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 ( i don't feel so well ), felicity && rily
beckett edison hatfield
 Posted on: May 4 2017, 01:24 AM
Mad Hatter
❝ Why is a raven like a writing desk? ❞
ALICE IN WONDERLAND
25
5'11"
PANSEXUAL
SINGLE
41

Forest



 
reality is a lovely place

i wouldn't want to live there

  It was Wonderland, but it wasn't. It was the garden where he and his two best friends in the world, the Dormouse and the March Hare, had spent their days celebrating their unbirthdays, but different. With the darkness and its many monsters now roaming freely through his homeland, it seemed the only way Beckett could return to the places he had once loved so dearly was through his dreams or his mind's eye; he had seen enough of the horrible creatures and the destruction they left in their wake to know better than to chance a visit to his beloved Wonderland, especially as he had no experience with self-defense or war as some did, and even if he'd possessed the skills to defend himself, his past experiences were still too fresh in his mind. Every detail was illustrated with sickening clarity, from the moment the monsters arrived at the Mad Tea Party, teeth flashing and claws shining, sending what had been quite a lovely unbirthday party into the darkest chaos the Hatter had ever seen, till the time when he tumbled through the portal, filled with fear that consumed every fiber of his being until the taut string of sanity that was woven so delicately through his thoughts snapped and he lost his mind. Oh yes, of course, he had always known madness - Wonderland would not be the same without the light dusting of insanity that coated every plant and creature that made such a strange, backward, and upside-down place its home, and Beckett himself had found himself in possession of rather more than his fair share. He was not called the Mad Hatter for nothing, after all, and this was a name coined by other creatures of the same world who knew only the standards of sanity that Wonderland possessed (or didn't). But the madness Beckett had found in the real world was different than that which he knew so well, accompanied by more anger than he'd ever felt and scattered with fear.

Nighttime had become the greatest obstacle in his life. Despite its consistency and reliability, he was never quite prepared for the sun to dip below the horizon, for the light in the world to dim to the soft yellow haze of streetlamps and whatever light tumbled from the windows of shops and apartments to lay across the pavement in distorted shapes, all too easily obscured by shadows. This darkness, those shadows, though not so dangerous as the living, breathing darkness that terrorized the animated world, felt just as threatening as its more terrifying counterpart, and Beckett would do absolutely everything he could to chase it out - he'd gathered rather a large collection of lamps and scattered them systematically throughout his apartment so that every corner was illuminated and not a single unbidden shadow could creep into his home, and every night he would turn them on, one by one, until everything was bright as daylight once more. Even then he slept only in fits and starts, grasping only a couple of hours of shut eye per night, and otherwise worrying away the night until it turned to dawn and he was filled with relief at the sight of the sun. But while his many lamps could chase away the darkness in his apartment, they couldn't keep the memories that still skulked in the back of his mind at bay when he did at last close his eyes. In his mind's eye, he found Wonderland once more, but it never felt the same as it did - something always felt wrong, dangerous, as though he were tottering on a tightrope and one slip would send him tumbling into something terrible. It always felt so real - and that was just it, wasn't it? Dreams and madness weren't so different, really - they could shine more brightly than the most salient star, rivaling the sun in vibrancy and wonder, or, like the darkness that had filled the animated world, they could become a horrible void that was blacker than night and swallowed up all things precious and important in the world, and all the while he would be left wondering what was real and what wasn't. Could one really decide what was real when reality was so malleable? Or was it his mind that could be so easily twisted and warped, turned around and confused?

It was hard to say one way or the other. All Beckett knew was that the dreams felt real, and so did the nightmares, horrible and dark as they were. Filled with violence and gore and blood and such horrible laughter - the growling of beasts and the flash of their teeth, the shattering of precious porcelain under their enormous paws, and the darkness - the darkness -

He awoke screaming, flailing limbs tearing the blankets away and finding his hat where it lay on the pillow beside his, clutching it close to his chest as he bolted upright. Frantically, he searched for an anchor, something to bring him back down from his terror, eyes soon landing on a few of the teapots he'd settled on top of his dresser. Placing his hat quickly upon his head and tugging it down toward his ears (secure and safe and sane) he leapt to his feet and moved in an uneven gait to stand before them. "Tea, yes of course tea," he said to himself, voice wavering dangerously, as did his balance on that tightrope of sanity. "Tea is good for fear and fright and fur and fang -" Shaking hands quickly took hold of the teapot, the lid rattling against the pot as he lifted it down close to his chest, taking a gasping breath in. "No no no, it's not right, not right - CLEAN CUP, clean cup, clean cup, clean cup, clean cup -" Unsteady feet brought him into the kitchen, eyes darting to each illuminated corner of the room in turn as he hurried to the kitchen to put the kettle on and busying himself with making a pot of tea, speaking to himself in broken sentences all the while. "English breakfast? Earl grey? Peppermint, spearmint, chocolate mint, apple mint - Hatter, pass the scones! Yes, we must have scones - what is tea without scones?" (Here he tossed two scones onto a plate, which happened to, in fact, be a very important letter, thankfully still wrapped neatly in its envelope.) "And scones must have butter - black tea, white tea, green tea, herbal tea, honey tea - " At this time, the kettle began to whistle, and Beckett dropped the butter knife, still slick with butter, on the counter to rush to remove it from the stove. "Shhh, shhh - they'll hear you, and they mustn't hear you. They MUSTN'T HEAR YOU. No no, they will snatch you right up and gobble you right down - down, down, down." With fumbling hands he filled the teapot and added tea leaves (mixing several kinds into the same pot, hardly noticing) and began to sort through the various teacups scattered across the countertop, voice soft as he chanted softly to himself: "Clean cup, clean cup, clean cup, clean cup…"  

  felicity ayoka blysse / 1199 WORDS / poor bab ;u;  
^
felicity ayoka blysse
 Posted on: May 19 2017, 08:11 PM
Joy
❝ "I'll try Bing Bong. I promise." ❞
Inside Out
26
5'5"
Heterosexual
Single
42

Rily



i don't feel so well
The day had been so long! Felicity spent all day doing outreach. Summer reading would be starting soon, so she needed to spread the word to all of the elementary schools, middle schools, high schools, daycares, and anywhere else where there might be children that wanted to participate! They had revamped the whole program so that there was more of an emphasis on reading and less so on the prizes, as there had been in the past. There was still so much work to do, but she was more excited than ever! She loved how excited the kids were about the reading program each summer – all the fun stories to read and activities to do!

She’d been home for hours at this point, but she still hadn’t relaxed from the day. It wasn’t an uncommon thing to happen. Being the embodiment of joy, she constantly had more energy than she knew what to do with! Of course, the tea she’d just finished probably was not helping either. Aside from the energy surging through her veins, she was ready for bed – complete with bunny slippers, pastel pajamas and robe. Felicity sat down on her bed and shook her feet a little bit to toss her slippers off.

As soon as she did, though, she heard the talking and clattering from the apartment next door. She immediately jumped up and put her feet back into her slippers. This was not the first time this had happened. It had frustrated her so much the first time she heard it because she immediately thought that it was just her neighbor being rude and noisy late at night. After that first incident, though, she learned the truth. The poor fellow couldn’t stand the nighttime and being in the dark. Felicity didn’t know why and to what extent his fear went. All she knew was that whenever he had meltdowns like this, he should not be alone. She grabbed some picture books she’d brought home with here as well as the spare key that Beckett had given her a while ago and headed over there.

She didn’t bother knocking because she figured he couldn’t heard her over all the noise. Using the key, she let herself into his apartment. “Mr. Beckett!” she said, just loud enough so that he could hear her, but not so loud that she would scare him – hopefully. She closed the door behind her and slipped the key into the pocket of her robe. “It sounded like you were having so much fun over here that I just had to come by! Would you like me to read to you while we have tea?

Tag: beckett edison hatfield : : Outfit: Here : : Notes: I hope this is okay!
Thanks Bekah!
^
beckett edison hatfield
 Posted on: Oct 4 2017, 11:43 PM
Mad Hatter
❝ Why is a raven like a writing desk? ❞
ALICE IN WONDERLAND
25
5'11"
PANSEXUAL
SINGLE
41

Forest



 
reality is a lovely place

i wouldn't want to live there

  Beckett knew what the doctors at the mental institution would say at this moment. He’d heard it a thousand times in his stay there after he’d awoken in the middle of the night screaming and rambling and terrified; the nightmares had come so much more frequently then, and had been so much worse. It was no wonder he’d lost his mind with the things he’d found in it after his great escape, things he’d hoped never to see again, but he hardly had control over his own thoughts, let alone the nightmares that haunted him in the night. While he had greatly respected the doctors and nurses who had tried to help him (the operative word often being tried), they had known absolutely nothing of wonderland, and therefore could do very little to help him when he found himself in such a panic. They’d learned, slowly but surely, that there were things they had to do differently for him, things like offering him a cup of tea and making sure his hat was resting firmly upon his head, turning on all the lights in the room so there wasn’t a spot of shadow left, but they didn’t know exactly why these things were helpful. They’re just dreams, they’d tell him. Nightmares. Monsters don’t exist. They were wrong, of course, very wrong – monsters did exist, and Beckett had seen them. Their appearance in his life , though brief, had made quite an impression on him, and not in a positive way at all. Beckett always prided himself on making a multitude of strange and unusual friends, but these creatures would not be found among them and would not even receive so much as a card wishing them a merry unbirthday when their unbirthdays came around. These monsters had broken him, scattered his sanity in the wind, and he knew that, despite all that time in the mental institution and all the joys he’d found in his new life, he would never be quite the same.

He hated the nights he woke up like this, wished he could do something to stop them. He tried, oh how he tried! He drank teas that were supposed to promote happy dreams, he left the lights on, he merrily wished all his teapots a good night before he curled up in the center of his bed with his precious Hat resting on the pillow beside his, but none of it seemed to matter. The nightmares came and went as they pleased, and they left him in ruins every time. It was then that he always glimpsed the edge of his sanity, that drop off into inky blackness and the loss of control that he so feared when he managed to regain his balance and step back into his sense of sanity. “I’m not mad,” he mumbled to himself desperately as his shaking hands seized another saucer for under his teacup (which now sat stacked upon 3 mismatched saucers). “I swear, doctor, I’m not.” He’d said these words so many times but it was so hard to believe them when his hands shook so violently, his heart raced as though it was about to break free from his rib cage and gallop away to safety, and his thoughts swirled in circles and squares and stars. How was he supposed to find his bearings when there was nothing to hold onto? Tea, oh yes, tea would help – it always did, it had to. His hat sat askew upon his head, his brightly colored striped pajamas rumpled and twisted around him, a half-tied polka dot bow tie hanging limply around his neck. His wild eyes searched the counter, filled with confusion and fear, unseeing, and he had just seized a spoon with which to stir his tea when a voice broke through his thoughts, startling him most completely – he let out a strangled cry of surprise, leaping back into the corner of the kitchen and wielding the spoon before him, eyes desperately searching for the person who had spoken his name. He could see no one yet, but, then again, he couldn’t see the front door – he could, however, hear it closing and whoever had entered his house began to speak to him. Only then did he recognize the voice as that of his neighbor, a most wonderful woman who he had come to consider a very dear friend.

“Miss Felicity!” he called out to her, his voice shaking and sounding distorted, wrong – it varied in pitch more than it should, and in some ways it didn’t seem like his own, yet it was. “Oh, Miss Felicity, come in, come into the light – there are monsters about this night and you must be careful. They’re waiting and watching, waiting and watching, and they mustn’t know we’re here…” As he spoke, he practically flew from the kitchen to the front door and pressed his face against it to peek through the peephole. There was nothing in the hallway…but that could change at any moment. “Tea, yes, we need tea – it’s good for all manners of ills and terrors.” In a moment he had launched himself back into the kitchen and grabbed a new teacup and saucer from the cupboard and filled it with the strange mixture of several teas that he’d brewed moments before – it probably wouldn’t taste very good, but at the moment the poor Hatter was beyond noticing this. With a shaking hand, he held out the tea to her and waited for her to take it before turning like a whirlwind back to the pot to pour his own cup. “Reading? Yes, reading should frighten them off, the monsters, the darkness – what have you to read today, Miss Felicity? Poetry or prose or proverb? History or horror or haiku? Come, come – the living room is safe, we can have our tea there.” With his tea held firmly in one hand, he took one of her hands with the other and pulled her to the living room and pulled her down on the couch, rearranging the teapots upon the coffee tea table to make room for their teacups. Though perhaps it didn’t show just yet, he was glad to have a friend with him in this moment – he’d have to get Felicity a very nice unbirthday present for her next unbirthday.  

  felicity ayoka blysse / 1054 WORDS / poor bab ;u;  
^
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