#pewter goblet

[yourcoffeeguru]

PEWTER MASONIC LODGE Free Masons Australia Embossed Ceremonial Cup Vintage || swtradepost || eBay

[the-merry-otter]

I have four SCA cups yes, but what about fifth SCA cup?

[vesselforsale]

VINTAGE LIBBERY CELESTIAL PEWTER STEMMED GOBLET | LISTING 

[arinewman7]

Still life with flowers, a Silver Gilt Goblet, Dried Fruits, Sweetmeats, Bread Sticks, wine and a Pewter Flagon

Clara Peeters

Oil on panel, 1611

[asgardian-angel]

My baby contribution to this: you know those gross tomatoes? I mean, who eats tomatoes like that?! WELL those shots are very deliberate on Peter Jackson's part. You see, tomatoes react Very Badly with pewter. They will cause lead poisoning.

Like the pewter plate Denethor is eating his tomatoes from. The poison plate for Denethor. Denethor's poison pewter.

This whole scene is an elaborate showcase to demonstrate just how far gone and insane this guy is!

...the palantir direct-dial-to-Sauron might have something to do with it too...

I don’t think any movie will make me feel the same ethereal sense of otherworldly sorrow and disembodied awe as that scene in Lord of the Rings where the loyal son is sent off into a doomed battle to please his vindictive father while Pippin sings a mourning song of his people

I was like 12 and high off this shit

[comfortless]

Syl, my lovely, please. I need to see this vision come to life through your words. Would König take his darling to the Ren Faire?🌷

VANI!!! my angel!! of course he would… König is a just a hapless knight at heart & it gives him an excuse to treat you like an actual princess! 🗡💕 i can not promise you that he will not force you to sit in his lap and play skyrim or something when you get home though…! /:

“Danke for agreeing to come,” he whispers to you once you’re out in the sprawling field, an abundance of colorful tents, partitions and others in similar dress surrounding the two of you.

It’s a lot to take in, as though you’ve been whisked away to a separate world entirely; the air smells faintly of fresh food, a bard strums a lute somewhere out in the distance, and… was that supposed to be a dragon’s roar?

König dons a veil of tightly woven chainmail, only a glimpse of his jaw visible, lined with prickly stubble. The rest of his armor leaves little glimpses of him, his thick wrist between cuff and glove, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he curls his arm around you protectively. If it were possible, he seems even larger wearing the plates of armor, far more imposing like this.

Tucked at his side, stands you in your linen bliaut, a soft woolen cloak dyed a royal blue thrown over your shoulders; a stark contrast from the shimmering and hardened armor of the knight guiding each of your steps with his arm around your waist.

König has to look at everything— marveling at the handmade objects and shiny, smithed weapons in each booth.

When you give him a quizzical glance as he ghosts his gloved fingertips over the angular blade of an exceptionally smart spear, he pauses his frantic admiration for a time to explain to you that it reminds him of one he read about once— like Odin’s Gungnir, fierce and proud. Even you take a moment to admire its craftsmanship, to which the pale blue of his eyes seems to light up; he makes the purchase without a second thought.

You find yourself enjoying the atmosphere, especially with that ever-present grin on König’s face; he’s in his element surrounded by fantasies drawn from history. It’s a nice change, seeing him so filled up with whimsy as he whisks you from tent to tent, buying you anything that catches your eye, taking your picture any chance that he gets.

You humor him, lifting your skirts a little when you pass between two of the fabric structures, hidden away from the eyes of any other grinning merchants, pretty ladies, and bellowing bards.

Seated in his lap he tells you of holy grails and swordplay tactics while feeding you from a dish on a wooden countertop, a pastry stuffed full with apple.

You only think to offer a complaint once you note the three now emptied pewter goblets of mead in front of him as König proclaims he wants to act out a proper sword fight with one of the others donning armor in the small, hastily fenced in area serving as a knight’s training yard.

(It was certainly a coincidence that the one he chose to spar with happened to be the very same man who offered you a friendly wave in passing.)

He makes a display of his swordsmanship, swift knocks and parries that leave your eyes wide as you clasp your hands over your mouth; even a prise de fer as you dig your nails into the wood of the shoddy fence. You’ve never seen him so swift, so brutal, as when he finally knocks his opponent into the dust, the sharpened edge of his blade pointed downward. Had this not all been pretend, you could imagine the bloodshed that would have occurred here.

Thankfully, König backs off, dips his head in a begrudging bow to his opponent before wandering back to you.

Your hand is pried from the fence, a kiss placed upon every knuckle as you praise his talents. He smirks, proud, and whispers to you something about how he had to show off for his lady. Even has the audacity to tell you that he would kill for you, and you knew very well it was not said entirely in jest.

When the sun finally dims and lanterns are lit, bathing the green below your boots in a soft, tangerine glow, you find yourself helping to loosen the straps of König’s armor. Poor thing had not thought to wear a proper shirt beneath, or.. perhaps, that was intentional. The sweat glistens off of him when you’ve tossed his dark top and curved metal into a heap, the curls of his chest hair sticking to pale flesh.

You rove your hand over him to dull the ache of those straps digging into his shoulders. He groans, contented as he pulls you up to your feet, leaning down just enough to kiss you, to desperately grope at your hips, your rear, before the strumming of a lute and the cheers and giggles accompanied by dancing fills your ears.

Attentions turned, you find yourself curling your hand into his, tugging him towards the feathery songs and shuffling of feet.

“We should dance,” you suggest, all giggles when you tilt your head to offer a pleading glance to him over your shoulder.

“Anything for you, meine prinzessin.”

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S3 Promo/Teaser: Freaking Out - Lestat & Daniel are Unhinged

As usual, Imma try to go frame by frame thru AMC's IWTV S3 promo, but I was laughing so hard I had one hand slapped over my forehead trying not to pass out and die--WHAT am I looking at in the year of our lord 2024!? 🫣 AMC is so goated for doing this!

Daniel oughta be sued for this alone--he should've tracked down Damek if he just needed a random blonde white guy if Lestat refused to show up! XD STUNT QUEENS!

Mark Johnson: "I think he's entertaining someone?" Daniel: "Do we have insurance for homicide?"

Yeah, YOURS! 😂

And they got the gallon of blood in a pewter goblet, WHY? XD That don't even look warm! 😭

Daniel: "That HIM. Jesus Christ, look at him!"

By the tone of his voice I can't tell if Daniel was creaming himself or pissing himself, or both. 😝

LESTAT IS WEARING CLAUDIA'S YELLOW COLOR I AM UNWELL NOBODY TOUCH ME 😭💔

Mark Johnson: Mr. Lioncourt, hi, Mark Johnson, I'm the executive producer. We talked on the phone a couple of times; we're really excited about the-- Lestat: I don't remember you. Mark Johnson: --documentary.... Ok.

GOD. 🤣🤦

Sam's midriff, I can't; Carol Cutshall, Imma send you my therapy bills.

Get this coked out queen off my dang screen. 🤣🤦

Not the blood-red choker where Louis slit his throat-- He wears blood like jewels, y'all! XD You can't talk about Louis now, hypocrite! 😝

Christine Claire: You have 45 minutes and he's gone. Daniel: Who the f**k are you? Staff: This is Christine Claire, Mr Lioncourt's lawyer.

REALLY, Les? Really?

Staff: Hair and makeup, now-- Lestat: Do I look like I need you? 💅💎

💀👻 This diva bish.

Lestat: There's a goblet on the table. 🧿👄🧿🔪 Daniel: You don't like the goblet? Can we get rid of the goblet, please, thank you~!

The way Lestat death-stares the poor sound-man just for being dehydrated, omg.

"Armand told the truth" tattoo--are y'all effing kidding me? 🤣 Daniel Molloy and cinematographer Jesse M. Feldman; you've got a mole in your studio!

Lestat is PIIIIIISSSED! 🤣At long last, the meme has been realized!

Daniel: I see you have my book there, what do you think--*choking*

Oml, Lestat's finna kill Daniel by the end of this interview! 😭 I am DYING of laughter, y'all.

"I am The Vampire Lestat. I'm immortal...more or less. The light of the sun...the sustained heat of an intense fire.... These things might destroy me. But then again...they might not.

Sam, you WERK, bish!

His vocals on the song snippet sound REALLY good! While I'm bummed we won't get that Nu Metal sound from the QotD movie, I'm glad they're going with Euro-sounding Glam Rock for AMC!Lestat!

Nice nod to Count Dracula's ah-ah-ah laugh! XD

They just CANNOT decide which contacts to give this man, it's hilarious at this point.

What on earth is he doing? XD

God, he's killed someone on set. XD

Louis finna show up at the studio with the divorce papers this time. XD

Nope, that face won't save you now! XD

Lestat once Daniel's done tearing his dignity to shreds.

He's cracked, your honor.

This promo was SO much fun, omg, I haven't laughed like that in a hot minute; thank you AMC! ❤️

[cambion-companion]

aemond falling in love with a musically gifted woman and every time they’re getting ready to sleep he asks her to sing to him 🥺 this thought JUST popped up in my head. like imagine he hears her before he sees her. like she’s singing for some event or something but aemond gets there too late and only sees the back of her head. it could be a whole thing where he’s trying to find her because her voice intrigued him that much.

Beneath the Mistletoe

This fic took ME on a ride

I have been waiting to do this one for too long and I made it Yule-themed as well...reader introduces Aemond to some winter traditions hehe

Aemond x fem!reader | Aemond reluctant to take part in festivities | harpist!reader | cheeky banter | mistletoe kiss

You fingers plucked the strings of your harp, constructed of the finest walnut wood, filling the dining hall with lovely music as you accompanied the other musicians. Your keen eyes swept the dance floor, taking note of all the noble lords and ladies swirling about, strung to the music you were creating.

All were dancing and making merry, save one obvious exception.

Aemond Targaryen. The silver-haired enigma. The young man who had all the ladies gossiping and giggling as they whispered behind hands, surreptitiously glancing at the rigid form of the prince.

As if he felt your gaze upon him, while he sat at the long table, his eye flicked to meet yours. Neither of you broke eye contact, you watched as he studied you and the instrument you played. A pleasant shiver prickled the back of your neck, he seemed interested in you. A small smile tugged at his lovely lips, curved and plush as they were. You longed to run your fingers along the shape of them.

Your fingers stumbled, you lost the beat of the music and faltered.

"Come on now, Y/N." The fiddler beside you chided. "Keep up! Don't let pretty princes distract you."

You mumbled a curse at him, steadying your fingers upon the harp strings once again and reentering the melody. You shot a quick glance back at the table, Aemond was grinning slyly at you now.

Your face burned, and you had to look away before you messed up the song again.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

She was quite a lovely sight, seated before the wooden harp, fingers so dexterous as she conjured music as though it was magic.

Aemond was loathe to admit it, but he was entranced at the sight. The harp perched between your legs, a rather intimate instrument he mused.

With long fingers grasping his pewter goblet, Aemond raised his cup to his lips, pretending to drink the wine therein, still observing you over the rim.

"See something interesting, brother?" Aegon prodded his shoulder, rousing Aemond unpleasantly from his contemplation of your form.

"Is there no one else for you to bother?" He cast an annoyed look at the elder prince, appraising his unkempt state. "Did mother not instruct you to wash before the Yuletide feast?"

"I'm presentable enough." Aegon defended, tucking a greasy strand of silver hair behind his ear.

"You look like an urchin."

"You have the look of a man who sees a woman he likes." Aegon wiggled his eyebrows at Aemond, his cheeks ruddy from all the wine he'd consumed. "Go talk to her."

"She's busy at the moment." Aemond actually took a sip of wine this time, almost choking as Aegon clapped him hard upon the back.

"I'll be right back, don't go anywhere."

"What are you-?" Aemond's eye narrowed as he watched Aegon cross the dance floor, almost getting clotheslined by a waltzing couple as he did. "Oh no." He murmured, rising to stand, bemusement and bewilderment furrowing his brow.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

"Excuse me. Harp lady. Stop playing a moment." You looked around, your hands stilling upon the vibrating strings. The last person you expected to be speaking to you was Aegon Targaryen, the eldest son of Viserys and Alicent. Yet here he was, his cheeks red from the influence of wine as he grinned down at where you sat. "My brother would like a word."

"I'm sorry my prince." You bowed your head. "I have been commissioned to play for the royal feast."

Aegon was having none of it. You made a disgruntled noise as he took you by your elbow, guiding you ungently to your feet. You steadied your instrument as it teetered, jostled by the abruptness of your movements as Aegon practically steered you away.

You looked guiltily over your shoulder at your fellow musicians, giving them a little wave of apology as you were dragged toward the long dining table.

Aemond stood as Aegon approached, his hand still gripping your arm.

"Let her go, Aegon." Aemond's voice was terse but still held a quality that made your skin tingle pleasantly.

"Talk about a first-class delivery." Aegon chortled, smacking you between your shoulder blades, making you stumble slightly forward.

You noted how Aemond raised his hands as if prepared to catch you should you need assistance. Luckily for you, Aegon wasn't that rough.

"I'm not a Yuletide package." You grumbled, straightening your skirts and giving Aegon a displeased glare before curtsying to Aemond.

"Indeed not!" Aegon agreed, crossing to pour himself another generous glass of wine. "Aemond here is the one with the package for you."

"That is quite enough." Aemond hissed, his jaw clenching as his lilac eye cut from you to his brother. "My lady." He gave you a curt bow and held out his arm for you to take. "Allow me to escort you elsewhere, the better to escape my inebriated brother."

"You can thank me later, Aemond!" Aegon called after the two of you as Aemond guided you away.

You had to remind yourself how to breath properly, the feel of Aemond's leather jerkin smooth beneath your fingertips as you entwined your arm with his. He smelled lovely, a combination of smoke, leather and spiced wine.

"I do apologize." Aemond intoned, inclining his head toward you as he spoke softly. "I do not even know your name."

"Y/N." You answered, your voice almost catching in your tightened throat.

"Y/N." He repeated, your name sounding sinfully good on his lips. "My brother gets certain...ideas in his head and will not be dissuaded once his course is set."

"What idea inspired him to lead me to you?" You asked, a mischievous spark lighting in your chest. "My prince." You remembered your manners at the last second.

"Please, call me Aemond." The two of you stepped together out onto a moonlit terrace, complete with rosebushes and archways covered in vines.

The night air was brisk, you subconsciously pulled Aemond's warm body closer to your own. You noted how he had not answered your question. "Aemond, then. I noticed you didn't seem a fan of the festivities."

"I enjoy feasts well enough."

"But not dancing?"

"No, not dancing."

You stood at the railing now, under a mossy archway, overlooking the red roofs of King's Landing, now bathed in silver light under the night sky. The waves of the sea far away sparkled merrily, catching your eyes momentarily before you turned to face the silver prince.

"What do you like, then?"

Aemond clasped his hands behind his back, his profile sharply illuminated by the moonlight. His eye flicked to your face, he was very close to you, closer than you had ever imagined you would be to a prince let alone a Targaryen.

"I enjoy reading. Swordplay..." He hesitated, turning away from the urban vista to give you his full attention.

You arched an eyebrow, a small smile playing along your lips. "And?"

"Hmm." He tilted his head at you, shining silken hair falling over his shoulder. "I enjoyed watching you play your harp." His eye widened slightly, as he straightened, catching himself leaning closer to your enticing smile. "That is to say, I enjoyed the music you were making."

"I'm surprised you heard it." You leaned an arm on the balcony railing afraid your knees were about to give out. "Harps are notoriously hard to hear in a setting such as a feast."

"I heard you." Aemond was still studying your face, seeming to like the little changes in expression he saw as your lips quirked up, your eyes crinkling at the corners, the scrunch of your nose. "You are quite skilled. Perhaps you would play for me sometime?"

"So long as Aegon isn't there."

Aemond chuckled at that. You wanted him to laugh again, it was a sound that sent shockwaves straight to your center.

"You're biting your lip, Y/N." Aemond's eye had found your mouth, lingering upon your lips as you wet them with your tongue.

"I just noticed something." You pointed to the space above your heads, a strand of foliage hung from the apex of the archway, white berries nestled amongst sprigs of green.

"What is that?" Aemond asked, looking up to where you pointed.

"You don't know what mistletoe is?" You looked aghast, pressing a dramatic hand to your heart. "It's a Yuletide tradition."

"I believe we've established I don't give much credence to festive traditions, Y/N." He seemed to like saying your name, waiting for you to explain what it was.

"When two people stand under a bundle of mistletoe they have to..." You trailed off, your boldness turning to sudden shyness as you realized what you were about to say and who you were speaking to.

"They...what?" Aemond prompted, looking again at the plant, sudden wariness upon his features.

"Kiss."

Aemond looked at you in surprise. "I'm sorry?" He chuckled. "That's a tradition? You're having me on."

"I promise you I'm not!" You blushed furiously.

Aemond seemed to be enjoying making you squirm. "You're making this up."

"I am not!"

"A clever scheme."

"I will bet you money that it's true." You felt lightheaded from the embarrassment. "Ask anyone inside."

"Kiss me then."

"I am not lying-what?" You must have misheard, you had to fight not to gawk up at the prince as he looked imperiously down at you.

"Since you're so adamant this mistroe forces two people to kiss..."

"Mistletoe." You corrected quickly.

"Then make good on your claim." He leaned into your space; you felt his breath upon your face. "Or else I suppose we will be stuck here for eternity, held captive by this plant."

"Aemond, we don't have to..." Your words caught in your suddenly dry mouth as Aemond hooked a slender finger beneath your chin, pulling you gently forward.

"I want to." He breathed, waiting for you to close the final distance separating you.

Your eyes roved across his angular features, his lilac eye turned silver in the moonlight, the leather eyepatch covering his other eye, a vertical scar running up his forehead and down his cheek. Your gaze fell to his lips, the very lips you had been daydreaming about not an hour earlier.

Your eyelashes fluttered, a sudden rushing sound filling your heated ears as you leaned forward, Aemond's finger on your chin moving trace your cheek as his lips parted.

As if guided by an invisible force your lips brushed against his, a wanton moan escaping your mouth that he captured as he pressed harder against you, pulling you by your waist flush against him.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

You tasted like starlight and mulled wine. Your body warm against his. Aemond could feel the soft well of your bosom flush to his chest, the enticing scent of you filling his lungs as he breathed you in.

Thank the gods for mistlewhatever, his mind was too full of you within his arms for him to think clearly. Aemond drank down your sighs of pleasure as he greedily moved his lips with yours, only pulling away slightly when the both of you needed to catch your breath.

"Did we satisfy the tradition?" He asked, his eye crinkling as he smiled at your eager expression.

Your hair was a little mussed from the intensity of your embrace, Aemond smoothed an unruly tress and tucked it behind your ear.

"I'm tempted to say 'no'." You quipped, finding your voice at last.

"I would like for you to play your harp for me later this evening, before I retire." Aemond kept his hands upon your waist, loathe to let you go. "Perhaps we can revisit this," he reached up, plucking the sprig of mistletoe from where it hung. "later." He pocketed the plant, relishing the way your cheeks flushed pink as your lovely intelligent eyes followed his movements.

"Where should I find you, my prin-Aemond?"

Aemond let his hands fall away from you at last, only to clasp your hand formally and press a warm kiss to your knuckles. He lingered there, enjoying the feel of your soft skin on his lips. He had to suppress the urge to flick his tongue out to taste you.

"The sitting room adjacent to the library. I will find you there after the festivities adjourn."

His gaze lingered on your upturned face, softly taking in your lovely expression.

"You're not going to ask me to dance?" You gave a mock pout, drawing his attention back to your enticing lips.

"Oh no, my lady." Aemond chuckled dryly. "Enchanting as you are, I do not indulge in dancing."

"Maybe I can change your mind one of these days."

He gave a pause, feeling the bundle of mistletoe inside his jacket. "I wouldn't rule that out as a possibility." He extended his arm to you. "May I escort you back to the feast?"

You shook your head. "Thank you, no. I need a moment...that is, I would like to enjoy the view a little longer."

Aemond watched as you turned back to the scenic vista of the sprawling city below. He allowed himself a moment of weakness, his eye trailing down along your body, taking in the way your skirt shifted in the light breeze, accentuating the curve of your hips and your full...he needed to depart.

With a final shallow bow Aemond turned briskly upon his booted heel and strode back toward the Yuletide festivities, silently wishing he could get away with remaining at your side for the rest of the evening and perhaps even longer. He had been gone from your presence for mere seconds and already craved you.

Aemond would never admit it out loud, but Aegon had been correct.

Aemond desired you.

And what he desired, he claimed.

[the-apocrypha]

could, would (already do) part 3 of the cottagecore series Hob Gadling/Dream of the Endless || G || 5k || Complete

Alternate Universe - Medieval, Interspecies Relationship(s), Getting Together, Drunken Confessions, Bisexual Disasters At Work, Fae!Dream of the Endless, Hedgewitch!Hob Gadling

In which Dream slightly misjudges the mortal tolerance for faeish mead.

Dream had not thought to bring goblets, to go with the mead. He had assumed—apparently incorrectly—that Hob Gadling would own some sort of respectable drinking vessels, which he would bring out when respectable beverages were on offer. Dream had not expected jewels or gold plating, aware that such fineries were generally reserved for royalty, but at least something… ceramic. Perhaps pewter. 

Instead, his mother’s mead will be drunk from wood. 

Carved wood, which vibrates gently with stories of long winter nights, and Hob’s strong, callused hands working at the grain over and over by the firelight. Runed wood, engraved with strange symbols that Dream cannot read and do not sing any stories at all. But still wood, basest of materials. 

His mother would not like this. 

But then, Dream supposes, there is not much about this entire venture that his mother would like, so the wooden vessels are a small concession in the span of a great many problems. 

Regardless, the rough grain of the cup is pleasing upon his tongue, and the mead is bright enough that one can almost ignore the faint aftertaste of… lumber. 

Read on AO3

[phantoms-lair]

Heist Gone Wrong

Another snip for @era-the-witchy-birdkid's Super!Conan AU

"You caught up fast, Tantei-kun," Kid complimented his current rival. "The longer legs from that growth spurt of your are serving you well." "I can be much faster." Tantei-kun smirked. "I just wanted to give you a fair chance." "Ah, but I still managed to get this." With a flick of his wrist the brilliant-cut jade, rumored to be cursed, appeared in his hands. Tantei-kun paled and dropped to his knees, which Kaito thought was a little dramatic (though he perhaps shouldn't be one to talk.) Then he started sweating and gasping for breath and Kaito wondered if he was really being dramatic or if it was something else.

When one of his favorite detectives collapsed on the floor looking like he was either having some kind of seizure or body-wide muscles spasms any thoughts of dramatics were gone.

Steam seemed to be rising from Tantei-kun's skin and he locked feverish eyes with kid, struggling to say something.

"Gem," he finally managed to gasp out. "Poison."

The gem was poison? That didn't sound right. Kaito glanced over to where it had fallen on to the museum floor. In the shadows it no longer seemed like it was glowing. It absolutely was. Was this a side effect of the supposed curse on it?

Kaito ran the stories about the curse through his mind. It was nothing like what was happening to Tantei-kun. Infertility, balding, stomach sickness to the point of vomiting up blood. And several things clicked together at once.

The glowing gem wasn't magic, wasn't cursed. It was radioactive.

Kaito's eyes scanned the display and there! Pewter drinking goblet from ye olden Europe, that contained lead. He grabbed the cup by the stem and slammed it over the gem.

The result was immediate. Tentei-kun's spasming stopped. He sat up, weakness apparent in his movements (and had his clothes gotten bigger on him? They had. Were those weird spasms Tantei-Kun shrinking?)

Then Tantei-kun's eyes glowed red and a twin beams of light shot form them, sealing the cup shut with the gem inside.

"I'm not taking the blame for that." It was maybe the least important thing about this while mess, but he felt the need to say it.

Tantei-kun looked at him with eyes that had just melted metal and those eyes contained nothing but fear. Right, he was probably never supposed to find out about this. "You're not a normal human, are you?"

The answer was obvious and Tantei-kun hid his head in his too-long sleeves.

"Well, you're far nicer about it than other's I've met."

That got his attention and the little detective's head shot up. "Others?"

"Well, one other. She was perhaps a tad bit homicidal towards me at first. Then she got a bit stalkery. I have to say I much prefer you. I assume that's was the cause of your reaction to the stone?"

"I guess." Tantei-kun shrugged. "It wasn't in any of the records I found, but it's possible they never came in contact with it."

"Would your parents know?"

Tantei-kun shook his head. "I'm adopted. They know what I am but no more than that. And my people were wiped out. I'm the last. So there's no one to ask."

The last of his kind. That was... okay, that was a lot that he wasn't prepared to deal with on what was supposed to be a light low-stakes heist. "Do you want me to call Mouri-san?" "No. Agasa-Hakase, please." Tantei-kun sounded exhausted and out of it.

Kaito gently took Tantei-kun's phone and called the old man with his voice. His task force was likely closer, in the wrong wing, mind. But given what he'd just learned about Tantei-kun any medical aid they could give was likely not what he'd need.

~

Several days later a thick lead box was sent to the police station with several stickers on the openings that said 'Do not open' and an envelope with Kid's logo and the words 'This Box is not a place of honor'

Inside the note read:

My Dear Task Force,

I have once again returned what I have taken, but this time extra precautions were needed. You see, there is truth about this jewel glowing and causing misfortune to those that held it. But it is no mystical work at place. The stone is, to put it bluntly, mildly radioactive. Testing has revealed it shouldn't cause problems with short term exposure, but is absolutely not safe to put on display. Or be handled as casually as it has been. I had to get tested for radiation poisoning and I suggest anyone who handled it in it's current and former locations be tested the same.

Don't worry, I'll check the next target I select with a Geiger counter so this doesn't happen again.

Best Wishes, Kid.

[arisenreborn]

5 Character Associations - Olivia

EMOTIONS/FEELINGS:

Proud determination and defiance. Eschews tradition, sometimes with a childish petulance. (Nevertheless, perhaps hypocritically, loves traditions that let her dress up and have fun.)

Charismatic; positive and friendly, she seeks to protect and uplift others, naturally drawing people to her

Confident, sometimes to a fault. She pursues her path and what she believes is right without hesitation - (if she hesitates, she's likely to spiral into one doubt after another...)

Passionate. Very much of the "go big or go home" sentiment: Work Hard, Party Harder. She wants to experience everything fully, no half-measures, nothing half-hearted.

Has deep-seated hurts related to emotional abandonment and not being good enough that really ought to be addressed but she'd rather just keep working herself raw to prove herself than sit too long to do the hard emotional work.

COLOURS:

sapphire blue

emerald green

blue goldstone

iridescent opal

amethyst purple

SCENTS:

lavender & honey - (her bathing go-to's)

the fresh green scents of vermund's wilderness

wheat & oxen - (she spends a lot of time in the fields outside of Vernworth)

new - new leather, new steel, most everything she's wearing has a scent of 'newness' to it, fresh bought and yet to be tested.

iron & fire - (she spends a lot of time around the smithy)

OBJECTS:

Necklace of elven make - said to be an heirloom of an ancestor, she was the only one in this day and age to care for it.

Tramont family amulet - denotes her as a member of the family, despite kind of being disowned.

Wolf fang - while she has many of these, this one she had crafted into a necklace - it was the first 'gift' Emrys gave her.

Crow mask - for masquerades or skullduggery, it is equal parts beautifully ornate and alluring, and frightfully forbidding.

Hand mirror - Made of pewter and engraved with ornate birds and flowers, it was a gift from her younger sister when she left the family estate.

BODY LANGUAGE:

Open - almost dangerously so. Any drill instructor of the knights would reprimand her for being so lax. But she's quick like a spring to respond, and thinks that 'laxness' is what better enables 'flexibility'.

Flowing, each step feels like a dance. She turns to someone calling her name and smiles, waving, as the sunlight dances around her - like a moving image of some princess from a storybook.

Almost princely, charming, bends and yields around the object of her attention, gently guiding touches as if leading a dance.

White knuckles. Her whole body tenses seeing soldiers beat down on civilians. Nostrils flared, cold resolution in the eyes. She sees the solution, and acts without remorse.

A dull look in her usually shining, lively eyes, a slouch in her shoulders. Only one person sees it, behind the closed doors of their abode. Tired, so tired of fighting and constantly trying to prove herself and- and then it's quickly gone. The light sparks anew, and she presses onward. She isn't doing this for herself, after all.

AESTHETICS:

swords & shields - to protect, not just to defend but to slay

fresh fruit with honey

beautiful, fancy dresses of many colors

bloody knuckles, bruised cheeks, a cut lip, circles under the eyes

shimmering goblets of wine & glittering masquerade halls VS overflowing mugs of ale & raucous, crowded taverns

SONGS:

Florence + The Machine - King

The Oh Hellos - Second Child, Restless Child

Laura Marling - Hope in the Air

Beyoncé - I Was Here

Florence + The Machine - I'm Not Calling You A Liar

[harvardfineartslib]

Happy International Women’s Day!

Today, we are celebrating the achievements of women artists. Here are a few examples of great women artists who fought to be painters in their male-dominated worlds. In her Introduction to the publication entitled “Great Women Painters,” Alison M. Gingeras wrote:

“How can the lives of women be known if men write all the books? This is the central question asked by the medieval writer Christine de Pizan (1364 – c. 1430) – the first woman to earn a living as a professional writer.”

These women painters couldn’t let men make all the paintings either. They picked up brushes and achieved artistic excellence, making their lives and talents known to the world.

Sofonisba Anguissola (1532 – 1625), Italian “Self-Portrait at the Easel,” 1556, Oil on canvas

Clara Peeters (c.1594 – 1659), Belgian “Still life with flowers, a silver-gilt goblet, dried fruit, sweetmeats, bread sticks, wine and a pewter pitcher,” 1611, Oil on panel

Josefa de Óbidos (c.1630 – 1684), Spanish-born Portuguese “Menino Jesus Salvador,” 1673, Oil on canvas

Mary Beale (1633 – 1699), British Mary Beale, c.1666, Oil on canvas

Great women painters London : Phaidon Press Limited ; New York, NY : Phaidon Press Inc., 2022 English Gingeras, Alison M. [writer of introduction] 2022 HOLLIS number: 99156563377503941

[heracliteanfire]

Still Life with Flowers, a Silver-gilt Goblet, Dried Fruit, Sweetmeats, Bread sticks, Wine and a Pewter Pitcher. Clara Peeters,1611. Oil on panel.

(via Museo Nacional del Prado)

[sienna-cast2002]

So it turns out my pewter was actually mentally sick in the head because once it was in the crucible being heated with the torch, it exploded. And that was a bit scary and kind of embarrassing. No one not even Rhonda knew why it was doing that but she theorised that it had magnesium or something in it.

I emailed Royal Selangor and explained the situation, asking them why this might have happened and they responded pretty fast (maybe because the subject line was Selangor Pewter exploding)… but here’s what they said:

A bit awkward because ALL of my pewter has a curved edge because they’re all cups/goblets/pitchers/tankards. And that was on purpose so that they’d be more likely to not have lead. So anyway I feel like at this point I should give up on using pewter for now and think of other ideas. In the meantime, I’ve emailed Rhonda just in case removing the water will randomly be an easy process.

So I was thinking of using polymer clay and making it look metal. I could use my crucifix to make an impression of Jesus and then use it as a mould to make oven bake clay. Then I could make it look kind of metal with metallic paint or something. It’s pretty disappointing because I was really looking forward to using pewter as it looks so gorgeous. This wouldn’t have happened if I just got ingots but they’re so damn expensive…

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

fix title: dedication (or blood)

Okay real talk: I'm wearing a comfy hoodie that's like fluffy outside and inside and reading this I was laying back on a reader pillow and had the thought: Oh Wow, imagine saying this. I spent five minutes dramatically saying this, including grabbing a stupid pewter cup I have for drama reasons.

So... you get a villain lady Izuku telling hmm... Tenya, Ochako and Tsu they have a choice. Dedicate themselves to her, or there will be blood.

(She looks happier then she had been before. When she'd been a he and forced to keep her head down. When she hid burns on her arms and winced when sitting because of pulled muscles that came from a Quirk yanking on them.

She looks dramatic, sipping from a wine goblet in a ridiculous coat and smiling.

But god does she look perfect.)

Pairings: ... Izu/Tenya/Ochako/Tsu. All villain!

Notes: Basically the story would be about a trans girl Izuku who went villain because no one cared/paid attention to her life. When she confessed to Aizawa he tried but he was told to shut up, he was lying and Izuku told tales. She wasn't. Izuku ran away.

The others join her because all have been facing shit now they graduated, and they realize being a hero means jack shit nowadays, when people like Bakugou strut around. (After he put burns on Izuku)

[rlyehtaxidermist]

metal cups

what kind of metal and what kind of cup?

(modern) pewter steins? stainless steel flasks? smash.

golden goblets? too bougie, pass.

wrought iron cauldrons? huge smash.

(historical) pewter? pass but only because of lead poisoning. get some antimony in there babe and we'll talk