#United Empire Loyalists

[vox-anglosphere]

Over 40,000 United Empire Loyalists fled the American Revolution to remain loyal to King George III and keep the British Empire united.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"HIGH PURPOSE OF LOYALISTS IS RECOGNIZED," Kingston Whig-Standard. May 9, 1933. Page 5. ---- Contribution to Canadian Nationhood Seen as Secure ---- SAINT JOHN, N. B. - When Saint John in particular, and New Brunswick generally, pay tribute to the United Empire Loyalists on May 18 next, the Sequicentennial aniversary of their landing here, the occasion will recall a people whose decencants excercised a powerful influence on the political, material, and intellectual development of Canada.

The Loyalists, whose continued allegiance to the Crown made life unbearable for them in the new United States, comprised a great many of the cultured and wealthy men and women in the old colonies. When the revolution broke out they represented at least a third of the population. Their honesty of purpose, and integrity, now acknowledged by historians, were among qualities resulting in firm foundations during Canada's early growth.

Loyality Steadfast College graduates and former high officials were included in the migration to British territory. In New England, the Episcopal clergy were steadfast in their loyalty to the King. There was also a large loyal element in the humbler walks of life. It was found in the farmers of New England, the Quakers of Pennsylvania and the negroes of South Carolina and Georgia.

Those occupying official positions at the beginning of war naturally took the side of authority. Their indignation increased as they found their places filled by men of inferior social position and less wealth, education. and culture. Despite their ideas of prerogative however, the old Loyalists in general are conceded to have been men of upright character, staunchly adhearing to their principles and willing to make great sacrifices for the preservation of a united British Empire.

Impress Is Deep "On the Canadian body politic the impress of the Loyalist migration is so deep that it would be difficult to overestimate it," wrote W. Stewart Wallace, historian. "It is no exaggeration to say that the United Empire Loyalists changed the course of the current Canadian history. Before 1783 the clearest observers saw no future before Canada, but that of a French colony under the British crown. Barring a catastrophe shocking to think of wrote Sir Guy Carleton in 1767, 'this country must, to the end of time, be peopled by the Canadian race, who have already taken such firm root and got to so great a height that any new stock transplanted will be totally hid, except in the towns of Quebec and Montreal.' Just how discerning this prophecy was may be judged from the fact that even today it holds true with regard to the districts that were settled at the time it was written. What rendered it void was the unexpected influx of the refugees of the revolution....Before 1783 the continuance of Canada in the British Empire was by no means assured; after 1783 the imperial tie was well-knit.

Even in the adjoining republic, history has begun to do the Loyalists justice. Their merits and self-sacrifice are acknowledged.

The late Professor Coit Tyler, University of Cornell, said his opinion was "That the side of the Loyalists, as they called themselves, of the Tories as they were scornfully nicknamed by their opponents was even in argument not a weak one, and in devotion and self-sacrifice not an unheroic one."

[immaculatasknight]

Liberate Canada and liberate the world

[filmfocus1518]

Flag United Empire Loyalists

[tikhanovlibrary]

Travels in Algeria, Alexis de Tocqueville

Read it now, free ebook available for download https://tikhanovlibrary.com/#tocqueville

[neon-junkie]

Fractured

Summary: Tech's recent injury has led him to your Medical Bay, and despite you being excellent at your job, Tech needs additional assistance with easing the pain. You have something fun in mind.

Pairing: Tech x gn!Reader

Tags: Medical assistance, Fractured bones, Medic Reader, Friends to lovers, Oral (giving,) Handjobs, Size kink, Cock worship, Large cocks, Flirting, Pain relief.

Word count: 5.1k

Notes: This is set after Episode 1&2 of Season 2. I actually started writing this back when those episodes aired, but then… depression… lol I have never broken/fractured a bone before (alpha genes,) so I have no idea what actually goes on when you break one lol. I did my research, but… IDK, this is probs off, but you're not here for the medical side of things, are you? Also, I like the idea of nerds with big dicks. I don't really care about size IRL, but Tech with an absolute unit of a cock? Yeah, sign me the fuck up!!!

"You got squished like a bug."

"I did not-" Tech cuts himself off. "Like a bug? Please, restrain yourself from making such comedic remarks about my pain and suffering."

With that, Tech lets out a grunt, and you're unsure if it's at your remark, or an outlet from the pain that he's currently in.

Tech was squished like a bug during the last mission. Splat! As you so put it, after Tech explained what exactly happened in that war chest. The force of a thousand suns flattened his poor leg, and his thigh soaked up most of the damage.

That's what he gets for not wearing thigh armour.

That comment didn't go down well, either. However, Tech should know by now that your wit and sarcasm will never fail you. You have, after all, been running with the Batch long before the Clone Wars fizzled out into… whatever this is, The Galactic Empire, and those who opposite it.

If only Hunter would allow you and the others to join the fight…

Back onto the topic. Tech was carried into the Marauder's medical wing, with Echo's assistance, and left on the medical bed for you to check him over. He was hissing and wincing as he pushed himself up onto the table, his hands flexing whilst he gripped onto his thigh, and pleading eyes met yours as he began going over the series of events.

You were stationed with Hunter and Wrecker, seeing as Wrecker is your loyalist customer when it comes to injuries, only Tech has taken you by surprise!

"It's definitely fractured," you state as you dig through your medical kit, finding something exciting to dial down the pain. Tech has stated that he'd prefer to remain awake, which is understandable, seeing as you won't be stitching him up, or worse, cutting him open.

"I assume I'll have to lounge around with a cast on for the next six weeks?" Tech questions, his eyes watching you as you read over a few labels, deciding which drugs to supply.

"Minimum," you say with a soft nod, half-focused on his words. "These will do," you decide, holding the pill bottle in one hand, whilst the other shuts your medical box.

You turn to face Tech, and with a nonchalant expression, you order, "take off your pants."

Tech's eyes blink wide beneath his goggles, and he lets out a sheepish cough before asking, "pardon?"

"I can't do an X-ray with your pants still on, and do you really want your cast applied over those jeans?" you point to his new pants - casual, straight jeans, which surely can't be comfortable to work in?

Forgive him. It's his first time out in the Galaxy, and a newly freed man is bound to make poor decisions. Live and learn, Tech…

"Oh," Tech mutters. "Understood."

You hand him the pill bottle first, along with a glass of water, and give Tech a strict order to take his drugs before stripping off. "I'll give you some privacy, call for me when you're ready," you inform, and leave the medical wing, the door swishing shut behind you.

Sure, you've seen Tech in all sorts of states, almost naked that one time, back when you were new. Wrecker had found it hilarious to fiddle with the refresher's water supply as Tech went to take a shower, and poor Tech, who was rather reserved when first meeting you, had to leave the refresher with only a towel around his waist. He had barked at Wrecker to, "leave the hot water supply alone! Are you attempting to impress our newest member? Or perhaps, make a fool of me? Both? Do you find this amusing?!" blah blah blah…

-

Minutes have passed, and you overhear Tech calling out, "you may come in."

The door swishes open, and you're greeted by Tech in the same position on the medical bed, relaxing back against the headboard. An untidy pile of armour and clothing has appeared on the floor, not that he has the ability to neatly organise them.

Tech remains in just his turtleneck under armour, his fingertips currently running along the neckline, picking at its tightness. He's wearing a standard pair of briefs, nothing enticing, and the hemline thankfully stops above the X-ray zone. Great! You don't fancy having to order Tech to remove those as they're in the way…

As for the last item of clothing, they're-

"Tech," you speak with firmness. "Are those my socks?"

Tech stops picking at his neckline to gawk down at his feet. His wiggles his toes mindlessly as he sheepishly mumbles, "it appears they are."

"Is that so?" you repeat with a raised brow.

Tech's pleading eyes come out again as he meets your gaze. "I could not find a pair of my own this morning, and seeing as we were in a rush, I opted for the next best thing."

Your eyes trail from his to look at your socks once more, the little tookas on them smiling at you. They're fuzzy, warm and snuggly, and not the sort of item that you ever thought you'd see on Tech.

Omega? Perhaps.

Wrecker? Definitely.

But Tech?

"The next best thing," you repeat his words again. "I'm surprised that you picked the tookas over the voorpaks."

Tech scoffs. "Tookas are the obvious choice. Whilst voorpaks may be pleasing to the eye, they're needy, with no consideration for personal space. Tookas, on the other hand, are far more independent animals, with a…" Tech shuts his mouth, and nervously licks his lips before asking, "I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

"A sign that the drugs have kicked in," you say with a shrug. "Time to X-ray!"

Tech lets out a defeated sigh, and watches as you set up the X-ray machine. It's a numbing and dull task, but needed, seeing as such a smart man has managed to get himself injured.

The X-ray is taken, and you leave Tech to his own devices as you begin processing the scan at your desk. Whilst you wait for the image to form, you check on a few other things, and in the corner of your eye, you notice how Tech fails to sit still.

His fingertips are running along his neckline again, attempting to find fresh air, even though his under armour has never seemed restricting before. A light glisten of sweat is sitting above his brow, and whenever Tech's hands stray from his neckline, they rest directly on his lap. His fingertips begin fidgeting with the hem of his briefs, only for his eyes to meet yours, and his hands to fall motionless.

"Are you alright?" you question.

"F-fine," Tech mutters. "Just awaiting the results."

With that, the scan is processed, and you hum to yourself as you study it. Tech doesn't look away from you; he studies your reaction, and his shoulders drop with relief as yours do. "It's not as bad as I thought," you state as you rise from your desk. "I'll apply a cast, and unfortunately for you, you'll be bound to the Marauder for the next few weeks."

"Charming," Tech huffs.

You put together a bowl of warm soapy water, and hand it over to Tech, along with a towel. "Give your thigh a good scrub. It'll be the last time it's cleaned until the cast can come off."

Tech follows your orders, and leaves you to begin putting the cast supplies together. He's letting out soft grumbles as he scrubs himself down, not applying much pressure, seeing as bruises have already begun forming.

Within minutes, you're ready, and Tech is attempting to dry his thigh. The bowl of water is discarded, and you softly mutter, "here," as you take the towel from him. "Let me help."

With your order, Tech slowly bends his leg, raising his knee high enough so that you can gently dry the underside of his thigh - a task that he was struggling to do alone. He's still wincing as you dab over the area, but nowhere near as much as he was when tending to himself. It seems you're light on your touch, and Tech is silently thankful for it.

"Keep your leg bent like that," you instruct as you dispose of the towel, and bring your cast supplies over to the workbench.

You gently run your palm over Tech's thigh, questioning if his skin is dry enough to begin the application, and only now do you realise the predicament that you're in.

You're no stranger to Tech's good looks - impeccable cheekbones, a toned chest, nimble fingers, adorable doe eyes, and a hairline so sharp that it can slice through beskar - but the issue is purely that, his good looks. You're attempting to work, and the sensation of your fingertips dancing through the light hair on his tanned thighs is causing quite the distraction.

You scoot your stool over to the medical bed, and adjust the height. Once seated, you let out a deep sigh before beginning your work, attempting to keep your eyes on his forming bruises, rather than allowing it to wander… higher…

Tech looks down at you, quite literally, watching through his tinted goggles as you begin binding his leg, paying special attention to any signs of discomfort - not that he shows any. His fingertips are subconsciously entwining with each other, fidgeting, and attempting to cover up his briefs out of politeness. It's not that you've never seen Tech, or any of the boys in their undies before, but your face is less than half a meter from his crotch, and you're both well aware.

A huff flows from your lips as you fix the soft material in place, the easy part over and done with. Now, it's time to wet the plaster, and apply it one strip at a time - a lengthy process, seeing as you have to wait for each layer to dry before continuing.

As time goes on, you both seem to relax, becoming accustomed to your new-found closeness. Tech even strikes up a light conversation, filling you in on his side of the mission, and speaking highly about the civilian that he met on the way.

"He called me Ace," Tech informs you, "not that I had any issue with it. I found the nickname rather appealing."

Your eyes trail up to meet his, and a soft laugh slips from your lips as you repeat, "Ace?"

"I think it suits me," Tech says with a shrug. "Besides…"

His words continue, shifting into comforting background noise as you do your job. At least Tech is comfortable with you; when you first met, he'd only ever correct you, or information dump on you. Now, you can hold a conversation, seeing as you managed to win him over after correcting him on a minor detail a few weeks into being stationed with the Batch.

The more Tech mutters, the more his form relaxes. His hands move from his lap to adjust his goggles, not that they probably need it, and you can't help but notice something in the corner of your eye.

In hindsight, this was your fault. You shouldn't have looked. You should have kept your focus on your work, and prevented your eyes from prying at Tech's crotch. He is, after all, a grown man sitting in his underwear, with a pretty Medic rubbing their hands along his bare thigh. Tech is a soldier, and it's a known fact that soldiers don't have much leisure time, let alone spare time to do… stuff.

Your lips fall apart, and every circuit in your brain fries within an instant. Your hands, wet and covered in plaster, come to a halt in the middle of a wrap, and all you can focus on is… that.

Tech, after adjusting his goggles, instantly falls silent as he notices that you've come to a halt. He calls out your name, and despite his exceptional mind, it takes him a few moments to realise what's caused you to stop like a deer in the headlights.

"Oh," Tech sheepishly sighs as he puts two and two together. "I…" he stutters, but words fail him. So, thinking on his feet (and fractured leg) he returns his hands to his lap, covering up the issue.

Only now do you realise that you're a karking idiot. Seriously, why did you have to stare?! Why couldn't you have turned away, blushed, and continued working?

You go to apologise, but Tech beats you to it. "I apologise… It's… It's not intentional-" he sputters.

You let out a soft sigh, and shake your head in an attempt to slap some sense into your dense brain. "Tech," you mumble his name, and after blinking heavily, you look up at him.

Tech, with cheeks so bright that they outshine the suns, fails to make eye contact. He's breathing deeply, and mentally questioning if it's possible for him to run away from his problems, even with a half-finished, wet cast around his thigh.

Instead, Tech defends himself even more, seeing as the first option isn't doable. "I have been attempting to control myself this entire time, but it seems my-"

"-Tech," you call out to him again.

Tech finally meets your gaze, but only for a moment. He can't maintain eye contact, he simply can't, that is, until you state something that has his mind spinning in confusion.

"You're huge."

"P-pardon?" Tech sputters, followed by coughing into the back of his hand. That is not what he was expecting to fall from your lips.

You wave your hands defensively, droplets of plaster falling onto the medical bed. "I mean, it's alright, you can't help it," you sputter. Now, you're the one struggling to maintain eye contact, your mind fogging up, clouded with one simple thought.

"Can't help what?" Tech questions. "My erection? Or my size?"

A timid laugh flows from your lips, "I meant your erection, but both, I guess…"

Tech laughs with you, although it's clear that he's nervous. Whatever this is - intimacy, of some form - is new. You're no stranger to light flirting with your boys, and often receiving it in return, but holy Maker. Tech is rock solid, and there is no denying that you're the cause of it; the evidence is right there!

"Well…" Tech's words fall flat, and after adjusting his goggles, he gears up again. Rather than sit in silence, mutually starstruck over the unit sitting in Tech's pants, Tech decides to ramble as much as humanly possible. "…I have chalked my size up as a side effect from my enhancements. There are multiple documented cases that the standard clones all share the same erection size. I am, however, beyond those standards."

"Wait-" you cut him short with a soft laugh. "-There are documented cases of what?"

Tech lets out a chuckle, and shakes his head in awe that he's having to bring this information to light. "It's no secret that we clones have had intimate relationships, and some partners like to… how should I say it? Discuss their experiences with others on the holonet."

You repeat Tech's motions, softly laughing and shaking your head, amazed over this new information. "You mean, people like to jump on the holonet and discuss which Troopers kriff the best?"

"That is one way of putting it, yes."

"Dank farrik," you laugh. You mean, the information that you've been curious about this entire time, has been on the holonet at your disposal? Idiot! Why didn't you simply search for it?

There's no denying that you're attracted to both your squad, and their regular brothers, and as always, curiosity wanders… At least some beings were smart enough to post their findings on the net, along with… whatever else might be on there. You make a mental note to check it out later!

"What were you doing on those sites?" you question, and decide to start working again, seeing as the plaster is slowly drying on your fingertips.

To your surprise, Tech's emotions remain calm as he mindlessly replies, "I was researching my… ahem, abnormality."

"I see…" you conclude. Curious for more, you take a gamble, and up your flirting game. "Has anybody started a thread for Clone Force 99?" you say with a soft purr, causing Tech's ears to perk up as blush begins to form across his cheeks.

"I…" Tech stutters. "Not that I am aware of, no," he says with a nervous chuckle.

Still with wet plaster on your hands, you put on a cheeky grin as you ask, "we could fill in the blank."

Your name comes stumbling out of Tech's mouth as all the heat in his body rises to his cheeks. "You cannot be serious!" He sweats, refusing to maintain eye contact. Nervous hands fiddle with the hemline of his shirt, wringing the fabric tightly in his bare palms, all whilst still attempting to cover up the topic in the room.

"I am," you say with a shrug. "I mean, I've just about seen yours," you gesture to his erection, hidden behind a thin layer of fabric, yet bold enough to make your imagination dance.

"M-Maker," Tech stutters once more. "Where are those pills?"

You laugh as Tech fumbles about with the pill bottle at his side, sliding another one out into the palm of his hand. He doesn't even bother swigging it down with water, dry swallowing the pill like an absolute mad man. "You do know those pills are to ease your pain, right?" you state whilst wrapping another layer around his leg.

"I am certainly in some form of pain. Although I am unsure of the exact type," he sighs, and finally takes a sip of water, correcting his prior mistake.

Biting back a laugh, you suggest, "painfully hard?"

Tech lets out a long and frustrated sigh, meeting your gaze as his shoulders drop in disappointment. "Hilarious," he sarcastically replies, pinching his brow in annoyance.

With a smirk on your lips, you boldly look down at his erection. "It sure seems like you are," you comment, then continue your focus on applying his cast, nearing the end. "You know, sexual pleasure can help ease the pain, and act as a good distraction," you hint, bringing the fact to light. If Tech wants more, then this is his opportunity to take it.

"As delightful as that sounds, penetration would be near impossible in my current state," he gestures to his leg, as if it couldn't be any more obvious.

"There are things that you can do besides penetration, Tech."

Whilst watching you apply the final layer, Tech moves a hand up, fingertips meeting his chin. His brows are furrowed, a sign that he's in deep thought. "You are correct," he hums, before crossing his arms across his chest. "Although I have to question if partaking in such an act will adjust our friendship, and our status within this squad."

"Only if you want it to," you respond, and begin cleaning up, allowing Tech's new cast to dry. "The way I see it, I'm just helping a friend out."

"Well, when you put it like that…" Tech ponders, shifting into deep thought.

Silence fills the air, and yet, you can practically hear Tech's brain ticking away. He's panning everything together, questioning every minor detail, move, motive. Sure, you are helping him out, but wouldn't this lead to other things? Would either of you catch feelings? Have you already caught feelings?

Tech's eyes flick between the pill bottle, and you. He studies you, letting out a soft hum as you tidy up, putting all your equipment away after washing your hands. "I can feel your gaze on me, Tech," you comment, not bothering to look up from your current task.

"Sorry," Tech exhales. "You do have a valid point. This… sexual favour would indeed assist in relieving my pain, yet I cannot accept such a gesture without reciprocating it."

"Let's say that you owe me one, and I can redeem it whenever I see fit," you suggest. You perch yourself on the edge of the medical bed, your form resting against Tech's undamaged thigh. Gently, you tap your fingertips on his cast, testing to see if the material has dried through. "You're all set. So, what do you say?" you offer with a raised brow.

Tech firmly shakes his head in agreement, "I accept your assistance."

"Great," you purr. Your hand comes to rest on his chest, instantly making the man beneath your palm nervous, and he doesn't bother to hide it. "But what do you want me to do, Tech?" you ask, drumming your fingertips against him.

Licking his lips, Tech's eyes wander down to where your hand is resting, before coming up to meet your alluring gaze. "Perhaps you… could possibly…"

"Spit it out," you tut.

"Just… touch me," Tech finally manages to spit his demands out, all whilst looking like he's about to faint. "Your hand alone will be more than suffice," he adds in an apologetic tone, as if he's embarrassed about what has just slipped from his lips.

Eager to see him burst, you ask, "do you want my mouth too?"

"Oh stars."

Tech, the most calm, calculated, and captivating man that you've ever met, is currently turning into putty beneath your fingertips. You've not even touched him, well, at least not in that way, and he looks like he's about to ejaculate at any moment! Maybe it's the pain relief pills that he's taken, or maybe it's because he has a secret crush on you. The answer, you'll never know. All you can do is work with what you've got - a whimpering mess of a man.

"You don't have to answer that yet. Let's just start with my hand," you answer for him. Tech watches through his thick lenses as the hand on his chest begins to trail south, over his lower ribs, across his soft stomach, and now meeting his hips.

Gently, you rest your hand atop of his erection, and Tech just about moans at the minor contact. "I apologise," he sputters, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth.

"Don't apologise, I want you to be vocal," you coo. "Well, maybe keep it down a bit, unless you want the others over-hearing?"

Tech shakes his head, then returns his eyes to watching the action. Your strokes are gentle, yet firm, the complete opposite of Tech's rising chest. Is he a virgin? Or has it been a while? Either way, you begin matching his pathetic state once his briefs are adjusted, and Tech's cock is finally free.

"Kriff," you whimper, eyeing up Tech in all his glory. Maker, you weren't expecting such a slender man to be packing so much heat! Sure, it looked rather large when hidden behind his briefs, but now it's here, throbbing in your hand.

You begin pumping his length, slow at first, until finding your rhythm. All the while, Tech is a panting mess, his gaze flicking between your expression, and what's happening between his legs. He all about caves when you slowly trail a blob of spit down onto his tip, lubricating his cock as you continue jerking it.

"This is going to be the death of me," Tech pants. His head rolls back to rest on the headboard, whilst his hands come up to hide his face. He groans into his palms, the odd muscle in his body twitching as pleasure washes through him. When Tech finally does remove his hands from his face, his goggles are on a slight tilt, and surprisingly, he doesn't bother fixing them.

"Oh?" you say with a quirked brow. "I can make things much worse."

"Do enlighten me," Tech suggests, gazing at you through half-lidded eyes.

"How about I show you instead?"

All Tech can do is nod eagerly, yet he fails to prepare himself for what's about to come. (Or who's about to come.)

It's an awkward position, but after readjusting yourself to lie on your side, you manage to make do. Tech's eyes widen as you move your mouth closer to his cock, soon introducing your tongue to the tip. He moans your name, followed by a painful wince.

"Stop putting pressure on your thigh," you look up at him, cock in hand. "That defeats the purpose of my assistance."

In hindsight, you should have propped a pillow beneath his ankle, but something was preventing you from thinking rationally!

Tech mumbles a, "sorry," whilst looking at you with pleading eyes. You know what he wants, and who are you to deny it? You continue introducing your tongue to his tip, his shoulders instantly relaxing at the minor contact.

You soon find yourself sucking the tip, your hand working magic on the rest of his shaft. Already, there's an ache in your jaw, and you silently question how you're going to make this fit… No matter, you'll do what you can, and all efforts seem to be highly appreciated by Tech, who is reaching the state of debauchery as every second passes.

Through the chaos of spit and slobber, a tender hand comes out to rest on the back of your head. The other one finds your free hand, and Tech makes an effort to entwining his fingers with yours. You vocalise your appreciation to his gentle gesture by humming, only that causes Tech to stir. The sensation of vibrations running along his cock earns you another series of pathetic whimpers, and you, being the mischievous devil that you are, decide to only make things harder for him.

Slipping his cock from your lips, you continue pumping the shaft whilst your mouth wanders south. You slip one of his balls in your mouth, gently sucking on it. Tech's mind quite literally explodes! The hand on the back of your head grabs a fistful of your hair, although he is careful as to not hurt you. His other hand, however, removes itself from your palm to grip on the edge of the bed, a desperate attempt at steadying himself.

"Easy boy," you coo, before focusing on his other testicle.

"I c-can't…" Tech sputters. "I cannot hold on any longer, please," he whimpers, begging for what?

"Tell me what you need," you instruct.

"T-To finish… inside your mouth, if you'd be s-so kind," Tech blurts out, his thigh muscles twitching with want. So much for helping ease his pain, hm?

Removing your mouth from him, you peer up to meet his gaze. Tech's hair is askew, loose strands hanging forwards against his flushed face. Desperation is clear in his eyes, although it's laced with warmth and admiration. Tech was right, you two aren't just going to be friends after this, and quite honestly, you're fine with that.

"How can I ever deny you?" you flirt, earning a sigh from Tech. That sigh shifts into a moan as you slip your lips over his tip, and work your mouth to its limit.

Your name is on repeat, drifting from Tech's lips like a prayer. In the back of his mind, he's thanking this strange turn of events. If he wasn't in that war chest, then none of this would have happened, and the pain is most definitely worth it.

A few pumps of Tech's shaft, and he loses himself in the warmth of your mouth. Tech has to remove his hand from your hair to bite his knuckles, a poor attempt of silencing his final moans. The Marauder does not have soundproof walls, so you two will need to come up with a story for when you finally decide to enter the medical wing, and regroup with the Batch.

"Thank you," Tech repeats, over and over, panting as if he's just run a marathon. He looks exhausted, yet you're the one doing all the hard work!

After removing your mouth from his tip, you swallow his load, which only causes Tech to fall even deeper into admiration. "How do you feel?" you ask whilst grabbing the glass of water, left forgotten on the workbench besides the medical bed.

"Euphoric," Tech responds without missing a beat. "The pain was worth it," he adds.

"Are you still in pain?" you ask, offering him what's left of the water.

He swiftly responds, "no," before downing the rest. "You seemed to have worked wonders on me," Tech comments.

You let out a soft chuckle, and rise to your feet, eager to get out of the awkward position. After wiping your mouth dry with a towel, you assist in cleaning Tech up, not that he needs it. It's his leg that's fractured, not his cock, but you're too sweet on the poor man. "You need rest," you comment as you tuck his cock away, putting his unit to bed within the confinement of his briefs.

Tech ponders, and only now does he straighten out his wonky goggles. "I have already asked so much of you, but I have one last request."

"Let's hear it?"

"I… require some assistance with getting to my bunk," Tech sheepishly asks, earning a laugh from you.

"Of course I'll help you with that!"

It's quite the task, seeing as Tech has the upper hand when it comes to height, but you manage to help him to his feet, swinging an arm across your neck for extra stability. You turn to leave the medical wing, until something crosses your mind. Gesturing to the pain relief pills, you state, "you'll probably be needing these."

A smug grin creeps over Tech's lips. "Oh, I don't think I will," he flirts. This time, you're the one blushing, yet you agree with his statement.

Hobbling down the Marauder, Tech's cabin soon comes to your reach, and before you know it, you're helping him into bed. Thank the Maker that the others have retired for the night, hopefully none of them heard that!

After removing Tech's shirt, a pillow is placed under his ankle, providing extra comfort throughout the night. You retrieve him a glass of water, re-entering his cabin to see that he's tucked himself under the covers, his goggles lying on the bedside table.

"Do you need anything else?" you offer, soon expecting to be in your own bunk. It has been a long day, and you're oh-so-eager for your own rest.

"Actually, I was thinking…" Tech trails off, which causes you to raise your brow. "Surely you should spend the night here with me? You know, in case I require support throughout the night-"

"-I know what you're hinting at, Tech," you say with a light laugh, shaking your head at him. "You don't need an excuse, but sure, we can use that when the others ask why I'm leaving your cabin tomorrow morning."

Tech chuckles, watching eagerly as you strip down into your underwear, soon joining him in bed. You're greeted by his stretched out arm, offering you a cuddle, which you gladly accept, all whilst keeping his injury in mind.

"Goodnight, Tech," you exhale, resting your hand on his chest as your head finds its place within the curve of his neck.

"Goodnight," Tech repeats, holding you tightly.

"And remember, I owe you…"

[whencyclopedia]

American Revolutionary War

The American Revolutionary War (1775-1783), or the American War of Independence, was a conflict between Great Britain and its 13 North American colonies, who declared independence as the United States of America. Initially a rebellion within the British Empire, the war took on a global scope when France and Spain joined against the British, contributing to the eventual American victory.

War Begins

The war was the central part of a broader political upheaval, the American Revolution (c. 1765-1789), which had taken root over a decade before the first shots were fired. The quarrel between Britain and the Thirteen Colonies, over the issue of parliamentary taxes, steadily escalated, as colonists were divided into factions; the Whigs, or Patriots, opposed the taxes on the basis that they were unconstitutional, while the Tories, or Loyalists, remained in support of Great Britain. Tensions sometimes boiled over into acts of violence, such as the Boston Massacre (1770) and the Boston Tea Party (1773); a group of political agitators known as the Sons of Liberty was also known to assault Loyalists, tarring and feathering them.

In 1774, Parliament responded to the Boston Tea Party by issuing the so-called Intolerable Acts, which aimed to punish Boston by closing its harbor to commerce and suspending representative government in Massachusetts. In September 1774, 12 of the 13 colonies sent delegates to the First Continental Congress, where it was decided that the New England militias should begin preparing for a potential conflict with British soldiers. Amidst these rising tensions, General Thomas Gage, military governor of Massachusetts, knew that he could not crush a rebellion with the meager forces he had on hand and sought to suppress the New England militias before they had a chance to strike. He decided to achieve this by seizing stores of munitions that the militias had kept stockpiled in various towns.

Shortly after midnight on 19 April 1775, 700 elite British soldiers marched toward the town of Concord, where one such stockpile of weapons was stored. Despite Gage's attempts at discretion, the Patriots had discovered his intentions several days in advance; no sooner had the British troops set out than two Patriot riders, Paul Revere and William Dawes, were on their way to alert the militias. When the British soldiers reached the town of Lexington, on the road to Concord, they were confronted by 70 militiamen. After a brief standoff, a shot was fired; although it is unknown who fired it, it became immortalized as 'the shot heard round the world'. The British forces responded by firing two musket volleys, killing eight militiamen and wounding another ten.

After clearing the colonial militia off Lexington Green, the British continued on to Concord, where they encountered more resistance from 400 militiamen. After discovering that most of the munitions had already been removed by the Patriots, the soldiers began their 12-mile (19 km) retreat to Boston. The Patriots harassed them utilizing guerilla warfare, and by the end of the march, they had lost 273 casualties, compared to 95 Patriot losses. By then, the number of Patriots had swollen to 15,000 men. Encouraged by their victory in the Battles of Lexington and Concord, the Patriots laid siege to the 6,000 soldiers trapped inside Boston.

Continue reading...

[theoperativeif]

The Operative: Fires of Revolution [18+] (Updated 8/03/2024)

You are an Operative, one of hundreds of modified beings that saved the Empire of a United Earth in its war against the Commonwealth. The war you were created for is over, billions dead in a duel between raging Empires that ended in a stalemate on a barren planet that left both sides ravaged.

But now ghosts from your past threaten to plunge the galaxy into another war and threaten all you have fought for.

Battle against those you once called family, discover hidden truths behind the Operative Project and protect those you love as you are drawn back to an all too familiar barren planet...

Content Warnings

[This game contains, violence, depiction of war and innocent casualties, strong language, drug references, major/minor character death (including possible ro death), optional explicit sexual content(fade to black only atm), references to abuse and other mature themes. Please use discretion and this list will be updated as content is added.]

Features

Play as a man, woman, or non-binary.

Become a legendary super soldier, are you the ideal soldier? The perfect protector? An expert assassin? A walking war machine? Or maybe you are the monster that haunts your enemies nightmares.

Help shape the future of an Empire recovering from war, or just go where your superiors tell you.

Shape your character’s personality and have their choices influence the galaxy.

Fall in love with one of six romance options. Including an Imperial Marine, a fellow super soldier, an Imperial Agent and a mysterious chemical weapons expert.

Unearth the mystery of a failed revolt and a quarantined planet.

Will you build the Empire up? Or ensure it tears itself apart?

Notable Characters

Ari “The Old Flame” [M/F]

A loyal companion since you were both made Operatives, Ari is either your closest friend or your old flame of youth. They served in some of the darkest moments of the Empire, having thousands of kills under their belt. Recent events forced you both into conflict and then separation, now leaving memories and dreams as your only respite together. But something behind the scenes may force two people intertwined by destiny back together…

(Appearance)  6'8 A pale white complexion with wide diamond blue eyes and mid length snow white hair. Broad-shouldered with a toned musculature Ari's life as a soldier along with their enhancements make them an intimidating foe.

Liana Swarovski “The Soldier” [F]

One of two marines personally assigned to you by the Admiral. Despite spending the past several years in combat she forces herself to maintain as cheerful a disposition as possibly. Having been saved by an Operative in a past mission gone wrong she remains open and friendly to her newest assignment…

(Appearance)  5'7 with bright hazel eyes and a bright smile. Warm beige complexion and bright blonde hair done in a ponytail when on the job. Slightly stouter build then one would expect.

Jacob Miller "The Tactician” [M]

One of two marines personally assigned to you by the Admiral. Not much to note about the ordinary man, except that for someone with only two combat missions under their belt he spent the remainder of the war in service of Admirals and Generals. Recent events have reportedly chipped away at his once Casanova and pleasure loving disposition, but behind his kind eyes lies something much colder very few see…

(Appearance)  6'1 with soulful green eyes and a small smile, longer dark brown hair that he often slicks back. Average body build.

Designate Six “The Loyalist” [NB]

A deadly combatant even to Operatives, Designate Six commands the Chemical Core under your command, a group of specialist who utilize chemical and biological warfare tactics to render enemy forces inert. Hidden behind robes and masks Six is first and foremost an explorer of the deadly and arcane, but second a person of undying loyalty to their Operative…

(Appearance)  5'5 Two large expressive eyes resembling two pools of purple, tan skin intermixed with scars and patches of discoloration are hints of the price they have paid for their service to the empire.

Agent Roads “The Investigator” [M/F]

Agent Roads is an agent for the Imperial Heartbreaker Division, a branch of the Emperors secret police, specializing in tactics best left out of the spotlight. Their history with Operative 002 is an interesting one born of violence and strife, but now, all this time later perhaps its one of fascination. Especially when Road’s own dark past surfaces with one thing on their mind. Revenge. 

Their reputation is one rivaling the most bloodthirsty Operatives, but will someone looking closer find something worthwhile behind those cruel eyes?

(Appearance)  5'9 with predatory silver eyes and deep olive skin, bobbed thick raven black hair, thin build with a removed tattoo on their chest just below their collarbone.

Polina Cartigan “The Princess” [F]

Princess Polina is the second in line of the Emperors children, despite her calm and thoughtful demeanor do not be mistaken, beneath lies a powerful drive to improve the Empire. Seeking a peace with the ACC so as to rebuild shattered supply lines and defenses she is opposed by the majority of the UEG leadership. But a steadily rising wave of idealistic young military and political minds now stokes the flames as she prepares to take her first true steps onto the galactic stage.

(Appearance) 5′8 dark complexion with burning amber eyes and a thin graceful build.

Linky Links:

Demo Link

Discord Link

Spinoff Tumblr Post

[trustinsighters]

Dungeon Dialogue: Baelsar's Wall

Lower Reaches #1 (X: 10.3, Y: 9.1) - Infiltrating the Castrum

Scion Marauder: Stay sharp, everyone! 　↳ Scion Lancer: Aye, this is one battle we can't afford to lose! Scion Conjurer: Not foes to be trifled with, Garleans...

Lower Reaches #2 (X: 10.7, Y: 11.0) - After opening the 1st gate

Scion Conjurer: Seems there's fewer of them this way. 　↳ Scion Marauder: Let's clear them out! Scion Conjurer: Fewer guards this way. Scion Lancer: The wall seems to go on forever...

First Boss, Before engaging (X: 11.3, Y: 13.0) - Magitek Predator

Scion Lancer: That's no armor I've seen before... 　↳ Scion Thaumaturge: Take care around it! Scion Marauder: You're scrap metal!

First Boss, During the fight (X: 11.3, Y: 13.0) - Magitek Predator

Magitek Predator: Ah! Live practice targets! Magitek Predator: Deploy sky armor units! Sky Armor Reinforcement: Anchor away! Sky Armor Reinforcement: Not so fast! Sky Armor Reinforcement: You're mine!

First Boss, After defeating (X: 11.3, Y: 13.0) - Magitek Predator

Magitek Predator: Impossible! This was the latest design... Scion Thaumaturge: Those claws were no joke. 　➝ Scion Marauder: Right, the outer reaches are just ahead. Scion Lancer: We must stay on our toes.

Outer Reaches #1 (X: 11.2, Y: 11.2) - Platform Lift #1: Platform Switch Scion Marauder: Is that the switch for the platform? 　↳ Scion Thaumaturge: Only one way to find out. Scion Lancer: It seems we must ride this platform.

Outer Reaches #2 (X: 11.2, Y: 11.2) - Platform Lift #2: More magitek weapons

Scion Lancer: Ugh, if I never see another magitek weapon... 　↳ Scion Thaumaturge: Sorry to disappoint, but I think there's more. Scion Conjurer: Is it finally over?

Second Boss, Before engaging (X: 10.4, Y: 11.2) - Armored Weapon

Scion Thaumaturge: Oh, this one's definitely dangerous. 　↳ Scion Conjurer: Worry not, I'll tend your wounds! Scion Lancer: It looks like a spider...

Second Boss, During the fight (X: 10.4, Y: 11.2) - Armored Weapon

Armored Weapon: Activating surplus ceruleum propulsion. Engaging enemy. Armored Weapon: Motion tracking activated... Armored Weapon: Activating magitek bit laser grid. Armored Weapon: Deploying magitek slashers.

Second Boss, After defeating (X: 10.4, Y: 11.2) - Armored Weapon

Armored Weapon: Structural integrity compromised. Initiating withdrawal protocol... Scion Thaumaturge: I could've done without the swarm of little ones. 　↳ Scion Conjurer: Those things are relentless... Scion Lancer: Whew, we did it...

The Walk #1 (X: 9.8, Y: 9.5) - Reaching the parapet

Scion Lancer: We've climbed a fair way. 　↳ Scion Conjurer: There's fighting over on the other side as well. Scion Marauder: We're almost to the top. 3rd Cohort Secutor: Pull back! We must withdraw! 3rd Cohort Eques: We've enemies on both sides!

The Walk #2 (X: 11.8, Y: 11.1) - The Griffin’s soldiers

Sword-wielding Loyalist #1: The Griffin has spoken! Kill them all! Lance-wielding Loyalist #1: You go no further! Scion Marauder: It's the Griffin's soldiers! 　↳ Scion Conjurer: If they're here, then that means... Scion Lancer: You can't fool us with those uniforms! Sword-wielding Loyalist #2: Death to the Empire! Lance-wielding Loyalist #2: You'll not spoil our moment of glory!

Third Boss, Before engaging (X: 11.7, Y: 13.1) - The Griffin

Scion Conjurer: The Griffin finally shows his face! 　↳ Scion Marauder: Your scheming ends here, you bastard! Scion Thaumaturge: We won't let you cause any more harm!

Third Boss, During the fight (X: 11.7, Y: 13.1) - The Griffin

The Griffin: I'll give you a glorious end, Warrior of Light! Come! See what awaits you at the far edge of fate! The Griffin: You're all blind! The Griffin: Let's see you squirm out of this!

Baelsar's Wall Dungeon Dialogue Infographic

[weirdestbooks]

The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 23

The Declarations (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

June 15, 1776

For as long as Delaware had been British, he had been sick and weak. He had struggled with his health, seemingly on the verge of death. When he had gotten some autonomy from Pennsylvania, it had helped a little, his weakness fading somewhat. He had been able to talk to his father more, but the weakness still persisted.

Autonomous or not, he was still only the autonomous zone of a colony that was an autonomous area of their grandfather’s mighty empire. If his siblings were to be considered second class, then Delaware was third class, one of the lowest types of countryhumans on the totem pole.

The only ones worse off than him were the ones without a country.

Delaware had figured he would live like that forever. Why would things change? He had figured he would forever be a part of Pennsylvania.

Then came the conflicts with their grandfather, and things began to change. Suddenly, the possibility of being forever a part of Pennsylvania changed, and Delaware released he had been presented with an opportunity to become something more.

No longer the Lower Counties on the Delaware, but simply just Delaware. A colony in his own right. And…if they did vote for it, a country in his own right.

While most of his family had been excited by the idea, Pennsylvania seemed…well, not mad, but saddened by Delaware’s decision. Delaware knew she was going to miss the closeness that their present arrangement provided for them, but at the same time, Delaware knew she understood how important this was for him. 

While he did have his own delegates at the Continental Congress, if he didn’t establish himself as someone different, as something different, before they declared independence, then he might lose the chance to be a part of their new nation, might be transformed into just another part of Pennsylvania.

He couldn’t let that happen.

So, for the first time since he was New Sweden, Delaware was going to be his own entity. 

The downside of being in the same body as his father, however, was the fact that he didn’t know when that was going to happen.

So he waited and waited and waited some more, hoping that it would come soon.

Then, it happened. He didn’t find out from a letter to United Colonies about his new political status or from an announcement to Congress by his delegates; no, Delaware found out when he was in the back of his father’s head.

He found out when, for the first time in his life, strength flooded into his body. His body was suddenly flooded with power and strength, nearly knocking him off his feet with the intoxication of it all. 

He could almost cry from how good it felt, from how it seemed to wash away the aches and exhaustion from his body, sensations that had been there for so long; Delaware had never known what it was like to live without them.

It felt…freeing.

He was free—not just from Pennsylvania, but from Britain.

He was independent. He was no one’s autonomous zone, no one’s colony.

He was Delaware. Just Delaware. 

And he had never been happier.

• ───────────────── •

June 28, 1776

Scotland was still stuck in the Carolinas. He figured after the failed battle at Moore’s Creek, Britain would order him back to the Isles to rejoin whatever force he had created to attack the Rebels.

Then again, Britain always liked having a man on the ground.

Scotland knew that this mission was critical anyway. He knew the capturing of significant ports in the Southern Colonies was part of a strategy to try and rally the loyalists they knew existed in the Southern portions of the colonies. Scotland couldn’t help but worry that all the attacks would just drive more people to join the Rebels. 

He knew the royal governors had insisted that a large show of force would rally loyalists and defeat the rebellion in the Southern regions, but a part of him remained skeptical.

It didn’t help that the rebels, as few as there allegedly were, had a heck of a lot of fight in them. They certainly knew how to give Ireland a run for his money in terms of stubbornness and sheer audacity, something Scotland didn’t think was possible.

The port they were attempting to take this day was Charleston. They had arrived off the city's coast on the fourth of June, and reconnaissance had declared the city undefended and, therefore, easily taken. 

When troops landed on the island north of the rebel-controlled fort, Scotland sighed, realizing that the reconnaissance reports had been painfully wrong. The troops landed on the seventh of June, and they still had yet to move any further South down the island, stopped by the rebels. 

So, they decided to force an entrance by bombarding the fort and the rebel position. It seemed like a reasonable solution to their problem, but the rebels managed to surprise them once again. Although Scotland’s force must have had many more guns than their fort, they did not give in and instead damaged a great many ships.

Especially the flagship, the ship that Scotland and Commodore Peter Parker were on. They seemed to be targeting it, most likely in an attempt to drive off their force.

It was working. Commodore Parker had been injured.

Despite not being able to neutralize the rebel fort, three ships still attempted to force their way into the harbor, all three running around. Luckily, they had been able to save two of the ships, but one remained stuck.

Scotland knew Britain would not be happy about this, and Scotland shuddered to learn which colony would bear the scars of his anger. It made him wish for much more that they had managed to take the fort.

But when night fell, Charleston remained in rebel hands, and the British officers decided to abort the attempt to take it and make their way to New York, where Britain’s force was gathering.

Looking back over the darkened harbor, Scotland could taste the change on the horizon. He didn’t think Thirteen Colonies would win, but he had just changed his life forever.

Scotland only hoped he could convince Britain to temper his rage when they found Thirteen Colonies again.

If not, Scotland feared he would kill the poor boy for doing the mission that God had given him. Thirteen Colonies was supposed to follow Britain, yes, but before that, he was supposed to follow his people.

Scotland hoped he could remind Britain of that.

• ───────────────── •

2 July 1776

My dearest father, 

I know I have angered you, and I know your anger is justified, but I beg of you, please read this letter in full before you destroy it. Allow me a chance to plead my case to you and, in turn, plead my case to the Lord himself. Please allow me the opportunity to explain, from my point of view, how we have gotten to this point.

I am sure by the time you get this letter; you will be aware of the fact that I am now a country. Whether you felt the gentle ropes of our bond snap as I did earlier today or you found out through the declaration my people have written, I know you are aware of my independence. 

I did not want it to come to this point. Father, I begged and pleaded with you to listen, and you rebuffed my people and I time and time again. I tried so hard to reconcile with you, to build back the shaky bond. I never wanted to hurt you in this way. 

I know I have wronged you. I know I have wronged Uncle England as well. He hurt me back during the Boston Massacre six long years ago, but that gave me no right to hurt him back. I was angry, and I was not thinking straight. I have pleaded with God many a time to forgive me for that sin, and I beg for your forgiveness and for Uncle England’s forgiveness. Whatever the cost of the physician was, I will pay it as best I can. It is the least I can do to start off our diplomatic relations in a better light.

While I beg for your forgiveness, I cannot take back my independence. My people have declared it and voted for it, and there is no turning back for them and, therefore, no turning back for me. I will stand by them as you stand by yours. I regret that Providence has put us on these paths, but I hope that one day, that can lead to us standing side by side once more.

I am sorry for all the pain I have caused you. 

Your son, 

Edward Henry Fitzroy

United States of America

• ───────────────── •

2 July 1776

My dear uncle, 

I know you are not eager to hear from me, so I will keep this as short as possible. 

I am sorry for the misery that I caused you. I know you were just doing your job and trying to look after me. I know that you did not mean to shoot me. Your concern and care in the days were proof enough of that. I let my anger blind me, and that was the flaw that led to me hurting you.

I am so sorry. I will pay for whatever treatments are required to heal it, and if you have already made payments, I will pay you back. I never meant to cause you so much pain in an effort to be heard. 

I beg for your forgiveness.

Edward Henry Fitzroy

United States of America

• ───────────────── •

2 July 1776

Uncle Scotland,

I thank you for all that you have done for me. I thank you for your kindness and everything you did to help raise me. I have heard a rumor that you are in the Carolinas, so I’m sure by the time you receive this letter, you will have long since heard of my independence. 

I do not regret it. I refuse to. For there is no turning back from where I am, so I must accept things as they come, however much I do not want to. 

I wish we could have talked more before things came to this point. If I had known that this was going to be the conclusion of it all, I would have pushed you all away less and enjoyed the last years I would have had as a proper member of your family. 

I am sorry I did not give you that.

I beg of you now, dear uncle, please return to your own nation. Please go home and let me live in peace now. I do not want to lose the familial relationship I have with you, but war has a way of destroying the most precious of things.

I love you so much, Uncle Alba. Please do not make me fight you. I do not want to.

Edward Henry Fitzroy

United States of America

• ───────────────── •

2 July 1776

My dear Uncle Wales,

You and I have a shared common experience now, in hurting Uncle England and regretting it, knowing that that action will haunt you for years to come. I ask for your counsel on how to deal with the grief and pain that comes from that action. I am afraid that I will never stop being haunted by the memory of that. 

I do not know if you have been sent to my country at this point or if you are caring for Uncle England. I find myself at a loss of what to say to you, how to express the confusion and the fear and the exhilaration that floods through my body at this new crossroads I find myself in.

I wonder what you have been up to in the many years since I have been gone. I miss you dearly. I miss you all. Make sure that everyone, from my uncles to my father to my siblings, to my cousins, and nephews and nieces, make sure that all know that my independence does not mean I love them any less.

I do not love you any less. Thank you for all you have taught me.

Edward Henry Fitzroy

United States of America

• ───────────────── •

2 July 1776

Quebec,

My dear brother, it is not too late to join us. I know we have just declared independence and that there are soldiers in your land, but it is not too late to send delegates to Congress and secure your own freedom.

You have no idea how freeing nationhood is, the chains weighting you down that it lifts. It is freedom and strength, the likes of which you have never felt before. It is a glorious feeling, one that you deserve to feel as well.  

I eagerly await your answer and hope to have you by my side in the trials to come for my—perhaps our, newly independent country.

With much love for you and your people, 

United States of America

• ───────────────── •

2 July 1776

Dearest cousin,

Nova Scotia, I feel that you and I have drifted apart throughout the years. I do not know all the causes, although I’m sure you and I can both trace part of it back to the troubles that have plagued my relationship with Father. I feel as if I am losing much in this attempt at freedom. 

Of course, I have regrets that haunt me, but I am determined not to regret this. I know that perhaps it would have been better for me to have just kept my head down, do what I do best, and obeyed my father, but my people could not stand for what was happening, and in the end, neither could I.

I want you and little John to join me, but I will not plead for you to do so in this letter. I know you love your father, and I respect Uncle Scotland too much to try to tempt his daughter and grandson away from him. I just want you to know that my home will always be open to you both.

Lastly, dear Elizabeth, I ask you, while I know my father is not home, please, any of my belongings that you can find, please take them back to your home in your land so I may one day retrieve them. I love my father, but I believe in his anger that he will not consider the consequences of destroying such things. And I want something to remember you all by if I truly am disowned after this.

With love and respect,

Edward

P.S. Tell John I love him. And I am going to change my human name soon. Do you have any suggestions for me?

• ───────────────── •

2 de julio de 1776

Querido East Florida,

I wish you joined me, I really do. You are such a good friend and an incredible person, and I am sorry to have left you the way that I did. I hope that it did not result in any punishment befalling you. I hope, not being a sibling of mine, that Father spared you his anger. If he didn’t, you have my sincerest apologies.

I wish to see you again someday. I will not encourage you to disobey my father, but in the future, when things die down between my father and I, I hope that we can meet again.

You are a good friend and a great father. Give West Florida my love, and know that you are welcome in my home and in my country. Should you and your daughter want to join my nation, you are always welcome, too.

Con todo mi cariño,

United States of America

• ───────────────── •

2 July 1776

My dear Aunt Jersey,

I don’t think I can explain all the ways you have helped me in my life. I can never repay all the injuries you patched, the wounds you healed, the stories you told, and the comfort you brought. I am so so sorry about what I did to Uncle England. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t want to.

Please do not hate me for it. I will accept it if that is your judgment, but I do not want to be hated by you. You mean more to me than you will ever know.

You have always been good to me, and I regret betraying your trust like this, but if I am ever to be happy in life, then this is the action that I must take. I am so sorry for all the pain I have caused. 

With love, 

Edward

• ───────────────── •

2 July 1776

Dearest Aunt Guernsey,

I am so sorry for the pain I know I have caused Aunt Jersey and for the wounds I inflicted on Uncle England. Please forgive me. I do care deeply for them, even if I have not been very good at showing that these past few years. 

Please forgive me.

Edward Henry Fitzroy

United States of America

• ───────────────── •

July 4, 1776

Two days ago, Congress voted for United Col—for the United States of America to become independent.

Two days ago, United States stopped being a colony and became a country.

The feeling of becoming a country was indescribable. It was power and strength and feeling heavy, invisible chains being lifted from his soul. The colonies within him were all celebrating and laughing, and United States felt at peace, felt whole, felt so many wonderful sensations and feelings that he was sure it would take him weeks to come down from the high.

While independence had been voted on two days ago, today was the day that they were signing the Declaration of Independence, the official declaration that would be sent to Britain and his people for them to read and know why it had come to this, why the loyal done of their empire had been pushed to this point.

United States had written a letter of his own. It was his way of getting closure with his father, of trying to apologize for how it had come to this and for all the harm he had done to them leading up to this, and of pleading with them to leave New York, leave his country, return to their own country, and let him live peacefully. 

It was a foolish hope, but he wanted to try it anyway. It was better to try and fail than never try at all.

“Maybe we can at least make peace with Grandfather on a personal level, if not political,” Virginia murmured. United States nodded minutely, agreeing with his eldest daughter.

“I think he will take this as a great insult and not want to rekindle any personal relations. We still don’t even know his reaction to what Massy did to Uncle England,” Maryland said, worry in her voice. United States wished he wasn’t in Congress right now so he could reassure his daughter, but in order to maintain the illusion of sanity, he would have to stay silent.

United States watched with a broad grin as his people, his (very temporary and extralegal) government, walked up one by one to sign his Declaration of Independence. With each signature, it almost felt like he was getting stronger, although that was surely a sensation made up by his over-excited mind.

Finally, when the last man was done, United States stood to walk to the center of the room.

“I am signing as well. It’s a way to guarantee that the people and government of the British Empire know that this Congress and this declaration have my full backing,” United Colonies said, smiling as he took the pen from John Hancock.

With a flourish, United States sighed and signed the document with his new name, a name free of the chains on his soul. He smiled, wishing his children could be beside him to sign their own names.

Then, pausing, United States signed the declaration again, this time with his human name that had been crafted for him by his father.

“Who is Edward?” John Hancock asked. 

“It was my human name, the one my father gave me. I think signing with both is the best way to signal to my father that all parts of me want this. The country side made up of everyone within my lands and the human side, myself, and my thoughts. We all want this. This is to show my father how much.” 

He only hoped that his father would back down now that forcing him into line was impossible.

“War is inevitable,” Connecticut said. 

United States knew that. He just wanted to cling to the hope of peace for as long as possible.

[glowie-chan]

Setting lore: "Gas, Nukes and Worse" is my OC semi hard scifi setting. In the future where faster than light travel doesn't exist interstellar empires are stuck in a constant cold war since they all possess planet killing weapons. The planet of Vini rebelled against the Liovan Commonwealth 39 years ago and now the small enclave of loyalists is being relieved by an unexpected relief fleet. Warfare in this world is dominated by highly mobile stealthy infantry as anything bigger and slower than that gets vaporized by artillery, planes and drones. You can find even more lore in my previous post.

The two main characters of the series are named Gwen (right) and Xenia (left). Gwen is a veteran in the "Liovian Shit Rats" with almost a decade of combat experience and severe mental health problems resulting from being in combat for her entire adult life. Xenia on the other hand is a fresh recruit that came to Vini with the liovian relief fleet and was assigned to gwens unit as reinforcement.

Yes this is very much yuri

[vox-anglosphere]

Badge of the Hastings & Prince Edward Regiment in Eastern Ontario

Prince Edward County was named after Queen Victoria's father. The United Empire Loyalists (UEL) after fleeing the American Revolution, preserved as many royal place names in Upper Canada as possible.

[clove-pinks]

British troops attacking Maryland in 1814 (Star Spangled Banner National Historic Trail)

Both sides regarded the [War of 1812] as a second act in a drama launched by the American Revolution. During the new war, some British officers called the Americans “rebels,” as if they had not truly won their independence and the revolution was not yet lost to the empire. Because of the cultural overlap between Americans and Britons, similar people fought on both sides. British immigrants lived throughout the United States, and British forces included many sons of the Loyalist refugees from the revolution. “It is quite shocking to have men who speak our own language brought in wounded; one feels as if they were English peasants, and that we are killing our own people,” declared one British officer posted in the Chesapeake. He added, “There are numbers of officers, of the navy in particular, whose families are American, and their fathers in one or two instances are absolutely living in the very towns we are trying to burn.”

— Alan Taylor, The Internal Enemy: Slavery and War in Virginia, 1772-1832

The theme of feeling uncomfortable about attacking culturally similiar Americans—and their ships crewed by mostly British sailors—is a recurring one in British memoirs of the War of 1812. But it wasn't much of a deterrent to Admiral Sir George Cockburn, who repeatedly pillaged the Chesapeake region (before and after setting the White House on fire).

This 1813 print shows Admiral Cockburn and his entourage of sailors and Royal Marines burning and plundering Havre de Grace, Maryland (Brown University collection). For a partisan depiction of events no great atrocities are depicted, but we do get... REDCOATS ROBBING A CRADLE.

Those dastardly Brits! No baby cradle is safe! Alternate versions of this print go for an even more comic approach:

[immaculatasknight]

Country of Iagos

[skylarstark4826]

She looks ravishing in her evening gown. Hux had tailored it himself, Rey is a brilliant strategist but certainly not a woman who knows a lick about fashion. Her outfit is a testament to the opulence favored by the upper echelon of first-order supporters. The dress features lace and silk in obsidian shades of excess. Rey’s tastefully cut neckline draws attention to the pendant that dangles between her breasts, an imperial crest designed to appeal to ancient attendees nostalgic for the Empire of their youth. The practice of sewing extra weapons into his garments was something of a staple to Hux’s early military career. He’s continued his tradition in Rey’s gown with a slit, neatly obscured by her sash, large enough to conceal an unlit saber. 

One can never be too careful.

Rey applies her makeup with a handheld mirror in the sitting room of their shared quarters. Hux watches from a nearby settee. He remembers her face during her interrogation aboard the Finalizer, tanned from her childhood on Jakku. 

Filthy. Furious. Living aboard the Prentioch has sucked the sun out of her, but not the passion. 

 No dress could make him forget the muscle hidden underneath. The lipstick she’s applying, a deep shock of red against her skin is made from a rare Corellian pomegranate. Hux wonders if he’ll get the opportunity to taste it tonight. He certainly hopes so.

“Are you nervous?” Rey perches on the armrest closest to him. 

“No.” He smirks, smoothing a crease in her skirt. “This coronation is only a formality.” 

“Because your regime now has the support of this system’s common people, in addition to the original First Order loyalists who invited you here, I'm inclined to agree.” 

“ My regime?” Hux parrots, a hint of humor in his tone. 

“More or less.” She smiles softly. 

They both know it is decidedly less. Rey had released him from his confinement at the rebellion's headquarters as a ploy to domesticate the remaining first order factions. It was more than a tad depressing, how simple it had been. This sect was a shell of the First Order he’d helped build. The members were mainly second-generation officers, brought up revering the order's goal to unite the galaxy, though not necessarily the ideology behind it. Hux was a symbol to them, a leader unmarred by the disaster on Exogel. His betrayal is public knowledge but they’ve used their hatred of Kylo Ren, widely seen as the cause of the Order’s destruction, to rationalize it.

 Hux will be the one to sit on the throne. But tonight is the scavenger’s moment of triumph. 

He can’t bring himself to resent her for it. 

“Get dressed General.” She tells him flicking a hand toward his clothes. He unties his robe and lets it settle at his feet. He can feel her eyes lingering on his form as he buttons his shirt. They watch each other, a delicate dance that commenced with his first step out of that filthy cell on Ajan Kloss. Hux hadn't been able to stop himself from marveling at the stars. He’d let his composure slip long enough for her to study his face unguarded. He suspects she’s been trying to find another opportunity ever since. 

“You’ll have to find something else to call me something else after tonight.” He raises an eyebrow. “May I suggest my name?” 

“Feisty tonight aren’t you Armitage?” Rey teases. She sidles up alongside him with his greatcoat. There’s a silver brooch attached to his collar, the Jedi Order’s insignia. This was Rey’s doing, a subtle reminder of the First Orders shifting policy towards force users. An adjustment is necessary when the new supreme leader's consort calls herself a Skywalker. 

Their marriage ceremony is to be broadcast across the galaxy two weeks from now. Visual evidence of a merging of the representatives from two sides in what had seemed like a war without end. A comfortable life as the puppet of an intelligent woman is more than he should have hoped for. 

Rey is not a cruel mistress.

“How real will this marriage be?” Hux had asked her over a meal of honey cake and fine wine a few nights ago. 

“How real do you want it to be General?” She’d retorted calm as anything. He’d dropped the subject then. Her words had frightened him because he couldn’t really give an answer. They had finished their food and retired. And as always the pair slept in the same bed. Only a few inches apart. 

“Shall we be off my dear?” He asks now. 

“We shall.” She grins hungrily.

His coronation is held in a replica of the Throne Room where Snoke held court, what seems like eons ago. The light comes from free-floating lanterns overhead which bathe the faces of his supporters in a soft red glow as he gives a fiery speech intentionally reminiscent of his address before the destruction of the new republic. There’s a collective gasp when he is crowned, the mark of a genuine and sorely misplaced adoration. 

At the reception, he steers her with a hand on her shoulder between groups of attendees. He steps into the role of an authoritative leader effortlessly. Rey charms admirals and newcomers and alike with lively conversation and leading questions. Sequestered in the shadows or stealing furtive glances from the buffet tables are envoys and reporters from outside the system, come to gauge the power of this new government. Exactly as Rey had hoped. They will go back to their planets and ships, gossiping about  Hux and his Jedi bride-to-be. One woman captures holo footage as they sway in the center of the dance floor, her lips pressed against his neck. 

“That will make headlines.” She whispers into his ear as the music swells. 

The revelry lasts far into the night, their surrounding company becoming more unhinged the more they take advantage of the open bar. They are escorted back to their quarters by a squadron of helmetless stormtroopers, another of Rey’s many reforms. He expects her to fling herself into bed fully dressed, she has the infuriating habit of going to bed with her makeup on. Instead, Rey lingers in the hallway making small talk with the handsome trooper captain about recent working conditions and his personal opinion on cloning. Hux uses the fresher while he waits, something his captivity taught him never to take for granted. He is drinking a glass of whiskey when she enters. 

“Give me that.” She demands, her tone sharp. Strong drink is another habit of his adolescence. One Rey is intent on breaking. 

“You kept me waiting.” 

“Not an excuse.” Rey snatches the glass from him and sends it flying across the room and into the kitchen sink. “Stand up.” 

“Are you in a mood?” He pulls himself to his feet. “I thought tonight went well.” 

“Kiss me, Armitage.” 

“If you insist.” 

He moves in tentatively one hand on the smalls of her back and the other cupping her face. They’ve kissed twice before, chastely and entirely for show. This is different. Her lips are soft underneath his, bitter from the pomegranate. She pulls herself against him moaning softly as he pushes his tongue inside her mouth. Rey stays still after she pulls away, her head against his chest. 

“Thank goodness.” She mumbles. 

“Hm?” Hux wonders, wiping her lipstick off his mouth with the back of a hand.

“I’ve spent the past few days worrying about the prospect of an empty marriage.” She laughs. “My mind is at ease now. You’re clearly attracted to me.” 

“And you to me.” Hux doesn’t phrase it as a question but she seems to know he would like her to respond as if it is one. 

“Yes. Though I try to avoid thinking about why .” 

“Clever girl.” He strokes her hair. 

“You didn’t answer the other night.” Rey huffs. “When I asked you what you wanted from a marriage.” 

“I didn’t know how.” He admits. “We find ourselves in a peculiar situation.”

“We’ve led peculiar lives.” She reminds him. 

Hux never had trouble sleeping. Still. He’s kept up that night picturing where a real romance with Rey could lead. None of these pictures predict a happy ending. There are no inches between them now. Rey is still against his chest. 

But she’s just as awake as he is. 

[tikhanovlibrary]

https://archive.org/details/3141592653

Full pdf of Alexis de Tocqueville's writings on Algeria, as well as W. Stewart Wallace's essay The United Empire Loyalists.

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