Fic: A Single Monk in Good Standing Must be in Want of a Bro

A Single Monk in Good Standing Must be in Want of a Bro (20,563 words) by scaramouche
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Rating: Mature
Relationships: Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus
Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Romantic Comedy, First Meeting, Friendship, Flirting, Pining, Fluff, First Kiss, First Time, Light-Hearted, Baze POV, Baze is chill and oblivious, Chirrut is confused, young Baze & Chirrut

Summary: Baze tries to befriend new arrival Chirrut Îmwe, but accidentally woos him instead.

Suits, volleyball, and all the headcanon in between.

[Terushima, Futakuchi, Noya, Tanaka, Ushijima and Tendou here]
[Akiteru, Kei, Kageyama and Hinata here]
[Ladies of Karasuno here]


  • Black on black. No tie, open two-buttoned suit jacket that hugs his waist, the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. Tailored wingtip derbies, black and matte- polished to perfection.
    • He’s actually the one who dislikes wearing suits the most (I mean, have you seen the guy, he literally looks like he throws on whatever he has lying on his bed).
    • Oh, but if you challenge him, or if the need arises- he’s going to be the sexiest guy in the room because he sure as hell isn’t going to lose at anything.
      • Hours of research and a lot of changing rooms is not going to be for nothing. If he’s going to suffer, he’s going to do some real damage before he goes (namely to your short-circuited brain and perhaps severe blood loss via nosebleed).
    • He tried the red and black combination once, until a girl actually came up to him and asked him which host club he worked at, and he’s stuck to black from then on.
    • Those undone buttons on his shirt? Collarbones. They’re so sharp that they can slice through paper, and it makes his neck slimmer and his smirk all the sexier.
    • Everything’s been absolutely tailored at least twice, and it’s so on purpose. Can you imagine those legs- miles and miles of slim height and oh, he knows you’re staring. He’ll wink right back.
      • Now that he thinks about it, he’s never had to buy his own drink before, and thus Kuroo’s legendary alcohol tolerance was born.

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Someone asked for some Chirrut POV from A Single Monk in Good Standing Must be in Want of a Bro, so I did something (approx. 600 words):

“It’s done,” Janos says, quiet but urgent. “It’s done, he’s noticed.”

Contrary to what some elders might say, Chirrut is capable of tact and caution. Right now he displays those skills excellently, for he limits his reply to an equally quiet, “Where is he? How is he?”

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Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman review – nice dramatic narratives, but where’s the nihilism?
With its chatty gods and gentle giants, Gaiman’s good-natured version of the mythos lacks brutal tragedy at its heart
By Ursula K Le Guin

Ursula K. Le Guin, one of my favorite writers, reviews the new Neil Gaimen interpretation of “Norse Mythology” and gives it an honestly brutal treatment.

“For the Norse myths, we really have no original, only interpretations. Most of the material was first written down by a single monk a century or more after Christianity had outlawed and supplanted the “heathen” religion of northern Europe. Later came scholarly attempts to translate and present the stories so as to glimpse what the lost original versions may have been.

Then came use of elements of the mythos in drama and opera, free adaptations for modern readers, and the appearance of increasingly familiar tropes in books for young children, cartoons, graphic presentations, animated films, and so on. A luxuriant growth indeed from the few, fragile stems of medieval manuscripts, one of which lay hidden for several centuries in a barn in Iceland.

Their survival is remarkable, for the Norse tales are about as un-Christian as you can get: no all-powerful creator deity, no human virtue rewarded but courage in battle, and on the Last Day, no salvation for anybody. Their fascination for us may be this near-nihilism: a world created essentially by nobody out of nothing, an existence of endless warfare and the rivalry of brutal, dishonest powers, ending in defeat for all. In contrast, the classical myths retold to us through centuries of splendid verbal and visual art can seem pallid. The stark cruelty and essential hopelessness of the Norse stories suits the artistic taste of the last century, our hunger for darkness.”
“Gaiman plays down the extreme strangeness of some of the material and defuses its bleakness by a degree of self-satire. There is a good deal of humour in the stories, the kind most children like – seeing a braggart take a pratfall, watching the cunning little fellow outwit the big dumb bully. Gaiman handles this splendidly. Yet I wonder if he tries too hard to tame something intractably feral, to domesticate a troll.”
“What finally left me feeling dissatisfied is, paradoxically, the pleasant, ingratiating way in which he tells it. These gods are not only mortal, they’re a bit banal. They talk a great deal, in a conversational tone that descends sometimes to smart-ass repartee. This chattiness will be familiar to an audience accustomed to animated film and graphic narrative, which have grown heavy with dialogue, and in which disrespect is generally treated as a virtue. But it trivialises, and I felt sometimes that this vigorous, robust, good-natured version of the mythos gives us everything but the very essence of it, the heart.”

anonymous asked:

*slides 20* so any chance you wanna write some more of Chirrut's POV in your lovely A Single Monk in Good Standing Must be in Want of a Bro?

No idea if you’re still around, anon, but I wrote something! (original fic)

“Wait,” Chirrut says. He hears Janos shift a little, turning to face him. “Just a moment.”

Chirrut didn’t even mean to check his cubbyhole this morning, so it is by the will of the Force that he does so, and finds the leather pouch.

It’s tucked at the back carefully, far away from any chance of being dislodged. Chirrut’s first thought is that it might be a package from home, though those tend to be large enough to barely fit in the cubbyhole at all. His second thought is that it is a prank – one of the other acolytes performing some minor act of passive-aggressive revenge, which Chirrut will enjoy dealing with.

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mmarycontrary  asked:

I loved the ABO universe breakdown! I adore when people think hard about the social changes a biological change would bring. I'm curious about religion in that universe: do myths of heroes specify secondary gender, their own and their parents? Is Krishna an alpha? Was Jesus delta or something else? Is there controversy about what "immaculate conception" means? Do single gender organizations like monks or Navy SEALs tend to be separated by secondary as well?

Sorry for taking so long to answer this ask, but I wanted to give it the thoughtful answer it deserved because I LOVE IT.

(note that all of the following answers are specifically for an ABO AU that I’ve been working on as a side project. Posts here and here.)

YES YES YES to all of your questions! By which I mean, the existence of secondary genders puts a huge twist on most of human history, including but certainly not limited to myths and religions. As mentioned in the intro post, primary and secondary genders are interpreted very differently in different social environments with different cultures. One big universal difference between primaries and secondaries, however, is that the latter lacks as many outwardly visible physical markers. As such the way people would have defined these in the past prior to science and pheromone measurements would have been very fluid, and in addition it would be very hard to identify secondary genders from historical visuals (and even written accounts would be unreliable, as different cultures would have different social roles and stereotypes).

What does this all mean? To be very vague and just give a few hypothetical examples, let’s say that in one culture, people believe Jesus was an alpha. They may use this belief to justify alpha supremacy which would be heavily embedded in their culture, as many religious things tend to be. But then let’s say a different culture believes Jesus was a delta, in other words entirely outside of the Alpha/Beta/Omega ternary system. For one, some cultures deny the very existence of secondary genders outside the main three if their social structures heavily depend on them. Secondly, having a different culture suggest that Jesus was anything but an alpha then throws into question the very beliefs that culture 1 uses to oppress other secondaries. This is more than enough reason for war, probably genocide, and trying to colonize and convert other peoples to believe in their brand of Christianity. While I’d like to say the modern world is more accepting of various interpretations of religions and mythology, much of the “alpha supreme” culture that is currently widespread across the world of this AU is a direct result of colonialism and suppression of other beliefs.

There would of course be controversy/discussions/social implications of pretty much every other mythological/religious figure. I don’t have quite enough knowledge of Hindu deities to have many theories on Krishna, but it’d be very interesting to think about how him being an alpha (or anything else) would influence regions where Hinduism is prevalent.

And I think what “single gender” organizations use to decide their members would again heavily depend on how their particular society views primary/secondary genders! Some monks may be beta-only. Navy seals may be male-only, regardless of secondaries. Some organizations may demand only specific primary-secondary combos. Should note though, that secondaries are only apparent after presenting, usually during puberty. So there may even be some organizations that train children, but then promote or reject individuals based on what they present as. It’s all very interesting to think about! :’D

Remember that in 1551, the Ottoman Turks besieged the island of Gozo after an unsuccessful attempt to capture Malta earlier that same year. After a brief siege in which the defenders capitulated to Turkish demands, the Ottomans enslaved 6,000 islanders, sparing a single monk and 40 elders, while only 300 people escaped.

It took 150 years for the population level on the island to reach pre-1551 levels.



You can get a nice surprise when you discover something new. One such surprise was when I saw one of the looks in Simon Crompton’s Style Guide. In it, Simon wears what looks like a peacoat with dark corduroy trousers and sweptback single monks. I have a pair in shell but I’ve never thought of wearing them with anything other than a suit till now. Simon’s outfit looked great so I thought I would take some inspiration from that. Where he wears a shirt, I’ve subbed in a tan turtleneck which I think still works well. I hope he approves.

Peacoat - The Real McCoy’s

Turtleneck - Uniqlo

Trousers - Corneliani (part of a suit)

Shoes - Alfred Sargent

I AM the Chosen One

I was young when the monks came to my village and told me I had been chosen. I was a rice farmer’s daughter and knew nothing of fates and destinies, I had always believed I would grow up to tend the rice fields as my parents, grandparents and great grandparents had before me.

But the monks believed otherwise. “You’re the One” they cried, I had never been looked upon with such reverence as I was in that moment, “A girl with skin as black as night and eyes of earth and sea, she will be our saviour and bring about a new era of prosperity!”

Indeed I was a girl with skin as black as night, with an eye of brown and one of teal, this seemed as much evidence as the monks needed to insist that I be taken to their temple, to learn their ways and train for my destiny.

My parents, though they would miss me, were more than happy to oblige, I would be given a good home, with enough food to keep me well, and the monks would have herbs of healing if I were to get sick, my poor village had none of these luxuries and so my loving, caring parents sent me away, they were happy to believe that I could achieve greatness and make a change to our land.

The monks were kind and respectful, and as they had on our first meeting, would only look upon me with a shine to their eyes that I imagined a God would find in the eyes of their worshippers. Yet though they had only the utmost respect for me, they did not spoil me. My clothes, food and lodgings were as humble as any other monks, they would scold me fairly if I misbehaved and praise me when I did well, I trained among other acolytes and was not given any favouritism (though I could sense they wished dearly to).

The monks were weary of raising me spoiled, and had mastered the art of avoiding such tragedies. So it was that I came of age, a wise, strong and competent young woman who was ready to depart on my journey.

I was to travel and the fates would throw tests upon me, the great size and strength I had been gifted aided me well in battles against savage beasts. The meditation and mindful thought practices taught to me by the monks proved an asset when faced with manipulative Fae creatures who prayed on loose thoughts and rampant emotion to bend you to their will. Growing up in poor farming conditions had taught me to be humble and kind to those who had little, and to always break bread and share rations with those who so kindly gave me lodgings.

Over the years of my journey I had become battered and bruised, leaving scars to remind me of my past triumphs and losses, my will had been bent and nearly broken but in the end was all the stronger for it. I made friends and enemies and learned lessons about naivety and ignorance and all the flaws I had grown with were gradually swept away by the experience and knowledge I gained on my quest.

Until finally, with a warm heart, a full mind, and a lifted spirit, I returned to the monks, a sight different from how I left. A scar gained, an arm lost, strength doubled, will unbreakable. A warrior, a diplomat, a hero, a Legend.

I expected a humble hero’s welcome, I expected proud faces and shining eyes.

I received none of these things. “You have returned.” the single monk at the gate regarded me coldly. “We thought you may have perished.” I did not miss the disappointed tone in his voice.

He took me inside and I met with the head of the temple, he kept his composure well, but I could read from his body what his face would not betray. He was furious.

“You are not the Chosen One.” he told me.

It was the first time I had ever been told such a thing. I would have thought this a test some years ago, before I learned how to read through lies, and sense deceit. There was no deceit here.

“We spoke with your parents after you left for your journey, we spoke to them many times, they asked about you and we kept them informed of your progress when your letters came. When you wrote of a male colleague you were journeying with we were concerned about… accidents… occurring. It is difficult to quest when you are with child after all.”

He had poured himself tea, he did not offer me a cup. I would not have been able to swallow even a mouthful anyway, I knew where this was conversation was going… and I was terrified.

“Your parents told us something interesting. You are not capable of carrying a child, they said. We had always assumed your physical development was simply the way you were built, broad shouldered and small waisted, we believed it was the fates giving you the body of a warrior.”

He sipped his tea, taking longer than was necessary. He was watching me, watching me sweat and shake.

“You have the body of a MAN.” his composure finally slipped, he slammed the cup back down on the table, an acolyte outside the door jumped at the sound but did not come in to investigate. “The prophecy told of a GIRL, a GIRL with skin as black as night. A GIRL with eyes of earth and sea. SHE will be our saviour and bring about a new era of prosperity!” I had heard these words many times over, but never had they felt so sharp, so raw, so painful.

“You have lied to us from the very beginning! You are no Chosen One, we wasted all these years, all this effort, all our hopes and dreams all for just some common rice farmer’s SON.”

He waited for my denial, he waited for my excuses, my apologies, my grovelling for forgiveness. I did not give him any of these things. I gave him the truth.

“I have the body of a man,” I said to him, “But I am a woman, from birth I have been a woman, as soon as I could speak I asked that my parents call me by a woman’s name. I wore women’s clothes and grew women’s hair, all my life I have spent being a woman to all those who have met me, all those who know me know me as a woman. You taught me yourself that your mind and your spirit can hold truths that the body could never know, and my spirit knows that I am more than my body, my spirit knows that I AM A WOMAN.”

It was my turn to lose my composure. My voice blew open the chamber door, it thundered through the temple halls and onto the grounds. It brought with it wind and energy and POWER. Magick that I had learned and woven into my voice, imbued into my very being. My words were power, and that power rattled the hearts and minds of all those who believed me to be what I was not.

A man.

The head monk sat speechless, eyes wide. I waited, time passed.

He pointed to the door. The look in his eyes made it clear that I was no longer welcome here.

I left, I did not bow in respect as was custom, he had lost his right to my respect. I had given up my family for his prophecy, I had given up my home, my hand. But it was not enough, because after everything I had gone through, the journeys I had taken, the quests I had completed, the tests I had passed, none of it was enough for the monks.

Because the Gods gave me a body that was not meant for me.

I would love to say I was above it all. I was above feeling hurt by the monks’ rejection, I was above feeling furious and betrayed and lost and… and… I didn’t even know what else I felt, but I did know that out of all the heartbreak and loss I had ever experienced in my travels, this day left them all behind. The monks had been my family and they had deserted me. The destiny I had been promised had been taken away in a fleeting moment.

Perhaps they were right, perhaps I was no Chosen One. I was just a rice farmer’s daughter. If the monks had rejected me for my false body, why not destiny? Why not fate? Perhaps there truly was another girl with skin as black as night and eyes of earth and sea, one with a body that truly matched her mind, perhaps all this time I had been playing someone else’s role…

I did not know what to do with myself after this revelation. I had no path without the monks’ guidance. So I went home.

My parents were more than happy to see me again. We hugged and kissed and they served me a bland dinner of rice and fish and it tasted like home and love and acceptance. My mother told me I had grown to be a beautiful strong woman, my father told me I had made our village proud. They had heard stories of me, would you believe it? Stories of my exploits had spread so far and wide they had made it back to my little village, to my home.

Despite everything I slept well that night.

The monks continued looking for their Chosen One, but could find nothing. Some years passed, I tended the fields with my mother and father, I helped the village in ways no one else could, blowing away storm clouds with my magick, setting complex rodent traps that only I knew how to build. I could carry more supplies than any. I helped everyone. I was loved. It was nice. It was calm.

It was wrong.

Everything within me yearned for bigger things, my spirit wished to soar, my body ached to battle, my mind was desperate to be challenged. There were people I wanted to see, places I wanted to visit, problems in the world that had yet to be solved. My home village, as peaceful and quaint as it was, could not be my home any longer.

I rubbed a hand over the stump of my right arm, I gently touched the scar marring my perfect black skin, the scar running over the eye that was the colour of tilled earth. I had lost so much, things I could not get back, my sacrifices had been wasted here in the rice fields. I had a destiny to fulfil, and if the monks weren’t going to tell me where to find it, I was going to track it down myself.

I travelled the roads on which I began my journey, back then a tall, wiry sprig of a girl with a heart full of adventure, I travelled this road now with shoulders that could carry the world, a heart hardened by pain and softened again by love. It was ready to begin this journey anew. My quest now was not to better myself, not to prove to anyone that I was worthy, that I had to be given my path, that I was reliant upon any prophecy.

My quest now was to make my mark upon this world. To help it and to change it, I would aid those in desperate need, tear down the walls of the ones who hoarded their treasures, I would start rebellions and topple corrupt systems.

Because regardless of the body the Gods gave to me, I AM the girl with skin as black as night and eyes of earth and sea, and I will be your saviour and bring about a new era of prosperity.

…hi hi, so I wrote this thing because the idea of fairytale scenarios involving people of different genders and sexualities is so interesting to me, so I gave writing it a shot. I am not trans so I don’t have the insider info on what it’s like but I tried very hard to be respectful. If there is anything offensive, disrespectful or just wonky about my portrayal I am very sorry and please let me know what I can do to fix it.

Mad respect for all y'all non-binary folk out there, I very much hope I did you justice ~