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[rangergathering]

Welcome to the Ranger Gathering, coming June 2026!

How it works:

The Ranger Gathering will run for the entire the month of June, 2026. Each day has a prompt that participants can use to inspire works about Ranger's Apprentice, The Early Years, The Royal Ranger, or Brotherband.

Check out last year’s stuff here!

If you want to participate, tag your post with #ranger gathering 2026 so we can all find it!

A few notes on the Gathering:

You do NOT have to do all the prompts, or even most of the prompts to participate in the Gathering! The most important thing is to have fun and avoid burnout. Pick whichever prompts inspire your creativity, and ignore the rest.

The Gathering is meant to show off all forms of creativity! This means art, music, writing, memes, textpost, moodboards, playlists, or whatever else you can come up with. Don't feel like you can't participate if you're not an artist or author.

This blog is going to showcase a few posts from the tag every day of the Gathering, so make sure you support the creators with reblogs and comments.

Good luck, and see you all at the Gathering!

Text Prompts:

1. Trust

2. Ruins

3. Quiver

4. Parchment

5. Fierce

6. Ancient

7. Dagger

8. Resolve

9. Embers

10. Steed

11. Midnight

12. Rally

13. Vow

14. Spare

15. Mountain

16. Feral

17. Blizzard

18. Pride

19. Longbow

20. Allegiance

21. Tournament

22. Moat

23. Prophecy

24. Falcon

25. Forged

26. Flee

27. Heritage

28. Enchanted

29. Unbroken

30. Return

[xell7yell7]

SEE Y'ALL AT THE GATHERING WOOHOO

[xell7yell7]

OUR BELOVED EMBODIMENT OF ELEGANCE-

[xell7yell7]

A doodle in honour of @SwallowPL 's fic "Four lights, one glow"

I modified it a bit since I wasn't sure how to simplify it otherwise while taking advantage of my short-term motivation lol.

Just wanted to say I loved it and I can't wait for the next chapter cuz uhm yes.

[voidsetup1]

and out of the darkness - you you you you you

[caffeineinducedbeing]

Sentient Laundry

---

A very silly--borderline crack-- oneshot, please enjoy the result of my procrastinating finals.

---

Halt had had a difficult morning, to say the least.

He had slept poorly the night before-- not, he maintained stubbornly, because of his age. The ache in his back had everything to do with damp weather and absolutely nothing to do with the number of years he had spent on this Earth.

Unfortunately, his body seemed unconvinced.

By the time dawn crawled over the trees outside the cabin, Halt already felt irritable enough to declare war on sunlight itself. His eyes burned. His shoulders ached. His knee had made a noise upon standing that sounded disturbingly like dry branches snapping underfoot.

He limped toward the hearth with the grim outlook of a condemned man.

Coffee first. Civilization after.

The kettle hissed softly as he rested one hand on the table and stared into nothingness with all the enthusiasm of a man contemplating his own funeral. He drank the first cup too quickly, burnt his tongue, scowled at the mug as though it personally tried to kill him, then poured another cup.

That was when he remembered something unfortunate.

He had an apprentice.

Halt closed his eyes briefly.

“God help me,” he muttered.

The cabin itself was quiet, which should have warned him immediately. Will was never quiet unless he was either unconscious or hiding from responsibility.

Suspicious already, Halt began surveying the living room that Will was supposed to tidy the night before.

A boot lay beneath the table. Another sat confusingly on the windowsill.

And there was a knife embedded in a beam overhead.

Halt stared at it for several long seconds.

“…Wha--Why?”

And then he looked in the corner of the room.

The curtain to Will's room was violently shoved open, jolting the unsuspecting teenager awake.

Halt was holding one of Will’s shirts between two fingers like evidence in a murder inquiry.

“What is this?”

Will, sprawled half-awake in his blankets, blinked at him. His hair stood up in every direction imaginable.

“A shirt.”

“It was a shirt.”

Will squinted. “Looks fine,” he mumbled as he scrubbed a hand down his face, fighting a yawn.

“It can stand in the corner by itself.”

“It’s drying.”

“It’s rotting.”

Will rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Well, good morning to you, too. You’re in a bad mood.”

“I am in a bad mood because your laundry has become a sentient being.”

That earned the faintest grin.

Halt hated it when the boy did that--smiling just enough to make irritation difficult.

Will reached for it.

Halt lifted it out of range. “You are washing your clothes today.”

“I washed them last week.”

Halt stared at him.

Will hesitated

“I washed them...recently.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You trained me.”

“A fact I regret often.”

Will yawned as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Pretty sure Rangers are supposed to smell bad.”

“No. Horses smell bad. Rangers are supposed to be unnoticed, and if you get shot because someone could smell you from a mile away, I'm sure they only got you confused with a horse.”

“Well, nobody notices the smell after a while.”

“That is because they die.”

Will snorted loudly.

Halt pointed toward the door. “Outside. Now.”

“You’re serious?”

His mentor crossed his arms, “I am considering burning the shirt.”

“That’s wasteful.”

“That thing would probably survive the fire anyway.”

Will dragged himself out of his bed, stretching with the theatrics of a dying man. “This feels like an attack.”

“It became an attack when I found another sock in the cooking pot.”

Will froze, his arms extended over his head, mid-stretch.

“…You weren’t supposed to find that.”

Halt shut his eyes.

There was a long, painful silence.

Then, very quietly:

“Why was there a sock in the pot?”

“I lost it.”

“That does not answer the question.”

“I found it again?”

In this moment, Halt genuinely considered walking into the woods and allowing nature to reclaim him.

Instead, he shoved a bar of soap into Will’s chest and marched him outside toward the wash basin behind the cabin.

The morning air was cold enough to make Will recoil the minute the door was opened.

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“You survived a winter in Skandia, but cold water defeats you?”

“Yes.”

“Pathetic.”

“You’re evil.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Will crouched beside the basin miserably while Halt stood over him like an executioner. After several moments of dramatic sighing, Will finally dunked the shirt into the water.

The water immediately turned a concerning shade of brown.

Both of them stared at it.

“…Huh,” Will said.

“Hm.”

“I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“Maybe I should contact a healer."

...

"...Or a priest."

Will laughed despite himself, shoulders shaking with sleepy amusement as he scrubbed at the fabric.

Halt watched him for a moment in silence.

The boy was still half-asleep, muttering complaints under his breath while soap slid up his arms. He looked younger like this sometimes-- less like the 18-year-old that he was, and more like the scrappy orphan Halt had taken in years ago.

And suddenly, without warning, something strange settled in Halt’s chest.

Because Will was scared, bracing, or apologizing for taking up space. Not acting grateful for scraps of attention like he once had.

Just… complaining. Like a normal kid being forced to wash clothes by an irritated parent.

Halt looked away before the thought could linger too long.

A few minutes later, Will muttered quietly, almost absentmindedly, “No one ever cared about this stuff before.”

Halt glanced back.

Will was still scrubbing at the shirt, eyes fixed on the water.

“No one cared if my clothes were clean, or... or whatever,” he mumbled with an awkward shrug.

The words were casual.

But Halt knew enough by now to recognize the things Will pretended not to mean.

Something uncomfortable twisted behind his ribs.

“Well,” he said gruffly, “someone clearly should have.”

Will looked up at him then, surprised by the firmness in his voice.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Halt ruined the moment immediately by pointing at the basin.

“That shirt is beyond saving, by the way, we're tossing it.”

Will looked offended again. "Wha-- you just made me clean it, it is not beyond saving!”

“It may need to be buried.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you smell terrible.”

Will splashed the filthy water directly at his face.

Halt stepped back instantly. “You little barbarian--”

Will was already laughing now, loud and helpless, nearly dropping the shirt back into the basin as Halt threatened him with the soap.

And somewhere beneath the irritation, the exhaustion, and the horror of discovering socks in cookware--

Halt found himself smiling too.

[chimeowrical]

I just think abt Ranger’s Apprentice all the time

[caffeineinducedbeing]

As the Flowers Fade

Ranger Gathering 2025! Prompt: Fading

yes i'm aware that i only ever write about Will, i'm aware it's a problem, no im not doing anything to fix it

---

Will knocked lightly on the door to Halt and Pauline’s apartment, shifting the stack of reports in his arms. It was supposed to be a quick drop-off--Halt was expecting them before midday, and it was now early in the evening; he would be upset, and Will took a deep, exhausted breath to prepare himself for that.

But when the door opened, it wasn’t Halt standing there.

"Will," Pauline said warmly, though her brows knitted almost imperceptibly as her eyes swept over the young ranger's slouched form.

"Hi, Lady Pauline." He lifted the reports. "Halt around? I come bearing gifts." He said with a slight attempt at a grin.

"He stepped out to the stables, wanted to groom Abelard himself." Her gaze lingered a heartbeat too long, catching the faint slump in his posture, the way his shoulders seemed to sag under more than just the weight of paper in his arms. "Come in, dear. I’ll make tea."

"Oh, I don’t--"

"Inside," she said, in the tone that allowed no argument, and she turned toward the kitchen, not waiting to see if Will followed.

He did follow, setting the reports neatly on the side table before sinking onto the couch. His ears listened to the clink of glass as Pauline prepared tea, and his eyes fell on the small vase of fresh wildflowers sitting in the center of the coffee table--soft pinks and whites that were in season right now, their edges curled ever so slightly. They reminded him of the ones back at his cabin, the ones that he'd picked weeks ago. He’d noticed them drooping more and more lately, and this morning he'd really noticed the petals and color beginning to fade. He’d have to replace them soon.

The thought clung to him, his gaze fixed on the slow curl of the petals, until the gentle clink of porcelain pulled him back. Pauline was there, setting a steaming mug in front of him.

"Here you go," she said softly.

He wrapped his hands around the mug, feeling the warmth seep into fingers that had been colder than he’d realized. "Thank you," he murmured, looking up at her with a small, genuine smile. There was something in his eyes--gratitude, yes, but something else too. Something too tired to talk.

Pauline sat beside him, turning so she could study him properly. She took in the faint tremor in his hands, the heavy bags under his eyes, and the sputtering fire that usually lit his gaze alaze.

Her hand came to rest lightly around his shoulders. He flinched, just slightly, before immediately settling under her arm.

"If you ever need to talk, honey," she said quietly, "about anything… I’m right here. You know that, right?"

Will glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching into the barest smile. "Yeah," he said, voice low. "I know."

They sat like that for a while, the steam curling from his mug, the flowers on the table looking up toward the sky, while he knew his at the cabin faded from existence because he'd been too tired to replace them.

[caffeineinducedbeing]

A snippet of an abandoned work

Crowley watches him across the map table in Castle Araluen, sleeves rolled, hair tied back, scars half-hidden and half-not. Will listens more than he speaks. When he does speak, the men lean in. Orders are given softly, and they are obeyed instantly.

He should be proud. And Crowley is proud.

He is also, quietly, purely terrified.

Because Will Treaty has built himself into something indispensable, and indispensable men are never allowed to stop.

[xell7yell7]

Did I just spent a half hour designing a frickin pendant that isn't even canon instead of drawing Pauline.

[xell7yell7]

Anyone read the fanfic "agreed my lady"?

Unfortunately, I can't find it to tag the author which I'm very much not happy about, but if anyone does know, pls tag them!

(update:) a kindred soul informed me it's by the amazing author mipmaps ;3

If you don't know it, it's pretty much baby Will getting lost in another fief, it rather-of-fact being a fief by the sea, also being some kind of a port where a Hibernian ship sailed, and of course that on that very ship is our favourite Hibernian princess ⁠♡. And, well, baby Will and Caitlyn talk for a while-completely oblivious to what their relation is meant to become (even if she dies :'))-before they get interrupted by Ferris and Will has to run, but not before they exchange gifts.

While Will had given her a colourful stone, she gave him a hair tie, but! not just any hair tie mueheheh, it was said that there was a silver pendant on it, and she tied it around Wills neck.

and so, of courseee I decided that this needs more attention, and because I am NOT confident enough to publish a written piece, have a doodle of said pendant

Ik that there should be sth to hold it on the tie but just imagine it's there ok

I decided that if they're Hibernian royalty, they must be some sort of significance to Hibernia's symbolics;

aka, the three-leaved shamrock.

And guess of who else there is three?

The children of their kingdom.

So why not give it the initials of said royalty, and at the middle, there just must be the official heir, Halt.

I hope you see it there good enough, and maybe you may also notice that the 'F' is pretty scratched up, if it was a certain princess' wrath upon her elder brothers death that forced her hand to try and destroy any resemblance of its reason, I know nothing~

There's also a possibility that the hair tie having a pendant is just my delirious mind making shi up and there was no pendant whatsoever.

(imagine that, like, years years later, in the latter part of Wills apprenticeship or after his graduation, that he finds it somewhere in a box or that Halt finally takes notice of it OR ANYTHING. Now to write it ugh).

(I thought abt this too much Ik)

[caffeineinducedbeing]

Hard Pass

---

In which Crowley retires a little earlier than in canon, and he doesn't die because I said so. He names three candidates for the job, and Will is forced to confront the horrifying reality that he is one of them.

---

The cabin was quiet in the way it always was at this hour—the sun had begun to dip below the tree tops, casting a golden light across the floorboards.

A single unlit lantern sat on the table between them.

Papers were spread everywhere. Most of them were correspondence from fiefs that required attention but not necessarily urgency. The kind of work that never really ended.

Will and Halt were quite used to this routine.

They would do their own patrols and routing throughout the day, and around sunset, meet at Will and Alyss' cabin to go over reports and discuss their findings that day, however small or trivial they may seem.

Then once a week or so, they would head back to Halt and Pauline's apartment at the castle, where Alyss would usually be, and they would have a "no-business-discussion-allowed-dinner."

Halt sat back slightly in his chair, one boot propped up on the table in a way that would most definitely warrant a scolding from his wife. And Will's wife, now that he thinks about it.

Possibly both at once.

At that thought, he slowly removed his leg from the table, hoping Will wouldn't comment.

But Will was caught up completely in whatever report had caught his attention; the official paper sat in front of him, while he sat hunched forward, elbow braced on the table, scratching messy notes quickly over a sheet of parchment as he summarized a patrol incident.

For a while, there was nothing but the scratch of ink and the occasional shift of parchment.

Then, without looking up, Halt said, “Oh, Crowley’s retiring.”

Will didn’t seem to register what he said; he didn't even pause. “Mm.”

A beat.

The pen slowed.

Then completely stopped. Will suddenly seemed to understand what his mentor had just said, and his head jerked up, his mouth opened in shock.

“…What?”

Halt turned a page. “End of the year. He’s been considering it for some time.”

Will blinked at him, setting the pen down. “Since when?”

“Since he realized he’s getting old.”

Will snorted. “He’s been old since I met him.”

“That was his point as well.”

Will leaned back slightly, processing. It fit, in a way. Crowley had been Commandant for a long time. Long enough that it was almost difficult to imagine the Corps without him.

“…Huh,” Will said finally. “Well. That’s… big.”

“It is.”

Silence stretched again for a moment.

Will picked his pen back up, though his attention had clearly drifted.

“Any idea who—”

“You’re one of the candidates, actually,” Halt said casually, licking his thumb to turn the page of the report he still seemed invested in, whilst dropping the news of a lifetime to his shellshocked former apprentice.

The pen slipped clean out of Will's fingers and hit the table with a sharp clack.

Will stared at Halt, that open-mouthed, shocked look back on his face.

Halt still did not look up.

“…I’m sorry,” Will said slowly, “I must have misheard you.”

Halt did look up this time, and continued playing his little game as he shook his head with a slight smile on his lips.

“You didn’t.”

Then his attention returned to his report.

Will reached for his mug, clearly intending to take a sip. He had to focus on stilling his hands from the slight tremor they now had as he raised the coffee to his mouth. He missed slightly, corrected, and then promptly choked on the coffee anyway.

He coughed—hard—turning away, one hand braced on the table.

Halt looked up now, setting the report down, then, when Will could breathe again, he burst out laughing.

Prompting a death-glare from the younger ranger, which had zero effect. But Halt couldn't help it; the look on the younger ranger's face was too good.

Finally, Will managed to find his words again, and he sputtered out, “…I—” He gestured vaguely. “I’m— what?”

“You're one of three,” Halt said, returning to a stoic look. “You, Gilan, and Ben.”

Will just stared at him.

Then he laughed too.

A short, incredulous sound that hushed as soon as it started.

“That’s not funny," He deadpanned.

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“No, I mean—” Will sat forward, both hands on the table now, as if grounding himself. “Halt, I would be a terrible Commandant.”

Halt looked up again, readying himself to defend Will from Will.

But the man had already set off.

“I mean, honestly—have they met me? Crowley spends half his time telling me I’m not by the book enough, and now suddenly I’m supposed to be the book?” He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “I don’t even like rules.”

“You follow them when necessary.”

“I bend them when necessary,” Will corrected immediately. “Those are not the same thing.”

Halt said nothing.

Will pointed at him. “And don’t you say anything, you’re the worst influence I’ve ever known.”

“That’s demonstrably untrue,” Halt said calmly. “You were quite capable of poor decisions before you met me.”

Will ignored that entirely; his mind was still spinning in disbelief.

“I mean—Commandant? Really?” He let out another disbelieving laugh. “I can barely keep my own fief from descending into chaos some weeks. You want me running the entire Corps?”

“You wouldn’t be alone.”

“That’s not very comforting.”

Halt’s mouth twitched again, just slightly.

Will groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “No. Absolutely not. There’s no universe where this is a good idea.”

“Crowley seems to think otherwise.”

“Crowley,” Will said flatly, “has clearly lost his mind in his ever-increasing old age.”

Halt returned his attention to the report.

“That has been suspected.”

The conversation mostly ended there.

As did the productivity, apparently.

Will picked his pen back up, then set it down again almost immediately, his focus clearly gone. Halt didn’t comment. He had expected as much—that was precisely why he’d waited until the important work was finished before mentioning it.

Now, at least, there was no reason to stay. Which was entirely Halt's intention.

He rose, already reaching for his cloak.

“Come on,” he said. “Let's go have dinner.”

--

Pauline’s and Halt's apartment was always warm.

Will liked that. It offered a homey feeling to it, with little touches here and there that Halt had inputted over the years since their marriage to remind himself of the cabin.

Tonight, it seemed especially warm. With lamplight and the smell of something slow-cooked and delicious.

It was a familiar space. Comfortable.

Alyss was already there when Will and Halt arrived, seated at the table with Pauline, deep in conversation. She glanced up as the door opened—and her face lit up in a smile in that easy way that still, after eleven years of marriage, made something in Will settle.

“Finally,” she said, as she stood up to give her husband a kiss on the cheek. “I was beginning to think Halt had chained you to a desk again.”

“He tried,” Will said, shrugging off his cloak. “I escaped.”

Halt snorted softly behind him.

Dinner was peaceful, as it always was. Conversation flowed with no effort—bits of politics, minor gossip from the castle, Pauline’s latest frustrations with correspondence that had arrived poorly phrased.

Will relaxed into it.

It wasn’t until they were halfway through the meal that Alyss tilted her head slightly, studying him.

“You’re quieter than usual,” she said.

Will paused mid-bite.

Halt didn’t look up.

“…Crowley’s retiring,” Will said bluntly.

Pauline blinked, feigning surprise as if she hadn't known about this for a week. “Is he?”

“Apparently.”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “it’s about time. He's earned a little relaxation, I'd say.”

No one disagreed with that.

“And the replacement?” Alyss asked, already knowing that Will would confirm her suspicions.

Will exhaled slowly, setting his fork down, as he gave her a look.

“Oh, you’ll like this.”

Halt took an unassuming sip of his coffee.

“I’m apparently under consideration.”

Pauline’s brows lifted, once again struggling a bit to feign surprise.

Alyss froze for half a second, processing the confirmation—then her lips curved.

“Commandant Will Treaty,” she said lightly.

Will huffed a laugh, shaking his head, “Only sounds good coming out of you.”

Alyss’s smile widened, entirely unbothered.

“Well,” she said smoothly, “I’ll make sure to say it often, then.”

They all collectively ignored Halt choking on his coffee at that comment, though Will didn't miss the satisfying irony.

“Please don’t,” he muttered, rubbing both his hands down his face.

“I don’t know,” Pauline said, still amused. “It has a certain ring to it.”

“It absolutely does not,” Will said firmly.

“Who are the other considerations?” Alyss asked.

“Gilan,” Will said immediately. “And Ben. Honestly, preferably Gilan.”

Halt raised an eyebrow.

Will shrugged at him. “He’s the obvious choice. He’s organized, he’s respected, a damn good ranger, and he actually likes structure—”

“You don’t?”

“I tolerate it,” Will corrected. “That’s different.”

Alyss studied him for a moment.

“And if you’re chosen?”

Will didn’t hesitate.

“I'm passing it to Gilan.”

Halt’s gaze sharpened slightly as both his eyebrows rose.

“You can’t just—”

“I can try,” Will said. “And I will. Plus if I'm appointed commandant, I can simply say I'm retiring back to active duty and passing the baton again."

"You can't just be commandant for 6 hours and then decide you're handing it off to someone else, that's now how it works."

"Well, if I'm appointed, things wouldn't be going by the rules anyway. I’m not uprooting everything for a job I don’t want.”

Alyss tilted her head. “Everything?”

He met her eyes, softer now.

“Well, you can’t exactly pack up and move to Araluen with me,” he said. “Your work’s here, honey. Our lives are here.” A small shrug. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Something in her expression warmed a bit—subtle, but unmistakable.

“That’s very mature of you,” she said.

“Well, don't sound so surprised.”

“I’m not,” she said, smiling. “Just impressed.”

“Don’t be. It’s mostly self-preservation.”

Pauline laughed again.

Halt said nothing—but there was something quietly approving in the set of his shoulders.

--

A week later, the cabin door slammed open without warning.

Will didn’t look up.

“Unless you’ve brought something useful--”

“Will.”

Will froze mid sentence.

That was Gilan.

Will looked up.

Gilan stood in the doorway.

And something was… off.

His expression was blank in a way that didn’t suit him. Not calm or controlled like usual.

Just… utterly stunned.

Halt had already straightened slightly in his chair.

“What is it?” he asked.

Gilan stepped inside slowly, shut the door behind him, and looked at both of them.

“I’m the new Commandant.”

Silence.

“WHAT?”

Will was on his feet so fast his chair scraped loudly across the floor.

“You’re serious?!” he demanded, enveloping his older brother in a bear hug.

Gilan gave a short, almost disbelieving laugh into Will's shoulder. “Apparently.”

Halt stood as well, a rare and proud smile showing across his face as he crossed the room in two strides to place a firm hand on Gilan's shoulder.

“Congratulations,” he said.

Will was still bubbling over with excitement for his friend.

“That’s— of course you are,” he said, grinning now, holding Gilan by the shoulders. “That’s perfect. That’s exactly how it should be.”

Gilan blinked at him, a concerned look crossing his face. “You’re… not disappointed? Or bitter toward me?”

“Are you kidding, Gil? I couldn't be happier!” Will said, pulling him into a hug again. “I was planning on giving it to you anyway.”

“You can’t just—”

“I know,” Will said with a laugh. “But that wasn’t going to stop me from trying.”

Gilan huffed a laugh, shaking his head, as he stepped back from the hug, running his hand through his hair in pure shock.

Halt watched them both for a moment, a familiar pride settling into his chest once again. It was quite an honor having a former apprentice become commandant, but to have them both be considered for the prestigious role made Halt's heart almost swell.

He earned it, he thought. They both would've earned it.

But he couldn't ruin his reputation by getting sappy right now, so he broke the silence, dryly—

“Try not to ruin the Corps.”

Gilan glanced at him, as though he saw right through Halt's defenses. “High expectations.”

“I find they encourage improvement.”

Will clapped Gilan on the back. “You’ll be brilliant.”

Gilan exhaled slowly, some of the shock finally easing.

“…I hope so.”

“You will,” Will said simply.

Halt nodded once.

Gilan leaned back against the table, looking between them.

“…Crowley’s going to be unbearable about this, isn’t he?”

Will grinned.

“Oh, absolutely.”

Halt reached for his papers again.

“Get used to it, Commandant.”

Gilan groaned.

Will laughed.

And the cabin, once again, settled into something easy.

[xell7yell7]

I love your art! Do you have a design for Pauline?

Ohh not yet, but! Now that you said it I reaalyyyy wanna do the diplomats uniform design omgg tysm for writing that, I gotta draw Pauline now

[xell7yell7]

Good evening, I have more food

I love them sm I literally can't bsjdjdhejs

Enjoy some young Halt and baby Will trauma of expectations yayy

A bit cheesy but that's what we love

(dont ask abt the cloak pls its horrible)(I did this instead of sleeping)

[xell7yell7]

@that-one-enby-ranger-2000 (my tagging isn't working) said that Horace would definitely carry Will bridal style and I must wholeheartedly and absolutely agree

Thank you

(pardon im new to Tumblr way of things and have no idea how to do anything lol pls tell me if I was meant to do sth else also I literally have no idea))