Painted Man
Apr. 30th, 2017 12:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
athousanderrorsvia http://ift.tt/2pjfaUS:
sarkastically:
Spiritassassin Week 2017, Prompt 6: Soulmate/soulbond
(The trash fic will do. I am so tired.)
Baze knows when it happens. He can’t say how or why or what, but he knows that something has happened, something bad, something to Chirrut. It laps at him, pulls at him across the expanse of the universe, across the expanse of the Force, which he has slowly tried to press himself into forgetting, into giving up on because what’s the sense of it if it won’t help? It just sits back and exists and lets things, terrible, horrible awful things–that can’t be denied because he felt the deaths of the Jedi in his soul, a ringing in his mind, a hollow space in his chest that feels as though it can never be filled again–happen. He can’t stand for a power like that, a Force like that. It isn’t right, no matter what they were taught, so Baze started closing doors, locking his mind, hiding his soul, covering himself in armor and death, chose a gun over a staff, painted himself as another kind of man altogether to fool anyone who looked at him, to fool even himself in rare moments, and left the holy city that bore and raised him. Ran away into space as if the Force and its tendrils weren’t already everywhere, but the distance from Jedha helped him forget.
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Beautiful. I want to live in Sara’s Baze-voice forever.
(Your picture was not posted)
sarkastically:
Spiritassassin Week 2017, Prompt 6: Soulmate/soulbond
(The trash fic will do. I am so tired.)
Baze knows when it happens. He can’t say how or why or what, but he knows that something has happened, something bad, something to Chirrut. It laps at him, pulls at him across the expanse of the universe, across the expanse of the Force, which he has slowly tried to press himself into forgetting, into giving up on because what’s the sense of it if it won’t help? It just sits back and exists and lets things, terrible, horrible awful things–that can’t be denied because he felt the deaths of the Jedi in his soul, a ringing in his mind, a hollow space in his chest that feels as though it can never be filled again–happen. He can’t stand for a power like that, a Force like that. It isn’t right, no matter what they were taught, so Baze started closing doors, locking his mind, hiding his soul, covering himself in armor and death, chose a gun over a staff, painted himself as another kind of man altogether to fool anyone who looked at him, to fool even himself in rare moments, and left the holy city that bore and raised him. Ran away into space as if the Force and its tendrils weren’t already everywhere, but the distance from Jedha helped him forget.
Keep reading
Beautiful. I want to live in Sara’s Baze-voice forever.
(Your picture was not posted)
