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cuubism · 15 hours

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last year I saw this 1989 Dreamling art by @webonchin, became extremely obsessed with it, pondered and mulled over it for much time, and now ten whole months later I have a fic

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, 1989 Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Meeting, Musician Dream of the Endless, Stockbroker Hob Gadling, Love at First Sight, Getting Together, New York City, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Queer Themes, Disillusionment, Explicit Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Depression, tfw you meet someone who makes you want to change up your whole life Summary:

Despite Hob's success on Wall Street, life is starting to feel meaningless. Limitless sex, drugs, and money should be endlessly entertaining but instead he's bored, he feels empty, like something's missing.

Something, maybe, like the beautiful, tragic musician he meets at a party, who opens more than one new door in Hob's life--and reawakens the buried longing in his heart.

Hob lies on the couch of the crowded apartment he’s found himself in for the evening, head tipped back over the arm. Pounding music thumps distantly around him. Dim lights. Warm bodies moving in blurs. He ignores it all. Picks up his vodka soda from the coffee table and takes a swig. Half of it runs over the side of his mouth instead of into it.

He’s… bored. What’s wrong with him that he’s bored surrounded by as much drugs, sex, and general debauchery as he could possibly want?

But he is. All that climbing for so long and now… he doesn’t know where he is. Why he’s doing any of it. The climb, the growth, was fun for a while. Chasing hunger, chasing more, that was fun. But now he has all of it. Supposedly.

He sighs. Pours the rest of his drink inelegantly into his mouth. If he wants another one he’s going to have to get up. He doesn’t really feel like getting up. He feels like merging himself with the couch instead.

The party spins on around him, as it always does. Not everyone’s feeling as burnt out on sex, drugs, and debauchery as Hob is.

He could go track down some coke, he thinks hazily. Someone here’ll have some. Maybe it would kick his energy back up.

He just feels kind of tired at the thought.

It says something bad about the point he’s reached in life that even cocaine isn’t doing it for him anymore.

“This is very dull,” says a low voice, and a man slumps down beside him, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch. He tilts his head back, looking up at Hob. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah,” Hob says, and then does a double take as he catches a proper look at the man.

Christ but he’s gorgeous. Nothing like the men Hob would normally see at a thing like this—nothing like Hob himself—with their fashionable suits, slick hair, slicker smiles. This man is lithe and sprawling, like a wild predator, stark black and white lines, spiky hair, dark makeup, studs flowing down his ears like raindrops. Clever eyes. Long fingers clutching a cocktail that he doesn’t seem particularly interested in.

Hob is instantly fucked.

“I was promised good drugs and better sex and I’m bored on both counts,” the man continues. He takes a sip of his drink, and grimaces.

“That why you’ve come over here?” Hob asks. “Because I looked equally bored?”

“Exactly.” He offers the drink to Hob. “You should try this.”

Hob takes it. It’s… very blue. “What the hell is this?”

“There was a girl working the bar… very drunk. She said she would make me her ‘special potion.’”

That sounds… questionable. Hob takes a sip, and chokes. “Christ.”

“I witnessed her pour in vodka, Prosecco, and tequila. Blue Curaçao—for color, of course. And maraschino cherries.” He plucks one out of the glass by the stem—there are about seven of them total—and eats it.

“What the fuck.” The stuff’s revolting. Hob takes another sip. “That’s alcohol poisoning in a glass.”

“It’s been one of the better parts of the night,” the man says.

Hob returns the glass, and the man tosses more of the drink back, his throat working. Hob’s just drunk enough to not attempt to stop staring like a creep. He wants to ask him if he wants to get out of here, or even just to steal away into one of the many spare bedrooms—it wouldn’t be out of place at a party like this, hell, Hob could drag him into his lap on the fucking couch, everyone’s far too drunk to care—but propositioning this creature for a mere hookup feels like wearing an Italian suit to mud wrestle. What a waste of a perfectly-made thing.

How did something like this wind up at this party?

“Who’d you come in with?” he asks, as the man plucks another cherry from the glass and delicately bites it off the stem.

“Someone who gave me a rather mediocre blowjob after a show,” he says. “I suppose I thought I would find better here, but I was mistaken.”

“Fifty-fifty shot on that, I’d say,” Hob says. Based on personal experience. Sometimes mediocre is good enough. Sometimes sex, regardless of quality, is good enough. For a while it has been. He’s not so sure anymore.

“I dislike betting,” says the man. Then stretches up a limp hand to shake Hob’s. “If we are to commiserate, perhaps names are in order. I am Morpheus.”

Morpheus. What kind of name. Though he had said at a show. A performer of some kind? “Hob,” says Hob, shaking his hand despite the awkward angle.

“Greetings,” says Morpheus solemnly. “You are the first man I’ve met tonight who has not tried to impress me with inanities. I am indebted to you.”

Hob tips his head back against the arm of the couch again with a sigh. “Too tired for bullshit. What’ve people been saying to you, then?”

“I have been taught much,” Morpheus says seriously. “Thrice I have been ‘educated’ on the great promise of ‘mortgage-backed securities.’ The reactions to my disinterest ranged from offense to outright concern for my sanity.”

“I think they were just trying to get in your pants,” Hob tells him.

Morpheus frowns. “The finance lecture was not helping their case. In fact, with each passing minute, I became more aggressively repelled.”

Hob laughs. “You’re on Wall Street, baby,” he says. It comes out kind of slurred. “Only thing more important than the size of a man’s dick is the size of his portfolio.”

Morpheus hums in consideration. “Neither of those has a direct correlation to talent.”

“Try telling them that,” Hob says.

Morpheus sits up straighter against the couch, leaning his head on his arm to study Hob. “I suppose I should ask about yours.”

“You’re too pretty for me to be tacky like that,” Hob says honestly. Maybe he’s a bit more drunk than he thought.

“Am I?” Morpheus seems pleased.

“So pretty.”

“Hmm.” Morpheus rests his cheek on the couch cushion. The tips of his hair brush Hob’s hip. His eyes are so liquid in this light. Hob wonders if he’s hallucinating his existence.

He reaches out, mesmerized, to touch Morpheus’s hair. Morpheus doesn’t stop him. He lets Hob pet him, eyes falling shut. His hair is tacky on the ends with hair spray, but soft underneath.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Hob says, and Morpheus hums. “All those self-important stockbrokers trying to impress you with their convoluted financial instruments… they just want to hide that it’s all really a scam.”

“Is it now?” says Morpheus. “I was under the assumption it was legal.”

“Something can be a scam and technically legal. Oh, it’s all very clever. But it’s just building money on top of money with nothing real to support it. Kick out the base of the tower and it’ll all go into free fall.” He makes a whistling, falling sound, and Morpheus smirks.

“And I suppose you are better than all this.”

Hob chuckles. “Oh, no. I’m a money-grubbing little vermin, too. Just letting you in on the game. How it’s not so serious.”

“Hmm. I am a musician,” says Morpheus. As Hob figured, then. “I’m afraid it’s as serious as death.”

“Hence the all-black ensemble and the makeup,” Hob says.

“Indeed.”

Hob wants to hear Morpheus play. Or sing, or whatever it is he does. He bets he’d be exquisite. Divine. Hob can imagine those lips pressed to a microphone. Or those long fingers on guitar strings.

“Do you want something more interesting than alcohol?” says Morpheus.

“Why, you still bored?”

“Less and less so.” He pulls from his pocket a small bag of pills and hands it to Hob.

“You brought your own drugs to a party where you were promised drugs?”

“Promises cannot be counted on,” says Morpheus seriously.

“What is it?” Hob asks, then decides he doesn’t care, and takes a pill, chasing it with the watery last drops of his drink, which is a terrible idea, but then, he’s full of them.

“Ketamine,” says Morpheus. Oh, great, Hob thinks. Morpheus takes it back from him and takes a pill himself. “It occasionally makes me feel less like I am going to hurl myself from the balcony.”

He doesn’t seem to be joking. “Good for something, then,” Hob says. “Why do you want to jump off the balcony?” He still has his hand in Morpheus’s hair. He honestly can’t believe he hasn’t propositioned him yet. That’s not like him. These parties are usually only good for quick, casual sex. He even thinks Morpheus would probably agree, and yet.

“The state of things,” says Morpheus. He has such a deep, solemn voice. Hob wants to touch his mouth, or throat maybe. Okay, this is already not going so well. “And the state of my heart.”

Hob pets his hair again. Morpheus leans into the touch. “Writing songs about yearning and angst and stuff isn’t fixing it?” He can well enough guess what Morpheus’s music is probably like.

“No,” says Morpheus. He seems to really think about it. “I think it is making things worse. Perhaps I will try manipulating the financial markets instead. Is that giving you existential fulfillment?”

“There’s only so much money you can make before it starts feeling stupid,” Hob says. Maybe he should just throw all his cash out the window and go live in the woods or something. Carve figurines out of fallen trees. Probably do more good for the world, not that that’s ever been a focus of his. “Maybe it was always stupid.”

“No solution has been found for us yet, then,” says Morpheus. “Would you care to go outside? I find that if you are high enough, the city lights look like stars.”

“You’re not going to jump off the balcony, are you?” Hob asks, suspicious.

“This is not the right locale for my dramatic end.”

Somehow, Hob actually believes him. Morpheus wouldn’t truly kill himself unless it could have the right effect.

Hob levers himself up from the couch. Oh Jesus, now the room is spinning. The pounding music is starting to feel louder, starting to thud through him. Feels good, though. Everything being bright and hazy.

He helps Morpheus to his feet. Leads him, hand in hand, out to the balcony. They lean against the stone wall, looking down at the street, dizzyingly far below, cars poking along like lines of luminescent ants, distant horns crying. Then up, out at the collision of skyscrapers.

Morpheus was right. The lights are spinning and twinkling, just like stars. It reminds Hob of the first time he’d come to New York, when he was looking for adventure, and to get a little rich—or a lot rich—and everything had seemed like it was glowing and buzzing and flying.

The air is clearer up here than down on street level, and Morpheus tips his head up, breathing it in. His throat is so long, his shoulders and collarbone so angular. He looks like he’s been starving. But the stud in his ear at least looks from afar like a real ruby. Intentional, then, to be skin and bones.

“I think I am tired,” he admits, still looking up at the sky. “Do you know that… all I had ever wanted was for someone to like my music. And now I have that and it has not fixed anything.”

Hob takes his arm and pulls him close. He’s feeling very touchy-feely now, which could be the drugs but could also just be Morpheus. He’s so pretty and he looks so sad, and his sadness is beautiful and all the more terrible for that.

“I could kiss it better,” he offers. It’s still not a real proposition. Hob’d just kiss his hand if that’s what he wanted. Or the sharp bone of his sternum under those hanging necklaces. Or kneel at his feet and kiss his thigh—

Christ. Hob’ll be lucky if he survives the night, at this rate.

Morpheus looks at him, eyebrow raised. But Hob must look serious about it, because he says, “Okay.”

So Hob leans in and kisses his cheek. And Morpheus smiles, a bright, truly happy smile, just for a moment.

“Do you wish to dance?” he says. “I do not usually, but I feel I may fall over if I move from this wall without something to hold onto.”

Yeah, the floor is kind of moving. And Hob will certainly not turn down having Morpheus in his arms. “You wanna dance to this shit?”

They’re playing some godawful thumping grating song over the speakers now, and Hob doesn’t think either of them is up to the kind of bouncing thrashing dance that would call for.

“I will sing something different in your ear,” Morpheus says.

So Hob draws him in, wraps his arms around his waist. Morpheus plasters himself to Hob’s body, mouth to the shell of Hob’s ear. He starts humming a low, melancholic song. Hob shivers at the brush of his voice.

They sway together with very little coordination. Eventually Morpheus starts singing, though Hob’s brain isn’t capable at the moment of taking in many of the lyrics. It’s something about longing, and losing things in a terrible fire. Hob presumes it’s one of his songs. Morpheus’s voice is gorgeous, low and hypnotic, and Hob closes his eyes as it rumbles straight through him.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs eventually, filled with a sudden tragic pain about it. “Please don’t throw yourself off the balcony.”

Morpheus chuckles. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Never,” Hob says vehemently, and clutches his warm body close. He might cry about it. Fucking drugs. “We should go get food. You’re so fucking bony I think might you die of an overdose if we don’t sop it up. You had that wretched drink, too. Christ.”

“You are worried for me?” says Morpheus, sounding touched.

“Incredibly. Come on.” Hob finally pulls away from him, with chagrin, and takes his hand. “This party’s shit. I’ll take you to get pizza.”

“Pizza,” Morpheus repeats, with a tiny smile. It’s gorgeous on his face. “Very well.”

One dollar pizza is one of New York’s greatest inventions, in Hob’s opinion. They find some hole-in-the-wall place barely a block from the apartment building, and stand outside the door, eating incredibly greasy pizza off of paper plates, and it’s fucking heaven. It might be the best pizza Hob’s ever had in his life—granted he’s still very high.

Morpheus is scarfing his down like all pizza on earth is about to be chucked into space. Poor bony thing. Hob just wants to feed him up until he stops looking like a skeletal waif that’s about to drop dead at a cold breeze.

And wants to fuck him, too. Yeah, that’s still there, even with Morpheus licking grease off his fingertips. It’s actually getting worse because of that.

“Told you,” Hob says. “Needed some bread to soak up the fifteen shots in that drink.”

“I think I may throw up,” Morpheus says, with the careful articulation of someone who very well might. “But I am enjoying it nonetheless.”

“Let me know and I’ll find you a bin,” Hob says. He’s had worse nights than puking on the street corner.

“Now I owe you sexual favors in return for this generous meal,” says Morpheus, folding the empty paper plate with surprising precision, considering his enduring level of intoxication, and sliding it into a nearby trash bin.

It says something about Hob’s own level of intoxication that he barely responds to this statement. “Oh, yeah, the whole four dollars of it. What does that get me?”

Morpheus scrunches his nose in thought. “Two kisses,” he decides.

“We’ll save it for after you’ve decided if you’re going to throw up.”

Morpheus giggles. He’s so cute.

Hob tosses his own plate, and takes Morpheus by the arm. “Come on. You can come back with me. I don’t live that far.”

“Ah, now the proposition,” says Morpheus, but doesn’t sound unhappy about it.

“The ‘make sure my new friend doesn’t get hit by a cab effort’, more like, but sure.” He feels kind of responsible for Morpheus now. If Morpheus actually threw himself off a balcony Hob would never forgive himself.

“Friend,” repeats Morpheus, sounding pleased.

“See, isn’t this better?” Hob says.

“Better?”

“You got to eat pizza and didn’t even puke yet, isn’t that better than killing yourself?”

Morpheus huffs. “Quite a dichotomy. If you recall you too stated that you felt your efforts becoming meaningless.”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna jump out a window about it.”

“Fortitude,” Morpheus says, and it sounds mocking but Hob doesn’t really mind. Maybe it is fortitude, he doesn’t know. Maybe to Morpheus fortitude is gullibility, continuing to play the game when it’s long lost its spark and its reward. Hob likes the game, though.

“What will you do about it, then?” Morpheus asks.

“Dunno.” It’s the first time Hob’s really thought about it. Up until now, it’s been about chasing. Always wanting more. But now— now he’s basically at the top. Where he wanted to be. And... there’s really nothing there at all. “Leave New York, maybe.”

The words surprise him, even as he says them. Midtown is so bright, even at four a.m. It’s something Hob once loved about the area. About the city. But now he’s staring into Morpheus’s darkness. Into the ink stain of his hair against the glowing storefront lights, the sway of his body, graceful even while swimming in dissociation. And everything feels different.

“To go where?” says Morpheus.

“Back to London, maybe.” He has enough money to go anywhere. And yet, it’s hard to feel a particular point to anywhere. Where’d his sense of adventure go? His ambition? Somewhere it all slipped, in the glut of the present.

“I grew up in London,” Morpheus says. “It is too personal there, now.”

So he’s chasing something too. Or running away.

“Tokyo, then,” Hob says, as if Morpheus coming with him is a key part of the decision. “Is’at the furthest city from New York? Gotta be close.”

“It’s Perth,” says Morpheus.

“You’ve looked it up?”

Morpheus nods solemnly. “And from London: Wellington.”

“It’s settled, then,” says Hob.

“I am coming with you?” says Morpheus.

“Course.” Hob’s not going across the world by himself. Not anymore. He bumps his shoulder with Morpheus’s, squeezes his arm where they’re leaning together. “You’re coming with me.”

“We should go further, then,” says Morpheus.

“Antarctica?”

“Mars.”

Hob finds himself giggling, mirth rising in him like champagne bubbles. Morpheus giggles, too. It’s truly a ridiculous sound in his deep voice.

“They don’t have cool jackets on Mars,” Hob says, poking at Morpheus’s studded blazer.

“Ah.” Morpheus frowns. “Maybe not, then.”

That only makes Hob laugh louder, leaning on Morpheus’s arm, and Morpheus sighs, irritated to be made fun of, but doesn’t push him away.

“Come on, I’m here,” Hob says, steering Morpheus into his apartment building as it comes up. They make their way across the lobby and to the elevator bank, only a little unsteady, and then slump against the wall once the elevator doors close.

“I think I am very sleepy,” Morpheus says, tipping his head back against the mirrored wall as they go up, up, up the insanely tall skyscraper Hob’s for some reason chosen to live in.

“You think you are?”

Morpheus squints at the infinite tunnel being created by the opposing mirrors on the walls. It’s dizzying, more so now, when they aren’t exactly sober. He shudders and closes his eyes. “I would have to be connected to my physical form to know for sure.”

Yeah, Hob’s feeling that too. The walls are kind of tipping in at him, which is particularly uncomfortable when they’re mirrored. “I’ll put you to bed, sweetie.” He still really, really wants to bed him, more specifically, but he might also be about to fall over. He’ll rue the missed opportunity in the morning, but it can’t be helped.

“Sweetie,” Morpheus echoes, with vague distaste, and tips his head against Hob’s shoulder.

The doors slide open, and they stumble out into the hall. Hob somehow manages to get his keys in the door and get them inside without dropping Morpheus, who’s now using him to support almost his entire weight, and then gets them into the bedroom.

What follows is a dreamlike whirlwind of undressing, where the floor keeps tipping under him, where he tries to hold Morpheus up as he slips out of his boots and his bloody complicated jacket, his skintight jeans and even tighter shirt, helps take each ring off his slim fingers to leave carefully on the nightstand, and the pendants too, and gives him a t-shirt to sleep in, and Morpheus says, “Wait— I must—” and flees to Hob’s adjoining bathroom to strip off his makeup with some makeup wipes scavenged from Hob’s cabinet, undoubtedly left behind by a prior hookup. The silly thing talks about killing himself but still puts effort into skincare. Hob just shakes his head, then regrets it as it makes the room spin.

He strips down to boxers and undershirt and climbs into bed, because he is actually about to fall over, and soon enough Morpheus stumbles back out and collapses into the sheets beside him. For a moment they just gaze at each other in the dark. Hob means to do something, to kiss him, maybe, claim one of the ones that was promised. But exhaustion claims him first.

#dreamling #my writing #80s au #cw drug use #cw alcohol

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follows-the-bees · 1 month

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On the Head of a Pin character/plot analysis

Sam

During Mystery Spot, we saw what Sam became after Dean died. He was ruthless, going around killing even when he didn't have to, ignoring Bobby and others on his side. We can see that in Dean's absence Sam has somewhat taken on this mantra again: he is working closely with Ruby.

Sam's storyline this season is paralleled to addiction. Drinking blood and correlating it with sex can be viewed as a drug addiction. But I think his story is also about power, and we see it here when he powers up with the demon blood to save Dean.

While he does get to kill Alastair and get revenge on his brother's torturer, he also shows how power corrupts. This demon blood makes him feel powerful and he believes only he can defeat Lilith and co. SPN has always been good at tackling the theme of power corrupts, they start here with Sam.

Cas and Dean seeing Sam take down a higher powered demon with just his mind not only terrifies them but the audience. Cas, just earlier in the episode, was getting his ass handed to him by the same demon. Seeing Sam that powerful is just the beginning of foreshadowing.

Cas

Until this episode, we have seen the physical superiority of Cas. Nothing Dean or Bobby did touched him, he can appear in Dean's dreams, send him through time. This is one of the first times we see Cas physically vulnerable. First, a demon gets the drop on him, and shoves his torso into rebar, but an angel also beats him up.

The beginning of the episode shows Cas finding a dead angel, setting up the bookend of Uriel dying: both angels spread out with their wings burnt around them. This makes us worried for Cas, we see him not only emotionally vulnerable (all of the talk of doubt, and choosing to kill Uriel for humanity) but physically. Cas is completely open during this episode, telling Dean, "I would give anything not to have you do this." Cas is literal, so this statement shouldn't be taken lightly.

Dean

This is a pinnacle episode for Dean as well. We know that he spent 30 years tortured and then 10 years torturing. Knowing and seeing are different. We see him embrace the dark side of him and use inventive methods to torture Alastair. Pouring holy water down the throat, and putting holy water on a knife to further aggravate the wounds.

Seeing Dean, who is racked with guilt, who hates himself, become the torturer is hard to watch. And I did not think anyone but Cas — especially Cas being completely honest with him — would have gotten Dean to torture again.

Along with the demon blood reveal the second biggest reveal is Dean finding out he is the one who started the apocalypse, that broke the first seal. Cas just sits there in the hospital with him. Answers him honestly and tells him he should not blame himself.

Dean not only is dealing with torturing again but this new knowledge. He has been hostile to Cas in the past but just like Cas being open to him, Dean let's himself be vulnerable in front of Cas admitting he doesn't want this and crying. This starts to deepen their friendship.

On the Head of a Pin is not only one of the best episodes cinematically, but also character and plot wise. All three members of TFW are at peak arcs in it.

If you've seen this before, that's because I originally posted it three years ago on twt.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #spn ruby #meta analysis #meta #spn meta #supernatural meta

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summerwritesfics · 11 months

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🌎Love I’d Never Hurt You

Pairing: Shang Tsung/Kuai Liang Length: 5261 Words Rating: Mature Warnings: Serial Killer/Detective AU, Detective!Kuai Liang, Serial Killer!Shang Tsung, Detective!Bi-Han, Murder, Graphic Description of Corpses, Stalking, Death Threats, Minor Character Death, Gun Violence, Obsession, Obsessive Behaviour, Possessive Behaviour, Blood And Gore, Bombs (Except Not Really), Pinned Down, Abduction (Sorta I guess lmao even Kuai doesn’t know for sure if that’s what’s happening to him), NSFK (Not Safe For Kuai), Shang Tsung Is Very Creepy (Honestly he came out way creepier than I was intending)

Meanwhile In Another Universe Masterlist

Notes: NGL I debated posting this or not, but honestly don’t think it’s any darker than some other stuff I’ve posted so 🤷🏻 Like upon re-reading Shang Tsung did come out way creepier than I originally intended, but I mean… he’s a serial killer so it kinda works. Also tfw you dislike the police irl but love crime fiction. :’( I think the truly shocking thing about this fic is that I wrote a detective fic without Detective Hanzo Hasashi making an appearance, like tf. Title is from “The Horror Of Our Love” by Ludo.

Kuai was almost thankful to be called out of the office.

Granted, he was going to investigate a suspected homicide, and that should not have been something he was eager to attend. He felt even worse that such a thing was definitely a welcome distraction from whatever the hell was going on with Bi-Han right now.

The case Bi-Han was currently working on had seemed to consume his very being. Every waking hour was spent obsessing over a mysterious serial killer. The murders were almost clinical, like whoever was committing the acts was performing experimental medical procedures. Things like organ transplants, but twisted, like trying to move the heart to where the stomach should be and vice versa. There were usually drugs in the victim's system that didn’t correlate to any known drug used in medicine. It was very strange and so far there had been very few clues to attach even a solid suspect or two to the case.

And Bi-Han was completely losing his mind over it.

“Brother, maybe you should take a break,” Kuai had tried to gently suggest. He’d flinched at the murderous glare Bi-Han had shot his way. “Clearing your mind may help you look at this at a different angle, and you do have other cases you haven’t even touched since-“

“I don’t give a shit about the other cases,” Bi-Han hissed, slamming his hands on his desk. “I care about this case, and catching this fucking bastard!”

“But Brother-“

“No!” Bi-han swept his hands across his desk, sending everything on it flying off onto the floor in a loud clatter. If anyone else in the station heard it, they didn’t come to intervene. “This case is the only one that matters. And if you can’t understand why, then you can get the fuck out of my office.”

“Bi-Han-“

“Get the fuck out!”

Kuai realised he was fighting a losing battle, and left the office with his head hung low.

It was after that he had been requested to go and attend the site of the suspected homicide, and he’d practically jumped at the chance. Honestly anything to get away from his brother for a little while. He hoped maybe when he was done and returned to the office, Bi-Han would have calmed down a bit, realised Kuai was right and they could go out for dinner or something. Kuai was kind of craving sushi at this point, and quite frankly big brother owed him a big apology for the way he treated him.

He spotted a police car pulled up outside an abandoned warehouse. This was his destination, however, it was strange that neither of the attending officers were outside waiting for him. He hit the breaks and parked up, before quickly jumping out. This area was extremely cut off from the rest of the city. Combined with the eerie silence he was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his radio, clicking the button, “This is Detective Kuai Liang Song, currently on case 759. Could I request some back up? The initial police presence has not come to brief me, and I am currently in a very isolated spot. I believe it would be unwise of me to enter the building alone.”

There was a moment of silence, before a voice on the other end replied with “Sorry Detective, the majority of officers are attending a major incident on the other side of the city at this time. It could be hours before we can get someone to your location.”

“Major incident? How come I was not informed of this?” Usually something like that would have been alerted to all emergency services.

“I can’t say I know, the alert was sent out on all police radios.”

“Is there absolutely no one free?” He tried, slowly walking towards the door of the warehouse. He peered inside, but could see nothing.

“No, unfortunately all units are busy.” Dammit. Just his luck. It still seemed strange though, usually even when there was a major incident, a few officers were kept back to deal with smaller emergencies.

He looked around, the trees and foliage surrounding the warehouse were thick, so much so he couldn’t even see the city. He could, however, make out thick plumes of smoke just above the trees. It did look like it was quite a distance from where he was. At least it seemed the incident was somewhat real, although he wasn’t completely convinced this wasn’t someone hijacking the line to prank him.

“So, what do you recommend? That I stand down until I can receive back up?” He wasn’t completely defenceless. He had a gun, but he still felt it’d be preferable to have others who could raise the alarm depending on what he found inside.

“Are you sure the team already there just hasn't heard you turn up?” The voice asked. “Maybe you should go inside and look for them?”

“I-“ That was wrong. That advice was all wrong. No one at control would ever suggest he go in there alone. That bad feeling was getting worse. “I see. I will keep you informed of my progress.”

He slipped his radio back onto his belt, but stepped away from the entrance to the warehouse. As he did, he slipped his phone out of his pocket, only to curse when he found he had no signal here.

Instead of dwelling on that, he made his way over to the police car. Now he was looking, he could see the tires had all been slashed. Shit, I was right to be on high alert. He reached for the door handle, surprised to find the car unlocked. Another bad sign. He climbed into the driver's seat, hoping maybe to use that radio instead. Only he could see the cable to it had been cut.

“Shit.”

The sound of gunshots rang out and he instinctively ducked behind the dashboard. It went on for several seconds, before coming to a halt. He stayed hidden for as long as he could, before gingerly sticking his head out. Whoever had been shooting didn’t start again, and Kuai realised the police car seemed to be completely unscathed. That’s when he looked over to his own car.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He scrambled out the police car, walking over to his own. It was littered with bullet holes, most specifically in his tires. The shots weren’t trying to kill him, just take away any method of escape he had aside from on foot.

“I recommend you come inside now, Detective,” the radio suddenly sparked into life again. “I would advise against running. I’d really rather not harm you, if possible, but I will shoot your legs if you force me to.”

Kuai plucked the radio from his belt, turning to glare at the warehouse. He couldn’t even see where this person could be.

“Who the fuck are you?” He growled eyes darting around the building hoping he’d spot a shadow or something.

“You’re going to have to come inside if you really want to know,” the voice chuckled, “then we can be introduced properly.” Kuai didn’t dare move, not until he figured out how to proceed. “I’d suggest you don’t keep me waiting, Detective. Like I said, I would really rather not hurt you.”

Kuai didn’t exactly know what choice he had at this point. He slipped his radio back onto his belt, replacing it with his gun instead. He swallowed, taking a deep breath before slowly pushing forward towards the warehouse’s entrance.

Inside was dark and dingy, and every shadow on the wall had Kuai jumping at the slightest movement and sound, even when it was something he had caused. As he entered what looked like it had once been the main storage area, he couldn’t help but think how empty it looked. That meant the two humanoid figures sitting on chairs stood out a mile.

This is a trap. It was so obvious, and yet Kuai, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, still went towards them. He held the gun up. It was clearly the two officers who’d come in before him, but they looked lifeless. He hoped to god they were just unconscious.

“Hello?” He chanced, but got no reply. “Can you hear me?”

Still no reply. Even so, he pushed on, rounding to stand in front of the officers.

Only to find their guts spilling out of their abdomens and onto the floor.

He wretched, stumbling backwards, desperately turning his face to look away from the sight in front of him. It was never easy to find dead bodies, especially in such a brutalised state as this. The officers weren’t people he was particularly close to, but they were still people he’d worked with on a nearly daily basis.

“Ah, hello there Detective.”

Kuai spun on the spot from where the voice had come from. It was the same one that had been on the radio. Standing behind him, was a man with long hair wearing a suit and his hands behind his back. Kuai didn’t take much notice of any further details though, as he aimed his gun at the stranger.

“Now, Kuai Liang, is there really any need for that?” The man asked, laughing slightly as he did and tilting his head. “And after I put in all this effort to get you here.”

“What?” That made it sound like this had all been deliberate. A coordinated effort to get Kuai, specifically, here. But Kuai had never seen this man before, and he didn’t have any current cases that felt like they fit these methods. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Shang Tsung,” the man replied, taking a few steps forward but pausing when Kuai straightened his aim slightly. “I am the one your dear elder brother is looking for.”

“You…” He didn’t finish the sentence, letting what had been said sink in instead. This man was claiming to be the serial killer of Bi-Han’s case. But… Who would just admit that? Especially to a detective? Kuai tried to steady his hands, realising they had started to shake. “If that is true, then you’ll be coming with me.”

Shang Tsung chuckled, finally moving his hands from behind his back. Revealing he was holding something. Kuai prepared to shoot, until he realised it wasn’t a gun. It was a strange silver cylinder. Kuai’s eyes flicked between the item and Shang Tsung, looking for an explanation.

“Please. Put the gun down, Kuai Liang.” Shang Tsung held up the cylinder as if to let Kuai get a good look at it. “This is a trigger to a bomb that is set up inside your brothers office.” Kuai’s mouth went dry as his eyes widened. “Put the gun down, and I won’t have to press it.”

“You’re bluffing,” Kuai hissed, squeezing the trigger of his gun. Really he wasn’t as good a shot as his brother, and wasn’t entirely sure he could shoot before Shang Tsung could press the button.

“Is that really something you're willing to risk?” That was unfair. If there really was a bomb in Bi-Han’s office, then it wouldn’t just take out his brother, but a lot of other people who had nothing to do with this case and even those with nothing to do with the police. And Kuai had no way to warn anyone.

Reluctantly, he took his finger away from the trigger, slowly bending over to put the gun on the floor.

“Kick it away,” Shang Tsung ordered, and as much as he didn’t want to, Kuai did as he was told. The gun went skidding across the floor, far out of his reach. Shang Tsung was positively glowing at this turn of events. “Good boy.”

Kuai stayed stock-still, even as Shang Tsung began to approach him. He wasn’t even sure he was actually breathing, all he could feel was his heart beating so hard in his chest it felt like it was trying to break through his ribcage. He blinked and then he found himself looking directly into the other man's eyes. Looking to his side, he saw Shang Tsung was still holding the trigger, thumb dancing over the button.

“Don’t,” Kuai begged in a whisper, feeling sick at the twisted grin that came over Shang Tsung’s face. He pressed his finger down on the button. “No!”

Jerking into action, he grabbed Shang Tsung’s wrist with one hand, the other practically wrestling the trigger from his hand. Despite it having already been pushed, it felt the only thing he could do at this point.

Except…

When he took hold of it, he realised that despite how it looked, the trigger wasn’t metal. It was plastic. He could also feel that it was hollow inside. The more he looked at it, the more he realised it looked like some sort of fidget toy. His gaze slowly trailed up to Shang Tsung, who looked far too pleased with himself.

“It seems you were correct,” he gleefully exclaimed, “I was bluffing after all.”

The hairs on the back of Kuai’s neck stood on end. He attempted to dive forward, towards where his gun still lay on the floor, but Shang Tsung quickly grabbed him. In one swift motion, Kuai felt something knock into the back of his legs, causing him to fall backwards. Thankfully, he managed to avoid slamming his head on the floor, but then he felt a pressure on his abdomen as Shang Tsung got on top of him, pinning him down. He threw a fist, only for Shang Tsung to easily catch his wrists, and push them above his head. The floor next to him was wet, liquid soaking into his shirt, and as the metallic smell hit him, Kuai came to the horrific realisation he was lying in the officer's blood.

“Stop struggling,” Shang Tsung softly whispered, making sure he gripped both of Kuai’s wrists with one hand, while the other trailed along Kuai’s jawline. “I already said, I do not want to hurt you.”

“That’d be a lot more believable if I wasn’t lying next to the corpses of my colleagues,” Kuai hissed, squirming slightly and hoping he could knock Shang Tsung off him. Unfortunately that did not happen, and Kuai was slowly beginning to run out of steam with which to struggle.

“They were just meaningless fodder, Kuai Liang.” It was sick how someone could talk so callously about human life. “Not like you.” Kuai finally stopped trying to fight. He’d just end up wearing himself out. His head fell back slightly, and Shang Tsung lent forward, making sure he was still in Kuai’s field of view. “There we go, that’s better, isn’t it?”

“What do you want?” Kuai sobbed, trying so desperately to keep his composure. “Why are you doing this?”

“I need to talk with you, and I figured a written invite would go unanswered.” Shang Tsung’s fingers still gently laced Kuai’s face. A softness that directly clashed with the otherwise brutality of the man's actions. “I’ve been watching you for some time now.”

“What?” Kuai’s stomach twisted, his gaze fixed on Shang Tsung’s face. He looked so indifferent, like he didn’t realise or care how much that statement terrified Kuai Liang.

“Well, it started with me watching your brother, he is the detective on my case, after all, it would be stupid of me to not keep an eye on what he’s doing.” Shang Tsung’s hand reached behind Kuai’s head, undoing the tie that kept his hair up in a bun. “But I couldn’t help but find myself captivated by you.” His fingers ran through Kuai’s hair, causing Kuai to shudder under him. “My interest in him is professional. My interest in you is personal.”

“Please.” Kuai had no idea where this was going, he had no idea what he was pleading for. He just knew that he wasn’t sure he was going to make it out of this situation alive.

“Unfortunately, my fascination with the pair of you hasn’t gone unnoticed by my higher ups.” Shang Tsung kept playing with Kuai’s hair, sighing wistfully to himself as he did. “They believe my obsession with you both is impacting my work.”

“Your work?” Kuai questioned, finally noticing the quiver in his own voice. “Are you an assassin?”

Shang Tsung burst out laughing, “oh no, my dear, not an assassin. I’m a scientist. Everything I do is in the pursuit of science.”

Killing people for science? It sounded so fucking bizarre to Kuai. Then again, it would explain the strangeness of the deaths, the almost experimental nature of them. His victims were his guinea pigs.

“Regardless, they are not happy with the way my attention has been diverted.” He finally let Kuai’s hair fall between his fingers, watching in fascination. “They have decided it would be in their best interests to eliminate you both. That’s why I lured you here today. I wish to save you and your brother from their wrath, Kuai Liang.”

“Why should I believe you?” Kuai asked, flinching slightly when Shang Tsung’s fingertips once more trailed his face, specifically following the edges of the scar that ran across his eye. “You haven’t exactly given me much reason to trust your word.”

“I understand your hesitation.” To Kuai’s surprise, Shang Tsung actually released his wrists. As Shang Tsung pulled back, still sitting on Kuai’s lower abdomen, Kuai used his now free arms to prop himself up slightly. Shang Tsung’s hand disappeared into his pocket, and Kuai flinched slightly, expecting a weapon of some kind. Instead he pulled out a phone. “Here is a video of them discussing their plans to bring about your demise.”

Shang Tsung twisted the phone so Kuai could see the screen. The image looked like it was from the security camera of an office somewhere. There were three men standing inside, including Shang Tsung himself. A finger tapped the screen, and the video began to play.

“You are getting far too attached to those detectives, Shang Tsung,” one of the men said, the largest actually, towering above the others. “Your little obsession is getting in the way of your work.” He began to pace back and forth. “The elder one, I understand why you would keep an eye on, but the younger one is irrelevant to your work.”

“My surveillance on Kuai Liang is purely for personal reasons,” the Shang Tsung on the video replied. It looked like he was about to open his mouth to add something but the large man snapped back.

“I do not want to hear about your fucked up wet dreams about that brat,” the man spat, slamming his fist down on a nearby desk. “You are spending too much time on them, if you do not start to produce more results for me, I may be forced to take drastic action.” The man tilted his head. “Do you understand?”

“Clear as day,” Shang Tsung replied, bowing at the man slightly. The man just pointed to the door, and Shang Tsung sauntered out.

“You know he’s not going to stop, right?” The other man chimed up as soon as Shang Tsung was out of earshot.

“I am fully aware.” The tall man walked around the desk taking a seat. “Reiko, I have a job for you.”

“Am I to assume you wish me to make a visit to the dear detectives?” Reiko asked, and even on the zoomed out footage, Kuai could see the sadistic grin at the mere idea.

“The only way Shang Tsung is going to learn where his priorities should be is by taking away the things that distract him.” The man lent forward on the desk, linking his fingers in front of him. “As the younger one is clearly his favourite, make sure to do something extra special with him. Just to make the point clear.”

“I could decapitate him and present his preserved head as a birthday gift.” Both men burst out into laughter at that, but Kuai couldn’t help the high pitched whine that came from the back of his throat.

The video ended there, with Shang Tsung replacing the phone back into his pocket. Once more, his hand reached over to Kuai’s face to cradle it.

“You see.” He stroked Kuai’s face, and Kuai hated that he almost lent into it. “I just want to keep you and your brother safe.”

“Why?” Kuai asked, changing his position slightly, his arms starting to ache slightly from the weight of keeping himself up. “I mean. I understand why you want to save me, you have some… weird crush on me. But why Bi-Han? He’s trying to catch and stop you, wouldn’t it be more advantageous for him to be out of the picture?”

“Hm, well I’m a little hurt you think my crush on you is weird.” Shang Tsung pouted, his other hand now slowly caressing Kuai’s side. “But to answer your question, I rather enjoy the chase.” He gave a sloppy smile. “Killing really isn’t fun when there isn’t someone on your tail trying to stop you.”

So he enjoys the thrill, go figure. Shang Tsung could claim his kills were in the name of science all he liked, but at the end of the day, he was like anyone else who killed people for their own sick enjoyment. Kuai wasn’t sure if he should feel honoured or disturbed that he was apparently worthy of being more than just an experiment.

“So why lure me here and not Bi-Han?” Really, how the fuck Kuai got involved in any of this was questionable. Bi-Han had requested Kuai’s assistance a few times, but he had very little to do with the case. “If you’ve really been watching us, you’d know Bi-Han will do anything to catch you. If you’d have called him here, he’d have come running.”

“Oh, I’m very aware of that. The problem is, as you said, he would do anything to catch me.” Shang Tsung sighed and rolled his eyes. “He’d have shot me the second I attempted the bomb trick on him, let alone giving me a chance to explain my intentions.” He looked Kuai up and down. “From my observations however, he does at least seem to listen to you most of the time. It seemed most logical to get you on my side first and then attempt to contact your brother.”

Well. He supposed that was true. Kuai had lost count of how many times he was called away from something he was working on to go and try to calm Bi-Han down when his temper got the best of him. It was a joke around the station that Kuai Liang was Bi-Han’s morality pet, the only thing preventing him from becoming a serial killer himself. Kuai didn’t find that joke particularly funny however, given how uncomfortably close to the truth it was.

“So… What exactly do you suggest?” He was cautious to do anything with this man, but at the very least, it seemed Shang Tsung was genuine in his word that he did not wish to harm Kuai. Given the situation, he could have easily killed Kuai if he really wanted to by now.

“Call your brother, ask him to meet us at another location…” Shang Tsung trailed off as his eyes drifted over to the corpses beside them. “Somewhere other than here, anyway. I think we should let someone else clean this mess up.”

He’s talking like I had involvement in that. He glanced down, the one side of his suit was practically stained red from the blood that had seeped through it.

“I don’t have any signal here,” Kuai quietly informed him, hoping to god Shang Tsung wouldn’t get mad that he’d tried to call for help before coming in here.

“Well, we’ll be leaving this location anyway. You can just ring as soon as your signal returns.” Right. Kuai’s gut twisted, he should have realised that he would not be leaving this place alone.

Finally however, Shang Tsung stood up and off him, and Kuai rolled onto his side, having not realised how uncomfortable it had been. Shang Tsung walked over to where Kuai’s gun lay discarded on the floor, bending over to pick it up.

“I hope you don’t mind if I keep hold of this, rather than returning it to you,” Shang Tsung said as he slipped the gun into his pocket. “Not that I don’t trust you or anything darling, but I think I’ve had my fill of seeing you pointing a gun at my face for one day.”

Kuai didn’t reply to that. What could he even say? He’d have much preferred to have the gun, even if he didn’t really intend to use it on Shang Tsung.

Thankfully Shang Tsung took his silence as agreement, as he walked over and held his hand out. Kuai reached for it, feeling the other man haul him to his feet. He stumbled slightly, not realising how dizzy the adrenaline had made him. He was surprised when Shang Tsung snaked an arm around his waist and let him lean his weight against him.

It also seemed this position allowed Shang Tsung the benefit of leading Kuai exactly where he wanted them to go. It wasn’t long before they were going through a backdoor in the warehouse. Back outside, Kuai saw another car parked behind the building, having been hidden from sight when he’d pulled in. Dammit, I should have looked around the outside more thoroughly.

Disappointment in himself aside, Shang Tsung unlocked the doors, opening one and guiding Kuai to sit down in the front passenger seat. The door slammed behind him, and Kuai looked up in time to see Shang Tsung make his way around the front. Seconds later he was getting in the driver's seat, and starting the ignition.

“Keep an eye on your signal,” he instructed as he began to back out into the pathway. “As soon as you get some, tell me, and I’ll pull over.”

Kuai nodded, reaching into his pocket and keeping an intent eye on his phone. Really, focusing on that was at least grounding. If he didn’t, he had a feeling he’d be zoning out from how mentally exhausted he felt. Was he being abducted right now? He’d gone pretty willingly, yet at the same time somewhat by force. What was even happening to him right now?

He looked up briefly to find they were just joining the main road again. Glancing down he saw his signal go from nothing up to 3 bars. Typical.

“I have signal.”

Shang Tsung made an affirmative sound, pulling the car up on the side of the road.

“There are some abandoned storage units on the other side of town, down by the river, ask him to meet us there alone by 6pm.” Shang Tsung turned on his seat as if to keep a close eye on what Kuai was doing. “Feel free to mention me, I’m sure it’ll get his attention.” Kuai sighed, because yes, that would get Bi-Han’s attention. “Oh, and put it on speaker. I want to hear his reaction.”

Kuai just sighed, pulling up Bi-Han’s contact info, hitting both the buttons to call and for it to be on speaker phone. The phone rang out. Come on Bi-Han, please answer.

The phone clicked to life and Bi-Han’s voice called out clear as day, “what?”

“We need to talk,” Kuai started, staring straight ahead so he didn’t have to acknowledge the way Shang Tsung watched him.

“We’ve been over this. I am not giving up on this case,” Bi-Han growled on the other side. Kuai closed his eyes and grimaced. He couldn’t believe his brother was still holding onto that.

“It’s the case we need to talk about. I have a lead for you,” he said quickly, hoping it’d stop his brother going on another tirade.

There was a moment of silence, before Bi-Han questioned “what kind of lead?”

“Someone who wants to talk to you,” Kuai replied. He didn’t want to outright say he was in a car with a serial killer. Bi-Han would go completely off the rails if he did.

“What? Like a witness?” Bi-Han sounded so confused and Kuai knew that he had to tell him.

Kuai finally looked across at Shang Tsung, expression as smug as ever. But there was something else there now, a strange possessiveness in his dark eyes. Kuai had the feeling that even when everything was over, that Shang Tsung wasn’t going to just let him walk away from all this. As if to emphasise the point, Shang Tsung reached his hand forward again, wiping away a tear rolling down Kuai’s cheek, and then tucking a strand of Kuai’s hair behind his ear.

“I found your killer,” Kuai whispered, hating how wrecked his voice sounded.

“Kuai Liang,” Bi-han growled, the alarm clear in his voice. “Kuai Liang, where are you right now?”

“He hasn’t hurt me,” Kuai assured him, although was that true? Kuai ached in various places and he was sure there were some bruises forming on various parts of his body from the struggle.

“Where are you?” Bi-Han asked again, and Kuai could hear him shuffling in the background, no doubt grabbing his coat and anything else he’d need to come to Kuai’s rescue.

“He wants to meet you,” Kuai continued, once again resisting the urge to lean into Shang Tsung’s hand as he stroked him. “There’s some abandoned storage units down by the river. He wants you there by 6pm, but don’t bring anyone else.”

“Can he hear me right now?” Bi-Han was breathing heavily, and all Kuai could do was make an affirmative sound. “Listen here, you son of a bitch, if you so much as lay a finger on my brother-“

“He’s already told you that I have not hurt him,” Shang Tsung interrupted, eyes never leaving Kuai, giving an enamoured sigh as he continued to gently pat him. Kuai finally gave in, nuzzling into the hand. “I’m trying to save both of you, it’d be counter productive for me to harm either of you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Kuai heard someone in the background asking Bi-Han what he was doing, but given there was no reply it seemed Bi-Han was laser focused on getting to the storage units.

“I’ll explain everything when we meet,” Shang Tsung calmly replied. “Like I said, I have not hurt your brother, and I would rather not if I can avoid it. Just focus on getting to the location.”

“I’m okay Bi-Han,” Kuai reaffirmed, although he’d probably sound a little more convincing if he didn’t have tears in his eyes. “We’ll explain everything when we meet you.” He smiled slightly at the phone, adding a quick “I love you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I love you too.” Bi-Han sounded miserable, but in the background Kuai could hear the sound of an engine starting. “I’ll be there, just, stay safe.”

“You too.”

And with that Bi-Han put the phone down.

Before Kuai could do anything, Shang Tsung snatched the phone from Kuai’s hand. He opened his door, carelessly throwing the phone out, before slamming it shut again. If Kuai was to guess, it was to avoid him getting anyone else involved.

“Now,” Shang Tsung sighed, reaching to turn the key, “let’s go meet big brother, shall we?”

Kuai lent back in the seat, closing his eyes and hoping to god that this was all just a bad dream.

#mortal kombat #kuai liang #sub zero #scorpion #shang tsung #kuaishang #🌎meanwhile in another universe

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aces-to-apples · 1 year

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"the lungs love the chase"

Written for zeddwashington

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Darth Maul/CT-7567 | Rex/Ahsoka Tano, Darth Maul/Ahsoka Tano, CT-7567 | Rex/Ahsoka Tano, Darth Maul/CT-7567 | Rex

Additional Tags: Past Character Death, Time Travel, First Time, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Seduction, Aphrodisiacs, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sexual Inexperience, Vaginal Sex, Manipulation

Words: 2,620

Collections: May The Fourth Be With You Fanwork Exchange 2023

Summary:

Tfw your reluctant criminal boyfriend gets captured and executed by the empire thus activating a previously unknown ride-or-die protocol that has you going back in time to trick his younger self into bed with you so you can wreck the empire's plans together and also make sure that boyfriend never dies in the first place. Classic.

#star wars #sw fic #by apples #may the 4th 2023 #darth maul #ahsoka tano #captain rex #maulsoka #rexsoka #maulrex #maulrexsoka #citrus scale #lemon #not safe for whales

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shredsandpatches · 10 months

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youtube

tfw Walpurgisnacht is approaching but Faust is only interested in a) getting back together with Marguerite b) continuing his relationship with heroin (um, yeah, tw for depiction of intravenous drug use)

10/10 staging, but one note: I'm always just a teeny weeny little bit disappointed that he doesn't kiss Faust at the end. You'll know when you see it.

#mephistopheles monday #hot faust summer #tw drug use #bryn terfel could get it #i don't normally like this aria all that much #but i love this version #faustopheles #otp: as many souls as there be stars #Youtube

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heyoitsrachelo · 2 years

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tfw your roommate accidentally poisons your other roommate's puppy with the crack pipe he left on the floor of his room then less than a month later takes bad MDMA with fentanyl and meth in it and goes into psychosis for two days and throws his shoes in the garbage and puts his shaving cream into the fridge so it "doesn't go rancid" then when he gets coherent again proceeds to lie about his drug use and your boyfriend gives him his 30 day notice but says that he'll revoke it if he gets his act together in 15 days but the very next day the police are at the door to talk to him about a completely different situation he got himself into

oh and then after I called him out on his lies he played the victim blocked me and then tried to hang himself

#irrelevant junk #drugs tw #suicide tw #i don't post on tumblr often but when I do woooweee

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mayurisleftnut · 1 month

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Tfw u decide to Clean Up and u throw all yr paraphernalia in yr apartment complex's nasty dumpster but then the next day u remember that quitting things cold turkey (or at all really cuz who are we kidding) comes with Jonesing The Fuck Out even if there aren't physical withdrawals, at least at the very low level of use I'm at. And u find yrself digging thru the dumpster in broad daylight until finally you realize it's a hopeless feat. Cuz there's flies and it fucking ugggh whoah it stinks what are u ppl PUTTING in there (its just food but that is a loaded statement in summer)

Anyway I still have dudes number and now it's this fun game of not. calling it. Cuz I do need the number in case of emergency (I am on an actual chemically addictive script that I NEED to stay on lest I relapse for reals, and he's the only cushion I have between my shitty clinic failing to call in the refills and complete collapse of all I know and love in this life. But he also deals uhhh other things that I do to stay awake thru my shifts and Did You Know that Mt phones shitty autocorrect changes my to Mt every fucking time??? EVERY SINGLE TIME!!!!! What the actual FUCK!!!!!!! But yah I have to do a piss test in a week which means no staying awake and the stuff makes me feel like shit anyway so maybe I'll just stay off it even though it's not like.. very intense or life altering due to the fact that it's the opposite, the Exact Fucking Opposite of my drug of choice therefor I don't take it to get high. But I do take it enough to dislike its absence just as much as I dislike being on it, maybe even more)

Btw my partner is also Getting Clean and not to downplay it - they're trying to do weed and nicotine both at once and they smoke a LOT of weed - so I'm sure it's shitty. But it does really suck not being able to tell them about Mt thing bc anything other than weed shrooms and idk idfk.. what other stupid fucking hippy drugs are morally acceptable these days.. it's just not smth I'm willing to share cuz they're gonna fuckin judge me I just know it

Anyway I hate being on drugs and I hate being off them too, that's the moral of this story. Well the true moral of this story is that maybe doctors should just give ppl fucking. relatively safe scripts rather than sitting around complaining about drug epidemics. We are self medicating bc that's the only option we have, I asked nicely I did all the stupid fucking tests, I did everything and you fucks won't give me more than a fucking. zoloft. So eat shit (im specifically yelling at my rehab clinics doctor cuz she's the one who said the DUMBEST shit as reason not to give me the meds I need)

#drug tw #anyone who tries to 'Drugs Are Bad' me is getting their fucking face bitten off in verbal form #yr gonna be thinking about that woman who got her face eaten by a chimp and WISHING that was you

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 1 year

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what price glory

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/t3Eydzm by TheResurrectionist “You’re going to be okay, B,” Jason said, patting his back awkwardly around the thick armor, “It’ll be over soon.” “He’s not going to be okay,” Dick said, “He’s going to get chlamydia.” Words: 1425, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Gen Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Everyone, Bruce Wayne & His Kids, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Additional Tags: Based on a Tumblr Post, Slut!Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Jason Todd is Red Hood, tfw you find out your dad is the justice league bicycle, Fluff and Crack, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Poison Ivy's Pheromones, Brotherly Bonding, no beta we die like jason todd, jason: he's LITERALLY FINE read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/t3Eydzm

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the caped crusader #the dark knight #dcu #ao3 #ao3feed

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ao3feed-crimeboys · 2 years

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slip the fate (slip the victory)

by GhostWasp

Tubbo, Tommy, and Ranboo are ready for their first ever mission, their first step into a life of crime to join the family. Except that they aren't trained at all. With the Crow mafia scrambling to keep the city in their control under rising tensions and an upcoming election, they find themselves dragged along to watch the chaos unfold.

Trigger warnings in tags, with more warnings in notes

Words: 1711, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Dream SMP

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen

Characters: Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot, Phil Watson | Philza, Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Luke | Punz, Grayson | Purpled (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream's Sister Drista (Video Blogging RPF), Fundy (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu

Additional Tags: Angst, Alternate universe - Mafia, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, it's a mafia au so all the warnings that come with that, Violence, Blood, Guns, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Minor Character Death, Adoption, of the dubiously legal but consensual kind, References to Drugs, Substance Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Queerplatonic Relationships, Clay | Dream & Technoblade Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Tags Are Hard, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Bad Parenting, Teenage Parents, tfw you adopt a kid but you are also still a kid, no beta we die like jack manifold

#ao3feed #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #crimeboys #crime boys #crimebois #crime bois #mcyt #This is an automated process #If you see any fic that breaks boundaries #or the fic is yours and you don't want it shared send an ask #it will be looked at and removed if need be

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cloudoffilth · 2 years

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Tumblr has poor support for green texts. Anyhow the beginning of a "wholesome" forced fem HDG green text.

CW: internalized transphobia, slurs, drug abuse

>be me

>be ketamine addict

>sign up for the Terran military so I could shoot people

>tfw maintenance

>tfw literal shit shoveler

>tfw space captain dickhead in a firefight

>tfw the pea shooters "mysteriously" run out of ammo

>tfw captured by weeds

>still worth it

>be captive rebel

>be sedated

>a little pinprick of pain

>tfw not even a little buzzed

>blah blah blah "built up a tolerance"

>blah blah blah "harm reduction"

>blah blah blah "violence of the system"

>blah blah blah "dignity of the sophont"

>tfw free ketamine

>swag

>be captive

>be given a little freedom for my "help"

>be given tablet

>tfw they don't even have any good gore vids

>tfw stupid plant tablet doesn't even have a tiling window manager

>fucking plant tech

>be captive

>second day I visit captain dickhead

>he survived but lost his middle fingers

>the weeds commend me on my forgiveness

>I just hate the fucker

>tfw he tells me the shampoo is drugged

>tfw he tells me there are chemicals on the toilet seats

>tfw I don't even take baths

>tfw I've been using piss bottles this whole time

>be captive

>tfw the tablet filters all the interesting slurs

>sudden idea!

>dig all day through rotting stacks of paperwork

>fill out name as "certified genius shemale faggot ketamine addict"

>blah blah blah "dignity of the sophont"

>tfw I can use slurs again

>be "certified genius ketamine addict" day three

>a whole ass jungle mobs my stained hab

>blah blah blah "ordinarily we wouldn't have taken so long to notice these issues"

>blah blah blah "but we've just found some deeply concerning records of your network history"

>the smug face when behind 7 proxies

>blah blah blah "deeply concerning emotional self-harm"

>blah blah blah "we've finally recovered the logs of your VPN provider"

>OH SHIT!

>mfw they were just after me for the racial slurs

>be "certified genius ketamine addict"

>be placed on "time out" with "extra help"

>blah blah blah "Neon Genesis, 3rd bloom"

>some quick mental math

>literal boomer shrink

>blah blah blah "tell me about your day"

>hfw severe autism

>hfw I tell her about the tranny guro mangoes

>hfw I tell about the gore vids

>tfw "Lorezapam, 3rd boomer" commends me on my "trust" and "honesty"

>be "certified genius ketamine addict"

>Venlafaxine, 3rd boomer "trusts my honesty and willingness to change"

>basically I'm off scot free

>coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee

>girl with her tits out compliments my hair style

>tfw I never comb my hair

>tfw I squeak out "nice titties"

#flash fiction #dead dove do not eat #transgender #repression

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randomnameless · 7 months

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@zeroabyss replied to your post “Dragons matter, fuck human supremacy!”:

Caneghis does mention how in his youth he would have grown up to be a tyrant in his FB if he hadn’t suffered a humiliating defeat that nearly killed him. Since all Laguz save for Herons run on Strength=Right. It’s why he sent his nephew out to experience battle in RD so he can see that the way Beorc fight and strategy has its own values, and potentially lose to an enemy general if he picks a fight to be humbled by it. It’s why Almedha was over heels for Ashnard since he took that belief to its logical conclusion. At least until she gave birth and her son became her priority.

Laguz value strength over everything... even if they all respect Herons, who have no strength at all!

Cain was a hothead like Skrimir and nearly died, to cool him down, and yep, he sent Skrimir get some life experience before becoming too obsessed with pure strength...

And yet, as mentionned with herons, why the frick are some Laguz valuing strength over everything if every Laguz is basically powerless against Dragon Laguz, especially Black Dragons? Would they feel threatened by Goldoa, try to start a war against them or??

We still see them (Kings) hold some sort of conference together, so bar the "strongest wins them all" they still are level headed enough to recognise and accept other "weaker" tribes.

It's not that well explained, but iirc Almedha was attracted to the fact Ashnard had "power" and was willing to use it to get what he wants, unlike her dad.

Of course Ashnard's "strength = right" is hypocritical, since he only "won" against Rajaion by taking his son hostage, and threatening both Soren and Almedha's lives, and even then, he had to use Izuka's drugs to, well, drug Rajaion.

So is it "strength" or "strength + a bjillion tricks so you're left at 1 HP and Fiona can mercy kill you" ?

Which is why I usually like the trope of the "evil chancellor mastermind", Lekain by himself is weak as fuck (tfw you're a magic user in Tellius) and yet he is the one who (supposedly, until we learn it was Sephiran, another weak af unit!) pulled the strings to get everything he wanted.

What's strength against magic/tricks/drugs/manipulation and in general, the plot?

#zeroabyss #now that i think about it #poor Almedha #she seems to value strength at all costs until she meets her weak son and she loves him even if he's weak #so her beliefs are shattered what should she value him if he's so weak? And then Ashnard reveals himself to be an ass #she knew he was an ass but would never be to her right? right??#it's almost as if being "strong' doesn't matter at all when you have to deal with issues and situations that cannot be resolved by strength #replies

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nocontextscreenshotsbutevil · 4 years

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#fanboy and chum chum #fanboy #chum chum #dollar-nator #tfw #you're making an evil plan with your high as a kite gremlin and your terminator robot that play games and makes toast #evil plans #gremlin #gremlincore #high as a kite #the robot is not impressed that fanboy's evil plan is using a drugged goblin that smoked 12 full packs of weed #i mean just duct-tape a gun to his hand and chaos is surelly going to happen #and murder #screenshot #old cartoons #old life

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twsupernaturalimagine · 8 years

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Never In Fact Homeless (Part 4)

Author: Abby (amorluzymelodia)

Word Count: 1642

Warnings: homelessness, drug use, suicide mention, cursing, non-con (not necessarily rape but reader is not of a sound mind)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Fic:

A few hours later and you couldn’t have moved if you’d wanted to, you were too drugged up. Leo had given you a few uppers liked he’d said, and at first you’d remembered why you’d gotten into this in the first place. The high. It was all laughs and smiles and good vibes for a while until Leo shot something into your arm that made your skin crawl. Literally.

You saw maggots and worms crawling out of your skin and began scratching at your arms to get them off, but that only seemed to make them angrier, and more took their place. When you finally felt yourself coming down enough to calm down and tell yourself that what you were seeing wasn’t real, Leo approached you.

“Hey doll,” he slurred, drunk and high and everything in between. “Come ‘ere.” He took your hand and pulled you down a hallway, towards a back room with a bed, which he sat you down on. “Time to pay your fee.” He smiled a toothless grin at you and pushed you backward so you were laying on your back, with him over you. You couldn’t have stopped him if you’d wanted to. There were colors and shapes swirling around you, faceless creatures leering at you from the shadows, and truthfully you hardly noticed what Leo was doing to you, only his haphazard thrusts and weak grunts when he finished, landing on top of you with a huff.

You sat there for a moment, trying to decide if the man standing at the door was real or not. When his face morphed into a lizard you decided he wasn’t real and pushed Leo off of you, doing up your pants and making your way back into the main room, sitting down next to Marcus, who handed you a razor and began forming his own lines, indicating you should do the same. You had said you wouldn’t do heroin anymore, had promised yourself, and yet it was sitting in front of you, right for the taking. And your resolve was so low you couldn’t resist. So you snorted deeply, hoping the high would be a good one.

You were wrong. The maggots came back, this time with friends who burrowed into your skin. You could feel them chewing, hear them swallowing your flesh, leaving little holes behind. And it destroyed you. You scratched harder at your skin, digging in your nails when they didn’t go away, drawing blood. But the maggots fed off it, slurping it down and burrowing deeper. Something jumped out of the wall at you, passing through you and leaving you cold. Marcus was laughing too loud, scaring you. So when you couldn’t get the maggots off you picked up the razor in front of you and slashed at your wrist, hoping to drown them in your blood.

That was when you saw him. He was just a bright light but he was there, wings and all. And you cried out to him in anger and fear.

“Just kill me already!” you screamed, unaware of the tears rolling down your or the blood leaving your body. “Why are you doing this? Why did you save me? Was it to watch me suffer? To laugh at? Why?!”

He flashed bright white and vanished, which made you even more fearful oddly enough.

“Castiel!” You cried. “Castiel! Get back here you bastard!”

You tried to get up but fell over the table in front of you, knocking drugs and knows what else to the ground. You fell and could feel your head hit the ground, but wasn’t coherent enough to care. You saw him appear again, this time in his suit and trench coat and he tilted his head at you, looking concerned.

“I am sorry, Y/N,” he said. “I will fix this.”

“You’re not real!” you shouted as he reached out a hand to touch your forehead. “You’re not real…” but you were already drifting off, sleeping or into unconsciousness, you didn’t really care.

When you woke up your first thought was that your head didn’t hurt. Usually after a night like you would be in a lot of pain. But this morning there was none. That and the fact that warmth surrounded you and you could smell coffee led you to one thought.

You were dead.

It was the only explanation. Either you’d overdosed last night or Castiel was listening and had killed you. You weren’t sure if you were pleased about that, and if you truly were dead…where was the coffee coming from?

With that question in mind, you opened your eyes slowly, seeing not the ceiling of the dump you’d passed out in last night, but a plain concrete ceiling. Underneath you was a soft mattress and covering you were soft sheets and your head was placed on a comfortable pillow. The walls were bare but it was clearly a well-used room. There were flannels strewn around the room and the closet door was open to reveal even more flannels and what looked like a gray bathrobe. Where the hell were you?

Your question was answered however when none other than Sam Winchester walked through the door, causing your heart to race and you to shoot up in bed–you were surprised that that movement didn’t cause you to black out.

“Where the hell am I?” you demanded and Sam just sighed, placing a tray you only now noticed, containing juice, water, and waffles on the bedside table and sitting down next to you.

“You’re at our bunker,” he said calmly. “Castiel heard your prayer and when he found you he didn’t know what to do, so he brought you here.”

“I didn’t pray to him,” you hissed but Sam just shook his head.

“Well you must’ve or he wouldn’t have been able to hear you. He said you were pretty messed up when he found you. He wasn’t sure why but I’m willing to bet it was drugs,” he paused, his eyebrows raised. “Am I right?”

You grit your teeth and looked at your hands, startled when you realized the cuts from last night were nowhere to be seen, not even a scar. Just plain, pure skin.

“I had a bad trip,” you admitted shamefully. “It’s not the first time it’s happened.”

Sam just nodded and picked up the water, handing it to you and not looking away until you’d drank the whole glass.

“Well you’ve got Cas to thank for fixing your arms,” he said.

“What?” you asked, confused and Sam nodded.

“Cas said when he found you, you were bleeding and crying and shaking. I’m guessing your bad trip caused you to see some scary things huh?”

You just turned away from him and grabbed the plate of waffles. “Are these for me?” you asked and he nodded.

“Dean made ‘em. Seemed to think you looked a bit thin.”

You huffed a laugh around a mouthful of food. “Yeah well being homeless ain’t exactly the most nutritious way to live.”

You noticed Sam didn’t look uncomfortable at your mention of being homeless, which surprised you. Most of the time when the fact you were homeless came up with someone who wasn’t–church moms, volunteers at the shelter etc–their reactions were to look down in shame, like it was their fault or something. But Sam didn’t look at you differently, just like he knew how you felt. And somehow you believed that he did.

“You ever been homeless Sam?” you asked quietly and he smiled slightly.

“Not exactly. Dean and I…we moved around a lot as kids. Our job takes us all over the country, so we never really had a house. But we had our car so…no. We were never really homeless.”

You furrowed your brow. “So you’ve been doing this since you were kids?”

Sam nodded. “Our dad raised us in it.”

“Sounds like an A+ dad,” you scoffed. “But who am I to talk? Mine kicked me out when I was fifteen.”

“Why–” Sam was cut off by Dean entering the room, carrying yet another tray of food, this one containing potatoes and sausage.

“Ah good you’re awake,” he said and set the tray down next to it’s partner. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” you demanded.

“About that suicide attempt, Y/N,” he said gruffly. “Cas found you half alive, slits on your wrists and so drugged up you probably thought he was a hallucination. What the hell were you thinking?”

You put the plate down, suddenly not hungry.

“Who do you think you are?” you demanded. “You’re not my father or my priest, you don’t get to scoop me up off the street and demand to know all about my life because you did me a kindness. How I live my life is my business, not yours.”

“Well you’re life seems pretty screwed up kid.”

“You’re one to talk.” you spat and Dean just laughed.

“Hey kid I know my life is fucked up, I accept that. It’s you who hasn’t seemed to.”

You just scoffed and pushed the covers back, thankful Cas had healed you so you could walk fine without a hangover or injuries.

“Look I don’t need rescuing okay? I’m a big girl, I can handle myself. So thanks for patching me up but I’m good.”

“You’re not going anywhere, chief,” Dean said smugly and you glared at him.

“Oh yeah?” you demanded. “Who’s gonna stop me?”

“Y/N.” It was Castiel, and you froze. “Please, stay.”

“Why should I?” you demanded, turning towards him angrily.

“Because we care about you, Y/N,” Sam said kindly. “And we can help you.”

You took in his kind face, his puppy-dog eyes and the three of them looking at you not like a project…but like a person. So you took a deep breath and spoke.

“Start talking.”

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