#brassandblue

[wantsusdead]

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[admiraltyspride]

@brassandblue for... that timeline

Long years passed what would have been his natural life, Nelson had enjoyed the ambition, drive, ingenuity and cunningness of his friend, he had loved seeing him prosper and get stronger. For a long time he had believed that it was what Arthur deserved, that he was simply suited to such a progression and he had gone out of his way to support him with either counsel or his canons. Nelson too had enjoyed some of the benefits of that growth, all too happy to share in the riches, the bloated crewmen and ships at his disposal along with the ever expanding number of naval bases. 

That was of course until he had gone ashore and seen for himself the true source of all that splendour, the human cost to his friend’s rapid rise to power. There were people starving in the streets, thousands of them, men, women and children. Most too weak to even bother begging for money or a morsel of food. Then there were those being punished in brutal and public ways. He had never liked seeing the lash come out but it was the first time in his life where Nelson had felt his stomach turn and the Admiral was quite physically sick from the disgrace he was witnessing in what was supposed to be the crown jewel to the Empire. 

It had taken a little while but Nelson’s heart was too soft to see such unnecessary suffering. He had started at first in handing out money only to see that his country men would steal it right from the hands of the desperate in ‘tax’. So he had purchased food under the name of the admiralty and handed out what he could but it was never enough, there were always more coming, needing more. So his methods had turned more extreme, loosening the bolts on cartwheels so they would end up stuck with their load of food once off his ships, left to a rush of the hungry, ‘dropping’ crates of preserved foods onto the docks, leaving fish barrels unattended and feigning shock when they were emptied the next day. It had been the last act that had him caught, seen unlocking and leaving the doors of a storehouse of food and goods waiting for transport to a port. Which had landed him before his friend. 

He stood with his hand behind him, his back straight, sleeve pinned to his chest but his hat off out of respect for Arthur. His friend had changed too in all that time, more determined, colder, bolder and indeed stronger. “I am not about to come up with an excuse,” he began confidently, not letting his gaze drift from Arthur. “I left it unlocked on purpose because I simply had to.”

[honorhearted]

Arthur has requested an audience with Major Tallmadge. It is the day before Christmas Eve. (More men have volunteered for guard duty as of late. It is possible the reason for this is that Arthur has been knitting and stitching together stockings for his rotating sentries. It is possible no one has actually told the Major though, for fear that Arthur's (Anna-bestowed) sewing supplies will be confiscated.)

@brassandblue

Benjamin had never liked snow. It was cold, biting, miserable, and almost always brought about d.eath and contagion to many an unfortunate v.ictim. Now with the w.ar as a backdrop, and a general lack of provisions, it had also tacked on the very real fear of frostbite and churchyard cough. Any time he heard someone give that dry, rattling wheeze, Benjamin could sense their own mortality nipping at their heels.

D.eath was all around them.

And yet, in spite of that ever-present terror, the worst thing to endure was assuredly the slowness of December. Winter was a time of waiting. The men were granted a small reprieve from battle due to the extreme cold, but Benjamin found it to be a time of madness. There was no joy in being left alone with his thoughts – of spending more and more time locked up inside his own head.

Perhaps this was why Arthur had requested a moment of his time. Like it or not, the man did seem unnervingly in tune with Benjamin's moods, and he wouldn't deny that he needed a moment beyond his tent. It was rather lonesome on top of the unnerving quiet; many soldiers’ contracts had expired. This was a common occurrence – most had to be renewed every one to three years – and yet Benjamin was loyal to a fault. He intended to see this fight through to the bitter end.

"Lieutenant?" Cautious, he found the man huddled up in his quarters, his back presently facing him while he sat by the fire. Arching a brow -- what was he doing? -- Benjamin cleared his throat and added, "I apologize if I kept you waiting. I've been..." wallowing; yearning for home; opting for self-pity. "Er...I've been busy."

Moving over to stand alongside Arthur, he blinked down at the lieutenant's handiwork. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Have I been invited to a sewing circle?"

Despite the quip, he was genuinely awed by the man's progress. He didn't think he'd seen so many stockings in all his life.

[multipleoccupancy]

@brassandblue for TRM

There was an element to Moriarty that many would be wise to either never mention or overlook. The man for all of his grand and impressive capabilities had a certain penchant for the sensitivities and rules of what others would consider 'folklore'. Ever the opportunist and certainly one brave enough to take that step, Moriarty had for the past year been working on expanding the rail network in Europe for his own gains, but not without first informing and consulting with a particularly smoky and dangerous entity.

Respectfully the Professor had waited alone for his company to arrive, of course opting for the entrance of a rail tunnel, convenience for his business partner and in the relative if false security of the moonlight for himself. This was an informal meet up as far as Moriarty was concerned, while he would wisely grant the other the respect he naturally commanded, Moriarty himself was not worried. He knew he had done well recently with plenty of new lines between his factories and more than a few 'accidents' in their construction that would surely satisfy any unspoken quotas of blood between them. This was a very prosperous business for the pair of them, he was certain.

Wise enough not to turn his back to the tracks but still mindful not to look directly into the tunnel to allow his accomplice the privacy of his mysterious arrival. Moriarty stood side on to to tunnel, facing the tracks and a good six feet away from the rail. This time he waited excitedly with a roll of paper under his arm, plans to expand ever further, stretching the reach of both of them into the East and all the potential that brought with it.

[paralianprince]

@brassandblue continued from here !

[txt: idk some guy]: ok well the answer is O B V I OUS LY yes

[txt: idk some guy]: more important is my question. how awkward & awful would it be, hypthetically, for u to witness me openly weep. just wondring. asking for no reason

[imprvdente]

@brassandblue​ . 𝐒𝐄𝐌�� 𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑

Fish avoided doctors like the plague. It was a bad habit for someone as dangerously reckless as her, but it was a necessary one too, learned after years spent hiding her true identity. And now that she was in the middle of this icy hell, stuck, she particularly disliked the possibility of a doctor figuring out that she had been lying. And the fact that Goodsir was a surgeon didn’t make it any better! Doctors, surgeons, the problem was the same! What if he asked her to lift up her shirt? How would she explain then, the bandages all over her torso?

And yet here she was, sitting down and nervously biting down her nails. She looked like a trapped animal more than a willing patient, but after a bad fall earlier that day, she had been forced there by some of the other mates.

“I’m sure it’s nothin’ sir,” she still muttered in the hope that it would speed up this whole process, “doesn’t even hurt that much.” A bold lie, but she’d rather be in pain than discovered!

[tatteredxsails]

[musclesandspells]

Closed starter for @brassandblue : Silna : Goodsir

Sometimes, she still struggled to look at his hands. It was too easy for her to remember what they looked like, covered in her father's blood. She had not understood anything he was saying to her at the time, but she had recognized the strain in his voice. The compassion. He tried, to help. Others around him only stood and watched, oblivious to what they were doing as her father died within the confines of their ship.

Ship. She knew that word now, knew what to call the hulking thing in their own language. She didn't have a word for it in her own. It was different than an oomiak, even larger. Made to hold many more people. Made out of an entire forest and twisted metal dug up from the earth. A ship couldn't be taken apart and carried over the land.

Maybe it was their attachment to their ship that kept them there, stuck in the ice and waiting eventuality. If they could take it with them, pull it apart in its individual pieces... maybe they would be more inclined to leave this place. But it wasn't just the ship. It was everything inside of it.

She breathed out through her nose and turned her mind back to Goodsir, looking up into his face instead of at his hands and the drawings on paper that he was trying to show her. Her eyes searched his face, watching him speak.

[tooxldtorememxer]

( @brassandblue continued from here )

“I’m sorry what?” did he hear that right? His eyes narrowed slightly and like a wild beast jumping its prey, he darted across the room and jumped onto the couch next to him, almost on top of him as he basically sat in a squat and leaned over him. “Say that again?” he didn’t have to because he was pretty sure what he’d just heard was the most ridiculous thing in history. “Collins!?” he more or less yelled. There was no one there except them so no one would hear him or his laugh that erupted after. It wasn’t menacing or taunting, but it was funny to him. At least he had finally admitted to it. This was the time to celebrate and devise a plan of action to get these two dumb dumbs together because fuck it was painful to watch sometimes.

“Well,” he said once he’d stopped laughing and tipped back a little so he was actually sitting on the couch and wrapped his arms around his legs instead. “Have you... You know… Asked him what his type is?” he prompted. “Perhaps he is into curly-haired little twinks,” he grinned and reached out to ruffle his hair. No amount of hair gel in the world would stop him from doing so.

“So what are you gonna do?” he asked and propped his chin on his knees, looking at him curiously. “If you say nothing - Harry, I swear to God I will lick two of your forks and put them back in the drawer,” it wouldn’t hurt for him to get to know if Collins was interested or not, right? That way he would know if he was wasting his time and avoided getting hurt.

[elleprotegera]

“Think you can outrun the world?” / Blanky @ Amicia, Terror!verse

You think you can run? You think you can hide?

It was a threat. Or, had been. Spat again and again from the lips of jeering men who were wolves stalking rabbits. It had been uttered in anger, in mockery, in murderous intent. It had been shouted by predators infuriated that their prey would flee. Always by men already satisfied that they would have blood in the end.

It was also something she'd been asking herself for months.

When will it end? Does it end? When you can't take another step, what then? Is all of this for nothing?

She'd fought it for so long, snapping retorts (I can, I will, I must) quickly, desperately, no time to dwell. There was never time, and she'd dared not meet the true answer's eye; it remained an obscure figure in the shadows, churning in the dark like the Horde, waiting to devour.

So Amicia bristled at the question, tongue sharp in her mouth. Instinct screamed to run yet again, to take the sleeping child on her lap and go, even if it meant braving the endless ice.

But this man was different. Is he? He had been...kind. Had offered protection, made Hugo laugh.

Trust was a starved, beaten dog creeping toward an outstretched hand, wanting yet coiled to bolt or bite if that hand should be raised.

She stared back at the man, searching his face and finding no malice there. Still, she clutched Hugo that much closer. Embers of caution burned. They hardened her voice, but she heard a tremor in it and would have cursed the weakness if her brother was awake to hear.

"I will do whatever I have to, for Hugo's sake," she said, but the last was a murmur, "Maybe if the world would let us be, we wouldn't need to outrun it.

[wantsusdead]

starter for @brassandblue

The captain inhaled as he reached the top of the staircase; the worn hardwood step creaking under his weight, preparing to face the ice cold of the main deck. Swinging open the hatch door, he stepped out into the open, feeling his breathing hitch as the freezing air hit his lungs. No matter how many times he experienced it, it always took his breath away; he only got better at hiding it. His exhaled breaths turned instantly into a cloud around his head as though he was smoking a cigarette. As cold as it was below deck, even in his own cabin, it was nothing compared to the outside chill.

He glanced around at the hands on deck, the men working faster as soon as they caught a glimpse of their captain. He nodded to them as they moved about the deck, and walked towards the bow, looking towards his vessel's sister ship several hundred yards away. The sun was low in the sky and he knew it wouldn't be long before they had no sun at all. One hundred days of darkness.

[admiraltyspride]

@brassandblue continued from x 

Mirthfully and with a grin, Thomas spoke to Nelson through a crack in the door:

“All clear, Sir,” he told him, knowing Francis had safely retreated and simply needed some time to brood and reset himself.

He had always found Thomas to be the more agreeable of the two and hearing the mirthful grin coming through with his confirmation, Nelson opened the door and peered out playfully. 

“I was beginning to wonder if I should climb out the window,” he never meant to push the patience of his other host but it happened enough that he also tended to retreat somewhere else when it did. “Sorry, Thomas.” he was sure to say.

[honorhearted]

@brassandblue | continued from (x)

The flames from their shared campfire flickered and danced across Ben’s features, though he didn’t dare mirror Goodsir’s warm smile. The man was absurdly kind -- God, how had war made him kind, Ben wondered? In a world full of pain and adversity and brutality and ugliness, he couldn’t quite fathom it; not when he, himself, struggled to find a modicum of compassion in the channels of his heart. If the other side were to beg on behalf of their friends and family, Ben would be quick to remind them that his own men suffered precisely the same. 

No one was special in war. No one was absolved, and though he assuredly felt pity and guilt, he was always quick to tamp down such emotions, lest he be swallowed whole and drown.

Realizing that the man was undoubtedly awaiting an answer, Ben slowly set aside his wooden bowl and squared his jaw, his eyes remaining on the flames as he said, “With all due respect, sir, how do you know leaving me to die would ‘serve nothing?’ Perhaps it was God’s great purpose for me to breathe my last, just as it was Joseph Schurr’s, Jacob Timmons’ and Charles O’Hara’s last week.” His gaze hardened as he recited three of the names of men -- nay, boys -- he’d been forced to bury in nameless, shallow graves. Although he, himself did not dig them, their faces were forever entrenched within his soul, much as if he had been the one to take a shovel to the earth.

With a bitter smile, Ben finally allowed himself a hint of eye contact. “I’m afraid my objective is far more selfish than yours, sir. I no longer fight for everyone, nor the freedom of mankind -- no, I fight for the voiceless...for my friends, my father, my...” brother. My best friend. Both of whom were treated like dogs by your so-called side of compassion.

But rather than speak such vitriol aloud, Ben offered, “I truly hope you can maintain your heart, Goodsir, because the test of war is the most trying of them all. To some, I daresay I’m unrecognizable...and maybe that’s for the best. I see now how frivolous my past concerns once were.”

[multipleoccupancy]

@brassandblue continued from X 

“Indeed,” Arthur replied, his eyes and thoughts drifted toward some unseen distance. Despite his apparent youth, his eyes and furrowed brow spoke of a far greater age; the sort of look only someone who has lived long years can have.

“Perhaps this whole war might have been avoided if governance were given more thought over self-interest. Speaking in the hypothetical of course, Sir,” Arthur added with a glance toward the kind Major.

Arthur liked the man already. He was quiet and stoic and hospitable and there was a sincerity to his patriotism of Britannia that Arthur found both quaint and refreshing.

He was, for a time, to await orders in Setauket before continuing on to the continental interior. It was a cozy little town, a little too buttoned up for Arthur’s liking but he passed the blame for that onto the all too frequent Puritannical influence one might find in these particular British colonies. It all left him restless though, and wishing he had not volunteered to find his American counterpart—he wanted to be in a ship, not stuck there on land. It all made him feel dreadfully useless!

Edmund spent a moment considering Arthur’s words, by his brief meeting with him he had decided that the man was intelligent beyond his years and that their conversation could venture into philosophy or the less obvious but so much more important aspects of the war. He had of course not wanted to be there either, needs must though. 

He ran his fingers over the soft feathers of his quill while he thought, taking great care not to dot his uniform nor fingers with any residue ink as he stole a quick glance to where Arthur had cast his gaze off to, no, nothing he could see, just deep thought and maybe some melancholy over the war dragging its heels or maybe something more personal. 

“Since we are speaking hypothetically, were opportunity to arise are men more likely to act selfishly or thoughtfully? If a man seeks power it is not always likely that he does so with the intention of anything but personal gain.” He said quite thoughtfully, his lips pursing slightly as he considered if he should continue, oh, but he did so enjoy having the chance to speak some sense in such a war. “There are of course exceptions, but then forcing a man into power will make him unhappy and would an unhappy man do a better job at governance than one who aimed and landed in a position he wanted?” 

He knew he had enough headaches in his garrison alone, let alone trying to keep the innocent of Setaucket safe from the Continental Army, he could not imagine the pressure of a higher rank and all that came with it. How some lusted over such things he would never understand. 

[herstoriies]

@brassandblue

Red’s 1.3K FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION @waltzingtostars requested: Henry Goodsir from The Terror (2018)

[imprvdente]

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐘 & 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇: @brassandblue​ from:  " nodding off... "

"Look alive, Mr. Monet!" Thomas barked sharply at the young sailor who appeared to be nodding off; though his eyes glitered mirthfully and he was barely holding back a grin.

Thing was, Fish (as Thomas heard the young lad be called) wasn't actually on duty, and the old Icemaster knew it. But rather than simply play a little bit of a joke, the intention was to help the men stay aware of their environs at all times. It was a lifesaving habit, that. He wanted these boys--his boys--to stay alive and well, and it helped if they didn’t make a habit of snoozing anywhere but their hammocks.

Fish jolted wide awake, embarrassed that she had even fallen asleep in the first place. She had developed the strange ability to sleep everywhere, while simultaneously waking up at the slightest sound. A habit born out of survival, really. But Blanky’s bark was far from subtle, and she had been startled out of her slumber. 

“Oh, erhm-... ’Am real sorry, Mr. Blanky. Don’t know what got into me.” But of course, she knew. She had been having many sleepless nights! No nightmares, but a dread that clung to her stomach. Brushing over her eyes with the back of her hand, she tried to regain some semblance of composure. “Won’t happen again.”