#House of Courage

[bucklikethedollar]

idk how to say this without sounding really boomer-ey, but like, what happened to horror content for kids? maybe i’m using the word “horror” a little liberally but i remember when i was a kid there was SO much out there that existed solely for the purpose of scaring kids in a safe, fun, age-appropriate way. just off the top of my head there’s goosebumps, scary stories to tell in the dark, tales from the crypt (little before my time though), coraline, mirror mask, monster house, dark crystal (more incidentally scary but w/e), even courage the cowardly dog; all these really fantastic books and shows and movies that let kids explore being scared on their own terms.

now there’s idk, those new addams family movies? but those aren’t really scary.

i see people talking about the “kid-ification” of horror games and i can’t help but wonder if part of the reason kids latch onto that stuff so much now is because there’s nowhere else for them to experience healthy, safe fear. a little kid wants to get the thrill of being scared, but their parents won’t let them watch any actual horror movies, so they go on youtube and what do you know, there’s markiplier playing another cheap horror game set in a toy store or whatever, and now that kid’s fear quota is being met. (obviously there’s more to it than that, but it’s a theory i have)

this like, doesn’t really matter probably but idk, i feel bad that ~kids these days~ aren’t getting the experience of something scary made specifically for them with their genuine enjoyment in mind, rather than whatever the next fnaf ripoff is that just wants to sell them merch. being a kid and watching a well-made scary movie feels like you’re finally being taken seriously; you’re not being babied or coddled, you’re being trusted to face the skeksis and the other mother and the nebbercracker house and not back down. i wish people were still making media that respected kids that much.

[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. 

[lyricthecat-12]

Happy International Lesbian Day! 🥳

[valtsv]

training for a doomed arctic expedition by living in a basement with stone walls that soak up most of the central heating in the middle of winter

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Enduring Courage

Artist: Nuisuke TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[fizzlewizard404]

[pespillo]

YEOWCH!

[archangel-lucerys]

Lucerys Velaryon // Courage

Detail from Courage, Anxiety and Despair: Watching the Battle by James Sant

[stopper-my-heart]

Nick's moments of panic under the umbrella in Heartstopper S1E4 before Charlie kisses him really get me. So I wrote a thing in second person to try to appreciate the weight of the emotions that I imagine Nick is experiencing.

------------------------

You’re into this boy. So into him. He’s been in your thoughts. . . a lot. You've been talking all the time, you keep wanting to see him, and whenever you do, it’s never enough. You can’t help but smile when you think of him, let alone when you see him.

You want this boy. Romantically. You don’t really know what that looks like, but you know it’s true.

And, it seems, he wants you, too.

Your first kiss was good. Really good. All those tingles and flutters and sparks that you felt from just being close to him were amplified into so much more. It was so much better than you could’ve ever imagined.

And then you panicked. You screwed it up. You ran. You went back, but it was too late. You need him to know that you don’t regret it, that you wanted it, that you want him, that you were (are) just freaking out.

You try to be calm, you try to keep your cool. (No need to embarrass yourself in front of your crush.) Plus things are a little weird, restrained, and understandably so. He's probably really hurt. You need to get this out, you need to explain. You can do it.

And then he begins apologising. It quickly becomes clear that he has this all wrong. That he’s wildly misunderstood, rewritten what has happened. You were there because you wanted to be, because you chose to be. Yes, you were scared — are scared — but he has this all twisted.

Charlie.

Charlie!

Charlie.

He's not getting it. So you kiss him.

You make sure he knows what’s going to happen, and even if he seems very confused, he responds readily enough. You attempt to pour all of your feelings into him, to get across all of your regret and sorrow for hurting him as well as (maybe especially) how much you do want this. And for a moment, he loses himself in the kiss. You understand, you do too. Kissing him is just as good as you remember.

And, well, it’s too late for being cool now. You just kissed all your emotions into him, practically begging him to understand; you’d best explain what those emotions are in the hopes that he properly will. (Besides, this isn’t just “your crush”, this is Charlie.) You can’t leave him standing there so lost and confused. You may be confused, but he deserves to know that that confusion isn't about him.

So you start to explain…and then it all comes out. You’re vulnerable in a way you can’t remember being before. There’s no one in your life you can talk to like this, especially not about this. And it’s really been messing with you. Because not only has this boy's presence in your life already begun to upend everything, but you're so much happier because of it. And what are you supposed to do with that? What even would your life be if it were entirely different? Do you even want it to be different? . . .Maybe. But it’s scary. But you want him. And you want you.

So you tell him this, more or less. Really, you cry into his chest. Is this too much? Is he overwhelmed? So much for keeping it cool, keeping your cool. But you need this. He seems okay, he seems to get it. The friendship you’ve built is there, it can handle difficult things — it already has. He seems to want to be there for you. So you let him, and he lets you, and things are hard but they’re better in this moment. You’re finally seen and understood, and maybe Charlie now understands why you ran away, that it wasn’t about him, about the two of you.

. . .But now what?

You want him, but being with him will indeed upend every single facet of your life if other people know. You’re not ready for that, you can’t face that yet. It's too much. Everything is still so new and confusing. You don’t want to ask, but you want to be with him and you don’t see any other way to do that right now except to…keep this a secret? He finishes the thought for you. "Yeah," you concede, unhappily, but owning that that’s where you’re at.

He agrees, he tries to reassure you; you’re not completely convinced, but you want to believe him, so you let yourself.

And there's that question again: Now what?

There have been a lot of emotions and things are a little weird, even if a lot better, and you want to say something, or to touch him, but this is new and you’re meant to be leaving and…best to just go. The awkwardness will fade eventually. You’ll figure out how to be in this new dynamic. For now, you’re wanting, but you don’t know how to do anything more than that (would he want you to?). So you smile at him through the awkwardness and start to walk home.

. . .

. . .

What. Just. Happened.

This is good, but awkward, but good, and he wants this too, right? You’re together now, right? You’re really getting to be with him, with this boy you want so much, with Charlie. This is happening?

And then you hear it: Charlie calling out to you. Feet slapping on wet pavement.

“Nick!”

You stop, startled, confused, off-balance. What’s happening? He’s smiling, but.. What could possibly be worth running out into the rain in his pyjamas for? Has he changed his mind already? Does he not want this? Is keeping it a secret too much?

The doubts and fear are filling your mind, but you try to rein it in, to not let it show, to not let him see.

And then he looks back at you. And you know, in an instant, that everything that you wanted for your goodbye, he wanted, too.

Right? Please let you be understanding this correctly. You look at his lips, once, twice — you can’t help it. You’re desperately hoping that you’re on the same page, but barely daring to believe it.

And then he kisses you.

And the world stops.

.

.

.

.

And this is it. This is right.

Charlie.

This boy just ran out in the rain to kiss you. He’s soaking wet, he must be freezing, and here he is, kissing you. That’s the only reason he came out after you. To kiss you.

He smiles — that amazing smile of his that lights up your whole world — and then he runs off again.

There’s no more room for thoughts, only feelings. Massive feelings that well up inside you. So much sentiment that it feels like your heart is bursting.

You thought you were off-balance before? Well now you’re practically drunk.

What have you gotten yourself into?

Maybe the best thing ever.

[comickergirl]

🛰️!!

🛰️ : A storyline you want to be adapted in animation or live action

Repurposed an idea I had for Kryptober last year to answer this one XD

[chronovus]

OH MY GOD?! THEM?!!

[ryllen]

Have fish & broccoli

[animatronicball]

first post on tumblr and it’s a mf house of ashes meme pls help this hyperfixation is consuming me. also idk WHAT this video i’ve created is but i hope you like it💀

[dreamtdebris]

i should probably work on some sort of art dump but for now have a post with 30 tags

[collector-noceda-clawthorne]

🌈HAPPY PRIDE MONTH🏳️‍🌈2024

JUNE🏳️‍🌈2024

[bokettochild]

Someone tell my brain to shut up please