Ophelia sat on the ground, leaning against the brick of a random building as silent tears streamed down her face. “Of course I fucking fall in the midst of an earthquake and get hit with broken glass… of course.”

💐 -> Ophelia (Painting, John Everett Millais, 1851-2) Stimboard !

📦 -> with related stims !

📬 -> self indulgent !

📘 -> 🌺 - 🌿 - 🌺 / 🌿 - 🌿 / 🌺 - 🌿 - 🌺

🔓 -> Requests Are Closed ! Request Rules !

DNI -> NSFW/Kink/Etc. A Minor Runs This Blog !

I had to draw the cousins again in the 90's. Nerv and Ophie being siblings to each other makes my heart explode

Little Daisy walking down the corridor, sure hope no scary vampire ladies are crawling along the ceiling!

sometimes i think about how fully absent horatio is from r&g are dead even though one of the primary reasons for ros & guil’s existence in hamlet is as obvious negative parallels to him (see pages 42-3 of horatio’s hamlet for more on that);

and i think of those meta takes about how hamlet both starts and ends with horatio because he’s the one burdened with telling the story, and how it brings everything full circle;

and i think about horatio’s appearance at the end of r&g are dead. how, in this context, he’s putting the bow on a story that was by no means his to tell — one he may even severely misrepresent depending on your read / the staging of “he never gave commandment for their death” — but a story whose two protagonists exist in the shadow he casts, and cannot escape it.

a story that’s, in a sense, haunted by him: the “better” version of ros and guil (“we didn’t do anything wrong, did we?” ros asks, and the answer is everything and nothing) who wouldn’t have suffered this terrible fate (horatio’s being a different flavor of tragedy); the version that, if he were ever shown on stage with them, would be an even more obvious signal than the title of the show itself that the two of them were failures, and written to be that way.

and then sometimes i start thinking about a version of r&g are dead that has ros and guil interact with horatio. the one who actually understands hamlet (the man) but still can’t sway his or the story’s course; who gets to see how things play out, but in witnessing and knowing it also knows for a fact how pointless it all was; who, unlike the two of them, is spared from death, but also therefore never gets to rest; who, like the two of them, will never not come when summoned, and yet finds himself ultimately reduced to a spectator (though in both hamlet and r&g are dead all spectators remain complicit).

they would have things to talk about, i think. if only they didn’t forget it all when “next time” rolls around.

↪ closed for @vvhimsicals | spotify wrap says: read your mind by sabrina carpenter

"i can't read your mind!" she exclaims, "you say that you need to be alone, but night and day you want me at your beck and call?"

open  starter                  —                    anyone  !    ( @francehqstarters )  location  :  ophelia's  workshop.                       time  :  late afternoon.

 "  just  a  moment  !  "   her  voice  is  a  finch's  chirp  from  somewhere  in  the  workshop,  an  echo  of  the  jingle  of  the  bell  above  the  door  that  notifies  her  of  someone's  entrance.  it's  incredible,  really,  how  in  just  the  two  months  she's  been  in  versailles,  she's  managed  to  completely  occupy  the  workspace  the  french  had  afforded  her  —  boxes  of  sewing  supplies  stacked  halfway  to  the  ceiling,  waterfalls  of  shimmering  silk  &  soft  cotton  overflowing  from  racks  that  tower  against  the  walls.  light  pours  in  from  impossibly  tall  windows,  golden  beams  catching  dust  motes  &  tiny  shreds  of  fabric  as  they  float  through  the  air.  it  takes  her  a  comically  long  time  to  navigate  the  maze  of  it,  just  the  top  of  her  head  visible  as  she  weaves  through  fabric  bolts  &  mannequins,  finally  popping  out  into  the   (  laughably  small  )  area  she  manages  to  keep  neat  at  the  front  of  the  shop.  her  arms  are  full  of  supplies,  &  she  dumps  the  contents  onto  the  nearest  table  —  spools  of  thread,  fabric  shears,  tulle  &  twine  &  lace  spilling  onto  the  surface.  "  sorry  for  the  wait,  "   she  says  as  she  finally  turns  to  face  her  guest,  hands  folding  behind  her  back  as  she  puts  on  her  most  welcoming  smile.  "  what  can  i  help  you  with  ?  "

so inactive nowadays.. been rly getting into mouse genetics in my free time

26!

“Do you ever just want to shake your rump? Like…. Just….. Nevermind what the hell am I saying? I sound like a Drongo.” Ophelia mumbled and pinched the bridge of her nose, embarrassed at the fact that the thought even popped into her mind.

no one asked, but the reason all of my ocs are either healers or very knowledgeable about poisons and/or disease (or both!) is because it all relates to my special interest of All Time

somebody needs to make a show that centers around a modern au of shakespeare characters in university or smth please @netflix PLEASE

LOCATION: a dance studio somewhere STATUS: closed / ophelia @andante--andante

achilles somehow ends up at this dance studio pretty regularly. he walks up and down the halls just to feel something. he never stays too long, though-- he knows now that he no longer has the COOKIE-CUTTER dance look, he's just some guy roaming a dance studio ( which would, reasonably, send off some alarm bells ). he's about to head out until he hears music from the oh-so recognizable COPPELIA. the waltz of the hours, specifically. he stops in his tracks and is mentally telling himself to leave. he has no reason to stick around. still, he can't help but feel a bit of nostalgia and comfort for the familiar tune. as he approaches the door where the music is coming from, it suddenly stops. another sign for him to get the fuck out of there. still, his curiosity gets the better of him and he cracks the door and peaks in. "you know, i bet you could get more air on that grand jete." the second it leaves his mouth, he wishes he could take it back.

⸺ * | closed starter for ⎯⎯ @rennisaturate ⸺ * | continued from here.

he didn’t write off her insane paranoia for what it was and that actually meant something to her. marcus never made her feel silly or overly sensitive for being the way she was, he just seemed to accept the slight changes in her behaviour as if it were the weather. “yes…okay….i’m sorry” she bowed her head, chewing on her bottom lip. “ha! tap dancing with a parade? i’ll…i’ll remember that for next time” she was coming back into herself, settling into her usual banter and shutting off the irrational part of her mind. this time, she stepped into his reach when his arm stretched out toward her and she handed him the sandwich bag. ophelia perched happily on his knee and tucked her hair behind both ears, “it’s egg and cress salad…homegrown and homemade, just for you”

↪ closed for @sincityszn | inspo ♡

when she applied for an assistant job, she wasn't expected to be paired with an arrogant asshole. it's only been a couple weeks and she wasn't sure if she could deal with him any longer without completely blowing up on him. "can you stop being a dick for a split second and just be happy that i'm here to fetch you whatever you need? so what if i got you the wrong flavor coffee, if you don't want it then i'll take it!" with that she takes a long sip before realizing she blew up on him and her job could possibly be on the line.

closed  starter          —        salvador  najafi.    (   @aresenics ! )

location  :  ophelia's  workshop.             time  :  golden  hour.

he's  been  in  her  shop  a  handful  of  times  now  —  three,  but  who's  counting?  —  for  various  reasons,  sometimes  running  errands,  sometimes  to  have  his  own  clothing  altered  or  repaired.  she'd  only  learned  his  name  the  last  time  he  was  here,  &  their  conversations  have  always  been  relatively  short.  he's  always  in  such  a  rush,  is  the  thing,  &  she  can  pretend  all  she  wants  that  she  doesn't  get  a  bit  excited  when  he  comes  in  with  that  apologetic  look  on  his  face.  it's  just  —  he's  awfully  kind,  &  it's  been  years  since  anyone's  paid  her  any  mind  the  way  he  does,  &  griffin  had  left  her  feeling  so  gutted  the  last  time  they  spoke . . .  &  she  does  have  eyes  —  can  she  really  be  blamed?     "  what  ever  do  you  get  up  to  every  day,  to  end  up  here  so  often?  "    they  ask,  voice  lilting  playfully  as  she  holds  up  the  jacket  he'd  brought  in,  inspecting  the  damage.  a  rip  in  the  collar  —  fifteen  minutes  of  work  at  best.  (   she  absolutely  doesn't  steal  a  glance  at  the  dip  of  his  collarbones  exposed  by  his  undershirt;  that  would  be  inappropriate.  he  is  a  client,  after  all. )      "  you  might  be  neck-and-neck  with  the  stablehands  for  most  repairs.  "    cheeks  pink  with  the  newness  of  being  so  intentionally  playful.  it  really  has  been  years.  her  eyes  lift  to  meet  his  as  she  moves  closer,  pulling  a  spool  of  measuring  tape  from  her  skirts.   "  i'll  need  to  get  a  neck  measurement  from  you  for  this.  may  i?  "        (  she  could  estimate,  if  she  wanted  to,  but  alas . . . )