#muse:mara

[multiversal-pig-outing]

If the dark side is so bad why every woman in the dark side is the pinnacle of beauty (Morbidly obese)?

Exactly. Plus we have cookies. The good kind.

[multiversal-pig-outing]

Mara jade ex apprentice of vader. And wife of luke skywalker.

[flammesfatales]

Lull before a Storm | charismatickinslayer | Our Perfect Disease

charismatickinslayer:

The arms around Vyra tightened, enveloping him more fully, Malek’s cloak around his shoulders. At that request however, he laughed.

“You’re taller than me. This is going to look ridiculous.” Despite that tho, he did as bid, scooping the Red up something like bridal style. Unable to access his blade, he spun the ring on his right finger instead, activating the spell within, and transporting both dragons to his home, and one of the furnished guest bedrooms within. He wondered for a moment just what the hells he was doing, as the words in the walls of his home flared bright, screaming danger. Screaming enemy. Setting the Red down on the bed, he quieted them with a wave of his hand, unease low in his stomach.

Vyra felt his stomach lurch, bile threatening to rise as he was picked up, but the wave of nausea passed as quickly as it came and he laid his head on the other’s shoulder. The chill made him shiver, yet comforted him all the same, in some twisted sense of security. He knew, somewhere deep in his alcohol muddled brain, he was far from safe and had set up the perfect opportunity for the Silver to slice his throat, or worse. 

But none of that clicked in his mind, now fuzzy, consciousness slipping through his grasp like sand. He barely registered them moving, or the sound of the wards, or that he had been laid down on a bed except for the lack of cold. He wanted that cold, that biting chill to come back and seep into his bones, to take him, envelope him. He wanted the scent of rain to invade his sense and drag him down. He let out a small laugh at those thoughts. He started drinking this morning because of the Silver, because of the anniversary of what he did all those decades ago and yet here he was being cared for him. 

Irony was a bitch. 

[flammesfatales]

“I think ‘Lythie’ should scratch Adrammalech’s face off. Anyone else in agreement?”

[charismatickinslayer]

Of Memories Past | charismatickinslayer

As she sat, he felt old anger rise unbidden: the urge to attack, to slaughter. He could. At this moment, she was relatively off-guard, and no doubt less comfortable and confident in Hume form that the centuries in illusion had left him. The perfect moment to pounce. All it would take, one swift movement forward. Muscles tensed, seeing her beneath him, a spell and his own strength binding her to the earth at her back long enough to draw blade across flesh, retracing the scar he had already left and that she had concealed. Retrace it, as if it had simply been practice. He would not leave her lying. No. Too simple, too dignified for one he had hated for so very long. He would defile her body, leave a corpse humiliated and maimed, stripped of all dignity and power. The last dragon of Teras left to kill, and damned if he wouldn’t enjoy it.

He forced himself to relax. Reminded himself that granting his desire would reap no benefit any longer. He denied himself to punish himself. He would not kill her. Yet. Instead, he spoke.

“Why am I an ass, you asked. I should like to protest that I am not, but I doubt you would be convinced. All told, ‘ass’ is a bit lighter an insult than I would have expected, considering what I have so joyously ripped from you.”

Looking down, he was silent a moment. Was that… regret, for those words? If so, he did not voice it. Rather, he began again. “Once upon a time, as all such tales go, there was a young prince. This prince was heir to a great legacy, one he carried with pride and nobility of bearing, wishing nothing more than to bring his family and name honor. And yet… each time that he ventured forth down the long white hall of his palace to visit with his father and mother and brothers and sisters, that he might learn of the ways of kingship he was to inherit, he found the throne room bare, empty and barren of the laughter and life he expected to find within. There were no servants to be found roaming to grand halls. No shy and dutiful maids darting from the edge of sight, no silent guards to wave him through, no delightfully rotund cooks to slip him sweetmeats a’fore dinner. There was no one, and there was nothing but silence.”

“And yet, despite the quiet and the solitude, the young prince was not unhappy. After all, he had the run of the palace, its boundless chambers his own kingdom to rule–and if he tired from time to time of speaking to the mice as his subjects, and playing pretend, well, there was none to witness his folly or sadness. He learned a great deal, studying in the great library, hoisting his bow and hawk and hunting within the royal forests, and playing at command upon the empty throne of his father. Perhaps the echos of emptiness rang a bit loudly at night, when he lay to sleep in a bed all to himself, no brothers and sisters to share the warmth with, but this was a small, fleeting concern.”

“And so he lived, alone, dreaming still of the day when he might meet the family that surely awaited him still. He was certain they’d much to teach him. It was not until the dark impostor appeared that he realized the truth of it. While the false king bore some passing resemblance to royal line–faint tho it was, still enough to fool the peasantry and lesser nobility–the prince was not fooled, for his hands were stained of blood, and his eyes bore nothing but greed. He knew within an instant of sighting him that this impostor was the reason for his solitude, for this man had slain his family while they slept, consumed the servants, and ruled the kingdom in tyranny and fear, all while the prince himself had darted through empty halls unseen.”

“The prince burned in grief and anger, knowing he could not let this false king continue. He crept away, remaining from sight, allowing the fake to think him dead. But he was very much alive, and he plotted. He trained, he grew. When he was a young man, he announced himself. He did not dart from shadows as a thief, rather, he appeared in light, making clear his claim, and intention to regain it. The battle was long, for tho the prince was young and strong, the phantom was aged and devious, having fought many battles, and taken many thrones. Finally, however, he fell, the prince’s blade running him clean through. In victory, the prince drug the false king’s body through the snows, foisting him up for all to see. ‘Behold’ he declared to the subjects that quivered at the sight of what they had come to see as cruel and unending rulership, ‘I have slain the impostor, and regained my rightful throne. From this day forth, you will be free from fear. As my family has sworn before me, I shall be your leader, your king, and protector. I shall take up my crown, as the one true king.’ So saying, he left the fiend’s body to bone, leaving his defeat to serve as the first of his works. And this then was the first act, and the one to gain the attention of the gods.”

[flammesfatales]

Mara listened, at first unsure of just where this tale would go, but was soon enough absorbed in the Silvers words, of the story of the young prince and his struggle. She shifted, getting more comfortable, forgetting who she was in the presence of and what sins he had committed against her. It was just his words, his tale, painting a vivid picture in her mind’s eye. She felt sympathy for the boy, that even though he had defeated the false king, the boy was still alone, always had been, and had to take on so much so quickly.

During the story, she had shifted closer, and was watching Malek. “Then what happened?” She asked. A small voice in her head growled, ready to remind her just who she was talking to, but the need to find out more, to hear the whole story from start to finish outweighed all else. For the moment.  

[futiledevics]

"I look like I should be in a Disney movie." Mara groaned unhappily.

[futiledevics]

"Let me get this straight, you want to rob a bank? Have you lost your fucking mind? Yeah we both know I need to money but rob a bank?" Mara asked arching an eyebrow at the boy from her position on the couch. "Why risk getting yourself in trouble? You don't need it." Mara yes did need money she was practically living day to day barely able to pay rent herself. It was a stupid idea, beyond stupid but she was sort of considering it. It was much better than being homeless right? Mara never knew how it felt to be well of or even secure for that matter but Jacob was the exact opposite.

[futiledevics]

{ text - friend/boyfriend/ext }

Mara: sorry I haven't answered your text

Mara: my sister is in the hospital

Mara: I was preoccupied