#Trip to the Treasury

[laura491]

I was on another field trip today 🙂 Again underground, but all in all a little fancier than the sewers of the city 🙈

My favourite part of course was to stumble upon a statuette of Saint Catherine, or Hl. Katharina in German, since my MC's name is Katharina 😅 Always love those small coincidences with that name 😊

#me #selfie #treasury #research #research trip #writing stuff #writers on tumblr #authors of tumblr

[diamondisunmemeable]

Anyways have y'all read the story where the Master sneaks into UNIT's Christmas party cuz he was feeling lonesome

#source is short trips: a christmas treasury #doctor who

[spaceoperetta]

Topkapi Palace, Istanbul

The sultans of the Ottoman Empire lived here from the 1400s to the 1800s. The harem had gorgeous tilework.

For birders, birds! Parakeets aren't native to the area, but the story goes that some were released from being smuggled and they've lived here ever since. (Also at the Hagia Sofia.)

#turkey trip #the other highlight was the treasury but that gets its own post

[mollypaup]

i hate the throwing the money over the ship bit

#it genuinely makes the city trips less fun when gill has tossed their treasury overboard

[omresult]

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[astronicht]

Am I F1 posting am I LOTR posting I can multitask. Look I’m barely into Two Towers but I’m on another themed field trip and we’re going to look at 11th century “oliphant” hunting horns now. Was Boromir’s horn material and design ever specified? I don’t recall! probably it was a large boar tusk! Maybe it was a really really big bull! This is all more likely than elephant ivory, tho as seen here elephant (and rhinoceros) ivory WAS absolutely in use, especially in early medieval Muslim Europe (Spain, Sicily, and parts of Southern Italy) and was definitely known much further north (too far north tho and you start getting walrus ivory instead). But you’ve gotta see some of the coolest early medieval hunting horns anyway.

From the museum placard:

“The term oliphant refers to an ivory horn such as the one used by the legendary hero Roland, one of Charlemagne’s paladins, to sound the call for battle. Many such horns have been preserved. Usually decorated with hunting and animal motifs, they were made in Islamic-Arab countries as well as Norman Sicily and in Lower Italy. Many of them served as containers for relics in the church treasuries of the West.”

These two are (and I’m just getting this info off more museum placards) from Italy (Salerno or Amalfi, maybe) and from Arab Sicily. The latter, with the very Muslim-style animals in a web of vines, is my absolute fav. Sicily was conquered by the Byzantines, Fatimids, and ex-Viking Normans in succession and the style got neat as hell. Did Tolkien care about this mate I have no idea, I just think it’s the coolest thing. Also these are huge.

*and of course, ivory today is real fucking sad and part of an ecological catastrophe. But it’s worth saying that the 11th century was Not the century that fucked that one up.

#Astro lotr #barely. barely

[sungbeam]

007!ji changmin x f!reader

you're sent to montenegro to infiltrate a high-stakes poker game, but with the world hanging in the balance, it's a good thing m's sending her best employee along with you—agent 007, ji changmin.

▷ genre, warnings. f2l, james bond/007/spy au, action, suspense, pining(?), minimal angst, humor bc i'm me, violence, blood, death, mentions of alcohol, mentions of weaponry, mentions of corruption, swearing, kissing, near-death experiences, mentions of terrorism but not explicitly discussed, the ending is kinda cheesy im sorry it's late and i like making him yearn, barely proofread (dudes it's so late when im writing this)

▷ word count. 11.1k

▷ based on. casino royale (2006)

a/n: this is for @winterchimez ally's 007 files collab! pls check out the other fics that have been posted 😎 also, this is way lighter than the actual movie, so uhm, yeah!

YOU KNEW FROM THE MOMENT you first stepped into your position as an agent of the Treasury, that Kenneth Kang would be a thorn in your side. Perhaps not even a thorn, but a massive pain in the neck, the back, the ass. He was a man with a helm of pomade for hair and an ego the size of Russia, who, for some odd reason, despised you.

It was funny… the last time you checked, an entity such as Russia wouldn't be so easily threatened by someone like yourself. But here was Kenneth Kang, continuing to email you passive aggressive correspondence as if he wasn't butthurt the director chose you for this task rather than him.

After all, only the best of the best were selected to assist MI6 with their assignments. The fate of the world hung in the balance.

You told Kenneth just that in your last (hopefully) email to him for the trip: The quarterly reports are still due on Monday, Kang. Remember that Director Song excused me from them because I'm off to go save the world—ta-ta! Or something to that effect.

It was unfortunate the government monitored everyone's emails or you would've signed off with something wildly hilarious like “Love (if pigs flew), Director Song's Favorite <3 (not you)”—that would stick it to him—

A clearing throat drew your attention away from your laptop so abruptly, you were glad you didn't get whiplash.

“This seat taken?” You didn't catch a clear glimpse of the man's face before he was already claiming the seat across from you. The voice was awfully familiar, and when you finally saw him, you understood why.

You nearly did a double take, but the surprise swiftly melted away like glaciers in the spring to something like warm amusement. “Ah, do I—uh—know you, sir?” You asked, gently folding your laptop closed so you can gesture to the teapot before you. “Tea?”

Ji Changmin leaned back in his chair, eyes darting from the view outside the train car window and back to you. He dragged his gaze up and down your form, the back of his knuckles pressed against his lips. It did nothing to hide his smile. “Tea would be lovely, thanks.”

You obliged, refilling your cup with the hot beverage and pouring a decent amount into the extra teacup and saucer on his half of the table.

The two of you were currently on a train to Montenegro. Less than 48 hours ago, you were summoned into your director's office, only for the head of MI6 (the elusive M) to join you. You were debriefed on a high stakes poker game being hosted by a man notoriously reputed for funding terrorist organizations around the globe. You were told that M would be sending her “best” along with you to be dealt into the game—you were never given the agent's name or identification number.

But now that you were nearly an hour's ride away from Montenegro, it seemed he finally decided to reveal himself.

“Are you sure you don't remember me, Miss?” He asked, eyebrows raised over the rim of his teacup. “I was so sure that I left a lasting impression on you the last time.”

You slowly raked your eyes over the sharp, dark blue suit he wore, the white dress shirt beneath opened up at the collar, his wrist fitted with a watch that glistened in the afternoon light filtering in through the window. He had cropped his hair since the last time you saw Agent 007, M's so-called “best.” That was about two years ago, when there was a joint-branch charity gala and the two of you shared a dance before he was called away. Before that, you reckoned it was likely your graduation from Cambridge.

Time flew, you supposed, and you'd both been busy.

The corner of your lips lifted as you took a ginger sip of your tea. “Well then, you'll have to do a better job this time. What brings you to Montenegro?”

“Ah, business. You know how it is.”

“A truly dull answer,” you remarked. He couldn't come up with better conversation? You expected more from the man who always prided himself on buttery smooth lines. Where was the fun in ‘business’? “No wonder you've got all of that on. You're dressed like you're about to go buy a company.”

“Could I buy your company?” He asked in jest, tilting his head to the side.

You set your teacup down and a smile flitted over your lips. “I don't think you'd ever have enough money in the world for that.”

He chuckled then and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, catching a droplet of tea clinging to it. “Challenge accepted.”

When the train pulled into the station at Montenegro, it was just about a quarter past two in the afternoon. You and Changmin stood up from your cozy two-seater table to prepare to disembark. You rifled through your laptop tote for your wallet, but before you could retrieve your money, Changmin was already dropping bills on the table.

“Is this yours?” He asked, placing a hand on the bag stowed above the seat. It was a duffle bag that ranged on the smaller size with enough room to store your toiletries, emergency items, and any other things you might have needed. You were informed that clothing and the like would be in your accommodations waiting for you—there must have been a strict dress code for this event.

You shouldered your purse. “Yes, I'm traveling light.”

“Same here.” He grabbed your bag for you, and the two of you were off, shuffling down the aisle toward the nearest exit. Light, indeed. He didn't seem to have any luggage on him, but you supposed an agent of his caliber was provided everything he needed at his accommodations.

The train station, at this hour, was rather busy. People bustled to and fro to get to their trains, the parking lot, the ticket booth, the works. Your instructions once you'd arrived in Montenegro were to get in touch with the agent who was assigned to this case, and that you already accomplished. Until now, that was about all you knew, barring the general mission at-hand.

“I assume you’ll be staying at the Hotel Splendide, as well?” You voiced to him as you walked by his side toward the valet at the front of the station. You never knew a train station to have a valet, but you supposed it made sense if there were luxury, long-haul train cars.

“Your assumption would be correct,” he said. “In fact, we’re sharing a room.” The reveal of this information nearly had you tripping over your own shoes, and you were sure you saw a ghost of a smile make it onto his lips. You narrowed your eyes at him as he carried onward—of course, the two of you were sharing a room. What cover did MI6 even come up with? Something incredibly original like a married couple, you’d bet. Or, god forbid, a man and his mistress. (The thought made you gag.)

Changmin made eye contact with the valet boy, his chin inclining toward him. “Afternoon. It should be under ‘Ji.’”

The boy traced his finger down the edge of his tablet screen and his eyes lit up in recognition. “Ah yes, Mr. Ji,” he said, grabbing a keychain from his station and tossing it over to Changmin, “your car was just delivered two minutes ago. Have a nice trip, sir.”

“Thank you.” A rolled up bill was exchanged so fast that you thought you’d imagined it, and Changmin was walking onward down the length of the curved curb toward a parked vehicle. You followed swiftly after him, and upon further inspection, realized that the vehicle he was striding towards was a sleek Aston Martin in a classy shade of silver. It looked like something straight out of Hollywood, the sight nearly making your knees buckle. It was enough to say that all thoughts of you sharing a room with Changmin flew out the Aston Martin’s window.

Changmin gave a laugh at your reaction, opening the passenger side door for you. “You look more excited to see this car than me, sweetheart.”

“Was I that obvious? She’s beautiful.” You couldn’t help but grin back as you slipped into the smooth, leather seat. The interior was just as beautiful and sleek, with dark colored leather and a shiny center console. While you buckled yourself in, you heard Changmin deposit your bag in the backseat before rounding the car to take his place in the driver’s side.

“I can’t say I disagree,” he said, the door slamming. He retrieved a pair of aviator sunglasses from a compartment above the rearview mirror, donning them, then flashing you a dimpled smile. “Shall we?”

Changmin revved up the engine and pulled out of the train station's front lot onto the scenic road that would wind down the mountains to reach the portside where Hotel Splendide was located.

“I haven't seen you in two years, have you been well?” You piped up, now that the two of you were alone.

He hummed. “Ah, for the most part, yes—I’ve been alright.”

“Trotting the globe, I bet?”

“You'd win that bet, for sure,” he mused. He passed you a brief glance, turning his eyes back to the road. “And you?”

You mimicked the humming sound he'd made earlier. “I've been decent. Just work most days; you know how it is.”

He nodded his understanding. “Social life just as dead as uni?”

An incredulous sound flew out of your mouth, your hand swatting his arm to coax an impish smile from him. “I have friends!”

“Significant others then,” he offered.

You bristled in your seat and met his grin with a stink eye. “There are more important things than finding romance.”

“Still the same Yn as I remember,” he teased. “Now I know you're not an imposter.” A beat of silence, and then, “M must have been very pleased with your performance records to have approved of your director's choice. Not that I'm surprised; you've always been exceptional in your field.”

You turned your head to face the window on your side, barely hiding the pleased smile on your face from his compliment. It had taken a lot of hard work to get where you were, and you should've been proud of yourself. “I appreciate that. Though, I'm sure the fact that we know each other might have something to do with it, too.”

“I think that's just an added bonus,” he remarked optimistically. “You'll know how to keep me in check.” That was, literally speaking, exactly what your role here was. While Changmin was dealt into the game, you controlled the amount of money he was able to use or bet with. Because you were the trusted agent of the Treasury, you would be privy to the amount of money appropriate to use from the government's coffers.

“Who knew one partner project would lead to us saving the world together?” He added offhandedly with almost a nostalgic sort of whimsy.

“Are you ready to be a team player this time, though?” You asked, eyebrow raised. “The rumors say you enjoy flying solo.”

“I fly solo when it's dangerous,” he corrected. Which, you guessed, was most of the time in his line of work.

“So you're saying this mission isn't dangerous?”

“A poker game?” He laughed. “The only dangerous thing about it is gonna be how fast I'm going to win.”

The Hotel Splendide was as splendid as its name suggested. The grand, white limestone facade was carved with arched windows and statues, sleek columns and balconies. This side faced out into the waterfront, giving all arriving patrons a beautiful view of the port.

Changmin directed his car into the cobblestone roundabout at the front of the hotel. When he brought the vehicle to a stop, a bellboy in a maroon colored uniform opened your car door for you and offered a hand to help you out.

“Thank you,” you murmured, rolling your neck and stretching your limbs from the hour-long car ride.

Changmin emerged from the driver's side with his keys in hand, speaking to another attendant about being careful with his vehicle. He rounded the car just as the bellboy grabbed your duffle from the backseat.

“Welcome to the Hotel Splendide. This way to the check-in counter please,” the bellboy said, gesturing toward the front door, framed by an amber-toned awning and crowned in a myriad of flags from around the world.

You felt Changmin's palm warm the small of your back as you clutched your laptop purse in your hands. “Of course, thank you.”

The hotel’s foyer was just as magnificent as its outside. A crystalline chandelier hung from the high-domed ceiling, painting the room in a luxurious champagne gold, while the marble floors were lined in a deep crimson velvet. The front desk was to your immediate left with a number of staff stationed behind it.

The woman you and Changmin went to greeted you both with a polite smile. “Welcome to the Hotel Splendide. May I have the name of your reservation, please?”

“Ji,” your friend answered, “James Ji.”

Your eyebrows flew to your hairline.

“Ah,” the woman said, “but of course, Mr. Ji. Yours and your assistant's suite has been prepared for your arrival.”

Assistant? While she readied the key cards for you, you met Changmin’s gaze with a number of questions in your eyes. He only answered with a helpless expression.

Assistant? As if.

For fear of jeopardizing the mission by correcting the cover MI6 so generously assigned you, you reluctantly kept your mouth shut.

The desk clerk pushed a pair of cards across the polished wood toward you and Changmin—key cards. “These are your keys for your stay in room 700. All amenities, such as room service and the spa, are included in the fees you paid while booking. Your luggage will be delivered to your room for you. Anything you might need may be addressed via the phone in your suite or here at the front desk.”

(Assistant? Did you look like a fucking assistant?)

Changmin collected the room keys and passed you one. “Excellent, thank you. Did any mail arrive for me?”

“Yes, sir. A small parcel was delivered directly to your suite, as well as several garment bags. You'll find them in your wardrobe. Is that all?”

With nothing else to be addressed, you and Changmin thanked the front desk attendant and you were shuttled toward the elevators at the end of the hall. It was a good thing the elevator carriage made a swift arrival, because as soon as the doors slid closed, you let your frustrations be known.

“Assistant?” You exclaimed, gesticulating frustratedly. “Out of all the cover options? That woman probably thinks I'm your mistress!”

“I didn't choose it,” Changmin said, raising his palms in surrender. Though, it was clear by his expression that he was at least amused by your reaction.

You rolled your eyes, then narrowed them and crossed your arms over your chest. “What if you were the assistant, hm? Why aren't I the rich lady with a handsome secretary I take on vacation with me?”

His grin was teasing as he leaned closer to you, your breath hitching for a split second. There was a brief moment where your senses were fully engulfed by the smell of his cologne and the way a lock of his hair curled over his forehead. “You think I'm handsome?”

As if the universe could feel the warmth rising to your cheeks, the elevator doors mercifully opened onto the seventh floor.

He leaned away, something self-satisfied playing on his mouth as he returned his hand to your back. “Okay,” he drawled, “say I'm your handsome assistant…”

“I'm never living that down, am I?” You groaned, already feeling the headache spike in your temples. Your eyes fluttered about the corridor you entered; it was just as beautiful as the lobby downstairs, but with a slightly moodier glow to the lights as if not to disturb any of the patrons on this floor should they wish for an escape from downstair's hustle and bustle.

“Imagine if Chanhee found out you'd said that.”

“Don't get me started on Chanhee.” Room 700 appeared in your sight, and you smacked your key card against the card reader before letting yourself into the room. As the lights flickered on, you asked Changmin from over your shoulder, “Have you heard from him recently, by the way?”

Chanhee was a mutual friend from your college days. While he was technically a closer friend to Changmin, you'd met Chanhee through Changmin after your partner project and grabbed dinner together every once in a while whenever Chanhee was in town.

You were already making a beeline to the bathroom when you heard the hotel room door close and lock behind Changmin. “Recently? Depends on your definition of ‘recently.’”

The sound of your sigh echoed as you absentmindedly fixed your hair in the reflection. Train hair wasn't as poor as airplane hair, that was for sure. “He misses you,” you said in a singsong tone.

“Is that right?” He chuckled. “I'll shoot him a text then.”

He appeared in the reflection behind you holding two black garment bags, one in each hand. He'd shed his suit jacket somewhere, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to expose his forearms. “These are ours for tonight,” he said to you, handing you the one with your name on it.

Ah, tonight. “Thanks,” you said, taking a peek inside to see what exactly was prepared for you. Your curiosity piqued at the sight of deep wine red fabric, but you didn't look any further for the time being.

“Are you ready for tonight?” He asked, stealing a glance at you as he brushed his hair back in the mirror.

At the proximity of tonight's events, you suddenly felt your heart rate climb. Before when this was only an assignment, the gravity of the situation hadn't fallen over you yet. But now that it was your current reality, it began to rush at you with the speed of an oncoming train.

You steeled your nerves. You were tapped to carry out this task for a reason. The only thing you had to do was be wary of Changmin's spending; he was doing the heavy lifting. Even if you were about to be in a room with a few dozen other dangerous people.

You swallowed, nodding. “Ready as I'll ever be.”

He pressed his lips together, his dimples appearing in his cheeks but not because of joy. There was a step forward, then another. “Hey,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, “I won't let anything bad happen to you or to anybody; that's what I'm here for.”

He draped his garment over his arm and leaned against the bathroom counter beside you. “If we both do our jobs right, we'll be fine. Do you know who our target is? Just so you're aware of who to look out for.”

You nodded, “Le Chiffre.” That was the name of the host of tonight's poker game. He was high on the MI6's most wanted list, and tonight was a critical effort to put a stop to his movements, as well as the credibility he had with his clients. You'd seen pictures of this man—the cold of his eyes and the pale scar that disabled one of his pupils—you were well aware of what he looked like.

“Good,” he murmured. “Then you stay far away from him, got it, sweetheart?”

“Got it.”

Though the gravity of the situation hung heavy in the room after that conversation, Changmin ordered the two of you room service before you needed to prepare for the poker game. You figured food in your stomach would keep you grounded and lessen the nerves trilling through you and making your extremities feel cold to the touch.

Dinner shared in the privacy of your hotel room with an old friend was pleasant. You both sat on the couch sectional next to each other, his arm laid casually over the back of where you sat, as you caught up and dined. There was something oddly warm in his eyes… you didn't know what it was that made him seem so clued into what you were saying, as if he was spellbound. You figured it must be the training he underwent; after all, if he couldn't just muscle his way to an answer, then seduction was also a powerful tool at his disposal.

You just wondered why it was seeping into his interaction with you. Perhaps it became second nature for him to be this way—to lean into every word you said, to brighten at the sound of your laugh, to mirror every smile. To make you feel like you were the only person in his world and that you were all that mattered.

By the time nine o'clock rolled around and you were in the bathroom preparing for the game, your nerves had calmed considerably.

The dress that MI6 provided you was a deep wine evening gown that hugged your upper body and cascaded down the length of your legs before it hung just above your feet. The satin was gathered and left to create a cowl at the neckline, and somebody had thought it was a fabulous idea to leave a high slit in one side all the way up to mid-thigh height. (One wrong move and you were screwed.)

It was as if a river of wine physically wrapped around you as a garment for the night.

Though you appreciated the beauty of it, it only served to make you realize that perhaps controlling Changmin's spending wasn't your only job tonight; your other purpose was to distract everyone else. You weren't sure how you felt about that.

A knock sounded at the bathroom door just as you were fitting on a pair of matching ruby earrings. “Yn?”

“Just a second,” you said. You pushed the earring backing into place and hustled over to open the door. “I'm just finishing… hey.”

Changmin had changed into an all-black suit, a classic piece of uniform that was tailored perfectly to his proportions. His eyes were hooded and dark as he drank you in like a glass of Pinot Noir.

A low whistle drifted out from his lips. “If I'm being honest, you might be a liability in this dress.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said, turning back to return to the bathroom counter.

Changmin trailed after you, almost dumbfounded, like he'd forgotten why he'd knocked on the door in the first place.

You tried to suppress your smile as you handed him his comb. “See something you like?”

His eyes met yours in the mirror, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “I do.”

Your expression shuttered in the mirror having not expected that reply at all.

Changmin cleared his throat, stepping to your side to fix his hair with practiced grace. In no time, his appearance was complete, and he was heading out of the bathroom, his cologne lingering by you.

When you were satisfied, you turned off the bathroom light on your way out to meet Changmin in the main room. He was by the safe, fitting a fresh magazine into a silver pistol with skilled hands. He felt your gaze on the weapon and passed you a glance. “We can't carry weapons into the room,” he told you, “but it's a good idea to have one ready here.”

You bobbed your head in agreement, though you felt your shoulders tighten.

He locked up the safe before making his way toward you. “Do you know how to use one of these?” He asked.

You shook your head. “It was never in my job description,” you said quietly. “I hope you don't have to use it.”

There was a graveness to his gaze now. “I hope I don't have to either.” Because both of you knew, if it came down to it, he wouldn't hesitate.

The room where it happened was deep in the bowels of the hotel, somewhere below the casino floor and above the core of the earth. To get in, one was required an exclusive invitation, which was the item Changmin had received in the small parcel from earlier in the afternoon.

You and Changmin arrived on the scene arm in arm, your posture straight in an effort to come off as nonchalant. As you descended the velvet-lined stairs into the basement room, you were confronted by a pair of broad-shouldered bodyguards with body scanners in their hands. After retrieving Changmin's invitation, you were both scanned separately for security, before being granted entry.

The playing room was on the smaller side with a fully equipped bar on the furthest wall of the room. The centerpiece was an oval table, barred off with railings for spectators to lean on while the game was played. There were a sprinkling of others here, both players and their guests.

Your initial scan of the room, unsurprisingly, produced no familiar faces—but your arm tightened around Changmin's when you caught sight of the man of the hour. Le Chiffre stood on the opposite side of the room, nursing a coup glass of liquor as he spoke in low tones with another man. From this angle, you could see the cut of his one glassy eye and the angry scar that marred his face.

“Our four o'clock,” you muttered between your teeth to your counterpart.

Changmin glanced over out of his peripheral vision, nodding subtly. “How about a drink, sweetheart?” He asked you, his voice slightly louder than your own.

You gave a small smile, and he began to lead you over to the bar.

As the two of you moved, you couldn't shake the feeling of eyes trailing after you, something akin to spidersilk clinging to your limbs that you could never quite brush off. It was no secret that you were one of the few women in the room.

When you reached the bar, Changmin flagged the bartender down. “A vodka martini, please—shaken, not stirred—and a mint julep for the lady.”

“Right away, sir.”

You looked over at Changmin with an impressed purse of your lips. “You remembered,” you mused.

The corner of his lip tilted upward. “How could I forget?”

With your drinks served to you, you gently sipped on your mint julep. It wouldn't do you well to get drunk tonight; you just needed a little liquid courage.

From your side, Changmin stared out into the crowd, likely assessing his opponents in the room. He made a small noise of consideration that made you prompt him. He answered lowly, “You see the man to our nine o'clock?—”

You followed his instructions and casted a single glance that way. At the other end of the bar stood a man in a gray suit, nursing a rum and coke in his hands as he assessed the room for himself.

“—Lee Juyeon. CIA.”

Your eyebrows flicked upward. “Interesting. Are they after our man, too?”

“Good chance that they are,” he said and raised his glass to his lips. He swallowed the last of his drink and set the empty glass behind him, leaning the elbow closest to you against the bar behind him. “Know how to play poker?”

“I’m more of a Go Fish girl, actually.”

He sputtered a laugh, and you smiled into your glass. “You're kidding. Not even a little?”

“Go fish, Mr. Ji,” you said and gestured to him with your glass. “Do tell though, since your boss seems to have so much faith in you. What's the secret to winning poker?”

You hadn't even realized how close your faces were tilted toward each other until you registered the smell of his drink on his breath and the shine on his lips. For a plot second, you swore his eyes even dared a glance away from your own.

Neither of you backed away from the other and remained in the intimate gray space.

“The secret?” He parroted, cocking an eyebrow. He tugged at his bottom lip. “The secret is figuring out what everyone else's tells are. It's about bluffing and strategy. If you can figure out how to tell when a person is lying, then you're practically set.”

You hummed. “I see. So what's my tell?”

“Your tell?” His gaze on you was hot and heavy as his eyes devoured you slowly but surely for yet another instance tonight. You could no longer ignore the rapid hammering of your heart, its insistent palpitations threatening to expose you to the man you swore could already see right through you.

His lips pulled into a slow smile, the kind you couldn't decide if it really was a smile or a smirk. “That’s for me to know, and you to figure out.”

“You don't know then.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

A hush fell over the room. You followed everyone's eyes up to the man who had summoned the room's attention. Le Chiffre stood atop the poker table's platform with a small laptop seated upon the table's edge.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the game,” he greeted coolly. “We will begin this evening's festivities with an introduction to our security protocols. This device—” he gestured to the computer, “—is fully secured to store and activate all of the night's betting money. Each player will enter a six-character code, unique to them, that will grant them access to the winning sum—should they win.”

A small murmur of laughter amongst the crowd; you didn't find it funny.

“We will begin with Mrs. Takeuchi.”

One by one, each of the players present tonight came forward to input a six-charactered passcode of their choosing. When Changmin was summoned forward, you watched as his expression became a careful, unreadable slate. He strode up toward the poker table, eyes never leaving Le Chiffre and Le Chiffre's never leaving Changmin. You could feel the tension in the room tighten, and Changmin confidently input his desired password.

When he pressed ENTER, you swore you could feel the fifteen million dollars being locked into the pot. Fifteen million was a shit ton of cash. The amount you were not willing to go beyond was twenty million. As long as Changmin played safe and played well, it wouldn't be a problem.

Not before long, the players were all summoned to the table. You sent Changmin off with a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder, and followed behind him to find a space at the railing to watch.

Changmin settled in the chair directly across from Le Chiffre.

The dealer passed out two cards to every player, each of whom hoarded a stack of chips and rectangular plaques that valued up to fifteen million. As the dealer revealed the four cards before him—two jokers, a king, and an ace—the game was on.

You weren't even sure what you were looking for, but the sinking feeling in your gut would not fade the entire game. You held onto your mint julep until it was drained, eyes trained on the cards lying face down in Changmin's hands as he watched Le Chiffre across from him like a hawk.

He was looking for his tell, you realized.

The match was tense. You couldn't pull your gaze away, for fear of missing some minute detail, even if each move made was technically quite large. In the beginning, however, it felt as though everyone was playing it safer, for fear of getting out too early.

The night was young, and it would do none of them any good if they lucked out of a pot of at least one hundred million.

You watched Changmin, who watched Le Chiffre. You noted the way Le Chiffre would occasionally bring his left hand up to his scarred eye… was that his tell?

It was nearing one hour when it was only Changmin and Le Chiffre who had yet to fold. The dealer called for Changmin to make his move, and you looked over to your counterpart as the gears turned and twisted in his mind.

“I'm all in,” he decided, and shifted his entire pile into the center, mounting up to some amount close to twelve million.

You pressed the backs of your knuckles to your lips in anticipation of Le Chiffre's move. The man did not cower, but rather, called his bet. He moved his pile of fourteen million to the center. All in.

“Gentlemen,” the dealer gestured for their cards to be revealed.

They flipped their cards into view—you could feel the scandal rocket through the crowd.

“A pair of jacks. Monsieur Le Chiffre wins. This marks the halfway point of the match; we will return in one hour to resume, with the big blind set at two hundred thousand.”

Everyone around the table, both players and spectators, began to dissipate to find something to distract them for the hour-long break.

Changmin's posture was taut as a bowstring as Le Chiffre pulled his mouth into a sly smirk across from him. “Ah, Mr. Ji. You must have interpreted my tell wrong. Off your game tonight, don't you think?”

A muscle feathered in the agent's jaw. “I wouldn't be so quick to boast,” he drawled. “The game's not over yet.”

You didn't know what to say, but you knew one thing was for certain—no matter what, you and Changmin could not let Le Chiffre leave tonight with the jackpot. And as Changmin departed the table with a crease between his brows but his head held high, you knew what was on his mind, as well.

“Need a drink?” You asked, as he met you where you stood.

Changmin shook his head. “No, I'm alright,” he said, glancing about. He nudged the back of your shoulder with his fingers, guiding you toward the exit. “Let's get out of this room for a moment though.”

You weren't going to argue with that decision, and the two of you linked arms and made your departure.

When the cool air in the lobby swept over you and all the tension in your body left for a brief moment of paradise. It was so stifling down in that room; you were almost thankful to be wearing this dress.

You and Changmin lingered at the top of the railing that looked down into the lobby from the second flood, heads close together. “What now?” You asked him.

“I need more money.”

“I can give you five million, but that's my limit, Changmin,” you told him firmly.

His brows crossed together. “Five million isn't enough to go toe to toe with a guy who just ended round one with thirty—”

“That's not my fault; this is policy.” You knew the world hung in the balance, but while that was his job, this was yours. You sighed. “Maybe I can contact someone about approving more, but right now, five million is our only option. Do we not have a plan B?”

Changmin's lips pressed into a line. “Plan B is hoping he does something fucking illegal in front of my face, and praying that reinforcements come in fast enough to take him away.”

Now it was your turn for your brows to crease. “Why do we have to wait for him to do something illegal? Don't we know he's a criminal?”

“We're onto him, yes, but there has been no tangible proof that he's a corrupt banker,” Changmin admitted tersely. He absentmindedly rubbed his jaw with his palm. “If we could just—”

“Ji.”

Both you and Changmin straightened. Coming toward you from down the hall was Lee Juyeon, the CIA agent Changmin had pointed out to you earlier.

You didn't fail to notice the way Changmin blocked you from Juyeon's view with his body. “Lee,” Changmin greeted back.

Juyeon nodded to you in hello with a warm smile, and you lifted your hand to wave. He seemed decent enough.

Changmin’s eyes narrowed as he shifted so he stood next to you now, an obvious arm slung around your waist. “I didn't know the CIA was on this.”

“I didn't know the MI6 was on this,” Juyeon fired back. He let out a sigh that sounded about as stressed as you were. “I wanted to propose a deal with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, well—” Juyeon cupped the back of his neck with one hand. “I'm not the most adept poker player,” he confessed. If you remembered correctly, he nearly lost half his money throughout round one—then again, Changmin lost all of his. According to Le Chiffre, it was because he had read his tell incorrectly; you must have interpreted the wrong one, too. “And I figured that I'm not going to be making enough right moves in the second round to even stand a chance against Le Chiffre. You've got the balls to go up against him, and I know you're down a few bucks, so I wanted to bow out of the round and stake you instead.”

Both you and Changmin glanced at one another in surprise.

Juyeon was backing out… and wanted to stake Changmin? Stake, meaning to invest or sponsor him; to give Changmin funds.

Changmin's eyes narrowed. “And what would I do for you in return?”

“You would give the CIA Le Chiffre.”

What other choice did you and Changmin have? Five million was not enough to make a winning comeback; at least being sponsored would give Changmin enough cushion to make some more mistakes. The allyship between your governments was enough to make the CIA taking Le Chiffre in the end seem like a victory.

Changmin exhaled and stuck out his hand. “Deal.”

The second round was no less tense than the first. Changmin entered with more determination and fury than before, and Le Chiffre was no short of amusement and arrogance.

After Juyeon made his official departure from the game, he came to stand by you to spectate and offer insights wherever he could. The game chugged on by for another half hour with bets being placed, drinks being sipped, and money being exchanged.

You watched Changmin reach for his glass again, only to pause. There was a moment where you didn't breathe, and you watched his hand retract up toward his shirt collar to loosen it.

“Something wrong, Mr. Ji?” Le Chiffre asked.

You squinted at him, disliking the sinking feeling that had returned to your gut.

“Break,” Changmin suddenly called out, as he stumbled out of his seat and pushed out of the room in a hurry.

Eyes widened, you bolted after him, leaving Juyeon to wonder what had happened to Changmin.

You called out to your partner as he stumbled into the elevator, and you crashed in after him. “Oh my—fuck. What the fuck happened?” You asked as Changmin toppled over into you, sweat dripping down his face and his skin growing more and more flushed.

You jammed the button for your floor in a hurry as you attempted to hold him upright. “God, you're heavy, man—”

“Poison,” he choked out, practically ripping his shirt collar open, as if it was constricting his breathing. He gasped for air and clung onto you like a lifeboat.

Panic seized you by the heart and squeezed hard. “Oh my god. Okay—uhm, okay. What do we do? Changmin, what do we do?”

The elevator arrived on the seventh floor, and you half dragged Changmin toward your room. “The—the antid—antidote—”

“The antidote! We have an antidote?” You didn't have time to question him as you retrieved your room card from within your dress and barged into the hotel suite.

You deposited Changmin onto the floor as quickly and carefully as you could, hands shaking as you helped to take his shirt off so he could breathe.

“Safe,” he gasped to you.

“The safe? Fuck, what's the code?” You asked, clambering to your feet and racing over to the black box in the wall.

You heard him choke out the four digits, and the safe swung open without ceremony. You rifled around the contents and retrieved an aluminum foil packet with a slim syringe inside. “Found it!” You cried and practically slid across the floor to get back to him.

You ripped the packet open as Changmin's breathing continued to shallow, his skin paling, and his body growing weaker. His left palm had landed somewhere on his thigh—inject here.

“Shit,” you swore, grimacing to yourself before stabbing the syringe into his leg.

As soon as the liquid was gone, all you could do was pray.

But the storm clouds were beginning to clear, and color slowly returned to Changmin's face. You sank back onto your heels, relief and adrenaline coursing through you.

“Fucking hell, that was a close—”

White hot pain flashed through you as something—someone—grabbed you by your hair and yanked. Your scream pierced through the silence, and it was nearly enough to wake the dead.

They were dragging you backward toward the door, and you reached up to claw at their hands, your skull feeling as if it was being pulled into a million directions while being set ablaze, all at once.

“Let—go!” You screeched, thrashing around. You couldn't see your captor, but they suddenly released their grip on you.

Relief was short-lived.

Your head whipped to the side as a shoe met your cheek. Stars danced in your vision, and you cried out in pain—and then you begged. You were certain Changmin was still recovering, hardly in a state to save you, and desperation began to claw itself into your heart.

Your body was hoisted up beneath your armpits and you squirmed, fighting for your life.

For a second, you were sure you heard Changmin call out your name.

You threw your elbow back into your attacker's face, then tried the back of your head—the sound of pain and bones cracking echoing in your eardrum.

“You bitch!” They roared, loosening their grip to feel their broken nose.

You were a mess as you landed on the ground. A gleam of silver caught your eye. The gun.

Adrenaline seized you and you made a mad dash for the table where the gun was stowed beneath.

Your opponent caught your ankle and dragged you back down to earth. There was no time to mourn over bruised knees and limbs, and you kicked your heels out behind you in a blind fury, desperate to get away.

“Yn—”

“Please,” you screamed, begged. Whoever that was—you just wanted this to end. Fear coursed through you as your body began moving backwards and was dragged back to the door.

You dug your fingers against the polished ground, unsuccessfully gaining purchase. You clutched at a chair leg and dragged it along with you, and felt the hand around your ankle tighten—

With all your strength, you took the chair and heaved it back toward your captor. He let out a garbled swear, only agitated by your continued resistance. The hand around your ankle disappeared and you took it as an opportunity to get away.

“Not so fast.”

Your body hit the ground, the back of your head making purchase against stone. This time, you saw your assailant—he was one of the guards from earlier, likely working under Le Chiffre's orders. Blood dribbled down his lower face, courtesy of your retaliation.

“I should just kill you here and now,” he growled and enclosed his meaty hands around your neck. “Won't make a difference.”

You struggled against him, but to no avail. Your windpipe was being crushed and your vision blurred.

You thrashed and scratched and kicked—this was the end. Oh god, was this the end?—

A shot rang out.

Air slowly began seeping into your airway and you hacked a cough around the hands that had fallen away from your throat.

The dead body above you was heavy and sticky, and the smell of iron permeated your nose like a nightmare. You didn't even realize your cheeks were damp until you blinked and tears filled your eyes.

You nearly died just then.

With a suppressed sob, you shoved the dead body off you with all of your remaining strength.

There, by the table, was Changmin and the smoking gun in his hand. He still looked only half conscious, but he'd managed to get himself to sit up with pure willpower, enough to reach the gun stashed beneath the table, and to aim and fire a shot.

The room was quiet for a few moments, other than the persistent ringing in your ears.

Then you let yourself cry—it shook through your body and shoulders in violent sobs.

Changmin's chest clenched painfully at the sound, and the gun clattered out of his hand so he could crawl his way over to you. His hair, his face, his clothes were all dampened in sweat and the empty syringe laid abandoned on the floor. He made it over to where you were, the red of your dress mixed with the blood of a dead man, and held your body close to his.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered against your hair, lips pressed against your crown. “You’re okay; we're okay now,” he promised.

With his strength slowly returning to him, Changmin sat himself upright and let your body lean against him. You grappled onto him so tightly, as if he might slip out of your grasp.

It was almost thirty minutes later that you and Changmin returned to the poker game. With some gentle coaxing, he got you into the shower to wash the blood away, but you couldn't get the icky feeling clinging to you. He'd been gentle, though, letting you sit beneath the stream in your dress as he got onto the shower floor with you to run the water and soap through your hair.

In his hold, he rocked you gently through the tremors. “No one's gonna hurt you anymore, sweetheart,” he rasped. Never again, not if he could help it.

You'd never seen him like that—all the tenderness in his gaze out in the open.

And you'd only seen it when you glanced up at him once; the rest of the time, you tucked your chin to your knees, staring at a tile.

Unnerved but still alive, you entered the room with another clean dress, and Changmin with another clean set of clothes. You returned to your place beside Juyeon, and Changmin went back to the table to face Le Chiffre.

Le Chiffre, however, looked as if he'd seen a ghost. His eyes had widened just a millimeter, but it was enough.

Changmin dragged up the sleeves of his dress shirt, a predatorial-like gleam in his eyes. You almost killed me. Even worse, you dared to lay a dirty hand on her. “Sorry about that,” he drawled, gaze lifting to meet Le Chiffre's, “seemed that last hand nearly killed me.”

His opponent swallowed.

The game resumed.

With the final phase in play, the dealer announced that there could be no more buy-ins. Juyeon had fetched you a drink, which you were most grateful for, and Changmin avoided all beverages for the remainder of the game.

“Everything alright?” Juyeon asked you quietly as you chugged your drink.

“Perfectly.” You handed the drink off to a waiter nearby and smiled tightly. “We were just strategizing on how to murder this game.” You hoped he didn't hear the tremor in your voice.

As the final round approached, each of the four finalists that were left alive were asked to make their bets. Each player slowly, but surely, slid all of their remaining chips into the center.

Everyone was all in.

“Reveal your cards, if you please.”

One by one, the cards in each player's hand was turned. The room held its collective breath as Le Chiffre revealed an ace and a six—a fuller house, with three aces and two sixes.

All that was left were Changmin's.

With little more than an arched brow, he slid his cards apart: a five and seven, both of which were spades. When joined together with the rest, they made—

“A straight flush,” announced the dealer. “Monsieur Ji wins the game.”

Cheers and applause rang out throughout the room as the game finally came to a close. Relief soared through you, and you shook hands with Juyeon at Changmin's success. Perhaps twenty million had been spent, but it all meant that you had won back that money in full.

From your standpoint, you couldn't see Le Chiffre's reaction, but he didn't look pleased. He stormed out of the room only moments later.

Changmin was swift to join the two of you, his hand coming to lie on your shoulder. “We should go after him,” he said.

Juyeon nodded, expression sobering. “You're right.”

“I'm going with you,” you told him. Already anticipating his refusal, you shut him down with a look. Though you might have been shaken from the night's near-death experience, it only seemed to steel over your resolve to catch this bastard. “I'm safer with you; don't try to argue with me.”

He knew you were right—you saw the reluctant agreement in his eyes. He grunted, “Okay, but you're staying behind me the entire time and when I say run, you better run.”

You patted his chest and followed after Juyeon. “Of course.”

The three of you raced after Le Chiffre in the direction he disappeared. He'd gone up to the second floor via the grand staircase in the lobby, but neither you nor the other boys knew which direction he went from there. The second floor was damn near close to a labyrinth.

“We split up,” Changmin declared. “Me and Yn go one way and Juyeon takes the other.”

“Wait, Juyeon goes alone?” You butted in. “Le Chiffre is dangerous and desperate; that combination isn't good for anybody.”

“None of us have any weapons either,” Juyeon pointed out.

Changmin gestured to you. From beneath the skirt of your new dress, you withdrew the pistol from earlier out into the light. After what happened in your suite, the both of you thought it best to let security measures be damned and holster a gun to your inner thigh. And now, it was proving to be the right decision.

Juyeon deadpanned, amending, “I don't have a weapon.”

“Then you should go get one,” Changmin said smartly. You rolled your eyes at him.

“I—shit.” Juyeon huffed in frustration. “Goddamn it. You better hold your promise, Ji.”

“My word is gold,” Changmin swore as you passed him the pistol. “We'll find Le Chiffre; you call for backup.”

With that matter settled, you grabbed Changmin's hand and set off in one direction.

His fingers tightened around you as you stuck close behind him. The corridor was hauntingly quiet with not a soul around. You and Changmin trudged onward and kept your eyes and ears open for anybody hiding behind a corner or waiting to enact revenge on your poker victory tonight.

The hair on your arms and the back of your neck stood erect, heart thundering loudly in your ears.

So loud, that you almost missed it.

You caught Changmin's eyes. Did you hear that?

There it was—it sounded like voices coming from a room further down the hall.

“—please, just a few more weeks, and I can get you your money back!”

A muffled response in return.

“NO! I swear, I'll do better! I have another i—”

You never heard the end of Le Chiffre's offer. There was only the sound of a metallic swish, followed by a dull weight hitting the ground. A body.

Your breath hitched as you and Changmin looked around wildly for a swift exit or cover. There was an emergency stairwell just a few doors down.

Changmin grabbed you and booked it.

Your breath caught in your throat as he pressed you against the open doorway, eyes flickering somewhere behind you to watch the door the voices had come from.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, eyes furiously searching your own.

You didn't have to think about it. “Yes.”

Just as a door opened in the hallway, Changmin cupped your jaw with his hand, braced himself against the doorway with the other, and kissed you.

Your eyes fluttered closed upon immediate impact and you felt your heart leap into your throat. His lips moved gently against your own, as if afraid of breaking you, and his hand moved down from your jaw to wrap around your waist to pull you flush against him.

One moment you were melting into his embrace, and the next, he was shoving you behind the other side of the doorway for cover.

A war cry rang out—not Changmin, you realized—as a body blurred past you and was thrown into the stairwell's metal railing. Your soul nearly left your body, head turning in time to throw yourself out of the way of the incoming bodies.

Changmin brawled and grappled on the floor with a second man, a silver machete glistening in the dim light, only a few centimeters from his throat. The first man was slowly beginning to stand up, and your eyes tracked where Changmin's gun had skidded to the floor.

You swiped the gun up just as Changmin wrestled his opponent off him.

With adrenaline powering through you, you smashed the butt of the gun against the back of the man's skull. He crumpled to the cement—unconscious.

“Here,” you breathed, helping Changmin to his feet and shoving the gun into his hand.

He shook his dizziness away, eyes widened on something behind you. “YN, DUCK!”

You swore, and dropped to the ground, narrowly missing the arc of the first man's machete attempting to remove the head from your shoulders.

You dove down the first set of stairs to get out of the way of the fight, your knees and hands scraping against the cement and bruising.

The man with the machete attacked Changmin with reckless abandon, swinging his blade and striking the railing to make sparks fly. Changmin had no opening to use his firearm and—oh shit. They were coming this way.

“Yn, you better be fucking running.”

He didn't need to tell you twice. You tumbled down more stairs, ditching your heels as you went. You would be useless in this fight, so your best action would be to get the fuck out of the way.

Changmin's breath flew out of his chest as he hit the wall hard, then stuck his hands out in time to stop the assassin from impaling his head on the sword. Changmin drove his knee into his stomach, then threw him across the stairs to the opposite landing.

The fight clambered on down the spiral stairwell, metal clashing against metal, and bone and flesh grinding against stone. Changmin gritted his teeth as he fumbled backwards down the stairs, hitting the opposing wall with even more momentum.

He ducked—and missed another swing; and another; and another.

There was a kick to his gut, and his body went flying. His assailant took a leaping start and charged. Changmin grabbed at his hands again, desperately attempting to wrestle the machete away.

The weapon went sailing; that was his opening.

With pure adrenaline, Changmin fisted the man's shirt and flung him over whatever railing was left. You cursed as his body hit the basement floor with a thump.

Changmin tackled him as he attempted to climb to his feet. With the violent thrashing, Changmin ended up beneath him, his arm wrapped tightly around his opponent's neck, and he squeezed.

The man's arm flopped about, desperately reaching for the gun that scattered onto the floor from all the ruckus. If he could just reach it—

You lunged for the gun, tripping as the man clawed at your ankle to throw you off. You shrieked, swinging the barrel at his hand to knock it away.

When you finally managed to scramble backward, you watched the light fade in the assassin's eyes.

As soon as the man slumped in death, Changmin loosened his grip and crawled out from beneath the body.

You clambered over to him and helped him to his feet, his joints and muscles screaming as he attempted to straighten. He groaned, white-knuckling the railing, “Fucking hell.”

“Are you okay? Holy shit, Changmin,” you said, wrapping your arms around him to hold him up. There had been too many close calls there.

You passed a glance over at the corpse lying on the floor about a meter away from you. A shudder rippled down your spine, and you felt Changmin's hand on your forearm, like he knew.

From up above, you heard the sound of the stairwell door opening. The two of you peered straight upwards as a familiar face peered over the landing.

“Le Chiffre's dead,” said Juyeon. In his hand was a pistol; it seemed he finally retrieved his firearm.

“No shit,” you and Changmin replied simultaneously, chests heaving up and down in laborious panting.

Juyeon blinked, squinting his eyes to take in your appearances. “What the fuck happened to you guys?”

“Careful,” you called up to him, “that guy isn't dead.”

Juyeon jolted and he considered the body at his feet with new awareness.

You threw one of Changmin's arms around you to begin the ascent back up. “Can you—fuck. Is that yours?” You swore for the thousandth time tonight as you peered over at the growing dark splotch of red seeping through Changmin's shirt.

He hung his head as strength rapidly bled out of him with his own life force, and you carefully laid Changmin down on the ground.

“Juyeon!” You called out. “Juyeon, help!”

You heard rapid footsteps in the distance, but it faded to background noise as you ripped open Changmin's shirt and came face to face with the vicious knife wound in his abdomen. “Oh my god,” you whispered. God, there was so much blood.

“Cover the wound, Yn,” Juyeon said to you as he leapt down the final steps. “Fuck, this looks bad.”

“He must not have begun to feel it until the adrenaline was over,” you reasoned in a desperate attempt to keep your head on straight. Per Juyeon's instructions, you pressed your palms over the wound, bile rising in your throat from all the blood. “Changmin—Changmin, come on. Stay with me.”

He murmured something you couldn't hear, and you leaned your ear down over his lips. “Come on, talk to me, love. Tell me something, anything.”

His voice came out, barely there. “I'm… I'm glad I got—I got to see you again.”

And he would see you again. That was a promise you made to yourself, and to him, as Juyeon called for his reinforcements and you clung onto Ji Changmin's life with your own.

When Changmin came to, it was bright enough to blind him. There was a fuckass beam of sunlight shining right into his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, wrinkling his face into a grimace. There was a violent throbbing in his abdominal area that ached when he attempted to roll over or sit up.

Was he dead?

“You're not dead.”

His body immediately relaxed into the sheets he was settled in. When his eyes grew accustomed to the god awful amount of light in the room, he was met by the sight of your face, silhouetted against the sun, and beautiful. “Are you sure? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you're an angel.”

Your palm came over to rest against his forehead, and his eyes fluttered shut. “You must still have that fever,” you teased.

When you both shared a laugh, he opened his eyes again.

It seemed he was in a hospital room—well, something akin to that. It looked more like a small bedroom was transformed into one, and he laid on the bed with a heart rate monitor hooked up to him on the side. You perched on the edge of his bed with a cardigan draped over your frame, and something soft in your eyes.

No, he was definitely in heaven. Maybe he didn't die, but he was in heaven.

Your expression sobered as your hand drifted down to caress the side of his face. “You lost a lot of blood,” you whispered. “I was really worried about you.”

Changmin brought his hand up to gently take your wrist and turn your palm inward, his lips meeting your hand in a butterfly kiss. “Hey, sweetheart. I'm alright now, see?” He intertwined your fingers, missing the feeling of how they felt interlocked in the hotel hallway.

The hotel hallway—the fight—Le Chiffre—the kiss. His lips seared at the memory, and he fought the urge to touch his lips at the phantom sensation.

“What happened?” He croaked out instead, gazing up at you. His heart tugged against its confines when he made out the shape of dark purple smudged against your cheekbone. It was the bruise forming from the guard who came after you, and it made Changmin ache to see.

Hurt, you'd been so hurt.

You shifted your body so you could tuck your feet onto the bed, too. “Juyeon came with reinforcements and we got you out of there as soon as possible. One of Le Chiffre's clients killed him—the guys you fought with in the stairwell. Apparently he'd used their money to buy into the game, and because he wasn't able to win, they killed him.”

Changmin stared up at the eggshell-colored ceiling. He supposed that would have been the tangible evidence needed to convict Le Chiffre, but his client was faster at acting as judge, jury, and executioner.

“M's on her way to meet with you,” you continued, your thumb gently tracing dizzying circles onto the back of his hand.

“To be expected,” he chuckled. He glanced back up at you. “How are you? Were you hurt at all?”

You shook your head. “No, nothing to your extent. There were a few scratches and bruises, but nothing time won't heal.”

“And everything else?” Your mental state, especially after all you went through, could not have been in a terrific place. If he could have prevented you from experiencing any of what happened, he would do it in a heartbeat.

The pure fear that speared through his chest when he thought you were about to die…

He had long since figured out that what he felt for you was not simply platonic. It was more—he yearned for more. Seeing you again after so long just made it worse.

You made a noncommittal noise. “I'll… I'll be alright.”

For a moment, the room filled with only silence and the white noise from the heart rate monitor. You suddenly perked up at something, and turned to reach over to grab an item from the side table. Changmin recognized the small laptop device from the poker game now seated on your lap.

“The money pit from the game was stored in escrow in a Swiss bank. A representative from the bank delivered this to us,” you explained, showing him the screen. It left room for a passcode to be filled in. “To the victor go the spoils, love.”

The nickname made him shudder and he forced himself into an upright position.

“Changmin—”

“I got it,” he countered and stubbornly gritted his teeth through the pain until he was seated against the headboard next to you. He clutched his injury, head knocked back against the wood. “Well? Wanna guess the password?”

You lifted your brows in amusement. “Do you know how many six letter combinations exist out there? For all I know, it was a random keyboard smash.”

He chuckled lowly, leaning his chin against your shoulder. “S.”

We're really doing this? You seemed to ask with the expression on your face. You humored him, though, pressing down on the S key.

“W.”

The letters that followed amounted to S-W-T-H-R-T. You were quiet for a second as you stared at the final combination; you didn't want to press the enter key just yet.

Changmin murmured against your shoulder. “I'm not one for corny messages, but that's a 'sweetheart’ if I've ever seen one.”

You were still quiet as you pressed enter and unlocked the winner's pot. There was no special celebration, no balloons or confetti—just a solid number with too many zeroes for your little heart to handle. Perhaps, in the end, there really was no amount of money in the world that could buy your company. Not if you freely gave it, at least.

Changmin felt his chest lurch. “Yn, sweetheart, say something.” He leaned off your shoulder so you could turn your body to face him, the laptop returning to its place on the side table.

“What should I say?” You asked, your fingers playing with his own in your two hands.

“I'm sorry if the kiss was too much.”

You faltered for a second. “It, uhm, it wasn't too much. I actually thought that it was nice.”

“You did?” He hated the way hope made him feel, how it made his heart sprout wings—maybe he was dead.

A small smile crawled onto your lips and you dug your teeth into your bottom lip. “Maybe I did.” You raised a hand to the side of your face, an embarrassed groan falling out of your mouth. “God, I feel like a teenager with a crush again.”

“Giddy?”

“Pathetic,” you teased. You leaned your head against the headboard again as you looked over at him with the most beautiful gleam in your eyes he had ever seen.

He never understood the romanticizing of someone's eyes—what else had he ever discerned but fear or boredom? But he could hear your laugh just by seeing your smile reach your eyes, and he could feel the warmth spreading in his chest and making electricity zip down his spine from the tenderness in your irises.

He swallowed hard. “If you feel pathetic, then I am literally chopped liver,” he said. A surge of courage, the kind that was a trademark of his reputation, propelled his next words: “I'd like to kiss you again.”

Your eyes darted to his lips and he clung onto that detail as if he were hanging by a thread. “Because you saved the world, Agent 007, you can kiss the girl,” you mused.

You leaned over him slightly and cupped the back of his head, mouth meeting his own in a familiar dance. Even with his injury, he pushed back to meet you, and ignored the throbbing in his stomach, so he could haul you closer, over, around him. Anything to get you pressed up against him.

Real—you were real, and you were alive, and so was he.

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed! omg that permanent taglist looks SCARY 😭😭😭

tbz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @zzoguri @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @vernonburger @maessseongs @ericlvr @mars101 @moonyswolf @your-mirae @richasdiary @deobi0412 @sunramzi @honeyrecommends @synthwxve @dearly-somber @empire-x @kflixnet

#🔎 — the 007 files #deoboyznet #kflixnet #the boyz x reader #ji changmin x reader #changmin x reader #the boyz oneshot #the boyz drabbles #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #the boyz fanfic #changmin drabble #changmin oneshot #changmin angst #changmin scenarios #changmin imagines

[sgiandubh]

But first, time to say good-bye

It was to be a late departure (bureaucracy will someday kill us all...) from Athens, an endlessly diverted way North through a very early summer and some fitful sleep near the border, where poppies were already in bloom and elusive to the camera:

I promised to share with you my story with Mycenae the day I would leave Greece for good. Yesterday was the day, so here goes.

I first went to Mycenae on a horrendously rainy day, in November 2018. The place struck me as a haphazard settlement of sorts in the wake of some ancient apocalypse, which was absolutely correct. We stayed in my colleague from Culture and Press' car, munched on some horribly stale koulouria as all hell broke loose outside, when she finally told me: ' you know what, I am happy we made it here: in Mycenae, you can only hear and tell the truth, you know'.

I have to say I ogled in suspicion. I was wet, hungry and completely unused to the Greek way of dressing everything up in mythology. She spoke Greek as I speak French and knew perfectly well what she was doing. She was casting a spell - an unbreakable one, for which I will forever be grateful. Oh, and as all myths would have it, the Lion Gate was closed, by the time we arrived.

It took me almost two years to go back there, during the pandemic, scared summer of 2020, when everything was empty and glorious to fully take in, like a big gulp of colors and sounds and life. My digs were to be always the same: unassuming Petite Planète, the last B&B in town, a stone throw away from Agamemnon's treasury, owned by the Dassis clan of archaeologists.

Their story begins in Constantinople, around 1875, when Konstantinos, a young orphan, begged Heinrich Schliemann to take him along to wherever he was traveling. He quickly became indispensable and helped with the first digs in Mycenae. He was the one who found Agamemnon's mask:

When the digging was over, Schliemann bought him a tiny house for two pence and a half and told him to stay there. 'Many people will come to visit and they will need food and a roof. Make sure you do your best and it will make you a rich man.'

And they came. In droves. If you ask nicely, V. will show you their reception rosters, safely tucked away in a bank vault, in Argos. I had the privilege to see Virginia Woolf's signature and I was stunned. Schliemann's two pence house is now doubled by a garish modern addition you can see from the main road as La Belle Hélène B&B ('my cousin Agamemnon is a greedy idiot', says V), but Schliemann's room is piously kept as it was when the strange German gentleman left them to their fate. As is, they did not become rich, but that does not matter. You will always find a place at their wonderful table, where Mamma Dassis cooks the same food they ate back in Constantinople and they would not have it otherwise. The new, bigger and better B&B is called Petite Planète because of V's father undying passion for Saint Exupéry's Little Prince. It permeates everything without being obtrusive, because sometimes 'the essential is invisible to the eye'.

Back in 2020, they were worried. Very worried. The Lion Gate was open again, but the 'cretins at Google' wouldn't have it and kept on listing it as closed, on their maps. People were canceling their bookings. The village stood unusually quiet and forlorn.

I made no promises. But I did phone some people at the Greek Ministry of Culture. The least person I expected to be of any help, H, a transparent, mousey freeloader, who was always the last to leave all of our events in the hope we'd take her to dinner in town, happened to be some sort of underling at the Archaeological Sites Department. She immediately understood what I wanted her to do.

Three days after I left Mycenae, on my road trip to the Mani peninsula, I received this message in my Booking inbox:

This started it all. And from that moment, all my Greek roads will lead there. It's also been a long time since I have trouble forcefully paying them for my monthly stays (booking and paying in advance helps, though), something they adamantly refused last time I went there:

'G., the girl wants to pay.'

'This is ridiculous, of course. This girl is family.'

Someday, I just know I will be back. For good.

After five years and a half, many more fabulous stories (Mycenean potter and poet, anyone? mad postman? Kyria Stamatoula and her goats? Kyrios Pandelis and his jams?) the only thing I know about Greece is that, for all its (many) misgivings, this land is about two things:

Friends and Heroes.

#psa #life as is #Peloponnese #mycenae

[paganimagevault]

Ai Khanoum 3rd C. BCE - 2nd C. CE. More images on my blog, link at bottom.

"These wise sayings of men of old, The words of famous men, are consecrated At holy Delphi, where Klearchos copied them from carefully To set them up, shining from afar, in the sanctuary of Kineas.

As a child, be well behaved; As a young man, self-controlled; In middle age, be just; As an elder, be of good counsel; And when you come to the end, be without grief.

—trans. of Ai Khanoum stele by Shane Wallace and Rachel Mairs.

Ai-Khanoum (/aɪ ˈhɑːnjuːm/, meaning Lady Moon; Uzbek Latin: Oyxonim) is the archaeological site of a Hellenistic city in Takhar Province, Afghanistan. The city, whose original name is unknown, was likely founded by an early ruler of the Seleucid Empire and served as a military and economic centre for the rulers of the Greco-Bactrian Kingdom until its destruction c. 145 BC. Rediscovered in 1961, the ruins of the city were excavated by a French team of archaeologists until the outbreak of conflict in Afghanistan in the late 1970s.

The city was probably founded between 300 and 285 BC by an official acting on the orders of Seleucus I Nicator or his son Antiochus I Soter, the first two rulers of the Seleucid dynasty. There is a possibility that the site was known to the earlier Achaemenid Empire, who established a small fort nearby. Ai-Khanoum was originally thought to have been a foundation of Alexander the Great, perhaps as Alexandria Oxiana, but this theory is now considered unlikely. Located at the confluence of the Amu Darya (a.k.a. Oxus) and Kokcha rivers, surrounded by well-irrigated farmland, the city itself was divided between a lower town and a 60-metre-high (200 ft) acropolis. Although not situated on a major trade route, Ai-Khanoum controlled access to both mining in the Hindu Kush and strategically important choke points. Extensive fortifications, which were continually maintained and improved, surrounded the city.

Many of the present ruins date from the time of Eucratides I, who substantially redeveloped the city and who may have renamed it Eucratideia, after himself. Soon after his death c. 145 BC, the Greco-Bactrian kingdom collapsed—Ai-Khanoum was captured by Saka invaders and was generally abandoned, although parts of the city were sporadically occupied until the 2nd century AD. Hellenistic culture in the region would persist longer only in the Indo-Greek kingdoms.

It is likely that Ai-Khanoum was already under attack by nomadic tribes when Eucratides was assassinated in around 144 BC. This invasion was probably carried out by Saka tribes driven south by the Yuezhi peoples, who in turn formed a second wave of invaders, in around 130 BC. The treasury complex shows signs of having been plundered in two assaults, fifteen years apart.

Although the first assault led to the end of Hellenistic rule in the city, Ai-Khanoum continued to be inhabited; it remains unknown whether this reoccupation was effected by Greco-Bactrian survivors or nomadic invaders. During this time, public buildings such as the palace and sanctuary were repurposed as residential dwellings and the city maintained some semblance of normality: some sort of authority, possibly cultish in origin, encouraged the inhabitants to reuse the raw building materials now freely available in the city for their own ends, whether for construction or trade. A silver ingot engraved with runic letters and buried in a treasury room provides support for the theory that the Saka occupied the city, with tombs containing typical nomadic grave goods also being dug into the acropolis and the gymnasium. The reoccupation of the city was soon terminated by a huge fire. It is unknown when the final occupants of Ai-Khanoum abandoned the city. The final signs of any habitation date from the 2nd century AD; by this time, more than 2.5 metres (8.2 ft) of earth had accumulated in the palace.

While on a hunting trip in 1961, the King of Afghanistan, Mohammed Zahir Shah, rediscovered the city. An archaeological delegation, led by Paul Bernard, unearthed the remains of a huge palace in the lower town, along with a large gymnasium, a theatre capable of holding 6,000 spectators, an arsenal, and two sanctuaries. Several inscriptions were found, along with coins, artefacts, and ceramics. The onset of the Soviet-Afghan War in the late 1970s halted scholarly progress and during the following conflicts in Afghanistan, the site was extensively looted."

-taken from Wikipedia

...

"The silver ingot engraved with runic characters found during the excavations of the Treasury could suggest they were Sakā/Sai. This inscription comprises 21 characters of a script and a language that are unknown and both attributed to nomadic people of Sakā origin, by comparison with a dozen similar inscriptions coming from an area extending from Ghazni in Afghanistan to Almaty in Kazakhstan, and dated between the 5th century BC and the 8th century AD."

-taken from Ai Khanoum after 145 BC: The Post-Palatial Occupation by Laurianne Martinez-Sève, University of Lille, 2018

#ancient history #antiquities #art #paganism #statue #museums #sculpture #history #greek art #greek gods #ancient greek #greek myth #scythian #pagan #ancient art #afghanistan

[yandere-kokeshi]

YANDERE Farah does things to me😫😫

Warnings: yandere behavior, talks about violence, and mention of NSFW.

A/N: decided to post this before I got into surgery. Wish me luck <3. Enjoy :)!

Across the board, Farah’s very loving, but also a great tactic; using her words and guilt-tripping to make you stay by her side longer. She’s possessive and hates sharing. Obviously protective, and often gets jealous when she sees you with someone else for too long.

Considering how you met, there is a high chance you are/or were on the field. You could be in the battle alongside her, getting John and the TF to help. Or helping behind the scenes, being a medic, and forcing her to see how of a good soul you are. How independent, fast willed, and easy you are to take orders; at times, willing to voice your own troubles.

With trust issues, she has it to the max. Not only did she grow up with violence, but her brother betrayed her, even hurting the foundation she had built to fight for peace. At first, she will be hesitant to talk to you — but with the obvious persistent behavior, and you keep being by her side, she slowly opens up.

However, in a rare chance, you could’ve known her beforehand, growing up in her town before Barkov stormed her village, causing chaos and trauma, resulting in the two of you being separated due to the attacks. Long in the future, the two of you reunite, causing Farah to have these feelings resurface, ones she didn’t know she even had.

Either way, her obsession started out as pinning, later growing into a one-sided romance — a love that you weren’t even aware of because, at best, she couldn’t muster the courage to tell you. Weeks upon weeks were spent daydreaming about you, fueling her madness as her protective levels raised.

Until, one day, she finally reveals her feelings. Her love and treasury for you. She opens up about her fears, tears piling down as the cigarette next to the ashtray goes dry; her hugs and kisses engulfing you, making sure you know her true meaning. And when you accept it? She’s making sure to give you the world.

To you, Farah is a gentle soul. Sure, needy and protective. Always ready to defend you, regardless of the situation; always pushes you behind her when a loud noise comes forth. But to others? She always wears a deep scowl, the death glares prominently toward anyone that comes too close or is a little too friendly toward you. The first and last time Alex touched your shoulder was the last time Farah let him touch you; her arms and intimidating voice interrupting his filthy touch.

While she’d never hurt anyone in your name, knowing how it would kill you if she did, she naturally resorts to intimidation tactics to keep people away. And it works pretty well. With her status and what she’s known for, it’s quite easy to get people away.

When she can’t be around you, which is frequent, Farah has assigned personal soldiers that are always watching over you. If not, Alex; it’s quite possible you and him have a good relationship, which she’s glad about.

Within the harsh world, if you still work alongside her (or in the military), she’d ask you to either quit, and simply live a peaceful life at the shared home or work something that’s not as harmful. As much as she supports you in your freewill to fight, she fears you’ll get hurt, and she won’t be able to protect you. Something she thinks about quite often.

With this said, it’s likely you two will be facetiming or having short calls with each other till she gets back; her asking if home is okay, and how she bought some things for you. The best part is she gets to see your lovely face before whispering a small, ‘I love you’ as you fall asleep within the camera.

With her affection, it’s quite ‘cliché’. She’s always coming back home with gifts, loving how your face lights up as she gives you books and items on subjects you both like. She’ll give you flowers and little trinkets. Sometimes going out of her way to get your jewelry and personalized rings. And at times, Farah will create scenarios in which you seek her out because she wishes to be around you constantly.

She’s always holding your hand, always looking at you with this love-struck and soft look on her face. Farah’s not one to isolate you, humanity and goodness fills her veins. Though, she does like to keep you to herself after she comes home; her fingers trailing down your pants, her voice captivating you and making you listen.

Very secretive about you. Because of her past, and what she does on a daily basis, Farah doesn’t want you tracked down, or worse. With this said, she will only reply when people ask if she’s married due to the ring she has on. Keeping it rather narrow-minded and will ignore other questions if they persist on who they are and who her future is.

Since talking about the future, Farah wants a family.

She’d love to have a big one in the future. The thought of them running to her when she comes home warms her heart. While she would be thankful if you can be pregnant, she’d rather go through adoption. Out in the world, there are plenty of children that need homes.

She’s not one to kidnap. She doesn’t want you to feel stuck, homesick, or hate her. Something she doesn’t even wanna risk, even if Stockholm Syndrome is on the table. Farah knows how it feels to be trapped — and she doesn't want you to feel like that.

There’s no such thing as punishment. She knows what it feels like being crushed upon your will, and being beaten. She never wants to resort to that to you.

Regardless of how angry you make her, either running away or going against her advice, she will never scream or hit you. Instead, she will be sitting you down on the couch and forcibly making you look at her. Her voice directly makes points, making you realize she just wants to protect you.

Though, if you really piss her off. She's willing on using a few toys she has that she'd love to punish you with. And leave you needy all day till she comes back to finally relieve the stress from her duties.

Farah absolutely adores you, and loves to spend every time she has free with you. Most often or not, If you don’t know how to ride a motorcycle, she’s one to teach you.

Goes all out on making you a custom helmet, reminding you in ways that it’s from her. When needing new changes, Farah will frequently show you the new engine and other motor parts, making sure to slip her hand around your waist with an affectionate squeeze.

Likely, the team doesn't know your existence. Sure, Price has seen the ring on her finger. But when he asks, she says yes and then moves on; making your existence even more mysterious.

Regardless if you're close with your family or not, Farah is the type of wife that will automatically place herself in your family. Wanting to get to know everyone when she has the chance, as well as playing with your small siblings (if you have any!).

—

Masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

#kokeshi!! #yandere blog #yandere x reader #yandere male #male yandere #yandere #yandere headcanons #kokeshi anons #anonymous #nah cause you stating facts #yandere x darling #yandere farah #yandere farah karim #yandere mw2 #yandere cod #yandere call of duty #yandere x you #yandere x willing reader #yandere x y/n #farah karim #farah mw2 #farah x reader #the icons are not mine #they belong to their rightful owners #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #mw2 x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #farah cod

[yomawari]

I *love* modern political Jamilton AUs, but the lack of general knowledge about Washington, D.C./U.S. politics creates so many missed opportunities. For instance, most people don't seem to know (or choose to ignore) that the Secretary of Treasury and the Secretary of State do not work in the White House.

The Treasury Building is a 20 minute walk* from the State Department. The idea of Alexander or Thomas making that trip just to argue with the other in-person is absolutely hilarious. (Or, even funnier, one being forced to make the trip because the other is screening calls, etc.)

Also, there is the amusing possibility of banning each other from their respective buildings in purely petty acts of retaliation.

*Technically, it's only 20 minutes if you cut through the White House lawn, which has restricted access. It's a 30 minute walk for the public or a 5-10 minute drive.

#jamilton #musings #this is not a complaint #just an observation #fics don't need to be accurate #and having them work in the same building is also hilarious #polit #political!au

[theautumnaldemon]

PANDEMONIUM, chapters one and two

CHAPTER ONE:

Another foggy night. 

Days like these were often spent by the Empress Deathcap and her equals from neighboring colonies dancing the night away in a drunken state almost as hazy as the sky. 

The vigorous amounts of cranberry wine would always soon turn into disaster when the next morning Deathcap would lazily stagger out offered, tripping her own talons.

Waddling down the stairs feebly like a dizzied penguin, She would barely notice anyone at all. She could barely hear things straight.

Like the careful footsteps leading to the royal treasury.

Or the sounds of jewels rattling, metal ringing as it fell to the ground.

And the bloody cry of royal guards’ throats being slit.

“MOOOOOOM!” The small cry of a young girl, curiously trying to locate the noises.

The purple dragonet rounded the corner, met with a fluffy gray dragon with large ears collecting the assorted jewels and artifacts from the dimly lit treasury. Blue blood spilt from the neck of the chief guard.

Staggering backwards, she called for more guards as the bat dragon creeped towards her, bloody blades drawn, the light reflecting off them like glass. 

It was a blur. Guards rushing from behind her, pushing her all around as they tried to subdue the bat dragon, until one guard pulled her out of the mess. She could make out the guard was yelling about her safety.

“Princess Inkcap,” they shouted. “Princess Inkcap!”

“Inkcap!”

“INKCAP!” Morel pulled the bedsheets off Inkcap in attempts to wake her from the dream.

“Morel?” Inkcap asked, her voice low and tired.

“Yeah! You need to get up! Breakfast ends in 30 minutes! 5 minutes to walk to the mess hall, 5 minutes to find seats, and 5 minutes to let out food cool down equals 15 MINUTES TO EAT!” Morel screamed.

“Got that math quiz today, Morel?” 

“Yeah! I think I’m getting better — DON’T CHANGE THE SUBJECT! Throw on your cloak and let’s walk to the mess hall together!” Morel ran out of the bedroom, leaving Inkcap to remember the dream. It wasn’t  like her other prophetic dreams she would usually have, this one has already happened. Before Morel was born, when she was only 6. 

She looked around her room, the two beds shaped like bird nests (but infinitely more comfortable) draped in soft blue blankets, the oil lantern hanging above their nightstand, and the closet on the right side of the room near the door. She walked over it, occasionally popping her bones, stiff from laying in a weird position all night.

She tied the black ribbon around her neck as she put the cloak on, fastening it in place. Outside of the room she found Morel pacing up and down the stairs, muttering simple math equations.

“4 x 5 is 20. 20 - 5 is—“ she stopped when she saw Inkcap walk out of the room. “Hey, are you ready?” She asked, walking over to Inkcap’s side.

Inkcap exhaled sharply, before answering “For breakfast, or for the day in general? Because those are two different answers altogether.”

Morel laughed heartily at Inkcap’s joke. “Well, I sure hope its breakfast you’re ready for. Im starved!” Morel fainted dramatically onto Inkcap’s wing, putting her wrist to her forehead like they practiced in theater class.

It was a terrible class, that’s why they practiced the dramatic faint — to mock it.

“Lets go, then. Lead the way.” Inkcap gestured to the stairs, which Morel happily hopped down moments later. Inkcap followed after her, worried about what the day could bring, as per usual.

CHAPTER TWO:

The mess hall was about half a mile off from the castle that housed the princesses and Empress Deathcap.

Once they arrived, they grabbed trays of blueberry pancakes and settled down on the far right table, near the two entrances. 

After finishing their breakfast, the two princesses banter was interrupted by an emergency broadcast, which sounded over the speakers outside the mess hall.

“Attention citizens, unidentified dragons have been spotted on the northeast shore. Please remain inside the camp boundaries until further notice. Have a merry day.”

“Damn, what now,” Inkcap sighed. “Come on, let’s get back to the palace before anything else goes wrong.” 

Morel looked up at Inkcap, which took a great deal of effort, seeing as there was a foot and a half between their heads.

“But i promised Rhys i would be there for the sale today!” She said. Rhys was Morel’s best friend, who happened to own a make-believe company focused on the manufacturing and selling of Wet Sand, down at the volleyball pit. And ‘wet sand’ was only the cold sand you found when you dug underneath the surface sand.

Along with Rhys, in the sandpit was their rival, the Blue sand company, who came to be when they found blue ink spelled in the sand pit. Then there’s Mayor Krill, who owned a city of sandcastles, and the Sand companies constantly tried to market their businesses towards them, in hopes of getting sponsored and expanding their business.

“Well there wouldn’t even be a ‘wet sand company’ or ‘Seashell city’ if foreign dragons started to invade,” Inkcap said, clearly VERY calm about this whole situation. 

Morel saw the iridescent blue and black scales of Rhys in the distance, running towards his cabin. She then looked back at Inkcap and nodded, agreeing to going home. 

On the swift walk put he side of the hill up to the palace, past the mess hall and several cabins, Inkcap saw a white streak out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head to see it flying slowly and steadily through the sky, cutting through distant clouds like talons.

Not that Inkcap was inherently suspicious. Comets and other cosmic phenomena were not uncommon in The Colonies, especially something as harmless as small comets like this one. But as Inkcap looked, there seemed to be more and more.

Morel noticed them too.

“Inkcap, i don’t remember there being a broadcast for a Sunlit Starshower today, do you?” Morel asked, her and Inkcap stopping in their tracks. 

“Probably only a miscalculation. You cant expect the station to be able to predict everything.”

“Yeah,” Morel said rather quietly, beginning to climb the rest of the way up the mountain, with Inkcap in tail behind her. 

The rest of the day was spent attending all the Tribal Meetings for their colony, doing chores, or playing organized games in the field in front of the mess hall.

They had been able to go to the pool for free time, but seeing as it was only March, only the Winter dragons enjoyed it. Winter dragons seemed to have a connection to cold temperatures, so they mostly sleep in cabins down in the caves or in the mountain. 

Along with Winter dragons, there were also Summer dragons with a connection to fire or heat, Autumn dragons connected to the earth or wind, and Spring dragons purely connected to magic or abstract things like music or emotions. Take Rhys for instance. He and his family have been connected to noise for centuries, being able to use whiskers on their jawbone and ears for echolocation. Rhys also comes from a long line of aspiring musicians, each with their own tune. Rhys has a piano noise he can use for the aforementioned echolocation.

Inkcap and Morel, their mother Deathcap, and all of Deathcap’s ancestors were Fall dragons, relating to funguses and other spores. Deathcap’s husband has not been seen in centuries, and is accepted as dead. This barely affected Inkcap and Morel, as their father had died shortly after they were born.

Deathcap never fit in as a Fall dragon, but that made her more unique, more admired. She has unusually vibrant green under-scales, and large mandibles like a spider. But she was the Queen of Pinnacle Colony, and nothing could ever change that.

Reminder that this is all from a roleplay me and my cousin did

@xx-theblack-vixen-xx are you happy??

#Long post #Wings of fire #wof #wof art #wings of fire art #fanart #writing #wings of fire oc #wof oc #Fantribe #?

[wisteriagoesvroom]

Charlos au where carlos is a resident of a politically destroyed country and charles is a hitman and carlos needs his help to kill the politicians and restore his country and they pretend as a married couple BUT ALONG THE WAY—

i was like “oh god not more prompts” and was gonna mentally nope out of this. but THEN i had a vision of hitman/huntsman carlos paying a visit to royal charles’s accommodation — in this fantasy-ish AU charles is the heir to the kingdom that follows matrilineal lines and gender presentation is less rigid. and anyway i digress. point is:

carlos is in charles’s room, high in a castle tower. the fireplace is crackling and carlos had to fight off almost a dozen henchmen to even get here, but for now they are indispensed and unlikely to bother carlos or charles for the next several hours at least.

charles has been hiding an important diplomatic fact about his family (a freshly negotiated alliance with the hamiltons, a formidable line on their own, one of the most respected and coolly ruthless) that may alter the balance of power as they know it.

carlos is aware of that charles has this secret, that he is likely bethroed to another, because it’s a political marriage. and maybe he knows that charles knows that he also knows, so really it’s a triple bluff.

so carlos has come to the room to seduce charles and see how far he can push the other man. he leans into his heartbreaker/debonair persona and seduces the socks off charles. backing charles onto a chaise sofa, leaning into his space, eyes flickering over his body, voice all husky: “we both know you’ve wanted this, cabrón.”

“did i?” charles whispers. head tilting in carlos’s hands, jaw moving under carlos’s fingers as he speaks. carlos remembers the last time he felt this sensation. it was an injured deer he had found in the forest, before his men made the mercy kill with a knife.

“when were you going to tell me about king hamilton?” carlos asks.

what does he have that i do not? carlos doesn’t say. his mind echoes with the answers. a treasury. an army. safe harbour, fortified by unfathomable power — so much so that charles would never need to run from anything again.

charles remains very stil in carlos’s hands. he only blinks once, slowly, like a cat trying to prove it is not a threat. carlos knows better. he has travelled far from these lands, you see. he knows that there are large cats, not like here. ones that swish their tails just like kittens, but they are to be feared.

“carlos. this game is so much bigger than you could understand.”

that angers carlos. the reminder that he has been a pawn. so he leans his body over charles, pushing charles’s back into the chaise with a thump. he towers over charles, wills him to feel his hardness, his rage, his fear.

it is a corruption of the way they once laid together, summer day in a field far away, on a previous trip when he was assigned special royal guard. no entourage, just the two of them, a quick disappearance from the city in a politically fraught time. they went west, all disguised, so nobody knew charles’s name. and carlos wishes he could have just a minute of that day back. he wonders what he might do with that minute, now.

carlos leans down, and they kiss. carlos holds back at first, then doesn’t, mouth challenging charles’s, heated, bordering rough, willing him to challenge back.

charles is icy as a surface of a lake.

when they break apart, carlos is breathless. charles keeps his hands on carlos’s shoulders, but it feels mechanical, a rote dance with a nameless suitor. carlos knows charles, knows the mask he puts on when he truly retreats inside himself. for a necessary performance, for self protection. and carlos hates it.

“was any of this even real to you?” carlos spits.

charles’s eyes are open, then. and sad. embers burning through coal before it dims again.

“would it make a difference to you, if it was?”

#asks #feeling cheeky chappy charlossy #charlos #WHERE DID THIS PROMPT FILL EVEN COME FROM #I continue to amaze myself with the extent of my brainrot capability each day #once again: I do not even go here (on this ship$ #carlos sainz x charles leclerc #is this making sense? no? then just go with the vibes plz #wisteria HCs

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine King growing attached to you

Kaido: go find King and give him this note.

You: *new to the crew* okay, who is King

Kaido: he... He's the one dressed head to toe in leather, you'll know him when you see him.

After wandering around Onigashima

You: *after asking for directions from Sasaki, you spot him* I take it you're King?

King: yeah, who's asking?

You: I have a note from Kaido for you.

King: that's Kaido-sama to you... This says you're the new assistant I requested. I need to go talk to him. *Storms off leaving you behind*

You: sir? *Can't keep up, so you sit and wait for him to come back*

In Kaido's room

King: you made a human my assistant, I don't want them. You know how I feel about humans.

Kaido: yes, I know, but I need you to look after that one though, I have a gut feeling they'll be useful later. They're also a non-combatant, so you need to also guard them, I figured I'd make them useful to you while you do that, by making them your assistant. Where is (y/n) by the way?

King: *wasn't aware you didn't follow him* I don't know?

Kaido: better go find them then, they're your responsibility.

King: ugh! *Runs off to go find you only to find you sitting on the floor where he left you* why didn't you follow me!

You: I couldn't keep up with you.

King: why didn't you try and find me?

You: I don't know my way around yet, and I was already lost. I was always told if you're lost in a building to stay put and wait for someone to find you.

King: *exasperated, but is glad you were easy to find* alright come with me.

Over the next few months

You: *proves yourself a very capable and attentive assistant and pleasant company*

King: *still vaguely bitter about having a human assistant but has reluctantly accepted your occupation of space in his life* we're going on an expedition next week.

You: *has pneumonia* hopefully I will be better by then.

A week later

You: *still sick* alright, I have prepared everything for you, your bags are packed and waiting for you in your cabin. I was told that sometimes it's difficult to get a decent meal the first day out, because of double-checking stuff, so there are some rice balls waiting for you as well. I made sure you have plenty of blank treasury reports for the haul. Is there anything else you'll need?

King: my assistant

You: the doctor didn't clear me for active duty, so I'm afraid I'll have to stay here. Plus someone has to hold down the fort. Although I can't promise it'll be in one piece when you get back. Yamato is a lot stronger than I am.

King: ugh, fine see you in a few months.

That afternoon

Queen: I'm starving

King: *munching on the food you left him*

Kaido: where'd you get those?

King: (y/n) left them for me in my room.

Jack: so that is why they were making in the kitchens this morning.

Queen: those look so good, what flavor are they?

King: spicy tuna, and I think there's a shiso one in here. (Y/n) is always trying to get me to eat more vegetables.

Kaido: I bet you're glad I assigned them to you to look after.

Jack: *mutters* looks like they look after him more.

King: *punches him*

Two days into the voyage

Kaido: *going over scouting reports in the ship's office*

King: *making arrangements for which ships take what supplies*hey, (y/n) get a load of this, Queen wants to take any gold we find as cargo on his ship. The audacity

Kaido: ... Who are you talking to?

King: (y/n), * points in the direction your desk usually is back on Onigashima*

Kaido: they're back at base

King: ... Oh right

Over the course of the trip

King: *realizes he doesn't like you being so far away from him* damn it

Kaido: is it just me or is King grumpier than normal? He snarled at me earlier for drinking before noon.

Queen: he's been more aggressive, and morose lately.

Jack: I think he misses (y/n).

Kaido: I'm not going to lie, I kind of miss them too. I'm tempted to fly back home, to see if they have recovered.

Queen: I already called, doc Bloomington said they're still on bed rest, but they should be fully recovered by next week.

When the crew returns home

King: *spots you in the crowd, waiting at the docks, so he flies over and scoops you up, and finally feels complete and at ease*

You: how did the expedition go?

King: well enough, have you recovered from that puny illness?

You: yes sir

King: good, you're not allowed to get sick for that long again.

You: I have flying fish sashimi and a bath prepared for you in your room for you, sir. We can get to sorting the treasure tomorrow morning.

King: *has missed this* good idea, remind me to let you pick something nice from the haul tomorrow.

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#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #king the conflagration #king the wildfire #king the conflagration x reader #king the wildfire x reader #animal kingdom pirates #one piece queen #beast pirates #one piece kaido #one piece jack #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #no beta we die like men #9/30/22

[tinyletterz]

♡ flowers of our love— [ scarabia + pomefiore ]

: different flowers and their meanings that describe your relationships :

♡— contains: gn! reader, fluff, mention of bruises with epel

: heartslabyul. savanaclaw + octavinelle. scarabia + pomefiore. ignihyde + diasomnia :

— [ note: references can be found here and here ROOK finally the other loml let me take you out on a date and ill shower you in flowers ]

—kalim al-asim

sunshine in your smile — yellow tulip: running up to you in the hallways to engulf you in a warm hug. kalim tells you multiple times that he loves and cares about you throughout the day. helping him stay on task for the vice housewarden's sanity. taking trips into the night sky on his magic carpet. good morning and goodnight kisses everyday. gifting you jewels and gems from the treasury as a "just because" gift. the way kalim's eyes crinkle when he laughs or smiles. silly jokes and games created by the two of you to enjoy together. there is never a moment when kalim is next to you and he's not playing with your fingers. poking his face because its awfully soft and squish-able. always telling his family that he's lucky to be with you whenever he writes to home.

—jamil viper

i'll never forget you — pink carnation: jamil always treasures the moments he has where it's just you and him. walking past each other in the hallway and your fingers brush against his. helping him whenever he has a workload. arguing with him when it comes to him not relaxing enough. spelling i love you on his skin with just your fingertip always puts him at ease. waiting, even when it's late, for him to finish basketball practice. experienced cook or not, jamil will try everything you make and offer pointers to make it even better. mornings when the world is still seeping and you run your fingers lazily through his hair. he mentioned you once to his sister before formally introducing you two, and najma swears she has never seen jamil more embarrassed when she teases him about dating you.

—vil schoenheit

bonds of affection and you'll always be beautiful to me — stock: gentle kisses filled with care. he always asks if you're comfortable with him due to his popularity. styling his hair and watching his lips quirk at your playful antics. vil loves buying things for you and he asks that you don't be shy when it comes to something you want. quick kisses in between vil's sets while you watch him perform. he scolds you, lovingly yet harshly, if you haven't been taking care of yourself and will set a day aside to treat you. the way his heart flutters when you say i love you because even though his fans tell him that, he finds yours genuine. cupping his face while reminding him in a whisper that he's the one you love and you absolutely adore him when he begins to doubt.

—rook hunt

passion and declaration of love — red tulip: random declarations of love throughout the day. covering your faces with his hat so he can kiss you without prying eyes. rook knows when something is bothering you without you having to say a word. stealing rook's dorm robes to spin in them. eloquent poems in french, no doubt professing your beauty. please catch him off guard, it rarely happens, but when it does you will not regret the flustered look on his face. sharing secrets and stories, although rook does tend to add unneeded detail. rook has tried to serenade you, much to the dislike of the others trying to sleep. your eyes land on him in class and he's already looking back with a grin on his face. surprising him with a kiss only to find he was waiting for you to make the first move. self-care is done together so you both know the other is taken care of.

—epel felmier

let's take a chance and youthful innocence — white violet: a confession after hours when the sun has just begun to set. occasionally visiting the beach to watch the calmness of the waves. ruffling his hair, gently of course. joining him during his dorm yoga exercises. epel feels terrible when you patch his bruises after a fight, but he would rather hear your scolding over his housewarden's. shy kisses to your lips because epel's far too nervous to do anything more. sneaking out to lay in the grass and count the stars together. in the beginning of your relationship, epel sought rook's advice, though epel doesn't do nearly as much as rook suggested. calling him pretty and handsome to watch his smile grow. his grandmother already claims she loves you despite not having met her.

#♡—[remus!!] #WHY DID THIS TAKE SO LONG TO WRITE sobbing #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst fluff #kalim al asim #jamil viper #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #epel felmier #kalim x reader #jamil x reader #vil x reader #rook x reader #epel x reader #twst kalim #twst jamil #twst vil #twst rook #twst epel

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 7: The Doubt

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Summary: Fallout comes fast when the Mandalorian fails to keep faith in you.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), canon-typical violence, eventual smut/filth, post season 3, canon-typical violence, they fight (wah), jealous Din. Uhhhh please advise if there's more to add here thank you

A/N: I'll make a master list page or something at some point (update: HERE IT BE). Halp. Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, A03. Thank you for reading!

--

‘So, it’s a ship holo.’ If sounding unimpressed could make you float, Mando would be kissing the roof.

‘It is,’ Torre punctuates his words like he’s conducting, ‘ah-no ordinary ship holo. Look.’

Stepping toward the gigantic rendition of a Class H treasury cruiser, you study the layout and details. Long corridors criss-cross either side of a central column, enclosing vault upon vault stacked from hull to rafters. It’s the kind of ship that can only travel at sublight, prioritised as it is to carry as much wealth as possible above the space necessary for a hyperdrive. Well, the wealth plus the armoury bristling with weaponry and a military-trained guard duty. 

You’re trailing your eyes along one of the corridors when you spot it. You give Torre a startled look and focus in closer on the two tiny figures making salutes and bowing.

‘That’s a guard mounting,’ you say. ‘They’re changing shift.’

‘Yyyup.’ Torre shifts around the table and stands beside you, too damn close but you’re distracted. ‘Look there, that’s your quarterdeck patrol unit. They keep to the perimeter.’

You laugh in wonder.

‘What,’ Mando steps forward.

‘It’s live!’ You reach a hand up and twirl the view to the patrol Torre pointed out, pulling in for a closer look. ‘See?’ Seven red-lined holographic figures move in a V; you can even see the rear two figures reaching out and checking whatever’s on the walls.

‘It’s a live fucking feed of what’s happening on this ship right now?’ You turn to Torre. He’s drinking it in.

‘Pretty sweet, right? You would not believe the crew I had to ride with to get a hold on this. Ha, it’s a real story, I’ll tell you all about it, maybe over d—’

Mando interrupts by grabbing your arm and pulling you backward. ‘We need to leave, now!’ He tugs you so hard you stumble a little.

‘Woah. Hey, man, no need to manhandle her,’ Torre says. ‘I know what you’re worried about but trust me, this line has a 100% bonafide, platinum-tier, guaranteed-on-my-mother’s-grave, airtight encryption. No trace. Nothin’.’ He sweeps a hand, whoosh. ‘Wouldn’t have it in here myself if I wasn’t certain.’ 

‘Hey,’ you say, ‘hey, lookit.’ When you’d tripped your eyes had landed on the lowest deck of the ship and you saw it. An energy signature. You suspect you know what it is.

You reach out and pull the spot on the map toward you and Mando, who’s released your arm but still radiates flight or fight reflexes. Maybe flight and fight. But he leans in too when he spots what you’re dragging in on.

The objects are lined with a deep, radiant grey. They sit in a room surrounded by treasures glowing more brightly, but the spot you’re looking at feels infinitely denser, a heavy presence even on the holo. They’re sitting in neat piles on a long bench, dozens of them.

‘There it is,’ Torre says behind you.

‘The beskar.’ Mando straightens and turns squarely on Torre, whose wide grin doesn’t falter. 

He holds hands out, palms up. ‘So, you in?’

Thanks to the depth of intel available on the projection, the plan really isn’t all that complicated. It’s just wildly dangerous and leaves plenty to chance. 

You fidget as Torre explains the steps, looking sidelong every few seconds at the dark and brooding figure beside you. Mando has said nothing beyond demanding more detail, which the wannabe orchestrator of this heist is all too happy to provide.

‘The great news is that this ship is way out there, way on the outer rim,’ Torre is saying. ‘So we won’t have any company to worry about.’

He trails a finger through the flickering image in front of you all. ‘We’ll have to plot a precise path onboard to avoid patrols. It’ll be convoluted and means we’ll have at least eight rounds of airlocks to hack through. Which you’ll handle ably,’ he nudges your knee with his.

‘We program them to open for just a few seconds, then seal shut and go offline, so they can’t be reopened – even remotely – giving us time.’ He drags a corridor in and zeros in on the small room you’d identified earlier. Points at it.

‘We raid the vault, then we head here,’ he shifts his finger to a room full of servers, then spins to a nearby bench and picks up a datalink. ‘Plug in this code I’ve designed.’

You remember Torre’s coding and programming… abilities. Once, when he was in your Uncle’s employ, he’d intercepted and hacked an incoming ship with a rumoured assassin onboard. The ship had jumped to hyperspace, destination an imploding star system. 

You’d heard about that only later though, when it was too late and he was gone. Otherwise you might have tried to learn a thing or two from him.

‘Once this tight little program is running,’ he’s carrying on, ‘the escape pods here will decouple from the system, unlock themselves and become untraceable. We’ll get to a pod, ride a few seconds of freefall and be out of reach. Then we just skip along to a rendezvous. Home free and soaked in riches.’

He sits back, looking smug.

You roll your eyes. ‘Torre…’

‘Hm?’

‘One thing…’

‘Which is?’

‘How do we get on the ship?’ you say, pointing at yourself and making a hopping motion toward the holo.

‘Oh! Well that’s where you come in, isn’t it,’ he says, gesturing a hand up and down Mando. ‘Imaginin’ you have all sorts of tricks up those shiny sleeves to sneak aboard a vessel. S’why I’m even letting you in on this.’

He looks at you and serves up another smirk. ‘Well, and for old time’s sake,’ he grins.

You look at your partner, a little unsettled by his posture – shoulders rigid and fists clenched, like he’s ready to pounce. You lean into his frame of view, try to get his attention, but he seems to be trying to set Torre on fire with his mind.

After a beat. ‘Mando?’ you say.

‘I have a way,’ he says, voice black. ‘It requires a droid though.’

‘Well I’m fresh out. You?’ Torre shrugs.

‘I have a source,’ the brooding figure says. He turns to you, ‘I can drop… him off at the same time.’ You just nod, happy to be keeping Grogu out of this one.

Torre slaps his palms together, showing only excitement and seemingly unaffected by the absolute waves of tension and fury being directed at him.

‘So, it’s settled. You pilot your ship – very capable, I’m certain – to create our ingress. She and I board, navigate on foot while you monitor from the security feeds, which I’ll hack by the way. We take the prize, make our escape and rendezvous. Job’s good!’ He looks between the two of you, smiling wide.

‘Absolutely not!’ Mando barks. You jump at his intensity. It takes you a second longer to register why.

‘Um, no,’ you say. ‘You’re saying you and I go in alone?’

Torre’s smile fades and he thumbs at the holo display. It flickers and disappears. He crosses his arms.

‘Afraid so, sunny,’ he says. Much as you hate having your childhood nickname recalled, him butchering it feels worse. ‘That is non-negotiable.’

You stare at him, incredulous. ‘You can’t be serious?’ 

He drops his arms and waves one over the space where the ship had been hovering moments ago.

‘Look, facts are – we need oversight, we’re already leaving enough to chance. You and I,’ a thumb between your chests, ‘will be fast and quiet.’

You’re gearing up to counter argue – a droid could monitor security, Mando’s stealth would surprise you, you’ve planned this all along haven’t you, you fu— But he stops your thoughts dead. 

‘And, to be honest with you,’ he says, ‘you’re not getting your hands on that stash without my full cooperation.’

The Mandalorian takes a deadly step toward the scheming bastard in front of you, whose hands raise in mock surrender.

‘Wouldn’t do that,’ he says. ‘That ship holo is coded to me specifically. Me alive, I add.’

That doesn’t seem to matter to the towering furnace of hatred bearing down. Time to step in again, it seems.

‘Mando…’ you say carefully. You step around him to face Torre. You don’t have the patience for this. The sooner the job is done, the sooner you can get away from this manipulative and chilling relic of your past. So you stay practical: ‘Is this really the only option?’

Torre just gives you his even, bright-eyed gaze. Its intensity is something you haven’t felt in a long old time and you have to concentrate hard to not break contact. He takes the opportunity to search your face, mouth twisting in an all too familiar hunger.

He doesn’t look away from you but addresses the one you now seem to be shielding him from.

‘What’sa matter, Mando?’ he spits. ‘Don’t you trust her?’

You give him a disgusted look that seems to delight him before pivoting 180, looking up into the sights of the impenetrable T visor.

‘We can do this,’ you say. ‘If this is what it takes?’

Lately, you’ve been able to tell if Mando is looking at you or not. Been able to detect some modicum of silent communication. But right now he’s unreadable. Maybe his eyes are closed? Clenched shut in the furious state of being forced to make a difficult choice. 

Eventually though, you hear a strained exhale and the unmistakable twitch of acquiescence.

‘Very well,’ he murmurs. A slight tilt of the helmet and that’s it. He says no more.

Your bounty partner heads off to deposit Grogu and pick up his sourced droid. He says little before departing, just offers you a clipped ‘watch your back’ and taps a vambrace to your wrist to set your encrypted comms channel, a habit at this point.

It left you with Torre, to sit by the holo to memorise your route through the gigantic treasury ship. It was difficult to concentrate though. One, because you were anxious about Mando’s increasing state of anger and annoyance, and two – Torre would not shut the fuck up.

Reminiscing, sharing stories and – frequently, irritatingly – suggesting getting dinner at a local place that does ‘killer noodles, seriously, they could kill you’. You channel the stony and assured veneer you’d seen on Mando plenty of times now. Waiting patiently as a bounty pleaded, bargained, begged. 

Just let him talk, he’ll tire eventually.

Unfortunately though, this isn’t some random job and the more Torre talks, the more all the shit in your past pushes its way into the forefront of your thoughts.

So you give in, suggest getting the noodles to go. You think food might shut him for a little while. And you argue against eating in because you still needed to be watching the map, even though you’d had the path learned by rote already. Really though, you just don’t want to be anywhere else when Mando gets back.

It does grant a brief respite of quiet, but it doesn’t stop him for long. He slurps up a strand and cocks a look at you.

‘So what was it, huh?’ he asks. ‘What made you forever leave your luscious little life behind and go trekking all over the outer rim kicking ass and taking names?’

‘Hells, Torre. I thought you might remember me in a more flattering light than that,’ you nudge your noodles around the cup. They really were incredibly good, but your appetite was now gone.

‘True, sorry. That world was always too small for you, wasn’t it? But I know you were loyal to it. I learned that the hard way.’ 

Ouch.

You draw a breath. May as well be honest.

‘I did try. But my Uncle… He- he was going to… he was going to sell me,’ you look at Torre and his eyes are hooded, dark. ‘My hand, that is, in marriage. To a fucking monster.’ Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

‘That fucker.’

‘Yeah.’ You laugh. ‘You know what’s funny? He’d paid Mando a not small sum to get me back. When I first heard that I thought… maybe he actually cared. About me.’ You shake your head and put your food down. ‘But the whole time, he’d just had an even bigger endowment on the way.’

‘That’s not really very funny at all.’

‘Yeah,’ you say again. ‘But… I doubt he’ll be making any attempts to find me again. More pressing concerns now. So, I’m done,’ you shrug pathetically. 

Torre reaches out to brush his fingers over your knuckles, bloodless and clenched as they are on your knee. You stare at them, eyes blurred.

Mando picks that moment to stalk in.

He takes in the scene as you stand quickly and wipe at your face, stepping around the table to stare hard at the ship manifest.

‘We are set,’ he all but snarls.

Torre slaps his knees and stands too.

‘Well let’s not burn any more daylight and get into it!’

The hostility cascading off Mando as the three of you board his ship has put you so far on edge you can hardly think straight. It must be the stress of knowing he has to retrieve that beskar, surely. Maybe the riskiness of the plan? Could be.

Or what if he’s just worried about you working alone with Torre? 

It may be all three. But at least you can try to help appease one of those worries right now. Maybe he just needs reassurance you’ll be okay. Remind him you can handle yourself. So, while the Crest navigates toward the warp spot, you make your way up to the cockpit and approach his tense, hackled back. 

He’s situated R5 by the input port. The old droid beeps and rotates, dialled into the instruments. It swivels a sensor to where you hover by your chair. Seems to detect the tension in the air and wheels back to the console, going quiet.

‘I know we agreed we can’t trust Torre,’ you say carefully. His helm twists aside like he’s listening, but he doesn’t turn. ‘And we can’t,’ you add quickly. ‘But I’ll be okay.’ 

A slight rise of shoulders, otherwise nothing. 

‘Trust me,’ you try again. ‘I know how to handle him.’

Mando reacts to that. He scoffs.

‘Yes, you know him very well,’ he grits.

Hang on, what does that mean? Incredulous, kind of affronted, you step back. 

‘Is that what I said?’

‘And I am sure he knows how to handle you too.’

You’re so caught off guard you forget why you even came up here. How could he even think… Like that… He’s giving you his still-as-a-grave stance, waiting for your slip.

‘Hells d’you mean?’ you ask, trying to keep anger and hurt out of your voice. You thought you’d been getting somewhere with him.

‘How did you even know about beskar?’ he snaps, like he’s been waiting to accuse you of something. 

‘What--?’

‘Back in town, at the marshal’s house. You knew it was important. How? You didn’t know a thing about Mandalorians when I met you.’

That sends you back another step. Where is this coming from? You can’t stop the affronted tone from your question.

‘Are you suspicious of me or something?’

Some kind of tide breaks and he finally pivots to glower over you.

‘Amazing coincidence isn’t it?’ he spits. ‘We happen to run into someone from your past with a bounty too good to be true, he knows you, has the perfect plan? Needs exactly what we have? And you’ll just follow him along?’

A rage bubbles up in you and you try to will it down. Swallow, deep breaths. But your best efforts fail. A sudden fury swells between the two of you and you can’t see a way to quell it. 

‘If you’ll remember,’ you say through gritted teeth. ‘I said he was a spy and a schemer. I know what you know. How the fuck can I do any different?’ You wave at his shiny chrome chest plate, furious. ‘I remind you we’re here for you?’

He spins away from you, pretends to adjust dials. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he snarls. ‘I will take the beskar, and you can take whatever riches you can, use it to go back to what you’re used to. The life you had.’

The last word hits you like a blaster to the chest. The floor of the Crest's cockpit opens up and you are in freefall. How… how--? You’d thought he understood you didn’t want that life, told him one of the worst things that had happened to you in that place. You chose to leave them. Chose this life. You’d thought he understood.

‘I didn’t choose that life. I chose this one, I chose y—’

‘But you did choose it.’ He’s so riled up he doesn’t hear you. ‘When I asked you to stay, you told me you had to go back.’

‘Had to, not wanted to!’

He whirls back on you, leans in. ‘Is there really a difference? You would have stayed if not for your family trying to sell you off. I’ve never seen a person more at home in gold and gems and--’

‘That isn’t what I want!’ Your voice rises. ‘How could you think that about me?’

‘How am I supposed to know what you want? You are like an open book sometimes, then you shut yourself up out of nowhere.’

‘Well better a book than a blank fucking wall,’ you may be screaming now. ‘I don’t get to read you at all!’

R5 interrupts the molten fire spitting between you. The Crest is on approach. You just wrench away and march to meet Torre at the hatch, not looking back once but knowing the Mandalorian is going to bring you in to retrieve his treasure anyway.

--

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#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader