bad blood

lady margaret stayne, from the queen of hearts' court. the knave of hearts' first daughter. 18 years old. 6th year. princesse du sang ; ❤.

[daisyandpanda]

[mxstayne]

[pinkhot]

hyejin; the leader and the maknae <3 (…or basically the fake maknae and the actual maknae)

[thirstghosting]

no mom I don’t want a boyfriend I want a kingdom

[mxstayne]

cxcharming

He gives her a once over, figures a judgement as stereotypical as it is and eventually offers his open hand to her. “Maybe. Do you trust me?”

no. margaret stayne truly trusts no one, but truths aren’t necessary on court, even in the french one. he is dalena’s boyfriend though – she was shocked to see a friend she made as children while their fathers drank managed to catch a second in line to the throne – and the red-haired lady supposes they should have a friendly relationship of sorts (plus, she is curious, and tale has it that curiosity kills as her father’s axe does) so she takes the hand offered with grace, but not without raising an eyebrow at the male. “yes or no is not a hard choice, charles. what is it you’re up for?”

[mxstayne]

islakyle

“Oh– uh thank you.” Slowly, a light scarlet tint crept onto her cheeks, eyes downcast, fixed at her shuffling foot, a rather timid gesture which said, “Yes, please!” She was running late for class that morning so she didn’t really have the liberty to take her time and groom her flowing mane. Ah, mother wouldn’t be too pleased if she found out.

life had taught the red-haired to be patient in a less kind manner than the one she seemed to portray to her current object of interest, so when the moment is right, margaret is nothing near shy to voice out, in an ever gentle voice, her concerns over the other’s hair on the way to class they’re just by the door.

when the girl doesn’t look at her weirdly as she would have done herself, a smile breaks in her pink lips and her hands reach up to comb the other’s long strands. “i believe i am developing an ocd these days...” she comments as she works, chuckling. humility had never been something bad, and she overuses it as well as gentleness as she observes this shy girl, so different from the shameless thief she had seen just a week before. 

“if you prefer if down, it’s done. i can also braid if prettily if you’d like it, though.”

[mxstayne]

"Ouch! That was my foot!"

( ❤ ) random sentence starters 

                                status: closed!

sometimes, unplanned things happen, and you must always try to do the best with what you’ve got. believe it or not, margaret doesn’t mean to drop things onto other people’s feet all the time—her arms are two weakling things that are used to long dresses’ laces, make up brushes and hidden knives, and definitely not to books about the pre-historical bacteria’s’ composts and every chemical substance following it up to today, so, to be fair, it’s not her fault the heaviest chemistry book of history has decided to fall from her arms right onto a kid next to her’s foot.

“my goodness!” her voice raises an octave or so, and her face is covered with a worried expression. she couldn’t possibly care less about if this boy is going to lose his foot because of her book, but if he is as good as she assumes he is and doesn’t mind helping a poor and weak lady out, this might just turn to be the highlight of her day so far (he doesn’t need to know margaret is far from poor and weak, but it’s better, more amusing and only wise to play that role than to carry the damn book around all day).

“are you okay, darling?” the red-haired questions, landing a soft hand on the slightly taller boy’s shoulder and glancing down with furrowed eyebrows at his feet. but she doesn’t move, not even to pick up the book due to her moment of worry,  and how weakly she is trying to push the book away with her heels’ foot must have hinted everything necessary for him to fall into her trick. “i’m really sorry, i never imagined a book could be so heavy…”

[pinkhot]

[mxstayne]

girl’s day’s sojin and after school’s nana for anonymous.

[mxstayne]

averyxpark

“Give it to me, I’m worth it.”

a crimson eyebrow is lifted at the apparently cocky request, and for a second margaret is deeply amused by this boy. “we are not talking about chris hemsworth’s hammer in here.” so her cousin had requested for nerdy movies and books to keep him amused for like two seconds back home, and the always prompt lady had gladly returned them to the lad, but not without some reading herself.

so far, this fact had not been harmful, and even added some tone of joke to her purposely annoyed and wary voice towards the short male next to her. “it’s a corrosive acid that can ruin this. still wanna try?”

[flandegre]

( sms → mother fucking heart eyes ) how about i pick you up, ay sexy mama? ( sms → mother fucking heart eyes ) i have literally been in my room for like two days  ( sms → mother fucking heart eyes ) used the excuse that without my little sister i am emotionally unstable and therefore requires the presence of my sister ( sms → mother fucking heart eyes ) they didn’t believe me but i skipped anywa slmFAO

[mxstayne]

( sms → *fancy plays as bg* ) you know sometimes going with cliches work just fine as in ‘i’m sick’ or something like that

( sms → *fancy plays as bg* ) or ‘i just  got out of a siamese twins’ operation and i’m missing my hip’. people can’t argue with that.

( sms → *fancy plays as bg* ) i’m not sure why i’m encouraging you though you should study !!! get smart !!! break boys in pieces !! buys heels !!!

( sms → *fancy plays as bg* ) talking about heels i’m standing on really high ones by my locker so you’d better hurry up :*

[mxstayne]

flandegre

( sms → mother fucking heart eyes ) lmao saranghae ( sms → mother fucking heart eyes ) but literally why aren’t u greeting me already where are you??? 

( sms → *fancy plays as bg* ) i’m just getting out of class actually

( sms → *fancy plays as bg* ) where are /you/?? haven’t seen the royal perverts commenting about your ass yet

[jnxholloway-blog]

☆ red, white, and dead ; mrgrt • jnx

     [ ☆ ]—For a person from the kookiest corners of Wonderland, it was inevitable that Jinx Holloway would possess some sort of dark past to lug behind him. After all, he found himself born in a time when Jabberwocks still razed fires in forest (a fire in which he lost his mother to just moments after he was conceived), Red Queens ordered beheadings for the pettiest of things, and little girls with ruby red hair had a penchant for killing kittens like him.

He had no idea how he ended up in her cruel clutches so many years ago. If it wasn’t because of his genetic wiles and wits, he probably would’ve had his neck crushed underneath her tubby grasp. The little kitten that was Jinx barely escaped a sudden death in her hands, and he thanked the gods for allowing him to create an impossible riddle at that time. He escaped, and he was alive, now magically transformed into a 185 cm man with a penchant for hanging down tree branches and throwing riddles at those who least expect it.

So when he found out that the girl with the ruby red hair was attending the same school as he, he could not help but feel a small spark of excitement run down his spine. He wasn’t called the Cheshire Cat’s son for nothing, after all. He wasn’t afraid, and he didn’t hold a grudge at her actions (he barely felt remorse, after all)—he merely wanted to test if she could finally answer his riddles without wanting to run-off with his head.

Spying her in the courtyard, he hid himself atop a tree, counting the seconds as he waited for her to pass directly underneath the branch he sat on. Once she was underneath, he maneuvered himself so he could hang upside-down from his legs, long arms reaching out so he could make a mess of her crimson hair he could never mistake. “Hello,” He greeted, grinning a grin that could only be attributed to his father. “Remember me?”

[mxstayne]

the supposedly free period before lunch was the closest thing to heaven on earth margaret stayne has experienced in days, but it did not even compare to a kindness of a queen that rarely had been able to have the word “kindness” and her name in the same sentence: working away from wonderland was calm, but it was not all good. the lady could brag to herself how easy the work had become, but the biggest privilege now was to have the queen herself writing her letters about all kinds of situations, most likely ending up with twists and spilled emotions that any writer would be jealous of. plus, every wonderlander knows calm is never a good thing.

with the sun painting her head with a bright crimson, the lady makes her way down the school grounds, attention more focused on the screen in her hands than anything else. another privilege was how modern things were outside of the land of rabbit holes, things were so easy nowdays it was becoming ridiculous--but not as ridiculous as the scream that her cherry lips let out, or how fast her composed and always so kind manner was cracked to leave only a scowl in her once pretty face.

the being on the tree that caused her to loose temper so easily and to throw her phone to probably the pits of hell spoke, and margaret could only frown deeper. it takes her silent seconds with only loud breathing in between for her to catch on--the smile gives much of it away, and it takes all of her strenght for her to not reach forward and wrap her a her hands around his neck. no witnesses were around, and she should have more strenght than a kitten, but he seemed far too tall and this was not wonderland. a cat could make her no harm, no matter how big he was or how bad his jokes were.

pushing a crimson curl with more harshness than the necessary out of her face, margaret moves, as if distancing herself unwillingly only by a few steps. to look for her phone, of course. not to prevent anything that could happen between this bizarre being and her. “i have met too many creeps in my life, darling. you’d have to be more especific. not to mention polite.” her smile is loop-sided, as false and forced as it could get, but that barely was important when the past could come knocking like this.

[mxstayne]

what is your kill count?

the question comes to her even with the enhanced sense of hearing she has developed over the years -- call it court senses, or whatever -- but not even then is much of a shock. some surprise maybe, and the red-haired allows it to be seen through her features, but it doesn’t last for long before a melodious laugh escapes her lips. “why, curious, aren’t we?” the lady could hear not only her own soft voice, but also the one that started with screeched mewls and turned to choked pleads under her hands and suddenly strongly pressed weight. 

the ghost of a laugh, or even an unnatractive cackle still tempts her, but margaret stayne knows better and instead of appearing to be enjoying this, she frowns slightly. should she be enjoying this much? if this was any other time or place, she would have surely started to feel her stomach churning by now as her vision went red. well, and so far, all margaret could see was grey. 

“it’s not very polite to ask such things to a lady, did you not hear? wonderland takes heads off for way less than this affront.” and oh, how would she adore to take one herself, just for old times’ sake.

[mxstayne]

Random Sentence Starters

"Ouch! That was my foot!"

"Could you get out of my way?"

"Stop it!"

"You look lonely. Want to talk to me?"

"Your nose is red."

"Aw, you're so cute! You know that?"

"Eww, gross!"

"If you touch me again, you're dead."

"Don't eat that!"

"Gosh, you look kinda pale..."

"What is that!?"

"Oh my god, were you shot!?"

"Give me the gun. Now."

"Hello? Anyone in there?"

"Someone said you didn't feel well. You okay?"

"Do you want to cuddle?"

"I demand cuddles."

"You're hair's messed up. Here, let me fix it."

"Ohhh~ Someone's blushing~!"

"I-I-it's so c-cold..."

"It's too hot..."

"I can't...breathe..."

"Help!"

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"Augh! It hurts!"

"Feel my hands! They're so cold!"

"Stop! I can't run anymore..."

"Are you alright?"

"You look ready to faint."

"You're not serious."

"You want me to what?"

"Grab my hand!"

"Oh god. Oh god. Stay awake. Please stay awake. Stay with me!"

"Careful! You really don't want to fall here."

"Are you insane?"

"I can't allow this."

"I-I can't feel my arms..."

"Why are you all wet?"

"We need to get you to a hospital."

"I....I've been sh-shot..."

"Oh god, why is there so much blood...?"

"I think I'm gonna be sick..."

"Do you think you could make everything stop spinning?"

"I am NOT blushing!"

"Ugh, could you quiet down? My head hurts too much for this noise..."

"Have you been drinking?"

"Thank you. I really wanted someone to throw up on my shoes."

"I've never seen cuts like this..."

"Have you been to the doctor?"

"I think your leg is broken. I'll have to help you walk."

"Don't move!"

"Ouch! I...I think I heard something snap..."

"Don't touch it!"

"Your forehead feels kinda warm..."

"Careful with that! You wouldn't want to cut yourself, would you?"

"Why do you always do that?"

"How can I trust you?"

"You betrayed me! You betrayed everyone!"

"I told you not to kiss me when I was sick!"

"If I beat you and left you for dead, do you really think someone would come for you? They wouldn't."

"You disgust me to the point where looking at you makes me physically ill."

"Please don't go..."

"I can't live without you!"

"I'm sorry."

[mxstayne]

please like this if you want to plot! ♡

[astoriamalfoys]

red hair like roses, like blood (and they said girls couldn’t be soldiers) you are a battleground encased inside a girl your wounds are gunfire, your scars, the aftershock — the bullet wound this world was built on blood and wars (just like you) and when it cuts you open, raw and bleeding and blind, all there is inside you is the remnants of a revolution pretty girls aren’t meant for war they told you this, long ago but you, in your high heels, red lips, red hair, red scars you will defy them all a war rages inside you and pretty girls don’t lose

pretty girls kill prettily

— cllarafrey

(via lydiamaartin)

[burningtulle]

You are a woman. Skin and bones, veins and nerves, hair and sweat. You are not made of metaphors. Not apologies, not excuses.

Sarah Kay, from “The Type” (via gatsbees)