#Like people who studied literature

[lily-s-world]

I had an awful day at work, like one of those days where I'm reminded that one of the greatest mistakes of my life was choosing a career based on what my family wanted and not what I wanted and enjoyed. I should had been a writer or a designer, or both... But no, my family wanted an engineer and I didn't have the courage to go against it.

Chose what you want people!!

In other words, please recommend comfort movies, I really need them this weekend.

[fancygremlin]

PARALLELS? IN MY PODCAST? IT'S MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK!

Part 13 vs. Part 26 analysis.

In Part 13 and Part 26, both Arthur and John sustain an injury which they procure in their attempt to seek penance. John is trying to accept and move on from all the pain he caused as the King in Yellow. This moment serves the character as the starting point to form his own identity. On the other hand Arthur is trying to deal with the grief and self-loathing that came with the reminder of his daughter's death. This moment is essential, as it showed Arthur being given space to let go of his anger (and his suicidal tendencies) and have someone understand the source of his deep-rooted pain and self-loathing:

Both John and Arthur get injured and they need to cauterise the wound. When it came to John's finger, Arthur was ready to gently provide comfort (it drives me insane how, both in mannerism and tone, Arthur sounded like a parent consoling/ reassuring his child who is crying about their scraped knee). On the other hand, this warmth and comfort was completely absent when it came to removing the splinters from Arthur's shoulder:

In either case, John’s hand still has dark wood embedded in it, while only some splinters are removed from Arthur’s shoulder. The wound is not completely healed and will definitely leave a scar or visual reminder of the experience both characters had to endure:

And of course, finally, there is a reference of a specific literature piece to accompany both experiences:

I’m unfortunately not a person who knows much about literature or poetry, so I can only give a very bare and surface level opinion on both pieces… however, here's what I have so far:

John’s experience is accompanied with a fable, something that is usually told to children to teach them something about the world or about themselves (or about how to properly behave). On the other hand, Arthur’s literature piece is a poem, which is something that requires a lot of knowledge to dissect and understand fully;

Aesop's fable suggests the handle of the axe is familiar with and knows the woods intimately, because it was carved out of a tree that was once part of the woods. Frost's poem also alludes to the traveller being familiar with the woods... but more in a metaphorical sense, as the poem is about persisting through hardship by keep on moving and not losing hope. The woods are dark and deep and the traveller travels frequently through them, but his house is outside of the forest and he must return to it.

The woodcutter does not own the woods, but he still decides to cut the trees, almost carelessly and heartlessly, as if the forest is his property and he decides how to use the wood he gathers. On the other hand, the traveller is merely passing through the snow-covered forest but still refers to the woods as "his", possessively, almost as if he own them.

The woodcutter is going through the forest by destroying it tree by tree, while the traveller of the poem is going through the forest slowly, he lingers and takes moments to look and admire the snow-covered trees. It's interesting how the behaviour of the characters presented by these pieces of literature contrast quite starkly how John and Arthur are behaving in their respective situations.

[karamazovdmitri]

i lived it: a girl sitting next to me in class, TOTALLY unprompted as i was talking about our current assigned reading, turned towards me and said "if there's one author i hate, its dostoevsky" and,,, the way i said "careful what you say next" LMFAOOOOO

[februarys-wednesday]

never understanding y'all who hate shakespeare or studying shakespeare because ONE shakespeare fucks very hard and TWO if you are in like middle school high school it is the easiest shit to study i mean the EASIEST if you don't like to read shakespeare you can go to YOUTUBE DOT COM and type in ANY OF SHAKESPEARES WORKS and you will find a FULL PRODUCTION OF IT for FREE you SHOULD follow along with your book but you don't HAVE TO because you're experiencing shakespeare in the WAY IT WAS MEANT TO BE EXPERIENCED and you will ENJOY YOURSELF and you will LEARN SOMETHING and this is the ONE OPPORTUNITY YOU'LL EVER HAVE IN LIT/ENGLISH/WHATEVER TO WATCH THE "MOVIE" VERSION OF THE BOOK I CANNOT BELIEVE PEOPLE BITCH AND MOAN ABOUT HOW BORING AND DIFFICULT SHAKESPEARE IS!!!

[littlemut]

𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎𝖋 ℑ KILL 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖍𝖆𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖘?? 🔨🔨

[ayakashibackstreet]

Okay. I'll eep now. Results in roughly 13 hours

My professor called me to ask me how it went and signed off at the end with 'and please try to sleep well tonight instead of replaying the interview over and over in your head'

Which

Sir. Sir you know me so well

[eeuwigestilte]

call me the blusher or sth fr

[sophosthewisebunny]

hi, pretty hard question but do you have an idea what "love" means in umineko context? Or rather what's your interpretation of what umineko means by it?

Also, there are some spoilers for how narrative works, however i think you probably aware of it already, so here is umineko version of Simpsons clip about Steamed Hams.

Hiii! I’ve been thinking of it in the same way I think of looking for the “heart” in narratives as a literary scholar/cultural historian. I’ve always found one of my biggest issues with academia at large is when the study of something that is often extremely personal gets reduced to something clinical. For instance, the kind of people who get all into the technical history of wars and the battles that were thought, who are oh so knowledgeable about the details of what happened, but don’t seem to consider the realities of the people who lived through it relevant to their analyses of the topic.

On a technical level, I study narrative theory and speculative fiction. However, I don’t think that what tools an author uses mean anything when you’re not thinking about the meaning and “heart” of the text. I’m writing my master’s thesis on the technical aspects of a piece of Ukrainian Jewish diaspora fiction. But the reason I’m doing it is because it speaks to me as a Ukrainian Jew and I want to illustrate the way it accomplishes this because of how much it matters to people with my background. I think an analysis that is simply technical would be kind of worthless, because it tosses all the heart of the piece into the abyss.

Which is a really lengthy and roundabout explanation that I didn’t really connect to Umineko itself but. That’s what comes to mind. The fact that really knowing a story isn’t just about understanding the logistics, but about digging into the feeling and thematic role and heart of a piece and finding the moment in which the creator is calling out to you.

[meezer]

spending this much time and effort and energy working towards a career path I really do not like or want or will ever go into is really taking the wind out of my sails not gonna lie. and making me hate the humanities 😍

[drdemonprince]

The data does not support the assumption that all burned out people can “recover.” And when we fully appreciate what burnout signals in the body, and where it comes from on a social, economic, and psychological level, it should become clear to us that there’s nothing beneficial in returning to an unsustainable status quo. 

The term “burned out” is sometimes used to simply mean “stressed” or “tired,” and many organizations benefit from framing the condition in such light terms. Short-term, casual burnout (like you might get after one particularly stressful work deadline, or following final exams) has a positive prognosis: within three months of enjoying a reduced workload and increased time for rest and leisure, 80% of mildly burned-out workers are able to make a full return to their jobs. 

But there’s a lot of unanswered questions lurking behind this happy statistic. For instance, how many workers in this economy actually have the ability to take three months off work to focus on burnout recovery? What happens if a mildly burnt-out person does not get that rest, and has to keep toiling away as more deadlines pile up? And what is the point of returning to work if the job is going to remain as grueling and uncontrollable as it was when it first burned the worker out? 

Burnout that is not treated swiftly can become far more severe. Clinical psychologist and burnout expert Arno van Dam writes that when left unattended (or forcibly pushed through), mild burnout can metastasize into clinical burnout, which the International Classification of Diseases defines as feelings of energy depletion, increased mental distance, and a reduced sense of personal agency. Clinically burned-out people are not only tired, they also feel detached from other people and no longer in control of their lives, in other words.

Unfortunately, clinical burnout has quite a dismal trajectory. Multiple studies by van Dam and others have found that clinical burnout sufferers may require a year or more of rest following treatment before they can feel better, and that some of burnout’s lingering effects don’t go away easily, if at all. 

In one study conducted by Anita Eskildsen, for example, burnout sufferers continued to show memory and processing speed declines one year after burnout. Their cognitive processing skills improved slightly since seeking treatment, but the experience of having been burnt out had still left them operating significantly below their non-burned-out peers or their prior self, with no signs of bouncing back. 

It took two years for subjects in one of van Dam’s studies to return to “normal” levels of involvement and competence at work. following an incident of clinical burnout. However, even after a multi-year recovery period they still performed worse than the non-burned-out control group on a cognitive task designed to test their planning and preparation abilities. Though they no longer qualified as clinically burned out, former burnout sufferers still reported greater exhaustion, fatigue, depression, and distress than controls.

In his review of the scientific literature, van Dam reports that anywhere from 25% to 50% of clinical burnout sufferers do not make a full recovery even four years after their illness. Studies generally find that burnout sufferers make most of their mental and physical health gains in the first year after treatment, but continue to underperform on neuropsychological tests for many years afterward, compared to control subjects who were never burned out. 

People who have experienced burnout report worse memories, slower reaction times, less attentiveness, lower motivation, greater exhaustion, reduced work capability, and more negative health symptoms, long after their period of overwork has stopped. It’s as if burnout sufferers have fallen off their previous life trajectory, and cannot ever climb fully back up. 

And that’s just among the people who receive some kind of treatment for their burnout and have the opportunity to rest. I found one study that followed burned-out teachers for seven years and reported over 14% of them remained highly burnt-out the entire time. These teachers continued feeling depersonalized, emotionally drained, ineffective, dizzy, sick to their stomachs, and desperate to leave their jobs for the better part of a decade. But they kept working in spite of it (or more likely, from a lack of other options), lowering their odds of ever healing all the while. 

Van Dam observes that clinical burnout patients tend to suffer from an excess of perseverance, rather than the opposite: “Patients with clinical burnout…report that they ignored stress symptoms for several years,” he writes. “Living a stressful life was a normal condition for them. Some were not even aware of the stressfulness of their lives, until they collapsed.”

Instead of seeking help for workplace problems or reducing their workload, as most people do, clinical burnout sufferers typically push themselves through unpleasant circumstances and avoid asking for help. They’re also less likely to give up when placed under frustrating circumstances, instead throttling the gas in hopes that their problems can be fixed with extra effort. They become hyperactive, unable to rest or enjoy holidays, their bodies wired to treat work as the solution to every problem. It is only after living at this unrelenting pace for years that they tumble into severe burnout. 

Among both masked Autistics and overworked employees, the people most likely to reach catastrophic, body-breaking levels of burnout are the people most primed to ignore their own physical boundaries for as long as possible. Clinical burnout sufferers work far past the point that virtually anyone else would ask for help, take a break, or stop caring about their work.

And when viewed from this perspective, we can see burnout as the saving grace of the compulsive workaholic — and the path to liberation for the masked disabled person who has nearly killed themselves trying to pass as a diligent worker bee. 

I wrote about the latest data on burnout "recovery," and the similarities and differences between Autistic burnout and conventional clinical burnout. The full piece is free to read or have narrated to you in the Substack app at drdevonprice.substack.com

[thepandalion]

being the world's worst morphology fan on main right now but literally every time I use/think a word that has the "de-" prefix I almost melt like that's such a fun prefix and I love that it just means the removal of the noun following it. like. idk why.

[patchworkofravens]

Oh my god I should have taken literature what the fuck am I doing in IT

[cupcakedieabetes]

Jason's a 10 while his boyfriend looks mid

In Gotham University where Jason is studying literature, while Danny is studying engineering. Nobody knew how they even met, but they both showed up one day going out with each other.

Nobody knew why exactly Jason, who is an absolutely beefcake, built like a fridge, was with a guy that totally looks like a loser. He was tinier than Jason - a complete twink-, he often gets up to run to the bathroom citing stomach problems, once you set him off about something, he'll never stop yapping about it.

So, one brave student went up to Jason and asked the question. Why him?

Jason just smirked and tilted his head at Danny.

"Open your mouth."

Danny does so obligingly in confusion. What he didn't know nor did he realise was that once he did, his features started to distort, looking more...not human.

His teeth were sharp and jagged, his mouth was like a gaping abyss, so dark that the only thing that you see was more and more teeth. His eyes took more of a green hue, skin turned paler, and his freckles shone like the stars.

Danny then rolled out his tongue, which came out long and serpentine, flicking it a bit before rolling it back into his mouth, becoming normal once more.

Jason gave a lovesick lustful look at him.

The student immediately understood and simply said 'Have a nice day', because they get why. Teratophilia is a thing, people.

[ghostspies]

[witch-queen-of-lesbos]

Today I learned that there's a limit to the number of notes you can put in a post.

hm actually i made a joke poll like this a while back but now im genuinely curious

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : you are Spencer Reid's roommate, the team finds out about you when a case brings them to the university you study at word count : 2.5k warning : canon-typical violence A/N : the university is a random one I picked in Virginia, bear with me because I don't know how US university systems work, thanks :) I think this is a part one, there may be a part two or even more, idk, but tell me what you think !

part 2, part 3, part 4

"I- I'm sorry, what university did you say?" Spencer's frantic tone was immediately noticed by his colleagues. Suddenly, he seemed hyperaware of everything in the room. The loud AC, Derek's pen-clicking and the overwhelming smell of Emily's coffee. "Mary Washington University," JJ answered swiftly, eyes narrowed as she sent Reid a confused glance. The man in question mumbled a few words under his breath and shot up, grabbing his coat and scarf. "We need to go." His tone, unusually urgent, left no space for debate or questioning. He was out the door within seconds, followed closely by Morgan and the others.

When you'd applied for Mary Washington University, you had known you would have to get an apartment. You lived too far away to even consider taking the numerous trains and buses and subways to get there. So, when you had been accepted into your first choice of universities, you'd started apartment hunting. Or roommate-hunting, to be more precise.

To say you had been unlucky would have been quite the understatement. You'd visited four apartments so far and could not even consider living in one of them for a second. The first had been full of frat boys who made your skin crawl, the second was with an old, far right-wing couple, the third had been two sisters who'd yelled at each other for the whole time you were there and the fourth had been so crowded your were certain it was neither sanitary not legal for another person to live there. With the deadline of university starting and having to move all your things, you were starting to get quite anxious. But call it chance or fate, one day you stumbled upon an advertisement for an apartment in a nice neighbourhood with one person who seemed quite normal. This person was a state-employee (which meant a stable salary and that meant you wouldn't have to compensate for rent) who travelled often for work and liked to keep mostly to themselves. Not one for big parties, they preferred a night-in and rarely had people over.

So you'd put on your big-girl pants and had walked over to what you hoped would be your last apartment visit. You hadn't been expecting such a young person to open the door because of the way the advert had been written and because of what it said. "Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid." You noticed he didn't hold his hand out and mirrored his behaviour. "Hi! I'm here for a visit!" You introduced yourself somewhat shyly, feeling intimidated. This man was at the most five years older than you and he was already a doctor?

He showed you around the apartment, which you liked very much. The rooms smelled like books and tea and everything was kept very clean. On the whole, it was tidy, even if a few books or articles were stacked in some odd places. The bedroom you'd stay in was large and luminous. After the tour, he made you a cup of tea as you discussed formalities.

"Uh, so, you’re a student, right?" he'd asked politely as he added a worrying amount of sugar in his earl grey. You bit back a teasing jest. You hoped maybe one day you'd get to place where you could comment on his daily sugar intake. "Yeah, um, I'm studying English Literature and Cinema." You stirred your tea, looking around the kitchen. Even though it was painted a dark, forest green, it still seemed luminous in the afternoon sun. "Oh, that's super interesting! I’ve always found texts in Middle English particularly insightful! I- I read the Canterbury Tales when I was about 10 years old. It’s fascinating the way in which issues which were already current then are still very present today, like in the Wife of Bath’s tale, for example-“

He cut himself off, leaning back into the couch. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry, you probably don’t want me to ramble about what you already know.” “No, I think it’s amazing that you would know that, actually. What else did you like in the Wife of Bath’s tale?” Spencer seemed to brighten up at your words and thus ensued a lengthy discussion of the avant-garde themes evoked by Geoffrey Chaucer. You were fascinated by his knowledge and found his passion especially endearing. Lots of your professors weren’t even that passionate when talking of late 14th century literature.

After discussing rent, which you would afford by waitressing at a local bar, lightly touching upon political subjects (on which you seemed to agree on), he finally told you that he was an FBI agent. "Excuse me?" you spluttered, leaning backwards in shock. "I'm a profiler with the BAU, the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I can show you my badge if you want." He stood up and reached for his bag, but you stopped him in his tracks. "No, no, that's okay, I believe you. I'm just surprised, that's all, sorry." His expansive knowledge of so many things seemed fitting for an agent of the BAU. After realising you were the first person who didn't demand his badge as proof of his profession, Spencer granted you a small smile. "You don't need to apologise. I- I know it can be a bit... off-putting." He sat back down and looked you in the eye. "Is that a problem for you, living with a federal agent?"

You thought about it for a second. As a general rule, you weren't a big fan of cops. Even more generally, you didn't believe in the structure of today's society. But that was a big topic. Plus, a profiler wasn't really a cop, was he? "No, that's not a problem for me."

You'd moved in a month and a half later. Things had been slightly awkward at first and you'd had to figure out what kind of dynamic Spencer and you had. But eventually, you’d found your rhythm.

When Spencer left for work, you took care of his plants and sent him pictures of Geoffrey. Geoffrey was the cat you’d found on the street and taken in. He was named after Geoffrey Chaucer, author of the Canterbury Tales, your first common point of interest. Spencer had been reluctant at first, but you’d taken him to the vet, where he was tested and vaccinated, and the man had finally accepted him into your shared space. Now, he loved the little creature. Sometimes, you’d call him to ask how he was doing and whether he was safe. He’d always reply that yes, he was doing fine and no, he wasn’t in any danger, don’t you worry. He’d ask how you were doing and if you were staying on top of uni work and if you’d eaten and if Geoffrey wasn't being too annoying. As an orange cat, he had his particular tendencies.

When Spencer was at home, you'd always look forward to getting back from class. There was always that sense of comfort and ease when he was around. You had found a lovely routine quite easily. You'd both work or study, then cook, eat together and afterwards maybe you'd watch a movie or something. You were at a point where you could comment on his daily sugar intake, which he's started correcting since meeting you. He loved the Big Bang Theory and though you weren't such a fan, you loved the little laughs he let out and all the corrections he'd make. In general, you liked when he talked. Even more generally, you liked him. You also liked Friends and though Ross got on Spencer's nerves, he enjoyed being able to discuss it with you afterwards. The two of you got very close without even noticing.

Sometimes, you'd remember he wasn't just your roommate, but also a man. He'd make you a cup of tea and you'd stare at his hands a little too long while he stirred the honey in. Or he'd help you reach for a cup with his impressive height, his front just skimming your back with a shiver. He'd tell you to breathe and sit down when you were upset about something. A few times, he drove you home from a night out with your friends and laid his hand on your knee. He was the only one who remembered how you'd told him you wanted to kiss him.

With you, Spencer discovered many things he had never experienced before. A healthy, comforting and peaceful routine. A supporting, non-judgemental, healthy friendship. Easy laughter in the middle of the night and tired "good morning"s at dawn. Butterflies in his stomach whenever you touched him. A budding romance which kept him awake at night.

So when that was threatened, he just about lost it.

"Oh my God." "I can't believe this." "Is this a prank?" "Did someone call 911?" "What about her parents?" "Oh, that's sick."

Voices swarmed around your head, making you dizzy. Your hand rested over your mouth as you stared at the body strewn on the lawn. Much of the student body stood next to you, just as shocked. Mary Goldman had been her name. You'd crossed her just this morning in the main hall and had exchanged small smiles. You had thought that she looked really pretty today, but hadn't told her. You regretted that now. At the moment, her mascara had run down her cheeks and dried and her lipstick and been smudged. Bruises and cuts decorated her bare arms and legs and a big red stain sat on the side of her stomach. The contrast between her dead body and the green, thriving grass beneath her was haunting.

You turned away, feeling sick. You felt your friend's hand on your shoulder, a small source of comfort anchoring you to reality. Facing the road as you turned, you were surprised to see three big black SUVs speeding towards the crowd. You'd been expecting an ambulance, or cops. Not whoever these guys were. They screeched to a stop, drawing everyone's attention. A small dozen of people stormed out, all dressed differently though they all held the same aura of importance, knowledge and authority. You turned back to your friends. "Who are these-"

You stopped mid-sentence when you heard your name being called out urgently. You'd have recognised his voice amidst a thousand others. He spoke your name like no other. You frantically looked around, pushing your way to the large vehicles. When you finally spotted him, tears started pricking your eyes. "Spencer," you breathed in a half-sob. His eyes ran you over once, twice, assessing any damage. When he saw there was no physical wound, his shoulders sank in relief. He opened his arms and you rushed inside his warm embrace almost reflexively. Neither of you noticed the numerous pair of curious eyes observing your intimate exchange.

"Oh my God, Spence- What- What are you doing here?" you'd cried into his cardigan. You buried your face into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent he always bore. He wrapped an arm around your waist and another around your shoulders, holding the back of your head in a consoling manner. "We're- We're taking this on as a case, sweets. Are you all right?" He knew it was a stupid question but all the emotions and tension were barely wearing off and he didn't know what else to say. You pulled away but he kept you at arm's length, holding your cold, shaking hands in his warm, steady ones. "I- Yeah, it's just- I- I saw her this morning! How could she- Why would someone do this to her? To- to anyone?!" Spencer cooed and pulled you into another tight hug as you continued to ramble through your tears. When you'd eventually calmed down thanks to his words of reassurance, he pulled away softly.

Spencer understood what you meant perhaps more than anyone. The sadness, the shock, the anger, the need to understand. He gently wiped away the mascara under your eyes with his thumb. "I know, I- It's- Even I don't always understand, sweetheart, so don't- Why don't you go home? I'd come with you but-" You nodded, biting your lower lip. He gave you a sad smile. "I promise I'll join you as soon as this is over. You- you can make yourself a cup of tea and process all this and pet Geoffrey, okay? Classes are going to be cancelled either way." "I don't want to-" The look in his eyes kept you from arguing further. You nodded, giving him another hug. Before you left, an older man came over to you.

"I'm sorry to bother you, miss. I'm Agent David Rossi. I just had a question-" "Rossi," interrupted Spencer with a stern tone you'd never heard before. The older Agent raised an eyebrow at him. "Just one question." He turned back to you. "At what time did you say you saw the victim?" You inhaled shakily, running a hand over your face. "Uh, it must have been around quarter to eleven. I think- Yeah, somewhere between ten thirty and eleven." "Thank you, miss." You didn't miss the glance shared between the two men before Rossi retreated.

"Who was that?" asked Emily as soon as you'd left and Spencer had joined them behind the police tape. "No one," Spencer brushed her off as he kneeled next to the victim. Strangely, he hated the idea of someone who knew you dying. It felt too close to home. "C'mon, man, you lost your shit this morning, a girl you clearly know very well runs into your arms, you snap at Rossi and you expect us to believe you?" Derek raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at the rest of the team. All were staring at him patiently. He stood up, swallowing.

"That was my roommate." He informed the team of your name and of how you'd been living together for a few years now. "Spencer, you've been living with a woman for years and you've never told us?!" Derek was all but hysteric. Hotch reminded him that everyone was entitled to a private life. "So, are you dating or something?" Emily prodded again. Spencer hesitated a second before answering. "No." Derek scoffed, appalled. "You mean to tell me you've been living with a beautiful woman like that for years and nothing's ever happened?!" "Not everyone is like you, Morgan," Emily reminded with a teasing smirk. Derek sent her an unimpressed look. "Look, let's all grill Spencer later, we have a case to focus on right now." Rossi, ever the voice of reason, directed everyone's attention back to the corpse laying next to them.

Needless to say, the BAU team did not need to interrogate Spencer or attack him with incessant questions to find much out. They'd seen by his behaviour that very morning how much he cared about you. They'd seen how relieved he had been when he'd seen you safe and sound. They'd noticed you'd only started crying when you'd seen him, a big sign of trust. They had never heard him call another by pet names such as "sweets" or "sweetheart". They'd read both of your body languages like a children's book and translated it easily.

Love. Comfort. Peace. Ease.