#liam and ophelia

[bweoo]

Ophelia is too scared to block Liam, poor girl.

[ghostpajamas]

artfight card

[lgwifey]

masterlist 🤍

navigation

blur

damon albarn

★ jealousy / part two

★ distractions

★ friable

★ the little sister

★ parties and pyjamas

★ fourty eight

★ run

graham coxon

★ the extra

★ pinky promise

alex james

★ council estate

★ lifestyle

oasis

noel gallagher

★ capture / part two

★ the unwanted visitor

★ parties and pyjamas

★ traumatised

★ metanoia

★ the green room

★ bestfriend's brother

★ quick kisses

liam gallagher

★ playing happy families

★ happiness

★ council estate

★ metanoia

★ bestfriend's brother

★ toxic one / part two / part three / part four

★ toxic (seperate oneshot)

nepotism babies

lennon gallagher

★ getting older part one / part two / part three / part four / part five

gene gallagher

★ getting older part one / part two / part three / part four / part five

★ home time

★ photoshoot

★ sunlight

inhaler

robert keating

★ delusions / part two

elijah hewson

★ perks of the job

twilight

edward cullen

★ homesick / part two / part three

caius volturi

★ constant complications

derry girls

david donnelley

★ teenage kicks (wattpad link)

[reshramlove1ob]

Yay more royal au ideas!!?

No idea if Pirate Valeria would wear a pirates hat or not so...

[bontu-the-l0ver]

I decided to make an oc for ikemen villain. Didn't have the time to draw so I used picrew me.

Ophelia Knopf - before marriage

Ophelia Bethuel - in marriage

She would me Liam's lost sister.

In Liam's route is mentioned that his mother had him with another man so Ophelia comes from that man real marriage.

She is actually older than him hehe~

Liam meet her by the first time when she went to see a play of him with a friend. They thought it was funny how similar they were execo her hair is a more like red.

She doesn't know how to write or read so Liam is now trying to help her.

That would be all I will post more of her soon

[didasgomas]

Tbf it's understandable that they think they might be related to Liam, but it definitely falls apart once you press the logic of how McLoughlin is a common surname considering the number of Irish immigrants (especially in New York). But it goes to show how desperate she is to believe that she's found Killian for sure!

As for Liam, all his relationships may seem deep to others but they never get further than surface level with him. He simply doesn't let people in and only Sam has had the privilege of that. Liam is great at playing a part but his sincerity when it comes to being invested in his 'friendships' is always disturbingly lacking. He's a strange and aloof guy that's for sure, but hey, at least he's not a liar and has never lied lmao

Yeah, my explanation is that Opal has a deep hatred for "that woman" and believes she is way too dumb to think of changing Killian's name at all, at least to one that doesn't sound too similar

She didn't search in New York at all because the woman had already admitted she was from a different state, and throughout Opal's search, she found out the woman made a very specific path through multiple states, so all she did was follow that path, and throughout her journey she had multiple disappointments because the boys were either too old or too young to be Killian, even if they had a similar name and/or the looked similar-ish to Ophelia.

Liam just happened to be the unlucky fella to meet all the requirements, and I say unlucky because Opal's mental stability had slowly been falling off the tracks over the years, so she let's just say she wasn't the most pleasant person to be around.

Your explanation makes total sense, and I think it can help make things more interesting too! Even if Liam does see her as a generally good person and maybe doesn't hate her as much as other humans, because she respects his privacy and keeps a reasonable distance as well, yeah, it's still mainly a superficial thing

Ophelia keeps her distance because her own privacy was repeatedly violated while she was stuck with Opal, so when she sees that Liam is a slightly more private person, she gives him his space. She still checks on him once a week or so if she has time, but otherwise she lets him do his own stuff.

If you need some extra details on all this, just ask

[hannahbellinger]

⠀⠀🌺⠀ 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒔: relationship tags!⠀

[princeliamb]

me going through willow's tag and being sad about the lack of willow and liam posts... but i agree the show liam didn't deserve willow and that robert did treat her better. it's just... with the changes i've made to my portrayal of liam, i hope that he would deserve her a little bit more, because i love their interactions in season 2 so much :(

[capuccinodoll]

The Dream

Before the sun hits (chapter three)

Summary: Joel takes a trip to your dreams, and it doesn't take long for you to let him know.

Warning: this chapter contains smut!

DECEMBER 19TH

With your coffee cup half-finished, you found yourself sitting across from your mother in what was probably the coziest place in town. Café Ophelia seemed like a love letter to the classic and romantic. It was located on the main avenue, and its charm was impossible to ignore. People came and went constantly, carrying red and brown paper bags filled with delicacies, while many held disposable coffee cups in their gloved hands. Seasonal flowers and plants adorned the place, survivors of the relentless cold outside, remaining vibrant in every nook and cranny. 

To the left, an entire wall was covered with books, arranged in a built-in library. When you walked through the door, your mother told you that the café had originally belonged to one of her high school teachers, and that after his passing, his younger brother had inherited the place without altering its essence. There was something about the place that made it feel as if time had stood still, as if it were a warm haven where one could hide from outside life. 

You walked past the shelves, your fingers brushing the worn covers of the books. You spotted editions of Shakespeare, Keats, Chaucer and were even surprised to find a copy of Bocaccio. There was a moment when you thought about grabbing one, but you restrained yourself. The aroma of coffee and soft conversations filled the air, creating an atmosphere of comfort that was hard to leave.

Now, your mother was just finishing narrating an anecdote about how she had met your father, right on that very same street, decades before.  

“It was instantaneous,” she said, her gaze lost somewhere near the ceiling. “I don't know if I could call it love at first sight, it was more like something else. Like something shook both of us at once.”

A smile broke out on your face. You always admired the love between your parents, it seemed to be such a perfect thing, as if they were meant for each other. In your case, you never felt something so strong, so definite. It wasn't for lack of trying, you just had never experienced that kind of connection, never.

“You see people every day, unfamiliar faces that don't tell you anything, they're just there. But when I saw your father, it was different. It was as if my body needed a moment to process it. Our eyes met and something inside me knew that, from that instant on, things would no longer be the same,” she continued. “After that, I just hoped to see him again, but I didn't have the courage to say anything to him.”

“And how was it that you saw him again?” you asked, although you already knew the story well. However, there was something special in the way your mother told it, a light in her eyes that made every time you heard it feel like the first.

“The next day I opened the bookstore, waiting for him to return. I thought, well, if he felt the same way I did, he has to come back. And he did. He came in, asked me what my favorite book was, and bought it. Then, he told me that he would stay in town for another week and asked me to help him with his reading.”

And she did. They spent that week seeing each other every day. At first, reading together; at the end, well, not so much. You never knew if your father had finished reading that book, though most likely he did. It was your mother's favorite, and it all had deep meaning for him. 

“I think there's something very intimate about sharing a book with someone,” your mother commented, turning her gaze back to you. “It's like showing that person a very vulnerable part of yourself. What we read says a lot about who we are. And when you share that, when you invite someone into that space, it's like you're sharing a part of your soul.”

You thought about the books you had lent Liam. Crime and Punishment, The Divine Comedy, Persuasion, and the Kafka diaries. He never returned them to you, and you were certain that he hadn't even opened them. He asked for them every time you mentioned them to him, as if he was interested, but he always remained in the promise of maybe someday getting to know that side of you. But that day never came.

“What are you guys doing tomorrow?” your mother's voice softly broke into your thoughts, distracting you. 

“I'm not sure, what would you like to do?”

“I meant you and Joel. I was thinking you could go to the movies or do something together. He could use that to clear his head a little. He's not having a very good time.”

The last thing caught your attention more than you expected. He's not having a good time? But first, that surprised you in a different way.

“Me and Joel?” you asked, somewhat puzzled.

“Didn't your father tell you?” Your mother looked at you waiting for an answer, and when you shook your head in the negative, she continued, ”We're going to dinner at the restaurant where we had our first date. We met around this time, don't you remember?”

Of course you remembered. You just forgot to make that connection.

“Are you celebrating something? I didn't know it was a special occasion, if I had, I wouldn't have come...and I'm sure Joel wouldn't either.”

“No, honey. It was always a family trip, we planned it that way. We just thought it would be nice to recreate that moment.” Her tone was soft but clear. “Your father and I wanted you to come. We've missed you so much, did you know that? And Joel was invited the same way, too.”

“I missed you guys too, though maybe I didn't say it as much.” You felt a small twinge of guilt in your chest, but you quickly brushed it away. “Besides, I'm really enjoying Canmore.”

“I know, who knows? Maybe you'll find someone special around here, too.” 

You laughed, though you felt a slight cringe at the idea. “I'm not so sure about that,” you replied, noting a reluctance in your voice.

Your mother placed both hands on the table and stared at you, as if she had just heard the silliest thing.

“I think it's about time you put that boy you were hanging out with behind you.”

Her words sounded harsher than she probably intended. She didn't know everything; well, you told her Liam was just a guy you were casually dating and that, by mutual agreement, you stopped seeing each other. You didn't mentioned the betrayal, nor the sudden engagement. Your mother wouldn't have stood for that truth. She would have jumped on the first plane to New York on the look for him, and then, maybe after a little cry on her shoulder... Yes, she would be mad at you.

“I'm over it,” you lied, as if it were the obvious thing to do. ”It just doesn't make sense to fall in love in Canmore if I have to leave in a few days."

“Think about this: your father, who is from Austin, and I, from Canmore, fell in love. Things worked out later.”

You laughed, with your mother's simple solution floating in the air. For her, everything had been easier. When she met your father, she had no family in Canmore; her parents had passed away when she was a teenager, and there were no more ties to bind her to the place. Moving to another country with the man she loved made the most sense.

“I could bring my love to Austin,” you joked. “Just like Dad did.”

“No New York?” 

The question was innocent, almost naïve. But you stayed quiet, feeling the guilt creep back into you, infiltrating the serenity you had managed to find.

“Yes, maybe to New York too.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, both of you finishing your hot drinks, letting yourself be enveloped by the tranquility of the coffee.

Before leaving, you ran your fingers through the old books in the library. An edition of The Decameron caught your eye, probably from the 1920s. The pages were yellowed, and the smell of aged paper made your nose itch. Between the lines, you could see annotations made in pencil by some unknown reader. You leaned over to read some notes in the foreword, but your mother interrupted you.

“Your father and Joel are a couple of blocks away, what do you say we go shopping and then find a nice place for dinner?”

You nodded, but Joel's name kept hanging around in your mind, dragging with it that phrase you couldn't stop thinking.

He's not having a good time.

*

The market stretched the length of the avenue, with vendors lined up under colorful awnings, offering sweets and homemade foods that filled the air with a warm, spicy aroma. Local stores were beginning to turn off their lights, preparing to close as the sun slowly descended on the horizon, tinting the sky in shades of pink and orange. It was close to seven o'clock in the evening, the cool air was beginning to settle over the town.

Your dad appeared down the sidewalk with a smile lighting up his face, patting Joel's arm playfully. Joel returned a look that was somewhere between amused and distracted, while their conversation died down as the two of them approached you.

“My precious girls, how was your afternoon?” your father greeted enthusiastically, coming over to plant a kiss on your cheek before leaning in to kiss your mother on the lips. You could tell he was in a good, relaxed mood.

“It's been wonderful,” your mother replied with a smile that reflected her own satisfaction. “What about you guys?”

Your eyes found Joel, who was now standing in front of you, avoiding your gaze with a somewhat suspicious concentration on anything but your face. His indifference seemed calculated to you, and you took the opportunity to study him in more detail. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his black jacket, and the scent of his perfume wafted up to you, soft but noticeable. You were surprised by it, just a little: you had never noticed him wearing perfume. Not even for that formal dinner at your house.

Perfume for going out to a bar? That idea left you with a funny feeling.

“We needed something like that, didn't we, Joel?” your dad said, giving his friend a knowing nudge.

“Like you have no idea,” Joel muttered, his tone drier than usual.

“I can think of something delicious for dinner tonight...” your mother began to say as she latched onto your father's arm and began to walk, leaving the conversation to flow just between them. Joel and you were left behind, in an awkward silence that you could almost touch.

You stuck your hands in your coat pockets, mimicking him. There was something in the air, something between you that you couldn't quite identify, but you felt it clearly. Maybe it was what your mother had mentioned earlier, that something that had him uneasy. The beers he'd probably had at the bar might have loosened the emotions he was carrying around. Or maybe... no, you didn't want to think about that second possibility.

After his visit to your room, you hadn't seen him again until now. He and your father left to the bar before you and your mother left the house, so you hadn't had a chance to notice if anything was different. But a few hours ago, when he stood in your doorway, looking at you... He had to have sensed the change in your voice, the way your eyes looked at him. He couldn't have missed it. And now, you felt slightly guilty about it.

Joel, one of your father's best friends, who had listened to you and supported you in a vulnerable moment, did you really need to insinuate yourself, however subtly? Probably not. But it wasn't something planned either. It was something that came up in that moment, something you couldn't control. And you'd always been told that your eyes couldn't lie.

Maybe he was uncomfortable because of it. You wish he wasn't.

“What would you like for dinner?” you asked, trying to break the silence. Up ahead, your parents were still immersed in their own conversation, oblivious to what was going on between you.

Joel let out a sigh that condensed into the cold air. “I don't know, something hot.”

“What's on your mind?” you insisted, trying to keep the dialogue going.

Finally, he turned to you with a quick, impatient glance, brow barely furrowed before averting his gaze again.

“Pasta.”

“Pasta sounds good,” you nodded, waiting for him to continue. “What kind of pasta?”

His lips tightened for a second, his jaw ticking briefly before he loosened his expression and looked at you again, this time longer.

“Which type of pasta do you prefer?” 

“Bolognese,” you said without hesitation.

“Well,” he replied, somewhat curtly, ”that one then.”

He looked straight ahead again. Clearly, something was bothering him. You could sense it in the way he avoided looking at you, and when he did, it was with a kind of reproach in his eyes, as if he had something to say to you but couldn't find the words. It was almost as if he was angry.

“Joel,” you mentioned in a soft, slightly guarded tone of voice, ”can I ask you a question?”

“I have a feeling I don't have a choice,” he replied, his tone sarcastic and disinterested, but not loud enough for your parents to hear. They were still walking a few feet ahead, your father looking a little drunk, but just enough for happiness to overwhelm him. Your mother listened attentively, laughing from time to time, absorbed in her own world.

You looked back at Joel. His comment, though predictable, bothered you a little. 

“You could just say no, next time.” Your voice came out harsher than you had planned, not disguising your irritation.

You quickened your pace, trying to join your parents and get away from him. But Joel, with his long strides, caught up with you easily. He moved a little closer, close enough that you didn't have to raise your voice much when he asked:

“What's your question, then?”

“I don't have anything to ask you anymore.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Doesn't sound like it.”

“It doesn't?”

“That's what I said.”

“Whatever. You clearly don't feel like talking. So no, I don't have any more questions to ask you.”

Joel let out a low, somewhat mocking laugh, pulling away just inches. He didn't say anything else, which, oddly enough, irritated you even more. His silence letting you know that he was in control of the situation, and that made you feel like a wayward child, even if it bothered you to admit it.

“What's funny, Joel?” you said after a while, a belated and overthought response.

“Does it make you mad that I don't feel like talking to you?” he replied, a faint, almost undetectable smile forming on his face.

Your mind couldn't help but focus on the way he decided to phrase the sentence. He could have simply said “are you mad that I don't feel like talking?” but chose to add a with you, and it hadn't sounded random at all. You didn't know what that meant. Maybe you were overanalyzing it. Maybe you were.

“No, it angers me that you're not clear. I'm a grown woman, you know? I don't need you to act like you're talking to a chatty little girl,” your voice spoke firmly. “Just say you're not in the mood to talk and I won't bother you anymore.”

“I don't mind you talking to me,” he clarified, coming back up to your level; the scent of his perfume hitting you again. “Why do you think that?”

Several reasons, you thought. From his perspective, you were his best friend's daughter, the one who, almost without knowing him, forced him into a bathroom to listen to you cry and complain about your sorry life. Oh, you did it in the cabin that morning, too, with him looking at you pityingly, following you to your room to ask how you were doing. 

What an idiot. You sure had misunderstood everything. Joel was just concerned, surely from his place as what he was; your father's best friend, father of a female daughter, Sarah. 

You felt a little foolish for having diverted your thoughts that way. And worst of all, he had surely realized it. That was humiliating. 

“Because you don't have to, Joel,” you spoke almost in a whiny whisper. “I've bothered you enough by telling you my problems. I sure have looked like a stupid little girl, crying in the bathroom, making you promise things you don't have to. It's embarrassing.”

“It's not like that,” he began to say, his voice tinged with something akin to dismay. “And you're not stupid, much less a little girl. That much is clear to me.” 

“Sometimes it feels like that. A lot of times, lately.”

“Well,” he uttered at length, his eyes meeting yours and you noticed he was searching for words to say, ”if it makes you feel any better, I think you're a grown woman who knows exactly what she's doing, and what it's causing.”

There it was. Right there, in Joel's eyes, the proof that you hadn't imagined it. Or would you be misinterpreting his words? The idea sounded far-fetched. 

Joel smiled as if he knew exactly what he had just done, and without warning, he moved a few inches away from you, closer to your parents.

Your cheeks must have flushed, the heat on your face told.  

You hurriedly covered those few centimeters that distanced you from him and opened your mouth, ready to let out a meaningless retort. But just then, your mother turned, drawing your attention. The spell was suddenly broken.

To your luck (or bad luck) at dinner, he didn't sit across from you.

*

You arrived at the cabin around ten o'clock at night. Your parents, completely in their own world, had spent the time dragging Joel through a review of the last few years; “Remember this?”, “Remember that time when we...?”, “What happened to her, Joel?”. Most of the questions asked in an amusing way, some a little somber. But Joel had enjoyed it, or so you had gathered, for he had answered and extolled each of your father's anecdotes. 

Your gazes met from time to time, but the exchange was brief; as if you were doing something on the sly, as if no one could know you were looking at each other. And that was kinda the case. He would glance at you while one of your parents was talking, and just when you noticed and mimicked him, his gaze would drop to his plate, or to anything but you. 

For your part, you had eaten almost silently, listening attentively to everything that was said at the table. Everything was simpler if no one was asking you uncomfortable questions. 

Now, back at the cabin, your parents were laughing merrily in the kitchen as they reviewed the entire day and uncorked a bottle of merlot.

You plopped down on the living room couch and checked your phone as the background conversation revolved around a former schoolmate your mother had run into today while you two were shopping. It had been a somewhat awkward encounter, the kind where you don't know how to say goodbye without sounding completely avoidant. He told her he had two children and was in the middle of a divorce, and your mother made the big mistake of asking him a question about it. It held you up for thirty minutes. 

You had nothing interesting in your incoming texts, nor in your outgoing ones. Liam... you didn't check his profile and it wasn't like you could know either; you blocked him. Ally would be very happy about that. But curiosity stalked you gently.

The weight falling next to you took your eyes off the small screen. Joel had sat to your right, a safe distance away. His body relaxed, his broad frame stretched nonchalantly....

“Would you like a glass of wine, Miller?” your father asked, craning his neck from the kitchen island.

 

“M' fine. I think I'll go to bed,” he said with both palms pressed to his eyes, ”enough for today.”

“What about you, my love?” your mother's voice echoed through the wide space of the cabin. 

“I could make use of it,” you joked, joke masked for all of them.

You got up and walked to the kitchen, where your mother extended the full cup in just the right way. 

You didn't make too much conversation either. The talk between them was interesting enough that you were just listening to their voices. That was something you had always liked about your parents; their conversations were dynamic and fun, always. Every single thing they talked about turned into the coolest thing in the world, as if they were your own audiobook, always with something entertaining to say. 

When you were a child, you would lie in the middle of them in bed, listening to them talk about different things; movies, gossip, novels, whatever. They used to say you were nosy, and maybe that was true from time to time. 

Joel was still on the couch, only now a faint sound was coming out of his mouth. Soft tired snores were moving his chest up and down. You watched him from your spot until you finished your drink and your eyes felt heavy and stinging. You rubbed them for a while, until the action became futile.

“I'm going to bed,” you said to your parents. Your mother pulled you closer to her and rested your head on her chest. Your father, a little more affectionate, squeezed you in his arms in an exaggerated manner. 

“Wake him up,” he told you, almost in a whisper. 

You nodded and walked away from his side, leaving the empty cup in the sink before crossing the kitchen and heading towards the living room. You couldn't help but pause for a second in front of him, watching his face, the soft, relaxed lines of one who is sound asleep. His calm expression, so peaceful, almost fragile, awakened in you an unbearable tenderness. The dark locks, some already intermingled with gray, fell messily over his forehead, while his lips, still stained with the red wine from dinner, remained half-open, and the beard began to unalign, just a little. You felt a sudden impulse to touch him.

“Joel,” you whispered as your fingers sank gently but firmly into his arm. “Joel, wake up.”

He stirred barely, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. A light laugh escaped your lips, small and private. Even asleep, Joel clung to that essence so much his own.

“Come on, Joel,” you repeated, this time with a little more intent in your voice.

You put your hand back on his arm and shook him gently. Finally, his heavy eyelids lifted with effort, and he straightened up, standing still for a few seconds, elbows resting on his knees, hands covering his face as he tried to clear his head. 

You stood by his side, silently, watching him sigh with visible fatigue. When he looked up and found you, you smiled at him, and he responded with a brief smile before looking back down at the floor. After a few seconds, he rose from the couch leisurely, glancing back towards the kitchen, where your parents were still chatting about something that was already irrelevant to you.

“See you tomorrow,” Joel muttered, approaching them and, as he passed you, heading for the stairs. You followed him, without much thought.

“See you, Joel. Get well,” you heard your father tease, his voice slurring as you walked after Joel up the stairs.

He was big. You'd always known he was big, of course, but now that you saw him from behind, his back moved with a particular cadence that gave you a curious mix of excitement and nervousness. The back of his neck, visible between the tufts of hair, seemed warm, inviting a caress or, perhaps, the brush of your lips. You caught yourself imagining it, wondering what it would be like to kiss that part of him, to kiss Joel.

You entered the hallway that led to your rooms, and the distance between you shortened almost unnoticed. Joel had his back turned, about to open the door to his room, when he turned to you with an expression on his face that you couldn't quite decipher.

“Your dad told me to take care of you tomorrow,” he commented, with a tone that made you smile.

“What a coincidence, my mom told me the same thing about you.”

He smiled too, and the gesture brightened his eyes, still heavy with sleep. “She said that?”

“Yes, that's what she said,” you reaffirmed, the smile still on your face.

“Sounds like them,” Joel murmured affectionately.

You let out a sigh you didn't even know you'd been holding in since the morning, a quiet but satisfying release. You nodded, resting your hand on your doorknob, mirroring his posture.

“Yeah, it does,” you said, finally, opening the door. “Good night, Joel.”

“Good night, sweetheart,” you heard him say, his voice low and soft, before he dissappeared as he entered his room.

You closed your door tighter than necessary, surprised by how much those simple words had affected you, by the echo of his voice reverberating in your mind. The way his eyes had closed slightly as he smiled kept replaying in your memory. Maybe it had been your parents' merlot or the malbec at dinner, but later, in the shower, you found yourself fighting the urge to drag his name with your fingertips across your entire body. You fought with the idea of giving him that space, that power, without him knowing, because if you did, you'd have to acknowledge what you'd been repressing since the first time you saw him (actually saw him) sitting on your parents' couch, watching you with those dark eyes that pierced you without even trying.

No. Joel Miller hadn't the slightest idea what he had brought upon you, but somehow, you thought, he would have to pay for it.

The last thing that crossed your mind before you fell asleep, was his name.

*

A soft sound woke you. A barely perceptible thump. You closed your eyes again, convinced it would be someone going to the bathroom. Probably your dad. But then, you felt him. His weight sinking the mattress slowly behind you, his body approaching with a familiarity that quickened your pulse. A warm hand slid around your waist, squeezing you gently, his fingers sneaking under the hem of your shirt. You lay still, feeling his breath brush against the back of your neck.

You turned your head, just enough to feel his lips touch your earlobe.

“Joel...” You tried to say, but your breath caught the words in your throat.

“What do you want, huh? Staring at me like that during dinner, with your parents right there. Did you think I wouldn't notice?” His voice, a warm whisper against your skin, made a liquid sensation form in your belly.

His hand moved away from your waist, slowly sliding down, just below your navel, pressing firmly against the soft flesh. You felt his body completely pressed against yours, his heat radiating into you. Your back wedged against his chest, your ass touching his hardness. You closed your eyes and his mouth found your neck, leaving small, scattered kisses across your sensitive skin.

A moan escaped your lips as his fingers reached your center, stroking your swollen clit in slow, circular motions, wrenching a devastating sensation from you.

“Joel, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“What do you want, baby? Tell me. Use your words.”

Your teary eyes widened as you felt him slide a finger inside you, the rhythm of his hand increasing in intensity, making the sensation become unbearable. 

“Are you going to be a good girl and tell me what you want?” he insisted, as another finger was added, moving inside you with a precision that made you shudder.

“Fuck me, Joel. Please,” you managed to say in a weak voice, broken by urgency.

You felt him move behind you, and in an instant, his firm hand pulled down your underwear with a swiftness that took your breath away. He pulled you to him by the hips, his erection pressing against your lower back.

“Now, behave yourself and be quiet,” he murmured, caressing your thighs as he gently spread your legs. “Can you do that?”

A faint “yes” came out of your mouth as you pushed your ass towards him, seeking contact, with unfamiliar desperation. Joel placed his hand on your neck, squeezing gently as he pushed his erection inside you, each movement making you moan. But this time, the sound was caught by his hand, covering your lips.

“Quiet,” his voice, agitated and breathy, made you shiver. He pressed even harder against you, his thusts increasing in speed and depth. The sound of his hips crashing against yours became a heady melody, and your whole body felt like it was on the verge of exploding. 

His fingers in your mouth tasted of salt and yourself, and that turned you on even more. Joel gasped, the sound so intimate it made you throb inside, right where his body touched you with each thrust. The sensation became unbearable, more intense, until your legs shook with the built up tension.

You brought your hand to his, trying to hold on to something as your body convulsed in an orgasm that swept over you like an uncontrollable wave. Your hands clutched at the sheets, trying to process the tide of pleasure that washed through you.

The climax slowly subsided, and your eyes opened to find the room engulfed in darkness. Your thighs pressed together in an attempt to calm down, and your breathing hitched... It was still dark. 

The clock on your phone read three in the morning.

How had that been possible? Joel, in your dream, it was as if he had been there, beside you. You felt him, you had felt him. And it had been so much better than almost any of your real experiences. 

You were fucked, completely fucked. And, oh, God, how much you wished you were really fucked by Joel Miller. 

You sighed, sitting up in bed, your body still tender, your mind in chaos. Your mouth was dry, a thirst that only heightened the desire you'd been feeling. You turned on the lamp on the bedside table and reached under the bed for your slippers. 

As you stood up, you felt the wetness between your legs, testimony to the dream you had just had. You cursed Joel silently.

You stepped out into the hallway, your footsteps soft, and couldn't help but stare at his closed door. Just imagining he was on the other side sent an electric tingle through your belly. You decided to ignore it, forcing yourself not to think about it anymore, and walked down the stairs in silence.

When you got downstairs, you noticed the kitchen light still on and prayed it wasn't one of your parents. You walked cautiously, approaching the light, and saw him... Joel, leaning against the counter, a glass of water in his hand, the other resting in the pocket of his gray pants. His gaze was lost on the floor, his hair disheveled and his face showing the marks of recent sleep.

You thought about going back to your room, but then he saw you, startled.

“Jesus, you're quiet,” he said, ironically making you remember him  in your dream. “You scared me to death, what are you doing?”

“I need a glass of water,” you replied, approaching cautiously.

Joel moved, taking a glass out of the cabinet and setting it on the kitchen island. He opened the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water and slowly pouring it into the glass. You watched him, and soon realized you were looking at him a little too obviously.

He handed you the glass and leaned back on the counter, his eyes fixed on you as you drank.

“Your cheeks are pink,” he observed, which only made them redden more. “Are you okay?”

Yeah, sure. I just dreamed you fucked me, nothing major.

“I... yeah, I'm fine. I had a dream...” you started to say, slowing down for some reason. Your eyes darted down and up his body, too obvious. For some reason, when it came to him, you couldn't shut up. 

Joel looked at you a little confused, reading your countenance, and an idea seemed to pop into his mind. 

“A strange dream,” you finished, trying to play it down, though you both knew there was much more behind those words.

“A strange dream?” he said, his voice groping for your reaction. “About what?”

“I'm not sure,” you replied as you approached the sink, setting the glass down with an almost careless gesture. As you walked past him, your hand brushed his, barely, a split second that made your skin electrify. “But it woke me up.”

Joel was watching you intently, but the confusion that used to be read on his face was gone. Now, it was something else. You moved a little closer, close enough to feel his warmth. Your fingers rested on the edge of the sink, right next to his, and instead of pulling away, you stood there, caught in the proximity.

“Did it woke you up?” he murmured, his voice deep, almost a whisper, as his eyes slowly descended to your lips. “Why?”

“Because I felt it. It was so real,” you confessed, fighting the disbelief of what you were about to admit. Everything in you screamed for you to stop, but you kept going. “So real, Joel, has that ever happened to you?”

His eyes darkened, as if your words had ignited something in him. The intensity of his gaze was crushing, and the air between you grew thick, charged. Your heart pounded with a force that surprised you, as if it were possible that he could hear the frantic rhythm of your pulsing, echoing in the small space of the cabin. An exquisite panic enveloped you, a strange mixture of desire and vertigo.

“Be more specific,” he murmured, his voice rough, charged with the same tension that lit his gaze.

A smile, small and defiant, began to creep onto your lips as you prepared to follow. You couldn't help yourself. Not with him.

“It felt as real as it does now, you and me, here,” you said slowly, savoring every word. “I could feel it: the touches, the whispers, the ragged breathing, the sweat, the taste...” His eyes wouldn't leave yours. “When I woke up, I could still feel it. I can be more specific, if you want.”

His scent enveloped you, something raw and visceral that called to you in an almost primal way. It wasn't the smell of perfume, but his, pure and authentic. As if everything about him was an invitation you found hard to refuse.

You noticed how he swallowed saliva, his lips parted for an instant. A lopsided smile appeared on his face, a gesture that made something in your stomach contract. Slowly, he tilted his head toward you, until his lips were inches from yours, and you felt his warm breath caressing you.

“No,” he said in a whisper, his words barely grazing your mouth. “I can picture it perfectly.”

“I know you can.”

A chuckle caught in his throat, and he turned away from you only long enough to shake his head gently, as if he were trying to resist something. But not for long. As soon as he looked at you again, his gaze swept over your face, from your eyes to your mouth, and kept moving down, lingering on every inch of you, as if he was recording every detail in his memory. The slow, deliberate pace of his analysis made your knees go weak. The control you had felt in the conversation vanished in that instant, displaced by the intensity of his gaze, which now completely dominated the situation.

“You must be exhausted,” he finally said, his voice low and steady, eyes meeting yours again. “Go back to bed, sweetheart. It's going to be a long day tomorrow.”

Unconsciously, you ran your tongue over your lips, and nodded, obediently, almost without thinking. Something in his expression showed he was satisfied with your answer.

“Sleep well, Joel,” you murmured, slowly peeling yourself off the kitchen counter, your steps heavier than usual as you walked away.

When you reached the stairs, you almost swore you heard him sigh, a soft echo echoing in the stillness of the night.

[pupsmailbox]

ZOMBIE ID PACK

NAMES︰ adrien. aj. altair. ambrosia. amy. angel. anomaly. antidote. arius. arrow. ash. asher. aspen. atticus. augusta. bane. banish. benny. bernadette. biter. blah. blood. bones. brain. brains. briar. brute. brutus. caden. canni. casper. chomp. ciaran. claud. claudia. clay. clementine. cobweb. coffin. corpse. corrose. cryptor. damion. deathesse. deb. decay. decompose. destroyed. doom. dredge. echo. ectoplasm. edward. elkridge. ellie. ember. everett. fang. flesh. fracture. frank. frankie. ghost. ghoul. ghoulia. gloome. grave. graves. grayson. griffin. grim. grimace. grimm. gutesse. gutz. havoc. hela. hex. horrell. horrelle. hunter. husk. jack. joel. john. junkyard. kade. kilian. klaus. labyrinth. lagoon. laverna. lee. lethe. liam. lilith. lily. lola. lurk. maggot. mangled. mara. marion. marionnette. medusse. mera. mira. mona. morella. morgan. morganna. morrigan. mortem. morticia. mortis. mortui. mourne. muerto. mura. muzzle. myra. myrtle. necro. necros. nekane. nick. nox. nyk. nyx. octavia. ominous. ophelia. organz. orpheus. osten. perish. perseus. plague. priscill. quille. rain. raine. rayne. red. rob. roman. rose. rosie. rot. rotten. rottie. saifu. sam. scar. scratch. sedna. shade. shadow. shamble. shaun. six. skull. slug. sour. taint. tank. theta. thorn. thorne. travis. trickie. tristan. undeadesse. valentine. vamp. vane. venom. vetus. vex. victor. violet. viro. virus. waila. wren. z. zack. zed. zeke. zob. zoe. zomb. zombz. zomi. zon.

PRONOUNS︰ axe/axe. beast/beast. bi/bite. bite/bite. bleed/bleed. bleugh/bleugh. blood/blood. bo/bone. bone/bone. br/brainz. brain/brain. break/break. chain/chain. coff/coffin. coffin/coffin. con/contagiou. cor/corpse. corp/corp. corpse/corpse. corr/corrupt. corrode/corroded. craw/crawl. creepy/creepy. dark/dark. de/dead. dea/dead. death/dead. death/death. decay/decay. decay/decayed. die/dying. dir/dirt. dirt/dirty. eat/eat. empty/empty. end/end. fang/fang. fear/feared. fiend/fiend. fle/flesh. flesh/flesh. freak/freak. fu/fungi. ghou/ghoul. gloom/gloom. gore/gore. grave/grave. grim/grim. grim/grime. grr/growl. grue/gruesome. gun/gun. gut/gut. holy/holy. hu/hunger. hu/hunt. hx/hxm. hy/hym. inf/infect. infect/infected. it/it. ix/ix. ki/kill. kill/kill. li/lich. living/dead. mold/molded. monster/monster. monstrous/monstrosity, morbid/morbid. morg/morg. mortal/mortal. muck/muck. nec/necro. ni/night. pla/plague. prey/prey. rain/rain. reap/reapers. rib/rib. ro/rot. rot/rot. rot/rotten. scar/scar. shatter/shatter. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. skull/skull. slit/slit. spoil/spoil. spook/spook. teeth/tooth. ter/terror. thxy/thxm. thy/thy. thy/thym. to/toxic. un/dead. undead/undead. vir/virus. zo/zom. zom/zom. zomb/zomb. zomb/zombie. ⚠️. ⚰️. 🍖. 🎫. 👁. 💀. 🔍. 😱. 🥀. 🧟. 🧟‍♂️. 🧠. 🧪. 🩸. 🩹.

[bweoo]

I am curious what oc of yours has pets besides dominik.

From my original universe where Dominik is from, besides him Liam has a Bernese Mountain dog, Ophelia has a ferret, Elijah has a Shiba dog and Elliot has a fox! Cannibal-chan used to have a dog when she was a kid but...

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 40.

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Ophelia Riorson)

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

”When do you think she will wake up?” A low, familiar voice says, breaking through the fog in my head.

Garrick.

”Hard to say. I’ve never seen a signet like hers before. No one has.” A voice I can’t quite place. But still slightly familiar.

Me. They’re talking about me.

”Do you think the damage it’s caused is permanent?” A gruff female voice asks. Imogen. Definitely her.

Damage? They can’t be talking about the Wyvern I took down. There was nothing left of them. Perishing into a pile of dust as they hit the ground behind Garrick. And Garrick... He seems to be ok. That means they’re talking about me.

”Hard to say till she wakes up. The internal damage looked worse than it was due to the blood she was coughing up. But it will be interesting to see if she can see out of that eye now with the colour its turned.” The voice I still can’t quite place says.

Who was that? Definitely not Bodhi. Liam? No…. I know Liam’s voice. Who the hell was it?

Before I can try to pinpoint it the fog starts to seep back in, pulling me back to its depths.

This time when I break through the fog I’m able to open my eyes. It’s night, the room I’m in cast in an eerie glow from the mage light next to my bed. The familiar sound of wind hitting the cliffs.... Wind hitting the cliffs. A sound I hadn't heard in years. A sound that I would only hear in one place.

Home.

I sit upright, releasing my hand from another's grasp as I survey the room. My room. My room in Aretia. Home. I was back in Aretia. I hardly have time to absorb the surroundings before I am enveloped in a tight hug. The individual's arms press me against their trembling body, their sobs shaking us both. I don't need to turn my head to try and see who embraces me, recognising the familiar scent that fills my nostrils.

Garrick.

I immediately wrap my arms around him as my own tears roll down my cheeks. I was alive somehow. He was alive. We had survived. Something we both hadn’t thought would happen. And yet here we were. Sitting in Aretia of all places.

Garrick finally loosens his grip on me as he pulls back to look at me. Both of us looking over each other to make sure this is real and we’re both ok. It’s then I see the new scar adorning his face, stretching from his temple down to his jaw.

”This is new.” I ask, my voice hoarse and gravelly from not being used for a few days.

He nods slow. “Yeah, I got it after you-”

I watch his eyes gloss over with fresh tears that threaten to spill over as he takes a shaky breath. I’d never seen Garrick like this, and it’s easy to tell what had gone through his mind in that moment. He had thought I was dead. He’d watched as I’d doubled over, coughing up blood before collapsing. And judging by the shadows around his eyes, and his slightly sunken in cheeks, I’d been out for a few days at least.

”I’m here. I’m alive. I’m not going anywhere.” Reaching out to caress his cheek, my fingers tracing lightly over the new scar.

He chuckles darkly, “Forgive me if I don’t quite believe you. I’ve had to go through pretty much losing you twice in my life now.”

Ouch. But he wasn’t wrong. Twice in six years he had to go through thinking I was actually dead and thinking he’d just watched me die.

”Trust me, I’m doing my best to stay alive.” I try to assure him in a joking tone.

Garrick’s eyes harden ever so slightly and I know he hasn’t take my joke lightly. “Then you promise me you’ll never do whatever that was again. What was that?” His voice raising slightly.

”I honestly don’t know.” I start as I look down at my hands where the shadows had come out of. “I just panicked when I saw it direct those Wyvern at you. I just wanted to do anything I could to stop it, to save you and I just remember feeling this surge or power and…”

”And what?”

I take a deep breath before looking back up at him, noting the way his gaze flickers to my left eye.

”Death. It felt like what I’d imagine death to feel like.”

Garrick takes a sharp breath, his gaze locking back on my left eye. “Well that might explain why that happened.”

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, Garrick turning to grab a mirror from the bedside table. He hands it to me, reflective side down. Clearly giving me the choice on if I wanted to see what had happened straight away or ease myself into it. I grasp the handle, turning the mirror towards my face. I’d honestly been expecting a scar or terrible bruising to adorn my face. But there wasn’t a single mark on me. Not a single scar or a bruise. Instead my left eye being a usual bright green, is void of any colour. As if the colour had been drained out of it, and I can’t help but be reminded of the way the colour had been drained from the ground after the Venin had channelled. Almost as if whatever I had done had taken some life out of me to do it. As if I’d drawn something out of me to do that.

”Well good news is I can still see fine.” I try to say positively as I look back over at Garrick, handing the mirror back out to him.

”Least that’s something.” He mutters as he places the mirror back on the bedside table before standing and walking over to the window that over looks Riorson house.

I stand on shakey legs, having to use my bed to steady myself as I stand. Definitely had been a few days I’d been out for then if I can barely stand.

Least you’re alive little one. Not everyone can say that.

I breathe a sigh of relief at hearing her in my head. Also feeling a little guilty I hadn’t reached out to see if she was ok. But if I was alive I knew she was to. But I sense a double meaning in her words.

What do you mean not everyone? I ask, almost snapping at her.

I remember Soleil and Fuil not making it. Something about her tone makes me think we lost more. If it was Xaden, Garrick would have told me.

“Liam and Deigh.” Garrick mumbles from the window, before turning slowly to me.

I shake my head, not wanting to believe his words. But there’s no denying the slight hurt in Garricks eyes. Liam was dead.

Fuck.

I blink back the tears that threaten to fall down my cheeks, a few managing to escape before I quickly rub them away with the back of my hand.

Liam was dead because of the Colonel. Soleil was dead because of the Colonel. All those people in that outpost dead because of him. Because they wouldn’t tell us the truth. Wouldn’t teach us what was really out there.

“Why do you look like you want to kill someone?” Garrick asks, a hint of concern in his voice as he watches me.

“Because I do.” I say sternly as I wobble over and join him at the window, look out over the place I call home. “If they just told us what was really going on out there. If they didn’t lie to us…”

“But they do. And they will continue to do so.”

I snap my head towards him. “And we’re just going to let them?”

“Yes, because if we go back there and start telling everyone what we’ve seen then they will kill us all.” He warns me. “We’ll be lucky if they even let us live when we go back.”

Shit. He was right. As angry as I was. As much as I wanted to fight back and show them as the liars they really are. We couldn’t. They’d kill us all without any hesitation.

“They’ll let us live.” I tell him confidently. “They have no choice but to let us live. If they do, they’d have to explain what we saw. What we fought. They can’t kill us because it will arouse too many questions.”

“I hope you’re right sweetheart, because I can’t have them killing us after this.” He says softly, a slight shake in his voice as he steps back from the window slightly.

No not stepping back. Kneeling. Kneeling down on one knee and holding the box he had placed in my hands at Athebyne out to me. The box he had told me to look after. And now I know why. Inside the box is a ring I had seen countless times growing up. Had seen it every summer when his family had come to stay with us. A beautiful silver band adorned with emeralds. His mother’s ring. Probably the only thing he had left of hers. I look down at Garrick with shock, his familiar cocky smirk on his face as he looks up at me.

“I know you said you’d let me know when you’re ready. But I will be damned if I’m waiting a moment longer to do this. Twice now I’ve thought I’d lost you. Twice I thought I’d lost my chance. Twice I’ve asked for someone’s blessing to marry their daughter and sister.”

Oh gods. This is really happening. And all I can do is stare down at Garrick in shock, just like he’s done when he’d seen me in to rotunda nearly a year ago. Or when I’d approached him near the Parapet on Reunification Day.

“Ophelia Riorson. Will you marry me?”

To Be Continued.....

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta @lovemesomevesey @mxtokko @krowiathemythologynerd @callsign-blue @1islessthan3books @side-angel @wolfbc97 @just-an-ace-elf

[reilora-borealis]

We’re all familiar with Liam’s love of Shakespearean tragedy so here’s a thing I just thought of

Vax as Macbeth: man encounters a dark witch who tells him he’s fated to become an incredibly powerful harbinger of death, and even though he doesn’t really want it and doesn’t know what he’s doing, he has no choice but to march toward that fate, losing everything he holds dear in the process

Caleb as Hamlet: man begins to uncover the corruption under which he lives and spends the rest of his life scheming to get revenge on the people who killed his family, but he questions his own mind so much that he retreats into self-doubt and cowardice (bonus points if Astrid and Eadwulf are both Rosencrantz and Gildenstern AND Ophelia and Laertes)

Orym as Othello (?): man trained to be a loyal soldier slowly descends into madness and cruelty, turning against those he loves as his humanity is stripped away and he becomes nothing but a pawn in a villain’s game (this is making me wonder if/when Dorian comes back, Orym might be so broken by betrayal and distrust that he’s gone completely cold or lashes out at him)

Obviously Orym’s story arc is incomplete so this is purely conjecture, and ofc there’s a lil flavor of many different influences in all these characters. But I woke up at 7am on a Sunday bolt upright with this in my head and I needed to write it down

[lgwifey]

My Spotify Wrapped

because it's the thing i value most in life 💕✨

[skeelly]

"when im fat and old and my kids think im a joke"

hi!! welcome. i suggest putting a seatbelt on and i will pay for your therapy, dont worry. :)

☘ "hi, it's me. im the problem it's me.": im kristen! you can call me kristen or kris. minor. she/her. intp-t. ambivert. 🇵🇭. reader (sort of). notes app writer (sometimes). i could not care less about my dumb typos so deal with it. i suck at math. biiiiiggg ophelia wilde fan. delulu swiftie no.9273737277. rodrigoxpartidge's biggest supporter. claire rosinkranz is the reason for my existence. gracie abrams ily. "how long can we be a sad song?". im married to grayson hawthorne. mirrorball//tolerate it girlie 4 life. stromboli fan until the day i die. nick girlie by heart. pjo stan at this point. harry potter simp. hermione granger is my mother. sherlock and enola holmes stan. "no body, no crime". haylor (sorry not sorry). one direction is my life. FREE PALESTINE. kenji, my spirit animal. jude is so ughhhhh perfect. javery shipper cause jameson for avery, grayson for me :3. massive k!nye west hater so if you like him, please leave. but i love rap. certified professional procrastinator. capricorn (not a believer in those things though). i love reading poetry. correct grammar = non existent. i can (technically) fluently speak 3 languages. i can speak (basic, not much) about 5 languages?. piano enthusiast. very big sport girly (football *soccer. america football can kiss my toes. that sport sucks*, f1, volleyball, badminton, basketball, tennis and hockey fan). walker scobell is perfect and i love him. c²>>>>. sharl leclerc. max the axe. oscar paistry. ankara messi. sewy. leah is my bestie. dior is the best artist no cap. pookie nation frfr. charlie's luke is best luke. andrew is underrated. olivea is jusssttt.

☘ rappers i like//listen to: eminem, lil skies, ysbtril (does he count?), nicki minaj, doja cat (:3), cardi b (rarely), dominic fike (does he count? yk, melodic rap). tbh idk who else lol.

☘ all around favorite artists: taylor swift, olivia rodrigo, claire rosinkranz, gracie abrams, the weeknd, doja cat, lil skies, ysbtril, selena gomez (?), harry styles, niall horan, louis tomlinson, zayn, liam payne, one direction, clairo, conan gray, lana del rey, one republic, why don't we, the neighborhood, billie elish, ariana grande, abba, michael jackson.

☘ navigation?:

rambles: #kristenstedtalk

anything i don't proof read: #i didn't proof read this lmao

grayson hawthorne: #loml

cringe posts that idk why i posted: #/j or #post to delete?

asks: #askaroo or #ty for answering <3

sturniolo triplets: #stombolis

☘ follower count (as of march 20): 313 (im actually not sure lol)

☘ DNI: racists, homophobes, sexists and anyone that's ok with any form of discrimination

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ 　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ 　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

☘ safe space for: everyone lol

☘ my other accounts: @crysten my writing and other stuff @skeellymellows book rants (AAAH I CANT TAG)

☘ books/movies/series: harry potter, pjo, aggtm, tig, sherlock/enola holmes, little women, black beauty, tsitp, better than the movies. hp, pjo, enola holmes, tsitp, gilmore girls, gossip girl, mean girls, legally blonde, little women, hunger games (haven't read the books), marvel (barely lol), secretariat (my favorite :>>). tbh idk what else lol

☘ my people:

@stvrgirl111//@stvrlighhttt (mare) #maree

@urbanflorals (em) #walkers wife

@gergthecat (scouty) #evil batman sourdough guy #bread man #george

@mqstermindswift (quason) #nickyy

@nqds (NADS) #nads! or was it #NADS! ??

@reminiscentreader (JAS) #theworldneedsmorepeoplelikejas

@sophiesonlinediary (fifi) #fifi <3

@myster3y (kiaraah) #kiaraah

@regisdvmb(reggggg) ✶ @coco6420 (cocoo) ✶ @eddiethebanished (finn :)) ✶ @themidnightarcher ✶ @starchasers-stuff ✶ @what-about-wendy (wendy <3) ✶ @lucinda-008 ✶ @foaming-sea ✶ @lonelycatsblog ✶ @good-old-fashioned-lover ✶ @my-mind-is-frozen ✶ @dandelions-fly-in-summer-skies ✶ @baboland ✶ @blocked-zombieartist ✶ @sturn-wrld ✶ @swiftieannah ✶ @weeping-in-the-willows ✶ @s1xseasonsandamov1e ✶ @the-red-archer ✶ @svnflowermoon ✶ @helpimhopelesslyinlove ✶ @doyoujustnotwantto ✶ @atwtmvftvtvsgavralpsss ✶ @oh-whale13 ✶ @bonesofnixie ✶ @art-of-fools (stephanieee) ✶ @percabeths-blue-cookies ✶ @imthatweirdratinthecorner (a rat <3) ✶ @letmeseeallthefrogsinthecity ✶ @that-multi-fandom-hijabi (novaaa) ✶ @rachellelizabethhdare ✶ @sluttypoetsdepartment ✶ @kimu-dem ✶

[little-rosekiki]

Hello welcome to my TWST OC blog! Here is the guide for my characters <3

Night Raven College

— Ophelia Lantos

— Giselle Avery (Odette)

Royal Sword Academy

— Kalen Catarino (The White Queen)

— Liam Hatter (Mad Hatter)

— Marsi Leveret (March Hare)

— Alister Lowell (Alice)

— Hakim Sipho (Rafiki)

— Yunan Al-Bakir (Aladdin)

— Amani Kadeen (Genie)

— Elliot Gautier (Cinderella)

— Ellanore Villin (Rapunzel)

— Atlas Jupiter (Zeus)

— Zale Algona (Poseidon)

— Helena Caleis (Hera)

— Elias Hallow (Hermes)

— Dhalia Ceres (Demeter)

— Florence Knotgrass (Flora)

— Flaine Knotgrass (Fauna)

— Mary-Anne Knotgrass (Merryweather) I'll definitely edit this more once I start posting more about them but until then here are a few profiles ready