#i mean. yes. he. is. objectively. inferior. to. the. doctor. now.

[roxannepolice]

[kryshka0908]

The ONLY introduction to MBTI that you ever have to read!

I’m Kryshka0908 aka MBTI edgelord. I am NOT a certified MBTI practicactioner, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know my stuff. There are a lot of theories out there and yeah they are great and beautiful and all, but you DO NOT need to waste your time studying studying all of them and being confused ‘cause I’m gonna teach you everything you need to know about MBTI! Yes, it’s literally EVERYTHING you need to understand so LISTEN to every single thing I say and I guarantee you WILL be smarter than the majority of people in MBTI community that are spewing bullshit that doesn’t make any sense whatsoever! So grab your drink or whatever that keeps you focused and let’s get into it!!

“What is MBTI in simple words?”

Many morons assume that MBTI types are their identities.

“Oh yay! I’m an ENFP, so I’m a quirky weirdo unicorn girl that’s always dreamy! I’m basically the same person as Anna from Frozen!”

“Yeah ;) I’m an ESTP now. I’m so manly and cool. I love sports man! And I wanna smash hot chicks every single day of my frickin g life”

“I’m a calculative, evil genius INTJ! I hate everyone and everything in the world.. I love world domination, and I have not heart”

These stereotypes make me SICK!! They literally wanna make me throw the shit up okay??? People need to understand that the only thing that your MBTI types can tell you is your natural cognive processes. It does NOT who you are, not how good/unique of a person you are, what you like and dislike, your traits or statuses.

You can be an ENFP, and absolutely hate unicorns and people.

You can be an ESTP, and doesn’t have any interests in sports and sex.

You can be an INTJ, and be a humanitarian. And feel love towards someone deeply.

You know what? I’m an INTJ myself and I love Disney movies, and working out!!!

Some of you may think...

“But, but.. then MBTI edgelord must be INFP because he likes Disney. Oh wait but also he likes working out, he’s ESFP. But he’s also super annoying.. ESTJ?”

SHUT UP!! JUST SHUT THE F*CK UP!!! MY MBTI type can’t tell me who I am as a person!

“What do Congnitive Processes mean in MBTI?”

The kind of “cognive processes” that MBTI is describing is our attentional manners, which is our ways of paying attention.

We, humans, all pay attention.

When we listen to someone talking, we pay attention to what they are saying.

When we read newspapers, we pay attention to the articles in the newspapers.

MBTI categorizes our various ways of paying attention into into 8 basic modes. They are

Introverted Intuition(Ni),

Extraverted Intuition(Ne),

Introverted Sensing(Si),

Extraverted Sensing(Se),

Introverted Feeling(Fi),

Extraverted Feeling(Fe),

Introverted Thinking(Ti),

and

Extraverted Thinking(Te).

* Definitions of each functions are right below here. For some of them, I directly copied from my Reddit posts.

The difference between Ne and Ni

Ne seeks to look at things from different perspectives and generates/discusses possibilities that are previously unthought of for the sake of novelty. Ne is an abstract function that focuses on metaphysical actions, rather than physical ones, meaning Ne users prefer to “think” about the possible things that they could do in their head or by talking over actually doing stuff in reality. For example, an Ne user may enjoy exploring the possibilities of them being a doctor, a chef and a CEO, but they are less inclined to decide which one is a most likely possiblity and start working on it.

Ni is the opposite of Ne in a way that it likes to make a conclusion on what is the best path. Ni seeks to see linear patterns and connections that lead to one thing in the future. It prefers knowing singular truths over ideation basically. Ni users typically want their life to be aligned with a singular purpose. To simplify, they are more inclined to say “I WILL become a doctor!” than Ne users.

The difference between Se and Si

Se is focused on external sensory information, such as “that car looks cool.”, “This scenery is beautiful” a and so on. As opposed to Si, which is focused on one’s subjective sensory experience, which includes how comfortable your surroundings make you feel internally, and their past experiences. Si things to say would be “This blanket makes me feel warm”, and “This must be true because it already happened to me before”. Because Se is more directly engaged in the outside physical world, people with high Se are very good at making actions in reality. Despite the stereotype that Se doms are party animals, a lot of them can be quite successful because they excel in seizing opportunities in the present moment.

Fi vs.Fe + Ti vs. Te

Fi is about your internal feelings and values. People with high Fi tend to have a sense of what/who they like and dislike. They tend to form judgments about things based on their own ethical values. Fi users seek to be their “authentic selves” in social environments.

•“I love you”,

•“Killing animals feels wrong/immoral”

•“You’re not my friend if you don’t understand the real me”

These statements are all Fi related

Fe, in contrast, is focused on reading and affecting external emotional atmosphere. Fe users observe social cues, such as face expressions and tones of voice, to notice emotional states of others. And they affect the emotional states by words or actions, if they deem it to be necessary. Fe is not about internal/introverted values, but it is about external emotions basically.

• “Are you feeling okay? You seem quite tonight.”

•“You look amazing! Where’d you get that dress!?”

•“That sucks” as opposed to “I don’t like it”(Fi)

Ti is very similar to Fi in a way that it also makes decisions based on your internal judgement. Instead of your feelings, or values though, Ti seeks to make decisions based on what makes sense and what doesn’t make sense to you internally. Ti is about internal understanding of logic. Ti users form logical models that can help them understand why things are the way they are basically. MBTI is also pretty Ti-ish since it models human personality in a way that is logically sound.

Ti statements include

•”You’re contradicting yourself in your own argument. What you say makes no sense”

•”If all humans are mortal, and this individual is immortal, it is impossible that the individual is a human”

•”I don’t want to use math formulas, unless I fully understand why the formulas work”

Te is like Fe because it also sees external data and affect things in the external world. However, unlike Fe, Te pays attention to shared logical facts, instead of shared emotions. Te users like to look at objective statistics and data, and use them to maximize efficiency in order to get from point A to B. Te is not concerned with internal understanding of logic, but it only sees facts as they are, their focus is on how useful or beneficial something is.

Te statements are..

•”If I leave home at 10am, and take the bus that comes at 10:10am, I should be able to get to school by 11:00pm.”

•”I first need to enter my email address, and then my password to log in. Once I log into my account, all I need to do is to put the items I want to buy in my cart and purchase them!”

•”According to this study conducted by Scientist A, it is best to have, at least, 8 hours of sleep for adults to be most active during the day. So I’m going to start doing that!”

To summarize, Fi is about “internal feelings/values”, Fe is about “external emotions and application of them”, Ti is about “internal logical understanding”, and Te is about “external factual accuracy and application”

So now that you know how each function pays attention, let’s look at how the functions manifest in a type!

I use ISFJ as an example. ISFJ’s “function stack”, which describes the order of a type’s preference of cognitive functions, goes..

Si(1st/Dominant)-Fe(2nd/Auxillary)-Ti(3rd/Tertiary)-Ne(4th/Inferior)-Se(5th/Ignoring)-Fi (6th/Demonstrative)-Te(7th/PoLR)-Ni(8th/Balanced)

Look at this table I made that explains definitions of each slot..

This is the description of ISFJ I wrote..

These are the function stacks of other personality types...

Congratulations! Now you should be able to understand how each type uses the 8 cognitive functions. You basically know about how MBTI works more than most people.

[sun-lit-roses]

Magic Voyager Bus

Should I be able to get the idea of Starfleet Captain Frizzle out of my head after this image put it in there? Yes.

Have I? That would be a no.

So, here is my who’s who list in a mashup of The Magic School Bus and Star Trek: Voyager, which absolutely no one asked for:

Ms. Frizzle: Tuvok - Obviously. Eldest of the bunch, has a stockpile of advice and knowledge, and is Vulcan-ly predisposed to keep his head when all about are losing theirs. Plus, the class is always poised between joy and terror at the suggestion of a field trip, which is pretty much how Tuvok’s suggestions are greeted on Voyager.

Dorothy Ann (DA): Kathryn Janeway - Her catch phrase is ‘according to my research,’ which pretty much says everything that needs to be said. She is also ready to throw down for science and starts an episode-long feud because she thinks friction is cool. Very on brand.

Tim: Chakotay - The artist of the group! He makes drawings and maps of their adventures, generally only speaks when he has an astute observation or good quip, and is a chill dude in a group that has very little chill. Our classic Commander.

Arnold: Harry - Has anyone ever summed up the essence of ‘I knew I should have stayed home today’ better than Harry Kim?

Carlos: Tom - My guy is famed for his endless (and I mean endless) series of puns for every situation. He doesn’t even have a catchphrase, because his catchphrase is everyone else going ‘CARLOS’ after he holds up a fossilized dinosaur egg and pronounces it ‘egg-cellent.’

Wanda: B’Elanna - Takes no prisoners, no objections, and sometimes no thought before her actions. She also has a streak going of getting her and Arnold into situations that they then have to bail themselves out of, which is the quintessential B’Elanna & Harry relationship.

Phoebe: Seven - ‘At my old school,’ is essentially the elementary school version of ‘when I was with the Borg’ and both are generally followed by a statement that describes a scenario vastly inferior to the one they’re now in. Yes, fine at your old school you were never shrunken down to explore the inside of your classmate’s intestine - how is this a complaint?! But over time, they begin to realize that their new school/individuality isn’t so bad after all. Plus, you can’t beat the away missions. Also, she has a rocking pair of overall skorts that are such a statement.

Ralphie: The Doctor - Big talk, very timid action. Ralphie is the first to leap to a conclusion and also the first to hide behind the nearest rock. Sound like a certain holographic braveheart who tends to get nervous when he’s out of his comfort zone and/or he learns the latest danger can actually threaten his holographic life? Both are loyal and have good hearts, though, and always come through for their friends in the end.

Keesha: Kes - Smart, soft-spoken, and confident that she can think her way out of any problems. Give her a pair of pointy ears and the resemblance is uncanny.

Liz: Neelix - Not to make an assignment based solely on color palette, but Liz the Lizard and Neelix share a fondness for bright colors. Also, who else could be Ms. Frizzle/Tuvok’s right hand and occasional disaster? He keeps an eye out for the class, but occasionally the lack of opposable thumbs (or Starfleet rank) can be kind of a limitation.

[doctortreklock]

AU-gust 23 - Arranged Marriage AU

For this. On AO3.

As soon as she read Jane’s letter, she knew she had to get out of the house. Elizabeth made her hasty excuses to the Collinses and set out urgently, letter clutched tightly in her hand and no destination in mind.

It was some time before she could bring herself to slow from her rapid flight to a more sedate walk. More time still before she could loosen her grip and reread the letter.

Phrases leapt to her attention, as they had before: ...gravely ill...uncertain recovery...expenses...Mama has taken to bed in sympathy... Her Papa was sick, her Mama was hysterical, her sisters were alone, and Elizabeth was in Kent, much too far to be of any real help.

Mama’s reaction was anything but unexpected. She took to bed with every complaint more severe than a headache. In this circumstance, however, her mother’s priorities being what they were, Elizabeth could not fault her. The estate was still entailed to Mr. Collins and prospects for her and her sisters were thin on the ground.

Elizabeth pointed did not dwell on her father’s health. Jane said the doctor had already been and there was little that could be done but to wait. Either Papa would recover, or he would not. She could not help the sob that broke out of her at the thought. Oh, to be at Longbourn now!

“Miss Elizabeth!”

She startled at the call and turned quickly to see Mr. Darcy approach. She hadn’t put any thought into her route, but she must have followed the same well-trodden path she had taken in days previous, a course that wound around both the Collins’ home and the Rosings Park grounds.

“Mr. Darcy,” she greeted, her voice thick. She bobbed her head in a curtsy and he gave her a bow in return.

“I would speak to you, if I may,” he said, and he appeared somehow to be more agitated than she was.

“You may,” she allowed, attempting to school her features. If he saw her sorrow and fear, he would no doubt inquire as to its cause. And Elizabeth did not think she could bear to tell him the truth, not after hearing what he had done to Jane and Mr. Bingley.

“Thank you,” he said shortly. Then he was silent. He looked several times as if he was attempting to speak, but could not find the words within himself to begin.

Elizabeth did not often have the patience for such indecision, particularly with Mr. Darcy and particularly today. “If you have nothing to say, Mr. Darcy, than I shall thank you and continue on my way.”

“Wait!” He looked upset, and there was intense emotion in his eyes that Elizabeth could not decipher. “Miss Elizabeth.” His words were more passionate than any she had ever heard him speak.

“I have struggled in vain, but my feelings will not be repressed. I have fought against judgement, my family’s expectations, the inferiority of your birth, my rank and circumstance, and I can bear it no longer. I will put them all aside and ask you to end my agony.”

He looked at her beseechingly, but Elizabeth couldn’t parse his meaning. “I don’t understand.”

Mr. Darcy swallowed. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. Please do me the honor of accepting my hand.”

Elizabeth stared at him blankly, a thousand possibilities opening before her.

Her first reaction was to refuse him. Immediately. At length. He deserved no less after his callous treatment of Jane and his cruel neglect of Mr. Wickham. The rudeness of his proposal itself demanded nothing less than the sharp edge of her tongue, only slightly tempered by the basic rules of politeness. As she opened her mouth to begin her pointed and well-deserved dismissal however, the crinkle of paper in her hand halted her.

Papa. The estate.

Mr. Darcy owned half of Derbyshire and had ten-thousand pounds a year. With that living, he could support a half-dozen families in comfort. He could afford to keep her family safe. Her sisters could have dowries. Lydia, Kitty, and Mary could have a governess such as those extolled by Lady Catherine. Their own prospects would be considerably raised.

He had remarked at length on the inferiority of her circumstances, but if he was proposing to wed her regardless, he could hardly continue to protest a relationship with Jane, should Mr. Bingley still prove amiable to it. Her beloved elder sister might yet see her happiness restored.

Mr. Darcy shifted. A muscle in his jaw tightened, but he had evidently retained enough manners to wait for a lady’s response to such an unexpected question.

Elizabeth’s mind raced. Was she actually considering it? Considering him? After all he had done and all her determination that she would not bend to the wishes of society? She had never been mercenary in her designs, and it was for that very reasons that she had refused Mr. Collins, despite her mother’s pleas.

Charlotte had married Mr. Collins for the comfort and stability that he gave her. Though it was obviously not an ideal match, Charlotte had learned to live within its strictures. She had her own rooms in the house designated for her use, spaces where her husband did not venture. Elizabeth had seen how she had made herself content with her circumstances.

How much more room could she have with a husband worth ten-thousand a year? Her allowance could give her independence. She could see to Mr. Wickham’s future herself, without Mr. Darcy’s approval. She could carve out her own space in the miserable half of Derbyshire where Mr. Darcy dared not encroach.

Elizabeth looked at him. Was this a man she could marry? He was handsome, for certain. Colonel Fitzwilliam was of the opinion that he was a good man and a loyal friend. The fervor of his proposal indicated at least some manner of partiality toward her.

Her objections to his character were numerous, but if Jane’s happiness could be ensured and Mr. Wickham’s future secured, all that remained was his disdain, abrupt manner, and disagreeable nature. These were not small barriers, but...

Her family. Her father. Her future. Could she be so mercenary?

The smooth paper of Jane’s letter slid against her fingertips. There were places where the words were nearly illegible from the way Jane’s hand had shaken and the ink had stained the page.

Elizabeth looked Mr. Darcy in the eye. “Yes,” she said, her voice unsteady, but her words clear. “Yes, I will marry you.”

[wisteria-lodge]

Highlighting important Holmes & Watson character beats (1/10)

I got an interesting question the other day, about the moments in the original Sherlock Holmes stories that are more about *character development* and *relationship building* than mystery solving. And honestly, it’s a cool exercise, reading the Conan Doyle stories and watching this one complex little relationship grow. 

So here you go. For your reading pleasure: Holmes & Watson, the good stuff 

~ A STUDY IN SCARLET ~

[Dr. John Watson is back from the war, his PTSD and $$ situation not looking so good. Watson’s old intern Stamford thinks he’s found him a roommate] 

“We came here on business,” said Stamford, sitting down on a high three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with his foot. “My friend here wants to take diggings, and as you were complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought that I had better bring you together.”

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with me. “I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street,” he said, “which would suit us down to the ground. You don’t mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?”

“I always smoke ‘ship’s’ myself,” I answered.

“That’s good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?”

“By no means.”

“Let me see—what are my other shortcomings. I get in the dumps at times, and don’t open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I’ll soon be right. What have you to confess now? It’s just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together.”

I laughed at this cross-examination. “I keep a bull pup,” I said, “and I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices when I’m well, but those are the principal ones at present.”

“Do you include violin-playing in your category of rows?” he asked, anxiously.

“It depends on the player,” I answered. “A well-played violin is a treat for the gods—a badly-played one—”

“Oh, that’s all right,” he cried, with a merry laugh. “I think we may consider the thing as settled.”

*

The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when I confess how much this man stimulated my curiosity, and how often I endeavored to break through the reticence which he showed on all that concerned himself. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered, how objectless was my life, and how little there was to engage my attention. My health forbade me from venturing out unless the weather was exceptionally genial, and I had no friends who would call upon me and break the monotony of my daily existence. Under these circumstances, I eagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion, and spent much of my time in endeavoring to unravel it.

*

I see that I have alluded above to his powers upon the violin. These were very remarkable, but as eccentric as all his other accomplishments. That he could play pieces, and difficult pieces, I knew well, because at my request he has played me some of Mendelssohn’s Lieder, and other favorites. When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle (...) Sometimes the chords were sonorous and melancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided those thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim or fancy was more than I could determine. I might have rebelled against these exasperating solos had it not been that he usually terminated them by playing in quick succession a whole series of my favorite airs as a slight compensation for the trial upon my patience.

*

[Holmes is a detective, Holmes shows off] 

“[Your deduction] is simple enough as you explain it,” I said, smiling. “You remind me of Edgar Allen Poe’s Dupin. I had no idea that such individuals did exist outside of stories.”

Sherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe. “No doubt you think that you are complimenting me in comparing me to Dupin,” he observed. “Now, in my opinion, Dupin was an inferior fellow (...) really very showy and superficial. He had some analytical genius, no doubt; but he was by no means such a phenomenon as Poe appeared to imagine.”

“Have you read Gaboriau’s works?” I asked. “Does Lecoq come up to your idea of a detective?”

Sherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically. “Lecoq was a miserable bungler,” he said (...) “he had only one thing to recommend him, and that was his energy. That book made me positively ill. The question was how to identify an unknown prisoner. I could have done it in twenty-four hours. Lecoq took six months or so. It might be made a text-book for detectives to teach them what to avoid.”

I felt rather indignant at having two characters whom I had admired treated in this cavalier style. I walked over to the window, and stood looking out into the busy street. “This fellow may be very clever,” I said to myself, “but he is certainly very conceited.”

*

[Watson tags along, having “nothing better to do.”]

“You sum up the difficulties of the [case] succinctly and well,” [Holmes] said. “There is much that is still obscure, though I have quite made up my mind on the main facts. (...)  I’m not going to tell you much more of the case, Doctor. You know a conjuror gets no credit when once he has explained his trick, and if I show you too much of my method of working, you will come to the conclusion that I am a very ordinary individual after all.”

“I shall never do that,” I answered; “you have brought detection as near an exact science as it ever will be brought in this world.”

My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and the earnest way in which I uttered them. I had already observed that he was as sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty.

*

[Holmes explains]

“You see the whole thing is a chain of logical sequences without a break or flaw.”

“It is wonderful!” I cried. “Your merits should be publicly recognized. You should publish an account of the case. If you won’t, I will for you.”

“You may do what you like, Doctor,” he answered.

~ THE SPECKLED BAND ~

It was early in April in the year ‘83 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.

“Very sorry to knock you up, Watson,” said he, “but it’s the common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I on you.”

“What is it, then—a fire?”

“No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something very pressing which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call you and give you the chance.”

“My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything.”

*

[waiting in the dark for the bad guy to enter]

“The least sound would be fatal to our plans.”

I nodded to show that I had heard.

“We must sit without light. He would see it through the ventilator.”

I nodded again. (...) 

“Have your pistol ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of the bed, and you in that chair.”

I took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.

Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the bed beside him.

*

[all is revealed] 

The little which I had yet to learn of the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled back next day.

“I had,” said he, “come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient data.”

~ THE RESIDENT PATIENT ~

It had been a close, rainy day in October. “Unhealthy weather, Watson,” said my friend. “But the evening has brought a breeze with it. What do you say to a ramble though London?” 

I was weary of our little sitting room and gladly acquiesced. For three hours we strolled about together, watching the ever-changing kaleidoscope of life (...) Holmes’ characteristic talk, with its keen observance of detail and subtle power of inference, held me amused and enthralled. 

*

[this time, their client is a doctor]

“Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervous lesions?” I asked.

[Dr. Trevelyan’s] pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work was known to me.

“I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it was quite dead,” said he. “My publishers gave me a most discouraging account of its sale. You are yourself, I presume, a medical man?” 

~ THE NOBLE BACHELOR ~

I had remained indoors all day, for the weather had taken a sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and the Jezail bullet which I had brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign throbbed with dull persistence. With my body in one easy-chair and my legs upon another, I had surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers until at last, saturated with the news of the day, I tossed them all aside and lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the envelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my friend’s noble correspondent could be. 

“Here is a very fashionable epistle,” I remarked as he entered. “Your morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fish-monger and a tide-waiter.” 

“Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety,” he answered, smiling, “and the humbler are usually the more interesting. This looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie.”

*

[their new client is extremely posh]

“Good-day, Lord St. Simon,” said Holmes, rising and bowing. “Pray take the basket-chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson. Draw up a little to the fire, and we will talk this matter over.” 

“A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine, Mr. Holmes. I have been cut to the quick. I understand that you have already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir, though I presume that they were hardly from the same class of society.”

 “No, I am descending.” 

“I beg pardon.” 

“My last client of the sort was a king.”

*

[everything turns out well] 

“Draw your chair up and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings.”

~ THE REGIATE SQUIRES ~

On referring to my notes, I see that it was upon the 14th of April that I received a telegram from Lyons which informed me that Holmes was lying ill in the Hotel Dulong. Within twenty-four hours I was in his sick-room, and was relieved to find that there was nothing formidable in his symptoms. Even his iron constitution, however, had broken down under the strain of an investigation which had extended over two months, during which period he had never worked less than fifteen hours a day, and had more than once, as he assured me, kept to his task for five days at a stretch.

Even the triumphant issue of his labors could not save him from reaction after so terrible an exertion, and at a time when Europe was ringing with his name and when his room was literally ankle-deep with congratulatory telegrams I found him a prey to the blackest depression. Even the knowledge that he had succeeded where the police of three countries had failed, and that he had outmaneuvered at every point the most accomplished swindler in Europe, was insufficient to rouse him from his nervous prostration. 

Three days later we were back in Baker Street together; but it was evident that my friend would be much the better for a change, and the thought of a week of spring time in the country was full of attractions to me also. My old friend, Colonel Hayter, who had come under my professional care in Afghanistan, had now taken a house near Reigate in Surrey, and had frequently asked me to come down to him upon a visit. On the last occasion he had remarked that if my friend would only come with me he would be glad to extend his hospitality to him also. A little diplomacy was needed, but... [Holmes] fell in with my plans (...) 

On the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the Colonel’s gun-room after dinner, Holmes stretched upon the sofa, while Hayter and I looked over his little armory of Eastern weapons.

*

[Colonel Hayter mentions some suspicious local burglaries] 

Holmes grunted from the sofa. “The county police ought to make something of that,” said he; “why, it is surely obvious that—” 

But I held up a warning finger. 

“You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For Heaven’s sake don’t get started on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds.” 

Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resignation towards the Colonel, and the talk drifted away into less dangerous channels. ~

[and thank you again @niche-pastiche for the excellent idea!]

[written-beyond-the-grave]

Da Vinci Code

Word Count: 5,900

Warnings: Mild cursing (btw reader is black b/c SOMEONE had to to do it to em)

I wanna be bold and tag my favorite accounts here so: @writing-prompt-s @madamslayyy @saitamastamaticsoup @canumoveurseatup-no @twilightpocfans @cassandraclare @momolady @imaginepoc @hoe-imaginess

Summer, or as the new generation of civilization deemed it “cuffing season” or “act out season”. Something about warmer weather and not being at an educational facility for eight hours straight for a good three months seemed to always bring out the risque in people. As expected kids and teens would be roaming around the cul-de-sac, some playing basketball in their parent's driveway and others participating in double-dutch competitions on chalk illustrated sidewalks. And as the adolescents played Wallace D. Nolwazi would be miles away from home at the NASA space station in California, soaking up the sun and meticulously building her resume. At least, that what she expected.

The rumbling of the wagon behind her was no match for the choir of raindrops that began to pelt onto the concrete, what had started as a mild drizzle shortly became a full-blown thunderstorm that Wallace’s poncho was no match for.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Correction: A full-blown thunderstorm with a flood watch in effect warning.

Earlier in the year, Wallace had applied to NASA’s Bright Minds of Today™ Summer Camp were ten lucky applicants were flown out to Pasadena, California for a seven-week exclusive boot camp on the inner workings of NASA. Completed with free room and board, transportation, and a weekly allowance. The ad for the summer camp had been almost too good to be true until Wallace decided to call its coordinators. With confirmation that the program was legit, she meticulously began to work on the programs required an essay on what were the benefits and dangers of new technology rising today. She even emailed her teachers and counselor four weeks in advance for recommendations which contrasted from her usual last-minute nature. To say that she was pumped would have been an understatement after she got a call while attempting to rewire an old computer hard drive that she has been accepted into the program after an over the phone interview. 

She was going on a long vacation away from her doting and nosey family, At least, that’s what she hoped until her hope was plucked out her hands like a mean babysitter to a baby’s lollipop. 

A sudden loud crack of thunder startled Wallace enough to have her already misshapen glasses drop to the ground into a rushing stream caused by the lack of grass in the area. Pausing, she fished out the glasses and continued on her way back home. 

Without her knowledge, Wallace’s mother had planned for her aunt Leila to stay over the summer while she attended an important retreat for the medical board at Bayhealth Hospital. To say that Wallace didn’t expect this to happen would be an understatement, her mother or Maureen as she usually addressed her was notorious for pulling last-minute dips on her plans. But this was the one plan in a while that she specifically discussed with her mother beforehand on the prospect of potentially getting admitted to the program. But, her mother brushed it off with little regret saying that there would be a “next time”.

‘Next time’. Heh.

The phrase next time played on in her head as she entered the already opened garage thoroughly soaked from the ongoing storm. The wagon Wallace had been pulling was long forgotten next to a pile of some scrap metal and a blow torch. Making her way from the garage to the basement took less than twenty steps, it took even shorter to get into the shower considering Wallace had begun to undress once she had left the garage. The rain had made her skin crawl and feel as if there were imaginary ants running along her skin. The cold water and rhythmic beating of the showerhead help her predicament. 

Wallace always kept a set of spare clothes in the basement for when she needed them, she seemed to always be in the basement and garage so it was only fitting. Being careful to only drip onto the carpet she took a look into the mirror, honey eyes immediately locked onto her faux locs that were beginning to unravel. To any other person they would have looked freshly done, but Wallace was meticulous over her hair and decided against trying to fix it herself. Knowing well that her hands were a menace to her our hair, vividly remembering the accident of ‘06 at Cardinal Junior High. Her eyes narrowed at the memory as she quickly got dressed in dry clothes and put her hair up. 

Compelled to not waste any more time Wallace stepped to a large steel table and sat on the cool wooden stool pulling forward a dull wooden box. Reaching in she delicately pulled out a worn looking pocket watch that admittedly weighed quite a bit in her hand. Its previously blindly gold exterior was tarnished to gray-blue corrosion that had compromised some the gears inside. Taking a moment to gaze at the antique item, the arms weren’t moving and were stuck at 11:22, putting down the watch Wallace moved the ring light above her into place and turned it on. Without looking up her hand reached across the table to pull a magnifying scope right above the watch.

Opening the watch, she set the magnifying scope to a lens best suited to look at its gears. Some were missing and burned out, pursing her lips in curiosity Wallace stepped off her chair and went digging through her wagon. Only picking objects she deemed acceptable and helping her fix the watch. Wallace deconstructed other clocks and gears from different machines from the junkyard that she raided and shaped them down to size with her father's power saw and other tools in the garage. Stuck in her own little world, she hadn’t noticed the moon made an appearance hours ago.

It was around midnight when Wallace’s mother, Maureen came home. The day at the hospital was a rough one indeed, an abundance of trauma patients came in and out of hospital doors and her brain was just about fried by the end of the day. Pocketing her keys, she opened the front door telephone wire and shut the door behind her while putting her purse down. 

“Wallace,” she called, thinking nothing of her daughter's absence. She walked herself up the stairs to her room, but not before passing Wallace's was she picked open and called her name again, “Wallace!” Letting herself in she looked around meticulously, where was her daughter? She went to the window to see if anyone was outside but her nerves were rest assured when she saw a light coming from the garage out in the back.

“Wallace!”

Without looking up she quipped back, “What.”

“Don’t what me. It’s ‘yes mom’,” Wallace’s mother crossed her arms as her eyes narrowed at her daughter hunched over form in the garage.

“Yes, Maureen.”

Sighing and rolled her eyes, “I’ve been calling you all around the house for-”

Wallace not being one for aimless chatter, “What did you need.” There was a brief silence that seemed to stretch on.

Maureen licked her bottom lip and took a calming breath, “Wallace I am your mother－”

Mentally rolling her eyes at the revelations, she continued tinkering with the watch in her hand.

“－And as your mother I deserve, better yet you owe me your respect－”

Laughable.

“－Secondly, did you eat dinner? The pasta and chicken I left in the fridge for you is still there.”

Wallace’s figure relaxed a bit, “I had dinner at the Hinode’s. Mrs. Hinode said ‘hi’’.”

“You sure,” Maureen walked closer to Wallace and glanced over at the table unsurprised to see she was doing God knows what with that watch, “And why are you still playing around with that old thing? I know it was grandpa Leroy’s, but that thing’s been busted for a while now.” 

Wallace didn’t know why her mother always told her this, like a broken record, every time she came into the garage to find her fixing the old watch. It was a waste of breath in Wallace’s mind since it yielded the same results. She subconsciously clutched the watch tighter in her hand. Grandpa Leroy was her father’s father, he was her father when Maureen’s boyfriend went awol at the altar. Leroy stepped in and helped raise Wallace like his own, he even used to stay with her mother for months at a time. He was the one who got Wallace into technology and fixing things when he first saw her attempting to fix a VCR that had accidentally fallen off a table while playing soccer in the house. It was a good thing that her grandfather used to be an electrician in his working days.

He was the glue that held everything together, up until his untimely death two years ago on a cruise ship sailing around Scandinavia and Europe. The specifics were never explained, but the doctors told her mother that he died of natural causes in his sleep. Since then the usually happily tolerable relationship between Maureen and Wallace had taken a sharp turn. It was beginning to feel like tying a shoe, but instead of looping the strings they were being pulled in opposite directions. Maureen began to shut down by taking more hours at the hospital. Leaving Wallace at home most days for hours on end.

Wallace had a different way of dealing with things than her mother, she became a recluse. Keeping herself in her room or library reading all her grandfather's favorite books. It was Charges: A Retrospect into the Quantum World by M.H. Lyernoff that started her fixation on her grandfather's watch. It was where she found the watch, behind the fake back on one of the shelves in the library behind M.H. Lyernoff’s book. It seemed like any old pocket watch hidden away until Wallace noticed the engraving on the curve of the watch. It was rubbed off but still legible: It’s only as real you make it. Something that grandpa Leroy always used to tell her when she let others make her feel inferior, and the something that got her into the garage some nine months ago into fixing the watch and later restoring it.

She put a comforting hand on Wallace’s shoulder, “It can’t even tell time properly with how it was designed.” 

And Maureen was correct, the clock had hands, however not the standard number system. The clock had roman numerals, but it also had a second system under. It was compass-like with engraved circles and dots, but everything was written in a language that vaguely looked like English. Wallace couldn’t figure out what type of manufacturer would make clocks this confusing, or why her grandfather would ever have it in his possession, all she knew was that the compass contraption was supposed to move most likely in synchronicity with the clock above.

Wallace craned her neck around to meet her mother's eyes, "Is that all?" Quite frankly she was beginning to get a little bit antsy in her mom's close proximity to her. There was always something about being in her presence for a set amount of time that unnerved her.

Another stood there from your seconds contemplating what was wrong with Wallace, she was usually irritable yes. But nothing to level like she is at the moment. Choosing to talk about this another day her mother left the scene to go get ready for bed.

Wallace's figure visibly relaxed as she heard from others retreating but steps. 

‘Finally’, she thought. ‘I can have some peace and quiet to actually work on this thing.’

And that's how the rest of the week went. Wallace would at times take impromptu trip to the junkyard come back home to her garage and work on her grandfather's pocket watch. Then her mom will come looking for her ask her usual suspect questions of whether she ate or not and drank water then would be on her merry way. 

That was until Tuesday evening when a bright pink Chevrolet rolled up in front of the house with bags threatening to fall out the back seats, all driven by a woman with large boho sunglasses and a tightly braided bun. Wallace stared at her from her seat on the couch in the living room with her nearly finished bowl of cereal. Her mother had left three hours before her aunt’s arrival, she knew that she’d be staying for the majority of the summer, but it looked like aunt Leila packed enough for two summers.

When Leila stepped out of her car right into a ray of light Wallace didn’t know what was more blinding: the way her aunt’s skin glowed or the diamond rings that casted a disco reflection. Wallace let Leila in and automatically she shoved her mini handbag into Wallace’s arms.

“Hello, Wally! How’s my favorite niece?” She gave Wallace a toothy grin and walked herself into the kitchen, without waiting for a reply she added, “Be a doll and help get my bags from out the car will you? Thanks.”

Wallace grimaced. Out of all the people, it had to be her. Begrudgingly she went back outside and lugged her aunt’s luggage into the house making sure to drag it someway into the entrance. Wallace entered the kitchen to find her aunt was making herself quite “at home” by treating herself to a slice of cheesecake with a side of strawberry ice cream. 

Mid bite her aunt muffled, “Did yuh geh uem?”

Wallace nodded, “I’ll be in the garage if you need me,” and made a b-line for the garage in back but her aunt was quicker.

“Hold on there, Wally.” 

She paused halfway out the door.

“Where does your mom keep her Rosé?”

“Bottom draw to your left,” and with that she was gone.

For the past week Wallace had been making staggering advancements in getting the old watch to work. Once she troubleshooted some issues with the gears, re-oiled it, and gave it a new shine it was almost working at full capacity. The only problem was getting the button on top the watch to press down to be able to open the glass screen. She had been fussing over it for hours, not wanting to use too much applied force and end up breaking the piece. 

The sun was just beginning to set over the horizon when the watch in question she had been fingering nearly fell, in quick action Wallace caught her grandfather’s watch in an awkward angle where her thumb pushed the button around that elicited a ‘click’. Astoundingly looking at how easy Wallace’s predicament was solved she pressed the top of the watch hoping to open the screen protector. But that never happened, nothing happened for the first few seconds until everything in Wallace’s vicinity began to occur in slow motion. The kid who was going at a moderate speed down the cul-de-sac was now at a turtle's pace.

Wallace’s honey eyes widened. She felt as if her body was vibrating and her brain rattling. Not physically of course, but internally or metaphysically. The world around her began to flow first slowly then all at once, it became a blue of bright colors. Purples, reds, pinks, greens, and yellows swirled around her as if she were in a cocoon of ribbons. She tightly closed her eyes, looking at all of it made her knees buckle and heart race, ‘What the hell?’

At last the spinning sensation stopped and she opened her eyes, however she swiftly closed them again due to the powerful rays of the sun. Raising her hand for some protection against it she took a view of her surroundings.

‘What.. the fuck?’

She was confused, as would be any teenager who was at one second in her garage then in another in a field crowded with tall grass and vibrant flowers. In the distance she heard a clanking noise. Turning around, Wallace noticed a herd of cattle freely grazing and near that was a farm. And a farm always meant people. Giving the field one last tired look Wallace began her trek towards the farm, but not before pulling out her phone to check the date and time. It seemed like it was still Tuesday and about 4:53 in the evening, she unlocked her phone to see if she could get any signal, but the page was taking a while to load.

Looking over at the barn as she got closer Wallace noticed how old school and run down it looked, in a few years it would be down for sure.

“Hello?” Wallace shouted.

“Helloooooo…”

She creaked open the barn door slightly to see nothing but stacks of hay and the putrid scent of manure to greet her nostrils. Scrunching up her nose she let herself in and took a look around. It was out of place for Wallace to see a farm, but no tractor or electric plow of some sort. There wasn’t even a grain silo or a water mill.

‘Maybe I’m in the Amish country… But that wouldn’t explain how I left my garage without physically moving…’

Wallace was halfway through the farm until her ears picked up a shuffling noise, abruptly stopping she turned her head towards the disturbance. 

She cautiously called out again, “Hello? I heard that you know…” She pushed her glasses up her sweaty nose, “Anyone there?”

CLANK. CLANK. SHUFFLE.

Her head turned sharply to the side, there it was again… Looking down she saw a decent sized rock picking it up Wallace aimed it at the large stack of hay near of the walls. The rock went straight through the hay, but out came a small scream and a loud thud. A tall figure emerged from the hay speaking in a rapid language that Wallace was in no way mentally ready to process.

‘What’s the universal sign for stop?’ Wallace shushed the figure, which was male with shoulder length curly hair and broad shoulders. She held out her hands in a ‘no harm’ manner to try and calm whoever it was down.

On the other end of the stick, the man was breathing heavily with a sweat soaked shirt covered in dirt and paint.

“N- non volevo sp- spaventarti. Cosa stai facendo qui, eh?” They boy stuttered out. He was staring at his feet then slowly looked up, and his face went pale. “Chi diavolo sei?” His eyes gauged at her like he had never seen a gir－ no a lady such as the one stand before him. He took in her clothing, she was wearing trousers which was anything unlike her ever saw. And they were tight. They made a splash of color recover onto his cheeks. Her hair was long and curly, but they look like impossibly thick strings of pasta coiling down her face. But her skin, that was the most starting things about her. He had seen paintings of angels rendered with pale as snow skin and golden hair colored hair, but the lady before him pushed that all out of the water. She stool clad in sepia skin that glistened with sweat from the walk she had to take from the field. The boy was at a lost for words, here stood an imitation of an angel that embodied the brown sepia tones of the earth all around her and was a reflection of gold itself while in the light.

Wallace stepped a bit closer, she sported a dirty look on her face. The man in front of her stared as if he had never seen a person with brown skin before. Let it be known though she may have scared him she wouldn’t mind knocking out his teeth with her foot it need be. Setting those thoughts aside she came to a conclusion:

“Hello, can you understand me?” If she heard what she thought she thought was Italian, then it’d solve one mystery. 

“Sì.” Bingo, Italian just as she thought, though it was more… archaic than she remembered.

“Where am I?”

“M-Milan Italia, on the countryside... Who are you lady?”

‘Italy, huh? Not possible’, but she dismissed it nonetheless. “My name is Wallace, Wallace Nohlwazi. And who are you?” ‘At least I know that Italian soap opera shows on Netflix are doing their job.’

The boy let out an anxiously laugh and relaxed a bit, “My name is－” 

He was cut off as a steel rod suddenly propelled out the stack of hay, promptly knocking it down. In the moment you don’t know what moved faster, the stranger that tackled you out the way or the steel rod that embedded itself deeply into the way behind you.

The boy was deceptively heavy on top of you, but didn’t take to notice, “My name is Leonardo, Leonardo da Vinci.” Your eyes widened… then you began to laugh leaving a confused yet concerned face on the boy dubbed the Leonardo da Vinci.

“You have to be joking… da Vinci? Pfft.” You continued your laughter, “Is your name really Leonardo da Vinci? The painter?”

Leonardo gave you a careful sideways smile, “... Yes miss…”

The laughing wasn’t completely out of your system until you noticed the hunk of metal that behind the hay, Leonardo noticed your eyes zeroing in on something behind him. Once he noticed what it was he began panicking and speaking in rapid Italian. There were scraps of metal melded into a large watch connected to gold coins and what looked like to be a handmade wire lifted up into the sky, the gadget wouldn’t be as astounding if it weren’t for the fact that it was vibrating creating a noticeable ‘hum’ that was yet present.

“Oh dear, you shouldn't have seen that... did del Verrocchio send you?” The tall man squabbled on.

The ping of your phone alerted you, ignoring the Italian painter going mad, you reached into you back pocket and unlocked the screen. There, in bold lettering stood a wifi connection that should not be possible in the 1400’s.

CONNECT: IϽNIΛ ∀ᗡ

Taking a moment to tune out the yelling da Vinci, you came to the only possible line appropriate for the situation at hand.

“Absolutely not.”

“－he usually sends one of his men to check up on m－”

Wallace refused to believe that she had somehow got transported into the mid-1400s in Italy, and had met the Leonardo DaVinci. The future, or rather past famous artist and inventor. The whole ordeal seem preposterous to Wallace, at least that's what she wanted to believe. It was a single question of how she got there… grandfather Leroy. Wallace quickly dug into her inner jacket pocket and pulled out the pocket watch. She stared at it critically oh, how could this thing send her miles away from her home and hundreds of years before her time on Earth? But most of all how did her grandfather get his hands on this?

“－just so I’ll abandon my ideas… my greatess works－”

Wallace's mind began to buzz with many theories and accusations of how her grandfather got this watch and how it could possibly work. But, for those hypotheticals it would mean a lifetime of advanced mathematics and science, not to mention quantum mechanics. The bending of time calculated with the speed and bending of light and all acting upon the Earth’s laws of physics? It would have taken over a hundred lifetimes to figure that out even with the most brilliant of minds. At least Wallace thought so.

Suppressing her anxiety and fear, Wallace willed her mind to be still and focused. If it was the watch that got hurt here, then maybe it could take her back. With the shaky hand she pressed her thumb down on the button of the watch and waited... and waited some more... and a couple of more seconds until she realized that nothing, absolutely nothing would happen. Had the watch broken again? Internally this was not sitting well with Wallace's gut.

"－and the Church, Christ almighty…"

"Hey… he－HEY!" She tried to get the attention of Leonardo as he was in a moment of an existential crisis. 'Man, does he talk a lot.' She had to find topic that would catch the young inventors attention, that's a pretty neat electrical resonant transformer circuit you've made…" She saw his form stiffen, "Tell me Leonardo, how long did it take you to invent this circuit that produces high-voltage, low-current, high frequency alternating-current electricity? The Church must be furious…"

Leonardo turn back to face Wallace, for a second his face was serious and calculating her choosing his next words carefully, "You know of science? So I am understanding that you are not one of del  Verrocchio men, er women." He visibly relaxed at the conclusion, "And yes it is a circuit that produces alternating-current electricity. It took years to make… But what would you know of any of this?"

Leonardo' s question hung in the air and Wallace wasn't sure if he was asking because he was just curious, or if she was just a girl or even possibly both. Wallace Wade the pros and cons of her next actions. She also replayed every time travel movie that she had ever seen: Back to the Future, Hot Tub Time Machine, Men in Black, and Meet the Robinsons. Granted Meet the Robinsons didn't have the main character travels back into the past, but into the future, however, it was still one of Wallace's favorite films next to Mulan in the Disney category. Wallace telling Leonardo small increments of the future well in the past could have a large effect on the future and her would be present. But, if she wanted to get her whole watch situation figured out and fixed and on her way home as soon as possible. She hoped her judgment on his character was good enough.

"Do you have a private place to talk?"

It turns out that the young da Vinci lived and a farmhouse a little ways away from the barn. According to Leonardo he was doing an understudy, or an apprenticeship under Andrea del Verrocchio who was a Florentine painter. The farmhouse on the countryside was a modest size, yet dull and decoration and color. However it was stuck to the brim with finish portraits, sculptures and other types of art. When Leonardo and Wallace arrived at the house, Wallace found it odd that Leonardo's teacher was present. Leonardo explained that Verrocchio would take impromptu trips into the city to talk to our clients and leave him to his own devices, expecting him to paint and do nothing more. Accepting his answer, they both took seats in the living room on some slightly torn cushioned chairs; Wallace began her story. She told him of the watch, it's configurations, her origins etc, but she was careful not to mention how he would soon become famous in the future.

She talked for hours going into detail into each and every action and explanation she could think of how she got here. Wallace hope that she wasn't losing Leonardo, but by the looks of his face he was hanging on to her every word. Leonardo's face looks spaced out the still focused, his body subconsciously lean towards Wallace's over the table as he had his head leading on his hand for support. By the end of the story she was desperately out of breath.

“And that’s how I got here,” she panted and pushed her locs off her face, “Diagnosis?”

He scanned her with his eyes more a moment, “You are not crazy, at least I am fairy sure of it… You mentioned this watch, may I see it?”

She stared him down, if she wanted to get back to her time. She reached into her pocket and pulled it out, Leonardo gently took it from her hands and examined it. Expertly moving his fingers around each curve and edge of the timepiece he pressed the top button of the watch before Wallace could warn him. As before, nothing happened, time didn’t slow down and the physical world didn’t dissipate.

Humming to himself, he pried open the watch to show the compass like map on the second interface of the pocket watch. ‘Latin,’ he thought ot himself thankful he had been forced to learn the language as a child. The more that he stared at the compass the more it began to make sense. He suddenly got up from his chair that startled Wallace.

“Follow me,” he mumbled going through the maze that was called a house. Soon they both stood upon a large door made of oak, pulling out a key from one of his pockets Leonardo unlocked the door, and held it open for Wallace motioning for her to enter.

“Thanks,” Leonardo nodded. Stepping in Wallace marveled at the chaos that was the mystery room. It was filled with misplaced papers written in Italian and some Latin with designs on it, she noticed one in particular as the flying machine. If anything Wallace realized how history down played Leonardo da Vinci, to her his mind seemed like a real time working machine from the future trapped in the body of the past. Wallace gravitated to Leonardo who was standing in from of a large atlas map, she tried to piece together what she saw to no avail.

He concluded, “It’s a constellation map.” And then quickly moved on to another wall full equation scratched out and rewritten in ink, eyes quickly going over every possible formula.

Wallace moved closer to the Italian, “Ok, and what about it?”

“Your Nonno, I mean grandfather had this as a placement for time. The way that you position the circle and ledger help pinpoint where on Earth you want to be and at what time of day,” he patiently explained inhaling her scent of vanilla and fresh cotton, “And the clock is for what year you wish to be sent you whether past or present.”

Wallace was slowly connecting the dots, “So, the reason why it didn’t work when you pressed the button was because it was already set to a time and place I’m at?”

He nodded, “If you know your direct coordinates I can set it back to your home in America.”

Without missing a beat, “39° 57' 9.2988'' N and 75° 9' 54.7992'' W.” It was the IP address ingrained in her memory if she ever needed. Leonardo took the number and manually set the compass into its coordinates and it was done, he handed her back the clock.

“That is all, you are welcome to go back home.”

Wallace idly looked at the watch in her hands, then back at Leonardo. In a flash she was giving him a spine breaking hug as thanks, “I am so happy I got stuck in the mid-1400’s with one of the brightest minds.” Leonardo’s body was stiff upon receiving the hug, but slowly relaxed and gave her an awkward pat on the back.

“No problem Wallace, you were not meant to be here anyway.”

She broke the hug, “I guess you’re right,” there was a ghost smile on her face, “I guess I’ll see you later?” 

He chuckled, he’d be long gone by then but he’s miss his short term acquaintance. 

“I guess you will.”

And with a literal flash she was gone from his eyes. Leonardo sat back in his chair with a huff, he needed a drink. A pretty girl who just materialized out his vision, and an insanely logical story all within one day was too much for his mind. He moved himself upstairs to his dainty room full of paint and a bottle of liquor on his painting table. He sat himself down a and took a swig trying to calm his nerves, if that was a warning from God Himself to stop messing with the universe via his inventions then he was surely listening in. Taking the pencil that was settled atop his desk he began drawing random figures among the page.

The day he had, and the person he met were both highly… remarkable, but worrisome at most. For now he knew that science was by no means a myth, but a working subject matter that could bend the will of time and space. Also meaning that his theories on time travel had to be revamped. Putting the bottle down from his lips he pulled down a design for a similar watch that Wallace had, however it was bigger in stature and made to look like a sundial. There were too many synchronicities to his liking, he glanced down back at his hand.

There stood among the small sketches of ravens, hummingbirds, and trees a mini shoulder length portrait of Wallace. ‘The imitation angel,’ he thought to himself. Leonardo leaned back into his chair and blankly stared up at his cracked ceiling, a plethora of thoughts roamed his mind, but he couldn’t help think about crossing paths with Wallace again. Her knowledge and what she could teach him on his bulky electric conductor, deep down he knew that meeting her wasn’t a coincidence. He didn't believe in coincidences. But also also didn’t believe in seeing her again, his eyes glanced at the canisters of paint that littered his other desk, physically that is.

Wallace’s feet met solid ground, then her knees buckled beneath her. Not willing to take any chances, she dug for her phone to see the times as 7:32 in the evening just about the time she had left. She sighed in contentment, she was finally home, but something deep within her told her it was far from over. Whatever this was.

She stared at the pocket watch in her hand. ‘This thing is dangerous and by no means a toy… I don’t know how grandpa Leroy got his hands on it or why he didn’t break it earlier. It would be best for me to destroy it.’ Wallace weighed her options, the watch could bend time and potentially cause some type of world ending danger. Her thoughts were briefly interrupted by her aunt’s loud talking.

“Girl, she got me up her in the suburbs watching her child… I know, I know she a whole doctor she coulda hired a nanny. Best thing is I get to live lavish for the summer while my man traveli－Sis, I told you he gon visit me whenever his lil’ business trip done with, I’m sure my sister won’t mind the extra body.”

Wallace’s body visually shivered, ‘Leila’ she thought in disgust. She turned to the open garage door and admired the soft wind flowing in and the cotton candy and mango colored skies above her. She wasn’t scheduled for anything big this summer, her plans for NASA were in the trash, quite literally. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breathe, ‘I should really destroy this thing,’ she clenched the watch in her hand, ‘But, then again… it is “act out season” for a reason…’ Opening her eyes she stared down at the watch.

She looked at her horizon one more time and watched as the clouds moved impossible slow out of frame and dissipate into strikingly bold colors that put Wallace mind into a frenzy. And soon enough Wallace disappeared from her place in the garage, going with only one thing in mind.

‘Maybe Leonardo might need a muse.’ 

[theskyexists]

watching bladerunner 2049

great environmentally destroyed earth there

i believe that the blatant humanity of AI in this film - as well as their blatant ability to love and feel empathy (a huge divergence from the book) while still being treated as inferior and disposable objects is a comment on how we do that to Other humans without blinking.

though also, they can project a hologram, then solidify the hologram - but they can’t clean up the damn atmosphere? like really. I guess that can only be explained by an elite trying to stay on top by keeping capital firmly in their own hands. i was looking at those solar farms and just going....how is that bringing in any energy in this dust?

also the problem i have with Ryan Gosling as this lead dude who’s in love with his adjustable AI hologram is that i never buy him as capable of love in that way. ever. at all. (so possibly it’s the right choice? anyway this whole thing is creepy)

yeah it’s supposed to be like: lol this was just a fantasy

‘a sentimental skin job’ - evidence of funerary practice, of altruistic behaviour (of grief, of empathy?) he says sorry even though by society’s standards the robot’s owed no courtesy? then he thinks the dude ate the baby - like thats not more insulting

so what separates robots from humans is not - eating food, drinking liquor, getting hurt, feeling empathy - but the ability to reproduce??? (but doesnt he need to sleep?)

the argument really is that being born = having a soul? lol thats a crazy wall to build a society on but there’s been stupider and more arbitrary ones. again, maybe that’s the point

a LOT of product placement in this.

it keeps to the same formula though. an investigator who is forced to forego his own empathy to ‘do the job’. Meeting with the local robot company, meeting the secretary in charge made to appeal. etc. etc. i think that’s pretty cool.

this building is very pharaoic. great set

eyyy a reference to the book. a lil origami sheep (got what he wanted)

im getting the impression from this film that ‘androids’ haven’t got a metal thing in their body and they’re just clones. which honestly i also got that sense from the book so that makes sense

ah so the android was based on himself (he looks ryan gosling like? or can i not distinguish white guys?). and this one is based on the K’s configuration of Joi.

Naturally the android to be ‘inspected’ is a woman who gets to be naked and weak and shit.

‘Every leap of civilisation was built off the back of a disposable workforce’ - great. (the film does a good job being like: hm yeah but the world is shit now so how is that leap so super ?)

Yikes i mean uh i know it’s like a commentary on disposable bodies and people as chattel and women as ‘reproducers’ but they’re portraying him and all his  fuckin self-important self-righteous power-hungry megalomaniac rich bitch speeches as a fuckin sermon worth listening to

and if they don’t take him down in this film i will be mad.

and also i wanted to stab his eyes out the moment he put his hand on her belly but unfortunately i get the sense he’s going to stab HER

but well they’re still sticking with the book formula which is still clever, the Investigator being in love with some AI and then having to kill the android that looks just like her because the company doesn’t keep to the law and shit

- i hope they push just a lil bit different since they’ve clearly established the main premise of the book is the opposite in this film - androids DO have empathy, they DO dream of electric sheep (in this case, electric Joi)

I sure hope ‘Luv’ gets to murder Wallace for what he does to this baby android.

I know he’s a rapist capitalist sadist god complex creepbitch but goddamn i sure hope that the movie MEANT for that reading or i will be mad.

he literally did nothing but creep on a CHILD android and then murder her FOR NOTHING. wow. i’ve never wanted androids to take over and kill a human so badly before. This sure is the opposite of Terminator.

i liked mackenzie davis’ performance here.

‘am i the only one who can see the fuckin sunrise, here?’ uhhhh why are you shouting at the android? like, where the fuck are your human officers and bosses? i love how apparently a police boss can just drink on the job? bc sci fi noir. not that ryan gosling manages that. i JUST noticed that she has bare legs, and now they cut to putting them on display. this is going to end badly (im feeling like there’s going to be some sort of sexual power abuse. edit: she was testing his humanity and he deliberately failed teh test to stop her interest in him)

why the fuck would they implant that memory. (but he thinks that it might be real) (but then how would he have ended up there at the police station)

theres a lot of rain in this world

we now move onto the marginal humans that live in the waste, discarded. and how they destroyed without blinking by a marginal android operating on the orders of the richest man alive.

i have to say that watching this movie makes me so happy about trees and blue skies

the marginal children - processing the waste - sick, abused, enslaved.... here all white...supervisor...black. interesting choice. (all this suffering for ‘civilisation’ - the nickel for the colony ships - this is a lot more spicy than the book - a lot more realistic about who suffers and dies for that kind of thing)

starts to seem like he really is the kid - these ‘orphanage’ stairs look a lot like that memory

Gosling is great for this role bc he doesn’t really have to move his face. but god the pace of this film is so SLOW! had to skip a bit of his slow shuffle to the horse man. ‘ohhh i was a real child, from loving parents, oh no i killed my dad! after killing my mum through childbirth! fuck! im the child that im hunting! oh shit! hey i have a soul!’

you’re special because actually you had agency all along and you’ve been using it to murder people wink

i dont understand the AI bit in this. don’t understand why they would hide him with so much care that he’d know nothing about who he was and kill his dad. like. surely that wasn’t the idea. also if the AI is Wallace’s why can’t Luv hack it. also i really kind of dislike her male fantasy self.

I like this Doctor. she is very very sweet and lovely. i dont really know why nobody would come visit her.

so we can read memories, implant memories, project memories not photo realistically ACTUALLY realistically, we can construct memories from the imagination but we can’t -  i repeat - we can’t clean the damn atmosphere?? i mean yes yes yes this is... a perfect example of how capitalism will not necessarily put money into tech that is you know - a good idea for us all collectively but rather into something that can be sold but god DAMN

manipulation eyyyy. already exercising his freedom of mind

really. an android selling sex to an android??? what the fuck lol. it’s a clone implanted with fake memories selling sex to a clone. yeah yeah yeah society has deemed them inhuman purely because they were built but THE POINT IS THEY are human in literally every other sense and controls them through law and brain make-up and then eliminating everybody who grows their brains from baseline? (why are they even paid?? is that supposed to be pavlovian?)

i really don’t understand what this AI is about. i just can’t get over that this really doesn’t seem like a love story

he almost died and then this AI springs sex on him lol. i really. i just really don’t care for this story and that’s possibly because Ryan Gosling is just so fuckin bad at selling any kind of love story like his eyes are always SO DEAD

oh my god im only halfway. oh my god. THIS FILM IS ALMOST THREE HOURS LONG. jfc

this is such an extremely male fantasy it bores me to death. im  a dude who’s badass, powerful, controlled, SPECIAL, also told im special by my very humany AI gf who i installed exactly to my tastes, she desperately wants to have sex with me FOR ME because im just so cool and wonderful despite being so tortured and possessing eyes like a dead fish. 

let’s spend 20 mins on undressing another two women in this film as we, the viewers, and i, the male protagonist just stand and watch. let’s re-emphasise how she’s just a self-learning ai

there’s light? warm light?

and then they have the women fight each other ? cool cool cool. im not saying it’s not realistic, im just saying it’s boring. i thought Mackenzi was going to proposition K for the resistance

still not sure why Luv hasn’t hacked her already. first time the romance feels slightly real

I guess Luv is indoctrinated. i still like police boss don’t hurt her. i mean obv she’s terrible but so is everybody else. she cried...again. so she kills from anger - not because she had to. she kills her the same way Wallace killed the android. i’d love to read a lil analysis about this. later. women-on-women violence

oh she really DID know where he was but kept it from Luv. why? was she willing to die for him? no. her dignity? maybe. The women in this are mysteries. also why is he still allowed to use the car and drone when he’s suspended. that’s pretty fuckin stupid.

hmm giant statues of naked women WITH heels on posed sexily and unthreateningly. im just saying. this is all super psychoanalysis galaxy brain.

gasp there is a real live bee. thats a book call back

and a classic perfectly intact building

HALF OF THIS FILM IS JUST RYAN GOSLING SHUFFLING THROUGH STRIKING LANDSCAPES AND SETS FROWNING JUST SLIGHTLY

it’s got the opposite problem of the book: it is SLOW AS FUCK

how does he know what a piano is

wow K’s really good at de-escalating. why not just be honest. so he got shot, blown up and then? still fine walking. lol they just gotta show off that he’s still a bladerunner! (where the fuck did that name come from...)

here you’re bleeding in your face. ok? he’s also bleeding from the shotwound maybe? that was definitely implied that he got shot.

and K’s also really bad at asking questions lol. thats because all he ever did was shoot people. anyway this is boring again, these two fighting about nothing - some kind of testerony bullshit about zero stakes - but apparently just screaming at the man will help

also im not sure why he assumed Deckard was the father.

harrison ford delivered that well.

‘to strangers’ i fuckin hate ryan gosling i don’t know if its because hes a bad actor or because his interpretation is so shit

so Deckard left, Rachel died in childbirth (really? lol. god do i want to fuckin consume a woman’s story about goddamn dying in childbirth) and Sapper left him at the orphanage? but how the fuck did he then get slotted into police service all official like??? doesnt make sense except Mackenzie’s network’s got something to do with it

ok so it was implied but now confirmed taht androids come with enhancements

oh nooooo she kills his love :( awww. i can’t feel for him at all lol

but she almost kills the kid she so badly wanted to find

i wonder why she’s so sadistic. probably because she learned from wallace. but all the womb - woman - beautifying - controlled by man - in fear of him - in thrall of him - killing other women again and again sadistically while killing men coldly is uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

i just dont care for it you know

also this AI woman turned out to have NO role in the movie except to lavish attention on this dude (make him seem capable of love except ryan gosling can’t move his face) and then be fridged lol

so why does she let him live? fuckin bullshit

look, i like the aesthetic and the world but god the director is wayy too in love with it - SPEED THIS SHIT UP

so actually - if Rachel died in childbirth how is she holding the baby in the pic

“That baby meant that we are more than just slaves”

This could be really cool - like - taking back the means of reproduction!!! This is how we will become a PEOPLE. Freedom through female fertility as a symbol. But because uhhhhh this is all a Male Fantasy it feels decidedly icky and not like that at all. Like, why did they make the kid male? That...makes no sense? if Rachel was the only one who could bear children bc of her ...genes? Why the fuck would you centre the story on somebody who cannot take up that legacy, cannot be that symbol? It’s totally weird

OHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OH!!!!! ok lol.

he thought he was the kid but the girl is....but uh then why was there an exact copy. as a red herring? THEN HOW DID HE GET from the orphanage to the fuckin police???

Is Luv supposed to be the girl though? because they keep killing all the female characters so it’s like, uhuh. it’s not mackenzie bc like thatd be silly huh. i mean it would be stupid but they could pull that

if they think he can get at deckard, why not get him to shoot wallace

how did he get a fuckin police car lololololol

ah these super high tech hoovercars have zero defenses against ???  what is he even shooting at them?

Luv’s actress does something very interesting to her voice when she gets emotional or shouts orders - kind of monstrous and inhuman

well he certainly hit them perfectly

WHERE DID HE GET THE POLICE CAR?

“I’m the best one” yeah - i.e. so I cannot be killed by my master as he’s made me do to so many

why do they always INSIST on men killing women by choke. don’t be so fucking stupid. if she can push his head under water she can punch his lights out. SHE LITERALLY JUST HAD A KNIFE - SHE COULD HAVE STABBED HIM IN THE EYE

why would she waste air grunting. she doesn’t even fake him out. i know they’re human so thats counter-instinctual but like, she’s supposed to be an incredible fighter. it’s the same thing with how they have her do all these kicks and he stays standing because women = agility, men = endurance, and then he punches her once and she goes flying. THEY”RE ANDROIDS HARRY. WHY WOULD YOU BUILD GENDER BULLSHIT IN???

so how many women did we see die extremely explicitly and/or aesthetically and/or plot/significantly so far? raechal (childbirth), the android baby (one cut to the womb), the police boss (one cut to the womb), AI girl (one crunch), Luv (one shot and one strangle-drown).

Ryan Gosling can get shot, blown up, killer punched 7 times, get blown up again, have his lung get perforated by schrapnel, be kicked to shit 5 times. he gets a bandage on his nose and takes it off again so thats a total reset apparently. He’s then shot again, kicked to shit again, sliced in the hand, stabbed in a place thats clearly deadly, half drowned - and he STILL KILLS THIS ANDROID WOMAN. HE STILL KILLS THE BEST WALLACE HAS EVER MADE.

WHAT?!!??!?!!

the men get shot from a distance, bombed from a distance, shot from a distance.

im sorry but this sucks.

and then ryan gosling swims all the way to land.

lol why does this script try to convince me that in this advanced fuckin tech society they wouldn’t be able to check for Deckard’s body??? and then he brings him to a place that’s monitored??

oh right the Doctor was the daughter. so.....they lied about her auto-immune disease? she knew that she had given him her memory? why did they do that? im still not clear on that???

how tf and whytf would they send the girl to the orphanage and let her get beat up by some boys, and only then send her to some perfect chamber

ryan gosling always plays such emotionally constipated characters - they never wanna have anything good

THAT’S IT!?!! they’re not going to explain shit?? they’re implying K just died?? leaving Deckard to get picked up by police and Wallace to find the Doctor and and THEY DIDN’T EVEN KILL CREEP EXTROARDINAIRE FUCKING WALLACE???

All they did was kill the abused slave by fucking choke?????

[houseofjoduk-blog]

Male Mental Health

"Would you miss me if I was gone tomorrow?"

That is a question many men in the United Kingdom are asking themselves this very moment. The biggest killer of adult males aged 50 and below is suicide. That upper age has increased from 40 to 50 over the past 5 years.

The question is simple...Why?

There seems to be...actually, forget that first bit. Let me start again.

THERE IS a long thought and expected way for adult males to act in British society as a whole. It is also a specific section of the adult male population as well. It has long been seen that straight white men are expected to be heads of the household, go out to work and provide for the family, and deal with all problems should they arise. They are also expected not to experience emotions as it is seen as a weakness. Add on to that the image projected on to all straight men of all skin colours and religions that they have to be strong and "man up" to all the bad in society.

This is not a blog making men out to be the vicitms. It is actually how things are in British society and how they have been for some time. Until recently, the only type of domestic violence was when a man beat his wife or girlfriend because society had this stereotype that women were weak and merely servant baby makers to the odious dominating man in the relationship. Think of the images portrayed in the recent TV Series "The Handmaid's Tale" and apparently to many people, that is what most men are like. Bastards. Evil. Violent misogynists.

But, in reality, there are many women out there who regularly beat and control their boyfriends and husbands. But due to the societal image of men having to be strong and domineering, so many men suffer in silence.

Yes, there are many women who have suffered in silence for decades and decades. But there have also been, and continue to be, many men who suffer in silence at the violent hands of women.

There has to be a change or the suicide rate amongst men in the United Kingdom will continue to climb year on year. Moment on moment.

There was a documentary on TV recently called "Stopping Male Suicide" and was presented by the long running BBC Horizon series. From the outside many people were shocked if you took 10 minutes to pop onto Twitter for starters. Eyes were opened. But that is simply one programme and there needs to be more. I see article after article, news piece after news piece, magazine feature after magazine feature and it focuses on either women or the males within the LGBT community.

I singled out the LGBT male community for the reason I know many will bring up about the suicide rate within the community due to hate crimes. These are regularly highlighted in the news and media in general. There is an official community so people can support each other. And rightly so.

I also singled out women for similar reasons. Again, there are many communities within the sisterhood. If we look at the hijacked #MeToo movement where the founder has commented how it has changed beyond recognition from how it started. I recently asked the #MeToo movement directly why they seemingly ignored Men in similar situations to women that they are seeking to highlight. I did not get a reply, but others asked the question and eventually the founder of #MeToo had to put out a statement when one of the female celebrity supporters of #MeToo (I use the word celebrity with tongue in cheek there as all actresses and actors and musicians etc are, are people having a career in the spotlight and being paid a lot of money for it. They are not idols. Not brilliant people. Look to the wonderful NHS Doctors and Nurses, the Police and Fire Brigade who put their lives on the line for us, the military who give their lives to protect us.) was accused of grooming and sexually abusing (technically rape under US law) an under age male actor. The founder said that #MeToo was there for males and females.

But it was a hollow statement.

Someone started a #MenToo hashtag, but Twitter ignored it and never gave it a little icon like the #MeToo hashtag has.

You see, that is the big problem that exists in British society (and American society), the straight man is seen as the big bad wolf. Every one of us. If you are a straight white adult male then it is even worse when you add in the #BlackLivesMatter community cause.

I have zero issues with people standing up for their beliefs. It is what I am doing right now. But what I have a problem with sections of society tarring other entire sections of society with the same brush instead of pointing out that not all men are bastards, not all women use men for their own benefit and then dispose of them when they become bored, that not all straight men see women as sex objects or not all black youths are going to rob you. There are many misconceptions in society that divide us when they should not.

So, where is this blog going?

Mental Health in adult males directly connected to male suicide.

That is where.

I am fast approaching 50 years old and it took me being tortured and raped in 2006 (12 year anniversary at 6.30pm on December 5th 2018 - not that I am counting...honest) to start asking questions of my mental health. The past 12 years have been a rollercoaster as the NHS has consistantly failed the mental health sector ever since it was created in the 1940s. Not one single government. Not one single political party. Not one single politician has taken the mental health sector seriously.

There is an advert backed by Lloyds Bank where people have post it notes on their foreheads which is a great to highlight how people worry how others will see them. And tonight (Friday 30/11/18) I am watching "I'm A Celebrity" with another incident where Anne Hegerty (The Governess on The Chase) backed out of a trial. Now, throughout the show so far there has been a combination of love and hate towards her. Those with compassion recognise that as someone who battles Aspergers she has gone into the jungle to challenge herself and raise awareness of Aspergers/Autism. Yes, she is being pad for it, but if you speak to people who deal with autism/aspergers you will see that Anne is typical of someone dealing with the condition on a daily basis. It is called sensory overload. There is no cure. You manage it. I see many traits of Aspergers in myself. Another one is no filter and that is evident from Anne in some of her responses. I do the same.

But people who choose to not understand it, or even ask questions about it, will always be out there and always sit behind a keyboard and slag off people who battle challenges on a daily basis. They simply cannot fathom how people with mental health challenges face each day. They see life with a clear mind and as soon as they are feeling a bit down or having a bad day at work, they say "I am so depressed"...NO YOU ARE NOT DEPRESSED as you are simply feeling a bit down because maybe your boss at work is making you do some work for once, or you have broken up with your boyfriend/girlfriend. It is not being depressed. Trust me on this one, if you were suffering from depression you would know it in a heart beat.

As you can see, this blog is going on a bit, but it needs to. This is just the start. There is so much to talk about as people need to wake up and see life is not a bed of roses. Most people who genuinely suffer from a mental health condition do not want your symptathy or special treatment. They just want people to recognise that they have some extra hurdles to navigate and not to judge them as inferior or wastes of space.

As the song lyrics from Rag N Bone Man's "Human" goes...

"I'm only human, after all. Don't put your blame on me."

Now, I have covered just a small bit of the topic of mental health challenges for both males and females. But I have also pinpointed that for adult males it is genuinely harder in British society (just for starters). This is in no way meant to belittle young males and all females (of all ages) who battle mental health, but to speak out about a section of British society that is ignored in the main. Why? No one really knows for sure. No one can say it is due to any of the reasons I have said above, but there is so much evidence to say that the things I have mentioned ALL add up to why people like me have either considered or attempted to take their own life. To be pushed to that edge and see no other way out. People call those who go down the suicide route selfish. They put out there that they are leaving people behind who will be impacted by it.

But remember this. People who are considering taking their own lives see no other way to go but suicide. They feel that the world, their family and loved ones would be better off without them.

Consider having that thought even once. Just once. Scared yet? Think how it is for those who have those thoughts on a regular basis.

Life is not kind. It is not meant to be easy. But if you can carry out one act of kindness each day, then life would be so much easier. Whether it is holding open the door for someone, saying thank you to someone who has served you in a shop or using the word please when asking someone for something. The little things add up, and if you think it makes a difference to the people who live life with a clear head then think how much it means to those of us with those extra mental health challenges to deal with.

Be human. Be kind. Be understanding. Do your bit.

And one last thing. If you see a man crying then ask him if he is okay. You may just save a life. Us men are not all big bad wolves. Some of us are fragile and need a little bit of kindness. But we don't tell you because we are scared of rejection.

Thankyou for reading this blog. My first blog. It took months to get to this point.

One final question...

"Would you miss me if I was gone tomorrow?"

Simon x

[aimeesuzara]

How We Learn to Hate Our Skin or, a Late Blossom into Self-Love, When Growing up Brown in a World that Makes You Want to Be White (For A History of My Body Blog Series)

 In the summer of 2016, I arrived in Santiago de Cuba with a dance group, and the first thing we attended was a performance by Danza Del Caribe. There, in a dark theater, with very few people in attendance, emerged the lithe, dynamic dancers -- the music, driving and sensual, the bodies, athletic and slim —the dance, modern, though there was something distinct about the movement that was very Cuban, its expression, the undulations of their torsos and hips.  Soon, there was another dance featuring traditional drummers and singers and all in costumes, reenacting a fiesta in the streets, and now, I could see the Afro-Cuban roots, the movement beneath the movement.  The music and the dance immediately seized us, a welcome that was neither superficial nor subtle.  Outside in the night, we piled into cars where Jacob Forever's song "Hasta Que Se Seque el Malecon" blared, and I realized I was listening to this song for the first time in Cuba.  I realized: I am IN Cuba!  That I had taken Cuban dance, from folkloric to Cuban salsa, and had become nearly addicted to dancing casino to Salsa-Timba, needing to dance at least once, if not three times, a week, faithfully attending class at my gym taught by one of the leaders of this very trip -- had always seemed strange if I were never to come here. Of course, it was a privilege to travel, a privilege that is very “American.”

As a person whose culture has not quite suffered the amount of co-opting that other cultures have (what comes to mind is yoga-fied Indian, anime-ed Japanese, kitschy or cutesy Chinese, boy-band Korean, luau'd Hawaii, cigar-and-salsa Cuba – to name just a few)-- I always wonder, "when and if this happens to us, how will I feel?" for example, how would I feel if I went to a Filipino tribal dance class from, say, Mindanao, and all of the attendees were white?  Sure, they could learn the language and the gestures, but could this be right?  And what if the consumers of such traditions had never been interested in my country nor never attempted to know and understand and have true relationship with not only the symbols of, but the actual inhabitants or descendants of my islands? I always imagined entering a class like that and basically losing my mind, giving everyone a piece of my mind.  And yet I, too, have done my fair share of being fascinated by and borrowing and romanticizing cultures other than my own -- I am guilty of it, certainly -- I do not deny that living in India in college, studying Buddhism and Hinduism and an extended stay of 9 months,  then returning here to attending yoga classes where few if any people were actually Indian -- that I was participating in the consumption of culture.  I also do not claim that my fascination with Cuban culture, spirituality, history, are entirely devoid of romanticism, idealizing.  And yet, there is something here to consider.  I do not consider myself a part of the (at least racial) dominant class.  That I have grown up with economic comfort, an excellent education, and two parents who lived together and were committed, raising me with everything I needed -- that I grew up with at least some semblance of identity connected to a homeland -- I do not deny the privileges I have inherited.

But as I've gotten older, I realize that my suspicion that we were always second-class citizens in many peoples' eyes, in the system's eyes; that we are dispensable, as labor, as intelligence, as optional colors to throw into a melting pot that somehow was and should be neutral, in other words, white; that I have never nor ever will experience whatever it is to feel I was neutral or normal or the regular, that things were made and meant for me; though I strove for, and lived at times under the illusion that I could be, a part of it.  As a child, I wanted my mom to have m & m's and pizza and popcorn around like the other kids; not soy sauce, fish sauce, hot peppers and rice.  I wanted us to sit down to an “American” Thanksgiving Dinner, since that's what everyone else did.  This became instated, at my insistence at the age of eight or nine: we had turkey, canned cranberry sauce, powdered whipped potatoes.  I was content to be like the other kids, not realizing that what was being replaced was whatever Filipino we had left. For a mother who was not that into cooking, those small symbols were what we couuld and should hold onto.  My Dad's Adobo; my mom's pancit; the ginataan that I half-loved and half-was disgusted by; the odd sweets and bottles and jars filled with sugary beans and coconut jelly for making Halo-Halo.  Instead, I opted for the can-shaped gelatinous cranberry sauce, not knowing how easy it was to make fresh sauce from scratch; the microwaved dinners like Hungry Man's potatoes and gravy and meatloaf, also not realizing that these were the easiest foods to make from scratch; popcorn and eggs, likewise, easy to to make and inferior when made in our enormous microwave oven.  I fought hard to lose our culture in order to be  part of the crowd, only realizing later that I would never the part of the crowd.  I would always be different, exotic, cute.  I would always stand out, could not really hide behind my hair like I thought I could; wearing black as a teen probably made me stand out more; I could never be "goth" -- my melanin prevented this. 

The illusion of belonging to a dominant class was broken at moments of my parents being talked down to; or my mom being called "cute" --my lunchbox food called weird, and people fascinated by my hair and eyes.  At a point in fifth grade the adoration turned to a silent segregation, and I distinctly remember sitting, as though on a faraway island, looking at my increasingly distant best friend, freckles and blue eyes, and her other newer best friends, blond and red-haired, all pale like Strawberry Shortcake and Barbie and Madonna; all perfect American little girls, as they became a click and left me with Jasmine and Keisha, whom I liked and got along with but also resented because they reminded me of my darkness; somehow being with the two black girls made me feel that all together we were just this big blotch of ink; a shadow on the playground; invisible and disappearing while the rest of the world marched on. A child of ten does not invent such a feeling, and especially not in a small town like Pasco, given that race or racism was never directly talked about by my parents nor in school, that my friends were all oblivious to the subtle ways in which racism was being perpetuated and carried on by their parents.  I remember Luis and Juan and some sense about them being just weird or less-than; I remember Pedro who broke his arm doing antics on the slide; they were Mexican and were seen as the comic relief; they were the jokesters, the pranksters, and so they were loved.  But in a sort of adorable, little-brother way, not to be taken seriously, and certainly not to be the object of a crush.  There was my Indonesian friend, also adorable and smart but never to be the object of a crush; crushes would be reserved for the classically white-cute Jeff or John. (*all names have been changed)

I probably had picked up on or heard snippets of my fathers' frustration, when he was deflated or downright angry about the dynamics at the hospital.  It seemed that the Filipinos were helping the Filipinos but not enough (and what was it they need to help each other for, I wondered?) and the Indian doctors had to leave; and the white doctors all supported one other were not supporting him. We left the Tri-cities nearly losing everything, in debt and abandoning the beautiful house on the hill; I disappeared for years from the scene and moved like a nomad across the country five times before I was a sophomore in high school.

But that is another story.  Let's begin with the body here and see where it all changed.

In Houston, Texas, I learned, as abruptly as you could at the age of 11 in sixth grade, that yes, we were second class citizens, people who should go back "home" (and what home was that?) and who smelled (this being the Indian slur applied generically).  Or it was "ching chong" which really got me because immediately the sound summoned the most slanty-eyed cartoon I could imagine, someone who couldn't even see through the slits of their eyes; and I was proud to have large, almond eyes, eyes my father and others said were due to my Spanish ancestry.  Deer eyes, round eyes, eyes that were expressive.  And I loved to sing, and talk and dance, so how could anything be Ching Chong from my lips --what a bunch of gibberish; I knew nothing about Chinese culture, but I knew no one spoke like that.

I remember, too, that in Texas, my two best friends and I clung to one other, protecting one another from the harsh slurs and taunting and just plain stupidity of the typical hormonal 6th-grader.  We created a fortress by linking arms and always walked together in the narrow halls.  I remember being conscious of Shalini, our Indian third, being made fun of for her hairiness and/or her odor.  Grace was nearly perfect, I thought, but her being Vietnamese and me Filipina, still, we were Asian and this was something, apparently, bad.  Our biggest steretotype was perhaps to be too smart (how terrible). But this also had to go hand-in-hand with, or mean, not-attractive. God forbid you could be brown, smart and pretty at the same time; that idea was only a fantasy.

There is something that extends beyond the number of incidences that I may be able to name that were "racist" -- micro-aggressions, and simply systematic and historical realities that, once you are aware of them, you could not become unaware.  It was only much later, after college, that I became aware that we live in a society built upon slavery, and exploitation, and the murder of brown-skinned people who lived here before. Then I learned that in my islands there were indigenous people before came the Spaniards, and the Dutch, and the British, and the United States, before capitalism and westernized culture infected the minds and hearts and bodies; I learned that people in my islands wished to lighten their skin and go to great lengths to be light, to appear or be white, to speak white, to be Western, and to look down upon their own even before coming to the USA-- the exact process described by Fanon and Cesaire as internalized colonialism, internalized inferiority. I inherited the internalized inferiority complex: I wanted blond hair and blue eyes; I wanted a tall nose; I wanted to lose my melanin and tried to hide my shadow in the brightness of light-skinned people for much of my childhood and teenager-hood. I bought into believing my parents were less-than with their strong accents and "foreign” ways. If I did not -- how else would I ever belong?

It had to be systemic: how could a 10-year old invent the kind of complex that I recall dawning upon me like a heavy mist, a poisonous web, that I breathed into my lungs, that permeated my body.  To be ashamed of my parents' tongue, our skin color, our bone structure, our food, our culture, to be ashamed.

To be ashamed as a woman may be something very universal, and especially under Catholicism, the gift of the conquistador to the natives of our islands and the other islands they descended upon.  But to be ashamed to also be brown, to also hail from what I learned later were islands resembling, no, are actually, Paradise?  Why and how could we feel ashamed of this?  Why and how could we feel ashamed to come from Paradise, where people are warm, loving, communally-minded, resilient, culturally rich, creative, how can you possibly hate the place you came from that was Paradise?

The shame of our own bodies as brown and Filipina is a sad and shared experience.  And now there is the irony that while in most of the world, it's more superior to be light, but there is also the fascination, the desire to be darker, to nearly consume, our golden skin.  The irony that while lightness gains privilege, those same privileged envy – no, desire -- our melanin, our eyes and hair.  To be envied yet to be looked down upon at the same time.  To feel invisible in one moment, unimportant, seen as part of the help or someone who cannot speak for herself; and then in the next, seen as extremely intelligent, eloquent, and exotic.  I never really knew how to accept the "compliment" of being exotic; was I a fruit?  Was I something to eat?  Why not be beautiful, like a fully-conscious and complete and (in my mind, neutral or standard) person could be?  Couldn't I be complex and whole, too? Could we focus on normal things like ice cream flavors and what we liked to do, rather than dwell on the uncomfortable differentness of our bodies? I would have preferred to be smart, interesting and cool than to be exotic, any day.  The journey of loving this body and this skin has been many years in the making.  People are often surprised, because they see me as very Pinay proud, embracing my heritage and loving my body and brown skin.  It’s been an evolution.  For those of us who have lived outside of the liberal or progressive Bay Area, we’ve been exposed to different messages.  Even IN the liberal Bay Area, we have to fight to drown out the noise; to make our own voices of self-love even louder.

[group-4blog]

Labandero, Jim Gelo M.

COMPILATION OF OUTPUTS

ASSIGNMENT #1: Essay Writing

The Captain of the Ship

Way back centuries ago, the world has not been exposed to the technology. From Pre-Industrial Era, most of the things have done manually making it finished longer than expected. The tools are not that accurate may be the reason why it is harder to accomplish things efficiently. Looking forward, there are so many changes as if those existing objects in the history hasn’t left a trace. Say typewriter as an example. Typewriter is a machine for writing in characters similar to those produced by printer's type by means of keyboard-operated types striking a ribbon to transfer ink or carbon impressions onto the paper. But then it is done manually; you cannot proofread a certain task you were writing on the spot. Now in the contemporary era, the famous “Microsoft Word” has been a trend for using essays, short stories, poetry and other forms of writing in which you could save works then print as you wish to. That’s far from the typewriter we used to know. Microsoft Word has known for its conveniency that’s why a lot of people used its advantage. Typewriter vanished into the 21st century, letting the new innovative “Microsoft Word” serves the world. Technology became powerful and handy servant for people’s tasks.

There’s this big question, “why technology is a useful servant but a dangerous master?” Technology has its own purpose. There’s a boundary as to where should the technology only takes place. If it has made to be a servant, it shouldn’t defy its master—the people who make them. It has created to be the servant of the world, to contribute for a big change in the Globality. But technology being a threat as it became a master of the game is alarming. Technology has no heart. It has no feelings. It is brutal, cruel and chaotic. If one has declared that humans are the cruelest thing in this world, he/she must not have glanced the technology, think again. One must realize that letting the technology dominate their life, they already given a chance for the technology to be higher than us, the people. If one depends too much in technology, they already given a chance for the technology to become powerful than us. We must, sometimes, acknowledge the traditional and manually-based tool that used to serve our life genuinely. Technology symbolizes the storm. We, humans, are the nature. If the storm planned to destroy the nature, we must plan ahead to takes its advantage. We gave life to technology. Nature gave life to storm. Storm is just a cycle of the nature’s manifestation. It is not yet too late to introduce who’s more powerful than the other. It’s just a matter of mindset. Like a bamboo, learn to be resilient. There are still things technology cannot do—it is to control your mindset and on how you perceive the world. If you let the technology control your life as if you couldn’t live without it, that’s when the technology invades you and already became the master of your life.

We couldn’t deny that technology is a handy servant in this generation. It makes the things smarter and easier than it used to be. Technology helps in a way that it could make things possibly accessible in all forms of communication and giving information. But then, there’s a thin line as to where should the technology put its place. It should never dominant the world. Yes, its conveniency is unbelievably useful, but people should control the technology, not the other way around. Letting the technology reign the world could undoubtably result to chaos and dystopia and this is where the idea emerges that people are now slave to technology. This is where you should spit your pride, build your ego, would you let the technology leads you? Would you let that mere thing decides your path? Are you willing to be the servant? We already knew the answer. Everyone has an answer in their mind. It’s just that we are afraid that something might change. Something bigger that might affect the future. I’ll only leave this statement, “you are the captain of your own ship“, say that you let someone or something drive your wheel, it’s the fact that you already have been lost to the middle of the merciless waves of life.

ASSIGNMENT #2: Filipino Culture I like and hate the most

There are countless cultures and values that exist here in the Philippines. Since Filipino is kind of creatively devoted to tradition, cultures and values became dynamics that they continue to arise and born as time passes by. Some examples of values and cultures will be mentioned in the foreword topics.

Variety of a Filipino's Cultures and Values

1. Pakikisama

According to the results of the survey, the Filipino trait most taken up was Pakikisama. This indicates that this is a typical Filipino trait. Pakikisama refers to an interpersonal relationship where people are friendly with each other. To be with someone and to get along with each other indicates basic human friendliness and affinity. The fact that this tendency was most taken up in Filipino trait studies means that Filipinos are friendly and feel strong affinity towards others. From my own personal experiences, and accounts from foreigners whom I’ve met, Filipinos are friendly. This can be considered as a result of very friendly and amicable tendencies.

2. Hiya (Shame)

The Tagalog word Hiya indicates shame, disgrace, embarrassment, sense of modesty and manners, and to lose face. The word involves inadequacy, anxiety, feelings of timidity and reservation (Andres 1989 & 1996; Jocano 1997). Carson-Arenas (2004) defines Hiya as a spreading sense of inferiority. The trait is characterized by the Filipinos low sense of value as an individual and independence, as well as deference to authority.

3. Amor Propio

Amor propio means self-esteem, with the meaning expanding to confidence, pride, strength, competence, and aptitude that one is a useful and necessary asset to the world. According to Carson-Arenas (2004), Amor propio represents the need of the Filipino to be treated as a person, not as an object. In other words, it is the desire to be not a gear of an organization, but a person who will move the organization. Andres (1996) defines this trait as a Spanish word which literally means self-love because of Amor propio Filipinos in organizations strongly wish to be recognized as a person who is valuable to the organization. They want to be someone the organization needs, even someone the organization cannot survive without.

4. . Hospitality

Filipino hospitality is a trait that refers to the warm welcome that the Filipino gives to visitors who come to his or her home, especially strangers and foreigners (Carson-Arenas 2004). As mentioned in the section for Pakikisama, Filipinos are friendly people by nature, especially to foreigners and they offer great hospitality to visitors. This kindness of the Filipinos is one reason they are loved by tourists. It is easy to imagine that this hospitality will be exhibited not only when foreigners come to the Philippines, but also when Filipinos go to foreign countries to work as social supporters and caregivers. This is another aspect which shows that Filipinos have a vocation for social support.

5. Ningas Cogon

Ningas Cogon indicates a tendency to be enthusiastic when beginning something, but eventually losing that enthusiasm after a time. At the beginning of a task, energy and enthusiasm will gain speed to reach a climax, but when there ceases to be more excitement or challenge in the task, one will lose interest and passion (Carson-Arenas 2004, Avelino & Sanchez 1996). To be easily warmed up, but just as easily cooled down explains the Filipino trait of Ningas cogon.

Cultures and Values I like

Despite numerous cultures and values found in the Philippines, there are certain things that caught my attention, the values and cultures I lived from the start and continue to thrive this world with the principle of Filipino I adopted. These are the following:

1. Bayanihan

This trait involves cooperation and bonding with people. According to Andres (1989), Bayanihan is the Filipino value that denotes camaraderie among the people in the community and helping one another in time of need. A Filipino proverb that depicts this value is kung sama-sama, kayangkaya (if we are together, we can do it). Etymologically speaking, Bayanihan comes from the Tagalog word “bayani” which means “hero”. Bayanihan, therefore, represents spontaneous activeness to heroically help others, and Bayanihan spirit indicates the bonding of team members feelings in order to achieve a particular goal.

The fact that the word hero does not link with authority, but with the results of cooperation shows that this is a Filipino trait of a mutual supporting nature. The reason why I chose this value is because I learned to realize as I reflected that in these trying and uncertain times, “Bayanihan” should grow in everyone’s hearts. If this value achieves to discern the common goal, then our ideal system would prevail

2. Utang na Loob

It means inner debt of gratitude (Carson-Arenas 2004). This is the tendency to feel grateful to a person who has extended a kindness to them. The term indicates deep gratitude towards the person who has extended kindness, and the heartfelt wish to repay for the kindness. Mendez & Jocano (1974) state that one will feel Utang na loob, that is, inner debt of gratitude in the following everyday life situations: borrowing money, receiving food, getting employed or being promoted, free diagnosis made by a doctor. Typical examples of this trait will also be seen when a family member is saved in times of disasters such as war, fire, typhoons. To the person who was saved, he/she cannot immediately or fully repay the person who saved him/her. This person will feel that he/she can never repay with mere material items. One will feel Utang na loob the strongest in these cases.

According to Feliciano (1990), Utang na loob is an interior law which dictates that the recipient of a good act or deed behave generously toward his benefactor as long as he or she lives. This is very close to the Japanese concept of moral indebtedness and debt of gratitude. This is one of the powerful values that Filipinos have as it depicts camaraderie despite hardships and the eagerness to help despite you don’t have anything to give but the sooner days pass by, you’ll exchange the kindness. You helped someone already then gain social interaction, or even friends, that happened to the strangers not just for the people who knew each other long due.

Cultures and Values I hate

1. Bahala Na

In situations that become problematic, are unable to be resolved, and one ends up in a tight corner, Filipinos will usually say, Bahala na (Avelino & Sanchez, 1996). Bahala na, or come what may indicates the tendency of Filipinos to resign oneself into the hands of destiny or fate. This come what may will lead to Que sera, sera (What will, will be), and no matter what happens, Filipinos believe that it is the work of fate. Palispis (1995) states, that Filipinos believe in fate, and that they have no control over their destiny. Their struggling life must be endured because it is the will of God. One must remember that we should not put the wheel of our fate to any deity or supreme beings beyond us. They are true but a very powerful thing for your dreams or challenges to overcome is to let Him be your guidance with actions you must do. Better the effort to be wasted than to regret that you failed to accomplish your problem without doing your best

2. Extreme Family Centeredness

According to Andres (1989, 1996) this trait is a strong and innate characteristic of a Filipino. Wherever he or she is, family ties remain. This is the cause of trouble in international marriages between Filipinos and Japanese, because of the financial aid the Filipino spouse will extend to family in the Philippines. It also leads to the extreme way of thinking that theft is justified if it is for the benefit of the family. I don’t see anything wrong with prioritizing your family but we should remember that everything in too much is detrimental. Extreme family centeredness or “close family ties” often leads to Nepotism—the practice among those with power or influence of favoring relatives or friends, especially by giving them jobs, and Political Dynasty—typically characterized as families that have established their political or economic dominance in a province and have coordinated efforts to move on to involvement in national government or other positions of national politics that treats people prominence. It is a very strong family protection whether it is in good or bad condition and situation (consentidor)

PERFORMANCE TASK #1: Poster Making

[anti-onion-posts]

Onision and Narcissism

Prepare yourselves, this is long. 

At the end of this it seems as if I am being sympathetic towards Onision, in a way I am but he is still a garbage human being in my opinion. 

When it comes to Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) like every other psychological disorder there are certain criteria that need to be filled for an individual to be diagnosed. 

10-13% of the general population have some form of a personality disorder as suggested by a study done by Weissman (1993), these people can merge into the general population. Most have more than two personalities disorders. There are three clusters when it comes to PD's, Cluster A - odd and eccentric, B - attention seeking and selfish and C - anxious and fearful. Narcissistic personality disorder falls under cluster B - attention seeking and selfish.

Traits of NPD:

·         Has a grandiose sense of self-importance.

·         Preoccupied with fantasies; success, beauty, power or love

·         Believes that they are unique and can only be understood or/and associate with others that have a high status.

·         Needs to feel excessive admiration; they will fish for compliments and will be highly susceptible to forms of flattery.

·         Feels entitlement.

·         Interpersonally exploitative; they will use others to achieve their goals.

·         Lacks empathy; they are either unwilling or unable to recognize or identify with others feelings.

·         Envious of others or believe that other people are envious of them.

·         Arrogant and shows rude and abusive behaviours and/or attitudes.  

 Now, I touched upon something on one of my firsts posts which is something I’d like to go in more detail about.

Onision is what I like to call an insecure narcissist.

Recently there has been some advances in clinical and empirical studies for NPD which recognized that narcissism can be co-occurring with vulnerability; inferiority, insecurity, etc.

(Note: Personally, I believe that an insecure narcissist can be/is more dangerous than an individual with NPD. Unfortunately, it is hard to back up this claim as research in this area is hard to come by.)

Let’s have a look at some of these traits and how easily it is to tie them to Onision.

Criticism

When it comes to criticism or anything that is remotely assumed to be an interpreted as negative whenever that be evaluating personality, performance and behaviour. Individuals with NPD will be highly reactive to it.

Even if it is constructive criticism.

Why?

From this they will be forced to come to terms with admitting some form of vulnerability and in return they will act defensively. Whenever that be through attempting to falsify evidence, lying, attempting to change the subject or respond to it in a way that they have been asked something that is not relating to the subject.

The ability to accept criticism comes from how secure we feel as a person as well as our resilience.

‘’But aren’t narcissistic secure? They have huge egos.’’

That would be correct, yes, however their ego maybe oversized and/or artificially inflated this can’t be viewed as being either secure or resilient. It can be very easily punctured so when they are criticised they show themselves to be poorly incapable of holding any emotional poise and receptivity.

(Receptivity: able or quick to receive knowledge, ideas.)

However, despite not being able to accept criticism they will demonstrate an abnormally developed capacity to criticize others. There are two common terms that are using in psychoanalytical literature and these are; narcissistic injury and narcissistic rage.

Injury:

Results from childhood; deficient parents not being able to nurture them. They don’t feel parents love which is prerequisite when it comes to self-love. Meaning that a parent’s love is needed to build a basic understanding of what ‘love’ is.

Therefore, they need to contently prove themselves by claiming superiority over others by doing this it can condition them to feel as if they are ‘good enough’ to be loved. In return this simply in time alienate them.

(Just as a note, not all children will react in this way not every child with bad parents will grow to become narcissists.)

This is also the same when it comes to rejection and we all know that Onision doesn’t handle rejection well. An example of this would be when Shane Dawson refused to collab with him it’s was insulting to him, and he took it extremely personally. ''How dare this person not want to work with me'' easily translates into, ''How dare this person reject me?''

Watch his video he made on his patrons leaving after his comments on the Manchester bombings, them taking away their pledge to him = them rejecting him.

Rage:

Due to being incredibly sensitive to criticism as this can bring feelings of anxiety, so to safeguard themselves they will react with defiance or with verbal violence. This is narcissistic rage.

They go to great lengths to invalidate the person criticising them; to achieve such dismissal of the individual criticising them, they'll do everything possible to negate their viewpoint. And this can include much more than blaming or challenging them.

‘’You did this wrong.’’

‘’Show me, show me the evidence of what I did wrong. Oh, you don’t have evidence on you? Well you are the one who is wrong, not me.’’

Narcissists are prone to these rages and will sacrifice others for personal gain - His multiple videos on Billie which ultimately lead to her public humiliation, so he could have something to talk about in his YouTube videos. He sacrificed her confidential information, so he could get monetary gain.

Check out his video when it came to him reading his book reviews he couldn't handle the negative criticisms that was left. He will deflect, and he will divert until he can escape that feeling, that notion that everyone gets when they are rejected. This leads to the second stage of his psychosis; The superiority complex, which is an extreme defence mechanism to remove himself of all criticism and responsibility while pinning it on others.

It's the ''It's not my fault, they're stupid because they don't understand, no it's not me, right?''

When their position has been exposed as false they will become evasive and articulate lies or half-truths and will flat out contradict themselves (sound like someone we know?) this can be to such a degree that it can leave the people watching this happen sit back in disbelief.

A big cause for the feelings of anger and rage in a moment is that they will externalise the more painful anxiety or shame related emotions. They will feel these types of emotions, or remembering a time in the past where they have been humiliated and transfer these unwanted feelings to another.

‘’I’m not stupid, you are!’’

‘’You can’t say I have NPD, are you a doctor? No? Exactly, stupid.’’

If the individual that the rage is aimed at has no idea why the outburst took place a sudden explosion of this rage will more than likely leave them feeling confused and maybe even frightened to express their opinion again.

Low self-esteem

Being constantly driven to prove themselves to both the people around them and them, this leads to a low self-esteem. This is the self-doubting and recessive part of them and they try hard to make sure that it is well hidden from sight. Once again this is coming with the feeling of fear of inferiority.

They will use many defence mechanisms to hide this:

·         Posturing exceptionally high self-esteem.

·         Fishing for compliments.

·         Bragging about their (exaggerated) achievements.

The ‘misunderstood special person’ which include notions such as:

·         ‘’I’m special.’’

·         ‘’I’m one of a kind.’’

·         ‘’I’m ahead of my time.’’

·         ‘’I’m so unique no one understands me.’’

·         ‘’I’m so much smarter than everyone else.’’

These are coupled with the common traits of NPD and construct a superficial belief that they are exceptional and for insecure narcissists it creates a reassuring role a second skin that they can live in which hides their true self.

Self-righteous and defensive

Needing to protect an overblown but incredibly fragile ego their defense system can be very easy to set off. When they are challenged the survival depends on being right or justified instead of just admitting that they are wrong or apologising.

‘’Onision has apologised before!’’

Yes, yes, yes but look at the circumstances of the apology everything that Onision does is a strategic move even when it comes to apologising.

He will say something bad.

People will be outraged.

He defends what he said.

Loses subscribers/patrons = losing money.

Onision: ‘’Hey guys, I’m sorry for what I said.’’

He apologises when he needs to do damage control because he has been pushed to do so, not because he wants to genuinely apologise for what he said. This pulls back his fans into defending him again.

‘’Does anyone remember what he said about (X)?’’

‘’Yeah, but he apologised!’’

I will admit and say that this is a very smart strategy and it clearly works it’s just a shame that his fans don’t see this move; they don’t see that he uses them as his first line of defence when it comes to protecting himself from criticism.

Furthermore, individuals with NPD have a ‘my way or the highway’ attitude they are stubborn, completive and insistence that their point of view is correct coupled with their feeling of being self-righteous.

This is to hide their underlying doubts about not being good enough and the more self-righteous (mostly exaggerate and puffed up by themselves) they are the more they will feel endangered by a conflicting opinion.

Projecting

To hide that they are insecure they will redirect any unfavorable traits that they have to someone else. As they cannot deal with being imperfect as their emotional capability is underdeveloped.

Hint: Social repose.

Poor boundaries

They view people as objects that exist primarily to serve their own needs – putting their own needs in front of others as well, even their own children – this is known in literature as ‘narcissistic supplies’ since others are regarded to cater to their personal desires.

Their boundaries are unevenly developed and will prompt them to dominate in conversations where it is inappropriate and share intimate details about their life. Such as over sharing their private life and disclosing information that others wouldn’t; as what they are sharing would be humiliating.

Yet with insensitivity to how others will react to their words, they’re highly likely to blurt out things or even boast about them; even if it will be views as tasteless and/or offensive. To add on to this, they will often ask other questions that are far to person or intimate. Such situations can be particularly difficult for the other person if the narcissist is in a position of authority over them so that not responding could, practically, put them in some jeopardy.

Someone with NPD will share with pride how they have chewed someone out and expect the people around them to be impressed by what they have done.

Relationships

Narcissists have issues (or they are in able) when it comes to connecting with people; they will instead focus on something else whenever that be:

·         Work

·         Social networking

·         Books

·         Games

·         Fantasies

During relationships though they will ‘set things up’ this is common in intimate relationships and if they are married they can be incredible hard on their spouse. They need to see themselves as perfect so when their spouse makes a mistake in that moment they will attempt to remove themselves from their partners and can be extremely unkind even brutal when they react to them.  

Conclusion

When an individual with NPD has these defences, they will not grow as a human being and will not take responsibility for their lives. They are bound in a stagnate two-dimensional world where they only see black and white; grey areas do not exist.

They remain empty emotionally and lack the strength that would let them be genuinely vulnerable to others. There is a consent need to fill what they never had as a child, the relationships that they have when older show a strong level of detachment.

They are not free to change so Onision is a lost cause trying to change the way he thinks will never work. He is unable to change as he doesn’t want to be wrong, he can’t stand to be wrong. He is a text book case of a multiple of the cluster B personality disorders; displaying characteristics of Histrionic, Narcissistic and Borderline personality disorder.

He has a strong desire for attention and the continuous change in his persona - therefore he can't keep to an opinion and is often seen as a hypocrite - and his strong reactions to rejection is what leads him to a vicious cycle that deteriorate him as a person. I personally believe that he is afflicted with a mental disconnection, he is not aware of his illness and can't be made aware of it by normal means. He is emotionally dangerous to anyone that interacts with him. It is because of this mental disconnection is why when people mention that has some form of a mental disorder he defensively denies the claim. He is in this consent cycle and will never be a complete person.  

Narcissists are victims but at the same time they are the perpetrator too.

Narcissists are made not born.

[lena-went]

Prima Comunione Pt 3

F: What is happening? How is this happening? It can’t be happening…can it? Speak Frederick damn it, use words. “No it is not…” I managed silently cursing myself for not saying something more welcoming and warm. She smiled and I avoided her eyes as she sat down in front of me placing her coffee cup towards the center of the table near mine. “My name is y/n .” She offered as she shifted to get more comfortable in her seat. “That is quite an unusual name.” I quickly responded with a cold tone. Her eyes narrowed and then she paused expectantly for a few moments. “And you?” She inquired leaning forward. “Hmm?” I took a carefully calculated sip from my cup not daring to spill a drop and appear clumsy. Her smile widened, “Your name?” I nearly choked in my hurry to answer, “Dr. Chilton…ah—Frederick Chilton.” I had meant for it to come across as a simple slip of the mind but I was certain my desire for her to acknowledge my status as a doctor was quite clear. 

She pulled her cup to her lips and took another sip but not before I saw the slight smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. God, I am such a fool, she must think I’m pathetic. The pause lasted for a moment longer and then she spoke. “So Doctor…” I raised my eyes to meet hers at hearing the playful note in her voice “What kind of doctor are you?” I felt I had been given a second chance and quickly I assumed the persona I used commonly at the hospital and various galas I had been required to attend over the years. “I am Chief of Staff at The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and a noted psychiatrist in my field. I have been part of many research efforts and trials on the forefront of modern psychology. Most recently I have been used as a consultant by the FBI in relation to a very high profile case.” I knew I was coming off as arrogant but she was just so beautiful and I felt the need to capture her interest in order to prove to myself that I really did exist. She tilted her head to the side with an expression I couldn't quite read. In this moment I truly could not predict what she was about to say nor divine meaning from the look in her eyes. I began questioning and replaying every word I had spoken during this encounter. Then as if God had heard my mind on the verge of explosion she spoke. “I’ve heard the expression that often psychiatrists are crazier than their patients.” God, I released a breath I didn't realize I had been holding. She was so playful, I looked at her and realized the unreadable expression was playfulness mixed with genuine interest. I chuckled softly on an exhale, ”Perhaps, it depends on the psychiatrist I suppose.” She leaned back in her chair taking her coffee with her. “Ah… key words being it depends, now we are entering my realm of mind games.” She grinned widely and took another drink of coffee peering at me with those wonderful eyes. I raised an eyebrow in curiosity at both her suggestion that psychiatry was mind games and that apparently her realm dealt in some sort of mental work as well. She leaned in settling her arms on top of the marble table. “I’m a law student, and I'm sure you understand the mental hunger games grad school can be.” Once again I found myself chuckling even though normally reminiscing about grad school, medical school in particular often left me anxious and agitated. She continued speaking and we soon fell into an easy conversation relaying horror stories from higher education. Her eyes widened as I told her a story from my days in medical school and I found myself leaning into the conversation instead of trying to remain above it. She smiled so easily and every time she did my chest would swell and I felt such a jolt of pride and then affection towards her. Jesus, I hadn't spoken to someone like this in years. Soon we were laughing as if we had known each other since childhood. I learned that not only was she a law student, she had a BA in Art which she knew seemed general but it was intentionally done and surprisingly useful. She loved museums and art galleries and from the stories she told I gathered that she was exceptionally intelligent and strategic. This woman, as she illustrated a point of conversation by using her hands in a very animated fashion, had captured me. Every breath she took drew me in closer and on every exhale and pause I feared I would lose her. It was like being caught in a riptide, pulled and pushed on the whims of nature. She had just begun describing to me a dish she had eaten at some restaurant a few doors down, how delicious it had been but more so how the dish had been presented so perfectly. At that moment I felt a surge of excitement flow through me as I awkwardly shuffled for my phone in my suits inner pocket. “Something like this?” I pulled up an image I had snapped at Hannibal Lecter’s last dinner party. The logistics of taking a picture like this were very complicated and well timed. To avoid being seen taking photographs of his impressive display I had arrived early feigning interest in the preparation of the dishes when in reality my aim was to recreate them at home. As I recounted the backstory mentally I began to feel that familiar pang of inferiority and as she zoomed in on my phone while exclaiming at the quality of the dish I leaned back into my seat and sighed. “This is incredible, did you do this?” She looked at me expectantly as I contemplated the hole I had just dug myself into. I thought about lying but knowing my luck she would catch me in the lie and I would feel far worse. “No, the culinary masterpiece you're looking at was created by another crazy psychiatrist, Dr. Hannibal Lecter.” I spoke knowing that now the conversation would turn to the more interesting and refined Dr. Lecter. The regret of showing that picture became foremost on my mind as I kicked myself mentally. She laughed softly at my words and then leaned even further towards me. “Poor Dr. Lecter…” She mused as I raised a questioning eyebrow in genuine surprise. “It seems he's pulled to two very different extremes of interest.” I smirked slightly happy to hear someone criticize the man who by many was held at godlike status. “And those extremes are?” I pushed her as she leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Food is the epitome of the physical world, designed to feed and nourish mankind in its most basic forms. Dr. Lecter’s creations have elevated these basic foods to the level of art and art is worship. Art is taking what exists and exponentially pushing it to the point at which it can inflict and illicit new emotions despite being a representation rather than a utilitarian object.” My smirk grew as her explanation continued. She was wasted as a law student, she should study psychiatry. “And the second?” I inquired as she paused and traced the rim of her now empty coffee cup. She met my eyes with a slight smile. “He’s also a doctor of the mind, which suggests an interest or dare I say passion for the metaphysical and intangible elements of life. These interests when dabbled in are harmless, and though I know little about his success as a psychologist I can infer that because you admire him he must be very good at his job and the photo you have shown me illustrates that he excels in his other more physical interest as well. A man who is excellent in all his endeavors must suffer greatly knowing there is no more he can learn or conquer, thus…poor Dr. Lecter.” With her final words she handed me back my phone which I had forgotten she held. “What makes you think I admire him?” I inquired coldly with a hint of resentment hanging on the words ‘admire’ and ‘him’. She took a pause for a moment and then answered, “I think you're a man of great taste, I also think you're drawn to things and people for the sake of observation itself. You admire most everything because you see things ordinary people don’t.” She said these words with such a tenderness and air of affection that I lost the facade of poise I had maintained for most of the conversation. A breath escaped me as my heart nearly burst. This woman after sitting and talking with me for only an hour and a half spoke as if she had known me, the real me for years. I felt my eyes sting and I quickly lowered them to my hands which had begun to shake. She lowered her head in an attempt to meet my eye line but I shifted them again. “I also think you're unappreciated both professionally and personally.” She added slowly and even more softly. I looked up at this and met her eyes. God, I could not have been more consumed by this woman. She reached a hand slowly and placed it on top of one of mine. I couldn't remember the last time a woman touched me so kindly. My eyes stung again as I turned my palm up so her hand would rest in mine. I treasured the touch, her fingers so soft and warm. I was struck suddenly by how small her hand looked in mine and I raised my other hand to cover it in what I suppose was a protective gesture. She smiled at that and placed her other hand on top of the pile that had now formed. She brushed my knuckles lightly with her fingertips as I tried to will away all the emotions I had kept bottled up for so long. I don't know how long we sat like that, the cafe becoming a blur around us as we stared at each other. “I would like to see you again.” She broke our silence and tilted her head slightly waiting for my response. “As would I…like to see you again…I mean…yes.” Her smile grew into a grin at my struggle for words but for once I didn't feel mocked…I felt…admired.

This was a lot longer than the introductory POVs. Ah well. 

[bespangeled]

Joss, Gene, Buffy & Star Trek

Nichelle Nichols had an affair with Gene Roddenberry while they were working on Star Trek. 

In fact, he was still a married man when he began affairs at the same time with both Nichelle and Majel Barrett. While he was still married to another woman he lived with Majel - and when they got married he continued to sleep with Nichelle secretly. He boasted about sleeping  with other women as well

Now we can decide that Nichelle Nichols as a WOC back in the 1960′s was in a particularly vulnerable position, and therefore Roddenberry was both racist and sexist. Or we can assume that she was and is a strong woman who has always owned her sexuality -  and she made a choice. She says that she cared deeply about him, and still does.

I don’t think that the appearance of abuse of power makes Roddenberry any less a pioneer  in his vision. He insisted on a multi-racial cast, and on giving women powerful positions on the Enterprise. In 1966  that cast was groundbreaking. The simple idea that women could do more than bring coffee was also groundbreaking. In the first pilot episode he had a woman second-in-command but the network objected. He had women and POC in strong positions - doctors, engineering, security, and most of them were officers.

So was Roddenberry a racist, misogynist fraud who abused his power?

Did he hide his personal life in order to be seen as a visionary? Does the fact he stood up against the war in Vietnam have anything to do with any of this? He stood up for Martin Luther King in a time when that was revolutionary - doe that mean anything? Does the fact that his affirmative social messages permeate his shows matter?

Or were those all moral positions and creative decisions of a person with both flaws and ideals.

I don’t see how the fact that his personal life and choices sucked make him any less a visionary. And yes, you can pull his dated work apart and explain how flawed it is - and because it is over 50 years old it is definitely flawed by modern standard.

I kinda feel the same way about Whedon as I do Roddenberry. I tend not to look for moral purity when dealing with real human beings. But now that there is this huge gotcha thing going on. I’m finding that if I don’t jump on the Joss is evil train I’m seen as profoundly dumb, not woke, and morally inferior.

By the social standards 20 years ago Buffy broke a lot of ground, too. Strong women who didn’t have cat fights, didn’t compete romantically,   and didn’t exist to be some man’s appendage are still rare. Male characters who take the back seat to the women are even more rare. A show about choices and consequences, hope and redemption, moral courage and hope - very rare.

So yes, Joss is not morally pure and his wife has every reason to hate what he did to her, and to hate him. But until one woman complains that she felt used, I don’t see Joss as having abused his power.. Joss has made videos supporting Planned Parenthood. He stood against Trump, even made a satirical video about voter fraud hysteria. Are those all moral positions and creative decisions of a fraud, or of a person with both flaws and ideals ? I can’t read intention  I do see results.

Joss and Gene were both idealists in their world building, their character building, and their themes. They had strong moral opinions on world events. They were both deeply flawed personally - but I really don’t see either of them as frauds, and abusive.

The medium is the message - not the creator. If we hound out any creator who is not pure enough then we won’t have many left. I prefer to reserve that kind of hatred for those who commit actual abuse - physical, sexual, mental.  As a survivor of abuse, I also prefer not to dilute the meaning of the word to upsetting someone and being hypocritical. When we label everything as abuse, the word loses power, and the reality is easier to ignore.

[bangtan-babe]

Letting Go [part 1]

-----“What if we were soulmates who just met at the wrong time?”-------

Characters: Namjoon x reader/ Jimin x reader Summary: As a doctor you’re never supposed to get emotionally attached to your patients but you find yourself unable to forget Namjoon. Length: 4k Genre: Angst/ Fluff

part 1. part 2. part 3 (final)

“Doc,” he called out nonchalantly from his bed. A smug smile spread across his face when he sensed that you were uneasy. He thought that you were like all the others who were assigned to him. Someone who was meek and incapable of functioning with confidence around his presence. You spun around instantly at his call.

“Yes Namjoon?” you answered trying to hold back your annoyance at his clear attempt to make you feel inferior. He stared at you carefully for a few seconds making sure to eye your unbrushed hair and stained cotton shirt. Then he smiled as if nothing happened. “Never mind,” he grinned. But you knew already what he was going to say. His expression said everything. You could tell he wanted to say you’re disgusting, go wash up, how are you even a doctor, you should have chosen a different career.  

In your head you thought fuck you Namjoon. But in reality, just one word came out. “Alright,” you stated hazily. You spun around and dug your hands into your lab coat pockets. “You stupid brat,” you muttered under your breath.

Suddenly you heard Namjoon’s voice. “What was that?” he asked questioning you in a patronizing manner. You sensed that there was an arrogant tone to his voice.

You looked back at him and forced a fake smile. “Oh nothing. Just don’t forget to take your medicine,” you lied.

He smirked slightly. “No promises.”

-|-

That was your first introduction to Kim Namjoon. Prior to being placed as his doctor, you heard rumors from other residents that he was completely egoistic and stuck up. No resident wanted to be assigned to him. Yet here you were: unlucky and with a throbbing headache. You walked over to the nurses station holding onto the temples of your head.

Nurse Seokjin saw your discomfort. “That bad huh?” he wondered. You had no energy to even speak so you shook your head in agreement. He let out a sigh, understanding your frustration. “How can one person be so annoying?” Seokjin questioned thinking about Namjoon’s character.

You placed the chart on the counter and collapsed your head alongside it. “Look on the bright side. If you can get through this, you can survive anything in this hospital,” Seokjin remarked.

You lifted your head and saw him giving you a reassuring smile. You were glad for his considerate words but you knew that your life was about to become torturous. “Thank you, but I think I have a better chance at winning the lottery than surviving this,” you complained. Due to your desperation, you thought about an alternate option. “Maybe I should just ask Doctor Park to take me off this case,” you wondered in agony.  

Seokjin chuckled at your statement. “I think you have a better chance of actually winning that lottery,” he noted. You couldn’t help but laugh. He was definitely right. If Namjoon was a pain in the ass, then Jimin Park was an incurable infection.

“Speak of the Devil,” Seokjin muttered quickly as he pretended to file some papers. You instantly shot up. You prepared yourself for the yelling that would soon take place.

Your heart started beating faster as you heard his footsteps approach. “Resident Y/LN!” Dr. Park roared. “Get up and do your job!”

When you felt his presence beside you, you turned around slowly and made eye contact with him. “On it sir,” you assured him as you grabbed your notes and slid past. When you were a couple feet away you muttered quietly to yourself, “Please don’t call me back. Please..please”

But he did just that. “Hold on! I have new patients for you in the emergency room,” he announced handing you a piece of paper. Your eyebrow rose in confusion. You weren’t assigned to the emergency room, so it was strange that he was making you see patients in a different department.

“Sir..you assigned me to the Oncology department this morning. I don’t understand why-“ you began explaining.

But, Dr. Park interrupted you. “Listen, I don’t care where you were assigned this morning. But right now I need you to to take care of patients in the emergency department.” You batted your eyes and opened your mouth slightly to reason with him, but he continued on. “Are you not a doctor?? Do you just handle patients that you’re paid to take care of then?!" he questioned harshly.

You were taken aback by his assertiveness. Also, it slightly annoyed you that he assumed you were unwilling to do something out of selfishness and greed. You closed your eyes and sighed before you agreed to his request. “Okay, I’m going,” you stated as you turned on your heels. Suddenly, an urge came over you and you looked back at him. “Oh and please don’t question my abilities as a doctor. I don’t question your outrageous fashion decisions,” you pointed out eyeing his bright blue shirt and shoes. You quickly turned around and ran down the hall. You could hear him call out your name as you ran.

-|-

You were examining an older woman’s arm, when Dr. Park crept up behind you. You leapt in surprise at his sudden appearance. You turned your head slightly looking at him with a disapproving glare.

“So what’s the final diagnosis?” he asked breathing down your neck.

You moved your body closer to the patients trying to avoid his presence. “Well, I think Mrs. Choi has slightly fractured her elbow. She’s going to have to wear a sling for a few weeks,” you answered while giving the patient a smile. You could sense that she was nervous. “Don’t worry, you’re going to be fine. It won’t hurt at all,” you assured her while placing your hand on her shoulder. While this interaction occurred, you swore that you saw Dr. Park let out a small smile. But you dismissed that thought quickly from your mind. There was no way the devil doctor had any sense of compassion.

When you were finished with Mrs. Choi, who was your last patient, you went upstairs to the locker room. You hadn’t changed your clothes in nearly 24 hours. Somehow you thought about Namjoon and the disapproving look he gave your appearance.

After you finished changing, you bumped into a broad figure on the way out. You rubbed your head and looked up. It was Dr. Park. Without saying anything, you maneuvered past Dr. Park who was still standing there. He quickly stepped in your way. You tried to move the opposite direction but he followed. “What is it Dr. Park?” you asked looking up at him. He didn’t say anything which you found strange. He was never at a loss for words. “Well…okay then,” you commented as you began to leave.

Suddenly he cleared his throat and spoke up. “I just wanted to say..good job. You know.. with that patient,” he tried to explain. He was clearly in pain by the compliment he just gave. Your jaw dropped. Did he just praise my skills? you thought. Your mind was blank because this was a situation you never expected. Dr. Park walked closer to you but you were completely in shock.  You stood there speechless.

“Uh..hello? Earth to Y/N,” he said waving his hands in your front of your face.

Dr. Park’s words echoed in your mind until you returned to the present and answered him. “Did..did you just compliment me?” you questioned in awe.

You saw him roll his eyes at your curiosity. “Calm down. I said good job, not I’m going to give you my kidney,” he spat.

The vain, Dr. Park had returned. If he wasn’t a doctor you swore he could have pulled off being a model or CEO. Or both. He not only had the looks but his personality was an exact match. You were used to his bossy ways, but not the outbursts of kindness. “Well thanks for recognizing my superb skills,” you boasted. You saw his eyebrow quirk at your sudden sassiness.

He ran his hand through his perfectly sculpted brown hair, his expression becoming more serious. “Are you still on call?” he asked seeming to want to continue the conversation.

You nodded your head in agreement but slightly tilted it to the side wondering why he was asking.  “You’re not going to give me more patients, are you?” you questioned nervously. He laughed at your discomfort. It was the first time you saw him smile. Somehow despite his cold personality, smiling suited him.

He shook his head and began talking. “No..I was just-“ he paused and looked down on the floor. You never saw him act like this before. “-I was wondering if you possibly wanted to go get dinner with me?” he blurted out.

If you were shocked beforehand you were completely dumbfounded. “You do realize it’s like 12 am, right?” you noted. You didn’t understand why he was being so nice towards you. Dr. Park looked down at his watch and turned red. You couldn’t help but laugh. “Dr. Park are.. are you asking me out?” you inquired raising an eyebrow.  

He wouldn’t look you in the eye. “What?! No, of course not. I just thought you would be hungry and I wanted to reward you for the good job you did,” he explained trying to cover up his embarrassment.

But you knew that Dr. Park was trying to hide his true intentions. Intentions that you found completely abnormal since he was never nice towards residents. Yet you were also curious about him. The entire time you were at Seoul University Hospital he had made your life a living hell. So it was surprising that he had a complete change in attitude. You were intrigued and wanted to find out what his objective was. “Okay, I guess it can be a late late dinner,” you added.

His eyes lit up in astonishment. “Wait..really?” he questioned surprised that you had agreed. You nodded your head, “Well you’re probably gonna use your employee card which means it’s a free meal. And I love free food,” you emphasized.

For a second you saw his expression change and he looked disappointed. Then he quickly caught himself and became serious. “You should also eat because both of us know that your brain can use some energy,” he grinned, clearly knowing the effect his words would have.

You bit your tongue, stopping yourself from saying something that you would regret. “Let’s just get food Dr. Park. I have a patient I need to check on,” you explained gritting through your teeth.  

“Of course, after you,” he said as he opened the way for you to cross.

-|-

It was a weird and awkward meal. Dr. Park went on and on about himself. He talked about his success in school and the scholarships he received in university. You sensed that he wanted to show off his accomplishments which bugged you immensely. You weren’t jealous of his success, but it seemed like he wasn’t humble at all.

Most of the time you just nodded your head to be polite and ate the food he got for you. After you finished, he followed you back to the hospital. When you entered the lobby you were worried that your co-workers would see you with him. Thankfully no one noticed that you two were together.

“Well, thanks for the food Dr. Park. I should head up now and check on my patients,” you pointed out as you stood next to the elevators. He said you’re welcome and walked the opposite way. What the hell was that? Why the hell did you agree to have dinner with him? You hit yourself on the head for your foolishness. The elevator door opened up at the oncology department. You started to walk out when you suddenly bumped into a wide chest. “Not again,” you mumbled rubbing your head due to the impact.

The rough voice spoke, “Again? When did we run into each other?” he wondered. As you lifted your head you saw it was Namjoon. You were caught off guard and backed away in surprise. “Nothing just thought it was someone I met before,” you began explaining but then stopped yourself realizing you didn’t owe him an explanation. You quickly changed the subject and questioned Namjoon why he was up.

Namjoon looked annoyed after you questioned him. “I can’t even move on my own now,” he replied.

“You could have gotten hurt,” you pointed out trying to explain how dangerous it was.

Namjoon rolled his eyes and pushed you to the side as he made his way into the elevator. “Doc, I know I have cancer but come on.. can’t a guy just live,” he stated rather nonchalantly.

You didn’t respond for a second thinking about what he said. “Where are you even going?” you asked.

“They didn’t have the candy I wanted at this vending machine so I’m going to the lobby,” he explained.

Your eyes turned bloodshot. “You risked your health for some candy?!” you boomed stepping into the elevator as well. He leaned against the railing on the side folding his arms across his chest and eyeing you. “Can you stop doing that!” you added noticing his stare.

He laughed at your annoyance. “What? I’m not doing anything,” he mentioned smirking.

You scoffed. “To hell you’re not,” you snapped.

He stood up and walked closer to you. “Doc, I think you could use some candy. It’ll ease that stress you have,” he remarked teasing your noticeable anger. Suddenly the doors closed and Namjoon stood there grinning. “Don’t worry..I’ll pay for you. I’m a gentleman,” he assured.

-|-

“So what candy do you want?” he asked while looking at the vending machine completely mesmerized. You folded your arms furiously but decided on an item anyways. “Uh that one,” you said pointing to the Kit Kat. He spun his head around and you locked eyes. As you looked into his deep brown eyes, it made you freeze up. “Doc…” Namjoon stated coyly. You quirked an eyebrow, curious by his tone “Yeah?”

“That’s my favorite!” he boasted proudly.

You let out a sigh and closed your eyes. “Great, wonderful, awesome, now can you just get the candy so we can go back upstairs. You’re supposed to be attached to your fluids,” you began explaining. But Namjoon had already turned his attention back to the vending machine. When he finally got the candy you both walked up to the elevators. As you were waiting for the doors to open you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around and recognized it was Dr. Park. “You forgot your bag,” he said pulling it out from behind him.

Surprised to see him there, you mentioned that he could have given it to you tomorrow. “It’s okay. I thought you would need it now,” Dr. Park noted. Again you wondered why he was being nice to you.

You completely forgot that Namjoon was standing next to you until you saw him extend his arm out. “Hello, I’m Namjoon. Y/N’s patient,” he interjected. You noticed that he called you by your first name which sounded strange at first but somehow felt appropriate once it lingered in your mind. But you glared at Namjoon nonetheless. Ironically you were saved by the bell once the elevator doors opened up. “Well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” you told Dr. Park. He nodded his head and you hurried inside.

The atmosphere in the elevator had become so awkward that it seemed like the 14th floor was millions of miles away. “So he’s the one you thought you ran into again,” Namjoon said aloud. You turned your head towards him as the light on the screen read Floor 7.

“Boyfriend?” he added curiously.

Your eyes almost popped out of your head. “What?? He’s my boss! That would be weird,” you answered. You weren’t sure why you were explaining to a patient your relationship with someone else. Namjoon walked next to you looking at his hazy reflection on the closed doors. “I’ve seen weirder things,” he mentioned nonchalantly. “But that’s good to know,” he added. Your heart tensed up at those words. Despite the hot air blowing through the vent, you could feel a million goosebumps erupt on your skin.

Somehow the way Namjoon spoke left you feeling captivated and wanting more of. “What weird things?” you inquired completing ignoring his last statement. The elevator door dinged and you saw Floor 14 flash on the screen. “Next time Doc,” he smiled. This time his smile seemed genuine. He wasn’t being his normal arrogant and obnoxious self.

-|-

Throughout the next couple of weeks you saw Namjoon about twice a day. Since he was part of inpatient care, he barely left the hospital. That 4 by 4 room became his new home. At first you would go in and make sure his vitals were okay. You would give him his medicine and send him to his chemotherapy sessions. Your actions were that of a doctor. But, somewhere during that time, you found yourself more emotionally invested. When he would come back from chemo feeling weak and exhausted, it pained you to see him broken. Yet, the next day he would be back to his normal self. This usually consisted of trying to make you come to his room for random requests every five minutes. When you didn’t, he would make some remark about how this hospital sucked and if he was the owner he would make it better. At these statements, your feelings about him changed instantly. He no longer seemed vulnerable to you. Despite his cancer, he was still an asshole. There was no denying that.

You were walking past the nurses station, when Nurse Seokjin ran up to you. “He wants to see you,” he sighed clearly annoyed.

“I need to go get ready for a surgery,” you explained to Seokjin trying to move out of the way. You really didn’t have time to deal with his banter. But Seokjin wouldn’t let you move past. “He’s been ringing that goddam bell for the last hour. If he rings it one more time...I don’t care if he’s terminally ill I will shove it up his-” You put your hand up and stopped him from talking.

“Alright, Alright let me see what he wants,” you mentioned giving in to his request. You walked into Namjoon’s room as he was shuffling through the channels on his tv.

“Well it’s about time,” he stated when he saw that you opened the door. “What do you want Namjoon?” you asked annoyed by his childish act. He shut off the tv and shifted his body up on the bed.

“Doc, why do you have to be so mean to me?” he pouted.

“I have my reasons,” you said faking a smile. Your pager buzzed inside of your pocket and your eyes widened at the message. Dr. Park was going to cut off your head if you didn’t get to the operation room in five minutes. “Listen I’d love to chat with you but I have a surgery I need to get to,” you explained frantically turning around.

“Wait!” Namjoon called out before you opened the door. You looked back at him. “Can you get me some candy when you’re done?” he added grinning.

“Bye Namjoon,” you hissed through your teeth.

After you left his room you ran to the operating room. An intern was at the door waiting for you to arrive. “He’s boiling,” the young medical student said. While running and taking off your lab coat you prepared yourself for Jimin Park’s wrath. Deep down inside you hoped he remembered that weird but nice dinner you had so he wouldn’t cut off your head. “Just let him know I’m here,” you said to the intern. She nodded her head and left the preparation room where you were cleaning your arms and changing into the proper attire. As you were scrubbing your hands with the disinfectant, the double doors that led into the operating room swung open. Dr. Park was standing there eyeing you coldly.

“Are you fucking crazy?” he spat. You refused to look him in the eyes and kept scrubbing at your hands. “I had to see a patient of mine,” you stated nonchalantly trying not to anger him anymore.

“I don’t care if you had to see the Pope. This is a major surgery and I expected you to be here on time,” Dr. Park said.

You looked up at the clock. “I’m not late yet. I still have two minutes,” you pointed. Dr. Park seemed stunned but didn’t get angry after that remark.

“You’ve got 30 seconds to get into the room,” he mentioned before leaving and entering the designated area. After he was gone your head collapsed and you let out a deep sigh. While he was talking you were anxious the entire time. It was as if you were preparing for a tornado to hit and rip everything apart. Thankfully, the tornado never came and you felt relieved that Dr. Park didn’t get any more angrier. But at the same time you were also confused because it was unlike him.

Once the surgery was done you went back upstairs. You tiptoed in the hall, across from Namjoon’s room, praying he didn’t see you. You felt uncomfortable around him. Part of you disliked the way he spoke to you but another was also intrigued. Despite your attempt to hide from his view, he saw you. You instantly froze when he called out your name. Before you entered his room, you let out a sigh and prepared yourself mentally.

In the best fake voice you could master you replied to his call. “What do you need Namjoon?” you asked forcing a smile.

“What took you so long?” he scoffed pretending to look at his watch.

“Oh I don’t know? Just trying to save a life I guess,” you said sarcastically.

Completely ignoring what you said, he eyed your hands in search of something “Where’s my candy?” he questioned.

You clenched your jaw tightly already beginning to get annoyed. “You can’t have candy now because you just took your medicine. Did you want something else?” you added. He looked up pretending to think about something. “Well..I need to shower. I was thinking-” he smirked.

You stopped him realizing what he was saying. “Namjoon, your feet work just fine,” you stated. Out of the most inappropriate things that had come out of his mouth, this by far was the most excessive. After all you were his doctor.

He let out a whine like a baby would. “Doc, you’re no fun. Can’t you just play along c’mon.”

Now you were beginning to get mad. This was your job, you didn’t have time for fun or games. He was your patient and that was a boundary that you wanted to respect. You stepped closer to him with your arms folded across your chest. “I’m not here to fucking play. I haven’t slept in nearly 15 hours. My eyelids are about to collapse. I’ve had one granola bar and six cups of coffee. So if you think I have time to play your little games please don’t bother trying,” you hissed as each word came out of your mouth. You didn’t know where the sudden burst of confidence came from but you weren’t about to let someone take advantage of you and your time, even if he was your patient. Namjoon eyed you intently which made you uncomfortable but you dismissed that thought.  

“What?” you questioned unsure why he wasn’t responding.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he finally answered which shocked you.

“I’m not upset,”you said trying to defend your behavior. Partially because you didn’t want him to hold this against you in the future.

“I think you’re upset,” he added. You shook your head to suggest you weren’t.

He rolled his eyes at you. “Okay you know what? I’m not sorry. Yeah I’m an asshole sometimes, but I think I have a right,” Namjoon admitted.

Now you were upset. “You think it’s okay to be an asshole?” you questioned furiously.

“Well yeah, it’s my last chance before I die,” Namjoon mentioned casually.

You were a bit taken aback by his nonchalant attitude about his illness. “Dying does not give you an excuse to be a dick,” you uttered.

He laughed at your remark. You quirked an eyebrow at his reaction. “I think dying is a good excuse for just about anything. It’s the only perk I have in this situation,” he replied truthfully.

You scoffed at his inability to be remorseful. “You’re unbelievable.”

Namjoon gave you a grin and spoke up, “Yeah, so are you doc.” He added a smile at the end that seemed genuine. But you assumed it was his way of teasing you.

Suddenly, Namjoon got up from his bed and maneuvered his way toward you. You backed up but stood still when you saw his eyes were dark. As he got closer and his face became clearer, you realized he was completely pale. Your instincts took over and you grabbed his arms. They were ice cold. “Namjoon, are you okay?” you said holding onto both of his shoulders.

“Never been better,” he muttered as he looked down at you smiling, the same smile he gave you a few seconds ago. All of a sudden his six feet body collapsed on your frame and you almost fell over. Luckily you were able to grab onto the IV stand which supported your back. “I need some help!” you screamed out.

[mbtizone]

Jasmine (Aladdin): ESFP

Dominant Extroverted Sensing [Se]: The palace makes Jasmine feel trapped. She wants the freedom to see what else is out there, and so she hops over the wall and leaves her life behind, throwing herself into a world she knows nothing about. When Aladdin has to come to her aid after she takes an apple without paying to feed a small child, she’s able to adapt and play along when he tries to get her out of trouble by claiming that she’s crazy. Jasmine is able to improvise in the moment, even bowing to Abu and pretending to think that a camel was her doctor in order to really sell Aladdin’s lie. Jasmine picks up on how to do things quickly. When Aladdin takes Jasmine back to where he lives, he pole vaults from one building to another. He sets down a plank for her to walk across, but by the time he’s finished, she’s already flown over his head, claiming to be a “fast learner.” She thinks quickly on her feet and is able to distract Jafar by pretending his wish for her to fall in love with him came true, giving Aladdin time to sneak up behind him. Jasmine is open to adventure and new experiences, and is delighted by the opportunity to ride on a magic carpet where she can explore new places and see new things.

Auxiliary Introverted Feeling [Fi]: Jasmine refuses to have decisions made for her. She wants freedom and the ability to make her own choices in life. If she gets married, she wants it to be for love. If the law is forcing her to wed, then the law is wrong. It bothers her that she’s never been able to do anything by herself. Jasmine wants to be independent and even attempts to run away in her desire to gains some autonomy. Once Jasmine finds out who Aladdin really is, she becomes outraged by how unfair it is that they can’t be together. She doesn’t want to sacrifice her heart’s desire and wants nothing more than to live her life on her own terms without interference from anybody. She wants to be treated like a person and doesn’t hesitate to put people in their place when they treat her like an object.

Tertiary Extroverted Thinking [Te]: Although it’s difficult for Jasmine to obey rules, she understands the established system and is quite good at barking orders and making demands. When the guards take Aladdin, she reveals herself and commands them to let him go. She doesn’t hesitate to use her status as the princess to get the men to release him, and is very firm with the guards, though they take Aladdin despite her efforts. Jasmine is direct, decisive, and bold. She is frank and speaks her mind, regardless of who she’s talking to. When she finds out that the guards were acting on Jafar’s orders, she marches straight up to him and reprimands him for his actions. Jasmine is unhappy with her life in the palace, so she leaves everything behind and escapes.

Inferior Introverted Intuition [Ni]: Because Jasmine acts without giving much thought to the future, she leaves the castle with nothing but the clothes on her back, not accounting for where she will go or what she will do, especially since she doesn’t have any money. Jasmine is good at picking up on people’s deceptions and has good gut instincts. She’s able to figure out that Prince Ali is actually Aladdin and plants a trap which forces Aladdin to admit that he’s the guy she met in the marketplace. When Jasmine releases the doves, it symbolically represents her own desire to fly away from her cage, the palace (Fi-Ni).

Enneagram: 4w3 8w7 7w8 Sx/So

Quotes:

Prince Achmed: I’ve never been so insulted! Sultan: Oh, Prince Achmed. You’re not leaving so soon, are you? Prince Achmed: Good luck marrying her off! Sultan: Oh, Jasmine! Jasmine! Jasmine! [The sultan goes off into the garden looking for his daughter. He finds her, but is interrupted by Rajah, Jasmine’s pet tiger, who blocks him off. Rajah has a piece of the prince’s undershorts in his mouth.The sultan grabs the cloth and yanks it out of Rajah’s mouth.] Confound it, Rajah! So, this is why Prince Achmed stormed out! Jasmine: Oh, father. Rajah was just playing with him, weren’t you Rajah? You were just playing with that overdressed, self-absorbed Prince Achmed, weren’t you? Sultan: Dearest, you’ve got to stop rejecting every suitor that comes to call. The law says you… Both: …must be married to a prince. [They walk over to a dove cage.] Sultan: By your next birthday. Jasmine: The law is wrong. Sultan: You’ve only got three more days! Jasmine: Father, I hate being forced into this. [She takes a dove out of the cage and pets it.] If I do marry, I want it to be for love. Sultan: Jasmine, it’s not only this law. [She hands him the dove, and he puts it back in the cage.] I’m not going to be around forever, and I just want to make sure you’re taken care of, provided for. Jasmine: Try to understand. I’ve never done a thing on my own. [She swirls her finger in the water of the pond, petting the fish.] I’ve never had any real friends. (Rajah looks up at her and growls.] Except you, Rajah. [Satisfied, he goes back to sleep.] I’ve never even been outside the palace walls. Sultan: But Jasmine, you’re a princess. Jasmine: Then maybe I don’t want to be a princess. Sultan: Oooohhh! [to Rajah] Allah forbid you should have any daughters!

[As she’s climbing the palace walls] Jasmine: Oh, I’m sorry, Rajah. But I can’t stay here and have my life lived for me.

[In the marketplace] Jasmine: Oh, you must be hungry. [Jasmine takes an apple off one of the stands and gives it to the little boy] Here you go. [The boy runs off.] Proprietor: You’d better be able to pay for that. Jasmine: Pay? Proprietor: No one steals from my cart! Jasmine: Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have any money. Proprietor: Thief! Jasmine: Please, if you let me go to the palace, I can get some from the Sultan. Proprietor: Do you know what the penalty is for stealing? [He takes her hand and pins it down on the table, intending to chop it off] Jasmine: No, no, please! [The sword drops, but his hand is stopped by Aladdin] Aladdin: Thank you, kind sir. I’m so glad you’ve found her. I’ve been looking all over for you. Jasmine: [whispering] What are you doing? Aladdin: Just play along. Proprietor: You know this girl? Aladdin: Sadly, yes. She is my sister. She’s a little crazy. Proprietor: She said she knows the Sultan! Aladdin: She thinks the monkey is the Sultan. [Abu is picking a pocket. He hears this and straightens up. Jasmine, playing along, kneels down and bows to Abu] Jasmine: Oh, wise Sultan. How may I serve you? Abu: Well, blah blah blah blah. Aladdin: Tragic, isn’t it? [He leans forward, picking up another apple from the cart with his foot] But, no harm done. [He walks over to Jasmine] Now come along, sis. Time to see the doctor. Jasmine: [to a camel standing nearby] Oh, hello, Doctor. How are you? Aladdin: No, no, no. Not that one.

Jasmine: I want to thank you for stopping that man. Aladdin: Uh, forget it. [He grabs a pole] So, uh, this is your first time in the marketplace, huh? [He pole vaults to the next building, leaving Jasmine behind] Jasmine: Is it that obvious? Aladdin: Well, you do kinda stand out. I mean, uh, you don’t seem to know how dangerous Agrabah can be. [He lays a plank between the buildings for her to walk over, but as he is leaned down, she vaults over his head. He looks back in surprise. She tosses the pole to him.] Jasmine: I’m a fast learner. Aladdin: Right. C’mon, this way.

Jasmine: I want to thank you for stopping that man. Aladdin: Uh, forget it. [He grabs a pole] So, uh, this is your first time in the marketplace, huh? [He pole vaults to the next building, leaving Jasmine behind] Jasmine: Is it that obvious? Aladdin: Well, you do kinda stand out. I mean, uh, you don’t seem to know how dangerous Agrabah can be. [He lays a plank between the buildings for her to walk over, but as he is leaned down, she vaults over his head. He looks back in surprise. She tosses the pole to him.] Jasmine: I’m a fast learner. Aladdin: Right. C’mon, this way.

Jasmine: Unhand him, by order of the princess. [The guards suddenly stop and bow, forcing Aladdin to bow as well.] Guard: Princess Jasmine. Aladdin: The princess? Abu: The princess? Guard: What are you doing outside the palace? And with this street rat? Jasmine: That’s not your concern. Do as I command. Release him! Guard: Well, I would, princess, but my orders come from Jafar. You’ll have to take it up with him. [The guards drag Aladdin out, bowing as they go.] Jasmine: [angrily] Believe me, I will.

Jasmine: The guards just took a boy from the market, on your orders. Jafar: Your father’s charged me with keeping peace in Agrabah. The boy was a criminal. Jasmine: What was his crime? Iago: I can’t breathe, Jafar! Jafar: Why, kidnapping the princess, of course. Iago: If you could just- [Jafar kicks him back inside the door and it slams shut] Wow, that hurt! Jasmine: He didn’t kidnap me! I ran away! Jafar: [Walking away as if shocked] Oh, dear! Oh, how frightfully upsetting. Had I but known. Jasmine: What do you mean? Jafar: Sadly, the boy’s sentence has already been carried out. Jasmine: What sentence? Jafar: Death. [Jasmine gasps] By beheading. Jasmine: No! [She collapses to the floor.] Jafar: I am exceedingly sorry, princess. Jasmine: How could you? [She runs from the room crying.]

Sultan: Jafar, this is an outrage. If it weren’t for all your years of loyal service… From now on, you are to discuss sentencing of prisoners with me, before they are beheaded. Jafar: I assure you, your highness, it won’t happen again. Sultan:Jasmine, Jafar, now let’s put this whole messy business behind us. Please? Jafar: My most abject and humblest apologies to you as well, princess. [He takes her hand to kiss it, but she yanks it away.] Jasmine: At least some good will come of my being forced to marry. When I am queen, I will have the power to get rid of you.

Sultan: Jasmine will like this one! Aladdin: And I’m pretty sure I’ll like Princess Jasmine! Jafar: Your highness, no. I must intercede on Jasmine’s behalf. [Jasmine hears this and gets mad.] This boy is no different than the others. What makes him think he is worthy of the princess? Aladdin: Your majesty, I am Prince Ali Ababwa! [He pricks Jafar’s goatee, which springs out in all directions.] Just let her meet me. I will win your daughter! Jasmine: How dare you! All of you, standing around deciding my future? I am not a prize to be won! [She storms out.]

Jasmine: A whole new world A dazzling place I never knew But when I’m way up here It’s crystal clear That now I’m in a whole new world with you!

Jasmine: Unbelievable sights Indescribable feeling Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling Through an endless diamond sky

Jasmine: A whole new world! Aladdin: Don’t you dare close your eyes Jasmine: An hundred thousand things to see Aladdin: Hold your breath- it gets better! Jasmine: I’m like a shooting star, I’ve come so far I can’t go back to where I used to be!

Jasmine: It’s all so magical. Aladdin: Yeah. Jasmine: It’s a shame Abu had to miss this. Aladdin: Nah. He hates fireworks. He doesn’t really like flying either. That is… oh no! Jasmine: [She pulls off his turban] You are the boy from the market! I knew it. Why did you lie to me? Aladdin: Jasmine, I’m sorry. Jasmine: Did you think I was stupid? Aladdin: No! Jasmine: That I wouldn’t figure it out? Aladdin: No. I mean, I hoped you wouldn’t. No, that’s not what I meant. Jasmine: Who are you? Tell me the truth! Aladdin: The truth? The truth… the truth is… I sometimes dress as a commoner to escape the pressures of palace life. But I really am a prince! Jasmine: Why didn’t you just tell me? Aladdin: Well, you know, um… royalty going out into the city in disguise, it sounds a little strange, don’t you think? Jasmine: Not that strange.

Jafar: It pains me to see you reduced to this, Jasmine. [He takes a bite out of the apple she is holding.] A beautiful desert bloom such as yourself should be on the arm of the most powerful man in the world. [He waves his finger and a crown appears.] What do you say, my dear? Why, with you as my queen… [She picks up a glass of wine and throws it in his face.] Jasmine: Never! Jafar: I’ll teach you some respect! [She falls back as he raises his hand to slap her. Then he stops.] No, Genie, I have decided to make my final wish. I wish for Princess Jasmine to fall desperately in love with me. GENIE: Ah, master- there are a few addendas, some quid pro quo- Jafar: Don’t talk back to me, you stupid blue lout! You will do what I order you to do, slave! [Jasmine looks up and sees Aladdin in the window, who makes a “Shh” motion.] Jasmine: [Thinks for a moment, then stands and puts the crown on her head.] Jafar! I never realized how incredibly handsome you are. [The Genie’s jaw drops.] Jafar: That’s better. [He pulls the Genie’s jaw up like a shade.] Now, pussycat, tell me more about… myself. Jasmine: You’re tall, well dressed…

Jafar: Go on. Jasmine: And your beard…is so…twisted! [She has her arms around him. She pretends to twist with her finger, but she is actually motioning for Aladdin to come over. He makes his move. Iago sees him.] Iago: Jaf–mmmmmm! [Abu grabs him and covers his mouth.] Jafar: And the street rat? Jasmine: What street rat? [They are about to kiss when Iago manages to knock over a bowl. Jafar turns to look, but Jasmine grabs him back and kisses him. Aladdin looks disgusted. Iago and Abu both look disgusted.]

Jasmine (Aladdin): ESFP was originally published on MBTI Zone

[laryna6]

There are things that I want to reblog, because something needs to be done, but they’re just vile. I feel dirty just reading them.

I’m reminded of seeing someone say ‘there was a lot more attention when Marvel made Captain America Hydra than when it made Magneto Hydra,’ and I think that’s because people considered making Captain America an ahistorical fuckup.

At the time, sure, Irish people were targeted along with black people by America’s eugenicists trying to eliminate their populations by keeping them from having children. Making Captain America Hydra at the time would have been racist as fuck.

These days, well, having a black president doesn’t mean racism against black people is over, but if we had another Irish Catholic president, this time only complete nutjobs would be going ‘America will be dragged into sin because the Pope rules the country now and he’s an agent of the devil’ rather than that being enough of a ‘valid concern’ to get discussed in official interviews. (It’s Muslims these days.) Racism against Irish people is really not a thing in modern America, so when someone made an Irish person in the WWII era Hydra, you could blame them not realizing that Steve Rogers was part of two groups targeted for genocide (Irish and disabled) on not doing the fucking research. People saw it as an error that should be corrected.

Everyone knows the Nazis and other eugenicists wanted to eliminate Jewish people. Making Magneto Hydra... you can’t blame that on ignorance. That’s a ‘fuck you this is deliberate.’ You stop engaging in dialogue and start engaging in boycott. 

The thing is that racism against the Irish is over in America. 

Finally.

For now.

Eugenicists considered Irish people monkeys, just like black people. Racial purity means purity. If we let them start rolling back progress? Organized racism against Irish people is within living memory. The KKK was founded to oppress the Irish. Racists want to roll back civil rights to an era when we did not have white privilege, and if you think they’ll take away everyone else’s rights and leave ours alone you’re effing delusional.

Using divide and conquer tactics on Celts and POCs, playing them against each other to keep them from allying to overthrow the white masters is American tradition going back to the very first (Celt) slaves brought to the colonies that became the US. 

If these bastards aren’t stopped, they’re going to try to use the Irish as a ‘model minority’ again. Well, it didn’t protect us from genocide last time. 

If you’re Irish-American, what’s going on now is your problem. If you let them swindle you, you have no right to call yourself Irish...

...but giving up your cultural identity still won’t make them consider you white.

‘The blacks of Europe’ were often used as overseers, cops, and other buffers between POCs and ‘real’ humans. 

 Ireland had been colonized for centuries and still hasn’t gotten its ancient cultural centers back. The big migration of Irish people to America was caused by a genocide: the English were taking food from Ireland for England while the Irish starved and depicting Irish as monkeys in newspapers. It was too easy to turn ‘we’re not monkeys’ into ‘you’re not like the other POC, right? You don’t want to be treated like them?’ Irish people were treated better in America than in their colonized homeland. They were used to seeing people treated as inferiors on racial grounds, that was how the world worked under British plantation owners. A lot of them failed to realize that no, it was not nice not to be at the bottom of the heap for once.

An Irish person who votes Republican is voting for the ideological descendants of the people who banned them from getting college educations on racial grounds. Who turned them into serfs (like slaves, but not worth money: more where they come from, they breed like the animals they are) in their own homeland and banned them from practicing their traditional culture? You’ve seen Riverdance? How they’re so stoic and barely moving from the waist up? That was so the overseers watching them over the hedges wouldn’t catch them preserving traditional dance. 

How do you think the English learned the native culture and religion elimination tactics they use on Native Americans? They had colonialism down to a science before they hit the Americas. There’s a reason the French and English treated Native Americans so differently, and it’s because the English already had a tradition of turning natives into slaves and taking away their land and justifying it on the basis of race. They were so good at running colonies because they’d been doing it for centuries. 

The idea that the fifties was a happy time is bullshit: there’s a reason the people who became adults in that era were called the Beat Generation: they were beaten down, even the white males. People were getting hauled in for fucking thought crimes. 

But some idiots want to go back to that era. They want to recreate the social structure at the time, with whites at the top. Getting crapped on and hauled in by secret police yes, but less than everyone else.

And Irish people should be very afraid of this, because back then we weren’t white. 

There’s that quote about ‘first they came for the... then they came for me.’ Eventually, they will get around to the Irish. It’ll begin with the Irish having to ‘prove they’re white’ by ‘serving the country,’ as police, as military, as enforcers so good whites don’t have to deal with the dirty POC. 

By the time Irish people aren’t allowed to get college educations anymore, other non-whites aren’t going to like us very much. Why would they stand up for us if we were used to beat them down when they stood up for themselves, just like before? 

My dad votes Republican and it drives me crazy, because he was there for the racist objections to Kennedy seeming like ‘perfectly logical concerns,’ he was there for America’s first non-WASP president getting assassinated, he was able to get a college education and become a doctor because Irish Catholics were finally getting the ability to be upwardly mobile and it really wasn’t a coincidence that this happened in the Civil Rights Era.. 

Irish people have white privilege now. If/as racism intensifies, the concept of losing white privilege and getting treated like POC is going to get scarier and scarier. It might be too easy to fall into the trap of being treated better than POC provided we’re of use to the real whites, even if of course we’re not ‘real people’ to them. 

tl;dr Irish Celts in America from the Thirteen Colonies to the Civil Rights Era were in a position where we weren’t POC but we were not white either., and we should be very afraid of anyone who wants to ‘restore American traditions’ like using minorities against each other because becoming a ‘model minority’ did jack shit to protect us from genocide the first time.

Also, because of all that time when Irish people were being played against black people, most POC consider Irish rights as laughable as Men’s Rights. If we as a group hang them out to dry trying to get treated like citizens instead of serfs like in back in effing Jamestown, why the hell should they speak up when the eugenicists come for us once again?