#was a vicious highwayman

[karahalloway]

The Highwayman: Part I - Look For Me By The Moonlight

Fandom: TRR (Historical AU)

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: On a dark, moonlit night, a highwayman's luck runs out...

Masterlist: The Highwayman

Chapter Summary: Harper and Drake make a plan...

Word Count: 3,600

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, references to smut, references to illegal activities)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: So... This installment took a bit of a turn. Harper and Drake sprung a massive change on me because apparently, the original story was not heartbreaking enough... You have been warned.

A/N2: Astute readers will probably notice that Drake and Harper 'sound' different in this fic. This is deliberate, because this fic is historical fiction (set in the 18th century), rather than contemporary fiction, so I adjusted their vernacular accordingly (that said, I didn't go full Shakespeare because I'm not that extra 😆).

A/N3: As promised, this is my first submission for @choicesprompts January 2024 Song Rewrite Challenge. The song I chose to rewrite is below. I hope to do Parts 2 and 3 shortly as well, but I can't promise both of them for January. But I might surprise myself!

Part I - Look For Me By The Moonlight

The wind lashes the black expanse of the moor, flattening the browned-out clumps of grass against the frozen ground.

I reach a gloved hand up to wedge my cocked hat more securely onto my head, in a bid to stop it from blowing away.

The surefooted Merèns I am sat on picks his way through the brush of gorse and heather, seemingly oblivious to my plight.

"Bloody weather..." I grumble under my breath as a particularly vicious gust cuts through the buttonholes of my knee-length justacorps, instantly snatching away any vestige of warmth I may have managed to salvage.

The horse flicks his ears at the sound of my voice, as if questioning my assessment.

"Your opinion doesn't count," I tell him through gritted teeth, trying to work some warmth back into toes that have become chilled to the bone.

Drogon throws me a flippant raspberry as we skirt ‘round a flat-topped cairn.

Just then, the wind blasts through the cracks in the rocks, causing a ghostly tune to whistles out into the cold of the night.

The coal-coated stallion flattens his ears against his head, tossing his head in displeasure at the unearthly sound.

"Not so cocky now, eh, mon gross?" I grin, reaching out to give him a reassuring pat on his neck.

The horse responds with a sour-faced snort, stepping quickly past the moss-covered waypost — a brazen reminder of this land's heathen roots.

Because despite the House of Rys' conversion to Christianity almost a millennia ago, in the far-flung reaches of the kingdom — where the roads ran out, and the name of the King is just that... a name — the tenet of the old ways is more than just a memory.

It is a living, breathing ethos. Suffused into the very heart of this harsh, rugged, yet beautiful land. Where portents, spells, and otherworldly creatures exist in the same breath as Christ, the Eucharist, and Judgement Day, and the very air crackles with mysticism and superstition.

Which is partly what drew me here — to the edge of the proverbial map, where the laws of Cordonia fray into irrelevance in the face of the jagged peaks of the snow-capped mountains, and your fortune is what you craft it to be.

Not that I can afford to be flippant with my conduct...

As even this far from the capital, the King's Greencoats still man outposts and send forth patrols in a bid to maintain order. But their presence is cursory at best. Because if you know the moor — like I do — it becomes simple to lose yourself in the mist.

Plus, the superstitious inclinations of the border folk have aided in cloaking my less than savoury operations in the guise of fireside tales — spreading news of my exploits while keeping my identity masked behind successive, and ever more fantastical embellishments.

The Black Cavalier. The Raven Rider. The Headless Huntsman. Midnight Jack.

These are all names I've carried over the years.

But — more often than not — I am referred to simply as The Highwayman.

For that is what I am. A bandit. An outlaw. A common rogue living on the wrong side of propriety with no hope of redemption. For I've committed far too many sins in this life.

I've lied, cheated, stolen, and fleeced. Not to mention evaded the Greencoats one too many times for their liking. So, I wouldn't be surprised if the promotion-hungry Captain Belvedere Beaumont — who has been after my head for years — keeps a noose specifically for me in his saddlebag.

Because, worst of all, I've killed.

I've taken men's lives at both gunpoint and sword-point. Sometimes they've even begged. But I've cut them down regardless.

The ultimate sin.

But, there has never been honour amongst thieves. And if an unfortunate bastard chooses to pull a weapon on me, then I'm going to make damn sure that that becomes his last mistake, not mine.

I like living too much.

Especially as — after nigh on one-and-half score years on this Earth— I have finally found something to live for.

From out of the darkness, a lone spec of golden light hoves into view, nestled between the lee of a pair of windswept hills.

And, in spite of the hellish nature of the night, I feel the corner of my mouth lift.

As gold and jewels — while pretty and useful — pass through your hands just as fast as you acquire them, and sure as hell don't keep you warm at night. That is... unless you have someone to share your treasure with.

"Hue!" I urge, nudging Drogon into a trot.

But the opinionated stallion clearly has other ideas. As after a mere two steps, he launches into a full-fledged canter.

Not that I can necessarily blame him. We've been on the road... or lack thereof, for hours, and the sight of the twinkling promise of reprieve from the cold is enough to warrant anyone — man, or beast — to pick up their feet.

But, instead of riding up to the front of the gable-arched establishment, I direct my steed 'round to the back.

Slipping out of the saddle in the shadow of the stable block, I pull my sabre carefully from its scabbard as I reach for the metal of the door handle.

Creaking the heavy wooden door open, I sneak a glance inside. A man of my profession — and reputation — cannot afford to be lenient. So, an over-abundance of caution is a must. As is a well-sharpened blade.

Four horses occupy the darkened space, their heads coming to poke out into the gangway to assess my arrival. And, apart from the barn cat dozing on a bale of hay in the corner, there is nary a soul in sight.

Pushing the door wider, I lead Drogon into the relative warmth of the structure. Espying an empty stall to my left, I direct the horse towards the manger affixed to the wall, when I suddenly hear the scrape of boots on the hard-packed earth behind me.

Whipping around, the cold metal of my sword flashes through the air, like the talons of a kite, seeking its target.

A loud gasp of surprise rises into the air as the point of the blade meets the soft flesh of the intruder's gullet.

"Please, sir!" cries Emile, the stable hand, in fright. "I only came to—"

"Drop that lantern, and there'll be almighty hell t' pay..." I warn, seeing the lantern that the youth is holding shake dangerously in his hand.

The last thing I need tonight is the barn catching fire.

The lad swallows nervously, but nods, tightening his grip on the brass handle.

"Anyone else about?" I ask, scanning the dark.

Emile jerks his head. "Jus' me an' Lupin..."

Glancing past him, I spot the bedraggled hound ambling towards its master on bowed legs.

Sheathing the weapon, I move back towards Drogon to unclasp the saddlebags. "Feed and water the horse, but leave him saddled. My business will be brief."

"Of course, sir," bobs the lad, having recovered control of his faculties somewhat.

Hefting the bags onto my shoulder, I reach into the hidden pocket of my coat. Pulling out a ha' piece of silver, I flip it to the boy.

He catches it with wide eyes.

"For the trouble," I tell him as I stride past. Glancing back from the doorway, I add, "And if anyone asks, you never saw me."

"Thank ye, sir!" he affirms, quickly pocketing the coin. "An’ welcome back t’ The Crown & The Flame!"

Slipping back out into the night, I make my way quickly along the side of the barn. Locating the weather-worn ladder that leads up to the hayloft, I quickly scale the somewhat slick rungs. Grabbing onto the extruding stone lintel above the hayloft door, I use the imperfections in the crumbling mortar to pull myself up onto the peat-lined roof.

Scrambling across the ridge of the gambrel, I draw upon my destination — a lone, casement window suspended on the side of the inn, the light of a single candle flickering within.

Crouching down, I cup my hands to my face. Taking a breath, I imitate the call of a cuckoo, hoping that it will carry over the sound of the wind rattling the shutters.

I wait a second... then two...

The window creaks open.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me..."

She is leaning against the side jamb, head cocked to the side as she regards me with a wry look, her long, flaxen hair lying half-pleated over one breast.

I scoff back at her as I pull the saddlebags from my shoulder. "Not a chance in hell, lass."

She rolls her eyes at me, but pushes the stile wider, nevertheless.

Securing my stance, I assess the distance. Raising my hand, I test the weight, and with a determined movement, send the pack sailing through the air.

Reaching her arms out, she catches it with practiced ease.

"It's heavy," she remarks, slotting the bags down.

"That a complaint I hear?" I ask dryly, straightening back up.

"'Tis merely an observation," she replies with a shrug, the soft cotton of her shift sliding seductively off her shoulder in the process.

I shake my head as I retreat back across the stable roof somewhat. This lass is going to be the death of me...

Turning back 'round, I take a couple of long-legged strides across the hardened peat, before throwing myself across the divide.

My gut drops like a leaden ball at the momentary sense of weightlessness — my actions at diametric odds with my God-given sense of self-preservation — as the passage of time seems to slow...

...but then my boot hits the metal sill of the window and the heavy hand of Chronos comes crashing back down on me like a hard wave against the shore.

Grasping the coolness of the central mullion, I pull myself into the haven of her room.

"God," she says with a shudder, throwing her arms 'round my neck. "You send a piece of my soul to the grave each time you do that..."

"You'd rather I take the stairs?" I drawl, the honey and wood-fire scent of her hair washing over me, warming me like the heat of the summer sun.

"And risk being caught?" she tuts. "In truth, I am not certain what would be the worse fate."

"Getting whipped by your father, for sure," I reply solemnly. "I don't think my pride could survive it."

She pulls back from me with an aghast look. "So, you would risk a broken leg... or worse, over my Da's ire?"

"Until the day I can make an honest woman of you, aye," I confirm, lifting her face to mine with a gloved finger. "I will not risk your reputation."

She laughs up at me. "You shredded my reputation when you tumbled me in the hay, good sir!"

"Aye," I concede with a smirk. "But no one knows that."

"Well, they might soon..." she admits, dropping a hand to the front of her shift.

The breath tangles in my throat. "You... You are not..."

Her hazel eyes sparkle with feeling. "With child... Yes."

Her words hit me like grapeshot out of the blue. "Nom de Dieu..."

Her smile falters in the face of my no-doubt ashen expression. "You... You are not pleased?"

I bark out a laugh. "Pleased? Mon coeur, I am over the damn moon!" Lifting her into the air, I spin her 'round in a joyous arc. "I believed myself to be blessed already for the fact that a golden-haired siren such as yourself even deigned to look at a wretch like me, much less offer me her heart."

"I offered nothing," she counters breathlessly as I set her back down. "You stole my heart the very moment you looked upon me."

"Lucky for me that I have some skill in that area," I smirk, bending towards her.

She lays into me with a playful smack. "Incorrigible rogue! Your silver tongue could disarm the devil!"

"I should hope so..." I murmur, tangling a hand in her silken hair. "It managed to disarm you..."

Our lips meet, and she melts against me with a sigh.

"Christ, I love you, Harper..." I groan, tightening the heartfelt hold I have on her, albeit mindful of the new life budding inside her.

"I love you too, Drake," she whispers, gazing up at me with complete adoration as she runs her fingers down my face. "With all that I am."

My heart constricts in my chest.

A child... Our child...

In truth, I never dared dream of it. It is not something that I believed to be in the cards for me, living as I do, in the shadow of the night... and the law. Where one simple miscalculation could end with a bullet to the gut... or a noose around the neck.

But I never thought to trade it. The thrill... The freedom... It was too addictive.

That is... until I chanced upon the bright-eyed lass currently cradled in my arms.

I hadn't meant to succumb to her. I hadn't meant to do anything quite as foolish as fall in love. But she managed to slay me with a single smile. And I've been a fool for her ever since.

Fool enough to get her child, it seems, before I even secured her father's blessing, much less married her!

I really am an incorrigible rogue...

"Drake?" The softness of her voice cuts through my senses. "My love? Are you—?"

"I am fine," I assure her, turning my head to drop a kiss into her palm. "I was just thinking..."

"Always dangerous..." she quips with a smirk.

"Hey," I counter, clasping her hands in mine. "It was a lack of thought that landed the two of us in this quandary, so—"

Her mouth parts in shock. "You dare call your own child a quandary?"

I meet her eye with a level look. "He will be called a damn sight worse if he arrives into this world out of wedlock. Not to mention the fate that awaits his mother..."

Her shoulders slump in dejection. "My father would disown me for sure..."

"And cast you out onto the moor, newborn babe in tow," I add grimly.

She heaves a morose breath. "I do despise it when you talk sense..."

"It is the thankless burden I was born to bear..."

She smacks me again.

"But in all seriousness," I continue, catching her hand in mine once more. "We must be prudent, mon coeur. The child will be here before we know it, and it is our precious duty to do best by him."

"How do you know it will be a he?" she asks softly as I lift her hands to my lips.

"Have I ever given you cause to doubt me, lass?" I ask her, feathering a kiss over her knuckles.

"Cocksure rake..." she admonishes. But her fingers tighten 'round mine nevertheless.

"So," I conclude, straightening back up, "I am thinking that it's high time we eloped."

Her eyes widen. "Elope!"

"There is a small church, about a half-day's ride from here—"

"But my father...!"

"The contents of that saddle bag should more than compensate him for the loss of his serving wench," I tell her. "As well as cover your dowry."

Her mouth opens — no doubt in planned protest — but she suddenly thinks better of it. "Alright," she agrees, raising her face to mine with a beaming smile. "Let's find that priest!"

"Whoa, whoa!" I chuckle, pulling her back into my arms as she tries to spin away. "Hold your horses, woman!"

"I thought you wanted to be quick about this," she counters.

"I do," I affirm. "But it's the middle of the night and I don't have a horse for you, much less a ring..."

She glances towards the window. "I am sure there's something in those bags we can misappropriate for our purposes. And I can saddle up Devlin. He is a cart-horse, but I am sure—"

I shake my head. "Nay. I want to start our new life together as a reformed man. No more thieving... No more profiting off ill-gotten gains."

"But how will we—?"

"Don't you worry your pretty head about that, my sweet," I assure her. "I have enough booty stashed away to buy you a palfrey, as well as a ring that is worthy of your otherworldly beauty—"

She blushes at my compliment. "Don't exaggerate, sir..."

"'Tis no exaggeration," I assure her with a wink. "And perchance even enough to let us acquire a flat in town, or a small holding in the interior... Or if none of that takes your fancy, I'll build us a cottage in the woods, or a cot by the sea, and—"

"I've never set eyes upon the sea..." she breathes in wonder.

"The point is," I conclude. "We have sufficient coin to afford ourselves the freedom of choice, mon coeur."

She arches a skeptical brow. "And when we run out?"

I let out a low exhale. "And when we run out, I suppose I'll have to pick up an honest trade."

She scoffs. "You? Honest? Those two words don't abide each other, Drake. You've been a scoundrel your whole life!"

"And yet... somehow,"I roll my eyes at her ruefully. "You are about to make an honest man out of me, Harper. So, I am loath to admit that the concept may not be as outlandish as it may appear at first blush."

"I suppose," she concedes with an equally wry quirk to her mouth. "Just don't lose your zest for life. It is the very thing I fell in love with."

"I thought it was my roguish charm," I counter.

"The two go hand in hand," she assures me, lifting her face to mine again.

Our lips fuse — with greater ardency this time — and I am loath to part from her.

But, I know that I must. The night is wearing on, and if I am to abide by my promise to her, I must get back on the road.

"Unpack the bags and hide the gold where your father is sure to find it," I tell her, pulling myself away with great difficulty.

She nods silently, cheeks flushed from our heated exchange.

Slipping out of my arms, she retrieves the saddlebags from their place by the wall and carries it to the other side of the room. Locating the loose floorboard at the foot of the bed, she dumps the contents in and replaces the covering.

"When will you return?" she asks, handing the bags back to me.

"As hastily as I can," I assure her. "But if the Greencoats are out in force, I may need to trek via the marshes, which will take longer and be more arduous."

"Please take care," she pleads, grasping my hand in hers. "The marshes are treacherous, especially in the winter."

"I always do," I soothe, reaching up to cup her face with my free hand. "But should I do not return by noon, then look for me by the moonlight."

"I will," she affirms, eyes shining with fervour. "I love you."

"I love you, too, mon coeur," I rasp, drawing her in for one final kiss.

She presses herself to me, as aggrieved by our forced parting as I, and I kiss her hungrily back. But I know in my heart that the brief absence will be worth the bitterness of the sorrow.

Because this time tomorrow, I hope to call her my wife.

Breaking off the kiss, I swing the empty bags back onto my shoulder and turn towards to the still-open window.

"Wait!"

Turning around, I spot her pulling the dark red ribbon from the unfinished pleat in her hair.

"What's this?" I ask as she holds it out for me.

"A good-luck charm," she replies. "To speed you back to me."

I lift the silken strip from her fingers, and press it to my lips. "I'll always return to you, mon coeur. Even if hell should bar the way."

"I know," she says simply. "But a small trinket cannot hurt your efforts. Now, fly! Fly like a witch on the wind! And give Drogon a kiss from me."

"I'd rather steal another kiss from you," I admit, tucking the ribbon against my heart.

"I'd rather save some for the wedding night..." she counters with a sly look.

I throw her a sidelong glance as I climb back onto the window sill. "Lass, you can rest assured that we'll be doing a damn sight more than kissing on our wedding night..."

The waves of her now loosened hair brush my shoulder as she leans in to whisper, "I didn't say which part of you I'm saving the kisses for."

A deep-throated groan tumbles from my lips as she drops a teasing kiss on my neck. "You're going to be the death of me, woman..."

"A little suspense never killed anyone," she counters cheekily.

"Somehow I doubt that," I scoff as I drop back into the night.

The story continues in Part II - On The Stroke Of Midnight

A/N: Translations for the French below:

Mon gross - lit. 'my fat' but as a slang term, it is the equivalent of 'my buddy' or 'my bro'.

Hue - apparently this is a somewhat archaic equestrian command that was used to tell the horse to go (equiv. to giddy-up). Not 100% sure if the e is supposed to have an accent, so if anyone knows, tell me!

Mon coeur - lit. 'my heart' but connotatively the same as 'my love'

Nom de Dieu - lit. ‘name of God’, but connotatively the same as ‘Oh, my God’ or ‘Good God’

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#harper gale #drake walker #the highwayman #trr au fanfic #choicespromts #song rewrite #historical au #Spotify

[chriscdcase95]

(Wednesday, having been sick the past day or two, is just now getting better. The phone in her and Enid’s room rings, to which she goes to answer.)

(She and Enid were put in charge of watching Pubert, but while Wends was sick, Enid took Pubert on an outing. So she already knows who’s on the other line.)

Wednesday: (groggily answering the phone) “Speak.”

Enid: (on the other end) “Um, so…Nighty-light ?”

Wednesday: (pinches the bridge of her nose, but is otherwise calm) “Don’t…you don’t call me that in a public setting. We’ve been over this fifteen times.”

Enid: (on the other end) “Actually it was twenty seven, but that’s not the point. It’s Pubert…”

Wednesday: (narrowing her eyes) “What about him ?”

Enid: (On the other end) “So you remember that Reenactment they were having ?” (Wednesday’s eyes widen and her head perks up. There was a Civil War Reenactment for the past week, commemorating  the “Nevermore’s Red Bath”; a weeks-long siege in which past Addams’ are said to have held down the fort against confederate raiders.) 

Wednesday: “Enid…where is Pubert ?”

(Enid hesitates for a second before sighing)

Enid: “Xavier was participating and offered to show him-”

Wednesday: “I’m on my way.”

(Wednesday hangs up the phone.)

(We jump cut to Wednesday getting off a bike, and making her way down an encampment, where an antsy Enid is waiting for her.)

(There are in a forested area five miles off the school; there is a makeshift camp down the bank, where the third day of Red Bath occurred. The sun is disappearing over the horizon.)

Enid: (following Wednesday closely behind) “He’s at the-”

Wednesday: “I know where he is, get your phone out, this needs to be on record!”

Enid: (momentarily confused) “Record bu-”(realizes what Wednesday is insinuating, and sighs) “Of course.”

(At the camp, fourteen confederate reenactors are bound by their wrists to these makeshift posts from the trees. Union reenactors – Xavier, Ajax and Eugene among them – look on mortified and bewildered at Wednesday’s four year old brother, and what he's preparing to do. When they see Wednesday and Enid, they look a little relieved.)

(Wearing a set of Union soldier coat pants, and a sweater vest (adjusted for his size), Pubert has red paint around his eyes, which are still wet and dripping, like bloody tears. Pubert is cosplaying as his ancestor of that era – Ezekiel “Tanhide” Addams.)

(Presently, Pubert is sitting before a fire, heating up a very real bowie knife over the fire, sharpening it on a bronze cutting stone. The other participants are too scared to take it from him.)

Wednesday: (amused) “Ah, so that’s where it went.”

(Enid glances at Wednesday with a flat expression.)

Pubert: (in-character, singing a little tune) “I was a highwayman/Along the coach roads I did ride/With sword and pistol by my side..”

(Pubert decided the knife is hot enough. At his side is an apple, which he picks up.)

Pubert: (in character, still singing) “Many a young maid lost her marbles to my trade/Many a soldier shed his life blood on my blade…”

(Pubert slices through the apple effortlessly; the heat of the knife causes the juices to steam a little, even as he takes a bite. He glances at his observers and spits out an apple seed.)

Pubert: (in character, still singing) “They finally hung me in the spring of twenty five/but I’m still alive…”

(Pubert gets up, advancing towards the prisoners; cosplaying as the captain of this troop.)

Pubert: (stops singing but is still in character) “Which is more than I can for you lot.”

Participant: “Kid, listen! This is just a reenactment! It’s all just fun and games-”

Pubert: (in character, but snapping) “Fun and games ? Your fun and games burned a hospital and an orphanage! Carved up that poor girl and left her as a message!” (chuckles) “Well, messaged received, mi amigo.”

(The other players looked around bewildered. As vicious as the raids historically were - we’re talking “Blood Meridian” levels - they obviously didn’t reenact those parts.)

Enid: (Whispering to Wednesday) “Aren’t you gonna stop him-?”

(With an amused expression, Wednesday holds up a finger to silence her. Conceding defeat, Enid sighs and shrugs.)

Pubert: (in character, now holding the bowie knife under his prisoner's neck) “So you like scaring people ? That’s good. I need a scarecrow. You and your troop are gonna be my message!”

(Pubert takes hold of the participants hair, holding the knife at his cranium, as if about to scalp him. It’s then Wednesday steps in.)

Wednesday: “Pubert!”

(Pubert stops, looking quiet, humbled. Like a toddler caught stealing cookies. The other participants sigh in relief.)

(Wednesday sits on her knees before Pubert, wiping the red paint off his eyes. She silently looks at the paint for a moment, before speaking.)

Wednesday: “You know…If you want it to look real, you’d need to add a shot of green into the paint. Blue would make it purple.”

(Wednesday looks at Enid)

Wednesday: “Enid, I wouldn’t normally ask this but-”

Enid: (non-plussed but going through her bag) “Way ahead of you.”

(Moments later, Pubert, is wearing more real-looking “blood” as war paint, with Enid putting on the finishing touches.)

Enid: “Aaand, there we go!”

Wednesday: (opening a pocket mirror for Pubert to see) “What do you think ?”

Pubert: (still in character, but now pressing his hand affectionately to Wednesday’s cheek, and his forehead to hers) “You’ve always been good to me, Morrigan. If only these swine had a sister like you; they wouldn’t be as stupid.”

(Moments later, Wednesday looks on with a proud expression, wiping a tear from her eye. Enod records this on her phone, nonplussed, but with the ghost of a smile on her face. Pubert is once again pacing, back and forth before the prisoners.)

Pubert: (still in character) “I want you to know what you’re here for. What you’re fighting for, and what you’re dying for! A lost cause! Nothing! The death throes of dying era, from which you will never rise! When history looks back at you, that will be your legacy-”

(They are interrupted when the sound of the horn over the horizon, indicating that today's game is over. The participants sigh in relief, while Pubert looks irate.)

Ajax: “Okay, so I guess that’s a wrap every-”

Pubert: (in character, chuckles humorlessly) “You must have been born yesterday, son. That’d be re-enforcments you hear. More for the fire…”

Eugene: “Pubert, it’s getting late, shouldn’t we-?”

(Pubert inhales and exhales deeply, smearing the “blood” all over the face. He stretches' his arms, and cracks his neck, before tossing the bowie knife into the air, and catches it by the handle.)

Pubert: (in character) “Puede que me vaya al infierno, ¡pero esos nueces de mantequilla se irán primero!”

(With a makeshift torch from the campfire in one hand, and bowie knife in the other, Pubert lets out the best war cry a four year old can muster, and he runs towards the sound of advancing participants, in a Banzai-like charge.)

(Enid and the other freed participants are busy untying the “prisoners”, while Wednesday looks on at Pubert; her proud smile widens as the sounds of other participants screaming in terror and disbelief could be heard.)

Enid: “Should…shouldn’t we go get him ?”

Wednesday: (shrugs) “Ah, let him tucker himself out.”

#incorrect wenclair #wendesday addams #enid sinclair #pubert addams #xavier thorpe #ajax petropolus #eugene ottinger #wendesday netflix #wenclair fic #incorrect wednesday addams #incorrect wednesday qoutes

[engelsschwert]

Thank you @hungryhannya for tagging me on the WIP train!

Excerpt from an unnamed ficlet

***

"Stop it!" Dismas growled "Fuckin' stop it already, bright eyes! This is not one o’ yer fuckin' tales where the heroes always emerge victorious! This is real life! Real life doesn't have a fuckin' 'and they lived happily ever after'. People die in real life, Reynauld! There’s no prince that will ride in on his white fuckin’ horse and save the princess! We’re fucked! We’re dead men walking! I know this is news fo’ ya, since ya probably never been in a situation like this but-"

The fist hit hard and unexpected. Dismas stumbled back and fell to the ground, head spinning and still wondering what horse had suddenly kicked his face before he looked up at the knight, fist still raised and shaking with anger. 

"I have been cornered by enemies countless times. I held my dying comrades in my arms while they took their last breath, begging me to save them, and I couldn't. I picked dead bodies off the battlefield, men I sometimes knew for decades." Reynauld seethed and grabbed Dismas by the pelt of his coat, pulling him closer and for the first time, the Highwayman didn't see the calm, blue sky in Reynaulds eyes. No. Behind those eyes was raging the high sea in a vicious storm. 

"So don't tell me that I don't know how it feels to fight a losing battle. But I refuse to give up. I refuse to give my enemies the satisfaction of breaking my spirit." and with those words, the crusader effortlessly pulled the scrawny scoundrel back to his feet.

***

I'm not a writer, but sometimes inspiration hits at 4 a.m.

Tagging @katbatmadethat and @ilwolf

#darkest dungeon #dash game #i'm never happy with what i write #re-reading it makes me cringe #i admire all writers

[belphegor1982]

OKAY OKAY SO

I said I'd be able to play DnD Saturday and I did!! And it was sooo good 🥰

Oh man, I am 100% hooked. I love the other TTRPG, but DnD is something else. I played my late middle-aged halfling bard I'd RPed juuust a little way back in April (my Malva) while the rest of the party finished the arc they were on. The DM incorporated her into the story with another new character (the only other woman), Antinua the half-elven mage, and she and Malva did a bit of camping for a week - and were beset by bandits! I was down to 3 hit points at some point 😅 Good thing I packed Cure Wounds! (But Malva got the kill on the main attacker and also his purse, so how's that for a highwayman? "Your money and your life!" And yes she made that joke because she's a huge dork :D)

Met with the rest of the party (mostly), a tiefling rogue and a half-orc (almost full orc) monk, and off we went on an archaeological quest to find an oracle in the middle of ruins. Shenanigans ensued, we met a whole lot of NPCs, and we were attacked by a bunch of kobolds in the ruins!

GUYS! I got to cast Vicious Mockery! I got to give inspiration to our rogue! I scribbled ideas on a paper waiting for my turn, and to the tune of Prince's "Superstitious" I sung something (in French, natch) that could roughly translate as this:

A little inspiration We will back you up A little inspiration Now go fuck them up

I felt very silly and very proud that everybody cracked up 😄

*happy sigh* Man, I thought I'd love playing a bard and I am SO HAPPY to be right. October's going to be all about the other RPG and my disaster lesbian gnome mage (love her), but November can't come quickly enough!!

#Bel plays RPG #dungeons and dragons #rpg #Bel's adventures in the real world

[inkycompass]

my friend who is familiar with my highwayman OC showed me this and it is BRILLIANT because this is a song about how highwaymen were vicious robbers and not charming rogues

but the fucking poses he strikes are exactly the way aril moves and thinks of herself because she is absurdly committed to the "charming rogue" image despite actually being a vicious robber

#writing #highwayman story #anyway I've watched this about 20 times in the past 72 hours #my posts

[archangelofterror]

im in my vicious highwayman era

[accusedofsin]

If this is your jester... are you a king?

"Bold o' ya t' assume I wasn't a king before I've met this jingling nuisance," Dismas snickered, playing with the rat skull in his nimble fingers. Hildegard called him the Rat King even before he got into prison and was forced to devour his... unfortunate subjects, so to speak, since the highwayman was small, vicious, and tenacious. Like old pal Ratigun who simply refused to die in a battle staked so horrendously against him.

Considering where he was now, Dismas long had accepted he would end up the same.

"Aye! King of fools, who answered a call from a cursed hellhole and rushed in one of the first!" Sarmenti cackled, but his fingers on the lute were gentle, and the tune they carried wasn't as malicious as it could have gotten, had the jester been in the foul mood.

Dismas flipped him off lazily and laid down his hand. In stunned silence he shrugged and proceeded to rake in all the coins and trinkets as Sarmenti stared at him, wide-eyed. Finally, the fool let go of the lute and grasped his heart theatrically, with an overdramatic:

"You bloody cheat!"

The highwayman only chuckled, taking another sip, as he thought of his sweetheart who was currently praying in the Abbey and he had some time to kill. There was something stupidly symbolic about winning this round with the king of hearts.

#while booze is on its way || asks #sinner's ditty || all muses #Blast. Seems I'll see tomorrow after all. || queue

[paperanddice]

Even a group as bloody and murderous as the Raven Roost bandits have some members with more flair and style. The story of the classic highwayman, daring and somewhat noble, runs deep, and the Raven Roost take advantage of that on occasion. Sometimes a solo agent holding up a few travellers, sometimes leading a larger band, these highwaymen dress and act to their audience, putting on a show of the noble thief. A flashing rapier, dashing clothes, an appeal to the simple folks driving the wagons or tending to the wares, these highwaymen can get more done with less death. Not that they're in any way averse to death, as they've been trained by the same vicious and murderous teachers as the rest of the bandits and have no remorse in cutting down anyone who opposes them. Those stories rarely get back to town however, as the dead don't speak anymore.

Who is it that's turned the local bandits into a brutal, organized, efficient force though?

Originally from the 4e Monster Vault: Threats to the Nentir Vale. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I'm working on, consider backing me there!

5th Edition

Raven Roost Highwayman Medium humanoid (any race), usually evil Armor Class 19 (studded leather) Hit Points 88 (16d8 + 16) Speed 30 ft. Str 16 (+3) Dex 18 (+4) Con 13 (+1) Int 12 (+1) Wis 15 (+2) Cha 16 (+3) Skills Deception +5, Intimidation +5, Perception +4, Stealth +6 Senses passive Perception 14 Languages Common Challenge 4 (1100 XP) Crossbow Expertise. Being within 5 feet of a hostile creature doesn't impose disadvantage on the highwayman's ranged attack rolls. Suave Defense. When the highwayman is wearing light or no armor and wielding no shield, its AC includes its Charisma modifier. Actions Multiattack. The highwayman makes three attacks; two with its Rapier and one with its Hand Crossbow, or it makes two Hand Crossbow attacks. Rapier. Melee Weapon Attack: +6 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 8 (1d8+4) piercing damage. Hand Crossbow. Ranged Weapon Attack: +6 to hit, range 30/120 ft., one target. Hit: 7 (1d6+4) piercing damage. Reactions Stand You Coward. When an enemy within 30 feet of the highwayman makes an attack that doesn't target the highwayman or another creature with Stand You Coward, the highwayman can make a Hand Crossbow attack against the attacking creature.

13th Age

Raven Roost Highwayman 3rd level blocker [humanoid] Initiative: +8 Rapier +8 vs. AC - 10 damage R: Bolt to the Gut +8 vs. AC (one nearby enemy) - 5 damage, and the target is stuck (save ends) Natural 18+: The target also takes 4 ongoing damage while stuck. Miss: The target is stuck (save ends). Limited Use: 1/battle. Stand, You Coward: 1/round, as an interrupt action, when a nearby enemy attacks one of the highwayman’s allies with an attack that doesn’t include the highwayman as a target, and rolls a natural odd attack roll, the highwayman recharges bolt to the gut and uses it against that enemy. AC 20 PD 15 MD 13 HP 44

#D&D #dnd #dungeons and dragons #5th edition #13th age #homebrew #my homebrew #monster #npc #humanoid #long post #dnd cr 4 #13th age level 3

[detectivejigsawpines]

The Weirdness of Humanity

I've been thinking lately about how we love to romanticize things that are bad for us.

Specifically, this thought occurred to me while listening to the poem "The Highwayman," which is all about a forbidden romance between a highwayman and a landlord's daughter and goes on about moonlight and beautiful long hair and stuff. And in real life, highwaymen were vicious, murdering thieves who would shoot people for their trinkets, and most of the stories about Dick Turpin are a lie.

And it's not just highwaymen who get portrayed as secretly dashing and romantic: pirates, gangsters, bikers-society as a whole, as much as it complains about them, has a secret soft spot for "bad boys." I suspect a lot of it revolves around the excitement of something forbidden, or stepping outside the traditional rules of our culture.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#humans are weird #the highwayman #thoughts on

[dramaphan]

HES NOT A PIRATE HES A (VICIOUS) HIGHWAYMAN

That’s a pirate

#ask

[kaiju-z]

Seon Adventures Episode 31: From The River, From The Lake

A day has passed since the party bested the highwayman Stone Giant (Dave).

They find themselves now in Bavorum, where most of the group had their first encounter with each other... and the Death Cult. And many people travel with a strange pace form one entrance point of Bavorum, to the next, leading them to Lake Stren...

With careful perception from the group, they take note that the people transitioning from entering to exiting the town through this particular route walk absentmindedly, as though not of their own volition. Their gazes, distant, vacant.

It is through this insight that Belli takes to approaching a familiar looking dwarven woman, attempting to shake her free from whatever’s keeping her mind clouded. Alas, even with Malak’s help, they don’t manage to free her, as she carries on...

With a message of the activity being sent to Layla Duststone, head of the Darksbane Army and a hope that the soldiers she had sent to the lake would do what they can, they deduce that the time draws short and so the party makes a temporary split. With most of them taking to the road, Belli goes to acquire the services of the town guards.

After a brief tiff with the half-elven receptionist beside the head of the town’s guard, Belli reunites with said head of the guard. Shenanigans ensue as Belli goes through the motions of trying to convince the dwarven man that there is trouble. That people are under mind control and heading like sheep for the slaughter.

It takes some time, but after pointing him to and encouraging an investigation of one such person, under control, the captain of the guard requiesses 20% of his guards to help. Among them a spunky Halfling lady named Anka, who is all for equal representation as Belli rallies the “troops”, on horse back.

Together, the riders travel to the lake.

Where they reunite with the rest of the group.

And it donns on them just how fucked they are in this situation. It doesn’t take a high perception to note just how many people are gathering. Hundreds. And still more in coming.

It feels... It feels so overwhelming.

Lake Stren. A place that at one point represented a moment of respite for The Cultbusters in the days before they even named themselves, was now a place of dread. As countless sacrifices were arriving.

And among them, among the sea of people that surround this lake, we see Kit.

Kit, in her true appearance walks vacantly towards the lake.

For Jun, a pleasant surprise to see another Changeling so soon after the club in Crystalgate. For Belli, a moment of horror as she realizes what could happen to her.

The worried half-orc carries her over to the rest of the party with fair ease, as she has the strength advantage on the rogue. And attempts to shake her awake at the very least.

Luck’s eyes turn to the lake and he scans. Mournimar sees him first, Dak. Standing in the center of Stren. Unmoving from his position.

Deciding on a course of action, Luck gives instructions to the rest. To do what they can to shake the people around them awake. Guards to assist. Apply pressure, if needed.

Then he heads for Dak.

As Malak tries to help Belli in snapping Kit out of it, Jun tries to see if there’s anyone casting any spells around them. Someone that could be the point of origin for the spell.

But no such luck there.

As the group try to coralle people away, they soon go back to their spots as the four try to get to more people.

In the meantime, Luck approaches Dak and tries to shake him awake, after words don’t seem to get the job done.

As that doesn’t work either, the disguised tiefling does the only thing he has left in the repertoir that isn’t using his weapons.

He sends Dak to Dick Kick City.

And that-that actually does the job!

As the poor cleric aches in pain from the rude awakening, Luctan explains to him the situation he finds himself in. Then turns to the rest of the party and tells them to go for the crotch kicking as well.

And with Dak proclaiming that he has a plan, moving to get on with said plan, the party goes into action.

For every 10 people they hit, 2 wake up.

And time passes. And more people come. 2 hours.

2 hours later, the sun goes down. Down behind the marshy swamp. Down behind the hills and trees. And silence overcomes the area.

An eerie silence. The kind you only get to hear on a night of extreme violence...

And then?  The silence is eventually interrupted.

Just a few notice at first

Low retching. Like a dry heaving sort of sound from the people that have gathered around the lake. And then a few more join in. It’s not a lot of people at first... Not the majority, anyways. But this is what happens as people begin to hack and spew fluids from their mouths.

Malak, specifically can tell in the most decorated of priest robes that start heaving and fall down to their knees, heaving.  And a few more start doing the same.

Kit begins to shiver. And Belli has enough. She takes Kit and brings her to a tree far from the lake, to which she ties her lady.

It is in this moment that Malak makes a split second decision. Something overcomes him and with no other choice in sight, Malak grabs his axe and swings it at the neck of the closest charmed priest. He decapitates him instantly.

Blood spews int othe water, the head dunking, then bobbing in front of the collapsing corpse.

Blood gushes from the neck and into the lake, while the guards start rushing the retching people and dragging them back.

While she doesn’t stop shivering, Kit doesn’t seem to do what happens next to the remaining charmed folk. To these... followers of Fornas.

As we drag as many as we can. Those that are on their hands and knees barf and hurl blood. And gore. Their insides become their outsides in a vicious bloody waterfall of many angles.

The Cultbusters do as best as they can. Luck runs. He casts Prestidigitation at the blood and gore and does so multiple times, trying to diminish the never ending stream of it upon the water, Belli uses her Mage Hand, dragging people away scooping the gore away.. Mournimar carries as many as he can. Tries to restrain as many as he can. But he isn’t strong enough to do much else.

Jun takes initiative as Malak did and uses a spell. A Burst of Swords surrounds her as she aims at the people around her. Malak cuts people down. Vicious,crazed, pained.

Belli cracks and casts Shatter on a group of folk, hoping she doesn’t full on kill them, but knock them back. Bu the snapping of bones and sinnew says otherwise.

It’s horrible.

As the moon comes up. All this is just horrible.

Something starts drippling in the middle of the lake. Clay slides in and gathers in the middle, until the water starts to boil and this HUGE! Creature of blood and clay drags itself out of the center of the lake. And the hundreds of people, who were heaving?

They just drop.

This thing.

This massive monster.

Larger than the Stone Giant itself?!

It turns to look at us.

Those, who have been trying to undo what it’s been working on.

And it comes at us.

Roll for Initiative.

Mournimar is the closest in sight. Said Mournimar backs away as fast he can and takes a hit.. But manages to shrug off whatever was going to happen next.

As consequence for the attack upon him, Mournimar sets off his Hellish Rebuke, setting fire to the freakish monstrocity. And then, with a quick trigger finger, Mournimar fires his Sparrow Arrows, after setting a Hunter’s Mark on this vile creation’s frame.

His arrows strike true.

Using this opportunity of distraction, Jun moves in next. She calls forth inky black tentacles that wrap themselves around the bastard, this shithead, this peace of FUCKING SHIT THAT SUCKED THE LIFE OUT OF THSE PEOPLE!

But it frees itself with some ease.

And turns it’s attention on the changeling and the disguised tiefling beside her.

One smack for Jun. One for Luck. Both manage to shrug off whatever the thing that should not be tried to infect them with.

It reaches into the lake and more blood pulls up form it’s arm and starts swinging it’s arms faster and it’s now hasted! It’s attention still on the one it smacked last. It hits Luck again. He resists again.

But the fury that overcomes the tiefling burns with a powerful fire that scorches the limb that attacked him.

And on Luck’s very turn he points a finger at the clay and lake floor pecks of this dark creation and impales it with a Grade 1 Guiding Bolt.

Belli’s next as she tries to polymorph the ground around it into something unfavorable for it. But that doesn’t seem to work. She attempts to mock it. 

“You look like what crawled out of a frat house’s toilet.”

But it also somehow resists that.

With the thing having used up all it’s reaction time, the bard moves back to a safe distance.

Malak comes next. On his turn... Malak, raging, aching, fearing, manic, remembering, rehashing, charging... Malak goes full on Kamehameha pose and shoots a 4th level Guiding Bolt! at the creature, blowing off a huge chunk off. Geting the full attention of the monster.

Malak doesn’t move. He stands his ground as Mournimar deals signifigant damage of his own with his special arrows, impacting the body of the creature.

The final arrow shot takes a piece from it’s shoulder. It’s just falling apart like playdough at the rightcheous fury and attack of the Cultbusters.

On Jun’s turn...  She runs up and uses a Curse. She attacks with her Gambler’s blade for a good amount of damage. And itt’s attention shifts again. The water around the lake was bubbling and we see a similar pattern, as though it’s boiling in it’s chest.

After some... thought?! It goes for Malak, bludgeoning him with it’s accursed limbs. And it’s infection comes onto Malak, who feels his body slug, some. His vitality draining some from his body.

A second hit comes.

Luck intervenes. The very nature of his lucky existence, his presence causes the large fucker to miss Malak with the second strike! Which causes the freakshow to look back from the human to the tiefling.

And Luck gets smacked again for his attack, blood flowing from his nose as his helmet gets flung off. The infection doesn’t seem to be passed on as Luctan glares and calms his breathing for the moment, his newer wounds healing up, if slightly.

Pulling at his greatsword, Luctan activates Steel Wind Strike.

And misses.

He surges on. And swings again and again, but the damn creature is just too fast. He keeps missing by half an inch!

Belli’s up next.

As Luck moves to get in the way of the monster, in case it attacks Malak again, Belli gets the fighter’s consent and casts Polymorph on him.

Transformation central.

Transmodification central.

Are you ready? Can you feel it?

Luctan becomes a fucking T-Rex!

As Luctan Roars in defiance of the monster, Belli inspires Malak, who along with Jun repositions, due to the change of shape and size of the tiefling fighter.

The now inspired Malak casts Spiritual Weapon and smashes the clay and blood creation from the side with his Spiritual Axe.

Bonus action.

Lich Slap.

Even further damage. This thing is, by this point, beginning to crumble. Barely keeping itself in one piece.

Mournimar makes his move. Figuratively and literally. Dashing from the right of the party to a mound of rocks on their right, he switches from a Hunter’s Mark to a Zephyr Strike. Hit and a miss. The thing is staggering.

Jun’s turn!

Hex. The creature becomes weaker in it’s physicallity.

Jun, who would then move for cover under the standing frame of Luctan, would grip her blade tight in hand.

Booming Blade + Blood Curse.

Combine that with two attacks of her blade.

And then it happens!

With a sharp eye she evaluates the creature’s very state of being.

Running out of cover, she starts climbing it from an angle and reaches to the shoulders, on top and the open wound up there… the blood from the creature starts to rapidly flow. She stabs it and the spell explodes. And this-This Goddamn thing’s brains, if it had them, explode back behind it, splashing into the water below.

As the body begins to break apart,  Luck leans forward so she can land on his head. Once Jun comes down from the T-Rex Tiefling’s body, said T-Rex starts to viciously stomp on the remains that turn into clay and gory mush under his saurian feet.

Belli lets him blow off some steam in this form for a while, before ending her concentration on the spell. Once luck drops back, she turns to Kit, who no longer shivered, but seemed to have passed out from all that stress.

While Luck carried on stabbing at the “body”, he’d soon be stopped by Mournimar and Belli, who’d hold him in a hug.

Jun would compliment Malak’s initiative, before said cleric would scan the area.

He’d check on the people. Most of them are dead. Those they dragged back seem to be alive, if badly wounded. Anka and Dak are alright, as are the rest of the guards.

Belli sends at Anka to get people to help with the bodies. There’s a pause and then she hears. “Oh shit, you can’t see me nodding! Yeah, yeah, I’ll get to it.”

The Death Cleric would then head for the nearest body of a cleric. Crouch.

And then cast “Speak To The Dead.”

5 questions time.

As the eyes open, Malak asks... and gets answers:

1. “What is the last thing you remember?” – “The temple. I was cleaning.”

2 .What Temple?” – “The Temple in Kaelum.” That’s in the south east, on the main road from the front lines to Crystalgate.

3. “Did you know that this would happen?” – “What would happen?” He doesn’t know.

4. Do you remember anything troubling happening in or around the temple?”- “No, the gifts were plentiful. Nothing was wrong.”

5.Who were the gifts from?” – “The… Fornas, d’uh? Are you dumb? Do you have a brain?”

The spell would end and the spirit would take off.

But Malak wasn’t done.

He’d cast the spell at a second body, one with a rough cockney accent.

(Laughter happens, because it sounded like he was interrogating Gromi from the Icespire game, X’D)

1.  “What were the gifts from Fornas you recently Received?” – “All the good turns of fate and luck, my friend. The fortunate landing, the flip of the coin. That is gift.”

2.  “What is the last thing you remember?” – “I went to take a nap.”

3. Anything troubling happen in and around the temple?” – “No, Morrum’s been quiet.”

4. “Have you received any requests from Fornas?” – “Fucking Karaoke, what do you think? We just do what we always do; we clean, we keep the place clean for people coming.”

5.“Does anyone in the cult of Fornas practice Necromancy?”- “I mean, it’s not really encouraged. But people do what they gotta do.”

( Then Perish. )

With that done, the stiffens anew, the soul takes off.

Luctan stands and heads for Dak.

All the while...

The others inspect the mass that was once attacking them in a solid form.

There is a slight pulse coming from inside the clay-gloop. Malak and Belli and Mournimar choose to dig. In the center of the creature there’s ...

A sort of whitely glowing blue bundle. It glimmers in different parts of the moonlight they experience. Thin, irredecent material. Unwrapped.

Inside there are three treasures of note. First. Scale mail armor. Weirdly irridecent light armor. Belli identifies it as “Etherial Armor”. It glows in the colors of the rainbow and gives protection to the more dexterous of folk.

( Ethereal Armor: Light armor made with a thin, iridescent material. It glimmers in all the colours of the rainbow and glows ever so slightly. Strong as steel, it grants the wearer an AC of 14+DEX)

There’s also... This, like. Dried up hand. Ew. With really sharp claws. Definitely not human and doesn’t match any of the bodies in the area.

( Totes not the hand of Vecna.)

There’s a large steel chain attached to it. Attached to 30ft hempen rope. Identify. It’s called “The Creeping Claw.”

( Creeping Claw - A dried goblin’s hand bearing wickedly sharp claws. A large steel chain link penetrates the base of the palm and is attached to a 30 foot long hempen rope. A creature can cover the hand in their own freshly shed blood (1HP damage) which causes the hand to animate. The creature can then mentally control the severed limb and command it to move and interact with objects. The hand walks on the tops of its fingers or climb 5ft up per round through use of claws. The hand can perform simple tasks, can exert ten pounds of force and is as dexterous as the creature controlling it. Requires more blood after 5 minutes.)

Mournimar uncovers a great axe. Gold trim upon silver frame... Identify gives off a name, The Fated Potential. There is writing on it that most of the party can’t uncover, except for Malak.

Jun seems to recall a story, from olden times in this region. About how the weapon came to be from some sort of union between a Celestial and a Fiend. An Angel and a Devil.

One of Fornas’ angels. It seems to make sense then, as to why Fornas servants were tied to what happened here.

So brutally tied...

She checks with Malak on whether he knows what we do with this item. Malak finds the axe interesting. He likes the axe. And will investigate it further. Should it not be cursed, he will hold onto it.

That and the Creeping Claw. Which he puts in a bag, along with the axe. As for the armor? We’ll see.

While this was happening, Belli would contact Ficus and update him, in the middle of a job, as to what had happened.

As Malak plans to bury the bodies, we come to a close.

Previous Episode / Next Episode

#art #my art #D&D #DnD #Dungeons & Dragons #Dungeons and Dragons #Seon Adventures #Belli Narah #Half-Orc Bard #Jun #Changeling Blood Hunter #Luctan Evenchord #Tiefling Fighter #Mournimar Da'Vir #Tiefling Ranger #Malak #Human Cleric #Anka #Halfing Fighter #Kit #Changeling Rogue #Dak #Changeling Cleric #Ficus Narah #Half-Orc Rogue #violence #gore #death #Etherial Armor #Etherial Scale Mail

[princess-of-france]

MARGOT What pair of reverend hypocrites were here! Didst ever hear such sacrilegious dross?

CATHERINE From the town highwayman I did, but not From fathers of our holy mother church. By my faith,—

MARGOT Which they have none.

CATHERINE Ay, faithlessly, These ministers besmirch the very weeds God graces them to wear, concealing up With rich brocade their base irreverence. Would I might shred that fabricated piety With mine own teeth! And do they thus presume Themselves baptizèd as their ancestors In holy wisdom? Is this England’s church? Is this how angels operate sur terre,   Conniving means by which an anointed king Should plunge his helpless kingdom into war, His loyal countrymen up to the ears In bloodshed, on sly promises of wealth? O, scorpions of sanctity! To pay For vicious cruelty from unhallowed coffers! To purchase death, patron annihilation, And all to block the commonwealth a law Would faintly curb the gluttony of their lives! Bon dieu, c’était une hunte!

MARGOT Mayhap his Majesty favors their fraud.

CATHERINE May God forbid it! ‘Twould be worser still, If he should sway more to the part of knaves As here complotted so degenerately In crystal comprehension their vice. Nay, Margot, I’ll not think it, for to know The hubris pricking on such hungry schemes And still accede to their ignominy, Simply to break his fast upon a battle, Would prove this gross Plantagenet so great A tyrant, so devout a harbinger Of death, as he would stymie every language For words commensurate to his depravity. No proper king could be so without grace.

MARGOT Indeed he could, and likely is, for what’s A man if not a king of rage? And what’s a king, But yet a man who may rage anywhere? This sovereign’s late aggressions blistering Our coast, from Aquitaine to Brittany, Attest his appetite for cruel abuse, Since violence sans purpose is butchery— Unless thou thinkst he rightly weighs his own Just claim, through Edward’s bitter lineage, Unto the throne of France.

CATHERINE He has no claim And shall not war with France; it is insured.

(Henry V, Part 2; Act I, scene i)

CATHERINE Didst thou Not call me Catherine?

KING HENRY V Ay, perforce I did, But only once, and many names beside.

CATHERINE How did it taste, that name upon your tongue?

KING HENRY V Like velvet wine. A Burgundy, perhaps.

CATHERINE Wouldst thou drink it again?

KING HENRY V Until I’m drunk.

CATHERINE It may give thee great pounding in thy head.

KING HENRY V Good. ‘Tis the mark of purest alcohol.

CATHERINE Mayhap the wine shall not agree with that Stout soldier’s stomach thou didst lately boast.

KING HENRY V Then argue with it will my stomach straight, Yet purge it not, nor wish I’d not imbibed.

CATHERINE And if the wine grows bitter?

KING HENRY V Drink I still. For bitterness infects us all, at times, But loving patience runs it off its track.

CATHERINE What if the wine grows discontent with waiting For some infrequent jest to spark a fire In th’ barren ice castle of a woman’s duty?

KING HENRY V The duty of a queen is to her crown, So, must she rule by him that plays the king. It is her royal right and his great need,  Or else two kingdoms fall to cold neglect.

CATHERINE Suppose the wine doth take a latent shine To some poor drinker whose lips be not thine.

KING HENRY V I do not know.

CATHERINE Nor I. I know nothing. This wine’s vintage hath not been tasted before. Then who can say what foul effect it may Engender in our blood? And what fair words Can reassure what must be kept in cruel  Obscurity, until this virgin bottle  Gurgles forth the unseen, satin prize? If thou shouldst cease to love me,—

KING HENRY V Never, Catherine.

CATHERINE Two words, too much; I prithee speak no more, Lest perjury becomes thy poltergeist And haunts thee past the brink of love forsworn. ‘Tis time, methinks, to put our vows to bed, For Time alone shall prove their verity Or our capriciousness. Come thou, sweet King, I shall believe thy rhetoric tonight; Perchance tomorrow too. Yet I do call On thy soul’s tenderness and beg thee, lord, Bestow what education thou hast gleaned With patience humbler than a shriven monk, For schoolgirls know, as scholars oft forget, That earthly wisdom hath a painful cost. Then learn me gently, learn me skillfully, Whilst I do strive to learn thy gentle skill. A herald’s work is never done, yet mine Concludes with this last, final embassy, Which thou must break thy pattern and accept Or lose to stubborn pride thy willing wife: Love me, Henry, with every breath thou hast. Leave fortunes to the future, wars to the past. Come crown thy unmade monarch; she is thine And I am yours and you forever mine.

        [Enter ALICE, two years later. She rocks a whimpering baby in her arms.]

ALICE O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars, and at his heels, Leashed in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire Crouch for employment. 

        [Enter the QUEEN, dressed all in black.]

ALICE Mais pardon. Est-ce le moment?

         [The QUEEN nods. The Queen nods. Carefully, ALICE hands her the child. They exit. Enter a funeral procession. The court of England is dressed in mourning black. A blue-and-red silk sheet covers the marble casket of King Henry V. Enter the DANCER.]

DANCER But pardon, gentles all, The flat, unraisèd spirits that have dared On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth So great an object. Can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France? Or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt? O, pardon! Since a crooked figure may Attest in little place a million, And let us, ciphers to this great account, On your imaginary forces work.

        [Enter QUEEN CATHERINE, aloft, holding her infant son. ALICE, EXETER, BEDFORD, and GLOUCESTER look up her.]

DANCER, cont. Suppose within the girdle of these walls Are now confined two mighty monarchies, Whose high uprearèd and abutting fronts The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder.

        [The DUKE OF BEDFORD takes the king’s crown from off his brother’s casket. He sets the crown on a pillow, held by the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. Exit GLOUCESTER.]

DANCER, cont. Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts. Into a thousand parts divide on man, And make imaginary puissance.

        [Enter, to one side, KING HENRY V. He looks up at his wife and child.]

DANCER, cont. Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i’ the receiving earth, For ‘tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings.

        [Enter GLOUCESTER, with the crown. He approaches the QUEEN.]

DANCER, cont. Carry them here and there, jumping o’er times, Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hourglass. 

        [Exit HENRY V for the last time. GLOUCESTER kneels before his monarch and holds up the crown, nestled in the blood-red velvet cushion.]

DANCER, cont. For the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history, Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray Gently to hear, kindly to judge our play.

        [Below, the English and French court sinks to its knees. All hail KING HENRY VI. CATHERINE holds her son and looks out into the darkness. Into the future. Lights out.]

(Henry V, Part 2; Act V, scene iv)

To my beautiful friends,

Started from the bottom and now we’re here. And I’m emotional.

It has been the greatest honor and a joy to share the Gentle Herald Project with you all over the past three months. Thank you so much for giving me the space and support to introduce 2H5 to Tumblr. This project means the world to me and so does our wonderful Shakespeare community. Till the next French campaign, mes amis!

Oh yes, and HAPPY 598th BIRTHDAY, KING HENRY VI! ♥

xx Claire

@harry-leroy @suits-of-woe @skeleton-richard @lizbennett2013 @henriadical @aquitainequeen @dedraconesilet @stripedroseandsketchpads @sleepinelysium​ @ardenrosegarden

#week 11 #gentle herald project #catherine of valois #<3

[engelsschwert]

i can't help but keep wondering about "weird dumb thing about rey being a little sunshine and dismas hating it" xD i cannot imagine someone hating your Rey for real!

Oh this is nothing but a few words tossed around that came to me while I was slugging away at a night shift. Since I now write a longer fic I hope to incorporate this somewhere.

And you know my Rey always tries to act picture book perfect for reasons :)

Reynauld was always a stalwart of the Light, a paragon of good and everything noble in the world. Friendly, kind, selfless, an unshakable leader with a will of steel. A picture book Hero. And Dismas hated it. It seemed to come so easy to the knight, to be so friendly, to everyone, even to a lowlife like him. A little sunshine, amidst the darkness of the estate. He never seemed to lose his patience, never lashed out at anyone, a boulder in a raging storm. Disgusting.

They were often lumped together in missions, since they made an amazing team, Dismas had to agree to that. Their style of fighting meshed perfectly, a deadly dance of precision and timing. They clicked. Just not personality wise. 

About a month ago, Highwayman and Crusader arrived on the old road together. This was their mission. Until now the flights had been hard but thanks to the encouraging words of the holy man and the diligence of the other two team members, things were smooth sailing. Until now.

Rations had been short from the beginning and bandages got lost on the way. All of them were in ill health and irritated as all hell. 

But of course, one annoying tin bucket couldn't keep his big mouth shut. 

[Something something Rey giving a heartfelt speech]

"Stop it!" Dismas growled "Fuckin' stop it already, bright eyes! This is not one o’ yer fuckin' tales where the heroes always emerge victorious! This is real life! Real life doesn't have a fuckin' 'and they lived happily ever after'. People die in real life, Reynauld! There’s no prince that will ride in on his white fuckin’ horse and save the princess! We’re fucked! We’re dead men walking! I know this is news fo’ ya, since ya probably never been in a situation like this but-"

The fist hit hard and unexpected. Dismas stumbled back and fell to the ground, head spinning and still wondering what horse had suddenly kicked his face before he looked up at the knight, fist still raised and shaking with anger. 

"I have been cornered by enemies countless times. I held my dying comrades in my arms while they took their last breath, begging me to save them, and I couldn't. I picked dead bodies off the battlefield, men I sometimes knew for decades." Reynauld seethed and grabbed Dismas by the pelt of his coat, pulling him closer and for the first time, the Highwayman didn't see the calm, blue sky in Reynaulds eyes. No. Behind those eyes  was raging the high sea in a vicious storm. 

"So don't tell me that I don't know how it feels to fight a losing battle. But I refuse to give up. I refuse to give my enemies the satisfaction of breaking my spirit." and with those words, the crusader effortlessly pulled the scrawny scoundrel back to his feet. 

"We are not dying today. I judge it so. And now fall back in line, soldier. I need you to carry your own weight."

#darkest dungeon #txt post #writing #writblr #reynauld #dismas

[boltsandashes]

TWD 10x05 first impressions

bullets and overall reactions under the break:

Kelly BABE. God, I can’t even imagine how frightening that must be. Trying to adjust to that kind of new normal (and not even a ‘new normal’ because it’s going in and out at this point) while you’re in a constant fight for survival.

Why would they have the doctor out searching for Negan? Protect your doctors, guys!!

Ughhhhh that cough from Zeke. I’ve been worrying all season about him being maybe being sick....

Omg he’s just a fanboy. He’s a Negan fanboy I’m dying.

Daryl let you out of the cell, #1 theory. (Aaron is #2 but it’s shakier.)

DAMN, the Rick and Carl mentions. Love Negan’s reactions to that assumption about Carl.

Aaron baaabe why you out alone?

Ugh that is so shitty. Contaminating the water supply? :/

Rating Walkers on hotness omg XD

“I don’t wanna be recognized.” Immediately in front of new people: “DAMN, classic Negan!” This idiot.

OMG Daryl is the actual cutest thing what the hell. That Merle story? The fact that he’s sharing a Merle story? And I just love how expressive he is with Connie, ok, I know it’s partly because he’s signing and gesturing to make things clearer for her but it is fucking adorable. He’s the most alive we’ve ever seen when he’s with her tbh I’m full on board shipping them.

oh my goddddd Zeke. oh my god this breaks my damn heart.

Ohh Negan... I don’t know if you wanna insult the obsessive fanboy. They tend to get vicious.

What I don’t love about this whole subtle Whisperer strategy thing is that it means Lydia was dead wrong about Alpha in the town meeting, that she actually doesn’t understand the people she grew up with, while the people like the Highwayman woman were right. Why have her insist it wasn’t Alpha behind the small herds if she’s just gonna be wrong?

AARon are you actually being the soft sweetheart I know you are?? (be careful babe)

Magna.... I get it girl but c’mon. You’ve been with them for like a year now.

ho ly shit this psycho fanboy. I honestly really love this story; it’s showing Negan exactly the kind of behavior he inspired with his leadership. It’s not what he WANTED to inspire but he did anyway. He preached no-nonsense brutality and domination and, just a step or so removed, this is what people took from it and I love that the show went there and explored that, and also showed clearly how that’s not what Negan actually wanted, that’s never what he wanted, but now he has to live with the consequences anyway. It’s complex shit and I love it.

zeeeeeke... god you know what I was preparing myself for a story like this and I’m still not prepared.

Magna and Yumiko... that was rough, wow. I feel like Yumiko’s probably more upset about the lie than the killing? Hopefully. We’ll see how that goes.

You know I didn’t realize at first that Gamma was Thora Birch. Cute little Hocus Pocus munchkin Thora Birch.

I am audibly awwing at every Daryl & Connie moment. Daryl lying for her family is a big deal; Daryl’s very blunt and honest by nature. And then Connie saying they’re family, I just..... all the hearts for that.

I’m intriiiigued by Negan going to the Whisperers. Is he planning to make a deal with them? I’d have hoped the lesson he’d have gotten from Obsessive Fanboy would be that the way he used to operate wasn’t the right path, but maybe he took it as “why bother trying/caring about people,” which would suck. For now though I’m gonna assume that he’s going to the Whisperers to try and do the right thing –– either by getting inside information to relay back to our people or by taking out Alpha, himself. Anything else would be a serious character backslide and kind of a disappointment imo.

Ok so I just really adored this episode, it’s one of my favorites in the season so far (I really loved, I think, 10x03 as well). I’m heartbroken about Zeke, I so wanted him and Carol to patch things up and have a happily ever after. Maybe that’s naive but that’s what I wanted for them. But at the same time it makes sense that this would happen at some point. Now that things are settled down a bit, time is passing, people are still gonna get sick like they do in our world.

The Magna and Yumiko stuff was rough, but that reveal explains so much about why they’ve never seemed on a level playing field in their relationship. Magna had this huge secret the entire time –– for thirteen years, damn –– that was keeping her from being completely open with Yumiko, and it turns out she might’ve been right not to because Yumiko’s reaction to the truth... really sucked. We’ll see where they go from here I guess.

I’m kind of laughing internally at the Alpha plan for Gamma because, what it sounded like to me, and I don’t know if I’m right on this, is that she wants Gamma to flirt with Aaron and that would just be such a fail I wanna see it in action.

And yeah, I think I rambled enough about the Daryl/Connie stuff and the general Negan story in the bullets. Awesome episode honestly, what’d you all think?

#twd spoilers #twd 10x05 #the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd negan #twd ezekiel #twd connie #donnie #twd magna #twd aaron #aaron raleigh #twd gamma #twd impressions #ok the baby just woke up as i finished writing this perfect timing

[afieldinengland]

i was a vicious highwayman...... it was day-light robbery........... hah

[the-ghost-writers]

Under a Blanket of Stars

SWF piece about the heroes of Darkest Dungeon getting a well-deserved break and listen I just want about these people actually being happy for once. 

Also, @hotmilky is like 90% of the reason why I wrote this

“It reminds me of the farmstead. The stars, the way they twinkle, it’s just like the crystals.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me of that damned place.” Sneering at the memory, Dismas pulls his eyes away from the stars above him. Instead, he lets his gaze linger to the grounds of the estate, his shared sitting place with Reynauld on the abbey roof giving him a clear view of Hamlet. The other heroes scurry about, jumping between the barracks, tavern, medical ward, and the abbey, albeit the still broken abbey is the least popular of them all. The forge has gone cold as the blacksmith has gone to sleep and the guild is empty from it being too late in the night for anyone to want to train. Just the trinket stand is open; the nomad isn’t actually selling at this ungodly hour, only keeping around to talk with Katherine and discuss the value of their findings. 

But the tavern is teeming with life, faint sounds of revelry coming from it as the heroes of Hamlet rejoicing in falling another evil titan of this cursed island. Dismas himself was among them, getting drunk off good vibes and lousy beer before leaving and coming to the abbey. Stealing Reynauld away from his duties, he dragged his boyfriend to the roof where they sit now, near the edge of the abbey so that they can enjoy the sight of the stars. 

Dismas leans against the crusader and looks to Reynauld’s scruffy face, the knight’s helm set down beside him. “You know what the sky reminds me of?” The holy man looks down at the highwayman who’s truly about to earn his title of a bandit, making a small questioning sound. Dismas tugs down his neckerchief and shows his scarred grin as he speaks. “Your forehead, they’re both fuckin huge.”

Reynauld’s hands fly up and cover his head as he turns his body away from his rude, ass of a boyfriend. “It’s not that big!” Dismas cackles as the stoic knight is reduced to a blushing mess. It’s not long before the two of them settle down again, the crusader still grumbling a little as he wraps an arm around Dismas to pull him close. 

The estate below seems to be winding down for the night, lights flickering out and people heading off to bed. The same tired spell hits the couple sitting atop the abbey, leaving them drowsy in each other’s hold. A gentle tap on Dismas’ shoulder brings him to look up at his knight in shining armor. But Reynauld’s gaze is stuck on the stars, not wavering despite the highwayman’s staring. Dismas scoffs and goes back to resting his eyes when what was a tap in now a rough shove on his arm. Shaken awake, he’s shocked when Audrey sits her royal butt on the very edge of the abbey and dangles her legs off the roof as she tips her hat in greeting. “You two havin a good time?”

“Argh!” Groaning like the bitch he is, Dismas glares daggers at the graverobber. “The fuck are you doing here?”

She sticks her tongue at him. “Saw you two sitting on the roof and decided to bug you.

Putting an arm across his chest, Reynauld dips his head to her. “Good evening, Audrey.” As he speaks, that town’s plague doctor comes up from behind and stands beside her girlfriend, arms held behind her back with her mask pulled down and dangling from the strap around her neck. “And good evening to you too, doctor.”

Paracelsus nods in acknowledgment but doesn’t turn her head to do so, Audrey simply tips her hat again. But it’s all ignored because Dismas pokes the knight in the jaw and grits his teeth. “Don’t be nice to them, I’m trying to make them go away.”

Laughing, Reynauld swats the finger away. “Some of us have manners.” 

Sitting up straight and pursing his lips, the highwayman scowls. “I have manners!” Turning around and planting his boot against Audrey’s back, he puts a little pressure on her as if he were about to push her. “I could shove you off you know. There’s nothing you could even do to stop me.”

Turning her head, the grave robber gives him a vicious grin. “Then do it, pussy.” Para chuckles to herself as her lover gets in yet another spat with her fellow criminal before going back to watching the stars and making out constellations. 

Suddenly, there’s a loud bang as the hatch to the roof flies up. “Reynauld!” Storming up the ladder and getting to her feet, Junia marches across the stone in a warpath that brings her to the crusader. The man is made familiar with fear when she gets close enough to make out the vestal’s face, a muscle under her eye twitching as she looms over the warrior. “You let The Holy Flame die out?” Her shouting is loud enough to carry throughout the night, accented by her slamming a boot against the roof. “The only job you had was to feed it logs to keep it alight, but you abandoned your duties to be with-” Her words get caught in her throat, released in pissed scream before she narrows her eyes on the crusader. She opens her mouth to carry on but stops, closing her eyes and letting her shoulders sag. “Damn it, Reynauld.” Dropping to sit beside him, she leans in and rests her arms on her legs, head tilted toward the ground as she gently shakes her head. “The damage is already done. There’s no point in getting mad anymore.” Putting a hand out, she huffs. “Audrey, could I have a smoke?”

Reynauld’s shocked look goes ignored as the grave robber reaches into a pocket and pulls out a ratty homemade cigarette, passing it to Reynauld to give to Junia. “The holy saint is de-stressing like the rest of us common folk? Blasphemous.”

Raising her head, Junia sticks the cig in her lips and cups her hand around it, creating a holy flame in her palm to light it. Taking a drag, she pulls it away and lets the smoke drift out. When she’s empty, she gives the robber a smirk. “Fuck off.” Audrey giggles in response before Dismas ropes her back into their argument, not a fan of being pushed aside and ignored. 

Eventually, he stops whining about them being there and settles back into snuggling up with Reynauld, even if the armor he wears doesn’t make for a comfortable pillow. The minutes dwindle by in silence, all eyes cast above to watch as more and more stars appear in the absence of the sun’s light. The quiet momentarily broken when another set of heroes make their way to the roof, Barristan about to shout at everyone to ask why they’re atop the abbey when Missandei jabs him in the rips to shut him up. Bringing a finger to her lips to hush him, she comes over to stand behind Junia, her crossbow slung over her shoulder, never without it just like always. The man-at-arms stays beside her, arms crossed and frowning, although his grumpy mood fades away from the beauty of the night sky. The two soldiers are far from the last ones to come up to the abbey roof, people trickling up the steps and joining the group in watching the stars. Within the hour, every hero in Hamlet is gathered to watch the stars; what they do is split between those mourning their losses, some taking a moment to relax, a few taking in the sight, and others contemplating what the future might hold. 

As if in a picture, not a soul moves and no one dares speak, each of them looking to the stars that are so far away yet look so close. But it’s shattered by the gentle strum of a lute and the somber voice of the jester. “Blast. This silent comradery makes me want to live to see tomorrow.” All eyes turn to Jingles, but he cares not as his head his bowed and shaking from side to side. “To actually want to see your horrid faces again. Ha, what a joke.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a flask and offers it to Shaggy, his tone picking up and gaining momentum. “Seems we’re doomed to suffer another day.” 

The houndmaster scoffs and swipes the flask from cloth covered hands, taking a single swig before coughing it out and sputtering while doing so. Holding up the container, he shakes it in annoyance. “What the hell kind of whiskey is this?”

The jester plucks the strings on his lute, and one could practically hear the grin in his voice. “It’s not drink at all, it’s fish pee. You really shouldn’t drink from that you don’t know of.” He ends it with a laugh, joined by Shaggy, and that’s all that needed before the gathered party breaks from their frozen places and get loud as they delve into conversations. The night comes to life, bursting with laughter from everyone spreading out and enjoying themselves while within the confines of the abbey’s roof.

Audrey sits and leans against stone as Paracelsus has her head in her lap, the grave robber playing with her girlfriend’s short hair as she speaks to Alhazred, going into painful detail about all the beautiful qualities their semi-friendly neighborhood abomination has and loudly stating that the occulist she pursue his desires to ask the man out. The thin guy nearly faints when he moves his hands away from his face and catches sight of Bigby watching him. Pulling his coat up and turning to hide, leaving the scarred man to his own devices. The abomination pulls his cloth a bit more over himself and turns in confusion, leaving the situation with Alhazred untouched. Instead, he gives his attention to Baldwin as goes on speaking of old tales about the kingdom he used to rule, describing the wondrous people and spectacular arts. His mask is off, his diseased smile shining brightly as he loses himself in memories, but he’s brought back to the present when Bigby goes to sit beside him as it’s the only space left. They both stop, the story on pause, before the leper king moves himself to make room for the chained man and carries on without so much as a twitch of a grimace. On the other side of the roof, Damian raises his arms to the sky and shouts the praise of The Light while, just a few feet away, Boudica is slamming a fist on the ground and cussing up a storm in a language no one else knows. Between them is a flat top chimney and around them is a crowd cheering as Damian is the undefeated arm wrestling champion. The flagellant defeated Baldwin first, followed by demolishing Tardif until Boudica tried his strength; while close, the hellion still lost and Damien has bested the last of the strongest in the hamlet. Yet the crowd parts as another challenger approaches. Amani approaches the chimney, barking at the flagellant to come back and face her. Eyes hidden by his hood, only Damian’s righteous grin is showing as he set his right arm down, ready to crush the new girl. The shieldbreaker doesn’t move for a couple of seconds, merely staring at the man’s arm before shrugging and putting her own arm on the chimney. Damian’s grin vanishes when Amani puts her wrapped up stump up and gently pulls back. Bowing his head, he both forfeits and apologizes to her, gaining a laugh as she nudges his shoulder and assures him it’s fine because she was kind of planning on having him do that. Still at the edge of the abbey, tired from interacting with all their friends and fellow heroes, Dismas and Reynauld are once again watching the stars. Their arms are wrapped around the other as they start losing themselves to sleep, soothed by the comfort of their lover and the security of those around them. The highwayman lets out a long sigh and rests his head on Reynauld’s shoulder. “Gods…I’m just thinking about all I’ve said and…” He lets the word linger as his eyes are looking above. “Now I’m going to think of your giant forehead every time I look at the sky.”

“Feh,” Cracking a smile, the crusader cups Dismas’ chin and pulls his gaze to him. He looks into those hurting eyes, yet it warms his heart to see the life in them. “You’re such an ass.” Closing his eyes, he leans in to kiss him on the forehead, pulling Dismas against him and returning to the loving silence of the night.

#darkest dungeon #story #mlm #wlw #it's midnight and i'm tired and this is probs filled with errors that i'm too sleepy to notice #but fuck it just take some gay