╳ R E B E L @thelxstson-blog - Tumblr Blog

Star Wars: Episode VIII — The Last Jedi (2017), dir. Rian Johnson

#// love this move. this trash boy.#☄ . [ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵐⁱʳʳᵒʳ ʳᵉᶠˡᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ ᵈᵃʳᵏˡʸ ; self ]#☄ . [ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵖʳᵒᵐⁱˢᵉ & ʸᵉᵗ ˢᵘᶜʰ ʷᵃˢᵗᵉ ; rey ]

princessofpoldark

#♡ ‧ [ ˢᵉᵃˢ ᵒᶠ ʳᵃᵍᵉ ᶜᵃˡᵐ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈˢ ] . kylux #♡ ‧ [ ʷʰᵒ ᵃʳᵉ ʷᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵒˡᵛᵉˢ ⁱⁿ ˢʰᵉᵉᵖ'ˢ ᶜˡᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ] . ship dyn #// someone hold this boy's hand

fatcr0wart

I was thinking about this at work literally all day. Now with better resolution!

Bonus:

(Someone add the link to the original meme please!)

#♡ ‧ [ ˢᵉᵃˢ ᵒᶠ ʳᵃᵍᵉ ᶜᵃˡᵐ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈˢ ] . kylux #// if you don't think this is a common occurrence obvs u haven't seen simon & i interact as these two idiots

There was a time when there would be a question of what or how or why. Their hands would meet in rage or fury with questions hushed between lips, gnashing teeth, and bruising fingers. Kylo would grab him, use him, as though it were merely a means to an end. A purpose to fill the void when his sense of direction was lost in the sea of so much hatred, so much pain, from a past where others dictated his future.

Now he is laid out in a bed, his head aches and his body feels heavy in a way that explains nothing to his addled mind. Kylo’s eyes blink sluggishly, his brows knitting together as he tries to piece the world together into one cohesive narrative. Exegol was hazy, pieced together by thoughts and what he imagines are echoing pains from before now.

His eyes find the ceiling, thoughtful, pained.

Cheers echo in his memory. A celebration for the Reisistance, one that rang true in his veins as Kylo Ren died slowly and Ben Solo woke breathing shallow, fast, like a trapped animal. Dark eyes land upon a familiar sight, upon fire red hair so close yet far enough he can only touch.

Fingers settle slow, almost uncertain, through the strands of Hux’s hair.

“Hux.”

─ @gcneralis

#// me okay with TROS? nah #gcneralis

mogudraws

okay today I was in a mood for a kylux doodle

#♡ ‧ [ ˢᵉᵃˢ ᵒᶠ ʳᵃᵍᵉ ᶜᵃˡᵐ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈˢ ] . kylux #// this is canon for my kylo fite me

huxsmug-deactivated20200201

Hux comic spoilers!

The preview is here guys! I’m screaming!

Link in the source!

#// SCREAMS SOFTLY INTO THE VOID #☄ . [ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵐⁱʳʳᵒʳ ʳᵉᶠˡᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ ᵈᵃʳᵏˡʸ ; self ]#☄ ‧ [ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ᵃ ᵇᵃˢᵗᵃʳᵈ ᶜᵃʳᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰᵉˢ ʰⁱˢ ᶜʰⁱⁿ ; hux ]

reylo4lifee-deactivated20200110

IM SORRY BUT

This is the hottest shit to ever exist

#// what a fukkin mood tho #☄ . [ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵐⁱʳʳᵒʳ ʳᵉᶠˡᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ ᵈᵃʳᵏˡʸ ; self ]#tros spoilers

sentinelreylo

“I know what I have to do, but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.”

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (2019)

Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015)

#☄ . [ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵐⁱʳʳᵒʳ ʳᵉᶠˡᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ ᵈᵃʳᵏˡʸ ; self ]#tros spoilers

adamdriverdaily

“Paterson” Photocall - The 69th Annual Cannes Film Festival

#☄ . [ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵐⁱʳʳᵒʳ ʳᵉᶠˡᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ ᵈᵃʳᵏˡʸ ; self ]#☄ ‧ [ ᵃ ᵍᵃˡᵃˣʸ ᵇᵉʰⁱⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵉʸᵉˢ & ʸᵒᵘ ᵖⁱᶜᵏᵉᵈ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ˢᵗᵃʳˢ ᵃˡⁱᵍⁿ ] . modern au

♕

#// guess what I'm back and not even jj aplop can stop me now #☄ . [ ᵇᵉⁿᵉᵃᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵃˢᵏ ʷᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃˡˡ ⁱⁿᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ; ooc ]

✗

#// coughs dust off of here #☄ . [ ᵇᵉⁿᵉᵃᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵃˢᵏ ʷᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃˡˡ ⁱⁿᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ; ooc ]

gcneralis

His lips press tight into a straight line, his jaw works, teeth grinding against one another at the question, and while his first instinct is to step back when Kylo steps forward, his own pride roots his feet to the ground. He knows, he knows that Kylo is invading his personal space on purpose, the childish man did it whenever he wanted to make a point. To prove he had the power.

Light coloured eyelashes flutter a few times as the hand reaches out and catches his face before he can move out of the way, the press of bloody fingers hard enough to be rewarded with a slight hitch in his breath, the scent of blood so close enough to make the general near nausea. He had no problem with seeing the liquid, simply the smell, and only when it was so strong, so encompassing.

There’s a sound, something strange, like tearing flesh, and his eyes open once again, blue eyes locking onto the ferocious dark of the other mans, his shoulders squaring back and his hands remaining gripped tight at his back. He waits. He always waits. While they may be equal in position, they were not in favor. They were not in strength. In intimate locations such as this, alone with one another in a small room, Kylo had every advantage, and Brendol Hux had the knowledge not to toy with that.

At the sound of Rens voice and the freedom of his jaw, Brendol swallows hard and straightened out all over again. The younger man had agreed, but there was no win in this for Hux, no gain, simply more work, more delicate, pressing, and time consuming work. One deep, calming breath, then two, then four, and soon enough the small tremor that had threatened to run along his spine to his shoulders is wrestled away, forced back for a later time.

For now, he had work to do.

Once Kylo settles he takes a step forward and stills once again, keeping his eyes on the gauze, on the wound rather than the chilling look as more and more red hot skin is revealed. Of course all of the previous work had been undone, a gift, he’s sure, in some perverted way of thinking. Now Hux had a clean slate to work with in the realm of repair work.

Ren speaks again. His eyes move up in time to catch and meet the gaze. To accept the challenge.

And acquiesce.

With a deep breath he falls to his knees rather gracefully, reaching over to grab the tray of utensils and settle them on on Kylos lap as he slips in between his knees to lean against the chair and get closer to the wound. Without a word he sets about cleaning it first, covering a cloth in the antibacterial foam before pressing it right to the wound.

It would hurt.

He intends for it to hurt.

“ I imagine you want stitches again… Rather than anything medically advanced. “

thelxstson-blog

A note of pleasure arises, simmering against the prideful heat in his veins. There he rests, a pillar of wrath upon a bloodied throne of ebony, with the General sinking low to his knees. What man would depreciate the sight of something so proud brought so low by word and action alone. It is a delicate game of pressure applied to the soft points amidst armor. Thin hands are stark, pale, compared to the heaving weight of his chest. They stain so easily when they stray too close to enflamed skin.

Dark eyes watch, taking in the smear of crimson along that delicate jaw. Kylo commands, a wild force, and the General has always been alone in surviving the storm. It burns, the cool clean antiseptic dragging a tensed breath from his lungs and setting muscles to clenching upon instinct alone. He imagines it soothes the other man’s wounded pride -- and oh how easy it was to have him bow to his whims by throwing duty in the General’s face -- inflicting such subtle pains to him.

A terse exhale of laughter rattles free, chased by a slow ebb of crimson arising from still healing wounds.

“Why do you waste time with rhetoric?”

Bloodied hands smooth back dark wild hair, paying to mind to the stained path they leave. No, he wishes to watch the General obey. The sight gratifying even as his hands toy with the contemplation of ruining the perfect image the man has strived to cull through his years of service.

Still his blood remains, a stain binding them both and disturbing the idle perfection of the General’s person.

It isn’t enough but it will have to suffice.

“Perhaps it was your choice of medic droid that should be questioned,” he begins, gaze heavy and dangerous. “After all, this is your ship.” As if to accuse that the fault lay with a hunk of metal instead of his movement ripping flesh apart beneath his rage. Kylo rests, deceptively docile, beneath those hands.

Dark eyes follow thin wrists and crimson fingertips.

“They happen to lack more than expertise.”

Oh how restless he feels, caged in his own broken flesh and tended to meticulously by graceful fingers set fast to work. Teeth ache, grinding slow, fighting the desire to sink into the ivory curve of the General’s throat and further damage that pristine image. Fingers are restless against the cold edges of his throne, chasing the ghost of imagining the vibrant colors that would play across freckled skin as his grip tightened and the other man was forced to gasp, to choke, beneath his touch.

Heat stirs at the pool of his stomach betraying the scathing manner which he observed.

“If your forces are so woefully inadequate perhaps our leader should be informed that you require further supplies to rectify the situation.”

#gcneralis #cw . choking mention #cw . abuse mention #[ emerges from the black lagoon to reply to this ]#[ you're fine bb ]

gcneralis

The very second that Ren stands, Hux draws his hands back to himself, fingers curling into fists, grip so tight that he threatens to cut through leather gloves and into his own palm with the crescents of his well kept nails. Knuckles white, he pulls his hands behind his back to keep their shaking a secret to perhaps only himself.

Anger is instant, it replaces the concern he felt watching his companion attempting to bandage himself, but even that much hatred can’t fully block out the worry at seeing red bleed through patch after patch of gauze.

His gaze has fallen to the wound in Rens side, to the damage there from a bowcaster, or so he has been told by the few surviving troopers that Ren had originally taken with him to find Han Solo. He has seen first hand what a bowcaster can do, he’s seen it kill whole squadrons of troopers in one hit and Ren had taken one directly to his side.

But still, the General takes a step back, relaxes his left hand so he can grasp firmly onto his right wrist, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. It was one of perhaps three ways that he battled his own anger. It wasn’t for someone of his stature to lose their composure, and he had yet to do so with Ren, spare the slight spat after the accusation that is training regimen bred traitors.

Traitor. A singular traitor. A man who had been reviewed as too weak for battle and put on janitorial duties, a man that had somehow been sent on an important mission and had shattered. This was not the fault of his regimen, not the fault of Phasmas training.

What did he want. His attention is pulled up to the mans face once again, keeping his light eyes locked with the dark ones a mere two inches higher than his own.

What did he want?

“ For you to be alive. When we arrive where the Supreme Leader has told me to take you. “

thelxstson-blog

Ah there it is. The trigger to the General’s temper. It is lurking beneath armor, wreathed in leather and well-honed control. A part of him, small and bitter and smug, is infinitely pleased to know that the pain is worth the resulting twitch in the man’s grasp upon his looming outburst. Fingers are bathed in crimson and he eases once more into the delicacy of the General’s personal boundaries. This time, he does not need a mask to hide his outright loathing.

“You think a wookie and a frightened girl are enough to kill me?”

A dangerous question. Kylo nearly hisses the words as he mars pale skin with a vice of bloodied fingers, gripping the man’s chin with bruising ferocity. Such pride is what fuels him ( it is all he has left to armor him ). Such pride is what has him using his own terrible strength, ripping stitches anew, in lieu of the force. He wants to drive the point in, he wants to bruise the General’s flesh as a reminder.

Dark eyes narrow.

“Very well.”

He lets go, disgust in his motion but not in his eyes before he looks away. The General is offered his back, his disdain, but not his gratitude. Kylo does not deign to request help, no, he merely seats himself once more, raises a brow, and spreads crimson across the inky darkness of his chair. It is more of a throne amidst the sparse decor of his living quarters and Kylo expects the General to kneel.

Even bleeding out, even distrusting, he is prideful and finds a level of calm amidst the familiarity.

“I find myself requiring your capable hands.”

Kylo gives no forewarning as agile fingers set to peeling away the careful work with a note of recklessness. Just like your father, a little voice whispers at the forefront of his mind. A bitter taste wells up and with it his unending well of hatred. Gauze makes a wet noise when it’s dropped to the ground at his feet. He meets the General’s eyes with a challenge unspoken between them. Even with his skin flushed angry and hot along his side, even with his body exposed and vulnerable, even then Kylo knows he has the high ground.

A mocking smile twists at the corner of his lips.

“You wouldn’t want to fail your mission would you?”

#gcneralis #[ yes this is all ur fault and wow i am 900 years late replying to this ]