#the shattered citadel

[world-of-advice]

[mendelmakes]

Did some edits on my "Agnes at the Bath" art. I am fascinated by the parallels between Jörmungandr and the Great Serpent.

[medora-the-human]

Soul of Courage

The most courageous hearts and souls have to go through the harshest challenges and wills

[pensivespacepirate]

IS SECOND CITADEL ACTUALLY A TTRPG GAME

[guacagabs]

🎄Happy Holidays!!!

a secret santa gift for nau featuring dategumi :)

[silverselfshippingchaos]

oh my.

[internetskiff]

The most powerful ability exclusive to humanity in the Half Life/Portal shared universe is our ability to just throw bullshit at the wall and see what sticks. Aperture "OSHA are the devil" Science have managed to create completely safe interconnected points in space. The same company that turns people's blood into gasoline and shoves lions and humans into the same enclosed space for the vague concept of "Science". Meanwhile Black Mesa still has to use Xen as a crossing and their teleportation device requires an entire reactor with a village's worth of staff constantly maintaining it, just to end up having most of said staff abducted by onion-headed aliens. Even the resistance hasn't managed to create completely stable teleporters with a compressed Xen relay, meanwhile Aperture just went "oh dude let's shove a black hole into a non-waterproof gun" and have just created a teleportation method that just removes Xen from the equation entirely. Doesn't change the fact they bullshat so bad they basically got themselves gassed to death, but still.

The Resistance are a good example of this too. The Combine seem to have a complete set-in-stone thought process and understanding of science which meant they didn't even begin to explore local teleportation via Xen, meanwhile a group of random human mechanics and scientists have managed to cobble together at least two semi-functional local teleporters out of scrap metal and stolen Combine tech, to the point the All-Consuming Interdimensional Empire had to straight up copy their homework. And that isn't even the only time they seem to be taking human shit to just copy the blueprints.

They 100% just yoinked the entire damn car out of that garage just to take a crack at reverse-engineering the Tau Cannon attached to it. Even Resistance weaponry somehow manages to rival or at least stand equal to Combine tech - and we're talking improvised crossbows that shoot superheated rods of rebar at the target compared to high-tech rifles that can discharge orbs of pure dark energy. The collapse of the entire Citadel is basically set into motion as a result of a cobbled together Rebel device placed into extremely capable hands.

The events of the Portal games are a case of extremely elaborate machinelike planning versus pure human improvisation, with Chell's entire escape in the first game involving her simply weaseling her way through small cracks that GLaDOS missed while setting up her ambushes, eventually turning her own rocket turret against her to destroy her.

I suppose you could argue this falls flat in Portal 2 with Wheatley, but it's important to remember he's designed to be an utter idiot, so it's safe to say he wouldn't obsess over the larger picture like GLaDOS to the point where he fails to see the cracks. Yes, he's the one that breaks Chell out of the test chambers again, and yes, he's the one that came up with the sabotage plot - but it's important to note while he knows what to target in the sabotage, when we actually get there he doesn't quite know how to sabotage it, leaving Chell to figure it out on her own. She botches the Turret Quality Control Line with some minor guidance, but it's basically completely up to her to figure out how to cut off the Neurotoxin Supply. It's through her improvisation that Wheatley even manages to get into GLaDOS' chamber, tumbling through her neurotoxin vent and shattering the glass cage she trapped Chell inside of. It's through Chell's improvisation that the Core Transfer even occurs in the first place.

The script is flipped specifically when Wheatley takes charge, because oops - turns out a mind capable of focusing on the bigger picture might be pretty important when it comes to running an entire facility powered by it's own Reactor. Wheatley just completely zeroes in on his own personal pleasure, hacking up test chambers and the objects within them to try and figure out the easiest way to get his solution euphoria as quick as possible.

Still, something that's pretty interesting is that only Wheatley has ever managed to create a trap that's impossible to foresee and avoid, something GLaDOS has repeatedly failed to do to the point she ends up commending him. I believe this is because his way of thinking is a lot closer to Chell's compared to GLaDOS'. He puts up way more of a fight as the two run through the facility trying to get to him, seemingly improvising on the spot just like Chell has been over the course of the two games. Even his lair would be impossible to survive if it weren't for a single Conversion Gel pipe he somehow failed to notice and remove.

Whether in a laboratory deep beneath the soil or an alien tower tall enough to split the clouds, the ingenuity of even a single person is enough to topple a tower or destroy a supercomputer 3 times over.

Marc Laidlaw put what I'm trying to say into a single sentence when writing for the BreenGrub twitter account:

"The superstructure is riddled with cracks."

[quietstormxr]

Clueless Girl

Bodhi Durran x Reader

Pure Angst, Heartbreak

This was a request and it broke my Bodhi loving heart, as requested.

Summary: You were involved with Bodhi, but a private conversation shows it wasn't in the way you thought.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Includes swearing, depression

Do we need to redeem Bodhi in a part 2?

The minute you heard that voice, you threw a shield up around you. You were lucky that you stopped in your tracks when you did. Hidden behind the post of a large alcove before the stairs, you knew no one would ever spot you here. 

You really wanted to run at him and have him encircle you in his arms. But your curiosity at what he was doing out here so late got the better of you. Suddenly thankful for the gift of being able to shield yourself from anyone and anything, you tried to calm your racing heart. 

‘We don’t lurk in the shadows. You are not a shadow wielder.’ Ezzonth sassed in your mind.

‘Be quiet.’ You snapped back at her not wanting to be distracted.  

“You’re playing with fire Bodhi.” You can’t help the way your breath hitches when you realize who he’s with. You would know that voice anywhere. Xaden.

“I can handle it, Xaden. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Right.” He drawls back and I can hear the sneer in his voice. 

“You need to drop her now. She’s not even worth the effort.” You can hear the coldness in his voice and as you finally register his words, the breath gets caught in your throat. 

As you dropped your head fearing that he was talking about you, you watched a shadows skittered on the floor in front of you. Your eyes flared and panic set in. You made sure your shields around you and mentally were all still intact. You were unsure if this would stop the shadows from knowing you were there, but you had to try. 

“She doesn’t know anything Xaden. She’s a clueless girl, just like the rest of them. I don’t see you stopping from taking girls into your bed. Why do you suddenly think she’s more than that to me?” You hear Bodhi retort in a fierce tone, making your heart stop. 

It takes every effort in the world for you to stay still and continue to hold your shields when all you want to do is fall on the floor in a devastated heap. You stood there as you felt your entire heart shatter into thousands of tiny little pieces. You stood there as the man who you thought was your best friend and lover admitted you were nothing to him. 

Soon enough, you heard the retreating of their footsteps up the stairs next to you. With that final realization, you dropped the hold you had on your shield around you and plummeted to the floor.

A cold like no other spread through your body taking root. You knew this feeling. There was no pulling you back from it, at least that is what your mind told you. 

Not worth the effort.

Xaden’s words continued to ring in your ears even after you knew they were gone. You couldn’t even bring yourself to shed a single tear. The words you overheard had shattered every feeling inside of you. 

How could you have been so blind? How were you again just pawn in someone else’s game?

With your mind reeling and nothing solidly holding you down, you just drifted not knowing where you were going. Your rationale mind knew it was dangerous to wander alone outside after curfew, but rationality had since left you behind. 

Somehow you ended up by the river, staring into the black abyss as if it would calm the raging storm inside your mind. But just like the waves you watched in front of you, you were confronted with memories that you had long tried to bury. 

How could you be such a burden, your mind started to reel? One minute you were hearing Bodhi call you ‘love’ and the next you are just another girl.

It seemed like mere minutes, but the next thing you know the sun is rising in the sky casting a blinding light into your tired eyes. You pick yourself off the ground and slowly trudge towards the citadel. 

Since you had overheard Bodhi’s conversation with his cousin, you had gone to classes but didn’t go to the dining hall or any of the common areas. The only thing you were grateful for was that none of the marked ones were in your squad.  And you were amazed how easy it was to fall back into the crowd.

Later that week, you heard a knock on your door with a tentative voice calling your name from the other side.

Bodhi. 

You could recognize the cadence of his voice anywhere. But instead of answering the door, you just laid on your bed unmoving.  In fact, several of your squad mates had tried to check on you, but you always ignored the knock at the door. It also helped that you warded your door so only you could open it.

You had always been on the shy side, but this had made you crawl back into yourself even more. You became an even more reserved shadow of yourself. 

Walking into the sparring gym that day, you knew that whatever happened wasn’t going to be good. Days of barely any sleep and little food had begun to drag on your body. Exhaustion feeling as if it was just an extension of yourself. 

When you had looked in the mirror that morning, you barely recognized the person that was in front of you. Your normally rosy cheeks were pale and hollow and your eyes completely bloodshot and red rimmed with dark purple smudges underneath. 

You didn’t know your opponent for the day, but you were more than ready to feel something besides the never-ending ache of the broken heart in your chest. You made sure not to scan your surroundings when you entered the gym knowing that you couldn’t meet the eyes of the man that tore your heart to pieces.

Soon enough Professor Emetterio was calling you up to the mat. As a second year, the threats of dying on the mats were smaller than first year, but as with everything at Basgiath, never none. 

“L/N and Cardulo” Emetterio calls from the side of the gym. You take a deep breath and let your head drop. The sarcastic huff that leaves you as you begin to step up to the mat is unavoidable. Of all the people that you expected to be able to kick you while you were down, wasn’t it just poetic it would be one of Bodhi’s good friends.

You take one look at Imogen, and you can’t help but think you may not be stepping off this mat alive. Imogen looks back at you with a smirk on her face, almost as if she realizes why you look as awful as you do. 

“Well well, what happened to Bodhi’s little pet?” She snarks viciously. “Did you finally realize you are just another warm body for his bed?”

Even though you know she is just taunting you, the words seem to slice harder than the blade she has in her hand. Watching her bring the blade in an arc above her head, a war is waging inside trying to decide how much you really want to defend yourself. 

Before you can dwell on it too long, your body’s own natural defenses seem to bounce into action. You bring your forearm up to deflect the blow, but she still slices your arm open from elbow to wrist. You hiss out in pain at the action but turn around and sweep your legs causing her to stumble forward. 

Unfortunately, as she goes, she drags you down with her. She kicks out at you landing a knee straight into your stomach causing the breath to whoosh out of your lungs in a torrent. 

You try to pull yourself up quickly, but the slash down your arm seems to be bleeding more profusely than you would normally from a shallow cut. With your delayed reaction, Imogen turns your body on the mat and pins you face down with a dagger aimed at your kidneys.

“I expected better from someone with your training. Could it be that your little heart is broken?” She teases mercilessly with hushed whispers in your ear. You try to kick out, but she has your body pinned. 

Instead, you accept this may be your last act, but you aren’t going to let your fire die without at least giving a little back. You rear your head back and hear a satisfying crunch as you slam your forehead into her nose, but as you do, you feel the blade of the dagger slide into your side.

‘Gentle One!’ Ezzonth roars in your mind.

You let out a scream as you feel the warm torrent of blood begin to pour from your body. Suddenly your ears seem to open again, and you begin to hear the yells and screams of people around you. Your vision is beginning to swim with black dots and you’re unsure if it will ever clear.

A weight is suddenly removed from your body, and you realize it must be someone pulling Imogen off you. 

“Don’t fucking pull that out!” You hear an enraged male voice yell.

You try to move your body, but someone is also trying to roll you to the side that doesn’t have a dagger sticking out of it. 

With the remaining amounts of vision you seem to have, you watch as Bodhi’s face stares back at you. 

“Fuck. You.” You spit in his face before the darkness takes you. 

[the-modern-typewriter]

The sands devoured the landscape in every direction, a gaping yawn of yellows and reds. The protagonist's throat scorched dry. The last drops of their water bottle had been drained two hours ago.

They staggered another step forward on the dunes, squeezing their eyes shut against the breeze that somehow did nothing to alleviate the heat. They raised a hand to shield their face.

When they opened their eyes again, the antagonist stood in front of them. They looked as cool as ever, untouched by blistering day or the surprisingly freezing night.

"How is your great escape going?" the antagonist asked. They flicked their fingers, magic summoning a sweet pool of water into the inviting cup of their palm. "Are you ready to come home yet, darling?"

Option A: The protagonist shoved past the mirage, for it had to be a mirage, in silence. "I'm not your darling," they snapped, all the same. And they knew they could never go home again.

Option B: The protagonist's gaze dropped, despite their best efforts, to the tantalizing promise of water. It was all they could do not to drop to their knees there and then. The antagonist's smile shimmered across their face, glinting in their eyes. You can have it," the antagonist said. "If you ask nicely."

Option C: The protagonist's hands shot up, drawing up a protective ward. Their heart hammered. It was impossible that the antagonist was standing there, wasn't it? The citadel was barely in sight anymore. "Oh," the antagonist clicked their tongue. "That badly, huh? Poor thing."

Option D: "How are your desperate attempts to find me going?" the protagonist returned. "Ain't nothing but sand to see." "If you come back now, I won't be angry." The protagonist snorted. "I've got my own anger to contend with, after what you did. What do I care about yours?"

Option E: "Do you really think?" The antagonist stepped closer, holding their watery hand up to the protagonist's lips. "That distance alone would be enough to shatter the connection between us? This is silly. You know I don't like to see you suffer." The protagonist let the antagonist feed them a drop of water. A moment of weakness, perhaps. Or maybe just the familiarity of them, of the bond rattling in their chest. The thirst and the hunger. "Then close your eyes, love," they replied. "Look away and you won't have to."

[minaturefics]

There Will Be Time

Request: I have a request for Boromir x reader! (My favorite of yours is "Anything But This"). What if Boromir survived the Uruk-Hai ambush by getting pierced by just one arrow, was saved by Aragorn and helps pursue the orcs to save Merry and Pippin? He still carries the wound of the arrow and the guilt of attacking Frodo, but his internal and external wounds begin to heal by falling in love with a shield-maiden of the Rohirrim.

A/N: Thank you for waiting! I actually wrote part of this before my hiatus and finished it recently so hopefully it doesn't feel too disjointed!

Boromir x Reader

Fem reader

Content warnings: Vague mention of battlefield carnage

3.9k words

---

It was day but the sky was dim and overcast and tinged with an ominous red that bled from the horizon. The clamour and chaos from the city and the citadel seeped through the walls of the Houses of Healing, and even the matrons and patients were restless with the mustering of the army. You paused by an archway, staring out at the plains, still dotted with blood and bodies, and looked to the horizon. In a day or two, the people will march. And the fate of Middle Earth would be determined. 

You carried on along the corridor, cradling your bandaged arm, wishing you had accepted the healers’ suggestion of a sling, and searched for Eowyn. It had been a terrible day in Dunharrow when you realised she had gone off with the army. Your princess, your future queen, but more than that, a friend, a sister almost. You had ridden after them, arriving just in time for the battle, and your heart had shattered when you heard Eomer’s cry of anguish on the field. 

You rounded a corner, eyes still half-focused on the horizon, and collided with someone. Pain flared in your arm and you hissed. The other person let out a pained groan and a sharp exhale. Righting yourself, you looked up at them and saw a familiar face.

“Boromir?”

He looked better than he did the past week, laid up in bed, pale and delirious with fever and infection from the arrow wound in his shoulder. It seemed that the matrons finally allowed him out of bed and granted him a bath, for his hair was damp and his beard was trimmed. Colour was coming back to his face and he looked more like the strong man you saw a few months back when he had stopped by Edoras to borrow a horse. 

“My lady,” he said, astonished. “My apologies, I was not watching where I was going.”

“I am equally at fault. I was distracted by the sky.” He nodded, understanding. “I was looking for Eowyn, have you seen her?”

He chuckled a little, the smile softening his face to something cheeky and boyish. “She is with my brother. The last I saw of them they were talking on one of the balconies. I think it is best we leave them undisturbed.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.” He grinned. “Though, if you are in need of some company I will happily volunteer my own.”

Your acquaintance with Boromir was still a fresh one; he had not come with his companions to Edoras and instead had gone ahead to Minas Tirith. It was visible to anyone that Faramir had some amount of admiration and interest in Eowyn, but it puzzled you why Boromir always seemed to come along to the rooms where you and Eowyn were staying when Faramir visited. And when Faramir and Eowyn were lost in their own conversation, you would speak to Boromir.

Seeing him up close and at length, it was easy to believe the stories of bravery and valour about him that spread to Rohan. He spoke with a sureness and an authority, logical and bold with his opinions. But of course, none of the stories mentioned how quick to laugh he was and how freely smiles came to him, and of course, there was no mention of the endearing  avuncular fondness he seemed to have for the hobbits.

 Still, there was a grimness to him, a darkness that seemed to pass in his eyes every once in a while, his expression turning from elated to guilty when he spoke of the halflings, particularly Frodo and Sam.

Was there something there? He had said that the fellowship had become separated when the Uruk-Hai attacked, but he always omitted the reason for the separation, or what drove Frodo and Sam to be foolhardy as to continue on the quest alone.

“My lady?” Boromir said, a frown forming on his face. 

“Forgive me, I have been lost in thought,” you said. “Your company would be delightful.”  He offered you a fleeting smile and the both of you drifted towards one of the small balconies overlooking the fields. You rested your arms on the cool bannister and gazed out at the carnage. 

“I wish I could go with the soldiers to The Black Gate,” you murmured. “I feel guilty that I am unable to fulfil my duty to my people.”

“I understand what you mean,” he said, voice low. “To have my father so recently gone, and Faramir and I here… It feels as though the House of the Steward is shirking its duty.”

“But you have done your duty — shepherding the ringbearer, travelling by yourself from Rohan to Minas Tirith, wounded, to warn your people. But me?” You could not help the note of bitterness that seeped into your voice. “I did not fight at Helm's Deep, I left my people at Dunharrow, arrived just in time to join the battle here and still managed to wound myself and fail to defend my lady Eowyn.” 

“I would tell you not to be so harsh on yourself, but I think it would be hypocritical of me.” He gave you a wry smile before his face grew serious again. “Though, my time away from my city and the hours I have spent alone here in bed have made me question how I value pride and valour and duty. It has made me wonder how easily the pursuit of such things may warp one’s actions.”

You eyed him, curious but cautious. The red light on the horizon only served to highlight his handsome features. The line from his brow to his nose was strong, and his chin was lifted, still proud and noble even in such dire circumstances. And his eyes, all grey and cold steel, were burning with intensity. 

Would it be better to be tactful? Or would directness be best with a man like Boromir? 

“Did something occur on your quest?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light. “Such thoughts rarely arise without some sort of event to drive them.”

He paused and looked at you, his gaze hardening then softening. He let out a long breath and shook his head. “You must forgive me. You have been frank with your… perceived failings, but I fear I am still too proud of a man to admit my own. Perhaps in time I will forgive myself enough to share my shame.”

You nodded slowly. “I hope when the time comes you will find in me a good enough friend to speak of such things. Sometime in… the future.”

“Ah yes, the future. Here on the cusp of destruction, can we even speak of such things?”

“I must confess, I have lived so long in the shadow of the Enemy, I am uncertain what I shall do with myself once it is all over.” You sighed, wistful. “My family rares and cares for the horses that the Rohirrim ride on — it is how Eowyn and I met as children — I was to carry on the tradition but… More swords were needed, and I felt a need to stand by and protect Eowyn while she was still restrained by the trappings of her position.”

He hummed. “I am the same as you — I do not know what I shall do once we have victory and peace. I suppose either my brother or I will take up the mantle of Steward. Faramir is far more suited than I am, so I’ll have to find some way to occupy myself.” He grinned. “Maybe I shall take up smithing or music or… weaving.”

You laughed, lightness slowly filling your chest. “All those things require patience, Boromir. Are you sure you have enough supply of it?”

He chuckled. “We will have to see. I have not had much time in my life to explore what else I may pursue and enjoy.”

“I am the same. Maybe I will join you in your smithing or music or weaving.” 

Another laugh burst from him and suddenly he looked young and boyish, his head thrown back, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and your heart leapt from your chest. You turned away from the horizon and looked towards the comforting warm light of the torches. “We should make a list.”

“A list?”

“Yes, to ensure we have a good variety of activities to try. At the very least, it would serve as a distraction for the time being.”

“Very well.” He gestured towards the corridor, a wide smile on his face. “Lead on, my lady.”

-

Boromir frowned at the paper flower in his hand. The binding’s tension was uneven and the delicate paper was mangled and creased. Merry and Pippin had somehow convinced him to help them make decorative flowers in preparation for Aragorn’s coronation. The hobbits had shyly offered to create something for the high table, and Aragorn, forever fond of his little friends, had given them free reign. 

He sighed and tossed the ruined flower off to the side. 

You came through the archway and into the little alcove the hobbits had commandeered and smiled at him in greeting.

You were dressed in a set of borrowed clothes and your hair was done up in a simple braid. The Gondorian cut and style complemented your figure, and you stood strong and healthy and radiant. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, before he looked back down at the table. You were not for him, never for him. If you knew the depths of his treachery, there was no doubt you would scorn him.

The last couple of weeks were spent in a wild fervour. Between managing the city with Faramir, he had attempted the activities on the list he shared with you. You had excelled in the wood carving, your little bear more detailed and fine than his, but he had bested you at the loom, his piece of fabric coming out more smooth and even than yours. Pottery, painting, gardening, juggling, needlework — the both of you attempted whatever your injuries allowed.

He adored the way you looked when you were concentrating. Your eyes were downcast and focused, your brow just slightly knitted, and you had this endearing habit of tilting your head just so when something vexed you. Each time he met with you, he searched for ways to elicit your smile, fumbled with something just to get you to laugh, even at his own expense. What a privilege it was to see the respected and stalwart shield-maiden soften and melt. It was even more of a privilege to watch you with the horses.

The old stable master had taken to you instantly, curious and interested in what you had to say about the care and rearing of horses, and nearly every morning you had gone down to the stables to check on the animals. He had watched as you taught the shy stableboys how to braid the horses manes, your deft fingers working the strands, and listened as you told them what sort of grains and seed were best for the foals.

You seemed to come alive in the stables, eyes bright and smiles brighter. Was this what you looked like unburdened by duty and responsibility? Was this what you could become, always?

The stablemaster was old, due to retire, and perhaps…

He shoved the thought out of his mind. 

You were friendly enough with him, playful and affectionate with your comments sometimes, but if you knew the truth… How could someone like you, loyal and strong, look past his mistake with Frodo? No. It was better to keep you at arms length, as a friend. Whatever disappointment you felt with him would be more tolerable.

“Having trouble?” you asked, plucking the ruined flower from the table and holding it up to the light. 

“You are welcome to give them an attempt if you wish,” he said, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. “Valar knows we’ll need more hands if we are to finish these. I can teach you.”

You slid into the chair and watched as he moved through the steps. The flower looked better than its previous counterpart but it still looked a little wrong somehow. “Where are Merry and Pippin?” you asked, taking a sheet and mimicking his steps, folding the paper and trimming the edges.

“They have gone to visit Frodo and Sam.”

“And you did not follow?”

He shook his head and kept his eyes fixed on the sheet of paper. In truth, he had already gone to see Frodo. There, in the quiet and privacy of Frodo’s room, Boromir had wept and fallen to his knees, asking, nearly begging, for forgiveness. Frodo’s eyes, so wide and expressive, had softened and watered. He clasped Boromir’s hand, bid him to rise, and gave his forgiveness right then and there. 

But how could it be so simple? So easy? Was there not some sort of trial, some sort of penance, that he must perform to earn such forgiveness? 

You let out a little gasp of delight and presented your flower to him. It was beautiful and well formed, the petals fanned and splayed, the perfect facsimile of a blooming flower. “You know,” you said with a smile. “This is probably one of the more agreeable activities we have done.”

He wished he could spar with you, to connect with you in the mutual language of battle,  but alas, your injuries and his were still healing. He rolled his shoulder, the muscle still stiff and sore from the wound, and grimaced.

“It is still not healing well?” you asked, lowering your flower.

“The infection from before did more damage than previously thought. It is healing, just slowly, the matrons assured me.”

“Merry and Pippin told me how you faced the Uruk-Hai by yourself. Truly, a remarkably brave act.”

He deflated a little in his chair, thumbing the edge of the thin paper. “Bravery did not enter into my mind at that time. I thought only of my friends who, at that time, were neither ranger or soldier.” 

“Still, it was a brave act.”

“Brave… but not strong.”

“Boromir,” you said, exasperated. “The fact that you are still alive now is testament to your strength.”

“It is not the strength of body I am speaking of but rather the strength of will.” He shook his head and forced a smile onto his face. “What am I speaking about? These are merry times and happy days — we should not dwell on such ill things of the past.”

You paused, eyeing him. “Just as our bodies sometimes fail us, so do our minds. In Rohan, we learn in our training that it does us no good to fault and blame our bodies when they cannot perform as we wish — it simply gets in the way of learning, and more importantly, healing — it would seem remiss to not extend that same grace to our minds.”

Grace. Forgiveness. Gentleness. He had never been able to afford such luxuries, not ever since his mother died and he and Faramir had to grow up all too fast in the shadow of Mordor. Faramir seemed to be easing into the position of Steward comfortably, looking far more at home in the office than he did in the barracks, and even Eowyn was getting on well in the Houses of Healing. 

People were… moving on. Or at the very least, trying to. 

He picked up a sheet of paper and began folding it, binding the middle and trimming the ends. He started to unravel the petals but only managed to put his thumb through it.

 Could he move on as well? Was he allowed to?

“Here, like this,” you murmured and reached over. “Slowly. Gently.”

You guided his fingers, and right in his hands, his flower bloomed.

-

Early morning light glowed through the open ends of the stables. The air was warm and musky and you inhaled, relaxing into the familiar scent of horse and hay. The stableboys were yet to turn up for the day and you took your time greeting the horses individually. One of your favourites, a beautiful black steed with a glossy coat, nudged your outstretched hand and dipped its head while you stroked it affectionately. 

There seemed no end to the post-war celebrations with the coronation beginning a stream of parties and dinners, lunches and teas, but finally after nearly two weeks, the city was blessedly calm. You pressed your forehead to the cheek of the horse and sighed. He was warm and solid, grounded and real. The days and nights had passed like a dream. Boromir, smiling at you over the rim of his mug. Boromir, meeting your glances across the room. Boromir, taking you into his arms, your bodies moving in sync with the music.

He had been so close, so warm. His smell, salt and cedar, enveloped you. You had looked up into his eyes, the candlelight flickering in them, and nearly leaned in.

The horse snorted and you stepped back. What were you thinking? There was no time for such things. You were still yet to find yourself in this new world of peace, King Theoden still needed to be buried and mourned. Eowyn would return to Minas Tirith in due time — Faramir had all but formally proposed, waiting for the mourning period to be over — but what about you? 

Eomer had assured you that if you wished to return to Rohan there would be a place for you as part of the personal guard but was that something you even wished for yourself? 

Minas Tirith had grown on you. The bustle of the morning markets, the distant bell that tolled every hour, the ivy covered walls, the polished marble. Boromir had even promised to take you to Dol Amroth to see the ocean one day. And Eowyn would be here in Gondor.

It had been so lovely working with the horses and the stableboys, your muscles remembering the things you had been taught as a child. It felt like some part of you, long dormant, was finally waking up. The stable master had mentioned that he was planning on retiring soon. Perhaps you could speak to Boromir and Faramir about filling the post. 

You hummed to yourself. With Boromir retaining his position as Captain of Gondor, there was something deeply satisfying about the thought of caring for the steeds he and his men would ride on. 

“My lady?”

You turned and found Boromir standing by the entrance of the stable. He was in his casual tunic and trousers, and his hair was lightly tousled. Boromir looked the best liked this, just slightly dishevelled, loose and relaxed. 

“Good morning,” you said. “It’s early, even for you.”

“I wished to speak with you. You and Eowyn will be heading back to Rohan in a few days and I wanted to discuss something with you before you left.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Very well. Let us speak outside.”

He nodded and the both of you made your way out to a small open balcony that overlooked the rest of the circles. The air was warm and balmy and the scent of freshly baked bread wafted on the breeze. Boromir stood beside you and surveyed the city. 

“I never thought I would see the day where there was no shadow on the horizon, that my people would wake and live in peace.”

“Yes,” you murmured. “There is change in the air, a renewal. It is quite exciting to witness.”

“Speaking of change…” He turned to face you. “I am sure you are well aware that our stable master is thinking of retiring. Faramir and I have been discussing and we were wondering if you would be open to fulfilling the position.” He glanced away then back at you. “You and I will be working with each other, of course, with regards to the Calvary. Before you accept, there is something… something I wish for you to know.”

His eyes swept down and his jaw tensed. “Go on, my friend,” you said gently. 

“The Ring… I had tried to take it from Frodo. He had gone off to think and I had followed him. In my weakness, I —” He swallowed. “That was why he had continued on alone with Sam.”

You had suspected as much, gleaned from his various comments and the way he would both keep his distance from Frodo but be overly courteous in his presence. “The Ring had tempted many over the years. I do not think any less of you. And… this may be presumptuous, but knowing you, I suspect you were motivated out of love for your city and your people rather than any personal gain.”

He exhaled, short and sharp, and a wry smile crossed his face. “You know me too well.”

You shrugged. “We are friends, are we not? Friends and —”

You snapped your mouth shut and looked away. What were you going to say? ‘More’? How foolish. The man had just offered you a job, for Valar’s sake. He was a friend. A friend.

“And?”

You hazarded a look at him. His eyes were wide and his lips were parted in disbelief. Was it possible that…? 

“I… I do not know,” you muttered, and he deflated a little. His mild disappointment emboldened you and you continued. “Sometimes, I think I see more in your eyes, but I can never be sure.”

“You are not mistaken,” he said, straightening his shoulders and meeting your eyes. Your heart sped up and hope sparked in your chest. “But I do not wish for this to sway your decision in accepting the position. I —”

“Either way, I would accept. I do accept.” You smiled. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to oversee and care for the steeds of Gondor. Except, perhaps,” you added softly, “being able to be by your side.”

A smile broke out on his face, open and unguarded, and the years fell away from him. He offered his hand, palm up, and you reached out, intertwining your fingers with his.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Faramir has always berated me for my lack of romantic tendencies and I always dismissed him. For the first time, I wish I had paid more attention in my poetry classes.”

“I do not need to be wooed with poetry and flowery words, Boromir.” You laughed and he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. “Besides, it is not our way.”

“What is the Rohirric way?”

“Sometimes courting couples braid the manes of each other’s horses, weaving in their family’s colours or tokens. Wealthier families exchange horses to show that their horses are healthy and well-trained, that they can be trusted with the care of their partner, to carry and support them through life.”

He nodded. “I like that. It is practical and… sweet, in a way. I would offer to give you a horse, but I have just given you a stable full of them I suppose.” You laughed and he shared a smile with you. “In seriousness, I wish to court you properly. I understand that you will have to go back to Rohan, and there are matters to sort out. But when you return to Minas Tirith…”

“Yes. Whatever you wish, yes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Whatever I wish? A dangerous thing to say.”

“I trust you.”

He leaned in and kissed your temple, his warm breath tickling your hair. He smiled against your skin and drew back.

“So yes,” you murmured, grinning. “Whatever you wish.”

___

I really wanted the reader to have some sort of arc/development as well, and not just act as some developmental catalyst for Boromir - I hope that came through.

@mileycyprus-hill

[quibbs126]

So I’ve been making this

So basically last night, I was listening to some music, specifically Not Gonna Die by Skillet, more specifically a version on YouTube with the intro (because I’m not the biggest fan of Good to be Alive where the intro actually is). Anyways, when it’s night, my imagination tends to be more active and I tend to have more energy. While listening to the song, I eventually got this mental image in my mind of this scene with Dark Choco, and the more it crystallized the more I wanted to draw it. I was going to go to sleep and maybe do it in the morning, but I realized that I probably would forget the vibe and not have as much energy, so instead I decided to power through and draw the idea

It was a bit difficult since I had limited references for the pose I wanted, and I suppose I can admit the sword looks a bit off anatomically, but it looks good enough I think, and lets me keep the eyes revealed

I did eventually have to stop drawing, because my iPad had been worked all the way down to 4% (and it was at 30% when I started, the poor thing), not to mention it was around 11:30 already which is pretty late for me, and my earbuds had been running nonstop for over 2 hours (yes I was listening to the same song, it’s how I keep the vibe). I was at least able to get the pose, base colors and lineart done, and I’m still pretty proud of where I left things last night

Today was mostly just doing the background and lighting, which admittedly I may have fumbled. I’m not very good at backgrounds and I didn’t know how to draw lightning. I tried my best, but honestly I don’t think I got the image in my head. Didn’t help that my brain was playing the wrong Skillet song this morning

Oh yeah and by the way, the background is supposed to be from this. That’s what I used as reference

The lightning both feels like too much and too little. Like, it’s crowding the picture, and I can’t have more because it’d be way too crowded with it, but also at the same time, it doesn’t feel like enough, like there isn’t as much power as I wanted

Actually wait, maybe I can add some small particle effects to like, enhance the lightning feel. That was in the original sketch but I omitted it in the final. If you see one with that, you know I did that

Edit: I did indeed do that

To be fair though, I don’t think I have the art skill to properly convey the image in my head. Basically the scene is that Dark Choco is using absolutely every amount of his power for this final swing down, so much that it’s too powerful and the Strawberry Jam Sword completely shatters. But also it’s too powerful that Dark Choco��s body simply can’t handle it, and he basically ends up exploding. The scene depicted would be the wind up to that final swing that destroys the both of them

This isn’t necessarily the first time I’ve come up with this scenario, and the setup would basically be that he turned on the Cookies of Darkness slightly earlier, because he didn’t want to destroy his homeland again, and he tried to get rid of them while in the kingdom but not yet at the Citadel, but he ended up failing, so with nothing to lose, he chases after them and decides to put everything into destroying them, even if it likely ends in his death. After this he probably killed Pomegranate and crippled Licorice in some way (I don’t think he’d attack Poison Mushroom), so his final act did have some effect, but he’s still dead by the end of it. And he and his father never got the chance to properly reconcile because Dark Choco thought that could never be a possibility anymore and he had resigned himself to his fate

But yeah, I just don’t know how to convey that sheer overwhelming power and emotion that this scenario suggests. I tried my best though

I also want to submit this to the Dark Cacao Forever contest, but I’m not sure if it’s good enough for it. What do you think?

[witches-dream]

Imagine you have a son, and he's growing very disciplined, which is good, but he's very introverted, not really in a shut-in kinda way, he just seems very unapproachable to people, and he is, because he's just so serious all the time. Like you look at him and, yeah, he's gonna be great warrior, but you also wish that he could. Socialize a little?

So your son grows up and leaves to fulfill some kinda grand goal and you're like "ok, son", still kinda worried about him, but he's not your baby anymore, he can do what he wants. So he leaves and after a few days you hear this earth-shattering lightning strike, no storm before or after or anything, everybody is wondering what happened and if you'll all die soon. Nothing happens past that, actually, it feels strangely peaceful. So after a few days your son comes back and he doesn't look any different, but he has definitely changed in like a week or two that he was gone. So he says "father, I have defeated the black and white dragons". You're kinda shocked, but that explains the lightning strike and how everything went quiet after it, and your son is not one to lie, so you you say "oh, for real? neat". "They are not going to bother anyone anymore." Your son says in a solemn tone. Later, everyone celebrates but he doesn't come. You knock into his room, and, even through a closed door, you can feel some sort of power, warmth radiating from it. He opens the door and his sword looks... Different. First of all, it's much bigger. It has a completely different shape. And there's this... Purple gem on its handle and it's glowing brightly. Nobody in this village could've forged such an otherworldly masterpiece. So you ask "got a new sword, son?" He says "Yeah. It's a Soul Jam, actually." "A Soul Jam? Never heard of it." "I will tell you later."

He reluctantly agrees to join the celebration, but after a few weeks he leaves the village. He starts building a citadel, and walling off the coast of the Licorice Sea. People are already calling him Your Majesty, though he's slow on accepting that title. Many decades pass and you're so old you can't get out of the house on your own anymore. Your son visits and he looks the exact same as when he left. He takes care of you, with the same cold face he's always had, though his hands are warm and him just being there warms your heart. You strain your old and tired vocal cords to utter "I'm proud of you, son." He's silent, but he nods, and his long hair obscures his face, but you can imagine he's happy to hear that.

It's after you die that he accepts the throne, and the title of King that was decided by the people whose respect for him towered the mountains. And, as it turns out, your son is immortal now. And, through the years, through the decades and centuries and even millennia, he takes the utmost care of all his subordinates, he remembers every face of his every warrior and he etches out their names and immortalizes them and prays to them each day.

Your son does many great things, many heroic deeds. He defends the kingdom he founded with a resolution of a true warrior. Your son made friends. There's only four of them, they are heroes of their own lands just like him, so they're busy most of the time, but they go on adventures and they have fun once a couple of centuries. Your son also makes many mistakes, says things he deeply regrets. He has a son, and, even being thousands of years old, he still thinks of you and wishes he could be even half as great a father as you were.

Maybe sometimes your son wishes you were around to lend a word of advice, or to say "I'm proud of you" one more time. Other times, he's ashamed of a thought that you might be out there somewhere, watching him from the heavens and shaking your head in disapproval. You have no way of telling him you love him either way, with all his virtues and all his vices alike. What matters is that, in the end, your son overcomes all adversities and becomes a better person. He was given a unique chance in life: to have infinite time to learn, and he uses all that time to become a better person.

You have no regrets. You can rest peacefully, knowing you have raised a hero.

[milkywayes]

just… thinking about the tragedy of shepard and garrus. their relationship evolves as we watch - from mentor and mentee, to trusted friends, to supportive partners. the field between them evens out. walls are broken down. thresholds are crossed. she goes from ‘the best humanity has to offer’ to disavowed shadow operative to the tip of the spear in a probably-unwinnable war. he goes from eager-to-prove-himself hotshot to disillusioned outlaw to what’s probably the second most important person in the hierarchy.

it’s such a long way to come. there’s so much to get through to end up where they are.

and both of them only really come into power once it’s already almost too late to do anything with it. everyone else is also facing extinction but these two feel the weight of all those lives so acutely because of the positions they’ve been given.

but if they’re in love. if they go through all of that and fall in love in the process. if they open their hearts while everything around them is literally about to end forever. if he’s the glue holding her together and she’s the only hope he can still believe in. then they’re building their partnership in a graveyard. they both know, this might be all they get. this is probably it. and everyone else - they have it bad, but there’s just a unique tragedy here with shepard and her love interest in that she will save the galaxy, but chances are, she cannot save herself and that means she also cannot save the one who loves her more than anyone else.

these two people working tirelessly to stave off the end of everything, the weight of the galaxy on their shoulders and only each other to lean against, and they’re the ones who pay the price to end the war. they come all this way only for her to give up everything, and for him lose the only guiding light he’s ever had - at best, for a time, and at worst, forever. he might put the plaque on the memorial wall or he might not, but either way their sacrifice is so fucking heavy.

he holds her together until the end and she’ll use it to shatter herself on the citadel. she’s his guiding light and it’ll go out when the path ahead of him is at its least clear, its most daunting.

the war is won, but they’re the ones who lose, and it makes me insane just to think about.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x Reader: Teeth and Talons

Summary: you’re accused of witchcraft and sacrificed to the shadow creatures, only to be saved by their ruler who’s suspiciously in sudden need of a bride…

Warnings: demon!Azriel, drinking blood (more vampiric), mentions of cannibalism, sexual tension, rituals, monsterform! azriel?, biting

A/N: I do want to make a small note that @azrielscrown ’s Prince of Hell series made me want to write my own demon!Azriel fic!

-Part 2- -Part 3-

Visual Prompt here!

You’re a trembling mess, cold sweat slicking your body with sallow skin, temperature fluctuation from sizzling to so cold you feel you’ll seldom be capable of movement once the fit has passed. You know what the priests will say. Possession. They’ll say you’re being inhabited by a shadow creature, tie you to the bed and mist sacred water across you until your body shatters.

The fever isn’t subsiding, and you’re not the first to succumb to the strange plague sweeping through the citadel. Just one of many poor, unfortunate souls. You’ve heard they’ve taken to burning the bodies. Some not completely void of life before they’re set alight.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Newly Separated: Noctis Caelum x Reader

Hollow.

Almost as if you yourself were actually hollow, that’s how bad it was.

You felt no emotion, mainly because you didn’t know how to process information like this. You didn’t know whether to be sad, to be angry, to be confused.

You sat there on your couch, staring at the television, eyes glued no longer to the live footage of the Citadel in all of its royal glory, but to the latest news headline.

You had just turned on the local news to see what the weather would be like tonight as Noctis had promised you that he would take you out as he had been busy with boring council meetings and pointless calls on complete bullshit. You didn’t blame him though, he was the prince, he would be taking up the throne soon, he was stressed and he would be shoved and pulled into calls and meetings all the time. You knew what you were signing up for when you agreed on dating Noctis.

You knew it even more when he had proposed to you nearly a year and a half ago.

Oh Gods.

You suddenly felt sick to your stomach. You felt your throat squeezing tightly, it was suddenly too hard to breathe. You felt like you were going to faint and… was it suddenly too hot in here?

With swaying vision, you kept rereading the headlines, the news broadcasters quickly rambling on what was happening on the live footage.

‘Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum to wed Lady Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.’

It was a peace treaty, something Regis himself couldn’t back his kingdom out of. You could see the look of pain on his face in the few shots of him the news had captured, Noctis looking even worse.

You couldn’t help but fiddle with the engagement ring still on your fing-

The ring.

You felt as though you were suddenly punched in the gut. You tore your eyes away from the television screen to look down at the ring on your finger.

Pure sparkling silver engraved with swirls and spirals with the brightest and clearest sapphires and diamonds you have ever seen. It was something out of a fairy tale, it was so beautiful.

You suddenly felt disgusting wearing it, like you weren’t worthy to wear it.

It’s because you’re not.

You felt like you were going to vomit from dizzying this whole situation was. Chills ran down your spine like icy fingers, a frozen ball sat deep in your gut. You couldn’t breathe. Your hand that adorned the engagement ring had suddenly grown too heavy as though your ring finger had suddenly turned to heavy lead.

Your breath had started to shudder, your vision started to blur with tears.

It was all starting to settle in now, the whole situation now starting to sink into your mind that now felt like shattering glass.

With trembling fingers, you slid the engagement ring off and set it on the coffee table in front of you where you watched it for maybe another few minutes, allowing tears to fall as you silently cried to yourself in your mind. No matter what you wanted to do, you couldn’t find any drive to open your mouth and sob and wail. Instead, tears were blinked away, they trailed down your cheeks and soaked into your bottoms before the television had suddenly distracted you once again.

“We’ve just received word that Prince Noctis was asked his opinion on the established peace treaty with Niflheim,” the male reporter stated in his usual monotone drawl.

Instead, the front steps of the Citadel remained empty. Noctis did not step foot outside to face the crowd.

What was he going to do? What would he say? He’ll give up the safety of his people for a commoner with no trace of royal blood?

Instead, the reporters stood in shock as Noctis never left the Citadel doors to address them. Not even Ignis nor Regis stepped outside.

Instead, an official from Niflheim had stepped out, a man with wine red hair and the creepiest grin on his aged face. You could feel horrible energy through your television just from looking at him, only to be revealed as the High Chancellor of Niflheim himself: Ardyn Izunia.

You didn’t listen to his cheshire voice spew out curdled words, instead opting to mute the television altogether.

And that was when you heard your phone blowing up from its spot on the charger in the kitchen. You didn’t have the energy to get up, but you had somehow willed your legs to push you up from the sofa and stumbled out into the kitchen, tossing the charger away and squinting at how bright your phone suddenly became with spams of text messages from multiple people; Gladio, Prompto, Ignis, Nyx and… Noctis…

You tore apart every text message.

Prompto was apologetic, offering comfort and fun times.

Gladio and Nyx were both offering help, offering to help you grieve with things to take your mind off this.

Ignis was level-headed and patient, promising you to help you heal and explain everything to you when the time was right.

And Noctis, you only got one message from him:

'Stay where you are. I’m coming.’

You suddenly looked back to the television with red and swollen eyes, mouth slacking as it clicked in your head.

Noctis didn’t come out the front, he snuck through the back like you both did when you first started dating to avoid detection from Gladio and Ignis as well as his father.

You went back to stand in front of the television, watching with a weird feeling in your gut as time ticked by faster than you expected.

You were suddenly startled out of your trance with the news station when the front door of your shared apartment swung open to reveal Noctis standing there.

He was out of breath, hair a complete mess from running his hands through it when stressed, eyes pink from crying and nose still a little red.

You both found yourselves embracing each other tightly as if the other would fade out of existence. Your legs had crumpled, knees collapsing to the floor as you both clawed at each others clothing. Noctis was trembling under your grasp, but you didn’t know if he was shaking with rage or out of grief.

“I’m so sorry,” he mourned into your shoulder. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop this.”

Your shoulder by this point was soaked with tears, your shirt now stretched out due to him grabbing two fistfuls and pulling.

“It’s okay,” you sniffled, scratching at the back of his neck gently. “It’s okay, we’ll figure something out,” you mumbled by his ear.

“Please,” he somehow tugged you closer despite there being no pocket of space between the two of you anymore, “I can’t lose you. I can’t (Y/n).”

“It’s all going to be okay,” you whimpered into his jacket.

But just like back in the good days where you would sneak through, Ignis would always be the one to catch you.

You saw his lean figure in the doorway, the advisor looking as though he had shed a few tears on his way to fetch the prince from the loss of your engagement to Noctis. But seeing how Noctis was clinging to you had Ignis back off, deciding it was best to wait as he couldn’t bear tearing him away from the one person that made him the happiest.

So you sat there in your shared apartment, Noctis’ dry sobs the only sound in your ear as you rocked him in your arms, fearing this would be the last time you would see your true love.

[eyesfullofsttars]

. ⊹✧༓ 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 ༓✧⊹ .

One of the myriad legends of betrayal among lovers, from childhood friendships to mortal enemies, still bound by a strange affection and an attraction whose nature only they comprehend...

Welcome to the Masterlist of this adventure, a tale of war and betrayal to be reclaimed through bloodshed! Amidst the fog lies the treachery of having been betrayed by the one woman who once understood you, her presence haunting even your dreams...

Warnings: This story will likely contain descriptions of violence (not overly graphic), nudity, obscene language, sin, guilt, an incessant ache in the chest from not being able to kiss the person you’ve most hurt, and the lingering sense that everything would be a thousand times easier if you were young again.

In ancient times, when kingdoms emerged amidst ancient forests and towering mountains, two women of contrasting origins and bold ambitions rose as rulers of neighboring lands, forging a perilous alliance fraught with the impossible-to-conceal forbidden love.

The realm of Loborth rose through the union of wolves, fierce guardians who aided in raising the orphaned queen. Its stone walls stood as unyielding shields against any intruder, and under the governor's command, Loborth's army marched with unwavering discipline. The kingdom's tranquility was forged in the fiery crucible of war, where every strategic decision bore heavily upon the vulnerable, paying the toll for the safety of its citadels.

In Vermont's lush, verdant hills, the kingdom thrived amid the whispers of ancient trees and the serene flow of rivers. Noble music echoed in natural harmony, and their ruler, a jealous protector of her lineage, found solace amidst birdsong and the sweet fragrance of flowers adorning the castle's battlements. Guided by principles of honor and loyalty to their queen, they lived in unity with the land that enveloped them. Every hamlet and farm bore witness to a community bound together under her leadership.

Yet, peace between these bordering realms shattered with the treachery of one of Loborth's wolves. Mercilessly, the Queen ended the life of Vermont's favored son out of spite, severing the peace alliance and sowing the seeds of enmity that would soon grow like the shadow of a storm. Thus began the primary dispute over the borderlands.

Since then, the neighboring nations regarded each other with suspicion and animosity. The coexistence that once flourished between their peoples was eclipsed by deceit, a specter that reaches into the very core of their rulers. This curse inexorably leads to the tragedy of scattered bodies, whose bones lie as mute witnesses beneath the foundations of their castles.

Abigail had always regarded these stories inscribed upon scrolls as mere legends, harbingers of the direst misfortunes. To her, the splendor of Loborth was not condemned by the prophecies of the past, much less by a betrayal motivated by love. Nevertheless, as she beheld her father's crown, stained with his own blood, she began to feel the weight of the history that enveloped her.

In the depths of her grief and rage, Abigail's heart contorted with a desire fueled by sorrow. Despite their former friendship, despite the love she had once nurtured...

"I want Eleanor Williams' head," Abigail declared through clenched teeth, her jaw tightening with ferocity.

𝟎𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝.

𝟎𝟐: 𝐄𝐲𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐄𝐲𝐞, 𝐀 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝟎𝟑: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐬 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐖𝐚𝐫.

𝟎𝟒: 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐈𝐭𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩ness.

(comment or reblog to be on the taglist for this work!!!)