FIC: The Gifts of Heaven (Chapter 4, NC-17)
Title: The Gifts of Heaven (Chapter4/9, completed fic)
Author: Snowgrouse
Fandom: The Thief of Bagdad (1940), but readable as original fiction
Pairing: Jaffar/Princess, Jaffar/Zainab, Princess/Sarosh the Sexbot, and the ships without sex scenes are Fadl/Zainab and background Zainab/Lina and Jaffar/Fadl.
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Historical Erotic Romance, Het with background slash and femslash, Fantasy.
Warnings: Light BDSM, Anal Sex, robot sex, and a big non-sexual one but it's a major spoiler. See Ao3 for full list of tags.
Length: ~29 000 words
Summary: The heavens themselves resolve to bless Yassamin and Jaffar and strengthen their love. Yet the same cannot be said for Fadl and Zainab, the rift between whom but deepens due to a different kind of heavenly intervention. As Yassamin deserves a rest, Jaffar sets out for New Lesbos alone, hoping to help Zainab settle her score with Fadl once and for all.
("And this," Zainab demonstrates with a flourish, "is the scriptorium, as the Romans would call it."
Glowing with pride, she steps to the side as Jaffar, Salsabil and Anwar enter through the doorway. Very few people have ever been allowed to visit New Lesbos to tell of its secrets, and even they have been, for the most part, women: besides Fadl, Jaffar is the only fully intact adult male ever to have entered this city of women. Or at least that's what Zainab has implied, between friendly jibes of "you Barmakids being half female in the first place."
But today, it is Salsabil and Anwar thanks to whom Zainab is now giving them a tour of her palace complex; once Lina had mentioned books were made at New Lesbos, the little bibliophiles had pleaded, cajoled and demanded Zainab to show them how this was done.
And it is with wide-eyed wonder that the children now take in the huge, bright, airy room with its large windows and its strange machines sitting underneath its vaulted ceilings. Everywhere there are low desks piled with paper, and at the desks sit the most beautiful of women, all silk-draped and bejewelled, busy creating books. With paper and leather, needle and thread, paints and glues, with all kinds of instruments they write, illustrate and bind books with deft, experienced hands, barely taking notice of the visitors but for a quick whisper in an ear or a stray smiling glance before bending to their tasks once more. They seem in love with their work, as if a harem of princesses enspelled by a sorceress to do her bidding; yet, as the children already know, knowledge and art are, in and of themselves, magical enough to inspire such love and devotion.
Both Salsabil and Anwar seem fit to burst from their excitement; both are trembling like Zainab's hounds, looking around themselves restlessly, desperate for permission to look closer.
Zainab laughs warmly and raises a tinkling hand. "Lina," she cries out in the direction of one of the machines, "show them how it's done."
Lina emerges from behind the heavy stacks of wood and metal that comprise the papermaking press, wiping her hands on a rag, acknowledging the visitors with a cheerful bow. "With pleasure, mistress." She tosses the rag aside and gestures to the children. "This way, little ones," she says and walks around the great machine, grasping one of its long metal levers. "Now, this press is crucial for the quality of the sheets; as you know, they have to be very smooth so that one can write, let alone paint onto them..."
"Takes me back to the old days," Jaffar murmurs to Zainab, grinning as the children climb all over the machinery, eager to try papermaking themselves.
"I know, I know," Zainab says. "It was the Barmakids who got the secret of papermaking from the Chinese, three generations ago," she rattles off, "and the Barmakids who established the first paper mills here and in Baghdad; the Barmakids who were responsible for all those libraries, and so on and so on."
"I see Fadl has been boasting about it," Jaffar chuckles.
"To put it mildly," Zainab winces.)
Author: Snowgrouse
Fandom: The Thief of Bagdad (1940), but readable as original fiction
Pairing: Jaffar/Princess, Jaffar/Zainab, Princess/Sarosh the Sexbot, and the ships without sex scenes are Fadl/Zainab and background Zainab/Lina and Jaffar/Fadl.
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Historical Erotic Romance, Het with background slash and femslash, Fantasy.
Warnings: Light BDSM, Anal Sex, robot sex, and a big non-sexual one but it's a major spoiler. See Ao3 for full list of tags.
Length: ~29 000 words
Summary: The heavens themselves resolve to bless Yassamin and Jaffar and strengthen their love. Yet the same cannot be said for Fadl and Zainab, the rift between whom but deepens due to a different kind of heavenly intervention. As Yassamin deserves a rest, Jaffar sets out for New Lesbos alone, hoping to help Zainab settle her score with Fadl once and for all.
("And this," Zainab demonstrates with a flourish, "is the scriptorium, as the Romans would call it."
Glowing with pride, she steps to the side as Jaffar, Salsabil and Anwar enter through the doorway. Very few people have ever been allowed to visit New Lesbos to tell of its secrets, and even they have been, for the most part, women: besides Fadl, Jaffar is the only fully intact adult male ever to have entered this city of women. Or at least that's what Zainab has implied, between friendly jibes of "you Barmakids being half female in the first place."
But today, it is Salsabil and Anwar thanks to whom Zainab is now giving them a tour of her palace complex; once Lina had mentioned books were made at New Lesbos, the little bibliophiles had pleaded, cajoled and demanded Zainab to show them how this was done.
And it is with wide-eyed wonder that the children now take in the huge, bright, airy room with its large windows and its strange machines sitting underneath its vaulted ceilings. Everywhere there are low desks piled with paper, and at the desks sit the most beautiful of women, all silk-draped and bejewelled, busy creating books. With paper and leather, needle and thread, paints and glues, with all kinds of instruments they write, illustrate and bind books with deft, experienced hands, barely taking notice of the visitors but for a quick whisper in an ear or a stray smiling glance before bending to their tasks once more. They seem in love with their work, as if a harem of princesses enspelled by a sorceress to do her bidding; yet, as the children already know, knowledge and art are, in and of themselves, magical enough to inspire such love and devotion.
Both Salsabil and Anwar seem fit to burst from their excitement; both are trembling like Zainab's hounds, looking around themselves restlessly, desperate for permission to look closer.
Zainab laughs warmly and raises a tinkling hand. "Lina," she cries out in the direction of one of the machines, "show them how it's done."
Lina emerges from behind the heavy stacks of wood and metal that comprise the papermaking press, wiping her hands on a rag, acknowledging the visitors with a cheerful bow. "With pleasure, mistress." She tosses the rag aside and gestures to the children. "This way, little ones," she says and walks around the great machine, grasping one of its long metal levers. "Now, this press is crucial for the quality of the sheets; as you know, they have to be very smooth so that one can write, let alone paint onto them..."
"Takes me back to the old days," Jaffar murmurs to Zainab, grinning as the children climb all over the machinery, eager to try papermaking themselves.
"I know, I know," Zainab says. "It was the Barmakids who got the secret of papermaking from the Chinese, three generations ago," she rattles off, "and the Barmakids who established the first paper mills here and in Baghdad; the Barmakids who were responsible for all those libraries, and so on and so on."
"I see Fadl has been boasting about it," Jaffar chuckles.
"To put it mildly," Zainab winces.)