#it's ancient

[aikainkauna]

The slashy tragedy of Ahmad

Another variant Thief of Bagdad headcanon, with illustrations.

Premise: Ahmad is gay (yes, this point has been made since 1940, but bear with me),

But he is also too dumb to realise he's gay, and thus strings poor Abu along...

What’s medieval Arabic for “bullshit?“ No, Abu... he’s set his sights on pussy. He thinks he can do it. And yet, he still has the fucking nerve to utter this line:

Abu’s face says it all. Bitch, now you’re just twisting the knife.

But Abu helps him anyway, because he loves him that much. Thus, we have Ahmad The Clueless bumbling his way into heterosexuality through Yassamin's garden, because that's what he's read princes and princesses do.

He’s seen this miniature of the badass legendary hero, Prince Zal, climbing up the passionate Princess Rudaba's harem walls to get laid (note the pink walls and everything)!

And then he recites poetry at her, because that's what you do.

Note that in the 1001 Nights, anything and everything is accomplished by reciting/quoting something beautiful and/or witty on the spot. This is not just a "chicks like romantic stuff, better throw some at her" thing. So to all the morons who scoff at this stuff now when they watch the movie? Tough. It's a *major* rule in all these stories, often forgotten in Western screen adaptations, because Westerners just don't randomly quote song lyrics all the time (which would be the closest equivalent--poems were the pop songs of the day, passed along in song format). So they don't get it/and or don't think it fits unless you’re going for a musical. But it's a big deal in the Near East, Persia in particular. (I'm told in Teheran, taxi drivers will quote Hafiz at you. Which is awesome). And this is actually one of the major reasons why I really like ToB, because everybody *does* speak in poetry all the time, Ahmad especially!

Even at Jaffar’s pet lesbians. So this dialogue retains a major element of the original culture that makes up for the elements they *didn't* get right (ladies wearing turbans would have *actually* been considered drag in this era, BTW, but then again, I’m sure they are Halima’s pet lesbians). But anyway, Ahmad just does the standard cool thing to do, whenever you want to benefit from a situation. Hence, poetry.

Also, Yassamin?

Bitch is twenty-one. She's basically an old maid by medieval standards, when girls were married off as soon as they hit puberty, or even earlier. Thanks to her dad being what we scientifically call batshit fucking crazy, the poor girl has been locked up in a harem until she's hit her twenties (I actually imagine her to be 17 or so, but June was 21). So she's been there, sexually frustrated as *fuck,* for years and years, fantasising about djinn or mythical heroes like Zal and shit (because it's not like a flesh and blood guy could ever have a chance).

She’s been stuck there dreaming about Wild Ravishments (TM), and been hot and bothered thanks to whatever sexy sexy seductive magic our resident creepy stalker wizard has been throwing her way.

FINALLY her dark shadow lover has arrived!

So, of course she falls for the first guy that shows up. She doesn't know what the fuck, except

So. You know. He’s like

“What do I do now? Is this how you heterosexual? What does a modern, liberated 9th century Arab girl even want from a man? Poetry? Shall I try poetry?”

And she’s like

Two fools deluding themselves.

Which is a shame. Because they really are cute in their own, innocent fairytale way. And really pretty, too.

While Abu, who's the smartest of the bunch and who *does* know a vagina-incompatible guy when he sees one, sighs in exasperation...

Look, he is a pretty lad. It would *not* be the first time a guy's had a crush on him (also insert here an essay about how the love of a man for his beautiful youth was THE most common form of love in the aforementioned medieval Persian poetry)... so he's done all this shit for his beloved Ahmad, saved his life time and time again (NOT UNLIKE A CERTAIN WIZARD with his equally dim Pwinzezz) and the guy still doesn't get it.

No amount of pretty, shirtless, glistening and collared boys can help poor Abu's cause. Ahmad, buddy, you may have got your eyesight back, but you're still blind.

Jaffar, on the other hand, basically fucking brought Ahmad up from a baby. He *knows* what's up; knows it intimately. So it's honestly no surprise that he looks so fucking satisfied (and disturbingly horny) when he sees Ahmad in the marketplace. His plan of turning Ahmad into a sex object for other guys is complete, and he looks like he's even tempted to sample summa that.

Just for a test drive, you know. He is an engineer after all.

But no. Even if he arranges Ahmad out of the way and keeps on creeping on Ze Pwinzezz, proving his love over

and

over...

Nothing comes out of it.

"Goddammit, bitch! At least *I* am into pussy! I am the LONE bisexual penis-owner in this sea of gays!"

But all to no avail: in the classic tragedy of the guy who's everything Yassamin's dreamed of (cultured... sensitive... an eye for rakish beggar fashions that are *so* chic for 816 CE...) turning out to be a closet case, she hurtles on towards a lifetime of sexual dissatisfaction.

(A medieval Muslim princess glomping a guy she’s not married to, in public?! See what a raunchy little wench we lost here? O, the potential!)

When the guy who's quite clearly a fucking expert at hot hard kinky wizard sex, the guy who can control the elements and who builds fucking sex toys in his basement, the only one who could’ve truly helped that Babylonian harlot within her to flourish, hurtles towards the Tigris with an arrow in his skull.

Just fucking wait until he gets back onto Tumblr and writes a seething post on how this is a classic oppression case. #panthersexualerasure #anti-persian sentiment #MUGGLES!

And so it comes to pass that Ahmad, the guy who's confessed he has had 365 wives and doesn't know how to love them, enters into marriage with wife no. 366.

Note that she’s wearing part drag with that turban again, so I reckon she’s starting to realise what’s up. And I suppose the nosebag helps collect all her tears of DEEP REGRET AT NOT HAVING CHOSEN THE HOT SEX WIZARD INSTEAD.

Abu, however, knows what up, and makes his exit from this charade along. A. Fucking. Rainbow.

Have fun discovering the truth about yourselves in, oh, maybe the next 20 years of sexual frustration, guys!

[citxuan]

friend brought up vatican's miracle examiner so now i'm watching an 18 year old homoerotic priest anime on fucking HOOPLA

[nenyabusiness]

“Sometimes to find the light, we must first touch the darkness.”

Galadriel’s voice reeks of the seemingly inherent arrogance of the Noldor; the same insufferable pride that once caused the Valar themselves to turn against them. Her statement is nothing but a meaningless combination of words, but she delivers it like a gift of Elven wisdom.

He doubts that she is even aware of her condescending tone. She is the result of centuries upon centuries of entitlement, and she shamelessly uses her ancestry as a weapon and a shield against anyone who dares to oppose her. No matter how many enemies she makes, she never seems to even consider the possibility that she might be the problem. She uses her age and experience to justify her behavior, always assuming that whoever she is speaking with cannot possibly have seen what she has seen.

He stares at the smoldering coal in the forge, forcing back the urge to knock the little Elf off her pedestal; to crush the delusional worldview that she has created for herself. There are few beings left in Middle-earth who have witnessed true darkness, and she is not one of them.

She never met Morgoth.

He tears his gaze away from the fire and slowly turns around.

“What do you know of darkness?”

[vindictes]

no actually i really enjoy writing this muse again

[mslangermann-a]

oop happy belated 6 years to this blog lol 

[iturbide]

🖊 and are these posted somewhere i want to read them now??

okay wow i did not actually expect that i would get interest in these ancient monstrosities

Sadly none of these are actually online anymore (though most were never online in the first place).  I got into a ton of trouble with a former friend for the piece that first excerpt came from, at which point I stopped posting any of my work publicly; Future Built was my first foray into sharing my fanfiction since.  Everything else (including the excerpt below, and the hundreds and hundreds of pages I wrote in addition) was written for myself.  A lot of it no longer fits my present continuity but you know what it was fun and it kept me sane so here have more fun with the ancient writings pulled from the depths. 

“Now tell me what happened…what’s this you said about…almost dying?” 

“Oh, yes: dying twice,” he chuckled dimly.  “It was…it was kind of funny, actually.”  He was laughing, the choking sound bubbling up from his throat unheeded.  “See – I don’t know how much you know about this trial, but it was pretty twisted from the get-go: this guy was murdered in his apartment, and it turned out that he had a girlfriend, who was immediately suspected…but what we didn’t know was that she had another boyfriend, and the dead man was her ex, and her current boyfriend had been visiting her apartment – which, might I add, is in the same building and even on the same floor as the dead man – on the night of the murder, and she had passed out from a happy dose of prescription painkillers while he was still there, so there’s a pretty substantial window where she knows nothing about what he might have been doing.  Well, we only found that vital little piece of information on…what, the second day of trial?  Yesterday, basically, right before it was too late, doesn’t it figure?  

“So Maya and I head off to this guy’s apartment to ask him some questions, he lets slip a vital piece of information that implicates him, realizes it just a second too late to revoke it…and what does he do?”  Nick felt the lunatic smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, refused it.  “He jumps out the window.  The bastard jumps out the window onto the fire escape and tries to make a run for it.  I couldn’t just let him get away, could I?  Of course not,” he answered quickly, denying the prosecutor an opportunity to protest.  “That would screw my case.  So I went after him onto this rickety fire escape that looked like it had about a century of rust replacing the iron…and what happens?  As soon as Maya jumps out to follow me, he completely ignores the ladder and jumps down a level.  And the whole thing just goes and sways.”  It wasn’t good enough on its own; Phoenix shifted his full weight toward open space, leaning dangerously far over the hardwood floor.  He started as the prosecutor’s hand tightened carefully on his arm, supporting the weight that threatened at any seeming moment to drop from the couch entirely.

“Be careful,” Edgeworth murmured.  “I don’t think you quite realize what you’re doing.”

“I’m demonstrating,” Phoenix mumbled numbly.  “I swear, the thing was about to come off the wall – ”

“You’re about to fall on your face.”  The defense attorney peered hazily at the prosecutor as he followed the gentle pressure on his arm, righting himself with a thin sigh before collapsing into the bulky cushions layered across the back support.  “But I thought they had building codes – ”

“Not on a run down tenement like that,” Phoenix laughed bitterly.  “I would have sworn that the whole thing would have collapsed – it sent me reeling over the edge, I only barely managed to grab the railing and hang on, a drop from that height would have killed me – that hurts.”  Edgeworth’s fingers loosened on Nick’s arm, the faintest breath of apology whispering past the prosecutor’s lips.  “But I managed to hang onto the railing, shifted down to hang onto the platform and swing myself onto the next one – while it was still shaking! I was rather proud of myself – and headed him off at the bottom.

“And then?  Then I got really lucky.”  There was that unsettling laughter lurking under his voice, a cold smile twitching at the corners of his lips.  “See, when he got to the bottom and saw me there, he turned and tried to run into the alley, which ended in a dead end.  As soon as he realized that?  He turned back around and pulled a gun on me.”  The timbre of his voice was thinning with hysteria; he could still see it, a black .22 shining painfully in the cold light of a late autumn afternoon, watery with unshed moisture clasped loose to the bellies of cool grey clouds.  It was somehow wrong, that scene, that alleyway cluttered with a century’s worth of people’s trash, standing paralyzed in the face of a firearm when he possessed his own and unable to draw it for fear of being shot and killed where he stood, already wavering on his feet, staring with unnerving calm into pupils so wide with terror that they should have turned both eyes black.

“He told me not to move,” Phoenix whispered.  “He told me not to move or he’d shoot me, and he didn’t want to have to kill me.  He told me that it was an accident, that he hadn’t really meant to shoot the guy.  I…I don’t know if I was really listening, or at least if I was really understanding, because he was coming toward me and that gun – that gun – it was coming closer, and it was shaking, but it was still pointed at my chest, and he was shaking all over – I could see that much just from his hands on the gun – and I was scared…God, I was so scared…”

He could feel Edgeworth’s hand on his shoulder, fingers tight against fabric and skin in what he must have thought was a comforting pressure; Phoenix winced, pressing his face into the back of the over-worn couch.  

“What happened?”  Nick blinked at the pale, remarkably impassive face; had there not once been emotion written into those thin, premature lines that criss-crossed such an elegant face?  Hadn’t it been just tonight, or was it his fevered imagination playing cruel tricks on him once again?

“I told him not to shoot.”  He was laughing, a sound as rueful to his own ears as church bells on a rainy Sunday morning.  “I told him not to shoot me.  I told him that he didn’t want to do something like that, and he agreed, but said that he’d have to if I made him.  And I was just so scared as he came closer and closer with that gun pointed at my chest that I was going to die, that I was going to die in a cold little alleyway and no one would even notice that last blip on the murder count.”

Was that a glimmer of something behind silver eyes?  Phoenix squinted through the hazy blur of exhaustion – they couldn’t be tears clouding his vision, they couldn’t, there was no way – at the prosecutor’s face, trying with all the strength remaining in him to find that spark he knew…he thought…he hoped…had existed there so briefly.

“Many people would have noticed.”  Nick laughed thinly, his cheek rubbing painfully against the old, tattered upholstery.  “Many.  You have touched many people, many lives; people would notice if you were to go.”  

Hearing Miles Edgeworth trying so hard to reassure him was somehow comical.  It was, in all honesty, the last thing he would have expected from the demon prosecutor –

“I would have noticed.”

Phoenix Wright bolted upright, suddenly wide awake.  Would he really?  Would he actually notice the death of a man who was his close friend more than fifteen years ago and who had become, by matter of profession, his greatest enemy those fifteen years later?  Was it really possible that Miles Edgeworth, the Demon Prosecutor, could feel such emotions as pain, loss…?

“Maya dropped a flowerpot on his head.”  

Though he said it with all the gravity he could muster, Phoenix could not help but allow the thread of a smile to creep across his face, wan and mirthless despite the levity he should have felt.  It should have been funny, right?  Even Edgeworth looked taken aback by the sudden twist in the story, but somehow all Nick could see was the barrel of that slender gun pointed at his chest. 

“It’s the reason I’m not dead and got a conviction,” he added dimly.  “Maya dropped a flowerpot on the guy’s head from two stories up.  She snagged it off some poor lady’s windowsill.  I think I still owe her for the geraniums.”

“You’re impossible, Wright,” the prosecutor huffed.

[roguelioness]

I finally decided it was time to clean up my old laptop and transfer photos and files - but damn, it’s slow as fuck!