#checking courage

[ask-lu-wild]

Dang. Twilight’s just takin’ stuff without permission. Tsk tsk

[visceravalentines]

small town, sunday night

Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

a discarded scene from a longer fic. Bo's pretty sure by now you know who you belong to, but he oughta make sure, just in case. on ao3 here if you wanna.

2.4k words. porn with plot if you squint. extremely dubious consent. Stockholm syndrome. forced exhibitionism, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, emotional manipulation. tried out something new where the narration is written more in Bo's voice and i'm interested to see if that works for you or nah so lmk.

The whole family’s gathered in the den on a Sunday night. It ain’t tradition, not really, it’s just that if everyone’s gonna get together it’s gonna be on Sunday. 

Nobody felt like cookin’ and he don’t trust you ‘round the knives yet, so Les picked up some fried chicken from the Kroger and Bo said grace and you behaved yourself like a nice young lady, and now everybody’s sittin’ in front of the television drinkin’ beer and watchin’ football like some kinda all-American family. 

He’s got you sat on his lap in a sundress that belonged to some other bitch before you. It don’t fit you right, barely covers your ass, but that’s fine by him. His brothers keep eyeing you like you’re the skin mag by the cash register. He'll let ‘em look; in fact, he wants them to look. Plus it freaks you out, makes you press yourself against his chest in search of protection and boy, if that don’t make him wanna laugh out loud. He’s all too happy to oblige, wrappin’ you in his arms and whisperin’ sweet sugary bullshit in your ear. You’re servin’ yourself up to him on a silver platter and you don’t even realize it. 

He snags the six-pack off the side table and hands it to you, watches you wrestle a beer from the plastic ring and pop the tab for him without being asked. 

“Good girl,” he says, and kisses your cheek when he takes the can from you. You're bein’ such an angel today that it’s got him nostalgic for that bitch with the bad attitude. He wonders if she's gone for good or if he could dig around in that pretty head of yours and find her. “You want one?” 

You hesitate. He watches you do the math. You know by now you can’t get somethin’ for nothin’, but apparently you think you got plenty to give because you nod quietly. 

“G’on.”  He dangles the six-pack in front of you and lets you pick one for yourself. He watches the way you set your lips on the rim of the can, watches your throat bob as you swallow. Your gaze shifts uncertainly to him and he winks at you. You almost—almost—give him a shaky little smile. 

You adjust yourself in his lap, tug on your dress, try to get comfortable. He rests his chin on your shoulder and waits for you to settle. He likes the smell of his soap on your skin, even if it makes him miss the animal stench of you from before. Bringin’ you home was a good call. You clean up sweet and so far you’ve been learnin’ your lessons real well. Shit, he’s almost proud of you. 

Once you’ve mellowed out, sippin’ on your beer and pretendin’ this is where you wanna be, he slides his hand up your thigh, fingertips twitching at the hem of your skirt. He watches you frown and glance down at his hand and then back up at the TV like you think you can ignore him. He pushes your skirt up an inch or so and bites back a smirk when you shift and squeeze your knees together, shooting an anxious glance in the direction of his brothers. 

“Somethin’ wrong, baby?” he whispers. You answer with your eyes, give him this pleading look that makes him want to tear that dress off you right here, right now. “You’re alright. Watch the game.” 

Reluctantly, you turn back to the TV with this blank expression on your face that tells him he has your full attention. He moves his hand between your legs and gives your waist a hard squeeze when you stiffen. When you glance at him again he treats you to an ice-cold smile. 

This is a test, girl. Better hope you got a shot at passin'.

You’re bare beneath the dress ‘cause what would you need panties for, and he worms his hand between your thighs until his fingers find that soft, warm center of you. You jerk like a mare tryin’ to shake off a fly, but you don’t make a sound. He probes until his middle finger slips like silk into your slit almost up to the second knuckle and Jesus, girl, you’re so wet it makes his mouth water. This is why he never listens to you, because you don’t even know that you’re lying when you do it. 

He eases his finger out of you and back in deeper, watches your lips part but no sound come out. He does it again and your lashes flutter like a doll’s. You’re sittin’ still as a statue for now but he’s gonna break you. Promise. 

“You been so good, baby girl,” he murmurs into the shell of your ear. His thumb prods at your clit and you strangle the life out of a gasp as it tries to sneak into the room. “Wanna make sure you know how much I appreciate you behavin’ yourself.” He rubs that sweet spot in lazy circles and savors the way your back arches slow, so slow, tryin’ so hard to keep it a secret that he’s finger-fucking you ten feet from his family. 

You think they don’t know, huh?  You think they don’t see you’re nothin’ but a slut?  Maybe you oughta think a little less.

You get that look on your face like you’re determined to take back control of yourself but you belong to him, girl, that body is his. When he pushes another finger into your pussy your toes curl on the arm of the chair and this little moan makes it out alive and both his brothers were raised huntin’ so they know what a creature in distress sounds like and all the sudden, you’re the Sunday evening special. 

“Well looky here,” Les says, and wolf whistles. 

Your eyes go wide and you cover your face with your hands and Bo can’t help it, he breaks into a grin. He thought he’d wrung all the shame right outta you by now, but apparently he thought wrong. 

You peer over your fingers at him with tear-filled eyes and this time, you might just be cryin’ for real. You look so betrayed it makes him sick, makes him wish he could take it back just so he can do it to you again. 

“’S alright, baby, they’re just lookin’,” he coos.

“We are most certainly lookin’,” Les agrees, and ordinarily Bo would smack him, but the way your lip quivers makes his dick twitch. 

“Pretend they ain’t even here,” he says low in your ear. “Unless you like that sorta thing. You like bein’ watched, honey?  You some kinda slut?”

He already knows the answer even if you don’t. He can tell by the way that sweet little cunt keeps spasin’ around his fingers like somethin’ dying. And you don’t deny it, just keep beggin’ him to stop with those big doe eyes. He don't gotta work hard to pull your focus back to that ache between your hips. All it takes is a little spit on his thumb, a little less friction on that poor swollen clit, and you’re melting in his hands. 

“I’m just showin’ ‘em, baby,” he whispers. “Just makin’ sure they know you’re mine.” 

He collects your wrists with his free hand and pulls them down to expose your face. You make a sound, some kinda protest, but you don’t fight him off like you used to. That girl’s been buried six feet deep inside you and you’re all that’s markin’ her grave. 

“Hey Vince. Do me a favor?”  Bo tosses his head towards the camera sitting on the coffee table where he left it, a brand-new roll of film ready and waitin’ inside. His twin snatches it up without question and puts his goddamn gift to good use. 

You’re fightin’ it hard, makin’ him work for it, but he knows your body better than you do by now. When you cum, you try to hide it, bitin’ your lip and screwin’ up your face. But you can’t keep that pussy from grippin’ him tight, throbbin’ like your life depends on it. You squeeze his hand. A whine sneaks out of your throat and he catches it in his mouth, swallows it whole, savors it to the last.

You slump against his chest, let your head roll into the hollow of his shoulder because it's got nowhere else to go. You're soakin’ his shirt, soakin’ his hand. You're made of water, girl. Maybe that's why you make him so goddamn thirsty. 

“Well she’s a delight,” Les says, slaps his thighs, stands up. “I'm gonna head home ‘n jerk off unless you gents need anything.”

He has the gall to reach for one of the Polaroids Vince is layin’ out on the coffee table like playing cards and Bo hisses through his teeth. 

“Leave it. I ain't handin’ out souvenirs.”

Les rolls his eyes and slinks off like a stray mutt. Vincent looks for a second like he might make a case for himself, but thinks better of it and rightly so. He hands Bo the stack of photos and creeps back downstairs where he belongs and now it's just you and him and the TV static. 

You're stiff as a board in his arms but you're clingin’ to his shirt with all you got so which is it, woman? He kisses your temple and starts shufflin’ through the pictures. Mama's favorite son ain't immune to the charms of the pornographic and most of them center on the view up your skirt, the curve of your ass, your juice shinin’ on his knuckles. 

But there's one, just one, of your face lookin’ up at him. With these big, round eyes fixed on him and your hands cupped together in front of your chest. You look like you're prayin’, girl. Like you're worshiping him. 

He licks his lips, looks down at you. You’re starin’ straight ahead into space, head on his chest, tits swellin’ against the bodice of that dress as you breathe deep in and out. He can tell you're searchin’ for the way back to that place you used to go, safe and warm without him. 

You can't find it. It ain't there anymore. All you got is what you got.

“Can we go to bed?” 

He’s surprised you’re speakin’ to him. Your voice is low and rough from the tears. You don't look at him until he tucks his finger beneath your chin and tilts your face up. There's somethin’ bright and broken in your eyes like glass. 

“Please.”

He hates givin’ you what you want, doesn't want you gettin’ the wrong idea about who's in control here. He can't be spoilin’ you any more than he already has. But he prizes that look of relief and gratitude you give him when he's generous. That little furrow between your brows that melts away when he's good to you. 

“Sure, baby.”

There it is. You slump against him beneath the force of your relief and fuck you for the way his hands move to hold you without him thinkin’ about it. 

He don't carry you to bed. You're not a goddamn princess no matter what you might think of yourself. But you drop that dress that ain't yours to the floor and crawl naked into his sheets and when he climbs into bed beside you, you inch your way over ‘til you're pressed up against his ribs. 

He can barely hear you breathin’. You're hardly even there. The old you would be rippin’ into his stomach, thrashin’ fit to snap your own spine. This new bitch, though, she’s manageable. Sweet, even. 

Probably you don't mean for him to hear it but something like a sob sneaks out of you and it gives him butterflies. He rolls onto his side and slings his arm around you. 

“Don't cry, now. You're alright.”

You shrink into him, make yourself small and bite-sized. You need him so bad and he knows it, figures you’re startin’ to figure it out too. What would you do without me, huh?

“Was I too mean, baby?” You choke on those tears and he bites his lip. “I'm sorry…you forgive me?”

You whimper, can't commit. It ain't your fault you're stuck tryin’ to make sense of it all, ‘specially with him feelin’ you up like he is. He can't keep a straight face, grinnin’ into the back of your neck. “I just got carried away, showin’ off my girl.” He pushes his hips against your ass. “You are my girl, right?”

A breath shudders through your body. You arch your back, don't even know you're doin’ it. He wraps his hand around your throat like a collar, nice and snug, squeezes just a little to get you back on course. “I asked you a question. You got an answer for me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. 

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I'm your girl.”

Your voice breaks and whew, he's got blood rushin’ every which way. “Tell me you forgive me.”  

You don’t respond. He tightens his grip just beneath your jaw, brings his lips to your ear. 

“Fuckin’ answer me, huh?  You forgive me?  I gotta hear it, baby doll, or I’ll be up all night.”  

His fingers dig into your flesh. He can feel you shaking like a leaf in the wind with fear or fury or something else he can put to use. He’s grindin’ against that ass, just about ready to flip you facedown and fuck the sense back into you, when you finally give him what he wants. 

He always gets what he wants, baby. Haven’t you figured that out by now?  

“I forgive you,” you rasp, and he loosens his grip and feels your tits press against his arm as you suck in air. 

“Ain’t you sweet,” he says, and he presses a kiss to the side of your head, and when he rolls back an inch or two you scoot right along with him until your back is flush to his chest again, and that’s fuckin’ hilarious, huh?  Just can’t get enough. 

He lays in the dark and feels your breath on his knuckles, feels it hitch, feels it slow, feels it mellow out and go feather-soft, and before he knows it, he’s out like a light. 

You wear him the fuck out, girl. 

[seafoamsol]

I made a 3D version of MFK93579217’s cute Prowl keychain!

[hai-nae]

just vibin'

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I just want you to know that in light of your posts about the Zen'in Clan trying to make Megumi kill one of his dogs, I now have a headcanon that when the white dog dies at the detention center, Naoya sends him a card saying "Congratulations on finally getting your dog killed!" and half of the Zen'in Clan have signed it. Someone doodled the white dog with lil X's for eyes. A true family bonding moment for everyone but Megumi.

You’re actually really close because in the backstory that lives in my head, the sword the Zenin clan always gives him to kill the dog is the black blade that he uses in canon. It’s the Ten Shadows’ sword that they typically receive when they kill the dog and ergo come of age. Megumi goes back to his room after the detention center and finds it on his bed. Yuuji’s blood was still on him. He doesn’t know how they found out so quickly or how they got into his room, but he never feels safe in that room again.

But he kept the sword, and he didn’t tell Gojo where it came from. It was meant to be a reminder to himself.

Next time, when it comes down to it, he needs to be the one to die. And then he would never again have to feel the way he did when he saw that fucking sword and realized that someone like Itadori Yuuji died for a person who didn’t even want to be alive.

[lynelsscareme]

Uhhh.

How many layers am I allowed again? When do I find the Limit??? I’m the concerned, bc what if I start something big and need more layers but run out of space. Where do I stop???

I am.

Suffering from success.

[fictionadventurer]

I got curious about the podcast you've been listening to, and I listened to the Snow White episode tonight. They got into this abstract discussion of motherhood, and I was surprised that no one brought up the fact that Snow White herself doesn't have a mother anymore (or a father, presumably), and the fact that she is an orphan contextualizes how she responds to others with motherliness. I just rewatched the movie, and it's notable what an especial compassion she has for anyone without parents. Before the huntsman makes his attempt, she's concerned about a little bird separated from its parents and helps them reunite. Later, she concludes that the inhabitants of the cottage must be seven children who are orphans, and it's clear that she's worried for them, and ready to step in to help them out--which in turn will help her out, because she's an orphan in need of care herself. No one has been taking care of this girl, and it says so much about her character that her response to this deprived upbringing is to make every effort to give others what has been denied to her.

I noticed the same thing during rewatch--Snow is constantly caring for others, especially children. I hadn't consciously connected it with her orphan status--I focused on the fact that she's a good mother contrasted with the evil queen as a bad mother--but you're so right. Snow White knows the pain of losing her parents and it gives her so much compassion for those in similar situations, and it's so impressive and says so much about her strength of character.

[orangeocelotmartyn]

For anon, who wanted Martyn finding out about Lance from Voltron, as seen in CherriFire's art here.

Martyn: Why have I been drawn as Goofy? Cherri: Oh no. Bax: It's gone too far. Cherri: Oh no. Martyn: So, wait, who's the other one-- Cherri: Don't worry about it. Martyn: --so, me and Sonic.... (Rusty and Bax laugh) Cherri: Don't worry about it, don't worry about it-- Martyn: Lance McClain Bax: I know exactly which one you're talking about-- Cherri: Don't worry about it, don't worry about it-- Martyn: Lance--who's Lance McClain? Bax: Lance from Voltron perhaps--Lance from Voltron, perhaps? Yeah? Martyn: (softly, to himself) There we go-- Cherri: Don't worry about it-- Martyn: Hey, Gemini, who the hell is M-Lance McClain? Cherri: Stop, she's not gonna know, she's not gonna know, don't, stop-- Bax: Guys, remember Voltron: Legendary Defender only has two seasons. Cherri: (echoing Bax) Remember, Voltron: Legendary Defender only has two seasons. Bax: No more. Cherri: (echoing Bax) No more. Martyn: "Lance Charles McClain," what a name. That's a politician name, right there. This dude's had a lot of jobs. They definitely go up in--bloody--qualifications, Jesus. Started off as a farmer, next thing-- Cherri: St-o-o-o-p, no, no-- Martyn: --Cargo pilot, after that, fighter pilot-- Cherri: My bad, it's coming to haunt me-- Martyn: After that, a blue paladin, then a red paladin-- Cherri: (over Martyn) my past and my present are meeting, are colliding, stop, no-- Rusty: This is so funny. Martyn: It literally lists his hobbies as 'playing video games,' and the second hobby-- Cherri: Don't--! Martyn: --is "flirting." (everyone laughing) Bax: That's him! Cherri: That's him, that's him! Bax: That's him! Cherri: That's my first blorbo! Martyn: "Unnamed mother and unnamed grandmother," yet everybody else is well documented. Sus. Cherri: Shout outs to Veronica--or, Victoria, whatever her name was, shout outs. Martyn: "Razzle Dazzle Time." Cherri: Stop, stop, we--I can't take it anymore, I can't take it anymore. Martyn: Still don't understand fully what I've come upon here, but, this is your fault. You post on main, this is what happens. What's funny is, people will like, tweet stuff about me, and I'm not even tagged, and yet it comes up on my "for you" page on Twitter-- Bax: And that's how you find it. Martyn: And I always just reply to it, and they're always, they freak out. Cherri: I did see the-the-I don't remember what the post was about, but they were like, "someone tag him," and you were just like, "don't have to." Martyn: Yeah, yeah, Cherri: That was funny. Martyn: I just love jumpscaring people on Twitter. Cherri: It's really good. Bax: Its very, very good.

[ask-lu-wild]

[milkinawineglass]

Comfort characters should be allowed a little murder. as a treat.

[danmeichael]

Mo Ran is 13 years old. He is at this horrible dinner party with his not-horrible aunt and uncle, and his only-annoying cousin. People keep getting up on stage and being presented with awards, and he has to clap for all of them because it's polite. He isn't entirely sure what's being celebrated and he doesn't really care, either.

His suit is itchy, the food doesn't taste good, and he really wishes he were at home playing a video game and eating fast food slathered in chili oil.

It's too loud, and it reeks here. So many alphas trying to show off how big their dick is, and omegas trying to bolster their alpha's ego by proving what a prized mate they are. What they're expected to do. What Mo Ran will one day be expected to do.

Mo Ran wasn't paying attention to what was going on on stage until suddenly his uncle jostled him and started pointing excitedly at the next person getting an award.

Ah, being here made sense now. It was Chu Wanning. One of uncle's friends, and probably the prettiest person on earth second only to Mo Ran's late mother. He didn't know how anyone could be that pretty in real life. He's smart, and he puts too much sugar in his coffee when he thinks nobody's looking, and he's an Omega, too, just like Mo Ran.

He proves just how smart he is by immediately starting on a short lecture the moment the presenter hands him the microphone. Most of the people in the ballroom are completely silent, save for a few whispers.

Nobody seems to comprehend anything he's saying, which means they're particularly stupid because Mo Ran understands at least half of it.

When he finishes speaking and is presented with his award most of the room claps out of obligation. Xue Zhengyong and Xue Meng leap up into a standing ovation and start cheering. Even his aunt joins in, more quietly.

"That's my Yuheng! Woo!"

"LAOSHI IS THE BEST!"

"That's our boy!"

Even drowned in the bright white lights of the stage, Chu Wanning's reddening face is obvious. His expression stays mostly the same, but Mo Ran thinks he sees his eye twitch.

Everyone seems ecstatic until the alpha presenter lingers a little too long at Chu Wanning's side, talking to him.

There's an odd tension from his aunt and uncle, like a cup you filled up just past the top that stays in place only thanks to surface tension.

The tension breaks when the presenter puts a hand on the small of Chu Wanning's back.

Wang Chuqing is also an alpha, but she doesn't stink like the rest of them. Her smell is usually faint and clean and warm. Not right now. Despite the calm neutrality of her expression, her scent is angry and hot, scorching, so strong it's just shy of giving Mo Ran a headache

It only abates when Xue Zhengyong grasps her hand.

Mo Ran thinks that they share a heart, that Wang Chuqing's rage is her husband's as well, and vice versa. That's how he can tell how close she is to snapping, even though Xue Zhengyong is a beta.

The presenter smiles in a way Mo Ran is quite sure he thinks looks charming.

"Chu-xiansheng, you're doing incredible work in your field! Beautiful, intelligent, making a name for yourself. Any Alpha would be lucky to have an omega like you!"

Here we go again.

There is only a momentary pause as Chu Wanning takes the microphone from him without looking at him. Like he isn't worth it.

With the same burning cold neutrality he almost always affects, Chu Wanning says "Any Alpha would be lucky to be me."

Mo Ran is frozen even as his aunt and uncle start tidying their place settings, gathering their things in preparation to leave.

Any Alpha would be lucky to be me.

Mo Ran was not aware of the shackles around his ankles until Chu Wanning clicked a key in place to unlock them. He didn't know their weight until he realized he didn't have to carry them. They were turning him black and blue, how had nobody told him not wearing them was an option? That being the extension of someone was not compulsory?

He's only pulled out of what he might later call a religious awakening when Chu Wanning rushes past the table with bright red cheeks.

"We're leaving," he says, as close to frantic as Mo Ran has ever heard him.

Xue Zhengyong laughs triumphantly as he half-jogs behind him. "Way ahead of you, Wanning!"

Wang Chuqing makes sure he and Xue Meng are a few steps ahead of her before she joins the precession. "What do you say we stop for dinner on the way home?"

The discussion of dinner plans that follows is loud enough to drown out all the whispering, and Mo Ran's revelation renders anything he catches meaningless anyway.

[houseofamidala]

LIONHEART / robb stark by @heartofmortis

TARYN BARATHEON AND ROBB STARK the queen and the king in the north

[ambagel]

if it makes you feel any better-

lil sneak peek into my own 🫡

(NOT ALL OF THEM ARE TWST THERE’S LIKE 17748282 DIFFERENT FANDOMS + RANDOM POSTS IN THERE)

HVNDNABFBQKDK it's not fair that so many people are good at art 😭 (and like. posting in general)

[kovacs-on-ice]

i am the unofficial-official-unofficial-official chairman of the @echoes-of-courage fandom

calling dibs now

[moved-to-thanatologie]

every time someone on this hellsite says emmrich lacks courage i sharpen my nails to even more of a point.

[pooks]

Percy, about every weird and dangerous thing that has happened in Hogwart Mystery and the Harry Potter books, be like:

He's just so neat and iconic! Both the books, the movies and Jam CIty did my boy dirty. He deserved to have a main role!

Also weird, dangerous stuff in the 80s? sounds like a Stranger Things situation but with magic