#IT support in Augusta

[gorillawithautism]

this weekend i donated $80 to mohammed and his family. can we work together to match that?

[crimsntwlip]

"i said i love the smiths" | pt. 2

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

warnings: slow burn, readers status not mentioned, reader is a slytherin

summary: after that little interaction that happened between you and mattheo, he starts to notice you more.

a/n: ¿i think i might turn this into a chapter fic? if this does well.. please Imk your thoughts !!

masterlist I posted: 11/22/23 | part 1

a few days had passed since the little gathering in slytherin. mattheo was currently sitting in potions class next to theodore, quietly dozing off into his own little world while snape’s monotonous words bore him to death.

his mind drifted to her, thinking back to the little interaction they had during the party and how quickly he wanted to get to know more of her. during those few days that had passed, mattheo was consumed by thoughts of (y/n). he had become more aware of you; previously, he had not even known your name or acknowledged your presence in the classes you both shared, something he had not realized until recently.

he had his eyes fixed on the back of your head without realizing it. snape on the other hand, clearly noticed the distracted gaze mattheo had, quickly calling him out for it.

“mister riddle!” he exclaimed loudly, making him jump slightly in embarrassment as everyone turned their heads towards him, including yours as he immediately looked up at snape as he noticed that you had turned around to face the boy while he was being scolded.

snape deadpanned, "i see you're paying much attention." he scowled, "what negative effects could peppermint potion have?" he gave the instruction, causing mattheo to cast a sidelong glance in theodore’s direction, who appeared amused by the scenario.

he turned his gaze back towards the professor, “uh.. well..” he dragged, clearing his throat before continuing, “that would be uh steam coming from the ears?” he answered which sounded more of a question.

(y/n) noticed the confused tone in his voice, making her snicker quietly but quickly dying down when snape snapped his head towards her, making her feel small as she sunk into her seat. mattheo grinned at her but quickly wiped it off as snape turned back towards him. “correct.” he revealed sternly.

“now if you care to pay attention this time.” he requested, giving mattheo a determined look. theodore nudged him in his rib, smirking as mattheo simply narrowed his eyes at him before turning back towards the lesson, glancing at (y/n) here and there.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

(y/n) felt a small shove, she furrowed her brows as her two bestfriends filled the empty seats next to her at the dining table. "i heard what happened in potions," elenoise commented as she began to load her plate with goods. she glanced at a puzzled (y/n). “what do you mean?” (y/n) asked, recalling back to earlier, you thought nothing particular happened.

“you really don’t know?” elenoise asked as she began stuffing her mouth, (y/n) shook her head at the girl, as she began to grow curious. “a certain slytherin was scolded for staring at you the entire lesson!” augusta chimed in, wiggling her eyebrows at you with a grin. “me?” you asked, you felt a slight blush creep up, the two girls nod at you.

“actually,” augusta muttered, she moved her gaze away and looked across the table, not that far away from you guys was mattheo who sitting with his friends as his attention was fixated towards you. “he’s looking at you right now!” augusta smirked, you follow her gaze, immediately making eye contact with mattheo.

as you made eye contact with him, almost immediately did he look away. his ears turning red from embarrassment of being caught as he tried avoiding your stare, turning his attention back to his friends. your friends start laughing, holding onto your shoulders for support as they held their stomach. you though, stayed quiet as you continue blushing, looking down at your food as your friends continued to tease you about this.

“okay.. thats enough..” you whined, feeling flustered as your friends teased you. you glanced back up at him, revealing once again his gaze on you. you gave him a gentle smile back before turning your attention back to your friends.

thoughts of befriending riddle came across your mind, his small gestures lingering on your mind. maybe, you thought, he isn’t like the others.

mattheo noticed the smile you returned, maybe, just maybe did he have a chance.

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy

[psychotrenny]

It's a consistent rule that media which conspicuously and deliberately refuses to engage with a social issue functionally supports the Status Quo. Sometimes this is an intentional strategy by someone who consciously holds this position but feels insecure with openly expressing it, but other times it's simply the natural outcome of presenting things in this way regardless of the creators intent. Like I've been reading a little about agricultural reform movements in the South Eastern USA before the US civil war, and the general refusal of the most popular agricultural journals to even mention slavery (i.e. the very bedrock of the Southern agricultural system) was clearly a way to support it without getting embroiled in the controversy around abolition that was raging among white settlers in the decades leading up to the war. This excerpt sums it up pretty well:

Considering the Southern Cultivator's resolution to "be exclusively devoted to Southern Agriculture" and its abundant references to planters and plantations, the journal remained remarkably silent about slavery in its first ten years. The editors had abundant reasons to ignore the subject. First, because agricultural journals relied on the exchange of information across multiple national and transatlantic networks, a preoccupation with slavery threatened to alienate critical partnerships. For this reason, agricultural publications both above and below the Mason-Dixon Line tempered their treatment of slavery. Like the Southern Cultivator, the Albany Cultivator, a northern journal with a large southern readership in the 1830s and 1840s, discussed plantations without often mentioning slaves. In both journals, "planters" and "plantations" served as euphemisms for slave owners and slave-labor landscapes Further, agricultural writers made a living by finding and addressing problems, and the editors of southern agricultural journals, even if so inclined, could not afford to suggest that slavery was a problem. Rather, the Southern Cultivator and similar publications mimicked mainstream agricultural philosophy by espousing the idea that the appearance and productivity of agrarian landscapes were an extension of the character and behavior of the landed proprietor. The Southern Cultivator thus bypassed questions of the utility and economy of slavery by focusing its critique on planters and their mismanagement of plantations. In 1849, in a rare direct engagement with national slavery debates, Daniel Lee declared to readers that "[t]he evils of defective system of husbandry—one that makes the soil poorer instead of richer—are mistakenly charged to the account of slave labor when they ought to be ascribed to the misdirection of such labor." The Southern Cultivator thus was a clearinghouse for the various ways planters could use agriculture, architecture, and horticulture to redirect slaves' labor into more culturally and economically productive channels. The journal was not a platform for critiquing or reforming the labor system itself

Philip Herrington (2012) Agricultural and Architectural Reform in the Antebellum South: Fruitland at Augusta, Georgia, The Journal of Southern History vol 78. No 4.

[ancientcharm]

Zenobia of Palmyra was known as the «Warrior Queen of the East»

According to the Historia Augusta, Zenobia was: “wise in counsel, tenacious in planning, firm with soldiers, generous and harsh when necessary.” “She rode a horse and walked with her soldiers for three or four miles.” She was cultured and erudite. In addition to her native Palmyrene Aramaic, she was fluent in Latin, Greek and Egyptian Aramaic. Palmyra is the name given by the Romans to Tadmor, an ancient city located in the Syrian desert, in present-day Homs province.

Zenobia was the second wife of one of Rome's allied kings, Septimius Odaenathus. When the Persian king captured and executed the Emperor Valerian around 260, Odaenathus aligned himself with Valerian's son and successor, Gallienus. After defeating the Sassanid Empire of Persia, favoring Roman interests, King Odenathus brought Palmyra to unprecedented power.

But around 267 Odaenathus was assassinated along with his eldest son, Hairan, son by his first wife. Zenobia's cousin Maeonius was accused and she sentenced him to death. Zenobia succeeded her husband and ruled Palmyra as regent; her son, Vaballathus, was 1 year old.

After consolidating her control over Palmyra and its surrounding territories, she launched a series of military campaigns . Zenobia and her army, with general Zabdas, conquered Egypt. The Roman prefect of Egypt, Probus Tenaginus, and his soldiers attempted to drive them out, but Zenobia's army captured and beheaded Probus. Zenobia declared herself queen of Egypt and minted coins in her name.

At that time, her kingdom extended from the Nile to the Euphrates.

Aurelian, who had ascended the throne in 270, was determined to restore order to the Roman Empire, which had been in chaos for nearly 40 years. After pacifying the western borders (the so-called barbarians had been raiding for decades), he began a campaign against Zenobia, culminating in the siege of Palmyra in 272 ; according to Roman historians, this campaign was the most difficult that Aurelian had to face during his entire reign.

'Queen Zenobia Addressing Her Soldiers' (1730) by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo

The Roman army marched on Palmyra, where Zenobia held out. According to the Historia Augusta, Aurelian offered Zenobia terms of surrender but she escaped to seek support; she was captured before crossing the Euphrates and Palmyra's brief empire came to an end.

'Queen Zenobia's Last Look Upon Palmyra' by Herbert Gustave Schmalz, 1888. This painting shows Zenobia, handcuffed in gold, looking imposing; the painter represents her as a warrior displeased at having lost her kingdom - instead of showing her crying or looking at the ground - and the Roman soldier who escorts her, coming down the stairs, looking at her thoughtfully.

According to Trebellius Pollio, Zenobia was taken to Rome in Aurelian's triumphal procession in 274. And according to the Greek historian Zosimus, her son, then eight years old, died during the journey to Rome. But Zenobia's ultimate fate remains uncertain; some sources claim she was executed; Other sources claim that Aurelian ordered her to be escorted to a villa near Hadrian's Villa, where she spent the rest of her life.

In Roman chronicles, she was portrayed as an ambitious and dangerous queen but also as worthy of admiration for her bravery and political skills.

In Syria, Zenobia became a national and patriotic symbol.

Roman theatre in Palmyra

World Heritage Site

[brynnterpretations]

The Bowers Gang's Biggest Fears ☻

Belch Huggins

Physical: sliding doors. When he was a kid, his step-father told him about a man in Derry's meat-packing industry that was severed in half when he got stuck in an elevator, and ever since, Belch has been terrified of them. Garage doors, elevator doors—it's all horrific to him, because his step-father told him in detail of how that man had looked. He, too, is scared of escalators, because his jeans once got stuck in an escalator in Augusta shortly after his step-father told him about it, and he imagined himself getting shredded to pieces.

Psychological: being without a support system. Belch is very much a "pack animal", and feels lost without a group that he feels he belongs in—it's why he's stuck with the Gang for so long.

Henry Bowers

Physical: his father. Though he fakes bravado in front of the Gang, Henry is terrified of his father: the way he walks, the way he leans slightly against the doorframe when Henry answers a question wrong, the way he barks out orders. It is no exaggeration when I say that living with Butch is a living hell for Henry.

Psychological: powerlessness. It's why he targets the Losers in the first place. Henry is made sick with the thought of being completely without agency—how his father makes him feel—and would be completely broken.

Patrick Hockstetter

Physical: leeches, though he wouldn't be conscious of it. In the book, leeches attached themselves to Patrick when he was a kid, and he was scared shitless of them ever since. In my interpretation of him, I don't think he would consciously realize he was afraid of them—he wouldn't even think about the memory at all until facing off with Pennywise. I think the fact that these creatures are so small, yet so visibly grotesque and able of essentially "sucking the life" out of people—which is something Patrick only thought himself capable of—would be what was most terrifying.

Psychological: deprivation. As with physical, Patrick does not think about his fears enough to consciously realize he has them—he is completely convinced he doesn't have any—but being without physically and mentally stimulating experiences would be terrifying for him. If you put Patrick in a blank space for an extended period of time, he would come out as a husk of who he once was (and probably even more violent and disturbed, too).

Victor Criss

Physical: heights. Nothing traumatic happened to him in his childhood to have formed this fear, but for as long as he's known, he's been scared of heights, with the highest he's ever been able to go being Derry's water tower, which he was still scared shitless of. Vic's very spatially aware, but with that comes an anxiety that he might slip up somehow and, you know... die.

Psychological: meaninglessness, or not leaving a somewhat good impression on the world—which is what haunts him when it comes to the Bowers Gang, and continues to in his future.

[blueiscoool]

Roman Emperor Caligula's 2,000-Year-Old Garden Unearthed Near the Vatican

The gardens overlooking the Tiber river in Italy once belonged to an infamous Roman emperor.

Construction workers in Italy have discovered a 2,000-year-old garden that once belonged to a Roman emperor.

The travertine walls of the garden overlook the banks of the Tiber, a river that cuts through Rome and sits east of Vatican City. The ruins were unearthed as workers constructed a new overpass at Piazza Pia, according to a translated statement from the Italian Ministry of Culture.

As archaeologists removed debris, they found a lead water pipe with the following inscription: "C(ai) Cæsaris Aug(usti) Germanici." Researchers determined that the engraving referred to Gaius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, better known as Caligula (aka "little boot," a childhood nickname given to him by his father's soldiers).

Based on the inscription, researchers think the garden likely belonged to the infamous Roman emperor. Not only was Caligula known for being a tyrannical and ruthless leader, he was also a sadist who humiliated his senate. Caligula assumed the throne in A.D. 37, and in A.D. 41 the Praetorian Guard — the officials who were supposed to protect him — assassinated the emperor.

This conclusion is supported by a passage in the ancient text "On the Embassy to Gaius," penned by Egyptian philosopher Philo of Alexandria. It describes how Caligula had met with a representative of Jews living in Alexandria, Egypt, at a large garden along the Tiber, according to the statement.

At that time, Jewish Alexandrians and the Greek-Alexandrian population were in a "crisis that had manifested itself with violence, brawls and episodes of religious intolerance." However, Caligula rejected the Jews' requests for religious autonomy, instead siding with the Greeks.

Alessio De Cristofaro, an archaeologist at the Special Superintendency for Archaeology, Fine Art and Landscape, a government agency in Rome, said the find is significant because Piazza Pia is in the same area as the "Horti Agrippinae," the garden of Agrippina the Elder, who was Caligula's mother.

The pipe is also similar to another one, found in the early 1900s, that's inscribed with the name Iulia (Julia) Augusta, the second wife of Augustus and the grandmother of Germanicus. Researchers speculate that the property was inherited by Germanicus and later passed down to his wife, Agrippina the Elder, before going to Caligula.

In addition to the pipe, archaeologists found slabs of Roman-era pottery and terra-cotta figures of mythological scenes that would have decorated rooftops.

By Jennifer Nalewicki.

[heathersdesk]

So many works of Latter-day Saint authors have been lost to time because they've languished without ever being republished. Mormon Manuscripts endeavors to bring these texts back to life again through transcription, editing, formatting, and republication.

So many incredible women's voices have been lost to us by going out of print. My emphasis right now is bringing these voices back to us so we know who so many of the early Mormon feminists are that we've forgotten.

Songs and Flowers of the Wasatch, edited by Emmeline B Wells for the 1893 World's Fair in Chicago. Women of the Church in Utah raised their own money to attend the Fair and show the world how educated and articulate they truly were. The poems in this collection are some of the best works produced by LDS women in the 19th century, all by women whose names you've largely never heard of.

Wild Flowers of Deseret by Augusta Joyce Crocheron. She is one of my favorite LDS women I've ever read. Her poetry was composed over her lifetime in California and Utah and captures the memories and stories of her life and faith beautifully. You'll see her work in all three of these books. She was a staunch supporter of feminism and women's suffrage and made no apologies in her advocacy.

Utah Woman Suffrage Song Book by Woman's Exponent. As the earliest publication of the Relief Society, the Woman's Exponent was crucial to community building and advancing the voices LDS women. This song book, created to galvanize support for women's suffrage, preserves the feelings of loss and grief of women who lost the right to vote under the Edmunds-Tucker Act. Did you know that LDS women invoked Heavenly Mother IN SONG against the United States government? Because I didn't! And my life is better now that I've seen it for myself, and could reproduce those efforts in a musical number at Church.

These are only the first of many books I'm preparing for republication. Some true gems that have never been needed more than in the days we're now living through are on the way.

If you'd like to support the project, please consider buying one of these amazing books! And because they're being published without DRM, you can read them on any app or device that can handle an EPUB!

[mybworlds]

Kiss the girl

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: use of you, you’re a mermaid, I won't give any details except for nice long legs and very long hair, nudity, violence (a little?), use of both pov. If I missed smt please let me know.

Summary: your time with Marcus is over, you have to go back to your home. When you are about to leave, Marcus has the courage to declare himself, but..

Masterlist

A/N Thank you so much for the amount of love and support, it means a lot. The title of the chapter takes inspiration from the very famous song from Walt Disney's The Little Mermaid. Likes, comments and reblogs are not mandatory, but very appreciated! ❤️

follow @mybworlds and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Taglist @harriedandharassed; @orcasoul; @blazeflays; @ijustlovemensm; @duck-duck-goose2; @blacksnape123

Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics.

The days pass peacefully as do what Acacius calls weeks. Every evening as instructed by your aunt you take a few drops of her potion and then return to your commitments with Marcus.

When the man has no political or military commitments, he dedicates all his time to you, he even gives you clothes and a pearl necklace, although the pearls are certainly not as splendid as those you have at the bottom of the sea.

Being with him for so long, you almost feel like you've always been there with him, that you've always been part of his life and, if your initial intent was to get to know him and discover his world, now you hope to be part of it forever.

You have also learned to love the time with little Faustus, you almost feel like an old sister playing with her little brother. You’ve never experienced this pleasure and it’s beautiful. You chase each other, you giggle, you grab him and lift him into the air, you tickle him, you run to the beach and there, just off the shore, you splash each other, covering yourself in sand and seaweed.

You once noticed Marcus watching you with a tender smile, the light in his eyes is sometimes indecipherable to your eyes. Your relationship is slowly changing and you don't mind at all.

You and him have reached an almost perfect daily life and you have such trust in each other that maybe now you can tell him everything. Including your origin and the truth about you.

That summer evening there's a slightly stronger and warmer wind, you run to your room feeling the effects of the potion almost fading. You reach under the bed to get the vial and that's when you realize there are only a few drops for that evening.

A deep sense of sadness and grief creeps over you as you realize you have to return to your aunt under the sea. The moment of truth has arrived. You must speak to Marcus before you have no choice but to show him who you are.

Marcus...

Oh, he was always so kind to you, sweet. He made you feel loved, yes you think that's the right word. But will he understand who you are? Or will he chase you away?

Maybe he should really be with someone like Augusta Lucilla, as everyone calls her, a good woman, beautiful, elegant, educated and certainly accustomed to what happens in Rome, its intrigues and its dark power. You met her more than once and she seemed genuinely intrigued and fascinated by you, she asked you many questions and you gave the same answers you had already given to everyone before. She and Marcus have also spent a lot of time alone together, and when that happened, you could watch them and see how perfect they are together. You know what Marcus thinks, but you think that maybe he should give her a chance. It hurts to think about it, but you and him—even if he accepted you—couldn't be together anyway.

When you reach him, you find him on the beach intent on watching the sunset. His amber skin is orange-toned, his greyish curls are tousled by the wind, his gaze is rapt and absorbed. You call him softly and he turns to you, smiles slightly and holds out his hand to you, which you offer, sitting next to him. You are shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm and you have never been closer.

“You’re here.” he tells you in a faint whisper.

You look into his soft hazel eyes, he seems troubled by something that you can only assume has to do with Lucilla and his now controversial upcoming wedding. Geta, in fact, does nothing but come here to his house to remind him of the impending event and does not miss any opportunity to talk to you and try to charm you or capture your attention, but so far he has always failed. You don't like his eyes and their expression at all, his voice makes you disgusted and scared at the same time, you always fear that something might happen to you in his presence. You are kind to him, courteous, but always maintain a cordial detachment and above all never spend more time than necessary with him and never alone.

“I'm here,” you say, looking him softly in the eyes.

His expression is sad, he searches for your hand again which he holds gently in his. He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb without saying anything. The silence that usually falls between you is comfortable, full of a strange and pleasant intimacy, but this seems to foretell something extremely serious.

“Your presence is always so dear to me,” he says, leaving the sentence hanging in mid-air for a while as if he didn't know how to continue, “but I fear... that we won't be able to see each other again.” you frown, looking him insistently in the eyes, while his eyes become full of regret and sadness.

You find yourself lowering your eyes, maybe it's better this way. This way it’ll be easier for you to separate from him and maybe try to forget the joy and sweetness you felt with him all this time. You will definitely have fewer regrets and probably won't want to come back to the surface as much. You had a good time with him and maybe, given his upcoming wedding, it's a good thing you're not here. You would only feel a great immense pain. You have learned to love him.

“You were my lifeline. The most precious thing that could ever happen in my life. A sweet and gentle soul who touched my heart and soul in such a unique, strong, delicate, persuasive way.” you look up at each other at the same time “Thank you for saving me.”

“I didn’t do anything… I…” you start to say, but he takes your hand again, bringing it to his lips and kissing it with such sweetness that it makes your skin pucker.

“You did, instead. You saved me on more than one occasion. Months ago... and since you've been here.” he adds still holding your hand gently in his “You gave me so many moments of joy and... with you and your innocence I discovered the purity of a feeling that I had never felt before.” you look at him surprised and almost speechless.

You thought that he, so handsome, so strong, so confident, had dozens of women he had seduced and related experiences. You never thought he could find in you what you thought he had already experienced and felt.

“I… um, I don’t know what to say,” you admit in a small voice, then he looks at you with such intensity that you think everything is probably going to burn under his gaze soon, including you.

His face is now so close to yours, his hand halfway between your face and your hair, his grip is firm, but you are not afraid of this gesture, on the contrary. You don't know what to do but stand still and watch this gesture almost in bewilderment, he must have noticed this almost stiffening of yours because he stops a hand's breadth away, “Sorry,” he whispers and you feel his hot breath against your face for the first time.

“No, I don’t… it’s just…” I’m a mermaid, you want to tell him, maybe this is the right time, the most appropriate time to tell him who you are. You are looking for the right words to be completely honest with him.

“I know,” he tells you in a tone of voice so reassuring, so sure that it silences every other word you say. Did he understand? Or see something you don't? Your words get stuck in your throat, will he accept you or want you anyway?

“Marcus...” you murmur, moving closer to his face, imitating what he had done to you a few moments before. You can notice every single wrinkle of his, his scar next to his right eye, his uneven beard, his brown eyes.

“My lord!” someone calls Marcus, it's one of his servants. You both walk away at the same time realizing that what was about to happen can never happen between you.

“What's going on?” asks Marcus, turning around. You first look at the man's profile, then you turn around too.

“The…” the servant clears his throat as if embarrassed, as if he doesn’t know what to say. You let your gaze wander from the man to Marcus who simply nods without adding anything else. His face has become a tense mask, his eyes are sad and downcast, then he turns towards you and his gaze softens.

When the servant leaves, he takes your hand tenderly, turning you towards him, “If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it a secret?” you nod, concerned by the serious tone of voice and what appears to be concern.

You nod.

“It's a serious thing,” he announces.

A few weeks before...

Acacius, although has achieved a certain stability and serenity with you, is increasingly oppressed by Geta's push to quell any type of revolt that is creeping into the heart of Rome. In fact, the emperor is convinced that among the possible conspirators there is none other than the daughter of the emperor Marcus Aurelius and, according to Geta, the only way to definitively suppress the main revolt would be to marry Augusta Lucilla to the General so loved by the people and very faithful to his kingdom and to that of his brother Caracalla.

Lucilla, during her many meetings with Marcus, convinced him to participate in at least one of the many secret meetings in which she herself assiduously participates. There, Marcus discovered that many figures who are also prominent in the Senate are against the mad and bloody reign of the Emperors and ended up agreeing with their opinion.

Marcus has often totally disapproved of the two young men's methods of reigning and has often felt oppressed by their expansionist aims and from their total inability to think about the good of the people. Tired and fed up with their way of doing things, the General has, albeit secretly, decided to support Lucilla's cause and to bring back to light Marcus Aurelius' dream, or at least try. It's probably all madness, but Marcus hopes with all his heart that with the support of his men and the support of the Senate, or at least part of it, this conspiracy can succeed and the power of the two twin Emperors be overthrown.

Until then he had always kept away from such situations, but this is no longer possible. Now is the time to act.

Today...

The time is near. Many men loyal to Marcus are about to land on the coasts of Lazio. Soon everything should begin in Rome and the two Emperors will be taken by surprise, but not you. You have to go, Marcus has thought of everything. He will have you board a merchant ship to take you back to the coast of Sicily, where he first met you so that you will be safe from all of this. Marcus, in fact, does not know what could happen once the fuse is lit. Everything could explode, or implode.

You are the strangest, yet most delightful and sweet creature he has ever known. So pure and so gentle, so magnetic and magical, so strong and yet fragile at the same time. He knows he will never be the same after he meets you. He will carry the sweet memory of you with him forever. He won't be able to love you in this life, but he hopes that when one day far away you are both in the Elysian Fields, then and only then will he be able to allow himself to be happy with you.

It's not a given that the conspiracy will end badly, but if everything doesn't go as planned, then Marcus must be prepared for the worst and he knows that in this eventuality he must protect those he loves and prepare to suffer and die.

He has already arranged for the young Iulia and the little Faustus to be entrusted to a dear friend of his who will take care of them and respect them both. He will make sure that they come with you since you have grown so fond of the little one and Faustus of you. He's more than certain that their life will be peaceful and dignified.

But now the real question is how to tell you? How to tell you that he loves you, but that he has to let you go?

Marcus has been through so many difficult, dangerous and painful situations, but having to say goodbye to you is the most heartbreaking thing he has ever thought about or will ever have to do. He wanted to place his lips on yours and whisper those words that no one had ever managed to get out of him before you. You have been the sweetest of companions throughout this time, the first to make him smile and fill his heart.

He knows you have your secrets, but he doesn't care. He learned to love you for who you are and how you make him feel, and that's enough for him.

It's probably not right to kiss you and then say goodbye and perhaps the fact that you pulled away is a sign that the gods have sent to Marcus not to involve you in this foretold drama. However, the fact that you are now approaching his face and the arrival of one of his servants makes him understand that perhaps at least with you he must be clear and sincere. If he were to die and the two of you never see each other again, you have every right to know why. He doesn't want to disappear from your life like a bubble, he doesn't have that cruel courage.

You must know.

Your face changes expression continuously as he tells you what happened in the previous weeks without your knowledge, you are surprised, confused, maybe even angry and disappointed by his silence, anguished because you have surely understood that it's something that in one way or another could kill him.

“It’s not fair.” You whisper in a barely audible whisper. “Don’t leave me.” You find yourself begging him, your eyes clouded with great sadness. You look down at the wave-moistened sand.

Marcus whispers your name, moving your hair and tucking it behind your back, but you don’t look at him, “Please, look at me.” he says to you, slowly caressing your shoulder. “Please.” he adds in a pleading tone.

You look up at him and for the first time he thinks he sees something like tears.

“I don't...” you say with a shaking voice, “I can't cry, but I wish I could now.” Marcus moves his hand away from your shoulder “I - I can't. I - I... I mean, tomorrow morning I have to... leave.” you don't stop staring at the sand at your feet “I don't know how long I'll be gone, but...” for a while you stay silent, there is only the lapping of the sea to fill the silence that is growing between you “I am not who you think I am, Marcus.” you finally resume, finally raising your eyes to his face.

“I know who you are, instead.” he says and in your eyes almost fear spreads “You are the person I dreamed and hoped could be by my side. You changed me and made me see the world in a sweet and tender way.” he caresses your cheek with the back of his hand and your eyes lock, making everything and everyone fade into the background.

“It’s not like that. I… um, I’m a liar, but if I lied to you it’s because I just wanted to…” Marcus places a finger on your lips, blocking the words that would likely make him see you in a different light.

“Please don't think badly of yourself, my beautiful girl,” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are so sweet, so pure, so…”

“A monster.” This word comes out abruptly from your lips, freezing the situation and causing an abrupt silence to fall between you, “Well, many... define us like this. Monsters. Murderers.”

Marcus frowns in astonishment. No, it can’t be that you were hired to kill him or kill emperors. He doesn’t believe it. Yet, a part of him has always felt you were elusive. If he had to compare you to something, he would define you as similar to a drop of water that, no matter how much you want to stop it, always finds a way to escape your grip.

Marcus interrupts your flow of words that would likely have led you into dangerous uncharted territory by bringing his face close to yours and placing his lips on yours. He feels you holding your breath and tensing, but you don't pull away. Your lips are so soft, he places his hands first on the sides of your face as if he wanted to bring you even closer to his face, lifting it just a little to deepen the contact. He knows he should have asked your permission and when he's about to move away from your face and apologize again, you're the one who stops him by placing a hand in his curly hair. Your kiss is so sweet and innocent that it almost ends up crumbling everything around you, the sounds, the noises, the lights, the words —the whispered ones, the hidden ones— everything fades into the background. You kiss slowly, almost as if it were your first and last kiss, the first and last moment, so sweet and intimate, so yours.

He doesn't know exactly what you feel, he knows that inside you it's as if two people were clashing, the sweet one who was immediately able to conquer both him and all the inhabitants of the house with your gentleness and innocence and the other one is the mysterious, seductive one that attracts everyone to you while keeping everyone away.

One murmurs the other's name in a whisper and still with eyes closed almost as if you fear that one might dissolve if the other opens his eyes, you sink both hands into his hair and whisper his name again. In his ears his name sounds almost like a sweet melody, it's as if for a long moment he had forgotten about the conspiracy, the dangers, his probable death, but he allowed himself the luxury of thinking of a world in which you and he could live in peace, happy, serene.

“Marcus...”

You open your eyes and each rests his gaze on the other, he caresses your cheeks with his fingertips, still savoring these brief moments of peace, of tenderness. He enjoys your rapt gaze, how your eyes close when he caresses your face or when his nose brushes against yours. He smiles thinking that if the gods wanted to call him to them right now, he would die in peace.

“Tomorrow morning at dawn, I have to - I have to leave.” you tell him, caressing that face that you have learned to love more and more every day and that now will be difficult to let go.

Marcus rests his forehead against yours, he doesn't want to let you go, but he has to. He doesn't know how you'll leave or who'll pick you up, he just knows you'll leave him and, although he's always been strong, this will weigh on him. He'll miss you.

Dawn comes early. You and Marcus spent the night on a triclinium, huddled together, each doing nothing but caressing the other's face, each seeking the other's hand.

The more the light prepares to prevail over the night and the more the pain in your chest increases and amplifies, when Marcus falls asleep, you gently loosen your grip and get up.

The pain in your legs makes you understand that the spell is now ending and that you are close to returning to who you are. You don't want to return to the bottom of the sea, but you cannot do otherwise.

You snuggle up and look at his face once more, so peaceful during sleep and almost always tormented during the day, his hair, a disheveled curl falling across his forehead, the scar under his eye, his lips that you kiss gently again, his big and strong hands.

You have to go now.

You turn your back on him and walk down those corridors that you have learned to know, along which you have also run, laughed, talked and marveled at the great beauty that man is capable of; now you're on the beach, the sky is full of clouds and you're ready to return to the waves despite yourself. You undress, leaving behind the beautiful silk dress that Marcus gave you, and you also leave the necklace he gave you there.

The water is cold, but it only lasts a moment, then your beautiful legs are no longer there and in their place your fish tail has reappeared. As you are about to dive in, you realize that a couple of timid tears have flown towards the waves, causing sudden, strong ripples.

You give yourself a boost by immersing yourself completely as if you wanted to push everything away and distance yourself from your life on earth.

You want to come back, but you don't know how long it'll be before you can, or if the man you love will wait for you... what you completely ignore, however, is that Marcus saw everything.

[mangocheesecakes]

Hi rose how are you🤍

Thank you very much for supporting us, we really need this help, I wait for you to talk to me and hear my suffering and the suffering of my family and provide us with some help that alleviates this suffering here💔🫂

Hello Mohammed. First, I would like to say sorry to you and to all Palestinian users who have sent me asks/messages these past months. I have not at all been able to keep up with it, and as much as I want to, I don't think I can answer donation asks like I used to before. I was hoping that by coming up with ways to generate donations in a more direct way, I would be able to adopt other campaigns and help promote them more effectively, but I am so far still struggling with getting people to donate to Yousef's family. But I'm going to keep trying as much and as far as I could.

Anyway, I have put some of your posts on queue and hopefully we can help people share and donate. I'll also share your link here. Thank you for messaging me and I pray you are safe and that you'll make it through this ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

Butt (left) and Millet (right) in 1910

Francis Millet was born into a well-to-do family in Massachusetts in 1848. As a teen during the Civil War, he served as an assistant to his surgeon father. He studied art at Harvard, then worked as a reporter as he traveled the world. He won acclaim for his murals at an art school in Belgium and for his writing as a war correspondent in the Russo-Turkish War. He and the travel journalist Charles Warren Stoddard exchanged love letters after a romantic affair in Italy.

Archibald Butt was born in Augusta, Ga., in 1865. His father died when he was a teenager, and as the eldest child, he was soon supporting his siblings and became very close with his mother. She moved with him to Tennessee when he left for college, and again when he moved to Washington, D.C., where he worked as a reporter for several newspapers and made a name for himself on the social scene.

In 1908, he was recalled to Washington to serve as an aide to President Theodore Roosevelt. He was brilliant at the job, organizing the president’s schedule and state dinners and even going with Roosevelt on his frequent hunting, climbing and riding excursions. When Roosevelt’s successor, William Howard Taft, took office, Butt stayed on.

His social cachet extended outside his work. He lived with Millet in a Foggy Bottom mansion (now housing a George Washington University law clinic), where other bachelors occasionally rented rooms, and where Butt and Millet threw legendary parties.

It is not known how Millet and Butt met, but the two were sharing the mansion and playfully arguing over its decor by 1910, according to the historian Richard Davenport-Hines. Butt was a prolific letter writer — a fact particularly important to Roosevelt and Taft biographers — but he rarely wrote of his personal life and referred to Millet as “my artist friend who lives with me.”

The last months of Butt’s life were stressful. His old boss, Roosevelt, and his current boss, Taft, had a public falling out, leading Roosevelt to run for president to unseat his former vice president. Butt felt torn between the two men, both of whom he greatly respected, and he had grown thin and pale and appeared run-down, a friend recounted later to The Washington Post. Millet urged Butt to take a vacation with him and rest, and when Butt demurred, Millet convinced Taft to order his aide to deliver a letter to the pope in Rome. Butt and Millet left for Europe in March 1912, sharing a stateroom on the ship Berlin.

They had separate rooms on the return voyage aboard the Titanic. At a brief stop in Ireland, Millet sent a letter to a friend praising the luxurious ship and complaining of “a number of obnoxious, ostentatious American women.”

It was the last anyone would ever hear from them. The ship hit an iceberg and began to sink. One survivor saw Butt standing near John Jacob Astor. Rumors of Butt escorting women onto rescue boats were later proved false.

When Taft learned of the Titanic disaster, his first thought was of his aide; early coverage in The Post focused on Butt and another prominent Washingtonian: “NO NEWS OF MAJ. BUTT OR CLARENCE MOORE,” an April 17 headline read.

The Washington Times quoted a friend who said “the two men had a sympathy of mind which was most unusual.” The Post said they were the “closest of friends,” comparing them to ancient Greek figures Damon and Pythias, who were willing to die for one another. “The enduring partnership of Butt and Millet was an early case of 'Don’t ask, don’t tell,'” Davenport-Hines wrote, referring to the policy that once required gay members of the military to keep their sexuality secret.

Millet’s body was later found; Butt’s was not. At a memorial service for Butt, Taft was meant to speak but became so overcome with emotion that he couldn’t continue.

Within weeks of their deaths, plans were underway to honor them with a White House fountain. The official reason was to honor the two Titanic dead who had been part of the federal government — Millet had a mostly symbolic role as vice chair of the U.S. Commission on Fine Arts. The National Park Service page for it says the men were “widely believed to have been romantically involved with one another.”

Located on the southwest side of the White House near the E Street entrance, the fountain has a central pillar. On one side, facing south, is a male figure in bas-relief, with a helmet and shield, representing military valor (and presumably Butt). On the other side, facing north, is a beautiful woman with a paintbrush and palette, representing art (and presumably Millet).

A simple inscription reads: “In memory of Francis Davis Millet — 1846-1912 — and Archibald Willingham Butt — 1865-1912. This monument has been erected by their friends with the sanction of Congress.”

(Full article)

[medievalcat]

May 7th (sometime before 160)-  Birth of Julia Maesa

On this day in history, sometime before the year 160, Julia Maesa was born in the city of Emesa (currently Homs, Syria). Her father Julius Bassanius was a high-ranking priest of the sun god Elagabalus and a member of the royal family of Emesa. While we do not know the exact year she was born, we know the day she was born because she was deified (an honor frequently bestowed on many Romans of influence, as she would become). Her birth date appears in the Feriale Duranum, a papyrus calendar found at a military garrison, as a religious holiday.

In 187, Julia Maesa’s sister Julia Domna married Roman senator Septimus Severus, founder of the Severan Dynasty. Maesa, along with her husband, the Syrian nobleman Julius Avitus Alexianus, and their young daughters, Julia Soaemias and Julia Avita Mamea, came along with her to Rome. They lived at the imperial court, though Julius Avitus often had to travel across the Roman Empire for work; Mamea did not accompany him. Mamea and her family became very wealthy and powerful in Rome; even more so when Septimus Severus became the emperor in 193, taking over Rome with great support after the previous emperor had been killed. Septimus Severus and Domna’s sons Caracalla and Geta would succeed as co-emperors. But Caracalla had Geta killed in 211; he died in Domna’s arms. Caracalla would be conspired against, killed, and replaced by the prominent Roman Macrinus. Domna, having lost both her sons, her immense influence in Rome, and also dying of breast cancer, starved herself to death in 217. Macrinus exiled Maesa back to Emesa along with her family.

This was not the last Rome would see of Julia Maesa or the Severan Dynasty. Many people in Emesa were dissatisfied with Macrinus and still held loyalty to the memory of Septimus Severus. Maesa decided that she needed to choose a male candidate close to her for the position of emperor to secure her position and put her family back in power. Maesa’s fourteen year old grandson- Julia Soaemias’ son Varius Avitus Bassanius, a priest of Elagabalus- was who she settled on. (Bassanius is known as Elagabalus, after the god he worshipped, though he was only called this name posthumously). To delegitimize Macrinus’ claim to the position of emperor, she made her own surprising (and untrue) claim- that Bassanius was the illegitimate child of Soaemias by Caracalla, thus an emperor’s son. Maesa gained a great deal of support from Syrian nobles and Roman soldiers alike in Emesa, including that of a Roman general, Gannys. Maesa’s risks paid off. Macrinus’ supporters turned against him in great numbers, and Gannys defeated his forces at the Battle of Antioch in 218, where reportedly, Maesa and Soaemias joined the battlefield to rally the soldiers. In Antioch, young Bassanius was declared emperor.

In 219, the imperial retinue traveled from Antioch to Rome. Maesa advised Bassanius to wear Roman clothing, and keep to Roman traditions. Bassanius was very devoted to his religion, and was not easily swayed in matters of faith. But in other respects, Maesa and Soaemias were able to successfully influence him, and held a lot of power during his reign. Despite never marrying an emperor and technically not being the empress, Maesa was nonetheless given the title Augusta and had a position in the Senate, as did Soaemias. Bassanius’ rule caused a great deal of religious controversy due to his steadfast devotion to the god Elagabalus, which many Romans did not approve of, disliking the idea that the emperor of Rome would follow a "foreign" religion. Maesa often disagreed with him on religious matters and other issues, such as his favoritism towards a charioteer, Hierocles, who he wanted not only to marry but bestow upon the title caesar. To try and stabilize state matters, Mamea convinced Bassanius to adopt her other grandson, Julia Avita Mamea’s twelve year old son Alexander Severus. This was considered a wise decision by many, who no longer felt confident in Bassanius’ potential as a ruler. Bassanius soon began to see Alexander Severus as a threat to his rule, as the younger boy gained many supporters. This rivalry divided even the family, with Bassanius and Soaemias on one side and Maesa, Mamea, and Alexander on the other. Bassanius attempted an assassination on Alexander.  In 222, The Praetorian Guards, dissatisfied with the emperor, killed Bassanius as well as Soaemias, who died in one another’s arms. Bassanius’ rejection of Maesa’s advice and pushing her out of influence is seen by some as one of the causes of his downfall. It is even questioned whether Maesa herself had a hand in the assassination of her own grandson and daughter.

Regardless of whether or not she was involved, Maesa quickly returned to business upon the ascension of Alexander Severus as emperor. Alexander was easier to be led, and Maesa and Mamea were very influential in his reign. They chose counselors for the young emperor and reversed many of Bassanius’ decisions, including some of his more controversial religious edicts.

Julia Maesa died sometime between November of 224 and 227, of unknown causes. The earliest mention of her as a goddess is on the Acta Arvalia of November 7th, 224, marble tablets kept to record religious occasions of the Arval priesthood, who made sacrifices for the harvest.  Her daughter Mamea continued to have a prominent role in the rule of Alexander Severus, though many of his failures and unpopular decisions were blamed on her and her influence over him. While on campaign in Germany in 235, Mamea and Alexander were killed together by soldiers, and the Severan Dynasty that Maesa had worked so hard to bring back to power and keep in power ended. It can be argued that it is a testament to Julia Maesa’s political acumen that she managed to die a quiet and unremarkable death of likely natural causes, rather than assassination, like so many other members of her family and prominent people of the times she lived in.  

first image: Coin with bust of Julia Maesa, 218-222, collection of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

second image: Silver bust of Julia Maesa, collection of the National History Museum of Sofia, Bulgaria

[bullet-prooflove]

"Sweetest of the sunflowers, yeah, you're the sun to me" with mateo chavez?

also an emoji anon is an anonymous reader who uses an emoji at the end of their ask so that the writer knows its the same person without knowing who they are if that makes sense

Oh yea, that's absolutely fine! Happy for you to emoji!

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @gender-queery @stxr-dvstt @wyxroxy

Prequel to:

To The Moon & To Saturn

You’re wearing a dress with sunflowers on when Mateo first meets you at Comic Con. It’s a flowy summer thing that clings to your torso and flounces out at the hips. It’s pretty and understated just like the cowboy boots you’re wearing underneath.

He isn’t sure how the conversation starts, only that once it does he can’t tear himself away. You’re captivating, magnetic and fun, a whole lot of fun.

The two of you are arguing the merits of Matt Fraction’s Hawkeye run when the announcement comes over the intercom about the panel talks that are starting. Mateo, has a tickets to a couple and he guesses you do too.

“I’ve gotta get going to my panel.” You tell him, pulling away reluctantly. “But I’ll try to find you after ok?”

“Sure.” He says, watching you disappear into the crowd before realising he forgot to ask which one you’re heading to. He flicks through the leaflet but there’s a bunch starting right now. He sighs before heading to one that’s being led by his favourite writer.

Gus Shaw.

There’s a lot of buzz around it because no one has ever seen him in the flesh, there’s not even a picture on his website. His comic book ‘Sands of Time’ blew up last year and there’s been a frenzy for it ever since. This event is his first public appearance and Mateo had had to shell out a small fortune to get a special access ticket and an exclusive signing after.

His head is still full of you when he finds his seat in the auditorium, full of missed opportunities and possibilities that will probably never be. He settles back in his seat, his head tilted towards the stage as the host for the panel comes on and introduces…

Augusta Shaw.

The woman he’s just been talking to, the one clad in a pretty sunflower dress and cowboy boots.

“Oh wow.” He says, straightening up in his seat because his mind, it’s completely blown. He can tell everyone else’s is too from the ten seconds of silence that’s followed by thunderous applause.

“I gotta be honest.” He says when he gets to the front of the signing queue, his book clasped under his arm. “I think we were all expecting George R R Martin.”

“Mati.” You greet him warmly, gesturing for his book. He hands it to you and you flick it open to the front page. “I was hoping I’d see you in my audience. We didn’t get to finish our conversation about Lucky the Pizza Dog.”

“No, we didn’t.” He smiles as you write something in his book using a sharpie. “Maybe it’s something we can revisit when you’re done for the day.”

“I would really like that.” You say turning the book around so he can see the message. It’s a string of digits with a heart underneath.

“My phone number.” You tell him. “Do me a favour and text me yours and we can grab a drink in the bar afterwards.”

“I’ll do that.” He promises you, tucking the book under his arm. “I wouldn’t miss  it for the world.”

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[pinturas-sgm-aviacion]

1943 11 08 Two Zeros for Barbara - Roy Grinnell

repost better lighting, identified action

First Lieutenant George Chandler of the 339th Fighter Squadron, 347th Fighter Group, achieved his sixth and seven aerial victory on November 8, 1943, by shooting down two Japanese Mitsubishi A6M Zero fighters over Empress Augusta Bay, Bougainville Island. This engagement occurred shortly after the U.S. invasion of Bougainville on November 1, 1943. Chandler's squadron provided air support for the beachhead invasion force, and his actions during this mission contributed significantly to the success of the operation. Chandler's aircraft, a P-38 Lightning named "Barbara Ann" after his sweetheart (later his wife), was instrumental in this combat. His valor and skill in aerial combat earned him the Distinguished Flying Cross for extraordinary achievement during World War II.

[whencyclopedia]

Hadrian's Travels

No other Roman emperor travelled as much as Hadrian (r. 117-138 CE). The 'restless' emperor spent more time travelling than in Rome, devoting half of his 21-year reign to the inspection of the provinces. His travels provided him with the political means of unifying the Roman Empire, but he may also have been personally motivated by his insatiable curiosity, philhellenism, and love of travel.

Memories of Hadrian have been inextricably linked with his long administrative journeys throughout the empire. The author of the Historia Augusta tells us that the emperor was "so fond of travel, that he wished to inform himself in person about all that he had read concerning all parts of the world" (HA Hadr. 17.8). The Christian writer Tertullian (155-210 CE) speaks of Hadrian as "omnium curiositatum explorator" (Apology 5.7), "an explorer of all curiosities". Cassius Dio (c. 164 to c. 229/235 CE) writes: "He personally viewed and investigated absolutely everything" (69.9.2).

However, Hadrian's travels were not only the result of a hedonistic wanderlust. He was a capable administrator and a competent military commander. His voyages were part of a global policy aimed at inspecting western and, in particular, eastern provinces, and at supporting local communities through donations. If Hadrian is often portrayed as a passionate intellectual with an insatiable curiosity and thirst for discovery, he was also a man determined to remind his provinces who was in charge.

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[wisteria-lodge]

Re the Watsonian explanation for the Longbottoms not at home -- I enjoyed your meta! An interesting insight into Augusta. It made me realize that it never actually occurred to me that them being at Mungos might feel like something that needed to be explained, and I wonder if other people who've seen or done the kind of caregiving this would have involved had the same assumption about it.

Which was: Caring for two adults in the kind of state the Longbottom parents seem to be in at home on your own would be... intense. Emotionally and physically, even with hired help, even with magic, even if they are always (and always have been) as calm as we saw them (which I doubt was the case). And especially when you are not that young yourself, grieving, and suddenly trying to raise a child at the same time. And when you know that whatever you figure out and how you feel about it has to be sustainable every day for the next *60 years*, for the rest of your life and probably another few decades beyond it. For the majority of your grandson's life.

A person could do it, people do, but I think it would have been extremely hard, even for a really well adjusted person dispositionally suited to caregiving who has worked through her grief about her children and has landed on realistic (difficult, devastating, unfairly compromised) expectations for what's left of her life and Frank's and all of Neville's. Which to be clear I don't think Augusta is or has - for a lot of the same reasons you described in your post.

❤

Your point is extremely well taken. Being a full-time caregiver is one of the most difficult and exhausting things a person can do, and Augusta got a really, really rough deal.

That ask about why Frank and Alice are living full-time at St. Mungos was specifically in response to another meta about how the attitudes towards mental healthcare we see in the Wizarding World are very soft-1800s flavored. One of my main talking points when it comes to HP worldbuilding is that wizard society still runs in a very pre-industrial kinda way, taking notes from about 1700-1880. And in the 1800s especially, if you had the means, it was much more a thing to take care of people with mental problems/severe disabilities at home, and either care for them yourself or have whatever help you needed come to you. We see this way of doing things in the way the Dumbledores keep Ariana at home (in a way that *does* evoke the gothic "madwoman in the attic" trope, which is absolutely ties in with this older way of dealing with mental illness.)

So I was answering that that ask a bit more as "why doesn't Augusta Longbottom, as a late 1700s/early 1800s lady of means, who presumably has a large house a la Grimmauld Place or Malfoy Manor, have the staff of St Mungo/some other private hospital teleport over to her as needed and instead making the trip herself?" And seriously, poor Augusta. Whatever she needs. I really hope she has a physical help/support system that's more robust than just her brother Algie.

[royaltysimblr]

Ophelia of Lausanne, Queen of Windenburg (1620-1673) - Part 10 - Last Years and Death

In 1665, Ophelia successfully arranged the marriage of her daughter, Princess Sophie, to Louis Antoine, Dauphin of Magnolia. Ophelia attended the wedding celebrations and negotiated the wedding contract in Magnolia. Sophie received a dowry of 850,000 Livre and a pension of 15,000 annually from parliament. Parliament was initially reluctant but ended up supporting the marriage as it improved the relationship between Windenburg and Magnolia and promoted religious tolerance. Following the marriage of her daughter, Ophelia moved to Magnolia full-time. Ophelia was gifted the Chateau de Angers by King Louis XI which she used as a country retreat. Ophelia regularly attended court in Magnolia and was given luxurious apartments at the Palace of Blois. Ophelia was by her daughter’s side during the birth of her many children including the future King Louis XIII. 

In 1665, her son, Prince George, died from tuberculosis. Ophelia was devastated by the death of her son and immediately returned to Windenburg for the funeral. Ophelia returned to the continent after two months, accompanied by her daughter Henrietta. Ophelia spent three months at the court of her son-in-law, the Prince of Brichester. During this period, Ophelia at the behest of her son, helped secure new trade deals with Windenburg. 

Throughout her last few years, Ophelia helped finance the creation of new churches in Montmedy and Nancy. Ophelia became extremely devout toward the end of her life, attending church as often as she could. Ophelia corresponded with her children regularly, especially her elder daughter Louise whom she hadn’t seen in 17 years. In 1671, her daughter-in-law, Augusta, visited Magnolia to take the baths at Colombes which were said to bring fertility. Ophelia and Augusta met with each other, which would be the last time they would see each other before Ophelia's death.

In 1672, her daughter, Sophie, died after suffering a fatal miscarriage. Ophelia was heatbroken by the loss of her daughter and stayed by her son-in-law’s side during his grief. A year later in 1673, her daughter Henrietta bled to death after giving birth to a stillborn son. The death of her two daughters broke Ophelia completely. Ophelia stayed isolated in Magnolia, hardly leaving the Chateau de Angers. On August 15th, 1673, while her son-in-law, the Dauphin, was visiting the Chateau de Angers, Ophelia collapsed and suffered from a heart attack. Ophelia died shortly afterward.

After the death of Ophelia, her son, Prince Charles, traveled to Magnolia to collect her body and return to Windenburg. Ophelia was buried at St.Michael’s Church in Windenburg beside her husband and son. A funeral was held on August 25th. Her children were devastated by the loss of their mother, with King James reportedly weeping upon hearing the news. Upon Ophelia’s wishes, she was buried in the same dress she had worn when she first came to Windenburg in 1635. Her sons, James and Charles, and her eldest daughter, Louise, survived her. James and Charles would both become Kings of WIndenburg before the throne passed to Charles's daughter, Princess Matilda. After the death of Matilda, the throne passed to Prince Joseph of Wittenburg, a great-grandson of James and Ophelia through Princess Henrietta, Princess of Brichester.