#johnny macpherson

[havithreatendub4]

When #AH kicked the bathroom door into Johnny's head & then punched him in the jaw #Johnny's court testimony #Fairfax County Virginia #2022 #audio #Brian's #gif art

[smokedrunk]

Johnny Depp par Andrew MacPherson, 1995.

[piperslovebot]

Anya MacPherson & Alli Bhandari

Anya MacPherson

otp: Chantanya <3

brotp: Fiona, Chantay, Holly J (later seasons), Riley, Sav

notp: all her canon ships are a no for me, but Owenya is the worst. I'd say Anya/Dr.Chris but they're a big cop out.

Alli Bhandari

otp: Bhandallas & Bhandurner

brotp: Jenna, Clare, Connor, KC, Drew, Eli

notp: Bhandarco (they have their moments and they're nostalgic, but Johnny treated Alli like shit. Plus he's 17 and Alli's 14.)

[czigonas]

Everyone's heard about any number of WWII badasses, but I was reminded of one in particular that made me think to myself, "this is the kind of person Johnny "Soap" MacTavish would absolutely know about and try to model himself after."

So I figured I'd give a little history lesson and tell other people about this guy too. Please meet:

Colonel Sir Ronald Thomas Stewart Macpherson, aka Tommy Macpherson, aka The Kilted Killer

So, first of all, this dude was Scottish, born in Edinburgh. He was commissioned in the Territorial Army in 1939 and served as a commando from 1940 until being taken prisoner in Libya by Italians after a failed exfil attempt on a recon mission in late 1941. He actually managed to escape (by holding up his 10-man arresting party with the gun they gave back to him!) but was recaptured and placed in solitary confinement. He attempted to escape again anyway before they moved him to a camp in Spain, where he tried again to escape (and made it pretty far but couldn't breach the outer wall). By mid 1942, they had moved him to a camp in Italy.

Mid 1943, the Germans took over the Italian camps and the prisoners were to be moved to Austria. Macpherson escaped again, but didn't get far before being recaptured. He was taken to a camp in Austria where he managed yet another escape, this time with two other men. They got recaptured in Italy on their way to Yugoslavia only because their rations gave them away as not being the Italian officers Macpherson had almost convinced the arresting patrol they were. Instead of being sent back to Austria, they were sent to a camp in Poland, where they escaped again (with two others this time), and made it into Sweden, from where they could fly home to Scotland.

So, let's count that up: In his first three years of being in the army, he was a prisoner of war for two of them and attempted escape five times from four different camps (well, three camps and once en-route to a camp) before finally making a sixth - successful! - escape.

During all of that, Macpherson held the rank of only a Second Lieutenant, though by the time he escaped the final time, he was considered an Acting Captain.

Despite his ordeal, or probably because of it and his general badassery, Macpherson was selected to Spec Ops within days of returning to Scotland. They trained until early 1944, after which he was promoted to Major (after only four years!!), and then parachuted into France in full battle dress which included a kilt.

The night after arriving, he blew up a bridge with the help of the local resistance. The night after that, they set mines in the road and surrounding forests leading towards Normandy and significantly hindered a Panzer Division attempting to reinforce German forces during the Allied Operation Overlord.

He and his two-man team, along with the resistance, then proceeded to spend the next three months blowing up bridges and disrupting road and rail traffic all throughout southwestern France. The Germans got so mad they put out a 300,000 franc bounty on his head.

He modified his machine guns to sound as though they were larger caliber than they were, causing the Germans to believe they were coming up against superior forces.

He booby-trapped a rail crossing guard to decapitate a German officer and his driver.

He cemented the surrender of 23,000 German troops at once - including a Major General! - by being driven unarmed (in his full battle dress with kilt!) and under fire into the village the Major General was commanding from and bluffing about being able to call down heavy artillery and a massive RAF strike.

He also did a lot more during the war, mostly in small-man teams and with local resistance fighters, including negotiating more axis-force surrenders and capturing or killing significant numbers of German troops.

Now, post-war, he had his rank reverted to Lieutenant (which is a thing that can happen, but not often out of wartime unless you're naughty). This wasn't a slight on his fighting or tactical prowess, but holding the rank of Major after only five years of service is insane and, frankly, he probably didn't have the education or experience to support such a rank. Especially as much of his fighting prowess came in what was, essentially, guerilla warfare, he likely had little to no practical ability to lead conventional troops and needed to learn that.

Additionally, the version of Spec Ops he had been recruited into in 1943 was not the SAS, but something called the SOE. Post-WWII, the SOE got disbanded and a number of operatives returned to their pre-war jobs while a good chunk was folded into MI6. Macpherson returned to the regular army, though he did do work with a regiment from the SAS while he was a Captain. Eventually he rose through the ranks to retire (into the Reserves) as a Colonel in 1967 and got knighted by the Queen in 1992.

Macpherson's autobiography came out in 2010, and I suspect it was of great interest to a number of Scottish soldiers enlisted at the time. I also suspect that Soap would take a particular interest in his demolitions work and the sheer infrastructure damage he managed to accomplish on his deployment. If Soap were to want to switch to Officer track (which, as I pointed out before, is unlikely), he could certainly find worse role models than Macpherson in that manner as well.

[herbs-and-poultices]

More of my stranger-than-fiction music tastes...

A Vaguely Whumptober-Themed Anthology of Folk Songs from the British Isles / Transatlantic Tradition: Part 2

(Part 1)

16) "Would you lie with me and just forget the world" / Don't go where I can't follow: Clyde Water / Drowned Lovers

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

The very next step that she went in She’s up unto her chin And the deepest part of Clyde water She found sweet William in Saying, you have had a cruel mother, Willie, And I have had another And now we’ll sleep in Clyde water Like sister and like brother

17) "Leave Me Alone": Edward / Son David

There are so many versions of this ballad, here is a sampling: X X X X

A murder ballad: "Blood on my sword, what blood on my sword? Oh, yeah, that... Wonder how that could have gotten there..."

18) Hit Them Harder: Haughs of Cromdale

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

A rousing Jacobite song dramatizing two battles on the haughs of Cromdale. The first was a humiliating defeat; the second, they were out for blood. (The historical accuracy ends there, but what it lacks in veracity it makes up in spirit.)

Day 19: I'm not as stupid as you think I am: Turpin Hero

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

The exploits of an infamous highwayman whose career came to an anticlimactic end

Now Turpin is condemned to die To hang upon yon gallows high His legacy is a strong rope For the shooting of a dunghill cock

Day 20: Found Family: Boys of the Old Brigade

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X

An Irish rebel song. I'd be remiss if I didn't manage to fit in at least one.

It was long ago we faced the foe, the old brigade and me And by my side they fought and died that Ireland might be free Where are the lads who stood with me when history was made Ghrá Mo Chroí, I long to see the boys of the old brigade

Day 21: Restraints: MacPherson's Rant

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

Another notorious outlaw come to the end of his luck. James MacPherson was also talented fiddler, and with his final hours he gave the world this fine tune.

Untie these bands from off my hands and bring to me my sword For there’s no a man in all Scotland but I'll brave him at a word

Day 22: Vehicular Accident: Lowlands of Holland

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X X X

Do shipwrecks count? I think shipwrecks should count.

23) Stalking: Johnny o' Bredislee

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

An intrepid poacher is ambushed while out on a morning's hunt; despite being sorely outnumbered and wounded in the first exchange, he puts up quite an impressive fight.

But he's rested his back against an oak His foot upon a stane And he has fired at the seven o' them He's killed them a' but ane He's broken four o' that one's ribs His airm and his collar bane And he has set him upon his horse Wi' the tidings sent him hame

24) Goodbye 'Note': The Cruel Sister / Wind and Rain

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

A chilling tale of jealousy, murder, and a haunted fiddle made of human bone and hair. Depending on the version, the fiddle only plays one tune, compels the murderer to confess, or forces her to dance herself to death.

The first string that those minstrels tried And terror seized the black-haired bride The second string made a doleful sound The younger sister, oh she is drowned The final string played beneath the bow And surely now her tears will flow

25) Storm: Three Score and Ten

Nothing compares to hearing Roberts & Barrand perform this one live some 8 years ago, and as far as I know they never recorded it as a duo. Here are my favorite of the recordings I've found: X X

October's night brought such a sight, 'twas never seen before There were masts and spars and broken yards came floating to the shore There was many a heart of sorrow, there was many a heart so brave There was many a hearty fisher lad who found a watery grave

26) Exhaustion: The 51st Highland Division's Farewell to Sicily

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

Then tune the pipes an' drub the tenor drum Leave yer kit this side o' the wa' Then tune the pipes an' drub the tenor drum Puir bluidy swaddies are wearie

27) Let Me See: Holland Handkerchief

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

A ghostly tale of love beyond the grave

 With this young man she got on behind And they rode swifter than any wind They rode on for an hour or more Till he cried, “My darling, my head feels sore” A holland handkerchief she’s then drew out And with it wrapped his aching head about She’s kissed his lips and these words did say “My love, you’re colder than any clay"

28) Bloody Knife: Matty Groves

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

CW: domestic violence

An old and well-traveled murder ballad: an affair ends with a lady and her lover dead at sword-point

29) "I only sink deeper the deeper I think" / troubled past: The Outlandish Knight / The North Strand

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

A murder ballad with a twist

Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man Lie there instead of me For six pretty maidens have you drowned here And the seventh has drowned thee

30) Borrowed Clothing: William Taylor

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

A tale of betrayal, cross-dressing, bloody retribution, and women's empowerment, set against the backdrop of the Royal Navy

31) Setbacks: Johnny Cope

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

In which the Jacobites send the redcoat army running back with their tails between their legs. Many thanks to General Cope for his contributions to the Scottish musical tradition.

[affluenzafm]

what are some of the current plots/interactions happening in the group right now?

to  put  it  simply  :  you  should  join  us  &  find  out  for  yourself,  lovely !  we  have  a  variety  of  fun  interactions  +  plots  currently  happening  in  the  roleplay,  but  we  would  love  to  have  anya  macpherson,  fiona  coyne,  hazel  aden,  jt  yorke,  jay  hogart,  jenna  middleton,  johnny  dimarco,  &  sean  cameron  to  fill  out  connections  that  we're  missing  in  the  group  !

[ulkaralakbarova]

Beverly is the perfect happy homemaker, along with her doting husband and two children, but this nuclear family just might explode when her fascination with serial killers collides with her ever-so-proper code of ethics. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Beverly Sutphin: Kathleen Turner Eugene Sutphin: Sam Waterston Misty Sutphin: Ricki Lake Chip Sutphin: Matthew Lillard Detective Pike: Scott Morgan Detective Gracey: Walt MacPherson Scotty: Justin Whalin Birdie: Patricia Dunnock Carl: Lonnie Horsey Dottie Hinkle: Mink Stole Rosemary Ackerman: Mary Jo Catlett Mr. Stubbins: John Badila Betty Sterner: Kathy Fannon Ralph Sterner: Doug Roberts Carl’s Date: Traci Lords Marvin Pickles: Tim Caggiano Howell Hawkins: Jeff Mandon Father Boyce: Colgate Salsbury Mrs. Jenson: Patsy Grady Abrams Herbie Hebden: Richard Pilcher Timothy Nazlerod: Beau James Judge: Stan Brandorff Luann Hodges: Kim Swann Suzanne Somers: Suzanne Somers Gus: Bus Howard Sloppy: Alan J. Wendl Juror #8: Patricia Hearst Jury Forewoman: Nancy Robinette Rookie Cop: Peter Bucossi Policewoman: Loretto McNally Press A: Wilfred E. Williams Court TV Reporter: Joshua L. Shoemaker Court Groupie A: Rosemary Knower Court Groupie B: Susan Lowe Carl’s Brother: John Calvin Doyle Book Buyer: Mary Vivian Pearce Mean Lady: Brigid Berlin Police Officer: Jordan Brown Vendor: Anthony ‘Chip’ Brienza Flea Market Boy: Jeffrey Pratt Gordon Flea Market Girl: Shelbi Clarke Macho Man: Nat Benchley Dealer: Kyf Brewer Baby’s Mother: Teresa R. Pete Church Baby: Zachary S. Pete Doorman: Richard Pelzman Kid A: Chad Bankerd Kid B: Johnny Alonso Kid C: Robert Roser Joe Flowers: Mike Offenheiser Girl: Lee Hunsaker Burglar A: Michael S. Walter Burglar B: Mojo Gentry Mrs. Taplotter: Gwendolyn Briley-Strand Reporter: Jennifer Mendenhall Joan Rivers: Joan Rivers TV Serial Hag: Catherine Anne Hayes Lady C: Susan Duvall Press: Valerie Yarborough Kid: Jordan Young Camel Lips: Jennifer Finch Camel Lips: Suzi Gardner Camel Lips: Demetra Plakas Camel Lips: Donita Sparks Husband A: John A. Schneider Court Clerk: Lyrica Montague Eugene Sutphin’s Nurse (uncredited): Bess Armstrong Birdie’s Father (uncredited): Greg Coale Video Store Customer (uncredited): David L. Marston Stage Diver (uncredited): Kim McGuire Cop (uncredited): John Poague Club Kid (uncredited): Al Sotto Ted Bundy (voice) (uncredited): John Waters Film Crew: Art Direction: David J. Bomba Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Mark Berger Executive Producer: Joseph M. Caracciolo Jr. Thanks: Paul Reubens Original Music Composer: Basil Poledouris Writer: John Waters Production Design: Vincent Peranio Editor: Janice Hampton Producer: Mark Tarlov Supervising Sound Editor: John Nutt Thanks: Don Knotts Editor: Erica Huggins Director of Photography: Robert M. Stevens Associate Producer: Pat Moran Costume Design: Van Smith First Assistant Director: Robert Rooy Property Master: Brook Yeaton Art Department Production Assistant: Jeffrey Pratt Gordon Carpenter: Thomas Turnbull Thanks: Harry H. Novak Set Decoration: Susan Kessel On Set Dresser: Lianne Williamson Sound Editor: Ernie Fosselius Thanks: Arthur Machen Utility Stunts: G. A. Aguilar Sound Mixer: Rick Angelella First Assistant Director: Mary Ellen Woods Sound Editor: Frank E. Eulner Casting: Paula Herold Set Dresser: Michael Sabo Second Unit Director: Steve M. Davison Sound Editor: Robert Shoup Hairstylist: Kathryn Blondell Sound Re-Recording Mixer: David Parker Stunt Double: Cheryl Wheeler Duncan Assistant Makeup Artist: Janice Kinigopoulos Makeup Artist: Debi Young Makeup Artist: E. Thomas Case Post Production Supervisor: John Currin Assistant Property Master: R. Vincent Smith Music Supervisor: Bones Howe Draughtsman: Rob Simons Additional Hairstylist: Howard ‘Hep’ Preston Assistant Makeup Artist: Barbara Lacy Art Department Coordinator: Sarah Stollman Utility Stunts: Michael Runyard Unit Production Manager: Margaret Hilliard Hairstylist: Ardis Cohen Assistant Production Design: John Lindsey McCormick Makeup Artist: Betty Beebe Sound Recordist: Philip Rogers Producer: John Fiedler Secon...

[enterdcc]

bold means the character is currently in use. italics means that the character is currently reserved. asterisk means that the character is taken by an admin.

adam torres

alex nunez

alli bhandari

amy peters - hoffman

anya macpherson

arlene takahashi

ashley kerwin

baaz nahir

becky baker

bianca desousa

blue chessex

campbell saunders

chantay black

chris sharpe

clare edwards

connor delaurier

craig manning

damian hayes

danny van zandt

darcy edwards

declan coyne

drew torres

dylan michalchuk

eli goldsworthy

ellie nash

emma nelson

esme song

fiona coyne

frankie hollingsworth

grace cardinal

goldi nahir

hazel aden

heather sinclair

holly j sinclair

hunter hollingsworth

imogen moreno

jack jones

jake martin

jane vaughn

jay hogart *

jenna middleton

jess martello

jimmy brooks

johnny dimarco

jonah haak

jt yorke

katie matlin

kc guthrie

kendra mason

leia chang

liberty van zandt

lola pacini

lucas valieri

manny santos

marco del rossi

marisol lewis

maya matlin

mia jones

mike dallas

miles hollingsworth

mo mashkour

owen milligan

paige michalchuk

peter stone

rasha zuabi

riley stavros

saad al'maliki

sadie rowland

sav bhandari

sean cameron

shay powers

spinner mason

terri macgregor

tiny bell

tori santamaria

tristan milligan

toby isaacs

vijay maraj

wesley betenkamp

winston chu

yael baron

zane park

zig novak

zoe rivas

[ruivieira1950]

Johnny Depp photographié par Andrew MacPherson, 1995

[zayadriancas]

With Or Without You

“We wanted to be together, and now according to your double standard I’m not good enough for you, or your family.”

[havithreatendub4]

Johnny Depp by #Andrew Macpherson for #Premiere Magazine #1995

Ghost in the Machine: Now You See Johnny Depp, Now You Don't by Holly Millea

📸 by #Andrew Macpherson #Premiere Magazine #1995 #pt 1

[fictionadventurer]

Thanks!

Last song: I've got "Are You Gonna Kiss Me Or Not" by Thompson Square stuck in my head

Last Movie: "Sound of Freedom"

Currently Watching: The occasional Star Trek: TNG episode

Currently Reading: The Battle Cry of Freedom by James MacPherson, Johnny Tremain by Esther Forbes

Last Thing Researched For Writing Purposes: Sleeping arrangements for servants in medieval castles

9 People Tag

tagged by the always-fabulous @arijensineink!

Last song: Epiphany by BTS

Last movie: My Neighbor Totoro

Currently watching: Like @arijensineink I don't really/haven’t watched TV in a while… do Yoongi’s tour vlogs count?

Currently reading: Killing Commendatore, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Your Brain On Art, and just finished I Work Like a Gardener about an interview with artist Joan Miró (not very lengthy at all but so interesting, highly recommend it + his work)

Last thing researched for writing purposes: Uncommon mental illnesses/disorders

tagging @toribookworm22 @words-after-midnight @pandoras-comment-box @chickensarentcheap @marigoldispeculiar @somniphobicfox @vsnotresponding @royal1asset-if @imdefnotvanessa and I know this is a 9 people tag but whatever, open tag

[phoenixflames12]

It Will Be Enough

A/N: This takes place a few days after For the Love of a Child in my WW2 AU that began with An Endless Night

Jamie Fraser goes to talk with Tam McPherson about Faith and comes to terms with some of his own demons along the way 

The heather is a sharp prickle against his fingers as he climbs the path that leads away from the house and onto the east side of the moor. His fingers plunge deep against the rock, lichen catching under his fingernails, the weight of his stick with the bone crook nestled firmly in his palm.

 The ground here is sparse, a sheet of golden tussock grass stabbed through with the black skeleton of burnt heather and clumps of cotton grass underlined by the soft, slightly acidic tang of bog myrtle.

 The air is crisp and cool in his tattered lungs and he breathes in deeply, thankful for that one small mercy as his hands push up against his knees over the lip of the track and onto the flat stretch of plateau that was known to all at Lallybroch as Sgaoileadh Ridge.

 Bran has bounded on ahead, heedless to his whistles. Jamie can hear him faintly, rustling through the undergrowth. A moment of perfect silence and then a triumphant bounding leap from the dog and the startled squawk of a red grouse rustled up in a cloud of russet and roan, his startled flight stark against the slate coloured sky.

 Jamie watches the bird out of sight as it veers off the plateau and down into the relative safety of the undergrowth below.

 He will have to think about teaching Brianna and William how to shoot one day.

 He had promised Brianna once when she had found him in the hayloft surrounded by his rifle and a bundle of cleaning rags, the sharp tang of gun oil thick in the air. 

Twilight had been glowing through the rafters and she had hung in the doorway and watched him in silent wonder as he had taken the gun apart and placed each section on a towel, ready for oil, two rabbits and a red grouse hen strung at his feet.  

He had taken her face in his hands then, smiling at the smudge of mud that ran across the snub of her nose, the fiery explosion of her freckles, the little wings that clung to her ears ; the wild, fierce eyes that were an odd mix of blue and grey when they caught the light, were glowing with an unspoken question and kissed her fiercely on her forehead in reply.

 ‘If ye were any braver mo nighean ruaidh, ye’d be a lioness.’

  It had been one of the last days of the season in 1939 and then forgotten when his orders came through, trying not to think of his youngest daughter, his gypsy queen running through the kitchen on the day of his departure, her eyes shining as she had collapsed onto the kitchen sofa, face alight with a burst of private laughter.

 ‘Dhomhsa, chu’, he calls, forcing the memory back, the words crisp and carried on the still, cold breeze. He watches the hound’s ears prick up, greying muzzle high to the wind.

Overhead, the sun is caught in a veil of cloud, the shadow of the McPherson’s croft a hulk of darkness on the far side of the valley.

 Bran comes in time, feet stiff and slow over the crinkled ground, pink tongue lolling through a bare-toothed grin. The large, grizzled head that he knows so well butts into his midriff, and he reaches down to fondle at the old dog’s ears, the wiry fur biting over his fingers, yellow eyes that still, even now, carry something distinctly wolf-like glowing back at him.

 ‘Couldn’t have ye flushing something out when we’re no’ in season, could we?’ He rubs the old dog’s head fiercely, hands falling into silken ears and then pushes him away, reaching heavily for his stick. The light is cold and clear and heavy with clouds, the wizened thorn ash trees bent double over their shadows in the light. Blood throbs through his ears, sloshing painfully in his lungs as he takes a deep breath, trying to clear them.

 ‘it’ll be with ye for the rest of your life, sir. The symptoms won’t be there, but ye’ll ne’er be fully clear. Ye’ll ne’er be fit for duty. Can ye live wi’ that, d’ye think?’ The doctor had peered over the rim of his spectacles at him, lying propped up on his pillows in the hospital bed feeling as weak as a new born kitten, one hand, his maimed one, he remembers now, clasped resolutely in Faith’s.

 Whistling for the dog, he walks on.

  Tam and Eileen McPherson’s croft is on the edge of Broch Mordha, sheltered from the worst of the winter storms by Kirk Hill.

 An involuntary shiver courses through him at the sight of it, remembering all too clearly the feeling of abject nakedness that had coursed through him on that first, fateful Sunday.

 He has not been back since then, preferring to seek his Lord in the open air. Anything to get away from the sensation of having all of his frailties exposed for all to see.

 Sensing his master’s discomfort, Bran stops his nosing in a hawthorn bush for intriguing smells and pads over, yellow eyes gleaming with concern. Slowly, he butts his head into Jamie’s hand; a low, soft cry rumbling in the back of his throat.

 ‘I’m here,’ the cry seems to say as Jamie tries to master himself; a ragged breath that he did not know he was holding forcing its way through his broken lungs.

 ‘Can ye live with that, d’ye think?’ The doctor who had examined him had asked, voice soft with concern, eyes flickering from father to daughter and back again.

 He could have done so, once.

 If it is just the tuberculosis, he can live with it and gladly. It is a small price to pay for the sacrifices of all those who had fought to return him to Lallybroch, to his family, to…

 But it isn’t.

 It is so much more than that.

 It is the loss of his children, each one growing up without him.

 It is the weight of the young recruit who had died in his arms in the bitterly cold days of ’41, gasping out his last breath amid slivers of tattered moonlight, begging to be remembered to his Mother.

 It is Joe, or the memory of Joe, clutching at his hand in a ghost of his usual grip and begging for his soul to be remembered to Kirsty and the weans. ‘See them safe, brathair,’ he’d whispered; blind eyes roving, breath coming is ragged, laboured gasps.

 And Jamie had held him for as long as it took; his cousin’s body growing cold and heavy in his arms, slowly brushing his fingers over the dead man’s eyes.

 ‘Slean leat, mo chariad choir. Slean leat.’

 It is Brianna, clinging to him in a fierce embrace on the moor amid the fine, dreich drizzle, begging him not to make her go back to school.

 It is Faith watching an engagement ring spin dizzily across his desk, eyes bloodshot with emotions that he has no control over, face dark with fears that he has not witnessed.

 It is Willie shrinking away from him on the platform, burying his face in the skirt of Claire’s coat; amber eyes huge with mistrust. Willie, whimpering in his arms in Kirk, the one life that he had longed to know and now… Now…

 ‘Mr Fraser…? Sir, are ye alright?’

 He blinks stupidly at the blurred thing above him, not understanding what it is and why it comes to be there. Something cold and wet is pressed firmly in his ear; a soft, low whine echoing painfully through his head.

 The voice is small and scared, something hot pawing at his oilskin. He breathes in and out again slowly, the rush of air hollow and strange through his chest.

 ‘D’ye think ye can sit up, Mr Fraser?’ The anxious voice is still there; the small, hot hands, for they were hands- tugging at his arm.

 He shakes his head vigorously at the notion of sitting up and squeezes his eyes tight shut, wishing he could place his head between his knees as he remembers one of the nurses doing to a panicked patient at Sandhurst.

 His throat feels hot; the scalding tang of blood surging through his lungs.

 Don’t throw up.

 The cold, wet thing presses closer, the whine low and eerie as rough fur scrapes across his cheek.

Slowly, painfully and trying his best not to gag, he opens his eyes. The blurred thing above him cracks and dances, shifting slowly in the lean, worried face of his first cousin once removed, Hector Fraser.

 ‘There ye are!’ The last time that he’d seen Hector had been the Sunday before the 4th Seaforth Highlanders had been deployed. He’d been a chubby, round faced boy then with a perpetual slick of toffee slime caught around his mouth. 

Something of that child lingers there still, but the puppy fat has given way to high, fine cheekbones, toffees to a scrappy moustache, the wide, MacGregor eyes that Hector and Mairi had inherited from their mother huge with concern.

 ‘Took a bad turn, did ye?’

 Speech is beyond him.

 All he can think about is breathing, one screaming breath after another.

 Don’t throw up.

 ‘I can go to the shop and get some salts, if ye’d like? Ye look a trifle peely-wally, if ye dinna mind me saying so. Where were ye off to anyway?’

 Hector can say what he like for all he cares, shaking his head firmly at the questions, trying to clear it.

 Bran presses close, his cries low and quiet. Slowly, he reaches out a trembling hand to scratch at the dog’s chin, his Gaelic coming back faster than his English.

 ‘Chu math. Bonnie lad. Chu math.’

 ‘I… Tam and Eileen… Faith….’

 It seemed imperative that Hector know this and yet he doesn’t understand why.

 ‘The McPherson’s place, ye mean?’ Hector’s face clears briefly. ‘But why would ye want tae go there, Sir? If ye dinna mind me askin’?’

 He cannot answer that.

  It takes several attempts before Jamie can make it to his feet.

 His mind comes back slowly, the need to reason with Tam and Johnny flooding his brain, the memory of Faith’s face pressed hard in his hands; blue cat eyes blazing with tearful love.

 He makes his way carefully back up the main street, up into the small copse of field maples on the side of the hill.  As he crests it, he can just make out a column of smoke from the chimney of the little house, nestled in the valley, Eileen McPherson’s shadow in the dooryard as she scatters out corn for the hens; a checked apron tied stoutly around her waist.

 As he watches, he sees Tam come out from behind the woodpile, shirt rolled up to the elbows, a low, flat cap pulled down over his forehead. Sees the old man slowly take up the weight of an axe dug deep in a block of ash, the weight of the worn handle visibly rippling down his arm and strike hard, the thud of metal on wood ricocheting through the dappled clearing, startling a pair of turtle doves from their roost in a Scots Pine in a flurry of dusky feathers.

 The tremor catches him unawares. It shakes him, his hands balling themselves into fists at remembered pain. For a moment, the day stands still around him, paused as time it had done so long before, poised on a gulf of painful understanding.

 Slowly, he lets it come. That pulse of dreadful memory flooding his brain in a terrible wave of remorse and loss, his body quivering with the rage of remembered helplessness.

  He knows that Claire yearns for him to forget and knows that he will never forget.

 Shivering in the snow, one gaunt face amongst many, his feet frozen into mounds of black ice through the remnants of once stout standard issue army boots, he had watched Private Bobby Irving being dragged to the whipping post.

 Irving had always been a joker in their company, swapping cigarettes and playing cards for a nip of whisky between trembling hands just hours before the final surrender.

 Irving’s face set and drawn, all joviality stripped away as he had been dragged out before the assembled prisoners, one bitterly cold day in December. The sky had been the colour of slate and Jamie remembers the way his maimed hand had ached in sympathy to the shivering man stripped to the waist before him, the stiff fingers numb and blue with early frostbite.

 Remembers Irving’s body arching in silent agony against the post as the first lash licked him; shaking skin sliced open in rivers of scarlet.

 Remembers the desperate, muffled scream that had bitten across the man’s lips as the lash came down again and again; his own heart aching in anguished sympathy.

 Remembers the trembling fingers of the man beside him reaching for his arm and the slow, painful process of trying to school his face back into its mask of blank control as Irving’s feet slipped and slid on the blood-soaked snow, knees buckling against his weight.

 Remembers the collective intake of breath as Irving’s feet finally knocked into the post and he collapsed, hanging like a broken marionette against the ropes, too weak even to shiver.

 ‘Nehem Sie ihn weg,‘ the whip being thrown down to the snow; the curt, dispassionate stream of German slicing through his heart as the guard turns his back on the prisoner and nods to two of his companions, grey SS uniform stark against the blinding white marred by blood.

 Beside him, Bran wines softly, butting his nose into Jamie’s pocket.

 ‘Sheas, mo chu,’ his mouth is dry, the words scraping across his tongue like sandpaper.

 Carefully, he readjusts the grip on the walking stick, feeling each finger slowly relax their trembling against the worn bone handle. Lays each memory to rest as he makes his way out of the cover and down the short slope towards the house.

  ‘Marriage? Ye ken that for sure?’

 Tam’s eyes widen over his glass of whisky, gleaming in the dim light, softening in a small smile as he digests the information.

 He nods slowly, thinking of Faith and the way that she had flung the ring across the darkness of his desk, the silver band glittering in the glare of his oil lamp, her eyes brimming over with unspoken fears.

 ‘Aye. I ken Johnny’s sweet on her, though I canna…’

 They are sitting round the empty fireplace, sipping whisky and thinking of their children.

 Bran’s head rests heavily on Jamie’s knee, yellow eyes glowing wolfishly up at him.

 ‘But what, man? I ken he’s a wee bit older than her, but…’

 But….

  A Dhia, how to explain?

 How to explain that he does not want to let Faith go until she’s ready?

 How to explain that he can look at his seventeen-year-old daughter who turns eighteen in two months and still see the eleven-year-old faerie child who had spent her mornings marvelling over a nest of perfect, blue sparrow eggs that she had found behind the corn crib?

 How he can still see her dwarfed in his chair, the morocco leather copy of ‘Berwick’s History of Birds’ with its marbled end papers open on her lap, a pair of tortishell spectacles balanced perilously at the end of her nose?

 Can still feel the weight of her settling herself on his shoulders, chubby fingers digging deep into his scalp for grip. Can hear her crowing in delight at being so high up as he strode out on a summer’s evening to check the cows?

 Or else look back further still and see the tiny baby lying so perfectly still in the incubator; butterfly thin skin glowing in the harsh hospital light?

 ‘She’s no’ ready tae think of marriage just yet,’ he says finally, choosing each word with care.

 Tam’s eyebrows arch high, bristled and bushy in a worn, weathered face.

 ‘She’s seventeen, Jamie. Most lassies at her age would be jumping for joy at such a proposal. Laddies too,’ his voice has taken on a rueful tone and Jamie remembers, without understanding why he knows this, that Tam had married young.

 It had been a short and bitter marriage. One full of regretful, vengeful secrets that had been the talk of the village. It was said that the bride had died in the bed of another man and Tam had near gone wild with grief; a ghastly secret whispered in dark corners, murmured with scandalised glances by old ladies behind their hands.

 Most lassies at her age would be jumping for joy at such a proposal.

 Not Faith. By the blessed Virgin and all the angels, not Faith.

 ‘She’s no’ as worldly as we’d like, as Johnny kens fine,’ he says slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to think.

 Tam has taken leave of his glass and is gazing into the blackened fireplace, fingers steepled meditatively under his chin, dark eyes narrowed in thought.

 ‘That could change though, aye? She’s got work at the hospital, surely… Mmphm,’ the older man makes a rough Scots noise in the back of his throat, gesturing into the depths of the fireplace and Jamie nods slowly, understanding his sentiment completely.

 ‘Aye, that’s not my point, a chariad,’ Bran’s head shifts slightly on his knee, ears pricking at the Gaelic.

 From the passage, he can hear Eileen stamping her boots clean, lugging something that could be a basket of washing onto her hip. A tuneless washerwoman song that he remembers from his childhood slowly drifts to them and Tam shifts in his seat, dark eyes gleaming in the gloom.

 ‘So? Does the lassie no’ ken her mind? What does she say?’

 ‘She,’ he takes a long, slow breath, trying to marshal his thoughts.

 Trying not to think of the way that Faith had come to him, heart laid bare in anguish, flinging the ring across the dark expanse of his desk.

 ‘I dinna know if I can do it! If I… If I want tae do it!’

 ‘She says that she’s no’ ready. Not yet. That she loves Johnny, but like a brother, ken?’

 And I dinna want to lose her. I dinna think I can.

 ‘Aye’, Tam says slowly, considering his proposal. ‘Weel then.’

 The words hang in the silence, something akin to regret passing fleetingly across the older man’s face, but whether it’s just down to a trick of the light, Jamie isn’t sure.

 ‘I’m no’ saying it wouldna be a good match,’ Tam says at last, his words slow and careful.

 Jamie nods, reaching for his whisky. The drink warms the back of his throat with the soft, honey-like viscosity of a fine, strong spirit that had aged well.

 ‘And we- Eileen and myself, that is, would be that honoured tae be considered part of your family. But if ye dinna…’

 He trails off and Jamie nods firmly, seeing his advantage and making to play it.

 ‘No, I dinna think it wise. I want her to see more o’ the world, no’ just Broch Mordha and Lallybroch and in a year or so we’ll talk.’

 The older man nods sagely and raises his half drunk glass in a toast of understanding, words that were older than time itself ringing through the air as their glasses chink.

 ‘Slainte mhath!’

 As he drains the last of the whisky and shrugs on his coat to leave, Jamie’s fingers brush against his rosary that Claire had found for him in the bottom of her desk drawer in the drawing room.

 ‘I’d pray with this every evening when the children had gone to bed’, she’d said softly, standing on tiptoe to place it over his neck, the beechwood soft and comforting against his skin. They’d been standing in their bedroom; a soft, dusky light spilling from the curtains.

 ‘I didn’t know what I prayed or whether it was the right thing, but I just knew that I had to do something. Something that might bring you home.’

 ‘I am home now, Sassenach’, he’d said quietly, reaching down to cup her chin, slowly drawing her lips to his, finding hints of salt and honey and mint at the taste of them. ‘And I’ll never leave ye and the bairns. Ever. Ye have my word.’

 But now, as he bids Tam and Eileen farewell and feels Bran’s loping gait pull up beside him in the darkness, it is not the Virgin, or even Claire that he thinks of.

 It is Faith.

 Faith beaming at him through the darkness; a soft, warm smile glowing on her lips.

 He smiles at the memory, a soft chuckle catching at the back of his throat.

 ‘I hope it’ll be enough, mo cholom geal.’

 ‘It will, Da. I know it will.’

Gaelic and German translations: 

Sgaoileadh Ridge = Curlew Ridge 

‘Dhomhsa, chu- = ‘to me, dog’ 

‘Sheas’ = stay

‘‘Nehem Sie ihn weg’ = ‘take him away’ 

[piperslovebot]

The graduation class without retcons and in the proper years.

1992 - Archie Simpson, Caitlin Ryan (skipped a grade), Lucy Fernandez (valedictorian), Simon Dexter, Alexa Pappadopolos-Dexter, Christine Nelson, Derek Wheeler, Michelle Accette, Bryant Thomas, Heather Farrell, Erica Farrell, Lorraine Delacorte (left before graduation; leukemia), Liz O'Rourke, Amy Holmes, Allison Hunter, Shane McKay (left before graduation; brain damage), Stephanie Kaye (left before graduation; transferred to private school), Voula Grivogiannis (left before graduation; moved away), Joey Jeremiah (held back; didn't graduate with this class), Rick Munro (held back, wasn't gonna graduate with this class; left before graduation), Tim O'Connor, Nancy Kramer

1993 - Caitlin Ryan (skipped a grade later), Susie Rivera (left before graduating), Kathleen Mead, Melanie Brodie, Arthur Kobalewscuy, Yick Yu, Alex Yankou (probably valedictorian), Diana Economopoulos, Maya Goldberg, Joey Jeremiah (repeated), Rick Munro (repeated; left before graduating), Tessa Campanelli, Luke Matthews, Scooter Webster, Bartholomew Bond, Wai Lee, Trudi Owens , Trish Skye 

2004 - Dylan Michalchuck

2006 - Hazel Aden, Jimmy Brooks (held back; didn't graduate with this class), Sean Cameron (held back; expelled), Marco Del Rossi (valedictorian), Ashley Kerwin (left before graduation), Craig Manning (left before graduation), Spinner Mason (held back; didn't graduate with this class), Paige Michalchuk, Ellie Nash, Alex Nuñez (repeated one semester), Heather Sinclair, Fareeza, Amy Peters-Hoffman, Rick Murray (held back, wasn't gonna graduate with this class; died before graduating), Terri MacGregor (left before graduation)

2007 - Jimmy Brooks (Repeated), Damian Hayes, Toby Isaacs, Spinner Mason (repeated), Emma Nelson, Manny Santos, Liberty Van Zandt (valedictorian), Rick Murray (repeated; died before graduation), Chris Sharpe, Lucas Valieri (dropped out), J.T. Yorke , Ashley Kerwin (took a year off; dropped out), Sean Cameron (repeated)

2008 - Johnny DiMarco, Peter Stone, Danny Van Zandt,Jane Vaughn (Valedictorian), Bruce the Moose (Not seen graduating), Kendra Mason , Nadia Yamir, Darcy Edwards (left before graduation), Derek Haig (Not seen graduating), Mia Jones (held back, wasn't gonna graduate with this class; left before graduation), Chantay Black 

2009 - Sav Bhandari, Fiona Coyne (held back; didn’t graduate with this class), Anya MacPherson, Zane Park Holly J. Sinclair (valedictorian), Riley Stavros, Ethan McBride, Heather Poulette, Trish, Leia Chang (not seen graduating), Blue Chessex (not seen graduating), Declan Coyne (left before graduation), Mia Jones

2010 - Fiona Coyne (repeated; valedictorian), Mike Dallas (chose to stay back; didn't graduate with this class), Bianca DeSousa, Eli Goldsworthy, Marisol Lewis, Jake Martin, Mo Mashkour, Katie Matlin, Owen Milligan, Imogen Moreno (held back; didn't graduate with this class), Drew Torres (held back; didn't graduate with this class), Mark Fitzgerald (expelled), Julian Williams

2011 - Becky Baker, Alli Bhandari, Mike Dallas (victory Lap), Connor DeLaurier (valedictorian), Clare Edwards, Jenna Middleton, Imogen Moreno (repeated), Drew Torres (repeated), Fab Juarez, Liam Berish, Ingvar Andersson, Bo Andersson, Hannah Belmont, Cliff Jacobs, Reese, Jess Martello, Luke Baker (expelled), Wesley Betenkamp (not seen graduating), K.C. Guthrie (left before graduation), Adam Torres, Dave Turner (not seen graduating)

2012 - Jonah Haak (held back; didn't graduate with this class), Jack Jones (left before graduation), Tori Santamaria (held back; left before graduation), Campbell Saunders, Jess Martello (retconned to Class of 2014), Sadie Rowland

2013 - Tristan Milligan, Maya Matlin, Zig Novak, Zoë Rivas (valedictorian), Miles Hollingsworth III, Winston Chu, Grace Cardinal, Tiny Bell, Jonah Haak (repeated), Esme Song (held back; didn't graduate with this class), Goldi Nahir (salutatorian), Tori Santamaria (repeated; left before graduation), Damon Carter (not seen graduating)

2014 - Frankie Hollingsworth, Hunter Hollingsworth, Lola Pacini, Shay Powers, Baaz Nahir, Yael Baron, Vijay Maraj, Saad Al'Maliki, Rasha Zuabi, Esme Song (repeated), Keisha, Arlene Takahashi

2015 - Abra Al'Maliki

[bluegirlblogger]

[serenitysvision]

My favorite Degrassi: The Next Generation couples (Seasons 7-10)

Gavin 'Spinner' Mason and Jane Vaughn

Manuela 'Manny' Santos and Jay Hogart

Sav Bhandari and Anya MacPherson

Eli Goldsworthy and Clare Edwards

Alli Bhandari and Johnny DiMarco

I will gladly die on this hill!!!

Holly J Sinclair and Declan Coyne

Riley Stavros and Zane Park

Drew Torres and Bianca Desousa

Holly J Sinclair and Sav Bhandari

Honorable Mentions

Paige Michalchuk and Griffin Pierce-Taylor

Jimmy Brooks and Trish

Clare Edwards and K.C. Guthrie (They were adorable when introduced)

Peter Stone and Mia Jones

K.C. Guthrie and Jenna Middleton (I shipped them until Jenna got pregnant, then it just kept getting worse)