#finnsw

*eye emoji*

The London-born star, who plays Finn in Star Wars, said: “I can’t wait to start shooting the next and final leg of the franchise.

“The first step is growing out my hair, so you can wait for the trailer to see why.”

*eye emoji*

Interesting. 

For one thing it confirms that there’ll a time skip of some magnitude between TLJ and Episode IX. Unless they’re intent on breaking normal biological rules along with everything else.

A/N: This whole chapter is a flashback to when Finn was fifteen and therefore was still in the First Order and known only FN-2187. Referring to him as Eightseven through the chapter is probably the hardest thing I've ever done writing wise, he'll always be Finn to me. Can't promise that a Finn or two didn't slip by me.

Can also be read on AO3.

Eight years ago

At nearly sixteen cadet FN-2187 is still growing and a mess of knees and elbows. While his scores in purely theoretical subjects such as math and galactic history are as sky high as ever, his results in physical classes have taken a nosedive due to his growth spurt.

He assumes this is why the Preceptor has called him into his office.  

He's nearing the end of his time at the Pillio training facility and the drop in his scores worries him. In the next few weeks the path of his future training will be decided and the lower scores will speak to his detriment.

Eightseven stands in the middle of the room, two meters away from the desk, back straight, stiffly at attention while he tries hard not to fidget until the Preceptor's steely stare. His palms are clammy and he fights an urge to swallow convulsively.

The Preceptor slowly looks away from Eightseven to the datapad lying on his desk, picking it up.

"An interesting file, cadet." His voice when he speaks is as cold and devoid of color as his eyes and hair. Lines are carved deeply into his pale skin and if he has a name none of the cadets know it.

Finn makes no comment, he has long since learned that cadets do not speak in the presences of an officer or superior of the academy without direct prompting.

"Outside physical disciplines there is not a single field in which you do not excel. Of course, there is a notable decline in your physical performance."

Eightseven's stomach contracts hard.

"But I suppose that is to be expected at your age. Only time can tell if your clumsiness is temporary or not, our investment in all of you are a gamble at this time."

The Preceptor taps the datapad a couple of times before laying it down on the desk again. Looking once more at Eightseven the Preceptor folds his hand on top of the desk.

"How have you found your time at the Pillio academy, cadet?"

"Instructive, sir." Eightseven is both surprised and grateful at how steady his voice is as he speaks.

"Yes, that is the main idea of this place, but I was-"

His words are interrupted by a chirp from the comlink in his breast pocket.

"Yes?" the Preceptor says, tapping it.

Eightseven can only hear a muted voice coming from the other end, but not the actual words.  

The Preceptor frowns.

"Can't it wait?" he snaps.

Whatever the muted voice says it makes him make a face of irritation.

"Very well."

His eyes snap back to Eightseven.

"There is a brief matter to which I have to attend, you will remain here until I return."

With that, without waiting for a response – the only possible response being compliance – he's gone.

When the door slide shut Eightseven lets out a long, slow breath, grateful for the breathing space to give him time to think of an answer to the receptor's question.

He has been on Pillio for almost two years, the same as everyone else in his year. It's the longest he, that any of them, has ever spent in one place.

He still recalls seeing the planet for the first time. Stepping off the shuttle seeing the wide vista of broken rocks and shallow tidal pools with their colorful corals, the air that smelled of so many things that it was almost overwhelming after the stale, odorless air of the Star Destroyers he had until then spent his life on.

The warmth of the sun on his skin and the sound of the wildlife.

If he were to describe Pillio and how he found it, it would be beautiful.

But he knows that that answer would not be acceptable and would invite strict censure. He needs to find another.

Challenging maybe?

He sighs inwardly, careful to give no outward sign of his emotions, knowing that he might be watched. Every part of the base is covered in cameras, the only question is if anyone is looking at the one recording him at this moment.

If only he could be more like the other cadets, then he'd know what the right answer to give was. But for all that he excelled in every single subject there is always that barrier, between them and him. A barrier he doesn't know how to break down.

If only he could change himself.

As his mind wanders so does his eyes, until they land on the datapad that the Preceptor left behind on the desk. The datapad with his file on it.

Eightseven feels a little jolt go through him.

He's always wondered what that file said about him, what precise information it contained. But the files on all cadets were only accessible by their instructors and overseers, Eightseven has never had a chance to view it.

Till now.

Maybe.

If he dares.

He can feel it pull at him and forcefully tears his eyes away from the datapad.

This is a test, of course it's a test. The Preceptor would not let a datapad with restricted information just lie about for no reason. So clearly, it's a test. Of his obedience, discipline and loyalty. A test Eightseven is determined to pass.

Clasping his hands firmly behind his back, Eightseven stares straight ahead, locking his gaze on the window opposite him, focusing on the stormy sky outside, and occupies himself with the Preceptor's question.

Challenging. Useful.

Without his permission, his gaze wanders back to the desk top.

What would be on that file?

Their instructors usually offered only critique and on very rare occasions begrudging praise, it was hard to judge what they really thought of his or any of the cadets' achievements. Did it hold any information about his past, of his life before he could remember it?

About his family?

With supreme effort of will Eightseven forces his eyes away again and his mind back on the question. He will pass this test, he refuses fail.

A loud whump reverberates through the building, the light in the room goes out and the air conditioning stops humming.

Eightseven starts in surprise and blinks once.

Had lightning struck the base and knocked the power out? He had seen no flash of light, but then the sky was not yet that dark and his mind had been wandering.

The light doesn't come back immediately, so the power station must be down including the backup generators.

His eyes fall again on the datapad and it hits him, the power is out, no cameras are recording. No one is watching him.

Maybe it's a trap, another test. Maybe he's still observed. Somehow.

No, all electronics are clearly dead in the room and he can see fellow cadets and some instructors mill about in confusion outside. This is real, it has to be.

This is his chance, he'll never get another.

Three steps forward take him to the desk. He covers his hand with his sleeve so he won't leave any finger prints and turns the datapad on. He doesn't dare turn it around, when the Preceptor returns he might realize it's been touched if he does, so Eightseven struggles to read the text upside down.

Designation: FN-2187

Age: 15 standard years

Height: 170,6cm

Weight: 65,2kg

Acquisition: Seized, 6 FFO, Beshen-42

The last line resounds in his mind.  

Seized. He had been... taken.

It makes no sense to Eightseven.

The method by which the cadets had come into the First Order's care has never been addressed directly, but it had always been strongly hinted that they had been put into fosterage willingly by their families.  

Maybe his family had been... bad? Like, pirates or something. But the First Order wouldn't put a small kid in jail, so they'd made him a cadet instead.

Yeah, it had probably been something like that. It's the only way that could make sense.

He looks down at the screen again.  

Beshen-42. That has to be the name of the system he's from.  

Maybe... maybe he could go there and ask one day. His family. Or people who had known them.  

Not while he was still in training of course, cadets were kept on training bases and cruisers, and never allowed anywhere else. But once he was done, when his training had been completed and he was a full Stormtrooper he might. Then his family could see it was the right thing and they'd be proud of him.

The sound of footsteps and raised voices outside in the corridor makes Eightseven leap back and assume an at attention stance, his heart racing furiously. And only just in time before the door slides open.

"That's preposterous. The security on this base is the highest possible," he hears the Preceptor say behind him.

"Never the less, someone-"

Eightseven recognizes administrator Gelb's voice. The digital generated voice from the translator box mixing with the clicks and hisses of Aqualish makes a thrill of fear run down his back. The Preceptor is cold and harsh, but aloof and without any favorites among the cadets. Gleb? Eightseven is never quite clear where he has her, she often seems nice but it always feels as if there's something underneath.

"Who is this? What is he doing here?" Glebe asks.

"I was conducting a finalizing interview with cadet FN-2187 when- the incident occurred. I had intended to pick it up after, but it will have to wait now." The Preceptor turns to Eightseven. "Dismissed," is all he says before turning away again.

Eightseven doesn't need to be told twice. Whatever happened it has clearly distracted the Preceptor, he's unlikely to notice anything amiss with the datapad. And he's grateful for the reprieve in the questioning. His mind is boggling with so many thoughts he knows he would be unable to give satisfactory answers.

OH GOD I DIDNT EVEN SEE THIS UNTIL NOW TANK U

finn

kiss my lips, feel the rhythm of your heart and hips / i will pray so the castle that we've built won't cave - guillotine by jon bellion

obi-wan

He doesn’t really have one.

The tag Rebelfinn was created by @hisnameisfinn and someone I’ve forgotten the name of (sorry) in an attempt to both filter out the worst racism in the early months as well as separate him from the other Finns out there. It still sees some activity, but a lot of fans don’t know about it or think it’s some sort of network. (It’s not, so please feel free to use it.)

I’ve also seen SW Finn, Finn SW, sometimes used without a space between the two words, used. Occasionally FN-2187 is used

And of course just Finn, which is what most uses. Which is the big problem because posts about our Finn get drowned out in the noise.