#/end classification tags | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zayneslady · 2 months

Text

summary: it's been a while since the last time you saw him, but you missed him so terribly.

warnings: angst/comfort. Happy endings for the win *sobs* Pt. 2 of these scenarios

characters: Zayne, Rafayel, Xavier x reader (separately)

a/n: I wanted to apologize. I got some comments saying that perhaps I wrote them a bit too ooc and that they wouldn't do something like this, so I was thinking maybe I should step out from writing these; I'm probably not understanding the characters very well. I'm really sorry! I had this one written already, so this is probably going to be the last post I make! Thank you for your support! In only a couple of days you guys were so amazing and loving, I'm super moved and I don't deserve you all at all ❤️

classification: scenarios

tag list: many of you asked me to tag you in the second part, I hope you guys like it! 💕

@biitchyberry @rosaryia @lcheerymotion @mo0nforme

ZAYNE ❄️

It's been four weeks since your argument with Zayne. The first days had been like hell. You had already tasted the honey of a relationship with the person you liked the most and loved the most. You wanted more of him, you needed more. You felt anxious without him, like you had become addicted to his kisses, his gentle touch, and the sweet words he whispered in your ears. You missed him more than you dared to admit.

The days passed slowly, each second seemed to last an eternity. When you got home you felt the emptiness of his presence and you felt like dying, but life continued on, and eventually you got used to being without him. The pain was still present, but more bearable as time kept its course.

You had stopped frequenting the places you knew he liked for fear of running into him. The dessert shop, the cafe near the hospital, the night stands near the library. You even avoided getting sick so you wouldn't have to go to the hospital. Your life was limited to going to work and coming straight home, with occasional visits to buy groceries.

You would never have thought that you would have to live a life again without Zayne and only because he didn't know how to separate his friendships from his romantic partner. So smart, but so stupid at the same time.

You sighed, returning to the present and the food you were making; it was too late when you realized it, but unconsciously you were making one of his favorite dishes. You weren't going to waste the food, so you just carried on trying not to think much about it.

“Now, where did I put–,” you stopped, surprised by the sudden knocking on your door. You frowned, you were not expecting anyone, but the knocking continued once more and you sighed, turned off the stove. “I'm coming.”

You regretted opening the door. Opening just a crack to see who it was, your heart fluttered in your chest as if there was a small caged bird inside it. Zayne was standing in front of you. He looked ridiculously tired, more than you'd ever seen him. The bags and dark circles under his eyes were deep, his skin did not look radiant and healthy as always and his eyes did not shine like emeralds.

Your hands were sweating and your insides were churning. "Are you okay?" You asked with a broken voice. Zayne shook his head and he fainted, but with a gasp, you quickly wrapped an arm around his waist and tried to keep him upright. “Zayne! Hey, what's happening?”

Zayne didn't answer you, and just leaned on you. Not knowing what to do, you dragged him inside and carefully guided him to your room. Once there, you laid him down on your bed, he looked weak.

“Zayne? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

He mumbled your name and your heart raced. “I'm… I am sorry,” he said as he finally passed out. You gasped, but soon heard the soft snores you were so used to.

Was he that exhausted? And what was he doing at your house? You frowned, fighting back the stinging sensation in your eyes as you tried to hold back some tears. He really always appeared to stir everything inside you. You had already accepted your life without him, but here he was. You sighed heavily, taking off Zayne's shoes and covering him with a blanket.

Your eyes couldn't help but admire him. Even though he was tired, he still looked as handsome as ever. It seemed like a dream, an illusion that would disappear at any moment. You wanted it to happen. You wanted him to disappear, but at the same time, you wanted to take him in your arms and kiss his face. But no, clearing your throat, you grabbed an extra blanket and left the room, closing the door behind you. It was better to let him rest so he could leave as soon as he got up.

The next morning you woke up to soft steps. Sitting up and whining a little after sleeping on the couch, you saw Zayne coming out from your bedroom. His hair was messy and he was rubbing one of his eyes like a little child, something warm spread across your chest and a smile tried to spread your lips, but you stopped it. He seemed more rested, the bags under his eyes had diminished considerably and his skin looked a little more alive.

“Zayne.”

He seemed a bit startled as he looked at you with slightly wide eyes. “Hello… I am sorry I fell asleep.”

You hummed, folding the blanket. “Haven't you been sleeping well?" You didn't want to sound worried, but you were.

“I haven't… I constantly have nightmares and I've been working over time… a lot more."

“Why?”

“Because I can't stop thinking about you,” he said and despair filled his eyes. “You have no idea how much I've missed you. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I have been working nonstop so I can have my mind occupied, but you're always there, in the back of my head.”

Don't cry. Don't cry!

“And what exactly do you want me to do about it, Zayne?” You said coldly, wanting to get over with this.

Zayne approached you and you couldn't move as he took your hands. “Please, please. Give me another chance. I swear. I swear in my life that I do not have feelings for her. I just… I was just stupid and took you for granted. Please, my love, please.”

Tears began to well up in your eyes and you cried even harder as Zayne grabbed your face. "N-No, don't touch me.”

“Please. How can I show you I truly want you? Do you want me to stop talking to her? I'll do it. I'll do it, so please. Just… please. I can't live without you.” His words sounded sincere.

His eyes were glassy and the pain on his face was evident, but your heart still hurt. How did you know that he really wouldn't leave you as a second option anymore? You couldn't even tell him to stop talking to Miss Hunter, you knew this was just Zayne's fault.

“Zayne… Zayne you're hurting me so much.”

“I know. I know I am and I am terribly sorry for this. I love you. I truly love you.”

You also loved him, so much.

“... If this ever happens again, Zayne… I won't forgive you another time. Remember that.”

His green eyes shone with happiness as he pulled you into a tight hug. You hugged him back, the tips of your fingers tingling as you felt his warmth, the tip of your nose digging into the crook of his neck, you breathed deeply, enjoying his scent.

“You're on trial, Zayne.”

Zayne chuckled and he nodded. “Yes. You won't regret me, I promise you.”

RAFAYEL 🐠

Life was boring without him. He was the spark and the spice in your days. With him, every day seemed like a small adventure, but now that you no longer saw him, the days seemed dark and lifeless. You didn't even remember how much time had passed since that day. One week? Three days? Two months? You weren't sure and, honestly, you tried not to think about it too much because, even though you missed him, the pang of pain in your heart almost made you gasp for air every single time you recalled every moment with him. It was almost as if his bodyguard had also been there, on every date with Rafayel, for all of your conversations were about her.

He was full of praise for her. He named each of her virtues and laughed affectionately at her defects. He didn't accept anyone claiming that they were better than her or stronger, because his precious bodyguard was the strongest and the bestest. Just thinking about it made you feel tears filling your eyes. You didn't want to remember any of it, but as you held your phone with your thumb hovering over the dial button, you couldn't stop thinking about how miserable Rafayel made you feel, even when he also made you feel like the most loved person in the world.

When he didn't have his mouth full of his wonderful bodyguard, Rafayel showered you with affection. His kisses, his hugs, and his caresses all felt full of love and tenderness. His beautiful eyes looked at you sweetly, as if you were the most precious thing that ever existed on earth. He liked to tease you and make you laugh and he always said that you were like a muse for all his paintings: The sparkle in your eyes, the color of your hair, the texture of your skin, the curves of your body, everything was inspiration.

How could he be so cruel and loving all at the same time? Poor bodyguard, you even didn't like her although she hadn't done anything wrong, as far as you knew.

Sighing, you finally tapped on the green button and your heart raced faster and faster at every beep coming from the other side of the line. Would he answer you? Was he… with her? Was he busy with one of his paintings? What if-

His voice calling your name surprised you, making you jump. “I’m here! Hi!” he sounded out of breath and your cheeks blushed. “Hmm, h-how are you d-doing?”

“Rafayel…,” you took a deep breath. “I… have some clothes at your place. Could I stop by later to get them?”

“YES! I… I mean… yes. I'll- I'll be here all day. You can stop by at any time you want.”

“... Right. Then, see you there, Rafayel.”

You let out a long sigh after hanging up. You had forgotten how wonderful his voice was and the way he pronounced your name. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach. You were going to see him, you were really going to come again, but you shouldn't be excited. What if he and his bodyguard were dating? The thought made your stomach twist and you decided it was best to leave immediately. The quicker you finish this, the better.

As always, the door was open, but you didn't immediately enter, your hands were shaking and your heart was racing against your ribcage. You didn't want to see him.

Taking a deep breath, you gently pushed the door open and you were greeted with that aroma that you had missed so much. The smell of acrylic paint, the sea and Rafayel's scent. You couldn't help but take a long breath- this exquisite smell felt like home. Your eyes watered a little, but you tried to stay calm as you walked deeper into the spacious house.

“R-Rafayel? Are you here? "You heard a gasp from the room and in a second, Rafayel appeared in front of you. Ah, he looked as wonderful and beautiful as always. His gorgeous eyes were wide, looking you up and down as his mouth stretched into a shy smile. You wanted to hug him. “The door… was open so I just- I'm sorry.”

“No! That's okay! I… I left it open for you!”

You nodded. “I see… do you mind if I just…”

“No, go ahead, please.” You excuse yourself as you made your way to his room, as you passed by him you felt your legs tremble and you gasped in surprise when he suddenly took your hand.

“Rafayel, what-

“Please, forgive me,” he begged, his eyebrows furrowed in a painful expression. “I was absolutely wrong, you were so right. I was stupid and careless and hurt you so badly.”

“Rafayel… I just came for my clothing, let me g-

“Please!” He hugged you and you went stiff. “Please, please,” he sobbed in your ear.

“Are you crying?”

He nodded. “I can't live another second without you. I can't paint anymore. I feel like a piece of me has been taken away, I live half and barely. I really, really do not have feelings for my bodyguard. You're the only one I can think about.”

“Then why-

“I just… I was just stupid, I didn't mean anything to hurt you, I swear! When I said I missed her, what I wanted to say is that I wanted to train with her, I would never make you train, that's too dangerous,” he started to explain in a rush. “When I told you about the candies, it's because she gave me some amazing chocolate I wanted to gift you and then-

“Rafayel-

“Please. Just this once, I swear,” he said, finally showing his reddened face, tears streaming down his face. You gulped, reaching up to clean his tears away and he whined. “I wasn't there to wipe your tears, I am so sorry.”

That made you burst into tears. That's right, you really wanted him to wipe your tears. He gently cupped your cheeks and his thumbs brushed against your cheeks, catching all of those tears falling from your pretty eyes.

“You can break up with me if I do something like that again! But please… just this once. I love you so much. I really do.”

You looked at him, His eyes were still wet and some tears were still falling down his cheeks. Maybe…

“Just this once, Rafayel… I won't forgive anything like this ever again.” He beamed and leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss, but you covered his mouth, frowning slightly. “I'm still mad at you.”

He blinked and gently smiled behind your hand before taking it in his. “Of course, I'll prove myself to you, beautiful creation.”

XAVIER ⭐

You couldn't sleep. It's been two weeks since you last slept properly. Two weeks ago you were in Xavier's arms and he held you lovingly, whispering words of comfort in your ears. You weren't sure why, but being around Xavier always made you feel relaxed, a little sleepy, but never bored. You loved spending lazy times with him, taking naps and frolicking in bed, giggling like fools and giving each other soft, tender kisses.

With his warmth and love it was not difficult to fall asleep at night, he always wanted to sleep so that tranquility that emanated from him was enough to relax you and make you sleep throughout the whole night. In the mornings you felt rejuvenated and full of life and seeing his sleepy smile was like living in a dream.

You felt your bottom lip quiver into a pout. You missed him too much. You never thought he would behave that way. Had you never really been important to him? If he wanted to be with his partner so much, why had he even agreed to go out with you in the first place?

“Agh! I hate you Xavier!” You cried, banging your fists against the table in your kitchen. “Why did you let me fall in love with you?” Maybe you really had gone crazy, talking to the table like that.

There was no time for this. It was almost dark and you still needed to go buy some groceries for your dinner. You struggled out of your house, so tired and dragging your feet. You wanted to sleep... with Xavier. You wanted to feel his warmth. But... what if he now wrapped his partner in his arms? Your cheeks turned red and, trying to avoid thinking about it, you hurried to catch the bus.

You found a seat near the door and next to a young man, there weren't as many people as you imagined and as the bus started to go you felt your eyes heavy. Maybe... you could sleep for a few minutes? The store wasn't far away, so just a few minutes... just a couple of minutes…

You heard your name being called between clouds. From far away. Over and over and over. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

“Hmm?” You opened your eyes and gasped, How long had it been?! Where were you? And... why was your head...? Had you fallen asleep on someone's shoulder?! "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" You said, raising your head only to find that the young man next to you... "Xavier?!"

The hunter blinked, his eyes avoided yours for a second before looking directly at you and nodding a small greeting. Had he been there next to you the whole time? You could barely notice what was happening around you with how tired you were, but, strangely, you felt very good. It seemed like he really was the cure for all your ills. You chuckled softly, shaking your head. Xavier looked at you confused, tilting his head to the side like a little bird.

“I'm sorry, Xavier. I didn't know you were there,” you jumped, “but wait, where are we?!” Checking outside the window, you could tell you were far away from the store now.

“We're almost at my place,” he said gently and the alarms in your head set off. His partner... didn't she live in the apartment below?! Oh no. Before, you had no problem staying at Xavier's house, but... if they were really in a relationship…

“I gotta go,” you said, seeing the next bus station. It was already dark outside.

“Where are you going?” Xavier asked and you frowned.

“What do you mean? Back home. I only wanted to go to the store, but I fell asleep as you could see… Now it's even dark. Thankfully it's not raining,” you were babbling to yourself as you waited to arrive at the next stop, when you finally did, you got up. “Sorry about that, Xavier. Goodnight.”

"Now... The next bus…," you mumbled checking the bus's schedule. "10 minutes? Lucky~"

“I'll go with you.”

You couldn't help but squeal and jump when you heard his voice right behind you. Turning around, you saw him standing there, as tall as he was and as bright as the stars.

“I'll take you home. It's dark. Something could happen.”

You rolled your eyes. "What could happen, I'm only going home.”

“Some witnesses have seen wanderers in the area. I can't let you go alone."

You sat on the bench, arms crossed, Xavier sitting next to you. "Ah, that's true. I'm not strong like your... Forget it." Your cheeks turned red. Very well! Keep opening your big mouth! Xavier didn't say anything, but you could feel his gaze on you and the blush on your cheeks traveled to the tips of your ears.

Silence reigned between you. You could feel him, his warmth, he was so close to you, you could reach out and touch his knee. Your eyes felt heavy, you wanted to hug him.

“I am sorry,” he suddenly said and you thought you imagined it but then he repeated it. “I am sorry for what I said the other day.” You turned to look at him and flinched when he saw his bright eyes looking sad and red. “I don't know what I was thinking. Talking like that in front of my girlfriend. Acting like I didn't want to have been there with you, but you're the only person I want close to me. I don't like nor have feelings for my coworker, I only want and need you.”

He gently wiped a tear from your rosy cheek, his touch was electrifying.

“You haven't been sleeping well.” You didn't answer, but he continued. “I haven't been able to sleep either. I keep recalling that day and seeing your crying face, I can't stand it… please forgive me.”

He took your hands and you finally looked up at him, your eyes widening as you saw a small tear fall down his cheek.

“I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I still beg you, I beg you to give me another chance. I promise I'll do better. Something like this will never happen again. I was an idiot."

You frowned, “you were an idiot. Do you have any idea how you made me feel? It's hard to believe you love me.”

He nodded, listening to you carefully. “I know it's hard to believe, but please let me prove it to you, let me show you how much I love you, please. I can't be without you anymore, my star. I need you, otherwise I'll go crazy. Please.”

You sobbed and Xavier gently pulled you close to him. Wrapping you between his warm arms. You tried to pull away, but he didn't let you and soon you melted in his embrace, crying into his work clothes.

“Please, give me another chance.”

You nodded softly. Just one more chance. “There's not gonna be a second time,” you warned between sobs and he chuckled, kissing the top of your head.

“I won't need them. I will treasure you as the most valuable thing that you are. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

#love and deepspace #love & deepspace #love & deepsace x reader #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace rafayel #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #zayneslady #*scenarios

989 notes · View notes

llyfrenfys · 9 months

Text

I'd like to preface this with that this is a screenshot of a post I saw a few days ago in the #welsh tag and that the OP has since deleted this post, but the sentiment is something I'd like to address since I see a lot of parallels with this kind of thinking in other contexts, such as in LGBTQIA+ rights conversations.

So, the most obvious elephant in the room is the idea that Welsh is super widely spoken in Wales now and that it isn't in as much danger as other Celtic languages. This idea is wishful thinking at best and erases the very real danger that Welsh is in and that it could be lost just as easily as Irish or Scottish Gaelic. Cornish (which is related to Welsh) actually did die out and has had to be revived. To make a metaphor out of this, we classify languages on a scale of non-threatened to endangered in a similar way to how we classify species.

Here are the statuses of Welsh and Irish as of 2010 (above) and the statuses of Lions and Tigers (below).

On paper tigers are more 'in danger' than lions. But that does not mean that lions are suddenly not in danger at all. The little bracket above CR, EN and VU labels all of these classifications as threatened. It isn't (and definitely shouldn't) be a competition of 'who is most in danger' because you do not want the thing you care about (whether it be a species or a language) to be in danger.

To come back to the original screenshot "they* [Welsh speakers] have always had the means and the ways because the English didn't beat or slaughter them for speaking it"- on the most basic of levels, this is just incorrect. The Welsh Not was a wooden token hung around schoolchildren's necks if they spoke Welsh in school. If someone else spoke Welsh the Not would be hung around their neck. At the end of the school day, whoever was wearing the Not would be beaten and caned by their teachers. I needn't go into much detail but there have been concerted efforts to beat Welsh out of schoolchildren. With the lions vs tigers metaphor, making the claim Welsh speakers have never been beaten for speaking Welsh because they always had the means and ways, while Irish speakers were beaten and never had the means or ways is like claiming poachers have never shot lions, only tigers. Bottom line is, lions and tigers are both victim to poaching and both species have suffered as a result. Similarly, Welsh and Irish have both suffered language loss and both need conservation efforts in order to survive.

(*sidenote- the consistent use of 'them' and 'they' in the original post is definitely indicative of a 'us vs them' sentiment which is a deeply unhelpful attitude to have when it comes to endangered languages and the Celtic languages in particular)

I see parallels with LGBTQIA+ rights in this situation. When equal marriage came in for gay and lesbian couples in the UK in 2014, many allies began to act like gay rights had now been achieved and that gay issues had been done, they're solved. Except, they really weren't (and aren't). Progress has been made in Wales and undeniably Welsh is doing the best out of the living Celtic languages. But that doesn't mean Welsh has been saved or that full equality for Welsh speakers has been achieved. It very much hasn't. The sentiment of the post in the screenshot is not conducive to helping Irish or Scottish Gaelic. Putting down Welsh speakers and erasing Welsh-language history will not save Irish or Scottish Gaelic. Pretending Welsh has had it easy in some kind of lap of luxury is a deeply harmful and bogus claim.

I'll address the tags under the cut as this post is getting long.

To address the tags, personal feelings ≠ an accurate reading of a situation. Nor is it praxis, for that matter. Why is pride in Welsh different/less good than pride in Irish? Is it the assumed proximity to England? If so, that's a terrible claim to make. Not only that, but Scotland is also next to England- does that make pride in Scottish Gaelic the same as pride in Welsh according to this metric? It's a ludicrous thing to say and deeply insensitive to the needs of Scottish Gaelic and Welsh speakers, who cannot help any current or former proximity to England.

Additionally, proximity to England ≠ worse. I know it's a popular internet joke to hate on England because of English attempts to eradicate the Celtic languages, but when the joke becomes praxis, it does not help. England ≠ a place devoid of Celtic languages either. Many English counties near the Welsh border actually have communities of Welsh speakers, such as Oswestry (Croesoswallt) in Shropshire. Cornwall is also home to many speakers of revived Cornish. It does a disservice to Celtic speakers in England to insinuate that proximity to England taints or corrupts them somehow. This is how ethnonationalism starts and we ain't about that.

And "#it feels a little.... blehhhhh you were seen as sophisticated and english enough and you assimilated however the Irish and the Scots? #brutish animals that need to be culled". So, this is arguably one of the worst things to say about a Celtic language- or any threatened language in general. First of all, the 'you were seen as' - 'you' is very telling. The switch from 'them', 'they' to 'you' indicates that this sentiment is aimed at Welsh speakers directly. This was likely a subconscious thing that OP wasn't thinking about when they wrote this. But it does indicate unhealthy feelings of jealousy and bitterness unfairly directed at Welsh speakers, who are also struggling. This righteous anger at the decline of Irish and Scottish Gaelic would be better directed at efforts to help promote those languages- some useful things to get involved with are LearnGaelic, similar to DysguCymraeg but for Scottish Gaelic or supporting channels such as Irish channel TG4 by watching their programmes.

The idea that Welsh speakers were or are 'sophisticated and english enough' is insulting and carries with it a lot of baggage of how any of these assumptions came about. Welsh speakers were definitely not seen as sophisticated. Where Welsh was 'tolerated', it was treated as a curiosity, a relic of a bygone age. Classic museification which all Celtic languages and cultures suffer from as well. Welsh was not tolerated in any legal sense since 1535- with English becoming the only valid administrative language and the language of Welsh courts after England annexed Wales into its Kingdom. Monolingual Welsh speakers suddenly had no access to any legal representation, unless they learned English. This is no voluntary assimilation- it is an act of survival for many speakers of minoritised languages to 'assimilate' into the dominant culture, or else risk losing access to legal security and other kinds of infrastructure. You need only ask any non-native English speaker living in an Anglophone country what that process is like. Welsh people did not see English incursion as an opportunity to become 'sophisticated and english enough', they had to assimilate in order to survive.

The "Irish and the Scots? #brutish animals that need to be culled" is also painfully misrepresenting a very complex social and political process that unfolded over the span of hundreds of years. The phrasing itself of 'brutish animals that need to be culled' speaks to righteous anger at the damage done to these languages and cultures, but it reinforces negative stereotypes about the Irish and Scots themselves. It also is more complicated than a simple English hatred of anything non-Anglo, since the English conception of particularly the Irish changed a lot over the centuries. It was (and still is) rarely consistent with itself. See: the enemy is both strong and weak. The very earliest Celticists were by and large, Anglos or French.

Ernest Renan (1823-1892) for example, was an early French Celticist who published La Poésie des races celtiques (Poetry of the Celtic Races- English translation) in which he says:

"... we must search for the explanation of the chief features of the Celtic character. It has all the failings, and all the good qualities, of the solitary man; at once proud and timid, strong in feeling and feeble in action, at home free and unreserved, to the outside world awkward and embarrassed. It distrusts the foreigner, because it sees in him a being more refined than itself, who abuses its simplicity. Indifferent to the admiration of others, it asks only one thing, that it should be left to itself. It is before all else a domestic race, fitted for family life and fireside joys. In no other race has the bond of blood been stronger, or has it created more duties, or attached man to his fellow with so much breadth and depth"

Yeah. This guy (unsurprisingly) was a white supremacist. Note that this sentiment is being applied to all people considered Celtic by Renan- Irish, Welsh, Breton, Scottish, Cornish, Manx etc. None unscathed by the celtophobia of the day. In this period, Celticity was romanticised (yet disparaged at the same time). It is less 'brutish animals' and more 'archaic, time-frozen peoples' in this period. Of course, 'brutish animals' attitudes towards Celticity did still exist, but it is disingenuous to act as if it was this attitude alone which drove English celtophobia. Like many things, it is always more complicated and never clear cut as it might seem.

I'll bring this to a close shortly, but returning to OP's suggestion that the Welsh assimilated and the Scots and Irish did not, is also incorrect in that some Scots did have to assimilate to survive as well. The Statutes of Iona (1609) required Scottish Gaelic speaking Highland chiefs to send their sons away to be educated in Scots and/or English in Protestant schools. Many did as the statutes required, which led to further language loss in the Highlands of Scottish Gaelic. These are acts of survival- and not ones always taken willingly.

This has been a long post but it's one which I felt I wanted to address. There's no need for infighting between speakers of Celtic languages over who has it worse. There isn't any answer to that question, nor is it a good use of time or energy. All in all, the Celtic languages have suffered greatly over the years and its only just now that some of them are turning a corner. If you care about these languages, put your energy into something good. Only through active work will these languages be saved for generations to come.

#long post #lukes originals #cymraeg #gaelige #gaidhlig #Irish #Welsh #Scottish Gaelic #politik #not dictionary related #Celticist #Celtic Studies #This took a lot of energy to write so if you found this post useful please consider reblogging

1K notes · View notes

emotionsandphenomena · 2 months

Text

young adult, new adult, and fantasy fiction: the audience of a book is who reads it

title clumsily based on the purpose of a system is what it does.

before we begin, I want to focus a bit on defining our terms. young adult, new adult, adult, science fiction/fantasy, speculative fiction, contemporary romance - all of the terms I will use in this post are created by marketing companies and readers, and all of them have fuzzy and subjective applicability to any given book. there is no objectivity in cataloging, which is the lens through which I approach knowledge organization projects like this. there is no definitive answer to what any given book or genre "is", because these categories are not fixed values. instead, their values are expanded and developed by what gets placed in which category, by whom, and what criteria they base that decision on. that's what I want to discuss.

to provide some context: debates over age categories and who is reading what books for which age ranges currently dominate discussions among publishers, authors, librarians, and readers. ages of characters in YA are skewing up, sales are slowing down. young adult as a category has existed for 50+ years, but it is currently undergoing some growing pains. here's one more article for good measure. new adult is a term created by the publishing industry in 2009, which developed in fits and starts despite multiple bestselling authors publishing under the category. oh well. in 2015, sarah j mass published her new book, a court of thorns and roses, which is widely regarded as a turning point for the popularity of new adult (more on the classification of ACOTAR itself in a moment). NA stalled out for many years, but has recently very quickly grown in popularity, especially for romance readers on booktok. some of the most popular books listed under new adult on goodreads are colleen hoover's it ends with us and it starts with us, ali hazelwood's check & mate, and rebecca yarros' fourth wing.

I want to look at two of these currently very popular authors as case studies to really dig into what new adult has come to mean.

in this 2014 interview, SJM discusses her currently running throne of glass series and the upcoming release of ACOTAR in 2015. she notes that the book is intended for "a slightly older YA crowd (aka steamy times ahead!)". earlier in the interview, she dodges a question about whether throne of glass will be YA or NA by saying she appreciates her teen and adult readers - if I had to guess, the label was still too new and publishers didn't want to alienate anyone. in 2023, I can't find anything on her website or bookseller sites that specifically identify the series (or any of her series) as YA, NA, or adult. however, Goodreads (which relies on user generated tags and is, to put it lightly, a mess wrt information organization) firmly classes ACOTAR as YA - almost 9k tags in young-adult and ya (lack of authority control is just one aspect of the mess), as opposed to about 3.5k new-adult. the thing is, though, ACOTAR comes up in essentially every blog post and article I read on the definition of new adult. it is a flashpoint in the discussion: it either did or didn't restart the term, it is or isn't too sexually explicit to be classed for teens, the writing is filled with young adult tropes and this does or does not matter. the answers to these questions aren't particularly important to me, but it's very interesting to see how people are attempting to draw those boundaries. I took a quick census of how SJM's series are classed in my library system. her throne of glass series is uniformly shelved in YA; ACOTAR is mostly YA with a few copies in adult, and her newer crescent city series is mostly adult with a few copies in YA. I do think that any discussion of ACOTAR is partially colored by this divisive relationship to the new adult category itself, so I'd also like to bring in a much newer book facing similar conversation.

if you follow this blog you might already know that I have an entirely non-neutral relationship to ali hazelwood; I love her books both as books and as cultural objects deserving of study. previously, she published three adult romance novels and a set of adult romance novellas, which all fall firmly and inarguably into those defined categories, based on age range and content (I have an argument for the love hypothesis being a horror story, but that's a different conversation). last year, she published her newest book, check & mate, as a young adult romance. it was widely marketed as such by the young readers imprint at putnam. however, on reading it, I (and many goodreads commenters) were surprised to find that it aligned more with some hallmarks of new adult. the characters are out of high school, and the challenges and growth moments are more focused on evolution, rather than coming of age. one blog post I read made the argument that YA is about high school firsts and NA is about adulthood firsts. this is amorphous, partially because there is no real one life path into adulthood by which to judge this, so let's switch focus to something more concrete: sex. in each of Ali's adult novels, there are a few explicit sex scenes. they're not as explicit as other romance novels, but they're definitely not fade-to-black. in check & mate, characters have sex, but it happens entirely off-screen and any discussion is fairly chaste or, at most, relying heavily on implied content. this is a real disconnect to me. much of NA lit (ACOTAR included) is quite sexually explicit. among those most popular NA books on goodreads, there are many books that get marketed specifically for their sexual content (spicy🌶️ to the tiktokers, smut to everyone else). to me, this cements check & mate as a YA novel - if she was going to write a book with explicit sex, like her others, she could've. she's mentioned in interviews that her chess novel concept originally featured older characters, and she aged them down once she realized what kind of story she wanted to tell. to me, it is telling that moving from adult to YA creates more clumsy caution around the handling of sex, as opposed to SJM, whose books "aged" upwards over time.

another interesting example I've noticed in the emerging NA space is how the age category intersects with genre. YA as a category has a pretty expansive genre playing field - we've all read YA fantasy, contemporary romance, historical fiction, action/adventure, issue novels, etc. NA so far seems pretty exclusively limited to romance as a main focus, especially in the most popular offerings as discussed above.

I've seen many a tiktok alleging that despite the drawn out fight scenes, extensive lore, and huge interconnected web of characters, the ACOTAR books are not "real fantasy." even more so for the fourth wing books. I've seen these books compared to Tolkien, as if to say, well, if you didn't invent a language, you're not really on the same level. that's entirely unfair, imo - plenty of fantasy doesn't engage at that level. but there is a wide array of contemporary fantasy I do think we can contrast with ACOTAR and other popular NA series.

we've discussed some of the hallmarks of YA and NA as categories: the age range of characters, coming of age, explicit sex for NA. i'd add fast-paced, immersive writing, especially in first person or close third, because so much of the appeal described on booktok is a book sucking you in completely. now, i want to bring up a few books that, on the surface, might check several of these boxes: dune by frank herbert has an 18yo protagonist, and the first book is very much a coming of age story. eragon (christopher paolini) and the name of the wind (patrick rothfuss) focus on a young person coming into their magical abilities through school/mentorship, a similar setting to many YA series. mistborn (brandon sanderson) and game of thrones (george r.r. martin) both have prominent protagonists that are 18 or younger when the story starts. of all these series, only eragon has young-adult as its most popular age-related tag on goodreads, and eragon was, at the time of release, very specifically marketed to and shelved in young adult in bookstores and libraries. some of these books have explicit or non-explicit sexual content, but only GOT has even close to as much as your average NA novel (to my knowledge).

i am not alleging that any of these books should be classed as YA, necessarily. but the glaring difference in their marketing and readership does point to one thing: these books are largely about men, and they are all written by men. i am not the first person to point out this gender gap in fantasy writing, and i don't have anything particularly new to say about it, except to bring it back around to my original point. none of these novels "are" adult fiction, and plenty (plenty!) of teenagers read them, in an interesting reversal of the trends in YA. who is making the decisions about where these books go, and why? what can we draw out about the books and their marketing? how is the future of "adult fantasy" shaped when these are the benchmarks by which we measure new entries?

i did also look into a few of my own favorite sci-fi series by women to see how they ranked by similar parameters. parable of the sower by octavia butler, featuring an 18yo protagonist and sexual content, has no age category at all in the top 20 most popular goodreads tags. it's in adult fiction in every library in my system that owns a copy. ive seen gideon the ninth (18yo protag, and yeah lets go ahead and say explicit sexual content) on YA shelves in bookstores, but its adult tag on goodreads is more popular, and almost every library in my system has it in adult. in my opinion, these books are important in rejecting the "women write YA, men write adult" narrative around speculative fiction, but they're not necessarily an exception to a different trend. it is not difficult for me to think of more adult scifi/fantasy books by women, because i actively seek them out. however, almost every single one of them has a protagonist under 25, as is the case with so much of the adult fantasy written by men listed above. last year, i read the adventures of amina al-sirafi, by s.a. chakrabotry, which was (i believe) the first non-contemporary/realistic fiction book ive ever read with a middle aged mother as the main protagonist. the book club at my library branch, mainly composed of middle aged and older women, read it, and expressed such genuine joy and excitement over a fantastic, adventurous book featuring a woman they saw themselves in. representation really does matter, and it matters to everyone, not just young people. but that's a different soapbox.

young readers are extremely picky. i've watched many a teenager (or younger) browse the YA section and turn up their noses at books with a cringey cover, an overly dramatic blurb, or just because. marketing books to teens is hard. booktok is an incredibly powerful marketing tool and divisive social force. it skyrockets an author one day and by the next week, other accounts are tearing that same author to shreds. in this environment, its no surprise that the sensationalized books - extremely good or extremely bad, blatantly sexual, shocking, consumable - become flashpoints of discussion. who should be reading ya? who is it for? what is inappropriate for young teenagers to read? what is inappropriate for adults to read? i think about these topics a lot, especially as what the publishing industry terms a "gatekeeper" - i'm a children's librarian; i control the access teenagers in my community have to these books. i take that role seriously, and i want to be thinking deeply about the books i put in my YA section and who will read them. our decisions, about where we class books, how we label and present them, how we discuss them: that is part of what dictates what genre and age classification a book "is", in addition to marketing.

#okay.... been working on this on and off for months but im finally fucking finishing and posting an essaY!!!!#2k words on genre classification lfggggg #please let me know what you think.... very open to thoughts esp from people who read these areas !!!!#ok to reblog btw :>#frames

99 notes · View notes

goodtoyous · 9 months

Text

The Trouble With Tagging

Tagging in fandom is useful, but ultimately detrimental because of how people are using it.

When I shop online for shoes, tagging is what lets me filter my view to white sneakers in size 7.5. But there are other attributes I look for in shoes. Maybe I want shoes with widely-spaced holes so they aren’t too tight when I lace them. Maybe I want to buy soles that aren’t too thick because I think that makes them clunky. And there will be other people who have these preferences too, so that must mean they’re useful classifications to have!

So it should be in a company’s best interest to provide me a way to find white sneakers in size 7.5 with widely-spaced holes, thinner soles, and whatever else I want in my shoes. Because otherwise it’s just a waste of time for me to buy something and return it later when I don’t like it, right?

No. Absolutely not.

I can’t ask for all the shoes that aren’t red to be tagged as #Not Red. I can’t ask for all shoes to be tagged #Loose Around the Ankles, when that isn’t a universal metric. The best way for me to find the shoes I want, and maybe this is still somehow controversial but I can’t imagine how, is to go into the store MYSELF and either try on shoes until I find ones I like, or ask a salesperson to help me.

Yet, somehow, people fail to see how this applies to tagging.

Back in the days of cable television, when a show was about to start, you’d see a rating and a content warning. ‘Viewer discretion is advised’, and maybe a few more words on what kind of content to expect: crude language, sexual situations, or graphic violence. We still use variations of those ratings and contents warnings on AO3 today, and they are very useful, standardized indicators.

Writers would use these indicators, and it was understood certain ratings would contain adult topics. There was nuance there, and room for interpretation, and responsibility on the reader’s side for monitoring their own content consumption.

In fandom, we coined our own terms to help enforce the idea that fanfiction was a free space for everyone to write what they wanted. ‘Don’t like; don’t read’ (DL;DR) is a common term that has perhaps become less common over the years, and has lost some of the meaning it used to have.

DL;DR does not mean ‘we, the writers, will warn for every topic that this work will include so you can avoid it’. What it meant was, if you read a story and came across something you didn’t like, you would stop reading. It did not have to be something triggering, it could just be something you didn’t like. You would hit the back button and that was the end of it.

Using tags became a way to include additional information on a story so that people could avoid certain topics more easily. So that back button didn’t need to be hit quite as often. Nowadays, I feel as though people have begun to see it as a requirement.

People will preach about wanting to avoid content they don't want, but you have always been able to do that from the very beginning. You always have the option to close the tab, to stop reading.

‘I wouldn’t have read this if I had known ___’ is a complaint most writers are not unfamiliar with. Readers complain about having wasted their time on stories that were ‘disappointing’, ‘problematic’, or ‘misleading’, simply because there is an aspect of a story they disagree with.

If a story doesn’t have ‘Unhappy Ending’ slapped on it, readers hold the author responsible for their emotional response. If one topic isn’t tagged, the author is somehow at fault for being ignorant, insensitive, or irresponsible.

It is grossly misleading to approach this by assuming authors are acting incorrectly, or possess malicious intent for not including a tag. Simplifying fiction by categorizing it into tags is exactly what that is, simplifying it. Maybe it isn’t tagged because it's a spoiler. Maybe the author didn't think it was an important aspect of the story. Maybe they just forgot!

If an author is mistagging and misrepresenting their work, that is a different story that is subject to different nuances. But it is not a requirement, unspoken or otherwise, to include a tag, because this isn’t how reading works! There is a reason why 'Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings' exists, and that is because tags are for an author to classify their own work how they see fit. It is their choice!

People have been trained by social media into not curating their own content; they let algorithms and FYPs do it for them, and when they see something they don't like, they blame it on the person who posted it.

"How dare anyone encroach on this public space with something I don't want to see!"

So I ask you this: does an author’s opinions and desires on how their work is presented not matter? Are authors shackled to public opinion irregardless of what they believe is most important about their own creation? Should creative control be fully relinquished because people who had nothing to do with a work's creative process believe they know better?

If your answer to that last question isn’t a firm, resounding NO, then you are admitting you feel more entitled to a creator’s work than the actual creator.

Society has evolved to no longer value art for being art, but value art only if it is able to conform to various labels for commodified consumption. Yet there is no faster way to kill true art than to try and cram it into a billion tiny little boxes.

Fiction is subjective. Tastes are subjective. Tagging is useful, but it isn’t everything. Take responsibility for the content you consume. Stop asking people to pick out your shoes for you, and go try some on for yourself.

#ao3 #writing #meta #fanfiction #fiction

166 notes · View notes

redbootsindoriath · 11 months

Note

Dungalef sure is a master of disguise 🤣💖

Apparently so! The only alternative is that Sauron is just kinda dumb.

#finrod #sauron #the man the myth the legends #one shiny #three shinies #canon is great and all but what if #just exploring and stuff #my trash #is this actually funny or am i just tired #i'm sorry professor tolkien #yo somebody talked to me #/end classification tags #sauron continues to be just an eyeball in this au #which works i guess

302 notes · View notes

actuallyfingolfin · 1 year

Text

idk why i never thought about it before but 'the horror and the wild' by the amazing devil is SUCH a good beren/luthien song

#beren #luthien #silmarillion meta #nolo speaks #my post #/end classification tags #seriously though #it fits so good.#or at least the way i see them lmao

15 notes · View notes

that-angry-noldo · 2 years

Text

The King and the Healer

[Elrond and Elros are sent under Finarfin's care during the War of Wrath. Finarfin and Elrond have a conversation about two Very Problematic members of their families.]

Elrond tapped his fingers nervously on the table, clenching his teeth, running his other hand through his hair.

It was quiet. Even calm. Which was - which was driving Elrond crazy, because calm was not something he was used to. Not what the Feanorings had prepared him for. Calm in the midst of war is not calm. It is a trap. So all his senses shouted to him.

Finarfin did not think so.

Elrond had to trust Finarfin. First, he was a king (perhaps not Elrond's king, but still). Second, he was--he was a seer, a strong seer, and if he said to set up camp and stop for a few days, that meant they were safe. Third, Maglor -

He looked straight into his eyes, squeezing his shoulder with his hand. Around them was the chaos of the camp, people grabbing their swords and things. Surprisingly, Maglor was Elrond's island of stability.

"He- he's a good man, Elrond. He'll take care of you."

Elrond bit his lip. They had already quarreled about it. They already screamed and cried.

"Stay...stay near him. He'll protect you. I know."

"Come with us."

"Elrond - Elrond, you know we can't."

Elrond knew that better than anyone.

- Maglor told them to believe Finarfin, whatever that meant.

The king himself was sitting on a rough sofa with a pile of papers in his hands. His face was as calm as ever, his hair glowing softly in the semi-darkness of the tent (Elrond knew that hair was not the only thing that could glow; the memory of the light with which Finarfin once burned on the battlefield was still fresh).

Elros sat next to the king.

Elros - Elros stared at the king appraisingly.

Elrond shifted nervously in his chair, because that look in Elros meant a challenge.

Elros was angry with the Feanorings. With Maedhros, to be specific. He had always been closer to Maedhros and therefore he took the decision to send them to Finarfin as a knife to his back.

Elros hated Finarfin. From the very beginning, there was a challenge in his eyes. He often made sharp remarks, to which Finarfin responded with quotations from books. He specially spoke with a strongly accented "th" instead of "s" - Finarfin switched to a Feanoring accent in conversations with him.

Elros hated Finarfin because he never accepted a challenge.

And now Elros was planning a new provocation, and Elrond begged him, begged him to stop, because Maglor and Maedhros trusted them, Maglor and Maedhros-

Elros winced and nudged the king's shoulder with his head.

Elrond noted three things. How tense Elros remained, how his face was still contorted as if in anticipation of pain. The way his own stomach went cold with fear because I begged you not to. How Finarfin froze and how for a second a surprised expression crossed his face.

Then the king placed the papers on his lap, picked up the blanket that lay aside, and sighed, throwing it over Elros's shoulders. As Peredhel's eyes widened and stared intently at the papers on the king's lap, he knew this was not the reaction Elros had expected.

Finarfin returned to the rustling of raports.

Elros frowned and leaned on the king's shoulder.

This time the king did not pay attention to him.

Okay. Elrond took a breath, his eyes running over the report. Okay. He exhaled, still feeling uncomfortable under the king's gaze.

Finarfin wasn't looking at the papers, staring at his assistant instead.

Inhale. Exhale.

"You're worried."

Elrond could barely hold back a nervous laugh. Yes, they are in the middle of a war, the Feanorings are doing inexplicable what inexplicably why, Elros is jumping from fire to ice, why in the world would he be worried??

Finarfin sighed.

"Elrond."

"I'm fine. All's-"

"Is it about Elros?"

Peredhel inhaled, exhaled, looked away.

"He - he's not always like that, though, he's just angry and nervous, because, because-"

"Elrond," the king's voice was soft, yes, soft. "I am not angry with him."

This time Elrond laughed nervously.

"Do not say it in front of him, he will take that as a challenge."

"Elrond, I am not angry with him. I will not order him to be taken away from me and I will not punish him, I will not leave you on the sidelines and I will not abandon you to the orcs."

Elrond inhaled as he prepared to say something. Then exhaled, turning pale.

"This... I'm so - I'm so sorr-..."

"You're worried," the king calmly explained. "Sometimes your shields crack, and since you think most of all about Elros and, as a result, about me -"

"I'm sorry," Elrond whispered. "I'm not… Maglor, Maglor said—"

He stuttered. Morgoth and Valaraucar, speak not of the Feanorings, speak not of the Feanorings-

Finarfin watched him patiently. Elrond slumped his shoulders.

"Maglor said you can be trusted."

The king looked away.

There was silence. A candle flickered softly.

Finarfin sighed, leaned back in his chair.

"I am not a monster, Elrond," Peredhel took a sharp breath, closed all mental walls and shields again. Finarfin stared into the darkness of the tent. "I won't - I understand that you love them."

"Elros is angry that they sent us away," Elrond said quietly, clutching his quill. "That's why he..."

"I know. That's why I'm not angry. I- Elrond, I understand."

Elrond wanted to laugh again, because how could one even understand that? They slayed - they slayed his people, because of them Mother threw herself into the sea, they took him and Elros, held them captive, but Elrond loved them all the same, because - because they are Maedhros and Maglor, these are his Maedhros and Maglor -

Finarfin was looking at him, and Elrond noticed for the first time how gray his eyes were.

"Elrond," the king repeated, steel in his voice. "I understand, because they are my - they are my family too, Elrond."

He understands because they are his family.

His family.

"And I want to hate them for what they did too. They - after Alqualonde I had nightmares for several hundred years. Even now, when I remember -"

"Blood," Elrond whispered. "There was a lot of blood. And bodies. And mom - we thought mom was dead - and dad - he -"

"I know," whispered Finarfin. "I know."

"I - have to hate them."

"Me too".

"But - I -"

"I can't," Finarfin finished for him.

He paused, then smiled faintly.

"Finrod asked me to make sure they survive," he said, and Elrond straightened up, for Finarfin rarely spoke of Finrod. "I... I remember how Maedros and I played adults at banquets. We were twenty years old? Maglor - I've heard Maglor play before he became the best minstrel and honestly I don't know how I'm not deaf yet."

Elrond smiled weakly.

"Maglor knows how to make people want to go deaf."

"Yes. And Maedros pretends to be strong, although he himself breaks under pressure," Finarfin looked away, his face became sad.

"He... was like that in Aman too?"

"Towards the end, yes. After... Formenos. I think. I don't know. We - we were all not in the best shape then."

Elrond put down his quill, pushed the report aside.

"I would like to know them when... when they were like then. Before - before Morgoth, before the Silmarils," he whispered. "When everything was... calm."

"Perhaps someday," Finarfin looked at him, and tenderness appeared in his eyes. "Once upon a time. In Arda Renewed, perhaps. This is Finrod's favorite phrase when he talks about his... mortal friends. Maybe in Arda Renewed we will all be one big, friendly family."

"Perhaps," Elrond agreed quietly and returned to work. Finarfin disapprovingly took the papers from him.

"Enough for you for today, Peredhel. Go to sleep."

Elrond wanted to protest, but snapped his mouth shut and stood up.

As he was leaving the tent, Finarfin called out to him one last time.

"Tell Elros that when he needs a hug, he can just ask. No need to plan a ten-step attack with retreat possibility."

Elrond nodded and smiled slyly.

#oh look who decided to write something #yaaay #okay let me tag this first #finarfin #elrond #elros #peredhel #maedhros #maglor #feanorings #the war of wrath #tolkien #tolkien fic #silmarillion #lotr #/end of classification tags #yeah yeah not cannon i know #look it's silmarillion we're talking about canon is thrown in the corner and strangled to death #one day i just thought 'yeah but what if twins found themselves under finarfin's care during the war of wrath' and the answer was #they're getting adopted the moment they set their foot in the camp #elros is in his rebellion age don't mind him #his love language is also touch because i said so #feanorian logic: look at our kids we want to protect them so bad lets send them to front lines to our uncle what can possibly happen #it's me i'm the logic. in my defence i needed it for the plot #after a month elros is following finarfin like a puppy #which is very convenient for ara because yes puppies who Can and Will kill for you if someone looks at you the wrong way is what he needed #okay bye

213 notes · View notes

dresden-syndrome · 16 days

Text

Political offender classification: Class 4

“Class 4 offense is an extremely societally dangerous act which endangers the fundamental structures and achievements of East European Socialist Union and socialism itself, planned and organized with deliberate intent of destruction.

Class 4 offenders are enemies of the state, violent and hostile to everything we’re standing for as people, as a country, as the socialist world.

Such vicious cold-blooded enemies and traitors have no value as human beings and cannot be made into ones; once identified, they exist to contribute to our progress by being used for their biological value.”

Notes:

Can be applied to adult males only (if you see class 4 girls, you’ve entered the all-female AU)

Mostly used in martial law time

Used for class 2-3 repeat offenders

Penalty for class 4 offenses stated in law documents as “maximal social protection measure"; most people read that as “execution by firing squad”

The whole existence of class 4 use is hidden from the general public. The EESU government actively perpetuates the death penalty myth.

Class 4 offenders are officially pronounced dead, missing or executed depending on what the state deems more convenient or effective. It can be all from enforced disappearances to fake police investigations to public mock executions.

Common terms used for class 4 offenders are “subjects”, “biological assets”, “special testing equipment” or “human material”.

Offenses:

Any class 3 offense committed during martial law time

Political (anti-government) media public supply

Opposing political party formation

Deliberate production and/or supply of media broadcasting devices for anti-socialist agitation or propaganda purposes

Deliberate acts of anti-government propaganda in public or/and during political unrest

Organized and/or public display of contribution to the enemy states or regimes

Leaking or disclosure of top secret information

Illegal border crossing to an enemy state by a military or State Security personnel

Organized political sabotage

Political terrorism

Espionage

Treason

Penalties:

In case of class 4 the word “penalty” becomes meaningless

They’re not punished, just used for the state’s progress

Protection status:

Due to absence of human status any constitutional rights or protections cannot be applied

Further restrictions:

Can only be kept in places and facilities suitable for working with class 4 human material

Life prospects:

Most class 4 subjects’ lives end either at the vivisection table or testing site. “Outlived his usefulness” is often a common cause.

Rehabilitation possibility:

Not redeemable

Class promotion/demotion possibility:

Cannot be promoted, demoted or released

Subject use methods (designations):

ASR facilities*

Weapon/tech test sites

State Security personnel training

Military personnel training

Propaganda work

Personal use**

May be used in SSR for top secret projects and lab assistance

Legal documentation:

All personal documents are terminated except State Security investigation files and subject files

Names are replaced with assigned identification numbers

Subjects marked with identification ear tag with their ID number, applied by the end of detention

*Advanced State Research (human testing lab program) **Pet whump

Picture: Newly designated subjects KD-6893 and LN-0096 arriving to ASR lab through the registration point. PUR Bulgaria, 1967.

Art tag: @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump @whumpedydump @whumpthefifth @monarchthefirst @sunshiline-writes @project-xiii

Lore dump tag: @sweet-lost-husbands @whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot

#whump #whump community #whumpblr #historical whump #military whump #totalitarian whump #lab whump #whumpee #whump art #whump ideas #captive whumpee #whump drawing #whump stuff

22 notes · View notes

scp-torment · 1 year

Text

(Minor unreality warning, both for this post and this entire blog. Posts containing unreality will be tagging accordingly. Reminder that the SCP Foundation is not and has never been real, and all things covered on this blog are fictional.)

SCP Tournament

Welcome, agents, anomalies, civilians who's locations we are rapidly approaching on, and everything in between, to the SCP tournament! Where we will be competiting to see what scp the community decides is The Best. Sponsored directly by The Foundation and not at all a waste of funding.

"But wait, what does Best mean?" That is entirely up to you! It can be the one you think is best written, or most compelling. It could be most iconic, or the one that's just really fucking cool. It's entirely up to you.

Status: Tales focused mini bracket is over!

Full list of competitors and their links currently pending.

I'll be doing my best to read every article submitted, and all that make it into the final tournament will come with links to their pages. I encourage all people voting to go ahead and read them! There might be some hidden gems in there.

FAQ:

"But wait, what is an SCP?" (Newcomers can also start by simply going through the main site that this all originates from.)

"You've got a warning for unreality in your pinned post, should I be worried about that?" TLDR; it's infrequent and will be tagged accordingly.

"There's so many competitors here, where can I find their stories?" They're all listed right here! But that's just the contestants from the first tournament. The second tournament list is still pending.

"I submitted an SCP, and now I wanna know how popular they were, and your previous link didn't have vote totals." A list of all SCPs from the first tournament that were submitted more than once can be found here.

"Hey, a lot of the SCPs you're using don't have pictures, so what's up with that icon you're using for a lot of them?" That's the Anomaly Classification System (ACS). It's a tool to help enhance the already existing classification system, adding pictures and colors to each classification, as well as a danger and distribution class. It's used in a lot of the newer SCP files, so you've probably already seen it around! A lot of the SCPs didn't have pictures and I didn't want to use fanart without permission, so I scanned through their article and made them an ACS icon by what I felt was closest.

"Can I be rude to people?" Absolutely not. Playful joking is one thing, but I've seen too many tournament blogs have some nasty drama when people's fav have lost. I don't want that energy here, so please be kind to all, regardless of who they're supporting.

"One of your links isn't working! It says there's no post here :(" Sorry about that! I renamed the blog some months ago and it through off all the international navigation links since they don't auto update. I think I've fixed them all now, but if you find one that doesn't work please just send me an ask and I'll fix it!

"Do you allow propaganda?" Of course! Propaganda is not only accepted but encouraged. Go all out. Use memenics.

I believe that's all for now. If you've gotten to the end of this then congrats on surviving so long at the foundation. And if you're not an agent and you're reading this- Good luck with all that comes with the knowledge of these creatures. Happy voting!

Various blogs I was inspired by (for reach and appreciation of your own tournaments): @dead-character-showdown @fictional-disease-fight @mad-scientist-showdown @autismswagsummit @transgenderswagcompetition @pluralswagbracket @archivistsandlibrarians, and @mysterycharactercontest.

#Tournament poll #scp community #scp foundation #Unreality #Directory #< - Newcomers. Use this tag to find other masterposts about all the includes SCPs and tales!

93 notes · View notes

tigerf00d · 5 months

Text

Only a Whisper (Part I)

George Karim x Reader

Tags: no use of y/n, gender neutral reader, before Lucy! Pre-slash?

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Reader runs away from home after a lifetime of awful treatment to meet up with her friends George and Lockwood… more to come!

A/N: My first request! I took some liberties, mostly because I have no concept of American life. As always, you can also find me on Ao3. Also, if anyone is interested on being put on a notify list (for this fic or others) let me know!

PART I <PART II> <PART III>

You checked your boarding pass for the umpteenth time.

Only 20 minutes now, and you would be on your way to London. Free of your stupid boss and free of the stresses at home.

When you were small, you’d been to England once, which was how you knew you had Talent, hearing the whispers outside the house you were staying at only to be told there wasn’t anyone outside.

Not anyone who was living, anyway.

And now, you’d be returning. You’d gotten certifications 1 through 4 online and managed to practice your rapier skills regularly. That wasn’t your strength, though; your strength was in communicating and, more specifically, in interpreting. It wasn’t a widespread Talent classification yet, and you were a listener on paper.

It had been a long time since you’d communicated with any sort of Visitor, the first time being a Type One, the flickering image of a grubby boy who’d been around your age and was more confused than anything.

His power wasn’t strong, so it’d taken longer to understand him and for him to understand you, but once you’d both gotten on each other’s page, you’d learnt his name, Lionel, that no, he hadn’t died very recently (about a century before the Problem was even a notion, you’d guess) and that he was bored. You’d told him about the agents, what they could do and how maybe if he helped you, you could help him pass on. That excited him. Being stuck for so long was lonely, and he was sick of it.

The next night, Lionel had led you into the backyard and mimed digging next to the largest tree on the property, and when you had finally dug it up, whatever it was, you realised he’d figured out his source.

In your hands were the remnants of a treehouse or some sort of cubby, the old wooden sign held tenderly in your hands as you read “Lionel’s Castle.” When you’d shown it to him, Lionel flickered, looking sad for a moment until you reminded him that now you had this, he was free.

Ten minutes now until you were like Lionel.

Ten minutes until you finally, finally were closer than ever to seeing George and Lockwood in person. And even though you were only going to assist them on cases and were more like a glorified receptionist, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

You had met George online two years ago, browsing forums on the Problem, how it may have started and why it hadn’t spread globally (yet, you mentally corrected). Then, he’d begrudgingly introduced you to Lockwood, and you’d all been thick as thieves ever since, as the head agent liked to put it, tactfully ignoring George’s murmured, “Certainly thick on your end.”

You couldn’t wait.

✧☽────•⋆°˖⋅✹⋅˖°⋆

The plane ride itself was boring a little nerve-wracking, but uneventful (and mercifully on time) nonetheless. That was fine. You weren’t excited because of the plane, but rather what happened after landing. George had promised he wouldn’t let Lockwood get too carried away, but even now, you weren’t sure how much he’d been able to persuade him.

He wasn’t right at your gate, which was fine because you hadn’t forked over the stupid amount of money for in-flight wifi to tell him which gate it was. But you wanted to find them before finding your bag, so you decided to familiarise yourself with the airport.

There were cafes littered about the place, and the ride had been long… it couldn’t hurt.

Never mind, that croissant was Far Too Much. Ok, time to focus then.

You turned and walked towards the front of the airport, passing baggage claim and noting where it was for later. Maybe the boys were at the entrance?

Lo and behold, adjacent to the service desk was a tall, pale boy and his scruffy compatriot that you’d come to care for deeply. As if on queue, Lockwood spotted you, lighting up and holding up a large sign. Walking towards them still, you were able to read the words through the mess of glitter glue more easily.

“Does that say ‘Welcome home agent’?”

“Well… yeah. I tried to talk him out of it. I mean, we should still have interviewed you firs–”

“Ah, George, ever the optimist. Ignore him. He’s pretending he hasn’t been talking my ear off about you for the past week.” Lockwood smiled, and George’s expression shifted to something awkward and slightly unreadable before you pulled the both of them into a hug.

“Thanks you two, seriously.” You regretfully pulled apart, gaze lingering on George’s face. Had he always been that cute? It was hard to tell through pixelly video calls that dropped out far too frequently. You dismissed the thought quickly, hoping you hadn’t watched him for too long, and clapped your hands, rubbing them against each other as a distraction.

“Right, well, shall we go get my bags? I’m afraid the trip over has made me more tired than I realised,” You paused, feeling a cheeky smile growing. “And I need two strong men to help me carry them.”

George rolled his eyes as Lockwood puffed up his chest, pretending to show off his muscles. You began walking to the baggage claim, and they took their time following you.

“Come on, slowpokes! I’m pretty sure it was this way, and I was hoping someone would carry them.”

“Yes, I was hoping if we took long enough that someone would be you,” George added, a small smile revealing his humour, and you gasped in mock outrage.

“And here I thought I was moving in with two gentlemen…”

Lockwood looked horrified, playing along. “Whatever gave you the idea that there were two gentlemen?”

George paused before his smile grew wider, “Yes, why on Earth would you think Lockwood was a gentleman?”

You couldn’t stop the pleased laugh from bubbling up and out of you, having to stop walking to let it wash over you properly. Anthony’s expression shifted from horrified to speechless, and George’s private fondness was evident in his eyes.

After a moment, you took a breath and nodded towards your bags, spinning around, waiting for you to collect them. “Come on then, let’s go home.”

#george karim x reader #lockwood and co #george karim #anthony lockwood #chapter one #Only a Whisper fic #I felt so bad about not posting #but im on christmas break now! and got the writing bug. dw shortbread is not abandoned I just think this is more complete at the moment #george karim x you

39 notes · View notes

rosethornewrites · 4 months

Text

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 24

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Chronic Pain, Biting, Conversations, Self-Sacrifice, POV Third Person, POV Lan WangJi, Bugs & Insects, Adoption, Ancestors, Ancestor Veneration, Golden Core Reveal, Top Lan Wangji | Lan Zhan/Bottom Wei Wuxian | Wei Ying, First Time Blow Jobs, Multiple Orgasms, Switching, sex-related injury, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī Stays at the Burial Mounds, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī is a Wèi, Good Sibling Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Disability, Scheming Niè Huáisāng, Disabled Character

Summary: Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan arrive, with unexpected results.

Notes: See end

AO3 link

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23

———————

Once the meal is complete, the rest of the Wei family trickling out, including Popo and a reluctant A-Yuan, Lan Wangji presses the talisman book into Wei Ying’s hands so he can present it to Xiongzhang. His husband smiles in gratitude.

“Lan Zhan helped with this because his calligraphy is a lot better than mine,” Wei Ying says. “These are talismans I developed to help deal with different forms of resentful energy, in terms of how to remove it safely.”

Xiongzhang is already flipping through the book, Nie Mingjue beside him and also reading over his shoulder. Jiang Wanyin stands for a better look.

“Different forms?” Nie Huaisang asks. “Isn’t it all just resentful energy?”

Wei Ying shakes his head, adopting something of the air of a scholar, but he’s clearly a little restrained, perhaps still reluctant to discuss his cultivation, fearing judgment.

“It’s dependent on a variety of factors, including the emotion powering the resentment and what ‘vessel’ the resentment inhabits, if any—like you have to handle yao, mo, gui, and guai differently, but it’s even more complex than that basic categorization because of the different factors.”

He’s referring to the differences between resentful creatures, and it reminds Lan Wangji of the disastrous conversion between his husband and his uncle during the lectures at the Cloud Recesses. Wei Ying has been exploring the different ways such creatures should be classified, and has started to identify factors that complicate that classification.

The research is groundbreaking, as few have ever studied resentment for reasons other than gaining power, Wei Ying trying to make the best of his situation by improving cultivation knowledge. Lan Wangji has had the opportunity to read his notes as he transcribed them, and he is endlessly amazed by his brilliance.

“You can pull resentment from objects?” Nie Mingjue asks, his expression inscrutable.

The attention makes Wei Ying shrink a little in his seat, and Lan Wangji takes his hand, squeezing it to reassure him. His hesitance to discuss his cultivation is palpable, and partly his fault for having judged him without listening, even if it was out of concern.

“Often each case requires a slightly different solution, but I can generally figure it out, given time. Some objects can be intrinsically connected to the resentment, while others are simply inhabited by it at random.”

Nie Mingjue considers that and nods, keeping whatever thoughts he has to himself and going back to perusing the book as the next page is turned.

“Truly, Wuxian, these are revolutionary, almost too much for a dowry,” Xiongzhang says finally.

“It’s dowry for Lan Zhan, so if anything it’s far too little,” Wei Ying replies with a laugh.

Lan Wangji’s ears heat at his husband’s regard for him, but he also worries Wei Ying is too self-effacing and doesn’t credit his own brilliance enough—Xiongzhang’s assessment of them isn’t overblown; these talismans are truly priceless in their genius and usefulness.

“Wei Ying’s worth cannot be quantified,” he tells him seriously.

He is gratified when Wei Ying blushes deeply and hides his face, overly dramatic as he tends to be when complimented sincerely, something that he never finds boring.

“Hanguang-Jun, spare your poor husband. Your sincerity is too much,” he murmurs.

“Since when have you been shy at compliments?” Jiang Wanyin asks, amused.

Wei Ying only responds by sticking out his tongue, and his brother rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“I have made a separate copy of the book for Wei Ying to keep, which may eventually be placed in the library at Lotus Pier,” Lan Wangji tells Jiang Wanyin, ignoring their antics.

He receives a nod of thanks, the Jiang sect leader’s attention already caught when Xiongzhang turns another page, the talismans drawing attention.

“Wei-xiong, we finished the rest of the yuefu,” Nie Huaisang comments, not as riveted by the book of talismans as the others. “Your baihua is better than mine and Wei Ning’s, so you should go over it to make sure it’s right.”

Wei Ning ducks his head at the acknowledgment of his help, shy, and Wei Qing nods her thanks to Nie Huaisang for including her brother. There was concern that he would not be accepted by their visitors, which would cause issues with any swearing of siblinghood, but it’s clear by how Nie Huaisang treats him, giving him back some dignity through not only including him, but also cleaning up his appearance so he once again looks like a young master, that their worries were needless.

Nie Huaisang pulls out the sheaf of parchment containing the poem and sets it in front of Wei Ying with a flourish, clearly proud of his work, and Wei Ying shifts through them until he finds the spot he read last. Wei Ning helpfully brings out an inkstone and brush for him to use if he needs to make changes.

While the respective sect leaders pore over the book of talismans, the rest of them peruse the draft, Wei Ying correcting the baihua as he goes, and once rewriting an entire line in a way that makes it fit the yuefu more organically.

“Nie-xiong, I can’t adopt all the street kids in Yiling,” he says emphatically, though his tone betrays him. “I mean, we can feed them now, at least, but what about when it comes time to move to Lotus Pier?”

“The sect needs people,” Jiang Wanyin cuts in before Nie Huaisang can speak, barely looking up from the book. “You don’t have to adopt them as your kids, just as Wei if they want your name. The ones who have the aptitude can become cultivators, and the others we’ll find a place for. There’s room here now for them, and you and Lan Wangji can start their education.”

Wei Ying stares at him, clearly flummoxed, but Lan Wangji knows this is something his husband would love to do—to give children like himself a home so they won’t have to live in the streets and fight dogs for food.

Nie Huaisang clears his throat pointedly.

“Wei-xiong, it will help with your image. No one will believe the Jin rumors, especially with a gaggle of kids hanging off you.”

“Unless they say we eat them or that I use them in some sort of dark rituals,” Wei Ying mutters darkly. “I’ve heard worse said about the Yiling Patriarch.”

Lan Wangji hates that those rumors exist. They are such an anathema to everything that is Wei Ying, beyond insulting almost to the point of blasphemy against his soul.

“You well know no one will notice the disappearance of street children, so there will be time. By the time it’s noticed enough, I’ll be able to take care of any rumors,” Nie Huaisang says, a determined twist to his lips. “A war without fighting is something I can handle, particularly if it subdues our enemies with less turmoil.”

Nie Mingjue drags his attention from the book to study his younger brother, clearly reassessing him, something Nie Huaisang doesn’t even notice, instead leaning over the table, absorbed in reading the changes Wei Ying has made to the yuefu so far.

“Now that we have enough supplies, I can start a clinic,” Wei Qing adds. “That should sow more goodwill, and we can bring meals for the street children.”

“That’ll work better than anything else—they’ll be wary, so it’ll take time,” Wei Ying says distantly, his gaze unfocused.

Lan Wangji can only assume he is thinking about his own childhood, surviving alone for years, and he remembers the scars from dog bites on Wei Ying’s legs. He offers what comfort he can, placing a comforting hand on his back, and is pleased when his husband relaxes at his touch.

Eventually Xiongzhang and Nie Mingjue wander off with Wei Qing to visit some of the warded areas and discuss future night hunts in the Burial Mounds, and Jiang Wanyin tags along—likely he will also send juniors to night hunt, but he’s really accompanying Wei Qing.

Nie Zonghui stays with Nie Huaisang, but generally stays out of the yuefu discussion except when it involves cultivation; at one point he and Wei Ying have a theoretical conversation about yin energy that ultimately adds nothing to the manuscript. Lan Wangji readily admits it is beyond his understanding, and Nie Huaisang spends the entire conversation looking as lost as Lan Wangji feels, though he is pleased the Nie first disciple isn’t balking at such a discussion or treating Wei Ying with the disdain he’s seen far too many of the gentry levy toward him.

The review and discussion of the yuefu comes to an end less than a ke before the others rejoin them, at which point Nie Huaisang dramatically announces the more interesting changes, largely to gloat over the debates he won.

Xiongzhang at least feigns interest, while Nie Mingjue shakes his head at his didi’s antics, but it’s rather a relief when Wei Ying and Wei Ning both jolt slightly. Not only does he prefer not to have the last few hours rehashed, but he is anxious for the swearing ceremony, if only for the sense that, with that complete, they will be that much closer to bringing Wei Ying home.

Jiang Wanyin seems to understand a moment later, asking “Jie?”

Wei Ying smiles, almost too bright, as though he too is feeling the weight of it all, and Lan Wangji takes his arm to urge him to his feet, letting the gesture remind his husband that he faces nothing alone now.

The Nies and Xiongzhang decide against accompanying them to the base of the Burial Mounds, allowing Wei Ying time to collect himself while accompanied by those he has learned to trust to help him.

Jin Zixuan, surprisingly, is not dressed in gold, but a robe of soft purple with embroidered pink peonies on the hems of the collar and sleeves, a nod to his Jin heritage in the peonies and their color, but also to the Jiang in the color of the robe. Jiang Yanli is wearing a pink robe in the Jin hue embroidered with purple lotuses, an interesting counterbalance to her husband. It is perhaps a nod to visiting the bride’s home and the joining of family, but also one that allows them to stand out a bit less, perhaps looking like late-leaving Jiang wedding guests. They are accompanied by a contingent of Jiang cultivators, as well as a carriage drawn by a duo of nervous-looking horses, which will need to be hidden near the base of the Burial Mounds from any prying eyes.

As soon as they come into view, Jiang Yanli rushes through the ward to her siblings, fussing over Wei Ying’s health, though he has to disentangle himself to key Jin Zixuan through the wards. The latter bows in greeting, and he returns the gesture a bit awkwardly. Some of the Jiang disciples also need to be keyed in.

Once inside, Jin Zixuan only takes notice of Wei Qing and Wei Ning when Wei Ying introduces them, all eyes for his wife, and he bows to them to greet them as well as Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin.

Jiang Wanyin passes orders to his men, and Wei Ying tells them where the horses can be tethered.

“It’s where we kept the horses from the labor camp before we sold them,” he says, glancing at Jin Zixuan to gauge his reaction as the Jiang disciples handle unhitching the animals and unloading a number of qiankun pouches from the carriage.

Jin Zixuan simply nods, clearly unconcerned with the matter. Likely the fate of the horses was an afterthought, given the situation.

While they make the trek up to the settlement, Jin Zixuan thanks the siblings for rescuing and protecting Jiang Yanli and her brothers, outright acknowledging the debt, and even apologizing for his sect’s role in Wei Ning’s death.

“There is quite a bit I have been kept in the dark about,” Jin Zixuan says. “A-Li has asked me to discard my preconceptions and see the truth for myself. The rumors about Wei Wuxian have seemed a stretch at best, anyway.”

Wei Ying glances at him, clearly nonplussed since his main interactions with Jin Zixuan have involved physical violence.

“You’ve hit me, but I deserved it both times, and what any of us did during the Sunshot Campaign shouldn’t count against us,” Jin Zixuan explains when he sees the expression. “Except the noble acts of We— er, Wei Qing and Wei Qionglin, of course, but the things we had to do in wartime, to defeat Wen Ruohan…”

He breaks off with a shake of his head.

“We all did what we had to do,” Jiang Wanyin says, taking over. “And we’ll be discussing more about the why at the settlement.”

Lan Wangji catches Wei Ying’s shoulder when he stumbles over a root, keeping him from falling, and Wei Qing elbows Jiang Wanyin none too gently.

“You lot can handle that—Wei Wuxian needs his treatment, and we can reconvene at dinner.”

Blessedly, while Jin Zixuan looks curious, he seems to know better than to pry, and the rest of the trek is spent in an awkward silence.

As soon as they are within view of the settlement, A-Yuan breaks away from Popo and runs to greet his guma, but when he catches sight of their new visitor he skids to a halt so quickly he falls down, wailing and calling “Diedie, Baba!”

While the others freeze, clearly taken aback by A-Yuan’s reaction, Lan Wangji springs forward with Wei Ying to pick up their son before his husband can hurt himself. The child clings to them, sobbing and babbling about the “bad forehead man,” and he realizes he must be referring to the zhushazhi that identifies Jin Zixuan as a member of the Jin clan.

When Jin Zixuan tries to move closer and speak, clearly hoping to calm A-Yuan, the wails turn to terrified shrieks, so full of deep-seated terror that it hurts Lan Wangji to witness. He can see Wei Ying is similarly affected.

Wei Qing joins them while they try to calm him, Wei Ying trying to remind him that this is the good Jin that Jiang Yanli married, her lips pursed as she assesses the situation. A-Yuan is too beyond comfort for the words to reach him, in near-hysterics, and seeing him so distressed makes it clear how badly he was traumatized by what the survivors experienced in the labor camp.

Ultimately, she turns to Jiang Yanli and mimes wiping the vermillion mark away, and blessedly she does so after consulting with Jin Zixuan, her horrified-looking husband completely cooperative. Unfortunately, it does nothing to calm A-Yuan, and Jiang Wanyin quickly organizes the Jiang contingent to block Jin Zixuan from view.

By this time, Xiongzhang and the Nies have arrived, drawn by A-Yuan, along with Popo. Several of the refugees also gather, their expressions sad but devoid of surprise.

“Jiang Wanyin, can you handle updating Jin-gongzi while we handle this?” Wei Qing asks over A-Yuan’s crying, her exhaustion bleeding through into her tone. “Popo and our other guests will be able to help you, particularly Nie Huaisang with the yuefu. I doubt Wei Wuxian wants to be present for most of it, anyway.”

Fortunately, this is readily agreed to by all parties, aside from A-Yuan, who has broken into a coughing fit. By the time the others have left, he’s lost part of his lunch in the dirt and is a whimpering limpet in Lan Wangji’s arms.

“Diedie and Baba won’t let anything bad happen,” Wei Ying tells the boy, even though he’s beyond hearing, having cried himself most of the way to sleep, “and Qing-gugu and Ning-shushu won’t either. You’re safe, baobei.”

Wei Ying starts to use a sleeve to wipe A-Yuan’s face, paying no mind to the high quality of the clothing, but Wei Qing stops him, handing him a clean cloth from a pocket to use instead. He speaks gently and soothingly, just repeating that he’s safe, until the child’s eyes close, his breath hitching occasionally as though he’s still crying even asleep.

Wei Qing gestures toward the cave and Lan Wangji leads Wei Ying, rearranging A-Yuan in his arms so he can guide him by a sleeve, recognizing that this has shaken his husband. They didn’t know how deeply A-Yuan had been scarred in his time at the Jin labor camp, but this has made it very clear in a horrifying and unexpected way to all present. Though they spoke to the boy beforehand to make him aware of Jin Zixuan’s visit, all the warning in the world could do nothing to prevent his terror at just the sight of the zhushazhi, so deeply had he been traumatized.

“None of us could have known,” Wei Qing says as they enter the cave, “so don’t blame yourselves—I can practically hear you doing that, both of you.”

Lan Wangji knows full well that won’t prevent Wei Ying from doing so, and it will be a struggle not to blame himself, especially as he saw the wreckage of the labor camp. They both know what the rescued people here went through, but neither of them considered A-Yuan, with the boy so bubbly and bright.

They remove A-Yuan’s soiled and dirty outer robes, and Wei Ying helps him arrange A-Yuan on the bed, nestled in blankets, his touches gentle as though the boy is made of glass, and then arranges himself nearby after stripping to his zhong yi trousers, making sure he can hold one of A-Yuan’s hands as though to remind him he’s not alone even in his sleep.

Wei Qing’s treatment focuses on his hips, and by the end of it Wei Ying is asleep, as per usual, needing only for the blankets to be drawn up around him, something Lan Wangji does as soon as the last acupuncture needle has been removed. He shifts A-Yuan to be closer to Wei Ying, who instinctively puts an arm around the boy in his sleep.

“I’ll go handle our guests, and come collect you for supper—I expect we’ll do the swearing ceremony afterward,” Wei Qing says brusquely, running a gentle hand through A-Yuan’s hair in a way that belies her tone. “I’ll bring fresh robes for A-Yuan.”

She isn’t the type to offer potentially empty reassurances, and so Lan Wangji isn’t surprised when she simply gathers her supplies and slides the curtain shut behind her without another word.

Lan Wangji is left to the quiet of Wei Ying and A-Yuan’s soft breathing. He can’t help but feel off-balance, A-Yuan’s heartbreaking reaction unsettling. The worry is unavoidable, with one goal so close to being met and yet the relief tempered now with the revelation of the scars on their son’s psyche.

As difficult as it is, he must trust in the others, and so he sets up an inkwell so he can transcribe more of Wei Ying’s notes to put the next half-shichen or so to good use, as his place is beside his husband and son.

—————

So all the Auspicious Eight are at the Burial Mounds ready to swear siblinghood. And yet a wrench in the works: A-Yuan’s trauma triggered by seeing Jin Zixuan’s zhushazhi, the vermillion dot. I did research to figure out how it would be referred to—meta on Tumblr is amazing.

This was a necessary stopping point for this chapter, as it would’ve gone on another 3000 words and taken much longer to get out otherwise. I promise this fic isn’t abandoned, just slow to update as a result of having multiple in-progress multichapter fics and my health issues.

Unsurprisingly, comorbidities popped up in the health area. As expected, treating the primary ones revealed more that need to be treated. It’s a frustrating journey, but I have a wonderful team of doctors that I’ve put together and we’re slowly getting on track to recovery. Good news: I don’t have any markers in tests of other autoimmune diseases. Just the one.

baba - dad

baihua - commoner writing

baobei - baby

diedie - dad

jie - older sister

shichen - two hour period

xiong - brother

xiongzhang - older brother

yao, mo, gui, and guai - types of resentful beings, see Lan Qiren’s quiz of Wei Wuxian during the lectures

yuefu - type of poetry, see previous chapter

zhong yi - undergarments consisting of trousers and a shirt that tends to tie closed in front

zhushazhi - zhusha is cinnabar, and with zhi it becomes cinnabar mole

17 notes · View notes