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PROMPT POST #1 - CLOSED

This post is closed to new prompts!

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+ All prompts should focus on TFA characters. You can't post OT or PT-only prompts.
+ One prompt per comment please.
+ You can request both kink and non-kink content
+ Crossovers, characters from the other media are allowed, but must relate to the 2015 movie in some way.
+ All prompt comments should begin with a pairing tag (eg Rey/Finn) or Gen for no pairing.
+ Use 'Any' when prompting for any pairing at all (eg Kylo/Any or Any/Any)
+ Anyone, everyone, no one? Use "Other." (e.g. Poe/Other)
+ Warn for common triggers, please
+ NO PROMPTS FEATURING CHARACTERS UNDER 18 IN SEXUAL SITUATIONS.

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This is very good.

anon, this started out being just Han/Leia but got a little out of hand and more fix-it-ish, but i hope you like it anyway!

--

Looking back, he'll think of it like making a decision, but it's simpler than that. He knew before he left that it was likely it would come to this, that he was going to go after Ben no matter the cost. He's decided already, and he's made peace with the risk, but this is still the sort of thing that wants a moment of quiet, a deep, steadying breath.

And it's in that moment of clarity that he feels it, or hears it-- he's not sure which, or either, just that it feels like being spoken to. Don't.

He mistakes it for fear, or doubt, but the attribution doesn't settle. There are a dozen reasons simple and complex to be afraid right now, but he isn't. Han prefers his gambles to be blind but even he can sense his odds on this one aren't good. It doesn't matter, though, because that's his son, this might be his last chance. If he doesn't say something now, he might well be condemning Ben to die here.

The voice, or the instinct, or whatever it is, stirs in him again, sympathetic but adamant. Ben slows and stops, his tall, imposing form drawing up, lit by the last dregs of a dying sun's light. There is nothing Han wants more than to go now, to call to him, to try his luck and bring him home, but whatever it is he's heard or felt, it stills his voice. He shuts his eyes and when he opens them a moment later, Ben is stalking off already. Useless. Han shakes his head and breathes a weak, frustrated curse, and slinks off to place more charges and find the kids.

They don't talk about it after. What they've done has saved countless lives but it doesn't feel like a victory, not at all, not with Finn half dead and Rey's account of what happened, of Ben, wild-eyed and crackling with rage. It's the first time Han finds himself tempted to call the young man by the name he's chosen, the first time he's been so close to believing his son is truly gone.

When they land he stays back, inside, with some pretense of checking on a faulty sensor while they get their wounds seen to, but he's sure they all understand. Chewbacca saw enough, he knows, to tell Leia, and with any luck she'll leave him be and they'll grieve apart and things won't change so much at all. Sitting alone in his quarters on the Falcon, which for too brief a while we're theirs, not his alone, it's the first time he feels like he's failed as a father. Losing Ben was harder than anything, but giving up that last chance to save him...

He's always been a scoundrel, maybe he's always been a coward.

She comes aboard when he's finally stopped sulking and gone to check the ship, because it's been far too long since he had the time and opportunity to give the Falcon the attention she deserves. But it seems it'll have to wait. He can't even steel himself to face her, he has nothing to say in his own defense, so he stays in the cockpit, looking at nothing.

Leia comes up behinds him and wraps her arms around his shoulders, presses a kiss to his temple as she holds him tightly.

"I know," she says. "I heard it."

Of course.

----

It feels like everyone on the planet has turned out to see them off. The ship's repaired, they've laid in supplies, taken out the worst of the junkyard modifications... Hell, he's pretty sure someone scrubbed her down. Hardly a necessary task, but he can feel a smile tugging at his lips at the gesture.

Leia is there, looking bright and official and hopeful.

"General," he says facetiously, and she smiles at him.

"I was afraid you were gonna leave without giving me a goodbye kiss."

Behind him Chewbacca lets out a trumpeting, chuckling growl. He glances over his shoulder.

"You missed your shot," he calls back, and then he leans down to kiss his wife like he hasn't done in years, like he was too afraid to do before they went to destroy Starkiller, because it would have been goodbye then and he didn't have the heart to say it.

When they part, she moves to embrace the Wookiee, and then the girl, holding each for a long moment. Longer than she gave him, he thinks, but that's not true, it's just he wishes they had more time.

"May the Force be with you," she calls as they go.

----

He'd been afraid it would be difficult, having her aboard the ship. It's been him and Chewie and no one else for so long, but she fits in like that lost bit of Luke's map. Sometimes she's full of questions and stories about the ship, all the things she saw come and go on Jakku, what little she knows of how Unkar Plutt managed to steal it. Other times she just sits and watches him with her deep, old eyes, and he wonders what Ben told her. He won't ask.

When they break through the cloud over he can tell that she knows exactly where he is; he recognizes the look on her face, the odd stillness that comes over her. Han has never envied it, that sense for something bigger, but just this once he has to wonder what it would be like.

They land on the shore and he waves her on before she can say anything. They've handled the ship on their own for longer than she's been alive, after all, and she's got purpose burning in her eyes.

It feels like a hundred years later when they take the final turn. Han is leaning more heavily than he'll ever admit on Chewbacca's arm, muttering to himself about old age and stairs and trying to figure out why in chaos they didn't think to hover and drop a ladder or something to get up here, but he quiets when they come into view of the twin figures on the summit. She looks so much like Luke when they met, standing there in her desert clothes holding the lightsaber, clutched close to her chest in both hands. And Luke...

He's aged, which somehow takes Han by surprise, because the second they lock eyes it feels like no time has passed. That grief is still there in his gaze, hardly tempered by the time. But seeing his friend, even in such dark circumstances-- it feels like breaking through the clouds again. It gives him a surge of new energy, enough to take the last few steps two at a time while the Jedi smiles at Rey and excuses himself to romp across the grass like a damn kid.

And Han, he feels just the same as they embrace somewhere in the middle. It ought to be a mess of grief and guilt and awkward distance, but it isn't. There ought to be questions and explanations and news, but there's nothing but the fiercely joyful silence of friends too long parted. The girl must think they're a couple of mad old fools, but he doesn't care, and after a moment both men find themselves folded into the enthusiastic, fuzzy embrace of a Wookiee who cares as much about them as they care about each other.

They decide to take shelter with Luke for the night. It's certainly likelier to be comfortable than a night in the Falcon, and Han is anything but eager to go another round with those steps. They talk; mostly, Luke and Rey talk, and Han has the feeling there's a whole undercurrent to their conversation he can't hear. It's funny, only because he knows there's a whole other conversation between himself and Luke that Rey isn't privy to; not the mystical Force, just long, fond familiarity.

The fire is fading when Luke shifts a little closer. The girl has drifted to sleep, using her pack as a pillow, even though there's plenty of proper bedding just a few feet off. Force of habit, Han guesses.

"I think it was brave, what you did," says his friend softly, and Han stifles a humorless laugh.

"Anything but," he says. But somehow that doesn't sit right either. He doesn't know what kept him from running after Ben, but he knows it wasn't fear.

Luke shakes his head and smiles in that old way he's always had.

"It wasn't the right moment," he says, and Han wonders at the hundred things that could mean.

Uncomfortable, uncertain, he leans toward the fire.

"You did the right thing," Luke says, bumping his shoulder with his own. "Going home."

That makes him smile, and he straightens his back. The same sort of clarity, what he'd call a sense of destiny if he were more superstitious, hangs over this moment, but without that note of warning. This, he knows, without knowing how, is what is meant to be. He looks up at the star-studded sky, the invisible distance to where Leia and the Resistance and, somewhere, his son, are waiting for them.

"And now it's your turn."

Ho god urg this is so wrong see you in hells guys.

I am writing as we speak.

Thirded

awww this is a cute prompt!
i like my hylo pairing dark, but funny works too :D

10! That's heartbreaking, and Leia saying she shouldn't have sent him away, which I'm assuming means he didn't want to go. Augh!

If only every morning I could be greeted by a singing, warm, wet Poe Dameron in my shower. What a dream. And now my new foolproof kink is Poe calling Finn sweetheart...like, yum. AND FINN PICKING POE UP AND HOLDING HIM AGAINST A WALL. GOD.

This is both sad and absolutely hilarious: He’s not even entirely sure what a whisper bird is, except that he probably couldn’t eat it and that it probably wouldn’t eat him. The First Order’s lessons about the fauna and flora of the universe tended to stop there.

I totally get Finn, because I, too, end up injuring myself when I see pics of Oscar Isaac smoking.

I can totally see Finn being a suave motherfucker when the moment calls for it. <3

I will fill this! I absolutely am addicted to this pairing now.

I love the worldbuilding in this, and I love the internal struggle and the way you bring the characters to life with such lovely nuance to them. Questions of identity and body image and all of that... I am constantly impressed at how wonderful fandom can be even when taking what otherwise is a strange trope, making it into something so achingly pretty. Please, I will give you ten internet cookies to write more of this.

Oh god yes! May I try to fill this one? I'd really like to.

I WILL FILL THIS BECAUSE HOLY HELL - it's a fantastic idea. I couldn't get it out of my head since I read this prompt last night, the ideas kept flowing. Check this space soon.

I am so excited, THANK YOU!

LOL @ Leia shit-talking stormtrooper skills. She knows better than anyone. And I can just imagine Finn cuddling into his blankets at night all smiley because GENERAL ORGANA IS HIS FRIEND! Great fic!

I love this!

Oh, this is exactly what I needed. Thank you.

aw noooo, not understanding why Poe isn't getting better after time has passed, injuries have healed? but Poe is still exhibiting signs of stress and fear? so obviously showing what happened and asking why the incident is different from other kidnappings/torture Poe has experienced is the next logical step, BB wouldn't even know why that's so bad D:

OP here.

Of course you can! I'd love it!

YES, seconding!

Oh man, the teasing and the banter and Han being totally into it...just gorgeous!

This is amazing:

You’re seriously comparing my grandfather, Darth Vader, born of the Force incarnate, to a melon???

This entire situation ismade of both hawt and lulz. Bravo!

Oh my GOD

Yes please!

It’s a surprise every night that any inkling of sleep can be coaxed from the hard pallet she calls a bed. Threadbare blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, knees drawn up to her chest, Rey relies on the crippling exhaustion of a day’s work to bludgeon her conscious mind into what might be called slumber. It works, and for that small thing she is grateful.

That, and the island.

It’s the point right between wakefulness and sleep that the images start, creeping slowly into her mind as she might into an exhaust port, sunken half in the sand. Rey doesn’t know if she’s ever seen an ocean not made of sand but there it is all the same, waves lapping at a white shore while green-streaked cliffs tower above. She can hear it, and smell it, the salt borne up by the spray a strange taste on her tongue, a sensation on her skin.

There’s a saying on Jakku, one she’s repeated to herself often: don’t curse the Gods – they’ll only retaliate. It’s one she should have reminded herself of when it came to the dreams, because maybe then she would have been left with the ocean. The ocean is nice, she thinks – calming. Peaceful. If that’s all there was, she might consider it a welcome little blessing at the end of the day.

Only, that’s not where the images ended. At least not any more. Each night is different now.

Some nights, as she slips further into the miasma that is her dreaming thoughts, the ocean shifts to a desert, small domes of clay rising like exposed boulders as two suns sink slowly behind the horizon. It’s quiet, so goddamn still, but it’s not her desert – it feels wrong, it tastes wrong. The dust from a passed sandstorm chokes her throat, and if she drew in enough air, she could almost taste the char of burning metal, of burning flesh.

She awakens from those dreams with salt on her cheeks and ice in her veins.

Other nights the shrill shriek of blaster fire zings by her ear, enough to muffle sound for a few moments after it passes, only to collide with a control panel in a furious shower of sparks. The scene changes, murky water filling her hastily strapped boots with the squelch of mud underfoot. The air reeks of sulfur and of decay, and if she could see anything in the fog, maybe then she could stop the fearful staccato of her heart.

It pumps against the wall of her chest long after Rey awakens from those dreams, gasping and reaching for the tendrils of vines she was sure had fallen around her.

The worst, however, are the dreams of the room.

Outside, she hears the dull roar of the ocean, can still smell the salt. But inside, it’s tiny and barren, no attempt made to add a splash of color, a splash of life, as she has so desperately tried to impart to the AT-AT she calls home. There is the knowledge that there should be no color, no life, as that would imply the occupant of the room deserved to feel at home, to feel at ease – to feel human.

No, there is nothing but crushing, crippling loneliness. Not like hers, never like hers. It is easy to be lonely when one has never been wanted. This is different; this is the loneliness of one that has known warmth, known joy, and has left it far behind. She aches for that warmth now, the warmth that she needn’t ever have felt for herself to know how much its loss ricochets around her chest like a blaster gone wrong. Days and months pass, and she dreams of the room more often, more strongly. She crawls into the skin of its occupant and drowns in the failure of lifetimes. Rey awakens each morning haunted, hunted.

Well, most mornings.

Some mornings watch as her hand steals quietly below the waistband of her trousers, homing in on the heat the dreams had awoken there. Half-awake the heel of her hand traces the path of another’s, the echo of something quite different sliding slickly against her palm. It’s not her own breath gasping in her ear, she thinks, the harsh brush of something she can’t quite place along her cheek. The soft hot spill against her palm causes her hips to lift, a prickling gooseflesh to rise on her bare arms and legs. Fragments, the lot of them, and when the last vestiges of sleep dissipate from her eyes and a sole fingertip comes to rub rub rub Rey wonders if she had imagined the flash of herself in her mind’s eye.

Probably, she figures, mind settling on the freighter pilot she’s seen at the outpost a handful of times before. Quiet, with blue eyes and a beard peppered by more years than she cares to count – yes, that will do nicely.

The dreams continue as they always do, night after night reaching into her subconscious and tangling the thoughts they found there. And each time, Rey wonders if she’s unknowingly reaching back.

Brilliant.

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Page 219 of 289

PROMPT POST #1 - CLOSED

This post is closed to new prompts!

Re: a belated fill

FILL: moment of clarity | Han/Leia & gen fix-it fluffery

Re: Luke/Rey, suprise incest

Re: Poe/Finn, Poe keeps bringing back First Order members, Finn's a little jealous

Re: Kylo/Hux, humor

Re: Gen, Han & Kylo, Spanking

Re: [FILL]: Finn/Poe, shower sex, "If The Refresher’s A-Rockin'…" [Mature/R]

Re: fill: i'll try anything once

Re: Touch-Starved Luke Skywalker/Rey

Re: FILL: bonus minifill: Kylo/any: Kylo Ren- the galaxy's most miserable omega

Re: Rey/Luke - Sharing Dreams

Re: Rey/Luke - Luke's Mechanical Hand

Re: Rey/Luke - Luke's Mechanical Hand

Re: Leia and Finn GEN, Poe/Finn optional

Re: FILL: moment of clarity | Han/Leia & gen fix-it fluffery

Re: FILL: moment of clarity | Han/Leia & gen fix-it fluffery

Re: Poe/any, BB-8 tw:non-con

Re: Rey/Luke - Sharing Dreams

Re: Phasma/Poe, noncon, fem!dom

Re: FILL: guilty until proven penitent | Han/Leia, oral, soft bdsm fun?

Re: FILL-- The Odd Couple

Re: [FILL]: Kylo/Hux, Self-Imposed and Self-Inflicted

Re: Poe/Finn/Rey, everyone is asexual

Re: FILL- Reaching Out - Rey/Luke - Sharing Dreams

Re: FILL- Reaching Out - Rey/Luke - Sharing Dreams