Hora křížů (litevsky Kryžių kalnas) je poutní místo nedaleko litevského města Šiauliai. Nachází se asi 12 kilometrů severně od Šiauliai, čtvrtého největšího města v Litvě, a 50 kilometrů jižně od hranic s Lotyšškem Je známá tisíci křížů, které sem již více než sto let umísťují poutníci. Hora křížů je považována za symbol litevského odboje a zbožnosti a byla prohlášena za národní památku.
Je to…
love this little piece of speculation from the ftb wiki article abt the crimson cleric
now my personal hc abt it is that one of the armorers gained a metric fuckton of warp over time, encountered The Guys That Appear Sometimes (When Your Mind Is Warped Enough) With Murderous Intent and went "oh shit that actually looks sick im gonna sketch it real quick"
»»You know that everytime I hear your name I replay
Your fingertips against my frame and lose faith
Been praying for a way that I could feel saved [x] »»
“Saints do not move. Though grant for prayers sake.”
“Then…,” Romeo fiddles with his hands, looking at his Juliet. Opens his mouth, but only a loud exhale comes out in frustration. He begins to snap his fingers repeatedly while moving backwards. “Fuck! Line!”
“Cut! Cut!” The drama instructor waved her hands, then leapt from the chair sending it flying backward. “Seriously, Drew! Are you kidding me?” She stomps toward the edge of the stage, her thin eyebrows going up as she stares at her supposed star.
Drew shrugs his arms, wears that cocky smile of his as he wanders toward the edge of the stage, attempting at attaching swagger. “I think this play is overdone. We’ve been here! Done that. Something fucking fresh!” His loud voice echoes throughout the empty theatre. “Am I right?” He looks for some support from his fellow castmates. Everyone remains silent, a few whispered mumbles erupts. Not sure if they support the decision or not enough to care.
I stood in my designated mark, the yellow tape helps, at the corner stage as the actors rehearse the same scene over and over for too damn long. I tap the top of my sword that is attached to my hip, leaning against the wall. I am enjoying the fuck show, but it’s becoming a little too much. There is only so much of this shit I can let roll off my shoulders.
I am literally only here for one person - one person only as a stupid, motherfucking dare.
My eyes go toward our Juliet - Samantha.
Her face scrunched up as she stood there in her costume, with safety pins cinched at the hips. Her hands went to check on the pins, letting out a small groan when one of them pricked her finger. Anyone can see the annoyance written all over her face.
Her eyes locked with mine, then began to narrow them a bit. A little half-smirk began to spread across my mouth, I shrugged as if I was silently asking for permission to speak. She shook her head and turned her attention to Drew and the instructor going back and forth. This was community theatre, not fucking broadway.
“It’s because you suck,” I blurt out with a little laugh. “You suck, Drew.”
And there it is. He darts his eyes toward me, coiling his fists and takes a few steps in my direction. I don’t bother moving, I count his steps. He’s no threat to me and he knows it.
“Like you can do any better? You can’t even carry yourself! Everyone in town knows you’re a piece of shit.” He tried to sound threatening. It’s really funny watching him try to stand taller, look bigger, appear tougher. I am guessing it’s an ego thing, making up for something else.
I turn my gaze toward Sam, who’s only watching Drew and clenching her jaw. I can tell she wants nothing more than to get out of here.
“Okay.” I use my elbows to push off the wall and stroll over to the center stage. Her eyes began to roll, if looks could kill.
“Okay?” Drew arches an eyebrow wanting it to sound like a challenge.
“Okay.” I repeat and smile just enough to know it gets under his skin. I take a sidestep, scratching the side of my jaw and fixate on Sam. She’s already on edge, ready to possibly throat punch me. I am enjoying it.
She and I don’t have an poetic history. Sadly. It happened one night, too many shots, lame house party and an empty room.
I kissed her, she kissed me back. My hands roamed her body. She moaned in sweet pleasure. I picked her up, squeezing the back of her thighs, pressing her against the nearest wall.
She murmured some words against my lips. I tried responding. All she said, "Shut up, Caspian."
We pushed through the drunk crowd until we found a room. She reached behind her opening the door. We stumbled inside, I carefully placed her on the bed. She grabbed me roughly, pulling me toward her, yanking my shirt off. "Sam..."
"Don't. Please don't." She shook her head. I nodded, obeying. Our lips collided, softly at first then desperately as if this was the end. I never had the chance to tell her she was beautiful and I wasn't very drunk. I remember every piece of her.
The next day, regret filled her body. She didn't even have to say anything to me. I could read it off her. We didn't speak at work the next day, nor the next day. Then she spoke to me about the theatre.
They needed a body to fill this cast, she casually pitched it to me at work. "Bet you can't act."
"Excuse me?" I snorted as I wiped the table.
"Casp can't act for shit." She shrugged her shoulders, smirking a little. It was a quiet challenge.
I stayed up, studying the lines, repeating them, just to fucking prove her wrong.
“Then move not, while my prayers effect I take.” I repeat the line perfectly as I move closer to her. She keeps her eyes on me, not budging until I’m in front of her. I didn’t think many things made her nervous, but I can see a shift in her body. “This from my lips...” I lean in, barely any space between us. I can feel her breath against my lips. “By thine my sin is purged.” My insides twist. My heart pounds ever so faster. I hate it, but god did I love it at the same time. I’m wondering if her pulse is picking up.
My fingers trail over her shoulder, across her neck. There it is. I can faintly feel her pulse against my fingertips. I lick my lips, bumping my knee against her thigh teasingly.
Sam swallowed. A smile was starting to grow across my lips. I lifted my hand to gently touch her cheek. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to close the gap between us. It was physically hard to stay back. But I wanted her to want it, I wanted her to ask. Beg. Ask me for my touch again and again.
Our eyes lock on each other. I tell myself to lean in, do it. “Give me my sin, Samantha,” I whisper to her and carefully drag my thumb across her chin, tugging it downward.
“Yes!” The instructor exclaims and claps. “That’s what we need! Tension, chemistry!” She takes her notes, starts sharing them with the cast.
Sam knocks my hand away and moves away from me. Commotion erupts in the theatre. I try to grab Sam’s hand but she’s already heading toward her friends. Big smiles among the group.
I rub my chest to distract myself, I feel the tightness below my navel. “Fuck,” I mutter as I exited the stage.
