STAR WARS: possible spoiler warning

[avali]

STAR WARS CALL OUT POST:
STEP 1: pick a muse
STEP 2: leave a comment with their name in the subject line, pictures, words or all of the above
STEP 3: profit

Comments

4 the bae

[scrounging]

[reconditioning]

[First Order? They keep their ships cold. Cold as their rules and regulations, cold as the planet they hollowed out to its core, slow-rotted like a tooth without its root. So it doesn't bother him the way it probably does her, the cold of space, hunkering down in his seat as stars drift by - an endless ocean of pitch spattered with vibrant color.

He can't sleep; it's just nothing to do with the temperature of the ship, or the backdrop behind them. Keeps his hands to himself, tucked up under the edges of his-- well, not really his-- jacket, afraid that he might brush up against one of the hundreds of buttons and switches scattered literally all around them.]

Did you uh, did you check the scanners again?

[ejecting]

[And somehow they survived.

It shouldn't be as shocking as it is. It's not like he didn't go into every fight expecting to come out the other end, and it wasn't like he hadn't just survived two impossible situations, face to face with the hand of the First Order and then plummeting to an almost certain death on a planet at the ass-end of the Galaxy.

But here he was. Surprised. Glad, he'd lost some of his squad, but not all of them. He'd sent that shot right where he needed to. And Finn, his impossible friend, he'd succeeded.

Not exactly unscathed, though. Hell of a hole through his jacket. He'd managed to stop the med Droid from throwing it away, but making it useful again was in his admittedly less than capable hands. The callouses on his fingers for perfectly to the controls of an x-wing, but they provided very little defense against the sharp silvery needle that was currently stitching the long slit along the back of the leather closed.]

Ah- [He manages to choke off the pained noise, somehow harder to do than stand against torture.]

I'm starting to think I should have let someone else handle this.

[Spoken, cheerful enough, in the direction of the sickbed.]

[reconditioning]

Hey, you want to trade, I'm all in. [Said, unsurprisingly, without context thanks to the fact that his eyes are still pinched shut, fingers flexing and unflexing against what passes for a blanket by the rebellion's standards. His back feels raw, even with the painkillers they've (thankfully) stuffed him full of, like all the flesh is gone, leaving only bone and nerves and-- whatever else there is pressed to the mattress. Tendons maybe. He doesn't know.

It's the first time he's been awake, really awake, since staring down Kylo-nightmare-in-the-dark- Ren: he's no medical professional, but he's fairly certain it's way, way too soon.]

FINN

[babyeight]

[There's been very little down time since the destruction of Starkiller Base, not that anyone expected any different. There were plenty of casualties, and still are plenty of fighters--both of the human and X-wing variety--out of commission.

Though BB-8's programming assigns him as a mechanic as one of his primary directives--the same for all astromech droids--he still manages to find brief moments to check in on Finn, twittering at him in concerned binary even when he's not conscious.

Sometimes, he might bring him things, like he does with Poe, though most of his gifts for Finn are vacuum-packed food squares. Humans need sustenance to repair themselves, so it's his way of helping, sort of.]

[reconditioning]

[Sometimes it's hard to tell (eyes shut, head swimming, thoughts a waxy, faded mess) the exact differences between medbay equipment and its droid keepers. Between all of the above and BB-8's soft, cooing chirps, cropping up whenever he gets a spare second to pull away. It isn't farfetched or weird-- they're not human, droids; built to service organic life without question-- he's seen utility drones persist with automated affection while the lieutenants they serve insult and debase them. Hate them, sometimes.

But life outside rigid hierarchies isn't the same; the little droid could have left any time he-- it-- wanted. Maybe it's broken.]

Hey little guy. [His voice cracks when he says it, eyes starting to pull open.]

steals avali's rp space and laughs - 4 poe and bb-8 - also idk bear with this timeline fuckery

[scrounging]

[With Starkiller Base little more than space dust and the First Order momentarily in shambles from the aftershock, the Resistance has a narrow window. It isn't much of one - everyone knows that, they must; it won't be long before they rally, before they retaliate - but hopefully its enough of an opportunity to do what's necessary. The map to Skywalker is complete; she knows what she has to do as much as everyone else seems to know she's exactly who has to do it--

--(How did she get to this point? How did she end up with Skywalker's saber at her side and the hope of the Resistance pinned beside it? does it matter? It's true now like lots of other things are true, no matter how wild and unbelievable. She tries not to think of Han Solo saying those words to her, but sometimes she does anyway. It's true. 'It's all true.')--

--But more significantly, everyone knows exactly what has to happen to get her to Skywalker and that's patching the countless holes and sheared off metal and busted pieces the Millennium Falcon had scraped by with while popping out of hyperspeed and all but crash landing on the surface of the base. It's work that needs to be finished as quickly as possible and it seems like every spare hand has been turned to the ship's repairs. Rey herself is elbow deep (literally) in one of the interior panels, stripping and rewiring fried components. It's simple, quick work, but rote in a way that helps her focus - helps her clear her mind. She isn't thinking about Skywalker or how to get to him. She isn't thinking about Finn unconscious, the scent of burned flesh and scorched leather. She isn't thinking about Kylo Ren or Han Solo or Jakku. All she's thinking about is where the end of wires fit.]

BB-8, pass me those wire cutters.

[The astromech droid's been rolling around near her for enough time now that she doesn't think twice to call after it - doesn't even look up when she does it. Besides, her hands are currently engaged with winding the wire around the conductor post.]

[babyeight]

[The droid hums an acknowledgement and rolls to where the wire cutters lay, picking them up with its extended grabber-arm. Were the droid able to fit in the interior panel that Rey's working on, he could simply use one of his sequestered tools to snip the wires, but they're in a somewhat awkward position for a two-foot diameter ball.

BB-8 rolls carefully back to hand off the cutters, inquiring with a series of shrill beeps and chirps as to what Rey plans to do next.]

the only other emo kid on the block

[respirator]

My Chemical Romance plays softly in the background......

[narcissithstic]

[There are days when it all falls through. Paper thin skin behind an armored mask, hot rage the opposite of a comfort or a benefit. Training had never been easy even before he aligned himself with a new name-- something more fitting than a senile old man's memory-- back when all the supposedly was was serenity, tranquility, peace within leading to peace without and nothing he could fully grasp with his own fingers. He misses what he never had, converting it like fuel in his own chest until it breaks and he's there, alone in front of that pedestal again, wheezing with fear and the slickness of his own sweat.

Has to tear the mask from his face just to breathe, and he wonders how his grandfather ever managed it. The mark seems too high - maybe that's the only thing keeping him from buckling when his bones feel brittle, soaked through with regret. Not regret. Not regret. Grips black steel as his fingers strain, buckling hard.

Immortality was the promise of the Sith. If that remains true-- if time and distance mean so little-- then if he strains hard enough in his reach...] Grandfather.

Grandfather please - I need you. [Holds his breath, teeth working against the grain.] I need to know it's not impossible, what's been asked of me.

That I'm not weak.

surprise me tbh

[compressors]

PILOTING THE FALCON


CAUGHT IN TRACTOR BEAM


GETTING SHOT AT


FUCK THAT HURT

I couldn't choose, so...

[reconditioning]

I got it, I got it-- [One hand braced against the panel he's currently trying to lever back into place: the old ship (and its crew) might be legendary, but he's got a forced reputation to keep, and the less he manages to do to help out, the less likely his story seems. So it doesn't matter if the latches stick, if the wiring's so old it hums against his fingertips every time he gets too close without meaning to - this is about survival. Getting clear of the First Order and never looking back.

Besides, Chewie wouldn't let him within arm's reach without grumbling; all that's left is the ship.] Just let me...get the right angle here.

[Push comes to shove, right?]

4 Hux Huxington Huxquire

[narcissithstic]

[They're done. Shattered to the core, and he feels it as the earth under his heels splinters like bone, one hand pressed to his side like it'll help; he's been beating it bloody since he chased his prey out into the snowy tundra, and the chill soaking in along his spine carries with it a decent chance that the shot went clean through - beyond his grasp. Steam curls in rivulets behind him where the tip of his lightsaber catches snow, still crackling on the off chance Rey might come skittering back into view. Not that he can see much through the haze at the edges of his vision.

Success leading to failure, and it's hard not to draw some subconscious, seeping line between his own loss and the howls of a dead planet in its own death throes.

And yet, like a thread, he feels himself pulled onwards, step after weary step. Closer to nothing.]

Thanks Kylo RenRen.

[hux]

[Snoke would know what to do. He had to because Hux? Hux had no idea what the protocol would be on such a thing happening. When someone rose to power quickly and efficiently it was very often without a hint of failure en route. The idea that the Starkiller could be so easily hit and taken down was both preposterous and incredible and yet it had happened. Most would avoid their leaders and just 'go down with the ship'. Not Hux. No, he wasn't going to be admitting defeat against the Resistance that easily. The Starkiller may be going down but his mission and purpose wasn't based around that alone. Staying behind on it would be counterproductive to the greater good.

Snoke at least did have something left to order and it's how Hux finds himself in the snowy wastelands, squinting against the wind as he tries to spot his quarry. The info given had placed Ren around here but from the sounds of things there wasn't going to be long to look. Everything was suddenly urgent and even Hux can feel his own tension rising, blood rushing in his ears as he turns in a circle to look.

Thankfully the last piece of intel Hux will ever receive is pretty spot on as he spies the tall, lanky figure of Ren not far away. The other looks all the worse for wear but still stubbornly standing. Was that blood on his face too? Hux is both disgusted and impressed by anyone who could manage that and he begins to stride on over before realizing that in that state of mind, Ren probably would just strike him down without even bothering to look first. He'd need to get the other's attention without getting too close. If Hux couldn't get Kylo Ren off planet then he knows he may as well just stay put too.]

Ren!!! [This was so undignified, the feeling of desperation starting to gnaw at the general's emotions. Enough so that he simply opts for a basic approach, sticking forefinger and thumb in his mouth to whistle sharp and loud in Ren's direction.]

i lied i got you also dream sequence or tear in space time continuum WHO CAN SAY

[nascent]

[Sometimes once you start running, it becomes impossible to stop. Cold has overtaken her, and she fears that if she stops running, she may never find movement again.

He's there -- that creature in the mask, the one she had seen when she had found the lightsaber. She isn't certain how, but she can feel him there, hovering on the outskirts of her vision like a shadow. Frustration wars with fear and determination, but most importantly, a driving urge to get away to safety trumps everything. A need to escape whatever hell her mind is trapped in, a need to find Finn and get BB-8 back to the Resistance.

Lightning cracks too fast for her eyes to process the color of it -- blue or red, whatever it is practically tears the sky open violently enough that she has to skid to a stop. In sand, in snow, it all feels the same. Her breath comes rapid, and her ankles lock as she had predicted they would. Even as she closes her eyes to feel the blood drumming through her head and her heart, she can hear the crunch of footsteps behind her.

There is a lightsaber, heavy in her hand and deactivated when her eyes force themselves open again. She won't give him the satisfaction, not if she can help it.

There's no tremor in her voice when she speaks.]

You can't do this forever.

P e r f

[narcissithstic]

But can you. [Distorted and broken, muffled by the digital crackle of his own mask like ozone burning in a storm. The way hatred tastes over set teeth and the acrid, inescapable scent of death. This isn't real. Her breath rasping softly against cold air is, the fit of his helmet bearing down over his skin is-- but the rest sits within her mind, where he's seeped in as a poison, more potent than he could ever otherwise be.

Here, no one will rush to help her. No distance will sever the bond between them.

He stalks between trees: the sum of all her fears given life, limned in livid, flickering crimson.]

For my least favorite grandson

[darkfather]

I'm still laughing

[narcissithstic]

[He knows the stories by heart. Not from the man that called himself his father once, and not from Leia (all their tales excluded grittier details, if they were ever actually discussed at all) but that was the thing about stories: they grew. Words whispered in corners painted fragments of the whole, and over the years, hundreds of voices heaped over one another like waves beating against a shoreline, unearthing stone beneath sand. Truth beneath the restlessness of everything they tried to bury.

He'd been too angry. Too brash and volatile, too impatient to sit with his fingers locked in the divide where his mother's attention fell short from duty and his father was-- well, he was what he always was: empty space. Water escaping through every given crack. But they thought it more than once, that he was like Vader. Like the monster in the shadows, paving the way for an empire lost.

In that, it wasn't a curse. He could feel fear in those whispers - drew lines from would-be disappointment to remembered fables and legends. His bloodline. His birthright. A livid mantra to whisper in the dark when everything else fell short to leave him distraught and alone. He'd reached out through the Force again and again; training meant to satiate his fear becoming a tool to grasp the only company he truly wanted.

The Jedi always said that when a master fell to the dark side, the shadow cast off by the light became something else entirely. And if it was true, Vader still lived. Still haunted the echoes of his old life, waiting. Watching. It's why Kylo had gone so far as to pry loose the wreckage of his helmet, every morning a matter of respect: bare palms to the corners of the pedestal, then, eyes lidded, attuned his breaths to the hum of the corpse-world beneath his feet, and at last he'd sit and talk to it, that warped mess of broken metal, like prayers in a sacred temple. No incense but cool, filtered air; no song but generators rumbling in their cells. This was his family.

This was his home.]

Show me. [Over and over and over again - it's always the same. The lofty weight of his fear on the horizon, pressing in with uncertainty, and in every way it'd feel routine if not for the old echo of his mother's thoughts. The way Solo skirts closer than he ever had before.] Show me this is the path I'm meant to walk.

all 4 Kylo Ren

[acertainpointofview]

#things Kylo Ren literally has never heard in his life (also an AU!!)

[narcissithstic]

[Strange to think a Jedi so old and so fragile could have escaped Vader's grasp, aiding Luke and the rebellion for so long-- that he'd lived far beyond what seemed possible even for the best kept human lifespans, helping to train a new order when the last one had (supposedly) slipped through his fingers. There was a sort of irony in it that only Ben could grasp, apparently, and it had little to do with the name they shared: weakness breeding weakness, always afraid of the shadows.

Wary. Wary was how the Jedi described it. Concerned, sometimes, but never 'afraid'. That adjective was reserved for the Dark Side, no matter how keenly it came to them or how often they meditated on it by cliffs spattered with salt.

He knew the truth.

And when he tore into the foundation of their new order under Snoke's guidance he made sure they made no mistake about it, stripped of all pretense in the wake of their own, aching loss. His lightsaber (his lightsaber, shaped by his own hands and not a dull tool meant to gently coax him into knighthood) spitting hatefully against the rain-soaked air, steam and sparks as crimson as the blood under his heels.] it's over.

I'm finishing what he started.

for traitorous douchebags aka finn

[patrilineal]

[Once, when he had been at the Jedi Academy with the other boys his age, another boy had told him that he would never live up to the legacy of his family. The words were said easily, spitefully, and Ben (for he had been Ben at the time, and he thinks of that person as someone separate from his current identity) had been unable to respond. His uncle had intervened. The callous boy who would later die at Kylo Ren's hand was sent to his room, and Ben received a lesson about how Jedi, even in the face of cruelty, cannot act on revenge. Revenge, he said, is the path to the dark side.

He recalls how frustrated Ben felt that day, sent to his own room soon after. Unsurprising now is the fact that even then, Ben would throw tantrums, would allow his knuckles to go white as he picked up one thing after another in his room. He remembers centering himself with his anger in his training, allowing himself to be blinded as he picked up his training sword and brought it down upon one of the other kids. He remembers the derision from his uncle, a man who never realized how much strength he could gain from this power, from this anger, from giving in to the emotions unfurling inside of him—

Or perhaps he was so tainted by the light that he could not see. Light blinds, but darkness shows the way. Ren has known this for some time.

Revenge is the last thing he denies himself now. When news of the girl's disappearance spreads throughout the First Order, Kylo Ren allows himself to give in to that desire. He's certain that when he finds FN-2187, he will be able to find the path to the girl—and perhaps Luke Skywalker himself. All signs point to that being likely, what with her absence. But more than that, it's necessary to find the traitor and put him down. Among the First Order, there should be no chaos. Among the First Order, there should be nothing like the Republic, like the Resistance, like the criminals that would continue to plunge the galaxy into disorder. There should be nothing like the roots that Kylo Ren himself had once upon a time, but he slowly cut away.

(With little satisfaction.

No, with no satisfaction, even if he had learned to suppress that feeling inside of him thanks to the Supreme Leader's assistance.)

The next most important step is reconnaissance—as well as a diversion. Kylo Ren knows that Leia Organa must be absent when the First Order strikes at the Resistance base, because he knows that he cannot challenge the darkness inside of himself so soon after Han Solo's death. He cannot chance the light showing its face to make him yield. He cannot risk it.

When it's all set in place, when most of the Resistance fighters have been forced to abandon their base to stop a First Order invasion elsewhere, that's when Ren strikes. His small cadre of soldiers lands, and he instructs the stormtroopers to keep the rebels busy while he finds FN-2187. It is difficult, especially given the weight of his armor, and he almost wishes he had considered going about this differently, had considered pretending that he was finally returning home—but he knows he cannot allow that temptation to hang above his head. Snoke can only be expected to be patient with the light in his heart for so long. No, he must pursue the traitor this way, to find the information, and bring an end to his life.

His fingers wrap tight around his lightsaber as he enters the base, the sound of chaos and blaster guns left in his wake. Inside, once the doors close, it's silent. He knows this base because he's been in some version of it, and though the rebels move, their plans rarely change. He recalls it from Ben's youth.

Kylo Ren's head tilts forward as he finds himself drawn to the traitor's room, where he proceeds to kill the nurse observing him, lightsaber cut through her midsection. As she falls to the ground, he looks at her face. Ben had played with her once as a child, he realizes. She should never have become a rebel.

His hand moves over Finn's resting face, and he breathes carefully, Force drawn upon.] Awaken, traitor, [he commands, doing what he can to bring the former stormtrooper to consciousness.]

WOW RUDE REN the only douche here is u buddy

[reconditioning]

[It's the ghost of an inorganic snap in the dark: pain searing into the flesh of his shoulder, the way it tears when momentum spins him backwards on his own heel from some unregistered blow and then-- then, he chokes on his own breath in the snow, vision dulling by degrees. His spine is on fire, and his fingers won't move, and he thinks, only briefly, that he's screwed up again. Not for himself; for her.

And then it's pitch. Dull like water in his ears until he hears voices unmarred by electronic filters or the echoes of Starkiller's frigid halls. Warmer, he guesses - for as long as it lasts. Something at his side sets to beeping, there's a hand at his wrist, and he's under again.

He doesn't dream.

Not until there's a weight on his chest too heavy to shrug off. Seconds later, months maybe, there's no way to tell. Just that pressure that digs into his pores, eyelids fluttering over his blurred, useless vision. He's sweating, and he hasn't got a clue when that happened or why when the air feels thick enough to choke him, freezing cold besides. Something's wrong. He'd call it soldier's intuition if he ever proved himself to be one, but in truth (one he already actively recognizes) it's just instincts: no functioning subconscious mind ignores stimuli on that scale.

The voice that follows all, though-- it's not right. No, it's not real. Can't be real. The words are all garbled and they don't make sense as he struggles to come to, focus drifting in and out, coughing on his own spit where it catches ungracefully in his throat. It doesn't matter that he instantly recognizes polished metal over woven cloth, or the old, familiar rasp of Kylo Ren's lightsaber, fear cinching like a vice knotted somewhere deep between his ribs. It doesn't matter.] You're not real.

I'm dreaming. This is-- this is all a dream.

[Wake the hell up, Finn. Whatever this is just-- wake up.]

sad manbabychild

[lightrey]

[She knew that they would see each other again. It was not foretold, but foregone; she was part of this war now, and he was one of its primary actors. The question was where, not if.


Rey had her answer on a forested planet, a magnificently green place covered almost entirely in tall, thin trees. But it was a dark, solemn place, interspersed with swamps and crumbling temples and other ruins of indeterminate design or origin. The thick canopy shrouded her walk in twilight, no matter the actual time of day. Occasionally, points of light broke through where the latticework of leaves thinned, scattering warm shards of the sun over the mossy forest floor.

When she comes to a particularly bright patch, Rey takes a moment. Not to rest, but just to stop and turn her face skyward, to catch the sun on her skin where she can. She breathes deeply, tasting the air: cool, wet, bitter and sharp with decaying leaves, with ancient bark, with roots that run deep beneath the earth and show only a hint of themselves above ground. She turns it into a training exercise, trying to feel the Force around her, picturing it as a series of glowing, entwined wires.

She's only just begun this ramshackle meditation when she hears dry branches snapping, angrily; the footsteps approaching do not stumble, but crush. She tightens her grip on her staff. Luke Skywalker's lightsaber, clipped to her sash, stays where it is--for the moment.

Rey calls, defiant.]

I'm right here.

the saddest to ever step out of Hot Topic (also sorry for being slow, vacation is cruel!)

[narcissithstic]

[Where there is light, so too must a shadow be cast, persisting always in its wake.

Words he'd heard often as a boy, sat listlessly before his uncle - his given teacher. Back then Luke had meant it as a cautionary warning, a way to remind his students that they were always in danger of slipping backwards into darkness with little more than a single step. Back then, he never really cared. His own thoughts were far, and muddied, and his focus drifted as often as instruction died down.

Now, though, the words echo in his ears. More true than they've ever been, and more relevant in the moment that he reaches out across the distance to map the contours of her presence: she's close. Ren feels the calmness of her heart in a contrast to his own's fervent hunger, knows-- without needing confirmation-- she feels the same. Bound to this point, this conflict, by fate. The Light and her cast shadow. Her monster stalking in the dark.]

You should be running while you still have the chance. [The mask distorts his voice again, blocking her from seeing the deep scarring she left behind when Luke's saber stole down into his skin. It's healed, at least. As much as it ever will.]

my bff finn

[necessities]

[She doesn't mention him right away.

For weeks, her training with Luke is methodical. Rey wakes up every morning, runs up and down the stairs a few times, and then she and Luke work together on meditating and mastering the Force. Truthfully, it goes well. Her grounded nature means that she takes to the Force rather easily, and without any interruptions from the outside world, she's able to focus, to feel as if she has a new place to belong. Here, their food is simple and as are their living arrangements, but Rey acclimates almost too easily. Compared to the dry, hot climate of Jakku, the cool ocean air and green is refreshing and bright.

Every morning, she loves looking out over the ocean. There are times when she misses Jakku and its familiarity, and there are times where she wonders if Maz may have been wrong, if her parents are truly out there. These moments become rarer and rarer as time moves on.

It's only after a while that Luke finally asks after her friends. She says she doesn't have many. She speaks of BB-8 fondly first, as well as General Organa (somehow, she can't help but call her General Organa, even to her brother). Chewie comes next, and she mentions her time with Han, and how she had been glad to meet him. And finally—finally—she ends on Finn. Her voice swells with emotion, and she explains a few things, about how he's different, about how he had never been one to give in to his conditioning, about ...

And then she realizes: he may also be sensitive to the Force, but less inclined to access it as easily. For how grounded she is, Finn is the opposite. He is air to her earth in a sense, and that's never a bad thing. Luke takes her hand, and when they commune, they both realize that her revelation is true. But it's not one they can act upon, not yet.

More time passes, and even more, and then one day she's returning on an X-Wing. Luke lets her pilot while he sits in the gunner seat, and when they land, she climbs out carefully. After being gone for nearly fifteen years, it's time for Luke to return to his sister and offer his apologies. He's been gone too long, and he knows it's allowed the Dark Side to take advantage of the imbalance of the galaxy once more.

As for her, she has a pair of lightsabers clipped to her belt. She strides inside, allowing the Force to guide her, and when she finds him sitting and looking over a monitor, happy and well, she comes to stand alongside him. It's Finn, and seeing him fills her with relief. He should have been the first friend she mentioned, but ending on him seemed proper. It was the right thing to do.]

I have a gift for you, [she says, and she can barely hide the excitement in her voice. In fact, she's obviously holding it in.] I know last time it didn't go well for you, but I thought—well—[She rolls her shoulders forward amiably before she reaches down for the saber to carefully unhook it and then—naturally—extend it to him.]

besties 5ever

[reconditioning]

[The base is on fire. Not literally, just-- alive in a way Finn hasn't seen it before. Ever. Han was one thing, but Luke Skywalker? That's the kind of legendary people write stories about for ages. Wherever he turns, no one's sitting still (not even technicians hammering away at their keys can keep their legs from bobbing up and down as they work) all nervous excitement and hopeful whispers, eyes bright on the occasional glance upwards.

Sure, he's one of them. Can't keep from smiling while he works out the stiffness of his shoulder under the leather of his own jacket (Poe patched it up over the months of healing it took to get him upright and functional again) still stuck on the daily physical therapy sessions for fighting any scar tissue in the artificial grafts they'd given him. It's better now.

All things considered, it's more than he should have wound up with, being crazy enough to run headlong at a monster like that with nothing but a lightsaber in hand. Still, though, she was worth it. The only thing he'd ever say when asked about how Starkiller all went down from his eyes.

He missed her.

So when the ship touches down, it's Rey he's looking for from his place in the back of the crowd (can't take the jostling of trying to edge in just yet) watching and waiting with his fingertips flexed until she's finally there in front of him, holding off on some overly dramatic show in part because he can't fully believe it's happening, and in part because she-- well, she's holding something out to him, and he knows the shape of it well enough after where they last said their goodbyes without any words. Something in his expression softens. Hard to say if it's apprehension or admiration, but he holds his breath before asking, eyes lifting to meet her stare:] You're serious.

come crylo into my arms ya baby

[hunx]

cries all the time

[narcissithstic]

[They survived the destruction of the empire they'd built. And if it means something-- anything at all-- Kylo Ren seems dead to it, just as he had been during the shuttle ride that'd only given them the barest chance to escape the blast.

Only he isn't bleeding anymore.

The medical staff had been beyond efficient, and while the lasting damage to his face wasn't within their abilities to erase, he's healed in short, expected order. Walks without slanting to his side where the blaster shot had bored in deep, doesn't show any visible response to working his injured shoulder, or how his weight might rest too far over his left leg. For all intents and purposes, taking into account every visible sign, he should be fine.

But he says little. Less than that-- nothing. Works his jaw during operational meetings, now quiet sessions between Snoke and his assets, held in forgotten, furiously-guarded spaces: mask off without pretense or stubborn, biting pride that might otherwise sit between them. It's not until the dust left behind in the wake of their holographic company settles that his eyes drift across vacant space to meet Hux's own. Silent, tired and unreadable, and possibly waiting for the only other party present to up and leave first.]

kylo garbage monster

[necessities]

[Mercy is a part of the Jedi code. Mercy allows someone to release themselves from their anger, from their resentment, from all of their bitterness. All of these things blind someone. It steers them down the path to the dark side, giving them vindication when they don't give mercy.

All of this is a truth, but as Rey stands over Kylo Ren with her lightsaber over his face, she doesn't care for mercy. She recalls seeing Finn weak and dying. She recalls the pain that she felt when he ran Han Solo through with his lightsaber, deceiving him one final time. She recalls all of this, and she knows he deserves this. He doesn't deserve mercy.

But she closes her eyes, drawing upon the Force. And in that moment, she realizes that she's not someone who can decide what someone else deserves. She closes her lightsaber and then crouches down. Soon after, she smacks the butt of the lightsaber into Ren's face, knocking him out.

*

When Kylo Ren—Ben Solo—awakens, he's in one of the Resistance's cells. Around his wrists are blue light cuffs, and he's hanging down from the ceiling. The position is meant to disorient them, though the cuffs themselves were designed during the Clone Wars to hold both Sith and Jedis when they were captured. Obtaining them hadn't been easy, but it had proved necessary when the Resistance learned more about the Knights of Ren. They hadn't thought it possible that the first they might capture is one of their Masters, but here they are.

No, here Rey is, with anxiousness running through her shoulders and arms. She sits down in a chair in front of Ben, hands planted on each of her knees. She's already set her lightsaber down on the floor, partly to show that she wants this to be peaceful, and partly to ensure that she has to make even more conscious movements to cause him harm. She doesn't trust herself entirely, and she does her best to stifle the rage inside of her.

She doesn't wake him. Instead, she sits, eyes focused on him.

And she waits.]

[narcissithstic]

[He's not ashamed when he wakes, still feeling the ringing in his ears in spite of the fact that it's been hours-- or maybe days-- since he last held consciousness. Pain is fuel in his veins: either negligible or useful depending on what the situation calls for, and so his first concern isn't the pressure pinned across the fine bones of his wrists, it's the figure there before him, slight and small, limned with light.

How disgustingly appropriate.

Kylo wipes his tongue across the roof of his mouth, washing away the dryness. ] And so the tables have turned.

[His tone is distant. Objective. As cut and dry as if the mask he favored was still tugged over his skin. An easy habit to keep.] Do you prefer it this way? Playing the interrogator.

trashy self-indulgent au time

[hunx]

[the curtains open on hux, alumni and guest orator of the university. he gives an excellent speech and then connects with some of the staff and students at a meet-n-greet afterward to answer questions, discuss things, the list goes on. he winds up stuck in a conversation with a student who is trying way too hard to impress him, and keeps trying to disengage with no luck.

Eventually he decides that he just has to force his way out of this situation and so he sets his eyes on a student who has piqued his interest before on previous visits. Hux excuses himself and strides over to his target, excuses him from any company he's with ("We have an engagement to attend and must be leaving now, so sorry"), and whisks him away out the nearest door.]

I can only listen to someone backpedal about politics for so long. Have you had dinner?

oh my god I can't believe you

[reconditioning]

[Finn's modus operandi is to keep to himself. It makes things easier in a general sense when competition is typically the name of the game, and his bunkmates never seem to mind so long as he's not catering to Slip (it'd be an affectionate nickname if not for the fact that it stems entirely from the poor kid's proficiency at flunking just about everything). So sequestered in his own space near the back of the room it's easy to catch the click of Hux's polished shoes as he closes in, Finn's attention snapping upwards just in time to see disaster on its way.

Falls in step as he's expected to-- because of course he does-- with one uneasy glance backwards over his shoulder where Slip still stands fidgeting in his wake.] Uh, no.

[And then, belatedly correcting himself:] No, sir.

[Exams are tomorrow. Exams are tomorrow and he promised he'd help Slip finish cramming for it.] Did you need some recommendations or...

but also serious canon stuff with finn

[hunx]

I’ll send a storm to capture your heart and bring you home.
Oh, carried on the breeze, you’ll never find me gone.

lifts hands

[reconditioning]

[He made a mistake, back on Starkiller. One wrong move, one easy slip and then it was the hard slam of Ren's fist across his jaw, spinning him on his heel. Searing pain, pitched darkness as gravity overturned itself - Rey's voice settled in and his mind went blank, cold as the snow around them. After that, he wasn't sure what happened. Fractional details, like the gloss of an imperial class cruiser, the glint of sharp features in cramped spaces, all of it stayed with him, like white noise layered across film. He never really tried to make sense of it.

--

Reconditioning wasn't so bad. In truth, FN-2187 doesn't have the capacity to remember it, or the girl from Jakku, or the pilots he'd come to care for. His memory's spotty at best, but he's glad, at least, that he managed to survive the worst the Resistance had to throw at the First Order. Most of the other cadets never did, after all (Slip, Zeroes, Nines-- their numbers were all pulled from the database after Starkiller went down) but it also meant he shifted in rank at a near unprecedented rate: as a shock trooper he was expected to stand guard at Hux's side (occasionally Phasma's, least often Kylo Ren's) for even minor errands and reports. There were looks for it. Sometimes whispers about betrayal (flashes of assumed jealousy from older soldiers) all too superficial when his company more often consisted of superior officers, and his quarters were too isolated to keep any of them close.

He pulls the helmet off - striking red and white decals glinting in the light of Hux's office, one of the few places he's permitted personal freedom while on duty. Evaluations were common (with the importance of his station so evident, FN-2187 didn't think it unusual) and he stays standing somewhere near the windows with his gloved thumb tapping out a steady rhythm overtop his helmet's face plate.] Same dream. Starkiller Base - lot of blue light but mostly just noise.

I don't know. Memory loss happens, sir. FN-2000 took a hit to the head when he was eight, said he couldn't remember anything he did for half a year, but he was just fine.

coughs hi finn

[rollingdroid]

[we promise not to tase you again]

but do you mean it this time

[reconditioning]

[Sometimes the hardest part about being on the Falcon was the fact that Finn just didn't speak binary. They had translator droids for that back on base, and no trooper was ever going to spend his time learning what beep boops meant instead of polishing off efficiency courses. Doubly so for Finn, who had a squad of fellow cadets to look after for a handful of years before the drop to Jakku. Phasma was already on him for his sentimentality; he can't imagine how well she'd have taken to him burning time with a machine or two.

In hindsight, Finn thinks, emboldened by his newfound freedom, he probably should have.

He exhales once, chewing on the tough edge of a food ration, attention flicking back and forth between the stars outside and the noise inside where Han Solo and Chewbacca are currently discussing something that Finn can only guess is probably related to the injury on the wookie's arm. It's only on the glance back that he realizes BB-8 is there, hovering nearby, round as ever.] Hey, little guy. How's it going?

have some weird (gay) stuff for finn

[myhandslipped]

you're one of us

punches you

[reconditioning]

Get up. [It's gritted out through set teeth as he tries to pull Slip to his feet. The simulation's over, they've succeessfully completed yet another grueling tactical exercise (this time against JF squad, with FN-2187, Zeroes and Nines pulling the bulk of it, as always) and one of many now waged on Starkiller's frigid tundra. More practical, Phasma had said, though with the long hours they've all been pulling, 2187 can't shake the idea they're gearing up for something.

Still, that's not his current focus: Slip's down, and probably injured, and FN-2187 can't shake the urge to have him upright by the time Phasma gets there for all their sakes. His grip is tight; he's hissing it off the comms to keep the problem anything but obvious.] Come on, you've gotta get up.

Time for some Kylo on Kylo action.

[cooloranch]

[It can be strange, the Force.

Perhaps in meditation this began, a stray thought striking hard enough to open a crack in the Dark. Perhaps in dreams the crack was widened - or perhaps at some imperceptible moment even longer ago, watching with pursed lips and narrowed eyes all along. When the seed was planted is inconsequential, in the grand scheme of things.

What is less inconsequential is the figure that stands now against the wall of Ren's bedchamber, shoulders back and arms folded against his chest. As tangible as anything else in the room, he heaves a sigh, breaking the silence of a night that had been so still until this moment. An intruder. One much too familiar to be possible.

If a stray thought had started the metaphorical crack, here stands a man with a mallet in one hand and a chisel in the other.]

Don't you think you've ignored me for long enough?

[Ben smiles softly.]

I don't think either of us are ready for this

[narcissithstic]

[He works his teeth behind the mask, silent and visibly-- tangibly-- agitated. Given how thin his temperament can be, the polished, heavy metal shields him from ever being so transparent amongst either allies or enemies, but here, now, with his shoulders tense and squared and his breathing so shallow it barely registers on automated filters, he suspects his uninvited...guest needs no visual cues.

How miserably inconvenient.]

No. [Harsh. Rasping with cold, digitally altered spite. It's no coincidence that false shadows pour in with conflict clinging stubbornly to his thoughts (memories and perceptions always altered, always skewed by the moment rather than the man behind them) but it is always Ren that prevails. It will be the case again this time, he's sure of it - even if the Supreme Leader is not.]

The dead should stay where they belong, Ben Solo.

one for rey, one for finn, and one for anyone else who wants this loser

[flightforfreedom]

1. For Rey

Sure, he didn't know anything about her, beyond what Finn had said. But what Finn had said - what Finn had done - had been enough. He'd dragged the whole rebellion with him to save her, and had managed to save the rest of them in the meantime. And then she'd dragged him all the way back, half dead, but thankfully very much alive.

He didn't need to know her, to know that he already liked her. Or that he owed her one, despite the state of the jacket.

Because at least the jacket had come back.

When they'd landed, Poe had run over right away - all smiles and pumped up adrenaline - only to find them pulling Finn out on a stretcher, and Rey standing stone faced over him. They hadn't spoken then, but they'd shared a glance. A worried, fretful glance, all triumph sucked from him instantly. He'd run off after the stretcher even as the rest of the team celebrated. A lot of them had died. He was used to that, he expected that. And in some ways, death might have been easier for him to deal with. Wounded and dying but home? Way harder to face.

So he didn't go looking for Rey until Finn was stable. Until he had actual news to give her, though he was sure she'd already have been told. He still wanted to thank her in person.

When he found her, he jogged over, still in his flight suit that he'd forgotten to change out of, yet.

"Hey. Rey, right?"

2. For Finn, post recovery

"Yeah, there you go, you got it," Poe was saying, grinning as he leaned over Finn's shoulder in the cockpit of the X-Wing. Really, the ship was too small for both of them, but that's why the canopy was popped open as he pointed to the controls. "These are the in atmosphere controls. Works a little differently since you've got air and gravity to contend with. We'll start you on something with an actual co-pilot seat, but there's nothing quite like sitting in the cockpit of this baby, is there?"

3. Wildcard baby

boops your nose

[reconditioning]

He wants to say yes. No, scratch that-- he wants to say hell yes, but he's keeping his hands mostly away from the controls, and in that too-tight space it's hard to keep from feeling like accidentally elbowing something will send a shower of blaster fire raining down on some poor tech mulling around nearby. Feels like hunkering down in the tie fighter all over again (less immediate, sure) only last time it was easier to swallow down the idea of knocking out a little friendly fire.

"You're sure this thing's off, right?"

Because he can count out at least ten lights-- little tiny, blinking lights-- that are still on and probably functional. And possibly dangerous.

lukeuke

[pilot]

                 #priorities

this is the best prompt I've ever received in my life

[skyfeets]

Han, we need to go now!

[They'd been making a run for supplies. Two ships, two heroes of the rebellion, and one incredibly easy shipment to pick up. Honestly, after everything they've been through, Luke figured it was more of an excuse to get out and relax a little - the two of them. Leia was always good at figuring out what was best for everyone, even if they didn't see it at first.

Now, surrounded by hired thugs probably out for Han Solo's head (amongst other vital body parts), Luke isn't so sure the word 'relaxation' will ever come within fifty feet of either of them again.

He's half hunkered behind an overturned table by the bar, opposite the cantina's exit. Fires off a few hasty shots that do a decent job of hitting the mark, trying to keep Han covered as he-- ] What are you doing?!

baby boy

[naberrie]

[ twenty years have gone by in the blink of an eye and in an eternal poisonous crawl.

the decision of obi-wan and yoda had been absolute. the time for diplomacy, the time for peace…they were long past. the time for fighting too was over. it was a time to retreat, as much as the thought of it burned. a time to disappear, take stock of their immeasurable loss, and bide their time for a new opportunity. it was a time to be utterly selfless when her every fiber screamed to be selfish.

anakin skywalker's children could not exist. the risk to them was too great. as for anakin's secret wife, he would not stop searching as long as he knew her to live. the solution was impossibly simple. but oh, how she had raged against it until the reason she was famed for returned.

twenty years she has been waiting, aged by time and grief, but she still raises her head proud. this is a risk. this is fallacy. she is tossing away everything that had been done to protect her children in the name of sentiment, but she could no longer bear the silence. the stories passed to her by old friends came no more. all she has left are the rumors of exploits, the beginnings of legend, and though they thrill her and make her proud they are not enough.

a coded message had been sent, asking to meet on this planet on this day. she chose a plain with nothing around for miles. she landed her ship where it is plain to see. and she settled to wait, her fingers trembling.

when the white and orange x-wing descends, she releases a breath. in the time it takes her to gather the scraps left of her courage and lower the ramp, the fighter has already landed. when she steps outside, she catches sight of a familiar blue domed head. r2-d2 beeps in excitement, the black lens fixed on her. despite the tortuous ball of nerves settled heavily in her belly, she smiles at the sight of the loyal little droid. then her heart catches in her throat when the cockpit hood lifts, and the pilot climbs out.

the former queen of the naboo, the once senator whose opponents would have seen her dead to quiet her finds her mouth gone dry and her throat working nervously. her attention is on the young man walking toward her. even when r2 is released from his socket and wheels toward her, chirping a cheerful greeting, she does not look away from the young face at once strange and familiar. a small bump by r2 against her leg has her look down. smiling, she lays a hand on the domed head. ]

Hello, old friend, [ she greets the droid quietly. heartfelt gratitude laces her observation. ] You've looked after them.

[ she gets a bright beeped yes in response. steeling herself, she lifts her head again. the shine of tears marks her eyes. her voice is clear, still her greatest weapon, still her first line of defense, and carries easily to the young man she had last seen as a newborn in her arms. padmé does not need the force to know before her stands her son. ]

Do you know who I am?

I'm not at all ready for this

[skyfeets]

[It's a strange request. Sure, he'd earned both his medal and his keep in the eyes of the resistance, he guesses that kind of recognition might warrant a direct message or two asking for a pilot (not some no-name farmboy from the back end of Tatooine) that's trusted. Respected. But there weren't specifics attached: no names in return, no demands, no offered rewards - all the things you'd expect to find in a message with that much encryption.

He'd been warned against a potential trap. Promised he'd keep R2 on alert (though with how friendly the often temperamental droid seems to be with their contact, he's fairly certain they're well and far away from any immediate hot water) and never once felt some creeping, nagging itch the way he had back on the falcon before.

So when he smiles, running a few fingers through his helmet-mussed hair to comb it out, it's all sincere. All real.] Of course.

[She looks...nice. Whoever she is. Warm eyes, soft features unmarred by however many years she must have had under her belt.] You're the one that sent the message. My contact.

oh captain, my captain

[sololoquy]

I didn't know how to win
I had to invent new rules
I feel like broken glass that's been taped together to keep the blood in

[inveterated]

Get up.

[The words aren't soft, aren't kind; he'd been badly wounded in his battle on Starkiller base (apt she supposes, considering the state of the First Order) but his injuries had been seen to by the best they had - he would recover provided he had the will, she was certain of it. Which is why she's here in the first place: polished armor glinting in the harsh light of the medbay itself, helmet turning her voice into something more static than human.

He will hear her. He will wake up.]

4 Han and Rey

[narcissithstic]

[cont from: here

Ben keeps to his own space on the return trip. Aside from Han Solo's occasional (and often loud) trips to the cargo bay, he doesn't venture to the front of the ship, which is likely a relief for both Rey and Finn, having had no say in the matter of whether Kylo Ren fled Starkiller's destruction alongside them.

Still, there haven't been any violent confrontations (yet) and when neither Snoke's former apprentice or Han Solo raise voices or strike metal, the Falcon runs as quietly as she always has: rattling vents, humming thrusters-- and the ever-present hiss of old familial tension.]

[scrounging]

[Technically, there's no reason she needs to be in the cockpit. They're safely away from the blast radius of Starkiller Base and the destruction of the base had almost certainly left the First Order's forces in shambles. What was the likelihood of anything coming after them? Slim to none, she tells herself. But she isn't really worried about what probably isn't chasing them, is she? Finding a very clear, an incredibly present danger doesn't require looking behind the Millennium Falcon because it's already here.

He's Han's son. He's Han's son and that means something. She wills herself to fixate on it, but she's spent five thousand days being no one's child and Kylo Ren knows that. He knows that because he'd pried his fingers into her head and ripped it out of her while hunting for a secret he thought was more important. He knows that because he's a monster - one they're now flying straight back to D'Qar, straight back to the last home of the Resistance and the last piece of the map to Skywalker himself.

She can't see the sense in it, but she can feel the high strung beat of her pulse that hasn't quieted since-- she doesn't know. This doesn't feel like they've escaped at all. It feels like they're bringing an explosion back with them. She keeps her hands off the controls, tries to focus on the instrument readings, and-- jumps when someone enters the cockpit from behind her.]