#United Kingdom Silver and Gold

[evilhorse]

Sacre Bleu! Ze world is fini!

(Doctor Solar, Man of the Atom #10)

[flowerandblood]

White Marriage (2)

[ Kingdom of Heaven • King Baldwin x female ]

[ warnings: fingering, virginity loss, sex content, poetic smut, angst, a detailed description of the deadly disease and the unpleasant symptoms associated with it ]

[ description: After their nuptials, the court becomes even more divided. The King, however, wishes to spend the last years of his life experiencing the joys he finds in the closeness of his wife. His bride was never to lose her maidenhood, however, is what the King has proclaimed to his subjects what he really craves? ]

Author’s Note: After the warm reception of the first part, which I didn't expect at all, here is the second part of their story! I have to admit that I had a great time writing it and I love them. I tried to leave some realism and not forget about his illness and the fact that it is contagious.

Part Two of Paradise Fruit. Can be read as a standalone story.

Word count: 4.600

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Their nuptials were humble – apart from the Archbishop, who gave them his blessing, uniting them for eternity, they were accompanied only by Sibylla and her husband, enraged, thinking that the King was just fulfilling his sneaky plan.

He truly believed that he would have exposed her to such danger, condemning her to the cruel disease that tormented his members to try to beget an heir.

She was grateful to her Princess for lending her one of her beautiful, gold-embellished robes that day – Sibylla knew what purpose this marriage was intended to serve and that it would not change the order of succession.

She was to be his comfort, a moment of relief and solace, nothing more.

Nevertheless, she smiled, feeling happiness filling her heart, her king's gaze tender and full of affection, from which she felt warmth in her chest.

She thought that she had fallen in love with him.

Their marriage was announced to all and sundry, and she became a king's wife, but not a queen.

She was not bothered by this.

She was assigned a chamber right next to his – she could now visit him whenever she wished and did not have to worry about the King's honour.

As she walked into his quarters, clad only in a thin night robe, a smile of happiness adorned her face. Baldwin, though tired, also seemed pleased and rose at the sight of her.

"Wife." He said, entwining his hands behind his back.

His figure was all clad in white as usual, though the material of his wardrobe seemed thicker to her, a silver mask on his face.

To her surprise she noticed that his gloves were black, apparently made of leather.

She bowed to him, recognising that she was not intending to think about it now.

"My King. My husband. You are the man of your word." She whispered warmly, looking up at him from above her long lashes, feeling a pleasant tickle in her lower abdomen meeting his gaze, hot and dark.

"I am." He replied. "I couldn't deny myself this pleasure. It was an act of my selfishness, not my greatness."

She blinked, cocking her head, feeling for some reason amused by his words.

"Does it matter now?" She asked lightly – something flashed across his gaze, she thought he smiled.

"No. Not in the slightest."

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for his orders – he had announced that because of his disease he would not take her maidenhood and their marriage would be white, however, after what had gone on between them earlier, she did not think her husband would want to remain an ascetic in every aspect.

"Let me see you." He said finally, his voice like a sigh.

She knew what he meant, she knew what he wanted – she could see it in his gaze. Her hands rose to the small knot above her breasts, untying it, slipping the thin material of her nightgown off her shoulders in a light, gentle motion, remaining bare before him.

She shuddered, feeling the chill of the chamber surround her body despite the flames burning in the fireplace beside her, her lips parted as she noticed her king's gaze shift, misty and filled with a familiar, hot desire.

For a moment he looked at her with his head tilted, as if he was simply admiring her, nothing more.

"My physicians have said that the leather material, as opposed to linen, will ensure that you are protected from the touch of my bare skin and what it may cause." He said, tentatively extending his hand to her, and she felt her heart thump harder in her chest with joy.

She could touch him.

They both drew in a loud breath as she placed her fingers on his palm, letting him pull her a little closer, the spot between her thighs all swollen with desire, slowly growing moist with her wetness.

Her lips parted with her gasp of surprise as his other hand touched her cheek – she snuggled her face into it, placing affectionate kisses of her lips on it.

"I would give all the treasures of this chamber, my possessions and my gold coins to feel the taste of your lips on mine." He gasped, looking at her as if she were a precious jewel, a spring water that quenches thirst, an olive tree that feeds whole nations.

She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the sizzling fire and their hitched breaths as his thumb ran over her full, lower lip. She parted it before him and let him slide it deeper, between her teeth. Her lips clamped slowly around his finger, looking up at him with desire as she began to suck.

A low groan escaped his throat at the sight, clearly imagining that he was forcing something completely different down her throat.

He placed his other hand on her back, at the same time pulling her closer and holding her at arm's length, apparently afraid that even his breath was dangerous to her, possibly dooming her to his fate.

She moaned when he gave in, when his mask pressed against her forehead, his eyelids all red around his bright pupils.

"– forgive me –"

She didn't know why his words, filled with so much sadness and desire, made her throw her hands on his shoulders, her lips clinging greedily to the unpleasantly cold, silver structure of his mask.

She closed her eyes, hearing his gasp of surprise, placing lingering, hot kisses full of her saliva and tongue on the surface of it, imagining he was able to feel it, his hands sinking into her hair.

"– touch me, husband – I crave you –" She mewled helplessly, running her hands over the material beneath which was his head, his hair, his jaw and neck.

She squealed when he lifted her suddenly by her buttocks, the quiet hiss that escaped his lips made her understand that this sudden movement must have caused him pain.

She stroked the back of his head as he moved towards his bed with his face nestled between her breasts, not wanting to show him any sympathy now that he wanted to be a strong man in her eyes.

He let out a breath as he laid her down on the soft sheets, his gaze full of tenderness as he looked at her face.

"– lie on your stomach and spread your thighs –" He said calmly and gently, however, something in his words and their undertone made her feel a heat in her lower abdomen and a wonderful tickling sensation.

She obeyed his command immediately, feeling her legs become stiff as he caught her around the waist and lifted her hips, forcing her to buck her buttocks in front of him in a shameless manner.

She heard his heavy breath as he positioned himself behind her on his knees, running his leather-gloved hands over the soft skin of her buttocks, herself panting hard, knowing where he was looking now.

"– the reason why Paris abducted Helen of Troy – the cause of the downfall and delight of all mankind locked deep between my wife's thighs –" He whispered in such a sensual way that she moaned pathetically, clenching her eyelids as his thumb ran over her leaking, throbbing womanhood.

Apparently he liked the sound she made, because one of his hands slid into her hair, holding her in place, reassuring him that she wouldn't take advantage of his weakness and try to expose him in an act of pleasure, endangering him and herself.

"– lie still – shhhh, my love –" He whispered, hearing her innocent cry of desperation as his fingers began to trail around her oversensitive, swollen bud, waves of tingling and tickling sensations spreading through her body dulling her mind, causing her to emit uncontrollable sounds.

She could hear him panting as she watched what he was doing to her, his fingers digging into her delicate folds with a loud click of her wetness, barely teasing her – her hips began to roll back and forth, responding to his treatments, trying to find a better source of rubbing.

"– have mercy on me –" She mumbled with difficulty, her lips parted wide in a girlish moan when, at her request, the tip of his middle finger burst into her fleshy, hot interior.

The experience was at once full of discomfort and delight – at first the material of his glove was cold, but in time her body temperature enveloped him with its heat.

"– God – so warm –" He whispered in a voice trembling with emotion, in some involuntary, primitive reflex forcing her to take his finger deeper inside her, meeting resistance.

"– yes or no –" He breathed out, making her gasp.

Yes or no.

She froze, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad, knowing that he had lied: he had only declared their marriage as white so that after his death his sister's husband would not attempt to kill her out of fear that she might be carrying his heir.

The future King.

"– yes –"

Her fingers clenched on the fabric of the sheet beneath her as he pierced something inside her in one aggressive motion, along with her squeal taking her maidenhood.

She began to wriggle under him with sweet whimpers of delight as his first finger was joined by a second, opening her wide for him only to fuck her before his eyes.

Tears of pleasure and shock ran down her cheeks as she moaned like a mere whore, spreading her thighs wider, his fingers thicker and longer than hers, stretching her so wonderfully.

"– please –" She whimpered, responding with her hips to each thrust of his hand, the tips of his fingers hitting the sweet spot deep inside her with startling precision again and again, while his thumb teased her little pearl between her folds with reluctance.

She bucked up more, panting loudly along with him, feeling the drops of her own wetness begin to run down her thighs one by one, soaking his hand, the fingers of his free palm clenched in her hair.

"– go on – please your King –" He commanded in a low voice from which her weeping cunt clenched around his fingers in convulsions of ecstasy, the sweet, stupefying pleasure making her cry out loudly, her legs bent at the knees quivering all over from the exertion.

"– a-ah –" She mumbled out, her face red with emotion as her body shook with a fulfilment so strong that her leaking, hot walls began to simply suck him inside. He felt it and moaned in a boyish manner, stopping moving, keeping his two fingers slipped deep into her body, just wanting to feel how it pulsed around them.

"– yes – just like that – easy now – easy –" He praised her, slowly sliding them out of her, and she swallowed hard, letting her body fall back onto the bed, panting loudly.

She sighed as he turned her onto her back and spread her thighs, looking at her with eyes black with desire, his hand slipped under the material of his robe.

Only then did she notice that his garment had a slit in the area underneath where his manhood was.

Although he had not allowed her to look at it then, now that he had grasped it in his hand and directed it at her throbbing womanhood, she saw the fat, pink head of it, dripping with his desire.

His hand clamped down on her soft breast, careful, however, not to cause her pain as he began to squeeze his swollen erection in his palm, with sharp, aggressive strokes from the very base to the tip chasing his fulfilment.

She moaned innocently, surprised, tilting her head back as his thumb ran over her hard, sensitive nipple, playing with it, something like satisfaction flashed through his gaze when he saw that this kind of touch was giving her pleasure.

"– my wife is so eager – so devoted to her poor husband – hm? –" He gasped, his breathing heavy as he accelerated, already squeezing only the base of his manhood, rocking his hips back and forth, struggling to restrain himself from opening her up, from sinking into her, from feeling her.

She rolled her hips forward encouragingly, rubbing her moist cunt against the thick head of his erection, drawing a low, almost animalistic groan from his throat, his silhouette moving slightly away.

"– no –" He growled with pain and anger, involuntarily returning again and again to her warmth, letting the tip of it push against her swollen, thirsty slit.

"– please, my King – put inside me –" She begged, but he shook his head and simply came with a loud moan of pleasure, his pearly, sticky spend spewing onto her womanhood.

He stared at this shameless sight, his head bowed low, his breath heavy as if he had just accomplished some heroic feat.

"– you need to bathe in hot water – immediately – dress yourself, I'll call the servants –" He exclaimed, rising abruptly from the bed, covering his manhood back with his robe, wiping his hand sticky with her wetness into its material.

She stood up quickly, horrified that he was surely angry with her for not listening to him, hastily dressing her nightgown over her shoulders, bursting into sobs.

"– forgive me, my King – forgive me, do not send me away –" She begged, but he did not listen to her, ordering his servant to immediately bring the tub into his chamber and fill it with hot water.

Although it slightly burned her skin when she stepped inside, her husband-king explained that the heat killed whatever was spreading his disease, and the oils and herbs that were thrown in were to prevent any other infections.

She looked at him with big eyes as he sat beside her, dipping his leather-gloved hand into the water along with a piece of cloth, sinking it then between her thighs, making sure not a single drop of his seed remained on it.

"– will you forgive me, my beloved? –" She muttered pleadingly, watching his face. He looked at her with a chastising look and sighed heavily.

"– it is I who should beg your forgiveness – I have allowed myself to be carried away by my desires, which have suppressed my reason – do not fear, it will not happen again – after your bath you will return to your chamber and will no longer visit me in the evenings –" He said calmly, looking away.

Her heart stopped in her throat, her brow arching in pain and disbelief at his words.

"Are you sending me away?" She muttered with difficulty. He looked at her, surprised apparently by her question and reaction, his hand froze in mid-motion.

"You can't sleep here because I am here. My breath, my proximity are deadly. I am exposing you even now. Before sleep, my physicians pull off most of the fabric that covers my body. I will never let you see this." He said and swallowed hard, seeing as tears one by one began to run down her cheeks.

"You break my heart. At least let my bed be placed next to yours. Drape it with curtains so that I may not see you or your body at night, but that I may at least hear your voice, hear your presence in the same chamber." She said pleadingly, touching his beautiful silver mask with her hand, his gaze tired and sad, filled with pain.

He hesitated.

"The chamber is not locked. Place my bed by the windows, by the fresh air. Do not condemn me to solitude, show me mercy, my King." She whispered, once again placing a kiss on his mask, on his cold, silver lips, his sigh testifying that he pressed his lips on the other side, reciprocating her caress.

"You are my doom."

At his command, her bed was moved to his chamber, raising voices full of resentment from some of the monks and priests, commenting on the fact that her maidenhood might be called into question.

"White marriage, to my knowledge, does not mean that husband and wife live separately. On the contrary, we should indulge in prayers together and be each other's comfort by day and night."

Honour Knights and Lords were concerned about what kind of comfort his little wife was to him.

Each day, the physicians sent by King Saladin checked the condition of her body and whether there were any signs of infection – her husband watched it from the sidelines in horror, relief in his gaze each time he heard from their lips that his wife was in good health.

However, taking advantage of the fact that the King had left the chamber after her examination, returning to his duties, one of his medics approached her, pale.

"My Lady. Spending so much time in the King's company, you will certainly contract his disease. Often its first symptoms do not appear until years after infection. It is possible that it is already too late." He muttered, bowing before her.

She swallowed loudly, looking at him calmly, feeling discomfort in her stomach.

"Would my husband live to see the time when the first symptoms could be apparent? If it turned out I was infected." She mumbled, and he shook his head.

"No, my Lady."

She smiled at his words and nodded.

"Thank you. Assure my King that I am well and can abide with him as before."

The man looked at her, in his eyes disbelief but at the same time a kind of admiration, compassion and warmth from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.

"My Lady."

The days in Jerusalem were often sunny and hot, and as her husband rejoiced at the sight of her bare body, she walked around his chambers naked, feeling like a Greek goddess, Aphrodite or Artemis.

She would read old volumes, play the lute or embroider while spreading out comfortably on large cushions so that he could see her, and he would admire her from afar like a nymph.

"– my wife is like a fruit of paradise – like a goddess born of the sea foam –" He murmured, looking at her contentedly, bent over the dozens of parchments spread out on his table.

The servants knew that they could not enter his quarters without permission, for although he was gentle and affectionate in his manner, he did not wish to share this shameless sight with anyone.

However, what most of their days consisted of were conversations.

Her husband was a great speaker – they were discussing the Bible, faith, philosophy, poetry, art, war and history for long hours.

At nights, when he couldn't sleep from his pain, hearing his sighs and quiet moans that he tried to suppress for her sake, she would ask him questions.

She couldn't touch his hands or embrace him – his body needed rest, to breathe to keep from rotting and for at least a few hours a day it was supposed to be uncovered.

"Christ says to the adulteress: go and sin no more. However, he knows, as God incarnate, that this is not his command, but a recommendation. Sin is the fatal disease of every human being and we all sin in thought, in speech, in deed, in neglect. This is no reason to be sad. Christ is merely saying: live in such a way as not to cause yourself or others suffering, try to live with dignity, in harmony with yourself and your Father in Heaven."

"Is it known what happened to her afterwards?" She asked quietly, looking at his silhouette, seeing only its outline on the other side of his bed.

"Some identify her with Mary Magdalene or Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus. But it could also have been a person not mentioned by name in the Gospel. She certainly followed Christ and became one of his disciples." He said, his voice clearer without his mask, calm and soft.

"Do you think God considers me an adulteress?" She asked in a trembling voice and heard him shift restlessly in his bed.

"Why should such an unjust and harsh judgment fall on my wife? Because she is devoted to me with her soul, heart and body? Haven't you done everything I asked of you and even more? You are as pure as the sheet I lie on, as the delicate fabrics I wear on my skin. Your beauty makes me even more aware of my ugliness." He whispered with pain that made her swallow hard, shocked by his words.

"To me, you are the most beautiful of men. Before I met you, I swore to God that I would never marry, that I would not share Sibylla's fate. He showed me mercy, filling my heart with a burning feeling for you, my beloved."

He was silent, but she heard him exhale loudly, his trembling sigh full of suffering.

He cried.

"If only you could look at my face, see what a disgusting caricature of a human I am, you would understand what a great mistake you made." He howled, choking on his own tears, clearly letting out what had been weighing on his heart for weeks.

The fear that if she accidentally saw his face, she would scream in terror and run away.

"Is your faith in me so weak? I hoped you think of me with respect." She mumbled, heartbroken, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

She heard him swallow hard at her words, clearly terrified that he had offended her.

"I do, my love. Forgive me."

"I fell in love with a human, not an earthly shell." She said, but he didn't answer her.

She watched the silhouette of her husband and his physicians each evening through the curtains, seeing them only as through a fog in the candlelight, their shadows dancing around her.

She could hear his hisses and cries of pain as they treated his wounds, see the outline of his head, always with his back turned to her.

When they were finally left alone and he lay down on his bed, she heard his sigh of relief, his face, though she couldn't see it, turned towards her.

"My sweetest?" He whispered, and she smiled warmly, feeling a wonderful delight in her heart every time he called her that.

"I'm here, my love." She murmured, twisting comfortably in her bed.

"I desire you."

She swallowed hard, feeling her warm womanhood throb around nothing.

"I desire you too, my beloved."

They were both silent for a long moment, the tension around them palpable in the air.

"– one of my physicians –" He began in a trembling voice. "– at my request, he created something that I can – put on my length so as not to touch you directly – from what I understand, he made it from the intestine of some animal and disinfected it – he assured me that it would be safe for both of us, but –"

"– yes –" She muttered, feeling her heart begin to pound like crazy at the thought that he wanted to do this to her.

"– you know it's a risk –" He said, his voice quivering with longing, the shadow of his silhouette turned towards her.

"– I knew it from the very beginning – I don't care what happens to my body – I just want to feel my beloved husband inside me –" She whispered with embarrassment and that seemed to be enough for him.

She heard him stand up, quickly putting the cloth and mask over his head as he appeared on the other side, beside her bed, looking as he usually did – the same black leather gloves on his hands, his fingers clenched on a small wooden box.

"– undress –" He commanded, and she did so, literally ripping off herself her nightgown, laying down on her stomach.

His silhouette was instantly next her, kneeling behind her buttocks, his breath hitched and quickened when she heard the rustling of something and another strange, sticky sound.

After a moment, his fingers tentatively and gently ran over her swollen, pink folds, collecting her wetness, which had already managed to trickle down her thigh.

"– no other treatments are needed – my sweet wife is leaking like a forest stream –" He hummed with delight and admiration, she felt her cheeks blush with embarrassment.

They both sighed as she felt something thick and hard begin to push against her puffy slit, opening her wide – despite her lack of preparation her cunt pulsed in delight, moist with desire.

The feeling of him deep inside her, so intense and definitive, of how hard his long, thick erection stretched her fleshy walls was shockingly pleasurable and terrifying at the same time, as if her body no longer belonged to her.

"– yes, yes, yes –" She mewled as she felt his hands clamp down on her buttocks, spreading them apart as if he were tearing a piece of fruit, another determined thrust of his hips sinking him completely into her hot core with their moans of pleasure.

"– fuck –"

She wasn't sure if he had ever cursed before, but then, as his hips immediately began to pound into her with loud slaps, nothing more than their panting, grunts and words insulting to God left his mouth.

"– we'll do it frequently – so that you can remember this feeling well – your husband deep inside your warmth –" He exhaled in a way from which her little cunt began to squeeze him greedily, sucking his erection inside, her lips parted wide in a loud, helpless whines of pleasure so strong that she had to close her eyes, her hands clenched on the bedding.

His gloved fingers dug into the delicate structure of her hips, imposing a more aggressive pace on her, his fat manhood bursting deep between her fleshy walls without slipping out of her, hitting again and again her sweet little spot.

"– yes – yes, I love you, I love you, I love you, please –" She cried out, feeling the tension in her silky womanhood reach its zenith, the pleasant tingling in her belly testifying to the fact that she was about to reach her peak with him and dreamed of nothing else.

He moaned low, slamming into her like mad, feeling her weeping core clench around his twitching length more and more, his manhood hard as a rock with desire.

"– G-God – oh, fuck, yes, yes, my sweetest, let me, ah –" He gasped in delight, coming deep inside her, filling the thin material overlying his manhood with his release.

Her eyes closed and her mouth parted wide as her peak came down on her like a thunderbolt, shaking her body with convulsions of delicious delight.

They both moaned and panted, rocking their hips for a moment more with the loud click of her slick cunt, his hands soothingly kneading the skin of her buttocks.

"– I will order more of this to be prepared – so that I can fulfil my marital duty every night –" He sighed with satisfaction.

She involuntarily smiled under her breath, looking up at him over her shoulder, the moonlight shining outside the window reflected in his mask.

"– what kind of white marriage is this? –" She asked teasingly, rolling her hips, feeling his half-soft manhood pulsate inside her again.

"– our kind – do not fret – I will explain it to God once I am before him – I will tell him that I loved my wife too much –"

_____

Author's note: Between their wedding day and this next act, weeks actually pass during which he doesn't touch her (she mentions the days spent in his company and how she is examined every day, how he watches her naked, but apart from that nothing happens between them). He is afraid that if he tries to touch her again, he won't hold back (he had already had difficulty not taking her on their wedding night), so he tried to think of something so as not to touch her directly with his manhood. Their intimacy is an act of their desperation, the pain of knowing that their marriage will last a year or two at most. The desire to touch her and feel her is as strong in him as the desire to protect her and push her away. Their love is tragic and complete to me, and she knows what she is risking (she knew from the very beginning).

[allthegeopolitics]

The United Kingdom has returned 32 gold and silver treasures stolen from the Asante Kingdom more than 150 years ago in what is today’s Ghana on a six-year loan, Ghanaian negotiators have said. The artefacts, comprising 15 items from the British Museum and 17 from the Victoria and Albert Museum (V&A), were looted from the court of the Asante king during the turbulent 19th-century clashes between the British and the Asante people. Ghanaian authorities have for years tried to reclaim gold treasures looted by British soldiers from the Asante kingdom, which is also known as Ashanti.

Continue Reading.

[the-cimmerians]

Queer and trans folk around the world often take an interest in the athletes from our community, and Outsports even collects a database of all the the out LGBTQ competitors. While JK Rowling and 99 percent of conservative media were harassing two cis women boxers, 195 QT athletes represented 26 nations and none, but we’ll get to that. That makes this the queerest Olympics ever, beating out the total of 186 out athletes in Tokyo and, if Queer Nation granted citizenships, would be the 14th largest national contingent at the games. That hypothetical Queer Nation would also have placed sixth in the medal count, tying the Netherlands with 15 golds but falling neatly between the Dutch and host country France on the strength of silvers and bronzes.

One happy bit of news is that in both golds and overall medal count, Queer Nation beat out every single country in the world that criminalizes same-sex boinking. The only bad news seems to be that people competing in the men’s events seem a little underqueered compared to the women. Can’t we at least get a few interested in the Greco-Roman wrestling? Yr Wonkette is just asking.

...

Sure, justice in silver and gold for badass bisexual Black woman Sha’Carri Richardson, excluded from Tokyo on the basis of smoking legal weed in Eugene, Oregon, was as sweet as sativa; it was fun to see Diana Taurasi go out on the queer top with her sixth Olympic gold in a row (team USA’s eighth consecutive women’s basketball gold); and seeing the shoulders on those women rugby players was a dream come true. But we want to speak about someone who didn’t represent any country at all: Cindy Ngamba.

Ngamba is a middleweight (75kg) boxer originally from Cameroon. At 11 years old some family members fled to the United Kingdom as refugees, and brought Ngamba along. The family maintains it had the proper approval for Cindy, but that when her uncle returned to Cameroon it was lost. The UK Home Office has been threatening to deport her since the age of 16, when she was accepted to university and realized she couldn’t produce her visa for her college paperwork.

Despite the threats, Ngamba fought and won many times in the UK’s amateur boxing competitions, having started as a hobbyist in the local Bolton Lads and Girls Club program. She also went on to get an undergraduate degree with honors, all while threats of deportation hung over her head. After winning a UK national championship, she met then-PM Theresa May celebrating her win and the efforts of the Lads & Girls Club where she trained. One might think that the UK might eventually forgive an 11-year-old girl for not keeping track of her paperwork herself, but the Home Office has remained resolute denying Ngamba regularized status.

What makes all this both horrifyingly inhumane and also relevant to this article is that Ngamba is an out lesbian. She has been consistently denied a path to citizenship or even legal residency, only escaping deportation because of her ability to document horror after horror inflicted on queer residents of Cameroon. International law prohibits sending a refugee back to their nation of citizenship or previous residence if they would face persecution and risk of great harm, a crime called “refoulement.”

“If I was sent back, I can be in danger,” Ngamba said. “So, I was given the refugee status to be safe and protected."

Unable to represent the UK and unable to compete in qualifying competitions in Cameroon, Ngamba got an opportunity that no other stateless athlete had ever shared before 2016: she was named to the IOC Refugee Olympic Team. So far that team has only been allowed to compete in the summer games, and only in Rio, Tokyo, and this year in Paris. (They will be allowed to compete in the Winter Games for the first time in 2026.) Given the incredible barriers most refugees face, it is perhaps not surprising that no Refugee Team member has ever won a medal. But while Ngamba has faced incredible legal problems and a ruthlessly anti-immigrant government her entire time in the UK, she at least had better training facilities in her local Lads & Girls than most refugees can dream.

And the dreams paid off. Team Refugee got its first medal ever when Ngamba took home middleweight bronze. "I just want to tell every refugee out there, whether they are an athlete or not, to never give up,” she said after being asked to carry the Olympic flag at the opening of the games. When she won, the whole refugee team took to the internet to celebrate:

“The Refugee Olympic Team is incredibly proud of Cindy Ngamba, the first EOR athlete and the first-ever refugee medallist at the Olympics,” the team posted on X, formerly Twitter. “Today, we are speechless. Cindy did it. Refugees did it!”

Yes, yes you did.

[royalty-nobility]

The Marriage of Nicholas II, Tsar of Russia, 26th November 1894

Artist: Laurits Regner Tuxen (Danish, 1853-1927)

Date: 1895-1896

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Royal Collection Trust, United Kingdom

Description

The wedding between Nicholas II and Princess Alix of Hesse took place in the Imperial Chapel of the Winter Palace on 26 November 1894, just over twenty years after the marriage of the Tsar's aunt in the same chapel. The wedding was announced in April that year and was to take place on the Empress Marie Feodorovna's birthday. Tragically, Emperor Alexander III died of kidney disease on 1 November, and the court was thrown into mourning with the exception of the day of the marriage.

The royal couple stand, holding lighted candles, whilst the Metropolitan Archbishop of St Petersburg, Mgr Palladius, makes the sign of the cross before them. Ella, (Grand Duchess Elizabeth Feodorovna), writing to her grandmother, Queen Victoria, described her sister's dress as 'embroidered silver cloth Russian court dress & very pretty', helpfully including a sketch. She added that 'Alix being tall will look perfectly lovely'. She wears a kokoshnik tiara and a small diamond crown, beneath which is a wreath of orange blossom, her imperial gold-embroidered mantle is lined with ermine. The Tsar is dressed in the uniform of a Hussar. In the background George I, King of Greece stands to the left of Christian IX, King of Denmark, who looks towards his daughter, the Dowager Empress; the Princess of Wales, and the Queen of Greece. The Prince of Wales can be seen dressed in the uniform of Russian Dragoons to the right of the portrait.

[blueiscoool]

Haul of Historic Coins Sells For $176,000 at Auction

A British man who found a massive cache of ancient Roman gold and silver coins while hunting with a metal detector has a lot more modern currency in his pocket after the treasure was auctioned off for $176,000.

George Ridgway, a trained archaeologist, investigated an unusual marking in a recently harvested field in Suffolk, England in September 2019, according to a news release from Noonans Auctions. He knew that a Roman road had once run close to the field, and thought there might be something to find.

Hours scouring the area turned up nothing, he said, but when he shifted his position by just 30 yards, he found two Roman brooches that dated back to the 1st century. Shortly after, he found a silver coin issued by Julius Caesar in 46 BC. Another three hours of searching turned up 160 more silver coins and some pottery fragments.

"I knew I had made an important archaeological discovery and called my dad to guard the site overnight while we waited for an archaeological team to arrive and excavate the site," the 34-year-old said. "It took three months to recover the hoard."

During that excavation, researchers found even more coins, including gold pieces. In total, 748 coins, dated from as early as 206 B.C., were recovered. Alice Cullen, a coin specialist at the auction house, said it was one of the largest hoards of Iron Age and Roman coins found in the United Kingdom. The coins may have been buried by a long-serving soldier in Rome's XX Legion, who were once stationed in what would later be known as Colchester, England, Cullen said. There was a "fierce battle" in the area around 47 A.D., Cullen said, and a victim of the conflict may have been the person who buried the coins.

Sixty-three of the coins were claimed by the British Museum and the Colchester & Ipswich Museum, to be displayed in their collections, and the rest were auctioned. While the auction house expected the sale to garner about $100,000, it actually brought in more than $176,000, according to CBS News partner the BBC.

A coin issued by Gaius Caesar - also known as Caligula - decorated with a portrait of the Empress Agrippina and dated to A.D. 37-38 sold for about $9,295, according to the BBC. Another coin, issued by Claudius and dated to A.D. 41-42, sold for about $6,640.

Ridgway said the proceeds of the sale will be split between himself and the landowner of the site where the coins were found. He said that such a find has been like a dream come true.

"I was inspired by my childhood hero Indiana Jones to start history hunting when I was 4 years old, and I dreamed of finding a Roman hoard since my grandmother bought me a metal detector for my 12th birthday," Ridgway said. "It was an awe-inspiring moment when I realised that I had found one!"

By Kerry Breen.

[middleearthpixie]

The Ties That Bind ~ Chapter One

Summary: Although Erebor is his once more, Thorin knows there is still a great threat to the peace of Middle Earth. Azog is gone, but another has taken his place and has sworn to finish what Azog began. Erebor is back, but it’s sadly lacking in protection and as much as he hates the thought of it, Thorin knows there is one thing that will guarantee the safety and continuation of his line.

War is coming and all Eirlys of Mirkwood wishes to do is fight alongside her brother Legolas and the other elves, united with Men and Dwarves in their attempt to quell the renewed tensions between them and the orc army of the north. But, her father, Thranduíl has other plans. Unite his kingdom with the newly reestablished kingdom of Erebor and use the power of both to defeat the orcs.

An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo

@lathalea @legolasbadass @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically

@guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321

@dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith

@asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep @night-ace @lyl1pad

@mistresskayla-blog1

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Erebor

“Thorin, will you just listen to reason?”

Thorin spun about to stare at his younger sister with a look that would have terrified a lesser person. Although it took more than his ire to make Dís back down, that didn't mean she wouldn’t be sorry she stood up to him in the first place. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. You are being unreasonable.”

“Am I? Am I truly being so unreasonable? Because from where I stand, I’m being perfectly reasonable.”

“You need to settle down, to marry and hopefully produce an heir. You’ve said so yourself. So, why is this such a terrible idea?”

He rolled his eyes as he paced along the length of the Throne Room. In the two years since he and his Company retook Erebor, and since he finally recovered from the near-fatal wounds he’d received in the process of said reclamation, the kingdom had come a long way. When they’d first returned, the once-mighty kingdom beneath the Lonely Mountain was little more than a ruin, having housed a treasure-obsessed dragon for over a century. It had taken work beyond measure to return the kingdom to its glory and for the first time since he and Balin had first come through the secret door, Thorin thought they might actually accomplish the task.

But, there were rumblings once more. The orc army, nearly decimated with the death of their leader, Azog the Defiler and his son and heir, Bolg, appeared to be growing stronger once again. And while Erebor was on its way to its return, it wasn’t there yet and its army was nowhere near large enough or powerful enough to take on a renewed orc power. Plus, he’d heard the rumors of Sauron, and if those rumors were true, Erebor could be in very real trouble in a very short time. 

However…

“She is elven,” Thorin said once he’d reached the far end of the large, rectangular chamber. Erebor’s throne, a massive block of elaborate carved obsidian, etched with gold and silver, was the only thing in the room and that was fine, as Thorin only usually came into it when he needed to think.

“So? The elves fought alongside you, didn't they?”

“She is the daughter of Thranduíl and I’d eat the Arkenstone if anyone told me he would be willing to allow his only daughter to come here.”

“There’s only one way to know. And Kíli said one of Thranduíl’s advisors brought up the possibility of an alliance between his family and ours. They took quite the hit themselves, if you remember. So apparently, he is quite open to the idea.”

He rubbed his forehead with one hand, a heavy sigh rising to his lips. Yes, he needed to think about marrying. And yes, Erebor’s army was only barely such. And finally, yes, an alliance between Erebor’s ruling family and Mirkwood’s ruling family would be wise and powerful. Especially now that the elves of Rivendell had been slowly taking leave of Middle Earth. They’d just begun their exodus, but he knew from his last visit to Rivendell that Elrond was also planning the time when he would join his kin.

But Thranduíl, of all people. The same smug princess king who’d simply tossed Thorin and his company into the Mirkwood dungeons over a perceived slightly that Thorin himself actually had nothing to do with. 

And now his sister, and his nephew, (and most likely his nephew’s wife, Tauriel, who had been a captain in the Mirkwood guard) were already making plans and testing the water for him to marry the princess king’s daughter. His only daughter. Who was, no doubt a spoiled and pampered princess to boot. 

“She’s very pretty,” Dís broke in, her voice slightly singsong in tone. Then, in her normal voice, she added, “At least, Kíli thought so.”

“Kíli thinks anything female is pretty.”

“Now, that is neither true nor fair.”

Dís was right. They’d traveled to Mirkwood only weeks earlier for Kíli and Tauriel’s wedding, where Thorin had caught a glimpse of Mirkwood’s only princess. Tall. Slim. Hair so blonde it looked almost white. Typical elf of the Woodland Realm. Pretty, but she probably knew it and he could only imagine how conceited she was as a result.

Still, this was one argument he knew he stood almost no chance of winning. Dís had thought her points through and perfectly so. Like it or not, he would most likely be marrying Eirlys of Mirkwood. 

He sighed, his shoulders slumping, and lowered his hand. “Dís, think about what you suggest? The Line of Durin would become half elven.”

“And the line of Thranduíl would become half dwarven.” She offered up a mischievous smile. “And I take a rather childish delight in that, myself.” 

“Of course you do.” He strolled back toward her, then skirted her to sink into the cold obsidian throne. “And you see no problem with this? None at all?”

“Thorin,” she moved closer, her hand coming to rest on his knee, “is the idea so abhorrent to you? I mean, you do have to marry sooner rather than later and if Kíli is to be believed, you could do far worse than Eirlys of Mirkwood.”

Despite what he’d said only minutes earlier, Kíli did have a eye for pretty girls, and Eirlys was most definitely striking from a distance. Up close, she was probably even more so. If nothing else, he’d at least enjoy gazing upon her. Small comfort, but if it was the only one, he’d take it.

But Thranduíl.

He drew in a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. Then met his sister’s gaze and he knew he was doomed. “What if she does not agree with this?”

“What if she does? Think of it, Thorin. Think of how much stronger Erebor will be, and how Mirkwood would be forever allied with us as well. This can only benefit us.”

“Which means I will never be rid of Thrandy.”

She didn't trouble to hide her smile. “No, you won’t. But… that might not necessarily be as terrible as you think.”

“Dís, you spent but a short time with him. Barely enough time for a conversation.”

“Oh, don't be silly. Of course I had more than a single conversation with him and I found him to be rather rather personable.”

“Even so.”

“No, no even so. If you insist on forcing a divide where one only exists in your mind, you will never be happy.”

“Dís.”

“Thorin.”

He just stared, and she stared right back. Seeing that he was not going to win this argument, arguing was wasted time and breath, and so he slowly bobbed his head. “Very well. I suppose it might be worth at least discussing it with him.” 

“Ah, at last, you’re seeing reason.” Dís grinned. “And I’ll wager she is not putting up that much of a fight about this, either.”

“You have lost your mind!”

Eirlys could only stare at her father, wondering if he truly had gone mad, for that was the only explanation for his ludicrous suggestion that she consider taking Thorin of Erebor as a husband.

But her father remained his usual cool, collected self, his blue eyes unblinking and his face void of emotion as he replied, “Why? Because I promise you that I am quite sane and this is a logical solution the problems at hand.”

“He is a dwarf, Father.”

“I am well aware of that, Eirlys.” He tapped his fingers on the woven branches that made up the arm of the woven sticks and vines that made up his throne. On those fingers, he wore several rings, one set with a gold and brown tiger’s eye stone, another that, like his throne, was woven vines set with a golden topaz. “But, as I know you are also well aware, an alliance with the dwarves would be to our advantage.”

“You speak of the Gundabad orcs, don’t you?” She didn't wait for him to nod, for she knew she was right. She’d overheard him and her older brother, Legolas discussing the orcs from the north the previous evening. “But orcs never come this far south.”

“They have been, though, and you know you heard that as well.”

Heat flitted through her at the stern look in his eyes and the definite scolding in his tone. But that didn't stop her from retorting, “Then allow me to fight, as you do Legolas.”

“No. I take no chances with you, Eirlys. And in Erebor, you would be safe, should our perimeter be breached.”

A small knot twisted in the pit of her belly. “You mean to simply send me away?”

“Of course not. Don’t be a fool.” He slowly rose and carefully made his way down the woven staircase to descend from the throne. He had to be careful because not only was the staircase curved, but he wore a ridiculously long robe of gold, green, and brown silk. His hair, the same nearly-white blond as hers, spilled over his shoulders and down his back like spun gold water, and was held out of his face partially by the crown of woven sticks and leaves, dotted with the same topaz and tiger’s eye as his rings. 

He stood only a few inches taller than her, shaking his head as he went on, “You are not being banished, only married.”

“To a dwarf.”

“It is not ideal, but elven royalty is at a premium these days and a suitable husband will not be found amongst those left. King Thorin will give you the life you should have, and that you will be safe, tucked beneath the Lonely Mountain, is only a bit more icing on the cake. He and I have had our differences, but he has since proven his worth and I would trust him with one of my most precious assets.”

She rolled her eyes. “Precious assets?”

That earned her a smile. “You do not agree?”

“You have gone mad.”

He let out a soft sigh, moving to drape his arm about her shoulders, a gesture he would not have done, had anyone else been in the throne room with them. He was loving, but reserved when others were about. After all, he had a reputation to uphold. 

“Eirlys, you must know that I have only your best interests in my heart.”

“By marrying me off to a dwarf?”

His smile faded. “Stop that. You met him at Tauriel and Kíli’s wedding and did not look down your nose at him then.”

Yes, she’d met him. Smiled and bobbed her head and then went off to dance with her friends, hardly giving the long-haired, rather shaggy-looking dwarf king a second thought. She had no idea what plans were going to be in the works following the rather modest wedding. 

“You didn't intend for me to take him as my husband then. And I don't quite understand why I can’t just stand alongside you and Legolas, should the orc army come this far south. You’ve let other women do so.”

“Enough now. You know full well why I will not allow it. You are not simply other women. You are my daughter. And I will protect you with every fiber of my being and if it means protecting this wood and those within it at the same time? I will do it. And in time, you will thank me. You will see.”

Eirlys offered up a long look. “I’ll not promise to not say I told you so, when you are wrong, you know.”

“I expect no less.”

“Good.”

“But, I have the feeling I won’t be wrong, either.”

She ignored that and the smug smile that accompanied his words. “So, when am I to be shipped off?”

Now it was Thranduíl’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’ll not be shipped anywhere. I will send word to Erebor that Thorin and his company should come here and we will work out the finer details at that point. But, you needn’t worry. The wedding will take place here.”

“Because that is my biggest concern. Where the wedding is to be held.” She pulled away, then turned to face him. “May I go then?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you.” 

She was almost to the doorway of woven vines when Thranduíl called, “Eirlys?”

She paused, peering over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“You will see, this is for the best.”

She met his gaze and although she wasn't entirely happy with his decision, she knew that he did have her best interests at heart and would do nothing to put her in any danger. If anything, he was always overprotective of her and had been ever since her mother’s death. Knowing he did what he did out of love was enough to make her sigh softly as she nodded. “I know, Papa.”

His eyes softened and a hint of a paternal smile played at his lips. “Good.”

[scarletst0ries]

TWST: The EPIC Saga

The Horse and the Infant

Main Character: Jamil Viper(Odysseus)

Technically Jamil x Oc. (I needed to have as many of the canon cast as possible)

I will be following the story of EPIC and by extension the Odyssey but with the names of twst characters and slight rewrites. Style: Songfic? I think?

TW: murder, child endangerment, dramatics, war, PTSD, death, more to be added as it comes up. Masterlist

A/N: Love you Yana! And love you Jorge! I hope I do this story justice

600 men were crammed into a wooden horse. They were all dressed in the Scalding Sands’ traditional soldier’s uniform. They wait with bated breath as they feel the horse begin to move into the capital city of the Kingdom of Heroes. They all turn to their commander, a young man with long, dark, hair, and calculated grey eyes. He sighs and looks to the men around him.

“Alright my brothers, listen closely. Tonight we make those “heroes” pay. Ten years of war they’ve killed us slowly, but tonight we’ll be the ones who slay!”

A buzz of cheers ricochets throughout the horse. He waits for it to die down before starting again, “Think of your wives and your children,” He looks at the snake armband around his right upper arm, ”Your family’s wondering where you’ve been. They’re growing old and yet you’re still here.”

He looks at his men again, admiring the determination in their gaze.

“Do what I say and you’ll see them again,” He offers.

“Yes sir!” The army shouts. It’s overwhelming and would get them found out without the soundproofing spell. He begins to assign specific duties to his best soldiers.

“Jack will lead the charge,” A tall wolf beastman nods.

“Sebek will flank the guard, Silver will let our mates through the gate and take the whole city at large, Rook will shoot any ambush attack, and Epel will stay back,” He waits for each man to nod before continuing, “Sam, secure the princess and protect her, and Floyd, avenge your father, kill the brothers of Rielle!”

“Yes sir!”

The captain’s eyes glow slightly red, giving a binding order to his men, “Find that inner strength now, use that well of pride, fight through every pain now, ask yourself inside: What do live for, what do you fight for, what do you wish for, what do you try for?”

The men echo the last sentiment as the order solidifies. The horse begins to move.

He takes the armband and turns it over in his hands. He thought back to his homeland where people, specifically someone was waiting for him. He sees a woman, his wife, y/n and a small bundle in her hands, their son, Carmon. He slips the gold snake band back onto his arm.

I fight for us.

He can hear the soldiers around him asks each other who they’re living for. Y/n

Who they’re trying for.

Carmon

Who they’re wishing for. He sighs in preparation as he can feel the wooden horse beginning to stop moving.

I’m on my way

Who they’re fighting for. The horse stops moving and the door on the neck slowly starts to open. The soldiers hug the shadows until it opens enough for them to safely jump down. The moment finally comes.

“Attack!” He shouts and the soldiers rush the unsuspecting citizens and army, beginning to slaughter them.

The Scalding Sands’ men are suffering no casualties. Spells of all kinds fly throughout the battlefield. The captain had just finished clearing out a unit of archers until he notices someone behind him. He tries to react but the assailant thrusts a blade through his stomach. He lets out a gut-wrenching scream, trying to grab the blade.

But he finds nothing. Because he wasn’t stabbed.

“What…was that?” He asks, turning behind him to see a tall man with jet black hair, pointed ears, and horns. Malleus, the king of the gods.

Malleus smiles at him and speaks with a deep voice, “A vision, of what is to come. Cannot be outrun, can only be dealt with right here and now.”

Jamil swallows, “Tell me how.”

Malleus chuckles, “I don’t think you’re ready,” he points to the captain, “A mission, to kill someone’s son. A foe who won’t run, it can only be dealt with right here and now.”

“Tell me how. I know that I’m ready.”

“I don’t think you’re ready,” Malleus snaps his fingers and a bundle of blankets float gently into his arms. The captain pulls back the blanket and is greeted with a small, sleeping face. He looks at it horrified.

“It’s just an infant…it’s just a boy. What sort of imminent threat does he pose that I can’t avoid?”

“This is the son of none other of the Kingdom of Heroes very own prince. He will grow from a boy do an avenger. One fueled by rage, if you’re consumed by age,” A group of gods appear behind him, joining Malleus in the prophecy, “If you don’t end him now, you’ll have nothing else to save.”

Malleus grins, “You can say goodbye to y/n.”

The captain looks around panicked, trying to find a solution that does not involve killing the innocent child, “I could raise him as my own.”

Malleus sighs, “He will burn your house and throne.”

“Send him far away from home.”

“He will find wherever you roam.”

“Make sure his past is never known!”

“The gods will make him know.”

“I’d rather bleed for you!”

“This is the will of the gods,” Malleus glares at the captain with an air of finality. The captain looks from the god, to the infant, and back to the god.

“Please don’t make me do this…Don’t make me do this!” His voice is strained. For once, the god looks at him with sympathy and places his hand on his shoulder.

“The blood on your hands is something you won’t lose,” He begins to fade away, “All you can choose is whose…”

He leave the captain alone with the infant. He stares at the burning city around him, before slowly walking to the edge of the wall….

_________________________________________

Some of the characters were inspired by @werewolfbyknight’s idea for the AU

[liebgottsjumpwings]

"The drum you stroke. Damn that beat so old. In the ground it grows there. To damn the sun. Gates of gold. In your head you hold, a kingdom molten. May the gods be on your side"

FAYE "FISH" FISCHER | MASTERS OF THE AIR

It made her squint, the way the sun reflected off the water in the stately looking pond across the street. It was early in the evening and the setting sun had been hanging low in the sky. Casting a golden glow onto the peaceful park she overlooked. Faye’s forehead was pressed against the sun-warmed glass. Her view of the park became blurry as the glass began to fog from Faye’s breathing. Rough shapes and colours were what remained of the scene across the street. Golden and green, sun, grass and trees. The same elements that made up the view from her childhood home back in Louisiana. It was also the last she had seen of the Alsatian town of Mulhouse as the train carried her westward. She had closed her eyes as it did, trying to keep the golden and green view in her mind for as long as possible. 

“Fischer? Are you even listening?” she heard the OSS officer in front of her ask. “Your cover was about to be blown, we couldn’t just let you keep working in Mulhouse, I’m sure you’re also happy you’re not in the middle of it anymore,” the officer continued. Faye just nodded. He would never know what it was like to be in the heart of it. To have to hide the core elements of your identity. To witness the atrocities. To have to stand and watch, unable to do anything because if you did, you would risk the same fate, while also jeopardizing the OSS’s operation. He would never know, or understand. So she just nodded, her thumb and index finger pressing into the small, silver Magen David that hung from her necklace. “Considering the Krauts are onto you now, we’ve transferred you to a different position. One that doesn’t require you to drop into occupied Europe.” The golden and green outside became even more blurred, and then they disappeared as Faye closed her eyes in anticipation. “The unit is moving you to Thorpe Abbotts, there’s an Air Force base there and they want you to capture and archive their missions-” Faye sat up, interrupting the officer; "why on earth do they need those recorded?” her eyebrows raised. “On paper, it’s something about morale, something they can show back home,” Morale. She huffed, if only they knew.

"They also want photographic evidence of their hit targets, so I guess you're also supposed to do that." the officer continued. This made her move up from her chair, both of her hands leaning onto the desk. "You're gonna make me go up in those planes?!"

BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

Name: Faye Geneva Fischer

Age: 23 (as of September 1943)

Date of birth: November 10, 1920 at 20:08

Place of birth: Plaquemine, Iberville Parish, Louisiana, United States

Hometown: New Orleans, Orleans Parish, Louisiana, United States

Occupation:  OSS Combat Photographer

Affiliation: Office of Strategic Services; Photographic Unit & Eight Air Force; 100th Bombardment Group

PLAYLIST | PINTEREST

[galleryofart]

Coming from Evening Church

Artist: Samuel Palmer (British, 1805–1881)

Date: 1830

Medium: Tempera, chalk, gold, ink and graphite on gesso on paper

Collection: TATE Britain, United Kingdom

Description

Samuel Palmer was living in Shoreham, Kent – an area he described as the ‘Valley of Vision’ – when he made this painting. He presents an idyllic, mystical vision of rural life. Palmer depicts a ‘traditional’ rural community in harmony and guided by religion. He even uses an egg tempera technique inspired by early panel paintings to make the scene feel archaic. Yet, Palmer’s time in Shoreham coincided with the eruption of the ‘Swing Riots’ throughout the countryside. In Kent, agricultural workers protested against new farming methods and harsh conditions, burning haystacks and smashing machinery.

In his 1824 sketchbook Palmer wrote a poem, 'Twilight Time', which appears to express some of the sentiments in this picture:

And now the trembling light Glimmers behind the little hills, and corn, Lingring as loth to part: yet part thou must And though than open day far pleasing more (Ere yet the fields, and pearled cups of flowers Twinkle in the parting light;) Thee night shall hide, sweet visionary gleam That softly lookest through the rising dew: Till all like silver bright; The Faithful Witness, pure, & white, Shall look o'er yonder grassy hill, At this village, safe, and still.

[harryandmeghansussex]

Last night, as an honoured guest at the Invictus Games Wheelchair Rugby Final, I had the privilege of sitting with Prince Harry and rugby legend Richie McCaw, a two-time Rugby World Cup winner, who was seated between us. An unforgettable evening witnessing incredible medal matches: 🥇 France – Gold 🥈 United Kingdom – Silver 🥉 United States – Bronze Congratulations to all the athletes for their remarkable resilience and sportsmanship. The Invictus Games continue to inspire us all! - Senator Tony Loffreda.

[haggishlyhagging]

Money, like writing, seems to have originated in the temples of the ancient world. The word money comes from the Roman Goddess Juno who in one of her forms was called Moneta meaning She Who Gives Warning. Her temple in Rome was the center for the finances of Rome and so her name Moneta became the word money. The same word became also mint because that same temple was the place where coins were minted. According to Barbara Walker silver and gold coins manufactured there were valuable not only by reason of their precious metal but also by the blessing of the Goddess herself which was believed to bring good fortune and healing magic.

Money was indeed a magical invention. Folk tales are full of magic lamps and genies and beanstalks, of magical ways to have our every wish granted. We would all like to be able to snap our fingers or twitch our noses and have our purposes accomplished. And that is almost exactly what happens with money. It can be exchanged for every conceivable kind of real wealth. Magic. Pure magic. So enamored were people of this magical invention that it became over time the primary measure of real wealth in Westem society.

Why then do three quite diverse philosophical or intellectual traditions agree on the idea that money is somehow unclean or something to be despised?

One of those traditions is Christianity. About one third of the parables of Jesus are about money. He is reported to have taught that being rich is a barrier to salvation and to have told the rich young man to sell everything and give his money to the poor. The one time he is depicted as angry is when he turns over the tables of the money changers at the temple. His advice on taxes is to render unto Caesar what is Caesar's, to separate money and worldly concerns from one's religion. Classical Christianity has preached, if not practiced, that money and this world are to be renounced in favor of an other-worldly kingdom of heaven. The love of money, said St. Paul, is the root of all evil.

Classical Marxism also renounces money as responsible for the alienation of human beings from their labor. People no longer work to create or produce, but only to make money. This situation Marx considered to be disastrous. He felt it was labor which was of essential value and that all monetary valuations were to be discarded. Those who seek only money he saw as exploiting those who work.

Finally there is Freud who thought money was anal. He equated money with feces, excrement. It is therefore filthy and messy. Withholding money is a kind of constipation. Money is related to the bowels and is dirty. And indeed, we do refer to money sometimes as "filthy lucre."

Christianity, Marxism and Freudianism all agree on despising money. As a psychologist I have learned to pay careful attention to those things another person protests most vehemently against. And as a woman I have learned to pay close attention to those things which our great patriarchs preach most loudly against. Because, of course, what is loudly despised is often what is covertly desired or feared or worshipped. So if Jesus, Marx and Freud are all in agreement on something, we women had better take a careful look.

Women are socialized to live out the Christian ideals of self-sacrifice and martyrdom and men are socialized to give lip service to them. The same hypocrisy would seem to apply to what is preached about money. Filthy, despicable, and barrier to salvation it may be, but the fact is that in general, men have money and women don't. According to the United Nations Labor Organization, women put in 65% of the world's work and get back only 10% of all income paid. The female half of the world's population owns less than 1% of world property. Women in our Western society may have access to money through their husbands or fathers, but until recently women rarely accumulated or controlled their own large fortunes.

Men may philosophize about the distinction between money, which is "merely" a measure, and "real wealth," the goods and services into which money can be changed. They can say that the pursuit of money leads to an unhappy, hollow existence. They can urge upon women the virtues of simplicity. But for most men the ultimate appeal is to the "bottom line," that is, to money. How much money will something cost? How much financial profit will be gleaned? Mae West cut through this hypocrisy with great clarity when she said "I've been rich and I've been poor, and rich is better."

-Shirley Ann Ranck, Cakes for the Queen of Heaven

[neonravengames]

Sword of Spring - Major Characters

I might've missed someone but I'll add to this post as I remember them.

King Caelin

Role: Ruler of Tir Arandor

Personality: Noble, kind, and deeply empathetic, Caelin strives to unite his kingdom and maintain the fragile peace with the fae. He is pragmatic but burdened by the weight of the throne and the constant pressures from his court.

Key Traits: Soft-spoken, thoughtful, and strategic, but not afraid to make unpopular decisions for the greater good. He has a complicated, unspoken love for Jeyra, his personal guard, and acts as a father figure to MC despite the court’s rumors that MC is his illegitimate child.

In his early 40s, Caelin has a regal yet approachable presence. His dark blonde hair is streaked with silver, a testament to the burdens of the crown. His deep green eyes carry a quiet sadness, though they are warm when he smiles. He has a tall, lean build, always dressed in simple yet elegant royal attire, favoring deep blues and golds that reflect his kingdom’s colors. He is touch-averse and always wears gloves except with Taryn, Jeyra, and MC when possible.

Queen Isolde

Role: Mother to Taryn and Lucian

Personality: Proud, sharp, and calculating. Isolde resents her loveless marriage to Caelin and his perceived favoritism of Jeyra. She is fiercely protective of her children, especially Lucian, and deeply critical of Taryn’s “immaturity.”

Key Traits: Cunning, ambitious, and deeply hurt beneath her venomous exterior. She uses her influence in court to maintain power and undermine her enemies.

Isolde is in her late 30s, with raven hair styled meticulously, often adorned with jewels or combs that signify her status. Her piercing blue eyes are sharp and calculating, framed by high cheekbones that give her an air of cold beauty. She carries herself with elegance, her gowns rich in embroidery and always immaculate, favoring deep reds and purples.

Prince Lucian

Role: Firstborn heir to the throne

Personality: Hardened and pragmatic, Lucian is a firm believer in “might makes right.” While not cruel, he is far more militant and cold than his father or sibling. He struggles to understand Taryn’s softer outlook and often clashes with them over their ideals.

Key Traits: Determined, focused, and ambitious, though he has a protective streak when it comes to his family.

Lucian, two years older than Taryn, is a striking figure with a tall, broad-shouldered build. His long black hair is always perfectly groomed, and his sharp violet eyes hold a steely determination. His chiseled jaw and strong features make him look every bit the commanding heir. He favors practical but finely tailored clothing, often wearing armor over a noble tunic.

Jeyra

Role: Captain of the King’s Guard, MC’s mother

Personality: Fiercely loyal and unwaveringly protective, Jeyra is a master swordswoman with a reputation as the “back of the crown.” She is sharp, disciplined, and unyielding in public but carries a deep well of private grief and love for her child.

Key Traits: Strong, strategic, and precise, with moments of warmth hidden beneath her stoic exterior. She struggles to balance her duties, her love for her child, and the secret of their heritage.

In her early 40s, Jeyra is tall and lean, with a tanned physique honed by years of rigorous training. Her short, dark hair is practical, often brushed back or tied simply. Her piercing eyes are sharp and focused, though they soften slightly when she looks at the MC. She bears many scars on her arms and one across her cheek, a testament to her battles. She favors dark, utilitarian clothing and a well-worn cloak when not in her Kingsguard armor.

Karis

Role: Royal magic advisor and Morgan's mentor

Personality: Ambitious, calculating, and power-hungry, Karis believes in reigniting the war with the fae to mine Veilstones for profit and power. He views magic as a tool for control and dominance, often exploiting others to achieve his goals.

Key Traits: Manipulative, charismatic, and ruthless. He hides his darker tendencies behind a veil of charm.

Karis is in his late 40s, with sharp, angular features and pale skin that seems untouched by sunlight. His hair is dark and slicked back, with streaks of gray that give him a distinguished look. His dark brown eyes are calculating, always watching and analyzing. He dresses in elaborate robes adorned with sigils of magic, his every movement precise and deliberate.

Queen Seraphina

Role: Queen of the Fae

Personality: Fickle, commanding, and terrifyingly powerful, Seraphina embodies the dangerous beauty of the fae. She is fiercely protective of her people.

Key Traits: Majestic and imposing, with a cold, unyielding exterior that hides her true feelings. Known to hold grudges and make calculated decisions for the survival of her realm.

Seraphina’s natural form is breathtakingly majestic. She is tall, standing over seven feet, with long, cascading pink hair that seems to shimmer like liquid sunlight. Her eyes are a luminous amber, glowing faintly in the dark. Her features are ethereal—high cheekbones, flawless honey skin, and an otherworldly beauty that feels both inviting and intimidating. When she chooses to appear at human size, she retains her regal bearing but seems less overwhelming. Her gowns are intricate, woven from materials that sparkle like starlight.

Prince Aelar

Role: Son of Queen Seraphina, Fae warrior

Personality: Noble and honorable, Aelar is a fierce warrior and an advocate for peace between humans and fae. He trained Jeyra during her time in the fae court and shares her belief in coexistence. While he loves his mother Queen Seraphina they often clash over her methods of rule.

Key Traits: Brave, kindhearted, and selfless, but unrelenting in battle. His loyalty to his people and his mother’s vision is unwavering.

Aelar is roguishly handsome, tall, and broad-shouldered, with golden-bronze skin and long, braided white hair that reaches his shoulders. His bright green eyes are warm yet sharp, a contrast to his often stoic expression. His face is adorned with faint scars from countless battles, adding to his noble warrior appearance. He typically wears armor of polished silver and green, accented with fae motifs like leaves and flowing vines.

Vireon and Melanthia

Role: Fae twins, members of the fae court

Personality (Vireon): Practical and pragmatic, Vireon handles much of the logistics of the fae court, serving as an advisor to Seraphina. He is calm and calculating, but his deep bond with his sister softens his edges.

Personality (Melanthia): Passionate and outspoken, Melanthia is the political face of the court, often clashing with Seraphina over decisions. She is fiery and charismatic, fiercely protective of the fae people.

Key Traits (Both): Strategically minded but with contrasting styles—Vireon is quiet and methodical, while Melanthia is bold and confrontational.

Vireon has a slender build and a quiet elegance, with skin the color of pale ash. His straight, jet-black hair is cut short, and his piercing silver eyes seem to miss nothing. His face is calm, almost emotionless, and his movements are deliberate and precise. He dresses in dark green robes embroidered with silver, favoring a look of subtle authority.

Melanthia is striking, with the same pale ash skin as her brother but with long, flowing black hair that she wears loose. Her silver eyes are fiery and expressive, always burning with some intense emotion. Her face is sharp and angular, her beauty magnetic and intimidating. She favors flowing crimson robes with intricate gold detailing, giving her an aura of power and passion.

Havera

Role: Jeyra’s older sister (by 8 years), caretaker of the family farm

Personality: Down-to-earth, practical, and nurturing, Havera keeps the family grounded while balancing life with her two husbands and gaggle of children. She’s fiercely loyal to Jeyra but struggles with her sister’s secretive nature.

Key Traits: Warm and steadfast, with a sharp tongue when necessary. She values family above all else.

Havera is sturdy and strong, with broad shoulders and hands roughened by years of hard work. Her skin is sun-kissed, her dark red hair streaked with gray and often tied back in a practical braid. Her blue eyes are warm but sharp, often filled with both exasperation and love for her family. She dresses in simple, durable clothing suitable for farm life, though she carries herself with an air of quiet authority.

Julian

Role: Jeyra’s younger twin brother, traveling bard

Personality: Charming, quick-witted, and perpetually in trouble, Julian is a world-renowned bard who performs in taverns and castles alike. He’s always on the move, often fleeing from angry nobles or broken hearts, but his loyalty to his sister and their family is unwavering.

Julian has a wiry, athletic build honed from years of constant travel. His auburn hair is perpetually tousled, falling into his sharp green eyes, which always seem to be brimming with mischief. His face is angular, with a strong jawline and a crooked smile that rarely leaves his lips. Faint laugh lines and a small scar above his left eyebrow add to his roguish charm.

Loron and Fatero

Role: Havera’s husbands, farmers and caretakers

Personality (Loron): Gentle and nurturing, Loron is the heart of the family, often found caring for their youngest children or offering a steadying presence when tensions rise.

Personality (Fatero): Practical and hardworking, Fatero manages the physical labor of the farm with quiet efficiency, balancing Havera’s fiery personality with his calm demeanor.

Key Traits (Both): Devoted to their family and deeply supportive of Havera’s connection to Jeyra, though they struggle to understand the complexities of her life at court.

Loron is tall and thin, with pale skin and soft green eyes that carry a constant warmth. His light hair is kept long and tied back in a messy bun. He exudes a calm, comforting presence, often dressed in simple, earthy tones.

Fatero is short and broad, with skin darker than Loron’s and sharp amber eyes that always seem to be analyzing something. His hair is longer, often tied back into a messy bun, and his features are angular. He dresses practically but is often spotted with tools or a pouch of nails strapped to his belt.

[simshousewindsor]

THE IMPERIAL STATE CROWN

The Royal House of Windsor: A Royal Tiara Collection

THE IMPERIAL STATE CROWN

The Imperial State Crown is a state crown of the United Kingdom of Windenburg. Owned by the sovereign, it was created in 1941 for the coronation of King Edward II, and is closely based on a crown designed for King Albert II in 1828.

The St Leo Crown is the crown used at the moment of coronation but in 1941, Edward II wanted another crown to wear when leaving the Abbey and thus the Imperial State Crown was created.

The term imperial state crown dates before the eighteenth century when Brindleton Bay monarchs chose a crown design closed by arches, to demonstrate that Brindleton Bay was not subject to any other simsly power.

Worn by George I at his 1993 coronation

The crown is formed from an openwork gold frame, mounted with three very large stones, and set with 2868 diamonds in silver mounts, largely table-, rose- and brilliant-cut, and colored stones in gold mounts, including 17 sapphires, 11 emeralds and 269 pearls; to which a number of legends are attached.

The famous three stones: At the front of the crown band is the large cushion-shaped brilliant, Cavalier II, the second largest stone cut from the Cavalier Diamond (also known as the Second Star of Niregia). At the back of the band is the large oval sapphire known as the 'Burchette Sapphire'. The front cross is mounted with a large, irregular cabochon red spinel, known as the 'Black Prince's Ruby'. These are three of the largest and most expensive jewels in the sims world.

The Imperial State Crown has become synonymous as the crown the monarch exchanges for the St Leo Crown at the end of the coronation ceremony. It is also used on formal occasions, such as the annual State Opening of Parliament.

Worn by Katherine I at her 2024 coronation

THE CONSORTS CROWN

Like her husband, Queen Zarah was crowned and anointed during the 1941 service. A coronation crown [Queen Zarah's Crown] was created for her featuring the legendary Lani-st-taz Diamond, a gift from the people of Sulani.

In 1993, Queen Rowena's coronation crown [Queen Rowena's Crown] was created featuring the pear-shaped Cavalier III Diamond, the third largest stone cut from the Cavalier Diamond. Queen Zarah wore her crown without its arches as a circlet for the 1993 coronation of her son, King George I. Queen Rowena joined her by also wearing her crown without its arches at the 2024 coronation of her daughter, Queen Katherine I.

Rainier, Prince consorts crown [Prince Rainier's Crown] was created for the 2024 coronation of his wife, Queen Katherine I. Similar to other Windenburg crowns, it consists of a circlet with four crosses pattée and four fleurs-de-lis. However, the eight half-arches on top, which join at a typical monde and cross pattée, point upwards in the form of a Gothic ogee arch.

A Royal Tiara Collection

[askthesmg4apprenticeshipau]

Garth from @ask-marios-apprentice asks

Why do you use dollars (presumably USD, United States Dollars) instead of gold coins if you're in the Mushroom Kingdom.

I mean there are some places where I'm from that take both in addition to things like credit and debit cards.

That's because Panko and Earth are two different planets.

From what it sounds like. Panko and Earth are the same planet in your world.

SMG6: Pretty much, yeah.

SMG6: I mean, the way our world works is so weird though. Like… we could go to New York or Ohio or Florida, but we’re in the Mushroom Kingdom. But there is an edge to our world too. Code Lake is at one of those edges. It goes for quite a bit though. I think it’ll take someone several days to walk around this place

SMG4: Mhm. It’s definitely different. I don’t know what Panko is, but I think we have somewhat specified that this is Earth?

SMG4: Maybe…?

SMG4: Like 6 said, it’s weird

SMG3: As for the dollars instead of coins, we have coins too. One gold coin is equal to one dollar, a silver coin is half that, and then a bronze coin is worth a fourth of a dollar. It’s all mostly obsolete now due to credit and debit cards, but cash is worth having around. I think people mostly switched to dollar bills so they didn’t have to carry around all those heavy coins