#liam and ophelia

[ghostpajamas]

artfight card

[moxidi-fanarts-and-sketches]

I hope your christmas was holly and jolly this year!! I haven't paid much attention to these babies recently but be sure they're still decorating the damn tree🎄

[ennysimmer]

Zachary obviously took the news of his sudden unemployment hard. Ophelia and Scarlett felt sorry for him and asked him to accompany them on a few errands, just to get him out of the house for a little while.

They headed to the bank together, and all three of them opened up bank accounts, which earned Liam West §3000 simoleons.

[angstywaifu]

Happy one year to Lost Sister! One year ago this singular post started it all. And I don't regret a single moment. Except maybe the moments where I stare and my ipad or computer screen with no idea what to write 😅

The Lost Sister

Xaden Riorson and his lost sister. 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. A/N: This is my first ever fan fiction I have written, so please be kind! Also happy to take any advice. This is quite short but wouldn't mind maybe making this into a few parts? Maybe with Liam x Reader or Garrick x Reader? The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

From my tower I have what some would consider the perfect view of the parapet for conscription day. The perfect view of seeing those falling to their death trying to make their way into the riders quadrant. And soon it will be my turn. My heart beats faster at the thought. And its not the parapet that scares me. Its who I will see on the other side. The friends and family who think I'm dead just like my father. Instead I was taken captive and trained by General Melgren.

In his eyes I was young enough to not understand what was going on completely. He thought me young and naïve enough to be angry at my father for being apart of the rebellion. For turning against our own. But the black mark starting at my wrist and weaving its way up my arm and up my neck is a reminder of where my allegiances truly lie. Of who I really am.

A knock on my door startles me as I turn to see a guard standing in my doorway. He nods his head and motions for me to follow him. My time to cross the parapet had come. I cross the small room and grab the pack from the end of my bed. As I pass through the doorway I hear the screams of another candidate as they fall to their death from the parapet.

As we cross the courtyard I look up to see a group crossing the parapet with ease. They are too high for me to be able to see who they are. But by the way they cross the parapet as if its second nature to them, I know they are not first years. And it means General Melgren has gotten his way. I will pass the parapet last while they are all in formation. No distractions.

As we reach the top of the tower, the guards who lead me here step to either side of the archway. Infantry are not allowed in the riders quadrant. A nod them a thanks before adjust the pack on my back and taking the first steps onto the parapet. And suddenly I am glad for the training General Melgren had put me through. Every day for the last 5 years he had made me walk across various beams and walkways in different scenarios and conditions. None of them this high, but I now understood what he was preparing me for.

Despite the rain having passed the wind is still strong and the stone of the parapet is slick and slippery. And yet again I am thankful for General Melgren and the gear he had given me to wear for today. Despite him wanting to use me as a weapon and turn my on my friends and family, he had given me the best training to prepare for today and what awaits me on the other side. I take the last steps off the parapet and into shelter and come face to face with the very man himself. General Melgren.

The look he gives me is almost proud. “You passed that better than some third years. Clearly I’ve trained you well.”

I bow my head at him. “I didn’t expect to see you today General.”

The smirk he gives me sends a chill down my spine. “And miss seeing your brothers face? I wouldn’t miss today for anything.” He gestures with his arm for me to follow him through the archway and into the rotunda.

As we pass through other riders flank my sides, almost as if they are hiding me from what's ahead. I look up to see Dragons around the edge watching everyone closely. And judging by the smell and a few black patches on the ground we pass through, it seems a few first years have already been claimed.

An eerie silence has fallen around us. All eyes are on the General and his entourage making their way through the rotunda. He never makes an appearance on conscription day. He usually doesn’t show up till Threshing, not wanting to waste time on those who will not making it through the next few months. As we pass through all the cadets stand up that little bit straighter, and bow their heads as we pass.

“General. To what do we owe this pleasure?” A voice calls out. A very familiar voice. Its someone I know. But who?

“I have another cadet for you.” He says proudly, the smirk very evident in his tone of voice.

I hear someone rush forward and shuffling of paper. They’re checking the list of names of who crossed and didn’t.

”Everyones already crossed the parapet, we have all our candidates General.” The same familiar voice calls out.

The General turns his head and motions me forward. The entourage around me steps aside to let me pass. I hear a few gasps as those closest can see who I am. I don’t dare turn my head to see who they are.

”Trust me, you’ll be wanting this one Wingleader.”

As I step around General Melgren I finally see the face the familiar voice belongs to. It might have been 5 years but there is no denying who stands atop of the stairs at the rotunda. He’s bigger and taller than I remember. But there’s no denying its him. My brother. Xaden Riorson. Part 2

[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

[lgwifey]

Hiya, if anyone has any requests with prompts, I’m in a writing block but feeling spontaneous but also can’t think up anything myself <33

[hannahbellinger]

⠀⠀🌺⠀ 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒔: relationship tags!⠀

[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/brain. 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. di/dirt. 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/reaper. 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/viru. zo/zom. zom/zom. zomb/zomb. zomb/zombie. ���️. ⚰️. 🍖. 🎫. 👁. 👻. 💀. 🔍. 😱. 🥀. 🧟. 🧟‍♂️. 🧠. 🧪. 🩸. 🩹.

[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.

[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

[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

[foxes-that-run]

Olivia

Harry wrote Olivia for One Direction's Made on the AM which was written and recorded between March - September 2015. Several months after 1989 was completed. Taylor has said she played 1989 for Harry and it's highly likely he was also aware of the Vault Tracks.

From Rolling Stone:

Bunetta and Ryan cite “Olivia” as a defining track, one that captures just how far One Direction had come as songwriters: They’d written it in 45 minutes, after wasting a whole day trying to write something far worse. “When you start as a songwriter, you write a bunch of shitty songs, you get better and you keep getting better,” Ryan says. “But then you can get finicky, and you’re like, ‘Maybe I have to get smart with this lyric.’ By Made in the A.M. … they were coming into their own in the sense of picking up a guitar, messing around, and feeling something, rather than being like, ‘How do I put this puzzle together?’”

Harry also said Olivia 'fell out' when they were trying to write something else to GMA and avoided answering what he was trying to write which may have been Perfect as it took a long time.

Who is Olivia?

Harry famously answered this "Is Olivia even a person? Is Olivia an emotion? Is she a place? We don't know" Oliva sounds like 'I love ya'

Harry later referenced Olivia in the leaked Ophelia (I feel ya). Harry wrote Ophelia, in Tokyo when she was there for the last Reputation show in November 2018, he also wrote Little Freak at the same time. Ophelia and Olivia are Taylor Swift.

Taylor also has a cat Olivia Bensen, adopted June 2014, Harry can be heard laughing in her adoption video.

Lyrics

[Spoken Intro] [Verse 1: Niall] Remember the day we were giving up When you told me I didn't give you enough And all of your friends were saying I'd be leaving ya? She's lyin' in bed with my t-shirt on Just thinking how I went about it wrong This isn't the stain of a red wine, I'm bleeding love

Harry has referenced Taylor wearing his shirts in a number of songs. She's also wore a few of his shirts.

The Red wine is also a reference to 1989, so we know who he is singing to:

Clean - "You're still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore"

Maroon "The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me" and

[Pre-Chorus: Niall] Please, believe me, don't you see the things you mean to me? Oh, I love you, I love you, I love, I love, I love Olivia

I think this is a reference to "Say don't go" a 1989 Vault Track. As Harry and Taylor were dating again through the production, and she has said she played it for him it is likely he knew the lyrics "Make me love you (Make me love you)? / I said, "I love you" (I said, "I love you")/ You say nothing back"

[Chorus: Harry] I live for you, I long for you, Olivia (Ayy, ayy) I've been idolizing the light in your eyes, Olivia (Ayy, ayy) I live for you, I long for you, Olivia Don't let me go, don't let me go

This is almost a direct response to Say don't go's: "Say, "Don't go" / I would stay forever if you say, "Don't go""

[Verse 2: Liam] Say what you're feelin' and say it now 'Cause I got the feelin' you're walkin' out And time is irrelevant when I've not been seeing ya The consequences of falling out That's something I'm having nightmares about And these are the reasons I'm cryin' out to be with ya

Say don't go was asking him to ask her to not leave, In Olivia he did.

[Bridge: Harry] When you go and I'm alone You live in my imagination The summertime, butterflies All belong to your creation I love you, it's all I do, I love you

Harry continued to refer to Taylor as sunshine, butterfly's and all things good:

Golden: "golden as I open my eyes / Hold it, focus, hoping, take me back to the light / I know you were way too bright for me / I'm hopeless, broken, so you wait for me in the sky”

Sunflower Vol 6: "Sunflower / My eyes, want you more than a melody"

Sweet Creature: "Wherever I go, you bring me home / Sweet creature, sweet creature / When I run out of road, you bring me home"

Fine line: “You sunshine, you temptress / My hand's at risk, I fold"

Daylight "If I was a bluebird, I would fly to you / You'd be the spoon / Dip you in honey so I could be sticking to you / Daylight, you got me cursing the daylight (ooh)"

Grapejuice: "Give me something old and Red."

Little Freak "I disrespected you / Jumped in feet first, and I landed too hard / A broken ankle, karma rules"

Happily "I don't care what people say when we're together / You know I wanna be the one to hold you when you sleep / I just want it to be you and I forever"

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 20

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

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N: In this part I have used some Gaelic phrases to represent Tyrrish, as both Garrick and Ophelia can speak it. Mo grádh will translate to My Love. And on that note. Enjoy. Also poor Xaden. Warnings: 18+, Smut

Xaden had remained true to his word. For me at least. Liam was still assigned to Violet wherever she went. Which for the most part also meant me, but if I walked off elsewhere he stuck to her. I was glad Xaden had let me have the freedom I requested. Not that I wouldn’t have had freedom. But it would have meant Liam following me around.

But in his absence Garrick had fallen into place. Not as over bearing as Liam was with Violet. But outside of classes Garrick was always there with me. Which I couldn’t deny I liked. I liked it a lot. The night of me finding out about Aretia we had spent in Garrick’s room. And it had reminded me so much of our down time in Aretia. Us lying in his bed or mine. His head in my lap as I read a book or played with his hair as he slept. It had taken me back to a time where we didn’t have any cares or worries. It was something we both needed. And was something we had planned to do tonight, till Garrick had decided to move some of my stuff to his room. His argument was I would be spending most of my nights here unless he was away on a supply run. It just made things easier in his mind. So now I sat on his bed, sketch book in hand as I watched him try to rearrange his armoire and desk to accommodate some of my things. The man was too excited of the prospect of me essentially sharing a room with him from here on out. But it kept Xaden happy that someone was watching over me at night, and meant Liam could have more focus on protecting Violet who was still yet to manifest a signet. And has also received another threat from Barlowe today in sparring that had caused Liam to shove him out of the room entirely. Garrick’s mumbling pulls me from my drawing of my dragon Mealladh. I look up to see him looking in the armoire, scratching the back of his head. I place my sketch book on the bedside table and walk up behind him, my arms wrapping around him as I rest my head against his bare back. My fingers tracing lightly over the defined muscles of his stomach. His hands coming to rest over mine as he looks over his shoulder at me.

”You seem stressed.” I tell him.

He sighs. “It’s because I am.”

I can’t help but laugh at him. “It’s just some space in the armoire, space you don’t even need to find. I can keep my stuff in my room.” I tell him.

I feel Garrick stiffen in my arms, turning to face me as his hands find their place on my waist. “I do need to find it. I want to find the space. I’ll make it work.” He tells me sternly.

This man was way too intent on making this a space for both of us. But it wasn’t something new for us. Back before the rebellion, we had started to leave things at each others places. It had been frequent that we would stay at each others places, Xaden included. But this was on a more serious level than that. We hadn’t defined what we were yet. But we were more than friends now. We had taken that leap. But we hadn’t put a label on it. We didn’t need to. I was his, and he was mine.

”Well I’m sure it can wait till tomorrow I tell him.” With a smirk on my lips as my hands travel from his back to rest on his chest, one of them travelling down to toy with the band of the grey linen pants he had on. The only thing he had on.

I watch as his eyes darken, clearly picking up on the intent in my actions and words. Besides that night of threshing, we hadn’t had another chance. Mainly due to Garrick being away with supply runs. Which at the time I didn’t know about. And I knew Garrick was wanting this as much as I did. His lingering touches had hinted otherwise. I was surprised he hadn’t jumped on it earlier when I had stripped down to my underwear, and slipped on one of his black cotton shirts that was huge on me. His hands now find their way under that very shirt, gripping and massaging my sides as he kissed his way down my neck, lightly biting as he went. Leaving marks I definitely wouldn’t be able to hide. Bastard. Garrick’s hands slowly move down my sides as he kneels in front of me, his fingers hooking into the band of my underwear, quickly sliding them down my legs. I step out of them and he throws them to the other side of the room. His hands wander up my legs, so slow its almost torture. Especially as he moves them to my inner thighs, lightly ghosting over the sensitive flesh. I go to tell him to hurry up and stop teasing, but one of his strong hands grips my left knee, throwing the leg over his shoulder. I don’t have time to ask what he’s doing before his fingers slide up and down, coating them in my arousal. One of my hands reaching down and tugging on his curls as my head rolls back as a moan rolls off my lips. The bastard was taking his time, but I couldn’t deny I enjoyed it. And I knew what eventually would follow would be worth the wait. Each stroke sending a shiver through my body, that I knew would have him smirking. Finally his fingers slide lower, slowly pushing two of them in, followed my his mouth latching on to the bundle of nerves. My eyes fly open at the sensation, getting the full view of a very blissed out Garrick kneeling before me, taking pride in the pleasure he was giving me. Slowly he adds a third finger, stretching me out more. I nearly come undone then as he curls all three fingers inside me, hitting the perfect spot. My leg gives out, but Garrick’s arms keep me upright as he continues his assault. Just as I’m about to tip over the edge, the bastard stops. And I have no shame in not stopping the growl that leaves my mouth. Garrick smirks, bloody smirks up at me as he kisses the inside of the leg still hooked over his shoulder.

”Don’t worry mo ghrádh, I’m just getting started.” He tells me in a low tone as he stands, pulling the shirt over my head as he does so.

His fingers make quick work of my bra as it soon follows the rest of what I had been wearing to somewhere else in his room. His lips are quickly and roughly on mine as he walks me backwards to the bed. He goes to push me down but I quickly manoeuvre us, pushing him down onto the bed as I crawl up him and straddle his hips. Garrick’s eyes darken and widen as I slowly grind back and forth on him, a growl rumbling through him. I can tell it is taking everything in him not to completely take over and flip me onto the bed and take me. I can tell he is curious as to what I will do. I watch some of that control slip as he goes to grab my hips, but I move faster and line us up and slowly sink down to him. Garrick’s head falls back onto the bed. A loud moan echoing around the room.

“F-fucking hell.” Garrick stutters out as I start to move up and down.

His hands grip onto my hips, helping me up and down, his hips meeting my movement, hitting the almost perfect spot every time. Garrick must notice my legs shaking from the effort and flips my back onto the bed as he hooks one of my legs over his shoulder again as he leans forward. It was now my turn for profanities to fall from my lips at the new angle and pace. My pace had been fast, but Garrick’s was harder and faster. My nails dragging down his back, leaving marks yet again. Marks I knew last time had gotten him a few comments. Garrick reaches down with his fingers, and as soon as they meet that sensitive spot I’m done. My back arching off the bed, my eyes shutting as I moan his name. I swear I heard thunder or something similar in the back ground as I finish. As I come down from the high, Garrick picks up his pace again. Not faltering once. The bastard not even close to finishing or being done. He pushes my leg from his shoulder as he scoops me up into his arms and stands, walking over to the desk. He lifts me off him and places me on the ground before spinning me around to face the desk.

”Hands on the desk mo ghrádh.” He tells me as I feel him press against my hips.

I do as he says and lean forward, my hands bracing on the desk as I lean forward. As soon as he’s satisfied I’m comfortable Garrick pushes in slowly. And I know he’s doing it on purpose when I go to lean into it and his firm hands on my hips stop me. As he fully sheaths himself in me, he slowly moves back and forth at a pace that has soft moans escaping my lips. But clearly slowly is not what Garrick has planned, quickly picking up the pace again, forcing me to grip onto the side of the desk to stop me from falling forward. Garrick leans over me, his arms resting on the desk next to me. The new angle having me arching into him as we both moan at the sensation. The desk slams into the wall, and I pray Xaden isn’t in his room or Garrick put up the silencing wards. Seconds later Garrick and I finish almost at the same time, our names falling from each others lips. Garrick lowers himself to rest his elbows on the desk as he catches his breath. He places a soft kiss on my shoulder, before we both freeze at the voice yelling at us from the other side of the wall.

”What did I say about the silencing wards!” Part 21

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[best-character-named-x-poll]

Best Character Named X Poll

I'm doing a series of "Best Character Named X" polls where all the characters have the same first name but are from completely different media, feel free to send in name/charcacter suggestions, I'm posting one poll a day. New polls scheduled for 1:30PM GMT everyday.

If your favourite character is not included in the poll very sorry i have either never heard of them or actively chose not to include them as theres only 6 characters per poll. Characters will only count of that is their first name, surnames do not count. Official characters in canon only, please do not submit OCs.

Round 478: Callie

Round 479: Apollo

Round 480: Harriet

Round 481: Chip

Round 482: Cleo

Round 483: Valentine

Round 484: Delilah

Past Polls

Poll Ideas under the cut

Names that I have a complete list for*

Tam, Katya, Minerva, Ebony, Miriam, Bianca, Amara, Kendra, Aurora, Ramona, Kala, Madeline, Kit, Marian, Lena, Cora, Irene, Hilda, Marissa, Hope, Oberon, Lenore, Wanda, Winona, Una, Marnie, Mirabel, Olympia, Rue, Leslie, Delia, Richter, Blue, Celeste, Melody, Pauline, Darcy, Red, Tsukasa, Ella, Yukari, Tanya, Briar, Akira, Irma, Marlene, Letitia, Koichi, Carina, Yuki, Dee, Freya, Sasha, Zain, Edith, Candy, Richter

Names I have an incomplete list for (welcome to send character suggestions)

Yasmin, Chase, Rudolf, Melvin, Adele, Adeline, Jem, Dolores, Jude, Bellamy, Reese, Nemo, Addison, Adelaide, Candace, Abraham, Ragnar, Destiny, Hero, Drew, Wallace, Jean (feminine), Cheryl, Shane, Tegan, Matthias, Liam, Ellis, Dennis, Josie, Mike, Bailey, Eden, Giselle, Suki, Keith, Wilfred, Blaine, Pam, Brianna, Sabine, Roman, Kalina, Mindy, Monet, Zara, Marcus, Elias, Mira, Glen, Farah, Faith, Enid, Ross, Antoinette, Elodie, Mallory, Kay, Renee, Willow, Albert, Howard, Oswald, Clem, Jace, Howell, Rowan, José, Christian, Ravi, Dev, Valerie, Norma, Tristan, Jolene, Yumi, Sakura, Carol, Carrie, Casper, Septimus, Rosalind, Rosamund, Rosie, Rosa, Gerald, Geraldine, Gerard, Ariel, Ariadne, Anya, Ida, Rocky, Mal, Solomon, Sol, Vera, Vincent, Nolan, Sage, Jojo, Calliope, Roxy, Roxanne, Silver, Noel, Noelle, Stacy, Lloyd, Alba, Virginia, Eva, Amos, Petra, Marla, Dante, Gretchen, Rhydian, Russ, Tate, Tatum, Morris, Ambrose, Doug, Grant, Graham, Aaron, Ivan, Paris, Doris, Rain, Sora, Wayne, Helga, Garth, Constantine, Sonny, Courtney, Jamal, Niall, Cecil, Cecilia, Cat, Katherine, Ophelia, Laurie, Lori, Bernadette, Lauren, Angela, Angelina, Angelica, Janine, Austin, Niles, Catriona, Katarina, Octavia, Octavius, Octavian

Feel free to send more suggestions

*subject to change, you can still submit a character if there is no strikethrough if you think theres a character that its an absolute crime i dont add. Please don't suggest anything for the names with a strikethrough as they are polls that are already in my queue waiting to be published.