greymichaela:

Alternate link to AO3

Chirrut’s face is blank when he’s told the news. Baze can’t detect any hint of emotion on his usually mobile features. Irreversible. Permanent blindness within six months. No known cure. The healer trails awkwardly to a stop and hesitates, glancing at Baze for his cue.

Baze shifts his weight. “Chirrut?”

“All is as the Force wills it,” Chirrut says, and rises. “Thank you, Master T’ron.”

He turns and is gone before the healer can reply, robes swishing in finality.

Baze gives the healer an awkward nod and scrambles to catch up. “Chirrut, wait.”

Chirrut glances at him when Baze falls in step beside him. His eyes are cloudier these days, the cataracts advancing ever more rapidly, it seems, but Chirrut’s feet are still quick and unhesitating, his stride as confident as ever.

“We have lessons,” he says when Baze can’t think of anything to fill the silence.

“But—don’t you want to—” Baze hesitates. Grieve? Mourn your loss? You’re going blind, Chirrut!

Chirrut’s face shutters. “I want to go to class.”

He quickens his steps and Baze gets the message.

Keep reading

tastewithouttalent:

“Is that Baze?” Chirrut calls as
Baze pushes open the door to the room the other has claimed for himself,
ducking to clear the frame of the too-low doorway made for non-human forms, or
at least humans shorter than he is himself.

“You know
it’s me,” Baze tells him, stepping clear of the door so he can let it swing
shut behind him. “Don’t try to give me that lost blind man routine, you knew I
was coming the whole way down the hallway.”

Chirrut
tips his head up and sideways, angling his chin so Baze can catch a glimpse of
the smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I was just welcoming you back,”
he says. “I didn’t think you’d make it home for another hour or two.”

“No point
in wasting time.” Baze sets his gun aside, balancing it carefully upright
alongside the door where he can grab it at a moment’s notice of the latch
behind him giving way before he ducks his head to twist open the fastenings
down the front of his armored vest. “You get into too much trouble for me to
leave you alone long.”

“Your
concern for me is touching,” Chirrut smiles, still with his head tipped back to
listen to what Baze is doing behind him rather than seeing it. “I am
able to protect myself, you know.”

“I know,” Baze
says, tossing his vest aside with far less concern than he gave to his weapon.
“That’s what worries me.”

Keep reading

iwritesometimes:

hi, i’m sarah, and i have a chronic and probably terminal inability to Shut Up About Star Wars.

pursuant to my previous late-night feverposting:

Baze
hit the floor hard, all the air in his body leaving him in a low groan.
He lay there, defeated and in no great hurry to rise again, until
Chirrut peered down at him, eyebrows arched up expectantly and mouth in
its wry half-twist. He leaned heavily on his quarterstaff like a hunched
old man, the very picture of frail innocence, like he hadn’t just laid
out a man four inches taller and twenty pounds heavier and made it look
easy.

“Best five out of seven?” he said with a hopeful note in his voice. Baze groaned again and went limp on the floor.

“No
more,” he grunted, closing his eyes like a man resigned to his fate.
There was no response for a long moment, and then the cool prod of the
end of Chirrut’s staff in his side had him edging open an eye. Chirrut’s
hand thrust out to help him up; Baze knew when he took it how much wiry
strength would be behind that grip, in that deceptively fragile-looking
arm. Chirrut was so unassuming looking; if anyone were ever to try
ambushing him in the streets, there would be nothing left for them but
prayers to the Force for luck. Baze knew what the man was capable
of, and he still ended up on his ass better than half the time.
Something to be said for all those Jedi-like reflexes Chirrut was always
going on about. “You’ve humiliated me enough for one day, don’t you
think?”

Keep reading

iwritesometimes:

my-geek-is-showing

replied to your post

“anyway if anyone wants to distract us all from this piece of shit day…”

How about spiritassassin & ticklish? 🙂

oOOOOOoooo this one was kinda hard for me BUT I HAVE JUST HAD AN APOSTROPHE

(special guest appearance by space-mandarin, courtesy kaprosuchus, which we may all trust chirrut pronounces with the same adorable accent as donnie yen does earth-mandarin)

***

Chirrut actually hates Baze’s beard. Well. Alright, hate is too strong a sentiment. He liked his beard when it was neat and trimmed close to his face, back when Baze still had some marginal consideration for how he was perceived by others in the city. Ever since they’ve been on the run, Baze has seemed to take their nomadic lifestyle as permission to grow as much hair on himself as he possibly can, which Chirrut doesn’t mind in a general way (Baze’s thick body hair has always rather appealed to him), but finds incredibly inconvenient in two specific instances: firstly, it’s much harder for him to kiss, bite, fondle, and otherwise harass Baze’s ears when he can barely find them under all his hair, and secondly, Baze’s beard is a menace to Chirrut’s thighs.

Keep reading

roselightsabers:

NSFW. I did the thing. This is plotless, sorry. Half-intentionally I seem to have dropped in some room for an equally dirty companion piece as well, so uh, sorry for that too 😁 I had no idea how to end it so I guess I just…didn’t. You know what? This is not fine literature or anything, I don’t know why I’m fussing about it _D_

“Please…”

This amuses Baze more than anything else. Granted, there’s nothing about Chirrut he doesn’t simply adore, no little quirk of the other that doesn’t bring a smile to his face. But Chirrut, though he swings wildly between devout spirituality and demanding stubbornness does not often beg. In fact, Baze doesn’t think he’s ever witnessed this particular facet of his personality before, and he’s honored to have the chance.

Keep reading