#hector fraser

[cookie-de-baunilha]

it’s the way that john’s father’s death and its aftermath profoundly altered john’s perception of love and loss but he still fell in love with hector anyway and hector’s death just cemented that perception but he still fell in love with jamie anyway and jamie’s rejection just drove him further away from the idea of being loved back but he still fell in love with percy anyway and THAT fucked him up so badly that after percy there was no one else.

[hero-of-crefeld]

So about John giving the sapphire to Jamie in 7x02… I genuinely yelled ‘yes, thank you!’ out loud. Of all the things that I dislike in the books, John giving Hector’s ring to Jamie is the one moment that made me abandon any and all regard for canon. To me, it just seemed like John would absolutely not do that. I also think that scene is extremely badly written in the book, which is just… I don’t know. It just feels like a bit of a fuck you to the feelings John ever had for Hector, and to their story in general. Like it could have been intended as John finally letting go of Hector, but it felt so meh! Like it wasn’t even a big deal (I mean wtf happened to “some people you grieve over forever”??). So the show having it be Jamie’s sapphire that John gives away was an improvement.

Was it changed because the casual viewer would have no idea about the sapphire ring or about Hector? Presumably, yes.

But I also think John giving back Jamie’s sapphire makes soooo much more sense. Like the whole “you thought it could be of use to you one day” just makes sense for the story. And it’s way more dramatic than the version in the books.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m glad the show got one (1) thing right.

[legok9]

"Who's that girl" DWM 268 (1998)

So, who would have played the Doctor if she'd been a woman from the first? DWM rounds up the likely ladies …

Hermione Baddeley 1963-66 Renowned for unsympathetic roles in both Brighton Rock and the dour 'kitchen sink'-styled Room at the Top, film veteran Baddeley made an enthralling Doctor - part dragon, part slightly dotty maiden aunt. Eternal juvenile Melvyn Hayes was 'unearthly' grandson Stephen Vivian Pickles 1966-69 Although much younger, and never a lead, the versatile Pickles had been a familiar TV face for 20 years (Harpers West One, etc) before being cast as Baddeley's successor. Her sprightly, elfin Doctor had a penchant for dressing-up, like a St Trinian's tomboy who never left school

Liz Fraser 1970-74 A comic actress familiar from several Carry Ons, Fraser's initial trepidation at taking on an ostensibly serious role soon dissipated. Her bossy, big-sisterly show-off of a Doctor was best paired with dippy companion Joe Grant (later Playgirl pin-up Robin Askwith) Frances de la Tour 1974-81 Gangling, piercing-eyed Shakespearean actress de la Tour played a tweedy, louche, Bohemian Doctor part-based on Virginia Woolf. Caused a minor sensation when she married the young actor who played the second incarnation of Time Lord companion Roman — Peter Davison

Jan Francis 1982-84 Despite rumours that the next Doctor might be played by a man (former New Avenger Gareth Hunt is hotly tipped), the youngest actress yet is cast. Fresh from middlebrow thirties drama The Good Companions, Francis made for a sporty Doctor in Lottie Dod-style tennis whites Lynda Bellingham 1984-86 Known to SF fans for her role as Barbara the Butcher in an episode of Jenna's 7, Bellingham's controversial Doctor was a loud, hectoring grand-dame of the theatre. Unceremoniously 'regenerated' following the Doctor's on- (and off-) screen inquisition in the epic Trial of a Time Lady

Pauline Melville 1987-89 Virtually unknown fringe cabaret and cult comedy artiste is surprise choice for 'back to basics' Seventh Doctor. Fan fears that series will become showcase for childish high-jinks up-ended when Melville stories adopt a sombre, down-beat mood, performed with conviction and gravitas Miranda Richardson 1996 The eldest in a successful line of acting siblings, a favourite of BBC producers since high-profile lead debut in revisionist biographical drama of notorious 20th century 'villain', makes a bid for American network stardom via lavish new big-haired version of Doctor Who. Star Trek actor Alexander Siddig plays love interest Dr Brian

[peppermintquartz]

My top ten movie night suggestions for Buck and Tommy that aren't Love, Actually:

1. Pacific Rim: Drift compatibility, big action sequences, awesome father figures, brotherly vibes, romantic undertones, detailed worldbuilding for people who may like deep diving into interesting topics... They debate who is drift compatible with whom in their circle of friends.

2. Mad Max: Fury Road: (this is primarily for Tommy but Buck will also enjoy it) the big rigs, the wild vehicles, the stunts, the cinematography, the kickass women, Tom Hardy, Charlize Theron. Tommy SO WANTS a big rig. Buck gets him the game instead

3. Everything Everywhere All At Once: it's a movie representation of ADHD. It's also a movie about family ties, generational trauma, feeling like a loser, romantic love, familial love, queerness, and it is also a cinematic masterpiece, and Ke Huy Quan is adorable. Buck is a crying mess and Tommy isn't any better, but they both cuddle it out.

4. Pride & Prejudice: for the hand holding scene alone Tommy will watch it ten times. And Mr Darcy in the rain. And the part where Mr Darcy and Elizabeth are laughing and kissing and talking about names, what names to use when they're happy. Buck tries out his English accent and all of a sudden Tommy wants him to roleplay Mr Darcy in bed. (He calls Tommy Thomas and it turns Tommy on SO MUCH but only if it's said in an English accent)

5. The Mummy: Brendan Fraser. Rachel Weisz. Oded Fehr. John Hannah. Arnold Vosloo. It's a bisexual wet dream wrapped in a swashbuckling action fantasy. Both of them want O'Connell carnally.

6. The Princess Diaries 2: far off places, daring (sword?)fights, magic spells(?), a prince in disguise! Ok, 2.5 out of 5 isn't too bad. Buck thinks it's because Tommy had a crush on Chris Pine. Tommy later bashfully says it's actually for Joe, played by Hector Elizondo. Buck teases Tommy "no Daddy Issues" Kinard about this all night.

7. Up: they have to pause after the first few minutes just to cry it out. Buck even punches Tommy's chest a few times for making him watch the sweetest and most painful love story ever unfold and rip him apart. But the rest of the movie is adorable and Buck now wants a dog. Tommy isn't budging yet on his position: no pets unless they're sure they can come home daily.

8. Baz Luhrmann's Romeo & Juliet: Tommy learnt his Shakespeare watching this. Buck is enchanted by the aesthetic OTT-ness of it. They both get really quiet in the final scene, and hold each other closely when Juliet weeps over Romeo before she takes the gun.

9. Kung Fu Hustle: Buck can't predict where the movie is going but it goes at a wild pace, zigzagging different tropes and cliches, and at the core of it is a guy who had a boyhood dream of being somebody who can save the world, but was led astray and found his way back to being a hero. Tommy likes the wire-fu, and the tributes to other movies. There's a lot of references made and Buck goes digging into the allusions and references with glee.

10. The Lord of the Rings: around Christmas, Tommy makes time to run the extended edition. First of all: Aragorn. Second of all: Legolas. (Tommy is the Legolas fan, Buck turns out to be the Aragorn fan.) Lots of lore again. And it's so sincere and sweet and there is so much love that Tommy can't help loving it too. Buck gets into the hours and hours of BTS details of the best trilogy ever made.

[grandvhs]

lista de nomes masculinos que estava no meu bloco de notas e eu só lembrei agora

starting with A ;;

aaron.

adair.

adam.

aiden.

ajax.

alec.

alfie.

allistar.

anderson.

andrew.

andy.

angus.

antonio.

anthony.

archer.

archibald.

archie.

aries.

arlo.

arthur.

ashley.

ashton.

austen.

avery.

axel.

starting with B ;;

bailey.

beau.

beckham.

beckett.

bellamy.

benjamin.

bennett.

bentley.

blade.

blake.

blaine.

blaise.

blue.

bobbie.

bodhi.

brad.

brandon.

braxton.

brayden.

brent.

brett.

brock.

brody.

brooke.

bryson.

starting with C ;;

caleb.

callum.

calvin.

cameron.

carlisle.

carlos.

carson.

carter.

casey.

chad.

chandler.

charlie.

chase.

chaz.

christian.

christopher.

cody.

colby.

cole.

cooper.

colton.

connor.

conrad.

corbin.

corey.

starting with D ;;

dakota.

dallas.

damien.

damon.

dante.

darian.

darron.

darryl.

david.

dawson.

declan.

demetri.

dennison.

denver.

derek.

diego.

diesel.

dimitri.

dixon.

dominic.

donovan.

drake.

drew.

dustin.

dwayne.

starting with E ;;

eason.

eaton.

eddy.

edmund.

edward.

elijah.

elior.

ellias.

elliot.

ellis.

elyas.

ember.

emerson.

emery.

emilio.

emmett.

enzo.

eric.

ernie.

ethan.

ethaniel.

evan.

everett.

everson.

ezar.

starting with F ;;

fabio.

fallon.

farah.

felix.

fernando.

ferris.

felton.

finn.

finnegan.

finnick.

fitz.

fitzgerald.

fletcher.

floyd.

flynn.

foley.

forest.

francisco.

franco.

frankie.

franklin.

fraser.

frasier.

freddie.

fredrik.

starting with G ;;

gabe.

gabriel.

gale.

gallagher.

garcia.

gareth.

garrett.

gary.

gavin.

gene.

george.

gerard.

gilbert.

giovanni.

glenn.

gordon.

grady.

graeme.

grant.

greggory.

gregor.

greyson.

griffin.

gus.

guy.

starting with H ;;

hadley.

hale.

haley.

hamilton.

hamish.

hansel.

harley.

harris.

harrison.

harry.

harvey.

haven.

hayes.

heath.

hector.

hendrix.

henrik.

henry.

holton.

howard.

hudson.

hugh.

hugo.

hunter.

hyde.

starting with I ;;

ian.

ibrahim.

icarius.

idris.

igor.

iman.

immanuel.

imran.

indi.

indiana.

indigo.

indra.

inrique.

irwin.

isaak.

isaiah.

isaias.

ishmael.

isobell.

israel.

ivan.

ivey.

ivor.

ivory.

izzy.

starting with J ;;

jack.

jacob.

jagger.

jai.

james.

jamie.

jason.

jaspar.

jaxon.

jaydon.

jed.

jeremy.

jesse.

jett.

joel.

jameson.

jonathon.

jordan.

jose.

joseph.

joshua.

jude.

julian.

junior.

justin.

starting with K ;;

kade.

kai.

kalen.

kameron.

kane.

kasey.

kayden.

keaton.

keegan.

keenan.

kellan.

kendall.

kendrick.

kevin.

khalil.

kian.

kiefer.

kieran.

kingsley.

kingston.

klaus.

kohen.

konrad.

kristoff.

kyle.

starting with L ;;

lachlan.

lamar.

lambert.

lance.

landon.

langston.

lawrence.

lawson.

leeroy.

lennon.

leo.

leonardo.

levi.

lewis.

liam.

lincoln.

lionel.

logan.

lorenzo.

louis.

luca.

lucas.

lucky.

lucis.

luke.

starting with M ;;

mackenzie.

madden.

maddox.

malaki.

malcolm.

manuel.

marco.

marcus.

marley.

marshall.

martin.

mason.

matteo.

matthew.

max.

micah.

michael.

miguel.

mike.

miles.

miller.

milo.

mitchell.

morgan.

moses

starting with N ;;

nadir.

naiser.

nasir.

nate.

nathan.

nathaniel.

naveen.

naydon.

ned.

nico.

neil.

nelson.

nero.

nicholai.

nicholas.

nila.

niles.

nixon.

noah.

noel.

nolan.

norman.

north.

nylan.

nyle.

starting with O ;;

oakley.

ocean.

octavius.

odell.

olaf.

oliver.

ollie.

omar.

omari.

orion.

orlando.

osborn.

oscar.

o’shea.

osten.

oswald.

otis.

otto.

owen.

oxley.

starting with P ;;

pablo.

page.

palmer.

parker.

parrish.

patrick.

paul.

paulo.

pax.

paxton.

payton.

penn.

percy.

perry.

peter.

phineas.

phoenix.

pierce.

pierre.

prescott.

presley.

preston.

prince.

princeton.

puck.

starting with Q ;;

qadim.

qadir.

quain.

quenby.

quill.

quimby.

quincy.

quinn.

quinten.

starting with R ;;

randy.

raymond.

reese.

reid.

remy.

reuben.

rhett.

rhys.

richard.

richie.

ricky.

riley.

robert.

robin.

roger.

roman.

romeo.

ronan.

ronnie.

ross.

rowen.

ryan.

ryder.

ryker.

rylan.

starting with S ;;

sage.

sailor.

salem.

samson.

samuel.

sascha.

sawyer.

saxon.

scott.

sean.

sebastian.

seth.

shane.

shiloh.

simon.

sinclair.

skyler.

sonny.

spencer.

stanley.

stefan.

steven.

stevie.

storm.

sullivan.

starting with T ;;

tamir.

tanner.

tate/tait.

tatum.

taylor.

teddy.

theo.

thomas.

timothy.

tobias.

toby.

todd.

tommy.

tory.

trace.

travis.

trent.

trevor.

trey.

tristan.

troye.

tucker.

tyler.

tyrone.

tyson.

starting with U ;;

umair.

umar.

urien.

usama.

starting with V ;;

valentine.

valentino.

vance.

vaughn.

victor.

vincent.

vinn.

vinnie.

vladimir.

starting with W ;;

wade.

walden.

wallace.

walter.

warner.

warren.

warrick.

waylan.

wayne.

wendall.

wes.

wesley.

west.

whitley.

wilbert.

william.

willis.

wilmer.

windsor.

winslow.

winston.

wolf.

wren.

wyatt.

wynter.

starting with X ;;

xachary.

xan.

xander.

xavier.

xeno.

ximen.

xylon.

starting with Y ;;

yahto.

yakub.

yasin.

yasi.

york.

ysrael.

yuri.

yusef.

starting with Z ;;

zachary.

zahir.

zander.

zane.

zavier.

zed.

zeke.

zion.

zolten.

[christiwhitson]

My first impression of Jamie’s Aunt Jocasta was rather ambiguous. She shared Jamie’s magnetic presence and a more feminine version of her brothers’ broad cheekbones and high brow. Her sweet smile and warm, pleasant voice reminded me of the elderly nurses who had trained my unit at Pembroke. Though I recalled all too well that they could go from maternal to tyrannical in the blink of an eye. Jocasta looked genuinely happy to see Jamie and absolutely thrilled to meet his family--especially Brianna.

The ambiguity stemmed from the fact that she and her husband, Hector, were traveling with two young slaves. One of them was a girl near Bree’s age, while the other was a teenage boy, closer to twenty than ten. Although both appeared to be healthy and well-groomed, they apparently did not merit an immediate introduction by the Camerons. Instead, they had entered the print shop behind their owners with heads bent and promptly gravitated to the far corner. Even after months of immersion in a culture that embraced slavery, I couldn’t help but think poorly of slave owners on principle, and my daughter’s distaste for them rivaled my own.

I glanced at Bree and found her watching the young girl with a heartsick expression, compelling me to straighten my shoulders and address the two servants directly.

“We’re pleased to meet you as well,” I said with a kind smile, ignoring their looks of shock. “I’m Claire Fraser, and this is Brianna. I assume you already know my husband. I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your names.”

“I’m Phaedre. This is Rufus,” the girl answered timidly after a nervous glance toward the Camerons.

“It’s lovely to meet you both,” I replied, careful to show the same cordiality I’d offered Hector and Jocasta. “Brianna, why don’t you show our younger guests where they can find some refreshment.”

I added a subtle wink that only she could see and was pleased when she offered a mischievous smile in return. We were clearly united on this front--while they were in our home, Rufus and Phaedre would be treated as equals.

[tangentsandbubbles]

John and Percy XV

Here I go again, I am going to try and unpick a few of Ms Gabaldon's comments about Percy and John...

I think she does this to fuck with her readers minds TBH. It's just a game to her.

LIAR

There are lies, like the big dishonest ones, and there are lies of omission. I cannot think of any actual lies Percy has told. Lies of omission, certainly- the fact he was a whore, the stuff about Mr A, the fact he loved John, that all came pouring out once he was in prison. But it was all true, all the stuff about Claude, trois Fleche was all true and I expect the stuff about Fergus is all true. As for John, he omitted much- Hector and Jamie in particular. Then he actually lied when he said he didn't know Jamie Fraser (Echo). And Jamie has been known to lie. If anyone can find me an actual lie from Percy, let me know.

UNFAITHFUL

Sweet Jesus, do I need to explain this. It is even written in BOTB - what is the difference between betrayal of the flesh and betrayal of the heart? John knows his love of Jamie was part of their downfall.

EXHAUSTED PITY

Well, John, of course you're exhausted dragging round that bloody great suit of protective armour, denying furiously that you have any feelings. As for pity, well, pity is an interesting choice of word. Pity is isolating and sets up a distance between people, a separation from the other person. Brene Brown says pity involves 4 elements- a belief that the suffering person is inferior, a passive, self focused reaction that does not include providing help, a desire to maintain emotional distance, and avoidance of sharing in the other persons suffering. In other words, John's brick wall is alive and well.

This relationship needs about two books to fix...

[renee-writer]

April 15th Chapter Forty-seven

AO3

Her scream gets everyone running. All but Ian who walks as fast as he can.

 

“Mary, what is it?” Claire fears the worst. If William is… she can’t even think it… would her husband survive? Will any of them?

 

Her father -in-law kneels beside her. She seats clutching the telegram in her shaking hand.

 

“Is he…?” Brian looks pale as death. He swallows hard. Claire feels Jamie’s hands on her shoulder, clinging tight. An anchor against whatever the news is. Ian, walking in a second later, takes it out of her hand. A quick read and he sags against Jenny in relief.

 

“Mrs. Fraser,

 

This is to inform you that your husband, Lieutenant William Fraser, has been honorably discharged from His Majesty’s service and will be heading home.

He should arrive in a fortnight.

 

Warmest regards.”

 

A cheer arises that wakes the sleeping twins. Harriet and the other children run down from the nursery.

 

“What is it papa?” Young Ian asks.

 

“Your Uncle William is heading home.”

 

Harriet squeals and throws herself into her mam’s arms. Willie smiles, hugging them both. Claire runs to retrieve her babies.

 

He is gaunt, every bone in his body visible. Mary weeps at seeing him.

 

“It is alright, my love. Nothing that home cooking shan’t fix.”

 

Mrs. Crook fills the table with the richest food she can make. They are blessed to have their own, and they know it well. Many aren’t as blessed. They do their best to help their neighbors.

 

Willie sits close to his da, looking up at him with worshipful eyes. He and his uncles are real life heroes. They live, scarred from their battles but here. A lot of his mates carry heavy hearts at losing their fathers.

 

He makes a fuss over how much his children have grown, over Henry and John. He jokes about being fit and trim. After dinner, in the study with his brothers and father, he shares how he feared not making it home.

 

War is hell. The after effects can be tortuous. All three men know this well. Hours are spent in the study each evening talking it out. Tears and screams aren’t unexpected.

 

Their women keep the children away. The older ones understand. The younger have never known different.

 

A letter comes from John. With America’s entry into the war, he has joined the fight. They pray for him and for peace, nightly.

 

A good thing comes from it. He meets someone. A fellow soldier named Hector. Jamie smiles at reading of their love.

 

Mary has a son, ten months after William ‘s return. Georgie is a braw lad and his birth helps his father heal.

 

Claire has a daughter they name Gracie. Faith is thrilled to have a sister. Fergus and Quinton are quite protective of her.

 

The radio brings then reports of the status of the war. The allies are winning and their prayers for peace redouble.

 

Finally on the 11th day of the 11th month and at the 11th hour, there is an armistice. The war to end all wars is at an end.

 

The end.

[brian-in-finance]

Names and FACES we know.

Murtagh, Dougal, Colum… ???

Thanks for the message, Anon. You’re referring to The Herald’s story, Outlander 'Blood of My Blood': Prequel to begin filming in Glasgow, where Matthew B Roberts says:

The title is a nod to Jamie Fraser’s marriage vow to Claire and there will be several names and faces that Outlander fans will know and recognise.

Many names will be familiar, but I think it’s misleading to say we’ll recognise faces. 🤷🏻‍♂️ Brian and Ellen married in 1716, which means everyone who still lives in 1743 when Claire first arrives through the stones is 27 years younger than when we meet them on TV. And… the story of Brian and Ellen’s romance begins before 1716, so the 1743ers are more than 27 years younger, BOMB time.

Which names might we recognise? You mention three obvious ones, representing the two principal clans. Will we see (young) faces to match my list of names? 🍿

Castle Leoch: Clan MacKenzie (Photo: Starz)

The MacKenzies are here!

Patriarch/Matriarch

Jacob (Seamus Ruadh) / Anne Grant

Children

Ellen (marries Brian Fraser)

Colum (marries Leticia Chisholm)

Dougal (marries Maura Grant)

Janet

Flora

Jocasta (marries John Cameron… future husbands, Hugh and Hector Cameron)

Groupies

Old Alec

Mrs Fitz

Ned Gowan

Marcus MacRannoch

Malcolm Grant

Rupert (not much younger than Jocasta

Angus (probably close to Rupert’s age)

Beaufort Castle: Clan Fraser (Photo: Starz, of Dean, the stunt castle)

Je suis prest!

Patriarch/Mistress (Brian’s mother)

Simon, Lord Lovat (The Old Fox) / Davina Porter

Children

Brian (Brian Dubh)

4 half-brothers, including Simon, Master of Lovat

3 half sisters

Groupies

Murtagh

John Murray

Mrs Murray

I’m hesitant to use dates here because discrepancies exist between sources he says mildly, but if BOMB continues into the early years of Brian and Ellen’s marriage…

Lallybroch: Fraser-MacKenzie home (Photo: Starz)

Children (in birth order)

Ian Murray

Willie Fraser

Jenny Fraser

Jamie Fraser

Robert Fraser (dies with Ellen during childbirth)

So, there are 32 familiar names whose not-so-familiar faces we might see in BOMB. 😃 Can anyone think of other names? Comment away…

Remember… in keeping with unpopular opinions, such as enjoying The Search and Go Tell The Bees That I Am Gone, Brian is looking forward to Outlander: Blood of My Blood. Some people might suggest all Brian’s taste is in his mouth. 😂

[blackjackkent]

Help Me Pick My BG3 Character :D

Given that I'm almost done with Throne of Bhaal and going to start liveblogging BG3 pretty soon, I need a vote on which of these characters I should play for that playthrough, because I'm torn. :D

Poll at the bottom!

Some of these are my old D&D characters that I would be reviving in a new medium and some are brand new. All romance options are completely possible at this stage - waiting to see how the character actually interacts with them all in game. :D

Rhian Wolfswift. (Originally named Aderyn, but I already used that on this blog for one of my DAI Inquisitors.) My first D&D character, half-elf bard with the urchin background. Sarcastic, charming when needed; grew up busking on the streets for money and will do basically anything that gets her the coin to keep her mother housed and off the streets.

Jayce Fraser, tiefling ranger with the outlander background. Another of my D&D characters. A roamer and hunter of wild beasts, travels with a wolf companion named Caleb (if the game will allow it). More comfortable among animals than people and dedicated to the preservation and protection of the natural world.

Hector Carlisle, human monk, sage background. A certified BlackjackKent sad dad special. New OC for this playthrough, not played before. History nerd who was the illegitimate child of a monk in a monastery of Selune and was raised there after his father disappeared. Very smart, very dedicated to serving those around him, wildly unprepared for the outside world after having spent almost his whole life among other monks.

Trystan Sunguard, elven warlock, noble background. Another fresh OC. Was well on his way to becoming one of the most powerful wizards that had ever been seen at the extremely prestigious school to which he was sent - until he got far too confident in his own skill and opened a portal to the Far Realms, and something looked back.

[scotianostra]

The 16th of February 1746 in what became known as the Rout of Moy,  Government forces under Lord Louden attempt to capture Prince Charles Edward Stewart at Moy Hall.

Around midnight on 16th/17th February 1746, Lord Loudon, the Commander of the Hanoverian forces in the north, mustered 1500 troops from the Inverness Garrison and set off on the twelve mile march south along General Wade’s Road to Moy in a bid to capture Prince Charles Edward Stuart. The prince, a guest of Lady Anne Mackintosh (Colonel Anne) at Moy Hall, had arrived with a small guard of 50 men, some distance ahead of his retreating Highland Army.

Pitch darkness interspersed with flashing lightning slowed and unsettled the marching men.

Watching the road here, 3 miles from Moy Hall, was an ‘outer guard’ of just five Jacobites led by Donald Fraser, the Moy Blacksmith. He had chosen a spot where he could observe movement on the skyline to the north in darkness, and where he had cover to the south in daylight. Nearby to the east, peat stacks remained out on the moor. Here he planned to harass, and perhaps deceive, the enemy.

As the Hanoverian Column, spearheaded by the Laird of MacLeod and his men approached in the darkness, they were surprised by sudden musket fire and loud war cries urging clansmen to battle. Even the peat stacks threatened in the flashing lightning. Convinced that the whole Highland Army was at hand, Loudon’s men turned in panic and fled back to Inverness, somehow carrying off the body of Donald Ban MacCrimmon, Piper to MacLead and the only fatality of the night. A premonition of his imminent death had been realised.

This skirmish took place two months prior to the Battle of Culloden. Donald Fraser died in 1804 and lies buried in Moy Churchyard.

The above information is displayed at the Cairn.

On the cold, dull but dry afternoon of Saturday l6th April, a sizeable crowd of over 200 people attended the unveiling of a new cairn making the site of the skirmish known as “The Rout of Moy”.

This event was organised mainly by Donald MacAskill of Tomatin, James Ingram of Aberdeen, and James and Elma Singer of Ellon, with valuable assistance from Brian Duff of Forest Enterprise. Building work was carried out by Murdo MacAskill, Fred Jamison and Willie MacAskill, all of Inverness.

The unveiling ceremony was preceded by a stirring demonstration of drumming skills by the Clann an Drumma (4 drummers and a piper) from Glasgow.

During the ceremony wreaths were laid in memory of Donald Ban MacCrimmon, and a one minute silence was observed.

After the ceremony Donald MacAskill thanked the following people for their participation:-

HRH Prince Michael of Albany for unveiling the cairn. Dr Seamus H Grant of Rothiernurchus for his address in Gaelic. Hector MacKenzie of Skye for his prayers. Judith Dyson of Kingussie for playing the lament. Kenneth Borthwick of Dundee for the musket salute.

Afterwards an appreciative large crowd enjoyed the hospitality of the Coleman family at the Tomatin Inn who provided welcoming plates of soup and stovies. Music was provided by Clann an Drumma, Judith Dyson, James Home, Fred Jamison and Andy Shaw. It was a most enjoyable day which will long be remembered by those present.

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[finishinglinepress]

FLP ANTHOLOGY OF THE DAY: Nights at the Calcutta Café edited by Peter Schulman and Somrita Urni Ganguly

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Nights at the Calcutta Café is a result of an enriching collaboration between poets from Calcutta, Montreal, and Norfolk, VA originally curated in memory of a beloved, erstwhile Indian restaurant near Columbia University. The #poems delve into issues of loneliness, poverty, belonging and of course love during the pandemic as a way of breaking geographical barriers when the world was still separated. The poems accentuate the differences between these cities but also urban commonalities that highlight global solidarity in times of great calamity. We have assembled a group of highly respected, world-wide legendary poets who have contributed to this volume and is the fruition of an on-line poetry event meant to bridge geographical boundaries and distances in the spirit of an exchange of words and ideas. Catherine Cormier-Larose, Kelly Norah Drukker and Hector Ruiz from Montreal; Joanna Eleftheriou, Catherine Fletcher from Norfolk; Amit Shankar Saha, Naina Dey, Gopal Lahiri, Mallika Sengupta all contribute to this unusual, melancholic but powerful mosaic of voices and spaces.

PRAISE FOR Nights at the Calcutta Café edited by Peter Schulman and Somrita Urni Ganguly

Nights at the Calcutta Cafe is a searing set of poems in quest for lost worlds. It is based on an eponymous poetry reading curated by Peter and Naina Dey. Breath-taking. Deeply moving. A citadel of floating memories… slowly lighting up with new life! There’s an alchemy of fusion in remembered sights, sounds and dreams, the way they recreate beloved moments or broken ones fused in us forever. It erupts into sudden action In A Privileged Glimpse of the Dead – where graves are dug up to find the truth being denied; and meanders slowly Down the Ganga, or memory lane, or Park Street, The Girl on the Phone looking for signs, making space for the reader’s own solitary gains. Calcutta Cafe looms up against a dark sky – warm, cosy lit up with the promise of food, poetry and solace, the perfect imaginary setting for brilliant poetics, and friends

–Smeetha Bhoumik, founder of the Women Empowered India group and the WE Literary Circle:

Nights at the Calcutta Café serves us primordial, limitless, audacious verses with metaphysical intimacy, warmth and idiosyncratic dishes – silently transforming our everyday culinary experiences into revelatory linguistic and aestheic joys of longing and belonging across cities in the world. Verses from New York to Kokata, in this mesmerizing collection, speak in multiple tongues celebrating the language of univesal symbols, signs and signposts..

—Ashwani Kumar, poet, author and academic in Mumbai

The poems in Nights at the Calcutta Café, offer a transcontinental bridge whose arch confidently strides across transatlantic distances in a dialogue that interweaves the consciousness of Indian and American poets, as they address a global audience. Brought together virtually in COVID times, they embody the fortitude and resilience of individuals and communities that sustain the generations as they celebrate the human capacity to heal, in the face of tragedy, suffering and loss. These poems combine mystical wonder with the power of love and hope, made possible with the audacity that only poets have the courage to voice with confidence.

–Dr Bashabi Fraser, CBE, Professor Emerita of English and Creative Writing, Edinburgh Napier University

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Dolo Flicks: Dune: Part Two Review - Step Into the Cinematic Universe of Denis Villeneuve's Hollywood Epic

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Published: March 13, 2024

Denis Villeneuve Sets a New Standard for Hollywood Epics with Latest Release

We are less than halfway through 2024, and what will likely be considered the year's best film from both a commercial and critical standpoint has been released. Denis Villeneuve's anticipated sequel, Dune: Part Two, has hit theatres and is one of the finest Hollywood epics of the decade.

The follow-up is a continuation of Dune: Part One, picking up where the movie left off. It follows the journey of Paul Atreides (Timothee Chalamet), his joining the Fremen, and his ascension to the throne as emperor on Arrakis. Both films are based on the 1965 science fiction novel Dune by Frank Herbert.

Upon viewing the film, one aspect that sets the Dune sequel apart from others in the science fiction genre is the all-star cast. A mix of veterans and new-age stars permeates throughout Dune: Part Two, further enhancing the overall quality of the movie. The cast includes Javier Bardem (Stilgar), Timothee Chalamet (Paul Atreides), Stellan Skarsgard (Baron Vladimir Harkonnen), Zendaya (Chani), Austin Butler (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen), Rebecca Ferguson (Lady Jessica), Josh Brolin (Gurney Halleck), Florence Pugh (Princess Irulan), Dave Bautista (Glossu Rabban Harkonnen) and Christopher Walken (Emperor Shaddam IV).

Most films of the exact nature as Dune: Part Two are judged primarily on their action sequences. In this instance, the sequel does not disappoint. While the action may not reach the heights of The Battle of Helm's Deep in The Lord of the Rings, the film's level of consistency in each battle makes it to where it doesn't need to.

From the start, the cinematography and color grading by Greig Fraser gives each encounter a unique look. One of the opening scenes has Paul, Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), and a group of Fremen fending off an attack from a Harkonnen patrol. The orange backdrop that swallows the setting makes the scene stand out. A similar sequence occurs in the film's second act when the focus is on the Harkonnen's homeworld and the full scope of H.R. Giger's influence. The planet's black sun puts a pure white filter on the inhabitant's skin, contrasting the black buildings.

Hollywood films often input their blockbusters with an overabundance of romanticism that frequently weighs down a movie's momentum. However, in Dune: Part Two, the romance between Chani (Zendaya) and Paul (Timothee Chalamet) never overstays its welcome by becoming overly intimate or bordering on feeling unnatural. The romance is interwoven with Paul's step-by-step rising embrace of the ways of the Fremen, from learning their language, riding a sandworm, and participating in raids on spice fields.

While many themes are explored throughout both of Villeneuve's Dune films, two of the most apparent are how religion and stories can influence culture. Specifically, with Paul (Timothee Chalamet), the films highlight how charismatic leaders can overtake a community, leading them down a path of perceived righteousness through war.

The legendary Hans Zimmer composed the music throughout the film. Zimmer's score adds gravitas to the scenes with Chani and Paul, highlighting the significance of their relationship.

As far as negatives, Dune: Part Two has very few flaws. At 165 minutes, the story and characters are worthy of the three-hour runtime, but every minute is felt by the end of the second act. As strange as a comparison as this could be, similar to Zack Snyder's 2016 film Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice, Dune: Part Two feels like it would have been better served with a more extended cut. More scenes with Lady Jessica, while she continues to proselytize the Fremen with the Lisan al Gaib prophecy or with the Emperor (Christopher Walken) and his daughter Princess Irulan (Florence Pugh) to delve into their motivations with the Bene Gesserit group, would have helped viewers who aren't as familiar with the story of Dune. The number of characters can feel daunting for an audience not thoroughly infatuated with the lore.

Dune: Part Two's third act elevates the film from great to remarkable. The ending sequence that features Paul (Chalamet) leading the Fremen to attack the Sardaukar troops of Emperor Shaddam (Christopher Walken) with sandworms and the Atreidis family missiles is epic in scope. The knife duel between Paul and the Harkonnen leader Feyd-Rautha (Austin Butler) is utilized perfectly as the concluding battle of the film. The last sequence was wonderfully done with the start of the holy war between the great houses and Chani (Zendaya) leaving on her own. The ending perfectly concludes the story at hand while leaving the audience wanting to see what happens next.

Villeneuve has stated that he is working on a third and final film based on the book Dune Messiah. In some ways, the conclusion of Dune: Part Two is satisfying enough that a third film never materializing won't feel like a detriment to the other entries in the series.

What Villeneuve's Dune films best showcase is that epic storytelling can be done with one singular voice and not by committee. Win or lose, more auteurs should be allowed to tell grand stories. As Villeneuve has shown Hollywood, it can be done at the highest level and still make a profit.

(Featured Image: Niko Tavernise/Warner Bros.)

[phoenixflames12]

Epilogue: Remembrance Sunday, 1947

A/N: This takes place in my WW2 AU that began with An Endless Night and takes place seven months after Dancing by Moonlight 

11th November 1947

The Frasers along with their extended family and friends gather in Broch Mordha’s village square to pay their respect to the dead and look to the future for those who have been left behind 

Catch up on all of Vergangenheit on AO3 here

I am going to do a proper acknowledgements post later on, but here is a quick one. This story and this AU would not have been possible without the help, guidance and unfailing support of some very special people, without whom this epilogue would not be here today. 

@momwendy, @abbydebeaupreposts, @gotham-ruaidh, @sassy-sassenach, @missclairebelle , @sassenachwaffles, @lady-o-ren, @mo-nighean-rouge, @whiskynottea and @thatsoccercoach have given this story more than they know- putting words in my head when I had none and breathing such life into this story and its’ characters that I don’t know where I would be without them all. 

This story is also a tribute and a memorial to the men of the 51st Highlander Division who fought at the battle for France in May 1940 and I hope will be a fitting one to all those who have fought and died over the conflicts since. 

11th November 1947

The sky is a cool, crisp grey that hangs over the moor like a cloak, almost shielding the two figures that are making their way over the hill and down the long, winding road that snakes across the softly muted carpet of dead heather and broon completely from view.  

There has been a haw frost in the night, hardening the ground until the mud comes up in thick, rough sods flecked with silver under the treads of their boots, biting against the wind, the winter light thick and low against the shadow of the hills.

The sky is quiet, the songs of the larks and the thrushes held tight in a reverent hush, the black skeletons of a thorn tree copse reaching like spiders across the slate coloured sky.

Jamie’s right hand is heavy on Claire’s arm, the weight of cold skin hard against her own.

The other one is clasped heavily against the horn crook of a walking stick, his fingers stiff and still and cold in their grip.

His face is impassive, the mask of careful blankness that she wishes that she could tear down and smash into a thousand tiny pieces, firmly in place. Only the tremble of the third and fourth fingers of his right hand tell her that anything is amiss, their tattoo slow and aching against the thick fabric of her coat.

‘What is it?’

Her voice is little more than a whisper, watching a muscle in his jaw twitch, the slow throb of his throat as he swallows, trying to find words enough to answer her.

‘It’s…’ He tries to speak and then pauses, holding her gaze with wide eyes that glimmer with ghosts.

His face is pale in the wane light, his lower lids smudged dark with bruising, the crows’ feet that crease the skin around his eyes more pronounced than she has ever seen them.

He has not been sleeping well of late, she knows that.

Has never slept well during the winter since his return, the chill of the wind baring his defences to the elements, lost and frozen as he struggled once more along the bitter death march of memory.

Has felt his body tense against her own in the laird’s room that for so long had hosted his ghost, a body that now moved stubbornly against the aches of flesh and bone on cold mornings.

A body stiffened not just from the physical damages that the war had wrought on him but aggravated to the extreme by the damp of the camps and the frozen wasteland of the march.

Has felt the knot of panic pulsing through suddenly clenched fists return as it had done in those terrifying nights when he had first come home, the tendons in his neck as taut as wire beneath her touch, jumping out against the crumpled linen of the pillowcase.

Has heard his breathing coming out in short, sharp gasps as he struggled against her touch, the names of the dead, breaking against his lips, their memories rising to invade their bed as her words of comfort were lost in the folds of his pyjama shirt.

‘It’s all right, Jamie. It’s just a dream, love. It’s over. I’m here. You’re home. Come back to me. Come back to us.’

‘I know,’ she replies slowly, her voice caught, her hand reaching to clasp his own, drawing their joined fist up so that her lips can brush against his knuckles, holding the wide, fearful gaze with her own.

‘I know.’

The war memorial rises tall and black against the crisp, slate sky when they reach the square.

The figure of an infantry man leaning on his rifle gazes out over the glen from the top of the great, dark obelisk, the cast of his kilt cut so fine that there is a moment in which Claire believes that she can see the thick tartan catch against the ripple of the breeze. His is a young face, a face of so many of the young men, mere boys really, who had come through the doors of the recruiting office, drunk on the promise of doing their bit for King and Country, never to come home again.

The granite that sweeps over his cheek is unlined and hopeful, the dark, sightless eyes bright as he stares out over the square and over the wet-stoned houses of Broch Mordha, looking past the slowly gathering crowd and into a great beyond.

Far out over the moor and onto the deep, purple rimmed hills beyond, the first crisp hints of snow lie soft and undisturbed, bringing with them the first white silences of winter.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Faith shiver and turn away to Albert, pulling the dark blue nurses’ cape more tightly around her. Even in the cold, her eldest daughter’s skin seems to glow with an internal warmth, the wane, cool sun lighting up the escaped curls that fluttered from her nurses’ cap so that they blaze in a burnished crown of auburn, cinnabar, russet and roan.  

A slight swell tugs at the cut of the grey-blue nurses’ dress, the promise of new life blooming through her cheeks that sparks a fire in Claire’s heart.  

‘Notre petite flocon de neige’, Jamie had called her when Claire had returned with Faith from the hospital to their rented rooms that the RMA had set aside for married couples. 

His eyes had been wide and bright with wonder, sparked through with hope as he had carefully taken the bundle from her, face softening into a smile as the weight of his first-born bairn had settled comfortably into his arms; the softly slanted eyes that Claire will never tire of blinking up into sleepy wakefulness; a soft, mewing cry falling from the virgin lips. 

Those eyes that had blinked once and then fixed themselves on her father’s, surrendering herself completely to his utter adoration.

‘Mo cholom geal ye are,’ he’d whispered, eyes shining as he had caught Claire’s gaze, a large, rough finger softly tracing the barely there line of their daughter’s cheek, the crown of his curls catching at the flickering light of the oil lamp that had hung by the door.

Albert stands tall beside her, feather dark hair hidden under a tweed cap, hazel eyes soft and loving as he bends his head to press a soft kiss against the crown of his wife’s curls, one arm pressed against the slow swell of her waist.

There will be grandchildren soon,she thinks, tightening her grip on Jamie’s hand as the thought spikes against her synapses; a sudden sob catching in her throat.

Grandchildren racing through the rooms of the gatehouse that Jamie has given to Albert and Faith, free of rent, until they find a place to strike out onto and call their own.

Grandchildren with her daughter’s shining eyes and her son-in-law’s soft smile, feather dark heads and blazing blue eyes brimming out of indistinguishable faces.

Grandchildren with lisping voices that would stick out chubby hands for her to hold and call her ‘granny Claire’ as they told her to close her eyes and follow them to the witches’ cauldron or up into the tree house to exclaim over their treasures.

‘Sassenach? Are ye well, mo Sorcha?’

Her husband’s eyes are narrowed with concern as he turns to face her and she nods, a small smile quirking painfully at the corners of her lips.

‘I’m fine, my love,’ the words are a murmur, lost against the warmth and weight of his chest.  

‘Just thinking about all this…’

She turns in his arms, spreading hers wide to encompass the scene; seeing Brianna, who had taken an early train to join them, deep in conversation with Hector Fraser. The toss of her curls is long and loose down her back, the long fingers flying like quicksilver through the cold, crisp air.

Their middle daughter had come home two nights ago, cheeks flushed with the thimbleful of sherry that she had accepted from Claire, eyes burning with stories of being invited to nights at the King’s Theatre with artist friends who spoke of the future as if they owned it as they had gathered into the drawing room after supper, the wireless a low, comforting, background hum that had made Jamie cough out a derisive Scottish noise deep in his throat.

‘She’s not a child anymore,’ she’d murmured as they had got ready for bed that night, the curve of his skull glowing in the flickering lamplight.

A moment of silence, his back turned to her, his shoulders hunching briefly as he had gathered himself, staring out into the night, his unspoken retort hanging thick in the air between them.

‘She’s no’ grown either!’

With a pang to her heart, she had watched him struggle before moving to him, wanting nothing more than to gather him into her arms and banish away all of his hurts.

A sliver of silver moonlight had caught against his curls when she had reached him, picking out the brilliant strands of roan and copper, highlighting the silver threads that linger at his temples.  Tucking her arms about his waist and pressing a soft, unseen kiss against the sweep of his cheek, she had, for the umpteenth time, thanked whatever God was listening, for returning him to her. Aged and battered and bruised he may be but still hers and still, remarkably whole.

She had felt his exhale then, the tightening of his lungs against her hands, the rush of air breathed out in a slow, pained breath.

‘Aye,’ he’d replied after a long moment, turning in her arms to face her; his eyes that are shared by both his daughters wide and shining.

She had nodded and reached out a thumb to press away the crinkle of an age line that had pressed against his forehead, reaching to cup his cheek.

‘Aye, I ken that, mo ghraidh. It… It’s just… Seeing her, all grown up an’ talking about men an’… I fear that she’s growing old before her time, ye ken?’

‘I know,’ she had murmured back, holding his gaze, his eyes very deep and very blue in the dim light, memories of the little girl with the unravelled mane of auburn plaits and grass stains splattered against the hem of her frock who had run amok, claiming every inch of the estate as her own, rising up in the silence before them.

From the passageway, the patter of feet had broken the silence for a moment, the click of the bathroom door opening, the thud of it being pulled to, the air full of the hushed rasp of her husband’s breathing.  

‘But we have to trust her judgement. Trust that she’ll come to us if anything goes wrong. D’you think you can do that?’

It had been a moment before he had replied, the look in his eyes deep and unreadable.

‘Aye’, he had said quietly, a slow smile catching at the corners of his mouth as he had bent his head to kiss her.

She sees William, who has shot through an unexpected growth spurt so that he is now all arms and legs with tawny eyes blazing out of a freckled face pulled taut over growing bones. His hair is a burnished crown of auburn curls against the pale, grey sky as he gazes up into the youthful face that is hewn forever in stone, looking far older than nine.  

‘He’s a braw lad, a nighean.’

Jamie’s voice is a murmured smile that is brimming with pride against her cheek as he follows her gaze and she nods, not looking at him.

‘Minds me a bit o’ me when I was that age,’ he continues, watching the lad talk quietly to Jimmy Atkinson who is staying at the Old Lion with Morag and his bairns, pale faces lost in the crowd.

‘Does he?’

‘Aye,’ he murmurs in reply, eyes turning away from his son to fall on Mhairi Bruce, who is standing a little way apart from the crowd, her long, dark skirt catching in the breeze, hugging herself against the chill.

She still knows so little about this girl whom Brianna had invited home, a girl who looks far older than eighteen with her long, straight skirts and starched white blouses; a girl who wears her past like a cloak, her emerald eyes shuttered with secrets.

Overhead, the thunderheads are rolling over the hills, the last of the sun’s storm-tossed light gleaming against the shadows of the main street.

In the slowly growing crowd, she can just make out Jenny and Ian followed by the brood of younger Murray children, Jenny’s dark eyes softening as she catches Claire’s gaze, shifting their youngest, Caitlin, further up her hip and raising a hand in greeting.

From the clock tower, the bell tolls the quarter hour, hushing the crowd as if a whistle had been blown to silence them and she hears the quick, marching step of Jimmy coming up to greet Jamie, his salute sharp against the sky.  

The poppy wreath is looped over his arm, jewels of scarlet pinned against the black backdrop, the light from Jamie’s medals pinned to his lapel glinting in the light.

His dark eyes shine with shared memories, the depths of his pupils glistening with names that Claire has heard her husband cry out in the dark of his nightmares, whimpered desperately like a catechism as he struggled through the worst of his memories.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Faith’s gaze, a soft smile catching at her eldest daughter’s lips, the names of the dead soft and unspoken between them.

‘Tiang gu, mo chariad,’ Jamie replies quietly, returning the salute and accepting the wreath.

Somewhere at the edge of the crowd, the wail of Aonghas’s Lindsay’s pipes cry out in the silence, the strains of Flowers of the Forest rising soft and eerie through the dying light.

The pipes melody rises and weeps and cries for the men that had been lost as Father Cameron steps up to address the silent crowd.

His voice is low and carrying, ringing over the square so that cloth caps are removed and heads bent, speaking of the young men who had gone so bravely and quietly from the lands that they loved, but rarely spoke of.

It had not been in them to speak of that love, but they had held it in their hearts regardless, held like a lit lamp whose flame burnt quiet and strong and true in their quest to fight and die in the defence of their country.

A shiver ripples down Claire’s spine at that, an unbidden sob catching in her throat as she sees Kirsty and Mhairi Fraser weeping quietly in Hector’s arms, his handsome face white and strained as he holds onto his Mam and sister watching Aonghas slowly step around the memorial, his pipes singing out in the stillness, the tune dancing through the village and leaping up over the moor. Joe’s ghost waits quietly beside them, the quirk of his quick, dark smile shivering in the silence as he slips away to join the others that had fallen with him.

Others that were little more than names now, but whose memories would live on in those that loved them, in those who had lost pieces of their hearts to the dark shadows of the German hills.

She sees Mhairi Bruce hug herself a little tighter against the chill, her pale face that is flushed with cold turned skywards, her eyes shining with the glimmer of unshed tears, lips pursed together, not looking at Brianna who moves towards her, a tentative hand reaching out to hold her own before slipping away.

Sees Albert nod quietly to Faith and bend to kiss her gently, dark eyes gleaming as they watch her disappear into the crowd before turning back to the memorial, face set and dark with memories.

‘Mam?’

The weight of William and Brianna’s hands clasping into her own takes her by surprise.

Faith comes quietly up beside them, the warmth of a calloused, work worn hand reaching gently to rest against Claire’s arm, her head burying itself against the pit of her shoulder blade; a soft, sad smile playing at the corner of her lips.

And then, out of nowhere, the bell begins to toll in the hour and Faith’s hand tightens against her shoulder.  

Brianna and William’s eyes are fixed on the figure of their father, his crown of curls glowing with burnished fire against the grey, November light as he steps up to lay the wreath against the cold, dark foot of the stone.

His face is set and white in the stillness, eyes blazing with quiet dignity, the ghosts of his men rising for the last time around him.

And in the stillness, a lone voice rings out, letting the brave, quiet words of Binyon’s poem fill the air, tearing Claire’s heart open afresh.

As she stands there, the weight of her children’s hands clasped in her own, listening to the old, proud words as they ring out over the square, she watches Jamie step back and raise his head to the soldier who guarded the silent names of those who had been lost and give a silent nod.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eye and aglow,

They were staunch until the end against odds uncounted,

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old,

Age shall not weary them, nor shall the years condemn,

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them.

                                                                                                           Fin