#and why most of Disney's nonsense is just so uninteresting to me

[the-far-bright-center]

Rolling Stone: Rewatching the Star Wars films recently, I found it interesting how the [Prequels] films reframed the old ones: They now seem primarily concerned with the tragedy of Darth Vader, rather than the triumph of the Rebels. George Lucas: Yeah, I made a series of movies that was about one thing: Darth Vader. Originally, people thought it was all about Luke. The early films are about Luke redeeming his father, so Luke’s the focus. But it’s also about Princess Leia and her struggle to reestablish the Republic, which is what her mother was doing. So it’s really about mothers and daughters and fathers and sons.

— from George Lucas and the Cult of Darth Vader, Rolling Stone, 2 June 2005

[baka-monarch]

What The Fuck!?

(A.N: before we start with the story I just wanna say that this is based off of this post by @lance-alt​ . Also, alot of creators on here got mentioned in the story, like actual mentions so if you got mentioned just know that I love what you create and wanted to include you because I love your interpretations of the sides, and you do not have to read this at all if you don’t want to and if you want me to take you out of the story please DM me and tell me so that I can)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SLIGHT MENTION OF VORE FOR LIKE TWO SECONDS, MENTION OF USYEMPETHETIC SIDES, SHITTING N SOME HEADCANONS EVEN THOUGH I MYSELF LOVE THEM

The Sides are lost. They find themselves in a familiar and yet unknown place.

They will soon find someone dark. And someone far too shiny and bright… Too innocent.

The Sides meet…

their fanon-selves.

 ...

 It had started like any normal day. The sides existing as a part of Thomas, helping him with his daily dilemmas, the usual things. Until Thomas took a nap. Then the sides suddenly found themselves in a white void. It wasn’t a dream, they could confirm that much from the other dreams that Thomas had. Also from the confused looks on the twin’s faces who were in charge of dreams, like how Remus had caused Thomas’ nightmare that they had disgusted in Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts.

“Where are we?” Logan spoke up, voicing everyone’s concerns.

“Wherever it is, Thomas has never thought about it before.” Roman muttered as he glanced around.

“Yeah, I know his brains can be scooped out at times, but not even he can have a mind this empty.” At Remus’ comment, most of the others cringed in varying degrees, with Logan being the only one unaffected, only rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Although your metaphor usage could use some work, you are correct. This place is too empty to be a part of Thomas.” Logan conceded.

“If this isn’t Thomas...then where are we?” Virgil gleaned around wearily, trying to come up with his own explanation for this situation.

“It’s really blank here...maybe Thomas is in a coma?” Roman tried, to which Virgil’s eyes widened.

“Impossible, how would we be active if he is not?” Logan debated.

“I don’t know! Do you have any ideas, Sherlock Drones?” Roman rebutted, causing Logan to roll his eyes and fix his glasses.

“Unfortunately, no. There is not enough evidence...anywhere to make a proper inference on the situation.” Logan finished adjusting his glasses by the time he finished, gaining an annoyed huff from Roman.

“Heya, kiddos? Maybe we shouldn’t argue. We’re all confused right now, and getting upset isn’t going to get us anywhere.” Patton butted in to make sure things didn’t escalate.

“Thank you, Patton.” Logan gave a curt nod of agreement.

“Fiiiine!” Roman whined after a bit.

“It would be wise to explore, to see if we can find any clues as to where we are.”

“I’ll do it!” Remus jumped in. “Who knows, maybe we all died a gruesome death!” He cackled.

“No need.” Janus approached the group from behind, having already explored himself. “Look behind us.” When turning the sides were surprised to find the area behind them was not all whit. On it there were words like what one would find in a google doc currently describing their situation as they lived through it. 

“What the fuck?” Virgil muttered. He had a Tumb.lr so he knew what fanfiction was, and this looked like it. “This can’t be happening…” He groaned, knowing it was happening.

“Aw, they’re writing about us Virge! Like the people on that one app you use.” Patton cooed, only knowing of the fluff part of fanon.

“Pat, you don’t understand. This isn’t good.”

“Oh nonsense kiddo.” Patton dismissed. “Have you guys seen the art they draw of us? It’s so cute!” Virgil internally cringed knowing that not all of it was like that.

“Either way,”-Janus cut off their small conversation.-“We need to find a way out of here.” Janus focused slightly more on Virgil for his next comment. “Whether this is real or not.” Virgil shivered at the thought of them not being real, or even acting like they do in the things that people create. 

Everyone agreed, and soon they were on their way to explore this strange new environment.

 …

 Soon enough, however, the sides are lost. Which brings us back to where this story began. As they searched for their original location, or even the mysterious floating words, they come upon a familiar and yet unknown place. It looks strikingly like a Disney movie kingdom. With one half, filled with bright colors, lush fields, enchanting forests, and a large white castle with a red roof. The other half being dark and dangerous, the colors fading, plants rotting, instead of animals there only creatures of unknown origin, and in the middle, a black, crumbling, castle, with striking green roofing. It was almost as if...it were made for the twins.

In fact, as they got closer they could hear two far off shouts, with simultaneous silhouettes, motioning towards them, as if pointing them out to someone...or something, else.

“Uh...guys?” Virgil trailed off wondering if the others had noticed.

“On it.” Romas was quick to pull out his sword, Remus quickly following suit with his morning star.

It was unnecessary however, as once the silhouettes were in view, they looked exactly like the twins. 

“Wha…” Roman lowered his sword as he saw this. As they got closer more figures came into view. All of which looked like the sides to varying degrees. There were thousands. Some were small, some were even giants, and there were alot that weren’t even human.

“Oh! Hi there kiddos!” A Patton(?) came running past the twin’s doppelgangers. “You’re probably really confused right now, I know alot of us were when we appeared!” The sides just looked at the Patton look-alike  dumbfounded. The first to break out of it was Logan.

“I do not wish to appear rude, but, who are you and where are we?” Logan queried.

“Oh, I’m Patton by @baka-monarch !” Patton chirped. “And you’re in The Imagination!”

“The what now-?” “How did you-?” Both Roman and Virgil asked at the same time.

“Hm?” The other Patton tilted his head confused.

“One at a time now kiddos…” Their Patton silently reminded them. Roman nodded to Virgil to let him go first.

Virgil inhaled, taking his cue. “How did you say a mention? That only works when typed in social medias.” Virgil wondered confused.

“Oh! That’s just my fander creator kiddo!” This Patton didn’t miss a beat as he answered happily. Virgil stared at him blankly as he came to a horrifying conclusion.

“We’re in a f*****g fanfiction.” He jumped slightly at his bleep out. “What was that?”

“Oh, Jan Jan did that I wouldn’t have to hear any vulgar language.” All of them looked back at Janus who looked forward, uninterested, definitely trying not to hide his embarrassment at what this other him did, definitely not. 

“...Okay… My turn!” Roman exclaimed. “What is “the Imagination”?” He used air quotes.

“Yeah, I was wondering that too, Mr. The 6th Day clone.” Remus added.

“Oh! Don’t you know? It’s the place you and Roman can go to to summon anything.You can even change the entire world around you!” Patclone chirped.

“What.” They all said in unison with worry, apart from the twins who were excited.

“Yeah! Isn’t it cool!” Patclone said oblivious to the consequences of the twins having this power could cause. “Oh yeah, do you want me to introduce you to everyone?”

“Please, I am intrigued about how our counterparts might act.” Logan conceded.

“Okie dokie then! Follow me!”

 …

 It had been a few hours at this point and they still weren’t even an eighth of the way through yet. There were so many headcanons, variations, AUs, OCs, OOCs, designs, everything. It was almost too much to handle.

“-this is @tscampfireau ‘s sides from their au-” The Virgil hissed and bit towards them as they almost walked on their pentagram that they were making out of… was that blood? The Patton and Logan were helping them by t-posing as a barrier against the other sides. “-yeah they can be a...fun bunch to hang out with. Oh, and here’s @bleepblopbloop56 ‘s sides.”

“How, and why are they hotter than us..?” Roman mumbled to Virgil, only getting a weird look in response.

“Then there’s @mango-shpango ‘s and @rondoel ‘s ones, he’s got a lot-” Patclone shrugged it off, but King caught all of their eyes. He didn’t have to look like the one they knew for them to know who it was… “Oh, hey there @that-prey-lounge and @tiny-peter-rabbit ‘s sides!” He greeted them. As they turned a corner there was a group of sides that were made of metal like robots. “Oh, there’s @burnadolt ‘s fnaf au!” He waved. As they approached a tavern the last group greeted was, “Heya @nommy-thoughts ‘ sides, how are you adjusting?” there were several positive responses from many of them, and as the sides looked closer they could see that a few were smaller than a human hand not only that but nearby (possibly made by someone else), were the sides they’d seen from afar earlier that were giants.. They hadn't noticed them yet here because of how closely compact the buildings were and how their size made what was visible from their perspective look like buildings.

As they all entered the tavern, they saw that there was only one group of sides here. “Hiya guys! New sides I’d like you to meet @baka-monarch ‘s group.” There were several different hellos. “And my friends, I’d like you to meet… to meet..? I’m sorry but who’s your creator?” Virgil was the one to answer.

“@thatstha-MMPH!” Virgil was only part of the way through before the other’s Janus made him slap his hand over his mouth as the other sides in the room went pale. “What was that for?” Virgil asked, his voice muffled by his hand.

“You can’t say his name. Not here.” Patclone explained cryptid. They all fell into an awkward silence, until Roman changed the subject.

“Why are there...two of you?” Roman observed.

“Oh!” Patclone chirped. “I was created just for this au! Just so I could be your guide!” He paused for a moment thinking before continuing. “I guess I’m like the Monika of this world.” Again, everyone paled, some not understanding, others...understanding too well. “Welp, I guess you want to go explore now! Jan Jan, do you and Patty wanna go have fun while they look around?” Both mentioned sides blushed.

“I told you not to call me that…” Janus mumbled as he took Patclone’s hand and the other Patton stood up to quickly join them as they went off to a separate room.

 …

 Only an hour had passed and the sides had already split off into groups with their counterparts. The Roman’s comforting each other while being completely random, some of them being sad little puffballs that the strong egotistic Roman’s had decided to protect, while others were a mix or just completely unsympathetic and degrading anyone the came in contact with, especially the Virgils. Virgil had kind of separated himself from the other Virgils since 90% of them were cowering away from everything and just having constant anxiety attacks, while the few who were different either had power that they abused, or were fawning over the other sides. The Logans had formed an army of science lead by the Logan from @askdarksidelogan and the other dark sides from his au, this Logan was very robotic looking, cruel, and unfeeling...well, almost unfeeling as the Deceit from his au was his boyfriend and the Remus was really close friends with him. Janus was busy trying to coral in all his different counterparts as some of them made plans to kill everyone around them and end the government, while others were hiding due to PTSD about the angst they have been through. The Remuses just vibed in their corner, killing, being gross, and annoying the other aspects. Finally the Pattons. Patton had basically adopted the ones that were child-like and too innocent for their own good while avoiding the unsympathetics that were teaming up with other unsympathetics and the ones who were...horny… Actually everyone was avoiding the horny ones.

But that was just the simplified version of the chaos. Logans were capturing people to test, Deceits were arguing over their name even though one was already canon, Romans were either being complete idiots or crying silently to themselves, while they were targeted by the unsympathetics along with the Virgils, everyone too scared to even try to tussle with the army of Logans.

Virgil sat back on a hill and watched it all unfold. How had the community gotten this far without this much chaos? He had no idea. A few other counterparts were up there with him but he didn’t mind since they mostly seemed chill. A Virgil approached and sat down next to him exhausted, and judging by the paint he was covered in he had just come from the Romans’ corner.

“Romans a little too much?” Virgil tried making conversation.

“Yeah…” He breathed. “It was getting a little too rowdy and I wanted to get my Roman out of there so he wouldn’t get hurt.” With no Roman in sight, Virgil assumed that he had been unsuccessful.

“So, which Roman is yours?” Virgil wondered.

“Hm?” The counterpart tilted his head confused until it clicked. “Oh, no, he’s not down there right now.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny Roman. “See.”

“Oh…” Virgil was at a loss of words. What does a person say to that? After that they just sat there in silence as Virgil’s counterpart and the Roman snuggled slightly through a hand to body contact. 

“So…” Virgil decided to try again. “What’s it like, y��know, being shipped?” Virgil wondered, seeing how it seemed these two were in some kind of relationship. Virgil had always found it kind of weird, but, maybe there was more to it…

“I mean, it’s like any other relationship I guess… falling in love and deciding to be together.” The counterpart mumbled as the tiny Roman rubbed his hand to comfort him.

“But isn’t it weird how it isn’t real? How, you’re literally just playing out your creator’s fantasies because they enjoy the idea of you being together?” Virgil wondered.

The counterpart just shrugged. “I try not to think about it… but, it really isn’t that weird, even if we’re fictional characters we have memories, motives, morals, opinions, feelings. Those are real. Even if they aren’t created by us, they are real. Every thought, every motion, every breath. That is us. Just because it was written, drawn, or even just imagined, it happened and that makes it real. Makes this feeling real.” He explained as he rubbed the little head of his Roman.

“Huh I… I guess you’re right, I never thought of it that way.” Virgil shrugged.

“No one does. Why do you think people are told not to cry over fictional deaths when they actually had feelings for a character, platonic or not?” The counterpart said. “It’s just a story on the outside, something thought to not affect people even though when our memories are shared with them, it can change them.” Virgil looked at his counterpart, curiosity growing about how he had so much knowledge.

“Who’s your creator?” Virgil finally asked.

“Why do I have to have one?”

“Touche.” 

They went back to a comfortable silence. It was nice. Until this one Janus came.

“Hey, Virgil, does Roman mind if I had him for a bit?” They asked.

“I don’t mind at all!” The tiny side exclaimed as he got on Janus’ hand. They soon left, but when that Janus vired the Roman they weren’t far enough away from Virgil for him not to catch a glimpse. He shivered. 

“Is that normal?” He wondered.

“Depends on the part of the community, but pretty normal and usually safe, so don’t worry.” The counterpart comforted him. It barely helped but at last Virgil knew that that Roman was safe… probably.

“Can I try!” Remus came brelling up the his, straight (heh) to the counterpart.

“Only if you want to.” They replied.

“I do!” Remus wriggled with excitement.

“Alright, let's go find you one of the groups of sides either with the power to shrink you or are giants.” Virgil led Remus off the hill as Remus kept talking about everything that could go wrong but probably wouldn’t.

Weird. Was all Virgil could think as he watched them leave.

 …

 He saw a lot that day but never saw that Virgil again, as if he had vanished mysteriously. It didn’t matter to him right now though as he had been stuck with babysitting duty over all the little kid sides.

“F*** this.”

 …

 Virgil looked over the story he just read one more time. It was written by a small creator called @baka-monarch , who focussed more on reblogging than they did their own content.

“That was trash.”

…

…

…

“Reblog.”

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I thought about the MCU (Phase Two)

Sorry this didn’t come out sooner. Disney+ needed to be paid, and that is the only way I can possibly watch most of these movies. Anways, here’s the continued ranking:

6th place: Thor: The Dark World (4/10)

The final fight is cool, and Loki is still a ton of fun. There. That's all I like about Thor: The Dark World. Other than that, it is easily the weakest MCU film. It's boring. It's ugly. A large percentage of the characters are flat and dull. And Christopher Eccleston's Malekith is arguably the worst villain yet. His goal? Plunge the world in darkness. Yeah, been there, done that, at least have a hammy personality if your plans are as uninteresting as vanilla ice cream. If you love this movie, more power to you. I just cannot get into it.

5th place: Ant-Man (6/10)

I won't lie, I will fully understand if you don't like this movie. The rules behind how the shrinking works are inconsistent, the majority of the characters are flat, it's almost hilarious with how bad Corey Stoll's Yellowjacket is, and the racial and cultural stereotypes can come off as really annoying...and a tad bit offensive. Not to mention that it is downright CRIMINAL to not let Edgar Wright go all out with this movie! So I won't blame you if you hate Ant-Man...but I still kinda like it. Some jokes are funny, it's a spectacle to see the world when the characters shrink, and Paul Rudd's Ant-Man is a fun and heartwarming character who gets better with each movie he's in. I was pleasantly surprised when I saw this movie for the first time and I still enjoy it every other time. So while I understand if Ant-Man isn't your cup of tea, I'll always get a kick out of it.

4th place: Iron Man 3 (8/10)

Yup, this is my favorite Iron Man movie. Mostly for the same reason why Captain America: The First Avenger is my favorite Captain America movie. Iron Man 3 has everything that I think of when I think of Iron Man: A character who is reckless, impulsive and is kind of an a**hole, but he's still charismatic and highly intelligent. Throughout the movie, Tony goes on an adventure without his suit, and while most people complain about that, I see it as the film's best feature. It forces him to use his brains to outthink his enemies while also charming the pants out of strangers to help him out on occasion, proving that it isn't the suit that makes Iron Man, but the man inside. Plus, it leads to some exciting action set pieces. Probably the best ones in the MCU. But I will admit that there are some issues that I kinda agree with. The big reveal of The Mandarin, while funny at points, is pretty disappointing. Plus, while Guy Pierce's character has formidable powers, he still lacks any motivation or charm that makes me enjoy that same character. Still, Iron Man 3 is easily my favorite. Because while it has issues, the cooler elements more than makeup for it.

3rd place: Avengers: Age of Ultron (8/10)

...Man...this was way uglier than I remember. Seriously, someone both needed to turn up the color gradient and polish out the CGI because this movie is hideous...still a ton of fun, though.

Don't get me wrong, there are some complaints that I sort of agree with. The majority of quips, while funny sometimes, feel out of place, and half the time, I'm thinking, "This character wouldn't say that." And while I enjoy James Spader's Ultron being written as an evil Tony Stark, charm and all, the character does pale in comparison to his comic book counterpart. With that said, everything this movie does wrong, it does the most important job right: Make likable characters. The Avengers are still a ton of fun, and it's always a blast seeing them work off of each other. Even trying to one-up one another at times. For example, that scene where everyone tries to lift Thor's hammer is the best because it shows how much these unstoppable heroes are still people. It may not be the best, but as long as people have fun in the end, what's the harm in that?

2nd place: Captian America: The Winter Soldier (9/10)

What? While I did say that Captain America: The First Avenger is my favorite, I also acknowledged that the other movies are better. Case in point, Captain America: The Winter Soldier is easily the best one. The action is stellar, the story is tighter, the characters are more dynamic, and some legit good political commentary got sprinkled in this movie. I could nitpick all the things that it does wrong, or I could be a logical person and say, "Screw it. It's good, so why should I bother." While I still consider The First Avenger my favorite, I can acknowledge that The Winter Soldier is objectively better.

1st place: Guardians of the Galaxy (9/10)

This movie has no right to be as good as it is. It really doesn't. Because if I were to tell you in 2014 that the best movie you were going to see was a movie with a dopey blue villain, a talking raccoon, with classic pop music as the soundtrack, you would most certainly laugh in my face. And yet, despite how ridiculous it sounds, Guardians of the Galaxy is easily a top tier movie in the MCU. Not only is it funny as hell, but unlike Avengers: Age of Ultron, it understands that comedy comes from character. Everyone in Guardians of the Galaxy has a unique way of being funny (Drax takings metaphors literally and Rocket's cynical one-liners, for example). It also helps that the main cast is all identifiable and memorable, too. Plus, as hilarious as this movie is, it can also have some compelling drama at times. This movie, with a talking raccoon, has compelling drama. Explain that to me!

Guardians of the Galaxy is a stupid movie, and that's why I love it so much. It leans into the nonsense of its concept and earning serious moments while also never taking itself too seriously. It's a ton of fun, and in my opinion, is the best movie in phase two.

And that’s it for now. I’ll see you next time for phase three, which will hopefully come sooner rather than later.

[tpwkwrites]

Never Sometimes Always - Chapter One

Never Sometimes Always - Chapter One

Violet remembers the day she first saw him.

He came into the shop when she was with another customer – Mr. Dively. He was currently telling her all of his plans for his first trip to Disney World. He says the trip is for his daughters but Mr. Dively’s animated voice and flamboyant gestures say otherwise. There was a whole schedule made and he made sure that Violet knew the entire thing, insisting that if anything were to happen in their little village of Cheshire West and Chester, she would know what he’s doing at that moment before she rang him. She’s not sure what he’s expecting to happen, but she listens anyway.

He walks in just as the photos of matching outfits came out. (“Just in case one of the little ones got lost, you know?”).

He’s with Anne, a regular at the shop. He was wearing casual trackie bottoms. They were blue with a red stripe down both sides of the leg. They probably still cost more than all of Violet’s textbooks combined. He has on a plain white t-shirt, something she can likely afford, and some trainers with tall grey socks. There were shades perched high on his head, hidden by the abundance of curls that adorned his head and an annoyed expression on his face. She hopes he’s nicer than he looks at the moment.

Violet shoots Anne a quick smile, just as a bit of acknowledgment before she returned back to Mr. Dively. Violet then assumes that Anne is his mother. It makes the most sense.

“- have my number just in case you should ever need it.” He grabs his camera, universal stick and prints quickly before shuffling out of the way for the next in line. “See you in a week, Violet. Try not to miss me too much.”

Violet chuckles to herself, waving towards Mr. Dively even though he wasn’t looking back.

Next in line was Anne. She came to the till with a large smile on her face, nearly resembling a child whose left lessons early. Anne’s son, on the other hand, continued to stay barricaded by his private security detail. He looked exhausted. If the purple rings under his eyes were anything to go by Violet would reckon it was a couple of days since he’d gotten proper sleep.

“Violet, love, alright?”

Violet gives Anne her best smile as she watched to older woman dig around in her bag for something, presumably her universal hard drive.

“Not quite peachy keen, but I’ll get by.” Unlike other customers, Anne gets the full scoop of Violet’s life. Violet finds some type of comfort in Anne and she reckons Anne finds some in her too.

“Oh no, dear. Why’s that?” At this point, she’s still digging. This is what usually happens. It’s always ‘in the bottom of my purse somewhere’ or ‘hiding from me.’ Violet didn’t mind. It keeps the conversation going, and in a camera and printing shop with only three employees, Violet very much so loves outside conversations.

“Mums been buggering my head in since I came home from University. She pops into my old room at least ten times per hour just to see if I’m still there.”

“Your mother has missed you! Her only child has moved four hours away and hardly ever visits. I reckon she has the right to bugger you.”

Violet just laughs lightly at Anne’s response. Her mother and Anne have never met but she can tell they would get along easily.

Violet then looks at Harry and he’s looking around the shop with a scowl. She wonders what for. Anne must have noticed the silence because she looks up for a second before tucking back into her purse and saying, “Violet, I nearly forgot – my son, Harry. Harry, my dear friend, Violet.”

Harry’s head pops up at his name and Violet is stunned. Of course, she’s seen photos. Media photos and personal photos on Anne’s mobile. But nothing really prepared her for how handsome Harry is now that he’s right in front of her. He takes a step forward, already looking uninterested in the conversation, before shaking Violet’s hand. She glanced at the security detail and he looked around the shop, a bit embarrassed, but he didn’t say anything.

“Would you like me to lock the doors?”

Anne looks at Harry and then back at Violet. “Oh, love, you don’t have to do that.”

When she responds, it’s towards Harry. She can feel her cheeks go a bit hot, but she decides to ignore it. “It’s alright. It’s nearly a quarter to six. We’ll be closing soon.”

Then, he finally speaks. He’s got a smooth voice. It reminds her of warm honey and peanut butter sandwiches in the back garden on a sunny summers day with her dad's famous cup of breakfast tea.

“If you insist, that would be lovely.”

She nods with a smile. The keys are in her hand instantly and she tracks from behind the counter quickly. The security detail is now following her, presumably leaving. When the shop had been locked, and the bulky men had exited, there was almost a breath of fresh air in the atmosphere.

“Ah-ha!” Anne exclaims, holding the stick in the air.

Violet laughs and grabs the stick. “Reckon you should sellotape it to your forehead; you’ll never lose it then.”

The three of them laugh, and then Harry says, “then add your mobile up there – know how you are mum.”

Anne rolls her eyes and turns back to Violet. “It’s the folder that says Jamaica 2017.”

“Oh, lovely. You went on holiday?”

“Oh no. I wish! Harry’s just gotten back from Jamaica. Written a whole album, he has.”

Harry looks at his mom a bit panicked. “Mum, you can just tell people that.”

Anne chuckles as the images print. Violet already knows Anne’s usual size for all types of prints. Portraits are a little larger than landscape and landscapes are a little larger than items. “Violet is not people Harry. And to be frank, Violet knows quite a lot about you. Maybe even things you don’t know.”

Violet blushes at this comment but keeps her head down, labeling the separate photo packaging boxes.

There is a slight awkwardness now. The only real noise in the store is the photo printer buzzing away. The silence was nearly unbearable. Violet wondered what Harry had thought of Anne’s statement because she didn’t give any further explanation. He might think she’s a stalker or some type of mega fan.

Violet takes the first set of photos out and examines them for miss prints. They all looked wonderful. She would love to go on a tropical holiday at least once in the next few years, but with the way it’s looking financially, she’ll be lucky to have a spot at her university in the fall semester.

“I’m gonna browse around.” Violet is grateful that Anne had decided to crack the ice. She was afraid they could hear her thoughts of how silent it was. Anne made a straight shot to the other side of the shop, leaving Harry and Violet alone at the till.

Harry rocks a bit on his feet while Violet continues to sort the photos out on the worktop. She was surprised when Harry decided to break the silence.

“You’re a fan?”

She glances up a little too fast, bits of her hair fell in her line of sight and she scrambled to put them back in place. “No...I mean...I don’t, like, seek your stuff out.”

He nods, makes a surprised face, and scoffs. “Way to humble me, I ‘spose.”

“Oh,” she blushes. “No, I didn’t mean like that. I just never really have t–“

He chuckles. “It’s okay, Violet.”

Her name rolled off his tongue like gooey, melted chocolate. Or a spoonful of Jif’s creamy peanut butter. The way his lips curved around her name made her wonder what they taste like.

It was silent again. Anne had disappeared from sight, the photocopier was buzzing, and Harry was still making Violet’s hands sweat. “Is your music any good?”

Harry’s visibly taken aback by the question. He nods very confidently. “I would like to think so.”

Violet scoffs. Her eyes roll around and she looks up at Harry with something resembling a smirk. “Well, duh, you think so.”

He smiles. “Love, I’d like to think a couple hundred thousand people agree with me.”

“And every single one of them, up your arse.”

He leans against the worktop now, much closer than he was before. In fact, if it were anyone else Violet would’ve claimed it to be too close. “Is that true?”

“Oh, most definitely.” She packs the last set of photos in the package and glances up at Harry.

“Would you give me a second opinion then?”

“Excuse me?”

“Heard me. Want to listen to my album?”

“Or what?”

“Does there have to be one?” He asks.

She shakes her head softly, bits of her hair falling back in her face. She didn’t push it back this time. “No. I’d love to.”

He smiles, dimples and teeth popping out this time. She thinks it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. “Great. Dinner then. At mums. Surely she’s told you our address.”

Violet laughs at this because yeah, she has. “See you then.”

“See you then.”

They hadn’t realised it but it’s been a while since they looked away from each other. She was studying his face, wondering exactly how he’s gotten it so smooth and symmetrical.

“You’re done!” Anne’s voice startled them both, making the pair pushback from their unusually close proximity. This doesn’t get away from Anne. In fact, nothing has. She’s been watching this whole time. “How much will it be?”

“Nonsense Anne. You know it’s always on the house.”

“And I always pay. Now, how much?”

Harry quickly pulls his wallet from his pocket and hands Violet fifty quid. She began to ring up the change while Harry got scolded by his mum.

“Keep the change,” Harry says.

Violet shoves it further in his direction. “That’s a lot of change.”

“Keep the change,” he repeats. She sighs and sorts the pence back into its place. When she looks back up both of them are watching her. “See you at dinner.”

Ahhhhhh tell me how you feel! Was this good? Did you like it? Please share, reblog, and like. I hope you guys enjoyed it! [Hopefully, there’s no grammatical errors :]. Expect a chapter once a week! Let me know if you want to be on a tag list and get notified every time I upload. 

Keep up with the series here!

Masterlist here!

d x

[thelarryficrecplace]

do you know of any frat boy Harry fics?

Hi lovely! Here you go:

Every time that you get undressed (I hear symphonies in my head) bytheboyfriendstagram:

Summary: “Hi.”, Louis says and Harry doesn’t answer. The taller boy takes the cigarette from Louis’ fingers and places it between his own lips.

Louis doesn’t fight it, because Harry looks hot when he smokes.

“Why are you sad, Louis?”

Louis blinks up at the question taking him by surprise. The smoke vanishes in the air and he’s now face to face with Harry, who seems to be closer now.

“I’m not sad.”, he lies.

Harry stares at him for a moment, before he takes another drag from the cigarette and leans down so he’s at the same eye level with Louis.

And okay, now Louis panics. 

OR an AU in which Harry is the typical frat boy who doesn’t believe in love but falls for the insecure mess that is Louis. Sex and fluff ensue.

Just a Number by fratboytomlin:

Summary: Louis may or may not fall in love with his arch enemy’s (aka his own brother) best friend, who just so happens to be in college.

don’t make this easy (i want you to mean it) by wildestdreams:

Summary: “Harry’s a player. All he does is chat everyone up. And guys like him are just–so ugh. He’s got that arrogant, self-assured smirk plastered to his face all the time. Always smug and stupid, like he could get anyone he lays his eyes on. All he does is make me mad and laugh all the time like he knows something that I don’t. That is so annoying.”

“But that’s just Harry,” Niall shrugged at Louis. “He doesn’t even try to flirt or anything. He’s just naturally charming, but that doesn’t mean he’s a player nor that he’s trying to get into everyone’s pants. He’s just friendly. And he likes you. He doesn’t usually fall for people, but he fell for you.”

“Oh, should I feel special then?” Louis asked, snorting and rolling his eyes.

or Harry’s a frat boy who is head over heels for Louis and Louis wants nothing to do with him.

Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can’t Lose by dolce_piccante:

Summary: American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

Pi Time by aclosetlarryshipper:

Summary: Harry, 20. Less Than 1 Mile Away, Active 1 minute ago. I think when it comes down to it, I’m just looking for someone supportive. That’s all I really need in life. I know this is an app, but we can find people in all the most obscure places ☺ -H.S 

or hot, hipster Harry from Tinder is nothing like Louis expected.

Have You Coming Back Again by whoknows:

Summary: It’s five o’clock in the morning. Louis has a lecture at half eight. He could be using this time to study or to do his readings or to go to the gym, but - well. He doesn’t have any exams coming up, he’s not going to his seminar today anyway and he hates the gym.

Instead he’s using this time to fuck with Harry Styles’ poor little brain.

Louis jogs across the street and jabs the key into the car door. It opens easily, not that he was expecting anything else. He copied the key for a reason, after all.

He’s got Harry’s schedule memorized, more because the guy keeps following him around than anything, so he doesn’t bother looking around before climbing behind the wheel and setting his bag on the passenger seat. It’s a Monday, which means that Harry doesn’t even get out of bed before noon unless he’s planning on harassing Louis.

Naughty Girls Get Spanked by Erin94:

Summary: When Louis gets caught trying to steal a trophy from Harry for his sorority, he ends up having a lot more fun than he had planned.

Or the one where Louis wears panties and gets spanked and fucked by frat boy Harry.

Orange Canvas by aclosetlarryshipper:

Summary: Few can handle Louis Tomlinson on the dance floor, much less match him in skill and fervor. Louis has obviously met his soul mate; he just never expected him to be wearing a red snapback and to chew gum like an entitled Mercedes owner.

or a spring break (kind of) fake relationship AU.

only thing that’s keeping me on fire by togetherwecouldbealright:

Summary: There’s a boy right in the middle of the crowd and he’s dancing, head thrown back with laughter. When he finally straightens back up, his fringe falls right into his eyes and his slender body is pressed up against others in the crowd. When he moves, it’s more graceful than anything Harry has ever witnessed in his entire life.

Around him are nearly a dozen other guys and they all look like they want to ravage him. Harry doesn’t really blame them.

When the boy turns slightly, his dark blue eyes meet Harry’s and his mouth pulls up in the corner, twisting into an inviting smirk.

Harry is just an average twenty year old frat boy and he meets eighteen year old Louis at a party. It ends with Louis fucking him while wearing his snapback and that’s something that Harry can definitely get behind.

Can’t Fool Me by emma1234:

Summary: “I hate frats,” Louis repeats for what feels like the millionth time.

“Yes, I’ve heard, once or twice or every day for the past three years,” Liam says. His careful tone reminds Louis of how his mom always sounds when one of his siblings is on the brink of a tantrum.

Louis glances speculatively at Liam’s frat brothers, who are still huddled together and chatting, with the exception of the one who’s looking in Louis’ direction. Maybe Louis shouldn’t rule out a tantrum. While making a scene wouldn’t actually free him from fraternity nonsense in the future, it would at least be entertaining.

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

The Ninth Child

or, a loose adaptation of the Chinese fairy tale, The Butterfly Lovers.

Summary: Chirrut Îmwe, accosted by disapproving parents and an existential despair at home, enters the Temple. *Songs link to Youtube.

AO3 LINK

A/N: This is my fic for the @dailyspiritassassin​‘s fanworks exchange! My giftee was @bottombobbysinger​, and the prompt I chose (perhaps a little ambitiously) was “Disney-style spiritassassin.” Much thanks to @zhenzidan​ for the beta!

.

.

.

Quite frankly, Orson Krennic didn’t like people. He didn’t like people-feelings, especially the ones called sentimentalism, nostalgia, and affection. The supposed foundations of marriage.

Marriage was a construct designed to either let people climb up the rungs of society, or to utilize the loopholes during tax season.

Or, he mused, considering Jinrut Îmwe’s curtly worded post on the holonet, it could provide an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the Chancellor in the Galactic Senate.

The galaxy at large desired kyber—an infinitely renewable energy source in the right engineer’s hands, but monopolized to a ridiculous degree. The Îmwe family, known as one of the most respected owners of the largest kyber mines on Jedha, needed a relatively wealthy suitor for their youngest son.

A believer in long-term plans, Orson Krennic determined the best course of action was to consult others for advice and a thick digital tome on Jedhan marriage legalities.

It would take a while, but what suitor was going to offer the amount Jinrut Îmwe demanded for a blind man’s hand?

//

Chirrut was the ninth child of five girls and three brothers, the youngest of which still maintained seven years over him. His late existence marked him as an unexpected, and at times unwanted, son. He felt keenly the sheer displeasure his father had for him, like Chirrut embodied some harbinger of ill tidings.

To be fair, he had been.

His parents had not planned beyond eight children. They had long done away with the hand-me-downs and the crib carved of wood, imported long ago when Jedha received more trade. Chirrut’s imminent arrival left the family scrambling to find supplies during a period of weak trade relations, in addition to an inheritance equal to a ninth of the mines rendering the Îmwe name famous.

Fortunately, only a few of his parents’ progeny desired to run the family business.

Not among them was Chirrut, who (while content to wander the kyber mines as a child and trace the rainbow veins of crystal seeping through the rock walls) was uninterested in economics.

Chirrut’s interests were reserved in the Temple of the Whills, one of the family’s greatest patrons and customers. As a child, he visited every quarter of a cycle until he was ten, at which point his father turned his attention from religion to business.

But something tied him to the temple.

When Chirrut slept, he dreamt in sequences that smelled of heavy incense. He wandered in phantasmal halls that echoed with sonorous rumbles and ringing of bells and prayer. And recently, when he was still struggling through the haze of sleep, Chirrut heard himself muttering the old mantra that sat with him during the quarterly visits.

I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.

The blindness had shook Chirrut—its abrupt arrival a consequence of a late-night outing and a misaim with a heavily-modded taser—but not his goal to join the Temple of the Whills. There was something to be attained there, be it peace for the gnawing (if often subdued) bitterness at his uselessness at home or some form of enlightenment.

Perversely, his dreams meant nothing yet. Chirrut still had to convince his father to let him attend.

//

Dinner was considered a sacred time of neutrality in the Îmwe household. Conflicts between siblings, parents, or even siblings and parents were to be put away in order to maintain the semblance of a happy family.

One did not detonate the minefield deliberately.

“Father,” said Chirrut. He sat at one end of the table, his portions of rice and vegetables already scooped into his bowl by his mother. The uneti wood chopsticks—wedding gifts dating back several generations—rested on the rim of the bowl.

Chirrut’s father sat the other end. “Chirrut.”

Beating around the bush went unappreciated in the Îmwe household, no matter how bad the news. “I’m going to become a Guardian of the Whills.”

Without hesitation, perhaps without even glancing up from his bowl, Chirrut’s father responded, “No.”

“Are you going to tell me why?” A habit Chirrut had indulged for the past few years was to blankly stare in his father’s direction and tilt his head, blinking with calculated guilelessness. He wasn’t one to waste an opportunity.

“Stop that, you look like some owl,” chided his mother.

“Let him,” his father said. “Maybe then he will get smart enough not to speak nonsense.” He cleared his throat. “And what do you want with the Guardians anyway? You know these religious people—they just want ears to preach their dogma to.”

Little rankled the Îmwe patriarch more than patronization; it was a trait passed down in the family.

Chirrut occasionally owned up to it.

“It costs little for me to travel the city,” Chirrut responded. “All I would like is my parents’ blessing to continue a… family legacy.” Ancestors of theirs had joined the temple before, but one hadn’t joined in decades. No blood relative still yet lived there.

“No,” repeated his father. “I am circulating marriage proposals for your hand, and no spouse wants a chaste husband in their wedding bed.”

Chirrut wrinkled his nose. “I…” he returned, a little concerned. Locals—the Holy City locals, especially—were keenly aware of what they risked in marrying an Îmwe for sake of wealth from the mines. If the marriage was based on a contract for shares in the family fortunes, a life or death stipulation existed to test the fiancé or fiancée’s worth. “Have any offers been made yet?” Any worthwhile offers—Jinrut Îmwe was a picky man.

A third time, though with some reluctance. “No.”

Ah. Victory was close. “So, instead of letting me laze about at home,” Chirrut said, “how about I go learn humility at the Temple? Bow my head and bend my neck in front of elders? You’ve always wanted that.”

“Strange how losing your sight did not make you lose your tongue,” his father retorted. He tapped something hard against… his cup? Chirrut concentrated, discerned it was probably a fingernail against the ceramic. “Perhaps you should go. I hear they beat initiates into submission.”

“Bedtime horror stories have no effect on me now.”

“In every story, a grain of truth.” A hard huff of air. “Fine. You wish to attend, go ahead. I will call you back when I receive a good offer for your hand.”

“Well,” said Chirrut lightly, picking up his chopsticks, “I hope you consider me valuable, father.”

//

[Sun Yanzi – “Yu Tian”]

Rain on Jedha never failed to leave Chirrut jittery. Jedhans celebrated the rainy season, even the wild floods that ran through the streets, for the precious water would seep down into the porous sand and leave behind shallow-rooted meadows and green weeds poking up from the packed dirt, all dying within the month.

Part of Chirrut felt that joy buzz through the air. Part of Chirrut still remained focused on his echo-box, gifted to him by the successful first sister who’d moved to Coruscant, and the cold sensation of precipitation needling his exposed skin.

Rain on his departure for the Temple? Probably a good sign.

“You should have someone to guide you,” Chirrut’s mother had fussed. “With your luck, you will be mugged or killed.”

“On a rainy day?” Chirrut had asked, cheerfully. Superstitious people—and the Holy City thrived on superstition—wouldn’t dare. One thing for the moon’s lifeblood to spill, another for a sentient’s to dare mingle with it. “I’ll be fine, mother. It’ll be a test of fortitude.”

His cane swept left and right, carving a zigzag pattern in the wet sand. Paying attention to it was an afterthought in Chirrut’s head. He was more preoccupied in recalling the route to the Temple.

From the Îmwe complex in the Merchant Quarter, a path led to a set of stairs, which opened the Merchant Quarter into the Pilgrim’s Route.

The Pilgrim’s Route consisted of several dozen wide, unroofed bridges connecting shelters that served as both hostels and checkpoints; it circulated the entirety of the Holy City. Eventually, it led the faithful to the Temple. Pickpockets were rampant along the path, but Chirrut had nothing of value on him beyond the echo-box.

And few people on the black market could sell an echo-box; his second brother had tried buying one for a year before giving the task up to the first sister.

As he made his way across the second bridge, the arc of his cane finally made its first impact against… Chirrut assumed an ankle, sturdy enough to not even flinch at the collision. “Sorry,” he apologized, barely slowing his step before he realized the body hadn’t moved.

His face crashed into a solidly-built arm, muscle and fat giving off heat under the soaked fabric of the cloak. Chirrut’s nose pressed flat against a rounded bicep.

“Oh!” said a startled voice. Before Chirrut recoiled, he heard and felt the sound vibrate into his ears—rough like the sands, sonorous like a preacher, and deep like the sound had been rooted in the stranger’s lungs. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking.”

An opening like that proved too difficult to resist. With a flash of a smile, Chirrut responded, “Neither was I.” He beamed at where he approximated the face to be, eyes wide against the rain.

A bark of a laugh, endearingly close to a guffaw, was cut short. “Do you, uh, do that often? Make jokes about…?”

“Only when I’m in a good mood.” Chirrut clasped his hands, cane held vertically in them, and bowed. “I’m Chirrut—Chirrut. Just Chirrut.” He hid his wince at the awkward introduction, but it was too easy to alienate friends when they realized their uneven statuses. He’d have to just give his last name up, or change it somehow when he got to the Temple. “It’s good to meet you, Master…?”

“Not a master of anything,” said the man, and then hands tentatively clasped Chirrut’s, shaking them once up and down. “I’m Baze. Baze Malbus.” The brisk action left Chirrut frozen, as did their swift departure. They’d been warm hands. “Are you on a pilgrimage?”

“I, ah,” answered Chirrut, trying to push past the flustered fog in his brain. “I’m actually going to become an initiate. Possibly even a Guardian.” He shrugged and recovered his grin. “And you?”

Baze laughed again, surprise in his voice. Chirrut steeled himself for ridicule, and he found himself gaping at the truth. “That’s my aim too,” Baze confessed. “I suppose I got caught up in watching the rain. You get corralled up in the mountain caves when there’s no ready drainage system for the floods.”

“Mm-hm,” Chirrut hummed, attempting to picture a Holy City drowning in the rain, its people forced to higher ground for safety. “So, a fellow brother-in-training.”

He extended his arm, palm exposed, fingers fanned out. His heartbeat thrummed with anxiety.

A cautious hand wrapped around Chirrut’s forearm, squeezed once, then let go. “A brother-in-training,” agreed Baze, slowly. “Would you… mind accompaniment to the Temple? I might get distracted watching the rain again.”

It was a pretty weak excuse.

“I’m much better distraction,” assured Chirrut. “But no, I wouldn’t mind. Stick out your elbow like so—” Boldly, Chirrut reached out to arrange Baze’s arm, then tucked his hand in the crook. His cane still remained in use, however. “Lead on, brother.”

And Baze led them forward, a little absent-minded, a little slow to warn Chirrut of future obstacles (though the cane and echo-box helped Chirrut avoid a few disasters), but adept at describing what Chirrut demanded of him.

He was just trailing off about the sodden red streamers connecting the roofs of buildings when Chirrut asked, “Why are you joining the Temple?”

His own reasons fell into the selfishly-searching-for-an-escape category, the justification being that the Temple was officially a sanctuary. Chirrut doubted Baze’s origins left the man little choice in terms of home, or that Baze also sought a way out from his blood family’s eyes.

Baze fell silent. Chirrut’s new companion was prone to these lapses of silence, trying to put together words ahead of time so that they wouldn’t stumble from his tongue.

Eventually, Baze said, “I… felt like my family were doing well without my input of work. My mothers always thought I was too content at the farm, so they told me to find something to dedicate my life to, and, well.” Chirrut felt a shoulder roll up and down in the bare semblance of a shrug. “I hear the Temple is always in need of farmers.”

“I would’ve expected you to join the Guardians for guarding,” said Chirrut, a little lamely. To recover, he nudged against the thick bicep with his cheek. To anyone else, they would appear like lovers—Chirrut considered the idea and felt the beginnings of a flush on his cheeks. He lolled his head the other way.

“I am not a fighter,” Baze returned. “I suppose you are, though? Running off to join the Temple and trampling over anything that gets in your way?”

“I did not trample you,” objected Chirrut. “What an unjust conclusion you’ve drawn of me!”

“If I was smaller, you could have.”

Chirrut conceded. “If you were smaller.” Too late, he noticed the way his cheeks were hurting with the force of his smile. Oh no. He cleared his throat. “We’re getting close to the Temple. How many aspiring Guardians do you think there will be?” The Temple welcomed any pilgrim at all hours, day or night, but they preferred their initiates to arrive during a specified day—sometime during the rainy season.

From fortuitous beginnings, fruitful fortunes.

Baze shrugged once more. “I hear more than half a beginning class leaves in the first quarter. Nothing of numbers.” He fell silent the same time his body turned as still as a post; Chirrut caught the sudden stop before he tripped over his own momentum.

In leaving Baze to his silent woolgathering, Chirrut’s hearing sharpened. Beneath the falling raindrops colliding with sandstone and the tarp-covered stalls preceding the stairs to the Temple, conversation hummed. Accents mixed with dialects mixed with unfamiliar glottal clicking noises and buzzes. Chirrut tried to follow one dialogue, but the thread of it mingled with another—

“That,” marveled Baze, the roughened voice dragging Chirrut back to himself, “is a crowd.”

“Pilgrims?” asked Chirrut hopefully.

Baze dashed his hopes. “A mix, I think. Both pilgrims and initiates waiting for the doors to open. We’re early.” Perhaps they were—Chirrut had left home early, expecting empty streets and bridges in light of the freezing precipitation. And he and Baze had struck a quick pace. “I wonder how the Temple accepts them all...”

“I’ve never heard of a preliminary test,” Chirrut said, finally conceding to shield his eyes against the needles dropping from the sky. “But once accepted, I imagine they’ll have nothing holding them back from exacting so much useless work on us, more than half of the class drops in the first quarter.”

A bark of laughter, guiltily stifled when several conversations stalled. Baze muttered their onlookers an apology, then nudged Chirrut’s ribs. “You shouldn’t speak ill of our future teachers,” he chided.

Chirrut protested, “I think I give them due credit! Temple-dwellers they may be, they aren’t considered rigorous disciplinarians for nothing.” He dragged Baze further into the crowd, cane hitting ankle after ankle until the two were so tightly-packed, he could no longer maintain the bubble of personal space. Amidst the constant voices, Chirrut shouted, “You must promise me something, Baze Malbus!”

“Yes?” responded Baze, the sound of him cutting past it all—a torrential rush of languages melded until not one was purely recognizable, dammed by one man’s presence. “What, Chirrut?”

He pictured it. He pictured the scene just as he answered Baze, asking him to not wash out with the rest. Clouds overhead, swirling and gray and ominous, blotting light and shadow and dealing water down from above. Pilgrims and initiates, clustered together, asking strangers of the time, the weather, their homes regardless of whether they received responses or not. The stairs to reach the Temple, which sat on a mesa of unique size, and the doors engraved with non-pictorial reliefs.

There was no cry or growing collection of voices to tell Chirrut when the doors had opened—only the sweep of bodies moving up the stairs, shuffling forward and leaving space for the nearest person to occupy, indicated the need to move.

Baze’s hand wrapped around his elbow. The fingers locked tight. And Baze stayed in place, stolidly waiting for Chirrut to lead.

//

Krennic closed his eyes. His hair thinned faster than his lips these days, all caused by Jedhan bureaucracy and Jedhan family laws and Jedhan superstition. He feared no native of the Holy City—and that should have been a warning for him, something that should have made him stop on this feckless journey for the hand of a blind man to lead him to riches—could be persuaded to overhaul their culture.

Jinrut Îmwe was courting many offers, and it had been no small cause of grief to learn that the deciding factor was not credits.

For the hand of a ninth child, blinded by idiocy if the patriarch was to be believed, Jinrut asked for much.

He looked at the file of Chirrut Îmwe once more, studied the handsome, proud profile. On a good day, Krennic considered it depressing to know Chirrut Îmwe would not pass on his genes. On a bad day, he taped the picture to the door and threw darts at the taunting last name.

The Îmwe patriarch varied his offers by the person who asked. In hearing Krennic’s initial offer, Jinrut had scoffed. ‘Paltry credits are not enough to balance this child’s bad fortune,’ the father had said. ‘Go on a quest to bring me these items, and perhaps I will consider you then.’

Krennic’s initial offer had topped that of a well-off Jedhan merchant’s. He’d double-checked.

It bothered Krennic to no end, his failed attempts to bypass Jedhan culture and appeal to baser urges. Psychology was being turned over on its head. Greed and ambition were dying underneath the fairytale-like demands for a quest.

He cast a malevolent glare at the line of demands, all exceptionally impossible for people without Krennic’s privileges. Jinrut knew more than he let on about Krennic’s position in the Senate, Krennic was certain, but nothing could be proven.

Orson Krennic resigned himself for the long haul.

//

[Leslie Cheung – “Who Makes You Crazy”]

Several turning points occurred rapidly in Chirrut’s service to the Temple, all in the course of several years. The happenstance of one he blamed on Baze, who protested his involvement in any trouble (if it could be called that!) Chirrut stirred up.

One: Chirrut moved with unexpected grace when foreign objects weren’t in his way, and the ease of his movements during the early months allowed him to advance to zama-shiwo training far before most. Chirrut, the masters proclaimed unhurriedly, despite being a gigantic annoyance in communal readings and Temple life, knew how to discipline his body without irreparable injury.

Chirrut assumed two masters wanted to thrash the insolence from him; the rest seemed to enjoy his radical allegories and symbolism analyses.

Two: Chirrut got himself banned from group meditation. Few could stand his fidgeting, fewer tolerated the way he repeated his mantra without pause. Baze was a notable exception; Chirrut had witnessed him simply fall asleep to the chanting.

Speaking of Baze.

Three: Chirrut had, somewhere along the way, fallen in love with Baze Malbus, prized student of the librarians (Guardians regardless of their field, which was the only reason Baze still trained in zama-shiwo with Chirrut).

Chirrut’s love life preceding the taser incident followed a clear pattern of travel-addicted eye-candy. There had been Maryad, who’d spent a month on Jedha before following her fortunes to Corellia. There had been Eijosu, a pilgrim ship’s guard. For an entire week, he had been a fixture of a bar, attached to one of the many arms of Sabuly before their long-awaited departure for a greener planet.

The names would have gone on and on (because Chirrut had game, even as a blind drunk) had it not been for his mother’s intervention.

Frankly, he was unsure how Baze had captured his affections. Baze epitomized the homesteader, content with books and the sedate scheduled life the Temple thrived on. On sporadic nights, Chirrut located him in the kitchens, kneading the next day’s bao, folding meat or vegetable fillings in thin envelopes of dough, or even washing dishes.

Domesticity draped itself around Baze far better than it could around Chirrut.

It was plausible Chirrut was just desirous of, well, being warmed by judicious amounts of both fat and muscle wrapped around a core of unbending steel. For Baze was warm on the many nights Jedha was cold, and he seemed unbothered by how Chirrut would wrap around him like a snake would a patch of sunlit rock, whether Chirrut willed it or not.

It was improbable to be in lust with a man who lived to toss amorous couples out of the hallowed library aisles, who told Chirrut in increasingly aggravated tones about lovers who were in the midst of ‘sucking each other’s faces off.’

Embarrassingly, Chirrut had come to realize the third turning point several days ago. He’d voiced it aloud when talking to Riacar about xir work in the library, between complimenting Riacar’s calligraphy (something Baze waxed eloquence about) and gearing up to ask whether xir time in the library overlapped with Baze’s.

Purely concerns about efficiency.

And then Riacar had slyly said something about, “You actually retain Malbus’s words better than the master’s, you know.”

And Chirrut, like a dolt, had said back, “Well, I highly value Baze Malbus as a whole—” Riacar, bless xir hearts, kindly knelt next to Chirrut’s sudden drop to the floor and waited out the bemoaning. Xe was used to it, having stuck by Chirrut and his antics for much of their time in the Temple.

“Will you confess to Baze?”

“Not in so little words,” Chirrut had huffed, and then he’d proceeded to roll away from his friend.

Days later, Chirrut was now here. In the library, tucked cross-legged in a dusty corner. His presence alone risked keen attention from the librarians—not that he understood why. Out of deference to Baze’s hobbies and comfort, Chirrut kept his toes far, far away from the library until he needed the odd tome or electronic key to a book.

The librarians, honestly, should be more appreciative of Chirrut’s mindfulness.

“Chirrut?” questioned a deeply familiar voice. It sent a shiver down his spine, the way that mouth rolled the two syllables into something soft. Treasured.

Chirrut grinned up at Baze and held his hands up, palms turned to the ceiling like a supplicant.

The fine-boned hands—smaller than Chirrut had expected on a man of Baze’s size—gingerly placed themselves in his. Without pause (for Chirrut knew Baze wanted to drag him up and brush off the dust), Chirrut snagged Baze’s wrists and yanked him down.

Knees thudded to the floor, a bitten-off curse following their descent. Chirrut, preoccupied with trying to trace the librarians’ meandering patrols, failed to notice Baze halfway in his lap until Baze made to wrench himself away.

“Oh, hush,” Chirrut scolded. “You’ll get me thrown out of the library.”

“You?!” hissed Baze, feeling a great deal warmer than normal body temperatures warranted. “Master Tulm will have the both of our hides!” Being abruptly released while hunched over Chirrut’s thighs shut the tirade up; Baze, in catching himself, flung his arms wide around Chirrut’s waist and slapped his palms flat against the wood floor.

Chirrut sensed the continuation of the rant, the closeness of Baze’s face and the unnatural heat that spoke of fever. Impulsively, he reached to hold it.

A softened jawline, rounder and longer than Chirrut’s own. Shadowed, no doubt, with the prickly growth of a beard Baze would shave once more in the morning hours. A wide forehead—small wonder Baze chose to be in the library, he seemed destined to be an intellectual. Eyes that fluttered hurriedly shut as Chirrut’s fingers skated over them, the light touch making Baze twitch violently.

Heat.

“Are you running a fever?” asked Chirrut, hiding the want with concern.

It was the beginning of the chilly season, and Baze never made claim to sickness until he was crumpled in bed with it, snuffly and grumpy about his infirmity.

“No,” said Baze very clearly. “Are you—” His head swiveled in Chirrut’s hands, and the skin tickled from what felt like flyaway strands. Without even consciously doing it, Chirrut skimmed his fingertips up to Baze’s hairline, to the way his hair was pulled back and up into a frizzing queue. He licked his lips.

Baze scrambled to his feet, hauling Chirrut up with him. “Someone’s coming,” he muttered, and he brushed Chirrut’s chest, his shoulders, his lower back. In the back of his mind, Chirrut knew it was to get rid of dust.

It didn’t rid Chirrut of that insidious feeling of lust. Rather distantly he realized he’d failed his goal in confessing to Baze. Towed from the library, Chirrut decided it was a matter for another day. A day for when Baze wouldn’t be teetering on the brink of sickness.

//

The question of Chirrut’s family name occasionally bounced between his peers. After he’d almost outed himself to Baze, Chirrut had made a pointed effort in only telling people his first name. His new friend, at the time, had shrugged off the omission. Likely he thought Chirrut wanted to discard his past altogether—not a completely untrue statement, truth be told.

“I bet you were a rich boy,” said Kovara. His spoon clattered decisively into his empty bowl—the twilek’s stomach was insatiable. He’d only received his helping ten minutes ago. “A rich boy with all the privileges in the world.”

“Lay off,” Baze told the twilek. His spoon scraped the bottom of his bowl, and yet Chirrut knew Baze would have an internal struggle over picking up a second helping.

Under the table, Kovara’s foot kicked Chirrut’s ankle. “C’mon. You can’t have been a bastard. You act too prissy for all that.”

Chirrut kicked back. “I was raised on a spaceship,” he said off-handedly. A beat of silence fell over their section of the table; a debate stormed behind their eyes, Chirrut was certain. “By kindhearted Toydarians,” continued Chirrut, injecting a cheerful nostalgia into his tone. “Who gifted me this echo-box out of the kindness of their hearts.”

A disapproving scoff. “Liar,” groused Kovara. “I almost believed you.”

“You did believe me.” Buffing his nails with the front of his robes, Chirrut grinned. “I bet you were thinking back on all those times I swindled you for the dahn tah, hah?”

It was a fond memory Chirrut enjoyed reliving: Kovara paying off a rigged bet by smuggling not four, but eight of his egg custard tarts into Chirrut and Baze’s room.

“In all seriousness, Chirrut.” The twilek tapped the bottom of his bowl contemplatively. “Are you quite sure you’re not some boy from the High Quarter? Or even the Merchant Quarter? You know a lot of stuff I wouldn’t expect someone like farmboy—”

“Watch it,” said Chirrut. He nudged Baze’s leg with a knee, hid his concern over the stiffness of it, and returned his attention back to Kovara. “I am, for all intent and purposes, an orphan. A very well-off one until I came here.” Chirrut lifted an eyebrow and did his best to appear unbothered. “Are you getting seconds for us all?”

Kovara spluttered, “Well, for me—”

Chirrut groped for Baze’s empty bowl and slid it over to their friend. “I’d like another bowl too,” he said mildly. He hadn’t eaten more than half, but Chirrut had a newfound appetite.

“Pah. Lazy, lazy. I’ll bring you so much stew, you will be sick of it.” Kovara withdrew from the table, and Chirrut counted his steps until he was sure he and Baze were alone.

“You know,” Baze said, the words sudden and stilted, “I’ve only just now realized you prefer when people say ‘Chirrut and Baze Malbus’ than ‘Baze Malbus and Chirrut?’” In Chirrut’s defense, the phrase ‘Chirrut and Baze Malbus’ sounded more natural than the latter. It ended more kindly in his ears.

With all the serenity accumulated from years of meditation, Chirrut turned to face Baze and rest an elbow on the table. “We’ve called each other brothers for some time now,” he deflected.

Baze’s voice cleared. Flattened. “So we have.” He was silent for a second more, then, miraculously, “Welcome to the Malbus family, Chirrut.”

Quite rapidly, the thought occurred: this was it. This was the time to confess. Chirrut opened his mouth, intending to admit his lineage. Maybe Baze was ignorant about the families of Jedha. Even the family whose name was passed around daily in the Temple, both as a curse and a prayer.

Really, he should make a gift for the masters for allowing him to stay in the Temple. They identified him the second he’d approached the registrar but accepted his request for an obscured identity.

“Baze, I’m—”

Kovara tucked himself back into the table, and the clatter of bowls hitting the table’s surface cut Chirrut off. “I got you more stew,” he announced.

//

The letters from Jinrut Îmwe came without warning, after three years of yearning in the Temple and three years of questing in Orson Krennic’s life.

//

Chirrut slipped into the kitchens with a heavy heart, his father’s missive tucked delicately in the folds of his robes for all that he wanted to crumple it into illegibility. The letter caused concerned eyes to fall on Chirrut in the morning, the package attached to it attracted wagging tongues.

Chirrut’s pale face confirmed what he wouldn’t say, because letters to the Temple initiates were limited to close friends and family emergencies. As Chirrut never spoke of old friends, the overall conclusion was that he was being called back home.

Riacar stopped xir sullen conversation with xir fellow dishwasher and said to Chirrut, wryly, “Are you here for Baze?”

“Certainly not you,” responded Chirrut. He offered Riacar a smile. “Is he by the ovens or the counters today, Riacar?”

“He’s chopping vegetables—hey, watch it with the soap.”

Answer received, Chirrut carefully picked his way to the counters and found Baze after tapping Kovara’s shoulder for further help. He swept a hand on the counter, clearing away a small square of space. He hoisted himself into it, pulled out his father’s letter, and waited. The hissing of roots and tubers frying in oil filled the space between them.

“Chirrut,” said Baze after a moment. “This isn’t exactly a great time for conversation.”

Disagreement between the two of them was happening faster than Chirrut had accounted for. He forged ahead. “On the contrary! You’re busy with your hands and not your mind, and I am out of your way. This is the perfect time for a conversation.” His cane knocked impetuously against the edge of the counter. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Easy to do,” Baze groused. “You are easily distracted.”

“Sorry, who needed someone to stop them from staring at the rain?”

The thock-thock-thock of Baze’s knife grimly slicing to the cutting board. Kovara’s tuneless humming to a folk song a trader had taught him. Running dishwater, recycled and re-filtered and never, ever wasted. Other Temple initiates stepping into the kitchens, chattering about the day’s readings and gossip—

A hand on Chirrut’s knee dragged him back to a state of hyper-focus. He imagined he could feel every roughened callus catching on his robes, years of being a trainee librarian doing nothing to soften a farmboy’s hands.

“Chirrut,” repeated Baze, anchoring him.

“You’ve heard the news?” Chirrut heard himself say distantly. “I’m being summoned home.”

“Why?”

And there it was. Baze Malbus, not latching onto the first point of contention: Chirrut’s early lie about being an orphan. Baze Malbus, focusing on Chirrut’s problems before his own pressing questions.

Chirrut bit his lip and willed his temper to calm.

“Why else does a Temple guardian-in-training break their vows?” asked Chirrut. “Family troubles.” He ran his fingers on the raised bumps of the letter, read the message again and again.

Chirrut,

I underestimated your value. Your fiancé has expended a great effort to win your hand, and his offer will assure all your family’s futures. Come home.

“And when,” how could Baze sound so calm in light of all this, “do you leave?”

“Soon. I have to arrange for my swift return with the masters.” Chirrut caught the strangled exhale and was buoyed by the relief in it. “What?” he teased. “You thought I, the second-greatest Guardian to ever undergo the masters’ tortuous trials, would simply give this all up?”

Baze deadpanned, “May the Force forbid you ever devote yourself to a goal you give up as you reach it.”

“Force forbid,” said Chirrut. “Now, the masters will be kind enough to let you escort me home whilst carrying my belongings. It’s only across the city, but there are many obstacles for a blind man to struggle through. Maybe too many.” He reached out and found Baze’s face; he patted a cheek. “I leave soon.”

//

[Jay Chou – “Moonlight on the Rooftop”]

The night before Chirrut’s departure, Baze found Chirrut in an open air training ground. His back was flat against the bare stone, his neck supported by his hands and the pillow he’d dragged out, and his eyes focused ahead to the stars.

… There should be stars. Chirrut couldn’t taste any rain, and Jedha’s clouds (whenever they deigned to gather) always brought a downpour.

Baze joined him on the ground, though he refrained from flopping onto the stone like Chirrut. It was with a put-upon sigh that Chirrut sat up, crossing his legs beneath him and turning to face Baze. Their positions (he imagined Baze mirrored him) reminded Chirrut of meditation.

“Why are you really returning home?” asked Baze. “Are you the nearest family member? Is there no one else to help with the trouble?” As Chirrut processed the rapid-fire of questions, Baze warmed to his unusual role of carrying the conversation on his lonesome. “I find the timing of it strange too. Is it financial difficulty? You certainly have savings, but not enough to unburden a debt of any load.”

“Enough!” laughed Chirrut, a little helplessly. “Blood called to blood, and I must answer. I owe them one last visit.” He rested his hands in his lap and stared wistfully skywards. “Did I ever mention that I’m the ninth child of my family?”

Silence. Cautious silence.

“Out with it, Baze.”

“If you believe you owe your family ‘one last visit’ because you think you’ve brought some ill fortune to them,” Baze said slowly, his words chosen with care, “then I hope this truly is your last meeting with them.” The click of a throat swallowing—not Chirrut’s own, he realized in a daze. “You would do any family proud with your achievements here.”

Chirrut dared, despite the thinness, the raw quality of his voice. “Even the Malbus family?”

“Even they,” confirmed Baze. “You—mm.” He tsked then, muttering an unintelligible line of noises before sighing. “I have something for you. Hold still.”

… Baze, surely, wasn’t going to kiss him. Chirrut glumly recognized the impossibility of it but waited anyway. He startled at the gentle touch to his hands, the way Baze shaped them into a cup and dropped something heavy into them. Fingers curled on instinct.

“Jewelry?”

“Jewelry.”

Chirrut puzzled over the shape. When he discerned it, he snapped his head up and hoped Baze’s eyes were connected to his. “A starbird,” he guessed.

“Made of gold.” Baze huffed at how Chirrut hurriedly slipped the necklace around his neck and continued, “I’m sure you don’t actually need me to help you home, you’ve overcome more disasters with grace than I ever could—oof!” He let out a strangled sound; Chirrut had launched himself across the distance between their knees, veritably tackling Baze into a hug.

“I would take every moment possible with you,” said Chirrut. “The good and the bad. When you laugh or when you yell.” He chewed his bottom lip for words—he was good with them. He knew this. It was finding words sincere enough to convince Baze that was the problem. “Is that alright?”

Baze’s breath hitched, and Chirrut could’ve wept in response to the slow wrap of arms around his shoulders. “Okay. Okay. Let’s… go back inside before we freeze to death.”

//

Jinrut Îmwe personally welcomed Orson Krennic into the Îmwe household, a decently-sized property in the Merchant Quarter. That the Îmwes chose to reside in the Holy City surprised Krennic; he had been entertaining the notion of a statuesque manor sitting plainly in a field of sand, the family kyber mines as its backyard.

“Mr. Îmwe,” said Krennic blandly. “I trust you’ve checked your accounts.” In accordance to customs, he tugged off his boots and lined them up with the other shoes, the toes pointed to the wall. He felt strangely naked without them.

Even the presence of his socks couldn’t hide his feet from the chill of the tiled floor.

“All irreversible,” confirmed Jinrut. “And already divvied between my family. You are a generous man, Mr. Krennic.” He led Krennic to a small sitting room and took his place at what was nominally the head of the table. The circular nature of the table made posturing impossible, so Krennic took the chair on Jinrut’s right.

Jinrut had, essentially, bled Krennic dry. His entire life savings and then some had been sacrificed—along with a sizable network of contacts spread across the galaxy—in pursuit of Chirrut’s hand and, consequently, the mines.

Ideas for a hostile takeover of the mines via the policy of eminent domain occurred to Krennic. Multiple times. However, when Krennic checked the records, it turned out Jedha was untouchable by the policy. Many entrepreneurs had tried petitioning the Senate to take the Îmwes’ ancestral lands to no avail.

Assassinating the Îmwes—socially, financially, or physically—wasn’t a possibility either. They were considered a Jedhan staple of life, and beyond that, Krennic knew the family could outsmart anyone who attempted to hunt them down.

So when Jinrut’s demands grew higher and higher, Krennic was forced to relinquish more and more. He trusted in the mines and the Senate’s greed to fish him out of poverty.

“When can I meet Chirrut, Mr. Îmwe?”

“Oh, he is coming home. He has been at the Temple for the past three years.” Jinrut poured Krennic a cup of amber-colored tea. “It is only across the city. He will be here soon.”

“I’d like to take a survey of the mines,” Krennic said, “before I give you my network.” That had been the condition of Krennic’s agreement to the monetary down payment; to withhold his network up until the moment he wedded Chirrut.

“Chirrut can take you,” said Jinrut. “He used to play in them as a child.” He tapped a finger against his temple, dark eyes looking at Krennic knowingly. “Touched in the head, I thought. Wandering like a fool in there, no guide or mining skill to help him back out. But then, as the sun dipped to the horizon, there he would be at the front door, complaining about thirst and hunger.”

Krennic had to ask. “Is he… Force-sensitive?”

“Not enough for the Jedi to take him off my hands.” Jinrut folded his hands on the table. “So tell me in truth, Mr. Krennic. What do you really know about kyber mines?”

//

[Wu Bai – “Xin Ai De Zai Hui La”]

“Should you be walking out like that into the city?” asked Baze, faintly alarmed by the sight of Chirrut.

Dressed in the clothes his father had sent, Chirrut couldn’t blame him. His nose wrinkled at the foreign touch of silk against his skin and how heavily the robes weighed on him. His fingers had traced the needlepoint threads covering the shoulders and elbows, the hems of the collar and wide sleeves. Interlocking crystals, diamond-shaped and hollow. If Chirrut’s memory hadn’t failed him, the robe was a dark gray and the embroidery a light blue to match the sash cinched around his waist.

The gold starbird necklace remained around his neck, under all the layers that marked him as an Îmwe.

“No one’s going to pickpocket me, Baze,” responded Chirrut. He shook out a sleeve, feeling his hand drown in its expansiveness, and reoriented himself. Facing forward from the base of the stairs leading to the Temple… Chirrut grabbed the inside of Baze’s elbow and pointed to the left. “We’ll take the Pilgrim’s Route.”

Minutes into the walk, Baze asked, “How far are we walking along the Route?”

“A little past where we met.”

“The Merchant Quarter?”

Chirrut grinned, though his heart wasn’t into it. “Yes. Surprised?” He bumped Baze’s ribs with his elbow and moved closer when Baze refused to flinch away. “Of course you would be. Finally, after so many long tales of young Chirrut crawling from the gutters, you finally get to see the truth of me.”

Stolidly, Baze replied, “I was never bothered by your background, whatever it was.”

“Only because you never bothered to question it.” They crossed the first bridge. Chirrut compared the differences between now and three years ago, and he turned his face skywards. Today was inauspiciously dry for the rainy season. “I never liked my family too much. They provided well for me, but never supported my decisions.”

“Were those decisions made poorly?” Baze’s strides were measured. Shorter than usual. Sometimes, in the Temple, he stalked off in such a huff that Chirrut had to dash to keep up.

Chirrut scoffed, but admitted, “The early ones. I was given an especially long leash as a child, and it only grew longer when I was a young man.”

“You’re still a young man.”

“I’ll grow old the second I say goodbye to you.” He bit his tongue. Upon the third bridge, Chirrut turned his eyes to the ground and his thoughts to his father’s intentions.

The reason for his summons was clearly stated—someone had actually asked to marry him, despite never talking to him once. Idly, Chirrut wondered how quickly he could have his suitor withdraw from the engagement.

Chirrut intended on marrying for love first, marriage’s benefits second. He believed the opposite held true for his fiancé.

“Why did you come to the Temple?”

“I was bored at home.” He winced, not entirely for the sake of theatrics. Fingers were digging through his sleeve to the muscle of his forearm. “For the endless supply of tarine tea?” A measured breath, intentionally made louder because Baze never made so much noise, not unless Chirrut shocked or annoyed it out of him. “… I had a dream.”

Baze digested the admission. “Alright.” When Chirrut echoed him, irate at the simple way Baze accepted the answer, his escort grumbled, “I believe it more than I do the rest of your reasons. Dreams have a habit of becoming true, sometimes.”

The caveat ‘sometimes’ gnawed at Chirrut. “What if I told you I had a dream about being eaten by…” He wracked his brain for an appropriately-mythical creature, foreign to Jedha’s sands. “By a whale?”

Actually, there were rumors about some sand leviathan burrowed deep in the Jedhan wastes.

“Then I would keep you in the library,” said Baze, “where the most terrifying spectacle is Master Tulm over the cracked spine of a book.”

“What if I told you I dreamt I was a butterfly?”

Calmly, Baze shoved a hand into Chirrut’s face, scrubbing at the scrunching features with no malicious intent. “Don’t be a fool,” he scolded. “I don’t know how you can even reference that. It’s a small wonder your last-minute reading sticks in your head.”

They were getting close to Chirrut’s childhood home. The Merchant Quarter possessed a certain atmosphere that cut it from the rest of the Holy City; it was louder, for one thing. The day life was as cacophonous as the night, buyers and sellers haggling and hawking their goods and services. Loiterers huddled in bunches by street cooks, lured in by the scent of fried and seared foods. Baze sidled closer to Chirrut and readjusted his grip on Chirrut’s belongings.

Chirrut swept aside a kickball and heard a gaggle of children rush past him, clamoring to reach their plaything before it entered the crowded bazaar.

“I had tutors as a child,” he told Baze.

“Why not just one?”

“Well, if you must know, I kept running away to wander the kyber mines.” It hadn’t stopped his parents from hiring new tutors, but it’d certainly curbed their expectations after Chirrut’s intellectual prowess became apparent. A smart son meant nothing if one was an absent son.

“The… kyber mines?”

Chirrut caught the scent of roasted fruit, and his eyes watered at the spice permeating the air. “Ah, let me lead from here. I remember the way.” He threw a smile over in Baze’s direction, even as he dragged them left. “Yes. The kyber mines. Stories say only two kinds of people can navigate them: the Force-sensitive, and the Îmwes. It’s part of the reason why no one contests the right of the mines anymore. The family used to deal with challengers by walking into the mines with them, down to the very core, and race back to the exit. The practice is no longer continued.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” said Baze. “Did you make that up?”

Sometimes, Chirrut forgot how resolutely oblivious Baze Malbus could be. “We’re reaching the residential area. Count the plates on the houses. Our stop is 120.”

Heart in his throat, Chirrut slipped his hand from the crook of Baze’s elbow to his palm. He entangled their fingers and pumped his arm once to start a pendulum.

He gathered his words and did his best to clean them of clutter. Of flowery phrases that did nothing but give Baze discomfort—Chirrut would have to fix that. He’d been trying for three years to land a compliment on Baze that wouldn’t make the man recoil into his shell, and he’d have the rest of his life to succeed after this family affair.

Communicating sincerity in affection was difficult enough without all of Baze’s choice of literary material beatifically warping his perceptions of love. How was Chirrut to compare with all the weeping and corporeal sacrifices deemed standard in Baze’s fairy tales?

Baze tugged Chirrut to a stop. “Ah,” the man managed, struggling to put words together. “This is… a big house.”

“You’re looking at the courtyard,” said Chirrut wryly. “The housing complex is smaller.” He cocked his head and reached out until his fingers found a button. He didn’t press it yet. “The kyber mines,” Chirrut said, “are out of the city limits, but easily accessible if you take the backstreets and don’t mind an old alcoholic driver as escort.”

Now was the moment. He had to seize it before Baze left, before his parents’ preternatural sense of his ‘troublesome’ actions could act up after three years.

Chirrut turned around and fitted both his hands at Baze’s jaw, cradling the soft edges of it with his palms.

“Baze Malbus,” declared Chirrut Îmwe, “when I turn back around, you are going to head back to the Temple with my belongings, and you’re going to put them back where they belong.” He grinned, as fierce as he could make it. “My name is Chirrut Îmwe, ninth child of the Îmwe patriarch, Jinrut Îmwe. I don’t know how long this business will take me, but know I will be home soon.”

“Chirrut. Chirrut.” His hands grabbed Chirrut’s wrists and flung them down, freeing his face, and before Chirrut could rightly feel stung—

Lips mashed against his, clumsy and strangely endearing. Their noses bumped painfully. Chirrut angled his head and steadied the kiss, stomach fluttering all the while as Baze relented and let Chirrut have control. A theory occurred to Chirrut in that instant, one he immediately stuffed into a box so he wouldn’t be tempted to return to the Temple, to their quarters, right then and there.

“You’re coming back,” Baze said, his flat tone daring Chirrut to joke. The shattered pattern of his breathing ruined the sober statement.

“Have you ever known me to break a promise to you?” Chirrut released Baze and took a step back. “Go now, before you seduce me into abandoning all my dignity.” He listened intently to the bark of laughter, the quiet, almost shy farewell, and the retreating footsteps. When Chirrut’s echo-box confirmed the lack of audience, he finally pressed the intercom button. “Father, it’s your terrible son, back from a chaste life of being beaten and fed gruel.”

//

Chirrut’s first impression of Orson Krennic confirmed his earlier suspicion: Krennic wanted the mines. The man—foreign to Jedha, native to Coruscant or some Inner Rim planet, tones rougher than the norm—behaved exceedingly well, despite sounding exceedingly bored of the proceedings.

Chirrut, in his opinion, played the role of dutiful son to perfection. The suspicion from his father was palpable. Clearly, someone had maintained faith in Chirrut’s ability to adapt and resist the Temple’s insistence of humility.

“Oh, you’d like to visit our mines?” gushed Chirrut. “I haven’t been in so long, allow me the privilege of showing you the best routes.”

“Before that,” said Jinrut Îmwe, “a word, Chirrut.” A curt pause. “Come, we’ll talk in the kitchen. Mr. Krennic, excuse us for a moment. My son is in need of some water supplies. The mines will dehydrate you faster than you will expect.” He swept out of the room, and Chirrut tossed an empty, flirtatious smile in Krennic’s direction before he joined his father.

He slid the door shut behind him. “I do hope you don’t actually intend to marry me off to him, father.” Chirrut tilted his head and heard his father move about the kitchen and turn on a faucet. Outside, Krennic began to pace. “Or if so, expect him to stay with me for long.”

Water filled one bottle, crashed against the sink, then began filling another.

“You would be surprised how far Mr. Krennic will go for you,” said his father. “He’s sacrificed much.”

“Not everything yet,” Chirrut responded mildly. “What does he know about our traditions?” Graciously, he extended his hand and received the leather strap of a satchel. Rummaging through it revealed two water bottles and a few more packages, the size of the protein bars the Temple passed to the poor. “… Father, you’re not thinking of giving him a handicap, are you?”

“The Temple should have taken your tongue,” the senior Îmwe muttered. He cleared his throat. “The matter of Mr. Krennic’s survival is entirely in your hands, Chirrut. His credits are already dispersed in the family accounts, and his network of spies?” A scoff. “An unwieldy tool. No, I think the true value of Mr. Krennic’s presence has played out. The Senate has shown interest in our mines before, but never to this extent.”

Chirrut blinked and accidentally let out a laugh. “Politics! Is that your idea of retirement? Who’s in charge of the mines, then?”

“Feirut.” Considering Feirut Îmwe’s penchant for fantastic luck, Chirrut guessed he could understand the decision, especially given that Feirut had successfully built a small nest egg of his own actions. He would have preferred Huajie, but his second sister was somewhere on Naboo, taking all her banking abilities with her.

“Well, then,” said Chirrut. “If you intend on politicking, father, perhaps you ought to leave me to my own devices. Permanently.” He shouldered the satchel, and he smiled. “This is my final duty as your son. After this, I belong to the Temple.”

A beat of silence, and then in a leveled tone. “Then you best be off to the mines before you break your mother’s heart, Chirrut.”

//

It was child’s play for Chirrut Îmwe to disappear into the shadows, the inner sanctum’s torches not yet lit. He hooked the satchel over Krennic as he began to sprint the long, winding way out. Might as well give the man a decent chance of survival.

//

[Guangliang – “Tong Hua”]

The Temple of the Whills’ library was empty of life, excepting for one Baze Malbus. The heavy clouds blotting out the sky were finally relieving themselves of their heavy burdens, and the Holy City rejoiced as one for the delayed downpour. The Temple itself was outside, participating in the celebrations and also ensuring that the floods would not sweep away families or their belongings.

Baze Malbus, lost in thought, carried a stack of tomes to a case and started to tuck them away. Four days had passed since Chirrut’s departure, since Baze returned home with his friend’s belongings and redecorated their room. Four days since the Temple’s initiates and acolytes had pestered him for Chirrut’s family name.

On the third day, Baze, sick of the gossip, snapped that it was Malbus.

In retrospect, not the best answer. The gossipmongers had new material, and years of old blackmail material, and now Baze’s life was filled with well-wishes about his absent husband and congratulations about the nuptials. Riacar asked once about their sex life, and then refrained from asking anything of Baze after receiving a fist to xir face.

The doors opened and closed, and the footsteps were quiet but audible. Baze closed his eyes, and his shoulders slump.

“Master Tulm,” he directed his words to the cracked spines of the books, “I’ll be out soon. There’s just a few more books to shelve—”

Two arms circled Baze’s waist, fingers locking tight. A face buried itself in the dip of Baze’s shoulders. “Hello, husband,” teased Chirrut, his voice muffled. “I’m home.” Baze grappled with the silence locking his tongue to the roof of his mouth, but he failed to summon the simplest greeting. Fortunately, Chirrut had patience for this—Baze’s tongue-tied state—in spades. “This is my husband right? I don’t remember the wedding night, but I’m pretty sure only my husband would lurk in the library on a rainy day.”

“Stop saying that,” Baze finally said.  A traitorous flush crept along his face, burning into his ears. “It was just to get them to stop asking about your family.”

He turned in Chirrut’s arms and leaned against the bookcase, grateful that it was rooted to the floor and not liable to tip over at his weight.

He met Chirrut on a rainy day. A short man with short hair, the black strands plastered to his forehead because unlike Baze, the man wasn’t wearing any protective layers. So the image carried over, transposing itself on the Chirrut of now, his short hair even shorter, soaked from the rain.

Chirrut rested his chin on Baze’s sternum, staring up with his wide, clouded eyes. “I thought I was part of the Malbus family.” The mock hurt was just that—a mockery of the real feeling. Baze felt pathetically relieved that Chirrut wasn’t prone to overreacting. “… Is this still alright?”

Baze gave up pretending apathy and hugged Chirrut, holding him tight against his bulkier frame. “Yes,” he mumbled into Chirrut’s neck. He could taste the cold rain, beading at the skin all the way up to the hollow between jaw and ear, and from there, Baze found it comfortable to kiss the corner of the bow-shaped mouth. He hesitated to move further, hardly daring to breathe while his lips were above Chirrut’s.

Chirrut blinked, lazy in waiting until he realized Baze wasn’t going to act. “Thank the Force,” he said fondly, lifting a hand to hold Baze’s chin in place, a thumb pressed against his lower lip. “The universe would collapse at the sight of me on my knees, begging you for a place in your heart alongside your books and devotion.���

His breath hitched at the visual, and Baze’s eyes fell shut as he let Chirrut take the lead. Incongruously warm, for all that Chirrut seemed to have run through the rain to reach Baze.

Warm and wet and playful—Chirrut, Baze thought in that moment, had had past lovers. Chirrut was experienced in this form of affection, whereas Baze had confined his own love life to merely ogling those he admired.

Chirrut pulled away and coaxed Baze to sit on the floor, back pressed against the bookcase. He knelt in-between Baze’s knees, his hands heavy on Baze’s inner thighs. They hadn’t rucked up his robes yet, and Baze, slightly hysterically, supposed it to be a small mercy—

“We aren’t doing this in the library!” Baze hissed, praying that none of the masters would return early. His cock still rose to the occasion, pressing against his smalls with an insistence Baze hoped wasn’t due to a late-born kink.

This was climbing to a level of ridiculous hypocrisy. Baze had caught amorous couples in the library, and he’d thrown them out on their rears unceremoniously. And he’d had to face them with a stoic expression, deadened eyes to embarrassed ones, during communal readings or meal times.

At least Chirrut had stopped moving, even if he hadn’t stopped panting. “Ah,” said Chirrut. “Right. You’re the safekeeper of the library’s chaste eyes. My mistake, my mistake.” He made to withdraw, and unbidden, Baze‘s legs lifted, and his ankles hooked at the small of Chirrut’s back. Chirrut’s expression went slack with shock.

“I want to revisit this another day,” Baze said, hardly believing his own gall. “For now,” he managed through a dry throat, “shall we clear up the misconceptions of our relationship to our friends?”

“‘Misconceptions?’” Experimentally, Chirrut leaned forward. Baze’s legs followed him, until Baze felt like Chirrut was seeing if he could be folded in half. His breath stuttered to a halt, sputtered back into a sporadic existence.

“By which I mean, ah, the married part, not the relationship part—”

“I love you,” said Chirrut, intent on covering Baze’s body with his as much as possible. On crowding himself into Baze’s heart, trying to gain attention that had already been focused on him. “Baze? I’ve been trying to find a way to say that for a very long time, you know. I’ve thought it quite often, but you’re the Guardian who deals in words, and I wanted it to sound as sincere as it is. So—”

“Where you go,” pledged Baze, yanking Chirrut down so close their foreheads knocked against each other’s, “I will follow.”

/credits/

[Wu Bai – “You Are My Flower”]

The marriage of Chirrut and Baze Malbus follows the rainy season, when Jedha—cold desert moon—pretends it is a green planet for a week, growing shallow-rooted meadow flowers in acres, in and around the settlements.

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A/N: First and foremost, thank you, giftee, for giving me an excuse to plug in all my love for my culture into this fic, from the worldbuilding to the songs (the credits of which will be covered later). Secondly, thank god for RTC, because parts of the fic would be a lot less coherent if not for y’all.

Credits for the song inspirations:

“Yu Tian” translates to “Rainy Day.” My sister used to play the piano piece for this song ALL the time.

“Who Makes You Crazy” can wholeheartedly by attributed to @evocating. I maintain this is more of an aunty song than Wu Bai’s entire discography.

“Moonlight on the Rooftop” is from @kellymarietran, who kickstarted the entire ‘spiritassassin’ name and also made a fanmix for them.

“Xin Ai De Zai Hui La” translates, to me, personally, “Goodbye, My Love.” Google Translate will tell you differently, as will Youtube videos. This song is my parents’ love song (in that dad sings it in dedication to my mom EVERY TIME IT POPS UP), so. I’m just ecstatic I worked it in.

“Tong Hua” translates to “Fairytale.” Which, fitting! This song was a huge craze in Asia when it came out, and now it’s a Shih family karaoke staple.

“You Are My Flower” is another Shih family karaoke staple; we just really love Wu Bai, alright?

[strawberryfitzsherbert]

MUN STUFF.  remember to repost, not reblog.

tagged by: @runningracingdancingchasing​ tagging: @imthelcstprincess, @beautyandbooks, @no-nonsense-lady, @alchemyxnotxmagic+ anyone who would like to :)

NAME:  Charlotte/Charlie GENDER:  Female EYE COLOR:  Blue HAIR COLOR: Uh... it’s brown-blonde as far as I’m concerned, but the hairdresser says its medium-blonde with natural highlights RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  Single, completely uninterested unless your name is Eugene Fitzherbert or Jensen Ackles c: ZODIAC:  Capricorn FAVORITE COLOR:  Green FAVORITE SEASON:  Spring FAVORITE PLACE:   Dalyan (Turkey), Disneyland, anywhere where there is lots of animals! FAVORITE HOLIDAY:  Christmas!!! FAVORITE VIDEO GAME:  I don’t really play video games! I do have the scooby doo games on PS2 and I still absolutely love them xD LAST SHOW YOU WATCHED:   FRIENDS! WHAT’S YOUR HONEST OPINION ABOUT YOUR MUSE?:  I legitimately love him. He needs to be protected at all costs. I’m aware he is a person with flaws - he can be stubborn and self-centered and egotistical at times, but he’s HUGELY caring and... I could write an essay about why I love him so much. I might at some point, but I won’t right now. I just... loved him. My second favourite character of all time (only behind John Locke from Lost uwu) WOULD YOU DATE YOUR MUSE?:  Honestly yes, if I didn’t ship him so hard with Rapunzel. He’s a great guy who is incredibly loyal, caring and funny. I think we’d have a lot of fun and adventures! uwu WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE KINDS OF THREADS?:  I honestly just like rolling with things and letting the characters lead. In fact, most of my favourite threads tend to have developed from ask memes! I love seeing where the characters take us. As for ‘genres’, I like humour, fluff (i’m TOTAL fluff trash) and angst. ARE YOU A SELECTIVE ROLEPLAYER?:  Semi-selective - I check out blogs before I follow to see if they are someone I want on my dashboard and to make sure I can see myself writing with them/see our characters interacting. Generally I’m happy to follow back since Eugene is a versatile character who is likely to talk to most anyone. DO YOU HAVE A FAVORITE MUSE?:  Well I currently only have two active RP blogs - Eugene and my OC, Tex. I’ve had many, many blogs including Belle, Dodger (from Oliver & Co), Ben Wyatt, John Locke, various characters from supernatural etc... The ones I’ve had the most fun with so far though are Tex, Eugene and Ben.  WHAT MADE YOU DECIDE TO JOIN THE FANDOM?: I’ve been in the Disney fandom since I was kid, if fandoms were even a thing back then :P But as for the Disney RP fandom, that’s actually where my tumblr roots are. My very first foray into tumblr RP was my Belle blog about 6/7 years ago! I loved how accepting and friendly the fandom was, but decided Belle wasn’t the right muse for me. I moved on to Dodger for a year or so, then developed my OC who became my main blog. I spent a couple years without a Disney RP blog but always really missed it! Eugene has been my favourite Disney character ever since Tangled came out and I was always keeping up with the Tangled fandom. I seriously considered making a Eugene blog several times but there were already so many great ones out there... but with the arrival of the new TV show I finally got the nerve to make him uwu So I guess I’ve always been in the fandom, but Tangled: The Series is the reason I’ve fully returned. DO YOU SEE YOURSELF STAYING WITH THE FANDOM FOR A LONG TIME?:  Definitely! I love that I’ve only had this blog for about two weeks and I’ve already made some great new friends and already feel so comfortable writing Eugene. I always loved the Disney fandom and that has not changed, so I definitely anticipate staying for a long time :D

[thechiefreport]

40 Movies (so far) in 2017

I seem to have watched a lot of movies so far this year, most of them for the first time.  Thought I'd do a quick rundown of all of them with additional thoughts that I couldn't fit into 140 characters.

The year started off with The 33, the movie about Chilean miners trapped underground. Surprised this didn't get more traction at the box office because it was quite good, though a bit long.  The Magnificent Seven was next (the one with Denzel and Chris Pratt) which had all the markings of a fun movie, but even now I couldn't tell you a single thing about any of the characters beyond the single defining characteristic they were given.  I went to Interstellar next because every so often I feel this need to watch a movie about space.  I have this crazy fascination with outer space so movies that take place there will always get a nod from me.

Ride Along 2 was next.  Kevin Hart is one of those guys that either you find funny or he annoys the daylights out of you.  The movie was fine but it wasn't as good as some of his others.  Hidden Figures I saw because it was MLK weekend and it was an important film.  Unfortunately when you buy reserved seating tickets at the last second, you sit in the front row which was not fun.  I'll need to watch this movie again from my couch to appreciate it more.

Split and xXx: Return of Xander Cage were next in theaters.  Split was another slow burn from M. Night Shyamalan with an out-of-left-field reveal at the end that was cool but didn't add anything to the actual film.  It does make for an interesting sequel though.  And xXx was what you'd expect it to be.  Nina Dobrev is on my list of top 5 celebrities I want to meet (#1 on that list will be coming up in a few paragraphs) so if she's in a movie, I'll go see it.

Not 100% sure why I decided to watch The Usual Suspects next.  Probably because it was on HBO or Showtime and I recorded it just to have.  Not as good as the first time (what is I suppose) but still holds up pretty well.  Then I decided to watch Transcendence because apparently I like to torture myself.  You'd think by now Johnny Depp wouldn't need to do movies for the money but this was nearly unwatchable.  Followed that up with Unbreakable because of the ending of Split.  I think I enjoyed it more than I did in its initial release.

Movies 11-22 were all movies I saw for the first time in 2017.  Eye in the Sky was one of those edge-of-your-seat thrillers that you shouldn't overlook when picking a movie for movie night.  Me Before You was the type of romantic dramedy that I enjoy, especially when you have someone as ridiculously adorable as Emilia Clarke in it.  Pete's Dragon was decent if uninspiring.  Never saw the original movie so I don't know if it's exactly the same.  

Back in high school friends and I made a horror-comedy as a senior project and one of the movies we referenced (by name, not anything else) was Killer Klowns from Outer Space.  Found a free version on some random site through my Roku device and soldiered through it.  Not great but you know what, it wasn't all that bad either?  Especially compared to Sharknado 4.  I get that the Sharknado films are the height of cheese but they really stopped caring.  In between that I saw a movie called The Voices with Ryan Reynolds, Anna Kendrick and Gemma Arterton.  Great cast, bizarre serial killer movie.  Hard to say who I'd recommend it to.

Sing Street was a movie that got a few award nominations but somehow flew under the radar.  Great movie if you like music in your films.  Sisters has the ultimate girl pairing of Tina Fey and Amy Poehler and was better than the previews might lead you to believe, but it wasn't their best work.  The Lego Batman Movie was the next theatrical and I fell asleep for about 10 minutes.  Batman as a supporting character in a Lego movie is great, but as a lead it was too much.  Went back to a girl comedy for Bad Moms and thought it was a lot of fun.  Can't wait for the sequel.

I thought John Wick: Chapter 2 was pretty dumb and nonsensical.  Unfortunately I watched it with an SVP from Lionsgate at a screening where they asked for our opinions at the end and I couldn't very well say it in front of him, could I?  It was extremely violent so I suppose if that's your thing.  Moonlight was next in time for the Oscars.  Yes it was a great movie but I will always believe La La Land deserved the Best Picture award it had for 2 minutes.

I got trapped at my parents house during one of the snow storms of the season so I watched Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix because I had it saved on their DVR.  Two more theatricals came next - The Great Wall and Logan.  The Great Wall was good for the action sequences but bad for almost everything else.  Logan on the other hand is one of the best comic book movies I've ever seen.  Dark and violent with an unhappy ending that felt right.

I was (and still am) a huge fan of The Office (both US and UK) so I was looking forward to David Brent: Life on the Road but without the supporting cast I grew to love, it wasn't the same.  Another disappointing movie was The Angry Birds Movie.  Previews looked great but man the movie was dull.  Went straight into another animated film, Beauty and the Beast, which is the movie I've watched close to 100 times in my life, and that is not an over-exaggeration.  25+ years later and I am still mesmerized by it.

Another Disney film was next with The Jungle Book.  Don't understand how it made so much money.  I thought the CGI was really badly done and the story was uninteresting.  The animated movie is far superior.  As a change of pace I went with The Purge: Election Year since it feels more and more like that's where this country is headed.  These movies aren't deep but they are well made.

Passengers was another one of those space movies I enjoy, this time with more romance.  The story wasn't great and it lacked a lot but I love Jennifer Lawrence and Chris Pratt so I'd definitely watch this one again.  Back to the theater for Kong: Skull Island which had a dumb story but tremendous special effects.  If The Jungle Book can win an Oscar for visual effects (over Rogue One??) then Kong should sweep the awards next year.  The Red Turtle was next which was the one film I actually had in-depth conversations about with a couple of friends trying to figure out what actually happened.  It doesn't feel like a kids film, even though it has some great animation.

The Legend of Tarzan was directed by the guy who did the last four Harry Potter movies so I thought I'd give it a chance but as much as I tried to like it, the story was dull and the special effects were weak.  Then I had to go to jury duty and as we sat there waiting for a case to be called (which never happened) I watched Guardians of the Galaxy since I had it on my tablet.  Still a fun flick.

American Ultra was next since I like Kristen Stewart and sometimes like Jesse Eisenberg.  But this was a bad mistake since the movie was just weird.  Usually I don't see movies in theaters one we get past opening weekend but the buzz for Get Out was so loud I figured I should make the trip.  I think it was over-hyped by the time I saw it, but it was pretty good.  Not scary per se, but creepy and uncomfortable.

Then I saw my most anticipated movie in years, Beauty and the Beast with the person #1 on my list of celebrities I want to meet, Emma Watson.  I loved every single second of it.  I was afraid I wouldn't enjoy it because of how much I loved the animated film, but I thought the story was better because they added pieces of background information we never had and it cleared up some missing pieces from the original.  The character CGI took some getting used to but I stopped noticing after a while.  When I first saw Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone I was in awe because here was something I loved as a book, coming to life on the big screen.  Beauty and the Beast felt the same way, except it was an animated movie coming to life with Emma Watson.  I will 100% be seeing this at least once more in theaters, if not more.

On a Disney high I watched Zootopia again, as it was my second favorite film of 2016, and I still liked it as much as I did when I first saw it.  It was one of those movies where I wished I could go visit some day.  And movie number 40 so far this year (after only 77 days!) was The Edge of Seventeen, a showcase for Hailee Steinfeld who is, I think, the most talented actor of her generation.  She'll be making box office smashes and winning Oscars soon enough, even though this movie didn't quite hit with audiences.

So there you have it, a somewhat quick rundown of the first 40 films of 2017.  I'm sure I'll be back with more in a couple of months.

[leke-on-the-beat-blog]

INDIVIDUATION...

So, you think that this life is a bed of roses? You think that once you're in a relationship, you've got it all? You think that it's all DISNEY  with you throughout?  You might be wondering, for those who read my blog regularly, why does he always refer to Disney all the time? 😁😁..have you given time to watch what they call love?.... Just hilarious.  Love is a battlefield... Once you're in it, to be victorious and to find it quite interesting, you've gotta fight.. This post would concentrate on those who must've gone through breakups or are even in one now and you're sad and wondering if things could get better. Truthfully, they do....only if you're willing.  Most recently, my girl and I went through a pretty nasty breakup over some bull****. Anyway, for a long time, we were both sad and wanting to get back together. We would see each other and just walk past each other. Most people thought we were still close, but we weren't. It got to a point that I began to reason to myself;  Why did we breakup?  Truthfully, when I tried to think it through, I didn't find any solid reason. Therefore, I decided to get back together with her...... Saying or typing it seems quite easy, trust me, it wasn't. When I saw her, I was shaken because, there was this inner fear that she would turn me down. I wasn't even aware that she felt the same way... If I had known, it would've been easier 😕. Anyway,  we went to a quiet place to chat. Before we started to chat, we were both quiet for a long time, because it seemed awkward. Anyway, I broke the silence with trash talk, *hey, don't blame me, I was nervous *. Anyway, eventually, she drove me to the point by being so uninterested in my trash talk. We discussed about us being together and reasons we broke up. It's quite important to mention that, *to the guys*, girls get pissed off at the most insignificant thing;  insignificant to us guys. These things we see as insignificant are seen as the importance stuffs to the ladies.  To know how to treat your girl right, read my previous post titled "tips".....here's the link  https://lobright.wordpress.com/2017/01/21/tips/ So, from where I digressed, we discussed about things that tore us apart and believe me, they were absolute nonsense. We got back together after a lot of begging and sincere, as well as insincere tears from both of us.  So, to those who are going through rough breakups, my advice to you is, just sit down in a quiet place, try not to engage your mind in anything but focus on your relationships, try to think of what caused the breakup and try to also think about the positive aspect of your relationship. In doing that, I advice that you use a scale. This scale places the good and bad experiences together. If the good surpasses the bad, I advice that you go back to your guy or girl and you guys should settle things. Fighting doesn't solve anything, it worsens things. But, if the bad surpasses the good, my advice to you is to gear up with your track and field shoes and "on your mark, set, GO".....RUN WITHOUT LOOKING BACK.  As a conclusion, the best way of conciliation is for you guys to settle your differences there and then.  So, enjoy your love life.  Again, please, don’t forget to share, follow and comment. For features and love stories that you want featured on the page or even personal stories, email me; gbemilekeolaniyan@gmail.com. Thanks. Adios.  Leke signing out.