#PMS Exam

[2011-mail-sr]

CSS or PMS? Which is better.

In Pakistan, Civil Service Exams (CSS) and Provincial Management Service (PMS) stand as the gateways to prestigious and influential career paths within the public sector. Both examinations are designed to select individuals who demonstrate exceptional intellect, aptitude, and commitment to serve the nation.

For Further details and exam preparation visit JESA Academy.

[study-diaries]

I swear periods and exams have this deal going on where they both appear in the same week and be like "hey, wanna suffer baby doll? ;)"

[undeadboyfriendsupportgroup]

HAPPY MARTIM MAY WOOHOOO!!!!! Here are some drawings/doodles from a double lonely au we have ✨ :3

[kameyyy]

jeans guy can see himself out

[comikas-fandom-dump]

I was working on a different analysis, only to find the Chunin Exams even more unreasonably barbaric than usual. Because, honestly, why?

Yes, yes, I know. Tobirama designed the modern Shinobi system and the Chunin Exams were introduced as a replacement to war. However, before the preliminaries in Part 1 of Naruto, Hiruzen gives us a brief lesson in history, and it made me curious.

"[...] our alliance is, in fact... a temporary and mutually beneficial agreement between a group of geographically contiguous lands... whose previous existence was one of continual strife... constantly jockeying aganst one another [...] until a better way was devised... the way of the Chunin Selection Examination...!"

To summarize, the Chunin Exams were introduced as a replacement, or rather, a preventative measure for war, hoping to sate the villages' need to show off.

Thing is, Tobirama died in the First Great Shinobi War, meaning that, between the introduction of the Chunin Selection Exams into the world and Part 1 of Naruto, three world wars have taken place. Then add a bunch of minor conflicts, such as the attempted kidnapping of Hinata by Kumogakure, and we soon realize that the Chunin Selection Exams have actually done nothing to prevent conflict in the past four decades or so. So why continue holding them in this, frankly, self-destructive way?

I see two possible explanations for this:

In spite of bearing witness to the previous uselessness of the Chunin Exams, he never thought to re-adjust them into non-killing games.

The current style and purpose of the Chunin Exams are actually a fairly recent development.

And I know that the wording here already further supports the second reading due to Hiruzen's focus on "recent history" - But, personally, I wouldn't pay too much mind to such details as Viz is not exactly known for its accurate translations. This leaves us with no definitive proof for either of these two hypotheses.

What we do know, however, is that, in the past, the Chunin Exams were held under far less lethal conditions. Thanks to Obito's flashbacks in Chapter #599, we can make a direct comparison. As it turns out, the second stage is unnecessarily barbaric.

During Team Minato's era, the second stage of the Chunin Exams once consisted of simple team battles. Since the exams likely took place during wartime, the teams probably consisted of Konoha shinobi only. Hence, none of the examinees should have had any particular desire to eliminate their opponent, rather than just beating them in combat and winning the round. On top of that, proctors were put into place to supervise the battles, and it is entirely possible that the teams were allowed to take breaks between rounds.

Meanwhile, Team 7's Chunin Exams were exactly that but with no proctors and no breaks, in the form of a 120-hour-survival test, stuck between enemy teams and wild animals. Examinees originated from all across the continent, including rival nations, potentially with a desire or incentive to kill and maim their opponents.

And, of course, during Team Minato's era, the third stage of the Chunin Exams consisted of one-on-one battles in a secluded, private arena, whereas participants during Team 7's exam were made to fight in a grand stadium with foreign guests for the "prestige of the village". But that's just a minor nitpick, honestly.

And even if we were to argue that due to an ongoing war, Konoha simply couldn't afford to open its gates to foreign guests and risk exposing their Genin's abilities to the enemy... the same case can be made in the present day.

If tensions are already on the rise to the point of requiring a glorified child-killing event to keep enemy forces happy, those foreign relationships are probably beyond saving already. Truly, Konoha never was at peace, only ever maintaining a begrudging armistice. Therefore, opening your door to a potential enemy is always a weakness to exploit. If not to invade you today (like Orochimaru did), it can be used to collect intel on your shinobi for tomorrow's invasion.

So yeah, the point still stands.

They were capable of holding the Chunin Exams under relatively safe conditions previously. They were not, however, capable of "promoting friendship" via the Chunin Exams. Realistically, letting down your defenses and allowing foreign shinobi to kill your young sure has to have backfired in the past already. So why? Why bear the risk?

I wouldn't be surprised if the current style of the Chunin Exams were a recent development in hopes of preserving peace after the passing of three wars. Or if they had been temporarily changed back when Hiruzen was still too optimistic about peace in the Ninja world.

[expectiations]

Thinking of how "left me like a book on a shelf" is from River's POV and therefore does not mean it is the entirety of the story much like how "the Doctor does not and has never loved me" was uttered from a River who was grieving.

Like the Doctor could have spent a long time putting the TARDIS in stationary orbit around the Library. The Doctor could have puttered about with the Library from years before it was shut down to ensure that everything would go smoothly while doing his best not to change a single thing. And on days when it is too hard, he just stares at the Library from his perch on the TARDIS door. Waiting, hoping, thinking. Trying to find a way out for her. For them.

And he does!

He finds a hundred ways to get her out of the data core. But...something always goes wrong. It's somehow never good enough. She's back, but she's not entirely there.

So he scratches it out, slaps himself, and tries again.

And again.

And again.

But his plans always fail.

But they don't. Not really. His plans could work. Could have worked. His beloved Sexy would help him. She'd always help him when it comes to her Water. But he was too scared. Too frightened of failure. Because one single mistake. One. Single. Mistake. And she's gone. He can never get her back. Forever.

So he runs. And runs. And runs. Until centuries has gone by and companion come and gone. Until he met a younger, more alive version of her. And then they had Darillium. And oh the joys of wonderful joys, what a night that was.

But things end. Even for him. They had to part ways again. Had to say goodbye. So he tries again. Picks up what his previous self had shelved. He tries. Oh how he tries.

But still. That fear exists. Is it worth it? Can he finally accomplish what he'd started a literal lifetime ago?

(He doesn't.)

Off on another lifetime with a new body. He's a...she now? Oh and shorter! Wow. That's new! I wonder what Ri–

On the rare moments she allows herself to succumb to sleep she goes to their his her study. She takes a moment to take everything in. It's unrecognizable now – the study that once was theirs filled with warmth and laughter and-

Every single space was taken. Covered by plans of plans of plans spanning...two...lifetimes now. Sexy still kept it just as it was the last time he she had been in there.

Their His Her favorite throw was still where it was – on their his her favorite corner of their his her favorite couch.

Nothing had changed but everything had changed.

She curled up and buried her face hoping it would still smell of her (It did. They never knew how it worked but somehow her smell still lingered anyway. They thought they were hallucinating at first but other people had been able to smell it too. Sometimes they forget but Sexy also lost her too).

She was a he again. The same face they had four lifetimes ago. The same face who was the first to keep the memory of their meeting.

But wh- what? Why? How? Is this it? Is this the body that finally brings her back home? A fitting act really. He put her in there and so he'll also put her out of there.

But... she wasn't there. Nothing was there. Nothing but chunks of debris and ashes and smelted...somethings.

When he blinked his eyes open (when had he closed them?), Donna's worried face greeted him. He blinked again and blinked. Nothing changed. Everything has changed. He had waited for far too long. He had made her wait for far. too. long. He feared of failing her but now he actually has failed her.

Everything was bland now. Was it just him or is everything a bit...on the side of grey? Donna looks at him like he might break. (He won't. He's a Time Lord. Time Lords don't break.) Even Sylvia had taken to treating him a bit more kindly.

He goes off alone with Sexy. His return to the Noble-Temple (Temple-Noble) household becomes fewer and further in between. One day he finds himself in Venice. Wonderful Venice. His Pond and her Roman (who wasn't yet a Roman) had gone here. There were vampires. And running and –

River?

No silly. River wasn't there.

He blinked. And blinked again. Made sure the sky was blue and the clouds still fluffy white. But was that his leather jacket that just whizzed by past him? Wait. Hold on. That was... Was that? Oh no. It wasn't. It couldn't be. Did they? No. They couldn't have.

But of course, apparently they did. Because that was actually his leather jacket wearing self that just passed by him again(?) tugging along his very-much-not-dead wife along running from... Hold on. Why are they running? What- Who's shooting at her?!

[ellearts]

Dear my highschool

Your students physically cannot study anymore

You suck

[kaye-go-moo]

Shapes and Strange Ciphers AU: Brothers, Space Oddity

SaSC by me

Shapes and Pines by @/void-dude

Next Part

Bill

Bill advanced quickly in school, skipping grade levels and starting early in college. In his free time, he would talk to Tad about all the cool things he was learning and wanted to know. After some time, he started taking an interest in the obscure. However, Bill noticed Tad slowly drifting away and asked what was wrong.

When Tad said that life was just busy, Bill was upset. Believing Tad saw him as a burden and feeling guilty for wasting his time. Bill was also a little annoyed. He was so used to being Tad's center of attention that, when he wasn't, he felt Tad didn't care about him anymore. So Bill started talking to Tad less and kept things brief. Eventually, he lost contact with him but thought it was for the best, hoping that Tad would reach out when he was able.

-

After Tad left, Bill was alone. He only made this worse by closing himself off from others and leaning further into his education and research. However, as Bill learned more, he slowly began spiraling into an unhealthy dependence on knowledge. Bill didn't know when Tad would return, didn't know how to help him, or how to fix their tattered relationship.

These were problems that Bill couldn't solve, questions he couldn't answer. So why dwell on them? Instead, he focused on things he could figure out, delving further into the strange happenings of the world.

Bill started to discover things he never believed were real and questions yet to be answered. Questions he could answer. So Bill took the step to switch his main course of study from the mathematical and scientific to the oddities of the world.

Along the way, Bill slowly opened himself back up and managed to make friends with like-minded people who helped further his research. Eventually, he found himself in a place filled with the strange and unusual, a sleepy town in Oregon called Gravity Falls. There, Bill discovered countless supernatural wonders that he took to studying–recording his findings in a journal.

After a few years, Bill noticed that he had recorded many supernatural occurrences but not the reason for their occurrences. Bill had hit a roadblock in his studies and struggled to work around it.

_____

Lore Comment

[kikidews-scrapbook]

bloodbath

[dykekarkat]

sometimes its not what the migraine does to you but rather what the migraine can do FOR you <- slept over 12 hrs

[oneleggedflamingo]

I woke up at 4 am because of the storm and I am feeling the consequenses (did a lot of chores before noon and I feel so exhausted and I am going to eat dinner at 1 PM.)

[brokenrefraction]

My brain is fried

[alastyr-not-alastair]

🎶 Happy Birthday to me! I’m officially 18 🎶

[fearandhatred]

What would you write for the title "Forget-me-nots in your crown"? 👀

this is kinda long so i put it on ao3 too lol. spit this out in 2 hours so there are probably mistakes. apolocheese

<3

Crowley wavers by Jesus's side as he addresses a man named Matthew, sat at a taxpayer's booth, and says "follow me". And the man gets up to do so. Crowley hears the unspoken dismissal for what he thinks it is, and turns to leave, but Jesus stops him with a gentle hand on his forearm.

"Come," he tells him, "let's have dinner together."

They go to Matthew's house that night, bustling with the chatter of the other people Jesus invited to the dinner. Crowley stands next to Jesus and looks around, past the milling disciples and the table of food, to all these strangers. Taxpayers, prostitutes, idolators. Crowley feels lumped in, but also oddly out of place.

"Am I here as a sinner too, then?" he asks Jesus, teasingly, vulnerably.

Jesus looks back at him, eyes kind. "As a friend," he says simply, and Crowley could weep.

Not even a day passes after that before Crowley gets his next assignment from Hell.

-----

Crowley follows the mob all the way from Gethsemane to Golgotha, hidden in the shadows and carrying her basket full of flowers she doesn't actually sell. She sees Jesus's skin, welted and bleeding and bruised, no part left unmarred, but she doesn't interfere. She can't. She would miracle a lighter burden on his shoulders, healed cuts or softer soles, but she knows it wouldn't go unnoticed.

And she's ashamed to face him. So she just follows at the outskirts of the crowd of guards, opposers, and curious strays, and doesn't intervene.

But then Jesus stumbles and falls, pressed down violently under the weight of his cross, and Crowley rushes out without thinking, kneeling in front of him with a hastily miracled cup of water and dropping her basket of flowers from her arm. He looks up at her, eyes unsurprised at her presence and kind, always kind even when blinded with blood. He smiles. "Friend," he says softly before accepting the water Crowley brings to his mouth, and she tenses her jaw to hold herself together.

The mob and the generals stand silently, uninterrupting and observant. A rare reprieve of kindness, maybe, or another act of cruelty.

"After what I did?" Crowley says just as softly, fragile, a statement in the form of a question, trying to still her shaking hands so none of the water goes to waste. When she'd been told of her next temptation, that she would be the one to start the chain of events that would lead to Jesus's death, she had locked herself in for a week, close to deciding to go against orders for once in her life.

But she'd been too cowardly, too weak to do so, again, always. So she'd hid from Jesus instead.

"It is my Father's will," he tells her now as a fact, but with a tone so far from impassive it makes her quiver.

"Well," she says, uncertain and still ready to flee, but content with their proximity. "Is there anything I can do?" To help, is what she means. Let me ease your burden. Just then, one of the guards pushes down on the heavy cross with his foot in warning, brutish in the way he doesn't even look when he does it. Crowley lifts a hand instinctively, whether to nudge the guard away or lighten the weight of the cross she doesn't know, but Jesus gives her a glance of knowing, and her hand falls.

"Be kind," is all he says in response to her question. At first she thinks he just means be kind to everyone, a do-unto-others jab for a demon who betrayed her only friend, or a slight towards the guard. But he says it just loudly enough for her ears to hear and no one else's. And despite it all, she knows him. He looks unwaveringly at her, face honest and open. She knows that it's not just because of the torture and exhaustion he's endured that has stripped him down to his bare bones, but also because that is who he fundamentally is. And she knows he also means be kind to yourself.

She swallows, and the silence stretches on like they have all the time in the world, before the guard finally kicks at Jesus's side and yells at him to get up. He pushes himself onto his knees weakly but without protest, cross dragging down his back and leaving layers of skin scratched raw and gaping.

Be kind, his words ring in her head like they will until the end of time. Be kind to everyone, be kind to yourself. It'll be a long time before she can even start on the latter, but the first she can do. She can be kind to the man with kind eyes, her dear friend, a son with no choice but to do their father's will, a being destined to live only for others.

"Wait!" Crowley fumbles, reaching into her robes to disguise her miracling of more water. "Wait, please."

The guard mutters curses at her under his breath, but blessedly, he lifts an impatient brow in thin acquiescence. Crowley brings the water up to Jesus's lips again, and when he's drunk it all, he tilts his head tiredly in gratefulness. Another trickle of blood makes its way down the side of his face, and Crowley winces at the thorns digging viciously into his head, hammered into his skull like nails.

Unthinkingly, she reaches out and brushes his hair gently away from his eyes, careful not to have any stray strand pull on the thorns. Then, aching, she reaches out for the basket of flowers she discarded, plucking the first small bunch of flowers within reach.

Forget-me-nots. She would laugh if the realisation didn't cause her hands to resume their shaking. Because she is a sinner, she is sin itself, and her and Jesus should not be friends. They should not even be talking. But they are, and they do, and Crowley finds deep in her core that she would kill herself for him to remember her just as they were. Not as what she is but as who she is, as the true self that she thinks he sees when she's around him. As a friend. And she doesn't ever want to forget him.

She digs her nails into her palms to steady them, then brings her hands back up to his head. She weaves the small flowers into the thorns as carefully and intricately as the crown itself was woven, with hands just as stained. Forces herself to look at the blood crusted around the stems, the matted hair. The unworthiness, the uselessness of what she's doing.

When she's done, she pulls back with a sharp inhale as if coming back to herself, and looks away almost guiltily from the superficial bandages that are her small, insignificant flowers. Hates herself immediately for thinking that she of all beings could be the slightest balm for someone paying the price of sin.

But Jesus has never judged her for anything, and when she chances a glance back at him as he struggles to his feet, he's still looking at her. Looking at her with love, and with kindness. She thinks the kindness might mean more to her than anything else.

She slinks back into the shadows as the crowd moves forward.

-----

When they reach Golgotha, Crowley has discarded her flower basket, and she spots Aziraphale instantly in the growing crowd. She contemplates leaving him be, but she wants to get closer, so the chances of him not seeing her would be slim. She pushes through the crowd, steeling herself against Jesus's cries of pain. When she slithers up to Aziraphale's side, he turns and smiles at her in acknowledgement. She doesn't try to smile back.

In any other situation, she would laugh at how the only two beings she's acquainted with are an angel and the Son of God. For now, it just hurts.

"What–" she starts, then clears her throat as her voice cracks slightly with clogged-up tears. "What was it he said that got everyone so upset?" This time, her words come out as flatly curious and uncaring as she intended.

Aziraphale huffs out a breath. "'Be kind to each other'," he quotes.

"Oh," is all Crowley can reply at first. She turns away from Aziraphale to blink a sudden onslaught of tears away. "Yeah. That'll do it."

She stays until the sky darkens, long after everyone has gone and she's the only one in this place left alive. She lets the tears fall, then, looking up at the man splayed out on the cross, as human as anyone could be. She doesn't know if she'll ever be the same again. If there'll ever be anyone to care for her like he did.

Before she turns to leave, a single forget-me-not dislodges itself from the crown of thorns atop Jesus's lolling head and drifts softly down, landing softly on her outstretched palm.