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strang3lov3 · 6 months

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Halloween Special

Summary: You dress up as Joel for Halloween, and Tommy helps you enhance your costume. Joel fucking hates your costume. God, you're annoying.

Warnings: smut, arguing, oral (f receiving) male masturbation, joel jerks himself off while eating u out, southern phrases, unprotected piv, rough sex, Joel stuffs your mouth with part of his costume to shut you up, creampie, secret Ron Swanson (Joel dresses up like a pirate the way Ron Swanson does), yee haw mothafuckas

A/N: This story absolutely can be read as a standalone, but if you like these two and would like to see more of their antics, they the Mall Rats and you can read more about them in my masterlist ! thank you @papipascalispunk for editing ❤️❤️ btw it is my birthday🎂🎉🥳i'm 21 today! And if you were feeling so inclined i wouldn't say no to some birthday wishes <3

“Why do all of these women’s costumes look like they’re from Victoria’s Secret?”, you ask as you and Joel rifle through the pile of twenty year old Halloween costumes. You’ve just gotten back from an old Spirit Halloween store with Joel, and now you’re sorting through costumes for the people of Jackson at his house. Some are salvageable and in good condition, some are old and moldy.

Halloween doesn’t make much sense post-apocalypse. If there’s any candy left, it’s all rotten. It’s not practical for kids to trick-or-treat for baked goods and apples, the few sweets Jackson has to offer. So instead, Maria and Tommy are hosting a Halloween potluck at their home. All are invited and encouraged to dress up, bring food. The party’s tonight.

“Who knows,” Joel mumbles, “Just how it was.”

“Did you dress all slutty too?”

“‘Course I did. Turned all kinds of tricks back in my prime.”

“Then here–”, you toss Joel a nurse costume, “Be a slutty nurse for the party.”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

You snicker to yourself as you sort the piles. You’ve got girls’ and boys’ costumes sorted by size, and along with mens’ and women’s. “What are you gonna dress up as, then?”

“I dunno. Do I have to?”, Joel asks, “I don’t even wanna go.”

“Too bad, you have to. And you have to dress up, too. It’s mandatory.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “What are you going as, then?” you shrug in response. Joel tosses you a costume, the guy in the picture seemingly wearing a sort of hat shaped like a thumb. “Knucklehead’, it reads. So fucking stupid. “Get it?”

“Ha-ha,” you throw the costume back in his direction. The costumes are all sorted now, so Joel bags up each pile to take to Maria. “Do you want any help with those bags?” you ask.

“Nah, I got it. Thanks, though.”

“Will I see you tonight?”

“Depends. How slutty you dressin’?” Joel opens the door and grabs the bags of costumes.

“You know, the usual. Lingerie and cat ears.”

“Mmm. Definitely stayin’ home, then. Get the door for me?” Joel asks as he’s standing in the doorway with the bags in his hands.

“Sure,” you nod. And as Joel leaves and you shut his door, his flannel draped over a chair catches your eye. You have the best costume idea.

–

You get to Maria and Tommy’s around six. Tommy greets you at the door, hair slicked back and wearing a cape, his usual toothy grin enhanced by plastic fangs. There’s red makeup resembling dripping blood from the corners of his mouth. “Hey you,” he says. “What do we have here?”

You clear your throat and speak in a lower affectation, “Shut up and quit smilin’,” before breaking into a fit of giggles.

Tommy laughs too. “Joel?”

“Bingo,” you reply. You’re wearing Joel’s flannel and a simple pair of jeans, with an exaggerated scowl.

“Costume is spot on, ‘cept for one thing,” you raise your eyebrows and Tommy continues, “You’re much easier on the eyes than he is.”

“Oh, stop it,” you blush and smack his arm. “Speaking of, Joel here yet?”

“Oh, yeah. Off in the kitchen or something. He’s gonna hate your costume, darlin’. Absolutely fuckin’ hate it.”

“Good, that was the plan,” you smile mischievously.

“I like how you roll, sister,” Tommy drawls. “An’ in fact…” Tommy looks around himself before moving a hand to your waist and stealthily guiding you to a nearby bedroom, his baby’s nursery.

“What are we doing, Tommy?”

“Shh, be cool, be cool,” Tommy tells you. He loves your costume, but he’s got an idea. A great idea, a way to improve it. He picks up a bottle of baby powder from the changing table and sits you down, then sprinkles some in your hair and combs it through with his fingers. “Now we’re cookin’,” he says. “Gotta get you that silver fox look, like Joel.”

“Ahh,” you hum in agreement. Should have thought of that one. That’s good.

“And–” Tommy continues, “You gotta talk like him too. You know how to do that?”

“Sure,” you clear your throat and speak in a low tone again, mocking Joel. “Fuck this, fuck that, fuck you–”

“Oh, very close,” Tommy laughs, “Nah, you gotta get southern on his ass, sweetheart. You know what I’m sayin’?” you shake your head no. “That’s okay. M’gonna teach ya.”

Tommy spends the next ten minutes running through a list of southern words and phrases, teaching you how to speak in a southern accent. At the end, you’re both in a fit of giggles. “God, sweetheart, I love ya. Joel’s gonna shit a brick.”

You come out of the nursery with Tommy and make your way into the kitchen where Joel’s sitting. He’s at the counter, alone, snacking on some carrot cake. You’re still trying to compose yourself, biting your lip to hide your smile. “Howdy, pardner.”

“Uh, hi,” Joel eyes you and Tommy suspiciously. He does not like the way you’re both smiling, definitely causing trouble. “The hell are you two so happy about?”

“Nothin’.” you say, looking at Tommy. He subtly nods in approval. Don’t pronounce the ‘ing’ at the end of those words. It’s ‘In’. Nothing, nothin’. Fucking, fuckin’. Something, somethin’. “Uh, Joel, what’s your costume?”

“What’s it look like? I’m a pirate,” he grumbles. He’s got an…interesting take on a pirate costume. He’s wearing a plain button down shirt, striped pajama bottoms, and a long red tie tied around his tummy. You’re pretty sure there was a men’s pirate costume in the pile that you had sorted from earlier.

Tommy brushes your hair from your ear and whispers something. You smile, then speak to Joel. “Well, don’t you look cuter than a dimple on a bug’s ass.”

“Did you just have a stroke?” Joel squints at you, “Wait a fuckin’ second–that’s my shirt.”

You look down at your shirt in mock surprise, “Well slap butter on my ass and call me a biscuit! I guess it is your shirt, Joel!”

Joel’s blushing, redder than a tomato. His flannel is ill fitting, but to Joel, it looks perfect on you. He swallows thickly. You’ve got one less button closed than what he wears, and he’s fighting the urge to let his eyes fall lower. “Where did you even–never mind. You - I told you - God dammit, this ain’t–”

“This ain’t funny,” you interrupt, matching his tone perfectly.

Tommy’s giggling like an idiot next to you, then faces his palm up by his hip for a high five. You slap his palm and this enrages Joel, who glares at Tommy. “Don’t encourage this. The fuck is the matter with you?” Goddamn little brothers.

“What, don’t y’all like my costume? I’m you.”

“‘Course you are,” Joel grumbles. “Though a witch would be more fitting,” He looks at you closer, “What the hell is wrong with your hair?”

“I’m a silver fox just like you, Joel.”

Joel rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do not call me that. I can’t even look at you right now. Jesus Christ.” He eats the last of his cake, then stomps off, away from you and Tommy.

“You,” a voice interrupts. It’s Maria, dressed as a black cat. She’s so cute. “You two are playing with fire. Tommy, leave this girl alone. Joel’s gonna wring her neck.”

Tommy shrugs. “It was her idea.”

Maria doesn’t care. She smacks Tommy upside the head and ushers him towards the living room leaving you all by yourself. Tommy turns back to you, busted, he mouths. So you look for Joel.

You make your way through the living room, check the porch. It’s only when you’re in a hallway that you feel a strong hand grip your forearm and drag you to the guest bedroom that you realize where Joel stormed off to. “What in tarnation?” you exclaim, and Joel locks the door. “This bedroom ain’t big enough for the two of us.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Shut up and take off your pants. Do it now,” he grunts. You smirk and begin unbuttoning your - Joel’s - shirt. “Pants,” he scolds you, annoyed. “You keep my shirt on for this.”

You quit unbuttoning the shirt, “Thought you don’t like my costume?”

“I don’t,” Joel replies. You can see the tent in his pants, how achingly hard he is. You smirk. He’s all pissed off and worked up, a brutal combination. Your favorite combination. All because you’re wearing his shirt. Not really, though. You know the gray hair and the southern accent are what’s really pissing him off. You wearing his shirt is just fine.

In a fit of giggles, you can barely get the words out, “You’re hard as a match–wait,” you pause, unable to control your laughter. You catch your breath before continuing, “Shit fire and save matches, you’re hard as a r–”

“Don’t have time for this,” Joel grumbles. In one fell swoop, he unbuttons your jeans and pulls them and your panties down your legs, tossing them elsewhere. He shoves you on the bed before kneeling at the edge, pulling you by your hips. The cold air has your skin erupting in goosebumps that are then soothed by his hot breath on your thighs, as he presses sloppy kisses into your skin. “You have no–” he kisses your other thigh, “Fuckin’ idea,” then drags his tongue up your soft flesh, “What you’re doin’ to me, wearin’ my shirt like that. M’gonna devour you, sweetheart.”

Joel startles you by licking a long, fat stripe right up your hot and slick core, groaning as he tastes you, “Fuck,” you moan, fingers carding through Joel’s hair. You know this is getting tired. Seriously. Time and place. But even with his head between your thighs, you can’t stop. You struck gold. “Heaven to Betsy, it seems I have a visitor!”

Joel sighs as he pulls away from your core and stares at you, unimpressed. “You done yet?”

“Darn tootin’,” You get no reaction from Joel. “Yes...I’m done.”

“So fuckin’ sick of you. S’not funny. I don’t talk like that.”

And he’s right back where he was. First he’s inhaling you, your sweet scent, he licks another long stripe up your pussy, his tongue soft and firm against your core. He drags his tongue through your folds, moaning into your skin and savoring the way you taste. He keeps one arm wrapped around your thigh while the other is pulling down his striped pajama bottoms just over his cock, the waistband resting beneath his balls. Joel spits on your pussy, then drags his thumb up and down your core, collecting the mixture on his fingertips before spreading it on his cock. He grips himself tight, stroking himself up and down as his tongue teases your entrance, exploring your sex.

You can feel his shoulder jerk with every movement of his hand on his cock. You wish you could see it, his shaft shiny with your slick and the head red and swollen.

“Good lord,” Joel whispers against you. He eats you like he’s starved, eyes closed and lips wrapped around your clit. His fingertips dig into your thighs at a bruising pressure, his nose is buried in the coarse hair that covers your mound. “Fuckin’ good…so fuckin’ good,” Your skin, your musk, your arousal. He’s addicted to it, addicted to the taste of your pleasure. And Christ, the way his flannel drapes over your stomach, peeking over the tops of your thighs. He could die a happy man right here, between your thighs.

“Joel,” you cry, rocking your hips against his face. You’re moving too much. He bites your thigh and holds you firmer, his bicep flexing against you under the soft fabric of his shirt.

He alternates between lapping at your dripping core, sucking your sensitive clit, and fucking you on his tongue. Whatever he wants to do to you, because this is his treat. His.

“Yeah Joel, right there,” you whimper. You can feel it in your thighs, your gut, that familiar closeness is back. Under Joel’s tongue, you’re unraveling, coming undone for him. “M’so close.”

“This ain’t about you,” he growls. “Y’got yer kicks already, didn’t you? Teasin’ me in your little getup. Pokin’ fun and bein’ mean t’me.”

“No, Joel, I wasn’t–”

“I don’t care, sweetheart,” Joel says softly as he works himself. You hear the slick sounds of his fist slapping against his skin. “I don’t care. This ain’t about you. M’doin’ this f’me. Don’t you dare come.”

But you do. Not out of defiance, not to piss him off further. You just can’t help yourself. The way he purrs and growls into your skin, the way his arm holds you in place so firm. And his tongue, working pure fucking magic against you. Your orgasm ripples through you violently, taking you by storm. It feels hot and electric, intense and overpowering. Generously, he works you through it, licking and lapping at you, pulling every ounce of pleasure from your body that he can get. Static rings in your ears and you’re limp, pliant on the bed, eyes closed in pure bliss.

When you finally open your eyes, you realize Joel is standing above you, breathing heavily. Cock still achingly hard in his fist. “You weren’t supposed to do that,” he breathes.

“It was an accident,” you reply.

“Accident, my ass.” You bite your lip to hide your smirk. Joel knows that look on your face. Mischief. He reads you like a book, knows that you’re not done with your little act as you pull him onto the bed, flip him on his back and mount him. He knows exactly what you’re planning. Something about saving a horse, riding a cowboy. Of course you are. God, you’re exhausting.

You reach between your bodies and line his head up with your entrance, then sink down on him. Slowly, savoring the way he stretches you out. It hurts. He didn’t use his fingers on you. But you’re committed to what you have planned.

“Joel,” you breathe, rocking your hips slowly against him. “I have something to tell you.”

“What could you possibly need to tell me now, motormouth?” That devious smirk on your face…he knows what you’re about to say, answering his own question. He rolls his eyes, exasperated, “For the love of god…Go on, then. Get it out of your system, numb nuts.”

“YEEEE HAWWW!” you squeal, and Joel lunges forward to wrap a hand over your mouth. He did not think you were gonna be that loud. The party’s loud, but not that loud. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses. “The fuck is the matter with you? You cannot scream like that…Christ almighty.”

He flips you over, pulls out of you and rips the tie off of his belly. “My fuckin’ turn, now. Drivin’ me to drink,” He stuffs it into in your mouth, “Can you breathe?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s unfortunate,” he retaliates. He wraps your legs around his waist and lines up with your entrance once more, burying himself to the hilt in a quick shove with his hips. You gasp, your voice muffled by his tie.

He finds his pace quickly, pistoning into you at a devastating pace. Hard and fast and deep, like you love. “Fuckin’ ridiculous,” he pants. “You’re impossible. You know that? Impossible.”

You can’t smile, can’t speak. With your mouth stuffed full you can do is look at him with wide eyes, and all Joel can think is god, you have no business being so pretty and so fucking irritating at the same time. Joel’s shirt is buttoned halfway up your body and he watches your tits bounce under the fabric with every thrust of his hips. Your nipples taut and hard, the shirt falling away from your torso and framing your body just so, like you’re a painting, just for him.

“God,” Joel grunts. You wrap your legs tighter around him, hold his forearms that cage your head. You look into his eyes as he fucks you, his usual sparkling brown eyes nearly black with lust. And it might get you into trouble, but you need more. Need to feel him, taste him. Pulling the tie out of your mouth, you lift your head, kissing and sucking up his neck and all the way to his jaw and his cheek still slick with your own arousal. You taste yourself on his skin as you kiss his face, lips just centimeters away from meeting his own.

Joel makes all sorts of strangled noises as he pounds into you. His muscles tense and you can feel his cock twitch and stiffen inside you, and with his last few strong and deep thrusts, he spills into you. He comes hard, painting your walls with rope after rope of his hot seed.

He catches his breath on top of you as you trace lazy patterns into his back and his scalp, his head resting against the mattress. Completely drained of his energy. You can feel him going soft. “Joel, I need a rag or something before I make a mess on this bed.”

“Oh, yeah,” He looks up, raising his eyebrows when he sees his tie in his peripheral vision. He takes it,

“You weren’t s’posed to take this out of your mouth,” he says, “Least you stayed quiet for once. Maybe you could be quiet the rest of the night, hm?” he mumbles as he pulls out of you, wiping you down gently with the tie. He folds it up to keep the mess of his spend contained. “You do that for me?”

You smile. If only you weren’t all out of the sayings that Tommy taught you anyway. Joel helps dress you in your pants and underwear again, straightens out the buttons on your flannel. He tells you that you don’t have to give it back to him as you comb your fingers through his hair, taming it. “Joel?”

“Yeah, hon.”

“You really didn’t like my costume?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel smiles for the first time tonight, and exaggerates his own southern accent. “Bless your heart.”

You tilt your head, confused, “What’s that one?”

“What, Tommy didn’t teach you that one?” You mumble a no and Joel hums. “S’a classic.”

“What’s it mean?”

“Well, I’d tell you to ask Tommy but you’re not allowed to hang out with him anymore,” Joel says. “Fuckin’ corrupted you. An’ it’s a shame, ‘cause I was startin’ to like you. God, he’s an asshole,” he complains, “And you are too, for that matter.”

You smile to yourself, then kiss Joel’s cheek before getting up to leave. Before you open the door, you turn to Joel, “Your costume sucks, by the way. Not even close to a pirate.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he replies. “Now get lost, you.”

When you leave, Joel adjusts his clothes. He clutches his tie in his hand, then leaves the bedroom, crashing into someone. It’s Tommy, wearing a shit-eating grin. Joel sighs, “What’d you teach her now?”

Tommy smirks. “Nothin’,” then slaps Joel on the ass, and Joel turns beet red. “Yee-haw, cowboy.”

Please please please reblog, send me asks, comment, let me know what you thought! Love your thoughts. It keeps me going and motivated to write for you all.

#strang3lov3 #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #mall rats #mall rats!joel #mall rats joel #halloween special #joel miller fic #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader

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alien-bluez · 5 months

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raahhhh guh. another lineup, s2 kiddads. i love them so much they're rotating in my mind like a rotisserie chicken. god.

design notes for them under the cut if ur interested!

Grant

blue sweater bc blue is symbolic of titanic ep (something borrowed, something blue)

his tie color is the same color as Darryl's hat in my design

Wears Frank's watch that Darryl gave him, even if it's broken he doesn't take it off.

Green creeper socks because it's a Must. He wouldn't be Grant without them.

Sparrow

curly hair he got from mercedes' genes. he grew out his hair like lark

has a pink flower tucked in his hair like my henry's design

his jewelry and clothes are mostly borrowed from mercedes, he got really into crystals and other things like that growing up and got closer to his druid roots.

earrings are a feather and an oak leaf maybe i dunno i'll figure it out later lol

tattoos! there's supposed to be a bird outline there and other plant/nature related stuff on his arm. I'll draw it out better in the future mayhaps.

colors are brighter, more lifelike cuz he's closer to nature and all that jazz.

Lark

his hair has strands of white hair because of stress/trauma/Everything going on

hair is messier, unkempt because he cares less about appearances and doesn't have time anyways.

darker forest colors, less in tune with nature than sparrow.

his pants are the same color as my Henry's shorts :0) i needed a connection somewhere to his parents, and it just had to be henry.

Terry Jr.

purple shirt because his color is purple to me

fish motifs!! everywhere! i hc that when he and ron get closer bonding thru fishing they'd get each other fun fish printed shirts or something. This was Ron's gift to Terry. The colors of the fish are color picked from my Ron's design.

Fish tail tie and the shirt is also split like a fish tail maybe.

he's the tallest of the kiddads forever and always

Nicky

he wears glenn's sunglasses on his head

he grew out his hair long like morgan's because it's like the one thing he still really has of her. has her hair type and he takes very good care of his hair.

still has the ripped leather jacket from his time as nick and various patches of bands he likes (didn't want to draw them out yet.)

blue shirt because of his time as nicholas/reminder of jodie. blue holster belt and pants are also blue for jodie association

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #dungeons and daddies fanart #dndads fanart #dndads season 2 #grant wilson #sparrow oak #lark oak #terry jr #nicky foster #kiddads #i love them all so dearly #i have so many thoughts and more things i wanna incorporate in their designs later on #nicky is my fave tho i'm so biased #ehehe i will draw more of them sometime

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blupjeans · 9 months

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True dndads facts that have come to light after today’s live show:

- Henry is REALLY into petplay

- Walter the Immoral has an ex-wife named Melissa who is absent from his life, and to whom he was married for an indeterminate period of time

- The Glenn Close Trio instagram is filled exclusively with photos of Glenn next to Glenn Close the Actor’s star on the Walk of Fame

- Henry has an alter ego named Allie Pony the Divorce Horse, a top hat-wearing horse who goes door to door selling quick divorces

- Grant Wilson was conceived in the parking lot of the Hard Rock Cafe in Hollywood

- Ron was fake married to Walter’s previously mentioned ex-wife for three months in order to convince her to marry Walter(Samantha was in on it and fully supportive)

- Ron doesn’t like LA.

#not taz #dndads #dndads live #dungeons and daddies #anthony burch #freddie wong #beth may #matt arnold #will campos #henry oak #ron stampler #glenn close #darryl wilson #dad facts

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artemisia-black · 4 months

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Wizarding clothing and fashion

This meta/list of HCs has been sitting in my drafts for a while. But here is my meta about wizarding fashions.

1.0 An insular culture with its own unique dress

No shade to people who enjoy seeing and drawing characters in muggle clothing, but I think that the majority of wizards and witches dress in wizarding clothing.

Indeed, the fact that most wizards can’t dress as muggles and are quite conspicuous is mentioned in the first chapter of the series:

“People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn’t bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion.” PS

And then becomes a sort of running joke:

“Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho” GoF

And in DH it is (partly) how Harry recognises that people are watching Grimmauld Place:

“The lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike for normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back, wondering why anyone would wear such long cloaks in this heat.” DH

Side note: it is peak Londoner to barely take notice of something odd. And this also implies that robes and cloaks are all year wear and that wizards potentially don’t have seasonal clothing.

Given that wizarding culture is very insular (with its own economy, government, and education system), it would make sense that while it may occasionally borrow trends from the muggle world, wizarding fashion and clothing are unique.

In fact, only the younger generation are seen in muggle dress, with Harry commenting:

“Their children might don Muggle clothing during the holidays, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually wore long robes in varying states of shabbiness.” GoF

2.0 Class and generational differences in dress

The previous quote demonstrates two things: much like in real life, there is generational and class stratification of dress. The condition and quality of wizarding clothing serves as a non-verbal cue about a character's economic status. This disparity is not just a background detail but is frequently brought into focus, such as through Draco Malfoy's derisive comments about Professor Lupin's tattered robes.

“ Malfoy gave Professor Lupin an insolent stare, which took in the patches on his robes and the delapidated suitcase.” PoA

“Look at the state of his robes,” Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. “He dresses like our old house-elf.” PoA

Even Harry comments on his robes and observes that:

“Professor Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes”

The patched and frayed nature of both Lupins and Weasley’s robes seem to indicate that robe repairs can’t be done by an individual (or when it is done, it is really visible). Another example of this is when Ron removes the lace from his dress robes and leaves:

“...the edges still looked depressingly frayed as the boys set off downstairs.” GoF

Additionally, in Padfoot returns Sirius’s prison robes still appear tatty despite him having had a haircut and left the country. This indicates that he either can’t obtain new robes or can’t/hasn’t bothered repairing his Azkaban robes.

This is interesting, given that Molly Weasley is able to make jumpers and scarves yet can’t seem to alter robes. While knitting and sewing are separate skills, it seems odd that there aren’t means of repairing robes.

This suggests that robes can only be repaired and bought at official vendors such as Madam Malkins/Gladrags/Twifitt and Tattings.

It is also interesting that both Fred and George buy clothing when they become successful (also a parallel to the real world). They gift their mum:

“….a brand-new midnight blue witch’s hat glittering with what looked like tiny starlike diamonds, and a spectacular golden necklace.” HBP

However, things being ‘frayed’ aren’t always an indication of poverty. Tonks is first introduced wearing an outfit that is a mix of muggle clothing but with something that is distinctly wizarding:

“Tonks stood just behind him…. wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend THE WEIRD SISTERS.” OoTP

This outfit is heavily reminiscent of Sirius and James in the Elvendork prequel:

“Both were dressed in T-shirts emblazoned with a large golden bird; the emblem, no doubt, of some deafening, tuneless rock band.”

3.0 The underwear question

Something that gets bought up a lot is whether wizards wear underwear.

Harry (who was raised by muggles certainly seems to):

“He was just piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind him.” GoF

And:

“He was shivering now, his teeth chattering horribly, and yet he continued to strip off until at last he stood there in his underwear…” DH

So does Neville (in the UK, Pants means underwear)

“He broke off as Neville entered the dormitory, bringing with him a strong smell of singed material, and began rummaging in his trunk for a fresh pair of pants.”

And infamously, so does Snape:

“Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants.”

Also we get some information about witch’s underwear from Sirius’s very Freudian joke:

“Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, “I’ll look for him later, I expect I’ll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother’s old bloomers.”

Bloomers are a type of historical, baggy underpants (think boy shorts, but make it victorian).

In conclusion, Archie, who wanted a breeze around his privates, was probably an outlier.

4.0 Materials and accesories

So what is wizarding clothing made of?

For robes and cloaks the materials most mentioned are silk/satin and velvet:

“ She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.” GoF

Additionally in GoF, we learn that even witches and wizards from other countries wear robes and cloaks:

“Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep bloodred.”

And

“...Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold.”

Other materials include Dragon hide which appears to be used to make practical gloves and boots but also fashionable jackets.

“... followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragon skin.” HBP

Additionally, robes can be embroidered:

“ The man’s scowling, slightly brutish face was somehow at odds with his magnificent, sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread” DH

“Harry glimpsed Slughorn at the head of the Slytherin column, wearing magnificent, long, emerald green robes embroidered with silver” HBP

“Madam Rosmerta scurrying down the dark street toward them on high-heeled, fluffy slippers, wearing a silk dressing gown embroidered with dragons.” HBP

Interestingly, both men and women appear to wear heels:

Dumbledore:

“He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots” PS

Madame Maxine:

“Then Harry saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage..” GoF

Monsiour Delacour:

“However, he looked good-natured. Bouncing toward Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving her flustered.” DH

Madame Rosmerta:

“ Next he saw another pair of feet, wearing sparkly turquoise high heels,” POA

Furthermore, witches carry handbags:

“Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly” COS

“ She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.” GoF

“Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag” OoTP

“Ron was rummaging through the little witch’s handbag.” DH

5.0 My HCs

When I imagine what male robes look like, I imagine something akin to a Morrcan thobe or an Indian Sherwani.

I imagine robes to be enchanted to move and in my fic Pietas, I describe my OC Aeliana’s robes as follows:

“She smiled slightly, smoothing the front of her dress, which was decorated with embroidered flowers and birds that had been enchanted to flutter their wings.”

I also HC some cultural variance in robes- with certain countries using different cloth or the skin of magical animals that are native to their countries. With hotter countries, having lighter robes and cooling/anti-perspiration charms.

#harry potter

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bloodstainedsaint · 4 months

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sticky fingers (ronald speirs x reader smut)

summary: you've noticed that you've been missing panties ever since your first time with your lover, ronald speirs. fortunately for you, he's been replacing them.

word count: 1220+

warnings: 🔞, reader has female genitalia, looting, fingering, praise, ron's a little freak (but we knew that), implied that ron jacks off with your panties, reader's a little bit of a brat (that gets straightened out by soft dom ron)

notes: inspired by this ask (brilliant idea btw) and a little bit by ron's handwriting

It had become commonplace ever since Easy Company moved into Germany for you to come back to your billet and find loot laying on your bed, accompanied by a note signed in beautiful cursive that read Courtesy of Capt. Speirs (as if you didn't know who was leaving you these gifts). You already knew that Ron was sending ornate silver cutlery and decor back home to your house in America so you wouldn't have to lug it around with the rest of your belongings; the loot that made it to your bed were things that he wanted you to wear for him that very night: heels, jewelry/accessories, dresses, and his favorite: lingerie.

Now in Austria nearing the end of the war (in Europe, at least), that was what you found placed on your bed, next to the usual note. And, as you usually did, you smiled to yourself at the gifts, freshened yourself up, and first tried on the lacy lingerie that he'd selected for you, followed by the elegant off the shoulder evening gown, the heels, and the diamond necklace.

What often followed was him coming back to find you all dressed up before dancing with you — with you leading, of course. With the radio in the room playing slow love songs, he would start planning a future with you as he twirled you around, saying all the things the two of you would do once back in the States: buy a house, raise a family, adopt a dog. It had surprised you the first time; you had never expected Ron to think of the future (one including you, no less) and realize that he just might be going home after all.

As you started clasping on the necklace with your back facing the door, someone barged in like they owned the place. You turned around and were not surprised to see Ron there, seemingly not fully acknowledging your presence as he shed his hat and the top layer of his uniform. Placing them on a chair, he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“Has anyone ever taught you to knock, Ron?” you huffed lightheartedly as you finished fastening the necklace. He finally turned his attention to you, and you could see the tension (you assumed from everything that had happened recently with Staff Sergeant Grant) disappear from his face, replaced by something darker as he drank in how the dress hugged your curves so well.

“Well,” you said while smoothing out the dress and preparing to spin for him, “how do I lo—”

Predatory eyes raked over your body. “On the bed.”

“Ron?”

“Get on the bed, now.” Something akin to desperation was masked by the harshness of his tone.

Doing as he said, you sat on the edge of the bed. He strode over and stood over you, and your breath hitched when he lifted your chin upward with two fingers. “Good girl.”

He withdrew his hand and let it run over your bare shoulders before tugging on one of the sleeves, uttering, “I want this off.”

“I just put it on!” you protested.

There was a subtle crazed look to his stare, a hardly restrained wildness lying beneath. “And you'll take it off.”

You first took off your heels, and, maintaining eye contact, you slipped off the sleeves of your dress and pulled the rest down, slowly revealing your lace-covered chest and the inches of skin that lay below. Smirking, you let the dress sit around your hips as you first removed the necklace and set it aside.

“It's a shame to let a dress this nice pool on the floor,” you said, enjoying the way his jaw tensed, “so I'll stop here.”

His glare hardened, and he bent down slightly and pulled the dress down the rest of the way, with you wiggling your hips to assist him. He placed the dress on the same chair as his officer jacket and hat. “Happy?”

You innocently beamed up at him, relishing in knowing how much of a grip his love for you had on him. “Very.”

He returned and leaned over you, with one hand on the bed beside you and the other traveling to your panties.

Before he could get any closer to what he desired, you placed your hand around his wrist. He immediately stopped his arm and studied your face.

Meeting his gaze, you breathily said, “I've been missing panties, Sparky.”

“That's a shame.” His apathetic voice and expression indicated that it was anything but.

“I know you've been stealing them since our first time together.”

Shrugging, he pouted for a second like he usually did when he was thinking. You unknowingly loosened your grip, and he pushed your wet panties to the side and began rubbing circles on your clit. “And I've been replacing them with new ones, haven't I?”

Your thoughts became jumbled at the slow circles, and your hand fell away completely. “Yes, sir…”

He smiled, watching you lose your focus and confidence at the movements. “You wanna know what I do with them?” Gulping, you unsteadily bobbed your head. “Whenever we’re separated, I use them to remind me of you.”

“Use… them?” Your face flushed at the thought.

He only chuckled in response. His fingers moved down from your clit to circle your opening.

“Maybe I'll take these with me to the Pacific,” he pondered aloud, pulling the strap of your panties back and then snapping them against you. “You don't mind, do you?”

“Ron, I like thes—” you cut yourself off with a moan as his fingers plunged into you.

“I didn't think so, pretty girl.” He gently guided your body down onto the bed so his fingers could reach deeper within. Your back arched as he went at a brutal pace, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss.

Ron leaned over you with one arm supporting him. Somehow speeding up his movements against that sensitive spot inside of you, the palm of his hand rubbing deliciously against your clit, he lowered himself to mouth along the valley between your breasts. In his wake, he left conspicuous marks on your neck before trailing his lips up and capturing yours in a kiss full of shameless want.

He could tell you were getting close when your walls started squeezing around him and you became a whiny, breathy mess before him, bucking your hips to meet his fingers. “You're doing so good for me, just let go. That's it, beautiful…”

Lights sparked behind your eyelids, and your moans of his name took on a higher pitch, neighbors be damned. Ron slowed down his thrusts and let you ride out your climax. Before you could notice the absence of his fingers or that he wasn't kissing you anymore, your panties were already pulled down and off of your legs and stuffed into his pants pocket.

Ron licked the stickiness off of his fingers and climbed onto the bed, situating himself above you. “As much as I liked that dress on you, I like you better with it off.”

You laughed, still out of breath with a hazy mind. “Why don't you show me just how much, Captain?”

His lips pulled up into that unnerving smile that only you found charming. He breathed, “My pleasure,” and fit his lips against yours before you could catch a glimpse of the lingerie sticking out of his pocket.

taglist: @mads-weasley, @ronsparky, @dcyllom, @malarkgirlypop, @joetoyesbrassknuckles101, @samwinchesterslostshoe, @maya0, @linhkhanhcps, @cinnamonmalarkey, @imafckingbitch

#band of brothers #ron speirs x reader #ronald speirs x reader #ron speirs #band of brothers x reader #hbo war #easy company #101st airborne #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #hbo war fanfic #band of brothers imagines #ronald speirs #matthew settle

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pineapplefulfillseveryneed · 1 year

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#we love prolonged glaring so why not also have this full shot #MY WORK HERE IS DONE #goodnight <3 #russell mael #ron mael #sparks #sparks (band)#château d'Hérouville #2022 #2023 #20's #(yes this post was queued)#sunglasses #umbrella #ron wearing a hat #headwear #gifs by yours truly

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carlsdarling · 5 months

Note

Carl Grimes x Taller!Reader, thats all i want, all i need and all i ahve to say💓

Carl x Taller!Reader headcanons

Just some headcanons about Carl being shorter than Y/N. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: lowkey smut, nsfw

Carl isn't particularly tall, you're about 2 inches taller than him, which bothers him a little. He's also annoyed that he's not as tall as his father. Rick is much taller than Carl.

Carl thinks his hat makes him look taller, so he takes great care to wear it whenever you walk around together.

It often happens that Ron, Enid and others tease you about your height difference. Carl doesn't usually find this funny, but he doesn't show it.

Apart from that, the height difference doesn't change your affection for each other. When you're at home, you love to hug Carl from behind and kiss the soft skin of his neck. This is only possible because Carl is shorter than you.

The fact that Carl is rather short has other advantages - you can easily have sex while standing because he can penetrate you from behind without you having to compensate for a height difference. Actually, the fact that Carl is slightly shorter than you is perfect for this position.

When there are parties in Alexandria that you dress up for, you don't wear high heels so as not to emphasize the fact that you are taller than Carl.

When you're in bed together, you often joke that there's no difference in height when you're lying down. Carl then regularly adds the remark that at least his dick isn't small.

Tags: @loveforcarl @knochentrocken0808 @tessasweet @taylormarieee @xxcarlswifexx

#the walking dead #twd #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes imagines #carl fanfiction #carl grimes smut

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lurveinn · 1 month

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I’m so curious about Wizarding fashion. JKR isn’t very physically descriptive- we just know that wizards wear robes, which are outlandish to muggles, and pointy hats, but what does that really mean? What kind of robe? Magical fashion clearly isn’t very gendered, since Harry remarks on a man at the Quidditch World Cup wearing a dress and insisting that it’s unisex (certainly not the case in Britain at the time), but we don’t have any other parameters. Keeping in mind the uniform from the movies, and the fact that in SWM, Snape isn’t wearing any trousers, here’s what I think wizards wear:

1. Flowing silhouettes and cloaks; clearly, wizards love a good statement cloak. Think tassels and frills (not like Ron’s Yule Ball fit!), massive extended sleeves and lots of draping.

2. Skirts: let’s be honest, just one singular robe, without any layering, doesn’t give us much to work with. Skirts go with the general silhouette, explain why the World Cup wizard thought muggle men wore dresses, and keep with the no-trousers thing from SWM. I’m South Asian, so I like to have a little fun with it and think of wizards in ghararas (my favourite item of clothing); the Wizarding World is quite insular, travel is relatively unrestricted (hello, they have magic!), everyone has a common enemy in muggles (and other species- goblins, house-elves) etcetera, so race probably doesn’t function the same way and I headcanon a lot of cross-cultural exchange. Plus, wizarding fashion isn’t restricted by weather- they have warming charms- so wearing clothes made for hot climates in England, for example, wouldn’t be a problem.

Plus, I actually think saris are a natural fancy dress option- flowy, drapey, colourful. Speaking of which-

3. If there’s one fanon idea that I hate (aside from fanon!Sirius, of course), it’s this image of wizards (specifically high society wizards) as reserved. Sorry, did we read the same books? Wizards, even posh, rich wizards, like the Malfoys and Blacks, are camp and very outlandish. They do house-elf taxidermy, they keep their wands in canes. Just because Hogwarts uniforms are black doesn’t mean that people dress like they’re in mourning all the time. People can be total snobs and obsessed with their image and still wear bright pink, insane robes, because guess what? They have different social conventions than we do. Men and women dress basically the same, so there is no reason to believe that a man wearing a flowing robe would be against the norm. I say this as someone who believes misogyny and homophobia are well and truly alive in Wizarding society, especially in pureblooded families where the emphasis is on continuing the line; they definitely exist, but they probably look different.

4. My personal obsession and headcanon: rich wizards wearing bones. Look, I might not think of them as racist in the traditional sense, but they are undeniably speciesist, if that’s a word? They think of themselves as superior, and other sentient magical species either work under (goblins) or are enslaved (house-elves) by wizards. We only see Veelas very briefly, but despite them being admired for their beauty, I doubt wizards treat them very well. So- show me blood-purists wearing corsets made of goblin bones and teeth. Show me Veelas being hunted for their blood to stain and dye clothes with. Show me exotic “magical creatures” that are humanoid and capable of reasoning and should have rights, like mermaids and werewolves, being hunted for their scales and pelts while also being ostracised for being ‘non-human’. It’s terrible, but that’s the kind of archaic jewellery and fashion the old families that the fandom likes to fetishise would like to wear.

#harry potter #wizarding fashion #wizarding world #meta #hp

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corneliaavenue-ao3 · 9 months

Note

Literally drunk!

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I'm a married man—"

"Harry, I'm your wife!"

Harry Potter had 3 regrets in his life.

Not noticing Ginny Weasley earlier.

Believing the vision Voldemort sent him that Sirius was actually kidnapped.

Letting George Weasley plan his 30th birthday party.

Now Harry was 10? Maybe 14 drinks firewhiskey shots in, and he was dying. Any moment now, Albus Dumbledore would take him to Kings Cross Station and take him to the afterlife because Harry James Potter was piss drunk.

He was not the only one plastered. Ron was wearing his shirt has a hat and Hermione was walking around and telling any person who would listen that she could list the Runes Alphabet backwards in less than thirty seconds.

But for Harry, all he could focus on was the ceiling, and how it kept spinning. He couldn't focus on anything, but could feel someone hovering near him who smelt like a familiar flowery scent. But beyond that he knew only three things.

He was married.

He loved his wife.

The first law of Gamp's Transfiguration Law prevented anyone from conjuring food out of thin air.

But he also knew that this random woman was trying to get him to come home with her.

"Harry, I think it's time we go home," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Harry caught another wiff of floral, and almost collapsed. He could not move his eyes from his left hand, where a gold band rested on his 4th finger, for fear of any sudden movement might cause him to vomit all over the floor.

wife. wife. wife. wife. wife.

you have a wife.

"Harry, doesn't bed sound absolutely cozy right now?" The witch behind him asked. "We can even take off our clothes and cuddle."

That was too far.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I'm a married man—" Harry said, shoving his left hand in this woman's face, showing off his wedding band.

"Harry, I'm your wife!"

Oh.

Harry looked up and stared at the person who had been coaxing him to bed this entire time.

Ginny.

Beautiful

Wonderful

Pefect

Ginny.

"Hi Love!" Harry said, pulling her close to his chest.

Ginny laughed into his chest, "Let's get you home."

#drunk prompts #ginny weasley #hinny #harry potter

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aeshnacyanea2000 · 5 months

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‘Just shut up, will you?’ he said. ‘It’s Hogswatch! That’s not the time for silly arguments, all right?’ ‘Oh, yes it is,’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies glumly. ‘It’s exactly the time for silly arguments. In our family we were lucky to get through dinner without a reprise of What A Shame Henry Didn’t Go Into Business With Our Ron. Or Why Hasn’t Anyone Taught Those Kids To Use A Knife? That was another favourite.’ ‘And the sulks,’ said Ponder Stibbons. ‘Oh, the sulks,’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. ‘Not a proper Hogswatch without everyone sitting staring at different walls.’ ‘The games were worse,’ said Ponder. ‘Worse than the kids hitting one another with their toys, d’you think? Not a proper Hogswatch afternoon without wheels and bits of broken dolly everywhere and everyone whining. Assault and battery included.’ ‘We had a game called Hunt the Slipper,’ said Ponder. ‘Someone hid a slipper. And then we had to find it. And then we had a row.’ ‘It’s not really bad,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. ‘I mean, not proper Hogswatch bad, unless everyone’s wearing a paper hat. There’s always that bit, isn’t there, when someone’s horrible great-aunt puts on a paper hat and smirks at everyone because she’s being so bohemian.’ ‘I’d forgotten about the paper hats,’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. ‘Oh, dear.’ ‘And then later on someone’ll suggest a board game,’ said Ponder. ‘That’s right. Where no one exactly remembers all the rules.’ ‘Which doesn’t stop someone suggesting that you play for pennies.’ ‘And five minutes later there’s two people not speaking to one another for the rest of their lives because of tuppence.’ ‘And some horrible little kid—’ ‘I know, I know! Some little kid who’s been allowed to stay up wins everyone’s money by being a nasty little cut-throat swot!’ ‘Right!’ ‘Er . . .’ said Ponder, who rather suspected that he had been that child. ‘And don’t forget the presents,’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, as if reading off some internal list of gloom. ‘How . . . how full of potential they seem in all that paper, how pregnant with possibilities . . . and then you open them and basically the wrapping paper was more interesting and you have to say “How thoughtful, that will come in handy.” It’s not better to give than to receive, in my opinion, it’s just less embarrassing.’ ‘I’ve worked out,’ said the Senior Wrangler, ‘that over the years I have been a net exporter of Hogswatch presents—’ ‘Oh, everyone is,’ said the Chair. ‘You spend a fortune on other people and what you get when all the paper is cleared away is one slipper that’s the wrong colour and a book about earwax.’

-- Terry Pratchett - Hogfather

#Terry Pratchett #discworld quotes #GNU Terry Pratchett #quotes #Hogfather #wizards #Mustrum Ridcully #Ponder Stibbons #the Chair of Indefinite Studies #the Lecturer in Recent Runes #the Senior Wrangler #Hogswatch #christmas #relatives #celebrations #arguments #sulks #games #paper hats

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calehenituse-brainrot · 1 year

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Return

Cale Henituse | Kim Rok Soo x Transported!Reader

John meets the entity that have been asking for you, but with a cost.

content warning: violent stabbing, blood, choking on blood.

Deruth and Violan along with their kids stood in front of the mansion to greet their eldest child when they heard of him returning with the bodies of the victims. Violan let out a small gasp, hand covering her mouth when Cale got off his carriage, holding a soaking wet coat that she recognized all too well. After all, it was her that gifted you the coat, welcoming you as a part of the Henituse county back then.

Cale approached his parents, holding the heavy coat and the hat that still has strands of your hair in it. Basen recognized the coat and hat, having had you wear them whenever you went out with him to have him learn under your wing to handle negotiations outside the duchy.

"We could only find fifteen out of the seventeen victims," Cale reported, looking over to his father who looked defeated. "We couldn't find Captain John and [Name]."

All of their eyes drifted to the coat in his arms and Cale looked down as well. He looked up at his mother, the corner of her lips pulled down and eyes slightly glossy. "It's... all we could find of her out there."

"Oh, Cale," murmured Violan, placing a hand on her child's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

Deruth feels ashamed of himself when he looks at his son. He glimmered with joy when Cale was born and looked so much like his mother instead of him and it destroys him when Jour died and left a son that will always remind Deruth of her because they looked so much alike. He couldn't face Cale back then and crumbled underneath his grief. Cale had just lost you after years of knowing and loving each other, having each other's backs knowing you both can always rely on one another.

Cale still stood with his head held high, holding the last part of you that the world had given him the mercy of having. He gets up and does what needs to be done, all by himself and doesn't rely on anyone else to take care of anything.

It's so out of place to see his son now, standing by himself with you nowhere to be seen.

"Why don't you and the kids go and--"

"It's fine," Cale cuts off. "I'll help with the funeral."

Deruth is a little happy that Cale was born and inherited Jour's good traits and none of his bad ones.

Deruth, Cale, Ron, and Hans took care of the funerals for the found victims first, handling the budget and also giving their families some money as comfort although they all know money could never replace a life. Ron found himself distraught at how familiar Cale was with sorting these things, working on them seamlessly, and even helping out Hans to deliver the news to the family as gently as possible, his words coming out almost robotic. A lot of money was taken out to pay compensation for the things lost at the sea though Deruth didn't look too fazed by the numbers Ron wrote after estimating the damages.

Cale did all of this while still going back to the sea with the search squad, hoping to find some hint of you. Rosalyn and Lock finally had the composure to join in, managing to find some of the things that had escaped your suitcase to bring back, a sense of closure overwhelming them all to know they get to keep something you once had. The kids came with him on the last day and resulted in nothing but despair that they had to return home without you, knowing that they have to return home and set up an empty grave for you.

Thankfully, some of your items in your room in the villa were still there, allowing the others to remind themselves of your presence whenever they wished to.

The one to frequent your room was Cale, staying for hours just sitting on your bed and not talking. The kids will accompany him, but most of the time, they see that he needed some time alone and process everything, so the most they'd do is peek at him from your doorway. Then there was Rosalyn, remembering the conversations you would have together in the room and your laughter and then there was Ron, who would come into your room to clean up although there was nothing much to do.

Perhaps thanks to that were the reason why no one shed any tears during your funeral. Everyone had already made peace with your death, especially Cale. The one to give out speeches were Deruth and a formal apology was delivered by Kore, the right hand of the captain for being negligent towards the weather, though it was obvious no one blamed her. Rosalyn stood next to Cale, seeing the man kept his gaze on your name engraved on a stone, face unchanging throughout the whole funeral.

"There was blood in her coat," Cale murmured to Rosalyn, eyes still at the shallow carve of your name on the stone. "She must have been the one to bleed to death."

Rosalyn's heart ached painfully and all she could do was let out a shaky sigh, recalling how Cale informed her how on the first day, a small area of the water was murky with blood but none of the bodies had any open wounds.

"At least she is no longer in pain," Alver says, standing by the other side of Cale, trying his best to ease the unsettling feeling of dread that sits within their chests upon knowing you did not go peacefully.

Cale did not respond. A painful death was something he always wanted to avoid, hence all this trouble he took to make sure nothing could hurt him and his people, to eradicate all the danger the world could pose to them, but he had failed to remember that no matter how many ancient powers settled inside his flesh and bones, no matter the number of powerful allies he had made, and the many sacrifices he had done, death is inevitable and will always be painful.

The funeral comes to an end at some point – is it bad that he had stopped tuning into the whole ceremony? – and he realized that he must have been standing at the same place like a fool, staring at the carving of your name and holding onto the flowers he had bought on his way to the funeral.

He remembers that you don't have a favorite flower so he relied entirely on the florist to arrange a bouquet based on his request; "I am going to the funeral of a loved one."

The florist was of the Henituse duchy so with a solemn smile, they nodded and began picking out flowers and arranging them together. Cale did not miss how the florist is dressed in black, mourning over the many loss the duchy suffered.

"What kind of person are they? Miss [Name], I mean."

"Loved."

You were loved, not only by him but also by so many people that he silently hoped it was enough to make up for the fact that you didn't receive enough love from your past life. He hoped he have made you feel loved.

"Human?" Raon's timid voice calls for him, pulling him back into reality. He feels the tug on his trousers and remembered he was still standing in front of where you are supposed to be resting — it is empty, you are not there, and he will never find the comfort of having you here — and the kids were still by his side, waiting for him.

Everyone else must have left after seeing he made no move to leave himself. He's grateful that for once, people are feeling pity toward him. The world knows he needs some time alone.

Cale sees the abundance of flowers and trinkets left behind on your and Captain John's headstones. There were many more of those on both of your headstones, perhaps because both of them were empty graves and only serves as memorials.

Cale got down on one knee, plucking one singular bellflower from the bouquet and then handing the bouquet to the kids. "Do me a favor and gift them to the other graves? We don't want the others to feel left out now, do we?"

The kids glanced at each other for a moment before they turned to look at him, nodding silently. Knowing Cale will need time, they head for the grave furthest away from yours, walking in threes as they decided that it would be better to be with each other instead of separating for now.

Cale turned to you, twirling the bellflower in between his fingertips. "It's a shame you left before we could sort out whatever it was between the two of us."

Cale sat down on the damp grass and ran a finger through the carving of your name, feeling every ridge of the stone as he spells out your name, knowing that if he called out for you now, he could no longer hear your voice, but it doesn't stop him from starting a conversation.

"Tell me, [Name]." Just a murmur of your name was enough to send a stinging pain into his chest. "Had I been more forward about my feelings to you, would it have made you stay?"

"Cale, don't do this again," pleaded the Super Rock. "Stop torturing yourself like this."

"I wanted to be with you," Cale continued. "And I think that's where I ruined things for us — for you."

Kim Rok Soo and Cale Henituse had many things in common – one of them is the fact that the world will always take whoever they loved, and another was that despite that fact, they have never once regretted loving that person.

"I'm sorry," he managed to whisper, placing the bellflower he had been twirling all this time on the smooth top surface of your headstone.

"I... love you."

The words come out flat, forced as if he couldn't bear to say them. The confession feels useless now that the object of his affection has died and he is speaking to an empty grave.

A dark talon appeared and carefully placed a white asphodel next to Cale's bellflower. The redhead looked up to see his kids, the three of them with solemn expressions as they stare at the headstone of their late friend. They have finished distributing the flowers to each grave as he asked them to, leaving the last flower for you.

"Good job," Cale praised them with a small smile.

Raon settled on Cale's lap while the two children sat on either side of him, staring at your headstone with flushed faces and red-rimmed eyes.

"She's going to be all fine, wherever she is now," Cale reassured them, rubbing circles on Hong's back.

"Where is she now?" Ohn asked quietly, leaning towards Cale's side and gripping his coat. She feels like a child and she could not handle the thought of not being one, to shoulder the grief alone and be strong like the man currently being her pillar.

"Somewhere peaceful," Cale answers. He doesn't believe in the concept of Heaven and Hell and he's not going to start now. "Somewhere we can't follow."

"I hope she's happy there."

Cale hums. "She's probably nagging at us right now for sitting on the grass with our good suits on."

The flowers lay limp on the cold surface of your headstone, slowly withering as each hour pass by with the four of them chatting together in front of your grave.

Weeks passed after the funeral. It takes time for everyone to adjust to the absence of you in the duchy but they got around it in no time and went back to work.

Cale had begun to stay over at the Super Rock Villa instead of the Duke's estate a few days after the funeral, taking the kids along as they began to properly process their loss. Your death had affected their sleep, with the worst case being Ohn's constant midnight breakdowns whenever she had to face the fact that you are no longer alive.

It made sleeping difficult for Hong and Raon, so Cale had to set up a routine for Ohn and himself to walk around the villa and sit down in the drawing room to let Ohn talk about her feelings. She'll talk about you and her regret of not stopping you that night until she's tired and Cale would pick her up and tuck her in so she could have a comfortable night's sleep.

As for Cale himself...

"Cale-nim?"

Rosalyn pushed open the door of your bedroom, seeing Cale sitting on the chair of the small table you and Rosalyn would occupy to have tea and snacks. It is no longer a surprise for everyone in the villa to find Cale inside your room at odd times. He would sit inside with a candle lit on the table, casually reading your letters and other writings over and over again.

"Miss Rosalyn," Cale greeted, briefly lifting his gaze to look at the red-haired mage. "We meet again."

The two of them had been developing a bad habit of visiting your room whenever they were having trouble sleeping, though Rosalyn would say Cale's case was much worse than hers seeing as whenever Rosalyn would make a small visit to your room, she would always smell the scent of wax and smoke from the candle Cale always brings with him.

"We should start meeting like normal people," Cale continued, returning to your writings. "During daytime with proper lighting."

"Then it's best for you to head to your chambers, Cale-nim," Rosalyn says, eying how short the candle Cale has and how the wax that surrounds it has lumped into quite the size. He had been in here for a while.

"I suppose you're right." Without putting up a fight, Cale gathers the papers and lifts the candle holder, storing your letters back into your drawers. This only strengthen Rosalyn's suspicions that he had been here for a long time.

"Have a good night's rest, Miss Rosalyn," he murmured when he passed by her, not making a comment about the dark circles under her eyes and the way her face had sunken, no doubt the effects of grief.

The others find the time to visit and bask in what little trace you have to help them move on properly, but no one could defeat Cale's constant longing to be surrounded by you. He was the most frequent visitor of your room, going through your belongings simply to make sure they are still there — many worry it was becoming an obsession more than helping him heal.

Cage hears the click of your door for the first time today and pursed her lips into a thin line, sharing a look with the Sun Twins. Jack glanced up at the stairways, worry spread across his kind face while Hannah leans back to the couch, hands folded in front of her chest. They couldn't do much but let the man grieve, afraid of offending him if they were to try and have him stop visiting your room.

"Miss Cage."

Cage turned to look at the old butler, slightly surprised to see the man there. He fished out a sealed letter from the inside pocket of his vest, the wax that seals the letter bearing no insignia, but the handwriting that spells out Cage's name was enough for them all to know who was the sender.

"Miss [Name] instructed me to give this to you once things have settled down," he said while brushing down his vest.

He initially wanted to deliver the letter after everyone had finally made peace with your death but by the looks and habits they've all been developing, Ron recognizes that it would be too long. He decided now that everyone was no longer in hysterics and was processing everything in their ways, it would be better to finally do your last wishes instead of holding onto them.

"What?" Cage asked, slightly spooked. "Did she know she was going to–"

"No," Ron answers, his voice slightly hoarse as he remembers your resolution to leave that night. "It would be better for you to read the letter she had left first before coming to me for anything you'd like to ask."

"Cage," Hannah calls, moving from the couch to sit beside Cage, Jack following along. "Open it"

Cage stare at your handwriting, her gut swirling with a feeling that made her want to throw up. She opens the letter and took out the paper inside, her heart immediately wrecking at seeing your handwriting. She wonders if this was what Cale feels whenever he reread your writings and if it was some sort of self-torture he does.

Cage focuses back to read your letter out loud for everyone in the room.

In the letter, you confessed to feeling out of place and having no purpose after the war. You told her of the voices you had started to have in your head, urging you to leave them all and promising to lead you where you can find your purpose. Every time the voice speaks to you, you experienced heavy headaches and sometimes it was to the point of nosebleeds and nearly passing out.

"You might find me ridiculous for following a voice inside my head," Cage cited your letter. "But they sounded very familiar, like someone from my past life, and that frightens me. I suspect it is some type of God. Was it like this for you whenever you speak with the God of Death? It is very painful."

"During the day of the picnic, the voice told me to sail furthest away from the continent to find him. I find him, I find myself."

The extremely salty taste that lingers in his mouth and throat was the thing that greeted him when he was finally conscious. He opens his eyes and finally acknowledged that he was suffocating, chest filled with something that made him want to gag and throw up, so he did.

He coughs and forced himself to throw up whatever it was that was suffocating him and water spurts out of his throat and mouth in large quantities to the point he had to roll over and coughed them onto the sand to prevent himself from swallowing more water.

John dug his fingers into the warm sand and let himself cough out water until the weight on his chest lessen and he was no longer suffocating. Finally feeling better, he drops his back again to the sand and looks up at the bright sky. He stared at the floating clouds and the clear sky, needing a few seconds to process the fact that the pain in his throat and the sting of wounds around his body was enough proof that he hasn't died yet and this was not the afterlife.

He sat up, looking around the place he was in, figuring he must have washed up here, but for the love of Gods could not remember that an island existed close enough near the waters where the ship sunk.

John saw that the place he had washed up in did not have a beach that immediately connects to the sea, instead, the corners of the island had boulders and trees that curled up like a shallow bowl, sheltering him inside the island.

'How did I end up here?' John thought with a frown, looking around to see if there was a beach he could have missed but found more boulders and trees. In fact, the place seemed so green. There are trees, flowers, and moss growing nearly everywhere and John had half the mind to assume this must be an undiscovered island, seeing as everything was overtaken by nature.

Only then did he notice the sand that was beside him was slightly dyed red and it seemed something or someone had been dragged around until they got out of the sand deeper into the island, leaving a small trail of blood behind them.

John looks around the place once more before he followed the trail, his instinct screaming at him to go back and stay, but he continued walking. As he walks, the trees and hanging vines felt like they were beginning to close on him and he hurried his steps, walking until he came across an entrance of a ruin, the moss and vines that grows on the cobblestones ruining the structure. There are a few hanging vines that block the entrance like a small curtain.

John could see from the outside that the structure in front of him resembled a great hall of some sort, some of the roof destroyed and falling into it, sunlight striking the inside of the ancient hall to show John that the inside had a stone altar and a bundle of vines on top of it.

A hand slipped from the bundle of vines and John's eyes widened, now realizing that it was a body that was being dragged by the vines, half of its body hanging by the altar as they were being pulled to be placed on top of it.

A pale, familiar face and the [h/l] [h/c] hair was enough for John to rush inside.

"[Name]—!"

John rushed to your side, cupping your face with one hand and feeling the coldness of your skin, a grim reminder that you were simply just a corpse. He dug into the sheath strapped to his thighs and took out a knife. He cut away the vines surrounding you, not knowing what they were planning for you but he was determined to not have them desecrate your body.

It seemed with each vine cut, two more would grow and just as he was wondering what type of creature this was, he felt an excruciating pain in his back and chest. He gasped, clawing at the vine that had impaled him from the back, finding it ridiculously hard like steel. Blood spewed out from the corner of his mouth when thorns grew from the vine, doubling his agony.

"I knew you'd come."

The voice appears again in John's head and he realized in horror that they were brought here by the bastard.

"Y-you..." John tried to formulate his words but he dropped to his knees, tearing himself apart as the thorns damaged his stab further.

"You wouldn't bring her to me, so I had to do it myself," the voice continued, venom in its tone.

John collapsed on the ground, one hand holding onto your arm. He leaned to the altar and began to feel himself choke on his blood. "N-no, [Name]—"

"Rest easy, my friend."

John looked up to the destroyed roof of the ancient building, the sun blinding him and he could only think of how sorry he was to know Kore, his right-hand woman would not find his body and your own family's sadness to not find yours as well.

John's vision which had been blinded temporarily by the sunlight suddenly recovered and he realized that it was because something had blocked the sun. The vines have merged into forming a human-like silhouette that wore a hood, made entirely of thorned vines and flowers scattered here and there, its size similar to second-story inns.

"I've waited for so long." John could have sworn the voice speaks with so much more emotion this time as if they were holding back from saying too much.

The humanoid creature leaned down, a few tendrils of vine shooting out to your body.

"My daughter has returned to me."

#lout of count's family #cale henituse x reader #trash of the count's family #cale henituse #tcf cale #lcf cale

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