#Bush craft knife

[noviceoutdoors]

Opinel #8 Outdoor Sport, Folding Survival Knife, Sea and Mountain, The Blade is certainly different.

I came across this while researching traditional European knives. I was surprised that Opinel have this. It’s not your normally Opinel. But still it’s an Opinel…so I got it. Interesting knife. Remember knowledge is a survival skill The Novice Survivalist

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#showusyoursteak #10 C&039;s #Basic survival #budget knives #Bush craft knife #camp knives #Camping tips #EDC #edc pack #EDC Pocket knife #edcworkknife #Emergency Kit #Folding knife #folding knives #knives #opinel #Opinel 8 #OPINEL KNIVES

[novicesurvivalist]

Crafting the Perfect Sheath for RUSSEL Green River Knife, it's getting b...

Still learning this whole leathering stuff. Feel like I am improving but still alot to learn However I persist….. Just saying…. Knowledge is a survival skill The Novice Survivalist

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#novicesurvivalist #10 C&039;s #10 C&039;s of survival #Basic survival #best knife. fixed blade knife #Bush craft knife #camp knives #Camping tips #campingessentials #DIY camping hacks #DIY KNIFE MODS #diyleatherprojects #diyprojects #EDC #Nature #outdoors

[forgottenroisin]

Brigit x Rosie “It could be worse.”

FLASHBACK

"The important thing," said Brigit. "Is that we remain calm. It could be worse."

"I don't see how!"

It had been a sweet notion. First, Brigit, Aoife, and Rosie had arranged for Eithne to take the day off, it being her birthday, by claiming to Valentina (who had no earthly notion when any of her stepdaughter's feast days fell) that she had a 'pox,' and vague and ill-defined malady which they had cobbled together expressly for the occasion (having lain some foreshadowing of the illness down in the previous fortnight, saying about how Farmer Tom's wife and boy had it and how it was said in town everyone in the are would have had it at some point, come the summer, and knowing well and good that Valentina would never fact check them as it would require stooping to speak to such 'low' personages as Farmer Tom). Second, Aoife and Cillian would take Eithne out to town on a few fun-filled errands while, thirdly, Brigit and Rosie prepared the cake.

While the first two parts of the plan had gone smashingly, it was the third for which them were proving not entirely prepared, a fact which stung all the more when one considered how both Aoife and Cillian had expressed doubts on this point while Brigit and Rosie had insisted up and down that they could certainly handle something so simple as a cake and that really the other two ought to have more faith in them as people than to hold such appalling doubts that, Rosie had added -- an argument which had finally convinced them -- were so rude as to nearly border on exposing a doubt Aoife and Cillian clearly held about their characters!

And, with their characters now on the line, Rosie and Brigit now stood side by side, gazing at their creation. The dazzlingly white confection sloped, slumping to one side like a wounded soldier. On the other side, it did stand up (somewhat), but this effect was marred by the attempt at decoration the sisters had effected. In attempting to pipe flowers and vines onto the side, they'd somehow managed to make it look rather as if the poor thing were bleeding AND wounded.

"We've created an abomination," said Brigit.

"I feel like a monster! We should put it out of its misery."

"Put it out of its misery? How?!"

Rosie pressed a knife into her sister's hand. "It's for the greater good."

"What do you want me to do? Stab it to death?"

"Cut it up! It's edible...I think...It can just be ready to be served when she arrives!"

"We can't cut Eithne's cake!" cried Brigit. "It's her feast day, not ours! It's not what's done! She has to make the offering to the guardians, and that starts with the cutting of the cake!"

"Would you prefer her to have to see this ghastly horror we've created? We'll give her nightmares. On her feast day!"

"No. We can salvage this."

"How?!"

Brigit grinned. "I have an idea."

***

"Are you ready?" hissed Cillian, rushing into the kitchen. "I ran ahead but, they're almost here and -- Amestris' head! Why is there a bush in the kitchen?"

"It's not a bush!"

"It's a cake."

"No, that--That, my dear ladies, is a bush."

It was certainly botanical. The kitchen island had been scrubbed entirely clean of the chaotic efforts lately put into crafting the cake by Eithne's sisters, and in its place, stood the mishapen lump they had crafted, disguised under an array of looping vines and flowers that seemed now to grow in effortless coils from a sweetly sloping mountainside.

"It's all edible vegetation," said Brigit.

"Don't you recognize it, Cillian?"

"What?"

"Don't you see?" asked Brigit. "It's the mountainside where our father asked our mother to marry him. Perfectly recreated, even now to the spot where trees and shrubs grow!"

"O--oh," Cillian's brows rose. "I...I do see it. That's genius! She'll love it. But...how did you recreate the exact slope of the hillside so perfectly?"

Exchanging a glance, Brigit and Rosie grinned. "Bakers' secret."

#flashback #brigit malconaire #challenge #ask #drabble #meme #aoife malconaire #eithne malconaire #cillian frost #almost made his last name 'malconaire' SOB #valentina malconaire #i hope you don't mind i made up some ~astairan traditions to make this work aljdsflkjdsjf but obv we can ignore them if they don't work #they were just meant to be ~why they couldn't cut it hahaha

[euoniatz]

Hey I saw your post abt writers block! I never really see people write much for Charles smith x male reader, can I get a fluff + smut pleaseeeeeee?

hi anon! i don't really write smut sorryy :( but fluff i can definitely do! 🙊💕 my brain decided to go chaos mode with this so it's a little all over the place. i hope that's fine anyways and that you'll enjoy!

☆ charles smith x male reader

tags: fluff, first kiss, getting together, pre-canon

wordcount: 1417

(not proof read)

<3

no one notices him as he slips back into camp with a pack slung over his shoulder. no one except you.

ignoring your mare's protest to the lack of movement of the brush in your hand, you watch as charles, the one you can't seem to place, drops of a pair of hares at pearson's stand before heading back towards the edges of camp.

you furrow your brows and glance at the moon high in the sky. why he's heading out in to the woods at this time of night evades you.

he has a lean-to in camp. one that he sleeps in more often than not. one that you share.

you've come to know charles as someone far from what you first expected him to be like.

where you only saw broad shoulders, bulging muscles, and an aura steering even a drunk-off-her-ass karen away, he shows you kindness wrapped in crafted arrowheads and feathers for your hat.

he shows you gentle in the way he murmurs to the deer and the fox and the elk before stabbing his knife in their hearts. in the way he weaves his fingers together as he tells you about his sad, sad past and teaches you about things you'd never even thought of.

he shows you passion in the way his voice turns fiery with rage as you confront bison-killers together. in the way he's steady when he tells arthur or john or you that the fool at the end of your gun doesn't need to die.

yeah, it's safe to say you've never met someone quite like charles smith.

you barely even remember how the two of you got so close. it's only been half a year since you were thrust into the madness of the gang, but all the memories of being distrusting and unsure of yourself have been replaced with the one's of charles' hand brushing yours as you work together on chores or talks that muddle time in some crazy way only mary-beth and her novels could explain.

maybe you are simply both of the quieter nature. maybe your shared interest in nature and animals is what brings you together. or it's the fact that you're both relatively new to the gang. perhaps you just simply like each other.

nevertheless, charles sneaking off in the middle of the night after just returning tells that either he's taking a leak and will be back within the next minute, or this is a sign for you to talk to him.

you wait a minute. no sign of him.

making up your mind, you give your horse an apologetic pat and ventures into the dark of the surrounding woods. the moon is bright enough so you won't fall face first in the dirt, but you still fail to suppress a shudder as a crow caws above you and the bushes around you seems to move.

heart thundering like hoofbeats inside your chest, you swallow and push through the thick leaves ahead, eager to find charles before the silence of the woods consumes you, barely realizing the way your foot snags on something before you're falling-

someone catches you halfway on your descent to the thorns below. gasping, you quickly get your feet back under you to push the stranger away.

"woah, easy," charles says as you breathe a sigh of relief, hands hovering next to you before he realizes the fact and hastily clenches them at his sides.

"you fool," you huff, still breathless from your battle with the bushes or maybe the way his hands felt on your skin. "what are you doing out here?"

charles raises a brow, clearly amused. "could ask you the same thing, but i won't," he holds out a pouch full of bloodied and dull arrowheads. "i need to get this done before i forget."

that's a lie, he never forgets anything. you're about to make an excuse so he can be left to the solitude he so clearly went looking for when he nods to a patch of grass beyond the trees.

"if you're not busy doing... this," he gestures to the godforsaken bush again "you could help, if you want?" he asks, tone suddenly unsure.

you do. god, you do. you nod fiercly and set off for the clearing, really just hoping you won't fall over on the way there. you hear charles sigh behind you, and you think it's one of relief.

"here," charles says and offers a knife when you're both seated in the grass that you both made it to safely and without issue.

you shake your head and pull your own from your belt, grabbing one of the arrows instead. a comfortable silence envelops you as you both get to work sliding your blades against the bloody tips.

then, as you lay your finished arrow in front of you and goes to grab another, charles sighs and lays back in the grass. you watch him curiously, your brain not being able to come up with anything other than how peaceful he looks like this.

you go back to working to keep your hands occupied as he speaks, "dutch's and micah's plan - what do you think?"

you snort and work your jaw a bit before responding. "the boat job? arthur says he has a bad feeling, and he's right more often than he's wrong. i don't know, lotta money if it goes right, i guess."

you don't know much about the plan itself other than the fact that micah seems to think himself a genius for procuring it, and that arthur and hosea don't trust him or his reasoning.

dutch is onto that money like a shark though, and the way things usually go, he'll refuse to hear reason and do it anyway. will only get out alive and richer because arthur and the others will be there too, killing folk so they can get away.

"lots of death if it goes wrong," charles adds and you hum, tossing the knife and laying down next to him, looking at the stars above.

"you don't fancy it either, then?" you say.

charles is silent for a second, which tells you that no, no he does not.

"i think arthur's right about this micah feller," he says finally. "he only needs dutch on his side, though, to hell with the rest of us."

"yeah." you grind your teeth just thinking about it. everything you hear him say to the women and charles and lenny and tilly - you seriously doubt anyone but dutch and micah himself wants him here.

"but," you sit up, scooting closer without really meaning to. "we'll be okay, i know it."

charles blinks up at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he raises himself to his elbows. normally you would have moved away by now, excpet something is telling you to stay. you lick your lips, eyes flicking to his before they go back to his eyes.

"yeah?" he murmurs. "how do you know that, mister?"

the distance between you shrink inch by agonizing inch, and your eyes grow wide as you feel his breath on your face. for a moment, only your combined breathing can be heard in the forest, as if the world stopped when you weren't looking.

mind running a mile a minute, you gape in shock that this is really happening, neglecting to respond long enough for charles to begin pulling away.

"hey..." you quickly grab him and hold him steady beneath you, hoping your voice won't be shaking as much as your hands are. "because we'll be in it together."

charles smiles, wide and genuine. you don't have time to appreciate it before he's pulling you in - grabbing your face and setting his hand on your side - and kissing you.

it's like a dream, the way your lips move against one another as if that's all they were ever meant to do. you can't believe this is happening - finally happening.

when you finally pull back to breathe, you laugh breathlessly and kiss the corner of his mouth as he grins and wraps you in his arms. "you fool," he say into his neck, "i can't believe it took micah's foolishness to get us to finally do this."

and then finally you get to hear charles smith laugh, and you think you found the heaven people insist lies in the sky, right here on the ground, beneath you and around you and beside you - just as it should be <3

<3

thank you for reading! feel free to send me more writing requests 💗

#charles smith #red dead redemption 2 #charles smith x reader #charles smith x male reader #my writing #fluff

[a-life-lived-outdoors]

Not sure what should go with you into the woods? Don't want to pack too much stuff and tire yourself out? An easy way to figure out what you do, and don't need is to think about how difficult it is to create that item in the bush.

Besides the fact you should always carry a first aid kit, alot of things can be crafted in the bush from the natural materials instead of brought with you. However, this can be incredibly time consuming, and the results are sometimes only marginal.

-Making a container is the biggest pain, so a metal water container should always go along.

-Making your own cordage is time consuming, the good stuff weighs almost nothing and packs easy.

-Making a cutting tool can be a difficult skill to aquire, and sometimes there just isn't a good rock present to break for a flint blade. I wouldn't travel in the woods without a good fixed blade. A saw is optional but it makes everything easier.

-A small tarp or poncho is great to have along for the trip. Rain, snow, bad weather, and a scorching sun can all be kept off you with one. There are light and heavy options, but they all will work. Just pick what makes the most sense for your area.

-Having ways to start a fire is a must. A ferro rod and a lighter are as easy as it gets. If your knife is made from a carbon steel, a sharp rock can be struck on the spine of it to throw sparks. You can make or collect tinder from the landscape. The more you do it, the easier it gets. Commercial tinder will work, but the vast majority of them can be made at home for much less.

The best tool is knowledge. Get out and use what you got. The more seat time with your gear, the more comfortable you'll be with carrying less. Learn what's edible in your area, learn what you can use for tinder, and learn the terrain. All those things can help you find food, fire, and water. A picture in a book telling you how to carve a figure 4 trap won't do you a lick of good when you've never carved one before and need to make one right there. Practice is the only way to make sure you'll be able to replicate something in the field.

Safe travels.

#outdoorsman #bushcraft #outdoor survival #outdoor gear #wilderness survival #survival tips #Woodsman

[myskiia]

🧚‍♀️ elf.maid (Discord)

🧚‍♀️ 6842-5633-7797 (Switch).

🧚‍♀️ 764659094 (Genshin UID)

hi hi, my name is myskia (theorised to mean 'bat' in Old Swedish - it is found on a runestone, other meanings may also include 'to darken', 'twilight', 'gloom' and 'dusk').

interests; majorly interested in all things to do thats whimsical, fantasy + gothic themes, supernatural creatures + morbid themes etc, all fascinate me + 99% of things i like includes one of those things 😭

👾 gaming - skyrim, stardew valley, hogwarts legacy, elden ring, bloodborne, witcher, wizard 101, alice:madness returns, legend of zelda twilight princess, angels of death, the witch's house, dragon age inquisition, Ib, Outlast, Sims 3 Supernatural + more

👻 films/tv series/books - beetlejuice (musical), the dark crystal: age of resistance, what we do in the shadows, v for vendetta, dune, matrix, hannibal tv series, hannibal movies (silence of the lambs, red dragon etc), avatar, house of the dragon, the witcher, twilight, the crow, the munsters tv series, the addams family, monster high, disney films, LOTR, interview w/ the vampire, the vvitch, the lost boys, queen of the damned, van helsing, scooby doo, the craft, hocus pocus, crimson peak, sleepy hollow, 99% of tim burton films (nightmare before christmas, frankenweenie, coraline, corpse bride, alice in wonderland, sweeney todd, beetlejuice, Edward scissorhands etc), casper the friendly ghost, my sister the vampire book series, room on the broom, + lots more 😭 basically anything whimsical, witchy and spooky i usually love 😭

🎃 anime + manga - soul eater, death note, shiki, elfen lied, madoka magica, sailor moon, the cat returns, castlevania, berserk (+ manga, tw warning tho), witch hat atelier, siuil (girl from the other side) + more, i am getting back into anime + manga so pls send me recommendations 😭

🦇 music - zheani, moonspell, nightwish, björk, kate bush, cher, emilie autumn, chelsea wolfe, rob zombie, nina hagen, yeule, switchblade symphony, the birthday massacre, cocateau twins + so many more,this list is gonna get too long 😭 i'll have my spotify in this post somewhere, check #🦷 mp3 / #🧚‍♀️ mp3 if you want to find more i haven't listed here

🐈‍⬛ fave creatures + other - zebra jumping spider, hercules beetle, luna moths, death hawk moths, black witch moth, dragons!!, black cats, worms, leeches, white plume moth, ghost slug (first found in my country! 😍😭 tho i think the theory is they accidentally got here), mermaid purses, moon jellyfish, poison frog + glass frog, silver foxes, wolves, magpie (my fave bird, why do they sound like a machine gun but look so pretty waa 😭),

🌙 misc - the colours purple/black/lavender blue/dark green, fascinated with the culture surrounding death, the ocean + space, collecting teeth, weird medieval art (like fighting snails, tooth 'wyrms' or skeletons tending to gardens 😭), welsh mythology (love celtic mythology in general though), abandoned and/or haunted places, the smell of soil after rain (petrichor), elves and fairy faith, crystals, amethyst (birthstone), astrology (i like both western + vedic!), thelema, norse mythology, sword / knife collecting, foraging, the poison path (usage of poisonous plants in witchcraft/ritual), carnivorous plants, anything lore-wise about hedge riding (using trance to "fly" or astral project), dreams / dream symbolism / dream dictionaries etc, divination (tarot especially).

#intro #SoundCloud

[mg-dango]

Vicente "Dientes" Avila Introduction!!!

General:

Name: Vicente Ávila Cruz

Alias(es): Dientes (Teeth), Chente (by Rudy), Meña (By his mother, no longer in use)

Sex: Masculine (FtM)

Blood type: B+

Nationality: Mexican

Birthdate: 11/November/[REDACTED]

Age: 23 (during the events of MW2)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Birthplace: Oaxaca de Juárez, Oaxaca, Mexico

Current residence: Las Almas, Tamaulipas, Mexico

Languages: Spanish, Mixtec (His first language actually, has forgotten some things due to the lack of people or relatives to practice with), English

Occupation: Military, member of Mexican Special Forces

Rank: Private

Affiliations: Mexican army, Mexican special forces (Los Vaqueros), SpecGru (eventually)

Physical data:

Hair: 1C, dark brown, long, wolf-cut style

Eyes: brown

Body build: lean, slightly muscular

Race/Ethnicity: Indigenous

Height: 158 cm

Weight: 59 kg

Psychological data:

Diagnoses: Depression, PTSD

MBTI: ISFJ-T (Introvert, sensor, feeler, judger)

Phobias: Autophobia, Arachnophobia, Claustrophobia

Attributes:

Agility

Bravery

High tolerance to pain (This has turned against him in a few occasions)

Flexibility 

Fast thinking 

(He is very good when It comes to hiding or infiltration missions in general, his short height and light weight allows him to be slippery and quiet)

Skills:

knowledge in firearms, specialized with assault rifles and shotguns (His personal favorite ones are the Lockwood 680 and the M16)

Basic knife skills (However, he can be particularly VERY GOOD with Bowie knives)

Bush-craft (throw him in the middle of almost any environment with only a stick, I dare you)

trap making and building

Basic combat skills

Family:

“A este punto ya casi me he olvidado de sus rostros… A veces se me viene a la mente el recuerdo borroso de Maa haciendo chocolate en la cocina, mientras mis hermanos y yo jugábamos en la sala… Me pregunto si ellos me recuerdan a mi”

Mother: Flora Cruz Osorio

Father: Eugenio Avila Rosas

Siblings: Mariano Avila Cruz, Maximiliano Avila Cruz, Elias Avila Cruz, Mateo Avila Cruz (twin)

(Vicente was the eldest sibling in the family, being even older than his twin by 5 minutes)

THE CURRENT STATUS OF THE FAMILY IS UNKNOWN

Relationships:

Rodolfo Parra: Father figure, mentor (He wishes he could call him “dad”, but at the same time thinks that would make Rudy feel uncomfortable so he refrains)

Alejandro Vargas: Also a father-like-figure (Not as much as Rudy, but he totally respects the colonel and takes him as a role model)

Valeria Garza: Vicente got the chance to meet Valeria once, just before she disappeared. He used to admire her, but after discovering her true identity as El Sin Nombre, lost any of that respect he previously had

Jesús “Chuy” Ordaz: In general they have a relationship of colleagues, maybe even brothers

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick: Friend, romantic interest (Eventually he becomes his boyfriend but that's a story for another day)

Favorites:

Color: Teal

Food: Tlayudas

Drink: Hot cocoa

Song: Rosa Pastel - Belanova

Flower: Cempasúchil

Animal: Jaguars, or any other types of felines.

Music genres: Ska, Mexican rock, cumbias

Negative traits:

Self-Neglect: ¿Remember when I said this man has a very high pain tolerance? Well, in reality it has to do less with what he's feeling and more with how little importance he gives to the physical, emotional or psychological pain he has at the moment, he often sees himself as “less” than the others and thinks his injuries or necessities are a burden.

“Mecha Corta”: Which means he basically has little to none patience when it comes to things that may annoy him, he can get angry or desperate easily in a matter of seconds, If he's mad, he will constantly make you know by his mood, his expressions or even his way to speak towards you or the others.

Prideful: Dientes often confuses dignity with pride or ego. The fact that he was constantly bullied throughout his whole life does not help either, so It is not surprise when he commits risky or stupid actions just to “prove” himself to the rest.

Biography

(English is not my first language, I apologize for bad translation and grammar T-T)

Born alongside his twin in a rural Mixtec community, he was the eldest among his siblings and the most adventurous too. His father, an old drunkard who constantly lived in debt, found himself entangled in financial troubles with a local cartel in the area. So in an attempt to appease said debts, he sold his son to the cartel without the consent of his wife, and Vicente never saw his family again.

He spent that part of his childhood being exploited by the cartel, forced to work as a servant. It wasn't until one day, while playing in the cartel's garden, that he encountered a young Rodolfo Parra (just a low-ranking soldier during that time) trying to infiltrate and dismantle the place. The kid proposed to help Rodolfo on his mission in exchange for his freedom, a proposition to which the soldier agreed.

The boy earned the soldier's affection and care after the mission, leading Rodolfo to volunteer and become Vicente's temporary legal guardian. He became both a father figure and a mentor for him. Inspired by Rodolfo, Vicente decided to follow his same footsteps. Upon turning 18, he enrolled in military school and graduated with honors.

After this event, he distanced himself from Rudy a bit in an attempt to become more independent, especially as Rodolfo had been sent to apprehend  "La Araña" cartel at that time. It was then that Vicente was assigned to be part of what would be his first significant mission: investigating possible drug trafficking routes that had recently formed in Chetumal, Quintana Roo. This mission not only ended in a complete failure but also left a lasting mark on Vicente for the rest of his days.

Very little is known about what actually happened, but based on official information and testimonies, his team was ambushed by a cartel known as "Las Palmas". Of the entire team, only Vicente survived. He was tortured for weeks and presumed dead, declared Missing in Action until three months later, when his unconscious body was found a few blocks away from where the leader of "Las Palmas" was found dead. The boy had multiple wounds and cuts all over his skin, especially with one on his lips so wide that it exposed his teeth, earning him the nickname "Dientes" (Teeth).

By the time Rodolfo saw the boy again, he found him in such a mentally deplorable and agonizing state due to the Chetumal incident that he regretted being absent at that time. He secretly swore never to lose sight of his son again, and true to his word, Rodolfo enlisted Vicente in the Mexican Special Forces and assigned him to work with him and "Los Vaqueros." This way, he wouldn't lose sight of Vicente again and would be able to protect him up closely.

Vicente currently resides in Las Almas, Tamaulipas. Over time, he has significantly improved his health and become a crucial member of his team.

#call of duty #original character #call of duty oc #my art #cod oc #character sheet #cod mw2 #Vicente “Dientes” Avila #ok this is the last one #i promise

[insult-2-injury]

Take a Seat- Chapter 7

After a skirmish up top, your failing shop falls under the watchful gaze of the Eye of Zaun. And his blue-haired gremlin daughter.

Silco x Fem!Reader | Total WC: 34k | Eventual Smut | Slow Burn | Romance | Angst | Sexual Tension | Humor | Fluff |

AO3 Link

Prev Chap | Next Chap

On nights like tonight, when the tides shifted and the winds scuffed off the top layer of Undercity smog, a sliver of moon betrayed Piltover, parceling its light with the industrial city below. It was a beautiful evening, the sort that Undercity dwellers secretly basked in, the streets a touch quieter, its inhabitants markedly gentler in the shared appreciation of the rarity.

You’d thrown on a light jacket and were primed to walk the unsleeping streets, perhaps even make the trip up a level to sit on the embankments of the Pilt and ponder just how remarkably absurd your life had become in the past couple months.

So, it was just your luck that this was the night your brother showed up at your house to make amends.

Peering through the crack in your front door, you judged his pompous outfit with pinched eyes.

“You’re telling me you made it all the way here without getting jumped? Wearing that?”

Stefan swayed uncomfortably, as if a horde of bandits was hiding in wait, prepared to leap out from the bushes and drag him into the shadows if he didn’t make it to safety soon.

 “People are getting too soft,” you remarked.

“May I come in?”

“You may.”

Stefan eyed Teddy’s fist imprint.

“Are you safe here?”

“Oh. Yeah. Been meaning to fix that,” was all you offered. You really had been intending to, but you reckoned it did give the place some character.

You turned your back, busying yourself with the sandwiches you’d been crafting when he’d knocked, already feeling your hackles raise like a mad kitten as your brother took his first steps into your tiny, blue-collar workspace.

“So, what’s going on?”

From your periphery, you watched him examine your shelf of trinkets.

“Is this…?”

You looked up at the grimy, multi-colored handlebar tassel he held in his hand, stomach lurching a little as you absorbed the nostalgic scene. It was from the first bike he’d gotten (stolen) for you back when you were just a kid. The one that had carried you speedily away from countless pursuing enforcers, that had imparted on him the now fading scar on his chin.

“Can’t believe you held onto this.”

Your hand tightened on the knife as you cut the sandwiches into triangles, feeling his eyes on you.

“I’m sentimental, I guess.”

He set the keepsake back down.

“I’m sorry. For what I said.”

You hesitated.

“I’m sorry, too.”

In a dark cavern within your chest, a low, hideous snarl ripped through you at the deception, at what felt like folding, throwing in the towel. You weren’t sorry in the least, just daunted by the idea of losing the only discernible human trace back to the roots of your childhood.

You despised this person you shrunk into around your older sibling, like a dog trying to tuck into a kennel it had outgrown years ago. But it was instinctive, an impenetrable defense wall thrown up against something inside you that you didn’t fully understand yet.

Your aggressive response at the fountain had been the first of its sort, but you’d retreated back inward, it seemed, and you were only now realizing just how nervous you’d truly been that he would never seek you out again.

“I’m supposed to worry about you. I’m your older brother.”

Your lip curled distastefully. It would be nice to have a relationship outside of mere pity, but again, you weren’t going to complain. He was here now.

“I know.”

Your shoulders tensed when you saw him pick up a framed photo.

“How are you doing with…?”

“The accident?”

“Yes.”

You smiled at him, amused.

“You can talk about it, I won’t burst into tears.”

It was funny, the soft way people treated Tragedy when they hadn’t yet shaken hands with it, as if the concept itself were some fragile thing, a dozing bird clasped between the palms of two hands.

“I'm fine."

“Have you been going out at all? Making new friends?”

“Yes, mommy.”

“Stop.”

You snickered. “You stop. Can we talk for a second like we’re normal?”

He placed the picture back down on the shelf and turned to you, frustration evident on his face. “I’m not sure how to do that when you treat everything like it’s a joke.”

“I’m not sure how to do that when you treat every problem like it’s yours to fix.”

Stefan clenched his jaw and you both stood at a silent impasse.

Neither of you yielded. He stepped toward your workspace in the back. His hand traveled across to the edge of the curtain and you nodded in permission.

Sweeping back the material, your brother made his way into your studio, pausing, you noticed with slight satisfaction, to study each of your various machines: your coal forge, the unlit furnace, the anvil with a clutter of tools strewn on top of it. It was probably time to clear through the disorder, you thought, as a loose piece of paper latched onto the bottom of his otherwise unblemished, silver-laced boots.

He freed and unfolded it, his brows knitting together.

“I noticed this Eye symbol on the way here.”

Your heart skipped. You’d completely forgotten about that sketch. Dropping your culinary project, you flew over to your brother, snatching it out of his hands.

A burst of hot blood erupted through your veins at the remembrance of your tension-filled knife throwing with Silco. The unsatisfying lack of connection as your blade handle had been pressed into your rigid palm as his grasped your blade, never touching you, but the close, incinerating heat of his body holding you still just the same. The prolonged eye contact as you both had taken a subtle opportunity to learn each other up close.

It had you wondering, dangerously so, whether the attraction went both ways.

The Eye, sketched so cleanly onto the paper, winked tauntingly back at you.

“What does it mean?”

You startled.

“Huh?”

“The Eye.”

“Oh, it’s just-“ you traced the symbol with your index finger, “It’s just an Eye, really.”

“It’s spooky.”

You laughed.

“It is.”

“Are you going to make it?”

“What, the knife?” You looked to your brother. “No, I probably won’t. It’s- I probably won’t.”

You push-pinned the drawing into the plaster beside you.

Stefan scanned the workspace, eyeing the other design ideas you had scattered about, posted up to the walls throughout the years, some of which had come to fruition and some not.

“You should. You’re very good.”

You felt your face scrunch with emotion as you devoured the unexpected kindness like a woman starved.  

“You’re talented.”

Your lip trembled as a switch was flipped and you were a child again, launching yourself at your brother, hugging him around the waist, your face pressed into his chest. He stood uncomfortable for a moment before wrapping his arms around you in a stiff, awkward hug.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“Would you… make one for me? I’ll pay you, of course.”

“Yes,” your cheek scratched against the rough fabric on his chest as you nodded, smile widening at the approval, “Of course, I will.”

He relinquished you.

“Do you remember that gala I told you about?”

You stepped back, head cocking.

“Yeah.”

“I think you should be my plus one.”

An undignified snort cut through the following silence, before you paused, smile fading.

“You’re serious.”

“When do I joke?”

He had a point. You scrutinized him, suspicion creeping in slowly like an approaching storm.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“It might be nice to network, or even work on expanding your business. There are some really talented metalsmiths up top, and many of them worked on the hex gates, crafted, no invented, new metals, new methods. You may even learn a thing or two.”

The sunshine that his kind words had brought on had quickly clouded over, leaving you feeling cold and bitter.

“I don’t sell up top,” you said.

“But you could-“

“Stefan,” you interrupted, looking at him carefully, feeling suddenly tired. “Am I enough the way that I am?”

Your gaze was aimed over his shoulder to the Eye behind.

“Of course, you’re enough.” he said, brows knitting together, “I just… want more for you.”

A blaring contradiction.

He was all you had left, that’s what you kept telling yourself. Yet, somehow, he always left you feeling lonelier than ever.

_____________________

Thunk.

With a battle cry that had a few quizzical crows scattering into the night air, you launched a knife at the makeshift wooden target that stood several yards away, nearly cleaved to smithereens after months of use.

Thunk.

Just a mile or so away from your place, tucked away on the outskirts of the industrial district, were the remnants of a burned down apartment building, where you’d cleared out and set up an array of targets to practice your knife throwing. No roof, long caved in, yet the foundation still stood tall, walls enclosing your little hobby area soundly.

Even as a kid, you’d always had a fascination with blades, which was supposed to be your half of the business. Your old business partner had always been better with the more useful items, or the big yawns, as you’d always said. Kitchenware, other various tools. You’d made a great team. Every visionary needs a pragmatic to pull them down to Earth, just as every pragmatic needs a visionary to stir things up. Now, you couldn’t help but feel like an untethered kite.

It wasn’t as if you could practice on moving targets, nor did you ever have a semblance of desire to, but it didn’t mean you weren’t picturing them. Your imagination had always been your métier, only ever sharpening with strong emotion. And tragedy certainly gave rise to some latent aggression.

And you were furious.

A masked gala. As if they wouldn’t know. As if the fattest cats in Piltover wouldn’t sniff you out in a heartbeat, narrow their beady eyes at you in distrust. Why did Stefan think you’d enjoy that? Besides, he had to know full well you wouldn’t behave yourself.

But. Maybe it would be good to learn. Maybe what you needed was to improve. Be better.

No.

Thunk.

You were enough. You didn’t need to be fixed.  

Thunk.

Knife belt empty, you hunched over to prop your palms on your knees, breathless.

You were a balloon inflated to the verge of bursting, squeezed by the tightening vice of a future decision you didn’t even know the principles of yet. Your stint at the fountain had been the first poke of your snout out of that little box Stefan had tucked you in, and you’d felt glorious shattering those expectations, so why weren’t you able to muster that same courage earlier?

Were you really that docile, that you thought a hug would remedy the desperate yearning you had to be understood by the one person you thought was capable?

You wanted to scream at him.

Why didn’t you?

A shiver, cold and shocking, walked its way down your spine. The voice rumbled through your head like a low roll of thunder, not nearly as satisfying as it had been up close, but your eyes nevertheless flickered open at its velvet timbre.

You sighed. The last interaction you’d had with Silco, days ago, had been churning in and out of your consciousness since.

Exhaling deep, you pushed yourself up.

Show me.

You marched toward the targets, feeling only a little silly for conceding to a voice in your head. A scowl twisted your lips as you collected each knife, one by one, as Silco’s honeyed words laced across the expanse of your mind like ribbons dancing on a breeze.

You’d played it out. You’d played it out a hundred times. The damning heat in his eyes. His closeness. How deliciously small you’d felt beneath his dominating gaze. And it had been just a mere moment, a blink in time.

If you squeezed your eyes shut and concentrated, you could imagine he was right there at your heels, guiding you, his breath fanning across the back of your head.

“Where?” you spoke into the stale, open air.

Anywhere, you’re creative.

You preened once more, the remembered words curling in on themselves in the pit of your belly, like a shallow pool of twisting eels. You let out a stuttering sigh.

Show me, he insisted gently.

Warmth flared between your legs. You ground your teeth.

It was unfortunate, this blooming desire that had seemingly crawled out of the deepest pits of hell, because it wasn’t even feasible. It would never come to fruition, for several reasons.

 No. You had to shut the infatuation down, because it felt like submitting to a man who was already King of his domain. To surrender any more power to him would be your character death, a personal treason. Silco already ‘had you on a leash’, which you’d done a fine job fastening around your own neck.

But, in the reaches of your mind, you knew, without a doubt, that if he offered up his office again, another chance at dangerous, playful give-and-take, you’d grab it and run, because the man had an unspeakable pull on you that you felt powerless to deny.

You were terribly sick of being a slave to your own recklessness.

Show me.

“Shut up,” you hissed, hurling three daggers ferociously, overhand, hitting dead center of a target.

You exhaled a long breath into the air before adjusting your belt, feeling your anger bleed slowly out of you with a gentle pulse.

Good girl.

“Oh, what the fuck,” you gasped, knees knocking.

“That’s not fair.” You whirled around accusingly, particles of dust going airborne as your boots scuffled through the dirt. “You’ve never even said that!”

Fisting your hands, you lowered to a crouch, wiping sweat off your forehead with the inside of your wrist.

“Control. Control yourself.”

__________________________

“Am I going to explode?”

Two petite metal foxes sat in each of your flattened palms. They were impressive, handcrafted out of spare bolts and cogs, the ears two upside-down sheet metal screws, the tail a stretched-out spring. Colorful, doodled markings adorned their exterior: a mushroom cloud on the belly, two X’s where the eyes would be, neon green knives sketched onto the sides. No longer disturbed by any of Jinx’s darker tendencies, you only found yourself once again in awe of how fantastically brilliant she was.

“They’re not that kind,” Jinx said simply.

“If they do explode, do you think your dad would buy me robot hands?”

“They won’t.” Jinx retreated suddenly backward in the booth, her eyes flashing. “They won’t explode.”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” you backtracked, “I was just teasing you.”

She relaxed only slightly. You were still learning where her precipice was.

“What exactly do they do, then?” you asked, rotating them in your fingers, eyes locking on the tiny, round pin situated at the back.

“Oo, ooh!”

Jinx tittered merrily at your intrigue, barely containing herself as she wiggled, her fingers steepling together at chest level, expression positively villainous.

“They make you disappear!”

Your eyes rose slowly to meet hers.

“I mean, not like splat disappear. They hide you. In a puff of smoke!”

You snorted.

“You’re one of a kind.”

"You always say that,” she said, sounding a little vexed by your lack of creativity.

“Because it’s true.”

You gingerly placed the gadgets on the table in front of her and she frowned, offended. 

“I made them for you. They’re yours.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Well, yeah.”

An overwhelming tenderness plucked at your heart strings. When was the last time anyone had gifted you anything?

“Thank you, Jinx.” You smiled at her warmly. “So, a fox, huh? Why’s that? Because I’m so clever and cunning?”

She rolled her eyes, and you were brutally reminded that you were speaking to a twelve-year-old. “You wish.”

You stuck your tongue out at her.

“You know,” you said, tilting your head into one palm, reminiscing. “There was this book about foxes that I was obsessed with when I was a kid.”

“Cool,” she said, completely disinterested.

“I’ll see if I can find it in my stuff, although I’m sure it’s seen better days.”

“I’m a little past picture books, you know.”

The word transported you back to the conversation with Silco weeks ago, when he’d offered you that drink. 

“You might be. But your dad isn’t.”

Jinx was bowled over by your audacity, her blue eyes widening, darting between yours.

“Are you saying my dad can’t read?”

The way in which the corners of her lips were stretching into a matching rendition of your own mischievous grin told you that you’d hooked her.

Nobody in their right mind would bad mouth Silco to his own daughter, even teasingly like you’d just done, that’s why you were so certain that Jinx would find a dark delight in this door you’d just opened.

“Yup. That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you said.

Jinx leaned forward conspiratorially, as if you’d just committed a heinous crime. Something told you she was trying to intimidate you, the wicked gleam in her eye challenging you to back down.

“You’re really going to say that?”

You grinned.

“He told me himself.”

There was a flash of uncertainty across her features before she settled back into the comfort of the booth, studying you with an intelligence that never ceased to astound you.

You could sense the moment you’d made it through another trial of trust with your companion.

“Huh. No shit. Well, no wonder he’s been so worked up lately. He forgot how to read.”

You laughed and she grinned in kind.

Cradling the two smoke bombs to your chest, you asked the question that still nagged at your mind.

“So why a fox?”

Jinx fiddled with a loose string on her pants as she spoke.

’Cause you work alone. Like me.”

________________________

Jinx’s words had been a death blow, the tender, excruciating plucking of your heart strings propelling you past the point of unease. And you couldn’t quite understand why.

When you’d grabbed your money off the corner of Silco’s desk that night, you’d scarcely made eye contact, forfeiting good humor for speed as you’d thanked him and spun on your heels, his heated gaze nipping at your back as you scurried out.

Like a fox dashing back to the comfort of its den.

_________________________

The Undercity had been gifted two moonlit nights in a row, the cobblestones glistening in the dusk as you strode to meet Cecil at the Drunken Hen for your dance night.

When it came to partying, The Last Drop was top drawer, unbeatable, yet you’d felt a strange vulnerability when Cecil had proposed the bar, your growing devotion to the place and its inhabitants suddenly making you want to back away, create distance for a time. Maybe you could finish the night there, you’d stated, even as she insisted.

In comparison, however, the atmosphere at the Drunken Hen was admittedly dry.

That mere acknowledgment fed the tiny spark of affection for the jam-packed bar you currently journeyed past, stopping, as always, to look up at the Eye. The symbol was imbibed with a new, cryptic meaning now that you’d stood under the boiling gaze of its master. Your skin quivered beneath it in remembrance, stripping you to the off-whites of your bones as you huddled in your thin, low-cut black blouse, bass trembling the cobbled stone beneath your shoes.

I’ll show you.

You continued on.

It had felt strange, dressing up. It had been ages since you’d put in the effort, since you hadn't felt too depressed to put much thought into anything but making it to the next day. But now, you’d found a sizzling excitement in turning back and forth in the mirror, inspecting how long your legs looked beneath the mid-thigh length skirt you were zipped into.

“Hey!”

You could tell right away that Cecil was a bit tipsy. She was a charging bull and you held the red flag as she met your side at the front door.

“Look at you, hot stuff,” she said, fawning, “Ooh, someone’s going home happy tonight.”

“Sorry, didn’t catch that. Too busy staring at your ass. I mean what? Janna, Cecil, I’ve never seen it this up close before.”

You shut your eyes and started muttering a fake prayer.

“STOP.”

Cecil cackled and you plumed, delighted to have made her laugh.

You grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her inside.

The two of you ordered drinks and immediately took to the outskirts of the dance floor, shoving your way in. When the first man tried to grind up against you from behind, you twirled away, remembering immediately just why it was that you only ever took men home from places like this out of sheer desperation. And you weren’t that desperate.

“He was cute,” Cecil said into your ear.

“Not my type.”

But he certainly thought you were his, hanging close to you the entire time, his curly black hair bobbing across the floor toward you every time you relocated. You thought maybe your vile sneer would drive him away, brought upon by the realization that he very much belonged up top, wearing an expensive, olive-colored vest and dress shoes. It wasn’t uncommon for topsider tourists to descend, experience the fascinating glamour of poverty before ascending back to their ivory towers.

You were perfectly content spending the night dancing by your friend’s side. In fact, you rather preferred it that way, finding yourself not interested even remotely in anyone around you.

Both of you whirled across the dance floor, lasting a good hour before you both decided to head somewhere else.

Your reasoning? The place just had no flavor. It was bland, boring. No grenade-toting teenagers. No ruthless crime lords taking up residence upstairs. No Sevika threatening to cut your life short.

Cecil’s reasoning, you suspect, had something to do with the latter mentioned woman, so you relented, allowing her to drag you to the Last Drop.

_______________________

You weren’t drunk enough. Not even a little tipsy.

But you’d promised to show your friend the fun of dancing, so you’d put on your biggest grin and snagged her hand, lifting it up so you could use it to twirl yourself around her. Cecil began to loosen up, her laughs more rambunctious, but you could tell she’d been excited when she’d seen Sevika outside the bar, in a little alcove clearly murdering someone in poker, if at all evidenced by the smug look on her face.

Squeezing your friend by her biceps enthusiastically, you’d given her a pep talk outside the bathrooms, freshening her up and insisting she go take her shot, because she was just tipsy enough to go for it. She promised to come back right away and you’d waved her off. Don’t be silly, you’d said.

Poking your head around the corner of the building, you’d watched her approach the savage woman, and you’d smiled to yourself when she’d thrown her cards down with a scowl.

And now, you jumped across the dance floor alone, watching your splayed fingers dazedly as they reached toward the night sky of flashing colored strobes above you.

You were laughing, untouchable, harvesting energy from the organisms around you and pushing it back out, a participant in the collective existence.

And then you weren’t.

You were an immotile, withering maypole, the epicenter of a diseased loneliness that radiated outward from you like a heart pumping blood to its extremities and you were receiving nothing in return. The music hardened into a shell around you until you struggled to breathe. Your fingers numbed. Time slowed.

It wasn’t the same. Nothing was as before. Because you were utterly alone. And you should just go home.

It was crashing down. The world. You clutched at your chest, feeling the panic rise.

“Hey,” said someone to your left.

It was the man in the green vest. A wave of repulsion crashed over you at the knowledge that he’d followed you here from the Drunken Hen.

Without thinking, you were on him, pulling him close.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you purred, voice quavering as oxygen became scarce. You trailed your fingers down his bare arm, resting them on the side of his thigh. "Is there something you want?"

“Wha-What?”

“Shh, shh. Do you want something?"

“Y-yes.”

“Is it me that you want?"

He nodded. Your searching fingers had nearly reached it.

"Looking for a taste of the Undercity?”

“God, yes.”

“Then stop stuttering and go wait for me by the bathrooms.”

You released the man into the crowd, his eyes wide, as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune, and you didn’t even watch to see if he followed your instructions, because you were shoving your way in the opposite direction, hand clasped tight around the cigarettes and lighter you’d pilfered from his pocket.

You stumbled out onto the street, clutching at your chest as you beelined into the shadows beside the bar, barely illuminated by the light of a single street lamp. You hit the brick wall hard, your back grating harshly against it as you slid down to the ground, counting each forced deep breath as you dug your nails into the stone beneath you, centering yourself.

The blood began to slow in your veins, your body beginning to comprehend the fact that it wasn’t in immediate danger.

You didn’t even smoke, but you were grasping for a shred of control, and damn if you weren’t going to make use of what you’d pocketed. It took you a few attempts to light up the cigarette, the lighter shoddy.

No sooner had you recognized the dull clatter of rubber against metal stairs when the camouflaged door directly beside you swung open. You let out a yelp in surprise, dropping the stick, instantly pitching forward onto your knees to grab at it, needing its security.

“Is there a reason you’re sprawled outside my door?”

You froze, arm still reaching, fingers splayed out like a statue of a desperate Goddess. A prickling electricity plucked at the tiny hairs on your arms, every one of your senses heightening tenfold as you watched a pair of boots come to a stop before you, penning the soiled cigarette between them.

You scrutinized the golden toes up close, seized by a morbid curiosity. Just how much blood had these shoes tracked through?

“Are you still breathing?” Silco drolled.

After a beat, you swallowed, retracting your outstretched claws. You allowed yourself a deep breath, feeling his gaze beat down on the crown of your head like the hot sun.

“You made me drop my cigarette,” you accused boldly, rolling your focus upward until you pinned him with a feigned malice beneath your long lashes. His nostrils flared with an abrupt inhale. Because it was positively obscene, you realized, the way he towered over your kneeling form, the stiff material of your black skirt riding up your thighs, your knees slightly spread, the cobblestones pressing painful patterns into your shins.

For a few seconds that felt like an entire lifetime, he studied you from above, his mismatched eyes flitting across the planes of your face, down the column of your throat, until you were nearly boiling within the confines of your skin.

You rocked unsteadily backward from his overpowering presence, sitting on the backs of your heels, feeling your skirt ride up your thigh. His knife-edged gaze sharpened on the new, bare expanse of skin, remaining there for a beat too long before dragging slowly back up, pausing on your parted lips before meeting your rapt expression.

A door had been opened when you'd thrust that knife next to his, you realized now, something different in the way he peered down at you, like you were a curious thing. With that dominating heat in his orange eye. It passed between you unspoken, whatever it was, a mutual acknowledgment of the ineffable intrigue that held you both where you were planted. 

And that wasn’t the only reason your stomach was fluttering. He was wearing that coat, the one you’d seen strewn across his couch weeks ago.

The lone lamplight across the road reflected brilliantly off the gold trimming of its wide collar, encircling his jagged, feline features. From your angle below, it looked as if his head was wreathed in a dull halo, although he was far from an angel. His confidence was wholly bewitching, that self-assurance that came from not acting his way to the top but knowing with full certainty just how many leagues above everyone else that he stood.

If it wasn’t the most captivating thing you’d ever seen.

Silco’s gaze dropped to the cigarette butt between his booted feet.

“Piltovan.” His lips tilted down with disdain. “Should I be concerned?”

“Well, it's tragic, really." You offered him a sad smile. "Ever since my concussion, I’ve developed a taste for mediocre tobacco.”

If Silco thought you amusing, it didn't show on his face.

"I found it," you lied.

He sniffed.

"You are indeed a tragic case."

You opened your mouth to retort but he unfurled his palm to you, effectively cutting you off.

“Up,” he commanded.

You blinked as he arched over you, and you studied his long-fingered hand as if inspecting it for traps. It surprised you, the civility, and you couldn’t help but glance hesitantly upward, meeting his knowing gaze, noting right away how much pleasure he was taking in your sudden bout of nervousness.

You remembered, somewhere in the recesses of your muddied brain, how you'd told yourself you were going to shut it down, this infatuation. 

You squared your jaw and held his gaze determinedly, grabbing a tight hold of his hand. On a man so renowned for his brutality, you’d been expecting rough, calloused palms, yet the pillowed softness of his hands caught you off guard as they squeezed, hoisting your full weight off the ground with a single arm. The pads of his fingers skated across the smooth skin of your inner wrist, sending a startling electric current pinballing through you, kindling that quiet, pulsing thing in your lower belly.

Your breath hitched and of course, he didn’t miss it, drinking in the tiny inhale with his razor sharp gaze.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

He hummed in response.

You smoothed your skirt down. You felt much too close still as you quickly sought out the security of the expanse of brick wall behind you, sloping yourself against it.

You fished the now crumpled box of cigarettes out of your pocket, deciding you needed something to do with your hands.

“You were hiding," he said.

Green and orange needled you for an answer.

“When I found you draped across the pavement.”

You puffed out your cheeks before blowing out a sharp burst of air. You didn't owe him an explanation.

You stared at him for a long moment, his face utterly impassive, yet you could tell he was taking in your guarded expression carefully.

“I was panicking,” you said finally, feeling only a pang of shame at the admission, "But I'm fine now."

Silco considered you for a long moment.

And then he nodded once, almost in quiet understanding, with a small tug of his head downward. And you couldn’t be more grateful for the simplicity of it.

He stared at your freshly lit cigarette as if it were a slug you'd just pulled out of your pocket.

“Are you that offended?” you asked.

“Thoroughly repulsed,” he responded. “Have you ever puffed on a wet slab of cement?"

"Can't say that I have."

"You're about to."

"It can't be that bad."

"You might try your hand at a cigar."

“No thanks, I don’t smoke, it’s a nasty habit,” you said, painting a look of disgust on your face before taking a long drag, earning the tiniest twitch of amusement from Silco's lips.

It quickly became genuine, your nose scrunching.

"Okay."

His eyebrow rose, lifting his otherwise half-lidded, dispassionate gaze. 

"Was I right?”

"Sure."

"I always am."

"Always?"

Something merciless crossed his features at your question.

"Say it."

Latent heat swelled at the firm command and you were certain he noticed the way you faltered.

"I mean who am I to say what constitutes a good cigarette?" you said, quietly enjoying your little dance, knowing you'd eventually relent.

His gaze didn't waver.

"Okay, fine," you said, holding the cigarette into the thin air. "Of all of Piltover's offenses, this cigarette is the most egregious of them all." 

You crushed the cigarette under your shoe and looked up at him.

"You're right."

"Of course I am."

Seemingly satisfied, Silco pulled a cigar from an inner coat pocket and tucked it into a corner of his mouth, gesturing impassively toward your hand with a vague tilt of his head. You tossed him the stolen lighter and watched his nimble fingers attempt to work the cheap thing. You grinned roguishly when he shot you an accusatory look, his chipped teeth baring around the cigar.

Hands grasping at nothing now, you placed them back against the cold brick.

“Are you off somewhere interesting then?” you nodded to his coat.

Silco leveled you with a dark smirk, smoke leaking out the scarred corner of his mouth. Your lips curled to match.

“C’mon, I thought we established I’m not a spy.”

“Of little consequence,” he purred, his rumbling voice so much more satiating in person. “You shouldn’t ask questions you’ll regret the answers to.”

There was a long silence.

"And what if I'm curious?"

"About?"

You.

”About-“ For the life of you, you couldn’t remember what you’d been intending to say, mind going suddenly haywire. “About- about what you’re doing.”

You could feel your ears burning red hot.

”What if I won’t regret knowing?” you blurted.

And you knew by now how he could read you. You bit the inside of your lip, concerned more than anything with Silco's total lack of movement.

He was utterly unreadable, his mismatched eyes fluttering as they held yours, as if flipping through an array of different potentials. Stretching out your unease, he raised his cigar, holding it in front of his mouth for a moment.

"You do like to push, don't you?" he murmured, voice deceptively soft, before connecting it to his lips and inhaling.

Smoke fanned slowly into the night air.

"Speaking to me as you do." Silco took a step forward and you fought not to shrink back into the unrelenting wall. "But you just can't help it, can you? Pushing."

Your stomach plunged with a driving force that had untapped fire splashing through you like a violent hot flash.

Another step forward and his boots were inches from the toes of your shoes. 

"I'd like your input on a hypothetical."

His voice unraveled like a spool of silk ribbon, wrapping the column of your throat, and for the second time that night, oxygen felt scarce as you watched in anticipation, wondering what door you'd opened this time.

Words wouldn't come, not even a muddled apology. No, you were struck completely dumb by his closeness.

You nodded jerkily.

"What would happen, do you suspect," he said, propping his cigar hand next to your head, no part of him touching you, uncomfortably close yet leaving enough room for you to slip away if you needed. If you wanted. "If a girl wandered too far into a pit of snakes?"

Liquid heat throbbed between your legs as fear and desire fused into a breathtaking, almost nauseating brew. His hawklike gaze hungrily devoured your reactions to him. How your nails dug into the wall behind you. How your body thrummed like a tuning fork at his proximity.

It took awhile to form the words.

"She'd get bitten."

Silco hummed, eyes darting between yours, falling to your parted lips, where you sucked in shallow breaths.

He stepped back, abruptly releasing you from his spell.

"Precisely."

He flicked ashes onto the ground, brushing off his coat with one hand, and you could tell he was making to leave.

You stuttered out a breath, examining him with fresh, adrenaline-filled eyes, suddenly remembering the way Jinx had pressed you days before, trying to intimidate you into relenting. The way you had pushed through. And you couldn't help it. Pushing.

"You know, that coat would look silly on anyone else but you."

He paused. And something flickered, a raw confusion in his searching gaze, and you wondered how long it had been since the man had received a genuine compliment about anything but his savagery.

Holding the cigar between his front teeth, Silco reached into his coat pockets and of course he had matching leather gloves, tugging them over his long-fingered hands, watching the way you latched onto the movement like a compass finding north. His mouth tilted into a smirk, and he rolled the cigar adeptly over to the corner of his mouth with his tongue.

"Bring a coat next Friday."

And he didn't give you a chance to question it, sauntering off into the night.

<3 <3 <3

I am really slow getting Chapter 8 finished. I worked on some other projects in the meantime, my latest one-shot being Rematch, which I'm very proud of! However, for those of you who have been waiting so patiently, I've made my main priority getting this newest chapter out. Thanks you guys for sticking with! I am in love with my reader character and very much plan to see this story until the end.

AO3 Link if you feel inclined to comment or kudos. I always adore hearing your feedback on any of my pieces. <3

Stay unhinged,

Love, Sulty <3

Click here to be added to taglist!

@x-amount-verbs @pinkrose1422 @of-the-argonath

#silco #silco x reader #silco x you #arcane #silco arcane #reader insert #take a seat

[fantasykim]

fake religions

I am a freak, and I know that, but I like to spend my free time creating worlds, cities and religions from scratch. here is a religion I put way too much work into for literally no reason.

Physisism-

the belief in which there is one true Goddess, Mother Earth. She is known by many other names, including but not limited to:

Heavenly Mother

Mother Gaia

Mother Nature

Mother Earth

The seven laws of Physis are and as follows-

All things must return to the mother

If the mother gives then man must give back

Anyone touched by the mothers hand of Disaster or Disease is paying their pence for the crime of a past life

Respect thy Mother, Wife, Sisters, and Daughters (Respect all women)

Strive to better and strengthen thy body, mind and spirit

Correct sin when seen and safe

One can never be reborn again if an unforgivable sin has been committed

The three unforgivable sins are and as follows

Laying thy hands upon a woman or child in a violent or unwanted sexual manner

Disrespecting mother nature

Taking without giving back

Killing an animal for food or clothing and not using every last bit of the animal

Taking the life of an innocent person

-----

I also created holidays, places of worship, a style of worship and prayer, I wrote their scriptures and everything- here is some of the Physis sacred word------

Passage one-

In the beginning, there was nothing. When all came together in a cosmic explosion creating the universe, and thus The Mother was created along with it. By thy Mother's hand, the earth was pulled together. The Mother perfectly sculpted matter into mountains and oceans. Her godly touch brought life to the surface. By the brush of her hand up sprung trees, and fruit they did bear. 

And by thy Mother's grace, she built life, animals to walk her land, each sculpted to perfection without flaw. 

Passage two-

The mother watched her land and sought to add to it’s beauty. She took up her brush and painted leaves of red and gold. She started a circle as her living things passed with beauty. She called it Autumn. 

Then she brought up her knife and cut flakes of iced silver, each perfectly crafted and not two alike. She draped blankets of white over herself and called it winter.

And when the mother smiled upon the world it brought up the sun, and it melted away the snow. And thus she reached out and pulled flowers up from the soil and thus she called it spring.

And when the mother wished it, all things flourished and grew, returning them as they once were and she called it Summer, and thus the circle was complete.

Passage three-

In her days of watching the mother grew lonely, and so she brought up

from the earth a woman, liken to herself, and called her Eve. As Eve was given many sisters they lived in peace with the mother.

And she sculpted each of them by hand, and painted each with brushes made from her own hair. She perfected each and every one before she had them live.

And thus women roamed the earth among the lions and sheep, and among the bushes and trees. And nevertheless, there was peace.

Passage four-

And therefore the mother created another, and it was known as man. And

thus the mother created a counterpart for each of her daughters to love and adore. 

And man was created to love women back. So thus they did. And the mother gave unto them the power to create, and bring forth the new souls to which the mother had crafted.

--------

I created ranks within the established religion of Physis, leadership roles, laws, commandments and all kinds of other stuff... in the end the story I was writing with this got scrapped and I did all that work for nothing, I might re use it in another book someday, but until then I'll put it up here for you guys to appreciate!

#spilled thoughts #spilled ink #reading #writing #spilled writing #writing inspiration #my writing #creative writing #world building #fake religion #obviously it has flaws #that's the point #how else would we get a plot! #thanks for reading #I need to take a nap

[mysterymanjoseph]

A Little Walk in the Woods:  mysterymanjoseph and perilousxlives

Joseph had come to New Hampshire to do some bush crafting, survival skills in the forests lands there.  With his MALICE rucksack secure on his back, full of what gear he thinks he might possibly need, plus a Sig Sauer P250 in a chest rig, in case of bears, not that he wishes to need to draw and fire the weapon.  He has been hiking for some hours into the deep woods, consulting his compass and topographical map to keep track of his location.  Finding a small clearing, with a small creek down the hill, he thinks, “This looks like a good spot to set up camp,..don’t want to go any farther and risk racing sundown to get things in order.”  Taking his rucksack off, he takes out his choice of knife, small folding say, and Woodsman’s Pal machete, then sets about to find dead stands of sapling to begin construction of his shelter and process firewood for the night.

@perilousxlives

#thalia

[noviceoutdoors]

Crafting the Perfect Sheath for RUSSEL Green River Knife, it's getting b...

Still learning this whole leathering stuff. Feel like I am improving but still alot to learn However I persist….. Just saying…. Knowledge is a survival skill The Novice Survivalist

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#novicesurvivalist #10 C&039;s #10 C&039;s of survival #Basic survival #best knife. fixed blade knife #Bush craft knife #camp knives #Camping tips #campingessentials #DIY camping hacks #DIY KNIFE MODS #diyleatherprojects #diyprojects #EDC #Nature #outdoors

[novicesurvivalist]

Cold Steel Finn Bear and some DIY add ons...

Found this guy on line. A favorite style of mine. They have been around for awhile. Not a fan of the “plastic stuff”, so I made some changes…added leather sheath and handle cover. Loving this learning leather Knowledge is a survival skill The Novice Survivalist

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#learningsurvival #10 C&039;s of survivability #10 C&039;s #Basic survival #Blog #Bush craft knife #BushCraft #camp knives #camping #camping planning #Camping tips #camping tips hiking #camping tips⁶ hiking #campingessentials #cold steel #DIY KNIFE MODS #DIY wood 8projects #DIY wood projects #DIY wooden walking stick #diyleatherprojects #EDC #ermergency survival #Finn Bear Knife #hiking #hunting knife #learning survival #leave no trace #life lessons outdoors #outdoor survival #personal choices

[circusclownsam]

Creepypasta OC (new version / kinda short n not very detailed?)

General

Full name: Min-Ya Choi

Name she goes by: Minnie

Other nicknames: little LJ, Shortass, Princess Minnie (given to by Sally)

Date of birth: 3/9

Date of death: [DATE UNKNOWN]

Cause of death: repeated stab wounds to the chest

Age: 18-19

Birthplace: Seoul, South Korea

Language(s): Korean, English

Voice: her voice is mid-pitch, with a noticeable Australian accent

Current residence: the creepypasta mansion, occasionally she stays in Sydney, Australia.

Gender: Female.

Race: Asian.

Ethnicity: Korean, Australian.

++++++++++++

Creepypasta information

Creepypasta name: The Affaired Clown.

Alliance(s): The proxies, slenderman

Occupation: serial killer.

Weapon(s): She often uses a kitchen knife, sometimes she’ll use a metal baseball bat.

Targets: those who cheat and their affair partners, as she finds both equally at fault.

Method of killing: slow and painful, torturing both the victim and affair partner. Carving out their heart once they’re deceased.

Reason to kill: she was cheated on for 3yrs by a partner she’d been dating for 5yrs.

Catchphrase: she doesn’t use a catchphrase, finding them useless if the person is going to die anyway.

++++++++++++

Personality / interests

Personality (in general): described as cold, sarcastic and blunt by the others. Sometimes she can be flirty; though only towards her victims and maybe to the other killers, she prefers to be “shut off” from the world; not letting people in and not sharing any detail about her unless she’s with someone she trusts, though despite her cold nature; she’s caring and sweet after a while.

Positive traits: Caring, Selfless, Honest, Creative, Understanding, Flirtatious.

Negative traits: Sarcastic, Cold at first, Anti-social, Secluded, Trust issues.

Likes: being left alone and not touched, hanging out with Sally- the two are often playing superheroes together (she always lets sally win), shopping with Jane and Nina, hanging out in trees with The Rake, walking around in streets at night- sometimes she’ll even jump out from behind bushes and trees to scare lonesome walkers. When her victims are quiet and compliant.

Dislikes: being touched and poked at, being put on the spot, being blamed for something she did not do, being made fun of for her trauma, when her victims fight back and manage to get the upper hand. Being bossed around by the other proxies, especially when it comes to her killing style. (A few others I cannot think of at the moment)

Fear(s): deep-bodied waters (lake, pools, oceans etc), her father coming back to abuse her once more.

Hobbies: sketching when alone, crafting dolls for Sally and children of her victims, Fishing (prior to death), Gymnastics (prior to death)

Music taste: Japanese Metal (specifically; BabyMetal, Band-Maid), Korean Pop (specifically; Boy groups)

++++++++++++

Relationships

Family: Robert Choi, 45, status; deceased Death; was killed by Minnie due to prolonged abuse. Lin Choi, 34, status; unknown

Allies/friends: Sally Williams, Jeff The Killer. (and a few other pastas I’m too lazy to write lmao)

Enemies/Rivals: cops, mainly.

+++++++++++++

Appearance

Hair length and texture: hip length, 2C.

Skin: tanned (seen in face claim)

Eyes: deep sea blue

Height: 158cm (5’2)

Weight: light

Face claim: https://pin.it/5FkjIFk

Body type: hourglass, average thickness, d cup size, smaller waist than average (due to corsets)

Distinguishing features: freckled cheeks and nose, dimpled smile.

Main Attire

: https://pin.it/4Nkh4gUX6

: https://pin.it/3c9cXqTbZ (tucked under corset)

: https://pin.it/RNiOKFThs

: https://pin.it/5Td8Thg

: https://pin.it/P8IFrcT

: https://pin.it/7LpsAh5

: https://pin.it/iTlKr8hfy

: https://pin.it/4PLRySe

: https://pin.it/3rG172CP0

Lounge attire

: https://pin.it/714I7fq94

: https://pin.it/4lhIogoad

: https://pin.it/7HlhMcWUl

: https://pin.it/5r1xtlbqn

++++++++++++

Physical/Mental

Disorders: prior to becoming a proxy, Minnie suffered from a mild case of social anxiety.

Abilities/Strengths: thanks to her gymnastics background, Minnie is quite good at climbing and balancing- finding it useful when stalking her victims.

Weaknesses/Faults: N/A (genuinely can’t think of any)

+++++++++++++

Stats

(From 1-10. 10 being the highest and 1 being the lowest)

Intelligence: 8/10

Strength: 7/10

Speed: 9/10

Agility: 8/10

Endurance: 7/10

Stamina: 9/10

Balance: 9/10

Tolerance: 7/10

Luck: 7/10

Perception: 8/10

Charisma: 7/10

++++++++++++

Random facts

1. The corset she is currently wearing is made out whalebone, finding the material more comfortable than metal or wood.

2. She loves bubble baths, especially when they’re scented with roses.

3. She was killed by her boyfriends’ mistress in a fit of jealousy as he tried to choose Minnie over her.

4. When she’s out of her get-up, she’s usually lounging around in a black hoodie, pyjama pants and a black face-mask

5. She’s close to Sally Williams, often seen sitting on the couch with the little girl in her lap. The two are practically joined at the hip.

6. Her outfit takes great inspiration from Laughing Jack, sometimes jokingly referred to as his little sister.

7. She adores smile dog, always bringing a treat home for him.

8. Due to the method of her death, things like corsets and laying on her chest no longer affect her breathing.

#creepypasta oc #creepypasta rp #creepypasta roleplay #creepypasta #CircusClownSam OCs

[saxonknivesau]

Raven

RAVEN https://www.saxonknivesaustralia.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Raven-Web.mp4 Raven is a new Custom Design bush-craft/hunting knife. Comprising of a tough 80CRV2 steel blade and Black Canvas Micarta handle grips, this is a knife that will both hand the tough jobs but additionally will stay sharp for longer while doing them. 80CRV2 High Carbon steel has a high carbon content .8% which…

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[gaenarirp]

WELCOME HOME, JEON NABI.

our town hall archives show she is a local and a DOWNTOWN resident, living on NEON ROAD NO. 1, #201, and she is currently a SALES ASSOCIATE AT STYLENANDA / DAEHAN UNIVERSITY STUDENT.

🡒 ready to access her files? read on below ...

girl  on  fire,    girl  ablaze.    attached  ever—so  tightly  to  the  territory  that  is  gaenari,     swallowed  by  the  shadows  of  those  who  came  before  her    —    against  her  will.    father  and  mother  see  nabi  as  the  jewel  of  their  entire  lineage.    their  love  is  more—so  obsession  that  grows  stronger  with  each  passing  year;    like  two  hands  wrapping  around  a  throat,    suffocating  and  wringing  the  delicacy  out  of  a  child.

perfect  daughter,    crafted  under  pressure  and  made  a  diamond.    jeon  nabi  is  bound  to  suffer  eternally  through  the  sins  of  her  father.     cursed  daughter,    uttering  insanities  no—one  believes     —    surrounded  by  the  ghosts  of  those  whose  lives  have  been  chipped  away  at  by  mother.

the  princess  trapped  in  a  tower  built  of  iron,    is  but  a  girl  raised  in  a  thorn  bush    —   wounded  before  she  could  walk.    jeon  nabi  who  grows  up  being  told  love  was  tulips,    chocolates   &   birds,     learns  that  it  is  stained  lipstick,    bruised  cheeks   &   drunk  laughter.

daughter  who  catches  mother  in  a  white  lie,   splattered  in  red    /    daughter  who  sees  mother  dressed  in  silk  and  venom   /   daughter  who  is  never  going  to  make  it  out  of  mother’s  home  intact   /   mother  who  is  going  to  take  pieces  out  of  daughter  until  there  is  nothing  left  to  spare.

an  oath  made  in  the  name  of  never  becoming  like  parents,    yet  jeon  nabi  has  the  unkind  eyes  of  mother  and  the  rage—filled  smile  of  father.    daughter  who  repeats  phrases  of  “i’m  loved.”   /   “i’ll  be  alright.”   /   “i’ll  make  it  out  alive.”  to  keep  out  the  nightmares  that  tether  themselves  to  the  existence  of  nabi  night  after  night.    beneath  honey—adorned  façade  is  a  girl  twisted  and  broken  down  to  the  core  with  a  perception  of  the  world  that   bleeds  into  the  way  brush—strokes  run  along  canvas  of  white.    distorted,    seemingly  with  no  end  to  its  distress.

all  that  exists  of  nabi  is  wrath,    a  salvation    —    polished  into  a  knife;    made  of  darkness,    anger  and  beauty.     yet  it  is  veiled  under  the  mask  of  gentleness  and  grace  that  plagues  everywhere  she  ends  up  on  the  daily,    bearing  no  flaws  nor  cracks;     adept  in  fooling  those  around  her  into  believing  the  jeon  family  does  not  hold  decades  worth  of  horrors  for  a  past  and  is  simply  a  normal  family.

parents  who  adore  their  daughter  of  love   /   daughter  of  hatred,    their  treasure,    their  primadonna,    will  do  anything  to  keep  her  from  ever  leaving  gaenari  once  and  for  all.    even  if  it  means  they  have  to  wipe  her  off  the  face  of  the  world  for  it. 

being  a  monster  is  a  choice    (    that  choice  was  made  for  jeon  nabi  a  long  time  ago    ).     it’s  a  ghost  story    /    and  it’s  a  bit  sad    —    but  what  would  the  butterfly  be  without  the  ghosts﹖

#gn:accepted #jeon nabi

[leescutlerys]

Exquisite Artistry: LT Wright Handcrafted Knives from Lee's Cutlery

When it comes to handcrafted knives that seamlessly blend artistry with functionality, LT Wright Handcrafted Knives from Lee's Cutlery reign supreme. These meticulously crafted blades are a testament to the brand's dedication to quality and precision. Whether you're an avid outdoors enthusiast, a survivalist, or a collector seeking a work of art, LT Wright Handcrafted Knives offer unparalleled performance and craftsmanship. Let's delve into the world of LT Wright Handcrafted Knives and explore why they are the epitome of excellence.

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Precision and Performance: LT Wright Handcrafted Knives are designed to excel in a wide range of tasks. Whether you're carving wood, preparing food, or tackling survival situations, these knives are up to the challenge. The carefully honed edges ensure razor-sharp performance, while the ergonomic handles offer a comfortable grip for prolonged use.

Artistry in Your Hands: Owning an LT Wright Handcrafted Knife is like owning a piece of art. The brand's attention to detail and commitment to traditional craftsmanship shine through in every blade. Each knife is a unique creation, showcasing distinctive handle materials and stunning blade designs that elevate these knives to heirloom status.

Versatility Redefined: From camping trips to bush-craft adventures, LT Wright Handcrafted Knives are versatile tools that adapt effortlessly to any outdoor scenario. Their robust construction and top-quality materials ensure that they stand the test of time, becoming reliable companions for all your expeditions.

Handcrafted Heritage: LT Wright Handcrafted Knives are more than just tools; they are an embodiment of heritage and tradition. The brand's dedication to time-honored techniques ensures that each knife carries the essence of old-world craftsmanship, making it a cherished possession passed down through generations.

Conclusion: LT Wright Handcrafted Knives offered by Lee's Cutlery are the epitome of exceptional craftsmanship, precision, and performance. From their intricately designed blades to their ergonomic handles, these knives are a true testament to the art of knife-making. Whether you seek a reliable tool for outdoor adventures or a work of art to add to your collection, LT Wright Handcrafted Knives deliver in every aspect. Embrace the beauty of traditional craftsmanship and elevate your cutting experience with an LT Wright Handcrafted Knife - a timeless piece that will be treasured for generations to come.

#LT Wright Handcrafted Knives