ofthelightside:

     For the briefest of moments, Rey gets that irresistible urge to pop the top and toss the liquid. One, it would certainly be a waste of good coffee. Two, she was too smart and too mature to stoop to that level of retribution. 

     Snatching the cup, she levels him a scathing look. Probably a little more scathing than it should be over a coffee mix-up. But to Rey, it was the principle of the thing. Some unspoken way of society that manners should be a thing that everyone has. Even tall, dark, mannerless buffoons like this guy. 

     “Is that all you have to say? ‘Oh’?” A fleeting thought of ‘pot, kettle’ brushed across the logical part of her mind. Just take the high road. Brush it off. Don’t even acknowledge. Take your precious coffee and leave. Textbooks are calling her name, calling for her attention, calling for her time. Which she most certainly shouldn’t be wasting. 

    There’s a crack in the calm demeanor she’s sporting that immediately follows his response, a façade that is quick to crumble, leaving naught but irritation in its wake. It does not go unnoticed to him, albeit he remains harshly passive. Kylo meets her scornful gaze with one of practiced indifference, one shapely brow lofting up towards his forehead upon her query.

    Well, he was going to resist provoking her further, but how could he say no when she was already so riled up?

                                            He needed a break from studying, anyway.

    “ You’re right, a simple ‘oh’ is not efficient by any means. ” A burnished gaze remains fixed on the girl glaring back at him, and he looks down at her in a way that is more than just physical.

    “ You are forgiven for this mix-up, and for wasting my time with such trivial chitchat. Now, be on your way, girl. ”

powerdrivcn:

@lightsundered started following you!

---

“You there, boy. Tell me where I am.”

    He halts dead in his pace, composure wavering for the briefest of seconds as a burnished gaze fixes on the silhouette before him. Gloved digits move to rest on the hilt of his saber as he surveys the mechanical visage before him, a visage he had come to idolize so thoroughly – a visage that has been long since DEAD.

    This must be a jest of some sort. That’s the only reasonable explanation he can conclude.

    “ You are aboard the Finalizer. ” Leather clad fingers tighten around his weapon, though still refrain from unhinging it quite yet. “ What is your purpose here, impostor? ”

theformerprince:

_{As quick as the Knight had been on the floor, he was
even quicker in reclaiming his composure and scrambling
back to his feet. His gaze had locked quite briefly with his
sparring partner in those moments, riddled with his chagrin
toward a situation that humiliated him more than he’d ever
let on. How often did their positions wind up precisely as
they did now?}

        _{Hans chose not to dwell on it.}

_{Pointedly and decidedly indignant, he smoothed wrinkles from
his dark cloak and regarded Kylo with an all but concealed
sneer. “Perhaps I simply prefer being close and personal
with my foes. What sort of thrill is it to blast them to
pieces from such a distance?” A brow began to rise in
mirror of the other’s expression.}

    He notes the urgency of his warrior’s movements, the haste in which he gets back to his feet with. Yes, good. Never grant your foe the upper hand, always get back up. Emerald beacons clash with his own for but a moment, and then Hans’ attention falls to his robes, and he diverts his focus from his ENEMY to groom his appearance.

                                                     STRIKE ONE.

    “ Oh? And do you obtain the same aforementioned thrill from being vanquished so easily? ” He’s testing him now, rubbing salt in the wound with gasoline fingers to ignite that spark of lowset anger that he feels within his Knight; fans it higher, hotter. Feel it, Hans. Use it.

    There is no pretense of warning as Kylo lunges forwards again, swings his saber with the brute of his strength. It’s plasmatic hum reverberates through the room as it clashes with the end of his student’s stun baton.

    “ Or are you simply just w e a k ? ”

(Source: lightsundered)

cfmusings:

you were made ｗｒｏｎｇ.
     because in your chest they will not find a beating heart,
  but a ⟨ loaded ⟩ gun.

                                 ⎨and ɢod have mercy on those
                                    who tried to love you ⎬

cfmusings:

_{i  hate  you  because  if  i  didn’t,
then  i’d  love  you,  but  love  is} 

                                 ｗｅａｋｎｅｓｓ

                                                                  _{and i’ll never be weak again …} 

myraknightofren:

They had approached her when she had returned from a job. She had been covered in dirt and grime, blood crusting into her blonde hair. Apparently, they had been watching her for some time (something she found incredibly unsettling) and wanted her to work for them.

The First Order wasn’t the first organization that had approached Myra, nor did she believe it would be the last. She had a specialized set of skills that many would wish to have themselves, and paid immense amounts of credits to borrow. But those were temporary jobs. The one the First Order offered was more of a permanent one. 

At least she’d have a place to rest.

But the moment she saw the white armored soldiers she was supposedly going to join, she immediately regretted her decision. She didn’t want to fade into the groups. She didn’t want to become another number to these people. She was Myra Nicos, an individual, not just another body.

So, instead of taking her anger out on the men who had approached her, she channeled it in the training room. Her blonde hair hung loose in her face, and her skin glistened with sweat as she sparred with Trooper after Trooper. 

@lightsundered

    It comes to him in waves; at first, but a mere, fleeting warmth, like ultraviolet rays against sunkissed skin, albeit it quickly evolves into something far more violent; a primal scald that burns like a hearth, dangerous in its intent. He is drawn to her – this new Stormtrooper, FN4963, was it? – no, not her; her anger, which proved to be quite a formidable thing in itself. He could feel it, hot and incessant in a phantom chest as if it were his own.

    Heavy footfalls carry him through the monochrome corridors; an artificial gaze remains set on the expanse before him, he doesn’t even spare a glance to the Troopers that pass him by. They are his subordinates, after all. Yet, ironically, here he is, on his way to inquire about one of his said subordinates.

    He reaches the training chambers within minutes, halts a few paces in from the threshold once the pneumatic door seals behind him. He observes with a quiet dominance as she spars with the other Troopers, and bests a vast majority of them. He’s genuinely impressed by her performance, but he’ll never admit that.

    Kylo is still for a few moments more before he advances, confident in his stride across the padded flat beneath him. His attention is fixed on her, and he dismisses their company with but a wave of a leather clad hand. A pause, and then he speaks, voice warped by the integrated vocabulator built into his mask.

    “ You – where do you come from? ”