#never did write that dissertation but maybe I should
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I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't
Premise: Brilliant sunshine!reader gets heat stroke on a case. Your best friend, Spencer Reid, is predictably worried about you. What he doesn't expect is to be forced to come to terms with his feelings for you.
Word count: approx. 3,200
TW: Brief mention of vomit and, perhaps, hospitals
(Y/N/N): Your nickname
Author's Note: Super excited to introduce brilliant sunshine!reader (aka, super smart sunshine!reader) onto my fanfic writing scene! Definitely willing to write more of her in the future if anyone is interested. Hope you enjoy!
“Does anybody have more water?”
“Where is the damn ambulance?”
Perhaps your job classically conditioned you to respond to Hotch’s “I’m seriously not fucking around” tone because your eyes crack open.
Someone put weights on your eyelids and cranked the sun to extra-bright. The harsh rays burned your retinas and washed everything in a white blur. Did someone set off a flash bang?
“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?” Miraculously, out of the screeching white, you made out JJ’s halo of blonde hair.
“JJ?” You groaned. Even though you could barely see, it felt like the whole world was spinning,
“Hotch, she’s coming around!” You recognized Morgan’s voice. “Welcome back to the world of the living, honey. We’re happy to see you.”
Your heart rate spiked. You never died. Did you die?
“Yes, we still need a medic!” Hotch barked.
You winced. “Wha?” Suddenly, your mouth couldn’t handle a one-syllable world. Even more alarming, your brain, the same brain that kept up with Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid, couldn’t understand what the hell was going on.
“What I do?” You whined.
“He’s not yelling at you, honey,” JJ said like a kindergarten teacher. “You’re just a little out of it right now.”
“Is she conscious?” Another voice entered. Your head spun. “I brought more water.”
You moaned to suppress a gag. Your eyelids drooped, and you relished in the break from the light.
“Hey, smarty pants, stay with us.” Morgan pat your cheek. “Let Emily get some water in you.” You couldn’t force your eyes open more if you tried.
Your friend Emily. That’s who the voice belonged to.
Suddenly, JJ pulled your hair from your face, Morgan lifted your head, and Emily forced a water bottle to your lips simultaneously. The blinding glare seared your eyes and your head spun. You wanted to sob and maybe vomit.
Your chest hitched with a shallow inhale. “Stop.” You whined.
“(Y/N), it’s okay. Take a deep breath.” JJ said.
“No!” You exclaimed.
“Honey–” Morgan tried.
You thrashed against his hold, but your exhausted muscles couldn’t throw Morgan’s gentlest grip.
“Maybe we should let her go.” Emily said.
“She needs water.” JJ countered.
“She’s disoriented.” Hotch cut in. “Let her get her bearings first, but don’t let her close her eyes.”
Gingerly, Morgan lay your body back on the grass. Your head swam, and your vision rippled as if you could see the heat waves in the California air. You tried to take a deep breath but choked.
You sputtered. Every inhale led to a series of dry coughs. In your delirium, you thought of Spencer. Your Spencer. Where the hell was he? Did he not love you anymore?
Suddenly, Hotch loomed over you. His tall frame blocked out the brutality of the sun’s glare, which eased your headache and nausea but not your cough. His eyebrows were so deeply furrowed they formed a trench of wrinkles across his forehead. “Check her airway.”
Suddenly, you stared into JJ’s blue eyes. Other hands tried to manipulate your body. You jerked.
“(Y/N), relax.”
“Honey, please–”
“Turn her on her side!” Morgan’s cut off by Reid, his voice sharper than you’d ever heard.
***
Spencer Reid has survived many traumatic situations.
He's cared for his schizophrenic mother. He’s been kidnapped. He recovered from a drug addiction. And those are just a few items from his dissertation-length “PTSD-Causing Experiences” list.
But many of his worst traumas were a by-product of being a profiler– a job which allowed him to utilize his intellect to help others. He was willing to accrue trauma like Pokemon cards in exchange for applying his genetic gifts to create a safer world.
Reid could have framed your heat exhaustion as another scare in the line of duty. But when Reid saw you, his brilliant girl, on the ground, his heart fell through his feet.
Then, he saw how his the team responded to your medical emergency.
When he witnessed you coughing and writhing on your back as the team leered over with water, he thought he might explode.
You could be asphyxiating, and the team could be letting you choke while forcing more fluid down your throat.
He shivered as he sprinted down the steps of the local precinct and onto the grassy field where you lay.
“Turn her on her side!” He yelled as diagnoses and courses of action fled through his mind on hyperspeed.
“We’re trying, she—”
“Spence?” You choked out through a coughing fit. He’s surprised his ears caught it.
Reid knelt next to you. “Let’s get you into recovery position.” He said, his voice suddenly soft as clouds. Reid gingerly pushed you onto your left side. “Off your back, there we go.” He bent your right leg and slid it in front of your body to prevent you from rolling onto your stomach if you lost consciousness.
“Did she faint?” Reid asked the team. He couldn’t take his eyes from your face.
“We think so. She was dizzy, so she laid on the ground. Then she was unresponsive for at least 40 seconds,” Emily said.
Spencer pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. Predictably, you were feverishly hot. “She’s burning up. Has someone called an ambulance?”
“Allegedly.” Hotch said, an edge to his voice.
“We have, sir. They’re on their way.” A local police officer responded, exasperated.
Spencer’s eye twitched. “How long has she been down?” You whined, and he stroked your cheekbone with his thumb.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He whispered.
“In total, 15 minutes.” Hotch supplied. “Emily, pour some more water on her.”
“This was for her to drink.”
“Use one bottle to pour on her face and neck.” Spencer said. “I ran and got Gatorade. She should start with sips of that when she can swallow. Heat stroke can also be caused by salt depletion.”
Spencer was conversing with a local officer over the safety protocols in the area when a pair of policemen walked into the precinct, gossiping about the FBI agent who “folded fast in the southern Cali heat.”
Spencer’s jaw had clenched. Maybe one of his team members was ill since they put in most of the grunt work to catch the unsub. He would’ve been more annoyed if not for the worry gnawing at his brain. What if they were talking about (Y/N)? She looked a little shaky right after her chase with the unsub, but Spencer didn’t get a chance to ask his friend if she was alright. And, stupidly enough, he forgot to text her to check if she drank any water post-case. Quickly, Reid excused himself, grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge, and rushed to the field where your limp body trembled on the grass.
“I’m going to pour some water on you, honey," Emily said. You flinched as the frigid water hit your hairline.
“Breathe, relax.” Spencer said, shielding your nose. The last thing you needed was some accidental waterboarding.
Seconds after the water drenched your forehead, your whole body relaxed into the grass. “That felt good.” You smiled weakly.
Spencer stroked your arm. “Let’s sit you up in a minute, okay? You should try some Gatorade before the EMTs get here.”
“EMTs? I’m fine.” You whined.
Spencer didn’t think it was possible for his eyebrows to crease further.
“You’re not fine.” Gentler, he said, “and it’s okay not to be fine, sunlight.”
“But, I’m alive.” You tried to roll onto your stomach, but your bent leg kept you safe on your back.
Some on the team members chuckled, but Spencer didn’t find your delirium humorous. “I know you’re alive, sweetie. But you’re way too hot. I think you’re a little confused right now.”
“I’m just…” You winced. “I’m alive.”
The knot in Spencer’s chest tightened ten-fold. This could be heat stroke. At the very least, you had heat exhaustion. You were dehydrated. You were delirious.
Best case scenario: you were ill for a few days. Worst case scenario: You had vital organ damage.
Just as he’s about to call 911 himself, JJ interrupted him. “Look–ambulance lights. Help is on the way, honey.”
“You hear that, (Y/N)? You’re gonna be fine.” Morgan said. If only Spencer felt that confident.
“Spence…” You blocked your eyes from the light with your limp right hand. “I’m scared. I don’t feel well.”
“Oh, (Y/N), I know.” He cupped your shoulder and hoped you could feel his love for you through his palm. That sent a jolt down his spine. He wasn’t supposed to comfortably think those thoughts about you.
You were sick. This wasn’t the time. He leaned over your body. He gave you plenty of breathing room, but his torso was parallel to your hip so his eyes could meet your watering ones. “Hey, take a breath for me, Smartie.”
Your nickname for him slipped from his tongue so easily it spooked him. Suddenly, he noticed his thumb stroking over your cotton t-shirt. He should stop. The whole team was watching. He was being was too intimate; he'd face stupid quips from Morgan for days. He kept stroking anyway.
He observed your chest rise and fall. Your breaths were shaky but deeper. He relaxed a tad. Vital oxygen was reaching your bloodstream.
“(Y/N), can we try something?” Spencer asked.
“Yes. Maybe. What is it?”
The knot in his chest loosened. You responded immediately and with more than two words; you were becoming more lucid.
“Can you sit up and have some sips of Gatorade? I got your favorite flavor. At least, if your favorite flavor hasn’t changed from three years ago.” It most likely hadn’t. Once your opinion settled, it was frustratingly hard to erode your verdict.
“I can’t…I don’t know.”
“I know sitting up is hard. I’ll help you. And I’ll prop you against my chest. I’ll hold your weight when you can’t.”
“KK, Spence.” Your childlike tone tugged at his heart strings.
Spencer and Morgan lifted your limp body from the ground. They manhandled you into a sitting position with your head propped on Spencer’s shoulder and your body tucked between his thighs.
One of his arms stabilized you while the other raised a cold bottle of orange Gatorade to your lips.
After nine sips of Gatorade, you spoke again.
“Orange.” You took another sip. "My favorite.”
He smiled into your hair. “When have I ever lied to you, (Y/N/N)?”
***
Spencer nearly created a crater in the linoleum floor of the ER waiting room with his bouncing heel by the time the doctor came back with an update.
“She had a mild case of heat stroke. We currently have her on fluids, and she’ll need lots of rest for at least the next week.” Doctor Bahamani concluded.
“No signs of metabolic dysfunction? Any respiratory distress?” Reid checked.
Doctor Bahamani smiled knowingly. “She’s going to be just fine, Doctor Reid.”
“Can I see her?” Spencer asked.
“Yes. Only two at a time, please.”
Spencer didn’t care who volunteered with him. He moved without thinking. An outpouring of gratitude for his eidetic memory flooded him. Through the thickest brain fog, he could trust his recollection of the hospital to bring him to the correct hospital room.
The security staff practically had to drag him away from your bedside after the ambulance ride. They might have thrown him out of the ER if not for the flash of his FBI badge.
Something nagged at him as he sped past the nursing station.
You were going to be fine. The ER doctor confirmed it. Yet his heart was still pounding and he could barely refrain from running. Even more odd, he wasn’t ashamed of his irrational behavior.
So what if a doctor deemed you were okay? It was you. And he saw you groggier and more out of it than you'd ever been. And who knows how thorough the doctors were with their examination? It was completely reasonable to worry for one of his closest friends.
He just couldn't believe you were alright until he checked you over with his own hands and his own eyes.
***
When you grinned at him from your cot, Spencer wasn’t sure whether to smile or cry.
Tears glazed your eyes. But, your gorgeous smile was back.
“Spencer?” You asked, brow raised and head cocked.
He’d been staring too long. He looked like an idiot, lamely standing in the doorway as if he were the one with heat stroke.
“Straighten your head. Your neck is probably tight.”
You smiled, but this time it was tight-lipped and painful-looking. “You’re too worried.”
He watched saline drip down your IV. “Of course I’m worried, (Y/N). You got heat stroke.” With a deep breath as a shot of courage, he sat in the chair by the head of your bed.
There was nothing odd about sitting with his best friend at the hospital.
His chest twisted at “best friend” and his resolve collapsed. He couldn’t deny it anymore.
He liked you. He really, really liked you. He actually might even–
“Luckily, I got out pretty unscathed.” You snapped Spencer out of his spiral. “A little dehydrated. Achy. Might feel sick for a few days.”
“Or weeks.” Spencer corrected.
“Trying to look on the bright side here, Doctor.” You smirked and Spencer swore his right ventricle tightened.
Then, your nose scrunched and Spencer's wiped clean of any concern about his cardiac health.
“What hurts?”
“Just a little achy, Spencer. I’m alright.”
He shot you a look. He knew all your excuses. He knew you went to self-harming lengths to not worry people.
“You’re not alright.” He reached for the red nurse-call button.
Your eyes widened in surprise. “Okay…my body aches, Spence. And the IV burns. But they’ve already told me that’s normal. No need to take nurses away from an emergency.”
The nurses at the station desk didn’t appear to be rushing around for anyone, but Spencer feared this wouldn’t behoove his case.
“They can give you pain medication, if you want.”
You hesitated, and immediately Spencer pressed the button. When you smiled weakly instead of bickering, his worry grew tenfold but not without a rush of heat flooding his entire body.
In Morgan's words, he’s down bad.
“How are you doing, sunshine?” As if he’d been summoned, Morgan appeared in the doorway.
Spencer stepped back from your cot. The part of him riled from Morgan’s “sunshine” moniker wants to shove his hand into yours. Spencer thought he hid his annoyance well, but something about Morgan's smirk told him otherwise.
“Um…”
Morgan’s smirk fell. “You feel that bad, huh?”
You chuckled sadly. “Do I look that shitty or am I an open book today?”
“You never look shitty,” Spencer said. A tsunami of blood rushed to his face.
“Anyway,” Morgan said, “Do you want anything, Beauty Queen? I can grab you some jello.”
“Jello sounds nice.” You said, and something in your voice was so vulnerable and naive Spencer wanted to wrap you in his arms as tight as he could. Which was illogical. That would only hurt you further.
He shook his head as if that would remove the thoughts from his mind. “I’m gonna see if I can check up on your labs at the nurse’s station. I’ll make sure they’re giving you the good drugs.” He smiled.
You laughed– a genuine laugh– and Spencer’s heart soared. “Thanks, Spence.”
“I’ll go grab your jello,” Morgan said.
“Hold on, you should stay with her just in case she needs anything," Spencer said.
“I’ll be fine, Spence.” You said, but Spencer was not prepared to take "no" for an answer.
“If you boys wants to run her some errands, I’ll stay.” Emily stood in the doorway. “JJ is coming soon too– she just got a phone call from a very frantic Penelope.”
Your nose crinkled. “Oh no.” You groaned, but you were smiling.
“Oh, yes. Be prepared for some mother henning," Emily said.
“Garcia can’t be any more mother henning than Reid," Morgan said.
Before his face could turn redder than a baboon’s bottom, Spencer fled.
He’s only two yards from the nursing station when Morgan intercepted him at the end of the hall.
“So, you’re going to make your move, right?”
Spencer's body temperature plummeted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He tried to shoulder past Morgan, but he was no match for his grip strength. “Reid, c’mon. You like (Y/N).”
Part of him wanted to laugh. “Like” seemed too simple of a word to describe the symphony of feelings (Y/N) started in him. “It’s…” He’s too tongue-tied to lie. “It’s complicated.”
You’re brilliant. You’re beautiful. You’re brimming with empathy. You’re everything Spencer could want. And it scared the shit out of him. Because that meant there’s even more to lose. And if he lost you, there would be no one to blame but himself. It was better for his psyche to not go there with you– to step back from the line rather than risk what would happen if he failed to make it work in the end.
And what if you got hurt? What is you fell in the line of duty? Or worse, what if someone targeted you because of your romantic tie to him? Spencer's already experienced the pain of losing a soulmate-- a concept he wasn't even sure he believed in-- once. He wasn't not sure if he could survive it a second time.
There was too much unpredictability in his life. He chose a dangerous profession. He was gifted a ticking time-bomb of dangerous genes. He’d never forgive himself if he inflicted onto you the pain he’s been through; losing loved ones, whether through death or mental illness.
Morgan's expression turned sympathetic. “Reid, you should give it a shot. Our lives our hectic. And if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.”
Spencer blinked to block tears from welling. “I just want her to be happy, too.”
“And who says you don't make her happy?”
“His idiotic genius brain.” Rossi appeared from around the corner.
Spencer froze. “You heard?” His face flushed yet again.
“Just the tail end. But Reid…” He trailed off.
Morgan took the hint. “I’m going to get (Y/N) some jello. With my charm, I could negotiate for some whipped cream.”
“Don’t get whipped cream on it. She’s lactose sensitive,” Spencer said.
Morgan's stupid smirk reappeared. “Gotcha, Reid.”
Rossi took Morgan's place. Once Morgan was out of sight, he began his speech. “You love her. Don’t get in your own way.” Rossi put his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “And (Y/N) is an incredibly intelligent woman. Don’t insult her intelligence by thinking she can’t decide who is or is not worth taking a risk. And for what it’s worth…a man like you is worth the risk.”
Rossi left Reid staring at his back.
For the longest time, Reid convinced himself he refrained from asking you out to protect you from himself and his hefty baggage. And that’s not completely untrue.
But suddenly, he realized he was primarily trying to protect himself from exposing his vulnerabilities to you this whole time. There’s never been a person whose opinion affected him like yours. There's never been a life he's wanted to protect more except perhaps...Maeve.
But just like it’s up to you to decide who’s worth the risk, it’s up to him to decide as well.
And if today taught him anything, shit happens. And if you slip through his fingers, he doesn't want it to because he wasn't brave enough to make a first move.
And being your person was more than worth the risk of rejection.
Author's Note: Thank you to so much to everyone who stuck around through my hiatus! I appreciate every single one of you! You're super cool :)
Happy to be back! Inbox is open to chat about writing and take requests! Please check pinned "Blurb Requests" post before requesting! (Will update the post as my boundaries update!)
Have an awesome day or night, wherever you are in this crazy world. I am incredibly thankful you spent part of your precious life reading something I penned.
Forever grateful,
shewroteaworld
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x self insert#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fluff#spencer reid fluff#dr spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid angst#criminal minds fandom#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fic#spencer reid one shot
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Let's Talk Whump
Let's Talk Whump is a series of interviews with the wonderful members of the whump community. I'm Malice and I'll be your host. Joining us today is the one and only @oddsconvert !
Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump! Do you mind sharing a little about yourself?
Hi there, I’m Shannon! I’m a 21 year old psychology and criminology graduate from the UK! My favourite colour is yellow. I basically have a zoo of pets bahaha; I have four cats, a dog, a rabbit, two rats, three fish and two tarantulas (not mine - they terrify the life out of me!)
When I’m not whumping and traumatising my fictional babies, I love to crochet, listening to/playing music (I play piano, guitar, clarinet and ukulele), and I’m currently teaching myself to draw…for whump purposes ;)
What does whump mean to you?
For me, whump is freedom and release. Not only is it enjoyable, almost like scratching an itch? But it’s cathartic, and what I now see as a healthy coping mechanism for managing difficult feelings and a way to navigate my own trauma. Although, looking back, whump has been something that’s always been an interest of mine since early childhood, and has stuck ever since! Like rewinding disney films when the princes get tied up ahahah.
And also the comfort element of whump, I think it also helps me explore wants and desires in my own life. Writing my caretakers and their fierce protectiveness, and unconditional care over whumpees feels like it heals a part of me that maybe needed that at times. It gives you such a heartwarming feeling when you see these characters go through hell and back, and have someone to fall on at the end who will be there through thick and thin, regardless how choppy the water gets.
And how did you find the whump community? What made you want to join?
I used to scour pinterest for writing prompts! I only ever wrote in private, I’ve never EVER shared my work publicly before and never dreamed I would. But the more and more whumpy pins I was saving I was like “hmmm. These all come from the same site! Let’s go check that out” and then I scrolled the #whump tag for endless hours instead of doing my university dissertation. I remember coming across @deluxewhump and @darkthingshappen first!
At first I joined as a faceless, lurking blog. I really wanted to hop in and join all the creators I was loving so far but I was terrified. I think I had a bio as something like “working up the courage to post.” And then some lovely anon sent me my first ask saying they’d love to see what I’d post! And I slowly crept out of my shell and bit by bit started building my profile and adding my name and posting my whump drabbles!
Pinterest whump prompts gang rise up! That’s exactly how I found the community too! Has your view on whump changed since you joined?
I used to be ashamed of liking whump. Like it was some dirty little secret that made me a terrible person and I should keep it to myself. Hide it at all costs. Since joining, and interacting with this world-wide community of whump enjoyers, I realised it’s not something that should be taboo. If anything, it almost feels normal! Look how many thousands love it! And every single whump creator I’ve had the pleasure of meeting has been so kind, supportive and such genuine people!
It really feels like coming home when you find the whump community and realise you’re not a weirdo! Would you like to share your favourite whump tropes?
I’ve definitely discovered more about my whump taste! I used to just purely like captivity whump, usually with creepy/intimate whumpers. That was always my go to. Now? I’ve discovered SO many tropes I never even knew about and love! BBU?! Pet whump, whumper turned whumpee, bad caretaker, vampire whump, sickfics, hero/villain and so much more!
Non-optional, you have to share a favourite piece you've written? Hype yourself up, we want to hear it!
Without a doubt, my first ever chapter of ‘Shattered’ - my bloodbag whumpee/vampire whump series. I’m usually very self-critical of my writing, but I really love how this one came out and how well it was written. I pretty much never get whumperflies off my own writing, but my poor sweet Declan - just living dead and the way Vince is forced to take care of him.
But also honorary mention - my latest chapter of ‘Play Pretend’ . Play Pretend is my baby, and it was the first chapter of this series I had beta’d by my wonderful friend @whumpcereal and I felt like she just took it to the next level and kicked it up a notch. Josh’s fear and exhaustion came to life and I really enjoyed writing his inner monologue!
You weren’t kidding about the whumperflies in “Shattered”! Hot damn! What's your writing schedule usually look like?
Night time for sure! Dead of night - 3am most often ahaha. I’m a night owl, through and through. I’ll try and write in the day and nothing comes and then night comes and I’m like brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, whole chapter done! I usually have some music on in the background, sometimes I make a specific playlist for whatever vibe I’m feeling! And I mostly write when the inspiration strikes, as much as I can get out until the motivation vanishes.
And do you find that the words flow better for somethings than others?
For me, I find it really easy to write my creepy/intimate whumper scenes. For Play Pretend, writing Felix’s deranged and creepy obsession with Josh just comes so naturally (maybe I should be concerned…). The way he’s so unsettling but so adoring with how he speaks to Josh and touches him, I could write it in a heartbeat.
More recently I’ve been trying to delve into the nsfw portions of whump and writing. But I’m a newbie with it, and I really struggle with writing it or making it sound good.
Is there anything you're working on at the moment?
My usual schedule swings around, I update my series in an order. It tends to be, A Taste of Your Own Medicine, Shattered, then Play Pretend - and I’ve just updated ATOYOM so Shattered is up next! I’m primarily working on a flashback chapter with August currently! But I dot in and out of future chapters too.
I also have planned future whump series to come whenever my current ones finish up! But that’s a little while off yet.
Give us some writing advice. Bless us with your wisdom, oh awesome one!!!!!
I WILL SCREAM THIS FROM THE ROOFTOPS - WRITE FOR YOU!
Never ever write based on what you think people like/don’t like. The absolute joy in writing is the freedom in putting the pen to paper, or cursor to doc , and just letting your imagination run wild. Your audience is out there. People that will love and cheer for your writing, and I think you can really tell when an author has enjoyed and had fun with what they’ve written. There’s no good in getting bogged down with what others think.
Write for you, post for you, and if others hop along for the ride - all the better!
Is there anyone you’d like to give a shout-out to?
I love absolutely everyone in this community, I’m gonna tag so many people - my besties alongside some of my favourite blogs and creators. Ily all you talented people.
@whumpcereal @darkthingshappen @sparrowsage @quietly-by-myself @whumpsday @for-the-love-of-angst @emmettnet @turn-the-tables-on-them @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @pigeonwhumps @whumpshaped @t0rture-me @ha-ha-one @not-a-space-alien @whump-queen @justsomewhumpee @livelaughwhump @writereleaserepeat and I’M PROBABLY MISSING SOME BUT YOU’RE ALL AWESOME
Finally, anything you'd like to add?
The whump community has quickly started to feel like home to me, I have a lotta love for whumpblr and every soul I’ve met here! Thank you so much for having me and to whoever nominated me!
It’s been a pleasure!
Happy whumping, people!
Thank you so much for joining us today, @oddsconvert! And to all you awesome folk at home, have a whump-derful day!
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Appendix A: An Imagined and Incomplete Conversation about “Consciousness” and “AI,” Across Time
Every so often, I think about the fact of one of the best things my advisor and committee members let me write and include in my actual doctoral dissertation, and I smile a bit, and since I keep wanting to share it out into the world, I figured I should put it somewhere more accessible.
So with all of that said, we now rejoin An Imagined and Incomplete Conversation about “Consciousness” and “AI,” Across Time, already (still, seemingly unendingly) in progress:
René Descartes (1637): The physical and the mental have nothing to do with each other. Mind/soul is the only real part of a person.
Norbert Wiener (1948): I don’t know about that “only real part” business, but the mind is absolutely the seat of the command and control architecture of information and the ability to reflexively reverse entropy based on context, and input/output feedback loops.
Alan Turing (1952): Huh. I wonder if what computing machines do can reasonably be considered thinking?
Wiener: I dunno about “thinking,” but if you mean “pockets of decreasing entropy in a framework in which the larger mass of entropy tends to increase,” then oh for sure, dude.
John Von Neumann (1958): Wow things sure are changing fast in science and technology; we should maybe slow down and think about this before that change hits a point beyond our ability to meaningfully direct and shape it— a singularity, if you will.
Clynes & Klines (1960): You know, it’s funny you should mention how fast things are changing because one day we’re gonna be able to have automatic tech in our bodies that lets us pump ourselves full of chemicals to deal with the rigors of space; btw, have we told you about this new thing we’re working on called “antidepressants?”
Gordon Moore (1965): Right now an integrated circuit has 64 transistors, and they keep getting smaller, so if things keep going the way they’re going, in ten years they’ll have 65 THOUSAND. :-O
Donna Haraway (1991): We’re all already cyborgs bound up in assemblages of the social, biological, and techonological, in relational reinforcing systems with each other. Also do you like dogs?
Ray Kurzweil (1999): Holy Shit, did you hear that?! Because of the pace of technological change, we’re going to have a singularity where digital electronics will be indistinguishable from the very fabric of reality! They’ll be part of our bodies! Our minds will be digitally uploaded immortal cyborg AI Gods!
Tech Bros: Wow, so true, dude; that makes a lot of sense when you think about it; I mean maybe not “Gods” so much as “artificial super intelligences,” but yeah.
90’s TechnoPagans: I mean… Yeah? It’s all just a recapitulation of The Art in multiple technoscientific forms across time. I mean (*takes another hit of salvia*) if you think about the timeless nature of multidimensional spiritual architectures, we’re already—
DARPA: Wait, did that guy just say something about “Uploading” and “Cyborg/AI Gods?” We got anybody working on that?? Well GET TO IT!
Disabled People, Trans Folx, BIPOC Populations, Women: Wait, so our prosthetics, medications, and relational reciprocal entanglements with technosocial systems of this world in order to survive makes us cyborgs?! :-O
[Simultaneously:]
Kurzweil/90’s TechnoPagans/Tech Bros/DARPA: Not like that. Wiener/Clynes & Kline: Yes, exactly.
Haraway: I mean it’s really interesting to consider, right?
Tech Bros: Actually, if you think about the bidirectional nature of time, and the likelihood of simulationism, it’s almost certain that there’s already an Artificial Super Intelligence, and it HATES YOU; you should probably try to build it/never think about it, just in case.
90’s TechnoPagans: …That’s what we JUST SAID.
Philosophers of Religion (To Each Other): …Did they just Pascal’s Wager Anselm’s Ontological Argument, but computers?
Timnit Gebru and other “AI” Ethicists: Hey, y’all? There’s a LOT of really messed up stuff in these models you started building.
Disabled People, Trans Folx, BIPOC Populations, Women: Right?
Anthony Levandowski: I’m gonna make an AI god right now! And a CHURCH!
The General Public: Wait, do you people actually believe this?
Microsoft/Google/IBM/Facebook: …Which answer will make you give us more money?
Timnit Gebru and other “AI” Ethicists: …We’re pretty sure there might be some problems with the design architectures, too…
Some STS Theorists: Honestly this is all a little eugenics-y— like, both the technoscientific and the religious bits; have you all sought out any marginalized people who work on any of this stuff? Like, at all??
Disabled People, Trans Folx, BIPOC Populations, Women: Hahahahah! …Oh you’re serious?
Anthony Levandowski: Wait, no, nevermind about the church.
Some “AI” Engineers: I think the things we’re working on might be conscious, or even have souls.
“AI” Ethicists/Some STS Theorists: Anybody? These prejudices???
Wiener/Tech Bros/DARPA/Microsoft/Google/IBM/Facebook: “Souls?” Pfffft. Look at these whackjobs, over here. “Souls.” We’re talking about the technological singularity, mind uploading into an eternal digital universal superstructure, and the inevitability of timeless artificial super intelligences; who said anything about “Souls?”
René Descartes/90’s TechnoPagans/Philosophers of Religion/Some STS Theorists/Some “AI” Engineers: …
[Scene]
----------- ----------- ----------- -----------
Read Appendix A: An Imagined and Incomplete Conversation about “Consciousness” and “AI,” Across Time at A Future Worth Thinking About
and read more of this kind of thing at: Williams, Damien Patrick. Belief, Values, Bias, and Agency: Development of and Entanglement with "Artificial Intelligence." PhD diss., Virginia Tech, 2022. https://vtechworks.lib.vt.edu/handle/10919/111528.
#ableism#afrofuturism#alan turing#alison kafer#alterity#anselm's ontological argument for the existence of god#artificial intelligence#astrobiology#audio#autonomous created intelligence#autonomous generated intelligence#autonomously creative intelligence#bodies in space#bodyminds#communication#cybernetics#cyborg#cyborg anthropology#cyborg ecology#cyborgs#darpa#decolonization#decolonizing mars#digital#disability#disability studies#distributed machine consciousness#distributed networked intelligence#donna haraway#economics
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where would i be able to read your monograph? especially about the ‘you are nothing without me’ incident
The Protracted Reality of Writing Academic Shit 😂
First, and assuming the asker means my Hephaistion-Krateros book, the quick answer is: It’s still in process, not even close to being in print. In the meantime, a number of my articles are available on academia-edu.
Now, to explain why the book is “still in process,” let me explain the monograph writing progression. IME, the average person uninvolved in academia is often surprised by the sheer complexity and time involved. (After all, why would you know if you don't need to?)
Below, I talk only about academic monographs, although I’ve also edited academic collections, and of course, have published a number of articles. I started to tackle fiction publishing too, but that quickly devolved into a long-ass post (even for me), so I’m sticking only to the topic the asker requested. It's long enough! Maybe I’ll do fiction later, assuming anybody wants to read that. (If so, put it in an ask.)
To write an academic book in the humanities typically takes years. There are several stages just to produce the initial manuscript, never mind getting it into print. I’ll outline the general process below, using my current project to illustrate the steps. One thing I’ve found consistently among both students and non-academics is utter surprise at just how extensive research/writing is. New grad students often think writing a thesis/dissertation is akin to writing a really long term paper. Oh, no. You will write it, submit it, get critique and feedback, go research some more and revise it, get critique and feedback, go and research yet more and revise it again … rinse and repeat. How long? Until it’s cooked. There’s not a set timeframe. It will always take longer than you expect. Always. I’ve been teaching grad students almost 25 years. I have yet to have any require less time than they first assumed.
Writing a monograph (including the thesis/dissertation, which is a type of monograph) is one of the toughest forms of academic writing. Papers/articles are much easier, and not just because they’re shorter, although that’s some of it. They also generally have a simpler point. They’re proving ONE thing, like a string.
A monograph presents a coherent, complex argument like a rope woven from several strings (the chapters). It’s not an edited collection by multiple authors in a single volume (or two), or even a collection of various essays by a single author. Collections may have a general topic, like, say, Macedonian Legacies (the collection we did for Gene Borza), or the one I’m editing now, Macedon and It’s Influences. Just trying to figure out a decent order for the varied papers can prove a challenge in these. If some of the papers actually do bear on each other … bonus! But the papers aren’t necessarily expected to come together at the end in any cogent way. A monograph’s concluding chapter should, however, bring together the chapters into a solid conclusion, like the arch’s capstone, holding it all together.
Yet the researcher may not know the answer to that until done with much of the research. After reading everything, and considering it, she may wind up in a different place from where she started. Like any good, responsible research, the researcher must be prepared to follow the data and facts, not cram them into a preconceived notion. I’ve changed some of my ideas and goals for my current monograph, as I no longer think I can do the project I originally intended because the nature of the sources get in the way too much. But I have a more interesting project as a result.
The first phase is research: pretty much for any academic field, period. How this progresses, and how quickly, varies with the individual, field, and topic. Furthermore, some of us are planners (that’s me), others are pantsers (e.g., they dive in and figure it out as they go: by the seat of the pants). But we all start with a question or observation, then go out to track down information about it. In history, sometimes we just read the primary sources/archival material and see what we find. Something strikes us, so we go on to read more, which produces either refined questions or entirely new ones.
Right now, I’m finishing up the initial stages of the research. Then I’ll start work on the chapters, which, yes, I’ve outlined as a result of my initial research. But those chapters may (and probably will) morph as I write them. It’s during the writing phase that the other, “attendant” research comes into play: chasing down all the references in other secondary sources for smaller points. Rabbit-hole time.
My initial research tends to be more measured. I read a while, stop to think—sometimes do stuff like write replies to asks on Tumblr while my brain churns. 😉 Then I go back and read some more. But the writing phase is where I can lose all track of time while running down just-one-more-citation-then-I’ll-stop. The last time I looked at a clock it was 3pm and now it’s 9pm, I’m weak with hunger, I really have to pee because I’m drinking too much tea, and the cats are mad because I’ve not fed them in hours. 😆 It’s two really different types of research for me.
Anyway, for the initial (pre-writing) stage, there are really two substages. The first is what I think of as archival work: e.g., getting down and dirty with the original (primary) sources, including digging into the Greek and Latin to see what it actually says, and if there’s something noteworthy in the phrasing. At this point, I may not really know what I’m looking for, except in the broadest sense. For my current project, I collected every single mention of Hephaistion and Krateros in the original sources. For all five ATG bios, I read them front to back, tagging all sorts of things, plus large chunks of important other books (e.g., the first part of book 18 of Diodoros, the extant fragments of Arrian’s After Alexander, plus a couple bios, esp. Plutarch’s Eumenes, etc.) in order to get a FLOW, not just collect things piecemeal. There are some passages that may not name Hephaistion or Krateros specifically, but they would include them. Piecemeal will always be incomplete, like trying to see a clear image in a broken mirror (a mistake I made with my dissertation, in fact, but I was young).
Then I assembled all that collected data on huge sheets, arranged by author for each man, so I can cross-reference and compare. I also did a deep-dive across 4 days, grabbing everything in Brill’s New Jacoby (BNJ), so I can also tag the original (lost) author cited in our surviving sources, where we know who it is. Not actually that many, but it’s useful and can prove significant. I want to see where the same information, or anecdote, crosses sources, and how it changes.
All of that (except adding the BNJ entry #s to my big sheets) is now done. The next step is figuring out what it all means. For that—and where I am right now—involves historiographic reading/rereading of secondary sources on the ancient authors. What is Curtius’s methodology? Arrian’s? Plutarch’s? What are the themes of each? What is the story they’re telling? They’re not just cut-and-pasters from the original (now lost) histories; they have agendas. What are they? How do Hephaistion and Krateros fit into those agendas? How do the sources use them? This is, to me, the really interesting piece.
It's also why this book will not be just a cleaned-up version of my dissertation, but a completely new look at Hephaistion, and now Krateros too. I haven’t even consulted my old dissertation chapters. I started over from scratch. Sure, I remember my main conclusions, and as I write, I’m sure I’ll go back to check things, but the same as I’d check anybody else’s.
I’d hoped to start writing by May, but I’m not quite there yet, in part because, between the Netflix series plus helping to write/edit a grant that I didn’t expect to have to do, I lost virtually all of February. Now, about half of April has been eaten by home repair/yard stuff plus small family crises. That’s just the nature of a sabbatical, especially if you don’t have a spousal unit or SO to take care of everything for you while you just write. 😒
Now I hope to start writing by mid/late May. But as this 9th International ATG Symposium is looming in early September, plus I go back to teaching in the fall, I’ll have to knock off by the end of July, if not sooner. Ergo, not a long writing time. I can do some more during winter break, but I probably won’t have a draft done until next summer. If I’m lucky. It is just not possible, at least for me, to write while teaching! As I do plan to present at least one (startling!) piece of my research as the ATG conference, I have a concrete deadline for a subchapter bit. Ha.
So, what happens after a draft is done? Well, if one is smart, one finds a reader or three. One just to read it for sense, but (if possible) another specialist to start poking holes in the arguments, noting secondary sources one forgot, and to offer general pushback in order to refine it all. This assumes your friends/colleagues actually have time to look at it, as they, also, are teaching and writing their own stuff. (I’ll go after my retired colleagues.) At the same time, one may also begin seeking an academic publisher.
It’s important to match the project to what the publisher is already publishing. It can also help, but isn’t necessary, to have an in: somebody known to/trusted by the editor of one’s broad field (ancient history, in my case) who can vouch for the scholarship. Submitting means writing up a summary of the work, perhaps including letters from colleagues/readers, etc., etc. I’m not even close to this stage yet, so I’m primarily going by the experiences of friends. At this point, it starts to dovetail a bit with fiction publishing. You’re on the hunt and do some of the same homework.
Once a publishing house requests the manuscript, they’ll farm it out to 2-3 readers to evaluate. This is the “refereed” part, as the readers will be specialists in the field. The publisher, who can’t be a specialist in everything, may ask for a list of names for these potential readers.
As with academic papers/book chapters, the book will come back from these readers with a vote on publishability, plus suggestions for improvement. The basic choices range from, “Go back to the drawing board; this has major issues and here they are” (e.g., not ready yet for publication). To, “It’s got good bones but here are improvements on chpts X and X, oh, and go read ___ works you forgot,” (e.g., revise and resubmit). To, “this is pretty solid as-is but could use a few more things” (e.g., revise but ready for a contract). You will NEVER get a “Publish it right now.” 🤣 It’s hard to say how much time this revising phase will take, as it depends entirely on the level of revisions requested. This is why it’s often wise to find a reader or three in advance, to make this phase less lengthy. Yes, books do sometimes get turned down entirely, with no “revise-and-resubmit,” but more often it’s one of the three above. And yes, sometimes an author may be unwilling to make the requested changes, so finds a different publisher, with different readers, hoping for a more positive outcome. Sometimes, with the revising stage, there’s a non-binding contract involved, but this seems to be usefully mostly for younger scholars who need some sort of proof for their RPT (Reappointment, Promotion and Tenure) committees.
Once a publisher gets a manuscript they believe is worthy, the author receives a (real) contract and is provided with in-house editors to fix grammar, sense, etc.: copy- and line-editing. What would (in fiction) be called “developmental editing” is what the refereed part entailed. This is the simple part. Getting TO the contract stage is the tough part.
The publishing house will then schedule the book with a publication date and discuss things like page-proofs, cover art, permissions, formatting, etc., including indexing, which most publishers either don’t do, or charge a high fee for. It’s almost always cheaper to hire an indexer separately. I’ve already got mine lined up for the Hephaistion-Krateros book. But that can’t be done until it’s typeset and through page-proofs as one needs, yeah, the page numbers. Ha. From contract to the book hitting shelves can take a full year, or more.
So, with the exception of those folks who are just writing machines, the average monograph is c. 5+ years, at least in the humanities. This assumes the luck to get a sabbatical, not trying to do it all crammed into summers or breaks.
So yes, I’m still a couple years from this book seeing print. And that assumes there’s not a lengthy revise-and-resubmit process because my readers don’t like my conclusions.
#asks#Hephaistion#Krateros#monograph on Hephaistion and Krateros#Hephaestion#Alexander the Great#writing an academic monograph#academic publishing#Macedonian Court
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Physical Education Class and Ableism (AKA, 'Is my invisible disability actually invisible, or do you just close your eyes when confronted with a student in pain?')
I will not pretend this is a well-written discussion on the issues in PE. This is not that. This is an outlet of the grief and pain and genuine suffering that I, and many other students, felt through PE class- which goes far further than having a couple blisters after running the mile. I am in no way being dramatic or hyperbolic when I say that PE class leaves a long-lasting stain on not only self-image, but for some of us, our bodies. LONG POST. This IS personal and emotional (because years later I'm still angry at how I was treated), not a purely fact-driven dissertation, though personal anecdotes are relevant to the topic, and my emotional biases do not invalidate my points.
TW for ableism and brief mention of ED behaviours (clearly labeled and easy to skip over). This was definitively NOT fun to write, and I quite dislike talking about exactly how much disability affects me but I'm honestly angry enough to not care right now. Because every time I think about how I was treated, I get angrier and angrier. The wound grows deeper with each year I have to process it. I just want this to reach anyone else who is as angry about it as I am to reassure you that you have every right to be angry. A hell of a lot more people should be mad, too. I want people to get mad reading this. If you want, share it. Put it on tiktok without credit, for all I care (though actually please don't do that). If nothing else, just listen to kids when they say they're in pain.
To preface, I have never been able to do a push-up. Never. My shoulders and elbows just cannot support me. Any time we did push-up tests, I'd just sit on my ass because why hurt myself trying to do what everyone around me could do with ease? As for curl-ups, I think I peaked at 27 once. I never ran the mile in under thirteen minutes. Never did a pull-up. Was always last in every activity consistently (even during Ramadan, as a non-muslim who was not fasting- which, Ramadan and PE expectations are a WHOLE other topic that I am not educated enough on to make comments on, so I digress).
There were maybe three things I was good at, though. I could always far exceed everyone else in stretching and flexibility tests, and I was uniquely really good at gymnastics and hurdles, of all things. In retrospect, this is due to the leg flexibility needed for hurdle jumping, and I'm flexible due to disability- I'll get into that soon, though.
All of which is to say, I was bad at PE.
No matter what we did, for the most part, I'd be lagging behind and dizzy and in pain.
At first, I tried to push through and ignore it, determined to not fall too far behind my classmates. I was already a weirdo in the special ed program, didn't need another reason to feel like an outcast. I was already, at that point in time, missing large chunks of the year due to 'psychiatric help' stays, to put it mildly. So I just tried to keep up and never could.
Eventually, the complaining started. Or rather, the advocating that fell on un-listening ears. I started telling my teachers that running hurt and I didn't know why. That I was out of breath and my head hurt. This went on for a couple years and every single time the answer was 'well, you'll get half credit for the class if you walk today, but if you do that too much you'll fail'. So basically the answer I was given was to run with everyone else or fail class.
I started having a crunching knee. A clicking kneecap. Ankles rolling. Progressively getting worse over time. I started running with a limp. I started lagging even further behind. I started giving up entirely, opting to walk and take a bad grade because I could not keep willingly and actively hurting myself. One time, I even almost passed out after the mile and was told "well, put your head between your knees and see if that helps, then go back inside and get ready to go to your next class".
What that response told me was that I was being dramatic and lazy. The lack of seriousness they took it with told me I was just being overdramatic. So, I started believing them. Every time I walked up the school's stairs to the second floor, knees hurting and chest heaving, I just told myself I was out of shape and needed to work out more. I convinced myself I was lazy, just like they thought I was. I tried to get better. I tried to exert myself more and more in class only for it to hurt more and more.
The harder I tried, the worse I got.
I didn't understand it. Everyone around me was doing the same exercises and getting faster and stronger. Everyone else was improving or at least staying at the same levels of health. I was deteriorating, no matter how hard I tried to get into shape. I wasn't trying hard enough, maybe. SKIP RED SECTION IF ED TOPICS ARE TRIGGERING FOR YOU.
Maybe I was overweight, I thought (not true and led to some very bad habits that made me worse). I'd go from not eating lunch one day to eating two the next, trying ANYTHING that would make me feel like I was putting in the 'effort' to be healthier. Maybe I needed more food and more muscle. Maybe I needed less food and less fat. I'm sure we can see how this was an issue (that could have and would have been avoided had I been listened to).
RED SECTION OVER.
I was roughly thirteen to sixteen through all of this, if my math adds up (which it very well may not, since we can also put math in the disability zone for me).
I still get stuck in this thought pattern. I'm still working to get rid of these thoughts and attitudes in 2023. My last PE class was in 2018 if I recall.
I started skipping class. I was getting panic attacks and hiding out in the halls, in the bathrooms, trying to strategically schedule counselor meetings, doing anything I could to avoid PE class and the pain that came with it.
Eventually, though, after an eternity of pain and being told to suck it up, I stopped PE classes and fulfilled my credits for them (how I passed, I have NO idea- I can only guess my IEP team pulled strings for me behind the scenes). Only after this did I learn I had Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and Postural Orthostatic Tachychardia Syndrome (and some other random stuff that's less pertinent but definitely didn't help).
Ehlers Danlos or EDS is, to put it simply, a joint/connective tissue disorder characterized by hypermobile, super flexible yet weak joints that are prone to injury and dislocation. It comes with a plethora of comorbidities and other symptoms that aren't as relevant but still made it harder for me to work out.
Postural Orthostatic Tachychardia Syndrome, or POTS, is where your heart rate spikes when you stand from sitting or laying down, causing dizziness and blacking out. For me, it also results in chronic hypoxia- low oxygen.
During exercise, my joints were not strong enough to take it. My joints would not stay in place and this caused injury. Want to know one of the owrst things people with EDS can do? High-impact repetitive exercises. Like running. The POTS made me dizzy and weak, and I couldn't get enough oxygen to sustain the level of exertion required of me to run.
I am now not ALLOWED to run by my doctor. I'm still working on finding a way to work out that is safe for me because the truth is, most exercises are NOT safe for me. Granted, exercise in specific ways are actually helpful and considered treatment, but this is with a physical therapist and medical professionals who know how to help you work out in ways that will help and not prove to be detrimental.
Safe to say, PE class is not that.
And here's the thing. Ehlers Danlos and POTS are what are known as invisible disabilities. Unlike amputees or people whose disabilities altered the physical look of their bodies, my disabilities are all internal. But they aren't truly invisible.
My teacher could have seen the way I was white as a sheet and stumbling after attempting the mile, the way I would almost black out once I finally sat on the grass. She should have seen the way I winced as I got up from sitting every single time. She saw me limping when my kneecaps were sliding OUT OF THEIR SOCKETS as I ran (but she likely assumed I was being dramatic and faking that limp). Invisible disabilities are not truly invisible. Through the easy bruises, the never-healing injuries, the blood pooling, the pallid faces and the hyperflexible joints, the rashes and reactions, through the pain and through all the times I tried my damn hardest to vocalize these issues, it was immensely visible if someone was willing to see it or listen.
She only ever saw the issue when I started to skip class because I was getting panic attacks about attending.
The last interaction I ever had with my PE teacher was at Graduation.
We had an outdoor venue due to Covid. By then, I'd had diagnoses for Ehlers Danlos, Postural Orthostatic Tachychardia Syndrome, and various other things, and I'd been out of PE for three years (I took two years of pe freshman and sophomore year, none during junior and senior, and had one extra year for a veterinary science thing).
I had seen her during our practice round, which took place in our gym. I'd asked her about the amount of stairs at the venue and about how much standing was needed, explaining my disability to the same woman who would force me to run with it. She said she'd make sure she was there to help me through it and to find an accessible way to get through the venue.
I get to the venue and she's nowhere to be seen. I walk to the area we were told to go to, no teacher in sight to take me to any shortcuts or to keep an eye on me. I sit in the line of students on the hot concrete behind the stage (where everyone else stood) in my comfiest, most supportive shoes that clashed with my graduation dress, among the girls in their best heels.
I graduate in the same way I took PE class- without her help.
Afterwards, she finds me. After I've walked and sat on hot concrete and sweated and been dizzy and steadied myself on walls and the ground.
She says, in the most condescending voice I could possibly imagine, that I seem to have been fine without her help.
It was obvious to me. This final act, this final stretch of forced self-sufficience on my part had solidified it to her- I had never needed all the help I had seeked. All the complaining had been just that- complaining. Skipped classes were truancy. To her, I'm sure I'm long forgotten as one of the lazier students she's ever had.
I don't recall her name but I remember her face as clear as day. I remember how I felt every damn time I walked to the dressing room, the pain as I took my backpack off in the locker rooms and felt how much my back hurt from it. I remember her every time my knee crunches as I stand up from my desk chair, every time I'm out of breath. Every time my shoulder aches after tossing a stray ball to the kids across the street from my grandmother's house.
I remember how she made me feel.
I want to wave my cane in her face. I want to make her take my vitals and WATCH as the blood rushes out of my face as I stand, to WATCH as my heart rate goes from 65 resting to 120+ as I stand up. I want her to hear how my joints crack and pop and snap. I want her to see my kneecap sickeningly glide out of place and into the side of my knee. I want her to have been in the same room as my mom and I when my Cardiologist said my oxygen levels from POTS hypoxia could have been confused with that of someone in heart failure. I want her to know how I cried in the car after that appointment.
Not because I want her to be miserable and sick with guilt, but because I want to prove to her that I wasn't a liar. I wasn't faking it. i wasn't seeking attention.
But I can't do any of that, not that it would help anything if I was able to and did. All I can do is sit here and type and seethe, as my wrist pain starts to shoot into my forearm and as my hands and feet grow cold from blood pooling- I've been sitting and typing too long, and now my hand skin is mottled and my feet are growing purple with that so-called 'invisible' disability that nobody saw in me.
I don't want consolation. I don't want pity. I don't need sympathy, though I appreciate it. What I want is for this to stop happening. I want disabled people to be seen and to stop being forced to do things that are harmful to their bodies. I want for schools to stop giving a letter grade to someone's health. I want some random thirteen year old to not have to go through what I did at their age.
I WANT PEOPLE TO FUCKING LISTEN TO KIDS WHEN THEY SAY THEY'RE IN PAIN.
#reblogs are okay-if not encouraged-though i'm not one of those 'ReBloG oR YoU dOn'T CaRe' types of people.#pots#eds#chronic illness#chronically ill#ableism#accessibility#disabled#zebra#zebra strong#spoonie
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Any advice for getting into and getting through Masters/PhD programs? Since you're a professor and all.
well, i’m a graduate teaching fellow/adjunct professor which i promise is very different from a “real” professor, but here’s what i’ll say off the top of my head about these apps
get a professor whose terminal degree is a phd on your side! even better if they’re willing to help you go through your application closely and give you feedback on your personal statement, writing sample, etc.
in fact, send your writing for the application to as many trusted advisors as you can for feedback.
in your personal statement/statement of purpose, be as specific as possible about what your research interests are. it’s possible (even likely) that your research interests will evolve as you continue your graduate education but showing that your current interests are specific shows the committee reviewing your application that you have direction and you know what sort of thing you want your thesis or dissertation to be on (like this will of course change but i think it shows a level of maturity in your thinking about your scholarship)f
try to attend conferences and get teaching experience under your belt that you can put on your CV. i was pretty shocked that no one else in my cohort had teaching experience so it’s not *necessary* but it may be something that helps you stand out. having gone to conferences also shows that you’re serious about research and being part of the field
if you can help it DO NOT GO TO GRAD SCHOOL ON YOUR OWN DIME. especially at the phd level. if your program accepted you without giving you a fellowship then you shouldn’t be there. (i think this used to be more of a thing and has maybe dropped off). i would think that you should only be paying your way through grad school if you’re CERTAIN there’s a lucrative job on the other side of it for you. and for those of us pursuing grad degrees because we want to be professors, there usually isn’t.
if you take the GRE and your math score is low don’t worry about it if you’re going into the humanities. mine was awful and apparently they didn’t care. also, i think i took the GRE twice and did no studying in between and my verbal score shot up to 96th percentile the second time, so if you have the money it might be worth taking more than once if you think you can bump up your scores. a lot of programs are eliminating subject specific gre requirements (like a special english lit gre test or something idk i never took it) or not requiring the GRE at all. so check and see what your programs require before you invest too much time in the GRE stuff.
apply WIDELY. by that i don’t mean you should apply to a zillion places, but don’t apply to places that won’t be a good fit and don’t limit yourself by arbitrary factors like geography. i applied to places on the west coast and in the midwest and it is just sheer luck that i ended up in nyc, exactly where i wanted to be
dont be discouraged if you have to apply more than once. a LOT of this is luck of the draw and how you fit in with the current body of students and whether there are professors there who are capable of mentoring you because you share research interests
but take all that with a grain of salt because it’s just off the top of my head… and it’s been 3 years since i last did this so i’ve probably forgotten some things about the process.
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unexpected prophet
Will could have stayed at the hotel, but he didn’t. He has this thing about being alone now. He’s never liked it, per se, but it’s gotten worse since Sam died. Just over four months since his funeral now, and it seems weird not to know where Lucy is at all times. So, when she had to sit for a dissertation defense of some wannabe novelist she’s only met in person twice, he came to the English building along with her. It’s better knowing she’s right behind that door. He can’t believe they had to leave Emma with Carrie and Charlie.
That’s when a little girl in an Alice in Wonderland dress runs past him, unafraid of anything, laughing loudly in a quiet hallway. A harried woman chases after her.
“Faye!” the woman calls after the little girl. “Faye Egan, you come here now!”
“Which one’s Daddy?” the girl laughs, trying to see through closed doors.
“I’m not telling you.”
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t want to distract him.”
“Dis-tract! Dis-tract!”
The woman scurries down the hallway and picks up the little girl. She looks at Will with exhaustion in her eyes, and something in them reminds him of Lucy.
“Sorry,” the woman says. “My husband’s defending his dissertation right now, and somebody’s a little tired of waiting.”
“No problem,” Will says. “Is she four?”
“Actually, yeah. Should I ask how you know?”
Will laughs.
“It’s nothing,” he says. “I’ve got two daughters. Got pretty good at guessing ages the more they started making friends.”
“Oh. How old are your kids, then?”
“Eight and nineteen.”
The woman looks at him like she doesn’t believe him. Will laughs again. That’s his favorite part of listing Emma’s age first.
“And I’m twenty-three, so, how did that happen?” he jokes.
The woman laughs, too.
“So, don’t worry about your little miss bothering me,” Will says. “I’m used to it.”
The little girl – Faye – waves at Will.
“Hi!” she says.
Will waves back. He points to the closed door in front of them.
“You said your husband’s defending his dissertation in there?” he asks.
The woman nods.
“Yeah, time’s almost up,” she says. “Our daughter’s been through two of these this week, though I guess she behaved a little better during mine.”
“So, you’re a doctor, too!”
“Mmm-hmm. I’m not necessary in any emergency, though, unless you come up against a real Brady Bunch stumper on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?”
“Ah, don’t sell yourself short. My wife’s the same kind of doctor. I think she’s sitting on your husband’s committee, actually.”
The woman’s eyes light up. She has that thing – that thing smart girls have. Will almost can’t believe they haven’t met before. She seems so familiar, like they all come from the same place. Will feels that way about a lot of people now.
“You’re here with Dr. Callaghan!” she says. “Oh, man. I had to take one literature class here, and we read her essay about narcissism in The Mill on the Floss … that was good shit. I’m the one who gave Chris the idea to write to her. I thought she’d get it.”
Will nods.
“Lucy gets a lot of things.”
The woman extends her hand for a shake.
“I’m Blair,” she says.
“Will. Not a doctor. Just a lawyer.”
“Just a lawyer. My family would be thrilled if that were me.”
Faye runs in between them and throws her hands in the air. Will grins. There’s something so … Elenore about her.
“Hi!” she says again.
“Sorry,” Blair says. “This is my daughter, Faye. She’s about done waiting.”
“I don’t blame her,” Will says. “Feels like this defense has been going on all day.”
“Tell me about it. Mine felt like a year.”
She looks at Will like she’s trying to place him, too. Maybe they have met before. Lucy mentioned that Chris Egan (whom Will still thinks of as Chip) was from Ann Arbor-Saline and married his high school sweetheart, too (“Just not when he was still in high school,” she joked while she read his novel). How easy would it have been to walk past them at a movie theater or a concert at the Joe? The world is big, sure, but it doesn’t feel much bigger than Michigan.
“Why’d you come along?” Blair asks. “Wanted to get a look at our tall ugly gray building?”
“No,” Will says. “Just … didn’t want to sit alone in a hotel.”
Blair nods. Clearly, she’s smart enough to understand what’s going on, but she’s also smart enough not to say anything. Will hears the door open behind him, and his heart leaps for a glimpse of Lucy. He doesn’t get one. The door closes again, and Faye shouts.
“DADDY!”
Will turns around and sees a dark-haired guy, about his own height, scooping up Faye and carrying her over to Blair.
“They’re deliberating?” Blair asks.
“Yeah,” the guy – Chris, Chip, whoever – says. “I think it went pretty well, though I had to answer a few too many questions about Freud.”
“Fucker.”
Blair gestures toward Will, and Chris looks at him like he didn’t see him standing there.
“This is Dr. Callaghan’s husband,” she says. “He’s not a doctor. Just a lawyer.”
“Just a lawyer,” Chris repeats. “Shit, if I’d wanted to be a lawyer, my dad would probably still be alive.”
He shakes Will’s hand. Surprisingly professional, for a novelist.
“Hope Lucy wasn’t too tough on you,” he says. “I know my wife, and I’m pretty sure all those Freud questions came from her.”
“It’s alright. She was right to ask ‘em. Uh, Blair, honey, can we maybe move a little away from the door? I’m terrified I’m gonna hear them talking about why I suck and should never publish a real novel.”
“Of course.”
But before they walk into another corner, Blair looks at Will with those eerily familiar eyes. He’s not sure if she’s going to say anything, but she does.
“It’s OK,” she says. “Whatever it is. Why you can’t be in the hotel. It’s OK.”
Will nods. He knew she understood. This unexpected prophet with the giggling little daughter and the eerily familiar eyes. Maybe she’s right.
He waits for the door to open again. This time, he’s going to get a good look at Lucy, just to make sure she’s still there.
(part of @nosebleedclub daily challenge -- day 28! yes, i am attempting more crossovers between my fiction blogs 😭)
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⭐️⭐️!
(fic writer commentary asks)
me: getting this ask and going back and forth for three hours about whether it's too much to just go off on a fucking dissertation about O I Think We Should Be Brethren
actually, you know what, fuck it, we ball!!!! i'm extremely proud of this story and i can allow myself to talk about it.
For the moment I'm just going to talk about chapter one, because I started writing my thoughts and it got.........................................long, but if anyone's actually interested in the following two chapters I am fully willing to get into those as well.
ALRIGHT BUCKLE UP.
Walt Whitman's Live Oak, With Moss #4 reads, in its entirety, as follows:
This moment as I sit alone, yearning and
pensive, it seems to me there are other
men, in other lands, yearning and
pensive.
It seems to me I can look over and behold
them, in Germany, France, Spain—Or
far away in China, India, in
Russia—talking other dialects,
And it seems to me if I could know those
men I should love them as I love
men in my own lands;
It seems to me they are as wise, beautiful,
benevolent, as any in my own lands;
O I think we should be brethren—I
think I should be happy with
them.
So my initial notes for this were the sort of vague idea of exploring my headcanon of John being gay, and wanting to sort of chart some of his experiences with finding/looking for/failing to achieve a queer community? And how that would intersect with his having, you know. Joined the military, traveled to exotic locations, met interesting people, and killed them (as they used to say). This is also how I ended up starting to read that fascinating book about gay us military history, because I really just had no frame of reference for what John's experiences might've been like.
Anyway, I wrote the first paragraph or so one night when I couldn't sleep and was just laying in bed mentally writing lines (honestly good job to me for not thinking I'd remember in the morning and then...not lmao).
Initially I just started writing, thinking about this kind of...handful of formative queer experiences that John might've had, and then after a while it became evident that this was gonna be...kind of long...so I made a separate note attempting to diagram out the different biographical beats I wanted to hit (thanks stargate wiki and also so many information websites about the US air force). So I just sort of ending up writing my way through these different points of John's life, through the twin lenses of loving flying and loving men, and all of his understanding of the tension that existed there; all of which leads him to learn that his feelings need to be sort of ruthlessly compartmentalized for, essentially, his own safety.
Also while writing the first chapter of this fic I had a week or so where I just vivid-dreamed about airplanes and flying? Literally never happened to me before but ok
I think one of my favorite bits in the early section of the first chapter is John driving down to Edwards just hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the test flights. There’s something just really pure and sweet about it to me, and it sticks out as an impactful moment even though nothing really happens.
The section beginning with In Asia, John learns a few more things. is where I really think I started to hit a stride in terms of the overall voice of the story, the sort of barren sadness of it all, mixed with that quiet desperate little spark of hope.
Writing directly about John's relationship with Nancy in a story where he's explicitly, textually gay was an interesting exercise. My read on the whole situation is that he did care for her, and that he thought, to some degree or another, that he could make it work--that maybe friendship would be enough, that he could give her what she needed, and anyway, what the hell else was he going to do? Live his truth?
So the bit with Nancy is where I ended up getting into the sort of recurring motif of marriage vows (the playlist for this fic being called "till death" and all that). In terms of writing the breakup, I tried to use the small amount of screentime we get of Nancy, where she just seems sort of...sad, for John, like that he's like this? And idk, she probably could've, would've been angry, but she strikes me as this very in-control woman who would have planned out this conversation beforehand, not really wanting it to devolve into a whole..."scene", or whatever (since I tend to imagine Nancy is of a similar WASPy stock to John, iykwim). And John, I think, would just go along, because like, that's how he ended up in the marriage in the first place, for one thing, but again, I believe he cared for her and he'd, like. Want her to be happy?
The divorce is fast, and John finds out that, for all that the brass loves a family man, there's plenty of room in the chain of command for an unattached loner who doesn't care if he dies.
This is just a line I like. Like, John knows exactly what his value to the military is, I think.
So anyway, then I proceeded to give myself several million feelings about John and Holland? Honestly from Phantoms I immediately read the relationship as a romantic one, at least on John's end. Like yes it's a showing of his usual Sheppardian recklessness when someone important to him is in danger, but...I just think he's in love, it makes sense to me that he would've had this just absolutely fucking devastating experience? That he would've fallen in love with this sort-of-mostly-straight guy and convinced himself he could live on these little scraps of affection, and then it ends with the person he loves just fucking. Dying? That's how you end up depressed in Antarctica!!!
I spent a lot of time reading transcripts and rewatching snatches of episodes while writing this (mostly ch2, but) and when I got to this bit of Phantoms I just fucking lost it:
HOLLAND (weakly): Sheppard, when we get out of here, I'll make sure I say something really nice at your court martial.
SHEPPARD (smiling): Yeah. Come visit me in Leavenworth, huh?
HOLLAND: No. It's way too depressing.
SHEPPARD: Yeah.
And it's EVEN FUCKING WORSE in the actual episode than it is in text. Like it seems as though Holland's trying to make a joke when he says no, but John just...takes it? Like yeah, of course, you wouldn't want to do that for me. About this guy he's sacrificing his career and his life for? He just goes, yep sure wouldn't expect you to put yourself out even a little bit? IT IS JUST DEVASTATING. AWFUL. Fucking horrible and absolutely perfect angst content for me and my fic lmao. god. I cannot believe how sad that exchange is.
Soooooo you know. I think John went into that rescue thinking he would either save Holland and get a court martial, or he would die. And I think for quite a while afterward, he believes that he should've died in that desert, and everything afterward is extra innings he didn't really deserve.
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🎟 please.
absolutely! i hope you enjoy 💜
There’s an enormous crash from the kitchen, and Nicky looks up from his laptop.
“Joe?”
“Holy shit,” Joe yells in response.
Nicky assumes that this is because he knocked over one of the many boxes stacked up in the corners. After they won the lottery, the first order of business was to find a new, better, more convenient apartment, and now they’re packing.
(Buying a house together seemed a little over the top. Nicky is not opposed to doing so, or generally just being with Joe and following him around for the rest of his life, but this is not something he would tell a roommate.)
“Is everything okay?” Nicky calls back.
Joe skids around the corner. “We have to go. Grab your stuff.”
“Okay,” Nicky says, and begins packing away his laptop.
“Not that. Well, maybe that. Whatever you can’t leave behind or be without. We have to go.”
“What?”
“Please, Nicky. We don’t have time.”
Nicky stares at him, and sees that Joe is shaking.
“Okay,” Nicky says, getting up and steering Joe to the bed, sitting down next to him. “Can you please tell me what is going on?”
Joe buries his face in his hands. Nicky hasn’t felt this helpless since he set fire to several pieces of onion that were caked to the stovetop and made the sprinklers go off.
“You’re going to hate me,” Joe says, muffled by his fingers.
“Joe! I could never hate you.” I love you, hangs on the tip of Nicky’s tongue. He swallows it back down.
“Okay. Okay.” Joe straightens up. “I have a brother.”
“Okay,” Nicky says slowly. He wasn’t aware of this before, but he knows Joe has a big family. “So do I.”
“My brother is crazy,” Joe says bluntly. “Not, you know. Clinically. But he’s completely insane.” It all comes out in a rush. “And we’re estranged, I love him but it’s for the best, but Samara told him about the money, and now he wants the money that we won. And he doesn’t have limits. So I’m worried he’ll do something to one or both of us to get the money, and we really have to go, now, Nicky.”
Nicky stares. “Your brother wants our money?”
“I don’t think he’s homicidal. But we need to go.”
“Homicidal?”
“Please, Nicky.” Joe turns the full force of his gaze on him, and Nicky never stood a chance, not against Joe’s enormous pleading (beautiful) eyes. “Let’s just go.”
Nicky stares around his room. He’s writing his dissertation. Will he need to leave school? Will he ever come back here? What if he stayed, and Joe left? Would he be safe?
He looks back at Joe. His mind has already been made up, long before this. He could never leave Joe. Not ever.
“Okay,” he says.
One of the perks of having an enormous amount of lottery money is that they’re able to get to the airport and be on the next flight out of the country without even making a dent in their finances. Nicky stares at the cover of his passport. He didn’t expect to ever leave the country again, let alone so soon.
Joe coughs next to him. Then coughs again.
“Are you all right?” Nicky asks, turning to face him.
“Why did you come with me?” Joe scuffs the toe of his shoe on the hideous airport carpet. “You could’ve stayed. This is ridiculous, I’m sure you would’ve been fine.”
“I…”
It’s the worst possible time for this. Nicky knows that. But Joe asked him a question, and this situation is entirely terrifying and entirely out of their control. The least that Nicky could do is answer honestly.
“I love you,” he says frankly. “And you said that we needed to go. So we’ll go.”
“You love me?”
“Yes,” Nicky says. His voice doesn’t waver. He’s never been so sure about anything. “And I trust you. So if you think that we needed to leave together, I know that it is for the best. For both of us.”
“I didn’t know that,” Joe says. His voice sounds very small. “I wish I had.”
“I’m sorry,” Nicky says, because the look on Joe’s face is spreading an icy, horrible feeling throughout his chest. “I should not have said anything.”
“No, I’m glad you did.” Joe looks at Nicky, then leans over, and tentatively takes his hand. “I - love you. Too. I love you too, Nicky.”
“Huh,” Nicky says intelligently. He looks around. There’s at least thirty people surrounding them at their gate, and they’re both wearing masks. It’s probably the worst possible time for this.
He feels Joe’s hand on his chin, tentatively guiding Nicky’s face back to his. “Can I kiss you, Nicky?”
Nicky whips off his mask so fast that he nearly tears it. He doesn’t care. “Yes, Joe, please - ”
Joe pulls his own mask down, and then kisses him, in the airport, in front of all those people. It makes Nicky feel as if he should be embarrassed, but all he feels is joy.
“I’m glad we have each other,” Joe whispers against his lips. “And that we’re doing this together.”
“Me too,” Nicky says, and kisses him again. He really did win the lottery, in more ways than one.
emoji prompts
#ask and you shall receive#scriggle-scraggle#prompts#the old guard#joe x nicky#yusuf al kaysani#joe al kaysani#nicolo di genova#nicolò di genova#i hope you like this!! it departed a little from the prompt and got long but oh well#sorry abt the weird read more break too there wasn’t really a good place to put it
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“…you lot just write whatever you feel like without any idea, context or effing knowledge.”
To be fair, you and your friends do the same. You often write things that aren’t factual, but rather your opinion which lacks context. I get your opposition to the use of the “police state” term, but anon isn’t wrong is saying that the protestors weren’t allowed to express themselves without restriction in England.
See as someone who studied all these things for the past 3 years and did my graduation dissertation on virtually the pretty same thing, about Military and Police Action and its affect on human rights around the world with a special focus on South Asia. Reading all these things do make me angry because people go and use such heavy terms to describe stuff which isn't at that level. This is my field of study and you better bet that I'm gonna go and criticize people for making statements which aren't true.
If you think that England is actually a police state then please go and spend some time in places like Afghanistan, go to mayanmar, heck go to parts of India even like Manipur which has been embroiled in a civil war between ethnic groups since the past two months. Those people live in police states, not someone living in Engalnd or the UK in general.
I never did say that I was happy with what happened to the protesters or the way new protest laws have been enacted in England. Still does not make it a 'Police State'. Maybe I should have added this part in my reblog yesterday and I was thinking about adding it in too.
Stuff happening in the UK affects me too since that's where my dad is from, where half of my family lives, where we spend our holidays, where I plan to setting down after everything.
I never have an issue with people expressing their opinions but I do have an issue with the way social media has made people start using these words like a way for people to make their opinion sound better. If you want to chat you can come off anon but I do stand by my official statement.
ALSO If you wanna chat, talk about me, with me. Don't drag my friends into this. Also would love to see where we were just spouting 'unfactual' things. Those are amazing amazing people and dont deserve to be dragged into a situation that they have no relation or concern with. So keep their name out of ur effing mouth.
THANK YOU NEXT!
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Hi there! Like probably a lot of people, I'm quite jealous and in awe of the amount of reading you seem to get done. If you don't mind my asking, did you read this many books when you were in grad school? I'm in the last few months of my PhD (in paleontology!) and I've found that working on my thesis has absolutely killed my ability to get through books. Did this happen to you? Did your brain recover afterward? Or did you never deal with the reading slump?
Thanks! (And I hope you're having a good day, because you seem like a cool and nice person!)
Hey, hi! First, best of luck with your final months of grad school!!! Honestly, for me, they were so hard because of the lack of structure. Just, “finish your dissertation” and that was all the instruction really. If you ever wanna chat/vent about that, lemme know!! (Also paleontology!!! That’s so cool!!)
I always like to preface my reading habits with this: I have a very fast reading comprehension speed, and so for me, it averages out to about 100 pages of a novel in an hour and about 75 pages of nonfiction in an hour. In that way, I got lucky with the combination of early reading education, at-home book discussions, and genetics. So I can sit down and read a 300-page book in one evening, which meant that, even though I was only reading only one or two days a week, I was still getting through 50+ a year that way in grad school
I also listen to a lot of audiobooks and love trade paperbacks of graphic novels. The graphic novels can be quite fast reads for me, and this again is partly luck and genetics—my mom’s an artist, so I learned to look at images critically quite young, and can frequently find important info in them quickly. Then, for audiobooks, I do struggle with some chronic illnesses and chronic pain, and I frequently have to check out of life—but I cannot be left alone in my own head, or I rapidly catastrophize lol. I also can’t shut my own brain off when it’s time to sleep, so I listen to audiobooks then as well. I’d say this means I average about 4 audiobooks a month, where they’re usually between 8 and 14 hours (I do listen at 1.25 or 1.5 speed, because otherwise my brain stops paying attention)
I was also lucky with my advisor in grad school. She had a firm self-care policy, in that she cares more about her students’ well-being and health than timely progress. So I never felt like I was stealing moments or neglecting my work—I was trying to cultivate the healthiest version of myself, given all the other factors outside of my control. In the six years I worked with her, we actually spent more than one meeting talking about fantasy novels instead of research, which was lovely
But, yeah, there were a lot of reading struggles in grad school for me. I would go long stretches of time where the idea of opening a book and reading more words was unbearable, because god, didn’t I just spend all day reading and writing?? I also started to not care as much for the types of books I read before grad school, so now I’ve got a few stacks of books on hand I feel guilty that I haven’t read (but I’m trying to recognize that I’ll probably never read them, because tastes can change). So I might've had motivation to read, but nothing I had on hand sounded particularly good
Submitting that dissertation and knowing the hard part was over was actually the biggest relief, I think maybe of my life. I defended in mid-October and then submitted the finished manuscript about two weeks later, and then I spent a solid month just…reading whatever the fuck I wanted to lol. I have a postdoc now (and am applying for faculty jobs 🤞), and the responsibilities are waaaaaay less than as a grad student. In fact, my PI is adamant that I should not do more than 40 hrs a week, and so I’ve been able to plow through books like wild in the last few months
I also want to say: grad school is hard. It’s so absolutely difficult. Master’s programs are rough, and PhD programs are their own rodeo, and it sucks to say (because it sounds awful to most people, I know), but unless someone goes through grad school themselves, it’s hard to fathom what makes it so hard and exhausting. It’s totally okay to cut yourself some slack for finding you don’t have as much energy for other things, even the things you really enjoy. The books will be there waiting, and I'll admit it took me a solid 4 years to accept that myself lol
Thanks for the lovely ask, and I really do wish you well as you finish up 💜 again, I'm here--ask box or dm--if you'd like to take more about any part of the process 💜
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24/4
Today was the big presentation and honestly, it went okay and I am happy with today. We did go over the time and weren't able to go into detail with the middle part but other than that I am happy that it was quick and over. Tim said I sounded really confident and everyone's peer feedback was really positive and kind and this just proves I need to stop doubting myself and getting in my own head. C was there to support me, even if it was virtually it helped me a lot to just be confident and do it. I feel like I actually accomplished a lot today, got up at a good time and got to uni in time to watch a few presentations and even prepare for my own. I managed to do a lot of dissertation work today as well as going to the gym and coming home. The only thing I didn't do today was, eat properly. I had breakfast, lunch and had half a red velvet cake which was really greedy of me but it was so good and it was a celebration! Tomorrow I need to focus on my food and remember to eat dinner but there's not even any food in this house. Tomorrow I'm going to submit the presentation and submit my philosophy essay. I need them out of the way for me to be able to have a clear view of what is left and honestly, it's not much! I can't believe I'm actually up to date with everything and all that's left is the Sports Science essay which I will need help with but I think R will help me hopefully. Monday was super productive and I'm happy with myself with what I've done today so I should try and be positive and happy. I'm scared for Uni to end but maybe I can find another part-time job somewhere and just save some money because I am dying to go on holiday. My brain and body need it. I also need to book a facial or something as K got me a gift card and it's going to expire soon. Not too sure if I want a lash lift but the process of it makes me not want to do it. Even with lashes, sitting there with my eyes closed for ages is so jarring and I can't be bothered to sit there and speak to someone, maybe that's horrible of me. Tomorrow I have uni, and I might spend the whole day there and work on my dissertation because it's basically done but I need to reword everything and hopefully be done with it by the end of this week. Literature Reviews are my weakest point but I'm happy to pass with a 45-plus grade and couldn't care for anything else. These are the last 2 weeks and I honestly can't wait to be finished with all this work and stress but I'm going to miss socialising and just being silly in the library. I guess now it's up to me now to make a proper effort with people and Highbury is a trek anyway to travel to. I need to go back to my Greenwich days. I need to just focus on gym, getting money, and getting my theory test pass. This summer is going to be so fun and full of so much positivity and I actually can't let other people bring negative energy into my life. It's so fun being happy and positive and it's something good that allows others around you to feel the same. I finished You and started the next book Hidden Bodies so I'm excited to read that and going to refrain from skimming it. Hopefully, Joe is chatting less shit this time, all I remember is Amy robbing him and it was really funny when it happened. Right now they're on holiday or something so let's see where that goes. I wonder if in the other books, he speaks differently and has some other character development. After the You series which I will probably be done with in July at the latest, I'm going to start that Stephen King book about John F Kennedy because although I started and never finished I think it will be a big accomplishment for me to finish it because it was enjoyable. Maybe I can even do book reviews here. Maybe I can do a mini-series while I'm reading the You series. I don't know if I'm feeling too inspired to write anything about it now. I've read it twice and watched the series 100 times I'm not sure if I have much to say... let's see.
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My siblings and I, there's five of us. I would say we don't have a conventional relationship but alas, what the fuck is a conventional relationship within a family? Every family, as much as it is unhappy, it's also unconventional in its own way. But my siblings are much older than me, like 19, 17 and 9 years older than me.
Growing up, we have always took care of celebrating each of our birthdays together, even after they moved out, because it was tradition, then at some point they stopped doing that and the only birthday we would celebrate all together, with each of their families, would be mine, almost like it was Christmas. For a time I was embarrassed, because you know, maybe they don't really want to do it, why do they want to do it? It's okay, they don't celebrate together anymore, why would I? But they insist, they ask when we're going to meet to celebrate my birthday, and I let it happen.
This year at Christmas (yeah technically it's last year but it's these holidays) we had some issues and one of my siblings was visibly uncomfortable during dinner, left early, to which arguments followed, especially by my sisters in law saying how rude his behaviour was etc etc. I love all my siblings fiercely but I have accepted that they have their own life and opinions, and most importantly we share the same blood and parents, which is important when we consider how similar our (all my siboings' and mine) behaviour is: I did not know the reasons of his behaviour, but I could blindly understand and accept that he had some feelings that didn't match the Christmas spirit. It's okay. To some of my other family components it was not okay. These facts happening left me and part of my family saddened, as it was an unusual behaviour for him and it's maddening and frustrating to see him like this, so utterly depressed and upset.
My birthday falls 10 days after Christmas. On Jan 1st my oldest sis and bro start asking me when we're going to celebrate. I tell them the day of my birthday, and my sis announces it in the family group chat. For a few days we wondered if my brother would show, given what's happened at Christmas. Today he texts me and asks me at what time they should come. He's coming. I'm so happy, but also worried because I don't want it to be another miserable situation for him.
I had planned a vegan dinner, my mother - bless her - cooked because I was very busy writing my dissertation, but I prepared this chocolatey birthday cake that was completely vegan and also 90% chocolate. Incredible. It was a good dinner. But the real treat came after dinner. My siblings.. They love talking and arguing and making their points valid. I do too, but I can't keep up with them. They really know how to speak. I love seeing them talking passionately about something, each with their own point to make, but the fun thing is that when we used to meet, there would always be these arguments about something completely absurd, and to assist them is just like being in theatre. I love it. And today, for the first time in months, even years maybe, we had another such performance and it was glorious, my brother, who even studied philosophy and has one of the sharpest mind I know, was back to himself, and you know maybe himself had never left, but it had been so long since I last saw such an interaction and I am so, so happy that I could have this on my birthday you have no idea. This, this was the best present: seeing my brother together with us and him not being afraid of being with us.
I often wonder if he would let me hug him, but I try to give him space because I don't know how he would react, but I hope he knows how much I, and we, love him. I hope he knows. And I'm terrified that he forgets and stops believing it.
Turning 25 terrified me for days before today. I don't know why. Or maybe I do: oh you're 25? What do you do? Do you have a job? What do you want to do with your life? But I'm a little more serene about it then last year. I accept what's to come. I still have difficulties picking up the mirror, maybe I can, but not for long. I choose to believe it's okay, and it's going to be okay. I'm going to walk on my two legs. I'm terrified still, but I hope that it will be okay, and for now, it will have to be enough.
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on the stage
Sam claps louder than anybody at the end of Charlie’s first piano concert in college. He even claps louder than their mother. At the end of the show, when the Doyles, Carrie, and Daniel decide to have dinner at a Denny’s nearby, Sam wraps his arm around Charlie and says nobody else gets to take him in their car.
“Made a promise to this kid that I’d drive him anywhere, any time,” Sam says loudly. “I’m gonna hold to it tonight.”
They’re on their way to the Denny’s now. Sam’s blaring “Don’t Stop Me Now,” playing the dashboard like a piano at the red light. He looks over at Charlie, who’s pretending not to enjoy it.
“Only thing that would have made that concert better would have been this,” he says to Charlie. “Then again, you sure did make a supersonic man out of ‘Strange Meadow Lark.’ You know, if I ever had a daughter, that’s what I would name her? Strange Meadow Lark Doyle.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Charlie says, “especially not if you were naming her after my performance.”
“And I would be. You were great tonight, kid. You really were.”
Charlie half smiles. They’re both pretending they don’t know what’s going on. It’s been a year already, but Sam can’t stop overcompensating. Queen ends, and the DJ plays “Tiny Dancer.” Sam immediately turns the dial to another station. He’s never told Charlie what that song means to him now, but he figures he doesn’t have to. The lyrics speak for themselves.
“Thanks,” Charlie says. “I was freaking out.”
“Couldn’t tell. You were great. I think the other jazz band guys might’ve been jealous.”
“Only because I’m tall.”
“That’s reason enough.”
They’re quiet for a little while. When Sam stops at another red light, Charlie asks him a question he’s surprised he’s never asked before.
“Do you ever wish you’d have done it?”
Sam snorts.
“Charlie, I’ve ‘done it’ a lot,” he says. “Since before you were even in high school. You remember Steph.”
“No, not … do you ever wish you’d have learned how to play something? Instead of just knowing all about the other music stuff? Like … don’t you ever wish it was you on the stage?”
Sam’s blood runs a little cold. He’s thought of that before. Himself, a rockstar with all the knowledge of an ethnomusicologist. He’d be like the Scorcese of rock ‘n’ roll, which is funny, because Scorsese is kind of the himself of rock ‘n’ roll, too. He’s thought about what it would be like to play the guitar … to write what he’s feeling instead of just feeling it. But at the end of the day, it’s just not right. At the end of the day, he’s not the guy who wants thousands of screaming fans surrounding him. He’s not the guy who needs it.
But maybe … if that was what would grab a girl like Carrie … maybe he …
No.
So, Sam shakes his head.
“Never,” he lies. “I just like listening to you.”
Charlie nods, and for the first time in probably his whole life, Sam knows that he understands more than meets the eye. For the first time in his whole life, Charlie can see the depth beyond.
Sam wishes he could be proud of that, too.
(part of @nosebleedclub november challenge -- day 7! i know i'm horrifically behind already, but you should see all the dissertation progress i made this week. here's hoping i have it in me to keep it up!)
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The Locked Tomb for blorbos etc. I NEED to know.
OH HELL YEAH I HOPED SOMEONE WOULD ASK THIS
this post is gonna have spoilers so it's beneath the cut
blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most)
Gideon Nav. Hands down. Child of God and his most hated enemy?? Her blood therefore unlocks the tomb??? (literally Harrow fighting with Gideon and ending up with blood under her fingernails and her subsequently being able to open the tomb? chef kiss) living loophole? walking bag of jokes willing to sacrifice herself for Harrow, someone who tormented her and whom she cared for before she knew that's what it was? she was 100% in for Harrow well before the impossible Lyctor choice. AND SHE'S SUCH AN IDIOT BABY. "I gave you my whole life, Harrow, and you didn't even want it" honey PLEASE she loves you and didn't want to eat your soul!!!
Anyway. The number of days I don't think of Gideon Nav is zero.
scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped)
wildly, Ortus Nigenad. Who'da thought I would be so enamored with a hulking poet coward? couldn't have given a toss about him in book one, but book two just absolutely cemented his place in my heart.
scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave)
Not enough people talking about real Dulcie. She's so excellent and just enough like how Cytherea acted as her but just enough herself.
glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week)
JUDITH DEUTEROS. I would literally kill for more scraps of Judith Deuteros.
poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave)
it's mercymorn. she's so *extra*. she's so vile. she's so sarcastic and dripping with vitriol and she cared so much, in her own weird way, about the right things, and I love and hate her and just cannot get enough of her.
horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason)
silas ocktakiseron. what a snooty little zealot asshole. even in death, he thought he was always right. fucker.
eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell)
John Gaius, God himself, I was so fuckin mad about Ianthe choosing him over Augustine even though it was telegraphed from several miles away, like jfc Ianthe you slimy perv, just let God die.
ANYWAY
none of this covers how much I love Pyrrha Dev's slutty, slutty ass and Gideon the First's equally horny ass, and how Coronabeth is the tragic hero we all deserve, and how Camilla and Palamedes are literal perfection, and Harrow captured more of my heart than any emotionally stunted perfectionist ever should, and Alecto is such a weird mystery creature, and Abigail Pent and Magnus Quinn are relationship goals and I must someday know how it is they came to be necromancer and cav AFTER being married, and the fourth teens make me so very sad by nature of their existence, and the absolute badass war criminal milf that is Commander Wake, and whoever the fuUuUuUck Nona the Ninth is!! And whoever is in Gideon's body now! And again, harrowhark nonagesimus, who replicated the tomb in her head for Gideon's soul to live in and who now lives there herself in the place that reflects her old crush and her current crush and where hopefully she will now find rest!!
#the locked tomb#gideon the ninth#harrow the ninth#never did write that dissertation but maybe I should#TAMSYN PLEASE GIVE ME CLUES ABOUT WHICH PLANETS ARE WHICH#I ALREADY KNOW THE SIXTH IS MERCURY AND SEVENTH VENUS AND FIRST EARTH#NINTH *PROBABLY* IS PLUTO#BUT PLEASE I'M SCRAPING CRUMBS TOGETHER FOR THIS THEORY
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mhm. i’m trying to write my degree dissertation and like i know i have a point but it all feels so derivative.
i guess i’ll just email my advisor and nervously wait for her to tell me what needs fixing. which might be everything!
#anatxt#at some points i get the feeling that i should not tear into reagan so much bu then it hits me. it’s what he deserves#objectivity? hell yes he was objectively a terrible person!#koch too#and don’t even get me started on the evangelicals#ok march 25 edit because i need to vent but also don’t want to write this anywhere where i might actually see it again so it’s going here.#i just had a panic attack because i sent her an email this afternoon with part of my dissertation and asking for feedback#and she answered that she had written days ago to tell us (me and the other people she advises) that she had conferences and shit to attend#this week and that she would not be able to actually get through anything. and then she went on like she thought she’d been clear about how#we should all respect each other and that maybe in the future i should do like my peers and actually schedule check in dates#and she’s not wring about that! but she also never made it mandatory and more importantly i Never got any of those messages because if i had#i would obviously have done things differently because i’m not a dick#so i wrote back a couple paragraphs saying that you know actually i Have Been checking and checked again before responding and#i never got those messages!! but then i groveled and was like yeah of course i understood that she could not give me feedback and that i’d#try to set things up with more anticipation next time. and that i really appreciated all she does for us#and then i apologized again for the inconvenience and kept crying for a bit#because i’ve been running myself ragged for weeks and of course i understand that she has a lot of shit to do but i really just couldn’t#deal with that passive aggressive politeness. and at the same time i do feel that i did well by pointing to her that you know i’m sorry#about this but either i never got those messages or you never sent them to me so#on top of the fact that i just got a letter informing me that the doctor’s appt that i had last November that got postponed to april is#being postponed again. which i get but i’m just so fucking tired#god i just want to sleep for five months
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