𝟎𝟏 . 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒 / 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 • macie

𝟎𝟐 . 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 • 11/25

𝟎𝟑 . 𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍 • Sagittarius 

𝟎𝟒 . 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 • 5′3

𝟎𝟓 . 𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 • writing, crafting, pinterest (is this a hobby), baking

𝟎𝟔 . 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑 • Purple, emerald green

𝟎𝟕 . 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 • To Kill a Mockingbird; PJO Series; Call Me by your Name

𝟎𝟖 . 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 • All I Wanted - Paramore

𝟎𝟗 . 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐌 / 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 • The Man from UNCLE (i think?) / Charmed (the original)

𝟏𝟎 . 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 • After watching the Netflix series I wanted to write in this universe, so I made a blog! I didn’t feel comfortable with canons (never have) and so I made my own OC and got a lot of inspiration generally from the show and the games and a character I had already had.

𝟏𝟏. 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐔𝐑𝐋 • At the core of her character Ophelia is a woman who has been hindered by the men of society. She has been labeled as “crazy” and “hysterical” for having feelings and emotions that she follows intuitively.

tagged by: @gilded-dawn (thank u!)

hearing ophelia’s opinion on the matter puts his mind in a better place. she knows ciri like the back of her hand - they’re inseparable sometimes, even apparently having been mistaken for mother and daughter in the street, a nice thought - and there’s a huge comfort in that.

     for some reason though, there’s a drop in his stomach where there should be a soaring feeling. ciri might not want to be away from home - that’s what he expected her to say, given that that’s the conversation they’re having but, in his heart of hearts, geralt wishes they were having two at the same time. perhaps they are and his vision is clouded with the thoughts that won’t leave him alone at night, that are the cause of all of this in the first place. perhaps. but he doubts it. he does nod, though, agreeing. ❝ she wouldn’t. in fact, i think it’d be her worst nightmare and i’m sure she’d never forgive me for it. ❞

     so he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place but ophelia’s here for him, showing herself to be just about the kindest person he’s ever met once again. she’d no doubt be a great mother and that feeling only grows when he feels her hand touch his wrist, skin coming to sit on skin as though it belongs there, always. he looks up, into her beautiful eyes, and is taken aback by the force of her words. ❝ oph— ❞ he starts, other hand lifting to rest atop hers because it seems like the right thing to do. ❝ you have a life, the shop, you probably have friends i’ve never heard of because they’re private. i don’t want you to forget all of that just for us. okay ? ❞

the young woman shakes her head rather forcefully at geralt’s protest. sure, she has other things to worry about, but nothing so important as to take precedent over geralt and ciri. they were the closest thing she had to a family. they were all she had. friends and family and everything else was never something ophelia had bothered with, she had spent a good part of her life just trying to figure herself out, never really worrying for putting down roots. she hadn’t spoken to her parents in years, and she had always been a loner -- until he walked into her life. 

“ you and ciri are part of my life. the shop is fine, geralt really. if this is what you want i am prepared to help you make it work. “ she tells him seriously, face set in stone. “ if you’ll let me. and if you want me to.”

Yennefer focuses on the dancing flames, allowing Ophelia to care for her own wounds. The dimeritium embedded in them rendering them both fairly useless to do anything but allow her to heal the old-fashioned way. And the powerful mage hated feeling useless, particularly when it came to the rare instance of caring for someone who mattered dearly to her. It wasn’t a circumstance that happened often, but it made it all the more painful.

She had poured herself a glass of wine in a meager attempt to calm the swirling emotions threatening to burst forth, unsure of just which would manifest the most clearly. Anger at the witch hunters, carrying letters with a rather official-looking Kaedweni seal. Guilt for not keeping closer tabs on the other sorceress’s movement and the whispers around it. Piercing sorrow and pain for what she imagined could happen if she hadn’t gotten there in time. But she’s hardly touched it, too lost in her own thoughts to indulge in her own remedy. The only thing to draw her focus from the fire and her own mind was the movement in front of her, cold violet hues meeting warm brown.

“Don’t talk about your own life that way.” Her words come out sharper than they should, if only as a method of keeping her myriad of feelings at bay. “Your life is of greater value than ten of those filthy witch hunters combined. Which is why I left so many choking on their own blood.” The ghost of a smile lifts her lips, but there’s no real joy in her expression. “When I… When I first heard they had captured you I imagined…” She draws in a steadying breath through her nose. “A world rid of you would be a move for the worst.”

She doesn’t want Ophelia in her debt. She hates owing anyone, and only likes when people owe her when she knows it would be worth to take advantage of them later. And that’s not the situation with Oph, it never was. “The only favor I ask is that you’d do the same for me. You know how few people would, were I the one in shackles facing torture.”

Ophelia can hear them, gasping and pleading as Yennefer’s angry wrath rained down upon them like hellfire-- she was certain in that moment the mage she had come to love so was the woman of the tales. The Horsewoman of War. Violet hues ablaze with rage, barely contained, Ophelia had even found herself afraid. Not of Yennefer, she could never truly fear her, but of what she was capable of. She knew that the other was powerful and intelligent and lethal, but she had not yet experienced that fact first hand.

The sorceress doesn’t want to think about it. She doesn’t want to remember, but she knows that as long as she lives the memory of her time in a cell will be seared into her mind. She will forever remember the smell of the air, rancid and rotten, as bodies of her sisters burnt. She will forever remember the taste of ash on her lips as she lay on the cold, wet floor. But most of all she will remember the desperate pleading as the flames engulfed them, the pleas and the promises and the begging. There would never come a day in which she did not recall how her sisters met their end at the cruel hands of men. 

She is pulled from her thoughts as she realizes she is just sitting there, clutching Yennefer’s hands in hers. Her gaze turns up to meet that of the other mage, her expression unreadable. “ For you, Yennefer, I would walk through fire. “ And it is true, there is very little Ophelia would not do for those she loved, and she loved Yennefer more than she’d ever loved another person she thinks, but she couldn’t be sure.