I don't think Ki will mind
Jun. 13th, 2006 08:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI wrote this conspiring with her. This would be the middle child ^_~ Of three. Incomplete. Apologies for it's roughness, since I hadn't actually planned for any but ki to read it, since she's mostly responsible for it. <3
Lasting Marks
The good thing about having a father who flouted rules was that he could not say much when his sons did the same.
Shir smiled, thinking of the way his father would shake his head, hide a grin, and make him spend all day in court to make up for it…and later at dinner ask him all about this little foray into town.
He let the folds of his head wrap fall across his cheeks, further hiding his face as he passed by royal guards who would easily recognize the second child of King Shahjahan. Shir snickered once they’d passed him by, and paused at a stall selling soaps, oils and other wonderfully-scented things. He lingered on a jar of massage oil that smelled like cinnamon and cloves with just a hint of nutmeg. A soap that smelled like the sea was added next, and before he finished Shir had haggled quite a fine supply from the merchant.
His brother and sister might be hopeless with money, but he did not share their fate. And Laleh, the wretch, would probably snitch the ocean-scented oil. He couldn’t wait for the day his little sister finally ran away to the sea. His parents were going to prove vastly amusing on that day.
Shir hummed a carnival tune as he continued to explore the city market, picking up trinkets and amusements from time to time as they caught his eye.
He lingered over a jewelry stall, eyes most definitely caught by a stunning, dark blue jewel, oval cut and set into a thick band of silver. The stone was brilliant, like a piece of sunlight trapped inside colored glass. A half hour’s worth of wrangling later, because only a fool agreed to the initial price, Shir tucked the beautiful necklace into a deep, inner pocket of his robe and resumed his meanderings.
Though after the necklace, he had money enough for a light meal. Unless he put his ring back on; then he could have whatever he wanted. But where was the fun in that?
Shir wandered aimlessly, debating what to have for lunch. The smell of spice cakes made him reconsider the merits of a proper lunch and he turned toward the source of the wonderful aroma when he heard a shout, promptly followed by a hard shoved from behind as someone knocked into him. Shir muttered a curse around the dirt in his mouth and scrambled after his purchases, voicing his cures loudly and colorfully as someone tried to snitch his things.
Goods reclaimed, he turned toward the source of disruption and narrowed his eyes. Behind the folds of his robes, he pulled out a heavy gold ring and slipped it back on his right middle finger.
“What was that all about?” he demanded of a large burly man, catching the man’s meaty wrist in his own slender hand. “If you knock a man down, have the decency to apologize.”
“You’re all right,” the man said ungraciously, ripping his hand away and attempting to go back to what had made Shir frown. A man, wide-shouldered and beautifully muscled beneath a mass of scars old and new, knelt on the ground, braced for the beating that Shir had momentarily paused. The man, obviously a merchant, pulled a flog from his robes. “And the one that did it is about to suffer for it, so just get on with you – unless you’d like to watch that is.” The man spared him a brief glance, then all his attention was on the kneeling man. “Eh, Javed? You must like these beatings, given how few of my orders you follow. Man was right, you’re a bad bargain.”
Shir took a deep breath, singing a lullabye in his head as his father had taught him, letting the words calm him. “The beating of workers is illegal, good sir.”
“I’m not beating a worker,” the man said, not sparing him a glance. “He’s just a slave.”
“Slavery has not been legal in nearly a hundred years,” Shir said icily. “Cease this at once. A simple apology is all that is required.”
“Shut your mouth, boy, and go elsewhere if the sight of a worthless slave getting what he asked for bothers you so much.” The man looked at him in disgust. “Where I come from slaves are perfectly legal, so just get on home and suckle at your mother’s tit like a good little boy.” He started to say more, but jumped and drew back in horror when Shir began to laugh.
Yanking off his head cover, wavy hair falling in a mess around his shoulders, Shir spared the man a smirk and then shouted at the top of his lungs. “Guards! The crown demands your presence! Guards!”
In seconds, five royal guards appeared, staring at Shir and the situation in horror. “Highness! What are you doing—“
“Arrest this man for the illegal keeping of a slave, and for beating him.” He gave the man a cold look. “And for insulting my mother.”
“I did no such thing you little—“ the man’s words were choked off as he was manhandled by the guards and hauled roughly away.
“Disperse the crowd,” Shir said. He moved toward the man still kneeling, unmoving on the ground. Gently he touched a shoulder, and gasped when the man jerked away, looking up at him.
Eyes a dark, rich blue, but with a fire in them – like sunlight caught in colored glass. “Beautiful,” Shir breathed, and realized that word applied to far more than the man’s eyes. His body, those muscles he’d admired, only seemed more impressive for the scars that ran every which way. A legacy of beatings, whippings and he didn’t want to know what else, marked fine skin – paler than his own, but dusky. Combined with the blue eyes, it was clear his breeding was mixed. A wonder it did not happen more often, if such beauty as this was the result. One particularly jagged scar slashed his cheek, curving up around the side of his right eye. Unthinking, Shir reached out to touch it, recalling himself when the man jerked away. “My apologies. You’re free to go, if you like.”
The man made no reply.
Shir hesitated, then pressed forward. “Your name is Javed, yes?” Around them, people persisted in gawking until guards dragged them away, until the area at the edge of the bazaar was almost entirely empty, blocked by guards that seemed to keep appearing.
“…Yes, Highness.” The man bowed his head, hiding those beautiful blue eyes.
Shir touched his chin, gently urging it back up. “Javed. Is there somewhere I can see you’re taken?” Oh, how he wanted to ask…but he did not want it to be an order or obligation.
“Nowhere, Highness. I am a slave.”
“Not anymore. Come with me then, if only for the evening if you prefer. Please?”
Javed stared at him, and Shir could see the distrust in his dark blue eyes.
“If not, no harm done. In this country, you are free.”
Slowly Javed stood up, and Shir thought he resembled his mother’s cats whenever they unwound after a long nap. Tall, just the right height for Shir to press against, to tuck his head into the hollow of a shoulder.
But his thoughts were sprinting far ahead of reality. He shook them off. “This way,” Shir said, and allowed the guards to escort them safely back.
It was dusk by the time they finally reached the palace, and well after dark by the time he was permitted to return to his room. He hated watching as Javed was taken away from him, calling orders to servants and promises to Javed that all would be well.
And they would be. He was twenty-three, and people had begun to wonder if the second child of King Shahjahan would ever take anyone into his harem. His father had five splendid men and his brother, only twenty-five, already had two in his own harem. His sister was close to a girl who would probably become her first on Lelah’s birthday in three months.
Javed would be his first. Shir could feel it, just like his father had always said he would.
Shir slipped into his room with a long sigh, stripping off the raiment of court and letting them fall to the floor to deal with later. His night robe had been laid out on his bed, and Shir slipped into it before looking around for Javed.
Ah, there. By the window. If he’d thought Javed beautiful in the bazaar, he was positively breathtaking now. His hair, so dark brown it was nearly black, was still damp. It curled softly around his head, adding an almost boyish air to Javed’s far from boyish form. He smelled faintly sweet, Shir noticed as he drew closer.
He wondered if he looked at Javed the way his father looked at his men or smiled at his mother. And he’d barely met the man; knew nothing but his name and that he’d been a slave. “Javed,” he said finally. “Thank you for coming. I hope the evening hasn’t been too unsettling for you. If you wish to go, you may of course. I’m not forcing you to stay here.”
“I am here, Highness.”
“Shir, please. Or Aradishir, if you prefer. But you need not call me Highness.” Shir wrinkled his nose. “I get enough of that as it is.”
Javed said nothing, and Shir could tell by his nod that Javed would still call him highness. Ah, well. Patience.
“Why am I here?”
Shir thought for a moment, and finally opted for honesty. “Because I was captivated and did not want to lose you. Fortune favored me, and I won’t flout it by letting you get away.”
“I don’t understand.”
It was probably too sudden, and he really didn’t want to give the wrong impression…but he thought, maybe, it would be the right thing to do. “Come with me,” he said, holding out a hand. He breathed a sigh of relief when Javed took it, and quelled the part of his mind that thrummed with fantasies of what that rough, calloused hand would feel like elsewhere.
He pressed Javed down into the mass of cushions and pillows in one corner, a spot set apart for reading, relaxing and when he was smaller hiding from his prank-minded brother. “Here,” he whispered, and remained off the side while he made sure Javed was comfortable, a slight switching of their roles to hopefully indicate Javed was not here merely to indulge a prince.
*~*~*~*
Javed looked around the room, noting every escape, every obstacle, every last detail that would help or hinder. Then found his eyes drawn helplessly back to the breathtaking prince beside him. Sweet incense mingled with the scent of the prince, like cinnamon and musk, making it hard for him to think or notice anything else. Except, perhaps, that he didn't belong here. Not in the palace. Not in this room. Most certainly not so close to Prince Aradishir that he could reach out and touch, drag that raven-dark hair close to see if felt as wonderfully soft as it looked.
What was he doing here? How long before he was beaten and sent away again?
Looking into those dark eyes, remembering the soft voice and gentle touch that had helped him, Javed wasn't too sure he'd survive the prince's banishment. Which made no sense at all. He felt naked, which was also strange. Naked was how he spent most of his time; at least from the waist up while beatings were administered. A legacy of insubordination lashed into his skin with flog, cane and whip.
"Why me?" Javed asked, chin going up in challenge. He stared at the prince, waiting for the crack in the eyes that said Javed was an amusement, a distraction, an interesting toy to be discarded come sunrise. "Why am I here?" Because he knew very well that a royal prince couldn't simply take a man or woman to his room. Either Javed was a night's distraction to be discarded before anyone found out or...there was no 'or.' Not for someone like him.
"Is it so hard to believe that I could find you beautiful, Javed?" Aradishir asked, sinking down to lay beside him, one hand slowly reaching out to touch Javed's shoulder, throat, fingers tracing the scars that marred his chest. "Because you are, though I regret the pain that put these here."
That was a lie if ever he heard one. Javed motioned to himself, his scared, ugly body. "No one could find this beautiful. I'm a slave, not a fool."
Aradishir smiled in that way that made something inside him ache for things he'd given up hoping for after the third beating of his life - the one that had driven him into unconsciousness.
"I do," Aradishir said, still smiling, and Javed froze in shock when the prince bent over him and pressed lips to the most lurid of the scars, the one made by metal rather than leather. "Most beautiful," he breathed, the puff of air warm on Javed's skin, drowning him in the scent of cinnamon and musk and sweet incense. "Do you find it so hard I could think you so?"
Javed's eyes widened, the words too much for him to comprehend. He searched that face for lies, insincerity, but could not find them. Was the prince that skilled in deceit?
"You’re beautiful," Aradishir breathed again, and matched word to dead by touching, kissing, memorizing every scar on Javed's chest and arms, the one left around his throat by a man particularly fond of his whip, before shifting so that his lips hovered over Javed's.
Javed ached to touched back, to claim those soft, dark lips, leave some mark that said he had touched this beauty, even if was to be for only night. Leave a mark that said this beautiful, breathtaking prince had been touched by Javed, whose mother had not wanted him, whose father had sold him, who had been a worthless slave all his life.
Such a beautiful prince, most especially the simple kindness in his dark eyes.
Moaning softly, not aware he did so, Javed gave up and took the lips being so sweetly offered, hand tangling in wicked-soft hair, his other arm slipping around the prince's waist, pulling that slight, slender body flush against his, rolling so that the prince was trapped beneath him.
He expected resistance, a protest, to be driven back and told to remember his place. Instead Aradishir seemed to melt beneath him, swiftly and immediately pliant, taking Javed's rough, devouring kisses as if they soothed some ache.
Fingers danced along his skin, tracing the irregular patterning of scars. Javed pulled back, panting, and was instantly entranced by the image of the prince with wet, well-kissed lips, hair spread out across bright-colored silk, those dark eyes begging for more. With a rough sound Javed complied.
TBC
Now back to the necromancer.
Lasting Marks
The good thing about having a father who flouted rules was that he could not say much when his sons did the same.
Shir smiled, thinking of the way his father would shake his head, hide a grin, and make him spend all day in court to make up for it…and later at dinner ask him all about this little foray into town.
He let the folds of his head wrap fall across his cheeks, further hiding his face as he passed by royal guards who would easily recognize the second child of King Shahjahan. Shir snickered once they’d passed him by, and paused at a stall selling soaps, oils and other wonderfully-scented things. He lingered on a jar of massage oil that smelled like cinnamon and cloves with just a hint of nutmeg. A soap that smelled like the sea was added next, and before he finished Shir had haggled quite a fine supply from the merchant.
His brother and sister might be hopeless with money, but he did not share their fate. And Laleh, the wretch, would probably snitch the ocean-scented oil. He couldn’t wait for the day his little sister finally ran away to the sea. His parents were going to prove vastly amusing on that day.
Shir hummed a carnival tune as he continued to explore the city market, picking up trinkets and amusements from time to time as they caught his eye.
He lingered over a jewelry stall, eyes most definitely caught by a stunning, dark blue jewel, oval cut and set into a thick band of silver. The stone was brilliant, like a piece of sunlight trapped inside colored glass. A half hour’s worth of wrangling later, because only a fool agreed to the initial price, Shir tucked the beautiful necklace into a deep, inner pocket of his robe and resumed his meanderings.
Though after the necklace, he had money enough for a light meal. Unless he put his ring back on; then he could have whatever he wanted. But where was the fun in that?
Shir wandered aimlessly, debating what to have for lunch. The smell of spice cakes made him reconsider the merits of a proper lunch and he turned toward the source of the wonderful aroma when he heard a shout, promptly followed by a hard shoved from behind as someone knocked into him. Shir muttered a curse around the dirt in his mouth and scrambled after his purchases, voicing his cures loudly and colorfully as someone tried to snitch his things.
Goods reclaimed, he turned toward the source of disruption and narrowed his eyes. Behind the folds of his robes, he pulled out a heavy gold ring and slipped it back on his right middle finger.
“What was that all about?” he demanded of a large burly man, catching the man’s meaty wrist in his own slender hand. “If you knock a man down, have the decency to apologize.”
“You’re all right,” the man said ungraciously, ripping his hand away and attempting to go back to what had made Shir frown. A man, wide-shouldered and beautifully muscled beneath a mass of scars old and new, knelt on the ground, braced for the beating that Shir had momentarily paused. The man, obviously a merchant, pulled a flog from his robes. “And the one that did it is about to suffer for it, so just get on with you – unless you’d like to watch that is.” The man spared him a brief glance, then all his attention was on the kneeling man. “Eh, Javed? You must like these beatings, given how few of my orders you follow. Man was right, you’re a bad bargain.”
Shir took a deep breath, singing a lullabye in his head as his father had taught him, letting the words calm him. “The beating of workers is illegal, good sir.”
“I’m not beating a worker,” the man said, not sparing him a glance. “He’s just a slave.”
“Slavery has not been legal in nearly a hundred years,” Shir said icily. “Cease this at once. A simple apology is all that is required.”
“Shut your mouth, boy, and go elsewhere if the sight of a worthless slave getting what he asked for bothers you so much.” The man looked at him in disgust. “Where I come from slaves are perfectly legal, so just get on home and suckle at your mother’s tit like a good little boy.” He started to say more, but jumped and drew back in horror when Shir began to laugh.
Yanking off his head cover, wavy hair falling in a mess around his shoulders, Shir spared the man a smirk and then shouted at the top of his lungs. “Guards! The crown demands your presence! Guards!”
In seconds, five royal guards appeared, staring at Shir and the situation in horror. “Highness! What are you doing—“
“Arrest this man for the illegal keeping of a slave, and for beating him.” He gave the man a cold look. “And for insulting my mother.”
“I did no such thing you little—“ the man’s words were choked off as he was manhandled by the guards and hauled roughly away.
“Disperse the crowd,” Shir said. He moved toward the man still kneeling, unmoving on the ground. Gently he touched a shoulder, and gasped when the man jerked away, looking up at him.
Eyes a dark, rich blue, but with a fire in them – like sunlight caught in colored glass. “Beautiful,” Shir breathed, and realized that word applied to far more than the man’s eyes. His body, those muscles he’d admired, only seemed more impressive for the scars that ran every which way. A legacy of beatings, whippings and he didn’t want to know what else, marked fine skin – paler than his own, but dusky. Combined with the blue eyes, it was clear his breeding was mixed. A wonder it did not happen more often, if such beauty as this was the result. One particularly jagged scar slashed his cheek, curving up around the side of his right eye. Unthinking, Shir reached out to touch it, recalling himself when the man jerked away. “My apologies. You’re free to go, if you like.”
The man made no reply.
Shir hesitated, then pressed forward. “Your name is Javed, yes?” Around them, people persisted in gawking until guards dragged them away, until the area at the edge of the bazaar was almost entirely empty, blocked by guards that seemed to keep appearing.
“…Yes, Highness.” The man bowed his head, hiding those beautiful blue eyes.
Shir touched his chin, gently urging it back up. “Javed. Is there somewhere I can see you’re taken?” Oh, how he wanted to ask…but he did not want it to be an order or obligation.
“Nowhere, Highness. I am a slave.”
“Not anymore. Come with me then, if only for the evening if you prefer. Please?”
Javed stared at him, and Shir could see the distrust in his dark blue eyes.
“If not, no harm done. In this country, you are free.”
Slowly Javed stood up, and Shir thought he resembled his mother’s cats whenever they unwound after a long nap. Tall, just the right height for Shir to press against, to tuck his head into the hollow of a shoulder.
But his thoughts were sprinting far ahead of reality. He shook them off. “This way,” Shir said, and allowed the guards to escort them safely back.
It was dusk by the time they finally reached the palace, and well after dark by the time he was permitted to return to his room. He hated watching as Javed was taken away from him, calling orders to servants and promises to Javed that all would be well.
And they would be. He was twenty-three, and people had begun to wonder if the second child of King Shahjahan would ever take anyone into his harem. His father had five splendid men and his brother, only twenty-five, already had two in his own harem. His sister was close to a girl who would probably become her first on Lelah’s birthday in three months.
Javed would be his first. Shir could feel it, just like his father had always said he would.
Shir slipped into his room with a long sigh, stripping off the raiment of court and letting them fall to the floor to deal with later. His night robe had been laid out on his bed, and Shir slipped into it before looking around for Javed.
Ah, there. By the window. If he’d thought Javed beautiful in the bazaar, he was positively breathtaking now. His hair, so dark brown it was nearly black, was still damp. It curled softly around his head, adding an almost boyish air to Javed’s far from boyish form. He smelled faintly sweet, Shir noticed as he drew closer.
He wondered if he looked at Javed the way his father looked at his men or smiled at his mother. And he’d barely met the man; knew nothing but his name and that he’d been a slave. “Javed,” he said finally. “Thank you for coming. I hope the evening hasn’t been too unsettling for you. If you wish to go, you may of course. I’m not forcing you to stay here.”
“I am here, Highness.”
“Shir, please. Or Aradishir, if you prefer. But you need not call me Highness.” Shir wrinkled his nose. “I get enough of that as it is.”
Javed said nothing, and Shir could tell by his nod that Javed would still call him highness. Ah, well. Patience.
“Why am I here?”
Shir thought for a moment, and finally opted for honesty. “Because I was captivated and did not want to lose you. Fortune favored me, and I won’t flout it by letting you get away.”
“I don’t understand.”
It was probably too sudden, and he really didn’t want to give the wrong impression…but he thought, maybe, it would be the right thing to do. “Come with me,” he said, holding out a hand. He breathed a sigh of relief when Javed took it, and quelled the part of his mind that thrummed with fantasies of what that rough, calloused hand would feel like elsewhere.
He pressed Javed down into the mass of cushions and pillows in one corner, a spot set apart for reading, relaxing and when he was smaller hiding from his prank-minded brother. “Here,” he whispered, and remained off the side while he made sure Javed was comfortable, a slight switching of their roles to hopefully indicate Javed was not here merely to indulge a prince.
*~*~*~*
Javed looked around the room, noting every escape, every obstacle, every last detail that would help or hinder. Then found his eyes drawn helplessly back to the breathtaking prince beside him. Sweet incense mingled with the scent of the prince, like cinnamon and musk, making it hard for him to think or notice anything else. Except, perhaps, that he didn't belong here. Not in the palace. Not in this room. Most certainly not so close to Prince Aradishir that he could reach out and touch, drag that raven-dark hair close to see if felt as wonderfully soft as it looked.
What was he doing here? How long before he was beaten and sent away again?
Looking into those dark eyes, remembering the soft voice and gentle touch that had helped him, Javed wasn't too sure he'd survive the prince's banishment. Which made no sense at all. He felt naked, which was also strange. Naked was how he spent most of his time; at least from the waist up while beatings were administered. A legacy of insubordination lashed into his skin with flog, cane and whip.
"Why me?" Javed asked, chin going up in challenge. He stared at the prince, waiting for the crack in the eyes that said Javed was an amusement, a distraction, an interesting toy to be discarded come sunrise. "Why am I here?" Because he knew very well that a royal prince couldn't simply take a man or woman to his room. Either Javed was a night's distraction to be discarded before anyone found out or...there was no 'or.' Not for someone like him.
"Is it so hard to believe that I could find you beautiful, Javed?" Aradishir asked, sinking down to lay beside him, one hand slowly reaching out to touch Javed's shoulder, throat, fingers tracing the scars that marred his chest. "Because you are, though I regret the pain that put these here."
That was a lie if ever he heard one. Javed motioned to himself, his scared, ugly body. "No one could find this beautiful. I'm a slave, not a fool."
Aradishir smiled in that way that made something inside him ache for things he'd given up hoping for after the third beating of his life - the one that had driven him into unconsciousness.
"I do," Aradishir said, still smiling, and Javed froze in shock when the prince bent over him and pressed lips to the most lurid of the scars, the one made by metal rather than leather. "Most beautiful," he breathed, the puff of air warm on Javed's skin, drowning him in the scent of cinnamon and musk and sweet incense. "Do you find it so hard I could think you so?"
Javed's eyes widened, the words too much for him to comprehend. He searched that face for lies, insincerity, but could not find them. Was the prince that skilled in deceit?
"You’re beautiful," Aradishir breathed again, and matched word to dead by touching, kissing, memorizing every scar on Javed's chest and arms, the one left around his throat by a man particularly fond of his whip, before shifting so that his lips hovered over Javed's.
Javed ached to touched back, to claim those soft, dark lips, leave some mark that said he had touched this beauty, even if was to be for only night. Leave a mark that said this beautiful, breathtaking prince had been touched by Javed, whose mother had not wanted him, whose father had sold him, who had been a worthless slave all his life.
Such a beautiful prince, most especially the simple kindness in his dark eyes.
Moaning softly, not aware he did so, Javed gave up and took the lips being so sweetly offered, hand tangling in wicked-soft hair, his other arm slipping around the prince's waist, pulling that slight, slender body flush against his, rolling so that the prince was trapped beneath him.
He expected resistance, a protest, to be driven back and told to remember his place. Instead Aradishir seemed to melt beneath him, swiftly and immediately pliant, taking Javed's rough, devouring kisses as if they soothed some ache.
Fingers danced along his skin, tracing the irregular patterning of scars. Javed pulled back, panting, and was instantly entranced by the image of the prince with wet, well-kissed lips, hair spread out across bright-colored silk, those dark eyes begging for more. With a rough sound Javed complied.
TBC
Now back to the necromancer.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 01:24 am (UTC)EIIIIEEEEEEEEE!!! *tackle glomps*
Date: 2006-06-14 01:35 am (UTC)*purrs happily*
I less than three you. Totally. *twirls you about and pinches Ki's cheeks for conspiring to bring about more of the Harem verse* ^_____^
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Date: 2006-06-14 02:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 02:33 am (UTC)Aguuuuhhh~ *dead from the sheer greatness*
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Date: 2006-06-14 05:15 am (UTC)*in love*
*innnnn looooove*
*toddles off babbling incoherently*
OMG HAREM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Date: 2006-06-14 05:58 am (UTC)*uber bright smile*
It worked to cheer me up! Now... Muse... please continue to cooperate... and I will seriously love you forever!
Maderr, any news on the FlorXLynn continuation? That has sooooo been stuck in my head, I just haven't been inspired to write any myself. I want Lynn... he's yummy... and Shah... hell, I love all your stuff!
Much love and many kudos!
Re: OMG HAREM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Date: 2006-06-14 10:32 am (UTC)<3
Flor x Lynn? *has not had coffee yet and barely remembers own name*
Re: OMG HAREM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Date: 2006-06-16 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 05:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 11:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 11:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 02:04 pm (UTC)Shir is a total amazement! He's one of those guys that you'd think would take control of everything. Nope. And I have a feeling Javed is going to know exactly how he feels by the end of the night.
And that cut-off point is NOT fair. >.>...
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Date: 2006-06-14 04:17 pm (UTC)*loves you*
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Date: 2006-06-14 04:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-15 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-15 03:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-15 05:26 pm (UTC)You know, I don't think Harem will ever, ever, ever get old. 300 years later, the great-great-great(you get the idea)grandson of Shah could be choosing his Harem and it would still be so much love for you for writing it. *sigh*
Laleh sounds really cool. I love your occasional women. Few and far between, perhaps, but each one a kickass jewel. (...oooh, Jewels...*wants*)
Can't wait to see more of Javed and Aradishir! (hm, wonder if his prank-minded brother ever called him 'radish'... but, perhaps that is not even a word in their language.^^)
no subject
Date: 2006-06-15 06:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-16 12:04 am (UTC)Nanda
Bey
Aik
Witcher
Kiah
^_^
no subject
Date: 2006-06-16 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-25 02:11 am (UTC)*.*
*adds this to your 'Finish-Me-for-the-Love-of-Little-Carnivorous-Daisies' list* ^____________________^
no subject
Date: 2006-08-25 04:13 am (UTC)Want the "TBC" fitted into your writing schedule sometime soon.
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Date: 2006-11-17 05:15 am (UTC)Although... Did we ever get around to formally bringing Merza into the harem? I thought we got up to the bit where he was sitting outside the window pining and listening in or something.
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Date: 2007-10-07 09:49 am (UTC)*sighs happily*
See? This is the reason I always end up trolling your LJ, just chasing tags.
I love the Harem series, and this is quite wonderful!
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Date: 2008-02-08 12:25 pm (UTC)