[ Answering in a new post because I don't like Tumblr's "no edit" ask glitch. Thank you so much for sending this one in, @venusski! ]
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The ifrit have a specific custom of naming through laqabs! For example, Yeezumon's full name:
Yeezumon al-Taasharaih ibn Ramnawa bint Khesha bint Modreya al-Quasim
...is more than a random jumble of middle names and surnames. I know it looks overwhelming, but do me a favor. Read it once more, slowly. Sound it out in your head. Actually follow every single word.
Yeezumon al-Taasharaih ibn Ramnawa bint Khesha bint Modreya al-Quasim
This is more than a name. It's history—of so many people more than just him.
The rough translation:
Yeezumon the Star-Mapper; son of Ramnawa; daughter of Khesha; daughter of Modreya the Divider
Yeezumon earned the honorific "the Star-Mapper" for his achievements as a professional mapmaker. Not only did Yeezumon learn to read and write (as exceptionally few ifrit or humans in this time do), but he has been charting every landmark of An-Nadr over his centuries as a navigator, using the stars as a compass. In a time where doing so is both incredibly challenging and dangerous, he has mapped out huge swaths of the desert and its surrounding "coastlines" where greenery and life follows the winding rivers at its edge.
It is because of him, and a handful of other people like him, that sandships are able to transverse the deserts safely.
Yeezumon's great grandmother also has an honorific that gets carried along in his name. There was a massive famine during Modreya's lifetime (just after the ifrit were freed from Solomon), and she was the city official whose responsibility was to divide food rations amongst her people. "The Divider" was a title given to her in honor of her dedication to making sure EVERY person, regardless of poverty or class, had enough food to survive. She was incredibly well loved, and her name is still remembered to this day, almost three thousand years later.
After their honorifics, something else might stand out; ifrit bloodlines are solely matrilineal. There are a great many reasons for this, but the biggest is how common polyamory is in their culture. True monogamy is almost unheard of among ifrit, and relationships that even come close are exceptionally rare.
"The Husbands" earned their title because it is outright bizarre for two ifrit to have been together as long as they have. When you live to be a millennium old, it's accepted that the people you're closest with will eventually grow and change so much over the centuries that you're no longer compatible. And there's nothing wrong with it! That kind of growth is seen as a good and completely natural thing, and animosity between ex-lovers is far from the norm. People stay together for as long as they fit, then make their own way apart when they no longer do. Marriage is almost unheard of.
That being said, Yeezumon and Ifyaa are weirdos. Not only have they been together for most of their lives, but these two get married to each other over again every time they come across a culture that does it a different way. They've been married about thirty times and counting, with no plans to stop. Even then, they aren't monogamous—they still have other partners both alone and together. [Sorry Nadi, you're still out of luck.]
But lineage is matrilineal because frankly, not only would be it nearly impossible to keep track of who the sire may be, but to the ifrit? It simply doesn't matter.
Ifrit have such an impossible time conceiving children that when one is born, entire cities erupt into celebrations that last for DAYS. Every child is raised with their entire community as a family. While most will travel with their mother if she ever moves to a new city, the need for more detailed lineages just don't exist. After their mother, they belong to the People as much as to their sire. And on that note....
Ifyaa's full name follows the same pattern:
Ifyaa al-Mantiqi ibn Aisara-Qshek ira Yareya bint Watlai
Ifyaa the Healer; Son of The People; heir to Yareya, daughter of Watlai
Though the ifrit don't have an equivalent of such a word, Ifyaa was more or less what humans would consider an orphan. His mother left when he was a very young boy, and the people of his city all took him in as one of their own. The entire city became his family. He carries their name in reverence, and will often shorten his own name to Ifyaa al-Mantiqi ibn Aisara-Qshek unless the need otherwise arises.
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Thank you for giving me the opportunity to go into this! I truly love the world and culture building of An-Nadr, and I'm delighted every time I get to scratch the surface.
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?
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.
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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.
yeezy my guy! tell us what you thought the first time you saw Ifyaa. was it love at first sight?
"Absolutely not. When he dragged me back to his side of the camp instead of killing me where he'd found me injured, I was sure beyond any doubt that I was headed for my execution. I still remember how hard he struck me when he'd had enough of my blustering." He rubbed his cheek absently. "The man reminded me of a mantis. Not just from all the sharp angles—he moved so fluidly it was like watching a predator harvesting crickets. And he was so much stronger than someone his size had any right to be. He terrified me. Of course I put a lot of effort into hiding it."
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?
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’.
▶yeezy, my guy, my yeet man, give your pet some cuddles. It what he needs and wants despite his violent protests :)
EDIT: No longer a canonical story, but the whump is all yours <3
CW | NSFW (semi-explicit), somewhere between noncon and dubcon, drugging (aphrodisiac)
The human was still present enough even through the fog of the eadh to realize that the slow, dawning smile that spread across Yeezumon's face was meant for him. He saw it in the way those pretty, mud-brown eyes flickered between him and the deck hatch and back again.
It backed as far as it could into the corner of the cot even though its movements were as thick and slurred as its words, "Stay away from me."
For what it was worth, it put up a valiant fight. But soon Yeezumon was leaning against the far end of the cot, with the human's strange, solid warmth nestled against his chest.
"The̶re,̵ ̶t̵hat̷'̵s no̵t so̷ bad̶," he chided softly.
Every single inch of its body was tense against his, breaths coming sharp and shallow where its back was pressed into his stomach. Blunt fingertips dug harshly into his wrists, but it couldn't stop his second set of hands from roving slowly over its skin.
Even though it was clearly in distress agitated, he knew how the eadh worked. After all, useful as it was as a sedative, the ifrit used it first and foremost as...well, for more recreational activities.
So, he bode his time. Yeezumon continued his gentle touch, running his fingertips across the smooth arc of its wrists and forearms. Its breath hitched when he undid the small tie holding its tunic closed, fingertips skimming beneath the fabric to run across its shoulders, its collarbone, and then slowly downward across the planes of its chest.
Beneath his palm, he could feel it's heart pounding against his hand.
One hand trailed back up to the dip of its throat, applying only the lightest threat of pressure as he tilted its head up to look at him.
It looked like a baby bird that had hit a pane of glass. Its eyes were dark and dazed, pupils blown out so wide that only the barest sliver of brown remained around their edges.
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.
"T̵hat̴'s it̴," he soothed, "Yo̷u̶ li̷ke t̴hat̵,̴ ̴d̷o̵n̶'̴t yo̶u̶?̶"
Without releasing his loose grip on its throat, his other hands continued their slow exploration of his pet's body. While he still occasionally came across something that made its fingers twitch and breaths stutter, bit by bit it began to relax into Yeezumon's embrace.
With the same inevitable patience as rock eroding beneath the tide, the weight of its limbs settled fully against him, melting against his lap. Its breaths slowed and evened out, a single shuddery breath escaping its lips as it sunk against him.
It blinked slowly, heavily, as his thumb swept over the soft skin beneath its eyes. The small, permanent furrow between its brows deepened, twitched, and then unraveled beneath his touch.
The human's eyes fluttered at the tone of his voice, then turned away almost out of guilt. Even though it didn't understand his words, a flush still rose from under its skin at the tone of it.
Yeezumon bit his tongue, keeping the rest of his remarks to himself, and simply enjoyed the weight of a body against his own. He tilted his head back as the bunk beginning to gently sway beneath them, fingertips still resting just over the slowing thud-dum, thud-dum of its pulse.
How big is the size difference between Nadeem and his keepers? Do you have a side by side of height? We know theyre a few heads taller than he is, so is he about 2/3 their height? Just curious.
Thank you SO MUCH for the question, I've been looking for an excuse to show this off!!
Now keep in mind that Nadeem's world is set in the equivalent of 1,200 - 1,000 BCE, so the average man's height was closer to 5'5" during the period. That being said Nadeem is significantly taller than most of the people in his village at a whopping 5'9" tall!
The average height of the ifrit is around 6'11". Both of his owners come in at the higher end of the scale, with Yeezumon (right) at 7'0" and Ifyaa (left) a couple inches taller at 7'2"!
Oooooooo i gotta know what would happen if Nadeem tried to drug one of the ifrit lmao
Author's Notes | Takes place a few months into captivity. This piece is to be followed by a second part—one that is explicitly nsfw. EDIT: This is no longer a canonical story! but the whump is all yours <3
Only tagging my NSFW list for what this is about to become in Pt. 2 | @secretwhumplair @kixngiggles @whumpvp @thebewilderer @ink-and-salt
Nadeem hadn't exactly planned it. At all, really, but especially not like this.
The dining galley was raucous and warm, so many bodies with so many limbs all shifting in the same space with laughter and heat. The long, low table that spanned the length of the room was packed with ifrit, each folded up shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor. Bantering, bickering, and playfully fighting over the limited space as they passed back and forth plates of dried fruit, nuts, and strange pieces of hard bread made from saltwheat.
Lanterns burned brightly throughout the room, casting wavering shadows of orange light up the walls. In places even the windows flickered, churning with liquidy reflected gold that made the panes look as though they were on fire. Outside, where they had been opened to allow in the air, night was descending quick and heavy upon An-Nadr.
He watched it with the same resigned scowl as always, back turned to the ifrit's table. He was pressed into the narrow wedge of space between Yeezumon and one of the female crew members, forced to press close to his side in order to avoid touching her. The unpleasant heat of his thigh seeped through Nadeem's clothes, a point of contact that was making him feel more ill with every passing minute.
So when Yeezumon nudged him and told him to bring more wine, he took his cup and siezed the opportunity to leave without complaint. He stuck close to the wall, dodging careless limbs and spare floor cushions as he picked his way to the secluded part of the room where they kept the pitcher.
Another ifrit was filling his drink, and he spared Nadeem only a smug glance when he saw Yeezumon's cup in his hand. Nadeem tensed as he reached out and skimmed his fingertips along the cloth at his arm as he passed, the touch sending ant bites up his spine.
Then he was alone. And suddenly, bowed forward to brace against the table, he found himself staring at nothing as tears filled his eyes.
Just as quickly he blinked and wiped them away, letting out a shaky breath. Then he reached for the pitcher of wine and—
...and stopped.
Right next to the smooth clay vessel that held the wine, there sat a pitcher made of hammered silver. He stared at it for a long moment, fingers frozen in midair.
He could do it, he realized. There was no one here to witness it. And with Yeezumon disoriented, maybe...
Suddenly his heart was pounding in his throat. He glanced back toward the dining hall for just the briefest moment, then willed down his nerves with a shaky breath.
His fingers closed around the handle, and he poured the eerily glittering eadh into Yeezumon's cup. He filled it halfway, so much more than he had ever given Nadeem at once, and then set the pitcher back exactly as it had been before. He filled the rest with wine, checking to make sure that the red hid the strange glittering of the liquid's surface. Then he took one last steadying breath.
He schooled his face, and returned to the long table. He didn't have to pretend to scowl as he handed Yeezumon the cup, and settled unwillingly back into place beside him.
Yeezumon took the goblet, and spared him a glance that seemed to linger a moment longer than it usually did. Nadeem stared blankly ahead at the window, ignoring him, hands folded in his lap to keep them from shaking.
After a moment a hand snaked around his waist, and his breath hitched as Yeezumon pulled him closer to his side. He flinched as grey fingers reached for his face, the backs of his knuckles brushing down his cheek as he turned Nadeem to look at him.
Eyes darker than the emptiest parts of the night sky met his, something glittering in them that made his heart stop. And, seeing the look on Nadeem's face, the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
"You're trembling, little jackal. What's got you so worked up?"
His gaze was a little too intense, idly swirling the cup without raising it to his lips. There was an edge there, amused and knowing.
"Let go of me—" he snarled, trying to pull away from Yeezumon's hand.
The gentle caress immediately turned to a grip on his jaw that bordered on painful. He felt his heart pounding in his throat as Yeezumon turned his face back to him.
"Try again."
Nadeem's mouth snapped shut.
When he didn't respond, Yeezumon leaned in closer. Voice quiet in his ear, "Your heart betrays you, jackal. You should know better by now."
His pulse point was fluttering against Yeezumon's palm, hard and fast. Nadeem sucked in a breath, but refused to let his expression betray him any more than it already had.
But when Yeezumon lifted the cup to his lips, he knew it was over.
"Drink."
Nadeem stared at him, hatred coloring his face. He very much planned to spit at him, but Yeezumon immediately read his intention and pressed a thumb against his lips.
"I suggest you not dig yourself into any deeper a hole than you're already in, zanzadi." There was a threat in his voice, the edge from before growing darker, "Drink."
He tipped the cup to his lips, and Nadeem had only a split second to decide between swallowing or spitting it out—to decide between the eadh or the scourge.
In the end, his throat bobbed as he instinctively chose the former. Yeezumon loosened his grip on his jaw, but didn't remove the cup until Nadeem had swallowed at least three mouthfuls of the sweet, acrid liquid.
He was doomed. And they both knew it.
Then the hand at his jaw turned him to look Yeezumon directly in the eye, the flash of a grin, "You play with things you do not know how to win."
And then Yeezumon downed the rest of the drug himself.
