#and each mission was a resounding success

[jmdbjk]

Traveling is my thing too...

I'm still marinating in my Are You Sure?! afterglow. I just loved every part of it, every minute of the episodes and behinds. There is one thing that's been on my mind and I know it might ruffle some people because of how it sounds at first.

Jimin and Jungkook spontaneously created "scenes" for Are You Sure?!. Prompted each other for the sake of making content. Another facet of being good entertainers...

They were trying to be content creators and not rely on others to tell them what to say or do. The total opposite of "scripted" which, of course, means the shows were unscripted and made up as the days' activities unfolded.

They both actively initiated moments they could play off each other. This is part of that now-becoming-over-used word we say to describe their dynamic... chemistry.

Was it fake? No. The moments they created were genuine interactions whether it was an inside joke of theirs or just talking about topics like cosmic horror or origins of slang words. Not any different than how we behave with our own close friends and significant others. We initiate conversation topics, we poke at each other, we talk about stupid shit, we sometimes have heartfelt and meaningful conversations.

In other words, we are authentic with our closest people. That's what humans do. And as we also are so comfortable with our friends and significant others, we can also have quiet time just being in the presence of the other. IT'S ALL NORMAL AND NOT FAKE.

Was it fan service? No. Again, they were being content creators, trying to create something that was purely them, purely normal interactions only they could have with each other.

Do they have off moments? Of course they do. When one or the other was not active in the interaction, the other was just being themselves, no faking, no fan service, just Jimin and Jungkook behaving as themselves, the only way they know to behave, in the presence of the other, nothing negative about it, just "being."

But they were on a mission to create content that they knew Army would enjoy while they were away. With a big smile, Jungkook said we'll really enjoy it. He said this before he got in that Jeep and drove away to Connecticut. He already knew before it started that he and Jimin were going to have fun. They trust us, their fans, to enjoy the things they give us. Those who do not enjoy it are not their fans.

I've seen people say they only watched a few clips and not the entire series of AYS and then conclude "its obvious (insert fave name) feels this or that." No Boo, you can't deduce those things from a 5 second slo-mo clip or a screen cap from a split second moment from an 8 episode series (9 hours of interactions between the members). What IS obvious is these people don't want to know the truth.

If you don't watch original content in its entirety, how could you possibly "know" your fave/bias? Especially this particular series. If you are a fan of Jimin, Jungkook or even Taehyung, if you did not watch the entire episodes, your opinion is meaningless. If you based your opinions on select snippets or screenshots with no context, your opinion is meaningless because you don't have the entire story. You have every right to say you don't like it and won't watch it because it doesn't align with your (false) idea of who Jimin, Jungkook and even Tae are. But in doing that, you should also remind yourself you are clinging to your own fantasies of who they are.

If you had access and were able to watch all of the episodes on Disney+, many thanks for helping to make this project of Jungkook and Jimin's a resounding success. Ranked #5 worldwide for 2024 TV shows on Disney+. This chart is sorted by popularity:

In his last live the day before enlisting, Jimin told us he was sick with the flu for a week after returning from Sapporo and only had another week before their enlistment. Maybe he was starting to feel the symptoms on that last day in Sapporo and it contributed to feeling so down.

The behind footage for Sapporo shows at some point the cameras were turned off in the car when they were driving to the airport to return to Korea.

It would have been easy for the show's producers to just edit the footage and write captions that totally ignore the fact the cameras were ever turned off at all. We would have never known. Them including that information helps us put everything in context. Jungkook and Jimin purposely turned the cameras off and they purposely informed us of that so we could understand that there was a lot of time without any recording whatsoever. Maybe they talked about stuff they didn't want recorded. Maybe Jimin took a nap because he wasn't feeling good. No matter, most would call that PRIVATE TIME. They had an abundance of PRIVATE TIME during ALL of these trips.

I feel strongly they will do a few more trips. They loved this so much, and they have a foundation to build on, they will do more.

And now, its been a few weeks after the last episode and we've got the behind scenes. It still sort of feels like a dream that these two produced this project for us. Yet it only made sense didn't it? Who else out of the 7 would do something like this? It's genius level thinking to create this, doing something they both have said they love doing, doing it with each other, the people they connect with the best, and giving us something at the same time. Brilliant.

And I want to say thank you to Jimin and Jungkook. Personally, this was the best of the best.

It is truly the work of the Universe that they have each other, to support each other during this period of time. In recent pics I've seen, they look well. I miss them so much.

And now we're just over 8 months away from having them back. Eight months and 15 days before all 7 are discharged and we look forward to the first group live and an ocean of tears of relief pouring from all over the world for them. 10 days until our Hobi is back. I'm so excited!

My Are You Sure?! photobook arrived the other day, I wasn't expecting it so suddenly because Weverse Shop still had it marked as "shipping soon" and then all of a sudden it was here. YAY!

I am going to scan a lot of it but the big postcard sized photos that were part of the early pre-order gifts are on my refrigerator. I also ordered the Are You Sure?! magnets but those won't be here until December. As you can see, I'm a collector of fridge magnets when I travel so it was a no-brainer to get the Are You Sure magnets.

Also, shout out to anyone in North Carolina trying to recover from Hurricane Helene. The Nantahala area was one of my most favorite vacations. I hope to go back someday. I know it's hard to rebuild, I've experienced the aftermath of too many hurricanes. Take it one day at a time and never lose hope. Normal will come back again.

[pseudowho]

Infiltration, Chapter Seven: The Captive Goddess

Nanami Kento and the reader must pretend to be married to infiltrate a deadly Curse-user cult and take it down from the inside.

*SMUT/NSFW/18+*

A slow-burn fic with fluff/comfort, angst, smut and heroics from our favourite salaryman.

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Nanami Kento had long-since erected walls to the outside world. Very few were allowed a glimpse to his inner sanctum, and assessments of him as cold, aloof, ghoulish, humourless or melancholy provided his armour. He was externally unflappable, methodical, analytical; but under the water, his feet paddled frantically, and he felt his heart a million miles away, perched at the edge of a precipice.

Kento swam in Cursed energy; Father Tatsu was having trouble packing it back in-- the Cursed energy that had never belonged to him-- now he had shown his hand. The air was as thick as treacle. Grimly assessing that he had no choice but to fight if he wanted to give you a chance to escape, Kento rolled up his sleeves, the seal releasing on his Cursed energy as Overtime unlocked. Father Tatsu bared his teeth.

"Will it be me then, instead of that woman you call your wife?" Kento's stomach twisted as Father Tatsu picked at his nails, flippant and disinterested, "I say that...but she'll be gone by now, of course. No blood left for the leeches."

Kento read his adversary, his face impassive as he hummed in thought, seemingly considering you tactically, instead of with the gut-churning dread he really felt. I shouldn't have let her go, Kento tortured himself, bitter, she went back, and that's my fault, and she's gone already--

Kento went through mental acrobatics-- home and dead? Home and injured? Captured and home? Captured and taken to the Shrine? Captured and taken somewhere else? Captured but fought to the death? Captured and--

"She is useful," Kento mused, detached, "but not necessary for this part of the mission. It may be a blessing for her to die now instead of--"

Father Tatsu laughed, "Dead, my boy? No, no. The Goddess prefers to consume them while their heart still beats."

Kento felt a swoop of success at his easy fishing. Captured and taken to the Shrine. Taking a few steps back as Father Tatsu's power swelled, Kento's eyes glanced through the windows overlooking the village, in the direction of your house together. Kento sighed.

"Our mission was reconnaissance and escape," Kento lied smoothly, "so while it's a shame my colleague has likely been neutralised, there's no value in both of us being taken out. If you don't mind, I'll be leaving. I don't imagine it's long before my...institution arrives, to finish the job."

Father Tatsu snarled, his attempt to reel Kento to the Shrine failing. His Cursed-energy grew at an uncontrollable rate, and Father Tatsu appeared drunk, gulping back nausea, staggering. Both considered each others' moves; breaths balanced on a tightrope.

Father Tatsu darted for Kento, so much faster and stronger than his age would normally allow, and Kento jacked sideways into a roll. Righting himself, fingertips to tatami in a balanced squat, Kento swept one leg out under the staggering Father Tatsu, who landed with a resounding slam on his back. Dropping back to his haunches as Father Tatsu lay, stunned, Kento lifted the same leg, slamming the back of his booted foot down onto Father Tatsu's face.

With a nauseating crunch-pop, Father Tatsu's nose broke, lips split, choking on blood and teeth. Lifting his leg once more to land a killing blow, Kento's ankle was grasped in two obscenely strong hands; despite his leg being swathed in Cursed energy, he felt a crack ricochet up his leg, the pain like a gunshot.

Father Tatsu looked so briefly shocked, before his face twisted into a snarl, sloppy and bleeding, yanking Kento's leg, trying to pull Kento in by his broken ankle. He doesn't know how to control the power, Kento realised, hot pain flaring up his leg, because he's never had so much of it.

"Scum," Tatsu snarled, as Kento resisted his pull with gritted teeth and stubborn determination. Tatsu vomitted, hot blood, tooth fragments and bile soaking into Kento's jeans and the tatami below them. Kento watched in muted horror as the man's body seemed to swell and churn, Tatsu briefly contorted with torturous pain before sinking his fingers into Kento's leg, bellowing like a bear.

Father Tatsu was bloated with power, and it refluxed out of him in a gruesome, violent belch, when he stood, swinging Kento in an arc to the other side of the room. Beams splintered under the sinews of Kento's body, on the wall overlooking the village, and it buckled, part of the ceiling shunting down, showering Kento in plaster, clotting with blood on his forehead.

Kento stood, solid and tall, his breath hitching with the agony of standing on a fractured ankle. Kento focused his Cursed energy there, desperate for support, cursing himself for never mastering the art of Reverse Cursed Technique.

Kento was sloppy with distraction, each second away from you lowering your chances of survival. Father Tatsu crouched, arms and fingers twisting into himself like gnarled roots, an unstable implosion. He jutted forwards, staggering, animalistic, his face contorted with rage and failed restraint.

Kento turned on a pinhead, gripping a jutting ceiling beam, before kicking the crumpled wall with a roar of pain, striking a point of critical weakness. The wall collapsed outwards, and Kento and Father Tatsu were met with the cold slap of the drifting snowstorm, before Kento leapt, the remnants of the room's ceiling folding like a blanket over Father Tatsu.

Kento's belly swooped as he dropped three stories, landing in fresh snowdrift with a soft thud, before jackknifing away into the storm, making for the village gates, for escape. Kento heard a cry of rage from the devastated room behind, carried by the wind, making his gut churn with shame.

"Coward! Coward!"

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I'm underwater.

"...feed this one...goddess..."

"...too much...all the others already..."

Warm. It's too heavy. Hurts.

"...arguing!...orders..."

"...tender first...likes them begging..."

I'll just sleep let me sleep go to sleep--

WAKE UP!

Who is that? Love him. Want him.

You're running out of time. Darling. WAKE UP!

Your injury gripped you, and you sank, unbidden, into the deep once more.

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"If you don't ask him out for a coffee, I will. Maybe for me, or maybe for you." Your best friend cringed, squealing with laughter as you slapped at her.

"If you've only come in here to bother me," you chided, urging your friend to the staffroom door, "then go away, you must have something better to do, you pest--"

A gentle knock, and the door swung open, forcing your friend to spin back to you, grasping your shoulders with wicked joy, as Nanami Kento walked in behind her, his eyes questioning. You glared daggers at your friend, giving her an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Naturally, she ignored you.

"I'm so sorry, I can't come to lunch with you today after all!" She bemoaned, "I've got so much to do. You'll just have to eat alone." Your mouth dropped open at her shameless audacity. She excused herself quickly, past Kento, the door closing on you both.

There was a heartbeat of silence, and you adjusted yourself quickly, giving Kento a breathless smile in apology for your friend.

As you moved towards the door yourself, crippled by Kento's presence, you heard his silky voice behind you.

"I normally eat alone. The good company in this place is limited."

Your hand retracted briefly from the door handle as you turned to Kento, blushing. His heart skipped, his decision quick and life-altering as other, rejected paths trailed away, unchosen, alternate fates unravelling.

He folded his newspaper with a light clearing of the throat; "That being said...I know a good bakery. If you'd like to join me for lunch."

Your smile was as soft as dappled sunlight, and Kento felt something deep within him pass irretrievably to you.

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You woke with an agonal gasp, floundering in chains as a bucket of ice-cold water was flung over you. Your head spun and pounded, belly shaking with nauseous, racking shivers. Your wrists creaked against your chains, engraved in symbols; your stomach dropped as you realised your Cursed Technique had been completely neutralised by your bonds.

As soon as you raised your head to look around you, a backhanded slap across your cheek made your teeth crack together and your head rattle; a hit you knew, vaguely, to be from a man, instead of a woman. Your tiptoes pressed to the floor as you hung, coughing.

Nought but footsteps in front of you, something dark and slick across the stones, red-black light writhing and flickering in the gloom. Your foot caught on something as you tried to stand. A second slap had you feeling your captor was enjoying this.

"It's nothing personal, my dear." The voice tickled recognition in the back of your mind, but you hitched against the chains, your head and face battered. You tried to grab your thoughts, like catching smoke. Your captor had rightly ensured you had no chance to fight back-- no monologues, no grandiose speeches.

"Well...a little personal. Breaking into my library. Making a fool of me. The Fathers really did hope it wasn't you two, you know? Such talent."

A punch, deep to your gut. A scurry up your leg, a sharp squeaking bite that sank through your trousers and popped through the skin of your thigh. You were crying out now as you kicked the Librarian's rat off your leg, you were sure, but your head was ringing, vision spinning, cold seeping through to your bones.

You almost begged for mercy, but bit it back, wordless and gasping. Your feet slipped on the part-frozen slick beneath you. Your foot caught again, your floundering throwing something forwards; ragged fabric, dark with slurry, crunched bone, gristle and flesh peeking through it. You retched as the putrid-sweet smell of fleshy rot hit you. Leftovers, you thought.

The squirming nature of the light in this vast round chamber had you throwing your head back, staring upwards with bloodstained vision. An extraordinary mass of black arms and legs writhed above you, the inchoate flesh constantly changing as hundreds of blackened screaming faces, kicking legs, clawing hands moved within it, reaching out. As if in recognition of your acknowledgement, a pulse of Cursed-energy like a weapon of war shook your bones. You'd have dropped to your knees, if not bound.

"When your pain is pure," the Librarian continued, adoring, revenant, "she will devour. She shall be released. Our captive goddess, she of the fertile land, finally imbued with the righteous power needed to debride this festering country."

The Librarian approached you, his leathery hands cupping your face lovingly, shushing you as pink-stained tears ran down your cheeks. He spoke softly, as if gifting you such a boon.

"You will be part of something bigger now, sweet girl. You were misguided...but she is forgiving." The Librarian brushed tears from your tender, swollen cheeks and you grimaced in pain. He looked up, as snowflakes slipped occasionally down past the writhing mass, and reached into his pocket. With a flick, a pocket knife opened casually in his hand.

"Is your husband coming?" The Librarian asked, slow and thoughtful, "Perhaps not. I cannot feel him." Your heart crunched with pain, tears now rushing down your face in a strangled sob, hoping against hope that Kento was escaping, instead of dead.

"It is no matter." The Librarian supported the small of your back as he punched the knife into your gut. All the air shunted out of your lungs, your mouth hanging open in a voiceless gape, agony burning through every nerve of your body as the Librarian swiped the knife sideways through your belly. A slow, fatal wound. He pulled his hand away, drenched in your blood as you began to slip underwater again.

"She will taste your pain. She will come. Do not fear, sweet girl."

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You slipped out of the bathroom, skin still glistening with steam as you wiggled a towel around you, hunting for the tinny ringring-ringring of your phone.

Into your bedroom, throwing discarded clothes aside, and reaching into your pocket, you found your phone. You answered without looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?" A brief silence on the other end.

"I'm...sorry. You must be busy." That familiar voice, that made your belly twist and throb with want, velvet and slurred. You sat on your bed, gripping your towel around you.

"Kento?" You squeezed your phone until your knuckles were white. You heard a sigh and a shuffle, and blurted out in a panic, "No, wait! Don't hang up!"

A pause again.

"I just wanted-- I needed someone to--"

"Kento I--...I'm always here. For you to talk. About anything."

A thousand unspoken truths passed between you in silence. You closed your eyes, bringing your knees up to your chest with your arm wrapped around them. You felt Kento wrapped around you, warm as you waited.

"It's...it's just been a long week," he continued weakly, "Too much. Just way too much. I didn't get to see Haibara-- it was the anniversary, and I--"

You bit your lip, tears stinging in your nose for Kento. Reassurances flurried out of you. Kento felt himself warm through with your voice, slumped in his armchair, whiskey on his knee, shirt and tie open and messy over his broad chest.

You spoke over the phone, for the first time ever. The intimacy of his breaths, his slow chuckles, the crushed velvet of his tipsy voice...with your eyes closed, he was right beside you. He may as well have been in your bed. Your skin pricked with goosebumps as you heard him shift in his chair, releasing a gravelly groan with his aches and pains.

"You can-- you can come over...if you like. I'm not-- not doing anything," you offered, cringing with regret and anticipation as soon as the words left your mouth. You heard Kento's breathing hitch at the other end of the phone, before he breathed out a long, shivering breath.

"I...not tonight," he spoke, hesitant. Your stomach dropped, blushing, tears threatening to spill out as your face twisted in despair, mortified.

"I've been drinking...and you deserve better. So much better. But...tomorrow?" Your heart leapt, wondering how you would possibly wait that long. You bit your lip, burning with desire and delight as you nodded quickly.

"I-- yes. Yes. Please." Kento huffed out a laugh that had the hairs on your neck stand on end. You shivered in your cold, damp towel.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, just-- just still in a towel, I was having a bath." Kento's breath hitched again, and you were sure you could hear his embarrassment.

"God, I'm so sorry," he pressed against your hurried reassurance, "I'll go, just...go to bed. Warm up, I'll...I'll see you tomorrow." You blushed, kicking your legs, wiggling your toes, overwhelmed with joy.

"Okay. Yep. Bed, I'll-- I'll get dressed," you squeaked, unable to help yourself, teasing him with your feigned innocence. He hummed, low and unreadable.

"Sweet dreams," he said, voice warm as honeyed tea. A brief hesitation, as you both held on...the call ending with a beep.

Kento dropped his phone onto the table beside him, cupping his hands over his mouth. His thighs bounced on the chair in thrill, and he fumbled, swearing as whiskey spilled all over his lap.

The next day, he scooped you into his arms off bloodstained concrete, shielding your gaze as your friend's broken body was shifted into black bags.

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Kento had long-since left the village, since heading to the gates in swathes of snow, his broken leg giving and buckling under him as his Cursed-energy buffeted. He had escaped, cold and tactically driven; better just one dead sorcerer, than two dead sorcerers, after all.

Father Tatsu was certain, howling insults into the snow like a wolf on the mountain. His bounding strides cratered the floor beneath him as he lurched through the Temple, throwing aside the questioning approach of the kimono'd woman. She slammed into the wall in a wet crunch, hit with the force of a high-speed traffic collision. Father Tatsu lurched out into the snow, retching and vomiting again.

Father Tatsu stood strong against the piling drive of snow, a maelstrom against a maelstrom. The village was barely visible in the sea of white, as he staggered towards the black-veined, dead hill of the shrine.

Watching the man zigzag up the hill from a snowy roof, a man surrounded by allies raised his hand to pull his balaclava low, his eyes tempered like chocolate, determined.

"Time to move."

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Your heart crumpled under the weight of grief, for a promised life with Kento, never fulfilled as you hung, dying in the red-black gloom. You regretted nothing of the past; only the future you had let slip through your fingers.

The writhing goddess thrummed above you, and viscous pulses of overwhelming power thickened the air. You tried to drink it in, a desperate grasp at life.

A familiar voice called your name in the gloom. You had slipped underwater now, sunk under ice, tangled in reeds.

Kento had nightmares about how he found you, broken, bleeding, hanging and cold, until the day he died.

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One chapter to go! 🤭🤭

Chapter Eight: Unchained, LINK HERE!

@angelofthorr @nn-hh192 @vxmethyst @moonmalice @daisynik7 @heyitsmirae @black-swan-blog27 @vocosys @mischiefmanaged71 @silkspunweb 🐈‍⬛🧎‍♀️ @deegausserr

[reaper2187]

Arlecchino x reader

In the tranquil abyss of the House of Hearth, where shadows danced and embers flickered, there lived a formidable duo, Arlecchino and you. Arlecchino, the enigmatic leader of her loyal children, carried an aura of authority that commanded respect. While you, her steadfast second in command, exuded a warm and nurturing presence that enveloped the young minds within the safe confines of their clandestine abode.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, ominous shadows across the towering walls of the Snezhnayan palace, Arlecchino summoned you to her secluded sanctum. Her voice, soft yet firm, filled the dimly lit chamber. 'My most trusted confidante, I have a delicate matter that requires your attention.'

Stepping into her private chambers, you were greeted by the faint scent of parchment and the flickering glow of dying embers in the fireplace. Arlecchino sat at her desk, poring over a pile of documents with an intensity that hinted at the gravity of the task at hand.

'My children,' she began, her piercing gaze meeting yours, 'have been restless of late. Rumors of discontent have reached my ears, and I believe it is time for us to address their concerns.'

You nodded, understanding the weight of her words. 'I have noticed a subtle shift in their demeanor as well,' you replied. 'It is imperative that we act swiftly to quell any potential unrest.'

Together, you delved into the intricacies of your children's grievances, carefully analyzing each complaint and identifying the underlying reasons for their discontent. The children, you discovered, yearned for greater purpose and a more active role in shaping their own destinies.

Arlecchino listened intently, her keen mind absorbing every nuance of your analysis. 'Your insights are invaluable, my dear,' she said. 'Together, we shall devise a plan to address their concerns and reinvigorate their spirits.'

In the days that followed, you and Arlecchino worked tirelessly behind the scenes, crafting a strategy that would not only meet the needs of your children but would also strengthen the House of Hearth as a whole. You proposed a series of training exercises and missions that would challenge their abilities and foster their growth.

Arlecchino, with her unrivaled tactical prowess, refined your plan, ensuring that it would not only test their physical and mental limits but also instill in them a profound sense of accomplishment.

As the plan took shape, you couldn't help but marvel at the depth of Arlecchino's understanding of her children. She knew their strengths and weaknesses intimately, and her unwavering belief in their potential inspired you to strive for excellence in your own leadership role.

The day of the training exercises arrived, and the children of the House of Hearth assembled in the courtyard, their young hearts filled with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. You and Arlecchino stood side by side, your presence a beacon of guidance and support.

As the exercises commenced, you watched with pride as your young charges tackled each obstacle with determination and resolve. Arlecchino's eagle-eyed gaze scanned the scene, her approval evident in her silent observation.

Through grueling trials and arduous challenges, the children pushed themselves to their limits, discovering hidden strengths and forging unbreakable bonds. The atmosphere crackled with a collective sense of accomplishment and newfound purpose.

As the final exercises came to an end, you and Arlecchino retired to the solitude of her sanctum. 'Our plan has been a resounding success,' she said, her voice tinged with quiet satisfaction.

'The children have risen to every challenge, proving their worth and unwavering loyalty,' you replied. 'Their spirits have been reignited, and their belief in our cause has been solidified.'

In that moment, you realized that your bond with Arlecchino had grown stronger than ever before. Together, you had not only guided the children of the House of Hearth to a path of growth and fulfillment but had also forged an unbreakable covenant of trust and respect.

As the embers in the fireplace danced and flickered, you turned to face her, your heart filled with gratitude and admiration. 'Arlecchino,' you whispered, 'I am eternally grateful for your unwavering leadership and the profound privilege of serving by your side.'

A faint glimmer appeared in her eyes, a rare hint of vulnerability breaking through her stoic facade. 'And I, my dear confidante,' she replied, 'am eternally indebted to your wisdom, empathy, and unwavering support.'

In the hushed stillness of the chamber, your gazes met, sparks of unspoken understanding passing between you. It was a moment of profound connection, a testament to the unbreakable bond that had formed between the enigmatic leader and her trusted second in command.

[nahoney22]

Hi, thanks for sharing my @techtalksfics yesterday, I fangirled a little hard because I love your writing so much 🙈🤍

If you have the time to do The 'You look absolutely irresistible right now' prompt with Tech that would be so amazing

Prompt List Celebration 3000 Followers

Tech X F!Reader

word count: 2k words

SFW

Prompt:

“You look absolutely irresistible right now.”

warnings: I went with fluff for this one because I thought the idea with this prompt was cute! So mainly fluff, hints of jealous Tech, reader has to be flirty for the mission, mutual pining, friends to lovers, reader is female and is wearing a gown. Not proofread.

Authors note: absolutely loved your fic! So hope you enjoy this one for you 💜 @adigressivedullard @techtalksfics (check out their work!)

Your nerves were palpable, no denying that. This was a mission you had never embarked on solo, and Cid had requested an attractive female to complete it, leaving you as the default choice. The weight of the task at hand seemed to settle heavily on your shoulders.

As Wrecker handed you your heels, purchased just an hour ago, you grumbled, "I don't know about this." Despite his reassuring words, you couldn't shake the unease in your gut. You put on your long sleeved gloves, trying to smooth out the wrinkles on your dress as you stood, feeling awkward and out of place.

"Why does the target have to have a thing for fancy parties?" You muttered miserably, but Hunter quickly answered,

"Because he has a thing for attractive ladies, and that's your chance to get closer and swipe his data." He scanned you from head to toe, his expression pleased with your appearance. "You look nice," he said with a smile.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but the truth was, being complimented by the boys felt great. You couldn't help but feel a little bit special. "I look silly," you replied, trying to downplay the compliments.

"You're only saying that because you're not used to it," Hunter said, folding his arms across his chest. "Want to run over the plan again?"

The thought of going over the plan made your stomach churn, so you quickly declined, "Nah, I think if I think too much about it I'll be sick. I should be fine though." You clutched your bag tightly, which contained everything you needed - a small blaster, earpiece, and a data collector.

Crosshair and Echo joined you, showering you with compliments and reassurances, but it was Tech's words that you yearned to hear the most. When he finally approached, buried in his datapad and relaying the briefing, every word made your heart race, not just because you were nervous, but because Tech was talking to you.

"If you can get the target to head into his office, the data should be in a stronghold box under his desk. If you can't find it, comm us, and we'll try to guide you." Your doubts about the mission's success began to creep in, and you asked, "What if it doesn't work, and he doesn't give me a second glance?"

Tech finally looked up at you, and his pupils dilated, making him feel as though his heart had momentarily stopped. "You look absolutely irresistible right now," he said, almost absentmindedly. His words left you stunned and his brothers wide-eyed, and it took Tech 2.75 seconds to realize what he had said.

A rush of blood flooded his cheeks as he added, "W-which is what is needed to pull off this mission." The compliment, though accidental, sent your heart fluttering.

The ship grew silent really quick as yourself and Tech stared across at each other, the others eyes flickering between the pair. The awkward silence is then broken when Omega comes bounding.

“Are we ready- why’s everyone so quiet?”

Suddenly it was like life was sucked into the room again and you cleared your throat, looking away from Tech despite being very flustered still.

“Yep! Let’s get this over with.”

—————————-

The mission was a resounding triumph, but for Tech, every moment was a trial. With the rest of the Batch, he had successfully hacked into the security systems of the building you entered, granting them the ability to monitor your movements and eavesdrop on your conversations.

As expected, particularly by Tech, you smoothly infiltrated the target's office. As he observed from behind a monitor, his jaw tightened with tension.

The man was engaging in flirtatious, slimy banter with you, and it was only natural that you would reciprocate (for the sake of the mission). Jealousy gnawed at him, a feeling he never imagined he would experience for someone, but he detested every second of this mission. If there had been any other option, he would have proposed it, but instead, he was forced to witness the object of his affection for months being pursued while donning the most opulent and ostentatious attire. He always believed you were a vision of beauty, no matter what you wore. But when he saw you in that moment in that gown, he was nearly, for the first time, struck dumb.

He winced inwardly at the slip of his tongue from before, the compliment being an accidental in his part but not at all false. You were indeed bewitching, a fact that was becoming evident as you and the others now celebrated at Cid's, clinking glasses and toasting to a job well done.

You're seated at one of the dingy booths in Cid’s bar, leisurely clinking glasses with Bolo and Ketch, when you cast your gaze upward to find Tech glancing over his shoulder in your direction, sat alone at the bar. Your heart starts pounding like a war drum in your chest, and you can only imagine why he was sitting by himself and not with you guys

“Go talk to him,” Crosshair prods you from the side, his arms firmly folded across his chest, a toothpick tucked between his lips.

You purse your lips, torn. “What if he was only being polite, trying to put me at ease about the mission?”

Crosshair removes the toothpick from his lips and tosses it onto the already cluttered floor, a staple at Cid’s. “Or, you could take a chance that he likes you back,” he adds, his tone both stern and encouraging.

You hadn’t upfront told Crosshair your feelings for Tech, he just assumed as he caught you ‘dreamily gawping’ as he said, at Tech.

“I don't know,” you murmur, still uncertain.

“Just do it.” He grunts, rolling his eyes with his tone stern but you knew it was just to push you in the right direction.

For a splash of luck, you take a fortifying gulp from your drink and stand, your palms sweating so you wipe them on your pants which you changed into after the mission.

Tech sits lost in thought, swirling the contents of his drink and staring intently at his datapad, when he hears a shuffling beside him. He looks up, struggling to contain his surprise at seeing you there.

“Hi Tech.” You greet softly, smiling over at him.

“Hello.” His reply is rather strained, his head instantly whipping down to look at his device again, breathing a little ragged.

You strum your fingers against the bar and ever so gently nudge his shoulder with your own. “You not going to make me one of your famous drinks tonight?”

Little did people know, Tech was quite the mixologist on the quiet. You learned this when it was just you and him at Cid’s and you watched him making some kind of concoction of drink. After he slid it over to you and had a taste, you were hooked and thus made you like him just a tiny bit more since he always made you a drink, without even asking.

“What would you like?” He asks, tilting his head to look at you before standing and moving round the side of the bar, grabbing a cup ready.

You hum teasingly, tapping your fingers against your chin as if to show in deep thought. “How about my usual?”

He smiles lightly, rather pleased that you didn’t seem embarrassed or put off by what he said prior. Although, it lingered on both of your minds. “Coming right up.”

You watch him at work but smile sadly as you see him fumble a few times, clearly his headspace is elsewhere. “So, what crazy mission do you think Cid will have us do next?”

“Hopefully one that pays well enough for us to move somewhere else.” His tone was a little off.

“Do you not like it here?”

“Let me correct myself,” he says, popping a straw in your drink before sliding it over, “I do not like doing missions for Cid.”

You hum in somewhat agreement and take a sip of your drink, sighing in delight after a long day. “Even today's mission?”

He blinks at you, drying slightly damp hands on a small towel. “Especially today.”

“Oh.” You’re taken aback at his bluntness, instantly fearing that you did something wrong. “Because of me?”

He didn’t need to be Hunter to sense your uneasiness and instantly gave you an apologetic glance. “You performed well and got the mission done. However I would have rather had someone go with you in case things got complicated.”

“But it didn’t?”

He nods. “I acknowledge that but like I said, I wish someone would have been there with you when the target was almost putting his hands on you.”

He goes off on a little bit of a tangent and the realisation struck you. Or so, you hoped what you were thinking was right. “Tech, were you jealous?”

He stilled, a flicker of surprise crossing his features as you caught him off guard once again. “Admittedly, yes.”

You wet your lips, eager to delve deeper into his admission. “May I ask why?”

He scrutinised your face, noticing its softness, and couldn't help but observe as you moistened your lips delicately. Clearing his throat, he began, “I did some research on the concept of jealousy and discovered it stems from a fear or concern over losing what one possesses. I don't claim to possess you nor would I ever want you to think that, but I cannot deny that the thought of hearing and seeing you engage in flirtation with another man...it caused me pain.”

You’re completely shocked by his words but stay silent, letting him continue. “Initially I knew you would be the perfect candidate for the mission but I was not aware you could possess a power that makes me breathless just by the sight of you. Which is often. In conclusion, I can only imagine that the target felt the same as I did.”

Tech pushes up his goggles up his nose, eyes trained on you to gauge your reaction to what he was saying but you remain unreadable.

“And when I mentioned you being irresistible, I meant every word. You are irresistible, again and again.”

You spoke his name softly, feeling as though your insides were turning to liquid as you basked in his words. “Are you saying you have feelings for me?”

He stands a little taller, chest puffed out as he braces himself for whatever your reaction may be. "’Feelings’ is a weak term. I love you, to be more precise.”

Now you're rendered speechless. A grin spreads across your face as you melted inside at his words. “I...I love you too, Tech,” you whispered, not wanting anyone else to overhear this intimate moment between you two. “I just didn't think you felt the same.”

He cocked his head, trying to contain the explosion of emotions inside of him as you voiced his greatest desire - your love for him. “Did I not make my intentions clear?”

“No,” you shake your head with a laugh, “of course not.”

“Oh.” He responds, unsure what to do now at this moment in time after confessing his love for you. “I am unsure what the next approach is. I would ask you if you’d like a drink but that is something I already have taken care of.”

You think for a moment and after today, you felt like you were on a winning streak anyway. So, why not top it off?

“We could seal it with a kiss, if you’d like?”

You watch him as his eyes slowly get comically wider at your bold suggestion but not once was he going to refuse. “I would like that very much.” He replies, voice a little husky.

He leans forward a little, as did you, both leaning over the bar until your lips touch in a sweet and tender moment. Your heart skips a beat and you sigh softly against his firm yet soft lips as he lets the kiss linger for a moment before he pulls back, cheeks ablaze.

“Tech?”

“Hm?” He asks with hooded eyes, still reeling from the revelation.

“I think you’re pretty irresistible too.”

Masterlist

tags: @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @theroguesully @equalityforcats @mustluvecho @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @chxpsi @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone e @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari i @autumnleaves1991-blog @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @agenteliix @rintheemolion @kaminocasey @hotpinkplastoid @cosmic-persephone @imalovernotahater @swiftiexstarwarssimp @the-good-shittt @whore4rex @photogirl894 @s1st3r @taskfork-archive @by-the-primes

[porcelainseashore]

Ghosts from the Past (4)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Agent! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Informant! Fem! Reader

Summary: 7 years after leaving behind everything you’ve known, you’re suddenly thrust into facing a ghost from your past, Leon. Navigating where you stand with him brings up old memories, painful truths and countless questions. At the same time, you have to deal with a bunch of strange occurrences at your dance company. Set after Resident Evil 4 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Canon-Typical Horror and Violence, Blood, Injury, Torture, Infection, Medical Experiments, Psychological Trauma, Nightmares

Content: Post-Resident Evil 4, Exes to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Romance, Fluff

Author's Note: Oof, I'm really nervous with my portrayal of the mystery woman in red, but hopefully it makes for a good read. Also, a word of caution on some medical horror lying in wait.

AO3 Link

Chapter 4: Red

The deal with the scientist would go down early in the week, on the day after your performance. Bergmann had requested for you to accompany Leon, much to his chagrin. As always, your handler relished in the game of politics, wanting to make life a little more difficult for the golden boy, just because she could. It was petty, but she had always done her job well, so no one really questioned her methods. If there was one thing Germany was well-known for, it was red tape - a lot of it. Bergmann used that as an excuse to get you to keep an eye on him. This ensured that it wasn’t just the US side setting the agenda, and she would earn her place of glory if the mission was successful. It had to be.

Ever since the dreadful confession you had with Leon, you focused on the lead up to the performance, distancing yourself from the man as much as you could. Each question he had was met with curt, one-word answers. You completed your reports and handed them in without a word. The actions you took seemed to cause him visible pain, as if a brick wall was cracking bit by bit. You picked up on the nuances in his body language, especially whenever you shunned him. The way his eyes flickered when he stared at you, emptying out like a hollowed shell as he pressed his lips together in a taut line.

On the day of your performance, he wished you good luck, repeating the same words he had slipped you on a note back in high school. “You got this.” A timid smile formed on his face, unsure of how you’d react, but carrying a small glimmer of hope. 

Until then, you had barely acknowledged his presence, but now you retaliated with a look of revulsion. How dare he play with your feelings? 

“You’ve got some nerve,” you spat, turning on your heel and slamming the door on your way out, without waiting for his reply.

That night, as everyone was busy preparing for the show’s premiere, Leon had taken advantage of the diversion to do a reconnaissance of the place, based on the details you had provided to him. Channeling the whirlwind of emotions you had gone through into your movements, you danced through Silje’s latest creation, ‘The Rite’, a piece about passion, sacrifice and death. It almost felt like a ritual or secret initiation, as you rolled through the earth scattered on the stage set, muddied and stripped down like an animal, before being forced into a red dress by your co-dancers and given up as an offering to the gods.

The end of the performance was met with a resounding applause and multiple encores, as Silje came on stage to receive the customary bouquet of flowers, which she handed over to you. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted from your shoulders, as you made your way backstage to wipe the dirt off your face and look presentable again. You did it. In spite of all the trials and tribulations, you made it here as Silje’s star. But even then, it still felt like something was amiss. 

Sighing, you exited the stage doors to enter the foyer, where you greeted the theater patrons and other important people along with your fellow dancers. From the corner of your eye, you spotted someone you recognized - a tall, young man, with his dark raven hair slicked back with wax. He was impeccably dressed in a suit that you assumed was personally tailored to him, and exuded elegance as he made a beeline towards you. Your heart skipped a beat. Of course, you’d forgotten he would be here. He never missed any of Silje’s shows.

“What a performance!” He exclaimed, his radiant smile causing his eyes to crinkle with joy. Cupping his hands over yours, he gave them a squeeze. “You were wonderful as always.”

“Mikkel?” You tried to feign happiness in seeing him, as a tinge of disappointment overcame you. No matter how much you tried to snuff out the burning desire within, you wished it was someone else. Someone whom you’d rather leave in the past.

“It’s so good to see you,” he remarked genuinely.

Suddenly, as if he had a knack for showing up at the most inopportune times, you heard Leon’s rugged voice. “There you are.”

You didn’t face him, but you could tell that he seemed a little out of breath. “I managed to catch the last of it. You were amazing.” His hand hovered just over the small of your back, wanting to touch you, but knowing he couldn’t.

Mikkel flashed him a puzzled look. “Mikkel.” He extended his hand. “And you are…?”

“Leon.” It sounded tense and pinched, as he ignored the offer for a handshake.

You stepped in to interject before anymore damage could be done. “He’s, um, an old friend from the States,” you explained, nodding between the two of them awkwardly.

“Visiting?” Mikkel questioned.

“You could say that,” Leon muttered, in a tone that showed the initial signs of irritation.

Mikkel appeared to have perceived this and instead focused his attention on you. “Well, actually, I have been meaning to ask you,” he began mindfully. “If you would like to follow up on where we left off that night?”

You felt the temperature around you drop to a negative value, as his words hung in the air in deafening silence.

“Maybe we could… discuss this another time?” You suggested meekly. God, you were terrible at letting people down.

“I’m sure now is as good a time as any,” Leon interrupted tersely. You could feel the accusing glares he was throwing your way. “Wouldn’t want to keep Mikkel here hanging, right?”

For the first time since the conversation started, you turned towards him, giving him a warning glance. “Leon.”

He tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing you with a bold defiance in his eyes.

“Sorry, uh- I’ll call you or something,” you mentioned rather noncommittally to Mikkel, as you dragged Leon away from the foyer.

Once you were certain you were out of earshot, you threw your hands up in vexation. “Seriously, what the fuck?” You hissed. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

“Oh, you mean the recon part? Yeah, done and dusted,” he scoffed, aware that you were purposely avoiding the subject.

“You know, it’s pretty rich of you to give me the silent treatment, when you seem to have moved on yourself,” he admonished.

So, he saw this as a competition? You shook your head disparagingly. “Mikkel was a date that never went anywhere. Unlike your mystery woman,” you pointed out. “Happy now?”

His features relaxed, though he noted self-deprecatingly, “You could have a normal life with him.”

What he said confused you to no end, on the one hand indicating that it would be better to be with another man, yet at the same time not wanting you to.

“And what if I don’t want a normal life?” You retorted, backing away from Leon as you spoke, making it clear that the talk was over. “Listen, I don’t have time to argue with you about this. I’m needed backstage.”

“Hey, wait-”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. “You should go, Leon, before Silje sees you.” Leaving him with that piece of advice, you parted ways.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Back in the dressing room, you found yourself alone with Silje, who beamed at you with pride. “I knew you would pull through.”

Picking up a dark, champagne bottle by her side on the table, she tipped it into a flute glass, handing it over to you encouragingly. The sparkly liquid was mesmerizing, as if flecks of gold reflected along its surface. You’d never seen a color quite like it.

“It’s the most sought after one we have,” she articulated with an alluring timbre. “For special occasions.”

You took the glass, still enthralled by its contents, placing it to your lips as you drank the champagne unquestioningly. It tasted like a sweet nectar, warm and heady as it flowed down your throat and coursed through your veins. A brilliant light dazzled you and it felt like your body was vaporizing into the atmosphere. Then, you heard Silje’s voice in slow motion from the background, “Congratulations, my child…”

When you awoke, you found yourself back in your bed with no memory of how you got there. Your mind was reeling and you felt extremely groggy and unsteady, to the point where you were unable to shift yourself up to a sitting position on the mattress. 

What on earth was in that drink? You wondered if you had taken too much by accident. Maybe Silje brought you home when you passed out.

Disregarding any further thoughts, you decided that it would be best to find sleep, as you had a long day ahead of you tomorrow. But even within the throes of sleep you couldn’t find respite, because the dreams came soon after.

You were walking through darkened corridors. There was hardly any light source, except for a blue luminous sheen that coated every surface, as if you were on an alien planet. Feeling the concrete walls with your hands to guide the way, you eventually came to rest in front of a set of crimson doors. Leaning your entire weight against them, they screeched as you pushed them open, the force causing you to stumble into a room that was enveloped in a thick smog. The cover was so dense that you couldn’t see anything else beyond it and it was getting harder to breathe. 

Gradually, you began to succumb to a sort of tranquil unconsciousness. Then, you found yourself lying on a cold, metallic surface, and each time you opened your eyes, you made out vague figures of medical staff surrounding you. Surgical instruments, petri dishes and test tubes lined the counters near the table. As you couldn’t hold your eyes open for long, the images appeared like vignettes. One of the staff members in scrubs inserted a strange device with a thin needle into your vagina. The frigidity of it caused you to wince, and you felt a light suction tugging at you from within. Once they had finished with the procedure, they whisked the fluids and material away. You couldn’t scream, you didn’t have an urge to - everything felt so comfortable and numb.

The next moment, you heard the distant wail of a baby that got closer and closer, until it seemed like it was directly at the side of your ear. Twisting your head in the source of the crying, a child-like silhouette covered in a substance resembling tar crawled on the ground towards you, squelching with each movement and leaving black imprints in its wake. There were remnants of an eye and tufts of hair peeking out from beneath the slimy substance. Despite its grotesque shape, you felt a sense of connection to it, wanting to reach out and embrace it in your arms. When it was only inches away from you, your eyes snapped shut and you faded into oblivion.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Rousing yourself out of a deep slumber, you were startled to find that you were back at the dressing room of the theater, where you had celebrated with Silje yesterday evening. You immediately checked under your clothes for any signs that you had been operated on against your will, but found none.

Glancing at your watch, you cursed out loud as panic set in. You were running late for the meeting between Leon and the scientist. It didn’t take much for you to put aside the weird dream you had the night before. After all, there were far more important things to worry about right now, and there was a logical explanation for what had happened. You probably went a little overboard with the drinking and then fell asleep at the theater. It wouldn’t have been the first time this had happened either. The company had a tendency to revel in successful premieres.

Rushing over to the location you had been given, you met Leon’s stern gaze as he got out of the car he had been waiting in outside of the abandoned warehouse. He tapped on the window, indicating for the driver to do a couple of rounds before heading back to avoid suspicion.

“Partied too hard?” He questioned snippily, while making his way inside the place.

You mumbled out a quick apology, following him from behind. He was probably still sore from how your exchange ended last night.

From afar, an older man with graying hair and spectacles peeked out from behind one of the rusty beams. Upon seeing you both, he stepped over nervously, wringing his hands.

“You got the papers?” He asked, his voice was raspy as if he had swallowed sandpaper.

“Mm hm,” Leon continued to advance towards him. “Card first.”

The man nodded, looking behind his shoulders anxiously before stretching out his hand with a slim, white keycard nestled in his palm. Leon swiped it from him, examining it briefly. Finding it satisfactory, he pressed a large brown envelope into the man’s chest. 

“Your new ID. Ride’s outside.” Leon motioned to the entrance with his thumb.

“Uh- right, thanks.” The man hugged the envelope till it was slightly crushed against his body, still hesitant to move, like he had something else to say.

“Look, uh-” he stammered. “With every batch, there’s a fail-safe.” He whispered the last word as if he was afraid someone else would overhear him. “It should be marked with a red label.”

After that, he scampered off, while you waited patiently beside Leon. “So, what now?”

“I’ll worry about that.” His eyes softened as they trailed across your face, etching every mole, every contour and every line to his memory. “You just get home safe, ok?”

Would this be the final time you see him? Anything could happen when he tried to shut down the base, but you didn’t want to think about it. And even if everything went according to plan, you had outlived your purpose. He didn’t need you anymore. You would go your separate ways. A deal was a deal.

You thought back to the compromise you had made together that night at the smoky bar, as tears welled up in your eyes. Regardless of the pain he had caused you and your recent standoffish demeanor towards him, you couldn’t imagine the day would come where you’d have to say goodbye to him all over again.

He reached out, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, as you closed your eyes, causing the tears to splash down. Wiping them away with the back of his glove, he spoke again, his voice cracking under the weight of emotions, “I should go.”

“Not so fast.”

You heard the unmistakable sound of someone placing their finger on the trigger of a gun. Click.

Your eyes flew open. A slender woman in a red, full-length bodysuit and thigh high boots had appeared out of nowhere, aiming her handgun at Leon’s back. Your breath hitched, as you stood frozen on the spot. This was way out of your league and you prayed that he was coming up with some sort of tactic while she spoke.

“Didn’t expect to be seeing you again so soon, Leon,” she hinted provocatively. “You never tire of babysitting duties, do you?” A husky laugh rang out across the space. “Or are you the one currently being babysat?”

“Hm, cute,” he huffed as he shifted his footing slightly, giving her a sidelong glance.

“Not a step closer,” she warned, adjusting her aim threateningly.

You looked between the two of them curiously, assessing the familiarity with which they greeted each other, even though their expressions were hardened and unrelenting. “You seem to know her well,” you discerned.

“Too well.”

Something in the tone of his voice gave it away, and like a winded blow to your gut, you suspected that this was the other woman that had been in his life in your absence.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” 

Now was definitely not the time to confront Leon with this information, but you couldn’t reign in that gnawing feeling in your stomach. You had to know.

When you saw the pang of remorse that flashed across his eyes briefly, you had your answer.

“I hate to break up this reunion, but you happen to have something I want.” Catching him off-guard, the woman swiftly closed the distance and threw a roundhouse kick to his neck, but he managed to block it, though staggering to the side a bit.

Immediately, he drew his combat knife from its sheath, swiping at her aggressively to push her away from you. 

“Go!” He yelled back at you. 

However, you stayed rooted to the ground, unwilling to desert him to fend for himself on his own, as well as hoping to learn more about this mysterious woman.

Soon, they turned the warehouse space into a makeshift battleground, entering into a dance of lethal exchanges. Twisting, striking, and dodging, their movements became a blur, as they attacked and countered each other with deadly precision. Occasionally, a stray bullet was fired and you recoiled, taking cover behind one of the dilapidated pillars.

Just as you thought that the two combatants had entered into a stalemate, Leon ended up dominating the fight with a strategic flick of his knife, so fast that you barely missed it, holding it to her throat as he snarled, “Who are you working for this time, Ada?”

Ada. The name echoed in your ears, foreign and unknown, yet growing more intimate by the minute. You stole another look at her from your hiding spot. She was confident, strong and beautiful - all the qualities that made her desirable in such a cutthroat world. And you somehow understood why a man like Leon would have fallen for her, even though there was a dangerous glint in her eyes.

“So predictable,” she scoffed. “Always asking the same questions you’ll never get the answers to.” Cocking her head, she jested, “Who do you think, handsome?”

A sense of disgust started to rise like bile within you. A mercenary. She had to be one. And Leon went for her like a lap dog.

“Cut the crap,” he growled.

However, he didn’t expect you to interfere. “A mercenary? Really, Leon?” You snorted in disbelief as you impulsively tread out into the open. “Didn’t think you would stoop that low.”

A low whistle broke out from Ada’s lips as Leon shot you a withering look, both annoyed and surprised that you were still here. “I’m handling this. You need to leave. Now!”

“No, I’m staying,” you contested. “I can’t trust you to do the right thing anymore.” Folding your arms, you regarded him with nothing but disdain. “All of this is going into my report.”

Ada appeared amused by your rebellious outburst. Whereas, Leon’s face contorted in a mixture of rage, hurt and incredulity, “This isn’t the time to-”

In his moment of distraction, Ada tackled him to the ground, kicking him in the face to stun him temporarily, before hooking on to an attachment with her grapple gun, swooping over to you in the blink of an eye. You hardly had any time to react as she wrangled your arms behind you into a lock and zip-tied your wrists together.

You knew it was due to your inability to get a hang over your emotions that led you into this vulnerable position, but some part of you didn’t care. There were so many things that had been weighing down on you, causing you to make reckless decisions.

Leon got to his feet cautiously, his face bruised and bleeding as he raised his hands up in surrender. You had never seen him look this torn up before. That’s when you felt the nuzzle of Ada’s gun poking at the temple of your head and you gasped audibly, suddenly aware of how close you were flitting to death.

“Ada, please.” He sounded almost like he was begging on his knees. “Leave her out of this.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Keycard, now,” she barked, gesturing for him to hand it over to her.

Holding the card up between his index and middle finger, he flung it over. It sliced through the air and landed in her grasp.

“Good boy.” She smiled in approval.

Leon stepped forward guardedly. “Let her go,” he demanded.

“The last I recall, you weren’t the one calling the shots,” she smirked, referencing how you had challenged his authority earlier.

Before he could respond, she fired at a weak spot in one of the precarious-looking beams from above him, causing a section of the ceiling to come tumbling down. You shouted at him to watch out, and he ducked out of the way, but was now trapped by a bunch of rubble.

“Think I’ll keep her with me for a while. She’ll be useful,” Ada remarked languidly, biding her time as if the battle had already been won.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.” She winked at him, while he scrambled to break out of his confinement, hollering that he would come for you.

As you struggled, she pulled you in harshly to stop you, dragging you outside towards a vehicle parked at the corner of the building. Opening the car door to the passenger seat, she shoved you inside, warning you not to try anything funny. Hopping into the driver’s seat, she set off at breakneck speed.

“What do you want?” You asked vehemently, while at the same time attempting to maneuver your hands as discreetly as possible to reach your back pocket, where you usually kept Leon’s Swiss Army knife. However, the zip tie was proving to be a greater hindrance than you expected and you were failing with every endeavor.

She didn’t give an answer. Well, not the one you were looking for anyway.

“You seem to matter a lot to him,” she commented. “Interesting.”

“But he still loves you.” What you had been repressing for the past few days spilled out of you without a filter.

It was Ada’s turn to eye you with skepticism as she mocked sardonically, “Love? Oh please, don’t make me laugh.”

“He’s fun to play with.” She turned back to face the road and shrugged, but you noticed a subtle reflection of sorrow in her eyes. “Though perhaps more suited to a naive, little girl like you,” she added bitterly.

You figured that this ‘heart-to-heart’ had hit a raw nerve, and both Ada and Leon were hiding more than they were letting on. Sitting in silence, you wondered how much of what Leon had been telling you was true.

Ada’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, swerving the car around before coming to a screeching halt. “We’re here.”

As she let you out, she made sure that you were close in front of her, every now and then bumping the hilt of her gun as a reminder of who was in charge. You stared down at the looming theater over on the next block. It was eerily quiet like a ghost town, with not a soul in sight. On the street, a lone paper bag rustled in the wind. Where was everyone?

“Lead the way,” she ordered, and you began to walk.

[yandereworlds]

Immersed in the enigmatic world of bounty hunting, Dantae emerges as a formidable Hispanic figure, his reputation an embodiment of unyielding success in tracking down and apprehending individuals.

Whether the targets are debtors evading their car loan responsibilities, fugitives eluding the clutches of justice, or mere individuals evading the reach of law enforcement, Dantae's prowess remains unrivaled, attracting the attention of government agencies and bail-bond companies alike, who eagerly seek his services. With an unwavering commitment to his profession, Dantae dons the mantle of his role with utmost seriousness, each mission an opportunity to showcase his tenacity and skill. However, behind the facade of a resolute bounty hunter lies a complex individual known intimately only to those within his personal circle. Within those intimate spheres, a contrasting portrait emerges—one of smugness, confrontational tendencies, and an arrogance that refuses to be subdued. Within the realm of bounty hunting, Dantae's name resonates through the collective consciousness of his peers. A formidable figure among his counterparts, he is driven by an unwavering determination to carve his presence into the very fabric of the space. Commanding attention with an aura that demands respect, Dantae weaves a tapestry of influence, ensnaring the admiration and deference of those who cross his path.

Fully aware of his esteemed status as a bounty hunter, Dantae skillfully manipulates his reputation as a weapon, exploiting it with calculated precision to fulfill his own desires, no matter how self-serving they may be. With a keen understanding of the respect he commands, he deftly employs it as a tool of persuasion, skillfully coercing others to yield to his will. Such is the nature of his cunning; he skillfully maneuvers through the labyrinth of human interactions, effortlessly obtaining what he desires. Driven by an insatiable hunger for superiority, Dantae relentlessly pursues his aspiration to be the epitome of bounty hunting excellence. Refusing to allow any obstacles or detractors to deter him, he boldly strides forward, each step a resounding declaration of his unwavering resolve. Cockiness courses through his veins, interwoven with playful taunts, always seeking to elicit a reaction, to test the limits of those around him. In every exchange, he cunningly asserts his control, weaving a web of influence that entangles those in his path. Dantae, consumed by an unshakable belief in his own invincibility and superiority, basks in the conviction that he stands above the law, an unparalleled force amidst the multitudes. Whether this perception aligns with reality is a question irrelevant to his unwavering faith in his own greatness. It is a conviction that permeates his very being, fueling his relentless pursuit of opportunities to assert his exalted status and leave an indelible impression upon all who dare to cross his path. Each encounter becomes an opportunity for Dantae to revel in his untouchable aura, reminding both friend and foe of his seemingly insurmountable prowess. The mere mention of his name conjures images of an indomitable force, and he takes pleasure in cultivating a reputation that sets him apart from the masses. With a twinkle of arrogance dancing in his eyes and a self-assured swagger in his step, he revels in the belief that he is destined for greatness. However, the zenith of Dantae's arrogance met its reckoning on a fateful day when he received a mission of paramount importance—to capture an elusive individual who had managed to elude the clutches of law enforcement for months on end. Undeterred by the gravity of the task, Dantae's unwavering confidence remained steadfast. With an impeccable track record that seemed immune to failure, he dismissed any notion of difficulty, accepting the mission without hesitation, convinced of an effortless triumph awaiting him.

Clad in his formidable gear, Dantae slipped into the driver's seat of his meticulously equipped car, a vehicle purpose-built to aid him in his relentless pursuit of the target. Every inch of its interior brimmed with an array of cutting-edge devices and tracking mechanisms essential to the success of his mission. With focused determination etched upon his countenance, he revved the engine, the vibrations serving as a symphony of impending capture. Methodically traversing the city's labyrinthine streets, Dantae's inquiries and relentless questioning led him to the outskirts, where an abandoned warehouse stood as a silent sentinel. 

Undeterred by the desolate facade, he forged ahead, resolute in his decision to tackle the mission alone. He harbored an unyielding belief in his own abilities, dismissing the notion of backup as an unnecessary hindrance that would only impede his swift progress. As he stepped foot into the cavernous expanse of the warehouse, his hand instinctively gravitated toward his trusty revolver, ensuring its chamber was fully loaded before a swift spin of the barrel sealed his readiness. With a blend of grace and urgency, he moved through the shadows, meticulously scanning every nook and cranny in search of his quarry. Moments of fruitless exploration tempted his departure, yet a flicker of intuition beckoned him to remain. 

And there, concealed behind a stack of crates, a figure materialized—a tantalizing glimpse of the elusive target he pursued. In a commanding voice, Dantae demanded their surrender, only to find himself caught off guard as the figure deftly hurled a gas grenade in his direction, engulfing the surroundings in a dense cloud of smoke. A rare sense of exhilaration surged through Dantae's veins, a potent blend of adrenaline and excitement at encountering a target who dared to outsmart him—a feeling as intoxicating as it was inexplicable. Undeterred by the unforeseen turn of events, Dantae burst through the veils of smoke, his senses heightened and reflexes honed, chasing the fleeing figure into the vast expanse of an open field. With each stride, a newfound vigor surged within him, propelling him forward with a fervor unmatched. In that moment, he felt truly alive, immersed in the thrill of the hunt, determined to capture this elusive quarry and savor the taste of victory.

Dantae's relentless pursuit culminated in a moment of triumph as he launched himself at the elusive target, overpowering them with a primal force that brought them crashing to the ground. With sinewy arms enveloping the figure beneath him, he maintained a firm grip, a tangible display of his unwavering dominance. Eyes ablaze with an intensity that mirrored the inferno of his desires, Dantae found himself captivated by the face unveiled before him as he tore away the mask, revealing a countenance that stirred his very soul.

His heart faltered, its steady rhythm momentarily disrupted as an unexpected surge of attraction coursed through his veins. This unforeseen allure clashed with his purpose, with the understanding that he ought to surrender this captivating figure to the hands of justice. Yet, a mysterious force deep within him stirred, igniting the embers of an inexplicable infatuation—an emotion that whispered of love or perhaps the nascent seeds of an obsession. Dantae dared not acknowledge the burgeoning complexity of his feelings, but one thing was clear: he had to whisk this captivating individual away from the prying eyes of the law.

A wry chuckle escaped Dantae's lips as he bound their wrists together, deftly manipulating a pair of handcuffs from his utility belt. "Seems our game of cat and mouse has reached its conclusion," he mused, his voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and a hint of something more sinister. “Such a shame.” With deft precision, he propelled them to their feet, his grip unyielding, as he guided them towards the awaiting vehicle. Despite their futile resistance, Dantae displayed an uncanny ease, each step a testament to his unwavering determination.

"But fear not, mi amor, you’re in good hands." he uttered cryptically, his voice laden with ominous undertones. Securely confined within the confines of his trunk, their ankles bound by another pair of handcuffs, Dantae reveled in the dangerous thrill of his actions. He was well aware that his path deviated from the legal, but the intoxicating prospect of possessing you outweighed any concerns of consequence.

In the shadowy realm between right and wrong, Dantae had made his choice—a choice that propelled him towards the unknown, a world where desire mingled with danger, and where he was willing to risk it all for a taste of the forbidden fruit that had captured his heart.

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[deliciousangelfestival]

Good Guy, Bad Guy - Lloyd Hansen Series

Part 5

Character: Lloyd Hansen x Rich!Female Reader

Summary: Y/N got what she wanted. The status of CEO is in her hand. But the sudden confession from Lloyd made her think twice about the divorce. Did she make the right decision?

Words Count: 4,050

A/N: This chapter timeline is set after Lloyd confessed to the reader. This chapter will be focused on Y/N learning her feelings. 

Hope you guys enjoyed it. Comment and Reblog from you meant so much to me. Thank you so much. 💓🥹

This chapter is from Lloyd Hansen's Series - 3 Billion Divorce.

Check out Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 (Extra Story)

And check out my other stories from Masterlist.

A fool in love. 

If someone called him that last year, he would laugh because, to him, love is a joke. 

Lloyd Hansen a sociopath and the most dangerous man; he is the type of man who eliminates everyone in his way. He never let any task or mission affect his feelings. 

But now, he looks clueless, thinking about which plan to get you back. 

After everything both of you've been through.

You tossed him after the contract expired. No one ever plays with him like this. He waited three months, thinking you regretted it and will call him back. But no, nothing, Nada!

At first, Lloyd thinks you’re not his type, but he likes it each time you catch him off guard with your crazy ideas; he likes it when you become annoyed every time he provokes you. 

And your love for money is also up to his taste. 

Right now, he looks out of place at Carmichael offices. Carmichael knew his long-time friend was a chatterbox. But something felt wrong because this sociopath was silent the whole time. "What's wrong,Lloyd? Is this about your ex-wife?"

Lloyd clicked his tongue and then punched the table "Wife. I never signed the damn paper."

“Hahaha.” That laughing voice already made Lloyd's ears itchy. Her presence already makes his mood get worse. 

Susan's sudden appearance worsened Lloyd's mood because of what she would say. "Y/N already found your replacement."

'Ouch!’ her words just added more salt to his wound. 

"What do you mean b**ch?"

Susan gave him a middle finger. "Let me just say he's so much better than you. Wow, he still related to the royal family."

Lloyd snatched the phone from her hand. When he saw the photo of you hugging another man, his mind had already planned 100 ways to get rid of that person. He opened the photo comment and found the name of the person hugging you. 

"Where did you get these?!!"

Susan grabbed her phone because she knew he would have smashed her phone into the wall. "It's trending on social media. Your ex-wife became famous after the divorce."

The truth is, she followed your fans' account.

That's one of the biggest secrets she won't tell him.

Susan is one of your biggest fans. She applauds anyone who could tame Lloyd. And her favourite part is you made him in a dilemma. 

It's her turn to laugh at his misery. 

He gave her a side-eye. "She's still my wife." 

Lloyd grabs a keyboard and use CIA database. Carmichael doesn't even want to know how Lloyd knew his passwords. With facial recognition favourite, he could find out who it was. 

Earl Thomas Kimberley. Thomas is a top photographer, travelling worldwide, famous in design, and shooting in a country with a refugee crisis that can move everyone's heart. 

After his step-brother humiliated the family name, Thomas became the CEO of the family business in a shipping company. They owned 500 vessels, including travelling ships, car carriers, gas and oil tankers, submarines, and cruise ships. 

A successful man with a bright future. 

Compared to him, Thomas came from a prestigious family, just like you. 

A light hum resounded in the silent room. Lloyd looked at the computer with an expressionless face. 

“Something is off.”

“What?”

“Nobody has a perfect life. He must have a deep secret.” He grabbed his phone to give an order to his team.

Carmichael patted his shoulder. “Good luck with that.”

Lloyd told his IT team to dig deeper into Thomas. His habit of buying stuff online, his friends, his female friends, and even his porn history. 

But after a few hours, they found nothing terrible about Thomas.

It made Lloyd anxious.

Looking out the window, where the sky is blue, Lloyd wishes it could calm his insecurity.

What if you like him? A good guy like Thomas. 

Eight hours ago before the photo.

The sky is grey, and the strong wind gives the plane turbulence. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're experiencing some turbulence. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."

You were in the private jet on the way to England. Your former professor invited you to give a speech. Of course, you agree. 

Even if you must defeat your fears, plane travel still brings goosebumps.

Your hands gripped the armrest tightly when the plane got turbulence. 

“You should listen to music for distraction.” Jimmy was sitting in front of you, worried, looking pale, and he could see the sweat on your forehead even though the inside temperature was cold. 

Jimmy sighed heavily; there's nothing he can do with your stubbornness. He knew you needed Lloyd but didn't know why you let him go. 

It was Lloyd's job to make you at ease every time you travel by plane. 

Before Jimmy, one of the people who disagree with your choice of a husband even though it's a contract, of all the men in the world, you choose Lloyd. 

But now, he became the parent who was sad because his favourite son-in-law had left the house. 

Even though Lloyd could be selfish and childish most of the time, at least when you were in trouble, he knew exactly what to do. 

“If I listen to music, I will forget my speech.”

“Were you able to sleep last night?”

“Only for a few hours." You try to find a comfortable position to close your eyes, not looking at the window. 

You usually get at least 6 hours of sleep when Lloyd is beside you. Since you moved back to your childhood home, the bed feels strange. And nobody helps to calm down your nightmares. 

When you moved out from the house shared with Lloyd, you said this would be a new start.

You finally became the official CEO and could live alone without any worries. 

But something unexpected happened. 

‘My dear wife, I love you more.’

Lloyd's confession caught you off guard, and his words echoed in your mind, making you unable to sleep. 

You’ve been pushing the divorce and moving out, mainly because you started to feel comfortable with him. It was supposed to be fake marriage, but you made a mistake with a sexual relationship with Lloyd. 

‘Kill your emotion. You need to be a ruthless f*ck to rebuild L/N & Co.’

That’s your grandfather's last word to you before he died. You promised not to get f**ked by feelings and to prioritise the company. 

You know your weaknesses. Good at business but stupid in romance. 

But since you spend time with Lloyd.  You kept thinking about him. And it's suffocating because of your ego; you held back from calling him.

That's why you said yes when your professor invited you to be the speaker. Remembering the youthful memories you had back in college was nice. If you go back, you could put behind all your trauma and ex-husband.

At the Debating Chamber.

In front of hundreds of people, you were relaxed while giving a speech and answering all the questions because your former professors and classmates were present to help you. 

It felt like you went back to being a teenager again. There's no family drama because of your grandfather's will. You just focus on your study—simple time. 

After the speech was done, you immediately rained with questions. Even with Jimmy beside you, he can't just push them away. 

Until a blinded camera flash made anyone close to you feel uncomfortable. Somehow it worked to make people move away from you. 

But the photographer keeps taking pictures of you. "Excuse me,sir, could you turn off the flash?"

The person behind the camera laughed. "I'll stop if you give me 100 dollars." 

His voice sounded familiar. When the camera is put down, you finally get a closer look. You knew who it was. 

Thomas Kimberley, your former classmate. It's been years since the last time you met. From everyone in your class, you are much closer to Thomas. 

Probably because he also has the same family drama. He's the second son of Kimberley's family, but his mother is a mistress. He doesn't get along with his stepmother and step-sibling. 

How did you know his drama? His stepbrother announced it inside the class to humiliate Thomas since he failed to become an Oxford student. 

But you didn't graduate together. Last semester Thomas suddenly left and followed his dream to be a photographer. You heard this is his way to rebel against his father. 

It turned out fine; he got what he wanted, travelled worldwide, and became a famous photographer. His appearance also changed. 

Back then, he only wore a cardigan with a dull colour and jeans. But now his appearance has turned him into a good-looking man, especially when he wears black suits and thin gold frame glasses.

"Thomas. You jerk." You gave him a playful punch to his shoulder before you gave him a side hug. 

You didn’t know some students took a shot the moment you gave a friendly hug to Thomas and sent it to social media. 

Thomas laughed, “When they told me, you were coming, I thought you would buy this place.” 

He linked his arm with you. “Ah, that’s our friend, let's meet them.” His act caught you off guard because Lloyd was the only man who could be this close to you.

And there it is; you thought you could forget him, but everything reminded you of Lloyd. You let this slide for once because you don’t want to ruin the reunion. 

It was supposed to be a quick hangout at the pub. But one of your friends got this idea to visit another pub then another pub. You've never been this carefree and hungover. Looking at your friends singing at the karaoke and being happy. You suddenly have a thought. 

After graduating, you couldn't hang out with them since your grandfather dragged you back to the States. 

You were having a second thought. If you stay back then, do you still have a chance to have a normal life?

You stop daydreaming when someone hands you a glass of water. 

"Thank you."

"When was the last time you drank after you became the CEO?"

You sip the water while thinking about the moment you get the position; you become more ambitious and almost sleep daily in your office. "Hmm, never."

You put down the glass and rested your head on your palm while looking at him "Thomas, are you happy after you achieved your dream?"

"Wow, wisdom time because of the alcohol." He chuckled and then was silent for a while. "To be honest, I'm not 100% happy. Because it ruined my marriage."

Your eyes widened when you heard his confession. You didn't know he got married. "You? Married? Divorce?"

Thomas nodded; he stared at the wall of liquors. "She doesn’t like my job."

"Because you always travelled around?" You put your hand in front of your lips. That was a slip of the tongue. You were too honest because of the alcohol. "I'm sorry."

Thomas doesn't feel offended. "That's right." He put down his drinking glass and turned towards you. "It's my turn to ask a question. I want to know how the famous ice queen finally fell in love."

You gulped. You will not tell Thomas how you met Lloyd when he was supposed to kill you. You waved your hand and acted shy. "He helped me deal with my family. That's why I…" 

You were silent when you wanted to say the following words. Your mind suddenly recalled everything that happened between you and Lloyd. Both of you have been through heaven and hell together. 

"...love him." Your voice became softer; maybe only you could hear it. Is it because of the alcohol that made you say those words or because of something else?

You suddenly stand up from your seat, making people beside you almost jump. "I… I think I should go."

Thomas looks at his wristwatch. "You're right. It's already late." He stood up to grab his coat and yours. "My driver will drive us both."

"Thank you."

"It's nothing ,Y/N compare how often you drag me every time I get hungover." 

You hummed, remembering he always got drunk whenever he fought with his step-brother. 

While in the car on the way to your hotel, Thomas saw you looking at your phone screen, not doing anything; he asked, "Is your husband still awake waiting for you?"

You shook your head. "No. He didn't come with me."

"What a pity. I want to meet him."

You wonder if you heard it wrong. He sounded sulking. Did your friend want to meet Lloyd?

You waved goodbye to Thomas when the car arrived at the hotel. 

When you enter the building, Thomas' smile disappears from his face. He took out his phone to make a call. "Cancel it. We chose plan B."

The next day you woke up; you weren’t that drunk. You picked up your phone to check on your schedule. There’s nothing. You remembered last night you told your secretary you want a day off.  

It was a sunny day. 

You decided to take a walk from your hotel to clear your head. 

You don’t have any plans. When you saw the nearest coffee shop, that became your first destination. 

The coffee shop has a lovely aesthetic and is not too crowded. After you order a coffee, pick a seat at the corner near the window that faces the street. 

While you enjoy your drinks and cakes, other customers keep coming; you notice the queue line getting longer. 

When you look up, a man has his hands full. One hand holding a laptop bag and one hand holding a baby. His kid was uncomfortable with his arms, making him unable to make an order. 

“Kendal, please hold on a second.” He tried to calm his baby.

“Professor Watson.” You greet him. He's one of the professors you adore because of his intelligence and wisdom. 

He turned his head and saw you. Both of you met yesterday but didn’t have the chance to talk.

"Y/N. Haii…" He struggled to hold his daughter. You can't bear looking at your favourite professor looking like a mess.

"Let me hold her."

"Thank you, but I don't think,-" His daughter already stretched her short arms towards you. That was unexpected. 

"Both of us will be sitting there."

After a few minutes, Professor Watson joins your table with his coffee and cake. 

"Thank you for your help."

"No problem. What happened? You look… lost?" Every time you see him, he always looks like a perfect scholar. It's pretty difficult to approach him. Even though he seems scary, he will help his students. 

After ten years, his style has become easygoing, and he is more welcome. He never smiled at his students. It's been ten years, and now you see the smile stay on his face.

"Haha, today is my day off. But my wife suddenly got called to the hospital. I thought it would be a good idea to bring my daughter to the coffee shop while I make new material for my book." 

Wow, his personality completely changed. Before, he never shared his personal life. But now he still tells you about his wife working as a doctor and his son joining the football team even though you didn’t ask. 

He seemed happy after he got married. If you get married, will your personality change too?

“You’ve changed, Professor. Back then, if we asked about your day, you would say ‘Nothing besides crying myself to sleep.”

“That’s true.” He laughed. “I used to be pessimistic about life, especially marriage.”

Kendall, the cute baby, is still sitting on your lap. She is fascinated with shiny things on your head, which as your hairclip. 

"Wa, is?" Her chubby finger pointed to your hair. 

"Ooh, this is a hairclip."

"Hai,- cip,-" Kendall keep mumbling, ‘Hai,- cip,’ for a long time. You are weak to her cuteness. You take off your hairclip and let her play with it. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, she’s on the stage where she likes to play with sparkly things.”

“It’s okay.” You don’t mind if she breaks it. Anything to make her comfortable on your lap. The scent of a baby tickled your nose when you put her into your arms. Your maternal instinct suddenly kicked in. 

“You’ve changed too Y/N.”

“Back then, we only talked about your assignment, but I could see that you carry an enormous burden. Right now, I can see that you have become more confident and brave.”

He pointed to your finger that was wrapped with a diamond ring. “Was it because of your partner who is the biggest support?”

After you heard his question, you remembered everything Lloyd had done to help you, guard you, and get your position right now. He didn’t ask questions when you asked him to do complex tasks. He just says yes and provides a great result.

Like today, you can enjoy your walk without worrying anyone could hurt you. 

Even though you have to pay billions, with his help, you gain your freedom. 

If that means excellent support, the answer is “Yes, yes, he is.”

You forgot about the time until Kendall made a fuss since it was her time to nap.

That means it's time to go back. You still carry Kendal in your arms until both of you arrive at Professor Watson's car. 

On her baby seat, Kendal is still holding your hairpin, her father tries to open her palm, but she's persistent. 

"It's alright Professor she can have it." You brushed her fluffy cheeks. 

"Haha, you'll be a great mother, Y/N. Say, thank you to Aunty Y/N, sunshine."

Your body cringes when you hear the nickname. Damn Lloyd, for keep calling you that name.

He said while tightening his seat belt. "Let's meet again on your next visit."

After the car left, you went back to the hotel through the park. While walking, you sighed heavily. Your plan to travel so you could forget Lloyd failed. Because it seems like life doesn’t want you to move on from him. 

“Did you enjoy your coffee sunshine?”

Your footsteps halted when you heard his voice. 

He is sitting on the bench wearing a polo shirt, beige pants, brown loafers, and his favourite aviators. 

"Lloyd?!!"

Lloyd followed you back to the hotel. When he entered your room, he jumped to the couch and rested his feet on the table. 

He didn't talk on the way here; it's out of his character. If you look closely, he seemed to be sulking. After staying together for a year, you knew he would act like a child. 

"Lloyd, are you alright?"

He scoffed and shook his head. "How can I be alright when I found my wife is getting close to her best friend?"

You were taken aback; did he just accuse you of Thomas? 

"There's nothing between me and Thomas." You don't have romantic feelings towards Thomas even though he's a good guy. 

There's a memory about Thomas that you buried. 

Lloyd clicked his tongue. You are still clueless and dense with the opposite gender. From the photo, he could read Thomas' expressions towards you. 

Lloyd took away his aviator and threw them on the table. He smiled softly, strode forward and stood in front of you. 

You remained frozen, wondering what he was going to do. The next moment Lloyd stroked your cheek with his index finger and pulled you into his arms. 

"Let's go to bed." He rested his head on your shoulder.

'Huh?' 

Lloyd pats your back gently. "I'm tired. I haven't slept for 7 hours because I'm worried about you."

Without breaking the silence, you agreed with his request. 

Inside the bedroom, you were nervous when you lay beside him. While you are anxious, the man beside you has closed his eyes.

You tried to twist out of his arms, but it was no use. 

Lloyd brought your head to his chest. He held you tight as if to keep you from escaping. 

"I missed my wife so much I thought I would die.”

You gently patted his back as if you knew what he was thinking. He buried his nose into your hair and took a deep breath. 

"While I'm gone can you sleep?"

You sighed heavily. "No. Living alone made me more depressed."

He chuckled, "Stop pushing me away then."

You pinched his arms even though you knew it didn't affect him. Instead, he giggled more. But he was right; the answer for your insomnia is him.

But something has been bugging you for these couple of months. You break the silence by asking the big question. 

“Do you think there’s something else after this?”

There was silence, but you felt Lloyd loosen his grip. "Like what?"

You gulped. "You know, like building a family?"

"..."

"Forgot what I said." You pulled your blanket and turned your body to the other side. But Lloyd's strong arm turns your position back to face him. 

Lloyd didn't expect that question out of your mouth. 

'Family.' Of course, that idea had crossed his mind. But the desire is getting stronger because of what he saw today. 

He had arrived when you went to the coffee shop. From the car, he saw you talking with an older man; he didn't open the car door when he saw you holding a baby in your arms.

The image of you inside the house holding the baby. Their tiny hands touch your cheeks. And then you greet him with 'Good morning.'

He decided not to join your conversation and stay in the car. Looking at you holding the baby gave him a feeling of joy. 

"Do you remember my confession?"

"Yeah."

You met his scorching gaze, and he smiled.

"The confession means I want to spend the rest of my life with you, sleep with you, have sex with you."

You remained frozen but still looking at Lloyd's gleamed eyes.

"It also means I want to get you pregnant, build a family with you."

Your heart began to race wildly inside your chest. Hearing his confession once again sounds completely different now. 

Because you want to have the same goal as him. 

It was dark inside the room, but Lloyd could feel your heartbeat.

"Tell me what I want to hear Y/N."

"I love you too Lloyd. I'll give you my everything."

Lloyd pulled you into his arms again, almost squeezing you. He finally found the answer. 

The next morning. 

The sounds of the alarm make both of you wake up together. 

You grab your phone and see the notification that tells you the schedule for today. When you wanted to leave the bed, your waist suddenly got held. 

"Don't go." Lloyd grumbled on your back while his eyes were still closed. 

"I'm meeting the PM today. I can't miss it." Your finger tickled behind his ears. That's the sensitive part of his body. The technique makes you free from his hold. You immediately ran to the bathroom. 

Lloyd growled while his hand ran through his face. He hates it when the quality time with you gets disrupted. 

'RING.' He silently cursed; another interruption kept coming. He picked up his phone, turned out it was from Carmichael.

"Lloyd."

"Yeah?"

"I know you have plans to get rid of Thomas. But I suggest you don't."

"Give me one reason."

"Hermes."

Lloyd's breath hitched when he heard that name. Before he met you, he'd been searching for this weapon dealer called Hermes. 

"The agency has been looking for this person for a long time. When you were looking for Thomas' flight schedule it's the same with Hermes everytime he made a deal and the description also matched."

So the agency finally got the answer. Thomas Kimberley is Hermes. He is hiding in plain sight using his famous status. No one would think a charities photographer was also a dangerous weapon dealer.

"You were right. He's not a good guy. But,-"

"What?"

"He seems pretty close with your wife."

Lloyd clenched his fist. “Don’t say anything that makes me want to kill you.”

Carmichael was silent for a while until he said “Be friends with him and make Hermes the agency's asset.”

A/N: Wow, Carmichael is heartless towards his friend, does he? What will Lloyd go to do? Is he going to help his friend or not?

Wait for the next chapter. 

If you want to be tagged in the series, you can tell me from the comment. 💓💓💓

And if you have any questions or want to send any prompts and drabble, you could send them to my inbox. I'll be happy to answer.

This chapter is from Lloyd Hansen's Series - 3 Billion Divorce.

Check out Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,-

And check out my other stories from Masterlist.

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@patzammit

@krissy25

@stressed-out-gisele

@eralen

@readingislife

@ara-theo

@rebeccapineapple

@spikeluv84

@sebsgirl71479

[elysiumania]

title: fragile reflections pairing(s): blade, reader characters: blade, kafka, silver wolf, elio word count: 6.4k synopsis: as the moment unfolds, you believed victory was within your grasp, only to be met with an unexpected twist of fate. blade emerges as the ultimate victor, proving that when it comes to skill and long-lasting life, he surpasses you. this realization instills a profound understanding that there are depths to blade's abilities that outshine your own.

Within the expansive confines of the Stellaron Hunters' concealed headquarters, the training ground resonated with the thunderous clash and rhythmic swish of a finely honed blade slicing through forged metal. Overlooking the spectacle, nestled within the confines of the state-of-the-art modular training room, stood Silver Wolf. Her piercing gaze surveyed the scene below, attentively observing the unfolding exhibition of martial prowess.

Amidst the orchestrated chaos, a man emerged as the focal point, his dark blue-hued tresses swirling through the air with an untamed grace. Embodied by an aura of controlled ferocity, he stood resolute amidst the whirlwind of activity, embarking on an unyielding encounter with the meticulously crafted training machines. These automatons, a testament to the ingenuity of the hunters’ skilled hacker, were no match for his formidable abilities.

The man's eyes, ablaze with an otherworldly crimson radiance, mirrored his innermost desires—a primal longing for the thrill of battle and the exhilaration of spilt blood. Yet, his movements betrayed a grace and finesse that belied the raw intensity burning within. With each step and strike, he danced effortlessly amidst the mechanical foes, his lithesome form evading their onslaught with a combination of instinct and honed skill.

As the clash of steel echoed through the training grounds, the air hummed with an electric energy, captivating all who bore witness to this display of martial artistry. The man's proficiency with the blade was unparalleled, his strikes executed with a precision that showcased years of disciplined training. It was as if he had transcended mere mortal limitations, his every motion a testament to the consummate fusion of mind, body and spirit.

For the past half-hour, Silver Wolf had maintained a silent vigil, her unwavering focus fixated on the unfolding spectacle before her. The training ground had become an arena of chaos, a maelstrom of clashing blades and rending metal that assaulted her senses. Each swing and strike from Blade echoed with a thunderous noise that reverberated through the cavernous space.

In any other circumstance, Silver Wolf would have sought solace in the virtual worlds or reveled in a rare day of reprieve from their demanding mission. But today was different. She had chosen to remain, to bear witness to the sheer might and skill emanating from her comrade. The resounding clash of metal, though deafening, was a testament to Blade's unrivaled prowess and the inherent dangers they faced as Stellaron Hunters.

The vision of Silver Wolf partaking in a well-deserved respite, following the successful completion of their latest mission under the watchful guidance of Elio, now felt like a fleeting dream. Her companion, an insufferable and insatiable man, wasted no time in asserting his insatiable appetite for training, demanding a veritable army of automatons upon their return to the headquarters.

Silver Wolf's eyes flickered with a blend of disbelief and exasperation as she cast a skeptical glance on Blade. The audacity of his request, to acquire a multitude of automatons at this critical juncture, bordered on the absurd. Yet, as her gaze locked onto the fiery intensity burning within Blade's eyes, brimming with an insatiable thirst for combat, she found herself with little choice but to yield to his demand. It wasn't a matter of feeling inferior to him; rather, it served as an unspoken recompense for his timely intervention, saving her from the relentless assault of their adversaries during their pursuit of the elusive stellaron.

The notion of indebtedness was an unwelcome concept in Silver Wolf's mind. She harbored an intense aversion to the notion of owing favors, and her unyielding resolve demanded immediate action to settle any debts that may have accrued. She refused to bear the weight of obligations and burdens, even if Blade himself never entertained such thoughts.

Thus, despite her yearning for respite and the solace of her personal quarters, Silver Wolf felt compelled by her sense of duty to discharge the debt owed to Blade. She comprehended that the conception of reciprocation scarcely traversed his mind, but she remained steadfast in her commitment to uphold her principles and ensure a clean slate, devoid of any lingering sense of obligation.

As Blade's onslaught continued, the metallic chorus reached its zenith, rising to an overwhelming crescendo that permeated the air with a symphony of strife. Each strike from Blade's sword, an extension of his very being, carried a ferocity that shattered the training machines like fragile porcelain, leaving behind a trail of broken fragments strewn across the field of the training ground. The scattered remains, akin to fallen soldiers on a hard-fought battlefield, bore witness to the magnitude of his prowess and the unyielding force that coursed through his veins.

Silver Wolf, deeply engrossed in her tenth endeavor to activate an array of diverse automatons, was abruptly startled from her task by the distinct sound of the glass door being swung open. Swiftly swiveling her chair, she found herself confronted by the unexpected sight of Kafka and yourself entering the room.

Kafka, her characteristic mischievous smile gracing her features, strode in with an air of familiarity, while you accompanied her with an enigmatic expression that concealed your immediate intentions. With a friendly flourish of your hand, you greeted Silver Wolf, offering a warm acknowledgement of her presence within the room.

"Oh, so here you both are," Kafka exclaimed, her voice brimming with a delightful blend of inquisitiveness and amusement. "I've been searching for you and Bladie since some of the crew informed me that you've returned from your mission and ventured off to the training grounds."

Silver Wolf nodded in response, her attention momentarily diverted from Blade's fierce swordplay outside the glass, as Kafka continued to observe the intense spectacle. 

"Yes, once we arrived, Blade wasted no time in requesting the use of my machines for his training," she replied wearily, a hint of exhaustion lacing her voice. "Perhaps he needed an outlet to release some pent-up tension."

Letting out a weary sigh, Silver Wolf turned her gaze towards you, seeking to understand your presence in the room. "And what about you, (Name)?" she inquired, her eyes reflecting both curiosity and a touch of fatigue. "What brings you here?"

You cast Kafka a sidelong glance, a mixture of amusement and exasperation gleaming in your eyes, as she posed her question. "Kafka practically dragged me away just as I was en route to the cafeteria for some nourishment."

Kafka, undeterred by your response, tilts her head and playfully queries, "Aren't you eager to offer a warm welcome to our esteemed hunters, freshly returned from their mission?" Her smirk reflects a mischievous glint in her eyes.

In response to her playful inquiry about welcoming the returning hunters, you and Silver Wolf exchange furtive glances, silently sharing an unspoken understanding. Finally, you turn your attention back to Kafka, and in a casual tone, you confess, "I suppose... my inclination does not lean particularly in that direction."

Kafka's laughter resounded through the room, a vibrant eruption, carrying a sense of carefree exuberance that seemed to emanate from the depths of her very being. As her laughter subsided, she addressed you, her voice tinged with amusement and a mischievous undertone that laced her words with playful teasing. 

"(Name)," she remarked, her tone a delicate balance between jest and genuine curiosity, "You truly possess an air of rigidity. Perhaps it's time to unwind and embrace a lighter approach? Or perchance the allure of embarking on another mission has been gnawing at you during this month of dormancy within the confines of our headquarters?"

Your response was involuntary, a subtle scrunching of the nose and the formation of a deep crease upon your forehead betraying the truth behind Kafka's astute observation. You could not deny it—the restlessness had taken root within you, a persistent itch that fueled an insatiable yearning for the thrill of a fresh mission. The boundaries of the headquarters, once a bastion of purpose and strength, had gradually become stifling and confining. They now dulled your finely honed skills and eroded your sense of self, leaving you yearning for the exhilaration and purpose that only a new endeavor could provide.

Elio's firm determination to keep you on the sidelines remained a confounding enigma, a perplexing puzzle that teased at the corners of your mind. Initially, it was easy to attribute it to the critical mission undertaken by Kafka and Silver Wolf as they infiltrated Herta's impregnable space station. Yet, as the days stretched into weeks, and missions were deftly assigned to other members, the absence of targeted orders directed specifically to you left you adrift in a sea of bewilderment, seething with an all-consuming anger that threatened to consume you whole.

The sheer absurdity of the situation only served to exacerbate your mounting frustrations. The knowledge of your capabilities, honed through countless trials and triumphs, echoed relentlessly in your mind, a reminder of your worth and the contributions you could offer to the cause. It was as if the very essence of your purpose had been cast aside, relegated to the shadows while others took center stage. The tempest of emotions churned within, a potent blend of indignation, resentment, and a simmering sense of injustice that surged through your being.

In the depths of your mind, a maze of questions twisted and turned, their answers elusive like phantoms in the mist. Doubts, like shadows, crept insidiously into your thoughts, their insidious tendrils probing the very core of your existence. 

Did Elio harbor reservations about your capabilities? Was there a seed of doubt that had taken root, deeming you unfit to face the arduous challenges that the missions entailed? Perhaps, in his eyes, your presence posed a lurking liability, casting a shroud of uncertainty upon the success of the team's endeavors. The lack of clarity, like a gust of wind, fanned the flames of speculation and self-doubt, igniting a tempestuous storm within your consciousness.

Yet, amidst the tumultuous sea of uncertainty and frustration, there remained a steadfast trust in Elio, an unfaltering belief that he held intricate plans concealed beneath his enigmatic demeanor. His clairvoyant abilities, whispered in hushed reverence, carried an aura of mystique and substance. Elio possessed a talent for speaking in riddles, weaving his messages with an intricate tapestry of words that masked the full extent of his intentions. 

His every utterance, like ancient prophecies, cast a tantalizing veil of intrigue over his actions. And while this ambiguity often left you grappling in the dark, struggling to decipher his enigmatic clues, you understood the weight and significance of such abilities. You never wavered in acknowledging the gravity of his visions.

But the absence of any inkling, any morsel of guidance regarding your current state of uncertainty, left you adrift, much like a solitary vessel lost amidst the boundless sea. Each step forward felt like stumbling through an enigmatic labyrinth, where the path ahead remained concealed within a dense fog of ambiguity, teasing your senses and confounding your every decision.

Even Kafka, Elio's most trusted confidante, seemed devoid of insight into your predicament. As she and the other stellaron hunters departed for their daring missions, a bittersweet envy flickered in your eyes—a longing to be part of their adventures, to embrace the thrill of the unknown. Sensing your yearning, Kafka became a beacon of solace, assuring you with words of encouragement that your turn would come, that destiny would soon unveil its plans for you. In an effort to offer further solace and a tangible connection to their journeys, she promised to return with souvenirs from the exotic worlds they traversed—a gesture brimming with thoughtfulness and consideration.

In those moments, a profound sense of gratitude swelled within you, radiating warmth amidst the desolation of your stagnant existence. Kafka's kindness, though seemingly small in the grand scheme of things, became a lifeline—a fragile thread of connection that alleviated the monotony of your prison-like days. Each trinket or token she brought back became a cherished treasure, a fleeting glimpse into the worlds beyond, a portal through which you could briefly escape the confines of your confinement.

Returning back to your senses, you regard Kafka's question again. "Yes, I am. I want to go on a mission after getting stuck here like a prisoner. I feel useless when I'm the only one being left here while the four of you are going on a hunt."

As the weight of your words settles in the air, Kafka's keen eyes scan your face with an understanding born out of years spent in companionship and shared experiences. She recognizes the subtle nuances, the minute shifts in your countenance, that reveal the emotions you struggle to conceal—the bitterness, the sense of unfairness that tugs at the corners of your lips, threatening to spill forth.

In the beginning, when you first joined the ranks of the stellaron hunters, you wore a cloak of mystery, distancing yourself from the others and erecting walls that shielded your true self from prying eyes. But over time, a gradual transformation occurred, and the fortress of stoicism you once donned began to crumble, revealing glimpses of vulnerability and authenticity. The layers peeled away, revealing new facets of your being, and Kafka, ever perceptive, observed this change with a mixture of satisfaction and contentment. It was evident to the growing trust between you, a sign that the bonds of fellow hunters had woven themselves deep within your heart.

Kafka's gaze lingers on your face, her own expression a mirror of understanding. She acknowledges the frustration that simmers within you, the yearning to break free from the confines of your confinement, to once again venture on missions that test your skills and ignite your spirit. Her voice, when it comes, carries a gentle reassurance.

"I understand," she says, her words a soothing balm to the restlessness that churns within your soul. "It is natural to feel that way, to crave the thrill of the hunt when you are left behind. But trust that Elio has his reasons, hidden though they may be. We are Destiny's Slaves and each role we play is integral to our collective success. Your time will come, (Name), and when it does, you are free to do as you wish."

Her words, spoken with the weight of sincerity, convey a profound understanding and an unyielding faith in the tapestry of destiny that intertwines your fates. In her eyes, there is no doubt, no hesitation even if Kafka's a known mischievous and enigmatic woman. 

But for you, you are aware that the temporary reprieve that enveloped you in its gentle embrace couldn't mask the underlying truth that gnawed at your core. As the moments of ease slipped through your fingers like sand, you were acutely aware that the specter of frustration loomed just beyond the horizon. Tomorrow, or another day when clarity continued to elude you, the weight of unanswered questions and unfulfilled purpose would resurface, seeping back into your consciousness like a relentless tide.

You knew all too well that the calm facade you wore today would eventually crumble, giving way to the storm of emotions that swirled within. It was a cycle, a rhythm that played out time and again, leaving you caught in the perpetual dance of anticipation and disappointment. The weight of confusion pressed upon your shoulders, reminding you that the unwarranted luxury of relaxation could never truly drown out the echoes of unfulfilled aspirations.

With a languid tone, Kafka muses, her index finger thoughtfully placed upon her chin. "Were I in your shoes," she begins, "I would readily savor this moment of respite. It is undeniably a luxury to indulge in relaxation, considering the demanding nature of our profession. So, I intend to seize the opportunity and start on my own personal vacation, unburdened by responsibilities or concerns."

As Kafka's words flowed from her lips, a discernible undercurrent of longing wove through her tone, resonating with the weight of her unspoken desires. You, intimately acquainted with her journey as a stellaron hunter, recognized the deep-seated yearning that permeated her speech. Countless missions, each one demanding and arduous, had been entrusted to her capable hands by Elio himself. The weight of responsibility she carried, shouldering the expectations and trust placed upon her, was immense.

You understood the toll that her consecutive missions had taken on Kafka, the toll that went beyond physical exertion and delved into the field of emotional and mental fatigue. The constant vigilance, the endless pursuit of dangerous prey, had become a relentless cycle that left her yearning for a respite, a momentary escape from the burdensome load she carried.

In her role as Elio's confidante, Kafka bore the heavy weight of his trust like a skilled conductor, orchestrating and executing missions with unwavering dedication. The weight of her responsibilities was akin to an intricately woven tapestry, each thread representing a mission, a life entrusted to her capable hands. With each passing day, the tapestry grew denser, the threads multiplying, until it threatened to engulf her entirely. The need for a vacation, a respite from the constant whirlwind, had become an urgent necessity.

In that fleeting moment, a vivid tableau painted itself before your mind's eye, depicting Kafka liberating herself from the binding chains of responsibility. It was her very essence yearned to break free from the constraints of their esteemed profession, to venture forth into a realm where her worries and obligations held no sway. The palpable longing in her eyes spoke volumes, revealing an ardent desire to partake in the unadulterated joys of unfettered freedom and self-gratification. 

Hence, you understand the reason why she said those words. You have no say.

As if a thunderous clap resounded through the training grounds, seizing your collective attention, you and the two others turned to witness Blade's final strike cleaving through the last vestige of Silver Wolf's intricate machine. In an instant, the room fell silent, save for the lingering echoes of destruction. And with an abrupt motion, Blade's gaze darted at the modular training room where the three of you are settled.

Silver Wolf, weariness etched upon her visage, heaved a weary sigh, as she already sensed the message conveyed by Blade's piercing gaze alone. No words were necessary, as he stood amidst the remnants of conquered contraptions strewn across the field, his silent proclamation resounding through the air.

Through the telecoms of the training ground, Silver's voice resounds as she addresses Blade, "Blade, there are no automatons remaining. You have successfully eradicated them all with your own hands. However, please be aware that my machines require a week's time before they can be utilized once again."

If Silver Wolf remembers it correctly,  her role did not encompass the creation of machines solely for Blade's destructive pleasure. She was not a mere servant to fulfill his whims, nor was she bound by duty to tirelessly churn out automatons to cater to his insatiable desires. The incessant demands placed upon her by her relentless fellow hunter had taken a toll, leaving her exhausted and irritable.

Each time Blade laid waste to her meticulously crafted machines in the training grounds, Silver Wolf couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration. The weariness etched upon her features betrayed the burdens she bore, both physical and emotional. While she harbored a deep desire to repay her debts to Blade, the situation had become an unfair and one-sided exchange, tilting the scales heavily in his favor.

Kafka's sudden suggestion catches both your and Silver Wolf's attention, prompting a moment of consideration. "Why not have (Name) and Bladie engage in a sparring match?" Kafka proposes, her idea arising unexpectedly. "Such an arrangement would prove mutually beneficial. (Name) would satisfy their longing for action, while Bladie would find the increased engagement they desire. It appears to be a win-win situation for both parties involved."

Kafka's mischievous eyes sparkled with a glint of amusement as her voice danced through the training ground, intentionally allowing Blade to overhear her suggestion. Her gaze fixed upon him, her smirk conveying a challenge, as she eagerly anticipated his response. Yet, Blade remained stoically unmoved, his back turned to her, his sword dismissed with a graceful and masterful flourish by his side.

Kafka's lips stretched into a satisfied smile, her keen perception allowing her to discern the unspoken affirmation within Blade's deliberate actions. Understanding his silent agreement, she shifted her attention towards you, her gaze beckoning for your input on the matter.

A brief pause enveloped the space, as silence settled and anticipation hung in the air. You released a defeated sigh, the weight of confinement and monotony lingering within you. With a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders, you conceded, realizing that Kafka's proposal would at least provide some thrill from the mundane.

Kafka's smile broadened, a sense of satisfaction emanating from her as both parties seemed to lack any objections to her proposition. It was a small victory, a chance to break free from the confines that had threatened to stifle you and Blade.

Blade stood motionless in his place, his gaze scanning the remnants of destruction that sprawled across the training ground. However, his attention was swiftly seized by the resonant sound of the training ground's doors swinging open. As you strode purposefully through the wide expanse, skillfully navigating your way through the scattered debris he had left in his wake, your eyes remained fixated upon his form, an enigmatic gaze he could never decipher, characterized by a nonchalant and constant composure.

His gaze mirrored yours, displaying a seemingly relaxed countenance that belied the overflowing bloodlust teeming from within him. Though his intention was shrouded in silence, it seeped through your senses, an undeniable presence.

As the distance between you and Blade dwindled, you held your gaze steadfast, meeting his own undaunted stare, devoid of any discernible emotion.

"As ceaseless in your hunger as ever, Blade," you greet him, your words ringing out into the air. However, his silence in response carries no weight or significance for you. It is a familiar sight, one reminiscent of your initial encounter with him.

Blade, unmoving and stoic, continues to watch you with his penetrating gaze. His scrutiny holds no sway over you, a gaze you have grown accustomed to his presence. Undeterred, you take a deliberate step forward, drawing your sword from its sheath with a fluid motion, the glimmering steel catching the light. The air hums with anticipation as you dismiss your weapon with an echoing swish, slicing through the atmosphere.

Blade, unflinching and immobile by your display, remains rooted in his stance. But, a flicker of something unfamiliar dances in his eyes—a glimmer of intrigue and amusement. He witnesses the burning thirst for thrill and the desire to spar that radiates from your very being. The intensity in your eyes, flickering with resolve, is a novel sensation for Blade. It sparks a response within him, a twisted desire to challenge and crush the confidence that brims so palpably within you that both intrigued and repulsed him.

In a suspended moment, pregnant with anticipation, you launched yourself towards Blade with an almost ethereal swiftness, the weight of your sword firmly gripped in your hands. The clash of steel ringing through the air as your sword descended upon him, driven by precise movements and burning hunger. Yet, Blade's reflexes, honed to an unparalleled degree, proved to be a formidable match for your assault. With a seamless display of skill, he skillfully blocked each of your rapid strikes, his own weapon bearing the marks of wear and tear, cracks tracing intricate patterns along its surface.

The resounding clash of your weapons sent tremors through the vicinity, accompanied by fleeting sparks that illuminated the battlefield in transient bursts. As Blade caught a glimpse of your dauntless gaze, brimming with determination and purpose, his smirk deepened, a silent acknowledgement of the intensity mirrored within you. He recognized the fire that burned in your soul, a flame that drove you forward in relentless pursuit of your ambitions.

Blade, however, held no interest in venturing beyond the realm of fellow hunters, his attention solely devoted to the field of skills and accomplishments. Delving into the depths of personal connections held no allure for him, save for the exceptional regard he reserved for Kafka and Elio. Driven by a dedicated desire to achieve the goals that coursed through his veins, he remained focused on his own path, unfazed by the currents that surged within the hearts of others.

Throughout the course of your shared missions, you and Blade maintained a professional distance, seldom engaging in more than the necessary interactions. Under the guidance of Elio, you would receive your instructions and embark on your respective tasks, reconvening only upon completion to report back.

Formerly, Blade held a dismissive perception of you—a figure he regarded as weak and lost, shrouded in the barriers you had erected around yourself. It was an impression born out of his keen ability to read others, to discern their strengths and weaknesses. But, his perception underwent a remarkable shift during your first mission alongside Kafka.

Witnessing the fluidity and finesse with which you wielded your sword, Blade's insight went through a profound metamorphosis. The elegant ballet of steel that exuded from your movements transcended any experience he had hitherto encountered, stirring within him a voracious curiosity about the depths of your mastery. From that moment forward, a new chapter unfurled as Blade assumed the role of an astute observer, his gaze etching every detail of your technique upon the canvas of his memory. He painstakingly absorbed the intricacies of your attack patterns and unraveled the enigma of your abilities, seeking to fathom the unfathomable depths of your prowess.

With each passing day, his respect for you as a formidable swordsman grew.

In Blade's vantage point, the encounter with you held a level of intrigue and stimulation far surpassing any battle against Silver Wolf's machines. While facing off against the onslaught of thousands of automatons showcased his prowess and efficiency, this live duel against you offered something more—a truly worthy challenge that ignited his senses.

As the clash of your blades echoed through the training ground, Blade's eyes gleamed with a hunger that surpassed mere bloodlust. It was an insatiable craving for the exhilarating dance of steel, for the unpredictable nature of combat, and for the opportunity to test his skills against a formidable opponent. In this battle, he found a worthy adversary, one whose abilities and strategy pushed him to his limits.

With each decisive strike, you threw yourself into the battle, channeling the very essence of your skill and resolve. Every movement was executed with precision, a testament to your unfaltering focus. Your eyes blazed with a fiery intensity, reflecting the sheer force of your will as you sought to assert your dominance over Blade.

But Blade, in all his arcane prowess, met your assault with a calm and calculated grace. His responses were swift and deliberate, a proof to his mastery of the sword. Like a dance of shadows, he effortlessly parried your attacks, his sword and arms forming an impenetrable fortress against your relentless onslaught. It was as if he possessed an innate understanding of your every move, countering each strike with a calculated precision that left no room for error.

As the clash persists, a silent exchange of energy passes between you. Blade, ever perceptive, keenly sensed the depth of your thirst for battle. He recognized the hunger that emanated from you, a longing to once again immerse yourself in the chaotic embrace of combat. The frustration and pent-up energy that had accumulated during your days of confinement now surged forth, propelling you to unleash your skills with an intensity that bordered on desperation.

In the face of your unleashed power, Blade couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction. It was a rare sight to witness someone so driven, so resolute in their pursuit of victory. As he deftly countered each of your strikes, a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, an acknowledgment of your ferocity. In that moment, he found a profound sense of amusement, knowing that he not only matched your skills but surpassed them.

The battle between you and Blade became a spectacle, an exhibition of skill and strength. Each strike of swords painted a vivid picture of your excellence and his mastery. It was a dance of swords, a symphony of movement and strategy, woven with the threads of anticipation and calculated aggression. As the battle intensified, the air crackled with an electric energy, a testament to the sheer force of your wills colliding in this epic encounter.

Blade's relentless assault continued, his sword slashing through the air with an almost supernatural speed and rigor. You found yourself on the defensive, struggling to block and dodge his relentless attacks. The weight and speed of his strikes pushed you further into a corner, forcing you to rely on every ounce of skill and reflexes you possessed.

Amidst the tumultuous fray of battle, Blade seized an opportunity and struck you with a powerful blow to the gut, leaving you momentarily winded and gasping for breath. Stepping back to regain your composure, you felt the sting of the strike reverberate through your body. Yet, you refused to let it break your spirit. Your senses remained sharp, your determination unyielding, as you knew that conceding defeat was not an option.

Blade, ever persistent, cared little for your momentary falter. His intention was clear: to continue his interminable assault until you either met his level or conceded defeat. With each impact of his strikes, a devilish grin stretched across his face, a telltale sign of the satisfaction derived from engaging in a worthy contest.

Like a bolt of lightning, Blade hurled himself towards you once again, his attacks unrelenting and fierce. He craved the thrill of a true challenge, and in your resilience, you provided him with the fulfillment he sought. The storm of your swords echoed about, a demonstration  of your determination to match his relentless onslaught.

Amidst the chaos of the battle, Blade's keen perception caught a subtle transformation in your demeanor. The flicker of surprise and fleeting perturbation that had briefly graced your countenance dissipated, giving way to the familiar mask of impassivity that often cloaked your features. It was as if a switch had been flipped within you, triggering a shift in your disposition.

In that fleeting moment, the veneer of indifference that settled upon your expression hinted at a potent force lying dormant within, waiting to be unleashed upon your foes. 

This revelation served only to stoke Blade's already burgeoning excitement, evident in the widening smirk that etched itself across his face. His eyes sparkled with a sinister gleam, for this was the very reaction he sought from his foes—a complete abandonment of mercy, a resolute absence of reservations, and an unyielding determination to unleash havoc upon the battlefield.

He wants more. More of it.

In the heat of the battle, Kafka and Silver Wolf stood as ardent witnesses to the captivating spectacle that unfolded before them. Their eyes remained transfixed upon the clash of wills between you and Blade, their hearts pounding in fervent anticipation with every strike and parry that reverberated through the air. The atmosphere crackled with a heated charge, resonating with the tangible intensity that filled the space.

Amidst the ceaseless exchange of blows, you delved deep into the reservoir of your vast experience and honed skill. Every fiber of your being became singularly attuned to the intricacies of Blade's movements, a masterful analysis seeking out the faintest glimmer of vulnerability to exploit. The passage of time seemed to elongate, granting you a heightened perception of Blade's lightning-swift strikes within a mere fraction of their usual cadence. With augmented senses and a razor-sharp mind, you deftly navigated the elegant dance of blades, executing each move with calculated precision.

Taking a moment to draw a deep, fortifying breath, your firm gaze locked onto a concealed weakness, a blindspot inadvertently revealed by Blade in his relentless assault. It was a fleeting instant of lucidity amidst the swirling chaos—a moment of clarity that held the potential to alter the course of the battle. Fueled by an indomitable will power, you readied yourself to unleash a calculated counterattack, seizing the opportune moment that lay before you.

With a steady grasp upon the hilt of your sword, a swift and deliberate strike was unleashed, finding its mark upon Blade's right chest with unparalleled precision. The steel pierced through the tender flesh, a testimony to the accuracy and skill imbued within your every movement.

From the depths of the inflicted wound, a single rivulet of crimson emerged, staining the air with its presence. Yet, the sight of blood failed to elicit any flicker of perturbation within your steadfast demeanor. Your gaze, stripped of discernible emotion, ascended to meet Blade's own pair of crimson orbs, forging an intense gaze between you two. In that impermanent episode, a tinge of perplexity flitted across your visage as you delved into the mystifying depths of his eyes, cloaked in a mixture of amusement and intrigue. Unrelenting, Blade's devilish smirk persisted, mirroring the unshakable will power etched upon your own countenance.

The once vibrant training grounds now lay in silence, an eerie stillness permeating the air as the residue of the fierce battle hung in the atmosphere. The clash of swords had subsided, replaced by a charged tension that seemed to linger between you and Blade. In this quiet aftermath, Blade's voice cuts through the void, dripping with condescension that only serves to provoke you.

"Though you may inflict upon me an abundance of stabs, those wounds shall simply mend, allowing my existence to persist," he asserts, his words laced with disdain. Yet, your gaze remains fixed upon him, devoid of interest but brimming with a resolve that refuses to waver.

"Indeed, I am well aware of the transience of your wounds. That is precisely why I took it upon myself to pierce through your flesh with my own sword, Blade," you retort, a hint of purposive satisfaction coloring your voice.

A sinister smirk stretches across Blade's face, his features contorted with a blend of amusement and an insatiable desire to shatter your spirit with his own hands. He recognizes the cunning behind your calculated strike, acknowledging the depth of your strategic aptitude.

"How cunning you prove to be," he remarks, his voice dripping with pleasure, before swiftly transitioning to a more resolute tone. "Yet, such craftiness holds no significance in the face of true power."

Blade relinquishes his hold on his weapon, the sound of its impact against the ground ringing through the air, an echoing thud that resounds in the silence. Your gaze remains fixed upon him, your senses sharpened, attuned to every nuance of his demeanor, as you brace yourself for his next move.

However, to your utmost astonishment, he clings steadfastly to the body of your own sword, resolutely refusing to let it slip from his grasp. Despite your fervent and desperate attempts to wrest it away, his hold remains unyielding, as though bound to the weapon by an unseen force. Engaged in a relentless struggle against his strength, you strain every sinew in an effort to reclaim what is rightfully yours, but your endeavors prove naught but futile. As the moments stretch languidly into an interminable eternity, your eyes bear witness to rivulets of crimson, gently cascading from his clenched hand, a solemn indication to the toll his compacted grip exacts upon his own being.

Yet, in a stunning twist of fate, Blade's other hand swiftly ensnares your throat, catching you off guard with its merciless grip. The sudden constriction tightens around your windpipe, robbing you of precious breath and leaving you gasping for the elusive oxygen that now eludes you. As your vision blurs and your body weakens, you involuntarily relinquish your hold on your own sword, its resonating clatter filling the vastness of the room. Desperation surges through your veins, compelling your hands to claw desperately at the imprisoning arm, their futile attempts to break free revealing the depths of your plight.

Despite your valiant struggle, the vice-like grip around your neck remains unyielding, leaving you utterly at Blade's mercy. Suspended in mid-air, you find yourself helplessly suspended between life and death. 

Blade's eyes, ablaze with a chilling indifference and an unrelenting malevolence, lock onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. In that dreaded gaze, you catch a glimpse of his namesake, for within their depths resides a cold-heartedness devoid of any mercy, a mercilessness that threatens to snuff out your very existence.

"Let us bear witness to the endurance of your tenacity," he proclaims, his grip around your throat tightening with each syllable, unwavering in its intensity. "I will persist, undeterred by the ravages inflicted upon my body. It shall regenerate, as it has time and time again," he asserts, his voice resolute,

"But you, fragile beings of humanity, are far more vulnerable. A single piercing strike, your life is extinguished. One misstep, and your fate is irrevocably sealed. Therefore, tread cautiously upon the paths you choose, even if you boast confidence in your skills. Be mindful of the formidable capabilities others possess, ready to snuff out your precious existence. So, I offer you a word of advice: if you wish to continue your fragile existence, know your place."

Blade's warning hangs in the air, his words filled with a chilling reality that sends shivers down your spine. The weight of his grip presses against your neck, a stark reminder of his strength and the vulnerability of your mortal form.

After moments of scrutiny, Blade finally relinquishes his iron grip, allowing you to plummet gracelessly to the unforgiving floor below. As you lay there, wracked by fits of coughing, desperately gasping for the precious breath that eluded you moments ago, a wave of relief washes over you like a long-awaited reprieve. With every rasping inhalation, you slowly begin to restore the delicate equilibrium of your being.

As the tremors of the ordeal still course through your weakened body, you summon the remnants of your courage to meet Blade's piercing gaze. With an air of detached indifference, he retrieves his sword, his movements fluid and controlled. 

Without a word or a hint of emotion, Blade turns his back on you, his retreating figure a stark silhouette against the dimly lit surroundings. The weight of his presence lingers in the space between you, a testament to the enigmatic nature of his being. You watch as he fades into the shadows, his footsteps fading away like whispers in the night.

[buglord-isaac]

Angst angst angst part 3

A few long weeks passed before Soap was given the all clear to return to his training regiments. Price made him promise to take it easy, but Soap was so restless nowadays that he just wanted to DO things. He was sick to death of bed rest.

He had finally been allowed back in the training field, he’d best bet he was going to work himself half to death. He needed to get stronger again.

Since being on bed rest, Ghost hadn’t talked to him much at all. He had left on another mission and come back to base after a resounding success, seeming to be acting a lot more approachable and even seeming to seek Soap out, but Soap had done his best to avoid him.

He came to the training field early in the morning with his journal, which he had filled multiple pages of over the weeks he had been out of commission. He enjoyed writing every detail about a mission down, including thoughts and floor plans, so a lot of his drawings were little sketches of Ghost or Ghost related items. This included the monologue he had given him after they had landed. The journal was nearly full now… he’d need another one for his next mission.

He put his belongings down on a bench nearby the training area; a towel, a spare shirt, his journal, some water. After this, he looked over at the training area. A large open space, where he would start off by running. He wasted no time, starting a slow jog and keeping a consistent pace. He enjoyed running like this, he could take his mind off things and just focus on each step. His final lap he would sprint, then he would rest and stretch, and that was his pre-breakfast warm up for today.

Today was harder. His body wasn’t used to training yet, and still subtly ached when he breathed too heavy. He couldn’t sprint. Not today. He ended his jog sweating and aching, not how he’d wanted this warm up to go. But he knew he had to get his strength back. When he looked up after catching his breath, he saw a familiar figure near his belongings.

Ghost was standing with his back to the training field, Soap’s journal open in his hands. His jaw tensed as he saw it and realised what Ghost was doing, but he decided he’d act calmly. He walked over to him, snatched the journal out of his hands and made a point of passive aggressively closing it, then went back to his things. He drank, wiped the sweat off his face and neck with a towel, then looked to the side to see whether Ghost had left. He hadn’t.

“Johnny I want to talk to you.”

“Soap. And the way you do that isn’t by stealing my private journal, sir.”

He went back to wiping his sweat away.

“Fine. I want to talk. When can we talk?”

“You’re talking now.”

“What I said was harsh.”

“Aye.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“It sounded pretty heartfelt.” Soap collected his things and looked back up at Ghost, who was wearing his classic skull mask and looking down at him with expectant eyes. “I get it. Mission went badly. Because of me. Anything else?”

Ghost closed his eyes and let out a small growl.

“The mission succeeded. I was just stressed, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

He turned around and started making his way away from Ghost. He got all the way to the hallway near his bedroom before he heard Ghost’s heavy boots advancing on him. He stopped, knowing what he wanted.

“What now?”

“You need to let me explain, MacTavish! Words don’t come easy to me, okay??”

His voice seemed desperate. Soap pitied it, so he grabbed Ghost by the back of the neck and led him to his bedroom, shoving him in and closing the door behind them. Already he was angry.

“Christ, Ghost. You don’t talk to me for fucking weeks after yelling at me and now you sound desperate? You’re going to soil the saviour complex you clearly fuckin have.”

“What the fuck??”

Soap’s anger subsided and he sighed, relaxing his body and starting to clean up from training. The subsided anger was turning back into sadness from being yelled at. He clearly still wasn’t over it.

“Go. Tell me what you want to tell me.”

[elliewiltarwyn]

As she looks upon them, seeing the way their hands so naturally curl around each other, something bittersweet resonates in Lily's chest. She still isn't sure she wholly understands the sensation, or what just happened to her -- what role she played in dispatching Mitron, in freeing Gaia from his grasp.

She's so beyond relieved to see Gaia safe, to see Ryne's hand in hers. To feel the soft grass spreading beneath their feet and witness the brilliant colors of the rainbow-colored crystal before them -- their mission appears to have been a resounding success on every possible level.

Yet this ache lingers in her heart -- similar, but not quite in the same arena as the lingering trauma from her first love, nor is it the bitterness that has weighed upon her since Yugiri's gentle rejection. It's not even the whirlpool she's been slowly drowning in since she first noticed the way Ellie and Mia have been looking at each other recently.

It's a strangely contented ache, as oxymoronic as that sounds. Like she's reconciled a part of herself. Like she has, for once, even though she's lost something in the process, accepted this turn of events. And she has -- she's really, truly, genuinely happy for Ryne and Gaia.

A voice within her is saying this is good, this is right, and she feels oddly inclined to heed it. Maybe she hasn't lost so much as she thinks.

a vague skeleton of the plot thoughts i have about Lily and Eden: seeing Ryne and Gaia's affection for each other blossoming forces Lily to confront some of her own conceptions of what love is after the trauma she's been through, and maybe learn how to process the broken pieces of herself she's never been able to pick up. And maybe she gets a hand when she realizes her soul resonates too much with the Ascian who wants Gaia all for himself. And maybe her reconciliation involves her literally reconciling with the man who turns out to be another shard of her soul.

so yeah Lily's ancient self was Artemis in case that wasn't obvious, and she probably ends up merging with Mitron the same way Ellie merged with Ardbert. and the point of this is ??? idk but it feels cool gshalkfakjfk

extremely silly bonus:

"What in the godsdamn-- Mia, is it just me, or--" "Ellie, I swear, if this is about the ghosts again, I'm throwing you into that lake."

[thaisibir]

some Noel and Sophia headcanons

-Both joined the organization and graduated from training around the same time. All the other trainees were driven to the brink of insanity from the constant quarreling between those two.

-The handler in charge of Noel and Sophia gets paid extra for his troubles.

-Brought up on a noblewoman's education, Sophia likes throwing around big words Noel can't understand. Noel retaliates by butchering the words badly to annoy Sophia.

-Noel uses every chance she can get to mock Sophia's hoity toity background, using the most ridiculous, stuffiest posh accent possible.

-All else being roughly equal, Sophia edges past Noel in rank due to her better skills in leadership. As the daughter of a rich and powerful lord, Sophia was saddled from an early age with the expectation and training to inherit her father's authority and estate.(Based on profiles in the Claymore databook that state Sophia's leadership is B while Noel's is C.)

-Noel doesn't really suck at math. It's just that she fights with such speed and agility that things somewhat blur together and she miscounts sometimes.

-When she joined the organization, Sophia was at first surprised and embarrassed at her brute strength. Other trainees had called her a freak. Eventually she came around to embracing it and taking great pride in it. She uses her dainty lady's upbringing to keep that strength under control. She especially enjoys surprising people who assume from her appearance that she's frail and delicate.

-Noel likes to keep her hair short and messy. She believes long hair would get in her way when she fights, and brushing it is useless since it sticks out in every direction after running anyway. And she runs pretty much all the time.

-Sophia puts a lot of effort into maintaining nice hair and skin. The organization allows warriors a small stipend for personal needs, and Sophia likes to use that stipend on hair and skin care products such as brushes, soaps, and creams. She wishes she can spend that stipend on nice dresses as well, but uniform regulations are strict and undercover missions that allow wearing other clothes are far and few in between.

-Sophia made a face like she smelled something dead when she found out that Noel doesn't bathe every day.

-Noel swears like a sailor. The colorful four letter words really fly when Sophia slings insults her way. Meanwhile Sophia would clutch her pearls at the very thought of uttering such profanity herself. 

-Noel and Sophia were forced to work together for one undercover mission, using yoki suppression pills to pose as traveling minstrels in order to lure out yoma. Noel pretended to be a circus acrobat while Sophia acted as a singer. The mission was a resounding success, though not without a lot of bickering and poking fun at each other along the way.

-Under the effects of suppression pills, Noel's natural eye color is green and Sophia's natural eye color is blue.

-Sophia really hates being dirty. Noel was beside herself when she found this out. If the two fight together in close proximity, Noel would "accidentally" spray dirt and yoma blood Sophia's way, just to get on her nerves and enjoy the disgusted look on a normally composed face. Sophia's aversion to dirtiness is why she's so impressed that Irene remains pristine and spotless whenever she decimates yoma with the Quicksword technique.

-Of all the things that Noel insults and makes fun of, she doesn't cross the line when it comes to the fact that Sophia was often sick and bedridden as a little girl.

[darksaiyangoku]

RWBY/Swords of Fate: Arc Kingdom

Chapter 2: The Beowolf Hunt

Team JNPR gathered together inside the basement to meet up with General Ironwood, Dr. Roman and Dr. Merlin.

Dr. Merlin: So then, it seems that you've decided to accept this mission of great importance.

Jaune: We have. If Remnant's at risk of destruction, then we're here to save it, regardless of whether it's our Remnant or someone else's.

Dr. Merlin: *smiles*I'm glad to hear that. It seems we've made the right decision in chossing you. James will explain how this is all going to work.

James: Once you step inside these coffins, you will be put to sleep. Through the control room upstairs, we will begin the process. Once the co-ordinates of the alternate Remnant are set, we will begin the transferring of the conciousness.

Dr. Merlin: You will also be able to see, hear, touch, taste and smell whatever your counterpart does. This world is not like yours, so you will need to adapt in order to survive.

Dr. Roman: I will be monitoring your vital signs throughout this mission. If I feel as though there might be any risk of you all dying, then we'll send you back here

Jaune: *gulps* G-Good to know, *nervous chuckle*

Nora: *raises hand* Can I ask you something, Dr. Merlin? What is with these suits you've given us?

Before they had accepted, Team JNPR were told to changes from their Combat Gear into white tunics and black trousers. Nora grimaced at this.

Dr. Merlin: These are called Mystic Codes. They allow for mana to flow through your body in order to make the transfer work more efficiently. This way, your body won't fall apart when the transfer occurs.

Nora: Ah, I see. Neat... but do they have to look so boring?

Dr. Roman: Boring? I find them to be quite stylish!

James: Ugh, can we please get down to the business at hand? Team JNPR, get inside the Coffins. We will begin the transfer now.

Team JNPR followed the General's orders and they each entered the Coffins. Jaune immidiately began to feel claustrophobic as soon as the lid closed. He could feel his breath start to weaken. But he clenched his fist as tried to bear with it. The General, Doctors, his Team and the alternate Remnant were counting on him. He had to stay strong. Trying to relax his muscles, Jaune closed his eyes as the Coffin put him to sleep.

[Control Room]

James monitored the Doctors as they made the preparations on the machines.

Dr. Roman: Vital signs look good. Body temperature is consistent with each other, no signs of any lacerations or internal bleeding.

James: Good. Merlin, have you set the co-ordinates yet?

Dr. Merlin: Doing so as we speak. *inputs the co-ordinates*

The co-ordinates were as followed, Remnant: Universe 531, Desination: Kingdom of Vale, Year: 6th January 212. Beginning Universe Transfer now! *types furiously*

Once the code was typed in, Merlin pushed the green button on his left. Suddenly, the Coffins began to glow in different colours; gold for Jaune, red for Pyrrha and bright pink for Ren and Nora. The lights began to rise up and dance around the room before they finally hit the hologram of Remnant 531. It was complete. However, James was far from happy.

Dr. Merlin: *stretches* Well I'd say that was a resounding success.

James: Indeed. Good job, gentleman.

Dr. Roman: Do you think sending them two years early was the best idea?

James: If we had sent them during the event of the Holy Grail, they'd struggle. We're sending them into an unfamiliar world. If they're going to accomplish the mission, they need to adapt to their surroundings. *sighs* May the gods guide them well.

—6th January 212 Second Age, Fateverse Remnant - Kingdom of Vale, Charlemagne—

[Arc House, Malbec Town]

Jaune: Gah! *pants furiously*

Jaune felt like his lungs were on fire and fell to his knees. He could see that something had changed since he entered the Coffin. His hands were cold from the sensation of snow. In his right hand, he was holding a wooden sword. Looking around, he found himself outside of a medium-sized, stone bricked house. The roof was blanketed over a thick layer of snow. Standing next to him were 3 older girls. One had bright blonde hair, just like his, but with golden-amber eyes and wore a red, long sleeved tunic and brown trousers. One had dark blonde hair and blue eyes like his, wearing a yellow short sleeved dress and another had a streak of green in her dark orange hair and also had blue eyes, wearing a dark green, short-sleeved tunic and white trousers. Jaune blinked twice in disbelief. They were his sisters; Rouge, Saphron and Verte.

Rouge: Jaune?! What happened??? *runs to him*

Saphron: Are you okay?

Jaune: *grunts* Um... I guess? *

Verté: *sighs* We told you that practicing out in the cold was a ridiculous idea. Come on inside. Noir and Blanc are cooking dinner.

Jaune: Wait, what? Since when were those two able to cook anything?

Verté: ...they've been cooking our meals since 3 years ago. You and Rouge were the ones who taught them. Are you sure you didn't hit your head?

Jaune: I-

Rouge: Just help him up, Verte. Come on.

Jaune dropped the wooden sword onto the ground while his sisters helped him back up. He shivered as the snow stuck to his knees.

Saphron: By the way, have any of you seen where Noir and Blanc have gone?

Verte: Oh they came back a while ago. They're in the kitchen cooking dinner.

Rouge: *eyes gleaming* Is it lamb stew again?

Verte: *smiles* Yep!

The four of them entered inside and Rouge took Jaune to the fireplace. She tossed a red Dust crystal onto a pile of wood and it ignited immediately. Jaune stretched out his hands and felt the warmth touch his skin.

Jaune: Mmmm, this feels nice.

Rouge: Make sure you don't fall asleep before dinner. You don't wanna miss out on the stew. *chuckles*

Jaune looked at the living room and was surprised. It looked pretty good. There were two benches place next to the fireplace opposite each other and a large bookshelf in the corner. Above the fireplace hung the portrait of a man in white armour and bearing the Arc emblem on his chest plate. On his left hand side, he carried a rather unfamiliar sword. It had a blue sheath that matched its handle and a cobalt gem embedded in the pommel. Its crossguard was a pale gold and surrounded by a ring. Upon closer inspection, Jaune noticed that he looked a lot like his father.

After 20 minutes of warming up, he was called by Verte to come into the kitchen. Jaune arrived to see Noir and Blanc carrying the pot over to the table. A large puff of steam escaped as soon as the two of them took off the lid. Everyone's eyes sparkled with hunger. The mouth-watering meat, crunchy carrots, hearty leaks and fluffy potatoes were swimming in a sea of delicious stew. Jaune wasted no time and dashed to the table.

Blanc: *giggles* Well someone's hungry!

Noir: He better be, we worked hard on this.

Jaune: Mmmmm!!! *munching and slurping* Guys, this is incredible!

Noir/Blanc: Thanks! *beams*

Rouge: So Jaune, tomorrow you'll be returning to Beacon. Have you packed everything you needed to?

Jaune nearly dropped his spoon. He just got here, he had no idea whether or not anything was packed. More importantly, he didn't even know which room he slept in. He had to think quickly to try and avoid any suspicion.

Jaune: Ummm, well... yes?

Rouge: Good to hear. *smiles and headpats him*

Jaune: Agh, Rouge, come on! I'm not a kid anymore.

Noir: Awwww, big brother's blushing!

Blanc: He likes it!

Jaune: I do not! *blushes* Hmph.

For the rest of dinner, Jaune tried his best not to speak, resulting in an awkward atmosphere. Even though they were his brothers and sisters, he was starting realise how different they were back on his Remnant. He also noticed how old fashioned this house really was. There was no sign of a TV, computer, scrollphone, fridge, or any kind of electrial appliance aside from the lights. He knew this was a different universe, but it was becoming clearer that Jaune was in a completely different time period as well. The more he thought about it, the more his head started to spin. After dinner was over, Jaune decided to go to bed early and stumbled his way up the staircase adjacent to the kitchen.

[Jaune's bedroom]

Jaune lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling. As soon as he got here, he had more questions than answers. His siblings didn't appear to be of any help and looked at him like he was crazy. He looked at around at his room and noticed it was much barer compared to the one in his Remnant. On the desk, he saw vials of dark blue Dust, along with some green, yellow and red. Next to them was his sword, Crocea Mors, sheathed in white and laying atop his shield.

Jaune: Well at least some things never change. *chuckles* I bet Ren, Nora and Pyrrha are having a much easier time than I am. *sighs* Agh. Why didn't Merlin tell us that we going back to the Dark Ages? It would've been helpful!

As he contemplated on whether this mission was even worth pursuing, Jaune heard a loud scream.

Jaune: What the-?

He walked to the desk and opened the window. The scream became louder, followed by snarls and howls.

Jaune: Grimm...

Taking his sword and shield, he hurried downstairs and burst open the door to the outside. Bracing the cold, he ran into the direction of the chaos.

[Vin Village]

Shadowy black wolves growled and snarled at the villagers. Atop their faces were bone-like masks and their eyes were a burning red. Men and women tried their hardest to fight back against the pack, but they were too strong. The beasts fought back and slashed at the people as if they were defenceless lambs. Many tried to run, but they weren't fast enough.

From within a small shrubbery, Jaune could see the attacks unfold. Grabbing his sword, he drew it and ran. With a mighty yell, he slashed at one of the beasts and chopped its arm clean off. It screeched in pain. Taking his sheath, he pushed a small button and it changed into a shield, with the emblem of the Arc Family at the front. The rest of the grimm set their sights on Jaune and surrounded him.

Jaune: Try and get as far away from here as you can. I'll hold them off.

Villager: Are you crazy? There's 7 beowolves there!

Jaune: I've handled these creatures before. I've got enough Dust with me. Just do what I say and get everyone to safety as quick as you can!

Villager: Alright. Good luck. *runs*

Jaune: *deep breath* Okay Jaune, it's just like back home.

Two beowolves lunged at him, baring their sharp claws and fangs. Immidiately, Jaune blocked them with his shield. His feet dragged against the snow as he was pushed back slightly. Raising his sword, he struck at one of them.

Jaune: Hah!!

He managed to land a scratch on its chest. The other beowolf tried to attack Jaune, but he dodged just in time.

Jaune: *grins* Yaah!

He thrusted his sword into its chest and yelled out in pain. Suddenly, Jaune noticed 3 of the beowolves running away from the village.

Jaune: Oh no you don't! *pushes beowolf with shield*

Before he could catch up to them, someone dropped down in front of the beowolves, armed with a black and red-bladed scythe. They wore a bright red cloak and their face was obscured with a hood. In a single stroke, they slew the 3 beowolves. Jaune was impressed.

???: Behind you!

Jaune: *turns around* Woah!

He narrowly avoided being scratched by a stray beowolf, losing his footing and falling to the floor. Instantly, the cloaked warrior dashed towards the grimm at top speed and blocked an incoming attack. Pushing the grimm back, they decapitated it with their scythe. Jaune shook his head and stood up. Gripping his sword as tight as possible, he and the cloaked warrior stood back to back was they were surrounded by the remaining 3 beowolves.

???: When I say 'now', we strike. Got it?

Jaune: Uh... yeah. G-Got it.

The beowolves slowly moved closer, growling. Jaune could feel his spine tingling.

???: Now! Sah!!! *slices beowolf*

Jaune: Hah! *stabs beowolf*

Jaune/???: YAAAAH!!! *chops beowolf in half*

The threat was over and the grimm crumbled into ash. Jaune turned to the cloaked warrior.

Jaune: *smiles* Thanks for the help.

???: *takes off hood* No problem, Jaune.

Jaune felt a wave of happiness as soon as the warrior unhooded herself. She had dark red hair, with bright red highlights and gleaming silver eyes. He felt stupid that he didn't recognise that it was Ruby earlier. He didn't stop to think about it and rushed towards her. He wrapped his arms around Ruby in a loving hug.

Jaune: I'm so glad to see you!

Ruby: Um... *nervous laughter and blushes* I'm glad to see you too. Is everything okay?

Jaune: Oh! *breaks hug*Uh, yeah. I-I'm fine. I-It's just nice to have help, hehe.

Jaune needed to remind himself that he had to be careful. This wasn't his world and his friends and family weren't exactly like they usually were either.

Jaune: Anyway, *ahem* how did you find out about the beowolf attack anyway?

Ruby: Oh, I heard about from a tavern at Malbec. Mom is not gonna be too happy when she finds out I've left. *nervous chuckle*

Jaune was surprised to hear Ruby mention her mom being upset. So she was alive in this universe, it seemed. Jaune shook his head to compose himself.

Jaune: I heard about the attack before I was gonna go to bed. I rushed here as fast as I could.

Ruby: Good thinking. Though you could've thrown on a coat at least, *chuckles* I gotta say, you've gotten much better since you started back at Beacon. I guess all those lessons with Mr Taurus have finally paid off.

Jaune: Mr... who?

Ruby: Mr Taurus You know, the combat instructor?

Jaune: Huh? I thought our combat instructor was Miss Goodwitch.

Ruby: ...

Jaune: What?

Ruby: Are you sure you're feeling okay?

Jaune: *groans* Man, everyone's been asking me that today. Don't worry about me, Ruby. I'm fine. How about we check up on the villagers instead? See if they need any medical attention.

Ruby: Hmmm, okay Jaune. We'll talk again later.

Ruby walked near the gate, where the villagers were gathered. Many of them thanked her and tried to give her gifts, much to Ruby's embarrassment. Jaune took one step and immidiately doubled over in searing pain. His head felt like it was being dragged across the ground. Suddenly, several images flashed in his mind. One of them was of a tall, spiky red-haired man with bronze eyes and black horns. Jaune was horrified as he recognised just who he was.

Jaune: *frantic gasping* No... A-Adam?! What the hell?! What the hell is going on?!

Jaune heard footsteps trudge along the snow and slowly looked up. It was Ozpin, dessed in black and green robes, lacking his trademark glasses and held a long, thin staff with an emerald on top of it.

Ozpin: Hello Jaune.

Jaune: O-Ozpin. *coughs*

Ozpin: Steady there. It's time you and I had a little chat.

Jaune: What about-?

Ozpin: I'll explain to Miss Rose about the situation later. In the meantime, I suggest you come with me. Your journey through the multiverse must've taken a toll on you.

Jaune: ...how did you know?

Ozpin: *smirks* Merlin sent me a little message.

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

The Unfortunate Moth Side-story

@mrbexwrites This is entirely thanks to your tags. Result: a completely cracky, not remotely canon side-story about Phil, Yo-han and Leo as time-travellers, feat. a good dose of black comedy. The title is a quote from Top Cat.

(If you can understand all these historical references you get a virtual high five. If you understand all these references without Google you get a virtual medal.)

This Meeting is Now in Recession; or, The Time-Travelling Adventures of Ophelia Patton and Friends

"The twelfth first annual meeting of the Time-Travellers' Association is now in session!" Phil shouted.

She raised the hammer and brought it down on the table with a resounding crash. It still didn't stop the other two bickering. She waited. And waited. And waited.

"...And that's why you're responsible for the Eiffel tower," Yo-han finished.

Leopold glared at him. "It's not my fault I got my years mixed up! And when I asked where the tower was, how was I to know the random guy beside me was Gustave Eiffel?"

"I'm just saying, the world could really have done without that ugly eyesore cluttering up Paris in this timeline!"

Phil hit the table again. "Come on, you two, we haven't time for this!"

Leo grinned. "You know, technically we have all the time in the world."

In unison Yo-han and Phil threw cushions at him.

When Phil first discovered her time-travelling powers (she still didn't know where they came from or how many other people had them), she'd set out to change history. First on the list was World War I. It was astonishing how many of the 20th century's horrors were ultimately a result of World War I.

It had taken her fifteen tries to succeed. Someone else had also been messing around with history, and their interference cancelled out hers. Finally she caught up with the other time-traveller: none other than Leopold Colman, who was busy using his powers to commit the perfect murder.

They'd agreed to join forces to stop the war. Then they'd discovered yet another person was meddling with history on the other side of the world. A short investigation later, and Seo Yo-han became the third member of the Time-Travellers' Association (founded 1914, goals agreed on in 1898, established to turn the 20th century into a normal century instead of a long series of bloodbaths). Their current mission: to stop the arms race that had built up tensions before WWI.

"So far saving Franz Ferdinand has just delayed the war," Leo said. "There are two problems: Kaiser Wilhelm, and the Austrian succession. If we stop Rudolf killing himself at Mayerling, Franz Ferdinand will never have a chance of being Kaiser. Anyway, Rudolf is more liberal—"

"And he murdered his girlfriend before shooting himself," Phil reminded him. "I think Austria's problems started much earlier, when Franz Joseph married Elisabeth instead of Helene."

"We can't exactly kidnap Elisabeth so she doesn't meet Franz Joseph," Leo protested. "That's going too far back."

Yo-han shook his head. "I went further back to save Joseon. All the way back to Injo, to stop him murdering his son."

"To stop him what?" Leo exclaimed, while Phil asked, "Was he the one who locked his son in a rice box?"

"No, that was Yeongjo," Yo-han said, while Leo repeated, "What?"

Phil returned to the Austrian question. "You know, if we swapped Rudolf and Wilhelm as babies, everyone would be happier. Wilhelm wouldn't be envious of his relatives, Franz Joseph would have a son he liked, Victoria would have a son she liked..."

Leo rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid. That would never work."

Phil gave him a Look. "Remind me of your last plan."

Leo winced. Yo-han also gave him a Look.

"Was that the Titanic fiasco?" he asked.

Leo nodded sheepishly. "That plan worked! I kept it far away from the iceberg!"

"It blocked the Suez canal for a week."

Leo nodded again, more emphatically this time. "There are no icebergs in Egypt!"

Phil and Yo-han looked at each other and shrugged.

"So," Yo-han said, "will we try this... switched at birth plan?"

Phil nodded. Leo took out the notebook containing the TTA's minutes (and timelines, and accounts of failed plans) and made a note.

"Just make sure we don't go to America for a few decades," he said.

The other two gave him suspicious looks. "What happened in America?"

"I was only trying to make conversation! I thought she was just a random old lady when I asked if she liked going to the theatre. How was I to know she was Mrs. Lincoln?"

Adding Moth’s and Glass’s taglists: @akindofmagictoo, @lightgriffinsect, @original-writing, @zonnemaagd, @boldnightmarishreverbs, @oh-no-another-idea, @verba-writing, @writingpotato07, @sarahlizziewrites (Let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

[dulluhan-iralun]

At what point was Cassandra Dimitrescu set apart from the rest of the Swarm?

Specifically, when did Miranda see Cassandra as her Hand; Cassandra Dimitrescu is her Mother's Shadow, so when was it an established vision for the Crow?

—————

The girls were a century old when Miranda enfolded them into the duties of the Coven. They were well-versed in its functions by then, and the priestess of the Black God was not one to suffer idle devotion.

Alcina remembered the day the call came in her boudoir; the pack of cigarettes and the poor maid that had been drained in its wake.

“Your huntress. Cassandra. She will inherit your title as Hand.”

Alcina’s grip tightened over the receiver. “With respect, Mother Miranda,” she murmured. “Cassandra is too young —“

“To be wasted as a mantelpiece display in your gallery. She is old enough and strong enough to begin her assignments.” Miranda’s voice was quiet; the warning was as clear as the strike of steel on a frigid morning. “Prove to me that she is worthy, Alcina, or I might make better use of her.”

Hand of the Burnt God. A lofty title, one that Alcina had once relished; for the Hand was closest to the Heart, was it not? The Hand was the one that struck, and too many nights she spent with bodies in her wake and wounds that festered and ached in any form she took.

Cassandra stared up at her with the wide-eyed wonder of a child blessed with a treasure, how eager to please and to provide. To prove oneself worthy. “Truly, Mother? I — I’ll be the Hand?”

Alcina smiled, if only to prevent herself from weeping. She swept a tender hand along the silken hair of her middle child, dark like her own. Ebony spill against the pale winter. “Truly,” she replied. “Mother Miranda sees your potential.”

It was a blade twisting in her chest on the day she escorted Cassandra before Miranda. To watch the eager look of excitement on her child’s face pale into confusion, horror, realization…and then smooth into cold determination. Gone was the sparkle of sweetness, the twinkling hope.

The Wolf had come.

————

Heavy is the Head that wears the crown, but heavier still the Hand that wields the sword. Mother Miranda's expectations for perfection were ones that none of the Coven were exempt from, though perhaps none were held to such a standard as her own brood. Each falter was a flaw, each error was sin. She was only grateful that such things were a rarity among her daughters; Bela held standards that rivaled the priestess, and Daniela's sweetness was potent enough to soften even the Crow's pecking beak. Cassandra...

Defiance seemed to be a natural state of being for her middle daughter. Wild-willed and headstrong; there seemed to be little pleasure greater than aggravating Mother Miranda. Despite this, Alcina was pleased (and petrified) when Miranda named Cassandra as Hand. Training the Wolf was a thrill she hadn't felt in some time -- a venture in testing her own resilience, her own stamina and strength and wit. They battled with the singular goal of victory in mind, and no matter how bloody and broken they left one another, they ended their days with a smile.

————

Cassandra’s first mission was a resounding success. Alcina expected nothing less from the Wolf; the battlefield is where she thrived, and the smile that she returned home with was as bright as a thousand suns.

Mother Miranda had simply nodded, smiled in the way that she did, as if she had known all along.

The second assignment nearly saw Alcina tearing into the Crow. A ridiculous task, set against ridiculous odds that left Cassandra all but crawling back by the bed of her nails. The state of her physical form was nothing compared to the state of her mind; lost in vicious self-loathing and failure even as her sisters fussed and hovered and Alcina coaxed blood-soaked towels between her chapped and cracked lips to heal.

The Dragon’s rage was a tempest the day she marched into Miranda’s temple. “You sent her to her death!” she roared. “You knew this would happen and yet you still forbade me to assist.”

“She needed to be humbled,” Miranda sniffed. “A Hand abides by the Head.”

Alcina reeled back incredulously. “She’s had one mission! What more does she need to be humbled for?”

Miranda’s pale eyes slid towards her, lip curling with distaste. “Cassandra has always been…too big for her britches, as they say. She needed to remember whose commands she bent to.”

(reply answered by raffinit)

[superservices23]

I will do creative sports fitness event music business logo design

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Fitness is more than just a routine – it's a journey of transformation. Our designers recognize that each fitness event is a canvas where aspirations and sweat converge. With our expertise in fitness event branding, we transform concepts into visual stories that inspire action. Every design element is meticulously curated to resonate with the aspirations of fitness enthusiasts, ensuring your event becomes a beacon of motivation that leads to positive change.

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In the symphony of the music business, a well-crafted logo speaks volumes. Whether you're a budding artist, a record label, or a music-focused enterprise, our logo designs harmonize with your identity. These designs are more than just visual markers – they embody the rhythm, melody, and emotions that define your musical journey. With colors that resonate and forms that intrigue, our logos create an indelible connection between your art and your audience.

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Our mission is clear: to meld boundless creativity with unwavering excellence. Whether you aspire to orchestrate a sports event that reverberates in memories, a fitness gathering that uplifts, or a music business that strikes chords both visually and aurally, we stand ready to collaborate.

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The stage is set, the canvas awaits, and our design virtuosity is at your service. It's time to transmute your ideas into masterpieces that transcend the ordinary. Prepare to redefine the benchmarks of sports, fitness, music, and design. The era of creative renaissance beckons – are you prepared to embrace it? 🚀

I will do creative work come visit me:

[theworstt]

Environmentalism at Burning Man - 

Every year, [x] millions of people do this...

or 

Bring a transhumanist to Burning Man

Leaving no trace

Might take the environmentalist movements at Burning Man as a starting theme. My friend Tommy, who I wrote about in my article on the climate “rave” he threw in Lisbon, was pissed at how his camp was, in the desert, serving purified spring water Liquid Death in cans. 

Who is able to see the irony? What makes a non-NPC at Burning Man?

“Burning Man is a place where you make things happen.” In his essay in which Wells Tower ingeniously goes to the Burn with his dad, Wells discusses how those who refuse to play by the rules – for example, go nude — are dismissed as part of “the default world.” Activism is part of them. What makes a playing character as Burning Mna? 

Is Burning Man life changing?

Lack of limitations, limitations what make life interesting

Cam acknowledges that his life probably needs to tack in a new direction. “I really think Burning Man could change my life,” he said to me on the phone a few weeks back. How? “Well, to be around these people all getting together for a common reason—it might help me focus on my own path.”

Then there’s my father’s old friend James Dean, who views the week a bit less ingenuously. Dean, 71, is famous among his friends for a lifetime of resounding successes with women, if not wives. He plays the saxophone and rides a big motorcycle, and if he didn’t you would say, “That guy ought to play the saxophone and ride a big motorcycle.” He does not expect Burning Man to change his life: “I think it’s probably just a sexed-up art party” is his take on the week ahead.

The mission:

Burning Man Project’s mission is to produce the annual event known as Burning Man and to guide, nurture and protect the more permanent community created by its culture. Our intention is to generate society that connects each individual to his or her creative powers, to participation in community, to the larger realm of civic life, and to the even greater world of nature that exists beyond society.

We believe that the experience of Burning Man can produce positive spiritual change in the world

Moral relationships before politics