#you're not broken <3

[pullhisteeth]

work it out | eddie munson

summary sometimes sex just doesn't work the way we think it should!!! Eddie does a good job of telling you it's okay. [1.5k]

contains vaginismus/difficulty with penetrative sex, r is embarrassed about it, Eddie is lovely (obviously). angsty fluff, comforting, suggestive content.

-

When you tell Eddie to stop, he moulds into something softer, hard edges shimmering, rounded and warm.

"Oh, honey," he coos, rough hands calm on your bare thighs. "Sorry, shit, here-"

You're ignoring the feeling of embarrassment, the way it prickles under your skin, flames of humiliation licking up your neck and behind your ears. There's a funny feeling in your gut, like there's a Catherine wheel in there, painting your insides with hot sparks of shame.

You squirm under him as he leans back to rest on his knees, his bed creaking low noises beneath the both of you. You're also ignoring the look on his face, hiding your eyes behind your clammy hands so you don't have to look at him.

This isn't how it was meant to go. You'd planned this all the way down to this moment, assured yourself that no matter how difficult you found it, he'd be able to do it. You'd never need to tell him; he'd never need to know.

"Here," he breathes. His hand finds yours, pulls them stiffly from your face. You can't hide from him, though you try, turning your head to the side and into the comforter. The tears are hot and heavy, and you're scrunching your face in protest.

"Here," he persists, pulling on your hands. The room's getting smaller, you can feel it; the walls are suddenly very close, the air thick and you feel more vulnerable than ever, laid naked on his bed, crying because your stupid, naïve plan failed. You let him move you, sitting up and looking down at your knees, far too afraid to look him in the eye.

You feel his fingers and the way he shifts, the bedding moulding around you as he does. Your eyes are still closed, willing the tears back in, surrendering yourself to him as he wordlessly moves off the bed. This is it, you think - the moment you suspected might happen if ever you got into this situation. He's going to leave you because you're broken.

Your breathing is dry and twisted, your heartbeat is loud in your ears, and you're staving off that inevitable headache that comes from crying, so you don't hear him moving around the room. In fact, you're sure you hear the door.

"Here you go," he says, soft though it makes you start. You open your eyes, an instinctual response, and find him standing by the bed, towering over you with a shirt on and a mound of fabric in one hand. You reach out and take it, every movement heavier than the last. You're sure, now, that he really is going to ask you to leave.

You unfurl the pile and find your underwear, though it's wrapped up in a shirt that isn't yours. And then you feel the warm pads of his fingers running down your legs, tentative as though you might bite, but you move with him, stretching them out in front of you. He takes your underwear from your hand and pulls them on; the feeling of being coddled like a child inflames the shame, makes you snap. Maybe you can bite.

"Hey," you say sharply, pulling your legs inwards and working the underwear up over your knees yourself. He flinches, only slightly, and backs away, as you pull the shirt down over your head.

The thick air is fizzy with guilt now. You can feel it coming off you like steam, this horrible mix of remorse, embarrassment, fondness. He's still here. He hasn't asked you to leave yet.

He sits beside you, facing you with one leg under himself, clearly unsure what to do with his hands. The silence is sticky, unwelcoming.

"What's going on, hm?" he says, poking the beast.

When you say nothing, breath loud and expression sour, he says, "You're gonna have to talk to me at some point."

This is not an outcome you had ever envisioned. In your head, there were two ways this could go: it would work, he'd never know any different, and you'd be fixed; or it wouldn't work, he'd realise you're not worth his time, and he'd leave.

You never thought there was a third option, one where it doesn't work but he stays anyway.

"I don't work," you manage, voice thick and wet with tears.

His face morphs into something like concern, perhaps confusion.

"What do you mean?" His words are deliberate, staccato, intentional so as not to upset you further.

"I don't work," you repeat, exasperated. "I'm... broken, or something. I thought it wouldn't matter, but-"

"What do you mean, broken?"

You sigh and look at him, at where he's leaning on one hand planted firmly on the bed, fingers gripping his sheets with white knuckles.

"Nothing goes in," you say in a quiet voice, low so you can hide from the truth. "It never has."

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes on the space between you, before he says, "Why did you never tell me?"

There's a bitterness in his tone that you know he's entitled to. This is important, you always knew that, and you've withheld it from him.

"I don't know, I just... It's embarrassing."

"But we could have prepared for this, I could have-" He stops himself and startles, some kind of realisation dawning. He looks up at you. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," you plead. "No, I'm okay, Eds. It hurt, I guess but it's not... It's not that simple."

"I don't-"

"It's not all... physical. Like, it hurts," you explain, using your hands in some crude kind of gesture to make your point. "But it's also in my head. It's like... I think it's going to hurt, like, I convince myself it will, so in my head, it does."

"But if you force it, surely..."

"Yeah," you sigh. "If I force it then yeah, it can hurt."

He's quiet again, contemplating this information. You watch as his expression changes, slight shifts in his brow or the scrunch of his nose.

"What did you think was gonna happen?" he finally asks.

"I, uh," you begin, a little lost for words. This was not in the plan. "I guess I thought I'd be- I dunno, I thought..."

For the first time since you stopped, he reaches out to touch you. His hand finds yours, pulls again, still just as tender as he was earlier. This time you follow him willingly, wriggling over his bed to sit right beside him, thigh-to-thigh.

"I thought it would just work," you say after a deep breath. "I thought I'd be wet enough, or something."

He laughs softly at the way you cringe at the word wet, the way your shoulders shift up and your face scrunches.

"It doesn't work like that," he says, smiling. "Even I know that."

"I know," you breathe, admitting defeat. "I was kidding myself."

"Hey," he says quickly, turning fully to face you, settling his hands on your neck with his thumbs on your jawline. "I didn't mean that, I just meant... I meant you should have said something."

The tears are back, running quick lines down your cheeks, so his thumbs wipe them as they come. You're sniffling, all wet hiccups and snot, but his face never falters. He still looks at you just the same.

"I thought you'd hate me," you whisper, glad for the relief of honesty.

"I could never hate you, sugar."

"But we can't have sex," you whine, sad about both the fact that you're sure you're not normal, and also that you can't give him what you think he deserves.

"Hey," he scolds, his voice still fond but strict. "Sex isn't just dick in vagina, you know that, right?"

"I know, but-"

"And I'm here for good. You're not gettin' rid of me, so we can work on this, yeah?"

You look him in the eye and find the face of a man who really does love you, even if he hasn't said it yet. Even if it has only been a couple of months.

"This is why you'd always stop me?" he asks.

"Yeah," you confirm. "I mean, I also just like you eating me out, but..."

He breathes a laugh, and then your name with some kind of sorrow. "You really should have said, I'd never have even tried, I'm sorry."

"No," you protest. "I'm sorry for not telling you."

You lean into him, let your body fall onto his. He pulls you in with firm arms around your shoulders and lifts you, gently, so you can sit in his lap with your legs either side of his own.

"Thank you," you murmur into his neck, your own arms around his chest, squeezing tighter when you feel him squeeze back.

He kisses the crown of your head and says, "'S'okay. You're fine just the way you are."

You sit like that for a while, slotted into his space just how you like it, knowing that you'll work this out between you, eventually, and that Eddie isn't leaving, not yet. Not ever.

"Also," you hear him say. His voice is a drawl, low and suspicious, so you sit up and look at him. You find that stupid smirk on his face and resist the urge to kiss him.

"What?" you pry.

"This is fine," he says, eyes raking up and down your body, "Because I happen to like eating you out just fine."

"Eddie!"

-

[everchased]

at least it'll be wonderful while it lasts.

(a little post-game downtime discussion, when they have the time and space to talk about these things. also in my canon, scratch gets to stay. :/)

[mischievous-thunder]

Here we have character depth and development at their finest where their love and trust for each other changed their entire perspective. In just a few days of being with each other, their hearts underwent an immense transformation that felt incredible and otherworldly.

What we witnessed was one of the rarest cases where saving the world and saving each other felt synonymous. They didn't expect to find someone to call their own in that mess and yet they ended up finding their soulmates.

[vellichorom]

if the stanley parable is SO good, HOW come there wasn't a stanley parable 2 ????????? ......wait, there was?

HAPPY 4/27 IF YOU CELEBRATE(D) !!!!!!!

featuring @tomiechu's rosemary / bucket / adventure line / & timekeeper!

( tumblr will no doubt SHATTER the quality no matter how much i cut it, so click HERE to see the full HD image! )

[leopardmuffinxo]

he saved the best of him for the heart that understood the worst of him

[beatcroc]

Ever think about joining Team Dark? I hear they have another Eggman created robot that wants him dead.

---

[starlightvld]

"Simon falls to his knees in front of John and rests his hands on the backs of John's calves. His eyes are like nothing John's ever seen; looking into them is like drowning in amber pools of devastation and desperation and something... something broken all at once..."

- Broken Bones and Shattered Hearts, Chapter 3 sneak peek, Art by @kibagib

[apricote]

this community pisses me off so badddddd sometimes

[suusoh]

Something something Johan slowly warming up to sex because of the implications of entering you something something bodies merging something something the last frontier of physical intimacy even if it doesn’t do much for him physically initially.

Words are not my forte but like before he figures out he enjoys putting his pp in you it might appeal to him just for the connotations of “entering” the person he loves/wants to possess. And then maybe he figures out he enjoys the physical sensation as well.

I imagine this slow progression from your post about the reader getting horny to him losing his shit about getting horny then once he’s done freaking out he still hates the fact that he’s horny. But the unexpected erections allow a very small little idea about fucking you, which he ignores for a while. But then the idea of that makes him consider the act of penetration and the implications, maybe reading/consuming content about it which describes its appeal. And little by little romanticizing it not in the normal way someone would, but in the “i have access to every part of you, every crevice” “this is as close as we can physically get” way idk if you get what i mean but. While the horror of being horny doesn’t go away, he gets a little bit, slowly, tempted to try it.

Looking at it not through the lens of pleasure, but his weird little tendency to blur the lines between himself and the people he loves which he (obviously) already does in terms of identity, but wow with you (and the power of his new dick-hardening ability haha kill me) he can do it physically. It’s not the same as the “we’re literally the same person” thing but there’s smth there idkkk i can’t describe my thoughts well. Anyway that way he can justify consider the act without admitting the extent of his humanity or stuff.

uh-huh! Once he gets over his somewhat aversion to it, and once he's accepted his attraction with you mentally, emotionally, sexually, and finally— physical manifestations of those attractions (as much as he loathes the fact that he's experiencing it) he'd still be interested, with feeling this for the first time with you. I think after a loooooooooooooonnnggg long long long while of finally getting over his view, he'd just let his sexual frustration boil over and finally go to you and be like "please help me with this condition of mine". (said condition just being his pp going hard, but johan treats it like it's some disease lmao).

I think a part of him is like still reeling and hating himself for letting himself get this like.... low?? I don't want to say low but like, it's like definitely a fall from grace from his perfect, non-human, "untouchable being" state.

But another part is overwhelmed and overheating and melting in the inside from just how... how good this feels. It feels so good, too good. it makes him feel... real again for some reason. Like everything around him, your body, the air, the room, the whole world is suddenly so tangible, and it's like he's seeing how beautiful you are to him all over again, and shit he should be thankful— wait why is he feeling thankful? whatever, he is thankful that he's here with you and you're here with him and he's doing this human experience with you, and holy shit holy shit holy shitshit shit shit is it supposed to feel this good? God.... if this is what being human feels like, he doesn't think he could ever return to being a nameless monster again.

[most-fuck-able-ff14]

MOST FUCKABLE FF14 MAN ROUND 2

[dreamaze]

Save Giuk 4/� … from uninvited guests on the 'end of spring' mv set (tr. cr.)

[rosykims]

im a eurydice = solas truther btw and ill die for my beliefs

be so serious........ and lavellan as orpheus......

[jack-the-fool]

Okay, I need to know when does everyone consider the official Ambrosuis/Bal Breakup™ moment?

[large-baguette-112]

Please tell me about your pins :3

oh man there are . so many

lemme see if i have any good pictures

ill put them under a cut just to not make this post agonizingly long

these are not all of the pins i have but!!! this is my most recent collection of pictures

i have . many more now thanks to people (and myself) feeding said addiction

i have pins from damn near all the fandoms ive been in,, and things im not in!

i took my jacket apart recently to wash it and havent put it back together yet which is why i don't have any up to date pics <\3

he's also not shown here but i have a hat skeleton, Steve, who sits on that little black velcro patch :3

im always on the hunt for new pretty pins to add to my collection <3 i should also weigh my hat and jacket sometime to see how heavy they are respectively

[merakiui]

some thoughts about jade leech as a stalker.

(cw: yandere, nsfw, stalking, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, mentions of death/strangulation)

Jade does not love often. In fact, he has a rather small supply of love, which is reserved for his hobbies and family, so when he loves something other than those two things it can only mean trouble. When Floyd has something special and doesn’t share... Well, naturally Jade’s going to want it. He’s never been inherently greedy. Rather, he’s always let Floyd have everything: the larger half of a bluefin tuna, the shinier stone, the bigger seashells, the slice of cake with more frosting, his uniforms whenever Floyd’s were dirtied or damaged. And in return Floyd has, for the most part, shared his things with Jade. This has always been their normal. 

But this time Floyd makes no mention of sharing when it comes to you. In the past, when they were particularly interested in someone, they would share them. Or, in other words, torment that person in equal succession. Azul has been their prime target for years now, and it doesn’t look like either of them will stop their relentless pursuit in seeing how fast they can get Azul to grouse or groan or sigh. You might think they live to see Azul’s misery, but truthfully they want to accompany Azul as he carves misery into the hearts of the poor, unfortunate souls who thought it wise to do business with deep-sea beasts. Teasing him is just a bonus. 

When it comes to you, Floyd is his usual authentic self: blunt and honest to a fault, dangerously so. But that’s what makes his twin so fun. Floyd won’t sugarcoat the obvious. If he dislikes you, he’ll make it known. Jade, on the other hand, will speak syrupy sweet lies in an effort to maintain proper goodwill, even if he detests you. You’ve never really interested Jade, so he can’t say he hates you. But he can’t say he loves you either. To him, you are just a powerless human in a habitat that does not suit you. Really, even with all of the tricks and traps you pulled to beat Azul at his own game, you remained boring to him. He didn’t pay you much mind after everything had been resolved and you’d been free to return to Ramshackle. That should have been the end of his story with you. 

But then, some time later, you start to make frequent appearances at the lounge. It doesn’t take Jade long to learn that you only show up when Floyd’s on shift, and it also doesn’t take him long to theorize that you might have fallen for his brother’s unique charms. It’s sweet, in a way, how Floyd lights up when he sees you, how you smile a little more brightly when he speaks to you, how your laughter is so very buoyant when Floyd lifts you into the air and spins you happily. Jade’s content to watch from the sidelines, pleased to know that his brother has found a friend in you. That might make it easier to trick you into a contract.

He’s so set in this way of thinking, only viewing you as a pawn or a stepping stone towards some bigger end goal. But when Floyd brings you back to the dorm and you become more than a constant in Jade’s life, he starts to wonder what makes you so special. What is it about you that has his brother so enamored? What makes you irresistible? What parts of you are appealing? Jade thinks it might be how quick it is you submit when Floyd’s got you pinned into the mattress, face first, rough hands spreading your thighs apart, so he can sink into you more easily. Floyd likes that; he likes the weak things that crumble under him. He likes to push things to breaking. He likes to mark and bite and bloody and bruise and shred.

Jade likes to fix. He likes to mend, and then break, and then mend all over again. He likes the process, the psychological science behind a simple gesture, much like how he takes great pleasure in playing god over the plants in his terrariums. They say a budding serial killer starts small—with animals like rabbits or squirrels or cats. Jade starts with plants. He’ll put them in stressful environments—in soils with nutrients that don’t quite work—and he’ll watch them wilt, mottle, mold, and decay. He’ll watch them struggle to adapt, he’ll watch them yearn for water or sunlight, and only when he’s certain they’ve had enough he’ll give them proper, healthy care. It’s fun, the way he has so much control over something as dynamic as a plant. But plants cannot protest, cannot fight back, cannot act in the same way humans do. 

But it’s quite satisfying to pluck dried petals from a withered flower, almost like a morbid game of effeuiller la marguerite, and not hear a single scream.

So Jade is fully expecting Floyd to tire of you, to break you enough until boredom sinks its fangs into him and he moves on with his life. And what Floyd breaks Jade fixes, so he’s very ready to glue your heart together when Floyd shatters it. He’s ready to offer a handkerchief and his ear should you need to vent. He’s already prepared his speech: “I must apologize on behalf of Floyd. You know very well how he gets. If I can be of assistance in any way, please let me know.”

Unfortunately, you remain intact. Months pass, Floyd continues to love you, and your relationship unfolds like a lotus in early morning. Jade continues to observe. Floyd has never been one for privacy, so he’s seen every kiss, every bite, every inch of exposed skin. Hell, he’s sat at his desk and tallied Mostro Lounge’s monthly expenses while Floyd fucked you dumb on the other side of the room. He’s even made eye contact with you when you happened to gaze his way while his twin was buried balls-deep in that tight hole of yours. He wonders what goes on in that head of yours. Perhaps there’s nothing substantial within. Floyd’s scrambled your brains enough, so you could just be useless now. Though that wouldn’t be very fun, would it? He knows there’s more to you than you let on, especially when you play top and take every inch of Floyd, riding him so skillfully, and all Floyd can do is dig his fingers into your hips to guide you along to the rough, erratic pace the both of you have set. 

Jade watches fondly from the shadows. Floyd likes to have access to your neck and shoulders; he likes to take you from behind while leaning down to bite into soft flesh. But Jade thinks it would be much nicer to gaze upon your face, to kiss salt from your eyes, to pepper your jawline with tiny pecks, all while peering into eyes that house a beautiful soul. He thinks it would be nice to hold you down, have your legs wrapped around his waist or thrown up onto his shoulders, while he bottoms out. If it were Jade, he’d take you in every position, but he’d find the most pleasure in eye contact. There’s something intimate about it, much like how there’s intimacy in the hands that wrap around a throat. You have to be close to someone when you’re restricting their airflow; you have to squeeze until veins pop, until your hands are sore, until your fingernails have burrowed so deeply into skin that the crescent moons color crimson. It takes minutes to strangle someone, and every minute is spent staring into the wide, terrified eyes of a desperate soul on the verge of death.

Jade likes the way you smell, the way you speak, the way you laugh, the way you are, in every meaning of the word, so very filled with life. Even down to the way you breathe and gasp and moan and cry, you are life itself. Jade wants to bottle that for himself—pluck you from Floyd’s flower pot and place you in a terrarium with the most potent elements just to see how long you’d fare. He wants to save you from those same conditions, sandwich your face between gloved hands when he’s kneeled to your lowered height, and whisper about how it’s okay, about how you’re safe, about how he’d never truly hurt you. Jade knows that loving someone is a very special thing, but the way he loves you is not quite pleasant. The love he has for his hobbies and family is natural. Normal. Simplistic and familial. 

The love he has for you is murderous and frightening. Some days he looks at you like you’re prey he’s not yet devoured. Like you’re to be his first victim. 

Jade starts small. He takes tiny trinkets—a keychain, a pencil, an accessory. He stores these in a shoe box under his bed. When Floyd brings you over and clothes are cast aside, he swipes your undergarments for himself. He won’t wash them until he absolutely must. He’ll have the soft fabric wrapped around his dick later that same evening when Floyd’s fallen asleep and he’s up late contemplating love and lust and life and death, and he’ll cum to the thought of you. Sweet, adorable, oblivious you. 

He’s what one would call a persistence predator—a hunter who gradually wears his prey down over time. He takes from you, watches you, listens to you fret about missing things to Floyd, who promises to find the bastard who’s messing with you and squeeze them until they’re blue and purple. Jade smiles at that. Floyd wouldn’t really do that to him. Sure, they’ve hit each other when they’ve fought and roughhoused on occasion, but the punches were never truly meant. Sure, they might have been thrown playfully or angrily, but they were all temporary bouts of strength. Floyd wouldn’t truly hurt him, so to hear these determined promises and to see how you relax around him... It’s really cute. Jade wonders how much more he can take from you. 

And he wonders how much more you can take before you’re splintering. 

Really, you got lucky that Floyd picked you first. He’s far more merciful. Far more sweeter. Far more loving. At least Floyd is honest with his (at times) rough nature. At least he makes it known that he wants to bite you until you’re bleeding. But Floyd can’t stand whining. He hates it when people cry about things he can’t bother to care about, and lately you’ve been whining about this stalker you think you have for weeks now. Floyd’s told you you’re just being a scared shrimpy—that there is no stalker, that you’re probably just misplacing or losing these items, that none of them really matter because they’re replaceable. 

Jade gets lucky when Floyd finally washes his hands of you, officially fed up with your whining. And what Floyd damages Jade fixes. So when you’re in tears, distraught over the break-up and your missing items and your stalker and the fact that the door to Ramshackle was left unlocked again and that you feel like someone’s living in your shadow, Jade arrives to rescue you from your fear. You don’t even hesitate to cling to him and cry, spilling your worries in waterfalls. Perhaps it’s because he’s a familiar face. He is a reflection of Floyd, after all. 

“Oh dear,” he’ll whisper, stroking your back, allowing you to bury your face in his chest and sob. “There, there.”

You can’t see his expression, but there is a smile spreading on his lips. And his eyes are alight with cruel glee. 

“Would it make you feel better if someone accompanied you to your classes?” Your feeble nod is all he needs. “In that case, shall I spend a few days at Ramshackle with you? I’m certain whoever’s pursuing you won’t get very far if I’m around.”

And he’s right. Your stalker never takes anything again. They never leave the front door unlocked. They never trail behind you, taking shelter in your shadow. That’s because he’s your stalker, though you never managed to figure that out, and this time he doesn’t have to dwell in shadows or on the sidelines. This time he can stand before you as a friend, a soon-to-be lover, and perhaps a lifelong mate. 

Jade does not love often, but when he does it is as beautifully painful as tearing the wings from butterflies. 

[calamity-cal]

The real sign that d20 has gotten big isn't selling out madison square garden, it's ai art of the bad kids!