This post is closed to new prompts! Go here

rules | ask a mod | fills post | discussion/off-topic post | flat view | ao3 collection | delicious account

prompt post one
prompt post two

+ All comments except fills should be posted anonymously.
+ 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.
+ don't hijack other people's prompts.
+ prompts should not exceed ~250 words.
+ also, while this is not really a rule I can enforce, please try to limit yourselves to fewer than 5 prompts per page.
+ reposting prompts is currently not allowed.
+ no prompts based on real life tragic events. e.g: 9/11 au, concentration camp au, etc
+ PLAY NICE

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

They start out at dawn, keeping the sun to their left. A fortnight of walking in this direction and they should, with any luck, be close enough for Lord Ren to sense the exact location of the village Hux had seen on the shuttle’s scanners.

He doesn’t recall the length of this planet’s rotation period, so he isn’t entirely sure how long they walk. With the hood of the cape up over his head, shielding him from the worst of the sun, all he can do is stare at the never-ending sea of shifting red-gold sand beneath his feet. It reminds him of being a cadet, and forced marches at all hours of the day. Nothing to do but allow your mind to drift while your body pressed on.

They don’t speak, except to ask one another to pass the water condenser. Ren has been mercifully silent since they awoke, if indeed he had even bothered to sleep at all. TR-4022 had joined Hux in the shuttle just a few minutes after he turned in, lying a respectful distance away on the metal bulkhead. Hux lay there in the dark, his greatcoat wrapped around him like a blanket, listening to the hollow sounds of the wind, the shifting sand, and the other man’s breathing, until he slipped into a fitful sleep.

TR-4022 starts to stumble when the sun is still approximately 15 degrees from the very center of the sky.

“Lets take a rest,” Hux says, before the stormtrooper can put them all through the indignity of collapsing completely in front of his General and a Knight of Ren. In truth, his own body is screaming for a break too. The slung pack he wears has begun to cut into his shoulder, and his skin is burning even with the cape. Hux drops next to TR-4022, who has his helmet off and his head between his knees. The stormtrooper has brown hair, now stuck down with sweat.

Hux leans his head back. The muscles in his legs tingle and pop, like the engine of a skimmer cooling down after a long flight.

“Ren,” he calls, hoarse, when the other man continues on ahead. “Stop.”

“I don’t need to rest,” he says, without looking back.

“Well I do, stop.”

Hux growls under his breath, forcing his wobbly legs to take his weight again, when Ren keeps walking. “For once in your life, would you listen to me?“ Ren swings around, arms flying out to balance him, when Hux lays a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re never going to make it if you keep stopping!” Ren snarls, suddenly furious. He stumbles like a drunk, slipping on the shifting sand. A fleck of dried white spittle clings to the corner of his mouth.

Hux takes in his glassy eyes, his ragged breathing. He sighs. “Sit,” he orders, pressing down on Ren’s shoulders. Surprisingly, the man does, landing heavily on the sand, his long legs splayed out in front of him.

“I’m fine- I’m-“ he stammers, staring up at Hux as if he has no idea who he is or why he’s there.

“You’re not.” To emphasize his point, Hux pushes him back gently with one hand until Ren is lying, half sprawled on the dune behind him. “You’re pushing yourself too hard, and you’re baking in this outfit.” Ren’s clothes, and indeed his own uniform, had been designed for the perpetual winter at Starkiller base, not this. He should have known Ren would be either too proud or too stupid to concede to the heat when it became too much for him.

Hux had discarded his own outer layers that morning, bundling them up and stuffing them into the rudimentary pack he had made by folding up his greatcoat and tying it crosswise along his body. It was not exactly comfortable, with Ren’s heavy cape thrown over his tight-fitting undershirt, but it was at least a great deal better than it could have been.

The cape had been left in a pile next to where Ren had been sitting the previous night, and Hux had had no compunctions about taking it.

“Stopit, Hux,” Ren mumbles crossly as the general’s hands go for his belt, pulling it off him and discarding it.

“Don’t read anything into this,” Hux says wryly, dropping to one knee as he peels the outer layers of material off of him. Not immediately seeing any sort of fastening, he yanks the robe off up over Ren’s head, where it catches around his ears. Ren struggles weakly, muttering complaints as he fights to untangle himself from the fabric. Hux goes to work on the buttons of the black doublet underneath, pushing it off his shoulders and tugging it down his arms, until Ren is lying there in nothing but his dark linen undershirt and pants. The undershirt clings to him where it is soaked-through with sweat. Hux can feel heat radiating off his body like a furnace.

“TR-4022, bring me the water.” I should be getting double-pay, Hux thinks sourly. General and First Order Nursemaid. Note to self: discuss that with Snoke when we get back. Bonus pay owed re: care and feeding of his pet Force wizard. He nearly laughs, aware that the heat is making him ridiculous, but unable to really do anything about it.

Ren is ventilating roughly, dragging in great shaky breaths. He reaches up with one clumsy hand and drags the collar of his undershirt down away from his throat. The skin there is splotchy and red.

“Is he going to be okay, sir?” TR-4022 asks nervously, passing him the condenser. He’s replaced his helmet.

“He should recover with a little rest,” he says. In truth, Hux has no idea if Ren is about to keel over as they speak, but he must at least seem to know what he’s doing. “He’ll still be Ren, but there’s nothing we can do about that,” he adds, joking weakly.

TR-4022 doesn’t laugh. Hux doesn’t blame him. It wasn’t one of his more brilliant quips.

“Drink it slowly,” Hux says firmly, holding Ren’s glassy stare at he wraps the other man’s fingers around the bottle. “Do you hear me? It’s all we’ve got for the moment. We can’t afford for you to sick it all back up.” The water condensers worked by pulling moisture out of the air and collecting it in a reservoir. They were remarkably efficient, but even the best technology could only do so much with the arid atmosphere around them. It was taking hours for the reservoir to refill itself when it should have taken minutes.

Ren nods weakly, still breathing in heaving gasps. His throat makes a dry clicking sound as he swallows.

Somehow, that easy compliance unnerves Hux more than any amount of raging or screaming ever has. Even bleeding out on the snow on Starkiller, Ren had still found the energy to argue with him.

Perhaps Ren really was dying. It seemed the sort of thing he’d do- die at the most inconvenient moment possible for Hux. He suddenly regrets not committing that eulogy to memory.

Groaning, Hux allows himself to collapse onto the sand beside Ren. This heat was making it impossible to think. Unnecessary, that’s what it was. Completely unnecessary. Wasn’t the purpose of a climate was to sustain life? What possible point was there to a dry, scrappy little desert where the sun and the sand- the planet itself- were conspiring to murder you?

I’ve killed your kind before, he thinks crossly, glancing up at the sun from under the hood of Ren’s cape, don’t make me do it again.

He’s being silly, he realizes. Half-finished, pointless thoughts rattle around in his mind, bouncing off of each other in little flashes of impulse and recollection. It was the heat.

On top of that, his stomach is growling.

After a moment, TR-4022 sits heavily on Hux’s other side. A fine trio, they were. The pride of the First Order, disheveled and panting, beaten by a planet.

There was nothing else to be done while it was so insufferably hot. Hux leans back, shifting his pack out from behind him. He pulls the cowl of the cape down over his eyes to shade himself, and, to his own surprise, sleeps.

I’ve killed your kind before, he thinks crossly, glancing up at the sun

Oh Hux, never change.

+1 MTE!

+2!!!!!!

Hux's greatcoat is the most stylish survivalist multitool ever <3

If he can't get Snoke to sign off on bonus pay he could try sending Leia a bill for babysitting her problem child.

PROMPT POST #3 - CLOSED

This post is closed to new prompts! Go here

Fill pt. 4 - Kylo/Hux - Roughing it. Hux is Not Amused

Re: Fill pt. 4 - Kylo/Hux - Roughing it. Hux is Not Amused

Re: Fill pt. 4 - Kylo/Hux - Roughing it. Hux is Not Amused

Re: Fill pt. 4 - Kylo/Hux - Roughing it. Hux is Not Amused

Re: Fill pt. 4 - Kylo/Hux - Roughing it. Hux is Not Amused