#Yet it's hard to convince ourselves that we need to flee now given all the uncertainties that come with it

[thesaltyace]

When you do Zoom dinner with friends in another state and you're telling them about stuff going on in your life in Texas and not really thinking much of it...

And then they go "Hey if you ever need to leave Texas in a hurry, just start driving and give us a text or call whenever you can. Even if you show up in the middle of the night you're welcome to stay with us while you figure things out."

On one hand that's very very kind and we're very grateful to know that they would shelter us if needed.

On the other hand, it's now got me thinking that Texas must look way more horrific from the outside because we're just used to living inside the nightmare and don't realize how bad it is.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Thank you "Worthwhile Trade". The idea of Baxia turning into an guai is so interesting. I liked imagining the part where she hit NMJ for his idiocy. My brain is projecting "married couple" vibes, omg. I admit despite how weird WWX spoke about the events, the time travel part flew over my head until the tags spelled it out for me. (TBC)

(Cont'd) Also... did NMJ mean it in THAT dual-thing way when talking WRH's prefs? And the last part, where WWX used resentful energy to sub NMJ's qi. I assume he can still cultivate since his core's still there, if emptied? But I wonder what'll happen to his energy once restored Can't help but think his renewed qi will inevitably be affected by the traces of the previous energy that once circulated. He's not going to become a walking stygian tiger or something, is he? Off the wall guess, sorry!

----

sequel to Worthwhile Trade (ao3), also on tumblr

Wei Wuxian didn’t understand Nie Mingjue.

He didn’t understand the way he thought, the way he acted – the way he smiled when he woke up, the way he opened his arms when Nie Huaisang threw himself into them with a wail and said, “It was worth it for you, didi; it always is if it’s for you. Don’t you know that?” the way Wei Wuxian had always shamefully thought of saying, as if something like that could just be said like that, out in the open.

The way Nie Mingjue shrugged when the doctors said his cultivation would likely never recover, that he should have died, that they didn’t understand why he hadn’t; the way he said, seeming even satisfied, that it was a worthwhile trade.

It’s not a trade, Wei Wuxian wanted to scream at him. It’s a sacrifice! It hurts and you’re sad, no, worse, you’re resentful about it and you shouldn’t be because it was your choice, your decision, but you see someone else with everything that you worked so hard for and you’re angry when you shouldn’t be angry and you feel bad and you turn away; it hurts them when you do and you’re glad, you miserable thing, you’re happy that they’re hurt because why should you be the only one whose hurt –

Perhaps the problem wasn’t that he didn’t understand Nie Mingjue.

Perhaps it was only that he saw in Nie Mingjue his own faults, his own deficiencies, the ones he’d tried so hard to hide in the sea of his poor memory.

“You’ll die if you don’t find a way to cultivate,” he said instead, hovering by the door. He’d say that he didn’t mean to ruin the mood, but he kind of did, and Baxia’s eyes on him were cold as if she knew.

As if she knew everything.

How he’d gone back to the past, how he’d changed things, how it was his fault that Nie Mingjue – who’d never done a single thing to hurt him, who’d been upright and righteous and good and whose brother loved him enough to –

Wei Wuxian had made a point of avoiding Baxia.

Not that she was that easy to avoid. She was tall for a woman – not as tall as Nie Mingjue, but proportionate to him in the sense that she was as much taller than the average woman as he was taller than the average man – and she walked as though people should flee before her, a tread that only felt heavy because of the almost visceral rage that surrounded her like a cloud.

Nie Huaisang had found robes for her, somehow, and they were the least feminine robes Wei Wuxian had ever seen a woman wear, though he supposed he still hadn’t seen that given that Baxia wasn’t exactly a woman.  Cut in a martial style, a dark shimmering grey that seemed in some lights to be almost red – she had been born as a human in a mantle of blood and she would not let anyone forget it.

“I should have died already,” Nie Mingjue said, as if the world’s scariest guai didn’t have her hand on his shoulder right next to his vulnerable neck. “You came up with a solution, Wei-gongzi, and for that I thank you. Even if we are not able to solve the next stage, being able to see my loved ones is worthwhile.”

Wei Wuxian could learn to hate that word.

“I have a solution, of a sort,” he said, irritated and not entirely because his reveal had been preempted. He’d hoped to sort of ease into it, somehow. “You lack the capacity for regular cultivation, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use demonic cultivation.”

“What? No, we can’t do that,” Nie Huaisang said, biting his fingers anxiously. “Anyway, doesn’t demonic cultivation harm the temperament?”

“You mean my temperament can get worse?” Nie Mingjue teased, and Nie Huaisang smacked him so lightly that it didn’t even displace his clothing. “I don’t know any means of demonic cultivation, Wei-gongzi –”

“Call me Wei Wuxian,” Wei Wuxian said. “Please.”

“Wei Wuxian, then,” Nie Mingjue said. “All the methods I’ve ever heard of were forbidden for very good reasons – but perhaps those conditions are not the same in the method you know.”

Wei Wuxian tensed. “How do you know that I know one?”

“You saved me, didn’t you?” Nie Mingjue said practically, and well, yes, Wei Wuxian supposed he had a point – “And anyway, Baxia can tell.”

Wei Wuxian shivered. “I don’t use it,” he argued. “How can she tell?”

At Nie Huaisang’s instigation, Baxia had recently started experimenting with smiles. She put one on her face now.

It was terrifying.

“Tell me about it,” Nie Mingjue requested. “The powers and the price, all of it.”

“You’re actually considering this?” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “But da-ge…!”

“Wei Wuxian was not wrong when he said that I would die if I didn’t find a way to cultivate despite having given up what I have,” Nie Mingjue said. “If I die, what will you do?”

Oh, not much, just become a mastermind capable of puppeting the entire cultivation world to enact revenge for your death. Nothing big.

“But – da-ge has always put such a priority on remaining on the righteous path…”

“That’s why I asked about the costs,” Nie Mingjue said patiently. “I will not abandon righteousness simply because I adopt a new method of cultivating.”

“Everyone will revile you even if you are righteous,” Wei Wuxian warned him.

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “Who is everyone? What do I care for them? You do the right thing because it is right, not for the sake of fame.”

Wei Wuxian had once thought the same.

“If everyone in the cultivation world thinks you are evil, they will paint you as evil no matter what you do,” he insisted. “No matter how righteous your motives –”

“Let them think he’s evil, then!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “He could be the most black-hearted cultivator in the land, but he’s still my da-ge; my Nie sect and I will protect him!”

“Huaisang! No! That is not how righteousness works – if I ever truly become evil, you are to cut me off at once, kill me if necessary –”

“No way!”

“Huaisang – Baxia, tell him; evil cannot be endured –”

Baxia was looking at her fingernails. She’d picked that gesture up from Sect Leader Ouyang, when he was trying to be pointed about ignoring someone; it was extremely irritating to absolutely everyone who wanted to know who she was and what she was doing here and Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian had teamed up to convince her to keep doing it.

Possibly a mistake, in retrospect.

“Baxia. I know you agree with me on this. Evil is evil, and must be eradicated no matter who it may be.”

She gave him an unimpressed look.

“I know I’m not evil yet,” Nie Mingjue argued, apparently understanding her without any difficulty whatsoever. He’d just woken up from a month-long coma and he could already speak fluent human-saber, it was really unfair. And this man had succumbed to Jin Guangyao’s wiles? Lan Xichen had more to answer for than he knew. “But if I ever become evil – what? No, we will not burn that bridge when we come to it, that’s not even the right idiom, who is teaching you these things –”

Nie Huaisang coughed and hid his face behind a fan.

Wei Wuxian was not going to laugh.

Nie Mingjue growled at them all and turned back to Wei Wuxian. “Explain,” he demanded. “The rest of you, out.”

“But –”

“Out. One of us has to cultivate the righteous path, and if it can’t be me, it has to be you. Baxia?”

She picked Nie Huaisang up by his collar, for all the world like a mother dog picking up her pup by the scruff of its neck, and walked out.

Nie Mingjue picked up demonic cultivation faster than anyone else Wei Wuxian had ever met or even heard of. He wasn’t sure if that demonstrated an unnerving aptitude or if it was simply that Nie Mingjue was surpassingly talented – Wei Wuxian had never met anyone like himself before, someone for whom all things came easy, and it was an unexpected delight to meet a kindred soul somewhere where he’d long ago given up hope. He’d never planned to unveil demonic cultivation in this life unless he truly needed it – he didn’t want to hurt his Lan Zhan the way he had in his first life, and anyway Jiang Cheng and Uncle Jiang and Madame Yu were all alive, with hundreds of Jiang sect members to boot, there was no need for his sacrifice – but the part of him that was more researcher and inventor than cultivator luxuriated in their discussions.

Nie Mingjue was a lot more concerned than Wei Wuxian had ever been with consequences, and how to mitigate them, but he supposed that made sense: losing his cultivation hadn’t impacted that Nie temper one bit, and demonic cultivation was likely to make things worse. Moreover, Nie Mingjue was simply who he was, stiff and unbending, as much steel in his spine as in Baxia’s; he could almost be described as being rigid in his thinking except for the fact that he was in fact seriously considering becoming a demonic cultivator.

“We’re saber cultivators,” Nie Mingjue said when Wei Wuxian tentatively brought it up. “Like a saber, our nature is to be firm and unyielding, not flexible like the sword, but we cannot allow ourselves to become too rigid – a too-rigid saber will break upon encountering an obstacle. It’s a difficult balance to keep, and one made more difficult by our cultivation style.”

“The demonic cultivation aspects, you mean? Using yao to refine your saber spirit?”

“One day, though not today, I’m going to ask you how you know about that,” Nie Mingjue remarked, and although his tone was causal Wei Wuxian’s back went cold. “And I’ll expect you to tell me the truth when I do. But not today. Anyway, yes, that’s what I mean. Do you know what they mean when they say that demonic cultivation harms the temperament?”

Wei Wuxian hesitated. “I assume you’re going to tell me something other than ‘it drives you crazy and makes you kill people’?”

Nie Mingjue snorted. “Sometimes I wonder how someone as smart as you got sent home before you finished your lessons at the Cloud Recesses, but other times it’s fairly obvious.”

Wei Wuxian shrugged, embarrassed.

“Do you really not know?”

“No one taught this to me,” Wei Wuxian said, stung. “I came up with it on my own. How would I know?”

“All demonic cultivation has the same root,” Nie Mingjue said. “Obsession.”

“With killing, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it a million times –”

“Shut up and listen, you impertinent brat. The killing comes later. It starts with obsession. Obsession with righteousness, obsession with love, obsession with the pleasures of this world, with power – a human becomes a demon when they cannot overcome the obsessions within their heart, and the obsession consumes them. In time, a demonic cultivator who is obsessed with power will do whatever it takes to obtain that power, and not mind the blood shed to do it; a demonic cultivator who is obsessed with love will kill everyone who they perceive stands between them and their love, a demonic cultivator who is obsessed with righteousness will turn to murder when in their judgment something that ought to be condemned goes unpunished…”

“What about one who only wants what’s best for his family?” Wei Wuxian said, and he did not know if the challenge in his voice was about Nie Mingjue’s future or his own past.

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “Two roads that I can see: first, their family turns away from them for what they have become and they become vicious with the abandonment, becoming quick to lash out against the world and eventually doing something that causes the world to turn against them.  Second, their family stands by them, and eventually the world causes some harm to them – and the demonic cultivator turns to madness in revenge.”

“Not exactly an optimistic outlook.”

“Not especially, no.”

“You don’t seem as concerned by that as I would have thought.”

Nie Mingjue’s lips twitched. “I have a solution.”

“Would you like to share?”

“Using resentful energy to cultivate our sabers makes them prone to obsession, driving them ceaselessly to fight evil, destroy it, without discrimination. It makes them stronger, but also more dangerous – and that is why they must be carefully controlled.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “So, what? You’re going to be the saber now? Under whose control?”

“Huaisang’s, of course,” Nie Mingjue said, as if it were obvious. “For better or for worse, he is sect leader now. Who else would it be?”

“But – what if you disagree? What if he wants to do things one way, and you another –”

“Then I argue and probably yell a lot, and if in the end he still insists on doing things his way, I listen,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “That’s how hierarchy works. Isn’t it the same for you? When your shidi, Jiang Cheng, becomes sect leader, you’ll need to listen to him – or leave the sect. There’s no middle ground.”

Wei Wuxian scowled.

“A sect leader that can’t control his disciples is worse than a demonic cultivator,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s weak. A target, ripe to be ripped apart and devoured by other sects – resources raided, disciples poached, responsibilities taken away...It’s not a fate I would wish on anyone. If you can’t commit to obeying, commit to leaving so that you don’t end up promising more than you can give.”

Ouch.

Just – ouch.

Great advice, fantastic advice, world-class advice, and totally useless because Jiang Cheng had travelled back in time with him and was therefore convinced that Wei Wuxian was just looking for the first way out of the Jiang sect he could find, no matter what Wei Wuxian said or did about it.

(Even Madame Yu was concerned by the new coldness in their relationship and had tried to talk to him about it, which – Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to do with that. It didn’t match any of what he had thought he’d understood.)

He decided to focus back in on the demonic cultivation lessons, shifting from theoretical discussions to the practical, and that, unfortunately, was when they encountered an issue.

“What do you mean you can’t play an instrument?” Wei Wuxian demanded, appalled. “It’s one of the Six Arts! Everyone can play some sort of instrument – even Nie Huaisang plays an instrument!”

“Everyone agreed it was better that I stop learning,” Nie Mingjue said defensively. “It’s all just plucking on strings or blowing air in pipes, and yet no matter that I did exactly what the teacher said to do, it never worked, that’s all.”

“Didn’t Zewu-jun offer to teach you…?”

“He did. And then he said it would be better if we stopped, too.”

The reason, Wei Wuxian soon learned, was that Nie Mingjue was almost completely tone deaf, and the only reason it was almost was that he was still capable of differentiating speech.

“I agree with the majority,” he said after an extremely frustrating day. “Stop. Never pick up an instrument ever again. And don’t let anyone but Zewu-jun play something especially for you, either, okay? Even if they’re highly recommended.”

“An interesting request,” Nie Mingjue said, eyebrows arched skeptically. “May I ask why?”

“Because you’ll have no idea if they’ve changed the music on you,” Wei Wuxian said bluntly. A great deal about the man’s murder in a different life made sense now, and Jin Guangyao’s brilliance in hiding the score of Turmoil inside of Clarity was a little less impressive when played to a man who thought all music, without exception, was just plucking strings or blowing air. “Musical cultivation is deadly in the right hands, especially if you lower your defenses against it. Just consider it a precaution.”

Nie Mingjue’s eyebrows remained arched, but he hummed in agreement.

“I guess we’ll have to think of a new way for you to cultivate demonic cultivation,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing his face. He had not been planning on having to invent demonic cultivation at all in this life, and now he needed to not only ‘invent’ the original but actually come up with something new. Why was his life so hard? “How did you previously manipulate external energy?”

“With Baxia.”

“Well, that’s not helpful, is it? You can’t wield a human being. Perhaps another saber…?”

That didn’t work, primarily because it turned out that Baxia had strong feelings about Nie Mingjue even thinking about using another saber and well, as far as Wei Wuxian was concerned, whatever Baxia wanted, Baxia got.

(Nie Huaisang had had to go to Heijan once, with Wei Wuxian and Baxia accompanying him since Nie Mingjue wasn’t ready yet, and some unlucky Wen captain had tried to ambush them. That captain, and his squad, were not granted the courtesy of an intact corpse, and Baxia hadn’t even gotten a speck of blood on her nice new robes – no, Wei Wuxian would not be crossing Baxia any time soon.)

“There’s got to be something,” Wei Wuxian said, and Nie Mingjue agreed, and in the end they found something.

Nie Mingjue had been absent-mindedly playing around with one of Nie Huaisang’s fans when one of the fierce corpses Wei Wuxian had raised as practice targets had gotten loose; instinct had taken over and Nie Mingjue had lashed out with the weapon at hand as if it were a saber, and the resentful energy had surged in response –

Baxia was apparently not threatened by the notion of her master using a fan as a weapon, not even one inlaid with steel and heavy cloth with enough layers to catch a sword in.

(If Wei Wuxian needed to go have some time to himself at the sight of Nie Huaisang, dressed as a sect leader with his saber always at his side, standing next to Nie Mingjue holding a fan – well, that was his problem, and also one he intended to show to Jiang Cheng at the next possible opportunity. Someone else deserved to have their mind wrecked by the incongruity as much as he had.)

Even without the weirdness of Nie Mingjue, it was more than a little odd to see Nie Huaisang in the robes of a sect leader without him acting like the Head-shaker. The shock of having to become sect leader had fallen heavily on him: he had become a little more serious, a little more earnest (though still a bit frivolous); he was more inclined to listen and think things over, less inclined to run away.

“If da-ge is going to become a demonic cultivator, someone needs to stand behind him,” Nie Huaisang said simply when Wei Wuxian had tried probing. “He’s always held the world up for me – it’s the least I can do for him. I may not be able to do much, I might be terrible at it, but I owe it to him to at least try.”

Wei Wuxian wondered, sometimes, if Jiang Cheng would have stood up for him if only he had trusted in him, believed in him, the way Nie Mingjue believed in his notoriously useless little brother.

Maybe he’d ask, when he went back to the Jiang sect.

Maybe he’d –

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Jiang Cheng said as a greeting, and for once Uncle Jiang didn’t disagree. “All those letters and you never once mentioned the terrors?”

“The what,” Wei Wuxian said, and that was how he learned that while he was on his way back to Yunmeng neither Baxia nor Nie Mingjue had wasted any time utilizing their newfound skills out on the battlefield.

Nie Huaisang was never going to be a particularly respected sect leader, especially by those that had met him beforehand, but evidently that wasn’t really important given that he was constantly flanked by what was being called the two terrors of Qinghe.

Nie Mingjue preferred darker colors now that he was no longer sect leader, the same dark grey shading towards black that Baxia had selected for herself, and the selection somehow made him seem even taller, verging on inhuman, and Baxia standing beside him, her human features patterned roughly after his, made the two of them appear a matched set. Nie Mingjue wielded the fan that Wei Wuxian had helped him design, which he had forged with his own hands out of the metal from the Xuanwu’s cave that Wei Wuxian had foolishly figured someone ought to get some use out of, painted over with a cinnabar array in Nie Huaisang’s careful brushstrokes, and in his hands it was both weapon and conduit for the raising of armies of corpses. Baxia, for her part, held nothing but required nothing, a sweeping gesture of her hand more devastating than a dozen blows with the saber.

They were terrifying, a nightmare writ large and unmistakably dangerous, undeniably demonic cultivators in a way that was entirely different from Wei Wuxian’s own dramatics, and it unnerved the rest of the cultivation world the way Wei Wuxian had feared it would.

“It won’t be a problem,” Jiang Cheng said impatiently. “The Nie sect are ascending in strength, and this only adds to their mystique – who would challenge them?”

“Uh, Jin Guangshan,” Wei Wuxian said. “Like last time?”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “At this rate, I don’t even think Jin Guangyao will bother defecting to the Jin sect,” he said. “Not if he knows how to play his cards right. The Nie sect’s strength in the original version was never about Chifeng-zun’s skill with the blade alone. It was the whole sect’s strength, with Chifeng-zun’s ability to wield them as skillfully as he did his saber; he’s an outstanding general. And now they have him as a general, him as a demonic cultivator, and whatever the fuck is going on with Lady Baxia –”

“I already told you. She’s a guai.”

“Like I already told you, it doesn’t matter how many times you say that, I will immediately expel the knowledge from my mind and you should too. ‘Immortal cultivator cousin that my brother named his saber after’, like what Nie Huaisang has been putting about, is a perfectly acceptable cover story.”

“And the fact that his saber disappeared at the same time?”

“Coincidence,” Jiang Cheng said firmly. “And we’re sticking with that. Anyway, the point is that if you’re an ambitious man, the Nie sect is the place to be right now and probably will continue to be in the future. This is going to be evident to both Jin Guangshan and the future Jin Guangyao, and we’ll need to deal with that.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Wei Wuxian promised. “After rescuing Chifeng-zun and helping with the demonic cultivation, I’ve gotten pretty close to them.”

“Mm. And how about your other mission?”

Wei Wuxian scowled at the smirk on Jiang Cheng’s face. “You know perfectly well that I haven’t had any time to seduce Lan Wangji, what with how busy I’ve been. I don’t even know for sure if he likes me yet -!”

“You’re an idiot, he does, and you’re not allowed to keep us all in suspense for two decades this time. Figure it out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m sticking you with the job of being an information courier and you leave for the Lan sect front line tomorrow.”

“You are the best shidi ever,” Wei Wuxian said, and meant it.

Jiang Cheng huffed. “Yeah, well,” he said as if his cheeks weren’t red. “Remember that in the future. In this life we’re the Twin Heroes, you hear me? No take-backs.”

Nie Mingjue was right: Wei Wuxian would need to either learn to obey or tell Jiang Cheng early on that he was leaving, and walking a path in the middle would only cause heartbreak all over again.

“Okay,” he said, deciding to ask Lan Wangji for advice on obedience. Surely that was something that could be learned? “Deal. You do know that that means Lan Wangji’s going to have to marry in, right?”

“Oh no,” Jiang Cheng said, voice entirely flat. “How terrible. I’ll find a way to manage dealing with that ice block somehow…listen, I don’t care if you end up calling him Wei Sizhui in this life, but don’t ruin his character. He was perfectly nice.”

“I don’t know if he’s even been born yet,” Wei Wuxian said glumly. “I’ve been looking, but…”

“I’ve asked some of Mother’s spies to keep track of Wen Ning and Wen Qing,” Jiang Cheng said. “Collecting evidence we’ll need for their inevitable post-war trial, assuming we want them to live better lives than just refugees. Give it time, we’ll find him.”

“Now I just need to see if Lan Wangji will want to raise children with me…”

“Wei Wuxian. I don’t care. Go.”

[deep-and-personal-thoughts]

Happiness

Happiness…

A commonly used word, however… No one seems to truly understand the meaning of it. What is happiness? It is one of the most basic questions asked by pretty much any psychiatrist, or even just any person. I once sat down, and properly thought to myself,

- What is happiness? Is it when we feel the happiest in our life? Is it that warm feeling you get in your stomach each time you laugh? Or is it the feeling of satisfaction when something goes right?

Life is a bit like poker. You get dealt a hand, you might just end up with something shit that you feel like you can not do anything with, to win the game. Some people get lucky, they get dealt that royal flush right from the get-go. Some people fold right at the beginning of the game. Others decide to play for the long game, I am one of those people. I will admit to you, I might have been given a pair of two, but I managed to mess it up. Sometimes it left me open-handed in fact, but I am working on it. Most people’s personalities are decided by what cards are in their possession. The ones with the royal flush do not really have to work for most stuff in their life, they can sit back and do something purely because they enjoy it. The ones with nothing, have to work much harder, to fight for that queen of hearts or the really lucky ones, the ace. They have it tougher since the odds are already against them, they are designed to lose so to win they gotta work hard and take risky bets to get their cards. People handed a card or two that helps them are a bit stuck in between classes, they might end up in a one-room apartment in Birmingham, or they might end up in a two-floored penthouse in the middle of L.A. It all depends on the player really, and how hard they are going to fight to win the round. Now they might lose some, they might be left with only one chip, but then you have the choice, to keep going, to fight on, or you can give up, you can fold your hand and accept the loss. To that, I simply say; fuck that. Life is not all rainbow and sunshine, unfortunately, I am sorry to be the one to burst your bubble in case you were not already aware. Took a bit of time myself to realize that. Life is not your friend, it spends every day trying to kill you, to make you give up. We are our own friend, you decide every morning to get up, you decide what cards you are going to play next. Life is the dealer who tries to trick you and fool you, to make you fold, but you do not.

Now, learning this lesson was not an easy task. It took a lot of hits, a lot of punches before I even turned my head to think:

-Why? Why do I keep ending up hurt, more than before? Is there no being happy for me? Am I not meant to feel happy?

The first punch was a big one, it was the closest I ever got to folding my hand. I got close, so close to listening to that dealer, to give up.

It was a chilly spring morning. The snow had finally started melting, it was almost so I could see the thin grass strays peeking out from the white cushion covering the ground. I woke up to the birds chirping right outside the window. I packed my bags, ready for yet another day at school. I was happy, I was excited to see my friends, to see my teachers. I picked the first outfit I could see in my closet, it was a suit. A white shirt with a brown blazer, black jeans, and a nice red bowtie to go along with it. Yet, when I went to close the jeans, there was suddenly a resistance of some sort, I struggled to get it closed but eventually, you do. It is as if the jeans had gotten smaller somehow, but they fit me perfectly just a week ago… I thought nothing of it though, I got them on, nothing more with that. I put on your blazer, yet, as I stretched my arms out, it was as if the arms have been cut off an inch. Once more I shook the thought out of my head. I hopped on the bike and excitedly raced off, trying to be the first one to arrive just so I could show off about having been there first. The day passed by and I was laughing and running, I was having a good time. As the day came to a close, I was just about to have a snack along with the rest of my class, but as soon as my hand touched the sandwich, I heard my friend speak up.

-You are really big now, you look like a hippo.

My friends laughed, I simply looked at him confused, and then I remembered… The pants, the shirt. I had recently gotten bigger, I had grown in all kinds of places and I did not know why. My mum had told you briefly that when a girl becomes a woman she grows but I did not want to be bigger, I did not want to be different. I decided,

-Best to skip the snack today, maybe then I will shrink, and I will look like my old self again.

But as I kept eating normally I saw myself growing bigger and bigger. Eventually, I was the tallest and biggest in my class. My friend called me “hippo” as a joke, but yet each time he said it, I felt like a knife had just sliced a line across my heart. This feeling of a black hole built up in my stomach, just like an empty pit, and this desperate feeling that I needed something to fill it.

My twelfth birthday came along. I was happy, I spent the entire day with my family, getting to make my one wish per year. That year I wished for one thing, that this year I would be happy and thin, that I would get the guy that I liked, and he would look at me and say he liked me too, after all these years together. As one might have expected, my dream did not come true, some dreams are just meant for fairytales I suppose, I had just really hoped just that one would come true. Instead, I grew, my friends had started growing too but I was still the one without a flat belly, the one whose thighs jiggled when she touched them. My nickname, still the same as before among other nicknames such as “biggy” “elephant”, the pit in my stomach grew deeper, emptier. I needed something to fill it, but it obviously could not be with food since that was what made me big. So I stopped filling it. Two weeks went by till my parents caught on and forced me to start eating again. The pit came back, this time I needed another, less obvious method. So I unscrewed my pen sharpener and went drawing. Fleeing is the most cowardly yet common way for people to confront their problem. Drawing on my arm was me fleeing, being too afraid to face my problems and to admit that I was for the first time in my life feeling so upset that it simply would not stop, that pain, that empty feeling, it would not go away, no matter what I did, what I said, I would continue being teased, I would continue to grow, nothing changed.

The drawing became my secret until I one day fluttered my eyes open and found myself in a white silk bed, a needle in my arm, a few drops falling from the top of the container every few seconds. The drops following a plastic straw all the way into my arm where it forced itself into my system. I looked out, I had a nice ocean view, I could see the birds flying across the water, chirping just as they would any other day. The water looked still, but I could see some fog left from the night before. To my left, on a little sofa that was placed in the room my mum was sat, her eyes bloodshot as if she had been crying for hours, and purple bags under her eyes as if the last time she got to sleep was years ago. She looked at me, with the biggest face of disappointment and sadness, almost a sense of… pity. A bang shot right into my heart, that was the moment I told myself:

-You get your shit together right now, for her right there, and for yourself. She deserves better than that, and you fucked her over.

I meant one person, then I met another one, and another, and lastly another one. I tried talking to four separate people, to make them understand how I felt, a scream for help. Yet it was as if my voice had been cut off, as if each time I tried asking for help, nothing more than a strained groan left my throat. And yet, I always got the same response.

-You’re depressed.

-You have anxiety.

-You are a teenager.

-You need this medicine.

Well, I had gotten a diagnosis, so… was I okay now? Do I keep going with my life as normal? But, how can I do that, I can not simply forget what happened.

I was swiped away from all my cards that day and left with a simple pile of nothing. I did not want to be dealt another hand, afraid of what that hand might be of. But I had to, for my mum, because I could not hurt her like I had that day. As so I found myself asking for another card. It took time, of course, it did. But then again, so does everything in life, unless you are given that royal flush, you need patience, you need practice to win.

The thing about happiness is that a lot of people do not even realize when it is there, or when it is not. Sometimes we even manage to convince ourselves that we are happy when really in fact we are not. People think that telling themselves that they are happy, makes them happy, but what it actually does is make us even more miserable than we actually were. By telling ourselves that we are okay, that we do not have a problem, we push away any sort of help that we could have gotten. It is like this demon is hanging over us, tricking us into thinking that we are okay, but for each time you tell yourself that, it is just like you are feeding it more and more until eventually, you collapse until you break down, and then it is back to square one, up until that moment when that demon gets hungry once more and pushes you down those stairs to start all over again. You need to find that control over your own demons because if you do not, they will kill you. You do not find that control and that will to tell yourself that you actually are not fine, and you will keep falling down those stairs, and you will keep doing the same routine over and over again till one day when you find yourself six feet under and then what do you do? By that point, there is not starting over, there is no trying again. Happiness does not come without pain, for some more than others. Our happiness is decided by how we handle that pain, how we cope. Some handle it by confronting the issue, some handle it by ignoring it in hopes of it going away or just simply because they do not see it another way.

Many times did I feel that way as if there was no way for the pain to stop without me stopping. A feeling as if no one could understand or simply comprehend what I was feeling, I was alone and the only way I could get rid of my pain was alone. I tried isolating myself, I figured others were the cause of my pain. The kids at school who called me names, every guy who had my heart broken, my family mocking me, they were the reason for my pain, and so I shut everyone out. If I had no one, no one could hurt me. But for some reason, even when I thought I had everything figured out, I felt pain like nothing ever before. I had left everyone. I had broken up with my then-boyfriend, I had stopped hanging out with my friends, I avoided my family. The feeling of being alone hurt more than any name I had been called, it hurt more than any boy breaking my heart, it was a pain that simply could not be explained. So many times did I think the whole world was better off without me, that I was going to be alone forever. But I was wrong, so very wrong. That day I ended up at that hospital, it was as if someone had woken me up from a dream. Seeing my mum cry next to my bed, telling herself that she was a failure. Seeing my friends in shock at what they had heard, asking me if I am okay, not letting me bullshit them by telling them everything is fine, made me realize, it is okay to not be happy, it is okay to not be fine, and it is okay to be open about it.

No person is a hero, we are all just… people. On aeroplanes, they always tell you, put your own mask first and then your child’s. You can not be responsible for every person's happiness because it will just end up with you in the shit. Helping others was my way of fleeing, it still is. By helping others I felt pleased that I was the cause of someone else’s happiness, but I never once asked myself if I was okay, if I needed help. I had myself in this sort of mindset where I thought as long as I do not think I am sad, as long as I keep helping others I will be happy, and yet each time it ended up with me more miserable than before. As much as I wanted to be the hero, to help everyone, I simply could not. Each time I could not help someone, I felt the pain I had felt that day before I ended up in the emergency room. Each time I could not help, I fed my demon, letting it tell me that I could not help because I was not enough, I was not worth my place here. Where you end up is decided by whether or not you listen to that demon, if you let yourself be pulled on strings or if you can admit to yourself that you are not okay, and that’s fine.

You are not your own responsibility alone. You have so many people out there that do care about you, even if you might not see it. And I know that telling them about your problems makes you feel as if you are putting your burden on them, as if you are bringing them down with you, but you have to see that doing it by yourself will not work. Maybe you know that already, and simply just chose not to tell people because you believe it is better for both you and them that way, but by not telling anyone, your demon keeps telling you the same bullshit over and over again until you slowly start to believe it, even though you have tons people around who would in a second tell you the opposite. But you do not choose the truth, it is easier that way, to simply be alone. Sometimes I wish I could cast some magic spell to make the sadness go away, to make every person I care about feel happy again, I truly do. I care about others more than myself, and that is a flaw, I know that, but that is my way of coping. I can not stop until I know that, that person is okay. At that moment I forget myself, actually, I chose to ignore myself completely, and all my needs, I dig myself down that whole cause I think my well being is not as important as others. But it is, and it took me almost eighteen years to realize that. Some people go their whole lives without understanding that.

I suppose what I am trying to say is that happiness is not something that magically appears after a certain amount of time. It is not something that is given to us just like that, even it seems like it. To be happy, we have to be okay with us being said, with us being in pain. If you simply chose to ignore your own scream for help, you are just going to dig yourself down deeper and deeper until you can not see the top anymore, until everything around you is dark and cold.

Happiness is in one way complete bullshit, it will never stay. It is like a traveller, it comes every now and again but can not force it to stay there because eventually, it has to go for a while before coming back. You can not achieve happiness alone, no matter how many you tell yourself that. No matter how many times you tell yourself that you will be fine, you do not have to talk to anyone. Sure, you will feel okay eventually for a couple days, maybe weeks, but then you will end up at the bottom of that hole again, and it will be deeper than it was when you left it last. You need to find that will, that person, that thing that will lend you a hand to crawl up that whole, to help you.

Happiness is everything around you that makes you hold on, it is everything that gets you up in the morning and keeps you going. May it be a friend, a lover, a book, a place, it is happiness. But you will not see it until you can allow yourself to feel that pain, to feel that sadness because if you do not, you can not be happy. You can pretend you are, just for a moment, but you will end up right where you started. So many care about you, so many love you, I know that sometimes that might not feel like it is enough, but you are lucky if you even find that person that cares, that will be there when you are down, that will do anything they can for you. Hold on to that, it will give you a lifetime. Happiness will come, you just have to want it, and you have to fight for it. I know it is tough, I am not some dumb little girl, I have been through shit, maybe not half of what others have, but I still know, I can still understand. I made mistakes, I ignored my problems, but I made it, I learned. And so will you, you just need patience, you need to make mistakes or you will not learn. But you will find happiness, eventually.

[villain-enjoyer]

Like Thelma & Louise [oneshot]

GEAH Briefcase buddies | 1900+ words | action-adventure 

Summary: Sam-I-Am and Guy-Am-I had driven all the way from Meepville to Glurfsburg outrunning the cops within an inch of their life. This was their last stand.

-

This isn’t the big fic I’ve been working on but something I wanted to finish to get my mind off of it. I’ll post this one on ao3 too once I get an account.

Special thanks to @lustylop for talking about her AU where our heroes are both criminals on the run in chat! :-D

-

In the early morning a roofless Cadillac could be seen kicking up dust out in the Glurfsburg desert. 

Their getaway had been clean. Guy had busted Sam out of a holding cell under the cover of night without much trouble and without any witnesses. But they weren’t out of the woods just yet.

As the car rolled to a halt at a substantial distance between them and one of the great canyons the Glurfsburg desert was known for, reality was setting in for Sam-I-Am. 

 He had dragged an innocent man into his schemes and had also somehow manipulated him into rescuing his sorry behind. Guy was in the driver's seat beside him, trying to catch his breath and suppress fits of laughter as they came on. Sam failed to see the humor in any of this.

 He turned to face the tangerine knox with a bleak expression and quietly asked “Why did you come back for me?”

 Guy didn’t respond to him. He instead ran a fuzzy hand over his face and started pointing towards the vista in front of them.

 “Now would you look at that, isn't that the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen?” He said, seemingly without a care in the world.

 The inventor hadn’t been wrong. Warm streaks of sunlight were peeking from underneath blue clouds and gently waking up the desert. The deep terracotta rocks of the canyon now partially painted red as the minimal desert flora remained as hazy shadows on the horizon.

-

It was beautiful.

But Sam-I-Am couldn't care less about that right now.

“You could have gone back to Meepville and forgotten this ever even happened!” He grieved. ”I lied to you, put you in danger and held you hostage for almost a week. You’re innocent Guy, so why would you come back for me?”

The knox stopped chuckling but didn’t turn his head away from the view as the who demanded he explain himself.

-

After a moment he heard him softly say, “I hated working for Snerz.”

That wasn’t what the thief expected to hear.

“Come again?”

 The knox erupted. “I said I yipping hated working for Snerz!” 

“It took nearly 10 years of my life to convince them I was worthy of being the Snerzco lead inventor, and for what? So that I could invent gizmo’s that would replace all of the real bean-counters and pencil-pushers so that he could cut costs?” He raged on.

Guy turned towards him with an incredulous expression.

“You thought that you were keeping me hostage? I have at least three feet on you Sam, I could have left whenever I wanted to.”

 “But I was armed?” The confused felon countered, but the knox wasn’t having it.

 “Oh get over it, I knew from the minute I met you that you wouldn't hurt a flea.”

 The short who knew that wasn’t true, he just never had any intention of hurting Guy. This still wasn’t adding up.

 “Then why did you stay with me? You could have just left Snerzco, you didn’t need me for that”. Sam asked almost exasperated.

Guy paused to let out a deep sigh,

-

“I was ready to quit inventing for good before I met you.” He confessed. “But you made me feel like my ideas were still worth something. Being with you showed me that inventing could still be fun and exhilarating. It’s been a long time since I felt like what I was doing actually mattered and I have you to thank for that.”

 The who’s demeanor softened. He didn’t think he had made such a big impact on the knox in the short time that they had known each other. He nodded as the inventor went on.

 “I wasn't looking for a way out of Snerzco, I was looking for a way to make him pay. Snerz took the best years of my life, treated everyone he ever met like a doormat and got away with it just because he was in charge! I wanted nothing more than for that horrible little man to get what he deserved.”

“But I was scared of him too.” He confides.

Guy gently puts a hand on Sam's shoulder as he continues, “You came in and exposed Snerz for the fraud he is and then also had the guts to also rob him blind. What was I supposed to do, not help you? Not make sure you were alright?” 

 “I came back because I don't think I can do this without you. Hell, I don’t want to do this if you’re not by my side Sam.” He insisted.

On the inside the little conman was a hot mess. This had never happened before. His clients didn’t stick around or care if he was okay as long as he completed the job he was hired for. And the people he had tried to befriend along the way had all ended up leaving him one way or another. So to hear that Guy not only cared for his wellbeing but also thought he was brave made him want to jump for joy. 

-

As Sam opened his mouth to express his gratitude his opportunity was unfortunately cut short. The noise that had until now had just been a hum in the background turned into a cacophony as a helicopter rose out of the ravine in front of them. 

“BACK UP, BACK UP BACK UP BACK UP-” Sam yelled as he tried to jerk the wheel.

 “I’M TRYING.”

Guy swiftly put the car in reverse, attempting to pull out and drive away. But as the helicopter flew overhead and the dust settled around them they realized that the cops had caught up to them. Squad car after squad car driving up to the space ahead of them. Whos, bumbles and seussians alike getting out of their vehicles and surveying what the two delinquents were going to do next.

 Their luck had run out, this was the end of the line. The thief cursed himself for not paying more attention to his surroundings and glanced over to see how the knox was coping.

 -

To his surprise it seemed like he hadn’t given up and was steering them back towards the canyon again.

 He put the car in park and asked, “Do you want to keep going?” His voice sober, but clearly trying hard to keep it that way.

 “Go where?!” Sam was frantic at this point. “We're completely surrounded!”  

 As Guy gestured his chin towards the gulch in front of them his blood ran cold. He couldn’t possibly be serious. The gap was too wide, even with all the luck in the world they wouldn't clear that jump.

 “The way I see it we’ve got two options.” The knox cut through his dismay. “We either turn ourselves in right now or we don’t, so I’ll ask you again.”

 “Do you want to keep going?”

 Sam looked at him. Really looked at him. He knew Guy hadn’t rested in days. His fur was a disheveled mess, his scowl lines looked as if they had been etched even deeper into his face due to the lack of sleep and the constant barrage of danger they’d been through. But his eyes were begging Sam to say yes. To believe that he’d get them out of here safe and sound if he just gave him the chance.

 In the short time the who had known him, he’d cared more about his well-being than any person ever had in his entire life. Guy had been kind to him, even in times when he definitely did not deserve it. He now understood that he trusted the clementine knox with his whole heart. So even with his body screaming at him to flee, it felt easy for him to say,

 “I do”. 

 “Good.” Guy seemed relieved as he jumped into action. “You make sure you and the money are strapped in tight.” 

 -

The cops behind them were getting impatient, now aggressively repeating their demands for the duo to get out of their vehicle and turn themselves in. 

 As Sam turned back to put on his own seat belt he noticed switches and a lever near the dashboard that had definitely not been there before he got arrested. He figured that the inventor most likely used their time apart to do some tinkering of his own. The short who was silently enamored by the knoxes tenacity. 

 Guy seemed determined as he faced the felon.

 “Are you ready to go?”

 Sam was ready all right. Ready to pass out. But before he did he decided this might be his last chance to do something he’d been daydreaming about ever since he met the bold, handsome knox.

 “Almost.” He said as he yanked Guy in for a kiss. 

 It only lasted a moment. Their teeth clicking together in a desperate attempt to get close, but it felt exactly as sweet and messy as the bent who had hoped for.

 The thief held both of his hands up in the air as they parted.

 “F-for good luck?” He stuttered, inwardly cursing himself for lying.

 Guy’s awe just melted into endearment as he shifted into first gear and floored the gas pedal.

 “Of course.”

 And they were off.

 -

The inventor acted fast. His foot was buried deep on the gas, intent only waning to shift gears. He took his hands off the steering wheel to flip the recently installed switches one by one. After that he slotted the rod into 6th gear, then pulled the new lever tightly backwards and waited. 

 His brown stovepipe blew away with the speeds they were reaching but Sam quickly snatched it out of the air and held onto it tightly as well as his own hat. 

 They were now driving dangerously close to the edge and Guy still has not let go of the lever.

 Sam was about to yank the yipping thing himself when Guy let go, releasing an incredible force from underneath the car that propelled them forwards and upwards.

 As they soared through the sky the world around them seemed to slow down. The velocity of the jump had made both passengers float in their seats. For a moment they both felt weightless.

 Then they made contact. 

 The Cadillac skidded out of control before rolling backwards, brakes unable to keep them in place. They had reached the other side of the gulch but were hanging nearly halfway over the ledge. Guy quickly shifted back into first gear and hit the gas once more. Their vehicle huffed and puffed and then slowly but surely brought them back over the brim of the canyon.

 Their terrified screams now dissolved into relieved laughter as they realized they had made it by the skin of their teeth. 

 The cops were still behind them. Sirens blaring and their brakes squealing when they met the fringe of the ravine. 

 Sam couldn’t help but let out a holler as they sped off into the desert.

 -

After taking a second to see if all their limbs were still attached, the who asked, “So where are we off to now, CB?” The adrenaline still pumping through his body.

 The inventor glanced over at him with a content smile, “Crime buddy, really?” The thief nodded with vigor.

 “Or boyfriend.” His mind supplied effortlessly.

 “I heard Solla Sallew is great this time of year.” Guy responded. “But it’s going to take a while to get there”.

 Sam handed the knox his trusty stovepipe and tipped his own red hat over his eyes as he tried to relax into his seat. “Sounds like a plan, lead the way partner!” 

-

Hope you enjoyed it!

This story is also heavily based on the final scene of Thelma and Louise as the title might suggest. I doubted on using Solla Sallew as their next location because I’m aware that it could be read as a synonym for heaven, but I figured the boys could use a vacation to a place that doesn’t have many troubles after all of this. :’)

I have some more fics in the works so stick around if you liked this one!

And if you have any suggestions or feedback on my writing I would be happy to hear it.

-

[the-house-of-the-nine]

In Depths Below: Masquerade, Part 2

[ K.A ]   Koltun for the most part was wise enough to let the lot of them talk, listening quietly while weighing the choices and options offered.

"Few are truly loyal. Many will run. Casualties will be higher than most of you hope or even anticipate.  But fleeing soldiers often bring more soldiers.  The point is, letting them run off is just as dangerous as letting them live."

He suddenly rumbled, folding his arms over his chest as he continued to regard everyone. At least until that felfire gaze settled on Siida.

"I have protected you since you were small. You don't remember those times, I know that. I am -against- using Siida as bait... as the Blade of the council and protector of this family since even my younger days, it speaks out against everything I do."

He held up a claw.

"But that's not to say I cant be convinced. Find a use for me where I can get to Siida if needed, I'll do as ordered.”

[ P.K ]   Vari snorted and shook her head.  A cold aura swarmed her entire body as she listened to the discussion.  She would sooner take life, than give any who dared do the same a fitting chance to survive.

“They are rich, wealth comes with guards. They are fodder to be dealt with. If this plan is to work, I suggest Koltun and I and a small team of our hand select, deal with them before anyone knows...I do not want loose ends to spoil our chances of success and further put you in danger Siida.”

[ S.K ]   “Is the only way to garner your approval Pyravari, to allow you to kill men and women who may not come to raise a hand against you...to kill them based only upon assumption that they will behave as such?”

The youngest member of the family said while holding her head upward and glancing with golden eyes toward her older.

[ P.K ]   Vari hissed inwardly and narrowed her gaze at her younger sister.

“This may be our only chance to get to our brother, Siida.  Nothing.”  the cold voice of the older sister sang into the walls. “Nothing, is going to stop us from getting the answers we need.  And if some half paid soldier who is charged with protecting these cowardly vermin. . .”

She hissed and let off a cold chilling burst of energy as her hand hit the top of the table.

“Death to all those who support these magisters, it is an inevitable end to every man or woman who puts a blade in their hand should know. Know the difference Siida between mercy and stupidity. They will die not because they are our enemy.  But because they opted to strike when logic would have dictated they surrender.”

[ K.A ]   Koltun arched a brow.  He understood all too well what Vari meant and added to support her words. "There is more to this world than you know, Siida. This is one area Vari and myself know. They will raise a hand and more if given the chance. A lesson we learned the hard way years ago."

"Would you so willingly offer up our necks and your own purely to -see- if your own assumption is correct? To try to put trust in men paid for their blood lust that they would not try to kill you or us?"

He grunted and shook his head.

[ P.K ]   Despite the obvious bias that Koltun and Vari shared on most matters concerning battle and strategy, they could fight and disagree. They could be against one another on every topic you could imagine, but here they stood united.  

Even if they had disagreed prior to a battle; when it was time for business, they would always fight side by side.  Here though, he was a bit more personable though and she would silence herself to allow his point to be made.

[ V.D ]   "Death is inevitable for some. To ensure our longevity we cannot put trust that those we come by, our enemies, aren't as passionate for their cause as we are. Often, if you kill the leader the followers will lay down their arms... Other times they fight twice as hard to avenge their leader."

Twirling her fingers around she'd soon waggle this finger outward,

"All that should be spared is the young. Babes. Women and men fighting under the Magisters house names are the threats."

[ K.A ]   "And when lion Cubs grow into lions, Verzatea, what then? Don’t expect a cub to sit back and think 'shit my family was killed for vengeance....oh well, time to be a seamstress." The hunter snorted, flexing hos wings to stop himself from beginning to pace.

"Destroy them all or leave a loose end."

Koltun stated firmly, looking to Siida.

"Ask yourself this, Siida Kash'ebal. If these men and women KNEW who you were, what you meant to us... do you think they would offer you the same mercy you hold in your heart for them? You have a good heart... which is why you are not the Harbinger, or the Blade. Our hands, minds and hearts do what yours cannot. Keep that in mind when you offer orders."

[ S.K ]   Siida resisted the urge to look back at Marseille for guidance...he wouldn't always be there to give her a direction to choose or be the deciding force...some consequences and guilt would have to lay on her shoulders.

"I will listen to the advice of those more learned than I...but as I listen to you I am learning more and more why Lazarius thought the role of Matron was fitting for more me, I grant my consent that the forces amassed in the defense of the magisters should be culled...”  her soft voice trailing into a breath.

“And in doing so I fully acknowledge that I make widows, orphans, and end lines of family heritage....that is the unseen cost of these actions.”

Siida did not utter such words out loud.

"What is next?"

[ L.K ]   Kross took this time to admittedly try and steer the conversation over to another end.

“Are we in agreement that Verzatea and the bakery will be used as a front to ensure the Confessor, the Shade and she can be there? With Sennaris and those three inside, and Siida still in control with Sunwood in our pocket....I feel we can have a large portion of control of the scene with Koltun and Vari handling the personal armies and guard forces asked to remain with their masters carriages and belongings.”

[ V.D ]   “We could easily disguise two others as baker employees, too.” added the Confessor

[ L.K ]   “Best to keep only Sindorei in the sight of these magisters.”. Marseille stated. He could shift into one with his disguise as could Zalra.

[ K.A ]   At Kross's voice, he quieted and allowed himself to pace, like beast trapped in a pen, back and forth beside Vari's chair. "Agreed. " he rumbled finally. Hell even he knew when to dip his horns to Kross and not antagonize.

[ S.K ]   Today was not the day to tell Koltun her answer to that question, they had a meeting and she was not one raise her voice...this kind of conversation would have led to a screaming match. "Agreed."

[ V.D ]   Bristling. How instantly Koltun managed to get under the Confessor's skin, her teeth beginning to bare in a sneer, her brows furrowing and eyes narrowing into golden slits... Talk about cubs and you risk a protective mother lion. The area surrounding Verzatea would turn cold, the shadows cast by her person darkening until she looked... Dimmer.

"I beg the pardon of the council..." she laughs dryly, "But I would like to state; because I feel it bares further discussion,  I don't believe young ones are old enough to grasp the situation enough to feel compelled to seek vengeance. If we kill all charged with their care, all who could possibly tell them the stories of what happened that made them orphan, then the children are of no risk to us."

[ K.A ]   Mother Lion, meet nightmare. Koltun was he who flapped in the night.  The demon stories warned about that hunted moonless nights and left nothing in his wake but destruction and death. He exuded darkness, pure terror. That cold fear that tugged the base of your spine and sent a chill up your back leaving you jumping at shadows and finding religion with desperate whispers.

Where Vari was unadulterated rage and open fury, Koltun was calm. A calculated anger that stayed dormant until permitted release Felfire eyes slowly turned towards Verza, that same brow arching with almost deliberate slowness as he slowed his pacing to a halt and directed a claw towards Siida.

"Look at our Matron, Miss Verzatea."

He said quietly, ever keeping his gaze locked on the woman, the mother lion.

"Tell me how long ago it was that she was left alone and alive." He shifted to stand beside Verza, lowering his lips near her ears. "Unknowing."

His hand lowered, drawing that same claw up along the length of the woman's slender ear.

"And yet where does she stand now? With such wants and orders upon her lips? What has become of the little Kash'ebahl cub, Siida." Koltun returned to Vari's side and returned to silence, letting his point settle home.

[ V.D ]   Oh how she seethed.  How she would have to bite down on that fleshy mound that forked and hissed with every word the demon threw at her.

“You are bending my words to better suit your approach!” she snapped outwardly, his eyes widened as even she appeared to be shocked with the outburst.

[ K.A ]   “Is that what you think I’m doing? Manipulating you?  Or are you simply unconvinced yourself that perhaps I am right?” the demon said smirking behind the chair of his love.

[ V.D ]   “You know as well as I do that, that is an isolated incident.  Not ever--”

She was cut off mid sentence by the gentle voice of one sitting between them.

[ S.K ]   “We.Are.Not Doing.This.Now!"

Siida hissed, glaring at both Verzatea and Koltun.

"Not...now. . .Not while my brother is still in danger and not while we continue to cut at ourselves.!”

Her soft voice heaved between breathes as she struggled to maintain her pitch and confident tone behind those teared eyes which were just as boldly fighting back the urge to let loose.  The loss of her brother after finding him; it was not something she wished to speak of again.

[ K.A ]   "I offer only advice, Matron Kash'ebahl" he said gently towards Siida. But no apology was given with it.

[ L.K ]   “I have to stand in agreement with the little sister, this is a pointless discussion at this moment.”  Marseille added as he still stood by her side. “The guards will be dealt with...enough squabbling.”

[ V.D ]   Every snarl and quip she held on the tip of her tongue was redacted on account of Siida. Every insult that he, as a man who let alone shouldn't procreate, but couldn't wouldn't understand the instincts... Or at least, thats what she assumed of him.

Regardless, her attention would not be placed on Koltun for the remainder of the evening. She decided that inwardly while turning her eyes away. Or else she was in danger of losing herself in an argument that she, as a woman, knew she was totally right about.

"The Delightful Delicacies will be professional. True, this night is to once and for all protect the name of the House Kash'ebahl against Dawnseeker... But genuine nobility and high class families will be in attendance. In the off chance we can undergo opperations quietly... Perhaps we'll make a few allies."

[ S.K ]   Siida rested back in her chair....she was ready for this meeting to be over and simply drown herself in a book for several hours....or to go some place and rend something to ribbons.

[ Z.A ]   Zalra's violet, illuminated gaze drifted silently to focus on those who spoke; shifting noticeably so those would know her attention was undivided. She knew her role in these plans. The rest of the more veteran members of the order were merely discussing minor agitations that could potentially unravel the situation.

What the ren'dorei was concerned of, in the moment, was anyone's disagreeing with her posing as Lady Sunwood. She was desperate to contribute more to the order's efforts rather than rely on her fighting talents. However, none seemed to argue with that fact. Good.

Though, her eyes did narrow at Koltun briefly when he spoke of Siida in a presumably condescending tone. But, before she could make an audible warning, the voices that actually held weight spoke up. No need to stick her hand in a pot that was already closed. Her attention shifted to the younger Kash'ebahl, and she attempted to flash her a weak smile of comfort.

[ L.K ]   Kross bowed his head and motioned toward both Siida and Sennaris.

“You both will work together and organize this...Marseille, Zalra please, since you both were successful in aiding our Matron in coming up with this plan...accompany her to the Compellors chambers and begin this as hastily as possible.”

[ S.K ]   "Of course Kross, we'll get to it right away." Siida would rise, happy to leave the room and giving a smile to Zalra. It had worked....sort of.

[ S.D ]    “As you wish.” the Compellor said softly as her eyes drifted toward the young member of the family.  If they were to plan this together, she would go to prepare her chambers for the guests so they could begin immediately.  

Sennaris followed suit right behind the Matron.  And soon would make her way to the location of her sanctum.

[ L.K ]   Marseille would offer a bow toward the remaining members of the order, and grab the hand of Zalra as he would not give her any quarter , she was dragged along behind him as they exited the chamber with Siida.

[ V.D ]   In that moment the Confessor would exhale slowly, her weight rolling into her elbows as she propped them atop the table, her face burying into her plams as she did so.

Thumbs would gently rub the exhaustion from her eyes before her palms would clasp together as if in prayer, her chin resting atop her thumbs while her lips pressed against the length of her forefingers.

She'd stare toward the ceiling for a moment, trying to work out her course of action in her head, ears wilting the deeper into thought she fell.  It was no use though.  She too would quietly vanish from the great council chamber, and go to prepare her business for its premiere event to come.

[ K.A ]   Koltun remained silent, leaving everyone to their thing before lowering his voice to Pyravari. He said only three words before turning from her, clawed hands already reaching back to unhook the curved blades of his glaives from his harness before heading out of the room. It was clear he was heading towards familiar ground. Outside to the training yard. His chapel.

[ P.K ]  Vari would give only the slightest crack of a smile when Koltun whispered to her.  She placed her palms flat against the top of the table and pushed her plated body upward as she rose.  The others were filtering out one at a time and she soon joined them.  

Her destination would be the loft where her lover found solace.  They’d need to determine who were coming with them.  She marched out of the door, giving Kross only a single look back; and a smile, before exiting in a cascading boot march that echoed for several minutes after.

[ Z.A ]   Zalra blinked, standing from her spot with a bow after her dismissal, only to have her hand taken gently within Marseille's. Oh. Interesting, however, she did not make any comment on it, nor did her expression hint towards any qualms or retaliation. Out of the room she was made to follow. The huntress attempted to give a polite nod of her head to the senior members.

[ L.K ]   And as the final members of the council vanished from the illustrious chambers that held strong for so many centuries, the withered old gilnean expelled a soft breath into the cold.   The smile from his adopted daughter; the Harbinger, it warmed his dead heart.   They were always close and her concern was welcoming, yet still even now he felt sadness.

His thoughts drifting from his former Mistress and lover, to the now lost child he’d watch grow into the man he respected so deeply.  Kross knew that showing too much emotion toward the others would only muddy the waters of what his position actually was, but behind those heavy eyelids that sheltered two ghostly white pearls, a sense of remorse and sadness fluttered like a torrent wind.  The steward was lost without his Master.

It would be up to them now.  The coming days would be spent carefully planning their attack and organizing exactly how they would orchestra such a massive undertaking.  Each person specifically had to play their part or it would fall to pieces in an instant.  If this was to go off without a hitch; they would need to be sure everything was perfect, otherwise they may lose more than they bargained for. . .

To Be Continued. . . . “In Depths Below: Masquerade, Part 3″

@siidaraykashebahl

@pyravari-kashebahl

@whatadarkbitch

@daltalah

@thebladeitself

@zalraazurestar

[aion-rsa]

Vikings Season 6 Part One Recap: Making Kings, a Kattegat Killing, and the Rus Threat

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This article contains spoilers for Vikings season 6 part one.

Season five of Vikings saw Ivar’s dreams of rule, romance, and Godhood collapse around him like a volcano on Floki’s head. Defeated by his band of brothers, betrayed by his wife, Freydis, the tyrant was forced to disguise himself as a peasant and smuggle himself out of Kattegat in the back of a merchant’s cart. 

We left our heroes (a relative term in the topsy-turvy, strifey-knifey world of Vikings, admittedly) ready to begin the task of rebuilding their lives and their stronghold of Kattegat, all the while standing in the rising dawn of a new era of exploration, and contemplating, for the first time in a long time, the promise of peace.  It was too good to be true, wasn’t it? Vikings season 6 part 1 wasted little time in raising the stakes and turning up the heat. In anticipation of the final batch of episodes, scheduled to drop on Amazon Prime on Dec. 30, let’s remind ourselves of the events leading up to one of the most gut-wrenching mid-season finales the show has ever produced.

Ivar’s Far, Far Away

 A dejected Ivar makes his way along the Silk Road. He and his bodyguard Vigrid are captured by the Kievan Rus and taken before Prince Oleg the Prophet. Vigrid is tortured and killed, but Ivar is spared when Oleg learns of his past status as King and ‘God’. While they are kindred spirits in many ways – both have a pathological thirst for power, both were betrayed by women and responded with murder – Oleg relishes Ivar most of all because he realizes he might be useful when the time comes to retake the Rus’s ancestral lands in Scandinavia. Ivar, in turn, wonders how the mad Prince might prove useful to his festering ambitions.

Ivar and Oleg take their knife-edge bromance on the road, travelling to Novogrod to meet with Oleg’s brother, Askold. Oleg wants to retrieve his nephew Igor, who is heir to the throne and therefore the nexus of power in the region. In a characteristically awful yet expedient move, Oleg poisons Askold and takes off with Igor. Dir, Oleg’s other brother, tracks Oleg down attempts to arrest him for murder and kidnap. Oleg escapes his fate by giving a demonstration of his prophetic powers. He not only reveals to all assembled that Dir has a secret wife, but produces her, like a rabbit out of a hat.  Dir, wary and superstitious, lets Oleg go free. Never one to let bygones be bygones, Oleg swiftly orders that his brother be attacked, imprisoned, mutilated and bound up like a junkyard dog. 

Meanwhile, a warm bond – part-fraternal, part-paternal – is developing between Ivar and Igor.  Ivar feels sorry for the captured heir and wants to help him. The duo release Dir, and Ivar promises to help liberate Igor and depose Oleg when the time is right.  

Tensions build between Ivar and Oleg. When Ivar discovers Oleg is raising an army to sack and conquer Scandinavia, Ivar accuses him of using him as a puppet, a vassal. Oleg later introduces Ivar to his new beau, Princess Katia, who is a doppelganger of Ivar’s dead wife, Freydis. The resemblance is so striking that Ivar suspects both that she might be the real thing, and that Oleg is up to something. Oleg and Katia force Ivar to watch them making love on their wedding night. 

Kattegat After Ivar

Bjorn decides against executing Ivar’s followers and their leader, White Hair, and banishes them instead, leaving their ambitions to ‘Make Kattegat Great Again’ thwarted.

Bjorn asks Ubbe, Lagertha, Torvi and Gunnhild to act as his counsel, a little sliver of proto-democracy in these feudal, quasi-monarchistic times. Only Gunnhild agrees to serve. The rest have bigger, or at least other, fish to fry. Torvi and Ubbe wish to sail to Iceland. The recently returned Kjetill tells them that Othere – the fabled explorer and discoverer of lush and verdant lands to the west of Iceland – awaits them there. Lagertha wants to return to her old homestead and live out the rest of her life as a humble farmer. 

Word reaches Bjorn that King Harald needs his help. Olaf has invaded Harald’s kingdom of Vestfold and taken him prisoner. Bjorn agrees to help, leaving Ubbe in charge, and sending his children Hali and Asa to stay with Lagertha. Before he leaves he has a bout of passion with Ingrid, his wife Gunnhild’s servant. Bjorn convinces Kjetill to join him on his rescue mission, and while in each other’s company Bjorn learns of Kjetill’s Icelandic blood-lust, which makes him deeply suspicious of the burly emigre’s connection to Floki’s disappearance.  

Olaf Won’t Let Him go, Let Him Go… 

Once in Vestfold, Bjorn hatches a plan to swim into the harbor and surprise Olaf and his troops. Unfortunately, King Olaf has anticipated this move, and has already taken the liberty of adding oil to the water, which he proceeds to ignite, causing mass casualties, and Bjorn’s retreat.  

Olaf and Bjorn eventually meet to discuss their stalemate, whereupon Olaf reveals his grand plan. He wants all of the region’s earls and Kings to elect a King of all Norway, and he wants it to be Bjorn. There’s some constitutional wrangling, before the election proceeds. Harald is the surprise victor. It’s not a surprise to the audience, who have just watched Harald spend his short election campaign selling patently false, irreconcilable promises of land and riches to the other voters and candidates should they make him King. Kjetill helps to spread the word (and the lies), as he’s been promised King of Iceland. 

Bjorn flees Vestfold on a tip-off from a suddenly conscience-struck Kjetill, who has discovered that Harald wants Bjorn dead on the (probably entirely correct) grounds that Bjorn would never bend the knee for him long-term. Kjetill and Bjorn are rescued from certain death by the outlaw Erik, who speeds them to safety on his boat. King Olaf is imprisoned when refuses to acknowledge Harald’s title. 

Hvitserk and Lagertha – A Tragedy on Two Fronts 

Hvitserk is hitting hallucinogens and intoxicants pretty hard, which precipitates a torrent of haunting images. He sees the seer, his hated brother Ivar, and experiences painful and terrifying visions of the murder of his girlfriend, Thora (burned alive on Ivar’s orders last season) and the slaying of his mother, Aslaug (dispatched by Lagertha in season four). Ubbe, temporarily in charge, nominates Hvitserk to head a trading expedition along the Silk Road, but when Hvitserk misses the boat, thanks to his re-discovered fondness for drink and drugs, Ubbe can barely contain his disgust. News comes back from the Silk Road that Ivar is in Kiev. Hvitserk doesn’t react well. He has vowed to kill Ivar. The thought consumes him, and twists his perception of reality.   

Away from the city, Lagertha’s cosy retirement isn’t going according to plan. She’s forced to train nearby villagers in the art of war to repel incursions from White Hair and his followers. White Hair attacks again, and many villagers perish, including Bjorn’s son, Hali. Gunnhild has a vision of the tragedy, and immediately sets off to Lagertha with some shield maidens. Gunnhild lends her weight to repelling the attacks. During the next assault, White Hair and Lagertha face each other, one-on-one. After a gruelling battle, Lagertha kills White Hair, but is herself gravely wounded. She decides to return to Kattegat, setting off on her own by boat. 

It’s raining when she arrives, and most of the town is attending a feast. The only person she encounters on the deserted streets is Hvitserk, which is unfortunate for them both. Hvitserk is out of his mind on hallucinogens and thinks Lagertha is a serpent incarnation of Ivar. He duly stabs her to death, thereby fulfilling the long-ago prophecy of the seer that Lagertha would be killed by a son of Ragnar. 

When Hvitserk’s rather obvious part in Lagertha’s death is uncovered, Bjorn puts him on trial. He’s initially sentenced to death, but Ubbe intercedes on his behalf, and he’s banished instead. The exiled Hvitserk finds himself on the Silk Road after all and, inevitably, back with Ivar, where he’s welcomed by Oleg for his assassination of the great shield maiden Lagertha.

Ubbe and Torvi set sail for Iceland. There Ubbe meets the renowned Othere, the man who claims to have discovered a new world to the west. Ubbe learns that Othere is really a Christian called Athelstan, who came upon the dying Othere and assumed his identity. Ubbe wants Othere sacrificed to the Gods, but Torvi points out that this would be a rather hypocritical move given his own history of baptism. Torvi gives birth to a baby boy, whom the couple name Ragnar. Lagertha may be dead, but Ragnar lives on.  

Tsar Wars: The Exile Strikes Back

Oleg’s incursions into Viking land are troubling enough to usher in a truce between Harald and Bjorn, who realize they must come together to face a threat that is bigger than their personal and ideological differences. Unfortunately, when they call for other earls and kings to stand with them in battle, only Thorkin agrees to join them.

Friction abounds in Oleg’s camp. Igor openly defies his uncle, prompting Oleg to threaten his life. Katia tries to seduce Ivar. Though he refuses, he learns that Katia is deeply unhappy with Oleg, and hence a potential ally in the interfamilial treachery to come.   

Ivar serves as strategist to Oleg. They head for battle and through a blend of cunning and superior numbers manage to breach Bjorn’s fortifications. A vicious battle ensues. Harald and Gunnhild appear to fall in battle. Bjorn, distracted on the battlefield, receives a seemingly fatal blow. It comes from Ivar. Bjorn’s forces are defeated, and Bjorn himself is slain.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Now all that remains is to wait and see what fate has in store for the sons of Ragnar, and Viking civilization itself, in the final ten episodes. 

The post Vikings Season 6 Part One Recap: Making Kings, a Kattegat Killing, and the Rus Threat appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[tellmevarric]

(We Ourselves Must) Walk The Path

Welp, the 15th is nearly over here so I might as well post there! This is my fic for @macpye for the @dailyspiritassassin Dailyspiritassassin Summer 2017 Spiritassassin fanworks exchange over on tumblr!

This is a post Rogue One Everyone Lives AU that takes bits and pieces from Guardians of the Whills. Also, the Force probably doesn’t work this way but what the hell, until they explain it in universe, we can make up whatever we want.

Baze has always walked a rocky, jagged path. Now, in the wake of Scarif, his path turns in a direction that is both new and old.

I hope you enjoy it, @macpye. This fic can also be found over at AO3.

It was the sounds and smells particular to a medbay that convinced Chirrut that he was actually alive. He’d been awake for several minutes and had felt confused and uncertain, sure that he’d died on Scarif. He knew he’d been badly wounded, that had been obvious not only in the physical pain he’d been feeling but also in the anguish and grief in Baze’s voice. When he’d felt his consciousness fleeing, he’d surrendered to it willingly, trusting himself to the Force and content in the knowledge that, in the final words he’d heard from Baze, his husband had found his way back to the Force. He hadn’t needed any words of love to be content. Baze’s love was the one absolute, unshakable constant in his life. No, it had been the knowledge that Baze had found his way back to the Force that had been enough for him.

But he was, without a doubt, alive. His surroundings were far too mundane to be anything else. It seemed that the Force was not done with him just yet. He drew in a breath and shifted slightly then heard a small gasp from beside his bed.

“Jyn?” he ventured. The timbre of the gasp had been too high to be Bodhi or Cassian and he would know Baze anywhere. As there was nothing mechanical about the gasp to suggest it was K-2SO being sarcastic and obvious, that left only Jyn.

“Yes, it’s me,” Jyn replied and he felt her take his hand. He tightened his grip around hers as much as he could. He hadn’t felt this weak since the aftermath of the sickness that had robbed him of his sight.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Yavin IV,” Jyn replied. “We… we all made it but…”

Chirrut drew in a small breath. No, it couldn’t be. He would know if the worst had happened. He asked anyway. “Baze?”

“He… he’s badly hurt,” Jyn said. “He’s still in the bacta tank.”

Chirrut clenched his jaw but he was grateful that Jyn had not tried to sugar coat her answer. Many did, thinking that because he was blind, he needed to be coddled. He always disliked that. He drew in a deep breath then let it out slowly, calming himself.

“Baze will be fine,” he said with a confidence he mostly believed. “The stubborn old bantha is too contrary to die just because everyone thinks he may.” Jyn gave a soft laugh and he smiled faintly at her. “And the others?” he asked.

“Cassian’s going to be fine,” she said. “He fractured his pelvis and femur and cracked his skull when he fell but he’ll heal. Though they say he may have headaches for a while. Bodhi…” She broke off for a moment and gulped. “Bodhi lost the lower part of his arm and they’re not sure if his hearing will recover.” She managed a shaky laugh then. “I still don’t know how the two of them got us off the planet. They barely had one whole person between them.”

“And K-2SO?”

Jyn was silent for a moment. “He… he died making sure Cassian and I could get the information about the Death Star. But Cassian’s been muttering something about a backup when he’s conscious so he may not be quite as dead as we think.”

Chirrut nodded then he squeezed her hand slightly. “And you, little sister?”

He could hear the smile in her voice when she answered. “I’m fine. I… got off the lightest. They’d have discharged me already but I think they know I wouldn’t leave.”

Chirrut finally asked the question that would make all of this worthwhile if he got the right answer. “And did we succeed?”

“Yes.” Now he could hear the joy and wonder in her voice. “And the Rebellion destroyed the Death Star. I’m surprised the celebrations didn’t wake you up earlier. It was a little noisy.”

He chuckled. “Baze would tell you that I sleep very firmly once I do manage to get to sleep. He’s the light sleeper.”

Silence fell then and Chirrut could feel the uncertainty and hesitation coming from Jyn. He suspected he could find out more if he reached for the Force but he was weak and tired and he knew trying would sap him of whatever strength he possessed in this moment. He would have to be more direct.

“What troubles you, little sister?”

Jyn sighed heavily. “I… I don’t know what happens now.”

“We heal,” Chirrut said. “We recover and we rejoice that we are all alive. We mourn those who died. What comes after that… can wait.”

Jyn was silent for a moment then he heard a little huff of laughter from her. “I guess you’re right. I’m not always good at patience.”

“Neither am I,” Chirrut said in a conspiratorial manner.

“Really?” Jyn said, a little sceptically.

“I learned patience,” Chirrut replied, grinning. “With Baze, it is a necessity and since I wished to have Baze, I learned to be patient.”

Jyn giggled and Chirrut felt pleased with himself that he’d taken her mind away from the futile worrying she was doing. It was understandable that she would be fretting about the future but it didn’t help. Another lesson he’d learned the hard way.

He turned the conversation to more mundane matters. “My staff?”

“It’s beside your bed, leaning against the table,” Jyn replied promptly. “Your lightbow and Baze’s repeater cannon have been stored in the armoury. Some of your clothes were beyond salvaging but there’s a small group of Jedhans here in the Alliance and they organised for new ones to be made. Um, and…”

She paused then and there something about her hesitation that had Chirrut cocking his head curiously. “And?” he prompted.

“I, well, I’m assuming that what you wore is…?” she trailed off, as if unsure how to finish the question.

“They are the robes of a Guardian of the Whills,” he said then chuckled. “More or less. I did have to replace things as best as I could as they wore out over the years.”

“Okay,” Jyn said. “So… they have new robes for you and… for Baze. One of the Jedhans recognised him as a Guardian as well. Said they’d seen him at the Temple.”

An impish smile appeared on Chirrut’s face as he contemplated his husband’s reaction to that. Baze would wear them, Chirrut knew, he would never spit in the face of such generosity, especially from fellow Jedhans who clearly held some respect and honour for their order. But Baze had not worn the robes of a Guardian since his had worn out after the fall of the Temple. Chirrut had mended and repaired his as best as he could, Baze had simply replaced them with something he felt was more fitting since he had stated more than once that he was no longer a Guardian.

But Baze had found his way back to the Force on Scarif and Chirrut knew that it had not simply been empty words meant to appease him in what had appeared to be his final moments. Baze had found his balance again. Chirrut had felt it, had nearly wept for it, had rejoiced before he’d lost touch with the world. He wished it hadn’t taken such extremes for Baze to find his way back to the Force but it had taken an extreme to destroy his balance and his faith so perhaps there was some serendipity in it.

“It will be fine, Jyn,” was all he said.

“If you say so.”

Chirrut laughed at Jyn’s dubious tone then he surprised himself by yawning widely. That got a laugh from Jyn and she squeezed his hand.

“Get some rest. There’s plenty of time for whatever nefarious thing you’re thinking about Baze.”

Chirrut wanted to protest that he wasn’t thinking about anything nefarious at all but instead sleep claimed him with far more ease than it usually did.

******

Chirrut spent much of the next few days asleep, his body demanding the slumber as it continued to heal. Despite that, he’d spoken to Cassian and Bodhi over that time. Cassian sounding weary, a little lost and a touch grouchy due to pain and his forced immobility, while Bodhi had been half-deaf and high on whatever painkillers they’d given him, making narcotic induced plans for a prosthetic arm and hand to replace what had been lost. And he was awake when they brought Baze back in from the bacta tanks. In fact, he all but climbed out of bed, stopped only by Jyn’s hands on his shoulders and her quiet pleas that he not reinjure himself.

They did at least install Baze in the bed next to Chirrut’s and he fretted as he listened to the medics and droids talk amongst themselves. Finally one of the medics came over to stand next to Chirrut’s bed.

“Master Imwe, your friend…”

“Husband,” Chirrut snapped, ignoring the startled gasp from Jyn for the moment.

The medic was silent for a moment and when she continued, her voice was warmer and softer. “Forgive me, Master Imwe. We didn’t know. Your husband was severely injured. It appears he took the brunt of a grenade blast. Apart from the external and internal injuries he suffered, we thought he may lose a leg and part of an arm but he’s responded well to the bacta and that danger is past. There may still be some impairment of the arm or leg but we won’t know to what extent until he wakes up.”

Chirrut drew in a shaking breath and clenched his hands tightly until he felt Jyn pluck at one clenched fist. He relaxed then and let her take his hand, holding tightly to keep his anxious worry in check. He had never liked seeing Baze hurt. It seemed wrong somehow, that a man who was, at heart, so kind and gentle, should be hurt. From a selfish point of view, it made him feel lost when Baze was unconscious or ill. They gravitated around each other’s orbits too much for either of them not to feel lost and unsettled when the other wasn’t there, whether that was physically or otherwise.

“When will he wake?” he asked, surprised that he was able to keep his voice so calm, though he suspected he was not fooling either woman at his bedside.

“Soon,” the medic said. “We don’t want to rush the natural healing process. We expect it may be today but he will wake when he is ready.”

Chirrut swallowed. “Thank you.”

The medic patted the side of the bed and then he heard her walk away. Jyn cleared her throat and he turned towards her.

“He looks… fine,” she said a little awkwardly. “What I can see anyway. There are some scars but he’s… fine.”

She paused again and there was a trembling in that hesitation that made him frown.

“What is it?”

“Um… they cut his hair. Shaved his head down to about your length or maybe a bit shorter actually.”

Chirrut sucked in a breath. “No,” he whispered.

“I can see why they had to,” Jyn said hurriedly, sounding confused by his reaction. “There’s a big scar on the left side of his head. Though, it can’t have been from a serious head injury or the medic would have mentioned it. But it’s long and messy. Maybe he was clipped by some shrapnel?”

Chirrut swallowed around the lump in his throat. Baze’s hair was often a mess, yes, but there had never been enough water on Jedha after the Empire came to make cleanliness a priority. They’d both hated it after their years at the Temple but it was what it was. Scarce potable water was for drinking, not to be wasted. But they’d kept Baze’s hair as neat as possible and Chirrut had always loved running his hands through it, first to work out the tangles and knots then once that was done, just to feel it flow through and curl around his fingers. Baze had always indulged him, leaning back into his touch and almost purring as he relaxed. And the braids… Baze had left his family to come to the Temple when he was young but he remembered the marriage braids his mothers had worn and had mimicked them as best as he could remember after they’d pledged themselves to each other.

It was foolish to mourn something that was done as a necessity but it didn’t stop the lump from forming in Chirrut’s throat.

“Chirrut?”

Jyn sounded worried and Chirrut managed a wan smile. “It’s alright, little sister. I have just always been very fond of Baze’s hair.”

“Uhuh.” Jyn was clearly sceptical about his explanation but she didn’t press the subject.

“How are Cassian and Bodhi today?” he asked, firmly changing the subject.

They weren’t often all awake at the same time, usually only two of them, and while they had spoken, they were each disinclined to share their medical states. Jyn, on the other hand, thought they were all idiots and made sure they were all reassured about each other. For Chirrut’s part, he was less inclined to hide his condition as he was to ensure Jyn had something to do that made her feel useful. She did not strike him as someone who liked to sit idle.

Jyn was silent for a moment then she relented. “They’re going to release Cassian tomorrow as long he agrees to use the crutches they’re going to give him.” She snickered. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he does. And Bodhi will be here for a while. They are going to start weaning him off the narcotics from tomorrow so that they can move forward with preparing him for a prosthetic.”

“His hearing?” Chirrut asked. “It seemed good when I spoke to him yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Jyn said, sounding a little happier. “He still gets bouts of tinnitus but they’re fading and he seems to have gotten lucky there.”

“Has he explained what happened?” Chirrut asked curiously. “He’s not precisely been in a state when I’ve spoken to him.”

Jyn laughed this time. “He told Cassian the other night, though Cassian isn’t sure what to make of it and thinks half of it might be due to the narcotics. He suggested waiting until Bodhi’s a little more coherent.”

Chirrut chuckled but his head turned almost inexorably towards Baze. He wished they’d moved the beds closer or that they’d let him get up. He wanted… needed… to touch Baze, to feel him, warm and alive, under his hands.

“He’s okay, Chirrut,” Jyn said softly. “Though… he looks odd without his hair.”

Chirrut smiled a little. “His ears stick out. He’s always hated that.”

Jyn laughed. “How long have you known each other? And… you’re married?”

Chirrut’s smile widened into something more genuine, soft and fond and delighted. “We’ve known each other since we were children. And he said since no one else would have me, he might as well keep me.”

That drew a giggle out of Jyn and he let himself relax just a little. Jyn would tell him if anything changed with Baze, he was sure of it.

“He was sent to the Temple as a child,” he said quietly, almost contemplatively. “His mothers wanted him to get the best education possible. He’s so intelligent, Jyn. You have no idea how good a scholar he was. He was the pride of the Temple.”

“He was?” Jyn said and from the noises of her moving and the way her weight settled on the bed, she was leaning forward to listen comfortably.

“He was.”

“And you?”

Chirrut laughed. “I was the obnoxious street urchin that was dragged in by Master La’a because he sensed my Force sensitivity and thought there were better uses for it than swindling gullible tourists.”

“Somehow that’s much easier to see,” Jyn said dryly. “You could see then?”

“Yes,” Chirrut said. “I didn’t lose my sight until my late teens. A disease that tore a terrible swathe through NiJedha. It took a huge toll at the Temple because we did not close our doors to those in need. It killed the elderly and very young and of those who were healthy and hale, well, you either recovered in full or… it took something from you. Something permanent. We both came down with it. Baze recovered. The disease took my sight.”

“He must have hated that.”

Chirrut nodded. “He did. Foolish old bantha. He blamed himself. Felt that somehow he did something that allowed him to recover and robbed me of my sight.”

“Why?” Jyn asked, sounding baffled.

“Because he’s Baze,” Chirrut said simply. “It’s… just how he is.” He laughed softly. “Oh, I was terrible to him in the aftermath. I was convinced he was just staying with me out of pity and I wanted none of that. And Baze was never good at articulating his feelings unless he was pushed. We argued.” He laughed again, though this one had less humour and more pain. “Or rather, I spat horrible words at him, trying to hurt him and make him leave first because he hated me rather than end up abandoning me because I was useless and crippled.”

Jyn sucked in a breath. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did.” Chirrut sighed. “And he just stood there silently and took it all until I finally ran out of words. Then he took the staff from my hands and pulled me into his arms, told me he loved me and kissed me.”

That startled a laugh out of Jyn. “He did? Really?”

Chirrut smiled. “He did. He’s very romantic really. He also said some things about pity being no part of how he felt and that he’d felt like that for a while and he’d been terrified that I was going to die and he’d take me however I was.”

“He doesn’t seem like the type,” Jyn mused.

“I know.” Chirrut let himself look smugly pleased. “That’s why he’s mine. Because I looked past the exterior to the beauty that was inside as well as outside.” He closed his eyes. “And he is beautiful, Jyn. So very beautiful.”

“I feel almost jealous,” Jyn said, an edge of wistfulness about her voice. “I think my parents were like that.”

Chirrut raised an eyebrow. “You think you will not find the same?”

Jyn made a self-deprecating sound. “I tend to scare people off, Chirrut, or annoy them so much they give up on me. I’ve been told I’m prickly.”

“You are confident,” Chirrut countered. “And firm in your opinions.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” Jyn said.

Chirrut chuckled. “Trust me, little sister. When the right person comes along, they will love you because of your flaws, not in spite of them.”

Jyn laughed softly then sighed. “I like that idea.”

They were silent for a moment then Chirrut felt sleep creeping up on him again. He wanted to fight it, to stay alert in case Baze woke up, but he was helpless to fight it as he had been since he’d woken up. His body’s demands were not to be ignored as he healed, it seemed.

******

Baze woke slowly, almost reluctantly, aware that he had been hurt but momentarily unable to remember why or how. It was only when he opened his eyes and saw the professional medbay he was in that it all came flooding back – Scarif, Chirrut, the explosion. He would admit to being surprised that he was actually still alive but the moment his memories returned, only one thing was important to him – Chirrut.

He moved to sit up and immediately bit back a curse as his body told him quite forcibly how bad an idea that was. He looked around the room then he saw who was in the bed next to his. Chirrut was fast asleep and doing so in something as close to his usual boneless sprawl as he could manage in the narrow bed. His world righted itself and he let out a gusty sigh. Chirrut was alive. Everything else could be dealt with.

It was just as well he had that thought in mind when he became aware of the coldness of his head and the lack of the familiar weight of his tangle of hair. He raised his hand and ran it over his head, wincing as he realised his hair had been shaved. His fingers found the long, jagged, meandering wound that ran from behind his left ear up to just past the crown of his head.  He sucked in a hissing breath as he realised how close he’d come to having his skull cut open by whatever had hit him. He did vaguely remember something hitting his head but he’d blacked out shortly afterwards, no doubt because of that blow.

“Baze?”

He looked around and saw Cassian levering himself awkwardly out of a bed across the other side of the room. The Captain grabbed a pair of crutches that were leaning beside his bed and limped over to Baze’s bed, lowering himself gingerly into the chair that sat between his bed and Chirrut’s.

“We’re alive,” Baze said. It was more of a statement than a question.

Cassian nodded. “We all made it.” He flinched and grimaced, swallowing hard before continuing. “Except Kay but… I can fix that.” He waved that away with a sharp gesture then shook his head. “Bodhi. It was Bodhi who did it. I don’t know how. He was… pretty badly hurt. Got you and Chirrut on board somehow then picked up me and Jyn. We got off planet in the nick of time.” He shook his head again, his eyes distant as though he was reliving the memories. “It was chaos up there. The Rebellion had done some serious damage to the Imperial fleet stationed at the planet but there was… there was a star destroyer there. No idea where that came from. We didn’t stick around to find out.”

Baze listened to Cassian without comment. The man was clearly still a little rattled by what had happened but his summary was concise enough. “Bodhi?”

Cassian’s lips thinned and turned down. “He’s… lost his left arm from the elbow down. They were worried about his hearing but that seems to be coming good.”

“You? Jyn?”

Cassian shrugged. “Fractures of the pelvis and femur. Bacta can’t do much for that. Just time and…” He waved an annoyed hand at the crutches. “Those. And rest.” His expression was so sour that Baze barked out a brief laugh. Cassian shot him an irritated glare then he sighed and smiled wryly. “Jyn’s fine. Some bad bruising and a few torn muscles. She was the lucky one.”

Now Baze arrived at the subject he’d been slightly avoiding. “Chirrut? And me?”

“Chirrut’s going to be fine,” Cassian replied. “He’s been in the bacta tank. Now he just needs to heal. But he’s fine. As for you…” He hesitated. “I should get a medic.”

“Just tell me,” Baze said dryly.

Cassian stared at him for a moment then sighed in resignation. “Fine. You nearly lost your left leg and part of your left arm but you responded well to the bacta, according to the medic. There may be some impairment though. You had a lot of internal injuries and…” He gestured towards Baze’s head. “Well, your head. It didn’t look good on the shuttle, there was blood everywhere, but the medics said it must have been a glancing blow.” He paused again and when he continued, his tone was a touch hesitant. “Chirrut seemed… upset that they’d shaved your head.”

Baze grunted at the news about the possible impairment. He’d noticed the leaden sensation in both arm and leg when he’d woken and had refrained from moving them too much. He’d have to try a bit later, see what sort of pain and impairment might exist right now. He wasn’t concerned with the prognosis. He’d manage. He always did. But Cassian’s mention of Chirrut’s reaction to the loss of his hair made him chuckle.

“He’s always been fond of my hair,” he said, allowing his amusement to show in order to reassure Cassian. He knew precisely why Chirrut was upset and he would confess to some regret himself at the loss of the marriage braids. “It will grow back.”

“Has it always been long?” Cassian asked curiously.

Baze shook his head slightly and levered himself into a slightly more upright position, grunting with satisfaction when his injured arm didn’t complain too much about that.

“All new acolytes had their heads shaved when they first joined the Temple,” he said. “But we were allowed to grow it out after we passed our third duan.” He smiled slightly. “But we were only allowed to keep it long if we could prove that it wasn’t a liability in battle.”

Cassian nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Chirrut wore his hair long back then,” Baze said, his voice a low rumble. He smiled faintly at Cassian’s look of surprise. “He was always the best of us. Quick, agile, highly skilled. He arrived at the Temple later than I did and caught up to me with ease.” He laughed. “At least when it came to zama-shiwo. He was not a particularly diligent student unless the subject interested him.”

“Why did he cut it?” Cassian asked as he shifted in his seat, looking for a more comfortable position.

Baze was silent for a moment. “He went blind. Then, in his mind, his hair became a liability.”

“You don’t think so?”

Baze shrugged. “It was not my decision to make. It was something he felt he needed to do.” He smiled a little. “I miss his hair. It was beautiful. But I would not have tried to convince him otherwise. If it was what he needed to help him recover then so be it. And he did have a point.”

Suddenly from behind Cassian came Chirrut’s sleep-blurred voice. “Baze?”

“I’m here.”

Cassian gave a strangled cry and scrambled backwards out of the way as best as he could even as he reached out to try and steady Chirrut as the blind man all but launched himself out of his bed and across the space between the two beds to land awkwardly half on/half off Baze’s bed. Baze seemed unsurprised by the reckless action and just helped Chirrut settle himself more comfortably under the blankets, curled around him.

“Baaaze,” Chirrut said happily, patting Baze’s chest and burrowing his face into the crook of his neck and breathing deeply.

Baze chuckled fondly and ran his hand over Chirrut’s hair. “Did you hurt anything doing that, you fool?”

Chirrut made a negative sounding noise. “Your fool,” he said, still sounding smug and happy.

“Did you hurt anything when he did that?” Cassian asked Baze, one eyebrow up though he was clearly amused by Chirrut’s behaviour.

“No,” Baze said. “Nothing hurts more than it did beforehand.” He sighed and wrapped his arms around Chirrut, lines of strain on his face easing as he did so. “This is better.”

Cassian smiled and levered himself to his feet. “I’m going back to bed then.”

“Sleep well,” Baze said then he turned his attention to Chirrut. “Are you well?”

“Better now,” Chirrut hummed then he reached up and brushed his hand along Baze’s face and over to his ear and hair. “They shaved your head,” he lamented.

Baze grabbed hold of Chirrut’s hand and kissed his palm. “It will grow back.”

Chirrut made a discontented noise and raised his head, his unspoken request obvious to Baze. He let go of Chirrut’s hand and curled his hand around the back of Chirrut’s head, guiding him in for a soft, chaste kiss. They both sighed at that and Chirrut settled down happily again. Baze closed his eyes and let himself drift slowly back to sleep, content to let whatever was to come arrive in its own time now that Chirrut was with him again.

******

Baze scowled at the clothes lying on his bed. He and Chirrut had finally been deemed well enough to be released from the medbay. They weren’t completely healed but whatever was left could be done without constant supervision and in the comfort of their own quarters. Now Baze just had to dress.

He should have known something was wrong when Chirrut turned that particular grin on him as the clothes were brought to them. He knew that grin and it always meant trouble. He’d been told that his jumpsuit had been a complete loss, having had to be cut off him when they brought him back to Yavin IV. He’d expected it to be replaced with another jumpsuit or perhaps a shirt and trousers like those Cassian and Bodhi wore. Instead, he’d been presented with… these.

He picked up the robes, perfect replicas of the ones he’d worn for years before the arrival of the Empire on Jedha and the subsequent fall of the Temple, and glared at them. They’d apparently been made and gifted to him by a group of Jedhans in the Rebellion who had been overjoyed to learn that two Guardians numbered among the survivors of Scarif. To refuse the robes, to refuse to wear them, would be beyond rude but that didn’t mean Baze felt comfortable about it.

“You have found your way back to the Force.”

Chirrut’s voice was quieter than normal, more contemplative than anything else. Baze sighed and turned to see his husband, resplendent in his own new robes, edging past the privacy curtain.

“Yes,” he finally admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I am a Guardian again.”

“Baze, my heart,” Chirrut said with a smile. “You’ve always been a Guardian. That you denied it, that you chose not to wear the robes or claim the title meant nothing.” He closed the gap between them and placed his hand over Baze’s heart. “You have always been a Guardian where it mattered the most – here.”

Baze closed his eyes and bowed his head, his heart heavy in his chest. He drew in a shuddering breath, unable to articulate what he wanted to say. “Chirrut…”

“Oh, Baze, my heart, my love.” Chirrut gave a helpless laugh. “Still doubting yourself, even now.”

Baze let Chirrut pull him into his arms and allowed himself the comfort his husband was offering. It was true that he had always had his doubts, dark thoughts running around in his mind, occasionally growing stronger but always kept in check by Chirrut’s relentless optimism. After the fall of the Temple, Chirrut had turned his despair and anger into renewed faith in the Force, Baze had let his anger and despair draw him away from it.

Lying in bed these past days, he’d felt it as he once had when he’d called himself a Guardian, the Force lingering on the edges of his perception. He knew if he meditated, he would be able to grasp it, albeit fleetingly, and listen to what it had to tell him. He didn’t have the same level of Force sensitivity as Chirrut but he had always been able to find his way there in the end, when he truly needed to.

He’d let himself forget that in his anger, his bitterness, his grief. He’d blamed the Force for… not warning them perhaps. For allowing the Temple to fall. For the deaths of the Disciples and Guardians. Foolish of him really. The Force didn’t work that way. The only one responsible for all of that was the Empire.

But there, on a beach on Scarif, so far away from what had once been his home, he’d found his way back to the Force. His fear for Chirrut, his grief and despair at what he’d thought was his husband’s imminent death, had not driven him away from the Force but instead had shown him the path back to it. And just before he’d lost consciousness after the blow to his head, he’d felt the comfort and peace of the Force once more.

Now, in the robes still lying on his bed, was another path. This one back to something that had once been his life, that had given him pride and joy and a sense of purpose, that had given him Chirrut and all the love, wonder and joyous frustration the man brought with him. This time, as always, the path was his to choose. He could turn away and have the Force direct him back again and again… or he could accept it. He smiled faintly, knowing, as he had back when he took his vows as an acolyte, before he’d passed even his first duan, that the acceptance wasn’t giving in or being defeated, it was peace and joy and honour and knowledge. It made his decision easy.

He gently pulled away from Chirrut and stripped off the white tunic and loose pants of a patient and slowly donned the robes of a Guardian. It felt oddly ceremonial, though there had been nothing beyond the ceremony of his vows back when he was a boy becoming an acolyte. He’d have laughed at his own fancy but the expression on Chirrut’s face told him that his husband felt the same thing lingering in the air around them.

When he was finally done and he settled the robes into place, he realised that he felt… whole for the first time in a very long time.

Chirrut’s hands came up and flitted over the front of his robes, twitching things unnecessarily into place. He then smiled. “Guardian Malbus.”

Baze considered those words. They still didn’t quite fit, feeling a bit like an old coat that needed letting out, but there was some comfort in them that he realised he had missed.

“Guardian Imwe,” he replied, letting his acceptance of this new-yet-old path be reflected in his voice.

Chirrut’s smile turned incandescent with delight. “We shall have to find you the makings of a new lightbow.”

Baze rumbled thoughtfully as they made their way towards the door. They were no longer limping – though the injury to Baze’s leg meant that his days of scrambling over rooftops were over – but they were moving slower than they normally did and Chirrut had tucked his free hand into the crook of Baze’s arm, a concession to both his physical state and Baze’s peace of mind. “I have some ideas how to improve it.”

He had refused to touch the lightbow he had carried out of the Temple when it fell. It had sat in the corner of their tiny room in NiJedha, gathering metaphorical dust. Not actual dust though. He might have rejected all that the lightbow stood for but Baze had been too well trained by the Temple to let a weapon gather dust and rust. He’d cleaned it every few months, making sure all its parts were in working order before putting it back in its corner. He remembered how his last blaster had overheated and been slagged and how Chirrut had quietly but pointedly reminded him that he had a replacement weapon. Thankfully, he’d found the repeater cannon shortly afterwards and avoided more pointed remarks and now, well, that lightbow had been lost along with the rest of NiJedha

Chirrut chuckled, his eyes shining with delight that Baze didn’t reject the idea of returning to the lightbow as he had so many times in the past. “With no Master La’a to flail his arms around and chide you for destroying a wall or a door?”

Baze’s laughter rang out as they walked down the corridor, making a few of the rebels they passed turn their heads curiously. “I’m not sure if I’ll miss that or not. Besides, I only destroyed a wall one time.”

“I will miss it,” Chirrut replied. “His voice always reached new and interesting octaves when he was chiding you, like he couldn’t believe his favourite student was being so rash. He always blamed me for leading you astray.”

“You did lead me astray,” Baze said mildly.

“You didn’t argue very much.”

Baze shrugged. “I didn’t mind being led astray.”

“Who’s being led astray?”

They both turned to find Cassian coming up behind them on his crutches, Jyn on one side and Bodhi on the other. Jyn had a faint expression of exasperation on her face that grew every time she looked over at Cassian, which Baze took to mean that the Captain was being stubborn. Bodhi had the stump of his left arm tucked tight against his side and he canted slightly in that direction, as though the loss had left him unbalanced and lopsided. Baze noticed that Cassian had planted himself on Bodhi’s left side and the young pilot eventually came to rest gently against the Rebel captain.

“Me,” Baze said.

“By me,” Chirrut added smugly. “Again.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Jyn said dryly. She then raised an eyebrow at Baze. “I see he got you into those.”

Baze smiled slightly. “I chose to wear them.”

Jyn arched an eyebrow. “Did you have a choice?”

“There is always a choice, little sister,” Baze replied.

“Did I miss something?” Bodhi said, looking between Jyn and the two Guardians.

Cassian’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “Uh, Bodhi… Baze is wearing…”

“Guardian robes,” Bodhi said with a nod. “Yes, I know. But he’s a Guardian.”

They all looked at Bodhi strangely at that and he began to fidget until Cassian wrestled free of one of his crutches and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“What do you mean, Bodhi?” Chirrut asked, his voice gentle.

“Well, he… just… is,” Bodhi said, looking more and more like a startled rabbit as everyone stared at him.

“Huh,” Baze said contemplatively. “He’s Jedhan. How did the Masters miss him?”

Chirrut snorted. “The Masters were too busy looking inward in those final months, even years if we’re being honest. We would not have been caught so unprepared if they had listened more and looked less.”

“True,” Baze said with a resigned sigh.

“Did that make sense to anyone else?” Jyn asked, cocking an eyebrow at Cassian and Bodhi.

“No,” said Cassian while at the same time, Bodhi said, “Sort of?”

Chirrut began to smile as he glanced over at Baze. “Well? You were always the better teacher of the two of us.”

“Teach?” Cassian said suspiciously, his arm tightening around Bodhi’s shoulders. “Teach him what?”

“Bodhi is Force sensitive at the very least,” Chirrut said. “That’s why he knows that about Baze.”

“Me?” Bodhi squeaked, his eyes widening. “You mean… you want me to become a… a Guardian?”

Baze chuckled. “No, that decision is a long way off, little brother. But if Chirrut says you’re Force sensitive, then he is unlikely to be wrong. He very rarely was, back in the day.”

“You always knew as well,” Chirrut said, poking Baze in the side. “You were just never confident enough to tell the Masters. And the one time you disagreed with me, you were the one who was correct.”

Baze waved that away with the pretence of an irritated scowl. “It is your choice, Bodhi. Your path is always yours to choose.” He smiled ruefully. “However, from experience I can tell you, that if the Force wishes you to take this path, you will not be able to avoid it. You can fight it but it will just bring you back to the same point again and again until you get the message.”

Baze was surprised when it was Cassian who gave a startled jolt. The pilot stared him with a troubled expression then shook his head and turned his attention back to Bodhi, who was staring at the floor.

“Bodhi?” Cassian said worriedly.

The pilot’s face was a picture of apprehension and wistful hope when he looked up. “Could I really… be a Guardian?”

“There is little left to guard and precious few of us left,” Chirrut began.

“But it’s not lost,” Bodhi said and they were unsure if it was a question or a statement.

“No,” Baze said softly. “It is never lost while there are those who believe.” He snorted and nudged Chirrut. “Like this fool.”

Chirrut prodded him right back. “And you, you stubborn old bantha.”

Baze shrugged equably, willing to admit to it for the first time in years. “And me.”

“But… what about the Rebellion?” Bodhi asked. “They’re going to help me build a new arm and they said I might qualify for the X-Wing program and I… I want to stay. I want to help.”

“The two are not incompatible,” Baze replied.

“Then you two are willing to stay?” Cassian asked. “To help the Rebellion?”

Baze hesitated and Chirrut leaned against him. “It will not be like working for Saw Gerrera,” he said.

Cassian frowned. “Wait… you two worked for Gerrera?”

“Briefly,” Baze said. “He approached us and for a period of time our paths were… compatible. We did not part company on particularly amicable terms.”

“He did keep his part of the bargain,” Chirrut said. “At least until the end.”

“What bargain?” Cassian asked, frowning deeply.

“Food, medical supplies, whatever else he could spare for the orphans under our care,” Chirrut replied. “He was as generous as he could be with such things. We have no cause to complain about that.”

“And in return?”

“We aided him,” Baze said. “We knew the city better than many of his operatives and we had been fighting against the Empire in our own small way. Gerrera was pulling together many of the disparate rebels in the city. We were not the only ones he sought out.” He grumbled under his breath for a moment. “I suspected we would not last long allied with him. He was willing to use methods that we were not. It was only a matter of time.”

Cassian nodded slowly then his lips twitched in a small smile. “I imagine he found you two very frustrating.”

Chirrut laughed. “Oh, he did. And he didn’t much like me.”

“You unnerved him,” Baze said dryly. “You saw too much of him.”

Jyn nodded in understanding. “He wouldn’t have liked that.”

“Explains why he put a bag over your head anyway,” Cassian said with an edge of teasing in his voice that Baze thoroughly approved of. The Rebel captain was far too dour and he said that with full knowledge that it was a case of the pot calling the kettle black.

Chirrut harrumphed but he was grinning far too broadly for anyone to believe he was put out. The others chuckled then Bodhi swallowed audibly.

“I… I’d like to do it.”

 “Wonderful,” Chirrut said, then he turned his grin on Baze. “Do you still remember the lessons of the first duan, my love?”

Baze snorted. “I’m not that old, Chirrut. Besides, you were always better at zama-shiwo than I was.” He gave Bodhi a sharp look. “And with his build, you will be the better teacher for that.”

“Zama-what?” Bodhi said hesitantly.

“You saw the way Chirrut fights?” Baze said. “That.”

“Oh,” Bodhi said and while he sounded rather intimidated, there was a thread of interest and excitement in his voice as well. Baze was not surprised. Chirrut had been one of the finest fighters the Temple had ever produced.

“Think of it as both a useful skill and a form of meditation,” Baze said, reading Bodhi’s apprehension correctly. “When done correctly, zama-shiwo centres both the mind and the body.”

He caught Chirrut’s smile and audibly grumped at his husband. Chirrut just laughed in return and Baze shook his head. It still felt strange, talking about this, and even stranger to be thinking of actually teaching someone. The robes still felt just not quite right and there was an itch in the back of his mind that was urging him to rage against all that had happened.

But… overlying all of that was the sense of peace, of balance, he’d lost during the Imperial attack on the Temple, when he’d seen the dead and dying, when he’d realised the futility of fighting the faceless, remorseless Stormtroopers of the Empire. That terrible moment when he’d lost track of Chirrut and every body lying on the ground had suddenly looked like him.

It didn’t matter that the path he was walking now was still a little strange, still rocky and uncertain. It didn’t matter because it was the right path. He knew that because he felt at peace. The path would smooth out, would become familiar and certain. The robes would stop feeling like a stranger’s skin. It was ironic that it had taken such pain and suffering, such agony and fear to bring him back to the Force. Maybe he really was just the hard-headed, stubborn old bantha that Chirrut teased him about that needed such extremes to remind him of what was important.

He looked at Chirrut and then over at the three young people who had become their friends (family!) and he felt… content. It was something he hadn’t felt in a long time and he decided that whatever else was going to come their way in the future, he was ready for it.

[batshitkrys-blog]

The day that didn't change a thing.

So it all began back February 2016. February 8th 2016 to be exact. That's the day my little Boogie butt was born. My world changed forever that day. Of course I didn't have a clue what sort of adventure he had in store for me.

As a baby there were our good times and our bad times. I am not going to tell you his symptoms of led us to our diagnosis. Only because it varies so much. What his symptoms are now are not what were then just as they most be the same as your child or that person over there. We're all unique in every both of ourselves. What I WILL tell you. If you're reading this wondering. Get your baby looked at. You are the mother or father of that child. You know the best. If you feel something is not typical have it checked. Stand your ground these are our children we are their guardians and we must make sure they are given what they need.

I myself have learned this lesson. I need those words spoken to me. All a long there were signs. Clues here and there. But most just that motherly sense is. I was often told it was normal. How everything was normal. How his high levels of energy were normal he's just a boy. Those high levels of constant motion as if he was always vibrating weren't normal. I knew. But I was a first time mom so I let them convince me. Each and everytime. There was always an excuse. Looking back I wish I had know. I wish I knew the things I did know. How I had knew to push back and insist. But now what I can do is at least spread the little knowledge I do have. That is just stand your ground. If your are wondering. Just pushing. If anyone doubts you. If doctor's won't even give you a thought. There are other resources out there and they are there to help. Here in my state, Missouri, we have a program. Called First Steps, they will come out and evaluate your child for you and they will then start working with them if they have any delays. And sometimes with someone else behind you it's finally enough to push other things into gear.

But for us. It took one very bad day on June and another day a few weeks later in a doctor's office crying that I just didn't know what I was doing wrong to finially get for me. We got recommended to a larger hospital that had an actual pediatric psychologist but also a pediatric neurologist. He was about two a day half then. We waited and waited for the doctor's to call and Inform us of our appointment. The day came a few weeka than later, I thought, no they only called to tell me they had his info but it would be a whole. Another long while actually. Because it was another 5 months later. In November we finally headed up to see the doctor. In the office we sat. We waited. Our little Boogie butt ran wild. Jumped all over things. Rolled. Threw. Screamed. Explored. At first we tried to calm him. Chill him out as always cause others around just don't understand. It was during one mad crazy scream as he went flying off a table into some bean bags tbat it hit. It and literally a wave of calm just rolled over me. Here we were in this place to tell us if we were right our our suspicion or not. I grabbed my fiance's arm and pulled him back into his seat and told him "No let him go. Let him be himself. If there is anywhere he will understood it would be here." He replied "But that just feels weird." That's when I got a little sad. We were so used to trying to shhhh little fire ball. We were so used to hiding that bright ball of energy because of people just not understanding and being judgemental. That it felt weird to us to be out in a public place and no need to apologize and try to calm him as we get dirty looks. That's probably the day that all ended.

Eventually it was our turn and we got called back. It started of great. As I've said Boogie is nothing short of an adventure seeking explorer. A new door opened and before anyone could say anything let alone catch him he was gone running down maze of hallways. We were wrangled up into a room and asked all the who what when and where questions. They watched him play. They tried talking to him. Then they did a few activities. Eventually they excused themselves to discuss the information they had gathered. Eventually they returned. They had another person with them. They informed us that they had come to the conclusion that he was autistic and adhd. They then introduced us to the woman who had come in with them. She was a social worker and she would go over some resources and groups for us to call when we got home. We went over a few more things then that was it. A reschedule for a check up in a two months that and on the way home. I remember on the walk out one of the doctors asked "Are you guys okay? Is it what you expected?" I told yes and it was the truth. She gave me a look just like everyone else when ask. This look of like surprise and maybe some caution. But really. We had a baby and we have a toddler. He displays some signs and has some behaviors. We know they by far aren't all normal. We did research and read info. We talked to others. We never would have just said it and we waited to be told we were just being overly cautious. But in the end we knew maybe not exactly but you know your children best. And it's alright really it was. Some words an official diagnosis made our Boogie butt any different that he was. There was nothing new but none it was official and we could now get him the better bell we couldn't before. Being diagnosised didn't change him or us. This is the same adventure we start back that February night. It may not have been the one we expected and had hoped for. But it was and is going to be the best just the same. There were days that were hard. There will be days that are though. There will even be days extremly beyond hard. There have been tears and there will be more. There were days of hopelessness. Days of exhaustion. Days were I didn't know if I'd make it. Days that turned to nights spent crying myself to sleep. Cursing the universe for giving this blessing so unbelievably beyond everything I deserved and cursing him with such a failure of a mother. He deserves so much better. But those are the bad days. And that's fine or happens and it alright to have those feelings because it is tough. But there are also such amazing wonderful days filled with so much laughter and fun. Days I go to bed with my heart so full. So unbelievably happy because I was blessed. Really and truly. I want given this happy energetic little guy. He fills my life with energy and warmth and all the adventure I could ask for. But better yet he opens my eyes. The world is so different. So wonderful and so beautiful in his eyes. Every old man is a papa and he's got to say hi. Every single flower is "Ohhhh wow" so beautiful. The excitement at finding a rock. The care and love he has, the few fleeing moments he shows, is so amazing and pure. He is what I needed in this world. So there are bad days and there are good days. We get through them. Others we we just barely make it but we make it and that is all that matters!