inlaid boxes

Captain and Siren AU!

“Ever so often, Lexa leaves small things by the edge of the water. A handful of buttons. A silver necklace that used to be her mother’s. Half a pastry. A little box inlaid with mother of pearl.

And slowly, the objects start to disappear.”

[Happy Halloween everyone!! =]


Masterpiece Tibetan Buddhist Silver Double Ghau Prayer Box crafted with Gem Inlay of Lapis Coral Turquoise & Garnet

For more details, or to purchase, visit:


Roman Gold Earrings, c. 3rd Century BC

The hollow crescent bodies of this pair of large Eastern Roman boat-shaped earrings terminate in wire hoops and are decorated on the front with applied drop-shaped box settings inlaid using glass.  Attached below the earrings is a cluster of ornate sprees and smaller drop-shaped compartments bearing pieces of polished carnelian that echo the larger glass setting above.

I weep for the alive

The ground has been dug to exactly six feet deep.
The wood is ready to be a snug box inlaid with cushions.
The speeches, practiced to the point of grieving perfection.
The flowers, freshly cut and sprinkled, a neatly arranged bouquet.

My graveyards are ready,
and even though the dead aren’t here yet,
I’m ready to weep, the darkness will never take me by surprise again.

anonymous asked:

would u be able to write some Clexa mermaid/siren headcanons when u have the chance?? I love ur writing and I think u would b able to write some rlly cool stuff


  1.  It’s past midnight and Lexa stands at the helm of a ship in her nightdress, leaning against the railing and watching the ocean churn. There’s swirls of sea foam. She sees a flash of something silver just beneath the surface of the water. Something like a fish’s scales, quick as a whip. 

  Lexa rubs her eyes. She must be imagining things. 

  2. The wind tears at Lexa’s skirts, the frothy lace billowing out behind her. Huge waves rock the boat, and the masts groan with the weight of swollen sails. 

  Lexa remembers the taste of salt on her lips, of seaspray in her eyes.

  Lexa remembers a wave taller than a mountain. The feeling of raw terror in the pit of her stomach as it bore down on them. 

  Lexa remembers being thrown from the deck, freezing water in her eyes, in her throat. She’s so deep beneath the surface, now, she can’t think of anything except the cold. 

  Lexa remembers a hand closing around her arm, pale fingers tugging her upwards. To heaven maybe. 

  3. Lexa wakes up on a sun-soaked beach with a stranger leaning over her. Strands of scraggly blond hair hang down, playing gently across Lexa’s face. 

  The strange girl’s lips curved into a little smile. 

  Lexa retches half a gallon of water onto the sand. Her head pounds painfully, as if someone was hitting her with a hammer – Lexa knows she’s alive, then, because she aches. 

  Something in the water splashes. 

  The girl is gone. 

  4. Months go by and Lexa still dreams of a girl with yellow hair and ghostly smile. 

  She goes back to the beach. She sits there for hours, staring out into the water, wondering what lurked beneath the surface of the water. Or maybe she’d imagined the whole thing, maybe the tides had washed her to shore. 

  Every so often, Lexa leaves small things by the edge of the water. A handful of buttons. A silver necklace that used to be her mother’s. Half of a pastry. A little box inlaid with mother of pearl.

  And slowly, the objects start to disappear. 

  5. It’s nightfall and Lexa can hardly believe her eyes. 

  The girl sits at the place where the waves lap against the sand. She looks just like she did in the dreams, blonde hair falling to her waist in thick tangles, eyes shut against the setting sun. 

  Lexa’s eyes wander across the girl’s bare chest. 

  Lexa’s eyes wander to the girl’s torso, her human body tapering into an enormous tail, covered in a fish’s scales and shining in the afternoon sun. 

  “You’re the one who saved me from the shipwreck,” said Lexa quietly, afraid she would bolt. 

 The girl’s eyes opened, pale blue like the sky.

  “You’re the one that keeps leaving me things,” she said, and Lexa noticed her mother’s necklace sparkling around the girl’s neck. Right beneath the gills. “My name’s Clarke.”

  “I’m Lexa.” 

6. They spend so many days together, that summer, Lexa wading into the water, past her shoulders, laughing as Clarke swims circles around her. 

  They lay on the sand, Lexa’s head cradled on Clarke’s stomach, tell each other stories from when they were children. There’s sand covering Lexas’s skin and her cheeks are flushed with sunburn but she’s never been happier. 

  Clarke kisses her slowly and she tastes like salt and memories, eyes closed, lips parted just a little. 

  “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” whispered Clarke. 

  “Me neither, love.”

About my handle…

It’s kind of a personal reference. I met Brian May and family, entirely by happenstance, December ‘78 at Pier 39 in San Francisco. It was a brand-new shopping centre and my family and I were up in The City for our annual Christmas shopping trip (I’m originally from Santa Cruz, about 75 miles south).
I never asked him why they were in the Bay Area a week before Queen were due to play but as near as I can guess, they had a four-day time off. It was between their Kansas and Seattle shows and he was probably visiting friends and doing some Christmas shopping himself. He was wearing a midnight blue velvet blazer with a little silver bicycle pin on one of the lapels.
And…I guess I can say which store I met him in, since it’s not there anymore. It was the San Francisco Music Box Shoppe and he was checking out the cabinet with the real expensive boxes, inlaid-fruitwood and brass disks that play a gazillion tunes, automaton chirping birds, handcrafted ones. Chrissy was with him and pushing a stroller with then baby Jimmy in it. I stood back and left them alone, let them do their browsing/shopping and waited until they were going to move on before approaching and asking, “Are you Brian May from Queen?” Yeah, like the mass of dark brown curls, cute English accent and obvious “money is no object” wallet weren’t clues! #teenagederp
Brian was wonderful. Very gracious, friendly, witty and kind. He gave me that terrific smile of his and quipped, “I’m afraid…I am!” I remember being slightly taken aback, not at his height or the hair (I was pretty tall myself) but his fangs. Also at how sparkly his eyes were: understand that this was before the Internet, even before video machines, and magazine photographs just didn’t do him justice.
So we spent a few minutes chatting and looking back, I keep thinking that I was probably the luckiest girl in the world because it was in a rather mundane environment, and this was about when he stopped being as shy as he used to be. Not a rock ‘n roll circus with a thousand other fans and a veritable army of professionals contending with me. Just him and his family, and me with mine. Even my folks liked him. Dad later told me that he changed his mind about rock stars after that encounter. Get this: my Dad NEVER changed his mind! Once he took an opinion, that was it, set in stone, the Immoveable Object. Maybe Brian really is an angel walking around on Earth, spreading miracles in his wake? Could be…

So now you know why Brian May is my favourite.

Unique object, I’d love to know more about it. 

Original description by Soloegipto flickr:

Wooden box with inlaid semiprecious stones making the images of gods (Hathor, Munt,???) and Pharaon (???) Under the representation of a starry sky and the protection of the Horus Behedeti (It seems to me).

Tebtynis.Ptolemaic age.


Day 5: Casablanca Conference

From January 14-24, 1943 FDR attended the Casablanca Conference with Winston Churchill. The meetings focused on the Allied strategic debate on the creation of a Second Front in Europe. FDR travelled to Morocco aboard a commercial aircraft – making him the first sitting president to fly.

The pages above are from the guestbook at the Casablanca Conference which include the signatures of Sultan Mohammed V of Morocco, Churchill, Roosevelt, advisor to the President Harry Hopkins, Minister to French North Africa Robert D. Murphy, General George S. Patton, naval aide to the President Admiral John L. McCrea, Elliott Roosevelt, and co-President of the Free French Forces General Henri Giraud.

On the evening of January 22, the Sultan of Morocco hosted Roosevelt and Churchill to dinner. During the dinner he presented gifts to the President. The dagger is fitted with a gold hilt and sheath and is encased in a teakwood box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The gold tiara encrusted with semi-precious stones from the Atlas Mountains and a pair of gold bracelets from the Sultan’s collection of family jewels were presented as gifts for First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt.

anonymous asked:

I saw in a post you stated there were some things from the Kay novel you didn't like. What were they? (Don't worry, I won't hunt you down for it. There are some things I didn't like either ;) )

I was actually just going to write a post about this! I’m going to put my answer under the cut because here thar be spoilers for those who haven’t read the Susan Kay novel yet. 

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A Inlaid Suzuribako [Writing Box]
Attributed to Tsuda Sokan (1868 - 1934), Japan
With flush-fitting cover, decorated in gold and black hiramaki-e and takamaki-e, lavishly inlaid with stained ivory, tortoiseshell, silver, carved red lacquer, coral, wood, ebony, stone and mother-of-pearl on a densenashiji ground with karako playing with various toys in front of the fences, the inner lid decorated in gold, silver and red hiramaki-e, takamaki-e, kirikane and aogai with mandarin ducks amongst a stream and rockwork under blossoming plum and pine trees, the interior with a removable tray fitted with a slate inkstone with fundame rim and a silver suiteki [water dropper] in the form of maple leaves
23.5cm. long.  Christies