#had to approach a certain level of incompetence with a direct read

[thethiefandtheairbender]

My homie please don't tell me you tried to equivalate the real life debate and seriousness bof the don't say gay bill to your anti vs. proship bs

Hi, out queer, ace, and trans person here! I also have an honours degree in the study & history of how fiction can influence reality. Let me take you for a walk (and I'll make sure it's short or else you'll pull the "you think I'm reading all that?") I also already know, thanks to looking at your blog, that you’ve decided I - a sex repulsed, ace adult in a relationship with another adult - am a pedophile, so thanks for bringing back the years of harassment I experienced when I was a literal minor but was unwilling to post my age online bc u know, I was a minor who wanted to keep my privacy a mind-whopping... 2.5 years ago. But clearly I’m decrepit and out of touch now. Never change, tumblr.

A lot of current American politics, including the Don't Say Gay bill (and previously the Hayes Code) was derived from puritanical Victorian era leanings and Calvinistic conservative Christianity. This includes: gayness as an identity > an act (trial of Oscar Wilde), idealization of motherhood, and the moral panic surrounding the 'degradation' of the English language that 18-19th century Grammarians were always concerned with (hi Samuel Johnson).

Another thing grammarians and writers have been concerned with since before is what is Okay to be portrayed in art. Plato's The Republic thinks that art is immoral because it may give people unrealistic or unsafe ideas because people are 'unable' to distinguish fiction from reality. He later retracted this, although Aristotle's Poetics was a text where Aristotle disagreed with Plato's prior established opinion.

Re: the past 3000+ years of literary discourse - those who try to restrict the radical aspects of art lose the argument every time, and start it back up 30 years later.

I'm sure I don't have to tell you that art has always been very political, as is most things. Fandom, as a pop-junkie transformative spiel, has also been deeply political, particularly for marginalized people.

Fandom nowadays is full of people who believe that, in order to be really sorry about something, someone has to publicly repent per whatever moral standard has been decided to else the congregation - I mean twitter - will publicly shame them for their sin.

Fandom is entrenched in cultural Christianity and the conservative mindsets that come with it. Aphobia in fandom was rampant from 2014-2017; truscum and tucute discourse as well; how prevalent TERF rhetoric can be (women are inherently good, attraction to men is shameful, etc). I've seen all of these things in fandom. All hinge an idea on being able to decode a person's intent (somehow), the rising attachment of morality to genres of entertainment (antis), and how many antis I've seen that are TERFs or Aphobes or guzzling down that rhetoric without even realizing.

Terfs and the Conservative far-right have a long history of working together. Both frame concerns of gay people as pedophiles, being anti sex work (because sex is nasty and a sin), that we must Protect the Children who cannot monitor or make any decisions for themselves at any age. The anti vs pro ship dynamic online is a microism of larger public discussions regarding purity culture - and that includes how queerness is overly sexualized, how queer sex is seen as especially dirty, the "should kink be at pride?" discourse, and issues with respectability politics.

Antis who say we have to harass people to control what exists in fandom to "protect minors" on a moral basis are ideologically adjacent to parents who decry earlier Sex Education for children (which, every time it's implemented, is shown to decrease the amount of abuse children face, not further it). A quick scroll through your blog tells me you're willing to generalize hundreds of people's personal history with CSA because you don't think survivors can 1) vehemently disagree with you or 2) demand disclosure of their personal history to exist online void of that harassment.

Aka to take some tags to the forefront: #like the schools don't want to talk about queerness and are banning books so kids don't get Ideas#and people also don't want 'problematic' fiction in fandom in case kids get Ideas or can't use critical thinking skills#it's not a hard leap to make

It sounds like you're the one who has a problem with reading comprehension and building connections between different kinds of discourse, not me. It's almost like teenagers (queer or otherwise) raised in conservative or culturally Christian homes are more susceptible to puritanical rhetoric, or something... 🤔 (I could also get into just how American the current fandom anti vs pro conflict is, but I think this is long enough, don't you?)

A final note from this article:

Beyond betraying simple art illiteracy, though, these intensely personal, emotional complaints and appeals to public safety have a clear antecedent: religious and conservative opposition to “obscenity.” The centering of individual values and pain, the assumption that a universal moral standard exists which should guide all public or quasi-public art and behavior, and the belief that art can do material harm to both people and culture as a whole unite the two at first apparently disparate groups of angry indie gamers and religious fundamentalists.

The deployment of victimhood as an unimpeachable defense is an old tactic frequently used by hate groups like One Million Moms and its parent organization, the American Family Association, whose rallying cry “think of the children” now echoes through everything from intra-community Gay Pride discourse to the drearily predictable “there’s too much sex on TV” tweets that seem to sweep across the platform on a weekly basis.

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM ‘Majin’ Drama CD Reviews.  Part 1 – “Saitama, Makeover”

Summary:  Dunning-Kruger, anyone?

Direct link here.   Fair warning: don’t be drinking anything when you read/listen to it. It is utterly demented, in a good way.

So, Saitama’s minding his own business trying to score the best deal at shopping when a young lady approaches him with a fan letter.  He’s deeply flattered... until it turns out that it��s for Genos.   His disgust at this state of affairs is compounded by Genos tossing out the letter unread.  Genos doesn’t do fan letters as they have nothing useful to say to him. 

Saitama’s mood gets worse when Genos looks him up (at his behest) and the public image of Saitama is less than stellar: “I don’t remember this guy.” “Nothing special.” “Eyes of a dead fish.” And many more less edifying. 

As it’s set between the first and second seasons, neither Saitama nor Genos have hero names yet and this gives them an idea.  Since no one knows who Saitama is,  what’s stopping him from picking a hero name and debuting on his terms?

Well, nothing.  Except that between the two of them, they have less creative nous than an office full of auditors on hour 17 of their 3rd consecutive 18 hour work day.  But since when did they let total incompetence stop them?

They look around at other heroes for ideas, throwing out the idea of handsome (Saitama’s budget being too low for plastic surgery -- ouch, Genos), mascots, and finally settling on cute.  As cats are eternally popular, how about some cat ears.   Saitama immediately procures some and yes, they do attract attention but keep slipping off.  He asks, nay demands, that Genos get him some duct tape to keep them on his head.

It’s at this point that I stopped feeling sorry for Saitama.

As far as costume goes, heroes who have an athletic physique to show off like Tank Top Master and Superalloy Darkshine are very popular.   Saitama has an athletic physique.  So... and this is 100% Saitama’s idea... how about all the physique?  But for his cape,  Saitama strips himself naked,  painting himself in the colours of his uniform.   Genos has grave misgivings. Sadly these misgivings don’t rise to the level of saying ‘no’ and he keeps adding fuel to this fire.

You have got to listen to the section where the pair are workshopping what descriptors to add to Saitama’s introductory speech.  It’s when you realise that a lot of the words are in English and that Genos knows what they all mean, but is tossing them in anyway that the full madness of this segment becomes clear.  ONE is also having a poke at Engrish -- English words tossed in for the ‘coolness’, the equivalent of gratuitous French appearing in English. 

And so is born the ultimate new hero: “The collapse of the final strength gestalt with endless possibilities - The lone wolf Saitama, the boiled egg (Terror! The monster-devouring cat man)”    Yes, that is his new hero name.    All that’s left is to find an actual monster.

 This being City Z, monsters are never far away and one duly appears. The plan is for Genos to take it on, pretend to lose so that Satiama can swoop in, introduce himself with suitable bombast and send the monster to Kingdom come.  Three problems. First, Genos turns out to be an outrageously shitty actor, which quickly turns this showing into farce.  Second,  Saitama has lost his notes and is fumbling around for them rather than acting.  Third, the monster turns out to be actually strong meaning that playing around isn’t actually an option.

And then it starts to rain.  The bodypaint isn’t waterproof. Technically it should be as otherwise it’d run when we sweat,  but I guess that’s Saitama being a Saitama and going with what’s cheapest.  So it is that having finally found his notes, with a horrified crowd and incredulous monster alike watching as paint drips off his bits,  Saitama does his best to read the soggy notes that were supposed to mark his triumphant entry...  heh heh

Meta: Don’t Fake It

Hoo hoo!    I’m sorry, if you’ve still not read it, go read it.  It’s so full of evil, evil zingers and the summary really doesn’t do it justice.

Let us establish that any endeavour that starts with the phrase ‘with the help of Genos...’  is not going to be a good one.  Dude is like a chainsaw with no guards -- all enthusiasm, no safety.

Despite how disastrous this episode in Saitama’s life was, it’s also quite touching for me that he’s human.  He sees the enormous disparity between the way he is treated and the way Genos is and he minds.  Saitama doesn’t want to be rich and famous but being recognised and thought well of is important for him.  It’s the biggest reason he joined the Hero Association in the first place and so far, it’s not been working out for him.   So his grabbing at the chance to set his reputation properly ahead of getting a formal hero name made a lot of sense.  It’s good to see that he gets envious, proud, irritated, can say cruel things in the moment -- he’s a person, a good person, but not a saint.

Authenticity is a theme that ONE comes back to frequently.  Another is competence -- even if you’re competent in one thing, that doesn’t automatically carry over into other fields.  He makes a lot of hay out of the fact that people often over-rate their abilities in areas they know little about.  It’s almost axiomatic in OPM that if you hear someone bragging about an ability they have, they’re all but certain to be shown up.  And when you put inauthentic and incompetent together, well... it’s funny to watch.   So it is that Saitama, who fancied himself a creative, ended up naked in public in the rain.  With bodypaint dripping off him. I’m sorry, the image has been indelible for months.

If you’ve ever wished you were less sensitive, look at Genos and be comforted.  He has a legitimately thick skin and the way he lacerates Saitama with his words while not being in the slightest bit offended at Saitama’s comebacks is the opposite of life goals.  His sharp-eyed notes on the whimsical and superficial nature of public opinion?  Spot on.

Genos refusing to read fan mail on the basis that it’s not informative was an ‘oof’ moment for me. Fans often slam heroes for being too keen on public notice and admiration, but the converse is also painful.  It’s sad to think that if the little girl he saved from the Deep Sea King sent him a thank you letter, he threw it away unread.  It feels like he’s missing half the point of being a hero.   

Speaking of the hero name specifically, the requirements that Saitama had for a hero name are actually satisfied by One Punch Man.  But it’s not an obvious thing to hit on.  All things considered, it’s just as well the Hero Association doesn’t appear to have heard of these antics, or at least not taken them into account when naming him.  Or he’d have been Cat-Eared Baldie.

I can 100% understand why King needed to come into the picture. Between Saitama and Genos, they’re unable to muster even a pin-head’s worth of common sense. In particular, Genos doesn’t seem to be able to say no to Saitama and they just egg each other on.   King brings a much-needed measure of sense checking to their dynamics. 

[gusu-emilu]

Cantatio: Chapter Nine

Ship: Lan Zhan / Wei Ying (POV Lan Zhan)

Summary: Lan Zhan gets caught up in a sparring showdown.

Cloud Recesses Academy AU, Rated T - read on AO3

After scurrying away and hiding behind the lantern arrangement once more, Wei Wuxian peeked out to look at Lan Zhan, then tilted his head and batted his eyelashes. He voice was like a low flute melody twirling around Lan Wangji.

“Lan Er-Gege,” he said, dragging out each syllable. “You’re going to scare little Xianxian.” He lifted the jars of liquor with another clink. “Why not savor a cup of Emperor’s Smile with him instead? Hm?”

< Ch. 8 | Ch. 10 > | chapter list

There was only one thing to do. Lan Wangji and Wen Qing hurtled down the stairs to flee the corpse and the haunted guqin. Lan Wangji skipped three steps at a time, while Wen Qing pitter-pattered on each individual step, somehow managing to keep up. The guqin raged behind them.

They did not stop until they reached a lofty door at the bottom of the stairs that swung open to a courtyard. The slammed the door closed.

The guqin could no longer be heard.

Lan Wangji heaved in the fresh spring-water air of the Cloud Recesses. It embraced him, swelled inside him, and instantly quieted his mind. The familiar white, moonlit gravel shifted under his feet as if to welcome him. They were safe.

This courtyard was near the edge of the central Cloud Recesses, where roofs of pavilions formed a wall around the academy.

Lan Wangji looked behind him to see that the building they had been in was a tall watchtower guarded by two lion statues. It was the mingshi, a tower used for spirit-summoning. But Lan Wangji had never heard of housing corpses in the mingshi, nor a secret room at the top that contained a wailing guqin.

The two guardian lion statues outside the mingshi had snarling faces. Like pixiu, guardian lions came in pairs: one male, one female. These two had been joined in protection of the mingshi for countless years, frozen in their powerful stance, ready to ward off evil. Hopefully they could also contain whatever type of evil was possessed by the corpse and the guqin inside.

Wen Qing staggered over to a tree in the center of the courtyard and sank down along its trunk to sit. She panted from their race down the stairs. “What just happened to us?”

Lan Wangji did not have an explanation, so he did not reply.

Rule #49: Do not trespass.

With self-loathing, he mentally added another round of beatings that he would have to receive tomorrow as punishment for breaking more rules.

A silhouette flashed on top of one of the roofs.

Lan Wangji jerked his head toward the motion. It disappeared with a rustle.

He scrutinized the buildings of the courtyard, scouring every crack and corner for movement. The hairs on his skin prickled. Someone else was here.

Wen Qing rose to her feet, having also noticed the disturbance.

Bracing himself in a martial stance, Lan Wangji unsheathed Bichen. The sword absorbed the bright glow of the moon overhead and emitted its own hungry shine. He listened for any hint of sound.

On one of the terraced walkways that lined the buildings, a soft blue sphere flickered behind a lantern pole.

Lan Wangji leapt forward. In one fluid motion, he cornered the neck of the intruder beneath the fierce blade of Bichen.

It was Wei Wuxian.

“Ahaha! Lan Zhan! No need to be so hostile! I’m just on my way back to our dorm! No need to behead me!”

Lan Wangji slid Bichen back into its scabbard. “Why are you out past curfew?”

Wei Wuxian puffed his fluffy bangs out of his face and grinned. “Why are you?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes darted through the crack between two of the lanterns and spotted Wen Qing under the tree. Then those sly irises grazed over Lan Wangji’s ruffled robes, all the way down to his feet.

“Ohhhhh. Hm, hm, hm. I know precisely what’s going on now, Lan Zhan, you big promiscuous radish. You’re having a moonlight stroll with your girlfriend. Well, I won’t disturb you two lovebirds! I’ll just be on my way now!” He raised his voice to direct the last two sentences toward Wen Qing, who shot back a disgusted glare.

“Untrue,” Lan Wangji said with a slight edge in his voice.

Wei Wuxian backed away down the walkway and raised his hands apologetically. “Really, really, I don’t mean to intrude! I’ll keep your secret safe, don’t worry,” he said with a wink.

Beneath his left hand, two egg-shaped turquoise jars hung from a string and clinked against each other.

Lan Wangji’s upper lip twitched. “Alcohol is prohibited in the Cloud Recesses.”

Wei Wuxian swung his hands behind his torso to hide the liquor. “Ah, really? I didn’t know.” His eyes crinkled into a rueful smile as he continued backing away. “Oh well, they’ve already come in with me, so I might as well enjoy them. I’ll see you later, Lan Zhan.”

As he turned to run away, Lan Wangji pounced in front of him and swung Bichen at the thread that bound the jars together. He missed by only a millimeter.

Wei Wuxian jumped back and cradled the flasks into the bend of his arm. “Hey! What gives! Isn’t it prohibited to fight without permission in the Cloud Recesses?” His eyes filled with mirth. “Mr. Head Disciple, don’t tell me you’re going to break one rule just to enforce another.”

Lan Wangji swiped at the string again.

“Hey! Stop it!”

After scurrying away and hiding behind the lantern arrangement once more, Wei Wuxian peeked out to look at Lan Zhan, then tilted his head and batted his eyelashes. He voice was like a low flute melody twirling around Lan Wangji.

“Lan Er-Gege,” he said, dragging out each syllable. “You’re going to scare little Xianxian.” He lifted the jars of liquor with another clink. “Why not savor a cup of Emperor’s Smile with him instead? Hm?”

Heat rose to Lan Wangji’s cheeks.

“Shameless.”

He dashed Bichen against Wei Wuxian, who checked it with his own white blade. Soon they were flying to-and-fro, leaping up and down and across from roofs of the Cloud Recesses, swords striking each other with metallic clangs that reverberated across the courtyard.

Although Lan Wangji’s precise, trained movements were executed with merciless force, something light bubbled in his abdomen. A hint of thrill. Pleasure, even.

Wei Wuxian was a match he had never met in a swordsman of his age. His technique was nothing like that of the Jiang Clan. It was wild, spontaneous, unorthodox, like a devil twirling its limbs in a cunning tango. Their blades were intertwined in a cosmic dance, more celestial than the stars that twinkled above their sparring figures.

It wasn’t the first time that Lan Wangji had to guess what his opponent would do next. But it was the first time in a while that sometimes, he guessed wrong.

They descended to the floor of the courtyard and struck at each other with flashes of their blades, even more vigorous than before.

Suddenly, Wei Wuxian’s sword dropped. His arm slackened at his side, and he fell limp to the ground with a plop. The porcelain jars shattered, crimson liquor snaking through the gravel beneath them.

A needle stuck out of the side of his neck.

“I can’t believe the level of idiocy I have to put up with around here,” Wen Qing hissed as she marched over from the tree she had been sitting under, hands clasped behind her back. “And you’re called one of the Twin Jades? Are you really this incompetent? Why would you swordfight out in the open? You’re going to wake someone up with all the noise and get us caught for being out after curfew!”

Lan Wangji stared at her, then down at Wei Wuxian. The tan young man’s his mouth was lolled open, his body pressed into the ground like a deadweight.

“Forgive my carelessness.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wen Qing crouched down and plucked the thin silver needle out of Wei Wuxian’s flesh. He jolted up with a start, his eyes glassy.

“What? What just happened?” he said loudly.

“Shhh!” Wen Qing pressed a finger to her mouth. “I won the swordfight. That’s what happened. Let’s get out of here before someone finds us.”

Wei Wuxian looked very confused. “You won? What?”

“Never mind. Get up. We’re leaving.”

“Nooooo! My Emperor’s Smile!” Wei Wuxian wailed when he saw the red fluid puddled at his side.

“Be quiet!!”

He clamped a hand over his mouth, then slowly stood up, his back slouched. He let his hand fall and pouted.

“Lan Zhan, I worked so hard for that liquor,” he whined as they walked across the courtyard. “It was a reward for myself for being so focused on my studies, my only glimpse of joy in this soulless place. I even paid for it with Jiang Cheng’s own money. What am I to do with myself now? I think my entire life has lost its meaning.”

Just as Lan Zhan was about to shush him, they all skidded to a stop in front of the stone path leading to the dormitories. Two figures were walking up the trail toward them.

They scrambled behind a wall to hide. Wei Wuxian’s elbow jutted into Lan Wangji’s stomach, causing a sharp exhale of pain to escape from him. Could Wei Ying be any less careful?

They peered the around edge of the wall. One of the approaching figures wore artic blue robes, the other a grayish seaweed color. It was Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue.

“Are you really sure that’s where Young Master Jin went?” Lan Xichen said in his balmy voice, sounding slightly amused as always.

“Guangshan’s slimeball son has servants of his own,” Nie Mingjue said. “He has no business bothering a Lan Clan servant of the Cloud Recesses in the middle of the night.”

“Xichen-ge, Mingjue-xiong, I’m quite certain,” said a demure voice that did not match either of the senior disciples. “I overheard him discussing it with his cousin before our quad retired to sleep. He vowed to scold the servant woman for stepping out of line.”

Jin Guangyao appeared between Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue.

“It’s such a stupid fucking reason.”

“Mingjue,” Lan Xichen chided.

“I’m right, though! What blockhead gets free soup and a love letter from a young lady and then struts over to her house to insult her for daring to give it to him!” Nie Mingjue’s footsteps became a bit louder. “Every one of those Jins is a self-important ass. Every one. Almost as bad as the Wens. I regret letting them take you away from Qinghe, Meng Yao.”

“Jin Guangyao,” he corrected.

Nie Mingjue shook his head. “Your old name was better.”

They passed the wall that the three curfew-breakers hid behind. They clutched each other and sank deeper into the shadows. Lan Wangji scooched an inch away from Wen Qing and into the slender masculine figure of Wei Wuxian beside him. His breath sharpened as dark hair brushed his neck.

“I’m sure Young Master Jin is planning to thank the Lan servant, not scold her,” Lan Xichen said. “He might have only spoken such words as a matter of pretense under peer pressure.”

“Maybe. But Xichen-ge, he sounded rather convincing.”

“Doesn’t matter what he plans to say,” Nie Mingjue said. “When I find him, I’m chopping off the arm that he dared push away that bowl with. Fucking prick can’t even treat a lady properly. And I had to get woken up because of it.”

“Guangyao is sorry for waking you, Mingjue-xiong. I only wanted to see my young master returned to the dorm safely.”

Their voices faded into mumbles as they disappeared around a corner at the other end of the courtyard. Lan Wangji stayed motionless for several seconds to ensure they were gone.

And also because—

Wei Wuxian smelled like plum blossoms.

Disgusting.

He gave the young man a mild shove with his shoulder as he stepped out from behind the wall and away from that offensive scent.

“What was that all about?” Wen Qing scoffed as she followed.

Wei Wuxian was still crouched in the corner. His face was covered in a shadow that seemed to be created by his own aura and not by the darkness beneath the wall. He laughed, but the sound was chilling. Eerie.

“Soup from a Lan servant? Are you kidding me?” His eyes narrowed. “My shijie made that soup. My shijie made soup and a note to leave outside Jin Zixuan’s dorm as a gift, to try to make her future husband—oh, I don’t know—acknowledge her existence. I already knew that he didn’t accept it, but he actually thinks a Lan servant did it? Are you fucking kidding me?”

His fists shook as he rose to his feet and stepped into the bright moonlight of the courtyard. The shadow of his rage still covered his face.

Lan Wangji rested a hand on Wei Wuxian’s chest, trying to send calmness through his fingertips and into the trembling body beneath them. “Wei Ying.”

He pushed Lan Wangji’s arm away. Lan Wangji placed it right back.

“Wei Ying.”

The young man’s breath started to stabilize. His chest expanded and shrank under Lan Wangji’s palm in a raw, laggard pattern.

“Fine. Let’s just get back to the dorms. I’ll deal with the peacock later. I’ll make sure every he knows that not a single golden thread in his trashy robe lets him deserve Jiang Yanli.”

His anger simmered down as the three crept along the stone path to the dormitories. Wen Qing turned at the fork in the path and departed for the girls’ dorms. Her only words of goodbye were a sharp glare at Lan Wangji and the cryptic, “Tomorrow, we talk.”

Indeed, they would talk tomorrow. With the discovery of a secret room, a corpse, and a haunted guqin, it seemed that their list of mysteries was growing rapidly.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian walked across the moonlit grass to their dorm.

“You do not approve of your sister’s fiancé.” Lan Wangji said it like a statement, but really it was a question.

Wei Wuxian scoffed. “Do you?”

Truthfully, Lan Wangji had never thought about Jin Zixuan before with much more than indifference. But if his own sibling—if Lan Xichen—were in love with someone who spurned them, he would have had very strong feelings about it.

Except, Jiang Yanli's situation bothered him more than he expected.

“It is not my place to approve or disapprove,” Lan Wangji said.

“Of course it is,” Wei Wuxian said. “You’re my friend, so you can tell me what you think.”

Lan Wangji took a few moments for these words to sink in.

They really were friends? What did friends do together? Run into each other after dark, swordfight on rooftops, and share their thoughts with each other?

…Maybe that wasn’t so bad.

“Young Master Jin should work harder to be her best partner."

“And he’s doing the exact opposite,” Wei Wuxian said.

Lan Wangji listened to the gentle sound of their footsteps, which had somehow fallen into sync with each other. After some thought, he said, “He may come to recognize her value.”

Wei Wuxian looked over. “You think so?” His gaze was questioning, but accepting, like he truly cared about Lan Wangji’s opinion even if he disagreed.

Lan Wangji nodded. “Perhaps if he learned of her true affection.”

“How could he not know? It’s so obvious.” Wei Wuxian sighed. “I just want Shijie to find someone who will be good to her. Maybe I shouldn’t be so resentful all the time. I don’t know.”

“It is not wrong to defend your family.”

Wei Wuxian only smiled, and did not have anything else to say after that, which felt unusual. At least his anger had been quelled, and some of the brightness returned to his face.

They arrived at their duplex.

An unnerving sight made Lan Wangji flinch.

There was a body sprawled across Wei Wuxian’s bed with a leg hanging over the side. It was in the same position as the person Lan Wangji had seen in the bed at the moment Wen Qing jumped in through the window. Lan Wangji had thought the sleeping man on the other side of the room was his roommate.

Now that Lan Wangji recalled the image again…could there have been two bodies in the bed?

And one of them was still here.

Wei Wuxian laughed nervously.

“Oh. Haha. I forgot about him.”

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by liking, reblogging, and visiting me on AO3! New chapters posted every Monday on AO3 and Tuesday on Tumblr.

Ch. 10 > | chapter list

[intjmd]

Types of INTP

As many of you may have noticed, INTPs come in different flavors. Some of my closest friends are INTPs, and I have noticed some differences between them that I have not spotted in other types (ENFPs seem more homogeneous to me, I know a bunch and they have basically the same values, outlooks on life and even similar (or the same) interests). In consequence, I have decided to classify my beloved INTP to see if we can understand this better (or even arrive to the conclusion that some of my friends are mistyped). After thinking for a while, I have decided to keep it simple and describe only two different types or INTPs. I know it’s not enough, but I don’t have all the information that I would need to make an accurate description of other subtypes of INTPs (I think there might be at least another one). Feel free to comment, add or correct anything you may find here. Let’s go.

INTP 1 - AKA Chill INTP :

Looks/vibes:

This INTP looks like the most carefree person alive. Seriously. They are often cute and definitely have their style. Why do they say that INTP have a horrible fashion sense, then? Well, it’s just that their style is not the conventional style. They can be obsessed with certain parts of their bodies (e.g. perfect nails) and completely neglect others. Or they can aspire to look in a certain way (kawaii, really kawaii) that could look inappropriate in someone their age. They don’t care. They dress as they want, ignoring other wishes and advice. And sometimes it works out. 

In general, they look rather sociable and happy. Try approaching them and you may be surprised. Sometimes, Chill looks even dreamy and you can tell they are fantasizing about having a dragon pet or whatever.

Habitat:

They dwell in their rooms and when they go out, they wish they were on their room. This type of INTP has watched more than 50 TV shows this last year, and probably reads a lot of fanfic. Their room is their sanctuary and is often filled with the interests of the owner, packed with action figures, tech, their clothes or maybe some painting that they did years ago and didn’t want to throw out.

Personality and interests:

Chill INTP is curious. He/She/That thing over there is an INTP after all. They remind me of  an ENFP (Ne here) because the way they talk about about their passions and dreams. To put it bluntly: they can’t talk about a single topic for more than five minutes before changing the subject to something different. They do this with a bubbly/excited look and act like everything is possible for them (but then they are “too lazy” for achieving said dreams) (this has literally been said by two of them so it’s not an insult). 

This Chill INTP loves series, fanfics, memes and the Internet as a concept. They have mastered every single shortcut of their computer and act like it’s part of their bodies.

Although Chill INTP looks approachable, they hate small talk and are very shy and private. Above all, they have trouble initiating conversations. If you befriend them, though, they will open up and flood you with an unending stream of ideas.

Academics: Chill is smarter than the average person, but also lazier than the average person. What’s worse, they know that they are smart and sometimes (only with their closest friends) can brag about it. While it’s true that they are bright and have no trouble understanding complex topics (actually the more abstract, the better), they lack motivation and often procrastinate. Sometimes, usually in hight school exams, they are able to successfully wing it and get good grades with almost zero effort. They will still whine a bit after getting an 8 in some subject that they didn’t even read, though. However, this “luck” (talent, actually, it’s raw intelligence plus a little bit of rhetorics and an innocent look) doesn’t last forever.

In the end, no matter how academically talented Chill may be, after missing a thousand classes and studying for maybe ten seconds, Chill fails. Hard. Usually for the first time in University. But it’s not that they can’t do it, it’s just that they don’t want to put in the effort right now. Maybe later.

Personal opinion:

This INTP is reaaaally fun to hang out with (I’m an INTJ, maybe we click because of that). They are witty, punny and can cheer you up with their innocence or random remarks. In addition, they get sarcasm (THANK YOU) and are not afraid of saying something regarded as “insensitive” if it’s true. This Chill INTP can be a bit stubborn, and will not change their behavior even if they admit it’s damaging them. 

Overall, they are nice and don’t ask for much attention.  

P.S: Chill INTP is NOT chill all the time. They can have breakdowns where all of their frustration gets out and they can cry in disappointment because the are not living up to their own standards. The agony disappears after a while, and they come back to their laptop and keep scrolling with a smile on their faces.

INTP 2 - AKA  NERDY INTP:

Looks/vibes:

Nerdy INTP does not care at all about how they look. It’s a practical question, not a fashion contest, and they are going to pick anything as long as it covers the parts of their body that can’t be publicly shown. The plainer, the better, this way they can combine anything in their wardrobes.

Also, this INTP does not look “chill” at all. It’s more like a quiet fragile serenity that could explode anytime. There is a difference there. Chill INTP is very comfortable anywhere, even in the midst of a crowd, they just do their own thing and ignore everyone. Nerdy INTP is watching over you, analyzing your patterns and thinking, always thinking. This INTP is full of anxiety and is shyer than chill INTP. And when they are looking at a wall they are either thinking hard about the wall itself (colour, texture, design) or totally lost inside some theory inside their mind. The thing is that you know that they are questioning things.

Habitat:

Their rooms, but with zero clutter. It’s not minimalism, it’s a prison cell with the occasional coffee machine. They have a laptop, books and a bed, but that’s all. This INTP lives in his head, not on Earth. That’s why they don’t mind going outside, but they do this to think elsewhere, not to be elsewhere. Their heads are a mystery, I would describe them if I could.

Personality and interests:

Nerdy is not merely curious, Nerdy is utterly obsessed with knowledge and the truth. This means that they can research a single topic for like 40 hours nonstop and speak about it too, getting deeper and deeper and finding internal contradictions between the different sources until you (random listener) can no longer know anything. But they really understand it, and it just comes easy for them. They can keep their concentration forever and ever until their body stops working and they get into a random nap. Then they jump to the topic again.

Nerdy likes talking about different subjects. Unlike Chill, once Nerdy chooses ONE topic, he will remain in that area until nothing more can be said (which is approximately never) or until the other person changes the topic. Nerdy also strongly prefers one to one conversations, while Chill can manage up to four/five people at the same time. 

In short, Nerdy seems much more focused and driven than Chill, but they are not natural achievers (#goalz #checklists) like an INTJ. Instead, they seek pure knowledge for the sake of it, to deepen their understanding of the world. They don’t need to change it, they just think that it’s interesting to dive into the most obscure and complex topics and master them. Their thirst is not for power but for wisdom.  

Nerdy is as Internet addicted as Chill but it’s easier to find them looking for papers than watching Netflix on their own. They have three or four series that they love but they are usually complex (picture high fantasy) and the things they read are not the cliché YA novels in which Chill tends to indulge more.

Academics:

If Nerdy has chosen a career that sparks his interests, he will do great in his knowledge field. At least, Nerdy will spend hours and hours reading about this topic and becoming an expert. They will understand EVERYTHING and create a sort of “mind map” in their minds (just a map, then) with concepts and their connections. Nerdy is a bit lazy too, but their curiosity and intellect alone if directed towards the adequate career can take them to the top (or at least they are not whining at the bottom as sometimes Chill does).

Even if both Chill and Nerdy feel incompetent, Chill actually puts 3/10 effort and ends up getting a 5. Nerdy studies a lot (maybe not the most important things, they will probably get lost in the interesting bits) and try to do their best. Even if their results are great, they will feel as if they had failed because they are too perfectionistic. 

To sum up, they work harder and get more results than Chill, but also set higher standards for themselves, which leads them to often overexert themselves and have higher levels of anxiety. This is why they do nOT look so chill.

Personal opinion:

For me, Nerdy feels like a caffeinated, stronger, sharper version of Chill. Maybe a little more hopeless and cynic, maybe more concerned with astrophysics than the newest One Piece episode. If Chill was fun, Nerdy is a hundred times funnier. However, Nerdy is also incapable of small talk (Chill knows how to, he just doesn’t want to do it and tries to avoid it) and has more trouble meeting new people. This INTP is only capable of speaking logically, and will destroy you incoherent arguments in seconds (yeah, every conversation feels like a debate). If you show any weakness, they will show no mercy.  This side of them can bore or get tiresome for the more dictatorial (Nerdy will call out your bullshit, authority means nothing), harmony loving (debates are just debates, no feelings involved) (however, if you think that disagreeing equals hating each other, you are so fucked here) or happy-go-lucky (”Don’t think and be happy”) types. 

If you are not ready to do some mental exercise, then leave alone Nerdy and go back to Instagram. If you go, try to chatter with Nerdy and then disregard all his ideas/hypothesis/arguments and it gets upset, you are a mere asshole. I actually love Nerdy INTP and think that his brain should be protected as World Heritage.

Things both (I think all INTP) subtypes have in common:

Curiosity about the most random things.

They hate small talk and initiating conversations.

They are so much fun for an INTJ.

They can be very insensitive when talking to other people (not a big bother for an NT)

All energy is redirected to their heads, their bodies are nOT fully operative.

They are always up for: COFFEEE, films or going to a new restaurant. 

People love them and they don’t want to admit it.

They feel different but never complain about it (and never flaunt it as a virtue).

They have meltdowns and they saw them coming.

They love the Internet.

Kinky. Very specific kinks and you can’t kinkshame them. It’s better to join them.

They look innocent, like sweet cinnamon rolls but they are not.

P.S:

Maybe these two types are not well described and some of you think that Chill is just more well, relaxed Nerdy. Or that Nerdy has more willpower than Chill. I don’t know. I honestly think that both have different manifestations of the INTP functions and they are true INTP regardless of their differences. I also think that both are fun, smart and can become great friends. 

P.S2:

@intp-the-thinker​ @intpmd this is for both of you, feel free to abort this unborn theory/hypothesis.

[raywritesthings]

Still Believing

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance, Sebastian Blood, Slade Wilson Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen (Pre-Relationship) Summary: Oliver isn't quite as quick to dismiss Laurel's accusations against Sebastian Blood and learns the truth about the alderman's allegiances as a result, forcing him to change his approach towards the woman he loves. *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in bio*

Oliver sat on a roof, watching the front of Sebastian Blood’s campaign office, and thanked his luck that Digg had gone home early to watch AJ for Carly. He knew exactly what the other man would be saying about his choice to monitor his recently made friend in light of the revelation about Officer Daily only hours ago at the Starling City Cannery. But he wasn’t quite as ready as everyone else to give up Laurel’s hunch just yet.

There was too much that didn’t make sense. Blood’s missing file, the fact that the Man in the Skull Mask had kidnapped Laurel after her accusations against Blood and the fact that he’d abruptly gone so public after weeks of Oliver’s fruitless questions and searching.

Daily being the man underneath the mask was just convenient. Too convenient, and it answered nothing about where the mirakuru was and who had supplied the recipe. It smacked of a cover-up, a fall guy.

Hadn’t he and Diggle pulled the same move only last year? Suspicions got a little too close and he arranged for Digg to go out as the Hood. Their plan had gone off without the complication of Diggle dying from it, of course, but the principle was the same; make everyone including the person accusing him think they were wrong, even when they were right.

Laurel herself had compared Oliver and Sebastian only recently, saying how she wasn’t quite sure she knew the real them. And she wasn’t exactly wrong in Oliver’s case, so why would she feel the same about Sebastian unless it was true? Particularly when Oliver thought he knew what she’d been feeling regarding his newest friend.

“I will take care of Laurel,” the alderman had said, and Oliver had felt something off about it, hadn’t he? That wasn’t a blind spot. That was gut instinct, the kind he had honed on the island to warn him when he was in danger. Only it hadn’t been about him this time, it had been Laurel.

She’d been well and truly taken care of, hadn’t she? Discredited, fired, and forced to kill. If Daily had been the one behind it all, raiding her apartment for the drugs she’d taken would have been enough to silence her. Why even risk his life?

Oliver knew Laurel wasn’t in a good space right now, that most were willing to dismiss her as an unreliable witness. She needed help, but if Daily wasn’t really the Man in the Skull Mask then she and countless others were still in danger. He owed it to her and the people of this city to be certain beyond a doubt that Sebastian didn’t still have some role to play.

Down on the street, there was movement as Sebastian left his campaign office with three other men in tow. They got into a car driven by a fourth man that was parked out front and pulled away from the curb. Oliver quickly descended from the roof to his bike stowed in an alley and followed at a safe distance.

It would be easier if Felicity were on the comms to follow Sebastian’s car on CCTV, but she likely quietly agreed with Digg, so Oliver couldn’t involve either of them until he had proof. It was a good thing he was practiced at tailing the old fashioned way.

Sebastian’s car pulled up outside an otherwise unremarkable office building, and he and his entourage entered it. Almost all the lights were out in the building, so it was easy to see just where they might be headed for. Oliver made his way around the building, onto the roof, and rappelled down between windows, staying out of sight flush against the brick.

He stopped his descent when he was level with the office still lit with a single lamp and only managed to make out Sebastian’s voice because the man shouted with such clear relief.

“It's done! They think it was all Daily. He sacrificed himself for our cause.”

So it had been a setup after all. Laurel hadn’t been wrong. But then, was Sebastian truly the Man in the Skull Mask, or was he merely reporting back to the real one?

Oliver heard the low murmur of a voice he could not quite make out, yet something about its timbre sent a shiver down his spine. The next thing he heard was the unsheathing of a sword.

Several gasps and grunts of pain followed, bodies hitting the floor. Oliver chanced just the briefest look and nearly froze at the sight.

Slade.

It couldn’t be real. He flattened himself against the brick again, willing himself to stop seeing ghosts. It couldn’t be Slade in there mercilessly slaughtering the men Sebastian had brought along with him. Slade was dead. Had to be.

Yet his one-time friend’s voice continued to taunt him through the glass. “Your incompetence has now cost you four lives, alderman. Fail me again, and yours will be the fifth.”

It couldn’t be a hallucination. Hallucinations didn’t cause real damage, kill real people. Hallucinations didn’t provide a radical alderman with a sample of the mirakuru that he could turn into a new batch for a new legion of super soldiers. The pieces were all falling into place now, and he was left feeling frightened and a fool.

He should have snapped his old friend’s neck when he’d had the chance, even if the thought roiled his stomach now. How many lives had already been lost because he hadn’t?

Oliver heard heavy footfalls and no more because he fled. If it was Slade, and he caught Oliver here—

What did it matter? He was already caught. Slade had gotten into his city under his nose and begun an operation. One that included Sebastian Blood becoming mayor and Laurel being silenced.

His blood ran cold. Laurel. Slade knew better than any just how much she meant to Oliver. He could have had her killed at the cannery if he’d wanted. Which could only mean he had something worse planned.

Oliver stopped in another alley some streets away, struggling to draw breath. He didn’t know what to do, how to keep her safe. He needed to keep his distance and throw Slade off his game… unless that was what he wanted.

Sebastian had just put Laurel through the last forty-eight hours clearly on Slade’s orders. Slade wanted Oliver to not trust Laurel, to withdraw from her and leave her on her own. What better way to make sure she was unprotected?

Even at her best, Laurel was no match for Slade or a man enhanced with mirakuru. Oliver wasn’t always confident enough to say he was. And Laurel was nowhere near her best these days. He needed to keep her close.

He could visit her as the Arrow, let her know that she had been right, and then… what happened then? Would Laurel want to try and find more evidence? If he told her he would take care of the situation, would she even listen? She’d be more likely to go out there on her own than to just take his word for it. What was the word of a faceless man, a stranger?

Every instinct rebelled against the conclusion his mind was drawing. Laurel wasn’t supposed to be part of this side of things. She was supposed to be safe. Yet even thinking that, he could see that wasn’t the reality. The reality was Laurel was mired in all kinds of danger, from Slade to Sara’s League, and all he had succeeded in was keeping her ignorant of it.

Could he really do it? Change everything about his approach for over a year and try a new way? There was every chance she would never forgive him, but a greater chance that she would come out of this alive.

Oliver swallowed down his fear and nerves and changed directions, taking his bike further downtown instead of back towards the base.

---

Laurel dragged her feet as she entered her apartment, leaving all the lights off as she set her things down and settled on the couch. She did not have the desire to do anything but sit in the dark with her own thoughts and failures.

How could she have been so wrong? Everything had felt like it was pointing at Sebastian; his mother’s confession and subsequent death, the missing file, just the sense of unease she got around him, like there was so much more to his vision for the city he wasn’t sharing. Like Malcolm before him, she thought she could sense an undercurrent of rage to his passionate rhetoric.

Maybe she’d just wanted to be able to unmask the mastermind before it was too late, since none of them had managed it last year. Maybe she was just balking at anyone getting too close to her right now, and she’d made up some reason in her head for why she shouldn’t get close to Sebastian after all. Maybe she was just a useless addict like her father and everyone else thought she was.

How had it come to this? She’d just wanted the pain to dull a little, not to question her own perceptions of her life. Why had she been so… weak?

She wanted to tell herself that this was the wakeup call. Time to get back up and put an end to all this spiralling. But what did she have to really make an effort for anymore? No job, barely anything like friends, a disappointed father, a wreck of a love life… was there a point to get better, when there wasn’t much of a better she could expect in return?

Her lights already being off, just the slightest click of the latch on the window was the only warning she had. Laurel staggered up and back, reaching wildly for the desk drawer. Where was — had they taken her gun? “Damnit!”

“It’s just me,” the Hood’s modulated voice spoke, and Laurel felt her breath release as she slowly turned back around. He was standing there, bow strapped to his back and both hands held up. Her head slowly shook side to side.

“I didn’t think you’d come see me, after what I did.”

“You really think I can judge you for killing a man in a fight?”

If she were in a better mood, she might have smirked at that. He had a point. “No, but… I was wrong.”

“You weren’t.”

Laurel froze. “What do you mean?”

Slowly, he walked closer. “I took the liberty of following Sebastian Blood tonight. He met with an associate and told him that Daily played his part in their plan. He was just a decoy.”

Her fingers trembled. A part of her wanted to deny it — how could Daily be that fanatically loyal to a man or a cause that he would throw his own life down just to discredit one lone drunk? Just what could Sebastian be building? A part of her ran both hot and cold at once. How dare they take away what little she’d had to keep going for just to take away her voice!

“Who’s his associate?” If she knew that, she’d know more about what Sebastian was trying to do, how to stop it.

But the Arrow hesitated. “Someone dangerous.”

“Oh.” Laurel’s eyes closed. She should have seen this coming. “You’re saying goodbye again.” It was what everyone did, wasn’t it?

“No.”

She wondered if she had heard that right and opened her eyes. This close, she could see the Arrow’s mouth twist in a conflicted frown, one that seemed so achingly familiar if only she could just think straight for a minute.

“This man knows me. He knows who matters to me. No amount of removing myself from your life will change that.”

Laurel’s stomach did a strange sort of flip flop. She had always maintained there was nothing more to her relationship with the Arrow than a mutual desire to see justice done, at least whenever they were on good terms. To hear him say she mattered when she’d been doubting it herself… But she needed to keep focused.

“What are you saying?” She prompted him, hoping it sounded at least somewhat gentle. She didn’t want to spook him.

“I’m saying that I don’t know a better way to keep you safe than to tell you the truth. And I’m sorry.” There was the slightest beep of some kind of device, and then he reached up and pulled down his hood.

Even in the dark of her apartment, he was unmistakable. Laurel’s back hit the shelf behind her with a gasp, a trembling hand going to her temples.

“Ollie?”

He stared at her, his eyes still shadowed by the mask he wore. He said nothing, seeming to realize she needed a moment.

She needed more than that. She needed a drink or something because she- she’d hunted him. She’d blamed him for Tommy’s death no matter how much of a projection of her own guilt it had been. He’d probably thought he deserved it, too, and yet he’d still saved her from the Dollmaker. He’d still shown up when she’d called for help about her suspicions towards Sebastian. Because he still cared.

So much of the vigilante’s actions became clear to her in that moment with just that realization. All the times she had wondered why her, or what he really thought of her, why he seemed to want to work together and yet held her at arm’s length.

She reached out now, slowly, and he let her touch his shoulder. She needed to feel the leather of the suit he wore, the hard muscle underneath, to know he was solid and real. Before she knew it, she was hugging him.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, and wasn’t fully sure what she was even referring to. All the times he’d saved her? Everything he’d done for the city? Finally just telling her what was going on?

He brought his arms around her slowly, and his cheek rested on the top of her head for a moment that stretched between them. She wasn’t sure what happened when either of them moved, and a part of her didn’t really want to. She felt safe and warm in a way she hadn’t for all that time since the Undertaking, and she didn’t want it to go away.

“You’re really okay with this?” He wondered aloud.

She shrugged in his hold. “I always knew the Arrow was someone under that hood, and that he wasn’t choosing to share that with me. I guess now I can see why you had a reason.” He’d been unwilling to take risks with her safety last year after Vanch, not because he didn’t think she was cut out for it, but because she meant more to him than just being a good lawyer. She was important to somebody in this world.

Of course, her tired and dazed mind eventually remembered why he was even telling her this now. Laurel slowly tilted her head back to look at him. “Who is it that Sebastian’s working with and why does it worry you this much?”

She watched him swallow, eyes not quite meeting hers. “His name is Slade Wilson, and he’s… someone I knew on the island. Someone I thought was dead.”

Laurel shivered. “Was he one of the people who tortured you?” It was one of those things she couldn’t help recalling every so often, even though she hated thinking about it. About the pain he endured for all those years.

Oliver hesitated, then nodded. “For some of it. Before that, we were friends. And I… I showed him this.”

He let her go, and Laurel hugged her arms to herself at the loss of contact, watching as he withdrew something from one of the pockets of his suit. Her heart jumped into her throat.

It was the photograph. The silly little wallet-sized photograph her dad had gotten copies made of after her college graduation. He’d said it mattered more than high school anyway. Laurel had rolled her eyes at the time, but snuck a copy to take down with her to the docks, to give as a favor to the boy who’d captured her heart.

And he still had it. Had both, really. Through a shipwreck and five years of who knew what Hell, he had hung onto that photo. She’d never realized he would’ve wanted to keep it.

“Slade knows what you mean to me, Laurel, and what he’s here for is more than just to plot with Sebastian. He wants revenge, and he will use anything and anyone I care about to get to me. But most especially you. I’m so sorry.”

It was like something had snapped in her, the jagged broken bits of her fitting back into place, and she could breathe again. Could think and feel like a normal person again. Her lonely mess of a life had some sense to it at last, and she felt more like the woman she remembered herself to be. So Laurel shook her head.

“I haven’t been hurt yet, Ollie. Yes, I’ve lost my job, but that wasn’t because of you. It was because of what I was doing to uncover Sebastian’s secrets. It would’ve happened whether this Slade Wilson was in town or not.” She had to wonder just where and how Sebastian fit into this revenge scheme Oliver was talking about, but that was something they could figure out. “They probably think I’ve been taken care of, so I’m safe.”

“I don’t know for how long,” he insisted miserably. “Slade will come after you.”

“Then I’ll defend myself.”

He shook his head. “He’s stronger than anyone I know, Laurel. Including me. And…” he paused, looking uncomfortable, before saying, “you’re not well.”

She looked down at herself. The thin, frail arms. Her clothes that seemed to swallow up her slight form. Had she really let it get this far? Some of the fear and shame from before when her father had turned his back on her in the interrogation room welled back up within her, stinging her eyes, but she pushed it down.

“I can get better.”

“Really?” He sounded afraid to hope. She could relate to that feeling.

“Really. I- I thought I was alone, that you and my dad were just acting out of obligation or something. That I’d ruined everything with the Arrow… I didn’t think anyone could still believe in me.”

He’d followed Sebastian just to prove her right. He’d seen some kind of worth in pursuing it, no matter how messed up and irrational of a person she seemed to everyone else.

“I don’t want to let that down, and I don’t want to just lay down and die for some maniac with a grudge match against you. I’ll get better,” she promised.

His shoulders relaxed with a small smile, and he pulled her close again. “Thank God.” His lips pressed to her forehead for a breath.

“Ollie…”

“Yeah?”

Laurel didn’t speak. She wanted to ask just what she did mean to him that had him so worried about this Slade Wilson, but it didn’t feel like the right time. This was so new, and she had so much work to do to get back into a good place for herself. So she just held his forearms a little tighter.

“Thank you.”

She wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, just breathing in the quiet space between them. It was one of those rare moments in her life she didn’t want to end. But she was starting to have trouble keeping her eyes open.

“You should get some rest,” Oliver said, as if reading her thoughts.

“So should you. You’re the one with a job to go to in the morning.”

“You’re gonna find something,” he said immediately. “I’ll help.”

She actually believed him. The Oliver who had returned from the island seemingly full of good intentions but empty promises had only been half the story. Now that she knew what lengths he went to for this city, she thought she could start to trust him again.

They pulled away from each other, Laurel reaching out one last time to cup his cheek, her thumb rubbing the edge of the mask he was still wearing. “You’re okay now?”

“I don’t know if I’ll be okay until Slade’s been stopped,” he admitted. “But I feel much better than I did. Thank you.”

She smiled. It had been a while since she’d felt like she could actually help someone. It felt good. “Goodnight, Ollie.”

“Goodnight, Laurel.”

She walked to her hallway but paused there and watched as he put the hood back up and left through her apartment window, stealing across rooftops into the night. The vigilante; her oldest friend; the man she — despite telling herself she shouldn’t — loved. Life was starting to make sense again.

She would call her dad in the morning and ask him what she needed to do to get herself out of this path she’d gone down the same as him. Just picturing the relief it would give him had her smiling. She could be more than a burden or an annoyance to people. She was more than a bunch of failures.

Those thoughts echoing in her head like a mantra, Laurel turned in for the night, re-determined to take on the world come the morning.

[atlanqueen]

all hail queen mera

❛ 𝘐 𝘈𝘔 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘚𝘌𝘈 & 𝘕𝘖𝘉𝘖𝘋𝘠 𝘖𝘞𝘕𝘚 𝘔𝘌. ❜

LINKS.

AESTHETIC SIDEBLOG     ∕    PLAYLIST    

BASICS.

Given / Birth Name : Y'Mera Xebella Challa Nickname / Preferred Name : Mera, My Queen Alias(es) : Aquawoman Birthdate / Age : 26 June / Thirty-six Place of Birth : Xebel / “Dimension Aqua” : an extradimensional penal colony of Atlantis Current Location : Amnesty Bay, Atlantis Gender Identity : CIS Female, DFAB Sexual / Romantic Orientation : Morosexual / Panromantic Ethnicity / Race / Cultural Heritage: Atlantean / Xebellian, no one is entirely sure where the bridge to Xebel exists and it is often confused with the Bermuda Triangle. While this one path towards it, the more frequently used ( and the one accessible to Mera ) is located in the Indian Ocean, where there is actually a deeper history of wrecks. Split between the two, her appearance evokes this. As such, Mera’s ancestors often influenced the religions of ancient civilizations due to association with electricity and water ( Ixazaluoh, Atabey, Varuna ).  Marital Status : Married Occupation : Queen of Atlantis / Crown Princess of Xebel Religious Beliefs : Polytheism is generally practiced among Atlantis / Xebel, Mera herself takes on a more “okay boomer” approach in regards to this, oftentimes bemoaning the clutter in the ocean caused by their dumbass relics. Essentially, Mera tends to believe in herself above most else and her devotion is to that as a ruler, or rather to the ocean she works in tandem with.  

CHARACTERISTICS.

Height : 5′2″ Weight : This bitch is dense. Body Type / Build : Ectomorph / slim & toned Eye Color : Dark green / sometimes blue or white ( when chatting with Her... the ocean ) Hair Color / Texture : Red. Though her hair appears full and voluminous, it is coarse to the touch, she really does just luck out that it dries like that.  Recognizable Features / Scars : She has tattoos up her hands / arms which look incredibly similar to henna, signifiers of her mastery of the various levels of Xebellian / Atlantean socerery ( they only appear when she is practicing. Additionally Mera has a few scars ( shoulder / abdomen / back ) from battles involving Tritan and Orm.  Speech Patterns / Accent : While on the surface, Mera tends to speak in proper english. There is a hint of an accent, though being that it is not of the world it can’t exactly be placed. Mera tends to speak on the slower side, as she is not one who likes repeating herself.  Languages Spoken : Her default is Atlantean or English, though she is capable of speaking all languages of the world ( it’s a whole thing ).  Powers / Skills / Abilities : Atlantean Physiology ( amphibian nature, enhanced vision, enhanced hearing ); superhuman durability / speed / reflexes / stamina / agility / strength; hydrokinesis / liquid construct creation; low-grade telepathy ( can’t read minds but can communicate / typically works best in water ); ocean sensory ( can feel disturbances in the ocean ); water sense ( knows / communicates with bodies of water ); master combatant; historiographer; leadership Overall Health : Peak physical health

RELATIONSHIPS.

Order of Birth : Eldest Number of Siblings : One Father’s Status + Relationship : Ryus ( father, alive ). Though Mera was deeply devoted to her father all throughout her childhood, the affection could not be considered mutual. Expectations of her to rule a kingdom she was taught to also be disgusted by, along with his eagerness to marry her off / train her to be a queen assassin ultimately showed her his true colors. That being said, he was the greatest influence on her in her most formative years and her skills as a warrior and sorceress. She has made attempts to be the bridge between Xebel and Atlantis, making some strides in the area however his resentment over loss of control in his weapon has caused a bit of friction.  Mother’s Status + Relationship : Circe ( mother, deceased ). Young enough when her mother died, Mera holds no memories of the world. She does, however, hold the sound of shells gifted to her upon coming of age as her most prized possession. Lammia ( paternal grandmother, deceased ). Mera’s maternal influence came from the Dowager Matriarch of Xebel. Mera held great affection for her grandmother and learned all skills as a politician through her.  Sibling Status + Relationship : Hila ( identical twin sister, alive ). Their relationship is complicated -- with Hila having a rebellious nature and tendency to kick up trouble wherever she goes, though ultimately they do love each other.  Loyalty / Affiliation : Atlantis, The Justice League.

PERSONALITY.

Astrological Sign: Cancer Sun, Capricorn Moon, Taurus Ascendant  MBTI : INTJ-A Hobbies : Playing instruments ( flute, harp, Arthur taught her how to play piano ), Crowned Queen of being able to drink Tom Curry under the table.  Bad Habits : Extremely picky eater, bickering as a love language Three Positive Traits : Dutiful, righteous, ambitious  Three Negative Traits : Short-tempered, stubborn, pretentious Moral Alignment : Neutral Good

ASSOCIATIONS.

One Song : She’s Always a Woman - Billy Joel.  One Quote / Piece of Art : Ocean Goddess - Jennylynn Fields. / “ She carries herself like a god. She is a composed ocean of waves that could become turbulent if you test her. ” One Fear : Losing the people she loves / incompetence   One Strength : Leadership One Object : Shell of sounds, from her mother.  One Place : Amnesty Bay Lighthouse One Food : Mango One Scent : Saltwater One Lucky Charm : Her engagement ring.

NOTES.

Born the Crown Princess of Xebel, a prison-kingdom known for active rebellion against Atlantis, it was banished to another dimension long before Mera was born. The people of Xebel are scavengers as a result ( it helps that the ‘bridge’ to this dimension lands in the Indian Ocean, whose warm waters have caused a lot of wrecks over the years ). 

Sticking with movie canon, Atlantis is on a more feudalistic set-up

Mera’s betrothal to the next King of Atlantis ( Orm ) had been set before her birth. This was an effort to alleviate tension / build a pathway back towards Xebel reclaiming some glory.

Her mother died shortly after childbirth, Mera was thus raised by her father with help from his chief taskmaster, Leron and her grandmother Lammia.

Luck of the draw would leave her, the elder of the twins, tasked with winning over a kingdom inclined to look at her as a Princess of Garbage while her own domain began to mistrust her for spending her time in Atlantis. While following the traditional route in studying the power of hydrokinesis, Mera would also frequent the kingdom she was set to rule. 

She was able to build a close relationship with Atlanna in this time, one of the few who ever accept Mera completely. And it is through this, as well, that her subsequent banishment became a defining moment in Mera’s life. 

Her training as a warrior came to head at her coming of age, to prove herself worthy of being a queen. Tasked with killing the only other claim to the throne, she was sent to the surface. 

It. Did. Not. Go. As. Planned. 

A confusing series of dates later, Mera began to soften to the cause of the surface world and become more disillusioned to her place among her own, while encouraging the rightful heir to accept his place in both. Mera became a key advisor, and eventually was unburdened with the task of marriage by way of diplomacy. 

Her placement in destroying the reign of a true Atlantean didn’t win her many friends in a kingdom whose nobles barely accept her, but she made due. 

( And would you look at that, she ended up marrying a King of Atlantis after all, regardless. )

After two back to back wars defending Atlantis, Mera was coronated to begin a long reign of monarchy on equal footing, something the kingdom had rarely seen. 

Though she does split her time between Atlantis and the surface, her priority is typically her kingdom. Mera takes her duty as a queen extremely seriously. 

She joined the Justice League not long after Arthur, having proven her loyalty to the safety of the world as opposed to being a figurehead for the wills of the elite in her own. 

As such, her identity is not publicly known ( disdain for being labelled as a mermaid abound ) and her stance on the Accords is to be in direct contradiction. Atlantis’ status as relatively unknown allows for certain anonymity while operating in these efforts.  

[calleo-bricriu]

Three questions: How were you getting paid if you were a "prisoner"? Where you really a prisoner or is that just the excuse you used to get out of punishment? Did he even TRY to kill you?

Oh no, no, not an excuse at all.

I was a prisoner and the only reason I walked right into it was, more or less, to spite @directoryandle  and, going in with the assumption that I was going to eventually be let out again, also be able to come back and hopefully still have him working there so I could claim however many years I was stuck there because he’d sent me to deal with the ‘request’ instead of going himself that it was official Ministry business, work, and I absolutely expected to be paid for it.

Essentially, the Ministry ended up paying me five years’ salary to be a prisoner and largely did continue doing things that were part of my actual job anyway, just from an entirely different location surrounded by largely competent, if a bit mental, people.

Nice temporary break from being surrounded by largely incompetent, if a bit mental, people.

Nobody else was really allowed to take a serious swing at me, which is a shame, as it never hurts to get a decent amount of experience having a scrap with very different sorts of people. I still maintain that one General would have killed me outright if she’d been allowed; she didn’t like me from the start, though I never bothered to ask why and I doubt she’d have answered me anyway.

I don’t know that @absintheabsence ever necessarily was trying to kill me so much as he was trying to make me think that he was, but there were a couple of times that I almost believed it.

I’d like to note here that “almost believed it” doesn’t mean I was anything approaching frightened; I lost the ability to be afraid of death or dying before I was thirty. After enough close calls, it loses its bite.

And I really do need to point out that I am definitely the one that caused it every time. That isn’t blame of any sort, let alone victim blaming as I never have viewed myself as any sort of victim (a target maybe, but not a victim), it’s a statement of fact. See, he’s got–or had, I’m not exactly sure how short that fuse is now–one hell of a temper, but also never seemed to really care to put that on display which isn’t a bad thing at all; makes one seem unbalanced.

And I enjoy running my mouth specifically to see what and how much it takes to get someone who likes to come off as on a very even keel to wobble a bit.

That’s exactly what I did and after awhile I either got very good at figuring out just how much I could push before I’d have to ease off or he’d snap or he knew what I was doing and was refusing to play because of it.

There were several times the first few years I was kept there in which either I missed a non-bluffing signal to back off or, instead of storming off and leaving me alone for awhile the storm in question was directed at me as opposed to whatever poor idiot he ran into first after leaving the tower.

There are two instances that I remember clearly, however:

- In the first instance, while I know it wasn’t the terrible, terrible puns that caused it, they did end up in that 'last straw’ pile and that is so worth it. I could only hope to die over something as ridiculous as making a terrible pun to the wrong person and would want that on my headstone.

- In the second, and last, despite the fact that I would have been fifty-seven at the time, I was being a brat. There’s no other way to say it, and I was doing it on purpose just to see what would happen.

The first one happened the first few days I was there; the thing about the stone used to build Nurmengard, particularly down in the prison areas where it wasn’t so nicely decorated, is that the stone siphons magic from anything that’s kept in contact with it and that was then used to power a lot of the automation. Even where it was mitigated by decor, it was still able to function in that capacity to varying degrees. That’s how the automation kept running with nobody to maintain it.

Walking right into the trap landed me in one of those cells, which is a very good way to render a prisoner harmless; if everyone around them can use magic and they cannot, they’re easier to handle. I started off on the wrong foot with the guard who had to deal with me for the following reasons:

- The stone was interesting, and I lost track of time to the tune of not really sleeping for two solid days, while I was studying it as much as I could by just looking at it and poking at it.

- So when the guard came to haul me upstairs, I first wasn’t listening to what he was saying and his English wasn’t all that good, no to mention heavily accented, and I didn’t respond at first.

- When I did, and realised he’d said something to the effect of I was going to see “the Emperor” my immediate response was, “The what now?” which, and this will be come relevant, caused him to hit me with an incredibly mediocre Cruciatus cast.

- …and I just sort of…stared at him and asked him what he was doing, and that got me grabbed, thrown out of the cell, and walked at wand point (as though that was necessary, it’s not as though I could have left without being able to use magic anyway; effect, I guess) to the less prison cell filled areas of the building.

- Got mildly distracted by how over the top everything was decorated and failed to stop at the door the guard stopped at, got dragged back again.

- Very impolitely herded into the room, see who’s in there and, in a case in which my mouth did get ahead of my brain for a few seconds, went with, “Oh! It’s only you! This guard said we were going to see an emperor.”

The guard actually took a few steps away from me with that one but, nothing happened because we can’t lose our temper in front of the help, can we?

- …and I kept talking. Specifically, I started complaining about the mediocre Cruciatus and got–I’m still not entirely certain if it was sarcasm or if he was being seriously, but something about maybe I should start training them how to use it.

“Yes, and anyone who can’t manage it gets to be used as the practice dummy,” probably was not the kindest thing I’ve ever said but, in fairness, this is a curse I’ve done extensive research and fine tuning with and it’s always so disappointing to see it done poorly.

- Much to the guard’s relief, he was eventually allowed to leave and now there were no witnesses. And, as my brain had caught back up to my mouth, the first thing the duo decided was appropriate was, “Well, this is certainly a grave situation isn’t it?” because I wanted to see what he’d do.

He started by hitting me with the massive compliment of not only having read that paper but having not dismissed it out of hand, and having clearly read it to the point where he knew the cut off before I’d be damaged to the point of being vaguely useless for several months. I’m sure it was meant, on some level, to be horrible but when you’re used to other people (at best) explaining your own work back to you incorrectly it’s positively lovely to see it demonstrated without hesitation. I’m still pleased about that!

There was a great deal more after that, largely blood magic based if I recall, though not anything I was familiar with beyond having a general idea of what it was at the time; if I had to choose between that and the more familiar (if modified) well cast Cruciatus, I’d take the latter as it’s far less unsettling than a great deal of what can be done with blood magic.

That all said, I was never really convinced that he was planning to or intending to kill me; if he’d wanted to, he would have. Still, where physical death is concerned, I did get to hover right on the line of it for some time.

Great fun, actually, if you’ve never done that before. One hell of a rush too, and it lasts for weeks if it’s done right.

Which it was.

- The second time was in 1943 and he was definitely not pleased with me for that one. The one I just wrapped up, I still don’t think he was nearly as angry as he was trying to come off and I’m also fairly sure I saw him trying not to laugh at the awful pun.

I had my cards and my runes with me and, of course, they’d been confiscated by guards on intake years before, but he’d let me have them back to play with now and again. Wouldn’t usually stick around, just sort of drop them on the desk in the room I was in and leave. Half the time I’d just check to see everything was still there then set them aside, and occasionally I’d let the cards gossip with me but never mention what they said to anyone because it’s all a bit silly.

I can’t recall now why they’d been taken before this particular incident, but he’d come up to give the cards back and this time he stood in the doorway watching me until I figured out he was waiting for me to pick them up and do something with them.

Because I am the way I am, I went with what amounted to, “Oh, you want us to gossip about you, do you? All right.”

I kind of knew what to expect as that deck is nothing if not consistent and, to that point, any time they’d been gossiping about him specifically there were a lot of swords and the Tower, both of which had been consistent for over a decade at that point.

The thing is, despite the cards technically backing up what I was saying, a great deal of what I said was largely based in subtle things I’d seen or overheard that I likely wasn’t supposed to have seen or overheard in the first place and it started out warning of an ideology split within his own ranks that, if not dealt with swiftly and decisively, would lead to everything collapsing.

I don’t know if he knew that on some level and didn’t like hearing it or if he simply didn’t like hearing that those in his inner circle and high levels of command may have decided along the way that he was too unpredictable and erratic to be effective and had begun trying to organise a split–the main problem the cards saw was that those people thought he wasn’t being, I don’t know what the word I’m looking for is, but they thought he was too tolerant of things that weren’t “Pureblood” or human.

That’s saying a lot as, by that point, there had been several genocide campaigns directed at non-human beings and beasts that he’d greenlit.

At that point, the cards split as they often do when they gossip like that; down one path, he’d ignore it and continue on, trying to keep control of a crumbling empire and taking everything down with him in the process.

Down the other, it was a purge the ranks, get back on the original track, and–the cards predicted that would end rather well and be at least somewhat long lasting. There would be initial losses and a period of uncertainty while rebuilding, but it wouldn’t be such a massively destructive nightmare.

You remember that part where I said I like to run my mouth? If not, just a reminder: I like to run my mouth, and I definitely ignored the fact that, in the doorway, as I kept tossing cards up into the air in front of him, it was looking more and more like I was about to have an attempt to make me regret my entire life up to that point happen.

I made some comment about how we both knew he wasn’t going to take that second path as that would be admitting he’d made mistakes, and let the cards talk down the more destructive path.

That’s about when the Tower appeared because of course it did.

And I kept pulling cards because, the thing about the Tower card that most people overlook when they see it, is that, even among the destruction and ruins, it’s already being rebuilt; whether it’s rebuilt into the same thing or into something better depends on a lot of things, but the fact is that something gets rebuilt in the aftermath.

Figured, at this point, why not?

I thought that’s where it got interesting but it seemed to just make him even more livid than he already was and by that point I’m not even certain he was still listening so much as he was mapping out exactly what was going to happen as soon as I quit talking.

Unfortunately for me, I quit talking immediately after saying, “Looks as though you’re going to cheerfully self-destruct, while taking as many people with you as you can manage on the way down, as this deck has consistently indicated only after this Tower hits, you’ll slowly rebuild–with the assistance of someone else, it appears–into a reasonably decent person.”

Or, to condense it down, “You’re a landfill on fire but, hey, ashes eventually turn into decent ground again, so that’s something!”

Still don’t remember large pieces of what that exactly was but the thing is–if you’re not killed by something as abrupt as a killing curse, physical death happens before complete death in which you’re severed from your physical body one way or another and I do recall brief spots of physical death and–

–now that I think about it, there’s a great deal of overlap and interweaving between–

At any rate, I’m fairly certain not everything that was done during that one ever fully cleared up but I’m so used to the side effects of it now I’d be alarmed if they stopped.

For the most part, though, I suspect he figured out what I was doing just in general and would either ignore it or would do that thing where you know someone is telling you you’re not worth their time or effort and sort of–do things in a very mediocre fashion.

Since I didn’t like that one bit, I eventually stopped jabbing him with a proverbial stick because it’s not any fun at all at that point.

[dragonologist-phd]

If The Creeks Don’t Rise Ch 8- All Of My Attention

Aloth promised himself he would not muddle his already complicated life with any growing feelings towards Desta. At the time, it was an easy promise to make. There were even occasional moments when it was an easy promise to keep, when their time together was simple and natural and just like it was all those years ago.

And then there were moments when keeping that promise felt impossible.

(Read Below or on AO3)

Aloth promised himself he would not muddle his already complicated life with any growing feelings towards Desta. At the time, it was an easy promise to make. There were even occasional moments when it was an easy promise to keep, when their time together was simple and natural and just like it was all those years ago.

And then there were moments when keeping that promise felt impossible.

They were digging through the rubble of an old, dusty room in an old, dusty temple on an old, dusty island when Aloth heard Desta scream. Panic immediately rushed through him, and for a moment he was sure that there was a trap they had missed or an enemy that wasn’t quite dead.

Then Desta turned around and Aloth saw the large scaly creature in her arms, and he understood.

“Look who I found!” Desta cried, her voice still high with excitement. The wurm in her arms echoed with a cry of its own.

Across the room Pallegina gave a startled gasp, but Serafen just looked on in confusion. “That be a wurm, lass,” he said. “You see plenty of ‘em in these parts. Usually we kill ‘em.”

“Not the hatchlings!” Desta scolded. “They’re not hurting anybody, not if you train them right. And besides, don’t you recognize her?”

This last part was directed at a surprised Aloth. He frowned, and was about to protest that he couldn’t possibly recognize the random wurm they’d found in this out-of-the-way temple…until he took a closer look. “Is that a sky dragon wurm?”

“She certainly is.”

“Not the same-”

“It’s the same one,” Pallegina confirmed. “Don’t you remember Hylea’s Temple?”

Of course Aloth remembered Hylea’s Temple, and the sky dragon that lived within. He remembered every dragon that Desta had dragged him into meeting. This particular encounter had, thankfully, not ended in their team running in circles and trying to bring down the winged beast. Rather, it had ended with Desta letting the dragon and her hatchlings live in peace, certain that she could convince Hylea it was the right call.

And she did, because she was Desta, and of course she could persuade a god into letting a dragon raise its children in her temple.

“How in the world did she end up here?” Aloth asked, leaning closer to inspect the wurm.

Desta shrugged. “It seems a lot of things from the Dyrwood ended up here somehow. Do you think she remembers me?” Aloth couldn’t stop a smile from creeping onto his face as he watched Desta cradle the creature, beaming down at it with nothing but joy. The wurm wriggled happily in her arms as if in confirmation. Desta laughed and ran her hand soothingly over the smooth scales. “Oh, I can’t wait to show Eder-”

“Hold up a tic,” Serafen interrupted. “We’re not bringing that thing aboard, are we, Captain?”

“Well, why not?”

“It be a dragon, lass.”

“She’s just a little wurm!”

“Don’t try to argue with her,” Pallegina said in a tired tone. “Caed Nua was always full of strays she brought in against everyone’s better judgment.”

Serafen turned to Aloth beseechingly. “Am I outnumbered here? We’re bringing a dragon on board the ship?”

Aloth glanced at Desta. The wurm had settled itself across her shoulders. It made for a strange sight- the large, ungainly wings flapping behind her head, the long tail curled around her neck, the pale blue scales striking against dark green skin- but Desta looked absolutely delighted. Aloth looked helplessly back at Serafen. “We’re bringing a dragon on board the ship.”

As they left the temple, Desta walked next to Aloth, lifting the wurm up so it could get a good look at him. “I think she remembers you, too.” The wurm gave a shrill shriek, and Desta laughed. “She likes you.”

Aloth felt himself flush, and he could hear Iselmyr snickering inside his head. Ye never could say nae to the lass.

Stop it, he thought. This has nothing to do with Desta. We went through a lot of trouble for the wurm to live, we might as well take care of it.

 If ye say so, lad. I’ll be remindin ye’ of that when the wee beastie’s crawled into our bunk at night.

They were traversing the darker streets of Neketaka when the figures approached. The term shady applied here on multiple levels; the people wore cloaks that shrouded their features and beckoned suspiciously to Desta, promising rare goods.

Desta was curious, so despite Aloth’s misgivings (which were numerous) she approached the alley where they stood. Aloth trailed close behind and waited for things to go wrong. As soon as Desta crossed into the alley, one of the figures stepped forward, drawing a dagger from its cloak.

“Empty your pockets,” the figure croaked, and the look Desta gave him carried more disappointment than it did fear.

“Told you,” Aloth couldn’t resist saying, a small smirk flashing across his face.

“Fine, you were right,” Desta sighed. She gave the small dagger one more pitying look, then said casually to Aloth, “Close your eyes.”

Aloth knew immediately what she was planning and did as he was told- he had seen this move in battles before, and had no desire to bear the brunt of it. As soon as he looked away, Desta clasped her hands together and, in a flash of zeal, enveloped herself in a beam of blinding light.

The light was searing even from behind Aloth’s closed eyes- he could only imagine the painful surprise the would-be robbers must have been experiencing. His sympathy was interrupted when Desta’s hand, cool and grassy, took his in a strong grip, and before he had time to react she was pulling him down the streets toward the Gullet.

When they finally slowed, the light had faded enough for Aloth to dare try opening his eyes- and when he did, his breath caught in his throat. The magic Desta had cast still hung faintly around her, and she was laughing, completely unaware of the glow that still hung around her like a cloak.

He must have been staring, because she cast a worried glance in his direction. “What’s wrong? I didn’t blind you, did I?”

“No, I’m fine” he answered, and winced when his voice came high and nervous. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and hurriedly added, “Which is more than I can say for those robbers.”

Desta laughed again. “Oh, those poor fools. I almost feel bad.”

“You needn’t,” Aloth said. “They were thieves. Incompetent thieves, at that.”

“Exactly. It felt unfair.” The spell had faded completely now, but Desta’s eyes were still alight with amusement.  Aloth realized with a rush that his hand was still clutching hers. He hastily released her hand in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner and took a courteous step back, returning some space between them.

“Ye spineless spellspeaker,” Iselmyr muttered through his teeth, and Desta blinked in confusion.

“What-”

“Iselmyr wishes to hunt down the thieves,” Aloth explained quickly, biting sharply on his lip in an effort to prevent Iselmyr from following his words with her own retort.

Desta seemed to accept this. “Don’t worry, Iselmyr. We still have business in Delver’s Row, and I’m sure we’ll find someone there to give you a fight.”

Iselmyr simmered in frustration in the back of Aloth’s head, but didn’t try to speak aloud again as he followed Desta through the winding streets. I’m jes tryin’ to move ye along, she hissed at him internally.

That’s the problem, Aloth thought back. There’s nothing to move along. There’s no point in you continuing on like this.

Iselmyr’s reply, though still annoyed, was smug. Ach, we’ll be seein’ about that.

They’d barely made it a mile from the lagoon when the ship appeared. Aloth wasn’t concerned at first- their flag was emblazoned with the logo of the Royal Deadfire Company , and as far as he knew the Rauataians had no reason to be hunting them down.

Then the thundering sound of a cannon filled the air, followed by the splash of the warning shot that landed mere feet from their hull, and Aloth began to worry.

Desta was on the top deck, shouting for parley, and by the time Aloth reached her the other ship had drawn close enough for its captain, an angry-looking amaua man, to speak to her her face-to-face. Desta met his glare boldly. “What do you want? We have no quarrel with you!”

The man shook his head. “You wouldn’t be leaving Motare o Kozi unless you found what we both want. Hand over the map.”

Desta’s eyes narrowed, and Aloth could practically hear her thoughts just as clear as Iselmyr’s: she had promised the Ukaizo map to the prince and the queen and the Huana people, and she was not going back on her word. Perhaps the other captain saw this as well, for he began to draw his longsword.

“Wait!” Desta cried. She bit her lip, studying the other captain’s face, then glanced sideways at Aloth.

“Trust me?” she said to him a low voice.

Aloth frowned in confusion but gave her a tight nod. Desta grinned and whispered, “Bring me a barrel of gunpowder.” Then she turned her attention fully to the other ship and called loudly, “Is there no chance we can come up with a diplomatic solution?”

Aloth had a million questions for Desta, but their time was unfortunately limited, so he hurriedly did as she asked. As he dragged the barrel over to Desta, the other captain gave her a grim smile. “The only solution I see here is you giving me that map.”

Desta stared at him for a moment, then reached over the side of the ship and grabbed one of the lanterns that swung from the hull. She thrust her arm over the barrel, the lit lantern flickering mere feet above the pile of gunpowder. “You board this ship, nobody is walking away with that map!”

The startled cries of both crew filled the air, and despite his alarm Aloth had to work to stifle back a smile. Anyone who knew Desta would know she would never sacrifice her people. But looking at her determined expression, her hair and cape blowing wildly in the wind, the light of the lantern throwing shadows on her face… Aloth could see how a stranger might think differently.

The other captain’s mouth fell open. “You wouldn’t…”

“Aloth,” Desta said, loudly this time. “Bring me another barrel.”

“As you say,” he replied at the same volume, doing his best to inject some fear into his voice.

This, finally, was too much for the Rauataians. “You’re a madwoman!” the other captain cried, before turning to his crew and ordering a retreat.

Desta held her position until the ship sailed out of sight. Only then did she jerk into motion, leaping away from the barrels and hurling the lantern overboard.

Aloth couldn’t help the chuckles that escaped him at the sight, even as the rest of the crew let out exaggerated sighs of relief. Behind him, Engrim sagged against the helm. “No offense Captain,” he sighed, “but the longer I spend wit’ you, the more I question my choice o’ career.”

“I’m sorry!” Desta said earnestly. She was still resting against the railing, keeping her distance from the gunpowder even though the lantern had left her hand. “It was all I could think of! I never would have done it.”

“Of course not,” Aloth said. “That was some quick thinking, and it did the job well.”

“Although to be honest, I was terrified the entire time I’d lose my grip and drop the thing by accident.”

“Bloody hel, don’t tell me that!” Engrim exclaimed. Desta let out a burst of laughter that only got louder when she locked eyes with Aloth, who was barely holding back his own amusement.

“I’ll put this gunpowder back where it belongs now,” Aloth said, fighting to keep the smirk out of his voice.

“Please,” Engrim said. “Before the two of you kill us all.” Aloth didn’t respond, for he was suddenly far too preoccupied with the way the man had said the two of you, and the way it pleased him far more than it should.

That night Aloth lay awake in his bunk, unable to get the incident out of his head. Desta’s face kept flashing through his memories- her expression of conviction and righteousness as she held the lamp, which shifted so quickly to laughter and reassurance as she leaned over the railing with bright eyes and hair wild in the wind.

Ach, Iselmyr sighed in his head. This is hopeless.Yer gone and taken with the lass.

Aloth remembered the promise he’d made to himself and sighed. “Hopeless,” he repeated quietly. “Yes, I know.”

[adamwatchesmovies]

The Worst of 2019 (So Far)

And now we get to the opposite of yesterday’s post: the worst of what we’ve seen so far. Time to give them a proper thrashing before they (hopefully) fade into obscurity. Disappointingly, there's a general lack of films that were bad but in an interesting way. Mostly, it’s either been the same sorta dreck we usually get with a couple of unusually offensive stories and a couple of soul-crushingly bad superhero flicks. Curious? Read on.

10. Serenity

I like to save my #10 spot on the “Worst of” list for a movie that has a chance of becoming a favorite among those who love bad movies. Serenity is competently enough made that it does not belong in the same category as The Identical or Runaway. It’s another kind of bad movie, the kind that baffles anyone who sees it and who will have film historians scratching their heads in the future. It’s not quite on the same level as 2017’s “The Book of Henry” but close. Top-notch actors at the top of their career in a story so poorly conceived it would’ve been brilliant if it weren’t awful and utterly absurd.

The revelation that everything we've been seeing is actually part of a video game programmed by an angry teen who hates his abusive father, and that his actions are tied to those of Matthew McConaughey's character is the kind of nutty decision someone at some point should've questioned. My advice? Surprise some unsuspecting friends with it. Periodically pause the movie so they can write down how they think it'll all fit together and then watch their faces as they're proved wrong.

9. After

I’m not going to remember After down the line so this is my opportunity to give it another flogging. I can’t believe fan-fictions of real people is a real thing and that one of them was deemed legitimate and popular enough to be turned into a movie. It plays out like the clone of a clone of a clone of Twilight. At least that movie had danger in the form of vampires and werewolves. This has nothing to offer except embarrassing drama and a prepubescent’s idea of what romance and love look like. I saw it in the theater with a friend and thank goodness she was there; it made what would've been a chore... slightly more bearable.

8. Dumbo

I’ve already gone on about how I feel about Disney’s string of live-action remakes. For the most part, they fail to validate their own existences; they’re just copies of the original but with “real” actors dancing around animated backgrounds, objects and locations instead of everything being traditionally animated. Dumbo isn’t like Aladdin and Beauty and the Beast. It does try new things. It diverges from the source material significantly in the worst way. The titular character winds up playing second banana to a bunch of circus performers no one cares about and in the end didn’t contain an inkling of the emotion the 1941 version did.

7. Dark Phoenix

This one’s a triple-whammy. Not only was it a deeply disappointing way for Fox’s X-Men series to end, it retreaded old material in a way that was worse than X-Men 3: The Last Stand AND it was a box office bomb. By the time the story finally comes alive… it’s just about over. The whole thing feels like a mistake, bringing in aliens and asking us to invest in characters we just haven’t had enough time to fall in love with. Makes me wonder what the future of the characters is going to be like. Yes there are a number of heroes and heroines we haven’t yet seen, but are people going to care, even when the brand gets a new coat of paint from Marvel Studios?

6. Men in Black: International

Was anyone asking for the Men in Black series to return? Maybe if they'd had a dynamite story this could’ve overcome the public’s general disinterest, but this was an extremely generic plot you could figure out easily minutes in and lost touch with what endeared us to the first. Even with the combined forces of Tessa Thompson and Chris Hemsworth failed, it to generate many laughs. Worse, to make sure I got any references or Easter egg it might drop, I re-watched all of the previous Men in Black movies, including the horrific Men in Black 2.

5. Replicas

This movie goes about itself in such a convoluted way. First, Keanu Reeves plays a scientist working for a company that wants to transplant the mind of dead soldiers into androids. Then, his family is killed in a car crash, prompting him to use the mind transfer tech to put their memories into new clone bodies of themselves. Problem is, he only has the means to clone three out of four family members. This means he has to erase all memories of his youngest daughter from the others’ brains. Following me so far? Good because it keeps going from there. Actually, that’s just the start of it. It’s a classic case of TMSGO - too much sh*t goin’ on. Even with all that, it STILLL managed to have gaping plot holes. No surprise it came and went as quietly as possible.

4. Hellboy

This one hurt. I wanted to see a superhero horror film badly. The early interviews I read about them wanting to adapt Mike Mignola’s books more closely than the Del Toro films got me excited. I was a little apprehensive when the trailers showed some goofy stuff but I figured these were included to draw people in. I should've listened to that sinking feeling. The actual film is awful, one giant mistake after another. Without a doubt, this featured the year’s worst special effects and even this I could've forgiven but the would-be humorous tone was badly misjudged and the story bloated with way too many elements that might've worked... if we weren't also trying to tell the character's origin at the same time. Hellboy ends with a teaser promising more and there’s no way we would’ve seen a sequel even if this had made money at the box office. Cool demons though, for what it’s worth.

3. Shaft

Looking back, I’m struggling to think of anything worth seeing in Shaft. I hated the film’s approach at comedy, particularly when it reverted Samuel L. Jackson’s John Shaft into the kind of man who proudly doesn’t understand modern sensibilities and spews out one homophobic joke after another. The plot was uninspired and uninteresting - not to mention generic - and none of it felt like it belonged on the big screen. On the upside, it prompted me to view the original trilogy with Richard Roundtree and those were enjoyable.

2. Simmba

Simmba is unlikely to be on the “Worst of 2019” list next January. It probably won’t be at the #2 spot. The film mixes two wildly different tones but not well. It begins as a romantic crime comedy, a dated one, sure. Simmba staging a phoney crime in order for the woman he’s attracted to to call him for help and then use the call as an excuse to stay with her through the night is creepy but I guess it might’ve passed like 20 years ago in North America. What makes this a bad film is the way it then introduces a character’s gang rape and murder as a way to prompt the anti-hero onto a righteous path. From there, it turns into this vigilante revenge film that has disturbing implications. You probably haven’t heard of it before now, much less seen it. I don’t recommend you check it out.

Runner Ups:

Aladdin

A controversial choice, as many casual filmgoers seem to have fallen madly in love with it (similar to the way they ate up 2017’s Beauty and the Beast) but honestly, what does this film do better than 1992’s Aladdin? Add an unmemorable song for Princess Jasmine to sing? Reduce the number of talking animals in order to give us more… nothing? Pile on the CGI to the point you wonder why it was made with live-actors in the first place? Like the innumerable direct-to-video sequels of classic films who've been all but forgotten, I tell you this Arabbian adventure won't endure.

Tolkien

So much potential squandered on a boring story. It didn’t take an astute viewer to recognize the film was crippled by the studio failing to obtain the rights to Tolkien’s actual work. I get the feeling we'll see another shot at a biography of J.R.R. Tolkien in a couple of years and this will be the Christopher Robin to the much superior Goodbye Christopher Robin.

The Hustle

It’s an unfunny comedy, what more is there to say? Rebel Wilson makes yet another bad career choice playing the same character she always plays. I only realized it was a remake of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels while writing my review, which is unfortunate. Hopefully I can expunge this film from my memory soon enough and forget anything it might’ve spoiled about the original Bedtime Story or the 1988 remake.

1. Unplanned

The numerous instances of technical incompetence - mostly coming from the performers who are given lackluster material - would be enough to condemn Unplanned to this list. What made me hate the film is the way it blatantly lies and attempts to manipulate the audience into further entrenching themselves in a certain point of view through cheap, manipulative means. I can respect that genuine passion was poured into the project but the way it goes about it is shameful. Do not go see it, even if you're curious.

Yuck. That last one really left a bad taste in my mouth so I'm going to talk about a movie I did enjoy and am enthusiastic to direct you towards Alita: Battle Angel. Rosa Salazar as the titular Alita impressed me and I really dug the action scenes. I'll also right a wrong from last year by reminding you to find and watch Paddington and Paddington 2, both movies I should've put on my "Best of" lists the years they came out. I don't know what I was thinking but I keep coming back to these in my head. They're excellent for kids and adults.

And with that said, the list is over. Back to our regularly-scheduled film reviews until something big comes up. Thoughts or comments on the list are welcome and I hope you enjoyed reading.

[nezzfiction]

Team WISE Chapter 5 - Iris (Part Three)

Series Synopsis: Ten years have passed since Team RWBY disbanded. Remnant is in the midst of its Second Great War. And while the Kingdoms wage battle and destruction against one other, a darker, more ancient threat grows in its shadow. Only a select few are willing to set aside past differences to see the greater danger Remnant faces. Only those who possess the wisdom to seek out the truth in the dark—those who are truly wise. To that end, Weiss Schnee assembles her private group of covert operatives.

This is the story of Team WISE.

Links to read the series: Ao3 or FF.net

Or hit the jump below:

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Iris (Part Three)

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They honor Graves.

They decorate the Royal.

And they reward the Faithful.

.

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It was approaching night on the Saharan Front of Vacuo.

The sun was setting, and the sky dimmed a darker hue. Waving hills of sand lost their fluorescent gold, and faded to purple. And as the last rays of daylight retreated over the horizon, so too did the forces of Vacuo’s Southern Faction withdraw from the battlefield.

The Northern Tribes suffered a surprise attack during the afternoon. It was an unforgivable mistake, and their defenses paid dearly for it. To make matters worse, when they finally recovered enough to launch a counterassault, night was falling and the Southern Faction’s White Fang kited back. The Northern Tribes were at a disadvantage due to their lack of night vision. And, of course, there was the possibility the Southern Faction, which listed many Faunus in their ranks, set up an ambush should they recklessly pursue.

In the end, the Northern Tribes could only watch as their enemies retreated safely and leisurely over the hills. Defenses would have to be rebuilt, draining on what limited resources they had. There was also the body count, which received a huge blow. Their numbers, growing more and more difficult to replenish with each hit and run by the opposition.

From atop the ridge of a tall dune, a heavily cloaked figure monitored the progression of the entire battle. He purposely took caution in hiding his appearance, very few being privy to his actual whereabouts. But it was him, who commanded his forces to exhaust their enemy than fight the fair fight.

The leader of the Southern Faction’s White Fang.

Adam Taurus.

As he watched his forces retreat and glanced at the still burning remnants in the enemy settlement, a sadistic smile curled his lips.

“Have our forces rest four hours on returning to base,” he relayed his orders to his comms officer. “We’ll attack them again at night.”

The White Fang soldier nodded, and began speaking to the corresponding leaders of each division.

On their way back to their outpost, Adam continued to evaluate the strategy and the condition of the civil war as a whole.

The assassination attempt on the Northern Tribes leadership went comparatively well yesterday. They were able to eliminate some key threats with only the sacrifice of a few minor chieftains. It was a shame Sienna Khan survived. They could not have accounted for Blake and her lieutenants acting as bodyguards incognito.

Adam’s forces were performing well on the Saharan Front. They wounded the enemy and bled their enemy’s resources, while his army remained relatively unscathed. If they were lucky and their adversaries were incompetent enough, which was the case most of the time, the enemy might draw upon their exhausted forces from the Mojave Front to reinforce this position. Maybe then, he would reveal himself to Blake—and kill her once and for all.

While the idea brought some joy in its anticipation, a foreboding lingering stalked the back of his thoughts.

The current tactic was cruel and efficient, but his projections for the war were falling behind. The main reason for that was…

“Have we received new provisions from Mistral yet?” Adam asked his Logistics Officer.

The White Fang member checked his clipboard, then shook his head.

“No, sir. No shipments today either. Should I send another request?”

“This will be the fifth time already…! Remind them that if they want Vacuo as an ally, they have to make sure I win it first.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Hmmm…” Adam grunted.

What is Cinder Fall doing?

He realized thinking about it wouldn’t do much at this juncture. The man could make a big deal out of it if his requests were delayed this time. Until then, he had to maintain his army’s harassment.

“What’s the status of our forces?” he asked the returning comms officer.

“Tired, sir. Some are wounded, but most are exhausted. Especially with the surprise attack this morning and afternoon.”

“…You have something more to say?”

“They could…use more rest.”

“…Have them ready for the night raid. Four hours rest on making camp,” Adam ignored the consultation.

“I understand,” the officer nodded uneasily.

After some time passed, Adam’s army returned safely to base. Their usual small village of tents were erected on the spot around an oasis.

Tired soldiers tried to finish their remaining duties, so they could collapse onto their sleeping bags as quickly as possible. Bleary-eyed sentries took positions for first watch. Some seemed to choose to forego eating altogether, and postpone it until they woke.

…

And above the encampment, a certain cloaked airship treaded the sky.

“How are they looking, Fox?” Coco asked an update from her teammate.

The man sharpening his forearm blades replied,

“—Tired.”

It was vague, but after having worked with him so long, his teammates were able to interpret his meaning. The Aura levels of the army below them was low. Incredibly low, in fact.

Fox was Team CFEN’s radar, in a simple sense of the word. Due to his blindness, he was forced to develop a particularly high level of Aura Sense, in which he used Aura to discern his surroundings. It also allowed him to track the energy levels of others, even letting him evaluate their health conditions to a fine degree. And it was this skill, which he applied to the countless soldiers below them, that told him one other thing…

“Soft.”

The second word assessment by Fox came like the word of a hunter—or maybe, a predator.

His other teammates reacted to it with a knowing smirk.

“—Alright, brain trust,” Coco snapped, before tossing a digital map tablet to Neo and Fox. “Get to mapping their positions. I want us hitting them the same time their precious heads hit the pillows.”

She turned to Yang, who was taking apart her prosthetic to clean it. Then, putting it back together.

“The ice queen really sign off on this gig? We’re gonna leave a pretty big footprint on this one.”

“Well, if we don’t leave anyone alive, no one will ever know we were here,” Yang answered coldly.

“…”

“…Full operational impunity, Coco. Even if they did ID us, our team doesn’t work directly under Atlas anyway. Not officially.”

“True. Not like we can take the HVT without the mayhem. So, no blowback on our people?”

“Small blessings,” Yang grinned.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

At that moment, Neo handed Coco the digital map tablet. On it, an accurate layout of the camp with marked soldiers displayed on its surface. And in the center of the formation, was their main objective signed with a red skull.

“Alright, then,” Coco called her team’s attention, while mentally making custom small changes to their plan. “No major discrepancies from the drawing board. We run it like rehearsal. Get ready, get evil.”

“We drop in five.”

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X  X X  X  X

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In the main officer’s tent, Adam had barely closed his eyes for a second. Then, all of a sudden, chaos sounded all around him.

He exited the door flap to see what was going on, only to find soldiers rushing in every direction.

The night sky was full of high sparkling flares, which lit up their encampment like it was day. There were fires and explosions all around the perimeter. And as if the surprise attack wasn’t causing enough disorder, there was also a high frequency ring that caused consternation to their Faunus soldiers. Also, a foul-smelling gas permeated the air, which did a number on those with keen noses.

Adam coughed with tears in his eyes. His heightened senses were assaulted on every front.

What the hell is going on?!

He tried to get a hold of one of his officers in charge, but found their communications jammed.

Damn it!

They know what they’re doing, whoever the hell this is!

Adam began shouting to his soldiers nearby, trying to bring order to his subordinates’ panic.

…

From a distance away, laying prone in the sand, a dark group of individuals peeked just over a sand dune. Their binoculars focused on the settlement ripe with chaos.

The leader of the pack went quickly to identifying the perpetrators of the attack. A certain woman seemed to blink in and out of the air, driving an icepick thin blade through key officers. A man made quick work of some figures, spilling their intestines on the ground or opening their esophagus. Another woman switched between several heavy weapons to fill bodies with bullet holes. And a particular individual, smashed through several armored stations with nothing but her fists, leaving a swath of destruction in her wake.

There were only four in all, and an impressive amount of damage caused between. They joined together, executed combos interchangeably, then split apart with perfect precision. It was a hybrid performance of both solo and coordinated movements. A deadly flow only few teams in the world could probably pull off.

Mercury Black hailed his allies through a relay of secure communication lines.

“—Mercury, report,” Cinder Fall’s voice came from the other end.

“They’re here. The White Queen’s favorite pipe-hitters, including the one-arm wonder,” Mercury said.

“I see. So, the one called Ember is finally getting here revenge after all these years. I knew Tyrian would break.”

“What should we do, boss?”

“……The status of Blake Belladonna?”

“She disappeared for a day, came back around the afternoon. No other changes.”

“Hm.”

Mercury could hear Cinder tapping on her desk in thought.

“…It seems our joint enterprise with Adam Taurus has reached a most disappointing conclusion.”

He understood what the statement meant.

“Copy that,” Mercury shrugged indifferently. “And the surveillance on Belladonna?”

“She returned, you said… Resume recon. In the instance she disappears again, do try to keep track of her this time.”

“Easier said than done without being seen.”

“That will be all. Keep monitoring the situation, and report the aftermath.”

“Roger that.”

The line went dead, and Mercury gave a tired sigh.

“Hahhh, what a slave driver.”

The man continued to peer through his binoculars, once in a while gnawing on a food ration snack. He watched the massacre, like he was watching one of his favorite shows. And then, a depraved smile appeared on his lips.

“Sucks, buddy. But sometimes, when you gotta go—”

“—You gotta go.”

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X  X X  X  X

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On Adam’s right, the soldier had his chest cavity opened with a cross-slash. On his left, a woman’s head was blown clean off with a single shot.

One White Fang lieutenant moved in front of the leader, probably trying to shield him from what came next. His body was large and the chainsaw in his hands was massive.

“—Hollow Point.”

On Coco’s order, a blazing yellow figure dashed in front of the giant Faunus. Neo laced Yang’s fist with pointed glass, while she entered the man’s guard.

The lieutenant swung his rippling chainsaw across, but Yang dipped her head below it. Then, with her crystal encrusted fist, snapped a vicious liver blow to the body. On piercing the skin, the glass shattered, sending countless shards tearing through inner organs. Some of the shrapnel cut so sharp, blades popped out the other sides of the body.

The White Fang lieutenant collapsed to his knees first, then his face hit the dirt.

The flares in the sky gave out. Nothing but the fiery remains of the army and their tents gave visibility to the four figures before Adam.

The man stepped inadvertently back.

“—Hey, asshole,” Yang greeted casually. “Long time no see.”

“You…!” Adam gritted his teeth with recognition.

“Yeah, me. Shoulda killed me when you had the chance~♪”

“……Coward. This is the only way you Humans can fight. Always underhanded, without a speck of honor!”

To the insult, Team CFEN only stared as if to say, “Like you have any right to talk”. They glanced to each other, before focusing on the one whose vendetta this belonged to.

“Well, I guess that’s true. We did kinda do him dirty,” Yang brandished an easygoing smirk. “So, let’s do this nice and fair. Mano-e-mano. No help, no handicaps.”

Adam had to fight down the smile from showing in his face. His opponent took his bait. But then, there were also the woman’s teammates to watch out for.

Fortunately for him, the rest of Team CFEN took some steps back. Even Neo postured herself on the dead corpse of the White Fang Lieutenant. The other three all but communicated their intention to simply let the duel proceed without interruption. Something Yang probably requested beforehand.

Adam lowered his body into his signature iaido stance. A menacing bloodlust leaked from the stillness of his sword-drawing form.

He recalled Yang’s data and Semblance. Adam’s technique was its perfect opposite when applied correctly. He wouldn’t give Yang the chance to build her energy from his attacks. The swordsman would end it with a single move, one fatal swing of his blade.

Yang cracked her knuckles challengingly. The previous glow of her hair was nonexistent, giving muteness to her Semblance. But the red of her eyes seemed to glint something hungry.

The woman lowered into her own fighting stance. Her boots ground into the rough sand and dirt. The right of her armed prosthetic drew back, while the left stretched out to lead.

All was still in the tense atmosphere. Every crackle of fire was like thunder in a brewing storm. The contest of wills built until its pinnacle moment.

Then, a burning tent collapsed under the strain, giving signal to their duel.

Simultaneous explosions occurred as both combatants kicked off the ground. They pulled the triggers on their respective weapons, which propelled them with a shock and a bang. The space between them was a mere ten paces, but it served as enough momentum for their clash.

Despite the great force produced by both, only one side would bear the suffering of catastrophic ruin.

The moment Adam drew his sword barely out from its sheathe, a few trace flames licked up and down Yang’s arm. The woman’s gold mane burned a scorching crimson.

At the same time Adam was caught off-guard by the surprise appearance of Yang’s Semblance, the boxer bypassed the man’s sword range. Her arm pitched forth like a howling star, connecting her knuckles with Adam’s own.

Caught between burning steel and the hilt of his blade, the swordsman’s hand was crushed. The impact of the clash sent him crumpling to the ground. His katana flew through the air with some parts of his crushed fingers.

“GRAAAGGHHH!!!” Adam painfully sprawled in anguish, grasping his twisted appendage to his body. “How…?! How did you—”

“My Semblance hasn’t worked that way for a loooong time,” Yang gloated, swaggering towards him with a triumphant strut.

With an uncanny movement, Adam picked his sword off the ground with his remaining hand, and swung it…

But Yang caught it with ease. And with a violent motion, ripped it from his grasp like taking it from a child.

“Okay, this is getting pathetic.”

“I’LL KILL YOU!!!” Adam frothed. “I SWEAR, I’LL KILL YOU!!!”

“Huh, no wonder you lost. Should’ve known you never had it in you—not the real stuff anyway.”

“I WILL DESTROY YOU AND EVERYTHING YOU LOVE! My rage will never stop! You’ll never escape me!!!”

“HAHAHA!” Yang cackled. “Your Rage?”

She used Adam’s sword to peel off the man’s White Fang mask. The scar of “S.D.C.” branded on his eye was revealed.

“Your cause, your beliefs?” Yang continued. “They’re nothing but an excuse for you to throw your tantrum,” she growled low. “You think you own Rage? Adam… Your hate doesn’t even burn.”

The woman strode to him with ominous steps. Adam felt his soul culled, as he struggled to crawl away. But an unforgiving hand clasped hard around his throat, forcing him to turn around.

“Look at me…!”

Above him, was the crimson inferno of hate personified. Yang bore down on him with eyes of accursed stars. Her hair stoked with unfettering embers.

“My Rage is my Semblance. It lets me run cold, and it also burns me from the inside out,” she breathed, with plumes of flame. “And I saved a lot of it, just for today…”

Adam tried to look away again, but Yang smacked him across the face one way, then back the other. She hoisted him up, single-handed like a dangling ragdoll.

“Any last words?” she asked.

“………Please…!”

“Nope.”

Yang sank a fiery fist through Adam’s heart, and rested it there. With a violent twist of her wrist, she unloaded a special thermite charge, which sparked a conflagration in the man’s chest. His insides began to melt like lava, while Yang’s Semblance burned, slow but sure.

“I owned my scars, but you tried to hide yours behind a mask,” she muttered disappointedly. “My anger could never lose to yours.”

As the lights dimmed in Adam’s sight, he remembered something told to him long ago.

“I pity you,” the voice said. “One day, your so-called Rage will fail you. Because you don’t have it. The fire that comes from a pain so hard and so deep, it defines you.”

Adam tried to reach out to that person. The only one who could possibly save him.

“Pray the day never comes,” Raven Branwen said, over her shoulder. “This is farewell, my old apprentice.”

…

The remnants of Adam’s body collapsed. Nothing but ash and dying embers at the end of Yang’s outstretched hand. And with a violent swipe of her foot, scattered the remains of his existence into the desert winds.

“A coffin’s too good for you, Adam. I already forgot who you were,” Yang spat.

Suddenly, a voice came over her in-ear radio.

“—That was certainly dramatic.”

“You were watching? That’s naughty.”

“…We’re on a private channel,” Weiss cautioned. “Tell me how the others are reacting.”

“Hm?” Yang wasn’t sure the reason, but did as she was told. “They look the same as ever,” she whispered, while glancing at her teammates. “Why…was someone supposed to stop me?”

The line went quiet for a second.

“……I’ll explain later. Keep a close eye on them, report any changes. Withdraw immediately.”

“Alright,” Yang grunted. “On our way back.”

After the line cut, the woman could only imagine what that private conversation was about. But for now, she wanted to take a little peace in what she just finished. It’s not everyday someone gets to settle a decade-old grudge after all.

“—You done savoring the moment, hot rod?” Coco asked, with a roguish grin.

Yang inhaled and nodded.

“Moment, savored. Let’s bug out, and get plastered.”

Coco tapped her radio.

“Penny, we are ready for pickup. I repeat,”

“Get us out of this sandbox.”

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X  X X  X  X

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It was early morning the next day, when a small party was held in Team CFEN’s private hangar. The members drank, talked, and played a few games. It was a tradition they enjoyed after completing missions, especially satisfying ones. And the successful assassination of Adam Taurus counted among that.

“Oh!” Coco responded to the vibrating scroll in her pocket. “It’s a message from Vel.”

Fox and Yang perked up at that.

“How is she today?” Yang asked.

“She’s doin’ alright. Rehabs still a bitch. Wondering where I am and what I’m doing, always worrying.”

“Aw, cute.”

“Shut up.”

“Winter said we’re doing a cycle in Atlas. Good time for us to pay a visit?”

Coco smiled wryly, appreciating the sentiment itself.

“Thanks, guys.” She instinctively included Fox, who was giving her the same look as Yang. “I…just don’t know if she’s ready for it yet.”

“No problem,” Yang nodded with understanding.

“Hey! Speaking of babes, Neo! You gonna show us some pictures of yours, or what?”

The silent woman took out her scroll, and began showing a number of pictures proudly to her team. Laughter and awe sounds cascaded the walls of the hangar.

Meanwhile, watching the gathering below, two figures leaned on the railing of the second-floor walkway.

“—They’re impressive. Team CFEN,” Ruby commented, with her own drink in hand.

“They’ve been trained to manage much bigger threats and combat more formidable enemies than Adam Taurus,” Weiss replied.

“Like the Maidens and Salem…”

“Yes.”

“And Relics, and tougher swordsmen, like Raven Branwen.”

“Yes…”

Ruby stared at her partner a little.

“So why do you need Team WISE?”

“…”

“Weiss?”

Weiss suddenly took out her scroll, which notified her of something.

“…It looks like Iris has arrived. I wonder what might have brought this on so soon after she left,” she feigned amusement.

The doors to the hangar opened, and a dark figure came stalking through the room. Her shoes falling hard on the metal surface, making everyone known of her arrival.

“WEISS! YANG!” Blake shouted with anger.

“Oh, geez. Party pooper’s here,” Yang drunkenly chuckled with her nth beer in hand.

As Blake was about to run at her, a scarlet cape fluttered between them. Ruby started holding her friend back as much as she could.

“It was you, wasn’t it?!” Blake accused, while trying to get through. “Your team was responsible for the attack last night! You were the ones who killed Adam!”

“—Uh, you’re welcome?” Coco tilted her head quizzically.

“Am I supposed to be grateful?!”

“Kinda expected it, yeah, to be honest. Also, long time no see, kitty cat.”

“YANG!”

“—Mmm… Am I drunk enough to do this?” Yang eyed her beer bottle, and chugged what remained. “Yup. I’m game.”

As the woman was about to engage from the other side, it was Weiss who dropped in her way.

“I won’t allow any fighting like this,” she stopped coolly.

“Serious? Come ON, it’ll be fun—”

“No. That’s an order. Stand down.”

Yang traded death stares for a second, before casually knitting her hands around the back of her head.

“Boooo~!”

“—Damn it!” Blake still struggled to free herself from Ruby. “You can’t just come here, doing whatever you want, taking things into your own hands!!! There are consequences!!!”

“Yeah, like getting a loud complaint from the fun police…”

“If you just solve everything this way, you’re no better than Adam!”

“I don’t even know who that is.”

“YANG!!!”

“—Enough!” Weiss’s voice pierced them both.

Her calm and frosty demeanor enforced her stance.

“This is what we do, Blake. We see the wisdom in the moves to be made, and we take the measures which need taking. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“That can’t justify everything…!”

“It justifies enough.”

“You know the long-term problems you’ve caused! The Southern Tribes aren’t going to give up just because Adam is dead! You turned him into a martyr!”

“Vacuo’s civil war will end.”

“The Kingdom is more divided than ever! More Faunus from the North are converting to the South by the second!”

“And with enough unrest, Vacuo will have no choice but to split into two separate states.”

“…!” Blake shook her head in disbelief. “You planned for that, too…”

“Somewhat.”

“You left the Kingdom worse than it was! It’ll take years to recover, maybe even centuries before they’re willing to unite again!!!”

“We stopped them from self-destructing, and from you dying with them.”

“You’re still trying to recruit me…! After EVERYTHING you’ve done?!”

“Join and add your counsel.”

“What?!”

“If you hate what we do so much, help us do better. Join the team. Otherwise, there’s no grounds for your opinion to be heard.”

“…I don’t have a choice, do I…?!” Blake growled with displeasure. “You’ll keep interfering with Vacuo.”

“With or without you. But with you, we can intervene only as you deem fit.”

Blake finally stopped trying to push Ruby out of the way. The rising and falling of her shoulders slowed. Her glare still fixed on the silver-haired woman, the target of her righteous ire.

“Congratulations, Weiss,” Blake seethed with her forging pact.

“…”

“You’ve become everything you ever hated—but at least, you have your team.”

“…”

“Your sister would be ashamed of you.”

Immediately, Team CFEN tensed and moved from their passive spectating. Ruby shoved Blake back, upsettingly shaking her head, like the woman had gone too far. And Yang particularly, burned with the fierce Aura of her Semblance, readying to throw a punch.

But all hostilities ceased, when Weiss raised a hand to stop them.

“I see,” she gave a short reply. “Welcome to Team WISE—”

“Iris.”

.

X  X X  X  X

.

In Weiss’s private chambers, an angry Yang pinned her against the wall.

“What the hell are you thinking…?!” she snarled.

“I’m thinking, I successfully recruited the last member of our team,” Weiss simply answered.

“Blake is the last person we need! And again, I find myself wondering: Why do we need Team WISE? CFEN just kicked ass, if you weren’t paying attention—except you were, ‘cause I heard you in my ear after I turned Adam into grey mist. So, what the shit?!”

“…Team WISE is essential to our operations going forward. Blake is essential to Team WISE; thus, the logic follows.”

“Bullshit!” Yang punched the wall. “You don’t keep me on the outs! Tell me the real reason NOW!”

“…”

“I deserve to know. I was there for everything. Suddenly, you’re going to start keeping secrets from me?”

“I was planning to tell you tomorrow, when you were more sober, but I can tell you today if you like.”

“Now’s good.”

For a moment, Weiss closed her eyes in thought. Her chest expanded and shrunk with her exhale. Yang’s gaze dropped slightly, before righting again.

“I intercepted a coded message from someone with access to the team’s private network,” Weiss explained. “It was being sent to Cinder Fall.”

“……Someone on the team is a spy?”

“Yes. Now, you know.”

“That’s why you had me read the others, after I dusted Adam.”

“It was a test of sorts.”

“You had me bait a trap.”

“I knew whatever happened, you would survive.”

Yang made an amused expression, while Weiss returned a heavily diluted version of it.

“Hahhh, that is a reason not to lean on Team CFEN, I guess,” the woman admitted. “But how sure, are you?”

“I’m sure,” Weiss flatly confirmed.

“Any ideas on who it is?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“…Don’t we already know? It’s kind of obvious, right?”

“Things aren’t always what they seem. It could be any of them. The only one I’m sure it isn’t, is you.”

“Aw.”

“Shut it.”

They both went silent. Weiss planned to let Yang take as much time as she needed to process. A few times, a hissed word of “shit” escaped her.

“Okay…” Yang worded slowly. “But even if Team CFEN is compromised, you and I could always take up the work. We’re more than enough.”

“We are not. That is why I am recruiting,” Weiss disapproved.

“Right! Because we’re going to be SO much more effective with Blake Dysfunctionallona on our team.”

“…That wasn’t your best pun.”

“I’m still a little drunk. Sue me.”

“Blake Belladonna is a commander of the White Fang and has led her armies to victory against impossible odds.”

“I read the file…”

“Ruby Rose is the youngest Vice Headmaster Beacon Academy has ever had, and is a veteran Huntress, who’s slain some of the deadliest Grimm to roam Remnant.”

“That’s up for debate.”

“Inform me, Yang. Who else can we trust, recruit readily, and who possess the same pedigree as those two?”

“………Fuuuuuuuuck~”

“I’m relieved you see my point,” Weiss crossed her arms, signaling her victory in the argument.

“Everything’s gonna really suck now, isn’t it?”

“The most trying times are to come. Building this team took long enough. We must start operating as soon as possible.”

“After our shore leave in Atlas, right?”

“…”

In response to Weiss’s dead stare, Yang covered her face in her hand.

“We have work in Atlas?! Ahhh! Well, my buzz is killed.”

“I’m so sorry that’s the case,” Weiss replied in monotone.

…

As Yang’s mood worsened, she pressed her head into Weiss’s shoulder. From there, she began nibbling the other woman’s exposed neck and collar.

“No.” Weiss’s cold fingers went to block Yang’s lips from going any further. “This isn’t the time.”

“How? We’re on autopilot for what’s supposed to be a two-day flight, at least. How is there not time?”

“Despite what your assumptions may be, fulfilling the roles of brigadier general for the Atlesian Fleet and running our teams’ operations is a time-consuming effort.”

“Aren’t you just afraid of Ruby finding out?”

“About, what? Our fling?”

“A fling? Is that what you wanna call this?” Yang questioned.

“We took comfort in each other during a vulnerable moment. It’s hardly more than a one-night stand.”

“Yeah, except one-night stands don’t last more than one night.”

“…”

“Or a few years.”

“…”

“Or semi-current until you shipped me off for that undercover prison op.”

“…Do you have a point to make?”

“…”

Yang slid her arms down and held Weiss close.

“You really mean that?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t have said it, if I didn’t mean it.”

“………Okay.”

Yang let go abruptly, and left the room. A few seconds later, Weiss heard a loud bang come from outside the halls.

…

Alone in her chambers, Weiss felt sadness seep in. No matter what walls she tried to erect to keep them at bay, the sorrow and regret seeped through. Weiss had half a mind to go after her.

“Yang…”

Then, pain wracked her thoughts. Memories which didn’t belong to her threatened to drive her mad. Countless screams and a collapsing world harassed every shred of consciousness. Her Aura fluctuated as if to consume her from the inside.

Remember…

Remember…!

Don’t forget!

WINTER!

.

X  X X  X  X

.

It was a day since the Nautilus docked at one of Atlas’s secret hangars.

While many of the team members went their different ways, spending their shore leave however they liked, one did not do so easily.

She descended the spiraling staircase on her floating Glyph. A place deeper than anywhere in Remnant swallowed her up. Down and down she went, like falling slowly into the endless abyss.

When she reached the bottom, Weiss could sense a presence in the pitch-black darkness.

“—Adam Taurus’s passing was rather untimely,” a voice called to her from the shadows.

Weiss knew this person heard echoes from the outside world, despite their isolation. Regardless, it was still a disturbing feat.

“…His death was a necessary one.”

“Hm. A wise course of action,” the old woman commented. “Though I can’t imagine you did Vacuo any favors by ending him so prematurely.”

“Time is of the essence.”

“It always is, isn’t it?”

“Where is the Spring Maiden?”

“Wouldn’t we like to know?”

“Where is the Spring Maiden?!” Weiss pressed harder. “Where is her Relic?!”

“Follow the bread crumbs… But what bread crumbs, when they’ve all been eaten away?”

Weiss lost her temper, and cast light from her Myrtenaster. The sword’s shine illuminated the chained figure, as she grasped the prisoner’s hair.

“Where is the Raven Branwen?! Answer me, Salem!!”

The decrepit Witch only laughed madly in response. The oversized chains binding her neck and limbs jangled unpleasantly loud.

“Where is the Relic?!” Weiss bared her emotions.

“Where is Famine?!”

[funkymbtifiction]

Ne+Ti vs Ni: An ENTx endless rambling

First things first: thank you for once again answering my ask, I appreciate it and again, it did help. I’m sending this message knowing that it’ll be probably ignored or worse, blacklist me but I’ve reached the limit to where I can go without direct and specific input, so here goes nothing:

(Mod note: italics indicate Ti, bold indicates Ne)

I’ve been trying to nail down my type for quite some time now yet I can’t settle down for any typing because

1) I invariably start questioning its validity since contradictions are bound to appear and even if I can justify or rationalize them (which I have a pretty good ability to do, sadly, since it drives me insane), they bother me to no end hence I start looking or a “perfect” diagnosis again

2) I can see significant traits of myself in several of very different types, it’s maddening

3) When I spot a connection between myself and a type being described I immediately (can’t control it really) start rationalizing why it could be true, why it would explain this and that, why I couldn’t see it before, for what I was mistaking said trait/behavior for, memories of time since which I display said traits/behaviors flood my mind as well as multiple examples of people of said type I always felt a connection to or was intrigued by…all seemly at the same time or in such rapid succession I have a really hard time calming down my mind in order to try and make sense of all of what’s going on inside of it.It’s like I can find compelling (as seen by me) evidence to me being a lot of types, and I’m always 100% serious about it at the time…except my “sureness” never lasts for more than two days at a time, mostly.

It frustrates and embarrasses me because I’m hardly unsure about figuring out (and typing) other people, and I’m seldom wrong at that, but I can’t pin myself down and it makes me feel incompetent and unfit. Everyone always says I’m good analyzer and jokingly refer to me as a blunt psychologist, yet my MBTI confusion makes me feel like a fraud and I HATE it.

I highly suspect I might be mixing the 8’s need to control (I’m a 873 with 8 being the core type), which comes across as “J-ness” for Ni fixed path/truth thing (besides ENTJ lately I never get high Te or Ni types in tests, it’s always high Ti ones) and lately I’ve been daily noticing my Si “trips” so to speak and pondering over my supposedly hilarious “gastronomic memory” (I somehow can recall and describe days and situations based on what I ate that day if it was particularly delicious. I know it sounds ridiculous and I have no idea how that works, but it’s true).

I’m also pretty certain I value Fe over Fi, though ethics in general definitely take a backseat to logic most of the times, it’s noticeable enough for people to comment on it.

Two minor things I relate to Ne that I display in spades and everyone seem to find amusing is that I can never see a thing separately for a noticeable time before I see it integrated to a  grid of things like it or other contexts in which the same principle or happening applies to or will influence it. Words and images almost always bring other words and images to mind and I go crazy if I can’t recall what it reminds me of specifically. This seldom happens though, usually I can reference several things/people the original object is alike to, though it seems that to a lot of people these similarities can’t be observable or comprehensible at all, but it makes perfect sense to me and I can explain how.

The other thing is that I have way too many interests for my own good and I tend to obsess over them until they saturate me, I’m totally a slave to what my mind finds interesting in detriment to my actual obligations. I also always have at least 20 tabs open on my browser, because somehow I can’t seem to read an article or watch a video without having to Google something referenced on it, which starts the rabbit hole that has no end and makes me forget what I was reading/watching/researching in the first place. Also my mom is an ENFP and so I thought I couldn’t be a Ne user because we are both alike and so different at the same time, but I now truly realize that a function may manifest differently depending on what is it paired with, and her Fi is really strong, which I can’t relate to at all. I won’t even go into Ti vs Te because by now this is already ridiculous long and I doubt anyone would even finish all this. 

How can Ne+Ti mimic (or more precisely, appear to be) Ni? If possible please include concrete examples, whether fictional or real.

In that vein, could an ENTP 8 be reasonably mistaken by an ENTJ?

If you survived all this rambling and take your time to answered this somewhere in the future…you’re a hero, truly.

Not only am I a hero, my ENTP friend is a hero, since we both read it. ;)

Do you need me to say it?

YOU ARE AN ENTP.

Stop doubting it. Chill with it. Dig it. Tell your NeTi to stop considering other types. That it continues doing that should prove your own Ne-ness to you.

Everything you describe is heavily Ne, with an emphasis on Ti, so I’ll just pull a few comments out and talk about them.

Also my mom is an ENFP and so I thought I couldn’t be a Ne user because we are both alike and so different at the same time, but I now truly realize that a function may manifest differently depending on what is it paired with, and her Fi is really strong, which I can’t relate to at all. 

The bold is the pure truth, my friend. ENFPs and ENTPs might look like each other on a superficial level but they are not the same thing at all. As ENTP puts it, “You have moralizing tendencies and I deconstruct all your morals.”

It’s true. My morals scream loud and clear. In fact, I can look back at my teen years and see just how black and white my moral thinking was; everything was right or wrong, good or bad. That is a WHOLE OTHER ball of wax from NeTi and their attitude of “People should be able to believe what they want, even if it’s wrong.” (This was an actual conversation I had this morning. =P)

Ne is inclined to change its opinions and perspectives with very little warning, which makes the “inconsistencies” of Ne-doms somewhat obvious (when trying to determine ENXP from ENTJ), but there are many mistypes between them floating around the internet. For example: those who insist Obama is an ENTP instead of an ENFJ, when he was there for one thing – health care  – or who believe Stephen Hawking is an INTJ instead of an ENTP despite the fact that he routinely challenges and deconstructs his own theories. ;)

ENTJs have a no-nonsense approach, disinterested in deconstruction. It’s just facts and business with them, in the sense that Te wants an object to do its job, and needs no complete understanding of that object to move forward.

Since ENTPs have Ne/Fe loops, they are zany, often aimed at provoking humor in the audience, have a general sense of amiable goodwill, and are able to handle anything you throw at them without a moralizing tendency (unlike the ENFPs). Good examples of this are Billy Crystal (ENTP not INFJ), Jeff Goldblum (ENTP) and Robin Williams (ENTP, not ENFP – he’s got TONS of Fe), who described his inner chaotic world as similar to what you said above.

Yes, Enneagram makes a difference. 8′s are aggressive and that might make you come across as more ‘challenging’ of others than is typical for a Ne-dom.

- ENFP Mod

Here’s what my ENTP friend has to say:

I’m not one of the professional mods, but I AM an ENTP. And as one ENTP to another, I’m here to assure you that ENXPs’ minds move at a frenetic pace, bouncing around from idea to idea, from THOUGHT TRAIN A to THOUGHT TRAIN Z without any obvious link between them, contributing to restlessness, anxiousness. High Ne just can’t ignore the various combinations between your past and present behavior and all the different MBTI types. It constantly scans for new possibilities, new patterns and associations.

Ne is not intensive and convergent like Ni. When it reaches a sense of conviction and closure, it’s because the aux function has guided it to that direction. Ti identifies all exceptions or imagining scenarios in which a proposed explanation might falter. Our Ti reduces everything to a system, a large logical ensemble of arguments and counter-arguments, into an interconnecting network of principles and rational procedures that is disconnected fromreality and with the assistance of dom Ne, it sees the bigger picture and builds many different perspectives.

Now I am going to paraphrase the words of the Doctor. “Through crimson stars and silent stars and tumbling nebulas like oceans set on fire, through empires of glass and civilizations of pure thought, and a whole, terrible, wonderful universe of impossibilities, I welcome you to the ENTP club!”

- ENTP

[boredomoverloadmy]

College (in a nutshell)

So I’m officially done with college *insert party streamers emoji*. Actually I’ve been out for some time now but I have yet to get off my lazy arse to do anything genuinely productive (other than trying to master a few piano pieces with little progress). Mum put me in charge of most of the domestic work at home and chauffeuring the kid here and there and the groceries and all that jazz. I would go back to that part-time teaching gig but I reckoned I’d only be around for awhile and mum agreed to give me some allowance (mostly for the groceries though). But that’s beside the point of this post now isn’t it?

So now I’m going to talk about my college experience. Nothing special really and I don’t think I’ll be able to go into detail about it so if you have any questions feel free to ask. I have an ask section up there *points to the top of tumblog* and I (finally) turned my tumblr notifications on so I may be able to answer a.s.a.p this time.

I started my foundation studies June last year (2016) at Kolej MARA Kulim, Kedah affectionately known as KMKu under the Pre-U USM program. Basically its just like any other foundation like if you’d go to Universiti Malaya’s or UNIMAS foundation. But the difference for my program was that I had a sponsor (MARA) who would be supporting my degree studies later on, given that I reached the minimum requirements. Subsequently, those in my program were more or less “tagged” as to which field of study they would be pursuing post-foundation. I and 36 other people who were my classmates in college were tagged to do Medicine in USM-KLE in India later this year (2017). I’m not going to go into detail as to what USM-KLE is because I’m saving that for another post.

I’ve actually had a lot of people ask me why I didn’t choose to return to the UK. I have my reasons, mostly because I decided to pursue Medicine in the way that I wanted to. I’m the kind of person who chooses caution and strategy above everything else, so taking IB or A-levels to me was out of the question from the very get-go. Again, I’m saving the story behind that for another post.

Going off to literally the other side of Malaysia was both exciting and scary for me. When I was in secondary school it never really occurred to me that I’d be leaving Kuching because at the time my mindset was “ace SPM get good grades other stuff comes later”. So when the day finally came, I had no idea what to do with myself. My teachers would give you the illusion that I had it all figured out, just as I had the illusion that all my other seniors had it all figured out. The truth is, you never really do have it figured out. No matter how shiny your high school reputation looks, in the end we’re all just winging it one way or the other. But that’s okay. That’s life. Just go where the wind takes you and you’ll arrive to the place you’re meant to be eventually.

There was another person from Sarawak going to the exact same college for the exact same course. Her name is Martina and she was introduced to me by my old primary schoolmate over WhatsApp. She’s not from Kuching but we both decided that it would be better to be in contact with someone from the same state for travelling arrangements. We left from different airports though, I took a direct flight from Kuching to Penang while she had to transit via KLIA from Sibu. On some occasions we’d wait for each other at Penang airport to catch a taxi to Kolej, which was in Kedah (it was easier to go there via Penang rather than Alor Setar because it was closer).

Registration day for me was chaotic. It wasn’t because of the management though, I’d say that our seniors, Oddytix did a good job handling that and orientation. It was because I was missing some documents and I FREAKED (not an exaggeration). The fact that the only way to go home to re-do things was by flight did not help either. Before I left I double triple checked my documents so when I made such a big blunder by not printing out some of the required documents I felt so incompetent and I didn’t want to trouble my parents more because not causing trouble for my parents was why I accepted the offer in the first place. But in the end I guess it just added fuel to the fire. Throughout the first semester I found myself drowning more in the paperwork for the offer than the actual studying; constantly having to check in with my parents and the post office about my corrected documents. Note to self : when I decide to set up a scholarship someday brief the scholars as to how it’s done to save everyone’s time and energy.

My batch (which would be named Erovra) consisted of about 100+ students which was a few people more than the Transformers (my high school batchmates). We were divided into 3 classes, USM A, B, and C (see the use of the Oxford comma there? I just learned that haha). My class was USM C which consisted of 36 other people bound for India, a few people more than in 5 Delta (my graduating high school class). Each class was further divided into four tutorials, e.g. C1, C2, C3, and C4. My tutorial was C1 which had 11 people, 4 boys and 7 girls (Alya joined a bit later) including myself. Regrettably my tutorial was late to come together unlike other tutorials which bonded quite closely in the first semester. Towards the end of foundation I realised the reason why other tutorials called us C paling pelik and believe me it is a fact I will not deny (especially Lah I had no idea you were like that tbh hahahaha). 

Generally speaking, the first impression I got from my classmates was that God had copy-pasted 30+ versions of Stephen Goh Kok Yew, except some were female and none were Chinese or aspiring body-builders (inside joke. Transformers 1115 will understand). They were so studious that if Ben were to enroll in this program Ben would have been shocked and disgusted; shogusted (but deep down inside Ben is super rajin too don’t deny it). But I guess that’s how things are going to be from now on. After all, you wouldn’t want your future doctor to be a lazy bum now would you?

Before I forget, in this college there are several programs doing foundation studies (UniKL, MKPM or the regular matriculation, UMK and USM) and each program is referred to as a “unit”.  For accommodation the girls in my unit stayed at the Fatimah Az-Zahra block or FAZ. Each room had a minimum of 4 occupants. One of my roommates, Awin, was my classmate while the other two, Nida and Bella, were from USM A. Everything in basic in kolej was provided despite the fact that it still felt like we were in boarding school. For me, it was a level above what I’m used to, mainly because it had a laundromat and washing machine. I washed my all my clothes by hand in boarding school, even during my senior years and even when my hands started to have the skin peeling and flaking off because my skin doesn’t take too well with detergent. That was mainly because the one and only washing machine in my block would already be used and most often it was the juniors who used it but I was too lazy to play the seniority card. I don’t do that shit even if you’re what people would say “kurang ajar” with me. Berkat and kifarah are my magic words. But in kolej thankfully I didn’t have to worry about that which is a huge improvement, as opposed to what other people would say (people who’s schools can afford a lot of washing machines I suppose). Plus, food was provided albeit being the standard asrama food. My friends under other scholarships complained that most of their money went to buying food which was expensive in their area, so even though I found out I couldn’t stomach ikan keli (new discovery) for the most part I took what I got.

Studying and exams felt way different for me. Perhaps it was because I was surrounded by people who came from different kinds of schools. I felt a bit out of place honestly. My strong points were always reading and humanities subjects (Sejarah, Language, that sort) but now I had to put more emphasis on pure sciences. I constantly fell behind in Maths especially (no surprise there frankly) but I sought help from Muja and Zatil mostly which lead to small but consistent improvements. The lecturers were also really nice and helpful and we could approach them whenever. However I felt that my downfalls were caused by time, not that I didn’t have enough but maybe because I had too much free time (you can gasp now). For 2 years I had become accustomed to starting class at as early as 6.30 a.m. and finishing at 6.00 p.m. only to continue after Maghrib until 11.00 p.m. that having gaps in between felt strange and I felt I could have managed my time a lot better than I did (*highlights this point as a reminder for degree studies*). 

Two major components of my program to India (other than the exams) were the interview and IELTS. The interview was as straightforward as a medical school interview could get. IELTS was the rumoured killer. IELTS is basically some big shot English exam in which you have to score a certain “band” to be allowed to study or work overseas. Our requirement was 6.5/9.0 overall minimum. Now if you knew me personally you’d say “Faqihah mesti band 9 punya” which is close but not really. I scored an 8.5/9.0, which actually serves me right because out of the 30 hours access to the IELTS online learning module I used a total of 0.00 hours and the night before IELTS I was watching Moana with Bella. I kid you not and yes you can slap me later. My main downfall was the writing component. I wrote under 250 words for the second essay which was unusual for me and could have resulted in getting a 5 , I got a 7.5 for the writing component which was okay and my reading, speaking and listening components helped quite a lot. During the writing test I was very much distracted by the terrible kindergarten pencil and the crazy old guy who was making a fuss before the writing test. But as I’ve said again again this year, “as long as I pass what is required its more than enough”. 

I’m not going to lie. There were some moments where I doubted myself; whether I had what it takes to do medicine. I think each of us felt that way somewhere along the line, just no one dared to say it out loud or else there’d be people being condescending and saying “eh kata nak sangat jadi doktor kan”. But again, the truth is no one ever really has anything figured out. There were many times I thought to throw in the towel and go home. That would have been easier. But I realised the cliche of it all, that if it was easy everyone would do it. And that is the naked truth. You think you’re in control of things but it actually isn’t you. It’s Allah’s doing. Every. Step. Of. The. Way. You’re only expected to do your best with the challenges at hand. You don’t need any other reason to do it, only that Allah showed you that this is the way; and then you start walking. Crawl, if you must. As long as you follow it. 

I know that this is just the tip of the iceberg and that there will be many more moments like these to come, but I’m writing this down so that when those moments come I’ll know where to look for the courage to keep going. And I hope after reading this, you will too.

[digitalmark18-blog]

Fair Go: Wellington mum 'gobsmacked' after Auckland hotel burglary due to botched security

New Post has been published on https://britishdigitalmarketingnews.com/fair-go-wellington-mum-gobsmacked-after-auckland-hotel-burglary-due-to-botched-security/

Fair Go: Wellington mum 'gobsmacked' after Auckland hotel burglary due to botched security

Tourists and travellers are being warned to be wary of popular travel booking websites after a terrifying midnight hotel break-in.

Wellingtonian Marie Donald used Agoda.com to book a room at the Metropolis building in Auckland for her and daughter Freya in August.

They were looking forward to spending time in the city, and going to the Katy Perry concert.

But their first night in the room proved to be a traumatic experience, after they were burgled as they slept.

“I try not to think about it… you know, thinking of somebody being in our apartment when I’ve got my child,” she said.

“As a mum, you’re thinking, ‘my God, that could’ve been really horrendous,’ you know… if we’d woke up. Thank God we didn’t.”

Turns out, the guests from the previous night had never checked out – and never handed in their swipe cards.

Instead, they returned the next evening and snuck into Marie and Freya’s room, stealing Marie’s wallet and perfume.

“The fridge door was open, which was a bit weird… And then I sort of said to her, ‘did you put the light on?’ and she said ‘no, no it wasn’t me mum’.”

Marie then realised she’d been burgled – the thieves going on a spending spree at petrol stations, a fast food outlet and a car wash in South Auckland.

At the time of booking, Marie thought she’d paid for a room at the building’s hotel – but it was actually a listing from property management company Cloud Inn.

“It just showed pictures of the apartments, but it wasn’t clear that it wasn’t through a hotel.”

The listing shows areas like the building’s pool and gym – which can be used by Cloud Inn guests – but also the hotel’s front desk, which cannot.

Cloud Inn also doesn’t have direct access to the Metropolis security system, and didn’t cancel the swipe cards when they weren’t returned – something Marie only learned afterwards.

“I was gobsmacked, it made me feel sick because that was something that could have been prevented,” she said.

“That’s hotel 101… if somebody’s not handed a key [in], you cancel it.”

Marie requested a refund from Cloud Inn, but the company refused.

It also refused to compensate her for the lost property – about $450.

Marie then asked Agoda for a refund, and tried to get the booking website to remove Cloud Inn’s listings.

It refused to take down Cloud Inn’s rooms but after being contacted by Fair Go, Agoda did agree to refund the room cost to Marie, as a “gesture of goodwill”.

Marie is disappointed Cloud Inn can still advertise rooms, if it can’t guarantee they’re secure.

But she was also gobsmacked to learn the Cloud Inn was claiming it too was a victim in the incident.

“How, how are they a victim? A victim of their own incompetence,” she said.

Marie tried to publish a review of the burglary on Agoda.com, but the website doesn’t allow reviews to mention “legal issues… such as theft”.

Security consultant Charlie O’Donnell says no matter which website, it always pays to read reviews carefully.

“Read in between the lines because they often don’t publish the bad reviews and when they do, they’re sometimes diluted in a favourable manner,” he said.

O’Donnell says no matter where you stay, always make sure there’s a physical lock that can be pulled across the door.

“They have a legal and a moral obligation to ensure people who are renting their properties are safe and secure. Minimum they should be giving them internal locks on the door so when they enter the apartment, you can lock the door – either with a deadbolt, throw bolt or chain,” he said.

The Metropolis body corporate told Fair Go it’s now changed the security settings so that swipe cards cannot bypass the door snib once it’s locked, and that the Cloud Inn – and other rental providers – only have swipe cards issued for the duration of each of their bookings.

The Government has today announced a new pathway to fast track outstanding residential insurance claims from the Christchurch earthquake.

The Greater Christchurch Claims Resolution Service (GCCRS) has been established to provide homeowners a free to access, impartial pathway to settle claims, Earthquake Commission Minister Megan Woods said.

“Our new one stop shop will provide independent case management to bring together fast-tracked claims handling, specialist engineering support, psychosocial support, and legal expertise to help resolve claims,” Dr Woods said.

“Claimants will also be given access to a new online tool where they can see clearly what the next step is for their claim, who is going to do it, and when it will be done by.”

“GCCRS will operate on a ‘no wrong door’ basis. Anyone with an unresolved claim can call or come to the new office on Cashel Street and our settlement support brokers will tailor the approach to suit each individual situation. “

Earthquake damage in Christchurch Source: 1 NEWS

The service was set up following the report from Dr Woods’s Independent Ministerial Advisor into the Christchurch earthquake response.

The service is being hosted and operated by the Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment (MBIE).

“I encourage anyone who has an unresolved claim or a potential concern with a repair to contact the new service, ” she said.

Exercise NZ chief executive Richard Beddie has defended gym classes for children, saying that calls for kids to be outside more or to play sport aren’t helpful.

Mr Beddie said less than 10 per cent of Kiwi children do enough physical activity, with gyms and community groups starting to offer classes targeting children in response.

“Children is 10 per cent, that means in the future we’re going to have some major problems with obesity and type 2 diabetes for that population, we already have that,” Mr Beddie told TVNZ1’s Breakfast,

“This is part of the solution for that and having some offerings for children to be active.”

Mr Beddie said the fact we had this issue meant calls for more sport of more outside time for kids were redundant.

“If it was easy as that we wouldn’t have the problem in the first place,” he said.

“The problem with saying they should be outside … it’s clearly not working, we need to change something, playing outdoors is part of the solution just as exercise activity in a class might be part of the solution.”

“The problem with sport is it appeals to certain people, particularly those that have a competitive element, but sport actually turns a whole bunch of people off.”

“Simply saying it should be all about sport, it’s a very 20th century solution to the problem.”

Gym classes, in which Mr Beddie said kids didn’t squat or bench press, were often convenient with children exercising as their parents did.

“Generally, one of the big benefits of this, it can be done at the same time as adults are exercising, cause that’s part of the challenge too, we need to be active, if you’ve got kids part of the challenge is where do I take them or what do I do when I’m working out.”

Judith Collins says the Government is in a panic about the fuel price crisis and has called for them to cut the regional fuel tax.

Yesterday, the Government announced it was prioritising the passing of the Commerce Amendment Bill when the House resumes next week with Jacinda Ardern saying she’s “hugely concerned” at the prices consumers are currently paying at the pump.

Jacinda Ardern is promising to rush through new laws to make changes, but says the Government is not to blame for the big price hikes. Source: 1 NEWS

On TVNZ1’s Breakfast today, Ms Collins said the Government’s plans didn’t go far enough.

“If the Government wants to do something right now, it could cut that tax, say we’re not going to have that regional fuel tax, 11.5 cents a litre in Auckland plus everything else that’s going on,” she said.

“Right now, with the fuel prices so high and the Government saying it’s all so terrible, they’ve just worked that out, at 11.5 cents a litre in Auckland alone plus everything else round the country, right now is the time for the Government to say we’re going to put that on hold while we sort it out.”

Mrs Collins said for every litre of petrol sold, $1.25 went to the Government and 31 cents went to the fuel companies.

“The dollar has dropped, oil prices internationally have gone up, every time that happens, the Government’s tax take goes up because it’s basically a percentage of the fuel.”

“In my electorate Papakura for instance, people have to travel around, don’t have much choice at all and they’re the people paying for it.”

New Zealand’s economy could not sustain an emissions target that kept global warming below 1.5°C, a climate expert has said.

In the most extensive warning yet on the risks of climate change, scientists on the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) say limiting warming to 1.5C, rather than 2C, is necessary to mitigate the worst impacts of climate change.

That half degree difference would change the height of sea level rise, the survival of coastal ecosystems and the availability of food and water resources, the scientists say..

Limiting warming to that target is possible but would require unprecedented changes, Prof Jim Skea, co-chair of the IPCC, said.

Nearly 90 scientists from 39 countries, including New Zealand, have spent three years on a planet saving plan, one that requires drastic action. Source: 1 NEWS

Victoria University professor of climate science Tim Naish said the target was not possible without technology – that doesn’t yet exist – to extract carbon dioxide from the air.

“To me, it’s an academic idea. I think that without technology we’re just not going to make it.

“Although in an ideal world it would avoid a lot of climate change impact, my sense is we’ve just left that too late.”

Prof Naish said target was not viable for New Zealand because the economy relies on the meat and dairy industry.

“We’ve got to reduce production and have less cows and sheep. The problem with that is it would tank our economy in the short-term. We can’t do that too quickly, so there’s no silver bullet for New Zealand.”

“That’s why I say, 1.5 is extremely hard. Two [degrees] is a challenge but achievable, but 1.5 is really pushing the limits of the possible rates of change.”

He said the Paris Agreement, to keep a global temperature rise below 2C this century, was still achievable and New Zealand was going to show global leadership with the Zero Carbon Bill currently being drafted.

“The pathway that the government is exploring to be carbon zero by 2050 is not super-scary and is quite achievable and actually brings some fairly positive benefits to New Zealand’s economy if we follow it.”

Source: https://www.tvnz.co.nz/one-news/new-zealand/fair-go-wellington-mum-gobsmacked-after-auckland-hotel-burglary-due-botched-security

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Short Message Disservice

In this high tech world we are now living in it is increasingly difficult to create and build relationships through effective communication. Too often are things lost in translation because of the way we now communicate with each other. No one calls each other anymore to see how someones doing or simply ask a question. In fact if one of my friends called me right now I would be concerned that something was wrong. We rely so heavily on indirect forms of communication that it is weakening our direct forms of communication. When we are talking to someone through text, there is no possible way to know the tone or inflection of their words. We have to interpret another’s tone based on our relationship to that person. For instance, whenever I read a text from my mom its almost like I can hear her cheery voice through her choice of words and emoji’s. This can also be true for someone that you are less than thrilled to deal with, leading to possible misinterpretation of their information. This way of interpreting each others messages is where 21st century communication disconnect takes root.

Its been said that our “perception is our reality” and “you only know what you know” and other vague saying that really just mean that we instinctively look at the world from our own perspective initially. Our self interest can cloud the messages that we send to and receive from others. We tend to construct messages to others from our own perspective, for an audience that has all the knowledge we do. Sometimes this leaves holes in our communication, by not giving enough detail or ensuring a clear message. This is something that I have experienced in my own life. There have been times that a single word in a text can be taken two completely different ways, leaving both the sender and receiver of the message confused about its purpose. Tim and I have learned this lesson, misinterpreting each others texts then later figuring out that is was all just a miscommunication. Learning from this we don’t discuss matters that are important or emotionally charged over text messages. This not only prevents us from reacting in a less than constructive manner, but also allows for a time period to analyze what the information from multiple perspectives. It is easy to react to words on a screen that seem to go against your beliefs, escalating emotions for no reason.

Limiting important conversations to strictly face to face interactions eliminate to negative side effects of text only communication.  Fundamentally, we become defensive when our sensitive line has been crossed and we feel threatened. This brings communication to a halt because we generally go into a self-protective mode and stop listening. Another way that we exhibit this negative behavior is by deflecting the information that is being presented to us. When the words we are hearing make us feel put down or insignificant, we tend to deflect it by bringing attention to something else that helps us reestablish our self-worth. Both of these obstacles can be avoided with open and honest understanding and communication.

In order to keep up with the demands of rapid communication in business it is important to understand how we can avoid these pitfalls and learn how we can develop our own skills in order to apply them to the workplace. Being that soft skills are gaining their spot on the list of management qualifications, we need to figure out how best to motivate to people through effective communication. This is where we either decide that an employee needs coaching or counseling on a particular item. In certain situations, it is more beneficial to coach an employee who is feeling incompetent in their abilities to perform a certain task. This is where a manager should offer advice or extra information on how to reach an assigned task. In my personal work life, there was an instance where coaching was the appropriate method for teaching a new restaurant cocktail menu. The best way to master the recipe of the new cocktails was to have everyone practice preparing one every day. On the other hand there are instances where an employee’s attitude and not their skill level is what needs developing. In another instance as a manager, I had the task of counseling an employee to who was easily shaken by unruly customer demands. She would get defensive at most questions a customer posed, instantly labeling them as rude. She needed to adjust her approach in order to maintain her position at the company. I sat her down one day and asked her why she gets so upset when customers ask her questions. I explained that she was there to do a job and that job included customer service and that she should try and look at her job from a more positive perspective. I informed her that everyone has bad days, everyone says the wrong things at some point and everyone reacts imperfectly on occasion and that you never know what another person going through at any given time. To take each customer as an opportunity to brighten someones day through kindness. I impart her to treat her position as host of a party everyone wants to be at. That she should be personable, welcoming and friendly in order to retain repeat business.

Today it is easier than ever to negatively misinterpret each others words and actions in a digital setting where tone, facial expressions and inflection are lacking. However, it is our responsibility to not fall victim to the ease of communicating via text information only. We need to continue to emphasize the importance of creating supportive communication.

References: 

Whetten, D.A., & Cameron, K.S. (2016). Developing Management Skills (9th ed.). (n.p.): Pearson Education.

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Ascendants and Americans

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Thirty years of incompetence has made American politics into an ethnic conflict. 

by Tom Shackleford

I think most of us by now have heard about a speech by George W. Bush in which he denounced White Nationalism and argued for globalism. I read some excerpts, but I never even bothered to actually listen to it. After all, being denounced by a bumbling mass-murderer doesn’t exactly sting. However, it did prompt a bit of retrospection on the past 30 years.

Bipartisan Policy

First, consider the bipartisan consensus that placed our country on its path to ruin. Disingenuous rhetoric was quite literally the only thing that differentiated either party. In the practical application of power, they were quite consistent regardless of shifting electoral outcomes. Both serve the same oligarchy, whose interests don’t coincide with the average person. 

For instance, the Third World demographic influx has come at the exclusive electoral benefit of the Democrats, but it had had the support of Republicans. In some cases, this support is quite explicit. I can recall a speech made last year by John McCain in which he announced that he would never stop fighting for amnesty. I can’t help but think that this was the result of ulterior motives that had nothing to do with mere elections. If not, why would he advocate for a dramatic surge in the demographic process that cost him the presidency? 

One Path: The Ascendant

This is the terminal phase of the USA. During this era, there are two paths to the presidency. The first was demonstrated by the 2008 and 2012 elections. Obama was twice installed in the Oval Office by vibrancy. It is now readily apparent that the success of this approach hinged on the very fact that he himself is a vibrant. Race is real and it is the primary factor that gets these people into voting booths. The average vibrant can’t even perform basic arithmetic, let alone get a grasp on the complex set of issues that shape the fate of the country. He looked like them, in sharp contrast to his two White opponents, and that was really all that mattered. The hollow sophistry barked at them was irrelevant. 

This led the establishment into the paradigm of a “Coalition of the Ascendant,” which was, from then on, considered to be the decisive voting bloc. Hillary’s campaign functioned on this premise, stupidly assuming that they could replicate Obama outcomes without noticing that they were running a White woman. 

That wasn’t a mere campaign. It was the greatest propaganda effort in the history of the human race. Obama had similar backing at his disposal, but he pretty much sold himself. That “Hope” poster was perhaps all it took. Selling Hillary Clinton on the other hand, was quite a tall order.  Thus, her team worked in tight, disciplined coordination with the MSM and Corporatocracy that owns it. This coalition included the vocal support of the major tech companies that dominate online discourse. Everyone from Google’s Eric Schmidt to Facebook’s Sheryl Sandberg worked publicly on its behalf. Last November, it proved to be a spectacular failure that’s understandably induced nonstop hysteria ever since. 

The Other Path: Acknowledge Pissed-Off White People

Hillary ended up being humiliated by a man she thought had zero chance of winning. During the campaign, emails disclosed by Wikileaks revealed that they were so confident of Trump’s toxicity that they asked the MSM to push coverage of him over the other Republican primary cucks. This was done because they calculated that Trump winning the Republican nomination would seal victory by a huge margin long before votes were even cast. 

They ended up losing to Trump mainly because he shared the same skin color (calling him orange didn’t work) as the walking corpse they were parading in front of the cameras. While Trump traveled the country with an animalistic energy, his campaign infrastructure was minimal and ill-disciplined. It didn’t even have the genuine support of the party he decided to hijack. Trump took the approach of responding to the anger of White America over having the economic foundation of their country exported, while a new people were imported to displace them and turn the place into a Third World cesspool. His win illustrated that addressing reality can still prevail no matter how many resources are deployed in opposition.

Blindness

Regardless, neither party has learned much from the whole fiasco. I have to give credit to the Democrats for at least attempting to de-platform us. Publicly, it’s been non-stop nonsense about Russia. Behind the curtain, it’s obvious that insiders realized what happened. An MSM poll recently pegged around 10% of Americans as holding Alt Right views, which is of course a staggering underestimate, since none of us would even participate in a poll. In an election that came down to a handful of votes, in a handful of places, it’s reasonable to surmise that we made a significant impact. Hillary backed that up with a recent quote that we’re just “.15%” of the population.  Chronic liars often dispense truth in much the way that right appears left from the opposite direction. 

Unfortunately for them, efforts to counter our influence took the inevitable form of Nazi name-calling in the MSM. By labeling us what we clearly are not and then naming Trump as one of us, as he clearly is not, they’ve been quite helpful in adding fuel to the blaze. 

Terry McAuliffe, a naïve presidential hopeful, instigated bedlam in Charlottesville in an attempt deal the Alt Right a death blow. This decision illustrates the level of miscalculation that still guides legacy politicians.  If Unite the Right went off as a peaceful rally as its organizers intended and conducted repeatedly in the past, then it would have been a fleeting headline. Instead it’s a story that just won’t go away. This has proven to be a huge boon, because a movement appealing to realists can only benefit from publicity. 

It seems that they considered us something that would fizzle out like the Tea Party, without understanding that we’re only getting bigger as the existential crisis in Western Civilization continues to worsen. White politicians like McAuliffe are deluded enough to think that they can follow in the footsteps of the Bushes and Clintons, even though that model belongs to an era that passed at least a decade ago.

Bushes and Clintons in the Rearview

In a political sense, the signature accomplishment of the Bushes and Clintons is to ensure that nobody like themselves can ever be president again. During their time in the sun, the demographic change and the alienation has become palpable. Currently, presidential viability for each party is as follows: as a Democrat, you can be a non-White, anti-White candidate and win. As a Republican, you can be a White, pro-White candidate and win. Neither candidate should articulate their approach explicitly.  

What this spells for 2020 is more clear for the Democrats than the Republicans. As a 75 year old, it’s not certain that Trump would want a second term even if his health allowed it. Moreover, this country has profound problems, both fiscal and economic, which seem likely to spiral in the interim.

If Trump doesn’t seek office again, I would predict the Democrats running Kamala Harris and winning over some imbecile like John Kasich. That’s because the Republican Party won’t allow another hijacking, and there’s nobody yet on the horizon with the financial resources and brazen mentality like Trump to pull off such a maneuver. We’ll just have to wait and see. Until then, enjoy the show.

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Italians Have Perfected the Art of Waiting It Out

Rome this past summer could easily be confused with the capital of an aspiring failed state. A drought exacerbated by crumbling infrastructure led to threats of daily 8-hour water shut-offs. The aqueducts, historically the pride of Rome, leaked some 40 percent of their flow. Trash piled high in the parks and grass went uncut as the city grappled with public works corruption scandals. Over the course of the summer, police discovered at least two clandestine hazardous-waste-disposal plants, although the news coverage curiously focused on how the hidden facilities evaded their electric bills. The upside, for some, is that the citys buses have become free for fare dodgers, because there arent enough ticket checkers. And in a symbolic touch, the parched, overgrown Roman landscape became tinder for fires that sent clouds of smoke over the already stifling city. Rome was burning.

Evidence of decline abounds in the rest of the country, too. Up in Florence, the Uffizi Gallery closed temporarily when the museums air conditioning failed. Down in Sicily, desperate migrants streamed ashore. Perhaps most important, a robust business recovery from Italys decade-old financial crisis seems out of reach. Just this month, the worlds biggest hedge fund firm, Ray Dalios Bridgewater Associates, disclosed its wagered more than $1.1 billion that shares of some of Italys top companies will fall, including the two biggest banks and Enel SpA, the nations largest utility.

But will any of this spur angry Italians, clamoring for change, to embrace a radical movement to Make Italy Great Again? Dont count on it. This country is more complicated. Italy has certain social and financial advantagesits playing a long game. And having avoided a Greek-style meltdown or a rash decision like Brexit, Italians might just be onto something.

Theyve already had their dalliance with a legally challenged, billionaire Putin pal in the person of former Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi. These days, many Italians are just pleased that Donald Trump has eclipsed Berlusconi as the butt of jokes and controversy. Theyve also tried a populist party. The Five Star Movement, founded by a comedian, swiftly gained influence in recent years. The Five Star is now part of the establishment. Guess which party runs Rome City Hall, perched on a hilltop piazza designed by Michelangelo with sweeping views of the wildfires? Yep.

The Italian electorate has shown itself resistant to change. In a December referendum it voted down constitutional reform aimed at breaking the political logjams in Rome that have long hindered any swift or deep policy changes. By rejecting the referendum, Italians also ended the term of Italian Prime Minister Matteo Renzi, halting his reform agenda to cut taxes and make it easier for businesses to hire and fire.

Why? Italians are engaged in an epic game of “kick the can.” Drawing on an intimate knowledge of their own history, they see an upside to letting problems sort themselves out, slowly. Its even part of the national curriculum. By age 11, almost all Italian schoolchildren learn the story of Quintus Fabius Maximus Verrucosus, the Roman general who 2,200 years ago slowly ground down Hannibal by avoiding direct battle. He was nicknamed the Cunctator“the delayer.”

The epithet was a compliment. Today the Cunctator is embodied up and down the boot, in decisions small and large that err on the side of inaction. On trial for a crime? Hire a lawyer skilled at stretching out the process through endlessly rescheduled hearings and lengthy appeals. The statute of limitations will eventually run out. It looks bad, but it works. (Just ask Berlusconi.)

Take whats happened with migrants who arrive by sea. Officially, all arrivals in the European Union are fingerprinted for a database. In practice, in recent years that step was at times overlooked, and migrants made their way from Italy to other countries without a record of their arrival. Thats crucial, because asylum requests are handled by the country of entry. When an un-fingerprinted migrant arrives in, say, Sweden, its as if hes been teleported directly from Mogadishu to Malmo. The Somali becomes a Swedish problem. Italy has successfully kicked the can northward.

The countrys most crucial can-kicking involves the economy, a habit that dates at least to the 1990s effort to qualify for the euro and a derivative transaction the cheekily dubbed “the greatest trade ever.” Under the deal, Italy received a big upfront payment that made the nations accounts look robust, with an agreement to pay it back with interest a few years later. Italy made it into the euro zone, while the nations true financial health could be dealt with afterward.

The reckoning never came. A decade later the global financial crisis pushed Italy into a double-dip recession that slashed industrial production by more than a quarter. Unemployment hit 12.8 percent at the start of 2014. Italys debt of more than €2 trillion ($2.4 trillion) rose to 132 percent of gross domestic product, compared with 96 percent in France. Italys deficit-to-GDP ratio has long exceeded the levels agreed upon for membership in the euro zone.

While Germany pushed for Italian austerity, successive Italian governments sought time to allow the economy to reawaken. “Instead of facing the problem, the competent Italian institutions have preferred to wait for an alleged economic recovery,” says Marcello Minenna, a lecturer at the London Graduate School of Mathematical Finance. Kicking the can, Italy tried to manage its debt through the use of derivatives. “This approach was revealed to be a boomerang for public finances,” says Minenna, whos published research on the topic, with Italy racking up a negative mark-to-market on a derivative portfolio of about €38 billion, plus €32 billion of cumulative losses from 2011 to 2016.

The waiting game had other costs, Minenna says: a €100 billion tax shortfall, €300 billion of gross nonperforming loans at the banks, and 40,000 bankrupt businesses.

Theres real misery behind those figures. Italians living in “absolute poverty” almost tripled in the past decade, with 4.7 million people, or 7.9 percent of the population, unable to afford a basic basket of goods and services. On a recent morning, I saw an older man approach the bakery counter at a supermarket in Rome seeking day-old bread. The saleswoman confirmed this was a regular thing, and not for some recipe requiring stale bread. “People are desperate,” she said.

Youth unemployment at 35.4 percent has wiped out a generations ability to build careers or families. Just 52.1 percent of Italian women age 20 to 64 were employed at the start of this year, the lowest level in the EU after Greece. As a resident of Rome, its a culture shock when I visit Munich or New York and see professional women in their 20s and 30s out at pricey bars and restaurants. Milan has some of that, but not Rome.

And yet, no debt-crisis blowup. No Brexit. No Berlusconi 2.0, yet. But how? What the bleak statistics dont show is Italy has got things Americans only dream of. Health care: free. University: practically free. Wine: well, might as well be free. Quibble if you must over the quality of care, the value of an Italian degree, or the merits of the €3.60 bottle of supermarket wine from last night (better than what youd get in a New York restaurant for $20). The Bloomberg Global Health Index of 163 countries ranks Italy as the healthiest on Earth, based on variables such as life expectancy and incidence of high blood pressure.

You can be sure the guy shopping for stale bread wont max out his insurance when he gets cancer and that his grandkids dont have $100,000 in student loans. Want to know why Italy didnt have a mortgage bubble like Spain or the U.S.? The money parents save on education and health care often gets spent on a house for their kids. In fact, Italy is solid as a rock as measured by individual borrowing. Italian household debt, at 41.8 percent of GDP, is half the level thats in the U.S. Per capita, its €11,600, less than half the U.K.s £26,000 ($34,000).

Just before heading to the beaches for summer break, government leaders in Rome sealed deals for €5.4 billion to bail out Banca Monte dei Paschi di Siena (again) and unwind two other lenders by injecting as much as €17 billion. Not only were these expensive solutions, but they did little to address the underlying causes of the banking woes, such as incompetence, corruption, and politics. As long as the economy takes off, it wont matter much.

The signs are actually good as the nation prepares for elections in early 2018. Italian stocks are up by almost a third this year in dollar terms, more than double the S&P 500s Trump bump. And Italys latest economic report showed GDP expanded for a 12th straight quarter. It was a feeble 0.3 percent, but it raised hopes the recovery might be real this time.

If it isnt, they can kick a can. Just check any park in Rome.

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