Hi everyone, please reblog this wonderful nsfw head canon with Hux’s fantasies. Thank you.
1: two fine young men in uniform, each providing a mouth to one of Hux’s nipples, their hands joined on his cock, as he reclines like the pillow prince he is. The identities of the men vary.
2: (the old favourite) being entirely naked except for his coat, boots & cap, on the bridge 2a: being entirely naked apart from a white Imperial cape and boots and accepting the “respects” of a long queue of people
3: a wet tongue on his arsehole and the tip of a long nose pressing at him (at this point, Kylo starts to think “hmmmm”)
4: (another old favourite) dirty cantina rough trade! Big lads who don’t say much and fuck him against the bar while an audience yells and throws credits
5: consentacles
6: being rubbed all over with grease by a team of flight deck engineers and probed with a variety of tools
7: Kylo all done up in fine leather straps and taking a large dildo by using the Force on it
Sub!Hux is so interesting to me because like here’s this General, whose the picture of order & poise, who acts like every turn of the century repressed British Imperialist, who’s had to be in control his entire life – he’s always had to be constantly working & proving to his father & Snoke & his superiors & himself that he’s worthy of a leadership position. He’s someone to whom appearances matter very much, he can never have a hair out of place because he’s so invested in maintaining his authoritarian image. And I know a lot of people like Dom!Hux & that’s cool! It’s fanon & you can interpret canon however you wish! But to me personally I feel like what Hux WANTS everyone to think is that he would be as in control in his private life & relationships as he is in his working life.
But he’s been deprived (as far as we know) from meaningful relationships & love & physical affection most of his life – except maybe when he was really young & still was under the custody of his mom. He’s constantly had to maintain his image of authority & control, which is exhausting. Being able to let go & have someone else in charge is something I think Hux secretly would really want & need, even if he denies it in the beginning. Also I really like the idea of him being a total pillow princess, or even a bratty sub. He would love the attention lavished on him & I honestly think he’d be more touch starved than kylo, who had people who loved him once who he turned away from. Anyways, I have a lot of feelings about Sub!Hux but I need to chill. Talk to me about Sub!Hux people.
I for one am squarely in the sub!Hux camp, mostly for the reasons you listed. God he looks like he’s about to fly apart at the very seams of his being most of the time and the only thing stopping it is shame, anger, and repression. Being that buttoned up for so long DOES things to people. Hux is the very definition of “the center cannot hold” at times, I think, and might crave some external stabilizing force – a Dom – that would take the pressure off him for awhile.
He probably wouldn’t know how to ask for what he wanted at first, but with research and time, he’d probably figure out how to express and conceptualize the kind of release he so badly needs. I find it very fascinating (and very hot).
100% agreed – although I enjoy reading D! or S! (or switch or neither) Hux tbh.
I had a thought about the whole alien dick loving Hux and What if he had a collection of alien dildos, like he has one cabinet filled with rows of alien sex toys of all shapes and sizes and colors, and some are just fuckin extreme like:
Look I’m just imagining teenage!Hux poring over the illustrations in old Imperial xenoanatomy texts with wide eyes, like what even is that thing and how could that possibly fit anywhere and obsessing over those thoughts until they finally circle properly around to …would it feel good and he has the most inappropriate sexual awakening ever for a proper son of the Empire.
(This is a lie: hundreds of thousands of proper sons of the Empire have had exactly the same experience. They were also properly filled with Imperial institutional xenophobic shame. Hux, meanwhile, just gets fucked by a Togruta on his first unsupervised shore leave.)
Also, please imagine that ex-imp/FO at some point get a reputation for this and it becomes the bedrock of galactic humour, the same way people like to make off-colour jokes about Welsh people being sheep-shaggers, or everyone in the rural american south marrying their cousin.
So like, every time FO officers are trying to raid a cantina they get a bunch of yinchorri cackling and saying OOH BACKS AGAINST THE WALL, LADS, IT’S THE FIRST ORDER and OOH STRIP SEARCH ME OFFICER I’M PACKING A FEARSME WEAPON. And the officers are all ‘No, stop this at once. This is important military matter!’
I can also imagine a kind of First Order Officer kink exists among certain nonhuman subcultures. Custom uniforms are a huge black market, one that the First Order tries to crack down on and can’t. There are Cantinas, if you Know Where to Look. First Order Officers hate raiding these. Hux makes up missions to bust them, periodically, when he’s collected enough people he needs to take petty revenge on. He says the clubs need to be eradicated, that they stain the reputation of the First Order, but the Officers know he’s full of shit. Hux funds the seedier ones himself. He’s not only the president but also a member.
Motherfuck how does this just keep getting better :DDDDD
look I’m not saying I’ve made some bad life decisions, but I’m currently going through my copy of the (New) Essential Guide to Alien Species and judging them on the criteria of “would Hux fuck that”
Do people remember these? I think they were designed to shut kids up on long walks and car journeys. Every time you saw one of the birds listed you ticked it off, and presumably when you’d got all of them you could finally give up on life and not give a shit about birds anymore.
I’m just saying, there is a 100% chance Hux has one of these on his datapad and it’s called i-Spy Alien Cocks.
Look I’m just imagining teenage!Hux poring over the illustrations in old Imperial xenoanatomy texts with wide eyes, like what even is that thing and how could that possibly fit anywhere and obsessing over those thoughts until they finally circle properly around to …would it feel good and he has the most inappropriate sexual awakening ever for a proper son of the Empire.
(This is a lie: hundreds of thousands of proper sons of the Empire have had exactly the same experience. They were also properly filled with Imperial institutional xenophobic shame. Hux, meanwhile, just gets fucked by a Togruta on his first unsupervised shore leave.)
Also, please imagine that ex-imp/FO at some point get a reputation for this and it becomes the bedrock of galactic humour, the same way people like to make off-colour jokes about Welsh people being sheep-shaggers, or everyone in the rural american south marrying their cousin.
So like, every time FO officers are trying to raid a cantina they get a bunch of yinchorri cackling and saying OOH BACKS AGAINST THE WALL, LADS, IT’S THE FIRST ORDER and OOH STRIP SEARCH ME OFFICER I’M PACKING A FEARSME WEAPON. And the officers are all ‘No, stop this at once. This is important military matter!’
for some reason I thought of Kate Beaton’s Les Mis comic with Jean Valjean like “ooh Javert, you FOUND me” and cackled aloud
Okay but now imagine Emperor Hux disguising himself as a common slave so he can go down and be the one to help Kylo bathe, scrapping the oil off of his body into the bowl meant to be sold as perfume
((He keeps it))
Or Kylo meeting his match and being slashed across the face and shoulder, holding out two fingers in supplication while everyone waits.
And Hux has him spared and brought to him
YES I LIKE THESE
I LIKE THESE A LOT
You guys have a lot of different ideas for that AU this is so good I’m in ancient Rome heaven (/*_* )/
@pidgy-draws and @generalgingersnaps, and some other cool dudes were looking for Hux-at-the-Academy head canons and it just so happens, @badspacebabies and I were talking about this today. Here’s an attempt to make that coherent.
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Brendol Hux doesn’t have a lot of friends. His classmates give him a wide berth, partially because of his name, which he can’t hide, partially because he’s got the look of a tattle-tale about him, and who wants to be friends with a rat?
He has a lot of “accidents.” He breaks his arm in two places his first year, and when the medic, and then his father, ask what happened he tells them he fell down the rocky path beyond the gymnasium, the steep one, that leads down to the creek. He had the lie in place before his tears dried. He refuses the bacta healing and insists on a cast.
“But how did you get a black eye, love?” wonders the medic as she helps him to his feet. “Just bad luck, ma’am,” Hux tells her.
He is especially proud of the black eye and every subsequent black eye. He likes anything that takes the softness out of face, anything that disrupts his features and makes him jarring to look at and not just a too-small kid with a name that follows him around like a curse.
“You’re not so bad, red,” says the boy (Ellery) who shoved him hard enough down the steep, rocky path beyond the gymnasium that he broke his arm in two places. Hux is rubbing at his face where Ellery cuffed him gently after weeks of taunting. “I bet that’ll never happen again.”
It doesn’t, because Ellery Blaize (tall for his age, well-bred, one year older with a handsomely crooked face and dark hair) makes sure it doesn’t.
“Don’t let those shits get to you,” Ellery tells him a year later, one hand in Hux’s hair, the other pontificating. He groans while Hux bobs his head, only half listening. Ellery tugs at his hair a little when he forgets to watch his teeth. “D’you hear me, red? Kriff the lot of them.”
He is always red, never Hux or Brendol. The one time he gets a black eye after taking up with Els, the sithspawn brat who did it has to get a steel cheekbone implant. He transfers. Hux is grateful the only way he knows how to be; he’s also meaner, his sneer more pronounced, the anxieties of his earlier years falling away.
He’s a third year, tall but still too thin, class treasurer and a budding tactician when Ellery dies in the most banal way a boy can: hubris and infection. Hux had told him to get the cut looked at time and again. He was so good, exemplary. What a bright star to have lost. He was bound for greatness. That’s what all of Ellery Blaize’s eulogies would have you believe. But Hux knows better. Ellery wasn’t good; he was cruel and sometimes slow. He only knew how to be kind in the dark, but he never mentioned the commandant and when he cupped Hux’s cheek in one of his soft rich boy hands, Hux had to hold back one sigh after another.
No one looks at him like they did before he shot up, but he buzzes off his hair anyway, worried that his swept back fringe makes him look like an easy mark. It’s only after Ellery is gone that Hux realizes they’re all afraid of him too.
He spends three months breaking down when he least expects to. Sits by the creek and touches the scars on his arm from that first accident and feels a creeping nostalgia that makes him sick to his stomach. He’s livid, having to miss someone who used him, having to mourn for him. At night he makes lists, under his thin blanket his torch in hand. Pros and cons of caring. Matched sets. The pair listed for number five: it’s possible no one will ever touch you again versus being touched has made you weak.
He makes more lists and fewer friends. He graduates top of his class, he grows out his fringe and slicks it back severely from his face. The next time he lets someone into his bed he’ll be as broken as his arm was all those years ago, and equally unsure about this new monster.
But, it will be different, and it’s inevitable anyway.
dispatches from the dumpster 