#Academic Capture

[weltonboys]

i love you i love you i love you

these violent delights - micah nemerever / songbird - fleetwood mac / queen of air and darkness - cassandra clare / pink in the night - mitski / this is how you lose the time war - amal el-mohtar & max gladstone / i capture the castle - dodie smith

[kulliare]

tagged by @shrips for 9 books you'd like to read in the new year! ty for the tag-- i tag @halfagod @albatrossisland @eponine119 @tru-lyly

[handweavers]

this african history & archaeology before colonialism class is opening my eyes so much to aspects of the continents history that i was ignorant about and i'm really falling in love with africanist historiography in general it is so refreshingly materialist and at least in my experience so far there is no beating around the bush or excuses made on the topic of european colonialism, introduction of capitalism, slavery in its many forms across the continents history, the ways in which antiblackness has been gendered throughout history, etc. and for me in particular as an asian there is something about studying the indian ocean trade region in which africans and asians have been in near-constant contact for thousands of years with very little european involvement until later years, an entire maritime world in which we migrated and traded and married and warred and talked between regions as distant as east africa and china for sooooo long and with such complexity and it all had almost nothing to do with europeans. knowing there were bantu speaking africans in ancient china commanding armies and chinese and indian traders as far as madagascar sharing meals with local merchants and learning each other's languages. there was still violence of course - antiblackness even during these times existed, albeit in a different manifestation from the last 500 years of european racism, not to mention misogyny and class violence - but there is something about knowing an entire "world" existed that was shared between our peoples and generally speaking on a much more even 'playing ground' in which all parties must be mutually negotiated with, and coexistence between us... the rich stories and lives lived, and the lessons that entire region can tell us if we only pay attention...

[mariocki]

Lalla Ward makes a brief appearance as Lady Augusta, intended bride to an ill-fated aristocrat, in A Ghost Story for Christmas: The Ash Tree (BBC, 1975)

[389am]

Pond by Claire Louise-Bennett

[wonder-worker]

people really do not know what they're talking about when it comes to Elizabeth Woodville's social status, huh?

[necromancy-enthusiast]

A lot of people in Dragon Age: ooooh necromancers are so scary and all probably evil... They're just waiting for the right weather to depose the king of Nevarra, those sinister freaks, surely they will destroy us all.

This flavor text I found in the necropolis:

[little-chaos-arts]

You've seen 'my-county-or-region' Miku...now get ready for hyperspecific 'my-trip-to-hamburg' Miku!

Featuring:

- cute outfit I bought in Hamburg

- adorable moth earrings I bought at a cute little art shop

- probably the Best oat milk coffee I ever had from a cozy book Café (in a very pretty cup)

- random headband I bought at dm because the wind was cold

Aaanndd my first time trying malatang!

[dopepoisonivyoncrack]

People will praise and support the most mediocre things yet severely undervalue or straight up ignore hard work and talent. Art, fanart, music, writing, scientific papers... take your pick.

And to be clear, I'm not talking about poor anatomy art, it can be poor anatomy yet still show talent, taste, intelligent composition, great color palette, thoughtful work, it could not involve anatomy at all. I've seen amazing kids and amateur art. But since I'm at it, maybe not every drop of pencil/brush on paper -traditional or digital- must be shared or praised like it's the next Mona Lisa, especially if you're gonna ignore a more skilled and hard work.

[blazeball]

TRAGIC: reading the starless sea and i go into the tumblr tag to see what other people think and it is all dark academia people

[lazyjellyfish300]

THIS WAS VNVKDDKKFGJJSLFO😩😩😩😩🥰🥰🥰🥰💕💕💕💕🥺🥺🥺🥺

A Shoulder To Lean On

word count: 1438 || avg. reading time: 6 mins.

pairing: university AU!Kita x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warning: mentions of academic pressure

request: Hi hi Sunny hope you're enjoying this last bit of the year! May I have breakfast with Kita sharing a 23 so we can study? Thank youu || fluffy, dealing with exam stress with crush Kita

You felt like you hadn’t slept properly in weeks but there was nothing to be done about it. You sighed when you hit sent on the assignment, well aware that you hadn’t even been close to the page count requirement but it was better to hand in something than nothing at all.

Rubbing your eyes you yawned and looked around at your roommate mumbling in her sleep.

It was almost midnight, way past your preferred bedtime. Your stomach growled, reminding you that the last thing you ate was a quick vending machine sandwich for lunch.

Opening the second drawer of your nightstand you found there wasn’t anything in the snack stash you were particularly tempted by. Usually, whenever you went to the grocery store lately you beelined to the prepared food section because all the exams and papers left you little to no time for such banal things as eating or sleeping.

The heavy snowfall from earlier had calmed significantly and only a few tiny flakes were carefully descending past your window.

After another moment’s thought, you got up and grabbed your jacket on the way out.

The streets surrounding the campus were quiet, with only a few people on their way home. But the closer you got to the main road and thus closer to restaurants and bars, supermarkets and convenience stores the busier the air became.

Laughter and music came from the brightly lit establishments with their Christmas-themed window displays. You could hear people cheering and toasting and singing as you walked past and tried to figure out what you were in the mood for. Not feeling like anything too elaborate or heavy your feet carried you to a convenience store, landing on a simple day-old onigiri and a cup of fruit to eat on your favorite bench by the library, hoping the icy fresh air would soothe the steady pounding in your temple soon.

You walked slowly, too tired and lost in thought to gather any energy.

The onigiri, while a tad dry, was delicious and the hot Christmas tea, purchased on impulse at the register, had you close your eyes in bliss. To no one’s surprise, the bench in question was empty. As you spaced out staring at the ground, you heard steady footsteps approaching from the warm glow of the library entrance.

Kita had recognized your soft shape instantly. Like most of the time you had been fresh on his mind, wondering if you took care of yourself, were skipping any meals, were maybe thinking about him, too, or smiling at someone else. Even though he would love nothing more than to ask you out to dinner, he respected that you didn’t want to date anyone for a while - a wish he had accidentally overheard while you were ahead of him in line at the cafeteria. And so he settled for being your friend; for now.

“Y/n?”

You looked up and watched him brush back the hood of his jacket, smiling gently.

“Oh hi.”

You gave a small bow and scooted a little to the side to make space for him. He sat down, making note of your drooping eyes.

“What are ya up to so late? If ya were in there, I didn’t see ya, I’m sorry.” He nodded towards the big imposing building that you hadn’t set foot in for weeks, too intimidated by all the students writing and reading and researching and having their life together.

Instead of answering you yawned and took a sleepy sip of tea.

“Did you finish all your assignments?”, you asked, your words slightly mumbled.

“Uhm, yeah.”, he said, a bit confused, and frowned even more when he saw you swaying a little forward.

Kita was afraid you would fall off the bench and thought frantically, his hand already raised.

Friends did this. He saw it all the time. It was no big deal.

And he carefully guided your lulling head to his shoulder.

His hand shook slightly, torn between patting your hair or retreating again to rest on his knees.

But that would look even more awkward, right? Friends could pat each other’s heads. He’d seen it in movies and TV shows.

For a moment his fingers hovered over you, then he set them on your hair.

No, this was too intimate.

He quickly moved to your shoulder, hoping you hadn’t noticed anything.

You sat like this for a little while, with him somewhere between tense panic and absolute calm, trying not to breathe too deeply or too much to not disturb you and to not lose track of his thoughts. Your steady breath formed little clouds in front of you.

“Ya should really get to bed.”, he said quietly, hating that he was right. He’d never been this close to you and found himself taking slightly deeper breaths when he got a whiff of your shampoo.

“Hm.”, you hummed, then sat back up, yawning again.

“I’ll walk ya.”

Neither of you was in a hurry as you slowly trudged through the soft layer of snow toward your dorm. After throwing out the wrappers and cup from your late dinner you felt a little better and Kita’s presence put you at ease. On a little wall along the pathway, you spotted a small group of tiny snowmen and jogged the few steps to examine them closer. “One second.”, you said to Kita when you grabbed a handful of snow and began forming your own. But instead of patiently waiting as you had expected him to, he leaned down as well to make a first ball. You smiled at him and for the next two minutes, you silently worked side by side to add to the local snowman population. You stepped back to take a look at your handiwork, Kita even took out his phone to take a picture of the two new members on the wall.

You sighed happily and were glad the cold gave you an excuse to have tears welling in your eyes.

“This is the first time I’ve done something for fun in weeks. I forgot what it was like to do something not for uni.”

Kita didn’t say anything, he just waited for you to continue.

“Academia is cool and all but dang, at what cost, you know? It snowed so much this winter already and I was dying to go outside and play but no, exams and more exams and studying, and oh- would you know it? More exams. And I love Christmas. But because of all this studying, I haven’t even had time to bake the sugar cookies my mom usually makes.” At this point you were just rambling, you couldn’t even see Kita next to you anymore and thought he had probably gone to gather more snow for a second snowman just so he didn’t have to listen to you. You yelped in surprise when something hit you in the back, well cushioned by your puffy jacket. When you turned around, you saw Kita lop another snowball in your direction, a small smile on his lips.

“Ya think, ya can take me?”

His heart leapt when your eyes brightened and you bent down to get your own ammunition. The careful game quickly escalated into an all-out war and you two ran around the white lawn near your dorm, laughing and calling out smack talk - yours quite a lot better than his - until you collapsed out of breath onto a small mountain of snow, moving your arms and legs up and down for a poor excuse of a snow angel on the trampled canvas. Kita appeared in your field of vision, beaming and holding his last snowball aloft.

You gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”, he grinned with a mischievousness you’d rarely seen before.

In one swift motion, you shot up and grabbed the front of his jacket to pull him down with you, now looming over him with a handful of snow.

“Surrender!”

“Ye ye! I give up.” He actually giggled and you laid back again, satisfied with your win.

Even through the lights on campus, you could make out a few stars in the jet-black sky.

“Y/n.”, he said after a moment.

“Hm.”

“I know ya don’t feel like datin’ and I’m sorry to even bring it up but… would ya consider goin’ out with me sometime?”

Your head snapped to the side to look at him, trying to find any indication that he was joking.

“Are you serious?”

“Pretty serious, yea.”

You beamed and, pursing your lips to stop yourself from cheering, you looked back up to the stars, replying quietly, “I’d love to.”

a/n: request for @natdu

Any time I get to write for this man I can’t not make it as soft as possible. He is so fskfjsianahak, ya know? You get it. Thank you so much for this request, I hope you enjoyed it! 🌟

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Peter Boghossian

Published: Dec 30, 2024

Academia is a fraud factory. Last year, 10,000 research papers were retracted—and those are just the ones that got caught. Entire lines of literature are fabricated out of whole cloth. Plagiarism is rampant. Universities are protecting and hiding fraud—they’re keeping serial plagiarists on the payroll. They don’t even fire Pretendians (people pretending to be Native Americans who hold positions of authority), despite their lip service, land acknowledgments, and ostensible deference to Native Americans’ lived experiences.

A curious person might wonder: Why? How could this happen? Why would anyone hide corruption or deny it or look the other way—especially when it undermines the legitimacy of their disciplines and the academy itself?

There are plenty of reasons. Here are a few:

Ideology. Many academics don’t see research as a way to discover facts about an objectively knowable world. Instead, they view research as a tool to create the world they want—a world that’s just, fair, equitable, and free of oppression. Their goal isn’t to uncover the truth; it’s to craft a narrative that aligns with their vision of justice. To make this happen, they describe how they think things should be and cherry-pick methods to support those conclusions (Action Research).

When this mindset takes over, research goals shift. It’s no longer about trying to falsify claims; research is about verifying narratives to fit preexisting beliefs of how the world should operate.

[ Claudine Gay, Former President of Harvard University and current Wilbur A. Cowett Professor of Government and of African and African-American Studies ]

Career Advancement. Not all fraud is ideological—sometimes it’s just about climbing the ladder. This kind of corruption is especially common in the soft and hard sciences, where data fabrication boosts publication records, improves reputations, and increases grant money. Academic fraud, by its nature, is difficult to discover. If I had to guess, I’d estimate that around 15% of papers are flat-out fraudulent (data fabrication), and another 25% are less obvious but still bogus (e.g., p-hacking). Although these estimates could be low given the replication crises in various fields.

Midwits. This isn’t merely ignorance—it’s midwittery. Many academics are not particularly intelligent; they are, at best, middling intellects. We think of academia as a haven for brilliant minds, but it’s full of people with average intelligence inflated by credentials. Midwits cluster heavily in the humanities and thin out in the hard sciences. They are not capable of understanding complex problems (like why falsification matters more than affirmation) because they lack intellectual horsepower.

Moral Echo Chambers. Academia is a giant moral echo chamber. For all the talk about the indispensable importance of diversity, the academy is dominated by identitarian leftists. For them, morally unfashionable conclusions aren’t just wrong—they’re heretical. Disagree and you’re not merely mistaken—you are evil.

Entire areas of inquiry are off-limits because some academics think they shouldn’t be studied. And yet, these same people insist their claims are true. How do they know? They don’t. They can’t. But questioning them makes you the bad guy.

Reputation Preservation. Fraud doesn’t just undermine individual academics—it threatens entire institutions. If the public knew how widespread the rot really is, the entire system would likely collapse. So, they protect their own. Whistleblowers are silenced. Critics are dismissed. And the fraud? It never ceases.

The rot in academia is not an accident. It is the inevitable outcome of a system built on groupthink, careerism, and warped moral compasses. The academy once claimed to be a bastion of free thought and inquiry, but it has become a fortress of conformity, where the truth takes a backseat to narratives, prestige, and power. Until fraud is met with consequences and intellectual diversity is embraced, academia will remain what it has become: A factory of lies, wrapped in the illusion of legitimacy, and churning out the very propaganda it pretends to oppose.

[wetbananapeel]

| MomI'mSafe {detail} - Amay Kataria (2020) | South Asia Institute, Chicago, IL

[kaurwreck]

I think you're right that it's significant, and I think Mori is clever to recognize that Akutagawa is a rook.

Like a rook, Akutagawa is powerful, but generally contained and often undercut by his predictability. However, because he's keenly aware of his own constraints, and because others often aren't (especially regarding variables they've internalized as known), he's able to play into and against his own predictability to paradoxically surprise them.

He moves within the confines of his rigidity to shape outcomes, sometimes more effectively than his more dynamic opponents and peers. Rooks do that too, if you let them.

Me, knowing nothing about chess, probably overthinking the significance of referencing akutagawa in this scene, but is going to look it up later anyways

[sunxdusk]

Briengr is far from being dumb but having been raised by Nords in a backwater village, he had no academic education nor interest in such things, in particular philosophy, whose only conclusion for him was that philosophers were nothing but old men who sat around on their wrinkly asses and questioned everything. However, this belief was quickly dashed when the Khajiit caravan Briengr traveled with showed him the wonders of philosophy and gave him scrolls to study. To this day, Briengr still pours over the scrolls gifted to him, keeping them preserved and often quoting his favorite lines.

[headspace-hotel]

This year has, so far, been for me a series of rapid realizations of what I have been unlearning.

I went to the library. This was a couple weeks ago. I knew I needed to read a book, fiction. I hadn't done so in over a year and it was the longest period of time I had ever gone without doing so. I made a rule: I would only pick books I had never heard of, by authors I had never heard of, and I would not do any preliminary research or even bother to look at what the book was about. I would make my decision on whether to read or not purely on my impression of the title, cover and opening lines.

The book was The Connoisseur by Evan S. Connell. It was kind of a random selection. I sat down with it in a corner of the library and straight up devoured it. I tore through the book within a few hours, without taking a single break. I was captivated. I couldn't put it down.

It is a book about a guy who buys a Mayan figurine in a knickknack shop while he's on a business trip. and becomes obsessed with pre-Columbian sculptural art. There isn't really much of a plot apart from this. He goes to sketchy antique shows, has conversations with museum curators, wealthy art dealers and forgers, and seeks to learn how to distinguish a genuine pre-Columbian piece from a fake one. It was written in the 1970's, so the views on Native Americans are antiquated and sometimes offensive, and there is the troubling thread of the very concept of looting another culture's treasures and treating them as collectibles, though the book is not without commentary on this.

All the same, it was a completely intoxicating read. The vicarious experience of becoming fascinated with a topic and having it unfold a whole world for you was ferociously gripping, and so was the intrigue of the art collecting world itself. The frauds, forgeries, smuggling, museums, academics, aristocrats, auctions and seedy flea markets. Will he ever be able to tell if a piece is "real?" Does it matter if it's "real?" Why does he want to own and possess a piece of art, and how does its "realness" affect that desire? The book leaves you not knowing what to think.

It is a book about curiosity, portrayed in the narrative as a totally unreasonable lightning bolt that strikes a man who has never been fascinated by anything and changes him forever. Why? Why does a Mayan figurine, in particular, speak to him? Why does any piece of art, or any fascinating thing in the world, speak to anyone? It is unknowable.

I went to the library again. I picked a new book using the same rules. This book was Fragile Beasts by Tawni O'Dell. Just like the last time, I was totally captivated. I couldn't put it down.

Did I have a couple major problems with the portrayal of some important aspects of the story? Yes. (It would make the post much longer to discuss.) Was I completely captured by and invested in the story for the time I was reading it? Also yes. The book braids together several very different strands-- the story of a legendary Spanish bullfighter and a wealthy American woman that he loved, two brothers stuck in an ugly family situation after their father's death in a car accident, and a rich old heir to a Pennsylvania coal mining fortune and to the sinister underbelly of her family's business.

There was a lot about baseball, which I know nothing about, and bullfighting, which I know nothing about, and I certainly don't know anything about being a teenaged boy who resents and mistrusts his estranged mother, or an aristocratic old lady who lives in a mansion and eats fancy Spanish food. It was fun to experience so much unfamiliar stuff and to care about things I wouldn't normally care about. Once again I couldn't stop reading until I had finished it.

I don't know that either book was "good," though I thought they were both well written; I just know that reading them was like being hooked up to an IV of something essential and life-giving and feeling it reanimating my body.

It had been a year since I had read any fiction, but it had been much, much longer since I had loved to read. As I became an adult I had become picky and critical about books, and developed a highly sophisticated sense of my taste and the books I considered good- which were very rare. My taste in books became so sophisticated, eventually, that I didn't like books at all anymore.

I had almost withered away from deficiency of that essential nutrient known as STORY. I'd almost crumbled myself into dust from pretentiousness! I may have been terribly wrong about the kinds of things I liked to read, on top of it. And I certainly hadn't realized that story was such an essential nutrient.

"Just entertainment" the pretentious sorts of people might say of a book they think is useless-- but what is entertainment but to absorb your mind in something, and what is absorbing your mind in a book but to experience things you would never have experienced? It expands you and makes you more complicated. It is the study of human existence itself.

Now all I have been able to think about today is finishing my work and going to the library again...