#imagine landing your first acting role and serving this much

[swannsways]

🤸 Dominic Sessa as Angus Tully 🤸 – The Holdovers (2023)

#the holdovers #dominic sessa #angus tully #films watched #filmgifs #dailyflicks #moviegifs #my gifs #need to make a specific post about how natural and fascinating the way he moves and uses his body language #imagine landing your first acting role and serving this much #SO ICONIC #the cartwheel alone deserves an oscar nom are you kidding me #and to know that it was just him improvising and payne said why tf not

[renaemooney]

Beyond the Password Prompt: Remembering Childhood Friendships

Introduction

Imagine this: You're setting up a new account online, and you're prompted with a familiar security question - "Who was your childhood friend?" For a moment, you pause, your mind drifting back to a time of carefree days and simple joys. My childhood friend, like for many, has become a character in the background of my life, as I have become to them, occasionally appearing in the periphery of my Facebook feed or other social platforms. They are that person with whom I share nothing but fond memories, yet life’s intricate web has spun us onto separate paths, much like closing a chapter of a book with a bittersweet acceptance that the future holds different stories for us both. But this moment of recollection begs a deeper exploration. What happens to these childhood friendships as we weave through the complexities of growing older? Are they merely relegated to the recesses of our memory, serving only as answers to security questions, or do they embody a more profound significance in the narrative of our lives? In an era where technology has revolutionized connection, these friends of our youth transform from distant wonders - akin to the mysteries our parents experienced pre-social media, where friends could drift into oblivion, only to be unexpectedly encountered in a café or a foreign land - to vibrant, living chapters in the story of our lives. Thanks to Facebook updates, Instagram stories, or TikTok videos, these friendships are no longer confined to the "what ifs" or "I wonder where." Instead, they offer us glimpses into parallel journeys, revealing how each of us, in our way, has shaped the world with our unique perspectives. As we navigate this digital age, where the past and present often intersect, these childhood connections provide more than just nostalgic value; they offer a mirror into our past and a window into an alternate version of our lives. Let's delve deeper into understanding the lasting impact of these early bonds and how they continue to shape us, long after we've outgrown the playgrounds of our youth.

The Power of Childhood Friendships

Our childhood friendships hold a unique and profound place during our personal development process. These early bonds, often formed in the carefree days of youth, play a pivotal role in shaping our understanding of relationships, trust, and emotional connections. The Crucible of Early Social Learning In the realm of psychological development, childhood friendships act as a crucible for social learning. They are the playgrounds where we first learn the dynamics of interaction, empathy, and emotional reciprocity. Psychologists underscore the importance of these early relationships in developing social skills, emotional intelligence, and self-concept. These friendships teach us about cooperation, conflict resolution, and the delicate art of balancing one's needs with those of others. A Journey Through Firsts With a childhood friend, we experience a series of "firsts" that leave indelible marks on our psyche. The first adventure shared with a childhood friend—perhaps a daring escapade in a neighborhood park or a secret expedition in the backyard—teaches us about trust and camaraderie. These adventures become the stories we fondly recount, filled with a sense of wonder and the unbridled joy of discovery. The first secret shared with a childhood friend introduces us to the concept of confidentiality and trustworthiness. In these moments, we learn the value of intimacy and the responsibility that comes with being entrusted with someone else's thoughts and feelings. These secrets, whether trivial or significant, form the building blocks of deep emotional connections. Equally important is our first disagreement within our childhood friendships. These conflicts, often over seemingly trivial matters, are fundamental in teaching us about negotiation, empathy, and the art of reconciliation. They are our earliest forays into understanding different perspectives and the complex nature of human emotions. Nostalgia and Life Lessons As adults, when we reflect on these childhood friendships, a blend of nostalgia and appreciation envelops us. These memories, often viewed through the rose-tinted glasses of hindsight, are not just reminiscences of simpler times; they are reminders of the foundational life lessons learned in the company of our first friends. The resilience, understanding, and emotional depth we exhibit in our adult relationships can often be traced back to these early interactions. In essence, the power of childhood friendships extends far beyond the playgrounds and schoolyards of our youth. They are instrumental in shaping our understanding of the world and ourselves. They teach us about trust, empathy, conflict, joy, and the myriad emotions that make up the human experience. As we journey through life, the echoes of these early friendships continue to resonate, shaping our interactions and coloring our perceptions in subtle yet significant ways.

The Paths Diverge

The journey of life is rarely a straight path, especially for those who, as children, experienced the upheaval of moving due to parental job changes, divorce, or financial challenges. For these individuals, the divergence of paths with a childhood friend is not just a natural drift but a sudden and often painful separation. Looking back on childhood memories is often a part of our lives that contributes to the development of our emotional intelligence as adults.   A Sudden Shift in Worlds Consider the child who spent their early years by the lake, with a best friend by their side, only to find themselves navigating the unfamiliar corridors of a new middle school alone. The move, necessitated by circumstances beyond their control, wrenches them away from the comfort of a known world. The abrupt change is more than just geographical; it's a shift in the entire social and emotional landscape. The Reasons for Separation The reasons for this separation are manifold - parents' work demands, financial difficulties, or the fallout of a divorce. Each scenario brings its own set of challenges and adjustments. For the child, the move means adapting to new environments, new social norms, and the daunting task of making new friends. However, amidst these new relationships, there's often an unspoken realization: none of these new friends can truly replace that one special childhood friend. Out of Sight, Yet Ever Present This separation brings to light the concept of "out of sight, out of mind," but with a twist. While the physical presence of that childhood friend fades, their impact lingers in the recesses of the mind. The laughter shared, the secrets whispered, and the adventures embarked upon together leave a lasting imprint. So when you don't think about it for a while, something as simple as a password prompt can allow you to revisit targeted moments in your life through your childhood friendships.  Echoes of Laughter and Lessons These early friendships, even when severed by distance and circumstance, continue to influence our adult relationships. Psychologists talk about "emotional imprinting" - the idea that our early social interactions lay the groundwork for how we relate to others in the future. The trust, understanding, and connection cultivated with a childhood friend become benchmarks against which future relationships are measured. The Unseen Bond Despite the divergence of paths, there remains an enduring, albeit invisible, bond with that childhood friend. This bond, woven into the fabric of our identity, offers a sense of continuity and belonging. It's a reminder of a time when friendship was simple and pure. The Role of Technology in Remembering In today's digital age, technology and social media have transformed the dynamics of remembering and reconnecting with these early friends. A simple online search or a friend request can bridge years of separation, bringing a flood of nostalgia and the possibility of rekindling those lost connections. It's a testament to the strength and resilience of these early bonds that, despite the passage of time and the changes in both lives, the fundamental essence of the friendship remains intact. For those who have experienced such separations in childhood friendships - memories hold a special place - they represent a lost world of innocence and a deep connection that survives the test of time and circumstance. The lessons learned and the bond shared continue to echo throughout their lives, shaping their understanding of friendship, trust, and emotional connection.

Reflections and Rediscoveries

As we meander through the corridors of our memory, revisiting the days of our youth, it's worth pausing to reflect on the childhood friendships that once colored our world. These early connections, often relegated to the back burner of our busy lives, hold profound insights into who we are today. Inviting Personal Reflection Think back to your childhood friendships – the ones who shared your laughter, your secrets, your adventures. How have these early relationships shaped the person you've become? Consider the values, the strengths, and even the vulnerabilities that were nurtured within the bounds of these friendships. What aspects of these early bonds can you see reflected in your current relationships? Conversations Across Time If given the chance, what would you say to your childhood friend now? Would it be a message of gratitude, a reminiscence of those carefree days, or perhaps a curiosity about the path they've traversed since those bygone times? These conversations, real or imagined, can be a powerful tool for understanding and appreciating the journey you've both undertaken. The Joy of Rekindling Lost Connections The prospect of rekindling these early childhood friendships in adulthood carries with it a unique charm. It's an opportunity to reconnect not just with a person, but with a part of yourself that may have been forgotten. The joy lies in discovering how both of you have evolved, how the threads of your past experiences have woven into the tapestry of your current lives. It's a rediscovery of shared memories, but also an exploration of the new dimensions each has acquired over time.

Conclusion

Childhood friendships are far more than mere nostalgic recollections or answers to security questions. They are the foundational experiences that profoundly shape our emotional and social development. These early bonds teach us about trust, empathy, resilience, and the unspoken language of companionship. As we journey through life, the echoes of these friendships continue to influence us, reminding us of the simplicity of connection and the depth of human relations. Penelope Renae Mooney contains affiliate links, so we may earn a small commission when you make a purchase through links on our site at no additional cost to you. Penelope Renae Mooney is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to Amazon.com. Read the full article

[fmhiphop]

Chester Rogers, Career Football Player and Actor, talks about “BMF” role

Chester Rogers, known for his football career with six seasons on the field, has opened up about his role on BMF. And his account is intriguing, especially for those interested in what it takes to pursue two major passions. Chester Rogers, the Double Threat Image Source: Getty Images Rogers has worked to make a name for himself in the NFL. Now he's blazing a trail in another sector, the television/film industry. While transitioning from football to acting may seem a stretch, it's not for Rogers. In an interview with TMZ, Rogers revealed how he's been pursuing acting since he was ten. And along the way, he's nabbed a role or two. According to TMZ, Rogers appeared in a 2005 film alongside some big players in the film industry.  Rogers is said to have assumed the role of a young Billy Dee Williams, acting alongside such names as Gabrielle Union, Zoe Saldana, Hill Harper, and Billy Dee himself in the movie Constellation.  And that's not small potatoes.  Rogers Seizes Opportunities Rogers has directed much of his attention toward the NFL but has continued his pursuit of acting. And his current role in BMF serves as proof. According to Rogers, when he first got the part, he had low expectations regarding screen time. He went on to tell TMZ, "I thought it was going to be one episode, one little scene," However, it turned out to be much more. He has been filming for six months and has had to turn down some NFL opportunities. Rogers went on to note, "I'm in multiple episodes. My character continued to evolve. Throughout that time, I had to turn down almost ten different contracts from NFL to finish filming." One wonders, given such a decision, where his secret lies. How does he juggle both?  Success Secret No one denies that juggling the NFL and acting is a challenging job. But Rogers is managing and undoubtedly loving every minute of it. And in this case, there is no need to wonder how he does both. Rogers does not shy away from revealing the secret of his success. As he so exclaims, "it requires a helluva lot of "sacrifice" and "discipline." One couldn't imagine it requiring anything less. BMF https://youtu.be/5XZYPPLQvAY BMF, the hit series under the production of 50Cent, is currently streaming on Starz. The hit series dramatizes the exploits of the infamous "Black Mafia Family" under the leadership of Demetrius and Kevin Flenory. BMF is in its second season and continues to position itself as a wildly entertaining top-tier drama. In Conclusion There is nothing like getting the chance to live your dreams fully. While so few get such opportunities, Rogers does, and he does whatever is in the realm of his capabilities to do both at the top level. So a round of applause to Rogers for landing a spot on the hit drama. But most of all, for pursuing his passions. His talent is admirable, but his work ethic is everything. Written by: Renae Richardson Read the full article

[tacitoslurpee]

Rant: Modern Philippine Politics (Sick of all this sh*t)

I’m sick of the idea that one’s fluency in English is the best measure of intelligence. First of all, we’re Filipinos, not American or English. Our national language is Filipino/Tagalog. Most of us are bilingual. Being fluent in English may be a great sign of literacy but let’s not use that as a tool to measure whether someone is smart. You could master the English language and still be an idiot. Language is a tool for communication, and that tool is only as useful based on how well you use it. Leni Robredo is fluent in English, but sentences like “I have 3 daughters; they’re all girls” just screams “stupid”.

Many Filpinos are fools for the mother-figure. Some people say Filipinos are fools for electing a strict, authoritarian that is Duterte. Well, we could say the damn country could use some discipline from a strict parent, and that is how many Duterte supporters see the current president, hence one of his monikers - “Tay Digong”. On the other hand, many look to the gentle, caring mother-figure. This role was first played by the country’s first female president, the late Corey Aquino. She stood in contrast to the late president, Ferdinand Marcos who was also known to be firm & strict. She was the worst example for femininity as she lacked substance. She was simply an actress; she had done nothing beneficial to Filipinos. The decline of the country only started the moment she came into power, and yet her legacy is played up to the point of being petitioned to be canonised. barf In the present, this is the same image that Leni Robredo is presenting. She looks, moves & speaks as a kind, motherly figure to appeal to those who are naive. Unfortunately, she is pretty much another Corey Aquino. She and/or her family has links to some organised crime groups; she’s an airhead who has shown time & again that she is clueless about her surroundings & her own job. I think the people who support women like Corey Aquino and Leni Robredo aren’t simply looking for a mother figure who is completely inept & unqualified for such a high position. They’re looking for enablers, the kind of toxic mothers who smother their kids with understanding, looking the other way when they make a wrong. Even worse, these mother figures aren’t just that, they’re the stepmother who coddles their child to manipulate them out of their own inheritance.

I’m also sick of foreign journalists/media who side with Filipino journalists associated with ABS-CBN & the Lopez group. They’re quick to label Duterte to be as bad as other dictators, censoring the media because they go against his agenda. Those journalists are quick to say all journalists/media are unbiased, they only serve to spread the truth. What bullshit. Journalists are humans, subject to bias. Ever heard of Rupert Murdoch & his empire? In this generation, people seem to easily fall for the fake tears. A group of people cry wolf, and suddenly everyone wants the wolves extinct. Also, these foreign media (I’m talking the loud ones in the US & the UK) have no idea what it’s like to live in a country where 1 media company has near-monopoly of the airwaves. The media company, ABS-CBN, has very close ties with the Aquino clan & has been a very dominant figure in Philippine politics for decades. Imagine having only FOX news corp in the US drilling their agenda into your head with news & entertainment. You think you’re fine if you don’t watch the news, but they still get you through their TV shows. Other rival networks are present but they’re very small & can only be viewed if you have cable. Most people in the Philippines can’t afford cable TV, so they only get what’s aired for free - that is, in most areas, ABS-CBN. If you’re lucky, you might get GMA, a rival network. Oh and another thing, the ABS-CBN borrowed a huge sum from the then Marcos government to bail them out. They never paid back the loan, which is taxpayer money, the land the main company building is on is government property but they acted like it was theirs. The company president is also believed to have conspired with foreign forces against the interest of the Philippines for their own gain. Treasonous. Also, even if you have cable TV, you’re still forced to watch ads in their channel which is ridiculous!

A former president who only approved of projects and didn’t actually contribute or have done anything to its fulfillment doesn’t get credit for it. Many Dilawan (Aquino supporters) cry out that PNoy (late former president Benigno Aquino III) should be credited for many of the recently completed infrastructure as the projects for those were approved during his time. That’s like saying the moment your teacher wrote up the exam questions for your finals, you already automatically got a perfect score in the test. Stupid! In the end, I just hope Filipinos, whichever candidate they may support, pull their head out of their asses & look to a president who is cunning but humane, strict but fair, and has the interest of Filipinos in mind. Our country has long in the mud wet with garbage water. Many countries look at us and have unsavory impressions of our people (that we’re lowly, bumbling maids or nannies; our women marry white men because that’s the only thing they can do to send money back home; our diving team is a mockery of the sport). People think they can still be proud of our tourist spots. Well, had Duterte not stepped in to save Boracay, the Philippines would be offering a literal sh*thole for a beach as a tourist attraction. Now, we have more & better roads, bridges & other infrastructure that’s essential for progress. Politicians who say the Build, Build, Build program is a sham are just salty they couldn’t pocket the money... the fking pigs.

#bbm #marcos #philippines #philippine elections #duterte #digong #leni #robredo #leni robredo #politics #foreign news #media #mainstream media #fake news #english #language #filipino #pinoy #tagalog #dilawan #pinklawan #aquino #abs-cbn #rupert murdoch

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Could I get a fluff imagine where Levi Ackerman is dating a tall reader like 5’8/5’9 and Levi gets a little insecure about his height because he heard some people making comments and really thought about it and then the reader comforts him and tell him she gets insecure sometimes too but it’s worth it because she loves that she can hug Levi and he’s just covered in her body and other things that normally a tall male would do in a relationship she just really enjoys that she can do that. Thanks❤️

Hi, you have no idea for how long I've been writing this. I hope I did some justice to my fellow taller friends out there. And I hope everyone reading this can enjoy, thank you for requesting❤

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Tags: fluff, really just fluffity fluff, taller reader, canonverse

Top of The Shelf

"Can you reach that cup for me (y/n)?"

The soft welcoming smile painted on your face that served as the signal of your comply to his demand sent jolts through Levi's chest. His own grumpy expression didn't allow him to show his gratitude the way his words could although he knew you could read through him.

It went like that on normal days. Little acts of affection as in tangling in sheets together, helping him clean the kitchen after a loose Saturday night for the scout regiment, blending and infusing tea leaves to make your own creation; Levi's love language to you was genuine and tender, despite what everyone else chose to see in his otherwise stoic demeanor.

It wasn't unusual for him to be a little distant or silent. The stoic moodiness and the sass that he carried in his presence were reliefs of anxiety and coping mechanisms that no one would have guessed as had they not known him like you did. It wasn't unnatural to not get a response or to see an eye roll or two by him, he was always caught up in his work, always trying to succeed in his role and honor his dead and today shouldn't have been an exception as to how his usual mood was.

Yet for the upteenth time this evening he sighed. And you noticed.

"You know what, no." He snarled "I'll get it on my own."

The little snapping of his voice along with the the clicking of his tongue shouldn't have been bizzare to you, but it was. Thus instantly your eyes fell to his hands. Erratic fingers scratched the marble counter with jolting movements, hoisting a wet rug that soon was tossed to the side, prompting the sound of his annoyed voice to higher levels.

"You alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

For mere seconds, his cold, gunmetal gaze fell on you, lips puckered and scrunched in the most bitter way he could master. It wasn't entirely directed to you, that much was obvious, but it still made your gut churn to an extent. Specs of anxiety tinted the insides of your stomach in what felt like dark maroon. With the pucker of your own lips, you were the first to turn your gaze to the side.

"Move just a bit to the left" He said.

You nodded slightly, gaze still so far way and fixed on a corner of the floor, and adjusted your hand to the small of his waist to steady yourself. What should have caused him to sink his head to your shoulder only earned you a loud and sharp click of his tongue. Slowly you moved your eyes towards him, your gaze and heavy chest submitted to the slight asphyxiation in the atmosphere.

You blinked as you eyed him up and down; the flats of his heels were arched in the painful binding leather of the brown military boots, the muscles of his feet pulsating slightly each time he bucked and tip toed again. You were fully aware that he could feel your eyes on him, still he turned to you with a puckered lower lip once his heels came flat to the mahogany tiles with a loud clicking sound.

"I can't reach it."

"Clearly. Jeez Levi. I got it. Please don't snap about minor things."

"I'm not snapping. But if you haven't noticed I'm always ready to snap"

"I know, I know" You shook your head and laughed.

The pouty little gaze on his face didn't ease like you expected, it was accentuated by two ebony furrowed brows and a set of overly shadowed wrinkles. His hands came to cross over his chest, flexing the bulky muscles of his chest as they tightned, twitching slightly as his shirt wrinkled below his hands. Down below, his foot tapped obnoxiously, indicating the slight nervousness of his presence.

You could only eye him, cup in hand and a soft expression on your face. Your eyebrow was cocked high on your forehead in a silent request, your gingered tapping onto the porcelain cup in synch to his foot. Clearly what was in the air was becoming so strong that it felt like you were on the edge of a cliffcliff with no room to escape.

"Care to tell me what's going on?" You whispered and everted your eyes from his frame, searching for the mettalic kettle that you had washed a little while ago.

"Tch"

"Just a click of the tongue Levi?"

"It's nothing"

Levi was quick to dismiss you, his own eyes daring to reach the wooden tiles of the floor, following across the swirly lines of honey colored wood. His brain felt scattered into a million pieces, the cause of his anxiety roamed inside his brain like a wide eyed ogre that feastes of off the rise of insecurities. But what he felt was his own problem? Wasn't it?

He rolled his eyes at his own thoughts once again. If only those cadets hadn't run their nosy mouths into his relationship, if only he hadn't heard that one repetitive comment on that one morning he was drained physically, maybe he wouldn't have ever doubted himself. It wasn't like him to feel like that, Levi knew his place in the world, he knew who he was and he didn't care about anyone else's shitty view on him. What he couldn't tolerate was you being looked down upon because of him.

If he was one to be more open with his feelings he would choose to talk about it. It was a couple-y thing. You shared your insecurities with him and he has shared almost everything he can remember from his life with you. It should have felt easy for him to just spill the beans on how he felt so low compared to you.

But it wasn't.

Instead of running his big mouth, he decided he would help you make tea. Whatever inadequaty he felt wasn't because of you, if he was too short it was his own fault, his own problem. Not yours, not anyone's else's. And therefore it shouldn't have affected him in such way. Nevertheless, he fixed his eyes on you again, eyeying you from head to toe. Maybe you were tall for him. With the way your legs and arms were longer than his. Letely he had found himself comparing the way his feet seemed small next to yours, though still bulky and full due to his training.

"Here" He offered "let me make our tea"

His fingers came to reach for the handle of the kettle, tagging it slightly off your hands. You gave him a soft smile, just enough to accentuate the nod of your head to his direction.

"Whatever you say apple pie." You teased.

Levi slightly eyes you from the corner of his eye. He couldn't help but scoff slightly in amusement, the soft glimmer in your eyes was warm, softly burning in the hues of the candlelight. The stiff line of happiness formed a little bump on your left cheek, not enough to be called a dimple it no less that a crevice.

Levi let out a other huff of air through his nose. His hand teacher for the handle of the tap, pumping the metallic object with a few swings and twists of his wrist. Water poured out of the end of the tap and into the kettle, the calming sounds of water flowing in the vessel calming you slightly as you thought about how the that was about to be made would be a dear, calming beverage.

Setting the kettle to the side of the counter, Levi placed both his hands on the edge of it and hung his head low. Your eyes softened as you eyed him again; the man looked drained and tired, a rather usual look for him one could say, but in the very moment, he looked like it was tons more than what should have been usually. Your hand reaches out to him again instinctively and as it landed on his shoulder you softly squeezed the spot protectively.

"Pass me the tea leaves" Levi spoke and his eyes we're squeezed shut. "At least you can reach them."

You giggled at him as you opened the cupboard again, grabbing thin air with the palm of your hand, trying to take a hold of the jar you were looking for. Once you took a hold you it your face lit up, and you turned to him again with gleamy eyes. The candlelight glimmered slightly as you pushed the door to the cupboard closed

His fingers worked on the lid of the jar next, twisting the thin cover in circular motions of his wrist. You watched with half lid, adorning eyes as the tips of his fingers reached for a handful of the aromatic, dry leaves in the jar. Levi eyed you momentarily from the corner of his eyes and looked at the task he had set to himself previously. He sighed deeply, letting a mellow higher pitch note of his voice escape him.

"You love me too much don't you?" He questioned, eyebrow cocked to the middle of his forehead, still his gaze was fixed on how his fingers were meddling with tea leaves as they were giving occasional stirs to the blend.

"Mhm" You nodded with a smile.

He slid his hand out of the jar sharply, only to set the leaves into the infuser that was resting to the rim of the porcelain tea pot, giving them a little suppresssing push, to squish then just enough to stay tamed until he poured the water in.

"Off to my quarters." He said.

He handed you the porcelain cups, taking a hold of the kettle and the tea pot in turn. With a soft thud, he set the pace of the footing for you, though he signed with the turn of his head for you to go first. You walked ahead with no objection.

....

Levi sighed again, just after you set the cups on the wooden surface of his desk. Your eyes couldn't help but fall on him with coherence, eyeing him as he threw a few logs into the wilding flames of his fireplace. He pushed them further inside, careful not to cause ashes to spread all over the room, then he turned his gaze to you once again.

"The water should boil in a couple of minutes." He said, and plopped his palm flat onto his desk.

"What do you want to do until then?"

Your face formed in a small outline of a smile as you walked towards the ravenette, your eyes squinted softly the moment you laid them onto him. You wrapped your arms around his form from behind, slowly, racing them over his torso as in his body was something to explore before you clasped your palms together to secure your embrace.

"You're so cute when you're aggravated like that"

"Tch"

With the click of his tongue, Levi rolled his eyes at you, the inside of his cheek quickly sandwiched between his teeth. He looked to the side of your hand, his eyes traveling over the deemly lit outline of your clasped palms. His tongue darted, flat as it was, to rub on his pallette, feeling all the little bumpy lines of tissue as the bitter and unwanted taste of sadness engulfed his misbehaving taste buds.

It was too infuriating to even think about it.

"Oh come on."

In the most cutesy way, you rubbed your chin to the top of his head, then softly pulled him closer so that his back, or rather the top of his shoulders, came to slightly press against you. This earned another grit of Levi's teeth.

"Tch"

"Stop clicking your tongue Leviii" You pushed your lips together as your eyes squinted happily.

You rubbed your chin on him again, then your cheek, scrunching your nose slightly as the pleasant smell of his soap reached your nostrils. Your lips quickly found their way to the top of his hairline, where you placed numerous kisses, the muffled kissing sounds echoing around the room.

"Stop."

"No, you stop being grumpy, just tell me what's going on."

Levi clicked his tongue again and sighed. His chest rose and fell sharply, a strong huff of air escaped his nose as he gulped dryly.

It was now or never.

He didn't have anything to be afraid of, plus, conversing about his problems with his significant other was something everyone had suggested to him. And after thinking about for the whole evening, he felt like he could talk about it with you.

Although, what he wanted to say came way more aggressively than he had planned to. The click of his tongue and the roll of his eyes were groundbreaking proof of that.

"Doesn't this fuckshit bother you?"

"Huh?" You cocked your eyebrow "what fuckshit?"

"I bet you'd rather be in my place right now."

Levi wiggled his index finger underneath your palms, breaking the knot of your hands over his chest, while he span himself sternly around and right before you.

"Be in your place? How?"

"Wouldn't you rather be kissed at the top of your hair? And pushed on a chest?"

Grey eyes blinked in yours with long pauses, thin lips faced you as they were being pushed into a hurt filled pucker, arched eyebrows creasing at the soft spot over his narrow nose bridge. Had you not been thinking about how to even answer to him, you would be giggling at this soft, child like pout all over his face.

"Levi!"

"Don't Levi me just answe-"

You almost jumped on the spot as the kettle went off. The loud whistle filled the room proudly, seeking your utmost attention immediately. Levi's quick feet wasted no time to take him the few steps to the fireplace, his gaze angrily straining away off yours. He was aware he looked like a grumpy imbecile child and he utterly hated it; it wasn't like him to act so hurt over things he had never cared about otherwise.

"Levi do you think I'd rather be you because I'm taller? I thought you didn't really care about such superficial things?"

"I don't!"

Levi crouched down before the fireplace, his hand darting off to the metallic kettle. He hissed profoundly once he felt the intolerable heat lick over his hand.

With a snap he pulled it back, huffing a puff of air as he angrily shaked it vigorously for the heat of the fireplace to quickly spread away. He looked at you, lips pressed into a thin line, orbs blinking at you then the glove that was at the side of the fireplace.

"Then?"

With a soft smile and a chuckle, you passed the glove to him.

"I don't know!"

"Levi," You crouched down right next to him "did you hear those cadets the other day?"

"I did, you think they aren't right? Am I not too small for you?"

You couldn't help it; a teeny giggle escaped your chest. Your hands came to the floor, holding your weight on them as you pushed your weight down through your bum. With a loud thud, you say down the floor right next to Levi, your hand coming to the wider top of his back.

"I love you for who you are." You said and kissed the top of his shoulder.

"I know that."

Levi's heart skipped a beat at your words.

"And I love how I can push you into my chest and kiss the top of your head. And you hold me too, don't let some brats make you feel like you're less for me."

Your heavy breath was tainted by the soft whisper of your voice as you spoke quietly. Your eyes lingered onto levis palms as they worked to pour the hot water in to the teapot, then pushing and stirring the little blend of tea leaves onto the strainer. With a whoosh, you pressed your head to the top of his shoulder, rubbing your cheek slightly over the spot.

"I feel like such a runt." He clicked his tongue "Worrying about someone else's words."

"Oh come on, you have the right to feel that way too you know."

Levis hand came to cup the side of your face his thumb stroking the apple of your cheek slightly. His head came to rest on top of your head, the side of his head abrading with your own. A soft hum of satisfaction coming out of the depths of his chest. You caved into his touch, feeling your heart fall slowly to the depths of your chest, slipping between each and every cavity of your bones.

The soft warmth of the flames engulfed your relaxed forms, urging you to softly melt into each other, despite the slight awkwardness of your current position. Levi's eyes softened at processing your previous statements; your hand was rubbing soft circles on his back, your fingered lingered on every little scar of his despite the presence of his cotton button down shirt.

You loved him.

Who cared about any other insulting thing that had been said for his person.

You really loved him. And he loved you back.

As much as he'd liked to whine about feeling inadequate for a brief moment, his mind stayed fixated on the fact that you loved him for who he was. Whining about something as mundane as his height only felt unnecessary and bratty before the significance of those three small words.

"Come on, serve that tea so we can go lay on your bed and cuddle."

You couldn't see the way his lips curled up slightly at the warm tone of your voice.

"I need those cups first brat." He chuckled, still he didn't make any effort to move at all.

"But I don't want to move from your arms."

"Yeah," He sighed "I don't either."

Taglist: @sasageyowrites @ackermans-freedom-inc @puredivinity @levisbrat25 @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore @berrijam @ladyofpandemonium @lzrers

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot #snk #snk x reader #aot x reader #levi aot #levi attack on titan #snk imagine #snk season 4 #shingeki no kyojin x reader #attack on titan imagines

[alwaysbeliev]

I Can’t Lose You

Happy Valentine’s Day! This is for the @rdr-secret-cupid adventure this year. Thank you for the prompt, @bloodylove3 and I hope you enjoy!

summary: When Dutch asks you and Arthur to pretend you're married for a job, you're nervous that you won't be able to hide your feelings for the outlaw. You manage to keep it in line, but things go wrong fast.

relationship: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

word count: 3497

link on AO3

“Alright, here’s where we’ll start.”

It was mid-afternoon. The heat from the sun above was overwhelming, burning whatever it touched. Not even the shade was a relief with its cover. Animals all around were burrowed underground, hiding inside of trees, splashing around in the cool river nearby, and doing their best to stay out of direct light. You idly watched a small mouse scurry through the grass, digging at the dirt every now and then before disappearing into a hole. Quietly, you wished you were that mouse. 

For the hundredth time, Dutch was reviewing his next grand plan. There was a tipoff about a decent score, something that would help the gang move to a new camp, and it would be almost easy to pull off. Almost. But he was careful to plan, detailed to a fault, and now you had to sit through another lecture about making sure you were in the right place at the right time. He stood just inside the flap of his tent as he talked. The others were in a loose circle around him and Hosea.

You felt a drop of sweat slide down the back of your neck. What you wouldn’t give to go jump in the rushing water just a hundred feet away, even fully clothed. Imagining the relief alone made you sweat more. You could feel your skin throb, your cheeks turning red, your shirt sticking to your lower back…

“Hey!”

The sharp sound of Dutch’s voice cut through your daydream, snapping you back to reality. Others were snickering as you jerked your head over and tried to pretend you had been listening.

“As I was saying,” the man continued, “there has been a small change of plan.” 

Whoa, Dutch was changing his plan? But the score was just a week away now.

He carried on, “Arthur will be playing the part of your protective, but quiet, husband. You will need to cause a big enough distraction that we can enter without tipping anyone off. Can you handle that?”

“I thought Hosea was providing the distraction?” Your mind was turning, scrambling to remember if that was the original plan or if you were suffering from heat stroke.

“As I had said before, Hosea will be needed outside. It would seem awfully suspicious to outsiders if 5 men all seemed to suddenly rush inside together, don’t you think?”

You supposed he had a point. Outwardly, you agreed with him, but inwardly, your heart was pounding. Arthur? Husband? You barely made it through the rest of the session, managing to excuse yourself as soon as Dutch was done talking. Never before had you felt the palpitations on your chest that you did now at the thought of being with Arthur Morgan. Not just being with him, but pretending to be married. 

To say that you had a crush on Arthur was putting it lightly. From the moment you had met the outlaw, the sight of him caused your heart to race faster than his beautiful horse. You could barely speak around him, let alone carry on any conversation, and you were certain everyone in camp knew about it. Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly had approached you just last week to tease you about the way you fumbled over your words when Arthur asked a question. Now you had to pretend to be married?

The group dispersed as Dutch finished his grand lecture, chattering excitedly about the huge score. You felt light-headed and were rooted to the spot. Dutch was right, it should be easy, you had played the actor’s role many times before, but this… This wouldn’t be acting. And surely someone was going to notice that.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

A week passed quicker than any week you’d been through before. You and Arthur had prepared a scene, practicing to get it right, and you were feeling slightly more confident. The cowboy still gave you flutters in your heart, but rehearsed lines were much easier than improvised ones, and you were positive he hadn’t seen the longing in your eyes. It was easy.

But what wasn’t easy was how inseparable the two of you were becoming. Every morning, Arthur approached you near the campfire, offering a small treat, typically a piece of chocolate or a small fruit. The first time, your cheeks had flushed hotter than the summer sun. It hadn’t improved much. You would review your plan for the score, pause for a lunch time meal, and continue in the afternoon. Arthur often seemed to have other ideas, wanting a change of scenery, and you would find yourselves a few miles from camp on some rocky outlook or on a river’s shore, just shooting the breeze while the sun seared high above. Arthur even managed to convince you to leave your horse once, riding behind him with arms wrapped around his chest, content just to be near him. 

Finally, the day arrived. The gang all arose early, gathering their tools uneasily. Nerves always ran high the day of, regardless of how much planning had gone into the score, and your stomach churned. Karen had lent a hat, Mary-Beth a beautiful dress in your most favorite color, and you felt so fluffy and over the top. When Arthur saw you, his face seemed to go slack, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“My, my, Mrs. Morgan,” he drawled, taking a few lazy steps to close the gap to you. “Aren’t you lookin’ mighty fine this mornin’.”

Pouting and embarrassed, you waved him off, brushing a tight curl over your shoulder in a weak attempt to mask the color rising to your cheeks.

“Shut up.”

“Hey, now, I’m only tryin’ to lighten the mood.” He laughed before looking somewhat sheepish himself. “Besides, you really do.”

You paused, taking in his sincere compliment.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t have time to respond as Dutch stepped out of his tent, looking the picture of graceful leadership, commanding everyone’s attention. As you turned your body towards him, you saw Arthur’s gaze lingering on your figure, the dress complementing you perfectly. You focused on tugging on your white lace gloves, trying to turn your ears where it mattered.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

“Alright, Mr. Callahan, now, here we are!”

Your voice pitched up, you pointed out the grandest building in town: the bank. Arthur guided his horse to the hitching post before hopping down, turning to help you down, your big skirt catching slightly and flouncing as your feet landed. Grinning at him, you tugged at his arm excitedly.

“Come on, darling, we gotta go get us a loan! That house ain’t gonna buy itself, you know!”

It was clear you were amusing the man at your side. Your anxiety was causing a jump in your performance, pushing you a slightly uncomfortable bit above believable, but you were pretty and young and the men were watching you. That was all that mattered.

With a grand gesture, you shoved the door to the bank open, stepping into the marbled interior with your boots clicking. The teller glanced up from whatever paperwork he was looking at. For a brief second, he studied the two of you, his eyes lingering on you in particular, before a fixed smile appeared on his face. 

“How can I help you?” he drawled. As practiced, Arthur opened his mouth to speak but you butted in before he could.

“Why, hello, Mr…?” You swept forward, extending a hand for him to shake. He glanced at Arthur in disbelief before gingerly shaking your hand.

“Mr. Monaghan.”

“Oh, Mr. Monaghan, how lovely!” You grinned widely, shaking vigorously. “Yes, me and my new husband here are looking to buy a house! Isn’t that just grand? We just got married, you know, just last week! Oh, we had the most beautiful honeymoon, didn’t we, darling? Traveled to see the ocean, oh it was gorgeous! Simply gorgeous! Have you ever been, Mr. Monaghan?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t. Not the way you planned it.

“The birds were so lovely, there were so many of them! Oh, and the food! Simply divine! Have you had seafood before? Crab, lobster, shrimp, oh it was perfect!”

As you rambled, the doors swung in again, allowing entrance to John and Javier. You didn’t spare a look for them, your energy pointed at the teller, and as planned, he didn’t seem to notice them. Your shrill voice and wild theatrics had his whole attention. You carried on as the men got into position.

“They paired the shrimp with-- What was it, my love? This wine, it was a red, wasn’t it? Or was it a white? Mr. Callahan is just hopeless about these things, you know, I’m glad I’m here to help him. Oh we had the most wonderful time together! I thought it might rain one day, there were these horrible gray clouds, but he told me not to worry, even though I wanted to, and sure enough, the sun was out by dinner time!”

The doors creaked again, allowing the last two men in, Dutch and Bill. All 5 men exchanged a look and, in one swift motion, they pulled their bandanas over their faces and drew their weapons. It was satisfying to hear the clicks of a few hammers. Your grin turned wicked and the teller suddenly realized what had happened. 

“We’ll take that loan to go, if you don’t mind.” You couldn’t help yourself. Arthur quickly stepped forward, shielding you with his body so your face was hidden, and you hurriedly moved towards the back of the men, allowing them to do what they needed. It was relatively painless and quiet, the teller moving hastily and without hesitation, filling bags with money and even allowing them access to the room with the safes. You served as lookout, casually standing at the window to keep an eye peeled for the law. Only when you heard Dutch’s signature goodbye did you turn away from it. Arthur made eye contact with you and playfully raised his eyebrows as he strode towards the door and you, ready to make for the horizon.

Without warning, the doors flew open, banging against the wall from the force behind it. Several lawmen were standing, guns drawn, ready to take out the outlaws. Instantly, shots were being fired. You didn’t know who fired first, but you dove out of the way, gripping your hat tightly so it wouldn’t be left behind. For some reason, your only coherent thought was Karen would have my hide.

Men were shouting, the smell of gunpowder filled the air. Flat on the floor, you couldn’t see anything, only heard Dutch shouting orders, police filling the streets outside, the solid sound of bullets connecting with flesh. There was nowhere to take cover. Somebody stepped on your leg and you gasped from the pain. A hand gripped your ankle and dragged you towards a wall. Panicked, you tried to scramble away until you registered Arthur’s voice trying to reassure you. 

“You boys play nice!” a deep voice bellowed from the porch. “We don’t want no hangings, now, y’here?”

“We will play nice when you play nice, Sheriff!” Dutch barked back. 

“This is a fucking massacre!” John spoke to the room at large. The men that had entered before were all on the floor, blood pooling around them, their guns laying forgotten on the wood. More were shouted outside. They were organizing to block all exits from town. There was no way you were gonna make it out now, you started to fear, and you could see the shared looks of the men with you echoing the same sentiment.

A surprised cry arose from outside as another gunshot cracked through the air. 

“There’s Mac!”

With renewed energy, everyone jumped up and sprang for the door. Feeling marginally brave, you snatched a gun from the floor, hoping you wouldn’t have to use it. Bill led the way out. Javier, John, and Dutch quickly followed, and Arthur made up the rear with you in tow, sticking to him like glue. 

The sun outside was blinding. You barely caught a glimpse of the street before you were rushed down the steps and around the side of the building. Back pressed against the wall, the pounding in your head started blocking out your hearing, and you only felt the vibrations in the air and under your feet. Even with all of Dutch’s careful planning, you were still trapped in this mess…

Arthur shouted your name. He stood, almost pressed to you, eyes burning. You snapped to attention, gun at the ready.

“We gotta make a break for it! Be ready on my count!”

It was all you could do to nod. You saw his horse in your peripheral, antsy and pawing, but waiting. You tried desperately to calm your breathing and gathered your skirts up out of your way. At the mark, you all ran, each in slightly different directions to mount their horses, spurring before fully mounted. Arthur was first and you scrambled after him, latching onto his arm and using the momentum of his horse to swing your leg over, skirts be damned. With a sharp cry, he urged his horse forward and away from town.

For a brief moment, you were free. Pounding hooves sounded behind you but were fading fast. The shouts of men continued to rip through the air, but you realized that they, too, were slowly growing faint.  And then a stabbing pain exploded in your thigh. A scream escaped before you could stop yourself. Trained well, Arthur didn’t stop his horse, but he tried to see what had happened, calling back to you with increasing desperation. You had been shot. The panic, the shortness of breath, and now the pain was too much. In a surprisingly short matter of seconds, black filled your vision and you were gone.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The rustle of the trees. The soft sound of running water. Crackling of a campfire. Low voices outside your tent. Your hair brushing your face. Dull and throbbing pain in your leg. Heaviness in your chest. And, finally, the realization you were laying on a cot and not your usual bedroll. 

Slowly, your eyes blinked open. This definitely wasn’t your tent. These weren’t your blankets. Only the soft glow from the fire and a few lanterns shone on the one canvas wall. It was enough light to see that this was Arthur’s tent, the small table with his journal and flower, his photographs on the wagon side. His smell on the blankets. You breathed in deeply.

A snort by your feet caused you to startle. Sitting up slowly, you saw Arthur slumped in a chair, his hat drawn over his face, arms crossed as he breathed evenly, the occasional snore breaking the silence. An strong and sharp pain made you hiss and, in turn, woke the outlaw from his slumber. 

“You’re awake,” he mumbled, barely awake himself as he sat up. 

“Regrettably…”

“How’re you feelin’?”

“Honestly? Not great,” you said, chuckling a little. “But I’ve had worse. Why am I here?”

“Thought you might like a real bed. Well, realer than your bedroll. We can put you out for the wolves, if ya like.” His teasing tone was back, but it was more strained than normal. He looked absolutely exhausted. 

“No, this is fine. It’s… nice.”

Silence fell again. You stared at a thread on the sheet while Arthur stared at you. Usually there was a party the night after a big score, everyone drinking and being merry. There was a strange lack of boisterous laughter, though, and you had the weird feeling it was your doing. 

“How did we make out?”

“Oh, we escaped,” he said, leaning back in the chair again. “But we’re trapped here awhile, there’ll be law crawlin’ everywhere for a few weeks.”

“How much?”

Not even your fixation on the money got him to crack a smile.

“Dunno.” Shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve been in here, makin’ sure you don’t die.”

Arthur’s behavior was bizarre. You hadn’t seen him behave this way when another gang member was injured, not even when John had nearly been lost last year, and it was starting to worry you. Was there something else you didn’t know about? Was your injury more serious than he was letting on? For a moment, you studied his face, the ache and shadows clear in the weak light, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw the barest sign of a light track down his cheek.

“Arthur…” 

It was such a soft whisper, you weren’t sure he had heard you at first. He lifted his eyes to meet yours. You tried desperately to read him for a second before finally caving.

“Arthur, what happened? Did someone not make it?”

At long last, he managed a short huff of air that might be mistaken for laughter. Shaking his head, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he ran his hands across his face, removing his hat and setting it on his wardrobe. When he looked at you again, he actually had a small smile, and relief had replaced what you had mistaken for grief.

“No, no, nothin’ like that.”

“So what’s the matter?”

He tilted his chin up, exhaling long and low towards the sky, seemingly contemplating something. It was quiet for an achingly long time. Another deep sigh and he brought his chin back down, meeting your gaze steadily.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” he murmured. “I heard the shot, your scream… I thought you were gone for sure.”

Okay… you thought, still bewildered. We’ve almost lost people before. What makes me special?

“And I didn’t get the chance to tell you…” You had seen him struggle with words in the past, but this was different. It was almost as if his voice was physically fighting him on saying anything. “I couldn’t stand to lose you, truth be told. You mean-- That is, you’re very important-- That’s, well…”

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes as you realized what he was trying to say. You didn’t dare utter a word, hoping, begging him to just spit it out. You weren’t positive this was happening, as now you were almost certain you had actually died and this was the beginning of your personal heaven.

“I can’t lose you, darlin’.”

The tears spilled over and dripped down your cheeks. You couldn’t even feel the pain in your thigh as it felt like a major weight had been lifted off of you. Arthur was startled, concern growing once more on his face at your tears, but when you started to grin and laughter bubbled up, he relaxed and looked as embarrassed as a school boy, dropping his eyes and smiling himself.

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me to hear,” you finally said, shaking your head at the silliness of it all. “I can’t lose you, either, Arthur. You mean the world to me.”

Slowly, the cowboy rose from his seat and approached the edge of the cot. You gingerly shifted yourself over to allow him to sit beside you, and he took the opportunity. You soaked in the other’s presence for just a moment. With the softest gaze you had seen from him, Arthur returned his attention to you. He lifted a hand to cup your face, his rough thumb stroking your cheek as he drank in your features, looking truly content for the first time. Gracefully and ever the gentleman, he tilted your face up to meet his as he carefully kissed you. It was light at first. He was testing the waters, not pushing too fast. But when you met him eagerly, he leaned in, hard. 

You didn’t dare breathe for the duration of the kiss, your heart a frightening combination of pounding and not beating at all. The taste of whiskey lingered fresh on his lips and left your mouth tingling. When Arthur pulled away, you shifted forward slightly, not wanting it to end. But, courteous as always, he pressed a lingering kiss on your forehead and then sat back again. Your eyes flickered all over his face. You were still unsure if you could catch your breath.

“Wanted to do that for a long time,” he muttered. All you could do was nod. Wow…

“Can you stay with me?” you blurted out. “Tonight?”

“O’ course,” he agreed. He tugged his boots off as you scooted as far over as you could, lifting the sheet for him to crawl into. Warmth radiated from his skin and it was like stepping into a comfortable bath as he wrapped his arms around you. You sighed into his chest, drinking in his smell with your face buried in him, hands gripping his shirt. The dull sting in your leg was in the background of your mind. It didn’t matter to you, though; you were safe here. And this wasn’t going to end any time soon.

#arthur morgan #rdr secret cupid 2021 #arthur morgan reader insert #arthur morgan x reader #angel writes

[ikeromantic]

Following Orders

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction, approx. 2200 words. This scene occurs between Ch. 12 and 13 of the romantic route - featuring Kyubei! And Motonari! Spoilers Ahead!

P.S. I took some liberties with this chapter ^_^

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Siege

Kyubei rubbed a hand over the skin of his head. It felt cold in the pre-dawn breeze, unused to being exposed. Shaving a receding hair line was a necessary sacrifice to ensure he wasn’t recognized. Between that and the scraggly beginnings of a beard, his own mother would have trouble picking him out from the other guards.

For his patrol, he’d picked a spot near enough to the shogun’s chamber to overhear most of what went on within, but out of Ashikaga’s line of sight. Perfect to keep a low profile and gather intelligence. Mitsuhide already had the bulk of what Kyubei knew - all written in cipher and left in the cache in the orchard. Things were going as planned. Or . . . they had been.

This morning he could tell something was amiss. Instead of the usual morning routine of servants going in to prepare the shogun’s clothes and food, to bathe and dress Ashikaga, the hall was eerily still and silent. Yoshiaki sat alone in the audience hall, his eyes red from lack of sleep, his face set in hard, angry lines.

Kyubei expected more activity, especially after the discovery yesterday that the estate was surrounded by enemies, isolated from help. This stillness was troubling. It meant he’d missed something. He didn’t have long to wonder what.

A man hurried into the hall from one of the secret doors nearby. This one let out near the guardhouse, but the man wasn’t a guard. He was Yoshiaki’s messenger - a man Kyubei felt certain was ninja. His presence here had not been a pleasant discovery, and it seemed Kyubei’s fears were now realized.

The messenger carried a woman slung over his shoulder. Though her face was badly bruised, and hair hid her features, Kyubei recognized her. The chatelaine, and his lord’s fiancee.

It was difficult to resist his first urge to disembowel Yoshiaki’s man, take the girl, and run. His orders were to infiltrate and inform - if he acted now, he’d be no use to his lord. He had to be smart about this. Kyubei followed the messenger into the shogun’s chamber.

The chatelaine was tossed to the floor like a sack of rice. Her hands were tied tight at the wrist, anchored by rope to her feet. Kyubei could see where she’d begun to bleed. He wanted to tell her he was here, that she would be alright. But instead he knelt beside her, quickly checking her for weapons just as a guard would do.

Ashikaga’s eyes went wide as he took in his prize. He didn’t even seem to see the messenger or Kyubei. “Well done.” He stood and walked from the dais. He stopped at her feet, an unpleasant smile curling his lips. “Leave me.”

“Yes, excellency.” The messenger bowed low, and backed away.

Kyubei knew he would be expected to go to, but he couldn’t simply leave her here. Not like this. Not with the shogun ready to visit every humiliation on her, flesh and spirit. He backed away to the door, but stayed beside it, as if he would protect the shogun from intrusion.

The chatelaine glared up at him from one eye. The other was swelled shut, bruised the color of overripe plums. She struggled up to sit on her knees, never taking her eye from the shogun. Had she not been gagged, she would have spoken. Or spit at him.

Yoshiaki regarded her with disdain. “Keep your head down! How dare you raise your eyes to me without my permission.” His voice was a strained hiss.

“Mmf-ing mmll,” she growled back at him. She didn’t look down either. Somehow, Kyubei didn’t think that was an apology. He couldn’t help a small burst of pride at how she held her own, even now.

“What insolence!” Yoshiaki slapped her with his fan. Her cheek reddened from the blow, as much from humiliation as the slap. “Even animals have better manners.” He stared down at her and shook his head. “To think this pitiful creature is the result of lax rule under Nobunaga.”

The chatelaine tried to reach for Ashikaga - to do what, Kyubei could only imagine - but she couldn’t even come close.

Yoshiaki pushed her with one slippered foot and she fell back, smacking her head on the floor. “Peasants exist to serve their betters with good behavior. You are proof I am needed to lead this land back onto the right path.”

Kyubei held himself rigidly still. He dared not act unless absolutely necessary, but this was harder than he expected. All he could do was watch Ashikaga for now. But if he looked like he might kill the chatelaine, then he would die.

“As the traitor’s fiancee, I am certain you are aware he has this castle surrounded?” Yoshiaki paced slowly around the fallen girl, circling her.

“Ahh mmoe mme mlls uuh,” she said around the gag.

The shogun laughed, his pitch high and false. “You should hope that he cares for you enough not to get you killed, if you hope for anything.” He squatted down, staring intently at her face. “For each day he keeps me under siege, I will send him a piece of you. Should we start here?” He brushed a hand over her lips.

“Ah, excellency? Fingers or - or ears are traditional,” Kyubei stuttered. Not that he wanted her to lose those either. But he felt he had to intervene.

Ashikaga glanced up, his expression one of annoyance. “You must belong to the daimyo here. My men know when to keep silent.”

Kyubei bowed low and stepped back to his position. Every muscle in his body was taut and ready to spring into action at the first sign of violence from the shogun. He didn’t think his chances were good if he was forced to act now, but there was no way he was going to stand and watch Yoshiaki cut a piece from the chatelaine.

Whatever the shogun planned to do next, the chatelaine changed his mind. She brought her bound hands up to slam into his chest, rocking him back a step.

Yoshiaki straightened, his face crimson with rage. “You touched me! You . . .” He snarled incoherently, unable to speak an insult great enough for this affront.

Kyubei saw his opening. It was a risk, but worth it. He lunged forward and grabbed the chatelaine by the shoulders, slipping her onto her belly. He set a knee on her back, though he kept his weight off her. “Shall I kill her, excellency?”

“No.” Yoshiaki was literally shaking with rage. “I need her alive until that kitsune arrives.”

“Then let me humble her for you.” Kyubei leered down at the captive girl and licked his lips suggestively.

After a moment, Yoshiaki nodded. Though his face was still red, a slight smile returned to his lips. “Yes. Take her and let the men use her. You may do whatever you want, so long as she lives.”

Kyubei bowed. “It will be my pleasure.” Then he picked her up and put her over his shoulder.

The chatelaine kicked at him, cursing from under her gag. Beneath her show of anger, she trembled too. With fear.

It was a long way to the storage sheds, but Kyubei hurried there as fast as he could. It wasn’t that fast, not with a squirming chatelaine on his shoulder. He passed a few of the castle servants and one sleepy guard, but no one seemed to take note or care that he had a bound woman with him. When he got to one of the empty buildings, he pulled open the door and stepped inside.

The chatelaine had quieted down by now, but she was glaring at him like an angry snake. Kyubei set her gently against the back wall. He tore her kimono, baring one of her shoulders. The skin there was bruised too, he thought darkly. And he removed her gag.

“Mitsuhide will kill you too,” she said hoarsely. Her lips and tongue were swollen.

“I’m sure he will.” Kyubei gave her a drink of water, which she accepted reluctantly. Then he reached for her bound hands.

“Don’t touch me,” she yelped and tried to push him away.

Kyubei stepped back and frowned. He didn’t want to reveal himself to her - not when there was still danger for both of them. But he needed to get those bonds off her too. “Look - I’m just going to untie you. Nothing else. For now.” He gave an evil smile. “I’m on duty until noon. After that . . .”

The chatelaine spat at him. “I would die first.”

“And you might.” Kyubei grabbed her arms and held her still while he cut the binds from them and from her feet.

She rubbed her wrists, hurt and angry and clearly exhausted. Despite that, he was fairly sure she was planning to try to escape. Already figuring out how to get past him, and whether she thought she could run.

“You will stay here. Quietly,” Kyubei told her.

“Or what?”

“Or I . . . I follow my orders.” He narrowed his eyes and slowly looked her over. “I follow them right now. And when I finish with you, I have a lot of friends.” Kyubei felt disgusted with himself and how well he was playing this role. But he had to keep her quiet, even if it meant terrifying her.

The chatelaine pulled her knees up to her chest. Fear and anger played across her mouth as she tried to decide how to respond. “I’m not . . . not afraid of you. Or your friends. Mitsuhide will come and he will stop you and your disgusting lord.”

Kyubei smirked. “We’ll see.” Then he set down his water gourd and went out the door. He closed it and tied it shut. Then he carried some heavy crates to set in front of the door too. Just enough to dissuade anyone from trying to go in. “Girl, you should stay very quiet now. I am leaving. If someone else finds you before I come back, it will be worse for you.”

The chatelaine was silent.

***

Motonari sprawled against a tree trunk, listening with half an ear to the day’s reports from his scouts.

“I thought I heard a woman just before sunrise. Might o’ been a rabbit . . .” He was saying.

“Ya can’t tell the difference between a rabbit and a girl?”

The scout gave a half-hearted shrug. “Well . . . it sounded like a woman. But there ain’t women out here so it couldn’t be.”

With a look of disgust, Motonari motioned the scout away. It seemed someone managed to get through their barricade. Though he had no proof to speak of, the pirate knew without a doubt the little Oda princess was involved. But he needed more to go on than his gut. The abbot and the kitsune wouldn’t act on that alone.

He was about to go looking when Kennyo walked into camp. The abbot’s frown was deep, his jaw set in hard lines.

“Mitsuhide!” Kennyo called in his low, grumbling voice.

The kitsune stirred from his tent after a moment. Despite his wrinkled clothes and mussed hair, he managed to look elegant. “What has happened?”

The abbot tossed him a sandal.

Mitsuhide caught it, his expression turning from annoyance to unhappy surprise.

Motonari tilted his head, curiosity peaked. “What is that?”

“A woman’s sandal, with a broken strap.” Kennyo replied. “It was discovered near the castle late this morning. It was not there earlier.”

This was about the location Motonari’s man had heard the ‘rabbit.’ He tried hard not to grin. If anything would get this battle started, this was it. Finally.

“There’s no doubt,” Mitsuhide said softly, turning the small shoe over in his hands. “This is . . . it belongs to my little mouse.”

“Huh. So Ashikaga’s got somebody with enough skill to get past us, carrying a hostage even.” He couldn’t keep the admiration out of his voice. “Be real fun to kill that one.”

Kennyo ignored Motonari. “Will he negotiate for peace in exchange for her life?”

“Negotiate? The shogun?” Mouri laughed. The idea of that man asking for anything was hilarious. Ashikaga didn’t ask - he simply took. “More like he’ll use her as a human shield.”

“What is your plan, Mitsuhide?” The abbot waited to see what the kitsune warlord would say.

Motonari waited as well, if less patiently.

“I believe our enemy has just given us a reason to stop playing nice with him.” Mitsuhide’s golden eyes glowed with the heat of his anger. They fixed on Mouri. “It appears your boredom is at an end.”

“Finally!” Motonari didn’t wait for him to change his mind. He turned on his heel, giving his men the signal to arm up and get moving.

Kennyo looked surprised. “You would abandon strategy and attack now?”

“We cannot delay. Not even for dawn. I won’t keep my darling little one waiting for me.” His mouth turned up at the edges in a sharp smile.

“You don’t sound as desperate as I thought you would,” Kennyo replied. It was impossible to know what he thought about that.

Mitsuhide nodded once. “I have never been calmer. Now come. We must use whatever means necessary to rescue her - and to make the shogun regret his actions.”

The abbot turned to rally his men. There was nothing more that needed to be said.

Motonari didn’t worry too much about Mitsuhide’s state of mind, or the abbot’s judgement. He rushed into the orchard and toward the fortress, eager for the bloodshed to begin. This was going to be fun.

Next: Base Villains

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #ikesen motonari #kyubei #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Chapter 13

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“Explain again why you’re doing this to yourself, Mulder?” Byers asks with a pained look of concern.

He’s sifting through his closet, deciding what would be appropriately friendly for his outing with Scully. What kind of outfit says “I have no intention of trying to seduce you,” but also doesn’t leave him looking unworthy of seduction?

“I wish I knew, Byers,” he says as he pulls out his Greys jersey. Sports attire is very casual, but Val had once told him that he was devastatingly sexy in this jersey, so he tugs it off the hanger and puts it on over his white T-shirt. “I guess the idea of never seeing her again is even worse than being around her and knowing we’ll never be more than friends.”

Byers shakes his head slowly. “You’re a glutton for punishment, Mulder. Are you sure you aren’t secretly holding out hope that you can steal her away?”

Mulder buttons up the jersey and considers the question, his mouth quirked to the side. “I mean, I’m not actively trying to do anything, she’s way too smart for that and she’d see right through it. But the hope is there, sure.”

Byers nods sadly. “Well, good luck. Here are the keys, by the way.” He pulls a small key ring from his pocket and hands it to Mulder, who deposits it into his jeans pocket.

“Thanks, Byers, I appreciate the favor. I owe you one,” he says, clapping the man on the back.

After Byers is gone he brushes his teeth, considers and then decides against pounding a beer to calm his nerves, then says goodbye to Priscilla and heads to the Hoover building.

Scully is early, leaning against the passenger side door of her car when he pulls into the lot. He lets out a pained moan when he sees her, clad in flared jeans and a peasant-style flowered top that is cinched under her breasts. While he knows that realistically no human is perfect, Scully is about as close as it gets. He tries not to imagine what she’s got on under there, lest he embarrass himself.

He pulls up beside her and she opens the door, smiling at him shyly as she lowers herself into the passenger seat.

“Hi,” she says, and just the greeting makes his heart ache.

“Hey,” he returns with what he hopes is a casual, friendly smile. Do not leer at her. Do not gaze. He’s been giving himself frequent reminders.

“So, what do you have planned?” she asks as she pulls the seatbelt across her lap.

Mulder smirks in reply, backing out of the lot. “All in good time,” he says, and she gives him an appraising look.

“I’m not even sure why I’m instilling so much trust in you here, Mulder. Don’t push it,” she says with a playful tone, though it’s clear there’s some truth to the statement.

“Okay, okay, I’ll give you the preliminary details,” He acquiesces. “First we’re going to The Queen Vic, which has the best fish and chips in DC, in my humble opinion. Have you been there?”

She shakes her head.

“Perfect. Then we’ll head down to the wharf and get some ice cream.” He suddenly wonders if he’s made incorrect assumptions about what she likes, and casts her a concerned glance at a stoplight. “Do you like ice cream?”

She looks at him like he has three heads. “Who doesn’t like ice cream?”

He feels a little wave of relief. “I’m sure there’s someone out there who doesn’t like ice cream,” he replies, “but frankly, whoever they are, I have no interest in knowing them.”

She chuckles and there it is again, that ache in his chest. He wonders if it will fade over time.

The Queen Vic isn’t very busy just yet, given that they’re having an early dinner. They are seated at a small, dimly lit booth and each order a beer, fish and chips. Scully opts for an IPA and he feels a retroactive flush of embarrassment at the beer he served her, now knowing what her tastes are. She’s looking around, taking in the ambiance and British paraphernalia papering the walls, and he is looking at her. The cut of her top reveals the soft swell of her breasts, pale and inviting. Even her neck is beautiful, smooth and long and god, he wants to kiss it. Has he ever been taken with someone’s jawline before? Well he has now. Devastatingly beautiful, she is. Ache. Ache. Ache.

She’s looking at him now, and he smiles guiltily, having been caught. Fuck. He promised himself he wouldn’t do that. She bites her lip and fiddles with the salt shaker as though she’s not entirely sure what function it serves. What would a friend do? What would a friend ask? He needs to act like a friend, if he wants to be one.

“So, how’s wedding planning going?” he asks, the words feeling sour in his mouth.

She gives him a quizzical expression. “It’s okay. Fine, I guess.”

He nods. “And how’s Ethan?”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Um...fine. He’s fine. Mulder...why are you asking me about that? About the wedding, and Ethan?”

He dips his chin a bit, giving the pepper shaker a similar assessment. “I guess I just figured if we’re friends, a friend would ask about things like that?” He chances a glance at her and her expression is sympathetic, perhaps even pitying.

“You don’t need to do that, Mulder. We don’t have to talk about my relationship to be friends.” She’s running her finger over the condensation on the side of her glass, and he finds it disturbingly arousing.

“Fair enough, how’s work? Is that a better topic?” He is rewarded with a smile. My god that smile. She could melt permafrost with that smile.

“Work is great, no complaints,” she says coolly, an apparently genuine answer.

They drink, and eat, and talk. They talk about why she loves teaching, and how she got into pathology. He shares a bit about his methods for starting and then adjusting a criminal profile. They talk about med school, and his time at Oxford. He tells her about Phoebe and she admits a proclivity towards dating older men, with the exception of Ethan. It is so easy between them, and so right. He wants to scoop her up and steal her away in his car. Take her to a faraway place where there is no Ethan, where they can see this thing through. He notices how she often tries to hide her smiles, and the major role her eyebrows play in her facial expressions. She has a little mole above her lip that she’s attempted to cover with makeup, and her fingernails are perfectly manicured, like she has them professionally done. He wonders if she has tattoos, or piercings. If her bellybutton is an innie or an outie. If she prefers breakfast or dinner. If she likes morning sex. If she trims her pubic hair or takes it all off. He wants to know her, every bit. But he can’t. He never will. It hurts to think about it.

He drives them down to the wharf and they get ice cream cones from a stand near the water; she picks cookies and cream and he opts for rocky road. The evening is warm but not uncomfortable, the sun holding steady as it makes its descent towards the horizon. These are the dog days of summer, the daylight stretching well into the evening. No cover of darkness for a lover’s confession, not that he has any business making one. Friends meeting in daylight, above board. Never anything more.

They walk along the boardwalk, continuing their conversation between sweet licks, and he avoids watching her, but not entirely successfully. He must have been putting too much effort towards not staring and too little towards rotating his cone, because suddenly his ice cream flops over the side of its perch and lands on the ground with an audible smack.

He stops walking and stares at the now empty cone in his hand for a beat, and then he hears her giggling. When he looks over to her, she has her hand firmly planted over her mouth while she struggles to contain her laughter, the titters shaking her shoulders gently. The resulting swell of affection is overwhelming.

“You think that’s funny, huh?” he says dryly, and she works even harder to stop laughing, her face contorting into a grimace as tears pool in her eyes, shaking her head as though she could possibly deny her amusement.

He chucks his cone into a nearby trash can, then approaches her.

“Looks like you’ll have to share yours with me,” he says, moving his hand as though to take her ice cream, and she pulls it away with an open-mouthed expression of shock.

“Get out of here, it’s not my fault you licked yours right off the cone,” she says, wiping at her eyes with her free hand.

“Come on, Scully, friends share, don’t they?” he teases, maneuvering around to where she’s moved her arm, swiping at it playfully.

“Mulder, knock it off,” she replies, still smiling, and they are now moving in circles, him towards her ice cream while she artfully moves it out of his grasp.

Suddenly he swoops behind her, his long arms circling her waist and pulling her flush against him, pinning her stationary while he wraps his hand around her wrist and brings her ice cream cone to his own mouth. She shrieks in protest as he steals a big bite, and once he’s accomplished his goal, he becomes aware of their proximity. The feel of her pressed against him, the taper of her waist under his forearm, the smell of her shampoo in his nose. He grips her tighter, ever so briefly, but then releases her suddenly. He has no right. He crossed a line. She steps forward slowly, turning to look at him with pink cheeks.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, his arms dropping to his sides, woefully empty. Missing her already.

She shakes her head gently. “It’s okay,” she says, and they continue walking.

As they approach his car, the sun is just beginning to kiss the horizon. It’s nearly 8:30.

“This was really fun, Mulder, thank you,” she says with a shy smile, and he grins at the affirmation.

“There is one more thing I had planned, Scully, unless you have to get home right away,” he says cautiously, and she regards him with surprise, but not unpleasantly so.

“I don’t know, let me call my mother and see if I can stay out past curfew,” she jokes, but then adds “I suppose I’m curious to see what else you’ve got up your sleeve.”

“Great, let’s go,” he replies as he opens the car door for her.

———

She watches streetlights racing past as Mulder drives them to their final destination and feels a swell of guilt for how wonderful this night has been, then tries to talk herself out of it. She’s done nothing wrong, nothing inappropriate. She’s allowed to have dinner and ice cream with a man who is not her fiancé; he doesn’t own her. Given, the moment with the ice cream cone was a bit more flirtatious than might be ideal, but they were caught up in the moment. She tries not to remember the feel of his compact body pushed against her back, the strength of his arm around her waist. Tries not to imagine how it would feel to have him hold her like that without their clothes on. She closes her eyes and swallows.

They pull up in front of a darkened sports complex and she turns to look at him, questions communicated through her eyes.

“You don’t have something more worthwhile to do right now than slap a horsehide with a stick do ya, Scully?” he says with a smirk.

Her eyebrows lift. “Perhaps not, Mulder, but it looks like they’re closed.”

“A mere technicality,” he replies as he parks right in front of the main entrance, not even in a parking spot.

They approach the doors and he produces a set of keys from his pocket, holding the door open for her before he locks it behind them. There are security lights faintly illuminating the shuttered games and concessions, and she startles a little when she feels him slip his hand into hers, pulling her towards a hallway. His hand is broad and slightly callused, and she unconsciously threads her fingers through his. He glances at her, a slight cast of surprise in his features, but doesn’t say anything.

When they reach a large room, he flips on the lights and she sees rows of batting cages, five or six lined up on either side of a walkway down the middle.

“Are we supposed to be in here?” she asks him suspiciously, and he shrugs.

“The cops aren’t going to roll up or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says as he gathers a bucket of balls and two bats. “Even if they did, a couple FBI badges should send them off right quick.” He winks at her and she feels a flutter in her belly.

He motions for her to follow him to one of the cages, and she waits nervously while he loads the pitching machine and turns it on. When he turns around, he sees her trepidation and smiles warmly at her.

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he says reassuringly, and she forces her mouth into a tight smile.

He directs her to stand just outside the cage and demonstrates for her how the pitching machine works, talking her through his stance and movements for seven or eight pitches. He hits every single one, sending the ball crashing into the back wall with a padded smack, and she has the unsettling feeling that she’s about to embarrass herself.

“Alright, batter up!” he says, handing her the bat and sending her in.

She gives him a doubtful look.

“It’s easy, you’ll get the hang of it,” he encourages her, then shows her where to stand before he steps out and starts the pitching machine.

When the first pitch sails by, she winces and lets out a little squeak, but doesn’t swing. She can hear Mulder chuckle a little, but waits for the next one. When it comes, she swings way too early, and it flies past her head and bounces off the back wall. Three or four complete misses later, she looks at him woefully.

“I’m terrible at this, Mulder,” she whines.

He shakes his head and smiles at her.

“You just need some minor adjustments,” he offers, then comes inside the cage. He steps up close behind her and she startles a little at the contact.

“Sorry, is this okay? It’s the best way to show you,” he offers, and she nods, the back of her head brushing against his shoulder with the movement. He’s just showing her how to hit a stupid baseball. It’s the least romantic thing on earth, as far as she’s concerned.

He steps close again, wrapping his arms around hers as the length of his torso presses firmly against hers from her shoulder blades right down to her ass. She can feel his breath hot on her ear as he speaks.

“Now don’t strangle the bat, Scully, just shake hands with it,” he says as their palms brush over one another, vying for real estate. “We want to go hips before hands,” he continues, “stride forward, and then turn.” He motions with a hand in front of her towards the pitching machine, and she nods in confirmation. “It’s hips,” he places an open palm against her hip bone and physically turns her torso. She feels a rush between her thighs. “Before hands,” he replaces his hand on the bat and guides them through a mock swing.

“Okay,” she says, taking a steadying breath.

“Again, that’s hips,” there his palm is again, hot and firm and pressing into her flesh as he tilts her pelvis forcibly, “before hands. What is it?”

“Um, hips before hands,” she says breathily, resisting an overwhelming urge to press her ass back harder into his lap, to slip that hand beneath the waistband of her jeans so she can feel it on her bare skin. She has a vision of her riding him on the floor as the pitching machine flings balls aimlessly against the back wall, no one caring enough to hit them. She shivers.

“We’re gonna wait on the pitch, keep our eye on the ball, and then we’re just gonna make contact. We’re not gonna think, we’re just gonna let it fly, Scully, okay?”

“Okay,” she says shakily, her heart thrumming in her chest.

They take several swings, the bat making contact with the ball with a sharp crack. Mulder is murmuring in her ear about letting your mind go blank and forgetting about all your worries, but she’s too distracted by the heat of his body and the smell of his aftershave to hear him. If not for the risk of getting pelted by a ball, she just might turn in his arms, push him up against the wire-fence walls of this batting cage, and show him how she prefers to handle bats and balls.

The grip of his hands over hers on the bat pinches the skin around her engagement ring and she jerks. Mulder steps away from her a bit.

“You okay?” he asks, and she nods.

“Um, maybe I should try by myself now. Thanks for showing me,” she says without looking at him, and he steps back into the walkway to watch her. She hits the next three balls, then turns to smile at him victoriously. The pain and longing in his expression makes her heart sink.

After shutting the place down, they drive back to the Hoover building in relative silence, tension hanging thick between them like a curtain. He puts the car in park and gets out, walking her to the door of her own car, which strikes her as unnecessary. She stands by the open door, sensing that there’s something he wants to say.

“Scully….” he stops and shakes his head gently, talking himself out of it.

“What?” she asks, desperately wanting to know what he was going to say.

He clenches his jaw, fighting an inner battle.

“Scully, I know I shouldn’t say this to you. I know that you’re...with someone. I just-” he purses his lips, then closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, his eyes are so full of emotion it makes her breath catch in her chest. “I think about you all the time. Every second of every day.”

“Oh,” she responds lamely. There’s that urge again, the one she has to resist. “You seem like the kind of guy that believes in reincarnation, Mulder,” she says softly.

He gives her a quizzical look. “I don’t NOT believe in it,” he offers.

She smiles sadly at him, reaching out to grasp his hand and give it a brief squeeze. “Maybe in another life,” she says, then climbs into her car and shuts the door.

As she drives home, tears run down her cheeks freely. If she had to identify a reason for them, grief would be the closest one.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #x files fanfic #alternate universe

[warinthetangledstars]

Howzer x fem reader

Also on A03 under the same username.

If you like this... I may be willing to take requests if you send something that clicks with me. I do plan on doing some Imagines with other clones. *cough*rex*cough. And even some General Grievous.

Stay Part 1

This imagine will probably be 2 or 3 parts. Eventually smut.

Setup for imagine: You are Cham Syndulla's sister, so close your eyes and imagine your beautiful self as a Twi'lek lady.

The Clone Wars recently ended and your family is gathered for dinner. This takes place before the events in TBB, so the Empire's plans for Ryloth are not yet known.

____________________________________________

"This is nice, eating dinner without talking about battle strategies," your comment was the first thing to break the silence since everyone had started eating.

With full mouths, the others at the table either hummed in agreement or nodded their heads silently; until Cham, sitting at one end of the table, finally swallowed down his food, "Most importantly, we can finally work towards healing - Ryloth and ourselves. This war has taken so much from us; we must come together as a family, appreciate what we still have, and move forward."

To emphasize his point, he stretched out his arms and took a hand of both his wife and daughter, who were sitting to either side of him, giving them both an appreciative glance. Your niece sitting next to you, bowed her head slightly, the implications of his words hitting a still-sensitive part of her. Without hesitation, you placed a hand on the back of her shoulder, a silent offering of support.

You didn't have to be force-sensitive like the Jedi to feel the sadness hidden behind the words that were, on the surface, positive and inspiring. Your eyes travelled from Hera, to your brother, and to your sister-in-law as you admired and appreciated their strength. If it hadn't been for them, you would have lost faith and hope a long time ago.

Finally, your eyes landed on Captain Howzer, who sat directly across from you. Your eyes met for a fleeting moment before he bowed his head sharply, seeming to take a sudden, intense interest in the food on his plate, poking at it with the utensil in his hand. Due to spending so much time with him during the war, you knew that, by bowing his head, he was trying not to impose on the intimate family moment.  It seemed no matter how much time he spent with you and your family, no matter how much happiness you shared or pain you suffered through together, he still felt unworthy of witnessing such tender familial moments because, well, he wasn't part of the family - he was an outsider.

Technically, it was true, he was not part of your family; he wasn't even Twi'lek, after all. He was a human, a clone of a human - some thought it necessary to make that distinction, though you couldn't see why. And, yes, he had started off as an outsider, a representative of the Republic Army and the undesirable, but necessary, military occupation that made its way to Ryloth due to the war; however, that was no longer the case. Captain Howzer had been loyal to your family and played a vital role in maintaining Ryloth's liberation from the Separatists. Most of all, he had gained the upmost respect from your brother.

So, whether he felt worthy or not, there was an unspoken acknowledgement in the family that Howzer was a part of it now, welcomed with open arms. And you, feeling the way you did towards him, always felt the urge to actively include him when appropriate.

With your eyes still on Howzer, you added to your brother's statement, "Don't forget about what we have gained."

Your brother gave you a skeptical glance, no doubt wondering how anything could be gained from a devastating war.

"You are right," Eleni spoke up as she looked over at Howzer, understanding the reference of your words as if she had been thinking it herself, "Ryloth has received many blessings from unexpected places. Your friendship, Howzer, is one of them."

Cham's skepticism faded into understanding, "Agreed."

Howzer, no longer hiding his face, looked at Cham and Eleni and offered them a wide grin as he spoke generic words of thanks. He did appreciate the kind words, but honestly, they only made him feel more...conflicted.

Howzer was literally created to serve the Republic and he only came to Ryloth because of his given order: Aid Ryloth in their continued liberation from the Separatists; he did not come here for friends or family. And he took it very seriously in the beginning.  But as the war dragged on and he experienced wins and losses with your family, the more he came to care for your family in a way he had never cared for anyone before, outside of his brothers of course.

So, regardless of what brought him to Ryloth, he now found himself here, eating dinner with the Syndulla family with no meaningful purpose other than to spend time in their company.  Yes, he had certainly gotten too close and now, for the first time in his life, he felt anguish for the position he was in.  Tomorrow, he would leave Ryloth.  The war was over, so the military occupation was no longer needed. Which, of course he agreed, was a good thing for the people of Ryloth, but he also found himself yearning to stay.  To stay here with you.

He had fallen for you, hard, and it was absolutely the last thing he needed. From the very first time he saw you, he was stunned by your beauty, unabated, even through the visor of his helmet. And then, from all of the time spent together in close quarters, his appreciation of your beauty flourished into something much more.  Proposing plans of attack that turned into friendly games of competition to see who could destroy the most droids.  Debating best lines of defense that turned into intimate conversations to help each other work through the painful losses.  Harmless jokes that turned into flirtatious banter.  He was oblivious to the subtle changes over time and realized it only when it was too late.

He should have never allowed himself to become so completely enamored with you. You were a beautiful Twi'lek woman, from an important family, meant to bring Ryloth back to its former glory, marry someone worthy of you, and have a family just as Cham did. 

He knew he wasn't worthy of you.  He was a clone trooper. He held the title of captain, sure, but still a clone; he would never be anything more than that. And he was leaving, off to wherever the Empire ordered him to go, to carry out whatever task the Empire ordered him to complete.

So, no matter how he felt towards you, there was so much that attested to the fact that you and him were never meant to be. He had to keep trying to break free of the feelings for you that he recklessly allowed to flourish, unchecked. He had to let you go.

Still, his actions betrayed his reasoning, as his dark, honey-gold eyes moved from Cham and Eleni, to meet yours. 

A smile broke across your serious face at the sight of Howzer's returned gaze until you noticed the smile that lifted his cheeks falter slightly, your own smile retreating in response.  You'd seen this happen before, all of those times when Howzer tried to give some semblance of happiness while his true feelings were anything but.  You titled your head slightly, with one eyebrow raised in question, as you studied him.  He was hiding something.

Howzer's eyes widened slightly, realizing you weren't fooled by his counterfeit smile.  What had given him away?  Had he slipped somehow?

His minute reaction confirmed your intuition, causing you to furrow your brows and mouth the words, 'What's wrong?'

Howzer didn't have a chance to offer any type of silent response before Cham spoke again, "In regards to moving forward, Sister, you can finally think about starting a family of your own."

You slowly turned to Cham, hesitantly breaking your gaze with Howzer, but noticed in your peripherals that his eyes did not leave you, "This is true."

"Do you have anyone in mind?" Cham questioned as he stabbed some food onto his utensil.

Do you have anyone in mind? You could imagine your brother was expecting you to name one of the Twi'lek warriors that played a vital role during the war. Of course, before the war, you would have agreed with that notion, as you did spend a lot of time in your childhood whiling away the hours by daydreaming about a strong, Twi'lek warrior coming into your life and the resulting family that would come from that fateful meeting; a family that reflected very much the family your brother had been blessed with.

But that was before you met a tan-skinned soldier from Kamino.

When he first arrived on Ryloth, he was just one of thousands, concealed behind a set of form-fitting plastoid plates and black body glove, made unique only by the teal markings on his armor and teal pauldron that adorned his right shoulder. Meeting him did nothing to alleviate any of your apprehension of working with a clone army. The combination of his visor acting as a solid, black mirror and his voice filtering through the helmet, giving it almost a mechanical sound, made it impossible for you to really connect with man under the armor. It was almost like speaking to a soulless droid.

It wasn't until you took a more active role in the war, when you finally met the man beneath the armor.  After a particularly intense battle, that lasted far too long, both of you sat on the ground with your backs leaned against a boulder you had taken position behind during the fight, breathing heavily.  You weren't looking at him when you heard the movement of his helmet followed by an unfiltered sigh of relief.  Curiously and cautiously, you turned to look at him and you felt your eyes widen in surprise.  All of your speculating of what hid under the helmet did not compare to the strong, angled profile of the man that sat beside you. And you were so overwhelmed by it that you had to turn away from him.

After that battle was the first time the two of you really talked to each other and made some sort of connection beyond "Twi'lek" and "Clone Trooper".  He was actually a person to you from that point on and it didn't take long for that connection to cultivate into a friendship and then blossom into something more.  Or, at least on your end, you supposed. You weren't exactly sure how he felt about you, because the signals he gave you were a bit conflicting - always sliding on a spectrum of 'cautious flirting' and 'cordial indifference', but you knew your feelings for him had, at some point, crossed into a whole new, serious threshold.

You; however, had never revealed your feelings for Howzer to anyone and was not privy to the idea of doing so in the moment. Still, you couldn't help but flick your eyes towards Howzer for just a second as you planned your response.

If Howzer hadn't been looking at you so intently, holding onto his breath as he waited for your answer, he would have missed that split-second glance you gave him.  A glance that made his stomach twist on itself as his feelings of conflict washed over him again.  You had looked at him as you considered Cham's question.  Once again there was a small act of confirmation that you felt something for him, that you reciprocated the feelings he had for you, but only to be forced to remind himself that your feelings for him, no matter what they were, didn't change the fact that pursuing a life with you was just not a possibility.

You didn't see Howzer struggle to keep his straight posture as discontent weighed down on his shoulders.

"I may need more time to think on it."

Your brother nodded at your answer, giving himself time to chew through his food, "Understandable, but if you want any advice I may know of some good candidates."

Candidates? The word made you roll your eyes, "I love you, Brother, but I will not be taking advice from you on this subject."

He huffed a laugh and raised his utensil in quick surrender, "Okay, okay, but maybe Eleni can help you."

No longer interested in carrying out this conversation in front of Howzer, you waved your hand gently in front of you, "I don't need help. I will handle it," you pointedly looked at your sister-in-law to add, "No offense."

Eleni let out a soft, reassuring laugh, "No offense taken. I have every faith you will find someone perfect for you."

You looked away awkwardly; it took everything for you not to look at the man that sat beside her.

Hardly skipping a beat, Eleni turned to Howzer, "What about you?"

Though you did not look to see, you could tell, by his voice and the movement in his chair, that he turned the top half of his body towards her, "I'm sorry, ma'am, what about me?"

"Have you thought about starting a family?"

"Oh, I do-- I've nev--," the way he stuttered made it sound like his brain was going to short circuit before he could decide on a satisfying answer, "the Repub - I mean - the Empire will keep me on as Captain."

Everyone waited, you unable to resist peeking at Howzer, for him to say something else, but his silence confirmed that he felt the question had been adequately answered.

"But now that the war is over, things will be so much more calm and you would surely have the time to focus on a family, even if you do stay on as Captain," Eleni reasoned.

He shifted in his seat, "I guess so.  I've never really thought about it," though his answer seemed frail, like it wasn't entirely true.

"Well, I'm sure you'd have no problem finding someone if you wanted to.  Cham told me how popular you were with the ladies here on Ryloth."

Cham shot a glance at Eleni, not angry, but not happy, "Eleni..."

A beeping interrupted Cham, a beeping that came from Howzer's wristlink.  You couldn't help but smile inwardly at the audible sigh of relief that escaped his lips as he stood up, "Excuse me," his voice serious.

As he walked away, you noticed that your body had tensed from the sound of his voice and, looking around, saw that you weren't the only one to do so.  The war was over, but hearing Captain Howzer's serious military voice brought you all back to the battle field. 

He was hardly gone for a minute before he returned to the table, choosing to stand next to his seat instead of sitting back down.

"Is everything fine?" Cham asked calmly, but seriously, as he stared up at Howzer.

Howzer gave a single nod, "Yes, sir.  All is well, but I must check in with the evening patrol," he bent down to pick up his helmet from the floor and placed it snuggly under his left arm.

Everyone, including you, relaxed, but you couldn't help but be surprised by his answer, Why were they still doing patrols?

As he stood back at his full height, his eyes scanned everyone at at table, "Thank you for inviting me to dinner," his eyes landed on Eleni, "the food was delicious."

You quickly tossed aside your concern about the mysterious patrols, "Hey now," your firm voice drew Howzer back to you, "why are you telling her that?  I'm the one that cooked dinner."

His head shook slightly, dismissing you entirely as he said your name in a playful manner, "I know you didn't cook it."

You cocked your head back, "Is that so?" Your voice was slightly challenging, "And what exactly makes you say that?"

Howzer had started to turn to walk away from the table, but stopped when you posed your question, "Well, it's just that," his right hand moved up to rub at the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding you as he carefully considered a response he really wasn't prepared to give.

Suddenly, Hera spoke up, taking the bait, "Because the food is edible.  You're a terrible cook."

You released a sharp gasp, feigning offense at her words, but still looking at Howzer as he slightly lifted his right hand up into the air in surrender, "Whoa, that's not what I was going to say," he said, only to wink at Hera, causing her to giggle.

Cham and Eleni both failed to stifle their small laughs at what had been said.  You rolled your eyes, letting them have the moment to laugh at your expense.  There was no way for you to argue Hera's point; you were horrible at cooking.

It wasn't until Howzer once again announced his departure and exited the room, did your concerns about him and the patrols come back to the forefront of your mind.  So, after just enough time to decide on your next course of action, you quickly excused yourself from the table and made you way after him. 

#star wars howzer #howzer x reader #relationship #eventual smut #captain howzer #clone wars #clone captain howzer #clone simp #tbb howzer #star wars clone wars

[maxwell-grant]

AIUI, Burbank is even more a question mark than The Shadow is; we don't know if that's a personal name, surname, or nickname, we no nothing of his past, his personal life, or even (again, AIUI) his personality. Is that something that should be kept in adaptations, or ought he be developed more?

Both.

The thing about developing a mystery is that you still need to have something in place to purposefully obscure or slowly reveal. You still need to give your audience tidbits and information here and there that makes them want to learn more and find out what the answer is, even if they know it's never really happening, even if the answer couldn't possibly live up to the hype.

Twin Peaks was able to delay the mystery of Laura Palmer's murder for an entire season and more partially because Laura Palmer had such an rich, troubled inner life and turmoil, that we could gradually receive snippets of information regarding it every episode and still not know the whole story, so much so that, even after we learned who did it, there were still many, many stories to be told within Laura Palmer's life and the city. This holds true for The Shadow, and it holds true for Burbank.

Gibson successfully created intrigue regarding Burbank because, not only was Burbank a crucially important figure in The Shadow's organization and therefore someone we'd want to know more about, but because everytime Burbank showed up to play a substantial role, you could gleam something new about him. Burbank is a great example of staging in The Shadow pulps because his scenes are often written as if we were watching a movie where the head of our main character keeps being blocked from view, until it's revealed, and it doesn't really help us understand him much better than before, even though we've come to learn more about what he acts and looks like.

In fact, The Shadow even seems to be aware of this, such as in the scene below when the narration goes to great lenghts to obscure Burbank's face, even in a scene when there is literally no one around but Burbank and The Shadow. Why go through this much trouble to obscure Burbank from no one but the reader? Why not just refrain from describing what he looks like instead of making sure we can't even imagine what he looks like in our heads in the scene? What's the mystery over what's ostensibly just an average quiet-faced man? And so Burbank doesn't become just a mystery, but a tantalizing one.

The fellow's back was toward the light; since the elevator was dark, it was impossible to distinguish his features. When he helped The Shadow carry the boxes to an open apartment, the bulky objects came in front of the man's face. Since the apartment was dark, too, the features of this silent companion remained as concealed as The Shadow's own.

The fact pleased The Shadow. The less people who saw Burbank, the better - Voice of Death

For example, we do know where Burbank's name comes from, and potentially his first name. In both “The Shadow Laughs” and “The Case Of Congressman Coyd,” Burbank is referred to as “Mr. Burbank,” which indicates it's a last name. In The Death Giver, Burbank hands Harry a business card

At three fifteen, the stenographer entered and tendered Harry a card. It bore the name:

L. BURBANK MOTION PICTURE OPERATOR

A later story specifically namedrops famous horticulturist Luther Burbank, and according to Will Murray, Walter Gibson did confirm to him personally that Burbank was named after Luther Burbank.

We know Burbank's main feature is that he's "quiet-faced" with a "soft, even-toned voice", and that characters can recognize Burbank by his voice even when his face is obscured, but his look isn't consistent. His sole appearence in a cover comes from The Lone Tiger, where he seems to be past his fifties and being semi-bald, but it's not how he looks in Edd Cartier's illustration where he's got a hairdo. Both seem to be somewhat based on Dr David Burbank, the New Hampshire dentist who founded the city. He's been said to be at least 40 once, and this in itself is at odds with some descriptions that place Burbank as younger than The Shadow and describe him as "a young man with a solemn look", which is more in line with how he tends to be depicted in comics, particularly the blonde man with the eyepiece designed by Michael Kaluta.

We know he was officially introduced after Harry Vincent and Claude Fellows, but that apparently he's known The Shadow for quite a while, as he (as Cranston) refers to Burbank as "an old friend" in his introduction (is he an old friend of Cranston as well?). Robert Sampson speculated that the two met in 1924 at a radio station, where as Rick Lai speculates that Burbank may have been recruited in an unrecorded adventure in Rio de Janeiro, mentioned in Gypsy Vengeance, that took place between the first and second novels.

We know that Burbank is at a rather unique position among the agents because he is maybe the most important figure in The Shadow's network, the main keeper of The Shadow's secrets, the one entrusted to run the organization on The Shadow's absence, the only one who can directly reach The Shadow in the Sanctum, and if anyone knows anything about whatever secrets there are in The Shadow's past, it's definitely him, but he's also the one we know the least about as a person, and contrary to the other agents, Burbank is often described in mechanized terms, which gives him a rather inhuman aura somewhat different than that of The Shadow's.

In a sense, Burbank was the mainspring of the machinery that The Shadow used in his warfare against crime.

As contact man, he kept in touch with all the active agents; there were times when he actually ran things, during The Shadow's absence. Tonight was one of those rare occasions when Burbank was needed on active duty.

Nevertheless, the human cogwheel had connected up a switchboard and had a short−wave radio set handy, so that he could continue his contact duties from this empty apartment - Voice of Death

When emergency demanded, Burbank served as he now was serving. Instead of making calls to the deserted sanctum, he was issuing orders in The Shadow's stead. - The Key

Everytime Burbank gets any sort of spotlight, we learn a little more about him, who he is, what he can't and can do. His methods, what he does to spend the time, some of the things he does for The Shadow outside of communications like planting recording devices in criminal hide-outs and devising or managing electrical devices and The Shadow's advanced technology (even if he doesn't fully understand it).

"Burbank began his own attempt to scale the wall. Ordinarily, his clutches would have been inadequate, and his toe holds were uncertain. But the wire was drawing upward under The Shadow's haul. It gave the needed support whenever Burbank floundered. The Shadow could actually sense his agent's progress by the varying strain upon the wire. At last, Burbank flopped over the roof edge like a landed fish" - Masters of Death

There were remarkable devices here. Burbank understood some of them, but the millionaire alone was familiar with all the equipment - Eyes of The Shadow

“To Burbank, long, lone vigils were nothing. He was not a man of action; he was one of endurance. Prompt, precise and always dependable, Burbank had served The Shadow well.“ - The Key

During his long hours of duty, he resorted to one methodical habit as he bided away the time. He always had a supply of chewing gum.” - The Killer

Burbank leaned back in his chair. His position was one of patient relaxation. While he awaited new telephone calls, his attitude was one of complete passivity. There was nothing excitable in the make-up of this man who sat with his back toward the light. Yet Burbank was a man of amazing endurance. In place of action, he exercised untiring vigilance. It was this quality that made him a most important factor in the affairs of that amazing personage known as The Shadow - The Killer

Burbank is, at once, the barrier between the agents (and by extension, us) and The Shadow, as well as the bridge that allows the agents (and us) to find and reach The Shadow.

And I do like it that Burbank's specifically said to not be cut for action, that he's not really a fighter or a marksman or even a super tech genius, on paper he's really just a guy who sits in a chair all day fiddling with radio equipment. But he is still cool and impressive by the standards of what matters most in The Shadow's world. He's patient and resourceful and vigilant and clever and trustworthy, and he's someone that The Shadow trusts more so than anyone else.

There was no sound of the door closing; no sound, indeed, to indicate that any person had moved in that direction. Yet Burbank knew, from experience, that his master, The Shadow, had departed, after giving him the sign that his vigil was ended.

Such word usually came from The Shadow’s sanctum. Tonight, being in the vicinity of Burbank’s present station, The Shadow had preferred to give his faithful agent fifteen or twenty minutes of extra respite by visiting him in person

Such was the way of The Shadow. Though none of his trusted operatives had ever seen his undisguised face; though his ways and actions were secret and mysterious to them; they received constant signs of The Shadow’s appreciation of their reliable cooperation - Death Triangle

In Suite 808, a figure was seated in front of the writing table. It was The Shadow, in his guise as Arnaud; Burbank was off duty, asleep in the other room.

The telephone buzzed; The Shadow answered it. He spoke in a quiet, methodical tone, a perfect imitation of Burbank's voice. Harry Vincent reported - The Case of Congressman Coyd

On one hand, I don't think the "mystery" of Burbank is ever going to be ruined, or should be ruined. But on the other hand, I definitely think there's a lot of room to explore more regarding what exactly is he as a person, as an agent, what kind of roles he plays, what is his connection to The Shadow or what relationship he has with other agents or other people he's meant to be in more direct contact with. I think it's a matter of balance.

There's a lot of room to work with particularly regarding how you could adapt Burbank into adaptations set in different time periods (not necessarily modern day), because with how communication technology had advanced beyond imagination, there's a lot of ways you could adapt or recontextualize Burbank, The Shadow's social network.

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #the shadow #shadow magazine #burbank #shadow comics

[hitory--chan]

Day 5: Queen of the Garden

(Ranked T)

Title: In my withered roses you lay resting

Around the forest there were always legends of all kinds, about fantastic creatures and horrifying monsters beyond human imagination, about nymphs, fairies, werewolves and giant snakes that would devastate the entire town in a few minutes if they wanted to; they were just legends, stories to amaze or scare whoever would listen to them, hypnotizing the virgin ear that listened to them with their magnetism, leading their victim to demand more, driving them mad in the search to satisfy that need.

But there was one in particular, the biggest, the most fantastic, the most sublime and the most terrifying no one ever dared to tell, the one whose existence was only known to the oldest of the town who defended tooth and nail its veracity, but nevertheless only tell each other, remembering and crying the intense agony that each word conveyed.

The legend of Hinata, the queen of the garden in the heart of the forest, and Sasuke, the infamous king who without any army was able to penetrate the invulnerable barriers that protected the queen.

The king who never returned.

“My King!” One of her courtesans shouted. "Please, I beg you to reconsider!"

He ignored her, tightening the draws of his armor as the guards placed the shoulder pads and handed him his helmet, which he took.

It was still dark, the moonlight hanging over the entire sleeping kingdom as he prepared to leave.

"My lord, he turned, now listening to his first officer, Kakashi, who was speaking to him "Are you sure this is a good idea? Going into the forest alone?"

"It's not something I didn't do before, Kakashi, you should know" he replied without much interest as he grasped the reins of Onyx, the majestic black horse that had accompanied him for years.

"I understand, but it's not the same, your majesty, it never got beyond the Stone River" the man said, his voice so slow and dull as if it was something he was trained to say, but Sasuke knew him better than many as to know that there was concern hidden behind those dead tones “It is a great risk to take to find a woman that we do not even know exists”

"People are dying Kakashi, of hunger, of disease ..." He inclined his head a little towards his first officer, not enough to really see him “If that woman, that… witch exists, it will be our chance to solve all the evils that afflict us, if I find her, then I save my people”

“And if you do not find her, my lord?”

“Then we will have to take more drastic actions, actions that I don't think we're ready for right now, Kakashi”

The silence that followed told Sasuke that the man knew what he was referring to.

They had recently fought a war against a rival kingdom that wanted to take over all his lands. They attacked in the middle of the night, cowardly seeking to have the tactical advantage darkness gave them without expecting the surprise that they were ready to fight back with much more violence than would be expected of a small kingdom that barely prospered in comparison to others. Many lives were lost on both sides, but his army had kept the slightest advantage over the invaders and captured the main officers of the intruders, executing him right on the battlefield as he had ordered them to do, closing any openings to negotiation the rival might propose.

They rose above them and conquered, drove the remaining invaders from their lands and proclaimed their victory, but they had not come out without casualties, as happened in any other war.

Their crops were burned and their women desecrated. Bodies of infants who had adventured out of their hiding spots now laying among the corpses of their fathers and men who sacrificed their lives in the name of the king's sovereignty, waiting to be buried or burned while their mothers, wives, and brothers mourned their losses.

Soon after came the diseases, plagues so violent that even the best physicians in the kingdom had succumbed to permanent contact with the infected and were now lying in beds, signaling with weak voices to proceed to their charges.

The only hope was the woman who dwelt in the depths of the forest, a queen in her own right, the oracle told him, whose miraculous fingers brought life to everything she touched. A witch, servant of the devil, counterattacked the priest, who would only bring bliss before plunging them further into misery.

A queen, a witch, Sasuke didn't care, he only wanted her hands to heal his people, determined to cut them off if necessary to save the few that were left.

Then Sasuke mounted his horse and reached out his hand, taking the sword that Kakashi had prepared for him and fastening it to his waist strap, where it would remain with him throughout his journey.

"Itachi will be in charge while I'm gone" he decreed, looking at his court, who looked at him in surprise and disbelief.

“My king, my lord!” The woman spoke again “His majesty is very ill for this task, I fear that his condition is too delicate to carry the role, your highness!”

“My brother already ruled once in a worse state than the one he currently is in while waiting for me to grow up to cede the throne, he certainly can do it a bit more while I'm gone”

“But sir…!”

"In case his condition worsens ..." he interrupted, with a tone of voice as icy as the look he gave the woman "in case he´s not an act to continue, then Kakashi will make all the decisions in my absence and my brother's disability”

Several indignant murmurs were heard from the other members of the court, annoyed by the possibility of a military man would rule them, but with the same look he gave the insolent woman, he quieted them all.

"Kakashi" he called and the man walked with him towards the limits of the kingdom that served as the border of the forest, trotting slowly as his first officer followed him with great ease "I trust you to keep everyone safe, especially my brother” he said, stopping his steed and staring at the man.

"My king's orders are my perpetual la," Kakashi recited, quoting the motto of imperial strength as he brought his right hand to his heart and bowed to him.

Sasuke nodded, but before starting his horse again, he spoke for the last time.

- And Kakashi ... execute her

Kakashi bowed again and Sasuke pulled the reins of his horse to start running, going into the forest when the first rays of dawn hit the ground, and knowing his order would be carried out without hesitation.

-----------------------------------

Inside the forest the thick trees hid any trace of the sun, giving the illusion that it was still night even though Sasuke knew it must be after eight.

Still he didn't back down, mentally reciting the directions the oracle had given him to find the mysterious woman.

“Once crossed the river of stone, the road will split for you, one more dangerous the other, competing for the new prey that appears before them. Be guided by the horrendous noises that make the bones of the strongest of men tremble, by the trail of perdition from which your eyes will not be able to turn away, from the putrid stench of those who defied the sanctity of the earth who stepped on impure feet.

Along the way you will find death's favorite resting place. Do not drink or eat the natural delicacies that will be shown for you, instead you must use your senses, facing the great beast that will attack from the shadows.

If the combat is satisfactory, then the beast will show its respects by leading you to its queen, otherwise, there will be the place of your last rest"

Naturally, oracles liked to be cryptic with their words to the point of making them indecipherable, but the more than a century old woman who had served three generations of her family had put those fanfare behind her, preferring to be as clear as possible in her revelations than risk a bad future for the kingdom because of misunderstandings out of her tongue.

Upon reaching the Stone River, he took a moment to observe the waters peacefully.

That river had been named this way not only because of the rock formation that simulated a natural bridge in the center of that great pool, just covering its surface with a thin layer of water that made it extremely slippery, but also because of the rock at its bottom, arranged in the shape of spikes so sharp that even the slightest fall on them could cause fatal injuries to the unfortunate victim.

He allowed Onyx to drink some of the water before venturing across the stone bridge.

His horse, fearless just like his owner, also had some afraid. On rare occasions he’d tried to cross that path through the waters with the equine, but his partner had acquired a phobia at that particular step when, being very young, he slipped on the stone and it was almost impossible for him to get back on his feet, almost falling to the bottom of the river when with desperate movements he slid to one side before finally reaching the bank of the river and climbing, being completely exhausted on the grass, all under the frightened gaze of his owner who had remained on dry land while his horse struggled.

He remembers that, after that, he had remained with Onyx there for longer than he ever was in that place, being found by the royal guard and brought to the castle only to remain expectant all night at the possibility of having to sacrifice the animal.

Now, Onyx was a majestic and imposing stallion with more history than half his stablemates, but from time to time he would turn back into a fearful foal when they were near that place.

However, while he normally wouldn't push him any further than he considered Onyx could take, this time around he couldn't afford to be understandable to his horse or to be left without a mount for the rest of the way.

“Come on boy!” He encouraged him, shaking the reins several times and smiling as Onyx, refusing at first, approached the rock and put his front legs on it, whinnying loudly as he took small terrified steps.

Even in the slippery material, the new horseshoes he had had his horse put on were being especially helpful in preventing the equine's legs from slipping over the rock even when Onyx's steps were somewhat shaky, leading the horse to gain a little confidence with every step until he was finally on the other side.

“Well done, Onyx!” He congratulated the horse, patting and stroking his neck before pulling out an apple, which he happily accepted.

He wasted no time and continued with the journey, reaching the place where the road divided in three.

At first glance they did not seem dangerous at all, leading him to wonder if the oracle had been wrong with her interpretation or if he had deviated from the correct path himself, but the sudden sound of something sliding on the ground caught his attention and put his whole body on guard again, waiting for any sign of attack.

Instead what he received was the cawing of birds, crows, he recognized, noises of something sliding and the screeching of bats that flew directly to his face at that moment, causing Onyx to panic and stand up on his two hind legs, almost making Sasuke to fall.

When he regained his balance and Onyx was back on all fours, Sasuke looked at the central path, remembering what the oracle had said and thinking that this should be the way to go, so he made the horse move forward, despite the reluctance of the animal.

The putrid stench started only a few minutes on the road before dead animals began to appear on the road, being replaced only a few meters later by human corpses in various states of putrefaction, from skeletons to bodies that should barely have been there for a few days. , and even recognized the uniform worn by the third-rank guards in his kingdom, only stuffed with bones, each corpse wrapped by vines and other local weeds.

He was forced to breathe as little as possible when the stench became impossible to bear, coming to vomit in the section where everything was strongest, without having the opportunity to breathe until the road began to clear of so much death, showing to his sight a great stone plateau clothed with climbing vines and rosebuds.

He got off his horse and gave him another snack, tying the reins to the tree farthest from the ferns and other plants full of fruit that he knew they shouldn't eat.

Slowly and carefully he approached the great structure, gazing at it in fascination. Up close, he noticed the spines that protruded around the roses of different sizes that decorated the plateau, which, he noticed, were deceptively sharp, cutting him at the simple touch and spilling a thick drop of blood that bathed the thorn that caused his wound.

The sudden tremor in his spine appeared as the slight trembling of the earth beneath his feet, accompanied by the sound of something sliding - something that must have been big and heavy, from the way it sounded - and then deafening silence was present. .

“Onyx!” He shouted, turning around when he heard the horse whinny and stop suddenly, expecting to meet the animal where he had left it, however in its place he found another type of animal, giant and with shiny black scales, which were only cut with the three red lines of scales on the tip of its tail, raised in the air with a swaying motion.

The gigantic snake kept its eyes fixed on his, hissing and showing off his forked white tongue.

Eyes wider than they had ever been in his life, he diverted them just a little to the rest of the great reptile's body, almost growling in pain at the bulge protruding from where, he guessed, was the stomach of the immense snake, sure it was the product of his horse swallowing.

Feeling the flame of fury ignite and grow in him, he grasped the hilt of his sword in a slow motion and drew it lightly, as the serpent rose a little higher above him.

With one swift movement he pulled it out completely as the snake lunged at him, barely being fast enough to avoid its jaws, but not fast enough to dodge its tail, which slammed it against a tree and left it stamped there until he nailed the sword almost halfway.

Even his powerful armor hadn't been enough to shield him from that blow, catching his breath cut short by the pressure of the limb that had held him captive, but he had no time to think about that as he tried to get away from the great perimeter that covered the snake.

The injured tail slammed into the ground next to him, causing him to stumble from the din it caused.

The reptile's head also collided with the ground a few feet from his back and then glided at high speed towards him, using its nose to push him up when he collided with him and sent him flying into the air as the snake rose again, now with its jaws open.

But Sasuke was able to hold on to the tip of the animal's nose and avoid being swallowed as he had done with his horse by resting his feet against the bottom of the snake's mouth and giving a little jump before it closed it, being helped by the impulse that the same reptile gave him before the abrupt movement it made while trying to make him fall.

Sasuke stayed on the snake's skull and held onto its scales as best he could before stabbing his sword - which he had clung to as much as he could during the attack - into one of the animal's eyes, which let out a shrill and strange sound before, to Sasuke's immense amazement, it made a 180 ° turn and threw himself hard against the floor, taking him with and crashing him on the flat surface, a blow so violent that it caused him to lose his helmet, his mobility and his strength.

--------------------------------

Only seconds before he lost consciousness he saw the towering snake - now one-eyed - rise above him before launching itself with his jaws open just as Sasuke's eyes finally gave up.

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was the immense throbbing pain in his head that only got worse when he tried to open his eyes, being hit by the brightest sunlight that forced him to close them again.

Where had so much light come from?

After a while, and when he was sure he could resist it, he opened his eyes again.

It took him a long time to regain the clarity of his sight, but once everything was clear he was astonished at what he saw.

In front of him a large colorful space, green above all, stood proud in all that light. Huge trees were here and there, casting great shadows, covered with fruit in great quantity.

A few meters from him was a lake with crystal clear waters, reflecting everything that was shown from above.

It was only when a slight movement behind him caught his attention that he realized he had been leaning against something cold, and when he turned around he felt as if his entire being had left his body when he found himself face to face with the giant eye yellowish that he recognized instantly.

He backed away quickly, grunting in pain as his muscles protested at his sudden movements, but instead of stopping to ease them, he fought them and reached for his sword at her waist, surprised not to find it.

The snake stared at him for a few seconds before lazily deflecting its head toward the center of the thread that had turned its body.

—You must not fear, it will not hurt you

He turned quickly and looked around, searching for the soft voice that he had said those words.

"Onyx" he breathed out, seeing the mate he had thought he lost, now lying on the grass, asleep on the other side of the lake.

Naturally those words were not said by the animal, but by the other person next to it, who was gently stroking the mane of his horse.

Their eyes met and he forgot how to breathe, incredulous of the moons that were his pupils, beautiful, and that without a doubt were looking directly at him.

The woman stood up and he could see her completely: snowy skin, long dark hair that swayed with every step she took. Her body was covered in leaves, branches and flowers that clung to her like a second layer. The upper part of her was covered by vines up to the middle of her breasts, being enough to cover the most. The lower part was a skirt, much less rigid than the upper one as it was made entirely of green leaves in different sizes, stopping only a few inches above her knees.

A long vine rested in the center of her abdomen, joining the two pieces as one.

She was barefoot and her hair was decorated with the most elaborate flower crown he had ever seen in his life.

As he passed by the lake, he stopped, crouching in the direction of the water, taking from the ground a large leaf of a plant that he did not recognize - and which he had not realized was lying there - and wrapped it gently until it formed a bowl that she plunged into the water until filled it, rising again and resuming its way towards him, now with the makeshift pot that spilled tiny drops from its bottom.

When she finally got to him, he saw her more clearly: thin and natural pink lips, a small and upturned nose, perfectly shaped eyebrows and long eyelashes that only marveled her appearance even more, also highlighting the lack of the slightest freckle on her face.

She offered him the bowl but he did not take it at first, still fascinated and hypnotized by the beauty of the woman in front of him until she pushed it to his chest, forcing him to hold it as she took one by one his hands between her smallest and drew them to the sides of the blade, releasing it when she made sure his grip was firm.

She, with one of her index fingers, touched the surface of the water three times in different parts, and when her hand lowered three different flowers grew in the water: a lotus, a calla and a water lily, which immediately disintegrated and mixed with the liquid, giving it a color that ranged from pink to purple.

"Take it" she said, looking into his eyes "it will help you heal."

He didn't know why, but he obeyed her and took the entire tonic in one gulp, grimacing when the bitter taste of it touched his tongue and she slid down her throat.

She smirked and turned around, walking back to where Onyx was now awake, looking at them wearily.

"It's you" was the first thing that came out of his mouth, looking at her completely uncovered back as she walked away from him “The witch”.

Her walking stopped and she turned around again, looking at him now with a frown, offended.

“That's very rude!. I am not a witch" she protested "My name is Hinata Hyuga, and I am the queen of this garden" she said proudly, turning to resume her march as if her statement was enough to deny his word.

But he would not be fooled; he had witnessed for himself what she had done in the water she had given him to drink.

He looked around him and his sight fell on his sword and armor, arranged neatly on the grass near the giant serpent's tail.

Slowly and careful not to be heard he approached his things and took the sword at the same time that with difficulty he took three steps back as the snake's tail moved to hit the ground and then returned to its original position.

It took a bit of trouble, but he was able to raise his sword and hold it with both hands, directing the tip in the direction in which that woman - that witch - was, now again sitting on the grass, stroking the back of his horse, looking at him unimpressed.

"Witch, you will come with me" he demanded "Everything will be easier if you do not resist, you will get a decent treatment: you will sleep in the softest bed, you will wear the finest clothes ... otherwise, if you resist, you ... you ..." He stopped for a moment, not for lack of words, but from shortness of breath —If… if you resist… the dungeon… the smallest and dirtiest dungeon will be…

"You’re hurting them" she interrupted, and he didn't understand.

The witch looked down and he followed her eyes, stopping at the sword that was now stuck in the middle of a small group of flowers.

When had he lowered his sword?

“What did you do to me?” He growled, aware of the progressive loss of strength to which he was subjected.

"It's the medicine" said the witch, calmly "for your body to heal, it must first rest”

And as if that were a command, his body fell apart, causing him to fall to the floor on a tall grass bed that he could swear was not there a moment ago.

- Witch! ... You will pay...

Unconsciousness welcomed him.

--------------------------------------

When he woke up there was still sunlight, quite clear, so he thought that maybe he had only slept a few seconds, but the environment felt different from before and he could hear the distinctive galloping and neighing of Onyx, going here and there as his footsteps slightly covered the happy laugh of the female.

He could not move his body freely, only just his fingers, and mentally he cursed himself for having taken that concoction that this evil woman had given him, clearly using her sorcery to weaken him.

“Your body still needs rest” he could have shuddered at the sudden voice if it weren't for the fact that he was paralyzed, shortly afterwards the witch's face appeared in his visual range, tilted from above so he could see her “you´ve been very hurt by your confrontation with Munda, your injuries will take a little longer to heal”

He grunted, annoyed.

“Why have you risked your life to get here, mortal?” She asked him, now in a more serious tone.

Then and once again without really knowing why, he began to tell her about his kingdom, about the moments of wealth and prosperity before the war struck, about the deaths and the lack of food that besieged them, making their situation worse. He told her about his brother and his mysterious bedridden illness, about the sudden barrenness of his lands, and how he had preferred to make this trip alone rather than take away much-needed protection in case they tried again to invade them during his absence.

In her face there was no sorrow, annoyance or joy for their misfortunes, instead it was pure curiosity what he could see while he finished explaining the reason why he was looking for her.

"Okay, I'll go with you" she answered with conviction.

He, who had gradually regained mobility to the point where he could now sit up and the waves of heat attacked him insistently, looked at her in surprise, unable to avoid questioning her decision.

"I'll go with you" she confirmed again "However, the starting path is more dangerous than the one you traveled to get here, so you will have to make a full recovery first" She stood up and looked at him “I cannot be away for long, this place depends on me, so I will help your people and leave immediately, it is my only condition”

He watched her, almost denying immediately that he could leave that easily, but he was quick enough to bite his tongue before speaking.

"Okay, then we have a deal" he agreed.

She nodded pleased and stood up, walking away from him and up a tiny hill where she began to press with her fingers the closed buds and the withered flowers that surrounded her, opening and coming back to life with the simple touch of her.

Despite having accepted, in his mind they only danced ways of how he would interrupt her departure, it would be very foolish of him to let her go that easy, a person with her abilities, whether witch or not, was unique, one in a million , and no self-respecting kingdom would let her go that easily.

He could try to convince her by showing her everything that she obviously didn't have in her "garden", the wonders of modernity, and if that couldn't convince her, well, he had dungeons at his disposal that he could trick her into or even without them, but surely he would not lose those abilities from his hands.

Satisfied with that plan, he began to touch the back of both of his hands, searching and removing the splinters that he did not know how he has nailed himself.

Even though Hinata's tonics were helping him recover faster than he normally would, it felt like it was actually taking forever.

There, the days and nights seemed to last longer than normal, as if the clock had 36 hours instead of 24.

Each remedy that Hinata gave her were different and she healed something different, like the one she used to make his bruises disappear, which were a combination of wild flowers and citrus fruits that melted in the water as soon as she created them and released. Those bruises that would normally take a week or more to fade, she had done it in almost three days.

The problem is that she could only give him a tonic for one thing at a time, along with the first one that she had given him so his body relaxes and rests.

Now he was drinking one that she claimed would help with his internal ailments, and he guessed she was referring to the bruised bones that barely allowed her to walk or breathe. This was particularly bitter and she had to take it several times a day, which was a mini torture considering that these wounds would take even longer to heal.

He was washing his armor when he heard her scream.

“No! Go away, you can't be here!”

His skin prickled when she heard it. Had someone entered that place? An ally or an enemy? The great snake that was supposed to be the only one that could make someone else reach that place, Munda, hadn't moved from the rock it had spread on the day before, almost looking dead if it weren't for the hiss it left escape from time to time, maybe someone had found a way to enter without facing the great reptile?

“No! Get away!”

Wasting no time he dropped the piece of armor he was washing into the water and instead grabbed his sword, gripping it tightly and ran - or rather, he limped quickly - looking beyond the trees and bushes until he saw her midnight hair, covered with small flowers of various colors, and he went quickly towards her, who kept her fists clenched and her arms stiff down, slapping the floor with one foot while she kept yelling at whoever was there to leave.

But as he got closer to her, he still couldn't see anyone else; maybe it was some invisible person? It would not be unreasonable to think about that.

Finally, when he got to her side, he saw whoever caused her annoyance.

"This… creature…" she began, making an exasperated gesture with her hand at the wild boar that nonchalantly ate the blackberries from the orchard it raided "This annoying creature won't go away!" I've tried everything but it keeps coming back”

He looked at her in disbelief.

“So much fuss over a wild boar?”

“Is this the name of this demon spawn?” She asked him, looking at him intensely "Do you know him?"

"It's a wild boar, there are hundreds of them in the forest" he said more calmly, dismissing the accusation of her previous question.

“Hundreds?!” She gasped in disbelief.

"Calm down, just ... get rid of him."

“I´ve tried it! But this ... boar keeps coming back”

He let out an exasperated sigh, thinking of suggesting of making her pet snake eat the animal, but dismissed the idea as he thought the reptile was pretty useless when it don´t came to attacking and killing unsuspecting humans and their horses near the plateau of stone.

Since he first woke up he had only seen it move a few inches and change position, so another idea occurred to him.

“Can you hold it?” He asked him “with your ivy?”

She looked at him curiously and suspiciously, but instead of answering vocally, she raised a hand and made a few short movements with her fingers before clenching her fist, catching the animal that began to screech in panic.

He approached it, and with a certain movement, cut off it head.

When he heard her loud gasp he looked back and there she was, her brows furrowed, her eyes staked and both of her hands covering her mouth.

He looked back at the now dead animal, grabbed it head and raised it before asking.

“Do you know fire?”

.

.

.

Sasuke sat on a rock while at the same time bringing the now cooked boar meat to his mouth, biting off a large chunk and tearing it from the rest so he could eat it.

Sitting on another rock on the other side of the bonfire he had made, Hinata found herself with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed, looking at him with such intensity as if she wanted to make his head explode with just her powerful gaze.

She was upset with him, that was clear. Since he had killed the animal and cut its meat into smaller portions so he could stick them into branches and put them on the fire to cook.

The turning point, however, was when he gathered branches and leaves and started the fire that he had surrounded with rocks of different sizes as a barrier so that the fire did not spread.

Apparently, she could forgive him for killing an animal even if she was clearly against it, but lighting wood and using leaves as a burning material was where she drew the line, practically declaring enmity at the prolonged silence she had maintained.

It was funny to tell the truth, even if preparing that meat and the dressing he had bathed it with to give it a little more flavor had been torture for his sprained wrist, it was worth it if I could see her normally relaxed and smiling face distorted with annoyance and disappointment, her lower lip sticking out childishly.

Furthermore, and despite the wide variety of fruits she had been feeding him - more delicious than he had ever eaten - he had really missed the taste of meat on his palate.

“Hey!” He called her even though it wasn't necessary, since she hadn't taken her gaze from him for a second. "Try a little" he said, spreading some meat even though he was too far for her to reach.

That scandalized her.

“I will not do it!” She vigorously refused, looking quite offended by his proposal “I'm not a savage!”

"Me neither" he said, shrugging even though he wanted to burst in laughs at her expression.

“You are eating a living being”

“You eat the children of your plants, but I don't judge you for doing that”

The expression on her face finally overcame him, making him laugh.

With difficulty and care, he rose to his feet and walked around the fire, sitting next to her and extending with his good hand the piece of meat he himself had previously been eating.

"Try a little" he repeated, but she pursed her lips and turned her face away, refusing.

“No, I do not like”

"You can't say you don't like it if you haven't tried it yet" he told her, repeating the words his mother had repeated so much to the fussy eight-year-old he was.

But she kept refusing, so he took another approach they used to use with him when he was especially difficult to feed: negotiation.

"How about this" he began “If you try a little of this, I promise I won't complain and take all your strange meds even if they taste like hell itself, you don't have to like it, just try a little”

She looked at him scrutinizingly, apparently looking for some kind of dishonesty, but he just brought his injured wrist to the center of his abdomen, in a well-camouflaged dirty little manipulative move, which he knew was working when she looked at his wrist and then again to in his eyes.

“Just a little?” He nodded "And will you take the medicine without complaining?" He affirmed again.

Hinata closed her eyes and took a deep breath before letting it out again in the form of a long sigh.

She opened her eyes again, now with a look of determination and nodded.

He smiled and brought the meat to her mouth.

“W-wait!” she yelled, holding his wrist.

He was really having a hard time not laugh again.

Without letting go his wrist, she barely opened her mouth and bit into some of the meat, chewing it and stopping after swallowing it.

He looked at her expectantly, watching as she frowned again and sudden tears began to fall from her eyes.

Was it really that bad?

He began to feel guilty for forcing her to do so, but he was surprised when she now took a bigger bite, taking the meat from his hand to grab it herself, saying between sobs

"It's good!" she sniffed and cried harder as she ate more of it.

________________________

That night he woke up because of the pain that attacked his healthy wrist, grunting and looking for the reason for that, and when he looked at it, he was surprised and out of breath to see how a bracelet of branches wrapped him, which would not be a problem if it was not for the fact that they seemed to come straight out of his skin.

________________________

Another few days passed and he had kept thinking a lot about his situation.

Due to his suspicions, he decided to do an experiment.

For a few days he stayed especially close to her, touching her skin with his fingertips in the most subtle way he could, leading him to offer help during the moments when she did her self-imposed tasks that were not really necessary - there was not much to entertain herself with, he supposed — and despite confusion at his sudden need to help, she agreed and directed him what to do, frustrating him when any of those tasks kept him away from her.

But at the end of the day he touched her enough without going overboard - tapping her shoulder to get her attention or patted it awkwardly as he congratulated her with a "good job" - and then he walked away from her and went to the makeshift cot she had created for him, leaving her more confused than at first.

The first night he waited awake for something to happen, for the branches to start coming out or for his skin to turn green, he wasn't entirely sure what could happen, but he waited.

And he received nothing.

He repeated the experiment several more times and nothing happened, so he thought maybe it was a side effect of the last potion she had given him to drink? It would make sense that his body is no longer producing more vegetation by changing the type of medicine she was giving him, and it would also make sense that she did not know that effect as something out of the ordinary, since her own body seemed to produce by itself the plants that dressed her.

Then he forgot the topic, classifying it as a one-time occurrence.

Until he wasn't.

That morning, when he no longer had any kind of ailment and was beginning to feel he was finally regaining his strength, he had helped Munda - who, he learned, was really peaceful when he was not protecting the entrance to that garden - to get rid of the little debris that had stuck to him after his last shedding of skin.

"Good work," Hinata said, patting him on the shoulder as best she could since he was significantly taller than her “Munda's shedding of skin is usually a disaster because it is more resistant than normal, so I always have a hard time cleaning it when it's in season” she revealed, now with her hand fixed on his shoulder “you are very good at that”

He accepted her congratulations with a small hint of pride on her chest.

They passed the day with normally, and at night, while taking a bath in the lake, a sudden pain attacked his shoulder.

When he tried to move his shoulder in circles, he couldn´t, the pain and stiffness prevented him from the slightest movement, then he brought his other hand over said shoulder to try to massage himself, but when he felt his fingers prick, He stopped.

Surprised, he looked at his shoulder and couldn't believe what he saw: it was covered in thorns right where Hinata had touched it.

The fire of anger ignited in him and spread like forest fire, was that it? Her hands? Were her hands causing his body to produce leaves and thorns as if it were a simple plant? Although, now that he thought about it, he had been a fool not to realize it before, after all, she was nothing more than a witch whose hands could grow trees and flowers out of nowhere.

He had been fooled. He had let his guard down and this witch was turning him into another plant in her garden.

Who many more had she done this to?

He looked at the surrounding trees for the hint that any of them were once a man, but he had done his job so well that there was not the slightest trace of a previous humanity in them.

Angry, he left the lake and put on his pants, not caring they were dirty and dusty from the activities he had done that day. He dressed in his armor and took the sword with him, searching for Hinata and finding her, as always, in the center of the small flower-covered hill that surrounded her.

His quick and heavy steps caught his attention, turning and smiling at him when she saw him approaching, but that expression quickly changed when he entered, stepping carelessly on the flowers that she loved so much.

"Sasuk ..!"

"In two days we will leave," he interrupted, placing the sword under her chin and applying enough pressure so the tip dug lightly into her neck, hurting her “I have already lost a lot of valuable time with your stupid games, as of today, I command”

He turned around without giving her the opportunity to speak and went to the farthest part of that garden, where he found what seemed to be the oldest tree of all, the most leafy, where he sat down and pressed his back against it, crossing his arms with his sword still in his hand, quickly creating in his mind all the logistics of what he would do next.

______________________

The desperate neighing of Onyx woke him up.

He hadn't realized when he had fallen asleep, but it seems as if the apocalypse had taken place once he closed his eyes.

He blinked, trying to clear the blurry view of him until everything was terrifyingly sharp.

In front of him, Onyx kept crying, rising on his hind legs and then dropping the front legs in heavy blows, kicking up the dust with each fall.

It was daytime, he could tell, but the whole environment was so bleak that his brain had a hard time understanding it.

He looked around him, all the space that had previously been green and colorful had turned to the darkest gray he had ever seen. The trees shed their leaves at an impressive speed, the same ones that were now on the ground, surrounding him.

He tried to take one, but the blades were so brittle they broke with the simple touch.

"Onix, take it easy" But the horse ignored him; instead, he whinnied louder as if urging him to stop and then ran, leaving him behind.

He walked carefully, looking everywhere: the bushes were dry but still held some of their fruits, of which he took one and put it in his mouth only to spit it out instantly, disgusted by the horrible taste of the previously delicious blackberry had taken. As he walked, a foul stench began to fill his nostrils, aggravating the closer he got to the lake, until he realized that was where it came from. The waters, previously clean and clear, were now as black and thick as tar.

What was happening?

It didn't take long for him to find the cause.

Still on the small hill was Hinata, motionless and with her head bowed, the flowers around her were wilted. Munda surrounded the hill, making a great circle with its whole body, as trying to be a wall of protection for her owner.

The great snake gave him a warning hiss, glaring at him, now with both of its healthy eyes, as if it was challenging him to come closer.

Even with the threat of the reptile, he did, he knew how protective he was, but he had learned that in here Munda was more like a puppy playing at being brave than the gigantic and terrifying snake really was.

Already within the circle of protection of him everything was more horrible, here the flowers were not withered, and instead they seemed burned. Hinata's body remained immobile, not even seemed to breathe, and when he surrounded her and was face to face with her, he was surprised by the horrible state that in just a few hours she had gotten.

Her skin was as gray as the rest of the earth, her previously pink lips were now dangerously close to black, almost all the flowers in her hair and crown had lost their petals and the ones that remained would fall at any moment. Her eyes were open and she kept them that way, without blinking, and the only sign that told him there was still life in her was the trail of tears that fell without stopping.

He crouched in front of her and called out, but he didn't get the slightest bit of recognition from her.

He grabbed her face and winced at the ease of movement he had from her, even if her body seemed stiffer than could be possible.

Then the dark green trail that fell from her throat to her abdomen caught his eye, and he felt as if he had been hit with the strongest metal as he remembered what he had done.

Was this his fault?

"Hinata," he called her, lifting her face so he could look into her eyes, which seemed to be empty. "Hinata, I'm sorry."

But his attempts were in vain because she did not respond or make the slightest movement that indicated she would do it at some point.

Desperation began to fill him and he didn't know what to do, stroking her face and trying to wipe the tears away, but they kept falling and instead, sliding over and around his thumbs, mocking his unsuccessful attempts to stop them.

Then, in a moment of utter despair he did something he had only thought would happen in his dreams, and kissed her.

His lips froze over the cold, chapped of hers, and all ambient sound that he had previously not actively noticed disappeared. He made no move, just stood with his lips joined, praying inside his mind for a reaction, until her lips trembled.

One sob left them, then two, until it was totally a symphony of wailing.

He hugged her and pressed her to his chest, quietly apologizing to her and preferring to hear her cry than remain in the deathly silence of moments ago.

----------------------------

Recovery was slower than he could have imagined. While it took less than one night to produce the disaster, fixing it was a matter of a long time.

She avoided talking to him and he couldn't blame her, not after all that he´d caused.

She was just getting back to her normal color and at the same time so did her garden, slowly returning to the green it was when he had arrived.

He hadn't given her a reason for his action in the first place, and he didn't think he'd do it sometime soon - never, if he could.

He just helped her silently, discovering that when he kissed her, she recovered a little more.

So he kept doing it, morning, afternoon and evening, until the pink on her cheeks appeared and the flowers in her hair began to bloom.

That, however, came at a price, and it didn't take long for him to realize that the mere touch was more powerful than that of her fingers.

It first reflected on his nails, which turned brown and their textures became like that of a tree trunk. Then on his chest, where leaves and thorns came out again.

It was a much faster process than he had thought.

"I think we can leave tomorrow" were the first words she spoke to him after days of silence, smiling shyly at him, speaking in a low voice.

He nodded as best she could, his neck stiff from the changes taking place in him.

That day his feet stuck to the ground, and pulling them off felt as if he had lost a limb.

"Sasuke" Hinata called him the next morning, worried about what she was seeing. "Since when has this been happening?"

He looked at her, but he didn't answer.

He was still lying on his grass cot, trapped by the ivy that had tightly encircled his arms, torso, and legs to keep him in place.

"Wait." The desperation in Hinata's voice was palpable, but he could barely recognize anything.

With her hands, Hinata touched the plants on top of him, but was surprised to see that instead of obeying her and disappearing, they seemed to tighten around Sasuke.

She looked at her hands without understanding what was happening and tried again, her eyes clouding over as she obtained the same result as the first time.

The tears left her eyes and the sobs soon appeared the more she tried and failed, becoming more energetic and miserable with every second more.

"Hinata," he called out, barely a hoarse whisper as he felt a new plant grow from his stomach and slide its roots through his esophagus, slowly exiting his mouth "There is no time for me…”

“Do not!" She shouted shakily" Don't say that!”

“S. Save them ... my people ...” he said, barely breathing.

"I-I will, but-but first ..." A sob interrupted her "you first..."

Sasuke wanted to deny, but he had neither the strength nor the mobility to do so.

"There ... there is ... no time for ... me" he repeated.

“Sasuke”

“Please”

Without finding the words to answer him, she just nodded.

Sasuke smiled and looked at her, grateful as a single tear slid down the side of his face as more roots came out of his mouth.

"Thank you" he said, his voice cracking, closing his eyes, "I lo ..."

But he couldn't finish his sentence, losing the last breath he had and finally letting the roots slide out of his mouth and dig into the ground beneath him.

A heartrending scream came from Hinata's mouth, the loss, for the first time in hundreds of years, completely ripping her apart.

She cried over his body, feeling a pain much worse than that of a few days ago completely invade her, feeling again how she was fainting rapidly.

But she still had one last promise to keep.

Unwilling to leave him, Hinata placed both hands on the ground and gathered all of her strength, screaming as she transferred her power beyond the forest, filling all around with the life that he had come looking for.

The earth shook and great thorny walls rose above all of her garden, joining in the center without closing completely, and leaving a small gap through which the sunlight entered.

Exhausted, she walked to where Sasuke's body lay covered in roots and she dropped down beside him, placing a hand on his chest, slowly closing her eyes and melting into him.

------------------------

From the highest tower of the Uchiha castle, the cries of the courtesans invaded the room of King Itachi, whose body was covered by a white sheet as his court surrounded him.

"You did it, my king," Kakashi whispered, watching from the window as the kingdom began to fill with the vivid green of the growing plants and the colorful buds of flowers and fruit that followed them, though his attention was really fixed on the large bud that it had formed in the farthest part of the forest.

While, at the gates of the kingdom, Onyx the steed without his king arrived.

@sasuhinamonth

#sasuhina month #sasuhinamonth2021 #day 5 #sasuhina #queen of the garden #theres a spanish vertion #but im not publishing it here #too long

[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press: Elizabeth Olsen and Jurnee Smollett Compare Notes on Genre-Blending Acting and Advocating for Performers on Set

VARIETY: Neither Elizabeth Olsen nor Jurnee Smollett are strangers to having to really stretch their imaginations to dive into complex characters and even more complicated worlds.

Both have superhero films on their résumés: Smollett portrayed Black Canary in DC’s “Birds of Prey,” while Olsen stepped into Wanda Maximoff aka the Scarlet Witch’s shoes for Marvel’s “Avengers” franchise and then some — including Disney Plus’ first Marvel series, “WandaVision.” They are both now Emmy-nominated for projects that tasked them with jumping through time, blending genres and telling epic love stories (Olsen with “WandaVision,” Smollett with HBO’s “Lovecraft Country”). And, even though they are up in different categories (Olsen in lead limited series/TV movie actress; Smollett in lead drama actress), both of these shows are one-season wonders, leaving the performers and their audiences wanting more.

Olsen and Smollett dissected all that of when Variety brought them together post-nominations to talk about their celebrated roles and surreal playgrounds.

You both had a lot of magical or otherwise surreal elements to interact with on your shows. What did you actually have in front of you to react to on set?

Jurnee Smollett: We were very fortunate on “Lovecraft Country” because the whole VFX team worked so hard to create an atmosphere that was also practical in our space. I remember on Episode 3, the exorcism scene, we shot it over a course of three days and, while there was not a man in real life with a baby head on him, you’ve got the wind machines and the pictures are blowing and all the special effects makeup is being touched up. Atticus [Jonathan Majors] has pretty much turned into a rabid dog and I’m doing this spell with my ancestors and whether they were shooting behind us or shooting the elements, we were at our max capacity regardless because that’s just how we approach the craft. It was such a big sequence to shoot that that’s when the actor in you has to advocate for your instrument. I did go to the director and say, “Can you jump in and cross shoot Jonathan and I?” As an actor it is our job to shoot however many takes, however many angles you need, but then it is also our job to advocate for yourselves. And I love playing in this space because you get to use your imagination you get to go to crazy places. Because even while the practical elements are there; you get to go to crazy places. But I was grateful for the practical elements because it’s just so much easier.

Elizabeth Olsen: Did they have pre-viz so you knew what some of the supernatural elements looked like?

Smollett: With the Shoggoths they not only had a pre-viz for us, but for some of the scenes they had massive sculptures, like a dude standing there in a green suit with a Shoggoth head. The pilot we didn’t have this puppet, but by Episode 8, maybe we got more of a budget or something, but eventually we did get a puppet — which was really cool because you could see, “This is the moment his mouth is opening.” But also, Misha [Green], our showrunner, she just wants more blood, more dirt. She’d try to get them to blow spittle at us.

Olsen: That’s so gross!

Smollett: This concoction of Shoggoth spit, throwing it in front of this wind machine. I find the more practical stuff we have to work with, it just helps so much. And then there were the moments where it’s like, “No it’s just a green tennis ball and an X, and go.” How about you?

Olsen: For all those little things in the air and stuff in the ’50s, it was really important to our director [Matt Shakman] that we did everything ala “Bewitched.” It was all camera tricks, it was all wires. Our head of special effects had a lineage of a father who [did] special effects before him, and so puppetry and wire work and stuff like that were things that were already in his vocabulary, but we would have our special effect guys who are used to blowing things up and putting things on fire just balancing and making sure things aren’t swinging but they have to move. Even in the ’70s when she’s pregnant and everything’s in chaos, we really had a picture on the wall going in circles; they just figured out things with magnets.

When we were filming the finale, it was during COVID, during the fires last summer, and we shot Kathryn [Hahn’s] side at the beginning of the episode when she has my boys with her magic — we had to shoot them out because you always have to shoot the side with the kid out and also Kathryn was doing wires for the first time and of course it was with a corset and it was really hot and really bad air quality and so she had to be sent home by the medic at the end of the day. And so, on my side we were running out of days, and I think we had 35 minutes to shoot my side and my reactions to all of that, and there’s quite a bit of back and forth and throwing myself to the ground and hitting a different mark that will then stitch with the stunt double being pulled. I did a weird one-woman show sans kids, sans Kathryn. Our stand-ins were such a huge part of our show and I was so grateful to have them they’re reading lines with me, and our director, Matt Shakman, was like, “If you feel like you can’t do this, we’ll just do this tomorrow.” That gave an adrenaline rush to me and it just became, “I’m just going to do it.” There’s a lot of fear when you’re like, “Oh I don’t have the elements and I am on my own, literally.” But I’ve had to do this before and I’m just scared to do it because I feel stupid. But I already look kind of stupid — I’m shooting things out of my hands — so why don’t I just lean into it as full as possible and just do it and find it in some core, guttural space of desperation? That day was bizarre, but I was actually very happy that I didn’t put it off. I feel like sometimes as actors when there are things that make us nervous it’s like, “Oh we don’t have enough time to explore so let’s do it the next day if we can,” and then you’re in your head all night about it. And so, it’s nice to just do it, even if it feels silly.

Smollett: I’d imagine surrendering and using the fear and all that that you were feeling probably served you so well in it.

Olsen: And don’t you feel that, though? When you feel unsupported you just want to break down in tears and you’re not supposed to break down in tears or you’re not supposed to have those it’s those feelings in the moment, but there are other times where it is really useful and there’s something freeing about channeling it in some way.

Smollett: Yeah and it’s that word you just used: freeing. Being able to surrender — leap and the net will appear. And you’re right, if you would have gone home, you probably would have come back the next day and you would have overthought it. There’s something about using the adrenaline in that moment that I don’t think you can really teach an actor to do; it’s just experience. Because we go and we prep and we do all these things, and then you get to the set and there’s one distraction, two distractions, and those are the elements that just through experience you’ve learned to use.

But I have to say, when I was little, I used to go to sleep every night watching Nick at Nite and “Bewitched” was one of my favorite shows. I did not expect you guys, at all, to go to land of “Bewitched.”

Olsen: I didn’t either. I’m so grateful to it. I felt like I like forgot my body as an actor. You’re a very physical actor, so I feel like you probably don’t have that experience because you just seem so connected and free whether it’s on stage or doing action. And I really felt disconnected from my body until “WandaVision.” I was like, “Right, I have posture; I can walk; I have legs — all of these things are going to be telling the story and it’s period and so I get to move differently.” It’s been a while since I needed to create quite a different character, and it felt so good to wake up my body to the full character work.

Just watching you in the first episode on stage, I was like, “God damn, I want to feel that free on stage with a song and with an audience.” I’m a self-conscious actor when it comes to extras and things like that. There’s something about it where the crew’s the family, and with extras, I feel so vulnerable. And you seemed so at ease and in control and confident. It made you understand her fierceness and how fearless she was.

Smollett: Thank you so much! It’s so interesting that you point that out because, for me, singing in front of people terrifies me. It truly is one of the things that terrifies me the most. The thing about Misha’s writing is, she finds a way to teach you so much about a character in such a small amount of time. And in that first sequence we learn so much about Leti, from that fearlessness you talk about, the ease that she has in herself and in her person, but then you learn so much about her hypocrisy and the contrasting ideas that are at play inside. She’s a very complex one. In the scene with her sister where she’s talking about having dreams of pioneering into an all-white neighborhood in 1955, but she can’t afford to may for socks. [Laughs.] She didn’t come to her mother’s funeral, and yet she’s here yearning for some sort of family connection. And so, I just remember reading that and feeling so drawn to her and feeling like it’s a side of myself that I needed to unearth — there’s a Leti in me that I desired to actually be, but sometimes am not. And it’s interesting because through Leti, she really forced me to do so many things that I hadn’t done before and really become more fearless, become more unbound. It was just such a very cathartic experience for me.

Olsen: I felt that way with getting to do this sitcom comedy part. I felt like I was touching my childhood version of myself who was a ham doing children’s musical theater, who just who just like played for the laughs or whatever — that part that I don’t access at all, really, when filming. And Kathryn Hahn was such a force and Paul Bettany raised to the challenge, as well, of these comedic performances that were really physically funny. I started to get more comfortable — in the ’60s, ’70s, really got comfortable — and it was so much fun to touch that child that maybe was told too many times, “Oh, you’re such a ham” or you just felt like your big personality as a kid was not OK or wasn’t as appropriate. And so, getting to play with that was really freeing and very fun. As you were saying, there’s a release I needed to have, and through the comedy I was able to have it.

How did this sense of empowerment affect how you carried your own characters’ power? Was there something your character that inspired you to advocate for yourself or did advocating behind-the-scenes inform in-world behavior?

Olsen: I felt very lucky coming into this, because this is a world I know. And so, where my voice of advocacy came in was for actors who are coming into the world — like Teyonah [Parris], wanting to make sure that she had everything that she needed to understand where her character was going because this was a character that’s going to continue [and] if she had everything she needed for stunts. And then similarly with Kathryn, she didn’t realize there was someone who she could use to teach her hand gestures for her magic. And so, she was feeling nervous and lost, like, “How do I do this thing?” And I was like, “Oh, how do you not have that information!?” And then having a conversation with whom you need to on the crew up top and figure out how to keep everyone else feeling like they had everything they needed. And luckily, because this was a show with characters that Paul and I had before, the pieces came together and it was a situation where your voice is welcomed and heard.

From “Sorry For Your Loss,” the TV show I did with Facebook, I now have a producer voice that I can’t shut up. I now just need to talk to ADs a lot, and I need to talk to line producers a lot. I realize that I like having — especially if I’m No. 1 on the call sheet; if I’m a primary part — all of the information so I can understand why decisions that seem weird are happening, or else I’m going to get in my head about, “Why are we doing this this way? I just let people know that off the bat now because it makes me less of a control freak, having information. And it is a team effort and I think the actor’s value has changed in that in that respect. There’s a lot more opportunity for women to be vocal now, and so I’m just really seizing that opportunity.

Smollett: It was a very personal growing experience for me. It was time of transition [and] I’m still going through that transition in my life. In order to truly surrender and do the text justice, there was so much I had to bring to the altar every day to sacrifice. I remember talking to Jonathan about that, and he would refer to it as allowing your heart to break and hoping that the Holy Spirit would put it back together. She was essentially a woman trying to navigate her womanhood but she was never actually allowed to have a childhood. She was habitually abandoned by her mother and didn’t know her father and there’s something in that parental-daughter split that I found myself really relating to. Oddly enough like Leti, I was estranged from my father for years. He eventually passed away, really before there was that healing and so, oh man, it brought up so much shit with Leti. How does she see the world? She sees the world through the eyes of an abandoned child. With Leti, that made her overcompensate; with Jurnee, it made me shrink a lot. When you talk about that artist child, those of us who have been in this business for so long, you take on all the sensors. And I found myself just trying to love her a little more. One of the things I admired so much about Leti is this desire to love herself — this real desire to own herself unapologetically in a world that told her she was too Black and female, to exist in her entirety. It’s still a transition that I’m in, but I definitely feel so grateful to have been able to walk through some of that and navigate through some of that with Leti. But that’s, I think, the blessing and the curse of being an artist. You’ve got to be willing to bring your whole mind, body and spirit to it; nothing’s off limits.

Jurnee, the last time you spoke with Variety we were all assuming you’d get to return to this character, but now that HBO has said it’s not being renewed, do you have unfinished business with her?

Smollett: It’s no secret I’m heartbroken. I loved Leti and of course would have loved to continue playing her. But I am so incredibly proud of the work that we all created together — it feels so special and unique — and I am finding peace in that. We’re artists and there’s an endless well that dwells inside us— and there’s so much that’s out of our control. And I think I’ve done this long enough and I’ve experienced enough heartbreaks to know you don’t get attached to the results too much; you just try to stay in a moment. And I feel just so proud and blessed to have been chosen to go on this ride with these collaborators, so I am more so in the place of gratitude than loss.

On the other end of the spectrum, “WandaVision” was a limited series but Wanda Maximoff is a character you have been coming back to for years, Elizabeth. How do you approach that longevity — the changes in her, the changes in you and the interest in revisiting her at all?

Olsen: I’m 32 and I was 25 — so seven years ago — when I did the first one. There’s so much change that I’ve had, even as an actor and how I approach work and, I think, honor work so much more in the last five years, four years of my life. [Jurnee’s film] “Birds of Prey” feels like such a female-empowered thing, so I feel there’s a really incredible energy to beginning it, but then with me you hear people make comments about Marvel movies and it affects your own process. “WandaVision” really shook that up for me and made me reinvest.

Smollett: I so want to know your process with that because the comic book space was new for me. I’d been a fan; I’d seen all your movies and the other movies. How did you navigate all of those voices? Because they can be very loud.

Olsen: Luckily and also frustratingly my character was always this emotional anchor to a piece of the story. It was like the heart, if there’s a heart. Paul and I were the only romance that was really fleshed out in those movies. And so I just treated it like I would anything. And then, we have a really fun time filming “Avengers” And so it’s really goofy and the Russos are great. And so we, it feels light-hearted, and it feels like we have the last laugh at the end of the day. But when it comes to the reinvesting, that’s the whole mind game, right? Because you just hope that it continues to have this quality control, but the more the more things get made, you’re worried about that. Especially because I did a show on Facebook that was scripted, and I didn’t love the way they handled it. And it was hard. And so second season, we went back and we literally, as a team of producers, had meetings with people who ran Facebook Watch about where we thought they could improve. We had a whole presentation for them. And then eventually, they were like, “We’re not doing scripted anymore.” And so I didn’t have the greatest experience being a part of the launch of another streaming service. And so, the Disney Plus part made me nervous and then bringing these characters that are so big to television made me nervous. But Kevin Fiege explained to us that that they were not going to cut corners, and they’re going to try and create the same attention to detail, and they did. And I think it was really important for them to have that care for these first three shows that they were putting out because it was defining a new thing for them. And so, we were taken care of.

I think more for me with this with the reinvestment moving forward, I never had a six-movie or nine-movie thing; it was always two or three at a time — those were my contracts. And so, it’s always a really conscious decision. I wrapped “WandaVision” on a Wednesday and flew to London on a Friday to continue playing this part [in “Doctor Strange 2”]. I could have used getting out of the mindset, though, because they were totally different utilizations of the character and people would have had more time to understand “WandaVision” had we not just wrapped. And so there’s just a lot of, “We covered this in ‘WandaVision…’” It’s bigger than me, there’s lots of threads that are continuing on after me that I’m not aware of, and so it’s always about, “What can I get from this journey with this character that maybe I haven’t tapped into yet with her?” That’s where I keep approaching things from, so that I feel like I have some sort of strap-hang — that I can know that there’s going to be growth of some kind, even though it all maybe looks the same to other people. There is that conscious decision to learn a new element of this woman, or even of myself as an actor — something that I want to explore that I can bring to it.

Your passion for acting is apparent and you both produce as well. What about directing?

Smollett: I would love to one day. I find myself currently being incredibly excited about producing and ushering new voices and excited voices. I don’t know that I would want to direct myself — that’s a whole other skill. I remember watching Denzel Washington, who directed me in “Great Debaters” but he was also in it, and at that point he had such a command of his instrument that he was able to do that. But it’s a lot. And I remember him telling me, before directing himself, he went and made himself watch all his films just so that he could stomach this idea of watching himself in the editing room. And so, I love the idea of storytelling; I’m obsessed with just telling stories, but I don’t know that I would self-direct.

Olsen: I find myself still loving producing so much because I love asking questions and poking holes and thinking about reorganizing of storylines, things that I feel maybe need more structure. I loved writing essays in school so much; it was like something that I found creative because it was about putting so many different sources into a braid that could maybe create this larger conversation or thought at the end. And so, that’s how I look at scripts. That’s really satisfying enough for me, to play that role. I think one day I’ll think about it more honestly, what it what it would mean to be a director. I fear that if I were to do it anytime soon, I wouldn’t have the tools that I would want. I do ask lots of lens-y questions because I’ve really only been working for 11 years and only recently have I tried to really understand the art of what lenses to choose and why and what it makes an audience feel based on what you’re choosing. I want to have a better, more holistic understanding of [that] before attempting [directing] because I do think it’s such an art and just because I understand the structuring of a story or how a set works, I want to be able to provide the the image in my head. I don’t know if I have that skill yet, but I am curious about feeding it and nurturing that.

Press: Elizabeth Olsen and Jurnee Smollett Compare Notes on Genre-Blending Acting and Advocating for Performers on Set was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

#Elizabeth Olsen #WandaVision #Avengers #Scarlet Witch #Wanda Maximoff #Sorry For Your Loss #Avengers Infinity War #Avengers Age of Ultron #Captain America Civil War #Ingrid Goes West #Godzilla #Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness #Marvel #MCU #Candy Montgomery #Love and Death #Avengers Endgame

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Hi again! I come to you today with a question that may simply be a continuity error, but I'm still interested in your thoughts! In the main story, le Comte *knows* it was MC that came through the door behind him. Yet in Comte's "One Night, Beneath the Crescent Moon" POV story, he said he "...had no idea of what would happen next... That she would end up using the same door and end up stuck on the other side." What's your take on it? Thanks in advance! 💛

Hiya! First off I wanna apologize for how long it took to reply oTL I had originally drafted a response and then lost it when I accidentally closed the tab, and whenever that happens I always have to like sufficiently mourn the words I lost 😂😂😂

But to answer your question! If I’m entirely honest, I can’t remember what it was Comte said exactly in the Main Story in regards to her entering the door. There could be a lot of explanations for him saying he “knew”: continuity error, him wanting to put her at ease by seeming “in control” of the situation (while he’s screaming internally), or maybe even him wanting to cast some doubt as to whether or not he’s a person that can be trusted (aka the whole like “MC nooooooo don’t trust me I’m a vampire very bad very scary run away” kind of like Leonardo). 

All that being said, given the evidence we have and the stories I’ve read from his POV--esp that Crescent Moon one you referenced--I’m most inclined to believe that he had no idea she would follow him that day at the Louvre. If anything I really don’t think he ever anticipated any human person could follow him through the door? Because remember Sebastian (and the suitors for that matter) only manage because Comte is their escort. Sure their will to live on was strong enough that he could hear them, but they had no capacity to approach or find a door on their own as far as we currently know. The door was closed when MC found it; this suggests that Comte fully closed off that avenue to make sure nobody wayward stepped in by accident. He did the responsible thing and he left long before he could ascertain her safe journey through time, but she still managed to make it across somehow.

That’s why I think MC’s mere existence is earth-shattering to Comte. I mean we have all the good basics: a lovely lady, sweet and hard-working, means well and does her best. And these attributes all do matter, for sure. But the door is perhaps a greater catalyst in their romance than we might have first anticipated.

There will be some semi-hefty JPN rt spoilers below the cut for Dazai and Comte, so I’m just going to keep it under wraps just in case there are people who want to remained 100% unspoiled:

TW: Mentions of suicide in Dazai’s rt

The reason I say this is twofold, based on information provided by Dazai and Comte’s Main Story route. In Dazai’s route, remember that the focal point of the story is that Dazai wants to go back in time to kill himself as a baby so that he can never grow up to write his books or cause anyone pain in the near future--essentially, suicidal ideation to a frightening extreme. One of the main reasons that he fails (though MC plays a significant role in stopping him, too) is that Dazai’s will to kill himself is too weak. In simpler terms, this means that--no matter how much he insisted he wanted to die, the truth of his heart was revealed in his constant hesitating and difficulty going through with it. This is very often a reaction from people who need sizable psychological assistance to overcome trauma; they don’t usually want to die, it’s more that the pain of surviving their experiences is outweighing any possible joy they can find in living. 

But back to the most important part in bold. When Dazai asks about being able to use the door to travel through time, Charles confirms that it’s possible to travel without a pureblood escort. HOWEVER. This type of travel is very, very difficult unless you have an intense sense of willpower. I imagine the implication here is that you have to have an overwhelming desire and firmly believe it’s where you want to be in order for the travel attempt to succeed at all. (I don’t think the tethering point necessarily matters, but there is a suggestion that strong bonds between people--whether platonic or romantic--can serve as powerful guideposts when the door is distorted.) In other words, the reason Dazai relies on Charles’ moral bankruptcy is because Dazai knows he doesn’t feel strongly enough to go through with the suicide. He needs someone else who has the sheer determination and unbending will to see it through when the door opens. 

This is why Dazai is forced to ask Charles to accompany him, even though Charles doesn’t necessarily want to kill him. For Charles, this is less about a desperation to kill Dazai and more about his intense obsession-love for MC, and his willingness to do anything to receive her love/attention in return. In Charles’ view, since MC is ostensibly in love with Dazai, removing Dazai from the picture permanently is ideal. While Charles’ judgement is clouded and a little horrific, he is nonetheless rock steady in comparison to Dazai’s nonstop wavering. Dazai knows that he’s fickle on a personal level; one moment he wants to die, another he’s too afraid to let go of what he does care about or upset anyone. He’s at a point where he doesn’t know what’s right or true anymore and he’s floundering, which is honestly fairly common among those who share his lamentable condition. (Most people don’t have a death wish--it’s more a combination of circumstantial problems and healing that has remained in stasis that constitutes the extremity of that behavior.)

Moving right along, Comte’s route also features a similar testament to willpower, believe it or not. This happens in the last few chapters of the main story. Basically, Shakespeare dumps MC on Vlad’s doorstep and she’s more or less suffering the latter’s monologuing for a good while. Not long after that Comte appears and nearly shoots Vlad in the head, the bullet just grazing his cheek. Comte demands that he let MC go, and Vlad--in a classic sadistic act of compliance--wrenches open the door and just tosses MC into the freefall of distorted spacetime.

Now this is dangerous to MC’s life in and of itself, but there’s a key element there: distorted spacetime. In this main story the door never returns to its normal state after that first month period. Rather, the expanse of the door is too dangerous to be traveled even by a pureblood, let alone a human being. The chances MC will ever be able to escape in order to survive are closer to zero than any other number. Remember that Comte is immortal. If he gets stuck on his own, he can’t die and the damage to his body is always more than able to heal when he’s back to safety. (He even warns Leonardo in Leo’s MS that the danger of getting stuck in some kind of pocket in spacetime is still too significant to be ignored, though I can’t be sure if that’s due to Leonardo’s inexperience with time travel/requirement for an escort, or just an inevitable risk you juggle anytime you travel through the door.)

Of course Comte leaps in after her to try to save her, but presumably their entry point is long gone now (Vlad shut the door), so they’re just kind of floating in amorphous time. They do and don’t exist. Comte is understandably distraught because MC’s life hangs in the balance; if they don’t find a way out, she is almost certainly going to die. Comte admits that--while he hates the fact that his very existence is a danger to her, he still doesn’t regret finding her by any extension. MC protests, naturally, that there’s nothing to regret. Circumstances be what they may, she loves him. 

Now, here is the key. While Comte is trying to think of a way out, MC is thinking hard about wanting to return to the mansion. Her mind reflects an acute, intense desire to return home to the place where they both belong. And wouldn’t you know it? They both suddenly tumble out of the door in the mansion and onto the carpeted floor, whole and alive, sputtering in disbelief. Comte is baffled at first but it can only give way to immense relief that she’s safe, and he just immediately breaks down.

The only reason the two make it out unscathed is because of--I can only assume--MC’s overwhelming will to live on with Comte and return to the mansion. While it would have been natural for her to be overcome by fear to the point where she could make no productive decision, or even humor the concept of focusing on their home, she does it all the same with immediate success. That’s also part of why I think Comte just 100% caves into both of their feelings in the next chapter. He saw firsthand that, not only does MC keep a level head under duress, but she also has the overpowering will necessary to survive amongst vampires. And it was perhaps this unshakeable will in the first place that landed her in the late 19th century all those weeks ago.

It’s interesting because, honestly? Her entry through the door is more or less a hinge point for their romance. While it obviously isn’t the only reason he cares about her, it definitely is one of the bigger reasons he even feels safe enough to court her in earnest in the aftermath. It is literally only after this event that he confesses everything. Why he created the mansion and the men. How he’s really felt about her and himself all this time. What Vlad showed her and the implications of Vlad’s existence. And finally the truth about what he wants. He wants a relationship with her, but he keeps being held back by the fear that he’s too much. That the demand of being by his side will outweigh any happiness she might find choosing him. (Granted MC and I find that preposterous given how attentive and considerate he is, but you know). But after seeing her pull off surviving Vlad and traveling through the door by her own willpower again? I think it sufficiently lessens his doubts as to whether she could handle a future with him. It gives him the courage to just ask her: Do you want a future with me? Can you handle the demands of a vampire that cannot accept a mere human lifetime to be in love? 

And so this is why I have unceasing Comte brainworms ladies and gentlethem. I need to go lie down before I start crying again, I love him oTL

#asks #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp meta #fangdad propaganda #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp jpn rt spoilers #i hope this makes sense/was helpful! #you're always welcome <3333 #man i need a snack but comte isnt here so whats the point #*long dramatic sigh* #AND WUV. TWUUUUUU WUV......WILL FOWOW U FOWEVAAAAAAAAA..... #AND MAWWIAGE......THAT BWESSED A W A N G E M E N T......THAT DWEAM W I F I N. A DWEAM. #SO CHEWISH YO WUV #i have exactly one brain cell and all it does is rattle for comte 25/8 #god idk how im going to wait for his wedding event in ENG oTL #i am tender #not incorrect quotes #rambles

[fmhiphop]

Chester Rogers, Career Football Player and Actor, talks about “BMF” role

Chester Rogers, known for his football career with six seasons on the field, has opened up about his role on BMF. And his account is intriguing, especially for those interested in what it takes to pursue two major passions. Chester Rogers, the Double Threat Image Source: Getty Images Rogers has worked to make a name for himself in the NFL. Now he's blazing a trail in another sector, the television/film industry. While transitioning from football to acting may seem a stretch, it's not for Rogers. In an interview with TMZ, Rogers revealed how he's been pursuing acting since he was ten. And along the way, he's nabbed a role or two. According to TMZ, Rogers appeared in a 2005 film alongside some big players in the film industry.  Rogers is said to have assumed the role of a young Billy Dee Williams, acting alongside such names as Gabrielle Union, Zoe Saldana, Hill Harper, and Billy Dee himself in the movie Constellation.  And that's not small potatoes.  Rogers Seizes Opportunities Rogers has directed much of his attention toward the NFL but has continued his pursuit of acting. And his current role in BMF serves as proof. According to Rogers, when he first got the part, he had low expectations regarding screen time. He went on to tell TMZ, "I thought it was going to be one episode, one little scene," However, it turned out to be much more. He has been filming for six months and has had to turn down some NFL opportunities. Rogers went on to note, "I'm in multiple episodes. My character continued to evolve. Throughout that time, I had to turn down almost ten different contracts from NFL to finish filming." One wonders, given such a decision, where his secret lies. How does he juggle both?  Success Secret No one denies that juggling the NFL and acting is a challenging job. But Rogers is managing and undoubtedly loving every minute of it. And in this case, there is no need to wonder how he does both. Rogers does not shy away from revealing the secret of his success. As he so exclaims, "it requires a helluva lot of "sacrifice" and "discipline." One couldn't imagine it requiring anything less. BMF https://youtu.be/5XZYPPLQvAY BMF, the hit series under the production of 50Cent, is currently streaming on Starz. The hit series dramatizes the exploits of the infamous "Black Mafia Family" under the leadership of Demetrius and Kevin Flenory. BMF is in its second season and continues to position itself as a wildly entertaining top-tier drama. In Conclusion There is nothing like getting the chance to live your dreams fully. While so few get such opportunities, Rogers does, and he does whatever is in the realm of his capabilities to do both at the top level. So a round of applause to Rogers for landing a spot on the hit drama. But most of all, for pursuing his passions. His talent is admirable, but his work ethic is everything. Written by: Renae Richardson Read the full article

[xbunnybunz]

in the city of wyndon [hop x reader]

Summary: Hop is your best friend, and there's absolutely nothing you wouldn't give him.

Genres: Angst, Fluff, Friends to lovers

Date: May 2, 2020

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The bright lights of the stadium shone directly onto you, blinding in their intensity. The sands in the field shifted under your feet, the cascade of silky sand contrasting sharply with your pounding heart and blood-rushed ears. Each time your pokemon lands a hit, you take a step back in what you could only describe as sinking dread.

What were you doing here?

The crowd screams loudly, pulsing, alive- and you feel like you’ve been boxed into a death match, again.

You can’t look up into the audience without their faces blending together, their roars sounding monstrous and heavy with bloodlust. Dozens of drones hum loudly and sail above your head like war planes, reminding you of the world’s scrutiny. Millions of eyes all bearing down on you and all your pokemon, and Hop. Your best friend.

Dust rises from the stadium like storm clouds as he calls out attacks, and each blow sends a gust of warm air into your face.

You feel like a monster.                                                      

Does he, too?

The only thing you can see clearly are his golden eyes. You can see the air of confidence and unwavering strength weighing on him like heavy robes, that same façade he slips into every morning in the wake of the rising sun, quietly, fearfully, shamefully.

The audience loves the story of underdog trainers becoming heroes. It reminds them of themselves, Sonia had once told you. Everybody wanted to be somebody.

Strangers live vicariously through you two. Stories of two friends, both meek trainers from the same nowhere town, were whispered wherever you traveled. You and Hop found it somewhat novel to be icons in the beginning, though the retellings of each battle you and him fought began to sound foreign, and barren on the tongues of strangers far and wide.

The scrutiny had worn the both of you down. You had both shifted from being icons to becoming spectacles for entertainment.

The public glorification of the winner and shunning of the defeated sat lumbering in your minds whenever battle was mentioned, and the rumbling of your pokeballs eager to fight acted as a harbinger of worse to come. The chat of savagery owed to your battles with Hop dragged at your feet day by day, like shackles weighing you down resolutely.

The tale of two old friends turned to gut each other in battle was far more interesting than the underdog story, and broadcasts were all too quick to pick up on the reception. And so that’s what you two had become in the eyes of the public, half of them cheering you on while the rest sought to tear you down.

Both your names were all over the news, your characters brandished so thoroughly that you could no longer recognize yourself on the screen. Your story had been written for you before you had the chance to live through it. Every step you took was only to fulfill the forecast the media had championed you to become, and just like everyone watching you, you sought to chase unattainable perfection.

Slowly, the sound of you and Hop’s names on wagging tongues began to haunt you like a dreary nightmare you could not awaken from.

Debate of who was stronger, who was the fan favorite, who would win, and who had wasted their time seeped into the edges of your lives- staining it dark with the desire to come out victorious, along with the shameful urge to escape from the ever-smoldering spotlight.

Even your moments of strength were overturned and exploited. As you and Hop scaled the ladder to become stronger trainers and pursue your dreams, each reel released to television showed only the strongest and weakest moments you both dared to display, turning the two of you into husks of legends so mammoth you could only hide behind them. And so you hid.

This was never what you wanted.

Though everyone seemed to think you and Hop were superhuman, looking at him, you could only see your dearest friend and his little Wooloo guiding you through thick grass years ago, before you had your own pokemon. Maybe even more than just a friend, you had sometimes dared to think. His earnest drive was so strong you felt it resonate in your heart, thrumming painfully at the inability to express itself despite proximity.

But it wasn’t possible, you had thought to yourself one late and somber night, the dim glow of the television casting soft shadows in your room.

It was selfish, you thought as you embraced Hop, who was crying silently into your arms, every sob shaking his frame chipping away at your heart.

The news reporter replayed a clip of Hop’s earlier battle with Bede, never failing to capture every flash of frustration and disappointment on Hop’s face as Bede triumphed, broadcasting his human shame for all to see.

“Will Challenger Hop ever live up to his brother and crowned Champion, Leon’s name? Or will he prove once and for all that skill requires work and not just family? Stay tuned to watch Challenger Hop face off against his friend-”

The TV screen blackened, and a seal of silence draped across the room.  You quietly put down the remote and rest a hand on Hop’s head, combing through his dark, disheveled hair with cold fingers.

You feel him tremble and close your eyes, exhaling softly into the expanse of the night.

From then on, camera crew who flock to you asking about your victory were met only with an icy wall of silence and blank looks. Fans who cheered for you and implored you to win the next match were also ignored. How could you?  How could you feed yourself into this endless cycle that served only to fuel the egos of strangers, and add to the insecurity that only you had seen Hop buckle to behind closed doors?

You shut people out, and fans were quick to speculate on this. Word went around quickly that fame had changed you, and you had a good bitter laugh at the idea that they ever knew who you were.

Hop offered comfort in the night, a weary hand placed on your shoulder, whispering warm words as you stared out the hotel window bleakly, peering sadly into the city alight with life and bustle that echoed deafeningly in the dim hotel room.

In the day, Hop had taken to the light and shouldered the role you refused to uphold. He had become the young and voracious trainer everyone yearned for, and you quickly fell out of favor. Fansigns with your name were turned over and used to display Hop’s name instead, crowds surging with energy and disagreement whenever you took him down in another match.

Uneasiness wasn’t easy to read in his eyes, as he had learned well from his brother how to shine in the limelight. But you knew from the way his eyebrows drew together slightly, how his shoulders pulled into his body- you knew that his worries were reaching its peak. After all, how could the trainer who had fallen out of favor be the one to win the challenge?

News anchors made room for programs every morning to discuss the latest pokemon matches between the four up-and-coming trainers, you, Hop, Beedee, and Marnie, and there would only ever be discourse about whether or not you had deserved to win.

Leon and Chairman Rose sympathized with you, knowing that the scrutiny and gossip that came with fame was eating you away. Leon called after a particularly bad case of media thrashing, and recommended you try to work on public appearance by showing audiences what good friends with Hop you were.

You thanked him, but didn’t plan on taking him up on the offer. You and Hop both knew you were friends, and that should’ve been enough. You didn’t want to ruin the sanctity of your friendship with him by allowing the public to exploit it, even if it meant having a little bit of peace.

Chairman Rose summoned you a few days later and though Hop had wished to accompany you, you had to decline as per the Chairman’s orders.

In that large, white and sparkling office, he told you with a smile that the public eye was trained on you, and was extremely unhappy. You had known that for a long time now, but in that moment, you felt small in the red leather chair in the office that overlooked the world. The chairman shook his head, and for a glimmer of a second you might have imagined pity in his strange eyes.

“The people are cruel.” He said, turning to look down upon the city of Wyndon. “They only know how to take sides.”

You watch him fold his arms behind his back, a flashy designer watch catching the light offensively. “I’m sure you know who they’re cheering for.”

You realize then why Chairman Rose asked you to come alone, and feel weaker than ever when you catch yourself wishing Hop was here to defend you.

The days drag on.

Each battle you have with Hop ends the same, but you feel no satisfaction from beating him like you used to. When he congratulates you now, he makes sure to monologue about how important it is to not give up on his dreams, but you’re not sure if he’s even talking about himself anymore.

The night before the big tournament, you lock your hotel room door and pretend to not hear him when he knocks.  You lie still in your bed and listen to him tossing and turning in the bed next door, not sleeping even after he stops rolling around daybreak.

But the both of you have finally made it this far. You had beat Marnie and Hop had finally beat Beedee, making you the last two challengers standing in the stadium the size of your humble hometown, down to both your last pokemon.

The battle had been arduous and tiring, considering neither of you had a good night’s sleep yesterday. The bright lights bounced off the sand on the floor and stung your eyes. The unforgiving chanting coming from the stadium booths reverberated in your head and made your temples pound painfully.

Hop recalled his pokemon and activated his dynamax band, the cheers of his fans exponentially rising and shaking the court in their fervor. You follow in suit, withdrawing your very first pokemon and remembering how much it had grown since Leon had introduced you in the courtyard. With a hefty throw, your pokemon is released from the confines of the large pokeball, landing heavily on its feet and shattering the gravel underfoot.  Debris flies haphazardly and a large gust of wind charged with power blows past you. It screeches a monstrous battle cry at Hop’s gigantamaxed pokemon, who returns the sentiment and bellows throatily.

Hop’s last pokemon was also the one Leon had given him, and though it was strong, you had a huge advantage over him because of types.  You catch his eye from across the battlefield and he gives you a smile and a wink of reassurance. You shake your head, and wonder why he never learns from his past mistakes.

He orders an attack on your pokemon, and when the blow lands, It’s powerful enough to kick sand up off the floor to whisk into a storm in the air. You know your pokemon has enough stamina to survive one more hit- this was your chance to take him down with your signature move.

When the clamor from the attack dies down, you can hear the crowd chanting Hop’s name. Even he looks surprised, glancing at them with his mouth agape.

The world seems to stop moving for a second, even the sandstorm grinding to a halt as you watch Hop turn to smile at you, honey eyes gleaming with pride and more genuine happiness than you’ve seen from him in a long time. You can’t hear him, but you see his mouth move to form the words.

They’re finally cheering for me.

You feel a lump rise in your throat and bow your head and stare at your shoes, your heartbeat slow and loud in your ears. If you thought you had it bad, then what about poor Hop, who had been in his brother-the Champion's- shadow for all of his life? To be compared to not only your rivals, but your very own flesh and blood? You think back to all the nights he blinked back tears when talking about his own future compared to his brother's, and wonder how he hadn't crumbled under the pressure years ago.

You try to calm yourself, but realize you were never nervous. You can hear the crowd murmuring, wondering why you hadn’t called out a move yet.

You think about what the Chairman’s words, and they bounce back and forth in your head as you stare at all the pokeballs on your belt- all your pokemon that have worked so hard to get you here, all the training that you had put them through to be the best of the best. The cheering of the crowd ebbs into your thoughts, and you look skyward, the sun beaming down and into the stadium and warming your cold face.

You turn to your pokemon and call a move that immediately sends the crowd reeling. Hop looks confused too, dry lips parted and not daring to exhale for fear this is a dream. His hazel eyes shone with disbelief, flooded with relief and complete and utter betrayal.

Your pokemon turns to you with an expression that mirrors gentle disappointment, and you turn away, heart aching. You close your eyes as you hear it soaring into the air, far beyond sight. As soon as it had disappeared, it remerges from the clouds, roaring through the air like a jet plane and colliding violently with Hop’s pokemon.

The announcer’s words sound distant despite being blasted over the speakers- “That wasn’t a very effective move! Oh, what was Challenger (Y/n) thinking?!”

Your pokemon stumbles backward, each fluttering step shaking your soul and the ground below you tremendously.  Hop’s pokemon stands tall and sturdy, barely hurt enough to have a scratch. Recoil hits your pokemon, and it crumples onto its knees. Gravel flies into you but you do nothing to avoid it. It cries out one last time, loud, pathetic and pained. You feel tears pricking your eyes at the sound. The sound of it falling to the side, body slapping onto the concrete listlessly, makes you flinch.

You can feel your hair waving in the breeze caused by the sheer weight of your pokemon collapsing, but you only raise your eyes to lock with Hop’s. You told yourself when you did this you would smile, but you’re finding it hard to move the corners of your lips upwards without letting them quiver.

You can hear the announcer expressing his surprise at your carelessness before gregariously declaring Hop the brand new Pokemon Challenge Finalist. The surging applause from the audience thunders so loudly it almost shadows the throbbing pain you feel in your chest. The colorful confetti popping from all angles of the stadium rained down between you and him, seeming almost comedic given the heartbreak you could see in each other's eyes.

You take a shaky step forward to finalize the end of the challenge with a handshake, but before you can take another wobbling step forward, Hop charges at you with a running start and engulfs you in a choking hug, throwing the both of you onto the hard floor and tumbling a few feet.

He's warm and large as he envelopes your body with his, and his smile is wide and cheerful. He speaks, and his words cut you open like a knife.

“What did you do?” He asked, his voice hushed and warm against your ear. “How could you?”

The wetness in your eyes pools over. Hot, burning tears run down your face, and you can’t seem to stop them.

How couldn't you?

Hop presses your head into his shoulder, hiding your face from the drones and reporters snapping pictures. He curses under his breath and clenches a fist.

“It seems Finalist Hop is so overtaken by his happiness, he’s tackled his very own rival and enemy in a hug fit for a Bewear! Ladies and gentlemen, our Enigmatic Finalist, Hop!”

You feel him pull you closer, hands cold and clammy. A grin is still plastered on his face, strained only to you.

#pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon sword and shield hop #pokemon hop #hop x reader #reader insert #fanfiction

[andolinii]

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

❛   The mind of the subject will desperately struggle to create memories where none exist   ❜ ❛   One goes into an experiment knowing one could fail. But one does not undertake an experiment knowing one has failed.   ❜ ❛   At least that's something we can agree on.   ❜ ❛   It does seem like a dreadful place to be stranded.   ❜ ❛   Heaven, friend. Or as close as we'll see till Judgment Day.   ❜ ❛   I’m afraid of you.   ❜ ❛   We had a deal! Open this door, right now!   ❜ ❛   So you expect me to shoulder the burden?   ❜ ❛   Just 'cause the city flies don't mean it ain't got its share of fools.   ❜ ❛   Heads? Or tails?   ❜ ❛   I told you...I'm not gonna do it! Now go away.   ❜ ❛   I never find that as satisfying as I'd imagined.   ❜ ❛   I guess you're expecting me... Is anyone here? Hello?   ❜ ❛   Why are you following me?   ❜ ❛   Violence is not the answer! Blood must not be shed.   ❜ ❛   Violence is not a foregone conclusion.   ❜ ❛   I see every sin that blackens your soul.   ❜ ❛   Not all debts can be repaid.   ❜ ❛   Chin up. There's always next time.   ❜ ❛   Prophecy is my business, as blood as yours   ❜ ❛   thy crook is bent and thy path is twisted.   ❜ ❛   It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. Just sit down, and everything will be fine.   ❜ ❛   Is this some kind of sales pitch? Because I am not interested.   ❜ ❛   I'm a friend. I've come to get you out of here.   ❜ ❛   I don't dance. C'mon, let's go.   ❜ ❛   This will end in blood. But then again, it always does with you, doesn't it? It always ends in blood.   ❜ ❛   Oh, can you smell that? I've never smelled anything like that before, have you?   ❜ ❛   Give a man a little power, he falls in all kinds of love with himself.   ❜ ❛   Coming here was your idea.   ❜ ❛   that fall into the water did you no favors. I'll keep an eye out for something that might ease your pain.   ❜ ❛   Knock it off! Will you stop it? Will you stop it! I'm not here to hurt you.   ❜ ❛   If you're going to be a sore loser, then I shan't do this again.   ❜ ❛   You're a roguish type, what does it look like?   ❜ ❛   Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt.   ❜ ❛   Where did you learn to pick locks?   ❜ ❛   Whatever that was, it's got nothing to do with the job at hand. This job's getting worse all the time.   ❜ ❛   What interest does a prophet have in a bunch of carnies and carousels?   ❜ ❛   I never even heard of this place before I got here.   ❜ ❛   They frown on gardens in my part of town.   ❜ ❛   I don't really understand what I just saw back there, but it sure as hell looks like a shortcut to getting us killed.   ❜ ❛   You've always been different, haven't you? You crave no glory.   ❜ ❛   You see? You're a killer, like it or not.   ❜ ❛   Now that you're out of yours, you might realize cages have their advantages.   ❜ ❛   I can handle whatever comes along. Trust me.   ❜ ❛   A choice is better than none. No matter what the outcome.   ❜ ❛   What happened back there, that...that's not the last of it, is it?   ❜ ❛   Maybe you're the man I remember, maybe not.   ❜ ❛   There's survival...and then there's finding pleasure in the act.   ❜ ❛   Look, you seem like a decent enough sort. That said, the less you know about me, the better.   ❜ ❛   I'm leaving and there's naught you can do to stop me.   ❜ ❛   Me busting you out, what do you think that was? Charity?   ❜ ❛   I got no quarrel with you.   ❜ ❛   Are you afraid of God?   ❜ ❛   I never claimed to be no hero.   ❜ ❛   There's already a fight. Only question is, which side are you on?❜ ❛   Just hold up for a minute! I'm not angry with you.   ❜ ❛   You killed those people. I can't believe you did that...they're all dead... You killed those people.   ❜ ❛   I have no need for one such as you.   ❜ ❛   Don't get too comfortable with my company. You are a means to an end, no more.   ❜ ❛   You’re either a great hero or the worst of scoundrels, depending on who's doing the telling.   ❜ ❛   I am a believer, but I am not a fool.   ❜ ❛   What is the most admirable creature on God's green earth?   ❜ ❛   Does this strike you as good news? It doesn't strike me as good news.   ❜ ❛   I don't much care for you… but I must admit, you know your way around a brawl.   ❜ ❛   Now, now, All I ask is that you finish what you started.   ❜ ❛   Son, I do say I like the cut of your chin.   ❜ ❛   You know, when your name was first passed to me, I wasn't quite sure you were the man for the job.   ❜ ❛   What could people have done to deserve to be locked up in a place like this?   ❜ ❛   You're a lion. But you can't blame me for looking after my own interests, can you?   ❜ ❛   Lions walk with lions, not hyenas.   ❜ ❛   I killed them. They were dead.   ❜ ❛   You must think me some sort of...freak. I must seem ridiculous. ❜ ❛   Like all bastards, we serve it best by smothering it in its crib.   ❜ ❛   Let me tell you about sin.   ❜ ❛   Are you going to just sit there?   ❜ ❛   the biggest sin of all, the mother of all sins, is that we sit back and take it.   ❜ ❛   In this world, you were a martyr.   ❜ ❛   These folk need a better class of hero.   ❜ ❛   This isn't our responsibility - none of it.   ❜ ❛   Why, that sort of ambition will serve you well.   ❜ ❛   I had a role in this catastrophe, if you want to pretend we're innocents in this, then that's your prerogative.   ❜ ❛   I saw you die. Saw it with my own eyes.   ❜ ❛   I know how this feels. Listen, I think you should talk to me.   ❜ ❛   How do you wash away the things that you've done?   ❜ ❛   Once people get their blood up, it ain't easy to settle it down again.   ❜ ❛   This prophecy business... You don't think anyone can really see the future, do you?   ❜ ❛   These are dire times and I could ever so use your aid.   ❜ ❛   That is an oath you cannot keep.   ❜ ❛   If you were to take me back...that's death. Or something so like it, I cannot tell the difference. ❜ ❛   A mother who abandons their child doesn't draw a lot of sympathy in my book.   ❜ ❛   You just got dealt a bad hand. ❜ ❛   The only difference between past and present is semantics.   ❜ ❛   If we could perceive time as it truly was… what reason would grammar professors have to get out of bed?   ❜ ❛   You couldn't have known this would happen.   ❜ ❛   One doesn't expect a picture of one's corpse to come across so lifelessly.   ❜ ❛   Listen to me. what you've been through… ain't nobody in the world deserves that.   ❜ ❛   We are gettin' outta here, you got it? And you're never gonna have to look back.   ❜ ❛   Child! Child! You are the lie that spewed from my womb. You are the lie, the lie, the lie.   ❜ ❛   Some men dream of money, some men dream of love. My father dreamt of a flood of fire.   ❜ ❛   I can see all that would be, might be and must not be.   ❜ ❛   Child, would you like to pray with me?   ❜ ❛   All I ever wanted is to see you live up to your potential.   ❜ ❛   Humanity wrote a bad check, and the flood was the only way to settle the accounts.   ❜ ❛   You'll need to eat sooner or later. If you hold out, you'll just starve to death.   ❜ ❛   God put his faith in men once, too. It seems that we have something in common: disappointment.   ❜ ❛   Why do you ask ‘what’ when the delicious question is ‘when?’   ❜ ❛   All I can do is watch as what I set in motion slides into its terminal stage.   ❜ ❛   Time rots everything, even hope.   ❜ ❛   We're going to cure you.   ❜ ❛   When the body cries out, the spirit listens.   ❜ ❛   Do you hear that screaming? That is the sound of your interference.   ❜ ❛   Is this where you start moralizing? You forget, I know you.   ❜ ❛   What are you going to do to stop me?❜ ❛   You struggle against prophecy, like a stone loosed from a sling.   ❜ ❛   I don't understand. I heard you screaming, I was… I was coming to get you.   ❜ ❛   Do you think...it's possible to redeem the kind of things that we've done?   ❜ ❛   We're doing this together, or I'm doing it alone. Either way, I need to know the thing's been done.   ❜ ❛   Rejoice! Rejoice! Death has no sting.   ❜ ❛   I may be the one who strikes you down, but you've always had a knack for self-destruction. Who's to say you won't beat me to the punch?   ❜ ❛   Some sins can't be forgiven.❜ ❛   I'm not going to let you kill him.   ❜ ❛   I won't abandon you.   ❜ ❛   You come to wipe your slate clean, but time will walk backwards before you find redemption.  ❜ ❛   Everything I've done...I've done to keep you safe.   ❜ ❛   You killed him. What did he mean? Huh? You tell me, what did he mean?   ❜ ❛   Just drop me off if you want to. This isn't your problem.   ❜ ❛   I'm a fool. I've sent mighty armies to stop you; I've rained fire on you from above.   ❜ ❛   Will you do this for me, just...just this one last thing? Please…   ❜ ❛   You thought the streets were paved with gold, but they were paved with blood, sweat and tears.   ❜ ❛   Look at that. Thousands of doors...opening all at once. My god, they're beautiful.   ❜ ❛   Baptism is the rebirth of the spirit...but sometimes the mind gets in the way.   ❜ ❛   There are a million million worlds. All different and all similar. Constants and variables.   ❜ ❛   We swim in different oceans but land on the same shore.   ❜ ❛   Are you ready to have your past erased? Are you ready to have your sins cleansed? Are you ready to be born again?   ❜ ❛   I can see all the doors, and what's behind all the doors.   ❜ ❛   Hey, the deal is off, you hear me? The deal is off!   ❜ ❛   You think a dunk in the river's gonna change the things that I've done?   ❜ ❛   If I don't get caught, it's going to be a very long time before we see each other.   ❜ ❛   Do you hate your wickedness?   ❜ ❛   Are we worth saving if we will not save ourselves?   ❜

#sentence starter #sentence starters #rp meme #rp sentence starter