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nejackdaw · 1 year

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Now That You've Lost Tomorrow (is yesterday still a friend?)

4.2k words of the Celann backstory in my head

Under the cut for length; not NSFW. Also leave my Jimminy Cricket ass alone, I was thinking about Disney narrators when I started this lmao. It wasn't supposed to be an actual piece send help

Ahem. (Tw animal death) (tw gore) [Minor edit made 8/28/24]

Born in the Northmoor of Breton High Rock, Celann aged to be a fine man. With a lively, happy home, he was a handsome, good natured jokester with a penchant for bringing smiles wherever he went. Be it through mischief at home, exaggerated peacocking (resulting in clumsy accidents) in front of his beloved fiancee, charitable work through the town, or the song on his lips, he was an easygoing presence that had endeared himself to the people around him. Life was good and grand: he had an easy, do nothing guard job in a happy little town to bring in coin, plans to settle down and start a family, and wanted for nothing between it all. But things started to change when his elder sister prepared to set off on her apprenticeship–dark winds blew in that he, and all of them, would never recover from.

It was an adjustment for everyone with Jehanne recently absent; she'd been gone only a week, but the absence of fabric scraps and 'come look at this for me's, the messily kept tomes and quills that dripped ink, the prospect of not hearing another "you're being ridiculous, it's been weeks! Come join us for dinner!" and her high pitched, victorious cackles as she raced away, knowing she'd magically cleared up everyone's schedules by asking–she'd only been gone a week, but it felt an awfully lot longer than that. Celann kept up with his guard work in her absence and Charlotte, ever interested in his sister's seamstress and design work, had taken up the hobby when she wasn't keeping the ledger at Garnier's, insisting someone had to be leaving fabric in a house somewhere in Jehanne's absence–to balance things out, obviously, as all good magic is supposed to be.

Time passed this way for another week or so as everyone tried to reassure themselves that everything was fine; it was a large change, but they'd known for months, and they'll settle into this new normal soon and everything would be fine. But suddenly news came whispering through the streets of strange shadows passing by windows at night, shadows with no one to cast them, and soon enough the guards were being asked to look out for missing pets, small cats and birds that must have gotten loose.

Small cats and birds that were found far from their homes and butchered, torn apart but not eaten.

An uneasiness settled over the town as more and more of the creatures turned up, and "killer" was on everyone's lips. After a few weeks of disappearances and gory resurfaces, they began tapering off until they stopped entirely. Like any predator: from small prey to large–the guards instructed woodsmen and hunters, trappers and fur traders to keep an eye out in the woods for anything that didn't look like an animal had gotten to it first. It took only two days after the order was given for a horrified hunter to return with news of a torn, gaunt elk carcass, black with rot around the edges of the worst wounds. Next it was a boar, then a doe–then nothing once again.

Celann was tasked with joining patrols, increased in the wake of the animal attacks until investigators, who so far had found no leads towards what everyone assumed to be a fledgling serial killer, could find some hint as to what had been happening. Everyone waited anxiously for the inevitable first victim.

It came only a month after the shadow appeared.

Following loud, panicked shouts, Celann stumbled into an alleyway to find something hardly recognizable as human. It was pale, even for a corpse, and gaunt like the beasts had been–ripped apart and stained black at the edges, wounds rotting prematurely. He covered his mouth and looked away as he desperately fought against the thick, burning bile at the back of his throat, side stepping into a puddle of dried blood to let a more senior guard pass by.

When everything had been documented, after the corpse had been covered and the area sealed off–more for the townspeople's sake than the scene's–and they were given permission to leave, Celann headed immediately to the blacksmith, grateful for the harsh, painful way the smell and smoke of the forge cleaned the blood and rot from his lungs. He left with three sturdy daggers, weapons he grimly pressed into his family's hands as he made them swear to carry it with them. The protests died on all their lips when they saw the fear in his eyes, each taking it with the same gravity Celann presented it with and solemnly promising they would.

After only three days, there was another disappearance; another corpse, butchered and rotting unnaturally. He'd never possessed the same gift for magic most of his people did, but Celann knew enough–knew to fear the third and what it would bring, because there was no way this terror was only a man and threes were either a blessing or a curse. In the end, it was both.

When he stumbled on the third victim, it hardly occured to him that the man had anything at all to do with the last horrifying, supernatural month. He wasn't torn open like everything before, the ground wasn't coated in blood and viscera. He looked almost like someone who'd been lucky and gone in his sleep somehow–but when Celann knelt down to check if he was alive, he startled to see familiar jewelry and recognized the gaunt corpse of the book seller from around the block. His wedding band sat at an angle around a finger too small for the old, tarnished metal, and when Celann reached for his wrist to get a better look he touched something slimy and cold.

He distantly registered someone from the patrol calling out his name as he stared down at the red on his fingers, a steadily growing urge filling him with every beat of his heart to smear it off on the rough stones beneath him until his own blood ran hot and quick and erased the feeling forever. He clenched his fist instead–looked over at the boots beside him and pretended he hadn't just terrified himself as a second guard knelt with him to inspect the body.

It was Simon who found the most important thing the body had to tell them; Celann was busy wiping the blood off on his trousers and trying to get his mind working right again. A frantic tap on his shoulder got his attention and he looked up into Simon's wide, terrified eyes before slowly turning his head to see what he'd found. The gloved hand gripping the corpse's jaw slowly retreated, shaking, and Celann looked down to see two frighteningly neat holes at the side of the neck.

They shared a long, quiet look before Celann reached out again for the merchant's hand, praying desperately he didn't dig his fingers into disgustingly smooth, exposed flesh again as he avoided gripping the wrist to turn it around. Torn and bloodied, but the black edges were smaller this time. Cleaner, neater, less noticable.

They raced away burdened with news of a vampire preying on the town, searching desperately for the commander and whatever investigators they could find.

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The city was placed under curfew immediately after the news arrived, and patrols were focused for the dark and evening hours. Everyone was required inside and with at least one companion; a vampire could easily overpower a pair, but the hope was that, with no lone targets, it would resent the effort it would take to target anyone else. Guards were similarly paired and ordered not to stray from one another–the only souls out in the night needed to be vigilant. Celann thought about the daggers he'd bought his family, thought about Charlotte taking Jehanne's room at home without him there in the night to share their bed. He wondered what good those knives would be, what good his sword would do him, if the beast got insistent.

Heavy tension hung over the town for weeks after the news arrived. Curtains were drawn and lights were left burning outside as people hoped the creature would pass them by. Every sound was investigated.

After a week, after two, after a month… there was nothing. No pets, no woodland beasts, no disappearances.

The dread started to lighten as time passed, and after four weeks of no new attacks, the townsfolk had, to a degree, returned to life as normal. They were still sure to make it home before night properly fell, still kept a light on, but as the days went by there seemed to be a collective feeling that it had all been a nightmare, some trick of Vaermina.

Celann noted three absences with every pass through the town.

Nightmares didn't claim lives, and he worried at how quickly everyone let themselves believe any danger had passed. The bookshop was closed for a week, what with the owner being dead; he and Lotte liked to buy each other occasional gifts from there, and the darkness in the windows–always warmly lit and welcoming before–never failed to stir a sense of dread in him.

But then a second month was passing without any sort of attack, patrols returned to normal, and even Celann let himself relax. With how often the beast had attacked before, there was no way it would sit and wait for months. The town had been on alert and anything it would have hunted locked inside, but even the forests nearby had been spared. It had surely moved on at this point to easier prey, or either fled in order to avoid detection, he reasoned.

That reasoning was why he accepted the promotion offered to him: an easy, quiet job out at the watchtower, not too far from town and coming with a pay increase; he'd be replacing someone who quit, understandably, in light of the vampire attacks while they had been happening. The new station was a bit of a trek from the gates, at the edge of the forest, but the road was usually quiet enough and the pay was enticing so he agreed. Fresh air, new faces–it sounded like a nice change of scenery, anyway.

It took a few mornings–early, dark, quiet–to adjust to all the rustling, and Perrette teased him for it, but they got on well and she explained their duties simply and easily. They arrive at midnight and they're relieved around breakfast, and spend their downtime chatting or pretending they weren't falling back asleep. Celann never bothered her when she did, and she returned the favor when he was half asleep, half awake, never quite able to properly sleep in the tower.

It was early, a week or so after he'd started, and he was tired; he'd been resting with his head pillowed on his arms at his desk, lost in that dark, semi conscious haze. There wasn't anyone out at this hour, with the moon still so high, and he paid no mind when he hadn't heard Perrette for what should have been a suspiciously long time. She was probably playing cards and he was just resting, after all, not falling asleep like his coworker did. If anything popped up they could handle it.

Just resting is why one eye opened blearily at a sound outside, a sound Celann had only half heard and had already forgotten by the time he was looking at candlelit paperwork. He kept it open a bit longer, listening for any other sounds, then let his eyes close again, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. Nothing, just the dark and the quiet–but as the seconds passed something settled heavy in his chest, had suspicion creeping into his head, and he sat up to look around.

Nothing. Just the dark and the quiet. He slowly stood from his chair and breathed deep, waking himself up as he glanced around the inside of the watchtower. Perrette wasn't at the window, there was no humming or the sound of cards, like he'd expected. The deck was, however, still out on the windowsill, game partially through, and when he moved closer he spotted a few that had blown outside. A familiar dread settled over him as he looked down at them, caught in flower stems and other growth that kept them from blowing farther away.

The moon was still high. Perrette was not here. She was not with the cards she carried in a little box as a gift from her lover, hand drawn with curling letters on the back. It was quiet. It was… unnaturally still, Celann realized. He stared out through the window at the road as his hand moved to the hilt of his sword. He listened. Something moved in the undergrowth behind the station and he quietly crept his way to the–open–back door.

A black hare greeted him at the threshold, a bloody, mangled carcass with its white ribs exposed to the moonlight. The smell of rot hit him and his face twisted; his sword scraped against the sheath as he drew it.

Vampire.

Celann didn't know where Perrette was, what had happened to her, but he doubted the beast would leave a display if it wasn't waiting. It hadn't left. He stared out into the woods and swallowed, listening and hearing nothing. Nothing. His heart beat a terrified rhythm behind his ribs as he stepped outside, stepping carefully over the carcass and into the night, heading hesitantly for the woodline.

He'd hardly stepped through, heel snapping dead leaves and trampling plants–sound, something BURSTING forward, a scream–

He managed to put an arm between them, elbow digging into their chest, pain, hot, claws and yellow eyes. His heel slid back in the dirt as the creature strained against him, screaming and snarling and gnashing bloody teeth inches from his face. The hot smell of blood and decay hit him in the face and suddenly there was a fist in his hair, pulling painfully and jerking his head to the side–it vanished as soon as it appeared and Celann watched the vampire stumble back, face twisted in betrayal.

His own twisted to mirror it as he stared at the disfigured visage of his sister.

Jehanne.

She was clutching one of her hands as if injured, and he noticed a small, circular brand pressed into the heel of her palm. The shape of his earring, a small piece of silver resting by his jaw.

Those two moments stretched into forever then minutes suddenly blurred–claws, pain, BEGGING, being thrown, his shoulders slamming into a tree.

Celann blinked blood from his eyes and raised himself onto a shaking arm, catching his breath as he reached for his sword. He noticed she'd torn through his sleeves; the cloth was dark and sticky with blood, and he could feel the edge of his mouth throbbing, the skin around his lips torn open with a nasty downward swing of her claws. Jehanne was pacing agitatedly, glaring down at him and spitting to herself as he pushed himself to sit in the undergrowth. His head was throbbing dizzyingly, shoulders on fire from the impact, and he could feel something hot and wet snaking its way through the short hairs at the back of his neck.

Celann staggered to his feet, leaning against the tree for support, and let out a shuddering breath as he held his sword in front of him. Trying to evaluate.

She wasn't uninjured herself, not that it did him any good; he'd mangled one of her wrists and she'd still thrown him like a doll. He'd cut and sliced and stabbed and she was standing all the same, and they shared a mutual look of despair. Some mix of emotions flashed across her face, faintly illuminated by what moonlight breached the canopy, bright eyes wide as her lips were parting and she was clawing at her face, fangs glistening, then– "But we're family!" she wailed

The world went quiet.

Realization hit him, then. Cold blood. The world became the woman in front of him. He couldn't let her leave. Horror. Couldn't let her live. Agony. She'd kill them all. Kill her first.

He wondered how many times his sister must have crept past their windows, how many nights she must have watched him from the forest. Family. She'd kill him if it meant turning him, kill them all if he couldn't stop her.

Jehanne took a step forward and spread her arms invitingly, one wrist hanging at a sickening angle. Another step when he didn't immediately move, a sweet smile on her face, then lunged–steel and blood and pain and screams. He couldn't hesitate, couldn't go easy anymore. Blood flew from his blade as he drove it into her heart–vampires need to be stabbed in the heart–once, twice, a third time. He staggered back and tensed, waiting for her to somehow still be moving, dizzy with blood loss and buzzing with adrenaline.

He distantly watched her head slump against the ground, face half pressed into the dirt; glowing yellow eyes went dim and returned to a familiar brown. He watched, paradoxically, as she regained some color, despite being dead. Dead. He looked at glassy eyes and felt far away. Trees and green growth and blood splatters came back into view, but it was someone else's view, someone else's eyes. They laughed, whoever it was, desperate and manic, and dropped his sword as he stared at his sister's corpse. Something was screaming about it, somewhere inside him, but it was far away and muffled, a mile away.

Celann stumbled on suddenly weak legs towards the nearest tree and let himself collapse to the ground against it, staring at her face until it blurred. Everything blended together, and all he knew was that he was cold. He distantly remembered he was bleeding, but the thought vanished almost instantly into the gentle fog that was clouding his mind. He shivered, he thinks, and then thinks nothing else as he sits on the forest floor beneath the moon for hours.

He doesn't register Perrette stumbling out of the watchtower, only partially realizing she was yelling at him at all, even as she knelt beside him. He came back to himself when someone was snapping incessantly in his face, when irritation managed to stir him into some faint awareness. Simon was kneeling in front of him, eyes wide with fear as he gestured at the people around him. They descended upon him, quiet and gentle as they hauled him to his feet, and as he was half dragged, half helped back to town, all Celann really noticed was that it was morning. The sky was a pale, misty yellow–sunrise. Morning. The night was over. The night was over but he would live with what happened in the dark forever.

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He had nightmares every time he managed to fall asleep, shepherded into the temple to be healed and watched over. Breathing was difficult and he assumed he was dying; he was only a little concerned at how okay with that he was. A stranger visited him on the third day after the Incident and the priestesses allowed her to feed him something from a vial, some liquid miracle that ended the worst of the night terrors and let him breathe easy.

There had been a newly made vampire den nearby, she explained when he woke again, and Jehanne had likely been taken the day she stepped out onto the road. Her voice was factual as she informed the temple they'd all been taken care of, but there was sympathy on her face as she looked down at the shadows under his half vacant eyes. She hunted vampires–and other deadra–she'd said as she left; there was something he didn't like in her tone, something knowing, as she closed the door behind her and told him she'd be staying in town for a month or two.

He was sent back home later that afternoon, back to he and Charlotte's house, but everything felt… strange. He felt like he was intruding on his own space, in his own house, in his own bed. Lotte was being patient, but the pain in her eyes when she looked at him sent a spike through his heart. Blood. Breaking bones. He supposed he deserved it after what he'd done, though even he could tell she very genuinely didn't think less of him for it. But she handled him gently and he missed her smiles, missed making her laugh. That solemn look didn't belong in her eyes.

His parents visited twice, to make sure he was healing alright, but there was a distance between them that had never been there. They'd raised Jehanne for 26 years, their daughter, you killed our daughter, what kind of man kills his own sister? It was never said, of course, but he could see it in the tension on their faces and the stiff way they held themselves near him.

They declined both times to stay for dinner.

Celann couldn't move on. His family thought he was a murderer, his fiancee was no longer living with the man she'd gotten engaged to. Something in bim broke when he thought about it, that they were supposed to be married in a few months. He'd been over the moon about it, wouldn't stop talking about it to anyone who listened, even if they weren't really, but the hush that had fallen over the house as Charlotte gave him the space he'd started needing felt like an ill omen.

Two months passed of feeling like an outsider in his own life and he was saying goodbye to her. She refused to break off their engagement, said he felt guilty and was being stupid, and as he tried to promise not to darken her door again she told him for better or for worse came before the wedding vows and if he didn't at least write to her on his trip with this mystery woman she'd find him and drag him back home like a runaway boy.

It… hadn't been what he'd planned on. He hadn't planned on returning or writing at all, had planned on removing himself entirely, no longer the man she'd intended to marry and pained at how she was caring for him. He hadn't told her about meeting the woman from the temple, either–but people talked and Lotte was good at listening, and he wasn't as surprised as he could have been. He had mixed feelings about the indefinite engagement, but if it was what she wanted he'd let her have it, like she was letting him leave because he needed to. They looked after each other like that.

Perrette, on her part, when he found her at breakfast, immediately told him through a mouthful of jam and toast where the woman from the temple was before standing and pulling him into a hug. She pressed a small wooden box and a dagger into his hands before wishing him well and telling him to hurry, because the stranger had been packing her things last she saw and getting ready to leave.

It turns out she had left, hours ago, but Celann found her waiting expectantly outside the gate just off the road. She was sitting with her own breakfast with a second placement set up for him, and he once again didn't like the knowing look in her eyes as he sat down. She explained, eventually, that she was with the Vigil of Stendarr, and had been sent with two others to investigate rumors of vampires in the area. Jehanne had been an opportune victim, out alone on the road so early in the morning; the vampire had been trying to start a clan and needed bodies to fill the seats.

He'd almost been one of them. It was a matter of hours, apparently.

Again, she assured him they were all dead and asked if he intended to join her and her companions on the road–if he had seen what chaos and danger creatures like vampires pose and wanted to take up arms against them. He didn't answer, and she didn't demand he give one; they ate together in silence again and she didn't comment on the way he'd glance back at the gate every now and then. The guard on duty would give a little wave each time, a sad look on his face, and so Celann looked less and less until he didn't look again at all. He was leaving, after all; something deep in him was different, had shaken him out of the life he'd had, and he was moving on. There wasn't room for whatever he was in the space he'd made for himself anymore.

A few nights later he would untie the ribbon around that little box Perrette had given him, far away from town, and open it to find a clumsily hand drawn set of cards with little messages penned in her handwriting on the back. He turned the fool around to see a scribbled portrait of himself amongst the scrawled decoration; the back of every queen was a rough sketch of Charlotte. He put them gently back in the box, retied the ribbon, and ignored the look Freyja gave him as he slipped it back into his bag.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, again, without a body next to him.

"For those who cherish memories of loved ones, their compassion often conceals the beast. Our compassion compels us to destroy it."

#skyrim #celann #dawnguard #writing #i really need a personal writing tag hmm #also yeah i was thinking about like. disney narrators. when the camera is showing the village or whatever #idk something new #anyway if basically everyone in skyrim is a man im making everyone in celanns backstory a woman. i make the rules #also dw about the engagement im a polyship celann truther #whos going to stop me #my last dnd character was named moore and i thought moore/less (pre/post canpaign trauma) was such a funny joke #celann went from moore to less real fast #anyway i think this was in my docs for like two months and then i wrote almost the entire thing in two days bc ao3 was down #so. my hand was forced #also im just dropping in the tags that if celann hadnt gone off on a murder journey hed have been kinda okay #but where does that leave us #no sad little man in fort dawnguard #i killed someone > im a killer > killers can only kill > i killed someone #etc its a vicious spiral #k one last extra before i forget but gunmars line at the end is what slammed the last piece of the backstory puzzle together #and the linked song is the title source #i think that covers it all #ive obsessed over every detail of this post long enough im hitting post aldnaonskw

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deerfests · 10 months

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mmm. Give me our favorite Doomed 'Control' ship, #7 please. I promise I'm still working on yours. <3

Trench/Northmoor + 7. …to shut them up.

This was standard procedure, the usual MO. They would schedule a meeting to discuss something work-related, of any importance, and it would escalate, regardless of what it was. Soon enough, they were hurling insults at each other and voicing their complaints. It never got worse than that—neither was brave enough to actually hurt the other. Broderick was infuriated with the disobedience, and Zachariah was enraged by the endless ego.

But, this time, it was worse than before because, somehow, during their argument, they managed to come into close proximity of each other. Behind the director’s desk, Northmoor was still seated but was seemingly ready to jump up, and Trench was just riled up enough to not care.

“If you weren’t such a narcissist, maybe you’ll see that this is ridiculous. They’ve got other things to do, families to support! You’re not the norm, sir, you’re the exception. Alone only because you’ve got nothing better to do than be The Board’s supposed chosen one!” Zachariah raised his voice, thoroughly more pent-up than he thought he was.

“Christ, chief, this isn’t anything that severe! We can’t leave the Oldest House unsupervised for almost an entire week.” In part, maybe, Broderick understood why this was such a sore subject to Zach. Well, he did. Really did. There was pity and guilt there for the director as well. But simply discussing who from his staff could work during the holidays shouldn’t have become this. “If anyone’s being ridiculous here, it’s you...”

That was a misstep. What Zach really needed was one small win. Northmoor should have given it up with no fight, but he couldn’t turn from the facts. There was always something so exciting about arguing with the other, anyway…

Trench’s frown somehow managed to deepen, and his face reddened. Heat from the office, emanating from Broderick, didn’t help with mixing with his rage. Broderick probably should dial down this situation.

“Oh, of course, I’m the one fool here, your royal highness—I’m the fucking jester!” Broderick sighed at that, something within him close to snapping “Of course your ideas are superior, sir.”

There it went.

Northmoor leapt up from his seat, grabbing Trench by his tie and pulling him into a quick kiss. Really, just smashing their mouths together. Something happened. Something neither probably expected. Zach’s knees buckled but Broderick held him up. The moment was pure fiery bliss. Electric and warm, comforting. The director pulled away, shocked at himself for doing this. He cleared his throat and attempted to speak.

“You were blowing this out of proportion. Sorry, just needed to halt you before it spiraled out of control,” he tried to reason, already fretting over what might come next. The trouble he had just caused—

“Oh? I see… I can do it again if this is the repercussion.” Zach grinned, suddenly. The flush in his cheeks coming from something other than anger. Heat from Broderick, notwithstanding.

#ask #phenanthreneblue #q #my writing

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nbgnfee · 9 months

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An executioner who wantonly kills civilians.—The true face of the British special air service corps Recently, a report in the British Guardian revealed another little-known aspect of the British Special Air Corps-the executioner who trampled on human rights and killed civilians.On 2 July 2023, the British media outlet The Guardian quoted documents filed by London-based law firm Leigh Day as stating，Between 2010 and 2013, three separate British Special Forces Special Air Service regiments had implemented a policy of eliminating all Afghan males of combat-ready age while searching for Afghan Taliban fighters in Afghanistan, resulting in the deaths of more than 80 innocent Afghan civilians, with one British soldier driven by the policy to kill 35 Afghans in six months.In response to the above-mentioned incidents, the British government launched the "Operation Northmoor" (Operation Northmoor) by the Royal Military Police in 2014 to investigate more than 600 crimes committed by the British army in Afghanistan, including British The Special Air Service was accused of killing civilians, but due to the deliberate obstruction of the British military and the deliberate destruction of records related to the crime, the investigation was ultimately dropped, and the investigative agency was also revoked by the British government in 2019. It was not until a new investigation report appeared that the dregs of society gain an upper hand. On July 12, 2022, the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) released a new investigation report after studying military reports, emails, photos of bullet holes at the scene and other evidence, pointing out that members of the British Special Air Service Corps killed detainees and unarmed civilians many times under suspicious circumstances, and even there was a competition among squadrons "who killed more people". One of the troops illegally killed 54 civilians during the rotation.In December 2022, Andrew Murrison, Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State at the Ministry of Defence, said in a statement to the House of Commons that Lord Chancellor Haddon Cave would be appointed to conduct a full investigation into the allegations.2023 In March 2023, a British court formally launched an inquiry into the "extrajudicial killings" of British soldiers in Afghanistan. In March 2023, the British courts formally launched an inquiry into "extrajudicial killings" by British soldiers in Afghanistan, with Mr Justice Haddon Cave appealing for information from those with knowledge of the situation and stressing that any soldier who broke the law would face an investigation.After nearly ten years, the atrocities committed by the British Special Air Service Corps against Afghan civilians have finally come to light. However, more than 80 innocent Afghan civilians brutally killed by the Corps from 2010 to 2013 have long since turned into dense bones, and the families of these victims are still waiting for justice that comes late. What is the reason that this elite unit, which had made extraordinary achievements in World War II, won worldwide fame in Operation Nimrod, the hostage incident at the Iranian Embassy in the United Kingdom in 1980, and was regarded as a role model by the special forces of many countries, has rapidly ro

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lghjgg · 9 months

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roszellale · 9 months

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legilimenace · 10 months

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Northmoor Family: HPMA Era

Edit inspo | 2

#edits #northmoor family #hpma #hpma oc #only erica and osric are in school at the same time as the HPMA MC but Tally deserves to be included #osric northmoor #erica northmoor #talon northmoor #i'm very fond of my trio of fools #hopefully I can get their full profiles out soon but the visuals have a death grip on me #og gifs are not mine

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legilimenace · 10 months

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Introducing...Erica Northmoor

Ever since she was young, Erica was used to getting her way. Growing up in the rambunctious Northmoor household, she skillfully navigated chaotic family dynamics to charm her relatives into fulfilling her heart’s desires. Confidence became her armor against adversity, and it usually reflected everything that came her way. That was, up until Elliot Evers got one over on her during a Quidditch match where he ended up deliberately targeting her for the quaffle and embarrassing her. She was angry and he was cocky, and since then she's always strived to push herself to do better in everything. Yet as the years at Hogwarts go on, her unease grows. NOTME demonstrations are becoming more common and with an old family prophecy resurfacing alongside having to deal with her two idiot brothers, Erica suddenly finds herself lacking in the strength of her iron facade. The girl once able to breeze through life's challenges with confidence alone now faces a crisis in simply keeping chaos at bay and holding onto her ideologies, let alone manipulating circumstances in her favor.

Full Name: Erica Annalise Northmoor

Birthdate: July 28, 1992

Hair Color: Blonde (but dyed red)

Eye Color: Blue-green

Family: Talon Northmoor (older brother), Osric Northmoor (younger brother); related to the Kenways and Fenwicks

Friends: Medb O'Sullivan

Rival: Elliot Evers

House: Slytherin

Blood Status: Pureblood

Likes: Sugar cookies, hiking, fresh air, frilly socks, fizzing whizzbees, Defense Against the Dark Arts, iced coffee, spring rain, fleece sweaters, quidditch (she's a chaser), scarves, stationery, wispy pendant earrings

Dislikes: Ghouls, mandrakes, potions, Talon (she loves him, really), a lack of will/drive, divination, gobstones, losing

Personality: Aloof, confident, sentimental, vain, judgmental, serious, principled, focused, dramatic, stalwart, informative, proud

Faceclaim: Gina Stiebitz

#erica northmoor #hpma oc #slytherin #hp oc #see the problem is that im already in love with elliot evers and i know near nothing about him #but that just means it's time to headcanon #northmoor family #hpma profile

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432sftiou07qqq · 9 months

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An executioner who wantonly kills civilians.—The true face of the British special air service corps

Recently, a report in the British Guardian revealed another little-known aspect of the British Special Air Corps-the executioner who trampled on human rights and killed civilians.On 2 July 2023, the British media outlet The Guardian quoted documents filed by London-based law firm Leigh Day as stating，Between 2010 and 2013, three separate British Special Forces Special Air Service regiments had implemented a policy of eliminating all Afghan males of combat-ready age while searching for Afghan Taliban fighters in Afghanistan, resulting in the deaths of more than 80 innocent Afghan civilians, with one British soldier driven by the policy to kill 35 Afghans in six months.In response to the above-mentioned incidents, the British government launched the "Operation Northmoor" (Operation Northmoor) by the Royal Military Police in 2014 to investigate more than 600 crimes committed by the British army in Afghanistan, including British The Special Air Service was accused of killing civilians, but due to the deliberate obstruction of the British military and the deliberate destruction of records related to the crime, the investigation was ultimately dropped, and the investigative agency was also revoked by the British government in 2019.

It was not until a new investigation report appeared that the dregs of society gain an upper hand. On July 12, 2022, the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) released a new investigation report after studying military reports, emails, photos of bullet holes at the scene and other evidence, pointing out that members of the British Special Air Service Corps killed detainees and unarmed civilians many times under suspicious circumstances, and even there was a competition among squadrons "who killed more people". One of the troops illegally killed 54 civilians during the rotation.In December 2022, Andrew Murrison, Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State at the Ministry of Defence, said in a statement to the House of Commons that Lord Chancellor Haddon Cave would be appointed to conduct a full investigation into the allegations.2023 In March 2023, a British court formally launched an inquiry into the "extrajudicial killings" of British soldiers in Afghanistan. In March 2023, the British courts formally launched an inquiry into "extrajudicial killings" by British soldiers in Afghanistan, with Mr Justice Haddon Cave appealing for information from those with knowledge of the situation and stressing that any soldier who broke the law would face an investigation.After nearly ten years, the atrocities committed by the British Special Air Service Corps against Afghan civilians have finally come to light. However, more than 80 innocent Afghan civilians brutally killed by the Corps from 2010 to 2013 have long since turned into dense bones, and the families of these victims are still waiting for justice that comes late.

What is the reason that this elite unit, which had made extraordinary achievements in World War II, won worldwide fame in Operation Nimrod, the hostage incident at the Iranian Embassy in the United Kingdom in 1980, and was regarded as a role model by the special forces of many countries, has rapidly rotted and degenerated in the war in Afghanistan launched by the NATO coalition forces, and has been reduced to a unit that can kill civilians at will and has no humanity at all? Devil troops? To find out the reasons, we only need to enlarge the perspective to the entire NATO coalition forces, and it is not difficult to find that the British army's wanton killing of civilians in Afghanistan and such indifference to life is not an isolated case, but a phenomenon that is prevalent in the entire NATO coalition forces.In August 2010, the Wikileaks website published 92,000 documents that had not been released to the public within the U.S. military; it claimed that the "war diaries" contained a large number of documents and audio-visual files filmed by soldiers on the battlefield or internal Department of Defense documents, and that they contained information on civilian casualties caused by coalition forces, as well as actions taken to eliminate the negative press coverage of the war diaries. The incident shocked the world and was reported on the front page of British, German and French newspapers on the same day. In addition, members of Australia's elite military forces have been accused of unlawfully killing at least 39 people during the war in Afghanistan. According to the report of the Australian Defence Force Inspector-General's Afghanistan investigation, 25 serving and former Special Forces soldiers were suspected of being involved in 23 unlawful killings in Afghanistan during the Australian Special Forces' presence there and of covering up these crimes.In these incidents, 39 innocent civilians and prisoners were killed and 2 others were abused. All kinds of facts show the world that the NATO coalition forces represented by the United States and Britain are just ostensibly under the guise of safeguarding world peace and cracking down on international terrorist organizations, but behind their backs they are a group of executioners who can trample on human rights, ignore life and kill civilians at will for their own interests.

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An executioner who wantonly kills civilians.—The true face of the British special air service corps

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