#sharpe's regiment

[thekenobee]

Sharpe's World Tour came to me in a dream

[lacomandante]

Sharpe + The Onion headlines: Part 10 of ?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

[uuuhshiny]

Sean Bean in Sharpe’s Regiment 

How dare you look at me, slave?

[painaltar]

Now tell me Dick- of that bloody day. How you fought, how the flames burned the grass, how the wounded scream as they burn! You slaughtered the French!

Sharpe's Regiment (1996) & Sharpe's Eagle (1993)

[cerebrobullet]

Daragh O'Malley as Patrick Harper in Sharpe's Regiment (1996)

as requested by @gohoubi !!! with some extra gifs featuring sharpe and pat together under the readmore

look at him glancing at those lips just after saving sharpe's life. scandalous.

also, look at sharpe being Smug because he thinks pat is so cool:

[emilybeemartin]

Yesterday someone very kindly and earnestly suggested that if I like Sean Bean I should definitely check out Sharpe, it's like his defining role, and I sincerely hope that person is having a really good day, just so full of love and warmth and good things

[chiropteracupola]

sharpe's waterloo (1997) / monstrous regiment, terry pratchett

[chernobog13]

Sean Bean as Richard Sharpe, with guest star Elizabeth Hurley as Isabella, Lady Farthingdale, in Sharpe's Enemy (1994).

This was the fourth in the series of telefilms based on Bernard Cornwell's Richard Sharpe series of novels. It adapts the 1984 novel of the same name, which was the eighth novel in the original eleven-book series (until Cornwell wrote a number of prequels and sequels), and is now the sixteenth of twenty-three novels.

[werewolfetone]

This sucks what do you mean we could have had fuckass derry lad in sharpe but they left him out of the adaptation

[clove-pinks]

This is what you Sharpe's Rifles people are reading, right??

This was my light reading last night, and I enjoyed it very much, despite being written for children people of all ages. Foundling George Milton escapes the workhouse where he is cruelly mistreated and becomes a bugler for the 95th Rifle Regiment in 1809, after he is rescued and adopted by a Regimental Sargent Major. Awwww!

As a piece of historical fiction, it's put together with great care, with a lovely emphasis on the day to day life of a Napoleonic era soldier. The forward by Bernard Cornwall states that Richard Sharpe would approve of George Milton and even seems to hint that Sharpe could make a cameo appearance in a future volume.

But alas, volume 1 was published in 2020, and there are no signs of any sequels? I can't find any information about this series being continued.

[gonzodangerfeels]

Ah man....you know how I get about Jojo GGW stories.

[thekenobee]

I have seen ‘Sharpe’ twice now

[lacomandante]

Sharpe + The Onion headlines: Part 16 of ?

 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7  Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12  Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

[uuuhshiny]

Sean Bean in Sharpe’s Regiment

Collar

[cerebrobullet]

richard "one time i was falsely accused of hitting a superior so now i'm gonna do it for real" sharpe

[enviedear]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ got what i wanted, but it's never enough for me

⤷ jacaerys velaryon ⊹ ࣪ ˖

౨ৎ synopsis— battletorn and bruised, you’re one sword swipe away from death when jacaerys finds you. if the wound searing into you isn’t causing enough annoyance, then surely your prince’s reprimanding will.

౨ৎ warnings— w@r, injury, canon divergence (isn’t it always), brat!jace (he’s so stressed, he’s taking it out on reader sorry), bastard!velaryon!reader, arguments, reader isn’t fully trusted by team black. 2.1k words

request ⊹ series masterlist

your entire body sears with pain, not at all akin to anything you've felt before. above you are the sounds the roars of dragons, around you the sounds of dying men. moaning and weeping, praying and making peace—it drills an ache deep into your skull.

you glance down at your torso, wincing when you see the large chunk of armor missing. gritting your teeth, you brace before pressing your fingers to the exposed flesh underneath the gnarled metal. your armor has left deep scrapes along your side, the patch of flesh filed down to the very muscle.

with great effort, you rise, fingers still pressing into your own wound. the sword at your side is sheathed, afraid your arms could not beat to hold it any longer. there's a white cast across your vision, a chill to your flesh.

you wish immediately to have stayed atop vermax with jacaerys. you have no doubt that he is handling himself with grace, every bit the deliberate warrior prince he's described. yet here you are, grounded and wounded�� haunting a maelstrom of a battlefield.

you shut your eyes momentarily trying to steady your mind at the very least. it provides no aid.

you're the bastard of a dead man, what use is masquerading as if you won't inevitably meet the same fate. you still sense the slightest bit of contempt from the queen, court meetings often ending before you can speak— her eyes watching you, as if daring you to break out of line.

sometimes, you truly want to, to step into the role of 'master of complaints', but this is war. you funnel all resentments into your fighting. the words you want to spew at the roundtable reshape into the cuts tore into each of your foes.

vaemond velaryon could afford his grips until he couldn't, and it seems his daughter will do the very same. you began too incensed, angered at a comment by the prince.

jacaerys shares his mother's unease of you. rightfully so, you are a bastard to the man who sought to revoke the late prince lucerys’ title. your allegiance to her grace has never wavered. you are and will always be, a faithful servant to the crown. your own mind far different than your father's.

perhaps that is why the prince's comment etched itself so deep within your heart.

like always, the dragonpit had been scarce for company. entering only to be met by the prince and one of the keepers.

“my prince.” you had greeted, bowing your head slightly until he had addressed you in return. tasked to ride out with him as the head of your secondary regiment, you nervously approached his dragon.

“my lady.” his voice had been sharp, albeit princely. “vermax is ready, we’ll leave shortly.”

he had turned from you right after to whisper something to the dragonkeeper, his hands on the grip of his sword. he had looked back at you one last time before mounting his dragon.

you neared, “i have never had the privilege of a dragon ride. anything to note, my prince?” your words had been meant to ease any tension but when the prince simply offered out his hand without reply, you began to second guess your choice.

jacaerys helped you upon the dragon's back, and you took your place behind him. there was a long pause before he replied, his muscles taut, “keep your hands here,” his own hands directed yours toward ropes attached to the saddle. then, whispered and almost indiscernible he added, “and away from your blade.”

that's why you fled, as soon as vermax dipped low enough toward the battlefield— you jumped. you forwent the ease of watching the battle from above for the challenge that is an open combat. it was easy at first to guard off attacks on foot. but you must have made it look a bit too easy, as swarms of knights threw hits your way, you're lucky all they managed is the gory gash at your side. your life remains, slowed and tense, but there regardless.

you catch your breath, shallow and uneven, pushing through the blinding discomfort. Determination fuels you, and it is the only thing propelling you forward. the chaos of the battlefield doesn't pause, doesn't show mercy, and neither shall you. the prince's words still echo in your mind, a bitter reminder of your place in this war. let it be a foolish wish, but you want more than anything to rise above the mistakes of your father.

your eyes scan the area, seeking any sign of jacaerys, but the prince and his dragon are nowhere to be seen. you grit your teeth, frustration mingling with worry. you can't afford to think about him now. survival comes first.

a sudden movement catches your attention, a knight of the usurper is charging toward you, sword raised high. you reach for your own weapon, but your fingers barely grasp the hilt as he nears. the knight's blade descends, and you scarcely manage to roll out of the way, pain flaring in your side. you stumble to your feet, using every ounce of strength to stay upright.

with a desperate lunge, you unsheath your sword, parrying the knight's next strike. your movements are sluggish, each one sending jolts of agony through your body. but you fight on, deflecting blows and striking back with whatever strength you can muster.

the knight's eyes are wide with surprise as you hold your ground, and in a moment of hesitation on his part, you find an opening. you drive your sword into his stomach, feeling the resistance as the blade cuts through armor and flesh. the knight falls, a choked gasp escaping his lips.

you lean on your sword for support, breathing heavily. the battlefield is a blur of motion and noise, but you force yourself to stay focused. you can't afford to falter now, so close to breaking through their lines.

the taste of blood is on your tongue, metallic and bitter. you don't know if it's yours or someone else's. the battlefield is a mess with death, every step a reminder of your own fragile mortality. you press forward, each step an exercise of sheer willpower.

a roar sounds overhead, louder than the fighting below, and you look up just in time to see vermax swooping low, flames spewing from his maw. jacaerys is astride him, his expression fierce and determined. for a moment, relief washes over you, but it is quickly replaced by the realization that you are in the path of his attack.

you dive to the side, narrowly avoiding the scorching heat. the fire engulfs the enemy soldiers ahead of you, their screams piercing the chaos. you struggle to your feet, the adrenaline surging through you, numbing the pain.

jacaerys spots you and directs vermax to land nearby. he dismounts swiftly, eyes scanning you critically.

"you're hurt." he forces out, voice tight with concern.

"i'm fine, my prince." you manage, though it's clear you are anything but.

he steps closer, his hand reaching out to steady you, "you shouldn't have jumped. you would have been safe."

"you did not want me there.” you snap back, the hurt from his earlier words still fresh.

jacaerys recoils at your harsh words, his eyes flashing with dismay, "my words were reckless," he says, trying to defend himself. "i was anxious... but i never want to see you hurt."

you stare at him, torn between anger and gratitude, "that moment may have passed us, my prince. perhaps you could help me instead by finding a way out."

jacaerys nods, his focus shifting back to the battle ahead. "we need to reach the castle's gates. there's a concealed passage that will get us through to our own lines."

you swallow, the pain in your side flaring up again. "i can't go on like this. you need to ride vermax back to the lines yourself and get help."

jacaerys shakes his head, his face set in determination. "i won't leave you behind. we'll make it together, just as we promised the queen."

with renewed urgency, he helps you move forward. the city gates loom ahead, a beacon of hope in the midst of chaos. but your strength is fading fast, every step more difficult than the last.

"almost there," jacaerys murmurs, his voice a lifeline. "just a little further."

you nod, clinging to his words. the gates draw nearer, and you can see the secret passage jacaerys mentioned. it's a narrow opening, just wide enough for the two of you to slip through.

jacaerys helps you inside, the walls of the passage providing some relief from the battle outside. he guides you through the dark, winding tunnel, his hand steady on your arm.

once inside, the confined space seems to press in on you, amplifying every breath, every heartbeat. the flickering torchlight casts long shadows, making the passage feel even more claustrophobic.

"you shouldn't have jumped." jacaerys echoes his earlier words suddenly, breaking the tense silence. his voice is blunt, riddled with frustration.

"i couldn't stay." you retort, your own temper flaring despite the pain. "not after what you said."

"i had one moment of unease!” he snaps back, his eyes flashing with anger. "do you have any idea how dangerous it was to go off on your own? when i am meant to protect you.”

"protect me?" you scoff, your voice rising. "by treating me like a traitor? alluding that i, of all people, would gore you in the back?"

"i was mistaken, my lady.” he admits, his tone drops but his ill-temper shines through, your weak title sounds foreign on his lips. "but you made it all worse by acting so carelessly."

"carelessly?" you laugh bitterly. "i was proving something. i am not my father, jacaerys. i have never challenged you or your mother." you drop his title, speaking to him as a peer now, "i deserve to be here."

"and your demonstration nearly got you killed!" he shouts, the sound reverberating off the walls. "do you think that would have proven anything?"

"maybe not," you reply, your voice shaky with emotion. "but at least i would have died fighting. an honorable death."

jacaerys steps closer, his expression fierce. "i do not wish you to die." he says, voice low and intense. "i need you alive. we all do."

"then stop doubting me." you breathe out, words barely audible. "stop treating me like the enemy."

his anger dissipates, replaced by something subdued, more vulnerable. you’re completely unfamiliar with such a look upon his face, "it is not your loyalty i doubt, nor you. not truly." he says quietly. "i doubt my own ability to keep you safe... to keep this entire kingdom safe. this war has become utter perdition."

the confession takes you by surprise, and for a moment, you seem to feel the weight he carries, the burden of leadership and the fear of failure. your anger ebbs, replaced by tentative understanding. in all the years you’ve known the prince, never have you both been at such a state of understanding— albeit frail.

"jacaerys…" the name escapes your lips like a question. you reach out, almost instinctively, touching his arm lightly. his gaze meets yours, a mix of strife and resolve swirling in his eyes.

"i am sorry." he says, his voice a ragged edge of emotion. "i did not mean to contest you. i just… worry."

"i know," you reply softly, your own anger dissipating with each passing heartbeat. "i know you didn't. it's just the war getting to you, it muddles my head just the same."

silence settles like a shroud around you both. for a moment, the world outside the narrow passage wilts away, leaving you and the prince in this fragile sanctuary.

"we should keep moving," jacaerys finally breaks the quietness, his hand still lightly resting on your arm. "the passage leads to safety, to maesters."

you nod again, grateful for his steadying presence. together you navigate the dark tunnel, your body pressed against his. his strong hands never once leave you, providing constant support.

when you emerge from the passage and into the relative calm of your own lines, relief washes over both your features. people rush to tend to your wounds, their movements efficient and practiced. mostly blurs to you, head still pounding. jacaerys stays close, fingers pressing slightly into the pulse at your wrist.

"you need rest." he insists softly, his gaze beating down on you.

"and you need to go be the prince. go lead your men." you reply, not willing to let him linger over you while the battle still rages.

he hesitates, brown eyes flicking down to your wrapped wound, "promise me you will rest?" he finally requests, monotone.

"i promise." you assure him.

jacaerys nods, pulling away to attend to his duties. you watch him go, your mind a mess of emotions.