#7000 word dissertation.....same

[ierotits]

so to be clear: 100% of the credit for jaskier finally being canonically queer and having a full romance story thats treated well in season 3 goes to joey batey

[anotherenglishstudent]

November Round Up

Fallen leaves lying on the grass in the November sun bring more happiness than the daffodils

As expected, November has gone by in a flash. It always does. Deadlines appear, there’s a build up to Christmas, the cold starts to seep into your bones, and everything feels like it’s just a movement towards the end of the year. Whilst December is a month of celebration, November feels like the end of things, an admittance that things are closing before we turn to the joy of December.

I can’t deny that this is particularly true of November this year. I am very aware that I have no idea where I’ll be next year, that this is the last time I will be at university for Christmas - in fact, that everything I do is the last time I’ll be doing it at university. That seems underwhelming when I write it out, but there’s something melancholy about knowing this is the last time I will celebrate Halloween here, the last Bonfire Night that will pass, just recognising that this isn’t where I will be next year. I’m trying not to think about it too much, but coming up to December means semester 1 is done, and I’m halfway through my last year of uni. It’s kind of terrifying.

On the other hand, I’m really enjoying how autumnal everything has become, autumn is by far my favourite season and we’re undeniably in autumn now! It’s been a productive month too, and strangely I’m enjoying the days I spend at the library, a cup of coffee, headphones to block the world out, and just a couple of hours focusing on one piece of work. There’s been some good social times too, of course, namely seeing the new Fantastic Beasts film - lots of thoughts and discussion followed, and it was a really lovely night.

November Successes…

Dissertation - apparently all I have spoken in my round-ups since term restarted. Except I’m actually super happy with where I am. My tutor actually really liked my essay plan which was super reassuring considering I thought he wouldn’t, and then I had to do a presentation to my peers about it. I was pretty nervous about this since I don’t like presenting (who does?) but it actually went well! Granted it was three minutes so there wasn’t much chance for me to screw up, but have it done is a weight of my shoulders, and a motivation to keep working hard on the essay.

Shall we look back to by goal of applying for jobs? I don’t always like my goals for one month to be the successes I pick when looking back over it, but I think I can just about count this one. I’ve written a proper cover letter, and started to look for serious jobs and grad schemes. I can’t say how much success is coming from it, but every little helps, you know?

And on a positive note: Christmas shopping! I’ve been more organised than usual and got an early start on my present shopping. I really like giving people thoughtful gifts that might mean something to them, and I’m not 100% sure that’s happening this year, but yay for being organised, right?

November Faves...

Book/s: Audiobooks So. I know this is vague as hell to say my favourite of the month is simply ‘all audiobooks’, but I really want to take a moment to appreciate them. I’ve only been listening to the Harry Potter books, but they’re just so good! It’s reading with half the effort. Like I said in my HP and the Philosopher’s Stone review I don’t know if I could manage it if I hadn’t read the book before, but I really like going to sleep with a chapter playing, or having it on whilst I get ready in the morning. Definitely recommend audiobooks.

TV: Doctor Who I must be feeling daring to put this here. I think I have about the same relationship as most people who used to love Doctor Who do: somewhere between mid-Matt Smith and Capaldi something was lost. When Jodie Whittaker was announced as the Doctor, I was definitely excited for the show, but not really excited about the show. There was so many ways for it to go wrong. However, having watched all but the finale, I think I’m happy to say that it’s my favourite of the month. It was nice to recognise some of the classic elements of Doctor Who in the new stuff, and whilst I don’t think it’s amazing, it’s definitely a bit of fun, and I’ve enjoyed returning to something that had started to let me down.

December Goals...

Be open and social. Christmas is a bit of a contradiction. On the one hand, I have 4 weeks off uni. On the other, I have nearly 7000 words to write and exam to prep for. So I’m going to say be open because I don’t want to overwork myself - Christmas is a time for reconnecting with people, in my opinion, and I know I can do the writing if I just structure my time well.

Just the one goal for December. Afterall, it’s the end of the year, I’ll be busy, and hopefully happy, and I don’t really have much more to say today. Have a great day guys!

[sportashame]

Adventures in Lazytown (A Dads!AU Fic) - Chapter 3

I think you get the idea now. Content warning for depictions of depression and disability, but we’re getting to the real cutesy shit now. This is all I got done in my marathon session, but I can see myself going back to it real soon.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

Sterling’s dissertation tutorial was running long. I still hadn’t decided whether that was his first or second name. It was Spring now and nearly a year after I’d been introduced to the colourful cast of what was now called “Adventures in Lazytown”. 

Steffi was 8, and after a very difficult adjustment period and some extended sick leave, I was now on medication.

“But what about MY analysis, isn’t that important, too?” He demanded. He was the only student I knew who came to classes exclusively in a suit. A sort of light-tan ensemble that, if paired with a bushy moustache and Pith hat wouldn’t have looked out of place in Colonial India.

“Yes, your analysis is the basis of the dissertation, but you need to reference your sources, otherwise it’ll be considered plagiarism.”

“But it’s MY dissertation. I don’t see why other people should get the credit for it.” This discussion was going nowhere, and I needed to pick Steffi up from the Nurse’s office. In recent months I’d relieved Bessie of her obligation to take Steffi to school four days a week. It hadn’t been easy to rend this task from her grip, and emerging from my funk of self-obsession as I had been lately, for the first time I noticed that she might be lonely. I’d always seen this blue-rinsed, five foot nothing matronly figure as rather comic, but looking at her with fresh eyes; her full face of make-up at 8am, her exquisitely tidy house and long list of telephone acquaintances, I felt I may have misjudged her. God knows I still didn’t really want to have to talk to her, but I endeavored to be friendly when our paths crossed, and she really did make excellent cakes.

I suppose I was able to notice the signs of loneliness in her, because for the first time in a long time, I’d also begun to notice them in myself. It wasn’t just the care of Steffi that was somewhat arduous on a single parent; cooking, caring for and cajoling a child is one thing without crutches, insurance and physiotherapy to be thinking about, but we managed. It was that for the first time since Steffi was 2, I had felt the absence of a person in a way that wasn’t grieving, but hoping. The idea of getting involved with someone else, that had once made me almost physically sick, now breezed through and through me with a slight thrill. Not that I’d taken any steps. Where does one even begin? My circumstances weren’t exactly conventional to start with.

I never thought I’d fall in love with a woman; when Steffi’s Mama and I got married it was to the shock and awe of a great many of our friends and acquaintances. And why not? What interest could this gorgeous, intense, acerbic ballerina have in some skinny boy in purple eyeshadow? And all the things that had obsessed me up to that point about myself; my sexuality, my flamboyance, the way I was perceived vs the way I wanted to be perceived, all melted away with her. I was simply going to be her husband until I died, and I’d never have to think about any of those things ever again.

When Steffi drew me as “Robbie Rotten” is was like looking back in time. He didn’t slob around all day. Even his dressing gown was fancy. It occurred to me as Steffi’s drawing skill improved and her pictures became more detailed, that I recognised the purple waistcoat that she had dressed my alter-ego in. It was from an old photo of me at University, the height of my overdressing phase. A beautiful two-tone 70s purple striped three-piece found in a vintage store, that I’d altered myself to fit my lanky body. The legs had been slightly too short, ditto the waistcoat, but I loved it. It’s strange proportions suited very well the way I thought about myself. The idea of having that sort of confidence nowadays felt like insanity, but still, I ventured up into the loft and there it was, the old relic, lying among a pile of clothes I hadn’t worn for years.

It didn’t fit. Of course it didn’t fit. I wasn’t fat, but a certain amount of weight gain had come with the medication. I was looking healthier for it, but I wasn’t going to be fitting into anything i’d worn at 20. There were other garments, though. Nice garments. I used to be quite the thrift shopper, and there were things here that still had pins stuck in them from planned alteration work. I couldn’t believe I’d never made anything for Steffi. When I found out I was going to be father to a little girl, it was all I could think about. Perfect little dresses, bows, ruffles. The time had just slipped away and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bothered to pick up a needle.

I was wearing one of my old/new outfits on that day. I’d been wary about dressing up to work, my fears based around the simple adolescent principle that maybe the kids would laugh at me, but spurred on by Steffi’s adoration of my sartorial renaissance I’d dared a waistcoat today. She’d wanted to paint my nails but I drew the line. She could do it at the weekend, but it was still a little too much for a man who until recently sometimes wore his slippers to work. In reality, the only real difference my return to flashy dressing made was that it became more difficult for me to claim that students hadn’t seen me plough through three slices of cake at the Humanities cafeteria when my purple velvet jacket made me a rather unmistakable presence.

“- And MY view is that money is money and the distinction between old and new makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.”

“What?” I asked, breaking back into this punishing tutorial. Sterling made a noise of frustration, somewhere between a gasp and a growl. I stifled a laugh. He got to his feet.

“I pay for my education here, and if you’re not going to take it seriously, I will talk to my father about it.” Oh, so he was one of those students.

“Well, if that’s how you feel Ste- Mr. Sterling, then I’ll gladly talk to him over the phone and explain that in 7000 words of your dissertation on expressions of wealth in the early 20th century novel, you don’t cite a single source. Not even the texts you’re supposed to be studying.”

He huffed. A picture-perfect huff, his lip curling up as he folded his arms like a petulant little boy. I thought ‘I know you, Sterling. I know your bland, entitled view that whatever you can take should be yours. I know your puny self-awareness, and fear that you’ll never have enough, never be enough to make people really like you. And that means I know how to call your bluff.’

“Resubmit your draft to me with adequate references, and we can talk about your feelings on new money next week. I think this tutorial is over.”

As he left he muttered something more about his father, but his heart wasn’t in it. Before I rushed out the door I very quickly pulled up his student record in case I was to receive an angry call from a parent. I found that Sterling was indeed a surname, and the reason he went exclusively by it was because the poor soul had been christened ‘Stingy’. Stingy. Was that short for something? If my father had called me Stingy, I daresay I’d milk him for all he was worth until the day he died, too.

I drove fast to Steffi’s school, convinced I was late but ended up being five minutes earlier than normal. Being early is something of a novel concept to me. I was looking forward to not receiving my customary eyeroll from the school nurse as I approached her office. But something was wrong; the office was locked. This had never happened before and I immediately visualised the worst. She’d been rushed to hospital and nobody had called me. Why wouldn’t they call me? Easy Robbie, because they don’t trust you to look after your own daughter, they’re going to call a ‘safeguarding’ this time and you’ll never see her again. I swallowed and started through the corridors.

“Steffi?” I called my voice coming out quavery, addressing the empty halls. I stopped. This was ludicrous, I’d simply go to the reception desk and ask. Maybe the Nurse’s office had flooded. I went back the way I came, heading towards the school’s main reception. I passed the gym. I had to double back in order to really believe what it was I could see through the window in the door.

It was the elf.

Steffi’s elf. Sportacus. He was leading a small class of children in some sort of aerobic dance. It’s hard to say how I knew these two entities were the same, when one is a dot-eyed drawing in a blue hat and the other a short but muscular PE teacher. It was something about the smile. About the air of calm, kind authority that hovered around him, and the spell he had these children under. The spell he had me under. For all that I had resented Sportacus for usurping my place as Steffi’s role model, I had never doubted that he was the role model she deserved. To learn that he was not something her imagination had conjured to cover up the failings of an inadequate father, but rather a real person who had come into her life, was overwhelming. He was beautiful. And I realised he was looking right at me.

I jolted away from the window. Stupid man. Gazing through windows at children; that’s a good way to get yourself arrested. And Steffi was still missing. And now you’ve just reacted like a startled cat you seem even more suspicious, he’s probably calling the police right no-

“Hello!”

He was standing in the hallway, holding a hand out towards me.

“You’re Steffi’s Papa, yes?”

He had an accent. I hadn’t expected him to have an accent, but his plain, loud way of speaking was familiar to me. Less familiar were his ice-chip blue eyes and wavy blond hair, his gleaming white teeth and the lean, shapely muscles of his arms. I took his hand like a person anticipating touching an electric fence, and his firm grip thrilled through me at 10,000 volts.

“Yes. Rob.”

“Rob?”

“Yes.”

“Not Robbie?”

I felt myself flush. So I wasn’t the only person who Steffi was sharing her stories with.

“Ahah… Well I… And you’re… well, you must be. I’m afraid I don’t know what your name is other than-”

“Sportacus!” I laughed and nodded. He shrugged. God, his shoulders. “It’s a nickname. Something the kids call me. Most of them can’t pronounce my name.”

“I see. Is… You don’t happen to know where Steffi is, do you?” I asked, downplaying the fact that I’d lost track of my offspring. He responded immediately, beaming.

“Of course, she’s just inside!” He put a hand on my back and steered me towards the door of the gym where he pointed her out. “She’s practising her routine.”

Steffi’s face was a mask of concentration, her arm made elegant, swan-like arcs as her crutch dangled from her elbow. Then, placing both crutches on the ground she swung herself round, one knee siding to the ground, her other leg stretched behind her. He arms twisted above her head before she folded her entire body forward. Using her arms she flipped herself over into a sitting position, and rolled over her side, engaging the crutches with the floor to push herself to her feet in one smooth, graceful movement.

I was crying.

The elf man saw I was crying, patted me on the back and called out to Steffi. When she saw me, she didn’t know what to think. She slunk over, eyes apprehensive, believing that this was the moment of reckoning for her months of disobedience. I couldn’t bear to draw out her uncertainty. I ran to her and scooped her up in a way I hadn’t done for many years, holding her tight against me. Crying hotly into her tiny shoulder.

“Papa…” She said, clearly startled.

“I’m so proud of you.” I whispered “I love you so much.” She sunk into me then and nuzzled into my shoulder. My perfect, tough, tenacious little daughter. How could a man like me deserve to live his life alongside such a beautiful soul?

I don’t know what you must have been thinking in that moment. Or when you bid us farewell that evening with your dazzling smile, father and daughter an emotional wreck. I think we both already loved you.

[worfs-glorious-hair]

I owe everything to you Joey! 🥹

so to be clear: 100% of the credit for jaskier finally being canonically queer and having a full romance story thats treated well in season 3 goes to joey batey