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touchmycoat · 7 months

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Qijiuyuan handmaiden au? 👀👀👀 Is there anything from the au you'd be willing to share? Bc that concept sounds Amazing!

oh boy. It's YQY as Count Fujiwara, SJ as Hideko, and SY as Sook-hee. I long to make it historically accurate and relevant to the Japanese colonial occupation of Taiwan.

But thank you so very much for prompting me to dig up my forgotten draft:

Yue Qingyuan kissed him once, against the rough buildings of the Old City. The names and ingredients of construction materials weren’t within the category of things that Shen Yuan knew, but what he did know was the scrape of sharp brick through that hole against the spine of his shirt. That kiss made his back bleed—and he didn’t even know until the next morning.

But that was years ago. Shen Yuan didn’t make a point of counting Yue Qingyuan’s visits either, so that kiss existed like a hazy liquor dream. Not in manifestation, but in its displacement in time. It was simultaneously years ago and just yesterday evening.

So Shen Yuan was taking care to not stare at Yue Qingyuan’s lips when the man was talking. He stared down at the baby in his arms instead, burping the sniffling thing.

“—Lord Yue, seventh son of a royal political family with genuine Japanese blood—”

Qi-jie sourced most of the infants they took in, but this one in his arms had been Shen Yuan’s own find. The mother had been in terrible pain and on the brink of death, but Shen Yuan liked to think he’d given that woman some peace in her last moments. She’d handed the baby over willingly enough with that achingly solemn nod that Shen Yuan had done his best to return.

“—uncle to marry her himself.”

“Disgusting bastard.”

“The Lord arrives just in time to seduce the Lady Qiu, we elope, put her in an asylum, and you all get ten percent of her inheritance.”

A classic Qi Qingqi brow rose.

“Seems kind of harsh for you, Shixiong.”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes went bleak and flinty.

“You all know there’s someone I’m looking for. This will give me the means.”

“Besides,” Qi Qingqi agreed, always the first to question but also first to reaffirm her allegiance, “who’s to say she won’t like living in the asylum better?”

A-Luo, Shen Yuan thought, eyes going warm as the baby suckled the tip of his finger into his little mouth. His baby was so well-behaved that Shen Yuan had not needed to dip it in rice wine beforehand. Mu Qingfang, who sometimes cringed after idly scratching his upper lip, was less lucky, and had made multiple sad proclamations that if they didn’t get out of this line of business soon, he’d never stop smelling like a fermentation pot.

“Whoever takes the risk with me gets twenty percent plus whatever jewelry we secret out.”

“Is,” Mu Qingfang said, incredulous, “the job so difficult as to warrant that level of compensation?”

“To my knowledge, the Lady—” An opaque pause. “—is not so easy going.”

“So no matter how easy Yue-shixiong is to fall in love with…”

Yue Qingyuan offered Qi Qingqi’s smirk a noncommittal smile, and Mu Qingfang ducked his head to hide a grin.

“So how about it, A-Yuan?”

Shen Yuan gave A-Luo a sweet, lingering kiss on the forehead before handing the baby to Liu Qingge, who was, as always, scowling beside him. A-Luo immediately began to fuss.

“Shen Yuan,” Liu Qingge snapped. Shen Yuan thumbed a streak of coal from his cheek. “I can’t go with you. It’s an unnecessary risk.”

“It’s expedient.” With a side glance at Yue Qingyuan’s steady, yet vaguely ashamed gaze, he added, “But I’ll take twenty-five percent once we’re done. And a passport.”

“A-Yuan has big travel plans for after?” Yue Qingyuan asked, eyes rainbowing.

“Liu-shidi promised to take me away,” Shen Yuan teased. The coal from the steamship had gotten even Liu Qingge’s ears black, but Shen Yuan knew from his dear friend’s expression that the ear tips had gone red underneath.

Gritting his teeth, Liu Qingge hoisted A-Luo more firmly in his arm. A-Luo’s sniffling turned into a reedy, heart-wrenching cry.

“I’ll take care of your baby,” Liu Qingge vowed.

“Which makes him our baby now.” Shen Yuan reached up to untangle the cloth strap binding his hair. He strolled across the room past his martial siblings’ furrowed brows until he stood in front of Yue Qingyuan.

“So this is to be my debut grift.” His smile was quiet but genuine. “Do I get a crowning ceremony?”

“Of course,” Yue Qingyuan replied faintly, hands settling on Shen Yuan’s shoulders to turn him around. With his back to Yue Qingyuan, Shen Yuan felt large hands brush out the curls his hair before twisting it up into a high bun.

Yue Qingyuan leaned forward to take the dark green crown Mu Qingfang fetched and now offered—the one their Master left to Shen Yuan before her execution. His jawline felt sharp as it skidded past Shen Yuan’s cheek, and his breath on Shen Yuan’s neck felt like a secret.

“You get a new character too,” Qi Qingqi reminded. “You want to do the honors, Shixiong?”

Yue Qingyuan’s lips parted, but no words came out. His attention was fixed like a knifepoint to Shen Yuan’s back.

“Yue-shixiong?”

Something had gone bad, but whatever it was, there was too much sun outside and too much future on the horizon for Shen Yuan to get dirty with it right now. He could figure it out later; Yue Qingyuan would tell him if he needed to know.

So Shen Yuan turned around, his hair up and spine newly bared.

“How about autumn?” he asked Yue Qingyuan, who was always so inscrutable in his grief. Shen Yuan figured he must be missing their Master something fierce. “To commemorate the event.”

“Qingqiu,” left Yue Qingyuan’s lips, and across the room, A-Luo babbled an agreement. Shen Yuan—now Shen Qingqiu—didn’t smile, but he did close his eyes to let that name sink in.

Shen, his family name, a symbol of those who’d birthed and lost him.

Qing, his Master’s name, a proclamation of teachings learned from these poor-rotted streets.

Qiu, his new master’s name, and the object of his first (and hopefully last) con.

Somewhere in that name he was presumed to exist.

On Shen Yuan’s very first night in the Qiu Manor, Lady Qiu woke up screaming. Shen Yuan came stumbling out of his closet-bed and threw himself across the hall into his Lady’s bedroom, ready to step between her and any sword-wielding assailant.

He found Lady Qiu thrashing in bed, caught in the throes of a nightmare and her expensive silken sheets. After a moment, Shen Yuan threw himself in the way of danger—he caught Lady Qiu’s wrist before she slammed it into the headboard and pinned the Lady once to the bed with a firm shake.

“Lady Qiu! Please wake up, you’re having a nightmare!”

“Xiao Jiu!” Lady Qiu screamed, face screwed up like a wailing baby’s. Her skin was red and splotchy where Shen Yuan could see under the moonlight. “Help me, Xiao Jiu!”

The weight of Shen Yuan’s thumb on Lady’s Qiu’s delicate wrist turned sympathetic.

“I’m not Xiao Jiu, I’m Qingqiu. I’m going to be your servant starting from today. I’m Qingqiu.”

Lady Qiu’s eyes shot open, glistening like congealed blood in the dark.

“You’re not Xiao Jiu?”

“I’m not.” Seeing that Lady Qiu was settling down, Shen Yuan quickly let go and pulled back to stand up straight. “But where would Xiao Jiu be? Can I go get him for my Lady?”

On the bed, Lady Qiu was silent for a while. Though Shen Yuan couldn’t see her face, her legs were akimbo above the sheets, and her knees looked as delicate as eggshells. Shen Yuan longed to bundle her back up and tuck her safely away.

“No,” came the Lady’s voice, suddenly cold with grief. “You can’t. There is no Xiao Jiu, Xiao Jiu is dead. You. Get a light on.”

Shen Yuan struck a match and lit the gas lamp on the bedside table. The bottom half of Lady Qiu’s face was hidden under her comforter, and her lashes fluttered once in Shen Yuan’s direction.

“You’re…” she murmured, those eggshell knees of hers kicking again. Her nightgown, Shen Yuan noted, had slipped up to her thighs, and only a corner of the comforter was pulled over her stomach, leaving her chest heaving under one thin layer of satin.

“Everybody’s dead,” Lady Qiu told him. The firelight scorched such vivid shadows across her pupils as black as cooling lava. “I’m so alone. Qingqiu, are you here to comfort me?”

Why a male servant? Qi Qingqi had asked while they were going over the details to the job, shapely brows scrunched up in a piercing frown. Shouldn’t a fancy lady be in want of a handmaiden?

There are, Yue Qingyuan and answered haltingly, reasons. You’ll just have to trust me. Her last servant was also a local boy.

Shen Yuan felt something in his stomach go tight at the sight of the Lady Qiu so exposed and vulnerable on the bed like this. And when her hand stretched out, palm open in need, Shen Yuan couldn’t help himself anymore.

He exhaled in passion and leaned back over the bed. He freed the comforter from its useless twist around Lady Qiu’s body in one succinct pull and rolled the Lady up all soft and warm in it.

Then he sat down at the very edge of the bed, resting a hand on Lady Qiu’s now-protected shoulder.

“I’m here to comfort you,” Shen Yuan promised. “I’m here to give you everything you need. My lady is not alone anymore. Qingqiu will take care of you.”

“—qiu…”

Shen Yuan shushed her murmurs softly, patting the Lady’s shoulder in a slow, pulsing rhythm.

“Can I sing you a song?” he whispered.

He counted five sleepy beats before the Lady, almost imperceptibly, nodded.

A black, black sky

it’s about to rain

Grandpa grabs a hoe to dig up taro

He digs and digs

digs and digs…

#plot stockpile #asks #the twist of course is that the real QHT is dead #and QJL's one of the classic sister complex nutjobs who attic-wifes SJ #and makes SJ dress up and perform as QHT #young and helpless SJ went along with it and thought it might actually be a way to squirrel away money and such #but as time went on realized she was never getting out #oh this is also trans!SJ #she does the readings she is made this sex object #and finally YQY comes and finds her and promises to save her #but they need a sacrificial lamb #they need a 'Shen Jiu' to frame for kidnapping the lady #and that's SY

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saddayfordemocracy · 6 months

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How the Watermelon Became a Symbol of Palestinian Solidarity

The use of the watermelon as a Palestinian symbol is not new. It first emerged after the Six-day War in 1967, when Israel seized control of the West Bank and Gaza, and annexed East Jerusalem. At the time, the Israeli government made public displays of the Palestinian flag a criminal offense in Gaza and the West Bank.

To circumvent the ban, Palestinians began using the watermelon because, when cut open, the fruit bears the national colors of the Palestinian flag—red, black, white, and green.

The Israeli government didn't just crack down on the flag. Artist Sliman Mansour told The National in 2021 that Israeli officials in 1980 shut down an exhibition at 79 Gallery in Ramallah featuring his work and others, including Nabil Anani and Issam Badrl. “They told us that painting the Palestinian flag was forbidden, but also the colors were forbidden. So Issam said, ‘What if I were to make a flower of red, green, black and white?’, to which the officer replied angrily, ‘It will be confiscated. Even if you paint a watermelon, it will be confiscated,’” Mansour told the outlet.

Israel lifted the ban on the Palestinian flag in 1993, as part of the Oslo Accords, which entailed mutual recognition by Israel and the Palestinian Liberation Organization and were the first formal agreements to try to resolve the decades-long Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The flag was accepted as representing the Palestinian Authority, which would administer Gaza and the West Bank.

In the wake of the accords, the New York Times nodded to the role of watermelon as a stand-in symbol during the flag ban. “In the Gaza Strip, where young men were once arrested for carrying sliced watermelons—thus displaying the red, black and green Palestinian colors—soldiers stand by, blasé, as processions march by waving the once-banned flag,” wrote Times journalist John Kifner.

In 2007, just after the Second Intifada, artist Khaled Hourani created The Story of the Watermelon for a book entitled Subjective Atlas of Palestine. In 2013, he isolated one print and named it The Colours of the Palestinian Flag, which has since been seen by people across the globe.

The use of the watermelon as a symbol resurged in 2021, following an Israeli court ruling that Palestinian families based in the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood in East Jerusalem would be evicted from their homes to make way for settlers.

The watermelon symbol today:

In January, Israel’s National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir gave police the power to confiscate Palestinian flags. This was later followed by a June vote on a bill to ban people from displaying the flag at state-funded institutions, including universities. (The bill passed preliminary approval but the government later collapsed.)

In June, Zazim, an Arab-Israeli community organization, launched a campaign to protest against the ensuing arrests and confiscation of flags. Images of watermelons were plastered on to 16 taxis operating in Tel Aviv, with the accompanying text reading, “This is not a Palestinian flag.”

“Our message to the government is clear: we will always find a way to circumvent any absurd ban and we will not stop fighting for freedom of expression and democracy,” said Zazim director Raluca Ganea.

Amal Saad, a Palestinian from Haifa who worked on the Zazim campaign, told Al-Jazeera they had a clear message: “If you want to stop us, we’ll find another way to express ourselves.”

Words courtesy of BY ARMANI SYED / TIME

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