fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme | Prompt Post #2

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prompt post

Prompt Post #2

ROUND 2

Seeing as we've reached 4,000 comments in Round 1, it's time to make a new one. Same (lack of) rules apply. Gentle reminder to everyone to refrain from posting extremely long prompts, though. While no word limit will be imposed, take note that it is very unlikely for someone to fulfill your prompt if your prompt alone is already several paragraphs long and containing a number of specifications.

ANNOUNCEMENTS:
-(01/14/2016) We now have a TRADING POST where you can exchange fills with people.
-The prompt freeze is over! You may resume posting prompts. The next freeze is scheduled on February 8, 12:00 AM (PST) or if this round reaches 4,000 comments; whichever comes first.
-Due to popular demand, we now have our first couple of rules!
RULE #1: No prompt must exceed 250 words. Any prompt that exceeds that WILL be screened.
RULE #2: Please state RPF in the subject line if your prompt involves real people.
RULE #3: No kinkshaming.

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If you have free time to do one or the other, go ahead and e-mail us at fantasticbeastskink@gmail.com.
Thank you to those who have already volunteered, and have a nice day.

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Page 112 of 142

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There’s the unmistakable click of a lock sliding into place after the door closes, although the precaution is almost laughably unnecessary: Percival is barely strong enough to stand at the moment, let alone stage a daring escape attempt.

When the door creaks open again, the boy reemerges carrying a large basin of steaming, bubbly water. He sets it down carefully at Percival’s side, before going back to the wooden basket for a clean rag and an unmarked bottle of what might be essence of dittany.
He rings the cloth out in the water before running it firmly down Percival’s forearm, holding it carefully in place with his other hand.

The soft, warm sensation is delicious against Percival’s neglected skin, but he has to fight not to hiss when the boy swipes over the raw skin on his wrist where the manacles have scraped away at him.

The boy hums sympathetically, but keeps going, dipping the cloth back into the water between long, even strokes of the cloth.When all the sweat and grime has been sloughed off, he dabs some dittany on the wound and wraps it carefully in gauze, before repeating the process on Percival’s other arm.

By the time Percival’s torso is clean, the water in the basin is a deep, murky brown, and what feels like a third of his body is swathed in gauze and stinging with dittany.

The boy strips Percival of his trousers and union suit with almost clinical efficiency, sliding the grime-stiff cloth under Percival’s ass as a sort of cushion from the cold, hard floor of the cell.

He cleans Percival’s feet and legs with the same steady efficiency as his arms and torso, taking special care with the raw flesh where he’d snapped Percival’s legs only yesterday. When heruns the cloth across Percival’s groin and ass, though, the boy keeps his gaze firmly averted, cheeks pinking with discomfort. Percival witnesses this with some amusement - he’s met plenty of Grindelwald’s fanatics during his time in captivity, but none of them have been prudes before.

Once he’s been thoroughly cleaned and disinfected, the boy dresses Percival carefully in a clean union suit and fresh woolen socks, before taking a thin mattress from the basket and rolling it out on the least-soiled patch of ground against the wall.

After helping him over to it, the boy spreads a knitted blanket carefully over Percival, before moving the pitcher and mug over so that they’re easily within reach.

His dark eyes survey Percival for a long, inscrutable moment before he reaches into his pocket and sets something down by the foot of the mattress.

It’s a small pocket-watch: a bit rusted and shabby, but it ticks reassuringly against the cold stone. Percival feels his lips crack into a small smile.

Somehow, when the cell door clangs shut behind him, it doesn’t feel quite as ominously final as it had the day before.

oh this is gorgeous! So glad you're continuing with it. And Credence is such a sweetie here - so shy and determined to help, and heartbreakingly kind. Beautiful writing here, thank you for posting. And Percival has food and water and is clean, and he has a watch! much progress

...did you turn Newt into a firebender?

Couldn't resist adding to the collection of wonderful fills for this prompt!
http://archiveofourown.org/works/10136081

Welcome back author!anon.

OH. MY. GOD. THIS IS PERFECT.

Aw, that has adorable potential! (Well, before 1981...)

As someone who adored SPN S6 and RoboSam, totally seconding this!

Fuck or die, however you want to set it up. Would prefer either no established relationship or Newt/Tina. If ending with a ship, please don't leave Tina out.

+ For emotional fallout
+ For happy/positive ending
+ For one of them being sexually very inexperienced

Oh please do.

+1, this is such a great prompt!

Percival tries to discus the romantic undertones in his and Credence's relationship, but Credence misunderstands this as Graves wanting a father/son relationship. Cue Credence calling Graves 'daddy' a lot and Graves' frustration about that.

+ Graves being Credence's legal guardian (or adopted father?)
+ Credence getting a lot of hugs and/or sitting in Graves' lap.

Up to filler whether said frustrations are worked out on his own or with Credence.

*squeezes this prompt to death* love u

Grinding/clothed frottage/dry humping. until someone comes in their pants.

Bonus # risky "we could get caught" location
Bonus # dirty talk and shushhing and/or hand over mouth

Really excellent ! Looking forward to the continuation. :-)

1. sorry about the clutter, to be honest once newt's family showed up i just held on for the ride. remember if somebody else wants to fill this and play it straight (this burning trash doesn't take itself seriously at all), they're more than welcome, i think :D nobody minds more fic!!!!
2. second part is the did u just romance cthulhu? bit and should be ready soonish. i love this story, ngl, and i think we're all always ready for the "and then they did it"
OK NOW BUCKLE UP TO READ THIS HOT MESS Y'ALL
--

“Once upon a time,” said Theseus, “a woman wanted a child. She wanted it more than life.”

Newt reached out a hand and his brother caught it in a gentle grip. His brother was tall and skinny and kind of solemn-looking, but besides that they looked remarkably alike: the same mop of hair like an animal had licked it sloppily, the freckled face, the generous mouths they got from their father. Theseus was Newt’s favourite person because he always had time for him and he never called him an idiot when he got too close to a magical beast.

“Newt?” said Theseus. “Are you listening to me?”

He dragged his gaze away from the fallen tree trunk where, he was pretty sure, he had just seen tiny glowing bugs crawling, and stared eagerly at his older brother.

“A woman wanted a child,” he repeated dutifully.

“That’s right,” said Theseus, satisfied. “Now here’s the problem: she got what she wanted.”

“I thought that was a good thing,” said Newt, confused. Underneath his bare feet the grass was soft and damp and long. His toes were black with mud – he wiggled them, curious. Theseus sat back and Newt crawled over his lap, where his brother cuddled him automatically. “Auntie got a baby and everyone acted like it was good. Were we lying?”

“No, we weren’t lying,” said Theseus, wrestling with a smile. “Well – maybe. Iggy’s hard to handle, but he’s cute, right?”

“Mm,” said Newt noncommittally, for whom the charm of one year old Ignatius remained still a mystery.

Theseus tapped his brother’s forehead. “Just listen. This is how mum told it to me and I’ve got to do it the same way, all right?”

“Okay,” mumbled Newt, and so Theseus said:

Once upon a time, a woman wanted a child. She wanted it more than life. The problems only began when she got it.

She took lover after lover after lover and none of them would leave her with child (“What’s a lover?” “It’s like a temporary husband. Shh.”) so it didn’t take long for her to fall into despair. It began to consume her sleep. It made food turn to ash in her mouth. No matter how much water she drank, she was always thirsty. She looked at herself in the mirror and ignored the red of her hair and her bright eyes and the delicate silk ribbons of her dresses, because her belly stayed flat. Now here are two things you’ve got to keep in mind:

1. Nothing is free

2. If you keep longing like that, all wildly, sooner or later someone will come and eat you up

It so happened that during her travels she wandered into a town that was kept in the palm of the hand of a mysterious man. They said he never slept because he had seen what lay in the dark and it left him burning. They said the touch of his ungloved hand would leave smoking handprints on the bark of a tree. They said if a woman lay with him she’d crawl away from the bed on all fours and mute like a beast (Newt perked up thoughtlessly at that word, and Theseus bopped his nose.) Well, the woman was interested on someone of such power, since it was said that he’d do you a favour if you did him a favour right back, and here’s the problem: she wanted a child more than anything, more than life – more than she wanted to live, more than she cared about what kind of child could be born with the help of that sort of man. She went to him and looked him in the eye and said, “Help me,” and he did help her, and that’s when it began to go bad.

*

For the most part, it was something Newt knew about but it didn’t bother him much. At Hogwarts you got to meet all sorts – there was Leta, for one, and her family would surely take the cake on any competition between iffy families, Jesus (let’s not even talk about the Black family). If anybody asked him about the touch of… more, on his blood, he’d shrug and give a knowledgeable look and he’d get an understanding glance back. One in every family, you know – a wild great-grandmother or a kooky granduncle who thought it the best idea in the world to get naked and attempt to copulate with something that required you to keep your eyes closed lest you go insane.

Well. Maybe not that drastic. But then, if Newt’s family’s secret was a bit more intense than others, what of it? The rewards were much more satisfying, weren’t they? All of them had good night vision, and tough nails, and teeth white as marble. Their bones broke rarely. They bled sluggishly and their wounds closed quickly. If left in peace (a rare occurrence, as the Scamanders were an adventurous sort) they could easily reach the respectable age of one hundred and seventy, when even other wizards would begin to slow down.

“Your mum lucked out with your dad,” sighed his auntie, his mother’s sister Belinda. Like all born Scamanders she was tall and spare and freckled, and she had reddish gold hair like Theseus but the same sweet eyes as her sister and Newt. Auntie wasn’t married, although she got pregnant again when Ignatius was three years old, and nobody in the family batted an eye (certainly not Newt’s dad, who remained first and foremost preoccupied by the hippogriffs, even though they all were overcome with a deadly loyalty for mum).

“Hmph,” grunted great-aunt Iphigenia. “I say she settled.”

“Auntie,” said auntie Belinda, “what are you saying. Look at him. Newt’s eyes glow in the dark and he still stayed! My Romeo ran away when Iggy was in the womb. The dreams, you know,” she added sadly, and she turned to look at Newt’s dad, who was staring off into space with one eye more closed than the other, which gave him a weird lopsided squint. She sighed again.

“Hmph,” said great-aunt Iphigenia, louder, and she smacked Belinda’s bum. “You floozy. Mind your manners! Anyway, we don’t even know if he’s noticed about Newt’s eyes. Not that there’s anything wrong with your eyes, sweetheart,” she reassured him once she noticed him standing awkwardly with a glass in hand. He was fifteen and had recently become an impossibly awkward jumble of long bones and spastic muscles so he tried to stay as still as possible, which coupled with the natural ability to entertain himself with his own thoughts meant he got overlooked a lot. “You’re terribly handsome,” continued great-aunt Iphigenia. “A true Scamander man!”

“It’s such a shame he hasn’t got a brother,” said auntie Belinda absent-mindedly, and Newt skittered away.

It went like this: once upon a time, a woman wanted a child very badly, and her name was Inanna Scamander. She had inherited a fortune and had a reasonable amount of prettiness and perky breasts, all of it considerable assets indeed, but no matter how much she tried (and she tried most vigorously) no man would get her with child. When she was at the end of her rope, when she felt like no earthly miracle would work on her, she met a man who preferred to wear gloves and a cape even when indoors, and who happened to belong to a very… select club, and he made a promise to help her and proceeded to deliver indeed; Inanna gave birth to a very healthy baby boy with reddish hair and milky skin and all his teeth (all his teeth! cried the delighted mother, who wouldn’t have cared a whit if the baby had been born with twenty fingers in each hand and the bottom body of a snake). As he turned his head to look at the priest―that is to say, the mysterious wizard who had kindly helped a desperate woman in need―the light reflected oddly on his eyes, as if he had the pupils of a cat.

“He was born under the shadow of our God,” declared the mysterious wizard priest. “A most auspicious day! Hail The One Who Brings About the End of Things, the Destroyer of Eternity, the One Who Breathes Unspoken Horrors Into the Throat of Innocents, and Hail His Grace!” he wailed.

“Hail His Grace!” barked the priest’s fellow cultists, and that was when Inanna bemusedly stopped tickling her son and raised her head.

*

Like most wondrous things, eventually the worst happened to it: it took the air of a commonplace thing. Inanna was a practical girl―young woman―mother, to be sure, and early the next morning she packed up all the toys she had got for her baby, bundled up her child cosily in somebody’s forgotten ominous cultist cloak, and Apparated back to the old house her father had left her, which had to be at least a thousand years old.

You could tell because of the grime on the windows.

Inanna settled down happily with her child and when it was time she sent him to Hogwarts, where he was known for long unsettling stares―with time those of his line learnt to avoid eye contact―and for the fact not one girl asked him out in all seven years. He wasn’t ugly, although perhaps a little funny-looking (that non-Euclidean geometry, you know how it is), but if witches got perturbed by that they’d never get anything done (if you know what I mean). It was a matter of presence, you understand. He could be a bit… peculiar, is all. And the dreams…

The dreams…

Not to worry, because that story ends up happily as well – after Hogwarts he got a job as a Dragon-tamer and the bastard daughter of his Master, a dark-haired girl who was very interested indeed in things that could kill her, like dragons and the peculiar son of Inanna Scamander (that’s where Newt’s mum and Newt himself got it), fell madly in love with him and birthed him a brood of children that filled Inanna’s house with the oddly echoing sound of grandchildren whose souls had perhaps been fished out from the Void, and who stood still and listened intently for the hushed whispers of monsters trying to crawl into our reality even though their mere gaze would reduce us to babbling incomprehension. But you know, why be negative? Probably not, right? Isn’t that so?

Right?

By the time Newt was born―and great-great-grandmother Inanna lived just long enough to hold him―you could hardly tell, anyway. They had learned to hide it better with the years, or perhaps it had become weaker, that “blessing of Our God,” or maybe Theseus was so self-possessed and Newt so awkward and Iggy so weird in that crazy way all very young children have, that who knew? Who knew if Theseus’s own children wouldn’t be rosy-cheeked and cheerful, and they’d never stare into the dark wood with their eyes wide open and their pale thin bodies suddenly trying to break out into a run, and who would certainly not talk during breakfast about Certain Wild Places Where The Dark Smothers All Softness. Some of them, like auntie Belinda (who desperately wanted a husband) certainly hoped so. Some of them, like great-auntie Iphigenia (who had had three husbands and had survived them all) and Newt’s mum (who was shy and intense and clever and good with animals) didn’t think much about it. Some of them, like Theseus and auntie Winnifred’s daughter Wilhelmina, bore it like a noble burden.

A few others, like Newt and six year old Iggy, who still tried to lick the frozen lock of the door every winter, bore it like a particularly awkward burden – but anyway, in short, things would have turned out fine indeed if uncle Patroclus, the youngest of Newt’s mum’s siblings and the only boy, hadn’t suddenly returned the summer of Newt’s eighteenth year, when he had decided to embark on his own journey through the world to observe and investigate magical creatures. His mother had wrestled his suitcase away from him and was in the kitchen with all her sisters doing some complicated spell, so Newt was the one who opened the door, although great-aunt Iphigenia, in the living room, was twisting her body in her favourite armchair to peek at the newcomer.

Uncle Patroclus had hair quite a dark shade of red, narrow cheekbones and languid eyes, and he looked at Newt for a long moment before he said, “Is your mother around, Newton? I’ve got a matter I’d like to discuss with her.”

And that was when things really began to go bad.

*

“I thought you were dead,” said auntie Belinda, and hugged uncle Patroclus close to her ample bosom. He bore with the same steady serious face he had had since he’d arrived. As soon as he was released auntie Ophelia snatched him up and messed up his hair, and then it was auntie Clytemnestra (whose husband had tried to snatch her eldest daughter Norah, but happily auntie Clytemnestra’s lover was a quick-thinker and long story short, the husband was never seen again and everyone liked the lover much better because he could make excellent hot cocoa and didn’t mind babysitting), and then auntie Winnifred, and then great-auntie Iphigenia and her elder sister, Pomona, and even great-uncle Thanatos dragged himself down from the tower where he “spent all day gaping at the sky like an imbecile,” according to auntie Iphigenia, and finally – finally – Newt’s own mother, Theresa, whose gentle embrace uncle Patroclus returned almost apologetically.

“Welcome home,” said Newt’s mum quietly.

“I thought you were dead,” piped up Newt’s cousin Wilhelmina, and her mother tsked at her. “What? You said he was dead.”

“We all thought he was dead!” said auntie Winnifred, sniffing, and then there was some sort of collective thought that happened in large families like theirs because it was suddenly decided that it was lunch time, even though it wasn’t anywhere near lunchtime, and then somehow Newt’s trip got postponed for next week since he “had to spend time with his uncle for when he took off again and really did die this time,” but they quickly forgot about him because to be frank he wasn’t as good-looking as Theseus and he never tried to stab anyone with a fork, unlike Iggy or great-uncle Thanatos, so he was considered a dependable sort.

And that was how Newt happened to be present when uncle Patroclus said, “By the by, I’ve met the cultists recently, and they said we must give them a child to make up for the one grandma Inanna took, or they will feed us all to He Who Strips the Sun of Warmth and Burns Holy Places.”

There was a moment of silence, and then great-auntie Iphigenia said, “What the fuck did you just say?”

And that’s how things got bad.

Imagine Newt being a magical creature consultant for MACUSA. Newt and Percival work together on cases while also going through the getting-to-know-you phase of their budding and relatively new relationship. A lead in a case, involving magical creatures obviously, leads them to a gentlemen's club. In order to get an in, Newt volunteers to infiltrate the place as an exotic dancer. Percival doesn't believe that Newt can pull it off, so he tries to dissuade him, but of course it somehow ends up that Newt is the one that HAS to go in because reasons. Imagine Percival's and the other aurors' surprise when they discover that Newt can pole dance and that he can dance VERY well!

Bonus: 1) Newt dancing to D4L's "Laffy Taffy"
2) Tina, Queenie, and Jacob's reacions

I really like the description here - it is silly, but it's also very fun to read! And i liked the description of how they are all very...different.

Bender AU, where everything is identical to canon with the exception of Avatar: The Last Airbender-style elemental benders.

Suggestions:

Tina is an earthbender working very hard on becoming a metal-bender; Queenie, in turn, in a waterbender, dreamily flowing around obstacles and turning an enemy's strength against them.

Original!Graves is an airbender, with a talent for rustling up storms and lashing enemies with the full fury of a hurricane.

No one was expecting Newt - quiet, awkward Newt - to be a firebender.

PLEASE

Over here on AO3:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10171442

Lol finally posting a start after nearly a month. Sorry I'm so slow! It'll take me forever to finish this

Warning: Internalized and very blatant homophobia
---

Percival is six when he learns what ‘gay’ means.

He watches from his bedroom window as a group of No-Maj kids pick on a small, blonde-haired boy for being ‘gay.’ They call him a fairy, a queer, a faggot. He supposes that he shouldn't feel bad for the kid – he’s a No-Maj after all. But it doesn’t feel particularly good to watch him cry, whimper and sniffle as the other boys point and laugh. He wants nothing more than to tear his eyes away and continue reading his book, but he just can’t. Something about the sight makes him feel more than uneasy. They start throwing rocks at the boy and Percival wonders why. What do those words mean? And how bad can they be that they’re making someone cry?

Dinner’s served a few hours later. Percival sits on the smooth wooden dining chair, swinging his small legs to-and-fro as he waits for his mother to place a plate of food in front of him. House elves are lined against the wall, waiting to be called on. They shuffle around nervously, but they don’t dare make a sound. Percival stares at them and he wants to ask them why they’re so nervous. But he’s not allowed to talk to them. Ever. Even though they’re the only ones present in the house when his parents are gone.

His parents talk about their days as they eat. Both of them work at MACUSA, but they rarely see each other at work since they’re both so busy with their individual jobs. His father works as the lead Auror in the Major Investigations Department and his mother works as a department head on one of the top floors.

They ignore Percival. They always do. Instead, they complain about their bosses and about useless things like the weather. He wishes they’d pay attention to him.

“What does gay mean?” He blurts.

His parents exchange looks. Worry. Concern... Disappointment?

“Did someone say that to you, sweetheart?” His mother covers his hand with hers.

Percival shakes his head. “No. I heard some boys on the street. They made another boy cry by calling him gay.”

His father sighs, a visible look of relief washes over his face. “Don’t let anybody call you that.”

“But what does it mean?”

“Well, son,” his father stops and looks to his mother for approval. She nods, reluctantly. “You see how your mother and I – we’re a man and a woman. It’s like that, but with a man and a man. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Percival ponders for a second. “But why is that so bad?”

“It’s illegal. Both in No-Maj society and wizard society. There are many reasons for this, but you’re too young to understand. You’ll learn when you’re older,” his father’s face turns cold, like he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. Percival takes the hint, so he just nods and proceeds to play with the food he’s lost interest in.

Dinner continues in silence.

That night he hears his parents arguing over whether or not they should move, because this neighborhood is turning out to be a bad influence.

-

Percival is thirteen when he learns why homosexuality is illegal.

He’s just started his third year at Ilvermorny and he’s already the top student in all of his classes.

“You’re the spitting image of your father,” they always tell him.

It’s meant to be a compliment but Percival doesn’t take it that way. He says thank you anyways. Percival’s grown to dislike his father and the way he always tries to control every aspect of his life. He’s unkind, he’s demanding, and he only reprimands Percival for the small bad things – never praises him for the good that he does. And the only lessons his father ever teaches him are how to hate No-Majs, how to hate wizards lesser than they are, how to hate homosexuals.

They’re unnatural. Their love is unnatural. They’re not meant to live in a society with a declining wizard population. Not when every witch and wizard are out there trying their best to conceive, to contribute to wizarding communities around the world. Homosexuals are simply not fit to reproduce – because they can’t. And with wizards having children on the basis of improving their genes, homosexuality is not allowed.

After learning this information, Percival wonders if that’s why his parents got married. Just to have a son. To create the perfect Graves offspring. They don’t kiss, they don’t hold hands. They don’t even touch. Do they really love each other?

One night he eavesdrops on his parents fighting in the living room.

“I will not let one of those – those… homosexuals set foot in my house!” His father yells when he learns that his mother’s gay relative plans on visiting from Ireland. He’s yelling so loudly that Percival’s sure he’s meant to hear every word from all the way up in his bedroom on the fourth floor. Percival sits by the door, knees curled into his body as he listens to them yell. His mother shouts back, just as loudly, in a wavering voice that tries desperately to mask her tears. And Percival wonders again, how bad can those words be that they’re making someone cry?

In the end, the gay relative never comes to visit.

Percival tries not to let the problems at home get in the way of his schoolwork. Luckily, he’s up to his knees in homework and extracurricular activities.

His father forces him to join Ilvermorny’s Debate Club – only because he was also a member when he went to school. Percival hates it. He’s upset because he wanted to join Astronomy Club instead, but his father had chastised him for wanting to learn such needless skills. Percival thinks about quitting the club, just to spite his father, but that idea quickly disappears when he meets a boy there. A boy that, for some reason, makes his palms sweat and heart thump whenever he talks to him.

Percival is thirteen when he learns that he’s gay.

Whoops forgot to write in the title this is Part 1/?

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10030241/chapters/22354400

Both love having sex while pregnant.

Who of them is pregnant is up to the author.

oh... what a gorgeous start, and oh... poor little Percival...

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Page 112 of 142

Prompt Post #2

Fill: If You Keep Holding Me [5/?]

Re: Fill: If You Keep Holding Me [5/?]

Re: Fire Affinity/Elemental - Newt, Fiendfyre, and Dragons (Gen or Graves/Newt)

Re: Graves + Credence, Fix-It (Or make it worse)

OP

Re: Lily as the great-granddaughter of Newt/Percival - implied mpreg

Re: Percival/Newt: No Use For Emotions ( A play on dark Newt)

Newt/Tina/Percival, fuck or die

Re: Original!Graves/Newt - Arranged Marriage Trope Inversion

Re: Original!Graves/Newt - Arranged Marriage Trope Inversion

Credence Barebone/Original!Percival Graves; Daddy kink

Re: Credence Barebone/Original!Percival Graves; Daddy kink

RPF Colin/Ezra grinding

Re: Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (2/6)

Fill: My Heart is Full of Wildfires (1/2)

Graves/Newt: Newt's Hidden Talents (Modern AU)

Re: Fill: My Heart is Full of Wildfires (1/2)

Original!Graves/Newt - Avatar AU/Fusion

Re: RPF Colin/Ezra grinding

Fill: Promotions

Fill: Young and Beautiful - Percival Graves/Grindelwald, grooming, internalized homophobia

Re: Fill: Young and Beautiful - Percival Graves/Grindelwald, grooming, internalized homophobia

Re: Gramander, Mpreg, bamf Newt, filling on A03

Newt/original!Graves - mpreg

Re: Fill: Young and Beautiful - Percival Graves/Grindelwald, grooming, internalized homophobia