#THEY'RE SO GOOD BUT THEY BREAK MY HEART

[nekole-doodles]

OKAY OKAY OKAY SO "The Dreamwalker" by Hydre has become my Roman Empire so Imma ramble about something that keeps me up at night about this fic:

SO, Tommy is a shapeshifter and was manifested by familial love and hope(and also dandelions, the stars, etc but those 2 things are what I'm gonna focus on for this rant). HE IS TECHNICALLY THE *EMBODIMENT* OF THOSE THINGS SINCE THAT WAS HOW HE MANIFESTED, RIGHT(since Mumza is the embodiment of death and space because she manifested after an asteroid caused many people to die)? Tommy is technically A CONTRADICTION TO HIS EXISTENCE! LIKE- he's lost HOPE in HIS FAMILY accepting him back into the family and loving and caring about him without eventually leaving! For example(!spoiler warning!), in Chapter 17: "The Cardinal", Tommy already assumed that Techno and Dream would strike some kind of deal and Tommy wouldn't be saved from Dream by Techno. He lost hope of Techno, HIS BROTHER, saving Tommy from his abuser because Techno and Dream teamed up in the past. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW FRICKING HEARTBREAKING IT IS TO SEE A CHARACTER GET HURT BY PEOPLE SO MUCH, ESPECIALLY HIS FAMILY, THAT HE CONTRADICTS HIS FRICKING CREATION AND WHAT HE IS THE PERSONIFICATION OF???

[naamahdarling]

Augh

[uncanny-tranny]

I'm so not normal about nursery songs like You Are My Sunshine... we are singing our loved ones (babies and young especially) that they are the sun in our hearts, that they warm us with their very presence and that they are so, so dear and loved. How could you hate humanity when we have this unadulterated love for each other?

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

Another L for the Max hating Seb girlies, we love to see it! <3

[swordluck]

The knots won't give, even amid desperate tugs - not without tearing the scarves, and he'd sooner sit tied to this chair for the rest of his life than tear one of her scarves. To that end, he is well and truly at her mercy, and he is quickly discovering - to his absolute delight - that, at the height of her needy power, Anri has no such concept of mercy.

She's positioned herself above him, stripped to all but the amber pendant he gave her just a couple of weeks ago, nestled invitingly between her breasts. One hand has wrapped itself around the eager steel of his cock; she has left off using her thumb to graze and tease the weeping head of him, and has instead put his pulsing member to use by stroking her own clit with him, blending expert motions with her hands with little sways of her hips.

It's enough to drive him mad, the look of ecstasy on her face; the circuit of pleasure stokes itself ever higher between them, intimacy compounding in on itself to a fevered, breathy pitch. He's about to warn her he's too close when she finally gives way and lets him inside, plunging her hips down to take him into the depths of her cunt, swallowing him whole.

It's enough to prompt a desperate moan from Laurentius, who often tries to stick to growling and grunting. No, here the pleasure is so overwhelming - and the effort to stem the tide of release so concentrated - that he doesn't have the presence of mind to stop the sound from coming out. No mercy, either, in the swing and sway of her atop him; he has given her permission to use him, to make herself feel good with him, to seek her pleasure at all costs, and she has taken to the task with enthusiasm.

(He knows full well she has done so at his request, knowing in turn that he loves seeing her come, hearing her cry his name at the peak of pleasure, feeling her twitch and quiver around his member while he pumps her full. They love each other's pleasure so fully, so deeply, that the mere act of giving oneself to the other has become sacred, a way to climb each other toward that euphoric crest, again and again.)

"Anri," Laurentius pleads. "Don't stop--"

Pilloried for her pleasure, Laurentius was beautiful. He was always beautiful, of course, but now his body was a map of light and shadow, straining against his own restraint, a storm tethered by silk. Even in surrender, there was tension – those burning, watchful eyes drinking her in, the fine tremor in his fingers where they curled against the arms of the chair. She possessed him entirely. That knowledge sent a thrill through Anri, dark and electric.

Skin-warm, the amber pendant he had gifted her rested between her breasts, catching the molten glow of the streetlights pouring through gauzy curtains. She pressed herself to him – his wet to her wet, his hard to her soft – teasing, tormenting, guiding him where she needed him. Pleasure spiralled between them in silent hymns – each sigh, each shiver, a note upon the skin.

When at last she took him fully, when she sank down and let her body consume him, he made a sound unlike any before. Not a growl, not a grunt, but something raw, unguarded. A moan. The sound bolted from his lips before he could catch it, a thing primal and instinctual, made more beautiful for its helplessness. Fingers curled, tendons raised. The pleasure-agony of it all left him wild-eyed, wrecked, devastated and devastating.

“Yes,” Anri huffed in approval, rewarding him with a slow, deliberate squeeze.

She let herself move without thought, lost to it, her body shimmering, the air heavy with salt and skin, with the whispered vows they had long since carved into one another. He had asked to be used, to be the instrument of her pleasure, and she had listened, had taken those words and made them her own – made him hers.

Laurentius gasped, voice thick with devotion, with hunger. Brokenly, he pleaded with her, begged her to chase her release while he held on with his fingertips to his.

She would not stop. How could she? Not when every motion, every brush of their bodies sent pleasure arcing through her like a knife through silk. Not when she could see the rapture in his face – the way his lips parted, his throat worked around each desperate sound. He was shivering beneath her, unmade and remade by her hands, her body, her will. And she – she was alight, burning, crumbling to ash, only to rise again in the next breath, and the next.

“Not yet, sweetheart – not yet – nearly – ”

Anri felt him throb urgently within her, saw how taut his belly was with the effort of restraint, every muscle trembling, fighting to hold on just a moment longer. Her delicate, demanding fingers twisted in the scarves that bound him, silken knots holding fast as she drove him higher with each roll of her hips, riding the burning, ruthless edge of their pleasure. Release glittered just within reach, a dizzying precipice – and she spurred them both over its dazzling edge.

“God, Laurentius – I’m coming – I’m – watch me come on your cock…!”

Anri all but sang, seeing stars with waking eyes, a tide of heat rising within her, cresting, breaking. At once, her body was awash with gooseflesh, and she clenched around him, taking him with her into the abyss, her cry breaking into breathless, overjoyed laughter – pure, unguarded satisfaction. It was a wonder the overburdened chair did not collapse beneath them.

Tipping her head back, Anri stretched, hands settling on Laurentius’ parted knees. Just out of reach, untouchable save for where they remained joined, where her body still held his captive. Bound beneath her, he was helpless to do anything but feel the echoes of pleasure still rippling through them both.

[longagoitwastuesday]

Kusakabe, dear, you're too beautiful to be saying that kind of stuff

[buthappysoverrated]

forever losing my mind to his reaction here in making dennis reynolds a murderer

[markcavendish]

The urge to rewatch torchwood vs if I think about the gwenjack friendship too hard I go insane

[likesummerrainn]

SurrealEstate 2.03 The Butler Didn't

"Why do all of August's machines look like what people in 1953 thought machines in 1997 would look like..."

[jils-things]

i can't help but feel that based on the da capo lore so far, mr candleman bf might not make it out....

[problemcore]

kneeling in front of you, pleading and sobbing. please listen to oh!no?ok.

[novelconcepts]

Hi! I love the way you write Taivan, just out of curiosity, do you ever imagine them in a no break up universe? What are your headcanons about Taivan post willderness together?

Thank you! Tbh, I don't usually visualize a no-break-up universe for them, because their relationship has soooo many dark corners in which trauma can hide. They don't communicate. Like, famously, do not talk to each other about the problems they're having. That, on top of eeeeverything else the crash brings, can't end well--or, at least, can't be one smooth, continuous ride.

In the event that they ever did stay together for the entire run of the show, I feel like it would be...savage. They'd sharpen each other's edges. Bring out the worst in one another, even as they formed an unassailable wall against the world. I don't think they'd have kids. I don't think they'd be the gay Kennedys. I think they'd be hard, intense, passionate, and ultimately kind of terrifying. Since both of them used the years apart to build a life looking firmly at the past (Taissa fulfilling ambitions she probably outgrew in the woods, Van quite literally living inside a shrine to nostalgia), it's hard to imagine them building a gentle future together in their late 20s-early 30s. I certainly don't think either of them would ever get bored, but I don't think it would be healthy, either.

I think after the wilderness, they do stay together a while. I think it's passionate and intense, a roller coaster of a relationship. I think they break up and get back together a lot. I suspect there's a lot of sex and not a lot of conversation about anything real. Until canon corrects me, my estimation is that they continue on their on-again, off-again thing through Shauna's wedding in 2001. I suspect they split up soon after that--possibly because Tai's so obsessed with her future, possibly because the weight of their combined trauma cracks something in them. Taissa says she's flushed a fifteen-year-marriage down the drain, so I assume she sleeps with a ton of women, and then launches herself at Simone, marrying her by 2006. And Van...just...seems like she's done letting people in. This screams of two people needing very different things (or, at least, convincing themselves they do), so I am rabid for any post-rescue scenes with them together. I really, really want to see (re: am terrified to see) how sad that might have gotten. I think they don't know how not to protect each other. I think they don't know how to not give in to the gravity between them. And I think, ultimately, they never learned how to melt down the knife they made of themselves in the woods. Their love was literally shaped by a violent near-death experince. What choice do they have, but to draw blood?

[howthesleeplesswander]

❛ i’m sorry, but i’m just thinking of the right words to say. ❜ // @Kazuma but... Masked Apprentice Kazuma?? 👀👀👀👀

Songs from the 80's Sentence Starters | Accepting! | @tenacquity

((hoooOOOWEE ARE YOU READY TO CRY?? 8'D I SURE HOPE SO, HERE WE GOOO))

The right words?

He may have laughed at the statement if he remembered how. If it weren't so cruel in its irony. For the words this man spoke didn't matter when the mere sound of his voice shook the Apprentice to his core.

Every time, without fail. After months of wandering the foggy London streets like a wraith plucked from a ghost story, the feeling of being utterly lost was never as powerful—or as weak—as in this man's presence.

He made the emptiness inside of him better, yet simultaneously worse. As the Apprentice watched him struggle to speak, he didn't recognize the churning depths of his eyes or the thoughtful crease to his brow—and that unfamiliarity ached unlike anything else. Earth-shattering, even though he couldn't understand it. Powerful enough to change everything if only he could remember.

And he wanted to, with a desperation he didn't know himself capable of feeling before their fateful meeting in the Prosecutor's Office only yesterday. But he couldn't. He'd tried. And the same thought crushed down upon his shoulders now as it did then:

What right did he have to something—to someone—he did not know?

He shouldn't be here.

He'd never intended to face him to begin with. With the halls of the Old Bailey dim and abandoned for the night, the Apprentice had been about to leave, too: prepared to spend another night searching for anything that might trigger his memories, if the other man hadn't found him first.

Wasn't this exactly what he'd wanted? No—not this. It was too much. Too painful.

The Apprentice took a step back. Then another. Each one soundless yet stilted as he battled against himself: trapped between a visceral urge to flee, to leave this man behind—and an equally powerful conviction that he couldn't. Not again.

—again?

He didn't...They didn't... Did they?

It was too much...!

In the end the Apprentice moved no further. He merely watched, dark eyes unreadable in the shadows of his mask and cloak. Silently weathering the tempest of nonsensical emotion surging through his rib cage. Waiting for something he didn't understand.

Or, perhaps, simply waiting for the right words.

[bredforloyalty]

btw. i read flowers for algernon (the short story) a little while ago on the train and bawled my eyes out (was embarrassing) it really did break my heart so i think i'll read the book

[softestaries]

Just finished chapter 67 of Crimson Rivers.

Survived the great war besties but at what cost.