#Cutting Tools Dealer

[johnypage95]

[pgsalestooling-12]

Cutting Tool Manufacturers, Suppliers in Pune

A cutting tool is an essential device in machining processes, designed to remove material from a workpiece efficiently and accurately. It comes in various types, such as end mills for milling operations, drills for creating holes, and turning tools for shaping cylindrical objects. Cutting tools are crafted from materials like high-speed steel, carbide, or ceramics, each offering specific advantages in terms of hardness, durability, and heat resistance. To Know more: https://www.pgsalestoolingpvtltd.com/cutting-tool-manufacturers-in-pune.php

+91 9881212246

sales@pgsalestoolingpvtltd.com

Sai House, Shop No.3, Opp- Rohit Rubber, Indrayani Chowk, S Block, Bhosari, Pune-411026, MH, India 

[sadguruenterprises]

Sadguru Enterprises is the reputed carbide cutting tools manufacturers, suppliers, dealers in Pune, Maharashtra. Our core competence lies in the design, manufacture and supply of special cutting tools made of high speed steel and tungsten carbide for the automotive, engineering, textile, energy and machine tool industries, among others. 

[gothamite-rambler]

Kite-Man, the main villain he was working with, and that guy's cousin all spoke over each other, their voices rising in an annoying cacophony as the usually stoic Batman slowly started to lose his composure.

Batman (voice booming): SHUT UP!

The three men fell silent, fear evident in their eyes, while Spoiler strolled back over, unfazed.

Spoiler (cheerfully): The building is cleared, and I found this cool back scratcher!

She held up a back scratcher designed to look like a skeleton arm—don’t worry, it wasn’t a real one.

Drug Dealer (shouting): That's mine!

Spoiler (casually walking past the three men and scratching her back with her new tool): Mine now.

Kite-Man (tilting his head, confused): Spoiler?

Spoiler (squinting her eyes as if trying to place him): Yes… Kite-Man? Hey dude, good to see you again! How long has it been?

Kite-Man (nodding): Three weeks.

Batman (interrupting, bewildered): What? Wait, you know him?

Kite-Man (grinning): Spoiler and I go way back. She let—well, I mean, I’ve gotten away when fighting her.

Kite-Man winked, causing Spoiler to chuckle, relieved he didn't disclose that she had let him escape. She hadn’t taken him seriously, after all.

Spoiler (grinning): Yeah, he's good people.

Batman (frustrated): No, he’s not! He’s a vill—he's a goon! I don’t respect him enough to call him a villain.

Kite-Man and Spoiler (in unison, indignant): Rude!

Spoiler (playfully): KM, I heard you and your last girl didn’t work out?

Kite-Man (sighing): Yeah, nah. She left me for her tattoo artist, which hurt way more. So I'm a bachelor, but there's this girl—

Batman (cutting in, exasperated): I hate to interrupt your conversation, but I have to talk to the three stooges about the warehouse they were using to cook crystal meth!

Kite-Man: …Am I Moe?

Batman groaned, covering his eyes in frustration.

Spoiler (smirking): You're Kramer from Seinfeld.

Kite-Man (beaming): That is so sweet of you to say! Batman, keep her around; she's got good energy.

Batman growled, walking past the three men and shoving the drug dealer to the ground, his irritation palpable.

Batman (sternly): The cops have arrived and I can't be around any of you. I'll talk to them. Spoiler, don’t let him escape this time!

Spoiler (confidently): I gotcha, Batman!

Batman strode off while Spoiler remained with the three stooges.

Spoiler (playfully): Crystal meth, huh? Bit old school.

Kite-Man (nodding, earnest): It’s supposed to be a stronger strain.

Drug Dealer (frustrated): Can you stop talking to her?!

Kite-Man: Nah, she’s cool. Hey Spoiler, do you think you can let me 'escape' by 'accident' this time?

Spoiler (tossing the back scratcher in the air and catching it expertly): Sorry, man. You're going to prison this time around. Sorry to you—not the douche canoes next to you; I don't know them.

Kite-Man (chuckling): Probably for the best; they're awful.

Spoiler laughed, nodding in agreement, while the two men next to them looked utterly insulted but too shocked to respond.

Spoiler: You usually cause me headaches, but I enjoy your energy. Very demure, very mindful.

Kite-Man (puffing his chest in pride): I’m demure? Hell yeah!

Batman (from a distance, voice booming): STOP BEING NICE TO EACH OTHER!

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Fallen || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!devil!reader Summary: When a young driver wants to make a deal with the devil to get his greatest desire you find yourself forgetting what side of Heaven and Hell you are on. Warnings: supernatural themes, mention of deaths (Jules, Hervé & Hubert), angst, fluff WC: 5k

F1 Masterlist || Bonus Scene

16th October 2013 The kid had no business standing at the crossroads. What could a boy need so desperately that he was willing to part with his soul for it? But it wasn’t your place to question, merely to answer. 

The boy murmured to himself as he knelt on the gravel and started to dig with a pink trowel he had borrowed from his mothers gardening tools. The quiet mutterings brought you amusement as you thought of the surprise he would get when his doubt was proven wrong and you appeared.

He carefully followed the instructions inked on the page that had been torn from a very old book. He reached up to his dark hair with a small pocket knife and cut away a small patch before laying it in the hole he had made. Turning the knife on himself, he whined as he pricked the tip of his finger and squeezed it until three thick blood drops fell onto the strands of his hair.

You would usually laugh at the poor attempt of the incantation to call upon you but instead you sighed as you grew tired of the theatrics. 

“What do you want, kid?”

A small shriek filled the night as he fell back on his ass. “But…but…you…but…”

“Shit, you’re not even old enough to talk properly,” you said as you knelt down to his height. “Go home.”

His mouth snapped closed before scrambling to his feet and wiping the dust that covered his jeans. “Sorry, you gave me a fright. I was expecting…” he looked around and frowned, “never mind. Do you need help?”

“No, do you?” 

He looked genuinely concerned as he searched the dark road and you tipped your head to the side before you remembered that to a human you looked like a 21 year old. It didn’t matter that you had roamed the world for a thousand years, your physical form remained the same.

“I guess not,” he sighed as his shoulders slumped and he kicked his vans at the loose stones as he whispered, “it didn’t work anyway.”

“It was your pronunciation, Latin is a tough language. I’ll let you in on a secret, you can say the incantation in any language and it will work.” You leaned in closer and chuckled darkly. “The devil just enjoys torturing people.” 

“But…but…”

“Great, we’re back to that, are we?” You rolled your eyes and opened your palm, a ball of fire erupting into the night and the scent of sulphur lingering after the flame burned out. “What did you expect when you called me?”

“You…you’re the…dev…”

“Devil,” you offered as his face paled and he stumbled backwards. “Say it with me. De-vil.”

“You’re the devil? But you look like an angel.”

“More or less, there’s actually a lot of us.” You clapped him on the back and grinned when he jumped. “So what can I do for you, kid?”

“I heard you could grant wishes.”

“I’m not a genie, I’m a dealer,” you said with a shake of your head. “You tell me your dream and I make it happen, for a price.”

He chewed on his lip, his conscience trying to warn him it was a bad idea. “What price?”

You flicked your hand out and the piece of paper on the ground flew into your fingers. “You know the price. How old are you anyway, kid?”

“I’m sixteen, today actually.” 

“Congratulations!” You frowned as it didn’t sound quite right and he did the same. “Wait, it’s happy birthday, isn’t it? We don’t exactly have them since we are fallen, not born.”

“That's really sad.”

“Hell help me, you are an emotional one.” You pinched the bridge of your nose as you felt the waves of empathy rolling off the teenager. “Listen, I’m all up for taking souls, it’s my job and I’m pretty good at it, but you seem like a nice guy so I’ll help you out pro bono as long as you don’t cry.”

“Really?” His excitement was almost as infectious as his smile as he grinned at your offer and you could tell that with a few more years of growth and maturity he would be as handsome as those goody-good angels.

“Really. So what’s your dream? And don’t go all ‘Disneyland’ and that shit, make it big.”

“I want to be a Formula One World Champion.”

“Fuck, okay, I said big not gigantic,” you said as you cracked your neck and then your knuckles before rolling your shoulders. “That will take some time to pull off, but we got this, kid.”

“Charles, my name is Charles Leclerc,” he said as he held his hand out. “Do devils have names?”

“Of course we have names, but names have power and I don’t know you well enough to share mine with you.” You shook his hand and he jumped a little at the heat difference since the hellfire made you run hotter than humans. That same heat flickered up your spine as you felt another calling at a crossroad half a world away and so you stepped away. “I’ll check in once a year to see your progress.”

“Wait, that’s it?”

You laughed darkly as thick smoke began to gather at your feet where the earth was opening to your home realm. The teen yelped as a lick of flame encircled his wrist but the scar that appeared just as quickly healed so no one would know he had been marked by the devil.  “Goodbye, Charles.”

16th October 2014 “I wasn’t sure you would actually come, I thought you were a figment of my imagination.”

You stepped out of the shadows and looked around the modest home that should have been full of his friends celebrating his 17th birthday. The air was thick with grief and it made your back ache from the weight of it bearing down on you as you watched the teenager stand with his back to you at a bookcase.

“Maybe I am,” you murmured as you walked over to him and saw his eyes fixated on a photo. 

Placing the photo back carefully on the shelf he turned and you saw the difference a year had made. “I want to make a deal. My soul, take it.”

“Woah, slow down, Birthday Boy, you don’t know what you are offering.”

“I don’t care, I just need him to be alright.” Tears were swimming in his eyes as he grabbed your hand and squeezed tightly. “Fix Jules, please.”

Unable to resist, you reached out and touched the tear that ran down his cheek. Pain obliterated your chest, crushing your insides as waves of memories flooded your senses until you knew Jules just as well as he did.

For the first time since your fall a thousand years ago, you were envious of the angel you had been. You wanted to be the cause of his hope, but that wasn’t something you could give and you tugged your hand from his hold before they could blister his skin. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Bullshit! You are a dealer, you said so yourself.”

“That’s not how it works, Charles, I’m a devil. Don’t you see? The deals I make are selfish, the things people want for themselves. You want a miracle,” you sighed and felt the familiar ache where your wings once were, “I can’t do those anymore.”

“You got me into Formula Renault.”

“You got yourself there, kid,” you said as you stepped away. “I just whispered a few suggestions to people I knew would listen.”

It was a little more threatening involved but you weren’t going to let him know that. You hadn’t needed to do anything other than get someone to give him a chance since he had the talent to win all on his own.

“There has to be something you can do,” he pleaded, his green eyes swimming with tears.

You sighed as you stepped away, rubbing your temple as if you could actually get a migraine like a human could. “I can’t make any promises, but…let me see what I can do.”

You faded from the room before you could see the hope that filled his face and followed the memory of his visit to Jules, finding yourself in the shadows of a hospital room. The room was empty except for the young man laying on the bed, wires and tubes keeping his breathing steady. You were struck by the pain you felt and knew it wasn’t real but the lingering effects of sharing Charles’ memory of him, but that knowledge still didn’t ease the ache.

“Azrael, come down here.”

It only took a second for the angel to appear and she didn’t look pleased at being called away from her duties.

“You’re not an archangel anymore, you can’t just snap your fingers at me.”

“Obviously I can since you showed,” you pointed out. “I need a favour.”

“You don’t do favours,” she said as she narrowed her eyes.

“I do now. I need you to leave him alone.”

Azrael looked at the comatose man before reaching forward and touching his forehead and shaking her head. “He’s one of ours, he has to come with me soon.”

“You have no sense of time, whatsoever. Soon could be 50 years from now.” You crossed your arms and stared the death angel down. “I’ll deny three souls in exchange for his life.”

“You’d turn down three deals for Jules? Who is he to you?”

“No one, but he means everything to someone else. Do we have a deal?”

“Deal, he has until I next come back down, no more.”

You nodded in agreement hoping her sporadic trips to earth erred on a lengthier time away this round. Unfurling her wings, you felt a pang of jealousy arise as you watched her fade away only to hear the strong beats of her wings carry her higher.

You aparated back to Charles and found him slumped in a leather reading chair, an album of photos open on his lap. Droplets splattered on plastic sleeves, only to smear into streaks as he wiped them away at your arrival.

“I bought him some time,” you said softly as you fell into the seat opposite him. “I can’t say how long because I don’t know but for now he will live.”

Charles dropped the book as he fell to his knees and clutched your hand tightly, the gesture making you uncomfortable. “Thank you,” he choked as his tears hit your knee through the rip in your skinny jeans and turned to steam. He didn’t seem to be affected by the heat radiating off you, he didn’t seem to feel it at all as he closed his eyes and rested his head on your joined hands. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, kid,” you said ruefully, pulling your hand back from the touch. “Healing was never my gift. He will have to do that on his own.”

“He will, I know he will,” Charles said with certainty as he rose to his feet. “He’s the strongest man that I know.”

You stood up with a nod and realised this year he was the same height as you, seeing eye to eye after his latest growth spurt.

“I hope you are right,” you said, feeling the floor start to give way beneath you as you willed yourself home. “Until next year, Birthday Boy.”

Charles’ nose wrinkled at the smell of sulphur filling the room and he stepped back at the sight of the black plume swirling around your boots. “You don’t have to wait a year, you can visit anytime.”

“Have you forgotten who I am?” you laughed as the smoke climbed higher.

“Just because you’re the devil, it doesn’t make you bad,” he said with a shy shrug. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

He was right in the fact you had been kind, something no one else would say about you. You couldn’t explain why you were different with him, why you couldn’t treat him like any other advantageous young man wanting to get ahead. There would surely be hell to pay if word ever got out about it.

The smoke reached your throat and pulled you down. “Maybe I made a mistake.”

16th October 2015 Charles would never know it but you had visited him throughout the year. You had kept to the shadows, watching from afar as he graduated to Formula 3 and came one step closer to reaching his dream. You were there by his side when he received the phone call that had devastated him, you had felt Azrael’s presence on the mortal plane and immediately went to him. You didn’t reveal yourself, not when the gut wrenching sound he made had you hate having fallen. You could offer him nothing so you remained hidden, torturing yourself with the knowledge of what could have been.

It was a little before midnight when you arrived at the busy nightclub. You should have just apparated into a bathroom stall but instead you had to produce a fake ID so the bouncer would let you in.

“Guess I can’t call you kid anymore,” you said as you found Charles in the VIP area and took a seat beside him. “Happy Birthday.”

“Who’s this angel, Charles?” his friend asked with a confident grin.

You tipped your head back with a laugh before you recovered enough to say, “You’re barking up the wrong tree there, but you call me D.”

Charles nearly choked on his drink at the snort he gave. “What are you doing here, D? I don’t remember inviting you.”

You leaned closer to see his cheeks flushed pink with the alcohol he was now legally allowed to imbibe in and whispered, “There’s only one place I need an invitation, and despite the name on the door outside - this isn’t Heaven.”

With a huff of annoyance he stood up and made his way out of the VIP area to the packed dance floor. Knowing everyone was completely inebriated you didn’t bother to follow him, instead you suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Leave me alone,” Charles growled as he turned his back, but everywhere he went you were in front of him.

Finally he gave up escaping and you shoved a hand on your hip as you asked, “What’s your problem?” 

“My problem? You lied to me, that’s what!” The drink in his hand spilled over the rim of the glass with the angry shaking overtaking his body. “Jules died…and you weren’t even there. You never visited me and…I needed you. I needed to know why!”

You took the glass from him and tipped the liquid back, relishing the burn of the alcohol down your throat as he stared daggers at you. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, mortal.”

“Well, we never made a deal, so there’s no need for you to be here, devil.”

The words hurt more than you cared to admit and the glass shattered in your hand, ichor flowing from the wounds before they could heal as quickly as they came. Charles' eyes widened at the dark liquid coating your palm and he almost looked worried for you but you weren’t looking at him. Your eyes were fixed on your heels, the shoes uncomfortable compared to the boots you normally wore but you had wanted to fit in. For him.

“You’re right,” you muttered as you freed your hair from the constricting hair tie and kicked the shoes off. There was nothing to be done about the tight red dress until you were home, but you would be there soon enough. “Goodbye, Charles.”

16th October 2016 Try as you might, you couldn’t stay away. Unbeknownst to Charles, you regularly checked in to see what his latest accomplishments were. As it was, he was leading the Formula 3 Championship and was a sure graduate to Formula 2. He raced like he had the devil breathing down his neck, pushing the boundaries to the brink of disaster.

Maybe he knew you hadn’t abandoned him, or maybe he just didn’t care. You knew you definitely shouldn’t have cared but still you watched him grow into a man and mature as his career evolved.

16th October 2017 You had nearly started another war the day Azrael came for Charles’ father. For three days you stood ready to fight the angel of death for Charles’ biggest supporter while he visited the hospital to say his goodbyes. He had lied to his father, telling Hervé that he had signed to a Formula 1 team for the next year and you promised to make it happen - with or without a soul to bargain.

It wasn’t a difficult task to achieve, a small incident with Pascal Wehrlein making a seat available in Sauber. All Charles had to do was keep his head in the game and go fast like he always did.

When you watched him celebrate his birthday his eyes had glanced around the room and you wondered if it was you he was looking for. It was only when those green eyes landed on a family photo you pushed the silly thought away, he was just missing his father.

16th October 2018 “How long have you been there?” Charles asked the empty room.

How he sensed your presence, you didn’t know, but since you no longer needed to hide it you let the shadows fall away. Turning away from where he had been styling his hair in the mirror, he leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

His room hadn’t changed all that much, Ferrari posters still covered the majority of the walls but they were also joined by some models posing on hoods of cars. The twin bed had been upgraded to a double and was covered in a red and yellow bedspread that clashed with your trademark black outfit as you lay across it.

“How often do you do that?”

“Do what?” you asked innocently as you stared at his ceiling and not his narrowed eyes.

He waved a hand over your leisurely state. “This.”

You got off the bed and stalked across the room to the Formula 1 racer and found you had to look up at him even with the heels on your boots. “Don’t mortals leave home by now? I thought the 21st birthday was some big right of passage.”

You reached for the tub of hair product and sniffed at the vanilla scent before it was swiped from your hand. It smelled edible and there was another scent that was just as good but you weren’t sure what it was or where it was coming from until you leaned closer to him and inhaled.

“I just bought an apartment but it’s not ready for me to move into for a few more weeks. Will you stop that?”

“What is that smell?” Your head was swimming as if you were high but that wasn’t possible. “My head…”

You could barely stand upright as you felt drunk all of a sudden and Charles caught you as you stumbled back. “Sit down,” he said softly as he guided you to the edge of his bed. “Why did you come back?”

Your head lolled onto his shoulder and the room spun as the truth tumbled from your lips. “I never left you,” you admitted, your words slurring as the intoxicating smell left you dazed. “Not when Jules died…or your father, never…”

Charles frowned as your eyes closed and you fell back on his bed. He had spent so long blaming you, being angry at you, believing you had abandoned him when he needed you most but as you murmured in your strange state he realised he had it all wrong. 

“D?” he called out as he shook your shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You tried to open your eyes but they were too heavy and you curled into a ball as your stomach churned. “Because I shouldn’t care. You’re just a human.”

“But you do care,” he surmised as he grabbed the blanket and draped it over your shivering body. 

“Devils don’t care.” You could hardly talk through your chattering teeth, the blanket doing nothing to warm the ice that had seeped into your being.

Charles curled himself up against your back and tightened his arms around the blanket as he tried to warm you. Nothing seemed to work until his voice spoke softly in your ear, “Then maybe you’re not like the others.” 

The silence grew and he thought you had passed out when you muttered, “I had nowhere else to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was a war…couldn’t choose a side…threw me out.” A yawn silenced your words and you snuggled into his arms, your nose finding that delicious scent strongest on his neck where you nuzzled deeper.

“My cologne,” Charles whispered and you realised you had asked aloud what it was. “You’re like a cat high on catnip.”

“Haven’t been high since I had wings.” You giggled, a sound so unlike you, but it turned to a sad sigh. “I miss my wings.”

Charles brushed your hair back from your face but you didn’t have the strength to open your eyes. “What colour were they?”

“There isn’t a colour to describe them. But you can see it at dawn…look to the east…the last star in the morning sky.”

“The Morningstar?” Charles looked down to see your lips parted with a soft snore and reached into his pocket for his phone. There was no way he was going to leave you in the state you were in, not even for his own birthday party.

16th October 2019 You had thought Azrael had forgotten the deal you made but she made sure to remind you of it when she crossed paths with you at the Belgium GP. Charles’ head had snapped your way the moment he heard the crash and you shook your head sadly. The only reassurance you could give him was that the young driver’s soul was at peace. 

Before leaving with her precious cargo, Azrael had given you two months to keep your end of the bargain and you didn’t want to test her patience. The crossroads had been quiet and it took nearly the whole time to find three souls worthy of denying a deal, most people who offered their souls for their greatest desires deserved the eternal damnation in return.

As soon as your task was fulfilled you returned to Charles, to the only place you felt at home. After waking in his arms a year ago you had struggled with the duties expected of you, finding more and more excuses for the downturn in deals. After waking in his arms, you wanted to be more than what you were. You wanted to believe you could be more, like he believed in you. 

“D,” Pierre greeted as he joined you at the bar. “Still looking as lovely as ever.”

“Still the charmer.” 

His attempt to shift closer to your side was blocked by the heat radiating from you and he pulled back with a frown, brushing the oddity off in his tipsy state. “Where have you been?”

“Here, there, everywhere,” you answered absentmindedly as you felt Charles’ presence before you spotted him. “I travel for work.”

“Let me guess - modelling?”

“Dealing.”

“No way!” His eyebrow shot up and he leaned in to whisper, “Drugs?”

“Not quite,” you said with a laugh. “Something far more lucrative.”

Charles’ hand came to rest on the small of your back and his lips brushed your cheek. “Sorry I’m late, ma diablesse. What are you drinking?”

“I could do with a-” your voice trailed off as a fissure ran through the air and you turned to see what had just walked in the door. “Hold that thought.”

“What’s wrong?” Charles asked but you were already weaving your way through the crowd. 

Waves of power rolled off the beast but no one would see the tusks spearing out of its face or the black soulless eyes, they would merely see a mountain of a man and a vibe that warned them to move aside. 

“This is a bit out of your territory, Fowler. What are you doing topside?”

The demon looked over your shoulder and smirked. “Heard some interesting rumours.”

“And what rumours were those?”

“That some darling angel was caught up with a mortal, helping out for free. You know the rules. No soul, no deal.” Fowler’s hand snapped out and caught your throat, his claws threatening to tear it out. “Don’t forget who took you in when your family threw you out.”

“Fuck you, I’ve more than paid my debt,” you spat as you grabbed his wrist and seared his skin with the lick of your flames. “Don’t come and threaten me.”

“I don’t have to threaten you,” he chuckled as he cradled his hand to his chest and looked past you to where Charles was pushing his way to your side. “Mortals are so weak, a little accident is all it takes.”

There was no way you could let Fowler return to Hell with the information he had, your weakness, so you did the only thing you could to protect Charles. You rushed the demon as the ground opened, disappearing into the pit with him before Charles could follow. You called all of your power and funnelled it into your fire, pouring it down the demon's throat until he was smothered by the flames and a smoking husk that turned to ash as you crashed to the ground. 

“Morningstar, what is the meaning of this?” 

You bowed to Beelzebub before kicking away the ash that had settled on your boot and painted a dark smile onto your face. “He interrupted a deal, I couldn’t let that grievance go unpunished. Or did you want me to forgive him?” You challenged him with an arch of your brow until he huffed a sigh and waved the question away with the whip of his tail. 

“So where is the contract for the soul?”

“Did you miss the part where I said he interrupted the deal?”

“I’m not sure if I liked you less as an angel or not,” he uttered from his throne of skulls. 

“I have that effect.” You started to leave the way you came but a chain snared around your ankle and locked into place before you could escape. 

“Not so fast.” You were thrown onto your ass as he yanked the chain and dragged you to the foot of his throne. “I find myself short of an enforcer,” he said as he looked pointedly at the pile of ash you had created.

“So find another,” you growled as you tried to melt the chain but it merely absorbed the heat you poured onto it, “there’s no shortage of brainless fools ready to serve you.”

“But look how that ended,” he laughed. “How about a deal? Ten years as my enforcer for your freedom.”

Freedom. Ten years was nothing, just a blip to an immortal, but you weren’t thinking of yourself. You were thinking what ten years would be for Charles. Would he have a wife and kids? Would he have won his world championship? Would he remember you?

“Two,” you countered.

“Five.”

“Deal, but on one condition.” You stopped fighting the chain and rose to your knees. “I want a soul.”

16th October 2024 You were beyond exhausted when you stumbled into the bedroom, using the last of your strength to find your way back to him. The last five years had been brutal and it was a miracle that you had survived to complete your end of the deal, much to Beelzebub’s chagrin. The bastard had thrown every impossible task your way but you had something he could never understand, hope. And it kept you fighting to the bitter end. 

You crashed onto the bed as your legs gave out and he leapt up at the intrusion, the bedside lamp lighting up and illuminating his silhouette as he stared at you wide eyed. “Ma diablesse? You came back…”

“Always, Birthday Boy.” You reached for him, needing to feel him with your own two hands after missing him for five years. It was his face that had kept you alive and you cupped his jaw to pull him closer only to freeze at what you felt. “Charles?”

“What? What is it?” he asked with panic as he placed his hands over yours, holding them tight to his cheeks.

“You have a beard,” you whispered, turning his face to the side to see the styled hair on his jaw. “When did that happen?”

Charles laughed and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck as he crushed you against his chest. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

“I would have been back sooner but I made a deal with the devil.” You reached into your pocket and pulled out an unassuming medallion. “A soul, my soul.”

Charles frowned in confusion as he trailed a finger over the symbols of an ancient language long forgotten. “What do you mean?”

“No more devil deals, if you’ll have me, I would be human.”

Shock rippled through his features. “You would give up immortality for me?”

“Hell is an eternity without you,” you said before you pressed your forehead to his, sharing his breath of life. “And if I never make it back to Heaven at least I will have had a moment of it here with you.”

Bonus scene here.

[strid3rofthen0rth]

I ran into "Uncle" Brian today. One of those guys who isn't your uncle, but you've called him that since you could talk. He was Dad's best friend from their first day of kindergarten on. He was there the night I was born. Comes to the family reunions and Christmas. That kind of uncle.

He and I got quite a bit closer after Dad died, which is a nice silver lining, but I hadn't seen him since the fourth of July shindig.

I was at the Stihl dealer looking for a replacement bolt on my chainsaw when I bumped into him, and he reminded of a fun story I'd almost forgotten about.

Dad had a monstrous dead ash tree at his house, say 1995 or so. He wanted to take it down for firewood. This was a huge tree. My brother and I couldn't reach around it together as youngsters, but trees get old and die, just like us.

Dad was the only mechanic in that small town for half his career, then he built houses. He cut firewood and plowed snow on the side. He wasn't a fuck around guy when it came to tools, so he bought a new Stihl 044 magnum.

That's not a ginormous pro grade saw for logging, but it's 70cc. It's a big fucking saw for a dude who cuts firewood as a side gig. I still have it. Weighs 5000 pounds, but it has all the torque in the world.

So Uncle Brian offered to help Dad fall this 200 year old giant white ash. And just because boys will be boys, he bought a new chainsaw, too. One size bigger than Dad's new saw. And told him about it in the way men do.

What you gonna do with that little weeny saw you just bought, cut kindling? You get it.

Of course, Dad returned his saw and got the one two sizes up in order to go bigger than Uncle Brian.

You can see where this is going -- a power saw arms race. Uncle Brian was forced, by the laws of Man Code, to upgrade again, to the 880, which is a monster saw, used in the PNW big timber at the time. And fucking expensive, but those two could never leave shit like that alone.

So Uncle Brian showed up on the big day, to take the big ash down. And Dad had been bullshitting him. He never bought a bigger saw after his first purchase, he made Brian buy the biggest goddamn chainsaw anyone had ever seen solely by antagonizing him over the phone.

But it did drop that ash perfectly. Firewood for years at our house, that story gleefully repeated around every campfire for decades, and we're still laughing about it today.

It was nice to see him.

May as well throw up one of them at the old ice fishing trailer. What the hell

[lysenfeu]

Devil in the Details •Part 1•

Captain John Price is pushed to extreme lengths to make up for his massive failure in the field.

Rating: Mature

Eventual John Price x F!Reader

1.1k Words, Slow Burn, Drabble/Short Form Writing

CW: Angst, Grief, Dark themes, Mentions of death, Supernatural

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The mission was a catastrophic failure. Everything went wrong and John made it home by the skin of teeth, barely alive and the only one left. The boys, his boys, were gone. He knows it should have been him, not them. He should have been dead and buried in that desert and his boys gotten home safe. They didn't deserve this ending, they had so much more to live for. But not anymore, their promising careers and futures were cut short because of him.

The brass put him on leave, didn't even ask him about it. Just ordered him off base for a few weeks, doubled it when he wouldn't put the whiskey bottle down long enough to make it into his office. He fucked it up and now he's stuck here without them. Broken and alone, haunted by ghosts of the men he let down and lost.

He won't accept it.

Can't accept it. There needs to be a way he can fix this. To turn back time, bring them back, whatever it takes. His duty wasn't really to the military, it was to his team. And as long as he still lives, that duty will remain.

There must be a way.

So he spends his time reading and researching. Trying to find a way to solve this problem. That's what he does best, solve problems. And what's three bodies in the ground if not a fucking problem? He latches on to anything he can, no matter how farfetched, that promises him salvation. He chases thin threads of information, whispers of rituals and summonings, things that grant wishes at a cost.

Finally, he gets restless and goes out hunting. Trawling occult shops, new age bookstores, antique dealers, anywhere that might have more information or the tools he needs. He ends up in places he shouldn't, asking questions he really shouldn't. He's mostly met with concerned glances and cautious half-answers. But the shopkeepers politely dodging his requests for more and more obscure and dark texts doesn't deter him in the least. Eventually, some indulge him. Tell him fanciful tales of beings with immense power, ones that have control over life and death. Creatures that can grant him his deepest desires, for a price.

He knows what he needs to do.

One day, he gets lucky in a little pawn shop a town or two over, with a flair for the spooky and macabre. The owner found the book in a box of junk they sourced from an auctioned-off storage locker. It was stuffed between fake crystals and low-quality bone jewellery, the lot worth almost nothing. The owner thinks it's just a prop, a total fake like the rest, but they knew Price was willing to pay for this type of thing so they gave him a call. John's there in less than an hour. He opens it, thumbs through a few pages and cracks a smile for the first time in weeks. He thinks this might have the answers he needs.

With a plain, unassuming cover of simple brown leather and various stains (he's very much hoping are tea) on a number of the pages, the whole book is scrawled top to bottom and front to back with messy handwriting in a variety of inks. Drawings break up the text, sketches of different plants and flowers mixed with carefully labelled diagrams showing various shapes and runes in different configurations. There has to be something of value here.

The pawn shop owner is getting antsy about his purchase, so with a strong poker face and some pointed mentions of military discounts, he deftly haggles his way through the transaction and rushes home with his new acquisition.

He flies into his study the moment he arrives and dives into the book. It's well-preserved and filled with notes, John quickly learns the author has a fondness for herbs. After a hundred pages of interesting but not quite useful information, and about a dozen too many sketches of different stalks of mugwort, he's falling back into that despondent mood that seems to increase by the day, the smile long since dropped from his weary face. He's nearly done flipping through the entire thing when something catches his eye. Right at the end of the book, there's a nearly empty page. It contains only a single detailed sketch and a handful of words in blood-red ink.

His heart starts to race as he stares down at the images. A picture of a circle sits in the middle of the page, containing a twelve-pointed star with several tiny smaller symbols on each point. Some are easy to decipher, there's a sun, moon and skull drawn quite clearly. A dagger and a scroll, perhaps that one might be fire or a very odd-shaped leaf, sitting next to a set of horns. The rest are just scribbles to him and he frowns at the unfamiliar pictures.

There's one image larger than the others sitting in the dead centre of the star that he easily recognizes as a set of scales. There's something about them that makes him stay and linger, unable to pull his gaze away. He brushes a hand over the ink and a tingle runs down his spine. The scales glitter faintly under his touch, trying to draw him in, and he suddenly knows what he needs to do.

A small smile finally returns to his face.

This is it.

This is how he'll get them back.

Adrenaline is pumping through his veins as he pushes himself up from his chair and races to gather supplies. He pays no mind to the text at the very bottom of the page, too eager and overwhelmed by his discovery of the ritual circle to take heed of the single sentence in large block letters.

“DANGEROUS - DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SUMMON”

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(Part 2)

[goemon-fan]

I just got Goemon jumpscared in the comments of a "disabled characters in media" video, and as a continuation of this discussion I would like to know how the Lupin III autistic community relates to Goemon, if at all. Under the cut will be my relatability to his character. (Also, have autistic people been brought into the fandom because of Goemon?)

As a disclaimer I am not formally diagnosed with autism, however I am likely autistic and have traits that are irrefutably autistic if I were to pursue a diagnosis.

Goemon is the single most relatable character I have ever encountered in fiction, and it is likely due to this element of representation (albeit accidental) that I am so enamored with his character. Many characters in media are not autistic, or are autistic in a certain way so that they are unrelatable and/or even a bit offensive (the Sheldon Cooper types). Goemon is the one character I have truly related to; he's introverted, dedicated, and knowledgeable, alongside many other autistic traits.

Furthermore, Lupin III is surprisingly nice about Goemon's autism. Lupin, Jigen, and Fujiko acknowledge and even appreciate Goemon's quirks, and it serves as a nice bit of escapism in contrast to the ableism of everyday life. They stick up for him, do their best to accommodate him, give him space, and typically don't make fun of him (in the ways that matter; they'll make fun of him for being nerdy, but not for wanting to be alone or eating specific foods). They're genuine friends to him, and don't push him away despite their differences.

I could see Goemon's character/episodes as a tool for those who do not understand autism, though I am obviously biased. However, if people in my personal life were to watch Lupin III and pick up on Goemon's quirks, it would make things go a lot easier for me. I've already seen this in the fandom, with even newcomers and non-autistic people acknowledging that Goemon has certain needs and this is just how he is. "Goemon only eats Japanese food, he's just like that." "Goemon likes to be left alone for long stretches of time, he's just like that." "Goemon's quiet but enjoys our company, he's just like that."

I also greatly appreciate how Lupin III avoids autistic stereotypes. Goemon isn't delegated to an irrelevant side character role for the sake of a quota, he's an active force in the story. Goemon isn't irrationally mean, and while he does get upset it's from a place of caring. Sometimes Goemon doesn't understand things (there's a clip from the Sorcerer King game where he asks what a "tab" is to a dealer asking for their delivery), but it isn't done excessively. Goemon's smart, but has interests outside of academia.

Overall, I am so grateful that this character just so happens to exist, Lupin III has legitimately made my life so much better after I learned that the things I do are shared by someone else.

[crackrodent]

Check out the rest of my Flufftober library!

Cats, Rats and Other Crap.

Content Warning: Forgot it was FLUFFtober and accidently made mild gore.

Husk felt the strain in his back as he pulled the corpse from the porch to the side yard. Alastor had been missing a few years so keeping everything running smoothly was crucial. Murder was just a bit of housekeeping. Didn't even bother him anymore.

He always tried to do his chores on a timely schedule.

Making sure it was done before he left for the casino and he was back before it needed to be done again took effort. More than the old man thought he could handle.

Sometimes, it needed to be done more frequently than other times.

When he knew he was going to have to be gone a few days he would spend some extra time doing his chores in the shed so he would know the timer until he needed to be back would give him enough time to win enough to stay afloat. That was his job.

Nifty handled all the other chores, he did not mind doing this one chore for her. She needed him for this.

Husk looked down at the blood soaking into his fur, he could feel it turning cold and sticking to his fur. He needed to work on cleaning up and packaging the cuts of meat for Rosie. He also needed to give her a call still.

Usually, he was more prepared but the fucker tried to change up the routine. As if he could get past Husk.

It took some huffing and puffing but Husk managed to make it to the shed in the side yard. Getting the sinner up on the table was easy at that point. The anger had taken over. He looked down at the gray fur and started removing the skin to be cured.

Next, he sliced away the deluxe cuts and wrapped them in butcher’s paper. The less great cuts made it into some zip lock bags together. The organs had their special buckets. Everything fits into the same spots they always do. Husk looked at the head that remained.

The stupid look on the sinner’s face. He really thought he could get past this old cat.

Husk remembered watching strays catch their kills out in the Nevada desert heat. Mice, rats, geckos, and general pests.

His mind wondered after he tossed the junk off the table and started cleaning.

There was a private poker game he would attend when on a good streak. High risk, high reward, shady locations. Sometimes a basement, other times a penthouse. This time it was an abandoned farm feed factory. His well-polished shoes were covered in dust as he stepped out of his car. By the time he made it to the table, he needed to stop and dust himself off.

It was a good night. He walked away with more than he walked in with. That was enough. But he will never forget the sight of the roach that crawled across his shoe. So large he could see the mold growing on its back. He had never seen something so disgusting. Until he saw the dealer’s cat pounce once it was a yard away from him. He killed it with a sickening crunch and consumed it in three loud bites. He never thought he would see something so stomach-churning again.

As he goes to toss the towels he sees the gray face of the sinner. The rat nose and insect antennas look back at him. His gross red eyes glazed over. Husk looked at the eyes and he couldn't hold back.

It was just knowing what the man had once done. Knowing how many years he got to live after his botched attempt to make a proper wife out of the woman he was several years too senior for. She got to have peace in hell for almost fifty years before he came back for her. He had already had a new wife at that time. Raised daughters. He met grand and great-granddaughters.

Family the first bride never lived to get. Family she was denied for not being the perfect wife at just twenty-two. She couldn't keep the house spotless and have dinner ready just right. She died before she could even know what 'on the rocks' or 'neat' meant.

He didn't have to do it himself. Doctors were still performing the shit.

Husk held the same tool in his hand that he used to take her life. He liked to use it when he knew he needed a few days before the timer could reset. Usually, he would only use it then. But he made it too close today. He had his filthy paws on her window for fucks sake. He could have woken her if Husk wasn't right there.

He positioned at the same corner of the eye he would have targeted. He plunged the tool straight through until it cracked out the other side of the skull. Pulling the head back out of the trash can for a second to look the sinner in the already decaying eyes.

"You can keep coming back for her, but she's all the family I got. I couldn’t save her then but that was just because I hadn’t met her yet. I swear until the exterminations wipe out all of hell you will never lay another fucking hand on Niff," with a thud Husk pushed the head back off the ice pick into the trash where he belonged.

[joshsindigostreak]

I See Hell in Your Eyes

Chapter Two

“Does the deer forgive the wolf?”

Josh Kiszka x Vampire!Reader

Warnings: None other than descriptions of blood.

Word Count: 3504

You hobbled through alleys and back streets for what seemed like hours, desperate to get to your destination without being seen, or worse, stumbling upon a human and doing something stupid. Your wrists were still burning, bleeding, and locked together because of those stupid fucking silver handcuffs that asshole shackled you with. As you twisted your way through the city, your mind was reeling with theories as to how that man was able to resist your Persuasion like that. It was unheard of! In the three centuries you had been alive you had never seen a human of all things resist that. Humans by nature were so gullible and easily persuaded to do anything that it was hardly even considered a “power” by other creatures. But he not only resisted it, he completely fooled you into thinking it was working. Arguably this was much worse, a fucking human getting the best of you? He needed to be dead. You needed to bleed him dry, watch the light slowly leave those pretty brown eyes of his, and leave him behind in some alley while you get on with your life. 

Turning a corner, you finally spot the heavy metal door you had been walking towards all night. It was very nondescript, blending into the alley wall it was stationed in. With the last bit of strength you had, you start kicking the metal hoping the occupant on the other side would hear you and let you in. Your hands were too sore to knock properly, your fingers curled into your palms in defeat from the sterling silver of the cuffs. 

You kept kicking the door, getting more and more forceful the longer you went without a response. Finally, you could hear slow footsteps on the other side, a familiar grumbling voice complaining on its way to the door, before dramatically sliding it open and flooding the alley with light. 

“Alright, alright, calm the fuck down-” a thick New York accent greets your ears and older, crinkly blue eyes took in your appearance and looked you up and down, immediately spotting the cuffs and blistering wrists, “Ah shit come inside, love.” He was probably one of your favorite faces, but you wouldn’t admit it. He went simply by “Les”, no last name, and never elaborated on what it was short for.  He was one of the most prolific arms dealers this side of the country. He was human…as far as you could tell, but you always suspected he was a lot older than he said. Les had bailed you out a few times after you pissed off the wrong creatures, and here you were again, needing his help. 

You gave him a half smile as he stood aside for you to come in and swiftly slammed the door shut behind you. Your ears were met with familiar Italian opera music playing on a record player in one of the other rooms. Various weapons he had collected over the decades lined the walls, with a few taken apart sitting on his work bench in the center of the room. You made your way over to the bench, sitting on a vacant stool and hauling your mangled wrists onto the surface of the workbench, wincing as the cuffs dug deeper into your skin and making the most unpleasant sizzling sounds. 

Les sat on a stool next to you, immediately dragging over a tool kit to start picking at the locks. “Now what have you done this time?” 

You start rattling off details of your night, how you just wanted to go out and have a nice meal in peace, running into…him, and how he blind sided you in the alley behind the bar. Les nodded along while working at the locks, you noticed he was being extra careful to not break them, which started to annoy you, “Can’t you just cut them off?” 

“And damage sterling silver cuffs like these? Hell no. That's more work for me to fix later, these have more value than you think.” Of course, business always came first. You slouched in a petulant matter, sighing in relief as one of the cuffs popped open, freeing one of your hands. Les started in on the second one immediately as you shook out your free hand, letting the skin heal and close up. 

Les looked up at you curiously, “now what do you mean he wasn’t affected by your Persuasion at all?”

“It didn’t even phase him! He just kept going on his little ‘I hate your kind you will pay for existing’ spiel and trying to say I was behind a bunch of bodies being left all over the city? I never leave bodies behind!” Les narrowed his eyes at you,  “I mean, not in a long time!” The second cuff popped off your wrist, and you were finally free from the blasted things. You shook out your hands as your wrists healed, relief flooding your body as the wounds closed. Your skin healed quickly, but it still left you in your original predicament of being hungry. 

Les scooped up his tools and slid the cuffs off to the side, “Now…don’t quote me on this but I’ve heard that some hunters have gotten their hands on some sort of magic to protect themselves from your kind.” 

“What kind of magic would do that?”

“Sigils mostly, witches are all about their sigils as you know,” he said with a slight eye roll.  “But those hunter families, you know the ones who are born into it? Where their whole family line consists of hunters blah blah blah, they typically have a few witches to help them out for their…line of work. It's honestly a little hypocritical to me, using witches to hunt other supernatural creatures, but you know how hunters are, they’re not exactly ethical, even if they think otherwise.”

You inwardly groaned at the idea you ran into one of those bloodline hunters. You didn’t cross paths with them often, the last time had been a few decades ago when one of them had ended up in actual Vampire territory, way too confident for their own good. They didn’t make it out alive. You recalled their skull was used as a trophy, and a warning, for quite some time.

“There aren’t very many of those families left anyway. The Turners were wiped out back in the 60s, the McGavins haven’t been in the country in years, last I heard they were hiding out in Canada. I remember some French family that stupidly thought they had cleaned out most of Paris but found out the hard way that they had not.” you counted on your fingers as you tried to remember the fates of the hunter families, your eyes trailing off lost in thought.

Les nodded as he crossed his arms, “...have you heard of the Kiszkas?” 

Oh no. Oh god no. Not them. You had heard stories, even lost some friends to those fuckers. They were a long line of hunters, from “the old country” as it were. You had kept your distance from them, they mainly kept to themselves on the western side of the country. There were rumors about how ruthless the newest generation was, and how there was an alleged set of twins that were particularly nasty. 

“They haven’t been this far east in a long time. No…it couldn’t have been one of them…” You tried to reason.

“For your sake I hope you’re right and it was just some random dickhead adrenaline junkie. But you have to consider the possibility given that he wasn’t even phased by any of your Persuasion tricks.” He stood up from the stool and walked over to a small fridge in the corner, “still hungry?” 

You looked up at the sight of the open fridge and saw a few blood bags sitting on the top shelf, and your mouth instantly watered, and your gums itched to let down your sharp teeth. Blood bags weren’t ideal, and no Vampire would say it was their favorite way to eat, but they worked when necessary. “Since when do you keep blood bags?” You tried to keep your voice steady and held onto the table so you didn’t launch yourself at the fridge. 

“Since I seem to have little Vampires show up at my door at all hours of the night needing my help,” he said warmly before plucking a bag off the shelf and carrying it over to you. You took it instantly, ripping off the end of the tube that was connected to the bag, using it as a straw. It was almost embarrassing how fast you slurped it down, but Les handed you a second one to make sure you were ok. The two of you had a quiet understanding. He always stayed neutral when it came to the politics of supernatural creatures, never taking any sides and helped out whomever paid him what he was owed. Strictly business, he always said. His neutrality was what earned him his respect, but he never helped out hunters. Even though he was an arms dealer, he had never once done any sort of work with them. Not for any virtuous reason, but they had fucked him over a few too many times and he just couldn’t be bothered with them after that. 

“The sun will be up soon…you need to get home before it does.” You glanced up at the clock on the wall, and saw you had about an hour before proper sunrise. Shit, you’d have to hurry to get back across the city to your apartment. 

Standing up, you place the second empty blood bag on the table, “thanks, Les,” 

“Any time, kid,” he always referred to you as ‘kid’, even if you were as far as you knew centuries older than him, “just promise to not be stupid out there, ok?” 

You nodded as you slipped out the door, and back into the night. 

~*~

However, across town, a particular hunter was not having a good night. Not only did you completely give him the slip, he lost his only lead on the case he had been given by his father. Typically, he worked cases with his twin, Jake, but this was one of his first solo missions, and he wanted to prove himself. He sat in his kitchen, pouring over the evidence folders he had been given, looking at the photos of dead bodies, all with familiar puncture wounds on their necks. It didn’t take a genius to know a Vampire did it, and this one was sloppy. One of the bodies was found in a shopping center parking lot, and was nearly discovered by other humans who still didn’t know Vampires existed. The hunter had wondered what ignorance felt like, and if it was as blissful as often described. He never had the chance to know if the world truly had monsters or not. His bedtime stories were always filled with creatures, his schoolwork always supplemented by “additional” education at home. He knew what weapons were best for whatever creature by the time he was in third grade. 

He knew Vampires couldn’t stand silver, and had even witnessed it first hand when a particularly stupid one tried to break into his family's house when he was roughly six years old. The vampire had gotten ahold of his twin and he had the wherewithal to grab one of the knives hidden under his bed and stabbed the creature in the leg, disarming him until his parents rushed in and…took care of it. That was the night he saw a Vampire die for the first time as well. A silver tipped stake, shot out of his fathers crossbow directly into its heart. It didn’t turn into dust, like he thought. The creature collapsed onto the ground, lifeless, but it was what happened to the body that startled him. The skin shrank back and turned this disgusting gray color, almost shriveled on the bones, especially in the face. The eyes glazed over in a yellow cast, stuck open in surprise from being shot, and the death rattle it emitted would haunt his nightmares for months.

The hunter sat back, running his hand over his face, trying to think of any other leads. His mind kept circling back to the alley, and how easily you got past him. He thanked his lucky stars his brothers hadn’t been present, or else he would’ve never heard the end of it, especially from the youngest of the four. It pissed him off how ill prepared he was, he had been so confident going into that bar that he’d capture you and take you back to his family’s estate for questioning. The idea of dragging you in front of his father had spurred him on for over a week as he tracked your whereabouts. He could have, and was usually instructed to just kill you and be done with it, but he had the thought that you might be useful in leaking any other information on the Vampire nests that infested the city. It took a lot to impress their father, especially when it came to hunting because of how important their work was. Ridding the world of that filth and keeping fellow humans safe was paramount. 

However, his brain would not stop flashing back to how you looked, and he hated himself for it. The stupid ponytail you had your hair in, the laughable get-up you had on to “blend in” with the other humans, the giggle you let out when he spoke to you, the way your eyes sparkled as you listened, but it was all a ruse. A sham, no different than a cheetah blending into the savannah grass in hopes to capture a gazelle. He closed his eyes as he remembered the kiss, still a little shocked that kissing a Vampire wasn’t much different than kissing another human. The warmth of your body surprised him the most. He hadn’t expected your hands to be so soft, let alone your lips. He hated himself even more for thinking about it like that. These were rookie thoughts about rookie mistakes and he had too much experience under his belt to get distracted by a single Vampire. He had to focus. 

But most importantly, he had to find you again to get the answers he was desperate for. 

~*~

Weeks went by and you hadn’t had any run-ins with that annoying human. You had been living your life in relative peace. Feeding where you could and being extra careful to not leave behind any “evidence”. Heeding Les’ advice, you kept yourself out of trouble. You were being good! 

The human in your possession had been very easy to lure into the back corner of the park, where the trees were thicker and people hardly walked by. You had him up against a tree, fangs clamped into his throat as you enjoyed the rush of blood into your mouth. You almost moaned at the taste, your left hand gripping his hair to hold his head still. As always you instructed the human to remain quiet, assuring him that he wouldn’t remember any of this when you were finished. 

You were so close to being fully sated, seconds away from being finished when you heard a familiar, and aggravating voice behind you, “let him go.” 

With a small gasp, you pulled your mouth away from the human's throat and looked over your shoulder at the source of the words, “... can I help you?”

“I want you to get the fuck away from that man, for starters,” the hunter said. 

Rolling your eyes, “Ok, fine.” You turned to the human, who was still in a daze from being fed on. Quickly, you bit into your finger to draw some of your own blood, rubbing it into the wounds of his throat to heal them as if they were never there. You took his chin between  your thumb and index finger, looking him directly into the eyes as you instructed, “I need you to go home, you were never here in the park, you don’t remember me, or the lughead behind me.” The hunter scoffed at that, “you’re going to go home, eat some food, take some iron, and go to bed. Now go on and get a cab.” You smiled, tapping his cheek as the human nodded, and walked off into the main area of the park and out of sight. 

“See? Catch and release!” You turned toward the hunter and threw your hand at the direction the human had walked off towards. 

The hunter rolled his eyes, “You know I could kill you for even doing that.” 

“And yet here I am. Alive.”

“‘Alive’ is debatable.” 

You fully turned towards him, leaning back against the tree. “Alright, Boy Scout, what do you actually want with me?” 

In a speed that you weren’t aware humans possessed, the hunter was on you once again like in the alley that first night, silver knife once again pressing into your throat, burning the skin. “I just have a few questions.” 

You threw your hands up near your face, you weren’t risking him cuffing you again. “Yeah? Same here.” He was so close, his face inches from yours. This time the moon was shining overhead, its nearly full face was reflected in those big brown eyes of his. They looked so determined as they glared at you, he wasn’t faking his disgust at all. 

He ignored your response, “well, since we last met,” he hissed, his mouth twisting into a snarl, “three more bodies showed up just outside the city.” 

“Once again, that wasn’t me,” you emphasized, rolling your eyes. 

“I know your kind are more in contact than you’d like for us to believe, do you know of anyone who would be sloppy enough to do that?”

Staring at him, “it's not like we go over that in the meetings,” you deadpanned. He pressed the knife even further into your skin, blood starting to trickle out of the wound, “Ok! No, I haven't heard anything. None of my friends are that stupid. Anyone who leaves bodies behind like that are normally really young and either don’t know any better, or don’t give a shit.”

“Do you know of any new Vampires around this town?”

“I haven’t heard of any newbies for awhile. We’re more selective than you think.”

“How did you get turned?” For a fraction of a second you saw his face soften, as if he hadn’t meant to ask that out loud. 

But the question itself made you pause. You never thought about the how, and why you were turned. It was so long ago that you firmly shut the door to your previous life in your mind. You weren’t one of those self-loathing Vampires who felt cursed by their existence. You loved your life. You loved the power you had, forever young, being able to do whatever you wanted and go wherever the wind took you. Longing for human life was only in the movies. Being turned freed you in so many ways, any reminder of before was unnecessary. You weren’t that kid anymore. You never would be again, and you were fine with that. 

Cutting your reverie short, you straightened your shoulders against the tree, and smirked at him, “personal questions like that require dinner.” 

“Yeah well I’m not a big fan of the kind of dinner you like,” the corners of his mouth twitched. Did he almost smile? Whatever expression it was, it was gone instantly. The snarl returned. 

The two of you stood there, staring at each other. The mutual resentment was palpable. 

“All these questions, Boy Scout, and I still don’t have your name.” 

He studied you for a second, weighing his options. He briefly thought about giving you a fake name, but his ego wanted you to know exactly who he was. His name had weight in their world, it meant something. Well, his last name did. His first name on its own hadn’t been given its own reputation yet. He had always been in a unit with his brothers that just their last name was all they needed to get anywhere. It struck fear into other creatures. Sometimes, fear is good. 

“Josh.” 

You were really being pinned to a tree by a man named Josh? Of fucking course. You were right by calling him Boy Scout, it fit almost too perfectly. 

“Josh what?” You narrowed your eyes, he was playing keepaway with the details on purpose. 

Pressing the knife even further into your throat, the dark blood trickling even more onto the knife, spilling onto his thumb that held it in place. Vampire blood was different from humans, not nearly as red, but a darker, sludgier color. The stain it left was unmistakable. 

He leaned even closer to your face, all but whispering, “...Kiszka” 

Well, fuck.

Tag List: @lightmylove-gvf , @dannyandthekiszkas , @gretasmokerising , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema ,

[jtl-fics]

WIP Wednesday - 10/18/23

Playing @kedreeva's game again this week :)

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Here are my offers this week: 1. Math Nerd AU 2. New Kings AU 3. Smalls AU 4. Foxhole Bake AU 5. Dealer's Choice - Send me a line and I'll either write something new or write something for it in one of my existing WIPS (could be one on offer or a fic I'm working on otherwise) (Example in the link)

Dealer's Choice - Pretty Boy (one of the things I could pick from) under the cut

"I'm going to put this in your ear and make sure there is not any glass in there okay?" The remaining EMT says holding up a small tool.

Neil settles looking irritated but nods and Andrew can see his discomfort as the EMT pulls on the bottom of his ear and puts the device in to inspect Neil's ear. "What exactly hit him in the head?" she asks.

"A glass bottle." Andrew answers eyes on Neil and offering his hand to his Junkie. An offering that Neil took almost immediately with a desperation that had Andrew wondering why he hadn't asked until he remembered who he was dealing with.

< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >

[qweerhet]

btw, i do understand that when most people talk about running someone out of town, they're thinking it'll only be requested in situations where, like. someone has continuously abused their power in multiple spaces and that abuse of power will not stop. someone who is, like, in a position of authority over many different people, and consistently uses that authority to commit egregious acts of violence. people like drug dealers who use their position to make addicts reliant on them and repeatedly violate them sexually or otherwise, like abusive bosses who sexually traffic people through their company, etc etc etc.

thing is--running someone out of town is a tool, and we have to understand that any tools we choose to make standard in our community toolkits will be applied to people who did absolutely nothing wrong. i have been privy to many, many community cases where someone was accused publicly of sexually violating someone who they had never interacted with sexually. there are material benefits to casting oneself as a victim, if you're white and want to punish someone for unrelated reasons, and white people take advantage of this dynamic currently, in the world we live in. but it's not acceptable to push for a world where we do not believe victims of harm when they speak up--so we need to understand that whatever tools we put in our community toolkits, we either design them so that minimal harm comes of it if they're applied to the wrong person, or we accept the collateral damage of occasionally uprooting the lives of people who have done nothing wrong (and/or enacting physical violence on them).

this isn't even getting into the weeds of things like: sometimes, someone is in severe pain and extremely activated from their recent trauma, and it means they need to interact with the person who hurt them as if that person was an intentionally malicious figure who has a significant amount of power and hurts other people with it regularly. this is okay; the victim should have the ability and space to do that, they should be able to cut off the person who harmed them and do their trauma work in the way that works for them. but it doesn't objectively, outside of that space, mean that the person who harmed them is otherwise dangerous or objectively a malicious figure with a lot of power.

like. i was date raped. after we broke up, i needed to view her as malicious and intentionally violating my consent, in order to heal from the trauma i had experienced. but, like... with time and plenty of trauma work and after getting a handle on my nervous system's activation patterns? i'm pretty sure she was just inexperienced and thought that was how consent worked. she had a lot of dubiously consensual sexual experiences as a kid, and i'm pretty sure she just... thought that was how sex worked for everyone as adults, too. she wasn't a dangerous predator who needed to be run out of town, she was a traumatized 18-year-old who needed to be removed from her abusive household and taught about drugs and alcohol and consent.

everyone who acted on what i felt and said during my activated trauma state, and attempted to run her out of town and threaten her with violence? was making a mistake. that did nothing to address the harm she caused. she barely knew what she was doing.

so: harm reduction and redressment toolkits should also take into account extremely real, biological functions like nervous system activation in trauma victims. this isn't infantilization, this isn't removing autonomy, this is acknowledging that someone in a highly activated vulnerable state isn't in a position to make decisions for an entire community of people. asking a heavily traumatized, currently-activated person to direct an entire community in addressing the harm that just happened to them is putting too much on their shoulders, no matter how well they're dealing with what happened. they should have complete and utter autonomy over what they do and how the community treats them in this situation, but asking them to decide what happens to the other person/people isn't fucking fair. asking them to make a realistic assessment of if this person is a predatory danger to the community that cannot be addressed, or a person with minimal power who also needs help to address their dysfunction so they don't harm people, isn't fucking fair.

(not that that's even a binary to begin with!)

[pgsalestooling-12]

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[sneakydraws]

i wanna see fifty five goldfinch pieces 💔💔

OKAY!! So I have this little series I like to call the great decompartmentalisation of Theo decker... Let me walk you through it. I promise there's art after the massive paragraph of meandering analysis alright

You know how Theo's life is segmented into these distinct episodes? And how he himself is split into multiple different identities, and how much shame and fear there is associated with the idea of those identities mixing? For example: the straight a student living a completely, delusionally idyllic life with his adoring mother and the vanilla teenage troublemaker breaking into people's summer homes with his shady homoerotic bestie. When the two identities come into contact via his suspension, it leads to the most traumatic event in Theo's life, and honestly I suspect that might be the origin of this tendency towards compartmentalisation... I could go through the whole book here but the most prominent examples are Theo panicking at the thought of Mrs Barbour or his therapist finding out about Hobie, his cutting himself off from New York when in Vegas with his other shady homoerotic bestie (the amount of times Vegas is compared to an alien planet...) and his dual post timeskip identifies of charming antiques salesman/fraudulent art stealing junkie. And this often manifests in Theo's reluctance to let people from his different periods interact - see him rushing to stop Boris from talking to Pippa, and him keeping Hobie in the dark about the blackmail, and isn't it kind of weird that the barbours - Theo's soon to be legal family - don't really interact with Hobie and Pippa? Anyway. Basically I thought it would be cool to make a series of little vignettes of theo allowing the people and places and things that represent various versions of Him to interact and thus symbolically healing the disconnected parts of himself... Or something. I have more ideas scribbled down but somehow the only ones I ended up with proper art for is the various holidays (which, holidays are also a weirdly prevalent theme in tgf? Idk whats up with that but it's a good tool for this purpose) so we have:

Christmas Eve at Boris's, featuring Pippa and Hobie - I feel kinda bad for only ever portraying Boris with polish customs but let's be real I'm just using him to show off my own heritage lol. In Poland the main Xmas celebrations happen on Xmas Eve, traditionally with the appearance of the first star in the sky. You eat the mostly inoffensive barszcz as well some truly vile shit, such as mushroom and cabbage dumplings, mushroom and cabbage salad, other items made of mushrooms and cabbage, and finally the most disgusting dish of my life: Jewish style carp. No, it's not quite the same thing as gefiltefish, although that's the Wikipedia page you might use to get to the actual dish. All washed down with compote which I hate. You also break and eat communion wafers while wishing each other stuff, which Pippa is doing with popchyk here hehe

Christmas breakfast as a little bonus despite it not having much of a tradition - I associate it with lots of hams/cured meats, gherkins and maybe Tatar sauce (yum). Much superior to the Xmas dinner imho. Really I just wanted Theo and Boris to have a moment to themselves haha

Christmas proper at the barbours, featuring Boris and Tom cable! I could talk about all the tension and who's diffusing it but honestly I think y'all can draw your own conclusions lol. I just think it would be really funny for the infamous dis-engaged couple to each bring their delinquent boytoys and for Boris the drug dealer to actually come out looking superior

Vegetarian friendly Thanksgiving at Hobie's, as tradition requires! I think he'd love to throw one of his big Thanksgiving parties purely for all of Theo's families to get to know each other... you know, kind of an elaboration on that Thanksgiving illustration I drew a while back! This would be before all the Christmases I think. Boris is winning Mrs Barbour over with his roguish charm lol I think old ladies would like him... Theo in the corner freaking the hell out as per this project's mission statement lmao

And on a slightly different note I wanted Theo Pippa and Hobie to all visit weltys grave. I'm borrowing slightly from the polish tradition of all saint's day, when you clean, decorate and light candles on the graves of loved ones.

[infernalenginesheart]

My Place Among You All

My tav Odile x Karlach have yet another serious conversation. content warnings: swearing, light blood and gore, casual nudity Karlach is the party's tank, the brutal damage-dealer, never catching a break. But is that all she means to them? A useful tool to be used- just like before?

It was another long, long day. The horrors of leaving camp every day were at a steady increase, the need to fight all the more present. Odile and her party, consisting of her oldest friend and her lover, and Karlach, would drag themselves back to camp in a mess of blood and guts. This day was no different, all four of them dragging themselves back to camp. They split off, Karlach and Odile headed to wash off first.

The blue glow of the cavern made the water look enchanted as it sat so still, until Karlach began pealing off her armor and tossing it on the bank of the small wading pool. Her under layers hit the water. She seemed more agitated than usual. She stood with her hands on her hips, squeezing her eyes and lips together. Bruises littered her body, remanence of being healed over and over by the party's blue-haired cleric. Odile's eyes took their lover in as they slowly pulled their gloves off, setting their things all in a pile until they hit the linen tunic they wore under all that leather. "You look tense, baby," Odile said softly as they pulled their pants off and dropped them in the water, blood instantly tainting the enchanted illusion, red swirling out around the garment. They glanced down at their own legs, littered in small cuts and bruises.

"Can you be honest with me?" Karlach spoke up finally, her gaze still down at the water. Odile's brows furrowed. "Of course- always."

"Gale and Larkspur seem fine to switch out and have Shadowheart join in Gale's place, for days at a time. I don't mind- I don't- always venturing out with you, especially because I love you- but fuck. I'm so tired."

Odile listened quietly. They had completely stripped down, wading into the water. It lapped at their ankles as they moved to stand in front of Karlach.

"You're an incredible fighter, Karlach-"

"But that's-"

"-and you do so much for us."

Odile frowned slightly, taking one of Karlach's hands in their own. "It doesn't go unnoticed."

"But Odile that's all I've ever been fucking used for. Being the muscle. The attack dog."

Odile moved to catch Karlach's amber eyes, forcing her to look at them. "You do so much for us, Karlach, but you are not just the attack dog. I am not with you to have someone to do all the heavy lifting."

"But is that my place here, among you lot?" Karlach gestured back in the direction of the rest of camp, her arm fully extended. She shook her head, looking away from Odile. She pulled her top over her head, balling it up and throwing it down. Odile sighed.

"I'll ask Halsin to go out tomorrow," Odile offered, Karlach brushing past them to wade into the water until it came up just over her hips. "You don't have to go out tomorrow."

"No, because then I'll be worried sick about you- I have to be there-"

"Karlach...." Odile breathed out, smiling softly. They made their way over to the larger of the two of them, wrapping their arms around her shoulders, forcing her into a hug. Karlach instantly melted, pulling Odile close. Odile could still feel the tension in Karlach's body.

"You are more than an attack dog."

Karlach sunk to her knees, the water surging around the pair, the water now up to their shoulders. Her natural warmth made the cold water just a little more bearable. Odile pulled back, looking into their lover's eyes.

"Plus, did you see how fast that guy went down with just the hit of my pommel? Maybe I'll be the muscle from now on," they joked, trying to bring Karlach's mood up. Karlach let out a chuckle.

"Nah- if I'm not there, who's going to keep you from stealing from the wrong crate, you slippery little thief," she smiled, but quickly got serious again. "Do you really mean it?"

"Mean what? Of course I do."

"I think I do need a fucking break, Odile. Maybe just an afternoon, or a couple hours. I don't know if I could not stress about you, and Gale and Larkspur of course, but mostly you, for more than that. But I need it. I need a break."

Odile wet their hands, cupping water before running their hands over Karlach's hair. Her eyes closed almost involuntarily, feeling the cool water over her skin. "And you can have one. You deserve one," they whispered, pressing their foreheads together. The nuzzled the side of Karlach's head, planting a kiss on her cheekbone-

*Clack!* Their horns had interlocked (this was not the first time), making them both erupt into tired but genuine laughter. Odile gently worked their horn from Karalch's, smiling softly. Karlach seemed more at ease.

Odile pulled her back into a hug, holding the back of her head. "You are not a weapon to be wielded. You are not just muscle. You carry more value than you can even imagine."

[sentenceme-leni]

Saturday. Minimum 6 sentences.

---

Truly touched at the sight, years of life as a mechanic had Gus whistling a mournful tune when the concealing spell was lifted from the Cadillac. The engine must have been banged over with a heavy tool, and anything that could be cut with a pair of hedge clippers had been minced into confetti.

Gus kept his eyes on the mangled engine. He couldn't think of looking the Dark One in the eye as he gave bad news. "This needs new parts," he started, hoping that the other man took the hint.

The Dark One gave a frustrated growl.

As everyone in town knew, the outside world would be out of reach until someone figured how to broach the town line without losing their true self.

The dwarf was warning enough.

"Damn it," the Dark One hissed.

Gus licked his lips. He had always been too bold for his own good. "You can keep using magic. You did drive it here, didn't you?"

"I wasn't about to publicize an idiot had damaged my property." Gus found himself at the wrong end of a warning glare. He had met the Dark One in the Enchanted Land, and perhaps it was because for most of his life humans had been to be feared, but he disagreed with other people in town. The Spinner wasn't a bit less terrifying just because he wore human skin. "I do, of course, expect complete silence on the matter."

Gus nodded repeatedly, until the Dark One's expression softened into an indulgent smirk.

"Good."

"So," Gus ventured, "are you going to fix it yourself?"

The Dark One shook his head. "Magic doesn't last forever on this world's technology. I'd hate to reapply or strengthen a spell every few weeks." This all went over Gus' head, but he still gave a nod and a vague smile. The Dark One chuckled at his lack of enthusiasm. "In other words, I'll need your assistance as soon as the townline is broken."

Gus gave another nod and wisely did not advise to get in line.

Everyone was starting to feel the scarcity.

It made a former mouse wish to return to his original form. A loaf of bread would have lasted him for days and, even more importantly, he would not feel stressed over matters over which he had no control.

"Mr. Dark One?" He gulped nervously. "I mean... Mr. Gold?" Magic being weaker in this land or not, there was no way he was using the Dealer's real name. "Is there any way I'll be a mouse again?"

The Dark One raised an eyebrow. "Don't find it so exciting anymore, dearie?"

Gus gave a shrug. "Life is simpler on four paws."

"And you'd rather be chased by cats again?"

He raised his chin proudly. "Mine are quick paws, sir!"

The Dark One chuckled again, and Gus perked up accordingly. From what he remembered, an amused dark wizard was a generous dark wizard. "Magic is too unstable at the moment." Before Gus could lose hope, he continued. "Ask me again in a few weeks."

The End

11/05/24