#maaras

[marsoomata]

old kissin memes with taarlok and the two loves of his life 

[i-am-undone-without-you]

A Whole Lot More Than Riches And Muscle

When she was a child, they told her she would be nothing but a whore.

But Maaras wanted more.

So she begged her mother's victims for books when they came by. A sweet smile, big eyes to lure them in. Those perfect, round cheeks and those pretty curls to frame her face. No one could resist.

And so she read. And read. And read. Of queens, of heroes, of knights, of villains, of thieves, of pirates. They were Phoenixes or Dragons or Elves or Humans.

But never a half child or even a Succubi.

So one day, the sweet child asked her mother, "Why do we have no heroes or stories?"

"Because we're only as good as what's between our legs."

Maaras hated that answer. But the truth of it was all around her. She, as well as the other girls her age, were being prepared for their futures as consorts, concubines, whores. Nothing more. They would be nothing more.

But she had something the other girls didn't. Something so special and so unique.

She had magic.

So when Maaras was eight, she made her decision to run away. As far as she could go. Luck would have it that she ended up hiding on a trading galley. Her charm won her a place in the captain's heart, but the moment they docked she vanished like smoke.

And her life began when she met a boy so much taller than herself.

[i-am-undone-without-you]

The Madame's Gift

She builds an empire with skilled hands. Small as it is, it is her empire. Her subjects are the abused, the forsaken, the free. They idolize and worship her, but all she asks is that they love her.

An honest love, not one of beauty's inspiration. They each see someone different when they look at her. One girl will see a woman with curves and curly hair, while another will see her with legs for days and cropped hair. One sees her skin as honey kissed, and another darker than the empty moon. They see skinny lips or plump lips. More ass than tits or vice versa or maybe a healthy balance.

She can sing, dance, cook, clean, entertain and a thousand other things, but none of it matters when she watches the birds fly by her window. Her people are free. Her people are happy. Her people are healthy. Her people. Her people.

They matter above everyone else in the world. Her love for the little hawk that led her through the city streets was great, but not great enough to make her spurn them.

But her own heart would make her turn away, just this once. She sees him from her window. His red hair and freckles she knows from memory. The body she has come to enjoy for her own selfish needs.

She can call it lust.

She can call it love.

She can call it whatever she likes if it makes her smile.