tracing back the threads
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. But not too close; you just might become one of them l Thomas Hochmoor, 33, ex-firearms specialist.
498 notes
23 October
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1,526 notes
22 October
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↳ [63/100] Tom Hardy

↳ [63/100] Tom Hardy

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21 October
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238 notes
20 October
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750 notes
19 October
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↳ [78-80/100] Tom Hardy

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19 October
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— I wonder how the outside world is faring

mikael-lundberg:

They probably burn them to give us what little heat we have.

Oh, that is just fucking charming. What constitutes as entertainment around here anyway?

(Source: tomhmoor)

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18 October
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— Thomas & Malachi

malachi-carol:

The blanket fell to the floor and Malachi made no move to grasp it, made no move to cover the obvious outline of his cock in the scrubs, hard already, just waiting. He watched the other stand and move around the table, settling on the edge of it, just inches away from himself, he could smell him, the musky, thick scent of his skin—a scent he knew would only be tenfold between his legs—he could feel the man’s breath swirling, very light, against his skin and he could feel the burn of the other’s eyes on him. He felt the nerves gnawing at his stomach, clambering up his throat, and he swallowed, taking a small breath.

Malachi stood up, his body between the other’s legs, standing taller than Thomas, for now, and he let one hand move, resting high on his thigh, fingers pressing into the muscle and flesh, and the boy rippled in delight. The guards stationed at three points in the room didn’t bat an eyelid, they didn’t care what the patients did so long as they were still alive by the end of the day. So maybe Malachi did want to be loved, needed and all that for a little while, was it really so bad? Thomas would get what he wanted—hands, mouth and an obedient fuck—and Malachi would take from it what he could, even if, at the end of the evening, that was just a rapidly purpling bruise on his throat or a red-handprint on his backside.

‘This evening is not fine,’

He started, hand sliding up just that little more, fingertips brushing over the crotch of his clothes,

‘But I’m sure it will be.’

He could feel the butterflies, the size of eagles, swarming in his stomach, he could feel his heart racing, thumping so hard inside his chest he was afraid it might explode from his ribcage in a shower of blood, flesh and little bits of bone. He took a step back, letting his hand slide and drop from the other man’s leg, a smile on his lips as he kicked his chair out of the way.

‘Your room is a ..shared dorm. Mine is a little more accommodating. They don’t usually trust the “level fours” around other patients all too much. So, Mr Hochmoor, would you care to join me in my room this evening?

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18 October
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— I wonder how the outside world is faring

 This place wouldn’t happen to be newspaper accessible, would it?

255 notes
08 October
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1,865 notes
08 October
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