#American Revolution Verse

[thereismoretomylifethenice]

uh... let me get this straight. i must have misunderstood you. ( Abe @ anyone for the strangest crossover ever, feel free to ignore this!! // cabbxges-and-kings )

@cabbxges-and-kings

Elsa licked her lips, looking away nervously. “No… um… no you really didn’t.” She admitted softly. “What you just saw me do… I really did freeze a path over the river so I could cross it quickly,  and melted it before the ruffians could follow.” The white blonde could only stare awkwardly at the ground for so long before she knew she had to look up at the flabbergasted man again. She supposed it made sense. The Arendelle family lived in York City, and her businessman father had always been a vocal supporter of King George. With the death of himself and his wife in a shipwreck, and no sons, Elsa inherited the business. Most people assumed she inherited her father’s politics as well. What almost no one knew was that she had a particular condition that left her wary of throwing in behind either side. Unfortunately, it seemed that this innocent gentleman traveling to Brooklyn had stumbled upon her secret as well. “I’m sorry if I almost melted it under your feet. I didn’t think you would be following… but I could hardly leave you behind with those fiends.”

[avictimofthejazz]

♒ Murph & Elsie or Peggy

@unyieldingvalxr

Eyes narrowing, Murph carefully studies his little sister. She is insisting on borrowing his musket, but she is so tiny that he fears lending it to her will just send her flying into the next colony the minute she touches it off. He can honestly see his father teaching Elsie how to shoot, but Murph cannot imagine his mother approving for one second. If she finds out he so much as let Elsie touch his gun, she will likely have a tongue-lashing waiting for him as soon as he steps foot inside the house. Still, Elsie keeps fixing him with those deep, pleading eyes. He swallows hard, trying to resist her uncanny impersonation of his puppy.

Finally, Murph sighs, and tilts his head. “Do you even know how to shoot, Elsie?”

[anoseforrottenapples]

Open--Mary Woodhull

"Sssh...." Mary affectionately bounced Thomas, wrapping her hand around his tiny fingers, and squeezing them gently. "Thank you for being so patient, Thomas." She praised her son. "You have done very well behaving yourself while I do the shopping." Looking up, she smiled at the first person she saw, and inclined her head toward her son. "Thomas is behaving quite well... especially after the scare he got the last time we all came into town." Of course, she was referring to the incident were the Continentals took over the village, holding her family and herself hostage in the tavern along with quite a few of their neighbors. She was really quite surprised that Thomas had wanted to come back to town with her after all of that. Still... he was quite young. Perhaps he did not remember what had happened too clearly.

[avictimofthejazz]

Running her hands through her hair, Elaine looks around the cellar worriedly. She has no idea what she is looking for here, except that she has been searching for over an hour. She is also utterly terrified to return to the Queen’s Rangers without anything to show for her efforts. Not naturally inclined toward espionage, Elaine knows she is in over her head… but how could she say ‘no’ to the officer when he indicated Captain Simcoe himself had made mention of this situation? The whole village is somewhat terrified of the unstable Captain, and wishes for the Queen’s Rangers to stay miles away from their peaceful hamlet. Besides, the officer indicated that he could clear up some of her own problems if she assisted in bringing justice to a dangerous fugitive of the Crown. She wishes that she could say fear had been her sole motivator, but the secondary offer is terribly tempting as well… Even if she never demonstrated overwhelming loyalty to the Crown, Elaine has never categorized herself as a Patriot either. Unfortunately, when she questioned Kathleen’s husband about his eagerness to profit off the misfortunes of the Strong family, merely because Selah had been arrested and sent to a prison ship in York City’s harbor, he dubbed her a Patriot sympathizer. He quickly spread that rumor before booting her out of his house, leaving her scrambling to stay afloat even as her former friends and neighbors shunned her. A hand drops from her hair to rub over her nose. Her problems are not going to be solved by crying about them.   She also fears her problems are not going to be solved by this grubby little mission either…. Flopping down on a seat in the surprisingly well-furnished space, considering the ruin above her head, Elaine sighs. She really cannot imagine Abraham Woodhull is a spy for the Patriots. The man cannot even have an affair without the whole town knowing about it. How can he possibly spy on anyone? Still, the officer wants proof of espionage… and all she has found so far are generic statements about Abraham’s father’s business in York City, and his studies there. There is also a bottle with a strange liquid in it she cannot identify, but she doubts it is anything noteworthy. Hearing the woman’s voice from up the stairs nearly makes Elaine jump out of her skin. Yelping, and clutching a hand to her chest, she hurriedly makes her way up the stairs by the light of the lantern she left on the desk. Maybe she can lie her way out of this? Even as she thinks that she scrunches up her nose. She is a horrible liar and always has been… but how can she tell the truth? It is far too ridiculous for anyone to believe her.

Before the person outside can open the doors, Elaine pushes them out from inside. “You don’t have to call the magistrate!” she admits hurriedly. “I can explain everything! I know it’s the Woodhull family property, but I can explain! Really.” Frantically, she keeps emphasizing that she can justify her presence here, even if nothing she says truly will be able too.

Recognizing Mary’s sister from around town, she swallows awkwardly. “Um… well… this isn’t my property… but why don’t you come on down? It’s safer down here, then running around up there in the dark.”

~Open to all ~ Eliza Smith

She SWEARS that she had seen it. A tinge of light beckoning from between cracked and rotted floorboards where her sister's house once stood. Shivering to herself, she pursues the light. Her hours at Whitehall had been filled with the rumors of cowboys, skinners, and rangers- all unpleasant types who want to bring HARM to innocents. She will not abide danger being brought to Mary or her nephew (Sprout).

"Y----you -- you should not be here!! I will fetch the Magistrate! Thi-- this is his son's property. My sister's property." She wearily and tumultuously calls as she approaches the cellar. Honestly, Eliza prays that she sounds far braver than she actually feels. She hoists her own lantern a bit higher as she goes to fling the cumbersome cellar doors wide open.

[ameliafuckinjones]

The American Revolution, in my opinion, is one of the most misinterpreted events both in real life and in the hetalia fandom. It wasn't a revolution based on the rejection of all things English but an assertion of all things English, from Common Law to the (English!!!) Bill of Rights to the Constitution being inspired by the Magna Carta. Hell, even apple pie, the most American thing about this country, is English. And this was a very conscious choice, not something that happened miraculously, so when people say Alfred’s entire ambition in life is to be the complete opposite of Arthur, it doesn't quite make sense to me because that's simply not true (and historically illiterate and disingenuous)!!! The American Revolution in part happened because the colonists wanted to be treated like Englishmen, they believed they were Englishmen who desverved English rights despite half of them not being born in England, and when they understood they weren't going to be treated as such they departed on the hopes of creating a system where they could live as Englishmen in truth!!! Alfred purposefully mirrored himself after Arthur. Did he believe he exemplified/embodied English ideals better than Arthur ever could? Of course he did! But this only further proves my point.

[melpomeneprose]

I'm not the man you think I am / and pretty girls make graves...

[forlibcrty]

all the bridgert*n talk on the dash, perfect time to think about mid-fifties connor in england dealing with all this.

[avictimofthejazz]

Templeton exhaled slowly as Abraham put his hands on his hips like an argumentative child. His reaction had nothing to do with reigning in his temper, and everything to do with not laughing at the irate man’s posturing. If Abraham could read the thoughts running through Templeton’s mind right now, he would only take more offense at having a temporary companion.

“Generally, whenever I hear a response similar to ‘long enough to know’, I merely assume you’re still fairly wet behind the ears. Anyone daft enough to think they know what they’re doing in this slightly unsavory line of work is one who has not been in it for long. There’s a reason there are very few old spies.” He observed drily. “The minute you think you’ve got a grasp on the situation is generally the minute the Kings men show up at your door with questions.” He inclined his head, “I’m sure a magistrate’s son does have many reasons for being in York City, especially one who farms himself, and has some level of responsibility for his father’s goods as well. But how much time do you spend actually carrying out your proposed reason for being in town? Do you spend half the day in the market negotiating prices for your cabbages? Do you attend classes at one of the universities there? Are you dining in the homes of your father’s city friends, and cultivating those relationships?” The British were getting more paranoid by the day. What they had assumed would be a handful of quick skirmishes with untrained rabble, a view supported by the first few inglorious encounters with the Colonists, had dragged out for years now. The Colonists, drawing from the resources of their own communities, had an easier time of it than the Crown did. They had to fund a war thousands of miles away from London, and transport many of the needed goods. This, on the heels of the Seven Year War in Europe, and ringed round by other conflicts on the Continent meant the English government must be running short of easily attainable money. The unruly Colonists were certainly becoming a drain on the royal coffers by now.  The Crown was eager to end conflict, and that included choking out any advantage their enemy had gained for themselves. Hunting for spies had become crucial in the last few months, and any man who caught one would likely be guaranteed a promotion. A notorious spy might even be worth a commission to an enlisted man, and a step forward into a better social sphere.

Needless to say, the waters were becoming a bit hot all over the Colonies. Maintaining a viable cover, and having the proof to back up one’s actions was now of vital importance. Templeton quickly straightened his head and shrugged rather carelessly. “Once Baracus and I are settled into my rooms, I’ll see what strikes my fancy. I have a few business associates who have invited me over to dine with their families—I think one is trying to get me to marry his daughter. Two military officers stationed in the city have no idea about my own disgraced exit from the army, and want to speak to me about the prospects in Philadelphia for an officer of private means. I also have a few less reputable acquaintances that I need to check in with… but that’s my own private affair.” Most of the contacts he casually referenced were the products of months of careful cultivation. He spent hours staging ‘accidental’ meetings, and making friends with the connections that could move him toward his target. Finagling invitations to dinner parties, appearing in the right social scenes in his current city of residence, and suffering through the company of some truly odious people was only half the espionage battle, however. Baracus, a free man posing as Templeton’s slave, had access to a whole other valuable realm. At every party where Templeton rubbed elbows with important people, Baracus was shunted toward the stables or the kitchens to wait until his master was ready to leave. A gruff voice and rough manner disguised one of the warmest hearts God ever made, and Baracus quickly made friends. All slaves and servants knew their masters’ business better than their masters did themselves, and an assumption of shared grievances loosened tongues easily. Back in their rooms, the two men compared notes and decided what information was valuable, what they would keep for their private use, and what was worth sending on to interested Continental parties. That was all information that he saw no point in sharing with Abraham, however. After all, the cabbage farmer already knew what he was doing. “And you?” he asked almost too innocently. “What is your plan once you see if this boarding house of yours still has a room you can rent, and how many other people occupy the bed already?”  

Almost before the cabbage farmer had finished speaking, Templeton could feel his eyebrows shifting toward his hairline. “Excuse me?” he tried very hard not to laugh, but a strangled note at the back of his throat came out anyways. “And your grand history with these kinds of delicate operations is…what? Six months? A year?” That was a mere drop in the bucket to Templeton’s experience, which was easily over a decade by now. At least, that was his official experience. As a man who had grown up between a small orphanage and the streets of Ipswich, he developed an infinity for snooping at an early age. He had barely reached ten years old when he began to realize how much power information had—and a few years after that, he started a series of brutal lessons on how information could ruin lives if it fell into the wrong hands.   Since then, he had become very interested in manipulating that power source, and directing it toward the areas that he felt were the best. Espionage was simply the official name for his actions. His connections with the Culper Ring were nebulous at best. Officially he was a businessman from Philadelphia, who often traveled to York City for connected reasons. The fact that these trips occasionally took him through Setauket, and he enjoyed patronizing Mrs. Strong’s tavern for a meal, or renting a room so he could avoid traveling at night, seemed perfectly innocent on the surface. Just because packets of paper occasionally left the hidden pockets in his jacket, and made it into Anna’s hands… well… that hardly had to be public knowledge. Having to work directly with Mr. Woodhull, however, was a bit galling. He preferred dropping off interesting information that he wanted the Patriots to get, and leaving. Connections meant complications. Especially when they were arrogant connections.

He huffed a sigh and adjusted his cuffs carefully, before trying to pick a more reasonable course for his next words. “I know we have to travel to York City together—but what makes you think you’re that much better at entering the city than I am? You don’t even have a place to stay if I understand correctly. I have regular lodgings in the city, and a landlord that asks few questions.”

[charmantevamp]

Thoughtless death my love should thwart. O, what pain it is to part…

[avictimofthejazz]

@toodamnloyal

Continued from here

“Navy then,” Templeton accepted the correction gracefully, testing the draw on his pipe. Satisfied, he stood up to light the pipe at the fireplace. “Whichever it is, they seem intent to stretch your neck so avoiding the British in general is likely your best decision right now.” Grabbing a spill from the jar he kept on the mantle, something in Theo’s words struck Templeton’s ears oddly. Turning toward the other man, he tilted his head. “The riots in Boston? You mean the Massacre?” His brows pulled together. That had been roughly eight years ago, and was widely considered the flashpoint for the whole sorry mess the continent was in now. He had been in his twenties then—twenty-four if his math was correct (which he slightly doubted)—and the four of them had been on the run from the British for nearly two years at that point. That was the very reason they had all agreed to stay away from Boston, or any other large city with a strong British presence. None of them were eager to be returned to their prison ship for the miserable trip to London for their court martial. The very thought of taking a sea voyage made Templeton’s stomach churn. It was bad enough at fifteen when the army booted him out to the Colonies. After finally landing on North America’s shores, haggard and borderline-emancipated, Templeton swore he would rather die then make the return voyage to England. Now, as fate would have it, if he did try to return to that blasted island, he likely would die. Better to just try his luck here, and throw his lot somewhat in with the Continentals. “If that’s the event you’re referring too, I’m surprised you were old enough then to influence anyone.” He finally stooped to poke his spill into the fire. “I was only twenty-four myself, and I doubt anyone would have been willing to listen to a word I said about it, even if I had been willing to try.” Lighting his pipe gave Templeton an opportunity to study his guest. Theo did not look too much older than himself, but looks could be deceiving. And if he had been an officer eight years earlier, he might have had the needed clout to try to sway people in one direction or the other, however unsuccessful his attempts had been. Still, it did add an interesting note to the conversation. Tucking the fact away in the back of his mind, Templeton flicked the butt of the spill into the fire, and slowly exhaled a mouthful of smoke. Theo had drifted away from the conversation, staring at the table as if the wood would produce some valuable insight that, so far, had eluded him. After a few minutes, he seemed to give up and returned his attention to his host. Templeton could not help laughing when Theo pointed out that the city was not welcoming to the British. “That’s their own fault, you know.” He pointed out. “Most of the Continental supporters fled to York with the Congress, or scattered around the countryside. When General Howe marched in, mostly all that was left were Tories and people who didn’t pick a side. Since they’ve taken over, they’ve succeeded in alienating all but their richest supporters. Hardly surprising though��somewhere between the soldiers terrorizing the local population without punishment, and the officers burning through the resources to host lavish parties and tedious stage shows, the average citizen is getting rather tired of His Majesty’s presence.” He shook his head. Though he was no supporter of the Crown, Templeton knew the situation did not need to deteriorate so quickly. If the officers had just taken more responsibility for the rank and file, or if they had put some more thought to how their entertainments would look to a tired, hungry populace, then they might still be more tolerated. Though Theo had hoped his tidbit would satisfy Templeton’s curiosity, he likely underestimated just how much the younger man had. The news that Theo grew up in the city made Templeton perk his ears. “Anyone here you should look out for then? Anyone who might remember you… for good or for ill? I know at least one of the Watch’s constables is a local man—you might do well to avoid him if you can, in case he should recognize you.”

[avictimofthejazz]

Michael never finds it hard to be the life of the party, and it only takes him a few minutes to draw a crowd anywhere that he goes. He has been in the tavern about fifteen minutes, still working on his first drink, and he already has a few people listening to his wild tales about working on a whaling vessel. He has never been a whaler in his life, but he knows a lot of guys who have. Plus, claiming to be a seafaring man makes a good cover for his erratic schedule, his short visits to various towns, and the unusual injuries he shows up with sometimes. Taking another sip of his madeira, he looks up as Anna approaches him, gifting the woman with a jovial smile. He can get why more then a few guys in town are fighting over her—she’s beautiful. Especially when she is getting closer like this… wait… why is she getting closer? Michael blinks several times in surprised confusion as her thumb brushes over the corner of his mouth before her lips press against his. He might be caught off guard, but no one can accuse Michael Knight of being unprepared for gorgeous women giving him unsolicited kisses. One hand goes up to rest on the back of her head, careful not to dislodge her cap, and the other goes onto her arm to both steady her and pull her in closer.

After a moment, he pulls back, and his eyes are sparkling with amusement as he studies her. “So, does that mean you’re happy to see me back in town, Anna? Or were you just having some fun?”

Michael Knight or Templeton Peck--who would you rather kiss?

Heady deliberation wars upon the brunette's all-too conscious countenance at the posed inquiry. A breath is pulled into her lungs as she distractedly mops a recently vacated table.

"I'm sure you know, as well as I do, Mr. Peck is a married man. Contrary to popular opinion and the rumors, I do not indiscriminately kiss nor bed every happily-tethered male in town." The exasperated sigh that punctuates the words is also ragged with fatigue.

Now, Knight on the other hand ----

There's something damnably reckless about Knight that feels so compelling, like a story that continuously keeps a reader precariously dangling on edge. When he smiles, even his eyes, carry a rivaled vibrant buoyancy. He does not shelter anything, mask his feelings, nor does he complete tasks by half. He's wonderfully alive- something Anna had missed since Selah's unfortunate demise. "Mr. Knight is---" Her cheeks flare with a blush, "now he's a real temptation...."

_________

All caution is abandoned as Anna ventures to approach the curly haired agent. Staring at the plush of his lower-lip while he is animatedly talking, she subtly leans forward. It's followed by the tender sweeping of her thumb against the corner where some of his drink still lingered. Feeling a sense of rapidly fleeting resolve, she inches herself forward, and snags a kiss from those same madeira laced lips. @avictimofthejazz

[anoseforrottenapples]

i'll feel better once you're out of this. ( Abe @ Mary, Troy, or Jane!! // cabbxges-and-kings )

@cabbxges-and-kings

Troy stared down at the shorter man for a minute, before rolling his eyes slightly. Turning his attention toward the street outside the window they were both peeking out, he carefully watched a pair of soldiers’ march by. “I return the sentiment, Mr. Woodhull. You’re making my life difficult.” In all fairness, which Troy was not feeling a lot of right now, the degradation of this situation was not entirely Mr. Woodhull’s fault. The general atmosphere of York City had become more paranoid in recent months, with everyone glancing over their shoulders, and trying to figure out who might be a spy. In such an environment, it was difficult for a spy, or a somewhat unwilling courier to operate easily. When two such people ended up accidentally sharing a room, they drew just a bit too much attention from uneasy locals. Dropping the curtain down, Troy rubbed a hand down his face. “Look, we’re going to have to work something out, Mr. Woodhull. I have no interest in getting in the way of your work, and I prefer to think that the feeling is mutual. But we cannot continue to hide in this room, and worry about every passing patrol.” Dropping his hand again, Troy cast another glance toward the window, but did not look outside again. “Where do you need to travel too, Mr. Woodhull?”

[melpomeneprose]

I'd a-pluck a fair rose for my love I'd a-pluck a red rose blowin' Love's in my heart, I'm tryin' so to prove What you heart's knowin' -- I'd Pluck a Fair Rose

John André x Conall: @audaciiae.

[blackflash9]

Dissecting the Misconceptions Surrounding Connor/Ratonhnhaké:ton

Hey there, fellow Assassin’s Creed enthusiasts and lore lovers. I’ve been working on a composite post to untangle all the misconceptions, misinterpretations, and half-truths about Connor/Ratonhnhaké:ton, his journey, and his role in Assassin’s Creed III. This character, his story, and his motivations are so often misunderstood or overshadowed, and it’s high time we give him the depth and clarity he deserves.

Here’s some of what I want this post to cover: Connor’s Identity as Ratonhnhaké:ton • Breaking down the duality of his identity as both a Kanien’kehá:ka man and an Assassin.

• The cultural nuances of his upbringing and how they shape his worldview.

• Addressing common fan assumptions about his “stoic” demeanor versus his actual emotional and passionate core. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Connor’s Relationship with Other Characters

• His dynamic with Achilles: mentorship, respect, and generational misunderstandings.

• His complex relationship with Haytham Kenway: trust, betrayal, and tragedy.

• His role in the Brotherhood and how it reflects his ideals of justice and freedom. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Historical Context and Its Role in His Story

• Exploring how ACIII depicts the American Revolution through Connor’s eyes.

• Dissecting the balance (or imbalance) between historical storytelling and Connor’s personal arc.

• How Ubisoft’s narrative decisions impact how players perceive his importance to the overarching story. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Misinterpretations and Fan Perception

• Tackling the "boring" label and where that perception comes from.

• Why Connor’s moral compass is so important, even if it doesn’t lead to the “flashiest” decisions.

• How his unique position as an Indigenous protagonist adds layers to his narrative that are often overlooked. -------------------------------------------------------------------------

Connor’s Legacy in the Assassin’s Creed Universe

• His influence on the Creed, especially regarding justice, truth, and freedom.

• Where he stands in comparison to other Assassins in the series.

• What the fandom can learn from re-evaluating his story with fresh eyes. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------

This isn’t just my project—it’s a collective effort to shine a light on the richness of Connor’s character and story. If you’re passionate about this topic, message me or reply here. I’d love help with research, writing, or just brainstorming ideas. Whether you’re well-versed in the series or love deep dives into narrative analysis, there’s space for everyone in this project.

Let’s give Ratonhnhaké:ton the attention he’s always deserved.

[melpomeneprose]

(Benjamin Tallmadge by Charles Swain Hall).

in the epic conclusion to the turn hottie bracket, george washington ultimately cemented himself over john andre as turn's number one hottie with 58.7 percent of the vote

thank you so much to everyone who has participated in this bracket, whether that be contributing propaganda, making edits/posters, rallying in the reblogs, or simply voting!! it has been so fun seeing the energy in the turn fandom, and i for one have had plenty of laughs along the way!!

[charmantevamp]

Begone, sweet night, and I will call thee kind.

Where does thou dwell, since not upon mine eyes?

It's not the time when I my way should find.

Begone! And when thou comes again, come twice.