Tumblr is an adventure. Most of the time you reblog stuff and people will like and reblog and you’ll go ‘aw the gangs all here’ because you see the familiar faces of all your mutuals and acquaintances who like similar stuff to you and that’s nice.
And then other times you reblog something you KNOW a specific friend will like and you’re sitting there just WAITING….because they just appeared online and you’re hoping they see it without having to tag them and then they reblog it and you go 'YES and this is why we are MUTUALS’
But THEN you’ll reblog a thing and a name appears in your inbox and you’re like 'wait……wait……you LIKED that??? Huh. Would not have guessed that from your blog name/content.’
Chirrut’s never been on an ocean planet before Scarif, never been off-world before Eadu, but he liked the salt smell and the feel of actual warmth from the sun, underneath the blood and metal, despite some of that heat surely being fire.
So after the battle is won, and their Rogue team is a thorn in the Rebellion’s side as opposed to the proud lapel bloom they had once been, they request some- shore leave, as it were.
They ask for somewhere tropical, to rewrite their sensory memories.
Cassian sleeps, at long last he sleeps, in the shade of K2’s new body, ignoring the complaints about sand and rust.
Jyn and Bodhi play a raucous game of volleyball: Jyn is far too competitive and Bodhi runs away from the ball every time she smashes it with fearsome glee.
Baze floats in the gentle shallows, because feeling weightless is something he hasn’t allowed himself for decades.
And Chirrut- well, Chirrut can’t swim (where on Jedha would he have learnt? the kyber salt pools were waist high at best) but he wades in after Baze anyway, bare chested with the skirts of his new robes hiked to upper thigh, because he’ll be damned if he misses an opportunity to conquer something new. Plus Baze is enjoying himself, and Chirrut likes to enjoy Baze enjoying himself.
Swimming is a lot harder than he’s been led to believe. He swallows a lot of seawater, but by the time Baze drags him back to the beach, Jyn has shyly produced… a buoyancy aid.
“What does it look like?” he asks, croaky and delighted.
“A Corlassian seadragon,” says Baze, voice wavering from panic turned to mirth. “A pink one.”
They float together, hands clasped so that Chirrut doesn’t drift away.
“Oh,” he sighs, “it’s like being swept up in the Force. Surrounding us, warm in its current. Why didn’t you ever take me swimming somewhere?”
Baze snorts, fond. “Like you would have left your beloved sand. Besides, you say that of everything. Dust storms are like the Force. Fresh soup is like the Force. Sex is like-”