#lord camden

[werewolfetone]

Tying into the previous ask, how did you become interested in United Irishmen? Why do you admire them? And also, who were they (a bit of a rundown please)?

I became interested them first through my research into Lord Castlereagh, given his involvement in the rebellion. The biggest reasons I admire them are 1. their devotion to the principles of the French Revolution, which was a rare(ish) thing for a group of people in the 18th century British isles; 2. their other principles. I can definitely support the ideas of universal suffrage and Irish republicanism; and 3. I really appreciate the fact that they didn't discriminate based on religious belief, which is also a pretty rare thing for time and place.

And a rundown on who the United Irishmen were:

They originally began as a political debating club in Belfast, growing out of groups such as the Northern Whig Club. They were also influenced significantly by the Volunteers, which were groups of local militia originally raised to protect against invaders while the regular army was off fighting in American in the 1770s, but who went rogue and started putting extremely effective pressure on the British government for increased rights for non-Anglicans in Ireland.

The group was peaceful at first, being just a place for people of all religious affiliations to discuss new radical political ideas, but when the pro Catholic Lord Lieutenant was kicked out and replaced by the more harsh Lord Camden, they began to grow more militant. Not helping the matter, also, was the fact that their ranks were swelled by members of the Defenders (secret underground Catholic murder gang) who had been run out of Ulster by the Peep O' Day Boys (secret underground Protestant murder gang), and who were more than happy to kill government agents. Eventually they planned a rebellion, which involved a French invasion, but unfortunately this failed (twice). There was a rebellion, but it was disorganised, leaderless, and was easily crushed.

Notable members:

Theobald Wolfe Tone: Probably the most famous member, he wrote An Argument On Behalf Of The Catholics In Ireland (despite being Protestant himself), which protested the Penal Laws and argued for Catholic Emancipation. He was kicked out of Ireland in 1795 after he was caught speaking with a French spy, and after some time in America he sailed to France, where he helped put together a planned French invasion of Ireland, which failed, and then put together another, smaller one, which succeeded. However, the French still lost and he was caught by the British and dragged to Dublin, where he was sentenced to death and committed suicide the night before he was supposed to be executed.

Lord Edward FitzGerald: The other most famous member, he was a veteran of the American War of Independence and a soldier who had the job of arming the rebels. He also spent time with Thomas Paine in revolutionary France before returning to Ireland and going into hiding after most of the other leaders were arrested, but he was eventually captured (in an extremely dramatic fashion) and he died in prison. Also, fun fact, he was Charles James Fox's cousin.

Samuel Neilson: A Belfast wool merchant who originally came up with the idea of the United Irishmen as a group for people of all religious groups who wanted Irish independence. He also ran the Northern Star newspaper, which was the United Irishmen's propaganda organ. This led to him being arrested multiple times, and eventually he was exiled to America, where he died of yellow fever.

Henry Joy McCracken: Another wool merchant who ended up running the... ah... more militant arm of the organisation. He was (probably) in charge of many of the assassinations pulled off in the 1790s, and he went to prison several times for it. He also led armies in multiple actual formal battles, before being captured and hanged despite his sister's attempts to save him.

Mary Ann McCracken: Henry Joy's sister, she ran the family business and campaigned for women's rights and for worker's rights. She was also in charge of the women's wing of the United Irishmen.

Thomas Russell: A close friend or McCracken and Tone, he was a key figure in organising an alliance with the militant Catholic Defenders. He was arrested in 1798 and held until 1802, after which he promptly got involved in Emmet's rebellion, which he died for.

Arthur O'Connor: A leader who was basically forced to do all of the paperwork all of the time. He went to prison early on, and from there negotiated for the lives of many of the prisoners, which involved the government "allowing" them to go into exile in return for confessions. He went to France after the failed uprising and tried to get Bonaparte to give him a fleet to invade Ireland, but they disagreed because O'Connor refused to give up his principles and become a Bonapartist, so the plans fell through and O'Connor was forced to sort through the wills of dead United Irishmen from France for the rest of his life.

Oliver Bond: He didn't really do anything incredibly important BUT a lot of the leaders were arrested at his house, which was their meeting place. If you ever see "arrested at Bond's," that's what that means.

William Orr: A farmer who was accused of being a United Irishman and who was killed for it despite strong evidence that he didn't do anything. He became a martyr for the whole movement, with "Remember Orr" being their rallying cry.

Robert Emmet: The man who led the 1803 rebellion. He's honestly his own thing but I'm including him here for completion.

[lividbrunette]

mirrorball girlies are this is me trying girlies are the archer girlies are liability girlies are good enough girlies are you signed up for this girlies are the list girlies are camden girlies are block me out girlies are difficult girlies

[holywaterzzz]

alternative angle of... that...

[misscammiedawn]

Every completed movie is a miracle. This statement is always true. But it often fills me with awe and wonder that The Lord of the Rings trilogy is allowed to exist and be as good as it was.

The existence of The Hobbit trilogy by the same director is proof on how a combination of production problems, executive interference, time and circumstance can just make or break a film regardless of the objective talent that went in.

Thousands of artists across many disciplines came together and made something so profoundly timeless that it may forever remain the largest award sweep in movie history.

And that is a miracle that just strikes me every time I think about it.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🎃 A Truth Universally Acknowledged: Chapter One

A Truth Universally Acknowledged: It has long been established that you don’t like Dream of the Endless, and he doesn’t like you. Unfortunately, fate has decided to stick you both in a glass cage for a century. Who's throat will be torn out first? Yours? Or Dreams.

Warnings: Reader and Morpheus do not get along, Maga is latin for witch.

To Note: Morpheus x WitchFem!Reader.

Prompt: Role Reversal

Word Count: ~7.7k

Masterlist | Next

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

It was a truth universally acknowledge that should one mortify a pride, forgiveness would not so easily be obtained. So how were you ever expected to truthfully forgive someone who had not just mortified your pride, but trampled on it until there were permanent stains and tears in it. Nothing would sew your pride back together, and nothing would remove the stain of insult rendered upon your being. The season of 1815 had not just rendered you mortified, it had shattered your pride.  It had started out as an average season, as an immortal witch you’d decided to spend that year in London to enjoy the frivolity of the marriage mart.

Now, on all accounts by no means were you looking to be married… what sane mortal would willingly wed a witch? But you did enjoy the social aspects of the English balls and liked to dress up in fancy clothing. You certainly had the fortune to do so after living for so many centuries. So you had gone to the modiste and ordered several dresses for the season, and had even splurged on a few new jewelry pieces for your collection to have as a memoire of this time. You’d lingered at the fringes of the first couple of balls, but were slowly mingling further and further into the ton.

At some point you had made a friend out of one of the bachelors searching for a wife. It had been clear that neither of your were particularly romantically interested (which was better for you int he long term) and had taken to meeting up every ball to gossip and preen over outfit choices and who had committed a faux pax over luncheon. It was pure fun for you and Henry was certainly getting your experience in searching for a new wife. You had pointed out a potential match you thought would suit the young man quite nicely when you caught sight of an omen. Well it was less of an omen and more of an irritant.

The Dream Lord had no reason to be in the Waking Realm, it was your turf, and just like you respected his realm, it was only right the he respected yours. For what reason had he come to London when you were there? Nothing good, that you were sure of. So you headed for the parchment table full of lemonade for surely it wouldn’t be nearly as sour as the conversation you were sure to have with him should your paths cross.

Grasping the skirt of your dress to keep it out of your way, you glided across the room with clear intentions to parch your throat. The train of your silk dress trailed behind you in a soft bed of blue flowers carefully stitched into the tulle overlay. Carefully grabbing a glass of lemonade you took a sip as Lady Camden joined your side.

“Lady Bell,” She greeted you, using your alias. You nodded to her with a dip of your chin in greeting.

“Lady Camden, a pleasure to see you tonight, I noticed the Lord Richards was quite taken with you while you were on the floor. Do I suspect a match in your near future?” You replied with a tease in your voice. Her eyes sparkled and she fanned herself with her gossamer and feather fan.

“I surely hope so,” She softly giggled, her doe-like eyes flittering over to where Lord Richards was speaking with a few other eligible men. Ah to be mortal and in love… what you would give to feel that fleeting emotion once more.

“I am confident he shall do so, for he would be a fool to do otherwise.” You stated, taking another sip of your lemonade. You and Lady Camden made more merry conversation while you blatantly ignored the dark and brooding menace lingering in the fringes of the ballroom. It was only when the band started up music once more that you placed your glass down and looked to the dance floor. The next set of dancers were due and perhaps someone would invite you. Your hand was indeed asked for a dance and you happily accepted.

You danced line with the other woman, exchanging partners a few times and all around enjoyed yourself immensely… but on the next partner change you found yourself spun into his arms. You nearly smacked his hands away from your body when he caught you but managed to safe face purely because you had a good reputation among the ton and planned remaining in England for the next several years. They wouldn’t take well to you smacking the Dream Lord senseless on the dance floor. So you grit your teeth and forced yourself to remain calm.

“My lord,” You greeted, barely covering the tinge of hostility within your voice. “To what do I owe this pleasure of your visit?”

Lightning crackled within his stardust gaze.

“Presumptuous of you to assume that I am in attendance purely for your leisure,” His lip curled just the slightest and your eye twitched in return.

“Then what, pray tell, brings you to such an event as this? I am sure you are far too busy with your duties to indulge in the leisures of man.”

“One could ask you the same, Lady Bell,” Dream rebutted. “Surely such whimsical mortal activities are below the standings of a prominent witch such as yourself.” Oh that was an insult if you ever heard one. You didn’t bother maintaining pleasantries with the Dream Lord any further and cut to the point.

“Why are you here?” You boldly questioned. Suffice to say you didn’t directly ask why he was there being a nuisance to your festivities. You did hold some self-preservation in regards to pushing his temperament. Annoyance flashed through his blue eyes.

“A wayward nightmare, presumptuous of you to assume that I am here for you.” Oh the complete audacity of him to assume that you wished for his presence! You could count on one hand the number of times you willingly sought his presence let alone wanted it. None of those times had been your own desire, but out of necessity.

“The audacity of you to insinuate that I would ever desire your despicable and repugnant presence! I would rather lose my magic than willingly spend time with you, you loathsome cad.” You hissed at him, your eyes flashing with the color of your magic. Morpheus’ hackles rose at your audacity to speak to him as such and immediately fired back at you.

“You dare to speak to me in such tone and disrespect Maga!?” Dream growled at you. The floor beneath your slippers shivered and groaned as the music was interrupted by the argument between you and the Dream Lord. You and he were causing a scene. Jerking back from the menace of the Endless, you glared heavily at him.

“I simply dare to speak my thoughts when you have called for such words as clearly you have infringed upon my life in a way that I do not care for!” A lady should never raise her voice, but your mind was so wrapped up in anger and despite that all call for decorum and manners went out the window. “I have been nothing but respectful towards you, my lord, yet you cannot afford to do the same in return?”

“My respect is offered to those who have earned it and you and your promiscuous ways have far exceeded my limit.” You blanched at his words as gasped echoed within the ballroom. “You are a harlot pretending to be a hare. Sharp tongued and wicked.” Just like a snap of a fan, Dream had just reduced your hard earned reputation to ashes and all for what? Your words of truth?

“You are the most deplorable and depraved being I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, my lord,” You spoke with an even voice despite the trembles that now wracked through your body. “I hope you rot in hell,” Further dramatic gasps went around the room at your harsh words. But at this point you had no care because he had just ruined everything. Grabbing at the skirts of your dress, you gave Dream one last murderous glare and fled the ballroom before the talk could start.

Why did he always have to ruin everything.

Your pride was still very much ruined even after a century had gone by. Oh yes, your pride was ruined and your hatred for the Dream Lord still burned like the great Sirius. You hadn’t crossed paths with the Endless’ since that fateful night in 1815, and you were glad so. You probably would hurl a flaming ball of plasma at his stupid pretty face the moment you caught sight of him. Not even his one act of kindness during the witch trials could stop the burning hatred you felt within your heart. He might have saved you from burning at the stake, but now you held nothing but contempt for him.

You huffed to yourself and shifted where you sat, chains ratting as your arms moved. It was by sheer luck that Roderick Burgess had managed to get his hands on the grimoire that held the spell to bind you. A downright miracle that he had performed the ritual correctly to actually keep you in place. So stuck down in the bowels of Fawny Rig and sapped of your power due to his siphoning, you had plenty of time to contemplate past memories. You had no idea why that particular one of Dream humiliating you and mortifying your pride stuck out.

You hadn’t come face to face with him since that day, and while you did occasionally like to cause disturbances for him (because you were vindictive at times), you hadn’t really thought about in since the turn of the new century. You’d been too busy with new witch magic and the search for ancient grimoires. Now you were locked up in a basement with plenty of time to think about your past.

Roderick Burgess was a greedy man.

It wasn’t enough that he repeatedly stole your magic from you, no, he was taking it all every time you recharged in hopes that he could resurrect his son Randall. Resurrection was not possible. You had told him that straight to his face and earned a backhanded slap from the elder mortal. That had been the last time you reminded him of the truth. It was easier to just repeat the rules of magic and avoid mentioning resurrection all together. Tugging on the shackle around your left wrist, you chewed on your lip as your raw skin ached and burned.

The old metal had cut your skin and then dug in to your broken flesh, leaving behind half broken scabs and trails of dried blood. You had suffered worse during the witch trials, but you disliked the discomfort of your current ailments. You were immortal, not invincible or impervious to death. Speaking of Death she was actually quite a nice friend to have, unlike her brother. Your face soured at the thought of him once more and you crossed your arms over your gathered knees to rest your chin on them.

Repugnant man. His face was cloudy in your mind, hatred had blinded you to him so much you couldn’t exactly remember what it was like to glare into the face of that Endless. Heartless cretian. The iron gates creaked as your captor strode into your confined solitude… but he wasn’t alone this time. No, he was followed by his acolyte all robed and covered. While the acolytes began drawing in the sandy dirt floor with red chalk and light candles, you eyed Burgess.

“What more power do you wish for? Is it not enough that you drain my magic? Are you that desperate for your son?” You questioned the man with a sneer on your lip. “You are grasping at the straws of an empty barrel.”

Rather than take the biting words spilling from your mouth, Burgess lashed out. The back of his hand cracked across your cheek. Pain blinded you for a brief moment as you tumbled to the side, your unwashed and messy hair falling into your face. You spit out a mouthful of blood and touched your throbbing lip. Split. A chuckle passed through your lips.

“Testy today, are we?” You giggled darkly, eyeing the mortal through your curtain of hair. He gave you a look in warning. The next hit would knock you out. So you kept you mouth shut as you maneuvered your body back into a sitting position. Content to see Burgess fail for what seemed to be the thousandth time, you leaned back against the steel column you were chained to. They were still getting ready so you took to nudging the dirt beneath your feet around with your big toe.

It wasn’t particular interesting to watch them until they began drawing sigils you recognized. Straightening up in your seat, you stared at the crimson markings in puzzlement because how could Burgess know of these markings? Your eyes flickered back to him and you saw an old book within his hands. Grimoire. How had he gotten his hands on such a book!? Grimoires were sacred tomes that a witch would die before allowing into the hands of a mere mortal! You wanted to demand him where he had gotten such a book, but knew that you would get no answer from him. You’d get smacks though.

Licking the blood that bloomed from where your lip had split, your eyes turned scrutinous. Just because he was drawing correct sigils, did not necessarily mean he knew what he was doing or was doing it correctly. But the longer you watched, the more concerned you grew, while you didn’t recognize this particular combination of sigils, everything else was frighteningly correct. You could make out a few binding sigils, so he planned on binding something other than yourself (you pitied the being caught by the amateur). But there were also summoning markings.

“Summoning,” You murmured to yourself, brow furrowing as you struggle to figure out who Burgess could possibly want to summon after getting nowhere with you. The mortal didn’t spare you a glance, but he had heard your murmur. Of course you’d recognize what he was doing.

“Yes, since you are so resistant to aiding me in my wants—”

“Which are entirely impossible,” You interjected before earning a glare from him. You raised your eyebrows as if to say ’continue?’.

“—I shall summon and bind another being that will help.” You snorted and rolled your eyes because what creature would ever help such a greedy mortal like him? Desire perhaps? No. You might not have met them, but even they had standards. Roderick Burgess fell far below that line. Far, far, below. So you slumped back and closed your eyes, they were going to have to wait for nightfall for whatever summoning they were going to two as the moon boosted summoning magic. You wanted to be ready for whatever hell Burgess unleashed upon himself.

The gods were punishing you. That was the only explanation. Why else would Burgess’ botched summoning circle summing the one being in all of creation that you despised the most? Punishing or laughing, you were unceremoniously dragged from your seat to be locked up in some fancy globe that was currently being welded shut with you and Dream in it. It was downright laughable! Burger seemed smug enough about it though, he was confident that Dream would give him what he wanted.

He wouldn’t, and the mortal would soon find out. If the stupid, deplorable, loathsome, Endless would just wake up already!!

You didn’t know exactly what kind of magic it took to summon an Endless, but it sure did take a lot out of Dream. He’d been out since arriving and had yet to wake. You also didn’t know how powerful he’d be without his tools. A faux pas on his part you took great glee in knowing. And yet, if he was out of power just like you… how were you going to get out? You’d consider that later, right now you were just concentrated on glaring at the lingering man responsible for your situation.

He had regretted binding you upon learning of your unwillingness to cooperate. He was going to be in for a rude awakening when Dream woke up and gave him his ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude. Leaning back against the thick cold glass, your eyes trailed along the freshly welded seams of the cage. How want Burgess going to siphon your magic with you locked up like this? The mortal in question, almost as if hearing your thoughts, strode up to the hanging cage and stared at you with a glare. Your eyebrow twitched in challenge.

“No need to worry about our little sessions, witch,” He told you, his blue eyed tight and heavy. “I can still take your magic with you in that cage.” You were tempted to mouth off on him since he could smack you around anymore, but between your split lip and mood sullied at your future trapped with him, you chose to remain silent. Crossing your arms against your chest, you leaned your head back and closed your eyes. If there was anything you learned about Burgess, it was that he hated being ignored.

He eventually left when the glass cage was completed and the workers all trickled out, only two guards remaining behind. To watch you and Dream you suppose… but exactly where were you going to go? Your stomach rumbled and a new worry emerged. Being immortal didn’t mean that you didn’t need to eat. It wouldn’t kill you to starve but you weren’t exactly excited about the idea. The 1500s had been hard enough, you didn’t ever want to get that thin again. You sighed and reminded yourself that you had gotten through tougher times once more.

“Think of all the spells you can curse him with when you get out,” You whispered to yourself, trying to distract yourself from reality. While you were mindlessly flickering through memories of your travels over the centuries, the Endless you were crammed in the cage with began to regain consciousness. He didn’t move, not even a muscle but the minuscule amount of magic you had recharged since your last draining altered you to his alertness.

Narrowing your gaze, you glared at the naked Endless (you were guilty of appreciating his beautiful body for about five seconds before you remembered that you hated him) and waited for his eyes to open. When they did, you cursed him for having such beautiful eyelashes. You, of course, were he first thing he saw and the Endless could have sworn he was hallucinating you after such a long period of not having to deal with you and your annoyances. But then you blinked, scowled deeper at him, and curled your lip.

“Welcome to Fawny Rig.”

Dream hadn’t uttered a single word or sound since waking up in the glass cage with you. Hadn’t answered to Burgess’ demands when the mortal had come to make them. Hadn’t commented when Burgess turned to you and taunted you with freedom, you had just rolled your eyes and looked the other way. Now you were nodding off, so he followed you. You had been on his mind on and off over the last century, the incident in 1815 notwithstanding. Your anger and rage at the Endless was still palpable ever after all these years.

He suppose he deserved your anger, but he believed that nothing he had said that night was wrong. He did see you as promiscuous as you were close with many and at times flirty, and your tongue was sharp and wicked. No one else in all of creation clashed with him like you did, not even his sibling Desire. It was infuriating. Materializing in your dream, Dream was surprised to find himself in a familiar place. The same estate in which you and he had your explosive encounter in 1815. What had caused your consciousness to think of this?

Him, most likely, but the Endless wasn’t smart enough to think of that.

It wasn’t hard for Morpheus to track you down, you were the only one existing other than he within your dreams. So walking the corridors, he happened upon a back balcony where you were standing. Your back was to him and face turned upward, gazing at the luminous full moon overhead.

“Is it not enough that now I must see your face every day?” You grumpily complained, not bothering to look at him. Dream’s eye twitched at your words because was he not Dream of the Endless. It was by his powerthat you had the ability to dream in the first place!

“I see that your tongue is still just as wild as the last night I reluctantly spent in your presence, Maga.” You shot a glare over your shoulder, eyes connecting with thunderous blue.

“And I see that you are still a loathsome creature without an ounce of compassion or dignity!” You hissed at him, eyes flashing. “Or do you take pleasure in ruining a woman’s hard earned reputation in front of an audience?”

“I spoke nothing but the truth,” Dream spoke to you, his chin lifting while his eyes glittered with anger. Insolence and insult from you yet again.

“Yes, the truth of how you see me!” You snapped at him. “But have you considered how your insidious words might affect me in the long term? I had a life in England until you ruined it! You are nothing but a big bully who throws words around when you don’t get your way!”

Now that really made Dream angry, but you didn’t remain in place to experience his blow up. It had been far too long since you had been able to dream like this and you just wanted to rest. He called your name but you just ignored him. Surely he would understand that you just wanted to be left alone. At the very least the irate Endless could indeed feel that you wanted to be left alone… but his curiosity of how you ended up in that decrepit basement. So he followed silently behind you as you made your way to a bedroom in the large estate. Lingering in the doorway, Dream stared at your back in distaste, trying to remember why he disliked you in the first place. He couldn’t remember.

He walked over to the foot of the bed and glared at you further, thinking back to the first time he had met you. Surely something within his memories would trigger the reason for his great dislike for you. He found no immediate memory, just those of your torture at the hands of the witch trials and saving you, the brief visits you had within his realm, and— Dream was distracted by wounds dotting your wrists. Eyes sharpening on the wounds, Dream’s eyes followed the signs of restraint. They were far from new and were in varying stages of healing. Then his eyes found the lingering blood on your chin and lip. Someone had struck you. Who would dare to strike a witch of your caliber and standing? Roderick Burgess no doubt, he had no shortage of gall and greed.

Your guards figured out early on that you and Dream did not like each other. You two squabbled with your eyes and facial expressions, well you mouthed off to him in a one sided conversation for Dream never said a word… but you appeared to understand each and every twitch of facial muscle the Endless made. It was rather impressive and yet, Burgess got nothing he demanded from Dream. He still got his power from you, yes, he never failed to siphon that… but get Dream to obey his demands? Absolutely not.

After your last shouting match you had purposefully squirmed yourself around so you were cramped against the glass with your back to the Endless. You were refusing to look at him and the Endless refused to acknowledge your presence. Gods the Endless annoyed you to the core! Why did you have to be trapped in this stupid cage with him, it was driving you insane!! You growled under your breath and slumped further against Dream’s hard shoulder. Superficial arsehole.

The years had come and go, and after nearly a decade of being trapped with him, your digs at each other had slowly ebbed. Boredom, of course, was on the forefront. But you spent a lot of time with what little magic Burgess left you with maintaining your body so you didn’t waste away to a skeleton. You had already lost a decent amount of weight, your hipbones were pronounced and the vertebrae of your spine were all very prominent. Even Dream found your state uncomfortable to look at, but with you constantly presenting your back in refusal to look at him he had nothing else to look at. You were counting the number of times the guard threw a ball against the side of the stone wall when Roderick came down for his monthly siphoning.

The elderly man, not having aged a day since summoning Dream, strode into the room and settled his eyes on you. You were back to being a sullen and pouting wench, subdued by your current predicament. But he knew that at the drop of a hat you’d turn into a fiery hellcat and spit crude insults at any who dared to gaze upon you. Your wicked side was merely laying in wait, slumbering. Burgess prepared himself for siphoning your magic, muttering the incantation beneath his breath for he had memorized it by now. With the spell activated, he walked to the edge of the summoning circle and stared at you.

Your shoulder jerked a little as the meager amount of magic you had regained flowed out of your body and to the mock wizard. Grunting as the strain of over siphoning made your limbs twitch you hunched in place and struggled to grasp at what magic you could keep for yourself. Not much, regretfully. Your fingers clenched against the skin of your chest, for the pain you felt there was not new to you but still just as uncomfortable as it was the first time he’d stolen your magic.When the last few embers of your magic floated free from your soul and traveled into Burgess’ chest, you let out a strained wheeze and slumped in a weak ball against the glass. How did you have any magic left to give now? Your weakness was making it hard for your body to recuperate the magic lost.

As you lay limp as a rag doll with labored breaths, trembling ever so slightly, Burgess turned his gaze to Dream. He had a deal for the Endless, surely Dream would be happier without you there to snarl and argue with him.

“I have a deal for you, Dream,” He spoke, cold eyes observing the Endless. He was sitting with his ankles crossed and arms hanging over his knees. He hadn’t moved from that spot in decades despite you squirming around next to him. Dream couldn’t help but raise his eyes to the mortal. What would he try to bargain with this time? “I will let the witch go, if you bring back my son.” Dream almost laughed at Burgess’ words. He’d release you if he brought his son back? That wasn’t happening, it would never happen. Even if Dream could bring his son back. A brief look of disgust flickered across Dream’s face and that was all the answer the mortal needed.

The Endless would let you rot next to him rather than do anything to help Burgess.

“You are positively the worst,” Your voice croaked from where you had your forehead pressed against cool glass. “I hope you know that Dream. The. Worst.” He’d take that over you getting a win in any day.

Something in the air had changed. It was a palpable feeling you’d woken up to this morning and it had kept you on edge since. Your boney back had leaned heavily into Dream’s shoulder as you looked upwards at the eaves overhead. Something was off. Something didn’t belong. You just didn’t know what. The dust that floated in the air vibrated with a different frequency, one that wasn’t of this world. If only you weren’t so weak you could have pinpointed out what it was! Despite your uncertainty of what was going on, you decided to voice your thoughts since the guards post was empty.

“Something has changed.” Your words brought Dream out of his internal thoughts. His eyes opened and he stared ahead at the empty guards table. Nothing appeared to be different, but your senses had always been exceptional. Even with you in a weakened state. He said nothing, of course, but silently acknowledged your words. Now on alert, Dream scanned the empty basement slowly. Nothing was out of place. The something fluttering at the gate to the room caught his attention.

Like a beacon of light, Jessamy wormed her way through an opening in the wrought iron and perched on it, heading cocking side to side as she examined her Lord and Master in his glass cage. Of course she also noticed you laying limp next to him, but her concentration was on her master. The raven fluttered into the room and swooped up to the cage, banging herself and beak against thick glass to break it. Hope combined with happiness filled Dream’s face as he rose to his feet. You simply rolled your head to look up at Jessamy, glad that someone knew you were down in this decrepit basement.

Hope was beginning to bloom in your chest, for you hadn’t been this close to freedom since capture. But just as soon as that swelling feeling grew within your bosom it came crashing down. There was a loud crack that shattered Jessamy’s attempts to break the glass and before you knew it black and red was splattered against the cage. You gasped with a stricken sound catching in your throat. Oh gods, Jessamy… Alex Burgess was standing several paces behind with a gun raised. Your eyes burned because while you might have a particular distaste for her master, she was a good acquaintance. Now she was gone.

You watched as Dream slowly lowered himself back to the floor of the cage, unaltered shock plastered on his features. It was like he was still trying to process what had just happened. But his eyes… Oh you could see the tears quickly gathering and something within you cracked. Burgess came bursting into the room in a fit of rage, shouting at his son for potentially breaking the glass that kept you and Dream trapped. But you were entirely focused on Dream. You’d never seen him cry, you didn’t even think it was possible for an Endless to cry. But the devastation on his face wasn’t a fluke or a trick of the light, tears were flooding his lashes and his nose was beginning to run.

Even the great Dream of the Endless was capable of ugly crying? You were moving before you even realized what you were doing.

Boney arms reaching for the Endless, you pulled him to you and tucked his face away from prying eyes. Your fingers absentmindedly found themselves stroking his midnight hair while you began murmuring several death rites for Jessamy. She had been an exceptional companion to Dream and clearly the Endless had cared for her. She hadn’t deserved to be killed in such a way. Mid rites, you felt Dream shift within your arms and thought that he might lash out at you for daring to touch him so intimately… but rather than do as expected he leaned into your embrace in a slump.

You nearly started crying yourself the moment you felt his tears drip onto your skin. He’d never been this vulnerable in front of you before. No, you were sure that he’d never been this vulnerable ever. You ought to be happy to be experiencing something so rare, or even happy that he was hurting after all the social destruction he’d caused you… but all you could feel was pain in your heart because it had only come because of a death. The basement which had always been cold, damp, and dark, was now a tomb marred with blood and death. You found that you hated the way Dream trembled within your arms, and for each tear he shed, your hatred for the Burgess’ grew.

Burgess’ death had ben anticlimactic and incredibly disappointing. You had wanted him to burn for thousands of years for the pain and anguish he had caused Dream, and for his imprisonment of you. He’d gotten off far too easily dying from just a head injury. He deserved so much worse. So much worse. It was your only hope that he had ended up in hell where he belonged. You would have looked on the bright side if Alex hadn’t decided on taking over his fathers job siphoning your magic.

He feared that you’d grow to powerful if left unchecked.

Your lack of magic was beginning to seriously take a toll on your body. Without a steady source of magic to supplement the nutritional intake you’d normally have, your body was taking muscle and fat from you. If Dream thought seeing the vertebrate more pronounced was disturbing, it was nothing compared to your entire spinal column. That’s why you’d gone back to sitting side by side with him, to hide just how depleted your body was becoming after over a decade of imprisonment. You often rested your head on his shoulder when fatigue overtook you and were lucky that t he Endless allowed such a thing. With tiredness ruling within your mind and body, you decided to close your eyes for just a moment to rest them.

The grounds of the witch trials greeted your eyes, and a sharp tingle of fear ran up your spine for but a moment. Even after two centuries had gone by, the memories of your experience at the hands of the crazed people and witch hunters still haunted you. You still had the brand of the christian cross upon your shoulder. The old mark burned in memory and your rubbed your shoulder as it ached. Sometimes when the memories were strong enough you could swear you smelled the scent of your flesh burning as the red hot iron cross was pressed into your flesh. Your eye twitched.

Why were you having this dream? Why were you remembering these horrors now?

Refusing to look at the gallows where the noose swung ominously, you turned in the direction of your old home. After crossing the ocean on a colony ship, you’d taken to assisting the local doctor. Many colonists fell sick after making the voyage and you had faithfully tended to and nursed them back to health. You had given the Salem community nothing but kindness and what had you gotten in return? The witch trials. The people you had come to care for and love, had turned on you in a blink of an eye.

Technically speaking, you were a witch. But never in all your years of living had you ever considered using your magic to do harm. Why would you wish to uproot and ruin the happy life you had? Nonetheless you had been branded a witch (literally), and set to hang with the other ‘guilty’. You were the only witch in Salem.

You found yourself in your small home, everything exactly as you remembered. Your basket of medical supplies sat by the door, the hearth with its pot hanging above waiting to be used for dinner, your bed. You touched the threadbare blanket. It was just as scratchy as you remembered, but it had kept you warm. Your hand went to the rough fabric of the waistcoat you wore. You’d forgotten how hot it was to wear the full outfit. So you began stripping yourself of the thick materials, your waistcoat going first, then your dress. Now just standing in your simple shift, you let your hair down from its tightly pinned position and shook it out.

“Can’t say I enjoyed the rigid customs but life was quite peaceful for a time,” You mused to yourself, exiting your old home and heading to the nearby river. On Saturdays the women of Salem always did the laundry for the week and during the summer months it was nice to cool off in the water. This dream was making you feel hot and a nice cool down with a dip in the river sounded nice. Your feet followed the path to the river on automatic, even after over two hundred years you still knew it like the back of your hand.

The river was cold. It always had been. But it was a nice break from the heat you felt. The ends of your shift were rapidly soaked and pressed against your skin as you sloshed further into the river. It was funny how even the rocks at the bottom of the crystal water still looked exactly the same. Walking until you were waist deep, you shifted a few stone not he river bottom with your foot. It was strange that you were in a dream. Dream had been locked in a subdued and moroseful state that hadn’t changed since Jessamy’s death. You hadn’t had a dream since then, so why were you having one now?

“Best not to question and simply enjoy,” You stated pragmatically before dunking yourself beneath the water. Floating for a few moments beneath the chilly water, you let yourself relax and just stay hunched in place. The current were you were was fairly weak so you didn’t have to use much effort staying in one place. Standing back up, you pushed your hand over your wet hair. While you were observing the fading sun on the horizon, the dream around you shuddered for a moment. Then the sun disappeared and the entire dream darkened to nightmare.

Your head swirled to the land behind you which the disturbance had originated, and you saw a thunderous looking Dream standing behind you. What had gotten his knickers in a twist? This was your dream, what could you possibly dream of that would make him so upset?

“Dream, you’re disturbing the peace,” You quietly announced, attempting a soft pointer given his rather fragile state. His glowing eyes flickered for a few moments, then faded back to starry blue and the dream returned to its normal. As the summer heat returned, you observed the being closer to figure out what had caused him to go all ‘Endless’ on you in a dream. He still looked enraged, barely containing it behind his pretty blue eyes, his jaw locked, even his fists were clenched. “Dream?” You prompted him again, hugging your arms around your body because you were as good as naked in front of him and unlike he, you did care about people seeing your naked body.

His lashes flickered and eyes narrowed.

“You never spoke of bodily harm,” His voice came out rasping and deep, echoing the emotional turmoil you could feel and see. What was he talking about? Your apparent confusion to his words only made the Endless scowl at you. “The mark upon your shoulder, Maga,” He growled darkly, stepping closer to the rivers edge. “You never spoke of them hurting you.”

Your mind went blank as you processed his words. He was… angry that you’d been hurt? Well he wasn’t just angry at this point. He was enraged at the idea. Your face screwed up some and you half turned in place so your neck wasn’t screeching at you for the unnatural strain you were causing it.

“There was no need. You stopped my hanging, what more did you need to know past that?” You questioned, still very confused about why he would be so upset by the mark of an injury that had happened over two hundred years ago. It had long since healed. For some reason Dream got angrier at your words. Once more he took more steps, closing in on the river. “You didn’t even need to stop them from hanging me in the first place. Why would I tell you about them branding me?”

Dream’s eye twitched as he furiously questioned in his mind why you hadn’t informed him of what the morals had done to you.

“They hurt you,” He reiterated, stressing out the word hurt like it would explain his reasoning to be upsetto you. It did not, but you didn’t want to pick a fight with him when you had been on such cordial terms with him.

“It was over two centuries ago, Dream,” You answered him, resting your hands against your chest and looking own at your fingers. You remembered how bloody they had been after being beaten by the towns people. “I’ve long since put that in my past.”

It seemed that no matter what you told the Endless, he was still very upset over the fact that you had been hurt in the witch trials... so you decided to shift the conversation because the breeze was making you chilled.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Dream, would you please turn around?” You asked, looking down at your wet body. The white shift was still very much see-through. Dream titled his head to the side, his face telling you that he didn’t understand why you were asking for such a thing. “My shift is wet and very much see though at the moment.”

Dream didn’t understand why you should ever feel the need to be self conscious over your naked body but did as you asked. When his back was to you, you sloshed your way back towards the rivers edge. Once there, you carefully stepped towards the path leading back to your home. However, Dream heard you heading away from him and promptly turned around.

“You asked me to turn around and then design to sneak off?” He questioned, eyes boring into your back and lingering on the branded cross on your shoulder. You froze in step.

“I am in my shift that is currently see through, Dream,” You reminded him stiffly. “I’m not in presentable attire to be speaking with you at the moment. If you wish to continue conversation you are going to have to wait until I am dressed accordingly.”

Dream, while having innumerous patience, simply could not find the ability to be so at the moment and strode up to you, coat in hand. He dropped it around your shoulders and continued walking towards your home.

“We will be finishing this conversation whether or not you believe yourself to be in presentable clothing.” He stated, striding confidently ahead. You stared agape at his back, fingers clutching the star laden coat around your shoulders. Finishing this conversation? You still didn’t understand why he was so upset over a brand you’d gotten two hundred years prior, but followed him nonetheless.

It was nice to just talk with Dream of the Endless, rather than fight.

Holding up a facade of okay health had taken every bit of your concentration. What magic that ran thorough your blood now went entirely to preserving your life the best it could. You stopped counting the years after fifty. It was pointless as Alex was so fearful of what Dream would do should he let the Endless out, that there was zero hope of you getting out of your cage. So you just stuck to developing a non aggressive relationship with Dream, and it was… nice. More than nice actually. You got to see the other side of the Endless you hadn’t seen before.

It had to have been a century by the time Alexander Burgess made his last visit to the decrepit basement of Fawny Rig. He was old, frail, and nothing like the youthful boy who had murdered Jessamy. You knew he’d spent most of his life tormented by the knowledge that you and Dream sat in this cage in the basement of his home. A bitter satisfaction came from that knowledge, and yet, you couldn’t help but pity the man for being so weak. Overshadowed by his older brother to the very end. A fitting ending for the Burgess lineage.

As Alex spoke his last word and sat back down in his wheelchair, Paul began to push him away from the cage. Less than a second went by and you felt a massive ripple of power run through you. You jerked where you sat, holding in the gasp that wanted to crawl from your throat, and looked at Paul. He was looking back at you, and then at the ground. Following his gaze, your eyes widened when you spotted the clear break in the circle binding both you and Dream in place. Gods above. Your eyes didn’t shift back to Paul’s as he wheeled Alex out. A broken circle meant that Dream had a grasp on his power, a broken circle meant that you could use your own magic outside of your body!

A tremble began in your body as you forced yourself to remain calm and silent. Nearly 110 years of captivity and freedom was within your grasp because of Paul? You knew that Dream could also feel the change in your captivity, the muscles you could feel against your body had gone rigid the moment the circle had been broken. He knew he had his chance and without a doubt would be taking it. Hunching in a ball, you began murmuring all the incantations for low level teleportation magic. You didn’t know if you had enough magic to complete even an entry level spell, but you’d take which ever spell got you out of this place.

While you were concentrating, you felt the sands of Endless magic caressing your skin. Then gunshots and yelling, glass shattering, one of your spells activated and your eyes flickered open in triumph. Fingers clasped tightly together, the last you saw of Fawny Rig was unconscious guards and the glowing aura of a seething Endless. You’d never seen him so angry, so enraged. Your fight or flight instincts kicked in and your mind echoed one thought and one thought only: run.

Date Published: 10/5/23

Last Edit: 10/5/23

Masterlist | Next

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

[whencyclopedia]

Battle of Cowpens

The Battle of Cowpens (17 January 1781) was a decisive battle in the southern theater of the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783). It saw a detachment of Continental soldiers and Patriot militia under Brigadier General Daniel Morgan defeat a British force under Lt. Colonel Banastre Tarleton. The battle helped lead to the end of British domination in the American South.

Background

On 2 December 1780, Major General Nathanael Greene rode into the American military camp at Charlotte, North Carolina. A 38-year-old Quaker from Rhode Island, Greene had been entrusted by General George Washington to take charge of the remnants of the Southern Department of the Continental Army after its disastrous defeat at the Battle of Camden (16 August 1780). What Greene found at Charlotte was less an army than a rugged gathering of 1,400 disheartened men. The troops were undersupplied, underfed, and lacked clothing. Several men sat huddled around the campfires practically naked, with only rags or blankets to protect them from the elements. Many of the soldiers stirred themselves only to plunder the surrounding countryside for food, and the officers had grown jaded enough not to care. It was a ghastly display of dejection that must have reminded Greene of the state of the main army at Valley Forge three winters before.

It was not hard to see why the army was in such a depressed state. The Americans had suffered nothing but defeat since the British had first invaded the American South in late 1778. Having grown frustrated with their unsatisfactory military campaigns in the North, the British had shifted their focus to the South, which was rumored to be replete with Loyalists as well as the source of much of the United States' commercial wealth. The capture of the South, it was believed, would not only cut the United States in two but also cripple its ability to keep fighting. The British implemented their so-called 'southern strategy' in December 1778 by seizing Savannah, Georgia; the following year, a Franco-American attempt to retake the city failed, and Georgia became the first state to fall back under British control. In May 1780, the British won the Siege of Charleston, taking the largest and most important city in the entire South. Under the command of Lord Charles Cornwallis, the British then set about pacifying the rest of South Carolina. This sparked a bloody regional civil war, as the state's Patriot and Loyalist militias brutalized one another in the South Carolina backcountry. The southern Continental Army, under General Horatio Gates, had tried to retake the state but had been decisively defeated at Camden.

Now, as Greene took over command of the depleted army from Gates, he realized the monumental task that rested upon his shoulders. Should he fail, there would be nothing to prevent Cornwallis from conquering North Carolina and Virginia, completing the British 'southern strategy'. Greene was a cautious commander who pursued a 'Fabian strategy'. That is, he tried to avoid fighting any pitched battle that he was not sure he could win, instead wearing the enemy down through attrition and guerilla fighting, striking only when he spotted vulnerability. The Patriot militias already operating in South Carolina could serve this purpose well; Greene hoped that they could keep the British distracted long enough for him to whip his army into shape and maybe find new recruits. However, he would need someone he could rely on to go down into South Carolina and keep the militias supplied and organized. As it happened, Greene already had just the man in mind.

Continue reading...

[happenstobehere]

sour breath - julien baker // heavy - peach prc // I’m a ruin - marina // borderline - alexa valentino // camden - gracie abrams // peace - taylor swift // appointments - julien baker // I know it won’t work - gracie abrams // liability - lorde // i’m tired (long version) - labrinth

[fideidefenswhore]

Two early-modern authors identified 1507 as her birth year. In the margin of his history of Elizabeth, published in 1615, William Camden inserted this date. In the text, he noted Henry was 38 and Anne only 22 when they fell in love. An expert genealogist, Camden was the Clarenceux king of arms, a principal officer in the College of Arms, and began this study at the behest of William Cecil, Lord Burghley, who provided him with materials.

Wicked Women of Tudor England: Queens, Aristocrats, Commoners, by Retha M Warnicke

[werewolfetone]

On this day in 1797, United Irishman William Orr was executed by the government for allegedly administering the oath of the United Irishmen (which was illegal) to a soldier. He probably didn't do it--there was only one witness at his trial and the judge had gotten the jury drunk first so that they would have impaired judgement, and had then threatened them into pronouncing a guilty verdict--but regardless was sentenced to death for it. Following this there were several months of people from all walks of life, including Lord Castlereagh's stepmother, Lady Londonderry, trying to persuade Lord Camden, the man in charge of Ireland, to overturn the verdict, but they were unsuccessful. So, on October 17, after over a year in prison, Orr was hanged, with his last words being "I am no traitor. I die a persecuted man for a persecuted country. Great Jehovah, receive my soul. I die in the true faith of a Presbyterian."

If you are interested in learning more about William Orr, I would recommend the biography on him by Francis Joseph Bigger, which, admittedly, is extremely biased due to the events that were going on when it was written, and isn't the most recent as it was written in the 1910s, but is nonetheless a very good summary of his death and the events leading up to it.

[feraltuxedo]

The Runaway by FeralTuxedo Rated E Summary: DI Aziraphale Fell is tasked with investigating the death of a young sex worker. With the help of witness Anthony Crowley, he sets off on a mission to uncover dark secrets while keeping his own. If anyone finds out that the victim spent the last night of his life with him, everything could be over. A gritty cop drama AU.

Started posting my new AU! I know, now is a weird time to do that, but I've been sitting on this one for a while and I'm quite excited about it. It's a shamelessly trope-y gritty crime thriller/drama. Detective Aziraphale and sex worker Crowley solve a murder mystery together. Complications and smut ensue.

Excerpt from chapter 1 under the cut.

They entered yet another identical room. A small bed in a small space with a small window looking out onto the enormous car park. The witness lay back on the bed, his all black clothes and fiery red hair stark against the white sheets. He had his forearms crossed behind his head, which he lifted in irritation as if he’d just been interrupted from his nap.

He made no effort to move or to sit up, and so Aziraphale squeezed himself onto the thin sliver of bed free between his long legs and the edge of the mattress. Like a hospital visitor at a sick bed.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Aziraphale Fell,’ he began, ‘and over there is my colleague Detective Constable Anathema Device. You’ve met her already.’

‘Yeah, I remember.’

The man winked at Device, but she was much too cool-headed to react to it.

‘So.’ The word was long and flat in his accent. ‘Is this where you ask me all the same questions she did earlier so you can see if I’m lying?’

‘Yes,’ Aziraphale said simply.

Behind him, Device shifted uncomfortably. But Aziraphale knew this type of witness, too. The type that didn’t need kindly reassurances as much as straightforward honesty. The type that hid their trauma behind a facade of cool detachment.

Anthony Crowley would be just like that. Inappropriate jokes and laddish posturing, anything to distract from the horrible sight Aziraphale knew he would not forget anytime soon. From the grief that was, at this very moment, building and gaining momentum at the pit of his stomach, ready to rise up and consume him.

‘If you could just repeat your name, age, and address. And perhaps this would be easier if you were to sit up.’

Anthony Crowley grinned and wiggled on the mattress.

‘Yeah I bet it would be easier. But I’m really comfortable like this, so you’ll just have to deal with it.’

Device actually huffed. Unprofessional perhaps, but then she had been subjected to this man’s maddening attempts at provocation much longer than Aziraphale had. He crossed his arms and waited. The man relented.

‘Anthony James Crowley. I live at 666 Eden Close in Kilburn, and I’m twenty-three.’

Twenty-three. Barely older than Ryan Jones the receptionist, and yet Crowley appeared so much more cynical than his years. He didn’t look old, by any means. No sign of the crow’s feet that had been permanent features on Aziraphale’s face since some time around his thirty-sixth birthday. No, Crowley’s face was chiseled, his body taut even laid out on a bed like that, like a cobra ready to strike at any moment.

He reminded Aziraphale an awful lot of Eric.

‘Can you tell me what happened last night and this morning?’ he asked, before the thought had a chance to take hold and derail him.

‘Sure. I got some missed calls from Eric during the night, but I didn’t see them until the morning. Tried to call him back but he didn’t answer, so I called the hotel instead.’

‘Wait a moment.’

He’d let Ryan Jones talk, but with someone like Anthony Crowley, Aziraphale knew it was best not to give them any opportunity to gloss over details.

‘How did you know he was here? Where were you at the time?’

‘We’ve got location sharing on between our phones. And I was at an AirBnB in Camden.’

Good Lord, this was like pulling teeth. Crowley was not going to volunteer any information. No wonder Device had been so exasperated.

‘Why were you at an AirBnB in Camden if you live in Kilburn?’

‘Just fancied a mini-break, that’s all.’

‘Mr Crowley—’

‘Mr Policeman—’

‘That’s DI Fell to you.’

Crowley grinned, as if he’d won an argument.

‘Fine. I was in Camden because that’s where I was getting fucked up the arse by an American tourist who just so happened to be staying at an AirBnB there.’

He studied Aziraphale for a reaction of shock or outrage. Well, he would not give him the satisfaction.

‘We’ll need the exact address and, if you can provide it, the name of your American… friend.’

‘To confirm the alibi, right?’

This time, Aziraphale did not assent.

‘How do you know Mr Blaine?’

‘We’re mates.’

‘Did you know where he was last night?’

Aziraphale felt his heart race as soon as he asked the question. Tried his best not to let it show. As it happened, he was rather good at repressing his inner thoughts.

‘Yeah,’ Crowley said, and Aziraphale’s hand tightened on the duvet cover. ‘We were on the pull together, in Soho. He got lucky first. Went off with some guy.’

Soho. Aziraphale had just left his favourite sushi place, where he’d been by himself as always. Eric had stumbled into his path, asking for a light. The way he’d looked at him, sweat-soaked from dancing, with the cocky air of a beautiful man who knew he was beautiful.

Any moment now, Aziraphale would stop breathing and the game would be up.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 23: Moral Compass

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Lord, why? Why does he have to be so fucking stupid?

I’ve always found hospitals to be quite eerie. They’re meant to provide a comfortable environment but as I wait for news about Thomas I can’t help but shutter at the sight of this dreary place. It’s been a whole night of waiting. Waiting to know if my boss’s heart still beats. I don’t know who he pissed off this time but they mean business.

“Hello again, Ms. Steenstra.”

It can’t be.

“Inspector Campbell,” I greet coldly. “I see you haven’t been scared off for good. You’re here for Thomas, I imagine?”

The inspector, now with a very noticeable limp, looks at the door across from me. “That is private business.”

Of course it is. Always business. Not a worried soul hoping Thomas might be alive. I guess it's just me.

A nurse walks by and pokes her head into his room. “Are you ready for a visitor, Mr. Shelby?”

“No,” a gruff voice answers. Thomas.

I get up and call softly: “Not even a concerned friend?” 

The nurse stands aside and lets Thomas see my face. “I’ll make an exception.”

I can’t wait any longer. I rush to his bedside and take in his broken face. God… He looks so weak.

“Jesus Christ! Thomas- What happened?”

“Sabini,” he mutters, his torn lip making his voice sound different.

He lets me take his hand. “How are you not dead? These injuries… they’re not just simple scratches.”

He ignores my worried thoughts and his eyes flicker over to the door. “Campbell…”

“Inspector Campbell? He’s outside right now, wanting to see you.”

This triggers the injured gangster to sit up and try to spread out the wrinkles in his sheets. Is he preparing for a hospital visit or a job interview?

“How do I look?”

I give him a pointed stare and rub his temples. “Like you just avoided death. Does your mouth hurt?”

Thomas shakes his head. “Not so much anymore. Does the scar look bad?”

“No amount of scars can make you look any less handsome. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Thomas is trying to keep a stern face but a smile slips out nonetheless. Good to know his happiness isn’t completely dead yet.

The door opens and the nurse is back. “Mr. Campbell will see you now.”

That’s my que to leave. 

“Feel better, Thomas.”

I give his hand a final squeeze and exit the room, but not before giving the inspector one final glare.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Come on. Pick up.”

Why is she not answering? Polly said Ada’s home.

Harry walks by with a few other Blinders and I have a sneaky suspicion they have the answer to my question.

“Hey!” The three men turn around. “Where’s Ada?” No response. “Where is Ada?”

The two unknowns exchange glances and Harry’s the one to answer. “Mrs. Thorn, she was abducted. But she’s safe now.”

Abducted. This has to be Sabini’s work. Even Campbell isn’t dumb enough to attempt that. 

“Where is she?” I demand.

Harry holds up his hands defensively. “Easy, Ms. Steenstra. She didn’t want any more from us so she went off to her flat. There’s a guard outside.”

That doesn’t explain why she didn’t answer the phone.

“I’m going over there.” Harry tries to stop me but my own icy glare stops him dead in his tracks. “That goes without question. If you wish to complain, go see Polly.”

Thump thump thump.

Muffled footsteps echo from the hall and-

“Thomas?” I’m speechless. “How-?”

“Checked out early,” he explains quickly and goes for the telephone.

“You did what? Thomas, you can’t just-!”

He puts down the receiver and faces me with determined eyes. “I can’t just wait in that hospital for Sabini to kill me. I need to head to Camden Town.”

My jaw drops. “In your condition? You could die.”

“There’s a man there who I think can be a useful ally. Name’s Solomons.”

Solomons? That sounds familiar. If I remember right he runs a brewery business as well. He might know Uncle Colon. 

“There’s other news,” I say slowly. “There was an attempt to abduct Ada. Harry says she’s fine now but I’m going over there anyway. From what I hear Ada wants nothing to do with you.”

Thomas’ scarred face smirks and he raises his eyebrows. “She’ll lighten up once I give her the key.”

I frown. “Key?”

“To the house.”

“House?” My voice rises. “You bought Ada a house?”

Thomas taps the side of his head thoughtfully. “Economics, love. You of all people should understand. All the same I’d appreciate it if you stayed with her a few days. Just in case, for both of you.”

I- I’m touched. Thomas thinks of me as the same level as his own sister. Or is it because he trusts me to keep her safe? 

“You keep yourself safe,” I order when he reaches for the phone again. Please promise.

“I will.”

Knock knock.

“Ada. I know you hate Thomas’ guts right now but please let us in.”

I hear a lock being undone and the door opens to reveal an older Karl.

“Hello, Karl! Remember me?” I smile and kneel down. “Is your mum home?”

He nods eagerly and scampers down the hall, leaving Finn and I to follow. Inside we find Ada lounging on the parlor couch. 

“Verena? Finn? What’s going on?”

“Sorry for the pop-in. I tried to call. I heard what happened and wanted to make sure you’re alright. And catch up a bit, if I’m honest.”

The Shelby sister stands up and engulfs me in a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“I brought Finn because he can’t wait for another lesson. Do you mind?”

“No, not at all. It’ll keep Karl occupied too.”

She reaches over to pour some fresh tea and I’m glad to say there’s no sign of physical harm on her.

“So? What happened?”

Ada rolls her eyes. “Some bloke tried to grab me on my way home. Gave him a good kick to the balls he won’t forget.” She pauses to give me a look-over. “Tommy’s still got you working after all? Aren’t you tired of all the killing?”

“If you still question my tolerance for your family’s business then you still have a lot to learn about Americans. I just hope it’s remembered-”

“Verena, you have become more trustworthy than actual blood members of us Shelbys. You are just as big a part of this family. Ah!” Ada stops me from arguing. “You are.”

“She’s right,” Finn agrees. “Can we do a lesson now?”

“Like school?” Karl asks from the doorway. 

“Oh it’s not like school,” Finn assures him and pats a spot on the sofa next to him. “It’s loads better.”

“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” I comment. “What might today’s topic be?”

Ada excuses herself and walks out just as Finn says “philosophy.” I think after being married to Freddie she’s already heard an earful about the subject.

“To begin with, consider this: Americans are the ones who invented the electric chair in New York in 1888 and executed William Kemmler in 1890 because they were seeking a more humane method of execution instead of hanging. They succeeded, though after many trial-and-errors with gruesome results. What moral issues might this cause?”

Karl raises his hand. “Killing is mean.”

“You’re right, Karl. It is mean. People go back and forth about whether it should be a form of punishment.”

“I say yes,” Finn inputs. “If someone kills a person I care about, they deserve to die too.”

“Another fair point. Now. There are three moral theories I’d like to tie to this. Mill’s moral theory about consequentialism believes that the action that produces more utility is good. It asks  “Will doing this result in greater overall wellbeing for all of those involved?” By executing a murderer, we will be eliminating the threat of more innocent lives being in danger.”

I take a breath to gather my thoughts. Both boys are hanging on my next words. “Now consider Kant’s moral theory. This theory of deontology says that religion is separate from morality. Instead of religious rules, Kant suggests using the basis of ‘what is right’ in terms of consideration of other people. ‘Will this action become a universal law?’ If one murderer is being executed for his crimes, then so should every other murderer after him. No exceptions.”

Another breath. “The last theory I’ll bring up is Aristotle’s virtue ethics. This focuses on character development and the task of morality, and overall being a good person. He thinks that we are programmed with a want to be virtuous, and the idea of being virtuous is having a balance of honesty and courage. ‘Will killing this murderer help for the executioner to be a person of better character? Do you both understand what I’m saying?”

Finn, sitting with his fist on his chin, nods slowly. Karl keeps staring with wide eyes.

“Wow.”

“I agree, Karl. Wow.”

Thank goodness that satisfied Finn for the next few days. I’m no proper teacher so there’s no time to plan lessons. We’ve been far too busy for that. Every hour I expert word to say that Thomas will be returning in a coffin.

Thud thud thud.

More footsteps enter the house and my heart soars.

“You're back!” I gasp when Thomas pokes his head in. His wounds have healed up nicely and he looks to have gotten his strength back. “Thank God. I heard rumors you’d been killed but I didn’t believe them.” 

He offers a quick smile but there’s something else. A glint in his eyes that tells me his trip was successful. “You’re up to something.”

“Don’t know what you mean, love.”

My eyes narrow and I put my hands on my hips. “Spill, Thomas.”

The gangster squeezes my arm and goes to pour himself some tea. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

@meadows5

[bantarleton]

Medal struck by Lord Rawdon for Sergeant Hudson, a Loyalist American of the Volunteers of Ireland, following the hard fighting during the battle of Camden, August 16 1780.

[whencyclopedia]

Battle of Cowpens

The Battle of Cowpens (17 January 1781) was a decisive battle in the southern theater of the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783). It saw a detachment of Continental soldiers and Patriot militia under Brigadier General Daniel Morgan defeat a British force under Lt. Colonel Banastre Tarleton. The battle helped lead to the end of British domination in the American South.

Background

On 2 December 1780, Major General Nathanael Greene rode into the American military camp at Charlotte, North Carolina. A 38-year-old Quaker from Rhode Island, Greene had been entrusted by General George Washington to take charge of the remnants of the Southern Department of the Continental Army after its disastrous defeat at the Battle of Camden (16 August 1780). What Greene found at Charlotte was less an army than a rugged gathering of 1,400 disheartened men. The troops were undersupplied, underfed, and lacked clothing. Several men sat huddled around the campfires practically naked, with only rags or blankets to protect them from the elements. Many of the soldiers stirred themselves only to plunder the surrounding countryside for food, and the officers had grown jaded enough not to care. It was a ghastly display of dejection that must have reminded Greene of the state of the main army at Valley Forge three winters before.

It was not hard to see why the army was in such a depressed state. The Americans had suffered nothing but defeat since the British had first invaded the American South in late 1778. Having grown frustrated with their unsatisfactory military campaigns in the North, the British had shifted their focus to the South, which was rumored to be replete with Loyalists as well as the source of much of the United States' commercial wealth. The capture of the South, it was believed, would not only cut the United States in two but also cripple its ability to keep fighting. The British implemented their so-called 'southern strategy' in December 1778 by seizing Savannah, Georgia; the following year, a Franco-American attempt to retake the city failed, and Georgia became the first state to fall back under British control. In May 1780, the British won the Siege of Charleston, taking the largest and most important city in the entire South. Under the command of Lord Charles Cornwallis, the British then set about pacifying the rest of South Carolina. This sparked a bloody regional civil war, as the state's Patriot and Loyalist militias brutalized one another in the South Carolina backcountry. The southern Continental Army, under General Horatio Gates, had tried to retake the state but had been decisively defeated at Camden.

Now, as Greene took over command of the depleted army from Gates, he realized the monumental task that rested upon his shoulders. Should he fail, there would be nothing to prevent Cornwallis from conquering North Carolina and Virginia, completing the British 'southern strategy'. Greene was a cautious commander who pursued a 'Fabian strategy'. That is, he tried to avoid fighting any pitched battle that he was not sure he could win, instead wearing the enemy down through attrition and guerilla fighting, striking only when he spotted vulnerability. The Patriot militias already operating in South Carolina could serve this purpose well; Greene hoped that they could keep the British distracted long enough for him to whip his army into shape and maybe find new recruits. However, he would need someone he could rely on to go down into South Carolina and keep the militias supplied and organized. As it happened, Greene already had just the man in mind.

Continue reading...

[the-shadowsingers-whore]

a court of wards and shadow

chapter one

series overview

summary: the normal drudge of aelis' life is broken up by an interesting meeting with the high lords and she realize she find finally have found a way to escape

length: 4k

warnings: (18+ mdni) non-con (nothing explicit), mentions of assault and abuse, bruises/marks, mentions of war and violence, anxiety/depression, suicidal thoughts/tendencies

disclaimer: this fic in no way represents any of sarah j. maas' work or ideas, it is for purely fictional/personal entertainment purposes

author's note: this is something i've been working on for a long time and i'm so excited to share it. please let me know what you think!!

masterlist /// next chapter>>

i throw my blanket over my head as the sun pierces through the huge window and hits me right in the eyes. i stifle the groan that rises in my throat at the thought of getting out of bed to start another day. a day that will be exactly like yesterday. and the day before. a day that will be just as miserable as all the rest that will come until the day i die. if i ever get that lucky.

i peel back the covers and try to blink rapidly to try and keep the light from blinding me. this room, like almost all the others in the palace of the day court, has floor to ceiling windows covering almost every wall. it used to be one of my favorite things about living here, and now it has been added to the ever growing list of why i despise everything about this building. 

i used to love waking up to the feeling of the sun basking across my face. i could open my eyes and look out at the beautiful, early morning sky without ever getting out of bed.

not anymore though. all i see every morning now is the bright, harsh light that fills the entirety of the palace, hiding all the shadows that lurk within. the shadows that i am unfortunately all too familiar with.

as i get ready for the long day ahead of me i wish i could go back to the time before the hidden darkness of this place seized me. back when i spent my days happily working and enjoying the beauty and light of living and serving in such a gorgeous palace.

i shake off the thought. i’ve spent too long in the darkness to ever go back into the simple bliss of living in the light. how long has it been? years? decades? more? i can’t remember anymore, each day just blends into the ones before and after. 

i take a moment to paste the mask of a smile on my face before exiting my room and beginning my day. the morning passes just like any other: trips back and forth between the laundry and the kitchen. the only thing that distinguishes this day from the thousands of others just like it is that i spend more time in the kitchen helping to prepare the feast for the high lords that are coming for a meeting this evening. 

sometime in the early afternoon i am headed back to the laundry when a hand drags me into one of the countless storage rooms lining the hallways of the servants’ floors. 

i quickly reign my features back in after the initial shock of being grabbed from the hallway washes back over. even after all this time I still jump every time he pulls me aside. “camden.” i say in the relaxed, easy voice i have come to master.

“aelis, i missed you.” he wraps his arms around me and wastes no time in backing me into the closest wall.

“it’s been so long since i last saw you that i thought you had grown bored of me,” i say and add a hint of disappointment in my tone while i fight the urge to vomit at the feeling of his hands on me.

“oh aelis, you know i will never tire of you.” his next words are lost as he dips his head down to kiss my neck. his hand quickly moves up my body to slide the neckline of my dress out of the way as his lips continue their path down and across my shoulder.

i squeeze my thumb hard in my fist to keep myself from recoiling from his touch. i fight to maintain the playful tone in my voice as i carefully move my hand up to his chest and push slightly. “camden, i’m sorry, but i really don’t have time today. i have to finish my normal washing and get back to the kitchen to help with the feast.” a small part of me hopes that the excuse will work, but the part of me who has been living in this reality for years knows it won’t. it’s been too long since his last ‘visit’.

he detaches his lips from my skin, but his hands continue to roam as he lifts his head to look at me again. “oh come on, don’t do this to me. i can’t go another day without you. i’ve missed you so much.” he pleads while leaning into me so i can feel just how much he missed me. i say nothing in response and force a slight smile onto my face as i fight the bile rising in my throat. i learned long ago that playing along is the best way to get it over with quickly and relatively painlessly. his hand begins to drift down towards the hem of my skirt when i hear my name echoing down the hallway outside. 

he steps away from me at the sound of my name being called and lets out a frustrated breath. i take one step towards him and place a hand on his chest. “i’m sorry camden. like i said, busy day with all the high lords visiting this evening. another time.” i lean up on my toes to lightly kiss his cheek. as i pull away, i try and put as much disappointment as i can muster into the look i give him while the rest of me sighs in relief at my salvation.

“i’ll try and find you tomorrow then.” i flash a shy smile over my shoulder at his comment while heading out into the hallway and praying that he won’t.

i keep my steps in check as i step out of the room and head towards the direction of the voice calling me despite the urge to rush away as quickly as possible. it’s a rare day that i am able to escape him and i'm certainly not going to waste it by allowing whoever it is who needs me to disappear in the maze of hallways.

i quickly catch up with the owner of the voice who i recognize as helene, a female who occasionally works in the kitchen, but spends most of her time attending to the needs of the higher ranking members of the day court.

“there you are! you need to get back to the kitchen quickly. silvy slipped on the stairs this morning and injured her ankle. they need you to fill in for her and help serve food for the meeting this evening.”

it takes a moment for the words to register, but when they do anxiety fills me at the thought. “the high lords' meeting?” my voice comes out as barely a squeak as panic tightens my throat. “i can’t do that! the last time i served at a high lord’s banquet i spilt wine on the high lord of summer!”

“that was one of your first times serving. you’ve served at plenty of banquets since then, you’ll be fine. and it’s not like you really have a choice. now hurry up and get to the kitchen!”

i know there is no point arguing so i rush down the hallways back to the kitchen pausing only once in front a window to use the reflection to make myself presentable. not that much about me in my serving clothes is presentable to the high lords themselves, but it will have to do.

i spend the next hour helping set up trays of food and running them back and forth from the great hall. at some point the high lords and their representatives arrive, but i simply duck my head and continue working.

a short time later i am rearranging the platters of food on the banquet table to make room for the rest that are waiting in the kitchen when i hear the conversation amongst the high lords shift to take on a more serious tone. 

“i suppose we should get down to business then,” kallias, high lord of the winter court says. “rhysand, would you care to explain why you called this urgent meeting?”

“of course,” rhysand, who i remember from my lessons with silvy to be the high lord of the night court, begins. “a rogue band of illyrians has been terrorizing the mountains with increasing ferocity and damage over the last few months.” 

“and in what way does that concern us?” beron, the insufferable High lord of autumn interrupts. “illyrians have always been volatile and savage. a group of them going on a killing spree is nothing new.”

i don’t have to look up from my place at the banquet table to see the icy glare rhysand aims at beron. i can feel it as the intensity of his power fills the room and sends a shiver down my spine. 

“it matters because rumor has it that the leader of this rogue band, a general by the name of brekkan, has somehow gotten his hands on an ancient made weapon.” small gasps and murmurs from the other high lords and their advisors fill the room. “i am not sure what item brekkan has in his possession, but it would explain why the carnage from their attacks has grown exponentially over the last few weeks. unfortunately, rumor also has it that they are planning on using the weapon to release a very ancient, very dangerous beast from the prison.”

the shock of his statement rolls through the room and silence fills it as everyone pauses for a moment. i have to remind my hands to keep quietly moving trays of food around as the tension in the room grows. “how do we know these rumors are true?” the soft voice i believe belongs to kallias’ wife viviane breaks the silence and is followed by several murmurs of agreement with her question. 

“we managed to intercept the band during one of their attacks and capture one of the rogues who, after some persuading, confessed brekkan’s plan to infiltrate the prison. he did not know which beast brekkan plans to unleash, but if it resides in the prison then we have reason to worry.”

“i knew illyrians were stupid brutes, but i didn’t think even they would be dumb enough to release a beast from the prison.” beron spits out the insult. “what could they possibly want with a creature like that?”

“as you all probably know, the illyrians have a lot of ancient traditions, especially in regards to their treatment of women. throughout my rule as high lord i have been trying to put an end to their barbaric traditions which has proven to be exceedingly difficult. my attempts are usually met with much resistance and in some instances, outright rebellion. this is simply another one of those instances. we have handled these situations quickly and efficiently in the past, but the introduction of a made weapon changes everything. it would seem as though this specific group of rebels has decided it’s not enough to simply revolt against the changes. they have decided that they want to wipe out me and every member of my inner circle and select a new high lord who will allow them to continue their ancient, barbaric customs. and since they know they would be unsuccessful with any assassination or coup attempts on their own, with or without a made weapon, it seems they have decided to enlist the assistance of something they know even i cannot stand against.”

more gasps fill the room, accompanied by various whispers of ‘treason’." how have you come to learn of such a plot against you and your court?” a voice i do not recognize rises about the others mumbling throughout the room and I battle the urge to look around to discover its owner. i am here simply to serve food and would be punished severely if i was caught eavesdropping on the high lords.

“because they said as much in the letter we found staked to the pile of corpses they left in the last village they raided.” i have to fight the wave of nausea that overtakes me at the high lord’s words. rhysand, however, continues on in a cool, even tone without so much as a pause, as though he was talking about a complication with palace construction plans and not the murder of countless innocent people. 

“which is why i have gathered you here today to plead for your assistance. brekkan must be stopped before he releases the beast. i can guarantee that a creature powerful and ancient enough to be in the prison isn’t going to stop its rampage over something as trivial as court borders. the illyrians are currently camped on mount rontuwan. Its proximity to the prison leads me to believe they are planning on releasing the beast soon. i plan on attacking their camp in one week’s time in order to stop them before they have the chance. if any of you are willing or able to contribute reinforcements, i would be eternally grateful. i will warn you though, with a made weapon in the mix, the battle will not be a pretty one.”

silence fills the room and tension grows as the other high lord’s contemplate rhysand’s words. helion is the first to speak up. “i will send as many troops as i can spare. i will not subject the day court to the risk of such a creature being released so near our lands.”

for the first time in a long time, pride fills me for being a part of this court.

tarquin, high lord of summer pipes in shortly after to say he will also aid the night court, and beron, per usual, refuses on the pretense that he wants to stay out of feuds in other courts. at this point, i have finally finished moving platters around on the banquet table and need to return to the kitchen to retrieve more trays of food. i silently exit the room despite my desire to stay and hear the other high lords’ responses.

the kitchen is abuzz later in the evening with rumors of the meeting yesterday. apparently some of helion’s troops will be leaving in just two days to join the armies of the night court.

“i wish i could go with them.” one of the kitchen boys says while we wash the dishes and pack away the food left over from the meeting. “i would love to get out of this damned kitchen for once and see what lands in another court look like.” me too.

“lance, do you have a death wish? you know as well as i do that you wouldn’t last five minutes in a real fight,” helene scoffs. “you would be dead the minute you stepped onto the mountain.”

“you don’t know that!” lance barks back. “and even if i did die, at least i would have gotten to see something besides these palace walls before i did.” helene laughs before responding. “ha! willing to risk death just for a little sight-seeing? foolish boy.” 

i chuckle lightly and paste a smile on my face while i secretly wish i could find it within myself to disagree with lance.

* * *

camden found me in my room last night.

i try to suppress the memory as i look in the mirror and brainstorm ways to hide the split in my lip. anything i wear will cover my thigh as long as i successfully manage to suppress the limp threatening every step. wearing my high collared dress should hide the dark bruise blooming across the base of my neck, but i can’t think of anything to disguise my lip. i should have known better than to try and stop him, but i was too exhausted last night after working all day for the feast to want to deal with him. and i paid the price for it.

as i stare at my reflection i tentatively trace a finger around the bruise coloring my tanned skin. is this to be my life forever? always at the beck and call of everyone around me? being endlessly used and passed around like a plaything? never getting to make a choice for myself? because i can’t keep living like this forever. every day chips away another piece of me and I don’t know  how much longer i’ll last before i lose myself entirely. 

i feel like i’ve lost almost everything already. i don’t dream anymore. i used to have the most glorious dreams. they helped me cope with the harsh reality of my life. no matter how terrible the day was, once night came and i drifted into sleep’s sweet embrace, i could escape into my beautiful dreams, if only for a few hours. not anymore though. It’s been years since i’ve dreamt. now the horrors of my days haunt me through my nights.

while i stare at the bruise adorning my neck i find myself thinking back to last night in the kitchen when helene said that lance might as well sign his own death warrant if he were going to try and join the fight. i wish it were that easy. signing my own death warrant, that is. i would sign it in an instant, write my life away immediately if i could. i would rather cease to exist rather than keep on here, where i continue to live the same nightmare every day and night.

my body goes completely still while i continue to stare at the dark purple flesh ringing my throat, the sharp throbbing in my thigh in tune with the pounding of my heart. 

maybe it is that easy.

* * *

two days later, i lay on a mat surrounded by thirty sleeping bodies, a rock in my back, the freezing ground leaching through the thin material, and I can’t help but marvel at my luck. i am mere hours away from escape.

i am still in shock that i managed to slip into the army leaving the palace. i thought someone would notice the missing healer’s uniform that i swiped from the laundry. but no one did. i was convinced that the commander would notice me adding a name to his list after delivering his lunch tray. or at least notice that the handwriting was different from the others. but he didn’t. 

no one looked twice when a girl with a uniform two sizes too big slipped into line with the rest of the healers. apparently with the rush of preparing an army to move out in only two days, no one seemed to notice or care that their count was suddenly one fae more.

and now here i am, lying amongst the sleeping army, waiting with bated breath for the sun to rise and the battle to start. i thought i might feel some hesitancy, or fear, or regret, but all i feel is relief. in just a short while it will be over. i will be free. 

never again will i have to experience the nightmare I have lived daily for decades. never again will i feel the nauseating roll of dread in my gut when i awaken in the morning, knowing what the day will bring. never again will i toss and turn at night, fear at who might visit me in the dark keeping me up for hours. and if the price for that freedom is my life, then it is a price i will willingly pay.

i enjoy my last few hours in silence, watching as the twinkling stars slowly dim as night fades. a horn sounds as the first of the sun’s rays break the horizon and i smile, welcoming its rising for the first time in decades. 

* * *

i manage to slip away from the healer’s tent once the battle begins raging and the wounded start pouring in. i don’t have a plan, i just know that i won’t find what i so desperately need while sewing up ragged slices on soldiers in that tent.

the mid-morning sun reflecting off the snowy mountain top momentarily blinds me and i raise a hand to shield my eyes. as i regain my focus, i glance around wildly, trying to assess my surroundings. i can see a few skirmishes happening nearby, but it looks like the majority of the battle is happening further up the mountain. that’s where i need to be, in the thick of it. where every soldier is full of adrenaline, attacking without thinking. no one will notice my healer’s uniform until it’s too late.

i race towards the battle, dodging between rocks to keep myself hidden until i reach the middle of the action. as i sprint from one section of cover to the next, something grabs my ankle and i trip, my hands shooting out to protect myself as i fall. 

“help me,” a strangled voice croaks and i whirl around to find a day court soldier lying prone, pain awash his face. i quickly glance over his body and nausea punches through my gut as i see his leg. it has been cleaved nearly in two just below the knee by only gods knows what, blood pouring from the wound. i shake my head, my eyes widening in horror as i try to scoot myself away from the mangled leg.

"please,” the male begs again, reaching a hand towards me, “help me.” the hollow pain in his voice makes me pause. i am dressed in a healer’s uniform. a healer from his home court. i can’t let this poor soldier die feeling betrayed by one of his own.

i reach for the healer’s pouch slung across my shoulder. i have no idea what to do or where to start, but i have to at least try. i grab a long strip of bandage and turn back to the soldier, looking up just in time to see a sword drop, severing his head from his body. 

the roaring of the battle drowns out the sounds of my screaming. i can’t seem to stop. all i can do is scream and scream and scream as i watch the blood gush from his neck and his eyes go lifeless a moment before a heavy boot kicks his skull down the mountain. 

the boot snaps me out of my trance and my eyes dart to their owner, a huge winged male with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “why hello there. what are you doing all the way out here?”

panic fills me as i watch him slowly move towards me, his broadsword dragging in the dirt behind him as i try to crawl away. this isn’t how i had planned it out in my head. it was supposed to be quick and unexpected, a quick reflex of a soldier in the midst of battle taking me down, not a male stalking and hunting me like prey.

“please, please don’t. i’m just a healer.” i plead, terror overtaking my mind as he draws closer.

“unfortunately for you, i don’t care what you are. although you are a pretty little thing.” he sheathes his sword and draws a small dagger from his side. “i think i’ll take my time with you.” i try to scramble away, but the male is too quick, grabbing me by the front of my shirt and pulling me to my feet. i act on instinct, snapping my knee up and forward as hard as i can, driving it between his legs. a sharp curse sounds and before i can even draw a breath, i feel myself being flung through the air and then something solid meets my back. a crunching sound fills my ears and then a ringing as my head also connects with the hard surface behind me. i can’t seem to suck in air no matter how hard i try. something warm spills down my neck, soaking my shirt and trickling down my spine. and then…..nothing. blackness overwhelms everything. i see nothing. hear nothing. feel nothing. a smile breaks across my face. finally, freedom at last, i think as i let that nothingness overtake me.

next chapter >>

thanks for reading and lmk what you think! i love hearing all your feedback!!!

taglist: send me an ask to get added to the taglist! (i only ask that you follow me and pls pls pls interact with my fic)

©️ the-shadowsingers-whore - plagiarizing, reposting, and translating is not permitted

[werewolfetone]

[lichniche]

Necromancer Tournament

i got sick so im extending the submission period! the 15th is the new deadline!

to reiterate, here are the rules:

im not gonna define necromancy, if youre not sure if somebody qualifies submit em anyway and i will either decide or if im unfamiliar or unsure too we will hold a prelim poll

submit as many people as you want but only submit each person once

real people allowed lmao ?? but i hold veto power

no ocs (sorry)

submit to the ask box! one per ask preferable!

PLEASE INCLUDE THE NAME OF THE MEDIA THEY ARE FROM

all polls will be tagged #necromancy tournament and #tournament poll and all non-poll but still tournament relevant stuff will be tagged #tournament stuff

all polls will run for one week

NOW

here are the current submissions!

anyone in orange has been submitted by multiple people

anyone not in the no category or the maybe category is guaranteed a spot unless someone raises an objection, the orange highlighting is just informative

if you are familiar with the source material and want to dispute any of these please do. if you have an opinion on anyone in the maybe column and whether they deserve to be included please share

Magic the Gathering:

Liliana Vess

Gisa Cecani

Lim-Dûl

Ratadrabik

Elder Scrolls:

Vastarie (Elder Scrolls Online)

Mannimarco (Elder Scrolls Online)

The Untamed / MDZS

Wei Wuxian

Xue Yang

The Bible:

Jesus Christ

The Witch of Endor

Dungeons & Dragons

Acererak

Azalin Rex

Vecna

World of Warcraft:

Arthas Menethil

Kel'Thuzad

The Adventure Zone

Barry Bluejeans

Lup

Abhorsen

Chlorr of the Mask

Sabriel

Guild Wars

Zhaitan

Trahearne

Palawa Joko

Marjory Delaqua

Skulduggery PLeasant

Solomon Wreath

Lord Vile

Misc:

Henry (Fire Emblem Awakening

Ned (Pushing Daisies)

Aesop Carl (Identity V)

Xykon (The Order of the Stick)

Rasputin (real life/Don Bluth Cartoon)

Edward and Alphonse Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Dorian Pavus (Dragon Age)

Nico di Angelo (Percy Jackson)

Suzie Costello (Torchwood)

Herbert West (Reanimator)

Lewis Bernavelt (The House With A Clock In Its Walls)

Neferpitou (Hunter x Hunter)

Roger de Camden (Vampire: The Masquerade)

Joshua (The World Ends with You)

Pisces Jealnet (The Wandering Inn webnovel)

Malistaire Drake (Wizard101)

Mary (Trash of the Count's Family)

Delilah Briarwood (Critical Role)

Shang Tsung (Mortal Kombat)

Kotaro Tatsumi (Zombieland Saga)

Licorice Cookie (Cookie Run)

Wasp (Archivist Wasp)

Soren Baltimore (Camp Here & There podcast)

Wendell and Wild (Wendell & Wild)

Orochimaru (Naruto)

Amors (Death and the Maiden webcomic)

The Lich (Adventure Time)

Zanbar Bone (Fighting Fantasy)

Snap & Jacks (Snapdragon graphic novel by Kat Leyh)

Santa Claus (Puppet History ? real life ? its unclear)

Watcher (DeadEndia) (comics)

Ty Blackthorn (Shadowhunters)

Dr Hix (Discworld)

Maybe:

Steven Universe

Rose Quartz (Steven Universe)

Maya Fey (Ace Attorney)

Victor Frankenstein (Frankenstein)

Sauron (Lord of the Rings)

Takuto Maruki (Persona 5 Royal)

Claudia (The Dragon Prince)

Bart Simpson (The Simpsons)

Norman (Paranorman)

The Marionette (fnaf)

Merrin Meredith (Septimus Heap)

Uni (Katekyo Hitman Reborn)

Bermuda von Veckenschtein (Katekyo Hitman Reborn)

No:

The Doctor (Doctor Who)

The Master (Doctor Who)

Harry Dresden (The Dresden Files) (decided by vote)

The Locked Tomb:

Harrowhark Nonagesimus

Palamedes Sextus

Coronabeth Tridentarius*****

Ianthe Tridentarius

John Gaius

if you are familiar with the source material and want to dispute any of these please do. if you have an opinion on anyone in the maybe column and whether they deserve to be included please share

here are my personal submissions (with duplicates included- if a submission is orange it was submitted by multiple of YOU, i did not take my own list into account)

Johannes Cabal (Johannes Cabal: The Necromancer)

Grimora, Scrybe of the Dead (Inscryption)

Militsa Gnosis (Skulduggery Pleasant)

Lord Vile (Skulduggery Pleasant)

Samhain Corvus LaCroix (Hold Me Closer, Necromancer)

Dorian Pavus (Dragon Age)

Henry (Fire Emblem Awakening)

The Necromancer (West of Loathing)

Novice Necromancer (Skyrim)

Xenia of the Autumn (Lovestruck: Reigning Passions)

Sabriel (Abhorson)