#i need to think who is most dog and most wolf when it comes to animal behavior

[onlypinkslut]

toji was your husband. not just by name, not just on paper but in the rawest, most carnal way. your man. the one who owned every part of you. the one whose body was made to fit over yours like a shield. the one who touched you like you were his last breath and his first sin.

it had been years. your marriage had weathered storms, silence, screams, softness. and now you had two daughters twins, small and sweet with sleepy eyes and pouty mouths, and they were his undoing.

they were the only red line he had.

he’d spoil them rotten. he never liked when you raised your voice at them. never liked seeing their little faces scrunch in guilt, their lashes wet, their tiny fists curled on their dresses.

don’t be hard on them, he’d murmur, almost like a warning. and before you even turned the corner, he’d already be kneeling to their height, slipping candies into their palms, wiping their cheeks and whispering, daddy’s not mad, princess. mama’s just tired.

he was so smitten it was almost pathetic. but only at home.

outside, he was still that man. the kind who didn’t need to raise his voice to silence a room. the kind who made other men straighten their backs and glance away just from the weight of his stare. his voice was deep, gravel and smoke, and when he groaned, every head turned. when he spoke, they listened.

but in your bed, in your kitchen, in the low-lit hallway with the night pressing against the windows and the smell of your skin in the air he was yours. all yours.

every part of you aroused him. your voice. your perfume. the way you laughed from your stomach. the softness of your body the changes that came with motherhood, the stretch marks on your hips, the cellulites on your thighs and butt, the slight pouch you tried to hide under your nightgown.

especially that.

he worshipped it. kissed every flaw until it burned. fucked you like your body was his god.

he didn’t need foreplay anymore. just watching you change was enough. your silhouette in the mirror. your hand brushing his shoulder without thinking. the weight of your breasts when you leaned over to pick up a toy. the curve of your ass when you bent to kiss your daughters goodnight.

sometimes four times a night wasn’t enough. sometimes he needed one more before work pulling your legs open when you were barely awake, whispering just let me, baby. just one more, while his lips trailed your belly and your thighs trembled around his shoulders.

he was the man of the house. not in the cliché way. in the way that made your whole body feel safe even when his hands were rough. in the way that made your back straighten when you smelled him enter the room.

his cologne was sharp, clean, dark. expensive. it stayed on your wrist when he shook your hand. in your hair after he kissed your neck.

and when you got ready to go out, he’d always be waiting in the car. engine off. windows down. cigarette barely lit, his hand on the wheel, his green eyes watching the front door like a wolf on a leash.

you’d come out looking pretty, all dolled up, carrying your purse and walking with that sway that made his grip tighten on the steering wheel.

you always smiled soft, acting like you didn’t notice his stare, like his gaze wasn’t burning holes through your chest.

sorry i’m late, you’d say sweetly, i was saying goodbye to the princesses, voice light, avoiding his eyes.

but his voice dropped low as you opened the door,

m’fuckin god, he muttered, staring, you look like that and expect me to drive?

he leaned in before you could clip your seatbelt. lips ghosting your neck.

my woman. my lady. mmm is that for me?

you turned your head, dodging his kiss. toji, not now. i don’t wanna ruin my makeup.

he groaned. growled.

lemme kiss your cheek then. just a little one. c’mon, mama. let your man kiss you. don’t make me beg like a dog.

so you leaned in. let him kiss you once, then again, his hand already sliding up your thigh.

enough, toji. we’ll be late.

so fuckin cruel, he muttered, cursing under his breath as he started the car, but the way he looked at you didn’t stop. not once. his hand rested on the gear shift, his silver watch catching the light, eyes cutting sideways to your thighs, to your lips, to the tiny smirk you were trying to hide.

and you felt it. you always felt it. the weight of his stare. the promise behind it.

you pretended not to notice. but you knew.

he was going to fuck you stupid the second you got back.

thank you for reading🎀

-onlypinkslut

[baphometsss]

I don't wanna sit here and act like I'm a professional or anything, because I'm not, but as someone who has had to do a lot of work to overcome trauma and reconfigure my brain more or less from the ground up, there's a lot I have to say about Solas's mental state

We know that Solas was essentially used and abused by Mythal for millennia. Even if he wasn't under a geas, he was twisted from his purpose by being made to fight, and then created the Wolf's Fang which was used to make the Titans tranquil and started the Blights. He made those choices himself, but it's important to understand that no choice is ever made in a vacuum. She took advantage of his vulnerability when he was given a body after however long as a spirit semi-existing peacefully in the Fade, and moulded him into a weapon.

He is broken, because Mythal broke him. I'm not incapable of seeing why she did what she did because like I said, no one makes choices in a vacuum and I could write about her for a long time too (in a similar way to how I have had to do myself in my own life in understanding why others abused me). He was so traumatised by everything that happened and he was trauma bonded to Mythal pretty much from the minute he gained a body. Trauma bonds are not about love. He definitely interpreted it that way, as most people do, but that's the weapon abusers use to keep the victim under their control. Abuse abuse abuse show a scrap of love and then abuse some more. If I just take it, I'll get the love/attention I need. I will earn it, because love is suffering, and I have to suffer to earn getting my basic needs met from my family/friends. Mythal, as his creator, was the one who he would've attached to in a similar way to spirit Cole/human Cole.

Trauma bonds are pathological. Mythal made him believe that if he did as she asked, and kept supporting her, then eventually he would gain her favour and they would be able to free all the elves, and he'd be able to live according to his true nature, which is one where he doesn't have to fight. (Remember his personal quest in DAI? He actually kills the rebel mages for corrupting his friend--another Wisdom spirit--into Pride.) In reality, she was just using him. She always kept the bone just out of reach for her lapdog. The line from Rook where they say (paraphrasing here) 'you know, I was actually excited about getting your approval... That's how you do it, isn't it? Keep giving little scraps of approval to keep someone loyal, and then you turn around and betray them' is so telling too.

Where--or from whom--do you think he learned to do this?

It literally reeks of a pathological trauma bond and honestly, with how isolated, 'grim and fatalistic' Solas is, it is not a surprise that he's so broken.

Solas, essentially, is little more than a lap-dog to Mythal. He followed her like a lost puppy, because especially in his early days, that's kind of what he was. You have to remember that most of the insight we get about Mythal is from Solas's perspective, and he is not a reliable person when it comes to her after so long being repeatedly terrorised and twisted and manipulated. There are several instances where he describes being betrayed by her, and mentions some of the things she did, but he never quite holds her fully accountable and ends up directing his rage elsewhere. (The parallel between Mythal/Solas and the rebel mages/Wisdom is important here.)

This awesome post by @mythalism only reinforces this. He is so messed up in that scene, he is broken, he is holding the Wolf's Fang up, trying to give it to her because it symbolises the burden he has carried for thousands of years trying to avenge her death. He never wanted the Fang, like he never wanted a body. Mythal just stands over him, fully aware of what she did to him, and only getting him to stop because Rook petitioned her successfully, and the reunion with the more benevolent Mythal within Morrigan tempered her anger. She was a goddess, with the unequal power dynamic, right to the end.

As a side note, on the potential romance element between Mythal and Solas, I read an excellent breakdown of it on Reddit a while ago about how out of character it would've been for Solas to keep something like that from a romanced Lavellan, especially in Trespasser when he comes clean about his plan/past. I can't find it now because it was pre-Veilguard release, but it made a lot of sense to me. Solas and Lavellan never have a love scene in DAI because Solas didn't want to 'lay with them under false pretences'. Lying about who you are when sleeping with someone is nonconsensual. You can't consent to sleeping with someone if you don't know their true identity, and someone who knowingly lies about who they are to get into your pants is a sexual predator. For someone who led a slave rebellion (no doubt many of them being sex slaves), and a former spirit of Wisdom, Solas would've been well aware of this. In the unsent letter from Solas to Lavellan he says he came so close to breaking and desperately wanted to stay with them as Solas, with the implication being that that is where he planned to sleep with them once he'd come clean. But because he stops, because he's still unable to forgive himself or release himself from his trauma bond with Mythal, he breaks away, and they never have sex.

Bottom line: Solas would've been honest about it. Especially that. As the Inquisitor says, he can't lie about his heart.

And it's why the Solas/Lavellan romance is so powerful because quote, 'you change everything'. Solas thought he knew what love was, that love was loyalty, devotion, worship, etc. It's not just his plans or worldview that Lavellan changes. Lavellan sees him for who he is, without the mantle of Dread Wolf, and because of that he's able to express his true nature to her, even if he's not being totally honest in Inquisition. Lavellan got much closer to the real him than most, as he says, and changed his understanding of love completely. Unfortunately, he has unfinished business, an unresolved trauma bond, and his crushing sense of duty to the past is what keeps him from taking that final step towards letting go of it entirely. Trick also says Solas doesn't think he deserves love, which tbh is kind of a hallmark trait of people who have survived abuse.

And honestly? Call me a simp but I think he really was trying to get the Inquisitor to stop him. He saw himself being unable to let go because he was so broken and burdened by his guilt, and knew he couldn't save himself--was too proud to admit that he couldn't, because how pathetic does it make him look? And how could he stop now without rendering all the damage he'd wrought pointless? Yet here was someone who had changed him right down to his core, who understood him in a way few people ever had, whom he trusted, whom he loved in a way he hadn't loved anyone else before. It took him 'centuries' to build up rapport with the members of his rebellion. The man does not know how to form attachments without trauma, and suddenly he forms a strong one with someone who loves him completely and without condition. It's a jarring change.

Lavellan says that maybe they're being prideful themselves, refusing to see their own folly. But I think in admitting that they might be wrong, that it might be wishful thinking borne from misguided love to a truly terrible person, they've rendered the point moot. It shows self-awareness, which isn't folly.

If anyone can make Solas understand true love, it's Lavellan. Lavellan loved him when he was being his true self. Lavellan loved him after his betrayal was revealed. Lavellan loved him when his guilty conscience and terrible actions almost destroyed the world. Lavellan loved him because they knew the real him, and knew that his heart and spirit were broken, and knew that their love would endure, that their love would heal him.

And that's exactly where they end up. Healing the past, soothing the Blight, and loving one another completely.

[shouts-into-the-void]

I think its super interesting how much complexity we're starting to see in the characters this season.

Thus far, the misfits have been the pretty uncontested "good guys" while the clusterfucks have been the clear "bad guys."

However, this season, we start to see that the division is much less black and white.

Ada tackles a super dangerous monster to save Annabel. Annabel doesn't leave her behind even though it's obviously impeding her escape and sacrifices her engagement ring to save the three of them. Prospero immediately books it for Ada as soon as he realizes she's in danger and tries to reassure her that him not being into her has nothing to do with her worth as a person. Meanwhile the misfits immediately scatter and start arguing amongst themselves.

It's highlighted extremely clearly in the confrontation between Eulalie, Pluto, Duke, Will, and Montresor. [SPOILERS for fast pass ahead btw]

While it's really easy to see the initial argument on a surface level (Goatman trying to pick a fight and using Will to do it, Eulalie coming to Will's defense because she sees him being mistreated) and while that is what happens, a closer inspection shows a lot more going on in terms of character morals.

The argument starts because Montresor, hurt, disabled, and having had his pride/ego dented, is lashing out and gets fed up with Will. (I do think its super interesting that as soon as Will flinches, he switches gears from insulting him to telling him to stop letting him walk all over him, albiet in a harsh way) Eulalie responds by asking him to stop being mean to Will, and offers to take Will into the group. Pluto and Duke reject the idea, completely ready and willing to abandon someone who for all they know and have seen, is being bullied and manipulated by someone they all know is capable of horrific violence.

And while Will ultimately chooses Montresor because he's a gay disaster the real display of just how much the characters words and alignment don't match their actual morals comes when Will gets gutted by the stag.

Hes still alive, bleeding out on the ground and begging for help. And the misfits leave him there to die. With a couple flippiant lines no less.

Meanwhile Montresor, resident scum of the Earth who's loyal to no one and delights in the suffering of others? Hesitates maybe a second before jumping into danger to save him. Not only that, he's actively comforting and reassuring Will the entire time.

And I think this is what makes me the most excited for the rest of this comic. Your fave would let a man die if that man wasn't on their side. The most monstrous character in the series couldn't abandon someone who can't defend themself.

And before you say it, yes Montresor abandoned Ada and a lot of him saving Will has to do with the fact that he actually cares for him. But I think the reasoning has more to do with the flashback we see of Monty and the dog. Disregarding that Ada is the reason he's spiraling out so bad right now and the animosity he feels due to her making him confront his religious trauma, he knows that she is perfectly capable of defending herself. Meanwhile Will has trouble defending himself in any setting, and is currently mortally wounded and being torn to shreds by a pack of dogs.

I think this season is setting up for a character arc for the clusterfucks and a reverse character arc for the misfits. I believe that Lenore is going to get closer and closer to the person Annabel remembers as her bonds with her friends weaken and her memories return, while Annabel is going to start forming the support network she desperately needs to cope with her various issues. This will leave the two of them in a role reversal, with Lenore determined to do anything and burn any bridge to save the two of them, while Annabel is desperately trying to figure out a way to save all of them. It would be most interesting to me if the season ended with Lenore going lone wolf and the rest of the cast teaming up to form an escape plan and get the old Lenore back.

[misshuntereevee]

come right on me , i mean -- camaraderie! / part 2 - sylus .˳·˖✶𓆩𓆪✶˖·˳.༄

*** 18 + content!!!!! ***

contents: you sit on sylus' face, sylus like overstimulating you, reader has a kink for sylus' nose, p in v sex, no protect (wrap it up!) also: remember i'm not beta read... i also was very high when i wrote this.

part one , rafayel.

notes: all of the boys will get one with the same beginning prompt. these get longer than i intend every time so, i broke it up into parts or else it would never get released. according to the poll -- mr. guard dog caleb is next.

the prompt 𓂃🖊

“I want you to sit on my face.”

You nearly spit out your drink, but instead you manage to choke on it instead. You aren’t the smallest woman on the planet. Your thighs were also thick. Years of insecurity have you already shaking your head. “You’re kidding.”

His crimson eyes glint with mischief as he steps closer to you. His hand reaches out, his fingers tipping your chin up to meet his gaze. He backs you up against the kitchen counter, caging you in. It was just the two of you in the mansion on base.

“Dead serious, kitten.”

You make a bunch of words that sound like pure babbling as his hands moves to grip your hips, anchoring your hips to him. It's soothing to both of you, but it's evident in the way he lets out a contented sigh.

“But — my thighs —,” you start to argue, but the mention of your thighs only makes his grin expand. He looks like a wolf, ready to eat you up.

“Mhm, I love your thighs, kitten,” he says, leaning down to put his face in your neck, nuzzling into you. You're putty at this point. You've never been able to resist this giant man who is so worshipping of you.

"Mhm. So, you'll sit on my face then," he says.

You bite your lip thinking hard about it. As insecure as you are, there is one thing that's making you lust for it. One thing that's you're just so curious about the process --

His nose.

You hated how you were imagining how it would bump against your clit as he ate you out... you're nearly dripping at the thought of it. His hands have not stopped moving, even as you think -- which makes that process even harder. (You know he knows this.)

"Mhm, you thinking, kitten?"

"I am," You answer.

"Then it looks like I need to try harder," he all but purrs, and suddenly, he's lifting you by your ass -- and up onto the counter. You yelp with a little giggle. But like this, it's much easier for him to reach your lips -- and for you to throw your arms around his neck.

He presses into you as he kisses you. Sylus' kisses are not harsh. But they are strong and insistent. He's sure of himself and what he wants as he pillages your mouth, his tongue tasting every inch. His hands Your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging with each wave of pleasure.

When he finally lets you up for air, he asks his question again. "You're avoiding the question," he chides, nipping at your neck as he begins to leave a trail of kisses. He sucks and nibbles on your skin, and you're melting into him and then it slips out:

"Okay, yeah, I'll do it."

It's a breathy moan, but it has Sylus picking you up with a growl, and marching over to the stairs. He ascends them easily -- just as if he was holding nothing at all. And for a second -- you don't feel bad about your weight. He carries with you absolute ease... and like you're the most fragile thing in the world.

When he reaches the bedroom, he falls backwards, making it so you straddle him by the time you both land. You giggle as his hand roam your back, pushing you further and further up.

And Sylus is met face to face with the culprit behind his intentions today. This skirt? It's absolutely sinful to him. Between your cute chubby thighs and the peak of underwear he got when you reached for something in the freezer earlier...

He had instantly stopped wanting real food -- no, he was a different kind of hungry. Sylus' mouth latches onto your thighs, nearly devouring them. You're groaning louder and louder, hands finding and tugging at his hair as he works a trial of hickeys up your thighs toward your center.

"Sy," you breathe out, "l-lower."

He has always adored when you're vocal. When you tell him what you want. He hums his approval before his tongue finds the thin band of pantie -- now drenched.

"Oh sweetie," he says from between your legs, and you feel your self clenching around nothing with the drawl of his words. "You're so wet for me. I can wait to taste you like this."

You start to move to lift you hips -- to take off the panties and skirt. But his hands are like vices, holding you down against him.

"No, no --" his hand comes up, a finger looping around the center, and pulling it to the side. "Leave them."

And then he's lifting you all at once and setting you back down over his face. You hesitate to sit down fully first, but again, he doesn't let you hesitate for long. His hands yank you fully down. He lets out a pleased sigh the second your pussy is on his mouth.

He starts slow, his tongue tracing your opening teasingly. The teasing nature of it has you clenching around nothing, and the way Sylus can feel it has him straining against his pants. If you could see, you'd see his pants are stained with pre-cum.

"Sy -- sy, more," you plead after a moment.

And the bastard chuckles. The vibration of it has you groaning -- and he takes advantage of that, plunging his tongue inside of you. He makes sure to nod his head slightly has he did --- knocking his nose against the hood of your clit.

"Oh my -- fuck," you gasped as he repeated the movement again and again. It's like he'd read your mind about his nose -- and that thought along make clench around his tongue.

You're dangerously close when his hand joins the mix -- it pinches and prods at your clit as he continues to fuck you with this tongue. Desperately wanting him deeper, you give an experimental thrust of your hips.

And it drives him absolutely crazy. You could have sworn he growled as you did it. And so -- you do it again and again. Grinding against his face.

"I'm -- Sylus -- I'm so close," you warn him, trying to pull off so you don't come all over his face. But he latches down again, and then with a chuckle, he slips a finger inside of you.

You absolutely lose it. You're drenching him underneath you, but he seems to be drinking it up, continuing to lap at you. You're over stimulated, but he locks his arms around your legs, keeping there as he continues to suck.

Four more times.

Sylus sucks until you come four more times against his mouth. At the end of your fourth one, he flips you both, and your propped up against the pillows. He leans over you, looking nearly crazed with want, his cock straining against his pants.

"Please, kitten, I need you," he rasps, his face covered with you. Your legs feel like gummy worms already -- but you want him, and you know that you do.

"Please, Sy. Wanna feel you..." you say.

And that's all it takes. He tosses his pants and boxers to the side. His thick and large cock is standing at attention, his tip red and leaking with pre-cum. He's always big, but straining like this... he looks even bigger.

"I don't know if I can be gentle, I -- I worked myself up too much," he admits. He's so pussy drunk right now - he has to feel you around his cock or he'll explode.

"I know the safeword," you remind him.

That's all it takes. He pulls your practically now ruined panties to the side and slides in. He doesn't take his time, he doesn't go slowly -- he slams right in to the hilt. Sylus groans as you stretch out around him.

And that's when he starts biting. His teeth find your neck, starting to leave a trail of kisses. --- Then he starts fucking you like he the world is going to end. You're nearly mewling underneath him, so sensitive from your previous orgasm. You push at his chest as it feels too overwhelming -- like the orgasm is coming on too fast.

"That's not a safeword," he reminds you.

"I wasn't saying anything! ---," you're cut off by the orgasm overtaking you, and everyone on base hears it, even if you're alone in the mansion. He bullies you through three more this way (his stamina was out of this world -- literally) before he's burying himself to the hilt. He's addicted just to the feeling of you coming around him.

"I'm coming---" is all he says before you feel him twitching inside of you. He rolls off to the side of you, pulling him along with you in the aftermath. "You're perfect, kitten."

You smile at him before: "...So how many bite marks am I covering this time?"

[luimagines]

Doggo request 2: Isekai Reader who had brought their BIG boy dog? Like the ones that are almost as big as bears. I forgot the breed name.

Your wish is my command. Let's make it a Tiberian Mastiff. :D

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

"Ok, Hudson. Easy boy." You gently held the leash of the behemoth you called your baby.

The dog was the runt of the litter, but ended up growing into one of the biggest dogs on the planet. That's what you tell yourself anyway. In your heart and in his, he is just a little guy who wants hugs and kisses and for someone to throw the ball.

"it's going to kill us." The one you were told to call 'The Traveler' all but threw himself backwards when you brought your dog close to them.

Granted, most people tend to get a bit nervous when your dog steps onto the scene, but that's generally because he's huge, not because they're actually afraid of him. Still, you suppose you should have seen this coming.

"No, he's not. He's a sweetheart. Come pet him."

"No thank you."

"I'll do it!" The Rancher stepped forward with a bright smile on his face. You admired his instant bravery. It was a nice change of pace. He walked right up to the two of you, seemingly knowing his way around the creature.

Hudson sniffed his hand and his pants, letting the young man scratch his mane and his muzzle. You knew the procedure by now. It was impressive that Hudson hadn't barked yet. Maybe he was sniffing the fur pelt the man was wearing.

"He's a gorgeous creature. What did you say he was again?"

"He's a Tiberian Mastif, bred to hunt and guard against bears." You say proudly. Husdon had proved to be invaluable where you lived. He took his guarding duty very seriously and hadn't let you down since.

"I'm sorry, bears?" The boy with massive facial scarring seemed to light at the idea. "He's that strong?"

"I mean... I don't have bears where I live but he certainly scares off the coyotes and wolves."

"Wolves?" The youngest asks, hesitantly coming closer. He sneaks a pet onto Hudson's side.

"Someone better keep an eye on Wolfie then." The oldest with the scar over his eye, looks out into the distance.

"Wolfie?" You ask in question.

"A local wolf that seems to follow us where ever we go." The boy with pink hair speaks up. You really need to remember their names better. Didn't his start with an L? "Your dog wouldn't attack him, would he?"

"Oh, he might." You frown. "That would be a problem."

"I doubt it." The Rancher shrugs. "The wolf knows his way around. I'm sure he can take care of himself."

"Ok, well I don't want a wolf attacking my dog either." You put your hands on your hips. "That's a fight tot the death. Hudson won't give up easily."

"Wolfie knows better." The shortest- The Blacksmith, you remind yourself- tells you with another shrug of his shoulders. "Besides, you have all of us with you. We'll get between the two of them should anything happen."

You doubt that. This kid is small enough to ride your dog like a horse. "I wouldn't recommend it but I'll keep that in mind."

He seems to read your mind for a split second because he bites his lip as if he's thought of something that could get him trouble. "...Do you think he'll let me ride him?"

"Not a chance."

[candyswirls]

All the now children primarchs have discovered the wonders of minecraft.The Emperor being now forced to be the moderator and peacemarker after six differents fight involving buildings being destroyed , the ownerships of the wolves and the distribuation of the ore.

Okay, for context: since there's 18 of them, I think they'd have a room set up with a screen for each of them to use, and they'd play on a server together. So big E can see all their screens at once, too.

He wished Malcador had not brought the game up from the vaults.

Leman and Magnus had gotten into a screaming match over who the dog belonged to. Perturabo was raging over his base, getting blown up with TNT. He insisted it was Dorn.

Corvus was guarding the chests Vulkan used so others wouldn't steal his hard earned ore.

Fulgrim and Lorgar were trying to stop Konrad from killing any villagers he found. Lion would hunt his brothers down.

He had warned them that if this continued, he would ground them and take away the server.

He finally realized he'd have to teach them how with the final straw.

Angron came into his office, bawling. His brothers were constantly "griefing" his house and making fun of it. In a rage, he'd thrown and broken his controller. After that, he burst into tears and came running.

The emperor picked him up and headed to the game room.

Angron hadn't calmed down, "I-I-I like building wi-with dirt! I like the-the grass, and I w-w-wan-wanted to plant flo-owers on top of it! But-but they keep des-destroying it and calling it a-a-a t-toilet house!!"

He rubbed his sons back, "I won't let them do that anymore. You'll get your garden house."

When he entered the room, Roboute was yelling as Omegon lit his house on fire. Mortarion was being mobbed and killed from his spawn point over and over again by Horus and Sanguinius. Something about their cows.

"Enough," the Emperor said. "Sit down, all of you."

It grew silent, and they did so.

"I am taking away the game," he informed then.

Ferrus folded his arms and folded in on himself. Vulkan started to cry.

"Unless you can show me you can be kind and work together," he finished. "I am going to stay in here as you learn. There will be no griefing. No stealing. No killing. No, making fun of each other. You are better than this."

Shame covered their faces.

"Where is Angron's controller?"

Lorgar spoke up, "It's broken. He can use mine. I like the keyboard better."

The emperor wiped Angron's cheeks and set him down. Lorgar hugged his brother and gave him the controller.

It was dead silent as he sat down and they played.

"Corvus, come to the nether with me," Vulkan said excitedly. "You don't need to guard the chests anymore."

"But they might still come take it," Corvus said.

"I am watching," the emperor told his sons.

Lorgar asked, "Can I come?"

"Yeah!"

"I have too much stone," Fulgrim announced.

Dorn said he'd take it.

Konrad was diving into water and looking for drowned to take out.

"A wolf!" Leman yelled. "I need bones!"

"I'm coming," Mortarion said.

Angron had stopped sniffling and had a pleasant smile on his face as he collected various flowers.

"Jaghatai, where are you?" Alpharius questioned. "Are you lost?"

"Look up," The Khan replied.

Alpharius moved the camera to see his brother in the trees above him.

"Oh," he said.

"Help me get apples," Jagh requested. "There's a herd nearby."

Lion and Horus were competing on who could kill the most monsters.

Sanguinius was building rafters when he fell off and into the ravine he was next to.

He sighed as he respawned.

Roboute helped Dorn with his fortress. Ferrus was mining for Perturabo. Fulgrim was building with Redstone.

"What's this thing?" Lorgar asked.

"No, dont!" Vulkan yelled.

Lorgar had piglins on his screen and hit one. He began screaming as all the piglins began attacking him.

"They're killing me! They're killing me!" He yelled.

"Don't fight back!" Vulkan insisted. "Hit one, and they all come after you! Let yourself die, and we'll get your stuff - no, no, no, no!"

Lorgar ran and fell off the ledge unto the lava below.

"We can't get your stuff now," Corvus told him.

Lorgar was mostly in shock at what had just happened.

"Father, come see my house!" Angron called out.

The Emperor stood and came over to Angron's screen. His dirt house was built into a hill. Flowers and a few other plants covered it.

"I used bone powder to make them grow faster!" Angron explained. "Isn't it pretty?"

"It is," smiled the emperor.

[yua0ra]

𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐲

WARNINGS: theatrelover!theo x cinemalover!fem!reader, sex, porn with plot, semi-public sex, p in v, raw, cursing, hot, fingering, NSFW, english is not my first language. not proofread | minors please dni. smut 🂡

SUMMARY: In the cool of the evening, when everything is getting kind of groovy, you call me up and ask me: would I like to go with you and see a movie? First I say "No, Ive got some plans for tonight." But then I stop and say "All right".

WC: 6.3K AN: HAHAHAH finally, after what it seemed like a fucking eternity, I bring you... Theodore SMUT. Everyone say thank you! JK, enjoy it, you whore. <3

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

Theodore Nott had an insufferable, borderline pretentious love for contemporary theatre. He would wax poetic about the brilliance of Jez Butterworth, the raw grit of Simon Stephens, and the immersive absurdity of Caryl Churchill. You, on the other hand, were a cinephile at heart—Tarantino’s razor-sharp dialogue, Scorsese’s masterful character studies, Nolan’s intricate narratives. You could analyze Pulp Fiction’s non-linear structure just as easily as you could tear apart The Wolf of Wall Street’s moral ambiguity.

Despite your differences, you both had an undeniable appreciation for storytelling—whether on stage or on screen. And naturally, that appreciation often turned into petty arguments.

"You can’t tell me The Ferryman isn’t one of the best pieces of theatre in the last decade," Theo scoffed one day, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair.

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, please. Jez is just doing modern-day Greek tragedy with a sprinkle of Irish drama. It’s compelling, sure, but it’s not reinventing the wheel."

Theo narrowed his eyes. "And what, you think Tarantino’s constant foot fetish and non-linear storytelling is revolutionary?"

"At least Tarantino has mastered the art of tension," you shot back. "The Sicilian scene in True Romance? The diner scene in Reservoir Dogs? You don’t need an elaborate set change or monologues drenched in metaphor—you just need two people in a room and a damn good script."

"That’s rich coming from someone who praises Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller—two of the most dialogue-heavy playwrights in existence."

Your friends groaned. They were used to this. You and Theo could argue for hours over narrative devices, symbolism, and whether theatre or cinema was the superior storytelling medium.

But one afternoon, during an extracurricular drama lesson, the argument escalated to a level that left everyone in the room speechless.

The class was discussing adaptations—how literature, theatre, and film intertwined.

Theo, ever the theatrical purist, argued, “Plays allow for the rawest human emotion. There are no camera tricks, no fancy editing—just an actor on stage, exposed. That’s why theatre will always have a deeper emotional impact than cinema.”

You weren’t about to let that slide. “That’s a wildly limited way of thinking. Film is just as much a visual art as it is a narrative one. Sure, theatre relies on the performer’s ability to hold an audience, but film can show a character’s internal struggle without a single word of dialogue. A glance, a shift in lighting—those subtle details can hit just as hard as a monologue.”

Theo tilted his head, amused. “Alright, then. A Streetcar Named Desire—would you rather see it on stage or in Elia Kazan’s adaptation?”

You smirked. “Kazan’s adaptation is brilliant, but you’re proving my point. The film version utilizes Marlon Brando’s raw, visceral performance while also using close-ups, sound design, and visual metaphors to enhance it. Theatre is powerful, but it’s limited by its medium. Film has more tools.”

The tension in the room thickened as you both volleyed back and forth—citing everything from Angels in America to Taxi Driver, from Arthur Miller’s The Crucible to Nolan’s Memento.

By the time you both stopped to take a breath, the rest of the class was staring at you like they had just witnessed an academic duel to the death.

Blaise, looking mildly concerned, muttered, “I think you two just argued in a language no one else speaks.” Pansy blinked and slowly nodded her head, “did you just name-drop fifteen different playwrights and directors in the span of five minutes?”

Draco, unimpressed, simply said, “I came here to watch people pretend to be trees, not to witness whatever that was.”

You and Theo exchanged a look. And, despite everything, a slow grin spread across both your faces. Because for all the arguing, all the differences, and all the passionate debates—you loved every second of it.

- ★、

The weekend had finally arrived, and with it, your much-anticipated cinema trip. It wasn’t every day you got to slip away from the castle, apparate to London, and immerse yourself in the warm glow of a dimly lit theatre, the smell of buttered popcorn thick in the air. Tonight’s screening? A Tarantino classic—Inglourious Basterds. You were practically buzzing with excitement as you stepped into the theatre, savoring the moment before the film began.

And then you saw him.

Theodore. Bloody. Nott.

Leaning against the concession stand, hands in his pockets, looking as if he belonged in some noir film with his perfectly tailored coat and unimpressed expression. His sharp gaze flicked over to you, a slow smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, well,” he drawled, stepping closer. “Didn’t peg you for the type to sneak off to London alone for a late-night film screening. How rebellious.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t strike me as the type to appreciate Tarantino. What are you doing here, Theo?”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “What, am I not allowed to expand my horizons? Maybe I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Oh, please. You’ve spent weeks slandering film in favor of theatre, and now you suddenly show up to a Tarantino movie of all things?”

Theo hummed thoughtfully, stepping closer, so close that the scent of his cologne—expensive and frustratingly good—filled your senses. “Maybe,” he mused, “I just enjoy riling you up.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was betraying you with its traitorous thump against your ribs. “Right. So you apparated to London, found this exact cinema, and happened to pick the same showing as me? Coincidence?”

His smirk deepened. “Perhaps.”

Before you could interrogate him further, the theatre doors opened, and people started filing inside. You exhaled, shaking your head. “You know what? I don’t care why you’re here. Just—don’t ruin the film for me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, trailing after you.

You found your seat, sinking into the plush velvet, determined to ignore the fact that Theodore Nott had somehow ended up in the seat directly beside you. He stretched out, looking infuriatingly at ease, as if this hadn’t been some grand invasion of your sacred cinema time.

And then, as the lights dimmed and the first scene flickered onto the screen, Theo leaned in—just enough for his breath to ghost against your ear.

“If this film doesn’t impress me,” he whispered, “you owe me a ticket to the next play I pick.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze, and smirked. “Fine. But when you inevitably love it, you’re admitting I was right.”

Theodore just chuckled, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest. “We’ll see.”

As the film unfolded on the screen, you found yourself hyperaware of Theodore’s presence beside you. It was ridiculous, really—how could one person occupy so much space without actually moving? 

His elbow rested dangerously close to yours on the armrest, his long legs stretched out in that careless way he always sat, as if the entire world was his to lounge in. 

You tried to focus on the movie, on the tense exchange between Landa and Perrier LaPadite, but Theo shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours, and suddenly, every bit of dialogue seemed to drown beneath the sound of your own heartbeat.

You weren’t sure when it happened—when the push and pull of your debates, the sharp edge of your banter, had morphed into something more charged, something that left a static hum in the air between you. 

Maybe it had always been there, simmering beneath every eye roll, every challenge, every smirk that lasted a second too long. And now, sitting here in the dim glow of the theatre, with flickering light casting shadows across his annoyingly perfect features, it was impossible to ignore.

Halfway through the film, Theo leaned in again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Alright, I’ll admit it. The dialogue is brilliant.”

You smirked, keeping your eyes trained on the screen. “Told you.”

His fingers tapped idly against the armrest, a steady, maddening rhythm. “Still doesn’t mean it’s better than theatre.”

You turned your head slightly, lips curving in amusement. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Theo tilted his face toward you, his voice dropping lower, smoother. “Because film lets you hide. Close-ups, cuts, music—it manipulates how you feel. Theatre? It’s raw. No second takes. No distractions.” His eyes flickered over your face, lingering just a moment too long on your lips. “You can’t escape it.”

A shiver ran down your spine, though whether it was from his words or the way his voice curled around them, you weren’t entirely sure. You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus. “You call it hiding. I call it perspective. The camera lets you see things no audience member ever could—something intimate, something only you get to witness.”

Theo hummed, considering that. The tension between you had shifted into something heavier, something that pressed into the space between breaths. He was still close, close enough that you could catch the faintest scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from where his arm rested near yours. It would be so easy to lean in just a little more, to close that final inch between you.

And then, just as you were about to force yourself to sit back, to pretend none of this was affecting you, he moved.

Slow, deliberate. His fingers brushed against the back of your hand, the touch featherlight, testing. Your breath hitched, your pulse hammering against your ribs, but you didn’t pull away. Theo, ever perceptive, took that as permission, his fingers shifting, tracing the delicate curve of your wrist.

“You’re… mad, Theo. You’re out of your mind,” you murmured, barely aware you had spoken the words aloud.

His lips quirked, but there was something darker in his gaze now, something that sent heat curling low in your stomach. “That’s right…,” he murmured, his fingers sliding between yours, “but you’re too, you haven’t moved.”

You knew you should say something—should tease him, should act unaffected—but all logic had abandoned you the moment his hand fully curled around yours. The room around you had disappeared, the film reduced to a distant hum in the background.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Theo lifted your intertwined hands, brushing his lips against the inside of your wrist. It was barely a kiss—more of a ghost of one—but it sent a shiver straight down your spine, igniting something electric in your veins.

Your breath hitched. “Theo—”

“I know,” he murmured, voice impossibly low, as if he was reading every thought racing through your mind. His thumb traced slow, teasing circles over your palm, his lips still hovering dangerously close to your skin. “Tell me to stop.”

But you didn’t.

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head slightly toward him, meeting his gaze through the dim flicker of the screen. “What if I don’t want to?”

His smirk deepened, but there was something softer there, something almost unreadable. For a moment, he just looked at you, as if memorizing every detail, before he finally whispered, “Then we might have a problem.”

And the worst part?

You wanted to find out just how much of a problem it could be.

The world outside of your little bubble had disappeared completely—the film playing on the screen, the murmur of the other audience members, the distant rustling of popcorn bags—it all faded into nothing. All that remained was Theodore, his touch burning into your skin, the weight of his gaze heavy as it flickered down to your lips.

His hand tightened ever so slightly around yours, his thumb tracing the delicate skin of your wrist, and you swore you felt your heartbeat stutter. There was something unbearably patient about the way he was looking at you, like he was waiting—waiting for you to pull away, to scoff and shove him off, to turn this into just another one of your never-ending debates. But you didn’t move.

Instead, you found yourself leaning in, the warmth between you growing thick, heavy. Your noses brushed—barely, just a whisper of contact—but it sent something electric crackling through your veins.

Theo exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath. His voice was nothing more than a murmur, just for you. “You’re really not stopping me.”

You smirked, fingers tightening slightly around his. “I thought you liked risks.”

His lips caught yours in the next breath, slow at first—just a soft, testing press, as if he wasn’t entirely sure this was real. But then you sighed against his mouth, tilting your head slightly, and finally leaned in.

Theo let go of whatever restraint he had left. His free hand came up to cradle your jaw, fingers pressing gently beneath your ear as he deepened the kiss, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second.

He tasted faintly of Italian summer and something richer, something entirely him. His touch was both careful and possessive, like he was memorizing the shape of you beneath his fingertips. You felt yourself melt into it, the heat between you intensifying, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You barely noticed the way his thumb brushed over your cheek, the way he tilted your chin just slightly to kiss you deeper. Everything about it was intoxicating—the way he moved, the way he swallowed the quiet little sigh that escaped you, the way his fingers flexed against your skin like he didn’t want to let go.

Somewhere in the background, the movie continued playing—gunfire, sharp dialogue, the rise of a dramatic score—but it all blurred into nothing. All you could focus on was Theo, on the way he was kissing you like he’d been waiting for this, like he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance.

When he finally, reluctantly, pulled away, his lips barely ghosting over yours, you were both breathless. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his fingers still cupping your jaw, his thumb tracing absent patterns over your skin.

You opened your eyes slowly, meeting his gaze. His pupils were blown, his lips slightly parted, and for the first time, Theodore Nott looked entirely, devastatingly undone.

A slow, lazy smirk curled at the corner of his lips. “Well,” he murmured, voice slightly rough. “I suppose I owe Tarantino some credit after all.”

You let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes. “Unbelievable.”

He chuckled, fingers trailing down the side of your throat, as if he wasn’t quite ready to stop touching you yet. “Admit it,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “You liked that more than the film.”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Jury’s still out.”

Theo smirked, his lips brushing yours again in a featherlight kiss, like a silent promise. “Then I guess I’ll just have to convince you.”

And as he pulls you back into another kiss, slow and deep and utterly devastating, you realise with absolute certainty—you were in trouble.

Theodore's hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his lips moving with an urgency that steals your breath. He pulls you closer, eliminating any remaining distance between your bodies, his heart hammering against his ribs. 

His other hand splays across your lower back, pressing you flush against him as the kiss grows more heated, more demanding. He nips at your lower lip, his tongue soothing the sting before delving back into your mouth, stroking along yours in a dance that leaves you breathless. The cinema, the other people, the movie - it all disappears. There is only the two of you, lost in the passion of this stolen moment. 

When Theodore finally breaks the kiss, you're both left panting, your chests heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering open to gaze into yours with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. “Fuck..." he breathes, his voice ragged with desire.

And then, an act on impulse, a surge of primal instinct driving him. In one swift, fluid motion, he reaches under your thighs and lifts you effortlessly, settling you straddled on his lap. The sudden change in position startles you both, but the shock quickly melts into a shiver of pleasure as you feel the hard, muscular length of his thighs beneath you. 

The cinema has long since faded from your awareness; now there is only the two of you, the heat building between your bodies, the electricity crackling in the air. 

Theodore's hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh almost hard enough to bruise as he holds you in place. Your chest is pressed against his, and you can feel the pounding of his heart, the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. 

His eyes are dark, almost black in the dim light, blazing into yours with an intensity that makes your own pulse race. "Darling," he murmurs, his voice a low, husky rumble. His hands move again up your back, one tangling in your hair while the other cups the back of your neck, pulling you into a searing, desperate kiss. 

The kiss is a clash of lips and tongues, a dance of passion and pent-up longing. It's a kiss that speaks of a hunger, a need, a desperation that can no longer be contained. Theodore kisses you like a man starved, like he is trying to devour you, to consume you, to make you a part of him.

Red faced, messy hair, you look up at him. “Sh-shit Theo, we shouldn’t be doing this here.” You quietly giggled.

Theodore chuckles softly at your giggle, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. He doesn't stop his ministrations, his hands still roaming your curves with a familiar confidence. 

But he does lean back slightly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

"Shh, shh, bella, what's the matter? Don't tell me you're getting shy on me now..." he teases, his voice a low murmur meant only for your ears. 

"We're just two lovers, lost in the moment. Surely there's no harm in that?" His hand slides from your hip to your thigh, his fingers tracing maddeningly slow circles on your skin. Your breath hitches at the touch, a fresh wave of goosebumps erupting across your flesh.

Theodore's eyes darken with lust as he feels your hips squirming against him, your plush rear rubbing against his hardening cock through the fabric of his trousers. 

A low, guttural groan escapes his lips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. His other hand slides up your side, his fingertips skimming the side of your breast, teasing you with the promise of his touch. 

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your flesh. "Gorgeous, you feel what you do to me, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice a low, husky growl. 

His words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your stomach as your grip tightened on his coat. The way he spoke, all dark velvet and wicked amusement, made your head spin. You did feel it—the tension thrumming between you, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way his fingers ghosted over your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you. And Merlin, it was driving you insane.

Your breath hitched as you shifted against him, creating more friction, desperate for anything to relieve the ache building inside you. His sharp inhale, the barely restrained groan against your throat, sent a rush of satisfaction through you.

"Fuck," Theo muttered, his lips grazing the delicate skin beneath your jaw. "You're dangerous."

A breathy laugh escaped you, but it was cut short as he tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. His nose skimmed along the column of your throat before he pressed an open-mouthed kiss there, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the way you trembled against him.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he murmured, lips brushing against your pulse point. "Arguing with you, watching you get all worked up—Merlin—and now this?" His teeth grazed your skin, not quite biting, just enough to make your breath stutter. "Gorgeous, you have no idea how long I've wanted this."

His confession sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you couldn't help the way your hips rolled against his, seeking more of the delicious friction he so easily provided. His hands gripped you tighter, his restraint fraying with each passing second.

Theo let out a strained chuckle, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with something dangerous. "If you keep doing that, sweetheart," he murmured, voice thick with desire, "I'm going to forget we're in a bloody cinema."

The thought sent a thrill through you, but you knew he was right. The dim glow of the screen cast flickering shadows across his sharp features, but the reality of your surroundings was quickly slipping away, drowned out by the intoxicating heat between you.

You licked your lips, breathless. "Then maybe you should."

Theo stilled for a fraction of a second, his fingers flexing against your waist. And then—Merlin, then—his lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

"Brilliant idea, darling," he purred.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before the haze of lust could fade, Theo was back at it again, with more force and more desire.

Theodore's hand cups your breast fully now, his thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling your hardened nipple through the thin material of your shirt. His lips trail up your neck, pausing to nip and suck at your pulse point before moving to your ear. 

"I want to bend you over the back of this seat and fuck you until you scream, until the entire cinema knows who you belong to," he whispers, his voice rough with need. 

"I want to make you come on my cock again and again until you're begging me to stop, until you're completely and utterly satisfied..." His hand slides down your stomach, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your skirt, teasing the sensitive skin just above where you crave his touch most. 

Theodore's eyes blaze into yours, filled with a hunger and a desperation that makes your core clench with anticipation. "But I suppose I can be patient, for now," he murmurs, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

"After all, the anticipation, the build-up, the waiting... it's all part of the thrill, isn't it? Knowing that I could take you right here, right now, but choosing not to... for now." 

He pulls you into another searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you, consuming you, until you're left breathless and wanting. 

When he finally breaks the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours, a wicked glint in his eye. "Tell me," he murmurs, his voice a low, sinful purr. "What do you want, my clever little witch?”

“N-no, Theo.” You blush, feeling hot. “I’m too turned on, I’ll be quiet I promise.” 

Theodore's eyes flash with triumph and desire at your breathless, needy words. A smug, satisfied smirk spreads across his handsome face as he realizes the effect he's having on you. 

His hand slides further down, his fingers brushing against your clothed sex, feeling the damp heat radiating through the fabric. "Mmm, is that so, pretty?" he murmurs, his voice a low, husky purr. 

"You want me to fuck you, right here, right now, don't you? Want me to slip my hard, aching cock inside your tight, wet little cunt until you're screaming my name?" His fingers rub slow, teasing circles over your clothed clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm and whimper with need. 

Theodore leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, his voice dripping with sinful promise. "I promise, I'll make it worth it. I'll fuck you so hard and so good that you'll forget where we are, and every single time, that you watch this movie, you will only see me.” 

His other hand slides up your shirt, pushing the fabric out of the way to expose your heaving breasts. He cups the soft mounds, kneading and squeezing them, his thumbs and forefingers pinching and tugging at your hardened nipples. 

"You just need to be a good girl and stay quiet for me, understand? No matter how much you want to scream, no matter how much you want to cry out in ecstasy, you need to stay silent. Think you can do that, tesoro?" Theodore's eyes blaze into yours, filled with a hunger and a desperation that makes your core clench with anticipation. 

His hand slips beneath your skirt, his fingers brushing against your slick folds, feeling the evidence of your arousal. 

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Are you ready for me to fuck you like you've never been fucked before, right here, right now, in front of all these unsuspecting people?”

Theodore takes your silent nod as the consent it is, his eyes darkening with a new wave of lust and desire. 

His hand slips further beneath your skirt, his fingers brushing against your slick, bare folds, feeling the evidence of your arousal coating his skin. With a low, guttural groan, he pushes two fingers deep inside you, his thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. 

He pumps his fingers in and out of your tight heat, his palm pressing against your clit with each thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through your body. Theodore leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, husky whisper. “Shit, you're so fucking wet. So ready for my cock, aren't you? I can feel your greedy little cunt sucking me in, begging to be filled..." 

His other hand still up your shirt, pushes the fabric of your bra out of the way completely. He leans down, taking the stiff peak into his mouth, suckling and nibbling until you're writhing against him, barely able to stay silent. 

Thank Merlin, you guys are in the last row, and the cinema’s loud speakers consume the room, the attention of the silent watchers move away from you both, the world narrowing down to the feeling of Theodore's hands on your body, his fingers pumping in and out of your dripping sex, his mouth on your breast. 

You can feel the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against your ass, the evidence of his own desperate arousal. Theodore's hand slides from your breast to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place as he grinds his hips against yours, the rough fabric of his trousers rubbing against your sensitive flesh. 

He captures your lips in a searing, desperate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you, consuming you. 

"Mmh... please Teddy." You can't hold it in. It's been too long, he's teasing too much. "Hurry up so we can get the hell out."

Noticing your discomfort, and your inability to stay fucking quiet, Theodore’s eyes widen briefly at your plea, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He chuckles softly, a low, sinful sound that sends a shiver down your spine. 

His fingers continue their relentless assault on your dripping pussy, pumping in and out, curling against that sensitive spot deep inside you that makes your toes curl and your back arch. "Mmm, so eager, aren't you beautiful?" he murmurs, his voice a low, teasing purr. 

"So desperate for my cock, so hungry for me to fill you up, to make you mine..." 

He nips at your lower lip, his teeth tugging on the tender flesh, before soothing the sting with his tongue. His hand slides from your neck to your hip, gripping the curve possessively. "Very well, my love. I suppose we can finish the movie another time… too bad we couldn’t do it in here.” 

Theodore's voice is low and rough with desire as he slowly withdraws his fingers from your dripping sex. You whimper at the loss, your body aching to be filled, to be stretched and used. He stands abruptly, pulling you up with him. 

With deft, practiced movements, he straightens your skirt and shirt, making you presentable once more. Taking your hand in his, he leads you quickly and quietly out of the cinema, weaving through the darkened aisles until you reach the emergency exit at the back. 

Pushing open the door, Theodore pulls you into the cool night air, the stars twinkling above you in the inky black sky. He doesn't stop until he finds a secluded spot behind a tall hedgerow, hidden from view of the cinema and the buzzing streets of London. 

Turning to face you, Theodore pulls you flush against him, his hands gripping your hips with hands that you knew would leave a mark. 

He connects both your mouths, hurriedly, impatient to fuck you good.

He groans into your mouth, his tongue delving deep, stroking along yours, tasting you, consuming you. His hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing the firm globes before lifting you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist.

 He carries you a few steps further, until your back is pressed against the rough bark of a sturdy brick wall. 

Breaking the kiss, Theodore leans back just enough to look into your eyes, his own blazing with a hunger and a desperation that makes your heart race. 

He reaches down with one hand, fumbling briefly with the fastenings of his trousers before freeing his aching cock. It springs forth, shiny and veiny and heavy, the swollen head already glistening with precum. 

He strokes himself once, twice, hissing at the sensation, before gripping your thigh and positioning himself at your entrance. "Tell me, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice a low, rough growl. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you need my cock inside you, filling you, claiming you, making you mine. Say it, cara mia..." He rubs the head of his cock teasingly against your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. 

His other hand slides up your jaw, cupping your face, his thumb playing with your swollen pouty lips. His eyes bore into yours, filled with a desperate, aching need. The cool night air kisses your skin, but the heat building between your bodies is scorching, all consuming.

Theodore's chest heaves with each ragged breath, his heart pounding against his ribs. He's waiting for your consent, your permission, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. 

With a sudden, sharp thrust, he sheaths himself inside you, burying his thick, hard length deep into your tight, wet heat. He groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that sends shockwaves through your body. 

He starts to move, his hips rolling against yours, his cock sliding in and out of your dripping sex with long, deep strokes. “Cazzo..." Theodore grits out, his voice strained with exertion and ecstasy. "You feel exquisite, like you were made just for me. So fucking tight, so fucking perfect..." He captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. 

His hands grip your hips, pulling you down to meet his thrusts, the force of them making you shake against the hard wall.

Theodore groans at your sudden cry, the sound turning him on. He pistons his hips faster, driving into you with a newfound urgency, the force of his thrusts making the old oak tree shudder and sway around you. 

"That's it, bella," he pants, his voice a low, rough growl. "Let me hear you. I want to hear every little sound you make, every desperate plea falling from your pretty lips. Were not in there any more, don’t hold back princess…” 

One hand slides from your hip to your thigh, pushing your leg higher up his waist, opening you up to him, allowing him to delve even deeper into your tight, clenching heat. 

The other hand slides up your shirt, exposing once again your heaving breasts to the cool night air. Theodore leans down, taking one hardened nipple into his mouth, suckling and nibbling at the sensitive bud until you're writhing against him, your fingers tangling in his dark hair.

 He laves his tongue over the reddened flesh, soothing the sting of his bites before moving to its twin, giving it the same attention.

 All the while, he never stops his relentless assault on your pussy, his cock pounding into you with a force that steals your breath and makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

 You can feel the tension building low in your belly, the coil tightening with each thrust, each stroke, each press of his hips against yours. Theodore's hand slides between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles over the swollen nub. 

His touch is electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through your body, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "That's it, baby," he murmurs against your breast, his voice a low, sinful purr. 

"Come for me, my love. Come on my cock like the perfect little angel you are. I want to feel you…” 

Theodore feels your sex clamp down around his cock like a vice as your orgasm overtakes you. He groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that echoes through the quiet night air, as your walls flutter and spasm around his throbbing length. 

He doesn't slow his thrusts, instead pounding into your quivering heat with a newfound fervor, prolonging your climax, drawing out your ecstasy. 

“Yes, yes, yes… just like that” he growls, his voice ragged and strained with his own impending release. "Fuck, you're squeezing me so tightly, like you never want to let me go. I can feel your greedy little cunt trying to swallow this big dick.” 

He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure, his tongue delving deep to stroke along yours, to dance and twine with yours in a lewd, filthy imitation of the act taking place below. 

His hands grip your ass, squeezing the firm globes, pulling you harder against him, burying himself impossibly deeper inside you with each powerful thrust. Theo's fingers continue their relentless assault on your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles over the sensitive nub, pushing you through your climax and straight into another. 

Your body is trembling, shaking, the pleasure almost too intense to bear as he fucks you through the aftershocks, the waves of bliss crashing over you again and again. He can feel his own release building, the tension coiling at the base of his spine, his balls drawing up tight. 

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside your still fluttering sex, his cock pulsing, throbbing, as he finds his own completion. 

"Fuck, pretty, fuck!" Theodore roars, his voice echoing through the night as he starts to come, his thick, hot seed spurting deep inside you, painting your walls white. 

His hips continue to roll, grinding against yours, drawing out his orgasm, filling you up just like he promised.

 He holds you close as the waves of pleasure slowly ebb, your combined releases trickling down your thighs, marking you, claiming you, making you his. 

Theodore's heart hammers against his chest as he tries to catch his breath, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes locked with yours.

You felt colder now, the sharp night air finally biting at your flushed skin, but Theo barely let you move away from him. His arms were still wrapped around you, firm and possessive, as if he had no intention of letting you go just yet. And honestly? You weren’t about to complain.

Your breath came in slow, uneven pants as you tried to recover, your forehead still pressed against his. His lips curled into the ghost of a smirk, his usual arrogance softened by the post-bliss haze settling over both of you.

“Merlin,” Theo finally muttered, voice still thick and gravelly, “that was—” He exhaled, shaking his head like he couldn’t even find the words.

You let out a breathy, satisfied laugh, tilting your head to look at him. “Better than theatre?”

His lips twitched, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re really asking me that?”

You hummed, feigning nonchalance even as your body still buzzed from everything you’d just done. “Well, I mean, I know you think theatre is the peak of human artistic expression, but surely even you have to admit that was… cinematic.”

Theo let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Cinematic?”

You grinned, biting your lip. “Perfectly timed tension, intense buildup, and an unforgettable climax—I’d say we just gave Scorsese a run for his money.”

Theo groaned, tipping his head back, but you caught the way his lips twitched, like he was trying so hard not to smile. “You would turn this into a bloody film analysis.”

You shrugged, smug. “And you would turn it into a tragic, forbidden romance.”

“Obviously,” he shot back, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Star-crossed lovers, clashing ideals, unbearable tension—”

“—and a dramatic resolution that makes the audience swoon,” you added, nudging his ribs.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled you in closer. “Fine, I’ll admit it. That was—” He lowered his voice, leaning in to whisper against your ear, “—Oscar-worthy.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp, pushing playfully at his chest. “You’re giving credit to film? You? Theodore Nott?”

He smirked, completely unbothered. “Even I have to admit, some performances just can’t be staged.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you finally let yourself melt into his arms, letting the cool London air wrap around you both. “Well, I suppose there’s only one thing left to do now.”

He raised a brow. “And that is?”

You looked up at him, feigning seriousness. “Debrief. Proper analysis, compare our perspectives—”

“Absolutely not,” Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re insufferable.”

You grinned. “And yet, you’re still holding me.”

Theo sighed, shaking his head with an affectionate smirk. “Yeah, well… Guess I do have a weakness for a well-written story.”

His lips met yours again, soft and unhurried this time, and you couldn’t help but think—whether it was theatre or cinema, tragedy or romance—this? This was your favorite story yet.

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Pack: Epilogue

Trigger warnings: none

One year later Chan returned bloodied and covered in dirt with a naked Hyunjin. Chan had spent 13 months searching high and low for the lycan. Chan branded his alpha deep into his mind so he knew who to find. There were many lycans south but he wanted to find Hyunjin. He fought Hyunjin several times but had lost him. The lycan's consciousness was getting more animalistic and Chan found it difficult to pin him down. When he did Chan dragged him to a witch that he bargained with. Seven years ago, Chan would have been disgusted with collaborating with a coven of witches but that night it was all or nothing. He couldn't go back to Straykids knowing he caused his Luna pain. He caused his wolves pain. He almost got his own wolf killed because of his uncle. He couldn't face them without bringing him back. "How do you think they are?" Hyunjin asked tiredly. "I don't know," Chan said honestly.

They weren't good. The first day Y/N was in hysterics. She mourned both of them for weeks. Jeongin was worried they were going to lose the pup to her sadness. Yet they didn't, the pup was growing strong in Y/N's womb. The pup was kicking away, reminding his mother that he loved her. The pup forced Y/N to do better so she got up every day and worked alongside Jeongin to make Straykids strong again. They hacked into Chan's assets to continue them and even started to build a werewolf community for distant werewolves who lacked a pack or wanted to be trained. Minho used his skills as an elder to build the school and even taught them alongside his two best elders who helped build the school. Changbin completed his training at the hospital and built a werewolf hospital with Jaehee so that any werewolves could come if they needed it. It was an anonymous place. Even for lone omegas, they could come here to be treated. Felix and Jisung had built a new play area for the pup with Seungmin who spent most of the time shopping online because he wasn't a builder.

It took them a while to build themselves back up again but with their Luna and new Head Alpha they could do anything. They were much more protective of her. Minho wouldn't let her out of his sight. Jeongin slept with her every night as she carried their child. Jisung babied her with Felix and made sure everything was up to her standards. Seungmin and Changbin were more like guard dogs during the year. Nobody left. Jeongin tried to get Changbin and Seungmin to find Chan but they couldn't. He was gone and they had to accept that. That was the hardest thing for all of them. Losing two alphas for a tragedy.

Chan and Hyunjin walked up to the front door listening to the noises in the house. They could hear Minho scolding them for eating like dogs. They could hear Felix's laughter. They could hear Jeongin's deep voice. They could hear the coos of a baby. A little baby. Their hearts broke as they realised they missed the birth of their firstborn pup. They wanted to know who they were. What their name was. Hyunjin and Chan looked at each other before knocking on the door. "Get the door Changbin," Jeongin ordered. "I'm eating," Changbin said with a mouthful of food. "For ancestors' sake. Take him." Y/N growled. Chan and Hyunjin felt nervous as Y/N's steps came closer to the door. It made them feel nervous.

As soon as Y/N opened the door they gasped, but before they could look at her and the infant in front of her, she shut the door on them. She wasn't ready to see them. When the door opened again it was Jeongin. He looked different. Taller. Muscular. He was looking like a true head alpha. Chan felt undeniably proud of his young alpha. "What are you doing here." Jeongin's voice was gruff. "To say how sorry I am. Truly I am Alpha Jeongin. I had to find Hyunjin and bring him back home. At least let him come in to be treated and then I will leave." Chan promised. He would leave if he didn't belong here. If he was not welcome he would leave. "Come in through the back. I don't want to involve my children." Jeongin said as he shut the door, guiding them to the back door. "Children?" Hyunjin whispered. "Yes. Lucas and Moon. Both boys. Both Apex's." Jeongin said proudly. "Apex." Chan gasped, making Jeongin growl protectively. Chan lowered his head. Even though the firstborn was his, Jeongin had taken responsibility. "If our Luna allows it you can meet them."

Of course, Y/N allowed Chan and Hyunjin to meet them once they were treated, bathed and clothed. She allowed them to meet the tiny apex alphas, once they met her. As soon as they saw her they both dropped to the floor. Chan at her feet, hugging her like a child. He had so many words to say to her and he did. He apologised profusely for everything he did but Y/N refused to hear it. She wasn't angry or hurt anymore. If anything, she was glad he was home back with her. Even Hyunjin apologised but Y/N had no reason to blame him, he was sacrificed because of Joshua. None of it was his fault. Y/N embraced them both tightly for a while before she prepared them to meet Lucas and Moon. "Right. Lucas is very wary of new people. He might not let you hold him but I can try. He doesn't really like Jaehee when she comes around. Moon is sensitive and needs to be close to me or his father's." Y/N said. The two alphas nodded ready to meet them. "Are they all referred to as father?" Hyunjin asked. "Yes. Father Minho. Father Seungmin but Jeongin is just father because Moon is his. It will be the same when this little pup is born, Minho will be just father." Y/N explained. "You're pregnant again?" Chan asked nervously. "Every time they breathe on me I'm miraculously pregnant." Y/N sighed. "Alright let's try Lucas first."

It was a sweet moment when Chan met his son who was being held by Seungmin. Seungmin carefully placed the one-year-old into his arms, confusing Lucas with the stranger. Lucas looked up confused at who this stranger was, but he didn't cry or scream like he normally did. Instead, he froze looking at his fathers for help, but when he saw his mother's smile at the stranger he relaxed. Y/N picked up the infant Moon and showed him to his older brother who giggled. Lucas wanted to grab Moon seeing his little brother smile. Y/N past Moon did Hyunjin with Jeongin's approval but Hyunjin looked petrified. He didn't know how to hold an infant but he learned quickly. It was bittersweet because despite how cute these baby Apex's look. They were going to stick to Hyunjin's orders and become a nuisance in the future as soon as they were presented as Alphas.

Chan redeemed himself but became the third alpha. He didn't remove Jeongin from his position instead he adapted so he could spend more time with Lucas. Hyunjin kept his position and became even more protective of Y/N as he tried to recreate the bond that was broken. He wanted to be exceptionally close to her. The other wolves worked hard on their projects. The school was running fine and when the boys were older they would join. Changbin and Jaehee had bought a plot of land down the road to build their hospital. Jisung, Felix and Seungmin worked on assets so they didn't need to do anything big. Hyunjin on the other hand became an art teacher for the students and employed other art teachers who he vetted. So, it is a happy ending after all.

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@galaxy4489 @reallychaoticwoo @leezanetheofficial @mbioooo0000 @jisungs-iced-americano @maybeimmia @hwangrfrnd@wolfo2027 @kayleefriedchicken @leamueller920 @borahae-reads @jennibahng @cookiesandcreammy @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @pixie0627

~ Taglist closed due to Tumblr only allowing a certain amount ~

[satoruxx]

don’t ask me why i’m back at midnight i don’t know either. BUT EEEEEE

thinking about wolf!toji who when he finally gets comfy w touch and you are all comfy w teasing him and playing w his hair and ears and out of nowhere he nips your arm w his teeth

he’s just as surprised as you are— the action just came out of nowhere and just before he opens his mouth to apologize profusely and retreat into his old ways, terrified of becoming someone you are afraid of, you giggle.

“did you just chomp me to get me to stop? you’re the cutest thing ever!”

and he’s once again reminded of your near foolish fearlessness when it comes to him. how you trust him entirely and would never even fathom him in that angry, mean way he used to embody. no, from the looks on your face you’re just barely restraining yourself from grabbing his cheeks and cooing like a grandmother.

“yeah, and next time ‘m taking a finger with me”

okay i’m sorry im done I shall leave you be

OKAY SAGE SERIOUSLY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE??? THE WAY I LITERALLY HAVE A SCENE WHERE TOJI TRIES TO PLAYFULLY BITE YOUR FINGER IN THE NEXT CHAPTER....

anyways yes i fully believe he would snap his chompers at you the way dogs do... obviously not to hurt but that's just their way of playing yk??? first time he does it he literally goes rigid. you’re being silly, sitting next to him on the couch and poking at his ears without a care in the world. he rolls his eyes at the antics—you seem to enjoy the way his ears flick every time you touch them. he halfheartedly tells you to quit it and yet makes no effort to get you to stop, too busy focusing on your quiet giggles.

and then without any warning, he finds his teeth nipping at your arm. you freeze. he freezes. he knows it wasn't hard enough to draw blood but it appalls him that he even bared his fangs at you in the first place. the guilt that washes over him is almost dizzying, intensified by a strange sense of fear. that's it—he's now exposed himself as the uncontrollable animal he's always been. you'll see it now, just how dangerous and scary he is.

he's waiting for your anger with bated breath, but all he hears is a chime of laughter. he glances at you, and finds the most amused grin he's ever seen. "i hope you know that lil chomp is not stopping me."

he blanches. "that... it didn't hurt?"

you raise a brow. "of course not. it basically felt like a tickle."

toji's head spins. the way you catch him off guard is scary. he always needs to backtrack and remember that you don't view him through that lense—that to you he's nothing more than an overgrown puppy. which, to him, is extremely ridiculous. but only someone as naive as you could stare at a wolf hybrid who has known nothing but violence and say that his teeth are nothing but a tickle. you are so stupidly compassionate, sweet in a way that warms his tongue—addicting and vice-like.

"you know these teeth have bitten off literal flesh, right?" he questions. you grin, eyes crinkling in a strangely familiar way.

"so? not like they'd do anything to me." your smile is blindingly smug, and toji's shoulders relax. once again, you are too trusting. it infuriates him—how correct you are. there is a pulse against his ribcage that seems to steadily speed up the longer he looks at you. so frustrating.

you reach up and jab your pointer finger into his cheek, and he doesn't think twice before trying to snap at it. your laughter echoes through his ears as you pull your hand away quickly, and the wry grin on his face seems all too natural.

"not do anything, huh? careful, next time 'm taking that finger with me."

[yanderes-galore]

Fandom: Souls-Like Games 

Character: Maliketh, the Black Blade (Elden Ring) 

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic 

Type of Fic: Concept

Thank you. :)

I can try, sure :) Here he is... I hope I did well with his character. Sorry I made it platonic... I couldn't figure out romance with him and I feel platonic fit better.

Yandere! Platonic! Maliketh, The Black Blade Concept

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Violence, Possessive behavior, Manipulation, Dubious companionship.

Maliketh has only ever been given one goal.

Protect the Rune of Death for Marika to preserve the Golden Order.

Maliketh is known as Marika's Shadow, a beast meant to protect and serve.

Ironically, he takes the form of a canine-like being, a loyal hound to Marika.

Unfortunately, there isn't much known about him character-wise.

His biggest traits are being a protector and guard to the Rune of Death.

While the request wanted this general... I feel platonic makes the most sense for him?

He's a beast, one meant to serve Empyreans.

He shall preserve the Golden Order, no matter the cost.

The first storyline that comes to mind is you being a sibling of Marika... or maybe even a child of hers.

Which in turn, somehow, makes you related to Maliketh.

The beast no doubt knows about you.

How could he not? He's loyal to Marika... and you are of her blood.

This would, theoretically, make Maliketh fond of you.

The lupin half beast knows he has one goal, protect Destined Death, yet you often visit.

Maliketh often tells you not to visit, he is doing his job for Marika.

He even asks you what Marika would think if you kept distracting him.

You never seemed to care what Marika would think though.

Instead you insisted on keeping her Shadow company, praising him and speaking to him.

He hates to admit it... but Maliketh enjoys your presence.

Your presence is the only company he's had in a long time.

Part of him even wonders if Marika sends you to him.

Does she care for him even now?

Even when he's losing himself to his need for Death Root... you keep visiting.

You, an Empyrean, keep him sane.

He's so close to just becoming a feral beast...

Yet you give him purpose, even when Marika can not.

You make protecting the Rune much easier.

Although... Imagine if you treat him like a dog?

Maliketh is meant to be a loyal hound to Marika, and by extension you.

He may be Marika's Shadow... but he yearns for your attention.

Even when he stays hidden away, you visit him and praise him.

Perhaps you even reach out and pet his fur gently.

Maliketh wants to lash out, to hate your attention...

Yet he can't.

He feels connected with you...

Like a loyal wolf.

You have no Shadow of your own, you were never assigned one.

But Maliketh seems to act like your own anyways.

He still follows Marika's set task...

Although, he often looks forward to your visits.

He doesn't care if Marika sent you or not.

The beast still finds himself waiting to see your form... to smell your scent... and to feel your touch.

It's lonely when he can only listen to his thoughts.

He doesn't want to think of his hunger.

With you... He can think of something else.

He can not crave Death Root for just a moment if he craves you instead.

You are a light for him, one as bright as the Erd Tree....

Time seems to slow when you're not in his sight.

It's torturous.

By the time you arrive back to him, to greet and praise him...

Maliketh never wants you to leave again.

The Shadow is aware he is meant to be alone.

He is meant to protect the Rune, and after the death of Godwyn, he realizes he deserves isolation as punishment.

But... as much as he hates to admit it... He pleads for you to stay.

He wants your company, for just a while longer....

Who knows, maybe you'll comply.

Maybe you'll grace him with your presence and let him protect you.

Protect... It's all he's ever good for.

He's meant to sit and stay, to defend.

The Rune, The Golden Order, The Erd Tree, Marika...

He'd much rather protect you.

No... He needs to.

Maliketh has a failing mental state...

Death Root has rotted his mind.

Your affection and attention... Just a taste makes him addicted.

Call him weak... He doesn't care.

Soon, Maliketh realizes he needs you

He needs you to stay.

He'll make sure no one harms you.

For Marika, and himself, he'll protect you.

He'll pay attention to you, be loyal to you...

He'll drag you to stay with him, your clothes in his teeth as he growls.

He's disobeying, he knows it...

He needs you....

Marika must understand... She has to...

You soothe the beast.

As long as he's soothed... he's focused... he can protect...

He doesn't care how much blood it takes.

You will stay beside him... It's not like you can die.

He prevents you from dying with his duty.

So... stay.

Stay and let him be loyal.

He may not be your Shadow...

Although that changes nothing for him, Maliketh was always meant to protect...

Now he plans to protect you, just to quiet his corrupted mind for a few moments.

[blacklegsanjienthusiast]

Don’t forget that Sanji is probably the only member in the crew, currently, that Nami could trust who would definitely try to stick to the budget. I could really imagine them talking about budget and supply or food inventory. Sanji would most likely keep Nami updated on how much is left in their inventory and he would be able to calculate how they could make the food last. Also, Sanji has worked in the restaurant business so that means he probably knows how to haggle to get a much lower price for a better deal. I also have this headcanon that if Sanji wants a certain ingredient and they can’t get it due to budget constraint, Nami might steal it lol.

If you think about it, Nami and Sanji are probably the ones within the crew, currently, that has the most experience on how to maneuver, work, live and survive on ships. Nami has been stealing and traveling on ships, and then mapping islands for half of life. While Sanji has been living on restaurant ships, that have experienced their fair share of storms etc, for most of his life.

The other 3 members don’t have that much experience: Luffy ventured off on his own when he was 17 and his first boat sank lol. Usopp’s first journey out on sea was when he left with the Strawhats. Zoro left his village when he was 18/19 and he has travelled on ships since then, but that also means he does not have enough experience on working on a ship since his canon age in Season 1 is 19. And he was more of a lone wolf in the Live Action so he probably was just a passenger most of the time and never tried to help any ship crew. Then let’s add Chopper, the youngest, who most surely doesn’t have any experience at all in living and working on a ship.

yes, absolutely to all of this!

when it comes to just daily existing on the merry, the running of it etc it’s definitely the two of them at the forefront just because they have the most experience in that particular area. sanji is used to much larger ships (he’s lived on the sea his whole life when you think about it, he’s much more familiar living upon ships than land) but that just means he knows exactly how to deal with the merrys stock and supplies etc (which is something i do think about a lot, how he handles stock and recipes plus his relationship with food in general but that’s not the point) because it’s a smaller job than on the baratie or orbit which is incredibly important to keep on top of and of course nami is a damn good navigator, who is always on top of their course and the weather etc. between the two of them the merry runs like a dream (when luffy and usopp aren’t causing mayhem that is).

i love them being a formidable team when it comes to shopping and budgeting, with zoro as their pack mule, both of them flirting the prices down and sanji giving nami puppy dog eyes to ask her to steal something he can’t afford. when it’s just the 5 of them he’s definitely the only one she trusts to use the money she gives him responsibly and not blow it in crap they don’t need or copious amounts of alcohol (zoro).

[mattsundaes]

BRIGHT AS THE MORNING/SOFT AS THE RAIN.

jean kirstein x f!reader

Jean Kirstein may have sharp teeth—but he seems to forget that you do, too. 

wc: 3.9k tags: 18+ only, wolf shifter!jean, witch!reader, little witch as a pet name, enemies to lovers, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, multiple orgasms, semi-public sex, outdoor sex, sex against a wall -> requested

No turning back now.

The glass vial is cool against your fingertips when you pull it from your back pocket, uncorking the stopper before bringing it to your lips and tipping its pale green contents onto your tongue. You fight back the full body shiver that threatens to wrack through you as the bitter liquid burns its way down your throat.

It tastes awful. 

Flicking the empty container into a nearby garbage bin, you hastily wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, making a mental note to include a neutral additive next time you find yourself thumbing your way through your grandmother’s crumbling grimoire. The old coven never did pay any mind to the foul taste of their ancient elixirs. 

Eyes darting to the neon sign hanging above the building across the street, its colors reflecting in the puddles strewn about the sidewalk out front, you sigh. Now for the annoying part. 

You dog-eared the page on this vitality spell years ago, intrigued by the rejuvenating properties of the concoction that your grandmother’s gnarled old hands had once made use of in days long past. Most of the ingredients were easy enough to procure, and the elixir need only be saved for the full moon for maximum potency. A moon that hangs bright and heavy over a blissfully clear, star-speckled sky tonight. 

But the reason why you’ve put off this tempting spell for so long is the final ingredient that you’ve now begrudgingly come to collect—shifter saliva.

Wolf shifter saliva, to be exact. 

When you step through the front doors of the bar, you wrinkle your nose at the decidedly canine scent that invades your nostrils. Not that it can be helped, given that you’ve purposely chosen an establishment frequented by them to make this as quick and transactional as possible. 

It’s not particularly ideal—traipsing around in a building full of wolf shifters on the full moon. While the waxing and waning crescent does not dain to dictate their transformations, their power finds an apex, just as yours does, on nights like this. You can feel the buzz of it in the air, licking against your skin, the tendrils of magic bearing an earthen touch. 

It takes you all of ten minutes spent perched on a stool at the end of the bar to find yourself confidently approached by what appears to be an easy contender. A shifter who introduced himself as Eren now sits beside you, his dark brown hair half pulled back into a messy bun, knee lightly brushing against your own in a way that treads the line between a polite mistake and a subtle invitation. 

He’s cute, and he’s caught your interest enough that you might even be willing to let him get a hand or two up your shirt when you inevitably stumble your way into a bathroom or alleyway to make out and swap spit. Nobody said you couldn’t at least try to get some enjoyment out of this, after all. 

That is, until the last voice that you’re expecting to hear on this fine evening unceremoniously interrupts your conversation from somewhere behind you.

“And what do we have here?”

Stiffening, you turn to face none other than the head of the Trost pack in all of his annoyingly handsome and insufferable glory—Jean Kirstein.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter under your breath.

Jean ignores your comment, though there’s not a single doubt in your mind that his wolfy hearing picks up every word loud and clear.

“I think Armin’s looking for you,” he tells Eren.

Eren raises a brow, taking a slow sip from the glass in his hand. “Nah, I doubt that.”

He returns his gaze to you, but Jean steps closer, putting an arm around his shoulder as he leans in. “She’ll eat you alive, Jaeger. You know what she is, don’t you?”

Eren smiles, canine teeth on full display; it’s less friendly and more of a challenge. “I’m a big boy, Kirstein.”

Jean’s eyes flash, and he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, “Take a fucking hint.” 

There’s nothing remotely cordial in his tone now. 

The two men are quiet as they stare at one another, the air thick with tension, and you can almost feel the shift when Eren’s hackles finally drop as he seems to think better of challenging Jean’s dominance. Looking at them side by side, you can’t say you blame him, though you’re loath to admit it. 

“Whatever man.”

Eren offers you an apologetic nod, shooting Jean one last annoyed look before he disappears into the din of the bustling crowd. Meanwhile, the pack leader slides into the now-empty seat without preamble, all long limbs and unnervingly bright eyes, the sight of his messy brown hair and the hint of stubble on his jaw bothering you for reasons you have no desire to examine. 

“Really?” you bite out. 

Jean doesn’t answer you right away. Instead, he picks up Eren’s cup and takes a sip, lips immediately curling downward in disgust as he puts it back down and makes a brief gesture in the direction of the bartender. It’s only once a glass full of something else is placed in front of him that he finally looks at you.

“Hm?”

You wonder just how much trouble you’d land yourself in for punching a pack leader right here in the middle of a shifter bar. He takes a long pull from the glass, clicking his tongue against his teeth in satisfaction after.

Yeah, you’re definitely going to punch him.

“What the fuck was that about?”

Jean shrugs, smoothly dragging a coaster toward his drink with his middle finger and wiping away the ring of condensation left behind on the dark wood countertop with the side of his hand. When his eyes meet yours, the light brown of his irises nearly gold in this light, something hot unfurls in your chest. 

“Believe me when I say you don’t want to fuck Eren Jaeger,” he replies evenly.

You scoff. “I wasn’t going to fuck him.”

He raises a brow and says nothing.

“I was just going to…why the fuck does this even concern you anyway, Kirstein?” you snap. 

Elbow now placed on the counter, he leans his cheek into the palm of his hand, like he has nowhere better to be than mercilessly cockblocking you on a Friday night. 

It’s ironic, really, given the origin of your perpetual disdain for him. 

Maybe it’s a bit immature to hate a guy for turning down your tipsy advances on a night out with your friends. 

They were all convinced he’d been staring at you from across the room for the better part of the evening. But the rough scrape of his words against the shell of your ear when you finally found the courage to approach him still echoes in the recesses of your mind all these years later—”Go home and sober up, little witch.”

It’s always bothered you more than it should, the sting of that casual rejection. Like he couldn’t even be bothered to entertain a moment of your company, if not a drunken kiss that would have very well been a dime a dozen at a place like that anyway. 

What made it worse was all of the subsequent times you’ve had the misfortune of running into him after. He makes a game of it, flirting with you. Calling you little witch. Like he wants to subtly remind you of how you embarrassed yourself that night, to toy with you just for the sake of driving you to the brink of the relentless, burning ire you feel in waves every time you see him now. 

“I know you have some problem with shifters, and you’re here on a goddamn full moon of all nights. So I’m just trying to make sense of this,” he says. 

You narrow your eyes. “I have a problem with you.”

He puts his shoe on the metal rung of your stool beside your right foot, voice dripping with sarcasm as he replies, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you can feel the tug of the unfinished spell swirling restlessly inside of you. Waiting. “I need wolf saliva.”

Jean’s brows shoot up, and it would almost be comical, if you weren’t so goddamn annoyed. He recovers just as quickly. “So you thought you’d waltz in here, suck face with some poor, unsuspecting pup for a bit and then break his little heart when you skip off back to your coven with your special ingredient?”

Well, he’s not wrong, per se. 

“Oh, is that why you barged in on my conversation? You were worried about me hurting Eren’s feelings after I let him cop a feel in one of those dingy bathrooms over there?”

You swear Jean’s eye fucking twitches.

“Jaeger’s a bastard, and he’s not worth your time.”

A flash of hot anger prickles over your skin. “Why is who I kiss suddenly any of your concern now, Kirstein?” 

You place emphasis on the ’now’ without quite meaning to.

Jean’s nostrils flare as he inhales. Without another word, he gets up and walks away.

And for whatever godforsaken reason, you stalk after him, fists tightly clenched at your sides.

After weaving through the crowd, you find yourself standing in the deserted back alley behind the building. You quickly regret your decision not to grab your jacket from the hook beside the door on your way out of your apartment, the air much more brisk now than it was when you left. 

Jean whirls to face you, the look on his face softening a fraction when he sees the way you’ve wrapped your arms around yourself. He tugs off his leather jacket without fanfare, draping it around your shoulders before you have a chance to protest.

You hate how good it smells—the rich, woodsy scent that you’ve long-since come to associate with him, its musky notes almost dizzying at this dangerous proximity.  

And as you unconsciously finding yourself soaking in the residual warmth that lingers in the material, you’re reminded of just how very hot shifters run. 

“Walking away in the middle of a conversation is generally considered rude amongst most species,” you mutter, leaning on the brick wall and bending a knee to press a foot flat against it.  

Jean drags a hand through his hair. “There are some conversations I prefer to have beyond the vicinity of a bunch of nosey wolves with good hearing.”

“What, you didn’t want your friends overhearing a witch tell you what a gigantic asshole you are?” you drawl. 

Sighing heavily, he runs a hand over his face. “I find it mildly infuriating that you have zero fucking sense of self-preservation and thought that fooling around with a shifter you don’t even know during a goddamn full moon is somehow a good idea.”

He makes finger quotes at the last two words, and for whatever reason, that’s your last straw this evening. 

Jean Kirstein may have sharp teeth—but he seems to forget that you do, too. 

“Go fuck yourself, Kirstein,” you grit out. “I’m not even going to pretend to understand whatever kind of twisted amusement you get out of mocking me at every given chance. But do me a favor and go stick your mangy nose in someone else’s business, and maybe I will go back inside and fuck a shifter after all. There sure are plenty in there to choose from.”

Between one breath and the next, the space between you and Jean rapidly dissipates as he crowds you against the building, one hand resting beside your head.

“I don’t give a shit about whatever witchy little spell you’ve got cooking. I’m not letting any of those moon drunk idiots touch you,” he rasps.

His words do something to you, something that has rogue electricity expelling its way down your spine. Something that has you biting the inside of your cheek. 

Something that makes it difficult to breathe.

“I already drank the elixir. I’ll probably get sick if I don’t finish the spell,” you retort. 

The now-golden shade of Jean’s eyes up close is mesmerizing in a way that has your heart trembling against the shackles of your ribcage.

It makes sense right now—why your grandmother used to warn you about the wiles of shifters. 

He huffs a small laugh, a warm puff of air filling the space between your faces. “You sure are confident.”

You glare at him, at the jab that you know the comment is meant to be. “Can you just let me go take care of this? It’s a harmless spell that’s the equivalent of a witchy energy drink. I’m sure you can point out at least one half decent shifter in there for me to chat up.”

Jean tucks part of his plush bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

You can’t help it—you bark out a laugh right in his face. “You’re fucking joking, right?”

Something that can’t possibly be hurt flashes in his eyes. “No?”

“Why would I embarrass myself like that again?”

Jean blinks, tilting his head sideways in confusion. And the gesture would almost be cute—

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Exhaling in annoyance, you cross your arms. “You’ve already shot me down once, Kirstein.”

He straightens. “Are you…what? Seriously? You were drunk.”

A fresh wave of embarrassment prickles over you. “You shot me down and told me to go home like some child.”

“Because I didn’t want any of the shithead shifters that were lurking around that night to take advantage of you.”

Now that you’ve broken the dam, the words just keep on spilling out. “And you take advantage of every opportunity to make me feel stupid for coming on to you in the first place, even now years later.”

Jean looks taken aback. “Is that what you think I’ve been doing this whole time?”

You frown. “...yes?”

He pushes his hair back, and the way the brown strands relent and fall against his brows when his fingers move away has no right to look as attractive as it does. And yet—

Jean takes your wrist in his own and tugs you forward, until your positions are reversed, and he’s the one backed against the opposite wall of the alleyway while you stand before him. He doesn’t let go of your hand, and you find your fingers pressed to the soft fabric of his shirt. 

The soft fabric and the feeling of his hot skin beneath—

“I turned you down because I don’t entertain drunk witches who think a night with a shifter is a novelty,” he says slowly, eyes never leaving yours. “And I flirt with you now because I like you. Even if you’re hellbent on hating me.”

You can feel his steady heartbeat beneath your palm. 

“I don’t hate you,” you whisper, not quite certain if you’re more shocked that you said the words, or that you actually meant them.  

You’re not sure what compels you to do it, to reach up and brush back a rogue strand of Jean’s hair. But it’s worth it for the way his eyes momentarily fall shut, his throat bobbing as he swallows. 

“No?” he breathes out, voice a little rough. 

You’ll marvel at the memory of this later, this sight of Jean Kirstein bathed in moonlight and bending to your touch. 

“No,” you tell him. 

Jean laughs quietly. “Then finish your spell already, little witch.”

There’s an odd sensation that ripples over you, a tug. Like the fire and brimstone of your magic feels the wind and earth in Jean’s, like it’s begging to touch—

Jean meets you halfway when you cup his face and begin to lean in. 

And when his lips find yours, your magic sings. 

It’s instant—the way you can feel the spell’s completion ripple through you as Jean’s mouth slots against your own, a sunny sensation fizzing in your veins. 

It’s instant—and it’s how you know everything that follows has nothing to do with the elixir and everything to do with Jean. 

Jean, Jean, Jean. 

Your blood pulses everywhere Jean’s touching you—one hand cupping the back of your head, the other curled at your waist. 

Your magic surges and shivers, cresting higher as he parts the seam of your lips with his tongue, deepening the kiss. A moan slips out of you of its own accord, and Jean growls softly. 

As a shifter, Jean can’t wield the power that lives inside of him with his bare hands, not like you can. But you can feel every tendril of it as it curls around your own, as your magic grasps for his almost desperately. 

Jean flips your positions, pressing your back to the wall once more, and his fingers press into the small of your back. 

And his magic is hot and wild as it seeps into you, as he drags hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, as he groans rough and deep at the little keening sounds that tips out past your lips when his hips press into yours. 

“Jean,” you whimper. 

A plea. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, mouth hovering near the damp patch of skin he was just sucking at below your earlobe. 

He’s so hard against you, his erection straining against the front of his pants. 

You shake your head, pressing forward into him, and he groans, cupping your chin. His eyes bore into yours as he drags his thumb along your lower lip. 

And then he’s dropping to his knees right there in the alley, thumb pressed to the swollen bud of your clit through your stockings as he pushes your skirt up out of the way. 

“Were these expensive?” he asks casually. 

You blink down at him in confusion. “No? They were like—“

Jean doesn’t wait for you to finish your answer before he nudges your thighs slightly further apart at the ankle and tears a hole in the stretchy black material right between your legs. 

“It’s too cold for you to take them off,” he murmurs by way of explanation, as if your brain is capable of focusing on anything other than the feeling of him tugging aside your panties and dragging two fingers through your slick folds. 

“Oh,” you gasp, knees already threatening to buckle. 

Jean grasps your hip to steady you, eyes glinting in amusement as he stares up at you while he slides one thick finger into your tight channel. 

“What kind of spell was that?” he teases, as if you’re not dripping fucking wet from him and him alone. 

“N-not that kind,” you gasp as he sinks in knuckle-deep. 

Jean seems pleased with this answer, slowly pumping the digit in and out of your aching cunt. You bury your face in his jacket to stifle your moans as you tremble in pleasure. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasps, the lewd squelching sounds only intensifying when he stretches you even further on a second finger. 

Part of you wishes you were somewhere soft and horizontal, so you could feel the slide of his tongue on yours in a messy, spit-soaked kiss while he fingers you deep and slow until you’re a whimpering, sobbing mess. 

You wish you were naked and pliant beneath him, feeling the touch of his burning hot skin against your own from head to toe. 

But the fantasy is short-lived, tucked away for another time when Jean brings his mouth between your legs and laps a firm, broad stroke through your slit. When he groans at the taste of you, large hands tugging your legs even further apart as he buries his tongue in your cunt and begins to devour you whole. 

Because when he pauses to look up at you, to marvel the way you can hardly hold back your keening sounds as he fucks you with his tongue—he looks just as wrecked as you. Just as desperate and unwound with his mussed hair and golden eyes and your slick, sticky arousal painted all over his face. 

It’s what has your hands winding in his hair before you can even reach your impending climax, dragging him upward for a filthy kiss as your fingers scramble for purchase against the button of his pants. 

Jean hisses when you get your hands on his cock, and your now-empty cunt spasms around nothing while you stroke his girth. 

“Jean, please,” you pant against his lips. 

You can feel your stockings rip even further when Jean hoists you up, the bricks pressing into your back as you wrap your legs around him. The material is soaked with spit and arousal as he pushes your panties aside once more and lines his cock up with your dripping entrance. 

And it’s all encompassing—the way your magic explodes in a burst of heat and energy as his cock plunges into you, every cell in your body vibrating with searing hot pleasure like nothing you’ve ever felt before. 

“What the fuck—“ Jean chokes out, groaning as he kisses you hard, his grip on your hips tightening beyond measure. 

You know he feels it, too. 

“I know,” you gasp, and he takes your lower lip between his teeth. 

The pleasure surging inside of you begs for release, your muscles tensing harder with each deep, thick stroke of his cock against your slick walls. 

He’s all you can see. All you can smell and feel and taste. You want to feel him everywhere, want to let his magic sink so deeply into yours that you lose where you end and he begins. 

You’re so fucking drunk on Jean Kirstein, you might laugh—if you could do anything but moan and whimper and sob his name right now, that is. 

“Jean I’m close—“ you whisper, voice breaking. 

“Then come on my cock,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you come all over my cock, pretty witch.”

Your pleasure erupts in a gushing flood of euphoria, and your walls expanding and contracting rapidly on the stretch of Jean’s length as he fucks you through your orgasm until his own thrusts grow sloppy, too. 

“Come inside of me,” you breathe out, feeling the way Jean tenses and growls at your plea. 

“Fuck,” he groans, cock still pumping into your fucked out hole in deep, rough strokes. “You feel so good, fuckfuck—“

Jean comes hard, burying himself to the hilt when his cock begins to pulse inside of you, filling your cunt with rope after rope of sticky, hot cum until it begins to leak out and drip down your thighs. 

—and without warning, your pussy spasms as you climax once more in an unexpected surge of pleasure that has you whimpering and shaking in its wake. 

There’s a exhilarating, magical edge to it. 

Jean stares at you, lips slightly parted as he marvels at the sight. 

“Was that—“

“Well the spell called for spit, not cum,” you exhale shakily, cunt fluttering as he pulls out, and you whine. 

He watches you closely as he brings a hand between your legs, slowly rubbing your swollen, over-sensitive clit. 

”Oh,” you breathe out, fingers digging into the front of his shirt. 

You rock your rips into his touch, and all it takes is the tease of the pad of his fingers circling around your tight hole to have you coming again on his fingers. 

“Wow,” he murmurs against your lips, lazily slipping a digit back inside of you to feel the sloppy mess of cum that’s dripping out of you. 

And it still feels so good. 

“I think I fucked up the spell,” you gasp, already on the edge of another orgasm. 

“I think I can help you take care of that,” Jean rasps, kissing his way down your jaw to sink his teeth into the soft, plush curve between your shoulder and neck.

[femoso-seben]

Mini witch story part one

Part 1, Part 3,

Rua walked over to the table last to arrive, her wolf familiar probably ran off to who knows where. She looked exhausted and behind her walking in shame was her familiar, Soap as she calls him. Apparently, when he was a pup he ate a bar of soap.

“You’re late,” Cordelia chimes in a teacup in her hand. As the oldest, she was the first to receive her demonic animal familiar, a big ol’ brown bear. For an old man, he sure can move fast when he is needed.

“I think you should put him through dog disciplinary training,” Sula said, this earned a growl from the wolf.

“Enough,” Rua sighs collapsing into her seat, “we are here for you,” she turns to me. You held onto my cup of milk.

As the youngest, physically, and mentally even though we all started at the same time. You were frozen in time and space. You look around, they are so much older, and time has taken ahold of them.

“Our Sire will give you a familiar,” Ophelia spoke up setting her cup of vodka down. “Then you can leave this Forrest and explore the world.”

“Why do I have to have a familiar?” You ask.

“In your absence, the mortals began a witch trial,” Rua spoke, “your familiar is there to keep you safe.”

“How?”

“In their humanoid form, they have their animal attributes.”

“Like eating Soap?” Your sisters broke out into waves of laughter and looked at the poor wolf who looked down at his feet.

“Do you have any animals in mind?” Cordelia asks.

“Fluffy. Likes to be around me. Strong. Friendly. Not so demanding… a cat.”

The forest grew cold as the trees warp around you all. Soon your Demonic sire who turned you all to witches walked from the trees. You get up and bow to him.

“Little one,” he begins, “I have your familiar.” You feel yourself blooming into a smile. From his hands, a black mass forms and falls to the ground.

Slime.

“WHAT IS THIS?” You shout poking the weird slimy creature. It lunged at you and gripped your leg. You let out the most horrific scream, and kick her leg throwing it off you. “WHY IS IT UGLY?”

From the back, you hear your sister cackling at you. The little slimy black thing slithers towards you. You look up at your Demon Sire who gives you a blank stare.

“Give me a cat!”

“He is very loyal.” Your sire says.

“HES UGLY AND SMALL!” You shout back picking it up with your staff.

“It’s an octopus,” Sula stated calmly. “A delicacy in Asia.”

“I DON’T WANT IT!” You look at your demonic father only to find him glaring at you. You stare at the little black blob, his Beaty blue eyes staring up at you. You think it’s glaring at you.

It moves closer climbing up your bare legs and to your chest. It sat right above your breast and two long appendages moved to your face. Your skin crawls and you feel the ICK coming. You grab it and punt it to the ground.

“ITS A PERV!” You scream and turn to your sisters for help. Rua turns away laughing to herself.

“You can always throw it away in a far-off land.” Ophelia offer.

“Don’t be foolish, our Familiars have an innate ability to find us,” Sula said.

Fear seeps into your skin. This creepy ugly perverted little thing was attached to you forever. You wanted to cry.

Your Sire and sister left you with these things.

It kept trying to climb up your leg.

You grab it by the head and look it over. An idea hit you.

“I can eat you!” You said a creepy smile crossing your face. Its little eyes and tentacles began to thrash around. You shove it into your bag and rush off to get some sauces and some vegetables.

How would you cook it? On a stove? In water? In bread? You shrug it had eight tentacles you had eight tries.

Your cauldron boiling, cutting board ready you grab the ugly thing and a knife ready to slice it up.

It transforms. In front of you is a huge tall man. You stare at his naked form. It glared at you, through a hood, holding your wrist.

“Let go!”

“NEIN!” He growls out his voice higher pitch than you would have guessed.

“Transform!”

“NEIN!” He said again.

“I am your master!”

“Du worst much night essen.” He snaps. He glared at him. You grab his hood and soon tentacles come out gripping your fingers. You screech and yank your hand away. He chuckles.

You wanted to strangle this man.

You finally agree not to eat him, and in return he lets you go. You also forced him into some clothes. You glared at him, and he watched you closely.

You grab your grimoire and put it into your bag. You are traveling, seeing the world! Staff in hand you walk out of the forest.

The sunset was absolutely stunning, the cliffside falls to crystal clear waters. The smell of freedom was intoxicating.

You feel the skin-crawling sensation of suction cups crawling up your legs you look down to see the disgusting thing crawling up your legs and to your boobs again. You grab it and shove it into your bag trapping it inside.

This bitch was ruining your moment. ------------

@milkywayhou full verson

taglist: @maylovesyousomuch, @trgraves-valx1f0r

[bitethedevil]

Raphael the Cat (Character Analysis)

I’ve thought a lot about the whole cat and mouse metaphor from his Cormyrian rhyme, even when I first started playing the game and hadn’t developed my unhealthy obsession with Raphael. It is an odd thing isn’t it? Why a cat?

The mouse thing makes perfect sense for his character. He often refers to others as ‘little’ or something to that effect (such as ‘pipsqueak’). You are small and he is big. That’s always the gist of it. Of course, the ‘mouse and cat’-trope is pretty common, but why not identify with something bigger and scarier? He does it by calling himself a ‘devil’ instead of what he really is: a cambion.

We know that he doesn’t just do it with us. In the Devil’s Den at Sharess’ there is a book where someone had written about winning over a devil in a poetry contest and the devil is clearly Raphael. We know because he has circled it in red that his ‘down came the claw’ line is mentioned in it. Which means that this loser (affectionate) reuses the same old material for clients.

He’s not a lion, or a wolf, or whatever absolutely terrifying creature you can find in the D&D universe. He’s a cat. That’s what he’s chosen as his fursona, if you will. Why though? The more I think of it, it makes complete sense, and it is such an apt metaphor for his character.

“Is there anything duller than a loyal dog?”

Raphael says that line and then says ‘I much prefer a cat. Meow.’ Iconic, honestly. It also says a lot about his character. What is a dog’s role in a house? They protect their owners because of some sense of fondness or at least because they are trained to it. What does a cat do? It kills mice.

Not because of any sense of fondness or duty to its owners, but because it is nature for it to do so. It is specialized to kill mice and rats. A cat does what a cat wants, which is exactly what Raphael does.

It’s written somewhere in the Devil’s Den that he sometimes doesn’t even really need to claim someone’s soul or help them, but simply does it because he feels like it. Cats are notorious for killing even though they don’t even really need to.

Considering how ordered and hierarchical the Hells are, I really think that Raphael is a bit of a wildcard. It comes with his nature, I think. Most cambions are loners and solitary by nature. He does what he wants. It certainly takes some balls to directly hand over an opportunity to fuck over the literal Archdevil of Cania by telling us about Cazador’s ritual.

No matter how much he claims that he loves order, I think order is mostly what he personally deems as order. It’s whatever he feels like, which is the general theme with him.

Master of the House

A cambion isn’t seen as much in the Hells. Don’t get me wrong, he still seems really successful for a cambion, and he certainly is higher in the hierarchy than most of his heritage. In the Hells he really is a cat surrounded by lions and tigers. He might see himself as a lion, but which cat doesn’t? Though, he is still aware of his place in the Hells, or he would not have lived for so long.

A cat might not be the king of the jungle, but they certainly rule their tiny kingdom of the house they reside in (ask any cat owner). It’s the same with Raphael. The House of Hope is his little kingdom where he rules. It’s obvious from all the plaques you see around his house.

He has created his own little space where he is the most fierce and dangerous thing there is, and all the little mice who enter buy it. To a mouse, a cat might as well be a lion, which is why I think Raphael ‘dotes on mortals’. He likes feeling important, big, and scary, and mortals see that image of him.

The Cat

Though they are small, cats are apex predators. At the same time, they are irresistible to humans. We pet them, we take them into our homes, but compared to a dog, the attention you get from a cat is very much dependent on the cat and not the owner.

Raphael is the same. He comes and goes as he pleases. He appears and gives you attention, nuzzles up against your leg, making you feel special for even getting his attention. Remember what he said to Mol if you help her win?: ‘She won, you know. She’ll be the one who comes to me.’

He wants people to want his attention, so when he gives it to you it almost feels like a gift. He keeps talking about us knocking on his door as well. We know that he has most likely talked to Voss before we arrive to Sharess’ because Voss knows he has the hammer. Still, he seems very uninterested when Voss is actually there, practically on his knees begging for his help. Peak cat behavior.

However, we know what happens if one chooses to spite Raphael. It becomes very clear that he is not a cuddly and patient pet, and you suddenly realize that you were the mouse all along and that you never were in any control over the situation.  

He was that apex predator all along, you just never quite realized just how small you were. Again, a cat is a lion to a mouse. He actually even alludes to this idea himself if you have tried hurting him: ‘Like a mosquito nibbling at a dragon. Begone.’.

He’ll tell you that you can be friends with him, pretending that you are something that could resemble equals, but it is all smoke and mirrors. Everything he does is to pretend that he is less intimidating that he is, and he even refuses the notion that he is the cat in the lullaby in the beginning. But if you happen to get too comfortable or think you can best him, he reminds you just how small you are and that’s a theme throughout all his interactions.

[wisteria-lodge]

Can you talk about the Werewolves in Harry Potter? You mentioned Greyback of alll people being motivated by acceptance and I don’t recall that at all? In fact it always seemed to me that JKR was writing all werewolves to be evil accept for Remus who is the only good one.

Well, there's only two werewolves. Werewolf lore is contradictory within the books, the additional material on Pottermore makes it so much worse, and don't even get me started on the "Werewolves in the Forbidden forrest" and "Hagrid raised werewolf cubs under his bed" throwaway lines. JKR, for reasons I will never understand, tried to explain this by saying that if two werewolves have sex in wolf-form they will produce hyper-intelligent *wolves.* But like, werewolves are human most of the time, so now we've got human women giving birth to wolves....

The books give no good consistent answers to:

Why does Remus transform halfway though the night of the full moon in Book 3?

How does Remus' condition affect him during the day of the full moon/during the lead-up to the full moon, if at all?

How often do you need to take the Wolfsbane Potion, and at what intervals?

Do werewolves require/do better with packs?

How much agency does a werewolf maintain in wolf form? (Remus seems to have none, or basically none, Greyback can apparently target specific people as a wolf.)

So yeah. I don't think JKR thought out werewolves very well at all. And when Remus became something of an unexpected fan favorite, just kinda hand-waved that there never was much worldbuilding there by keeping werewolves off the page. Like we hear about Hagrid's mission to the giants in very great detail. Nothing about the werewolves.

I've written about how I'm pretty sure JKR was doing a AIDS allegory thing where Remus is Ryan White, the little kid infected during a blood transfusion when he was two. Which leaves Greyback (accidentally or on purpose) representing the other 1980s AIDS boogeymen. Greyback likes to bite as many people as possible, and specifically children, which lines up with the moral panic that gay men were spreading AIDS on purpose, and wanted to "recruit" kids to their "lifestyle."

So trying to come up with like, a motivation for Greyback is tricky, because he's not on the page that much, and he's not written with a lot of humanity. BUT, if I were writing something where he was a main character, I'd have to explain why this guy who apparently just wants to spread chaos and werewolf-ism and/or watch the world burn... why is he following Death Eater orders and being their attack-dog-on-a-leash. What are they giving him, why does he care.

There's a lot of attention drawn to the way he is with the Death Eaters, but not a Death Eater. A lot of "The Death Eaters and Greyback." We also get these two descriptions:

Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery.

The werewolf might be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when they wanted to use him

This detail that Voldemort's got him stuck in this half-and-half state where he is wearing Death Eater robes but not a Dark Mark does imply to me that Greyback does want to go the rest of the way and join the club, and that's why he's sticking around. There is certainly an implication that werewolves prefer to run in packs. Remus talks about how much better his mental health/control was during the time he had the Marauders, and during the main timeline of the books it seems like all the werewolves (except him and Greyback) live in packs completely off the grid. So... I'm thinking that it's possible that the Death Eaters have taken the place of Greyback's pack. Or... he wants them too.

[bonefall]

Do you have any plans for Frost’s littermates in ASC?

It's odd that Canon!Curlfeather is portrayed on the screen as a scheming character who was fully willing to manipulate her daughter into a position of power, and smart enough to know that she needed lackeys to carry out her dirtywork... and yet, seemingly had no plans for her other two kids.

On one hand, I can understand her wanting to "use" her family as little as possible. You could say she's willing to make a sacrifice with Frostkit's comfort, but wants to spare her other children from it.

On the other hand... I just don't feel like that works. I want to portray BB!Curlfeather as someone who truly believes every choice she made was good for her children. She might reconsider some of her beliefs based on her closeness to Morningstar while in the Dark Forest, but in life, she is absolutely the sort of person who would have a use in mind for her kittens.

I'm not super proud of these quick designs I made for Mistpaw and Graypaw, but here's a first draft;

You probably notice that they're all dog-like, and that's because they are direct descendants of Bluestar in BB! WOLF MOTIF BABEY

In fact, this is going to be a massive contributor towards their characterizations. I may be shuffling my tree in some other ways to make for better faction drama in RiverClan, but BB!Curlfeather priding her lineage, especially as it connects to Crookedstar and Stonefur, is very important to how it shapes her identity.

DESIGN AND DRABBLE BENEATH THE CUT;

On the wolf motif as a whole;

To begin with; note the apple-leaf eye markings! They are subject to the Mapleshade Curse.

Something I like to play with a lot is misconceptions about wolf behavior. For Bluestar herself, where this all began, I use the myth of the "lone wolf" as symbolism that she never truly acted alone.

At every turn, she had friends and family. Her sacrifices, her ruling style, everything she's ever done, is based on her love for both ThunderClan as well as the cats in other Clans.

The symbol of her friend group, the Forget-Me-Not, comes to symbolize Fire Alone as an ideology.

So... the Curlkin.

What I'm playing with is the idea that wolves are perfect, ferociously strong predators from birth.

Curlfeather wants to eventually give her children strong, respectable positions in the Clan. For Frostpaw, that's the Cleric position.

For the other kids, she was still assessing them as they were growing. Deputyship would have been for one of them, but she hadn't planned so far ahead that it would have been unreasonable.

"When you see a fish upstream, you don't race ahead to catch it downriver."

So, she wanted Mist and Gray to be strong and always encouraged them to achieve greatness. They were battle training as soon as they could, and never missed a day.

But it wasn't really their interest, and they weren't really "naturally gifted" or anything. They just do what their mom tells them is good to do for their future.

As a result I want all of them to look a little goofy in some way, except Curlfeather herself.

Frostpaw herself is the softest of the lot, but I want to make sure Gray and Mist are pretty obviously sweeter than they seem too.

Unfortunately though, I don't think I captured what I was going for. I'm definitely gonna give the Frost Siblings a second pass, while Frostpaw will just get refined a little.

Graypaw

He's naturally huge. Even as a newborn, people would comment about him being a big fat kitten.

As a result, he was probably the most "promising," early on.

Understand though; this wasn't necessarily nefarious. Having accomplished warriors as offspring is a sign of a great warrior, it makes a strong family.

It didn't mean she only saw her largest child as an opportunity. He just had great potential, which she would nourish.

He's a little bit entitled as a result. He's big, he works hard, his family's a big deal, he knows it.

And that's sort of his "issue," if you want to call it that. He's not really interested in honor for honor's sake, or improving himself for the sake of the Clan, the way his mother would expect a great warrior like herself to be.

He likes the tangible rewards of strength and is motivated by approval.

...which causes him to be a bully to those he considers weaker.

That ear got shredded in a fight somehow, I haven't decided yet if there's going to be another set of apprentices around the time, if it was Splashtail or his sister, or if it was a cat from another Clan who got tired of his shit lmaoo

(In any case it was NOT his mother.)

Since him and his sister have "obedient to their mother" as major personality traits, I decided to give them both domestic dog characteristics. Graypaw has a german shepherd "stance."

I really like when people give Gray some cream in his design, so I made him look kinda like how I imagine Stonefur.

I don't really like it, though, especially since he's usually described as "silver tabby."

In my next draft, I'll probably make him look more like "Swansong if he had the wolf motif."

And also fatter. They are not fat enough. These are RiverClan warriors and they are all too damn skinny.

Frostpaw

Since this arc began, I've imagined that Frosty has a sort of "little red riding hood" vibe. It's been mixing in my head with the wolf motif, the phrase "wool over the eyes," and the idea of a wolf in sheep's clothing to result in a sort of wooly cloak idea.

Something about a wolf cub who doesn't know who to trust-- the Big Bad Wolf, or the Lumberjack with a blood-soaked axe.

Lost, confused, their whole world turned upside down.

(hmmm.... maybe I'll do a thing where, before their mom's death, the wool covers her eyes. When she sees her die, the look of shock and horror is etched into her face forever.)

In BB, the Clan cats are monitored by scientists. They wouldn't be spaying or neutering the subjects of their investigation-- so I made her iconic "scars" MUCH bigger.

In fact, they're autopsy stitches. I'm going for a sort of "BROUGHT BACK FROM THE DEAD" vibe there.

Real "there is no way you would have survived those injuries without modern medicine" hours

I'm satisfied with this design, so I probably won't be changing it much besides tweaks. Though, I might make it so her "belly" wasn't exposed before the scientists shaved it to stitch her back up.

NOTE: If you wanna see more Frostpaw Plans, go check out this post where I jotted down a ton of ideas, it's also got further links to explore on BB!ASC thoughts I've been sitting on

Mistpaw

This is the one I like the least. She looks waaaaay too much like an Ivypool.

In my next pass I need to make her look cuter and goofier, give her some curls.

Like Graypaw, she only has one particularly unique scene in ASC so I'm building her personality around that.

Graypaw was a bit of a bully, so Mistpaw's got her mom's silver tongue and sharp wit. She can give a Mistystar speech if she wants.

She's a natural thinker, very curious, willing to question. It's something Curlfeather encourages in her, always coming in with the right answer to keep her satisfied.

"Mom, why do we train so much harder than everyone else?"

"To outdo them, of course."

"But... why train so hard when there's no threat? The impostor is gone, we're at peace."

"Oh, my love. You cannot pack a week's worth of training into the minute before a battle. They come hard and fast, and your attacker will have the advantage of surprise. Only practice will compensate."

Though Gray was a really big kitten and naturally imposing, Mist would be the one Curlfeather would ultimately decide was most fitting as a deputy.

If they'd gotten to that point, the siblings probably would have gotten in more fights as Gray started desiring the position for its benefits.

He'd see his mom was clearly giving Mist more opportunities to prove herself, and demand equal chances.

Mist would start thinking of Gray as a stupid bully who thinks he deserves everything because his shoulders are big.

BOTH of them would probably start trying to get Frost to support them over the other.

It would have been a MESS.

BUT, they never did get to that point. Curl was pretty equally focused on them at the point where she died.

When Graypaw got his ear shredded, Mistpaw thought it looked painful and horrific and "decided" to crop her own entirely, so they could never be shredded in battle. For reasons I covered in this Hearing Loss guide, RiverClan relies very little on hearing while hunting anyway.

I wanted Mistpaw to look extremely practical, and reference the cropped ears of a domestic dog. Give her a sort of "doberman" vibe.

Something struck me that Curlfeather could have talked her daughter into getting her ears cropped, both to show visually that she's politically grooming her just as much as she's politically grooming Frostpaw.

But... I'm unsure if I'll stick with it. I might have both Gray AND Mist get their ears cropped, or neither.

I also batted around the idea of a cropped tail, too, but THAT would definitely be too far since a tail is very important in swimming.

In fact, I made her tail waaaay too short and her build too thin, in the pursuit of that "doberman" idea.

Again; not a fan of this design. I will probably re-use it later or just give it away. Maybe I'll wait until I have a couple of "Rejected BB Designs" and do an adoptable batch lmao.