#pocketknives

[arctic-hands]

My dad gave me a sickass pocket knife from my deceased adopted grandad's stash (he actually gave me a lot now that I've taken up whittling), but I have no reason to carry it on my person so I can't flaunt it. It's doesn't have a locking blade and I'm not good enough at controlling the knife yet to handle a flip knife so it's not good for on-the-go whittlin', even if I did think I could defend myself with a knife without getting hurt (I don't think I could in any imaginable way) the blade is too slow and short to really be used that way, i don't know knife laws in my area very well, and at this point the only time I ever go out anyway is to doctors' offices, hospitals, or government building and I def can't take a knife there.

[artsycervidae]

Have an art dump of Stash and Pocketknives, I found them while looking for clean space in my sketchbook

[greystreetshop]

Martínez Albainox Pocket Knives

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[angelawilliam1]

Buy Wholesale Knives – Pocket, Damascus, Hunting, Throwing

Buy Wholesale knives: knives refers to the practice of purchasing knives in large quantities, typically for resale or distribution. This buying approach offers numerous advantages for both retailers and consumers.

[you-hate-time-travel]

itchys pirated music mixtape cd. 1. limp bizkit 2. nine inch nails 3. weezer. he also has a cd of some underground rock band from like 2006 and he listens to it every car ride in his custom pontiac firebird. he says he knew the guitarist but hasnt talked to her in ten years

[scribbling-dragon]

sometimes I think about my years as a scout. and then wonder how im still alive/sane

[eddis-not-eeddis]

I was given a Korean name a few weeks ago, and I haven't actually carved it into anything, but the thread holding me back from doing so is fraying by the day.

[eightfourone]

oh god am I like an actual hick?

[tiredofthehumanlife]

How many pocketknives can one man have

Barbie Dolls: Rosekiller x gn! Reader

Word: 1 billion (I’m joeking it’s 940)

Summary: A little Drabble about your boyfriends almost killing a man for you <3

Warning: you get slutshamed, pocket knives, the mention of killing and uh beating the shit out of ppl i mean its rosekiller im sure you’ve read much worse things about them don’t play dumb

You didn’t frequently like people, but today you hated them. You just wanted to finish your classwork. Then Don Abraham just had to chime in your personal relationships. He called you some filthy names all of which boiled down to you’re a slut. You wanted to rip his throat out and wave it in front of his family members' faces. Of course, you would never do that, you weren’t crazy. Your boyfriends, however, that was a different story. 

You shouldn’t have mentioned it. You shouldn’t have even thought of telling them. You should’ve just redirected the conversation and pretended everything was perfect. Now you were stuck on their stupid couch in their stupid commonroom having to go over your stupid day. Evan was perched on the edge of the coffee table, holding onto your hands. 

“So who was it?” Barty asked, bouncing around behind Evan. Evan ran his thumbs over the back of your knuckles. Barty gritted his teeth and groaned, like a dog on a leash thrashing around to chase a squirrel. You shrugged. 

“I don’t know, some guy.” You answered. Barty shook his head in disappointment, growling again. He shook his fist at the sky. 

“When I catch you, Some Guy-“ Barty said through gritted teeth. Evan turned back, glaring at Barty. 

“Sit down,” Evan said, rolling his eyes at Barty. Barty crossed his arms and flung himself back onto the couch behind Evan. Evan looked back at you. 

“We just want to report them to the school. We can’t do that without their name.” Evan said. You glared at him, knowing full well he had no intentions of reporting anything to the school. Evan shrugged, smacking his lips. 

“Worth a shot. Please, lover. We just want to give him a good reason to stay out of your personal business. Please?” Evan asked, dipping his head down. He knew his puppy eyes melted every bit of your composure. Barty sat up from the couch, leaning towards you both. 

“No you guys are probably going to torture him or something. He’ll be missing his eyes by the next class.” You whined, pulling at Evan’s hands. Barty sat up straighter, flicking his pocket knife open. 

“Only a little!” He said like it was something reassuring. You tore your hand from Evan’s hold, pointing to Barty. 

“See!” You yelled a little too loud. Evan reached over and snatched Barty’s pocketknife from him. Barty slumped, flopping back against the couch again. Evan shoved the closed knife into his pocket, keeping an eye on Barty. 

“Where did you get this, Barty?” Evan asked, watching Barty. Barty tipped one of his shoulders up. 

“Pocket. It is a pocketknife, Rosie. Kinda in the name.” Barty said, still pouty Evan took his knife. Evan shook his head at Barty. 

“Don’t sass me, I’m armed now.” Evan turned back to you. He picked your hands up, returning his puppy eyes at you. 

“Please, Lover. Just the one name. We’ll go gentle on him too. No serious harm, just enough to get him sent to the hospital wing. Please? I’ll give you kisses?” Evan offered, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. You groaned, squirming away from him. 

“Fine, but-“ Barty jumped up and moved to bolt for the door. Evan’s hand shot out and trapped Barty by the back of his shirt collar. Evan flung him back onto the couch, giving you a soft smile. 

“Please, continue,” Evan whispered, holding onto your hands again. 

“But I didn’t tell you anything and you’re only going to rough him up a little. Not Barty and Evan roughing up either, like James Potter roughing up. A bruise here a bruise there, mostly mental scarring, you understand?” You raised your brows at Evan and Barty. Evan nodded quickly. Barty grumbled in agreeance. You accepted it. 

“Don Abraham.” You said. Evan dropped your hands and stood from the coffee table. Barty stood up after him. Barty dipped down to kiss your cheek. He shoved his hand into his other pocket, pulling out another knife. Evan held the door open for Barty, waving at you as they both left. 

They did not stick to the agreement at all. Don Abraham was stuck in the hospital wing for four days. Multiple broken limbs and a practically useless face. Barty and Evan pulverized him. 

“Well, we had knives! We didn’t use them! That’s a little roughing up, I think.” Barty defended over breakfast. You looked to Evan. Evan lifted his eyes from his plate, shrugging at you. 

“I’m not going to lie to you and say that I tried to go easy on him. I wanted to kill him, but Barty stopped me. Truly that was me going easy.” Evan said, leaning to his side to smack a kiss on Barty’s cheek. You shook your head in utter disappointment. 

“Not at all James Potter roughing up. You know you two are lucky you aren’t expelled.” You said, pointing your fork between them. Barty shrugged. 

“We scared him too bad to blab. You’re stuck with us.” Barty said, reaching over to pinch your chin. Evan hummed. 

“No one saw either, we’re perfectly fine,” Evan added before shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth. You pressed your lips into a thin line. 

“I have got to get a stronger backbone.” You muttered. Evan’s puppy dog eyes and now someone was on bed rest for the rest of the week. Barty patted your cheek sincerely. 

“I can get you Don Abraham’s.” You shook off Barty’s hand. 

“You need to get your pocketknives confiscated.” You muttered. Barty gasped. He leaned away from the table, pressing his pocket knife to his heart. 

[prokopetz]

I love the soundtrack design in Small Saga. Its basic premise is a wainscot-fantasy-meets-sword-and-sorcery sort of deal with mice and rats wielding lighters and pocketknives and other human-made tools as "god-weapons", played more or less 100% straight, with the obligatory blend of plinky faux-medieval ambience punctuated by thumping orchestral bombast for the big events, and then out of nowhere you get hit with a boss fight accompanied by this:

I want you to try and imagine, without context, what you could possibly be fighting that would warrant this music.

[artdcnaldson]

Cat i may be going crazy but f2f by sza is so reader who dated Art and they broke up so she fucks Patrick to feel closer to him are you seeing my vision here

🪞

I’m literally seeing the vision so clearly…. You know it’s serious when I add a gif or a picture…. So….

Sighhhh… thinking….. maybe you were just an affair for Art. Kind of prodigy AU in the sense that you’re a tennis player who clearly idolizes him and starts an affair with him, but you get a little too obvious in interviews. You talk about how great and wonderful Art is and how he’s improved your game so much and you’re so grateful for his mentorship and all this gushy shit. It would be sweet if you could shut your mouth. It would be sweet if you weren’t clearly in love with a married man.

Like oh it’s so obvious. You look at him with these wide fuck-me eyes and cling to his side at events… so it’s not a surprise that he has to brush you off. Tashi’s going to figure it out (as if she hasn’t figured it out already), so you need to split so his marriage isn’t ruined. The marriage that he complained to you about every single time you got together and fucked. That marriage that he apparently cares so much about now.

You’re at a 250 in Florida when you meet Patrick. Well, you actively seek him out, really. You swipe left on every man on tinder until you find him. You look at his profile, littered with some bullshit about not wanting anything serious and having a huge dick. Whatever. You swipe. You instantly match.

You know Patrick. Know of Patrick. Not just from his remarkably atrocious reputation, but from Art too. He might have just been using you as his own personal fuck toy, but you were good listener too. You retained all of that angst and longing and hatred for his former doubles partner, you remembered.

Patrick knows you. Knows of you. He knows that pathetic little voice as you coo into a microphone about how lovely Art Donaldson is, how he’s a legend, how you’re his biggest fan and you’re oh, so lucky to experience his skill in person. And he also knows how just last week, when someone brought Art up in an interview, you shut it down fast, you pivoted in this beautiful, media trained way that he had to admire.

He knows why you’re across from him at a low lit bar. It smells like cigarettes and the floor is sticky. Your shoes are too expensive to wear in a place like this, but he’s glad you wore them. They’ll look really nice dangling over his shoulders. He doesn’t feel bad for jumping to that conclusion, not when your conversation had been so blunt.

Patrick: Do you want drinks first or do you want to come straight to my hotel?

You: Drinks. We’ll see if we make it to your hotel.

“Your boyfriend broke up with you, huh?” He says as you sit at the bar beside him, looking far too pretty with your manicured nails picking at a bar that’s been carved into by pocketknives and broken glass.

You make a face, annoyed, hurt— big puppy dog eyes that make Patrick think that make he should fuck you on all fours so he doesn’t have to see that pining expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You order a cosmo, and you talk about tennis… for a little while.

But it’s not long before his hands start wandering, and when he touches you, you think about the videos of them celebrating big tournament wins as teenagers— jumping and grabbing at each other, so close they could have kissed. It’s like Art’s touching you when he touches you, in a way.

And you don’t make it back to his hotel. You barely make it to the car before he’s pinning you to the scratched paint job, slipping his big, warm hand between your thighs so he can cup your cunt. You melt into it, relish in it. His hands are calloused, a bit like Art’s were, only Art’s were softer, better cared for.

Maybe Art will find out. He wouldn’t Like it. He’d call you a crazy fucking bitch for fucking someone like Patrick, just to get back at him. Well, it’s not revenge if he’ll never know.

It’s just Patrick, with his big hands groping your ass, and his hot mouth on your tits. It’s the feeling of crumbs digging into your skin when he gets you on your back, and you have to throw a half-drunk Gatorade bottle onto the floor to get comfortable. He peels off your panties with his teeth but doesn’t bother to go down on you.

The first time you fucked Art had been in the big backseat of his Jeep. God, he’d even planned for it, because he had a blanket for you to lay on top of. Parked in the corner of the tennis club where you were practicing. Cramped into the backseat, and he still made a point to eat your pussy until you were slick with spit and cum and begging for him to fuck you properly.

You do end up with your legs on Patrick’s shoulders, with your heels dangling precariously from your toes as he rocks your body (and the axels of his car) with rough, punishing thrusts. Folded in half in the backseat, he fucks you like he knows that you’re using him. Might as well return the favor. There’s no kissing, no sweet nothings whispered. He doesn’t even rub your clit to get you there. That’s your job.

He does take the time to be a grade-A asshole, though. “You’re so tight,” mumbled into your ear. “Can’t believe Art fucked you. You feel like a virgin.”

And, well, if the mention of Art gets you off, if you cum with nothing more that the feel of Patrick’s cock bullying into your cunt and the whisper of your ex-lovers name in your ear. Well, that’s not leaving the dirty backseat of Patrick’s CR-V.

[shelovesflowerpott]

A collection of some Marauders fics I've recently read! I've organized everything by ship, it's all reader insert, I may make a separate one for no reader insert but I'm not sure. enjoy, and lemme know what you think of me continuing to post fic reccs!

Wolfstar hyper independent reader James Potter James L/N and Y/N Potter Just Kiss Her Why Didn't We Work Out? Manhandling Sirius Black Midnight Reverie Regulus Black Sweet Like Honey, Karma Is A Cat Jily Cinnamon Roll Cookies Hypothermia Rosekiller How many pocketknives can one man have Moonwaterkiller sick!reader (LOVE @ellecdc, go read everything she's written) Barty Crouch Christmas with Barty Barty looking for you at a party Marauders "Honey I Cut My Hair." shy!roommate!reader One Of Us (platonic) Marauders + Lily Reversed Tropes

[scribbling-dragon]

yk what. i’ll share some stories abt the physics teacher too because i’m bored and ao3′s down

he had this part of electrical wires (like the really massive ones that you see on the towers, so it was super thick n heavy) and he’d pull it down to jokingly threaten people in my class with. his y13s stuck googly eyes on it when they left and his y7s gave it a name (cannot remember the name, but it was something like arnold. i think?). he smacked it on my desk a few times (rattled the whole thing) bc the kid sat next to me was a piece of shit

he brought out the radioactive stuff, plonked it down right in front of me and was like sorry [juno], looks like you’re gonna get radiation poisoning (i did not. because he did it safely. and also child endangerment is not something he probably wants to get accused of)

we were also playin around with one of the van de graaf thingies (yk the ones that make your hair stand up) and he yelled out at one of the geography teachers passin by if he wanted to try it out (all the male geography teachers at my school are Bald)

my science class was no better. people tried to snort the copper chloride we made in chemistry one time because it kinda failed and turned out as a powder rather than crystals. my chem teacher Did Not notice this. we’re no better at a level chem either: we exploded a thermometer and have never succeeded at a practical

Juno, respectfully, what the fuck is up with your bio teacher

to be completely honest with you i don't actually know hdsjhjkd

sometimes he can almost pass as a relatively normal science teacher but then he just does SOMETHING that reminds you of why he's the little freak of the science department (affectionate)

i do love having him though hjdshjk he bought all of us hot chocolates from the upper school cafe for christmas. he also chats w one of the people in my class about the witcher. and puts minecraft music on to help us relax (he has a gamer chair. he showed us photos of it bc he was so happy when he got it)

[star--anon]

pre-Maze Minho collects the plastic knives from cafeteria meals and stores them under his bunk mattress

it's some kind of petty childish revenge. WCKD stole his life, so he's stealing their disposable knives

it's also a subconscious grasp for control, a child desperately wanting something in the world to be his.

WCKD finds out about the collection at the same time they punish him for trying to escape. Of course, they throw away the knives.

When Minho finds out about his loss, he wrecks his bed, flipping the mattress and smashing the bed frame.

he breaks both his hands doing so and hides it for two days (often collapsing in the hallways from pain). The guards don't really care that he broke his hands, but they're given strict orders to make sure every Immune eats 3 meals a day and showers (to prevent strikes from the kids), both of which Minho isn't doing because to do so would require... well.

WCKD begrudgingly heals up Minho's hands, but they keep him on minimal painkillers to teach him a lesson. They also stage loud conversations outside his hospital room about putting him back in with the Grievers.

"I'm telling you: we didn't push him hard enough. A few more rounds with the Grievers, and for longer, and he'll be much tamer for us."

Minho shuts down completely after that. Becomes the most well-behaved Immune across the board. WCKD is pleased.

in Paradise, Minho takes a liking to pocketknives. Gally sits down with him for hours and designs different models with him.

[hamstersnamedmarinette]

I know Nathalie had a gun once, but i think she deserves another one

I think Nathalie deserves to be one of those tropes that's like

"Please remove all weapons."

*hands over a handgun in a concealed holster*

"I said ALL weapons."

"..." *hands over another glock, a revolver, two pocketknives, and brass knuckles*

*stern look*

*Sighs and hands over the tiniest pistol holstered to her ankle*