Love Me and Despair
Jul. 27th, 2011 07:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
minutia_rSomething else I posted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
disney_kink a while back.
Love Me and Despair
Fandom: Disney, Aladdin
Pairing: Jasmine/Genie
Rating: R
Word count: 1000
Summary: A lamp. Dented, tarnished, cheap-looking. Warm, humming with power. Jasmine could have licked it—but she had been led to understand a gentle rub would be enough.
Jafar seized power in Agrabah and married Jasmine with the help of the Genie of the lamp. Now Jasmine has her hands on the lamp, and is ready to make some wishes.
This one's for:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
afterandalasia, who asked for dark!Jasmine. It was first posted on disney_kink
Warnings: Second-hand descriptions of gruesome revenge, implied background rape, general wrongness.
Four years of persuasion, blackmail, assassination, and a strange seduction or two, until the harem guards were her men, not Jafar's—not all of them, not even most of them, but enough that she could go anywhere in the palace, in secrecy and as she chose. Two years spending her midnight hours, and high noon when everyone else slept, poring over Jafar's books of sorcery, until she could unlock any ward and penetrate any illusion he put in her way. Six months of a whispered rumor here, a bribe there, until the constant squabble over water rights with the neighboring city-state of Az-Zeka flared up into war, and Jafar and his chief general both had to leave the palace, for a time. And now Jasmine held it in her hands.
A lamp. Dented, tarnished, cheap-looking. Warm, humming with power. Jasmine could have licked it—but she had been led to understand a gentle rub would be enough.
A column of blue smoke rose from the mouth of the lamp, and resolved into a fat blue man with a resigned expression on his face. "How may I serve—say, you're not Jafar," said the genie.
"How clever of you to have noticed," said Jasmine. "I am Jasmine, Sultana of Agrabah."
"Okay," said the genie, grinning. "Let me lay down a few ground rules for you, Jaz—All right if I call you Jaz?"
"I believe 'Master' is traditional," said Jasmine.
Jasmine blinked, and the genie was wearing a black mask that covered his face, and some sort of harness of chains and straps. "Mistress?" he suggested.
"No," said Jasmine.
"Should have known it was too much to hope for that the next one would have a sense of humor," grumbled the genie, returning to his previous state of undress. "At least you're easier on the eyes than Mr. Spooky. Here's the way it works, O Master: I grant you three wishes. No more, no less. That means no wishing for wishes or any of that nonsense. And there are a few restrictions. I can't kill anyone—"
"Can't you?" said Jasmine. "In the market I could hire a thug who would kill for a cup of cheap wine."
"So go to the market and hire a thug," said the genie. "I can't."
"Hm," said Jasmine. This put a crimp in her plans, but on reflection, not a large one. "But can you, say, remove every trace of sorcerous power from a man? Can you cut off his arms and his legs, his sex and his tongue, and leave the wounds to bleed? Could you then set this man down in a pit in the desert, fifty miles from the nearest source of water, and fill the pit with scorpions? And leave him there alive, as long as he might live thus?"
The genie seemed to be trying to sidle away nervously, a trick for someone with no legs but a column of smoke. His eyes, however, were fixed on hers, wide with fascination. "Well . . . technically . . . yes."
"Good," said Jasmine. "I wish for you to do this to my husband, Jafar, Sultan of Agrabah."
"And it couldn't happen to a nicer guy," the genie muttered. "But are you sure—you don't have to make up your mind right—"
"The phrase," said Jasmine, "is 'Yes, Master.'"
"Yes, Master," said the genie, and disappeared.
Jasmine bit her lip, and waited, listening to the rush of blood in her ears. "Is it done?" she asked breathlessly when the genie returned after a minute.
"Yes, Master," said the genie, eyeing her with the same mixture of nervousness and fascination as he had before.
It was as if she had removed a heavy cloak she had been forced to wear her whole life, and felt the breeze play on her skin for the first time. A laugh bubbled up from her belly. She couldn't help it, and she couldn’t stop it.
On the edge of hysteria, Jasmine struggled to get her breathing under control—and noticed the genie's eyes, arrested by the rise and fall of her breasts. So. Smoke below the waist, but a man nevertheless. Maybe she'd been too hasty in rejecting his initial suggestion. Or rather, his second suggestion—'Jaz' was a detestable nickname.
"Oh, Genie," she said, "you have no idea how happy you've made me. Now, you were saying—restrictions?"
"Right," said the genie. "I can't bring anyone back from the dead."
"And whom do you think I would like to bring back?" said Jasmine. "My fat foolish father, peace be upon him? What good did he ever do me while he lived? Or maybe all the counselors, merchants, and poets my husband's killed, or the flower of the city's youth, cut down by war and dark magic? I might as well wish for that street rat I met once in the market." Jasmine had actually wept for the street rat. She'd been so young, then. "No. Let them all rot."
"Oh-kay," said the genie. "Also—"
"Still," Jasmine mused, ignoring his interruption, "it would be a shame if I were to die, now that I am free, and the city is in my hands. Yes, Genie. I wish for immortality."
"Yes, Master," said the genie—no arguing with her this time, Jasmine noticed with satisfaction. "And lastly—I can't make anyone fall in love."
"Oh, but you have," said Jasmine, trailing a hand down her body, lingering at breast and hip. It wasn't hard to read the reactions in that smoky body, once you were used to it. "Power is the best aphrodisiac, isn't it? I do believe that I love having you at my command." She sighed happily. "One wish left, and I mustn't squander it—still, what do you say to favors? As in, you do me a favor. And I do you a favor. " She lifted a hand to touch him, fascinated by the way he felt, hot and not quite substantial. And what did it matter where desire for power left off, and simple desire began? He shivered, like overheated air shimmers in the sun.
"Yes, Master," he said.
disney_kink a while back.Love Me and Despair
Fandom: Disney, Aladdin
Pairing: Jasmine/Genie
Rating: R
Word count: 1000
Summary: A lamp. Dented, tarnished, cheap-looking. Warm, humming with power. Jasmine could have licked it—but she had been led to understand a gentle rub would be enough.
Jafar seized power in Agrabah and married Jasmine with the help of the Genie of the lamp. Now Jasmine has her hands on the lamp, and is ready to make some wishes.
This one's for:
afterandalasia, who asked for dark!Jasmine. It was first posted on disney_kinkWarnings: Second-hand descriptions of gruesome revenge, implied background rape, general wrongness.
Four years of persuasion, blackmail, assassination, and a strange seduction or two, until the harem guards were her men, not Jafar's—not all of them, not even most of them, but enough that she could go anywhere in the palace, in secrecy and as she chose. Two years spending her midnight hours, and high noon when everyone else slept, poring over Jafar's books of sorcery, until she could unlock any ward and penetrate any illusion he put in her way. Six months of a whispered rumor here, a bribe there, until the constant squabble over water rights with the neighboring city-state of Az-Zeka flared up into war, and Jafar and his chief general both had to leave the palace, for a time. And now Jasmine held it in her hands.
A lamp. Dented, tarnished, cheap-looking. Warm, humming with power. Jasmine could have licked it—but she had been led to understand a gentle rub would be enough.
A column of blue smoke rose from the mouth of the lamp, and resolved into a fat blue man with a resigned expression on his face. "How may I serve—say, you're not Jafar," said the genie.
"How clever of you to have noticed," said Jasmine. "I am Jasmine, Sultana of Agrabah."
"Okay," said the genie, grinning. "Let me lay down a few ground rules for you, Jaz—All right if I call you Jaz?"
"I believe 'Master' is traditional," said Jasmine.
Jasmine blinked, and the genie was wearing a black mask that covered his face, and some sort of harness of chains and straps. "Mistress?" he suggested.
"No," said Jasmine.
"Should have known it was too much to hope for that the next one would have a sense of humor," grumbled the genie, returning to his previous state of undress. "At least you're easier on the eyes than Mr. Spooky. Here's the way it works, O Master: I grant you three wishes. No more, no less. That means no wishing for wishes or any of that nonsense. And there are a few restrictions. I can't kill anyone—"
"Can't you?" said Jasmine. "In the market I could hire a thug who would kill for a cup of cheap wine."
"So go to the market and hire a thug," said the genie. "I can't."
"Hm," said Jasmine. This put a crimp in her plans, but on reflection, not a large one. "But can you, say, remove every trace of sorcerous power from a man? Can you cut off his arms and his legs, his sex and his tongue, and leave the wounds to bleed? Could you then set this man down in a pit in the desert, fifty miles from the nearest source of water, and fill the pit with scorpions? And leave him there alive, as long as he might live thus?"
The genie seemed to be trying to sidle away nervously, a trick for someone with no legs but a column of smoke. His eyes, however, were fixed on hers, wide with fascination. "Well . . . technically . . . yes."
"Good," said Jasmine. "I wish for you to do this to my husband, Jafar, Sultan of Agrabah."
"And it couldn't happen to a nicer guy," the genie muttered. "But are you sure—you don't have to make up your mind right—"
"The phrase," said Jasmine, "is 'Yes, Master.'"
"Yes, Master," said the genie, and disappeared.
Jasmine bit her lip, and waited, listening to the rush of blood in her ears. "Is it done?" she asked breathlessly when the genie returned after a minute.
"Yes, Master," said the genie, eyeing her with the same mixture of nervousness and fascination as he had before.
It was as if she had removed a heavy cloak she had been forced to wear her whole life, and felt the breeze play on her skin for the first time. A laugh bubbled up from her belly. She couldn't help it, and she couldn’t stop it.
On the edge of hysteria, Jasmine struggled to get her breathing under control—and noticed the genie's eyes, arrested by the rise and fall of her breasts. So. Smoke below the waist, but a man nevertheless. Maybe she'd been too hasty in rejecting his initial suggestion. Or rather, his second suggestion—'Jaz' was a detestable nickname.
"Oh, Genie," she said, "you have no idea how happy you've made me. Now, you were saying—restrictions?"
"Right," said the genie. "I can't bring anyone back from the dead."
"And whom do you think I would like to bring back?" said Jasmine. "My fat foolish father, peace be upon him? What good did he ever do me while he lived? Or maybe all the counselors, merchants, and poets my husband's killed, or the flower of the city's youth, cut down by war and dark magic? I might as well wish for that street rat I met once in the market." Jasmine had actually wept for the street rat. She'd been so young, then. "No. Let them all rot."
"Oh-kay," said the genie. "Also—"
"Still," Jasmine mused, ignoring his interruption, "it would be a shame if I were to die, now that I am free, and the city is in my hands. Yes, Genie. I wish for immortality."
"Yes, Master," said the genie—no arguing with her this time, Jasmine noticed with satisfaction. "And lastly—I can't make anyone fall in love."
"Oh, but you have," said Jasmine, trailing a hand down her body, lingering at breast and hip. It wasn't hard to read the reactions in that smoky body, once you were used to it. "Power is the best aphrodisiac, isn't it? I do believe that I love having you at my command." She sighed happily. "One wish left, and I mustn't squander it—still, what do you say to favors? As in, you do me a favor. And I do you a favor. " She lifted a hand to touch him, fascinated by the way he felt, hot and not quite substantial. And what did it matter where desire for power left off, and simple desire began? He shivered, like overheated air shimmers in the sun.
"Yes, Master," he said.
