( anyways it’s OVERHAUL TIME revamping this trash heap blog )
im literally not exaggerating when i tell you guys this video saved my life
( MY LAST 3 BRAIN CELLS ALL 2K19 )
“No one wants rain,” said Cersei. For herself, she wanted sleet and ice, howling winds, thunder to shake the very stones of the Red Keep. She wanted a storm to match her rage.
— George R.R. Martin, A Feast for Crows
🐇;; WELP I was gon get to drafts n stuff but guess who drank 2 much red wine wit dinner !!!!! SO like this for a one liner cuz I wanna rp but im 2 gone to do in depth stuff thank
Asked by notyouraveragesecretary 
❣️ cuddling with pappi of course
( && @notyouraveragesecretary wants Fluffy Friday cuddles )
* — the sea sings a lullaby all its own, once the only thing to soothe him in such a way. Now the only key to his comfort lies with her, this wonderous woman, his wife, his queen, the very keeper of his heart.
It’s just the two of them, without cumbersome armor or peeping guards, sprawled and tangled together at the edge of the sea. His fingers lazily trace over her curves and contours, and she, nuzzled close, brings him peace just by her very presence. Its a peace he appreciates more than he can say, one he desires desperately, knowing that outside the boundaries of their land awaits the turmoil of an unfinished war, a war they started and that he must face again, soon.
A sigh, from deep within, as he tries and fails not to think of such things. He looks at her, radiant in the setting sun, the diamonds she’s adorned with blazing in the dying light, making her seem ethereal, like something from a dream. He moves closer, close enough to feel her soft breath at his cheek as he nuzzles in, a display of affection he normally wouldn’t risk outside the safety of their castle, but just now he cares not for pretense or stoic old ways.
He tells her he loves her without words, his preferred method being kisses everywhere he can get to, and to hold her so close he can feel her heartbeat against his skin, so close it could be his own should his heart ever beat again.
Does she realize what she has done? That she has claimed this beast in man’s form, that he is utterly, unendingly her own? That he would die for her?
Of course she does. He has no doubt of it.
Fluffy Friday!
Send one for my muse from yours!
💕 a hug
💋 a kiss
👄 a non-physical compliment (sender specifies)
👋 playing with their hair
❣️ cuddling
🎁 giving a gift
🐶 adopt a pet with my muse
🥘 cook with my muse
⭐️ stargazing
☔️ dancing in the rain
@ohwonderlands
The words are on her lips, reading to spill the secrets of where she’s kept the tomes, hidden away in a wall slot that she had David make for them behind her closet. Only she and him can open it, and only they know where it is. It sits heavy in her mouth, and just as she goes to open her lips and tell him right as there’s a clamor in the hall.
Anthea makes no move to hide behind Hatter, not even as the sounds of bodies and grunt and clamors hit the edges of the hallways, bounce through the room towards her. Leave it to Hatter to have not locked the door, now they’ll come for her with ease, and it’ll take a simple bullet to the head to end the only thing standing between her and the doorway.But it’s not the doorway that they should be worried about and from the shadows of the bed she hears a voice she does not know, attached to a shape that is foreign, stepping forth and revealing himself to her. She recognizes him almost instantly-the shadow man whose eyes are piercing, sitting on a neon couch, watching, waiting. Her own gaze never falters from his, not even as Hatter confirms exactly who he is, and all the pieces fall into place.
Well, leave it to one of David’s sons to master his uniquely dramatic entrances, right? Still, he is much larger than she imagined him to be, and though he looks a little like Hatter he looks alot like David (or rather, what she would imagine a young david to have looked like) and the way he tries to pierce her with his gaze is nothing she is unfamiliar with. How could one forget that piercing look, unwavering, voyueristic? How could she forget the judgement that lay in them the first time she saw them? More over how could she not put the dots together and see that that man was the other son.
How could she look away now, when he’s begging her for this staring match?
Finally she feels him break the gaze, only to make his way over to his father. Those eyes inspect every inch of the wounds the man has suffered, picking up the cloth that Hatter had laid down where she’d clawed the body. He mutters something to the man, and from there proceeds to pick away at Hatter, whose nervous were, very obviously, getting the better of him.
And suddenly she sees them there, young together, trying to fix something obviously unfixable and neither want to admit it. The brow on the older sibling is furrowed, and there is Hatter -davey- with worry written across his face. They are just naive children then, oblivious to the ways of the world, the wooden arms of their favorite toy splintered in two.
Except it’s no wooden solider. It is their father, and he is lifeless, still, and cold on their bed.
Liam turns to her, and stares with that unwavering gaze. He tells her what she had truly felt she knew all along-and then something she’s truly horrified by.
“Absolutely not,” she fires back, quickly, stepping between the son and the father in her bedroom. “You will do no such thing. Tell me where he is, Elijah. Tell me how to fix him.”
( && @notyouraveragesecretary )
* — get ahold of himself, yeah sure. Hatter doesn’t care to listen anymore. He goes to the fireplace on the other side of the room and sits down on the hearth, takes his hat off and sets it down next to him. Scrubs at his face but can’t help the hiccups that’ve started, a result of his attempt to force himself to stop his blubbering.
He hates crying, hates that he cries when he’s scared, like a little boy. He’s not a little boy, he hasn’t been for a hundred years or so, but this is by far the scariest thing he’s endured since- well, since ever. Seeing his father near dead was one thing, but his brother showing up and killing off guards- traitors, how much have they seen? How much have they told the Queen of Hearts? There’s no way to tell. He’s a fugitive, or might as well be. His tea house probably isn’t safe any more, or his house- well, houses. Any of them. Even his favorite penthouse suite- shit. The more he thinks the tighter his throat gets.
His whole world is crumbling piece by piece and what can he do about it? He fishes his phone from his pocket, thinking of sending a text to Duchess, or even March, but he won’t. It’s too risky just now. But he’ll need to check in eventually, figures he’s got a good day or so before they get suspicious or declare him a traitor to the Court. His tea house can’t run itself, can it. What if he’s not been declared a fugitive and they’re expecting him to act as he normally woud? What’ll Dormie do when the shipment gets there and he’s not there to oversee it? It would give him away if he were to miss a shipment, he’s never missed a shipment. Besides, there’s a ball coming up, and he’ll be expected… not likely Liam is going to let him out of his sight any time soon, though…
Through his garbled thoughts he hears her protest against Liam’s order ( because it certainly wasn’t a request ), and the steely silence that follows. Hatter doesn’t care to look up, still staring at his blank phone screen, hoping someone will call or text just to distract him from this, his new reality that he really isn’t ready or willing to face. He could make a run for it, he thinks, and he just might try- he’s got his lambo parked out back, the keys in his coat pocket. Or there’s the multitude of mirrors in this place, he could just as easily hop realms and never come back.
Deep down he knows neither is really an option, but thinking about it has calmed him down enough to breathe normal, enough for his heart to tick back into it’s regular pace, enough for his hiccups to go away.
True-blues peer up in time to see Liam pull a face, a mirror to one he’s seen his father make how many thousands of times before? He’s growing impatient.
“ — Elijah is hidden away in the Queen of Hearts’ castle, likely undergoing some sort of brainwashing, the Queen’s specialty. There’s no way we’re gettin’ in there without a plan. And there’s nothing we can do to fix him,” he mocks, pointing to his father as if to make it more clear.
“ — he needs magick for this, more than any of us three have, even with the relics. The only way to solve this, to get him back is to put him in the ground and get to work on a plan to rescue Elijah. I’ve got resources for that, an’ you may even get a chance for some revenge on the Queen if you cooperate.” He’s snarling now, in both tone and expression, they don’t have time for this, doesn’t she get it?
“ — it’s not like we’ll be putting him in a grave, woman. You humans and your symbolism. Burying him is not the equivalent of throwing him in a hole, saying a few nice words over it and letting him rot for the rest of eternity. This is Wonderland, it doesn’t work that way here. Especially not for him. The garden is more than just a bunch of flowers and trees, they’re a part of him. They’re the best chance we’ve got of keeping his body intact for when he wakes up. Because he will wake up, whether it’s by his choice or the Queen of Hearts gets her way and takes control of him. The fact that Elijah’s alive makes it obvious that’s what she wants. Either way father will need a body if you’re ever to have a chance of fixing him. So you can help me get him in the dirt or we put him in the dungeon with his other pets and hope he wakes up before they decide to eat him.”
Hatter laughs out loud at this last, scoops his hat up and stands, gesturing toward his brother.
“ — she’s likely to stab you jus’ for sayin’ tha’, Li. Don’t say stuff like tha’, it’ll only make things worse.” Liam doesn’t look at him, not that Hatter is expecting him to. Not when he and the raging Diamond Queen are having such a stare-down. It’s like two stray cats in an alley, fighting over dominance that belongs to neither one of them. Hatter clears his throat, flips his hat up where it belongs, stuffs his hands in his pockets- pretends he hadn’t just been crying at all.
Might as well have never happened. At least, he’s going to act like it hadn’t.
“ — where are the relics, then? We need'a make sure one’a your traitorous guardsmen ain’t stole ‘em or anythin’.”
Maybe it’s hearing his older brother, sounding so much like their father it’s enough to pretend. Or maybe he’s disassociating. Probably more so the latter than the former. He raises his brows at the both of them, expectant of an answer.
( && @notyouraveragesecretary and the donut fiasco )
* — in all honesty, if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t know what a fried food is, let alone a fried sweet. The term is still somewhat foreign to him, the concept even more so, but if it’s something she enjoys could it possibly be all that bad?
He glances down at Elijah, who up until this point has been asleep at his feet, his massive true form curled halfway under the table with his tail wrapped around one of his ankles. Now, the great cat is sat directly upright, staring at him with a look as if to say try one. Now.
Amber hues turn back to his most treasured jewel and he sets down his silverware, hands clasping, patience incarnate.
“ — alright then. Show me. You do know how to prepare this donut, I assume? Or is it something we must fetch from your realm?”
