! Just amazing...>//
Part 2? - [Fill] Alt. Continuation: An Attempt at Turning Tables
(Anonymous) 2016-12-26 06:00 am (UTC)(link)In the end, Percival decided that, risks aside, shifting from constant direct and obvious belligerence to occasional, calculated complacence was the most successful act of 'rebellion' head managed. Even when Grindelwald did believe in the actions sincerity, it still seemed to throw the dark wizard off. If he paired that with his minor success with the Floo Network, then h had a real chance of getting out. Work, or whatever plans Grindelwald had been making lately seemed to be draining him and his attention more and more. If Percival could just keep him off-balance at home as well, over-weary the man in small ways—evidenced by the minute tells that Percival was unfortunately well-acquainted enough to be able to notice… He had a real chance at successfully managing to escape.
Attempting to Floo out himself wouldn't work; he'd attempted sending a larger object—managing to drag one of the more hidden (and hideous) armchairs out of the guest room used solely for storage and sending it to a known major Floo junction near Grand Central Terminal. If it had arrived, it would merely startle workers, and maybe a cursory report would be filed to MACUSA, but Percival knew from experience that such occurrences happened so often with the Floo that it would be lost in the piles of paperwork that Grindelwald was most certainly not doing—not if the few reports he forced upon Percival to fill out were any indication. Not that it had even made it that far, as the chair had scrunched in on himself as soon as he had spoken the location, being magically compressed before imploding, sending wood, stuffing, springs, and fabric scraps everywhere.
Thankfully, most of it was still caught in the fireplace, and burned up, but it had taken nearly two hours for Percival to hunt down and burn the rest of the scraps the No-Maj way, and then some hasty doctoring to hide the shrapnel gash on his arm. The flexing feeling of Grindelwald's wards seemed even more deeply oppressive after the incident, and Percival had to assume that the size-limit on Floo distribution had to have been Grindelwald's doing. Fairly clever, actually, Percival could almost admire the practicality of it had it been any other situation. With nothing but the airmchair covers (and a few suspicious-looking dents in the walls and furnishings) as evidence of the test, Percival decided he might as well get to darning that extra pair of socks.
No matter how tempting it was to add little splinter slivers from the fireplace and the window frames into the socks to harass Grindelwald, Percival had to sternly restrain his impulse. The fact of the matter remained that until Percival managed to escape and capture Grindelwald, he still had to share clothes with the wizard. (After, however, one better believe that Percival would be burning everything, and re-outfit both himself and his apartment with the large funds he had stashed in more secure banking locations than the ones Grindelwald seemed to be aware of. It wasn't like he had been spending his stipend for such things before.) No splinters it was. A damned shame, to be sure.
Percival had been so distracted with his darning that he almost missed the quiet buzz of the wards that let him know Grindelwald was approaching. Thus it was rather hurriedly that Percival took to the entry way, rolling his sleeves up to display the bracelet chain, and tucking the unpleasantly long strands of his hair out of his face as he rushed to the door. Still, he managed it just on time, if slightly more rumpled than usual.
Grindelwald said nothing, as Percival took his coat and brushed it off before hanging it up, only watched him with intent. It made the skin on the back of his neck prickle, and Percival couldn't fully suppress his flinch when Grindelwald reached out towards him. Grindelwald merely tsked, a finger flicking through a lock of his hair—uncut since Grindelwald had first overpowered him by surprise—before waving with an absent hand. At Grindelwald's silent, wandless gesture, the longer hair carefully twisted itself up into a low bun.
"Much better, my dear," Grindelwald said at last, "You should really take more care with your appearance." Percival couldn't restrain his glare. As though Grindelwald had any room to talk, what with that terrible undercut. It looked passable when the man was Polyjuiced or Transfigured (he'd been doing the latter rather frequently, lately) to look like Graves, much to Percival's chagrin, but it was almost hideous when Grindelwald was wearing his own skin. Grindelwald's own features were much too fey to pull it off, properly. It made him look a bit like a character from a storybook, some wicked fairy of ice and snow.
Percival straightened his shoulders and went back to his 'duties', putting the previous evening's leftover mutton with fresh garlic potatoes into a crock and back into the oven to reheat for dinner. It took an unusually long time for Grindelwald to summon him back to the library for brandy, He brought out the Lepanto and set of glasses, but before he could sneak his way out of the door, Grindelwald had swished out his wand and used his magic to manhandle Percival down into the seat across from him.
"Have a drink with me, my dear Graves, and don't forget to pour carefully. Wouldn't want a spill, would we?" Grindelwald's eyes seemed to light up at the prospect. Percival fisted his hands to keep them form trembling, before silently reaching out and pouring them both a glass. Grindelwald made no effort to remove the silencing charm, so Percival made no motion to talk. He simply sipped at his glass slowly, and kept his eyes focused down on the low table and away from the awkward, pressing heat of Grindelwald's fascinated gaze.
"You're rather far away, my dear, do come closer, and pour me another glass." The polite, idle phrasing was belied by the unexpected—almost angered—steel in Grindelwald's tone, and for the first time that evening Percival looked up to meet Grindelwald's eyes. It was a strange look, the dark wizard's eyes focused intently at Percival's exposed throat, and when he swallowed, Grindelwald's pupils seemed to dilate. Percival stood stiffly and poured him another glass, this time managing to suppress his flinch when Grindelwald reached out and imperiously gripped his wrist, turning it over in his hands and tracing along the chain bracelet that served as binding cuffs.
"These were meant for a dear friend," Grindelwald supplies, apropos of nothing, and it is all Percival can do to keep from yanking his wrist back as he had done nights ago. He won't let Grindelwald win this particular bout, even if Percival hasn't the slightest idea where it is even going. Grindelwald eyes it a moment longer, before releasing Percival's wrist and giving it a soft pat. "I much prefer them on you, my dear Graves. On you, they actually seem rather flattering. Much like when you are on your best behavior." Like tonight, is what the silence implies, and Percival can only dip his head and will the monologue over. That doesn't seem to be the response Grindelwald was anticipating, or desiring, if the scowl on his face is anything to go by as he dismisses Percival with a flap of his hand.
Dinner is eaten swiftly and in silence. Percival cleans the table away, and Grindelwald does nothing but stare beyond his hands, deep in contemplation. He opens his mouth, and Percival freezes, expecting a command, but instead, Grindelwald stands abruptly, and retired to the bedroom without a word.
Percival would test the wards again tomorrow, magical restraints be damned.
Trash OP here Part 2? - [Fill] Alt. Continuation: An Attempt at Turning Tables
(Anonymous) 2016-12-26 06:35 am (UTC)(link)Holy shit, that low bun visual is my absolute jam. And Grindelwald's creepering and allusions to his
ex-boyfriendold friend are gr8.Re: Part 2? - [Fill] Alt. Continuation: An Attempt at Turning Tables
(Anonymous) 2016-12-28 05:17 am (UTC)(link)Re: Part 2? - [Fill] Alt. Continuation: An Attempt at Turning Tables
Re: Grindelwald makes Graves be a domestic servant/OP has a weird kink