@saligiare / saligiare.tumblr.com
Every day the world descends further into chaos...
...It’s only going to get harder to find a good spot to watch from.
“Am I shallow? she asks the mirror. Yes, I am shallow. The sun shines on the ripples where it’s shallow. Deep is too dark.”
— Margaret Atwood, The Heart Goes Last
.:ooc
Between tumblr live being impossible to properly turn off, blog icons now being gone and every single search of mine for aesthetic shit showing either unusable Good Omens, unusable Hazbin Hotel, or unusable otome stuff (not to mention FMA and Supernatural, but those have been here before)... I'm really feeling so old and alien on this website.
Dieu et La Fin de Satan or God and the End of Satan by Victor Hugo (tr. R.G. Skinner)
The order of composing a semantic spell:
1) An address listing the characteristics of the one being addressed.
2) Statement of purpose (formulation).
3) Confirmation - mentioning symbols and names.
4) Fixation ("Let it be so", "amen", etc.).
The semantic spells are divided into:
- Spells: unrhymed text with inclusions of the Names, organized according to the pattern of spell composition.
- Spells: rhymed spells built on the principle of immersing a task into the subconscious and recording the lines that "pop up" from there. May have no names at all. Associative methods are often used.
- Hymns: rhymed or unrhymed spells constructed by following a spell composition scheme. Read using the voice modulation "Hymn", less commonly "Serpent". The use of ancient languages when composing spells adds to their power, on three counts:
1) ancient languages are much closer to a true reflection of the meaning of things (i.e., power is added through the pronunciation of sound);
2) ancient languages are used as amplifiers of connection to ancient (magically) egregors;
3) spells composed in ancient languages enhance the altered state of consciousness due to their unusualness. The concept of "vocal modulation" means a certain technique of pronouncing the text of a spell or invocation by changing the "depth" of breathing.
The palace was bursting at the seams with a pregnant excitement. Head servants barking orders and musicians tuning their instruments echoed to the farthest edges of the grounds. All sorts of fineries - pillows and cutlery and linens - were carted from room to room; turning a corner too quickly had become a potentially catastrophic affair. Several distant guests had arrived in advance, drawing the lord and his three children to receive and entertain them for the morning. Through it all, Gaara’s attention was perfunctory at best. His mind dwelt fully on the events of the previous night, those laid out for tomorrow, and the one person in the center of it all.
After boasting their gardens, fencing grounds, and aviary (which included two full demonstrations of the hunting prowess of their trained hawks), the prince and his siblings were at last permitted a respite for their own preparations. Back in his chambers, Gaara had shed his outer shirt, leaving him in loose pants which cinched around the ankle, and had just dismissed the maid drawing his bathwater when Addhir returned.
He was breathtaking. There was simply no other way to think of him. The intricate braids reminded him of the delicately carved stonework lining the courtyard gates and upper balconies. The golden threads within them and mimicked in his tunic highlighted the amber flecks in his eyes. But it was not just his physical form that drew Gaara’s attention: Addhir so clearly enjoyed dressing the part. He wondered, if Addhir stood to ascend to the throne rather than himself, whether he would delight in all the courtly pomp and proceedings in ways Gaara did not, or if he too would ache for a different sort of freedom.
“You look fit for a king. It’s a strange feeling, though, seeing you so dressed for the enjoyment of others.” Steam rose from the freshly drawn bath. Gaara dipped his fingers and ran them in rivulets to refocus himself away from that uncomfortable tug behind his navel.
“You may be ready, but I still need to bathe and dress.” With little ceremony he shed his pants, slid one foot after the other into the water, and sighed deeply as he immersed himself to the shoulders. The added perfumes obscured him with a murky translucence.
“Please - keep me company while I do.”
He did not need to be told twice.
At once, Addhir scanned the tub and his master, before shrugging off the top of his robe and settling down by the edge of the bath. His arms folded underneath his chin, and he glanced up at Gaara through long lashes.
What a fine young man his prince was, set out to become an even finer one, over time. The regular training and high quality diet showed - both in his muscles and his complexion. A little pale perhaps, his flawless skin speaking of hours spent among books rather than crops. His hair was smooth and silky, and his posture - though kind of stiff - without any shred of doubt that of a noble. He could have been handsome, beautiful even in his way, Asmodeus decided. If only he could shred the tension edged into his very fiber. A face that young should spend its time twisting and turning with joy, anger or sadness every given minute of the day. Alas, if such frivolous emotion had ever been present in Gaara, the royal lifestyle had seemingly beaten it into hiding long ago. Dipping his fingertips into the water as if to test the temperature, the Addhir gave a little hum.
For a brief second, he had contemplated the thought of just climbing into the water himself, but not only would that have ruined most of his make up and perfume, it likely also would have hopelessly overchallenged, if not unsettled the prince. Addhir could already feel the steam creeping into every pore of his hair, determined to ruin what hard work and a lot of oil had accomplished within the previous three hours. But it was quite alright. He could always smooth down the flyaways later.
“If my lord wishes, I could help him with his hair and back. I did promise him a nice massage on the night we first met. Or-”, and at this, his lips twisted into a cheeky little smile, “he could tell me what dress I would better wear for his enjoyment in the future. I can change it up sometime.”
Saliva gathered thickly on Gaara’s tongue and in the back of his throat. He did not move as Addhir came close, he could not. The warmth of his skin brushed his only barely, his breath like sweet blooming cacti. He felt as though he had trudged home from the festival already, three glasses of wine deep, drowsy, pliable as putty. The thumbprints of Addhir pressed in him all over, molded to his whim.
He understood the risks from a logical perspective; they stood poised on his teeth when he finally swallowed. It was difficult to believe that Addhir had truly not considered the possibility of escape before Gaara voiced it, or that his imprisonment, at times, was not so different from that of a prince. Should he will it the slave would find no trouble slipping into the night, stranding Gaara in an unfamiliar word - leaving him - never to be seen again.
Should he will it.
Gaara watched Addhir’s perfectly manicured hands make his move for him, and his own fingers burned where they touched. He nodded his assent mutely, knowing at once that should his father mean to harm one hair on his golden head he would burn the world to ash.
The itch in the back of his mind did not fully subside. Echoing beneath Addhir’s stare, even as Gaara licked his lips without realizing it, a voice whispered: Were the situations reversed…
He slotted these thoughts away. Another time.
In his stupor he grasped for purchase and found boldness:
“Maybe if I do, I will find something to smile about, after all.”
Addhir smiled, soft as a caress.
“I will be looking forward to it.”
He really did. That night, Asmodeus found himself torn between multiple desires of his own. As exquisite as the prince’s poorly veiled pining was, as delicious would the moment be when his blood finally boiled over and he would break those invisible chains that bound him to his title - and his grief. Withholding that bittersweet release was torturous for them both. Unlike Gaara, however, Asmodeus was no slave to his fleshly prison and the frustrating moral conventions that humans submitted themselves to. A true master of his practice, he also knew a thing or two about hunger, and how the most wonderful food was always that served to a starving man. Still, his patience was running thin. Lucky was the man bound by outside forces then... at least Gaara did not have to rely on self-restraint alone.
In the end, Addhir did nothing to further physical contact with his master after their little game. He half expected Gaara to be crawling all over him by the end of the night, but when he woke to an exceptionally early morning, only a single lonely hand had gotten lost on his shoulder.
Following breakfast, Addhir spent most of his day thoroughly grooming himself. Although the task was made significantly easier by the fact that his artificial body produced neither pimples nor undesired body hair or other flaws, washing, oiling and braiding his mane, applying make-up and picking out an appropriate set of clothing for the night swallowed several hours. The prospect of spending his evening as a pretty but ultimately untouchable piece of palace decor did little to excite him, but still he took uttermost care to arrange himself in a pleasant manner. After all, the truly interesting event was still to come... only he would be wearing significantly less jewelry for it, alas. All the more reason for him to give his prince (and the court, of course) something to marvel at until then. Besides, the royal harvest celebration would mark his very first outing to the public, and if he didn’t tread cautiously, it might very well end up being his last.
It was already afternoon when Addhir returned to Gaara’s side in the privacy of their sleeping quarters. His copper hair was styled more intricately than ever before. Rows and rows of perfectly symmetrical braids lacing into each other, intertwining into thicker strands, and accentuated by golden threads woven into different sections. Creams and powder had given his skin a healthy glow without covering up his freckles. His clothes, while no less expensive, remained on the modest side. The white and gold embroidered kaftan looked just a little out of place for someone who was so obviously a foreigner.
“How do I look?”
Spreading his arms, Addhir did a little spin, his robes flying behind him.
“There’s no reason for him not to complete his task. If he fails partway, he will have wasted his evening and lost his payment. We’ll stay among the crowds, avoiding quiet or poorly-lit streets, to prevent being caught alone. If anything should go wrong, I’ve brought extra coin to buy our way out of trouble.” It was evident that he had dedicated much time and thought to the logistics of their plan, for better or for worse. “Besides, you’ve shown well enough that you can talk your way out of just about - “
He stopped at once, his arm outstretched, frozen, bishop in hand one move shy of check. The piece dangled there, the move aborted. When he spoke the words were drawn out of him like bile.
"Addhir, what is stopping you from running away the moment we pass the gate?”
Silence.
As the question dangled above his head like the sword of Damokles, Asmodeus briefly considered if the accusation offended him more than it endangered him, and whether he should let it show. Gaara’s acidic tone left no doubt that his answer would make or break the entire operation. Truthfully, he had expected the prince to notice this problem lot sooner. A shame they couldn’t have gone without it entirely. He blinked.
“Uh... well..” The servant straightened in his seat, carefully weighing his next few words. “Now that mylord mentions it... nothing, I suppose?” He tilted his head like a curious child that had suddenly been presented with a very intriguing idea. “I hadn’t considered the option, if I am completely honest. But I mean... I am not exactly living the worst of lives right now, am I?”
And there it was again, that crooked smile that never seemed as if it were directed at anybody in particular, but a simple expression of his own pleasant yet secret imagination.
“I have a comfortable bed, a lovely wardrobe. The food I eat is of the highest quality, and I do not even need to lift a finger to make or receive it. I get to sleep and chat and play chess all day long. Sure, there is little music, or laughter, or reading, and somebody is watching my every step. But I am spending my time largely in the way I would as a free man - in the company of someone who appreciates me, or so I like to think, and whose world might be just a tiny bit better for my presence in it.”
Smiling, Addhir shifted his weight and rose from his position. He stepped around the low table between them - slowly, gracefully - and without any sign that Gaara’s sudden anger concerned him at all. Only his clothes and the golden chains around his shoulders rustled quietly as he moved, carrying with them the subtle scent of a perfume that Addhir had doubtlessly dabbed onto his skin sometime this morning. From the other side of their game, the smell had been rather discreet, grazing the prince only in passing as they had set up the table. Now, however, it seemed to fill every breath he took, though it seemed as soft as unobtrusive as before. It promised warmth... and tranquility. Like a bird, Addhir finally lowered himself onto the arm rest of the other’s chair and gave him a curious look.
“ I do understand why my prince would be suspicious though... even if I wished his trust in me to be stronger than this”, he murmured. “If it eases his mind, perhaps I should stay behind and make up an excuse if anybody comes looking for him? If it is any consolation to him at all, however, I will swear on my life that I shall not leave his side and do whatever is in my power to make sure he returns home safely, and with me-- if my lord Gaara can promise me that he will do the same if the king ever changes his mind about the position of my head.” With that, Addhir gently plucked the bishop from the prince’s grasp - fingers brushing him ever so slightly - and placed it on the board before them, just where it had been supposed to go.
“And if all else fails... well. Maybe he should make sure to hold tightly onto my hand the entire night, and never once let go.”
Lilith and Eve - Yuri Klapouh
– Eduardo Galeano, Walking Words. (Norton, January 1, 1995)
ft. Lux / modern AU Asmodeus
Mixology
everyone who has invented a cocktail that is just spirit + tonic deserves a kiss on the mouth. everyone who makes a cocktail that is just spirit + spirit + mixer deserves several kisses. anyone can and should be a mixologist. mix alcohol. mix potions. mix posions. there is nothing more beautiful than creating something, no matter how delicious or disgusting or deadly. make, create, you are the spirit a kind of inebriated aritstry that is a joy to behold
Tagged by: stole it from my room mate
Tagging: @ofpsalms, @desertgourd, @shellcrack
Gaara had in fact never heard of churchkhela and told Addhir as such. In truth, days of palace celebration - ones that did not solely revolve around him, in any case - were some of his favorites. The rote matters played out like any other day, but tenfold: Drenched in gold-lined finery; exuding the poise and gravitas so demanded by his role; doling out greetings to what felt like hundreds of attendees whose names and stations he had, of course, memorized. These great parties were a time to show off and be shown off. It would not do to disappoint the king.
But as the formalities gave way to revelry he would sip at glasses of honeyed wine, watch the hired musicians strum well into the night, and not be miserable to do it. In years past he had made light conversation with other courtiers from neighboring lands and occasionally be provided a young lady with whom to dance. If the night went well he would watch his father’s face soften from its block of stone as the fruits of his kingdom’s labor prospered.
It was with these memories in mind that an impractical paranoia roiled with his excitement, playing out every detail that might go awry, every tragedy that would thwart their plans. It lingered on his mind still, the palace feast and their escape standing only a single day apart.
“What sort of tricks do you think Hassan will play, exactly? You’ve been vague so far.” Gaara was not ignorant to his own naivete of the outside world, but neither was he foolish. He would not allow Hassan to swindle him out of money, or change the agreed-upon plan; he would not be led down dark alleys or stray from the safety of crowds. He would bring a not substantial amount of coin, and nothing which could reveal his true identity. In a sense, Addhir would act as a bodyguard: Quick-witted and understanding more of the common life than Gaara ever would, his very presence would dissuade Hassan from any particularly ominous plans, and he could suss out anything suspicious from the start.
Addhir shrugged. It was unwise to scare Gaara more than what level of caution seemed necessary for authenticity’s sake, least he ended up changing his mind after all. Asmodeus was certain that he could keep the young prince safe as long as that one didn’t stray off or do anything too stupid. Considering that he was taking the human teenage equivalent of a purebred Persian out for a stroll without an actual leash though, maybe it was too much to ask. His hope lay with the boy’s generally composed disposition and his own talent for improvisation. But just because Asmodeus was powerful enough to fight any shark stalking them in these waters, didn’t mean that Addhir was, too.
“He could break his promise and not meet us to go back inside. He could hire somebody to overwhelm us in a moment of poor attention”, the servant mused, eyes once again hovering above the chess board.
“I don’t know. I only know that he wields dark magic, and that he does not have a thought to spare for the suffering of others. He does as he pleases. And I would hate nothing more than my prince to be hurt for a flea I planted in his ear. I want that night to be positively unforgettable. And who knows? Maybe I will be lucky enough to see you smile, just once.”
