#silver sixpence

[thesleepyblueocean]

Kiss me, beneath the milky twilight Lead me out on the moonlit floor Lift your open hand Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance Silver moon's sparkling So kiss me

[guinevereslancelot]

got my friend a silver sixpence for her shoe bc she got engaged (and she's estranged from her parents over it) and she told me she's getting married barefoot 😂

[oldcurrencyexchange]

Irish Coin Daily: Confederate Catholic Sixpence - Counter-marked on a Silver Sixpence of James I

Date: 1642-43 Kilkenny (countermarked once) Sixpence on a Sixpence of James I (Second Coinage, 3rd bust, mm Rose) Description: Kilkenny Rebel Money Sixpence; issued by the Catholic Confederacy of Kilkenny from 1642-43 and counter-marked on a silver Sixpence of James I (his Second Coinage, 3rd bust, mm Rose 1605-06) for Ireland, in 1558); one counter-mark struck on the monarch’s bust in the form…

[lovings4turn]

જ⁀➴  𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄  . . .  (𝐋. 𝐍.)

— whilst you love the excitement that comes with dating a formula one driver, you cherish the quiet, private moments with lando far more

+ part of my 'be my valentine' mixtape series ! inspired by 'kiss me' by sixpence none the richer, which is one of my fav songs of all time <3

whenever you told someone that your boyfriend drove formula one cars for a living, their initial response was always to 'ooh' and 'ahh' over how luxurious that must be for you. you must be so well travelled, spoiled with tons of gifts, showered with champagne any time he did well on track.

and you would agree - it was true, after all - but those were never your favourite parts of dating lando norris.

what you loved most about lando was how himself he was, no matter how bright the spotlight that shone on him became. it was lando being so quintessentially, well, lando, that had led you to the dreamlike date you were currently on together.

no longer phased by late night texts requesting your company at any hour of the day, you'd wasted no time in getting yourself dressed up for a mystery date the moment lando had messaged you about it.

and now, sat beneath the stars on the hood of his car, you felt like the luckiest person to walk the earth. how lando had found such a pretty, secluded location, you'd never know. part of the beauty was not knowing.

bar the moon acting as your chaperone, it was just you and lando for as far as you were aware. for one night, you were granted your own part of the earth, a land that could be your own.

lando, cheesy as ever, had began to play some romantic old love song from his car speakers, a gesture that was only briefly delayed by the house song he'd accidentally queued up first.

once you'd controlled your giggles, lando had held out his hand, stooping down into a bow and playing the part of a gentleman.

"can i have this dance?" he asked, grin so wide his eyes began to crinkle up at the corners.

hesitant was a feeling you never experienced around lando. your hand was in his before you had time to think.

neither of you were particularly well versed in the art of dance, but you knew each other like the back of your own hands, and each step and movement was fluid, second nature after years together.

the silver moon cast a glittering glow over your intertwined frames, a spotlight for your personal duet that caught lando's face perfectly in it's light.

"you're staring," lando mused, eyes sparkling in amusement as he realised he'd caught you.

"you're making it hard not to," you admitted, eyes flitting down to the curve of his top lip briefly before you met his eyes once more.

"so i'm a distraction, am i?"

it was a joke, yet his fondness for you outweighed the humour in the tone of his voice.

"well, you said it not me."

lando laughed at this, a sound that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

"i think i can be even more of a distraction," he hummed.

in one swift move, lando's lips were on yours as his hands gripped your waist firmly. the kiss was soft, yet passionate, the movements of his tongue somehow tracing everything he could never say to you into the cavern of your mouth.

being at the track with lando was fun, as was the winter trips to ski lodges and summer holidays in resorts. but without a doubt, your favourite place to be with lando was underneath the haze of the milky twilight, lips locked as his heart bore roots into your own chest.

[aziraphales-library]

ello ello ello!

i am looking for fics where, human or not, crowley and azi grow up being together being friends and turns to lovers ! thank you for your blessed job <3

Hi! We have #childhood friends and #friends to lovers tags, so check those out. Here are some to add to the collections...

Stronger Than Hurt by TawnyOwl95 (E)

Everything changed the summer that Crowley fell off the Eastgate's garage roof and broke his arm. Fourteen years later he stood outside a tattoo shop with a picture of the drawing Aziraphale Eastgate had done on his cast, and hoped for a second chance.

Christmas light by Tigerphoenix (T)

After years of neither hearing form his father nor sibling Crowley is convinced to return to his childhood home. He knew from the start it wasn’t a good idea, but he did it anyway. Maybe something good comes out of it. Aziraphale returns home to his family home every year for Christmas. But Christmas with nine people is exhausting. Nothing wrong with some time alone, right?

I scorn to change my state with kings by bearwonder (T)

They’d seem an unlikely pair, if anyone saw them from the outside — Crowley in black skinny jeans and Aziraphale in beige corduroys — but no one does, and that’s just how they want it. Crowley and Aziraphale meet in kindergarten. This is the story of their lives.

What About Hope? by AppleSeeds (M)

Crowley met Aziraphale in the spring of 1989 while he was on his lunchbreak from the factory, his attention immediately drawn to the posh boy sitting by the canal writing poetry. It was immediately obvious that they came from entirely different worlds, but the time they spent together was the happiest Crowley had ever known. With Aziraphale, Crowley experienced many firsts - his first kiss, his first love... his first heartbreak. Twenty years later, they are reunited when Crowley, now a successful writer and vlogger, comes to work as an Associate Lecturer in the university department where Aziraphale is an academic. Seeing Crowley brings back Aziraphale's intense regret for allowing himself to be persuaded to leave him behind all those years ago. Aziraphale desperately wishes to renew their acquaintance, but Crowley seems determined to keep his distance. Aziraphale can't blame him for not forgiving him, since he has never been able to forgive himself, but when Crowley begins to spend more time with him, Aziraphale is left with the hope that maybe they could at least be friends again - no matter how much it might hurt.

And a Silver Sixpence in His Shoe by smolalienbee (T)

If there is one thing to be said about Aziraphale Z. Fell is that he leads an ordinary, quiet life. He lives in Soho, London, above an old bookshop that he’s been fortunate enough to inherit in his late twenties. He likes sushi and good wine. He has a few friends - like Nina, who works at the coffee shop across the street; or Maggie, who runs the record store that he takes an absolute pleasure in frequently purchasing from. (He’s lonely. Terribly so. He’s been lonely for about ten years now, since - he does not want to think about that.) Today is his 35th birthday. At age 15, Aziraphale made a Promise. At age 25, he had an Earth-shattering fight with his childhood - and closest - friend. At age 35, that same friend shows up at his doorstep and suddenly, Aziraphale’s entire world is thrown upside down. A story of something unexpected, something old, something yellow, something stolen, something new and something promised. (It’s going to be a long week.)

Dancing in the Dark by Demonicputto (T)

In search of inspiration for his next album, rock musician Tony Jay is headed to London. It's not the atmosphere he's after, but a reunion with Ezra Fell, his dearest friend from childhood. A one sided, adolescent crush fueled Tony's first songs and, now that they're both older, he's hoping those feelings might finally be requited. But, Ezra may not be ready for that. In his eyes, their relationship is far more complicated. Unlike Tony, he remembers who they truly are: the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale.

- Mod D

[petaltexturedskies]

Oh, with you, I could conquer the world—oh, with you I could catch hold of the moon like a little silver sixpence.

Katherine Mansfield, from “Journal of Katherine Mansfield”

[blueiscoool]

Hoard of 17th-Century Coins Hidden During English Civil War Found

During a kitchen renovation, a family in England unexpectedly discovered a hoard of coins that was likely buried for safekeeping during the first English Civil War.

A family in England discovered nearly 400-year-old buried treasure during a recent home renovation project. The find includes more than 1,000 gold and silver coins that were likely hidden during the first English Civil War.

Betty and Robert Fooks unexpectedly unearthed the 17th-century hoard at their cottage in South Poorton Farm, Dorset, in 2019. Now, these coins have hit the auction block and sold for upward of $75,900 (60,740 British pounds), according to the hammer prices listed by Duke's, an auction house in Dorchester that handled the sales.

Robert Fooks made the discovery while pickaxing the kitchen floor to remove about 2 feet (0.6 meter) of flooring material, including modern concrete, old flagstone and bare earth. Then, he saw a broken glazed-ceramic vessel brimming with coins in the layer of soil dating back about 400 years. It's unclear if the bowl was broken before or during the recent discovery, according to Duke's.

The couple contacted a local finds liaison officer, who arranged for the coins to be sent to the British Museum, where they were cleaned and identified, according to The Guardian. The British Museum noted that the coins were likely deposited on a single occasion between about 1642 and 1644, dates likely based on the coins' mint dates.

The coins in the collection, named the Poorton Coin Hoard, range from modest sixpences, which were worth six pennies, to a coveted gold "unite" coin that was worth 20 shillings, or 1 pound, and depict the visages of English monarchs Edward VI; Mary and her husband Philip; Elizabeth I; James I; and Charles I, who ruled successively from 1547 to 1649.

Many of the coins sold individually or in groups at auction on April 23. A single gold coin of Charles I brought in the highest price, at 5,000 British pounds ($6,260), while some lots went for far more than their estimated value.

The period in which the coins were likely hidden — 1642 to 1644 — coincides with the first English Civil War, which lasted from 1642 to 1646. The three civil wars were fought between supporters of the English monarch, then Charles I, and Parliament, to determine the balance of power between the crown and Parliament.

"Perhaps the most important short-term significance of the Civil Wars was that it culminated in the execution of King Charles I in 1649 and a republic was established for the first time in English history which lasted 11 years," Waseem Ahmed, a doctoral student of history at University College London who specializes in 17th century British political history but was not involved in the hoard's discovery or analysis.

It's no surprise that people hid their money back then, as warfare during this time included the seizure of opponents' property, he said.

"If you were a royalist or suspected royalist, you could have your estates sequestrated (seized) by the Parliamentary side and vice versa," Ahmed explained. This may be the case for the 17th-century homeowner, as Dorset was a hotspot for troop movements and the turbulence that followed.

It's likely that someone buried the Poorton Coin Hoard with the hopes of safeguarding it and retrieving it later. And while the treasure was certainly safeguarded, its retrieval took four centuries longer than its owner likely desired.

"If we hadn't lowered the floor, they would still be hidden there," Betty Fooks told The Guardian. "I presume the person intended to retrieve them but never got the chance."

By Hannah Kate Simon.

[ltwilliammowett]

Reales, pieces of eight, doubloones and ducats

Who doesn't know it, in films and books there are always stories about great pirate treasures and lots of coins are shown. But what kind of coins are they? Here is a small overview.

Silver real

Silver coin: 8 reales Fernando VI, Viceroyalty of New Spain - 1757 (x)

The real was a coin and a currency in Spain for several centuries after the mid-14th century, weighing 0,12 ounces (3,43g) of silver, and these were eight reales to a peso, hence the term " pieces of eight" for pesos.

Silver piece of eight or Spanish Dollar

Spanish piece of eight, 1780 (x)

Was an early Spanish silver dollar sized coin, with a content of 25.563 g = 0.822 oz t fine silver. As Spanish mints issued silver denominations smaller than eight reales relatively infrequently, these coins would sometimes be chopped up into smaller pieces to provide small change. In the 17th and 18th centuries, so many were in circulation that they were accepted almost anywhere in the world. The American doller sign $ was derived from the figure 8 stamped on the side of the piece of eight, the silver peso (or piaster). They were minted at Mexico City and Lima in Peru, and were common currency in all of England's colonies, being valued at four shillings and sixpence. Often they wre cut into eight pieces for ease of transaction, so that two bits made a quarter. The origin of the American phrase, not worth two bits, is from the days when the English colonies around Massachusetts used this Spanish money. Pieces of eight were produced for about 300 years, in Mexcio, Peru and Colombia, and they became the standard unit of trade between Europe and China. They wre legal tender in the USA until 1857. Before the Spanish started exploiting Potosi in Peru (in today's Bolivia), silver was almost as valuable as gold in the Old World. Such were the quantities taken from the New World, that silver dropped to about a 1/5 of the value of gold. The Spanish exported four billion pesos of silver and gold from the New World between 1492 and 1830.

Gold ducat

Gold ducat of Venice. Doge Andrea Gritti, Italy, 1523-38 (x)

This was the European gold trade coin, containing around 3.5 grams (0.11 troy ounces) of 98.6% fine gold, during the late medieval and early modern period. The name derives from ducatus, the Latin form of the title of the Doge of Venice, whre the ducat was first issued 1284. Called the ducado, it was worth less than a doubloon, about 10-11 silver reales, and was known to the British seaman as a ducat. The coin was copied throughout mainland Europe, and coins of the ducat standard were struck in several European countries up to the 20th century.

Gold doubloon (doblôn)

Spanish 4-doubloon, or doubloon of 8 escudos, stamped as minted in Mexico city mint in 1798 (x)

This was an early Spanish gold coin, worth approximately $4 (four Spanish dollars) or 32 reales, and weighing 6.766 grams (0.218 troy ounce) of 22-karat gold (or 0.917 fine; hence 6.2 g fine gold). The name originally applying to the gold excelente of Ferdinand and Isabella. It was later transferred to the two escudo coin issued by Spain and the Spanish colonies in the Americas. It was the largest Spanish gold coin, weighing slightly less than an ounce of gold, and originates from the Latin word duplus, or double. A doubloon was worth about seven weeks wages to a sailor.

[bowieandqueen11]

🎶 for Roman Roy? ✨😌✨💕 Love your writing!! 🥰

Thank you so much sweetie!! I'm loving all the requests for Roman at the moment :P

Kiss Me / Roman Roy Imagine

Line: 'Silver moon's sparkling / So kiss me'

Writers block is kicking my ass today but I wanted to get this out anyway! Please let me know if you liked it :)

(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @ushershiv. Song credit goes to Sixpence None The Richer!)

Warning: strong language and mentions of child abuse!

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Roman Roy nearly scared the shit out of you as you wandered up the moonlit side streets of the Tuscan town.

Shiv, of course, had left you to fend for yourself in unknown territory by storming out from the hen party before it had even reached ten o'clock, scowling as she impassively kissed her mother's cheeks and went straight back to scrolling through her phone as she became a blot in the distance. You had spent the last half an hour wandering around, peering around the edges of sun-kissed cafes and staring quizzically at dust stained cobbled streets that wound round balconies and down staircases you were sure you'd already been down.

So when you nearly tripped over Roman sitting, looking forlorn, at the bottom of one, you were more than delighted to jump out of your skin.

'Romy, oh thank fuck! My sense of direction was dogshit in America, and it sure as hell seems to be worse in Italy.' You laugh and place a hand to your heart, trying to calm its throbbing as you perch on the bottom of the stone railing. Roman sets down his beer by his feet and stands up, turning his head behind him languidly and trying his best to smile at you. You could tell immediately that something had gone wrong while you were out with Shiv: you knew your childhood best friend too long not to be hyperaware of his idiosyncrasies. His smile didn't reach his eyes, but to Roman, it was a relief: he had found you.

It had only taken his own half an hour of quizzing his sister on the phone and wandering around the Tuscan side-passages - but he had found you. Just as he had throughout his whole childhood; no matter if Roman was climbing up the pipe outside your bedroom window and peering his little goblin head eagerly over the edge of your windowpane when you were teenagers, or him screaming and crying, searching the house for you when he was just a toddler confused about why his daddy wanted to hurt him so much, he always sought you out.

It had infuriated him at first, just because he didn't understand why his heart felt such pangs of weakness. But as Remy grew, he started to relax into it, until he couldn’t remember a time when he was just him, instead of you as well.

And by god, if he wasn't going to ever let you out of his sight again.

His own heart begins to pound like an unbroken slap against the side of his ear as he gives you a once over, his eyes lazily tracing your figure, but plainly lovelorn. 'Well, yeah, thanks for fucking - trying and testing that dumbass doesn't change depending on the continent.' His eye sparkles against the graceful hue of dreaming grey as he smirks, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth to try and choke back the words he's spent his life so desperately trying to claw out.

'Fuck off', you reply, but you're beaming as you say it. Reaching out, you run a hand over his collar and do your best to try and straighten it out. Roman swallows harshly as he feels your knuckles brush as light as a lover's kiss against the pulse point on his neck. The touch is one of familiarity, of intimacy, of an intimate knowledge, of a ritual done over and over and over since you were children. One always reaches out, an olive's branch, a desperate cry, and the other stays stoic in a fear that over the years has been beaten into them.

He wasn't allowed this. He didn't deserve this. Roman Roy wasn't allowed love. Not unless it was callous, and course, and being shoved like poison down his throat by the fisted hand of his father, or being struck across his cheek with a chide for being a naughty puppy.

'So', you start with a furrowed brow and a tremble to your fingers, noticing the way Roman's eyes have begun to cloud a little under the thin sheen of starlight. He only blinks again, guiding his gaze back up to look at you expectantly as you continue. 'What's been going on with you tonight?' You pat his shirt, right between the top button and the start of his chest, not expecting him to sigh languidly at the touch. 'Nothing good, from the looks of it. You finally realising mommy's being taken off the marriage market for good?'

'Oh fuck you' he half-scoffs, but he doesn't move away, too desperate in his attempt to keep your palm as flatly and near to his heart as he can. He chews his bottom lip, trying to figure out in the dank recesses of his mind about how to tell you that you're the only person whose ever held it - the only person he's ever felt comfortable with, the only person he's ever fantasised about kissing, loving, spending every moment of his disgusting life with.

His voice cracks as he continues. 'It's fine. I'm fine, fuck, I just- uh, fuckity fuck me, it's just everything, you know? Like, this deal is looking pretty fucked, and it's like my love child so daddy dearest expects me to be on top of it, and-'. Roman's words die away on the tip of his tongue as he notices how eagerly you're watching him, anticipating every word and looking genuinely heartbroken as they tumble out.

He doesn't know how to process it: someone caring about what he has to say.

'And you know what', he whispers. 'It doesn't actually matter.' He reaches up and takes your hand - grasps it tightly and holds it between his lungs as he breathes you in. 'I don't fucking care, about any of it. That doesn't fucking matter to me.'

The ethereal shine of moon rays blink down sleepily from the clouds, and seem to bathe Roman in a light so innocent, and so dreamlike, that you can't help but latch onto his every syllable as being pure truth. His smile falters, and he shakes his head as he looks down at his feet, playing with the sides of your fingers between his own stout ones.

He never could bear to look at rejection head on. Usually he got by, solely because he could turn and look at one of his siblings instead, and pretend, for a moment, that they actually cared. But on his own? He didn't know how to handle it. So he shirks into himself, flaring his nostrils and trying to hide the tide of overwhelming dread that suffuses over his body and turns his neck a sheepish, splotchy crimson.

'Remy, where's this coming from? You've always wanted to be under daddy's heel-'

You're broken off by the sound of Roman's dress shoe stepping forward and the feel of something... strange? Against your lips? You try to take a step back, but an arm winds its way around your waist, as light as a feather but with a bark harsh enough to keep the bottom of your feet on the ground. It takes you a further moment to understand that the pressure that left, and then seemed to return with twice fold the intensity to your mouth, was Roman's itching, scared lips doing their best to caress your own. He's bleary eyed when he finally dares to open them, and it breaks your heart to see how vulnerable, how child like he looks in his fear. As you kiss him again, you didn't mind the tears that slide down his cheeks, a mixture of sadness and new joy mingling. He shakes his head slightly at the way he moans wishfully, latching onto you like a tired puppy as he follows your lips with his shivering body.

To the poor Tuscan locals, the two of you must have looked quite the state: two people, so obviously head over heels in love, kissing each other as if they'd never be granted another chance. As if this final pocket of happiness might tumble away once they wake up back into the real world. As if being so in love might be the destruction of them both.

[mercurygray]

hiiii could i pls ask about any fred/brady wedding and/or honeymoon thoughts? i love them a normal amount — @shoshiwrites

Being completely transparent here, I haven't thought about this at all, so this is very rough. (And now it's getting long??)

I have this vision that after the stalag, the flight that John is on goes to Paris, where they find Fred working in the Red Cross Club there. The mail's been wild for a few months, and she wanted something new when sticking around Thorpe Abbotts started to feel like a burden she didn't want to carry any more.

and they spend as much time as they have getting to know each other again shhhh.

John goes straight home after that - Paris to England, England to New York, New York to the loving arms of Mom and Dad and the rest of Victor, wondering what he's going to do with his life now that he's not a bomber boy. Fred has to stick around for a bit in Europe until everything wraps up, so it's John who's meeting her boat at the terminal, looking strange in civies and a fedora that doesn't look like it belongs to him after so long seeing him in crusher caps.

Maybe he has a ring that day. He's had enough time to think about it and he's not letting her go again.

(This does not surprise or alarm his parents. He's been talking about her for a while, and they know their son.) They swap her train ticket for one going upstate and go to meet the folks, and Fred calls her parents long distance to tell them that she's engaged. (I think Mr. and Mrs. Torvaldsen are a little more alarmed, but that's only because they've never met the guy, and Fred talked about everyone.)

Everyone's still working everything out, after the war - John's trying to figure out back pay and the GI bill and where they're going to live and find a job so it's just easier for Fred to go home first and get her feet under her. They write constantly and call whenever they can. John decides to take his teacher license exams and Fred coaches him by mail until she can move to be closer to him and start her classes to officially convert to Catholicism. (This is more of a formality for her, but it's important to his parents, so they're doing it. I don't see her as a particularly religious person, but it's not a huge swerve from her Lutheran upbringing.)

Small Catholic wedding - bride in tea-length white dress with a blusher veil and a hat and gloves. (It was expensive but what else was she going to do with that back pay? She's going to dye it afterwards, for a going-out dress.) Her something blue is a piece of her ARC uniform pinned inside her bodice and the silver sixpence was sent from England by her landlady in Thorpe Abbotts and she's borrowing a pair of silver shoe-clips from a friend to dress up her heels. They're absolutely thrilled to pieces that as many people as they get come - Crank made it in from Boston at the last minute, and a few of Fred's Clubmobile friends, and so so so many people send cards. A mountain of cards. ("It's almost like people like you, Freda," John says, very much teasing. "They're sure as hell not for me.")

Honeymoon is probably Niagara Falls, honestly. Or maybe Montreal? A train trip for a couple of days where they can be alone and in love and spend a lot of time with their clothes off and maybe do some touristy things.

...hhhhh this is so long i am so sorry.

[ineptlydrawnnep]

Day 101

Ship: Nepeta x Tavros

Ship Song: 'Kiss Me' by Sixpence None the Richer

'Oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight / Lead me out on the moonlit floor / Lift your open hand / Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance / Silver moon's sparkling / So kiss me'

Something cute, sweet, and simple for this ship <3 I loved their dynamic in their short pesterchum chat; rping and being sweet beans eager to play together. So for this, I imagine that although they're in seperate teams at first, once they disband and they meet up, Nepeta is very eager to continue purrsuing their friendship!

Tavros is concerned meeting her, and his meowbeast allergies start acting up but I think that with enough soft perseverance from her (and through multiple mandatory visits as her moiral is literally the one fixing and building him new legs), he learns to control his sneezing, as the problem was psychological. He reasons to himself that maybe it just activates with live meowbeasts, not dead ones.

The two greatly enjoy each other's company, gelling together like two peas in a pod! Equius 'allows' this as having Nepeta around helps keep Tavros calm for his leg fixes, and he doesn't see any threat in the bronzeblood.

They are really just good friends at first! Nepeta holds his hand whenever they walk somewhere together as an instinct ever since she helped him get used to walking again. She also fiercely defends him against Vriska, shooing her off. Vriska knows better than to mess with the moiral of someone as valuable as Equius, so while she resents that she's lost her control over Tavros, she still sometimes lingers to make the odd comment about them becoming flushed as a way to get under their skin.

Tavros likes Jade still, and Nepeta is very supportive of it! She helps a lot more with roleplaying and fleshing out his Rufioh persona so he doesn't come off as strongly, but he is still rejected as his confession is too soon. Nepeta invites him to therapy circle to jamfeel things out with her and Equius, showing some growth on Equius through tolerating his presence and even sympathizing for the boy. Still, things end in tragedy for him as he is called out to deal with Gamzee, and he dies from it.

Tavros and Nepeta though? Maybe they survive thanks to Tavros refusing to follow him, reassuring Nepeta that this might be something that is bigger than them. Or he might also cave to her insistence, follow, and end up dying trying to protect her.

Either way, there is a future for them where they grow closer through time, eventually accepting that their comfort with one another was irreplaceable.

[quill-of-thoth]

Letters from Watson, the Engineer's Thumb

Crimes in Context: Counterfeiting, circa 1889

What coins were the Stark-Becher gang trying to make, anyway? And did they actually need a person squishing hydraulic press to do it?

Most of the cash in circulation in Victorian England would have been coins, so it's time to refresh our memories on what they all are, since I last addressed currency smaller than a pound in The Man with the Twisted Lip. We will be restricting ourselves to denominations that the Stark-Becher gang may have been minting, based on the comment that the hydraulic press was necessary to make coins that were previously minted in silver.

Imperial Currency Definitions

Pound/Quid/Sovereign: Not applicable, the Sovereign coin is gold, but it's the base unit of the currency we're dealing with. It also would have been hard to pass as genuine just because it's a large denomination - the era's equivalent of a hundred dollar bill. Indeed, our Bank of England inflation calculator returns a modern value of £107.

Crown: Five shillings / a quarter pound. Represented by a silver coin. Probably the largest coin you'd make change for without being annoyed by it.

Shilling: 1/20th of a pound. A silver coin. Crowns and Shillings are our most likely candidates, as they're in common use in 1889 and is the kind of cash an average man might have on hand. I personally think shillings are the most likely coin to counterfeit, as a lot of accounting of people's wages, expenses, etc. in this time period is written as pounds / shillings / pennies (L/s/d) and silver pennies (And their horrible spawn of sixpence, twopence, etc) are probably not worth the effort. Also, while there were silver pennies in circulation, the fact that things like silver twopence were minted for maundy money makes the timeline and consistency of their minting beyond my pay grade as a blogger. And probably confusing for a coiner to get exactly right, given the payoff. Hydraulic press:

Modern (paper*) money is printed with several aspects that make it harder to reproduce: the exact fiber content of the paper, the multi layered and detailed design (with parts that can only be seen under UV light, parts that can only be seen with a magnifying glass, etc.), the embossed parts of the print design, and the exact chemical components of the ink can be analyzed to see if a note is authentic. The ink in US dollars also contains a smattering of heavy metals that aren't great for human health, so I don't recommend consuming money in any way - don't lick it, don't snort things off it, don't put it in your blender for a science fair project. It would be chemically somewhat dangerous to counterfeit modern currency at home, assuming you got anywhere close to the right ink.

*Some countries use polymer, but same difference. It will kill your blender, though.

The Victorians did... none of that, really. The idea of designing money to be harder to fake was already around, but metal coins can only be produced to a certain degree of precision with the tools that were available in the 1800's: you essentially heat a disk of the correct metal (a blank) and press it with a stamp. The hydraulic press would, of course, squash blanks between two plates of stamps precisely, and with great force.

Both silver and gold have relatively low melting points (under 2,000 degrees F / close to 1,000 C) and are malleable at lower temperatures than the iron or steel of a hydraulic press. Silver amalgam (a silver/mercury alloy) has an even lower melting point, so it would be even easier to fit to a mold.

Essentially, anybody who knew much about molding metal and could get a precise-ish model of the coin in question would make pretty convincing money. A hydraulic press large enough to fit three grown men between the plates of may have been overkill.

[smolalienbee]

Now that they’re teens and inching ever closer to adulthood, it’s not an item of clothing Anthony would want to be caught wearing out in the open. He has a distinct sense of style, after all - all black and red and mysterious - but still, he carries the yellow jumper with him whenever he can, dons it when it’s just the two of them, alone and in the comfort and security of their own company. Aziraphale knows that Anthony does it because he loves him. Aziraphale also knows that Anthony is afraid.

Aziraphale & Crowley as kids from And a Silver Sixpence in His Shoe!

[muddwheelz123]

Kiss Me

Based on the song by Sixpence None the Richer

Entry for @ohtobeleah Galentine’s Day

Just Fluff, my first time writing a fic, so I hope y'all like it. Also, a few uses of Y/N.

Word Count - About 500

“I’ve never been to a dance before, Bobby, I'm not even sure I know how.” You said, walking into the barn-turned dance hall.

“You’ve got nothing to fear, just follow my lead. Holy cow, you look perfect in that dress.” He grabs your hand as you walk in.

You and Bob wander around the hall, saying hi to people you know, dancing to the songs you like, and getting the best food from the snack table.

“Time for a slow dance, let’s take it back a little bit, ‘97, Kiss Me,” the emcee announces as lights dim and you take to the dance floor.

"Dance with me?" Bob asked, offering his hand.

You’ve known Bob Floyd forever. Ever since his family moved in next door to you in your little midwestern town. It felt right, natural even, putting one hand on his shoulder as his went to your waist. The song played, but all you could pay attention to was his eyes and keeping him close to you. You wanted the moment to go on forever.

When the song ended, you both decided to walk outside and get some fresh air. The wheat fields gleamed in the moonlight as you sat down on an old fence next to him.

“Hey, Y/N?”

“What Bobby?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Can I kiss-”

Before he could get the full question in, you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled and hopped off the fence to stand in front of you. A real one this time, under the silver moonlight and as perfect and picturesque as anything you'd ever experienced.

--- Several Years Later ---

“Let’s get Mr. and Mrs. Floyd out here for their first dance!” The emcee announced. The reception guests cleared the way for the couple.

You were worried about dancing in front of all the people you'd invited, but as Kiss Me started playing, you remembered all the perfect moments that had gotten you here with the one and only Bob Floyd.

The summer mornings you'd spend playing on the old tire swing that hung from the tree house in his backyard. The day he forgot you didn't like hiking and he wore the goofiest hat you'd ever seen. The night he took you on a drive to see the fireflies. All the deployments and long-distance phone calls. Every memory the two of you had shared from childhood to now.

“Just like the night we fell in love, right y/n/n?”

“We were in love long before that.”

“The night I decided to do something about it.”

“Best choice ya ever made,” you kiss him, no longer caring that your family and friends were watching.

“How ‘bout you kiss me again, just for good measure?” As the song ends, you share one more kiss.

“I love you, Bobby.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

[ohtobealady]

October Prompts

5 October: Silver

She paused her breathing—only for a moment. She paused it, slowed it, to slow her heart. She wouldn’t let Robert see her nerves. She wouldn’t let him see the small panic she felt winding its way up and between her ribs, choking the space there, where her heart beat.

Doctor Clarkson nodded at the brown bottle of iodine he held in his grasp. It glimmered mockingly in the bright spring sunlight that shone through the windows.

“You’ll use this when it’s time to change the bandaging.” She lowered her chin, listening. “It should be applied twice daily for the first few days, though I believe we’ll be able change to only once daily soon enough. We’ll allow the wound to air likely at the beginning of … er, next week.”

Cora nodded. Iodine. Twice daily when bandaging. Until next week, she committed to memory.

He handed it to her, reaching his arm across Robert lying between them, and he picked up the clean bandages. “Now, I’ll start the first change and, if you’re agreeable, I’ll have you complete it, Lady Grantham. To be certain.”

“Alright,” she mumbled, again the panic flirting with her resolve. It made sense, she knew, for him to teach her. She did hear a bit of condescendence there, she thought, but she was too tired to mind. For the truth was, she had never changed a bandage. She had hardly ever changed or cleaned anything. And she wanted him home with her.

Steeling herself, she quickly glanced at Robert lying there beneath her. Her own dear Robert, lips bloodless, dark circles beneath his eyes. Oh, while he looked terribly tired and unwell, he was, in fact, on the mend. His being here, lying between she and Clarkson, proved it.

Robert didn’t meet her gaze as Clarkson inspected his bandages and then began to neatly pull them away from his side. He still didn’t meet her gaze when Clarkson asked Cora to pay close attention to a particular area that was healing slower than the rest.

She did.

Cora did her best not to wince as Doctor Clarkson slowly pulled the bandage from Robert’s skin, a section of it sticking to where blood had dried against it.

She blinked. She, again, glanced to her husband’s face whose eyes were trained on the ceiling above them. She drew in a deep breath.

“Aye,” Clarkson said quietly as he rolled the bloodied fabric against itself. “Everything looks well.”

She made herself look now. If Robert was coming home—and he was—and she was to be the one to care for him—and she was determined to—then she couldn’t afford the fear that stung her chest.

Oh. But it was worse than she thought it would be. The sutures were there. Down the center of his stomach. Then below, a small line of additional sutures marching across.

Larger than she thought it would be.

One. Two. Three. Four. She stopped counting them, each thick stitch, realizing suddenly that there were more than enough to throw her heart into quick spasms.

She swallowed and looked to Clarkson, who nodded again at the bottle she held.

“Alright, my lady. The iodine first. On a cotton ball. Pressing lightly.”

She glanced at Robert, and then, gathering courage, grinned in an effort to pretend confidence. I will do this. Easily, she soaked the cotton with the iodine. And then, praying very quickly that she’d not hurt him, she pressed it gently—very gently—to the healing incision.

She noticed the way his shoulders tensed as she pressed. She had to ignore it. She noticed the way his eyes looked further upwards, and then as they closed. She had to ignore that, too. And then she noticed, with a rush of fresh panic, blood—red and new—beginning to seep from where her fingers had been.

“Have I—“

“—Ah,” Clarkson stopped her, remarking upon it as one may when finding a sixpence on the floor. “Leave it and just continue there. Near the sternum. I’ll return.”

But Cora didn’t want to continue there. She watched the blood form a neat and perfect sphere, and she swallowed away the threat of tears. Stupid, stupid, useless tears—oh, she’d not slept.

“It isn’t as awful as I’d imagined,” her pretended self lied aloud. “And this seems very simple. If I’d have known, we could’ve had you home days ago.” Lies. Lies, again.

Lying there, still, she heard her husband groan.

Oh, what had she done? “You aren’t in any pain, are you?” She studied his worn features for any hint of discomfort. “Does it hurt at all?”

At last, he spoke. “No.”

And again, it made her want to cry.

“Good,” she answered, tightly and curtly, and demanded herself to press the cotton ball to the very top of the long vertical incision. “I dare say this will all heal up very nicely.” Her fingers were trembling, and she pulled in a long—very long—breath. “Especially once we get you home and—“

What? What was happening to her? She’d done so well. She’d not cried. A few moments of weepiness, yes. But she’d not cried because, well, he was alright. He was here and healing and he was able to come home and Doctor Clarkson was so pleased with his recovery and—

—his cold fingers stilled her own.

Cora looked at his face and saw, at last, that he met her eye. Embarrassed, she sniffed back the emotion, the illogical and delayed emotion … the terrifyingly deep love she felt for him.

His thumb passed over her fingers, and Cora closed her eyes. Nodded. And opened them again.

“I feel quite capable of this, you know,” she lied one last time. “But I warn you, once you’re home again, I won’t have you over-exerting yourself and undoing all my hard work.”

He didn’t speak, but Cora could feel it. She felt the way his finger held her own tighter.

“—here we are.”

He dropped her hand. She turned to Doctor Clarkson.

“Silver nitrate,” he said, brandishing another small bottle. “Just a touch to stop the bleeding.”

Cora watched him; she watched the way he administered to the tiny bleeding spot. “Wounds can sometimes bleed, a wee bit, post-trauma.” And she watched in wonder as the bleeding stopped, as if frozen by the tiny silver drop against his skin. “Even the smallest prodding can do it. But, not to worry, it’ll heal.”