i would give you violets. @osundays-blog - Tumblr Blog

hey guys — a quick announcement! my laptop got fucked up, which is why i havent been around. were finally at a place where we should be able to fix it, but its still gonna take some time. this computer has none of my icons, etc. and has trouble saving images, leaving me with very few options til i can get my mac fixed. please be patient with me!

#ooc.#reblogs this from another blog so yall know where i am

How old do you play Ophelia? What would you say her maturity level is? And what are her interests?

My Ophelia is sixteen. If you follow the “Hamlet is thirty” theory { which I do not, by default, though obviously if I’m writing with a thirty - year old hamlet their headcanons about my character supersede my own } that’s a pretty big age difference, thought it’s not unrealistic given the time period. Younger than her are happy mothers made and all that { thanks paris }.

That said, she is a very mature young lady --- but she’s still sixteen and thus still a child and her entire support system is basically her father and her brother. This leaves her as emotionally fragile as one would expect. Still, I think she’s far more mature than Hamlet in terms of willingness to forgive and move on and and be an adult and all those sorts of things --- she lacks Hamlet’s super childish “it’s aaaall about me” complex, for example.

As for interests --- she enjoys flower - tending and gardening, and holds a love of romance stories and such. She draws occasionally, though not incredible well, not that her lack of talent causes her any distress. She likes to sing, though she only does so alone before her fall from grace; a bit self - conscious about it. She’s interested in the war, though such obviously isn’t encouraged as a result of the gender, and in warfare in general. She finds the concepts of good and evil oddly { especially as they reflect in war } interesting and spends a lot of time thinking about them.

#headcanon.#Anonymous

inkskinned

my dear, you set yourself on fire so often, and yet never feel any warmer as a result of it.

unfinished poems iii // r.i.d (via inkskinned)

#▍ you must wear your rue with a difference.#▍ queue.

@caeremonias

So beautiful is she --- Ophelia was considered quite fair, as well, though none have told her lately; they whisper only that is distracted, that she is MAD. Hamlet is no doubt offended that his own madness is garnering him less attention as a result. But distraction does not mean blindness and thus she is enchanted by the woman she faces. Her expression shifts from faint fear to a delighted smile.

“Oh, sweet lady --- you are lovely!!”

#▍the ghost of you is close to me.#caeremonias #ophe no thats gay

osundays-blog

im finally on christmas break gDODAAMNNIT. celebratory starter call!

#ooc.

What's being with Hamlet like? What kind of lover is he? What kind of friend?

“You presume that he took me to bed?”

But her offense is largely teasing, largely mocking — as insane and pointless as the child who whispers it. He had; of course he had. He had wanted her and thus he had had her. And the memory, for a mere moment, makes her lucid — brings her back { almost } to herself. to whatever is left of herself.

“My lord was — a gentle and attentive lover. Without reserve, without hesitation.” Her tone is suddenly sing - song. “Quoth she, ‘before you tumbled me you promised me to wed — !’” And back again. “Yet as a friend…”

Her head tilts, blonde hair spilling over slender shoulders and glossy eyes as a peaceful, distant, ILL smile spreads across pale lips.

“Hamlet never truly was a friend of mine, was he?”

No matter if she was once foolish enough to think otherwise.

#Anonymous #▍the ghost of you is close to me.#melancholicdane #i haTE THIS

leturnesol

#▍ pulled the poor retch from her melodious lay.#▍ queue.

osundays-blog

her clothes spread wide, and mermaid-like a while they bore her up, which time she chanted snatches of old lauds — as one incapable of her own distress, or like a creature native and indued unto that element. but long it could not be till that her garments, heavy with their drink, pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay to muddy death.

#promo.#self promo.#I NEED MORE FOLLOWERS TO BEFRIEND

osundays-blog

i love the “ophelia is pregnant” theory, and while i’ve yet to decide if i want to make it canon to this blog i do loVE the idea of playing with it, specially in regards to:

-ophelia telling hamlet either before drowning or after being rescued about the baby -ophelia being rescued from drowning and losing the baby because of the stress of it and the ensuing emotional distress

#ooc.#miscarriage ///#still want this

im finally on christmas break gDODAAMNNIT. celebratory starter call!

#ooc.#my breaks rly short this yr but i aint complainin

melancholicdane:

“Speak no more; ne’er again, again, again! Why must you torture, saccharine sprite – wicked, wicked deeds! I have taught lessons; I have taken action in a place that holds me once as home and now as prison.

For what?! Who does me this but you?

Where there were once roses upon thy very skin is but a barren garden. Withered and dried, weeds to tangle the senses and ensnare the mind. The very mind of Ophelia lost – gone as Hamlet himself is buried, as the sun rises, and as the tides turn.

DIANA!!

Hear my cry to save this poor wretch. Keep her pure! Restore her very honor of vestal spirit and womb!”

His hands are the truest prison, palms pressed tight to the sides of her head. Truly they are alone – fathers buried and a King saddled atop his throne, hand to slide up the very skirts of a mother’s thigh.

“I sent no letters; I promised no bells. Get yourself to a nun’s hold; I command it so!”

The madness; the very madness of PRINCE HAMLET! A Dane of Melancholy; a Dane of Good Sorrow!

How he hates to see Ophelia, a maiden fair and fine; yet now, o to be (or not to be!), nothing more than a fair and a fine distraction.

“--- He answers, ‘so would I ha' done, by yonder sun, an thou hadst not come to my bed.’”

And thus she stares at his --- once bright eyes, as blue and deep as the sea that birthed venus, ringed with darkness and faintly red from too many tears cried in mourning a father who only ever treated her harshly, bleary and distant and glossy like those of drunkards. She is still in his grasp, flinching not as he screams and shouts; o, what a pair they are! Both maddened by the the losses they have suffered --- his distraction has made him SELFISH. And her own? Something not quite cruel, something tumultuous as the sea itself.

Her own hands raise, delicate white hands wrapping round his wrists and perching there --- knuckles red and some broken with violence before unknown to her. For a long moment, all is silence, all is emptiness. Merely two maddened people staring at one another in a quiet kind of fear.

And then her head bows and her shoulders shake and suddenly she is weeping. Fat tears roll down a slender face, down white cheeks, to lips and chin and she tastes salt. Her grip on his wrists tightens imperceptibly.

“I c - cannot bear to --- to bury h - him ---...”

#melancholicdane #▍the ghost of you is close to me.#shes not a mind reader u aSSHOLE #this makes me so sad

I love your take on Ophelia thus far!! What drew you to her character? Is your Hamlet your favorite work of Shakespeare's?

aaaaw this is such a nice question to come back to!!! im so glad you like my ophe!

hamlet actually isn’t my favourite shakespeare work --- that’s much ado about nothing --- but anyone who’s written with me in the past can attest that i certainly have a ‘type.’ i tend to write a.) strong women i’m attracted to or b.) broken children/young women. ophelia lands squarely in the latter. i love the concept of mad pale girls, especially as it manifests in ophelia. to be quite honest, i’m not sure what drew me to her specifically tho. i do love her character deeply because i’m very protective of female characters, especially ones that get fucked over by their family/love interests/etc.

#ooc.#thank u so much nonny ;v;#Anonymous