#Men On A Mission

[crazyfanofmassculture]

No one:

Literally no one:

Kim Heechul in bathrobe:

[traditional-with-a-twist]

lxvii. Beauty and Her Beast

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For Obi, all the doubts had burned away.

He had said to Shirayuki once that he could not help her understand as Zen could —he would bring the prince to her instead. Zen could clear away doubts impenetrable to Obi; he saw through it all, straight and clear down the path ahead to the sunlit lands that lay beyond.

Now Obi saw it, too.

No longer did he feel himself adrift, without purpose or direction except what he set for himself, secure only in the knowledge that he could not be trusted. Just when they had all thought themselves abandoned, and none perhaps more so than Obi, Zen had bequeathed this parting vision.

For the first time since his master had ridden away, and the army of Clarines had returned home without him, the way forward was made clear to Obi.

The only question now was how to get there.

This guiding light – charged by the threat of imminent danger – revived all Obi’s prodigious energies to concentrate on a single point: stop the sea snake before she could hurt Shirayuki.

...

With this single-mindedness of purpose, he threw himself again and again against his bonds, muscle against the cords, bone on steel, until he felt the ring that bound him to the wall begin to give way.

All this time, Mitsuihed sat motionless. His body hunched in on itself, immobile, but his mind was churning. He heard his friend’s struggles as if from a long way distant, strangely muted.

Metal clanged on stone as Obi wrenched himself free. The victory stayed him not an instant – he sprang to the door and pounded iit with the same ferocity as his chains, his energies unspent.

Obi was hammering at the door, and their faces were hammering in Mitsuhide’s head: Kiki… Shirayuki… they were in danger.

Mitsuhide wanted to help them; in his soul of souls, he yearned for their happiness and well-being. He would have given anything for that – but he shrank from the connected thought: that day on the battlefield, Zen’s blood running into the grass, and his own empty hands – shaped to wield a sword in the defense of his prince’s life, yet helpless against that red flow, powerless to save him.

Perhaps it was better not to try than to fail, when that failure might cost the ones you loved best, nothing short of everything.

...

The door burst open, but beyond it — a staircase full of armed men.

They fell upon Obi with wild yells, bearing him backwards over the threshold as inexorably as a wave.

Even had he not suffered from every deprivation and abuse as a prisoner, to say nothing of his long stretch of relentless, self-inflicted maltreatment while journeying alone, Obi would have been at a disadvantage, fighting in doors at close quarters.

As Itoya had discovered firsthand, Obi exercised the full extent of his powers in the forests, among the trees.

The boundless spaces, with their multitude of possibilities for concealment, gave full play to his abilities: the hurtling speed, lightning strikes, crushing force.

Inside four walls, he was more easily hemmed in, crowded and outflanked by his opponents. Now, in the heaving press of assailants struggling to subdue him, he was slowly folding under their weight.

...

Mitsuhide rose. Ahead of him, a guard raised a club over Obi’s head. The blow descended —and broke. 

It had struck a broad shoulder, interposed between.

For a moment, the fighting stilled. Towering above the other men in that close, dark room, Mitsuhide spoke: “There are things in the past that I wish I had done…but there is more in the future that I still wish to do.”

His eyes met Obi's: steady, clear brown against the wild gold with dilated pupil. "I'm here,” Mitsuhide said simply.

With a strangled yell, the guards closed to battle again, but now the odds swung against them.

Fighting back to back, Mitsuhide and Obi bore down the hail of blows, forcing the guards away, to either side, like a prow cleaving the waves.

...

Mitsuhide struck with a grim determination, face set, one eye always on his friend, for Obi flung himself into the brawl with an abandon heedless of his own safety. More than once, Mitsuhide intervened to turn aside a hit that must surely have incapacitated him – if it were possible to halt the raw drive that consumed Obi with his mindless purpose.

Mitsuhide almost envied him that unfettered instinct – he felt himself slow and dull, his power blunted by a long season of no training more strenuous than the cross-country pace of a courier in saddle.

He had forsaken the way of the sword, and it had forsaken him. He would have reproached himself bitterly for this in turn, but the mad throng left little space for reflection.

It was all the work of elbows and fists: rusty as he was, Mitsuhide relied more than ever on his superior bulk.

Their attackers, repulsed to the point that they felt themselves defending against the onslaught, wrestled all the more frantically as the prisoners neared the top of the stairs, but now even the support of the walls failed them in the containment effort.

Only the open air beckoned, and Mitsuhide and Obi would not be denied.

They burst into the hall — and found the house in chaos.

...

For the first time, Obi paused. Adrenaline may have pushed him beyond thought, but a sense far deeper than consciousness warned him something was amiss – something too costly to ignore. 

A moment later, Mitsuhide smelled smoke.

He gripped Obi’s arm, trying to recall his friend to himself. Eyes darting this way and that, Obi met his gaze only reluctantly and obliquely at that.

“The windows,” Mitsuhide shouted above the din. “The windows!”

Regardless of whether Obi heard him or understood, he surged forward in much the way Mitsuhide had hoped. A haze now clogged the air; both men bent low as they ran, their height no longer serving them in good stead.

At least the estate’s staff had grasped the greater danger and paid them no attention —too frantic in their cries and desperate attempts to organize some defense against the flames that now licked at the walls.

The first window Mitsuhide and Obi found answered them with blackened glass, the gardens beyond completely obscured with smoke.

...

Mitsuhide reached out to turn Obi back, but he had already wheeled around and plunged once more into the corridor. Following, Mitsuhide struck his foot against a step. He stumbled and corrected; they were running on stairs — below, the heat grown intolerable; above, a gamble in the dark.

Obi cut left — the floor had leveled out again — and Mitsuhide followed. 

They emerged onto a balcony, its fluted bowl clinging to the walls like a flowing vine. 

Brilliantly orange serpents were devouring the ornamental trees below, blackening their pale stone paths.

Only the central fountain had escaped the conflagration. It shone a glassy, sapphire blue, a pool of tranquility in the sooty, sparking mess. 

Obi’s whole body had angled that way, his gaze fixed, his muscles coiling to spring.

...

For a breath, Mitsuhide remembered he was mortal. 

Then they jumped.

[lgbtally4ever]

MEN ON A MISSION

CHA EUN WOO

MOONBIN (R.I.P.)

(Astro)

NETFLIX

P6: E15”2021-04-17”

[sparkie96]

“Men on a Mission” Update

It was a week since the incident and Chris never felt more on edge. He had been expecting Krauser to pop up wherever he went. That feeling of anxiety and fear only intensified when he went out with Leon. Especially while he was out with Leon. He feared that Krauser would make himself known and tell Leon everything that had happened in Mexico.

Or worse, kill Leon.

Thank god they left when they did. Leon’s hotel room had been literally right next door to Krauser’s…which had been empty when they went to get Leon’s stuff.

A small miracle really.

Leon, of course the ever observant one, noticed that Chris was on edge and had questioned it, but Chris waved him off, saying that the target had been in the same hotel so Chris was hoping he wasn't here now. Which, he knew he wasn't, but Leon didn't have to know that.

Naturally, Leon was skeptical, but he knew better. Chris knew that Leon knew that he was going to leave it at that. Chris wouldn drudge up anything Leon didn’t want to talk about if it didn’t help him, so Leon knew better than to keep picking at things that bothered Chris if it wasn’t necessary to do so.

But the question of why the man’s ass was sore for days evidently haunted the agent, who would bait him with jests or innuendoes about that exact thing. Didn’t help that Chris gave him the exact reactions Leon had been looking for; pouts accompanied with blushes, a bite of the lower lip, or Chris turning around and smacking Leon on the ass when the agent turned his back to him.

Either way, it made Leon chuckle or smile like an idiot, oblivious as to why Chris was self-conscious of his ass. He was just lucky Leon didn’t return the gesture and give Chris a slap on his ass.

[crazyfanofmasskpopculture]

[father-of-wrestling]

[fail-sco0b]

whys sanji always attracting men bruh, womanizer? no, menanizer

[starspilli]

FINALLY did some of the x men & dc crossover stuff that’s been rattling around in my head lol. & trust me i have more. i just think these ones would have interesting / funny dynamics lol

[k-star-holic]

Lee Sang-min, Lee Su-ji 'Surprised by Ship Exposure' Dance "This Is the First Time" (Men on a Mission)

Source: k-star-holic.blogspot.com

[crazyfanofmassculture]

Look at this bag! It's free gift from water's brand. He's icon

[fixfoxnox]

This is why I'm not the biggest fan of the Price is the dad of the 141 headcanons, because what people fail to understand is that the person on the leash is actually Price

[the-last-butter]

HC they first met a year or two after Yelan got her vision; post fighting the in abyss but when Kaeya was still navigating his identity from Kaeya, Brother and Right hand of Diluc Ragnvindr to Kaeya Alberich, Cavalry Captain and Quarter master of the Knights of Favonius.

[sparkie96]

Chapter Three of “Men on a Mission” “Switching POVs”

Another sigh left him as Leon dialed Chris's number again, leaning against the balcony railing, phone to his ear and foot tapping against the pavement, a half drunk glass of whiskey in his free hand. He didn’t mind the country this time of year. It was a helluva lot better than the last time he was here, mainly because he wasn’t tailing some Politician or chasing a dead-end lead.

This time he was chasing a lead on Chris, the man having gone on an assignment. He was supposed to be his back-up if things went awry. He wasn’t told much about the supposed “Target '' other than Chris would call for backup if he needed it. Or, Leon would have to intervene if Chris had gone too long without communication.

Apparently this Target was essential to both the DSO and the BSAA. Something about this person helping to peddle BOWs in the Black Market. Same as Ada, but Leon wouldn’t sell her out.

“This is Redfield. Leave a message. Unless this is Leon, Jill, or Claire…then just send a text? See ya.” Chris’s voicemail said in his ear, Leon pulling it away from his ear in annoyance.

“I did. I sent a bunch of texts. And you didn’t answer. That’s why I’m calling.” Leon said, more so to himself, not realizing that Chris’s voicemail picked it up.

He heard a thud next door, followed by repetitive thuds, Leon giving that wall a look, “The fuck is going on over there?”

(In which a wild Leon appears)

[crazyfanofmasskpopculture]

[team7-headquarter]

HE WAS SO MAD