#you know that scene in Brave

[draken-rotzi]

[alphaketoglutaricacid]

Shed your skin and come back to us

[petrichoraline]

[chibiveneficus]

IT'S LITERAL ROBOT NOISES

[loriane-elmuerto]

WIP WEDNESDAY

got tagged by the lovely @d-esmond and @lilywatt to share the latest WIP i'm currently working on, thank you so much!!!!

gonna tag (taglist to opt in/out for future content if you want!):

@shellibisshe, @viktorgf, @ghostfvcker, @roofgeese, @queennymeria, @florbelles, @jackiesarch, @risingsh0t, @countessrooster, @lucky-107, @unholymilf, @cryptcombat, @cptcassian, @thedeadthree, @carrionsflower, @frankwoods, @imogenkol, @shadowglens, @sigmatiqvevo

this is a little draft exploring Isa's state in very early act 2?, featuring @auricfog's Leonie 🫶

It's a quiet, uneventful night at the Lighthouse. The team, exhausted after a long day and full after a warm, welcoming dinner, had already said their goodnights to each other and retreated to their quarters. Only a few souls lingered in the dining room, engaged in conversation, sleep availing them.

Lucanis was writing a new entry in his logbook, creating a schedule for the following day, when he overheard a familiar Nevarran accent speak up, muffled by the barrier of the door.

"—I'm worried about her." Leonie. Unlike her, she was still awake at this hour.

Bellara's voice was expected. "Isadora? Did something happen?" That certainly got the assassin's attention. The mage in question did not seem to be any different than usual, smiling and sharing light jabs with the rest of them (which had a soothing effect on him, unfortunately).

"Not tonight, no. In general, I mean..."

"Go on." Neve was also another expected participant.

There was a slight pause. Lucanis assumed Leonie breathed out a sigh, possibly staring at the fireplace, looking for the right words. Most likely rubbing her palms.

"Ever since we were little, she was always surrounded by people, but never... Involved in the conversation, you know?"

"What do you mean? As far as I remember, she seems to be the liveliest around, I see her hanging out with everyone!" Bellara, too kind for her own good.

"Yeah, but that's the problem. Growing up the youngest and in a family like her own, it had its effects."

Lucanis felt Spite's whisper echoing in his mind.

She smells like cinnamon.

Neve hummed in contemplation. "She was the only mage, right? And with three older brothers?"

"That's right. I don't recall the majority of what happened from that lifetime, before the Circle, but where I'm trying to get at is the fact that she's very empty."

Their elven companion spoke up, worry lacing her words, "What makes you think so?"

"Her experiences in the South changed her. After the Circles fell and we completed our Harrowings, Isa travelled to continue her education in Orlais. Great academic choice, shittiest land in the world, though."

"But if the Circles were long dissolved—"

"It didn't matter. People still looked at her like she was an anomaly, a ticking time bomb, especially after learning that she was trained by the Mortalitasi, and after everything that happened during the mage-templar war... You can fill in the blanks."

And spices.

"No wonder she's giving every little part of herself to every single person that crosses her path." Neve already had the points connected. "Every gold coin given to the beggars on the streets, every excursion, every conversation, no matter the hour, standing by the Eluvian with barely any sleep, ready to help."

Bellara had also caught onto the stream of thought. "Has she ever done anything just for herself? Taken a day off, disappeared without a trace just to enjoy herself... Anything? Has she given herself anything at all, besides the satisfaction of solving the world's problems?"

And the cold, empty void.

Somewhere, in the bathhouse, Isadora submerges under the water completely, allowing the warmth to claim her.

[achingly-shy]

AGENTS OF S.H.I.E.L.D SEASON 1 -> SEASON 3

[theletterwsartflap]

... Barf barf barf! I'm a can opener, a lamp, and a shaver! Oh god, I'm a mish-mash!

(Still a WIP but at least I'm past the halfway mark now!)

[forwhump]

a/n: ;-; I feel a little silly introducing myself on a writing post but I feel sillier just starting to post my writing w/out any sort of introduction at all, so hi ! I��m Tina ! I’ve semi recently gotten introduced to the whump community because the content I create has been whump the whole time I just didn’t know it & thought I was alone in it !

now that I realize I’m not, I figured I might as well start posting my blurbs somewhere ! I don’t know if it qualifies as conventional whump, but is there such thing as conventional whump ? so what the hell

I put my two favourite oc’s through the horrors so often I have so much whump content w them & it’s just going to waste in my google docs & my notes app ! I’m chronically shy about posting my work online but I figured somebody out there might see this & maybe even like it so what’s the harm in sharing !

if you do see this & maybe even like it, yay ! I’m so glad ! thank you for even reading it <3

tw/cw for aftermath implied rape, mentions of being gutted

Wren has always been beautiful.

Silas had always thought so. Even at Wren’s worst, even when it wasn’t wholly appropriate to think. Silas had thought so since that very first day, since he was dragged into this place clawing and biting, since Wren had looked up at him from his place in the common room and smiled at Silas, sympathetic, as he was dragged into hell.

It was striking, even then, even disoriented and scared and confused. Wren was a bright spot, a glimmer of light in a bland, grey prisonscape. He’s beautiful like no other person Silas has ever seen, beautiful in a way reserved for the sunrise and the moon, so beautiful it actually gives him an eerie, kind of inhuman quality, even now, even still.

Wren has always been beautiful and Wren is beautiful still. But this —

There is nothing beautiful about this.

It’s ugly. It hurts something low in Silas’ chest.

It’s a film strip that’s been double exposed. Wren’s always been beautiful, and so particular about his hair; Wren has fairytale hair. It’s impossibly long, fairytale long, and the colour of snow, kinda, but he’s always so particular about it, he takes such good care of it, something that’s only his, something that belonged to him before this place, something they let him keep, and his hair always shimmers, perfect, iridescent. Silas has always found it kind of hypnotizing. Wren’s always so careful about how he braids it.

His hair is a mess. It had been pulled up into a ponytail with a piece of pink ribbon that’s gotten mostly lost in the tangles of his hair. Loose strands stick to his face, his throat, his waist, the insides of his thighs with tears, spit, sweat, semen, blood. He’s wearing some demeaning little pleated skirt, the same pale pink as the ribbon, and it’s short, it’s so short, and there’s so much visible skin that Silas can see almost every bruise, big and purple and splotchy and broken, like road rash. He can see all the blood tracked down the insides of his bruised thighs. He can see handprints. Tooth prints.

How is this happening? How did it get to this?

“Wren,” he hears himself say.

“Leave me alone.” His voice is the flattest Silas has ever heard it. He doesn’t lift his face from the carpet.

“Wren.” He doesn’t know what he’s gonna say. What can he say? He reaches a hand out, almost instinctive.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Wren —“

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Wren snaps, almost screams, and he finally lifts his head as he flinches away.

Most of the left side of his face is that same broken, road rash bruise. His mouth is swollen. His eyes, from crying. He doesn’t have hickeys, but proper, scabbing bite marks, bruising his jaw and his throat.

So much bruising. So much blood.

Silas knows what to do.

He struggles with that, sometimes.

Wren was allowed to keep his hair; Silas was, as well. It’s all Silas got to keep.

No part of Silas is the same as it was when he got here; no organ, no arterie. Silas isn’t human anymore, Silas is a weapon, but he tries, oh my god, he fuckin’ tries, if nothing else he tries, and he’s getting better, he thinks. He just struggles sometimes with human emotions, with feelings, thoughts, with what to do, what to say.

He knows now, though. What to do.

No part of Silas is really human anymore, but most of him is all still attached. His left leg, however, isn’t, and the replacement he’d been given, as a massive, inhuman superfreak, is heavy and deadly and fuckin’ uncomfortable. It pinches. Silas hates it almost more than anything. Unless he absolutely has to wear it, he gets around in his chair. It’s how he gets back to his room, where, without even a groan of displeasure, he makes quick work of his superfreak prosthetic.

On his own, he stands. Onto his chair, he piles one of his crewnecks, a favourite of Wren’s because of how cartoonishly large it fits him. Silas piles his comforter on top. From Wren’s room, he grabs his hairbrush and a pair of his joggers. Their clothing is the same dull grey as everything else in hell — prison grey, Silas thinks of it.

He limps his chair back to the common room. He folds the sweatshirt and joggers over the back, brush hooked in one hand as he holds open the blanket. “Okay,” he says. “Come.”

Wren’s head is down again. He’s right where they dumped him, a pile on the common room floor. “Leave me alone, Silas.”

Silas frowns. “No,” he says. “Come. I won’t touch.”

Slowly, Wren lifts his head. He blinks up at Silas with huge, wet eyes. “What?” He says, less sharp but a bit more broken. “What are you doing?”

Silas shakes the blanket at him. “Come.”

He isn’t expecting the way Wren’s face crumples, or the way he sobs. Softly, he says, “Wren?”

Wren turns his face away, but when he sobs, he sobs, “Silas.”

Folding the blanket and the brush back onto his chair, Silas limps around it to slowly, awkwardly maneuver himself onto the carpet next to Wren. Within reaching distance, but he’s careful not to touch.

Wren doesn’t lift his face and sobs into the carpet.

Slowly, Silas lies down, on his back next to him. He reaches out, he doesn’t touch, but he invites, and without looking at him Wren shifts into his arms and sobs into Silas’ shoulder.

Silas covers his back with a massive, gentle hand and lets him cry.

He cries for a long time.

Eventually, his sobs soften to sniffles and the hitching of his back slows under Silas’ hand. He says, into Silas’ grey sweatshirt, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Why?” Silas asks.

Wren’s chest hitches. His voice cracks when he says, “I’m disgusting.”

He frowns. “You’re not disgusting.”

Wren hiccups out a sob.

“Wren,” Silas says, “you’ve held my organs inside my body for me. This is nothing.”

He sobs again.

Silas thumbs slowly across his back, over the stiff, ripped material of his shirt. “Let me take care of you this time, Wren,” he says. “Please.”

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me,” he says softly.

“I don’t,” Silas says. “I want to.”

Wren’s small fist curls into Silas’ crewneck. Into his chest, he whispers, “they really hurt me, Silas.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Silas promises. He already knows how he’ll do it. It won’t be slow but it will be painful. “Let me take care of you first.”

Wren doesn’t answer him, but he nods into Silas’ shoulder.

Softly, Silas asks, “can I pick you up?”

He nods again.

Gratefully, gently, Silas lifts Wren into his arms and from there, into his chair. He pulls the grey blanket around his shoulders and Wren sinks into it gratefully.

The bathroom is cold, and the water doesn’t get hot, but it gets warm, so Silas runs it warm before he limps across the bathroom to gather an armful of towels. He held Wren to his feet, and leaves the towels in his place.

“You don’t have to do this,” Wren says softly.

“So?” Silas says.

He blinks up at him, a bit taken aback.

Supporting most of Wren’s weight, Silas says, “do you want my help getting undressed or do you want me not to touch you?”

Wren blinks up at him again, sniffling. “Would you help me?” He asks, so soft he’d barely spoken.

“I’ll do anything you ask me to,” Silas answers.

Wren makes a soft sound, and Silas is careful not to touch any of the bruises as he bumbles through small buttons and zippers with huge hands. He helps Wren out of his ruined skirt and into the lukewarm water. Silas doesn’t undress, but he follows him in, letting Wren lean hard against him as he lathers a washcloth he hands to him before getting to work untangling his hair.

It’s a careful few hours of effort, because Wren has so much hair and it’s so matted, caked with blood, grime, semen.

Silas is meticulous. He brushes it out. Washes it. He isn’t a great braider yet, but June had been teaching him the basics, and he can struggle his way through a sloppy French braid. He tugs the elastic out of his own hair to tie it off, and once he’s done, Wren turns to look up at him and he’s crying again.

“Wren?” He says.

And Wren surges forward, pushing his face into the hollow of Silas’ sternum, arms tight around his waist.

“Thank you,” he whispers into his wet sweatshirt.

Silas cradles the back of his head with one hand. “It’s okay,” he says.

In truth, he would die for Wren in a heartbeat. This is nothing.

[fisherrprince]

anon had a much different message I’ll try to get back to But it spiraled off in my brain and I think like, a character note about the twins especially in the beginning is that they’re very uncomfortable with (if not with most loud emotions) crying. exactly like my brother and I tbr alisaie is not comfortable with it even if it sometimes happens to her without her consent, so she stuffs it behind being snappy so it’ll stop. as the story goes on she doesn’t necessarily get more comfortable with it, she just gets around people who make her feel more okay about it. alphy just seemed unused to it in general - nothing in his life has ever caused emotion like that to overwhelm either reason or ego or logic, and so it just never happened, and even when he was upset he always always distanced how he felt about things from what his role was in the real world. like as a ten year old they were doing this. after hw it kind of starts happening to him wether he wills it or no, mostly around bittersweet or moments of stress release. which rly leads me to believe in the space between arr and hw was a lot more unmentioned (or obliquely mentioned, they kinda leave it to you) awful attempts at feeling really harsh emotions by someone who’s just genuinely never done it before than we hear about directly. he’s just never cried since he was tiny, and it probably sucked. anyways alisaie understands the emotional weight of events instantly and gets to react to them even if she dislikes it later and becomes determined to fix, while alphy still retains the habit of quickly separating himself from an event until it’s like, done with and either fixed or nothing we can do, and then falls apart. they both kinda try to hide it anyways

[sweaters-and-vertigo]

i have a teeny, tiny superiority complex because i didn’t watch the atla live action.

[wordswhisperinthedark]

If Bravern doesn't get an OVA imma riot

[lord-squiggletits]

Bolts upright from my bed

In an AU where Pharma lives the Adaptus thing and comes back on the Lost Light, wouldn't he find out that the crew had to deal with being cornered and nearly killed by the DJD and a bunch of other Decepticons?

And then Pharma could get to be like "oh I see :) you were under threat by the DJD :))) why didn't you just run? Oh you couldn't and had no means of escape? Funny :)))) didn't you call for help? Oh you did right??? And did anyone come???? :)))))) did anyone come in time to save you from the DJD????? DID THEY????? DID YOU JUST CALL FOR HELP AND RUN AWAY AND THE DJD JUST LET YOU GO????? :))))))))))) OH THE DJD BLOCKED COMMUNICATIONS AND HAD YOU SURROUNDED????? OH HOW TRAGIC I GUESS YOU COULDN'T ESCAPE AFTER ALL AND A LOT OF YOUR FRIENDS DIED :)))))))))))))))) AND THE ONLY REASON YOU WON WAS BECAUSE YOU HAD A LOT OF SUPERPOWERFUL FIGHTERS ON YOUR SIDE???? WOW IMAGINE WHAT MIGHT'VE HAPPENED IF YOU HAD NO FRIENDS AND BARELY ANY MILITARY SUPPORT AND THE DJD CAME HUH??? WOW WHAT A RELIEF THAT DIDNT HAPPEN"

-

In other words, I'm pretty much convinced that the reason Pharma is remembered as "the evil cowardly doctor that murdered innocents to save his own skin" instead of "the Autobot that got mindbroken by Tarn into thinking that making a plague and killing everyone was his only way to escape" is because he got introduced before the DJD were established as a pants-shittingly evil and sadistic group of freaks, and unlike Rodimus' crew he didn't have the luxury of being a main character whose thoughts and experiences were shown on screen. Pretty much his reputation as "crazy token evil Autobot" was sealed from MTMTE #5 and by the time MTMTE #50-something brought Dying of the Light, Pharma was a footnote in the story and never got to have this new information about the terror of the DJD factored into his own character.

[timothylawrence]

Rocky workout scene except it’s me trying to gain the courage to publicly post a wyll x tav fic

[myfandomhalf]

Season Finale

Sick and tired of reading about people say that Dazai knowing about the plan beforehand somehow takes away from the genuineness of the skk moments

You mean you WANT Dazai to choose to kill Chuuya for the greater good and then not give a shit immediately after?? Ignoring the speech for a second, the reason he was able to be so carefree after “killing” Chuuya is because he KNEW Chuuya was gonna be okay.

First of all, Dazai knowing Chuuya wasn’t gonna die doesn’t take away from his speech. He replayed all those memories for himself, nobody else was seeing what was happening in his head. He was GENUINELY upset at the idea of losing Chuuya and having to put Chuuya through that, DESPITE knowing Chuuya would be okay. He was STILL upset. That’s way better than him thinking he just killed Chuuya, sparing him a thought, not even crying (bc no that wasn’t a tear) and then just moving on being silly as if nothing happened.

And then the other speech him saying that they’re destined to - do you seriously think he’d just make that up for shits and giggles? He was being serious. If he was gonna play it up for Fyodor’s sake he would’ve said the most emotional out of pocket line to ever be written, which to them would be related to him leaving Chuuya behind. But no he just said they’re destined to do something.

Dazai talks a lot about the past to Chuuya (Chuuya does not participate) but those two are clearly emotionally constipated bc they never have a conversation about what they mean to each other (which I think is bc Asagiri is not ready to reveal that yet). This was clearly Dazai taking his opportunity to say what he REALLY thinks / feels forcing Chuuya to listen without the commitment. Bc if anyone gets the ick later he can use the convenient excuse of “oh I didn’t mean that” which is bullshit.

And I do think an element of this idea that it’s worse that Dazai had everything planned comes from the misunderstanding that Dazai has completely changed since he was in the port mafia. Dazai just tends to make “better” (as in more objectively good) choices, but he very much still puts on a front. You guys do realize that his silly persona is just that right? A persona? He’s literally being fake every time he’s silly. That’s not his real personality. He’s a morally gray character. He never became a purely good person and he never will. It makes MUCH more sense that he planned everything out with Chuuya beforehand.

He met up with Akutagawa before getting arrested, he probably did the same with Chuuya.

And yes, this means he DID use and manipulate Sigma the entire time. Why wouldn’t he? Sigma has an ability Dazai needed. I’m sure Dazai planned for sigma to not die bc in his role as a detective it’s part of his job to mitigate losses of innocent lives, he knows this, but also bc Dazai needs to know what sigma learned. I genuinely hope there isn’t anyone out there thinking Dazai wouldn’t manipulate sigma bc he cares about him? He just met him. He has no personal investment in him. But he WILL make sure sigma is alive bc of the aforementioned reasons.

[sovonight]

surviving on drawing/writing the barest scaffolding and filling in the rest of the blanks in my mind

[rosyredlipstick]

just started the fairytale fic and i physically can’t stop myself from reading every character with a scottish accent

you know what anon, thats a first lmao! and i so commend you for it haha