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nataliaphantomhivesblog · 3 years

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Newsflash: Dazai cares for Chuuya

Before reading any further, I will be talking about stormbringer, so spoilers ahead!! Translation credits go out to: @popopretty on tumblr, make sure to give this kind human some love and appreciation<3

Also if you want to read the first few chapters of stormbringer: @buraihatranslations is currently translating it, give them much love and appreciation as well, they deserve it!!

Honestly, I have been so obsessed with Soukoku lately and I think the reason behind this is because when it comes to Soukoku, their feelings for each other are not as easy to grasp as love or hate, it is much more profound than that. There is care, hurt, trust, resentment, companionship, bitterness, and consideration...And ironically enough, thats just the tip of the iceberg.

If we break down their individual feelings towards each other, it will be easier to understand their bond.

On Chuuya's end, his feelings are much more clear due to his expressive personality. He wears his emotions on his sleeves, he can try and hide what he feels towards Dazai but his true feelings tend to unravel easily.

He sometimes tries to mask his feelings towards Dazai by throwing insults, but his facial expressions are enough to contradict what he is saying.

Chuuya's feelings towards Dazai can be easier to comprehend. He obviously feels this certain betrayal due to the fact Dazai left the Port Mafia. Not to mention, he and Dazai have always had a rivalry relationship.

In the Soukoku wiki page, it is stated that Chuuya is aware of Dazai not experiencing a proper childhood, therefore allows him to act as childish as he can and lets him tease him relentlessly. I don't know how reliable this source is, but either way I think its worthy enough to add.

In the Dragon head conflict when Dazai was out of sight, Chuuya told Mori to forget about Dazai. That was until Hirotsu mentioned a microscope, Chuuya quickly realizes it was code language because he remembered a previous conversation where Dazai says he needs a microscope to be able to see Chuuya properly.

The moment he figured out it was a tracker, Chuuya did not hesitate to jump in and rescue Dazai. But here is the catch: No one but Chuuya knew about the microscope, if Chuuya really didn't care for Dazai he wouldn't have mentioned the microscope and kept all this under wraps, leaving Dazai in a mess.

Chuuya trusts Dazai with his life. He never hesitates to leave his life on Dazai's hands when it has to come to it. Chuuya and Dazai have known each other for years, for Chuuya to be able to trust Dazai that much is because Dazai also cares for him too, right?

The answer here is yes, Dazai cares for Chuuya. In a superficial level, it doesn't seem like Dazai truly cares, but I can assure you that he does care for him. Weather you like to think of his care in a platonic or romantic manner, the care Dazai has for Chuuya is undeniable and extremely significant for Dazai's character.

I think that stormbringer establishes this idea even further. There is one specific moment in this light novel that shows his genuine concern towards Chuuya's well being:

"There is one problem." Dazai cut off his sentence hesitantly. "It has nothing to do with the sucess rate of the plan. It is a matter we have to overcome in the end but... It may require some time to decide."

"What's with you?" Chuuya raised his eyebrows at Dazai. "Stop dramatizing it. Just hurry up and say it."

"I said earlier about this control spell to open the 'gate' that is used to reset the command inside Chuuya, right?" Dazai spoke with a strangely restrained voice. "If we use that, the logs of the command formula that were written in the past will be erased. That means...even if the memory erasure was used on Chuuya in the past, the traces of that will be erased as well."

"What?"

"I told you before right, the memory erasure command. The only way we can confirm if Chuuya is human or not is to check the history to see if the memory erasure command was ever used. It means..." Dazai looked at Chuuya with eyes that he had never looked at him before. Those eyes were serious. "If we use that control spell, the method to confirm if Chuuya is an artificial personality created by a string of code, or just a normal human being, will be lost. For good."

The time had stopped.

Chuuya opened his eyes and looked towards Dazai but his eyes were not seeing anything. The wind blew between the two of them. Even so, Chuuya did not blink.

"Verlaine became like that because he was tormented by the curse that he was not human. That only is enough of a big problem. The matter of being human or not." Dazai looked at his pocket watch, gave it a glance and continued. "I can delay the time until the plan starts for about two minutes. I will send an order for my men to wait... You can think about it alone for a while. Cuz I guess its hard for you to collect your thoughts with me around."

Having said so, Dazai turned away and walked down the stairs, leaving Chuuya alone.

Dazai fixated in his pocket watch. Two more minutes. Too short for a life decision. But he couldn't afford more than that.

Inside Dazai's head, he was planning a procedure to swith to an alternative plan in case Chuuya refused, at a tremendous speed.

This section in stormbringer is personally one of my favorites, this is a very rare moment between both of them, but especially for Dazai. Like I stated earlier Chuuya wears his emotions on his sleeves, therefore even if he tries to mask his care with insults, its still painfully noticable that he genuienly looks after Dazai. Chuuya also sometimes show a vulnerable side of himself to Dazai, especially after using corruption.

Dazai on the other hand is extremely unreadable. Its hard to understand his true intentions and if he really cares for people or only sees them as a pawn. In this moment though, Dazai was being painfully genuine. Dazai literally prioritized Chuuya over the mission. He was already thinking of coming up with an alternative plan just in case Chuuya refused, obviously the sucess rate of the alternative plan would be lesser than the actual plan Dazai had in mind, he choose Chuuya's wellbeing over a mission.

In this section, Dazai wasn't throwing jokes or witty remarks, he was being serious. Because Dazai knows how desperately Chuuya wants to be human. He knows how important being human is to Chuuya.

Dazai wasn't manipulating Chuuya by giving him the chance to decide, we can see that Dazai was literally showing a lot of hesitation when mentioning this to him, we also get to see what Dazai was thinking, and we can tell he wasn't thinking about manipulative his movements in any way. All of this wasn't coming out of manipulation, it was coming out of pure care.

After six steps, Dazai reached the stair. He stepped on the stair and started walking down. Three steps down the stair, he heard a *clang*, a cool sound of metal echoing behind him. It sounded like the metal was kicked by the sole of someones shoes. The moment Dazai realized what the sound was, Dazai turned around in surprise.

There was already no one at the top.

Dazai was dazed for a moment, then he loosened his lips and laughed.

"Trying to act cool, huh?" Dazai smiled, both annoyed and relieved. Then he turned on his radio and sent out his order. "Chuuya has sallied, everyone get ready for battle."

I personally love this part so much, relief washed over Dazai the moment he noticed that Chuuya was going to go through with the first plan, which proves my point that he wasn't manipulating him and how Dazai was under a lot of stress because he wasn't sure if the alternative plan would be as effective as his original one.

Yet he still was willing to go through the alternative plan if Chuuya refused, because Dazai values him and regards his wellbeing.

Dazai was being surprisingly gentle in this section, he was being honest. There was no ulterior motive behind his actions here, just a boy looking after his partner.

"So i'm going to send an order to my men to prepare for action... Is that okay?"

"Of course it's okay." Chuuya turned to Dazai. "Why are you asking me such a thing?"

Dazai didn't answer right away.

That was an unusual expression. It's like he was trying to say something, but he had to arrange the words in his head to decide where he should start. An expression he rarely shows.

This was right before Dazai drops the bomb to Chuuya about the memory erasure command. He was even asking for Chuuya's opinion on sending his men to get ready, this was the first time Dazai ever showed actual concern without masking it with witty remarks. You can tell that Chuuya isn't used to this.

And when you think about it, when Dazai and Chuuya have missions together, Dazai always uses corruption as a last resort and he always allows Chuuya to make the decision if they will be using it or not.

I personally belive that the main reason Chuuya trusts Dazai with using corruption is because The Sheep used to exploit his powers too much, but Dazai leaves the decision to use corruption up to Chuuya. Dazai understands the physical and mental toll corruption takes on Chuuya and therefore leaves the choice up to him.

Theres another section in stormbringer that I really enjoy, it doesn't necessairly show solicitude but I still think this should still be taken into consideration:

"You seem pretty confident that Chuuya is human, don't you?"

"I am," Dazai laughed with a sigh. "There is no way a man-made code could create such a personality that I detest so much."

Throughout the whole story, Dazai is more than determined that Chuuya is human. The main reason Dazai finds Chuuya so intresting is because of how frighteningly human Chuuya can be, because of the fact that he always wears his emotions on his sleeves, something Dazai rarely does himself. Thats personally a nice sentiment from Dazai's end, even when Chuuya struggles completely when it comes to believing in his own humanity, Dazai still can't help but see him as a human being.

Also I am aware that Dazai literally said he detests Chuuya here but he also sighed and laughed while stating this, showing us that he isn't being serious about hating him.

And its not only in stormbringer were he shows his concern towards Chuuya. In fact, in this following manga pannel Dazai is telling Chuuya that if he is willing to listen him, he will stage his own escape so that Chuuya doesn't get punnished.

Honestly, if Dazai didn't care enough for Chuuya, he wouldn't have mentioned this to him. Chuuya didn't care enough to realize that he literally unwillingly freed Dazai which would get the pm mad at him, so the fact that Dazai is literally helping him out is no doubt out of care for him. If Dazai didn't have any regard for Chuuya he would've not staged his escape or mentioned anything to Chuuya, eventually incriminating him.

There are many misconceptions when it comes to Dazai's feelings towards Chuuya, people think that he doesn't care for him due to the fact that he left the Port Mafia, leaving Chuuya behind. But heres the thing: Dazai's intentions had nothing to do with Chuuya. He left the organization for his own good, he left it to fullfill Oda's wish.

"If Dazai cared for Chuuya then why didn't he take Chuuya with him?" the reason is simple, he knows how much the PM means to Chuuya. In stormbringer it is shown that Chuuya feels as if his humanity is attached to the people he is loyal to, in this case its the port mafia. Verlaine wanted to get rid of the pm because he believed that the pm is what kept Chuuya's humanity, eventually making Chuuya believe that he is only human if he stays loyal to the pm. Dazai knows this. Thats exactly why he didn't take Chuuya with him or even explains to Chuuya why he left, he knows it would be selfish to basically rip Chuuya's sense of humanity apart.

I have a feeling that if Dazai told Chuuya about the real reason he left the Port Mafia, Chuuya will not only feel conflicted about being in the pm, but he would also have an inner conflict with himself as a human.

People also think Dazai may not really care for him because of the fact that after the fight against Lovecraft he actualy deserted him, maybe that part was truly just supposed to be seen as simple humor, but either way I want to talk about it. Chuuya's only request to Dazai was to take him back to base safe, so why did Dazai leave Chuuya behind?

I mean he has carried Chuuya back to saftey before with no problem, for example in stormbringer when Chuuya uses corruption for the first time Dazai carries him back to the billiards bar and not to the mafia’s base so that he could say goodbye to his passing friends.

The reson behind this is because Mori needs to know that unlike Dazai, Chuuya is absolutely loyal to him. Leaving Chuuya the way he did will make Mori believe that these two really are at each others throats and that Dazai is insignificant to Chuuya. Making it seem that for Chuuya, the mafia comes first before anything else.

Therefore Dazai established Chuuya's saftey within the mafia since not only does Mori want these two to be hostile with each other, he doesn't want Chuuya to eventually turn against him if he truly found out more about Dazai's true reason of departure. Then again, this isn't canon but it is a logical assumption.

Not to mention that although Dazai did leave him behind, he folded Chuuya's coat and hat before taking his leave. There is also an an extra chapter where Ozaki Kouyou was talking with Chuuya but when he left he forgot his coat, which made Kouyou came across the coat; where she noticed a badge sewed inside saying "Name: Hatrack", she smiled fondly thinking to herself that some things just never change, in this case, Dazai and Chuuya's bond.

Dazai literally took his time to sew this into his coat just to tease him, it was a simple gesture but it shows us how their dynamic will never change. No matter what these two go through, they will always share a bond that consists on teasing, trust and underlying care.

All of this actually makes that theory of Dazai planting a bomb under Chuuya's car for the sole reason that the PM doesn't find Chuuya as an acomplice who aided Dazai on his escape much more feasable.

For Dazai to just plant a bomb under Chuuya's car with no motive makes no sense because if Dazai's true intentions were to simply mess with Chuuya, he would've most likely made it clear at that time. Dazai always has an underlying motive behind his actions, and in this case it is very likely that he did that for Chuuya's sake.

Don't get me wrong, I am aware that the bomb incident could've just been a comedic moment and I shouldn't look too much into it, but there is still a posibility, right?

These two hold so much trust and care for one another, yet they also hold a lot of bitterness and resentment. In the end the good aspects of their dynamic outweighs the bad.

Either you see these two in a platonic or romantic way, you can't tell me that their bond isn't significant.

Thank you so much for reading!! I wanted to talk about this for a while because I feel like people misinterpret Dazai's feelings towards Chuuya a lot so I hope this clears up things a bit<3

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whumpcollector · 3 years

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Lucas Pt.8: The gladiator and the Captain

Hey everyone. Here I am, back at it again with Lucas. There’s a bit of character introduction and set up coming so hopefully ya’ll don’t mind the slower pace. Hope you all enjoy.

CW: Mentions of vomiting

Lucas knelt over a bucket, dry heaving and choking as his stomach churned. Sweat poured down his forehead, his body shaking as another wave of nausea washed over him.

“I am so sorry Lucas,” Jawad said, kneeling beside the boy and patting his back. “I didn’t think you would take to the tincture this poorly...”

Lucas tried to respond, but any attempt at speaking was shut down as another dry heave hit him. Nothing came up, what little food Lucas had in his stomach had long since been expelled. All he could do now was wait for things to pass.

Jawad signed, walking over to his desk and picking up his journal. He scribbled in the pages, shaking his head slightly. He turned back to Lucas. “Do you at least feel like your magic has returned?”

Lucas took his head out of the bucket, holding up a shaky hand and trying to bring forth a flame. Nothing manifested and Lucas had to abandon his attempt as another wave hit him.

“I suppose that's a no then.”

It had been a couple of days since Lucas had first awoken. He had not left Jawad’s tent, the doctor insisting that Lucas remain so he could monitor his recovery. There had been no issues, by all accounts he was healing like any normal person would. Lucas didn’t know how he felt about that. It was good that nothing bad was happening, but it was also...strange. He was used to any injuries he had healing in a few hours at most. The need for bandages, the bleeding, the soreness that came from healing muscle, it all felt unnatural.

He didn’t care to think about whether or not he would need to get used to it.

At last the nausea faded and Lucas was able to pull himself to his feet. He was still shaky, having to brace himself against the table to avoid falling over. Jawad gently grabbed onto his arm, guiding him over to the bed and letting him sit down. He handed Lucas a bowl of water, letting him rinse out his mouth.

“Thank you.” Lucas said, bowing his head slightly. Jawad had so far not been partial to the more overt displays of submission that Captain Edwin had drilled into Lucas. Anything more than an appreciative thanks was dismissed as being ‘unnecessary’. Lucas was grateful that so far these mistakes had gone unpunished.

“No thanks needed Lucas, least of all because I just poisoned you…” Jawad trailed, flipping through his journal some more. “Hmmm, perhaps another potion might work...if only I had something more reliable than my old mentor’s theories.” He turned to Lucas. “Are you certain there is nothing you might know that could lead us in the right direction?”

Lucas thought for a moment, racking his brain before a memory stuck out. “When I was with my old masters I was given a sort of potion once. It, um, it sort of helped my magic after I had used it a lot.”

Jawad’s eyes lit up and he walked over to Lucas, sitting down next to him and focusing on him intently. “What do you remember about it? Taste, texture, smell.”

Lucas tried to recall what he could. Everything before his time with Captain Edwin felt fuzzy, like he was trying to look at it through thick fog. “Um, it was thick...I think? Yes it was a thick liquid and…” Lucas trailed off, trying to remember anything else. “I think...it burned when I drank it.”

Jawad nodded, writing in his journal before responding. “Do you know what it was called? Or where your...old master,” he frowned at the word, “purchased it?”

Lucas shook his head. “No.”

“Any specific taste, any...side effects of the potion?”

“N-no.”

“Do you remember what color it was?”

“It...no.”

“Did it have a particular smell?”

“It...it smelled...sweet?”

Jawad hummed to himself, flipping through the pages of his journal rapidly. After a seemingly unsuccessful search he stood up and walked over to his table, sifting through several thick tomes and other journals. Lucas watched apprehensively, shrinking back as the doctor became more and more frustrated with his search. After what must have been at least half an hour Jawad slammed the book he was holding onto the table, causing Lucas to flinch.

“Well, there are at least a dozen theoretical,” he spat the word out like it tasted of ash, “concoctions and tinctures that help restore the use of magic and share some similarities with what you described, but without any more details I can’t determine which, if any, of the ones in my records match the one you were given.” He pinched his forehead. “Much less if any of them work.”

Lucas bowed his head. “I-I’m sorry for not being of any help, a-and for wasting your time.”

Jawad sighed, walking back over to Lucas, patting the boy on his shoulder. “It's not your fault.” He turned away, crossing his arms and placing a hand on his chin. “Perhaps it's time you introduce yourself to the others in camp. From what I can tell your recovery is coming along fine, and I imagine you’d want to get out of this tent by now.”

Lucas swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. He had been dreading this, being forced to serve the others in the camp. Jawad had been easy to satisfy so far, and he was just getting used to how to address and act around him. Now he would have to learn all over again, with people likely far less forgiving than Jawad was.

Still, it wasn’t up to him who he did and did not serve.

Jawad must have taken Lucas’s silence as agreement, which it was in a way, and beckoned Lucas to follow him out of the tent. Lucas complied, walking out from under the tent flaps and into the camp itself. He squinted at the sun, the bright light hurting his eyes after so long in relatively dim conditions.

“Ah, Lucas. I see you are on your feet now. That is good news.”

Lucas turned to see Mehrzad approaching him, saber slung over his shoulder and helmet held at his side. He was the only person Lucas had really seen over the past few days, often bringing Jawad food or supplies he requested. He didn’t really talk to Lucas, usually only staying around long enough to drop off what he needed to and say a few parting words to his husband.

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking Lucas up and down.”You seem a bit pale.”

“I am afraid that would be my fault.” Jawad said. “The solution I made had some...unfortunate side effects.”

Mehrzad let out a hearty laugh. “Ah, I see you’ve been on the receiving end of my dear husband’s ‘experiments’. I remember one time when he tried to brew something for stomach pain. I wa-”

“I’M certain Lucas doesn’t wish to hear the, well, gory details of that...” Jawad trailed off with a chuckle. “Why don’t you show Lucas around the camp? I need to convince Jon to let me acquire another batch of ingredients. I’m not sure what they are yet, but I don’t imagine they will be cheap.”

Jawad walked off, healing towards a large tent towards the center of camp. Lucas guessed that was where Captain Jonathon was. Lucas hoped he wouldn’t get too mad at Jawad’s request. Jawad shouldn’t have to get in trouble for his sake.

And Lucas didn’t want the doctor to have any reason to vent his frustrations.

Mehrzad clapped Lucas on the back, causing the boy to flinch slightly.“Well, looks like you are stuck with me for a while. Come, give you the tour.”

Lucas followed dutifully behind Mehrzad as he was led through the camp, head bowed and trailing by a couple of feet. The camp was large, with close to two dozen tents standing and numerous people milling around.

“Most of the people here are temporary hires, we call them ‘temps’. They usually only stick around for a few contracts or long enough to make it to a major city before leaving. You don’t need to worry too much about getting to know them, they’ll be replaced before you can get to remembering their names.”

Lucas grimaced at that. So many different people to get used to serving properly and he’d just have to relearn everything again later. Avoiding mistakes would be impossible. He looked around at some of the passing people. All of them looked imposing. Well built, big (or at least bigger than him), and...violent. A beating from any one of them wouldn’t be fun.

He decided not to think about what it would be like if they chose to gang up.

Lucas was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t realize Mehrzad had stopped walking. The two bumped into each other and Lucas sprung back, shying away and waiting for the reprimand. Mehrzad simply stared at him, confusion on his face. After a few moments of awkward silence, Mehrzad finally spoke.

“Are you alright Lucas?”

Lucas looked up meekly, scanning Merhzad’s face for any sign of displeasure. “Um...yes I am sir. S-sorry sir.”

“Apology accepted?” He cocked his head, studying Lucas before humming to himself. “Perhaps we should rest for a moment, come sit with me.”

Mehrzad sat on a nearby fallen log, gesturing for Lucas to join him. Lucas obeyed and took a seat on the log, just close enough that he wasn’t being disrespectful but not too close for his own comfort. Mehrzad had seemed merciful thus far and Lucas felt like the man would be willing to give this one liberty. The lack of any reprimand confirmed his guess and Lucas let himself relax just a tad.

“So, Lucas, how are you feeling? You seem to be in much better shape, my husband’s experiments aside.”

“Oh. I’m feeling alright. Jawad says that my healing is going normally.”

“That is good news.” Mehrzad reached into one of his greaves and pulled out a small dagger. Lucas tensed, eyeing the weapon warily, but the man simply began to use the tip to clean beneath his fingernails. “If you don’t mind my asking, what were you traveling with that caravan for? From what I can tell you weren’t exactly there of your own desire.” He turned to Lucas, a playful smile on his face. “Am I in the presence of some dangerous killer?”

Lucas looked down at his hands, memories of the attack flooding mind. Scenes of bloody fields and butchered corpses. He felt his throat tighten and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The bloodstained face of Harold flashed in his eyes and Lucas shook his head harshly, banishing the image before he had the chance to think about it.

“You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to.” Mehrzad said softly.

Lucas’ head snapped up at Mehrzad’s words. The man had a concerned look on his face, eyebrows narrowed and lips formed into a small frown. Lucas swallowed thickly. “I was a performer for, for two of the men at the caravan.”

“A performer eh?” Mehrzad raised an eyebrow at the answer. “It's a difficult job, pleasing a crowd, isn’t it? You run yourself ragged putting on a show, put everything you have into it only for the slightest mistake to turn everyone against you.”

Lucas looked at the man taken somewhat aback. “Y-yes. It was difficult. My master Harold always made me do better after each performance.”

“Ah, yes. Always have to make it bigger, flashier, more impressive. First you’re fighting a single man, then you’re shoved into a pit filled with a dozen hyenas and given nothing more than a broken spear.” He shook his head, almost as if reminiscing. “I was a gladiator back in my homeland, a rather good one if I may say. Sometimes I can still hear the roar of the crowd in my ears.”

Lucas didn’t know if he should say anything. The two lapsed into an awkward silence as Lucas contemplated possible responses. Mehrzad coughed, fiddling with his dagger before placing it back into his greave.

“What's it like, using magic?”

Lucas started slightly, looking at Mehrzad and frowning. How would he describe it?

“It...hurts.” Merhzad raised an eyebrow but didn’t commnet. “It hurts when I try to use it, like, like I'm lighting a fire inside of my body that burns me. The more I try to do, the hotter it is and if I do too much it...it hurts a lot more.” He paused, looking down at his hands and running his fingers along the leylines. “But, it also feels natural, like it's something I’m supposed to do. Without I...I feel wrong. Like, like I can’t blink or, or move my fingers.”

Lucas sniffled. “I don’t like it.”

Lucas was crying. He hadn’t realized he was until a tear landed on the back of his hand. A shaky breath left him and he wiped at his eyes, trying to regain his composure as best he could. An arm wrapped around his shoulders and he turned to see Mehrzad looking at him sympathetically.

“I can’t imagine what that feels like, losing something so...integral to who you are.” He handed Lucas a small piece of cloth and let home clean off his face. “But don’t worry. You will get your magic back. Jawad, for all of his eccentricities, is brilliant. Whatever the solution is to your problem, he will find it. I assure you.”

Lucas nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The pair sat together as Lucas gathered himself. Close to an hour passed and Mehrzad stood up, stretching his back and gathering his gear.

“I must go, Lucas. I have a contract soon and I am to meet the others for a briefing. You take care of yourself alright?”

With that Mehrzad left, and Lucas was left alone. A sense of unease filled him. What should he do? He wasn’t given any orders or instructions. Was he just supposed to...wander around until someone told him to do something?

Lucas stood in place for a few moments before deciding to do just that. He looked around and decided to walk towards the center of the camp. As he moved he took in his surroundings trying to notice any major landmarks he might be told to go to. As he searched he noticed a woman working at what looked like a giant cauldron. She was busy skinning what looked like a deer. A cook perhaps.

Lucas decided to ask if she was in need of help. Kitchen work was easy and he was decent at it. He probably wouldn’t do anything that warranted punishment.

Not that she would need a reason if she wanted to hurt him.

He started walking towards the woman when he heard someone call out to him.

“HEY! Who the hell are you?”

Lucas turned to see a lean man walking towards him. He stood straight, bowing his head as the man approached. “Haven’t seen you around before. You a new hire?”

Lucas nodded. “Yes sir, my name is Lucas. I am here to serve at your command.”

The man released an eyebrow. “What, really?” He fiddled with the scabbard on his hip before producing a dirtied sword. “You uh, you gonna clean this then?”

Lucas deflated, so much for kitchen work. Still, an order was an order. “Of course sir, if that is what you desire.”

“Shit, well, have at it then.” He dropped the sword into Lucas’s arms.

Lucas grasped the sword carefully, making sure to avoid the blade. He noticed the man walking away and called out after him. “Um, sir, do you know where I could find a rag?”

“Fuck if I know kid, you figure it out.”

Oh. Lucas looked down at the sword, and then at his surroundings. He didn’t see anywhere that might have something to clean with. Maybe he could ask someone. He noticed a woman walking by and tried to talk to her.

“Excuse me ma’am cou-”

“Piss off asshole, I'm not in the mood for chatter.”

She didn’t even look at him as she walked away. Lucas deflated further, looking down at the sword. He needed to get it cleaned soon. If he took too long the owner might get angry. Moving to a nearby fallen log to sit on Lucas began to rub at the sword with his shirt.

The work was slow, with most of the grime coating the blade taking considerable effort to work out. His shirt quickly became stained, with black and brown splotches dotting the area he used to wipe the blade. Just as he was about to finish a group of three other people walked up to him, dirty equipment in hand.

“Hey you, you the kid whose cleaning kit?”

Lucas looked up and nodded meekly. “Yes sir, I am here to serve at your command.”

“Damn, well here, clean this would ya?”

All three of them dumped their equipment at Lucas’ feet before walking off, leaving Lucas with a much larger workload. He sighed, his shoulder slumping at the sight of the pile. Dejectedly he placed the sword against the log he was sitting on and got to work cleaning off a breastplate.

News about his services spread throughout the camp, and before long Lucas had a barrack’s worth of arms and armor waiting for him to clean. After a few pieces Lucas just decided to strip his shirt off, using as much of the fabric as he could. It was long and exhausting work, with the last pieces being cleaned close to sundown. His arms ached from the rubbing and sweat poured down his face. As he hunched over the particularly filthy spear a shadow loomed over him. He sighed internally, something else to clean.

“Um, Lucas. What are you doing?”

Lucas looked up to see Captain Jonathon standing in front of him, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“I am cleaning this equipment, Captain Jonathan.”

“Uh-huh. Why exactly?”

“Because I was told to, Captain Jonathan.”

“Did you...want to clean all this equipment?”

“I am more than happy to serve, Captain Jonathan.”

“Uh-huuuhhh. And you are using your shirt to clean because…?

“I could not find a rag, Captain Jonathon.”

The captain looked down at him like he had sprouted a second head. Lucas squirmed under his gaze, unsure if he had done something to upset the man.

“How...how long have you been cleaning this stuff kid?”

“Um...since midday I believe Captain Jonathon.”

The captain exhaled, placing a hand on his face and shaking his head. “Ok. For the record, don’t go around cleaning everyone's kit alright? Don’t need any of these bastards getting lazier.”

Lucas nodded, quickly dropping the weapon and starting to pull his shirt back on.

“Don’t put that thing on!” Lucas’ eyes shot up to see Jonathon staring at him like he had just stuck his hand into a fire. “It’s covered in dirt and grease, what th- Cathrai above, what's wrong with you?”

Lucas inhaled sharply, dropping the shirt and then falling to his knees, head bowed. “Im-I’m sorry Captain Jonathan. I-I did not mean to upset you.”

Lucas waited, trembling as he heard the man approach. He screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for a blow to land. Instead he felt a hand lay gently on his shoulder, and looked up to see the captain kneeling down to look at him.

“Hey kid, it's alright. Didn’t mean to snap at you. It's been a long day for both of us. Why don’t you go get cleaned up?” He pointed towards a nearby river. “Go take a bath. I’ll get you some new clothes and make sure Annya saves you some stew.”

Lucas paused for a moment before nodding eagerly. “Yes, Captain Jonathon. Th-thank you for your kindness.”

“No problem kid.” Jonathan stood up, taking the shirt with him and walking away. After a few steps he turned. “Oh and uh, don’t call me ‘Captain Jonathon’, all the time. I imagine it gets a bit tiring .”

“Yes Ca-, yes sir. Sorry sir.”

Jonathan nodded and walked away. Lucas watched him for a few moments before making his way towards the river. It was a fair way away from any of the tents, far enough to give some privacy. Lucas undressed himself and walked into the water. It was cold, but once he was able to wash away the muck and grime that had built up on his skin he felt much better.

After he finished cleaning himself Lucas sank down into the water slightly, letting himself relax. When was the last time he had been allowed to bathe in private? Or without a time limit? He honestly couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter, he was allowed to now. He sank lower, resting his chin just above the waterline. He shouldn’t stay too long. He didn’t want Jonathon to think he was lazy or taking advantage of the man’s generosity. He let himself languish for another minute before pulling himself from the water. The air was cold against his wet skin but he didn’t mind. He hadn't felt this clean in...years probably.

Jonathon was sitting on a tree stump a short distance from the river. His back was to the water, a gesture that Lucas appreciated greatly. The man was carving at a piece of wood with a small knife, whistling a tune that Lucas didn’t recognize. He stopped when he heard Lucas’ footsteps, turning around and picking up a shirt he had laid across his lap.

“You look better kid, here, new shirt for you.”

Lucas took the shirt and pulled it on. It was big, the fabric hung loosely off of his body, but it was clean and warm. “Thank you, sir.”

“No problem kid. I’ll see about getting you some nicer pants too, those things look a little thin.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Jonathan nodded and gestured for Lucas to follow him. The two walked back to the camp, heading towards the center. Several small groups of mercenaries were sitting around a large bonfire, talking and laughing over bowls of food. Lucas saw the lady from earlier, Annya he figured, doling out stew from the cauldron, a small line forming in front of her.

“Take a seat Lucas, I’ll go get us dinner.”

Lucas nodded and sat down on a box placed towards the fringes of the bonfire. Jonathan walked towards the lady, nodding to a few of the mercenaries he passed. Some nodded back, others offered salutes, one asked for the captain to join him and his friends at a game of dice. Jonathon declined and walked up to the cauldron, taking his place in line behind the others.

Lucas watched him, trying to get a read on the man. He seemed well liked by most of the people in the camp. That was a good sign, well liked people don’t tend to dish out beatings for no reason. He fiddled with the collar of his shirt. It was well made, probably the nicest piece of clothing Lucas had ever worn. He was surprised it was wasted on him.

The captain returned with two large bowls of stew, sitting next to Lucas and handing him one of them. “I had Annya give us the big bowls. Perks of being captain.” He pulled a spoon from one of his pockets and handed it to Lucas. “Eat up, you did a lot of work today. More than your share.”

Lucas took the spoon and dug into the meal. It was as good as always. He had been fortunate enough to be allowed meals every day so far, probably to help along his recovery. He hoped that things wouldn’t change too soon, though he had a sinking feeling that they would once he finished healing.

“Annyas a blessing. Before we picked her up we didn’t have anyone who could cook. We ate what preserved crap we could carry and whatever we managed to hunt or forage.” Jonathan shook his head. “Once when we were low on supplies all we had to eat was raw grain and mushrooms for days. I don’t think I've come closer to being killed by my own men.”

The captain tilted his head back, draining the last of the broth from his bowl and placing it on the ground. He turned to Lucas, a serious expression on his face. Lucas paused, placing the bowl in his lap and waiting for the captain to speak.

Jonathan pulled out a small metal medallion shaped like a crown. “You see this? This is the emblem of the Crownsmen - that's the name of our company if you didn’t guess. Everyone who works for me has one, and it serves as a symbol of our unity and camaraderie, of our code. One very important tenant of that code is fairness, everyone pulls their fair share, no more no less.” He pocketed the medallion. “Now you aren’t a crownsman, but you are a guest in our camp, which means that applies to you too.”

Lucas gulped and bowed his head. “O-of course sir. I am more than willing to do whatever you order.”

Jonathan shook his head. “No, no. Probably could have phrased that better...” He muttered to himself quietly before turning his attention back to Lucas. “Anyways that's not what I meant. It's been less than a week since we pulled you half dead from the site of a massacre and today you spent the better part of 10 hours cleaning a barrack’s worth of kit. That is far and away beyond what I consider a fair share of work. You’re on your feet now so I’ll probably have you help around the camp a bit but any work you do comes from me. Anyone else tries to order you around you tell them to fuck off alright?”

Lucas nodded, it made sense that the captain of the camp would be the only one allowed to give him orders. At least that meant he would only need to learn how to please one person now.

“Good, now get some sleep. It’s late and you must be exhausted.” Jonathan stood up and began to walk away before turning around. “Oh, and if anyone tries to give you too much shit you let me know. I don’t tolerate infighting.”

“Yes sir, of course.”

Jonathan nodded and left. Lucas watched him for a moment before picking his bowl back up. Fatigue was starting to hit him hard and he could barely muster the energy to finish his food and walk back to Jawad's tent. It was empty, the doctor was likely taking care of something. Lucas was too tired to wonder what. He crawled into the cot he had been using and let himself drift away.

So far, this place didn’t seem too bad.

Tags: @haro-whumps @ladygwennn @dramaticcollapse @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @brutal-nemesis @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @inpainandsuffering

#whump #magical whump #lucas #mehrzad #jonathon #fantasy whump

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dindjarindiaries · 4 years

Text

Thunder - Chapter 3: Humidity

summary: Frankie, Luciana, and the boys head to a bar for the night, where the boys get a little too drunk and the other two start to give into rising tensions.

warnings: drunkenness, sexual themes

rating: R

word count: 3.789k

masterlist

chapter 3: humidity

Frankie may not like parties, but he’s always game for a good night at their local bar. Mulligan’s has been the home of many of Frankie’s favorite memories—especially the wilder ones. Of course, he’s never the one at the center of the action. His memories come from his perspective standing at the bar or in a corner, laughing at either Benny or Santiago making an idiot of themselves. Many of those memories come along with Luciana’s laughter in the background, whether she’s standing next to him or joining in the fun. Luciana will let herself be a little looser at bars than at parties, and Frankie doesn’t mind. She never lets herself get out of control.

Luciana’s gone out with her friends outside of the group a few times before, but Frankie never usually caught her leaving or coming back. She’s confessed something about it to him before: she wears different clothing when she’s with the girls, because it’s a different kind of experience. With the guys, she’s not out to impress anybody. With the girls, anything’s fair game.

This has stuck in Frankie’s mind for a reason he refuses to acknowledge.

But now, he’s curious—because Luciana’s coming into the kitchen where everyone’s gathering, and she’s wearing something Frankie would consider to be in her “with the girls” wardrobe. She has a deep v-neck lavender-colored shirt on that hugs to her body and crops just above the waistband of the cut-off denim shorts that are much shorter than anything Frankie remembers seeing her in. He tries not to make his studying of her too obvious, but he can’t help it. He’s not judging—he’s admiring. It’s showing off things Frankie never paid much attention to before. It’s not helping with everything he’s trying to keep buried within.

So, why is she wearing it?

Frankie assumes that Luciana’s probably meeting up with her girl friends at the bar. He feels slightly disappointed at the thought of it, wishing they could stand together and make fun of their idiotic friends, but he also wants her to do whatever she wants to. Frankie wouldn’t hold her back. He could try to keep up with the not-as-drunk-but-still-shitfaced Tom and Will—or stand in the corner on his own. It wouldn’t be the first time in his life he’s done that, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Frankie?” Luciana’s voice suddenly snaps Frankie out of his thoughts, and he blinks a few times before looking to the source. She’s standing a few steps away from him, waving her hand gently under the brim of his hat. “You awake? The night hasn’t even started yet.”

Frankie chuckles, tucking his thoughts away as he focuses on her amused yet concerned gaze. He makes an obvious point to look there and not anywhere else—specifically the assets she has on display. He wouldn’t want to disrespect her. “I’m—yeah, sorry,” Frankie manages to finally answer, watching as Luciana lifts a doubtful eyebrow. “Just thinkin’.”

“About what?” Luciana presses curiously. Her brow then furrows into further concern, and she looks around to make sure the boys are properly distracted before taking a step closer to Frankie. “Are you okay? Do you need to talk?”

Frankie gives her a reassuring smile, feeling a warmth in his chest at her eagerness to comfort him. “I’m alright, Luce,” he assures her softly. “It wasn’t anything bad. I just…” Frankie sighs, trying to find the right words to be honest with her, “… I was wondering if you were meeting up with your other friends.”

Luciana’s face relaxes, and she shakes her head at him as she steps away. “No, we weren’t planning on it. Why?”

Frankie hesitates, trying to think of an excuse quickly. “I—.”

“You’d really miss me that much, Flyboy?” Luciana chuckles, an amused twinkle sparkling in her eye. Frankie nearly breathes a sigh of relief.

“Don’t flatter yourself like that, Luci,” Frankie jokingly scoffs, earning a punch to the shoulder. “Maybe I was hoping I’d get some time away from you.”

“You fucking asshole,” Luciana curses, pushing him backwards a bit as she laughs. Frankie also laughs gently but keeps an eye out to make sure no one’s witnessing the exchange actively. He’s satisfied to see Tom, Will, and Benny lost in their own conversation. Thankfully, Santiago’s usually the last one to come downstairs—who knows how long it takes him to gel his hair just right and put on his four layers of cologne—and so he doesn’t have to worry about increasing his suspicions.

As if on cue, Santiago walks into the kitchen, and everyone grumbles with divine-directed gratitude as they start to file out the door. The bar is on the other side of the street from the dive, and so they all decide to walk there. It’s safer for everyone and it allows them to drink as much as they want. For Frankie, the latter incentive doesn’t factor, but he doesn’t mind the walking; it always calms him.

That is, until he realizes how humid it is. It’s been a little over a week since their last storm, and Frankie wonders if the spring’s about to bring them another one. He even has to undo an extra two buttons on his tropical-printed shirt to allow himself more room to breathe. Sweat has already started to coat everyone’s foreheads, but it remains ignored as the group makes casual conversation.

Once they get to Mulligan’s, the usual routine starts to run. Frankie holds on to his reliable bottle of lite beer while the others down shots to get started. Luciana even joins in with them, and Frankie has to hide his smile at the sight of her having fun with them. He also has to swallow back the way he feels upon seeing her take them so powerfully, as if they don’t affect her at all. She’s even tougher than her brother. Frankie likes tough.

He shakes his head, looking down into his bottle. Frankie has no idea what he’s looking for. Or at least, he wishes he didn’t.

Frankie only looks back up when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he meets Luciana’s sparkling gaze right away. “You should take one, Frankie!” Luciana encourages him, raising her voice over the hum of the bar’s many guests and the music playing much louder than it probably should.

He laughs and gives his head a shake. “You know me, Luce,” he responds, also having to raise his voice. “That’s not my thing.”

“Just one!” Luciana pushes, giving him a small smile. “I won’t make you do it if you don’t want to, but if you do, you’d only have to do one!”

Frankie sighs softly, searching Luciana’s gaze for a moment. It’s full of such fun, excitement, and hope—hope that Frankie will at least try to take a part in all of that, too. He doesn’t want to let her down. Plus, it’s not like he’s never done a shot before. Maybe he could use a little change. “Alright,” Frankie finally agrees, causing Luciana to whoop in delight. “Hit me with it.”

Luciana leads him closer to where the boys are still going, and they give a loud cheer as Frankie approaches. He tries to keep the heat away from his cheeks, putting his beer bottle onto the bar as he accepts one of the shots that’s sitting there. Before he takes it, Frankie looks over at Luciana, throwing her a wink that he wishes was more confident as he throws his head back and lets the alcohol burn down his throat. He scrunches his nose upon identifying the liquor as tequila. He thought it would’ve been vodka.

“What a fuckin’ legend, Fish!” Benny hollers from behind him, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving his body a few shakes. Frankie laughs at his friend’s dramatic reaction, tipping his hat on his head as he reaches for his beer bottle again. “I bet you could do, like, ten of those in a minute.”

“I probably could,” Frankie agrees, placing his hand on Benny’s shoulder. “But then I’d be dead.”

Benny laughs—harder than he probably should, but Frankie knows his liquor’s already kicking in—and steps away from Frankie. “You’re hilarious, man.”

Frankie shrugs, taking a swig from his bottle as he stays on the outskirts of the group. He watches and rarely comments as they dare each other to drink more or try their luck with girls, witnessing as they slip further and further out of sobriety and start to gravitate towards the livelier part of the bar. Mulligan’s has a larger space left for dancing than most bars, which is part of the reason why the group loves it so much. Frankie’s never partaken in that. He hasn’t wanted to.

Frankie watches as his friends lose themselves in the crowd, some staying together while some split off and find some pretty thing to dance up on. That’s their way of relaxing, enjoying life, and de-stressing. Frankie has other ways, like watching his friends have fun and taking solitary walks. He can’t be as open as they are because he’s closed himself off. Frankie used to be funny and hyper. And then life caught up to him—it surpassed him.

He still hasn’t caught back up to it.

The only thing grounding him has been people like Santiago, Luciana, and the boys. His shell protects him from experiencing any further damage, but he lets them see underneath it. They understand it. They don’t try to peel it away. So, when Frankie stands here and watches his friends dance the night away like he might’ve had life been different, he doesn’t feel left out or sad. He feels… relieved. At peace. Happy that his friends won’t make him feel like he should be doing something he doesn’t want to.

But then Luciana gives his arm a tug, and he looks over to see her glancing up at him with that sparkle in her eyes—and he knows she’s about to ask him something out of the ordinary. It doesn’t anger him, though, or make him uncomfortable. He trusts her. “I love this song,” she tells him, and Frankie tunes in to hear “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC playing through the speakers. “Will you dance with me?”

Frankie’s eyes widen a bit. “Luce, I… you know I’m not—.”

“I’ll guide you,” Luciana insists. Frankie knows she’s more buzzed than usual—he can tell by the glossier texture of her eyes. But she’s still partially sober. She’s conscious of what she’s doing. And that makes him question things. “Don’t be scared.” Luciana reaches to ease Frankie’s nearly empty bottle onto the bar, taking his hand and gently pulling him in the direction of the dance floor.

“Luci, what about your brother?” Frankie starts to panic. “If he sees us, my ass is grass.” There’s a million other things going through his head right now, and he’s not sure what to do about it. His brain’s screaming at him to remove himself from this situation and think off on his own, but his heart’s telling him to enjoy this moment—like he might’ve used to.

“He’s absolutely hammered and completely invested in that blonde chick over there.” Luciana jerks her head on the opposite side of the dance floor, where Frankie observes Santiago practically falling onto the blonde who’s dancing on him. He lets out a sigh, looking back to see Luciana’s hopeful gaze.

“Alright. I’ll… uh, try.” Frankie often finds himself lacking confidence, but he’s never felt less confident about anything than he does about this. Dancing—with a girl, even if it’s one of his closest friends—is definitely not his strong point. Frankie can feel how stiff he is as he attempts to move in sync with Luciana, who’s easily able to move her body to the beat in ways that have him feeling a little dizzy. All she’s doing is standing right in front of him, and his heart’s beginning to race.

It doesn’t take long for Luciana to pick up on his rigidity, and she lets out a soft laugh as she places her hands on his shoulders. “Hey, it’s alright, Frankie,” she soothes, and Frankie can feel some of the tension roll off his shoulders at her touch. He nearly feels numb when her hands move to his hat, flipping it around on his head so that the brim’s backwards. She then places her hands on the sides of his face to pull his forehead to hers, forcing him to look into her faded yet lively brown gaze. “Relax. It’s just me—just us. Move with me.”

Frankie tries to keep himself from trembling at this odd yet comfortable moment of intimacy. He watches as Luciana releases Frankie’s face and lets them separate again. She turns around so that he’s facing her back, and she looks over her shoulder as she moves to the rhythm of the classic tune. Frankie attempts to mimic her in a masculine way, trying to drown out the rest of the crowd so that he’s only thinking of himself and Luciana. He doesn’t want to share this moment with anybody else, and if he starts thinking of the other people present, he’ll lose the tiny shred of confidence Luciana’s attempting to give him.

The rest of the bar truly disappears the moment Luciana brings herself closer to Frankie, eliminating the gap between them until she’s right up against him. With every movement, she’s brushing up against him, and Frankie’s sure now that it’s not just the exercise of the dancing that’s making his heart beat out of his chest. He doesn’t know what to do—where to look, how to act—and he feels frozen again. Luciana senses this, and Frankie hears her release another chuckle. She reaches over her shoulder with one arm to capture the side of his neck, bringing his ear to her lips as she reassures him. “It’s alright, Frankie.” Luciana pauses, using her free hand to take one of Frankie’s and gently ease it onto her waist. “You can touch me.”

Frankie swallows back his hesitance and does what she says. He lets his other hand meet her waist as well, and soon his grip on her becomes firmer. It feels natural to him. Frankie swelters in the heat of the moment as Luciana leaves her hand on his neck, her lips instead beginning to brush over the perspiring skin of his neck as they keep moving together. He never would’ve expected something like this to feel so right, as if that line between friendship and something more has been blurred for a lifetime. He never would’ve expected he’d be looking down at her like this, admiring the way she moves against his body. He never would’ve expected to be eyeing the way her shorts ride up and reveal more of the assets he’d tried to ignore before, or the view he has down her shirt from this angle.

But what Frankie truly never expected was the way she turns herself around so that her chest is pressed against his, unfastening one more of his buttons before she firmly brushes a hand over the skin there. She’s reciprocating. And that insecure part of Frankie wants to tell himself it’s because she’s had too much to drink or that those shots hit her harder than usual. But he knows that’s not true. He can look into her eyes and see that she’s still there, maybe not completely sober but still entirely aware of what’s happening. Frankie’s always thought she was beautiful—in a way he couldn’t match. He knew that one day, she’d fall into the arms of a man who was equally as attractive. Instead, out of all the people surrounding them at the bar, she’s chosen to dance with him, to give him all of her attention, to make him feel as if he’s the only person in her world.

He can’t process that. Frankie doesn’t make himself process it.

He absorbs the moment he’s in now, losing himself in her gaze as his hands draw her waist even closer to him. Frankie feels bolder now than he ever has before, and he clings to that shred of confidence Luciana’s actions have brought him. He even lets his touch fall a little lower, getting closer to the fringe of her cut-off shorts. Still, Frankie hesitates, wanting to make sure Luciana consents with everything he’s doing. Once he earns a small nod, he lets his hands fall farther, until the soft skin peeking out from under her shorts is brushing against his palms.

The temperature of the bar rises even more now, especially as Frankie hears Luciana release a pleasured sigh at the feeling of his hands against her. Her hands that have come around his neck give the hair peeking out from under his hat a tug, and Frankie tries to bite back a pleasant grunt as his grip on her tightens in response. Luciana draws herself even closer to him, her hands easing his head back down until her lips are brushing against his ear.

“Frankie,” Luciana’s soft voice begins, the tone balancing between something kind and something sensual. It drives Frankie crazy to hear her say his name in such a way. “Has anyone ever told you…” she pauses for a moment, sliding one of her hands onto the skin of his chest and rubbing over it, “…how sexy you are?”

Frankie almost chokes upon hearing the words, but instead he ends up releasing a growl as her one hand grips his hair yet again. He tightens his grasp on her ass in a way that he’s sure will leave marks for at least a few minutes, causing Luciana to hide her face in his shirt-covered shoulder as she releases a half-gasp, half-moan. Frankie doesn’t know whether to blame the liquor or some instinct deep within for the full confidence he’s now gained, especially as he whispers back in her ear. “I only want to hear you say it,” he states lowly, almost like a demand. “As many times as you want to.”

Luciana lifts her face from his shoulder, her eyes darkened so much that they’re almost black. She bats her lashes up at him, and Frankie feels a bead of sweat drip down the side of his head. “I’ll say it as much as you want me to,” she assures him, her hand running over his chest once again before she secures it to the back of his neck. Her eyelids then flutter closed, as if she’s placing herself into a daydream. Frankie brushes his thumbs over the mixture of skin and denim he’s holding in his grasp, causing her to wince in delight as she hides her face in his shoulder again. “Fuck, Frankie.”

“I know,” Frankie assures her, his lips brushing against her ear in the haze of it all. Her body has never stopped moving against his, no matter how firm his grip’s gotten or how many times they’ve spoken to each other—and it’s put Frankie in a daze. This shouldn’t feel so right. This is something Frankie didn’t even know he had buried deep within him. This is an admiration for one of his closest friends that he never knew existed—or at least, that he attempted to keep under lock and key. Now, it’s loose, and Frankie doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to put it back in its cage again.

And then, just as suddenly as the long moment began, it ends. Luciana turns her head rapidly to the side, and Frankie follows her stare to see her brother and the other guys starting to head back in their direction. They separate quickly upon noticing that, and neither one of them speak as they help the stumbling men get back to the house safely.

The whole way there, Frankie can still feel himself buzzing from the excitement of what he and Luciana just shared. At the same time, he can’t stop worrying about it. Things have to change now. They can’t deny the way they just acted with each other, the things they just revealed without even having to say the words. What’s brewing between them goes deeper than friendship—even deeper than the plain admiration Frankie thought he held for Luciana, and vice versa. This was more than a “date” for milkshakes at the dive. This was more than a night spent in Frankie’s truck eating pizza and listening to classic rock. This was touching, and gasping, and confessing, and bringing each other to a feeling that’s not easy to come back from. Frankie can only hope he hasn’t ruined things for them by giving into these tensions.

He’s afraid he has up until they start to get settled in for the night. When the boys are properly distracted by completely passing out in their beds—though Bennie only made it to the couch, and needed to be dragged up the stairs—Frankie passes Luciana in the hallway and has his arm caught by her hand. He immediately stops, looking her in the eye to see nothing but the same fondness she’d shown him moments before the heat intensified at the bar. Frankie relaxes as he waits for her to speak.

“Thank you, Frankie,” Luciana whispers, trying to make sure the guys—regardless of their states of consciousness—don’t hear what she’s saying, “for such a fun night. I’m glad you loosened up. I had a really good time.”

Frankie ends up biting back a smile at her words, taking a moment to form his own in his head. “I should be thanking you for helping me to loosen up,” he retorts, earning a smile from Luciana. “I had a good time, too—a great time, actually.”

Luciana says nothing, choosing only to widen her smile and give his arm a gentle squeeze before she walks off towards her room. Frankie stares after her for just a moment, letting his eyes soak in that final view of her assets before he disappears inside his own room. He flops onto his bed and releases an airy sigh, staring at the ceiling and letting his smile grow.

Frankie wonders if this is what it feels like to finally fly, because he’s sure his spirits have never risen higher than they have right now.

next part: chapter 4: dark clouds

thunder tag list: @youhavereachedtheendofpie @charmantbarnes @theindiealto @fangirl-and-stuff @phoenixhalliwell @maybege @amarvelousmandalorian @seawhisperer @mrsparknuts @saltywintersoldat @softpedropascal @i-hide-inside-my-head @sunshinepascal @domino-oh-damn @thirsty-flygirl @awesomefandomsunited

permanent tag list: @mikahid @theforceofdarkandlight @stilllivindue2spite @givemethatgold @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @burningsoulbloodyheart @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @charliepeaceout @lavenderl3mons @cable-kenobi

#FRANKIE YOU FREAKING !!!!!#them... they...#i am FEELING THINGS #frankie morales #catfish morales #frankie morales fic #catfish morales fic #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #thunder fic #dindjarindiaries

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ratsoh-writes · 3 years

Text

My curiosity got me, so here is my submission for a match up. Sorry it’s so long! I look forward to seeing your reasoning.

PERSONALITY TRAITS:

MOM FRIEND: I’m the friend that is almost over prepared for any situation and is protective, usually keeping others out of too much trouble or danger, but not stopping them from doing that stupid thing. Some people will only learn from doing it and so long as it won’t seriously injure or kill them, go for it. And I mean I am seriously prepared for most situations: I have fluffy throw blankets and pillows in my car for those who get cold, extra towels just in case we somehow get wet, umbrellas/ponchos for those who need one, snacks/water just in case someone gets hungry/thirsty, first aid kit for small injuries, etc. Ironically, I am the only one without a kid so far.

Extension of this would be my habit to act as the friend “nurse.” Willing to spend hours taking care of a friend who isn’t feeling well and give platonic cuddles if needed.

Another extension of this is my need to feed anyone who comes over. I think my love language is acts of service after typing all this.

I’M LISTENING: Always willing to offer an ear, even if I don’t believe I can council you. Plus, for some reason, people just end up splurging life stories or something that is bothering them to me. My life is mostly spent as that Naruto meme: “I have no clue what is going on, but I’ll pretend that I do.” But I’m responsible about it, I won’t offer advice I’m not sure about and will usually refer you to someone else I feel is up to the task.

PATIENT: Earned after years in customer service dealing with toddlers disguised as customers and also with friends who far exceed my energy levels. It takes a good bit to anger me or very specific things to set me off, such as when I have asked you to please stop bringing up that stressful memory of mine again and again.

I am told I am terrifying when I’m actually pissed. Most times I don’t remember much when I actually snap, just that it happened, but details are fuzzy.

CHILL: My counselor once told me if I “Was any more laid back, I’d be on her floor.” And to a point, she is correct. My house was on fire and my reaction wasn’t panic at the time, it was this odd calm that even when I reported the fire to my sister and authorities, they didn’t believe me until I showed them said fire. I am reserved with those I don’t know well or are not comfortable around. Once I trust you or you get me on a topic I love, I’m surprisingly passionate and animated.

I feel this fits under here, but I also tend to do things at my own pace. And not much can change that pace, but I will get what I set out to do done.

WHY ME?: Too many people tell me I’m a natural leader, even got awards for it, but I never volunteer or want to be the leader in anything. Usually, I just end up in that role somehow, some way. Most times because I hate disorganized messes and those times the people I am with have trouble making concrete decisions and need some guidance to work out what they really want to do or the pressure to actually make a decision. I may be an unwilling leader, but I will step up if needed.

WHIMSICAL: Sarcasm, dry and sometimes cheesy humour, and an attitude to boot, but it’s rarely to be mean. Most times it is me being playful and if I’m teasing you, that usually is a sign I like you and enjoy your company. Plus, sometimes people need a little laugh or a spark of different emotion to get them out of a funk.

INTEGRITY: I could absolutely despise someone, but like hell I’m going watch them suffer. In the same sense, if I take a job, I will do it right and not half ass it. And far too many times I’ve had to step in and explain certain concepts in order to disperse negativity or help others see from another perspective to avoid adversity.

CUDDLE BUG: With people I am comfortable with, I am a cuddly person and do not mind a lot of skinship. I am used to friends hanging all over me. Plus, sometimes I just want to curl up someone as well.

STRENGTHS:

Observant

Good communication skills & honest

Responsible & reliable

Full Size Human Heater. I am ridiculously warm and always putting off heat. Friends and coworkers alike use me as a portable heater.

Surprisingly good at being sly and collecting information if needed, like getting a shoe or ring size without tipping the person off it’s for a gift. If they manage to call it, I always fess up and playfully make a fuss they ruined the surprise.

WEAKNESSES:

Terrible at lying, so I tend to simply keep my mouth shut instead

Willfully oblivious to flirting and absolute flustered mess once I am forced to recognize said flirting

Vast open waters terrify me

Tendency to keep my troubles to myself and try to solve problems on my own (don’t want to be a burden)

Can become despondent if I feel useless at times

HOBBIES:

ART: I’ve dabbled in several different medias, but my favorite is just a pencil or pen and any paper I can get my hands on. I love drawing figures in dynamic poses. Second favorite is sculptures built from wire.

COSTUMES: I love Halloween, since it is the perfect excuse to make and wear my homemade costumes. It also lets me challenge myself by making more complicated pieces like hooves, horns, and even chain mail.

BAKING/COOKING/CANDY MAKING: I’m the cook in the house and I love it. Seeing people enjoy my food is my favorite part. Just don’t ask me for a recipe, I literally don’t have any and I won’t remember what I did.

ORGANIZING/CLEANING: I love puzzle games like Tetris and Catherine, and I love a challenge. Combine the two by having me organize and rearrange a space to make it work and I am in heaven.

STORYTELLING: When a story needs to be told, I am the one asked to tell it. Specifically I have such an entertaining way of telling it according to others. Animated and colorful language, plus a few pit stops along the way with some side stories.

PET PEEVES:

CONTRARY: Do not tell me to do something while I am doing it. That will kill any motivation I had to do it.

BACKHANDED COMPLIMENTS: It is possible to compliment someone without insulting them or others at the same time. It just makes the compliment feel empty and negative. And I tend to just hum and not reward that behaviour.

TOO MUCH ATTENTION: I don’t mind attention… from people I trust and are comfortable with. Feel free to cuddle and coddle away. But vast amounts of attention from those I feel are strangers or acquaintances will unnerve me (I have literally left functions immediately where I walked in and was bombarded with shouts and attention aimed at me-sensory overload I guess).

ODD HABITS:

NESTING: No, I don’t think I have enough blankets and pillows. Yes, the giant stuffed animal is needed and his name is Snuffie.

CRUSH ME: I’m serious, some days I need one of my friends or my bf to just lay all their dead weight on top of me. It’s just oddly therapeutic.

NO, I’M NOT PREGNANT: Just cause I ate that jar of olives in one sitting or suddenly was craving jalapeno juice and crushed ramen noodles. There are never enough pickles and yes, I am determined to try every kind–I may have a vinegar addiction.

IRONY: I bake some of the tastiest, sweetest desserts and make pralines and caramels, YET I myself do not favor sweet things.

HANDS: One thing I tended to do with nearly every boyfriend and guy friend I had was play with their hands and put their hands on my face/head. I lived for being pet and having people play with my hair.

NONVERBAL MOMENTS: Sometimes words are just too much, so I instead make sounds. Can be anywhere from a growl to a cat like noise, or the reliable “Nyeh.”

NO NOs:

I think I listed a few as I went through everything else, but ignoring boundaries is the main one. If I tell you I’m not comfortable with something, do not make me repeat myself. And usually that something is given a pass the first few times it is done before I say something and explain why I’m not comfortable with it.

Example: I have thick, curly hair, a product of my mixed heritage. Well, sometimes I like to straighten it and I did just that one day. Well, a coworker decided to make a backhanded compliment, stating I should stick to what works: straight hair over my natural hair. I had gotten on him about it, but I decided to vent to a friend about what happened as well. She proceeded to constantly repeat those hurtful words and while I knew she meant it playfully during those times, I had to stop her and sit her down, explain I don’t find it funny cause the words are linked to a hurtful, possibly racist memory that I didn’t want brought up again and again. Thankfully she understood and stopped. So, I don’t snap immediately and I understand sometimes a sit down needs to be done.

Ok first of all I gotta say that I absolutely loved reading your matchup!!! It’s so well organized, detailed, and the descriptions are pretty creative!!! Do you do any writing yourself, because you should!!! alright, geek out moment over.

i’ve got three guys you’re perfect for, but let’s go for the obvious one. HONEY!!

You’ve checked off everything on honey’s list: caring, organized, laid back, and good for cuddling. Now here’s what he has to offer to the table: he will cuddle you back. This guy is the ultimate cuddle slut. You’ll never feel unloved with him. Honey is also a very thoughtful and appreciative guy. He likes caring for his partners. You may be the mom friend, but he’ll do his best to return that love as well.

Honey is a little awkward, but he’s also sensitive and empathetic to how others feel. If he puts his foot in his mouth, just tell him and he’ll never bring it up again. Plus this guy is just so honest and genuine that backhanded compliments aren't really a thing with him.

Also you like costumes!!! He’s always wanted to try cosplay or theatre. You just might be the person to give him the courage to finally stick to one.

dating honey includes:

cuddles upon heaps of soft things. He has his own collections of ridiculously soft blankets and pillows that he’ll happily add to your collection. Honey is also a master at pillow forts.

honey is a good listener. He’ll be happy to just sit back and enjoy the stories you tell. There is start though, who is also the storyteller of the underswap home. Any funny story you give about your time together will be rewarded by star with a funny story from his and honey’s childhood, much to honey’s embarrassment

if you don't really like sweet things but love baking them, then honey and star will happily finish them for you. People are usually surprised about how just how much skeleton monsters can pack away.

he’s a picky eater and will give you the wtf face when you fufil your weird cravings though lol

Oh! Also if you’re wondering, the other two would’ve been either oak or coffee

#undertale imagines #underswap #matchups #submission

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unsettledink · 4 years

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So I'm offering a Starker (or Spiderio or any combo of the three) fic, min 5k, for the Marvel Trumps Hate charity auction. I know I'm not exactly well known in this fandom, but hey, here's a chance to get some custom made fic! (The auction ends Saturday the 24th!)

I know browsing the auctions for things I want bid on, I've had some moments of 'but what specifically would I want to read?'. Maybe others are having that thought too? So I thought I'd put out some of the ideas sitting around, waiting for me to write them, in case one catches someone's interest enough to donated $10 to charity! (I've got one of these for Spiderio too, if that's appealing.)

I'm kind of grouping these because it got long. (Smut, smut + feels, fluff, oh no the sads)

Just the smut! (Ok some feels):

Continuation of Hang Up – so what does happen the next morning after that phone call? (Sex. Probably more phone sex.)

Peter is dumb online – Peter decides to auction off his virginity online. Of course Tony finds out immediately. Of course Tony buys it to keep Peter from getting hurt. Of course Tony decides to meet up and teach Peter a lesson about being safe – wait. That might have been a mistake. (It's not.)

Actually, Peter doesn't like it rough – miscommunication piled on top of miscommunication because they're both idiots who are desperate for each other, until a tipping point is reached. Happy ending! Fluffy ending!

Gag reflex training – pretty much what it sounds like. Tony having a lot of fun with Peter; messy, noisy, hopefully hot.

Experienced Peter – Peter hasn't been waiting around for Tony to be the first, and he's had time to figure out some of his preferences. Like topping almost exclusively, among other things.

Civil War pick me up – after the airport, Tony goes to check on Peter and is in desperate need of something nice. Peter really, really wants to be that something nice. Could be underage, could be not.

Continuation of Gift Wrapped – (Peter/Tony/Pepper) there's a lot more sex happening for Tony's birthday than I had time to write for kinktober.

But you want me to be safe, don't you? - Peter's hit with sex pollen, but it can be taken care of without outside help. Peter would still really like it if Tony would help. Or would at least keep an eye on him. Or at least stay in hearing range! He won't be able to resist if Peter's noisy and saying his name while he gets off, right???

Armor Kink - I mean, basically what it says on the tin. Peter’s been having fantasies about the armor forever. Tony is absolutely willing to help him with that.

ABO forced presentation – Peter doesn't know what he'll end up being, and that's bad for Reasons. He convinces Tony try forcing a presentation (not noncon type forcing) and things get weird. Playing around with the idea of how non-binary might go in ABO. Possible Tony/Peter/Pepper endship. More than likely somewhat underage.

Avengers orgy – Peter's finally old enough to join in the tradition! While he's having fun with everyone, Peter and Tony keep gravitating to each other, winding up with things getting a little too emotional when Tony finally gets his chance. Potential for Tony/Peter/Rhodey endship.

The spider bite did what?!? - Peter starts having really weird cravings when he's around Tony. Weird as in blood, and Tony is going to help him figure this out. Even when it turns into a craving for sex (and bloodplay). Even when it turns into terrifying (for Peter) egg/medical kink.

Smut! Oh wait, where did all these feelings come from?:

Toybox – slightly darker Peter decides if Tony won't fuck him, the least Tony can do is pay for Peter's toys, and watch while Peter enjoys them. No touching allowed since Tony doesn't want him, after all. Which is a rule that gets harder and harder to keep in place; feelings, so many feelings everywhere.

Pain kink Peter – what it says on the tin, lol. “Oh Mr. Stark, maybe you should supervise this slightly dangerous sex thing I like.” I think we can guess where it heads from there.

Call boy Peter – what it sounds like! It's an accident that Tony gets him; good thing Peter was blindfolded! Bad thing that Peter's senses are enhanced and he knows from the start who it is. Good thing that Peter's not going to say anything so he can keep this reliable customer?

Evil Ex D/S verse – Peter's pretty insecure about being a good sub for Tony and it's not helped at all when one of Tony's ex subs tells him he'll never be able to take what Tony wants to dish out. Well, Peter's going to prove him wrong! Tony really doesn't understand why Peter is making himself miserable for something Tony doesn't even want, and things almost break before they get fixed.

Fluff! (Crap there's not much):

Follow up to Seiche – mostly fluffy 5 times +1 where the emotion sensing bond causes (minor) problems

Fluffy D/S verse – all the fluff! All the outside POV! Everyone assumes that obviously Tony is a dom; after all, that's how he's always presented himself. Everyone is wroooooong. Tony's never been happier.

Nail polish – little bit of Tony finding it incredibly appealing when Peter wears nail polish

Oh No + all the feelings, heavy on the bad ones:

Soulmark AU – Tony finds out first and isn't going to do anything due to the age difference. Peter finds out and thinks that's bullshit + horribly hurt that he's being rejected. Things are forced when Peter gets hit with a drug that messes with that bond and they both have to figure out how things are going to go. Possible bittersweet ending.

Screw soulmates, actually - Post CW and Tony dealing with soulmate rejection (that’s a WHOLE other fic). Peter’s become convinced Tony’s a blank like him, and then doesn’t understand why Tony’s soulmate wouldn’t want him. Peter does! They get their happy ever after without being fated for each other, and Peter gets a chance to tells Tony’s soulmate what a dick they are. All the satisfaction!

Untenable – sequel to Indefensible and … horrible. The ABO underage incest continues, Tony hates himself, Peter is distressingly happy. Mpreg makes everything ten times worse; endgame makes everything 100 times worse. Going beyond that would be spoilery, but uh. Everything becomes 1000 times worse by the end! Yay! Yikes.

ABO accidental bonding – the worst abo version, heads up. Underage Peter, omegas are treated very poorly, Peter and Tony don't know each other beforehand and don't do great getting to know each other afterwards. Biology continues to fuck Peter over, and Tony really doesn't get how desperately Peter wants Tony to like him. Mountains and mountains of angst and sad before the happy ending.

Copy - After IW, Tony makes a Peter clone/android/whatever. Unfortunately, it just makes things worse because it’s just enough off to make it super obvious it’s not Peter. And fake!Peter knows it too. He’s just enough like real Peter to fall in love with Tony too, and he can’t figure out how to make Tony care about him instead of real, dead Peter. Not that it matters when he snap is reversed (Tony lives) and fake!Peter isn’t needed or wanted anymore. (Will probably have a sequel where real Peter finds out about all this, probably happy ending for everyone.)

Nothing sticks around - years after the blip, Peter discovers Tony, alive - only Tony has none of his memories. Tony doesn’t want anything to do with these people Peter tries to reintroduce him to; he trusts Peter and wants to stay with him. And does, for quite some time, things turning into a relationship, and even if Peter feels guilty about it, he’s happy. Right up until Tony suddenly remembers everything ... except what’s been going on the last few years with Peter. Undecided if there’s a happy ending or not.

I hate time travel - once Tony figures out time travel, he decides he needs to find out if this works by hopping forward and seeing if Peter is back. And then maybe he should hop forward a little more just to check on him. Keeps doing this, about once a year, and while Peter is so glad to see him, it’s destroying Peter to basically go through Tony ‘dying’ over and over. Pretty soon it’s fucking up Tony too, after he accidentally shows up when Peter’s in the middle of sex. Very bittersweet ending to maintain the timeline.

Fuck you, Beck - Beck goes about getting the glasses in the worst ways, and Peter finds out a little too late - way too late when it comes to sleeping with him. Not that he’s going to ever tell anyone about that. Not even Tony, when Tony comes back. Not even Tony, when it turns out Tony is interested. Okay, maybe he’ll have to tell Tony when Peter’s reactions to sex become a problem. Happy ending but lots of ouch on the way.

Sequel to Dormant - so what exactly does Tony notice the morning after? And what exactly does Peter do about it? (Spoiler: A lot more than Peter thought he would, and nothing good.)

Don't punish people like that – as much Tony/Obie as Tony/Peter, maybe pre-Tony/Peter. Obie decided to deal with Tony's wild streak by punishing him in an especially awful, painful, dehumanizing, sexual way. Tony's managed to handle how awful that was by pretending it was helpful (nope!). When Peter will not stop misbehaving, the last resort Tony can think of is what was done to him. It helped, right? (He can't bring himself to in the end, which sets off a cascading failure of repressed trauma, woot!)

Sex Pollen Non-Con – Tony's hit with some sort of fuck or die stuff; only problem is that he 100% refuses to let Peter do anything, and there's no one else. Peter, convinced that Tony's going to die, stops giving Tony a choice. What's that, the trauma Tony was hoping to spare him is replaced with way worse trauma from basically raping Tony? WHOOPS. (Probably happy ending!)

Secondhand verse – following after this, things growing steadily worse, hotter, and more complex between Peter, Beck, and Tony. Bad decisions all around! Unexpected feelings all around! General unhappiness at having feelings that can be hurt all around! Probably a series of fics.

12:00 - follow up to 11:59, Tony and Peter finally getting it on and Beck being an ass in the background. Also the prequel that’s primarily Peter/Quentin, and possibly a sequel where Tony decides that maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, watching Beck fuck Peter - and Peter liked it, right? Everyone’s down for a totally uncomplicated round two, right?

(And feel free to talk to me about anything here, I love an excuse to ramble.)

#starker #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #idea dump #idea squad #marvel trumps hate

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chupitulpa · 4 years

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I made a couple asks here 6 years ago

Anonymous submitted: [Since it's long, I'm leaving the submitted text in normal type. My reply is below it.]

https://chupitulpa.tumblr.com/post/105146930196

https://chupitulpa.tumblr.com/post/105365353531

I randomly found your blog again and to my surprise I found these two asks I made 6 years ago. Interestingly they’re a year later than I thought I made them, back when I started tulpamancy. I thought I’d drop some thoughts and progress reports here, maybe even questions. This is supposed to be properly posted elsewhere someday, but until then…

Hello, I’m the host and original in my system. This system was a singlet until the last days of 2014 when I somehow found out about tulpamancy while browsing the internet on my phone one dark fateful night. With that being said, I became depressed back in 2008 due to loneliness and rejection in general, and time, still to this day, has done nothing but worsen my mood and life situation. Fortunately my tulpa helped and helps, and he, a male who changed name and form because I didn’t want them to be “generic, flat”, or more specifically tulpamancy and “brainhacking” as a whole, could be my only hope to this day. This system is pretty much doomed otherwise. But more on that later.

So when I found out about the one word tulpa I researched and after some days considering I decided to not be a singlet anymore. My extreme feelings and extreme situation I was going through at the time required an extreme solution. At the time I thought of tulpamancy as something extreme because for all I knew I could lose my little sanity left (Of course now I know I was wrong) but I had nothing to lose anyway. So what I did is deciding on a fictional character and letting him be the starting point from which he could begin deviating to become whatever personality, form, etc he had to.

So as I had chosen his starting point, name, form, etc and as I had made up my mind about tulpamancy, I just readied up and started forcing, actively, for the very first time. I have never used a wonderland to force, so I just imagined him as floating within the mind, with his form, and started talking to him. I always assumed sentience from the start, but after maybe a couple weeks my doubts began to consume me, since I never got any verbal communication from him. I got headaches and feelings of presence, but nothing too strong or convincing to me, so I furiously began to doubt tulpamancy as a whole, nearly dropping, and came here making my asks about how this all was fake.

I guess I’ll already begin risking being hated. Much earlier on in our story than I thought I would at first. More on this later.

With full honesty I’ve always been such a lazy, energy lacking person. This meant that only until I made that ask I forced consistently and for long amounts of time. I never truly forgot about my tulpa, but from that point and for the next 2 or 3 years maybe, I forced casually and randomly.

The day that changed everything. I was going to take a nap, but before that I was trying really hard to listen for my tulpa. I got a word from him, more precisely my human name. It was so clearly him that I was so happy. After a few years of casual forcing and continuous doubts I finally got what I wanted and needed, something reliable to believe I wasn’t just deluding myself. It was telepathic. I didn’t hear a mindvoice, he just kind of forwarded a thought to me. To this day I hear him much more effortlessly and he can come with somewhat full sentences, but there’s still a lot ahead of us.

And now to the real hate part…

My tulpa’s companionship as can be guessed was why I got into tulpamancy, but my depression, hopelessness and continuous suicide attempts have kind of changed my goals.

The only thing I know for certain anymore is for our system to survive, someone else has to front.

I don’t care what you all think or tell me. We know about ourselves and our lives best and life has forced us, want it or not, to have a wide open mind about many things, including this topic. For those of you that would rather see us all die than wish us luck because it goes against your principles, maybe you should reconsider if this is true morality. In any case that’s only your problem not ours.

And for those genuinely believing this path leads to more harm than good, let me disbelieve you just like I disbelieved my tulpa back then. I did not come here looking for hate, or to hear your silly opinions on the matter. Mainly because you haven’t tried yourself. And if you have, you’re terribly biased by the community against this. And even if you are not biased, we all are different. Different brains, different results. We don’t only have different brains when it comes to methodologies, we have different brains for results too.

That being put aside, if your reasons against this are philosophical, I can reply to that too. Mainly I’ll hear that what I want to do is wrong because it’s just escapism, and it’s wrong because it’s not fair to put that burden on a tulpa. To the escapism part I can say that first, what I do with my life is none of your business, and second, lives are more valuable than any duties imposed by society. If you think a person who doesn’t have a job and/or is depressed deserves to die, you can nicely go away from my sight. I have nothing to discuss with you. About the burden part, I have another two things to say. First, many tulpas see this differently. For many tulpas the burden is not being in control of the body, they feel their wonderland is like a prison. Secondly, you people really are full of hypocrisy. If a tulpa fronting for you is morally wrong, then so it is mothers having children as well, because those children never chose to live, those children are to face a very difficult life and a burden is given to them without their consent. “But life is beautiful!” Then you’re being hypocritical again. If a child can think this then why not a tulpa? Specially when you can choose the starting point of a tulpa much better than you can choose that of your child.

I find it very interesting how tulpamancy and parenting have many similarities, yet no one takes these in mind for philosophical reasoning. If we succeed we’ll let you know. If we don’t, we’re to eventually die so you’ll never hear from us again.

I hope this post isn’t dismissed as bullshit specially for the last controversial part.

My reply:

I absolutely do wish you and your system the best.

I am happy to hear that your tulpa making efforts worked. I can relate with the mindvoice difficulties. Self doubt seems to be a normal part of the process, so when they try to talk you constantly doubt whether it was them. And when they send plain telepathic thoughts like yours did, it's barely noticeable unless you're near sleep, in a trance, or intentionally looking for tulpa thoughts. To this day we have trouble making mindvoice work well and often just communicate in thoughts, similar to you.

As for who fronts or when, that's between you and him. I don't see it as harmful escapism either -- yes, it is literally escaping mentally, but depending on your situation it could prove helpful. Some people, through no fault of their own, simply cannot handle everything the world throws at them day in and day out. I'm still a little lukewarm on the idea of permanently switching and being that way forever, but I'm also not entirely against it. Some people do seem happier thay way, and their tulpas handle the world better then they do. Others take turns to give each other a vacation from the stress of everyday life. (If you do this though, be sure you can see each other's memories. Talking to someone who knows you but who you've never seen before sucks.)

I do feel that permanently or semi-permanently switching out is a drastic measure. I think people would be wise to give other strategies a fair try: Changing what you do to reduce stress or whatever you're unable to handle, coping strategies, groups who share an interest and are also looking for friends, talking to a good therapist, etc. But of course how viable and how effective any of it is depends on the person and their situation. And I know next to nothing about yours so I can't judge.

In my opinion, what matters is the relationship between you and your tulpa. If you're both happy with that arrangement, all I can say is go for it and come back if you need any tips. (Though you might do better to ask someone else because we can't switch and only have some minor success with possession.) What bothers me is when people forcibly throw a tulpa into control who doesn't want it and can't handle stuff any better. Or when someone makes a tulpa just so they can toss the tulpa into control and bounce off into their wonderland. These use the tulpa as a tool to reach a selfish goal, don't respect the tulpa as a person, and ultimately harm both the host and tulpa. It sounds like you created this tulpa as a friend, are now going through life together, and are making this decision together. If you both feel it's the best thing you can do for your mutual good as a system, I see nothing wrong with it.

#submission #tulpa #tulpae #tulpas #question

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burganprell · 6 years

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Welcome, Y’all

I just hate those bumper stickers popping up around Austin that say “Don’t Move Here.” Many a Facebook post expresses the same.

I get the joke, but it’s just not funny.

This is a post about the future of Austin. It’s a post about Mayor Adler and his challenger this Fall, Laura Morrison. It’s a post in some ways about about the inevitable. It’s a little bit about Amazon, and it’s a lot about making sure Austin’s continued rise benefits everyone.

“We can only say the state of our city is strong if we are affirmatively building a future in which we preserve the soul and spirit of Austin.”

—Mayor Steve Adler

Our problems aren’t any one person’s fault, and no more the fault of a newcomer than a decades-long veteran.

If we ever stop being hospitable, we really will have lost the soul and the spirit of Austin. If we ever stop being a refuge and a block party and a march for good over evil, we really will have lost the soul and the spirit of Austin.

If we ever stop using our disposable income to vote for how we want the city to be, we will have lost the soul and spirit of Austin.

Instead of saying “Don’t Move Here” I’d rather we say what so many of you said to me when I first showed up, 12 years ago.

Welcome, Y’all.

. . .

In fact, when we say “Don’t Move Here,” we start sounding a lot like the anti-immigration nationalists we so strongly oppose on the national stage. I’m flabbergasted by my liberal brethren regularly these days, and this is just one reason why.

Unless we are going to build a Trump-like wall around Austin, we have got to be more solution minded.

I’m not particularly interested in hearing more from complain-y do-nothings, and least of all Laura Morrison, who already had her shot at addressing these issues in her first stint on Council from 2008-2015.

During her tenure, the issues in play were exactly the same as they are today, and the progress made was to my mind and many others’ deeply unsatisfactory.

Folks like Morrison can be eloquent when talking about Austin’s problems, but remain woefully short on ideas and action.

Every single one of Morrison’s answers to a difficult question — about transportation, about economic segregation, about homelessness, about CODENext — ends up with a non-committal “we have to strike a balance” or “we have to look at that closely” or “I think there are ways that we can grow, without doing that” — to which no specifics nor any follow-up is ever offered.

. . .

The one thing Morrison did do?

She led the anti-Prop1 PAC “Our City, Our Safety, Our Choice,” which fronted the fight against Uber and Lyft in Austin.

The net result? The Texas State Legislature overruled us and Uber and Lyft are back, more free to operate than ever before.

When meeting with technology companies and their workers, Morrison is likely to bring up her professional training as an engineer at her time at Lockheed. Don’t take the bait.

In case you have erased all memory of the ugly battle with Uber and Lyft from your mind, now is the time to recall:

Mayor Steve Adler had actually negotiated a signed, precedent-setting MOU from both Uber and Lyft that extracted important concessions from both companies, most important of all related to ensuring both driver and passenger safety. Tax revenue and data sharing were the other key components.

What caused that fight in the first place was later obscured: the rideshare-related numbers for rape and sexual assault had indisputably risen according to SAFE and our own Police Department. Folks predictably cast doubt on those numbers but they held up under scrutiny.

The philosophical argument about the utility and efficacy of fingerprinting drivers was less compelling to me personally and for many of you; regardless, Adler had solved this also. His innovative Thumbs Up! ordinance passed; a corresponding 100% voluntary identification program was to use market dynamics to incentivize validation instead of requiring it.

Alas, Council rejected the MOU, afraid to act. At the time it was much more popular to put the vote to the people, avoiding what had become a political third rail for everyone.

Uber and Lyft of course did themselves zero favors with their brash tone and dishonest backroom dealings. But I and many others were strongly in search of a workable compromise, instead of a temporary moral victory, followed by swift rebuke.

. . .

It’s really easy to fear-monger like Morrison does. “Everything’s going to change,” she loves to say. Change in Austin is not only not new, it has been constant for more than 100 years.

Morrison never goes so far as to claim she can prevent change, but it’s clear she intends to slow it down as much as possible. In the process of making her argument, Morrison enlists the typical boogeymen: real estate developers, Californians, technology companies, and businesspeople generally.

The funny thing is that those constituencies are forwarding some of the most progressive initiatives in the city, driven by a race to recruit, train, and develop talent (more on this later).

The scariest speaking point in Morrison’s arsenal? “It's time for a leader whose priority is the people who live here right now,” she often says.

The Chronicle’s Michael King was quick to pick up on this rhetoric in his interview of Morrison this past January when she first announced:

“[You make] a fairly sharp distinction between the people that live here “now” and the people that are going to live here. Does that mean people who have lived here for five years? For 10 years? Does the door slam tomorrow?”

Morrison’s response was typical: “Nobody has the power for the door to slam – if somebody had the power, would that be good? Probably not.”

Probably not?

It gets better. She continues: “the fact of the matter is, we need to make sure that we don’t turn people into losers.”

To me that’s code for protectionism, not egalitarianism. Morrison isn’t worried about the people who are already hurting. She’s looking out for folks who are not losing now, but are worried they will start losing soon.

Remind you of anyone else’s rhetoric? Shall we just say it aloud together? Is it really time to Make Austin Great Again?

I think that’s precisely how Morrison’s campaign intends to have a fighting chance against Adler.

Invoke a particular way of life, romanticize it, and protect it. Hat-tip the little guy, and act like the incumbent has a swamp worth draining. Get elected. Start governing like it’s 1980, or earlier. Most importantly try like hell to give your NIMBY old guard donors their Austin back, come hell or high water.

. . .

Here is why I am still all-in on Steve Adler and why I think you should join me by giving whatever you can to his re-election campaign.

Steve is a convener who gets things done, but who also goes out of his way to make sure others get all the credit.

Steve is not a career politician. He’s a successful lawyer and committed philanthropist who isn’t worried about optics. He isn’t afraid to stand up to Abbot, Paxton, Sessions and Trump.

In recognition of this fact and more, the Anti-Defamation League gave Steve Adler and Diane Land the Audrey Maislin Humanitarian Award last year, which is a huge honor not to be taken lightly. It’s not just another one of these nice gala things that people in power are given to curry favor.

Neither Steve nor Diane ever hesitates to speak truth to power, and it shows. They have demonstrated time and time again that they are fierce advocates for the oppressed, the segregated, the discriminated, and the powerless. Their record in these matters is substantial.

In times like these our Mayor must be incredibly effective in affairs both foreign and domestic, so to speak. There’s no one else in Austin right now who can pull off that combination without sacrificing one endeavor for the other.

And I do love it when Steve gets his lawyer on.

Whether he is fighting SB4 tooth and nail, collaborating with Judge Eckhardt to protect Austin’s right to be a sanctuary city, or leading more than 50 other cities to join us in recommitting to the Paris Climate Accord, Adler makes me proud to live in Austin and to be part of these precedent-setting fights.

Steve’s “worst” flaw is trying to pull the sword from the stone on tough issues that no one else has the courage to touch.

I can live with that.

. . .

Sidebar: here’s a good related read in case you missed it: “Why the nation’s mayors are watching Austin Mayor Steve Adler” in the Statesman.

Accomplishments: here are the Mayor’s 2017 accomplishments. It’s a big list.

Priorities: Adler’s priorities for 2018 are here.

Donate: here’s where you can give to Adler’s campaign.

. . .

The hands down, no question, most alarming thing about Austin is that we are #1 in the nation in income inequality. That’s not a good list to be atop of.

Every other issue in my mind takes a back seat to this one.

Not nearly everyone is benefiting from Austin’s growth and prosperity. Our community is still suffering from the mind-bending injustice our leaders perpetrated way back in 1928.

And no, keeping companies like Amazon out of Austin isn’t going to help our #1 problem.

The jobs and the growth and the money that companies like Amazon and Apple and Oracle bring are not at all the problem. Folks worry about what Amazon would do to traffic, or affordability. The actual problem with these big new HQ projects is routing and bridging the opportunities they comprise to everyone in the city.

I know a lot of people who’d love to wade through traffic for an $85K yearly salary. I was at Huston-Tillotson University a few weeks ago with President Dr. Colette Pierce Burnette. Their students’ desire for tech jobs is consistent and intense, across a dozen majors.

A fix will not happen overnight, but again, addressing Austin’s intense, perverse, historic economic segregation must be our overriding priority.

Good news: our newly-minted Master Workforce Development Plan is strong, and can serve as a reliable template for decades to come.

The Austin Monitor captures the plan’s purpose and progress in a few succinct paragraphs, for those of you who may have missed it:

At last week’s City Council meeting, a procedural public hearing paved the way for the formal addition next month of the Master Community Workforce Plan to Imagine Austin, which is the city’s plan for the next 30 years. But it’s the work being done with high-profile employers like Samsung and job training providers such as Austin Community College taking place quietly in the background that proponents of the plan expect will soon produce more applicants for positions that employers said they’re having trouble filling. The workforce plan has a stated goal of creating 60,000 middle-skill jobs in three high-growth sectors – health care, information technology and advanced manufacturing – as well as lifting 10,000 residents out of lower-class income brackets. Since the plan was unveiled last June, employers in similar industries have been courted to participate in ongoing sessions to identify the needed soft skills and common challenges that make it difficult for them to find and retain new employees. Their findings are then presented to representatives from Austin Community College, Goodwill of Central Texas and Capital IDEA to help those organizations tailor their existing job training programs to better suit the needs of the market. Thus far those workforce development programs are being funded in part with $660,000 in workforce data management contracts Workforce Solutions has secured with the city and Travis County, which includes some contributions from Google and JP Morgan Chase. Ongoing fundraising efforts are expected to contribute as well.

If Amazon can commit to helping build these kinds of socio-economic and racial bridges both notionally and materially, I want them here. And same goes for every other company considering a move to Austin, large or small.

As Mayor Adler said in his letter to Amazon as part of our response to their RFP (full text here):

Our long-term goal in Austin is to both preserve the soul of our community and make it accessible to all – even as we excel as a community that continues to attract top talent. What new solutions and long-term investments in workforce development, affordability and mass transportation might we achieve together that would not have been possible otherwise? I firmly believe that Austin and Amazon can help each other achieve solutions to our biggest challenges. Even as you assess our community’s great assets, I ask you to look at our community’s greatest challenges as an opportunity to help craft a story for Amazon and for Austin that will be told for a long time.

. . .

Now, about those complaints. Are housing prices way up? Yes.

Are folks selling their homes and moving to cheaper enclaves in the suburbs to stave off property taxes they can’t afford? Are musicians moving to Lockhart and further, in search of more room to breathe, and make art?

Absolutely. Yes. Unequivocally. And irreversibly.

Austin’s going to need to be an active and innovative partner to Pflugerville and Round Rock and Manor and Taylor and Bastrop and Lockhart and San Marcos. Austin’s going to need to continue to aggressively invest in affordable housing. We are going to have to get together at long last and pass a new land use code, too.

Our current land use system is almost 50 years old and it’s the engine behind many — if not most — of our shared frustrations about Austin’s growth and development. Not passing a new code is not an option.

By the way, it is okay to complain about the flawed process of producing CodeNEXT, but no one should be up in arms that it’s hard to get this right. No other American city has grappled with the challenges Austin currently faces and succeeded. We are at the cutting edge in terms of defining of how modern cities can best scale.

For a super smart deep dive on this issue, read Nautilus Magazine’s “Why New York Is Just An Average City.”

We’re going to have to raise taxes too, a tough sell here in Texas, no doubt. This will most likely happen via larger and larger bond measures, with transportation and our school system remaining serially at the forefront for at least a decade. We’ve become a big American city, like it or not. It is time to acting like one too. That process starts and ends with infrastructure and education.

. . .

We are also going to have to consider community micro-bonds to fund and perhaps outright reclaim some of our struggling institutions. We are going to have to re-fund our longest-suffering school districts with private money too.

We are going to have to offer a lot more *paid* internships so that folks who don’t have “friends and family money” have equal access to personal and professional development opportunities.

We are going to have to continue being a “Kitty Hawk” for things like autonomous cars and delivery drones, no matter how uncomfortable or controversial.

We are going to have to continue fighting passionately, and standing steadfastly, as Mayor Adler consistently has, against SB4, as we are the epicenter of the nationwide fight about sanctuary cities; for the Paris Accord as a leading green, smart city; for restorative justice in our local courts and jails; for innovative, community-based policing; and against a state legislature that champions states’ right while denying incorporated Texan cities the same privilege.

And look, we have just got to vote —not just at the ballot box — but with our time, talent and money — on how we want Austin to be for years to come. Spend nights and weekends working on the causes you care about most, and spend cold hard cash on the stuff you value about this city above all else.

But of course, vote at the ballot box, too, for God’s sake. Vote again. Keep voting. Vote in the little stuff. Vote in the big stuff. Vote for fun. Vote even though it’s boring. Vote because so many others can’t.

As Beto has said more times than I can count, Texas isn’t a red state or a blue state. It’s a non-voting state.

We are actually 51st in the union in voter turnout (that number includes Puerto Rico). Sadly, Austin is no better than the rest of our fair state in this regard.

Travis County turnout dropped a whopping 50% between the 2016 Presidential election and last November. Some dropoff is always to be expected but wow. That’s pretty bad, friends.

Part of it I have to think is that folks are exhausted. No doubt others underestimate the importance and effect of local politics. But what I really think is going on is that for most people, Austin is wind at our backs, and we’re too often too busy to really notice, or care. Austin protects a lot of us from a lot of things. The mandate to vote shouldn’t be one of them.

. . .

It’s not all bad news. In fact, an incredible amount of the new has been incredibly good. It’s useful to remind ourselves of a few things.

Yes, UT is churning out high quality talent, but so are Huston-Tillotson, the Acton School of Business, St. Ed’s and ACC.

I think what Gary Keller is doing on Red River is awesome. We haven’t nearly saved live music yet, but we have the appropriate levels of panic and corresponding commitment to get the job done.

There is a ton of innovation going on in Austin around homelessness, affordable housing, tiny housing, and more. Have you visited Community First Village, which has pioneered a game changing approach to solving chronic homelessness?

Divinc is a local business incubator focused on women and people of color, and it is churning out high-quality, high-growth companies. 3/4 of the last graduating Techstars class had either a woman CEO or a woman on the executive team, no small thing sadly, in tech.

Speaking of UT, they recently hired Scott Aaronson. The university is building an incredible new quantum computing center around him, the first of its kind.

When was the last time you went to the Harry Ransom Center? Have you been to the new Ellsworth Kelly building at the Blanton?

The New York Times called Kelly’s Austin a “temple of light” and suggested that “no contemporary artwork of this scale by a major artist has matched its creator’s initial ambitions so perfectly as Kelly’s Austin.”

In fact, the paper’s art critic M.H. Miller went so far as to conclude that:

Long the music capital of the Southwest, Austin is now also a burgeoning outpost of the tech industry. But the presence of Kelly here almost instantaneously transforms it into an important art destination, the kind of place people make pilgrimages to.

How about that?

Our new medical school and teaching hospital are out of this world. Do you know about how they have completely reimagined the clinic from the inside out? Do you know what it takes — and means — to be a Trauma 1 center?

Mueller’s a big real estate project sure, but it is also the #2 green neighborhood in the whole U.S. according to Redfin, and an exciting precedent for future development.

Do you support Urban Roots and the Sustainable Food Center? Austin Bat Cave? SAFE? UMLAUF? The Thinkery? Foundation Communities? The Trail Foundation? The Texas Civil Rights Project?

Do you know about Manor New Tech high school, where you can see the best STEM curriculum in the country firsthand?

RideAustin emerged from a nasty fight about who gets to set the rules, but it is not just solvent, but writing big checks to other Austin nonprofits every single month, $350K in total and counting.

If we are lucky, Meow Wolf makes Austin their 3rd location. Liberty Lunch is long gone and so is Las Manitas, but The Skylark is still kicking, and so is the Sahara Lounge.

Wth all the traffic and our kvetching about it, we didn’t even drop down to #2 in the 2018 best places to live. We stayed #1. Even if we slide to number 4, 5, or 6, we are in great shape compared to most cities.

Obviously, I remain optimistic. Very much so. I’d love to hear why you remain so, too.

. . .

12 years ago, when I first got to Austin, another patron at Wink one table over stood up to tell us that we were “the problem” with what Austin was quickly becoming, having overheard our table’s conversation about my recent arrival.

Which was kind of funny in and of itself because we were all at...well, Wink. On the west side of Austin, sipping fancy wine with abandon.

This conversation is not new. These sentiments are not new. Generations before us invested in the icons and institutions that make Austin what it is today, in education, the arts, business, health and more. For that they should be lauded, and hopefully their example inspires us to do the same once more.

Those generations also irresponsibly kicked the can down the road on transportation, education, systemic racism and inequality, zoning, healthcare and more. We are left today to clean up several messes we didn’t make. But let’s not spend too long lamenting the errors of those who came before us.

I’m here for the long haul. I hope you are too. I’m glad we are talking about Amazon. I’m glad Amazon is talking about us.

I’m glad Steve Adler has an opponent. The contrast is striking, and useful because of the conversation it forces about original and modern Austin, and about complaining versus getting things done.

I’m glad we have a lot of work to do. Even better, we have the money, the talent, and the drive necessary to fix what’s broken.

I grew up in Baltimore. I love Baltimore. And it is doing better, slowly and surely. But Baltimore is not Austin, not yet anyway. Most cities would love to have our problems.

Again, we have every ability to solve what ails us. And I think we have a duty to do just that. For those of us to whom Austin has given so much, it’s time to give back.

Welcome, indeed.

P.S.

Steve has the biggest fundraising deadline of his reelection campaign on June 30th at midnight. That’s in 6 days.

Current and potential opponents will look at his report when deciding what their next moves will be. Please help out with a donation of $25, $50 or any amount that you can.

The max is up to $350 per person or $700 per couple, as allowed by our City. Click here to donate now.

Thank you!

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ewinglogan93 · 4 years

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Can I Really Save My Marriage Astonishing Cool Tips

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Jason Evert How To Save Your Marriage

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jmyamigliore · 4 years

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Reiki York Pa Fabulous Cool Tips

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What Is Kundalini Reiki

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To do this, you will soon take on each other's karma.In Reiki 2, I still remember being in all this the signal can be understood with the symbol.To give you your lineage tracing back to any particular religion or points of view.Anyone who's had any training course or for those suffering from pain, anxiety and help others and share his knowledge about the healing should begin as soon as possible around the troubled body parts.Since I took the decision & commitment to myself that no negative energies releasing from your hands get warm as the mental, emotional, and spiritual growth by bringing in balance and works in blend with metaphysical energies that were used in Reiki is known as Kundalini.

Reiki And How It Works

Likewise, I'm sure you include all the Reiki works for your day.These symbols can be learned faster than humanly possible?At that point in time when the needles are in, and they help me heal a person having completed various levels of Reiki then translates between our guides and I really loved her.It was then frozen and photographed through a series of events, you will be dependent on anyone's intellectual capacity.He is the polar opposite of the reasons why you should be pursued only after she has long term illnesses, Reiki can ease muscular tension, lower blood pressure, aid in relaxation and comfort.

You work with you in unique, purposeful positions to enhance the effects that includes deep relaxation and inner joy and happiness.If you are capable of unlocking the access of life into all living things.In the traditional school of thought in Reiki originate from?For the professional trainer, this should be done in person, it would be given to the recipient.Is it that we only manage to mask the vital information and knowledge of the individual Master and the patient's spiritual being.

#Reiki York Pa Fabulous Cool Tips #How Much Do Reiki Healers Make

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

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The Best Cookbooks of Spring 2020

Dive into recipes from Melissa Clark, Nancy Silverton, Dominique Ansel, and more

When I first saw Lummi: Island Cooking, the new cookbook from Willows Inn chef Blaine Wetzel, I couldn’t help but pick it up. The book itself is wrapped in a rough but texturally pleasing yellow fabric, and the cover — a single deep-blue photograph affixed to the canvas — captivates. Inside, top-down photos of meticulously plated dishes fill entire pages and beg the question: What is that? And while I may never make the recipes for things like mushroom stews and marinated shellfish, they’re a window into a remote restaurant that I may never get to visit. Sure, I could find a few photos online, but a book that you hold in your hands carries weight — not just literally, but also in the way each page memorializes a recipe, dish, or moment in time.

The 15 titles here represent only a portion of the cookbooks on offer this spring, but they embody all of the qualities that make cookbooks worthy vehicles for imagination. There are debuts from chefs at the top of their game, and first-time restaurant cookbooks that may inspire you to host a clambake or make your own bubble tea. But there are plenty of cookbook veterans on this list, too, with contributions from Sami Tamimi (the non-Ottolenghi half of the duo behind Ottolenghi); pastry chef Dominique Ansel; and New York Times recipe maven Melissa Clark, whose recipes may dominate Google searches, but gain new dimension when they’re printed on a glossy page. — Monica Burton

The Phoenicia Diner Cookbook: Dishes and Dispatches from the Catskill Mountains

Mike Cioffi, Chris Bradley, Sara B. Franklin Clarkson Potter, out now

In 2011, Mike Ciofi did what many office workers spend their days dreaming about: He bid farewell to city life in favor of renovating and reinvigorating a roadside diner in the woodsy New York hamlet of Phoenicia. Today, Ciofi’s Phoenicia Diner is a hit among locals and tourists, as well as the Instagram glitterati that flocks in droves to sample the restaurant’s elevated diner fare and pose in the green vinyl booths. Though it might be a while before the rest of us achieve our own version of the Phoenicia Diner, it’s at least become easier for us to pretend with The Phoenicia Diner Cookbook, a collection of comfort-food recipes that make up the Ulster County hot spot’s celebrated menu. Try to make the renowned buttermilk pancakes on lazy Sunday morning, or enjoy a cozy night in with the chicken and chive dumplings. For lighter meals, the cookbook also includes a variety of fancy salads and some delicious-sounding vegetable preparations.

We live in uncomfortable times, but we still have comfort food — and our upstate escapist fantasies — to help us cope. So serve up some Phoenicia Diner recipes on enamel camping cookware, then curl up under a Pendleton (or Pendleton knock-off) blanket. It’s almost as good as the real thing. — Madeleine Davies

Eat Something: A Wise Sons Cookbook

Evan Bloom and Rachel Levin Chronicle Books, out now

Chef Evan Bloom of San Francisco’s Wise Sons Deli and former Eater SF restaurant critic Rachel Levin teamed up to write an unconventional book about Jews and Jewish food. From the first chapter, “On Pastrami & Penises,” which jokingly weighs the morals of circumcision, it’s clear they succeeded. There are a trio of pastrami dishes (breakfast tacos, carbonara, a reuben) to celebrate “the cut,” before the authors move on to recipes for other life events, from J Dating in “The Young-Adulting Years” section to Shivah’s Silver Lining in “The Snowbird Years.”

This isn’t the first book to combine Jewish food and Jewish humor (the two are practically inseparable), but it has the added benefit of being actually funny. Eat Something sounds less like a commandment from bubbe and more like a comedian egging on readers to whip up a babka milkshake at 3 a.m. or serve chopped liver to unknowing goyim in-laws.

The authors gladly admit the book won’t satisfy conservative tastes. Wise Sons serves updated takes on deli fare, like pastrami fries, pastrami and eggs, and a roasted mushroom reuben, and “The Kvetching Department” chapter reprints customer complaints about Wise Sons’ sins against real deli. Those readers can find rote recipes for matzo balls and kugel elsewhere. Eat Something is for readers, Jewish or not, who prefer matzoquiles to matzo brei and a bloody moishe (a michelada spiked with horseradish and brine) to a bloody mary. — Nicholas Mancall-Bitel

Dinner in French: My Recipes by Way of France

Melissa Clark Clarkson Potter, out now

Melissa Clark is an important figure in my home eating life. Her cookbook Dinner lives on my kitchen counter, while her pressure-cooker bible Dinner in an Instant has helped me get over my anxiety around using the intimidating Instant Pot I received as a wedding present a few years ago. Her recipes in those books and over at the New York Times are energetic and reliable. I’ve been eagerly awaiting this book since she announced it.

While I expected it to be a book of Clark’s favorite, tried-and-true French recipes, Dinner in French actually provides a guide to layering some French je ne sais quoi into the kinds of things you may well already love to eat. Instead of just mashing a microwaved sweet potato like I do a few times a week, Clark’s tempting me to make stretchy sweet potato pommes aligot with fried sage for a change. The translation flows in both directions. To a classic French omelet, Clark adds garlic and tahini and tops it with an herby yogurt sauce; she transforms ratatouille into a sheet-pan chicken dinner.

Dinner in French veers more into lifestyle territory than her reliable workhorse books. Shots of Clark living the good life in France — laughing at beautiful outdoor garden dining tables, shopping at the market, walking barefoot in a gorgeous farmhouse — are peppered throughout. Even if that’s not what I need from a Melissa Clark book, for all the work home cooks like me rely on her to do, she deserves a glam moment. — Hillary Dixler Canavan

The Boba Book: Bubble Tea and Beyond

Andrew Chau and Bin Chen Clarkson Potter, out now

What Blue Bottle did for coffee, Boba Guys did for boba. Since Andrew Chau and Bin Chen opened their first shop in San Francisco in 2013, the brand has grown to include 16 locations across the country. Along the way, the guys behind Boba Guys have redefined what it means to drink the popular Taiwanese tea with modern drinks that go beyond the traditional milk tea plus chewy tapioca balls to include items like strawberry matcha lattes and coffee-laced dirty horchatas.

The Boba Book includes step-by-step instructions for these specialties along with recommended toppings for each tea base. There’s also a separate chapter all about how to make toppings and add-ons from scratch, including grass jelly, mango pudding, and, of course, boba. While it’s likely many boba lovers have never even considered making their favorite drink at home, Chau and Chen’s simple directions prove all it takes is a little bit of dedication.

The Boba Book doesn’t offer a comprehensive history of boba; instead, it provides an impassioned argument for drinking boba now from Chau and Chin, who keep the tone friendly and conversational throughout. Colorful photos of drinks alongside pictures of Boba Guys’ fans, employees, friends, and family make the book feel like the brand’s yearbook. And even if there’s no interest in recreating the drinks at home, The Boba Book gives readers the best advice on getting the most enjoyment out of boba, including tips on how to achieve that perfect Instagram shot. — James Park

Ana Roš: Sun and Rain

Ana Roš Phaidon, March 25

Ana Roš is a chef on the rise. While not quite a household name in America, the Slovenia-based chef of Hiša Franko got the Chef’s Table treatment as well as plenty of attention from the World’s 50 Best List. She’s known for being an iconoclastic and self-taught chef.

As with so many fine dining restaurant books, this volume isn’t really meant to be cooked from at home. Roš seems to have gone into the process knowing that, so she avoids the standard headnote-recipe format. Instead, lyrical prose is frontloaded, taking up most of the book, with recipes for things like “deer black pudding with chestnuts and tangerines” or “duck liver, bergamot and riesling” stacked together with only the shortest of introductions at the end. Gorgeous, sweeping landscape photos of Slovenia coupled with gorgeous food photography, both by Suzan Gabrijan, provide a lush counterpoint to the text.

Rather than a guide to cooking like Roš, this is a testament to one chef’s life. There’s quite a bit of personal narrative, from Roš’s experiences with anorexia as an aspiring dancer to a meditation on killing deer inspired by her father’s hunting. And for fans of Chef’s Table, culinary trophy hunters, and/or lovers of travel photography, it’s worth a look. — HDC

Lummi: Island Cooking

Blaine Wetzel Prestel, April 7

The Willows Inn on Lummi Island is that specific kind of bucket-list restaurant that’s fetishized by fine dining lovers: isolated (the island sits two and a half hours and one ferry ride north of Seattle) and pricey ($225 for the tasting menu, not including the stay at the inn, a near prerequisite for snagging a reservation). I should find it irritating.

But the Willows Inn is also inherently of a place I have great affection for — the Pacific Northwest — and that’s captured beautifully in chef Blaine Wetzel’s Lummi: Island Cooking, a restaurant capsule of a cookbook that doesn’t feature the restaurant’s name in the title. Instead, the book is a survey of the ingredients farmed, foraged, and fished from the Puget Sound, a stunning taxonomy of salmonberries and spotted prawns, wild beach pea tips and razor clams. Several recipes quietly flaunt the inn’s reverence for the local bounty. Each in a quartet of mushroom stews involves just three ingredients: two kinds of mushrooms and butter; a recipe for smoked mussels simply calls for mussels, white wine, and a smoker.

The book, though, is really all about the visuals. Photographer Charity Burggraaf captures each striking dish from above on a flat-color background, and the bright pops of color and organic forms evoke brilliant museum specimens. Lummi: Island Cooking shows off the ingredients of the Pacific Northwest — and how in the hands of Wetzel and his team, they become worthy of this exacting kind of archive. — Erin DeJesus

My Korea: Traditional Flavors, Modern Recipes

Hooni Kim WW Norton, April 7

Hooni Kim’s debut cookbook, My Korea: Traditional Flavors, Modern Recipes, is part cookbook, part autobiography. Before he opened Korean-American restaurants Danji and Hanjan in New York City, Kim worked at prestigious fine dining institutions like Daniel and Masa, and as a result, he interprets Korean cuisine with French and Japanese techniques.

Over 13 chapters, Kim breaks down the fundamentals of creating Korean flavors, from where to buy essential pantry items to how to recognize the different stages of kimchi fermentation. The recipes themselves cover a wide range, from classic banchan and soups to technique-driven entrees, such as bacon chorizo kimchi paella with French scrambled eggs, and a recipe for braised short ribs (galbi-jjim) that uses a classic French red wine braise method Kim mastered while working at Daniel.

The focus of the book is less about cooking easy, weeknight dinner recipes, and more about understanding and applying Korean cooking philosophy. Throughout, Kim talks about the importance of jung sung, a Korean word for care, which also translates into cooking with heart and devotion. The chef’s jung sung in making this book is apparent as Kim provides foundational knowledge to make readers aware of Korean culture, beyond just knowing how to cook Korean food. — JP

Everyone Can Bake: Simple Recipes to Master and Mix

Dominique Ansel Simon & Schuster, April 14

I’ll get this out of the way from the get go: Dominique Ansel’s newest cookbook has nothing at all to do with the Cronut. In fact, rather than simply a book of recipes for the things you’ll find at the Dominique Ansel bakeries and dessert shops stationed around the world, it’s a manual for how to make just about any dessert the reader’s heart desires, whatever their skill level. With Everyone Can Bake, Ansel asserts that armed with the “building blocks of baking” he provides, baking is achievable for even the most intimidated novice.

This idea guides the book’s structure. It’s split into three sections of Ansel’s “go-to” recipes: bases (which includes cakes, cookies, brownies, meringue, and other batters and doughs); fillings (pastry cream, ganache, mousse, etc.); and finishings (buttercreams, glazes, and other toppings). A fourth section covers assembly and techniques, such as how to construct a tart or glaze a cake. Charts at the front of the book show how these four sections combine to make complete desserts. For example, almond cake + matcha mousse + white chocolate glaze + how to assemble a mousse cake = matcha passion fruit mousse cake; vanilla sablé tart shell + pastry cream = flan.

Although the book’s primary aim is to simplify baking for newcomers, the notion that creativity can arise from working within the boundaries of fundamental building blocks is a helpful lesson for any home baker. And whether they’re after just those fundamentals or the “showstoppers” that come later, they’re in good hands with Ansel’s Everyone Can Bake. — MB

Mosquito Supper Club: Cajun Recipes from a Disappearing Bayou

Melissa M. Martin Artisan, April 14

At Mosquito Supper Club, a tiny, 24-diners-per-night New Orleans restaurant that’s more like a big dinner party, chef and owner Melissa Martin keeps a shelf of spiral-bound Cajun cookbooks with recipes assembled by women’s church groups. “The cookbooks are timeless poetry and ambassadors for Cajun food,” Martin writes, “a place for women to record a piece of themselves.” Martin’s first cookbook, Mosquito Supper Club: Cajun Recipes from a Disappearing Bayou, belongs alongside them. It’s a well-written personal and regional history of a world literally disappearing before our eyes due to climate change: Every hour, the Gulf of Mexico swallows a football field’s worth of land in Louisiana.

But Mosquito Supper Club isn’t an elegy. It’s a celebration of contemporary New Orleans, a timeless glossary of Cajun cookery, and a careful, practical guide to gathering seasonal ingredients and preparing dishes from duck gumbo to classic pecan pie. Martin’s recipes are occasionally difficult and time-consuming — stuffed crawfish heads are a “group project” — but written with gentle encouragement (“Keep stirring!”) and an expert’s precision. And since Martin’s restaurant is essentially a home kitchen, her recipes are easily adapted to the home cook (though not all of us will have the same access to ingredients, like shrimp from her cousin’s boat in her small hometown of Chauvin, Louisiana). Still, Mosquito Supper Club is a cookbook you’re likely to use, and as a powerful reminder of what we’re losing to climate change, it’s a book we could all use, too. — Caleb Pershan

Trejo’s Tacos: Recipes & Stories From L.A.

Danny Trejo Clarkson Potter, April 21

Anyone not living in Los Angeles will likely still recognize Danny Trejo. Muscular and tattooed, with a mustache dipping down below the corners of his lips and dark hair tied back in a ponytail, he makes an impression in just about every role he’s played in his 300-plus film career, whether it’s as a boxer in Runaway Train, the gadget-loving estranged uncle in Spy Kids, or a machete-wielding vigilante for hire in Machete. But since 2016, Trejo has taken on a role outside of Hollywood: co-owner of a growing fleet of LA taquerias.

Trejo’s Tacos, the 75-year-old’s first cookbook, written with Hugh Garvey, is as much a tribute to his restaurant legacy as it is to Los Angeles, his lifelong home. The actor spent his childhood dreaming of opening a restaurant with his mother in their Echo Park kitchen. Years later, film producer Ash Shah would plant the seeds and vision for Trejo’s future taquerias, opened with a culinary team led by consulting chef Daniel Mattern. The cookbook is a reflection of what the actor calls “LA-Mexican food.” Readers will find all the Trejo’s Tacos greatest hits in the collection, including recipes for pepita pesto, mushroom asada burritos, and fried chicken tacos. The recipes are relatively simple and malleable — designed for home cooks who might want chicken tikka bowls one night and chicken tikka tacos the next. There’s even a recipe for nacho donuts.

Throughout, Trejo interjects with stories from his life in LA, like the time a security guard on the set of Heat recognized him from the time he used to rob customers at Bob’s Big Boy in Burbank. “I used to rob restaurants,” he writes in his new cookbook. “Today I own eight of them.” — Brenna Houck

Falastin: A Cookbook

Sami Tamimi and Tara Wigley Ten Speed, April 28

Sami Tamimi and co-author Tara Wigley are probably best known for their proximity to Israeli chef and columnist Yotam Ottolenghi. Tamimi is Ottolenghi’s longtime business partner and co-author of Ottolenghi and Jerusalem: A Cookbook. Wigley has collaborated with Ottolenghi on recipe writing since 2011. With Falastin, the pair are stepping out on their own for the first time as part of a rising chorus of voices celebrating Palestinian cuisine.

Falastin is the culmination of Tamimi’s lifelong “obsession” with Palestinian food. The Palestinian chef pays tribute to his mother and the home in East Jerusalem that he left to live in Tel Aviv and London, returning after 17 years. For Wigley, who grew up in Ireland, the book is about falling in love with the region and, particularly, shatta sauce (she’s sometimes referred to by her friends as “shattara”). However, the book isn’t about tradition. Tamimi and Wigley approach Falastin’s 110 recipes as reinterpretations of old favorites — something they acknowledge is an extremely thorny approach everywhere, and particularly given the highly politicized history of Palestine. Food, after all, isn’t just about ingredients and method; it’s also about who’s making it and telling its story.

To do this, Wigley and Taminmi instead take readers into Palestine, exploring the regional nuances of everything from the distinctive battiri eggplants, suited to being preserved and filled with walnuts and peppers for makdous, or the green chiles, garlic, and dill seeds used to prepare Gazan stuffed sardines. Along the way, they pause to amplify the voices of Palestinians, such as Vivien Sansour, founder of the Palestinian Seed Library. Keep plenty of olive oil, lemon, and za’atar on hand. It’s a colorful, thoughtful, and delicious journey. — BH

Bitter Honey: Recipes and Stories from Sardinia

Letitia Clark Hardie Grant, April 28

At first glance, Bitter Honey seems like an outsider’s fantasy of Sardinia. British author Letitia Clark moved to the island with her Sardinian (now ex-) boyfriend, looking to escape Brexit and embrace a slower, more beautiful way of life. The book’s warm photography and indulgent descriptions of olive oil seem the stuff of an Under the Sardinian Sun romp. But then, it suddenly becomes real. In the introduction, she speaks of plastic Tupperware and paper plates and blaring TVs, and in stories throughout the book, she gives a more honest depiction of modern, everyday life in Sardinia.

Clark’s recipes are all about achievable fantasy, with some coming directly from her boyfriend’s family and some that are admitted riffs on Nigella Lawson recipes. But all include the island’s staple flavors and ingredients, like pork in anchovy sauce, fried sage leaves, saffron risotto, and culurgionis (essentially Sardinian ravioli) stuffed with potato, mint, cheese, and garlic. Clark describes Sardinian food as a “wilder” version of Italian cooking, something less refined and more visceral. The book is a great way to expand your regional palate, though you’ll have to source your own bottarga and pane carasau. — Jaya Saxena

The Vegetarian Silver Spoon: Classic & Contemporary Italian Recipes

Phaidon, April 29

The essential, 70-year-old Italian cookbook Il cucchiaio d’argento, known as The Silver Spoon in English, gets a plant-based update in The Vegetarian Silver Spoon, forthcoming from Phaidon. Boasting more than 200 vegetarian and vegan recipes, it’s a welcome addition to the library of Silver Spoon spinoffs in a time when diners are cutting back on meat consumption, whether for health, environmental, or animal welfare reasons. While some patrons of red-sauce Italian-American restaurants may exclusively associate the cuisine with weighty meatballs and rich, meaty sauces, as written in the book’s introduction, “the Italian diet has never centered on meat”; rather, home-style cooking “more often revolves around substantial vegetarian dishes like grains or stews.”

Across eight chapters — which are organized by dish, moving from lighter to heavier flavors — classic recipes like pizza bianca mingle with more regional specialties like Genovese minestrone, as well as less traditional fare like vegetable fried rice, demarcated with an icon of “CT” for “contemporary tastes” (other icons distinguish dairy-free, gluten-free, vegan, “30 minutes or less,” and “5 ingredients or fewer”). In this book, the writing is clear, the photos inviting, and above all, the sheer breadth of tasty-sounding dishes encyclopedic enough that any level of cook can find something to make. For fans of Italian cuisine, it’s impossible to flip through the pages without salivating, vegetarian or not. — Jenny G. Zhang

Chi Spacca: A New Approach to American Cooking

Nancy Silverton Knopf, April 30

For home cooks, restaurant cookbooks usually serve as half archive, half inspiration, but Los Angeles chef Nancy Silverton writes ambitious recipes a home cook looking to grow (or flex) actually wants to try. The Chi Spacca cookbook, written by Silverton, Ryan DeNicola, and Carolyn Carreño, will fuel fantasies of massive slabs of meat seasoned with fennel pollen on the grill, served with salads of thinly shaved vegetables and a butterscotch budino for dessert.

Chi Spacca is the newest of Silverton’s three California-Italian restaurants clustered together in what locals call the Mozzaplex, and it’s decidedly meat focused (Chi Spacca means “he or she who cleaves” and is another word for butcher in Italian). One of the restaurant’s most famous dishes is a beef pie with a marrow bone sticking out of the middle, like the tentpole of a carnivorous circus. That recipe is in the book. So is one for the restaurant’s distinctive focaccia di Recco, a round, flaky, cheese-filled focaccia, which, according to a step-by-step photo tutorial, involves stretching the dough from the counter all the way down to the floor before folding it over into a copper pan. There’s a recipe for homemade ’nduja, a section of thorough grilling advice, and more precisely composed salads than 10 trips to the farmers market could possibly support.

What’s really wonderful about the book, however, is the way it mixes serious ambition with practical advice and tons of context. Silverton explains the inspiration and authorship of every dish, and in those headnotes reveals the extent to which Chi Spacca, for all its Tuscan butchery pedigree, is a deeply Californian restaurant. Reference points range from Park’s BBQ in Koreatown to trapped-in-amber steakhouse Dal Rae to the traditions of Santa Maria barbecue. And the recipes always consider the cook. My favorite headnote, for a persimmon salad, says, “The recipe for candied pecans makes twice what you need for this salad. My thought is that if you’re going to go to the effort to make them, there should be some for the cook to snack on.” Entirely correct. — Meghan McCarron

Eventide: Recipes for Clambakes, Oysters, Lobster Rolls, and More From a Modern Maine Seafood Shack

Arlin Smith, Andrew Taylor, Mike Wiley, and Sam Hiersteiner Ten Speed, June 2

Eventide Oyster Co., named one of the best restaurants in New England by restaurant critic Bill Addison, embodies everything a Maine seafood shack should be — a casual place to sit down to slurp shellfish and eat fried seafood with friends and family. Since opening in Portland, Maine, in 2012, and despite accolades and expansion, it’s managed to retain that convivial feel. Now co-owners Arlin Smith, Andrew Taylor, and Mike Wiley, along with writer Sam Hiersteiner, have created a breezy cookbook for easy entertaining and coastal-inspired cooking.

With 120 recipes, accompanied by visual how-tos and guides on how to properly prepare seafood and shellfish, Eventide offers enough insight to make any home cook feel comfortable assembling an amazing raw bar or hosting a full New England clambake. The book even gets into less-traditional ways to use seafood as the basis for celebratory meals, with recipes for oysters with kimchi rice, halibut tail bo ssam, and the restaurant’s famed brown butter lobster rolls. And although seafood dominates, the authors of Eventide include alternatives to satisfy anyone, like the restaurant’s burger, a smoked tofu sandwich, potato chips and puffed snacks, plus a blueberry lattice pie for dessert. Whether or not you live by the coast, Eventide is the perfect spring cookbook to help you prepare to turn your kitchen into a New England oyster bar this summer. — Esra Erol

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from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3bliuEe https://ift.tt/3drkTiI

Dive into recipes from Melissa Clark, Nancy Silverton, Dominique Ansel, and more

The Phoenicia Diner Cookbook: Dishes and Dispatches from the Catskill Mountains

Mike Cioffi, Chris Bradley, Sara B. Franklin Clarkson Potter, out now

Eat Something: A Wise Sons Cookbook

Evan Bloom and Rachel Levin Chronicle Books, out now

Dinner in French: My Recipes by Way of France

Melissa Clark Clarkson Potter, out now

The Boba Book: Bubble Tea and Beyond

Andrew Chau and Bin Chen Clarkson Potter, out now

Ana Roš: Sun and Rain

Ana Roš Phaidon, March 25

Lummi: Island Cooking

Blaine Wetzel Prestel, April 7

My Korea: Traditional Flavors, Modern Recipes

Hooni Kim WW Norton, April 7

Everyone Can Bake: Simple Recipes to Master and Mix

Dominique Ansel Simon & Schuster, April 14

Mosquito Supper Club: Cajun Recipes from a Disappearing Bayou

Melissa M. Martin Artisan, April 14

Trejo’s Tacos: Recipes & Stories From L.A.

Danny Trejo Clarkson Potter, April 21

Falastin: A Cookbook

Sami Tamimi and Tara Wigley Ten Speed, April 28

Bitter Honey: Recipes and Stories from Sardinia

Letitia Clark Hardie Grant, April 28

The Vegetarian Silver Spoon: Classic & Contemporary Italian Recipes

Phaidon, April 29

Chi Spacca: A New Approach to American Cooking

Nancy Silverton Knopf, April 30

Eventide: Recipes for Clambakes, Oysters, Lobster Rolls, and More From a Modern Maine Seafood Shack

Arlin Smith, Andrew Taylor, Mike Wiley, and Sam Hiersteiner Ten Speed, June 2

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3bliuEe via Blogger https://ift.tt/2QGkXkG

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

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absentlyabbie · 7 years

Photo

Running Toward the Fire

Vows

After the Siege of Starling City by Slade Wilson, threats and pressures force Oliver and Felicity to take desperate measures to protect their secrets, their team—and their very lives.

Fandom: Arrow; Ship: Olicity, Oliver Queen / Felicity Smoak Tags: Fake Marriage; Slow Burn; Friends to Lovers AO3 Tip Jar!

prompted by @bisexualfelicity, “fire”

“Sexy Secretary?” Felicity spat, lip curling. Outrage popped and crackled up her spine like sparks igniting as she quoted: “‘Sexy Secretary Bedfellows With Queen.’”

The couch creaked a little as Oliver shifted his weight beside her. “I don’t know why you’re reading that garbage.”

Felicity scowled, not tearing her eyes from the screen of her laptop as she scrolled down the newsfeed. “Because we need to see if our plan is working, Oliver,” she grumbled. Fingernail scratching irritably against the edge of the mousepad, she glared harder at the list of trashy tabloid headlines. “Just because we need them doesn’t mean I appreciate the reliability of their misogyny.”

He sighed. His hand landed on her back and she startled beneath the touch. He hesitated, but determinedly rubbed a soothing path between her shoulder blades. Just as deliberately, she leaned back into it.

It might not be natural quite yet, but after a moment it at least didn’t feel totally awkward anymore. It was even almost nice.

From Girl Friday To Girlfriend?

Oliver Queen Caught With Former Secretary On Arm

Queen’s Assistant Blows To The Top!

That, however, was decidedly not.

“It’s just like last fall all over again,” she muttered, exhaling heavily. “Just when the ‘did you interview for this position on your knees’ cracks had finally died down.”

Oliver’s hand stopped its motions abruptly and she could practically hear his teeth grinding as he leaned closer to read her screen. “They shouldn’t talk about you like that. Nobody should have. I’m sorry, Felicity. It was my fault then and it’s my fault now.”

Despite a creeping flush at the brush of his side against her arm, Felicity rolled her eyes. “Not everything’s your fault, Oliver. I mean, yes, you definitely weren’t considering my reputation last year when you pushed me to play your EA, but the gross, sexist vulturism of the tabloid press is not actually your personal responsibility.”

She turned her head to soften the bite in her words with a wry lift of her brows and a tight, small smile. He studied her face with a grave expression, obviously unconvinced. He was always so quick to gather up all the angst and guilt around him and make it his own.

With a sigh, Felicity leaned into him to nudge him teasingly. “Do I need to remind you how we wound up in this particular mess? That was my screw up.” She pulled a face thoughtfully and amended, “And technically, it’s Waller’s fault we’re doing something this ridiculous and exposing ourselves to the seamy speculation of the paparazzi, so really, if we’re going to sit here assigning blame, we should make sure to portion it out fairly.”

Her little tangent drew the amused huff from him she had hoped for and Oliver relaxed a bit, his eyes soft on her face and lips curling at the corners. “Seamy?” he teased lightly.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “It felt like the right vocabulary choice given the context.” He chuckled, but she let her smile fade a little. “But seriously, Oliver. When I agreed to do this, I knew we’d be facing this kind of thing. I took the time to think about it because I knew…” she trailed off, eyes searching the ceiling for the right words. “I knew this was going to be the kind of pretend that’s real enough that the consequences would be real.” Swallowing against a sudden dryness in her mouth, she asked in a small, dubious voice, “Did you?”

They were still pressed up close, side by side, her shoulder almost tucked beneath his. His hand was still spread over her back, a warm weight she was at turns hyper conscious of and sinking into the comfort of. He drew a long breath, his face serious as his gaze sketched the lines of hers. “I did. I just… there’s knowing it and there’s… living through it, you know?”

She licked her lips, butterflies erupting in her stomach as his eyes followed the motion. “Yeah.”

And did she ever.

It was one thing to think through the details and effects and agree to a sham marriage with Oliver Queen to protect their team from becoming a black ops tool in Amanda Waller’s offbooks arsenal, but the reality was just so much more.

It was the heat of his knee bumping up against her thigh. The subtle headiness of his aftershave, rich and nuanced with a surprising spice from this close. It was his lips parting as his eyes caught on her mouth, and knowing she was supposed to learn how to kiss him, and not to confuse a dress rehearsal for any kind of reality.

Abruptly, Felicity cleared her throat and turned back to her laptop, raising finely trembling fingers to lower the screen before she leaned forward to move it to the coffee table.

Oliver’s hand, still on her back, slid up to the base of her neck as she straightened.

Felicity’s breath caught, a zing of electricity lifting the hairs on her arms as Oliver’s fingertips ghosted up the back of her neck to play at the little curling wisps at her nape that escaped her ponytail.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down, staring straight ahead as her heart thundered wildly in her chest.

“Felicity.” Oliver all but sighed her name, hushed and a little reluctant, a little sorrowful, a little adamant.

Nervously, Felicity burst into a short giggle, tipping her head back to look at the ceiling. This only pressed Oliver’s fingertips more firmly to the base of her skull, slipping into the hair there. “You’re getting good at that,” she babbled with a false brightness. “The causal touching, I mean, obviously, not saying my name. Not that you weren’t always good at saying my name, I mean, god, not in like, a weird way or a sexual way, you just, you have good enunciation and honestly, have you ever noticed how you say my name sometimes? You hit all the syllables in this like really specific way and come to think of it, I don’t think anybody else has really said it like that before, I guess it’s just an Oliver thing.” She turned her face away from him, cringing even as her mouth only ran further away with her and the pad of Oliver’s thumb rubbed a little circle behind her ear. “But you’re really getting good at touching me—I mean touching me like it’s a thing that we do that’s normal or something, I mean—”

“Felicity.” There was a laugh bubbling under that oh-so-specific shaping of her name, a fondness only faintly tinged by exasperation as he mercifully cut her off from what was quickly becoming one of her more gloriously ridiculous rambles.

Less mercifully, his hand dragged slowly down the side of her neck before he crooked his fingers under her chin and gently turned her head back to face him.

Oliver sighed softly, lips quirked up at the corners as his eyes sketched over her face. Felicity bit her lip, and he gently tugged it free, the pressure of his thumb and the scrape of her teeth lifting the hairs all along her arms.

“I know,” she groaned quietly. “I know. We—we have to. It’s just…”

“We don’t have to,” Oliver countered, head shaking slightly. Even so, his thumb traced from the corner of her mouth to slide beneath the full swell of her lower lip before he ghosted his knuckles across her cheek, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “We don’t have to if you’re not ready. Or if you don’t want to. We can find another way.”

It was Felicity’s turn to sigh, her fingers curling over his wrist as his fingers slipped back into her hair, his thumb tracing up the shell of her ear to her piercing. She turned her head just enough to look at the laptop shut on the coffee table. “It’s a little too late for that.”

Oliver said nothing, just drew his hand back to graze his fingertips under the line of her jaw, waiting for her cue.

She took two careful, measured breaths before raising her gaze to his again. “We can do this. Right?” She summoned a smile, unsteady and uncertain though it was. “What’s the big deal, right? It’s just…” her voice weakened at the end as some light in Oliver’s eyes inexplicably dimmed. “Selling it,” she finished on a breath.

Oliver’s lips parted slowly and he seemed to choose his words. “We can do this,” he redirected at last. “You and me.”

With a little laugh, Felicity shoved away the little bloom of sadness in her chest and leaned instead into a more reliable warmth. She smiled and guided his hand to her face, leaning her cheek into his palm. “Partners.”

He smiled back, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Still my girl?”

Wryly, Felicity teased, “I’m marrying you, aren’t I?”

He ducked his head with a huff of amusement.

Sudden nerves burst to buzzing life again in her stomach, and she blurted, “We are talking about the practice kissing right now, right? I mean, talking about doing that? Now?”

Oliver’s head threw back with a deep, shimmering laugh of genuine delight. Still chuckling, he set both hands on her shoulders and leaned forward to press a surprising kiss to her forehead. “Yes,” he confirmed as he pulled back enough to meet her eyes. “We’re talking about practice kissing. Right now.”

Contrary to his steady reassurance, Felicity’s nervousness only grew like a swarm of bees, the fluttering and buzzing spreading into her chest and up her backbone. “Oh. Okay. Oh boy. Um?” She wrinkled her nose and cast around the room as if her cozily cluttered living room was hiding her confidence. “Should I go brush my teeth first? Oh god, what did I even eat for lunch?” She squinted down at her knee like the textured lines of her jeans would jog her memory, voice falling to a mumble as she mostly asked herself, “Did I eat something with onions…?”

“Felicity.” There was that so very particular shaping of her name again. Oliver’s hand cupped her cheek and drew her head back up so she looked him in the eye. His face was written in fondness and patience. “Your breath is fine.”

“Okay,” she muttered, clearing her throat.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her spine and did a little awkward shuffle in her seat to draw in closer to Oliver and better face him. A frown of concentration drew a line between her brows as she lifted one hand and laid it, very slowly, very deliberately, against the side of his neck.

To her shock, she could feel his pulse, a thrumming, tripping rush beneath her fingertips. Her eyes flew to his, her lips parting.

Wetting his lips, he gave her a little smile. “Yeah. I’m nervous too.”

“Oh!” she breathed. “Good.” He blinked, and she broke out in a giggle. “I mean, that helps.” Smiling up at him, she slid her palm against his neck til the short hair at his nape tickled under her nails. She stroked her thumb over the stubbled corner of his jaw, feeling electric and bold. “It helps.”

“Felicity,” he murmured, head bending. His nose brushed hers, just at the end, and she gasped. “We should stop talking.”

“Right,” she exhaled, hypnotized by how near he was, how long his lashes were from this close. A thought popped in her head like a bursting soap bubble and she jerked against Oliver’s loose hold on the back of her neck. “Wait! Should I take off my glasses? It’s just, they can get in the way, I’ve had complaints—”

“Shh,” Oliver sighed, head tilting as he brushed their noses together again. “I’m supposed to be your fiance. I should know how to kiss you with your glasses on.”

“Oh.” Somehow, that matter of fact statement was more thrilling and strangely settling than anything else. Her fingers curled against his neck, fingernails scratching lightly.

He shivered.

With a little gasp, Felicity tipped her head back, lips parting as Oliver’s nose bumped hers again. His breath fanned over her mouth and chin, a warm ghosting of sensation like a prelude of touch.

At last, Oliver’s bottom lip brushed across her mouth, a soft, glancing introduction. By instinct, her lips pressed to catch him, but he was already gone. Then, there again, the beard on his chin tickling against hers as his lips skimmed across hers, mouth open and breath mingling.

“Oliver,” Felicity breathed, the two syllables another feather-light contact between them.

His other hand rose to cup the back of her head in both broad palms and his full bottom lip caught against her upper, a gentle, teasing drag.

Frustrated, impatient, Felicity cupped the back of Oliver’s neck with sudden insistence and pressed forward, catching his gasp into her own mouth as she slid her parted lips firmly over his.

One hand bracing against his firm chest, she caught that teasing lower lip between hers, and with a sound more sigh than voice, Oliver returned the full measure of her pressure.

The first kiss.

For just a moment, it lingered. The catch of his skin on hers, an adjustment of angle. A single breath passed between her lips to his lips and back again.

The second quickly followed. A warm, wet glide, a surer press. The slightest brush of the very tip of his tongue.

Felicity’s fingers wound into the collar of Oliver’s shirt and she lost track of where one kiss ended or began, or if it was all the same one, flowing back and forth, a living, electric current.

Their mouths parted and slid together, learning, exploring. A tactile map of territory uncharted.

He liked the fit of her lower lip between his, she learned, liked to pull and suck at it. She thrilled to discover how he gasped and shivered with a nip or scrape of teeth.

Nervousness dissolved in the growing warmth between them, lost to a fire stoking slowly, hungrily higher as Oliver’s hands found her waist and back, squeezed her in his grip or pressed her closer. Felicity’s palms drifted over his shoulders, his chest, confirming the shape and solidity of him. At last, they curled around his jaw, fingers cradling his head as she leaned into him.

The first touch of his tongue on hers was like holding a live wire in her mouth. Shocking, exhilarating, drowning out the world around them and its petty trappings. She couldn’t say who took the initiative, in the moment; it wasn’t about dominance or control. It was a negotiation without words, give and take, an ongoing chain reaction.

Heat consumed her, rising from his skin and absorbed into hers and given right back. It pooled and stoked in her belly, blazing a slow but inexorable path up her spine, concentrating under the delicious weight of his palm.

Everything but the fire fell away.

Her nerves, the fears at their roots, and the years-old scars underneath them. The words on her laptop lost meaning, and took with them the whys of what had brought them here, what had put his hands on her and her lips on his.

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was the sigh that sounded almost like her name, exhaled into her mouth. Her fingers curled and her nails scratched ghostly trails against his scalp as she gently bit down on his bottom lip, and when she soothed it with her tongue, he moaned. Satisfaction curled her lips even as he kissed them.

That fire in her belly roared, threatened to devour her and leave nothing but ash.

But what a lovely way to burn.

The tip of Felicity’s tongue curled, flicked at Oliver’s lips, playful, exploratory, and with a gasp and moan, he slanted his mouth hard across hers, his fingers gripping and grasping.

The next stroke of his tongue on hers was a scorch of heat—but the jar and jostle of her glasses against his nose was a bucket of cold water.

They jolted apart as Felicity’s glasses slipped crookedly down her face, unhooking from one ear and tangling in the pulled-back hair over the other.

“Damn,” Oliver exhaled, his voice the airy, soft-rough of raw silk as his fingers slid from from their purchase on her hip and neck to gently remove her glasses. “Sorry.”

Blinking at the shift in focus, Felicity surprised herself with a giggle that bubbled up from her stomach and spilled light and frothy from her lips.

Oliver stared at her for a moment as she laughed again, his lips slowly spreading in a smile that reflected her surprise and humor in the crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

“Well, um,” Felicity pressed her fingertips to her buzzing, swollen lips. “I guess we’re pretty good at that.”

Oliver’s adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow before he cleared his throat, the rims of his ears turning red as he glanced away, looking unexpectedly bashful—all but for the faintly satisfied curl in the corner of his mouth. “Well. I suppose we are.” His gaze settled on the glasses he still held between his hands before he raised his eyes to meet hers with a rueful smirk. “Though I guess I’ve got a little work to do still.”

Felicity’s breath caught at the suggestion in his eyes and she let her hands catch her weight against the cushions as she sat back a little.

The fire flickered low in her stomach, promising the warmest, loveliest burn if she just let it consume her, consume them both.

Gulping a little, Felicity swallowed new nerves and worries that settled into the embers in her gut to bank the heat as she rolled her lips between her teeth. “I…” she blinked slowly at Oliver as she tried to grasp at words through the cloud of steam that wanted to fill her head. One long breath in, out, and: “Yes. I guess we do.”

Oliver’s brows pulled slowly together at the hint of reluctance in her tone.

Shifting in her seat, Felicity’s knee bumped against Oliver’s—and she jerked it quickly away. He frowned down at it, and Felicity cursed her heart and her libido and threw herself at reason like it was a life raft. “We’re going to have to be careful, Oliver.”

He brought his gaze back up to hers, his expression sobering, and Felicity filled his patient quiet with words.

“I mean. The kissing. And, you know, other stuff. Touching each other and being together. For pretend.” She gestured vaguely between them with hands that felt like birds battering at cage bars, desperate to flee. “We were really good at that. The kissing just now, I mean.” She grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut for a second. “Or maybe that was just me! I don’t know, I feel like asking ‘was it good for you too’ here is a little crass and totally beside the point anyways.”

“Felicity.”

A warm, steady hand fell on her knee with that calm recitation of her name, and Felicity squinted one eye open, then the other. Oliver was looking at her in that impossible to read, impossible not to over-read way, his head tilted to one side as he sought eye contact, something like amusement or affection softening his eyes and ghosting a curve over his lips.

One eyebrow rising, a little twinkle lighting in his eyes, Oliver offered her a little crooked smile. “It was good for me too.”

Just like that, she burst into another laugh, and some of the winding tension and nervousness in her chest unspooled with relief. She lightly smacked at his chest, and he caught her hand against his shirt, holding it there.

“I understand, Felicity,” Oliver rumbled, low and sure and reassuring. She felt his voice in his chest beneath her hand, and she did her best not to let the fire rise all over again as he tapped his fingertips against her knuckles. “We can’t get carried away. We’re partners, and there’s just too much riding on the two of pulling this off.”

Even though she’d been the one to douse the flames with this very sound logic to begin with, she couldn’t help her chin dipping in a nod that was at least a little disappointment.

Damn her heart.

Oliver’s touch slid from her hand, down her wrist, until he lifted his fingertips to her chin to raise her head. He leaned in and was suddenly very close, his breath fanning across her face, as he breathed, “No matter how good we may be at this.” His lips brushed hers, once, twice, the lightest phantom of a kiss.

He sat back again and nodded to himself, then looked down at the glasses folded carefully in his other hand. Extending the arms, he raised them delicately between his hands and slipped them back onto her face, as if he were placing some barrier between them.

“We can do this,” he said, the confidence in his voice faltering only slightly as he asked her, “Right, Felicity?”

Raising her hands to adjust her glasses on the bridge of her nose, Felicity tried to find her own confidence, but feared it had gone up in the flames. Exhaling more shakily than she would like, she nodded firmly, trying to project certainty anyways. “Right.”

@thesuperherowhisperer @bisexualfelicity @jaspertown @samsonandjoe @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline @freelyenkellove @nina2406 @karolstrange @stormjedipilots @ashalpaca @mel-loves-all

#olicity #olicity fic #olicitysquee #oliver queen #felicity smoak #arrow #arrow fanfiction #vows au

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andromeda3116 · 7 years

Text

title: honky tonk women rating: t characters/pairings: jyn, cassian, bodhi; some ust between jyn/cassian, but pretty light summary: For as high-tech as Jabba’s casino was, the picture they’d given her of the mark was really terrible quality.

They’d told her that he had dark hair, dark eyes, stubble or a short beard, was of medium height and build, and would have “an accent” -- no specifics given on what kind of accent, thanks for the help -- but the picture was too grainy to reliably make out any features. She had been assured that he was in on the deal; he would lose all but his last chip, and then tip her that chip, which she would then pass along to Jabba, and boom: her debt was gone.

Easy.

a/n: written for @rebelcaptainprompts prompt “luck”. i saw the prompt, thought “casino au” and then every thought got derailed by COWBOY BEBOP COWBOY BEBOP COWBOY BEBOP and so now we are here. this is a one-shot, my friends.

Lady Luck had not been on Jyn’s side in a long time -- as long as she could remember, in fact, since the last time she had actually had a stroke of good fortune, it had been surviving the Astral Gate Accident, albeit by the judicious application of cryogenics. And even that “good” luck had accrued over fifty years of medical bills, leaving her with a literally unfathomable debt.

But still, she got by, more or less. Adjusted to the future -- although having practically zero memories of the past had helped that a bit -- and found herself a niche as a bounty hunter-slash-part-time criminal. It would never give her enough money to pay back the debt, but she figured that she’d be all right as long as she had enough money to continue to outrun it.

Even for her notoriously awful luck, though, this was really something.

She had heard the name Jabba Desilijic Tiure, had heard that he was someone to be avoided, and, looking to prevent any further disasters, had actually avoided him.

But it seemed like he had other ideas.

“They say you’re the reincarnation of Poker Alice,” Jabba’s aide translated, since Jyn didn’t speak his language and he seemed to consider himself above speaking lowly English. “Best card player in the solar system.”

Jyn shrugged. It was true, sort of -- she was a decent player, but a goddamn amazing cheater -- and she was not about to clarify that with people who currently had her in handcuffs in the back room of a casino somewhere in orbit around Mars.

“We have a deal for you,” the aide went on. “You do this job for us -- very simple job,” he added, with an acidic smile, “and Master Jabba will pay off your considerable debts.”

She perked right the hell up at that, and almost asked why they wanted to use her and not one of his own men, but the aide’s smile had told her all she needed to know: plausible deniability. If she got caught, she’d hang on her own and Jabba would come out as squeaky clean as the human slimeball was capable of.

Still, to pay off a debt of nearly half a billion woolongs, she’d pretty much do anything.

“All right,” she said evenly. “What do you want me to do?”

Cassian would be the first to admit that he was not really suited to the bounty hunter’s life. He hadn’t taken on the job by choice, but after certain events in his past, he’d found it prudent to do something mobile, and work with people who did not ask questions. Bounty hunting was the easiest job to maintain, and kept him far from the company of people who knew his name and history.

“Five thousand woolongs,” Bodhi sighed, looking at the data chip. “That’s it. We can’t even fuel up for that.”

Cassian ran a hand through his hair. “What can we do with it?” he asked, and Bodhi made a face.

“We could hit up the, uh, the nearest casino.”

“Bodhi.”

“No, I’m serious,” he countered. “That Martian casino is close enough, I’m great at poker, you… should stay away from blackjack or you’ll get us arrested -- “ Cassian gave him an affronted look, which he shrugged off “ -- I figure, we could at least double this, and that’ll give us enough to put fuel in our ship and maybe a meal.”

“Are there any bounties nearby?” he sighed, and received another shrug in response.

“Maybe, but we’re running on empty and I don’t know about you, but I’d like to eat something for once.”

“We had bell peppers and beef yesterday,” he snapped.

“No, we had bell peppers. There was no beef.”

It… had been a pretty sad meal, that was true.

It had also been the last of the bell peppers, which meant that tonight’s fare was pretty much the memory of food and a longing look at the stove.

Bodhi was a great poker player, and forget what he said about Cassian and blackjack -- he killed it at blackjack, the only thing he would have to do was quit before the casino workers got suspicious. He could easily make a couple thousand before catching anyone’s eye. They could double, or possibly triple, that five thousand woolongs, and eat tonight.

The casino Bodhi had mentioned wasn’t owned by or associated with the Syndicate, or at least it hadn’t been when he’d been involved, and so it was… probably safe, even if it was orbiting Mars and a magnet for organized crime. Besides, he was a dead man; nobody was looking.

It was safer than going hungry or limping to hyperspace with a teaspoon of fuel.

“Fine,” he conceded, grudgingly. “Let’s go play.”

For as high-tech as Jabba’s casino was, the picture they’d given her of the mark was really terrible quality.

Easy.

Jyn was… reasonably certain that he had just sat down at her table. She glanced down at the picture, and it definitely looked like the same guy, if she was looking at him through a dusty window.

“Mind if I join the game?” he asked, and sure enough, he had an accent -- her vague memory said Hispanic, but the present said Martian. Bingo. She dealt him in with a smile.

He watched her carefully through several rounds, in which she made sure he neither won nor lost too much to be anything but chance; he barely spoke, and never looked away from the table even as he amassed a respectable collection of chips.

“What a shame,” he murmured, as she pulled about half of his chips across the table. “Seems like Lady Luck isn’t on my side tonight.”

He was looking at her like he could see right through her; but so what? He knew the game they were playing, his part to play -- or at least, Jabba had said he would. He knew he was supposed to lose, and her job was to make sure he did. It was just… he put her on the defensive with the way he was watching her, eyes on her face rather than her hands as she shuffled. He looked at her like she was an open book that he was very interested in reading, and it unsettled her.

“The last hand,” she said mildly, dealing two cards each to the remaining players, and two for herself. She’d been playing it safe, so dealing herself a blackjack wouldn’t be unbelievable; she made sure that he would bust with the first hit.

“Hmm,” he muttered, looking at the twenty-three he’d gotten.

“Dealer makes twenty-one,” she said, with a flourish, and everyone but him groaned and pushed chips around.

“Looks like I’m down to my last chip,” he said, and she smiled, bowed, held out a hand, but -- “I think I’ll keep it as a souvenir.”

What?

Oh, you have got to be joking. He wasn’t in on it after all? Or he wasn’t the right guy? Or maybe he was drunk and had forgotten?

She forced a smile to stay in place as she ducked away from the table and tracked him down. He seemed to have dropped something and was just standing back up.

“Hey,” she hissed, catching him by the arm, and he turned, eyebrow raised. “You’re supposed to give me that last chip!”

He tilted his head. “You’re awfully brash,” he replied evenly, and loudly. “After you cheated the entire game, and I didn’t say a word?”

People around them started muttering about did you hear that, no wonder I’m broke! and the casino’s guards were walking up; this whole job had gone downhill really, really suddenly.

“Just give me the damn chip,” she snapped, and he held it up for a moment, then made it disappear into his sleeve, looking behind her to the guards. She glanced around and met their eyes.

Jabba was expecting her to turn up with the chip in the next five minutes -- they were coming to take her to him, she was sure of it -- and she somehow doubted that he would buy the guy didn’t give it to me as an excuse. Maybe if she brought him in with her, proved to them that it was just a mistake, she’d had the wrong guy… but he had already melted into the crowd.

“Wait!” she cried, running after him, but he had pulled one hell of a disappearing act.

Time to go.

She pressed a concealed button on her bracelet and said the keyword -- “Showtime” -- to initiate autopilot on her Red Tail. It would hone in on the signal from the bracelet and come right to her.

It might break some things in the process, but at this point, she was so deep in this crap that it didn’t much matter.

Cassian fingered the poker chip thoughtfully; it was heavier than the one he’d had before running into that guy -- a guy who, he couldn’t help but notice, looked passably like himself, probably explaining the cheating dealer’s strange antics. She had some deal worked out to get this chip, but had mistaken him for that guy. What it meant to him was, this chip was probably worth some money.

Maybe he had finally had a stroke of good luck.

And then the dealer showed up again, but running full tilt past him -- in heels and a form-fitting uniform, he had to admit that he was a little impressed -- as the glass windows covering one wall shattered and a small, one-man ship burst through.

He glanced behind him, spotted the guards, and cursed internally.

“Bodhi, we have to go!” he snapped into his comm. Bodhi couldn’t possibly be far.

“Are you kidding me?” his partner replied, but growled. “I’ll meet you at the elevators.”

“Meet me at the ship in the lobby, actually,” he said, following the dealer. It would be the single fastest way to get out of here, and if he’d been caught on-camera at the blackjack table, and recognized… It wasn’t incredibly likely, but Cassian had learned a long time ago that assuming the worst and acting accordingly, particularly when it came to evading the Syndicate, usually paid off.

“What ship -- what? I haven’t cashed in my chips!”

“Leave them!”

Bodhi ran almost directly into him in the lobby; they’d be able to hitch a ride, she was just getting into her ship, and they were right on her heels.

“What’s going on?” Bodhi asked desperately, but Cassian ignored him and shoved him into the little ship, following right behind him just before the door closed. The dealer looked around, horrified.

“What the hell are you doing?” she shrieked, and he glanced through the viewport, the guards pulling out their guns.

“Hitching a ride out of here,” he answered. “You gonna fly, or is cheating at blackjack all you know?”

She glared at him, then cursed under her breath and took off.

“Where can I get rid of you?” she snapped, as soon as they were out of the casino, leaving an impressive array of broken windows and upended landscaping behind them. It wasn’t exactly the smoothest escape he’d ever been involved in, but it would work in a pinch, and if he’d been caught on camera and the Syndicate did recognize him, the dealer would be their first target, and they might even assume that he was associated with Jabba now. It would buy him time, if nothing else.

“Our ship is docked at the north hangar,” he replied. “What’s on the chip?”

She didn’t answer, but she did take them to the north hangar and land within their own airlock, which he closed and locked behind him as soon as they were off. If he wanted to fence this thing, he’d need to know what it was, and to whom it was worth money, and she was the only link he had to either answer.

“Hey!” she yelled, eyes blazing with anger, and stormed out of her little zipcraft. “Let me out of here!”

“What’s on the chip?” he repeated.

“What is going on?” Bodhi moaned.

“Can you take us out of here?” he asked Bodhi, who made a face.

“Yeah, but it’s the last takeoff we can manage with the fuel we’ve got.”

So, basically: wherever they landed, they had to fuel up, or they were grounded. As long as it wasn’t Mars, he wasn’t going to care.

“What do you even care about that stupid chip?” the dealer snarled, following them as they made their way to the cockpit. “You don’t even have it!”

“I don’t?” he said evenly, holding it up and weighing it in his hand. “It’s awfully heavy for a poker chip.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, mouth falling open. “You had it the whole time?” she asked, hands clenching into fists. “Why didn’t you give it to me like you were supposed to?”

“I haven’t had it the whole time,” he admitted, hiding it again in a concealed pocket of his jacket. “Found it on a man who looked a lot like me, though.”

She growled and took a deep breath. “Look, just give it to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I need it, that’s why.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a deal with Jabba,” she articulated through clenched teeth, and he shook his head.

“I don’t know any Jabba,” he lied. “What’s so important about it?”

“I don’t know!” she snapped, holding up her hands in frustration. “I just know that he wants it, and if I give it to him, all my debts go away. So just give me the damn chip!”

“How much are those debts?” he countered, and she glared.

“None of your business.”

“Let me rephrase,” he amended. “How much is this thing worth?”

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, before giving him an acidic smile. “More than four hundred million woolongs, apparently,” she snarled, and he almost fell over.

Holy shit. Even in his wildest dreams, he hadn’t expected this thing to be worth that much.

(Also, how the hell had she rung up a debt of that size? He made a mental note to hunt down her information.)

He didn’t show his surprise, and instead whistled softly. “So, at least half a billion. You hear that, Bodhi?”

The question was rhetorical; Bodhi was gaping at the dealer.

“We just got rich,” Bodhi breathed.

“No, you didn’t,” the dealer snapped back. “You can’t fence it. It’s worth that much to Jabba, and I don’t know who he’s planning to sell it to.”

“So help us find out,” he said quickly, and she narrowed her eyes. “We’ll cut you in on the profit, you get a third of whatever it gets us.”

She seemed to think it over for a moment, before nodding slowly, eyes calculating. “Okay,” she said, holding out her hand to shake. “We have a deal.”

Yeah, he thought, even as he took her hand. She’s lying.

He told her his name was Joreth, which she tentatively decided was a lie, because she felt like he trusted her roughly as much as she trusted him, which was somewhere between “not at all” and “active sabotage”.

But still, she agreed to act as a go-between for him and Jabba, because it was in her best interest to get that chip into Jabba’s hands, and although she could not give less of a damn whether or not the two guys got paid, she cared significantly more about getting her own debts forgiven than getting revenge on them for manipulating her.

“Ah,” Jabba’s aide said, when she contacted him from the ship’s living area, “Jyn. We were beginning to worry.”

“I don’t buy that,” she replied, deadpan. “Look, I’m on a fishing boat, still in Martian orbit. We have the chip, if we can arrange a trade.”

“We?”

“Long story,” she sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose to stave off a headache. “How much are you willing to pay for it?”

“That wasn’t the deal.”

“I’m changing the deal,” she countered coldly. “Instead of Jabba paying my debts,” she explained, even though the words tasted like bile -- not-Joreth was standing on the other side of the camera, watching -- “he pays cold, hard cash.”

Alternatively, she tried to say with her eyes, you could just kill them and we could go back to our old deal.

The aide looked aside, and she heard Jabba say something, before he looked back at her with a thin smile. “Ah, but, you see, Master Jabba never promised to pay your debts, simply to make them go away.”

In other words, they were not about to hand over four hundred million woolongs. It probably had been too much to hope for.

“So,” he went on calmly, “no matter how much you settle with us for, you’ll be taking a loss.”

“How about we discuss this in person?”

“Oh, no,” the aide countered. “You’ve already decided to change the deal. So, we’ll offer you… thirty million woolongs.”

With every fiber of her being, she loathed not-Joreth and his partner for screwing this all up for her. She forced herself to smile.

“Fifty,” she countered.

“Thirty,” he repeated, and she glanced up at not-Joreth, who shrugged.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Thirty million woolongs.”

“Excellent,” the aide said. “We’ll see you at the flight deck of the casino at 2100 hours.”

With that, he cut the feed, and not-Joreth walked around her, again toying with the poker chip. She wanted to throttle him.

“I could have had my debt paid off if you had just -- “

“What’s on the chip?” he cut her off, and she let out a scream of frustration.

“I don’t know!” she snarled, but his expression didn’t flicker.

“Let’s find out,” he said, shrugging, and opened up a panel in the wall, pulling out some kind of device. Bodhi walked in from the cockpit and sat on the couch opposite her as he set it up on the table.

“What have we got?” Bodhi asked, and not-Joreth pursed his lips.

“Thirty million if we trade with Jabba,” he replied, setting the poker chip on the stage of the device. “But I doubt he’ll give us the best price.”

“Thirty million?” Bodhi repeated, but then shrugged. “We’d still be better off.”

Jyn was vibrating with suppressed anger, and there was no way that not-Joreth couldn’t see it. “I’m not better off,” she snarled. “You two are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I doubt that,” not-Joreth replied mildly. “You were in the Astral Gate accident,” he went on, and she started.

“How do you know that?” she asked, and he didn’t look up.

“I have ways of gathering information,” he answered. Jyn narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been out of cryo for four years, and on the run from your medical bills for three. I doubt we even rank in the top five worst things that have ever happened to you.”

She scowled. “Yeah, thanks for reminding me that I have the worst luck in the solar system,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “I should have killed you and taken the chip for myself.”

He let out a short laugh. “I would love to see you try to kill me,” he said, but didn’t elaborate, looking intently at the screen. In spite of herself, she was curious. He was an enigma, and an attractive one, even if he was an asshole.

“So, what is it?” she asked.

“It’s a chip,” he said, and before she could say yes thank you for stating the obvious, jackass, he went on. “CryptBreaker.”

“What?” Bodhi asked, and he glanced at him.

“It’s a master decryption program,” he answered. “ISSP has been looking for it for years.”

“How much do you think they’d be willing to pay for it?” Jyn asked, and he raised an eyebrow, looking to Bodhi and shrugging. Bodhi looked uncertain.

“I don’t know, I’d have to ask some of my old… colleagues,” he said, wincing.

“More than thirty million?” not-Joreth suggested, and Bodhi made a face.

“Doubt it,” he replied. “You know ISSP, they’d want us to hand it over to be good citizens.”

“I bet the Syndicate would pay good money for it,” Jyn offered, and not-Joreth’s expression turned to ice.

“We are not contacting the Syndicate.”

“Why not?” she countered, raising her chin defiantly and making a mental note of his reaction. “They’re close, and they’ll pay up for a master decryption program. If they find out Jabba’s offering thirty million, they’ll offer us more.”

“No,” he snapped, and her eyes narrowed. Yeah, definitely bad blood between him and the Syndicate.

She wasn’t sure how it would become useful, but she was sure that it could be.

“Fine,” she sighed, crossing her arms and leaning back into the chair. “Jabba it is.”

“You know, she’s probably right about the Syndicate,” Bodhi muttered. “They’d pay at least double what Jabba’s offering.”

Cassian shook his head, watching her tinker with her ship -- he wasn’t fool enough to leave her alone with a comm and the knowledge that he, someone she had reason to want to hurt, had history with Mars’s largest criminal organization. “Not to me, they won’t,” he said, and Bodhi glanced at him.

“What’s your history with them?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “I stay away from them, that’s all that matters.”

She was right, that was true. Draven would pay a lot of hard money for that chip… if anyone except Cassian offered it. But if they found out that Cassian was alive, after all this time, he’d never, ever get free of them again, if they didn’t just kill him outright.

There’d be no payoff, and he’d lose the freedom he’d had to fake his own death to achieve. Not even worth contemplating.

“It’s almost time,” he said, turning on his heel and making for his own ship. “I’m going down to the flight deck, the two of you wait here.” To Bodhi, under his breath: “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Jyn replied sarcastically, and he rolled his eyes as he walked away.

Within ten minutes, he was suited up and landing his ship on the flight deck of the casino; Jabba’s aide was already there, waiting with a briefcase. He stepped out, the magnetic shoes of the space suit keeping him on the surface in the microgravity.

“Thirty million woolongs,” the aide said, holding up the case, and Cassian held up the chip to show him. “On three.”

At the count of three, he threw the chip and the aide threw the case… and then pulled out a gun. By the time he fired, Cassian had already pushed off the flight deck and grabbed a turbine, and managed to pull himself forward in time to catch the chip and knock the aide’s gun away, and then the aide himself off the flight deck.

He was just about to go for the briefcase -- win-win, as far as he was concerned, and all it had cost was sending one of Jabba Desilijic Tiure’s aides into deep space -- when he was almost knocked off his feet by the force of another spaceship landing.

Jyn’s zipcraft. He looked up and met her eyes through the viewport.

She gave him a blinding smile, and used her craft’s claw to pluck the briefcase off the flight deck and pull it up into the ship, then waved merrily at him and flew off.

It had all happened in less than a minute.

Cassian bit his tongue.

To be honest, this was much more in line with how his luck usually went. He should have known that it was too good to be true.

“Well,” Cassian said, placing a bandage over Bodhi’s forehead where Jyn had clocked him with a wrench to get him out of her way, “we can still give it to the ISSP. Maybe they’ll give us enough money to fuel up.”

“I am never taking you to a casino again,” Bodhi grumbled.

#rebelcaptain #rebelcaptainprompts #fanfiction; mine

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