It both amuses and irritates Kylo that Hux can’t eat any form of confectionery without spending most of his time focused on the wrapper. Hux will carefully peel it of, taking care not to damage it, flatten it out, smoothing out any wrinkles, and then carefully fold it over, fold it again, and once more, before tying it into a neat little knot and then disposing of it. Sometimes the action is automatic, but other times Hux focuses on it completely, seeming soothed by what he does.
If the wrapper rips as Hux unwraps it, his face creases in concern, his fingers carefully working to hold it together so he can perform his ritual. It distresses him when the finished product is less than perfect, making him uneasy.
Kylo wonders about the whole thing until he eventually learns that Hux used to save small scraps of paper neatly cut paper and empty sweet wrappers, which he’d keep in his pocket so he had something to fiddle with and focus on when he was upset as a child and needed a distraction, often when his father was disappointed in him and Hux didn’t feel in control of anything around him.
After learning that, Kylo no longer delights in deliberately ripping and crumpling wrappers just to upset Hux. He carefully unwraps them and smooths them out as best his unpracticed fingers can, saying nothing when Hux takes them to complete the task.
Everyone stop and imagine: Kylo’s ritual when getting ready to meditate, putting on comfortable clothes, cranking up the room’s temperature, pacing around the room until everything is just to his liking. I bet he’s all about those non-regulation candles and incense. lol
Meanwhile Hux thinks meditating is a waste of time, his idea of mediating is having a cigarette in the refresher.
Also in other news – I think I’m starting to figure out how to colour shit with out it looking like a hot mess. Next on the agenda ? Putting people in places. Yay! Small artistic breakthroughs! :3
A resistance soldier is patting down Hux and they feel thinking near the thigh (the buckles connecting the stockings to the underthings) and they think its some sort of concealed weapon.
They demand Hux remove the weapon and he’s just ‘there is no weapon I can’t do that’
So they hold their blasters up, telling him to reveal what it is
Hux groans and internally curses Ren for choosing out his lingerie this morning bc how is he going to explain this
He undoes his pants and slowly pushes them down, showing no emotion whatsoever
He reveals his underthings, black and silky and perfect and then everyone can get a glimpse of the stocking
Leia holds her hand up and tells him that’s enough.
Oh my heart. Imagine young Hux trying on all the uniforms except that one when he’s still a little boy, with the trousers pooling round his ankles and hands lost in flapping sleeves. But not that one, that ones special. And as he grows be tries the various ones on again and again. he’s 11 and over joyed when he fits into Captain (later Admiral) Piett’s uniform.
The day he tries on Moff Jerjerrod’s (weapons architect and his life long hero) old gear and finds it fits he wears it ever night for a week, pacing about his room and theorising how he might have saved the Death Star II. That’s when he first envisions Starkiller.
He finds a uniform that belonged to Grand Moff Tarkin when he was an Admiral and is amazed at 16 that it fits like a glove. He has his own uniforms tailored off that design and wears them with so much pride, not realising that whilst they share the same skinny frame Tarkin had a terrifying presence that Hux still needs to work on.
When he’s accepted to the officers academy he finally tried on the Grand Admirals dress whites. He doesn’t know who they belonged to but they’re wider in the shoulders and he ends up putting his spare epaulettes on the inside to make it sit right. And then he looks in the mirror and STARES because destiny is looking right back out at him. There’s the ghost of a laurel crown above the ears he’s not quite grown into, the white cloak turned Imperial red and the roar of an approving universe in his ears. He has all his uniforms remade, wears shoulder pads every day for the next fifteen years to keep that feeling off power with him every second of every day.
He keeps the uniform in his quarters on the Finalizer, in its own separate closet, and tries it on once a month, practicing his regal stride, the cloak spread wide behind him, murmuring kingly speeches to himself so he doesn’t hear the door open and Kylo Ren enter the room. He has no idea he’s there until he turns and finds him down on one knee, eyes turned to the floor and saber offered up in a promise of fealty to the Emperor before him. Kylo Ren is far smarter than people think, and he knows a truth when he Force shows it to him.
So Kylo retrieves a fist-sized chunk of Hosnian Prime and (tentatively, ceremoniously) gives it Hux, and Hux is just like “Kill trophies, Ren? Just because you bathe in the ashes of your deeds doesn’t mean the rest of us want to, you disgusting creature.”
But there’s something oddly… compelling about having a tangible memento of the indelible mark he has left on the galaxy–a glass-metal chunk of what used to be the living, molten heart of a planet–something he can touch, cold and heavy in his hand, and think I did this. It cements him in time, in a way–he only has to look at it and he is on Starkiller again, young and proud and unafraid, watching his legacy scar the galaxy with a blade every bit as blood-red and blinding as a lightsaber.
(He only has to look at Kylo and he is on Starkiller again, small and broken and terrified, searching for a piece of wreckage far more valuable to him than any chunk of rock could ever be. He thanks the stars he found him.)
All of my kylux headcanons revolve around kylo intentionally pissing hux off with the most petty and inane bullshit he can come up with.
Fucking with hux’s hair before a major speech or meeting? Done it.
Taking hux’s hat and hiding it in random places that hux is too short to reach without help? Done it.
Messing with the clocks so they’re always either one minute too fast or too slow? Done it.
Groping hux with the force whenever he’s trying to give orders? Doing it right now.
And he does it all with the sole intention of watching hux get red and flustered as he tries to keep his anger under control and not let kylo know he’s actually getting to him
// villains wearing white is just… so good for me… more of this please yes…..
// OKAY BUT THIS
Imagine Hux having an all white uniform that he wears only during interrogations. He has it laundered between interviews, but the stains don’t really come out, and each new captive has to see the shadows of their predecessors, written in the splashes and spatters that pattern the soft cream. He even has white gloves– or had. By now, they’re stained beyond saving, and he has been advised on more than one occasion to replace them, but he won’t.
@kdazraelshhhhhh I want to continue this but long tumblr threads are gross
Ok, ok, this thread is getting ridiculously long but I still have a millionty-one things to ponder. I do think a lot about what it was like to grow up in the unknown regions, probably in some kind of hollow shell of post-Imperial culture (like, there are still military academies, but no-one is really sure what they’re training these kids for anymore except to reflect some past glory). And all the planets are shitty and only barely livable for humans (my headcanon is that Hux hates being on a planet because 1) stuck in an orbit and can blow up; 2) full of sand and shitty fauna, not sleek and hermetically sealed like his lovely destroyer; 3) gingers and sunlight are not friends).
Other main ponderable: who funds the First Order? I think it’s a combination of revenue streams: 1) stuff they mine/steal from vulnerable planets in the outer rim/unknown regions; 2) dodgy deals with smugglers and other galactic scumbags (protection rackets maybe? Brendol is especially disappointed about this) 3) support from wealthy crypto-Empire families in the Core.
So I’m just gonna screech incoherently and roll around for a while okay because I HAVE SO MANY FIRST ORDER FEELINGS HELP
*continues to run around in an
excited tizzy, bouncing off walls*
“the fuck-offers are like 90% of
the military, plus anyone who might have a few little things that could be
considered war crimes and/or genocide in their background.”
YES. IIRC, the First Order were sort of
extrapolated out of a ‘what if the Nazis had really set up shop in Latin
America post-WWII?’ scenario, so this rings
very true. I’m really fascinated by what happens to ‘culture’ when all that’s
left of your top tiers of society is the military dudes (and none of the
politicians, lawyers, academics etc). A really fucked up world view, that’s
what.
Now look here – why did you give me all these feels? I don’t
know what to do with them! Oh God, there are like a whole bunch of stories I
feel suddenly compelled to write, including but not limited to:
–
Hux’s weird eating habits that he is super
self-conscious about.
–
Hux giving a speech about how much he hates
sand, and Ren being like ‘OMG, just like my grandpa!’ ❤
–
Fucking boarding school in the Unknown Regions
that is St Trinians but worse.
–
Hux and Ren go glad-handing in the Core Worlds.
Ren has to wear an outfit he objects to and have his hair tamed in some
humiliating way. He cottons on to the fact that Hux is ‘not quite the thing,
old boy’ in the eyes of Core-dwellers (his accent is not quite right. He doesn’t
know that [insert dish name] is meant to be served cold). Ren wants to destroy
all these rich fuck-bags with extreme prejudice.
–
The great Outer Rimian novel, encompassing
themes of class struggle and colonial exploitation; the erasure of resources
and identities. I’m calling it The Grapes of Hoth.
If I’m honest, I probably won’t get round to that last one.
One last headcanon before I disappear off into the night,
cackling maniacally: Hux is not a good conversationalist. He is very good at
speeches (even extemporised ones), is very persuasive when he wants to bring
someone around to his plan, and can communicate clearly in a professional
setting. However, he is painfully conscious of the fact that he is not good at no-stakes
shooting the shit. Brendol was a true extrovert and charmer who was never
really ‘off’. Hux Jr. is a grumpy introvert and sees casual conversation as a
waste of his time and mental energy.
marry me pls
and now I have a serious problem and it’s “Ren objecting to the way ex-Imperials in the Core treat Hux” sfkljsfdljksfdklj he corners Hux one evening like “do you know what they’re saying about you????” and of course Hux does, or he can certainly guess because this is not exactly new for him, and Ren is just infuriated that not only is this happening but Hux allows it to happen
(he has strong feelings about this, inappropriately strong–there was once a boy named Ben who was the unfortunate result of a dalliance between a princess and a pirate, who gleaned that picture of himself from enough of the politicians he met that his mother eventually gave up on introducing him altogether because of his surliness)
… and then Hux takes over the galaxy and has them all executed, Vanellope von Schweetz-style I MEAN UH
@kdazraelshhhhhh I want to continue this but long tumblr threads are gross
Ok, ok, this thread is getting ridiculously long but I still have a millionty-one things to ponder. I do think a lot about what it was like to grow up in the unknown regions, probably in some kind of hollow shell of post-Imperial culture (like, there are still military academies, but no-one is really sure what they’re training these kids for anymore except to reflect some past glory). And all the planets are shitty and only barely livable for humans (my headcanon is that Hux hates being on a planet because 1) stuck in an orbit and can blow up; 2) full of sand and shitty fauna, not sleek and hermetically sealed like his lovely destroyer; 3) gingers and sunlight are not friends).
Other main ponderable: who funds the First Order? I think it’s a combination of revenue streams: 1) stuff they mine/steal from vulnerable planets in the outer rim/unknown regions; 2) dodgy deals with smugglers and other galactic scumbags (protection rackets maybe? Brendol is especially disappointed about this) 3) support from wealthy crypto-Empire families in the Core.
So I’m just gonna screech incoherently and roll around for a while okay because I HAVE SO MANY FIRST ORDER FEELINGS HELP
dispatches from the dumpster 