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fragrantpines · 1 month

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One part ginger, one part ginseng root, two part wolfberries

Those were the ingredients Tusu Elixir used to cure the headache of the villagers.

It was a simple remedy that any old doctor would have been able to make up, yet being able to see the light in their eyes slowly return back was a type of happiness that he quietly indulged in. Although his usual comments about people not taking care of their health were as snide as ever, observant patients would always notice how he seemed very pleased whenever he was able to cure a patient, regardless of what ailment they had been inflicted with.

One part spring water, two parts daisies, three parts freshly bloomed plum blossoms

It was supposed to be an easy to make medicine. However, the cold winter breeze that knocked against his window taunted him, whispering about how this little girl was going to die in front of his eyes if he didn't do anything.

"Please doctor, you have to save her!"

The begging eyes of the single mother tore his heart apart.

That night, the mother and daughter duo reunite happily, thanking the doctor profusely for bringing the little girl back the life. The doctor listened to everything they had to say before shooing them away, telling them to get out of his sight which they happily did.

The moment they left, the doctor locked the doors before looking down at his feet, a heavy sigh exhaled from his lips as he watches his feet fade in and out of existence.

Ah well, all well ends well.

Two parts parsley, two parts mushrooms, mix it all together in a bowl with freshly brewed wine

That was the "medicine" he forced himself to drink to regenerate his energy every so often.

Rumours of a doctor that could revive the dead spread like wildfire while the wine that brought him to existence was slowly becoming a forgotten tradition of the past.

By the time he was found by you, it was obvious that he was already on the brink of death. His pale skin looked ghostly underneath the candlelight, while his frail body was supported by a wheelchair that was covered with various medicinal herbs and flowers, blooming healthily in contrast to the sickly food soul who summoned them.

Although his words were akin to poisonous needles, that didn't stop you from noticing the blanket that covered his legs; and in a moment of impulse, you grabbed it and lifted it up.

"......."

At that moment, a heavy silence befell onto the both of you.

"Who did this to you?"

Your hands shook as you reached out to touch his legs-- at least, where his legs should have been. However, there was nothing to imply its existence except for its shadow that faded in and out of existence, following the movements of his upper body that froze the moment you lifted the blanket off his legs.

Instantly, the man slapped your hand away, glaring down at you.

"It's none of your business."

Who he wanted to save was his problem, and the price he had to pay was his burden to shoulder. So, don't bother him nor try to stop him.

It was for your own good.

One part wisteria, two parts tea leaves, then mix them all in a special bowl that contains....

Your eyes narrowed so hard that they became the size of twigs. No matter how hard you squinted, you weren't able to tell what the last part of the recipe was.

"Don't squint so hard or else you'll be walking around with a pair of windows in front of your eyes. You're not smart enough to pull off that look."

Tusu Elixir not-so-gently dropped a book on top of your head, making you wince before you turned around and pouted. "It's not my fault that Shifu has such bad handwriting. If I wasn't your disciple, I doubt anyone else would be able to read past the first sentence!"

The man furrowed his brows. He rests his elbow on his wheelchair's arm before resting his chin on top of his palm, staring at your face with an irritated look. "Is that so? Well, if you had just paid attention to my lessons while I was teaching you, you wouldn't need to refer to these books at all. So instead of blaming me for your incompetence, how about you stop staying up so late at night and go to bed early so that your lazy brain can absorb more knowledge in the morning."

Before you could protest, he turned his wheelchair around and wheeled his way to the opposite side of the room, ignoring your pleas and cries for help.

After coming to Kongsang, his days had been relatively peaceful. Its power helped stabilise his condition while its fertile soil helped him grow various medical herbs that were hard to obtain in Qingqiu. Since he was also an established doctor, he was able to open a clinic without any problem and had been seeing patients in and out every day just like he used to. The only difference from the past compared to the present was--

"Shifu!!"

The sudden yell snapped him out of memory lane, causing him to whip his head around instantly in the direction of your voice. In his haste, he didn't hear how close your voice was, leading to your faces being so close that your noses would brush against each other if any of you made the slightest of movements.

Ba dump

It was only for a brief second, yet it felt like an eternity to Tusu.

For once, the doctor was rendered speechless, incapable of retorting back any snarky words or comebacks. Instead he sat there as still as a statue, wishing to prolong this moment for as long as he could.

Unfortunately, that wish was shattered the instant you pulled away, putting as much distance between the two of you as you could while apologising in a frantic voice.

"I-I'm sorry, shifu! I just wanted to ask you about this other recipe, but then you just looked so entranced in your writing that I didn't know how else to pull your attention away so--"

You rambled on and on, droning off about some excuses that Tusu could easily refute against-- except he didn't because he was too busy trying to slow down his heart that wouldn't listen to his commands to stop beating so loudly.

Sometimes, he wondered why he agreed to take you as his disciple. Was it out of pity? An act of kindness? A way to keep you by his side longer even though he was so eager to push you away in the past?

Even now, he wasn't sure of the answer. However, whenever the time came for you to leave his clinic (to leave him), there was always one thought that never failed to cross his mind.

When were you coming back?

Two parts fresh snow, three parts ice, all encased inside a bottle that held the air of the coldest winter.

His heart stopped the moment he heard the news.

"Let me see them."

Yangzhou hesitated before shaking his head. "You mustn't, Doctor Tusu. You've used too much of your soul energy trying to heal us. The young master is already being taken care of by Doctor Dumpling, so as soon as you are fit, you'll be able to go see them again."

Tusu gritted his teeth. "It seems that you didn't hear me. I said, Let. Me. See. Them."

Yangzhou bit his lips, taking a glance at the opened window inside of the room before slowly shaking his head again. "The young master was the one who told me to keep you in place if something were to ever happen to them, so--"

"Hah! So that fool already knew what they were doing, what a joke!"

Tusu laughed bitterly, slamming his hand so hard against his wheelchair that veins popped up underneath his skin.

How laughable was it for him to react this way? He would always talk about how taking you under his wing was more trouble than it was worth but as the days went by, your presence in his life became irreplaceable, something that he wished to keep longer by his side without knowing why he longedfor it so desperately.

Now, as his mind turned into a blank, his thoughts shifted to the scene of the battlefield; all the food souls bravely fighting on the front lines while he was in charge of keeping them alive at the back. Out of nowhere, a corrupted food soul came from behind and threw a corrupted blade at him aimed at his heart. By the time he noticed, it was already too late, you were standing in front of him with the blade through your arm.

It was fine, it was fine, it was fine–except it wasn't because the corruption turned out to be extremely poisonous to mortals. Although you were part god, you were still human which meant that you were still vulnerable to this poison. The sole cure to the poison was effective only on food souls so your chances of survival were slim, so slim that all the stars could fall from the sky before you had a chance of survival.

There wasn't enough time, he had to see you now but the resolve in Yangzhou’s gaze told him that he was determined to see through your orders to the bitter end.

Earlier, if he had seen the enemy beforehand, none of this would have happened. If he hadn't exerted himself on spot, he would be well enough to look after you right now. If he had healthy legs, he would be strong enough to push the man away and rush to your side.

Past regrets were the present self's worst enemy. That couldn't be more true as he watched Yangzhou leave the room before standing right outside as a guard.

If only he had the ability to pull down all the stars for you.

Three months of autumn, two weeks of quarantine and one day of visit.

.... Alas, the stars had yet to fall on the night of your passing.

Two parts sunshine collected during the brightest hour of the day, two parts starlight taken from a newly born star, mixed together with water drawn from the Huang Chuan river.

No, it still wasn't good enough.

Perhaps substituting the water with flames from a newly reincarnated phoenix would work better? But there was a chance that the concoction would explode on use, damaging your well-preserved body lying on the bed as silent as stone.

Maybe using bamboo water collected during the moment of sunrise would help balance it out, but that meant that it wouldn't be strong enough to call back your soul from the underworld.

Were you still in the underworld, waiting in line to drink Meng Po's soup or had you already been reincarnated during the year he used to preserve your body in such a perfect condition?

Something that felt like a sneer escaped past his lips but he was too exhausted to acknowledge it. Instead, he rolled his wheelchair up to the side of the bed and gazed at your face, murmuring under his breath.

"Wake up. You've been sleeping for so long that the god of food had to come back to take over Kongsang."

"He wasn't pleased when he learnt of what happened to you. In fact, he was furious and nearly went to war to avenge your death, but that's to be expected. No parent would ever want their child to die before them, especially in such a cruel way."

"You're a fool to think that sleeping for so long means that you're free from practice. There is so much you still have to learn so don't think of slacking off now. If you wake up now then I might be generous enough to let you off tomorrow."

"Okay, I'll allow you to sleep in for another hour every morning. That should be enough time for you to pull your ditzy head out of the clouds."

"Don't get greedy. I won’t negotiate past an hour. Now open up your eyes or forget about calling yourself my disciple ever again."

"......."

"That was a lie. You're the first and only disciple I'll ever take under my wing. All those times I told you to stay back were excuses for me to keep you by my side longer. You were improving at such a rapid pace that I was scared that you would leave me soon so I purposefully went harsher on you to keep you from improving any quicker."

"I'll admit it. I love you. I loved you the moment you reached your hand out to me. I love so deeply that there’s no curing me, just like how there is no cure that could bring you back to my side again."

"So, wait for me, okay? I'll be joining you soon. Don't you dare to cross over before I find you again, stupid disciple."

#the tale of food #the tale of food x reader #▪︎ writings #tale of food #tale of food x reader #tusu elixir #HI to anyone who saw this post before i reedited it: no you didn't #I forgot I had this lying around in my drafts till I was trying to complete requests so I polished it up and here it is now #warning: do not try to make any of the prescriptions in this fic #they are all completely made up and would not pass as real chinese medicine #i'm sorry to everyone who opened the full post thinking there was more fluff #in this kongsang there is only pain and even more pain #still hope you can enjoy it（？）#tusu elixir x reader #ttof #ttof x reader

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veiledsilver · 3 years

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I had this vividly realistic dream that made me lose my marbles because of how intriguing it was, and now I kind of want to draw it out...

So, it was a historical fantasy taking place in Ancient Korea, and the old king had died so his son ascended to the throne. As per tradition, he had to take multiple consorts for political reasons, but he was like “I refuse! I want to stay loyal to my beloved wife. Give my younger sister the harem instead!” So all the countries that wanted to make alliances had to send their sons instead of their daughters.

There was a hilarious scene where the rulers were all freaking out about this development, like “I don’t want to send my son away, but I’m also too homophobic to send my daughter... FINE! Take your male consort and go!” (Homophobia isn’t funny but the way they acted was hysterical).

Here’s my rambling nonsense about the harem members below

Korea used to be divided into three rivalling kingdoms, so there were two princes from the other kingdoms (Baekje and Goguryeo), one from China, one from Japan, and for some reason... one from, like, a generic European country? Everyone thought the European prince was some kind of weird, exotic commodity with his blond hair and icy-blue eyes, but he was just scared out of his mind.

It was clear that the white boy was the least prepared out of all of them. I don’t think he knew about the arrangement until he was already out of the continent- everyone else was familiar with the language and culture, because they were either neighbors or Korean themselves, but he was starting completely from scratch. He could barely speak the language and introduced himself in the third person, like “I, Prince Henry... is happy to being... your malewife-servant?”

The court laughed at him, but he mentally coped with the situation by throwing himself into learning the language. He knew the princess wouldn’t spend the first night with him, so he pantomimed his request for paper and ink, and locked himself in his room until he learned the hangul alphabet and could write his name (헨리, Henli).

The Chinese consort knew some English but refused to help him (gee, I wonder why /s). He was the most unhappy about being part of a harem, mostly because he was raised with Confucian values and thought it was ok for men to have multiple wives, but women having multiple husbands was creepy and unnatural.* He was like “if I will be your consort, let me be the only one.”

(*Chinese mutuals, please tell me if this is offensive and racist, because I have a suspicion that it really is. I learned about China through a very Western lens and don’t want to make him a misogynist.)

This was the route where the love interest was kind of arrogant and self-centered, and I... really... don’t know how to handle men like that. But he also genuinely wanted to know more about Korean culture, which was nice, and he had a scene where he saved mc but aggressively passed it off as “preserving his honor”- you know, like a tsundere.

The prince from Goguryeo also had an introductory scene where he saved mc, by snatching a speeding arrow aimed for her right out of the sky. He was supposed to take over as the head of the army, with his twin sister as the consort sent to the Silla kingdom, but now they were forced to switch roles at the last minute, and he was dressed in lavish clothes and presented to the royal family.

His sister thrived as the military leader because she was calculating and cunning, but he was out of his element- this cold, distant, closed-off soldier had to learn to act charming and appealing in order to survive. The attendants were like “you apply the skin cream to cover blemishes, like this!” and he nodded solemnly like “I see. Tactical camouflage to lower the target's guard.”

The prince from Baekje had the opposite problem- he was incredibly flirty and outgoing, so he was the court’s favorite malewife, but he was also thin and delicate with no muscles, and the least physically capable of them all. I guess he was secretly scheming about rising to the top as the best consort despite that, and played up his “fragile beauty” to get what he wanted.

His kingdom is historically a great naval power, responsible for a lot of cultural diffusion, especially from Korea to Japan, and so he knew the Japanese consort already. And when he passed him by in the hallway, his charismatic facade dropped, and he was all mocking like “oh, waka-sama~ don’t let the Princess of Silla see your real face~!” and laughed, and the other prince turned pale and fled.

The princess picked the Japanese consort to spend the night with first, probably to shock the court, and fear flashed across his face but he covered it up fast. I was sure he had some dark secret, and I was right- when he was alone in his quarters, there was a huge burn scar twisting across his face that wasn’t there before. He was agonizing over it and cursed his father (the emperor), because revealing it would be considered a deadly insult.

Then there was a flashback in Japan (likely the Asuka period) where the court physician was kneeling before him like “my lord, you must know that your condition must be kept a secret. Drink this, once per day, and you should be able to... save face... with the Silla princess. But no more than once per day!" and gave him a vial of dark blue medicine.

Now, he’d already taken the medicine to meet with the princess earlier that morning, and it had already worn off. But she was going to see him again, so, heart racing, he took a deep breath and downed it again. His veins bulged in a gross way, but then went back to normal, and the scar started receding. When she opened the door to his quarters, it was completely gone, and he was like “hey :)”

All they did was spend the night talking to each other, and he assured her he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want, and they had a nice conversation where they got to know more about each other and the differences in their cultures. At the end, she asked to kiss him, and he was like “yeah! I’m your consort, you can do anything you want” and she was surprised at how soft and smooth his skin was.

He was just relieved that things went well, and there were no consequences for taking the suspicious blue medicine twice, except that it tasted foul. But then the colors inverted, and he started shaking uncontrollably, and he had to grip the table to stop himself from falling over. The veins and scar were back with a vengeance.

The dream ended there, and I woke up in a cold sweat.

#long post #I'd play this otome #once ap exams are over I might draw them all #dream journal

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abybweisse · 3 years

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Ch172, Let’s look at Lau again, too

⚠️ Very long post!

What is he up to?!

I mean, yeah. He’s the Jester archetype, so I shouldn’t be too surprised, but it’s nerve-wracking, all the same.

His main gimmick is saying deep, dark, knowledgeable things (which are probably not a joke at all)... and then giving a well-timed pause... to then play the fool who knows nothing. I could give so many examples, but if you read the manga, you already know exactly what I’m talking about. He’s pulled that running gag almost half a dozen times by now.

I think he’s drawing from his own private experiences, mostly, it’s just that they fit so well with what’s going on, in that moment, that it’s unnerving to our earl, Sebastian, and anyone else present to hear it. Then it hits hard that he apparently doesn’t know what’s going on in the here and now. But the reader gets the distinct impression that he has had terrible experiences that parallel our earl’s enough and that he might also know way more about what’s going on than he pretends. His words might be entirely about himself, and he might be oblivious to the subject at hand. But I don’t think so. He’s pretty damn observant for someone who keeps his eyes closed most of the time. Plus, he’s an informant.

He couldn’t give our earl warnings about Haku and Owl, if he didn’t pay close attention to current events. And he acts hella-fast on the information he has. Somehow gets word about Haku’s assassination plans and has some knowledge about Owl? Sends a warning (by letter) while en route by ship so fast that it arrives at Phantomhive Manor before he can even make landfall in England. Finds out the truth about Mina and Harold? Sends Ran-Mao after them. Knows the Yard is after our earl and company? Locates them almost immediately and shows up in time to thwart the Yard’s manhunt. If Ran-Mao is his “cat”, then who TF are his “little birdies”? 🤨 Seriously, who are his own informants? Who are his messengers? Who needs Claude when you’ve got Lau in the center of his own web? It will be very interesting to learn (if we ever do) the extent of that network. Is it spies all over the place? Is it a handful of trusted people, like the girls at his opium den? Is it... just Ran-Mao? 🤷🏻‍♀️

But this all just makes him fit the Jester archetype even more, because that character is often burdened with extensive and heavy knowledge, and this behavior is a lighthearted way to portion out that knowledge or serious observations to other characters, as well as to the reader. This role gives them an easier way to break the fourth wall, for example. Though I haven’t noticed any examples of him doing that. This is also the archetype that needs to be entertained, otherwise they will lose interest and get bored. We know Lau has even told our earl how he’s motivated to stick around as long as it’s interesting and entertaining for him.

Similarly, Lau has done some hella scary and intimidating things... and then made light of them. Does it even matter to him whether Sebastian can survive the swords through the wardrobe “trick”? Either he knows Sebastian isn’t human and will be okay... or he doesn’t know and doesn’t particularly care. Are Harold West and Mina actually alive or dead? Acupuncture needles used as weapons and kept in your sleeves... are still weapons. He’s probably never even used them for medical purposes. There is a wild recklessness and ruthlessness about him, and the only times I’ve seen him so much as flinch are: 1. When he goes to Undertaker’s funeral parlor. Because Undertaker is scary even when he’s serving tea and offering biscuits... and 2. When Ada and her staff bust in with hazmat suits and spray Lau and Bard down with sanitizers. And strip them bare. And shave... everything. ✨ This is when you know he’s actually surprised.

I know the post is already long, but now it’s time to talk about what he’s doing in ch172. I’m breaking down every panel I noticed him in.

Why Chang, other than the fact it’s another common Chinese name?

This is a good excuse for when the staff finds his acupuncture needles, since I’m sure he brought them with him. Idk if they will return them to him. Possibly, even though he won’t be assigned to treat “Mr. Burgh”. We will have to see who calls him out on his tattoos and when. Someone might decide it’s best to hold onto his “Chinese medicine” supplies.

Qigong.

He can think on the spot, since they didn’t expect to be separated like this.

Bringing “Mr. Burgh’s” family’s wishes into this is a smart idea.

But then he does THIS. 🤦🏻‍♀️ I cannot imagine Lau saying this without realizing what he’s saying.

And he starts to walk out, instead of backing up his previous excuse that he needs to stay because of his client’s sensitivity and his family’s “strong request”.

Where was he going to go, once he got out the door? Sit in the waiting room... snoop around (good luck!)... leave the facility?

The feathers are a bit campy, but it does emphasize the “softness” of the interaction, even if it’s just an act.

Is it 💯 an act? I mean, it is an act. However, there might be a part of Lau that actually feels sorry for Bard, a part of him that sympathizes and knows what it’s like to survive combat while friends (or family) die. I feel as though Lau has extended such kindness to someone else in the past. Ran-Mao? Someone else? Who knows. At this point, it’s merely a feeling I have, since we know so little about his own hardships. But he had the, of that I’m sure....

As cute as many will surely find this image, this is some tense “we are either golden or about to die any moment” shit, right here.

They cling to each other not just in the hope of making this look real... but also possibly with their legit fear of being called out as frauds.

And they hold this pose until they are certain they have gotten their way. Bard with determination and fear on his face. Lau with a look of caring and concern. If you were to replace Bard with someone personally dear to Lau, this would not look odd at all.

I also want to point out that Lau has his eyes open here. It lends credibility to his seriousness. In a way that the sanatorium staff cannot understand. But we know he’s not to be messed with when his eyes are open. To the staff, it might just denote a level of protectiveness. Maybe even a silent plea.

This might be the first time we have seen Lau speak in Chinese. We’ve seen Ran-Mao do it a few times. Given the circumstances, it’s probably fine. It might even help convey a feeling of genuine gratitude.

Here’s a close-up of their facial expressions when they both simply say “Yes”. Bard is still being quite serious. Lau has completely lost the gravity he was displaying a very brief moment ago.

But then Lau completely drops the doctor persona and talks (with eyes open) about them barely making it through this. There, he’s seriously relieved they passed this test.

Closing his eyes again, Lau openly says “master cook” and “acting”! Says he had no plan on how to come back if he had left the room! If I were Bard, I’d want to punch him, too.

I think Lau is seriously scrutinizing this young nurse, Layla, and coming up with an assessment of her. Then he goes from serious to chipper. Gives a big smile. Says nothing is wrong. What does he really think about her?

The last thing he says to Layla reminds me of what Sebastian said to Arthur about taking care of our earl....

I am reminded of the cover page for ch170, and I still can’t make heads or tails of his ultimate goals. The ones that led him all the way to England, where he expects to use whatever means to reach whatever ends.

And I cannot get it out of my head, what the historical Ronald Knox said about not including a “Chinaman” in your detective fiction. It’s one of his “Ten Commandments of Detective Fiction”. Yana-san already broke all ten, in some way or other.

Will Lau turn out to be a Fu Manchu character? We already know he was ruthless in his rise up the ladder of Qīng Bāng. We just don’t have the details. What’s he willing to do now to achieve his ultimate goals?

😬

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #lau #jester #archetypes #character analysis #ch172 #motives #modus operandi #observation #fu manchu #historical ronald knox #ten commandments of detective fiction #qing bang #long post #long reads #jan 18 2021

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grelleswife · 3 years

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2,4,5,6,7,9,12,14,18,22,28,29,30 for Fembastian and Mey Rin together if you can? >w< 😍💖

Of course I can! >w<

2. Who is the most insecure and what makes them feel better?

They both have insecurities, though in different areas. Beneath her arrogant self-assurance, Fembastian secretly fears that her demonic nature is grotesque and unlovable, and that Mey Rin would be repulsed by her "real" self that the glamour conceals. But the maid actively encourages Fembastian to revert to her true form when they're in private. Mey will stroke her wings, or take her clawed hand and kiss it, or marvel at her lustrous red eyes, and tells Fembastian that she thinks she's just as beautiful this way, yes she does! Mey Rin's insecurities stem from her lack of experience with sex and romance prior to their courtship; she frets about "doing things wrong," or disappointing her lover without realizing it. Therefore, Fembastian learns to provide Mey Rin with ample reassurance that she loves her, and is patient and gentle with the maid, both in bed and as they figure out their relationship as a whole. The little demon also teaches Mey Rin about "lady things," such as styling her hair, shopping for dresses, etc. to boost her confidence. 4. Who can't keep their hands to themselves?

Fembastian! The demonness isn't shy about going after what she wants--and she wants Mey Rin. As soon as she developed feelings for the maid, she began to construct intricate rituals: Sidling up to Mey and putting a hand on the small of her back while "supervising" her, or adjusting Mey Rin's cap and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear because "it simply wouldn't do for a Phantomhive maid to have a disheveled appearance." However, once Mey Rin gets a little bolder, she's just as handsy. >:3 On more than one occasion, she's grabbed Fembastian by the waist and dipped her to give the flustered demon a kiss...or pinched Fembastian's backside when she passed her in the corridors. ;) 5. Who says 'I love you' first?

Mey Rin! Fembassy takes a little longer to realize that she's head over heels for the maid. 6. Who would they ask if they ever had a threesome?

Maybe I'm biased due to my love for Sebagrellerin, but I think Grelle is the most likely candidate. The goddess of DEATH would have no trouble keeping up with a demon and a legendary sniper, and Mey and Sebas would both swoon over the gorgeous Miss Sutcliff. 7. What do they get up to on a night out?

I could see them potentially combining business and pleasure. For example, if O!Ciel orders them to take out a target at a lavish ball or some other social event, they'd team up to put the poor sod six feet under, then return to the party to dance and enjoy themselves. >:3 Or Fembastian might flex her demon powers (it's safer to dispel the glamour under cover of darkness), sprouting wings and taking flight with Mey Rin in her arms, soaring over the city so they can look at all the twinkling lights below. 9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

Since Mey Rin is an anxious bean, her most recent slip-up at work is generally her "most embarassin' moment ever." But the time she tripped and accidentally spilled a bucket of sudsy water she'd used for mopping all over Miss Sebastian would rank pretty high on the list! Fembastian's most embarrassing moment would be the time she made up a dorky little dance with Her (the black kitty), and was twirling in the garden with the cat, merrily singing a tune. Mey Rin happened to step out for a bit of fresh air, witnessed the spectacle, and giggled at how precious Fembastian was! Since the demonness tries to maintain an air of gravitas and authority around the other servants, she was absolutely mortified, though Mey Rin insisted she was the cutest thing, the cutest! 12. What first changes when it starts getting serious?

When Fembastian realizes that her feelings for Mey Rin run deeper than lust or fleeting interest, she panics a bit. H-how the hell could she have fallen in love, and with a mortal, no less?! This shouldn't be happening! In her confusion, she tries to distance herself from Mey and take time to process this...but of course, the maid doesn't understand the demon's inner turmoil. Hurt by Sebas's inexplicable coldness, Mey Rin tearfully confronts her, which leads Fembastian to break down (it's the first time she's ever cried in front of a human), confessing that she's scared because she thinks she's truly in love with Mey and doesn't know what to do. Once Mey Rin realizes what's going on, they're able to patch things up. From then on out, Fembastian starts (slowly) allowing herself to be more vulnerable with Mey, and learning to trust that the maid is committed to their relationship even if Sebas isn't the sparkling, perfect servant she pretends to be. 14. When one has a cold, what does the other do?

Although Fembastian doesn't contract mortal illnesses, Mey Rin occasionally comes down with a case of the sniffles. When that happens, the demon will whisk her off to bed, keep her warm in a nest of blankets and pillows, and set to work procuring medicine for her lover. In addition to fixing Mey Rin a bowl of her favorite soup, Fembastian will cuddle with her and purr softly to help her feel better. Even when she has to leave Mey on her own to do the young master's bidding, Fembastian will rush back as soon as she can to check on her lover and give her a few get-well kisses. 18. When they fight, how do they make up?

Mey Rin tends to get emotional and weepy after they've had a fight, and will clasp the little demon to her bosom while sobbing that she's ever so sorry, she is, and it won't ever happen again, no it won't!!! Fembastian will over offer a verbal apology--typically a florid one, considering how melodramatic she is--but she also tries to make it up to Mey Rin by doing nice things for her, such as giving her flowers, completing a few of Mey's chores herself so the maid has a lighter workload, making her a yummy Chinese dessert, or spending extra time snuggling with her human and combing her hair. 22. Where does their first kiss happen?

Mey Rin was cleaning out the fireplace one morning when she accidentally spilled ashes onto the carpet. Of course, it was just her luck that Miss Sebastian stopped by just then to check her progress! The demon began to scold Mey Rin...but as Fembastian gazed into her eyes, she trailed off and fell silent. That wasn't like the brusque, professional woman at all! Thoroughly confused, the maid asked what was wrong. Sebas abruptly grabbed the front of Mey's uniform (in this AU, she's very petite and a little shorter than the maid) and pulled her down for a kiss, much to Mey Rin's amazement. The pink-cheeked demon huffily stammered that Mey should clean up as quickly as possible, then rushed from the room. Mey was positively giddy (she'd had a crush on Fembastian for months), while Sebas couldn't seem to quiet the palpitations of her heart. She must have spent too long in this silly human form! 28. Why do they get jealous?

Fembastian and Mey Rin both get jealous when when other people (regardless of gender) make passes at their partner. Demons are naturally possessive creatures, which causes Fembassy to bare her fangs (sometimes literally, sometimes metaphorically) at anyone who flirts with Mey Rin. Although the maid knows that Fembastian's heart belongs only to her, it still makes her damn uncomfortable when someone else starts batting their lashes at the pretty demon--and is liable to give them a double-barrelled glare. >:( Fembastian can also get clingy if she feels that Mey Rin isn't spending enough time with her, though the maid learns to be firm about setting boundaries. The demon is an important part of Mey Rin's life, but she needs to respect Mey's relationships with other members of the household, too! 29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

Mey Rin is so sweet and adorable that Fembastian didn't stand a chance; she was hopelessly smitten long before she realized what hit her. In Mey Rin's case, she fell even harder for the demon once Sebas revealed her hidden fragility and insecurity. Not only did this draw out the maid's protective instincts, but it also helped her realize that Fembastian wasn't flawless or invincible, and removal of that barrier enabled them to grow closer. 30. Why does it work (or not work) between them?

Their relationship works because Fembastian learns to meet Mey Rin halfway, and Mey is fully accepting of Sebastian, even the unsightly or frightening parts of her. The resulting loyalty and trust provides a steady foundation on which their love can thrive.

#kuroshitsuji #sebamey #fembastian #sebastian michaelis #mey rin #femslash february #shipping asks

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rosethornewrites · 4 years

Text

Fic: Pocketful of Starlight

Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Kagami Tsurugi, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe, Sabine Cheng/Tom Dupain, Master Fu/Marianne Lenoir

Characters: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Tikki, Wayzz, Pollen, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug's Parents, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Master Fu, Alya Césaire, Nino Lahiffe, Chloé Bourgeois, Max Kanté, Lê Chiến Kim, Luka Couffaine, Anarka Couffaine, Juleka Couffaine, Rose Lavillant, Marianne Lenoir, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Lila Rossi, Caline Bustier, Kagami Tsurugi, André Glacier

Tags: Mental Health Issues, Anxiety, Therapy, Trauma, Regret, Lila Rossi salt, what the fuck am i doing?, Moving On, Angst, Feels, Marinette Dupain-Cheng Needs a Hug, Guilt, Grief, Loss, Implied Relationships, Heroes & Heroines, Introspection

Summary: In the wake of the defeat of Miracle Queen, Marinette has to take time for everyone else. But eventually she has to take time for herself. Written before the release of Felix and Chat Blanc.

Note: The therapy technique is real, and is one I’ve been introduced to as a way of dealing with trauma, triggers, and anxiety. It just seemed like something Fu would teach Marinette, as it relies on the idea of the body’s meridian points, which are used in Chinese medicine.

AO3 link

This is part 2 of the Catch a Falling Star series | Part 1

-------

Marinette didn’t have the luxury of dealing with her feelings right away after Chloé stormed off following the defeat of Miracle Queen. As the new Guardian of the Miraculous, there was a long list of things she must accomplish before then.

On the top of that list was the former Master Fu, who now knew himself as M. Chen. The only person Miraculous Cure didn’t send away was Chat, and so she had him recharge to keep an eye on their former master, while she stowed the Miracle Box in her room and went to the locker with a distraught Wayzz.

Unsurprisingly, the note had all the information she needed: contact information for his beloved Marianne and the address where she could find his belongings. The locker also had items meant to pass to her, including a flash drive of information on the book and other things she would need to know as Guardian. He had been thorough.

Marianne seemed both sad and glad to hear the news—Fu had apparently told her long before that this would be his fate in the end. She agreed to be on the next train to fetch him.

She was relieved Chat knew Marinette had been Multimouse, so when she showed up with a fake ‘note from Ladybug,’ he’d passed responsibility to her civilian self with a smile, telling her he knew Fu would be in good hands.

Marinette ignored the buzzing of her phone as texts came in, and focused on getting M. Chen to his belongings and packed, then over to the train station. Even there, watching the train slowly shrink into the distance as Master Fu was taken to safety, she still didn’t have time.

No, she had text messages from Alya, who was distraught over the memories of what she had been forced to do under the control of Miracle Queen, and was rightly convinced that, with her identity blown, she’d no longer be able to take up the mantle of Rena Rouge. She was able to feign surprise and complimented her on being such a good hero. Her sympathy hasn’t been feigned.

In truth, it felt good to have Alya come to her instead of Lila, who she’d seemed to lose trust in after the expulsion. Things weren’t completely mended between them, and might never be. But she could be a shoulder for Alya to cry on, a sympathetic ear.

Then she had her responsibilities to the kwamis to keep her engaged, something she had put above school. To accomplish this, she had finally confessed her recent near-Akumazations to her parents and told them everything about Lila’s lies and manipulations, and that as there was no proof there was little she could do about them. She told them of going and learning meditative techniques and coping mechanisms on her own. Finally, telling them that the Miracle Queen Akuma, which had hit her friend circle quite hard, had caused her a lot of stress. Marinette had requested, quietly, that she be permitted to take a few mental health days. None of it was a lie.

She wished she had confided in them about it before; they had immediately swept her into a family hug and thanked her for her honesty and trust in them.

“So many people your age bottle it all up,” Maman had said. “But you recognized it and looked for solutions. I’m proud of you, my dear. You’ve become such a mature young woman.”

There had been tears in Papa’s eyes. “We’ll let M. Damocles know we’re keeping you home a few days. Perhaps they will be more willing to investigate this girl if it’s having such an impact on you.”

They’d even asked if she wanted to see a therapist, if she needed more help. She’d thanked them and declined, and their love strengthened her for the tasks she had to complete. Marinette could hardly believe she had been nervous to tell them what was going on. Her parents, who had always supported her.

Her first task involved building a puzzle box large enough to hold the Miracle Box, disguised as a small table for beside her bedroom chaise. That had taken the better part of a day, once she had it sketched and bought the materials. She had treated it as art therapy, even making a home-made wood stain with all natural ingredients to turn the table a deep rose color.

Marinette had time during this project to get to know each of the kwamis individually, taking notes on food preferences in the cases she didn’t know so she could be sure to have some on hand—when enlisting temporary heroes in the future, she planned to include some of the kwami’s preferred recharging food with the miraculous. There had been times recharges were needed but difficult in the heat of battle, and that would make it smoother. Thankfully, dried foods were acceptable to them in a pinch.

While building the puzzle box table she’d sewn the Miracle Box into a throw pillow temporarily, which wound up being a good thing when Chat stopped by midway through the project to ask about Master Fu’s journey. She’d received a call from Marianne when they arrived at their destination, but that was as Ladybug. So she instead let him know what Marinette knew—that he’d been safely escorted to the train, and she’d watched him leave.

When he asked how she had avoided being stung and controlled, she told him she’d seen the wasps and locked herself in the bakery freezer, and Ladybug had let her out when she’d come to enlist her help.

“I was lucky,” she told him.

“I’m glad you stayed safe, Princess. I heard you’ve been absent from school, so I worried.”

“I’m taking a few mental health days, that’s all. Thank you for checking in on me, kitty.”

They chatted a bit more before she went downstairs for leftover pastries for him to enjoy on the rest of patrol, sending him off with the bag of goodies.

Chat had been stopping by regularly since the night she’d cried in his arms, and she had to admit it was nice to have a friendship with him as herself. He’d recently insisted they take a selfie together for her wall, and it had joined a few including Kagami and Luka, as well as some of Alya and Nino that she had put back up.

And then, of course, there was Wayzz. The poor kwami had just lost a holder of over a century, and his loneliness was palpable. Marinette had worked to comfort him as best she could. She knew she could only do so much, but she had put together a comfortable little nest for him and wore the Turtle miraculous along with the Ladybug so he could be out for the transition.

After everything was done, all of her responsibilities, she was finally able to let herself fully deal with everything that had happened, in such quick succession, and all that had changed and been lost.

She finished restuffing and sewing shut the pillow that had once housed the Miracle Box, then laid it out in the middle of her bedroom, seating herself in the relaxed pseudo-lotus position Master Fu had taught her, paying attention to her breathing, heartbeat, the feel of the pillow beneath her, the air around her.

Part of the training she had done with him had included dealing with emotions via meditation, a safer way that would help her avoid Akumazation. Lila’s actions had made it clear she needed help, so after the night Chat had comforted her on the roof, she had confided in the now-former Guardian about the stressors in her life. He had immediately insisted she learn this technique. While it wasn’t always helpful in the moment, if surprises shook her, she had found it was great for helping her process her feelings later so they wouldn’t build up and bury her.

It also helped that both Tikki and Wayzz were there to let her know if she was in danger—and she had shut her room up to impede Akuma for an added sense of security.

The memory of her first meditative session was bittersweet now, as she remembered Master Fu helping her find her happy place, a moment in time wherein she was content and safe on her own. For her, it was the memory of diving off the Eiffel Tower as Ladybug, plummeting by choice with the wind in her face, then snapping the yoyo to swing just above the ground, the experience one of exhilaration and pure happiness.

She went there first, letting herself be in that moment, with the self-confidence it gave her, before going back to one of the things she needed to process.

One of… Really, Fu represented multiple things she had to process. His confidence that she was ready wasn’t one Marinette shared. The number of mistakes she had made, particularly the ones that had led to the loss of Master Fu, haunted her.

She focused again on her breathing, her senses, before tackling the mistakes. Upon discovering Mayura following her, she had failed to consider whether Hawkmoth was also in play, assuming that losing the stolen Peacock holder had been enough. She had approached Master Fu as Ladybug, continuing even after he hinted that she’d made a mistake; perhaps she could have played it off and returned as Marinette.

Marinette let herself feel the shame and guilt associated with that, the feeling of inadequacy and impostor syndrome that plagued her so often.

The next ritual had been ingrained in her over the past few months.

“Even though I made a mistake, I deeply and completely accept myself. Even though I fear I will continue to make mistakes, I deeply and completely accept myself.”

She softly repeated the mantra, going through the emotional freedom tapping sequence she had learned as she allowed herself to feel the emotions swirling through her, seeking the root.

Fear. The root was fear.

“Even though I’m afraid my mistakes will hurt people…”

She continued the process, gently tapping the points Master Fu had led her through until the emotions started to ease, appropriately processed as the result of the trauma that had occurred.

“Even though I know I will make more mistakes…”

She worked toward acceptance of the inevitable. Tikki and Fu had told her mistakes were inevitable; she was only human, and humans weren’t perfect. The important thing, Fu told her, was learning from mistakes through processing them.

“You and Chat Noir fixed my biggest mistake, Marinette. The one that haunted me for well over a century. I learned much from my mistake, as you will with yours.”

Marinette assessed the emotion; it wasn’t totally gone, but it was at a manageable level, something that she could keep from overwhelming her.

The reality was, Master Fu had talked with her about retiring. He had known this would happen to him, that his memories of the Miraculous and his time as Guardian would disappear. He had trusted Marinette as Ladybug to be the next Guardian, to take over the job he had started at such a young age nearly two centuries ago, the job he had been forced into by his own mistake that had only recently been rectified.

Additionally, Hawkmoth could have seen through an attempt to play it off, and with him following her without her knowledge, Marinette’s detransformation could have left her identity known to the enemy, putting her and everyone she loved in grave danger. Perhaps it had been the luck Ladybug was known for, saving her in a situation wherein only one of them could be saved, in effect ensuring the Miracle Box would continue to be protected beyond Fu.

On an intellectual level, Marinette was struck by a collège memory of Mme. Bustier teaching them the hero’s journey style of story building and literary analysis. As much as she loathed the idea of following some sort of fated narrative arc, in class they had discussed how this occasionally translated to the real world. The mentor figure, often a wise elder, would disappear when it was time for the hero to continue alone, when nothing more could be taught.

“Even though I fear I don’t control my own destiny…”

This fear was distinctly of the future. Instead of tapping the meridian points, she shifted to applying a gentle, sustained pressure against each to ease the anxiety that wrapped around her like a cold fog, repeating her mantra until it dissipated in the warmth of hope.

She let herself return to the exhilaration of purposeful freefall from the Tower for a bit, letting that strengthen her as she turned to the related issue…

Fu had not told her she would lose her memories of the Miraculous when it became her turn to retire, that these wonderful memories, even the one that served as her anchor, would be swept away like a sandcastle at high tide. She would forget Chat Noir, forget all the conversations she’d had and would continue up to that point to have with Tikki, forget the very thing that had given her the self-confidence to stand up to Chloé and ultimately put herself out into the world that had once terrified her more fully, to take risks…

Oh, she would miss Tikki when it came time… or maybe she wouldn’t. And that was almost more terrifying.

“Even though I’m afraid of eventually losing my memories…”

The way she had become Multimouse upon losing Tikki to Kwamibuster—the way she had overcome that. Yes, it was another Miraculous that had allowed her to overcome, but she had figured it out.

“Even though I’m afraid I’ll be lost without these memories…”

After a while, three or four rounds of processing and evaluating, the fear had eased enough for her to move on.

She could feel the tears on her cheeks; that had been scary the first few times with Fu, when she’d been afraid the tears would bring Hawkmoth to her, but he had assured her it was part of the process, that it was natural when she allowed herself to experience the emotions fully. She could do this in safety if she used her anchor.

Marinette returned to her anchor memory, allowing herself to swim toward the surface of the meditative state enough to ask Tikki if there was any danger.

“I haven’t sensed an Akuma, Marinette. You can keep going, unless you need a break?”

That brought a smile to her face, and a surge of affection for her empathetic kwami. She knew the memories would be taken, but the emotions wouldn’t leave. She had seen that first-hand when M. Chen had seen Marianne and the memory of loving her had emerged so strongly that he’d stumbled.

“Wayzz?” Marinette couldn’t contain her curiosity.

“Yes, Master?”

“Just Marinette, please.” She knew the kwami chafed a bit at the informality, but she would treat them as her equals, not anything less.

“Ah… of course, Marinette. Did you have a question?”

“You hid behind me when Fu came to, after he named me Guardian. Would he have remembered if he had seen you?”

Wayzz is silent for a bit, and she can almost hear him thinking. “It’s possible. Regardless, he asked me to let him forget, to let him retire fully. At the Temple, the retired would reside among the uninitiated, as tradition.”

Marinette nodded. That made sense, and she would keep it in mind as a possible way to overcome if she wanted to at that point in her life. She had a lifetime to decide.

“Thank you, Wayzz.”

She let herself ease back into full meditation, to her anchor memory, the unbridled joy.

Three other points of emotional turmoil needed resolving. Two of them were highly related, which drew her to them. The fallout from Chloé’s voluntary stint as Miracle Queen was twofold: first, it had robbed Ladybug of all her temporary heroes, as all were now known to Hawkmoth and Mayura. She refused to put them and their families and friends in danger by continuing to approach them; nor would she put the kwami in a position to potentially be captured by a psychopath.

Even with her decision, she wasn’t sure that Hawkmoth wouldn’t monitor them anyway, or do worse. There was the potential of hostage situations. Marinette just hoped this was just her castastrophizing and not something that would happen. She did, however, need to be prepared if it did, and that would mean sharing that concern with Chat Noir. Hopefully he would be able to watch over some of them outside the mask, just as she would.

“Even though I fear the temporary holders could be in danger…”

Alya and Nino, two people she loved dearly despite their flaws, just as they did her; she had meditated extensively on their friendships with Fu after her near-Akumazation during Lila’s stunt at school that had left her temporarily expelled.

Kim, who she knew only casually, but whose exuberance was a mirror of Xuppu’s, a kwami he was suited for but would never hold again.

Max, a boy who had built his own best friend and formed new relationships alongside Markov, and who had fought so nobly to save his mother and friends.

Luka, who could hear the music of her heart and had told her it was beautiful, who had wielded the Snake like a pro. His family—Anarka, Juleka, and Rose, who was basically his sister in law—would be in danger.

And her newest friend, Kagami, for whom she had ultimately given up Adrien—who would also be in danger—and who seemed destined to hold the Dragon, though that was beyond reach now.

The only remedy was impossible in the war Hawkmoth had started: to never again give out Miraculous and cultivate allies. Ultimately, recalcitrance in that direction could hand the man holding Paris hostage victory.

Her allies would have to change. Marinette would need to visit each of them personally as Ladybug to thank them for their service and officially retire them. She couldn’t predict what Hawkmoth might do with the knowledge of their identities, but she could be proactive. They would get the contact information for her yoyo… or perhaps she could commission Max to create panic buttons with GPS, something for the six of them to carry at all times for security, which could alert herself and Chat if they were triggered.

Master Fu had been delighted upon learning that processing her emotions in this way led to reasoned planning.

“Your creativity is ingrained in you, Marinette. You truly are the perfect Ladybug. And you will be the ideal Guardian, as well.”

She returned to her anchor, lingering there a bit longer than before. The last two would be more difficult.

Chloé. Queen Bee. Miracle Queen.

Marinette had held onto the hope that she could help Chloé, both as herself and Ladybug. She could see there was good in the blonde, just buried under behaviors she’d learned and adopted to survive the trauma of abandonment.

She hadn’t seen it—not for the longest time, and certainly not when Chloé had been bullying her.

No, it had come later, in moments. Seeing Chloé grieve giving up Pollen each time she had to return the Bee Miraculous; seeing the flash of pure hurt that had quickly been covered with rage at Audrey choosing Marinette, a stranger, to be with her rather than her own daughter. Moments of joy or simple contentment.

Chloé was a scarred soul who had armored her vulnerability with cruel words and a pretense of superiority. Anything that threatened that superiority, however false it was, became a target, her fear and trauma allowing no less.

But she’d had potential to be better, Marinette had thought. Unlike Lila, whose very countenance showed no indication of anything but cruelty, Chloé could be rehabilitated.

For a while it seemed it could work—Chloé working for the greater good. But it wasn’t enough for her; she’d wanted more, on her timetable.

Or perhaps Marinette had mistaken a lust for power and prestige for a desire for connection to something greater. Maybe it had been her own hubris, feeling she could reach someone so damaged.

Oh, she had hoped. She could just imagine the force for good Chloé could become, if only she could be reached, could be healed.

Marinette wished it were otherwise, but Pollen had tearfully told her of the order of silence, how the holder Pollen had shared her hopes for had turned abusive, had turned a partnership into a slavery.

“Even though I failed to help Chloé…”

This set took longer, more repetition, more tapping, and it felt as though her breath was being sucked away as she processed the grief she felt at a possible future destroyed.

She could only carry so much; those she helped had to want it, had to try, had to trust. She knew how hard that was for Chloé, but she also knew her own limits, the things she could not do. Perhaps, with professional help, the girl could be reached. Marinette didn’t have those tools.

It wasn’t entirely Chloé’s fault, either. Her fears and insecurities and traumas had made her susceptible to the machinations of Hawkmoth’s evil. A man who would Akumatized a toddler would have no qualms tearing open a teenager’s scars and manipulating them for his own personal gain. He’d long ago proved his depravity.

Even now, she didn’t hate Chloé.

Marinette hadn’t paid attention to the news since sending off M. Chen, so she didn’t know what the Paris authorities intended to do regarding the Miracle Queen debacle. But perhaps she could help Chloé Bourgeois in one last way, as Ladybug. She could request not leniency but access to mental health care, could testify that she knew Chloé has potential, if only given the tools to heal.

The pain had faded to an acceptable level, and she jumped off the Eiffel Tower again, sweeping toward the ground with the wind and gravity in her face, the sun kissing her cheeks.

Her last task: Adrien.

She had loved him so intensely and so long, the boy Alya had nicknamed Sunshine. He had been her sun, and she’d been the moth drawn to him. Marinette had spent the last several weeks reflecting on her obsession with him, recognizing it finally for what it was. She had acted only marginally different with him than Chat Noir did with Ladybug.

She had resolved to let him go, after Chat’s visit, for good. She’d been headed there anyway, taking the pictures down and drawing away. Chat’s visit had helped her find the strength.

And then something had shifted. When she was able to return to school, Adrien had apologized for failing to see Lila had targeted her, was hurting her, until it was too late.

“I know doesn’t excuse abandoning you, Marinette, but I hope I can make it up to you.”

What had once been the fire of obsession, doused to coals, smoldered still, a slow warmth that didn’t threaten to consume her anymore.

A few days later, Adrien loudly told Lila to stop touching him, that it made him uncomfortable, in front of Mme. Bustier.

Lila turned on the waterworks, trying to claim it was a way of showing affection in Italy, and Adrien hadn’t given an inch.

“Here in France, it’s sexual harassment,” he’d said. “And I’m tired of asking you to stop.”

“Are you okay, Adrien?” Marinette had asked after Lila stomped back to her seat. “I know it’s not always easy to stand up for yourself.”

“I’m okay.” His smile had warmed her heart, and he’d stepped forward to embrace her. “Thanks for asking, Marinette.”

Then Lila had snarkily asked Mme. Bustier why Marinette wasn’t getting in trouble for sexual harassment. The continued tantrum had earned her detention, during which she was to complete a sexual harassment seminar, “since you clearly don’t know what it is.”

It had been glorious.

The memory brought a smile to her face. She had thought then that perhaps it wasn’t over after all.

But when it came to choosing which flavor combination she, Kagami, and Adrien should get from André, the two of them looking at her so trustingly after having included her in their antics at the hotel and subsequent escape…

Marinette had let go of her love for Adrien.

She had chosen friendship.

She had chosen Kagami’s happiness, and let go the embers in her heart.

They still glowed there, but she made the decision to let them fade.

“Even though I’ve lost my first love…”

She was surprised to discover that the pain she expected to find was only a dull ache, not the intense loss she had expected. As though letting go and crying it out with Chat had allowed her to process the worst of it with the help of a friend.

Music moved through her, a tune she knew she’d heard just recently, but couldn’t place.

Marinette halfway done with the first round of meditative tapping when she felt the touch on the back of her neck. The warning signal she and Tikki had decided upon.

She pulled on her anchor, diving into the sunlight and wind and letting the joy and confidence overtake her, then opened her eyes.

The Akuma had come through the vent, and was gently fluttering, hovering as though waiting for her negativity to return. Hawkmoth had been strangely inactive in the days following Miracle Queen’s defeat.

Marinette let the joy of being Ladybug flow through her, and smiled at the butterfly. Even though she’d only been sitting for perhaps an hour or two, she felt as though she had aged a decade. But she was Ladybug, and Ladybug would prevail.

“I will not be your marionette, Hawkmoth. You will not prey on my traumas to soothe your own.” She stood, moving toward the trapdoor that led to the roof, calm and poised. “Perhaps you should try therapy instead of sadism.”

After opening it, she turned back. She had no idea if Hawkmoth could hear or see her through the Akuma. It hovered, as though staring at her.

“You are not welcome here, little butterfly. Come back when you’re not evil.”

After a pause, the Akuma fluttered up and out of the sunroof, into the blue sky.

“I hope you don’t victimize someone else,” she called after it, and then shut the trapdoor decisively.

Tikki and Wayzz zoomed around her, taking their places on her shoulders as she unmuted her phone, waiting for an Akuma alert.

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reginaldvonspiffington · 3 years

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The Curse of Creativity by Richard V Kelly Jr

(disclaimer: This piece is edited by the author’s daughter posthumously. No new words were added, only passages deleted or rearranged)

1. The Wrong Kind Of Creativity

At the advanced age of 59 I found myself in a hospital psychiatric ward full of dejected people. I had reached the point of near catatonia, almost unable to interact with the world, unable to sleep, barely able to speak, spending all day in bed staring at the ceiling. My diagnosis was “Major depression with psychotic expressions”.

Before this, I had composed symphonies and film scores. I had written textbooks, short stories, magazine articles, and half a dozen novels. I had sculpted in wood. I had written the code to create educational and artistic Virtual Reality and Artificial Intelligence applications. I had helped design a new school for creative kids. I had made educational films, created animations to teach Chinese, and written courses in every subject from neural networks to cryptography to architecture.

Most of my existence had been spent in a world of ideas and imagination. My mind had been a sparkler, shooting off scintillas in every direction: fragments of music, lines of lyrical poetry, drawings, sculptures, computer programs, virtual worlds. But that life was gone. And here I was lying in bed fixated on the light of a bulb leaking in from an air vent.

I was still inventive at this point, but it was the wrong kind of inventiveness, the frightening unacceptable form. I had broken the membrane that separates playful imagination from gibbering lunacy. I still made up stories in my head, but they were all dark, bleak, lugubrious tales. The vent I was staring at obviously led to a parallel world where “they” were watching my every movement. I could feel the heat emanating from the wall, a form of thermal ray designed to cook my brain and mold my behavior. I had progressed beyond the creative person's liberation-from-the-mundane to the disturbed person's liberation-from-the-real.

There was no sense in moving from the hospital bed. Movement didn't matter. Nothing mattered. There was no future. And all the things I had created in the past seemed like a colossal waste of time. What was I thinking writing books no one would ever read and composing music no one would ever listen to? What was the point of that? Or anything else?

The disease I was suffering from, depression, is astonishingly common. Almost 10% of Americans are taking anti-depressants right now. In fact, anti-depressants are the most prescribed drug in America. Almost 20% of women between the ages of 40 and 60 take them. And one in five people will eventually experience depression. So, pretty much everyone knows someone who has suffered from this illness.

But there is a level even deeper than the bottomless well of depression. 20% of people diagnosed with major depression (“major” in this case signifies acute, rather than chronic) also develop paranoia or other symptoms of psychosis including delusions and hallucinations. I was one of those people. I was terrified by my diagnosis, not because of the word “depression” – I knew there were treatments available - but because of the word “psychotic”. This was a term I had often used to describe crazy violent people for whom there was no cure. I pondered my possible future life as a babbling derelict.

The new psychiatric resident assured me that the psychosis of depression and the psychosis of schizophrenia “are completely different disease processes originating in different parts of the brain”. And I knew intellectually that paranoia was misuse of my imagination. It was the dark side of the creativity that had sustained me my entire life. It was creativity as self-torture. But, even though I understood that my internal chemistry was creating false stories to misguide my thinking, I still felt hopeless, dejected, and persecuted.

Staring through the fog of delusion, I realized that I had finally reached my secret goal of living in a world entirely of my own creation, but not in the way I had intended. I had hoped to spend every day reading my own novels, watching my own movies, laughing at my own animations, and listening to my own music, comforted by a sensible lyrical self-made universe. Instead, I was enwrapt in a vivid nightmare. My own creative thoughts were tormenting me. I couldn't wake up to escape them, and I couldn't sleep to avoid them.

The onset of depression is a slow process. One day I stopped reading. The flavor had gone from my favorite activity, so I dropped it. Then I stopped listening to music; it no longer provoked any feelings. I couldn't write anymore; creating worlds had lost its joy. I stopped watching TV and movies; they were pointless and unfulfilling. Everything I loved doing slipped away. I felt like crying all the time. The future turned black. I stopped working. And I hardly slept, so I became sleepy enough at the wheel of the car that I stopped driving for fear of hurting someone. This led to a shut-in's existence. I became what the Japanese call hikikomori – someone so tired of the world or sensitive to its vileness that they have pulled themselves inward and withdrawn from all contact, often never leaving their room.

Paranoia crept in. I thought the backyard garden was somehow being tended at night by persons unknown who were fertilizing and weeding it while I slept. I thought the morning bird calls were synthetically generated. I thought black and white cars were following me. I avoided my computer because I assumed it had been hacked by a malevolent villain who presented bad news to me in order to blame me for something I didn't entirely understand. And I all but stopped eating because I imagined that each food had a particular meaning, incriminating me in some crime. After 3 months I'd lost 30 pounds.

As the disease progressed, I spent hours at a time in a swimmy somnambulance, as if I'd been drugged. Think of this predicament for a moment. Imagine being unable to read, write, exercise, work, garden, fix things around the house, chat with spouse or friends, eat, sleep, play cards, surf the net, or watch TV or movies. What would you do? Try it for a day. Eventually, I was reduced to pacing the living room, sitting for hours lost in rumination, or trying to sleep and being unable to. I had always thought of a person's mind as their only defense against a hostile world. Now that my mind had abandoned me, the hostile world came pouring in.

I began to develop severe cramps in my abdomen that curled me up like a baby at night. I felt as if I was giving birth. I developed headaches – a malady I'd never been bothered with before. And I became preoccupied with delusions. I imagined my wife had somehow been divided into different people: a 54 year old, a 40 year old, a 30 year old, and a 20 year old. I spent many nights awake, staring at her as she slept, waiting to see if she would switch to a different version of herself.

By summer's end, my existence consisted of getting out of bed, passing like a weary ghost through each day, void of joy or even interest, enveloped in rumination, miserable at the prospect of another excruciating night featuring nothing but heat, pain, and wakefulness. And it all felt as if it was being done to me. Eventually, I ended up just lying in bed staring at the ceiling.

I knew what was in store for me because my wife's brother had died by his own hand after a similar bout of depression. But, through the miasma of pain and woe, I insisted all was well. My family tried intervening to get me to a doctor, but I refused. And, eventually, my wife, conspiring with my doctor, cried as she urged me to go to the hospital for “just an evaluation”, which I assumed consisted of a casual chat in the emergency room followed by a prescription. I ended up in a locked ward in a hospital bed for a week having horrific nightmares as the medicine kicked in while listening to patients cry out at night for help.

I learned that there are three different psych wards in a large hospital: one for schizophrenics, one for depressives, and one for Alzheimer's/dementia patients. Because there were no spots open in the depression ward, they put me in the dementia ward with people twenty years my senior who had much bigger problems than I had. One woman had no family to look after her outside the hospital: no husband, no siblings, no kids, no living relatives, only a friend. Many people had lost all that was important to them in their lives, and were now losing the memories of their own life stories. The place was frightening, humbling, fascinating, and one enormous eye-opening lesson in appreciation for the wife, family, and friends who came to visit me every day or called me on the phone.

By studying the subject of depression, I learned that the trigger can be many years ahead of the expression, so I may never find out what provoked my downward spiral. Genetics probably had something to do with it. A difficult childhood was certainly a factor. But my guess is that trying to be a creative person in a world that consistently crushes or exploits creative people had the most to do with it.

Depression is like being anesthetized then dropped into a bathtub that slowly fills. The water rises to your back, then your sides, then your chin, then your eyes, then over your head, until all you can do is look at the surface above and blink.

Depression is like having life peeled away from you layer by layer until nothing is left. Wake up one day and there is no literature. The next day music is gone. Then movies disappear, then working, then moving, then talking, until only breathing remains, slow, mechanical breathing.

Depression is like being overcome by an illness, as if a degenerative virus has taken control and sapped the strength of your muscles, then infected your bones, then infiltrated your nerves, and finally seeped into your head so that every part of you is diseased.

Depression is like becoming a statue. A running animated active body slows down and finally stops. Arms, legs, and mind freeze up. The inner armature stiffens. Movement ceases. A shell forms and hardens until only an effigy remains that is gradually overgrown by vines and bramble. It starts with a slow numbing to the world, a withdrawal, a closing off to pleasure until the mind turns to marble, motion stops, the last spark of optimism is snuffed out, reason is suspended, rigid misery sets in.

Depression is like being a sun that slowly burns itself out, gradually losing the coronal fires, the heat diminishing, the plasma churning less and less every day, cooling to a smoldering ember, the flames snuffing themselves into smoke, and becoming quiet until all that is left is a burnt brown rock that gives no light or warmth, a cold stone floating in limitless space.

It took time to recover. After the hospital, I went to a two-week out-patient group with other folks also recovering from anxiety or depression. And, a few months after the hospital visit, I was feeling much better. The two drugs they gave me – one for depression, one for psychosis - worked miraculously. The medicine and the realization that I was actually surrounded by people who cared about my welfare set me back on the road to health. The paranoia dissipated. I gained 14 pounds in two weeks. I started reading again.

I came away with the impression that this could happen to anyone. There's nothing that separates me from the homeless people in the street except a simple exceeded threshold of neurochemicals.

And I received two great gifts from the experience. The obvious one was the realization that I had a wonderful wife, family, and friends who would help me, people I had formerly taken for granted. But the unexpected gift was the experience – because of the anti-psychosis medicine - of becoming a non-creative person for the first time in my life. That encounter with the non-creative worldview was as interesting an experience as the depression and paranoia had been.

2. My Non-Creative Life

Within a month after starting treatment I had risen from a waking death. I was talking to people, reading, and watching movies again. But the chemical I was ingesting to stave off paranoia had the effect of preventing me from writing stories, composing music, scrawling art, scribbling computer code, building animations, or even thinking creatively. I could ingest the world again while taking the medicine – through books, movies, music, podcasts – but I could not actually produce anything. The portcullis gate had come crashing down. Access to the creative part of my mind had been blocked.

The disease of depression was about closing off inputs. I couldn't read, watch, or listen when depressed. The cure was about re-opening inputs, but closing off outputs. I could take in the world again, but I couldn't write, film, draw, program, or compose. Under the depression, I couldn't take in anything new, but I could still confabulate. Under the cure, I could absorb the world, but I couldn't create any new worlds in my head.

The mechanisms of the brain that allow someone to make up stories in order to become paranoid are the same mechanisms that allow someone to make up stories to write fiction. So, the medicament I took, designed to eliminate the alarming connections of paranoia inside my skull, also eliminated the lyrical connections of story-telling. For the first time in my life I got to feel what it was like to be non-creative.

No more five-new-ideas-before-breakfast. No need to keep a pen and an adding machine scroll of paper beside the bed to jot down nocturnal inspirations. No more getting up in the middle of the night to write a paragraph that had evolved during the murky half-asleep state. No more days spent in animation development. No more running to the keyboard with a new melody in mind. I stopped composing music. I put aside my novels. I stopped thinking in the way a creator thinks. It was as if half of my mind had been carved away. It was as if I were grounded in the material world for the first time. I began to adopt what I imagine the life experience of most people to be. It was fascinating.

I've heard people say, “I don't have a creative bone in my body.” My response to that statement had always been mystification and a shocked wonder at what that must feel like. I thought turning off creativity would be like turning off hunger, joy, or reason. I had experienced exactly that - turning off hunger, joy, and reason - during the depression. But I was still creative then. With depression, I couldn't take in anything new, but I could still confabulate. With treatment, I could absorb the world again, but I couldn't create any new worlds in my head.

This was rather astonishing to me. Ordinarily, I'm only thinly connected to the palpable realm. I live so much inside my own head that the physical world is all but meaningless to me. I eat when I'm hungry. I get cold in the winter. It hurts when I step on sharp rocks in bare feet. But, beyond those links to the realm of atoms and sensation, I don't have much of a relationship to the tangible plain. All of my time is spent with ideas, words, interpretations, interconnections, the embrace of novelty, the prosody of life, everything that is above “the stuff” of existence. I usually live a sort of meta life – in the world, but not of it. For the first time, because of the medicine, I could experience only existence, only “the stuff”.

For a year, I woke up, washed, ate, evacuated, watched movies, chatted with people, watched more movies, poked around in the garden, and slept. Then I got up again the next day and did the same. I had no original thoughts. I wrote nothing. I composed nothing. I invented nothing. I began to wonder if I ever would again. I just walked through life, taking it in, but not putting the pieces together to produce anything new. I responded to the world around me as life happened, but I did nothing more than respond. I thought, “So, this is how other people feel? This is what it's like to not have a creative bone in your body?”

I figured my brain needed time to heal, so I let it heal. And I appreciated experiencing the mental life of an ordinary person. I would not want to live that way forever. But it was restful to live without layers of meaning. Everything was only what it was. I could pick up an orange and think only “orange”. There were no associations, no mental rambling, no blaze of connections, no desire to interpret experience, no wish to create something new, only the requirement to react to what already existed.

Before I knew it, a year had gone by. I began to taper off the paranoia medicine. And then, one day, I stopped it altogether. The day after stopping, my creative mind switched back on. I returned to my usual state of entertaining 40 ideas at once, all jostling for space in a crowded little wet bone box.

I'd pick up an orange and review in my head the discovery of sweet oranges in the New World as opposed to the sour oranges from India that Europeans had always known. I'd ponder the differences in the etymology of the word “orange” across all the European languages (many countries refer to it as a Chinese Apple). I'd consider the place the color orange fills on the visible light spectrum, the fact that cats and dogs don't eat the fruit – and don't see the color - because their bodies make their own vitamin C, the use of the peel in cleaning products, the vesicles holding liquid in pouches divided into segments to encourage sloths and mammoths to eat them in Pleistocene America. I'd dwell on the toxic coloring sprayed on the rind by growers who want all the fruit to appear ripe, the carnauba wax coating to seal out air and preserve freshness, our past family experiments with planting the seeds to grow indoor orange trees. And then thoughts would flow to kumquats and other indoor citrus plants we'd grown that were invaded by rancher ants that carried in aphids to suck the sap so the ants could drink their sweet excrement, to the plum curculios attacking the Asian pear trees outside, to the use of chickens to clean the ground of curculios, to ...

It was no longer just “orange” in my head. It was endless layer upon layer of simultaneous meaning. The word itself led in a hundred directions. The idea of the fruit led in a hundred more. The color led to yet another hundred. Everything intertwined. And I could see all the interlacing between the items. It was like looking at fabric that stretched to the horizon: the tapestry of past experiences, the rococo filigree of facts, the warp and woof of book learning, ideas knitted together by other languages, the mesh of mental images, braided databases filled with concepts. And there were countless sheets of this fabric, one of top of the other, each one interwoven with all the others.

With the medicine, an orange was a unitary experience. A thing was only a thing. An idea referred only to itself. A word had one meaning and no connection to any other words. Life was stark and simple.

Without the medicine, it was all a multi-colored rain of associations that poured, spat, gushed, spurt, surged, and inundated the landscape, tumbled, turned into braided streams, cascaded off cliffs, fed tributaries, swelled into rivers, and emptied into an ocean of sensation, memory, abstraction, fact, and imagination. And each raindrop was itself a kaleidoscope, a shifting hologram that held its own image in its separate pieces and recursed back onto itself and then out into the vastness.

Sooner or later, I'm going to long for the simplicity of “orange”. But when the medicine stopped, I leapt aboard ship and began sailing again on a sea of associations. The waves splashed me. I linked together the drops and began inventing things again, spinning stories, tying together melodies, inventing characters and worlds, re-immersing myself in the act of creation.

Being non-creative meant holding only one thought in my head at a time. Being creative meant having an uncountable number of thoughts and tying them all together to make new thoughts that no one had ever come up with before.

Being non-creative was like listening to one radio station all day. Being creative was like listening to sixty radios at once and making up new songs by dipping into the individual songs being played and selecting out pieces that went together in new compositions.

Being non-creative was like being a lumberjack. I would wake up, see the trees, and cut them down. Being creative was like being both the gardener who plants the acorns and the furniture maker who uses the harvested wood.

Being non-creative meant engaging with the quotidian world on its terms. Being creative meant devising a new world on my own terms.

Being non-creative was like eating and sleeping. Being creative was like having children.

3. The Creative Life

Ride the bus to school and watch the kid drawing manga characters in his notebook. Visit a grandmother's house and watch her sew a dress for her granddaughter. Observe the people who write stories their whole lives – for no other reason than to write stories. Watch the musicians alone in their rooms experimenting with new guitar riffs, new violins arpeggios, new piano chords, new vocal arrangements. Study the people who, unwilling to wait for a real-world teacher, learn from the internet how to make films, video games, and electronic art.

There are people who dance in their rooms at night, trying out new moves in the mirror. There are people who practice story-telling among friends. There are media artists who can't keep their hands off a new technology, who need to twist it to some artistic purpose as soon as they get their hands on it. There are people who make their own furniture to feel the lines of something that came from their own hands. There are people who blow and spin enough glass ornaments to fill the houses of their relatives. There are people who write the screenplays for the movies they want to act in. Creative people are everywhere. But most of us are invisible to the rest of the world.

I am one of millions of people who insert their art forms into the cracks of their daily life. They design and sew their own clothing at night. They compose songs to express their feelings. They draw comics and animations to make the mundane fantastical or the fantastical ordinary. They write books without any audience in mind just to create new worlds. They manipulate photographs because they have the urge to bend reality in a different direction. They fill their closets with water colors because no one will take any more of their paintings. They write fan fiction, invent electronic gadgets, build miniatures, construct robots, act in community theatres, slave over computer programs, and carve decoys, not because they see their obsession as the surest way to get rich, become famous, or entice sexual partners, but because they find a kind of joy and satisfaction in the act of creating that nothing else provides.

I am one of these people – someone who has sat at his sequencer, composing music on a Friday night after work, watching the sun set, dabbling at the keyboard, feeling joy, concentrating, and then looking up to see the sun rising again – so focused on the ecstasy of creation that no memory of time passing remains.

I am one of the people who, while getting paid to write software for financial applications at the state treasury, wrote miniature novels in the comments sections of the computer programs. I would adopt different voices – the cowboy, the cheerleader, the astronaut, the 1940s gangster – and write instructions to fellow programmers in those personae.

I am one of the people who made up stories for his kids every night – a different story each night, composed on the fly, weaving details of ordinary life into tales of talking animals and villains who always got their come-uppance.

I am one of the people who carved a wooden Christmas creche using penguins as models instead of people. I am one of the people who made enough money in the stock market one year to quit work and then spent his free time making animations, writing stories, and composing nocturnal jazz until the money ran out. I am one of the people who spent a lifetime choosing jobs, not for the money they brought in, but because they featured a creative element that could be explored. I'm also one of the people who got fired from jobs for being creative instead of political.

I am not famous. You have never heard of me. To the world at large I am invisible. But I am creative. In fact, the vast majority of creative people are invisible. And it's not because they are less talented or less dedicated to their craft than the famous people.

The famous people will certainly claim that talent, hard work, and persistence got them where they are, but there is an enormous amount of serendipity involved in becoming famous that no one talks about. For every famous creative person there are thousands of others with more talent and more dedication who are invisible. They are less pretty than the famous people. They are the wrong color, gender, persuasion, size, age. They live in the wrong place, in cultures that don't value their art, or among non-creatives who are mystified by anyone who spends their time having ideas or perfecting skills that do not lead to money, power, or sexual partners. Does that stop the no-names from being creative? Of course not.

These people are creative in ways that society does not value. But so what? Creativity is its own reward.

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rainiedeforest · 4 years

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MDZS headcanons - Madame Lan and Qingheng-jun [PART 1]

So... it happens that I was rewatching the show and I found charming and hilarious how all the people in the town found so many similarities between Lan Wangji and Lan Shizui (when he was Wen Yuan and little and clingy and so so cute that you wanted to put him inside your pocket to protect him), and also, and also I had this need to put in words some ideas about Madame Lan and Qingheng-jun because I think that we only knew a part of the story (the same story that was created by the elders who hated Madame Lan so… Was it all really true?) I cannot imagine Madame Lan or Qingheng-jun telling his sons the real story (they had better things to do as spending time in the first case and meeting them in the second) Also, I’m a sucker for romance in all ways so… here I am xD. Hope you like them :3 (It’s a little long and it will have mistakes because english is not my first language, sorry in advance. Also, this is longer than I have expected so... I will divide it in three parts.)

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

But first of all, the names. I’m going to give a name to Madame Lan (because only madame lan isn’t enough) and also to Qingheng-jun (whose name I think is only a title). Also, I’m sorry about any mistakes I could make, I don’t know Chinese and I only have access to Google translate and some other online dictionaries.

Madame Lan

Birth name: Zhi Aiyan: 治爱艳

Zhi (治) for “to rule”, but also for “to treat (a disease) Ài (爱) as in love Yàn (艳) as colorful, splendid.

I have searched the meaning in a online dictionary and the combination of (爱) Ài and (艳) yàn has this meaning: plaintive and beautiful or melancholy but gorgeous. And I think it will suit her really well.

Courtesy name: Lan Yingyue (蓝映月)

Yìng (映) as in to reflect (light), to shine. Yuè (月) as in moon

The name complete with the surname means reflection of the blue moon (and the why of this name... you will find it below)

Qingheng-jun

Birth name: Lán Suān qū (蓝酸曲)

Suān qū (酸曲) means “love song”

But also, thanks to the dictionary; I found that suān (酸) could means “sick at heart; grieved; sore; aching, pedantic; impractical” and that qū (曲) means song or tune.

Courtesy name: Lán Tiáo Hé (蓝调和), because this two characters means harmonious, to mediate, to reconcile, to compromise.

Headcanons

Zhi Aiyan belongs to a small family specialized in medicine and, more concretely, in problems with the golden core. His father is a cultivator that had learned all he knew thanks to his teaching under the wing of the branch of the Wen Clan that cultivates the medicine (the same branch as Wen Qing and Wen Ning). Her mother, on the other hand, was part of the Wen Clan when she was younger and before she married Zhi Aiyan’s father.

Her parents met there when his father was studying and fall in love with her mother, so Zhi Aiyan always wanted a love match like them.

They live in a small town near Yiling, where her father teaches her all about medicine and the art of cultivation with the help of her mother. She is a great student and soon she also made a little name in the cultivation world, destinated for only men and really few women. But, she isn’t the only one they teach, because his father has a few disciples that are also willing to learn.

When Aiyan turned fourteen, she engaged with one of the disciples of his father. She didn’t want to marry at first because she has in mind a lot of things she wanted to do with her life and also thoughs she was too young to marry anybody. Although, with some time and only because it was something her parents wanted for her (and they always wanted the best for their little girl), she learned to appreciate his fiancé, thinking that she has fallen in love with him at the end.

One night, when she was fourteen and she was searching for some medicinal herbs his father needed, she met Young Master Lan, Lan Tiaohe, in a forest near her house. He was badly injured but she helped him with some leafs of wild ginger and cut the blood of the open wound he had. Tiaohe didn’t saw her or had the opportunity to thank her because: first, he fainted because of the pain and second ‘cause she runs away scared when she heard the voices of the other disciples of GusuLan (they where 'harmless' and would take care of the young man, but she couldn't risk being mistaken for the person who had hurt Tiaohe).

Three years later, Aiyan was traveling before her wedding, searching some medicinal herbs to gift to her fiancé the day of. She was outside the city of Gusu when Tiaohe saw her and “fall in love at the first sight”.

But was it really “love at the first sight”? Tiaohe knew he felt a connection, an attraction to the mysterious woman, but he barely knew her. He was a hopeless romantic so love at the first sight sounded great for him.

He tried to talk with her, but the woman disappeared faster than a flicker. When he reaches Cloud Recesses, he found his little brother he told him that he had saw the perfect girl. “Believe me, Qiren, she looked like a goddess with the moonlight at her back illuminating her and her light color hanfu. I haven’t saw anything so beautiful ever.” Lan Qiren thought his brother had lost his mind because who would like to chase girls when you can improve your cultivation?

Aiyan and Tiaohe met some more times, but, although the young master was really handsome, Aiyan was engaged and his intents never gone to far. He would never insult her that way.

With the months passing, they developed a little friendship whatnever they met in night hunts, learning little things about each other.

One day, when Aiyan was seventeen, she heard that GusuLan Sect Leader had died because of an ilness and that his son, Lan Tiaohe, would succeed him as Qingheng-jun. With that news, she wanted to comfort Tiaohe (because she cannot imagine her life without her father), but she wasn't even near Gusu, so it was difficult to do it. Nevertheless, destiny was on her side and she found, one month later, Tiaohe in the forest. Aiyan comforts him when he said her that he was scared that he would mess up as Sect Leader, but her words made him secure again and happy.

A few time later, her parents decided the date of her wedding and she told Qingheng-jun in a letter (one of many). He congratulated her although he was feeling like dying inside. The woman he was in love with was going to be of other man, she was going to smile at him, hug him, kiss him... That man was going to be the most afortunated of all the world.

Lan Qiren was preocupaded for his older brother, because he was melancholic and sad and seems more a living dead that the brother he knew. That woman, because the cause of his problems had to be one, wasn't what she wanted for his brother and he hated her a little each day. “What happenend, xiongzhang?” “Yingyue is going to get married” “Who?” “The goddess of the moon I have talked about like... everyday.”

Lan Qiren had mixed feelings with that confession but said nothing. That ‘Yingyue’... What Qiren didn’t know was that that name had been given by Tiaohe to her so he will be able to talk about her without anyone being able to trace her and put her in danger (being engaged and all that, it would have been a scandal to talk about Aiyan using her birth name).

The night before the wedding, while Aiyan and his father were in a night hunt, having a last bonding time before she was gone, they fell in a trap. She asked for help of the group of disciples from the GusuLan Sect that were hunting in the forest but, as the monster they were fighting was too powerfull, the elder that was guideing the group left they at their own luck, saving also his disciples. Aiyan’s father died before her eyes.

Aiyan and her mother cancelled the wedding because they were mourning the loss of a father and a husband, respectly. Aiyan and her mother cancelled the wedding because they were mourning the loss of a father and a husband, respectively, and it wasn't time for celebrations. Now, they were all alone in the world.

Aiyan searched his fiancé for comfort, thinking he was going to be with her and her mother in this difficult moments. But the reality was different. She found that her fiancé not only has orchested the death of her father, but also he was aiming to take control over the medical information for selling it.

Aiyan was miserable. She couldn’t conceive that she had been deceived for so long by her fiancé, who had put his own ambition ahead of something else as the health of the people, wishing to keep the medical writings of the Aiyan's family.

Qingheng-jun, for his part, did nothing but talk Qiren about Aiyan, the feats he had heard from her, about how proud, strong and independent she was. A free spirit. The elders heard him one night and weren’t happy about it ‘cause they were preparing the engagement of Qingheng-jun.

Aiyan, devastated, searched revenge, first against her fiancé (whom she managed to drive him away) and, later, against the elder of the Lan clan, although she knew that it would not be so easy to reach the second.

She investigated on the outskirts of the city and was sure she would get him ambushed, however the one she finds is Qingheng-jun. Aiyan, hurt, shouted her that their friendship meant nothing for him, that his clan believed themselves superior just because they belonged to a large sect and that any life that was not their own was less than nothing.

Qingheng-jun wasn’t understanding anything and asked her to please explain to him, but Aiyan was so angry that she tried to attack him with her sword, Bichen. She just had to avenge her father, even if that wasn't going to bring him back. Qingheng-jun gently stopped her and tried to make her reason in a soft voice.

But the same elder who had let her father die in that night hunt, had followed Qingheng-jun so that he wouldn’t commit any madness, seeing the girl and misinterpreting the whole situation (Aiyan was crying in Qingheng-jun's arms).

After a heated discussion, Aiyan shouted all her doubts at the elder (Why didn't he help her father? Why was he so close to her fiancé? What did he get out of all that?) And Qingheng-jun asked his master to please clarify all that.

When the eldest refused to tell her absolutely anything, not wanting to know anything about an opportunistic and dirty woman who only wanted to climb and gain a power position by taking advantage of Qingheng-jun's good feelings, Aiyan launched her into attacking him with her sword, hoping that way she received some more answers, achieving nothing. Just a few wounds that she would have to deal with as soon as she was alone.

Qingheng-jun tried to stop them, calming Aiyan enough to stop her attacks, but his master demanded that, for the sake of the clan, he get away from that bad woman and return to have the upright life that was expected of him, a person of his high position. The man rushed to attack her and, after a few defensive movements with her sword, Bichen pierced, mortally, the body of the elder Lan, who cursed her before falling to the ground and throwing at the air a warning signal.

Aiyan was completely paralyzed without knowing what to do while Qingheng-jun felt his whole world breaking. A disciple who had come by the signal, witnessed the scene and fled to raise the alarm.

Qingheng-jun takes out a small sack with wild ginger leaves and tries to keep his master alive, panicking.

"I ... I did not ..." Aiyan, who never killed people but heal them, was so scared that she couldn’t even run away even if Qinghe-jun was begging her. This was the worst situation he could have ever imagined. He couldn't lose his master and the woman he loved in the same night, it was too much for him. The man had been a second father to him, but Aiyan... She was the woman of his life, the chosen one, the woman for what he knew he would leave everything behind, just as the founder of his sect, Lan An, had done. Qingheng-jun grabbed Aiyan's hand and fled as fast as he could as soon as he heard the rest of the disciples arrive at the alarm voice.

When they were far enough apart, Qinghe-jun spoke to Aiyan and asked her to run away for her life. He could bear not seeing her again as long as she was safe and sound, somewhere in this vast world. He knew that the rest of the clans would persecute her if the elders of GusuLan stipulated that she was a dangerous criminal. But Aiyan couldn't do that. She couldn't leave her mother alone. She had already suffered a lot with everything that had happened.

"I don't mind receiving the punishment. I know what I've done." "It was in self-defense!" "They won't see it that way, you know that." "A-Yan, please." "Sorry, Suanqu."

Then, Qingheng-jun, after cursing slightly, stared at her for several seconds, confident, as wonderful as the night when he first saw her, and told her the only solution he had been able to come up with. It wasn't the brightest idea, but it would keep her and her mother safe. Aiyan didn't understand at first, repeating the bows until she saw what it meant, stopping before the third. And she refused, but Qingheng-jun pleaded her that it was the only way to save them both.

"No!" "It’s the only way!" "The only solution? Let me be punished! I killed a man!" "I can't lose you, Aiyan! Not you... Please..."

As Qingheng-jun tried to convince her, they both heard the footsteps and voices of the rest of the disciples. With one last pleading look, Qinghe-jun removed the ribbon from his forehead and wound it around her wrist, glancing at his sectmates as they reached them, led by other elders and her younger brother Qiren.

“What’s the meaning of this?” “It’s just what it’s seems.” “Xiongzhang, please, come with us.” “I can’t. Not without her.” “She is an assassin!” “No. She is my wife.

***

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

#Mdzs #Mdzs novel #Mdzs headcanons #The untamed #The untamed headcanons #Qingheng-jun #Madame Lan #lan zhan #Lan Wangji #Lan Huan #Lan Xichen #Lan Qiren #Headcanons #GusuLan #my writing

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lifblogs · 4 years

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Title: Just For a Moment

Summary: Anne struggles to get through the day; with her eating disorders, her depression, her post-traumatic stress, and her personality disorder trying to hold her down.

Word Count: 1870

A/N: I would love, love, love to put a keep reading, but my laptop is a useless creation of science, so that won’t be possible. Just going to tag it as #long post.

WARNINGS: eating disorder mentions, self-harm mentions, minor self-harm, suicidal thoughts, violent thoughts, violent urges, implied miscarriage, unhealthy behavior

oOoOo

Anne has the urge to swear when she hears her alarm go off, but she’s too tired for her lips to move. She rolls over, the warmth and fur of her cat resting against her head. He grunts in protest and whacks her with his tail. Reaching around, Anne finally finds her phone, and taps mindlessly at the screen till the alarm stops.

She drops the phone on the floor.

Finally.

Now her cat is up. His name is Loki, but she’s taken to calling him Little Prince — it’s what he responds to at dinner time. Little Prince is pacing in circles about the pillow he’s claimed, legs and feet carelessly bumping into Anne’s head. He meows, voice a yell.

“Hi, Little Prince,” Anne mutters, though she doesn’t want to take the energy to get up.

Little Prince settles down, meowing, and cooing, and purring, and he gives Anne kisses that leave her cheeks wet.

She still considers drifting off to sleep.

But she has classes today: physics, calculus, Chinese, a bit of English, and then there’s work. Ugh. Recently she got swindled by her newest client, but she’ll still get over a hundred bucks out of them, so she’ll finish the job and fucking move on.

Thinking about it makes her want to stay in bed. There’s a heavy, dark feeling in her chest.

She thinks about physics. She’s no good at it.

Calculus? Too hard.

Chinese. Her family tells her to drop it and that the world won’t give a shit.

English. She took it because it was easy.

It would be easier to stay in bed all day. Much easier. Anne could just lie there, and sleep, or read, maybe play some games on her phone. She can just stay there with Little Prince all day.

The more she thinks about it, and the more hurt by the world she feels, this idea really begins to sink in. She wouldn’t have to stop her crying about derivatives and intervals, and she wouldn’t have to sit there with the same damn thermodynamics problem about ice, and she wouldn’t have to stop getting confused by the differences of mā, má, mǎ, and mà. And she wouldn’t have to read that stupid article about publishing sectors.

Anne could close her door. Ignore her family. Her head tells her to break all ties with them, to yell that she hates them.

Does she?

Her head says yes, yes, yes.

But it just hurts and feels so wrong.

At least in bed she wouldn’t go to her brother and say something stupid. At least in bed she wouldn’t be doing any serious harm to herself, right?

She wouldn’t be cutting, she wouldn’t be thinking of running away, she wouldn’t punch a wall (probably), she wouldn’t try to sell nudes, wouldn’t find a stupid, trashy guy to hook up with.

So it was better.

Right?

Anne knew her brother would yell at her about food.

But who gave a shit?

Staying in bed all day meant she got to stay out of the kitchen. Even now, thinking about a potential breakfast sends her stomach into heated knots of anxiety, and her shoulders and neck tense.

God, what would she even have for breakfast? She didn’t fucking want anything. She wasn’t hungry. The food wasn’t good. No food was good. If someone could go up to her right now and convince her that one dish was good, she’d marry them on the spot. But that won’t happen, and all food is basically garbage. It’s a waste. Her time could be spent doing something else. Every day it was eat, sleep, eat, sleep, eat, sleep. And only the sleep part sounded kind of nice (when she wasn’t having nightmares).

Eating. That was a living nightmare.

Her family called her picky. They didn’t even try to get food that she sometimes liked. And they wouldn’t let her eat her own portions.

Hmm…

Maybe if she locked herself in her room with her cat she wouldn’t have to eat all day. Not at all. Besides, she could feel the fat clinging to her body like extra packaging. She felt like a kid crammed into too many winter coats at once. Oh, to shed them off. To just be! That would be spectacular.

And to shed that she has to stay in bed all day, and continue hating food. Easy enough. Preparing food is stupid. The process of eating food is exhausting. And then the hate and guilt afterwards isn’t worth it. And it’s not worth the extra attention it draws to her body. She’s sure everyone can see it. How can they not? Her thighs are too jiggly; her calves are soft, ugly lumps that could do with some thinning; her biceps are puffs of fat; her hips carry weight like a fucking fannypack; and her stomach is too round, jutting out from whatever she wears.

Basically… her body’s a mess.

And that’s not the only mess of it. She should get up, take her medicine.

But punching a wall, tearing apart her headphones, and breaking up with her boyfriend is starting to sound like an increasingly good idea.

God, her boyfriend. She has to actually fucking talk to him, connect with him, put time into something temporary, something part of her would be more than happy to run away from.

She loves him.

She hates him.

Telling him he’s the worst thing to ever happen to her would do it, right? She’d never have to talk to him again? Never have to hold on to a connection that would break away and die either way?

Anne resists the urge to grab her phone.

She eventually does, and she just stares at the homescreen.

One-hundred-thirty-seven notifications from social media. Friends, fandom… She doesn’t want to respond, doesn’t want to talk to them. And she hasn’t for days. It’s just easier not to. She at least opens up the apps and clears the notifications. This way Anne can pretend that those people aren’t there, that they don’t exist.

But then, she smacks her thigh with her phone, feeling the keen sting. She does it again and again, until Little Prince urgently wraps himself about her, weirdly-strong tail around her neck. He’s purring. He’s kissing her.

Anne holds him close.

“Hey, dude, you getting up?”

Her brother.

Fuck.

Anne just grunts, hoping that’ll get him to leave her alone.

She loves her brother. He’s her best friend. But right now, when he comes to stand in Anne’s bedroom doorway all parent-like, she wants to scream and throw her phone at him. She’s tense from resisting.

A conversation Anne barely pays attention to ensues, and she drags herself out of bed. The temporary vision loss that follows is nothing new. Neither is the light-headedness, nor the headache, or the weak feeling in her legs, or the ache across her shoulders, the wheeze in her lungs.

Just another day in the life of Anne.

Fuck.

She goes through her morning routine, hating every second of it. She broke a few pills instead of getting herself to take them. But who cares, right? She’s not even on the right medicine to make her feel like a real person.

Anne finally looks in her drawers, and in her closet. Standing there, before all her clothes, she feels so vulnerable. With each article of clothing her eyes land on she assesses what bad quality it would cover up, and which it might make obvious. Sometimes the perfect outfit doesn’t exist, and sacrifices have to be made. But not today. Today she just stares and stares and feels completely empty, while her mind wanders to a celebrity’s wife that she’s a fan of.

God, she’s not just into the wife, but she likes her as a person, admires her. The night before she’d gone through her Instagram, and fan accounts for an hour.

Anne feels like her.

She picks out an outfit she thinks the wife might wear. She cries at the state of her body, which is being efficiently ruined with her recent reproductive health issue. She holds her lower abdomen and cries at the emptiness.

Wash your face, she tells herself. Get the fuck over it. You’re pathetic, and weak. No wonder your family hates you.

She tenses, curled in on herself, breath held as she thinks of her extended family. It’s as if somebody has suddenly punched her in the chest with brass knuckles.

Anne burns inside. In her head, she’s killing them. She’s brutalizing them, tearing them apart, screaming at them because they were evil bitches and they didn’t deserve to live.

Little Prince rolls over, demanding tummy kisses, and it passes.

After viciously brushing her hair, Anne lies back down with Little Prince, and smothers him in kisses. He needs her. She needs him.

Anne cries her last tears into his white, kitten-soft fur, and they hold each other until she’s ready to start the day, until her little boy knows she’s alright.

Time for breakfast.

She hates all the food they have. So Anne just sits down at the table and stares at her placemat till her brother finally decides to make pancakes.

Anne stops herself from throwing her plate at the wall. Little Prince brushes against her legs. Pancakes will do.

Beside her, her phone dings, dings, DINGS with notifications that will not be read.

The world would be better without all those people talking to her. But getting rid of them would be too much work. So, as she smells the pancakes start to cook on the pan, her stomach turning from the thought of having anything in her mouth, she thinks it’d just be easier to get rid of herself.

For now, all she can do is not eat. That would lessen herself, her physical presence, take all the weight off.

But then why does she still want to smash the hot pan into a cabinet? Why does she want to snap her laptop in half? Why does she sit there and start hitting herself with her phone, making it look like innocent tapping?

Why…?

Anne doesn’t know.

Her brother calls her name.

But it’s not her name. Not really. Anne isn’t her. Not inside. Inside, she’s nothing.

The pancakes sizzle, her phone dings, Little Prince yells, and she just sits there and sits there, holding it all in.

She makes it through one second, and then the next, all in her head thinking what that celebrity’s wife would do. That’s the right way to be, clearly… that other person. Who else would she try to emulate? Sure, it changed day by day, but today, she is hurting as she thinks of that woman and tries to be herself.

Ha! Be herself. What a joke. And not even one with a good punchline.

Anne’s brother asks her to set the table, and somehow, she gets up. She feels the soft dress against her skin; the nice, cool marble floor beneath her bare feet. The pancakes are nearly ready, and they actually smell good. Her brother smiles at her.

Anne smiles back, and somehow, despite it all, she feels it. Just for a moment, there’s peace.

#long post #writing #creative writing #writeblr #writerblr #angst #my writing #tw: self-harm #self-harm #tw: suicidal thoughts #suicidal thoughts #tw: eating disorder #eating disorder #tw: violent thoughts #violent thoughts #tw: implied miscarriage #implied miscarriage

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heyleafmealone · 4 years

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The development of dairy cattle breeding industry

With the development of the economy and the improvement of living standards, people's demand for milk and dairy products has greatly increased, and national policies have also vigorously encouraged and supported the production of dairy cows. The dairy industry has achieved unprecedented development. The rapid development of China’s major dairy groups has led to the development of China’s dairy farming industry, as well as the development of many industries such as plantation and animal husbandry, and gradually formed a dairy industrialization chain with dairy processing enterprises as the core. China's dairy industry has made a huge contribution. Judging from the current development of the dairy group, the dairy farming industry has become a growing industry. Let's take a look at the development of the dairy industry and several ways to promote the development of the dairy industry.

Several methods to promote the development of the dairy industry

1. China's dairy industry needs relevant consulting agencies

Consultation itself is a highly technical skill. It is an advanced form of veterinary services and is more valuable than simply treating sick cattle. According to reports, Europe and the United States have developed trainings such as Cow　Signals, 　Consult　the　Cow, 　Consulting　Services, etc., and have begun commercial operations. In my country, there is very little training that focuses on the field of ranch. Cultivating and forming this skill requires professional training and long-term training.

2. The development of the dairy industry needs to update the concept

In the past, veterinarians believed that as long as all the sick cows were cured, the entire herd would be healthy, so they were busy treating clinical diseases every day. If you hear that a certain veterinarian has a high level of operation in the ranch, it means that he has a high level of surgery. Hundreds of real gastric displacement operations have been performed within a year. The success rate is very high. The pasture veterinary industry is developing towards treatment and surgery, struggling to cope with the treatment of sick cattle. The biggest progress in dairy veterinary research in Europe and the United States in the past 25 years is that the veterinary practice of dairy cattle has transformed from treating clinical diseases to preventing subclinical diseases. People have re-recognized that almost all diseases are caused by multiple factors, and the factors that cause diseases are also Being regarded as part of the disease, removing the causative agent also belongs to the category of disease prevention. Therefore, the veterinary industry now believes that all pathogenic factors that cause diseases are eliminated, infectious diseases are eradicated, all subclinical diseases are prevented, and the entire cattle herd is healthy; the pasture veterinary industry is geared towards preventing veterinarians and nutritional and metabolic diseases. The direction of prevention and pasture consulting. For example, the perinatal period is a stage where dairy cow diseases are highly prevalent. Data show that 75% of the diseases occur in this stage, and 25% of the elimination occurs within 2 months after delivery. Therefore, prevention and health monitoring of perinatal diseases should be done. Early detection and early treatment are essential to eliminate the disease in its budding state. In addition, although the animal husbandry has a history of thousands of years, it was not until the last 10 years that people discovered that understanding and meeting the behavior and environmental needs of cattle is very important, and failure to meet the needs of cattle is also regarded as part of the disease.

3. Managers of large-scale farms need relevant training

After the melamine incident, the scale of dairy farming in my country has become higher and higher, and ultra-large-scale pastures have continuously emerged. As of the end of 2013, more than 30 ranches have been completed and put into production. As a new thing, ten thousand head cattle farms have sprung up like mushrooms after the rain. Many aspects lack mature experience to learn from, and more need to explore suitable development paths and models. According to data provided by DeLaval, there are about 150 managers in the world who can manage large-scale ranches, while there are very few in China. This also urgently needs corresponding training, especially the ability to find and solve problems in production.

The managers of large-scale ranches need to be on-site to discover and solve problems. However, some ranches always sit in the office, even if they go to the production area just to watch the flowers, or to accompany the leaders to promote their own benefits. Turn a blind eye to the problems of the ranch. When analyzing the difference between Chinese and Israeli cattle farm managers, Israeli Daniel said: Chinese cattle farm managers are more like white-collar workers of the company, staying in the office most of the time, living comfortably and having superior office conditions; while Israeli cattle farm managers They are all commanded at the front line of production, analyzed the production data through the cattle farm management software, and then solved it in the first time.

4. Technicians of large-scale farms need relevant skills

In fact, the employees in the ranch are the ones who understand the production situation best. However, on the one hand, there is a general lack of corresponding knowledge and skills. On the other hand, everyone is only engaged in his own position, lacking coordination and comprehensive observation, understanding and analysis. There are huge differences between veterinarians in our country’s ranch veterinarians and foreign veterinarians, which are manifested in the following aspects: education, training and skills, and job content.

In terms of qualification education and professional skills, my country's cattle farm veterinarians have almost no threshold. The author conducted a statistics on large-scale ranches, showing that more than 80% of ranching technicians (veterinarians, breeders, breeders) have a technical secondary school education or below, and lack a systematic and comprehensive knowledge system and relative training.

A system of practicing veterinarians is generally implemented abroad. In the United States, you can become a veterinarian by taking 4 years of study and passing the National Veterinary Degree Examination (DVM). Only veterinary schools accredited by the American Veterinary Association Board of Education can issue DVM degrees. At present, 27 universities in the United States have certified veterinary schools. Approximately 2,100 students graduate each year; to become a practicing veterinarian, a DVM must pass a state government examination and obtain a license before practicing medicine.

#dairy cow #cow breeding #milk #dairy products #branching

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natsunoomoi · 4 years

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FFVII Thoughts

-This whole thing with Jessie is so much filler it’s mostly unnecessary. Plus I feel like the whole impact of Jessie and her arc and even this filler is detracted by her being a former actress. Like I mentioned before I feel like her being an actress and known for toying with men kind of takes away from her crush on Cloud and makes it seem cheap. Also even though she’s someone’s daughter who is more tech inclined, I always thought of her as an engineer herself and like a former Shinra engineer that quit would have been a more powerful message than that of an actress. Even if you keep her Dad getting sick it adds an extra layer. Like say she worked in R&D and they like pushed an experimental mako enhancement for the plant too soon and she warned it would make people sick and it made her Dad sick. There’s a lot of ways her story would have been better and fit more nicely into the narrative. :/

-Even though Jessie annoys me, Biggs is kind of okay but he comes off to me as a little cliche. Wedge is kind of a little nicer.

-Aww, they took out the pickpocket on the train during the ID scan. That would have been a lot harder to deal with, but yeah.

-Good lord they stretched out these areas.

-Completely lost in this lamp and platform maze, but after a long time I finally figure out how to get out even with the items.

-Another maze and more reactor context change.

-Robot change where you can screw it over. That’s interesting.

-Yay Aerith!

-Dang Reno. You hard.

-OMG stupid ghosts get out of the way. I bet I have to trek all this way back to get this materia.

-This church is now also a crazy rat maze.

-Now onto roof rat maze.

-Ugh, why do I have to take the long way just to avoid Rude?

-Let me explore the town!

-Cloud and Aerith are way more helpful in this game. The kids have a secret hide out. Cool, I guess.

-Chadley is seriously simultaneously frustrating and useful.

-Yay I can go back and get crap from the church.

-Okay, so sneak out. Why tf is there a pot right outside my room that I can’t see?

-Okay, so there’s Aerith. We have a secret tunnel-ish. So many ladders. So much up and down.

-Out of that maze and yay they kept that scene where Aerith brings up Zack. Still not sure I’m liking all the foreshadowing cuz this was a spoiler in the original game.

-Tifa looks nice in that outfit. Like in general in this game though. They gave her a pretty thoughtful makeover that like captures the essence of her original profile, but also with some added tweaks in style that I actually like better. Like she didn’t have those thigh highs before, but those are a nice touch. And instead of her mini skirt her skirt is actually a skort and is pleated. Plus like the better boob support.

-Good lord Wall Mart is so involved now. So many alleys. Get out of the way yo!

-Leslie seems kind of cool, but I’m not sure cuz he works for a creep.

-Ugh hussle of trying to figure out how to get in. This sponsorship thing is new. I guess Corneo got more exclusive in this game.

-I have to go to the coloseum? Ugh, why?

-This crowd is full of haters.

-Okay winning over the crowd....

-I have an extra battle? WTF is this BS. I almost wish it was the Turks making a surprise appearance. That seems like a silly stupid thing the original would have done.

-Obviously Cloud caught someone else’s attention.

-Yay! Finally dress up time.

-Awesome. I’m doing a bunch of quests now.

-Whoops I didn’t level up my materia all the way. I got most of them so it’s doing fine but just the medicine thing.

-I saw a lot of people complaining about Jules, but he wasn’t so bad? I just needed to remember the rhythm and what I was doing by saying it so I could keep track of the pattern.

-Ugh, Johnny where you taking me? I have to wait for someone not yet.

-Oh Aerith looks nice. I like her outfit.

-Okay time to dress up Cloud.

-Whoa, Folia is a honeybee? Teh shock.

-What is this mini-game? It’s hard to keep rhythm and sometimes I actually can’t see the queue. Why do you design a mini-game where you can’t see the thing clearly?

-Oh shit I missed a track because I didn’t want to sit there and keep playing a frustrating mini-game. D:

-Yay! At least I got the cute dress. But real talk I kind of miss the old way to dress up Cloud only cuz I would want to see what the different colored wigs look like, but that whole storyline is very trans insensitive. Or even drag insensitive, so I understand why they changed it.

-Andrea is kind of cool. I was worried they were going to make him into some kind of flaming stereotype, but actually although he definitely has some flare, he’s a pretty well balanced character and none of the characters really judge him for his personal choices. Although definitely some judgement for the stuff they make them do, but that’s fair because you’re being subjected to it. Good on Cloud for following along.

-Okay time to take down this fat loser. So how does this work? How do you know who he’ll choose?

-Wait does he just choose Cloud every time? That’s a little less fun. I liked dressing Cloud up as the prettiest princess so that you could get him picked.

-This bit of them threatening Corneo’s private parts is still one of my favorite things. It was teh shock when I saw it the first time back in the day and I still enjoy it now.

-Ugh, the sewer. Also a lot of denial. But ugh the sewer.

-My sister was right. The train graveyard is creepier.

-Oh crap I forgot to steal from Eligor. !@#$@#%

-Alright climb the pillar. This is kind of slightly more fun with the extra scenes from Reno and Rude.

-Whoa, they saved Wedge. Cuz he originally totally ate it. Like straight fell off the pillar several stories and was unresponsive.

-Biggs and Jessie still die. That’s fine. I actually feel less sorry for Jessie dying than I did with the original. :/ I think because they managed to actually make her irritating with how over the top they made her.

-Aerith and Marlene is so cute!

-Helicopter shots are annoying, but I like hearing Reno. It’s sad that Fujiwara Keiji died two days after this came out. This is like the last thing he did probably. But his voice fit Reno really well. I don’t think it fit Ardyn well. Ardyn I think deserved a lower register, but I think Square gave him the part probably because of his diagnosis cuz I think Ardyn’s in-game struggle in a sense reflected his real life trials in some way only in the game he became immortal. Real life not so much, but immortalized in a sense through these works. I wonder if Square would have wanted it to come out sooner so that maybe he could have played it himself a little bit before passing, but they had to push the date for quality and stuff.

-I don’t know why, but I really like looking at Reno’s open shirt. Like I think the way they did his abs are a bit different from Advent Children. I think his shirt is even open wider than in AC. *checks* Yeah, it is. AC it’s buttoned up toward the top and just the top one or two are left open. And okay for real Remake has his shirt open even more than even in the original. Nevermind him buttoning up more for AC, but like in original FF7 polygon Reno and original Nomura art Reno looks like it’s only unbuttoned to about mid-pecs. Remake Reno is like down to like the top of his stomach. I guess I can’t complain about the equal opportunity fan service.

-Tseng is actually done pretty well, but I keep looking at him cuz he just strikes me as odd.... Oh wait is it his hair? Is that a hair tie? I don’t think he had a hair tie before. I think we were just supposed to assume he had his hair slicked back and kept in place by gel or hair spray. Also his face is interesting cuz I think they tried to make him actually look Chinese, but I think he just turned out looking kind of like Tamaki Hiroshi. Oh and Suwabe-san!

-LOL Rude carrying Reno like a rag doll.

-And there goes the plate. Oh, no, Wedge. I guess he did die. But the kitties. ;o;

-Let me explore Wall Market! Ugh, fine.

-That Kyrie chick seems kind of a little annoying. I kind of want to let Barret hit her. But I’m probably biased because I had a hot mess of a flatmate with that name and she like didn’t clean up after herself and left dirty dishes in her room and like pushed it up against her roommate’s bed. >.> Like passing responsibility over them to someone else. And I think she maybe broke one of my cups? And like tried to use my stuff without asking? Maybe stole some stuff too but idk. And like worst of all was like she sold her car so she could get money because she couldn’t hold down a job and like needed money and instead of like you know paying rent and bills, she spent it on shoes and make up and left the receipt out for us to find.

-Wall Market is...different in the day time.

-All teh quests.

-Okay Kyrie is still kind of annoying and stupid when you talk with her one on one, but she at least seems better than my flatmate.

-Oh old lady is the Angel.

-Findin’ all the birds. It kind of strikes me that they added this in cuz of how much time it takes to get places and it’s kind of like XV and even the XIV MMO, but not. I guess it’s a staple now with their newer titles because of how grand they make the scenery.

-Down in the sewer again....

-I just really wanna find Corneo’s stash.

-OMG I got a chase this little asshole now.

-Okay so now Leslie. Leslie is a good guy after all. Not a bad new character too. Nice decent development and stuff.

-But gdi Corneo’s still alive. I mean, I knew that cuz Wutai, but ugh.... I think he deserved at least a punch in the face.

-Okay so anyway I guess I’m going up now. Just going to finish up stuff before I go past the point of no return. Get all teh things I can from the coliseum and all that.

-Climbing, climbing. Oops I missed a thing. Was I supposed to?

-Gdi this helicopter thinger is annoying. I can’t slash any boxes. Just kick them around.

-Okay done so I guess I’m going in.

-...Is this a parking lot?

-Oh okay so here’s the entrance.

-Shinra headquarters actually looks like a bigger version of Square Enix’s headquarters in Higashi Shinjuku. I’ve been there pretty recently and also like to cut through the office building to get to Artnia cuz I don’t want to walk all the way around. Decor and stuff and specifics are definitely different, but like the double tower U-shaped look with the walkway in the middle thing is very much how the building is in Shinjuku. Specifics with the stairs and escalators are also different, but kind of the same deal with some amount of ambient lighting at night time and the lobby and such is still mostly open in the evening for people who work late or want to pass through. Some of the doors being locked or like certain staircases and such being roped off are a thing as well. I just know this cuz I often go to Artnia around dinner time when I’m there, so it’s generally after hours already.

-I think even the parking lot situation might even be the same? I’m not sure because I usually take the subway and that let’s out into the mini mall downstairs, but parking if you go there and do that is like subterranean for sure and would be the first layer if it was on a plate.

-I mean, the HQ is also technically kind of on a plate also. Cuz the mini-mall is like below normal street level, but it’s like more cool with like a Lawson’s and restaurants. Coming up from the subway is also a lot similar POV-wise to coming up through grappling hook too in terms of perspective.

-Getting the key. Getting a glove on the way. This part is kind of cool. I always liked this part of the game in the original too and exploring an empty office.

-This is suspicious. I have to take a tour...?

-I guess this is interesting to learn about the company and stuff.

-Weird movie theater. Oh look a spoiler hallucination in the theater. It’s nice to see more of Sephiroth.

-Oh yeah the mayor. That’s a bit of a change that he’s secretly Avalanche. Whatever cool. Yay I got a weapon.

-I gotta do a battle simulator. Oh great I guess if I want items I have to sit here and do all the simulators.

-Oh look it’s Chadley. I have turn ins. Take my stuff.

-Okay so hike upstairs....oh shit they’re going in. Sneak slowly behind and like go around and explore stuff.

-Found the toilet. Haha. Tifa yells at Cloud if he goes in the wrong one. Good.

-This is a nice bathroom.

-Okay up in the vent.

-Interesting extra context and oh yeah Palmer saw Sephiroth.

-Hojo is more gross looking than I remember. Like piled on extra creep factor for him.

-Following into the lab. I guess I should be glad he wasn’t a dumbass and trying to mate Aerith with Red XIII.

-Interesting that it’s only now that they’re really making good use of Those Who Fight Further. I don’t think I’ve really heard it all that often before.

-Yay! Yamaguchi Kappei!

-This part getting serious with Sephiroth is appropriate, but kind of different with him starting to freak out.

-Oooh, Turks scene! It’s nice that they know they are fan favorites now and they put them in more scenes. I wish it would actually play their theme every time they show up like it used to. That’s what made them badass too.

-Aww, Aerith’s room.

-Interesting they are talking in Aerith’s room instead of getting captured and Aerith talking through the wall.

-Shinra science experiment...You’re probably not entirely wrong.

-Huh, wisdom from Red XIII. That’s different context.

-Wow, that’s different. Pointing out a different greater enemy so early. I guess it makes sense Aerith would know because of the whispers she hears, but also it kind of sucks the mystery of the progression of the original story.

-Dang, Sephiroth and Cloud confrontation-ish now? Not going to mysteriously take a body and stab the President?

-Oh joy another crazy rat maze.

-Hojo is definitely more gross than he used to be.

-Oh, nope. Just different order. There’s the trail of blood.

-Well, “blood”. Jenova blood is now apparently purple bubbling ooze.

-President Shinra is just hanging?! DISAPPOINTED. I liked it better when you just showed up and he had a giant sword in his back. Also wondering if you’d be blamed for it, but yeah, sword in the back!

-This is what you get for showing mercy. :/ Sword in back was better.

-Oh shut up already so Rufus can take over.

-Oh you get to watch the sword in the back.

-WTF. He’s not supposed to stab your party.

-Ghost things protecting fate is weird. But also I have some theories like the game is conscious that it’s a remake or something and for some reason they’re repeating history, but some things are different because people don’t do things in exactly the same way but certain things are fated to happen so they have to be preserved.

-Interesting that this game shows the cloaked figures going back and forth between Sephy. Kind of takes away the fun from years of debate on the subject about wtf is happening.

-And here’s Rufus. Still better than his Dad.

-I like that there’s more Turks footage than the original.

-Kind of nice that there’s more tender moments between Tifa and Cloud or rather we can experience them bonding more first hand.

-Did they make Wedge die in a different spot?

-Motorcycle bit is a bit different. Boss on motorcycle is kind of hard. Died once.

-I think it’s just cuz it’s a Remake that they added him here, but Sephiroth is at the end of the highway and I kind of think it sucks. :/ Cuz like it shouldn’t be like this.

-Why is Zack alive? Oh I think this is a flashback. Aww, this is supposed to be a hidden thing. ;o; Stop feeding them all the stuff. Let them find it.

-Whisper monsters...Okay this is just some kind of an AU. Like not really entirely a remake, but a different game in the same timeline cuz Sephy figured out somehow how to alter time and space. Aerith knows kind of what’s up because she became god essentially during AC. Would also explain why the game itself is giving away so many damn spoilers too.

-Holy shit, is Zack dead or not? D:

-Okay I looked up a thing and it said his death is ambiguous, but he’s never seen. Zack was an actual SOLDIER too so he could be a cloaked guy for all we know. But also at the end of AC it was both him and Aerith chilling together welcoming people to the lifestream so who the hell knows what she did.

-Biggs is alive?!

-So okay, if this is an AU things can change and I’m less gripey about the weird things that happened. Cuz it’s like just another pinpoint on the timeline that kind of has pseudo time travel and when you repeat things over again they’re not always exactly the same. I suppose for Square itself it’d be kind of boring to make an actual Remake because they don’t want to take away from the original and they want people to still buy that too cuz it was so good even though the graphics didn’t age so well. Instead they slapped Remake on a new title and trolled us all into thinking they actually did it when actually it’s like a timey wimey thing.

#ffviir spoilers

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imsadstuff · 5 years

Text

What to do for dinner

Taehyung x Reader (also Jimin being a fairy and Jungkook being a little shit)

Fluff with a little angst. Slight mention of mature themes.

app. 1900 words

“What should we do for dinner?” Tae asked as you buckled. Both of your jobs are very demanding so you guys decided to always eat breakfast and dinner together. So far you guys haven’t cooked one meal.

“Definitely not pizza, we had it last night. Also no chinese we had it day before yesterday. How about we pick up some fried chicken.” He asked kissing your cheek. He never forgets a goodbye and hello kiss.

“Uh..no fried chicken. We had it this Monday. How about sushi?”

“I had sushi for lunch. We ordered from this new place and it was so fresh, you have to try it. Also on a unrelated topic we are out of cereal.” You went through a food ordering app thinking about what to eat. Everything just nauseated you.

“We’ll just pick some cereal on our way. Tae I’m feeling nausea seeing all this food. I might be sick. We should order some Bibimbap. No, even that is making my nausea come back.” You shut off the phone before you threw up on it.

“Honey are you okay. We should also pick up some medicine for your nausea.” He got a hold of your hands gave you a worried look.

“I haven’t been feeling the way lately. I threw up last night after dinner. Also today during lunch every time I looked at my food i felt like throwing up a little. I think I should-”

“Honey by any chance are you late?” He slowed down the car and came at a halt.

“Late where? I was on time for the morning meeting-”

“Your period. By any chance are you late?” This struck like a lightning. You were so busy with work that you forgot you were two weeks late.

“Oh my god you’re pregnant. Oh my god, wow. I have to call-”

“Tae you are not calling anyone till we confirm this. We need to confirm this, oh my god Tae I’m pregnant. I’m not ready for this, a child? I can hardly manage my job, how will i manage a job. And I’ll have to take some injection, promise me Tae that you will not allow a needle near me. I’m not ready-”

“Honey, calm down okay. We’re still not sure. Let’s not spiral before we are sure okay.” He kissed you a few times but you couldn’t stop yourself from spiraling. Pregnant? A baby? The both of you could hardly keep a plant alive, how are you going to do a baby.

“I’m going to drive us to a pharmacy and we’ll grab some tests okay. Don’t worry, I love you.” He pulled his shaky hands on the steering and drove as fast as he could.

“Oh my god Peaches you guys are pregnant. I’m so happy.” Jimin pulled you into a hug as soon as you reached your apartment.

“I so can not imagine you guys as parents. I-” you broke the hug and hit Jungkook as hard as you could.

“Jungkook don’t set her off. She is hungry and pregnant she will kill you.” Tae spoke from behind you.

“When, how, why are you guys here.?” you walked inside the house and stumbled a little removing your heels.

“Hey take it easy okay.” Tae held you by the waist taking your handbag from your hands.

“We are here because you boyfriend summoned us. I wonder what this child-”

“Jeon shut up. Are you trying to get yourself killed. Peaches. Why do you go and pee on the stick and we wait out.” Jimin pushed you into the bathroom.

“Pee on the stick, that is the groc-” You walked back to Jungkook while Jimin and Taehyung pushed you inside the washroom.

“JK I come out and you’re dead meat.” You shouted before slamming the door.

The ride home from the pharmacy was a quiet ride. You were basically fidgeting and Taehyung drove as fast as he could. You removed the box and read this instructions. They were pretty easy other than the fact that you had to wait for complete two minutes for the results.

You tried the first one and placed it upside down. What if it’s positive. Tae and you just moved in together, you guys are not ready for a child.

“Honey did you try?” a quiet Tae spoke from the other side and you opened the door.

“Yeah, we have to give it two minutes.” he pulled you into a hug and you could feel his heart beats. He is so not ready for this, what if he leaves you. You stayed like that for a little while, what if the test result was positive. Why is Jungkook recording this with his phone.

“Hey it’s almost time you should check it.” Tae whispered and you untangled himself from him.

“Honey no matter what the result is I still love you okay.”

You have never been this nervous. You could feel the nausea coming back.

“Positive. The result is positive.” you almost couldn’t believe this.

“These things usually take more that two tries for a definite answer. Why don’t you try a second one.” Jimin massages your shoulders and you saw colour leave Tae’s face.

The second one was negative and you could breathe a little. You were still not sure so you searched for the third kit. While waiting for the results you contemplated about calling your mom. What if you were actually pregnant, your christian mother would not be happy.

“Peaches are you done Tae is having a little panic attack out here.” You got up to open the door and everyone piles up in the washroom again.

You sat down, thinking about how your life is going to change. You wanted to cry, your tears were almost there.

“Honey, whatever the result is I still love you and we’re together in this.” Tae sat down beside you holding your hand. You could feel how cold his hands were.

“Can someone check the test. Jungkook check it.” Jimin walked in with a glass of water and handed it to you.

“There is no way in hell I’m-” Jungkook shut up when you looked up at him and picked up the stick. God, please let it be negative.

“This does not say anything. It has a strip here, what does it mean. What does-”

“How many strips?”

“Only one.” JK passed the test to you. Only one strip. Negative. Not pregnant. You could feel the tears streaming down, you were relieved but a little sad. Tae took the test from your hands and pulled you in his lap.

“Hey, Hey, no crying. You’re not pregnant. We’re not pregnant. This is good news.” He wiped your tears and kissed you forehead a few times.

“We’ll give you guys a moment.” Jimin pulled JK out with him and closed the door behind him.

You just hugged him and sat like that for a while. All the scenarios you imagines in the past few minutes. You were almost a little upset about not being pregnant.

“I’m relieved but i’m also a little sad” Tae finally spoke and you pulled apart.

“Me too. I know it’s a little early for us to have kids but I like the idea of a family with you. It does not scare me as much as I thought.” kissed him and you could almost feel him smile in the kiss.

“I love you.-”

“Guys, what is your plan for dinner?” Jungkook opened the door wide open before Tae could finish.

“Jungkook you are trying to get yourself killed aren’t” you got up and Jimin pipped in.

“How do you guys live. You have no kinds of grocery in the house, not even cereal?”

“We just ran out of cereal today and we don’t cook much at home so no groceries.” You made a mental note to schedule an appointment with your gynac and pick some cereal tomorrow.

“You guys always eat out or order take out. How are you not sick of it.” what Jungkook said did make you realise something. Maybe the food was making you sick.

“You guys have more take out menus than spoons in your kitchen. You guys should start to learn how to cook.” Jimin plopped down on the sofa as you snuggled close to Tae.

“How come we never cook? “ Tae asked and you were joining dots about how all the food was making you sick.

“Because the last time you tried to wake her up with a breakfast there was a fire in your kitchen.” Jungkook was enjoying wasn’t he.

“You should have kissed you girlfriend goodbye when you came here, that mouth of yours is going to get you killed” You walked to the kitchen and Jungkook flinched when you walked by him.

“It wasn’t the sex that made you sick, maybe it was the take out food,” Jungkook spoke as you searched for ramen cups.

“Jungkook you are in thin ice. Tae we have no food in this house, we really need to do that adult thing called cooking.”

“Yeah I’m thinking that too. Maybe we can take classes.” Tae suggested and you agreed.

“That will be the best thing to do before we set our house on fire.”

“I have an even better idea, how about we take a few days off, get a villa in Maldives or Bali and hire a instructor there? That way we can make a vacation out of it.” Tae spoke and you wondered how his mind works.

“Kim Taehyung looks at looks at something and thinks, ‘Okay i want this, but how can i make it more expensive’ “ Jungkook wasn’t wrong.

“I totally love the idea but my boss will fire me if I take one more vacation.” let’s just say you guys vacation a lot.

“Jungkook there is nothing wrong with me planning a vacation with my girlfriend. We don’t get a lot off time from our jobs and vacations are the only time we get to spend-”

“One more vacation and she’ll get knocked up for real.” You threw a pillow at Jungkook. He was really pressing the wrong nerves today.

“And your girlfriend is not going to get knocked up because we are going to kill you.” Tae threw another pillow at him. Why do you have full size pillows on your couch?

“Maybe he’s so snappy because he hasn’t gotten any action lately?” you threw another pillow and Jungkook dodged this time.

“For your information we were in the middle-” Thank god Jungkook was cut off by the door bell.

“Who is it now?” Tae threw another pillow and he hit Jungkook hard this time. You highfives your boyfriend and Jimin got the door.

“I ordered some groceries while you guys were being stupid. Now I’m going to make something something quick while you two love birds go and get washed up. Jungkook i need help in the kitchen.” Jimin ordered and everyone got to work.

“And help me a little and hire yourself a cook, I’ll send you guys a few options and hire one. Wait, I’ll just hire one for you guys.” Jimin spoke pulling Jungkook with him.

“Jimin you are a fairy sent for us. You are the best.” Tae hugged you from behind looking at his Jimin trying to utilise Jungkook.

“Anything for you and peaches. Also please no funny business and get washed up. Quick.”

“Jimin one quick question, why do you call her Peaches.” Jungkook asked a question he wasn’t ready for.

“Because her butt looks like a peach.” Jimin nonchalantly stated and you had to restrain Tae from running and hitting their fairy angel. You don’t need kids yet, you have Jungkook and Jimin for now.

#bts #bts fluff #writing #bts drabble #excerpt from a book i'll never write #bts x reader #writeblr #bts jimin #jungkook #kim taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung fluff #taehyung one shot #bts jungkook #jungkook fluff #taehyung x reader

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prorevenge · 6 years

Text

Re-use unfinished soups for the next customer? Lose your restaurant.

Very long post but worthy to read! A great recipe at the end.

This revenge story happened in the early 90s when I was working after school as a line cook / chef’s assistant at a Chinese restaurant. The place specialized in noodle soups, with the main attraction being our soup stock. The owner used a much revered passed down family recipe. It consisted of freshly cracked pork bones, fresh spices and fresh vegetables all kept at a rolling boil for over 12 hours. It had to be started the night before and the owner was very particular about the soup stock. If it ran out, then it ran out. He refused to ‘cheat’ as some places do by adding water or powdered stock etc.

The owner himself was this really awesome, old Chinese gentleman. He had some incredible stories. For example, he enlisted into the Kuo Ming Tang (Chinese republic) Army in the 40s and worked as a chef for KMT officers during WWII. He told us about how one time his Division’s HQ was over run, and he had to escape on a push bike ahead of the advancing Japanese Army. Eventually, when the Chinese Communist Party took over in the 50s, he was assigned to a steel factory to work for the rest of his life. He gtfo’d and eventually made his way to the US as an asylum seeker. I digress but my point is that he was an awesome guy and was a genuinely kind and considerate boss. He always made sure his employees were fed before the evening shift and let me study during quiet nights.

His son on the other hand was a real piece of shit. This guy dropped out of college (his parents saved up for him to study medicine) after 2 years. He floated in and out of jobs but mostly stayed unemployed, living with his parents and using their money to well into his mid-30s. He eventually started working at the restaurant, nominally as the front of house manager but in reality, did nothing but watch TV and take naps.

While I was only a line cook, the old man and I got along really well. He trusted would routinely get me to make the soup stock the night before under his supervision. Sadly, the old man died after my 5th year working there. That’s when the son took over (the mother had passed years ago). The son had zero cooking experience but decided to take over as the chef. He didn’t like the idea of putting the soup on overnight (waste of gas) and instead got me to do the prep the night before and then would just switch the pot on himself in the morning. He would also routinely add plain water to the soup when it got low so he could continue selling noodle soups. The most incredible thing however, was disgustingly, he got the wait staff to throw customer’s unfinished soups back into the stock pot for reuse. When I confronted him about it, he told me that it was no problem as the heat killed any germs and threatened to fire me if I said anything.

Not surprisingly customers started leaving as the food quality degraded. This caused the son to panic and cut even more costs. He fired most of the old staff and thus overworked the remaining. He couldn’t fire me because I was the only one left who knew how to do the soup. He also stopped using quality ingredients and started to buy cheap pre-packaged staff in order to reduce my prep work hours. After a few months of this I got sick of his crap. As I was about to start college myself I told him that I was giving him my notice. He of course took this poorly and told me that I was a loser. He told me not to bother coming in tomorrow, but I was to spend the remainder of my shift showing a recent hire on how to do my job, stating that he would not issue my last check if I didn’t complete a thorough hand over. I laughed in his face and walked out on the spot, I didn’t bother chasing up my last check.

As a parting gift, I sent an email to our local Food Safety board, informing them of the poor sanitary practice of reusing left over soups. I helpfully also enclosed a few photos that I had sneakily taken of the practice. The board sent inspectors the very next day and closed the restaurant (there were other issues such as unhygienic bathrooms, uncleaned eating utensils), he was issuied a massive fine and a list of undertakings to carry out before it could be reopened. The restaurant remained closed and was eventually sold off. I didn’t bother chasing up what happened to the son but I hope he has learnt his lesson and done something productive with his life.

Here it is folks! I’ve had to modify this recipe as we used to make in a freaken humongous pot. This makes about 1.5 gallons of bone broth so please modify to your requirements.

Hao SiFu’s pork bone broth.

Ingredients:

4-5 pounds of pork leg bones and knuckles

1 pound of chicken bones (neck or wings work best)

2 large onions – chopped in half

6 cloves of garlic – lightly crushed

1/2 Chinese white radish – chopped roughly (replace with carrots if unavailable in your area)

1 thumb piece of ginger

Handful of dried shitake mushroom (pre-soaked)

Handful of conpoy (dried scallop)

1 tpsn of crushed black pepper

Several dashes of Chinese rice wine

Method:

Boil the bones in a separate pot for at least 10 minutes. Remove from water and rinse carefully under tap water.

Crack the leg bones along the middle (we used a giant cleaver) Place washed and cracked bones in clean pot with cold water and bring to boil.

Add all other ingredients.

Gently boil with lid slightly ajar for at least 8 hours (the longer the better) stirring occasionally. It will smell terrible for the first 2 hours for some reason – this is normal. I've also used pressure cooker which reduces the cooking time to about 2 hours. It's still very good but unfortunately you don't get the nice emulsification of the fats.

The finished product will look like a rich, opaque, creamy white colour. Strain before serving.

This broth is served with fresh noodles with vegetables and protein of your choice. Ensure you season with soy sauce or salt before serving. For example, I like it served with roast pork, bok choy and mushrooms with egg noodles.

(source) (story by ThomasofHookton)

#pro revenge #by ThomasofHookton #prorevenge #pro revenge stories #recipe #recipes #soup recipes #soup recipe #food #soup #soups #yummy #revenge stories

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singaporesupplements-blog · 5 years

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realtaoism · 6 years

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Would Mr Qi Gong take the stage please !

It appears that Qi Gong is raising its profile as the next must have accessory. I think some famous people are endorsing the practise. However just like Tai Chi Chuan many misunderstandings can arise.

So I would like to put a few observations out there that hopefully will be read by a few people who have a sincere interest in what it really is and whether or not the claims made of it are valid.

I often recoil at the marketing of the Arts I have adopted and researched. I do not profess to know all there is to know about Qi Gong. But what I do know I will try to share.

Qi Gong as we know it is a modern phenomenon arsing out of the cataclysm of the 20th Century known as Communism and based on older practises that date back to at least 300 BCE. China has been known for its supreme achievements in art, medicine, literature and even martial arts. All these arts arose out of the defining of the culture based on the notion of a universal principle that cannot be adequately put into nor limited by words. The idea was that of the Tao, that which links everything known and unknown. All that arises from the Tao returns to the Tao. It is a universal source of all that exists, planets, starts, galaxies humans to micro organisms.

The art of Qi Gong can be summed up as as the art of being totally present to the body at rest and particularly when it is in motion. It can look suspiciously innocuous and is not easy to comprehend visually. It is a form of let's call it mindful movement. Essentially you pay attention to the state, feeling and balance of the body. It can be a form of intelligent exercise when the mind/ Intent is conjoined. Without understanding the roots of applied Taoist cultivation methods modern Qi Gong is of little benefit to the human being as a totality and becomes another exercise fad as pointless as Aerobics.

Taoist influenced systems of exercise adhere to principles of natural motion, ease and fluidity, smooth continuous motion, natural deep breathing, mental focus, and relaxation.

If you compare this to a non Taoist approach what you can observe is diametrically opposed system based on no philosophy and a common notion prevalent the world over. ( China and the Orient included ) which is drawn to external outcomes of competition, winning, visible strength, strain, posturing and creating of the image of health.

In case anyone thinks I am coming down hard on externally led exercise you would be completely right. It has a limited value in the long run and often people do not have the body intelligence to choose the art that is of value for them.

I am of the view that any movement should have an underlying purpose and to be of value to you physically, emotionally and mentally This does not exclude external exercise at all. But there has to be a purpose other than those of neurotic motivations to take up and pursue any exercise.

Qi Gong exercise was used by people as a foundation for meditation, martial arts and health.

Due the work of Hu Yaozhen 1897-1973. Hu had a great reputation and was known as the father of Modern Qi Gong and coined the term: below is what he said about the therapeutic use of Qi Gong.

"Medical Qigong therapy is a valuable medical heritage of China and has a long history. This therapy prevents disease and promotes longevity. Buddhists and Taoists call it Jing Gong ( Quiet Power) and the martial arts school call it Nei Gong (Internal Power).. It is said that this was passed by Laozi to Guangchengzi who then taught the Yellow Emperor. Hence the Canon of Medicine has massage therapy and other methods promoting longevity. " (Hu Yaozhen)

“I started learning medicine, Chinese boxing and Taoist’ “Quiet Power” or Qigong when I was 16. The acupuncture that I practise is the Taoist “Wuji” Acupuncture which depends on the energy and qi of the practitioner. My style of acupuncture replenishes and dissipates qi, as the patient requires. The patient will feel various sensations ranging from numbness, warmth, coolness to swelling and this sensation may spread throughout the body. This type of acupuncture relies on Qigong. In order to learn Qigong in the past, I had to learn from many teachers and visit numerous friends.” ( Hu Yaozhen )

By his own admission he had to learn and in some cases revive the practice from many sources. That there is an unbroken lineage back to Lao Tse is highly suspect as the many scholars now believe that the Lao Tse may well be not a historical character at all.

The often made claim that Qi Gong goes back 3 or 4 thousand years is simply historically impossible, and does not relate at all to the real History of Taoism. Taoism as it is perceived now is an eclectic mix of written sources dating to 300-350 BCE.

The mystical writings of Lao Tse being such a text are mystical, cosmological and universal in nature and are not manuals on how or what to practise.

The oldest known version of the text, written on bamboo tablets, was found in a tomb near the town of Guodian (郭店) in Jingmen, Hubei, and dated prior to 300 BC. At the time/s the Tao de Ching was composed there was no organised Taoist sect, monastery or philosophically based Taoist entity in existence nor had religious Taoism been formalised into a practise lineage.

It was during the Han Dynasty (206 BC–220 AD) that there was an effort to amass writings and label them as Taoist in nature. There was no consensus to what was or was not Taoist and some texts that today would be clearly viewed as having a Taoist content were not included. The Inner Canon of the Yellow Emperor or Esoteric Scripture of the Yellow Emperor 300 BCE clearly emphasizes physical culture and self massage and conducting a lifestyle in balance with nature. It would be correct to say that what is known today as Qi Gong has been practiced as a health in some form around the 3rd century BCE. However historical proof of any specific school or practice lineage going directly to a specific source is not verifiable.

It is enough to know that there have been practises that have been passed down through the centuries and I think it would be fair to say that the forms of exercise that were truly influenced by Taoism are some what limited and the modern practise coming out of China do not on the whole stand up to scrutiny to the claims of ancient unbroken practise based lineage.

What one hopes for is that the public do not get deceived by pseudo-spiritual claims that have no foundation in Taoism at all and do not follow the principles later practise lineages.

The Tao de Ching is not a practice manual. Lao Tse, the old sage has not been accurately identified Historically. I would caution people to not buy into any idea that there is an unbroken lineage of practitioners of a Qi Gong or a meditation that can be traced in an unbroken line to Lao Tse. Lao Tse did not leave a school or a cultivation method and there is no data or historical record to prove any claims as made. That is not to say of course that the writings did not in inspire future generations who later founded a lineage.

I would welcome anyone to provide provenance to back up any link of a living lineage tracing back to Lao Tse.

#qi gong #contemporary qi gong #tai chi chuan #chi kung #meditation and the body #meditation #internal martial arts #internal exercise #chinese internal arts #lao tzu #chuang tzu #nei yeh #health #alternative health #taoism #real taoism studio london #daoism #buddhism

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leonard-cohen-the-second · 6 years

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When Two Hearts Collide Chapter 3: A Warm Invitation

Pairing: Tamsin/Lauren- Copdoc

Rating: T, possible M in the future

Ao3 Link

FF Link

Summary: Waking up to Tamsin's arm around her was strange, but a good start to Lauren's day nonetheless.

Lauren woke to a low hum coming from below her and a soft chuckle above her. It took her a moment to become coherent, her foggy brain trying to figure out why her sleeping space was moving, before she opened her eyes. Even with Tamsin's messiness, the room had a large window that cascaded brilliant light into the area, and with it Lauren felt just a bit safer. The hand rubbing her back helped immensely, and the breath she had been absently holding released as she fell into soft... pliable...

Tamsin above her chuckled again, her hand leaving Lauren's back to flip the page of the book she was reading, before replacing it. Lauren bolted up, holding her head as she became dizzy, and looked to the other woman who did not seem perturbed by any of this. She began fidgeting, trying to come up with something, anything, to say but it all drifted through her fingers.

“You talk in your sleep, you know,” Tamsin said, her eyes never leaving her book.

“Tamsin, I'm-”

“And your nose scrunches all cute when I responded.” Seeing the mortified look on Lauren's face, cut with a small smile, Tamsin shrugged and closed her book. “Guess you had a bad dream?”

Lauren combed her fingers through her hair. She was trying to remember what had happened in her dream but the ominous message about the opposite woman was the only thing playing on repeat. She thought she might have seen her brother, but that was impossible, he would never leave their parents. And then she remembered- “Stacy?”

Tamsin rolled her eyes and hitched her elbows into the bed. Pushing herself into a more comfortable position she responded, “She's just some crazy sorority sister. Doesn't know when to back off.” Lauren was more absentminded than she usually was, Tamsin found. She nodded her head, her brow knit, before she tried to get off the bed. “Hey,” Tamsin cooed, lightly brushing against the woman's arm. When soulful brown eyes looked at her, it made butterflies fly in the cage that was her heart. She cleared her throat, dismissing the overly sappy thought before saying, “I'm sorry for what I said last night. It was stupidly cruel.”

“It's okay, Tamsin.” Lauren lightly smiled, her eyes looking Tamsin over slowly. She was about to stammer out a response but Lauren interjected, “I should get ready for the day.”

And with that she was gone, grabbing her things and heading toward the showers. It left Tamsin wondering if that look of pitifulness she thought she saw in the woman only a week ago had been sadness the entire time.

+++

The day passed much like it always did. Lauren had gone through her psychology and chemistry courses before studying in the lab for microbiology. The classes were easier than she expected them to be, and the first hill she had encountered at the beginning of the semester was hurdled over in no time. She wasn't used to the workload just yet, but she had adapted well enough to continue to pass her classes. Most days it was trying to subdue the excitement of going to the Marquis Medical Clinic to work with real doctors and nurses, while others it was holding in the giddiness she felt by swabbing and analyzing cultures. She was more at home at the school than she had ever felt before, and chip by chip the sadness block that was inside of her was slowly melting. Or it was just being very well hidden, she would think.

After such a long day, she would head to the cafe set up on campus a little ways away from her building. There were closer ones around the area, but Lauren liked the walk in the fresh air, as well as the possibility of no one seeing or recognizing her from class. Having to pretend to like others was a hassle most days, especially those that diminished her work in class. Sure she had outlandish ways of looking at things, but the blatant backlash from more of the male students was nothing she had been expecting. Wasn't that the reason it was called a 'practice' because every doctor would have a different viewpoint and would go about medicine in different ways?

Lauren slumped down in the booth, putting her books that could not be crammed into her backpack onto the table, before waving towards the brunette that worked as a server. When she saw she was on her way over, Lauren put her head down to read the menu even though she always got the same thing every time.

“And what can I get for you today?”

The voice Lauren was expecting to hear was sultry and low, a hint of flirtation. What she heard was higher pitched, one that she had heard before briefly inside of her room and inside of her nightmare. The blonde looked up to see Stacy standing over her, a pen and pad in hand and a severs apron around her midsection. Lauren had never seen her working there before, and even though it was winding down to the end of the week, it being Friday and all, she didn't think a student would only work three days. Weekend jobs were common, she tried to tell herself though her more irrational mind was fighting at every turn. Why was this woman following her?

Lauren stammered out, “Uh, a mocha-s'mores latte with no whip, please.”

Stacy smiled deviously before feigning care and asking, “Nothing to eat?”

“No I... You know, never mind. Cancel that order for me, I just remembered I had something I need to do.”

A hand went down onto the table, Stacy's body moving to block Lauren in her seat. She didn't say a word, but something did catch her eye outside. A beat passed before Stacy rolled her eyes and grinned at Lauren, moving away without another glance back. Lauren quickly gathered her things, looking outside to try to find whatever had caught Stacy's attention but seeing nothing, before leaving the cafe hurriedly. She walked the long mile back to her dorm room, looking over her shoulder every so often as the day waned to night, before fumbling with her keys. Getting inside she quickly turned and locked the door behind her, placing her forehead on the hard cold wood, trying to catch her breath.

“You're very dramatic, huh?”

Lauren turned on her heel, looking to the woman posted in the bed as per usual. She wore an oversized shirt with blue plaid pajama bottoms. Her hair was down, which Lauren thought it was the first time to ever see it like that, and the same book from earlier was in her lap. Seeing it head on revealed it was actually one of her books, Star Trek the Next Generation: Dark Mirror.

“Tamsin, what-”

“Not gonna even care about the room? For shame, doc.”

The first year sighed, turning her gaze away from the bed and out towards the larger living area to the right. For the past week she had tried to forgo assessing the area, seeing as any time she had actually organized anything it would be piled on the floor again when she left, and the normal routine was now to come in and go straight to the bed. This time, however, the floor was completely spotless. Lauren's many Star Trek novels were placed in numerical order, as well as her DVD collection, and she was sure if she opened the dresser Tamsin's clothes would be stacked neatly next to her own. Walking into the area further revealed the small table that had come with the room, that Lauren had pushed towards the window so it wouldn't take up the walking space, was decorated with a simple candle and two plastic plates and identical glasses.

Walking around the corner to the alcove the bed was placed in, Lauren was absolutely flabbergasted at how suave Tamsin was trying to be. The woman still had her head in the book, but a small grin made itself resident on her face that she was trying to hide with a curtain of hair. Even the bed area looked more pristine with the bed actually being done and the area around it being cleaned of any littered clothes.

“Did you do this for me?” Lauren asked, still in disbelief.

“The two plates didn't give it away?” Tamsin scoffed and closed the book to look up at Lauren. She became almost meek, barely looking into the woman's eyes and instead anywhere but. “So you were having a rough time, and I wasn't making any of that better. Happy home, happy mind or whatever they say.” Her explanation was cut short by a rap at the door. Tamsin stopped Lauren's advancement toward it with a hand on her arm, before opening the door herself. Money was exchanged and the lighter blonde turned to reveal a large Chinese take out bag in her hand. “Well, get ready for dinner,” Tamsin ordered, nodding her head toward the bathroom.

Lauren didn't think she took long in the bathroom changing into her own pajamas, but the look of surprise still crossed her features when she saw the candle lit and the two plates filled with lomein. The lights were turned down to a lower point, and it actually looked romantic in a funny sort of way. Tamsin was already sitting at the table, her arm draped over the back of the chair, and when she saw Lauren she straightened.

“About time, doc.” Lauren's cheeks turned crimson and she was rather happy there was not much light so Tamsin couldn't possibly see the minuet detail. Before she could sit down, Tamsin practically bolted to the chair, pulling it back and helping Lauren into it, before walking more slowly back to her own. She winked before digging in and between mouthfuls she said, “I hope you like lomein and alcohol. I mean who doesn't like lomein and alcohol?”

“I do,” Lauren replied, smiling before taking a mouthful. It was some of the best she had in a long time, preferring to cook for herself if ever the chance was raised. She understood in college life one could not always do that for themselves, so take out was the next best option. Tamsin sure knew how to pick her places, she decided, as she finished her plate quickly. She didn't realize how hungry she was, not having eaten all day, and she devoured the plate quickly. Tamsin didn't say a word at this, only getting the woman seconds and continuing to eat her first, simultaneously filling Lauren's glass as she drank much more than expected. After her second plate, Lauren put down her plastic fork and looked at Tamsin. The latter had been watching her periodically as she ate, something seeming to be on her mind but she never said anything. “Thank you, Tamsin. This was really nice.”

The lighter blonde seemed to perk up, as if realizing she couldn't stay deflated when the attention was on her now, and replied, “No problem.”

Expecting something more, and the alcohol working through her system, Lauren pressed, “You didn't have to do this to apologize for last night.”

“I did,” Tamsin declared, her eyes now looking directly into Lauren's. “Everyone deserves an existence.”

“That's more than my parents would say,” she sighed, taking another drink. When Tamsin looked even more saddened by that, Lauren waved her hand in front of her as if to shoo away the bad thoughts. “Okay, okay, enough with that. Tell me about yourself, Tamsin. We've lived together for almost a week and I don't know anything about you.”

“There's not much to say.”

“Oh come on,” Lauren drawled out, her body laying back in the chair. “Come on, there's always something to say. Here, I'll start first. I wore a wedding dress and combat boots for my entire senior year to make a statement on the female body and femininity.” Tamsin burst out laughing immediately, causing Lauren to do the same and raise her glass. “See, see? Now you try.”

“Okay, um.” It took her a moment but Tamsin continued, “I once won a dance off wearing a skirt and leggings.”

It was Lauren's turn to begin laughing, drinking down her glass before hitching with laughter again. “You in a skirt? Please tell me it was practically a tutu.”

“It was practically a tutu,” Tamsin confirmed.

Both women took the opportunity to let themselves go, enjoying the company the other gave them, while their laughs turned to giggles and chuckles. It was strange to actually find solace in Tamsin, even for a moment, and Lauren bit her lip while she looked at her. There was something that made her wish to learn more, and she briefly wondered if every night could be like this. Spending time together didn't always have to be a headache, and this proved it. She only hoped Tamsin would see it too.

“Mm, I think I drank more than I intended,” Lauren mumbled, looking at her glass and then the bottle of wine.

“You pretty much killed it.” Tamsin smirked before grabbing both of their plates and dumping them in the trash next to the dresser. She then took the bottle of wine and filled Lauren's glass, ignoring the fervent complaints, before also throwing that away. “Thanks,” she said, taking the drink away from the woman before chugging it herself. She winked, placing it back onto the table.

Lauren chuckled, looking up to Tamsin dreamily before shaking her head as if to bring her back to reality. She raised to her feet and said, “I'm heading to bed. Wanna come?”

“In a minute, doc, still have all this to clean up.”

She nodded, giving one last goodbye before walking slowly into the large bed. After a sigh, she heard Tamsin begin cleaning up everything else from the table. The alcohol made her more tired than she realized, and before the other woman could join her in bed, she had fallen asleep. Though, she knew if she would ask Tamsin this the other would deny it, Lauren was sure she had felt an arm warp around her waist, a warm body pushing into her, and breath at her ear. And if Lauren was telling the truth herself, she would say she had moaned lightly while she pressed herself tighter into that body. She had no nightmares that night, and she slept better than she had in a very long time.

#Copdoc #Lost Girl #Lauren Lewis #Tamsin Malikov #Fanfiction #Tamsin #Tyra writes Fanfiction #oh look domestic Copdoc #didn't know how to end it sooo very abrupt

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ashina-suns-penmanship · 6 years

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Reality vs. Fiction

I haven’t really had time to work on this little project lately, so here’s a little sidenote to chew on. As you know, Chang Ge Xing is a work of historical fiction; Changge, Ashina Sun, Mujin, Qin, Gongsun Heng, and many other characters in the story are simply figments of Xia Da’s imagination. There are, however, many real figures as well. Many of them don’t appear until much later in the story (in comparison to what I’ve covered so far), but I thought it would be fitting to point out reality from fiction and provide a little biographical information about each of the real characters.

Li Shimin, Li Jiancheng, and Li Yuan were all real people; I wrote about them in the Xuanwu Gate Incident. Li Yuan was a Sui Dynasty general who rebelled, the first Tang emperor, and father of Li Shimin and Li Jiancheng. Li Shimin was famous for his military conquests, and really did kill his brother and ascend to the throne, sparing many of his brothers’ advisors to work in his new court while he served as Emperor Taizong. Changge’s mother almost certainly did not exist; the easiest way that I can explain this is that non-Han Chinese ethnic groups typically did not marry into the imperial family. Li Shimin was, however, enamoured of his real beloved wife, Empress Zhangsun, and mourned her greatly after her passing. Li Jiancheng’s real wife is of little historical importance today.

Luo Yi, Li Jing, Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, and Yuchi Gong all served the Tang imperial court. Luo Yi was a Sui Dynasty general who helped Li Yuan establish the Tang Dynasty. As a reward for his loyalty, he was bestowed with the royal surname and thusly became Li Yi, Prince of Yan. Luo Yi supported Li Jiancheng and grew fearful when Li Shimin usurped the throne; he raised a rebellion against Li Shimin (by then Emperor Taizong) and was crushed, and the new emperor stripped him of his title and the surname “Li.” Li Jing was a famous Tang general who defeated the Turks. His wife may have been Zhang Chuchen, a folk hero also known as “Hong Fu Nü” (“The Lady with the Red Sleeves”) who may or may not existed, but is regarded as having taken part in the rebellion against Sui. Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui were the most trusted court and military advisors of Emperor Taizong, and he greatly mourned them when they died. Yuchi Gong was a Tang general who is worshipped as a door god in Chinese folk religion today. Shiba was not a real person, as the legendary heroes of the 18 Warriors of Sui-Tang Period that she was a part of were fictitious, but most were based off of actual people who existed at the time. Sun Simiao was a famous Chinese medicine doctor that lived during the Sui and Tang dynasties whose “Hippocratic Oath”, thorough care, and effective remedies immortalized him as the “King of Medicine.”

Xieli/Illig Qaghan (Ashina Duobi), Ashina Jieshe’er/Jiesheshuai, and Princess Yicheng lived in the Eastern Turkic Khaganate. Illig Qaghan was the final qaghan of the Eastern Turkic Khaganate. He was defeated when he tried to take horses from vassal tribes after a freak storm killed much of his livestock; the tribes united, and with help from Tang, successfully rebelled. Tang took advantage of this weakened state to fully conquer the Eastern Turks, absorbing their land into its empire. Illig Qaghan was spared by Emperor Taizong and offered military positions at the frontiers, but he declined them. Ashina Jiesheshuai was Illig Qaghan’s nephew; after the fall of the khaganate, he was spared and created a Tang general, but was killed when he attempted to assassinate the emperor. Princess Yicheng was a Sui princess who was given to the Turks as part of the heqin policy. She married four times to her first husband’s male relatives in accordance to the Turkic custom of levirate marriage, sometimes betraying her husbands in favor of helping Sui. She was killed by Li Jing. Jin Se most likely didn’t exist, but it would not have been surprising for Princess Yicheng to take Han servants with her to the grasslands when she was married off.

Pusa, Yi’nan, and Mohui were all leaders of their tribes. Pusa was the son of Tejian Irkin and Wu Luohun, but was exiled by his father for unknown reasons. When Tejian died, the Uyghur voted for Pusa to become their new leader, and he returned to take up his post. After becoming irkin, Pusa claimed the title of elteber as a gesture of defiance against the Turks. He was later assassinated by his subordinate Tumidu. Yi’nan was the Irkin of Xueyantuo, and was later favored by Emperor Taizong and created Zhenzhu Khan. Both spearheaded the rebellion against the Turks. Mohui was the leader of the Dahe Khitan clan in 627, which also participated in the revolt.

I have a lot to say about names and historical information. Here we go...

1. Some sources say that Li Shimin had his brothers’ entire families killed off, whereas other mention that it was only the sons. So maybe Chang Ge’s existence shouldn’t be completely dismissed as a totally improbable idea; even though she was made up by Xia Da, if only the sons of Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji were killed, there still might be the slightest possibility of a princess having fled the palace (basically Anastasia the movie, but then again, it came out before the Grand Duchess’s remains were found).

2. I know that I’m using translations that differ from the scanalations (ie. the whole gunpowder versus nitrate compound translation), and I’m trying my best to look into the accuracy of the names. For example, Gongsun Heng is more often referred to as “Governor,” but I’m not so sure, as Shuozhou is a city (despite the translations calling it Shuo Province). Maybe Xia Da is making up a new province, but I think she’s referring to the city in northeastern China. Additionally, the scanalations name Pusa’s father as “Shijian” and I know that sometimes when two words are put together, the pronunciation changes (ie. Yuchi as a surname instead of being pronounced “Weichi”), but I’m fairly certain that his name should be “Tejian.” Also, I think it’s Xieli Khan, as opposed to Jieli Khan. I also don’t know why Xia Da uses the name “Ashina She’er” when his name was Ashina Jieshe’er or Jiesheshuai...maybe she just thought it was too long?

3. I’m having a lot of trouble with finding factual information on pre-dynastic Khitan; English websites are quite scarce and aren’t very helpful, and I read Chinese very slowly. My best guess about Khitan’s role in the story, based on one measly, uncited line from Wikipedia, is that Sun is going to somehow convince his clan to participate in the ongoing revolt, and that his little cousin will take the reins of leadership.

Sorry for all the word vomit, but here’s one last note: I recently finished reading The Secret History of the Mongol Queens by Jack Weatherford, and it was fantastic! I know that CGX isn’t about the Mongols, but the Turks and the Turkic tribes played a big role in the development of steppe politics in the time of Genghis Khan and his descendants. Something really neat that I learned is that bridges-you-cross’s speculation about khan-naming was right! One example is that of Manduhai Khatun naming her future husband Batu Mongke “Dayan Khan”, which means “United Khan” or “Whole Khan”, reflective of their shared goal of reuniting all the Mongols under one rule. According to Weatherford, Dayan Khan’s title had another equally important meaning to the Chinese—“Dayan” in Chinese is pronounced in such a manner that it would imply that Batu Mongke still claimed the throne of the Yuan Dynasty, which ended before his Ming Dynasty contemporaries overthrew the Mongol grasp on the Chinese imperial seat.

#choukakou #chang ge xing #reality vs fiction #an historical analysis of chang ge xing #xia da #manhua #song of the long march

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