tfa_kink | PROMPT POST #1

Ben Solo was never force-sensitive, never trained under his uncle, never turned to the Dark Side.

But he did have a major falling out with his parents and left to make his own way in the galaxy (and changed his name to Kylo Ren to escape the notoriety of the Solo-Organa name).

Nevertheless on an unscheduled stop on a certain planet Jakku, he finds himself embroiled in a fire fight / chase between a defected First Order stormtrooper, a scavenger girl and a BB-8 unit.

And isn't that his father's old ship that those 3 are stealing to get away from the First Order? Hey!

Adventure time, family reunion etc etc?

I need it

I need this so much.

This is the best thing I never knew I needed.

OP, I don't want to get your hopes up because I'm in the middle of my last year of college, and I have to see TFA again/do some hella SW universe review/research but.

I keep coming back to this prompt and I want to write it SO BADLY.

So. Stay tuned??

OP here. I can wait! :D *sets up camp*

oooh, definitely adding this to my fill list! This'll probably just be a short little thing though, so if anyone wants to tackle the larger effects of not having a Sith for Rey to fight feel free!

-GR

This prompt has had a hold on my brain for the last week and I finally just went through the entire meme chronologically backwards looking for it so I could bookmark it because I just know in a fit of ADHD I'm going to end up writing something for this and it will be terrible but I'm not letting it get away from me again.

((I'm not gonna lie this is four thousand words of buildup to a pronunciation joke I stole from Stargate SG-1 and I might end up writing even more??? I'm planning things. I'm sorry. also I may or may not have misfired this as its own thread somehow so i'm just gonna... repost this here...))

--

Unkar Platt’s outpost stinks like the ass end of a refuse district on Coruscant, and every bit of stale provisions Kylo Ren tries to shovel into his mouth as quickly as he can has the same gritty aftertaste that only sand can provide. He grimaces and feels around his teeth with his tongue, trying to wipe the grains from his molars to avoid the unpleasant feeling of crunching down on them as he chews. Jakku orbits a yellow sun, and its burning rays bake the small sliver of skin that’s become visible at the back of the thick scarf he has wrapped around his neck and over the top of his head. Much like his food, and his mouth, and his pants, and his shoes, and probably even his gun, the scarf is full of sand.

Kylo Ren hates sand.

“Neme talamaq. Guaca skiduu telaqa.” Gesturing with his empty drink bowl and spitting a mouthful of sandy saliva onto the compacted ground of the lean-to serving as a restaurant of sorts, Kylo calls for another serving of the brown-tinged slop the people on this Force-forsaken Sarlacc pit of a planet like to call potable water. The heavyset Kelawatt that considers himself master of the establishment trundles over and sloshes some more of the drink into his bowl with one meaty hand, the other snatching away the credit chips Kylo offers like he thinks they might vanish. Wide mouth pursed tightly, the gangly man stuffed into a chair made for someone a fair amount smaller than him and possibly with several extra sets of limbs regards the drink with something resembling disgust. Of course a planet like Jakku wouldn’t have moisture farmers like any sort of respectable desert. Who needs drinkable water when you can have muddy, sandy, possibly radioactive groundwater pulled out of a well like a savage?

Kylo Ren takes a deep swig of the muddy water, tries not to let the sand settle in his mouth, and chases it with a large bite of the stale leavened rations he’d brought from his grounded quadjumper. A quick glance at the chronometer clipped to the back of his glove tells him he has another hour or so before the parts he’d requested from Platt could be picked up, and he shifts awkwardly in the small, uncomfortable chair he’s commandeered as he resigns himself to waiting out the day in a hot, smelly outpost on a hot, sandy kriffhole in the middle of nowhere.

That is, until a sand-colored blur vaults itself over his table with such force that the whole thing goes crashing to the hard-packed sandy ground, not even sparing him an apology as it- she?- ducks around the rusted red water pump that takes up most of the tent area and swings the metal pole in her hand with vicious accuracy. The woman hits home on whatever it is she’s attacking, and Kylo hears a strangled yell and a thump as her target falls to the ground. As he extricates himself from the chair and tries to go after the brunette with the buns- for compensation for the spilled water, to give her a piece of his mind, he’s not sure yet- a BB-unit astromech that looks a little familiar nearly bowls him over as it rolls past him hot on the woman’s heels. Kylo grabs the strap of his bag and slings it over his shoulder, long legs quickly taking him over to the scene of the ruckus, and he reaches for the woman’s shoulder just as she begins to jab at the man she’s managed to knock to the ground.

His world explodes into pain and confusion as the metal staff in her hands switches directions and catches him full-on in the face without any hesitation.

“Slaggin’-“ Kylo clutches at his bleeding nose with a wide hand full of sandy scarf, reeling back as he’s stared down by the fierce hazel eyes of the woman who apparently has no compunctions when it comes to assaulting strange men in stinking, sandy outposts. She looks like she’s just about ready to sweep his legs out from under him and make him join the dark-skinned man she’s beaten into the sand, and in the interest of his continued well-being the smuggler-slash-transporter-slash-everyman throws his free hand into the air in a gesture of surrender. The motion makes his hand shift against his nose, and the resultant crunch makes him swear against his bloody hand and scarf.

“This is none of your concern!” Her voice is high and heavily accented, an interesting anomaly that completely escapes the tall, gangly man as blood trickles from his broken nose and stains the front of his scarf and white shirt. She rounds on the man she’d chased down, slamming her staff into the ground just in front of where he’d been trying to scoot away from her. The BB-unit trills angrily in binary, the little beeps and whistles coming so fast that all the smuggler can catch is words like “thief” and “jacket”, and something about a “Poe-

“You belong to Poe Dameron?” Kylo’s voice is muffled by the hand over his nose and the bloody scarf staunching the trickle that still flows from the break, but the BB-unit swivels around as he addresses it and cranes its little head back until its one optic can focus on his face. He can see the little lens zoom in to get a better look, and offers it an awkward bloody half-smile; he must look terrifying, because the droid scoots back several inches with a frightened-sounding trill and bleep. Now he knows where he’d seen the little round thing before, though. It was Poe’s personal astromech, a one-of-a-kind orange and white gyrosphere model with a particularly inquisitive AI circuit.

“So does that jacket! He’s stolen it,” the woman claims, gesturing with her staff at the dehydrated-looking man she’d so effectively trapped.

“I didn’t steal it! I’ve had a pretty messed up day, so I’d appreciate it if- OW!” The droid snaps its attention towards the young man and rolls close enough to extend its self-defense prongs, zapping him in the leg and making him yelp. “Cut that out!”

“If you didn’t steal it, where’d you get it?” Kylo asks. Again his words come out muffled, but the intent- and how far he looms above everyone else in this bizarre impromptu interrogation- makes his meaning perfectly clear. The droid zaps the man in the jacket, and he yelps again and swats at the electric prongs before the woman with the buns gives him a warning prod with her staff.

“Poe got captured by the First Order. I helped him escape, but the fighter we stole crashed. He-“ the man pauses, trying to find the right words. “Poe didn’t make it.”

Before the dark-skinned man can make it to his feet Kylo’s bloody hands are on the lapels of Poe’s jacket, hauling the stranger in familiar clothes up until his toes have to stretch to keep contact with the ground. His face covered in blood and his nose already beginning to bruise an ugly color on top of its new angle, the tall, pale man’s dark expression is a frightful sight. His black eyes blaze with anger, and the blood that’s made it past his lips stains his teeth and light beginnings of an unshaven beard in a way that makes him look like some wrathful creature thirsting for vengeance.

“You’d better hope that you’re wrong,” the smuggler grinds out. “Any landing an idiot like you could walk away from, I’ve seen Poe Dameron walk away from worse.” He’d known the flyboy off and on over the years, and though he had a flair for the dramatic, his reputation for surviving the most bizarre of crashes by the skin of his pearly white dentition far preceded him.

“Wait, hold on,” both men turn to look at the woman with the buns. “Are you both with the Resistance?” She draws away her staff and shoulders it, brow furrowing as she focuses on the tall man and his smaller victim. Kylo slowly lowers the dark-skinned man onto both feet, but doesn’t let go of the lapels of the jacket.

“Yes,” they both chorus- the taller phrasing it almost as a question and the shorter blurting it out as though it’s only just occurred to him.

“I’ve never met Resistance fighters before,” the woman’s frown lights into an inquisitive smile, and suddenly she looks a little less like a hardened warrior and a little more like the young woman in shifting desert clothing that she is.

“Well, uh,” the man wearing Poe’s jacket bats Kylo’s hands away from the lapels, taking a step back to put some distance between himself and the very menacing stranger. “This is what we look like. I mean, not everyone looks like me. Some of us look like him-“

BB-8 cuts him off with a shrill series of distressed bleeps and whistles, indicating with a shake of his little floating dome of a head in the direction behind the woman with the buns. All three of the impromptu motley crew turn to look at what the droid has noticed, quickly catching sight of the two Stormtroopers talking to a pair of local desert dwellers. One of the locals points directly at them with a fair amount of emphasis, and the Stormtroopers both turn. For a moment, the five hominids and a droid all lock eyes and optics and visors- and then the mismatched trio manage to scrape together enough sense between the three of them to scramble for the open tent flap behind them with BB-8 hot on their heels. Locals traversing the marketplace begin yelling and screaming as blaster fire starts peppering the crowd, and Kylo ducks under an awning just too low for him to clear safely right as a bright green bolt of plasma burns a hole clean through the fabric. He tries to continue forward in a straight line, but a firm hand grabs him by the elbow and yanks him behind a high stack of boxes underneath the drab grayish awning.

“What are they shooting at me for?!” The woman blurts out from her position furthest from the droid and the two ‘Resistance’ members.

“They saw you with me. You’re marked.” Next to Kylo’s elbow, his hand still firmly grasping at his upper arm where he had drug him behind the impromptu shelter, the man wearing Poe’s jacket is resolute in his reasoning.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kylo grouses. Painfully, he blows some congealed blood from his nose to try to clear his airway before spitting a clot of the same stuff into the sand. He pulls the scarf from his head and tries to mop up the blood from his mouth and chin with a clean section of it, but when he bumps his nose he hisses in pain and stops trying. “They’re not after either of you, you’re worthless to them. With Poe dead- and I still don’t believe that part- they’re probably trying to scrounge up any intel they can get their hands on, and that means getting their hands on the droid.”

“Then we need to get BB-8 off planet,” the woman suggests. The droid trills in agreement, and then bleeps out a series of increasingly urgent and worried noises. Between the tall smuggler and the diminutive desert-dweller, the dark-skinned mystery ‘Resistance’ man stills as though listening for something.

“We’ll take my quadjumper-“ Kylo starts to offer, but the other man cuts him off.

“TIE fighters!” That’s all the explanation they get before he has them both by the hand, dragging them away from their improvised shelter and into a throng of panicked outpost dwellers. BB-8 rolls along on the hard-packed sand behind them, a litany of panicked-sounding whistles and bloops streaming from his little domed head as he skitters across the ground as fast as his internal workings can carry him.

“I know how to run without you holding my hand!” Despite her protestations, the dark-haired woman with the buns makes no effort to shake her tanned hand free from the darker one that has it in a death grip.

“You don’t even know where my ship is!” Kylo yells over the noise of the crowd and the scream of the TIE fighters, just as a massive explosion cuts through the air behind them. With no more warning than that, the motley trio and their robotic charge are suddenly picked up and thrown a good fifteen feet by the blast wave of the fighter’s attempt on their lives. Sand goes everywhere, caking in the blood on Kylo’s face that hasn’t already managed to dry in the oppressive heat of the Force-forsaken desert planet.

His ears ringing, Kylo manages to roll himself onto his back in time to watch one of the TIE fighters streak overhead- likely to make a sharp turn and start another bombing run. He takes a moment to consider how impossible his life has managed to become in the last ten minutes, trying to catch his breath through the pain and awkward stuffiness of his newly-broken nose.

“Come on!” A hand roughly inserts itself into his field of view, and he finds himself looking up at the serious-looking young woman with the staff. The other man clutches at her other hand, looking like he might bolt like a scared nerf and drag her with him regardless of whether or not she’s gotten Kylo off his feet first. Dazed, he grabs her hand and lets her help him to his feet with a vicious tug- and they’re off again like a shot, ducking blaster fire as a platoon of Stormtroopers rounds a small grouping of tents and spots them.

“My quadjumper’s-“ he starts to say, and the woman cuts him off.

“I know where it is!” She pulls the both of them around a corner and suddenly they’re at Niima’s north gate, running out into the extremely open and vulnerable expanse of hard-packed landing area where interplanetary passers-by often parked their vessels. Kylo starts to regret his solitary nature as the massive distance between their little group and his gleaming orange spacecraft stretches before them, but the scream of TIE fighters on their second approach urges him to continue running in a way that few other things could.

“Screw the jumper, that one’s closer!” He and the woman both spare a glance in the direction the other man is pointing, and likely make the same disgusted face. Kylo had seen the ancient YT-Model on his way into the outpost several hours earlier, and had even stopped for a good long minute or two to dwell on things that he’d have rather left dead and buried. But anyone with half a brain left in their braincase could see that the hunk of junk hadn’t been flown in at least a decade, if the heaps of detritus and large tarps covering parts of it were any indication.

“That one’s garbage! It hasn’t flown in years,” the woman asserts. She barely gives it more than a glance, preferring to keep on course to their original destination.

“We need to get out of the system before the First Order can get a bead on us! A quadjumper can hit hyperspace faster than you can say-“ before Kylo can say it, the TIE fighter screaming through the air behind them fires twice and hits the good-sized orange craft dead-on. It goes up in a ball of flames and a deafening explosion, acrid black smoke immediately pluming into the air above it.

“The garbage will do!” The woman yells out, immediately changing direction towards the YT-Model. The man in Poe’s jacket has to physically pull Kylo from where he’d stopped dead, staring at the smoking crater that had been his mostly-paid-for quadjumper.

The Guavians he’d bought it from were going to put a bounty on his head, there was no way around it.

“Come on!” The other man yells, yanking harder to get Kylo to run. They duck under the tarpoline covering the entrance ramp to the old YT-Model, and as the droid knocks past their heels to get up into the ship the dark-haired man starts to slow again. At the top of the access ramp, covered in the kind of grime no sane person likes to think about the origins of, the near-illegible designation plate for the old cargo ship stares him down as though it is a sentient entity that has come to pass judgment upon him. It is familiar, just as the silhouette of the old Corellian bucket of scrap was familiar against the shifting dunes and cloudless blue sky hours before, and just as the faint traces of small grubby handprints on the cream-colored walls are familiar to his much-grown fingers.

“The gunner’s position is down there! YT-Models need two pilots, can you fly?!” Kylo shakes himself from his reverie and hits the ramp controls to seal the ship up behind him, the movement practiced despite years of having never stepped foot upon the ship.

“Can I fly?!” He parrots incredulously. “Lady, I’ve been piloting Corellian YT-Models since before I could walk!”

“Good, I need a co-pilot!” The woman’s voice comes from the direction of the cockpit, as though she’s already traversed the layout of the ship a dozen times before. For all he knows, in its derelict state for the past decade or so, she’s learned its every nook and cranny as well as its rightful owner. He takes the familiar path himself with long strides, not sparing a glance for the bench seats and small dejarik table off to one side. He has to duck to get into the cockpit, his wide frame almost making him do the same sideways shuffle that he distinctly remembers Chewbacca being forced to do to get through the small door. The air is stifling in the sun-warmed cabin, and Kylo can already feel sweat beginning to bead anew on the back of his neck and the top of his forehead as he slides into what was once his large hairy uncle’s seat and divests himself of his bloody scarf and thick black vest. The mystery woman, desert clothes sticking out like a sore thumb in the dark interior, is already running pre-flight checks and priming the- Kylo’s brain shorts for a moment at the new addition to the console.

“What moof-milker thought it was a good idea to put a compressor on a YT-Model?” She resolutely ignores him and hits the controls to finish powering up the craft- which does so for only a moment before dying back down with a whine. Without preamble, Kylo rocks back in his seat and aims a hard kick at a specific spot on the console, adding his boot print to the slightly dented and discolored patch of metal just above one of the control levers. The engine thrums to life again, the lights in the cockpit blinking into existence and surrounding them both with a delicate glow. The life support systems kick into action as well, pumping cool air into the overheated cockpit as the woman pulls back on the controls and they lurch into the open sky. A number of metal cargo containers fall from the ship with a cacophony of screeches and bangs, tarpolines ripping away to expose the cloudless blue sky- and the two TIE fighters headed straight for them.

“Keep low! It confuses their tracking!” As the woman pulls them immediately into a steep upward climb, the man in the lower gunner’s position manages to hit the comm controls somehow and comes over the tinny speaker in the cockpit. Working in tandem, the two pilots quickly bring the unwieldy craft into a smooth dive around the edge of a dune. A bright green laser bolt rockets past the cockpit with a screech of rent oxygen, and Kylo wastes no time reaching over to engage the aft shields before steadying the craft out of yet another extreme turn.

“We need to lose those tag-alongs before we have any chance of gettin’ past the Destroyer in orbit,” he mentions offhand. When a warning light begins to blink at him insistently, followed by a nagging incessant beeping, he slams his fist into the dash twice to make it stop. His eyes on the small readout of the immediate radar area, he primes one of the automatic starboard guns and tries to get a lock on the closer of the two fighters riding their tail.

“I’m working on that!” Without any other means of heads-up, the lanky dark-haired man nearly flies from his seat and into the wall next to him as the woman in the main pilot’s seat pulls a turn so hard it makes the bottom drop out of his stomach. Behind them, in one of the small hallways of the ship, the little spherical droid screams in what could almost be described as terror- if a droid could feel something like that. The field of debris that stretches out before them when he manages to level them off, the massive engines of Imperator and ImpStar Deuce-class Star Destroyers peeking out of the shifting sands in the dozens, is enough to give him stunned pause.

“Got one!” The man in the gunner’s position shouts out with glee, and Kylo can almost hear how excited the young man is through the speaker. As he watches, one of the blips tailing them on the radar screen disappears as abruptly as the faint sound of an explosion behind them.

“Lucky shot, kid! Don’t get cocky! That other pilot’s all over the place, I think he knows we’re tryin’a turn him into a carbon smear.” A few more shots squeeze over and under the old YT-Model, and the brunette pilot deftly maneuvers them out of their immediate path while Kylo keeps them steady. Dipping low, she almost skims the dunes before rocketing around a tight corner and slipping inside one of the hulking Star Destroyers like she isn’t playing touch-and-die with a couple billion tons of Imperial scrap.

“I’m trying to cage him in for a better chance! Can you get a lock on him?” Another gleeful whoop is all they get from the comm system as a massive burning ball of First Order technology hits the far wall of the Star Destroyer’s engine compartment, caught by the gunner’s fire just as it entered through the exhaust port on their tail.

“That answers that, I suppose,” Kylo quips. The brunette at his side pulls another hard turn and guns the engine, rocketing the small cargo freighter out of the derelict Imperial vessel and into the open blue sky. They burn atmo faster than he expects, the old beater of a ship managing the buffets of the desert planet’s upper atmosphere with grace with her two pilots at the helm. At the barest reaches of their radar screen, a massive black shape blots out a quadrant of stars as it moves in geosynchronous orbit with the desert world. It’s big- easily twice the size of the picked-clean skeletons that litter the surface of Jakku below them- and even at a distance they can see that it’s bristling with weaponry.

“How are we doing on the hyperdrive?” The woman asks offhand. Kylo plugs in a few numbers and gets a clear reading for the section of starway directly in front of them, no immediate dangers cropping up on the star charts for a large enough swathe of distance that he feels safe confirming their course.

“Punch it and we’ll blow this kriffhole,” he replies. Without further ado the brunette- he still doesn’t know her name, or the gunner’s for that matter- pushes forward on the hyperdrive levers, and the achingly familiar sight of the stars becoming smeared streaks of light on the YT-Model’s cockpit window becomes the only thing he can manage to focus on.

When he finally pulls his eyes away from the sight, sparing a glance over at the lady taking up the captain’s seat, he’s surprised to see that she’s disappeared entirely. The cockpit door is open behind him, and he picks his vest and scarf back up as he makes his way into the small common area behind her.

“I don’t know your name,” he can hear her saying as he shoulders back into his vest and absently reaches under one of the bench seats for a dusty first aid kit, one that he distinctly recalls his large and hairy uncle stocking under his father’s nose for the all-too-frequent occurrences of glancing blaster burns and maintenance mishaps.

“It’s FN-“ the man catches himself, and it comes out sounding more like ‘Ephin’ than a designation. “It’s Finn.”

“Ephin Finn?” Kylo pulls a medicated moisture wipe and an unopened bacta patch from the mess of discarded wrappers that litter the little kit, wiping the remaining blood from his face and delicately cleaning the crusty blood from his airway with a twisted corner. He sticks the bacta across his broken nose as he turns the corner in the hallway, only to come face-to-face with the mystery desert woman as she whirls on him and fixes him with a smile that glitters in the grimy old Corellian freighter.

“I’m Rey, what’s your name?” She asks, and the brilliance of her beautiful smile- the way her eyes crinkle at the edges and the excitement in her voice suffuses the entire ship with something he could almost call pure Light- promptly makes him draw a blank on quite literally everything he’d ever invented for himself as an identity.

“Ben Solo,” he mumbles. Behind the overlarge bacta patch on his nose, and through the awkward break in the cartilage, the words tumble out less as a name and more as a single long garbled word. He immediately regrets giving her that name, not even sure why he’d said the words, but then the woman- Rey- smiles at him again and he can’t remember why he hesitated. He has a vague sense that her smile might be dangerous, seeing as how he gets stupid every time she fixes it on him.

“Benz Olo?” He’d be damned if the girl didn’t have half of Jakku stuck in her auricular canals, but that name would work just as well- and it would probably keep him from being associated with loftier, more well-known names.

“Yeah, but most folk call me Kylo Ren. I run the Knights of Ren.” Rey’s brilliant smile comes back as he mentions the small smuggling ring he’d started a number of years previously, but Finn’s countenance seems to darken into a furrowed frown.

“The Guavian enforcer gang?” The shorter man asks, and Kylo almost slaps an open palm to his face before he remembers that his nose is broken. Two or three of his Knights (and honestly, what had he been thinking with a name like that?) were, in fact, heavily involved with the Guavians- that was how he’d gotten his ill-fated quadjumper. But as a rule, he liked to consider his little operation to be unaffiliated.

“No, the smuggling ring!” Apparently he doesn’t even need to defend himself, as Rey immediately comes to his aid. They don’t have long to debate the exact terms describing his self-employment, however, as a klaxon begins to sound and a huge explosion of steam billows out of the nearby grated floor with a bang.

“The motivator!” Kylo and Rey both yell at once. Finn almost loses his balance behind them as the old YT-Model drops out of hyperspace with a massive lurch, but he follows dutifully as the two pilots run to pull up the access panel and Rey drops into the billowing steam cloud without so much as a by-your-leave.

“How do you know that’s safe to breathe?!” The young man dutifully holds the piece of uprooted flooring when Kylo hands it to him, and peers into the depths of the ship as though hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman inside.

“I don’t, but it’s the only way we’re getting the hyperdrive back,” she replies. Kylo returns with a massive toolkit in his arms, the box almost too large for a human to handle effectively. He drops it to the floor with a bang, and starts rooting around in it for the requisite tools.

“We’ll pull her up if she starts screaming,” he says, elbow deep in hyperspanners and sonic screwdrivers of various sizes and widths.

“Don’t worry though! If you hear screaming and swearing, I’m fine. Can you hand me a .35 socket lever?” Kylo dutifully pulls the correct size tool from the box after a moment of rummaging, and plunges it into the steam. A small hand grabs his, warm even in the hot vapor, and then it’s gone along with the lever in the space of a heartbeat.

This is not how Kylo Ren (or, for that matter, Ben Solo) thought his day would end. But as he makes himself comfortable and resigns himself to the job of making sure the young desert-dweller in the bowels of his father’s ship has the tools she needs, he honestly can’t find too much fault with the company he’s managed to find himself in.

Ahhh this is great, I love what you have so far! And I laughed at them not realizing Kylo said Ben Solo - boy, are Finn & Rey in for a surprise! I also really enjoyed how intimately Kylo knows the Falaon and exactly how to hit it to get the right results.

THIS IS SO AMAZING I LOVE IT. The little details, like Kylo/Ben kicking the Falcon in that specific, are just SO GOOD. I want to hug this fill and love it forever and ever. Will you be posting to AO3 by chance, author-anon?

I actually don't have an AO3 account, I've never bothered enough with the site to get one since it's always seemed so hard. Last I heard you needed an invite and there was a waiting list? I ain't here for that.

(new anon)

I just checked and the waiting list is only about four days long right now. You just go here and type in your email:

http://archiveofourown.org/invite_requests

And they'll send you a reply in a couple of days. By the time you're ready to post you'll probably have an account, if you're anything like me and like to pick over your fic before posting, anyway. :P

Obviously it's up to you but it's not that hard and would get a lot more readers. If that's your thing.

its been how long, since ao3 existed, and there is still the waiting list for an account and signing up?
10 years?
this is strange, has there ever been an explanation, why one still had to wait for approval?
(not that i generally disapprove, but i still find that strange)

FYI (from here: https://archiveofourown.org/faq/invitations?language_id=en#whyinvitecodes):

We're using the invitation code system so that the Archive can grow in a controlled manner. We need to add new users gradually so that our account numbers don't grow beyond what our hardware, bandwidth, and support team can cope with. This helps us ensure that everyone using the Archive gets the best possible experience.

Thanks for the link.
I remember that was already announced in the beginning.
I did not realize though, that hardware, bandwidth and such, were still in terms that needed controlled growth.
Then it makes sense of course.

OP here. I am in love! This fill was so good and perfectly paced, it was like watching TFA if that one thing was changed and Ahhhh! - I loved the way you smoothly slotted Ben into Rey meeting Finn on Jakku (and I laughed when Rey whacked his face. HA!)

And all the little added details makes me want to hug this fill so tightly - the Ben hating sand, that he knows Dameron, that it was Ben's ship that got blown up, the compressor bit...

You've made me super happy! If you continue this I'd be even happier (but no pressure, this is incredible as is, this is so fantastic), thank you!!

eeeeeeeeeeeeee i'm so glad you like it! I'm planning more, but you never know how "more" will really work out until you're almost done with it and then leave it to rot because you're trash and you can't finish things to save your life (coughstoryofmylifeintherotgfandomcough)

if I do write more I can almost guarantee you that it'll be super awkward reylo. probably not even the fun awkward. social hermit ben solo attempting to be smooth but can't remove a glove and talk to a girl at the same time. history will repeat itself etc etc etc also probably snarkfest with ben and han BUT NO PROMISES

Dear Anonymous Author, I love this! :D Such a fun AU. <3 :D

Seconding the above recommendation / request if you were ever inclined to cross-post this to AO3 because then we could all subscribe to it for notifications and not miss out on an update, because I LOVE THIS STORY. Oh my goodness, I had no idea how much fun this scenario could be. I love the alternate origin of the Knights of Ren in your story, all Ben's memories of the Falcon from the handprints to the well-timed kick to the console. I love how Finn thoughtlessly grabs for both Ben and Rey, how Ben's existing knowledge of Poe Dameron is what first draws him in. That moment when Rey asks them if they're Resistance fighters, and Ben's like, "Uh, yes?" while Finn's like "YES." I love the resonance of these three with the original trio, and Ben's call for Finn not to get cocky at his lucky shot; oh, my heart! TL;DR this story is awesome, thank you for sharing it.

Hey guys!!! Took your advice and made an AO3. There's a second chapter posted to that version of the fic.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/6212917/chapters/14234239

Hope you enjoy!

Awesome! :D I'm clicking through right now. :D

PROMPT POST #1 - CLOSED

This post is closed to new prompts!

Gen or Rey/Kylo AU

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FILL: requiem for a totaled quadjumper (1a) (posting it in the right place this time)

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Re: FILL: requiem for a totaled quadjumper (1b) (posting it in the right place this time)

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Re: FILL: requiem for a totaled quadjumper (1b) (posting it in the right place this time)

Re: FILL: requiem for a totaled quadjumper (1b) (posting it in the right place this time)

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Re: FILL: requiem for a totaled quadjumper (1b) (posting it in the right place this time)

Re: FILL: requiem for a totaled quadjumper (1b) (posting it in the right place this time)

Re: FILL: requiem for a totaled quadjumper (1b) (posting it in the right place this time)

Re: FILL: requiem for a totaled quadjumper (1b) (posting it in the right place this time)

FILL: requiem for a totaled quadjumper (2, on AO3)

Re: FILL: requiem for a totaled quadjumper (2, on AO3)