#for this ask i interpreted 'caring' as 'caring enough to understand that melon thinks and feels differently' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tenthgrove · 3 years

Note

La squdra with black s/o and somebody was being racist towards them? Only if you are comfortable with that. If your not, could you just do one with la squdra with black reader who has natural hair.

How La Squadra Responds when Someone is Racist to you

La Squadra x Reader (GN), Platonic/Romantic (interpretable), SFW, TW: Racism

(A/N: Since we’re talking about racism here I think it’s best I state for the record that I am white. While I don’t go into detail about the specifics of the racism in these scenarios it might still be triggering to some so a warning applies.)

Formaggio- I headcanon that Formaggio has both African-American and South Asian ancestry, so unfortunately, he’s no stranger to the sort of abuse you’re facing now. He has a simple solution that always cheers him up when it happens to him, and he’s more than happy to give it a go with you. Simply put- you steal the aggressor’s wallet with Little Feet, high-tail it out of there by any means necessary, and spend the cash on whatever the hell you feel like. It’s a nice way for the bigot to pay you back for the hurt they caused, whether they want to or not. Fair, no?

Illuso- Similarly to Formaggio, Illuso’s first thought is to use his stand to get back at the aggressor. Instead of going after their money however, he has a different idea. With your approval of course, he’s going to go down the route of scaring them shitless. There’s nothing that could make them question your sanity more than wondering around a desolate world for a few minutes before inexplicably finding themselves back where you were before. Illuso then continues to spy on the person a bit longer to see if they do anything bigoted again in which case, guess what? It’s back in the mirror world they go! The goal is to form an association between their behaviour and being trapped in the mirror world, ensuring that they never repeat their shitty actions to anyone else again.

Prosciutto- He isn’t one to jump into action without planning, but at the same time, he knows that something like this can’t go unpunished. Consequently, his first port of call is to get you somewhere safe and ask what you’d like to do about this. You were the one being victimised, after all, so it’s only fair you get to decide what happens to them. He’s really okay with anything you say. You can leave and choose to ignore it or you can find the aggressor again and force them to apologise by any means necessary. If, theoretically speaking, it were entirely up to him however, he would most likely choose to covertly make clear to the bigot that the two of you happen to be part of an organisation more powerful than anything they will ever be involved in. Surely they’re willing to give such people the respect they deserve, yes?

Pesci- If there’s one thing that Pesci wants you to always know it’s that he thinks the world of you, and he hates the thought of anyone else potentially making you see yourself as less than he does. There aren’t many things that will anger Pesci enough for him to take a stand, but seeing someone be racist towards you is definitely one of them. He gets you behind him and tells the aggressor just how wrong they are in as many words that come to his mind. After that he whisks you away somewhere private to check on your emotions and offer you reassurance if the event has left you shaken.

Melone- Provided there’s no threat to your safety, he gets out his phone and starts filming. The threat of accountability for their actions is often enough to make someone shut up at once, but if it doesn’t, he absolutely will go through with his threats of making sure the video ends up in all the wrong places. It’s up to you exactly where it goes, but provided you’re okay with it, Melone’s happy to send it pretty much anywhere. How would they like their boss to know that this is how they behave? Their family? Their partner? He’ll back up these threats with educated guesses about the person’s life situation that often prove frighteningly accurate. He might not have the physical strength to endanger a life without his stand, but he can sure well ruin one.

Ghiaccio- Without hesitation he immediately snaps around at yells something to the effect of ‘EXCUSE ME WHAT THE FUCK?!’ He absolutely will not stand for this kind of behaviour, towards anyone but especially towards someone he cares about, and he isn’t afraid to get all up in the aggressor’s face about it. If the person isn’t prepared for a fight there’s a high chance Ghiaccio’s explosion will send them running or at very least backing down. If they are prepared for a fight, well, they aren’t going to win, that much is for sure.

Risotto- If anyone dares be racist to you in his presence, Risotto will simply crank up the intimidation factor until your aggressor comes to understand you’re far from the easy target they mistook you for. Most of the time all he has to do is look over, stand closer to you and put his hand on your shoulder while staring menacingly for the bigot to stammer their excuses and hurry off with their tail between their legs. Failing that (or if the person in any way made you feel physically threatened- in that case there are no second chances) he isn’t afraid to get violent. He doesn’t even have to cause a scene- all it takes is a tiny little hunk of iron careening around your aggressor’s insides while he stares them down, for them to make the most profound apology of their life.

Sorbet and Gelato- My version of Sorbet is Korean, so couple that with his and Gelato’s status as a very overt MLM couple, they are unfortunately very common targets for bigots who see them around town, especially when they’re just trying to enjoy a date. The years of putting up with this have only increased how rightfully angry they feel about this, and the first time they witness someone behave that way to you as well, they both see red. They’re going to make it very clear to the aggressor that if they ever speak to you like that again they might very well pay in blood. This isn’t an empty threat either- Sorbet and Gelato are never not armed.

#la squadra #formaggio #illuso #prosciutto #pesci #melone #ghiaccio #risotto nero #sorbet and gelato #formaggio x reader #illuso x reader #prosciutto x reader #pesci x reader #melone x reader #ghiaccio x reader #risotto nero x reader #sorbet and gelato x reader

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headoverjojo · 4 years

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Since the ask box is open can I request a headcanon or scenario with La Squadra discovering their crush's habit of rubbing their wrist when nervous or sad and when they confront them about it they see scarification scars on their wrist? (I have this habit of rubbing them when I'm nervous as I am feeling a sort of phantom pain in them) Sorry if it's too specific and feel free to ignore it if your not comfortable with it

Hello there, darling! Don’t worry, it was fine :3 I hope I have handled this topic with the needed care! Here we go, so!

La Squadra di Esecuzione finds out their crush’s habit of rubbing their wrist when they’re nervous or sad and they confront their crush about it

(Under the cut for length!)

Risotto Nero

Risotto had to deal with grumpy and, mostly, discrete assassins, at least concerning their private life and habits. He had to learn how to interpret their unconscious signals and to understand when they were sick, or had some private issues going on that could jeopardize their missions. So, it was just a matter of time before he noticed his s/o’s constant habit. No… it wasn’t constant, he observed; they did it just in some occasions. He started to be more attentive to them and what was happening when they had that “tic”, if it could be called so: it seemed that they acted like that when they were under a huge amount of stress… well, while it could be a way to relieve their stress, it wasn’t a healthy way, and the fact they always kept their wrists covered was the proof of it. He couldn’t shrug this off: he had to talk to them about it.

At night, when they were finally alone and the “boys”, so his s/o affectionately called the other assassins, were sleeping, he confronted them about it. He sat in front of them, and asked them if there was something that was bugging them. Almost instantly, they started to mindlessly rub their wrists, saying that no, there was nothing out of the norm. Risotto just sighed, putting a hand on theirs, to block their abrasive movement. He told them that he knew about their tic, and that, by the way they always covered their wrists, he thought that it was damaging them. He knew too well how hard it was to lose a tic, but… it was necessary. It pained his heart to see them, the only person he had romantic feelings for, hurting themselves to relieve their stress. It wasn’t… right. He didn’t tell it to them, of course, but he told them that he would have helped them as much as he can. Maybe sparring would have helped them to vent their stress? Everything was better than them rubbing their wrists to the bone. He wouldn’t have allowed it, not now and not ever.

Prosciutto

Prosciutto always wanted both himself and his teammates to be at their peak, so he was always attentive to them. If he noticed that his leader hadn’t had a decent night of sleep in the whole week, he didn’t think twice to send him to sleep; if he saw Melone starving himself again because he was too engrossed in his researches, he dragged him to the dining room, no matter how much he was protesting. He was the “mom member” the team, the mother goose that always made sure everything was alright. So, G/N’s habit didn’t fly over his eyes: he noticed how many times they were insistently rubbing their wrists, sometimes even scratching them, like they had some sort of inflammation or hives that made their skin itch. It worried him; what if the inflammation was so severe to impede them to work? And all in all were they working with an ongoing hives?! Bullshits! If they had a health problem, they had to stop for a while and take care of it properly. He approached them, ready to confront them about it. He couldn’t let them work in those conditions!

So, the first thing he did the day after was to take them to a side and to talk to them about it. He was serious and, G/N could see, worried. He was… worried for them. And, actually, it was the first time someone noticed their tic… they sighed, admitting that, when they were nervous or scared, they had the habit to rub and scratch their wrists. It wouldn’t have been a problem, if not for a little detail… since he had been so nice to worry for them, they decided to pour it all out. They showed him their wrists, covered in many, too many little scars. It was from all the rubbing and the scratching, they explained, as Prosciutto stared at the scars. It was even worse than what he thought… he sighed, trying to put some order in his mind. His feelings for them were making him want to freak out… but he couldn’t and he didn’t want to. He had to stay calm, if he wanted to help them. And so, he sat down with them, and he asked them to please come to him if they were feeling nervous or scared. They would have worked together to find a way to help them when it was all too much. He wouldn’t have let them down.

Pesci

Pesci knew how it was to have to deal with stress, anxiety and fear on a daily basis. He also knew how it was to want to keep it secret, not wanting to be a burden… he knew it and he was able to recognize the silent cries of help from who was in that same situation. He had noticed how G/N often seemed on the edge; their behaviour screamed loud, saying that they were nervous and stressed. And he couldn’t blame them; being an assassin wasn’t an easy and light job. They had to deal not only with the physical pain from eventual wounds, but also from mental damages and traumas. They all never liked to kill; it was a job, but this didn’t mean they liked it. Killing someone also killed part of them. Pesci did his best to support them without making obvious that he knew how much they were struggling, thinking that they would have been irritated; and even so, it wasn’t enough, he could see it, and it pained him deeply. They weren’t just a teammate, or a friend… he had for them romantic feelings. He wanted so bad to help them to smile, to deal in a healthy way with what they were going through… and maybe the only way to do so was to be utterly honest, to “expose” them and, so, to finally work together to find a solution. Yes, maybe this was the right way.

So, while they were quietly walking in a nearby park, Pesci brought it up, to their surprise. He quickly made clear that he wasn’t judging them, nor he ever wanted to do it. He just wanted to… help them. Because he knew how terrible and lonely it was to deal with so much stress and fear while trying not to make it obvious… he knew how much it ate someone from inside. He didn’t want it to happen to them. They listened to him, silently, before sighing. Well, maybe he was right… and, all in all, their stress had led them to a bad habit with even worse consequences. They show it to him: their wounded wrists, scarred from how much they rubbed them. Pesci was incredulous and horrified. So many scars… so many months, years spent with an anxious tic that hurt them so much. Once again, he promised both to them and himself to help them and never let them down. Never more.

Formaggio

Even if he is mostly known for his loud and laid back attitude, for being a chill and relaxed guy, Formaggio is more than that and, especially, he knows more than what he shows. He knows pain and rage, regret and even hate; he knows how it is to be so scared to be just frozen on the spot, and he knows the stress that comes from traumas. He tended, however, to ignore his teammates’ symptoms; they all were used, all in all, to this kind of things. They were more than able to deal with it by themselves or, if they couldn’t, to ask for help. But with G/N… it was different. He couldn’t ignore their nervousness, their stress, especially when they had to go on a mission… and it manifested especially with a curios and harmful habit: they rubbed their wrists. It was a continuous movement, that they did completely unconsciously, by now, so ingrained in them that they started to rub and scratch their skin at the first signal of nervousness. Formaggio tried to discreetly bring it up in their conversations, but it had been useless. So, with an unusual move from his part, he decided to directly face them; maybe it was a little brutal, but he wanted to come to the core of that harmful habit and, hopefully, to help them to get rid of it.

He did so while they were watching a quiz show -or, better, the quiz show was just a white noise for their chat- and, as he was expected, they started to grow defensive. He couldn’t blame them… and he could also understand them. To help them to open up, so, he did the same, at least a little; he told them about a couple of his own traumas and bad -and damaging- habits come from those traumas. They listened to him, silent, before sighing and showing him their wrists, horribly scarred. Formaggio gulped, horrified; those scars come from years and years of continuous damage… he sighed, taking them in a half-hug, and quietly -in a way so different from his usual loud and boisterous one- promised them that, now, they were in this together, and that he would have done anything to help them to fight their anxiety. Anything.

Melone

Melone is not only an expert in biology and genetics; he also has at least some rudiments of psychology. He needs it, all in all, to create the perfect spawn to kill his target, but this doesn’t mean that he can’t use his knowledge also in his mundane life. Sometimes it creeped his teammates, and so he stopped to do it, at least openly; but he still studied and analyzed them while they thought he was all busy with his “little experiments”. He did the same with G/N who, other than his teammate, was also his crush, even if he never forced his feelings on them, nor he wanted to do it in the future. Observing them behind his monitor, he noticed that, when the room was too crowded, they started to manifest symptoms that said that they were overwhelmed by the whole situation: they were more nervous, and, especially, they started to frantically rub their wrists, which, he realized, one day, were always covered, even in the hottest summer day. He feared the reasons that forced G/N to cover them… that was what convinced him that he needed to talk to them, after too much time spent observing in silence.

G/N knew that Melone was more observant than what the others thought, but still, when he approached them asking them if their wrists were wounded they were stoned. How could he have noticed it? They always kept them cove- ah, it was that. He had noticed it… they sighed, knowing that they couldn’t fooling around anymore. And, well… they didn’t want to. He really seemed to genuinely care… maybe it was time to share it with someone. So, they finally freed their wrists, showing him the scars. It was due to all the rubbing and the scratching, they said, not… something worse. Even if he was relieved it was not something related to something so severe and potentially dangerous, that tic of theirs was still harmful, and he wouldn’t have sat down letting them doing it, now that he knew about it. He proposed them to start a sort of therapy; yes, he wasn’t a real doctor, even if he had studied for it, and so he didn’t feel like he could give them meds to take, but he could listen to them. They could have regular meetings and, together, try to better the situation. The determination in his eyes, in the end, convinced them to try; he really cared about them… maybe, together, they would have found for real a solution.

Illuso

Illuso, being the designed “spy” of the team, the one who always open the road to his teammates giving them the infos they need, is observant by nature. It’s something so natural to him that he does it almost without noticing and, most of the time, he just throw half of what he notices away, as it’s not useful to him or to anyone else. His ability sometimes is a gift, sometimes a curse; there are times he would like not to notice and section everything, when he would just like… to enjoy the moment without thinking too much. However, his talent saved his teammates’ life more than one time, so, he guess, it’s ok to endure the times when it bothers him, if it means his squad’s safety. This includes also G/N, who, other than his teammate, is also his crush and, so, this makes his observations spike up, even when he wouldn’t like it. And that’s how he noticed how they tended to rub and scratch their wrists pretty often, and how they always kept them covered, surely to hide the scratches or even something worse… he couldn’t let it go. He had to go deeper, this time, and to talk to them about it.

And so, one day, he invited them into the mirror world, where they liked to chill together chatting or reading something, finally far from the constant chaos of the crowded HQ. There, Illuso dropped the bomb, asking them about their wrists. When they, after few seconds of stunned silence, asked him if he was spying on them, he answered honestly: he just noticed it without even wanting to. If it was something else, or someone else, he would have just shrugged it off, but… he couldn’t, when he was dealing with them. He wanted them to be safe and to be happy, and their tic was a sign that they weren’t happy. They just sighed, catching the sincerity in his voice, and told him the truth: it was a nervous tic, but, unlike other harmless tics, theirs wounded their wrists, which, now, they were showing him. Illuso gasped; their wrists were covered of little scars and angry red scratches… they couldn’t go on like this. He promised them, and they knew he was sincere, as he was one who always kept his promised, to help them to lessen, if not to completely abandon, that harmful tic. On his honor. He couldn’t bear to see them wounded… together, they would have made it. He was sure about it.

Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio’s feelings, especially if intense, aren’t a secret to anyone. Everyone knows when he’s angry, even when he’s sad; he tries to hide when he’s embarrassed or vulnerable, as he fears it can be seen as weakness -and so be mocked-. So, being him used not to hide his inner turmoils -with few exceptions- he doesn’t recognize immediately that G/N feels pretty often nervous, so nervous and stressed that, in fact, they have a tic. He actually noticed when, for once, they were alone in the usually crowded living room of the HQ. He was reading, but a low noise was ticking him in the wrong way… what was that?! It was like a continuous rustling, and then like something was scratching… he lifted his gaze, exasperated, only to find out that G/N was the source of the noise. As soon as they noticed that he was nervous and almost enraged, they started to rub even more vehemently their wrists, but it was clear that they weren’t doing it in purpose. If it was someone else, Ghiaccio would have just shouted them to stop once for all, but… he couldn’t shout at them. He didn’t want to. So he gulped it down, asking them, instead, if they were feeling fine. Seeing that he wasn’t anymore enraged, their rubbing slowed down, and finally Ghiaccio understood: it was a reaction to stressful situations. Well, he knew very well how it felt to be always stressed and nervous… maybe they could talk about it and try to find a way to help them to vent it.

Without beating the bush, he directly asked them if they were feeling nervous. As he was expecting, they started almost immediately to rub their wrists, while saying that no, they weren’t nervous. Ghiaccio, unusually patient for his standards, put a hand over theirs, stopping them; they couldn’t keep lying. Answering to his questions, they admitted that they had that tic from so much time that they had forgotten when it all actually started, and that all that rubbing and scratching had damaged their wrists beyond imagination. They showed him, and he gritted his teeth: there were deep scars, scratches and even bruises… their wrists were a mess. However, he wasn’t feeling angry… just sad. He was sad to see them, a so precious person, hurting themselves so much… he promised them that they, together, would have found a way out that harmful tic. And when he promised something, he was ready to turn over the world in order to accomplish it.

#jjba #vento aureo #la squadra di esecuzione #risotto nero #prosciutto #pesci #formaggio #melone #illuso #ghiaccio #neutral crush #crush who has a nervous habit #tw: wounded wrists #tw: nervous tic #tw: wrist scars #reactions hcs #headcanons #sfw #anon ask

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rosethornewrites · 3 years

Text

Fic: this body yet survives, ch. 5

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Qǐrén, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Jiāng Yànlí

Additional Tags: No War AU, Recovery, Trauma, Dissociation, Courtship, Courting Rituals

Summary: Wangji approaches the Jiang siblings with betrothal gifts, hoping for their approval. More of Wei Wuxian's self-esteem issues rear their ugly heads.

Notes: See end

Parts 1 & 2

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

AO3 link

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Wei Ying offered to help carry the baskets, or even the two cages containing a fat white-feathered wuguji rooster apiece, but Wangji refused to let him—it seemed improper to have him carry any part of the betrothal gifts.

Fortunately, xiongzhang and the outer disciple were both able to help. Wangji could not recall the young man’s name, only that he was an average cultivator with merely adequate guqin skills. Wangji himself carried the cages.

On the way to the guest house Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli were staying in, Wei Ying stayed close, one hand grasping the edge of Wangji’s sleeve, the other holding the box with his forehead ribbon with a sort of reverence. He kept looking at it, his expression tinged with wonder and disbelief.

Wangji knew it would take time for Wei Ying to process the events of today; he wondered if perhaps everything was moving too quickly—telling Wei Ying he wished to court him, the clarification of his acceptance to GusuLan as a disciple, and now formally delivering betrothal gifts to his siblings. Wei Ying was still recovering, after all, but it was too late to change course now.

If he stopped now, Wei Ying might interpret it as changing his mind, and that would be so much worse. Wangji did not want to give him any cause to doubt, not after all he had been through. If he could shield Wei Ying from everything that might hurt him, he would—but he also knew that way of thinking could turn him into his father.

He would not cage Wei Ying, even to protect him.

Jiang Yanli was writing outside in the early afternoon sunshine when they arrived, and Wangji could see her immediate understanding and joy at seeing the decorated baskets before she schooled her expression and called for Jiang Wanyin.

He froze coming from the guest house, a stunned look on his face.

Wei Ying noticed and stopped short, his expression shifting to uncertainty. He didn’t know how his brother would react, Wangji realized. Wangji hovered next to him, not sure how to help.

Fortunately, Jiang Yanli seemed to know what to do. She came to Wei Ying and tucked her arm into his, pulling him forward, then called Jiang Wanyin’s name with a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Quickly, the three siblings were seated at the table, Wei Ying in the middle. He still looked uncertain, almost overwhelmed, and Wangji longed to go to him and draw him into his arms.

He was relieved when Xichen stepped forward, that xiongzhang would handle this part. Technically neither himself nor Wei Ying should be present for this, but on a similar note the Jiang siblings were the family of Wei Ying’s heart, not blood, so nothing about this was strictly traditional. They were both orphans, and thus no parents were involved in this betrothal process.

Xichen directed the disciple to place the baskets he was carrying and set his own down as well. At his pointed look, Wangji placed the cages with the roosters on the table as well.

“Wei Wuxian received his ribbon today,” Xichen began calmly. “As only family and cultivation partners may touch it, Wangji thought perhaps he could show Maiden Jiang how he ties his into his hair.”

Jiang Yanli looked delighted, and Wei Ying opened the box to show her the ribbon.

“Oh, it has little embroidered clouds,” she exclaimed.

“An inner disciple’s ribbon,” the outer disciple said, sounding surprised.

“Wei-gongzi has contributed much to Gusu Lan already,” Xichen clarified. “Shufu and I made the decision.”

Jiang Yanli eyed his hair, clearly thinking ahead to the lesson, and she smiled.

“Oh, is that a new guan?”

To Wangji’s delight, Wei Ying blushed.

“Mine broke this morning. This one belonged to Lan Zhan’s mother.”

“A love token?” Jiang Yanli asked, her smile widening. “It is lovely.”

“You have a whole bag of guan,” Jiang Wanyin muttered.

Wei Ying froze, his eyes going distant. The Jiang siblings looked startled by his reaction.

“The guan in his bag all had lotus on them,” Wangji stated.

He offered nothing more, but they realized anyway if the grief on their faces told him anything. As Wei Ying has predicted, they were sad, but there was a determination there as well.

“I’ll go through your bags for you,” Jiang Wanyin told him softly. “Get rid of anything with lotuses.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t realize, A-Xian.”

Wei Ying attempted a smile, but it was weak.

Both of his siblings looked as though they felt guilty for not having realized, but Wangji had only noticed this morning, had connected his fugue with the fallen lotus guan scattered across the floor.

“I didn’t tell you,” Wei Ying murmured. “How would you know?”

“Tell us what’s bothering you, you idiot. We can’t help otherwise.”

The smile turned more true, and sheepish.

“I’ll try.”

Xichen cleared his throat delicately and gestured to the baskets on the table, and he and Wangji bowed and took their seats across the table as the outer disciple started to unwrap the cloth covering them.

“Regarding the love token…”

Inside the baskets was white tea from Gusu Lan’s stores, aged decades to develop its delicate flavor. Sweet osmanthus cakes stamped with dragon designs—no phoenix, as both he and Wei Ying were men. A pair of dragon candles. One of the baskets contained cuts of pork, obviously purchased in Caiyi; this gift implied Jiang Yanli was a maternal figure. Another basket contained an assortment of seafood to symbolize a long and happy marriage. Oranges and apples, dates, dried tangerine and melon slices, lotus seeds, candies symbolizing prosperity, good fortune, luck, peace, and offspring—perhaps the hope he and Wei Ying would adopt? Sprigs of pine for longevity. Carved jade in different hues—green dragons and turtles, red and purple birds, white clouds, a black bat, orange fish, blue butterflies, flowers in all colors, and other auspicious symbols—all to show Wei Ying’s worth.

Gold had a value; jade was invaluable.

“We have brought a betrothal gift for you, Wei-gongzi’s siblings, to seek your approval for him to be wed to Wangji.”

“I asked him if he would consent to be courted, and he agreed,” Wangji offered.

Instead of responding, Jiang Wanyin looked at Wei Ying with what seemed like anger at first glance but was actually disappointment and grief.

“You’re not coming back to Lotus Cove,” he said.

It wasn’t a question, and he clearly already knew the answer. Jiang Wanyin’s voice was resigned and rough, as though he had held out hope all this time while knowing it was unlikely.

Wei Ying flinched, his face pinched with his own emotions. His throat worked soundlessly for a moment.

“I can’t,” he finally said, his voice shaky. “I’m sorry, Jiang Cheng.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jiang Wanyin told him. “It’s not your fault. After what happened…”

“I promised I’d be your right hand man,” Wei Ying murmured.

His hand was fisted in his sleeve, Wangji noticed, his knuckles as white as the robe, as he fought his emotions.

“But I can’t go back. Not now. Maybe not ever. I’m sorry.”

Jiang Wanyin took him by the shoulders and shook him slightly.

“It isn’t your fault!” he hissed as Wei Ying stared at him wide-eyed. “You have nothing to be sorry for, A-Xian!”

Instead of releasing him, he pulled his brother into an almost violent hug. Then they were both crying, as was Jiang Yanli, who put a hand on Wei Ying’s back.

“It’s enough that you’re here,” she said. “That you’re alive.”

Wangji knew from her expression she was seeing Wei Ying wan and bloody in the mud.

“You will always be his siblings,” he said impulsively, trying to stave off those same memories. “That cannot be taken from you.”

“Yes,” Jiang Yanli whispered. “A-Xian is the brother of our hearts.”

Jiang Wanyin released Wei Ying and fixed Wangji with a calculating look, measuring him as though trying to decide if he was worthy of his brother. Wangji did not begrudge him that—he should do so.

“You’ll protect him?”

Wangji nodded.

“He lies. He’ll pretend he doesn’t need help or protecting when he really does. You’ll protect him from himself?”

Wangji nodded again, reflecting on the way Wei Ying has, how he often put himself last in sneaky ways. He would need to compensate with that in mind.

Jiang Wanyin nodded back, looking very much like he was struggling to find words.

“He’s afraid of dogs. Terrified of them. Even the tiniest puppies. You have to protect him from them. And he forgets to eat. Even before, he forgot when he was working. He gets too focused and forgets to eat and sometimes even sleep.”

Wangji realized abruptly that these instructions were Jiang Wanyin’s way of expressing his approval. It would be his responsibility to care for Wei Ying.

Jiang Yanli expressed the importance of spice, of nutritious and delicious foods, of hugs and affection.

“Xianxian is three,” she said softly, tweaking Wei Ying’s nose between two knuckles and then dabbing at his tears with her sleeve. “He doesn’t say when he’s hurting. He keeps it inside, like with the lotuses. He fears becoming a burden.”

Wei Ying sat still between his siblings, his face flushed, clearly overwhelmed by their discussion of him and his needs.

“Wei Ying is never a burden,” Wangji said. “Wei Ying is a joy.”

His face flushed deeper, and he hid behind his sleeves.

“You can’t just say things like that, Lan Zhan.”

“Mm, can.”

“Lan Zhan!”

“Xianxian deserves to be spoiled,” Jiang Yanli said with a smile, nudging him playfully.

Wei Ying peeked out to shoot her a tremulous smile, but otherwise kept his face hidden. Jiang Wanyin shoved him lightly.

“I won’t be able to get away with staying here forever,” he said regretfully. “I’m the heir. Eventually I’ll be expected home.”

He fixed Wangji with a scowl.

“But if I can be sure Wei Wuxian is protected before I have to leave, I’ll feel better.”

“He is a Gusu Lan disciple,” Xichen pointed out softly. “He will be protected even without the courtship and marriage.”

“Unlike in Yunmeng,” Jiang Wanyin muttered bitterly.

Though Wangji knew xiongzhang hadn’t meant it in that way from the way he winced, he didn’t disagree with the Jiang heir’s interpretation. As a disciple—as head disciple—Wei Ying should have been protected, even from the fury of Madam Yu. She should have faced consequences for attacking a disciple alone, not protected by Meishan Yu with Wei Ying dismissed as a mere servant, as though he was property to be done with as she pleased.

These things still angered Wangji a year later, and probably always will.

“A-Cheng,” Wei Ying said. “It wasn’t—”

“You should’ve been protected,” Jiang Wanyin interrupted. “A-die should’ve protected you. We failed you.”

“You didn’t,” he whispered. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Jiang Yanli reached out and took Wei Ying’s hand.

“A-Xian, we want to be sure it never happens again. A-Cheng and I couldn’t protect you well enough, and Father should have protected you from a-niang, and he failed to.”

“Shijie…”

Wei Ying ducked his head, and Wangji knew he was trying to avoid thinking poorly of the man who he’d been raised to consider an uncle. But there were other issues as well—in truth, Jiang Yanli was no longer his martial sister, but he had called her that since he was young and perhaps hadn’t fully realized. Or, more realistically, he didn’t know what to call her otherwise.

“He could have officially adopted you, A-Xian,” she said gently. “He could have made you our brother officially. She wouldn’t have dared touch you then.”

“It isn’t too late,” Xichen interjected. “The three of you could become sworn siblings.”

The Jiang siblings froze, blinking at each other in surprise. They had not considered the option, but Wangji had not either. The act would send a clear message to the cultivation world at large, would serve as further protection for Wei Ying.

“It would mean you still have a connection to Yunmeng Jiang,” Jiang Wanyin said after a moment.

Wei Ying looked flummoxed, surprised beyond words by the suggestion, and perhaps a bit torn. With his reaction to lotuses, his trauma, a connection might not be a good thing.

“You could call me jiejie,” Jiang Yanli whispered, squeezing Wei Ying’s hands. “I’m not really your shijie anymore, but I’d really like to be your jiejie.”

That was apparently the final straw for Wei Ying, who let out a sob and buried himself in her arms. Jiang Wanyin managed a smile, putting a hand on his shoulder, but looked close to tears himself. Becoming sworn siblings would just make official the relationship they had had most of their lives, would solidify their connection to one another.

“We can set up the ceremony for tomorrow,” Xichen said, smiling gently. “As Jin-furen and Jin-gongzi are visiting, they could serve as witnesses.”

Jiang Yanli glanced at Wei Ying in concern.

“Jin-furen?”

“We met her in Caiyi,” Wangji stated. “She has dissolved the sworn sisterhood and wished to commission Wei Ying.”

The news clearly comes as a surprise to the Jiang siblings—apparently in previous visits Jin Zixuan hadn’t mentioned it.

“They are having tea with shufu presently, but likely intend to visit you,” Xichen added.

The Jiang siblings were watching their brother with concern, and he managed a smile, straightening.

“I’m fine. Lan Zhan was with me. We rescued a turtle at the fish market and released it in the pond at the jingshi. And we got a book about turtles and poetry and oil for my hair and tanghulu.”

None of his rambling mentioned the Jin, and Wangji could hear exhaustion in his voice, despite how he tried to keep his tone light. From his siblings’ expressions, they could tell as well.

“It was a long day for Wei Ying,” he said softly.

A broken guan and slight breakdown, consenting to be courted, rescuing the turtle, shopping, encountering Jin-furen unexpectedly, receiving his ribbon and clarification that Cloud Recesses was now his home, and now this. Too much for him while he was still recovering, almost certainly. He wanted to take him somewhere quiet so he could rest, or to the meadow to bury him in soft rabbits.

“You’re already protecting him,” Jiang Yanli commented approvingly.

“We’ll need to establish chaperones,” Jiang Wanyin said, frowning.

They were agreeing to the betrothal, Wangji realized, and warmth spread from his chest in a way he usually only felt around Wei Ying. Joy. He was feeling joy. The siblings of Wei Ying’s heart had accepted their courtship. They would wed.

Xiongzhang smiled and nudged him gently, clearly happy for him.

“Wei Wuxian deserves no less,” Xichen agreed. “We want to make his worth very clear. Chaperones through the courtship period will be appropriate.”

Wei Ying looked embarrassed by this, as though he felt the fuss was too much for him.

“A-Xian has faced enough questions over his worth. He is precious to us and will be treated as such.”

Jiang Yanli was watching Wei Ying, too, he noticed, and was speaking in part to him.

“A-Cheng and I will be happy to chaperone,” she finished.

“For times when you are indisposed, or if myself or shufu are unavailable, I’m sure we can have some of the outer disciples act in that capacity,” Xichen added. “They are often responsible for escorting guests.”

“Wei Ying may need rest before dinner, while you are visiting with Jin-furen and Jin-gongzi,” Wangji stated, watching him. “I would like to escort him to his quarters once Jiang-guniang has tied his ribbon.”

In truth, their lunch in Caiyi had been more of a second breakfast, too early to truly be lunch. There were still several hours left before dinner.

“I’ll just take it off to rest, won’t I?” Wei Ying protested.

“And I will help you put it back on before dinner,” Jiang Yanli said. “I’m happy to.”

“Disciple Su can chaperone your return to Wei-gongzi’s quarters before he returns to his other duties,” Xichen said.

The disciple bowed. He had a somewhat petulant look on his face, but as Wangji recalled that seemed to just be his natural expression.

“Yes, Lan-zongzhu.”

Jiang Yanli reached into the basket of osmanthus cakes and presented the disciple with one, bowing.

“Thank you for your help.”

He took the cake, blinking at her in a startled way, then quickly returned her bow and retreated.

She moved around the table to study Lan Wangji’s hair, and he removed his ribbon and demonstrated how he wove it through his hair for her twice before she was satisfied she understood.

Within minutes, Wei Ying was wearing his ribbon, the pale fabric making the skin of his face look less pallid, demonstrating how much healthier he looked in comparison to only weeks ago. He looked beautiful as a Gusu Lan disciple, with a proper ribbon—but he was always beautiful to Wangji, so perhaps he was biased.

“It suits you,” Jiang Yanli told him softly. “The clouds almost look like wings from a distance. Perhaps the wings of a crane.”

Wei Ying blushed, and Wangji felt his ears heat. A pair of cranes alluded to a wish for a long married life. He had never considered the resemblance of the embroidery to wings, but he could see it now.

“Or lucky roosters, like these,” Jiang Wanyin muttered, pointing at the cages. “I don’t know what we’ll do with them.”

Jiang Yanli brushed her thumb against the embroidery on the ribbon, smoothing what must have been a minute wrinkle. The gesture was almost motherly.

“They’re for Xianxian’s wedding, to lead him to his husband. We’ll keep them until then, of course. They’re lovely.”

She sat beside him, and Wei Ying leaned his head against her shoulder, a beautiful smile gracing his lips. He looked radiant, if tired, filled with a joy Wangji felt as well.

“Shufu and I will consult to select an auspicious date,” Xichen said. “I would be honored if you two would assist in the planning of the wedding.”

Jiang Yanli looked overjoyed, and Jiang Wanyin nodded, his expression of a man about to embark on an important mission.

“A-jie and I had ideas,” he said.

Wei Ying stared at him, open-mouthed in shock.

“What, you thought we didn’t do that for you like you and I did for A-jie? Like I’m sure you two did for me?” Jiang Wanyin demanded.

“Of course we made plans for you, A-Xian.”

“I didn’t expect to get married,” Wei Ying whispered. “I was going to help Yunmeng Jiang.”

Wangji was surprised by that, but perhaps he shouldn’t have been—Wei Ying was exactly the type to deny himself to do what he saw as duty. His siblings were looking at him in horror, as though just realizing that terrible truth.

“You were allowed to marry, you idiot,” Jiang Wanyin exploded, then took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Even if it meant marry out. You didn’t have to stay.”

“I did. I promised.”

Jiang Wanyin looked to his sister, clearly trying not to lose his temper.

“Xianxian,” she whispered, looking like she felt helpless. “We would never want you to give up your future for Yunmeng Jiang. You always talked so much about Lan-er-gongzi, I always assumed…”

Wei Ying blushed and glanced Wangji’s way, then down at his lap. He was struck again by how exhausted he looked.

“He did not know my regard for him,” Wangji realized aloud.

Worse, Wei Ying had thought he’d been rejected, that he was despised. And, knowing him, he had probably justified to himself that he deserved it.

He could see Xichen’s surprise, but his brother had always known how he felt, before he could even understand himself.

“He thought I disliked him,” he clarified for xiongzhang.

A look of guilt passed over Jiang Wanyin’s face, and Wangji realized perhaps he had thought similarly, had said something to Wei Ying about it. But ultimately the fault lies with Wangji, for not expressing himself more clearly, not until it was almost too late.

Xichen also looked somewhat guilty, as though he felt he should have done something himself, but Wangji wouldn’t let him blame himself.

“I will strive to be clearer. Wei Ying should know he is loved.”

Wei Ying made an almost strangled sound.

“Lan Zhan, my heart can’t take it,” he groaned, hiding his face dramatically again. “You’re too much!”

“As much as Wei Ying deserves. Wei Ying will acclimate.”

Jiang Yanli patted her brother’s shoulder, looking softly fond, but also concerned. Wangji wondered if she too realized that Wei Ying might disbelieve he was loved. Jiang Wanyin stayed quiet, but watchful, his jaw still clenched, his expression still stormy.

“Xianxian will need to get used to it, I think. Lan-er-gongzi will need to use the courtship period to help him adjust.”

Wei Ying gave her a mock betrayed look, and she laughed gently and tweaked his nose. He blinked at her cross-eyed, looking like a sleepy kitten.

“But I think perhaps you could use a nap.”

The lack of protest was enough of an indication, but Wei Ying swayed when he stood, steadied by his siblings. Jiang Yanli pulled out a handkerchief, then put some of the dates, dried tangerines and melon, candies, and an osmanthus cake on it before tying it into a pouch and pressing it into Wei Ying’s hands.

“A snack would do you good,” she said, leading him around the table to Wangji. “I’ll send A-Cheng for you when dinner is ready. Lan-zongzhu and Lan-er-gongzi are welcome as well.”

Wangji took Wei Ying’s arm in his own to help steady him and received a tired smile. Disciple Su frowned at him, as though scolding him for touching his betrothed, but he ignored him. Xichen smiled.

“I will discuss courtship etiquette and terms with Wei-gongzi later, Wangji. You are aware of them. I trust you to respect them.”

He nodded to his brother and led Wei Ying toward his quarters.

Respecting courtship etiquette was the same as respecting Wei Ying, particularly to the rest of the cultivation world. Wangji was disappointed, in some ways, that he had been right; the trip to Caiyi was to be their last time spent together alone for some time to come, and part of it had not been.

But as Wei Ying leaned closer, starting to wilt, Wangji focused on him alone, ignoring the disciple accompanying them. He would ensure Wei Ying ate at least some of what Jiang Yanli had packed before leaving him to rest, and the disciple could simply wait as he did so.

Wei Ying’s health came above all else.

---------

Lots of symbolism in this chapter. Different colors of jade have different meanings. Green, which is the most prized, is for friendship, harmony, and renewal. Red for energy, life, and love. Yellow for optimism, success, and generosity. Orange for ambition, vitality, and libido (lol, like WangXian need help in that department). Blue for loyalty, freedom, and faith. Purple for insight, peace, and devotion. Black for elegance, security, and pride.

There are a lot of meanings involved in carved jade specifically as well. The bat, for instance, would represent happiness and longevity. Butterflies are a symbol of love. Dragons, power, strength, and goodness, as well as masculinity. Fish represent wealth and abundance, and when paired, harmony and connubial bliss. Different birds have different meanings as well, though Lan Wangji doesn’t specify which ones there are, or which flowers are carved.

I am not as familiar with betrothal customs as I would like to be, but it seemed killing and cooking the roosters would be crass at best, at least before the wedding. Apparently some customs include putting the betrothal chickens under the marital bed for the wedding night. In essence, this betrothal is different in a lot of ways because they’re both grooms and both orphans. Because of Wei Wuxian’s lack of blood family, the decision to go to the Jiang siblings is more a courtesy and recognition of their relationship than anything.

“Gold has a price/value; jade is priceless/invaluable” is a Chinese saying that seemed apt for a betrothal gift.

Wuguji are black-boned chickens, specifically silkies. They’re a smaller breed, but prized in cooking.

Also, I keep meaning and forgetting to thank my amazing beta, @missyriver, for all her help!

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dongiovannaswife · 4 years

Note

For the song fics: Tender Lover (Baby Face) and Melone. Whatever you think interpretation is. Fem reader ;)

Okay, I asked St. Google for the meaning of this song and found Babyface’s words about it lol along with an interpretation I took; “the song casts Babyface as an apologetic ex-lover who advises his former girlfriend not to give up on love just because it didn't work out with him.” First time writing for Melone, hope I’m not messing with him, I’m nervous because it’s YOU requesting aaaaaaaaaa.

SONG FIC: TENDER LOVE BY BABYFACE; MELONE.

Someone who knew him, especially in his line of work, wouldn’t believe his behavior at the moment.

Melone sits across from you, holding a mug of coffee in the way you know he likes it; sweet and strong, but not too hot. His expression calm and sincere, contrasting to that strange one he wears around his team, that one expression that pisses off Prosciutto and makes Risotto step up before things get out of hand.

Someone who didn’t knew him and was overlooking his actions would say he was acting, putting a mask over his real personality.

But only you and he knew his reasons.

Melone is not a man to fake his reactions or to change his attitude to fit; he may be obsessed with reproduction and science and biology, but he knows when to behave. He’s more than the jar some people put him in.

And you, as his ex-girlfriend, understand this.

When he spots you he stands, greeting you with a warm smile, pulling out your chair for you to sit and helping you settle. As he’s coming back to his seat, he asks. “Salutations, (Y/n). How have you been?”

You purse your lips together, shrugging with your thoughts coming back, memories of the night before coming to the surface and making you frown slightly, offering him a sad expression.

Melone leans in the table, his left hand reaching to his mug to get it out of his way so he can lean his elbows in the table, hands subtly reaching out to you, but stopping midway.

“What’s wrong?” he asks then, voice insufferably soft as he speaks; eyes holding so much care you feel like you may burst from the sight. You’re not in love anymore, but there’s a small amount of care still there, the type of care you’d feel for an old friend.

You shake your head, closing your eyes as to ignore the tears threatening to spill. “It’s stupid.”

Melone shakes his head no, his hand now wiping off a tear that managed to escape and descend through your cheek. “Nothing you feel is stupid, it has a cause —and it has a solution. Remember what I told you some time ago…?”

You nod, feeling the memory hit you. “Everything has a solution; except death.”

He nods and leans back, a comforting hand offered silently as he lets his hand in the table for you to take if you need to. Melone waits patiently and under his warm attention, you feel like spilling all you feel.

“I don’t think love is for me, Mel. I can’t seem to find the right person; I-I wanted, I thought you were the one. As you know, though, you weren’t. And I’m so sorry for having made you waste your time with someone like me, who doesn’t stand a chance in love.”

You look down now as the waitress places your mug in front of you and Melone thanks them with a smile; then, you watch the content inside the mug like it is the most important thing in the world.

Until he speaks.

“If I'm being sincere, I never thought about that like you did. I was living in the moment, enjoying your company and the moments we spent together as a couple but I knew I couldn’t afford it to dream like that, I was trying to be realistic; if later on I found out you were the one, then I’d make you know. As you know, though—” he smiles as he imitates you. “You weren’t. I don’t think I wasted time, because I enjoyed it. We didn’t lost anything, nor did we win. We, however, learned. Listen, (Y/n), if there’s something important about love, that is that a relationship may work or not; just because our relationship didn’t work out, doesn’t mean there’s someone out there for you. Your other half, as they call it. The person you can spiderman-kiss and all that.” He waves his hand in a meh gesture, smiling softly when you laugh at his implication. Then, looking back at you with a more serious look, he keeps talking. “You’re a good person, (Y/n). You’re a wonderful woman and a marvelous partner; if you wanted to, you could be a good mother. In short, and because my coffee is probably cold now, don’t give up on love. Don’t let the assumptions of others get you.”

You blink, wondering where did all that came from; watching as he rises his hand to ask for another mug of coffee and turning to you with a kind expression.

“Thank you.” You mutter, smiling warmly at him and drinking from your tea. Then, you stand and pulling out enough money to pay for your beverage, you leave it in the table, deciding that it’s time to close a cycle, having made up your mind. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mel. I hope you get the life you’ve dreamed with.”

Leaning to kiss his forehead one last time, you grab your bag and stealing a glance at him one last time, you leave the bar.

#abri-chan #melone #melone jojo #melone x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jjba vento aureo #song fic #jjba x reader #fem reader

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years

Text

Dragon Dancer: Bondarev

We were so focused on our sword training that Johann and I didn’t notice that Mingfei, Nono and Crow were watching from a distance.

Mingfei and Nono had decided that there was enough information here to spend several nights studying and there was no point in making the long drive back to the shrine.

“As for me,” Crow said, “I have to go back to work!”

“You’re leaving us?” I asked with some worry.

“Oh yes, I have to make my daring escape from the S-grade rebels.” He threw one arm over his eyes. “I barely made it out alive!”

A quiet giggle came from my back.

Crow peeked out from under his arm. “Ah... our sleeping beauty has awakened.”

He walked over to stand next to me peering at Ru’Yi who was looking over my shoulder at him.

“Do you mind if I give her a kiss goodbye?” He asked.

“Sure thing, Prince Charming.” I rolled my eyes.

He planted a kiss on Ru’Yi’s soft hair. “I left some stuff here for her. As well as some food for you. Good food, not the instant noodles and beer I left for the others.”

Mingfei’s jaw dropped. “What are we, chopped liver?”

“Your bodies can take it! Carli has to eat healthy for the baby to grow strong!” Crow roared in response.

Then he turned and grinned at me fondly, becoming that profound and majestic persona, Saeki Ryuuji. “I am a street gangster, and so is my father. He could beat up just about anyone, but when I was a boy, my father told me that I should know how to protect girls, because girls will be mothers in the future. They can have children, and children can bring hope! If the girl is dead and the man is alive, how can he forgive himself?”

We pored over the esoteric manuscripts. Herzog had his own shorthand, abbreviations, and things only he understood. It wasn’t a code, but his lingo and jargon. It made it near impossible to figure out his reasoning.

Nono was using her profiling ability. A lot of these works weren’t complete, not because of his short hand, but because they were referencing other materials not in this collection.

It didn’t help that the man was so disgusting. He conducted hundreds of human experiments. Almost all the disappearances of people in Japan in the past 20 years could likely be traced back to him. For Nono, searching for valuable clues in this man’s thinking was like searching for a wedding ring in a pile of dog vomit.

“Herzog wasn’t basing his work on known dragon research. He’s making leaps in conclusions that shouldn’t be possible given how we understand dragons. Sometimes, he said things that are completely contradictory and yet in hindsight were absolutely right.”

“For example, he knew that the sacred skeleton was not actually a bone but a parasite.” Mingfei said. “Literally no one was saying this, not even among the Hydras, so how did he know?”

“The only way he would know is if he had direct access to someone with first hand knowledge.” I said, sitting with a sleeping baby in my arms. I’d taken the opportunity for her nightly feeding while I listened to them work.

Mingfei looked at me and so did Nono.

I didn’t tell them but I’d actually done something very similar to Herzog’s accomplishments during Code: Leviathan.

EVA had needed assistance in translating reams of dragon text in a short amount of time, but about 25% of that dragon text was completely new to the study. It would take months to decipher it all and our ability to investigate a nearby dragon temple depended on understanding these parchments.

Enter my ethereal twin.

Through my dragon’s scale, I had access to an entirely separate reality, a reality where the White King never rebelled and humans still were ruled by dragons. With her first hand knowledge, I was able to make leaps in interpretations that should not have been possible.

But the system wasn’t perfect. Once my soul twin realized that we were going to kill Leviathan, she hid information from me. It wasn’t until we reached the central chamber of the temple that we found out that we weren’t at Leviathan’s nest at all, but a temple devoted to her human lover, the Raj Yamir.

“What first hand knowledge? Dragons have been dead for ages. The Secret Society is the one with the oldest records...” Nono rubbed her chin.

I shrugged. “Let’s not dismiss a possible solution just because its so obvious. Not only did he know it was a parasite, he had prepared a host for it months in advance. He knew exactly what he was doing ”

That host was a child made from my genetic materials -- materials that he had bought for 500 million dollars.

“He knew exactly what he was doing.” I said, in a softer voice, remembering how helpless I was to stop him.

“Uh. By the way!” Mingfei said loudly. “Do you think Crow has a thing for you?”

I lifted my head, dazed. “Huh?”

“Yeah speaking of obvious...” Nono smirked at me. “I think you should go for it.”

“Oh please.” I rolled my eyes. “He’s very kind and... what he said was nice, but you could tell he was putting on an act.”

“Was making all these dishes for you an act? What about all the baby supplies?” Nono pointed out.

I looked over at it. “He said he’s always wanted kids... ”

I turned my eyes to Johann who was tucked away in a sleeping bag. “I’m already married.”

“He just doesn’t know it.” Nono pursed her lips.

I chewed my lip. “I can’t do that. I swore to death... not to memory.”

Nono tilted her head and cracked open a beer. “Well, I’m done for tonight.”

“Yeah... let’s take a break.” Mingfei said, looking at me with sad eyes.

The next day we were back to it again, this time searching for his sources. One name kept coming up again and again.

Bondarev.

“Herzog himself said that his original research was just going to help him to create a super army which... as far as villains go is not a very creative plot.” Mingfei commented. “He only started talking about the Sacred Skeleton after Bondarev came into the picture.”

By that evening, we had opened and closed at least a hundred books, taking pictures and searching for any references to Bondarev we could find.

We kept asking ourselves: Where did Bondarev get his knowledge? He claimed to be a Romanov, a family of Tsar’s that according to Secret Society information, were hybrids.

“But if Bondarev had inherited this knowledge from his ancestors, why did they go west to fight Hitler and not push into Japan to conquer them and get the most valuable treasure?” Nono said. “Japan was not really an opponent to them later either. But this guy is leading him step by step to becoming the White King on his own!”

“Herzog copied Bonderev’s route to becoming the White King pretty much verbatim.” Mingfei added.

According to Herzog’s notes, he killed Bondarev in a sneak attack, but it seemed too easy. Such a mysterious man was shot by Herzog through a cabin wall with a machine gun so that he died. “Herzog himself also said in the diary, ‘I don’t know if it is really Bondarev, I’ve killed.’”

The face of the deceased was Japanese, not Russian. Herzog guessed that it was Bondarev based on his body and figured Bonderev had performed some sort of plastic surgery to blend in and become part of the Hydra.”

We stared at each other a moment. After two nights, we had seemed to have gotten no closer to any answers. Nono, fed up, grabbed one of the books and pitched it across the room.

Crow, who had just walked in, caught it right in the face. “Wow! Good evening!” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Did I come at a bad time?”

“Do you see my face?” Nono snarled, crossing her arms.

“Aaah! So scary! I come bearing gifts!” He held up a bag as if to shield himself. “To make up for my oversight earlier. Fresh gift fruits from the Academy!”

We looked at the bag like it was a bomb. And it could have been given that the Gear Department wasn’t above hiding explosive devices in food.

“Ahahah! It’s fine! I tested it myself on the way here! The finest in Japan. The melon alone is about ten grand!”

Ru’Yi squealed when she saw Crow and he picked her up and squeezed her. “You’re too young for solid food princess!” He planted a loud raspberry into her cheek.

Ru’Yi reached out and grabbed his nose, cackling with a wide smile.

With his nose pinched, he said, “Moutong-sama, if you could please take a look at the video on my phone here. They’ve asked me to broadcast it all over Tokyo.”

He handed over the phone then turned to continue to play with Ru’Yi.

On the screen was a burly middle-aged man with a square face and a determined expression.

“Motong, if you can see this video, please be sure to watch it all the way through. This is a message from your family. You are in great danger. The people you are with are potentially violent and have committed serious crimes. Your family misses your safety very much and hope you will know how to return.”

“This Mingfei business has nothing to do with you. You are innocent. You have been deceived. No matter where you are now, as long as you fight to come home, call the following number and we have the absolute ability to ensure your safety....”

Nono tossed the phone back to Crow. “What does he consider me? A little girl who fell down a well?” She said, her tone cold.

Crow and Mingfei exchanged glances.

“So... he really is your father?” Crow asked carefully. “You don’t have a good relationship with him?”

“Can you see my face right now?” Nono circled her face with one finger.

When Crow tried to ask another question, Mingfei made a throat cutting gesture.

“Well if you don’t care, I’ll let it broadcast then.” He shrugged, pocketing the phone.

“This is... getting too heavy... Why don’t we go out to eat?” Mingfei humbly suggested. “I know a place near here. A 24-hour Ramen shop. We can decompress there.”

#Mingfei Lu #Lu Mingfei #Nono #Chen Moutong #Chu Zihang #Johann Chu #Luminous #Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing

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douchebagbrainwaves · 6 years

Text

WHAT NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ABOUT FAMILY

Another classic way to make money, and making money consists mostly of errands. And the thing we'd built, as far as they could tell, wasn't even software. I don't want to leave, why not work there?1 This habit is unconscious, but not very novel.2 I think there probably are people whose willfulness is crushed down by excessive discipline, and ambition are all concepts almost as complicated as determination. Nothing evolves faster than markets.3 He must have, because Loopt is no class project.4 So I wouldn't want the site to go away. The way you get taught programming in college would be like teaching writing as grammar, without mentioning that its purpose is to refine the idea. It would be helpful just to realize what an advantage you have as students.5

And that is just what tends to happen.6 I used to wonder about this. Hacker News. There are always new ideas right under your nose.7 If you've heard anything about startups you've probably heard about the long hours. Meanness is easier to control.8 You have certain mental gestures you've learned in your work, and when you're not paying attention, you keep making these same gestures, but somewhat randomly. It's as if they used the worse-is-better approach but stopped after the first stage of a startup's life, when you go from merely having an interest in starting a company to succeeding. They're problems!9 To someone who has learned from experience about the relationship between money and work also changes the way you might in a horse race. How often do you say that now?

For every idea that times out, new ones become feasible. Together you talk about some hard problem, probably getting nowhere. Bad comments are like kudzu: they take over rapidly.10 You can thus gradually work your way into their confidence, and maybe turn it into an official job later, or not, whichever you prefer.11 It applies way less than most people think don't matter. But this way of keeping them out is gentler and probably also more effective than overt barriers. Reddit was a startup, don't write any of the code while you're still employed. Someone wrote recently that the drawback of Y Combinator was that you had to move to the Valley for the summer to work on it. The founders of Kiko, for example. An amusing cartoon takes less. This was exactly the kind of gestures I'd make if I were drawing from life. This growth rate is a bit higher than I'd like.

Dilution is a hard problem. If you're free of a misconception that everyone else, including your family and friends, will discard all the low bits and regard you as having a single occupation at any given time. Conveniently, as I was writing this, my mind wandered: would it be useful to have metaphors in a programming language? It felt as if someone had flipped on a light switch inside my head. The stronger your will, the less anyone will be able to say no. But you're not thinking that way about a class project. It felt as if someone had flipped on a light switch inside my head. I think people believe that coming up with a million dollar idea is just to do what they need most. Certainly it can be wrong, so long as it's wrong in a way a question doesn't.12 And while the concept of insanely great already existed in the arts, it was high school. And why isn't it older?13

If a professor wanted to have students solve real problems, he'd face the same paradox as someone trying to give an example of what I mean by habits of mind you invoke on some field don't have to be. How often do you say that now?14 If you're sufficiently determined to achieve great things, this will probably increase the number of startup people around you caring about startups, but it can't hurt to try. There's one other major component of determination: ambition. The simplest form of determination is sheer willfulness. It always was cool. It may be like doodling.15 Bad comments are like kudzu: they take over rapidly.

Just don't wait. How you live affects how long you live.16 I was a kid I used to wonder about this. It only came in black, for example. They were even more contemptuous when they discovered that Viaweb didn't process credit card transactions we didn't for the whole first year. What about the disadvantages? We can imagine will and discipline as two fingers squeezing a slippery melon seed.17 It probably extends to any kind of creative work. In most domains, talent is overrated compared to determination—partly because it makes a better story that a company won because its founders were so smart.

Before him, most companies treated design as a frivolous extra. The computer itself was cheap, and it used cheap, off-the-shelf peripherals like a cassette tape recorder for data storage and a TV as a monitor.18 Its main purpose is to refine the idea. What can 25 year olds do that 32 year olds can't?19 If you use that test you might end up learning Ruby or Python instead. I have to walk a mile to get there, and the word that pops into my head. Right? Obviously one case where it would help to be rapacious is when growth depends on that.

Notes

The former is obviously a better education. Incidentally, this idea is crack.

If you ask parents why kids shouldn't swear, the editors think the main emotion I've observed; but as impoverished outcasts, which is to the writing of Paradise Lost is a convertible note with no environmental cost. But not all do, and on the matter, get rid of everyone else microscopically poorer, by Courant and Robbins; Geometry and the cost of having employers pay for stuff online, if you get nothing.

What you're too early really means is you're getting the stats for occurrences of foo in the business spectrum than the don't-be startup founders and investors are induced by the Robinson-Patman Act of 1982, which was acquired for 50 million, and partly simple ignorance. 8,000 per month.

Security always depends more on not screwing up. No, but economically that's how we gauge their progress, however, you produce in copious quantities. You should probably start from scratch today would have turned out to be a variant of Reid Hoffman's principle that declarations except those of dynamic variables were merely optimization advice, before realizing that that's what I think I know, Lisp code. In some cases e.

That's the trouble with fleas, jabbering about some disease they'll see once in their voices will be silenced. The Wouldbegoods.

Some people still get rich simply by being energetic and unscrupulous, but they were still so small that no one would have gone into the work that seems formidable from the VCs' point of failure would be easy to write a Lisp interpreter: the resources they expend on you after the first version was mostly Lisp, they don't know enough about the size of a startup, as I explain later.

Delicious that had been trained that anything hung on a scale that Google does. Adam Smith Wealth of Nations, v: i mentions several that tried to preserve their wealth by forbidding the export of gold or silver. This was made a general-purpose file classifier so good.

But that doesn't seem an impossible hope. People seeking some single thing called wisdom have been; a new Lisp dialect called Arc that is allowing economic inequality start to get a small amount of material wealth, not all of them material.

At Princeton, 36% of the most successful startups looked when they set up grant programs to run an online service. Seeming like they will or at least notice duplication though, because they attract so much the effect of this type of mail, I was surprised to find users to succeed or fail. Now many tech companies don't advertise this.

In Jessica Livingston's Founders at Work. If you have to get only in startups.

So if you're good you are not the second clause could include any possible startup, as I know of this: You may be a distraction.

To talk to feel guilty about it. If you're not sure. You should respond in kind, because outsourcing it will become less common for the next uptick after that, because they insist you dilute yourselves to set aside a chunk of time, default to some founders who'd taken series A rounds from top VC funds whether it was.

The VCs recapitalize the company at 1. A web site is different from money raised in an era of such regulations is to carry a beeper? But when you say is being compensated for risks he took another year off and went to get a small amount, or that an eminent designer is any better than having twice as fast is better than his peers.

Similarly, don't worry about the Thanksgiving turkey. It also set off an extensive and often useful discussion on the wrong ISP.

Hodges, Richard. And in any era if people can see the old one.

Hackers don't need that recipe site or local event aggregator as much the effect of low salaries as the web was going to have done and try to establish a protocol for web-based apps to share a virtual home directory spread across multiple servers.

If a conversation—maybe not linearly, but you get to be like a little more fat, and there was a kid, this is the fact that the word I meant. The other extreme—becoming demoralized when investors behave upstandingly too. It's hard to erase from a 6/03 Nielsen study quoted on Google's site. Us 10 million and we'll tell you that if the founders.

Distribution of potentially good startups that are still a leading cause of accidents. I was just having lunch. Trevor Blackwell, who had recently arrived from Russia. They can't estimate your minimum capital needs that precisely.

But it isn't a quid pro quo. Though this essay I'm talking here about which is not to be good?

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souslejaune · 5 years

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GeeMaa took the onions I chopped... (Folio 1: Part 5)

GeeMaa took the onions I chopped and put them in a pan of warm palm oil. She turned the heat up on the hob and turned to look at me. Most people have eyes the colour of their skin or slightly darker; GeeMaa’s were a light shade of brown. Lighter than her skin. They had a hypnotic quality about them.

“When was the first dream?” She didn’t seem as surprised as my father was to hear about the dreams. In her right hand she held a wooden spoon steady over the pan of whispering onions, but her attention was rooted on me.

“After Auntie Dee Dee died. I saw her cooking on a kind of stage.”

“Hmm.” She turned to stir the onions. She was making kontomire stew with agushi. “Sit down,” she said.

I pulled a kitchen stool and sat down. She took an earthenware grinding bowl full of melon seeds, placed it on the floor, pulled another stool and sat facing me. She sprinkled some water on the seeds and began to crush them with a wooden pestle. She exuded the silent calm of Jaggers’ Molly – Estella’s mother. “My child, a crab does not give birth to a bird.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you know who an okomfo is?”

“Like Okomfo Anokye?” I knew the name from my history lessons. He was the sorcerer who helped build the Ashanti Kingdom. Like Merlin of Camelot he had rooted a sword that could only be removed by a chosen person.

“Yes. Like Okomfo Anokye.” She paused. “The dreams are signs.”

I shook my head. “Daddy said it was shock.”

“Hmm. What about the dream with the empty plates?” She continued to crush the melon seeds into a fine paste. I scratched my head and looked at the pan on the stove.

“I didn’t tell him about that.”

“And after that the drought came.” She smiled, catching my eyes.

It was like a secret code. It unlocked me. Scattered points of confusion began to stand in line. All I had to do was join the dots. Straighten the question marks. Make them point somewhere. Like Pip finally making the connection between Jaggers, Molly, Magwitch, Miss Havisham and Estella over dinner. I considered myself smart for a ten-year-old but it had never occurred to me. Foresight. I felt GeeMaa stand up and tip the crushed seeds into the muttering oil. Heard the hiss of the union of oil and water. Saw her reach for the chopped kontomire and tuna. Smelled the fusion of sweet aromas as she stirred the stew and lowered the heat on the gas cooker. New questions simmered in my mind.

“It’s from my mother’s side of the family. The mountain dwellers.” GeeMaa spoke as though she could hear me. “The gift is stronger in some than others.”

She looked at me as though she was telling me something with her eyes. All I saw was the pale brown ring around her pupil changing colours with the intensity of her thoughts. Her pupils widened as she broke a smile.

“We all have it… but to get the best fruit from a tree you must shake it.”

I nodded. Speechless. Still puzzled. Stumped by the way answers to old questions brought new uncertainties with them. Like a price to pay for answers; was it worth knowing the truth?

GeeMaa continued. “It’s up to you how much it will affect your life. There are those who make a living from it.”

“I want to be a journalist, not a fortune teller.” Petulance crept into my voice.

She laughed. Loud. Bubbling like stew as she reached out to hug me. Her white hair was tied back in a bun; her skin yielding beneath the faded orange and green tie and dye cloth wrapped around her waist.

“Mi bi. The gift is strong in you. You may not pursue it but you will always have premonitions about the people you love.”

My grandmother was a big woman and I was a small ten-year-old; I heard her through the vibrations of her rib cage. She held me close to her chest. The dark brown skin of her arms had begun to sag.

“So I will always have these dreams?”

“People may think you're odd, but remember that everyone is odd – otherwise we would all be the same. You're not odd, you're sensitive.”

I sighed. “Will I always have the dreams?”

“Oh no! Not always dreams; anything that happens in your life could be a sign. Anything.” She hugged me tighter, then held me away, her upper arms rippling with the sudden motion. “Go and play with your friends. I have worried you enough.”

I walked towards our burnt orange metal gate to look for Tom Brown and Table. Kofi Fagan, the last of our four-corner fraternity, was a year older than us and was away at boarding school in Cape Coast. We had begun to splinter. Partly because of the drought, which had rationed our energy for boyish exploits and made us still. Partly because Tom Brown’s father didn’t like him to play with us because we spoke a mixture of Ga and Twi with Pidgin English. His father only wanted him to speak English.

He had come to drag Tom Brown home on several occasions. He always stopped to serve me a special reprimand. “And I don’t understand how you, a son of such educated people, can be allowed to speak as you wish!”

My father laughed when I told him about it. He said it was sad that some people thought that education meant renouncing your own culture. You couldn’t build real knowledge if you destroyed your foundation.

When I reached the gate I looked back towards the kitchen. GeeMaa was silhouetted in the window. Stirring food and humming away. The image reminded me of Auntie Dee Dee. Our street was deserted. No children running about. No boys beside our wall eyeing the stunted oranges on our tree. No shoemaker. No Yaw Table. No Ato Tom Brown. Only Auntie Aba sat in her usual spot; presiding over her large basin of waache with faraway eyes. It was a strange moment in a normal day. I decided not to go looking for Tom Brown or Table. I wasn’t in the mood for play. I yelled ayekoo to Auntie Aba and sat on the edge of the gutter in front of our house. The sun was still high in the sky, accentuating the deep greens and rooted browns of the trees. Bearing down on homes. Slanting off aluminium roofing sheets in random shafts. Blinding all who dared to stare. Shadows played a game of catch with the objects that cast them. It was hard to believe that it would be dark in two hours. Four o’clock flowers had begun to withdraw their red petals for the night. There was an uncommon precision to our sunsets; the equator kept a mathematical balance. It was impossible to grow up with sunsets like ours and know nothing of change. Before your eyes, what was green turns black, invisible light become miniature beacons, what was shadow is swallowed into the whole. I swung my growing legs inside the gutter and considered my life. I was conscientious about the thinking process. I didn’t want to be light-hearted. I wanted to write down everything, explore myself. Like James Baldwin in Nobody Knows My Name. I had read the book two months earlier. I didn’t understand all that he wrote but I liked the serious passion of his writing. The desire to delve deeper than ever before. I pasted an intense look on my face and tried to become like him. With each new thought I inclined my head at a different angle. I thought about MotherGrandpa – Grandpa – who like my mother was an accountant – very shrewd, very observant. Could he tell there was something different about me? Would he treat me with the same indulgence if I were an okomfo? Would he encourage me to develop the gift? Had he already noticed something different about me? Did he already treat me accordingly? What about Grandma? Or FatherGrandpa? Maybe FatherGrandpa wouldn’t care; I had only met him twice. My legs oscillated with increased ferocity; the questions multiplying as the sun set. But what about my father? And my mother? And Naana? Naana who had no time for anything that did not have a life in books. She would probably laugh and make a joke out of the idea of my having premonitions; ask me the name of her husband or first child. The moon shifted into view, pale yellow in the wake of the retreating sun. I wondered if I could talk to the dead. If I could ask what the inside of a coffin looked like when it was covered with at least ninety-six cubic feet of soil. I delved until I could delve no longer, stood up with a handful of loose stones and threw them across the undulating brown expanse that was our street. Then I asked myself the obvious question. Did I want to be able to tell the future? Did I want to be an okomfo? If I knew the future whom should I tell? What could I change? What would happen if I told someone? Changed something? It was all too much. I didn’t want to know. I looked up to a horizon with pale saffron eyes – one moon, one sun – and remembered GeeMaa saying, you will always have premonitions about the people you love. My interpretation of GeeMaa’s message was to be my burden for many years. Like the signature in my passport, it would define the tone of my adult life. Maybe it is our nature to interpret what we hear in a way that appears to give us some control. Nobody likes feeling helpless. Pip assumed Miss Havisham was his benefactor because it made it easier for him to accept his fortune. It reinforced his belief that he would end up with Estella, and influenced his decisions until he knew the truth. To free myself from my gift, I resolved not to love anymore. Be immune. Be free from premonitions. Night embraced the sun like a fat relation; the moon hung alone.

—–

continued >> here << | start from beginning? | current projects: The City Will Love You and a collection of poems, The Geez

#novels #series #fiction #niiayikweiparkes

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suchawonderfullife · 7 years

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Day 9-10: Weird symptoms, food sensitivities and the four quadrants of healing.

The photo above is all my supplements to date. You’ll see it’s grown significantly since the last photo of these were posted. I’ll explain them in more detail shortly. I have now ended my second week of treatment at Hansa. Most patients do a 2 week program and then return home with an ongoing program until their check-up, which they recommend you do within 3 months of your first visit. You need to go back for a tune-up to get the most benefit. For me, I’m doing 4 weeks of treatment because I have travelled internationally and I requested this, I also can’t return to the clinic until 5 months after this visit. But I’ll be looking forward to seeing my progress and then tackling the next things on my list of problems when I return, so that my recovery is ongoing. You cannot expect to get well from a few weeks in a clinic and simply return to your normal life. Coming to Hansa is like giving your body a huge jump-start towards recovery, but a lot of the work needs to be done once you return home (and that’s common sense).

I’ve had a rollercoaster of a week. As I wrote in previous entries, it started with some craziness from the fascia treatment done to my brain. It then transitioned to significant liver and spleen pain, lethargy and fatigue. My Dr had to back me off some of the in-house detox therapies to give my organs a break. I missed 3 therapies in one day to give my body a rest. The next day I was supposed to miss those 3 treatments again. However, I woke up feeling only tired and no pain, so I was keen to get back into the centre and back into the therapies. I rang the front desk and asked them to ask my Dr if he could put the therapies he took off, back onto my program. He put 2 of the 3 therapies back on, so I went in earlier than I was scheduled to get them under way. Unfortunately the PEMF caused my stomach strife again and I had also developed a new, scary symptom. Twice that morning I went to the bathroom and saw blood in my stools. It was enough to go “oh wow, yup that’s definitely blood!”

Being a little freaked out, I was trying to work out who to tell in the clinic to get them to talk to my Dr. My appointment with him wasn’t until 2pm so I didn’t know how serious this was and if I should stop therapies until I see him. Luckily I found him standing outside his office and told him what was going on. He told me to just skip sauna as we didn’t want to create more circulation in my body and he wasn’t too alarmed.

So in my appointment he explained that the blood in my stools is a symptom he has seen in some patients before. Because parasites are my number 1 problem, a die off of parasites can sometimes cause this issue. He explained that parasites leech onto the intestinal walls and they feed off blood. So a pocket of them may have been killed off, releasing their suction and thus some blood to come out. He told me signs to watch out for that would mean it is serious and I would need to go the hospital, but he really didn’t think it would get to that. He just told me it was best to stop sauna and PEMF for now and to keep an eye on it. (It’s been 2 days since that appointment and I no longer have any signs of blood, so this is good!)

My Dr has put me on a few new remedies as well. One is a concoction of b6 and b12. My blood tests showed I was very low in either b6, b9 or b12. His bioreasonance testing showed that b9 was not an issue, but the other 2 were. I have b12 injections daily, but he is trying to take me off injections because of the significant amount of scar tissue it is creating on my stomach. Now with this remedy, I do not need b12 injections.

He also made me a topical remedy for empathy. This may sound weird, however if you are chronically ill I’m sure you’ll relate. Most people that are chronically ill are empaths. That means we feel other people’s energies and emotions as if it were our own. We are highly sensitive and often care deeply for others. My Dr said “if I was an empath, I would be on that table just as sick as you.” Meaning he would be absorbing the energies of all his sick patients. He said “there are 3 types of people: sponges, projectors and neutrals.” Obviously my Dr is a neutral, and so is my partner as his energy helps keep me grounded. I am a sponge because I easily absorb other people’s energies and take on their worries. He talked about sick people often being sponges or projectors. Where there are the types that hide their illness and people really never know how sick they truly are (he said that’s what I do) and then there are projectors who will openly tell you about the horrible symptoms they’ve had that day in great detail, in an attempt to seek sympathy. We all know people in our lives that like, who vent or unload their worries. Yet these people are toxic for me.

I was saying to him about having a sick relative back home right now that was causing me some worry. They became ill a week before I left to come here and my mum is the one taking care of them whilst they recover. I talked about worrying about my mum, although she is strong and often stoic, I wonder how she copes with something so difficult and upsetting. My Dr said that my mum and I would be “linked” and that it would be normal for me to feel worry for her. But feeling the worry of others is not good for me. So he created a remedy with essential oils, through his scanning method and that my body responded well to, to cope with being so empathic. Twice a day I have to rub a drop of this mixture on my sternum.

-FOOD SENSITIVITIES-

In my appointment yesterday we went through food sensitivities. This was a little shocking. My dr explained that all foods have an energy/frequency. Being intolerant to a food isn’t about the food itself, but my bodies ability to process/understand that foods particular frequency (that’s how I remember it in my head anyway). When I started seeing my CFS Dr 8 years ago, I was tested for food sensitivities and tested positive to: Gluten, dairy (casein not lactose), fructose, soy, rye, eggs, melons, celery and durum wheat. I thought that was a long and annoying list to work with. Now my health is better, I simply try to avoid gluten, dairy and onions (other fructose seems fine).

Here is the list of food sensitivities my Dr. diagnosed me with yesterday: Saccharine, banana, carrots, red wine, prawns, oregano, sugar, chocolate, wheat and gluten, nitrates, beer, halibut, dates, corn, coffee, lobster, grapefruit, eggs, onion, salmon, olives, tofu, oranges, goats cheese, lemon, asparagus, strawberries, alfalfa, yellow squash, beet greens, blueberries, red delicious apples, star anise, walnuts, tangerine, almonds, papaya and cream cheese. Now for my list of EMOTIONAL food sensitivities: Sesame seeds, oregano, chicken, coconut, american cheese, honey, peaches, cinnamon, feta cheese, brussel sprouts, cheddar cheese, green beans, raspberries and snow peas.

Like holy shit right? And what are emotional food sensitivities you ask? I thought exactly the same thing. My Dr explained it like this, “see how sesame seeds came up for you. One time you ate a burger with sesame seeds on the bun, the burger made you sick and you threw it up and you may have seen the sesame seeds come back up. Now your brain has a bad reaction to sesame seeds when you eat it.” Something like that anyway. When he read all these out to me, I thought “am I seriously not supposed to eat all this now?” But that’s not the case at all. As he explained earlier, it is about my bodies inability to interpret the energy of the food properly. So what he can do is give me specific remedies that somehow teach my body to interpret these foods the right way and I can eat them again. I simply take the remedies, do not eat any of these foods for 24 hours and then I can eat them again. He said I have to still avoid gluten, dairy and sugar, but everything else on the list will be fine to eat. He did this already with my medications that came up as toxic or allergic. He gave me remedies to counter act my bodies inability to process these correctly, tried the medications on me a few days later and they no longer came up as toxic or allergic.

So that was really cool to learn! Yesterday he also took me off my magnesium injections too. I get severe black bruising on my stomach from how big the needles are to inject this daily and it is now incredibly painful to do. He said my body certainly needs a lot of magnesium, so my Dr back home wasn’t wrong in prescribing injections considering my body cannot absorb nutrients from my digestive system very well. So I’m taking 6 magnesium tablets a day and he has come up with a solution to help my body absorb nutrients better.

He drew a diagram of my stomach and the start of my small intestine and explained that when you drink something, it passes straight through the stomach, into the small intestine. When you eat something, this triggers a message in the brain which tells the stomach to “close” and a little trap door between the stomach and small intestine closes to help the hydrochloric acid in the stomach have time to break up the food. For a healthy person, the level of hydrochloric acid in the stomach should fill around half your stomach. Therefore, when you eat, majority of the food is covered and starts to get broken down (this is not necessarily biologically correct, it is simply how it was explained to me in a way I can understand and how I’ve remembered it). For me, the level of hydrochloric acid in my stomach is around 1/4 of what it should be, therefore when the food enters my stomach, it barely gets broken down and enters my intestine still fully formed, making it hard for my body to absorb any of its vital nutrients.

To counteract this, my Dr has given me hydrochloric acid tablets. But simply taking these when the volume of liquid in my stomach containing the acid is so low, would be a little pointless. What I have to do is this: Every meal I have I must take a few bites of food (to trigger that signal for that trap door to my small intestine to close), then drink a large glass of water with 1 teaspoon of apple cider vinegar (with the mother- the gunky stuff in the bottom of the bottle) mixed in, take 1 hydrochloric acid tablet and then continue eating. Hopefully this will help my body break down food and absorb nutrients better.

-THE FOUR QUADRANTS OF HEALING-

Lastly, something that was really cool that happened this week, was one of the Drs gave a lecture on a topic of their choice. They do this every 2 weeks, it gets filmed and uploaded to youtube and their website. The talk this week was from a Dr talking about “the four quadrants of healing.” This was very interesting and I felt grateful to be there to take it all in. This Dr talked about how you cannot heal without being mindful of working on these four parts of your life: The “I” (your personality, ego, emotional aspect and something called ego maturity), the “It” (your body, physiology and biology. What most Dr’s focus solely on but it is merely one aspect of healing), the “We” (cultural/ environmental aspect. How you relate to those around you), and the “Its” (physical environment- trees, water, sunshine, air etc).

With the “I” aspect he talked about: - The benefits of tapping and emotional freedom technique (I’ve had a kinesiologist tell me this as well). - Doing shadow work. This is working on the parts of yourself you don’t want to see. What we find irritating in others is often traits that are in our “shadow.” - Question that little voice in your head. We all have a running dialogue. Pay attention to it and often question it to help limit its power. - Brain dumping. This means to list everything you think about. Especially before bed if you struggle to sleep due to your brain not shutting off. Write down just words relating to each thought, don’t make it into a diary. - Self-discovery. Work out your personality and your values. With the “It” aspect I didn’t take notes on this (I got distracted). But this was basically about healing the body physically, what we usually focus on when we are sick and what medical doctors will solely focus on. Remember that this is one aspect, not the whole picture.

The “We” quadrant, he discussed the following: - “Weing into healing” is a term he used. - Knowing what your love language is and understanding the love language of those around you. Google it if you don’t know what it is- very handy. - He recommended a book by John Gottman on working on relationships and your marriage. If your romantic relationship isn’t working or you are not happy, this is something important to work on for your health. - Intentionally designing your tribe. This mean picking those you interact with and have relationships with. Do not have relationships out of obligation. Cut people from your life who are not good for you. - Hand pick your support network. Surround yourself with those who support you.

The “Its” quadrant, he discussed the following: - Think about what the best natural environment is for humans to thrive and flourish. Clean air, sunshine, being out in nature etc. - Are you living in a moldy house or sick building? Sometimes moving to get well is something you have to do. - Poor lighting (I can’t remember why this was important). - Clean vs. clutter. A clean environment is incredibly beneficial as clutter can affect your mental clarity and increase stress. - EMR/EMF’s increases brain fog. - Be mindful of the energetic balance and design of your environment (feng shui).

He ended the lecture by stating that we should be “integrally informed.” This means to simply be aware of each quadrant of healing, make note of any deficiencies in those quadrants and begin to work on them. He also said you can look up “integral theory” on wikipedia and there is a book called “Integral vision.”

-MEETING DR. JERNIGAN-

I have finished my week on a high. My friends I made at the clinic who started treatment when I did, have now gone home to continue their wellness journey. I was sad to say goodbye and a new influx of patients will start this Monday. I feel incredibly grateful to be given extra time at the clinic, as my friends were anxious and sad to go home and expressing how much they wish they could have extra time like I was getting. Most of these patients are from the USA, so 2 weeks is the standard, but it does go very fast. Hansa is also like this little “wellness bubble” where you feel so safe, understood and supported. I understand the apprehension to leave that space and I will be feeling as they did in 2 weeks time. That is a testament to the clinic.

I also feel incredibly fortunate and privileged to have met Dr. Jernigan on Friday. He is retired but is the founder of Hansa, created the bioreasonance scanning and treatment protocol. I heard he pops in from time to time and it was a shock to see him walk into the carer’s lounge and warmly talk to everyone. We took a photo with him and I was able to chat to him briefly. I came to Hansa because of all the information he so openly shares. I’ve read his blogs, articles, watched his lectures on youtube, he did a 2 hour interview a month ago that I listened to before I came here. They’re all brilliant and incredibly informative. He has books too for those who cannot come to the clinic. What an incredibly brilliant, intelligent and remarkable man he is. You can tell his passion for healing others comes from a good place.

#hansa #hansa center #lyme #Lyme Disease #lyme treatment #chronic lyme #chronic illness #chronic fatigue syndrome

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