#multi tool blades

[bonemeal12]

Hmm I’m surprised by the general lack of Crime and Punishment fanart. I thought you guys would’ve loved drawing Rodya (I can call him that, we’re buddies) as a pathetic anime twink boy. He commits axe murder. He’s feverish and delirious for like- the entire book. He has a male best friend who cares for him while he’s feverish and delirious. He’s kinda Weird About Women. This is like. Perfect for the pathetic men loving website.

[zaycheese]

My favorite TMA fact is that in one early episode, I don't even remember which some guys makes a line like "So I bought the biggest knife I could find on short notice" which is very funny to me because the largest legal knife you can own without a permit in England is like, 3 inches, or about the size of your index finger, and that's very funny to me.

[teenagegothintegrity]

bug,,, why do you carry a nerf gun (i saw the reblogs tags and it KILLED ME)

LMAODHAJHDJS ITS A NECESSITY!!!

no but my friend and i have been having a lowkey nerf gun battle for like 4 years now so yeah i gotta keep that thang on me. its one of the little teeny ones so it fits perfectly in my bag amongst my 10lbs of random shit

[ay0nha]

PLEASE MAKE THAT INVINCIBLE FIC OH MY GOD I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR SMTH LIKE THAT FOR AGES

UGH. I tried...I gave myself immediate writers block so I might have to do a multi-parter....here's a little 2K I started to set the tone.

Thoughts and comments are SUPER encouraged and will help me out of this rut!

Pairing: Mark Grayson x gn!reader (currently in jail for being morally grey)

Notes: inspired by Blade Runner, eeao, etc. Reader's power is being able to see the future, currently set in the beginning of season three, etc.

By a cruel twist of fate, the moment you were born—created, was also the moment you began to die. You didn’t mind at the time, thinking death was a gift given only to the living. But it took time for you to learn that people—real people—had mothers that took time to form a baby that would grow into a someone worth something.  

Not many were “born” the way you were. Your body was fully formed, mature like an adult rather than someone who had just come to be moments ago. Your infancy, childhood, adolescence, and adulthood never existed. You just were. 

You lay there at your beginnings, wet and trembling, atop compressed rubber and metal grating, you felt nothing but terror. Your body was stricken by wracking sobs like a newborn. Your face gradually relaxed, already nothing left within you. Soon, your wailing turned into coughing as your body expelled the synthetically made amniotic fluid from your lungs.

“Are you done?” The voice was sudden. Clinical. Detached.

The voice made you aware of the world around you; a small, sterile room that it was, you opened your sticky eyelids only to be forced to squint against the penetrating glare of the artificial lighting overhead. You lay there for a moment, twisted and gasping like a crushed bird on pavement. 

You shivered—no convulsed. 

It took a few heaving breaths to focus your eyes. The first thing you made sense of was your hands. The sensation was odd. They were attached to you, but they weren’t yours. You weren’t sure. 

It was too much. 

Your brain was pressing against the confines of your skull, threatening to crack the bone and spill out onto the rubber. You wanted it to; your first desire. You wanted it to slip through the grate like the yolk of a broken egg. 

Feet come into view. They’re clad in sensible heels over black stockings—utilitarian. You peered through the pulsing behind your eyes to find a worn woman’s pinched face peering down at you. Only in retrospect did you know it was with disappointment. 

With human-like instinct, you reach out for her. For help. For empathy. She would become the closest thing to a mother you would ever know. 

You clasped your slimy hand around her tight-clad ankle. The bones were fragile underneath your grip. One too-tight squeeze and they would snap under the pressure. She tried to shake you off, like this was familiar. Expected. 

You clung on, desperate for contact. You didn’t know yet that you would be “raised” solely by the wire mother with no comfort of the cloth. 

“Enough.” Her voice cut over the faint hum of the room. Disgust marked her face. You would grow familiar with the expression. Both from her and others. “Let go.” 

As if burned, you immediately do. The compulsion to obey was too pressing to ignore. Every blood vessel and muscle fiber of your body was hardwired for submission. You tucked your hand against your chest, shrinking in on yourself. You were not praised for your obedience or comforted through turmoil. 

Tools, you learned, did not get rewarded.

—

“You’re not supposed to smoke in here.” 

You scoffed, pulling the contraband from your sock. The cigarette was rolled along your lips, a habit formed by comfort, before you lit it with a stolen match. 

“Nothing matters, Mark.” You filtered smoke through your nose, half-lidded eyes remaining ahead. The thought was absentminded, your lips tingling with indifference. “I’ve told you already…”

Mark frowned. You never got him with a relaxed posture or a kind tone; dejection carved into him and he looked to place the guilt. The weight demanded to be shared. 

“...Plus…” You took an obnoxiously long drag. “I’ve been on my best behavior…” 

Smoke in Mark’s face fueled your ego. He’d let you stretch your legs for now, but you toyed with the boundaries. 

“...Haven’t you noticed? No collar.”  You smirked, elongating your neck. It was playfully seductive, but Mark couldn’t find the humor. “The warden just couldn’t resist me.” 

Mark already berated the warden for the choice of returning your powers. Yet, the warden’s sport gambling outweighed the reason you were confined to these four walls. Even enforced justice was corrupt. 

“Didn’t take much convincing,” You shrugged. “He loves baseball. You know Mark, Yankees are on a hot streak—

“Don’t you wanna know why I’m here?” Mark cut you off.  His posture was hesitant, cautious with the vulnerability of his question.  

You prickled, used to being a commodity. “I don’t give out fortunes for free.”

Mark leaned forward as if trying to bring you back. He was trying to reason with you. Loneliness touched with hints of regret, or hope colored by impatience. It was a pattern you recognized and rejected. Especially as only one of you were tethered to the leg of the table. 

“Always Cecil’s errand boy.” Your tone was bare as you sucked in a crackling breath; the top of Mark’s hourglass was almost empty. It filled your chest filled with ill-suited humor.

You heard what happened; Dr. Seismic unveiled Cecil’s fallout plan that challenged Mark’s so-called incorruptible morality. You saw the way fear clawed its way up Mark’s throat, determined to make itself known. It fought with another emotion he was too proud to name. He wasn't unfamiliar with loss. But this. The feeling was wild. 

Sentimental.

Mark wasn’t naive, though. He knew fear was like a pet to you: something you picked up to get a better look at but that you soon grew tired of. And now, fear was your ally.  It weakened Mark’s instincts. 

“Or have you finally come to your senses?” You were locked on Mark, eyes unwavering as you spoke. 

Rarely had Mark seen you use your powers, but he’d heard plenty of its repercussions. Never had he thought it would affect him. It was like poison; something subtle that infiltrated his senses. 

Slowly, things around him were off. An untrained eye wouldn’t see it. Couldn’t. Even now, Mark struggled to make out what the feeling was. Uneasy, but not tense. Stuck, but restless. Sound started to echo, wanting to linger on the skin. A touch unwanted. 

He tried not to blink, it becoming strenuous with each repetition. The fraction of time expanded with each flutter, his life becoming fractured, but not privy for him to see. His attempt to focus was in vain as his attention was clung to the metallic taste on his tongue. 

Then, able to muster up a final, sluggish blink, he reopened to see your eyes were no longer vibrant. They were devoid of everything. The white of your eyes turned black, seeping into the background to match your pupils. 

“Oh, Mark…I hear the storm…” It hadn’t mattered if your mouth actually moved. Your voice stuck to him like warmed honey weighing him down.  “They talk to me about progress…”

People theorized about the future. Some believed it was non-linear, fragmented by decisions unmade. Others believed it was predetermined. But you saw everything. Felt everything. Everything was just a random rearrangement of particles in a vibrating superposition. 

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. 

A simple breath through your nose was enough to translate your pessimism. It marked your return to the present. Your eyes were no longer dark and all encompassing. The room no longer spun and closed in on Mark. It was as if nothing happened. As if his soul wasn’t breached. As if no time had passed from your display. 

“But I wouldn’t dare spoil your ending.”  You tutted with gentle wit. Your forgotten cigarette was put out on the leg of the table. The remnants now belonging to the floor.  “It’s just too good to miss out on.”

He pulled at his mask like he was suffocating; Mark never hid his anger well. 

“Enough—!” He sucked at the air. Overwhelmed, he reacted with his strength, Mark’s grip dented the table to steady himself. Each breath helped clear the lingering fog you planted. “Listen to me—Just listen.”

“You want my attention, that it? Well, you have it.” You reminded yourself you could be fair. “Don’t waste it.” 

“The guards said you’re not sleeping again.” His voice tempted to waiver, but his strength supported his point. 

Mark’s admission made your ears ring. It was only meant for self-alleviation. To clear his conscience, but in doing so, he reminded you of your position. The only barrier seemed to be Mark’s incorruptible moral code, a space where you couldn’t quite freely exist. 

In an ideal world, you’d like to think you and Mark could be friends. Frankly, though, his compassion made you nauseous. Or maybe it was nerves. The feeling was always hard for you to distinguish. You wished the way he looked at you would bring warmth to your chest, but it only reminded you of how that was another impossibility.

“You’ve been watching me.” Your eyes narrowed at the realization. Anger wouldn’t settle outside your chest. “You’ve always been weak Mark, but this—” You whistled lowly. “Pathetic.” 

“Have you been dreaming again?” 

“Try to understand. You do not have to be good, Mark.” You laughed. The smile his question elicited seemed genuine, but Mark’s guard went up. To you, he destroyed and betrayed himself for nothing.  “You don't have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.”

“I’m not here to pity you.” Mark read between the lines. The idea of redemption bored you. “I don’t need to know what you saw. I just need to know if people are in danger. Last time was…” 

Last time earned you freedom. No one saw it the way you did. They didn’t see the prison uniform as a comfort. Or finding solace in the itchy sheets of a metal bed. You lived better in a broken world; there were more corners for you lurk in. 

Yet, it became Mark’s nature to think the worst of you, but it was never easy to swallow. There was a simpler time when he would have blindly followed you, not needing an excuse for your presence. But his skin crawled with something unspoken. 

“Don’t you think I’ve learned my lesson?” You referenced something only Cecil was skilled enough to see through. Mark was still learning your tells. “Things are different."

With a sigh of your name, the original task was forgotten—Mark took the bait. 

“I know, I know…” 

There was exhaustion in his words. He was tired. Things had finally started to make sense only to upend. It was always too much, no matter how often you told Mark he was running in circles. 

You couldn’t fault him, fucked up things happened and he was left to pick up the pieces. Even through all the noise, he sought you out. Mark didn’t understand what drew him toward you for consolation when you’d never stoop so low. He felt guilty for seeing your selfishness as something admirable.

“Chin up, Mark.” You said, voice lighter and less deceiving. The sudden lightness filled your chest, just shy of euphoria. “It’s the year of the dragon. It’s said to be an auspicious time.” 

You relaxed in the metal chair. Its harshness was familiar, a comfort because when you saw everything, you felt everything. When Mark was the soft wool, you were the sacrificial knife.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Realistic Injuries (pt. 4)

The Mechanism of Injury

Assists in establishing both the safety of the scene and guides the remainder of the primary survey.

The seriousness of the mechanism of injury is a significant clue as to the potential seriousness of the patient's actual injuries, be they external or internal.

Relaying the mechanism of injury to downstream care providers early in the course of transport helps them be better prepared and have the necessary resources available for when they are treating the patient in the near future.

A patient with a severe mechanism of injury (MOI) warns providers that they may have a patient who requires many hands/tools/teams for treatment.

Getting those people alerted and organized is a great head start for the patient.

MOIs can be divided into 2 broad categories:

Significant Injuries. Some examples:

Ejection from a vehicle.

Prolonged extrication time.

Multi-system trauma.

Motor vehicle-pedestrian/biker accidents.

Motor vehicle accidents where any occupant of the vehicle was killed.

Any fall over 3 times the patient's height.

Insignificant Injuries. Some examples:

Fights or physical altercations without loss of consciousness.

Minor injuries to isolated body parts.

Car accidents without injury or symptoms of injury to any occupant.

The division between these groups is nothing more than the likelihood that a patient with a certain MOI will present with trauma requiring intensive care. Not all patients with an insignificant MOI are free from severe injuries and vice versa.

More Mechanisms of Injury Categories used to Classify Narratives

Caught accidentally in or between objects

Drowning

Electric currents

Explosive material

Exposure to radiation

Fall

Firearm

Overexertion

Poisoning

Suffocation

Head-on collision frequently results in the rider ejecting or partially ejecting over the handlebars. Common injuries include:

Head and neck injury if no helmet in place

Thoracoabdominal injury from handlebar impact (common in children)

“Open book” pelvic fracture—a splaying open (like a book) of the anterior and posterior pelvis from striking the handlebars

Bilateral femur fracture

Skin abrasions, lacerations

Injuries are decreased when a helmet is in place in proper position and if protective clothing is worn.

Gunshot wounds (GSW) are usually intentional (suicide, homicide) but can be unintentional (hunting, gun not in holster, gun cleaning).

Some mechanisms at work with gunshots include:

Yaw: vertical and horizontal oscillation about the axis of the bullet; can result in a larger surface area on impact with the body depending on the position of the bullet on the axis at time of impact.

Tumbling: rotation of the bullet upon impact resulting in some parts of the cavity larger than others as the bullet rotates along the path.

Rifling: spiraling grooves within the barrel of the weapon put spin on the bullet as it exits the barrel; provides stability in flight along the axis.

Hollow-point bullets: deform on impact causing a larger surface area to inflict damage.

Shotgun: multiple pellets within the cartridge; also possible to have one large projectile, such as a “pumpkin ball,” both air resistance and gravity spread the pellets over distance; closer shotgun wounds result in serious large wounds as the pellets remain clumped together.

The bullet does not usually travel in a straight path. This results in the need for exploration as multiple injuries can occur although the path appears to be in a straight line. Intentional injuries may require either psychiatric support (suicide attempts) or safety (homicide attempts).

Stabbings are also usually intentional (suicide, homicide) but can be unintentional, (eg, a slip on wet floor and landing on open dishwasher with knives pointing upward). A stabbing most often:

follows a direct path,

is low velocity resulting mostly in damage along the line of the path itself, and

are of varying depth.

The type of blade affects the wound inflicted, such as straight blade versus a serrated edge.

From a forensic medicine perspective, a stab is deeper than it is long and a cut is longer than deep.

A cut differs from a blunt laceration in that the edges are clean and the direction of the wound inflicted indicates the direction of the force.

Stabs to the chest and abdomen are particularly important to investigate as the angle of the penetration may indicate that the wound crosses both cavities injuring the diaphragm in between the two.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ Part 1 ⚜ Part 2 ⚜ Part 3 ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[nightdragon22]

I'm so tired but I busted out the redesign for my trigun au Knives I yapped about in this post and I WILL be yapping about him more here. Aka design elements in more detail.

- Knives prefers having more skin exposed because, since he can photosynthesize to some degree, he needs to get more sun. So he sticks with a modified bodysuit and a small cloak to keep the sun off his shoulders/face when he gets too warm. The chaps are for pockets! And bc he likes cowboys

- Knives learned VERY early on that he hates shoes, he just can't stand the feeling and they throw his balance off due to his prosthetic. So he just wraps his leg instead.

- The bandages also cover the remaining plant markings on his arms/legs. He's just too proud to get rid of them (he also has no idea how to get rid of them fully)

- his leg was severed below the knee but complications with the prosthetic and how messy the cut was means they had to go higher. He has his clothes modified for that reason. His prosthetic also matches Vash's in design as Vash's prosthetic was molded closely after Knives'.

- Knives was VERY against the earring original but Vash begged until he agreed so they could match.

- Knives doesn't carry a traditional weapon for... obvious reasons. His body suit is actually backless to make using his blades easier. (I forgot to draw it </3)

- all the items he keeps on him are gifts from friends/family. The Bible was from Ludia, the ribbon was from Wolfwood so Knives could help Milly keep her hair out of her face (she always forgets to bring hairties), the MP3 was from Meryl because Knives likes to listen to piano while he works, the Thomas feed was from Vash (Well the pouch was at least) and the bracelet is from milly! She has a matching one

- The bracelet has a charm to represent everyone in their little group. A Knives for Knives (obvs), A camera for Meryl, a wing for Vash, a heart for Milly and a cross for Wolfwood

- Not pictured but Knives also carries a multi-tool for repairs, extra bullets for Vash (god forbid his brother remembers to keep them on himself), a first aid supplies (also for said danger prone brother), and a sewing kit

And that's everything :) this was sketched up VERY quickly, so it's messy but this is the overall design for Knives in my au. He is so tired and I love him dearly.

More info dump here - [1] [2] [3] [4]

[callistoscollection]

Impact Play

Impact play is a form of sexual activity involving consensual striking or hitting of the body for pleasure. It can range from light spanking to more intense forms like flogging or caning. This guide will explore the basics of impact play, its various types, reasons for its appeal, associated risks, safety measures, and aftercare.

What is Impact Play?

Impact play is the practice of individuals receiving physical impact for sexual gratification. This can include being spanked, slapped, whipped, or flogged, among other forms. The pleasure derived from impact play can be purely physical, stemming from the sensation of pain, or it can be intertwined with psychological elements, such as power dynamics and role-playing.

The appeal of impact play varies from person to person. Some common reasons include:

- Physical Sensation: The sensation of pain, especially when controlled and consensual, can be highly arousing for some individuals.

- Power Dynamics: Impact play can be a way to explore power dynamics and role-playing, with one partner taking on a dominant role and the other a submissive one.

- Emotional Release: Impact play can be a cathartic experience, allowing individuals to release pent-up stress or tension.

- Exploration and Novelty: Engaging in impact play can be a way to add excitement and novelty to sexual experiences.

Types

Impact play encompasses a wide range of practices, each offering distinct sensations and levels of intensity. Some common types include:

- Spanking: The most common form, involving striking the buttocks with an open hand or a paddle.

- Paddling: Using a flat, rigid implement like a paddle, cane, or riding crop to deliver controlled strikes.

- Whipping: Employing a flexible implement like a whip or belt to create a stinging sensation.

- Flogging: Similar to whipping but using a flogger with multiple tails for a more intense impact.

- Caning: Using a cane, often made of wood or bamboo, to deliver forceful strikes.

- Slapping: Striking with an open hand, typically on the buttocks or thighs.

- Punching: Delivering a controlled punch, usually on the buttocks or thighs.

Tools

Here's a breakdown of common impact play tools, their characteristics, and considerations for choosing the right one:

Whips:

- Types: Single-tailed whips (like bullwhips or snake whips) and multi-tailed whips (known as floggers).

- Materials: Leather, vegan leather, paracord (waxed or unwaxed).

- Sensation: Stingy, with a sharp, focused impact.

- Considerations: Single-tailed whips offer a concentrated sting, while floggers provide a wider, more dispersed impact. The material choice affects the whip's flexibility, durability, and overall feel.

Paddles:

- Materials: Wood, silicone, leather, vegan leather.

- Sensation: Thuddy, with a solid, dispersed impact.

- Considerations: Paddles are wider and heavier than whips, delivering a more substantial feel. Some paddles have textured surfaces for additional stimulation.

Slappers:

- Design: Similar to paddles but with an additional flexible blade for a slapping sound.

- Sensation: Thuddy with a distinct slapping sound.

- Considerations: Slappers are more controllable than whips and floggers, making them suitable for beginners[2].

Riding Crops:

- Design: Long, slim handle with a tip (popper) made of silicone, leather, or vegan leather.

- Sensation: Precise strikes, ranging from gentle caresses to firm smacks.

- Considerations: Riding crops offer control over the force applied, making them versatile for different levels of intensity.

Canes:

- Materials: Wood, acrylic, metal.

- Sensation: Sharp, stinging impact, with a smaller surface area for a more concentrated sensation.

- Considerations: The material affects the cane's flexibility and the intensity of the impact. Wooden canes offer a thuddy feel, while acrylic canes provide a sharp sting. Metal canes are typically used by experienced individuals due to their harsher impact.

Other Implements:

- Hands: The most basic and versatile tool, allowing for a range of impacts from gentle spanking to forceful slapping.

- Feet: Can be used for light kicks or more forceful strikes, depending on the desired sensation.

- Belts: Can be used for whipping or spanking, offering a different feel than dedicated whips or paddles.

- Spoons: Wooden spoons can be used for spanking or slapping, providing a unique sensation.

When choosing an impact tool, consider the following factors:

- Desired Sensation: Do you prefer a thuddy, solid impact or a sharp, stinging sensation?

- Intensity Level: Are you a beginner or an experienced player?

- Material Preferences: Do you have any allergies or sensitivities to certain materials?

- Control and Accuracy: How important is it for you to have precise control over the force and location of the impact?

- Visual Appeal: Do you have any aesthetic preferences for the tool?

Risks

While impact play can be enjoyable and fulfilling, it also carries inherent risks if not practiced safely and responsibly. Some potential risks include:

- Injury: Improper technique or excessive force can lead to bruises, welts, cuts, or even more serious injuries like bone fractures.

- Internal Damage: Striking sensitive areas like the kidneys, neck, or tailbone can cause internal injuries.

- Emotional Distress: If boundaries are not respected or communication is lacking, impact play can lead to emotional distress or even trauma.

Mitigating Risks

To minimize risks and ensure a safe and enjoyable experience, it is crucial to prioritize communication, consent, and proper technique. Here are some essential steps:

- Open and Honest Communication: Discuss your desires, boundaries, and limits with your partner. This includes areas you are comfortable being struck, the level of intensity you prefer, and any pre-existing injuries or sensitivities.

- Clear Consent: Explicitly consent to each action and ensure that both parties are comfortable with the chosen activities and implements.

- Safewords: Establish a safeword or gesture that either partner can use to stop the activity immediately if they feel uncomfortable or the intensity becomes too much.

- Proper Technique: Learn the proper techniques for using different implements and practice on inanimate objects before engaging with a partner.

- Safe Zones: Focus on striking fleshy areas like the buttocks and thighs, avoiding bony areas or sensitive regions.

(I can't remember the original artist cred to them!)

Aftercare

Aftercare is an essential part of impact play, ensuring both partners' well-being and comfort after the session. Aftercare looks different for everyone but here's are some examples:

Physical Aftercare:

- Assess for Injuries: Gently examine the areas that were impacted for any signs of bruising, welts, cuts, or other injuries.

- Apply Cold Therapy: Applying a cold compress or ice pack wrapped in a towel to the impacted areas can help reduce swelling and inflammation.

- Moisturize: Use a gentle moisturizer to soothe and hydrate the skin, especially if it's dry or irritated.

- Pain Relief: Over-the-counter pain relievers like ibuprofen or acetaminophen can help manage any discomfort.

- Avoid Irritants: Avoid using harsh soaps, perfumes, or lotions on the impacted areas, as they can further irritate the skin.

Emotional Aftercare:

- Check-In: Communicate with your partner about how they're feeling.

- Offer Support: Provide emotional support and reassurance.

- Process the Experience: If desired, engage in a discussion about the session, reflecting on what felt good, what could be improved, and any boundaries that need to be revisited.

- Debriefing: If the session involved intense or emotionally charged elements, allow time for both partners to debrief and process their feelings.

- Respect Boundaries: Be mindful of your partner's needs and boundaries. If they need space or time to themselves, respect their wishes.

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 55 (part one)

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay (Canon divergence) Multi-chapter, Rated M

Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie becomes a fixture in Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is rekindled. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile, Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something which will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming. READ MORE

Author's note: This is the first chapter post-SOTR and it's FULL OF SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS!!!!! so read at your own risk.

As you probably know, Taste of Strawberries is an OLD fic and I wrote my own take on Haymitch's backstory as early as chapter 9, A rain of tears, when we still only had the trilogy.

So obviously, I couldn't know about the Covey, Lucy Gray, mentor Snow, the names of Haymitch's family etc because TBOSAS and SOTR didn't exist back then.

But I've ponder quite a lot over the possibility of including more canon from TBOSAS and SOTR into ToS somehow without rewriting the whole thing. The result is this chapter, focusing on Haymitch before his Games but years of his life that we didn't really touch in chapter 9.

That being said, I still have to deviate from canon in some regards to stay true to my story and the things I set up prior to TBOSAS and SOTR. The biggest one of all, probably, is the fact that Effie is younger than Haymitch in my fic. (I don't think ANY of us saw that canon coming! Her being the older of the two.)

But I've tried my very best, using all the tools in my writer's box to work around my own story a little and add bits and pieces from canon that I hope you'll like.

This chapter also has quite a lot of easter eggs from SOTR to help blend canon and fanon together. I even took liberty of borrowing a few passages (cough*stole*cough) from places like the Burdock Everdeen scenes, Haymitch and the cistern, the Covey's house etc.

As always, thank you for being such sweet dears when you respond to this story, through comments etc. I REALLY appreciate it and it's such a joy to see the fandom so alive post-SOTR with heaps of new content and engagement!

Chapter 55, The dove and the butterfly (part one)

The sun was on the rise, casting long shadows. Burning away the veils of morning mist.

Haymitch half-jogged across the meadow, rucksack thrown over one shoulder, leaving the gray, worn houses of his home behind.

The Seam, at this hour, was alive only with the occasional bird twitter and the miners heading for work. Heavy boots against cinder streets. Quiet murmurs. Tin lunch boxes bumping with every step.

A chill lingered in the air but it would warm up soon enough, that’s for sure. Dewy blades of grass licked Haymitch’s bare ankles. He shivered but it couldn’t be helped.

As he went from fifteen to sixteen, his patched trousers only inched further and further up. Didn’t matter how much he tugged and pulled at the hem. His futile attempts never failed to make Tara laugh - but only in that sweet way of hers.

Ma, who wasted nothing, was in the middle of sewing him a pair of shorts made from a government-issued flour sack. Better suited for the sweltering summer months approaching. But until she’d stitched the final thread, he had to make do with these.

Tara called the meadow the friend of the condemned because it could hide you from the peacekeepers, and the ugly fence surrounding the district lay not far beyond.

His father’s old shoes were too big for him but he’d stuffed his winter socks at the front so he should be alright, even on a long trek like today.

He crawled under the fence, brushed flakes of rust from his hair and headed into the green embrace of the wilderness.

He didn’t stop until he reached their usual randezvous spot. His girl’s favorite rock. Overgrown with moss. Surrounded by a crown of buttercups.

“Tara?”

His gaze turned skyward, out of habit. She’d taken to scaling those trees so often lately, it was like she lived there.

No one could argue with the fact that they were both candid climbers, but he’d be damned if Tara wasn’t a monkey in a past life.

“T?”

A pebble echoed as it hit a nearby trunk. The sound spread a smile on Haymitch’s lips. He dropped the rucksack and shielded his eyes. Scanned those leafy branches for movements, opposite him.

“Hoo!” The owl sound, coming from on high, craned his neck in the other direction. The yapping of a dog followed. Gus.

Haymitch chuckled to himself.

”Olly olly oxen free!”

A pinecone dropped smack on his head.

“Ow!”

Giggles. He rubbed his head vigorously, play-acting for effect but of course he couldn’t keep from laughing.

“Come on, T! Can’t kiss you when I’m down here, can I?”

Then she materialized. Between the branches of a hardwood tree, high up there, holding Gus on her arm.

Haymitch drank in the sight of her. Her raven hair. Her lovely, faded green dress, which made her all but one with the leaves.

The little dog wiggled like crazy, at the sight of Haymitch on the forest floor.

Holding him tight, Tara inched her way down, scooted from branch to branch until they were almost at eye level.

“There you go.” Palms against Gus’s soft underbelly, she held out the dog to Haymitch, like he’d been a loaf of bread.

“Thanks.” He grinned as he accepted the little tail-wagger. Tara had tied an ivory ribbon in his collar. “Hey, Gus.”

The dog’s tiny paws skittered, body twisting with boundless joy as he panted dog breath in Haymitch’s face.

Tara swung swiftly to the ground, her hair flying about her.

“You got past your ma today”, she said, a gleeful glint on her gray eyes.

“Barely.” He settled Gus on the ground where the dog instantly spun in a circle, chasing his tail. “I promised to get her blueberries on the way home”, he said and nudged the rucksack with his boot. “Some elderflowers too. Then she let me go.”

Tara chuckled and pulled him in for a kiss. Then another. And another. His knees all but buckled from the scent of honeysuckle in her hair.

”Let’s hope we can find a patch where Burdie hasn’t beat you to it then. After the lake.” She smiled and tugged at his hand. “Come on.”

Burdock Everdeen had been a friend of Tara’s for many years. Given that she was quite the solitary child, a rough-and-tumble kid, the boy had sort of taken her under his wings. Or maybe it was the other way around?

At any rate, while Haymitch still played around Twelve with the Donner twins, Tara ran in and out Burdie’s house as she pleased. One of the family. The big sister he never had. An Everdeen in all but name.

Haymitch knew Burdock from school of course. Had seen him plenty of times at the Hob too or hanging around the apothecary.

Everyone knew he was absolutely nuts about Tessa March. The boy even added wildcrafting to his game business, just so he could spend more time with her.

But the three of them – Burdock, Tara and Haymitch – didn’t really start hanging out together until after Madam’s passing.

Back then, Haymitch hardly ever ventured into the woods. Not far anyway. Deterred by both the law and the threat of wild predators. But Burdock waved his concerns away. Said he snuck under the fence all the time and there was nothing to it.

And once he began roaming the wild with the two of them, there was no turning back. He was hooked, no question about it.

Course, he’d be lying if he said the touch of Tara’s hand against his, her smiles, her stories, her sweet laughter wasn’t what fueled him the most.

As their bond blossomed from friendship to love, as natural as a bud unfolding, Burdock noticed of course. Would be impossible not to.

And as evidence to what a great person he was, he quietly gave his two friends the gift of freedom, allowing them to explore it, and the woods, on their own.

“That thing scares off prey like it’s a full-time job”, he teased and nodded toward the clueless dog who sat there kicking up pine needles with every wag of his tail. “Better get a move on or else no supper.” He gave his friends a wink and a smile. “See you guys later.”

And he headed off, leaving Haymitch and Tara to their own devices.

They shared their first kiss in the sanctuary of those woods. Their first but not their last.

Oh, how often he’d looked at those lips and wondered what it would be like. It was the first time he ever kissed a girl and what surprised him the most was how natural it felt. Not awkward at all.

It was like she was a part of him. As though his lips were meant to kiss hers, for as long as he lived.

He couldn’t believe how lucky he was, to have found a girl like Tara. Someone he could be himself with. Share everything with. Someone who loved him as much as he loved her.

Together, they watched the seasons change. Always by each other’s side. And even when some odd job in town kept them apart, she was never far from his mind.

Amadeus tagged along sometimes, but the woods frightened him. He preferred the quietude of their house, now and always, but was overjoyed every time he got to shoulder the role of dogsitter.

Yes, the woods became their refuge. A safe haven. If one could even exist in a place like Twelve. Or Panem for that matter.

Here they could roam as they pleased. Free as birds. Away from people’s judgement. Away from the peacekeepers, who – for all their big talk and tasers and guns – feared the “ghastly wilderness”, even more so than Amadeus.

It was easy to get lost there. No real paths to guide you.

But Haymitch wasn’t scared. Especially not when he had Tara by his side. She was his compass. In more than one way.

It’d been some year for his rare and radiant girl. Without a doubt. Chaotic and challenging both. He did his best to give her the support she needed.

It all started one day on the meadow. Friend of the condemned or not, a trio of peacekeepers found their way there that morning. Liquored up. Rifles at their hips.

It wouldn’t be the first time peacekeepers chased her off the Meadow for no reason. Or gunned for her dog, making a game of it.

What made it different were the things they hollered her way. Words which rattled his girl. Rattled her to the core. Worse than a box to the ear ever could.

Haymitch tracked her down later that day. A drizzle whispered in the leaves, and he found her by the old hut. A childish thing they built with Burdock years ago, using twigs and branches and resting them against a tree trunk.

She just sat there, shielded from the rain, with her arms wrapped around her knees. Gus poked a nose out from under her skirts.

Haymitch climbed in with her, but she was reluctant to speak about what happened. About the things those men shouted after her.

And then there came a Sunday. A pivotal one which would set a whole chain of events into motion.

“I need you to fill the cistern today”, ma told him first thing. Before he’d even rolled out of bed.

Ugh. What a way to start your day. Especially a day without school.

But there was no escaping it. Not when Helena Abernathy gave you a direct order.

Amadeus slipped his little hand into his. Gave it an encouraging squeeze.

“Come on”, he said. “We’ll do it together.”

Heading for the well, Haymitch consoled himself with the fact that Tara would come find him anyway, when he didn’t show up by her rock.

What with pumping and hauling, filling the cistern was a two-hour job. By then, his girl would be perched up on the rim of the well, dangling her stockinged feet over the edge and maybe telling them one of her maddening stories.

Only she didn’t.

As they emptied the final bucket, wrinkles marred Haymitch’s forehead.

Tara could look out for herself. He knew that better than anyone. But still …

Ma didn’t show it, but he knew she was pleased over having him home for a change. She liked Tara well enough, but chores were never in short supply if you lived in the Seam, making the girl a distraction.

Amadeus kept close. He tried to brighten his brother’s mood by coming up with an endless supply of quirky limericks and other playful rhymes.

It’d been one of his favorite pastimes, ever since Mr. Henderson taught him how to do it, one day at the bookshop.

By lunch Haymitch was so antsy, even ma took pity on him.

“Oh, alright, you go”, she said, across the kitchen table. “But remember curfew!”

Tara and her ma’s place lay only a few houses down in the Seam.

Gwen must have heard his running, for the door flew open, before he even got a chance to knock.

But her face fell at the sight of him.

“Oh … hello Haymitch.”

If Tessa Asterid March was the town beauty, Gwen was “the beauty who never was”. At least from the mouths of those with nothing better to do.

She was born with a large strawberry-colored birthmark, which bloomed over most of her face. Some called it a “port-wine stain”. Others “firemark” or “stork bite”.

Because of people’s ignorance, a lot of men, women and children – especially towners – kept a wide berth, thinking she was contagious. This, despite Tessa and Sae’s joined efforts to try and educate people otherwise.

But it wasn’t Gwen’s birthmark that Haymitch stared at, standing there before her.

It was her eyes. Puffy and red. Swollen from crying.

”What’s wrong?” he asked, in alarm. “Where’s Tara? Did the peacekeepers …”

“No”, Gwen reassured him, voice thick from recent tears. “No. Nothing like that.”

“What happened?”

Gwen swallowed back. Wiped her wet cheeks with the hem of her apron.

“We had a fight. She ran off.”

“Where?”

“The Covey’s house.”

The Covey’s house! A whirl of questions buzzed through his mind at those words, but he had no chance to focus on either of them, for Gwen continued, fresh tears falling,

“I went there. Asked her to come home, but she won’t speak to me. Oh, Haymitch, do check on her. Please. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

xXx

The yard surrounding the Covey’s funny, crooked house had a wonderous hodgepodge of flowering plants, dug up from the woods over the years and bedded down in front of their house with no apparent rhyme or reason.

From late March to November, you could count on at least one flower or bush being in bloom.

Like Madam’s place, it kept on a safe distance from its neighbors. Exuded an air of respect. Of differentness. The two gentlemen who lived there most certainly did. They kept to themselves – when they weren’t off doing a job somewhere.

Word had it, they’d been friends with Madam though, back in the day. A comforting thought. At least then he knew what he might be in for.

Course, they never called her that. “Madam”. It was always Constance or Ms. Meeney. Same way they never called Louella’s ma “Greasy” Sae.

Names were precious to the Covey and neither Clerk Carmine nor Tam Amber cared much for nicknames, not even the ones said affectionately.

Haymitch raised his hand and gave a polite knock. Hoping against hope that Tara would be the one getting the door.

No such luck.

Clerk Carmine Clade stared down at him, one hand against the door handle. The other one shoved in his patched overalls.

“Er, hello”, Haymitch said. “I’m …”

“I know who you are”, the man cut him off. He didn’t holler but he had one of those voices that carried without needing to.

“Right. Well …” Haymitch peered behind him, into the house, hoping that he might spot his girl. “Is Tara here?”

The crease between the man’s eyebrows only deepened.

Now Tam Amber also appeared at the door. Slightly less hostile, but not much.

“Look, I just want to see she’s alright”, Haymitch said. “She’s my, um …”

Clerk Carmine drew a deep sigh but Tam Amber said,

“Wait here …”

He vanished. Soft murmurs rose from inside the house. Haymitch recognized Tara’s voice but he couldn’t make out any words. After a few minutes Tam Amber returned.

“Come on in”, he said. “She wants to see you.”

“And wipe those shoes off”, Clerk Carmine added, unimpressed.

The two men led the way through the house, into the kitchen, and there she was. Seated at the worn plank table. Pale but unharmed. Hands around a mug of tea. Chamomile, by the smell of it.

She looked up, unsmiling.

“Hey …” He approached the table, but without crowding her. “I got worried so I came to find you. You OK, T?”

A stupid question of course. He could see she wasn’t.

In the background, he heard Tam Amber’s voice.

”Would you care for a spot of tea?”

And Clerk Carmine’s:

“No need. Boy’s not staying.”

“Um, yeah”, Haymitch said, looking between the two. Then back at Tara. “Tea sounds great.”

While Tam Amber poured from a pot, Haymitch pulled out a chair.

“I saw your ma. She said you … fought?”

Tara snorted.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Her gray eyes, darkened by grief, stared into the distance. Haymitch reached a hand out. Ran a fingertip ever so gently against her slender wrist.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me about it”, he said softly. “You know you can count on me. Always.”

And so she did.

While she spoke, the two men withdrew to the inner domains of the house, giving them some privacy. Although, Haymitch doubted a lot of his girl’s words were missed. Not in a place with this many open doorways.

“She lied to me”, Tara said, voice trembling with barely contained rage. “My whole life. I don’t care if she’s sorry now that I’ve caught up to her. She stole from me, that’s what she did! She stole the person I could’ve been!”

“Tara …”

“But I’m not!” she said, eyes brimming with tears. “I wasn’t supposed to be!”

“What do you mean?”

She drew a trembling breath. Refused to let her tears fall.

“My name isn’t really Tara Chance”, she said. “It’s Tara Dove Baird.”

To be continued …

Author's note: Can you see where I'm going with this? Tell me in the comments!

Also, I cannot for the life of me remember if I named Katniss's dad before SOTR! I was sure I did, but I can't find it anywhere in my documents. Keeping my fingers crossed that I dodged that bullet, so that Burdock can be Burdock in ToS from the get-go.

I can't take full credit for Tara's "stole from me" sentances. That's from Mike Flanagan's tv series "Midnight mass".

[pancakeke]

multi tools love to have 5 different tiny shitty blades you cant sharpen and a bottle opener

[fisheito]

non horny ask: what kinda irl snake would Yakumo be? venomous or non venomous?

my instinct says venomous purely because that opens up the fun possibility of magical side effects whenever yakumo bites someone (i want his venom to have a mild numbing property so he can bite me and i can finally get a decent night's sleep)

i'm openinmg up the search gtengine for this (HEY SNAKE FREAKS IN THE AUDIENCE!! IF YOU HAVE SUGGESTIONS THEN SHOW THE CLASS 👉👇👈👐)

(spoiler alert: i am no closer to an answer than when i started. we're just looking at snakes together)

flashback: i once pointed at western worm snake and laughed because BABY

but let's assign yaku a larger counterpart for when he's feeling big and brave i briefly considered the nonvenomous approach but i'm gonna joke that yakumo has a bigger oral fixation>>squeezing fixation on eiden so uh, this snake is all about the mouthparts i guess

i mean.. the snakes that constrict will inevitably hoRMPH(gulp) too so it would be reasonable to make yaku a nonvenomous squeezer. but. my bias says venom time, ,today

considering his ridic Great Serpent ancestry, he's probably gonna have a potent venom so let's look up Hella Dangerous Bitey Boys *typetypetypeclickclaxke*

side thought: are some species generally more aggressive than others? or does it vary moreso by individual? hmm. let's see if we can find a danger noodle that's reeaaaallllllly not into using its fangs as a first response

..... .......... i'm overwhelmed by choice again so i'm gonna start relying on aesthetics by which i mean altho i love defaulting to boas for their :3 face

i feel like yaku would be more of a streamlined snake skull like the neck isn't distinguished very well from the head... I wANT to see him as :3 snake puppy face but i also need him to have zero structure. absolute jello. no bones. skullless. just a *USES LINE TOOL*

wait. if i rely on Looks does that mean i can only choose IRL snakes that are black or subdued colours? because yaku doesn't want to be perceived, after all........

[eyes start to glaze over] -nondescript colouring -venomous (perhaps potently so) -not aggressive?? the type to strike ONCE , or wait-- is he more of a multi-striker.. fast? no... he seems like he'd be slow..if Dark Nova/Shadow Lineage is any indication..? slow OHKO heavy hitter? no, not "slow". HESITANT heavy hitter? ... -heat sensing organs? or just drawn to the heat? THE TYPE TO ONLY PREY ON OTHER VENOMOUS SNAKES--no no that's not right yaku will eat everything uhhhhhh

[SHAKES MY HEAD VIOLENTLY LIKE A WET DOG REBOOT]

call me basic but i like the look of mambas....

(sadly the black mamba doesn't have black scales but LOOK AT THAT MOUF!!!!!!!!!!)

wait how about a snake that hangs out in east asia? MOUNTAIN KEELBACK????? lil diamonds all along the back .nice

LOOK AT THE MASSIVE ORBS on *THIS* keelback.......

would he be arboreal like those funky vine snakes? mmm.., unlikely? i don't think yaku has shown much of a desire for heights... at least not yet (flashback to Puzzling Investigation Blade's impromptu takeoff)

what about a rattlesnake??? err... nah... yaku doesn't seem like much of a defensive butt wiggler....

Now i'm rethinking my entire instinct on VENOMOUS because ...Dark Nova 2 had yaku going snake-ish and eiden was ALL UP IN HIS fangs but he didn't feel any ill effects besides, you know, the physical obstacle of yaku shoving forked tongue down his throat-- EURYJK WHAT DO I DO . look at more cool snakes

OKAY BUT WHERE ARE THOSE SNAKES WITH THE PRETTY LOWER LASHES LIKE THE EYELASH VIPER, BUt LOWER lashes???

CAN I GET A LOOK AT ONE OF THOSE? do they exist? did i hallucinate the glorious snake lower lashes? do they belong to another reptile? boo.......

WWAIT NO, RIGHT, THE EYES, I SHOULD HAVE STARTED WITH THE EYES THAT'S AN EASY WAY TO NARROW DOWN A YAKUSNAKE

ok.ok. slit eyes. but a lil squiggly. thunderbolt eyes? the creative freedom of it all. let's go with slit eyes but wibbled by tears...

HOLD UP ! HIS EYES LOOK LIKE A TOKAY GECKO'S . IS YAKUMO ACTUALLY JUST A REALLY LONG GECKO?????

DESCENDANT OF THE LEGENDARY GREAT GECKO...........

[howlingday]

idea: Whitley having a Swiss Army knife as a weapon. Not like a fancy, multiple weapons in one Swiss Army knife you’d expect from a show like RWBY, just a regular Swiss Army knife with a larger than usual blade. It fits since whitley isn’t really a combatant and is more suited to out of combat situations, so his weapon has out of combat utility. Also the schnees tend to favor bladed weapons, with Weiss’s rapier, Winter’s saber, and Nicholas’s anime lookin’ sword. Weiss is proud of Whitley for deciding to learn how to defend himself somewhat but is a bit disappointed by his choice of weapon.

"It just doesn't look all that impressive." Weiss criticized. "There's not even a slot for dust application."

"I wanted something simple and easy to use." Whitley grumbled. "I'm not going out to save the world. I'm simply having every tool I need to solve whatever problem I come across." He flipped out a screwdriver. "If there's something that needs screwed in, or screwed out, I use this." With two more flips, the screwdriver receded, and a wrench took its place. "If I need to turn a nut or a bolt, then I use this. It's not different from your use of multiple dust in one weapon."

"Ooh~! What's this~?" Before Weiss could argue with her brother, her leader arrived to fondle his weapon. "It looks really neat!"

"W-Well..." Whitley cleared his throat before stepping away with his multi-tool. "This is Einer-Für-Alle, or EFA for short, and it is a multi-tool with more than a dozen tools for just all of your household needs! Seals? Tightened! Screws? Installed OR removed! Why, it even has a knife in the event of defending yourself! Yes, the EFA is perfect for every man or woman looking for efficiency!"

"Ugh... Did you have to use your sales pitch voice?" Weiss groaned.

Ruby giggled. "I like it! It kind of makes me wish I had one of my own. This is probably the best thing I've seen in, like, a week~!"

"O-Oh, uh, th-thank you..." Whitley muttered, face red as an apple.

"Oh, we gotta go." Ruby took hold of Weiss' hand. "See ya later, Weiss' bro!" Ruby then ran off.

"Y-Yes... See you..." Whitley turned away, stiffly walking down the hall until he turned a corner. From there, he leaned against the wall and looked to his creation. All of a sudden, it seemed to have a new light to it. Something that made it feel almost... heavenly...

'I like it~! This is probably the best thing I've seen in, like, a week~!'

Whitley felt himself reinvigorated. If this impressed her, then he had to try harder! Go bigger! Bolder! With pink on his cheek and EFA in his hand, he swiftly made his way to his room. Blueprints won't draft themselves!

[loyaldeserter]

[ SHAVE ]: sender sits in the receiver's lap so they can carefully shave the last of the receiver's stubble from their face.

The smooth finish of the razor's handle is cool beneath Legault's touch as he traces a finger along its edge. It's a straightforward design with little embellishment, but well-sharpened for proper use—a tool that befits its owner, he thinks.

A well-sharpened blade in a well-sharpened knight's hand does little good if his arm can't stay steady, though. An assassin knows well enough how easy it is for a well-placed injury to hinder a one's motor skills. Heath's current state following a scuffle up in the mountains is evidence enough of that.

Thankfully, an assassin's hand is pretty steady too.

"I think the stubble's quite becoming, honestly. But if you hate it this much..."

He curls a finger beneath Heath's chin, urging him to tilt his face upward. His eyes follow the shape of the knight's larynx dipping down toward his shirt collar, knowing all too well the arteries that frame it beneath the skin.

"Just hold steady now."

With the way his own pulse makes itself known in his throat, the low instruction is directed toward himself just as much as it is Heath.

Heath's never been one to enjoy facial hair. He doesn't grow it well, but it grows relatively quickly, which is a poor combination. Shaving has become an effortless part of his daily routine, his razor sharpened alongside his lance.

Unfortunately, his chin's starting to look a bit like a meadow today. Turns out an injury to his dominant hand makes it impossible to safely shave, and of course he's out on a multi-day assignment.

Naturally, it's with Legault. Because the universe has it out for Heath.

It starts with an offhanded comment. Legault says something about him doing something new with his looks, says it looks handsome or some hogwash. Heath, used to his antics, retorts that of course he'd say that, but he hates it. It'd be gone if not for that stupid lucky shot...

Legault gets all worried about the severity of the wound, which Heath's admittedly been downplaying, but it's just because he knows how these things heal. He can swing a lance just fine as long as he's careful. Fine motor skills are another thing, though.

And then Legault, audacious as ever, half-jokingly offers to do the shave for him.

And Heath, who's seemingly lost all sense, agrees.

Neither man seems to be expecting that response. But neither man backs down. Which is how Heath's ended up with a blade at his throat and his heart half-caught in it, Legault's presence on his lap impossible to ignore.

"I promise you, it'll get less flattering by the day." Heath's voice is low, keenly aware of the coldness of the razor flirting with his skin in contrast to the warmth of Legault's touch. He suppresses a shudder. "You'd sing a different tune in a week."

Legault could do whatever he wanted to him, like this. There is an element of trust here, control bequeathed of his own will to a man he once avoided on principal.

I win.

As Legault skillfully works away at the offending stubble, Heath's mind can't help but wander to the last time someone he trusted held a blade so close to him. It's admittedly not a great distraction from certain physical reactions he's trying to tamp down, but it's hard to resist.

Lachius had straddled him, too. In a different position, in very different circumstances, but the sharpness against his rabbit-quick pulse is unchanging, the tension laying thick as ever in the air.

(He cannot think about what followed, that fateful day. That'd betray his internal struggles to Legault in perhaps the worst and most undeniable way possible. He'd rather just die at that point.)

Still, Heath's mind continues its trek. Desire and grief intermingle, a longing that he's done a decent job of suppressing. Legault and Lachius are distinct, but he cannot deny the similarities as they come up.

How would they get along? They'd have a good time teasing Heath together, that's for sure. The combination of dry wit and playfulness would be a nightmare. It'd take Legault longer to earn Lachius' trust than even Heath's, though. Especially if he'd survived...

Well. Heath is out of the danger zone. One of them, at least. His chest aches, and it's hard to keep his breath entirely steady, but if he just sits and quiets his mind, it'll be over soon enough.

"You're good at this," he manages during a lull. He can't see it just yet, but he can feel it, and there's plenty of evidence on Legault's own face. It's hard not to see, from here. "Transferable skills, eh?"

He isn't looking forward to the void Legault will leave (that Lachius has left). But tempting fate like this is more reckless than he has any right to do.

[theoutcastrogue]

8 Fancy Pocket Knives

Etched pocket knife from Eskilstuna, Sweden

Silver / mother of pearl Victorian fruit knife, England

Damascene Toledo knife, Spain

Inlaid Toledo knife, Germany

Silver-plated fruit knife, USA

Damascene Toledo knife, Spain

Etched pocket knife from Eskilstuna, Sweden

Mother of pearl pocket knife from Eskilstuna, Sweden

@victoriansword [details after the cut]

1) Swedish pocket knife by EKA (Eskilstuna Kniffabriks AB), c. 1980-2000. Model 6 GS (1967-2010), with main blade, bottle opener/screwdriver, pen blade, and nail file. Tang stamp "EKA / SWEDEN" (from 1967), etched handle, 7 cm closed.

These were very popular in the 2nd half of the 20th century as gift knives or advertising knives. They were manufactured by many cutlers in Eskilstuna, and widely exported. The decorative pattern appears, with variations, on Swedish knives from at least the 19th century, and is inspired by Norse / Viking art, which often features twisted serpents/dragons. The interlacing perhaps also borrows from Celtic knots.

2) English fruit knife by Martin Bros & Co, 1848. Silver blade with 4 hallmarks (for Queen Victoria, the year, sterling silver, and Sheffield) and maker's mark, mother of pearl scales, 9.5 cm closed.

This is the posh version of what used to be an incredibly useful tool, a knife (and sometimes a multi-tool knife and fork) for eating on the road. The fancier ones were also status symbols, and very popular gifts – millions of silver fruit knives were manufactured in Britain from the 18th to the 20th century, mostly in Sheffield, Birmingham, and Edinburgh.

3) Spanish Toledo knife, as it's sometimes called, a damascened penknife of recent manufacture. Two pen blades, tang stamp "TOLEDO", 6.7 cm closed.

Not to be confused with Damascus blades! The handle is damascened – decorated with gold inlaid into oxidized steel (see here for details). Reminder that gold is a highly ductile metal (you can stretch it real thin before it breaks), so that impressive aesthetic result comes from a tiny amount of gold. It's a cheap knife, is what I'm saying, for tourists basically.

4) German pocket knife, confusingly also called Toledo, by Hartkopf. With main blade, pen blade and nail file. Brass handle inlaid with oxidised steel. Tang stamp "Hartkopf&Co / Solingen", 8cm closed.

It's "damascened" in the broad sense of inlaying, hence the name "Toledo": it supposedly emulates the Spanish style, and perhaps pretends to be Spanish, but both the metals and the geometric patterns are different. Knives of this type were popular in Germany all through the 20th century as gifts and advertising knives.

5) American fruit knife by William Rogers Mfg, made in Hartford, Connecticut c.1865-1898. Main blade, seedpick [also called nut-pick or nut-picker *snickers*], silver-plated nickel silver, decorated with flowers and apples. Tang stamp: an anchor logo and "Wm ROGERS & SON AA", 8.2 cm closed.

Sometimes fruit knives like this were bought by fruit shops/groceries (relatively fancy ones, presumably) in bulk, and sold or given to customers as gifts.

6) Spanish Toledo penknife (another one). With pen blade and damascened handle, different pattern, probably a bit older. Tang stamp again "TOLEDO", 6.8 cm closed.

7) Swedish pocket knife by Emil Olsson, c. 1920-1950. Blade, pen blade and corkscrew. Tang stamp "EMIL OLSSON / [star logo] / ESKILSTUNA", 9.2 cm closed.

Another etched serpent pattern on the handle, though by now you have to squint to see it. This knife has seen some shit. Until ~1940, pocket knives were widely sold and used in Sweden because they came with corkscrews, and all the bottles had corks, and everyone needed to open bottles. After the war, bottle caps replaced corks for everything except wine, and the pocket knife's utility plummeted, and cutleries started closing. There used to be hundreds, and by now only EKA's left. So statistically, if it's from before ~1950 it saw a lot of use, and if it's after ~1950 it did not, it was a gift or something.

8) Swedish pocket knife by EKA, c.1935-1965. Model 38 PB, with blade, pen blade, flat screwdriver, and corkscrew. Handle with mother of pearl scales and nickel silver bolsters, tang stamp "E.K.A. / ESKILSTUNA / SWEDEN", 8.3 cm closed.

The corkscrew is a quirky one, known as Gottlieb Hammesfahr patent: it pivots on the pin and opens perpendicular to the handle, not pulled downwards as in most pocket knives.

[robnikmeria]

“What objects do they always carry around with them?” for nik pls pls pls

I know that man has a knife on him SOMEWHERE even if he’s been stripped of all weapons. He’s so funny he’s like a magician hat full of rabbits but it’s knives LIKE WHERE DOES HE FIT ALL THAT…in all seriousness, he does always have a blade on him even if it’s tiny. I think he feels too bare without one. I do think he likely has one of Rhaena’s necklaces that he always wears. It’s the only thing he has from her. I think due to his overall nature and way of living, he tries not to get too attached to material items so definitely his blades and necklace. Idk if it counts but there’s always his mask. He inevitably loses it so it’s not there the WHOLE series but it’s a very important part of him considering he’s had it for years predating canon and his mask was def a safety blanket of his that he refused to take off until this big soft scene with robb and nym😭 its very mando-esque if you think about it.

In a modern au, I think he’s always got a lighter/carton of cigarettes and I DO think he has a pocket knife switchblade type thing. OR one of those multi purpose tool things. Or a money clip that’s also a knife. Some things just don’t change.

[sugarytulips]

Technically WDL x RWBY AU??

(Part II, Continuation,)

So ik it's ONLY three characters, but at that point do I call it an AU or a timeline???

Difficult decisions, really :/

Anyways!! Yeah I actually suck at writing backstories for these fuckers bc I keep writing them out of character, I feel bad for not writing more about her in this AU but I'M TRYINGGG😭😭😭

(2/3, Skye Larsen,)

Next one up is Skye Larsen! Cold, calculative, self-serving, morally grey/sort leaning on the evil side, it's a wonder she hasn't been expelled from Beacon Academy. But she has her good moments! Well, not morally good, but... You get what I mean.

She treats her brother well enough, considering she helped treat his epilepsy early on. Despite being unsentimental, she does care for Bradley... In her own complex way.

Skye Larsen's weapon is called Kronos Array, a multi-tool sniper rifle and melee apparatus designed to match her precise and tactical combat style.

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Primary Form: Sniper Rifle

A long-range precision rifle built for deadly accuracy.

Uses high-impact Dust rounds, which can be modified for different effects (piercing, explosive, freezing, etc.).

Features advanced targeting optics that sync with her HUD for calculated shots.

Secondary Form: Scythe-like Blade

The rifle reconfigures into a sleek, curved scythe-like melee weapon.

The blade is infused with Dust, allowing for energy-based slashes.

While Skye prefers ranged combat, she can fight up close when necessary.

Tertiary Function: Deployable Turret

Parts of the rifle detach and transform into a small automated turret.

The turret can provide covering fire or lock down an area while Skye repositions.

Can be controlled remotely for strategic placement.

Utility & Combat Style

Precision & Calculation: Skye uses Kronos Array strategically, taking advantage of her Semblance (Stasis Field) to freeze targets and line up perfect shots.

Adaptability: The combination of sniper, scythe, and turret makes her a threat at any range.

Control of the Battlefield: By using traps, precision shots, and calculated movement, she forces enemies into no-win scenarios.

∆

Her Semblance is called Stasis Field. It allows her to temporarily freeze objects or enemies in place, suspending them in time.

How It Works:

Skye can target a specific object or enemy and put them into a stasis-like state for a few seconds.

The affected target is completely frozen in place, unable to move or react.

Works on both living and non-living targets but has a limited duration.

Drawbacks & Limitations:

Precise Targeting Required: She must accurately aim at her target for the effect to work.

Limited Duration: The stasis only lasts for a few seconds, and stronger opponents can resist or break free faster.

Size Matters: Larger or stronger targets require more Aura to freeze, making it difficult to use on massive Grimm or experienced Huntsmen.

Combat Style with Stasis Field:

Perfect Sniper Kills: She freezes enemies in place, ensuring flawless headshots with Kronos Array(Ouch :'/)

Trapping Opponents: She locks enemies in stasis, setting them up for attacks from her teammates.

Tactical Control: She can stop projectiles, disrupt enemy movement, or delay threats while planning her next move.

∆∆[2/3]∆∆

[magnetictapedatastorage]

Any tips on maintaining my clippers? Im a woman who tries to keep a buzz cut but my clippers get all hairy and junked up so quick I was wondering if I was doing something wrong or if i just have a lot of hair? Thanks!!!!!

first, make sure you are remembering to oil the clipper. a tiny little drop of oil (from the bottle that came with your clippers) between the blades is important to keep it from getting gummed up.

however, there will always be some hair getting stuck... thankfully they make a tiny brush just for this!

usually its one of these two styles*:

with the clipper OFF(!) and any plastic guard removed, use the brush to sweep away any built-up hair. for hard-to-reach areas, pinch a small amount of bristles between the fingers of the hand that is already holding the brush, so you can squeeze that thin bundle into gaps and scrape out stuck hair. the image on the left is zoomed in, but that style actually has a thin, pointy handle. you may have also been given a teeny tiny brush with the clippers, but it probably sucks tbh. anyways do this whenever, its totally normal to stop in the middle of a cut if its gummed up.

besides that, you want a can of multi-purpose clipper cleaner:

turn the clipper on, spray the blades for a few seconds, turn the clipper off, optionally shake lightly if its too wet. let it sit for a minute to kill any germs. do that every time you're ready to start using them. (it comes after the oil step, and if you are cutting others' hair, do this between each person)

if there is stuck hair after you've sprayed it, turn it back on and hold it at whatever angle vibrates it DOWN out of whatever crevice its stuck in. (so hold it sideways, upside down, etc whatever points the hair down)

after you're finished using the clippers for today, remember to brush them, spray them, and importantly dry them off completely with a cloth towel, don't leave them wet. (also, don't use them on wet hair if you can help it.)

sorry if this sounds like a lot, I just wanted to be thorough. this kind of turned into a complete "clipper care guide" on accident.

*the one on the right is technically not for that, its for cleaning excess cut hairs off of the customer's head... but I find it a very convenient tool anyways.