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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 3 months

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03/10/24 OFMD Recap

TLDR; Cast & Crew Sightings; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Rosie Carnahan Darby; London Billboards; Mascot Jeff's Birthday; Adopt Our Crew Saturday Sillies; Fan Spotlight; Reminders! Wee John Wonday; Watch Parties; Kudoboards; Companies doing good things!; Fundraisers! Love Notes; Daily Darby/Tonight's Taika

Okay luvs, finally catching up. I'd love to do a much bigger appreciate day post so everyone can see all the cool stuff people posted but I'd like to get some permissions first, so I'll try to do that tomorrow or sometime this week!

== Cast & Crew Sightings ==

== David Jenkins ==

David just sharing some soothing music for being parked. Src: Dj's Insta

= Rhys Darby =

Out with the fam! Rhys' Instagram Story

Rosie was kind enough to give us another shot tonight:

= Rosie Carnahan Darby =

So I'm not going to post the tweet Rosie was responding too because that twat of a human being can rot, but I would like to highlight Rosie and her badassery and constant standing up for everyone. Just a damn fine human being that one. If you want to see who and what it was in response to, please visit Rosie's Twitter Page, but CW: TERF

== London Billboards Meetups! ==

Tomorrow's the day folks! First set of Billboards are up tomorrow! SRC: Tumblr / Instagram

== Jeff's Birthday! ==

== Adopt Our Crew Saturday Sillies ==

Our lovely friends at @adoptourcrew had more Saturday Sillies for us yesterday during the appreciation event on Twitter! Just copying them over here so yall with no twitter can play :) If you do have access to twitter, please play and interact with AdoptOurCrew on Twitter! If you don't have access to Twitter, check out the puzzles here.

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Positive Content by LCWebsXOXO =

Our dear crew-mate LCWebsXOXO (you may have seen her around helping with @saveofmdcrewmates as well as all over tumblr/twitter) is starting up a youtube channel this week dedicated to positive content! Looking for something to boost your spirits? She's here to help. Feel free to check out her Tiktok and Youtube.

= Cast Cards =

More cards from @melvisik! This time two of my favorite ladies, Selenis Leyva and Kristen Johnston!

== Reminders! ==

= Wee John Wondays =

Just a reminder! Tomorrow (as far as we know at the normal time) Con O'Neil and Gypsy Taylor will be joining Kristian Nairn on Wee John Wonday! 10.30 pm GMT / 6:30pm ET / 2:30pm PT

= Watch Parties =

== Wrecked ==

There are sources being passed around. If access is an issue, DM @iamadequate1 on Twitter or Tumblr

Season 2 watch from March 11th to March 15th.

Season 3 watch from March 18th to March 22nd.

Times will be 10pm GMT / 5pm EST / 4pm CST / 2pm PST. Watch two episodes per day. Episodes are 21-22 minutes each. Use the following Saturday for the tags/watch if interested but not able to make this time.

Hashtags:

#WreckedPirates

#SaveOFMD

#RhysDarbyFaction

== Deutsche Nachrichten / German News ==

Twitter-Watch-Along von Our Flag Means Death:

Streamt Staffel 2 ab dem 15. März.

Samstag, 9.3. 17:00 Folgen 1 bis 3,

Dienstag, 12.3. 20:00 Folgen 4 & 5,

Mittwoch, 13.3. 20:00 Folgen 6 & 7,

Donnerstag 14.3. 20:00 Folgen 8 & 9,

Freitag, 15.3. 17:30 Folge 10

Und anschließend bingen wir zusammen Staffel 2!

Schaut und tweetet mit!

Hashtag:

OurFlagRTL

== Kudoboard Reminders! ==

= Taika =

Kudoboard Link

The board will stay up until March 12th, and we will share the link with him on March 13th. The Kudoboard is monitored prior to approval to prevent trolls from jumping in (so if you don't see your additions right away, that's why!)

== Cast & Crew Kudoboards ==

In addition-- thank you to @sharpenyersword on Twitter for setting up ALL THE KUDOBOARDS! Rhys' birthday kudoboard will close on the 20th, the rest will close on the 22nd. There are more! I missed some the first time! Sorry all!

Go send the cast and crew some love folks!

Rhys Darby's Birthday

David Jenkins

Nathan Foad

Con O'Neill

Ruibo Qian

Leslie F*cking Jones!

Matthew Maher

Vico Ortiz

Samson Kayo

Alex "Ass Tonight" Sherman!

David Fane

Kristian "Wee John Wednesdays" Nairn!

Samba "BTS and Baking King" Schutte!

Fellow OFMD Fan Crew!

== Companies Doing Good Things! ==

While not OFMD specific, it's been called out that there are some wonderful things happening in regards to moms of our trans and non-binary siblings. Penzey's Spices is creating a Mother's Day catalog featuring moms of trans and non-binary kids!

You can check out more info here if you're interested!

== Fundraisers ==

= Our Flag makes a Difference =

Getting so much closer to the goal for eSIMs and Sanity Products of Gaza Fundraiser! It's up to 71% funded! Great job everyone!

= Team Haven Belfast Update! =

Almost at 20%!

== Love Notes ==

Hey lovelies. We're coming up on another week. It's only been a few days since Chaos Dad made the announcement, but I gotta say, it feels almost like a month. I been feeling it pretty hard, and I know so many of you have been struggling. We're all working through things in our own way, and in our own time, slowly but surely.

You really should be proud of yourselves. Look at you. Look at everything you've done in just a few days, hell in a couple months. The amount of people you've sent love to. The amount of lives you made better with a kudos/heart, or a kind word, or a message. None of us, no matter how well we know each other, know how much each of us is going through, and yet you still, throughout it all, put more love into the world. The world is such a better place with you, and your art, and your words, and your kindness, and you should be so incredibly proud of yourself. I know I'm proud of you. I know we're all so very proud of you. And you know what else? You're doing so much better than you think you are. These days especially, everything feels so much worse. Crappy things, compacting on crappy things, and then they try to take our solace away from us. But you know what? You're treading water, even if it feels like you're drowning, and sooner or later, you'll be able to swim again. Don't give up lovelies. We're all still here with you, and we're all so proud of you, and we all love you. Keep on sharing that beautiful spark of yours, it's catching, and it's making the world a much more beautifully bright place.

I hope the beginning of your week is kind to you <3 Sweet Dreams and Pleasant Days.

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Just some goofy finger action and smiles from these two. Darby Courtesy of @ofmd-ann Taika Courtesy of @parttimesarah

#daily ofmd recaps #daily ofmd recap #ofmd daily recap #ofmd daily recaps #ofmd #our flag means death #rhys darby #taika waititi #adopt our crew #saturday sillies #save ofmd crew #london billboard #david jenkins #rosie carnahan darby #kudoboard #fundraisers

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kp777 · 9 months

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'The Guatemalan People Have Spoken': Anti-Corruption Advocate Bernardo Arévalo Wins Presidency

By Jake Johnson

Common Dreams

Aug. 21, 2023

"The force of this victory is going to make it clear that there is no place for the attempts to derail the electoral process," Arévalo said following his win.

In a blow to Guatemala's right-wing political establishment, former diplomat Bernardo Arévalo won the nation's presidential election on Sunday, pledging to fight corruption that has eroded the country's institutions and entrenched massive levels of inequality and poverty.

Voters chose Arévalo over former first lady Sandra Torres in a landslide, putting the anti-corruption advocate on track to become the most progressive Guatemalan leader since Jacobo Árbenz, who was ousted in a U.S.-sponsored coup in 1954.

As The Washington Postnoted, "Arévalo's father, Juan José, is widely known as a leader of the 'Guatemalan spring,' a period of democratic rule that began in 1944 when he was elected president." The ouster of Árbenz, Juan José's successor, marked the start of decades of brutal military rule bolstered by U.S. support.

The question now is whether Arévalo will be permitted to take office. Ahead of Sunday's contest, Guatemalan authorities barred several candidates from the ballot, including leftist Indigenous leader Thelma Cabrera.

During his victory speech late Sunday, Arévalo acknowledged possible efforts by Guatemala's political establishment to prevent him from assuming office.

"We know that there is a political persecution underway that is being carried out through the institutions and prosecutor's offices and judges that have been corruptly co-opted," Arévalo said, alluding to the nation's crackdowns on officials, journalists, and activists who have worked to combat graft.

"We want to think that the force of this victory is going to make it clear that there is no place for the attempts to derail the electoral process," said Arévalo. "The Guatemalan people have spoken forcefully."

Arévalo—who is set to be sworn in on January 14, 2024—stunned political observers when he came in second place in the first round of voting in late June. What followed offers a possible preview of coming efforts by political elites to block certification of Arévalo's win.

Rafael Curruchiche, a Guatemalan prosecutor who has himself been accused of corruption, pushed for the suspension of Arévalo's party following the first round of votes, claiming to have uncovered evidence that more than 5,000 signatures for the party's campaign were unlawfully obtained.

While Guatemala's Supreme Electoral Tribunal ultimately rejected Curruchiche's effort, citing laws preventing the suspension of political parties during the election process, the court's ruling could still be appealed to Guatemala's Constitutional Court.

Allan Nairn, an American investigative journalist who has covered Guatemala for decades, wrote before Sunday's election that in the case of an Arévalo victory, Guatemala's conservative elites "have made it clear that they will do what's needed to prevent" him from taking office.

"Merely winning the vote will not be enough; to take office he must first win big, and then many thousands will have to be ready to take to the streets if circumstances demand," Nairn added.

Our work is licensed under Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0). Feel free to republish and share widely.

#guatemala #Bernardo Arévalo #latin america #2023 guatemala elections

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baphometsss · 7 months

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okay so that was A Lot. thoughts

i am obsessed with everything about this crew and i would like to join

my love for izzy continues to grow exponentially and i would like to know why he doesn't have a partner who loves him unconditionally the way he deserves

also your voice sir ?? hello

i still fucking hate jim/archie and whatever the fuck they're trying to pull with olu being jim's platonic bestie now

like fr can we please just have an afab trans person who likes dudes and not immediately undermine it ?? i can't speak for nb people but around a third of trans men are gay so it seems like it's time for that to get the rep it needs now kthnxbye

they boned!! THEY BONED!!! FIRE THOSE CANONS ROACH

love a good ejaculation analogy

swede in a crop top was the costume choice i didn't know i needed

honestly i can see the bpd in ed now so clearly he's literally having an identity crisis every five minutes

stede getting his arse handed to him while fighting back poorly just makes me love him more. love a pathetic man tbh

GET WRECKED ZHENG

sorry i love her but she crossed a Line trying to split up the crew

lady calypso needs to be a regular. kristian nairn getting to flex his drag persona is a gift that could just keep giving

uhh pete and lucius getting freaky for a whole day is relationship goals tbh

this crew is my adopted family now bye

#ofmd #ofmd spoilers

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2dayihaveaheadache · 1 year

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Obikin AU. The idea of Anakin as Macbeth and Obi-Wan as King Duncan, quite the lovebirds, never quite left my headspace. So here it is.

Lord Anakin of House Skywalker, Thane of Cawdor, has been injured on the battlefield fighting off the rebellion in Scotland, led by Count Dooku. The Count has been exiled for various years due to his political activities as a separatist. Years ago, he had been Anakin’s mentor and even helped the young man to knighthood. He is to Anakin more than a father than any other man had ever been. Now, the mentor and apprentice are forced to meet again on opposite sides of the battlefield. Both are willing to sacrifice everything, their title, their honor, or even their life for their beloved ones and their beliefs.

In the Aftermath, Ahsoka Tano remains to save what has been left of Anakin, only the shadow of the man, that he used to be, physically and mentally drained.

A few miles north of Nairn, the land drops in close to the hillside bank of the coast and molds the spikes of stone and deep clefts to a rutted cliff. Murray Firth, the people whispered to each other behind closed doors in the fishermen’s villages around, is a chasm, the maw of a leviathan. Only the forsaken are damned to cross its path and fight the wave crests every day. When the fog hangs low over the coast, only the spikes of the slate-grey stone peak out of the veil like the rotten teeth of a Sea Monster. The air tasted of festered fish and salt from the fishnets spanned between the huts. Life was hard, the people haggard, the skin weather-beaten, the eyes without a sparkle of hope.

A horse neighed and two riders peeled out of the thick fog, darkly dressed in cloaks and leather armor. Their faces were hidden under a hood but their swords were openly shown in pride. Steel that carried a title as it carried the shed blood of its nemesis. They were royal horsemen, the burgundy emblem of the royal house embroidered on their back, riders of the king’s brigade. When they passed the gate of the settlement, two wooden pillars pushed into the muddy ground, the smaller one of them unveiled herself. Under the hood had been hidden a girl in the bloom of womanhood, the hair braided with blue and white beads in the custom of clan Tano.

“I am Lady Ahsoka Tano, first to her name, ward of the Thane of Cawdor of the house Skywalker.” The girl dismounted from the horse and let herself fall to her knees, her cloak disappearing into the mud. She had stretched out both arms, her palms of her hands upwards, and placed the iron sword on them. A gesture like a prayer. “My warden has been injured and I am begging for shelter.”

II.

Heat and the smell of burnt coal hit Anakin’s nose as he lifted his eyelids. Some Straw tickled the back of his neck. He had been laid out in a barn and undressed. He felt utterly exposed and vulnerable in his linen undergarments without his leather armor. The steel of his sword was nowhere in sight. Yet another smell was recognizable among the others. Anakin had spent enough time on the burnt earth of battlefields to sense the misery of the wounded in the air. Now, however, he smelled of dried blood, which seemed to mix again and again with fresh one. An open wound. As he straightened up, pushing himself up on the cot made of hay, he discovered that the linen had been pushed up to his collarbones to reveal a gaping sore on his chest. The wound had missed his heart by a mere centimeter. A new scar in his collection, he grinned.

"Master," a female voice called out, panic resonating in it. “You are not to be up again.” Someone leaned over him and pushed him back onto the hay. Where the hands touched his skin, a gentleness shook Anakin to his core. The tenderness of the hands of a beloved one. “’ Soka?”, he asked weakly, his voice hoarse and only a rasp shadow of its usual strong character. “Yes, it’s me, Master.,” the girl assured him, running a wet cloth over his feverish forehead. She lowered her head so that her Master could see her face, and recognize her as his savior.

The youthfulness had disappeared from her features, her tanned skin was stale, and her lips bitten. The expression of sorrow had appeared in her eyes, which otherwise were brimful of life. The girl, his ward, who had always been a source full of bubbly youthfulness, suddenly seemed to have aged years. “Soka…,” he tried again, bringing one hand to her cheek. “Are you unharmed?” A weak smile curved her lips It did not reach her eyes. “Of course...,” she broke off, voice high-pitched and on the verge of crying. For a moment, she turned her head away. A single tear ran down her cheeks.

When she turned back to him, her voice was firm, the weakness overcome. " You’ve won the battle. Count Dooku fell by your hand. When you raised your sword against him, it seemed as if two comets were colliding. Two warriors armed with blood-stained steel and blessed by Fortuna with a talent for dueling. He was the one who had taught you the art of the sword back when you were a knight’s attendant, wasn't he?"

Anakin just nodded absently. Years had passed since his days as a lad on the Orkney Islands of the noble House Dooku. He had spent his days in the Yard of Notland Castle, often falling into the sand of the training ground when the Count had beaten him once again. Wooden sticks clawing into one another. He remembered the excitement when the prince had watched him from afar, the urge to flex his chiseled upper body, and then the Count punishing him for his state of distraction with yet another epic defeat. Years later the Count had committed treason on the Scottish Crown and with that on Obi-Wan, the lad, his ward, the prince, that he had parented like his own son, the man who was to Anakin like a brother.

Ahsoka continued with her battle report. "You have surpassed him in his own art, beheaded and thus killed the traitor of the Scottish crown."

Beads of sweat stood on Anakin's forehead in the heat of the coal-fired barn. He straightened his back, suppressing the sting in his chest and the smell of fresh blood tickling his nose. The wound had been ripped open again by his movement but he wanted to get his head clear. He was now the slayer of a traitor, a war hero. An incredible sadness filled his core. He had killed the man, who had been like a father to him, and now would be honored for it. Granted a title. Sweat prickled on his skin.

"Then why am I here?", he asked, looking around the barn, catching no glimpse of his sword. Ahsoka had wisely put it out of his eyes, not wanting to burden him with the sight of the Count’s blood. It would be dried on the steel by now. The air in the barn tasted bitter on Anakin’s tongue as he swallowed, like coal and burned wood.

"Count Dooku was a deceitful man. He was aware of his age and the weak flesh, that came with it. Should your steel overpower him, an ambush had been planned. His army, the troops that had landed a mile north of Elgin were not the only ones, that had become pawns in his game. Thousands of mercenaries attacked us after his death, all led by the young Lord Maul.”

A vision of a young man came to Anakin’s feverish mind. A face adorned with black inking, the Celtic runes of an old Tribe. Lord Maul, a second cousin to King Kenobi, had recently inherited his family title. Some evil tongues whispered that witchcraft had been involved as similar Celtic runes had been found on his father’s deathbed. The young lord was the wielder of a claymore, that was told to have been forged in a volcano in Iceland. A vicious weapon, spiked with thorns of steel to almost appeal like a flail. “A Norwegian Lord fought on the battlefield?”

“Yes, under the Banner of Dooku’s noble house. The Count must have conspired with the Norwegian crown. For centuries they have been trying to claim the Scottish throne. Now that King Obi-Wan, the heir of the royal House Kenobi has, not wed yet and therefore no legitimate offspring has been born, they sense their chance.,” Ahsoka explained with a lowered voice.

"But enough of the war, Master. Your wound needs to be cleaned." She glanced at Anakin’s chest and the gaping wound, which seemed to only worsen by the minute. His skin was pale, almost yellowish by fever. The wound was inflamed. She bent down to pick up something from the floor of the barn. A bottle of brown, scuffed glass. “Smells like home, doesn’t it? " She grinned, and a piece of her former mischievous self glimmered underneath her expression. The bottle was uncorked with a pop and the burning smell of homemade Schnaps rose. Anakin grimaced.

“Normally, the two of us would have celebrated our victory in a tavern with that.” The cool liquid hit Anakin's feverish skin and he bit his lip to suppress a cry of pain. It burnt to his core, fighting the inflammation. ”Not finished yet, Master," Ahsoka warned him, "The worst is yet to come." Without a thought, Anakin reached for the piece of leather that Ahsoka gently handed him. A mouthpiece so he would not bite off his tongue in Agony. Closing wounds with fire was no unknown custom to him. When he had lost his hand, he himself had burned off what had remained of the stump with his own heated blade, most of the pain suppressed in the adrenaline of the moment.

This time, when the metal of the sword heated in the coal fire touched his skin, he bent his back in agony until his muscles and sinews were impossibly stretched. The pain penetrated him through and through, his mouth torn open into a silent, shrill cry. The world became a single white panorama before his eyes. The moment seemed to drag on forever until Anakin had lost all sense of time, place, and identity, trapped in an eternal cycle of pain, heat, and anonymity, crying out for help, although only a few seconds had passed.

The color returned to his vision as the metal left his skin. His body collapses, suddenly battered by exhaustion that slackened his muscles and tendons. A hand moved up to his chest, hesitantly brushing over the spot where the wound had once been. A new scar in his collection. He turned his head to his ward and grinned, “Indestructible. A Skywalker is indestructible.”

He fell back into the cushion of the hay. “Has…”, Anakin tried again but Ahsoka broke him off too soon, tenderly brushing with a wet cloth over his feverish forehead. “A messenger has been sent. Lord Palpatine has ridden to court and brought King Kenobi a word of your epic victory. He knows about your remains here in Nairn and sends his best regards.” Then she leaned closer and almost whispered. “He fears your wellbeing, Master. He is frighted to see how much you are willing to sacrifice for him.”

“I…”

“You love him, Master, I know. He is your family. You grew up together as lads in Orkney Island. That is a bond, you share, similar to brothers. This attachment clouds your sense of judgment and your self-preservation instinct. This love, I fear, devours you from the inside.” Ahsoka had started to fidget with her fingers in the middle of her sentence. Then she fished an envelope out of her pocket, the seal still unbroken.

“A messenger brought it for you. You shall read it in the privacy of your chamber, no other eyes than yours shall see its content. A letter from the king and yet not from the king, a message from a lover.”, she paused. “Promise me to care of yourself whatever may be written in it.”

Anakin nodded even though deep down he knew that he could keep no such promise.

.... that's the snippet. Hope you enjoy it!

#Obikin #Obikin au #star wars au #Star wars meets classics #felix's weird thoughts and drabbles #anakin and ahsoka #game of throne-ish?#macbeth #had to get it out of my head #anakin angst #star wars prequels #Anakin as Macbeth #author is a literature student so way too much lit references here #Anakin has issues #Anakin is emotionally vulnerable #macbeth au

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bluebirdsongs16 · 9 months

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Ineffable Etymology

There's an etymological link between 'ineffable' and 'unmentionables' as in underwear, and I'm CACKLING.

From etymonline.com:

I have retain'd the word BREECHES, as they are known by no other name amongst country folk.--The change from vulgarity to refinement, in cities and towns, has introduced other appellations; there they are generally called SMALL CLOTHES, but some ladies of high rank and extreme delicacy call them INEXPRESSIBLES. --footnote in "Poems Miscellaneous and Humorous," by Edward Nairne, Canterbury, 1791] Inexpressibles is the earliest recorded and thus seems to have begotten the trend: Unmentionables (1806); indispensibles (1820); ineffables (1823); unutterables (1826); innominables (1827); and inexplicables (1829) followed.

Don't mind me, I'm just imagining Crowley as a Regency lady "of high rank and extreme delicacy" going around in 1823 encouraging the usage of 'ineffables' to mean underthings, just to fluster Aziraphale.

#good omens #good omens shitpost #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #etymology

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annabethwarriorprincess · 2 years

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A Concept, Our Flag Means Death becomes an Anthology series where the cast&crew tackles a classic story or historical legend legend each season

Season 1: Blackbeard & The Gentleman Pirate.

Season 2: Sherlock&Watson

(Someone more familiar with the Sherlock Lore needs to help cast this)

Season 3: The Camelot Legend

Vico Ortiz as both King Arthur and Morgan la Fey

Taika Waititi as Merlin

Con O'Neill as Mordred

Leslie Jones as Guinevere

Samson Keyo as Sir Lancelot

Rhys as Sir Gallahad

Nathan Foad as King Uther

Claudia O'Doherty as Nimueh aka The Lady of The Lake

Kristian Nairn as Sir Gawian

Joel Fry as The Green Knight

The rest of the cast are the other Knights of the Round Table

Anyone have anything else you'd want to see them tackle.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd au

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dear-indies · 1 year

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Hey! I hope everything is going well with you! When you have time - completely understandable to take time for yourself given everything - do you think you could give a list of your fave body diverse fcs over the age of 35, if any? I would greatly appreciate it!! All the best ❤️

Non-binary:

Ser Anzoategui (1979) Argentinian and Paraguayan - is nonbinary (they/them).

Ericka Hart (1986) African-American - non-binary (she/they) - is a breast cancer survivor.

Third-gender:

Yolanda Bonnell (1982) Ojibwe, Unspecified White / Indian - two-spirit (she/they) - is bisexual - has OCD and ADHD.

Gloria May Eshkibok (?) Mohawk, Ottawa, Irish, French - two-spirit (she/her) and wears an eye patch.

Gender questioning:

Kristin Chirico (1984) Cayuga, Seneca, Italian, and Irish - questioning their gender, explaining it as “encompassing a lot of things” but is not yet sure if she’s non-binary or a gender non-confirming woman - is bisexual and demisexual - has OCD.

Women:

Joanna Scanlan (1961)

Melissa McCarthy (1970)

Keala Settle (1975) Māori.

Michelle Buteau (1977) Haitian [African, some Lebanese] / French, Jamaican [African, Indian, possibly other].

Itziar Castro (1977) - is a lesbian.

Brooke Elliot (1978)

Dana Gourrier (1979) African-American.

Chrissy Metz (1980)

Natasha Rothwell (1980) African-American.

Beth Ditto (1981) - is queer.

Jana Schmieding (1981) Miniconjou Lakota Sioux, Sicangu Oyate Lakota Sioux.

Jordan Raskopoulos (1982) - is trans.

Denisse Ojeda (1982) Chilean.

Gabourey Sidibe (1983) Senegalese / African-American.

Yola / Yolanda Quarty (1983) British, Ghanaian, and Barbadian.

Ella Smith (1983)

Heather White (1983) Mohawk / Nakoda Sioux.

Jolene Purdy (1983) Japanese / English, Scottish, Irish, German, Ashkenazi Jewish.

Anna O'Brien (1984)

JB The First Lady / Jerilynn Webster (1984) Nuxalk and Onondaga.

Da'Vine Joy Randolph (1986) African-American.

Amber Riley (1986) African-American.

Nicole Byer (1986) African-American - comedian, television host, writer and actor - "doesn't identify as straight", but is uncomfortable with the labels "bisexual" or "queer."

Aidy Bryant (1987)

Men:

Mark Addy (1964)

Taylor Wily (1968) Samoan.

Jack Black (1969) Ashkenazi Jewish / German, as well as Northern Irish, Scottish, English, remote French and Welsh (converted to Judaism).

Nick Frost (1972)

Ólafur Darri Ólafsson (1973)

Matt Berry (1974)

Kristian Nairn (1975) - is gay.

K. Trevor Wilson (1981)

Josh Gad (1981) Afghan Jewish and Ashkenazi Jewish.

Brian Tyree Henry (1982) African-American.

Matty Matheson (1982)

Sam Richardson (1984) Ghanaian.

Cooper Andrews (1985) Samoan / Ashkenazi Jewish.

Charley Koontz (1987)

Atkins Estimond (1987) Afro-Haitian.

Thank you so much for being kind and understanding, anon! I have a masterlist HERE too but you're always welcome to send asks as I know going through long lists can be overwhelming.

#fc help #rph #rpc #olderfcs

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versey21 · 1 year

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16th April

Will Ye No Come Back Again? by Carolina Oliphaunt, Lady Nairne

On this day in 1746, the Jacobite Rebellion, led by Prince Charles Edward Stuart (“Bonnie Prince Charlie”) was finally defeated by the Hanoverian forces of King George II at the Battle of Culloden. The prince fled for France, deserting his largely Highland Scots army, never to return. Oliphaunt summons up the feelings of sorrow and loss the defeat of the Jacobite cause left in many of Charles’ followers.

Source: Historic UK

Will Ye No Come Back Again?

Will ye no come back again?

Better lo’ed ye cannae be,

Will ye no come back again?

Bonnie Charlie’s now awa,

Safely owre the friendly main;

Mony a heart will break in twa,

Should he ne’er come back again.

Ye trusted in your Hieland men,

They trusted you, dear Charlie;

They kent you hiding in the Glen,

Your cleadin’ was but barely.

…

We watched thee in the gloaming hour,

We watched thee in the morning grey;

Tho’ thirty thousand pounds they’d gie,

Oh there is nane that wad betray.

…

Will ye no come back again?

Better lo’ed ye cannae be,

Will ye no come back again?

Despite the romanticism surrounding Charles’ doomed attempt to restore the Stuarts to the throne of the United Kingdom, the defeat of the rebellion was disastrous for the Highlanders, leading directly to the Highland Clearances and the destruction of an entire way of life.

#poetry #Carolina Oliphaunt #bonnie prince charlie #battle of culloden #highland clearances

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logi1974 · 2 years

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Laird Hasenbär in Schottland - Tag 16

Lairds and Ladies!

Da das Brodie Castle wegen aktuell stattfindender Filmaufnahmen für Besucher geschlossen war, machten wir uns auf den Weg als Alternative das Cawdor Castle zu besichtigen.

Das Wetter hat sich zu gestern ebenfalls wieder verschlechtert, da bietet sich doch so ein Castle Besuch geradezu an. Das Cawdor Castle in Nairn liegt nur ca. 23 Kilometer östlich von Inverness.

Wir fahren etwa eine halbe Stunde auf Landstraßen, vorbei an grünen Landschaften mit sanften Hügeln und einem Mix aus Sonne und Wolken. Wir sind am Südrand der Highlands. Im Land südlich der Bucht, die Inverness vom Meer trennt.

Von Inverness aus auf der A96 Richtung Nairn fahren. Beim Schild B9090 abbiegen. Hier ist die Cawdor Castle auch schon mit einem braunen Schild ausgeschrieben.

Die B9090 macht nach einigen Kilometern noch einen Linksschwenk, dann eine sanfte Rechtskurve, ehe man durch das Örtchen Cawdor fährt. Hier noch weiter über die Ampelkreuzung, dann ist rechts die Auffahrt zum Parkplatz des Schlosses angeschrieben.

Nicht wundern: Der Weg geht noch ein ganzes Stück nach hinten, ehe man den Parkplatz erreicht. Von da aus geht es auch noch einige Minuten zu Fuß bis zum Gebäude.

Cawdor Castle befindet sich etwas außerhalb des gleichnamigen Dorfes. Hier trägt vieles den Namen Cawdor. Die Cawdor Tavern, The Cawdor Estate. Die Cawdor Castle Gardens usw.

Und natürlich das Schloss selbst. Oder ist es eine Burg? So ganz sind wir uns da nämlich nicht sicher. Der älteste Teil des Gebäudes ist auf jeden Fall eine Burg. Das ist das wehrhafte Tower House im Zentrum des trutzigen Bauwerks. Dieses überragt noch heute alle später hinzugefügten Bauten.

Die Familie Cawdor hat hier noch alles unter ihrer eigenen Kontrolle. Die Witwe des Earl of Cawdor lebt noch heute in diesem Haus ihrer Familie. Sie zieht während der warmen Jahreszeit aus dem Schloss aus und verbringt die Zeit zwischen April und Oktober in einem anderen ihrer Besitztümer. Während dieser Monate ist das Schloss für die Öffentlichkeit zugänglich.

Die erste Festung der Calders, so hießen die Cawdors in alten Schriften, entstand bereits 1179 am Ufer des Flusses Nairn. Die Thanes of Calder waren damals zu Sheriffs und Wächtern des königlichen Schlosses in Nairn ernannt worden.

William the Lion ließ diese Festung an der Furt über den Fluss Nairn nahe des Meeres errichten. Sie sollte die Route zwischen Inverness und Elgin sichern. Von dieser Festung gibt es heute keine Überreste mehr, genauso wenig wie von ihrem Nachfolgebau.

Ende des 14. Jahrhunderts entstand schließlich der Kernbau des heutigen Schlosses. Das Tower House mit seinen vier Stockwerken überragt noch heute die später hinzugefügten Erweiterungen des Gebäudes.

Wie viele Tower Houses jener Zeit diente es der Verteidigung. Als solches bediente man sich einer einfachen Form der Verteidigung. Der Eingang zum Tower House befand sich im ersten Stock, so dass man den Bau leicht vor Eindringlingen schützen konnte.

Im Laufe der kommenden 600 Jahre erweiterte die Cawdor Family den Bau immer wieder, bis er die heutige Form annahm.

Shakespeare beschreibt das Schloss in seinem Drama Macbeth. Nur – zu Lebzeiten Macbeths gab es Cawdor Castle noch gar nicht. Duncan starb am 14. August 1040. Die Festung wurde erst 300 Jahre später gebaut.

Tatsächlich gibt es auch keine vernünftige Verbindung zwischen der Burg und König Macbeth. Nicht einmal ein Teil des Stückes von Shakespeare spielt dort. Der verrät nämlich nur, dass es sich um eine Burg in Inverness handle. Lediglich der Titel „Thane of Cawdor“ wurde ihm im Theaterstück zugesprochen. Historisch gesehen aber hatte der echte Macbeth diesen Titel nie inne.

Macbeth hat zwar tatsächlich seinen Vater Duncan getötet, aber nicht hinterrücks wie in Shakespeare’s Drama, sondern in einer Schlacht.

Diese fand ganz in der Nähe des Ortes statt, wo das Schloss heute steht. Der echte Duncan starb nach der Schlacht in Elgin. Danach wurde Macbeth in Scone nahe Perth zum Hochkönig der Schotten gekrönt.

Im Laufe der Überlieferung erwähnte ein Chronist fälschlicherweise den Thane of Cawdor im Ablauf der Ereignisse. In seiner Tragödie verlegt schließlich Shakespeare die Geschichte nach Cawdor Castle. Er schrieb das Werk 1606, hunderte von Jahren nachdem die Geschichte sich abspielte.

Dem fünften Earl of Cawdor nervte diese Tatsache so, dass er meinte: „I wish the Bard had never written his damned play!“ Natürlich kann man den Zorn des 5. Earl von Cawdor durchaus nachvollziehen. Trotzdem besuchen heute viele gerade wegen dieser Episode in Shakespeare’s Werk das Schloss.

Das Tower House ist um einen Dornbusch herum gebaut. Um diesen rankt sich eine Familienlegende. Danach ist der Thane of Cawdor in einem Traum angewiesen worden, einen Esel auf die Suche nach dem besten Platz für den Bau der neuen Festung auszuschicken.

Und genau das tat er auch. Er schnallte dem Esel eine Kiste voll Gold auf den Rücken. Dieser ließ sich am Abend unter einer Stechpalme nieder, die noch heute im Keller des Tower Houses weiter wächst. Was aus dem Esel wurde, ist allerdings nicht überliefert.

Gleich daneben liegen geheimnisvolle Gewölbe, die als Verlies genutzt wurden und (wie raffiniert) eine Verbindung in den alten Dining Room. Dort befindet sich nämlich links neben dem Kamin eine geheime Falltür, durch die missliebige Personen umgehend entsorgt werden konnten.

Um es Feinden möglichst schwer zu machen, wurde zudem ein Graben und eine Zugbrücke angelegt.

Im Rest der Burg geht es weniger rustikal zu. Die Anbauten, die sich um das Tower House gruppieren, stammen größtenteils aus dem 17. Jahrhundert. In diesen Teilen des Hauses befinden sich die Räume, die der Öffentlichkeit zugänglich sind.

Wir sehen mehrere Schlafzimmer, deren Mobiliar von vergangenen Generationen der Cawdor Familie stammt. Das Himmelbett mit seinem Baldachin aus rotem Samt im Tapestry Bedroom war einst das Hochzeitsbett von Sir Hugh Campbell und Lady Henrietta Stuart, die 1662 in Darnaway Castle heirateten.

Im Laufe der Zeit dekoriert die Familie ihren Wohnsitz mit feinen Gobelins, Teppichen, Gemälden von berühmten Malern wie Sir Joshua Reynolds, Francis Cotes, Sir William Beechey und Sir Thomas Lawrence.

Dazwischen hängen jedoch auch handgemalte Zeichnungen der Damen des Hauses an den Wänden. In den Vitrinen stapelt sich Porzellan aus mehreren Jahrhunderten. Die Regale der Bücherschränke biegen sich unter den gedruckten Werken, die im Laufe der Zeit von den Generationen der Cawdors gesammelt wurden.

Die Tour im Inneren von Cawdor Castle ist sehr sehenswert. Ein Besuch in Cawdor Castle ist so, als ob man die Privatgemächer der Inhaber betritt. Auf dem Tisch im Drawing Room liegen Stapel von Büchern wahllos drapiert auf Sideboards.

Im Dining Room ist der Tisch gedeckt, als ob die Familie jeden Moment von ihren täglichen Unternehmungen zurückkehrt. Im Wohnzimmer hat man den Eindruck, als ob die Zeitschriften von einem gemütlichen Leseabend auf dem Tisch liegen blieben. Das Haus ist kein Museum. Es ist bewohnt, und hinterlässt beim Besucher auch diesen Eindruck.

In diesem Schloss kann man sich sehr gut vorstellen, wie die fleißigen Bediensteten in der alten Küche die erlesensten Speisen für ihre Herrschaften kreierten. Bis 1938 war sie in Betrieb. Groß ist sie, die alte Küche. Die Regale an den Wänden und der große Küchentisch biegen sich unter den Küchenutensilien, die sich im Laufe der Zeit angesammelt haben.

Uns hat es allerdings die neue Küche einen Stock höher angetan. Heute nutzt die Familie diese Küche. Auch sie ist groß, besitzt allerdings modernste Installationen, interessanterweise vornehmlich der Firma Miele. Hier bereiten inzwischen sogar Sterneköche elegante Mahlzeiten für Veranstaltungen zu, die auf Cawdor Castle stattfinden. Beim Cawdor Castle Food Festival leistet sie sicher gute Dienste.

Das Schloss ist nicht nur berühmt für seine Räumlichkeiten, sondern auch für seine Gärten. Drei dieser Gärten befinden sich in unmittelbarer Schlossnähe.

Der älteste davon ist der Walled Garden, der etwa um 1600 entstanden ist. Neben Kräutern und Blumen beherbergt er ein echtes Labyrinth. Dies war die Idee von Lord Cawdor, der 1981 beschloss, ein Labyrinth aus Stechpalmen anzulegen.

Als Vorlage diente ein Labyrinth-Design im Mosaikboden einer Ruine einer römischen Villa in Conimbriga in Portugal. Die Mitte ziert eine Minotaurus Statue und schlägt damit den Bogen zum mythischen Labyrinth des Minotaurus.

Im zweiten Teil des Gartens gibt es heute außerdem den Knoten-Garten, den Distelgarten und den Paradiesgarten. Alte schottische Obstbäume erinnern zudem an den ursprünglichen Obstgarten, der zum ersten Mal 1635 erwähnt wurde.

Der Blumengarten geht zurück auf das Jahr 1710. Damals übernahm Sir Archibald Campbell, der Bruder des Thane of Cawdor, die Gestaltung dieses Gartens. Es dauerte fünfzehn Jahre, bis er fertig war. Sir Archibald machte daraus einen Garten, in dem Obstbäume und Hecken wuchsen.

Eine spätere Hausherrin fügte Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts Lavendelgrenzen zu den Rosenbeeten hinzu. Außerdem ließ sie Stachelbeerhecken pflanzen, da die Familie deren Früchte besonders gerne aß.

Damals nutzte die Familie Cawdor das Schloss fast nur während der Jagdsaison zwischen August und Oktober. Der Garten enthielt daher vor allem Pflanzen, die um diese Jahreszeit blühten.

Diese Beete existieren noch heute, allerdings hat man die Zeit der Blüte erweitert, indem man Zwiebelpflanzen, blühende Bäume und Sträucher hinzufügte, die die Blütensaison vom frühen Frühjahr bis in den Herbst hinein erweiterten.

Besonders faszinierend finden wir die kunstvolle Vogelfutterskulptur. Ein Kunstobjekt als Futterautomat und das Ganze auch noch unerreichbar für Katzen oder diebische Eichhörnchen. Toll!

Die Vögel sind von diesem Futterautomaten begeistert, misstrauen aber dem Hasenbär auf das Äußerste.

Der Wild Garden in Cawdor Castle ist ebenfalls eine der neueren Errungenschaften des Schlosses. Er existiert seit den 1960er Jahren. Dabei handelt es sich um eine Anpflanzung von Azaleen, Rhododendren, Narzissen, Primeln, Weiden und Bambus unter hohen alten Bäumen. Fünf Wanderwege laden ein zu ausgedehnten Spaziergängen durch diese Gärten.

Zum Castle gehört natürlich auch der obligatorische Souvenirladen, der selbstverständlich von einem Herrn in zünftigem Clan Tartan geleitet wird. Als wir einen Scherz untereinander über das “geschmackvolle” Angebot machen, sehe ich aus dem Augenwinkel, wie sich der Mann ein Lachen verkneift und versucht die Contenance zu wahren.

Der vermeintliche Schotte in den traditionellen Schottenkaros ist nämlich gar kein Schotte, sondern ein eingeheirateter Deutscher. Ich wittere Betrug!

Der zum Castle gehörende Tearoom ist inzwischen von diversen Reisegruppen okkupiert, weswegen wir da auf einen Besuch verzichten.

Der aktuelle Eintrittspreis beträgt 13,50 £ für das Castle & die Gärten. Darin enthalten ist ein ausgezeichneter Audioguide für das Castle, der auch in deutscher Sprache zur Verfügung steht. Für die Gärten gibt es eine kleine Karte, um sich darin zurecht zu finden.

Besonders schön ist, dass man überall und alles photographieren darf. Nicht so glücklich ist die Lage der Toiletten. Denn die befinden sich noch vor dem Kassenhäuschen. Das bedeutet: jeder der zum Klo will, muss erst wieder den kompletten Weg zurück laufen.

Auf dem Hinweg war uns ein Hinweis auf eine gewisse Cawdor Tavern im Dorf aufgefallen, das wollen wir uns doch einmal genauer anschauen ...

Was für eine zauberhafte Überraschung: bei der Taverne handelt es sich um ein historisches Gebäude, das früher einmal ebenfalls zum Castle gehörte und ursprünglich die hauseigene Tischlerei war.

Innen toll dekoriert mit historischen Stücken. Das Prunkstück ist eine alte Kleidertruhe, die direkt im Eingang steht, und einst einem gewissen Captain Murray gehörte. Dieser war ein General der Jacobiten Armee des Bonnie Prince Charlie. Was für ein tolles historisches Stück, dessen Wert unschätzbar ist.

Wir nehmen Platz, studieren die Speisekarte und lassen uns die Today´s Specials empfehlen: Haggis Sausages und Steak Ale Pie.

Als Vorspeise nehmen wir eine Seafood Platter, die wir uns teilen.

Ein tolles Lokal, das wir gerne weiter empfehlen!

Es hat sich zugezogen, fängt an zu regnen und wir fahren zurück in “unsere” Wohnung nach Inverness. Dieses befindet sich in einem historischen Gebäude aus dem Jahre 1860.

Inverness hatte bereits 1680 seinen ersten städtischen Arzt und ein Jahrhundert später kämpfte die Kirchengemeine darum, Geldmittel zu finden, um mit bis zu 800 Armen gleichzeitig fertig zu werden.

Bis etwa 1845 wurden die Armen der Gemeinde von der Kirche versorgt. Nachdem ein neues Armengesetz im Jahr 1843 beschlossen wurde, wurde das Dunbar Hospital in der Church Street zum vorübergehenden Armenhaus umgewandelt. Der neue Vorstand suchte jedoch nach maßgeschneiderten Räumlichkeiten.

Das Armenhaus von Inverness wurde schließlich 1859-61 auf einem 8 Hektar großen Grundstück an der Westseite der Old Edinburgh Road (auch bekannt als General Wade's Military Road) im Süden von Inverness erbaut.

Es wurde von James Matthews und William Lawrie entworfen. James Matthews hatte schon 1847 die Caledonian Bank in der High Street gebaut, vier Jahre später Aldourie Castle umgestaltet und 1852 die Nairn United Presbyterian Church gebaut. Die Kosten für den Bau beliefen sich auf 6.000 Pfund.

Der in Stonehaven geborene William Lawrie trat 1855 in die Firma ein und übernahm zunehmend die Kontrolle über das Büro in Inverness. Er übernahm die Führung bei der Fertigstellung des Black Isle Poorhouse in Fortrose im Jahr 1856 und eines ähnlichen in Nairn vier Jahre später.

Am östlichen Eingang des Geländes stand ein U-förmiger Block. Darin befanden sich wahrscheinlich ein Pförtnerzimmer und das Büro des ablösenden Offiziers. Heute ist nur noch der zentrale Torbogen erhalten.

Das Hauptgebäude hatte wie die von Fortrose und Nairn einen H-förmigen Grundriss und war zweistöckig. Der größere Block an der Vorderseite war ein Korridorgebäude mit einem zentralen Teil, der die Quartiere des Meisters, Ausschussräume und das Büro des Sekretärs enthalten hat.

Der Speisesaal und die Kapelle des Armenhauses befanden sich im hinteren Mittelblock. Die beiden Flügel des vorderen Blocks enthielten Männer- und Frauenunterkünfte, wahrscheinlich mit den Alten an der Vorderseite und den arbeitsfähigen oder "ausschweifenden" Insassen auf der Rückseite. Die Quartiere der Kinder wurden normalerweise am anderen Ende jedes Flügels platziert.

In den einstöckigen Gebäuden auf der Rückseite Gebäude befanden sich verschiedene Arbeits- und Wirtschaftsräume, darunter eine Backstube auf der Männerseite und eine Wäscherei auf der Frauenseite.

Vier Giebelbuchten wurden der Vorderansicht hinzu gefügt und ein gewölbter Block am Eingang enthielt einen Pförtnerraum und das Büro des Verwalters.

Die Volkszählung von 1881 zeigte 96 Bewohner mit Donald Macfie aus Ardnamurchan als Gouverneur und seiner Frau Helen aus Uddingston als Matrone mit ihrem Sohn John (18) als Gerichtsschreiber.

Das Armenhaus von Inverness wurde später als Muirfield Institution bekannt. 1946 stellte ein offizieller Bericht fest, dass das Gebäude enge zentrale Korridore und schlecht beleuchtete, aber gut belüftete Stationen hatte.

Armenhäuser wurden durch das National Assistance Act von 1948 abgeschafft. Das Wachstum des National Health Service führte dazu, dass Muirfield 1961 übernommen und in Hilton Hospital umbenannt wurde.

Die Unterbringung umfasste damals 54 Betten für chronisch Kranke, 3 Entbindungsbetten, eine Kinderstation für 6 Kinder und Plätze für zertifizierte Geisteskranke. Unter dem National Health Service wurde die Institution zum Hilton Hospital.

Es blieb bis zu seiner Schließung im Jahr 1987 ein Gemeinschaftskrankenhaus. Das achtstöckige Hochhaus des Raigmore Hospital war zwei Jahre zuvor eröffnet worden, und somit wurde das Hilton Hospital überflüssig.

Das Gebäude wurde einige Jahre als Gesundheitsamt genutzt, bevor es verkauft wurde. Inzwischen wurden die Gebäude umgebaut und beherbergen heute komfortable Wohnungen mit hohen Decken. Es ist heute als Old Edinburgh Court bekannt.

Oidhche mhath!

Angie, Micha und Laird Hasenbär

#Cawdor Castle #Inverness #Schottland #Cawdor Tavern

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scotianostra · 2 years

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On October 26th 1845 Lady Caroline Nairne, songwriter and poet, died at Gask.

The second musical post of the day, and I make no apologies for it being a song I have posted before, the intro and banter from Andy M Stewart and Johnny Cunningham is enough of a reason.

Carolina became known as the “Flower of Strathearn” because of her beauty. Both her father and grandfather had joined Bonnie Prince Charlie in the 1745 Jacobite Uprising and she herself had been named after the Young Pretender (Carolina being the feminine form of Charles) so it is not perhaps surprising that many of her songs were sympathetic to the Jacobite cause.

In those days it was not appropriate for women of her social standing to publish poetry and so for a long time they were published under the pen-name of Mrs Bogan of Bogan. Even after marrying her second cousin, Major William Nairne in 1806, she kept her writing secret from him too! They had a son, born in 1808, when she was aged 43. In 1824, following a campaign by Sir Walter Scott, peerages and titles which had been forfeited as a result of the Jacobite Uprising were restored and so Caroline became Lady Nairne.

Like Robert Burns and James Hogg, Lady Nairne collected old folk tunes and modified or put her own words to them. She showed a love of the countryside in such songs as “The Rowan Tree” and “The Pentland Hills.” Her poem “The Auld House” is about her birthplace in Gask and she showed her compassion in songs such as “Caller Herring”

Her husband died in 1830 and she then travelled through Europe, returning to Gask two years before her death on 26th October 1845. She gave permission at that stage for her collected songs (87 in all) to be published as "Lays from Strathearn”. They appeared in 1846.

I’m wearin’ awa’ Jean, Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean, I’m wearin’ awa’ tae the land o’ the leal There’s nae sorrow there, Jean, There’s neither cauld nor care, Jean, The day is aye fair in the land o’ the leal Tae me ye hae been true, Jean, Your task has ended noo, Jean, For near kythes my view o’ the land o’ the leal Oor bonnie bairn is there, Jean, She was baith guid an’ fair, Jean, An’, o, we grudged her sair tae the land o’ the leal But dry that tearfu’ ee’, Jean, Grieve na fur her ‘n me, Jean, Frae sin an sorrow free is the land o’ the leal Noo fair ye weel, ma ain Jean, This warld’s cares are vain, Jean, We’ll meet and aye be fain in the land o’ the leal I’m wearin’ awa’ Jean, Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean, I’m wearin’ awa tae the land o’ the leal There’s nae sorrow there, Jean, There’s neither cauld nor care, Jean, The day is aye fair in the land o’ the leal

#Scotland #scottish #song collector #poet #songwriter #lady nairne #jacobite

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navigatrixnarrations · 2 years

Text

Sharpe’s Beacon, Part 7

Summary: Our disaster officers can have a little bit of angst, as a treat for the rest of us.

Word Count: 1783

Sharpe wakes alone in his tent. Of course he’s alone; he’d bade Davy good night outside, and she’d gone to her tent and he’d gone to his. So what if he fell asleep thinking of her large eyes and high cheekbones, the hard look on her face when she was facing down those arsehole lieutenants and the almost soft way she looked at him when he pushed her hair from her face. Outside, he finds Harper fixing a pot of tea for the men before their day’s duties.

“Morning, Sir. Davy asked me to let you know she’d gone to give some donations to her old squad’s widows, and that she’ll be back in time to march with us.” Harper’s brows crease in thought, but he doesn’t say anything further.

“What, Pat?”

His Sergeant’s voice is conversational. “I saw her come out of her own tent, so I did. So did Hagman.”

“Where else would she have come from first thing in the morning?”

Harper doesn’t answer, but his eyes slide over to Sharpe’s tent, then back to Sharpe.

“It weren’t like that, Pat.” Why does he sound defensive? “Nothing happened between us.” He’d wanted to pull her close, but feared it would make her lash out, or worse, bolt; she’d certainly made no move on him.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Sir.” Harper busies himself with the tea and cheerily pretends he doesn’t notice Sharpe’s scowl.

Aye, he were wishing that she spent the night with him – what of it? Out of the corner of his eye, Sharpe sees Hogan approaching, and goes to meet him, away from the men.

“Sharpe, my boy, where is Davy?”

“She’s gone to give some of her own money to her men’s widows.” Surely the bloody man isn’t going to send her on another mission without him.

“Ah, our Davy always was more sentimental than she lets on.” Hogan looks at Sharpe. “And she trusts you, which is rare.” Hogan puffs his pipe. “She told me that, which is even rarer.”

Sharpe schools his face. “She trusts you?”

Hogan’s expression is serene. “More than she trusts most people, but less than she should.”

“Even though you thought to make a spy of her, with all that entails.” Davy being ordered to men’s beds to extract their secrets – a necessary job, he knows, but he hates the idea of her being assigned to do that. His affair with Hélène was purely physical, but not without its lessons.

Hogan’s tone is mild, in contrast to the tone Sharpe had taken. Sharpe fears it’s a false hope to think that Hogan has not figured out why he wouldn’t want Davy to become what she’d termed a fancy lady spy.

Hogan waves a dismissive hand. “I knew from the start that her temperament is entirely unsuitable, even before the battle scars.” Battle scars. Yes, those would raise questions in the beds of so-called gentlemen. Sharpe forces his mind away from imagining Davy in bed and back to what Hogan is saying. “It was the best way I had of convincing Nairn to make her an exploring officer. Did you know the little hellion got herself expelled from finishing school after only a week?” Hogan smiles with glee and, Sharpe thinks, something like paternal pride. “Ask Nairn if you don’t believe me.”

“Does she trust Nairn?”

“Of course she doesn’t trust Nairn. I said she’s more sentimental than she lets on. I didn’t say she’s naive.”

Best not to think of Nairn. Best not to remind himself that Davy’s assignment to him is only temporary. “Davy is a good lieutenant. The best I’ve worked with.” If there were any fairness in this entire army, and there isn’t, she’d have risen in rank by now, though he knows it’s easier to hide her amongst the throngs of lieutenants.

Hogan nods in satisfaction. “That’s why I was hoping to catch up with you both before you do your turn on picquet. If you see the lights in the hills that her sources reported, try to find out more.” He pauses. “Not that either of you would need to be told.”

Hogan takes his leave. Davy returns soon after and gulps down her tea with the rest of the Light Company. They set out.

Davy is glad to be heading back into the field. She’s always on edge around camp. Too many eyes and ears about. Too much waiting around. Too much risk of being found out, no matter how careful she is. Her belly aches with the first day of her monthlies, and it sours her mood. At least she didn’t bleed through her trousers before she was able to catch it.

Albuera was a bloodbath from start to finish and all of her squad were coated in gore after a final brutal bit of hand-to-hand fighting that got the Frenchies on the run, but even so, gore concentrated at her crotch would likely be noticed and there was nowhere on this damnable battlefield where she could find a moment’s privacy to tend to herself. Not that she had time, not with seeing to the wounded and after-action reports to be made. At last, she was able to duck beneath a wagon with some strips of linen she’d scavenged from the field infirmary. She heard Stevens’s voice, just beyond the nearest wheel, could see he was positioning himself to be facing toward the wagon while whomever he was talking to faced away. Was the sergeant creating a distraction for her?

She emerged to find him alone. Later, he sought her out with a mug of honey-laced tea. Where had he found that in this pit of dust and guts?

“My mum and sisters always crave sweet things during their times.”

She was careful not to show any reaction. “How long have you known?”

“Thought you might be since you got here,” Stevens said placidly. “Can’t go on the march with soldiers and not notice how they walk, or the shape of their bodies when they’re soaked to the skin in a downpour, or when a soldier never takes a piss in front of any of the other lads.”

“What now, Sergeant?” Would he try to blackmail her? Demand favours, sexual or otherwise?

“Anything you order, Lieutenant.”

He seemed guileless. She had to be sure. “Why?”

Stevens looked at her carefully. “Because when our rations got shorted, you made sure we all ate before you did even when it meant you got less than your fair share, and most officers would have shoved to the front. Because you raised hell with the toffs at headquarters about it when we got back. Because you’re not a toff and since you got here, you haven’t asked any of us to do anything you weren’t doing yourself, Sir.” He looked almost apologetic. “Ma’am. Sir.”

It became almost a joke between them, him calling her Sir. When they were alone, he called her Lieutenant, and there was always respect, even when he quarrelled with her.

She would have fallen for Stevens if only she had let herself. She had, if she’s being truly honest with herself, fallen for him a bit, in spite of herself. It feels disloyal to even think of that possibility with any other man. She had wondered for a moment, bidding Sharpe good night in front of their tents, if he would kiss her. Hoped he would, even. You’re being a fool, she scolds herself. He’s kind, is all, and doesn’t often get to spend time with another officer who has come from similar circumstances. You’ve got nothing to offer him as a woman that he would want. You’ve got a duty; he’s the last thing you should be thinking of. No reason to watch the morning sun glint off his shaggy golden hair, the cocky stride that in any other man would be arrogant but in him is natural as a tomcat’s strut. Surely she’s reading too much into him calling her “Davy lass,” imagining the affection in his voice when he said it.

She drags her attention to the songs Hagman is singing and to their surroundings, looking for signs of French movements. By midday, the sun gives way to a steady rain. The Light Company walks on. By sundown, they’ve found an abandoned barn to doss down in. The rain shows no sign of letting up, and so they set watch and call it an early night.

The barn is silent but for the sound of the rain on the roof and the quiet snores of the men. Davy is wakeful. A bit more than an arm’s length away, Sharpe sits up, presses one hand to his forehead, and sighs.

“Bad dream, Sir?” His back stiffens at her voice, suddenly close by his side. She slides herself over, mere inches from him.

“It doesn’t happen often.” He’s looking straight ahead, guarded, and she can’t blame him. She considers wrapping her arms around him or smoothing his sleep-tousled hair with her fingers, but fears it might make him recoil. But she needs him to know she understands, that she doesn’t think him weak for it.

She rests her hand lightly on his. “It’s this life, isn’t it, Sir. Show me a soldier who doesn’t have nightmares from time to time, and I’ll show you a coward.” She’s rewarded with a softening of that square jaw, a relaxing of that ramrod-straight posture. His shoulder comes to rest against hers so that they’re leaning against one another. Weight of the world on those shoulders of his, she thinks.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” His voice is almost apologetic.

“You didn't, Sir. I wasn’t asleep.”

He turns his head to her. “You don’t sleep enough.”

“I was keeping watch. Young Perkins was dead on his feet, Sir, so I relieved him.” Because that’s the reality when you’re a woman – you always have to work harder, fight harder, not give anyone an excuse to suspect, or if they know, to complain. You can never show a moment’s weakness. Much, she surmises, like coming up from the ranks.

“In this rain, the Frenchies wouldn’t be able to keep their powder dry even if they knew we were here. Get some rest, Davy lass. You’ll likely have to gut some of them in the morning.”

She wraps herself in her blanket and settles down in the straw. Less than an arm’s length from her, Sharpe does the same. His hand reaches out, slow, cautious, to find hers. She falls asleep with her hand clasped in his, and vaguely thinks to herself as she drifts off that she’ll have to be sure to wake before the men do.

#sharpefic #richard sharpe fic #sharpe's beacon fic

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