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#Rippling Ophelia
slimestack · 1 month
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ophelia and clarice & miata chibis :)
now available on my ko-fi as stickers!
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atomicniire · 1 year
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Ophelia may have her issues but at least she isn't Roxanne ❤️
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haxo-wolfie · 3 months
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(FLASH WARNING)
sorry not sorry for clogging up the claymore tag.. if no one wants to make the shitty memes, i’ll do it myself >:)
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rosepompadour · 5 months
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...an Ophelia-like girl who modeled herself on the pre-Raphaelites, with lovely, rippling hair loose almost to the knees.
— Eva Ibbotson, Madensky Square
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daemonwhitedove · 6 days
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𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔.
Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader
The death of Daemon Targaryen never had hurt you more than it should.
Inspired by Ophelia from Hamlet. The end quote is from Song of Achilles.
fanfiction | House of the Dragon
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"Daemon, where are you going?" You inquire as you watches him readying to soar on dragonback with Dark Sister. Your gaze lifted to meet his, worry etched upon your visage as you observed your beloved. The war still raged, his life at stake.
Daemon turned to face you, unable to utter the truth, he imparted to you a falsehood. "Fret not for me, my love," he reassured, yet noting that your furrowed brow betrayed your unease.
He descended from his dragon, alighting before you on the earth. He clasped your hands firmly in his, bestowing a tender kiss upon them.
Your eyes locked with his. "Where are you going?" You softly inquire once more, voice quivering akin to your heart that throbbed and ached with dread. "You cannot go." It was your intuition that whispered so.
Nevertheless, Daemon sought to reassure you. "I shall return." The prince enfolded you in a kiss, pressing his lips fervently against yours, yearning to cherish the moment with you one last time.
As the kiss parted, he stroked your cheeks, brushing away the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. "Keep this ring," he murmured, placing the silver ring in your palm.
A look of confusion crossed your visage as you gazed at him.
"Know that you are half of my soul," he whispered to you, and you were a fool to let him depart from your side.
You observed as he ascended Caraxes. The sense of foreboding only intensified as he and Caraxes soared into the heavens, perhaps never to return to you.
When he leapt towards Aemond with Dark Sister, you pondered what thoughts consumed him, his allegiance to Rhaenyra or his love for you?
As his blade pierced through the boy like butter, its edge piercing his remaining eye, was he reminiscing about you?
Did remorse grip him for leaving you bereft and alone?
Every morning you awoke to an empty bed, solitude enveloping you. The news of his demise shook you to the core, unable to contain your tumult of emotions, you wept bitterly.
Days passed, the war for the throne persisted. And you battled against the war of grief and madness threatening to engulf you completely. His remnants provided solace, soothing your tears and calming the sobs that escaped.
Rhaenyra and the others watches as you gradually descended into madness.
You sank to the ground, faltering with each step, observing as the water tenderly kissed the earth, forming a gentle ripple. The God's Eye was where your beloved had met his end with the young prince Aemond.
You prayed for Aemond, envisioning the suffering he must have endured.
Tears streamed down your face as you knelt by the water's edge, feeling the anguish in your heart. How could he forsake you so? He vowed to stay by your side, to live, to love you eternally.
You clutched the ring he had bestowed upon you not long ago.
"I shall return," he pledged as he placed the ring in your hand. The silver caressed your skin. Then he bestowed upon you a kiss, one of fervor and hunger. You could faintly feel his lips against yours, so sweet and intoxicating. He departed with his sword and his dragon as you watched from below, witnessing him slowly recede from your life.
Now you wished you had halted him.
Regardless of the throne's fate, regardless of victory or defeat, you stood resolute. The water beckoned to you, like a siren luring sailors. You dipped your feet into the water, smiling as though sensing his touch against your skin.
Similar to Queen Helaena and Daemon, you submerged into the water. Even as it embraced you tighter and deeper, pulling you further down, you only closed your eyes, gazing at the darkening and blurring sky. You tightened your grip on the ring in your hand. Not it, you could not lose it, not even in death.
Death welcomed you like an old friend, with open arms. You accepted your destiny.
In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.
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sekaiichi-happy · 4 months
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claymore | rippling ophelia or the blood-soaked warrior, former rank 4
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cheesewedge · 7 months
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A Stranger's Keepsake (18+)
Summary: Arthur runs into a strange man on the way back to camp. A strange man with photos of a woman in his tent...a very familiar woman.
Word Count: 4,387
Tags: blood and gore, graphic depictions of violence, stalking, arthur x original female character, established relationship
A/N: This was inspired by the encounter you have with that giant creep who stalks poor Charlotte.
Taglist: @photo1030
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The crisp Heartlands night nips at Arthur’s fingers on his way back to camp, crickets his only company among silver fields laid out in every direction. A buck’s head slaps against his horse’s rear. Two turkeys dangle from either side of his saddlebag. He picked raspberry bushes clean for Maria, dozens of them wrapped in his bandana and tucked in his satchel with the fresh herbs she asked for.
He yawns. Horseshoe Overlook isn’t much farther but he isn’t in any hurry to return. The simple hunting trip was as good an excuse as any to free himself from camp, and while his mare gently trots down the dirt road, the solitude nearly coaxes his eyes shut.
“Evenin’, friend!” 
Arthur’s hooded eyelids flutter open. He frowns, looks around. Atop a nearby hill, a man stands alone with campfire smoke billowing to the stars. 
“Er, hey there.”
“You look like you could use a break. Y’ came at a good time, fire’s nice and warm.”
“Nah, ‘m alright, partner.”
“Aw, come on now, friend. Saw you was real tired. I got some coffee brewin’ here.”
A sigh. He looks around again. “Sure, why not?” He steers his horse up to the man’s tent.
A smile blooms on the stranger’s face when Arthur dismounts. “Have a seat. Plenty of room by the fire in case you need ta rest those weary legs. I know how hard it is for a travellin’ man.”
“Okay, thanks.” 
Arthur pours coffee black as the night around them. He sits on a crate by the fireside and observes the stranger. He stands tall even though he isn’t. There’s a button popped open over his stomach. Suspenders work to keep his trousers level with the doughy folds of his hips. A bowler hat doesn’t disguise where the hair stops. 
The man smiles again. “Coffee’s nice and fresh. Just made that pot but lord knows I’ll need more to see this night through.”
“Is that right?”
“Yessir.” He pops open a lock box to retrieve a pair of binoculars.
Arthur’s eyes flick to the man’s tent. It isn’t the tattered canvas he notes, or its impressive size. It’s not the empty cans and bottles littered all over the grass, the man’s filthy bedroll — it’s the photos. String after string dangle from the canvas, each pinched between the teeth of a clothespin. The lantern below them illuminates the figure of a woman in every one.
“Norman, by the way,” the man says and reaches out his arm.
“Arthur.” He swallows Norman’s hand when he shakes it. “What’s all that there?”
“Oh. I just… I like to see her. Makes me feel like she’s here with me.”
“That your wife?”
“One day, friend.”
Arthur quirks a brow and rises from his seat. Cans clatter at his feet, every step bringing the lavender fields of Big Valley, the mountain range of the Heartlands, further into focus. His vision blurs. The strand bobs up and down in an aggressive ripple when he plucks a photo off the line. 
“Whoa, careful there. Took me a while to get all these. Ain’t she a beauty?”
Arthur’s lungs burn from the breath he holds. On the bank of the Dakota River Maria sits with her face tilted towards the clouds. 
“Spotted her a few weeks back. No idea where an angel like that came from, but that there’s my future wife. Mark my words.” 
Arthur doesn’t speak. All he can do is stare at the photo. At Maria’s long curls that tumble down her back while she rests by the fire, a gingham blanket sprawled out beneath her. Norman continues to leer at the picture and Arthur’s gaze flits to the rest of them. Maria braids Ophelia’s mane in one. Cooks a slab of meat in another. He gawks at picture after picture of her wringing out her clothes, riding down the road, asleep in her bedroll. 
“Always see her in and around here. Tried to talk to her once in Valentine. Saw her comin’ outta the saloon with a feller’d had a big scar on his face. Told her she was just about the prettiest thing I ever seen.” Norman stops to rub the back of his neck with a faraway smile. “...She smiled at me. Thanked me. Felt real good to know she liked me too. I tried to get her back into the saloon with me but the feller she was with pulled them along. Nasty piece a’ work. Real controllin’ type.”
Arthur spots a photograph above Norman’s bedroll. Hidden in a cluster of trees Maria sits with her journal in her lap, boots kicked off to the side of her blanket. She rests with her knees tucked to her chest, her slender calves on display and her sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He bends a knee to yank the photo off the line. 
“That there’s one of my favourites. She usually gets all undressed just before bed but I seen her a few times like that. It’s like she knew I was watchin’. Almost grabbed her right there.”
Arthur rises like a long dormant god. He doesn’t know what change in him Norman notices first but Norman notices something because his smile cracks. 
In the light of the fire he notices Arthur clutching the photo so hard that his fingernail is white. He clears his throat. “T-tell you what, friend. Can see ya like that one. W-why don’t you have it? H-had the shop print up a few of those anyhow. So, uh, you keep it, friend. I should really get goin’.”
For a moment neither move. 
The wilderness is filled with song, crickets and turkeys in chorus for miles, yet Arthur still hears the man swallow as he raises his hands to his waist and takes a step back, his eyes filled with a sort of confused betrayal that almost makes him childlike when he packs away his utensils, bends over the fire to retrieve his mug and dump the remaining coffee into the grass. He looks up. 
“T-there anythin’ else I can do for you, friend?” 
Blood splatters onto half the photographs, remnants of brain and skull sprayed out like shrapnel. Arthur stands with his finger on the trigger, the barrel of a volcanic pistol pointed at Norman’s face. He snarls and holsters his gun.
He snatches the corpse by the collar, no mind paid to the slop that seeps out of his head, and rifles through his coat. Forty cents and a tin of cover lotion is all there is until Arthur reaches into his breast pocket. Another photograph. Maria rinses her face with water from the river, her shirt hung over Ophelia’s rear, in nothing but a camisole and black trousers with a rip on the knee. Arthur flips the picture. Scribbled text indicates when and where Norman saw her, the dates tracing back a week. The film sticks to his fingers. He shoves Norman to the dirt.
He kicks through the discarded bottles and rips down every photo to throw into the fire. Only after the paper curls and disintegrates does he loot through the rest of Norman’s camp, bread chunks and mangled pelts not worth the hassle. He mounts his horse and snaps the reins all the way back to Horseshoe Overlook.
His legs throb by the time he reaches camp and gallops through the trees up to the horses, tossing the reins over the post next to Ophelia. He brings his leg over the saddle and drops to the grass with dinner bubbling up his throat. 
Arthur hangs his head and grabs a wild carrot from his satchel, a slight tremble in his hand while his mare nibbles the snack. He closes his eyes. The stem disappears into his horse’s mouth just as Maria’s telltale laugh rings out across camp and he whips his head toward the noise. 
She’s one of the only stragglers left with Mr. Pearson, John, and Uncle by the fire, the four of them bundled under pelts with bottles of beer in their hands. She’s stripped down to her chemise, a sign she’s headed to bed soon. Curls twist and spill from her hair bun onto that red wool coat she refuses to replace. Firelight glimmers on her face. He watches her. 
John cracks a joke that sends the four of them into a fit of laughter. Maria weakly swats at him. He fends her off with one arm and a wide smile and Arthur swears she calls John disgusting. John says something again and Maria breaks out in laughter brighter than the fire.
They need to go somewhere. He doesn’t know where they need to go but as her laugh chimes out again all he knows is that they need to go somewhere.
Arthur gathers the spoils of his trip and crosses camp, dropping the carcasses beside Pearson’s tent. 
“Good job, Mr. Morgan,” Pearson says from the campfire. 
“You’re comin’ in late,” John adds. 
Maria smiles when she sees him and takes a sip from her bottle. “You get into any trouble, cowboy? There’s blood on you.”
“Oh, I-I jus’ ran into some folk.”
“And now they’re dead?” she asks with a smirk.
“Ol’ Arthur Morgan!” Uncle bellows from his chair. “Where does all that anger come from?”
He ignores the question. “Ran into an interestin’ lead,” he tells Maria. “Might be worth lookin’ at. A stage ‘sposed to be runnin’ through here.”
“Jesus, another one?” she asks. “We’ve robbed just about half of ‘em at this point. You think someone would catch on.”
“Let’s hope not,” John says and Maria grins, clinking her bottle against his.
“S’ comin’ through Strawberry in the mornin’. Should get movin’ now if we wanna catch it.” 
Maria throws her head back. “Ugh. But then I have to get dressed and it’s so late and now I have to—” she places a hand on John’s shoulder to lift herself up, “—spend time with you.” 
The men chuckle, Arthur included, and she smiles at him before disappearing into her tent. “Gimme a minute,” she calls from behind the canvas. 
Arthur isn’t far behind when he walks into his own, just beside hers. He twists the lantern on his night table to life, a dull glow illuminating the blood on his fingers and something wet and red on the toe of his boot.
His clothes stink of rusted iron and when he sheds his shirt and coat he sees just how much of Norman he brought back with him. He kicks them to the side of his clothing trunk. Changes into a fresh pair of everything. He reaches into his satchel and by the time Maria pokes her head in, Arthur has his canteen tilted, water spilling all over his hands and into a dirty puddle at his feet.
“Hey, you.”
He scrubs his hands over his face and wipes them dry on his pants. “Hey there.”
Maria waits in a white button up shirt over a camisole. Black trousers with a rip on the knee. Arthur looks at her.
“What?”
“N-no. ‘S nothin’. 
She looks down at her outfit. “Do I look okay?”
“Y’ look beautiful. Come on. Let’s go ‘fore it gets any later.”
Arthur makes his way to the horses without a word of goodbye to the men, though Maria wishes them all goodnight before catching up to him. 
“So, where are we going?”
“Ain’t far. Can stay in Strawberry for the night.”
There’s a smile in her voice. “Yeah, I bet…”
“Ain’t nothin’ like that,” he says with a smirk. “Just wanna get chu outta here.”
“And here I thought there was a stage coming.”
“There is.”
“Mm-hm.” Maria hoists herself onto Ophelia. “Well, whatever your plans are, I do need to be back by tomorrow. It’s my turn to help in camp so I’m afraid I’ll be stuck here all day.” 
He mounts his horse, scans the area. “Okay,” he says. “Good.”
They pass through the swell of trees and onto the road embossed with hoof prints and wagon tracks, camp not even out of sight before he narrows his eyes at any shadow in the forest, jerks his head to any animal in his periphery. 
Maria’s stirrup clinks against his and she looks over with a grin. “Hey,” she says with a playful shove to his arm. “Move over.”
Arthur glances down. “‘M-’m sorry.”
“You wanna hop in my saddle too?”
He chuckles. “Said I was sorry.”
“I know, sweetheart, I’m only teasing you.” Arthur cranes his head back to glare at something she doesn’t see. “You sure you’re okay? You seem…I don’t know.” 
He turns back to the road. “Naw, ‘m fine. What chu get up to today?”
Maria frowns. “...Nothing too exciting. I went shopping for supplies with Lenny and then made a stop in the general store. Though, I will have you know that I almost bought a new coat to replace my beautiful red one you hate so much. And then I didn’t.”
“Ha. Aw, come on, never said I hated it. It looks good on y’. S’ just seen better days.”
“Haven’t we all, Mister Morgan.”
‘So…y-y’ain’t run into any trouble when you was out?”
“Like what?” 
“I don’ know. Anythin’. Jus’ wanna make sure you didn’t see anyone or run into any problems.”
“No, my love. I was perfectly safe.” She reaches across the space between them, squeezes his hand, and pulls back. “Did you run into trouble when you were out?”
There’s a grin on her face when he looks at her. He rubs the back of his neck. “I-well, to be honest, I ran into a feller comin’ home. He was just outside a’ camp. Too close outside a’ camp. Ain’t got no idea how long he was sittin’ there. Bastard’s been here ‘least a week from what I saw. But he—” 
Arthur stops cold in the road.
“W-what’s wrong?” 
A figure looms in the distance and he squints to get a better look. They’re unmoving, a quick appraisal proof of their slender legs and broad shoulders. They stand stiff and defiant, like they’re ready for something. He nods towards them. “There.”
She bends forward. “Arthur, I don't think there’s anything there.”
“Wait here.” 
“Arth—”
“Shh. Jus’ wait here.”
The shadow waits, unperturbed. Arthur doesn’t see a gun belt or bandolier as he nears closer, no barrel poking out from behind their back. Stars dust the sky like salt from a shaker but their light can only hint at what’s in front of him. He draws his repeater. 
“‘Y got a problem, buddy?”
They remain still. 
Arthur cocks the hammer. “I said, y’ got a problem?”
He trots towards the figure until it’s in full view, a cold wavelet of relief and shame trickling through him. He blinks. Two splintered planks of wood point in either direction, nails bent and rusted in their foreheads. Valentine this way. Emerald Ranch that way. He lowers his gun.
Ophelia snorts as Maria trots up next to him. She watches him gawk at the street sign and runs the back of her finger down his cheek. “Hey. What’s going on with you?”
His ears burn when he slings the repeater behind him. “‘M sorry. Jus’...thought I saw somethin’.”
“No, that’s okay. I just want to make sure you’re okay. Y-you’re starting to scare me a bit.”
He reaches over and places a hand on her thigh. “‘M sorry, sweetheart. I ain’t mean to scare y’. Let’s just keep goin’, okay? Please.”
“Arthur, are we in danger?”
“No. No, y’ain’t in danger no more.”
He tries to move his hand off her leg but Maria grabs his wrist. “What does that mean?”
“N-nothin’. S’over now. Come on, let’s go. I don’t want chu campin’ out here.”
“No. You tell me what that means.”
Arthur sighs and hangs his head. “Please, jus’ come wit’ me. I promise to y’ I’ll tell y’ everythin’ once we get to Strawberry, okay? But let’s get goin’.”
Maria hasn’t loosened her vice grip on his wrist, her eyes wide with a kind of fear Arthur hates being responsible for. She watches him, waiting for an explanation, her gaze darting over him like maybe the answer is in the scars on his face. He places his hand over hers until the sting of nails in his skin at long last subsides. 
“‘M sorry.” 
She doesn’t say anything. 
“Will y’...? R-ride with me.”
“I am riding with you.”
“Naw. With me. Feel a whole lot better with you behind me.”
The confession brings out a sad, bemused smile. “...You promise to tell me what the hell’s going on when we get there?”
Arthur smirks and crosses his finger over his heart, and she rolls her eyes though her smile gets a little bigger. “Move over then.”
The remainder of their journey is blessedly filled with her voice, Maria answering every one of Arthur’s prompts. Tell me more ‘bout your day. Naw, all of it. I like listenin’ to you talk. That’s good. Charles and I went huntin’ too once a little while ago. Bison. Micah ain’t givin’ you any more grief is he? Y’ sure y’ain’t run into any trouble? Y’ comfortable back there? Sweet girl, you fallin’ asleep? 
She’s halfway there by the time they make it into Strawberry, a quiet, drowsy mumble her only response when Arthur announces their arrival. “Come on, darlin.’ Let’s get chu inside.”
He helps Maria down and she leans against the hitching posts to watch him tether their mares, a tired smile gifted to him when he takes her hand to guide them inside. He holds on as they speak to the hotel clerk, clutches her fingers tighter on their way up the stairs, and when they make it into their room the first thing he does is bolt the door shut. 
Maria hums on her way to the dresser, her head craned to every new detail of a room they’ve stayed in before. Arthur notices too. The fresh leaves that sprout from a vase on the bedside table. The change in sheets, lily white with an intricate black pattern that makes them look fancier than they are. A stain in the carpet is gone.
She drops onto the bed. “So, are you finally gonna tell me what’s—”
He crosses the room to the closet beside their bed and yanks open the door. Hangers clatter against each other, rushed to one side of the rod, then the other, before he shuts the door. A sheer curtain of lace hangs down to the floorboards over their window, burgundy drapes pinned back in front of it. He tugs the ropes and the thick cloth tumbles down like the end of a stage show. 
“What are you—?”
He roots through his satchel and she can hear the clink of metal. He pulls out his little tin mug, a spoon, cursing under his breath until he locates a fork. 
“Arthur?”
He walks over to the vanity and opens one of its slender drawers. He sticks the head of the fork inside and closes the drawer over the tines, his hand pressed firmly against the wood to keep it shut. Maria watches him, listens to him grunt and push down on the handle as if pumping water, and when he pulls it out of the drawer again the fork’s head is a capital C, the tines hooked like claws.
“Arthur?”
Back and forth back and forth he bends the metal until the head snaps off. He unlocks the door to their room and sticks the crooked fork head in the latch and closes the door again. She’s off the bed when he slides the broken handle through the tines. He tries to open the door. Jiggles the knob. Every time, the fork quivers but doesn’t break. He sighs and twists the lock below the doorknob too. 
“Arthur, look at me.”
She’s behind him when he turns around, arms crossed over her chest and a look of worry he hardly sees anymore. Her boot tap tap taps on the floorboard. “You promised.”
“I know.”
“And you’re scaring the shit out of me.”
“Yeah, I know that too. ‘M sorry, sweetheart, I really am. Here, come with me.” 
He takes her by the hand and leads her back to the bed, his eyes on the carpet throughout the entire story.  How he was comin’ home and how he found the man and how naw, he seemed fine at first until he saw all the goddamn photos, some of  ‘em taken in broad daylight and some of ‘em taken when she was sleepin’ and how he tore down every one of ‘em before comin’ to get her. He tells her all about how short he was and how he kinda reminded him of them things outside a church or big buildin’, yeah, a gargoyle, tha’s it, and how he was fat and bald and probably ain’t never fired a gun in his life. 
Maria’s hand is limp by the time he finishes, her eyes lost to the wallpaper. She swallows. “A-and…” She tries to find the words but all she does is take a long and laboured inhale. Arthur shimmies out of his coat to wrap her in, his large hand running up and down her arm. 
“How many were there? Photos. H-how many did he take?”
Arthur sighs. “‘Bout a dozen I reckon.”
“Jesus Christ. I…I am so goddamn stupid.”
“Hey, now—”
“How in the hell did I not notice something like that? He was following me around for a week, a week, Arthur, and he took all those goddamn photos and I didn’t—”
Arthur cups the side of her face and draws her head to his lips. “This ain’t your fault,” he says into her hair. “Y’ didn’t do anythin’ wrong. There’s a lotta sick folk out there and there ain’t no sense tryin’ to make heads or tails of it. And it ain’t your fault when they set their sights on y’.” He kisses her head again. “‘M sorry I didn’t see the bastard sooner. ‘S my job to keep y’ safe and I…I didn’t.”
She faces him. “How could you have known?”
“I don’t know.”
“Arthur, if I can’t blame me, you can’t blame you.”
He exhales. “Alright.”
They sit there, tangled in each other’s arms without a word. Maria wraps her fist around his fingers and kisses his knuckles, reaching into his lap to rest her other hand on his. He smiles.
“Thank you, Arthur. For bringing me here and for just…I love you.” Another kiss to his knuckles. “I love you so much.”
“I know, sweetheart. Me too. More than anythin’, I do.”
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. Ain’t about me.”
“Arthur.”
He looks at her. With those big brown doe eyes and those long dark curls and that glorious golden skin of hers. “I’m jus’...I’m jus’ so goddamn afraid of somethin’ terrible happenin’ to y’.”
“Might be an occupational hazard I’m afraid,” she whispers.
He presses his forehead to hers. “That ain’t funny.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Arthur, I—whenever you go out on a job, whenever you head into town, whenever someone so much as looks at you funny I’m always so goddamn scared that something bad’s going to happen.” She runs her thumb across the scar on his chin. “It’s been a long time since I’ve loved someone as much as I love you…” Her voice trails off, a fine glaze over her eyes when she drops them to her lap. “A long time since I’ve lost someone I love as much as you, too. And I…I don’t have it in me to survive that again.”
“Sweet girl. Yer talkin’s if y’ already lost me.”
“Some days I’m terrified I will,” she whispers.
His calloused finger rests under her chin and lifts her face to his. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. And I ain’t lettin’ you go anywhere neither.”
“We keep each other safe.”
“We keep each other safe.”
“I love you.”
“I know. Me too.”
He tilts her lips to his. The kiss is short, timid, and when she pulls away with a blush on her cheeks it reminds him of their first. He smiles.
“Well, cowboy. Guess we better get to sleep so we can catch that stage.”
“You know damn well there ain’t a stage.”
She laughs. “I do.”
“Still. That don’t mean we gotta head back right away. Maybe it came late,” he says, a second kiss pressed to her lips. “Maybe it didn’t come at all.”
“Mm. And what do you reckon we do with all our free time?”
“Got a few ideas.”
“Nap?”
“Ha. Well, there’ll be plenty a’ time for that too.”
“Not with you there won’t be,” she says with a smirk, and rises off the bed. 
Arthur chuckles and works himself out of his clothes while Maria undresses beside him. She finishes first and snuggles under the bedspread in only a camisole and bloomers, her hair freed down the curve of her back while he strips down to his union suit. 
She wolf whistles before he slips in next to her. Dons a southern accent. “My, my, Mister Morgan.”
“Shut up,” he says with a grin. 
“My stars. I ain’t seen you this indecent in a long time.”
“Sorry I don’t go gallivatin’ around in my bloomers all the time.”
She laughs. “Oh, I’m sorry. Sorry for not wanting to fall asleep in my clothes like a barbarian. Who goes to bed with their boots on?”
“I do.”
“Well I think you’ll find this much more comfortable.”
“Y’ may have to lose a few more layers ‘fore I’m really comfortable.”
“I will if you will.” She inches closer to wrap an arm around his torso. “I love you.”
He yawns wide and long and silent. Kisses the top of her head. Sleep is already heavy in his bones when he closes his eyes. “Mm, me too.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve said that a lot tonight, haven’t I?”
“Don’t be sorry, darlin’. I ain’t ever gonna tire of hearin’ you say it.”
“Okay, good. Cause I've got a lifetime more of ‘em.”
“Tha’s a real long time to spend on an outlaw.”
She smiles and closes her eyes. “Looking forward to it.”
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ineffabildaddy · 2 months
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you're so golden
i wrote a ficlet based on this beautiful fanart by @omens-for-ophelia!!! you may also consider it my 1000 follower celebration thing because the fic i was initially planning for that just isn't coming how i want it to</3
explicit content ahead!! also available to read on ao3 here
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They coupled only under cover of darkness, at first.
When all was black and unknowable, and Adam and Eve had retreated into the recesses of the Garden to slumber, they would sit quietly beside one another beneath the apple tree. One might make the occasional comment on the events of the day, and the vocal cords of the other might tinkle or hum with a lighthearted chuckle. Other than that, they were still and hushed while receiving each other's unadulterated company. The silence that thrummed and rippled between them was not stilted, was not cloddish; this was a state of quietude borne of serenity, of settled truth.
Then, one night, as noiseless as a phantom (which would obviously not have existed yet), Aziraphale drew near enough to Crawley's ear to create a tickling sensation upon it with his breath, and Crawley was inhaling his scent thoroughly for the first time; he smelled of oak and lavender and many other things, beautiful things that didn't exist yet. His typical sense of restraint suddenly distant and glazed, Crawley felt compelled to describe the fragrance he had just acquainted himself with to his companion, but he was not presented with the opportunity, because the angel's lips were moving towards his. Before either could pause to acknowledge the progress they had just made, mouths were falling open and noses were knocking together and tongues were working in harmony, only their synchronised movements didn't feel like work at all - they felt like something far better, something far more noble. Then, palms were pressing on chests and fingers were brushing against collarbones and the crickets sang for joy, accompanied only by the tree's leaves whistling in the mild breeze.
Crawley was hard and flushed and trembling before Aziraphale had manoeuvred onto his lap, and after Aziraphale settled his ass into the creases of Crawley's tunic just so, Crawley knew he was damn close to- well, he wasn't sure what he was close to, but it was something to do with his dick, and it was also something to do with excitement and vulnerability in equal parts.
Ah, well, Crawley conceded in his mind. He would figure that out later. And figure it out later he did - more times than he could count, with the aid of Aziraphale's warm, wet mouth, or the balmy smoothness of his palm, or sometimes, fuck, Aziraphale's own thick-set leaking cock against his lengthy, quivering one.
One starlit evening - all the evenings were illuminated by stars, of course, but on this occasion, they appeared almost obnoxious in their shimmering and gleaming - Aziraphale curled his fingers around the hem of his pale, soft tunic and crossed his arms over his head, tugging the garment off his curved frame and tossing it onto a bed of verdant moss. As always, the night was so dim it was nigh-on impossible to make out anything at all, and Crawley anticipated that Aziraphale's action would make no improvement to their clumsy, earnest collisions, but for increased ease of access - after all, even his serpentine vision was no match for the quashing blackness which blanketed Eden each time the sun fell.
He was wrong, however, for Aziraphale's belly and ass and thighs shone with intermittent streaks, golden and sparkling brightly in the dull moonlight.
When the pads of Crawley's fingers skipped lightly over the grooves of these golden streaks, Aziraphale expelled a short, clipped giggle. His lips stretching into a lazy grin, Crawley skimmed his fingernails over Aziraphale's belly, and a peal of unabashed laughter sliced through the humid air. Want you want you want you want you, Crawley repeated internally as his head ducked downwards, hands shifting Aziraphale further back so his mouth could settle upon Aziraphale's hip. Then, his tongue was rolling over the resplendent stretch marks, teeth bared so that their edges could tease Aziraphale's satiny skin. A shiver coursed its way down Aziraphale's spine, and the slender hand which was now flush with Aziraphale's lower back held him steady.
For the first time, Crawley entered Aziraphale that night, chest fluttering and palms slick and dick flaring with ardent rhapsodies while Aziraphale rolled his hips again and again, seizing the flesh protecting Crawley's throat into his mouth each time Crawley's head fell back against the bark of the tree. By the time Crawley's dick twitched and streamed inside Aziraphale, every one of the freckles on his tanned shoulders was obscured by obscene purplish marks, which were not in view of either party, but were nevertheless making their presence known by way of pushing aching bursts all the way through to Crawley's bones. Drooling and hazy, Crawley allowed his eyes to buzz back into focus on the sheen of Aziraphale's stretch marks while he caressed Aziraphale's straining shaft, and oh, fuck, Aziraphale's spend was flecked with gold just as his skin was. In that moment, with Aziraphale squirming on Crawley's softening cock and showering his own belly with starlight, the words I love you sprung to Crawley's mind, although Crawley had very little concept of what those words meant.
Ah, well, Crawley sighed internally. He would figure that out later.
And figure it out he did. Aziraphale shone in many more ways than one, Crawley would come to learn; when the two of them finally 'let there be light', the blushing pinks and creamy planes of Aziraphale's body visible at long last, it was only the very beginning.
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thank you so so much for reading!!! let me know what u thought?
reblogs are always appreciated too<3 posting the ao3 link again below just in case:
tagging: @sad-chaos-goblin @foolishlovers @sabotage-on-mercury @bowtiepastabitch @iammyownproblematicfave @amagnificentobsession @ineffable-rohese @createserenity @greenthena @and-his-hands-were-24-crows @quoththemaiden
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rosemaidenvixen · 6 months
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Halloween story prompt idea:
Sunshine au, the gang somehow accidentally get stuck at a house party when Jim transforms and they have to find a way to:
1) cover for a "missing" Jim who was definitely wearing a different costume and now no one can find
2) explain a completely random stranger showing up uninvited in an awesome and extremely realistic troll costume
3) get transformed Jim out of there without too many people asking questions
“H– Hi Mom,” Claire managed to squeak out “What are you doing home so early?”
Ophelia raised an eyebrow at her as more women, each holding a baby or toddler, streamed into the living room behind her “Enrique’s daycare group is having their Halloween party here tonight, did I not mention it this morning?”
“No I don’t think you did…”
This was bad, they’d planned on having their group meet up at her house because with how early the sun went down this time of year Jim would be ok transforming here and then going home through the woods.
Of course that plan couldn’t account for a herd of babies and their moms occupying the first floor.
“Well uh…I’ll just go back upstairs,” Claire slowly backed out of the room “Tell everyone to keep the volume down so we don’t wake you,”
“Sure sounds great,” Ophelia was already looking away from her, pulling Enrique into his black cat costume.
As soon as she was out of sight Claire broke into a run, racing up to her room, darting inside and slamming the door behind her “We got a big problem, Enrique’s entire daycare group is here!”
You could have heard a pin drop in the stunned silence that followed those words, the four of them staring back at her with expressions of pure horror. 
“Well fuck,” Toby said, breaking the silence.
“Would it kill your parents to tell you their plans ahead of time…” Mary mumbled “Also Toby’s right, we’re screwed,”
Meanwhile Jim had recovered from his shock and shut his jaw with a click “Ok ok ok, no big deal. I’ll climb out on the roof and get to the woods that way,”
Claire felt her teeth digging sharply into her lip “That won’t work. My parents are getting the roof reshingled and have almost all of it stripped off already, so if you go out that way you could slip and wipe out,”
A collective wince rippled through the room.
“Double fuck…”
Abruptly Darci clapped her hands together and got to her feet “Ok, we can do this. You just sneak out real fast and we’ll cover you,”
“We should go now,” Claire added “They’re still getting the babies into their costumes and they’ll be distracted,”
Jim’s expression was still tight and tense but he nodded back at her all the same “Alright, let’s do this,”
Claire cracked open her door and peeked out into the hall. Seeing it was clear she stepped out and waved the others to follow. They crept out into the hall, Claire and Darci in the lead with Mary and Toby trailing behind and Jim tucked in the middle, hood pulled all the way up over his horns.
They made it to the staircase, Claire constantly glancing from side to side and keeping her ears strained for any sudden noises. Waving them ahead, Claire led the group down the stairs, touching down on the main floor without–
Sudden footsteps came from around the corner.
Claire’s heart shot up into her throat “Hide!” she hissed “I’ll cover for you,”
Without wasting a second; Darci, Toby, and Jim hustled through the doorway into the dining room, the door slamming shut behind them just as Claire whirled to face the intruder.
“Oh hello Claire!” Mrs. Knightley beamed at her, a babbling Hailey dressed in a bee costume trailing after her “So nice to see you here!”
Well of course I’m here it’s my house
“Hi Mrs. Knightley, good to see you too,” Claire fixed the smile she used with unfamiliar adults and guidance counselors on her face “Is this Hailey? She’s getting so big!”
Mrs. Knightley beamed “Yes she’s starting preschool this year. Now if you’ll excuse me I need to touch up her make up a bit,”
She stepped around Claire towards the dining room, the same room Jim had gone into–
Quick as a flash Claire and Mary darted in front of her “I don’t think she really needs make up,” Claire had to work hard to make sure her tone was equal parts sincere and convincing and betrayed none of her panic “Her features are so beautiful on their own,”
“Yeah,” Mary piped up “If you want I can give her a baby make up job, it do it for my little cousins all the time–”
“Thank you girls but I’ve worked hard to get the contouring just right and I don’t trust anyone else to do it, now if you’ll excuse me–”
Before they could stop her Mrs. Knightley barged past them and pushed the door open, walking right in on–
“Oh hey, how’s it hanging?” Toby's voice called out.
Hearing a palatable lack of screaming, Claire cautiously peeked past Mrs. Knightley into the dining room. Toby and Darci stood ramrod straight beside the snack laden table, Toby holding a bowl and Darci clutching an apple slice taken from a platter. Each of them sporting wide grins that Claire hoped only looked strained to her.
But where on earth was Jim?
“We were just trying out the snacks,” Darci said, brandishing her apple slice “Gotta make sure they’re good and all,”
Mrs. Knightley’s expression puckered “Please put that down, the snacks are here for the little children,”
“Right right,” Toby set the bowl back down, eyes almost imperceptibly flicking up towards the ceiling.
Stomach churning, Claire lifted her own gaze to the ceiling only to freeze.
Jim was up there, limbs all splayed out clinging to the ceiling like spider man.
Forcing herself to snap out of it, Claire ripped her stare away from the ceiling and back towards Mrs. Knightley.
Ok, so Jim was a wall crawler, that was new, but they could use this. All he had to do to escape was crawl along the ceiling.
And hope to god no one looked up. 
“Well it’s good to see you Mrs. Knightley…” Claire jerked her head up at Jim and then at all the others, before inclining her head towards the still open doorway behind her, slowly starting to back away “We’ll just get out of your hair…” 
The others picked up on what she was doing and followed her lead, inching their way towards the door with Jim crawling along the ceiling.
Mrs. Knightley waved her off from where she’d sat Hailey down and was getting out a container of foundation “Oh yes good to see you to,”
Claire nodded in reply and kept retreating. Once they made it out of the dining room the backdoor was just six feet and one turn away, all they had to–
“Oh, are you doing makeup in here?”
“Yes yes come on in,” 
Claire had to bite back a scream of frustration as a group of moms pushed in from behind her, the room going from wide open to crowded in seconds.
Don’t look up don’t look up whatever you do don’t look–
“Hailey sweetie lean back so I can work under your eyes,”
Claire’s heart stopped as Hailey flopped her head back, getting a full view of the ceiling.
All five of them froze, Hailey’s eyes going wide, a roaring in Claire’s ear as a chubby toddler finger slowly raised to point up at Jim.
“Boogeyman!”
Mrs. Knightley shook her head “Sweetie there’s no such thing as the boogeyman,”
“Boogeyman boogeyman, up up up!”
Mrs. Knightley sighed, more exasperated this time, but she was slowly raising her head towards–
“Hey guys!” Toby’s voice was loud enough to cut through all the chatter in the room, all eyes instantly going to him “Snack spread looks really good, mind if I just snag a few–”
Toby picked up the entire box of cupcakes from the table “So cool if I take this? Awesome, thanks,”
Good news, everyone in the room had forgotten about the ‘boogeyman’. Bad news, all eyes were on Toby and not in a good way.
The sound that came out of Mrs. Knightley could only be described as a screech.
“Oh absolutely not–”
“You kids can each have a cupcake, but not the entire–”
“Young man you put that down right–”
The room devolved into chaos. Women shouting, toddlers wailing, and Toby playing chicken with the cupcake box.
But Claire knew a diversion when she saw one.
Taking advantage of the chaos she all but ran out of the room, opening doors and keeping an eye on the ceiling to make sure Jim was following along on the ceiling. When they finally reached the back door Jim leapt down and they all bolted into the trees.
Only once they were a good distance away did they stop, panting. Going limp as the adrenaline slowly drained away. Looking around Claire saw that there were only three of them. She, Jim, and Darci were here, but Toby and Mary were AWOL. 
The rescue mission would have to come later, first she had to get her heart rate back in the normal range.
“So…” Darci said between pants “You can crawl on walls,”
“Yep,” Jim let out a gusty breath “Turns out I can, so that’s a thing, still not doing that again,”
Claire flopped back on the ground with a groan “Agreed,”
She was glad they’d been able to escape, but she already knew her mom was going to give her hell for this later.
Twigs snapped a short ways away and they all froze, but it was only Toby that came through the bushes.
“Oh man, sorry Claire, but I think I might have burned some bridges with your brother’s daycare group,”
Claire waved him off “Don’t worry about it, none of them are going to risk pissing off the councilwoman who controls their budget. Is Mary with you?”
Toby’s face went red “I…uh…might have tossed the box of cupcakes at her, and booked it the other way,”
Darci gave him an even look “You do know that she’ll kill you for that?”
“Better her than the Karen brigade,” Toby started and flashed Claire and apologetic look “Sorry,”
“Hey you’re not wrong,”
More crunching echoed in the dark woods, the four of them turning towards the sound to see Mary stomping through the trees, face bright red and gaze smoldering “You. Guys. Owe. Me. Big.” 
Jim raised both hands placatingly “Oh definitely, you guys saved my ass in there. I owe you one for sure,”
Still looking angry, but more placated now Mary plunked down on the ground next to Claire. It was only now that Claire still noticed she was holding the cupcake box.
“Mrs. Knightley might be obnoxious, but we really shouldn’t take all their cupcakes,”
“We’ll give them back, but I nearly got trampled by a horde of babies and their moms over these cupcakes, I earned one,” with that Mary pulled back the top of the box, lifted out a cupcake, and sank her teeth into the orange frosting.
After a few seconds Toby reached in after her and did the same, then Darci.
Oh what the heck.
Claire grabbed a cupcake herself, the four of them sitting on the ground in the dark forest munching on their cupcakes while Jim watched with piqued interest.
“So when you guys are done can I–”
“Don’t worry,” Toby gulped down his mouthful of cake “We’ll save you the paper wrappers,”
Jim grinned “You guys are the best,”
Mary swallowed “And don’t you forget it,”
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moonloredraws · 8 months
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Recently I've done some character design exercises and designed characters for a fantasy sea-themed cult. All members are some aquatic race or another, and so far I have 3 of the base game D&D classes, The currently (haha pun) unnamed Paladin, Ripple the Bladesinger Wizard and Ophelia the Fathomless Warlock. I'm currently working on the 4th member, a sorcerer who's cloak is an octopus kinda thing. He's looking real cool so far!
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eritvita · 1 year
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continued from x ;
@ramblingsofamoonwatcher
Dibella sparks him onto Immortal Glory, as Ophelia’s soft, false lips in all their glamor press gently to his lips, struck’d for the golden Bell at those salt-smelling docks beside RIften’s lower apothecary.
Is Roland frozen to the spot, those boards what slosh from their quiet ripples dabbl’ng gently at his lithe boots, and his lips remain soft and awe’d as he stares down upon her; as she cups his cheek, and kisses him again, and Roland hast that instinctual gall to reciprocate into that nurturing press.
Is he naught the Cunning, the Beguiler, the Poet and the Handsome Quirk, but his brows furrow and he resists to kiss her again at her tender, innocent mouth. He swallows tightly: conniving with his own Pride and feeling that swirl of moral disquiet twist inside his own belly, at his own wants and needs to taste at her inhuman tongue. “That---” breathes he, his voice cracking from the limb of base hiding. He clears his throat.
“That ... is a greeting for lovers, sweet Friend. Wouldst thou---” And his throat bobs, look’d upon her keenly. “Dost thou mean to kiss at either cheek? To embrace as Introduction?”
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slimestack · 1 year
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some old claymore scraps
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not-krys · 6 months
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Seasonal Vibes Meme
So, saw a prompt on twitter about what seasonal vibes a character/ship gives off, so I think it'd be a fun question for here and a good writing exercise:
What seasonal vibes does your OC / squish / ship give off? Are they like spring or winter? Can also include not so traditionally thought of seasons, like the rainy season, harvest season, winter/spring thaw, a local holiday season, bug season, etc.
For those that wanna do this too, you can do your OC (fandom or original), or even just your favorite fictional squish at the moment.
For those that wanna do ships, sky's also the limit. MC x canon, OC x canon, canon x canon, selfship x canon, romantic or platonic, doesn't matter, just whatever the seasonal vibe is with a lil blerb as to why that is.
No pressure tagging: @lorei-writes, @kissmetwicekissmedeadly, @scummy-writes, @honeybyte, @batteryrose, @drachonia, @limonzu, @tsundere-mitsuhide, and anyone else that's wants to play.
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Houki/Mitsunari (IkeSen): Spring, Sweet blossoming beginnings. Both are discovering new things around them (Houki quite literally as she's from a different world all together, Mitsunari learning about love and confidence) and while there may be storms along the way, they help each other blossom into themselves.
(plus it doesn't help that @beni-draw-ikemen-please drew them surrounded by cherry blossoms a while back, so I'll always think of them with the springtime vibes)
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Ophelia/Kennyo (IkeSen): Late Winter/Early Spring Thaw. Times of deep turmoil coming to an end so that something new and wonderful can grow. They both have troubling things happen to them in the past, but as time passes, they learn to grow as people and to put the harsh times behind them so they can have hope for the future.
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Thea/Theo/Arthur (IkeVamp): Summer. Time of high heat and fun adventures. They bicker and tease each other a lot of the time, but they never turn down having an adventure together. Whether that adventure consists of solving some small mystery in town, walking hand in hand in hand through an art gallery they helped set up together, or challenging each other in cards or arm wrestling in the gaming room, they never forget that doing it together is the best part of any adventure.
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Abby/Vincent (IkeVamp): Autumn. Change and reflection on the times of the past. Abby goes through a lot changes in her life, Vincent being present for a lot of her later changes, sometimes even triggering them himself. But he always wants to be a part of her life, especially after he lost her the first time, putting a change in him that rippled across all the lives they had connected with before.
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Maddie/Harr (IkeRev): Early Summer. Not as young as they used to be to be like spring, but still want to have the fun they had/didn't have in their youths. Harr is a hardened academic at his core and Maddie is discovering magic for the first time, three decades into her life. They have insatiable curiosity despite not being spring chickens anymore. Their lives are shaped by their pasts yet they still want to explore the world and discover more of its mysteries and wonders.
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Clara/Nokto (IkePri): Rainy Season. The sun after the rain is much more beautiful than the sun before the rain. At first, Clara hated Nokto. She hated him for taking advantage of her and for putting her in situations she felt she had no business being a part of. However, once his masks were washed away, as it were, she saw who he was underneath. How much this man actually cared, about the kingdom and about her despite his wicked ways. How tightly he held her when he opened up about his insecurities, about how much better everyone else was compared to the jester he made himself out to be. How he didn't deserve the ray of sunshine she was, how jealous he was about her open and honest ways. How much he wished he could be like her. And once the rain stopped and the sun came out again, they found the other much more beautiful drenched but smiling. That though they went through some hard times, they still came through the storms to see light again.
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Miri (Obey Me): Spring, She doesn’t have a set suitor yet, but the ones that I have romantically shipped her with (and with all her platonic ships too), she has the aura of spring: sweet, innocent, blossoming love, sometimes a little unpredictable in the newness of everything. She wants to be kind to everyone, even if it sometimes is a detriment to herself. She wants to do right by the three realms, even if that sentiment maybe a little naïve compared to others who have lived through harder times than she has. Yet her newness and fresh outlook has changed some of even the toughest of opponents and has helped heal and soothe even the bloodiest wounds of the past. She's bringing about positive change in a world that doesn't want change but desperately needs it.
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k00291991 · 14 days
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Reimagining Painting, Photography Workshop
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Today myself and 3 other peers took part in Paul’s photography workshop. After a brief presentation explaining the workshop and showing examples of reimagined and recreated paintings and their significance in culture we were given the task to reimagine John Everett Millais’ “Ophelia”.
The painting itself i inspired by the story of Hamlet and how Ophelia was driven to madness by Hamlet and drowned herself in a river. As a group we wanted to capture the sadness and the tragedy of this story. With the props available to us we chose to focus on Ophelias hands drowning and less so her body. We used mannequin hands and hung them behind a dark backdrop, we then added a fake fern, plaster leaves, twigs and fake roses tied up with fishing wire behind the hands to capture a sinking and drowning in a river effect. We then added a sheer shiny fabric in front of all of this to create a soft and mystical visual of the water. Next we placed a lamp in front of a large plastic box as when the room was dark it created lighting that replicated the ripples of water.
With this we then began to take photos from a multitude of angles to find what best captured the despair of drowning. After taking some photos we decided to strip the set-up back to just one mannequin hand, no leaves and no roses. This simpler look helped to focus the photos more on what was happening and gave the images a more calm,melancholy feel rather than a dramatic chaotic energy. We then added a yellow light to the bottom of our set-up to give the images a warmer tone which I really enjoyed. Lastly I put a blue plastic box over the camera lens which gave the entire photo a blue hue, this with the yellow lighting coming from the bottom truly looked as though Ophelia was drowning in the depths of the water and in my opinion gave the best result.
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Overall this workshop was incredibly fun and really helped me think outside of the box and reach outside the scopes of typical painting, it also helped me gain some photography and lighting skills which I have no doubt will be useful as I progress through my course.
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I saw the question Vexic sent and now I have to ask the same: your OCs have the opportunity to swap places with my OCs for 24 hours, who do they choose?
Hm.... very good question!
Rae: Director Hawke - she's got 24 hours to take down that whole shebang from the inside out, and damn if she isn't going to make the most of that time. Bonus points if she gets Warren in on it, to restrain her body and keep guard while they swap so Hawke doesn't ruin Rae's life in the process.
Robin: Jessi - not just because she's used to sonic powers already, but she's on a mission. By the time they switch back, Hyun-Ki is nowhere to be found, 90% of Jessi's money has been donated to a variety of charities, and she's being absolutely flamed on social media for a variety of reasons.
Madison: Maybe Qiara? Or possibly Meredith... I'm still not sure who Madison would swap out with, she's been the toughest pick in both lineups
Ophelia: Anyone with interesting powers - which could be fine, since she could end up with someone in complete control and it would be fine... or she could end up with Onnie and end up wreaking absolute havoc since she's suddenly developed eldritch powers.
Jasper: Hm... Cory, maybe? They've got a pretty similar style and all. Maybe they'd want to try and swap with Ameerah, just to fix a few things, but it also might be nice to have a break from all the empathic input for a while.
Kestrel: Arya, for the same reason they'd switch with Gabi in Vexic's lineup - it would feel suffocating not to be able to shapeshift
Katherine: I could see her swapping with Pippa - their personalities are really similar, being kind and generous and positive, so I think they'd both try to make it the most seamless swap they could and try not to stir up that many ripples (at least... until night falls and Pippa's expected to take care of a living museum, and Katherine ends up fighting an eldritch metahuman)
Quinn: Siv, or maybe Kayla - someone who can move well, since she'll be spending as much time as possible just parkouring through the city like she used to.
Eris: Still doesn't really want to switch. Like, at all. The only person they ever want to be is Eris. But they'd probably just end up picking someone that will let them cause a lot of havoc - Laila, Onnie, even the Negative Speed Force itself
Nikoletta: Cassandra? They're pretty similar people overall, which would make the transition fairly easy for her. But as I said with Vexic's lineup... Nik wouldn't really care who she switches with, since she'd either be over the moon about being without her shadow-touch or would see it as a chore to leave her usual life.
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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years
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So that anon's theory about Amren and babies made me think of a crackfic that I would love if you could do (it is however somewhat Amren centered and I'm aware you don't like writing her so you can refuse this-I completely understand)-
( I would like if this is set after your AU ACOSF cause that for me is the only Nessian story I find acceptable but again whatever you wish to do-you're the writer :) )
So basically Nessian's baby (daughter) who is now around maybe 1 years old (whatever age babies start crawling or moving and somewhat talking on their own) and has had some sort of attachment to Amren.But now that the baby is able to move around herself she's taken to trying to follow Amren everywhere.And no one is able to stop her or distract her.Maybe she even has a babbled random name for Amren as well that the whole NC finds hilarious.
So basically Amren spends a whole day hiding from the baby only to be found every single time much to her annoyance and the IC's amusement.Like she's just going around the river estate hiding from a 1 year old in random places only to be found each time.Maybe at some point she decides to leave to summer court but is again found by the baby when Nesta is also at summer to talk to Cresseida about the fund and has her daughter with her.Idk how this ends or what even happens.It's purely a crackfic idea in my mind so it doesn't have to be completely factually correct or anything.Infact I love the way you think up stuff so if you take full reigns over this idea then that's great too :)
Ofcourse I understand if you don't want to write an Amren centric fic since you don't really like her (same btw) and usually write Nesta centric fics only but it's something about her experiencing her own form of torture with having a drooling babbling baby cling to her lol.
I'm also the same person who had requested the hormonal and pregnant Nesta fic and I absolutely loved it.If you do decide to write it I think it would be interesting if this fic is a continuation of that one of some sort.Thankyou so much!
I love your works!!Infact you are the reason I joined tumblr and discovered so many other authors so really you were my gateway.I can't wait to read your original work when ( used when- because it will happen because you're obviously talented enough to get it) you get published in the future!!!
Awww that makes me so happy that you joined and found more fics. There are so many talented people on here!
I've written just a short one (1.3k) of Amren getting terrorised by baby Nessian!
The ancient one called his name over and over until her voice had grown hoarse. He cut his shower short to see why Amren was howling his name like a wounded beast. She’d been terrifying with power – now, she was just a tiny female who made lots of threats with nothing to back them up.
‘What is the problem?’
Amren stood on a chair, as far to one side as it could go without tipping. ‘It’s followed me again.’
A growl rippled from his chest. ‘My daughter is not an it.’
‘Take it – her – away.’
Phia had always had a strange fascination with Amren. As soon as she could focus her eyes on faces, they always searched the room for the female. It had taken all of them months of chipping away at her to even hold the baby – and then Nesta had needed to remove her after less than a minute because Amren panicked.
Cassian swooped down on Ophelia then whooshed her up into the air so a big, beaming smile came onto her face. It seemed that Amren had been working at the table when she’d been snuck up on. Since she learnt how to crawl, there wasn’t a room that Amren could go to for an escape. Nesta might have given her daughter a helping hand from time to time too.
‘Your daughter is terrorising Amren again.’
Nesta stretched out on the couch. There was a book beside her, but since having a baby, sleep was prioritised over any other hobby.
‘I know. I could see them.’
‘Didn’t you hear her calling?’
Nesta snorted. ‘I did. Phia was fine, just trying to pull herself up.’
‘Wait until she learns how to walk.’
Nesta grinned. ‘And how to fly.’
Poor Amren would have no peace. She had seriously asked Rhys about defecting to the Summer Court. Nyx had never been bothered with her – or she to him. Ophelia had different plans. And Nesta seemed to enjoy her torment.
Nesta scooped the baby to her chest then kissed the crop of dark hair. The wings were a welcome surprise; they were not entirely sure whether the Illyrian genes would be passed along. Cassian had already planned her flying lessons and all the places he could take his daughter once she’d learnt.
‘Can you believe we made her?’
Nesta threw him an incredulous look. ‘I was just the vessel. This is your child. Ten months inside of me to come out looking exactly like your father, you poor, sweet girl.’
‘When we have a boy, he’ll look like you.’
‘Oo, you ripped me from front to back,’ she said in a sing-song voice as she slathered the baby with kisses to make her giggle. ‘If your papa thinks I am ever letting him touch me again, he must be sillier than I thought.’
Amren stood in the doorway and shuddered.
‘Would you like to come with us to the park?’
‘I would rather spend another eternity in the Prison.’
Nesta gave her a sweet smile. ‘I shall inform Rhysand of your request.’
***
Sure enough, once Phia had learnt to walk, Amren was her go to person. Sometimes she’d even start to cry if Amren didn’t pick her up – then Amren appeared as if she might burst into tears as a result. And every time, Nesta would watch with a smirk. Cassian saw her exchanging vindictive grins with Azriel from time to time too as they delighted in Amren’s torture.
There was no escape. Ophelia had learnt how to walk and how to pull herself up to surfaces in quick succession so even if Amren was in a chair, Phia would go to her then haul herself into Amren’s lap before she had a chance to get away. Her wings were growing stronger so, soon, Amren would never be able to escape.
Sometimes she was brave enough to lift the girl back down before running away. Other times, she remained pinned to the spot, calling out for help. The only one who ran when she called was Varian. What didn’t help was how utterly obsessed Varian was with Phia either. She was happy to go to him and he’d play with her for hours, much to Amren’s torment.
‘I don’t understand what is enjoyable,’ she confessed over dinner when Ophelia had wheedled her way onto Varian’s lap and helped herself to everything on his plate.
Cassian had thought that Nesta might prickle more over Amren’s words, but she only ever shrugged them off. If their daughter was hassling Amren, it gave her a moment of space. Nesta enjoyed the peace where she could wolf down her dinner without interruption.
‘Are you telling me that cracked nipples and sleepless nights do not appeal to you?’ She asked between mouthfuls of food.
All of the males around the table winced.
Since having a child, Nesta had lost any reservations or propriety. Cassian had stopped trying to protect her modesty each time she whipped out a nipple to feed Ophelia.
‘Don’t forget cleaning shit out of her belly button when she explodes.’
Mor gagged. ‘Is this a topic for dinner?’
But Rhys had nodded with understanding at Cassian’s words. They had all been there the first time Nyx had woken screaming from a nap absolutely covered in his own filth. Feyre and him had some sort of deal where one of them could refuse entirely to be involved and Feyre slammed down her portion of the deal in record time leaving Rhys to manage it alone.
‘She’s trying to touch me,’ Amren hissed, leaning to the side to stop Ophelia from reaching her.
‘Varian, she’s going to cry if you don’t hand her to her favourite person,’ Nesta teased.
The Summer Court male panicked. He doted on that little girl and would never want to see her upset, but Amren would eat him alive. The former won out with her wobbling bottom lip – which was definitely inherited from her mother. She might have been Cassian’s double in appearance, but the personality coming through was all Nesta.  
Ophelia pressed herself to Amren. Her chubby, little arms went around the female’s neck as she imitated the same noise her mother made when she hugged her. The moment ought to have been sweet, but Amren looked to be in physical pain or as if somebody had a knife pressed to her throat.
‘What does she want?’
‘Hug her back,’ Cassian suggested.
Amren blew out a breath. Then inhaled. Blew out again. Her eyes screwed shut.
'I can't.'
Azriel burst into laughter, surprising them all.
‘She looks like we’ve asked her to hug the Attor. She’s a baby, Amren.’
‘I would hug Nyx,’ she said, straining her face upwards to keep away from Phia, ‘but there’s something not right with this one.’
‘Feyre, will you swap our babies over.’
Amren’s silver eyes went wide. ‘No.’
‘I think bonding with both would be good for Amren,’ Feyre replied, carrying Nyx over.
He’d been a lovely baby. A very easy one too, content to slumber in people’s arms or sleep solidly through the night from one month. As soon as he’d hit two, a different child had emerged. Cassian was happy to admit that his nephew was horrid. Nyx quite enjoyed biting. And kicking. And hitting. And hair pulling. And the word no. Rhys had even made a joke about dropping him in Windhaven early after Nyx had thrown his bowl of soup directly at Rhys’ face.
‘Please, not him. Please, Rhysand. Rhysand. I will quit. I will leave this court and join Autumn if I have to.’
‘She’ll give up all of our secrets if confronted by an infant,’ Azriel mused, another wicked smile flitting onto his lips.
Feyre was too kind and hauled a thrashing Nyx back to his seat - but the threat was always there.
‘Phia loves you,’ Nesta crooned.
‘Amam.’
Nesta grabbed hold of Cassian’s hand. ‘She said her first word.’
‘That was not a word,’ Amren seethed.
‘She said your name,’ Varian said with pure delight.
‘My name is not Amam.’
‘If you think we are calling you anything else from now on, you’re dead wrong.’
Amren shook her head. ‘I wish I had stayed dead.’
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