hats-to-portals

[hats-to-portals]

Mornings used to be a time to sleep in, but now Jefferson drags himself up out of bed nice and early for morning shift at Granny's, the local coffee shop. It's a cozy little place, air laced with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries, but there's one drawback, and that's his coworker. 

Ruby. He still doesn't know her last name, nor does he really care, but her dark hair is laced with red, her fingernails are sharp, and he's never had a better friend before. Starving artists can't afford to be particularly picky with work, and Jefferson isn't, but the economy is so bad that he'd been reduced to doing... well, not much of anything, really. Living in a crappy little apartment while he plods his way through school, trying out new artforms - it's not the easiest of lives. Ruby's pity is the only reason he has this job, really. It's such a good thing he's good at it, otherwise he'd probably have been fired by now, and he knows it.

So every morning at five, he dredges himself out from under the mountain of blankets he's cocooned himself in overnight, gets dressed, and stumbles down to Granny's. 

There is one upside though.

Said upside is currently half asleep at a table, hood half pulled over his head, but doing a terrible job of hiding blond hair that sticks out at odd angles. The morning coffee rush hasn't begun quite yet. It's just the stragglers from night classes right now, which means that Jefferson is allowed to stare from behind the espresso machine while Ruby commentates on the scene next to him. Silently, he makes and serves coffee in to go cups, eyes flickering from the machine to the cup to the med student to the customers to the med student and back again. Finally, Ruby nudges him in the side with her elbow. "Go get 'em," she says with a wink and a nod, and Jefferson elbows her back before making a hot vanilla coffee with plenty of cream. 

If Ruby weren't his assistant manager as well as his best (and quite possibly only) friend, he'd never get away with this. As it is, Ruby's shooing him away from the counter with a look that practically dares him to jump Victor's bones right then and there, which Jefferson counters with a glare of his own before setting the coffee down in front of the exhausted med student with a distinctive thump and slides into the seat across from him, half expectant, half wondering what he's doing there. What is he supposed to say? Hi, I'm your barista. Jefferson. Here every morning? I'm kind of massively in love with you, I hope you don't mind.

Yeah. Sure. Because that would go over oh so well.

Hot Drinks, Cold Nights || Madwhale AU

He’s dead. Tired, that is. It’s been a long night and early-day for the blond, who was busy studying— or, rather, had been busy studying. Right now, he was fast asleep, his head resting against the table he’d sat himself at— poor guy, he’s so exhausted that he can pass out at the drop of a dime.

"Do you think he’d notice if I put ribbons in his hair?" Questioned Ruby, who’d just come in for her shift— she was speaking to Jefferson, though was looking at Victor, plotting how she could physically torture him.

However, she had yet to do anything today, instead looking to her friend and coworker. “He’s actually pretty cute when he’s passed out, you can’t hear him babbling,” she paused when she heard a groan from the blond, “well, somewhat,” she finished, crossing her arms as she contemplated what to do about her groggy friend.

[hats-to-portals]

so it’s been a while since I’ve been in the OUAT fandom I feel like, so if any independent roleplay blogs of said fandom { or anyone who wants to play in the ouat fandom! } please reblog this so I can find more blogs to follow? c:

[hats-to-portals]

1.17 | hat trick

[hats-to-portals]

Anonymous or not, send me an honest opinion on my writing/character

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"You think you’re the Mad Hatter."

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Send a ✺ for my muse's reaction to yours hitting mine out of anger

submitted by anonymous

[hats-to-portals]

“I love you, Jefferson."

What?

For a moment, the world stopped. Everything stopped - everything but those four little words (and one not so little) pulsating in his ears, mind, and heart, reaching throughout his body and stopping time so he could process it. These weren't the words of a friend. These were the raw, heartfelt, gut-wrenching words of something much, much more. 

It was the difference between platonic and romantic, and with that realization, Jefferson drew a ragged breath, and the world started again.

For him, but not, it seemed, for Victor. No, for Victor, the world had continued to move on, time had continued to tick tock, tick tock, because Jefferson had definitely missed something - Victor could not die.

Jefferson shoved himself to his feet and staggered over to the doctor before half kneeling, half collapsing at his feet. "No," he croaked, one hand reaching up to touch Victor's cheek. Cold skin met his fingers. "No, no, no, you will not."

And with that, instead of using words to try to convey the bubbling emotion trying to choke him to death, Jefferson gently placed his other hand on Victor's cheek, leaned in, and kissed him. Not a chaste little kiss, no - this was hard, passionate, desperate, tasting of salt and magic and Victor.

I love you, don't leave me, I love you, don'tleavemeIloveyouplease -

To Wonderland!

He’s lost in his own world, now. In his memories, which he’s never been so good at escaping. The bitter reminders of his failures and how his selfishness has made him into the monster he now thinks he is.

Unable to see very far, all he knew was that Jefferson had, at the very least, been stopped from fleeing. He was, however, able to direct his mindless chatter in the brunet’s direction, though it was getting worse and worse.

The weight of the guilt he felt on a daily basis had suddenly decided to crush him. He didn’t even feel the pain from his hands, he had enough of it making home in his heart.

His head is resting back to the tree he’d fallen down against, and he’s still shaking, “I won’t let you stay here, Jefferson,” his words were not very loud; but he continued on anyhow, “and I—" and you? You what, Victor?

He’s getting near-delirious, between previous blood loss [thankfully his bindings kept him from bleeding too much more], and the general effect of being in Wonderland.

“I love you, Jefferson," it wasn’t what he’d wanted to say, but he blurted it out— then after such it was a vomiting of words, "I, I’ll be rid of myself, Jefferson. You won’t die, I promise. I promise, Jefferson. I’ll die, it’s going to be okay, I won’t fail, I promise. You’ll be safe, w-with— with���" with Grace, because he belonged with Grace.

He’d done so much wrong, you see, it seemed only fair that he perished for it. Why had he ever thought of trying to become closer to anyone, let alone Jefferson? He’d only ever hurt people, after all. He was truly a monster, in his eyes. Monsters didn’t belong with men like Jefferson, who deserved Angels. People to care for them, and keep them safe.

Maybe he’d failed before, in effectively getting rid of himself. But he’d had enough of failure, and he was ready to leave. Once his Hatter was safe, there’d be no reason to continue this charade— this game of pretend. Pretending that he’s worth anything at all.

He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought of being with Jefferson. He didn’t deserve that, nor was he suitable at all. Perhaps it was a blessing he’d been stopped from visiting the brunet on the day the magic swept them away once more.

Although, Victor was still not aware of how different his proclamation of love had sounded to all ears but his own. It sounded desperate, and it was hardly the voice of someone who was merely a friend.

[hats-to-portals]

Jefferson's legs didn't work quite right. Heavy, filled with lead, they sent his feet tripping over everything in his haste to get away. The dull roaring of white noise in his ears was interrupted only by the litany of his own thoughts (I hurt him, I hurt him, I could have killed him, what did I do, can't be forgiven), or maybe he was saying the words? He couldn't tell.

And then there was Victor. Dear, wonderful Victor, hurt and bleeding and hurt, and talking. Crying. Victor never cried, and that was a fact. There were multiple worlds, magic was real, and Victor never cried. 

Except he was, and the shock sent Jefferson to his knees as he tripped over what was probably nothing but air, and sprawled out on the ground, his hands too late to prevent his face from hitting the ground first. And then he heard the words through the tears. 

Bile rose in his throat; he choked it down. "No," he managed to rasp, shoving himself up on his knees and covering his face with his hands. "No, no, no.." 

To Wonderland!

With his mind racing to figure out what was going on, Victor Frankenstein, for the second time in his life, was without any ability to reason.

Why was he running? Was it because he was a monster? Had he somehow hurt his beloved Hatter?

With his heart aching in unspeakable ways, he was dumbstruck for at least a minute, before he finally registered that he had to get Jefferson back to the Enchanted Forest. He couldn’t wallow in his own pity. He had to save the brunet. He’d come here to do that.

Feeling numb, he struggled to part part of his coat off— to wrap it around his shaking hands. To be honest, he couldn’t even see straight, and now tears were welling up in his eyes, making them sting.

"Jeff— Jeff—- Jefferson, I’m s-s-sorry—" he croaked that out as loudly as he could, running about as well as the Hatter at this point, considering he was stumbling around like a drunk. "Please— Grace, Grace— needs you,” I need you, “I-I beg of you, Jefferson,” he was so close to the Hatter, yet kept falling behind, “you can hate me— you can kill me, Jefferson— just let me get you back to Grace— I— I can’t— I can’t get you any better— t-than— th-this, Jefferson—” he couldn’t find someone else to help, and White Rabbit couldn’t either. The only goal was to get him back to his daughter, because she meant the world to him. Not just to Jefferson, but to Victor. That child was everything.

Coming to a stop at a tree, he was forced to lean on it, as he was growing dizzy. On top of the dizziness, he felt peculiar. Memories seemed surreal in this world, and it was driving him insane.

The tears were now falling from his eyes, and he ended up sliding down the tree.

“If I were dead, none of this would have happened, I’m sorry, I’m sorry," he had had too much time to think the curse over— to know that his actions in 'failing' to bring Daniel back had triggered something in Regina that lead to the eventual tragedy to befall the Enchanted FOrest. He’d not known at the time, no. He’d only wanted for his brother to be alive again. And this was not his fault. But he saw it as all his fault.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry," he couldn’t stop crying now, he was shaking as he came to a sit on the ground, shaking violently.

Why hadn’t he just done as he was told? Why couldn’t he do one thing right?

Why couldn’t he have died instead of Gerhardt?

[hats-to-portals]

Send me a :'( and my character will react to yours spontaneously bursting into tears.

submitted by ~ anonymous

[hats-to-portals]

He swung. Missed. Miss miss miss - wait.

Hit. 

Blood. Blood, dripping from Victor's hands, the sounds of cloth tearing echoing in his ears. Blood, slowly puddling on the ground. Blood, welling up in Victor's palms. Blood.

Figments didn't bleed. 

And imposters didn't cry. An imposter would have torn the ax out of his hands and used it himself, not just stood there and tried to deflect it, not continued the charade once they realized it wasn't working -

The ax clattered to the ground, dropping from his numb fingers. He couldn't breathe, couldn't feel, couldn't do anything except stare at the bloody hands of Victor Frankenstein. It didn't make sense - how could Victor be here, of all places? - but then again, this was Wonderland. Nothing made sense here. 

Victor was real.

And he had hurt him. Not only that, but intentionally. There was so much blood -

An eternity passed in a matter of unbreathable moments before Jefferson's body remembered how to work, and both without and with his permission, turned and ran.

Unforgivable.

To Wonderland!

He’s usually a man with much sense in what he did, who could even be considered wise, under most uses of the word. But right now, all he wanted was to comfort the Hatter— try to take him home.

That wasn’t an option right now, though. As he saw the ax being lifted, he didn’t panic for his own safety, but for Jefferson’s— his gaze was on the brunet, and he wanted to come forward to take it away— he’d die before his friend hurt himself, by accident or on purpose.

"Jefferson," he was breathing a bit heavily, "Jefferson, I’m— I’m here,” he just wasn’t sure, was the Hatter there?

That was when he had to act quickly, the ax was being swung at him, and his reflexes weren’t perfect at the moment. Just barely moving out of range— enough for the swing to have weakened so lifting his hands to grab the weapon by its dull edge wouldn’t cause him to lose any limbs. Unfortunately, this was an unpredictable decision, and he was cutting his hands by trying to keep the ax from injuring himself more seriously, or taking the Hatter down from the momentum of the attack.

Pain was coming to his senses, that’s when he was sure that this was real.

“Please— Jefferson,” he’s struggling to focus, and his grip on the ax is lost due to the blood making it slick. He narrowly avoided having it slice into any other parts of himself [primarily his chest, though his coat was not so lucky, as it was once more torn at].

He’s looking at his hands, and he’s getting sick to his stomach. The world around him isn’t familiar, and he’s starting to lose focus.

Blood, blood, blood. Gerhardt’s blood? No, no, he had to keep stable. This wasn’t the past, it was the present— but was there ever a difference? All ended the same, after all. He lost whatever he loved.

"I’m— I’m sorry—" he felt his chest ache, and his throat felt dry and as if he’d swallowed pins, "I’m trying, I’m trying— Jefferson, I’m trying," he isn’t sure of what he’s even saying, he sounds so unlike himself as he stands there, his gaze lifting to the brunet— he doesn’t notice how much he’s shaking now, how the sound of each drop of blood hitting the road made him twitch and shudder.

He couldn’t fail again, he couldn’t, but he didn’t know what to do— he felt as if his head were full of cotton, and his legs made of water.

[hats-to-portals]

It was the flyer that stopped him. A simple piece of printer paper with a child’s drawing and request, the purple color catching his eye and stopping him in his tracks for reasons he wasn’t quite able to explain. As he got a better look at it, Jefferson’s heart stopped, and, with shaking fingers, he carefully peeled the paper from the lamp post, eyes flicking over and over the words, fingertips tracing them softly. Without his permission, his legs stopped working, and Jefferson managed to turn around mid-stagger, back hitting the pole with a force he didn’t even register.

Have you seen my Papa?

Who knew that five little words could hurt so much?

“Grace.” The whisper escaped from his lips, the name doing nothing to ease the pressure on his chest. His daughter, his beautiful, wonderful, perfect little girl – and what had he done to her? Left her. Abandoned her. And she – she would hate him for it. She should hate him for it, and besides, she was happy now, wasn’t she? Happy with the people she’d spent the last twenty eight years with, even if time hadn’t moved so slowly for her as it had for him –

Carefully, oh so carefully, Jefferson folded up the flyer and slid it into the inside coat pocket, eyes burning. He couldn’t go to her. He couldn’t.

Have you seen my Papa?

“Yes, I have, Gracie. Yes, I have.”

Jefferson’s tears burned on his cheeks, and, desperately trying to choke back his sobs, he buried his face in his hands and wept.

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Jefferson folded his arms on the back of his chair and rested his chin on them, but quickly changed that to cheek when it proved to be too difficult to look up at Victor that way. He dislodged two fingers, mimed zipping his mouth shut, and then put his hand back as his daughter skidded into the room.

"Papa - oh." Grace smiled at Victor as she popped into the hatting room, but her eyes quickly snapped back to Jefferson. "I was wondering if I could go play with Henry?"

"Homework?"

"Finished, Papa," she reassured him. "Please?" 

He pretended to consider it just long enough to make Grace bounce on her toes and try to pretend she wasn't, before nodding and waving a hand at her with a smile. "Only if you promise you have fun."

"I promise, thank you!" And then her arms were around his neck for a brief, but tight, hug that he reciprocated in full before Grace let go and proceeded to hurl her arms around Victor's waist. Jefferson chuckled quietly. "You're supposed to hug me back," Grace told the doctor after a moment. "I won't leave until you do!"

All was starting to calm down until his face was pointed at, and he found himself turning an even brighter shade of pink— though now it was better considered red.

"Quiet down," he attempted to ‘murmur with purpose’, though that was a useless endeavor and he ended up looking away, crossing his arms, and making a face. Sometimes he missed being in the gray world solely for the lack of teasing, though it would be untrue if he said that aloud— as he really did love it here with Jefferson.

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Grace hugged her bunny to her chest, looking up at the sheriff as the woman frowned. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I just - I'm not in trouble, am I?"

          “—Figured this be easier somehow.”

[hats-to-portals]

♒ ⋆ ☮ c:

Phobia Headcanon

Grace

Grace doesn’t have a phobia, necessarily, but she was scared of the dark for the longest time. Her papa used to leave a candle lit at her bedside until she fell asleep. She’s not scared anymore… much…

Jefferson

He can’t stand being alone. Even when he was a portal-hopper and alone most of the time, he struck up conversations with random people. Now that the curse and Wonderland has taken their tolls on him, he’s deathly afraid of being alone - and especially of losing Grace again. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it.

Sex Headcanon

Grace

Grace only knows what that is because she and Henry went wandering around in the library and found a book on it. She thinks it’s gross and has vowed on her stuffed bunny to never, ever do something so icky.

Jefferson

He’s clingy and requires not only lots of cuddling, but foreplay. To him, the act itself isn’t the most important part, it’s before and after. During can be wonderful, but he cares more about the kisses and the cuddles and the whispers than anything else. He’s very fond of pillow talk.

Random Headcanon

Grace

Grace is dyslexic. She still likes to read, she’s just slower than everyone else.

Jefferson

Jefferson is ambidextrious.

[hats-to-portals]

“Jefferson!" 

The hatter froze, fingertips on the edge of his hat. That... that had sounded remarkably - remarkably real.

But no, it couldn't be. Wonderland did that. It made noises, words - you swore they were real, but they weren't. And this couldn't be real anyway. Victor wasn't here. He couldn't be. Here was outside of there, and Victor couldn't leave there, not without a hat, not without a portal, and those didn't work, now did they? 

His fingers clutched the rim of the hat as the voice - not him, not him, not him - called again, came closer. The hatter's eyes flickered over to the mirage, stared, blinked, stared again, lips dry, cracking. Nope. Nononono, this wasn't fair, it was in color and everything! Blond hair, pale skin - very pale skin, some distant part of his brain noted clinically, deciding that he definitely needed food as of a week ago - torn clothes, frantic eyes -

But it wasn't him.

"No," he breathed, so quietly he was barely even aware of it, one hand picking up the ax that he'd dropped while spinning the hat. No. A mirage or - or an imposter, but not him. Not Victor. "Can't be," he muttered, knuckled whitening. "Can't be him, can't be Victor, Victor can't be here!"

Had to be an imposter, it had to be. Blindly he swung the ax, just wanting the monster hiding as his Victor to go away and leave him alone -

Off with his head - no - no, not the Red Queen, and how was he still alive, she'd had his head chopped off and he was still alive and now there was this - this - "No! Not here, can't be here, never be here -"

To Wonderland!

As he’d never set foot in this land before, mainly due to the high level of dislike his one source of world-hopping had for this place, he wasn’t sure of what was normal and what was not. Was there even such a thing as normal for this world? It all seemed so bizarre, who could say what was more bizarre than usual?

He’d heard a good many strange sounds and voices in this place, ones that made him nervous and feel like he himself were going mad— characters of all kinds singing to their own insane tune, or in some cases yelling.

But none of those sounds or voices familiar, up until this moment—

“Pillage, pretty. Petty. Panhandling." — was that?

“Pavement. Package," he was looking around, eyebrows furrowed as he struggled to determine which direction the voice was coming from— here you couldn’t be too sure. He’d learned that going one way lead to another, all was without sense.

“Panther, pail, porous," he’s now numbly attempting to follow his instincts in trying to find the brunet— he prayed, this was not just his imagination.

If he were going mad—

“Pirates, pizzazz, pinata, paralyze, portal!” He was terrified. If this were just his mind, he wasn’t sure he could handle the result. He was now running, despite exhaustion.

Then came the begging from the voice— it wanted to get it to work [in which the blond assumed it was a hat], and his heart ached. He was struggling, turning this way and that, before he finally caught sight of a somewhat familiar figure.

He knew better, honestly, than to call out to a frazzled, likely-mad-man, he swore he did— but that was thrown out the window.

“Jefferson!" Making a bee-line [over various plants in order to find the walkway] for the Hatter as soon as he’d been spotted, the blond looked not much like himself. He was a mess, his clothing torn— he was in color, but he was horribly pale. He looked as though he’d not eaten in weeks. But his tired eyes did show his worry for his friend.

It was apparent he regained some form of common sense, as he did not come too close— he lingered a few feet away; fiddling with the very same red scarf that his friend had given him. He seemed almost guilty, though even he wasn’t sure of what he could blame himself for— but he blamed himself for this, somehow. That Jefferson was still in Wonderland, or ever had been.

“Jeff—Jefferson,” he swallowed, after taking a deep breath, “are you— are you alright?” It was awful question, really. Why even ask it. But he had to, he knew he did. This could be dangerous and he knew it. White Rabbit hadn’t kept that from him. He couldn’t be too close to Jefferson without knowing they were both going to be okay, and it killed him.

[hats-to-portals]

Headcanons Go~

☾: Sleep Headcanon ☠: Drinking Headcanon ♒: Phobia Headcanon ⋆: Sex Headcanon ☮: Random Headcanon ☻: ‘Like’ headcanon ♤: ‘Dislike’ Headcanon ☯: Pet Peeve Headcanon ☄: Weather Headcanon ☼: Cooking Headcanon

[hats-to-portals]

"Victor," he mimicked, picking up the colorful book from the floor and flipping through the pages idly before nearly tossing it over his shoulder, thinking better of it, and placing it on Victor's desk. Who even cared about - what was it? Plants? Oh, yes, that was right, plants. He should remember that; he'd brought it here, after all. "I'm bored." He flopped down on the couch next to Victor.

Jefferson was bored. A dangerous thing, boredom. Particularly where the hatter was involved. There was just no telling what he might do. He'd popped into the hat to visit Victor - and the doctor just would. Not. Pay. ATTENTION. The hatter stuck a finger inside his mouth and swirled it around, poking the inside of his cheek, before grinning widely and sticking the wet finger inside Victor's ear.

It wasn’t unusual for him to ignore his friend, as he was often busy reading or experimenting— today it was the first of those two things, and as such he was lost in thought as he flipped through the pages of his book. All was peaceful until he felt an unfamiliar sensation in his ear, and he let out a screech-like noise that even startled himself— he nearly fell off the couch!

“Jefferson," the name was said with a threat in his voice, having dropped his book in favor of holding his ears— in case that was attempted again.