rivet hair


Roman Bronze Mannheim Helmet With Siren, c. 50 BC

This exceptional Roman helmet dates from the mid to late 1st century BC. Adorned with rare cast decoration, it is the finest example of the ‘Mannheim’ type currently on the private market.

Exhibiting a beautiful deep green patina, this stunning Roman legionary’s helmet is constructed of hammered sheet, the dome with a small flanged brim front and back, and each side with two perforations for the attachment of leather cheek-guards, now long since perished. A separately cast figure of a Siren with outstretched wings, tender smiling features and parted hair is riveted to the front.

The Mannheim style of helmet is generally associated with the Roman army operating in the western areas of the Empire during the late Republican era through to the Flavian period. The style arose in the mid-1st century BC at the time of the Gallic Wars, and was clearly influenced by the helmets worn by Celtic warriors. The style persisted up to around 100 AD, and appears to have been prevalent among troops stationed along the Rhine frontier. Though the Mannheim seems to have been popular during this period, examples in this stunning condition are extremely rare. Even more exceptional is the Siren riveted to the front, an extra addition which was likely paid for out of the pocket of the legionary who owned it. 

Even the Gods Feared Her: Part one?

Inspired by the beautiful @illustraice and her Sun/Moon Spirit Au! I loved it so much that I had to write about it!! Now keep in mind that things will be different from her au sooo… don’t hate me.

They were old. Older than the gods that the humans had known… older than the earth itself. They had watched as the world was created and they watched as every single human soul was born and died. They loved humans, they truly did… Loved them enough to give them the bright sun during the day and the cool moon in the night, enough to protect them from the dangers of wondering spirits and monsters.

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Zilean AU

“I’m going to die in seventy two hours,” the stranger breathed, eyes wild and bouncing off everything and not focusing on Genji. “And I need you to stop me.”


“Just do something, Genji,” the dark skinned man snapped, eyes suddenly riveted on the green haired thirty year old.

“Do wh–,” Genji stopped himself. “Who are you, how do you know my name and how are you here if you’re dead in three days?” 

“That’s something you won’t need to find out if you help me.”

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“Twas the night before Winters veil ,when all thro’ the hall
Not a hero was questing, not even Thrall;
The neatherweave bags were placed by the hearth with care,
In hopes that Greatfather Winter soon would be there;
The champions were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of legendaries danced in their heads

With Sylvanas as Warchief and I as Grand Magus,
Had just pulled Dalaran out of a dangerous hiatus-
When out in the streets there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from the citadel to see what was the matter.
Away to the landing I flew as a raven,
To ensure that the Legion hadn’t entered our haven.

The two sister moons gave off a soft glow,
Shedding light as if mid-day on the objects below;
When, what to our curious eyes should appear,
But a titanforged sleigh, and eight Northrend reindeer,
With an iron and stone driver, so ancient and sinter
We couldn’t believe it, It was Great Father Winter!

More rapid than gryphons his coursers they came,
And he whistled and cheered, and called them by name:
"Now! Terran, now! Ion, now! Monte and Kosak! On! Mumper, on! Morhaime, on! Nervig and Metzen;
"To the top of the hold, to the top of the keep!
"Now dash away, dash away, but not a peep!”

As dry leaves that before the wind fury fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the rooftop the coursers they flew,
With a sleigh full of loot - and Greatfather Winter too:
And then in an instant, I saw on the roof
The prancing and stomping of each little hoof.

As I flew back inside and was transforming back,
Greatfather Winter ported in with a crack:
He was dressed all in cloth, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes all glittered with arcane and soot;
A bundle of legendaries was flung on his back,
And he looked like a raider just opening his pack:
His eyes- how they glowed!
His rivets: how antique,
His hair was like mythril, and what a physique!

His tin little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was white, just like snow;
The end of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the whisps of smoke looked abit like a wreath.

He had a strong face, with a sturdy looking belly,
That clanged when he laughed, and was nothing like jelly:
He had no flesh or bones, a proper Titan Forged servant
And my desire to question him was quite fervent;
A wink of his eye, and a smirk on his lips
Soon gave me to know he’d be silent this trip.

He said not a thing, but went straight to his work, (work)
And filled all the Netherweave; then turned with a jerk,
And raising his hand above his head
And casting a spell, with a portal he fled.

He blinked to his sleigh, to his team gave a shout,
And away they all flew, already on their next route:
But I head him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight-
“Happy Winters veil to all, and have faith in the light!”

Awesomeness all around.

Originally posted by happysamdaily

Originally posted by star-arm-and-shield

Pairing: Dean x Reader,  Sam x Reader (friendship)

Word Count: 2554

I had to make sure to get this up tonight so I edited my favorite piece from this weekend which turned out to be this request that hit me with some great imagery right away and it was the first thing that got me into an excellent flow. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did!

REQUEST: Adore the writing! Can I request a Dean x reader where the reader is working as a hunter with the Winchesters and is out drinking with them one night? Dean winds up confessing his feelings after Sammy can’t hold his liquor… Humor. Fluff. Awesomeness all around.

 Bon Jovi – You give love a bad name.

Journey- Any way you want it

Journey- Open Arms.

Lyrics consecutively from the Bon Jovi and Journey-Any way you want it in bold.

It had been a quick and easy salt and burn that lead them to the local pub for a celebratory drink or two. You honestly didn’t remember if it had been Sam or Dean that challenged your hustling skills but you were definitely shoving it their faces like a fucking champion. Just for the entertainment value alone, you had played the last game as the drunken girl trying pool for the first time and Sam had played the baffled boyfriend role perfectly.

“It’s just like mini golf.” You smiled up at one of the two men as they glared at your final shot falling into the corner pocket.

You followed Sam back to the table where Dean was sitting nursing his beer. “I don’t think we’ll be able to get away with anymore tonight.” Sam slurred slightly and you thought he might have said weeble in there somewhere. “Not before guys start talking and I don’t feel like breaking any bones tonight.” Sam sat and you were pretty sure he almost missed his seat.

You sat with a soft chuckle and hailed a passing waitress. “Can I get a couple kamikazi shots please?”

Sam cleared his throat and you glanced at him. He was grinning ear to ear. “Do you want some?”  He nodded and you bit the inside of your cheek, and then shrugged. “You heard the man.” You smiled at the waitress who was smirking at Dean.

You turned to Dean. “Do you want in on this action too?”

He nodded with a look you didn’t quite get. “I’m always in for a party.” He smiled.

“Couple shots each, thank you.” You gave the waitress a bright smile not that she would’ve noticed.

Dean finished his beer and the waitress took it from him with a smile and maybe slightly too much eye contact. You rolled your eyes. Someone is probably getting lucky tonight. You brushed the thought away and turned back to face Sam. “So, mister I know everything Winchester.”

He scoffed, “I didn’t say I knew everything.”

You placed your elbow on the table and rested your chin on your hand. “You also said I was a lightweight.”

“Okay, if we’re being technical. One, I was joking for the guys you wanted to hustle and two, I said you were short so probably a low alcohol tolerance.”

Dean cringed comically. “Ouch. You can’t hold a hustle play against a guy. That’s just wrong. If the hustle worked anyway. Did it work?”

You held up the money and smirked. “It was my play, of course it worked.”

Dean grinned and brushed his hands together, “then there’s no flag on the play. Can’t hold it against him.”

You narrowed your eyes, “he’s your brother. How do I know you’re not just playing favorites?”

He leaned across the table, “if I’m going to play favorites, it’s certainly not going to be my brother.” The corner of his mouth lifted and he winked. “Sweetheart.”

Sam chuckled, “yeah. Definitely not me.” His ‘definitely’ sounded a whole lot like a sneeze.

The waitress placed two shots in front of each of you and you knocked your first one back as she took her time placing Dean’s down. She really kicked in the extra effort to touch him with each glass she placed down then practicality leaned over him to ask, “any of you want anything else?”

And by anything else she means her tits. Right in your face. You thought as you smiled at her. I can’t blame you but damn girl have some respect for yourself. You admonished yourself. If she feels comfortable flashing those bad boys, flaunt it if you got it girl. The man’s not taken so why not?  You knocked back your second shot and heard Dean’s voice interrupt your inner dialogue.

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Blue Pants

“Are you a girl
Or are you a boy?”

When we were 3
Was the first time we learned
“Boys and girls are different”

That was the year
The girls wore Mary-janes
In tiny sizes and assorted colors
And wore dresses and skirts
And short-sleeved shirts
Decorated with flowers and curls and lace.

That was the year
The boys wore jeans and shorts
And T-shirts with trucks
And pink was illegal
Or else you were a girl.

That was the year
We learned the pink dress means “girl”
And the blue pants mean “boy”
And no one really questioned it.

When we were 5
We stopped counting in ages
And started counting in grades

And the pink dress still meant “girl”
And the blue pants still meant “boy”
But Palmer’s favorite color was pink
And he made sure we knew that
So the playground boys stopped teasing everyone.

But my favorite color was blue
And no one believed me.

When we were in first grade
We all worked together
And for a time
There were no pink dresses
And there were no blue pants
Except for the ones I wore
Because I hated dresses.

Karishma and I wore pants
And Sarah and Amber wore “pretty things”
But I was the only one
Who could succeed where the boys had failed
And complete a tower of Legos that scraped the ceiling.

When I was in 3rd grade
There was no more “we”
Because I moved schools
And I knew everyone hated me
Because I was “the tomboy”
But just almost - not quite all the way.

The girls thought I was weird
And the boys stayed away from me
And my favorite color was still blue
And no one believed me.

So I settled for purple
And that was my first lie.

When I was in 5th grade
Leanne sat at the boy’s table
And every time I tried to do that, too,
A few girls would join me
And a few days later
The boys’ and girls’ tables
Would miraculously switch
And I never really understood.

When I was in 6th grade
The boys learned to be afraid of me
Because I was tired of letting them walk all over us
And I told them so.

I think somewhere behind my teacher’s disapproving gaze
She was proud of me
Because she smiled after that.

That was the year
I was nominated for 4 student government roles
Turned down 1
And got none of them
Probably because I was fighting
With the new boy
Who kept making moves on me
While we waited for the teacher to let us back in
After the “confidential voting.”

It was also the year
I had my first crush
Except I didn’t really like him

I just liked the way he told stories
And his paper folding
And his drawings
And how we could talk about things
Without the conversation becoming about boys.

I said I liked him,
And that was my second lie.

When I was in 7th grade
My cousin showed me The Game of Life
And picked up a tiny pink figure
And a tiny blue figure
Which both looked exactly alike
Except for their colors

Because the pink dress meant “girl”
And the blue pants meant “boy”

And she looked me in the eyes and said
“When you get married
You’ll have a blue guy too
Unless you’re a lesbo -
Which is okay”
And the she laughed

But I knew
From the tone of the whispers between the adults
That it wasn’t really okay
So I just said
And that was my third lie.

When I was in 8th grade
I had my last sleepover with Cintia and Marie
And I felt more comfortable with Cintia’s parents
Than with her.

That was the year
They fawned over Harry Styles
And Justin Bieber
And asked me if I thought they were “hot” too.

And I said “I don’t know what that means”
And they took that as “yes”
And they laughed
And I guess that only counts as half a lie
I didn’t say it
And I can’t lie
If I really don’t lie.

That was the year I found out
People who were not-binary genders existed
And it was also the year
I stumbled upon asexuality
And my first personfriend was unsure about everything.

And so was I.

When I was in 9th grade
I learned that no one was my friend
And life was a battle
So I treated it like one.

I called all my teachers “sir” or “ma'am”
Because I didn’t know what else to call them
But they were satisfied
Because I was quiet
And I always scored high.

That was the year I learned
How to really fake a smile
Not because I wanted to appear “broken”
And not because I thought it was beautiful.

That was the year I started to love myself
And I started to smile more
And I started to not care what others thought
And I say “started”
Because I still did
And I still do.

But I told myself I was happy with my body
And I guess that was the biggest lie of all

Because now I’m in 10th grade
And nothing makes sense
And somehow
I’m okay with that.

The pink dresses mean boys who dress in drag
And the blue pants mean Rosie the Riveter
And the hair shaved on one side
And dyed in the other
Means someone constantly fighting the line
Between society and themselves.

But of course
There’s one question
Still on my mind.

Where is there a place
In a world of gender
For someone who has none?

First paragraph, first chapter of FSOG - 

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair - it just won’t behave, and damn Katherine Kavanagh for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable.

Yes. The riveting brown-haired, blue-eyed girl brushing her hair while looking at herself in the mirror opening scene. What a classic. 

Do you really need to read any further to know this story is going to be utter crap? (Putting the horrible content and everything else that’s wrong with it aside.)