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keepthisholykiss · 3 months ago

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i have begun reading some contemporary adaptations of shakespeare as part of the preliminary research for my PhD topic I'll be proposing and i have been humbled so fucking fast

i picked up the first thing i saw that was relevant to my research and from the description and author bio went oh this will be so fucking bad and jokes on me! i read a third of the book in one sitting last night because its so fucking good already

does it read like ao3 shakespeare tags? of course! but its good fucking food and i am so stoked about even ONE singular book in this category being good so far

#michelle does academia #shakespeare #contemporary fiction

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venustransiens · 2 years ago

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Week 6: Draft One (not my thesis) Submitted

This week I did not work on my thesis at all despite what my rant earlier this week indicates. I did, however, turn in my first finished draft of my essay which will be published in an upcoming collection. I still don’t know how much I’m allowed to say (or if I’m restricted at all) but the essay is about Bly Manor and can really be summarized by this gif I have made with my now melted brain.

This essay utilized a good number of the resources I am using my thesis as well. Given the content and analysis I am doing it’s not super surprising but I did find myself going over to my bookshelf and pulling from the same groups of books. Here’s my physical stack of references!

There were a lot more digital pieces obviously but still, a pretty fun stack of info!

Now I go back to my thesis work, which will I guess be my draft of my intro? We’ll see. I also have a number of other essays to write and some conferences to prep for. Hopefully next week will be better and I will have more fun things to bring up. For now I’m resting and celebrating my first draft completion.

#michelle does grad school #lesbian #literary criticism #academia

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everlastingday · 1 month ago

Note

💖👻 <3

thank you for the ask, michelle! 💜

💖 What is your primary writing goal for this year?

to finish and publish at least one multi-chaptered fic! it's a long-time goal of mine to do a longer project since i've never successfully been able to do it (so sorry to all the fics i've abandoned in my youth). i'm manifesting that this will be the survivor au or the tarlos dark academia au!

👻 Is there a new genre you'd like to write?

i would love to write a thriller or something similar that's just more action-packed and fast paced! i feel like even though i lean on the lower word count side, my writing does tend to be a bit meandering and has zero plot whatsoever. but i just don't know if i have the skills to do it 😅

writing goals ask game

#asked and answered #ask game

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nicnight9 · 11 months ago

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An Endless Summer Character Profiles: Grace Hall

🎨 Grace, owner of a tremendously big brain, gains her impeccable reputation around college by her genius mindset and her hardwork - things taught to her since childhood. 🎨 As the seeker for knowlodge she is proud to be, Grace came to La Huerta to study more about the island's nature and animals. And, if she's lucky, she might even gain more inspiration to create some masterpieces.

🎨 Grace lives in a tiresome limbo where she isn't fully loved, but also doesn't have many people who hate her. It doesn't matter, Grace doesn't care about getting the love from the people. What she genuinely wants is for her work to be validated, especially by her own family. 🎨 Obsessed with romanticizing her own life, Grace never lived much from life with the exception of theories. But this might change at any minute. 🎨 Like everyone on the island, Grace also has a secret. No one knows how she does it, but Grace finds it impossible to rest for one single second, not even during her vacation. Always worried and thinking, it's like she simply can't relax. Could all that stress cause damage on her mental health?

Basic Data

21 years old Born in 04/04/1999, in Washington D.C Junior at Hartfeld, Architeture Major Uses she/her pronouns

Loves: art exhibits, getting good grades, visiting libraries

Hates: crabs, heights and insensitive people

Fun Data

Is an Aries Her MBTI is ISFJ (aka The Defender) Her Hogwarts House would be Ravenclaw, and her Godly Parent would be Apolo.

Favorite Things

Movie: Pride And Prejudice TV Show: Good Omens Food: Pancakes with strawberries Drink: Affogato Hobbie: Painting Best Friend: Likes Michelle and Aleister the most!

Fun Facts

🎨 Currently works at two places and is already looking for a third job. According to herself, you never know what could happen. 🎨 Grace, even though only a junior, has a perfect academic journey. Great score and grades, has done total five internships, worked as a T.A on her sophomore year and has even won awards.

Moodboard

Some inspiration pictures, characters i relate her to and just overall vibe from the character! Check the moodboard over here!

Grace's Fashion

Grace's entire style gets inspo from dark academia vibes, like the academic girlie she is. That means the whole package. Lots of dark colors, especially browns. Winter clothes, like sweaters, cardigans, overcoats, turtlenecks... I also like to imagine some of her clothing a little splashed with paint and colors, just for the fun of it. Inspo here!

Grace's Playlist

Are You Satisfied? - MARINA

brutal - Olivia Rodrigo

Comfort Crowd - Conan Grey

I Can't Handle Change - Roar

I Wanna Be Yours - Arctic Monkeys

Motion Sickness - Phoebe Bridgers

Riptide - Vance Joy

Soldier, Poet, King - The Oh Hellos

this is me trying - Taylor Swift

When He Sees Me - Waitress

link for playlist here!

"It doesn't matter what i do, i could never be enough"

#ao3 fanfic #endless summer #fanfic #character profile #pb choices #verao sem fim #writing

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no-where-new-hero · 1 year ago

Note

ask game: 18, 29, 32 (and I shall stop myself there...😂)

Keep sending more!! I love these asks :)))

18. Your least favorite book ever

The Maidens by John Michaelides. I'm probably misspelling his name but I don't fucking care. This entire book was a cardinal offense against literature. There are better reviews than I can get into on GR about how this book is shit, but it has also received a lot of 5-star reviews, which makes me fear for reading comprehension because I'm not sure what's redeeming about this (maybe its pacing. At least that meant I spent less time on this piece of trash).

Basically, it's a "thriller" masquerading as a "portrait of women's psychology" masquerading as dark academia. In short, our MC is a group psychologist but in the way that the main character of a poorly written movie trying to create a "smart" female character. She's supposedly good at human nature, yet chronically fails at creating boundaries for her job and for coping with her own mental health following the death of her husband. Suddenly, she hears from a young relative of hers (i've forgotten the connection) that this relative's friend was murdered at her college. The main suspect is a Julian Morrow from Secret History type figure that *all* the girls in the department have formed a cult around, thus earning the name "the maidens." He's also a main suspect in the sense that a movie villain is: he's so "obviously" a villain that you immediately know he's not the killer. MC does some bad sleuthing, which includes somehow becoming the love interest to both the fake villain and a nice anemic grad student whose purpose I don't recall, and the twist ending comes after like 200 pages of red herrings.

If this book had been written well, I would have loved it. The reason I wanted to read it was from a hope that it might explore the group mentality in a school setting, how female students navigate gender and power in academia, whose lives are deemed less valuable. None of these things were actually dealt with in any depth, sincerity, or understanding of female psychology. All the "maidens" characters were depicted as kind of guy-crazy or snooty. The murderer falls into the crazy woman killer stereotype (again motivated by a man). The MC becomes an amateur detective because she's a psychologist, but since there was so little psychology in the actual murder, she doesn't uncover anything really vital? She watches two students have sex in the woods, which was described so horribly that I've been left scarred for life. She becomes the love object of two men in a way that shouldn't have even been connected to the plot. There was such a male gaze through the whole book, and what felt even more insulting was the author's attempt to be "feminist" and emulate female writers like Dorothy L Sayers and Agatha Christie. A book with not a single female character could be more progressive than this.

Yeah if you can't tell I still get in rages about this.

29. Your favourite YA novel

Very good question since I hardly read what people consider YA lol (ignoring a lot of the books from the 80s and 90s that have just been shelved in YA because there's nowhere else to put it, like DWJ novels).

I guess I'd say in terms of what has been published recently, VE Schwab's Monsters of Verity duology! I prefer her urban fantasy generally to her high fantasy, and this world felt like a really well-made Netflix drama. I really want to reread those books soon.

32. Your favourite nonfiction novel

Ignoring the semantic inaccuracy of "nonfiction novel," I'm going to interpret this as CNF/memoir. Which I actually don't read a lot of, either! But I'm currently in the middle of Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zaumer and really enjoying it. It's kind of rare to know I'm the direct target audience of a book (biracial Korean-American 20-something), and I'm really curious to read reviews of it later.

#blake's asks #blake's last braincell #immortal poets society

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theapprof · 2 years ago

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The Uncertainty Effect with Michelle Lazarus | TAPP 135

Dr. Michelle Lazarus, author of the new book, The Uncertainty Effect: How to Survive and Thrive through the Unexpected, joins host Kevin Patton for a lively discussion of of uncertainty in science, medicine, and academia.

00:00 | Introduction

00:50 | Dr. Michelle Lazarus

04:57 | Sponsored by AAA

05:31 | Why Is Uncertainty Important?

17:05 | Sponsored by HAPI

17:49 | The Uncertainty of Teaching A&P

27:07 | Sponsored by HAPS

28:05 | Uncertainty and Inclusion

36:38 | Uncertainty and Risk

38:48 | Book: The Uncertainty Effect

39:51 | Staying Connected

★ If you cannot see or activate the audio player, go to: theAPprofessor.org/podcast-episode-135.html

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I can live with doubt and uncertainty and not knowing. I think it is much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers that might be wrong. (Richard Feynman)

Dr. Michelle Lazarus

4 minutes

Before we meet our guest, I explain why this episode is later than expected—and why everything these days is coming from me later than expected. Then I introduce our guest, Dr. Michelle Lazarus.

★ Michelle Lazarus (bio from Monash University)AandP.info/uet ★ The Uncertainty Effect: How to Survive and Thrive Through the Unexpected (book by Michelle Lazarus) geni.us/mUYvgyU

Some related columns by Michelle Lazarus

★ The inescapable truth of uncertainty (from Monash Lens) AandP.info/g5m ★ Automation, uncertainty, and the Robodebt scheme (from Monash Lens) AandP.info/ha8

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As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. I may be compensated for links to sponsors and certain other links.

Check out notes and transcript for this episode!

#podcast

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zepskies · 9 months ago

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Thank you so much, Michelle!! I did my best on this first attempt. 😘💜💜

I love this world you've set up of the reader being friends with Dory and working with her in academia. The reader you've made feels real and fleshed out and yeah, it sounds like she's got her own backstory with some family drama to come!

For some reason this was my first instinct when I saw 1x11! I thought it was so interesting that Dory also became a professor, and I know the academia world well enough to dabble in that space for this reader character. Also I thought it would be fun to play Russell off someone who's a little more straight-laced lol. But she's definitely got some family drama coming...

And I'm so glad you liked the meet cute of sorts. 😂😂 I'm a sucker for those too!

I understand the struggle of trying to figure out who a character is with only a single episode to go off of. But my personal opinion is you nailed Russell for the little we do know. He's a happy flirty little murder kitten isn't he? 😂

Omg thank you for that. 😅😅 Even when it got down to me posting it I was tinkering with certain lines because I wasn't totally sure, but that makes me feel better about going forward with writing the series lol. He really is! It's going to be so fun drawing the reader further into his world. 😏

Even your description of him seeming rough around the edges was spot on because he gives off drifter vibes but he's fairly well-adjusted for his background.

I'm deeeeead. YES he does give drifter vagabond vibes. 😂 He's not typically this reader's type (something to be explored in the series), but there's just something charming about this guy. Like he's well-groomed but haphazard at the same time. 😂

I'm very intrigued for their date night and what that will bring! Plus I'm so happy I've got someone else to go down the writing Russell rabbit hole with 😂 He's just too intriguing not to want to play with!

Ooh I just finished outlining the first chapter and it's gonna be fun (hopefully). 🤣 And yes me too! I feel the same way, and he was just too interesting NOT to explore. 💕💕

Thanks so much for diving into this -- and the Russell rabbit hole with me.

A Line and a Half

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: When Dory’s eldest brother comes to visit her at Wyoming University, you don’t know quite what to make of Russell Shaw. But he knows exactly what he wants to make of you.

AN: Okay, here’s my first toe-dip into the world of Tracker with Russell Shaw! 1x12 gave me too many ideas not to explore this intriguing character. This is set before episode 12, but I have a little series I want to sketch out that will continue after this one-shot, so think of this as a “Part 1,” if you will. 😉

Word Count: 3.2K

Tags/Warnings: A kind of “meet cute,” attempts at flirting, and hints of setup for more to come…

You watched, silently simmering, as Dr. Goldstein added yet another packet of internship applications from his graduate students onto your desk.

Applicants that he, as the History Department Chairman, was supposed to review himself. Instead, he’d been adding these hours quite literally onto your desk.

“If you could review these for me as well, sweetheart. Thank you,” he said. “Get ‘em back to me by Thursday, okay?”

As a Professor of History with two doctorates in your name, you once again grated internally at sweetheart, but you tried to keep that cringe off your face as well.

Goldstein barely even met your eyes when he dropped off his burden, and then aimed to leave your office.

“Uh, Paul,” you called out, raising a finger. You stood from your desk as quickly as you could in your pencil skirt, but the man was already out the door. You followed him out, your heels clacking on the tile floor.

Damn it. Knew I should’ve gone with pants, you said, continuing to hasten after your boss.

“Paul! Just a second,” you said. That finally managed to turn the man’s head off of his phone. He glanced at you while checking his watch.

“About the internship applications…and your midterm exam essays for that matter. Don’t you think—” you started to say, but the man spoke over you.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to run. Meeting my massage therapist at noon,” he said, and rolled a seemingly stiff shoulder under his tailored blazer. “Something’s just not right here after my trip to Cali last weekend. I don’t know what I did, pulled muscle or something. But hey, they do say parasailing is a sport.”

You quirked a brow. “Do they?”

You weren’t sure that being strapped into a parachute for a nice air glide over the Pacific counted as a sport.

Goldstein shrugged at your question and he kept walking down the hall. Though he turned back to toss you a pointed finger.

“Need those by Thursday. Thanks, you’re the best,” he said.

You watched him go, as proverbial steam began to escape through your ears. Slowly you pivoted on your heels, and you went back to your office. You grimaced at the large stack of applications. You were pretty sure he padded them with an extra section of midterm exams.

Tapping your nails on your desk, you grabbed your phone next to your desktop and checked the time. 11:30 a.m.

Screw it. I’m going to lunch, you thought.

Dory had to be out of her Intro Physics class by now, which meant she’d be in her office, ready for you to drop in on her a little early. You took up your purse and almost made it out the door…but at the last moment, your anal brain made you turn back to grab a shoulder bag and the pile of applications. Maybe you could knock out a few during lunch.

Friggin’ doormat, as your brother would say. Laughing at you, probably.

You rolled your eyes and headed back out the door with your haul of papers, purse, work bag, and keys, locking your office behind you.

Why, oh why did the Sciences building have to be on the other side of campus?

It was damn near a mile walk from your Humanities building over to Dory’s office on the second floor. Your hands were laden with packets that couldn’t be contained by your heavy work bag, your purse was slipping off your shoulder, and these heels were killing your feet.

It was a miracle you and Dory had ever met on this campus. On your first day of teaching, you’d of course been hopelessly lost. Somehow you ended up at the tail-end of one of her classes in one of the science auditoriums.

She’d been gracious enough to help you, and even walked you all the way to the Humanities building so you could find your World History class before the students decided to just get up and leave. (And after fifteen minutes, they very well would.)

That day, she became your first real friend at Wyoming University. In the three years since, she’d become your best friend.

And now, her door was mercifully open halfway. You pushed it open and stumbled just a little from the transition of tile to carpet inside her office. Your papers nearly flew from your hands, so you struggled to right yourself and contain them all back into the semblance of neatness.

“Hey, girl. You better be ready for lunch because Jesus fucking Christ. Goldstein’s up my ass again and all I’ve had today is a crusty donut from the teacher’s lounge, which I’m pretty sure was stale,” you said, with your brows furrowed in frustration.

When you finally looked up from your struggles, you realized that Dory wasn’t alone. She smiled at you in amusement, sitting at her desk beside a man who made you pause. Your eyes widened.

He was leaning casually with an elbow propped up on her desk, dressed in jeans and a worn, pale green jacket—a good match for his eyes. He looked a little rugged for Dory’s tastes, but you couldn’t fault her, with the cut of that bearded jaw, and the smile raising the corners of his lips.

“Hey,” Dory laughed. “I see you’re having a good day.”

You bit your lip in embarrassment, probably smudging your lipstick.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve knocked first,” you said, though you could see she seemed to be having an actual good day. Office picnic? Or maybe the handsome stranger was getting ready to take her out.

Dory just waved you in. She stood and set a hand on her companion’s shoulder, and he got up along with her.

“It’s okay. This is my brother, Russell,” she said, and she introduced you in kind.

“Well, hi there,” he said. He subtly took you in with his eyes as he held out his hand. Already you felt your face heating up with more than just embarrassment.

You were a bit shocked as well, to say the least. Dory had told you some…interesting things about her family, including the fact that she had two older brothers. You wondered which one this was, the middle child, or the eldest.

“Hi! Sorry. Again. Nice to meet you,” you said. You tried to hold your hand out to reach his, but a few papers began to spill out. You clutched at them on reflex, but Russell drew in quickly to help you.

“Got yourself a load there,” he said. You agreed with an awkward laugh and a shrug of your shoulders.

“My boss’s idea of extra credit,” you said wryly.

“You can set it down on that chair over there,” Dory said, pointing to one against the back wall, next to a tall filing cabinet.

You and Russell meandered over and managed to set down the stack without casualty. You were able to pull up the straps of your bag and your purse from falling off your shoulder and give him a grateful look.

“Thanks,” you said.

“No problem,” he said, giving you an easy smile back. “I actually crashed in unannounced, so if you two wanna to head to lunch, you go right ahead.”

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen you in months! You should come with us,” Dory said. She grabbed her purse to join you and Russell by the door.

You raised your hands in placation. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude, especially if it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other. You guys should catch up.”

Dory shook her head and grabbed your hand.

“Uh, uh. I want to hear the latest on Paul’s bullshit, and why you’re carrying half your office across campus. Let’s go,” she said, and gestured at your work bag. “Leave that here. You’re gonna eat and talk to me. No working involved.”

You laughed, but you agreed to her cajoling. With another glance at her brother, and those green eyes that seemed to be dancing, you joined them for lunch.

The three of you ended up at a diner that you and Dory frequented at least once a week. The food was good, the service was quick, and it was close to campus. Wins all around. Russell seemed to be enjoying himself, as he hummed in delight after the very first bite of his Philly cheesesteak.

“Siracha on fries, huh?” you remarked, gesturing at the man’s plate. Your brow was quirked, but he shot you a smile.

“I said avert your eyes,” he teased. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.”

Ugh. Another sweethearting man. You narrowed your own eyes at him a bit. He caught the look and raised a hand in defense (the one that wasn’t holding his cheesesteak).

“Uh oh. What’d I do?” he asked.

“You gave her some PTSD,” Dory said with a laugh. “Dr. Goldstein likes to sugar coat his demands with sexism.”

Russell noted your souring look with apology. You’d just finished recounting your morning for your friend, and recapping years of “sugar-coated demands” for Russell.

“Why don’t you just tell him to cram it up his…uh…” he paused. Seeing his little sister’s look of amusement, he amended. “Or you know, stuff it.”

A smile twitched at your lips. “Oh, believe me, I’d love to tell him to stuff it. But he’s technically my boss, and the department chair. Even though I’ve basically been doing his job for two years now.”

“Well, that sucks,” Russell said. “And I feel for ya. I’ve had my share of shitty bosses in my time.”

You sighed and accepted his commiseration with a nod.

It wasn’t fair, but Goldstein planned to retire early in a few years. Must be nice.

When he did, it would make you the most likely candidate to replace him as department chair. The way you saw it, this was giving you plenty of practice before you (hopefully) inherited the position.

Anyway, you shook your head. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You were more curious about one Russell Shaw. You now knew he was an army vet, and he carried himself like one. Calm, controlled, even though his smiles came easy. His tousled hair and beard, while well-trimmed and neat, still gave him a roguish quality.

“So let me guess. You’re…the eldest?” you asked. You blotted at your mouth with a napkin, having finished your chicken panini.

Russell treated you to another one of those smiles, though this one held a hint of more.

“Guilty. Though I’m the handsome one,” he said with a wink.

You found yourself smiling behind your napkin.

“I’m sure,” you replied.

Dory rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. Apparently my brother’s an incorrigible flirt.”

He chuckled and sipped at his beer, but then he grimaced.

“Ech. Friggin’ weak,” he said. “I brew better than this outta the trunk of my car.”

You raised a brow at that. “You make your own beer?”

“Damn straight,” he said. His gaze turned a hint more playful. “Next time I’ll bring you some. You can tell me what you think.”

You shared a telling look with Dory.

“Next time, huh?” you asked.

“Sure,” he inclined his head. “I pop into town from time to time. Gotta check in and pester my little sister, the physics professor.”

He laid a hand on Dory’s shoulder, squeezing warmly. You could see the pride in his eyes, and it warmed you as well.

She turned to him with a smile, reaching up to cover his hand with hers.

“You don’t pester me. I’d love it if I got to see you more often,” she said.

“Ah, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her. “My job’s got me all over the place. But I’ll be here for a week or so on this gig.”

That intrigued you. “What do you do for work?”

“Ah, well, you could say I'm a contractor. Private security mainly,” said Russell. His shoulders shifted as he became a little more guarded, you noticed. “My company connects me with the client for as long as the job lasts. Could be a few months, sometimes a few days, depending.”

“Oh, wow. Do you live here in Wyoming?” you asked. He paused, but tilted his head a little, back and forth as he considered your question.

“I kinda bounce around,” he said. “Just go from one job to the next. Sounds a bit unorthodox, I know, but it’s a living.”

“Interesting,” you nodded, but inside, you thought that sounded like a hard way to live.

Unstable…and lonely.

“You know, it’s amazing how much you and Colter have in common,” Dory said. She folded her hands on the table and met her brother with a pointed look.

He huffed in response, though he glanced at you, then back at his sister. As if he was saying, You really want to do this now?

Dory had told you before that Colter was a “rewardist,” or some kind of bounty hunter. The nature of his work kept him busy, and seemingly too busy for his sister. But you also sensed there was an edgier history here.

For the first time, you felt like you were intruding in a moment between brother and sister that went beyond words.

After a moment, Russell shook his head.

“Look, I tried with him, all right? He won’t talk to me,” he said. He went back to eating, polishing off his fries. He offered you one that was half-smothered in siracha.

“Come on. Live on the edge with me,” he teased.

You eyed the sauce-covered fry in distaste, but after glancing up at his more playful smile, you accepted his offer. You chewed in contemplation, and found that the tangy hint of kick wasn’t so bad.

“Eh? Eeeh? Delicious, am I right?” he said, his hands going wide.

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded in agreement.

“It’s all right,” you replied.

“Yes!” Russell’s hands swept up higher, like he was celebrating a touchdown. "See, I told ya."

You couldn’t help but laugh. Dory shook her head fondly and gave him a clean napkin for the bit of schmutz she spotted at the corner of his mouth.

“Here, wipe your siracha face.”

“You really don’t have to,” you said, as Russell helped you gathered your stack of papers and slung your work bag over his shoulder.

“No, no. I’m a bonafide gentleman. Ain’t that right, D?” he asked his sister. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, but she did give you a knowing smile.

“Oh, his intentions are pure,” she said.

And by that, you both understood her meaning. His intentions couldn’t be any clearer than a mallet over the head, but you kind of found it endearing.

This man really carried your stuff from the Sciences building across the entire campus to your office. All the while, he asked you about how you and Dory met, the kinds of things you two did together, and if you thought she was happy working here.

You had a feeling he was trying to learn more about his sister’s life. On one hand, it was rather sweet. On the other, it made you realize that there was distance in this family, both literal and figurative. You were glad to hear that Russell, at least, was trying to bridge that gap with his sister. Dory deserved to have more of that in her life.

As you explained to Russell while you led him down the hall to your office, your friendship with her had just…clicked. From the very beginning.

“Dory, you know. She’s more than kind,” you said. “She’s a real one. I can rely on her, even when I can’t rely on my own family.”

Russell hummed at that. “That sounds like a story.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing away for a moment. You smiled and met his gaze once more. “Maybe one for another time.”

“So you’re on board with a ‘next time.’ Good to know,” Russell remarked. Your smile deepened.

It was good timing when you two finally reached your office. You unlocked it and let him inside, so he could set down your bag, and the god-forsaken stack of internship applications back onto your desk. You’d probably be stuck here working late on those.

“Well, thank you so much. You really didn’t have to schlep for me,” you said.

When you turned, Russell was a bit close. Not uncomfortably so, but enough to make a trill of something zip up your spine. You smelled more intensely his cologne, woodsy and warm. Looking up at him, you once again found his smile.

“It’s no problem,” he said, but his eyes met yours for a moment, as if he lost his train of thought.

“What?” you asked, a bit nervous.

“Anybody ever tell you, you got soulful eyes?” he asked.

It took your brain a second or two to compute, but when his words registered, you had to laugh. You held it behind your hand, while the other went to steady yourself on your desk.

“Well, that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” you said, shading your “soulful” eyes with a hand.

You didn’t know it, but Russell’s face warmed in slight embarrassment. He recovered though, taking in your pretty laugh, and the shade of your hair, let loose around your shoulders, and yes, your eyes, when you let him see them again.

If he hadn’t known before, now he was convinced.

He wanted to see more of you before he left town.

“Hey, now that was 100% genuine,” Russell said, but his grin spoke volumes. When your mirth died down, he scratched the back of his head.

“Okay, cards on the table. Would you be interested in grabbing a drink with me sometime?” he asked.

You took in a breath at that. You actually did consider his offer, because homebrew and siracha fries be damned, there was something more to him. It was lying in wait, behind those eyes that were drawing you in.

However, this was also a man whose job basically made him a nomad. It didn’t exactly scream relationship material.

Which only left the alternative: something…casual.

You just didn’t know if that alternative was such a good idea. Not with your best friend’s brother.

“Just a drink. No frills, no more grilling you about my sister,” Russell said, breaking you from your deliberation. He gestured a hand between the two of you. “Just this. You and me.”

Eventually, you sighed. Your lips raised into a more genuine smile.

“Sometime, huh?” you asked.

He smiled back. “Tonight?”

You hesitated, but despite your better judgment, you nodded before you could change your mind. You still weren’t sure what to make of this guy, but you were willing to find out.

“Sure,” you said. “Howley’s at eight?”

“Well, all right,” Russell said.

He surprised you by sweeping up your hand into his. You looked up at him, curious, but not wary. Anticipation tingled down your spine.

He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. Soft shock made your eyes widen as you blushed, feeling the subtle graze of his beard against your skin.

Who is this guy, Cary Grant? you thought.

But when he pulled away, you had to remind yourself to breathe. Again, you caught sight of his cheeky grin.

“See you tonight,” he said.

AN: He is beauty he is grace, he is Mr. Siracha Face. 😆

Let me know if you guys liked this! 💜 It's my first time writing a character based solely on one episode, but I'm already sketching out my outline for the little series that will continue this one-shot, tentatively titled "Every Second Counts."

Stay tuned! 😘

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #a line and a half feedback #lovely review!

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utilitycaster · 2 years ago

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I think of this tweet when I think of the Mighty Nein:

If you are not familiar with Everything Everywhere All At Once, it's...quite a lot to describe, but in the real world, these two people are married, with a modest and at times frustrating life, and Evelyn (Michelle Yeoh) in particular feels she's something of a failure, and is often frustrated with her optimistic husband, Waymond (Ke Huy Quan). The movie explores alternate universes, and these images are from one in which they never married and emigrated to the United States and opened up a laundromat, but instead, she became a martial arts action movie star, and he became a wealthy businessman. They reconnect at her film premier and discuss their regrets, but when she turns him down again, he tells her "So, even though you have broken my heart yet again, I wanted to say, in another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you."

In other words, that tweet misses the point to an extent that is almost difficult to believe...and so to I feel does the belief that the Mighty Nein should have become more famous, or that their story now isn't a happy one.

The Mighty Nein are unique among the parties in that they are all, relatively speaking, young, and profoundly mortal. There's no Keyleth, or Laudna, or Fearne, or FCG here. Of the PCs, Caduceus is the only one who will see past 200, and he's by design steeped in the concept of mortality. They get this life and that's it.

So yes, Beau is having some bumps in the road adjusting to her first real job. Veth is anxious about starting a new business venture, and much of her late campaign arc was about her worries about the drastic changes she'd led her family into. Fjord and Jester don't know how to react to having a home of their own, even a tiny one. Caleb is dealing with the achingly slow bureaucracies of academia. And Fjord, Jester, and Caleb (and, offscreen, Essek) are all tentatively navigating their first or one of their first romantic relationships as an adult. And it's rocky, and weird, and full of banalities and nosy neighbors and smart-mouthed crew members and irritated tenured professors and demanding librarians.

And laundry, and taxes.

It's real in a way the glittery fame isn't, and despite it all, they're happier for it.

#i realized while writing this the beer i'm drinking is uh. almost 34 proof. which explains the shrimp emotions i'm experiencing #hopefully it makes sense #critical role #critical role spoilers #mighty nein

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fandom · 2 years ago

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We don't know why Dolly Parton first started trending either.

Fans of Abbot Elementary and Everything Everywhere All at Once were thrilled that their favorites walked away with Golden Globes and were particularly touched by Michelle Yeoh and Ke Huy Quan's acceptance speeches. Velma, the new HBO Max adult Scooby-Doo series that does not actually feature Scooby-Doo, has triggered a lot of discussion. Archive of Our Own went down for several hours for server maintenance and no one handled it calmly. Disney+'s Willow series wrapped up and fans are already clamoring for a second season. Finally, the Boku no Hero Academia fandom wished Todoroki Shouto a happy birthday. This is Tumblr's Week in Review.

Puss In Boots: The Last Wish

The 80th Golden Globe Awards

Velma

Archive of Our Own

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Genshin Impact

Artists on Tumblr

Pokémon

Critical Role

Abbott Elementary

Stranger Things

Dimension 20: Neverafter

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery

Boku no Hero Academia

Michelle Yeoh

Cottagecore

Willow

Dolly Parton

Eddie Munson | Stranger Things

#week in review #01/16/2023 #michelle yeoh #golden globes

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keepthisholykiss · 2 days ago

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I am procrastinating working on this book chapter so instead I want to tell you all that Zotero is literally the best research assistant tool I have ever used. I did not come upon it until last year, far after I had finished my master's degree, but holy shit it would have saved my ass. It's open-source, free, and it can often import a ton of data without you doing anything. It is the perfect tool if you need to cite a bunch of different sources (especially from different formats) and have trouble keeping your resources and notes straight. I have not even fully scratched the surface of its capabilities but if you are at any level of citation/sourcing need I think its worth checking out!

#research #writing tools #zotero #michelle does academia

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reptiles-of-the-mind · 1 year ago

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thank youuu so much!!

nickname: Tiny Angry Lesbian (im really not angry at all but that's how my tall friend sees me 😭)

Zodiac sign: Aquarius (it does fit me extremely and chillingly well but I don't believe in it)

Height: 5'4 (PREV OMG YOU'RE TALLLL)

Last thing I googled: Michele Leggott (SHE'S SUCH A GOOD POET OMFG HER POEMS ARE INSANELY BEAUTIFUL QND SHE'S SO INCREDIBLE PLS READ HER WORK)

Amount of sleep: Almost 10 hours, I'm a sleepy boy ok

Dream job: Artist and poet with a chill retail job on the side

Movie/book that describes me the most: Orlando by Virginia Woolf, I cannot tell you how much I adore this book on a spiritual and astrophysical level

Favourite song: Of all time— Oceanic Feeling by Lorde; at the moment— Naked Cousin by PJ Harvey

Favourite instrument: I'm a percussionist and my absolute fave to play is the bass drum, it's sooo fun to take a bit of a run-up and just absolutely whack it

Favourite aesthetics: Anything academia, art hoe, hopepunk— do art movements count? i think they do soo Romanticism, Art Nouveau, Renaissance, Pre-Raphaelite, Impressionism, Dada <3

Favourite author: honestly probably Michele Leggott, also Virginia Woolf

Random fun fact: errmm my poem won second place in my school's poetry competition and my drawing won a prize in the art comp too <3

@sexuallyvague @overthinksinbisexual @troglobite @joe-bidens-big-naturals @godofautism @sleepymooshroomz and anyone else who wants to!!

hehehe starting another tag gamee

nickname : irl i dont rlly have one?? also dont think i have one here??

zodiac sign : cancer <33

height : 5'6 (168cm maybe??)

last thing I googled: the road toll from where we stayed at the beach to home

amount of sleep: bro like 6 then i was up for a few hours then 2 more

dream job: upper high/uni teacher (specifically english and humanities) but if not idk i just wanna sit in my room with my silly little guys

movie/book that describes me the most: movie would probably be ladybird it makes me so fdahfdhalk

favorite song: atm gibson girl by ethel cain (been listening to her album recently fdhlhfald)

favorite instrument: to listen to, i lovee the sound of orchestral string instruments in pop/modern songs. to play would be drumkit or guitar

favorite aesthetics: omggg so many but i love downtown girl/rockstar girlfriend (even tho i AM the rockstar and the girlfriend ehehe)

favorite author: as of now octavia e. butler

random fun fact: my favourite potato chip flavour is sea salt and balsamic vinegar

npt <3 @zzzzzzzzzee @dandelions-fly-in-summer-skies @literatureisdying @tellme-o-muse @recklessandyoung @holdmyteaplease @strawberryloveyyy @syzygy-yzygy @svnflowermoon @ineedibuprofen @august-taylors-version @a-portal-to-nowhere @qwerty-keysmash @judeisthedude @wastedonthesebutterflies @skeelly @trying-to-be-cool-abt-it @bookscorpion73 @mandythedino @personifiedgoldenretriever @notatypicalhumanatall @isitoversnowtvs @stopurlosingme @evermore-4-life @evazlana @giveuthemo0n and anyone else that wants to join <33

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fatehbaz · 2 years ago

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KN [Katie Natanel]: [...] I think what is sitting in my heart at this moment is how to hold this together: a will to do things otherwise and build things elsewhere, in ways that keep sight of power - and yet refuse it as totalising. This might be what María Lugones meant when she challenged us to work beyond “the logic of power” in her theorisation of/toward decolonial feminism. [...] What Lugones proposes (insists!) is not an abstract theoretical musing, something to be puzzled out by refracting ideas through frameworks. Rather, it is something to be done - a practice that we envision and embody because we must. [...]

KH [Kanwal Hameed]: [...] We are also drawing on a longer history of thinking about radical pedagogy ([...] Freire, Boal and more - including many unpublished practitioners). [...] [S]ituated as we are within colonial extractive institutions, what is our relation to knowledge? We can think with Michel-Rolph Trouillot about how this relationship - which is invested with power - is obscured, as knowledge travels, enters, and circulates within institutions [...]. How do we make choices about what we share? As we move through the business of knowledge production, do we ask ourselves: who needs to know this, and why? Trouillot says, “the ultimate mark of power may be its invisibility; the ultimate challenge, the exposition of its roots.” How can we keep the roots of meta-structures of domination and extraction clear and visible to ourselves, and at the same time work, as Chandra Mohanty says, as “insurgent” communities within our institutions? How can we develop working practices which honour the engagements we have with the peoples, lives, histories, ideas that we work with?

KN: Yes, we are coming to a shared concern: what does it mean to work “beyond the logic of power” and build “insurgent communities” within extractive institutions? What does that require of us? In other spaces and times, I’ve named academia and Higher Education as explicitly neoliberal, shaped by capitalist ideals to the extent that (successful) teaching and learning yields subjects who reproduce the prevailing order and the violence that sustains it. I know that among us, we follow Paulo Freire [...] in refusing that logic, and instead insist that education can be otherwise - that knowledge cultivation and sharing can move us toward “critical consciousness” (conscientização) and practices of freedom. [...]

---

KN: So the question is definitely one of method - how exactly do we work in these ways [...]? In The Undercommons, Stefano Harney and Fred Moten catch us with this claim: “THE ONLY POSSIBLE RELATIONSHIP TO THE UNIVERSITY IS A CRIMINAL ONE.” [...] Instead, Harney and Moten invite us into fugitivity:

[I]t cannot be denied that the university is a place of refuge, and it cannot be accepted that the university is a place of enlightenment. In the face of these conditions one can only sneak into the university and steal what one can. To abuse its hospitality, to spite its mission, to join its refugee colony, [...] to be in but not of - this is the path of the subversive intellectual in the modern university.

“To be in but not of.” This is to accept that our labour might be captured or extracted (even willingly) by the institution - that we might “be beneficial to capital” - but to do our work beneath the surface, refusing to serve its logics by “disappear[ing] into the underground.” This is a space/time of the future, where we are learning, building, nourishing, creating, and preparing for a new order. [...]

---

KH: [...] Through them, I am also asking: can we meet each other in other ways? At a morning MA seminar [on Palestine] [...], I began our session with a quick warm up game taken from the methods of Augusto Boal [...]. It encouraged members of the class to look at one another, and to lead by paying attention to and reading non-verbal cues. At the same time, it occurred to me that the exchange was still being shaped by other power dynamics, including race, physical appearance and clothing, and dis/ability. For a myriad of reasons, people don’t necessarily always want to be seen, or known. [...] This approach to learning involves grappling with discomfort and learning to de-centre. Teaching students to de-centre themselves - by asking who is known? who is know-ing? who is know-er? [...]

---

KN: These are worlds we can build and inhabit - they hold what was, what is, and what will be. They are spaces of secrecy, criminality and solidarity, revolt, retreat, and release. They are sites of study and strategy, offering care, love, nourishment, and pleasure. These fugitive worlds are where we meet and dream together - where we hold each other up when the doing feels too much, where we take turns carrying the weight. They are not ephemeral, but rising and receding according to our needs and careful judgement/s of the moment. We can be there learning, agitating, disrupting, growing, and laughing - and at the same time here, rising to the surface to steal what we can.

I am starting to understand how we might create these worlds with people we meet through the extractive institutions we work in (but are not of) - on picket lines [...], in classrooms and hallways, at protests and workshops - in time that may be “stolen” by virtue of the systems and norms that define criminality, but in truth is reclaimed, re-purposed, and re-valued. Finding our communities can be an act of recognition, seeing/hearing/feeling/sensing yourself in another (even if a fleeting glimpse) or something more radical: recognising “[…] that this shit is killing you, too, however much more softly.” I think this is partly what leads us toward decolonial and anticolonial feminist praxis, pedagogies, and thought: the belief that when we work in antithetical ways we are also in motion toward each other.

---

All text above, the words of: Katie Natanel, Kanwal Hameed, and Amal Khalaf. “Toward a Liberation Pedagogy.” Kohl. Volume 9 Number 1. Special Issue: Anticolonial Feminist Imaginaries. Winter 2023. Published at: kohljournal dot press slash toward-liberation-pedagogy Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

#abolition #ecology #pedagogy #academia #multispecies #indigenous #carceral #ecologies #pedagogies #black methodologies #fred moten #geographic imaginaries #fugitivity #indigenous pedagogies #achille mbembe #katherine mckittrick #kathryn yusoff

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leiakenobi · 3 years ago

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A Very Lovely Woman

Fandom: Scenes From a Marriage (2021) Pairing: Jonathan/F!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 8.3k Summary: When you return to campus after a number of years to talk to the current grad students in your old department, you end up reconnecting with an old professor. Warnings: Light smut (protected p in v) so 18+ only pls. Also warnings for angst and pontificating about Michel Foucault. A/N: While she was reading this fic, @marvelousmermaid said, “I want to take you out for a drink.. you need it,” so y’know. Maybe gird your loins.

Cross-posted to AO3 here!

——

Jonathan reenters your life with no particular fanfare, save for the fact that he steps into the room late—nearly 15 minutes after you’ve begun your career talk with the department that you used to call home.

He makes as little of his own arrival as possible, easing the door shut until it makes only the slightest click in the jamb, and he’s quick to grab the first open seat that he can reach. Hardly anyone seems fazed by the entrance.

But just for a moment, your eyes linger. And when he meets your gaze, he smiles.

When your advisor called you a few months ago and explained that the school has been encouraging departments to bring back alumni to tell current students about possible applications for their degrees, you were skeptical at first… Not least of which because, quite frankly, you haven’t really done much with yours. Few people know that as well as your advisor, with whom you’ve maintained a reasonable amount of contact since graduating.

And you’ve leaned on him more than once when feeling self-conscious about the fact that your degree is little more than a piece of paper.

“I think the students deserve to learn that that’s not failure,” he’d said gently.

You didn’t say yes right away.

But you said yes.

It’s not until now, as you’re back on campus, that you really start to believe in the utility of your presence, because more than one student listens to you with an expression of earnest relief. They ask questions and you are honest about the job market in a way that you don’t trust the faculty to be, not really. No matter how well-intentioned their optimism.

And hey. You were told to be honest.

You allow yourself precisely three glances at Jonathan after that first look, and each time, you become increasingly certain that he’s delighted by that honesty. Because perhaps he just sits with his elbow on his desk and his chin in his hand, but there’s a pleased sort of quirk to his lips, and it’s bigger each time.

Say more, that smirk seems to beg of you.

No, not seems—it does beg of you. It’s the same expression he wore in seminars so spectacularly often, although what you always strove for was a smile with teeth. Those were rare.

He gave you those true smiles most often during office hours, and when you met with him alone for final papers, and you felt a rush each time.

You feel a rush now, until you tell yourself that you will not look anymore.

It’s easy enough, because again: you’re there for the students, so connecting with them is your top priority. Both from the front of the room and in one-on-one conversation afterward, as many folks loiter in the classroom and spill out into the hall.

Just because the students are your priority, though…

There’s a nonchalance and a certainty with which he eventually enters into conversation, nearly twenty minutes after your talkends and you start getting name after name and story after story thrown at you by the students who, again. Are so remarkablyrelieved to hear from you.

“I’m glad to see the two of you connecting,” Jonathan says, about you and a young man named Andrew who’s only a semester away from facing the real world. “Drew and I have been talking a lot about alternative career paths now that he’s decided the world of academia isn’t for him, and it’s reminded me a lot of more than one conversation you and I had, back in the day.”

Drew looks between you and Jonathan in surprise and delight. “Were you one of Jonathan’s students?”

“Oh, no, he wasn’t tenured in time for that,” you answer, pursing your lips to hold back a smirk. It’s more difficult when you see the way he rolls his eyes. “But he put up with me for a few seminars and agreed to sit on my diss committee for some reason, too.”

“For some reason…” Jonathan echoes. “Drew, do you want to remind our guest about my rule about self-deprecation?”

“Don’t fuckin’ do it.” Drew recounts the mantra with the fatigue of someone who would very much like to employ the occasional self-deprecation, thank you very much, but he also offers you a smile that reaffirms what you already know to be true: he appreciates Jonathan for keeping him on the right track.

You laugh softly and amend, “I guess I was alright.”

Evidently still too self-deprecating, because Jonathan rolls his eyes once again. “You were a very lovely woman. I imagine you still are, even if you haven’t really kept me in the loop.”

And you don’t think he means anything by it, not really, but the statement makes your breath catch in your throat because like most of the faculty, he told you he’d like updates on your life, if you chose to share with him. Unlike most of the faculty, you wanted to share with him.

But whenever you went to fire off an email, or a text, it had always felt strange. No matter how good your rapport, your conversations had always fundamentally been about work—yours or his or both. You’d struggled to imagine what a friendship between you could feasibly look like.

Now, he looks at you with so much warmth and no resentment and you wish you’d tried.

You also feel abruptly self-conscious as you realize just how drastically his arrival has shifted the tone of the conversation; how quickly you forgot about the student who’s still standing there.

“What about Andrew?” you ask, turning to look his way as you invoke him. “Is he a joy to have in class?”

It’s a small, nearly useless sort of joke, but it does its job: you are no longer the topic of conversation. Your history with Jonathan is no longer the topic of conversation.

Just because you’re not talking about it, though, doesn’t mean you’ve cast thoughts of it aside. How could you, when you find yourself wondering for the first time in years what your history with Jonathan even is?

“Shit,” Drew blurts ten minutes later when his eyes settle on the clock over your shoulder. “I gotta run or I’ll have to wait an hour for the next bus.”

He double-checks that he’s got your correct email so that he can stay in touch for any follow-up questions, and then in a flurry, you and Jonathan are left all alone, all other attendees of your talk long-since gone.

Jonathan’s gaze falls upon you, into you, rendering you seen in a way that leaves you temporarily speechless. (Just as it used to.) “Do you have anywhere to be, or would you maybe have time for a drink? To get me back in the loop.”

Your initial plan for the evening was, in fact, to get dinner and drinks with your advisor, but he’d had to bail last-minute to help his daughter through some sort of crisis. So the night does stretch before you, entirely free. But Jonathan has left copious room to turn the invitation down, and you consider it, for just an instant.

“A drink would be nice.”

----

You remembered the way you always longed to impress Jonathan enough to make him smile over your work, or your contributions in class, but you forgot how much it meant to make him laugh.

Because you sit down with your first drinks at the small brewery near campus, and you tell him about your few years of wandering aimlessly through the workforce before finding the place that worked best for you. About concluding that it wasn’t a dream job, but perhaps there’s no such thing as a job that truly won’t disappoint you.

He laughs and grimaces in turn through the ups and downs of your story, kind-hearted and affectionate and oh is it contagious. You suspect it’s the surprise that always seems to make his features ignite with pleasure—it creates sparks, sparks that stir something in you.

It’s after one of those laughs that he leans his elbow on the bar, digging the heel of his hand into his temple. A softer smile lingers, even though the laughter fades. “I remember teaching was still your dream job when you first got here.”

Although you know he must not intend it to, this particular bout of nostalgia hurts. Those aspirations feel like a lifetime ago, but yes, you remember too: you remember getting assigned to TA for one of Jonathan’s classes that first semester, and you remember the eagerness with which he actually put you in front of the classroom.

Not all the faculty will give their TAs class sessions, the older students had warned you. They might just want you to grade, but definitely ask them if you can teach.

But Jonathan didn’t even have to be convinced; he offered.

“Luckily I figured out pretty quickly that teaching wasn’t for me.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Which is a shame.”

“Why’s that?”

“In case you haven’t noticed…” Jonathan leans a little closer and raises his eyebrows, suddenly conspiratorial. “A lot of professors aren’t really made for teaching. I’m not, honestly. And that’s not me being self-deprecating!” he laughs, pointing at you to cut you off before you can dare to suggest as much. “I got into this for research. I’ve tried to learn a little bit about pedagogy over the years, but I’m not going to win any teaching awards any time soon and I don’t deserve to. But you…”

Jonathan pauses to take another drink of his beer, and the anticipation stretches before you, unending.

“You were always great at the front of the class. You knew the right questions to ask and you let silence hang over the room better than almost anyone in the department. It was like a superpower.”

Back when you were here, Jonathan had been complimentary of your teaching, but he’d never said anything so effusive. Try as you might, though, you struggle to even imagine how you could thank him for such a sentiment.

So instead of thanking him, you also settle your elbow on the bar and lean in. “So I’m wasting my superpower?”

“I never said it was your only superpower.”

----

During your last year in the program, your advisor received an endowed professorship—a fancy title that serves little purpose outside of the bureaucracy of academia. But he was celebrated at a small, fancy ceremony, and an even smaller, fancier dinner. You and his other advisee at the time were the only students invited.

That was the first time you let yourself get tipsy in front of any members of the faculty. You’d already defended your dissertation, were as close as could be to existing beside them as equals…

It’s uncanny, how much this feels like that evening. Because on that evening, too, Jonathan held your gaze with a peculiar sort of tenderness, arguing in favor of Lacan (fucking hell, please no, you’d groaned) for so long that it felt as though it was more for the sake of prolonging the argument than anything else.

Well, it’s Foucault this time. A more complex sort of argument than in favor versus opposed, but no less vigorous.

All those years ago, it was your advisor who wrenched you toward truth when he pulled his chair up beside Jonathan and clapped his hand on his shoulder. “It’s a shame Mira couldn’t make it tonight.”

But this time it’s Jonathan that knocks the wind out of you.

“I might be up for one more drink, but I should check in with Mira first.”

You think you could count on your fingers the number of times he’s said her name to you. You think that’s lower than it should be. You’ve always thought it had to be low.

And just as on that other tipsy night, meant to be warm and bubbly and bright, you tell yourself that you think nothing about the fact that he keeps that part of himself out of your conversations.

“Please do.”

Jonathan pockets his phone as soon as he gets the approval, triggering that near-breathtaking switch whereby his attention is suddenly fixed entirely upon you. “Alright, I think we’d just landed on… repression, isn’t that right?”

You nod and you think, carefully, because the words you want to say feel so very delicate. “Maybe it’s because of the shitty things about academia that I felt like I still couldn’t say to those kids, but I guess I’m just thinking a lot about how loud silence can be. And the types of power that silence upholds.”

“Sure.” Jonathan also gives this a beat of silence, allowing the words to sink in. “Obviously it’ll always benefit the people and institutions in power the most, but I will say I’ve always felt like Foucault should have been more realistic about the fact that it can genuinely protect the people without power, too.”

If you weren’t tipsy, you’re not sure whether you’d have been able to say what comes out of your mouth next. “Maybe so, but trust me, Jonathan—it wasn’t the students I was protecting when I pulled a few punches this afternoon.”

He gives you a smile—one with teeth. “Touché.”

----

You remember well when Jonathan first gave you his phone number—you’d taken on the task of picking up a visiting scholar from the airport, and Jonathan, chair of the lecture committee at the time, wanted you to be able to call him if anything went awry.

(Good thing he did, because the visitor’s plane was nearly an hour late and she hadn’t been able to get in touch with anyone in the department to let them know.)

Again, though: you haven’t used it since graduating. Not once.

“Do you still have my number?” he asks as you step outside together so he can see you to your Uber. When you nod, he smiles kindly. “You should use it sometime. If you want.”

“I suppose I do still have to explain all the other reasons you’re wrong about Foucault and power.” You start grinning, wide, at the way he throws his head back and laughs. “Maybe pull out some actual citations next time.”

He murmurs, “I look forward to it,” leaning in at the same moment to press a whisper of a kiss to your cheek. Even though his lips just glance over your cheekbone, it’s enough that his beard scrapes at your skin, making your heart pound just a little too hard while you tell yourself it’s nothing. It feels tender and warm and all you really need do is turn your head just so--

“Thank Mira for me. For letting you out for the evening,” you say instead.

For the entire car ride home, you tell yourself – insist to yourself – that your request didn’t stupefy Jonathan, freezing his smile in place until your driver arrived. Because if it was even remotely a shock to him for you to refer to his wife, you shouldn’t call.

But when Jonathan hears from you again a little under a month later, you’d be lying to yourself if you said that you’re convinced.

----

You don’t see him often, but you see him some. Just the occasional lunch, or coffee. Drinks don’t happen again, not for a long time.

(Certainly not because of the way he pressed his mouth to your cheek and then stared at you like you’d slapped him just because you said Mira’s name.)

There are also the texts, though, sporadic at first with the occasional link to an article or question about a new movie or television show that’s just surfaced in the public consciousness. Nothing that’s really meant to provoke a long dialogue. But the more you see him – the more you reconnect – the more frequent your texting becomes.

Never heavy subjects.

But oh, the two of you manage to make most little things into a drawn-out discourse anyway.

You’re taken aback when you suddenly realize that you hear from Jonathan more frequently than you hear from your advisor. And then from plenty of your friends, besides.

Even so, it feels strange to imagine calling him a friend too.

Would he call you a friend? When so much of his world is conspicuously absent from your conversations. (An increasingly conspicuous sort of absent.) Not just because Mira, but also--

“It was Ava’s birthday yesterday,” he tells you one afternoon.

You’re halfway through lunch and it comes almost out of nowhere, and it takes you more than a few seconds to even place who Ava is because the last time you heard her name was when you were still a student.

“Was it really?” And you have a few friends who are parents, so you know all of the right questions to ask and you feel mostly equipped to ask them, but it’s… Here you are, trying to pretend that you’re not struggling to figure out what to make of him mentioning his daughter.

(Ostensibly, there’s nothing to it.)

He nods slowly. “Mhm. She’s been all about space recently, and I can’t even tell you how long I spent researching the right presents. Things were so much easier when she was young enough that we could steer her toward interests that we already knew and understood.”

“You say that like you don’t love researching,” you point out with a smirk. Jonathan rolls his eyes bashfully, his gaze falling toward his food as you add, “I was going to say, though, she must be getting so big. I only ever saw her when you brought her to the department picnic right after she was born.”

Jonathan’s mouth drops open in surprise, though it doesn’t feel anywhere near as weighted as the way you stunned him the first night. Even so… He looks strangely sad as he murmurs, “I remember that. It was the only actual outing we really had for a long time.”

Perhaps it’s his inflection, or the sad look in his eye, but you feel the burden of something else, something that’s making Jonathan ache over the simple act of bringing his daughter to a department event. But you’ve got no idea what, and you know with absolute certainty that you can’t ask.

Not because you feel it would be rude… (And it probably would be rude.) You just can’t shake the feeling that he would tell you the answer.

You’re not sure if you want to hear it.

But Ava is fair game in conversation after that. And he does talk about her—not often, but some.

----

It’s fairly late one evening when you send Jonathan a link to an article that made you think of him—nearly late enough that you hold off on sending it until the next morning. Instead, you include an apology: hope this doesn’t wake you up.

You don’t wake him up. Instead, he responds almost at once with, Don’t worry, I was struck by a bout of insomnia anyway.

Should that be all there is to it?

Part of you says yes.

That’s not the part of you that feels just a little bit too pleased when he follows up a few minutes later, commenting on the details of the article already. And there, as an addendum, he thanks you. I think I’d have been stuck in a cycle of playing Scrabble against myself for at least another hour if you hadn’t sent me this, he says.

Now you know more definitively: you should say you’re welcome and wish him a goodnight.

Instead you ask, Is Words with Friends still a thing? Knowing very well that it is.

Time slips away quickly after that. First because the two of you start playing, and go back and forth with such rapidity that you move from the first game to the next faster than you’ve ever progressed through a game of Scrabble before, but then because you make a move and, seconds later, your phone rings.

“‘Chutzpah’? Really?”

His voice is low and creaky, and while it might convey some ire over your good play, you don’t think you’re reading into it by hearing some affection there, too. You also can’t help the affection that shines through in your own reply: “Says the one who managed to hoard the Q, U, and X necessary to make ‘quixotic’ over a triple word score.”

“Right, but that was helping me toward a win. Nothing objectionable about that.”

“You’re such an ass,” you mutter. As you say this, his next play comes through, only making you more exasperated. “An ass who just reused that damn X to make ‘jukebox’ too? Why did I think this would be a good idea?”

Jonathan chuckles. “Beats me.”

You stay on the line for a long, long time, even though neither of you talk much as you play. As you finally drift off around 3 AM, you get the sense that it’s worse that you didn’t talk than it would have been if you did. Something about the different weight of companionship that you found in that silence.

In the moment, holding your pillow tight at 3 in the morning, you lack the heart to feel shame for that companionship.

----

You have a half-day at work, and your advisor has the afternoon free of classes, so you meet him at the coffee shop right near campus for one of your sporadic catch-ups. It’s friendly and pleasant and you’re genuinely not thinking of Jonathan until he steps through the door, at which point you abruptly remember that right near campus means convenient for the whole department—not just your advisor.

And it would be an exaggeration, to say that you feel shame when your advisor spots Jonathan and beckons him over.

But you haven’t bothered to share with your advisor that you and Jonathan reconnected when you gave your talk to the department, and it’d be difficult to claim that it wasn’t at least a little bit on purpose as you see him realizing it, when Jonathan thanks you for the book you lent him the last time you got together.

Looking between you two, he knows.

What it is that he knows, you’re not sure you could say.

“It’s a shame about Mira,” he says, after Jonathan has smiled and waved and gone on his way.

You’re so taken aback that you don’t even try to conceal your surprise. “What about Mira?”

“Oh.” You’ve known your advisor for years and years, so you’re intimately familiar with the expression he wears when he’s struggling to work out a puzzle. But you’ve never been the puzzle before, or at least part of it. You can’t say you like it. “She left. At least two months ago, now.”

You hum softly. “I didn’t know.” Then, belatedly and with less feeling than you’d like to be able to muster: “That’s really sad.”

----

So here’s the thing.

It’s never occurred to you--

That is to say, you haven’t even allowed yourself to imagine--

You’d assumed that, in the grand scheme of things, Jonathan was happy. You received each lingering look, each late-night text, and each comment that even vaguely read as flirting, and you let them fade away because none of that mattered. You wouldn’t let it matter, not when you’ve cherished his friendship more with each passing moment and you’ve felt him cherishing it, too.

Does it matter now? When he didn’t even tell you that Mira left, even though you’ve seen and spoken with him a few times over the past month.

Rather than wrestling with the question in any real depth, you text him, I hope you’re doing alright.

You send it the next day, as though somehow it won’t implicate your advisor as the person who spilled the beans, but when Jonathan answers a short while later, he doesn’t even feign obliviousness. That man can’t keep any secrets, can he?

It’s quite some time before you reply, and not for lack of trying. Just… You find yourself typing and deleting the same response over and over again: I think he figured I already knew. The truth of it is clear – he wouldn’t see Jonathan’s family fracturing as his gossip to share – but what that truth means… Well, that’s been nagging at you for the past day, in among everything else that’s on your mind.

I think he just trusts me, you tell Jonathan at last.

Jonathan doesn’t answer for a long, long time.

I understand the inclination. Then, in close succession: I am doing alright. Mostly just don’t know what to do with myself when she has Ava.

Let me know if you ever need a distraction?

Will do.

----

Does it matter now?

As he texts you over the following weeks, making you smile and laugh and making your pulse race, you think the answer is yes.

----

“Is that offer for distraction still on the table?”

You are abruptly glad for the fact that he can’t see you in this moment, because your jaw drops as you glance around your kitchen, almost delirious in your surprise. There’s hardly even been build-up in the conversation; just the pleasantries and a quick little here’s what I’ve been up to from you both.

Now this, leaving you to wonder precisely what it means.

“Why, what’s up?”

“Ava’s been missing her mom a lot on the weekdays versus weekends schedule, so we’re switching it up and trying a week at a time with each of us. Tomorrow is the first Sunday that Mira won’t be dropping her off and I’m already feeling shitty about it.”

Honestly, you can hear it—the defeat and disappointment in his voice.

So you say, “You’re welcome to come over for dinner tomorrow. Would that be enough of a distraction?”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to go to unnecessary trouble,” he rushes to say.

But you, in turn, are talking over him before he’s quite finished. “It’s no trouble at all, honestly. Besides, it’s been a while since we actually got to hang out.”

“Yeah, it has,” Jonathan agrees softly. “Well, if you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.”

“Then dinner sounds perfect.”

----

Jonathan steps into your apartment, and you think it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him looking even remotely out of his element. At school, or out in public, he’s always carried himself with such certainty. Not an imposing presence, precisely – and you’ve encountered plenty of men in academia who work very hard to be imposing – but he appears, at all times, to be completely self-possessed.

Right now, though, you’d almost dare to call him flustered.

Which isn’t to say…

It’s supposed to just be dinner, and you believe wholeheartedly that you both go into the evening with those expectations. From the way he seems to be quite pointedly standing with a respectful amount of distance between you as you finish things up in the kitchen before eating, and from his earnest attempt to carry on light-hearted conversation about his upcoming week of classes.

Yes, you think he’s genuinely just lost over not being in his daughter’s company when he’s grown accustomed to having her on Sunday nights.

But fuck is that endearing.

For a long, long time, Jonathan picks at the food on his plate, and you let him, patiently chatting about the movies you most recently watched at each other’s suggestion. It’s only when he’s gone a good 20 minutes without taking another bite that you nod at his plate and ask, “You about finished?”

Jonathan looks down at his food as though just remembering that it exists. “Shit, I… honestly think so, yeah. I swear I don’t mean it as an affront to your cooking, I just--”

“It’s okay,” you say kindly.

He hesitates when he meets your gaze again, taking in your gentle smile. After a few long moments – moments when you are reminded for the first time all evening just how rich and intense simple eye contact with him can be – the corners of his lips curl up, too. “Alright. Thank you, though. I mean that. I think this was exactly what I needed.”

Exactly what you needed too, you think, though you’re at a loss for how to say so. So instead you just say, “Any time, Jonathan.”

Another long silence passes between you before he clears his throat and rises to his feet. “Well, the least you can do is let me help you get all this cleaned up.” You don’t even have a chance to try to argue with him before he rushes to grab your own cleared plate, laughing all the while. “This isn’t a fight you’re going to win. Just tell me where everything needs to go.”

You feign exasperation as you follow him back to the kitchen with the leftovers, but as much as you might not approve of him feeling obligated to make use of himself, there’s something pleasant about directing Jonathan toward your little compost bin and then arguing over who will wash the dirty pots and pans until finally he wears you down to, “I’ll wash and you dry.”

Something pleasant.

You know precisely what’s pleasant about it.

“Honestly, I throw these things into the dishwasher half the time after I use them,” you confess, as though you’ve revealed something incredibly controversial as you run a rag over the inside of the first pot that he turns over to you. “I know you’re not supposed to, but… my dishes aren’t that high-quality anyway, so I’m not convinced it even matters.”

“No, with these I don’t think it would.”

“Hey.” You swat the rag lightly against Jonathan’s arm, your breath catching at the way he laughs. “You just essentially called my pots crappy.”

Jonathan scoffs. “Not crappy. Just ‘won’t be completely ruined by a dishwasher’ quality.”

“And you’re an expert?”

He holds out another cleaned pot for you, but when you move to take it from him, he maintains his grip until you meet his eye. With one brow raised, he tells you, “I’ve always liked making food, so I know my cookware.”

The assertion – I know my cookware – might come off as ridiculous if, again, you didn’t mostly think it endearing. Charming, even. And now, with you standing there and still not really trying to claim that pot even though you can feel that Jonathan’s grip has slackened, there’s a sudden, palpable sense that if you don’t open your mouth and say something soon--

“So what I’m hearing is I should have had you make dinner,” you retort.

You may have spoken up, but you find that you’re suddenly incapable of moving a muscle. Or breathing. Or much of anything.

“Maybe next time.”

Jonathan’s eyes flicker down toward the pot being held between you, and then, with the utmost focus, he looks back up, gaze tracing over your features. There are those eyes, looking deep into you for the millionth time, but you’re not sure whether you’ve ever felt so conflicted about wanting him to.

Knowing what he’ll see if he looks too closely.

It’s enough to make your heart stop.

If you had to guess, you’d say that you’re the one that technically relinquishes your grip on the pot first. But that hardly seems to matter, not when Jonathan still moves faster: his hands are on you and his mouth is pressed against yours a split second before the dish clatters against the tile floor between you.

Vaguely, you hear Jonathan kick the pot aside so that he can truly move into your space, and perhaps it’s just the overwhelming feeling of everything – the smell and taste of him so overpowering, the edge of the counter digging into your back while he clutches you so tight – but the sound prompts you to giggle—into his mouth at first, except then Jonathan pulls himself away just long enough to kiss your neck instead, and fuck the gentle burn of his beard is better than anything you could have imagined.

“That’s definitely gonna ruin the pot,” you breathe.

He grins – with teeth – against your skin. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

Completely without intending to, you whimper—over the sound of his voice, low and a little gruff, or over the way he nibbles at your neck, though you couldn’t say which.

(It’s probably both.)

Gradually, Jonathan kisses his way back to your lips, and you can’t resist the urge to coax him along; you reach up and tangle your fingers in his curls, breathlessly tugging him in for another sloppy, hungry kiss. This time you press your tongue into his mouth at once, and Jonathan reacts eagerly, grinding against you and making you spectacularly aware of his burgeoning arousal.

You’d be lying, if you said you hadn’t thought about this, including more than one fantasy on sleepless nights eons ago, when you were his TA and would have liked nothing more than to tuck away into his office and let him take you right there on his desk.

More than one fantasy, too, since you reconnected, even if bursting with a guilt you’ve hardly let yourself feel and process because something about it has felt more real this time around. It’s felt dangerous to acknowledge or think about by the light of day, and as Jonathan smooths his hand over your hip before shifting to cup your ass, you know that this – the tangibility of it – is why.

With your free hand – the one not curled into his perfect hair – you begin to fumble to untuck his shirt, and Jonathan groans into your mouth before breaking the kiss and pressing his forehead against yours.

“I’d really like to fuck you, sweetheart.”

The words come out soft and tender, as though he’s disclosing a long-suppressed secret.

(Which, you suppose, he might be.)

You have gotten your hand tucked under his shirt, and you find yourself grazing your fingertips absent-mindedly over his bare skin. His muscles are surprisingly taut across his belly, and the light dusting of hair on his skin leaves you with your heart in your throat as you clarify, “Now?”

Jonathan nods wordlessly.

But that doesn’t feel like quite enough, not when… that is to say, after it’s only been…

“Are you sure?”

Slowly, he leans away from you so that he can get a better look at you.

(Don’t look at his lips, plump from your kisses and particularly red in one spot where you’re only just now realizing you must have bitten a little too hard, not that you think he minds.)

Whatever it is that Jonathan sees, it makes him smirk as he gazes into your heart. “If you are.”

Your heart pounds in your ears while you try to even imagine what that means—try to discern what it is that the two of you are sure of.

Extracting your hand from beneath Jonathan’s shirt, you intertwine your fingers with his and lead him toward your bedroom.

The two of you haven’t even crossed the threshold before his hands and mouth are on you again, holding you from behind and grinning as each of his kisses makes you giggle. Now that the tension between you has come to a head, he seems completely unwilling to stop touching you for an instant, and you can’t help feeling deeply invigorated because, well.

You’d imagined that Jonathan would be just this way. Desperately tactile in his hunger for you.

He’s tactile enough that he can’t even bring himself to relinquish his grip on you when you halt at the foot of the bed with the intention of stripping—but you’ve only managed to fumble out of your pants when he practically growls, “That can wait, let me kiss you some more.”

Stilling with your hands on his belt, you look up and raise your eyebrows. “What happened to wanting to fuck me?”

As soon as you ask, you realize that his answer might just end you.

Jonathan’s smirk is back, as devastating as ever. “Kissing is one of the best parts of fucking.”

Oh.

You tell him, “Show me,” and he does.

He asks you, eyes shining, to lie down, one of his knees slotting comfortably between your legs when he crawls over you. (So comfortably that you can nearly feel Jonathan against your core.)

And when he slowly, tenderly lowers his head to kiss you again, you cannot help the way you reflexively shift to press against him, nothing but your thin panties separating your heat from the coarse fabric of his trousers.

“Why rush things…” Jonathan asks softly, between kisses. “When I can taste you and touch you and watch you get so damn needy for me after wanting this for so long?”

You whimper, which turns into a moan when his mouth finds yours again and he leans just a little bit closer, grinding his thigh against your crotch. The sensation is so exhilarating, Jonathan above you and around you and pressing his tongue inside of you and one of his hands gripping yours so damn tight, so that you only vaguely wonder what does ‘this’ mean.

Then Jonathan nibbles on your lip and you couldn’t care less.

You have no idea how long the two of you make out, with the taste of Jonathan so splendid and the feel of his body flush against you to keep you feeling warm and safe. He can’t seem to stop kissing your neck, rubbing your skin a little more raw each time, and you feel like you might burst out of your skin when he finally helps you out of your shirt so that he can kiss along your sternum, suck and bite all over your breasts and stomach until, yeah. You’re rendered a needy, trembling mess.

Needy and trembling until he presses his lips to yours again, in playful kisses that say not quite yet, sweetheart.

Gradually, you coax him out of his shirt, and then his pants, relishing the soft groan he exhales into your mouth when his cock is freed from the tight fabric.

Until, finally, Jonathan pulls away to glance over your face and you use the moment to push him down onto the bed, following him in one fluid motion until you are on top of him. For an instant, he blinks up at you, completely stupefied.

“I’m really happy,” you tell him softly.

Jonathan’s eyes widen, and he licks his lips before smiling. You feel yourself grow just a little bit lighter when he gently caresses your cheek. “I’m really glad.”

“But I’d like you inside me now.”

Your nonchalance makes him grin. A cheesy, wonderful grin. “Tell me you’ve got some condoms in the drawer over there.”

Maybe you’d imagined what this would be like. Maybe pictured yourself with him, underneath him, so frequently that it’s begun to feel almost like truth.

As you slowly lower yourself onto his cock, it is so very different to anything you’d anticipated, in ways you don’t think you could even articulate. You suspect, though, that it comes down to one primary thing: you’re not sure whether you’ve ever felt quite so powerful, or whether you’ll ever feel this way again.

Jonathan grips your neck tight and pulls you into a kiss while you carefully move over him, familiarizing yourself with the heady feeling of him inside of you. His tongue traces inside your mouth, languid and almost sweet, and it’ll be a bit yet before you come.

But you are already undone.

----

It’s early – early enough that sunlight has only just begun to filter through the blinds in your bedroom – and for very confusing moment, the only thing you understand for certain is that a phone is ringing on the side of your bed, and it’s sure as fuck not yours.

The covers shift over you, a creaky voice says, “Hello?” and the previous evening rushes over you with startling clarity.

What a wonderful image.

You roll onto your side so that you can look at Jonathan, who’s leaning on his elbow just high enough off his pillow that you have to peer up at him. He glances at you over his shoulder, offering up a soft smile as he says, “Ava, darling, good morning.” A pause. “Yes, honey, I’m so happy to hear from you. Has something happened?” Another pause, shorter this time, during which he visibly wilts over-- “Of course I miss you, Ava. So much.”

Though you hadn’t completely forgotten that that was, ostensibly, why he’d come to see you in the first place, it feels strange to be reminded like this, now. Because he’s been just slightly out of reach for so long, but now all you need do is reach out to touch Jonathan’s soft, bare skin or press a kiss to his jaw.

Over the sadness in his voice – sadness at missing his daughter – you do reach out, smoothing your hand along his bicep in what you hope will be received as comfort in your half-awake states. From the way he puts his hand over yours and holds it loosely, you think he understands.

For a minute or two, you surmise that Ava eagerly tells him about the events of her weekend, and Jonathan reacts graciously, chuckling and ooing and ahing in all the right places, asking a few little follow-up questions that show just how closely he was listening. And then his hand leaves yours to comb through his hair. “Yeah, you can… you can put your mom on the phone, that’s fine. Don’t be afraid to call again if you want to talk before I see you this weekend, alright? … I love you bunches, too.”

You’re so incredibly charmed.

And you try, you really try, not to take it personally a split second later when he relinquishes his grip on your hand. The covers shift over you again as he climbs out of bed and it’s not personal. It’s not.

“No, I’m not at home,” he says softly. You watch him slowly but pointedly move around your bed and toward the bedroom door. “Yes, I know, I’m sorry that I worried her, if I’d known that I wasn’t going to be at the house I’d have warned you--” From the way he falls silent and throws his head back in frustration, you think she must have interrupted him.

Right before he clears out into the hallway, Jonathan looks back and grimaces, mouthing, I’ll be right back.

Then he’s gone, and it’s just his disembodied voice in the hall: “I don’t think it’s fair for you to get all high and mighty about this. … Why does it matter who-- Yes, fine, it is. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Did Mira ask him what you think she asked him?

It never actually occurred to you before this moment that as a side effect of your friendship with Jonathan being what it was… maybe it became something of a sore spot. Maybe you have become someone about whom Mira would ask, Is she the reason you’re not at home?

You don’t know quite what that means, or quite why it hurts.

But once Jonathan reappears in your doorway, fatigued and sighing, “I’m so fucking sorry, I wouldn’t have picked up except--”

“Except Ava. I know.”

Once that happens, you sink into the warmth of him again. He climbs back into bed with you and mumbles, “Good morning,” into your neck, and the comfort you feel with him there is insurmountable.

You fuck once more before getting ready for your day, Jonathan moving over you with an exquisite steadiness as he sucks a hickey into the spot right below where your shoulder blade meets your clavicle.

(Only after breathing, “Can I leave a little mark, sweetheart?”)

After quietly aching for him for so long, it’s uncanny, the way you’re craving him again almost the moment he’s not inside you anymore. You ache as the two of you shower, and dress, and as you take him to the little shop near your place where you pick up coffee each morning before work. You ache when he presses a whisper of a kiss to your cheek and asks, “Can I see you again, next time I don’t have Ava?”

“For more distraction?” you tease.

Jonathan scoffs, giving you one last lingering kiss rather than replying.

----

Very little changes about the way you talk and text, which you think is only an indication of what neither of you have been saying for a while.

The next two weeks stretch before you, unending, until he texts, I think I owe you that cooked dinner.

Jonathan brings you into his home, where he feeds you and where a brief detour into his library to look over his books turns into another debate which turns into you, pressed against the shelves while he kisses you hungrily and makes you fall apart around his fingers.

Two more weeks and he’s back at your place again, and you think nothing could be better than this.

Until you’re out after work, picking up a book that he recommended to you, and you look across the store just in time to spot him with his little girl at the entrance to the children’s section.

There are pictures of her around his home, so you’d seen her on the walls on your visit even if her absence in the house was palpable. But she’s gotten bigger since those happy family photos were taken and plastered around. Not big enough, though, that she seems too embarrassed to hold Jonathan’s hand—because she does, clutching a few of his fingers for dear life.

It is sweet and wonderful but you’ve got no damn clue what to do. Would he want you to say hello? You’re not sure you want to deal with it in this moment if the answer is no.

His eyes land on you, and the answer is not no. He beckons you over and you are glad.

“Ava, can I introduce you to a friend of mine?” he asks, as you get close enough to hear one another without having to raise your voices.

She meets your eye and smiles.

----

Can I see you a little later in the week? I have a last minute project for work that’s probably gonna take all weekend.

Jonathan is, as ever, understanding. No problem. When he follows that up with, But I’ll miss you, you can just picture his eyes. Soft and earnest, sending a wave of his own sadness deep into your gut.

----

At first, it’s difficult to tell for certain why you feel like something is different.

That last-minute project ends up stretching across much of the week, making you tired and less talkative with everyone, so it’s easy to write off the fact that Jonathan is just another person you’re not really hearing from. After all, you tell him, right at the beginning of the week, just how busy it looks like it’s going to be, so it very well could be that he’s trying not to burden you. You tell yourself that it’s about your busy life, not about him.

But the days pass and you notice, more and more, that his answers to your texts are shorter, too. A few times he doesn’t answer at all.

Fuck, you think.

You think it over and over, intermittently, between telling yourself any number of excuses.

Saturday night alright? you ask at last.

It’s difficult to make excuses when he replies, nearly an hour later. I can’t do Saturday night, but maybe we could get coffee in the afternoon?

Heart pounding in your throat, you say, Okay.

----

“Mira wants to come home.”

One thing you will say in his favor—Jonathan doesn’t leave you wondering. After you collect your drinks from the counter and find a secluded table on the edge of the coffee shop’s patio seating, he doesn’t really bother with social niceties.

That is the only good thing you can really bring yourself to say. Mostly because you find yourself immediately annoyed at his choice to frame it around what Mira wants.

“And what do you want?”

Jonathan holds your gaze, hesitating over his next words. “I want to not hurt either of you.”

You look into his eyes, and the irritating thing is that you do believe him. Or at least, you believe him in the sense that you believe he’s convinced himself that that’s his first priority.

(His gaze is still penetrating and you’ve never hated the feeling of him looking into your soul like you do right now.)

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Jonathan.”

“No, you’re right. It doesn’t.”

He still doesn’t answer it, not for a few long seconds during which you know – both of you know – how much it already reveals, that he’s struggling to be honest. Because look: if the answer was that he wanted you, his next words after Mira wants to come home should have been one of two things.

I told her no.

Or.

I thought about it, and I’m going to tell her no.

Instead, your fate hangs in the air between you, inevitable but unspoken.

You are going to wait for him to speak it.

“I told her I needed the week to think it over, and I think I want her to come home, too.”

Running your mind over so many moments with him – a whole whirlwind of moments through which he nestled himself so firmly into your life that it’s difficult to imagine him gone – you tell him softly, “I think I knew that, a little bit.”

Jonathan laughs softly, an uncomfortable sort of chuckle as he rubs at his eyes beneath his glasses. “I really am sorry. You’re… a very lovely woman.”

It’s the last thing you want to hear, but honestly, the last thing you want to do right now is pick a fight with him. You have trouble imagining that you’re ever going to see him again, so there seems little reason to instigate an argument.

“I’m sure she’s a lovely woman, too.”

——

interested in my other fics or my taglist form? you can find them on my masterlist here

taglist: @abelslittlebunny @aellynera @alwritey-aphrodite @amneris21 @bdavishiddlesbatch @be-the-spark-flyboy @brandyllyn @card-counter @fantasmicbelle6y6 @foxilayde @hayley-the-comet @huxdameron @hyperfixatingmenever @iflostreturntobudcooper @jitterbugs927 @knivesareout @lostgirlheather @louderrthanthunderr @marvelousmermaid @one-hell-of-a-disappointment @poedameronloverx @princessxkenobi @rosiefridayrogersunday @salome-c @santiagogarcia @starryeyedstories @yourbucky084

#jonathan x reader #jonathan levy x reader #jonathan (scenes from a marriage) x you #jonathan (scenes from a marriage)#scenes from a marriage #fanfic #my fic #created

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 3 years ago

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https://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/2021/06/17/single-moms-great-families-dads-better/7705997002/

By: Ian Rowe and Brad Wilcox

Published: Jun 17, 2021

The culture wars over family structure that raged in the 20th century — wars over single parenthood, marriage, and the importance of fathers — seemed to have ended in the early 21st century. From academia to the policy world, most sensible people acknowledged the importance of strong and stable families for kids. Hailing from the Ivory Tower in 2015, scholars from Brookings and Princeton reported on the new scientific consensus: “most scholars now agree that children raised by two biological parents in a stable marriage do better than children in other family forms across a wide range of outcomes.”

In the public square, the consensus view about the importance of fathers was best articulated by Barack Obama, in speeches at churches and colleges across the country. He underlined the value of fathers for kids and his own dedication to breaking the cycle of fatherlessness he experienced as a boy. “And so my whole life, I’ve tried to be for Michelle and my girls what my father was not for my mother and me,” he told the graduates of Morehouse College in 2013. “I want to break that cycle where a father is not at home — where a father is not helping to raise that son or daughter. I want to be a better father, a better husband, a better man.” No one could doubt that President Obama understood how much fathers mattered for their kids.

The 'Myth' of the Two-Parent Home

But now, progressives are calling into question even the kids-benefit-from-fathers argument Obama made so powerfully and poignantly. This month, for instance, The Harvard Gazette ran an article entitled, “Why living in a two-parent home isn’t a cure-all for Black students.” Written by Harvard sociologist Christina Cross, it spotlights her research showing that poor Black kids with two parents do not do better on a few educational outcomes compared to their peers with single parents.

Cross’ article echoed themes from an earlier article, “The Myth of the Two-Parent Home,” that she published in The New York Times that claimed “living apart from a biological parent does not carry the same cost for black youths as for their white peers.”

This Harvard research is part and parcel of a larger effort to call into question the idea that married, two-parent families matter not just for Black children but, indeed, all children. In an Atlantic article celebrating family diversity, the sociologist Pamela Braboy Jackson said, “All of our research points to the fact that it’s the quality of the relationship that matters, and the handling of communication and conflict, and the number of people in the household is not really the key” for the welfare of our kids.

There’s only one problem with this revisionist effort that relies on cherry picking a few findings to fit its narrative: it obscures the full truth from the sciences about the importance of two-parent families for kids.

A new report from the Institute for Family Studies co-authored by us with sociologist Wendy Wang finds large differences between Black kids raised by their own two parents, compared to their peers raised by single parents (primarily single mothers). Black children raised by single parents are three times more likely to be poor, compared to Black children raised by their own married parents. Black boys are almost half as likely to end up incarcerated (14% for intact; 23% for single parent) and twice as likely to go on and graduate from college (21% for intact; 12% for single parent) if they are raised in a home with their two parents, compared to boys raised by just one parent. Parallel patterns obtain for girls. Equally striking, we also find that Black children from stable two-parent homes do better than white children from single-parent homes when it comes to their risk of poverty or prison, and their odds of graduating from college. Young white men from single-parent families, for instance, are more likely to end up in prison than young Black men from intact, two-parent homes.

Ironically, the work of another scholar just across the Harvard campus from Cross, Raj Chetty, also refutes the idea that Black fathers don’t matter. Chetty and his colleagues set out to determine the most powerful neighborhood factors behind the gap in economic mobility for poor Black and white boys. The biggest factor? The “fraction of low-income Black fathers present” in a neighborhood. In other words, poor black boys in neighborhoods with lots of Black fathers were significantly more likely to realize the American Dream.

The value of stable families; fathers

Research like this has kept some influential thinkers and journalists on the left defending the scientific consensus about marriage, fatherhood, and family. “I think that my half of the political spectrum — the left half — too often dismisses the importance of family structure,” noted New York Times columnist David Leonhardt, responding to another of Chetty’s studies. “Partly out of a worthy desire to celebrate the heroism of single parents, progressives too often downplay family structure. Social science is usually messy, with correlation and causation difficult to separate. But the evidence, when viewed objectively, points strongly to the value of two-parent households.”

So the next time you come across a study from Harvard or some other ivory tower academic trying to cast shade on the idea that fathers matter for kids, you’d be better off just reprising the wisdom articulated by our 44th president on this matter for Father’s Day in 2008, which is as relevant for Father’s Day in 2021:

“Of all the rocks upon which we build our lives, we are reminded today that family is the most important… We know the statistics — that children who grow up without a father are five times more likely to live in poverty and commit crime… They are more likely to have behavioral problems, or run away from home, or become teenage parents themselves. And the foundations of our community are weaker because of it.”

The absence of a father has long been known to affect increased likelihood for homeless/runaways, school dropouts, teen pregnancy, obesity, incarceration and teen suicide.

Behold the problem with throwing your hands in the air and calling everything “systemic.”

#Free Black Thought #Ian Rowe #Father's Day #Happy Father's Day #fatherless #fatherlessness #absent fathers #black fathers #better late than never #economic mobility #religion is a mental illness

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goldenchocobo · 5 months ago

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through frustration we are here

It was one of those days where little bits were adding up to a bad mood. Then Dog said he couldn't play tonight, so I suggested we start earlier. THANKFULLY both Dog and Isopod agreed.

After some talking and setting up and discovering that discord's default screen share is now 15FPS... it was...

XALDIN TIME

Dog was ready first. going in with Beast; while Isopod kept with SDG. They were lvl 39(Isopod) and lvl 36(Dog).

good start...

GREAT START! first time victory!!!

"I had an easier time with fuckin' Melania..."-Dog

Now it was time for the tournament arc! Off to Olympus!

"I love tournament arcs... I love My Hero Academia"-Isopod.

"Are you ready for the best battle music?"-Me "idk..."-Dog "Best jamming music, then..."-Me *A few moments later* "Alright, this music is jammin'"-Dog.

They both aced the short tournament bit, and went to see what was wrong with Auron.

"I wanna give him a Squishmellow and like... put a movie on for him. Why he look like that :( " -Isopod after seeing Hades being mean to him.

Dog skipped most of the fights to Hade's throne room, while Isopod fought through them.

"op- there it is.... feel the heat"-Isopod after fighting Hades. They then imitated 'feel the heat' several more times. Dog needed to catch up, but got into the battle just near Isopod finished the fight. thankfully they had no issues with Hades.

Next stop: Hollow Bastion. I warned them, that I have no played beyond this point- so they're on their own.

"whhaaa... uhhh what are you doing here? what the fuck are you doing here?"-Isopod upon the discovery of Space Paranoid Heartless in Hollow Bastion. "Oh my god is that a farm?!"-Isopod, looking at the hearts in the jars, making Heartless. "yeah."-Me.

I told Dog that he's under levelled, and he began to fight more. Hopefully he won't remain under levelled for long. He did die a few times, and went into silent-mode. And once again, Dog didn't read shit- very annoying, very infuriating.

Space Paranoid's second visit was fairly simple, although Dog lagged behind and got lost a few times. Isopod gave a new Meme template image;

The Solar Sailor fights went... as well as you imagined, with both Dog and Isopod dying near the same time. Dog failed many more times after. Winning, after advice from me and Isopod to use Tron and his limit to clear a lot of enemies.

I needed to direct them to attack the firewall protecting the MCP. "Yeah, I'd have no idea to do this..." -Dog "mmhmmm"-Isopod agreeing. "Am I... am I doing anything?" -Dog "Yeah, you're just really weak"-Me (Dog is still under levelled.)

They finished the fight... eventually...

Both Dog and Isopod were... delighted to learn about the last Gummi Route.

"I love Warhammer"-Dog "Why does this remind me of the Warhammer ships?" -Isopod "I know! I guess its like 'cause they're just rectangles."-Dog

Landing in Twilight Town, the first thing they did was skateboard.

After battling through Twilight Town, they ended up at the Mansion, finding Hayner, Pence and Olette out cold. They fought along side, and I quote: "Michel Cheese". With Isopod finishing first.

After they entered the mansion, Dog needed to go, so we stopped.

They have a storm coming tomorrow.

So me and two of my friends have started a Gaming Culture Exchange. It’s where we give one game that means a lot to us, or embodies us as a person for the other two to play. I, of course- picked Kingdom Hearts.

It took a bit of thought to whittle it down, but in the end, I chose to get my friends to play KHII. Because 1) it’s a fan favourite, 2) It has MUCH better combat and fluidity of controls than KHI, and 3) While yeah- you should play KHII and CoM, you can still glean the story; which is what I wanted them to play for. And if they don't understand anything- I'm here.

We meet up every Saturday night, and they play for 2-3 hours whilst I watch and act as a guide/tip-giver.

I wanted to document their experiences because they’re (mostly) fresh eyes in ‘24. This took so long to do because I kept forgetting to ask their permission to do this. How long? When we devised this, the KH series was announced that it was coming to steam during the VC call. I kind of laughed at the irony.

For now, let me introduce you to my friends! I’m not using any of their real names/what I call them due to identity.

Isopod: She/They: We get along really well and often watch shows together, play games or hang out. They’re more of a slow-paced gamer, liking farming sims and the less action-heavy Minecraft parts, but overall she loves genetic sims/ family tree games (wobbledogs, niece etc…). She’s seen little bits of KH, but doesn’t know a whole bunch. Their game for this exchange is Rainworld.

Dog: He/Him: We’re good friends that can get on each other's nerves and argue over pedantic stuff. He likes grimdark things and was the one who introduced me to Berserk. We, along with Isopod, watched Dungeon Meshi together, and I got him to watch Demon Slayer, which he’s enjoying. He actively dislikes/is uninterested in KH, not liking the style clash. His game for this exchange is Eldenring.

Due to the lag with getting permissions, each new entry will be each day until I've caught up, then every Sunday. Each day will be a reblog of this post with a Keep reading spoiler tag so that it doesn't clutter, but can be read in order.

Now that the stage is set, the journey starts below;

The game starts, and we jam out to Sanctuary. Isopod already kind of remembers who Roxas is and why he's here, but Dog doesn't- instead, he comments on the 'Gaming Rig' Roxas has got set up (the weird contraption with the light up star in his room) while Isopod laments that they'll never own a lamp as cool as his fish one.

'oh no, our ___ are gone!' "Your WHAT" -Dog

"I thought my audio glitched for a second" -Isopod

We then have to wait because Dog needed to eat dinner because his timing with that is impeccable, let me tell you. This let Isopod explore a bit and examine Roxas' outfit- which she concludes is a 'disaster'(lovingly).

It's then noted that Isopod is playing with Keyboard and mouse, and I m horrified. Dog is playing with an X-box controller and I lovingly refer to him as a heathen.

When Dog came back, the tutorial was completed, but I noticed that Dog... never really read the text. "I read it when Isopod has it up on her stream" he says. This'll bean important fact later.

During the Siefer fight, Isopod picks magic and Dog picks defence.

"woah whatda-" "Demon! actual demon!" Isopod and Dog during their first sighting of a Dusk. Quickly followed up with Isopod saying "why's he got cheeks though???"

The Dusk fight was quickly finished, and they both liked the reaction command (important for later).

"Why are they not calling for an adult. This (strange man) had pictures of children. That's VERY concerning" -Isopod "Yeah, the adults in this aren't very reliable" -Me, all knowing.

"COUNT DOOKU WHAT'RE YOU DOING HERE?!" -Dog upon hearing DiZ.

I then let the two do a few chores for munny. Dog does the Cargo Climb, and Isopod the Mail Delivery.

After a short while, I could hear them bemoan doing the same thing over and over; then I say 'yeah- you don't have to collect the full amount, you can go now', which fills the conversation with relief.

"Oh my god Roxas is hallucinating now" - Isopod "I think his friends are gaslighting him" -Dog upon the Pickpocket scene.

The Namine scenes had some interesting reactions:

"Why is there a GIRL braking into his room?!" -Isopod "Puberty is sometimes like that" -Dog

"That is a note an adult leaves when they want to kidnap children." -Dog upon reading Hayner's note "Yeah, I wouldn't trust it" -Isopod. "is she a Jojo???" -Isopod Dog then imitates Dio -during Namine's meeting with Roxas where she freezes time.

Then, in the Dive to the Heart, Isopod picks Attack, and Dog picks Defence. Isopod is able to beat Twilight Thorn straight away, but Dog takes two attempts.

The Fourth day is where everything fell apart. The tournament was easy, and neither struggled against Hayner or Vivi. Then came along Axel.

Isopod beat Axel fairly quickly. I thought they'd struggle, but they didn't. Dog, however struggled. I noticed that when he attacked Axel after parrying or blocking, Axel would retaliate- I told him what I saw, but Dog complained 'I can't attack him otherwise'. It took Dog going from Crit to Proud to beat Axel. "Wow Golden, you're cruel to put a new player on the hardest difficulty" you say, and you would be right, but Dog typically loves very hard games, and boasts that it took him 8 solid hours to beat a boss in Eldren Ring and that 'it was awesome', so I suggested Crit to him.

When Axel was beaten, Dog was VERY tired of Kingdom Hearts, and actively tried his best to dislike it, talking bad about the combat and how 'you're locked into an action'. Isopod did not share this, and was enjoying her time. I could tell that Dog wanted this done, but I urged them forward because they were nearing the finale of the prologue.

They did the wonders, made fun of Roxas' friends gaslighting him into thinking he didn't fall off the clocktower, and they both beat Axel fairly easily second go around. They then made fun of Sora's shoes for 5 minutes straight, and ended the session.

It was fun seeing people's first reactions to KHII. Dog's reaction was nothing new to me, as I knew this wouldn't be his favourite, and is only playing so me and Isopod play Eldenring. I'm hoping in the future, he'll warm up to it. Isopod is enjoying her time with the game, which is good to hear.

#kingdom hearts #Goldie's Gaming Exchange #I forgot to post this earlier

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jcmiesingh · 3 years ago

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TASK 06: CHARACTER INSPO

honorable mentions that aren’t strong parallels but i’m including them just for laffs: dennis reynolds (it’s always sunny in philadelphia), klaus hargreeves (the umbrella academy), jj maybank (outer banks), roman roy (succession), michelle mallon (derry girls), and this text post

see below for me going alligator_talking.gif about the six main parallels!

lip gallagher (shameless): ok i will not lie it has been years since i watched shameless so this one is mostly just vibes but his vibes are soooo jamie. especially the whole “feeling deeply but not knowing how to express feelings well so they come out in destructive ways” energy. i think the main similarity that differentiates lip from the other characters i included on here is that he’s smart in the same way that jamie is. sometimes i forget but jamie is actually very booksmart lmao it just doesn’t matter to him bc he never showed up to class and did not even consider college. so from what i remember of lip’s arc it’s the same kind of wasted potential energy where he could be applying his brain and succeeding in life but instead he does not give a flying fuck about academia and would rather be a menace to society.

dimitri (anastasia): i just thought of this parallel this morning and now i am absolutely obsessed with it. to be clear, i am not talking about the dimitri in the second half of the movie who learns to be selfless through falling in love and is sexily redeemed. i’m talking about the first half where he’s a lying con who manipulates others to his own ends and is a complete smooth-talking asshole. and also, the whole backstory of growing up poor and believing money will solve all of his problems? very jamie. even just the way he like, talks and carries himself is super similar to jamie’s mannerisms in my mind.

james cook (skins uk): once again i must include a disclaimer that i watched skins a super long time ago and my memory is poo. but ever since i came across this gifset, the jamie/cook parallel has lived rent-free in my head for months. i think the most distinctive thing he brings to the melting pot of jamie parallels is the fact that he is such a fucking survivor. like, no matter what bullshit he gets into & what kind of messes he creates for himself, he gets up and keeps going like a gross lil cockroach u keep trying to squish under your boot (thank you again to blair for that iconic comparison). and of course the general shitty troubled boy energy and the belief that he’s not really worth much at the end of the day.

john bender (the breakfast club): i know this movie is outdated and bender does some things that are straight up not okay but those are not included in this parallel thanks! we’re talking about the reckless disregard of rules and authority, the never knowing when to shut up, impulsivity and always fucking things up for himself. this is yet another case in which i don’t remember that much about the details of this movie lol but the vibes are 100% there.

jess mariano (gilmore girls): it’s this gifset for me if i’m being honest... the sarcasm is absolutely jamie vibes. i don’t think he has a ton in common with jess on a deep personality level but this one is mostly just based on energy? like the no-good kid who has a bad reputation in his small town, doesn’t give a shit what any of those people think, just walks around being a smartass instead. it’s also the mannerisms and the dry humor and emotionless witty facade.

rue bennett (euphoria): we’re just going to ignore rue’s whole addiction storyline because this one is also strong on just vibes! like if i had to describe how jamie carries himself through his day-to-day life, it’d be as a combination of dimitri, jess, and rue. i’m also including her because there is for sure something to be said for the fact that she believes the only thing she can do is hurt people, and there’s no point in trying to really better herself ‘cause she’s always just gonna be a shithead. that’s big jamie energy too.

#volumetask

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