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🌼 MORTICIA‌

OF COURSE, IT WAS NOT A GOOD IDEA. Not even in the slightest and yet, there was no one else she’d rather summon than the very man who had helped bring their existence to fruition. He helped create them and they ate him; continuing to do so even after it had been brought to their attention. His power becoming their strength, living on within their being like a prosperous endeavor never fully digested. She takes hold of her sisters hand, gripping onto it tightly before bringing knuckles to lips. Should the other resent such obligations, Morticia would cease in advancement. Naturally, she will not go against her sisters wishes, but something inside says that Ophelia is just as curious as she. How could she not be? They have both been fascinated on the subject since they were children, it seemed only natural they should find out the truth for themselves.  ❝ No, but has that ever stopped us before? ❞ Honestly speaking, this wasn’t the worst they’ve conjured in the past, especially in their youth. ❝ Tell me you don’t want to, sister—— and we won’t. ❞ 

Their eyes meet in that moment, locked together like a passionate embrace. She would not be able to manage without Ophelia’s assistance; by blood, they would be each other’s strongest support. ❝ Or we can find out together. ❞

For a brief second, there is an inner conflict. Their own father, what would seeing be like? Of everything they have done so far, bringing their father back to life seemed so much bigger. If she were to do it alone, Ophelia might have said no right away, not even thinking about it. It is one thing she thinks she will never be able to do on her own, not when her mind had already made up a story for itself.

When their eyes meet, Ophelia can feel the intensity of it. Of what it does to her. There’s no more fear in her soul, no hesitation. They are both curious, haven’t they always been? Smile appearing upon plain lips, the blonde just knows her sister is aware of her answer. It would shock her most if it wasn’t the case.

                    ❝ We will find out together. ❞

Words so determined, so strong, there is a wave of excitement that comes with it. The excitement of sharing such an important act with her sister, the one person she loves more than anything.  ❝ You and me, as it should always be. When do we begin? ❞

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🌼 GOMEZ‌

The manner in which Ophelia spoke of her flowers was undeniably disturbing. It was as if she could sense something about them that he could never possibly comprehend. To him, they were nothing more than eyesores that were to be stamped out whenever he laid eyes on them.

Still, the effort to connect with her still remained and so he leans forward for a closer look. “If you like them so much, why do you pull off their petals?” Her previous words repeat in his head. They were hard to kill, were they? Surely such a delicate-looking thing wasn’t that strong…

It was truly a marvel to see how this woman behaved compared to her sister. One would think that two complete opposites could never be siblings. Of course, one might say the exact same about him and his older brother. However, they did have quite a few things in common. Ophelia and Morticia seemed so different.

The mention of experiments immediately captures his attention. Now, there was something he could discuss in detail! Eyes once again raising to study the ones in her hair. “Those are the outcome of one of your experiments?” He could only assume that was the case. Viewing such a sight only brings more questions, but she asks one of her own before he has the chance.

Brows come together in confusion. The very idea that someone would talk to flowers. It was unheard of! “No, I’ve never spoken to one.” What would he even say to a plant? For a moment, he falls silent as he mulls this over. Then realization hits. “Ah! Wait, yes, I have spoken to a plant. To Morticia’s. To Cleopatra.” But that was because the plant had her own personality and moved without anyone’s assistance. The daisies Ophelia held weren’t like that, so why would he ever strike up a conversation with one?

“Why? Do they tell you things?” Suddenly feeling like he might be missing out on something, Gomez spots one that had slipped from her grasp and plucks it up. The scent causes his face to draw back, lips set in a thin line. How Ophelia could surround herself with such a sweet aroma was a mystery. Thumb and index press against the stem, perhaps applying a bit more pressure than what was necessary. He couldn’t recall the last time he had held a flower.

“Can you truly hear them?” The idea that flowers might somehow have the ability doesn’t strike him as odd. Just because he had never experienced such a thing didn’t mean that it wasn’t possible. They lived in a strange world and had to approach life with an open mind.

The one constant in her life --- aside from Morticia --- flowers never failed to humor her, keep her somewhat sane. If sane was even a word that could be used to describe Ophelia in any way. At least her sister would never tell her she wasn’t that one thing which connected them on a whole new level.

Gaze shifting towards the delicate flowers in her arms, she couldn’t help but frown faintly. Why did she pull off their petals? A thing she never wondered herself, never thought about at all. But wasn’t it oh so obvious?  ❝ They were too loud. ❞  Simple as that. Others would grow, take their place instead. No need to mourn their absence. Hopefully they would be growing fast, Ophelia had become rather impatient when it came to their growth.

Words pull her out of her thoughts, gaze shifting once more to look at Gomez once more.  ❝ Indeed they are. And aren’t they just lovely? I admit, mother wasn’t too pleased to see them but she had to get used to it. ❞  Part of the joy had come from their mother’s displeasure about the misfortune of her experience, though she had never told her so. Sometimes she wondered if maybe the woman had known anyway, or maybe Morticia had hinted such a thing to her. No, not her sister.

❝ Ah Cleopatra, yes. Lovely sprig, though we had to keep her away from my poor flowers. Morticia’s carnivores thought mine to be rather delicious. They never survived for long around them. ❞  So many times she had cried, mourned their death. Of course her sister hated to see her in such a state --- annoyance? empathy? Ophelia had rarely been able to tell. And as much as she disliked her delicate flowers, Morticia had always helped her recreate them. Wasn’t she just the purest soul?

Bouquet set aside, attention purely paid to Gomez, Ophelia was all too keen on telling him everything about the daisies on her head.  ❝ Some people talk to themselves, nasty trait, but I guess every now and then you need a competent opinion. I, on the other hand, talk to my daisies. They tell me the most peculiar things. You would be amazed by how amusing they are! In fact, they tell me quite some interesting things. Such as their opinion of you. ❞  Amused smile on her lips, she shifts a little closer, if only to prepare for her offer.  ❝ My daisies, they are deeply rooted. Pull on one of them, you’ll see. Or … you’ll just pull it out. I’m afraid not all of them have truly taken roots yet. ❞

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i love one ( 1 ) flower child called OPHELIA

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                          Sister, breach in! take my hand and follow my name                       Sister, take me! hold my hand and guide me through death

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me: should I post a starter call??? me: probably shouldn’t, bc I’m a mess me: let’s have starter call (which requires plotting first)

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🌼 MORTICIA

SOMETHING SHE’S ALWAYS ADMIRED ABOUT HER SISTER, was her constant optimism. One might assume it to be the opposite of Morticia’s own thinking, but her way of thought only seemed contradicting by how she expressed them. Ophelia lived in a world of brightly colored stars in a flourishing field surrounded by daisies and an assortment of flowers. Whereas Morticia, preferred the shadows, where even the negative upheld the positive, embracing that natural sense of melancholy as if it were equal to contentment. She cringes at the word happiness, though she understands Ophelia’s meaning and associates it as a bizarre form of logic. It doesn’t occur to her that she is the one who views the world in a different way than most; only that everyone else was locked in their individual peculiarities. Still, she appreciated her sister’s words and manages a small form of a smile as she squeezes the other woman’s hand. Of course, she recognized Ophelia’s distaste in the idea of being forced to marry and in a way, this new arrangement was just as much a relief to her as it was for Gomez and Morticia. But there was still that inkling of guilt which plagued at the back of her mind regardless. Although it pleases her to know that her relationship with her sister had not been compromised, it hadn’t been her intention to upset the poor dear. Seeing such a strong reaction, it honestly only broadened her smirk as she leans forward with the hand that had once been clasped upon Ophelia’s own now finding placement alongside her sister’s cheek. 

❝ You are the most unselfish being, ma sœur. I know how much you long to marry and find your true love, I only had to be certain you didn’t think me of taking that away from you. But you’re right, it was absurd of me to speculate. ❞ Her hand draws away then, returning to her lap as her spine straightens itself to a more poised position. ❝ I think many things of you, Ophelia. Selfish, is not one of them. Whimsical and frivolous perhaps, but never selfish. ❞ With fingers still holding onto sister’s own, her thumb provides a gentle caress while keeping it near. ❝ You will be my maid of honor then, won’t you? ❞

Just as soon as the anger --- the disappointment --- hit her did it disappear again. The blonde Frump might have desired love and marriage but most certainly not in the form of Gomez Addams. Forced to marry a man she hardly knew was far from the dream she had been chasing ever since she had been a child. Morticia had been nothing but a welcome rescue. An escape.    ❝  I will find it, eventually. But not with Gomez Addams. That, beloved sister, is a man for you far more than for me.  ❞    Faintest of smiles on her lips, Ophelia couldn’t deny the dreadful feeling in her chest --- the longing --- although she could hide it much better.

It was what he had always done, caring for her sister while ignoring her own feelings. Was it not what a big sister was supposed to do? Making sure she was alright, happy --- in her very own definition of the word --- Ophelia would not once complain. For her sister was the most precious thing in her life, her blood, the most loyal friend she had known.

          Despite feeling like she was the younger sibling, Ophelia had never once ceased to take care of her sister.

Delightful laughter leaving her lips, nothing more than a brief, light sound, Ophelia clasped her hands together right over her heart, one of Morticia’s tightly trapped in between.    ❝  I would be delighted to be your maid of honor. To witness such a fortunate day right by your side, what a bliss! Oh! I shall create the perfect bouquet of flowers for you.  ❞    The daisies in her head flourished so wonderfully at the ideas that filled her peculiar mind.    ❝  Dreadful, just perfect for a dark bride as yourself, Morticia.  ❞

Painful was the thought of creating the most suitable bouquet but Ophelia knew more than well what Morticia liked, preferred, and would make sure she would get it.    ❝  My dear sister, A BRIDE!  ❞

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WHILE OPHELIA NEVER HAD BEEN A FAN ON HALLOWEEN AT ALL, one year, she changed her mind about it. One particular year, the daisy-headed Frump decided she wanted to celebrate Halloween again. All that was needed was the right costume. Something beautiful, yet the complete opposite of her. No need to say she was quite ashamed to admit it took her three days to think of just the right costume.

                                                  MORTICIA.

The most delightful, horrible idea had been right in front of her and she had taken so long to realize it. With shaking hands, from the excitement more than anything else, Ophelia basically pleaded her sister for help as soon as she caught her looking for a dress she could borrow. Morticia kindly picked out one of her favorite dresses for Ophelia, something the older sister was very grateful for as she hadn’t been able to choose one for herself. A wig had been found quite easily, something her beloved daisies hated --- they refused to talk to her for three whole days afterwards --- and the only thing missing had been the fitting make-up and the poor dead roses.

While managing the make-up on her own, the blonde had been entirely grateful --- though still PAINED by the thought --- Morticia offered to help her with that as well. She might have loved to look at the roses, their beautiful petals, carrying around the stems and thorns only was yet a thought she couldn’t quite wrap her head around. However, with Morticia’s help, the costume was quickly finished, quite beautifully too. Just bearable enough for one single night.

It definitely wasn’t a look she would consider wearing again, not without a very good reason at least, and yet it had been her FAVORITE costume. Ophelia still keeps a picture of herself and Morticia looking strangely alike among her belongings, looking at it again every once in a while.

a headcanon discussed with the one and only @mortiiicia

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                                        ophelia with pusgley and wednesday

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if you don’t like ophelia frump, chances are i probably don’t like you.

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My dear sister Ophelia. She just loves her daisies.

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Ophelia Frump in The Addams Family (1991)

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when u and ur sister are both the weird sibling

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🌼  MORTICIA

THE ANSWERS WOULD SEEM OBVIOUS, of course. One could only imagine the outcome of resurrection and what it might feel like for the spirit being torn between worlds; from living to dead; dead to the living. Was it painful… torturous, euphoric? Perhaps, all three. It would highly depend on the individual, she suspects, but there was no authentic way of knowing save for the opportunity of asking those who had been subjected to such an experience. It is a question she has longed to receive answers and it’s clear that her sister feels the same. How convenient.  Granted, it is a risk. Forbidden in fact, to dive within the realms of such curiosities and yet, they were still young — naive — filled with a want for knowledge of dark depravities that overpowered them. Morticia especially, could not refuse such desires. It was only accommodating that Ophelia should share in her wonders of the unknown. Something, finally, that connected them aside from blood alone. 

                             ❝ Our father. ❞

Few things brought out such desperation in her, such a greed. It was unlike her and yet it was undeniably in her nature. Young and naive as she was, she trusted her sister blindly as she said waking the death was their best option. Their only option. Oh how ready she was to take the risk, albeit she needed Morticia to guide her. Out of the two of them, she truly was the expert and while Ophelia couldn’t deny the admiration she felt toward her, she wouldn’t want it for herself.

Smile freezes on her lips, slowly fading as the younger sibling suggested their subject.    Our father. Our father. Our father.    For years she hadn’t spent a single moment thinking about that man, a story of her own already made up in which there was no place for a second chance to see him. Or rather a proper first chance. Unsure, yet so tempted, the blonde remained silent for a moment, thinking, pondering.    ❝  Our father ...  ❞    Words burned her tongue, feeling out of placed like a strange concept she doesn’t understand.  

                    ❝  Do you think it is a good idea?  ❞

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@mortiiicia » cont. from here.

Talking to dead people — undead people? resurrected people? — didn’t sound appealing at all. Would she want to hear of painful experiences, or so she believed it to be. Painful above everything else. Forced to come alive again, Ophelia knew it sounded just as appealing to Morticia as it sounded grim to her. Bound by blood and yet so different. And yet, as opposed as she was to the idea of being resurrected, Ophelia desperately longed for answers. Answers her sister couldn’t give her, which needed to be given by someone who had experienced it before.

Head titled, blue eyes watching her sister for another moment, she gave a small nod in reply as fingers not all too gently played with the ends of her long, blonde hair. ❝ If it truly is the only way for me to get answers, we shall. Although, upon second glance, I could imagine the answer is rather obvious. ❞ If only the curiosity wasn’t stronger than her better judgement.

          ❝ Who are we going to ask then? ❞

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Marriage had always been a concept that fascinated her. As a child, she thought the idea of loving someone so much that it could literally kill you to be apart from them sounded divine to her, and maybe it was one of the very few opinions she could share with her sister. But the older the blonde grew, the more desperate she became to find just that. Undying love. How devastated she had been to find out she was supposed to marry Gomez Addams. A man who was as different to her as Morticia was. She could never find the love she sought with him. Oh but her dearest sister could. They were a match made in hell, even Ophelia had to admit it.

Blinking a few times, allowing Morticia to guide her to the couch to sit down next to her, the older sister titled her head in surprise. Rarely did her sister speak in such a manner and the blonde knew this was serious. ❝ What I deserve and what I find are two different things. My happiness is far away from Gomez, we both know that. Your happiness is far more important in this current situation, dearest sister. My D’Artagnan is still waiting for me, ❞ she declared.

Frowning, something rarely seen with the older Frump sister, she shook her head, one hand pulling back from the other’s grasp. Angry with Morticia, such an absurd thought! What reason would she have to be angry? She had done nothing to betray her. Picking a daisy from her head, one that loosely had rested inbetween the blonde locks, she twirled it between her fingers. ❝ But Morticia! Why would I be angry? Because my beloved sister will be a married woman before me? Do you think me to be so selfish? So jealous, that I wouldn’t be delighted to find my sister truly happy? ❞

The mere thought stabbed into her heart like a knife, twisting, cutting deeper, leaving a scar. Hand clutching the daisy, crushing it in her grasp, Ophelia couldn’t believe her sister would think such a thing. ❝ Is it true? Do you believe me to be selfish? ❞

@daisiied | cont. from (x).

THE WAY SHE FELT AROUND GOMEZ ADDAMS, held many titles. Miserable, to her, was an endearing term that most couldn’t quite comprehend. But Ophelia understood, like a secret language between the two that rendered outside peers perplexed. A smirk is slowly curled across crimson stained lips, eyes watching as the petals from Ophelia’s bouquet slowly wilted to the floor around her feet. As children, Morticia was always capable of locating her sister’s whereabouts simply by following the trail of rotting flowers and scattered weeds. ❝ Oh, yes. ❞ The very thought of him forces her insides to curl in the most unpleasant way, her head suddenly feeling flushed with heat, dizzy. Such an extraordinary man, to make her feel so nauseated. How she relished in it— in him.

Looking to her sister, Morticia takes a seat on the nearby couch and beckons with both hands for the other to join her. Hands grasping tightly to Ophelia’s own, she pulls her gently forth in that silent request. ❝ And what of you and your happiness? You who deserves such… elation, far more so than I. ❞ She tries to speak in a manner more suited to her sister’s definitions. If it hadn’t been for Ophelia’s understanding and acceptance, her own union to Gomez would not have prospered as easily as it did.

Although it was clear that the eldest did not share in the youngest’s affections towards her original betrothed, marriage had always been a keen factor to which she desperately desired. But even Morticia knew that her sister deserved to find love just as strongly as she herself has now found. Regardless of their differences, she has always held Ophelia in high regard; her closest friend. Keeping hold of her sister’s hand, she pays no mind to the discarded bouquet of stems, never having much fondness for them even in their most tattered state. 

               ❝ Are you angry with me? ❞

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                                   • Ophelia & Morticia Frump Aesthetic Moonboard •                                                                          ☯

                                             YOU SEE ALL MY LIGHT                                                  YOU ACCEPT ALL MY DARK

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A single flower mingled with thornes, the only place acceptable had seemed to be the conservatory. With her sister in the Addams’ company, her mother occupied with some preparations she hadn’t exactly cared to listen to, Ophelia had been left to freely wander around. But in such a darkened house the only place she felt comfortable in seemed to be the conservatory. And yet, its appearance would have pleased Morticia far more, she was sure.

Another visit for the weekend, and while she have preferred to spend these outside she knew better than to stay away from the family throughout their visit. And the blonde knew it was important to Morticia. Initial thoughts about the Addams’ brothers long forgotten, it was easy to stay around. Furthermore, she had her flowers.

Petals falling to the floor like the rain outside, she watches the raindrops as the daisies stay well placed in her lap. How easy it had been to miss the approaching footsteps! Gaze shifting, eyes wide, she wacthes as her future brother-in-law approaches her. Delicate fingers ripping off some more petals like it is second nature to her, Ophelia remains silent for a moment, offering a small smile as he tells her about their neighbor’s daisies. How lovely they must be, certainly worth a look. Maybe she could pick some on their way home, what a splendid idea!

Picking one of the flowers, unscathed and still bright in color, it is neatly placed on top of her head, just among the other daisies that had already taken roots.     ❝  So innocent, oh but they aren’t. They are hard to kill, sprouting again and again. You can never get rid of them completely.  ❞    Pleased smile on her lips, blue eyes follow him as he sits down next to her. Fingers don’t stop but her focus lies on him, surprised but delighted about his interest in her flowers. Maybe not so miserable after all, she thinks.

❝  I care for them, grow them. I experiment with them.  ❞    Oh and the daisy-headed woman had gotten much better. What had started with a failed experiment ( though she never thought of it that way ) had become second nature to her. What she was lacking in common spells and potions she compensated for when it came to her experiments with flowers.    ❝  I talk to them, too. How strong they grow with good care. Have you tried talking to those plants before?  ❞

Curiosity sparking up in her eyes, her fingers stop moving, no more petals falling to the floor. How easy it was to pique her interest.

@daisiied

…Get to know each other.

What a grand suggestion from his dear old bat of a mother! No, he wasn’t being sarcastic. Not completely, anyway. Deep down, he knew that it was a reasonable piece of advice. If the two families were to come together, then this would be an ideal starting point.

With Morticia spending time with her future brother-in-law in the lab, Gomez searches the lower hallways for the blonde Frump sister. That initial encounter between them had been tainted with the pressure of an arranged marriage that neither had wanted. It had most definitely affected their first impression of one another, but he was ready to put in the effort this time around. Perhaps they could find common ground and forge a bond of sorts.

It isn’t too difficult to find her — one simply had to follow the trail of petals — and so he allows his mouth to form a smile before he approaches. The woman, perched upon a seat in the conservatory, seemed blissfully at peace with her flowers. Such a display is bizarre to him and yet he bites his tongue and keeps that opinion to himself. At least for now.

“Daisies, yes?” He may despise flowers of every kind, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know the various types. “There’s some growing down the road. Near our neighbor’s house.” Judge Womack lived across the way and his garden was a nightmare. Vivid flowerbeds and fruit trees galore! The thought alone could make a man weep! “We tried to get rid of them one time, but they keep springing back up.” Fortunately, it wasn’t on their land and Gomez hoped to keep it that way. Of course, it was near impossible for flowers to bloom on their estate for a number of reasons; the lack of sunlight being one of them…

“What are you doing with them?” He settles into the space beside her, his gaze wary as he examines the creation held delicately between slender fingers. Since meeting Ophelia, he couldn’t recall seeing her without flowers in her grasp. It was as if they were an extended part of her body. Like the ones in her hair, the plant-life seemed to have some sort of hold over her very existence.

Honestly, it was rather intriguing…