#Alice Tea Party Set

[welcome-to-alice-in-helll]

[ch3rryclouds]

tea party time!

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

[penguinofspades]

Happy "Today's the day Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There happened" day everybody.

What's your favorite chapter of Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There? Mine's probably Wool and Water.

[craftyjuju]

Nearly done....just need some bows

[endomentendo]

Hello! Goodbye! And welcome to-

From the popular indie show “the amazing digital circus” crossing with the classics from Lewis Carroll “Alice Adventures in Wonderland”

Pomni after chasing a white clown, falls into an old computer that transports her into a digital realm of wacky nonsense and comedic irony. Meeting characters of all sorts, always finding herself in a new situation that’ll leave her second guessing if up is left and right is backwards.

Cast lineup & character bios

(Main cast only ‘for now’)

Come join Wonderland! (Bio card template)

Questions and boundaries

1.Can I ship any characters?: Boyo, go crazy! As long you’re safe and respectful, then set sail.

2. Are any of the characters (besides Pomni) human?: All the characters are ai, even the main cast from the series. But headcannon away cause if it keeps you guessing, then it’s alright.

3. Can I make nsfw art?: YES! Please send them to me by @ me. Please be careful and respectful and don’t go too far in the phalic side. Stay safe ;3

4. May I make fanart/fics/collabs/animations/ect?: I think you can answer that :D

5. Why is a raven like a writing desk?: I haven’t the slightest idea!

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Comics: in a episodic order

Through the looking screen

She forgot how food works

The garden of gloinks

Taking advice from a Mix-a-pillar

Taking directions from a rabbit pt1. Pt2.

Mustard?

Comedy and tragedy

NOTHING? WHATEVER?

Bound in madness Tim burton

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Doodles

the first digital wonderland content

Kinger as the dodo and Pomni

Can you stand on your head?

zooble and kaufmo doodle

Spark of inspiration for gangle

sun and moon doodledum

of stones and stars!

does C&A mean Gay?

poster in progress say hi to Dave for me ;3

oysters in progress?

The red head got people red ;D

The red means they’re in love

Crossover? In wonderland?

SHE DID WHAT?!

Queenie and Kinger’s old designs

The rabbit has stolen a bow tie

A book page bio

old bio design

older bio design

Showtime

Pomni borger

Loolilau as the duchess

Zombni and Wonderland Pomni are besties @etanow

Abstract Bandersnatch?

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Paintings

Fallen down the Digital rabbit hole

Official poster: outdated

We’ll meet in the palace of dreams

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EXPLORE WONDERLAND!

-The mad Tea Party

[nxtaliaistyping]

More Two-Face p links pretty please? Thank you in advance!

Batrogues | p links part three

(gotta be logged into twitter for links to work)

nsfw 18+, part one here and part two here

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

Two-Face:

He hires you to be his secretary

Makes you strip in his office and has you like this (but of course you have to keep the stockings on)

Fucking you in his car because he was too desperate to wait until you were inside

Punishments are needed, and he loves your little whimpers

How he treats you on those soft evenings, where he just wants to feel you in his arms

Loves a girl with a soft/pink/girly aesthetic, even if he does feel a little bit like a perv

The Scarecrow:

He’s a sadistic man, he loves the slight shock and fear in your eyes after a slap

Suprisingly into roleplay, and the scarecrow captures innocent girl in the woods is an appealing concept for him

He loves skirts on you, especially when he’s had a shitty day

Loves putting your legs over your head, thinks it makes his pet look even sluttier

How you get when you watch a horror movie together and you get scared <3

Being over his lap just feels so natural, doesn’t it?

The Riddler:

Buys you silk pajamas to wear such as these (he obviously has his own set in dark green)

I’m telling you, he loves thicker girls

Prides himself on his good he is with his hands

Why are you watching that infernal device when you could be paying attention to him? Hm?

Makes you do this on the floor at his feet to prove you’re worthy enough/needy enough for his cock

What he does to you after that

Black Mask:

Needs you to be ready wherever you both are

How he fucks when he takes you in one of his supply factories

This just screams him vibes

Mouthing off to him at a party means he just takes you to the bathroom

Sometimes he just wants you to shut up

If his hands won’t work maybe your panties will

The Mad Hatter:

He does so hate when his Alice disobeys him

See how nice it is when you drink his tea and do what he asks?

Your taste is addictive

Loves loves loves to kiss you, to taste the honey from his tea he’d made you drink

If you’re good, he’ll give you this as a treat, so you can always feel how much love he has for you

This seems like something he’d be into

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Let's go enjoy the sun and 55!

Hopefully I'm doing this correctly eksoqheb-

Let's go enjoy the sun!

Haru might have convinced you to help out for their fundraiser so let's see who are the three people who come to spend the evening in Jabberwock

Wc: ~1,8k

“Is everything ready?” Haru asks from the door of Jabberwock while he carries out a very homemade stand under his arm before setting it down. It's the equivalent to a child's lemonade stand but rather it read ‘jabberwock fundraiser’ in big black letters

“Are you honestly doing this?”

“We are really in need of money, ren!” He pouts before saying something to Towa who was humming in agreement.

“Why are you even here? You aren't even part of Jabberwock” Ren looks up from his raid to side eye you.

“Haru looked pretty depressed while he vented so I decided to help”

“Are you stupid or spineless?” a sigh leaves his lips and he doesn't wait for an answer before focusing again on his phone.

“Stop bothering them, Ren! At least I heard what you said so now you only have to wait on visitors and charge them”

“And you forced me to not take shifts to do what I do for my job?” 

Ignoring him Haru pulls a marker and writes down the prices.

500 yen for 30 minute foraging group tour with Towa

800 yen for 30 minute capybus ride with Haru

But when you reach your price for essentially frolicking around the hills and sunbathing your breath scapes your lungs

“So expensive”

“Don't undersell yourself!” Haru chimes and towa hums “I'm sure you will get us more earnings than you think!”

“That is like 2500 diamonds in Shock of clans” Ren comments, and it makes you remember when he spent 30 minutes thinking if buying diamonds was smart. Next he throws a sly smirk  “seems like someone else can take care of the cashier for me”

“Then you can go feed the salamanders! Such good thinking Ren!” Haru chimes.

“Forget it, I just remembered they weren't good at math"

“Hello, senpai” Sho smiles as he hands the money to Ren, who was still bitching about now having to pay proper attention to his job and not the game.

“oh? I didn't expect you to come by, Sho!” quickly you walk around the stand and hug him. Seeing he paid, you link both of your arms and start leading where Haru told you was your ‘station’.  

“and leave you with whatever pervert might come? After you helped around the truck some weirdos came asking when you would be there again” 

“Mhm, so you decided to be the weirdo?” You two walk down a path between some overgrown red cap mushrooms that were as tall as trees, this would be such a good place to record an Alice in wonderland movie.

“Here I come trying to save you from perverts and this is how I get treated?” Sho feigns being hurt, his hand slapping his chest “so what were you supposed to do?”

You throw yourself on the red blanket laying down on the floor before smiling knowing he would crack up “ I'm hosting a flower themed tea party” and your hand signals to the glass teapot with lotus designs and the matching lotus shaped teacups that hotarubi lent “and if you want I can make you a flower crown” without missing a beat he laughs “to be fair, I thought I would lead a tour or play cashier” 

“And they ended up having you serve tea?” You nod “and you didn't complain?” you nod again “well, are you going to pour me or what?” He sits down next to you, soon drinking the jasmine tea.

For the hour that he booked you two mostly chatted about how he was doing, how he was getting closer to Subaru, and how his food truck was going. It was so nice to be able to chat with Sho without Leo interrupting or him dividing his attention between cooking and receiving clients but every few minutes his phone would start buzzing making him frown until he checks who is sending the texts.

“Oi, smile” Sho raises the telephone and takes a photo of you making him a flower crown with some dandelions and wild flowers.

“keeping a photo for the memory? I would have fixed my hair if you were gonna to photograph me” 

“Leo is texting me nonstop, maybe this will stop him a bit” he puts down the phone and grabs one of the cookies that were on the plate, they are the typical chocolate chip cookies from the kiosk but that are a worthy accompaniment.

Not even a few minutes later Leo uploads a post on wickchat and Sho gets a notification, from his scowl you can guess he isn't happy. In his screen there is a story with a snarky comment mocking his friend and soon the comments flooded with people sympathizing with him.

damn, my friend bailed out of a hang out to go out with his crush who doesn't even like him

“That asshole” the comment and the cluck of his tongue slip without thinking, soon getting your attention from the almost finished craft.

“Is it that bad?” Curious, you take your own phone from your cardigan but before even being able to type Leo's user in the search bar Sho throws himself at you, arm quickly swatting away the phone. Effectively ensuring you didn't see the post but making him lose balance and fall over just in time for Ritsu and Ren walking in.

“Hey, YN, can you watch the stand for a sec? He wants to go on a tour and I can't find To-” his eyes widen when he sees the scene “what the…”

“If you  desire to file for sexual harassment I would be honored to be your lawyer in the proceedings”

“Wait a minute this isn't what it looks like!” 

“He just lost balance, there is no need to jump to conclusions”

“No need to feel ashamed, there are two visual witnesses to attest, I'm sure Darkwick will respond”

Soon enough, either because of embarrassment, Ren looking at him with thinly veiled disgust or Ritsu pushing you to file a restraining order, Sho leaves soon after entering jabberwock.

“Tsk, why would you bring me here?” Jin scratches the back of his head, icy blue eyes almost closed due to the sunlight he isn't used to.

“Hermits can be prone to vitamin D deficiency, and I saw this as the perfect opportunity for you to take some sun”

“Go to hell and die, asshole” Jin barks at him between clenched teeth but Thoma doesn't bother with him and goes to the stand.

“Morning, Thoma!” You wave as he gets closer

“inspector? I wasn't expecting to see you here”

“Yeah, Ren left me here while he led a first year to Towa’s tour” your hand points to the wooden slate with the three options and prices.

“Oh? I didn't hear that there were different tours” Thoma grabs his chin, looking over the proposals curiously. Behind him Jin is kicking dirt and cursing under his breath, if he could teleport with his sword why is he here still?

“Yep! Towa just left with the foraging party so he shouldn't return for a good few minutes, but Haru should be back soon”

“Hmm… I do see your name here, do you host a tour of your own?”

“It isn't quite like that” you laugh a bit “we decided that I shouldn't be alone with the anomalies just in case anything goes wrong. I just have a sort of tea party” 

“That does seem more like Jin's thing out of these options” Thoma mumbles lightly

“Oh, right now I'm taking care of the stand so I can't really entertain people” out of nowhere Ren’s hand lands on your shoulder, prompting you to give him his seat, last time you refused to he pulled his floatie around your torso so you couldn't move. He had a smile from ear to ear, sadistic brat.

“did you decide what you want to do?” Ren uses his customer service voice, barely different from his normal voice, just somehow more lifeless. If that was possible.

“we both will go with YN” Thoma pulls his wallet and pays. Ren hums while counting the money.

 Jin scoffs seated on the checkered blanket, a smirk on his lips “so you are going to be waiting on me again, servant”

You roll your eyes at his comment, even if this time you were technically serving him “yeah, yeah, it was indeed on the description” a soft smirk forms between your lips seeing a way to tease him. you turn around to face the teapot you ask “jasmine or black tea?” your hands fiddle with the lid, acting as if you were going to open it and put leaves in.

“Fine then, I want black tea”

“Wrong, it's jasmine” as you turn around to serve it and see his annoyed face and Thoma's amused one “this teapot never runs out of warm tea but it's always Jasmine” silently he complains but still drinks the tea, getting slightly more annoyed from the fact it tastes good, soft flowery flavor that leaves a nice sweetness on the tongue.

“Isn't that quite the useful anomaly?” Thoma muses, watching how slowly the liquid inside swirls from side to side and starts going up, filling itself again.

“I thought the same, Subaru was so nice for lending it to us for a day! He said to take it as Hotarubi’s support” you can remember clearly how he offered it before assuring that he didn't mean that he expected Jabberwock to help his dorm if anything happened! And that it wasn't like he was expecting anything like that and- luckily Haku popped in before his dorm leader had a panic attack.

“Isn't that nice of them? I'm sure we could use a source of warm drinks in Frostheim” 

“Haku told me that the wait list for it can get pretty long, around two months at a time” idly your hand brushes the grass, plucking a white flower growing close to the blanket and you bend the stem to make a small ring. Seeing Jin's pale hand resting on his lap you might as well give it to him but before you lean to the right and grab Jin's hand he moves it.

“Don't even think about it” like a cat with a too cuddly owner, he swipes his hand behind his back.

“Fine, Thoma give me your hand then” you lean forward but before you can grab Thoma's hand Jin snatches it “oh~? I thought you didn't want it”

He stuffs the ring in his pocket “Tsk what you give to your king can't be taken back even if you want to so stop whining”

When the time finished they both walked back to frostheim when Thoma hums softly a song.

“Do you want to die? bastard” when he flips him off the little white flower is in the next finger to the middle finger 

“Did I do something to anger you? It's just some notes” and he keeps humming the wedding march.

[vintagecandy]

My personal reimagining of Jervis Tetch, AKA: The Mad Hatter.

So I noticed that it is really common for Gotham rogues-- but almost especially Jervis Tetch-- to get redrawn and redesigned! Which I just thought was such a fun exercise, so because I'm me and predictable my brain immediately leaped at the chance to imagine my own Jervis.... set in the 1920s. Now, the drastically different time period causes a lot of interesting dynamics. For one, I'm fairly certain Jervis Tetch's character originates from a time period of comics where people wore a lot more hats, so setting him in the past is very fitting for him. It makes a lot more sense for him to literally be an artisan hat manufacturer, as in a real hatter. BUT what's interesting is that hand made "hatter" style hats were actually beginning to fade out of favor, and one of the reasons is actually partially because there was a growing moralizing around the hatting industry's overhunting of birds for their decorative feathers, and so Jervis ( as you can see ) having this big, real peacock bird feather on his hat is sort of a defiance, a subtle expression of his bad intent. And I imagine his introduction to crime will be marked with the sudden unprompted rise of vintage style hats "regaining popularity". He's very much still a hypnotist, a master illusionist, and a scientific genius, and I was thinking- to shake things up- the hat is actually what drove him insane. Originally the hat band was created to counteract nerve damage he developed from mercury poisoning some years ago, but ended up also giving him heightened focus and an incurable bout of severe insanity. Then he later repurposed it for mind control. What insanity? Ok, look at the face I drew for him. This was on accident, but I've been looking at his face...... and I cannot shake the feeling he's a dad. Like, he has peak "wacky inventor father" energy in his face, but more sickly and evil. So I was thinking.... what if for this Jervis instead of his usual romantic Alice fixation... Alice was instead his daughter. And he loved having pretend tea parties with her, acting as the hatter. Some point after he put on the hat, his behavior was a little off but not worrying yet, but he lets his daughter wander off too far in this dangerous city and he just... never sees her again. He calls the police, they're kinda apathetic- probably corrupt tbh, he puts up posters-- nothing, she's just gone. Probably dead the more time passes. A senseless tragedy in a nonsense world. This breaks his brain! And so he decides he's going to take over all of Gotham and turn it into a game of Wonderland, part out of spite, and mostly out of total denial that his daughter is gone no matter how many years pass, in hopes that the little lost girl will find her way back to him or even that more puppets means more help finding her. But with time his insanity becomes so severe he doesn't even remember Alice was his daughter and not literally the book Alice, but he is slightly more lucid when without the hat. However, he feels sick and anxious when without it.

But as it goes in Gotham, by the time they consider you Arkham levels of insane, incurably so-- a 1920s insane asylum mind you! Which practically makes him more ill-- you sort of have no choice but to stay in the crime life forever. Which is where the tommy guns come in.

[welcome-to-alice-in-helll]

[catandthewell-if]

There is an ichor creeping its way through Wonderland, devouring residents never to be seen again. That's how you got your "promotion" to the Role of the Cheshire Cat. You thought things would be okay until an Ink Well appeared right in the middle of the Red Queen's garden and took out half of the court gathered there. Now you're tasked with finding the source of the ichor and stopping it before it consumes all of Wonderland.

The Curious Case of the Cat and the Well is a WIP and interactive CYOA novel. It is a fantasy adventure romance story with heavy focus on plot, romance, and stats. It is inspired by Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. It's being written in Twine.

Note: Because this is a WIP the name of some places or people may change between now and the final version.

Genre: Adventure, Fantasy, Romance

Rating: Not rated as of right now.

Tracked Tag: #cat and the well

Status: In Development (Writing/Slow Coding)

Demo || Romance Options || Side Characters || FAQ || Ask Guidelines || Tag Navigation || Dev's Main Blog ||

In The Curious Case of the Cat and the Well, you play as a Wonderland resident who's been "promoted" to the position of the Cheshire Cat. You were simply minding your own business one day when you were ripped from your original Role and put into the Role of the Cheshire Cat. You've been in the Role for a little bit now. As for who put you in the role? Wonderland, itself did that. A bit bizarre, but it does have a mind of its own.

Without the interference of an "Alice" figure, life is pretty normal. Odd but normal. It's not always wacky and nonsensical in Wonderland, believe it or not. When an "Alice" appears, Wonderland moves all of its pieces to tell the story again and again like a play. That's how its supposed to work anyways. But ever since this strange ink-like substance appeared the story hasn't been running smoothly like it should.

When an Ink Well appears during a tea party in the Red Queen's garden and consumes half of the court, you decide it's time to do something about this. With a group of pretty unlikely allies, you set off to find what's causing the ichor to appear and stop it.

Play as a male, female, or nonbinary Cheshire Cat

Customize the way you look, including your ears and tail and your cat form! Your normal form is humanoid with cat ears and a tail

Choose what your Role was before Wonderland made you the Cheshire Cat. Your previous Role will give you exclusive abilities not available to other roles

Choose to romance 1 of 5 options or none at all

Figure out what's going on with the ichor and why it's appearing and where do the residents it absorbs go

Make a decision with the fate of Wonderland in your hands

The Cheshire Cat - You (he/him), (she/her), or (they/them)

You play as the Cheshire Cat. You possess all the typical things associated with the cat, such as disappearing and reappearing and your iconic grin. Your previous Role will also give you specific abilities. Being put in a Main Role made you functionally immortal so you don't know how old you really are, but physically, you appear to be in your mid-twenties (24-26).

The people of Wonderland sometimes call you Chess/Chessie.

Appearance: Player Determined, although your base figure is humanoid with cat ears and a tail

The Alice - Alice/Alex Liddle (she/her) or (he/him)

A is the newest "Alice" to Wonderland. The 103rd "Alice" to be exact. Because of the ichor, their story broke apart pretty early on leaving them basically stranded in Wonderland with no direction. It's good that they're a precocious person and found their own way to the Red Queen's garden. They're a bit naive but are earnest and kind and was one of the first people to volunteer to go with you. Their only stipulation: to go home when it's done.

Appearance: A is on the shorter side of average in terms of height. Alice is 5'3 and Alex is 5'8. They both have fair skin with freckles and loosely curly blonde hair. Alice has long hair while Alex's is about medium-length. Their eyes are light blue and their frame is lithe and thin. They appear to be in their early twenties (20-23).

The Mad Hatter - Olivia/Oliver (she/her) or (he/him)

O is the Mad Hatter. They aren't the "original" Mad Hatter, but they've been in their Role longer than you've been the Cheshire Cat. They are eccentric and a bit unpredictable. That's probably why they were the second person to volunteer to go with you to figure out what's going on, after Alice/Alex. You two don't really get along, bickering often when not in your Roles, so you're surprised when they volunteered. Being a Main Role, like you, they also are functionally immortal, but appear to be in their mid-twenties (24-26), as well.

Appearance: O is pretty tall with Olivia being around 5'9 and Oliver being about 6'1. They both have clear tanned skin and orange-red hair. Their hair is mixed textures with some strands being straight and others wavy. They always keep their hair down, even if it's inconvenient. They have brown eyes and a lanky frame.

The Red Queen/The Queen of Hearts - Isabelle (she/her)

Isabelle is the Red Queen and the Queen of Hearts. You find her Role varies from "Alice" to "Alice". She's fairly new to the Role, having acquired her position around the same time you became the Cheshire Cat. She's a bit stiff and serious, trying to figure out where her role stops and where she begins. She, like her predecessors, has a passion for roses and it was her garden that was destroyed by the Ink Well. You aren't surprised when she says she's coming with you "for her rose garden". As a Main Role, she is also functionally immortal. She physically appears to be in her early thirties (30-33).

Appearance: Isabelle is a woman of about average height, standing at 5'5. She has soft brown skin and straight black hair. She has red eyes and a fuller figure.

The Jabberwocky - Fenrir (he/him)

Fenrir is the Jabberwocky. He is the second Jabberwocky ever in Wonderland. His role, like Isabelle's, varies from "Alice" to "Alice". Some "Alices" don't ever go near him while others face him. He's solemn and fairly stoic and serious. He's the last person you expected to volunteer since he prefers to be solitary, although you suspect it's because he just wants to get this over with and go back to minding his own business. As a Main Role, he is functionally immortal, but physically appears in his late twenties (27-29).

Appearance: Fenrir is pretty tall, standing at a wild 6'5. He has tanned olive skin and black hair with streaks/highlights of dull blue and green. His eyes are grey and he has an fit figure, not too muscular but not lanky either. He has a few light scars on his face.

Wonderland - ??? (it/its)

Wonderland is... Wonderland. It has a personality of its own and is the one who moves you and the others around when there's an "Alice". It's in charge of making sure the "Alice's" story runs smoothly and to get them in and out quickly. Due to the ichor appearing, it's no longer running smoothly, often forgetting to move pieces around causing a disruption of the cycle. When the Ink Well appeared in the Red Queen's garden, it seems to have stopped "working" all together.

Appearance: It's a land, so far. Notable chessboard fields?

Mysterious Figure - ??? (they/them)

What's Wonderland without one mysterious figure? After the latest Ink Well in the Red Queen's garden, you've been seeing them around Wonderland. You aren't sure if they're following you or if you're indirectly following them, but you seen them quite often. Even odder, every time you see them, they look confused. How strange...

Appearance: You haven't gotten close enough to fully look at them, but you think they at least have blue hair? Or was it purple? Maybe green or even pink? You swear it was white one time. Their skin is very pale, nearly paper white. They're tall from what you can tell. Probably around 6'2. They're clothed in a long black robe with a hood. It's a bit on the nose, don't you think?

[craftyjuju]

Today, I'm working on my new upcoming Alice In Wonderland wedding table settings ♡

[thesims4blogger]

New Official Survey Brings New The Sims 4 Kits Concepts

EA has sent out a new survey asking The Sims 4 players about potential concepts for upcoming kits.

As with previous surveys, like the recent one about expansion packs, the ideas presented are simply concepts that may or may not ever come to fruition. While there’s a chance we might see a version of one or two of these suggestions, the overall goal is to better understand what players are interested in buying.

You can take the online survey at this link, and below is a rundown of the kit concepts presented.

Garden Tool Clutter   Bring lived-in charm to your Sim’s garden! This kit features outdoor clutter and decor like planters, mulch bags, essential gardening tools, and a bird fountain to bring the joy of gardening to life in every corner!   Manicured Garden  Elevate your Sims’ outdoor experience with stunning topiaries and lush flowerbeds. Create structured spaces with fences, trellises, and picnic tables. This kit turns any backyard into a manicured oasis.   Kids Backyard Haven Upgrade your backyard into the ultimate kids’ paradise, complete with a basketball court and swing set. Unleash your adventurous spirit with monkey bars and bikes for endless outdoor play.   Luxury Yurt Outdoor adventures can now be an exclusive glamping experience. Use new windows and doors to build a luxury yurt complete with off-the-grid living essentials that redefine the art of outdoor leisure!   Author’s Haven Perfect for Sims who love to read, write, and dream, this literary haven embraces the charm of Dark Academia to create a scholarly space dedicated to writing your next bestseller or diving into a good book.   Bathroom Retreat Elevate your Sim’s bathroom into a serene home spa. Indulge in the art of bathing surrounded by soothing aromatherapy candles and mood lighting. Enhance the experience with stylish new bathroom fixtures.   Sunrooms and Porches Redefine your Sims’ living spaces with enchanting sunroom and screened porch items. Embrace the blend of indoor-outdoor living with craftsman porch swing doors, screened windows, and French door accents.   Themed Kids Bedroom – Dinosaurs Turn your kids’ rooms into a prehistoric paradise with dinosaur-themed furniture, wallpapers, and decor. Spark creativity with an activity table and a toy box full of dinosaur figures—perfect for little adventurers!   Themed Kids Bedroom – Wonderland Transform your child’s room into a magical escape inspired by Alice in Wonderland. Encourage imaginative play with themed toys and whimsical decor including a chess table, canopy bed, dollhouse, and more.   Boho Surfer Bungalow Host epic beach parties with a tiki bar, fire pit, and BBQ, all set against the backdrop of a laid-back surfer shack. Dive into off-the-grid living with a boho ambiance, complete with an aquarium and beachy decor.   Pillowfort Slumber Party Convert any living space into a whimsical wonderland that’s perfect for hosting unforgettable slumber parties. Let creativity flow with pillow forts, plush sleeping bags, and a cozy spot for storytelling.   Tea Time Host a delightful get-together with an elegant tea set and snack tray. Gather around a beautifully adorned table with whimsical décor, and let your Sims sip and savor in style.

[simoneashleyworld]

The animated musical “The Night before Christmas in Wonderland”, starring Simone Ashley, Emilia Clarke and Gerard Butler, premieres on November 15, 2024 at Prime Video and Hulu according to Entertainment Weekly.

Simone Ashley is set to voice Alice, Gerard Butler is St. Nick and Emilia Clarke will voice the Queen of Hearts.

Synopsis:

This time, it’s St Nick’s turn for an adventure down the rabbit hole. There he meets the Mad Hatter, recast as a high-fashion, reindeer-loving tea party host; the White Rabbit, an endearingly scatty and forgetful character; the Queen of Hearts, a Scrooge-esque tinsel-hater, her antagonistic sidekick, the Cheshire Cat and Alice herself, whose kindness helps St. Nick save Christmas.

“It has been a joy to bring together this incredibly creative team and sprinkle some of Lupus Films’ animated magic into the mix,” said Ruth Fielding (Producer). “The wonderfully wacky characters, starry voice cast and toe-tapping tunes all come together in a fantastic festive fairy-tale for the whole family to enjoy.”

[duchess-kyuupid]

~The Duchess' Thoughts and Drabbles Pt. 3~ Ft. Riddle

Thinking about Riddle x Bunny! Reader (basically like the White Rabbit from the original Alice in Wonderland)

Thinking about Riddle with a rabbit reader who's always much too busy running around doing too many things all at once. You're always in a rush, and you always carry at least 15 different watches on you at all times- each one set to ring at different times to remind you of all of the responsibilities you've thrown upon yourself.

As it so happens, you're basically like an unofficial second vice Housewarden with how much you do around Heartslabyul. One of the first years forgot to feed the flamingos and the hedgehogs? Don't worry, you already had that covered by 3:04 p.m.- already wearing your pink attire, and you immediately had to leave for painting any leftover roses before 3:23 p.m. because you were scheduled to pick up the baking ingredients you ordered for Trey at 3:51, and so on. Then after all that you would go back into your room to work on your homework, study, and to reset all of your alarms for the next day. Oh, sleep? What's that?

Anyone who's met you would probably agree that you're stretched thinner than even Jamil with how much work you do. Everyone can tell when you're particularly upset at the time when you start tapping your feet on the ground, and all of the professors are well aware of how you start fidgeting in their class when you're forced to sit still for longer than a minute. Almost like a hummingbird, you're always seen going a million miles per minute wherever you happen to be.

The list of the things you do around Heartslabyul can go on and on without end, and even Riddle has a deep appreciation for the amount of effort you put in to make sure that everything is perfect (and you're one of the few around here who actually knows and follows all of the Queen's rules too). To be honest, almost all of the other card soldiers (including Trey himself sometimes) ask why you're not the official vice Housewarden.

And well, Riddle has always diverted the question. The truth is, while you've proven yourself to be more than capable, he really doesn't want to add more responsibilities onto your already full plate of things to do. Of course, he's had the pleasure to speak with you on numerous occasions where you were scheduled to come attend one of his unbirthday or tea parties, and each conversation made Riddle's feelings stir, in both good and bad ways.

The good? He found that he just loved seeing the subtle smile on your face when you finally sit down and take a small sip of tea after so hours on your feet, after restless nights of scheduling and time management- after having to pick up after countless people's mistakes. He loved the look of peace on your face as you started to relax, even for just a minute, before you were rudely interrupted with the sound of your watch ringing, alerting you to a different task to attend to. He appreciates every second that you spare with him because he enjoys your company. He doesn't know it yet, but Riddle has been pining for you for quite some time now. Both fortunately and unfortunately for him, you always seemed too busy to get into romance...

And the bad? His temper oftentimes gets the best of him when he hears that you've had to pick up the slack of some of the other card soldiers. He hears from Cater that a lot of people around the school have made it a habit to call your name and ask you for favors when they were too lazy to do it themselves. You were always too kind and naïve for your own good, never able to say no when faced with a plea for help, and Riddle hates that so many people are just- just so eager to take advantage of that kindness. Riddle has made it his personal mission to try to reduce your workload as much as possible, and this includes severely punishing those who shirk on their duties.

Like, because of him, Heartslabyul has the largest amount of students, so much so that there's hardly enough room for everybody in the dorm rooms. And not one, not a single one person is able to feed the flamingos on time (and in pink)?? Such insolence will not be tolerated, not when Riddle can do something about it, because he'll be damned if he allows his card soldiers to pile more stuff on your plate because they were so incompetent and lazy that they couldn't even do this one thing.

In any case, as hypocritical as it may sound, Riddle just wants you to relax once in a while. He wants to be able to hold a real conversation with you- one that isn't rushed or forced. He wants to spend time with you when you have nothing else to do that day but to relax. One day, that time will come, but he will do everything he can right now to make it come faster.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~Bonus thoughts on Bunny! Reader in Heartslabyul that aren't relevant to the fic but still cute to think about~

You're the number #1 spot in the track team, and Deuce looks up to you for that (and also because you're the type of honor student he wants to be).

Your unique magic could be called "Rabbithole" and basically it's just small portals you can jump through to get to places faster. Essentially like the Spot's portals but you can only fit yourself through there. People have seen you disappearing down a top hat many times with this power.

[blues824]

🌹Can I please request the heartslabyul boys reacting to their female s/o acedently getting white bunny ears during a chemistry accident and just goes with it.

(I had to Google his name it's. Nivens McTwisp)

❤️Her going to there dorm dressed like the white rabbit from Alice in wonderland who was the red queen's herald who specifically told her the time with a golden watch that was ironically always late.

🌹Imagen her coming intentonly late to a unbirtday party and then they see her running up to them holding something and before riddle could nag to her he sees her outfit (houd he let her go for being late in this situation. )

❤️And her just playing her role perfectly as the rabbit.

🌹What would the heartslabyul students find of their s/o doing it for their dorm instead of saying she is not coming.

Riddle Rosehearts

Ace and Deuce reported to him that you had received bunny ears due to a chemistry accident, and he was about to behead them when he saw you running in exclaiming how you were late, you were late, you were late.

Just one look at the soft white ears that sat upon the top of your head had the Housewarden’s heart fluttering. Your outfit didn’t make his already-red face clear up at all. Any thought of scolding you for being late for your date in the labyrinth was gone as he just admired you.

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry I’m late! I can only beg for your forgiveness!” You pleaded as you knelt to the ground and bowed before Riddle.

The poor boy didn’t know what to do; he was truly at a loss for words. He heard Ace make some comment about how he was ‘down bad for you’, and he resumed the beheading before asking you to rise. He extended his arm out to you, and you took it and you both made your way through the rose garden to the spot he set up for your afternoon tea outing.

Trey Clover

He let out an exasperated sigh when the ADeuce duo told him that because of a chemistry incident, you had gained bunny ears. Every single time you were involved with those two, you always ended up with an entirely new problem. But, right then you walked into the kitchen while looking at a golden pocket watch.

Trey greeted you, which broke you out of your panicked trance. He thought you looked absolutely adorable with the ears, but he didn’t dwell on it too much. After all, he was glad that his beloved was finally there to help him with baking.

“Sorry I’m late, Trey! My watch is a few minutes behind, now that I think about it,” you scratched the back of your head, and he just chuckled as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

It didn’t matter to the baker, because as long as you were there at all everything was alright. You got started on mixing the dry ingredients of the tart together when you felt your boyfriend wrap his arms around your torso from behind. Your ears twitched in embarrassment, but it made him a bit smug.

Cater Diamond

This man was intrigued when Ace texted him and said that you got rabbit ears because of an accident in chemistry. From what he could tell, you already seemed adorable. So, imagine his reaction when you walked into the garden with white bunny ears, a cute outfit, and a golden pocket watch to go with.

You were walking quickly, mumbling to yourself that you were late. If you thought that Cater would quickly pull out his phone and take a picture of you, you would be correct. However, he is not planning on posting it. This photo is for him and him alone.

“Here I am, Cater! Sorry for being late!” Once you spotted him, you ran up to him and gave him a hug, to which he gladly reciprocated. 

Oh, you were going to kill him if you continued to be this cute. But if this is how he went out, then he would die a happy man. He pulled away from the embrace to grab your hand and lead you to the unbirthday party, to which you were now both late to. 

Ace Trappola

He was probably the one who messed up the potion in the first place, but he was definitely not upset at the result. His oh-so-lovely girlfriend got rabbit ears as a consequence, and he is eating it up. Don’t even get me started on when you went to change and came to Heartlabyul dressed in an outfit based on the White Rabbit. 

This man just about died from how cute you were with the ears, and the way you were looking for him in a frenzied way. Did you do all of this for him? Is the room growing hotter? Is it just him? Wait, he’s outside…

“Sorry I’m late, Ace! Do you need help with the table decorations?” You asked innocently after pressing a short kiss to his lips.

Immediate nosebleed. He was way too flustered to even begin comprehending what just happened, and a few of his dorm members started laughing at how much of a simp he was being. But, he honestly didn’t care. None of the other guys had a super cute/hot girlfriend who dresses up for them.

Deuce Spade

He was in the classroom when Ace accidentally dropped an unfinished potion on you, so that means he saw the bunny ears grow out of the top of your head. You were dismissed from class early, but you texted him and said that you would be able to make it for the unbirthday party. 

What he did not expect was for you to 1) be late and 2) show up in a cute outfit. You were checking a pocket watch that you had while also looking for someone, presumably him. When you did find him, you ran and threw your arms about his neck as you pulled him into a kiss.

“I’m finally here! Do you like my outfit?” You asked in a very excited manner.

The poor man’s heart was racing, and his face was glowing red at this point. It took everything in him to not have his nose bleed. Then, the teasing from Ace began, and he would have thrown hands had you not laced your arm with his. You really did have him wrapped around your finger, didn’t you?