#Royal Barracks

[thewales-family]

The Prince of Wales, Colonel of the Welsh Guards, privately visits the regiment at Combermere Barrack to speak with the soldiers, hear plans for their future, and witness the great work the Battalion does with physical and mental rehabilitation, in Windsor, England -March 20th 2024.

📷 : Kensington Palace & Welsh Guards.

[postcard-from-the-past]

Barracks of the Royal Gurkha Rifles after an earthquake in 1905 in northern India

British vintage postcard

[toastysol]

This scene is destroying me...

been obsessed with @exilethegame recently. I love my commander so much i will post about him soon. Clarisse is his true mom.

Go play it!!!! It's by far my favorite interactive fiction i've played

[dirtyoldmanhole]

(rev spoilers)

you know something else i love about gunter as a character.

he never actually .... apologizes. to corrin/(the player)/"the good guys".

i don't have time to grab the exact screengrab (it'd be in here) but the most he gives after you "bring him back" from the possession is a vague regret at killing scarlet, and him being explicit with acknowledging that he was using corrin, and ... that's pretty much it? his epilogue is a beautifully done, but also very vague "stands watch over corrin's coronation out of that longstanding complicated relationship to corrin specifically, and then walks away, closing that chapter"

i have a fondness for villains who never get declawed / who are honestly kind of right in a lot of ways, and gunter for sure has a lot of legitmate beef with royals.

and i love. love that the game gives him that richly textured, nuanced sense of at least still retaining that steel-spine .... half resentment, half dignity of holding to that, even after everything.

so many JRPG's have villains have abrupt "im sowwwy" moments at the last hour (as much as i love lehran his own is. ehhh.) - and fates, thank god, never forces him to apologize in front of the royals because quite frankly that alone would break his characterization in half. he just wouldn't.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

9 May 2024

[desiderium-eden]

Alexandre: *murdered a bunch of people, destroyed lands and led a reign of terror*

Also Alexandre: *knighted a dog because his daughter asked him to*

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Albert George Hendrie Is Placed on Trial For Murder of Peter Davis,” Kingston Whig-Standard. February 22, 1933. Page 3.  ---- Long Time Taken in Choosing the Jury — Every Man on Jury Panel Was Called — Sir Alfred Morine Is Prosecuting and H. A. McNeill Is Defending — Three Witnesses Heard This Morning ---- Albert George Hendrie charged with the murder of Peter Davis at the Tete-de-Font barracks on December 18 last, this morning fared trial before Justice Raney is Supreme Court and when court adjourned at noon, the case was fairly well advanced. Evidence had been given regarding the duties of the late Mr. Davis, and of Hendrie's connection with the R.C.H.A., a period of four years.

Every juror on the petit Jury list was called before the Jury for the Hendrie case was finally sworn in and it was necessary to recall a Juror who had been previously asked to stand aside. The jury was finally sworn in as follows: William Hinchey, Kennebec; George Berry, Wolfe Island; H. R. Clarke, Kingston Township; Joseph Slater, Pittsburgh; O. E. Kerr, Portland; John Gordon Storrington: Victor Merrill. Portland; Edward Kennedy, Hinchinbrooke; Fred Redden, Kingston; Howard Murphy, Wolfe Island; E. Reginald Barr, city; Clarence Ellerbeck, Portland. 

Sir Alfred Morine la acting for the Crown while H. A. McNeill is appearing for the accused. Sir Alfred referred to the crime as a particularly atrocious assault showing an unscrupulous determination.

Major Lawson Major H. H. Lawson was the first witness called and he identified plans he made of the Tete-de-Pont Barracks. 

To Mr. McNeill witness said the stairs going into the cellar of the wet canteen, when the crime is alleged to have been committed were unprotected and then was nothing to prevent a person from falling off the stairs to the floor. 

Major Geary Major H. F. Geary, quartermaster at the Tete-de-Pont Barracks, and who was acting adjutant at the time of the crime, produced records of the R.C.H.A. which showed that Albert George Hendrie was formerly a member of the R.C.H.A.

‘What has this to do with the case?" asked Mr. McNeill. “I intend to prove Hendrie was a deserter from the R.C.H.A.,” said Sir Alfred Morine.

“You can show he was a member of the R.C.H.A.,” said Justice Raney. 

Witness said that Hendrie enlisted in November 1928 and was struck off the strength on November 22, 1932. Hendrie was attached to the 3rd Medium Battery in the Tete-de-Pont Barracks

Cross-examined by Mr. McNeill, Major Geary said then had been no marks against Hendrie and the accused, while in the military hospital, was one of the best orderlies there. 

Gunner Harper Gunner L. Harper said he was at Tete-de-Font Barracks on Sunday morning December IS and uw Peter Davis outside the dry canteen "About nine o'clock,” said witness, “Davis came in the guard room and got the keys for the wet canteen. I saw him come out of the wet canteen about fifteen minutes later. He seemed to be trying to attract attention. He staggered and almost fell. I immediately called members of the guard to help him and they did so bringing him to the guard room. I saw him being carried out on a stretcher about three-quarters of an hour later. He was then taken to an ambulance and then to the military hospital." 

Witness said, in answer to Mr. McNeill that Davis, was canteen steward at the barracks .The wet canteen does not open until 12.15 noon on Sunday. 

Court then adjourned till this afternoon.

[dansnaturepictures]

Purple Emperor at Knepp in June a strong memory of my summer, views at Peninsula Barracks, Royal Hampshire Regiment Museum and looking into Winchester High Street with the Christmas lights and tree looking nice today and Wigeons at Testwood Lakes on Saturday.

I got more stunning Peregrine views in Winchester at lunch time with spider seen at home and Black-headed Gull, Carrion Crow, ragwort and common toadflax leaves enjoyed going by Lakeside this morning.

[rabbitcruiser]

The renowned 78th Highlanders Regiment of Foot were stationed at Halifax for almost three years (1869-1871). The regiment arrived in Halifax on the afternoon of May 14, 1869, aboard the troopship HMS Crocodile. 

A total of 765 men disembarked in full dress uniform. The Regiment was divided into two depots and eight service companies, consisting in all of 34 officers, 49 sergeants, 21 drummers, 6 pipers, and 600 rank and file. 

[timdodds]

RLC Regimental officers mess in Deepcut now just rubble

An inevitable outcome with the Princess Royal Barracks being sold for housing, the Regimental Officers Mess is now just a pile of rubble. Many a time we’ve been guests in the mess, so many happy memories. Here’s a photo of all that now remains of the building.

[desimonewayland]

Basil Clavering (1910-1973)

Studio Royale Hussar

Queen's Guard

Colville Gallery

Clavering was a successful businessman, and owned the Gala-Royale cinema chain. More as a hobby than anything else, he established a photographic studio in the basement of his Pimlico home, with his friend John Charles Parkhurst (1927-2000). Both men had served in the Navy, and they were drawn to the military men around the Hyde Park and Chelsea barracks, whom they paid to model for them.

[thewales-family]

The Prince of Wales, Colonel of the Welsh Guards, privately visits the regiment at Combermere Barrack to speak with the soldiers, hear plans for their future, and witness the great work the Battalion does with physical and mental rehabilitation, in Windsor, England -March 20th 2024.

📷 : Kensington Palace & Welsh Guards.

[fortheb0ys]

FUCK ME LIKE THE MEN BETWEEN THOSE PAGES

Bottom John Price x Top Male Reader

Just Price brain rot🤤 I've always wanted to a model for MLM porn sites ngl so I'm living through this fic🙏 As usual not proofread :)

FEM ALIGNED + MINORS DNI

Prices would be one of those faceless models for those erotic gay romance novels. All his work would be faceless. Just something he did to make money on the side.

It was a secret that was long forgotten. Memories replaced by his military service. His body more scarred than his younger self's. His own books but they were just collecting dust in a box.

When you got together, you had found one of the books Price had forgotten that was on a shelf. Your eyes grew wide as you noiced it was Price's shirtless body on the front cover. A small mole on his left hip was telltale that it was him.

Flipping the book over and reading the synopsis reveals the dirty content of it. All the colour washes from Price's face as he sees what you have in your hand.

Price was about to open his mouth to quickly deny it but saw your giddy excitement. Though Price felt a bit shameful, he told you that there was more. A lot more.

With much hesitation from him and a whole lot more convincing from you, Price lent you the books. His amazing body on every single one of them. A new scar here and there as the

He had been surprised that you never poked fun at him and that you were genuinely interested in his past works.

You'd admit that the sex scenes depicted were the main thing that got you interested. You'd imagine Price vividly as the characters he model on the front covers. It didn't take long for you to read through the lot of them.

When Price would be on deployment, he'd get a text from you.

Cum on the front cover or on the pages. Or others with your erect cock slotted like a bookmark between the pages with the dirtiest scenes, precum dripping onto the sheets.

You'd send worded texts underneath the photo like "Try these with me?" or "What if were we the ones to do this?"

Price hated himself for showing you the books right before the mission, making the wait painfully long.

Sexualy frustrated and slightly pissed he had to wait for his deployment to end, Price would have a lonely wank in his barracks. His fingers didn't feel right. His fantasies never felt like details in the books. Nothing felt like you.

Once he got back, Price had to fight back a boner as the anticipation took over him. He went through countless cigars trying to get his mind on something else. The 141 Boys knew something was up. Soap had to control the intrusive thoughts to ask if you were waiting naked when Price returned home.

Which he wasn't wrong. The moment Price came through that door he was already painfully hard. Before he could even open his mouth to greet you, you were on him like a fly to honey, attacking his neck with bruising kisses. Whispering the dirty dialog from one of the books made Price weak in the knees.

Thus was the beginning of your roleplay sex.

Your playtime is always different. Numerous scenarios with one thing in common: Mind blowing sex.

Price would play a royal guard, and you, the prince. A prince in a loveless engagement to a princess. A guard pleading loyalty as he rides the prince on the royal throne.

A grade slipping college student fucking his teacher in an empty classroom for extra credit. Blowjows underneath desks replaces the outdated method of study and paying attention to lectures.

A hunter who falls in love with a werewolf he's supposed to kill. The wolf is just a dumb puppy who needs to be told what to do. With a collar around his neck, ready to be tugged at and the willingness to please his master, puppy soon becomes skilled at lapping at master's hole.

A rowdy rockstar and his stressed out manager. The musician needing to burn off the adrenaline after the show and the poor management needing the stress fucked out of him. The real show was played backstage. The manager put on quite the proformance, his deep moans sounded much better than your singing.

A sex therapist that prefers to take on a more hands-on approach. That skilled tongue was used more than just giving advice.

Or lastly, a priest beguiled by a gorgeous sinner. Guilt was all he felt but it felt like true heaven. God would forgive any sin if he showed true repentance, right? Wouldn't Jesus have died for nothing if we didn't sin?

Sure, some where terrible written and some were written by women with a fetish for gay men. Seeing you act out the scenes without missing a beat or breaking out into laughter while you quoted the dirtiest and most ridiculous things.

You'd remember every dirty word uttered. Every scenario memorized. Price was starting to understand what those white women on TikTok saw in those fucking books. It was just too bad they couldn't live it out like he could.

[scealaiscoite]

fantasy setting prompts ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🕊️ ꒱

¹⁾ a darkened apothecary illuminated only by the light somehow being emitted by the many bottles and jars lining the walls

²⁾ the banquet hall of a nobleman’s sprawling estate, in the throes of a lavish ball attended by everyone in the townland

³⁾ at a healer’s cabin in the dead of night, overwhelmed by adrenaline and the scent of countless tinctures and remedies as they’re applied

⁴⁾ the last imperial guardpost before crossing into enemy lands

⁵⁾ a run-down inn in the middle of nowhere, half reclaimed by the woodlands around it

⁶⁾ a lake set deep into the mountains with something sinister lurking beneath the surface

⁷⁾ the first port in a new land after weeks at sea trying to get there

⁸⁾ the highest turret in the royal family’s castle on a wintery morning

⁹⁾ the war council’s planning room, the morning after a bloody defeat

¹⁰⁾ an alchemist’s workshop

¹¹⁾ the stables just before daybreak

¹²⁾ the impromptu camp that the leader of the journey had to be begged into allowing after everyone else grew exhausted from being on the road all day

¹³⁾ the army barracks before a battle

¹⁴⁾ the last altar of a dying god’s religion

¹⁵⁾ the empress’s chambers, trussed up in nothing more than silken bedsheets and the morning sunshine

¹⁶⁾ the bedside of an old mentor, right before the end

¹⁷⁾ on the wrong end of a traitor’s sword

¹⁸⁾ a beast’s underground lair, alone and unarmed

¹⁹⁾ the thick of the enemy’s encampment, shackled and unrepentant

²⁰⁾ the mage’s quarters, having seen something there’s no worldly explanation for

²¹⁾ the armoury in the late hours of the night, stinking of polish and tears

²²⁾ in the throne room of the imperial citadel with an ulterior motive

²³⁾ by the scholar’s side in the library, eager for a little more than knowledge

²⁴⁾ an alehouse in the dead countryside, hoping not to be found

²⁵⁾ the executioner’s platform seeking for just one face in the crowd

[hatfejusarkany]

16 AIR ASSAULT BRIGADE - MODERN DAY

wall decoration at Goojerat Barracks, Colchester, 2019

[peachdues]

THE SWEET, FAR THING — NSFW TEASER

Knight!Kyojuro x Princess!Reader • Royal AU

A/N: surprise! It’s been so long since I’ve posted any Kyojuro content, and this fic has been my quiet project since originally teased. I love royal AUs, and I love a good forbidden love story.

Enjoy a first look at some of the spicy, smutty goodness to come in The Sweet, Far Thing. But be warned: these two blue ball the living daylights out of each other for several chapters. This fic will be one of the first breaks in my usual pattern of letting characters bone the first chapter.

You can read the prologue and find links to the other teasers HERE

CW: MDNI • explicit sexual content • grinding • lots and lots of sexual tension • Kyojuro’s got self control but it’s rapidly fraying • Reader’s a bit of a brat

shoutout to @tearmint for letting me flood their DMs with this

The scroll of containing the young Lord Agatsuma’s flowery prose lies forgotten on the floor, hidden beneath the layers of Kyojuro’s discarded uniform. Across the polished wood floor, you’ve been hoisted by your Knight into a distant corner of your room, your legs wrapped firmly around his bare waist.

The great roaring fire in your hearth bathes the dark room in an orange glow. Its flickering brilliance, however, seems dull in comparison to the flames in Kyojuro’s eyes as he grinds his bare member harder against your drenched sex.

He grunts as he ruts his hips into yours, mimicking the movements you’re so desperate for him to make while he’s buried inside you. He leans forward and catches your lips in a bruising kiss. Another thrust, and the thick, leaking head of his cock nearly snags at your entrance.

You gasp into his mouth just as he moans into yours. For one, foolish moment, you hope he will cast caution into the flames where it belongs and finally make his claim on you.

But Kyojuro’s self-restraint will forever be the bane of your existence, for he twists swiftly out of reach, the blunt head of his cock instead shoving into the crease of your thigh. He breaks your kiss with a ragged pant, though he resumes his desperate, jolting rut.

Your nails bite into the thick, corded muscles of his shoulders as Kyojuro’s length passes through your wetness again, though slower than before. There is a shadow of a smirk on his lips as he studies you, brow furrowed, your mouth pulled into a faint pout as you buck into him.

You will catch him; you will take him into your body, and then you will be his. He just needs to stay still —

“My Flame,” Kyojuro leans in and nips the soft spot beneath your ear in warning. “Stop.”

“Please,” you try and guide him back to your entrance, your fingers fisting in his hair to force his obedience.

Kyojuro seals his moan against your throat as your nails graze his scalp, but he stills your efforts by pressing you harder into the wall. The solid weight of him only flames the ache of your longing.

He pulls his face away from your neck. Despite the flush of his cheeks, his eyes remain sharp. “I cannot have you. You know this.”

“You can,” you insist with a demanding roll of your hips. “I command it.”

You try once more to maneuver your way back to him, to coax his thick, turgid length right where you need him most, but Kyojuro tenses. Slowly, he unsticks himself from where he’d pressed you solidly to the wall, shifting his arms out from under your legs, returning your feet gently back to the floor.

“If that is your command, your Highness, then you will have to send me back to the barracks for punishment. For I cannot obey.”

Kyojuro tries to turn away, but you catch his forearm, your fingers digging insistently into its thick muscle.

“Why?” And his heart strains at the plea in your tone. “Why must you continue to deny me? I would give you all of me, if you’d only allow it.”

Kyojuro guides you back into his arms, his lips pressed to your forehead until his mark is seared into your skin, before pulling away. He brushes a knuckle across your cheek. “Can this not be enough? Is it not enough that I risk your ruin — never mind my own head — so that we might be close like this? Are you so unsatisfied?”

You jerk away from him, swatting his hand from your face. “Yes. Because I have told you I care not about any pompous lord or prince of a distant land. I want you. Completely.” You know you are doing yourself no favors by acting like the spoilt, petulant princess you’d always tried so very hard not to be, but Kyojuro’s rejection strikes at some soft, unguarded part of you, and you are too easily bruised. “Yet you continue to only give me half of you.”

Kyojuro bristles, eyes narrowed. “I have lain with you in every sense of the word —“

“Except for how I desire you most,” you finish, cool, so as not to let the bitterness of your disappointment show. “You have had my body in every other way, yet this is where you draw the line?”

Kyojuro’s shoulders are rigid as he snatches his tunic from the foot of your bed. “Do not trivialize yourself for the sake of your argument. You know as well as I that the kingdom’s viability rests entirely on your marriage prospects.”

You storm to his side, still as nude as the day you were born, your loose hair spilling down your bare breasts. You plant your hands on either side of his face and twist, forcing him to meet your stare head-on. “I would marry you. I will march before my father this moment and declare I will have no other.”

You press your body against his, every soft, unblemished curve of you molding perfectly with the solidness of him. Though his limbs are rigid with restraint, he cannot stop himself from cradling your face between his palms.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Princess —“

“I dream of you inside me,” you breathe against his lips. Kyojuro’s fingers curl into your cheeks, and his breath turning ragged. “Every night, I dream of it; of how you might lay me back against the bed and make me yours. How you would feel, sheathed within me.”

“Y/N,” his desperate plea is little more than a gasp of air; a whimper for mercy you will not give.

You dig deeper into the wound you’ve opened. “I dream of you putting your claim in me.” You stretch tall on your toes, pressing your lips just below the notch in his throat. “I would carry your child for all the kingdom and those beyond to see. I dream of it so fervently that I am aching when I awake.”

You tease up the length of his neck, kissing his chin once, twice, before settling on his mouth. He indulges you with a soft, pleading moan. His tongue brushes your bottom lip right before you break away.

“You desire me; that much is clear.” Your fingers trail down his torso, finding your proof where it stands taut against his abdomen. “Do you not dream the same?”

Of course he did.

It is his most dangerous, most treasured fantasy. One he’d held even long before he ever began training to be a knight, back when he’d been young and foolish and dreamed of marrying not the Princess of his beloved kingdom, but his dear childhood friend. The girl he trailed after during her family’s lavish feasts, stealing away with her under tables to watch revelers drink and dance and sparkle the way all adults seem to, when one is young. And as he laughed as you would sneak a small hand out from beneath the table’s cover to tickle some lord or lady’s ankle and startle them, he imagined one day whisking you out onto the dance floor. He, in some handsome, smart finery he’d seen the other young lords wear; you, resplendent in the finest of gowns, a crown of jewels sat atop your head.

It is all he has ever wanted; to have you, openly. His love and devotion to you a display that did not have to be concealed in the shadowy corners of your chambers.

But he’d always known it could never come to pass. It was why he’d been able to hold back, even when you were as you are now, bare before him, demanding he lay you out on your bed and claim you for good.

Your thumb strokes his cheek. “Will you continue to deny me? When you swore an oath to serve me?”

You were not his to possess; to love. You belonged to the kingdom and its people. Your people.

Not him. Never him.

You know his answer before he speaks it; can see it in the way his eyes lift to yours, pained yet resigned. Kyojuro withdraws reluctantly, his hands dropping to your wrists before stepping away from you entirely.

“I serve the kingdom.”

He doesn’t need to clarify. Not you.

Kyojuro would rather swallow his own sword than raise a hand to you; you know that. Yet his words are an ugly, vicious slap and you recoil all the same.

The sharp bite of your nails into your palms is all that helps you keep your voice steady, even as embarrassment warms your cheeks.

“If that is your answer,” you swallow once, and force your chin high. “Resume your post then, Sir Rengoku. You’re not needed here.”

He makes as though to say something more, to protest, fight back, do anything that might prove someone in this castle cares for you, not merely what you represent. But even Kyojuro, kind, sweet, loyal Kyojuro cannot elevate you above his own duties. He cannot be fully yours.

Instead, his hand balls at his side. “As you wish, your Highness.”

You’ve put your back to him now, too prideful to allow him to see the silly tears burning in your eyes under the sting of his rejection. Even as your fingers find your dressing robe, the material sliding silkily over your shoulders as you conceal your bare body from sight, you can imagine the curt nod of his head; the ease with which he slips back into his mask as Captain of your guard.

A small, childish part of you longs to lob one of the small pillows decorating your bed right at his head. You opt instead, however, to stare into the fire burning merrily in your lavish hearth.

You try not to linger too long on the way the flames dance like his hair in the wind; how its warmth caressing your face feels dangerously close to his hands; his lips.

Behind you, Kyojuro silently gathers his own abandoned attire. Your ears are painfully tuned into every snap of leather, every shift of metals as he completes his metamorphosis with careful precision.

He cannot help but hesitate as he dresses, silently willing you to face him, to say something — anything — but the only sound that passes between you are the ones of him preparing to leave. Again.

Resigned, he makes his final adjustments to his uniform, his armor, and then slips quietly to your chamber door. He chances one, last hopeful glance back at where you stand before the hearth before pulling the door shut.

You do not turn around.