#Penannular Earring

[nowoolallowed]

Penannular Earring - Met Museum Collection

Inventory Number: 17.6.114 New Kingdom, Dynasty 18, ca. 1550–1295 B.C. Location Information: From Egypt; Probably from Northern Upper Egypt, Deir el-Ballas

[spiritsdancinginthenight]

A pair of Ancient Egyptian gold penannular earrings: made in two halves from a thick sheet of gold, shaped and then soldered together, c. 1550-1077 B.C. British Museum. EA14350

[canticletree]

Siob and Pam

I.

"Psst Siob!"

There was no reply.

"Sioobb!” he hissed, “Siob wake up!"

The window, still, was bereft of candlelight and a fierce, howling wind was all that made itself known.

He bit his cracked lips and shook his hands, then plucked a stone from the mud with fingers frozen near stiff and hurled it up at the window. A poor shot it was though, which he reproachfully owed to his shaking hands; and he watched as it ricocheted off of the sill, then sadly fell to the squelchy sod roofing, making a noise that would have been inaudible even in the faintest breeze.

He pawed blindly for another, and once more tossed the stone, much harder this time, and he saw it collide with a rotted corbel beneath the sill and rapped at it, before falling lifelessly to the decking.

This seemed to do the trick. 

A dim light flickered from within; there was a stir and down came the sounds of rustling and creaking floorboards. He didn’t have to wait long before the tiny door slid open letting an orange light stream out, faintly silhouetting a figure.

The boy slinking out into the soft glow of the morning was of small frame and stature. On him he wore a thick woolen coat, lined about the mantle with even thicker and considerably dirtier tufts of fur, which stood on end in the cold; overtop was a thinner, though not by much, layer of red plaid: also wool, fastened and slung across his shoulder, and was held in place by a penannular brooch. His head was crowned by a white ushanka, which held a single solitary egret feather. He was rummaging through a worn leather knapsack.

"Mornin' Pam." said he, head still buried within the bag.

"Mornin' Siob" Pam answered. He too wore a similar garment to Siobhan, though he bore no ushanka atop his brow, instead possessing a thick head of crimson hair, which was braided about his ears, perhaps to try and contain its mess. Though, windswept with salt and storm as it was, it didn't manage much success.

His tartan was ochreish, and held in place with a knot, not a brooch. 

Siob pulled his head from his bag, ears already reddening with cold, "Is it time?" 

"I reckon so. Have you brought it?" Pam asked, doing little to hide his attempts as to nose the contents of Siob’s satchel; which was quickly slammed shut. 

"That I have" he replied, flashing a pair of old binoculars, before hiding it away in the knapsack. He buckled it tight, for the wind was looking for trouble.

"Good, it won't be till a while longer. Let's get gone."

It was dreadfully cold - freezing in fact - and the soil remained stubbornly wet with the remnants of last night's storm, which still maintained a determined trickle even now, and had reduced leagues of grasslands to a boggy mire. It rained oft in the prairies and the heaths of what is now Relwher, and Hoofstadt slept at the northern fringes of Relwherian rule; and with these extreme latitudes often came hardships of equal measure. Hoofstadt, cradled by steadfast peaks - the Simvhal range to the North and the Hiocks to the South - was rocked by thunderous southbound squalls, and remained a deeply secluded and undesirable region; trade was sparse, and wealth doubly so. 

As such, the hamlet - which straddled the Thwaite river - relied heavily on its resource, drawing from it minnows, pikes, halkfins, pinals, shrews, even some catfish dwelt in the muddy pools of water that made up the valley floor, remaining there after various long past flooding events. It did not matter to those that dwelt there in that village, for there is nothing else.

Long barges manned by two or three sometimes drifted along the river, carrying aboard meagre supplies of furs and salt, hatchets, adzes and skinning blades, few sacks of barley and corn, and in return there may have been crates of wool or barrels of fish oil, salted fish and offal, or cured leather and hewn timber heaved onto the barges. 

It was a spectacle in the dreary town.

The boys would often sit by the muddy banks and watch the commotion of the tiny dockyard; the haggling merchants vying for the shipments that came in at higher prices then lower, and then higher again - their shouts merging into one homogenous bustle - the sounds of the aching pulleys and cranes that lifted cargo to and fro, they'd listen to the abrupt liveliness of Hoofstadt brought about by these strangers from distant shores, and wonder where the vessel had hailed from.

“‘Isa Tiyel’’ Siob whispered, eyes squinting to make out the carved lettering on the stern. A small banner had flown from the masthead but was too haggard to make anything of it.

They'd watch as the barges drift away, slowly crawling back upstream and past the mountains, into warmer pastures; and they dreamt absentmindedly of life across the distant mountain pass. 

“Whaddya think it means?” Pam asked.

Siob didn't answer.

The skies overhead were rarely accompanied by even a sliver of blue - save for purplish hues in the thundercloud - and today was no different.

Quickly through the muddy streets they went; hopping and scampering over small enclaves of murky ponds and dank grass; dim, sienna-coloured plants with barbs jabbed maliciously at their feet and jagged rocks beneath their soles scratched and clawed like sandpaper takes to a rough piece of bark. Both Pam and Siob were used to the nature of Hoofstadt by now; the screeching winds, the calamitous roars of thunder, and the subsequent downpours, but even little Siob would admit - even if it was just an idle grumble - that travelling under cover of night was a fool's errand, and posed them no minor risk - even greater would the risk be should blasted Mr Pecks, or confound it his mother! find out about this - but it would have taken more than a miracle to sway Siob then, for it was he who twisted Pam’s arm into this endeavour; into this mad dash for the safety of a thin bundle of pines sat atop a wide sloping hill; for they were going to meet with a monster.

Frost snapped at his red nose and squeezed his ears ‘till they throbbed and went numb; and the gale slapped him cheek to cheek as a scolding mother would. Without the film of sun beating down on their backs, it was almost unbearable. Almost.

"You don't think we could have waited till daybreak?” Siob called against the advancing wind, wincing as he did, at each frozen blade stabbing into his feet. “Least that way our feet would have feelin’ when we got back." 

Pam agreed silently but returned, "The andalanch told me it was comin’ now, and so's I tell ya to come now. If you wanna miss it again, by all means-"

"No I wanna see it!" 

"Wells then stop your complainin’” Pam cried, nearly unable to hear his own voice, “it'll hear you and get nervous. Andalanches is shy for such hefty beasts'' 

Pam frequented his off days (which were most if not all of the week), if not venturing into the streaky brown sea of straw with Siobhan, then it was by scavenging bits and pieces from alleys and hidden crevices. It never would amount to much, the odd nail or rotted marionette, but these things went by for quite a bit amongst schoolboys who had nought else. But that wasn’t all, snuck up behind an emptied barrel or pile of damp firewood he’d listen for voices that didn’t sense his presence, through the thin, crack streaked beams of wood that made up Hoofstadt’s homes, and this, he found, meant that his word had the backing of the olduns too - even if he did have to ‘fill in the gaps’ on his own.

"It can hear too?” Siob said incredulously, “How's that?" 

Pam paused. He wasn’t much of an inquisitive type in spite of all the things he heard around town, what he does muchly went for fact without second thoughts, 

"I ain't sure..” Pam called back, after a pause. “ol' Daquilo didn't explain the who's and the how's. Maybe one of them book'll tell ya, like the ones in that new library." 

But Siob didn’t take much for reading, nor was he one to take someone’s word for gospel, ‘less it was someone quite sage-like: like Pam.

"Books ain't do too much but say a whole lotta nonsense, it's the going out there and seeing that's the real teacher I says" He said in between breaths.

"You think they make it up?"

"Aye I do, most of em anyway. Say, you don't think we'll see the andalanche's ears, do ya? Or it's teeth?!"

"Can't say, all I knows is, whatever Ol’ Play says is mostly true… well that’s what he tells me anyways.”

"Hah! I wouldn’t trust that old drunk far as I could throw him, and he’s pretty big!" Siob laughed and gestured an imaginary belly.

Pam stopped walking at a drop, the town walls - once fortress-like and steadfast - had shrunk to a thin staining strip against the mountainous backdrop, and was judged to be many miles behind them now. Dew-covered vegetation - not squelchy mud - now crunched beneath them. The mountains watched them ominously. 

"Do you hear that, Pam?" 

A sound like a muffled thundercrack rang out, followed by silence and quieter still, a low ominous ringing.

The humming of the mountains.

"That I do" He looked at the far away peaks.

Siob grabbed Pam's hand, "Come on Pam let's go!" 

“slow down!.. im comin’..” 

They finally approached the steep hill, which they had fashioned into a lookout tower - and made for decent wind cover owing to the pines that strangely grew alone here. The mound posed a great vantage, they had found, overlooking most of the vast plains of the valley, providing them uninhibited view of the snowy crests that were rooted north, and the warm, welcoming oil wick lanterns that lay in the south. 

With eyes that darted back and forth, Siob whispered frantically, "Where is it Pam? Where is it? Did we miss it?" 

"Nah I reckon not,” Pam said coolly, “it usually takes a while to get all fired up, I don't think it's started yet."

Siob sighed in repose, then rummaged through his knapsack and pulled out his mother's binoculars. He set them on the grass while he shoved his gloves in the sack.

Pam, as to keep watchful of the avalanche - though moreso out of fascination with the binoculars - stuck them to his head.

“Say Siob I thinks these b��noculers are broke, we won’ see nothin’ of an andalanche through these!”

“‘S not broke, idiot, you’s didna take off caps. Gimme that-”

Siob made swipes at the binoculars, with Pamela pulling away as to keep hold of those foreign spectacles, but managed to wrestle it from his grip, making a fact of pulling off the lens covers before handing it back to Pam, thoroughly delensed.

"Can' believe your ma would letcha borrow those things,” He said reverently, ogling the technology, “gotta be mighty pricey-"

"Shh Pam, we oughta be listenin’.” 

Pam gazed out over the morning landscape with still crusted eyes from his early awakening - not to mention the icy crystallisation of his eyelids. He saw the bogs that bubbled and burped in strange putrid warmth, and the small creeks that ran and scittered through the valley, and the pine woodlands that stretched further on like pulled fingers, but their prey remained unseen.

"I don't see it, Pam! We're gonna miss it!"

"I don't think so, look-'' Pam handed Siob the binoculars, directing it towards the tallest of the snowy mountaintops. 

At first it was unassuming, like a cloud, adopting a spectral and ghostlike quality in the morning light; its edges blurred with the firs and conifers dotted beside it and they watched as it floated gracefully about the mountainside.

Siob watched the form dance with keen eyes, mouth slightly agape, and wondered if it would grow monstrous as Pam said it would, or if it would continue its silent waltz - for Siob knew Pam was truly one for exaggerations.

His doubts were soon allayed however, as if it had suddenly taken to the idea of gravity, it tumbled and grew in all dimensions, sliding on its belly like a swollen anaconda through its demesne in the savanna plains, hidden in a grassland of pines - which it dwarfed and gored; tearing down the exposed grey of the mountain and turning it pale. It did not hiss like a snake, it roared and thundered like an enraged bull, though a thousand times more venomous, past the clouds and descending at incredible pace, great plumes of white were expunged from its form as it crashed into a jagged cliff face like an ocean wave crashing on a rocky bank. Then slowly, like the morning mist, it dissipated into the snowy backdrop. Before long all that was left was memory and the echo of that terrible rumble, reverberating in their minds.

"Where did it go, Pam?!" asked Siob, eyes still glued to the binoculars, perhaps hoping for the beast to bow, accept some thrown flowers and repeat the performance all over again. It didn't.

"I'm not sure, last I saw one I got so scared I ran away before seein’ it through, I reckon it's still alive down there. Waitin’ for some tasty lookin’ meal to come passin’ through."

The two boys watched, in awe, the remnants of where the avalanche tore through, now an indifferent mountain slope where once had been such tremendous wroth. If you hadn't the eye for it you'd never have noticed a change; they reckoned they were the only boys in the town with that eye, no one else had faced down such a terror and lived to tell the tale. If there had been, they certainly would have heard about it.

"Well I don' wanna be no meal for a mountain monster." Siob said at last.

"Me neither," the other agreed.

"Say Pam,” finally pulling himself away from the settling spectacle, “what say you and me split the bragging rights half and half?"

"Braggin rights? What for?"

"For slayin’ the mountain monster, whatever else?" 

Pam smiled an inch, before turning away.

"Credits all yours, Siob. I can always find me another andalanch. Besides I wouldna want to go about braggin’ about seeing another andalanch;” he scratched his ear, “they only come out at night, o' course, and that could only mean one thing to them ears"

"I wouldna tell no snitches, Pam," he snapped,  "but have it your way. It's more of a David n Goliath story that way, don't ya think?"

"In that it's a fiction?" 

"In that it's heroic,"

"A myth suits me fine, but we’d better head back soon," he nodded at the parting clouds, "dawn's breakin'"

And sure enough, a glimmer of light began to peak through the grey bulwark, the cry of the loon heralded its approach. At this call, the two boys raced back down the hill, and moved at pace back towards Hoofstadt - the morning close behind.

[rederiswrites]

Not an earring

An earring

Having my first go at working borosilicate glass, which is much stiffer and much more resistant to heat shock. Some things which I am used to being easy were very difficult, and things which I have struggled with were suddenly very easy.

This is a loose copy of several extant New Kingdom Egyptian penannular earrings.

[cappymightwrite]

Customs, Chieftains & Countergifts

I'm currently writing up a deep dive chapter analysis of Jon XI, A Dance with Dragons, but wanted to post this section separately as a sort of preview, but also something to be enjoyed on its own (with some added visual aids). For all the medieval nerds out there...enjoy!

He slapped Jon’s back. “When all my folk are safe behind your Wall, we’ll share a bit o’ meat and mead. Till then…” The wildling pulled off the band from his left arm and tossed it at Jon, then did the same with its twin upon his right. “Your first payment. Had those from my father and him from his. Now they’re yours, you thieving black bastard.”

The armbands were old gold, solid and heavy, engraved with the ancient runes of the First Men. Tormund Giantsbane had worn them as long as Jon had known him; they had seemed as much a part of him as his beard. “The Braavosi will melt these down for the gold. That seems a shame. Perhaps you ought to keep them.” – ADWD, Jon XI

The exchange of arm-rings, or armbands, in medieval Germanic (notably Scandinavian/Nordic) cultures is hugely significant, and as a aspiring medievalist this interaction between Tormund and Jon really stood out to me. For some historical context:

Every ambitious chieftain faced the same problem: how was he to recruit and keep warriors in his retinue? His retainers, not simple mercenaries that fought for wages, were free men whose sense of honour would not have tolerated that kind of venal relationship. Instead, a chieftain needed to engage his warriors in close personal relationships. If they were not biological kin, they might create kinship through, for example, rituals of brotherhood, marriage alliances, and friendship formalised by drinking together in the chieftain's hall. Whatever their relationship, it was constantly reasserted through the exchange of gifts. It was their relationship with their chieftain that made warriors willing and eager to fight for him. [...] Appropriate gifts in a gift-giving relationship needed to be prestigious, which caused many chieftains to focus some of their energies on acquiring prestigious goods specifically rather than wealth in general. When the warrior recieved a gift of something valuable and prestigious from his chieftain, he was required to give a countergift. His first countergift was loyalty, unto death if necessary. This is how relationships of power were created in a society without states; rather than being obliged to perform military duty for his king (as in a full-fledged state), the warrior was persuaded with gifts to voluntarily perform that duty for his chieftain. The asymmetry of this interchange, with the chieftain giving more valuable gifts than the warrior, was an expression of the structure of political power: the more exclusive the gift, the higher the esteem of the giver, and the more power concentrated in him. – Anders Winroth, The Conversion of Scandinavia

The importance of this type of exchange is notably highlighted in certain passages from the Old English poem Beowulf:

Here is Seamus Heaney's translation of the same lines:

The above is just one example, but it illustrates how it was an honour to be gifted a ring/armband by a chieftain, and Tormund, we shouldn't forget, is a kind of Wildling chieftain. He is introduced to Jon by Mance as "the Mead-king of Ruddy Hall [...] Father of Hosts," (ASOS, Jon I), which connects to the significance of the chieftain's hall and the ritual of drinking in that hall to cement kinship bonds.

With Tormund and Jon, despite the former's earlier provocations, we see his real respect for Jon shine through here, initially by essentially inviting him to drink in his hall, or at least together:

“When all my folk are safe behind your Wall, we’ll share a bit o’ meat and mead. Till then…” – ADWD, Jon XI

This may seem like a small thing, but to the cultures which Tormund and the Free Folk play off of, this is a significant gesture, as noted above by Winroth. Furthermore, he makes clear the importance of his gift-giving by mentioning the armbands' prestigious history: "had those from my father and him from his." They are also materially valuable: "the armbands were old gold, solid and heavy, engraved with the ancient runes of the First Men."

The visual description of the armbands is very evocative of actual Viking era arm-rings that have been excavated, for instance, this gold one which has been recently found in the Isle of Man, which dates back to 950AD:

This plaited technique — probably more achievable in gold due to its relative softness/malleability — is reminiscent of other finds from around the same period (876-950AD), such as this one currently held at the British Museum:

As far as I can tell, however, runic inscriptions on arm-rings/armbands aren't really a thing, though you do see a variety of different kinds of engravings (the below date from the 10thC–11thC):

Of course, GRRM is just trying to evoke this kind of culture through his inclusion of "ancient runes of the First Men," rather than aim for exact accuracy, and we do see runic inscriptions on personal objects and some items of dress from the Viking period — often to denote ownership. However, in the below examples at least (a bone comb case and bossed penannular brooch), they seem more like later additions, rather than part of the original design:

But back to Tormund and Jon's exchange!

The armbands' prestige and value cannot be dismissed, and even though they are meant as "payment", Jon's acknowledgement of this significant gesture is reflected in his returning them. In fact, you could argue that his return of them is his "countergift" to Tormund, as well as the cementing of loyalty and trust between the two of them.

“The Braavosi will melt these down for the gold. That seems a shame. Perhaps you ought to keep them.” – ADWD, Jon XI

So, this little moment really plays on the dynamic between chieftain and retainer in a very interesting way. Indeed, we sort of see Jon take on the role of gift-giver himself, as he returns that same honour and respect to Tormund. Whereas Winroth describes the asymmetry of the interchange between chieftain and retainer, for Tormund and Jon there is symmetry, there is mutual standing; they are equals.

This is just such a beautiful, yet subtle, cultural exchange that is actually so meaningful. It really highlights Jon's strength of character and his respect and understanding of the Free Folk culture:

Tormund Giantsbane had worn them as long as Jon had known him; they had seemed as much a part of him as his beard. – ADWD, Jon XI

He understands how intrinsic this item of dress is to the Free Folk and to Tormund especially, how emotionally weighted they are, which is why he does not want to see them destroyed and diminished by being melted down for their gold. This stands in almost direct contrast to how Dany views the Meereenese tokar:

Dany had wanted to ban the tokar when she took Meereen, but her advisors had convinced her otherwise. "The Mother of Dragons must don the tokar or be forever hated," warned the Green Grace, Galazza Galare. "In the wools of Westeros or a gown of Myrish lace, Your Radiance shall forever remain a stranger amongst us, a grotesque outlander, a barbarian conqueror. Meereen's queen must be a lady of Old Ghis." Brown Ben Plumm, the captain of the Second Sons, had put it more succinctly. "Man wants to be the king o' the rabbits, he best wear a pair o' floppy ears." – ADWD, Daenerys I

Though to give Dany her due, the tokar is a far more restrictive and difficult item of dress to wear than a Free Folk armband, and Jon is also not being given Tormund's to wear precisely. Nevertheless, she fails to truly acknowledge the symbolism and cultural importance of the tokar. It is actually quite an offensive act to want to ban them, simply because you do not appreciate them aesthetically. It is a good thing that she takes on the advice of others and does wear it, but it is a concession on her part, not really anything deeper than that. It also doesn't exactly help things that the tokar continues to be referred to as the "floppy ears" by Dany from then on. It shows a lack of respect.

Jon continues his exchange with Tormund by not just showing respect to his culture, but by also sympathising with the loss of his two sons: Dormund and Torwynd. This moment between them was already bestowed with emotional meaning through the offer and return of the armbands. That could have been the end of it, yet Jon extends his understanding further to comfort a grieving father.

^ There you have it, just some stuff I found especially interesting in that interaction between Jon and Tormund — how it evokes a period of history and culture that I'm quite familiar with, as well as how it contrasts to Dany's own cultural confrontations in Meereen.

[bm-ancient-art]

Penannular Earring or Hair Ring, Brooklyn Museum: Egyptian, Classical, Ancient Near Eastern Art

Size: 09.889.839.1: Diam. 1/4 × 11/16 in. (0.7 × 1.7 cm) 09.889.839.2: Diam. 3/16 × 1/2 in. (0.4 × 1.3 cm) 09.889.839.3: Diam. 1/4 × 13/16 in. (0.7 × 2 cm) 09.889.839.4: Diam. 3/16 × 9/16 in. (0.5 × 1.4 cm) 09.889.839.5: Diam. 5/16 × 9/16 in. (0.8 × 1.4 cm) 09.889.839.6: Diam. 3/16 × 1/2 in. (0.4 × 1.3 cm) 09.889.839.7: Diam. 1/4 × 11/16 in. (0.6 × Medium: Carnelian

https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/224400

[romioneficfest]

Penannular

Title: Penannular Prompt: Day 7: Anything Goes Tumblr name: Rating: M Brief Summary: Ron gets an owl on a Sunday after brunch at the Burrow and realizes that some things have to change in short order. Content Warnings: financial insecurities, Locket remnants, harsh language, Smutty stuff, dealing with Director Robards

'Hermione,' Ron spoke clearly while summoning his Patronus, sending the scampering dog up the stairs to the first-floor room that served as Hermione’s office at Grimmauld Place, 'I need you to come downstairs to the kitchen,' he finished what he was saying and just now had to wait, holding the foot-long parchment in his hands, the official Ministry of Magic seal embossed at the top.

His hands hadn’t stopped shaking the last ten minutes that the owl had brought it to their home.

Hermione came down the stairs, holding the bent walnut wand she loathed, pointing it at him. 'Everything ok?'

'Yeah, you can lower the wand.'

She lifted it higher, pointing it at his nose.

'Fine. Last time we shagged it was on the bath mat in our bathroom, upstairs, yesterday morning after I got off of work.'

She dropped the wand and stowed it in the pocket of her housecoat. 'Something wrong?' she inquired.

'Yeah, no, maybe, I dunno.' He handed over the parchment to her, letting her read the two feet of parchment that arrived a little while ago. She scanned it, her eyes going wide like a house-elf before starting at the top and reading again. 

She looked up, tears in her eyes. 'This is brilliant,' she smiled. 'Your Mum needs to know about this straightaway.'

Ron pulled the parchment back, looking bright red. 'Why does she need to know right now?' He asked as he rubbed the back of his neck. 'Can’t she find out later?'

Hermione’s face fell. 'Something wrong, Ron?'

He sat down on the bench at the table, sighing dramatically. Hermione waited, learning that Ron needed time to work through what he wanted to say before he could sort things for her. He finally looked up, looking a bit boggled. 'Hermione, even with the money I’ve saved up working for George I can’t afford that,' he deflated, looking forlorn. 'It’s not like I can afford the alternative either, mind you.'

'I’m sure that – '

'No! I’m not asking him. He does so much for us already. I’m not asking anyone for any help.' He huffed before his face fell again. 'I’ll ask if I can pull extra shifts at the Ministry and with George to afford it,' he looked at the parchment again, 'but it’s so expensive.'

'I don’t understand, Ron. They aren’t asking you to buy it,' she reached for his hand and took his larger one in both of her own. 'It’s something they are bestowing onto you, for you to wear to work. It’s an honour that you are getting this. They aren’t making you pay for it.'

 'Lemme see that again,' he took the parchment from her hands and scanned it again. 'Oh,' he pointed out the phrase in particular. 'That’s what it means. I thought it meant I had to have it made myself, not that they weren’t giving it to me.'

'No, dear, you don’t have to pay for it.' She snuggled up even closer, fiddling with the tie he had worn to Sunday brunch at the Burrow. 'It’s nice that you will get to wear that on your work cloak. Maybe we should get you a new one? You’ve had the other one for so long it looks tiny on you.'

'Don’t play,' Ron took her hands and stilled them on his rumpled dress shirt. 'You spend too much money on me making me look presentable. If we get a new work cloak that is ridiculous the guys’ll take the piss if I show up looking like Lockhart fresh from a photoshoot. You already got me those wicked work boots that cost, what, 22 galleons. That’s so much money. A cloak will easily run that if not more.'

'You’re worth it and you won’t look like Lockhart,' she tossed aside the parchment to gaze at him, watching his ears turn red and the blush growing across his face, 'because you’re much more fanciable than he is so maybe spending a few galleons on a new cloak wouldn’t be a bad idea, not if you are to look sharp for the office now.'

'You think so?'

Hermione pulled her hands from his and went to the tie, loosening it even further. She took his hands back in hers, along with her wand, and Apparated them upstairs to the bedroom. Once settled, she loosened the tie and tossed it behind her.  'How can I convince you?'

Ron waggled his eyebrows before breaking out in a crooked grin. She rolled her eyes before starting with the top button of his dress shirt, working her way down. Ron kept his hands at his sides while Hermione unbuttoned his dress shirt before running her nails up and down the vest he wore under the shirt. He watched as she slowly undressed him, even going so far as to remove his socks. The lascivious grin from her, while she was on her knees in front of him as he stepped out of his pants, would always fuel his Patronus.

She left him standing in his skin, broken out in gooseflesh at her delicate touch.

One small push and he landed on their bed, ogling as she stood there disrobing. 'See that?' She pointed to the obvious. 'That is for me,' Hermione watched him get comfortable on top of the bedclothes before crawling on the bed and settling onto his lap. 'You’ll cross paths of many people every day while on the job. You’ll need them to respect you. You do that by seeing you looking sharp, professional, and those who don’t know, which will be a rare few,' she settled in and sighed dramatically, earning a groan from Ron, 'should spot that new item on your cloak and realize that you mean business.'  

His hands landed on her ample hips, holding them firm. 'It’s my job so of course I mean business.'

Hermione closed her eyes. 'I know that. You know that. I want everyone who crosses your path to see it and know they can’t fuck with you. Only I get to fuck you,’ she put her hands on his chest and all relevant, coherent conversation faded away for a good long while.

Sometime later, Ron kissed the top of Hermione’s head enjoying the soft snores that she adamantly denied happening, and appreciated that she was right on this, about the changes about to happen to him professionally.  While she might not think that a new cloak for work was an extravagant purchase, a little niggling voice inside his head kept saying, ‘You aren’t worth new robes.’

His experience with the Aurors made it quite easy to tell the nasty little voice to shut the fuck up.

Ron pushed open the doors to the Auror department of MLES for the start of his shift Sunday at half seven. Harry was already there, his ruck down at his feet. 'Wow, new cloak?'

'Yeah,' Ron rubbed the back of his neck, trying to hide the embarrassment of owning something new. 'Hermione thought I might look more professional with it over my usual work robes.'

'Is that Weasley I hear?' A gruff voice boomed over the department. ‘Bring your arse in here and bring Potter with you too.'

'Sir,' Ron sighed before taking the 35 steps to trudge to Director Robards’ office.  He heard Harry following him to Robards office. Considering they just arrived, they couldn’t have cocked up anything that fast.

They went in and stopped in front of Robards desk. He looked up, taking a pipe in his mouth and a stack of parchment in front of him. He looked Ron up and down and a frighteningly rare smile broke on his face. 'Nice cloak,' Robards said. 'Your new wand penannular brooch looks mighty fine on your cloak. The cloak is new, isn’t it?'

'Yes, sir, it is. I was informed I needed to look sharp on my first day as a licensed full-fledged Auror.'

'Well, she was right. Now let me get tonight’s duty roster and information for you.'

Harry leaned forward to see what looked like a brooch on Ron’s new cloak, holding it together while leaving his wand arm free. He smiled. 'You know,' Harry leaned close to whisper as to not disturb Robards, 'Most Aurors get a brass cloak pin. And the ones who earned an Order of Merlin get them in gold. Yours is silver with a purple wand. Why?'

'Griphook, courtesy of Bill. That odd little goblin said since we kept our end of the bargain, he would bestow this gift for me, subject to the standard goblin ownership laws.'

'Brilliant.' Harry pulled his out from inside his cloak and with his wand magically fastened it to his cloak, matching Ron. 'I said I wouldn’t wear mine until you did.'

Ron smiled. His best mate knew how to make a brother feel loved and appreciated. 

'If you two prats are done swapping pleasantries, we have work to do.'

[justawordwright]

hm, think I’m happy with the roughs for viking!Lyf’s outfits. Even if it needed three versions! A lot of fun given he’s New Midguardian, and I don’t have to worry about pesky details like not mixing and matching items which are either very geographic or temporally specific.  There’s some explanations of what everything is in the image description under the cut (its gonna be long...)

Now the tricky bits of drawing heads/hands/feet! And colouring!

Image ID: Three line art costume designs for a viking inspired Lyfrassir Edda.

First: Figure wearing a Kieven Rus inspired kaftan. This is a collared thigh length coat with toggle closure and appliqued, geometric patterned byzantine silk over the torso in a large rectangle, and a circle on the outer shoulders. The same silk is on the standing ‘grandfather’ collar, and there is a band around each cuff. Over the kaftan is an eastern style Viking belt, wrapped twice around the torso and covered in square brass plates with a stamped design, The belt end hangs loose, with a rectangular strap end. His trousers are mid-calf length and flare out, like bell bottoms. Underneath, his legs are bare. As a hat, he has a version of the Dublin cap. This is a coif-like hat, with a pointed top corner, the ear flaps are folded back, making it look like a traditional Dutch bonnet.

Second: Figure wearing a Viborg shirt and Viking baggy trousers. The Viborg shirt is a formfitting t-tunic with split sides that overlap at the front. It has a decorative stitching pattern across the front, a pair of lines along the shoulder/hip diagonals with a central square. It has a square neck hole and offset neck slit. The trousers are baggy, and gathered at the knee to form a harem pant like silhouette. On the lower legs are leg wraps or puttees. The belt is plain, with a figure of eight shaped strap end. The hat is conical and has a conical fitting at the point.

Third: Figure in wrap-coat and cloak. The wrap coat comes to mid thigh and is similar in style to a short dressing gown. It is edged in fur, and pinned at the bottom corner with a long pin with a disc head. There is a plain belt over the coat with a pointed strap end. The cloak is fringed along its bottom edge, and is pinned at the left shoulder with a Hiberno-Norse thistle broach. This is a penannular broach with a long pin which attaches to the ring with a large sphere shaped like a thistle head. The trousers are loose but not baggy, and are covered by leg wraps below the knee. He has an Aalsom hat, which is a cylindrical hat which extends down lower over the back of the head.

[nowoolallowed]

Penannular Earring - Met Museum Collection

Inventory Number: 17.6.105 New Kingdom, Dynasty 18 ca. 1550–1295 B.C. Location Information: From Egypt; Probably from Northern Upper Egypt, Deir el-Ballas

[bm-ancient-art]

Penannular Earring, ca. 1539-1190 B.C.E., Brooklyn Museum: Egyptian, Classical, Ancient Near Eastern Art

Size: 1/4 × Diam. 1/2 in. (0.6 × 1.2 cm) Medium: Red jasper

https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/118468

[nowoolallowed]

Beaded Penannular Earring - Met Museum Collection

Inventory Number: 26.7.1356 New Kingdom, Dynasty 18, ca. 1550–1425 B.C. Location Information: From Egypt, Upper Egypt, Thebes, Dra Abu el-Naga, Mandara, Carnarvon/Carter excavations, 1914

[the-met-art]

Beaded Penannular Earring, Egyptian Art

Medium: Gold, lapis-lazuli

Purchase, Edward S. Harkness Gift, 1926 Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY

http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/548526

[ancientegyptianjewellery]

أقراط ذهبية: تتكون من أربعة أطواق شبه مربعة ملحومة معًا ، ويوجد طوقان داخليان بهما فجوة أصغر مما يشكل لسانًا لاختراق ثقب في شحمة الأذن @egyptian_museum_revival seum Gold earrings: consisting of four penannular hoops soldered together, the two inner hoops having a smaller gap so forming a tongue for penetrating a hole in the ear-lobe. #Repost @ancientegyptianjewellery #ancientegypt #kemet #pharaoh #gods#ancient #history #egypt #egyptology#archeology #civilization#ancientcivilization #pyramid #anubis#knowledge #gold #tomb #africa #osiris#hathor #follow #blog #ptah #Nut#myegypt #iloveegypt #pharaoh #followme#tomb #nilevalley #horus🌞🌹😄 (at Egyptian Museum) https://www.instagram.com/p/CA9oM6WhJPK/?igshid=4zl008kabg8y

[gobrandrootweb]

Identification of Finds • Re: Gold penannular ring (?)

Well done. It's tiny. Much smaller than a 5p which is 18 mm. Has some similarities to the ones here http://www.colchestertreasurehunting.co.uk/rings.html But I could be way off Modern cartilage hoop earrings also have the same profile. I would have thought modern due to the sharp ends ???

Statistics: Posted by Koala — Mon Apr 02, 2018 2:27 am

Identification of Finds • Re: Gold penannular ring (?) published first on https://pickmymetaldetector.tumblr.com/

[aburycollection-blog]

ABURY meets Maha Alouani

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1) Start by tagging yourself with three words.

Inquisitive, clumsy, optimistic

2) We believe that “hands tell stories“. What do your hands tell about you?

That I’m obsessed with old Moroccan silver rings… and hand cream!

3) What is the last thing you created with your hands?

I am actually in the process of curating a small gallery of Moroccan antiques. When I got to the stage where I had to select the smaller pieces (silver jewelry and accessories), I noticed that some earrings and fibulae were missing some hooks. I spent the afternoon fixing and mending these. Now they’re good to go!

4) If you could choose, what would you like to be able to do with your hands?

Imagine receiving a bank of information on every item you touch. Some might consider this sensory overload, but what if by the mere touch you could delve into that item’s past, and receive vivid images of it being crafted by the artisan? What if you could momentarily live in each item’s phase; you could smell its environment and momentarily live in the time period in which it was made. It would feel like every time you touched something, you would teleport to its place of birth. How enriching, and what a fulfilling way to learn!

5) “One of a mind” underlines our strong belief in equality and the value of sharing. How does intercultural exchange benefit our global society in your eyes?

I believe there’s everything to gain through cultural interchange! Think of the jubilation you feel when you learn a new bit of information, on any given topic. There is so much to learn from one another, especially if we are from different walks of life.

I spend a lot of time researching historical imprints of commonality in different populations, especially through my study of motifs and their presence in textiles. The lozenge motif is ubiquitous across the continents. Found both in the Vikings caves in Denmark and in Berber rugs of Morocco, for example, the lozenge shape in both cultures represents the woman’s body.

Another example is in the similarity of the penannular Celtic fibula and the Berber fibula, used to hold the outfit in place and was x a quintessential element in once upon a time’s traditional woman’s outfit.

It’s a popular belief that we have more in common than we are different, and this is something we can learn through ethnology.

6) You were born in Morocco but lived abroad for a while. What would you say differentiates Morocco from other countries? What does Morocco have that no other culture has?

I could not honestly say since I cannot draw comparisons from things I do not yet know about. With over a hundred tribes in Morocco (each with their respective cultures), I believe it’s difficult to assume a uniform ‘Moroccan culture’. Needless to say that I’m not yet familiar with all of Morocco’s diverse cultures, let alone those of other countries!

7) Talking about other senses – how would you describe the “Tastes of Morocco” and what is your favourite?

A popular Moroccan dish is called ‘terda’. The basic ingredients are bread, fava beans, lentils, tomato, and onion. The idea behind it is to make a dish with the week’s leftovers, to be shared with family and friends. It’s very resourceful without compromising on that world-famous Moroccan flavoursome taste. I consider ‘terda’ to be reflective of the Moroccan way of life—making something great out of basic elements. Resourcefulness and sharing are values that are very much entrenched in the population’s way of life, from re-using old clothes as mops to weaving spectacular ‘boucherouite’ rugs (known as rag-rugs) from recycled fabric.

8) You are managing the Heritage Museum in Marrakech. In what way can the Moroccan heritage inspire other cultures to ‘ co-exist’ in peace?

Morocco as-we-know-it is a product of diversity, and this is something I’m learning from studying handmade artifacts of Morocco at the Heritage Museum Marrakech.

Having been part of the Silk Road which revolutionized trade relations worldwide, overlooking the Atlantic and Mediterranean Seas and sitting in Africa, Morocco was predisposed to becoming a crossroads for many cultures. This is something we can study through the country’s diverse craftwork. For example, we can see some uncanny similarities in embroidery from the city of Fès and that of Romania and Croatia. A closer look into the trajectory of embroidery would reveal that Andalusian embroidery came to Morocco in the fifteenth century from exiled Balkan embroiderers who passed on this craft to young aristocratic girls of northern Morocco.

Perhaps some lessons which we can draw from concrete examples of mutual influence (as seen in embroidery) is that we have much more in common than we might think ifwe would only take the time to look closer. Itis from plurality that beauty stems. The Fès embroidery has become iconic in today’s fashion industry, and we have the exiled Balkan embroiderers who settled in Morocco to thank for that.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]

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ABURY meets Maha Alouani was originally published on One of a Mind by ABURY

[bm-ancient-art]

Penannular Earring or Hair Ring, Brooklyn Museum: Egyptian, Classical, Ancient Near Eastern Art

Size: 09.889.839.1: Diam. 1/4 × 11/16 in. (0.7 × 1.7 cm) 09.889.839.2: Diam. 3/16 × 1/2 in. (0.4 × 1.3 cm) 09.889.839.3: Diam. 1/4 × 13/16 in. (0.7 × 2 cm) 09.889.839.4: Diam. 3/16 × 9/16 in. (0.5 × 1.4 cm) 09.889.839.5: Diam. 5/16 × 9/16 in. (0.8 × 1.4 cm) 09.889.839.6: Diam. 3/16 × 1/2 in. (0.4 × 1.3 cm) 09.889.839.7: Diam. 1/4 × 11/16 in. (0.6 × Medium: Carnelian

https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/224406