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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 4 months

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Hallowed

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, face sitting, smut. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Her Early Medieval Literature essay is due, and Michael has his own cruel way of ensuring she stays focused.

Author's note: Can be read as part two of this fic, but also works as a standalone. Day six of the Smuffmas prompts - "future and face sitting". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She lounges on Michael’s bed, clad in only knickers and one of his t-shirts, a copy of the Canterbury Tales grasped lightly between her fingers. Her eyes move over the words of Chaucer, but take none of them in, how could they? His long fingers draw lazy circles on her ankle, her legs stretched out up to the pillows where he reclines, the duvet wrapped around his bare midriff while he reads from a textbook called the Book of Proof.

Life feels simpler since Michael has entered it, despite the turbulent beginnings. She has given up her friends, under his advice, and there is now far less pressure to conform. Her only focuses are her studies and pleasing him, the latter of the two she takes great pleasure in.

It is always on his terms; when they see each other, what they do, how they do it, and despite his obvious initial inexperience he is a fast learner. His ability to make her fall apart, to make her relinquish all control is something he does expertly. The slight fear she feels towards him only adds to the excitement; he could destroy her if he wanted to, but if she plays nicely then he won’t, and she is more than happy to play nicely when the rewards for doing so are as satisfying as they are.

She sighs, his fingers upon her flesh making her core throb with want, even from the simple gesture of absentmindedly touching her leg. She lets her book slip from her fingers, raising up on her elbow to look at him.

“Michael…” she whines.

He looks at her impassively, adjusting his glasses. “The first of your three essays is due soon, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” she responds with a roll of her eyes, flopping back down and stretching her arms above her head. “Early Medieval Literature.”

His hand moves from her ankle, fingertips ghosting over the exposed skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of her underwear. “And what have you written?”

She shivers beneath his touch, squirming slightly. “Am I really here to study?”

“I’ve no interest in sleeping with a failing literature student,” he pulls his hand away and she immediately misses his warmth. “So tell me.”

She groans in frustration. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably something about irony in the Merchant’s Tale.”

His textbook thuds closed and she hears the heavy sound of him dropping it onto the bedside table. When she chances to glance up at him she sees he is sitting straighter in the bed, his gaze hardened as he looks at her. “Probably?! You mean you haven’t started it? Have you even thought about your thesis statement, your in-depth analysis or how you’re going to conclude your ideas, if you’ve even had any?”

“Oh, come on,” she says softly, sitting up and reaching for him. “There’s still time. Can’t we just–”

“No,” he cuts her off. “I’ve been spoiling you, and it’s made you stupid.”

“I’m not stupid!” She protests. “If I remember correctly, it was you who called my degree a ‘glorified book club’.”

“You still need to try,” he tells her, frowning.

“You don’t try,” she argues with a shrug,” and marks in your first year don’t count towards the final degree.”

“I don’t have to try, but I still get firsts in everything. Marks this year may not count towards the final degree you get, but they count towards you keeping your scholarship. Think about your future instead of being a fucking brat for once in your life.”

His words are a sharp sting to her already fragile ego, and she lowers her gaze, fighting the sudden urge to cry.

“I’m not touching you again until your essay’s handed in and I’ve seen what your mark is.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief as she looks at him, searching his features for any indication that he’s being unserious. She finds none; he really means it.

“And you’re not to touch yourself. I’ll know.”

The next two weeks are torturous for her. On the occasions that Michael does invite her to his room, there is no more casual half dressed lounging on his bed. Instead, he has a study space set up for her at his desk, and won’t allow her to speak or leave until she has at least a thousand words written.

They meet up in the library during free periods so that he can read through what she’s written, and her skin burns hot with humiliation each time he screws up a page and throws it into the waste paper bin, calling her arguments “lazy” and “uninspired”.

It lights a fire of determination beneath her, but bubbling under the surface is also a heightened state of arousal, driven by the lack of intimacy, and the fact that she finds that she likes it when he is so authoritative over her.

By the time she has finished, she has produced an essay that both her and Michael are satisfied with; it discusses the use of irony in Chaucer’s poem, the Merchant's Tale. She has used a number of excerpts and lines from the poem for analysis, revealing the instances of irony in each, and from this has determined that the irony Chaucer used in the Merchant's Tale is controlled.

Her eyes light up when Professor Ware hands it back, and she sees the 85% that’s circled at the top of it.

A first.

She feels giddy with excitement as she knocks on Michael’s door that evening, brandishing the now dog-eared pages at him as he opens the door.

“A first, I got a first!” She squeals, watching as he takes the essay from her, his eyes moving slowly over the top page.

“Hmmm,” he settles it down on the desk, removing his glasses and placing them on top. “Take off your jeans and underwear.”

“Wha–what?” She stammers, her grin fading.

“You want your reward, don’t you?” He asks, moving to lay back on the bed.

She swallows thickly, excitement fluttering in her lower belly, as she quickly complies, ridding herself of the clothing that covers her lower half.

“Come here,” he commands softly.

She joins him on the bed, a gasp leaving her as he manhandles her until her knees are positioned either side of his head.

“My clever girl,” he whispers. His words could be mistaken for softness, were they not directly juxtaposed by the rapid darkening of his blue eyes, and the way his thumbs drag across the indentations between her thighs and pelvis. “I knew you could do it, you just needed a little…push.”

He drags his tongue from her opening all the way to her pearl, and her jaw goes slack, the wet sensation making her clench as she falls forward, hands clawing at the wall in front of her.

His grip on her thighs tightens and he tugs her flush against his face, the sloppy sounds of him devouring her are lewd combined with the wanton cries of pleasure that tumble from her lips.

She feels her mind go blank as he inserts his tongue inside of her, keeping it rigid as she begins to grind herself in a circular motion, keeping his nose pressed against where she needs it most, desperately chasing the release she’s needed the last couple of weeks.

His hum of appreciation reverberates through her core, and as he withdraws from her, plush lips wrapping around her sensitive bundle of nerves she feels herself fall apart as the growing ache intensifies, completely at his mercy as he laps at her, while white hot waves of pleasure wash over her.

She raises up when it becomes too much, jerking at how oversensitive she feels and gazes down at him through heavy lidded eyes, breathless.

He looks like an utterly different person without his glasses, almost kind, though she knows better. His chin is shiny with her slick as he smirks up at her.

“You’ve worked so hard,” he says quietly, though the edge of malevolence to his voice is unmistakable. “But don’t worry, you can give that pretty little mind of yours a rest while I fuck you stupid again.”

She is powerless to resist as he tugs her back to his face once more, beginning the exquisite torture all over again.

#michael gavey x reader #ewan mitchell #michael gavey x y/n #michael gavey x you #michael gavey smut #michael gavey imagine #michael gavey saltburn #saltburn michael gavey #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fan fiction #michael gavey fan fic #michael gavey fanfic #saltburn #saltburn fan fiction #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fanfic #saltburn fan fic

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360iris · 10 months

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not quite learned | professor!miguel o’hara x reader

2k+ word count. small content warning that it is a student/teacher relationship fic, so feel free to skip this one if that’s not your thing. 18+ afab!m/c.

haven’t written, or been insanely active in the fandom, in a good two months maybe? trying to get out of that, hope this is enjoyable to someone <3

Only one thing is for certain, Miguel didn’t intend for things to go this far. But during a brief moment of reflection, he supposes none of the men like him ever really do.

The opportunity arises, and because he’s weak, fundamentally weak to your doe-like eyes, sweet voice and gentle affection— he gives into his impulses, willingly falls victim to his circumstances.

He hadn’t known that you would be so addictive, that once he gave in, there wouldn’t be another point at which he could regain his sane and working mind.

—

You were in his last class of the day, and as was your purely studious custom, you stayed after to ask whatever burning academic questions were plaguing you that day.

In the dark recesses of his thoughts, as he looked you over with a purposefully disinterested dark stare, he privately referred to your choice of presentation as obscenely feminine.

Especially with how you were dressed now— in a thin and lacey, thigh-length dress. Your ears and collarbones decorated with delicate silver jewelry and the tiniest, fucking light pink ribbons wrapped at the ends of two, neat plaits of hair.

He was close to rolling his eyes at that last detail. Finding himself desperately wanting to hate you for making his days significantly more difficult, with just the addition of your presence alone. And if not for the fact that you were always so sweet to him— never failing to brighten his day with your way always approached with an enthusiastically cheerful, “Hey, Miguel!”, he would have successfully manifested, and actively nurtured a deep hatred for you.

Instead, as you ask for pointers on how to proceed with your essay, he sighs deeply and gives an acquiescent nod. “Let me see what you’ve written so far.” He answers in a bored huff, ignoring the way you smile appreciatively at him, before promptly turning on your heel to retrieve your laptop.

You’d set your bag down in one of the front seats of the classroom, and as you bend over the small desk surface to pull open the zipper, Miguel’s eyes are fixed on the way your dress hikes up. And for just a brief moment, the backs of your creamy thighs are exposed to him. He can’t help but take the time to stare, catching a rare glimpse of a part of you he wouldn’t otherwise get to see.

Tearing his eyes away just as you free your computer, he swallows thickly as he watches you approach.

Setting the device in front of him, you choose to stand beside where he currently sat at his desk, leaning forward as you scrolled through the draft of your written assignment.

His mouth and brain were operating separately, delivering level headed advice on one end while focusing on all things concerning you on the other.

He couldn’t care less about the assignment. The older man quickly found that he was more than willing to give you full marks and be done with it, if it meant he could center in on how smooth your skin looked, or how pink your lips were and whether you smelled more like vanilla, or lotus and warmed honey.

During the fifteen minutes he’d spent giving you small pointers on how to push your essay in the right direction, he remained on his best behavior, not once straying off topic or letting his desires get the best of him.

You’d thanked him softly, beginning to put away your laptop and he’d almost patted himself on the back for making it through the interaction when you suddenly pulled a small glass container from your bag.

It held cookies— vanilla something or another, that you had made especially for him, as thanks for his patience with you so far. A supply of patience that seemed to evaporate the second you displayed the baked treats in front of him.

He doesn’t really know what happened next, how A got to B is still a mystery to him, but before he knew it the container of cookies and your bag lay strewn and long forgotten on the floor.

You were so tiny compared to him, his left hand capable of not only cupping your chin but the entire lower half of your face, easily squeezing your cheeks and lips together in the snug hold he has on you.

Miguel didn’t think this far ahead— doesn’t know what possessed him to clear the distance in three or less steps and have you locked in his grasp. But the way you look up at him, not in fear, but quiet anticipation has him considering that perhaps it’d be okay to test the waters further.

“Mr. O’Hara?” Your voice comes out small as you blink up at him, as though there wasn't a doubt in your mind that you were entirely innocent. And in that moment, he couldn't help it, he had to laugh right in your face.

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard or seen him appear anywhere remotely near amused, that it would’ve left you unsettled even if the notes didn’t fall flat. The sound of his ‘laughter’ coming across as sardonic and wholly mocking, the ‘mirth’ he apparently felt not quite reaching his eyes.

“Mr. O’Hara?” He repeats quietly, a dark smirk twinging his lips. As the seconds ticked by, you were starting to feel more and more like a butterfly caught in his web. “What happened to Miguel?”

You merely look up at him, a bit lost for words as he greedily eyes your form.

“You know- just while we’re on the subject, I never gave you explicit permission to call me by my first name. You started that on your own.” He hums, voice even and quiet. “It’s the same way I never explicitly told you that I was free after class… Do you know why that is? Do you have a guess?”

“No?” He asks rhetorically, shaking your head for you when you don’t immediately answer, Miguel leaning down to allow his lips to ghost your ear. “It’s because these aren’t my office hours, mi reinita. That’s what you are, you know. A little queen. That’s exactly how you act, calling me by my first name… taking up my time when you want it. When it suits you.”

“I’m sorry, M-“ You begin apologizing before his hand cupping your face suddenly tightens, not enough to hurt, but just enough to stop you from speaking.

“No quiero disculpas.” He says dismissively, waving you off with his free hand. His speech was quiet, each sentence perfectly enunciated, teasing almost. “Words don’t mean much, actions are everything. Like the cookies you made for me, that’s cute but… I don’t want cookies either.”

His free hand comes to rest on your hip, large and warm as it traces the outline of your waist.

“What do you think?” He asks, his voice soft but his tone coming across as a touch condescending. “Think you can make up for your bad behavior some other way?”

You nod feebly in reply, though the gesture doesn’t seem enough for him as he loosens his grip on your face. “Say it.” He orders evenly.

Your lips part, sucking in a shaky breath as you struggle to maintain eye contact. He was intimidating like this, towering over you, fully caging you in. “I wanna make up for my bad behavior, Mr. O’Hara.”

And it appears to do the trick, because his eyes darken and his jaw ticked as he looked down at you like he was seconds away from devouring a meal whole.

“Dicho como una niña buena.” He replies quietly, lids low. His face was so close to yours, air fanned your cheeks as he spoke. “Is that what you’re gonna be for me, mi reinita? Are you going to be a good girl?”

“Yes, sir.” You answer, voice barely above a whisper.

“Typically, I’d want to keep my eyes on your face but—“ He trails off, turning you in the opposite direction before you feel him place a hand at your back, wordlessly instructing you to lean forward until your torso is lying flush against the front row desk. “It’s not everyday that I get to see this end of you.”

Face hovering over the table with your hands laid flat against its surface, you attempt to focus on your breathing, trying your best not to fidget in place as he lifts the hem of your dress until your ass is on full display.

Miguel lets out a low whistle as he registers the lace cream thong you’re fitted in, his eyes drifting up the length of your body. “You’re a little naughty underneath too, aren’t you?”

“Maybe just… a bit prepared.” You answer quietly, cheek pressing into the desk as you look back at him over your left shoulder. And Miguel is finding that it’s harder and harder to think as more and more blood is redirected from his brain to somewhere more easily excitable.

“Walking around campus ready to be bent over, hm?” He asks, not expecting an answer as he runs his finger underneath the strap of the waistband. “All the pink ribbons and lace is just a distraction, isn’t it? Otherwise people would know what you really want.”

“What is it that I want, Professor?” You ask innocently, playing the part of being just a touch naive, your bottom wiggling the smallest amount as you attempt to discreetly ease the slowly growing ache between your thighs.

If Miguel catches the movement, he doesn’t comment on it.

Brushing the pads of his fingers against your chubby folds, he prods at your entrance through the small area of fabric, not covering much of anything, experimentally. Pressing inside and allowing the pitiful excuse for underwear to go along with his digits.

“The same thing I want.” He answers simply, his poker face unreadable as you whimper at the odd but gratifying sensation he briefly grants you.

You watch in awe as he pulls the fabric aside, licking a wide strip along his middle and ring fingers, rubbing his slick digits at your cunt before dipping them inside of you.

Your mouth parts as he stretches you open, unceremoniously making room for himself in that warm and welcoming place between your legs.

“Mhm, that’s it…” He hums appraisingly as the slip and slide of his fingers gradually becomes increasingly easier as he massages your spongy walls.

Hooking his fingers inside of you, his wrist jostles about, causing your voice to slip out despite yourself as his pace increases. Your feet begin to lift off the floor from how spirited his ministrations become. Miguel’s hand glistening with your arousal, small droplets dripping from his skin and onto the dark carpeted flooring.

It becomes clear that you’re fighting a losing battle in the way the more you try to contain your voice, the harder he seems to work at getting you to audibly cry out despite the space the two of you are occupying.

“What are you holding back for?” He asks, as though he doesn’t know.

“B- because…” You protest in a high pitched shriek, clasping one of your hands to your mouth, the other gripping the edge of the desk to anchor yourself from how hard he’s fucking his fingers into you.

Leaning forward, Miguel playfully nips at your ear, the older man chuckling mischievously at how affected you are by him before he whispers, “Let me hear you.”

You frantically shake your head no, tears brimming in your eyes as your climax approaches.

Sure, you’d had fantasies about something like this occurring between the two of you— but never in a million years had you thought that you’d be pressed into the same desk you stressed about studying for your midterm at, minutes away from cumming on his fingers.

“Can’t, can’t.” You whine, your cries muffled against your palm as he shushes you.

“None of that,” He replies calmly, increasing his speed. “No more whining, niña preciosa. Just let go for me. You said you’d make it up to me, didn’t you?”

You nod weakly, lost in the way he’s making you feel. Lost in how lulling his voice is when he wants it to be.

“Then make it up to me.” He coos soothingly against your neck. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

#miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 smut #professor/student smut #miguel o’hara x reader

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bao3bei4 · 10 months

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ON THE TSHIRT METHOD TO WRITING ESSAYS IN YOUR OWN TIME:

i have had a couple people mention to me that they would like to write essays too, but they are a little out of practice. so i thought i should gather some scattered thoughts into one place. this is not a systematic guide. i am young and inexperienced and still working out things for myself, but this is my basic process and some things that have helped me, summarized.

my biggest single piece of advice is to write with your proverbial pussy. you are not writing for a grade so don't act like it. forget rigor, forget academic style, etc. read what you're interested in, and write following up on the threads that you're interested in. don’t sweat the details. just do you.

if you still need more advice..... here’s a long winded post.

step zero: if you have no clue what you want to say yet

read. and read a lot.

but be realistic. be kind to yourself. your attention is a precious resource, and it is getting eaten up by shit out of your control all the time. if you’ve had a busy day, you may still have the brain power left to read. i almost never do. lol. so make sure to carve out time on a day off, if possible. otherwise you might end up completely fried, reading the same sentence over and over, and ending up scrolling on your phone LMAO. <-- painful lesson also to this end, if you haven’t picked up a denser book in a while, start with shorter articles, especially ones written more recently. if your attention wanders, try getting a physical book instead. the most important thing is just starting things you’ll actually read. i’ve seen a lot of people (and been that person) who was like. “oh i’m going to start with THE canonical text in a subject i’m interested in” which makes sense right? but that book is inevitably long and dense and convoluted and boring. you can come back to it later. this shouldn’t feel like a chore!

genuinely this is the most helpful thing you can do is just. read anything. it may be difficult at first (or always), but it is still the easiest way to engage with the foremost experts from around the world and the entirety of written history on any subject you are interested in. there’s not really a substitute to this.

note: you may say that people can and do come up with brilliant ideas independently of their access to written works. this is true! but if you are one of them, you should skip this section/post, because you already know what you want to say. okay that was a little too facetious. let me revise: when i say that, without reading, it will be hard to come up with more complex ideas than what you have now, that isn’t necessarily pejorative. maybe your current ideas and impulses are original and meaningful and complex. if they aren’t, however, you don’t have to resign yourself to it. your experiences in real life are the most valuable thing you can bring to the table, but it can be very difficult to articulate and contextualize them without community—whether that be irl, or the simple textual company of other writers. you can let other people help you and teach you. basically, this is a long winded way of saying something extremely simple: reading is not the only way to gain knowledge, or even the best. but it is an extremely consistent and relatively egalitarian way.** **scihub and libgen and sometimes the public library are your friends. (my local library’s book coverage is spotty) who cares about piracy. LMAO.

you may surprise yourself by how nicely you fall into little spirals. you read one thing. and you are enamored with the way the author approaches their subject. so you end up reading everything else they’ve written, and then you start on the authors they list that inspire them in their interviews. maybe you just read one article that’s a little dry but it cites something else that seems far more interesting. read that next. and so on.

if you are struggling to read that’s okay. you have options. start a book club (or just get a friend who also wants to read more). if that sounds like too much work, pick a friend to keep updated on all your new facts. you just want to get used to reading something, and telling someone your favorite parts again. skim books. skip the boring parts. drop them entirely and find a more interesting one. no one’s going to quiz you. this is for your own enjoyment.

also important here: read books that make you want to write. sometimes this is because the methods and/or prose of the author are so exciting, you want to do something just like that. sometimes it’s because the content is so exciting, you want to say something about that too. sometimes they speak so powerfully to your own life, you want to tell people this is me!! i see this!! there are books i just enjoy reading, sure, and i do read them. but you know how, like, a good movie makes you want to tell stories too? good theory should do that too, in my opinion.

step one: you have some ideas now.

these ideas don’t have to be set in stone. but you should have an idea now of what you might talk about. personally, for me, i have two interconnected types of essay ideas.

interventions. this is like [tumblr voice] Why Is Nobody Talking About This. i see some sort of hole. maybe i know how to fill it, maybe i don’t.

free associations. basically i read one thing, or some analysis of one thing. and then it reminded me of another thing. and i’m like. i want to tease apart their connections, their similarities, and their differences.

there are more types of ideas, i’m sure. but these are the ones i consistently have. with me, the second kind is more common. very rarely do i find that my thoughts are that original. rather, i’ve found that one of my strengths as a writer is being able to make connections that other people haven’t made, or haven’t made in depth before. IN MY OPINION.

so i find it quite flexible. maybe i watch a movie, and it reminds me of my own life, because i think two women in the movie could be sad queer freaks. and i’m a sad queer freak. or it could be that i think scum villain could be analyzed through the framework of freudian psychoanalysis. you get the idea.

at this stage of the process, i don’t have a thesis, necessarily. but i have a couple phrases i’m drawn to. i have a bullet point or two. i have vibes.

to use an example from this blog, one of my friends hui once mentioned that that one fan image was going around again. we were going ughhh it’s victorian not chinese! together and they said “you should write a meta on it.” i wasn’t sure quite yet what i had to say. but i knew a couple things.

this is, incidentally, because i had done some research into chinoiserie before, because i had cited the zuroski book for a paper i had to write for an english class some years before on pride and prejudice and its use of descriptions of material culture, an essay that in turn was inspired by my random yet deeply felt conviction that jane austen hated me personally and wanted to kill me. this is why i encourage reading a lot. i think.

to work on this stage, make lists. lots of them. i have a .txt file where i keep every essay idea i have. a lot of them are a sentence. or they're lists of books or theorists i think i could make something out of. or they're theses that feel true, but i’m not sure why yet.

it took me a while to get to this point. just like with writing fic, there was a period when i first started where i was like. i only have one idea. i’m going to write it, and then i’m never going to write again. and then i had just one more idea. after a while. eventually you will find you have so many ideas and the world is full of possibilities. it’s a muscle you have to flex. like reading. and telling people about what you’re reading.

actually, i feel like there was a step 0.5 here that i completely skipped.

step zero point five that i skipped: how to generate ideas

my very truly complete “first time writing something semi-academic that was original” (with a loose definition of the word original) was literally just me reading literary criticism of one book, and saying “i think this author’s thoughts can be applied to this other book” and found some textual evidence that supported that the process could be replicated.

this is like, writing with training wheels on. eventually i got better at it (see aforementioned chinoiserie essay. i hope you agree.). but that was a good place to start for me. it made the proverbial blank page less intimidating, knowing i had a scaffolding.

i suggest trying this. see how it goes for you. read around until you find some piece of criticism, or just some theory about how something works, that you like. and using your newfound hammer, go look for some nails.

note: i know this expression is meant to like. be a negative thing. but you do have to start somewhere. it’s okay if it sucks. it’s just for your practice and your enjoyment.

be cautious of stances. weak writing (in my OPINIONNNN) tries to unilaterally defend or condemn a behavior. what you need to do is treat your writing as a bit. and then you need to run with it. you need to take it farther than what is reasonable. if this bit is truly actually deeply true, then what does it mean about yourself? it’s like using a new set of pronouns as a joke or something. you know what i mean? (that was an example of what i’m trying to communicate here)

what else is key to look out for... look for oppositional pairs or tensions. look for perverse incentives and vicious circles. look for embarrassing ideas. that is, what would be extremely embarrassing if it was true? (or to admit that it was true) you may go—tshirt, here you’re just describing things that are sexy. yes, exactly, that’s the point. you want things that thrill.

just keep reading and making notes until everything echoes with something else. now you’re ready for step two.

step two: refine your ideas further.

let me do this by demonstration. once more extending my earlier example of my chinoiserie essay, i knew that i really wanted to take zuroski’s points and basically... steal them. this is called “citation,” i guess. but i thought the following insights were useful to me:

british women were invested in chinese material objects

they incorporated them into their own subjectivity

past a certain point, they no longer “consumed” these signifiers, but these signifers became theirs

critique of one was able to stand in for critique of the other

and from being on fandom twitter, i already had the following insights:

people deliberately blurred the lines between china and england when it came to fans and tea

people also liked talking about victorian modesty when it came to china

so it seemed like victorian england and china had a privileged relationship, in a lot of people’s minds in fandom.

so it didn’t really seem a stretch to say... how can we look at one history, and apply it to our present?

it was a bit of the combo of the two: i saw something i didn’t see people were talking about, and it reminded me of something else i’d read before.

something that helps me a lot is tweeting about my essay ideas. if you have me on my private account, you already know this. it forces me to explain myself to someone who doesn’t know what i’m talking about in a very succinct way. oftentimes, i tweet something out while i’m brainstorming, and then i steal the phrasing back into my essay. see? tweets can be writing too.

this is microdosing on step zero’s “read something and practice telling a friend about it.” now you’re writing something and telling a friend about it.

step three: okay now you can like. open a google doc

make an outline. i know i know i know. i’m sorry. you can start just barfing thoughts if you want, but eventually everything that was on the top of your head will be out. and now you can start thinking about structure. the reason the outline is important is because it makes clear the logical progression from one idea to the next.

i know i usually bounce around in my writing (a tendency which has been magnified here because this is so casual LMAO), but i always want to make sure that my points are substantiated. if we want to talk about how a causes b, we should prove a, we should prove the causal link, and only then can we infer b, for instance. it doesn’t really matter what order that happens in (or even that we set about it that way), but the more complicated your idea is, the longer checklist you need. it’s just a checklist. that’s all.

as you start writing, you’ll probably need to read some more. you’re going to want to say something you think is true, but you’re going to realize that you haven’t proved it (or you can’t). go look to see if someone else has proved it.

maybe you’re right. add that evidence in. maybe you’re wrong. now your essay has a new direction. there is a living thing beneath you. actually, on that idea—

i tend to structure my outlines (if i’m not sure yet what my point is) by pasting a bunch of quotes in a document, and reorganizing them until they make sense, they seem to flow. and then i start explaining why, until i realized i have begun to walk off in a new direction. always embrace that new direction. eventually you will find that you have not been taking twists and turns, but actually you were dizzily walking along a straight path. (unless you have been unfocused and you are trying to say too many things at once. ask a friend to read your essay if you’re not sure which is the case.)

quotes are the smallest unit of your analysis. work with evidence. or, at least, i do. it makes writing an essay like solving a mystery. the idea of just spontaneously generating something new fills me with terror. rather, i want to autopsy something, trace its steps, and then discover how it came to be dead. this may not be true for you. but it’s true for meeeee and this is my post.

tl;dr

0. read something and tell someone about it/post it out

0.5. come up with a bit and run with it

1. think "why is no one talking about this" or start free associating

2. come up with weird connections and tell someone about it/post it out

3. collect all of your posts and ideas into a gdoc and organize them.

anyway i like reading posts like this because i’m incredibly nosy. so i tried to write out the sort of thing i like to read from other people. i don’t suggest you actually try to replicate it (if anyone would even want to.) practically basically i just encourage you to try any single part of this that you think was interesting or relatable or helpful. personally, i suggest reading a book and posting your favorite lines from it. if you do this a couple times, i think you will find the seeds of an essay waiting for you in your own posts.

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camelliawitch · 17 days

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12.04.24

I haven’t posted in a while. For about 3 weeks I think. These 3 weeks were crazy, and I just didn’t have any energy to make posts.

Achieved (in the past 3 weeks):

3d Physics midterm passed

2nd Financial management midterm passed (the 3d one is coming this Monday)

2nd Entrepreneurship midterm passed

Case study on an Entrepreneur (interview + written report) done

2nd Asian history essay written and submitted (also Behind Beautiful Forevers by Katherine Boo is finished as the essay was based on this book).

Today I realised that I forgot to do my Management quiz, and this Professor doesn’t accept any late work, so I lost easy 50 point without any chance to make them up. To say that I’m upset is to say nothing. It was supposed to take me 20 minutes or even less. But it just totally slipped my mind.

Ongoing and upcoming

3d Financial management midterm (Monday)

2nd Management midterm (Wednesday)

Management group project — in progress

Entrepreneurship group project — in progress

Everything else are just routine loads of homework and my finals start in two weeks.

So far 15 hours on forest this week 🌳🌸

Stay strong and don’t forget to rest ✨

P.S. I watched Ada and the Engine in our uni theatre today and it was soooo good!! Honestly, I hadn’t known I can love theatre that much until I started going to our uni theatre :D

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 21 days

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What do you think M6’s answers would be to the question “is it better to feel all the pain or nothing at all?” I haven’t played all the routes so I can’t answer for everyone but I think

Julian -feel it all

Asra -nothing

Muriel -at the start of his route nothing but as he grows as a character it would shift slowly to feel it all

Portia -feel it all

I’d also love to hear your answer if you’re comfortable with that! As someone who’s felt both my answer is nothing bc in my experience the numbness allows you to still function. Even if the life you’re experiencing isn’t as full as it could be, you still get to experience it. When I become so overwhelmed by Everything I completely shut down and cease to be a person. I am my emotions. And I think in Asra’s route this kinda gets explored in that they choose to not feel as deeply ever again bc a muted life with MC is better than a full one without them. Anyway can you tell I recently reread The Giver lol

Woah, that's a good question friend!!

To be completely honest, I think all the M6 progress from the "numb" to the "willing to feel everything" point throughout their routes - as is the case for many people who are in the healing process! (essay below the cut)

Julian, while fully embracing the misery of his situation, is also running from the part of him that wants a happy ending. Meeting the MC is his slow journey of self-acceptance, realizing that his happiness is valuable and worth fighting for. He stops choosing one feeling to drown out all the others and starts feeling everything in a context of loving and being loved.

Asra's in a similar situation. They don't see giving up half their heart as something to regret, but they still talk about the reduced ability to be attached to people as a loss. Reconnecting with MC, being able to slowly bring down the walls that used to facilitate a drifting, untethered survival mode, allows him to start caring more about the people around him since he has a person to call home again.

When Nadia wakes up, she's lost. Seven years of memory have blipped out of view, she's responsible for a city she knows very little about, and the people who are supposed to help her are only getting in her way. She speaks of a similar numb state, being detached and uninvested in the world around her, until meeting MC and finding a way forward gives her what she needs to flourish again. We see a lot of that emotional progression in her reconnecting with her family.

Muriel is an almost textbook case of complex trauma and the myriad of coping mechanisms that arise from trying to escape it. I've written whole essays on the effects of his deal on that process before, but his journey with MC starts with him just wanting them to forget about him, and ends with him asking MC to help him collect the memories of himself and his people.

Portia isn't quite as much numb as she is stuck. From the moment her parents' ship wrecked, she's lived her life in the orbit of other people. First her older brother, then the children and grandmas of Nevivon, then her older brother again, now the Countess - it isn't until she begins to receive that same attention from MC that she starts to really own herself and discover the true depth of her capacity. While we never see her choosing to be numb, we do see her hesitating to come fully into her own. With MC's empowerment, that's exactly what she ends up being able to do.

And finally, Lucio - he's literally numb. He's spent the last three years trapped between realms in a ghostly form that won't let him feel anything at all beyond hunger. While MC is instrumental in returning him the capacity to feel, it's Lucio's own choice to take advantage of that as a fresh start.

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana game #the arcana hc #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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floral-ashes · 15 days

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Today is my birthday! One year older, but unsure how much wiser. If you want to celebrate with me, help me hype up my new book! 🥳🏳️‍⚧️ Spread the word. Post your favourite quotes. Buy a copy for yourself and another for a friend! 📚

The book is an ode to the messiness of human experience. It’s a deeply personal book, yet at the same time incredibly familiar.

You can find various links for where to get it here.

I’ve also done an interview with truthout where I share some thoughts about being trans in the world and talk about what was going through my mind while writing.

If you haven’t written a Goodreads or Amazon review yet, it’s not too late either! Enjoy the read. 😊

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santacoppelia · 4 months

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Of fandom, age, and David Tennant being our own personal Time Lord

I read the fantastic post that @davidtennantgenderenvy wrote about David Tennant and aging (if you haven’t yet read it, go for it!) and, as a fan who is closer to DT's age range than to what seems to be the rest of the fan base's age (yeah, being well over 40 is A THING), I had an interesting mix of ideas and emotions. I was going to just reblog her post with some of these musings, but when this started getting longer (and I started searching for bibliography, ha), I decided that I was not going to hijack her post, but rather cite it (and reblog it on its own right, really, read it). I should say that this is a long essay, and it comes peppered with references to one of my preferred fields of study (but I make it light and fun, promise).

Becoming an “old geek”

The first time I came into the idea was when I found a thirst TikTok with that very nice audio that goes “I think I need someone older…” and clearly, the thirst was there, but also… David is 8 years older than me, and when you are 45, thirsting over someone who is 53 doesn’t feel as “edgy” (and thinking about “needing someone older” starts verging on thirsting over people well over 65, which is absolutely fine, but a very different category over all for the rest of TikTok). So yeah, it was weird. You see someone who you feel is "in your range" and everyone is calling them "old"… And you start thinking about aging, inevitably.

Of course, I "don't feel old", but most of my friends are younger than me, and I'm the oldest person in many of my "fun activities". Take, for example, my lightsaber combat team, where every sponsorship is pitched to people under 30, and you should be training at least twice a week and following a strict diet to reach the expected “competitive or exhibition” level (enter the “old lady” who is taking this training just for fun, who needs to take care of her joints and who is not going to be invested in becoming Jedi Master General or anything of the sorts in the near future). Or we can talk about the expectation about fandom in general being a “teenage phase”, and thinking about everyone who still is into it actively after certain age as “immature” or “quirky” at best (hi, mom! Hi, work colleagues! Hi, students!).

Society, aging and social constructs

Of course, this has a lot to do with societal expectations. For almost 80 years, popular culture has been built around "youth" and "young people": before rock & roll, most things (music, clothes, movies, art in general) were targeted to “adults”, and you were expected to be “a functional adult” since a younger age. There was a seismic shift in the way popular culture was built when consumer culture decided to see and cater young people: trends became shorter, being “hip” was desirable, staying younger for a longer period was a nice aspiration (a good, light reading to get a deeper view around this is “Hit Makers” by Derek Thompson. It is written for marketers, but that makes it an easy historic overview and I like that). This has a lot to do with the change of our view about old people, too: while being old 100 years ago (yup, 1924 still fits the bill) made you “a respected elder” and you were expected to be wise, to know best, to be the voice of reason and an expert, nowadays not even us older people like being seen as “old” or “older”.

Frequently, culture becomes entrenched in binary oppositions. The binary opposition between “young” and “old” is… well, old! And while the opposition is sustained, the meanings around it change over time (that’s what the past paragraph was about, really). If in the 1940’s being old meant “mature, respectable, wise, responsible” and being young meant “inexperienced, immature, foolish”, after the 1950’s those meanings shifted a lot: being young became “fun, interesting, in the now and in the know, attractive”, while being old was about being “boring, dusty, passé, uninteresting, dull”.

In reality, being young can be a mix of all of these things (inexperienced and fun and foolish and attractive), and being old can be, at the same time, being responsible and wise and a little dusty and dull, because that’s life *shrugs*, and the wonder of lived experience is that, even if we simplify it, it is complex and rich and sometimes contradictory in itself: we can be old and foolish and interesting and boring, or young and dull and inexperienced and attractive. But, as we need to make “social sense” of things, simplifying them is… easier. That’s why we build stereotypes, and why we use them! We need to have a “base” of signifiers to build upon, so we usually take what we have on our environment and run with it. If you find this idea interesting, welcome to the world of cultural semiotics! *takes her Iuri Lotman picture out of her pocket and puts it on the desk*

(Iuri Lotman, people. He is my "patron saint").

Pop culture versus “real culture”

Another cultural opposition that piques my interest in this area is the notion of “pop culture”, of course. It is opposed to “real, serious culture”, the sort of thing that everyone expects "older, mature people" to enjoy. In the sixties and seventies, there were a lot of studies and writing about "high brow" and "low brow" culture, trying to keep this distinction between "things that make you familiar with the now, but have no intrinsic value" and "eternal things that cultivate your mind, soul and spirit".

Evidently, if you ask me, this is a whole load of horse manure: probably useful to fertilize other things, but with little intrinsic value on its own. My main point is not dolphins, but the idea of culture: historically, it has used to mean a lot of things; from the notion of (exactly) fertilizing something and making it grow to make it come to fruition, to the hodgepodge of practices that a social group creates when they are together and are trying to make common sense of things.

I like the latter better (that is the one I’d ascribe to if this was The Academia TM, but this is tumblr!), but another popular definition, which comes from the Illustration and has been quite prevalent, is the notion of culture as the set of cultural practices that make you a better, more intelligent, far more educated person. For example: if you want to have real culture, you have to read Shakespeare and know what a iambic pentameter is, rather than watching “10 Things I Hate About You”. You must read real books, not listen to audiobooks, and “real books” should be written by “serious authors” like (insert old white Western European or American cis men, preferably born before 1960).

Here comes the notion of “cultural canon”, grinning widely. Yup, that set of practices becomes an expectation of what and how you should experience any area of the human experience, and they become a sort of “nucleus” of the whole experience, with people playing “defense” around them and culture shifting all around and sometimes across them. This is not exclusive to “high culture”: Have you ever heard about “gatekeeping”? Yeah, same fenomenomenon (Shadwell, of course). Whenever something gets this “shape”, it becomes a “norm”, the “common” thing, the “rule” if you participate in that set of cultural practices.

As every cultural set of practices tends to generate its own “canon”, they also have a lot of practices surrounding it, which are ever changing, shifting, learning from new and old practices, and redefining what everything means in their common/shared space. For example: Neil Gaiman, my beloved, was part of the “comics” frontier when Sandman first appeared, but as he and Alan Moore (yeah, I know he did it first, but Gaiman is my study focus right now, so let me be) and other very talented and interesting people started creating fascinating stuff that hadn’t been done, and they found people who loved it, they not only redefined the world of comics, but became part of the new canon themselves. And then, Neil’s presence in the world of literature and fantasy became widespread and recognized and then revered… And then he is doing it again by adapting his own work to a streaming platform in a serialized way… I hope this explains why I’m growing an obsession with studying Neil Gaiman as an author who crosses through different media: a transmedial auteur, an anomaly in his own right. But that is not an essay for tumblr, but a thesis, one that I don’t know if I’d ever have the time or mental resources to write (being a runaway ex academic with ADHD who works on their own is hard, people). Besides, this was about aging and David Tennant, so let’s cut this tangent short and start talking about our Time Lord and Savior: David Tennant, the king of frontiers.

David Tennant as a Frontier Lord

David Tennant is another fascinating case in this sense, mostly because he is an actor who has been able to build a whole very impressive career through crossing symbolic frontiers. Through his massive filmography (161 roles just for screens, as registered in IMDb) and his stage career (I love this gifset for this exact reason), he has acted his way through almost everything, from classical Shakespeare to improvisational comedy, from procedural police drama to wacky fantasy sci-fi. This has a lot to do with his personality (he loves acting, he decided to pursue acting as a career thanks to his love for Doctor Who, but he is also smart and inquisitive) but, as it happens with a lot of “frontier figures”, it also has a lot to do with “unpredictable” circumstances: less of a strategy, more of an instinct.

David has talked many times about how his impostor syndrome made him feel, for the longest time, that he had to keep accepting roles, because you never know if there is going to be another one after. He is talented and open and curious (this is quite a good interview about his perspective), but this… anxiety? meant that he had also lower quandaries about saying “yes” to roles and projects that were “less consistent” with a typecast (which has been, for the longest time, one of the main strategies to build an acting career). Yeah, he has some defining characteristics that make a role “tennantish” (I’m not starting that tirade here, but yeah, you know that almost fixed set of quirks and bits), but he has also worked his way through many different genres, budgets, styles and complexities. And he has usually been as committed and as professional in a big budget-high stakes-great script sort of situation, as he has been in a highly chaotic-let’s see what sticks-small scale project.

That can be correlated by the way he talks about “acting advice”. “Be on time, learn your lines, treat everyone the same, never skip the lunch queue”… Acting is a job, and he treats it as such. Yeah, he looks for interesting projects anytime he can, but the “down to earth” attitude about it is, once again, not-usual, not-common: pure frontier. Then, when David talks about his own self (specially at a young age), he is pretty clear about his “outsider” or “uncool” status (this interview is fantastic), and how strangely disruptive it was to become not only recognizable, but cool and sexy and… everything else, thanks to Doctor Who. He went from living in the frontier to being put in the canon, but he is still, at heart, a person who is more comfortable not defining himself by that “expected” set of rules.

Him being a very private person, who insists on having a family life that seems, form this distance, stable, loving and absolutely un-showbiz just makes the deal (and the parasocial love and respect) easier to sustain; as does his openness to talk about social and political issues that interest him (passionately, again; against the norm for “well liked celebrity”, again). His colleagues also talk wonders about him, mostly because he is this sort of down-to-earth but also passionate about his craft and easy to work with. Again: not the “norm”, not the “rule” of being such a celebrity.

Many of his fans (should I say that I’m one? Or is it obvious at this point?) find this not only endearing, but comforting: he is a massive star, who has acted in a lot of terrific roles in huge productions… But he feels, at heart, as “one of us”. But he is, also, a well-respected thespian, a Shakespearian powerhouse, an international talent. He lives in a very authentic, but very unstereotipical frontier. And he seems happy about that and has made a career from it. Extensive kudos and all the parasocial love and the amateur-actress mad respect for that.

I should mention, just in passing, that a “natural” archetype for this characters that traverse frontiers… are tricksters. Think again about the “tennantish” characteristics. Here goes another essay I’m not writing right now.

Aging: The Next Frontier

This takes me to the original post that inspired the essay: living in a culture where the “norm” is “being young and famous is a desirable aspiration”, we have a fantastic actor, at peak of his craft, who is in the heart of middle age (past 50, nearing 55). Not only that, but he is an actor with whom at least a couple of generations have grown older: from the ones who feel him as “our contemporary” to the ones who grew up looking at him (like Ncuti Gatwa!).

David, being the frontier person he is, has been navigating this transition in a very “unconventional” way: he came back to the role that made him iconic (The Doctor, now with more trauma!), is starring in another fantasy series about middle-aged looking ethereal beings that at times is an adventure thriller, at times is a comedy of errors and at times is a romcom (having another beautiful trickster of a man as his co-star… There goes another tangent that is an essay); he is playing one of the quintessential Shakespeare roles for middle-aged men (Macbeth), and is, seemingly, having a lot of fun doing a lot of voice acting for animation roles (if you haven’t watched Duck Tales, you’re missing a whole lot of fun, really).

Traditionally, middle aged actors navigate that period of their career trying to reinforce their “still young, thus a celebrity” status (for example, doing a lot of action-packed movies and keep doing their own stunts while seducing women 20-30 years younger than them), or strengthening their “prestige thespian, so now a real culture person” position (fighting for more serious roles, going from comedy to drama, or working their way into The Classics©). Sometimes, they face the internalized societal expectation by also becoming a shipwreck in their personal life (yeah… the stereotype of “getting divorced, having an affair with someone half their age, getting another red convertible, getting in trouble…”) because we don’t have a good “map for aging responsibly” yet as a society. We have been so focused on youth, that we have forgotten how to age.

Again, switching to the personal experience. I was raised as a female-shaped person (yeah, being queer is fun), so part of the experience of growing (and then growing old) has been closely related with that concept from the female point of view. I decided, pretty early on (but not so much, probably 25 years ago), that I wasn’t going to conform to the norm… And that included aging naturally. When I found my first white hair, it was a shock (I was 21 or 22), but I had already seen my father fighting his own hair being white since forever. I decided it was a loss of time, money and effort… And the judgement from people in my generation and in the one that preceded me (my mother, my aunts) was stern and strict: “it will age you, and it will date us. You shouldn’t do that”. Men could do it, given the right age (being over 50) but women must not. Same with wrinkles and sagging and gaining weight and getting “pudgy”. But when men grew older, they needed to make a “show off” of their ability to seduce, to “still be a man”. Aging, then, was undesirable by any standard.

As me and my peers have grown older, and my hair has gotten increasingly silver, there have been women that come to me saying that “I look great” and “they wish they were as brave as me”. I would like to state in front of this jury of my peers (hi, tumblr!) that the only bravery it took was deciding, somewhere between my twenties and my thirties, that I wanted to be as myself as I possibly could, so no bravery at all, just the same lack of understanding of social rules that took me to become interested in… you guessed it, cultural semiotics. We’ve come full circle with this. Now, let’s finish talking about what it means for an aging fan to have an aging star to look up to, shall we?

David Tennant as a cultural Time Lord

I am pretty sure that he wouldn’t have chosen this role for himself (as he wouldn’t have chosen being a massive star just by playing his favorite character and being so talented and charming), but he is, as Loki would say, burdened by glorious purpose. Being “the actor of his generation”, and him crossing so many frontiers with such ease and grace, without even thinking about it too hard, just because he is a hard worker and likes to try new things and is just so good at what he does put him in the exact cultural crossroad for it.

He is not in a sudden need to “resignify himself” as anything: he has already shown his very flexible acting muscles through his very long career. He is not bounded to “keep his public image relevant”: he likes to have his personal life clearly separated from the spotlight, and being married to the brilliant and funny Georgia, who herself grew up with a famous father, so she is no stranger to staying sane and in control in the eye of media, and who manages their social media presence with a good mix of humor and well-set boundaries.

Therefore, he is in a moment where he can (and probably will) chose to do whatever he likes. And he has the public support to do so: he is prestigious and respected, but likes to make fun of himself and is not self-important; he has a lot of awards, but he is also a very likable person with whom most people in the industry enjoy working. And he is up to do a lot of things: heroes, villains, morally grey characters; romance, drama, thriller, fantasy, sci-fi, procedurals, historical fiction, classic plays, silly parts, voice acting… We are going to see him aging on screen and stage, with no playbook: the playbooks were written for people that certainly are not him. And I have some evidence to prove it.

He is starring in a groundbreaking series (yeah, Good Omens) where the protagonists are two middle-aged looking entities, full of queer relationships, written by another trickster. This series, in an on itself, is a showcase for characters that are rule breaking in many ways: in the narrative, by being hereditary enemies who are inevitably linked to one another by a loving bond that may or may not be romantic, but that has been in the making for 6,000 years; in representation, by having the protagonists being represented by a couple of middle aged actors who are “not serious” and “not action” coded, in a role where they are delivering romance, banter, intrigue, joy and a whole other range of emotions that are “not your stereotypical” middle-aged male-lead coded.

He also delivered the baton on a relay race with Doctor Who: he came back after almost 20 years, to bring back the generation who grew up watching him in the role, and deliver us into the arms of Ncuti Gatwa’s 15th Doctor, with the promise of taking a rest and working on getting better from all the trauma The Doctor has endured in 20 years Earth-time (which, as any Doctor Who fan knows, account for centuries of trauma in Doctor’s time). Not your usual Doctor Who Anniversary cameo, but one built to deliver some zeitgeisty emotional health promises that made the specials feel… healing. At least, for some of us.

Even when it wasn’t the hit series it deserved to be, his Phileas Fogg in “Around the World in 80 Days” is also a great delivery of an unconventional middle-aged protagonist, who goes from meek and scared and too worried about societal norms, to a lovely, tender, slightly awkward and daring person, with friends half his age who look at him but are also his peers (another kind of relationship that is not very frequent in media).

And, with all fearlessness, he has played a lively old duck in Duck Tales! Scrooge McDuck has never been a middle-aged character: he is, quite openly, an old gentleman. An adventurer, quirky, with a lot of spunk… but also quite clearly an elder to Huey, Dewey and Louie, and obviously older than Donald Duck (who is also not a young adult himself!). When you watch that series, and if you have the opportunity to catch any glimpse of him behind the scenes while recording the part, you can feel the joy he got from playing the part (and he has said time and again that he IS Scrooge McDuck, so it will become his “recurring bit” for the future).

Hopefully, David (and some other actors and actresses, for sure) will dare to build that new “aging publicly without making an arse of myself” playbook, and I (and I can imagine, many other fans in our middle age, but also fans that are right now leaving behind the “young adult” stage and becoming “adults” fair and square, and others who will arrive to this place at a future time in their lives, so I hope) will be there to bear witness, support, cheer… and learn from the model. Because that’s what fandom is about, but also because that’s how culture itself gets shaped and changes, continuously. And that is exciting and a little scary, and that’s why it is better if we do this together.

And I'd love to imagine diverse (in the full sense of the word) role models for this process and this playbook, too!!!

If you read all the way through this, I'm very grateful, take a cookie, have a gold star and suggest names for our aging interestingly role models on the "non-white-male" side of things!

Class dismissed!!

#david tennant #aging #aging gracefully (or not)#long essay #long post #cultural studies #cultural semiotics #I need someone to pay me for writing this sort of stuff really #when I said I was writing again I meant it #this was 6 pages long in Word #and it includes references #look at my (written) child #the doctorate in cultural studies would never #neil gaiman

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superlinguo · 2 months

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Research Data Management. Or, How I made multiple backups and still almost lost my honours thesis.

This is a story I used to tell while teaching fieldworkers and other researchers about how to manage their data. It’s a moderately improbable story, but it happened to me and others have benefited from my misadventures. I haven't had reason to tell it much lately, and I thought it might be useful to put into writing. This is a story from before cloud storage was common - back when you could, and often would, run out of online email storage space. Content note: this story includes some unpleasant things that happened to me, including multiple stories of theft (cf. moderately improbable). Also, because it's stressful for most of the story, I want to reassure you that it does have a happy conclusion. It explains a lot of my enthusiasm for good research data management. In Australia, 'honours' is an optional fourth year for a three year degree. It's a chance to do some more advanced coursework and try your hand at research, with a small thesis project. Of course, it doesn't feel small when it's the first time you've done a project that takes a whole year and is five times bigger than anything you’ve ever written. I've written briefly about my honours story (here, and here in a longer post about my late honours supervisor Barb Kelly) . While I did finish my project, it all ended a bit weirdly when my supervisor Barb got ill and left during the analysis/writing crunch. The year after finishing honours I got an office job. I hoped to maybe do something more with my honours work, but I wasn't sure what, and figured I would wait until Barb was better. During that year, my sharehouse flat was broken into and the thief walked out with the laptop I'd used to do my honours project. The computer had all my university files on it, including my data and the Word version of my thesis. I lost interview video files, transcriptions, drafts, notes and everything except the PDF version I had uploaded to the University's online portal. Uploading was optional at the time, if I didn't do that I probably would have just been left with a single printed copy. I also lost all my jewellery and my brother’s base guitar, but I was most sad about the data (sorry bro). Thankfully, I made a backup of my data and files on a USB drive that I kept in my handbag. This was back when a 4GB thumb drive was an investment. That Friday, feeling sorry for myself after losing so many things I couldn't replace, I decided to go dancing to cheer myself up. While out with a group of friends, my bag was stolen. It was the first time I had a nice handbag, and I still miss it. Thankfully, I knew to make more than one back up. I had an older USB that I'd tucked down the back of the books on my shelf (a vintage 256MB drive my dad kindly got for me in undergrad after a very bad week when I lost an essay to a corrupted floppy disk). When I went to retrieve the files, the drive was (also) corrupted. This happens with hard drives sometimes. My three different copies in three different locations were now lost to me.

Thankfully, my computer had a CD/DVD burner. This was a very cool feature in the mid-tens, and I used to make a lot of mixed CDs for my friends. During my honours project I had burned backed up files on some discs and left them at my parents house. It was this third backup, kept off site, which became the only copy of my project. I very quickly made more copies. When Barb was back at work, and I rejoined her as a PhD student, it meant we could return to the data and all my notes. The thesis went through a complete rewrite and many years later was published as a journal article (Gawne & Kelly 2014). It would have probably never happened if I didn’t have those project files. I continued with the same cautious approach to my research data ever since, including sending home SD cards while on field trips, making use of online storage, and archiving data with institutional repositories while a project is ongoing.

I’m glad that I made enough copies that I learnt a good lesson from a terrible series of events. Hopefully this will prompt you, too, to think about how many copies you have, where they’re located, and what would happen if you lost access to your online storage.

#language #linguistics #data management #archiving

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dasher85 · 1 year

Text

emotions

featuring our Elucidation duo

Alhaitham x reader | y/n | you

short story

How does it feel to be stressed out because of work and indirectly being told you weren't good enough?

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It's an hour after dinner and you were at your study desk, just jotting down a draft for yet again another essay. The room was comfortably silent which helps you a lot to focus through your work. It feels like you were all by yourself in that one spacious room.

"What's the matter?"

That one person who's leisurely seated by the couch questions you but his eyes haven't actually left the hardcover book he was holding with one hand.

"Nothing…"

You forgot he wasn't wearing his headphones whenever he's at home. Even if he did, he wouldn't be using the cancelling noise function when you're around but he never told you that though…

"Then why are you sighing exaggeratingly over a piece of paper?"

"I'm just tired." You casually mumbled and he could already tell that you're not going to tell him more about it.

He suddenly closed his book with one hand and at that point you already knew he would be walking over to you by now. Your calm mind started to freak out as you heard him stand up from the couch because there's no way he should be reading the things you've written. It's not finished yet and even you knew it's imperfect.

You calmly rearranged the papers and stack up a few blank papers in front as an effort to hide it away. Just like a student in horror of the professor that would suddenly come checking the student's papers during exams or tests. By the time he was standing next to your desk, all he sees is the new fresh white paper where you only wrote 'Date: 02/28'

"Sleep early then if you're tired"

He nonchalantly responded, while his hands effortlessly took the whole stack of papers from your desk. Then, knowingly flipped through the few pieces of blank papers just to get the ones you've tried to hide from him.

You couldn't do much but helplessly stared back at his unnaturally fast skimming teal eyes. After like a minute or so, he expressionlessly returned your gaze.

"This is ridiculous planning. It wouldn't work."

He has no filter as usual, you knew that. He's always been like that ever since you knew him. Nothing new, nothing to be surprised about. That's Alhaitham, the same person whom you prefer over anyone else.

"Right. I know… it's ridiculous."

You flashed a smile and took hold of the paper from his hands but avoided any eye contact with him.

"I should take a break. I'll make myself a warm cup of chocolate drink" You casually tidied up your desk and walked out of the room. The moment your face was not facing him, that smile twisted into a sad frown.

It's a simple thing, you knew it and you're used to it but perhaps the weather was just terrible today? Maybe, you're actually exhausted by all the work you've been doing these few weeks? Or maybe the things he said were true and it's just hard to accept the reality of it? Maybe…

You didn't know how to reason with all these piling up emotions surging inside your heart, plaguing your once joyous mind like an incurable illness. The excruciating pain ever so slowly grips your heart, completely occupying your mind into tricking yourself that there's nothing else to think… Empty, devoid of reasons but pain and agony.

As you descended the stairs, your eyes were already brimming with tears.

'I'm being irrational and emotional for no damn reason…' you thought but it's too late now, you can't go back and coax yourself to feel any better. You blinked once and tears effortlessly slipped through, streaming down your flawless cheeks.

Unplanned and irrational, you got into your shoes and walked out of the house. You have no intention of telling him nor alerting him of such baseless matter. Even if you did, what do you expect him to say? Moreover, he'll most definitely just frown at you and make things worse. You didn't want to make such a hassle with this either. So, you left in silence.

Alhaitham was unaware, there's no way he would know unless you told him and obviously you didn't… he was still leisurely enjoying his read, but then realized that you hadn't returned for quite awhile. Usually you'll return with a glass of drink right after he finishes at least 15 pages and now it's already his 20th page.

He placed his book on your desk and headed downstairs to the kitchen, thinking you probably have trouble with starting the fire, hence why you're not able to get back…

He stopped on his tracks once he noticed the kitchen was empty, clean without any evidence of you working in the kitchen. The sink was dry, the kettle was inside the rack, and the fireplace was untouched. Briefly, he checked the washroom and the door was opened, unoccupied.

Alhaitham's casual calm expression changed into a frown. One last time, he checked the whole house and finally confirmed that you're not here. He knew better to stay calm and think things through…

"Y/n?!!" That man barely spoke all day but at this moment he's literally using his lungs to call out your name. He knows that it wouldn't help but perhaps there's a slim chance that you're just playing with him over a silly game.

Nobody answered him.

He opened the main door thinking you would probably go out to buy something but was instantly greeted by harsh wind and droplets of rain. It was raining outside and he finally remembered that it's been raining ever since late afternoon.

Why would you go out in this terrible weather?

Never in his life would he think that he'll be taking such an irrational decision but at that moment he could barely put on his boots before running outside. The droplets of water instantly fall over his dry shirt, slowly soaking him. He was unconcerned of the coldness because in his mind, he only wanted one question answered.

The streetlights were the only guide you have through the slippery path. It was cold, you're fully drenched from head to toe and yet you're the least concerned about it. In fact you strangely felt a bit better.

'How long has it been since I've played in the rain?' A small smile appeared on your lips as you reached out a hand to capture the droplets of rain.

You had walked for a while now but you've finally reached the end of the path towards a decent house. The lights inside the house were still lit and you smiled knowingly before you knocked a few times. The door shortly opened, and your mom stood there in shock while you just sheepishly smiled.

"I got caught up in the rain…"

"What are you doing?!"

She angrily asked but quickly took you inside. The droplets of water drip down from your clothes, soaking the carpet on the floor.

"Mom, I want some candied Ajilenakh Nut" That's the only reply you spoke off as she covers you with layers of dry towels. It's good that all your tears are erased by the rain and what's left is the redness in your eyes.

"What are you so furious about?"

She asked knowingly after returning from the kitchen with a jar of the dessert you've just suddenly requested. As if the request itself was enough to tell her the situation you're going through. Just truly a bad day.

"I'm just incompetent. I can't figure out a simple conclusion to my research"

Although you're also displeased by his remarks, it was still the truth with what you're currently feeling right now. And perhaps, you couldn't flatly blame him for the reason why you're in this emotional wreck. So in the end, you only mentioned your own shortcomings.

"Really? You didn't tell him about it? I remember you told me he's a brilliant man. Or was it because he didn't help you?" She starts to throw you questions, actively trying to make you spill the beans. But apparently she knows better as she instantly mentioned about 'him' instead of 'you'.

"...but mom, why is he better than me at solving it? Why do I need to tell him about it?" You complained with a frown. But your own question has made you slowly realize the actual reason behind these thorns inside your heart. The main reason that has been mixed in-between emotions.

Alhaitham ran breathlessly through the rain, his greyish hair was now drenched along with his black sleeveless shirt. He should've calmly looked through Sumeru city but he forgot how to even remove the frown on his concerned face.

He already looked everywhere but he still couldn't find you. Moreover the rain and lack of daylight wasn't helping at all, his visibility was reduced to a few meters. It was difficult and he knew this isn't the most ideal way to find you but the desperation is seriously getting into him by now. He's beyond helpless.

"What is wrong with young people these days? Running mindlessly outside in the rain" Suddenly an old man spoke from his opened window. He paid no mind, but then the old man suddenly mentioned that someone also walked through there.

"Sir, where was the other person headed to?" He was quick to ask the old man, showing nothing but urgency in his voice.

You took a bite of the desserts as you listened to your mother's nagging remarks. It's been awhile since you've listened to her endless comments but it's all good. It feels much better than thinking things through with your own loud thoughts. Until suddenly, someone came knocking by the main door.

"If that's him, don't argue in my house. It's quite late and we need to sleep." your mother made a last remake before walking towards the door.

"That's not him" you huffed and nonchalantly munch the food.

Alhaitham was halfway down the path and he already knew where it leads to. Despite that, he couldn't figure out what was the reason for you to be suddenly returning home to your parents without even informing him? Why were you in such a rush? Did something happen?

He quickly made a few large strides before finally reaching the front door. He unhesitatingly made a few knocks but a sudden rush of nervousness washed over him. It was your parent's residence after all, how then would he explain to them that you're missing if you happen to be not here?

"Ma'am I'm terribly sorry to disturb you this late at night… I-"

The droplets of water dripped down from his hair as he tried to speak out in a calm voice.

"She's here."

That simple answer was an instant relief to his troubled mind.

"Is… Is she alright? She-"

"Come on in."

"I'm drenched. I shouldn't be- but…" He was hesitant and yet he still needs to see you for at least a short while, "I apologize for the inconvenience."

The first time he visited you at your parent's house was when you caught a fever. That was even before he mentioned anything about his feelings for you. Now that he thinks about it, it's unbelievable if he were to tell his past self that now you're completely under his responsibility.

Keeping you happy and protecting you from harm was a part of his vows. He would be lying to himself if he wasn't bothered about the thought of failing to keep it. Nothing could scare him really… but when it comes to you, it's not the same.

"I'll get you a set of dry towels"

He politely nods, almost forgetting how to talk when his eyes finally sees you casually seated on the floor nearby the mini table as you munch the food.

You were unharmed but were under the same circumstances as him. Wet and bundled in layers of towels.

He sat next to you, same as you he was given a set of dry towels. So now the both of you were covered with towels like helpless lost kittens.

"Y/n are you alright?" That was the first word he asked after the both of you were being left alone in the living room. His voice gently reached you with a hint of concern.

"Not really. I'm cold and I miss eating mom's dishes" you smiled while taking another piece out from the jar.

"You're not going to tell me?" A frown slowly appeared on his once calm expression.

You munch the last piece before closing the jar's lid, acting unconcerned about whatever he's talking about.

"Let's go home."

"Y/n if you don't talk about it now, it wouldn't make any difference later." He calmly spoke but completely ignored your remarks.

Just like that, you stood up and walked out of your parent's house. You really didn't want to talk about it, not now and especially not here. It's too tiring to even explain yourself in a way that wouldn't hurt him or wouldn't get you in tears once more. Wouldn't it be just silly to cry over petty things? Wouldn't it be embarrassing to the point of not being able to show yourself anymore? Wouldn't it be meaningless to talk things through when he couldn't possibly be saying any less than the truth? Wouldn't it be-

It seems easy to understand these things when you're expressing it with someone else but when you're actually facing the problem itself… It feels like something has suddenly blocked your every rational sense. What was so difficult to just say and explain things calmly?

Was it because you didn't want to hurt him or hurt your own pride? It shouldn't be this complicated.

"Come on, the rain has already stopped" you turned with a smile.

The moment you have stood up he has actually already followed you closely behind but perhaps you were deep in thoughts that you couldn't even hear him worriedly calling out your name.

Alhaitham was clueless. He's worried about your thoughts, about your emotional state, about your concerns, about your sorrow… these uncertainty keeps adding up in his mind and he wasn't able to get any answer through you. How can he fix it when he couldn't even have a hint?

All he's certain is that you're deeply hurt.

The first time he ever saw you cry was because of a novel book. He didn't think it would be possible but that particular experience taught him how sensitive and overly emotional you could be.

You cried after losing the Dusk bird that you've saved from the rainforest. Get teary eyes when the food tastes really good. He's worried whenever that happens so suddenly. It instantly placed him in a helpless situation where he didn't know what to do. Just like right now, it's evident that you've been crying and he couldn't do anything.

Although the rain had stopped and reduced into a drizzle, it was still cold outside.

"Let's head home" He placed his own towel over your head before taking your hand securely into his.

Alhaitham didn't want to put you under any pressure when you're both already shivering because of the coldness. The towel was barely helping. It was such a disastrous outcome and all he could think of right now is getting you warm.

At first he pulled you to walk faster but there's nothing much he can do about your walking phase. In the end, he ends up carrying you instead. How did he carry you?? Well, let's just say it's embarrassing if anyone else saw it. He didn't mind though because it's efficient this way… you on the other hand could only securely place your arm around his neck.

This wasn't the first time though, he would do just the same if there's a sandstorm coming or Hilichurls suddenly spotted the both of you. Sometimes you do wonder if this was how he carried you from the rainforest all the way to Sumeru hospital back then…

"Did you carry me like this… back then when I was injured?" After years, you finally asked him that question.

"Huh?" He briefly looked at you, seemingly a little bit distracted by your sudden question but his running speed stays unchanged.

"Yes. How else would I be carrying you? Using levitation?" His face looks just the same, as if he wasn't even joking but you knew he was and yet you regretted asking him. You sighed and quietly turned your face towards his shoulder.

Shortly after, the both of you arrived home and he quickly insisted that you change into dry clothes first. He did the same as well but was quick to head downstairs just to make you a warm cup of chocolate drink. The same drink you've mentioned you'd make for yourself earlier.

As you sat near the fireplace in the living room, he had already returned to serve you the drink. Unlike any other day, instead of taking out a book he just sat right next to you. He quietly stared at you, thinking what method should he use to approach you without initiating an argument. It's not an interrogation and he knew better to be extra careful with this unresolved situation.

"Do you want me to cook my special dish?"

He knew those little things that you'd like best.

"No need, I just ate mom's food"

"Do you want me to continue reading your novel?" He knew you liked listening to him as he reads for you. Maybe it'll make you feel better.

"No, I'll just enjoy the drink" you carefully took hold of the warm glass into your hands, flatly rejected his offer.

"How about going to your favorite bookstore tomorrow?"

"Really?" The corner of your lips slightly raised at the thought. "...but we just went there three days ago. Surely there's no new books"

He sighed, feeling troubled himself. Usually it was you who would be asking him to do all of these things but today it's him who's openly offering it and yet you declined it all the same.

"Then do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

"Not really…" you casually took a sip from the cup.

"How about scolding me for my wrongdoings?"

You turned your head to face him, "Is that you or were you just reciting the dialogue from one of the books I've read?"

He smiled, when your eyes finally met his. As if he knows that he's finally making progress.

"Go on… I'm listening" his voice was soft and soothing which was very unlikely of him.

You laughed at his efforts, you knew he wouldn't be talking like that no matter how much you'd want him to, especially when he reads your novels. At least he was willing to read it for you whenever you requested him.

"Hmm…" you turned away once more, thinking if you should take the offer.

"Come on… criticize me all you want"

"...but it's such a petty reason."

"You're still upset about it anyways. How is that supposed to be insignificant?"

He was sure that he was talking in a calm voice, the best he could muster just so you wouldn't feel intimidated in any way. The last thing he wanted was for you to think that he was angry with you because he wasn't… he was just worried.

"Right… I'm such an idiot. I can't even acknowledge and differentiate simple things." you calmly voiced out a response before carefully placing down the drink you were holding.

He thought he was making progress, he really thought his efforts were enough but all that he did only made things worse. His logical words were destructive and your emotional state was fragile.

"I- Y/n… I didn't mean it that way-"

Alhaitham was startled to see tears suddenly streaming down your cheeks. For a moment he panicked, he knew this time it wasn't because of anything else but him.

You sighed, annoyed with your own burst of emotions. It's getting out of hand, you couldn't stop these tears either even though you knew better to take it easy. Usually you could stand his logical questions but today's not the day. It's difficult to be on par with him.

He tried to reach out a hand to you but you quickly turned to face the other end of the room, as you tried to wipe off your tears with the sleeves of your jacket. For all you know, it's just embarrassing to be in this state.

"Don't worry… I'll feel better soon on my own. Could you just-"

As gentle as he could, he slowly pulled you into his arms. Your shoulder rests against his chest, as his left arm encircles your waist while the other takes hold of your hand.

"Why would you expect me to be unconcerned?" He gently whispered to your right ear, "I don't feel any better knowing that you're not being truthful to me. So please tell me…"

You only sobbed uncontrollably, him trying to console you was only making things worse.

"...I'm sorry for being the person who could only make you cry… I'm sorry Y/n. If you want me to stay away, I could… but I can't leave you…" he deliberately paused, a pained frown was now visible on his once concerned face.

"...not now, not until I'm sure you're not crying anymore"

You didn't respond to him afterwards and he stayed there, holding you close. Only after a while did you finally regain control over your own thoughts. Perhaps a little time was what you needed

"Hai…"

"Hmm?"

"...I'm sorry too." You sighed.

"I just think, I couldn't accept that my written ideas were considered ridiculous. I already know that it wouldn't work and my calculations were wrong but do you really need to flatly tell me that? I work day and night trying to figure it out and you… ugh…" you paused because your conscience keeps reminding you that it's not good to complain.

"...go on. It's alright, I'm listening" he slowly encouraged you to just go through it.

"...and you already know that I'm not fond of being a researcher. I hated the process of researching boring topics, it gets difficult sometimes too but I'm trying my best to fulfil both my job and the demands it requires me to do. I'm tired… but I know I can do better if I just put more time into it, more effort."

"Y/n do you still remember the last time we were partnered up for the research paper?" He gently spoke as he rested his head on your right shoulder.

You nodded in response. It's been years but such an event wasn't something you could forget either.

"Until now, I still consider you my only research partner… because I've never worked with someone who's brilliant like you. If anything, you're better than me."

"You're lying. I don't believe you" you casually mumbled.

He let out a chuckle, "I'm not…"

"Well, maybe in certain areas but everyone has their own specialty. After all, neither you or me are perfect. We're just normal humans. Sometimes, I need guidance too and so do you… It's fine if you can't do something the way you wanted it to be."

Alhaitham was just glad he read a lot of books that were somehow related to this situation otherwise he wouldn't be able to say a word. He's really that terrible when it comes to encouraging others or motivating them. The least he could do was reason with them but he already knew that wouldn't work with you.

Truthfully he never once encountered or gotten himself into a difficult situation because of work or any sudden circumstances. Even if he somewhat did, he would just take a break and continue it again after he feels energized. If he dislikes something, he would either get himself into finding a solution or just completely ignore it. He's that simple.

"...and I'm right here. All you need to do is tell me, I'll make sure to eradicate your problems"

Perhaps the word 'eradicate' was too much but at this point he hates it. He dislikes it that you're stressed just because of a research paper to the point that his words were considered painful to you.

"If anything that I've said is hurting you, just inform me. I know… I couldn't do much about that but I'll keep quiet if you need me to."

You didn't respond to him, as if in deep thoughts. Perhaps still trying to take in his advice and words into better understanding. You didn't think he would actually be thoughtful about these things but he's making sense.

Emotions are delicate and difficult to understand. It's like a maze that even his logical thoughts and intuition become useless in this situation. Alhaitham was left in a tough position because he thought his words weren't working once again. He didn't know what to do anymore but he didn't want to make you cry again because of him. So his last resort was to simply give you a kiss. He slowly moved over and gave the side of your neck a gentle kiss.

His soft lips against your neck felt too ticklish that it instantly made you turn around to face him.

"...you?!"

He was briefly surprised by your sudden reaction but he was swift to press a quick kiss on your lips afterwards.

"Are you still angry with me?" He softly questions you with a small smile, as if the slight frown on your face wasn't evidence enough.

"Hmph… you don't deserve a kiss at all."

Ouch. That was a direct hit for him. Probably that was a wrong move after all but he didn't regret it all the same. After all he’s not entirely sure if you’re feeling better or complaining?

If Love is a chemical reaction and needs further testing then, he was eager to find a perfect mixture for the both of you.

"How about we do everything you want tomorrow? Or we can go on a trip the whole day too. Where do you want to go?"

You just silently stare back at him with a doubtful expression because as much as you knew him, he wouldn't be saying these at all.

"I can help you with your research too. We can do it together" He smiled as he tried to cater to your every preference. If you wouldn't tell him what you need him to do then he might as well just guess it all.

"...can I have a hug?"

Is that even considered a request? He literally was hugging you just moments before. How is it supposed to be any different? He couldn't understand it.

"Of course"

Even so, he unquestioningly pulled you into his arms once again. One arm around your shoulder while the other gently stroking your head.

"Let's go to the rainforest tomorrow. I want to see Dusk birds. Afterwards visit port Ormos and buy at their bakery shop." your soft voice muffled in between his chest.

Listening to your requests made him suddenly express a wide smile. It's good that you're not facing him otherwise you'll mock him all day but he was simply happy. It's as if he finally gets to answer a difficult aerodynamic question. Somehow his guessing method was paying off.

"Got it." He calmly replied before placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

"Should I carry you to the bedroom now?"

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A/N: Listening to ‘What do you mean?’ seems kinda funny now...

#alhaitham #genshin impact #genshin impact alhaitham #genshin angst #alhaitham x reader

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