#flint knives

[goshyesvintageads]

Ekco Products Co, 1947

[truetotradition]

Arrowheads and blades in various cherts. By Chumash Artist Steven Saffold.

[binabees]

Silver and Flint are the closest bond forged in the show and yet they hardly ever touch. Their lack of physical intimacy is so at odds with their relationship especially when we see how close they do get.

The most intimate instance of them touching (Silver saving Flint from the water) is never even shown.

It’s like they know If they were ever to touch it would be a chemical reaction. They’d never be able to go back to the way they were either by exploding or becoming one entirely new substance where the lines are indefinitely blurred.

As if touching would change the fact that the irrevocable change has already happened.

[thestonedknifeman]

Put some stone blades in a folding knife

[memories-of-ancients]

Flint dagger uncovered in Denmark, known as the Hindsgavl dagger, 2400-1800 BC

from The National Museum of Denmark

[impishnature]

I know I’d been a long time since you wrote for gravity falls but if you ever did I think I would actually scream. Your fics were such a highlight of my day and it was always a pleasure to read them, even the unfinished ones were such a joy to read.

Oh thank you! I'm glad they were a highlight for you c: I don't know if I will ever go back, maybe I'll get the buzz again but at the moment if I were to write anything I think it'd be Stranger Things.

I planned out an entire maze runner au with friends but I don't even know if I'll ever write it ^^;; I've gone back to being a lurker/reader myself haha! Maybe I'll just put up my rambling plot notes.

But I will never say never to GF. Special place in my heart for bringing me some awesome friends. c:

Weird how time flies. I got to know one of them through them drawing fanart for one of my fics. Which was... I don't even know how long ago now? @sightkeeper how long have we known each other now? Anyway what's even weirder is that it's now already been almost a year since we met up in person. I travelled to Canada to spend 2 weeks with a bestie that I'd have never had known if not for GF. Like that's breaking my brain a bit. Or maybe it's because it's almost 2am and I should probably be sleeping haha!

[token-doodles]

He devolved my Jasper Flint.

[imagine-effed-up]

Pls consider; your f/o, bruised and bloody, kneeling in front of you and thanking you for each strike, each blow, you land on them. New bruises bloom, overlapping with the old and creating a mottled gradient on their skin. Blood drips from their busted lip.

Maybe you're feeling more delicate. Maybe they're strapped down to a steel table, the cold metal sapping warmth from their body. A sharp blade glints in your hand as you bring it over their flesh, letting it bite into the skin where you desire a new cut. The old wounds are still healing, after all. Best to leave them be. You'll be able to work that area again soon enough. You drag your fingers in the blood oozing from a long gash along their chest, slipping a finger inside a little. The whimpers and groans that fill your ears elicit such a feeling of calm in you.

You adore your little masochist, and how they let you do anything to them.

[moth-whisperer]

In a post apocalyptic scenario where my hormonal iud inevitably stops working and I have to deal with my period again, diva cups really are the best option. I still carry a collapsible one in my bag and honestly that would be in my apocalypse bug out bag, thank god someone gave Ellie a diva cup

[biolumien]

when'd you get so cool? (always was)

jo togame x gn!reader pre shishitoren arc, post choji becoming leader mentions of implied violence word count: 1022

“fuck.” 

jo togame, vice captain to the shishitoren, was currently bleeding pretty hard from several gashes on his arms, and one fairly nasty scrape across his face. you’d found him limping back to the ori, his orange jacket draped over his shoulders as he held onto his arm, applying loose pressure over his wounds—and his characteristic orange glasses dangling unevenly against his nose. 

you’d rushed him back to the ori, towards an upper floor where you were less likely to be bothered, and had found the medkit you kept for emergencies like this. shishitoren might be devotees to power, but they didn’t have to be devotees to constant open wounds and injuries. or something like that, 

you held a cotton ball with a set of tweezers, just after you dunked it into some rubbing alcohol, but togame kept jolting—not enough to stop you from being able to disinfect his wounds, but enough that he kept pressing closer and closer towards you. 

“stop moving,” you say, finally exasperated, your cheeks flushed at the proximity. “i’m trying to disinfect your wounds, genius.”

“aww. you think i’m one?” togame’s eyes brightened for a moment as he drawled. “a genius?”

“…” 

the face you made must have been pretty bad, because he snickered, the sound low, almost like a rumbling in his throat. 

“when’d you get so cool?” togame mutters, pressing close to your face. your cheeks are flushed—they must be, and you laugh softly, flicking his forehead. his facial expression falters for a second, wincing in dramatic pain. “mean it. when?” 

in the rundown room of the ori, you feel a sudden rising of chill air, and you shiver, despite the warm heat of togame’s body pressing close to yours. 

“i’ve always been,” you tease. “guess you just haven’t noticed what was right in front of you.” 

bolder than you usually are, at least. you think something curdles in you–shame for saying something so bold, maybe? you worry, for a fleeting, desperate second, that togame’s just going to mock you, but he doesn’t. togame laughs. it’s a nice sound, a slow thing that makes his chest shake with each chuckle. 

“really…” he whistles, the note low. “didn’t realize, then, i guess. my bad.” his nose scrunches when he laughs. your face feels like it’s on fire, and then you realize you have to get back to patching him up—so you cut some gauze with the scissors in your small medkit, gesturing to togame to extend his arm. 

he’s wiry, but you’ve seen this man punch so hard he’s dented metal sheets without even flinching. his arms feel hard. 

“knives do this?” you ask as you tie the gauze tightly around his arm. 

“yeah,” togame says. he stares down at you, a small smirk crossing his face slowly—at the pace of trickling honey. “worried about me?”

you scoff.

“out of everyone, i worry the least about you,” you murmur. and you’re lying, you know it, because you do worry about him–you lie awake in your bed, staring up at your ceiling fan, at ribbons that you’ve tacked up on the blades that flow hypnotically–and you worry and wonder and hope that togame is safe. even though he hits the hardest, he’s built like a truck–he’ll be safe, so long as he plays his cards right. 

“i know you can handle yourself. just wonder if you bite off a little more than you can chew sometimes. with choji, with the rest of them,” you continue, wrapping gauze around his other arm. 

togame’s green eyes darken a little bit–you can see the point at which they harden, like flint. you realize maybe a little belatedly that you’d fucked up–choji was a sensitive subject, even now–you never asked about the depth of togame’s devotion, but he was the self-sacrificing type in the end, too–the kind of man that would wade in the river lethe if it meant that his friends wouldn’t touch the memory-erasing waters.

he’d lose himself if it meant protecting someone else. that’s what scared you, what kept you awake at night. 

“sorry,” you say, picking up the medkit to pull out some bandaids–fabric kinds, that come in a variety of cute patterns. “i know it’s a touchy subject.”

“... s’fine,” togame says, and his eyes stay that strange, dulled color–but the smile’s back, and this time you can realize how fake it is–the edges of his masked facade coming apart at the seams. you fish through patterned bandaids, settling on an orange one with black cats across it. 

“tilt your head,” you murmur. “away from me, so i can put this on. then you’re done.” 

togame does so, his glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose as he looks away. you press the bandage against his face, carefully making sure it adheres. his skin is warm, and you can almost see the places where he’s shaved at his jaw with a razor, and your thumb brushes against the faintest hint of stubble.

“all done,” you say, pulling back.

“thanks.”

togame’s voice is clipped, strained. he seems to be looking at something far away–further than the walls of the ori. 

“are you sure you’re okay?” you ask as he stands up, pressing away from you.

“me? never better,” togame says, and you can tell it’s a lie from the way his smile strains, too strained to be genuine. “don’t worry about me.” he leans forward, taking your hand in his for a moment–and you’re startled by the feverish warmth of his hand for a moment, as he leans down to press a kiss to the tips of your fingers. 

his lips are warm, too–a little dry, but soft. the kiss itself is almost reverent, and you think your breath gets strangled in your throat for a desperate, wheezing second. 

he smiles, almost sheepishly at you for a moment, before he turns and shrugs his jacket on past his bandaged arms, and leaves.

you raise up the hand that he’d kissed, pressing your fingers to your lips contemplatively for a moment–as if you could, by kissing the faint reminder of his ghost, feel his lips on yours. 

[y-rhywbeth2]

Learnt something about human sacrifice today: As I expected, if you sacrifice a person to [insert-evil-deity-here], the deity is not consuming the soul. The soul is going to the same afterlife it would go to normally.

What the deity is consuming is the victim's life force (Bhaal says elves are sweet), which apparently gives a power boost that is like adding jet fuel to a fire where non-murder-happy deities are using flint and knives to start one. Consuming the life force may also include strip-mining the soul for its memories, dissolving some or all of the life experiences and personality that formed into base energy that is consumed and assimilated - in pretty much the same fashion as the Archdevils and some form of undead like vampires and spectres do. Unlike those, when the deity throws the damaged husk out it doesn't rise from the dead as undead spawn and it doesn't get chucked into the Maggot Pit to become a lemure - it just goes off to its afterlife as usual (although if its afterlife is the Nine Hells I assume it's still going in the Pit).

So if we apply that to BG3 then when Withers says he can't bring back certain murder victims killed by Durge, it's not just that he's a chronic liar who won't, it's that there's not a whole lot to bring back, I guess.

[thestonedknifeman]

Agate blade set into pronghorn handle

[egypt-museum]

Circumcision in ancient Egypt

It is the oldest extant depiction of the act of circumcision from Ancient Egypt. Here is a line-art version of the depiction, which appears on the east thickness of a doorway in the tomb. A bas-relief from Mastaba of Ankhmahor depicting mortuary priests using flint knives to perform the rite of circumcision on a group of boys.

Old Kingdom, 6th Dynasty, reign of king Teti, ca. 2345-2333 BC. Tomb of Ankhmahor, Saqqara necropolis.

Read more

[yenneferdivengerberg]

"The heart was steaming in the cool evening air when Khal Drogo set it before her, raw and bloody. His arms were red to the elbow. Behind him, his bloodriders knelt on the sand beside the corpse of the wild stallion, stone knives in their hands. The stallion’s blood looked black in the flickering orange glare of the torches that ringed the high chalk walls of the pit. Dany touched the soft swell of her belly. Sweat beaded her skin and trickled down her brow. She could feel the old women watching her, the ancient crones of Vaes Dothrak, with eyes that shone dark as polished flint in their wrinkled faces. She must not flinch or look afraid. I am the blood of the dragon, she told herself as she took the stallion’s heart in both hands, lifted it to her mouth, and plunged her teeth into the tough, stringy flesh. Warm blood filled her mouth and ran down over her chin. The taste threatened to gag her, but she made herself chew and swallow. The heart of a stallion would make her son strong and swift and fearless, or so the Dothraki believed, but only if the mother could eat it all. If she choked on the blood or retched up the flesh, the omens were less favorable; the child might be stillborn, or come forth weak, deformed, or female."

DAENERYS TARGARYEN in Game of Thrones 1.06: “A Golden Crown”

[domoz]

drabble trade with @doveywovy with the prompts "mermaids" and "sharing body heat"

The air hangs still and quiet in the way it only does in the morning after it's just snowed.

Probably, Izuna should be thankful for the unseasonable turn in the weather. The cold has driven witnesses indoors and the usually deadly fauna of the swamp he travels through into hiding. He's never liked weather like this, though. The sharpness of the chill makes his jaw ache, and he finds himself paranoid that somehow his own breath will give him away.

Ice has formed a crust on the sides of his little boat and more forms on his oar every time he lifts it from the water. Soon enough he's going to have to stop and scrape it off, before it makes it awkward to navigate. But he’s hesitant when even the gentle drift of the boat sounds too loud in the silence.

There are rivers and lakes in water country, but not widespread enough to make learning to hide beneath them particularly worth it. Even this swamp is probably only two meters deep in most places -- the canopy of the trees above are so thick that they would make a better hiding spot for nearly anyone looking to ambush him.

That's why he's unprepared for the boat to suddenly be pulled out from underneath him. With the whip-crack speed of a predator springing on its prey, two thick arms hook under his shoulders and pull him backwards. He doesn't fall into the water, but into flesh -- slick and freezing cold.  He tries to pull away, instinctively kicks backwards, but whatever his foot meets is a single solid mass, and all he gets for struggling is flipped onto his back, face forced into the rough wood and freezing cold water that's sloshed over the sides. Even his legs aren't left free as something thick and muscled wraps around them.

Whatever it is that's on top of him isn't human -- but it also isn't trying to kill him, or else it could have done so by now. Instead, one arm -- pale white and scaly when Izuna cranes his neck to see it -- moves to wrap around both of his arms while the other moves to start tearing open his clothes. Icy-cold claws rake down his skin and start going through his pockets, tossing knives and coins and food pills all around the deck of the boat and over the side.

 The thing’s grip has become weaker in the meantime, and Izuna uses the chance to free his right elbow backwards -- it earns him more weight pressed down on him, not less, and an angry hiss.

"What kind of useless human doesn't carry matches?" A deep, accented voice growls out above him, "Or even a flint?"

The only thing that keeps Izuna from responding with 'the kind that can spit fire' is the fact that he can't follow it up with a fireball right in this thing’s face. Which means he has a moment to realize that this thing can speak, and if it can understand him then he has another way to worm his way out of this.

"The warm kind." He answers, as understanding about what's happening clicks into place, "The kind that might help you if you let him up and ask nicely."

He punctuates his point by taking as deep a breath as he can manage in his position and warming it with his chakra as he lets it back out. It turns the air around them into warm steam before it drifts away, and Izuna can feel the muscles wrapped around him clench as the thing hunches over as though trying to capture the heat.

There is a long moment of hesitation, then a sigh through clenched teeth. Weight shifts off of his chest, enough for him to push himself up and turn around, though his legs are still trapped under the bulk of -- yes that's a fish tail.

The creature that's caught him is something out of a peasant fairy tale. Mermaid -- or man, as it were -- the sort of creature that people say lures men to death with its beauty. Izuna supposes he can see where they're coming from -- the physique of the top half is almost improbably perfect -- though the effect is lessened both by the fact that the thing has just mugged him and that he's clearly miserable. The man’s hair and eyelashes are as white as the rest of him but they sparkle with ice, and now that his arms aren't down Izuna's clothes they're crossed over his chest in a hopeless bid to preserve warmth.

"I'll only need you to stay until the cold front is gone." The merman informs him, mouth not quite forming correctly around the words. "Then you can carry on as you please."

Which could be days or even weeks -- plenty of time to find an escape. Or, Izuna blows out another warm breath and stops himself from smirking as the merman can't stop himself from leaning into it, plenty of time to make a new friend.

[mostly-mundane-atla]

I hope it's okay to ask about non-atla things

I'm doing research for a story that's basically an alternate history where Antarctica is populated similarly to the northern circumpolar regions. I'm having a bit of trouble with some of the logistics though, and I'm hoping you might have insights or suggestions?

In an environment without wood, and from what I can see no flint, how would one start a fire? And what fuel might be used to sustain it? (I know there's coal an oil, but I can't find anything that specifies if Antarctica has flint)

What sort of foods have the best protein/energy content for this kind of lifestyle? (physical and harsh) Am I right in assuming that animal fat/blubber would be a good source of this?

How would they craft tools? Like, how are knives and such traditionally crafted from bones and how would stones be incorporated? Also, in an environment without wood, how would they get the first hunting weapons? Would it be realistic for them to use something like slings?

How is meat traditionally prepared? Like, the drying and freezing and such. I've been trying to find more information on this, but can't really find anything that covers food preparation methods specifically.

If there's anything else you think is important to share please do! I'm trying to make this feel as realistic as possible, and since the Arctic and Antarctic are similar in environment I'm hoping to gain some insight of the general environment and certain cultural factors that are tied to a harsh/difficult environment

I hope I worded this all well

Another wonderfully formatted ask!

1. An environment without trees and bushes is not an environment without driftwood, and driftwood can be made into a bow drill. The spark could be sustained on rendered animal fats.

2. Fats are a great way to maintain energy required to survive in such a harsh environment, as are eggs from birds and fish Skin can also provide vitamin c to make up for the lack of fruit. This is why maktak is such a valued food in the far north.

3. Knapping and grinding an edge on to stones can make blades for knives, spears, and similar tools that can carve into ivory, bone, antler, driftwood, and other materials Bow drills can drill holes to allow tying and joins. Cordage and rope can be made of sinews or grasses, though i believe sinew is the more durable of the two materials. Slings make sense and so do bolas and harpoons. Also, for more domestic tools, needles can be made wing bones and shovels are can be made of large animals' shoulderblades.

4. Meat can be cut into thin strips and then dried on a rack, kept frozen, fermented in a pouch underground, or boiled in a pot carved from wood or skin pouch by heating rocks and placing them in the water.

I hope this covered everything. If you have anymore questions, please feel free to ask!