#my unfortunate writing

[jonahmagnus]

In world where there are two types of tower-dwellers, a Princess is locked in a tower.

There are two types of tower-people: A Princess, put there to remain pure until marriage or until rescued, and a Wizard, put there by choice to study and learn in isolation. Princesses are defined by their beautiful long hair, and Wizards are defined by their beards and impressive 'stache.

There is a Princess, and she lives in a tower. She was put there recently by her mother and father, to keep her pure and untouched until they can secure the marriage to another kingdom and a prince shes doesn't love. She has long, almost brown sandy-blonde hair, pale green eyes and a slim, tender build. She is not the fairest in the land, but she is tall and pretty. If compared to a rose, she would be the humble yet graceful willow tree, slender and long. She has wanted to be a wizard since a young age, but there is no way for a princess to become a wizard. Princesses are delicate girls to be protected and sold off until their either dead or Queens or have found True Love, unsuited to the life of experimentation and study of a wizard. That is what her mother tells her, in a quiet scolding that is far more forceful and cruel then it has any right to be. And the princess, terrified, believes her.

She used to run the castle halls, stick in hand, robe fashioned out of a delicate silk bedsheet, shouting fake spells at birds while her servants chased her. But as she grew older, her restraints became tighter, and more and more often, she was confined in her room to embroider in solitude with barely the comfort of a window or a maid. The life she is forced into makes her hang her head low, makes her hands be paper-soft, and demands her hair be long and beautiful and perfect like all other princesses. The world she longed to be a part of was a world of study and experimentation, and as the kingdoms princess and tool, she could not even dare to hint at her desires into adulthood. She could become a witch, she knew, flee the castle barefoot and sink into the loving embrace of the swamp. But witches don’t live in towers, and they make potions instead of spells, and they don’t grow the flowing whimsical beards that wizards do.

But that does not mean she has to be bored in her tower. Fascinated by magic as she always has been, she arranges with a long string of bribes for books on spells and forbidden potions to be smuggled along with her meals. She studies them while the clock ticks down for either a prince to arrive or her marriage to be finalized. Either one will doom her, and she wants to enjoy herself as much as possible until her marriage. She pours over the books long into the night by candlelight, and all day, she rests her pale, tired eyes. She experiments, and she reads, and she studies non-stop, barely stopping for meals and littering her books with an assortment of food stains. She cuts off her hair to use in bubbling gold potions, her skin becomes scarred with a rainbow of the consequences of failed experiments, and her dresses turn into makeshift cheesecloths and fire-fuel. She washes late into the night after she is done with her work for the day in the darkness, not glancing into the mirror that has become cracked and dusty. When her eyesight starts to fail from strain and working in darkness, she fashions for herself bottle-round glasses, blown by herself in the depths of her tower. Engrossed as she is in her studies, she does not notice the tower warp, and the meals stop rotting, and how she started out in one circular room but now has a loft and a second floor and the fact that the tower seems much much taller then it was originally.

What she DOES notice though, is when brushing crumbs from her face she feels facial hair on her upper lip.

She rushes to the bathroom and thrusts a candle into the holder as she looks at herself. In the dusty mirror, she sees the beginnings of a bushy mustache sit on her upper lip, much further along in growth then be logically possible without her noticing. It’s a pale blonde, like her hair, and she notices faintly that there are streaks of grey in it, a very familiar shade of classic wizard grey. She brings a trembling hand to her upper lip.

Much, much later, a prince rides up to the tower. It is tall, and warped, and very clearly belonging to a wizard, despite the royal family claiming their daughter lives here.

He shouts up, a bit nervous because of the thorny vines wrapping the beautiful stonework.

“Hey! Does a Princess live here?”

A young man with large bottle glasses and a rather impressive mustache leans out of the tower, his short, sandy-blonde hair spilling lightly in the wind. He starts to say something, then glances back into his house. A smile breaks out on his face as he seems to realize something.

“No!” He shouts back, after a moments hesitation. “But a wizard does!”

[aroseofice]

Isabeth screamed, and it wasn’t a sound at all, clawing at the air and catching nothing in her grasp. She twisted and writhed in the air, hysterical mind turning to the animal instinct to catch herself in the wind as she plummeted from the sky, wax wings melting off, her reflection a blur on the icy lake. It was nothing but a brilliant smear of golden light that still wasn’t hot enough to burn, just glow falsely in the beaming sunlight, like a pathetic candle in front of a burning building. It was the light equivalent of roadkill- it was like somebody had created a squirrel full of glitter and gold, and then ran it over repeatedly with their car. It was the pathetic, weak glow of the nightlight- significant and proud in the nighttime, but revealed of its weakness the very instant the sun crests the horizon and reveals the tiny lightbulb to be the pathetic waste it is. It wasn’t anything to be remarked upon, and the sun would barely notice touching it with its unfailable, perfect light.

         But then, like a lightswitch, the world went dark, and for a split second Isabeth was hit by the terrifying reality, the lonely last words of Icarus, the fear of the cord yanked from the wall, the candle at the end of its wick, the certain knowledge that the sun ever cared about this whining beast’s fate. Isabeth twisted herself up at the sky one last time, desperate to see even the glimmer of a star, but they twinkled at her mockingly, seeming to giggle in tinkering voices at her flailing limbs and desperate-scream-that-wasn’t-a-scream. And then they turned away from her once again, turning their attention back to the light that matters.

         And then Isabeth crashed through the reflective surface of the frozen lake, sinking below the icy waters to drown, shattering her spine and causing her melting wings to freeze and break with a sickening crack, and nobody even said a word.

@icerosesummerbracket​ wip

[ocglaze]

Good news for Jerejon fans!

♡♡♡♡

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[fandom-trash-goblin]

i beg you to love me, say that i'm enough, but you tell me— why are you like this? i think there's something wrong with you.

for @shestrying

thanks to @acelania for finding the unknowns!

in image / desperation sits heavy on my tongue, tumblr user tullipsink / mary oliver, ‘north country’ / virginia woolf, letter to violet dickinson / in image / blythe baird, from if my body could speak / Alice in Bed: A Play' by Susan Sontag (link in comment) / lynee rae perkins, criss cross / elena ferrante, Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay' (trans. Ann Goldstein) / rainer maria rilke, from rilke’s book of hours / in image/ in image

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl

[captain-flint]

something something Ed not being able to step in to protect Stede from physical and emotional harm out of fear of damaging Stede's reputation and instead letting it play out as he silently falls apart in the background

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girl found dead in a hidden room.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[booperbeanv3]

drawstuck #4: june edition

alt june shirt under cut

i jst thought it would be cute

[watchingwisteria]

aziraphale, the one who gave the first human exiles his flaming sword as both a source of protection and warmth, who did not look on them as sinners deserving of destruction but people entitled to the best chances possible, has never once looked at crowley, a heavenly exile, with anything other than compassion and a desire to protect. from their first meeting, he never wanted anything bad to happen to him. when crowley slithers up to him in eden, he treats him like an equal rather than an adversary. when crowley appears, his eyes fill with love and excitement, his gaze turns soft and hesitant, his whole body seizes with joy of seeing him. crowley might typically the one to seek him out, but aziraphale has always welcomed him home.

[luvring]

THE MOST ATTRACTIVE PERSON IN THE ROOM

timeskip iwaizumi x gn!reader ft. msby + osamu, akaashi | 1.5k words, swearing, implied alcohol, suggestive?

“okay, iwaizumi, i dare you to…” hinata drawls, tapping the wooden floor beneath him—the beat of the song that he’s gotten stuck in everyone’s heads today, you note.

“hmmm….”

“this is why we can’t play truth or dare with you, shoyo.” atsumu groans, though there’s a lopsided smile that accompanies it, before taking a sip of his drink. condensation drips down the side and he wipes it with the sleeve of his jacket.

“as if you didn’t steal my dare idea last turn!”

“can’t steal somethin’ that was never yours in the first place.”

“huh? i literally said it out loud.”

“i thought it before y’said it.”

“what?!”

“holy shit, get back to the dare.” osamu snorts and throws a pillow at their heads. “’m gonna have to retire by the time hinata comes up with 3 syllables.”

you laugh softly from your spot on the couch above. hajime snickers next to you, his arm hanging loosely above you.

not around you, of course. just above, on the couch, close enough to brush your head every time you lean a little too far back—which is why you’ve curled further into the edge instead, feet tucked under the throw blanket you had gifted hinata a few months earlier.

emboldened by the conversation as distraction, you let your eyes shift to loom at him. his cheeks are flushed, and eyes crinkled as he watches his team in amusement. there’s an almost empty drink in his left hand, more clinking ice than beverage. but he brings it to his lips to take another sip, and you watch, and you wish you could stop watching, but your eyes seem fixated on his lips as they meet the edge of his glass, and the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

the sound of bickering is muffled, and you should look away, really, it’d be embarrassing if he caught you, but he’s scratching the side of his neck, and he looks really good, and—

“okay, fine, iwaizumi.” hinata brings your focus back to the room and stares with sudden determination. “i dare you to kiss the most attractive person in the room.”

the two stare at each other. no immediate snarky remark or laughter follows.

you blink.

you think everyone blinks, actually.

your eyes flicker to hajime again, and you watch his mouth again, though this time it opens and closes twice, three times, as if words would appear if it silently lured them. “...i—what?”

“pfft—”

“don’t feel like getting kissed tonight, sorry, bro. alright, bo, you’re up next, right?”

“oh! yeah, wait, we’re skipping iwa?”

“oh, shut up, ’tsumu, like yer dumbass is the most attractive person in here.”

“i am, actually. objectively, even.”

“you have a twin, atsumu.”

“not seein’ your point here ’kaashi?”

“y’callin’ me ugly?”

“technically jus’ less attractive, but yeah, yer ugly.”

“guys,” you warn. you think bokuto’s still confused on who’s turn it is, while osamu’s put his drink down and sitting up straighter. “drop it. and hajime, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“yeah, but you’ll have to take a shot,” atsumu interjects.

“thought you as the self-proclaimed ‘most attractive person’ were gonna stop him anyway. was he supposed t’drink a shot if he picked ya?”

“no, we would’ve both taken shots.”

hajime raises a brow. “what? as the guy who’s supposed to have the dare—what the hell kind of logic is that? you know what—”

he lets out an exasperated sigh and moves his arm from behind you to rest on his thigh. and it’s not like it was touching you in the first place, but the vacancy makes the back of your neck feel a little colder. “fuck it, i’m tipsy enough.”

“fine, y’can kiss my cheek—”

“i’m not kissing you, atsumu,” hajime just less than growls.

atsumu puts his hands up in surrender while hinata snickers, and you think osamu’s building up to an “i told you so,” but you’re too busy watching the man next to you to really know.

there’s tension in his shoulders as he places his glass on his coaster—one of two that have actually been used, the other drinks leaving rings of water in their place. it’s a wonder that hinata has any in the first place.

your eyes move from his leg that’s started to bounce, to his hands that start to fiddle with the watch on his wrist, and then his mouth where he bites a lip.

and then they move up again, just a little higher, to his eyes—

which are already set on you.

neither of you say anything. but then his eyes flicker down to your lips, and a quick heat builds in your face, your ears, your neck. something in you thinks it must be a joke, but hajime’s already flushed face turns more red, and the (big) part of you that has a crush on him is just a little happy it seems to be because of you.

there’s no time to process that further though, his silence is enough to get the attention of the others anticipating his choice.

atsumu only looks between the both of you for a second before clapping his hands together. “ohh, ohoho—”

“ooh, iwa!”

“huh? ohh—”

“can you guys be normal for 2 minutes?” sakusa sighs and leans back into his chair, deciding to stare at the ceiling instead of his teammates if only for a moment. “and if you two are going to kiss, can you do it faster before my brain shuts down?”

“rude.”

hajime ignores them and clears his throat before facing you properly, shifting so one leg is propped on the couch underneath him. taking it as your cue, you sit up and collect your blanket to one side.

the room hasn’t been this quiet since you arrived first and offered to help set up. but it isn’t suffocating—the quiet is a buzz, and seems to sit in anticipation just as much as you.

“can i?” hajime asks softly.

you nod, your only hesitation is in wondering if he’s serious.

but even a little hesitation is enough. his lips purse, and a concerned crinkle appears between hajime’s brows that you almost want to reach to smooth out, its existence, you promise, unnecessary. he says your name. “seriously, we don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.”

you’re shaking your head before he’s done his sentence. “it’s okay, haji.”

“ooh, haji—”

“shuddup, ’tsumu.”

“is it weird i feel awkward watching this?”

“aw, c’mon, ’ji, they’re cute.”

the conversation is an odd comfort as it dulls the sharp attention on you, the tension your body seems to hold everywhere.

hajime moves closer, shrinking the gap between you until your legs touch and you can count the inches between you on two hands. his cologne is easy to notice, and you wish you could pinpoint the fragrant notes, maybe write them down in your head to look for later. (you wonder if that's a weird thing to do.)

the lips your eyes had lingered on maybe a dozen times just tonight are a lot easier to watch as his tongue pokes out to lick them. subconsciously, you do the same.

then a hand comes up, hesitates before finding place on your cheek, and you let yourself lean into its touch. it’s odd—how you wished the arm behind you on the couch would accidentally move a little closer just a few minutes ago, and now your face is being held instead. you wonder if you could ever get used to it.

for a split (embarrassing) second, you even let yourself wonder what it would be like to wake up to the same touch and owner in bed beside you.

hajime looks at you, and you smile when your eyes lock. and maybe it’s your own drink kicking in, but you reach for his free hand to lace your fingers in between his as you nod once more, look at his lips one more time.

his chest rises as he takes a deep breath.

“seriously, guys, if ya don’t kiss already ’samu’s gonna start going bald.”

“the fuck?”

you can’t help the laugh that escapes you or the warm breath that hits hajime’s skin, nor can you fully get rid of the smile on your face as hajime murmurs what sounds like a “for fuck’s sake,” beneath one of his own and leans in.

and then he kisses you.

and you think there’s cheering, clapping and something about losing a bet on who’d kiss who first.

but it doesn’t matter—not while you’re finally finding out how soft hajime’s lips are, while his grip on your hand tightens, while his thumb rubs your skin and fingers moves closer to the back of your neck to pull you closer, closer.

your free hand comes to wrap around his shoulder, and he lets go of the other to reach around your back. somewhere in the back of your head you wonder how long (how deep?) a kiss is acceptable in front of an audience, but you can hear, feel, hajime take a deep breath as he pulls you close enough that his chest is pressed against yours, and you think the others can look away themselves when it’s too much—there’s someone more important to you.

me after writing atsumu myself: wow he's so funny silly stupid 🫶 mann i don’t necessarily Want to know about perfumes and alcohol until i’m writing a fic and go ah. what the hell is a good scent. like girl what is Cedarwood ? not everyone can smell like..mint and vanilla. and how am i supposed to know what this guy would drink when all i’ve had is soju with raspberry gingerale / mango concentrate. which is rlly good btw. yummy...

🏷️| @devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @kuroaka @sunaslay @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @spooky1magazine1bread @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @tooruchiiscribs @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia @mitskiologist @libbyistired @milkbreadforlife @itsukkie @sirimirihiro @mylahrins @aria-chikage @heyitstial @akari-fujikawa

[jonahmagnus]

Hough

[starstruckodysseys]

neverafter finale was just like. pib wrecking shop (aka Actual Player zac oyama choosing violence against brennan). your bird speaks three languages. immediate bird creation. pinocchio and cinderella arguing like siblings. beaky’s sacrifice. aesop throwing a shark into the mix for some reason. flat william. i don’t like my story. aesop x baba yaga. orange hat fairy saga. terrifying dice rolls. zac’s clutch eighteen. it’s kind of like communion. ally throws the hat into the box of doom. brennan drags rick perry into the dome. why did you think that was okay.

pib taking back everything stolen from them. ylfa leaving the little girl behind. rosamund taking care of her. instead of my parents can we find my grandma. that sounds even better. walking off hand in hand with cinderella alongside them. i do love you. i love you too. pinocchio taking a moment to be alone because he knows he never will be after this. you should never have had to handle this.

once upon a time there was a princess who decided to try speed dating. sometimes they’re good ideas and sometimes they’re not and i love you both times. my first wish is to wander with you. pinocchio’s voice drops five octaves. skips puberty entirely. puss in sandals. i can’t get my daughters married for the fucking life of me. divorce court. gerard getting ripped. nocchi. i lean in for a kiss. the big bad wolf putting on an orange hat and walking off into the sunset.

and they all lived happily.

[ocglaze]

The Boy and the feral Wolf-Dog

The boy was a mixed breed

He was young

(Very young)

But not as young as you'd think

Solidly at the edge of adolescence.

He steps lightly through the flickering street-lamps

Like puddles, on a rainy night

Leaving ripples in his wake.

He is the same shining blond as the lights that bathe him

Visible in flashes through the darkness

A creature of the night.

The wolf-dog was a mangy mutt

She was old

(Very old)

But not as old as you'd think

Solidly at the edge of adulthood.

She steps lightly through the pitch-dark shadows

Deepened, like a moonless lake

Leaving no trace of her paw-pads behind.

She is the same pressing dark as the shadow around her

Visible only in car headlights and flashes

A creature of the night.

They meet

Under a flickering spotlight

A street-lamp

Still clinging to the modern world

She blinks

He blinks

And the light blinks back.

The light flickers her final breath

And the boy feels a wet nose press into the pad of his hand

(Paw)

And they both stand

Still

Breathless

In the pitch dark world.

[fivepibbles]

they have him pinned, but at least they're warm!

fanart for @tsunochizu 's backwards through the snow fic! im SO normal about this story (still emotionally recovering from chapter 15) i love this fic so much <3

they are the STINKIEST of family...

(for those who haven't read this fic, first of all, go read it now. but also pebbles is mostly ok. kinda. hes just dirty and stinky... amongst other things)

[ra-archives]

Yes Yes, I see your Mermaid Legend this and Merman Legend that, however,

Might I offer up some Siren Legend