Welcome to my tumblr home for my (N)SFW art! I have an unhealthy obsession with a certain evil ginger space villain, so I cannot not reblog him.
I use the #nsfw tag in case applicable, so minors please filter out this tag! In any other case, if you are here for the NSFW stuff, check your tumblr settings and unhide the category.
Since it's hard to draw reader x Hux, I created an OC, Miko. She’s completely the opposite of Hux, and that produces explosions of various kinds. I love fleshing out her character, more than I would ever dare do with a reader insert. However, she is (for) all of us.
Somehow, my obsession with them has escalated in a full-blown fanfic - which will be the only thing I'll ever write in the next years. It has a mushy title, 'chocolate cookies and tarine tea' and it's split up in 5 arc's:
Read on AO3 for the best experience for spacing etc: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36933991/chapters/92147341
Tumblr posts: departure (I) - departure (II) - Shooting lessons (I) - Shooting lessons (II) - Taris (I) - Taris (II) - Breaking point (I) - Breaking point (II) - Breaking point (III) - Breaking barriers (I) - Breaking barriers (II) - Breaking barriers (III) - The promise in the water (I) - The promise in the water (II) - No strings attached. - No strings attached? - The water holds a secret - The other ship - The water will hold more secrets - second repairs - The destructive mixture of hate, ambition and fear - Arrival (I) - Arrival (II)
Arc 3 - resistance
(the script is there, but no chapter titles yet)
Arc 4 - order
(the script is there, but no chapter titles yet)
Some dirt I published as a draft.
Arc 5 - balance (?)
(the script is there, but no chapter titles yet)
My other socials:
NSFW accounts:
AO3: Lemongingerscribbles
IG: @lemonginger.art
SFW accounts:
dA: Sofie3387.deviantart.com (NSFW is only visible with account and 18+)
summary: armitage and his wife enjoy the evening together
warnings/tags: f!reader, wife!reader, set pre-tfa, mention of food and eating, mention of drinking alcohol (wine), suggestive bit, lots of fluff
words: 4408
author’s note: so this is the last chapter of this little story, and I'm sorry it took me so long to post it for anyone who was waiting! 💜 the thing about the little universe that this story is set in is that I have tens of thousands (if not maybe a hundred thousand 😅) words written for other fics in this same universe because I worked on it all summer last year as a way of recovering from a really bad mental health spell I had last spring. I really wrote it for myself as a comfort fic both as a way to ease back into writing fic and as a little universe I could escape into when I needed it. however, because I wrote it for such personal reasons, I never know if it actually appeals to anyone else. so I guess here is the point where I'm asking y'all to let me know if you would like to read more of it! I just don't want to go through and edit and format everything to post if no one will read it, and if you're not interested, that's totally okay! ☺️ like I said, I wrote it when I seriously needed some comfort and escapism, so I thought I would put this little part of it out there to see if anyone else might find something comforting in it, but if not, no worries at all! anyway, I hope you enjoy the finale to this very fluffy little fic! ☺️💖
the suggestive bit is nothing too wild, but just to be safe, I'm marking this one 18+ – minors please do not interact
After you had declared the sauce done and everything had been set out for dinner, the two of you returned to the table on the veranda. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, and the breeze carried just the faintest chill from the coming evening. You had opened another bottle of wine to accompany the meal, and you both sipped slowly from your glasses between bites of the food and conversation with each other. It was difficult for Armitage to conceive of a lovelier way to end the cycle.
“I hate to ask,” you started, your eyes angled down toward your plate, “since your schedule is already so full, but do you have a sense of when you might be able to visit again?”
He swallowed his sip of wine, immediately picking up on the sorrow in your voice that he knew you were trying to hide. You were always so generous and understanding about everything, and it cut him deeply to not be able to devote the time to you that he truly wanted to. He knew that his leaving hurt you as much as it did him, and although you always wished him goodbye with a kiss and his favorite smile, he suspected that you cried after his ship departed. You never let him see though, certainly aware that he wouldn’t be able to leave while tears were streaming down your face. But the image of it alone was enough to make him nearly sick, and the pain in your voice that you were clearly attempting to repress was sending a web of hairline fractures through his heart.
“I’m hoping in another month,” he responded. How he desperately wished it could be sooner – or better yet, that he would never have to be parted from you – but he was too practical to think that was a possibility at the present moment. Your eyes flicked back up to his, a little spark of excitement in them.
“That’s not so long,” you remarked enthusiastically. Although the genuine joy in your voice eased the cracks that had scattered across his heart, he couldn’t help but think how pathetic of a husband it made him that his wife had to wait a month before she could see him again.
“I wish it could be sooner.” He meant that with the utmost sincerity. For just a second, he almost asked if you wanted to come back to the Finalizer with him, but then the memory of those fading flowers stopped the words on his tongue. And anyway, the chances of someone discovering your existence on the Finalizer was so much greater than it was if you were here, and he had to balance his desire to always be close to you with the necessity of keeping you safe.
“But at least in a month everything will be in full bloom, and you’ll get to see the garden at its best rather than in those awkward in-between stages,” you offered. Stars, your positivity was undimmable; Armitage could have cried at the sweetness of it. “But let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves – we still have tonight.”
“Yes – yes, of course.” Armitage cleared his throat, trying to banish his drearier thoughts. “Did you have any after dinner plans?”
“Nothing exciting, and you can tell me if this would be a waste of our time together, but I was hoping to get your opinion on what I should wear to Val and Dellan’s engagement party.”
“That would never be a waste of time – I would love to,” Armitage rushed to assure you. The first time you had done something of the sort was after you had gone shopping in one of the planet’s larger cities, and you had mentioned in passing that you had bought a few new things, wondering if he would ever want to see them. He had said that he would, and although he had no idea what to expect, he found he loved it. He loved that he got to share such a quiet, domestic activity with you, appraising each garment as you explained where you thought you might wear them. He loved imagining for a moment that he might go to those places with you, perhaps even helping you tie the complex laces of one or button another where you couldn’t quite reach. It was a fantasy for now, but he was working toward a day when it would be a reality.
“But do I dare to ask what an engagement party is?”
“It’s how I knew Val was going to become a menace about this whole thing,” you huffed with a little exasperated laugh. “They’ve always seemed a little excessive to me, but some people throw a party to celebrate their engagement in addition to the wedding later.” Armitage had to agree that it did seem a bit excessive, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he wouldn’t have minded announcing his engagement to you to the whole galaxy.
When the dishes had been cleared – a process was slowed somewhat by many kisses – Armitage had seated himself on the edge of the bed with what remained in his glass of wine while you plucked items from the closet and piled them on a chair nearby. After you had assessed the stack, you nodded to yourself before beginning to remove the clothes you were wearing until you were left in just your undergarments.
Armitage’s cheeks grew incredibly warm, and he was certain his whole face was a humiliating shade of red. He coughed slightly and took a sip of his wine in an attempt to quell the sudden dryness in his mouth. You looked over at the sound, hand planted on your hip and an irresistible smile on your face.
“You better be having only the purest of thoughts over there,” you warned him teasingly, one eyebrow raised.
“Of course, my dear wife.” He pressed his hand to his heart in exaggerated earnestness. “My intentions toward you are entirely honorable.”
“Good,” you replied, good humor glimmering in your gaze, “I’m very glad to hear it.”
With that, you pulled the first garment off its hanger and slipped it on, smoothing the skirt until the ruffles hung the way you wanted. It was a yellow dress made from a lightweight fabric. You spun in a circle, letting the wide skirt swirl around you.
“This is option one,” you informed him. “But I think I’ll only do this one if it’s particularly warm.”
It was still a strange concept to him, choosing clothing based on the unpredictability of the weather. There was no weather in the Starfleet, and he simply wore his uniform every cycle. It wasn’t until he had finally realized that he wasn’t going to be able to live without you in his life and had committed to spending time planetside with you that he had accumulated a few other pieces of clothing. They were still black and simple, but they were at least more comfortable than the stiff formality of his uniform. Regardless, he thought you looked lovely in the dress, whether or not the weather was going to be warm.
“And then option two…” you trailed off as you tugged off the first dress and changed into a pink one. The fabric on this one was shinier, although Armitage had no hope of identifying what it was. There was a cluster of fake flowers gathered near the waistband that you were carefully adjusting so that the petals folded over each other correctly. You appraised yourself in the full-length mirror by the closet for a moment before you turned back to him, your expression slightly dimmed.
“On second thought, never mind about this one,” you said as you moved to take it off.
“Why?” he asked, the question stopping your motion. He wasn’t sure what you could possibly have seen in the mirror that might make you rethink the dress. He thought it looked wonderful. You fidgeted with the fabric flowers.
“Via said— well, it doesn’t matter.” Armitage was already frowning; he did not like Via at all. From what you had told him, it sounded like she always had something to say that was just short of being outright unkind. He often wished he had the authority here that he was accustomed to on the Finalizer, because he would have happily demoted Via so far down the ranks that she never would have been able to even dream of making lieutenant before the end of her career.
“What did Via say?” he tried to make his words coaxing, even if he wanted to snarl them. But his anger was nowhere near being aimed at you, so he resisted his more reactive impulses. You hesitated again before huffing a sigh.
“She said it looked kind of like a frosted life day cake,” you said. “But I think she was just joking – I don’t think she really intended to be mean,” you hurried to add. That was a far more generous interpretation than he felt Via deserved. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and attempted to steady his breathing, working to talk himself out of ordering a civilian assassination.
“Via doesn’t have any kriffing idea what she’s talking about,” he told you after he was fairly certain he had filed the sharpest edges off his words. “The dress looks beautiful on you.” You looked down at yourself again, spreading the skirt as though to examine it. He sincerely hoped you believed him – the idea that some idiotic comment from Via might talk you out of wearing something you liked was truly making him a bit furious.
“Well, let’s look at option three,” you suggested then, apparently still undecided about the pink dress. Armitage didn’t say anything further for the moment, but he certainly had some choice words to share about Via if the subject came up again.
The third dress was a pale green with darker green accents that appeared to be constructed of a similar shiny fabric to the pink one. It rustled faintly as you moved, spinning so he could see every angle. You gave the skirt a few more experimental swishes, the fabric shushing against itself.
“Hmm… I think this one is maybe a little loud,” you remarked. Then you caught his gaze, your eyes sparkling. “But I like it because it reminds me of the color of your eyes.”
Armitage’s reaction was instant. Heat flared in his cheeks, that familiar hum building in his chest as most of his thoughts were scrambled beyond hope of salvaging at the idea that you would choose to wear something because it reminded you of him. He opened his mouth in an attempt to say something that might express even a part of what he was feeling, but he wasn’t able to assemble a coherent response before you had moved back to the chair to try on the next dress.
“And I have to warn you about number four,” you said as you stepped out of the green fabric and began to pull the fourth dress on. “My mother said this one was too flirtatious for a married woman, but I told her that maybe I bought it to flirt with my husband. So this one really does need your opinion on whether you feel effectively flirted with.” Armitage wondered if you knew you were the single most endearing person he had ever met.
You turned then so he could see. The fabric was a deep, rich blue, shaped and gathered in strategic locations that certainly accentuated the shape of your body. The whole top portion of the dress was form-fitting until it flared out into an elegant cascade of folds. His mouth was beginning to go a little dry again, especially at the thought that you might have bought such a dress specifically with him in mind.
“So, do you find it flirtatious?” you asked, smoothing the fabric where it hugged your hips. “Admittedly, I’m no great seductress,” you added with a light laugh.
“I might disagree,” he said quietly, catching your gaze.
“Really?” you asked excitedly. “Wait, no, sorry – really?” You amended your tone, repeating the question in an exaggeratedly sultry voice that caused a bubble of laughter to rise in his chest and float from his mouth, a sound that you soon echoed. Stars, he was so kriffing in love with you.
He stood from the bed then and crossed the few paces to you. He let his fingers dance over your sides, lovingly tracing your form before resting his hands on your waist.
“You’re distracting me,” you whispered as he pulled you closer. “I still have another dress to show you.”
“I believe you’re the one who’s distracting me,” he breathed, his lips just skimming over yours.
“So you do find it flirtatious?” The teasing in your voice was irresistible.
“Yes,” he murmured, already sinking his lips onto yours, savoring the way he could feel you laughing against his mouth. Then you laced your arms around the back of his neck, deepening the kiss as he pulled you flush against him. The idea that you had been thinking of him when you bought the dress – perhaps even imagining this very moment – was causing his thoughts to go fuzzy around the edges.
“Too flirtatious to wear without you?” you asked, pulling away just slightly. “I do always wear my wedding ring,” you added. As if he would have doubted you for even a fraction of a second.
“I think you should wear whatever you want,” he responded. “And if anyone looks at you in a way you don’t like, just give me a list of names. I carry a blaster for a reason, you know.” He kept his tone light, but he was only half joking.
“You carry a blaster primarily for the purpose of defending your wife’s honor?” you teased.
“Of course,” he replied, this kind of light joking only coming easily to him when he was with you. “What other reason would I need?” He was rewarded with the sound of your laughter, and suddenly he had a new scenario to imagine while practicing at the officer’s range aboard the Finalizer. He could envision you looking absolutely stunning in the dress you had picked out with him in mind, and he would step slightly in front of you, his form exact and perfect, blaster aimed at some cad who had dared to stare at you with searching eyes. Maybe he liked that image a little more than he should.
“Well, I do have one more dress to show you,” you informed him. He released you from his grasp somewhat reluctantly and took up his position on the bed once more. You slipped out of the dark blue dress and reached for another garment that you adjusted carefully before turning to show him.
This dress was deep purple with the faintest shimmery sheen when you moved. A sheer capelet dusted over your shoulders, while the cut of the dress itself gently traced your form before falling into a subtle flare at your hips. His breath caught a little in his throat; you looked utterly lovely.
“And this one,” you started, swishing the skirt a little, “I got because it reminded me of what I imagined I might wear if it was ever safe enough for me to attend official events with you. It seems like something a general’s wife might wear – sedate but not boring.”
You caught him in your warm gaze then, and Armitage was absolutely freefalling. He struggled to produce air the way he wanted, so completely overcome by the idea that you envisioned attending events with him, that you pictured yourself at his side, already imagining what you might wear. What he wouldn’t have given to have made that an instant reality, to have shown up on the Finalizer’s bridge next cycle with you beside him in the fluttering purple fabric, your arm tucked happily in his.
Uncertain how to condense the wave of emotions inside of him into words, he stood again, already reaching one hand out to cup your face, his thumb brushing along the soft skin of your cheek. You melted easily into his touch, lips folding into a sweet smile.
“I think it’s perfect,” he murmured.
“Which one’s your favorite?” you asked. He couldn’t help a small groan in response that sent another spiral of laughter falling from your mouth.
“That’s an impossible question,” he replied, flicking back through the dresses in his mind, but unable to break the tie that was forming between the blue and purple ones.
“Alright, then which one do you think I should wear to the party?”
“Whichever one you want,” he responded, already anticipating the meaningful look you gave him as you propped your hands on your hips. A smile tugged at his lips upon seeing the affectionate exasperation on your face.
“I really would like your opinion,” you urged. Armitage stepped back slightly, taking in the sight of you as he dutifully considered your question.
“I think this one,” he said at last, catching the edge of the gauzy capelet in his fingers and carefully adjusting it. “Or the yellow one if it’s warm,” he added. Your expression was all softness when his eyes found yours again.
“Thank you,” you said quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek that ignited a blush across his skin. “Now, would you help me take it off? The ties on the capelet are a little fiddly.” The stain on his cheeks deepened from pink to red, his breath faltering on its way out of his lungs.
“Of course,” he breathed, unable to make his words any louder in suddenly dry mouth. With a little smile, you turned, letting him see the back of the dress. He found that his fingers were trembling slightly as he reached to untie the neat bow that held the capelet in place. The only other closure was a hidden zipper expertly tucked away under the silky fabric. He grasped the little metal pull with one hand while the other pressed gently against the top of the garment, his fingers just brushing over the back of your neck, creating enough tension in the fabric that he was able to unzip the dress in one fluid motion. It was a technique he had only perfected after meeting you; the uniforms to which he was accustomed had no need for such long zippers.
“Do you want your nightdress?” he asked softly, pressing a tender kiss to the base of your neck.
“Yes, please,” you murmured as you slipped the capelet from your shoulders and began to slide out of the dress. Armitage turned to the dresser and pulled open the drawer that held your sleep clothes, the light colors and delicate trims of yours a contrast to his stark black ones that lay neatly folded in the other half of the drawer. He drew out a pale orange one and carefully gathered the fabric in his hands so that it would be easier for you to maneuver the garment over your head. You received it from him with a soft smile and pulled it on, adjusting and smoothing the silky fabric before you began hanging your dresses back in the closet. Maybe he should have made more of an effort to stop staring, but you looked so lovely in the warm lights of the bedroom, and the sweet domestic intimacy of the moment had ignited a humming in his chest that was so exquisite he felt he might actually be glowing with it.
“Oh!” You turned from the closet as though you had just remembered something. “I need to bring the sheets in from the line.”
“I can do that,” Armitage offered quickly. Knowing you would likely protest, he began moving toward the door, allowing himself a quick kiss to your cheek as he passed. Then he was in the hallway and making his way outside at his usual brisk pace before you could insist on doing it yourself.
Evening had gathered, casting everything in a misty blueish haze. The chill in the air was also more pronounced than it had been at dinner, though Armitage was used to the feeling since the ships in the Starfleet were only heated enough to be reasonably livable in order to conserve resources. He strode through the grass, brushing past the taller plants in the garden that you said would be in full bloom when he saw you again in a month. The thought caused his chest to seize. He had been doing surprisingly well at not thinking too far ahead, at just staying in the moment with you, but all at once reality came crashing down around him again.
As he reached the sheets, he stopped for a moment, closing his eyes and inhaling a deep breath of cool air, steadying himself. Soon he would be back on the Finalizer, doing work he was proud of, progressing steadily toward his goals. And then in a month’s time he would be back with you, luxuriating in every moment. Slowing down and thinking through things logically calmed him somewhat, though he still found himself wishing as he often did that there was a way to meld together the two most important aspects of his life: you and his work.
Refocusing on the task at hand, he blinked his eyes open in the thickening twilight. He collected the sheets from the line, trying to drape them over his arm in such a way so as to minimize wrinkles. As he made his way back to the house, a smile played around the corners of his lips when he saw you leaning against the doorframe, silhouetted by the golden light spilling out from inside. You pushed yourself off the frame as he approached, greeting him with a sleepy smile.
“You’re going to get cold,” he told you, noticing the way the exposed skin on your arms was pricking upon contact with the chill air.
“Well, luckily I have a husband who’s willing to hold me until I warm up again,” you returned, pressing the button to send the door whizzing closed behind the two of you. Despite the coolness of the evening air that still clung to him, a glowing warmth hummed beneath his skin.
“He’s even more than willing,” Armitage responded quietly as he followed you back down the hall. “He would be delighted.”
You gave him a brilliant smile over your shoulder as the two of you reentered the bedroom. You had already drawn back the thicker covers, so he began draping the sheets over the bed, him tucking them in on one side, you doing the other. When the task was completed, your side looked more welcoming than his, with neat but gentle folds and the covers turned back invitingly at the top. His half was sharp and precise, trained as he had been by academy room inspections where an improperly made bed could result in demerits and infraction reports.
You slipped into bed, settling yourself against the pillows. Stars, he might actually sleep if he got to do so next to you every cycle.
“I’ll be right there,” he promised, collecting his own sleeping clothes from the drawer. “I just need to change.”
In the refresher, he pulled on the simple black garments that constituted his sleeping clothes. They were from his official clothing allotment, slim silver bands on the cuffs marking them out as belonging to a general’s wardrobe. He kept this set here with you though, and he was particularly motivated to make sure there was always a set in the drawer when he left, because he was fairly certain you slept in them while he was gone. He would sometimes pull the shirt over his head only to find that it smelled a lot like you, something that did not bother him in the slightest. In fact, he loved the thought of it, and on those rare nights when he actually collapsed into his bed on the Finalizer, he would run his fingers over the hems of his sleeping clothes and wonder if you were curled up in the set he left planetside, dreaming of him the way he was about to be dreaming of you.
He padded back into the room then, flipping off the lights as he went until the bedroom was bathed in a soft darkness. You were already under the covers, and he slid in beside you, readily pulling you into his arms. You melted happily into his embrace with a pleased sigh that Armitage echoed as he pressed a tender kiss to your hairline. As he situated himself, he realized that the sheets did indeed smell different, airy and fresh like you had propped a window open to let in the cool night air.
“You were right,” he murmured against your temple. He could feel the way you hummed in acknowledgement against his chest.
“I’m your wife, I’m always right,” you responded, drawing a small chuckle from him. The teasing glimmering in your voice was unmistakable despite the sleep he could hear creeping in around the edges. “But what was I right about specifically?”
“About the sheets,” he answered. “They do smell fresh.”
“Well, I’m very glad to hear it.” Armitage could feel the soft warmth of your lips as you shifted to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, stopping his breath in his throat for a moment.
Then you moved again, raising yourself just enough so that your lips could meet his. He gladly adjusted his hold on you to accommodate the new position, his answering kisses fervent but gentle. He could have spent all night kissing you, but he could tell you were tired with the way your movements were slowing. Eventually you sank back down onto his chest, tucking your head just beneath his. He savored the feeling of wrapping his arms around you again, of feeling your steady breathing as you rested in his embrace.
“I love you, Armitage,” you murmured. He was certain he would never tire of hearing those glorious words from your mouth. He held you even tighter then, pressing an adoring kiss to your temple. His words were barely a breath, but he meant them more deeply than he could ever have hoped to express:
Not so much an ask as an apology for waking up and immediately liking every single Hux post you’ve reblogged in the last 12-24 hours. I don’t know what came over me (I do), but it won’t happen again (it will).
Adding an ask, actually: What do you consider your most unexpected/least common Hux headcanon?
No apology necessary, I love seeing people go through all my Hux posts, I love to circulate stuff about. Always grateful that people like to see it!
Thank you so much for asking! That’s such a good question! I had to sit and think about that for a bit. I don’t think I have any headcanons that are really uncommon (is it uncommon to think that if Hux ever dared to stop and consider anything sexual that he would discover he had a praise kink and some submissive tendencies and then immediately repress it because he thinks it makes him weak?)
I maybe have one that’s unexpected considering other stuff I’ve said: I don’t think Hux trusts Phasma absolutely. I’m not sure he even trusts her more than he has to.
This may be unexpected for me to say because I do think he trusts her a not insignificant amount since they killed Brendol together - you don’t plot patricide with someone you don’t trust, after all. And one of my tags is Hux and Phasma snarky bffs, I do enjoy their relationship as colleagues who make sinister plans together (I don’t think either of them would ever actually say the word ‘friend’). But I think Hux is so paranoid, and has been so downtrodden by nearly everyone all his life, that there’s always a part of him that’s hackles up expecting betrayal. He keeps half an eye on Phasma at all times. If she’d be willing to betray Brendol for her own survival, who’s to say she wouldn’t do it to him? I imagine he might have some sort of contingency for such a situation.
That said, I think Phasma probably thinks the same about him. Why would she go to such lengths to hide her taking down the Starkiller shield if she didn’t?
So I think Hux relies on her, and he does trust her to an extent, but I don’t think he’s capable of trusting anyone completely. He’s always ready to turn around and bite if needs be.
I came to Tumblr (and the Star Wars sequels fandom) about a decade late, despite sincerely enjoying TFA and TLJ upon release, so it’s a joy to discover fanart I wouldn’t have otherwise seen in your reblogs!
I think you’re in the majority on your first point, about Hux and sexuality—which relates very neatly to your second, because issues of trust and vulnerability are at the core of Hux’s character. They’re a major part of why I find him so compelling, at least, and I don’t think I’m alone in that.
As for your second point? Yes. Hux and Phasma are both people who keep a dagger (literal or metaphorical) up their sleeve at all times, and they know this about each other. Hux probably tells himself that whatever camaraderie he has with Phasma is “a strategic concession under the tyranny of Brendol Hux” (to borrow my own phrasing), but I think it’s more complicated than that, precisely because of Phasma’s role in the loss of SKB. And maybe I’m in the minority on this, but I think Hux knows—or at least suspects, because we see time and again that he (1) believes the actions of those lower in the chain of command are the responsibility of their superiors (The Force Awakens: “Supreme Leader, I take full responsibility—”, Age of Resistance: General Hux: “But you were his superior. So responsibility ultimately lies with you.”) and (2) values information and intelligence too highly not to have engineered backups of the SKB access records (Phasma: “Of course I knew. I always know. I know everything.”). So I think he knows, and for reasons unknown to the audience and possibly even himself, he doesn’t use it against her.
I have my theories, of course. But that’s neither here nor there.
All this to say: THANK YOU for such a thoughtful response to my ask!
'a strategic concession under the tyranny of Brendol Hux' is an excellent phrasing. I think the concept of Hux suspecting Phasma's actions with Starkiller is such a fascinating one, and I think if he did and did nothing I agree he wouldn't be able to admit to himself if that had anything to do with sentiment, a word he is deathly allergic to. But equally it's a useful thing to keep in his back pocket for later if she ever needed to be convinced to do something ...
And I agree he is compelling because of his trust issues and vulnerability! It's part of why he's so nasty, which is another wonderful thing about him. I'm not a big shipper anyway (I don't have any issues with any Hux ships, it's just not for me) but I also think Hux doesn't really think about sex or relationships at all because it's a distraction from the Important Work of the Order, he's not interested in that, especially since personal connections like that are weaknesses to be used against him. But I also think if he ever did for a moment experience desire, he would immediately shut that shit down because he is 1) not about to let that become a problem enemies can exploit and 2) too busy for that shit right now, he's got a Galaxy to overthrow. It's why I don't have a particular headcanon about his sexuality, because I don't think he's ever stopped to think about it himself.
Thank you for your thoughts too! I'm always glad to chat about Hux and I appreciate you taking the time to write about it!
If we are on nail painting topics please don't imagine Brendol catching young Armitage on painting his nails. Because I did imagine it and now I am sad.
Armitage's bedroom walls were grey as was every other wall inside the Star Destroyer. The mouse droids roaming its halls were grey. The cannons attached to the Star Destroyer were grey. The hair of his teacher was grey as they praised the design of the Death Star, which had also been grey. Arkanis had been grey.
It made sense that his nails should be grey, too.
So when he was applying a coat of paint to a model of the Death Star in engineering class, he let some colour splash onto his fingers. After all, it was going to be his job to take care of the machines in the First Order, and that meant ensuring that they were all the same grey standard colour. One of the machines wasn't, though. Armitage had orange hair, green eyes, and beige skin. His grey uniform and grey cap could only cover him up from the eyes of others, but not his own. Now, though, there was grey on his nails. No one else had grey nails. He was more First Order in this way than anyone else. His nails were hidden beneath his gloves from his eyes but not from his mind.
He walked a little straighter and held his chin a little higher for the rest of the day until dinner.
Brendol always had dinner with his son. Armitage wasn't sure why — Brendol didn't seem to have any sympathy left for him — but he supposed that there was no better punching bag than someone who would never file an official complaint.
On good days, Brendol sent him to his room before he could swallow the first bite.
He knew that day was a bad day when Brendol poured alcohol into his tea.
"Your teacher told me you worked sloppily today."
"I didn't," Armitage said.
Brendol hit him.
That was fine. Denying the accusation meant being hit, but ignoring him or agreeing ended in receiving a harsher beating.
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not, sir."
Another hit.
"Maybe I should take you out of that class and sent you to the Stormtrooper one."
Armitage's eyes widened in fear. Brendol's mouth twisted itself to a vicious grimace.
"I'm of much more use in the engineering department, sir," Armitage said quickly.
"You're of no use no matter where you are. You'd be of as much use as you are now if you had no hands. In fact..."
Armitage had no time to react before his father poured the scalding hot tea over his hands.
He ripped off his gloves and pressed them against the cool surface of the table. He could not lose his ability to work with his hands, even for a few days. A few days were enough to have him thrown into space for wasting resources. An engineer was nothing if he could not sculpt the ideas in his mind into existence.
"What is that?"
Brendol's voice cut through the room and his pounding heart.
Both their eyes latched onto his painted nails.
"Remove it immediately, you kriffing disgrace, or I will remove your fingers. How dare you look like a citizen of the frivolous New Republic — the First Order will not tolerate such sloppiness!"
Armitage did. He was not sure if he was allowed back for dinner, but he supposed that Brendol would be far more furious if his punching bag left before he was done with it than if he offered himself up for another round of insults.
"You removed it," Brendol commented.
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Will you reapply it?"
"No, sir."
Brendol hit him.
"Not only did you do a sloppy job but you also give up after one try? I should've thrown you out into space when you had not yet been recognised as an official member of the First Order."
"Do you... Do you..." Armitage could've slapped himself. Brendol hated stuttering. "Do you want me to paint my nails, sir?"
"What I want is a son who's not useless at everything he does! I don't care if you paint your nails or get a piercing or smoke deathsticks, but don't be so useless at it! You will be useful, no matter what it takes, even if you have to scrub the paint away and put it on again until your nailbeds bleeds. I will not tolerate any work that is less than perfect."
Armitage did bleed. He practiced until he applied the paint perfectly. He wore gloves whenever possible from then on, but his nails were only hidden from his eyes, not from his mind, and years later, when Armitage spilled hot tea over his hands as he was working on Starkiller Base and had to remove his gloves, he saw his grey nails that he had painted that morning out of habit and realised that his nails would forever be gray.
Arkanis was grey. His uniform was grey. The Star Destroyer was grey. Starkiller Base would be grey. His skin had taken on a grey hue from his unhealthy habits. His eyes had dulled. He had found a grey hair amongst the red that morning.
His life was grey, and anything that wasn't grey yet would turn grey eventually.
That was fine. Armitage was a First Order machine and First Order machines were grey.
huge fan of the depth of a good purple but another area that draws me is definitely around aquamarine/turquoise/seafoam. you can not go wrong once the green starts getting just a tinge more blue. a gal could certainly do worse than to pull over there and stay a while
I love Hux having respect for women in power bc of Rae so he also has, despite himself, respect for Leia Organa, as she is a capable and competent leader.
I realised that Starkiller Base/Ilum was maybe the only planet aside from Arkanis that Hux ever really spent time living on. We don’t know how long he spent actually on the base but seeing how he’s credited with the creation of it, I think we can assume he spent some time there.
And then it was destroyed. And not only was it his greatest achievement (one he was convinced would a) secure his place in history and the Order and b) end the war) but also somewhere he had lived. Perhaps the first place he’d lived since Arkanis that wasn’t a ship.
I just had feelings about this and decided to inflict them on you 😂
I love feelings I love when characters suffer (insert fire emoji here)
I'll do you one better...this is admittedly a headcanon and not necessarily based on anything, but I like to headcanon that having a planet or system was sort of a national dream for the First Order.
After all, its citizens fit into the category of either (a) having left whatever planet they came from at an age where they were too young to even remember what it's like to live on a planet, or (b) they were old enough to remember and would very much like to return to normalcy. Despite all the other age-related divides, they can all agree: it would be nice if they weren't indefinitely space-bound.
Hux belongs to the "has basically spent his entire life in space" group; he was born on a planet, but like, how many people remember the first five years of their life? It's possible, but I personally like to think he barely even remembers Arkanis. He knows more than he remembers. To him, the idea of getting to live on a planet permanently is part of how he envisions "victory." The First Order reigns and their hegemony is so unchallenged the fleet has become basically the same as what it was under the Empire; a workplace.
Starkiller Base was supposed to be that planet. A superweapon, yes, a military base, obviously, but also, ideally, home. Someday. The beginning of the First Order transitioning from a space nation with ships for cities to a "normal" civilization with their own planet. They'd complete the superweapon part first, because that was higher-priority, but the vision was of the base as a real proper national capital.
Starkiller Base was Hux's magnum opus as a weapons engineer and a symbol of the First Order's collective goals. It was the first planet he ever lived on while being old enough to really appreciate the privilege of living on a planet.
