#lieutenant buckland

[silverfoxstole]

An utterly pointless photoset of Bush looking smaller than other people. Which of course, he is.

[macaron-n-cheese]

Buckland being forced to take on the role of captain and being overwhelmed by everything so that he can't make any decisions

[hornblower-diary]

I recently watched Mutiny and realized I'd be just as incompetent as Lieutenant Buckland if I were in his place....If not worse *cough*

[thiefbird]

platonic renown trio, “but I know being reckless and young is not how the damage gets done” from your list?

Ooooooooohhh this is so good

(also might be a little bit more pre-slash than purely platonic because Bush has complex feelings about Hornblower just. canonically) have some William Bush character study my friend; i listened to Damage Gets Done on repeat almost the entire time i wrote this, other than the bits where i rewatched Mutiny and Retribution for Research Purposes

(under a cut bc it got long - and possibly not entirely connected to its prompt; Bush decided to instead just dwell on his junior lieutenants a bunch in general)

Should I write a sequel to this? Maybe touching on how Horatio's mood might effect the infamous Kingston Debauch in a Dead Kennedy universe? I have Thoughts but this ended up near to 4k words and I needed to end it.

damage gets done (on ao3)

Stepping on board the Renown for the first time, Lieutenant William Bush had had no idea that he would be a different person by the time he reached Jamaica. He had been the same person, more or less, for the entire thirty-five years of his life so far; expecting to continue as he had was only reasonable.

But that was before he had met Hornblower: being dashed to the deck by a total stranger had not seemed like a likely catalyst for personal change at the time, unless caused by a knock on the head; looking back now, he felt he ought to have known, ought to have guessed. But instead he had been ruffled by Hornblower's oddities, peevish towards Mr Kennedy's facetiousness, and fully cemented himself into the role of outsider he so resented those first months.

They were an unlikely pair on the outside, Hornblower and Kennedy. Hornblower was an awkward, serious sort of man, private and reserved to a fault - and Bush had indeed seen it as a fault - where Kennedy was quite the opposite; Bush didn't think he heard a single earnest word from the fourth lieutenant's lips before he'd been on the Renown a month, unless the captain was present. And yet in practice they were as well together as any two men Bush had served with - he was unsurprised to learn they had been mids together at the start of the war, and shared most of their postings since.

He had been obscurely envious of such a friendship - coming up before the mast as he had created a gap between him and the other officers, one that he'd done his best to hide in his years as lieutenant, but one that he felt sorely - and had resolved to look down on the younger officers. Lieutenant Buckland made for poor company, too harassed by his rank, and Bush had resigned himself to a dull, lonely assignment within a week of coming aboard Renown.

Even now, many months later, he almost regretted that he had been wrong. But Captain Sawyer had proven to be a shell of himself, and he had somehow found himself in the unenviable position of plotting mutiny alongside an incompetent premier and the reckless youth of lieutenants Hornblower and Kennedy.

Reckless was perhaps putting it a little strong; Kennedy, certainly, was impetuous and excitable, a gleam in his eyes that drew Captain Sawyer's ire with a consistency unmatched by the finest timepiece, but Hornblower was anything but. Calculating, conniving, manipulative even, especially in his handling of Lieutenant Buckland; too clever by half, even half dead from keeping continual watch.

He had made a pitiful sight, gaunt and hollow-cheeked, bruises deep under his piercing brown eyes making them appear preternaturally large from under the brown curls of his queue. Compared to Kennedy Bush had thought he looked near corpse-like by the time their plot succeeded, and yet the spark of genius had never burnt low.

Samaná had been the true turning point, where he had gone from outside observer to- perhaps not an equal member, but a close orbiting body of the binary star that made up Hornblower and Kennedy. He had been mistaken, to take Buckland's side against Hornblower's plan, he had seen that almost immediately, and admitting the fault had done much to repair his fellow lieutentants' opinion of him; the desertion of some thirty-odd men had been the perfect opportunity for Hornblower's expert machinations, and Buckland had folded like so many decks of cards in Hornblower's hands.

Kennedy's lascivious grin, the puff of his breath as he laughed at the Spanish solider's importunity, Hornblower's poorly suppressed answering smile - all were the badges of friendship earned, and he had treasured them as he received them lying near prone on a hilltop. They had felt the same pang of hopes dashed as some damned folly aboard Renown - Buckland had never been clear when he explained the mishap - ruined their chance of surprise, and he had felt a similar pang alone when Hornblower and Kennedy had run clear away without explanation: once again he was on the outside of their insular attachment, and he had felt a queer turn at it, one that he could hardly name.

"If you live to see Mr Hornblower-" he'd told Stiles, though he knew not what he had meant to convey before those bitter words had slipped out; "tell him he'll hang from the yardarm," had not been his intention when he started to speak.

The fort had fallen, the Spaniards offered a deal - and predictable as clockwork, Hornblower had seen through it and conceived a counter before the words had left their commander's mouth. And now-

"Alright, are you, Horatio?"

Hornblower's expression was a strange blend of terror and derision when he turned back, Kennedy's mouth fighting to remain bland. "Yes, thank you, Archie." He turned back to the block and tackle hanging over the cliff, and Bush could see how tight his jaw was set from behind.

"I remember when you used to be scared of heights, Mr Hornblower!" Kennedy pronounced, as if an actor in one of the plays he would read aloud in the ward room, despite constant protest. He glanced aside to Bush, laughter clear in his eyes, and Bush felt a smile form despite himself.

Hornblower, too, was smiling regardless of his fear when he turned back once more. "Nothing has changed, Mr Kennedy," he admitted, playing along with his friend's formality. Bush caught his eye and felt a surge of affection for the young man - for he and Kennedy were so very young, if not in years (for Bush had less than ten years on them), then in spirit, a playful exuberance that he could only account to their friendship.

That affection, that long-held desire to be admitted into their intimacy, must have been what sparked his playing along. As Hornblower grasped the hawser and prepared to rappel down to young Wellard's rescue, Bush nudged Kennedy's shoulder with his own and called out. "They say one should always do what one dislikes!" he advised.

"Oh yes?" was the only response Hornblower deigned to give.

Kennedy's grin was in full force now, delighted to have a compatriot in his torment of Hornblower, and Bush knew his was not far behind as he was swept off his feet by his contagious high spirits; he deliberately did not allow his gaze to land on either Hornblower or Kennedy as he spoke. "As a boy, I had to eat turnips."

Hornblower warily began to lower himself down. "Eat them now, do you?" he asked, his voice resigned - but the anxious pitch of it was gone, and some strange tension Bush had not noted in Kennedy before suddenly faded as Hornblower disappeared below the edge of the cliff, replaced by some sort of exhaustion.

"Never touch 'em," Bush said, his voice too low to carry further than Kennedy's ears. Kennedy looked back to him, his face strangely inscrutable until Bush gave up his attempt at controlling his smile; then Kennedy clapped his shoulder, the apparent fatigue entirely absent once more. Bush felt as if he'd passed some obscure test in that moment, and he directed the reassembly of the gun in its carriage with a lighter heart than he'd felt since Captain Sawyer had stepped on board Renown.

The Dons struck, the rebellion attacked, and the fort was to be abandoned the moment it was clear - and Hornblower, the proud, reckless creature, volunteered to set the charges to send the fort to kingdom come. Bush saw Kennedy's face as his friend - their friend? - said the words, and knew his own face echoed that same dawning realization. Kennedy's throwing himself in with Hornblower was instinctive, automatic, and Bush's hardly less so. But Buckland preferred, if preferred was the word to use for so damning a mission and that cold look in their premier's eyes, Hornblower, and Bush felt a shade of Kennedy's palpable terror at the parting; the boy's voice trembled as they shook hands, and not for the first time Bush wondered just how deep their friendship went.

There was a strange moment, as Hornblower turned back to the fort, where Bush felt some strange, foreign urge to touch him, to reassure himself of Hornblower's reality - an urge so strong and strange that he could not resist it: his hand came up of its own volition and brushed the younger man's narrow shoulder as he passed, and he stared dumbly after Hornblower's retreating form until Buckland cleared his throat, giving both him and Kennedy a queer, questioning look. "Well, we had better get this whole... this whole mess cleared away. Bush, Kennedy - you know your duties."

Back on board Renown, they threw themselves into the organising of prisoners with as much appearance of zeal as they could muster, setting men to clear sections of the hold for the carpenter's crew to erect bulkheads. Bush had to reprimand both himself and Kennedy on multiple occasions within those first minutes for near criminal distraction, and he knew they had both caught the cold, hateful look in Buckland's eyes as he shook Hornblower's hand. Finally, in a lull, Kennedy grasped his arm in a desperately tight grip.

"What is it, Mr Kennedy?" Bush asked, and then, feeling his tone had been a little harsh, added with more kindness, "Tell me your mind."

"The men know their work, sir - we would only be in the way, were we to stay below." Kennedy's fingers were still tight around his upper arm.

"You may have a point there. You there! Keep to your tasks, men!" he ordered, and allowed Kennedy to pull him to the companion and then further, into the wardroom. "Now, Kennedy, no more of this - you will tell me what is the matter," he said in a low voice, his ear turned towards the door.

"You know as well as I Buckland will leave him on the island if we give him half a chance. I don't know who has his ear - if the damned fool has been listening to Sawyer or just to that lush of a doctor - but-"

"That is a harsh accusation to make, Mr Kennedy," Bush said, not in reproach, but in warning. Kennedy's mouth opened, the confiding expression wiped away and replaced with a hot, reckless anger, but Bush raised his voice as loud as he dared and continued over his protestations. "But I will concede the point that our acting captain may have his hands too full to spare men to row back. And as we find ourselves at loose ends-"

The tension holding Kennedy in a rigid, spiteful posture dissolved as if strings cut away, and he drooped against the bulkhead. "Thank you, sir," he said quietly, staring down at his hands; they shook like leaves in a gale as they stood in silence for the space of a few dozen breaths. Finally they stilled, and Kennedy looked up, his eyes flashing with that same reckless enthusiasm Bush had once condemned. "Well, what are you waiting for? There's not a moment to lose, if we don't want our acting captain to catch on!"

They walked out as if they were on an important mission, using the natural deference of the hands to have the smallest skiff lowered down the shoreward side of the ship. "That'll be all, Norris, thank you," Bush said dismissively as he climbed over the railing and dropped into the flimsy craft, Kennedy following after and fending them off of Renown's side. Bush took the oars himself, wordlessly indicating for Kennedy to man the tiller, and watched as the great mass of their ship steadily shrank away from them.

"Mr Bush, sir, I wanted to-"

"Do not thank me, Mr Kennedy; I saw that same look. And I think-" Here he hesitated: he worked hard to maintain his rank, had nearly eradicated all traces of his broad accent; to offer such liberties to a junior - and a junior as irreverent as Kennedy, no less - was a risk to all that work. And yet... "I think, while we are risking our necks together a second time, Mr Kennedy, that you may call me William."

Kennedy looked surprised, astonished, at being offered such, and he took a moment to gather himself. Then, with a touch of colour on his cheeks, he inclined his head. "In that case, Will, you-"

"I am warning you, Mr Kennedy-" Bush growled; Kennedy took no notice.

"You may call me Archie," he said, that bright smile firmly in place. "No one calls me Archibald, and if you may use a short form it is only fair I may, too. No need for entire names while we row towards our deaths, now, is there?"

Bush feigned a sigh of disapproval, though he was certain Kennedy- was certain Archie knew better than to be fooled by his attempts by now. "Very well. Archie."

The Renown was only a short distance from the fort's docks, and Archie leaped across to tie the skiff up what felt like mere moments later, offering Bush a hand up as he beamed down. "Sir," he said in a mockery of the white-gloved sideboys as Bush fought with the desire to pull Archie down into the boat in retribution.

"The cheek on you," he muttered as he batted away the offered hand and stepped onto the dock unassisted. "As you said, Archie - no time to lose; we must find Mr Hornblower and lend him our expertise."

"Expertise, Will? I only meant to offer him a boatride," Archie said over his shoulder as he took the stairs towards the fort two at a time.

"Archie! Are you out of your mind?" Bush heard Hornblower shout as he followed Archie up the stairs to where he could hear the fizzling of slow match.

"Very possibly, but we thought you could use the company!" Archie agreed in his play-reading voice. Bush quickly took in the room: barrels of powder stacked, lengths of match trailing from them, and on the other side of the barrels, as Hornblower began lighting another length- He aimed, fired; the revolutionary fell, and he fumbled with his kit to reload.

"Well you've clearly lost your wits, the both of you," Hornblower said brusquely; Archie fired into the smoke and another man fell, barely visible through the acrid cloud.

"I suggest we make our move, gentlemen; it's getting rather warm down here." Bush slipped his reloaded pistol into his gunbelt and gripped Hornblower's elbow momentarily to encourage him to follow.

Together, they ran through the fort and down into the connecting tunnels. The first breath Bush drew of fresh air as Archie helped him climb onto the grass was heaven-sent, and as soon as he gained his feet he was reaching into the smoke-scented pit to grab at Hornblower and heave him out into the sun, just in time for the first rounds to go off. The earth bucked and heaved under their feet with each following explosion, and they ran to the edge of the cliff to hail Renown, eager to escape before they were found and shot.

"She's sailing away!" Hornblower cried, the first to reach the summit.

Bush slowed his sprint as he came up, wary of the cliff's edge, and watched the four ships turn away for the open ocean. "Well..." he began, glancing back at Archie. "Looks like that's it, gentlemen."

He did not regret it, now that the end was in sight. Not the mutiny, not his encouraging of Hornblower's manipulation of Buckland. Certainly not this second mutiny that seemed now to promise their death; he cursed Buckland for a jealous fool, but he was happy to face his death alongside these two brave, bright men. They may not have saved Hornblower, but he at least would not die alone.

"No it isn't, Mr Bush," Hornblower said, his hands on his knees as he gasped against the effects of his run. Then he straightened up, a rare smile, the twin to Archie's near constant smirk, firmly in place. Bush had a momentary feeling of apprehension as he spoke. "Archie?"

Archie's smile was consistently amused; now it looked incredibly fond, as well, as he looked at Hornblower. "I am afraid I think you're right," he said with a disbelieving chuckle, his gaze flickering between Hornblower's face and Bush's own.

"What?" Bush demanded as his apprehension grew into a queer, queasy terror.

Hornblower's dark eyes flashed with excitement as he looked at Bush. "We're gonna jump." His voice was as gleeful as a skylarking midshipman, and Bush wondered at it, that he could not imagine a worse plan, and yet Hornblower had never seemed more alive - more pleased to be alive.

He and Archie jogged a few fathoms away from the cliff's face as Bush mastered himself and peered over the sickening drop to the churning sea below. "Well now who's out of his mind?!"

When he turned back, the other two were stripping down to their shirtsleeves, tossing aside their swords and guns. "See for yourself, Will!" Archie called over the dull roar of the ocean beneath them. "It's only water, you won't break anything!"

"Really..." He turned to join them, hoping to convince them of literally any other mad scheme to escape than this certain death by drowning.

Hornblower beckoned him closer encouragingly. "Come, easier than eating turnips," he said as Bush approached. And then: "Mr Kennedy?"

Before Bush could protest, Archie had him in his arms, spinning him bodily around until Hornblower could grab him by the other elbow, flashing a maniacally beautiful grin. Bush twisted fruitlessly between them, unable to escape. "No, no, gentlemen, I'm sorry, but-"

"On the count of three!" Hornblower said to Archie over Bush's head, ignoring his protests.

"One!"

"No, we're not going to jump-"

Archie continued his count, tensing to start the run up. "Two!"

His grip on Bush's forearm was firm and solid, but Hornblower seemed to think better of his hold, releasing Bush's arm and instead gripping Bush's thick, work-worn hand in his own, long and strangely delicate fingers wrapping around Bush's calloused ones, and effectively extinguishing all Bush's escape attempts out of sheer shock: he did not think his hand had been held since he went to sea - no, Nora had held it when she was small, but that hardly counted. Hornblower gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Despite his bewildered reaction to the almost affectionate hold, he still was capable of putting up some level of protest. "We will not jump, and that's my final word!" he demanded, just as Archie shouted "And three-"

Another charge exploded behind them. " And jump!" Hornblower and Archie said in unison, and charged forwards, dragging Bush between them as they cheered wordlessly.

They cleared the cliff edge and released him to plummet alone, and he felt the loss keenly. "I can't swim!" he yelled, all attempts at dignity gone in the rush of terror as the water rose up to meet him.

Hitting the water shocked him almost insensible, not from the impact but from the strangeness of it; he sank thoughtlessly for a moment before the panic set in and he thrashed ineffectually for the surface. Then two sets of strong arms were around him, supporting him, and he broke the surface gasping. "I can't swim," he repeated as Hornblower and Archie laughed giddily, keeping him afloat as easily as they did themselves - Bush was certain if they did not feel themselves responsible for him they should be playing like mids, splashing and dunking each other in between hails to the ship.

A boat was rowed out to them, and Archie lifted himself in, leaving Hornblower to support Bush on his own while he and the men situated themselves to make more space. "I wanted to say," he started in a strange voice, his arm warm around Bush's waist in the surprising cool of the Caribbean waters. "I wanted to say, sir - thank you. It was good of you to- to keep Mr Kennedy from making an ass of himself."

"Nonsense, Mr Hornblower; Ar-" he cut himself off; the implicit limitations of his granting Mr Kennedy the liberty of his name had ended with their return to the ship - or at least the ship's boat - and he would not do Mr Kennedy the disservice of using such intimate address when he had not extended the offer. "Mr Kennedy only prompted me to do what was right. You should not have been left alone in such circumstances."

Hornblower seemed surprised by Bush's words, and not for the first time Bush felt a pang of regret at his initial behaviour towards the junior lieutenants of Renown; had he been more personable, less concerned with propriety and rank, could he have had these friendships sooner? But before Hornblower could seem to make his mind up to speak, Mr Kennedy was leaning out of the boat and grinning at them. "Pass me Will, would you, Horatio?"

Hornblower blinked at the casual address, but pushed Bush forward until Archie - for if he would not respect the time limits of their intimacy, neither would Bush - could grip him under the armpits and heave him aboard. Bush, still grappling with the remnants of the terror of their plunge, did not allow himself to lie gasping in the bottom of the boat as his instincts demanded; the moment he felt stable he turned to assist Archie in lifting Hornblower's light frame into the narrow gig.

Once they were underway, dripping uncomfortably in the sternsheets, Hornblower turned towards Archie, high spirits still playing about his face and making him look far younger than his twenty-seven years. "'Will', is it? I did not know you and our second lieutenant were such intimates, Archie."

Bush was uncertain how to respond to such a strange manner of address: Hornblower's eyes were fixed firmly upon his face as he spoke, despite ostensibly directing his words to Mr Kennedy. A glance towards Archie, at his left, showed him in a remarkable mimicry of Hornblower's posture, leaning so against the cutter's hull that they were both twisted back and looking at him with an intense humour. "Oh, yes - he granted me the privilege while he rowed me back to save your sorrow soul, 'ratio."

"Hmm." Hornblower did his best to look serious, contemplative, but strong and sincere amusement was such a rare expression on him that Bush caught it at once, and could not believe him. "Well then, Mr Bush; it seems only fair to grant you my own given name - though I beg you will not shorten it so." He threw Archie a glare that seemed only partly in jest.

"Oh, I am sorry, sir - should you prefer 'Horry'?" Archie asked archly, and Hornblower twitched as if he should like to throw himself over Bush to swat at him in retaliation.

Bush felt his lips curling into a small, secret smile of fulfilled desire to be admitted into such confidences - a week ago Horatio would never have let his guard down enough for even so small a betrayal of self, were he in the room. "I would be honoured for you to call me William, then, both of you," he said, adding, "At least when we are not in company, of course; discipline must be maintained amongst the men," in a perfectly bland tone.

Archie huffed, seemingly put out before he caught the sardonic note, and then chuckled. As the boat pulled alongside Renown, he looked more somber. "Well, gentlemen, it is time to face the music."

Buckland's persecution of Hornblower continued from there; he was set to captain all three of the Spanish ships alone, and Bush intervened his apology to their acting captain; as the superior officer, the fault for disobeying orders lay with him - Hornblower had not, in fact, disobeyed any at all.

"It was true to form, if nothing else," Buckland said, his voice strange and frail. "You three: you are so full of yourselves, and of each other... You think me a fool."

It was true, and more true perhaps of Horatio than of any of them, from his position of genius; Bush pitied him, Archie looked down on him, but Horatio? Bush did not think Horatio thought of him at all, except to maneuver around him in order to stay on course, as if he were an inconveniently placed bit of shoal. Buckland was as dangerous, too, as sudden shallows were to the safety of the ship - though not so dangerous as Sawyer's erratic moods had been, like an malignant squall; whatever damage had been done to Renown, to her crew's morale, was not the sin of youthful recklessness, but of frail and unfit officers.

"No one pretends command is easy, sir," Bush said after a pause - damning Buckland by faint praise; he knew Buckland felt the insult keenly, but could not bring himself to any further show of comradery after his treatment of Hornblower.

"I never expected it to be easy." Buckland's voice was mournful, and Bush gave him a shallow bow and excused himself to see to the transfer of stores to the Spanish prizes; Hornblower would have enough on his plate.

[lurking-latinist]

I am sure everyone has been biting their nails waiting to find out what the next Hornblower fic premise that I’ll never write is. It is below the cut.

Retribution fix-it, obviously. Nobody is dying and if anybody tries to confess to anything and sacrifice himself (I don’t trust Hornblower not to pull this stunt either) the other two will sit on his head until he stops being silly.

So the lieutenants all stick to their story and as far as the court-martial can tell there’s not a pin to choose among them. Hammond argues that in that case they should hang the lot but Pellew is pulling every string in the British Empire to save their necks, and he has a lot of strings. The compromise they come to eventually is that they will all of them be stripped of rank and dismissed the service. (I don’t know if this is historical. I haven’t done any research at all. That’s why I’m not actually writing it.)

So our boys (and Buckland I guess; I wonder just how many times Buckland’s name has been followed up with “I guess”? Anyway he goes off and does his own thing) are cast adrift, metaphorically, they are on land, that’s the problem, in Kingston. There will be opportunities for fun (for the reader) and chaos (for the characters) if they are drifting around penniless for a bit; I imagine Hornblower’s one remunerative land-based skill, which is card-playing, takes him to rather less posh surroundings than in Portsmouth.

But anyways obviously they are still sailors and they eventually find a short-handed privateer that will take them no questions asked under the names of Smith, Jones, and Robinson. Only to find a few days out of port that she is less of what you might call a privateer and more of what you might call a pirate, and her captain is a drunken murderous tyrant… During a particularly horrible moment Bush sees Hornblower and Kennedy exchange one of their telepathic glances, realizes he too knows what they’re thinking, and thinks, when did this become my life?

With practice and without Buckland, and with a captain none of them had any respect for in the first place, they’re a lot quicker. If they have a reputation as desperate men now they might as well use it. So they explain to the pirate captain very softly, very politely—well, Kennedy’s very polite; Hornblower’s blunter, and the headlock Bush has the pirate in would definitely not be accepted in any drawing-room—that they are the Renown mutineers, they find they don’t like how he runs his ship, and if he doesn’t care to accept their advice he is welcome to find out what happened to their last captain.

(They don’t really mean to kill him in cold blood. Probably. But he thinks they do. Hornblower will be miserable about this ambiguity later—more so, weirdly, than the big ones like “we are technically also pirates now.” The loss of identity he has suffered through loss of his rank and position in the Royal Navy has not even begun to reach the surface of his labyrinthine subconscious. If you were wondering, Bush is just straightforwardly sad and angry about it and Kennedy is mostly worried about the practical aspects, i.e. what are they actually gonna do.)

They don’t kill him and he does agree to their terms. But very soon they take a small French prize and he tells the three of them, you take her, take a small crew and she’s yours, just get off MY ship, and they take some of the more decent-minded and/or ex-Navy sailors who were amenable to their attempted reforms, and they do, and now they have their own ship. They probably pick one of themselves to be officially in command but they are really a triumvirate and everyone knows it. And they work really, really well together.

I wish I could make them go properly ideologically rogue but I am afraid they will still mainly want to harass the French. (Hornblower is despite his own repeated assertions chock full of revolutionary sympathies but they’re not democratic, they’re aristocratic-republican, and he was born 150 years too late to be an English aristocratic republican.) But it’s a start.

As I said this is probably deeply unhistorical in some way and anyhow I am not actually writing it. But it brings me pleasure.

[marcmarcmomarc]

RWBY Volume 10-onwards new voice actor predictions: Salem’s Inner Circle

Robbie Daymond as Tyrian Callows (succeeding Jessie James Grelle)

Carrie Keranen as Carmine Esclados

Matt Mercer as Jax Asturias

Jessica DiCicco as Gillian Asturias

Stephanie Sheh as Umber Gorgoneion

Kira Buckland as Rosa Schwein (The Crown)

Ray Chase as Argento Pocoron (The Crown)

Christopher Wehkamp as White Fang Lieutenant

Laura Post as Beatrix “Lady Beat” Browning (Lady Browning’s Preparatory Academy for Girls)

Patrick Seitz as Vermillion Raddock

Roger Craig Smith as Sil

Mike Pollack as Marton

Rebecca Honig as Mina Lavender

Jeannie Tirado as Khaki

[ulkaralakbarova]

Slacker duo Beavis and Butt-Head wake to discover their TV has been stolen. Their search for a new one takes them on a clueless adventure across America, during which they manage to accidentally become America’s most wanted. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Beavis / Butt-Head / Tom Anderson / Mr. Van Driessen / Principal McVicker (voice): Mike Judge Muddy Grimes (voice): Bruce Willis Dallas (voice): Demi Moore Old Woman On Plane And Bus (voice): Cloris Leachman Agent Flemming (voice): Robert Stack Agent Hurly (voice): Jacqueline Barba Flight Attendant / White House Tour Guide (voice): Pamela Blair Old Faithful Ranger / White House Press Secretary / Strategic Air Command Lieutenant (voice): Eric Bogosian Man on Plane / Man in Confession Booth / Old Guy / Jim (voice): Kristofor Brown Mötley Crüe Roadie #2 / Tourist Man (voice): Tony Darling Airplane Captain / White House Representative (voice): John Doman French Dignitary (voice): Francis Dumaurier Petrified Forest Recording (voice): Jim Flaherty TV Thief #2 / Concierge / Bellboy / Male TV Reporter (voice): Toby Huss Limo Driver / TV Thief / Man In Confession Booth / Forest Ranger: Sam Johnson Mötley Crüe Roadie (voice): David Letterman Tour Bus Driver (voice): Richard Linklater Flight Attendant #2 (voice): Rosemary McNamara Indian Dignitary (voice): Harsh Nayyar Announcer In Capital (voice): Karen Phillips President Clinton (voice): Dale Reeves Hoover Technician / General At Strategic Air Command (voice): Mike Ruschak Flight Attendant #3 / Female TV Reporter (voice): Gail Thomas ATF Agent Bork (voice): Greg Kinnear Additional Voices (voice): Tim Guinee Film Crew: Screenplay: Mike Judge Executive Producer: Van Toffler Author: Joe Stillman Animation Director: Yvette Kaplan Original Music Composer: John Frizzell Line Producer: Winnie Chaffee Executive Producer: David Gale Background Designer: Michael Rose Layout: Maurice Joyce Animation Manager: Mike Baez Art Department Manager: Bill Schwab Animation: Eun Sook Song Animation: Ilya Skorupsky Animation: Eugene Salandra Additional Writing: Brian Mulroney Layout: Dan Shefelman Visual Effects: Eric S. Calderon Art Department Manager: Brian Moyer Storyboard: John Rice Storyboard: Ray daSilva Animation: Yong Hwa Seo Background Designer: Edward Artinian Animation Director: Tony Kluck Layout: Meika Rouda Layout: Bill Moore Layout: Gloria De Ponte Animation Director: Chris Prynoski Art Department Manager: Jody Schaeffer Special Effects: Normand Rompré Layout: Siobhan Mullen Animation: Doug Crane Animation: Ben Price Editor: Dave Hughes Producer: Abby Terkuhle Producer: Michael Blakey Co-Producer: John Andrews 3D Supervisor: Claudia Katz 3D Animator: Scott Vanzo Sound: John Benson Sound Editor: John Bowen Supervising Sound Editor: Randle Akerson ADR Mixer: Bob Baron Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Anna Behlmer Sound Effects Editor: Ed Callahan Foley Editor: Linda Di Franco Foley Recordist: Neil Cedar ADR Editor: Joe Dorn Foley Artist: Ken Dufva Foley Artist: David Lee Fein Sound Recordist: Eric Friend Sound Editor: Scott G.G. Haller Sound: John Lunn Sound Effects Editor: Susan Kurtz Sound Effects Editor: Chuck Michael Sound Editor: Tony Pipitone Sound Recordist: Michael Ruschak Sound Recordist: Philip Rogers First Assistant Sound Editor: Paul O’Bryan Foley Artist: Sarah Monat Foley Artist: Robin Harlan Foley Recordist: David Jaunai Assistant Sound Editor: Dana LeBlanc Frankley Art Direction: Kye-Jeong Ahn Art Direction: Jeff Buckland Editor: Neil Lawrence Editor: Terry Kelley Editor: Gunter Glinka Director of Photography: David J. Miller Movie Reviews:

[deceptigoons-attack]

[ltwilliammowett]

The Trafalgar Cemetery

A part from the fleet stationed in the English Channel, the Mediterranean Fleet ranked as the most important station in the world and as the Napoleonic Wars progressed it grew continously in size. It was always given prominence with regard to the seniority of the admiral given the command, with such eminent officers as Admirals Hood, Hotham, St Vincent, Nelson, Collingwood, Cotton and Pellew commanding in succession. The Mediterranean Fleet also fought three major battles and a number of other major conflicts were centred around this sea, far more than any other station.

The Gate of the Trafalgar Cemetery (x)

The Station not only covered out into the Atlantic towards the West Indies and northward to Cape St Vincent. This meant that the Mediterranean Fleet had the unenviable task of monitoring the main French naval base at Toulon, but also had to watch not only the Spanish naval base in the Mediterranea at Cartagena but their main naval base on the Atlantic coast at Cadiz. Gibraltar had been the headquarters of the Mediterranean Station ever since its capture from the Spanish in 1704, its location at the entrance to that sea giving it a unique strategic position.

A small part of a very beautiful cemetery (x)

Soon after the conquest, the British also began to expand their base and in 1798 a cemetery was established called Southport Ditch Cemetery. It was originally intended to become part of St. Jago's Cemetery, also known as Deadman's Cemetery, but remained a cemetery in its own right, initially for those who died in the yellow fever epidemics of 1804, and later in 1813 and 1814.

A memorial to all those who died during the Battle of Trafalgar. Here with a replica of Admiral Collingwood's famous dispatch, by luca bardazzi

The name Trafalgar Cemetery was actually given to it later, after the battle even though only two of those who died in the battle are known to have been buried there. Lieutenant William Forster, Royal Marine of HMS Colossus and Lieutenant Thomas Norman of HMS Mars.

Gravestone of Lieutenant William Forster, Royal Marine who died at the Battle of Trafalgar 1805 (x)

Gravestone of Lieutenant Thomas Norman who died at the Battle of Trafalgar 1805 (x)

The rest were buried in the sea. The wounded were taken to Gibraltar and cared for, and if they died there they were also buried in a mass grave on the Charles V Wall, which is commemorated by a plaque.

In Memory of the Lieutenants Thomas Worth and John Buckland who served as Marines during the Battle Cadiz 1810, where they lost their lives (x)

The cemetery was then abandoned in 1814, with only one later burial in 1838.

The Memorials of William Grave, Master in HMS Caesar and Mrs. C. Bolton Wife of John Bolton who was Clerk in the Navy Victual Office in Gibraltar (x)

If you ever have the opportunity to visit this place, you should definitely do it.

[silverfoxstole]

Retribution behind the scenes. ( x x x x )

Wish these were better quality, but I’m grateful they’ve been uploaded to YouTube. There is at least one other video, featuring Paul playing with his pistol, more of the three lieutenants together and filming the aftermath of the cliff jump (there are gifs of the former and I’ve had screencaps of the others in my files for years) but sadly I’ve not managed to track it down. 🙁

[thiefbird]

LGBT (You answered B already but all the other ones I really wanted so just think of another I guess??)

L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves. (Characters you’re neutral about are fair game, as are characters you merely dislike. Characters that you absolutely loathe with the fire of ten thousand suns are exempt, as there is no point in giving yourself an aneurysm over a character that you hate.)

I think Lieutenant Buckland (Hornblower book series, not Hornblower TV) did the best he could in a bad situation. He was not a man who should have been a captain, or even probably a first lieutenant, but he tried his best. (TV Buckland is an ass. Don't fucking try to get Hornblower killed to save your sorry neck, dipshit.)

G - Have you ever had an OTP? If so, do you remember your first one? Who was in it?

My first OTP was actually an OT3: Nine/Jack/Rose. I do not think I've found another ship involving the Doctor that does not involve Rose. I just. I love her <3 Otherwise I don't really think I have many OTPs. Even in the X Files I think Mulder has something going on with Krycek. Maybe Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter? Just for the safety of everyone around them they should not be multishipped lmao

B - A pairing–platonic, romantic or sexual–that you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind.

I didn't really enjoy Laurence/Granby at first, but there are some talented and dedicated writers for the pairing and they have fully brought me on board.

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending? 

Granby has been pining over Laurence since the moment they stopped hating each other. That's why he didn't mind Iskierka kidnapping him to Australia. IDEK if this is a headcanon or just canon tbh but. I will defend it forever. Mulder and Scully are bi4bi. Clarissa and Diana were carrying on a very strange affair. Transmasc Will Graham. Similarly, transmasc Stephen Maturin(see the 37k+ words of fic i've published since mid februrary)

[sanguinarysanguinity]

WIP meme: kissing sequel maybe?

Potential sequel to @bowiecadmium‘s Graceland, wherein Bush makes a deathbed promise to Archie to kiss Horatio. I adore Graceland and desperately wanted more...

~

At dawn, Bush contrived to be at the Renown's rail in time to see the Retribution sail. He watched the shadowy figures on the Retribution's quarterdeck, the officers recognisable only by the silhouettes of their high cocked hats, the blue of their uniforms gone nearly black in the grey dawnlight. He fancied he could just make out the gleam of Hornblower's epaulette, the set of his shoulders as he supervised his men. Bush could still feel the pressure of Hornblower's fingers on his jaw, hard and demanding, insistent that Bush stand still and be kissed. His skin felt wrong, oversensitive and ill-fitting. He yearned to be on the deck of the Retribution with a violence that nearly surprised himself.

"Good morning, Mr Bush," said Mr Roberts, Renown's new third lieutenant, and Bush started. He felt a moment's keen relief that he had not succumbed to the temptation of using his glass; that would have made the object of his gaze all too clear. But Roberts continued, "Retribution, is it? Lucky devil, that one," and Bush understood that his yearning had been apparent enough. Happily, his yearning had been presumed to be for the command instead of the commander. "I hear he's a favourite of the admiral."

"And a fine officer, too," Bush said, stung by the implication that Hornblower had not deserved his promotion. 

"Never said he wasn't," Roberts returned with some surprise. "But if they were going to promote someone as a compliment for Samaná, I'm surprised they passed over you. You were next most senior, and wounded in action, too."

By naval custom, the promotion should have been Buckland's, of course, but Buckland had made himself the laughingstock of the fleet. If Bush himself had not served with Hornblower, he too might wonder at a third lieutenant being promoted over the second, but there had always been something unnervingly unnatural about Hornblower's brilliance being junior to Bush's more workmanlike leadership. Bush had received the news of Hornblower's promotion with all the violent relief of a capsized vessel righting itself.

"I would be honoured to serve under him," Bush insisted, perhaps less politic than he might have been. But if so, the fault was understandable; at that moment, the greater part of him was stealing around the point with the Retribution.

Roberts shook his head, bemused by this queer lieutenant who was so happy to be passed over for promotion. "It's nice to have friends in high places, is all I'm saying."

"Yes, it is," Bush affirmed, and wondered when, if ever, he might meet this particular friend again.

[anditendshowyoudexpect]

WORDS WERE NOT ADEQUATE

and the rest from Lieutenant Hornblower, while i’m taking a short break from the navy

*

It was Hornblower, standing at the door with a basket in his hand, and Bush’s face lit up at the sight of him.

“How are you, sir?” asked Homblower.

They shook hands, each reflecting the pleasure of the others greeting.

“All the better for seeing you,” said Bush, and meant it.

*

But it was utterly beyond possibility that he could give the least hint of the feeling that the gift evoked in him, that after lying lonely for these days in the hospital he should find that someone cared about him — that in any case someone should give him so much as a thought. The words he spoke were limping and quite inadequate, and only a sensitive and sympathetic mind could guess at the feelings which the words concealed rather than expressed.

*

Bush was too happy to allow Buckland’s misery to affect him. He always remembered that afternoon as one of the most successful dinners he had ever attended. He could also remember Hornblower’s smile at the end of dinner.

“We can’t send you back to the hospital today,” said Hornblower. “You’d better sleep in your own cot tonight. Let me take you there.”

That was very agreeable. Bush put both arms round Hornblower’s shoulders and walked with dragging feet. It did not matter that his feet dragged and his legs would not function while he had this support; Hornblower was the best man in the world and Bush could announce it by singing ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’ while lurching along the alleyway. And Hornblower lowered him on to the heaving cot and grinned down at him as he clung to the edges of the cot; Bush was a little astonished that the ship should sway like this while at anchor.

*

They shook hands and parted; it says much for Bush’s feelings towards Hornblower that in the grey dawn next morning he rolled out of his cot and went up on deck to watch the Retribution, ghost-like under her topsails, and with the lead going in the chains, steal out round the point, wafted along by the land breeze. Bush watched her go; life in the service meant many partings.

*

Someone came out from a side street just in front of him and turned into the wind ahead of him — a naval officer. The gangling walk; those shoulders bent into the wind; he could not help but recognise Hornblower.

“Sir! Sir!” he called, and Hornblower turned.

There was a momentary irritation in his expression but it vanished the moment he recognised Bush.

*

Half pay was bad enough; it meant a life of constant care and economy, but one could live. Hornblower had nothing at all. Bush knew now why Hornblower had no greatcoat. He felt a sudden wave of anger. A recollection rose in his mind, as clear to his inward eye as this pleasant room was to his outward one. He remembered Hornblower swinging himself down, sword in hand, on to the deck of the Renown, plunging into a battle against odds which could only result in either death or victory. Hornblower, who had planned and worked endlessly to ensure success — and then had flung his life upon the board as a final stake; and today Hornblower was standing with chattering teeth trying to warm himself beside a fire by the charity of a frog-eating gambling-hall keeper with the look of a dancing master.

“It’s a hellish outrage,” said Bush, and then he made his offer. He offered his money, even though he knew as he offered it that it meant most certainly that he would go hungry, and that his sisters, if not exactly hungry, would hardly have enough to eat. But Hornblower shook his head.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll never forget that. But I can’t accept it. You know that I couldn’t. But I’ll never cease to be grateful to you. I’m grateful in another way, too. You’ve brightened the world for me by saying that.”

*

“Would you care to share my room when next you come? My landlady is a sharp one. No doubt she will make a charge for a cot for you, but even so —”

“It’ll save money,” said Bush, putting the paper in his pocket; his grin as he spoke masked the sentiment in his next words. “And I’ll see more of you.”

“By George, yes,” said Hornblower. Words were not adequate.

[deceptigoons-attack]

Buckland, after the fort is blown up: Well, Hornblower won’t make it back to the ship.

Hornblower: 

[pixelpluto]

"Come in!" said the captain.  The door opened slowly, and Hornblower stood framed in the opening. There was the old look of strain in his face; Bush could see it even though Hornblower's figure seemed to waver a little before his eyes — the way objects appeared over the rack of red-hot cannon-balls at Samaná — and although Hornblower's countenance  seemed to be a little fuzzy round the edges. "Come in, come in, man," said the captain. "The toasts are just beginning. Sit in your old place. Brandy for heroes, as Johnson said in his wisdom. Mr Bush!"  "V-victorious war. O-oceans of gore. P-prizes galore. B-b-beauty ashore. Hic," said Bush, inordinately proud of himself that he had remembered that toast and had it ready when called upon.  "Drink fair, Mr Hornblower," said the captain, "we have a start of you already. A stern chase is a long chase."  Hornblower put his glass to his lips again.  "Mr Buckland!" "Jollity and — jollity and — jollity and — and — and — mirth," said Buckland, managing to get the last word out at last. His face was as red as a beetroot and seemed to Bush's heated imagination to fill the entire cabin like the setting sun; most amusing.  "You've come back from the admiral, Mr Hornblower," said the captain with sudden recollection.  "Yes, sir." The curt reply seemed out of place in the general atmosphere of good-will; Bush was distinctly conscious of it, and of the pause which followed.  "Is all well?" asked the captain at length, apologetic about prying into someone else's business and yet led to do so by the silence.  "Yes, sir." Hornblower was turning his glass round and round on the table between long nervous fingers, every finger a foot long, it seemed to Bush. "He has made me commander into Retribution."  The words were spoken quietly, but they had the impact of pistol shots in the silence of the room.  "God bless my soul!" said the captain. "Then that's our new toast. To the new commander, and a cheer for him too!"  Bush cheered lustily and downed his brandy.  "Good old Hornblower!" he said. "Good old Hornblower!" To him it was really excellent news; he leaned over and patted Hornblower's shoulder. He knew his face was one big smile, and he put his head on one side and his shoulder on the table so that Hornblower should get the full benefit of it.  Buckland put his glass down on the table with a sharp tap.  "Damn you!" he said. "Damn you! Damn you to Hell!" 

- C.S. Forester, Lieutenant Hornblower, Chapter XVI

[silverfoxstole]

Lieutenants Bush and Buckland.

Also known as: “Are you on a box or is he standing in a hole?”