#ldkfjg

Each word from the crossroads king lands on the figurative scale, truth weighed against convenient lie. Strategist versus strategist; one could liken each conversation to a game of chess. Yet here Crowley speaks of landing on one spot in lieu of running away... while on the grounds of two realms. Cain's brows crease under contemplation's weight, the same resulting in a fleeting scowl. " Then where do you stand, exactly? I see a ruler of hell and a hunter's apprentice both wrapped up in the same silk suit. " To utilize adorned wording.

" Despite our rebellious efforts, all that we ever will be ", he now speaks inclusive, not ignorant toward his own nature and running attempts therefrom. " Is what Lucifer made us into. " Demons. Foul things. " The only difference being that I managed to forsake my old position here in hell. "

poseidon.

you somehow manage to balance perfectly fisherman vibes and i will pursue decades of vengeance for a single slight vibes. so thats very cool ! just keep doing your yoga or whatever it is that keeps you cool. and maybe warn the people in your life that you wrath is legendary and not to be messed with.

:o)

                                                                        “ Virtue does exist in this world. “

𝙾𝙵 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙴 𝙸𝚃 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂, 𝙾𝙵 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙴 .    Thranduil must have sounded more pessimistic than intended, albeit surely the world has left him with less trust than scars.    And that may have soured his speech.    A deep inhale heaves the ellon’s proud chest in response, seemingly indifferent the subtle nod of HIS SILVERY HEAD ERE GRACEFUL STRIDE carries him past the man.    ❝  𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍  ❞,  calm timbre conveys such simple fact.    ❝  𝙸 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎.  ❞    Not that there exists none —  even if there were times in which he dared not believe it survived the most haunting of battles and the aftermath thereof.

Fluid steps come to a halt, only perhaps five feet behind Aragorn, Thranduil’s mien darkening with rising doubt while adorned hands remain clasped behind his lithe frame.    If it weren’t for their interaction, these TWILIGHT HALLS WOULD HARBOR THE SILENCE OF A TOMB.    Every elf and every beast feels war’s next uproar roll closer, smells it, tastes it in the air.    ❝  𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚜, 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚕 ?  ❞   The king’s baritone adopts a nigh velvety lilt:    ❝  𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎.  ❞    Unless there is yet an underlying motive.