BrokenBough @brokenbough - Tumblr Blog

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Gimme asks, pls pls pls I don't wanna write any of my drafts 🥲🥲

Anyways, here's my masterlist / CoD Masterlist / Taglist

palmer

I’m going to the grocery store does anyone want to sublet my apartment for 45 minutes

jurynullification

How much

palmer

Only 3400

jurynullification

hot damn 🏃‍♂️ cmon guys lets go 🏃‍♂️🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕🧞‍♀️

palmer

ok I’m back you and your boyfriend and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your djinn can go

Don’t make it y/n or ‘reader’ if when you show pictures of the main couple, they’re a specific color 😟

#cod #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod fluff #how i love being a writer #color representation matters in every medium #especially if you use emojis #THERE’S LITERAL YELLOW ONES 🙏#omg don’t make me mad 🥺🫰🏽

mymangamemes

Now that's what I call bad luck

brokenbough

Dude 😭😭😭😭

paramar

The Animals - House of the Rising Sun (1964)

Silver Jews - New Orleans (1994)

wdhmbt’s tumblr post (undated)

mesopelagos

there are at least three houses in new orleans

solarsyrup

Im ignoring writing I general, not asks (mainly my drafts), pls forgive my executive dysfunction 🥺🥺🥺🥺

#writing #writers block #it sucks writing

karna0l

Simon Jotun🩵

templeofsoot

simon is a horrible partner to sleep with in this weather. he wears only his briefs and gets clammy five minutes after falling asleep. you have to scoop to the very side of the bed because he's just too big and likes to dig his shoulder into the split between the mattresses (he's too cheap to buy a matrimonial) and you can feel the heat billowing off him even when inches apart.

he's always warm, maladapted to the mugginess, and you're not that different.

you touch each other less and less, nerves overstimulated by the temperature. he keeps muscling his way into the shower because its the only place you'll let him fuck you.

you wake up in the middle of the night with sweat in the divot of your spine and stare up at the ceiling in irritation. he doesn't care because he keeps sleeping.

rationally, it's not exactly his fault. he's just made of fat and brawn which heat up quick, and you like it in the winter, that the little space of the bed forces you two to squeeze together. its nice and you miss it.

your body is still somewhat asleep and not opposed to the idea of some touching.

you decide to test out that instinct by sliding a leg over his pale thigh, shuffling closer over the humid sheets. the regret is immediate, starting your retreat the moment your ankle itches with the warmth of his skin.

simon tries to fish for you with his eyes closed, and you swat his hand away before it can make contact. "no," you bleat, already back to irritated.

he grunts his disappointment while digging his face into the pillow. you can't stand the bed anymore.

its around three and you paddle down the hallway into the kitchen. the portable AC hooked into the glass door tempts you with the beeping of its spy light, but your feet drag past it — all the windows are open, wishing to catch some stray night breeze, and it'd be a bore to shut them close.

you think about pulling a knife from the drawer and hacking at yourself from the nape down. you want your skin off. instead, you open the fridge door for some water.

the cold air is so inviting that you forget about it and stand still in front of the appliance. it brushes against your exposed midriff and under the fine fuzz on your thighs. somewhere in the back of your skull your brain protests something about electricity bills and food preservation, but you really don't want to move.

"oi." simon pads behind you, and you realise you've been standing in place longer than planned. "yer lettin' the cold out."

"go back to bed."

"s'you can hog the fridge? move over."

you feel him on your spine and keep your elbow from wanting to knock him in the jaw. "go away."

he burrs that rumble that stands in for a chuckle and puts an arm over the top of the freezer, bumping his bicep into your crown. his belly is sticky when it slots into your back, perspiration blooming there immediately, so you slouch further towards the fridge.

"fuck off. this is my space."

"th'is my space," he singsongs, and he tugs the hem of your shorts over your ass, not even bothering with the front until the cheeks are out. he knows you don't wear anything under because his thumb pads at your labia to nudge it apart.

something makes you wince, his touch or the cold air or the heat. your body prims in interest, legs widening when he rubs the tent of his crotch up and down between your cleft.

"s'too hot," you try, but his shoulders are already pressing you down into more of a bend and sliding the fabric away from your pussy until it bunches at the top of your knees. he sticks his tacky fingers over your tacky clit and gives you a couple of good rubs.

"no, its not."

he decides for both of you. you feel light-headed and don't say otherwise.

he gives up too soon the effort of coaxing you away from sleepiness in favour of spitting into his palm and smearing the thick glob over your slit, wedging between your bodies. you want to scold him because saliva is terrible for your pH and he lets you open your mouth before he pushes two fingers inside, three knuckles in until you yelp.

when he fucks you, you have to press your cheek against the freezer door to not fall forward. it's too lazy to be any true shade of good, too pleasant to be any way of bad. he pins you there with his mouth on the bone and coos that your cunt's like a bloody fever, that you're such a wet girl, it's embarrassing. you're both aware most of the moisture between you is sweat.

simon bends his neck to lap at it on the start of your spine and you shiver when he tugs down your top so he can circle a nipple until it hardens in the cold air. you think that if it weren't for the fridge you'd pass out.

his thrusts are pushes, pressing against the fullness of your ass, made less to savour the back-and-forth and more because he likes how you pulse around his cock when they force you on your tiptoes.

he doesn't pace himself, and when you feel him throb, you almost stomp over his bare foot. "make me cum," you remind him, agitated, "simon, don't you dare- ah!"

you feel him grin with all his teeth, but he strums his fingers against your clit nonetheless. "shut up," he sighs, almost annoyed, nose fitted on your occipital. his hips smack against the back of yours when the motion of his pads has you tightening. "alrigh'. yeah, you cum too... tha's it..."

his spent slides down your legs into the gusset of your shorts, and you knock your knees together to keep it off the parquet.

"darlin'," he sniffs, like it's your fault, "look at you. yer all sweaty."

you hate him a little when he hounds you into the shower. you hate him a little less with cold water washing over you.

this time in bed, you're both naked, cool enough that you risk plastering under the wing of his lateral muscles. it still takes him only five minutes to get clammy, holding you prisoner under his arm.

silverlullabies

when he’s got you folded in half, knees to your shoulders, and his tummy bulge is rubbing juuust right on your clit with every thrust

hatsbuckets

cw: ghostgaz fluffy fluff

Despite both being in the military for years, Kyle and Simon have very different schedules while on leave.

Kyle wakes up at 5 in the morning everyday. Regardless of how much he slept the night before. He has to get up and run immediately, shower, then he can enjoy breakfast, because if he doesn't move, doesn't have a routine to follow, the stillness starts crawling under his skin.

Simon wakes up with the sun, slower now than he used to be. Learned, somewhere along the way, that leave means nothing has to happen right away. Eventually he peels himself out of bed, and by the time he pads into the kitchen, Kyle's almost got breakfast plated.

Simon comes forward to wrap his hands around Kyle. He's still warm from the sheets, faint pillow crease still pressed into his cheek. Bare chest against Kyle's back, arms sliding around, hands settling flat over his stomach, palms and fingers spread wide, thumbs finding the little dip above his hip. Simon's chin hooks over his shoulder, stubble rough against Kyle's neck, and he exhales long and slow.

"Eggs are getting cold," Kyle says, reaching for the pan.

Simon just hums right against his ear. His thumb drags over Kyle's stomach, feather light, then again, slower and solid. Nose tucked into the curve of Kyle's neck, breathing him in, unbothered by the stove, the smell of eggs, the fact that Kyle's still got a pan in one hand.

"You're heavy, can't cook with you slung over me," Kyle mutters.

"Mm." Simon's grip tightens, just slightly, fingers spreading wider across his stomach like he's claiming more real estate. He presses kiss just under Kyle's ear, unhurried and soften.

"You don't deny it."

"Wasn't tryin' too."

Kyle huffs a laugh, Simon feels it rumble against him. Kyle reaches for the plates and has to shuffle a little, Simon's weight following him like a shadow, feet nearly tangling with his own. Simon doesn't budge an inch more than he has to, content to just be dragged along, chin bumping Kyle's shoulder with every step.

"Sit," Kyle says, elbowing him gently. "Can't cuddle you and cook eggs at the same time."

Simon grumbles into his neck, but lets go slowly, hand trailing off Kyle's stomach last.

He drops into the chair, elbow on the table, chin in his palm, watching Kyle with heavy-lidded eyes that don't leave him for a second, soft and slow-blinking. A man with nowhere to be and no one to watch but this.

Kyle feels it—that stare, warm as the stove at his back—and glances over his shoulder to catch Simon just looking at him, half a soft smile tugging at his mouth like he can't help it.

Kyle smiles back, softly radiant as ever. He picks up both plates and carries them over, sets Simon's down first.

"There. Now you can have—"

He doesn't get to finish it. Simon's hand closes around his wrist, careful and certain, and pulls, and Kyle's plate barely makes it to the table before he's tugged sideways into Simon's lap, an arm banding around his waist to keep him there. Simon settles him in like he weighs nothing, chin dropping back onto his shoulder with a satisfied little huff.

"There," Simon echoes. "Now I have you too."

Kyle huffs, reaching for his fork with a grin. "Ridiculous."

"You love it."

And yes, he does.

rawme-price

When you gave your coworker your address, you expected it to be used in emergencies. Not...whatever this is.

"Sir...what the actual fuck?" You grimace, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

You're still stood in your ratty, oversized pajamas you alwayd wear. Blanket wrapped around you, the pink bunny slipped ghost bought you the only thing keeping your toes from freezing. Blearily, you look at the clock "it's one in the morning. On a weekend. On my leave."

Stood in the middle of your living room, cloaked in shadows without bothering to turn the lights on. Gaz tilts his head, then goes right back to very loudly sweeping the floor.

"....right. awesome. Glad you're happy, kyle." You huff, turning into the kitchen to flick on the light.

It's not...unusual for gaz to get like this. You've seen it maybe twice before on base. Once he spent the entire night running laps, the other you found him after dark in the gym.

You learned that he gets restless. Enough so that he breaks in to your apartment to clean the place.

You brew some coffee for you and tea for him, hoping to level out the playing fields a bit. You emerg with two warm cups, mumbling "tea, kyle. With honey, the kind you like."

He doesn't respond, of course, so you tuck yourself into the corner of your couch and wait. Kyle has moved on to dusting the walls. Vaguely, you wonder if he ever cleans anyone else's apartments.

"Come sit with me," you croon when he finally pauses to sip at the drink. Gaz stares blankly for a moment, and you watch as he slowly slips back into his body, eyes wrinkling in that subtle smile. "You've worked hard enough."

You wouldn't know it, but just being close to you helps him feel better, helps ground him. Your presence on the couch while he cleaned...it helped more than he'd admit.

Kyle falls asleep with his face mushed into your shoulder, and through the curtains you watch the sunrise. It's...nice.

You make it work. You always do.

hatsbuckets

Well fuck you and me and everyone apparently. Again but actually actually this time

"TRENDS" ???? WHERE ??? PEOPLE LOVE PHYSICAL COPIES WDYMMMMMMM.

This has nothing to do with trends and 100% to do with controlling media.

This is yet another reminder to switch to fucking physical media. The law will not catch up with this, If you pay for something digital and they take it away you will never get it back and you won't get a refund. This literally just happened they literally just pulled movies ppl had paid for so.

You loved the Project Hail Mary movie? Go buy a disk. Your favorite movie is a really old black and white? Better learn how to crash and burn em. You like old videogames they never made on consoles?

Hang on imma go make a list of resources give me a couple of days.

I'm gonna start saving for a gaming computer I guess and switch to steam fully because fuck this shit. If I'm gonna be forced to go fully digital, I may as well do it on a system that hasn't historically screwed over its patrons as much as fucking Sony and Microsoft.