#hedonrab

warmth: what do you find most charming in others?

describe your favorite kiss

She barely remembers it now, but her favorite would have to be in her childhood, well before she turned so heavily towards the dark arts. It was the summer before she would be leaving for her first year at Hogwarts. In a rare show of sentimentality she asked her younger sisters if they would miss her. Their response was to stand on either side of her as she sat at her vanity before pressing a light peck to her cheeks.

what is your weakness?

She’ll never admit it, but it is remarkably easy to convince Bella to do anything if it’s framed as a Pureblood cause. That, and though the witch has never given it significant thought, there is very little she wouldn’t do for the sake of her family (both Blacks and Lestranges) and their reputation. 

London has asked after you, and they need you more, what with all the scandals going around. The face of London, Rabastan, you’re perfect for it.

Despite his position and rank as one of the most feared man (or beast) in the British Isles, Fenrir was a man of solitude. He would not go so far as to describe himself as a 'lone wolf' because that was, of course, horribly cliche. 

It was just that he cherished his time spent alone as a human or otherwise, and he found that he often did his best thinking when separated from the distractions associated with leading a group of like-minded and lust-driven (be it blood, sex, or whatever else) men. It was all too easy to allow himself to be drawn into their fervor. And when each night of the full moon was spent as though it were their last- a festival drenched in crimson fluids, bore by the boldest like cloaks of honor- Fenrir took solace in his lonely days and nights, the darkest of the month both physically and mentally. His attitudes and demeanor fluctuated with the fair goddess, swelling with her and then waning into a sort of despair during the darkest and longest evenings without so much as a glimpse of her silvery sickle hanging in the black sheet of the sky. Tonight was not one of those nights, though it was not a full moon either (not yet)- his eyes, eerily amber orbs that made people start and wonder at his humanity before they even knew his name, shifted upward to afford the waxing shape a glance. He exhaled and noted how much the expression seemed like a woeful sigh.

The forest was a living breathing creature; an organism that was entirely its own, along with the creatures that called it their home. His descent into a more animalistic being had heightened his awareness to it. The gentle inhales and exhales of the trees and the whispers of wind that stirred their leaves. Other people might be frightened by the air that rushed through the stand of old oaks and pines, their trunks creaking as they shifted atop their roots and stirred their branches. It was unsettling to most folk when the forest moved like that. They didn't like to think that such a thing was alive, or sentient, rather. Thick loam beneath his steps caved with each footfall, accommodating his form rather than repelling it. Fenrir had always been fascinated by the woods. They held a certain type of magic that he hadn't learned about at Hogwarts, despite his short stint at the castle. Perhaps if he'd been the bookish sort he may have discovered a plethora of tomes in the library- The Fae and Fauna of Needwood Forest, Old and Ancient Magics by Myrddin of the Forest, Silvan Spectrae and Spectacles, to name a few. He would have found out long ago that the books spoke of a location-based sort of magic that dwells and thrives in forests, lingering in the mossy stones and the thick, humid air; even glistening in the droplets of water that clung to the leaves of the ferns or expelled in the spores of the fungi that peppered the ground. You could practically breathe it in.

Scents foul and terrible wafted through the air, amplified for the man who was slowly succumbing to his beast-like side. The smell of rotting wood, decaying tree matter was all sickly sweet and mixed with the spores of various fungi that'd since popped up beneath the dim light of the moon. A boot toed the umbrella-shaped cap of a rather large, white mushroom that'd sprouted near the base of an oak tree. A lump of moss clung to the top and it wore it like a hat, leaning out and away from the tree and appearing to nearly topple over. It shuddered away from Fenrir's boot and the wolf slipped by.

He was aware of another smell, a far foreign one in comparison to the rest of the forest, but Fenrir continued on as if nothing were amiss. Such were the ways of a predator who knew he had nothing to fear. What little light that was able to penetrate the thick foliage drenched the ground in silvery light, collecting in mercurial pools atop crests in slight, debris-ridden ridges or atop the curves of roots that poked free of the soil. Another sound, this time enough to draw his attention, and he wasn’t at all surprised to see a figure moving slowly through the underbrush. He hadn’t yet seen the wolf, and so Fenrir leaned heavily against the nearest tree, watching slowly as his quarry approached. If this was the man he suspected, it was high time they had a bit of a chat about the types of narcotic-like candy he was selling, unrestricted, to his pack. Control was of utmost importance to Greyback, and if something threatened that, he was prepared to take it back by any means necessary. This Lestrange and his silly little moonlight-grown substances were something that drew his wolves’ attention away from the larger picture, and if they were to keep their alliance with the Dark Lord, they couldn’t afford anymore slip ups. 

Character Relationship Meme

Send me ღ for what my character would do if your character came on to them

His hand was in her hair.

Again.

This was not the first time they had found themselves in this position, but this time it felt all the more different.

It had been well over a year since Dorcas and Rabastan had found themselves caved in underground, yet in this moment it did not feel like more than a day had passed.

Adrenaline still pumped through their bodies, hearts still racing from how far they had run.

It was turning into a habit.

Danger turning into snogging against a hard surface...

"You alright?" Rabastan had asked, still panting from their run from danger. Smoke still could be smelt from across the distance, but the danger was no longer imminent for them.

Dorcas had barely been able to get a word out. A ‘fine’ being all that she could manage as she rested her back against the cool brick wall. The chill of the bricks seeped into her body from the back, cooling her body down ever so slowly.

Before she could  have realised, Rabastan was soon before her, his delicate fingers tilting her chin up so they were to look at each other.

"Are you so sure about that, Meadowes?"

He was in close to her, there being barely any gap between them. Dorcas’ breath had caught in her throat, her body stilling as she gazed up to Rabastan. 

"We seem to be making a habit of this, wife. Finding ourselves in all kinds of danger."

As he spoke, Dorcas had been barely able to comprehend his words, taking a long moment to remember why he was calling her his wife. The tunnel. Thinking they were trapped there. Snogging. Snogging Rabastan.

"Uh… I never said yes to you, so we’re not married… Even if you do want to be."

A deep chuckle had left Rabastan's lips which went along with a shake of his head. His fingers moved from under her chin to cup Dorcas' cheek, fingers grazing softly against her skin, sending shivers through her body.

It had been as if she were no longer pressed up against the brick wall. She had still been leant against it, yet it's chill was no longer felt. Her body was heating back up, becoming even warmer than it had been before.

"Fiancée then? Can we agree to that?"

As Rabastan had spoken, Dorcas had felt the warmth of his breath on his face, intoxicating her as he moved in closer. Bodies were soon pressed together ever so lightly, but it lit her body aflame. All she could feel was Rabastan. The rest of the world had faded away in an instant, all thoughts of anything that was not him were evicted from her mind.

Before she could have uttered another word, his lips were on hers. She had not noticed him move in, but there he was. She was kissing back.

Dorcas' hands rose, soon wrapping around Rabastan's neck, attempting to reach his level. He helped, a hand looping around her waist, lifting her up higher. Back still pressed against the wall for support, her legs went around him, closing the distance of their hips to a non-existent level.

His fingers found their way into her hair, digits tangling in the strands which hung down her neck.

As they kissed alone in the darkened street, all of the world around them was forgotten. In that moment it was just the two of them, hands searching each other's bodies in their fit of passion.

Only this time no one was there to stop them.

my character’s private thoughts about your character

Lestrange, Rabastan. The spare heir. Twenty three, Slytherin, spoiled rich brat and, if the rumors are true, too busy being a junkie to bother doing anything else with his life. Suppose it's his lot-- unless something terrible happens to his elder brother (fingers crossed) or his parents find a suitable betrothal, he's useless to them.

Rumors are all I have about him. Was intended for AT, got abandoned for a Muggleborn, sure that was a blow to his ego. Factor in his batshit family and I'm willing to bet that pushed him toward the Dick Eaters more than anything else.

Character Relationship Meme

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