#Adrsiae

[yet-another-heathen]

Nobody: You know? Eight foot tall, four-armed, burly, surly, murderous, (literally!) smoldering demon women deserve love, too.

Spring, popping up over the edge of the railing and scaring the shit out of the Oryx crew:

@whumpsical this popped into my head while you were sleeping and would NOT leave me alone

#sorry Adrsiae you know you're not getting rid of her no matter how hard you try #The Bird and the Jackal AU #The Jackal of An-Nadr #Adrsiae #Spring #memes that are incomprehensible except to like one (1) person

[brutal-nemesis]

How would Neteri react to Yeezumon and Ifyaa? And, maybe even better, how would she react to Adrsiae?

She’d be super interested in them and how their arms work and probably ask them a bunch about them and their culture and everything. She’d still treat them with respect of course, but she might make an awkward blunder or two in her excitement.

As for Adrsiae? Two words: ✳･ﾟ  🎀  𝑔𝒶𝓎 𝓅𝒶𝓃𝒾𝒸  🎀  ﾟ･✳

#ask game #neteri #yet-another-heathen #full science mode heckin ACTIVATED #and also gay disaster mode

[yet-another-heathen]

Unrest - VI

1,183 words. Original Work: The Jackal of An-Nadr.

For new readers, The Jackal is an ongoing whump series set in 1,200 BCE, where pre-Islamic fantasy meets the love of bloody sword fights, worlds that are as vivid and alive as the characters, and the agonizing loss being dragged away from home into a life you never asked for.

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Content Warning | epic worldbuilding, multi-character argument, discussion of murder, generational trauma, decision to enslave a captive, xenophobia (this is a very light one)

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpsical @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump @whump-queen

“That isn’t what I would call ‘powerless’, Al-Mantaqi,” the Quartermaster interrupted, “Sick or no, hurt or no, there is no mistaking what the dirtblood’s voice means. I have already broken up two fights in the last hour, and tensions are only getting worse. It cannot stay here.”

Ifyaa shifted uncomfortably, irritation written all over his face, “Just what do you propose we do with it? Dump it back into the desert and leave it to die in the wastes?” His eyes narrowed. “Or would you rather an execution so the crew can watch? That would be sure to settle their nerves."

The tip of Adrsiae’s blade ground softly into the wooden table as the twisted the hilt the other direction, so deep in thought that she didn’t seem to realize the damage she was doing to her prized desk.

Hidhialial held Ifyaa’s gaze, and then sighed. He readjusted the swords at his belt and wiped a hand down his face. 

With a small gesture of soreness, he pulled out another chair and settled stiffly into it. For once, he looked tired enough to show his age. “You know that isn’t what I want.”

A long moment of unbroken silence passed around the table.

The Captain spoke for the first time since they had entered her cabin, “Keeping a Son of Solomon aboard ship paints a target on our back that our entire world will turn its eyes to." She looked up at Hidhialial. “Including some powers that we would rather not have looking.”

"It's too late to keep the news contained. Everyone aboard already knows what we've found." Ifyaa pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wish we'd learned about it before exposing the whole crew. All hope of keeping this quiet just died between our teeth."

"There's nothing to be done for it now," Hidhialial said quietly. "If news gets to the cities, we'll have sentinels breathing down our backs within a fortnight. And if news gets to other ships? Well. The Oryx is fast, but a sparrow can only outrun a hawk for so long."

Adrsiae's voice was hard, "Killing it may be our only real option."

Hid sighed, closing his eyes. "No. I don't think it is. Not unless we want to be drowning in worse nightmares in another few decades."

"What do you mean?"

A look passed behind Hid's eyes that was almost one of pain. He didn't want to speak of this, every one of them could see it on his face. "They're coming faster every century. A millennia ago there were none. Now? There have been three in my lifetime alone, and that's only counting the ones we know about." Quietly, "Kill one, and two more are born. We can't keep on like this. With every death, history grows closer to repeating itself."

For a long while, that suggestion sat heavy over the four of them. That was a silence that was hard to break.

“Then we take it to Bu Mahmata,” Yeezumon said. All eyes, even the Captain’s, turned to him. The marigold-yellow fabric of the human’s turban spun through his hands, idly brushing over the embroidery at the edges. “The nobles would pay half the city to get their hands on it, and from there we can take our leave of the matter.”

“The Holy City is more than five months’ sail from here. If the crew doesn’t turn itself inside out by then, certainly other ships would have their claws in us by the time we see the city walls.”

“Do you really think the crew would so readily betray us?”

For a long moment there was silence. 

Adrsiae closed her eyes. “As much as I see these people as family, fear has a terrible way of leaking through the cracks. We cannot go forward under the assumption that the discovery will stay quiet.”

“Then we’ll offer them a share,” said Yeezumon. 

Ifyaa looked toward his husband, alarmed. But Yeezumon placed a hand over his to quiet his protests, and then continued. 

“One part in sixty to each of the crew members. For a Son? That is the same as almost five year’s pay to each of them, and I think you will find even the more contemptuous a lot more likely to hold their tongue for that much gold.”

The room went quiet, considering their offer. All was still, and eventually Hidhialial looked toward his Captain.

“It could work,” he said softly. “It incentivizes each and every one of them to keep their tongues under lock and key, and may even be enough to quell some of the tension.”

“But what is to be done with the human in the meantime?” Ifyaa asked. “We can’t just lock it in the hold. If we do, it will be broken and insane by the time we make it to the Holy City. Even a Son can’t be sold in that kind of condition.”

“For now it is in no condition to go anywhere but the infirmary and our cabin," said Yeezumon. "It may not be possible to keep it entirely out of sight, but at the very least we can keep it contained."

“Do you think that will be enough to satisfy the crew?” the Captain asked Hidhialial.

He let out a soft grunt, settling back into his chair. And then he conceded, “There is only one way to find out.”

She gave him a small nod. Then she turned to Yeezumon. “You do realize that as soon as this is offered to the crew it would become blood-bound. Are you prepared to uphold that promise?”

Yeezumon looked toward Ifyaa. What seemed like worlds passed between them, before Ifyaa gave his hand a small squeeze. Then he let out a breath and turned back toward his Captain.

“I don't see any other way out of this. And if the crew is going to be risking their lives, they deserve a share. I'm sure.”

She held his gaze for another long moment, then gave a small nod.

“So be it. I will leave the negotiation of rules between the two of you. Bring them to me before you share them with the crew. Ifyaa, it will fall to you to keep it alive between here and Bu Mahatma. Whatever resources you need, take them."

He touched his fingers to his temple. "Yes, Captain."

"Good." Adrsiae sank back in her chair, finally pulling the dagger free of her table. "Now get out of here, the lot of you. I need time to think."

They obeyed. Just before Yeezumon followed the others out, the Captain called after him.

The weight of those words was not lost on him. He let out a slow breath and touched his fingers to his temple. "Yes, Captain."

"Yeezumon." She was watching him from her chair. There was an intensity to those copper-grey eyes that had never before been directed at him. “The crew will hold you to your promise. But remember, I will be holding you to it as well.”

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Like this chapter? Please remember it can only be seen by other people if you reblog!

#whump #whumpblr #whump series #whump writing #writeblr #defiant whumpee #historical whump #monsterfucker #monsterfucking

[yet-another-heathen]

Active Series Masterpost

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The Jackal of An-Nadr - [X]

Set in 1,200 BCE. The Jackal of An-Nadr follows the capture of Nadeem, a date-farmer turned thief who was abandoned in the wastes of the desert when he tried to steal from the wrong ship.

Stranded and alone, he is found and enslaved by a crew of ifrit—towering demons that roam An-Nadr in ships that can sail the sand. Will he become a plaything of the creatures from his nightmares? Or is there something more for him waiting in the hands of his would-be captors?

Content | epic worldbuilding, defiant whumpee, environmental whump, monsterfucking, slavery, desert pirates, pre-historic fiction, LGBTQ+ fiction. Adult themes, with occasional NSFW content [including dub-con and non-con]

Cast | Nadeem, Yeezumon, Ifyaa, Adrsiae, Hidhialial

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Liliholm and Page - [X]

This series follows Wesley Page, a daring vigilante best known by his alias, Deimos. When he steals and exposes a massive library of blackmail owned by one of the city's worst villains, their entire criminal world goes on a manhunt to track him down. Captured and alone, Deimos is subjected to the revenge and torture of not just the man he stole from, but every villain whose crimes he exposed.

Does he have it in him to withstand their torture long enough to escape? And if so, will he still have the strength afterward to heal?

Content | sci-fi, cyberpunk setting, superpower whump, kidnapping, very brutal torture, gore, repeated noncon // PTSD, an old friend (who just happens to be the city's most powerful villain and a renowned psych professor) turned caretaker. LGBTQ+ fiction. Frequent NSFW content, almost exclusively noncon.

Luca and Garcia

An offshoot of Liliholm and Page. A dynamic duo of bastards that you absolutely hate to love.

Content | EXTREME GORE, VIOLENCE, whumper POV, all hurt no comfort, character death, incredibly brutal whump, painful healing, immortal whumper-turned-whumpee, agender protagonist, villains that are so human you want to strangle them yourself. Aro/Ace friendly!

Cast | Wesley Page, Henry Liliholm, Yalom, Luca, Garcia

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Writing Prompts

All my writing prompts are free to use and can be found under the tag #words of a heathen.

----------------------------

The Hare Trap Chronicles - [X]

This story is not one of mine, but one submitted to me in series by my beloved 🐇 Anon. Follow the story of Ignacy, a hedonistic young aristocrat-turned-vampire, and his many lifetimes of misadventure as he lives out his centuries as the 'black sheep' of his family's estate.

#ask Wick #The Jackal of An-Nadr #Liliholm and Page #Luca and Garcia #Henry Liliholm #Wesley Page #Luca #Garcia #Nadeem el-Azimi #Yeezumon #Ifyaa #words of a heathen

[yet-another-heathen]

The Jackal of An-Nadr — Masterpost [OLD VERSION]

This is the retired version of the Jackal Masterpost, which contains the original drafts of Nadeem's chapters and all the beloved notes that have gone along with it. For the the most current version of the story, go HERE.

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Whump | hurt/comfort, defiant whumpee, multiple non-human whumper-caretakers, environmental whump, captivity whump, slavery, various injuries, language barrier, and the perfect image of lifting a pretty boy’s chin with the tip of your sword

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The Jackal of An-Nadr follows the capture of Nadeem, a date-farmer turned thief who was abandoned in the wastes of the desert when he tried to pick the wrong pocket. 

Stranded and alone, he is found and enslaved by a crew of ifrit—towering demons that now roam the An-Nadr in ships that can sail the sand. Will he become a plaything of the creatures from his nightmares? Or is there something more for him waiting in the hands of his would-be captors?

Chapters

I - Rising to the West

II - Under the Cover of Day

III - Under the Cover of Night

IV - Prying at Loose Fangs

V - Fire on the Mountain

VI - Unrest

» » » Beneath the Palms

VII - Steps

VIII - Consequences

IX - Cold, Cold, Cold

» » » [More to come.]

?? - The Pit Viper

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Art —

Nadeem: [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [voice claim]

The Oryx [X]

Ifyaa: [X]

Moodboard: [X]

Command Prompts — [X] [X] [X]

Asks — [height differences] [ifrit body language] [a pet] [the crescent moon] [a mistake]

Fanart — [X]

Lore

The Song of the Prince and the Slave

Shallows

Content

This series plays with some very sensitive topics in the context of whump, all of which is told through a setting where slavery is an accepted practice that is not challenged throughout the story. Each chapter will be tagged above the cut with an individual content warning, but the following warnings apply to the entire series.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Series Content Warning | Slavery, POV Stockholm's Syndrome, xenophobia, captor-bonding, adult themes, and NSFW 18+ content, including both dub-con and non-con scenes

All chapters that contain explicit NSFW 18+ content will be thoroughly tagged and marked. Minors, while you are free to interact with the remainder of the series to the extent of your comfort, please do not interact with any chapter labeled ‘Explicit NSFW’.

#The Jackal of An-Nadr #Nadeem el-Azimi #Yeezumon #Ifyaa #Adrsiae #Hidhialial #ifrit

[yet-another-heathen]

dating sim... I'd, uh.. i mean, me and A-- Adr-- i mean uhh

Were the two of you in the same port inn, you'd feel her eyes on you from across the room.

#which oc would you pick in a dating sim #ask Wick #Adrsiae

[yet-another-heathen]

☾ for Yeezumon, ☠ for Wes, ☼ for Adrsiae (fratboy face emoji)

☾ - sleep headcanon

Yeezumon snores softly in his sleep, and (to absolutely no one's surprise) will usually keep himself wrapped protectively around the nearest breathing thing.

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

When Wes truly gets angry, you'll know it because his entire expression just suddenly slams shut. His is a cold, cold anger. And while his voice may be eerily calm, his scarred-up fists will be shaking by his sides.

☼ - appearance headcanon

She's also got impeccable posture when she's standing, but when she sits she likes to sprawl out and lounge. She's got plenty of muscle, and of all the ifrit aboard she's the one that moves the most like a sandcat. A high-necked tunic, bare shoulders, and a gaze that will root you on the spot. She also typically wears her hair the same way as this lovely model:

And she looks absolutely lovely in green, grey-blue, or while stained head to toe with blood :)

#ask Wick #oc asks #Adrsiae #Wesley Page #Yeezumon #also I know eye color isn't really that important BUT #most ifrit have eyes that are somewhere between a light silver that looks like liquid mercury (Ifyaa) or dark steel grey (Yeezumon) #Adrsiae's are closer to the former - but they have this very very unusual tint of copper to them #I also picture her face as being quite angular #she also wears a lot of gold and pewter jewelry

[yet-another-heathen]

[X]

Whump | Set in 1200 BCE, pre-Islamic fantasy, desert setting, jinn, pirates, captivity, sandships, defiant whumpee, blurred lines between whumper & caretaker

#this is my first attempt at a series moodboard #and while I dont think it will be the final one I still am happy with how it turned out! #and wanted to share it! #The Jackal of An-Nadr #moodboard #whump series #whump #whump fic #nsfwhump #captivity whump #defiant whumpee #original work #yes this is also basically a shameless advertisement #but oh boy I cannot believe I found images so reminiscent of the characters #Yeezumon & Ifyaa together on the right #Adrsiae on the left #I just like it okay #update: eric kindly pointed out that I switched my right and left in tbe tags whoops

[yet-another-heathen]

Under the Cover of Night - III. [Old Version]

954 words. Original Work: The Jackal of An-Nadr.

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Chapter Warning | capture, xenophobia

Author’s Notes | Here we have the first instance of hearing Qururaq through Nadeem’s perspective! Because the ifrit’s words are plot-relevant, from here out it will be written in z̸̪̅ȃ̸̖l̶̑ͅg̵̞̀o̴̥̍ to indicate what he can’t understand but we, delightfully, will. If this causes any problems for my font-sensitive readers, please reach out and I will gladly send you a translated copy! And thank you so much to @secretwhumplair , whose incredible ongoing series, No Warrior, inspired this format of language barrier whump!

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @ink-and-salt @secretwhumplair

When night came and the last of the light had sunk beyond the dunes, Nadeem inched his way out from the edge of the riverbed. A large fire burned at the heart of the ifrit camp, casting ripples of false warmth out across the water like embers. He moved slowly, careful not to disturb the surface of the water lest someone see the reflection against the flames.

It was a slow crawl up the embankment as he kept to his hands and knees, clinging to the cover of the banthum grass. When he finally made it to the crest and slipped down the other side, he closed his eyes and let out a breath that felt like it had been stuck in his lungs for days.

The night was moonless, and the stars cast little light on the landscape around him. Dark shadows welled beneath the wild date palms, shifting with the movement of their fronds. 

He gingerly made his way to his feet, ankle angry and swollen beneath his weight. He was careful to keep his head low, following the edges of the rock bed, and he kept his hands spread to catch himself as quietly as he could should he stumble. 

He had no recollection of the path he’d taken into the trees, but he knew he’d eventually find sand the further he got from the water. He followed the lowest path he could between the outcrops of stone, moving silently between the dense patches of cover.

Ahead the grove thickened, creating a canopy of fronds under which the ground was beginning to soften. He headed for their depths, eager for the promised safety that would calm the feeling of ant bites at his nape. Breaths clouded against the back side of his litham, the fabric keeping them silent from the world outside. He would take the chance of stumbling into the shelter of coiled snakes and other wildlife over the chance of being seen.

There was no moon over An-Nadr, and the light of the stars was distant and faint through the leaves. Away from the familiar paths and eddies of his home, Nadeem's progress was slow through the dark. No animal walked in steady, even tempos but men; and so he kept his pace faint and hesitant to disguise the sound of his footsteps through the littered clay. Often he stopped and held his breath to listen and observe the shadows around him, picking the path least likely to catch on sticks and twigs. Behind him followed an uneven trail of single bloody footsteps, meandering back through the dark.

He watched through the faint windows of trees for the lighter gray of the dunes, and soon he caught glimpses of the open desert far beyond the leaves. He slunk low between patches of cover, keeping the distant sound of the fire to his back.

He’d nearly made it to the edge of the oasis when something pricked at the edge of his hearing. He stopped in his tracks, straining to listen as icy panic flashed through his limbs.

For a long while the night answered him with nothing but silence, stretching out the moment to eons. And then he heard it again—about thirty feet to his right, the faintest sound of something in the dark. He lowered himself into the shelter of the surrounding bushes, crouching to listen with his heart pounding in his throat.

Then a twig snapped somewhere in the darkness right before him, and Nadeem forgot how to breathe.

Like a hare cornered by a dog, his heart plummeted through his spine as something in the shadows before him moved. Starlight poured down like a nightmare, leaves shuddering against their branches.

A massive figure stepped from the shadows, melting into the starlight. 

The ifrit towered before him and inclined its head, the darkness splitting into a grin. Something else moved behind it, emerging from the shade by its side.

—No.

Nadeem shot backwards and tried to run, not a single thought given to the pain in his ankle. He only made it a few steps before he collided headlong into something hard.

Enormous hands grabbed him, breath leaving his lungs from the force of the impact. He gasped and struggled, trying to yank free as the monster locked hands around him.

He clawed and shoved, a panicked litany of, “No no no no, no—” falling from his lips. The ifrit from before, with the black sash across its chest, called something into the night, its voice rumbling through its chest.

With an effortless twist of a hand it pulled his head back, nearly lifting him off of his feet by the nape of his neck. He choked and gasped, staring with wide eyes up into its face.

Dark eyes smiled down at him, half-lidded and glinting above its teeth. 

“Let go of me,” he gasped, “Let—”

He cut off into a tight whine as it reached up and captured the cloth of his litham between its fingers, so close to his face that he felt the heat pouring off its skin.

"H̴͎̆e̶̙̅l̷̤̿l̷͓̍o̴̖͋,̸̨̕ ̷̭̀ḹ̸ȋ̶͈t̶̩̆t̶̼͑ĺ̴͓e̸̮͐ ̶͍̒j̷̮́a̷̢̍č̵͉k̶̬͆á̴͜l̸͔̔.̴̪̚"

The ifrit purred something in its rumbling language, a sharp grin leering down at him.

"S̸͎̅ọ̸̀ ̵̙̎g̶̣̋ō̸̺ȯ̴̲d̶̐ͅ ̶̪̀o̷̖̐f̴͍̓ ̵͈̍y̴͉͠o̷̱̿ư̴̦ ̴̲̇t̸͎͠ŏ̸̺ ̷̡͐f̵̛̲i̷̥̎n̸͕̿a̶̯̿ḷ̶́l̵͜͝y̸͂ͅ ̸̦͝j̶̣̃ō̵͕i̴͈̎n̶͇̔ ̶͙͘ű̸͓s̵͈̄.̶̟̓"

---

Ifyaa glanced up when the sound of struggling edged into the camp. Two of his fellow ifrit emerged from the shadows, followed by Yeezumon and the thrashing, clawing human he was dragging with him.

Every set of eyes fixed on the dirtblood as he cast wildly around the camp, limping and dragging one of his feet. His clothes were muddy and torn, grimacing as Yeezumon forced him to his knees.

From the other side of the fire, Adrsiae inclined her head.

"So we do have a guest,” she mused. The human strained away in Yeezumon’s grip as she rose to her feet, watching her through narrowed eyes. His shoulders jerked when she reached out and took his chin in her palm, “You found it at the end of the blood trail?”

“Near there. Had it waited only ten minutes longer it probably would have slipped past us back out into the wastes,” another member of the hunting party muttered. She grunted softly as she knelt at the edge of her tent, adjusting the leg of her pants, “Gave us one hell of a fight on the way back.”

“Hm.”

He leveled the captain with a scathing glare when she turned him by the jaw, and then tugged down its face cloth to see his features in the light. Dark eyes narrowed under thick, winged brows, the domed bridge of its nose crinkling with the force of its snarl. Cracked lips and bared teeth, jaw lined with overgrown stubble that looked like it had been well cared for until quite recently. It was rugged but...an undeniably pretty face. Her claws left indents in its cheeks as she turned it in the firelight, appraising.

Then she released it, and it gave a full-body shudder as she turned away and reclaimed her spot by the fire. 

“Yeezumon, you were the one who tracked it down?”

“I was.”

She leaned back, tearing into the soft flesh of a date, “Then it’s yours. Do with it as you wish.”

Their eyes didn’t leave the human, whose smell of fear was tangible in the air even as he squared his shoulders and glared viciously back at her. Each of them nodded in deference to their captain, absently touching their thumbs to their temples.

“Careful Yeezumon,” one of them teased, flashing his canines in a mockery of the human’s bared teeth, “It looks like it wants to bite.”

A ripple of laughter broke through the camp.

“It's handsome, for a dirtblood,” another admitted.

Both Yeezumon and Ifyaa smiled, sharing a frisson of eye contact across the camp. Then Yeezumon lifted its face, making it meet his gaze.

“So it is,” he crooned, “And we’ll put it to good use.”

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#my first series #words of a heathen #The Jackal of An-Nadr #capture #manhandling #slavery tw #brief innuendo #ifrit #Middle Eastern fantasy #fantasy writing #jinn #Nadeem el-Azimi #Yeezumon #Ifyaa #and our first introduction to Adrsiae! #xenophobia

[yet-another-heathen]

Spring says, "Nadeem's gonna get this strap." She's...... obviously joking, but it's so fun to make that man turn red. "I'll just be renewing my vows with Adrsiae, because I've got that locked down already." She ignores the Look she recieves for that, instead blowing a kiss the Captain's way. Then with a smile that's almost sharper than the blade at her side, "And obviously, Raasa's fucking dead."

Spring is a delight and a Menace (and gods I love her for it). Nadi would turn bright burgundy, stammer something useless, and not be able to look at her without the color returning for at least several days.

Adrsiae wants you to believe she's not impressed. "The only vow I'll be giving you is a slave mark, little thing." But there's the barest trace of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

And Raasa? Girl, I hope you make it bloody.

#oc fmk #ask Wick #such a fun crossover