#complete dissertation draft DONE

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

IT'S GONE IT'S DONE

[crescencestudio]

๋࣭⭑ Devlog #41 | 5.28.24 ๋࣭⭑

It's hot girl (/gender neutral) summer season

HAPPY MAY!!

Hope you're all doing well <3 We're already getting into summer, which is a little crazy to me. The year is flying by! Before I get into what we actually did this month, it wouldn't be a May devlog without our annual Mermay celebration!

Look at those locks. His Ariel/Rapunzel era fr

Since I already had updated Mermay pieces for the Alaris LIs, I decided to do one for our beloved Van this year ^^ Hope you all like it!

For writing this month, I spent a lot of it catching up on Etza edits. Being totally transparent, I wasn't Completely Happy with their route when their draft was finished. But now that I've started the editing process with Wudgey, I'm really excited to see how their route is shaping up!!! We've been fleshing a lot of little interactions out with their route, and I can already see Etza's character really starting to shine with these edits ^^

I've also been chipping away at Kuna'a's route! While it's nowhere near finished, I'm hopeful that this upcoming month will be the month of Kuna'a now that I don't have a bunch of releases I'm trying to balance. His route is also one of the ones whose outline is more fleshed out (Druk and Etza I would say were the least fleshed out, which might be why they also took a bit longer). So I'd love to see Kuna'a's first draft complete/almost complete by the next devlog!

This month, I had to dust off my art skills tbh LMFAOIJSDF. It's been.... a WHILE since I've made CGs since I've been in the writing and coding dungeon for so long. So most of this month's art updates are me getting tilted from redrawing an ugly sketch over and over.

I DID manage to get the Van Mermay piece out. And I also was able to sketch out Kayn's Tragic End CG; that leaves only one CG that has to be sketched out! Currently, six of their CGs are finished, two need to be rendered, and one needs to be drawn still.

And since Kayn's CGs are mostly done, I've started drawing Fenir's. I was actually able to finish one because I basically Locked In when I made it, so here is a sneak peek!

Kisses his little pink nose

You might notice there's not toooo many updates on this month's devlog. The reason for that is because this month, I spent a lot of it recovering both mentally and physically. April shenanigans and those back-to-back releases took a lot out of me, and after going full speed basically since this year started, I learned I REALLY needed a break. That coupled with the concussion I got made it so that most of this month was focused on recovering and then getting back into the groove of things.

Another thing I tried to focus on this month was finding a balance in my workflow. Going into this month, I felt like I was on the verge of a mental breakdown almost every day, in large part because I have a lot of big things I'm trying to accomplish this year. Between finishing my dissertation, Alaris, and a personal big event that I have to plan, I have a lot on my plate this year, and it's made it easy to get overwhelmed as the months pass by. So I wanted to find a balance between all three that didn't make me feel like I was also falling into insanity. After talking to beloved Wudgey of @herotome fame, I've started adopting a schedule that gives me enough structure and flexibility to feel like I'm making progress without going crazy and getting lost in the sauce.

While it's still early in the process, I'm really happy with the balance I've hit, and I'm feeling much more like myself now compared to a month ago!

I caught up on quite a few things in my backlog this month, which made me happy ^^ I always like to learn from and support other devs, so finally being able to return to that helped with the recovery process <3

I don't have any actual fanart pieces, but there are a couple of games I'd like to highlight!

First of all, of course I must talk about our hot girl (/gender neutral) summer cross-promo. If you haven't checked out these games, I can't recommend them enough!!

Links to each game can be found on the Alaris Game page under the magic and mystery otome section!

Specifically, Save the Villainess, The Good People, and Thorn for the Villain are amazing games if you're into thriller/political games layered with mystery

The Silent Kingdom (which I played recently and is AMAZING) and Dual Chroma (Otojam 2023 ALLY) have added mechanics of RPG for exciting action-adventure fantasy stories

Lost in Limbo, Obscura, and Snow White Ashes are BEAUTIFUL dark fantasy games. I've played all three of these and they have some of the most beautiful writing and visuals... BIG FAN OF ALL OF THEM.

Mask Beyond Lies and Sigh of the Abyss have that epic fantasy adventure appeal to them, in a way that I think is similar to Alaris! And Pearlglow Cafe (another Otojam 2023 ALLY) is a very lighthearted and charming game for those of you who like the comfy vibe that most of my stories have!!

Some other games that I played are Favor (@favorvn) by beloved @concreteparasite which is SOOOOO stylish. If you've played Binary Star Hero by Connie, you can expect that same stylish, dark, sultry vibe from Favor. If you haven't checked out either of those games by Connie, I can't recommend them enough, especially if you like yanderes. There is so much aesthetic and atmosphere to them!

I also played Where Winter Crows Go by @prikarin who is a VERY talented developer (and one I'm sure many are familiar with). I had a lot of fun romancing Crowe and both the MC and him have such strong personalities, it was so fun seeing their dynamic!!!! The CGs were also made by anta, who is the dev behind Thorn for the Villain, and they're BEAUTIFULLLLL. Each one has so much style and rly has a professional look to them. Can't recommend enough if you haven't played already ((heads up that it is another yandere game for those who can't do yandere!))

Okay I've yapped enough. If you've made it this far, you are god's strongest soldier LFMASLDIFJ. See you all next month with hopefully some exciting progress!

[keyboardsmashess]

The Siren, or The Heart of the Matter

Chapter Twenty Five: The Visitor, or Eight Harry Potter Movies and One Second of Bravery

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: language, eventual smut, fluff, angst, canon-typical violence MINORS DNI. A/N: I want to give a disclaimer about the media mentioned in this chapter - Harry Potter is an important world to Cleo (because it's an important world to me), but neither I nor my fictional characters support the author or her incredibly harmful beliefs. Trans women are women, trans men are men, trans rights always and forever. Enjoy the chapter, lovelies <3

Summary: Cleo and Bucky bond, growing closer than ever. What will happen next?

Chapter Directory

I burst into the common room with gusto, shocking Bruce into spilling his glass of water. 

As he mops it up, Tony side-eyes me. “You’re awfully chipper this afternoon, Glowstick.”

I smile at my friends and twirl, arms spread wide. Steve chuckles at my exuberance, and I think I see the ghost of a smile flit across Bucky’s face. “I’m the chipperest, Antonia. Do you want to know why?”

His eyes narrow. “I don’t know that I do, to be honest.”

I grab a cup of coffee, patting Betty affectionately, and hop onto a barstool next to Nat. “Well tough shit, I’m going to tell you anyway.” I take a sip of my coffee, pausing for dramatic effect, and grin widely. “I just got word that the final draft of my dissertation has been approved, and the committee is ready to schedule my defense!”

“Cleo, that’s fantastic! Congratulations!” Bruce smiles at me from across the counter. 

Tony gives me a small round of applause and, at the confused looks of a few of the others, he explains, “That means she’s almost done with her PhD. This is the last step before we have to start calling her Doctor.”

“Oh wow, way to go, Cleo!” Steve says, clapping me on the back. 

Nat nudges me with her shoulder. “Nice work, genius.”

Clint grins winningly, spreading his hands. “Dr. The Siren, I like it.” 

I burst into laughter, soaking in the support of my friends, but the genuine smile of affection I catch on Bucky’s face might be the best congratulations of them all.

“Thank you. I’m definitely excited, but I’m not finished yet. I have to find a time to go to Culver so I can have the defense in person. My thesis advisor just emailed me and said he couldn’t convince the board to do this part remotely.”

Tony moves for his phone, but I stop him. “Nuh-uh. No more pulling strings with your ‘considerable charm and influence.’ You’ve done more than enough already, and besides - I like the idea of doing this last part in person.”

He shrugs, going to the fridge and pulling out a carton of blueberries. “Suit yourself.”

Steve gives me a nervous look. “I hate to say this Cleo, but with everything going on - with The Philosopher still out there - it might not be the best idea.”

I put my coffee mug down and level a hard look at him. “I appreciate your concern, but this is happening. I don’t care if I have to hitchhike there in disguise - I’m defending my dissertation and getting my degree.”

He thinks for a moment, that worried look still on his face. “Will you at least let one of us come with you?”

I sigh, but smile. It’s weirdly nice to know someone worries about me. “Sure, Big Guy.”

I’m about to turn to Nat and ask if she wants to road trip with me when Bucky speaks up. “I’ll do it.”

Tony’s mouth drops open, and a blueberry falls out and rolls across the counter. “Did the Manchurian Candidate really just volunteer for something?” he mutters to Bruce.

Bucky frowns at Tony. “I just figured since I’m immune to her powers and all, it would make the most sense for me to go.”

Steve smiles and looks at Nat with an unreadable expression. She clears her throat. “I completely agree - Barnes makes the most sense.” Clint and Steve both nod, and for a moment I just stare at them, wondering why my friends have such feral gleams in their eyes.

I shake my head and turn to Bucky. “Well… thanks. I appreciate it. And don’t worry - I have it on good authority that I make a great travel companion.” I grin at him and he rolls his eyes, but I can see a tiny smile hiding at the corner of his mouth. 

“Alright,” I say, clapping my hands. “I better go work on our travel playlist. You like Taylor Swift, right, Buck?” His groan has everyone else bursting into laughter, and I look over my shoulder at him before heading down the stairs. “Don’t forget - you volunteered.”

******

New secure email from ESapros@culver.edu

Cleo,

I’ve confirmed the defense of your dissertation with the committee for two weeks from today. I appreciate your understanding of the need to complete this final step in person. Unfortunately, I could not convince them to allow your “colleague” to join us in the room. He will have to wait outside.

It has been a joy working with you during your time at Culver, and I’m quite proud of the progress you have made. Please do consider a career in academia before making a permanent commitment to this little superhero team with which you have found yourself entangled. You are young and intelligent; do not throw that away. 

A wise man once said, “Seek truth while you are young, for if you do not, it will later escape your grasp.” Dean Wharton mentioned that a spot in the English faculty may be opening up, and I hope you do not mind that I mentioned you as a qualified candidate for the position. At least give it some thought, for me.

Please let me know if you find yourself with any questions or concerns prior to your defense in two weeks’ time. Until then,

Elias J. Sapros, PhD

Culver University

******

Avengers minus Thor (only use when 🔨 off-planet or to talk shit about Loki)

Lite Brite: My defense will be in two weeks - just confirmed with my advisor

King of the Lab: Sounds great, kid. You and Cyborg can take the Quinjet ✈️

Nat TonyifyouchangemynameagainIsweartogod Romanov: Congrats Cleo

Nat TonyifyouchangemynameagainIsweartogod Romanov: This is very exciting

Captain Boyscout: It took a lot of hard work, finishing your PhD while also training with us. You should be proud of yourself. Sincerely, Steve Rogers

Lab Assistant: Great work, Cleo.

Katniss: We’re going to have to celebrate when it’s all over, Dr. The Siren 😉🍸

Manchurian Candidate: 👍

New secure message from Bucky Barnes

Bucky: Even though we’re taking the jet, we probably still need a playlist.

Bucky: I wouldn’t say no to some Bikini Kill

Bucky: … or Taylor Swift

Cleo: You’re rapidly approaching friendship level four, Buckaroo.

******

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

I thought having my dissertation complete would help ease my anxiety-induced insomnia, but I was wrong. If anything, losing that extra task to focus some of my energy on has made things even worse. 

I spend a few nights tossing and turning, not wanting to allow myself to seek out Bucky’s company even though I know he must be awake, too. After my conversation with Dr. B, my therapist, I’m hyper-aware of my feelings for Bucky, which makes being in his presence incredibly challenging. When he’s in the room, my powers go out the window and I’m suddenly spilling food, tripping over air, and my words come out in a jumbled mess.

Worst of all, my fucking crystal has started glowing when I get too warm and fuzzy about him. It’s like a beacon of desperation and embarrassment.

Still, though, my desire to escape the incessant press of my thoughts while alone wins out over my insistence on keeping my distance from Bucky, and I find myself at his door yet again.

He answers almost immediately. “Cleo, hey.” He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a plain tee shirt, but somehow he makes it look like he’s heading for the runway. There’s the barest hint of a smirk on his face - just enough to have heat flooding my cheeks. And perhaps other areas.

“Hey, Buck. I couldn’t sleep and figured you’d be up, too. I thought maybe you’d want to watch something together?”

He steps back and opens the door, spreading an arm to welcome me inside like always. “What do you have planned for this evening? More kid shows? I have to say, the puppet is growing on me.”

I do my best to suffocate the feelings bubbling up inside me and plop down gracelessly on his couch. “Told you, Zoboomafoo gets everyone eventually.” He chuckles and sits next to me, just slightly closer than normal, and I wish for a moment I’d worn something other than pajama shorts and a tank top with a sports bra. “I thought you could choose tonight.”

Bucky brightens, grabbing a small notebook off his coffee table and flipping through the pages. “I actually have a list - you wanna check something off with me?”

I smile fondly as he hands me the notebook open to a page entitled Movies I Missed. I scan the list, looking for something that piques my interest. “You’ve got a lot of fantasy on here - who knew you were a secret nerd?”

His cheeks flush just a little, and he scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I read The Hobbit when it came out and loved it, so I started with that movie, and then I kept hearing about similar stuff.”

“Oh it isn’t an insult, I’m also a massive nerd. I’ve seen just about everything on this list - multiple times. Since we already started on childhood nostalgia with Zoboomafoo, let’s try Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.” I’m already grabbing his remote and navigating to the movie on Bucky’s StarkTV.

He grins widely. “I’ve been reading the books, so that’s perfect.”

“Now I need to warn you, this is not a perfect franchise,” I say, faux-seriously. “But it’s worth a watch anyway. And if you see me crying, no you didn’t.”

He nods. “Got it. Ditto.” He reaches behind me to pull a throw blanket off the back of the couch and spread it over both our laps, then switches off the lamp on his side of the couch.

“Nice blanket,” I say, and it’s dark so I can’t say for sure, but I think he smiles proudly.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

I get my pajamas on and do my skincare routine, and once I’m fully ready for sleep, I completely bypass my bed, walk out of my apartment, pad down the hall, and knock on Bucky’s door. He’s got it open before I finish knocking.

“HP two?” I ask, and he grins and points to the TV where the movie is already cued up. I sit down on what I’ve started to think of as ‘my’ side of the couch, and Bucky takes his.

As he grabs the throw blanket, he shoots me an embarrassed look. “I, uh, washed it wrong and it shrank a little bit.”

I laugh. “You know, they put the instructions right there on the tag.”

He rolls his eyes. “I do know that… now.”

I inch close enough to fit under the blanket, not quite touching Bucky but certainly nearer than before. “It’s fine. Happens to the best of us.” And really, I think, he is the best of us.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

“Do you want a snack?” Bucky asks from the kitchen.

“Sure!” I reply brightly. “I’m always down for a snack attack.”

Before I can ask what he has, he’s tossing me a bag of baked white cheddar cheetos and a bottle of sweet tea, quite possibly my two favorite food items on the planet. I gape at him. “How did you…”

He grins shyly as he takes his own seat, a few inches closer than the night before. “I pay attention.”

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

“So let me get this straight,” Bucky says, pausing the movie. We’ve now surpassed his place in the books and have entered uncharted territory for him. “He’s going to let Harry - a goddamn child - enter a deadly competition because a stupid cup said he has to?”

I nod solemnly. “And now you see why Dumbledore is such a polarizing character.”

He narrows his eyes at the screen. “And I thought Fury was bad. This man is not responsible enough to be in charge of a single kid, much less an entire school of ‘em.”

I pat his shoulder. “I know, Buck. I know.”

Bucky sighs deeply and presses play. “Well, I guess we better find out how Harry’s going to be traumatized this time.” 

I reach over him and grab a box of tissues from his side table. He gapes at me. “Just in case.”

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

As Sirius falls through the veil, I surreptitiously wipe at my eye, hoping Bucky doesn’t see the tear leaking from the corner. Naturally, he spots it immediately. He wordlessly hands me a tissue.

“Thanks,” I say, sniffling a little. “I’ve seen this a million times, but that never gets any easier to watch.”

“It’s weird,” Bucky says, a thoughtful look on his face. I quirk an eyebrow in question. “That we watch this stuff, knowing it’s going to make us sad. It’s weird that we enjoy seeing characters go through all this shit.”

I pause the movie and shake my head. “I don’t think it’s weird at all. Because at the end of the day, they don’t just go through the shit - they survive it. And watching or reading a story about that helps us believe we can survive our own shit, too. At least, it does for me.”

He studies me, and I blush at his attention. “I guess I’ve never thought about it like that, but you’re right. I’ve always liked stuff like this - that’s probably why. I just thought I was fucked up.”

I look away from his intense blue eyes, uncomfortable under his gaze. “Oh you’re definitely fucked up - just for reasons other than your media choices. If you like moderate-to-severely depressing adventures, I’ve got the show for you. We’re watching Supernatural once we finish these movies.” He nods in agreement, smiling at me gently.

I press play, but I can sense that his gaze doesn’t leave my face for quite some time. I refuse to meet it, staring at the screen until my eyes start to water.

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince

I’m tired tonight, having gone extra hard with Nat in training to work out a pissy mood she was in for some unknown reason. I hope she’ll tell me eventually, but for now I’m happy to help her hit things until she feels better. I feel my eyes start to droop about halfway through the movie.

I’m not sure who edges over first, but the sleepier I become, the closer Bucky and I move to one another. By the time Harry and Dumbledore get to the cave with the inferi, I’ve fallen asleep.

When I wake up, Bucky and I are both completely horizontal on the couch. I’m using him as a pillow, my cheek and hand resting on the firm planes of his chest, and I feel his metal arm wrapped gently around my waist. I’m surprised at how comforting it feels, this arm that was once such a fearsome weapon. It isn’t scary at all - it’s simply Bucky. And I know that, with Bucky, I’m safe.

I crack one eye open to peer up at his face and see that he’s sleeping soundly. As I close my eyes and allow myself to drift back into sleep, I tell myself I’m just being a good friend.

He hardly sleeps - why would I wake him up? I’m only staying because it’s a nice thing to do.

Yeah, right.

It’s the best damn sleep of my life. 

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Part One)

When Bucky and I finally wake up, the sun is shining in the sky and Steve is pounding on the door. We spring apart like opposing ends of a magnet, neither able to look the other in the eyes. Bucky convinces Steve to wait downstairs, that he’ll get me and we’ll meet him there, and Steve - bless his innocent soul - complies. We don’t speak a word. 

At the end of the day, I knock on the door nervously, and Bucky takes so long to answer that I’m afraid he’s going to ignore me completely. Eventually, though, he opens the door, and I force a casual grin as I walk in.

“We’re almost there, Buck - just two more movies.” I plop down on the far end of the couch, closer to the edge than I’ve been since before our first night of shared insomnia.

He dutifully takes the opposite end, smiling stiffly. “Great. Let’s do this.”

We watch the movie in total silence - no commentary, no snacks, no blankets, and absolutely no touching. I hate every second.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Part Two)

Bucky answers the door immediately again, and I huff a silent sigh of relief at the normalcy. As I enter his room, I think back to a text I’d gotten from my therapist, Dr. Benally, earlier today. 

Dr. B: Are you doing your homework?

Cleo: … yes

Dr. B: I know that means no, Cleo. Do one thing that makes you happy today. Talk soon.

Not looking anywhere close to Bucky’s face, I sit in the center of the couch - near enough to his side that he could choose to sit right next to me, but far enough that he could still take plenty of distance. He pauses for only a moment, but I can see the calculations going on in his mind. To my delight, he sits close to me - our thighs pressing together - and grabs the blanket.

“I know for a fact this one’s going to make me emotional,” he says with a small smile. “I’m gonna need your support.”

I take a deep breath to steel myself and, channeling my inner Gryffindor in a moment of bravery or possibly stupidity, I lay my head on his shoulder and play the movie. “I’ve got you, Buck.”

He stiffens, just for a second, and then relaxes, tentatively wrapping his left arm around my back. “Yeah, I’ve got you, too.”

[chiss-ticism]

OC Deep Dive: Judith "Moody Judy" Margolis

🩸Brujah Antitribu. Pack Ductus. Convention of Thorns historian. Anarch infiltrator. Remover for the Black Hand. 🩸

I was tagged [three days ago now, lmao] by @kentuckycaverats. Tysm! 'twas very kind for you to include me :D

🎨Art masterfully drawn by @/crownedinmarigolds!! 🎨

💣 Judy's Main Post. 💥

what common/uncommon fear do they have?

Ghosts! - Camarilla elders? Manageable. - Lupines? Maybe not an easy fight, but manageable with sufficient enough preparation and cold bodies to put between you and them. - Antediluvians? When we get there. But ghosts? I find that the mental image of a battle-hardened, 'Know No Fear' 2x Death Cultist with a fear of ghosts brings me no small amount of joy 😌 "The fuck am I supposed to do against a Wraiths?" She sulks in the far flung recesses of my mind, malding about an explicable inability to punch or politic her way out of the problem.

do they have any pet peeves?

Brujah. The whole clan. Main clan, Antitribu. It hardly matters. Why? She despises the hot-headed, always-needs-to-be-in-charge, 'only I know the way forward'-ness of her broodmates. The Anarchs - helmed in no small part by arrogant ""philosopher kings"" who can't even agree on what it even means to be an Anarch beyond criticisms of the system as-is - are trying to play at the Jyhad two steps behind everyone else. The Antitribu are, by and large... how did Gehenna: Time And Judgement put it? "better suited to stabbing itself in the eye and setting itself on fire than... well, anything of actual value." Those seeking refuge within the gilded cage of the Camarilla aren't even worthy of a passing thought. You see, my friend, you simply have to follow the hot-headed death cultist who, none too dissimilar to an Evil Advisor™, humbly whispers in the ears of Barons and Anarch Councilmembers to get anything of value done! 😌

what are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

1.) A necklace infused with her sire's ashes. 2.) A three-ring binder full of rough drafts [speeches, dissertations on Cainite history, her attempts at learning other languages, etc.]. It only seems organized to her eye. 3.) A cardboard box overflowing with CDs from the late 90s to the early 2000s.

what do they notice first in a person?

How willing they are to underestimate their allies and opponents! She, in spite of genuinely enjoying the hallmarks of her aesthetic, also uses it as a litmus test for those who're unfamiliar with her positioning as a member of the highly vaunted [and/or feared, depending on who you are] Black Hand or even, simply, as a member of the Boogeyman that is the Sabbat. Dressing [and sometimes behaving] like Jesse Pinkman is not - in most situations - likely to command immediate respect. Do they presume her to be a rowdy neonate who is simply pushing her luck? Noted. Do they treat her with cautious apprehension? Curious...

on a scale of 1-10 how high is their pain tolerance?

I'd wager a solid 7-8, given: - She's dead. While only Ida - her Tzimisce Pack Priest - has completely deadened her nerves, being clinically dead has to count for something. - Black Hand training. - Black Hand training at the hand of Teresita "Godmother of the Damned", a Nosferatu Antitribu who claims residence in Mexico City. A relevant quote for you: "You call neonates and your Black Hand soliders "darling child" (niño querido) and similar endearments as you pinch cheeks, tidy their clothes, and crush the bones of anyone who fails you." [Mexico City by Night, p. 81] (Revised Edition sourcebook.)

do they go into fight or flight mode (or freeze or fawn) when under pressure?

Fight! I wish that I could attribute it to her being a Brujah but, no, she's always been like this. She's always been fond of biting people, too.

what animal represents them best?

A Pit Bull, I'd wager. Not Mr. Worldwide.👨‍🦲

how would a stranger likely describe them?

Knowledgeable. Arrogant. Malicious. Context - Obvious Predator [2 pt. Flaw, V20]: "Your innate Brujah rage always percolates below the surface no matter how hard you try to project an image of calm. Mortals find you intrinsically menacing, and instinctively fear you for the violence you promise to unleash."

do they have any hobbies?

Most of her time is spent tending to co-opting Anarchs or guiding her Pack, but when she has a moment to herself she prefers to spend it: - When the Sabbat has a High Holiday that involves re-enacting historical events or scenes from the Book of Nod, she loves to act as an advisor! - Learning languages. [albeit still in service to the Black Hand.] - Stockpiling of homemade explosives. - Refreshing herself on Cainite history. - Performing Pack Ritae with, well, her Pack. Those Lupines aren't going to dog-tag themselves! - She spends an inordinate amount of time at ""gentlemen's clubs."" 💃

[pippenpaddlopsicopolisthethird]

My dissertation is in the final stages and I really need to be putting a lot of focus onto this draft to get it as close as possible to completed by next week.

Which means of course that my brain is desperate to focus on anything that ISN'T the draft. I've learned long ago that trying to Only focus on the important thing doesn't work at all, but I very can't ignore it.

Only solution is to reward the bits of Important Draft Work with bits of Fun Escape Project. Between checking data points and rewording results for precision, I'm fiddling with trying to invent a pattern for a crocheted chain mail coif!

It looks like a pretty basic pattern in the round. I found a vintage doily pattern from 1940 to give me an idea of how to start. The center of the top of the head is done in filet stitch, which looks squarer than I'd like but is pretty secure and will probably feel more comfortable on the top of the head. Then I'll move over to a chain netting stitch, which will hopefully give me more of a round look.

Here's what I'm starting with; I think that the next round is when I'll move over to the netting.

I'll update with progress as I go! I may end up with a usable pattern too!

[louferrignojrofficial]

now i’m getting individual support from my university i have even more people to make sure i get my work done plus extra meetings and responsibilities ����

the biggest upside though is that hopefully i can get someone to write me a letter to support my request for a deferral. but that may not happen until mid march and by then i should have submitted my dissertation draft and have completed my research anyways 😃😃

[musingsbycaitlin]

HEY! Writeblr Intro!!!

Hi, my name is Caitlin, and I’m a third year Creative Writing student in rainy England. I’ve got a couple WIPs but none are set in stone so you’ll have to bear with me for a while haha.

- I’m here for a good time so my writing is solely based on my mood and vibe at the time, please do not expect consistency.

- I write short stories mainly but am trying to branch out into novels so you’ll hopefully be seeing a bit more of that in the future.

- I am a university student with anxiety and decision fatigue so things change drastically around here every so often but I promise if I go quiet I will come back.

Let’s get into the WIPs (these will be constantly edited and changing) and feel free to ask me any questions about any of them, even ones that might have been removed from this list if you’re interested.

IF I GIVE UP, SO MUST YOU - a Wild West literary fiction novel

STATUS: currently drafting (on hiatus)

GENRE: literary fiction, sapphic romance(?)

CURRENT WORD COUNT: 3,995

Okay, so a bit of info about this project. I started writing it a bit ago purely because I wanted to write a Wild West novel and then it turned sapphic and then it became literary. It follows an unnamed narrator as she navigates life outside of her small town after she is targeted by bandits in a raid. A coming of age novel that explores what it means to figure things out for yourself whilst battling with false truths engrained into your from a young age.

NIGHT SWIMMING (working title) - a short story collection

STATUS: literally haven’t even started :/

GENRE: literary, horror, surrealist

This collection is my version of NaNoWriMo this year because there is no way I can feasibly write a novel in a month where I also have to write my dissertation first draft and three other short stories like no. I’m hoping to do an update on my page whenever a story is complete, so I will also update this section to include the names of all the stories going in. Stay posted is all I’m saying ;). All I know is I want it to explore the everyday in a surrealist way (as most of my stories do).

DAMAGED GOODS - a dystopian sci-fi novel

STATUS: currently drafting (on hiatus)

GENRE: dystopian, sci-if, speculative

CURRENT WORD COUNT: 2,323

So, I haven’t done an intro post to this yet simply because I had to put it to one side once university started again. A brief summary is this: Auden, an average guy, husband, and father, has gotten into a dreadful car accident. In this society, however, surgery is replaced with metal transplantation. Due to Auden’s extensive injuries, he now must live in suburbia with a completely metal head, arm, and leg.

I’m super happy with this concept and the initial 2,000 words I’ve got I’m pretty okay with. The main issue is where to take it and if it will be a full novel or more of a novella.

EAT YOUR YOUNG - a gothic horror novella

STATUS: currently drafting

GENRE: gothic horror

CURRENT WORD COUNT: 4,950

I haven’t done an intro for this project because I honestly wasn’t sure I’d return to it but the spooky season is upon us and I really want to get back into writing this. Brief Summary: Mr Gerard is an accountant hired by the Heron Manor estate to deal with the affairs of the three sisters residing there after a mysterious death of the man of the house.

This is going to me my main personal priority other than my short stories for now and I’ll try to get an intro out soon.

Okay, so that’s all for me folks. Like I said, any questions please feel free to send me an ask or a message, don’t be a stranger. As a writer I always wanna talk about my projects, OCs, and anything else writing craft related!

I’m tagging some mutuals, if you wish to be tagged or removed :( - let me know x

@annlillyjose @dallonwrites @aesa @winterandwords @iannicellis @isherwoodj

[halfagonyandhope]

ignite the stars │ch. 16

first chapter (x); previous chapter (x)

Satine Kryze is an internationally-recognized scholar in genocide studies who recently resigned from the Department of State over her concerns regarding the agency's ethics. Ben Kenobi is a tenured professor at Georgetown University studying the use of religion to justify military conflicts. Once high school sweethearts, the two haven't spoken since parting ways for university. That is, until Satine accepts a research fellowship - at Georgetown.

---

Ventress is the following week’s featured speaker at the weekly seminar, and Satine gets to the lecture hall early so she can have her pick of seats. She joins Vos in the front row, placing her sweater over the seat beside her to reserve it for Ben, who is still at office hours.

“Hey, Satine,” says Vos with a grin. “How’s the book coming along?”

Satine waves at Ventress, who is loading her slides onto the presentation screen. Ventress nods in acknowledgement.

“Outline is complete, and it’s been approved by the publisher,” says Satine. “Which is a massive relief. And I’ve got solid first drafts of the first few chapters. I’m pretty much where I need to be in terms of the grant deliverables.”

“Kudos,” says Vos. “I mean, good for you, but I’d fucking hate to write a book. Sounds miserable.”

Satine laughs. “Sometimes I feel that way, too.” She nudges his shoulder. “Hey, I heard your master’s student scheduled her thesis defense. Does she want folks to attend the public portion to support her? Or would that make her nervous?”

“Aayla would eat up the attention,” says Vos. “So plan to be there.”

“Email me the details?”

“You got it, boss.”

Satine smiles. “Is she planning on sticking around to do her doctorate here?”

“I hope so,” says Vos. “But she applied to a bunch of programs, and she’s gotten some great offers of funding. She’s still weighing everything.”

“I bet you’re proud of her,” says Satine. “And you should be proud of yourself, too. Her success speaks to your skill as an advisor.” 

She thinks she sees him blush. “Nah,” he says. “I had nothing to do with her accomplishments. She could have done it all without me.”

Ben joins them at that moment, brushing a kiss to Satine’s temple. Satine moves her sweater so he can sit beside her. “I’ve been looking forward to hearing about Ventress’ recent work,” he says. “That’s what she’s presenting today, right, Quinlan? Her fieldwork from last summer?”

Vos nods. He opens his mouth to respond, but Dooku Serenno has already risen to his feet, stepping to the center of the lecture hall.

As usual, he begins his introduction.

Satine leans forward. She’s also eager to learn more about Ventress’ work. Though she’d done a deep dive into Ben’s research, she hasn’t had time to investigate her friend’s background as much, and she realizes this is something she must rectify.

Ventress, it turns out, had received one of the prestigious Fulbright awards to complete a portion of her dissertation research in Canada as part of her graduate studies. She’d spent her Fulbright year living amongst First Nations groups in the Arctic, and she’d received another impressive grant to fund a year with an Alaska Native tribe.

Even Serenno’s drawl can’t make Ventress’ life unimpressive.

Eventually, he returns to his seat, ceding the floor to Ventress, and the audience quietly applauds. Ventress doesn’t thank Serenno for the introduction, and Satine smiles to herself at this.

Satine quickly realizes that Ventress is the most effective public speaker in the department, and it doesn’t even take a complete sentence.

“A recent survey of Native youth found that sixty percent of respondents knew an Indigenous person who had gone missing or been murdered,” begins Ventress. “Such violence against Native people in the lands that are currently called the United States - the land that Indigenous people know as Turtle Island - is commonplace, so much so that we’ve labeled this epidemic as the Missing and Murdered Indigenous People crisis.”

She looks out over the audience, pausing.

“If this is a novel statistic to you, you are part of the problem,” says Ventress, flipping to her next slide. “Stanton described first eight, later expanded to ten, total stages of the process of genocide. The final stage - the final phase of genocide - is denial. This includes when past or ongoing genocides are forgotten, or never taught in the first place.”

Satine feels seen.

How many times has she had to explain to American colleagues what happened in Bosnia? How many times has she had to watch their confused or disbelieving faces as she cuts herself open, before she’s had a chance to heal, to explain what had happened in her country? How many times must she hear I had no idea from colleagues who should be smart enough to know basic international history?

Ventress meets her gaze. She nods at Ventress, who gives an almost imperceptible nod back.

“In the United States,” Ventress continues, “there are five hundred and seventy-four federally-recognized tribes. Others are state-recognized, and others still don’t have recognition at all. That means that the United States has committed genocide at least 574 times. In many cases, that genocide continues.”

She moves to the next slide, moving across the raised platform, from one side of the lectern to the other.

“In Canada, a several-hundred page report published five years ago acknowledged that the federal government had committed genocide and was continuing to commit genocide against its Indigenous peoples. The report included recommendations for reconciliation, but most of those recommendations were ignored.”

As Ventress pauses for a moment, it’s so quiet in the lecture hall that Satine can hear a colleague behind her taking notes.

“Genocide, of course, is not the focus of my research. But I bring this up to provide context. Beyond the structural violence that Indigenous peoples on Turtle Island face, there is significant physical and direct violence that we must survive every day. And for many of us, it is about merely surviving. This is often not a life in which Indigenous people can thrive.” She transitions to the next slide. “My work focuses on predicting locations of violence against Indigenous peoples so that each tribal community or village can protect itself, its people, and its sovereignty. I map so-called ‘man camps’ - transient camps of mostly male contract workers, building infrastructure like pipelines in rural locations. These man camps are associated with increased violence against Indigenous people, and Indigenous women in particular.”

Over the course of the next hour, Ventress details her methods and showcases the maps she’s created. Satine isn’t an expert in GIS - geographic information systems - by any means, but Ventress’ work is clearly, beyond any shadow of a doubt, exceptional. The content is triggering and hard for Satine to listen to, but Satine doesn’t for a moment think to leave.

Satine knows she’s a guest on these lands. This is the least she can do to honor the original caretakers.

It seems like she blinks and the lecture is over, with another round of applause. Satine remains seated as her companions rise to leave, and Ben glances her way, his expression telling her he knows the lecture must have been a difficult one for her to hear.

“Go on,” says Satine. “I’ll meet you in your office.”

He nods, and he and Vos follow the others up the stairs and out the door of the lecture hall. Satine stands and steps up to the lectern.

“Your talk was excellent,” Satine begins, and Ventress looks at her as she logs out of the computer. “It made me very grateful you decided to befriend me instead of declare me your enemy the day I arrived. The latter probably would have been easier to do, especially since our fields overlap slightly.”

Ventress grins at this. “I don’t start fights,” she says. “I only end them.”

Satine laughs deeply.

Ventress tucks her thumb drive into her pocket. “Listen, Satine,” she begins. “There’s an Indigenous artist market being held at the National Museum of the American Indian over Spring Break. Want to check it out?”

“I’d like that,” says Satine, nodding, and she follows Asajj up the stairs.

---

The next week moves too quickly for Satine’s liking. She blinks and Spring Break has arrived, and Ben has boarded a plane out of the District.

She’s proud of him for facing his grief. But she’s also not particularly looking forward to the time apart. They’ve been alternating spending the night at each other’s places, taking a load of things from her place to his every time they head to Old Town so that the eventual move is less overwhelming. She’s taken over a section of his closet and half of his dresser. She has a phone charger on her side of his bed.

So, naturally, her bed feels empty without him beside her.

Satine rolls over in the dark. Before Ben had left for the Metro to take him to the airport, he’d kissed her deeply and pressed a small metal object into her palm.

Taken aback, Satine had examined the key.

“The place will be half yours in two months,” Ben had reminded her. “So my spare key really isn’t all that much of a spare now, is it?”

“You just want someone to water your plants while you’re gone,” she’d quipped, and she held onto the way he laughed like it was a lifeline.

Now, Satine throws back the covers and stands, making her way over to her desk, where she grabs the sweater she’d stolen from him the night he’d first held her, the first time she’d cried in front of him in years. She slips it over her head and pads back to bed.

The smell of him is faint, but it’s still there. Pulling the duvet back over her, she succumbs to sleep.

---

On Monday afternoon, Satine takes two buses toward Capitol Hill. She’s finally put away her peacoat for the season, switching to a navy trench coat. The District seems to support this decision - peak cherry blossoms line the sides of the bus route, welcoming spring at last. Satine pulls the stop request cord, thanks the driver, and jumps off the bus outside of the museum on the National Mall.

The uniqueness of the National Museum of the American Indian's profile is immediately apparent, and the buff- and golden-colored limestone reminds Satine of natural rock, which she’s sure is intentional. Her eyes follow the lines of the building as they curve into themselves, reminiscent of waves or perhaps wind. Her first thought is that the building looks peaceful.

She breathes out.

The next moment, she spots Asajj, who is sitting on one of the stone benches outside, partially hidden by the beginnings of wetland plants commencing their spring growth. Satine realizes that the gardens, too, must have been planted with deliberate care, each species chosen for specific reason.

Asajj, of course, notices her before she approaches. She stands as Satine nears her.

“Should have figured you’d prefer to wait outside,” says Satine. “You can take the arctic out of the girl but…”

Asajj chuckles. “High fifties is practically tropic for me, even if it’s still brisk for others.” They begin to walk toward the entrance. “But for you, as well, as I understand it?”

Satine holds the first door open for Asajj, and Asajj holds the next one for her. “True,” acknowledges Satine. “Norway would have kicked me out if I complained about the cold,” she says with a laugh.

They open their bags for security and proceed through the metal detectors, and Satine steps to the side to take in the interior of the museum. To the left is the information desk, and everything in front of them is wide open space, a multi-purpose area that Satine guesses is often used for performances or lectures. Today, it’s filled with artist booths. Though the market doesn’t start for another half hour, the area is already bustling as the artists finish setting up. 

Beyond the market is a massive set of stairs leading to different levels of the museum, each floor with various exhibits.

Asajj glances at Satine. “Want to get food first?”

“You read my mind,” says Satine, and they wander to the museum’s cafe. Mitsitam Cafe, Satine knows, is famous for using ingredients indigenous to the Americas. Satine orders a manoomin - wild rice - dish and sits with Asajj as they wait for their food.

Asajj suddenly looks at her. “Do you ever find yourself wanting to go back?” she asks. Her voice is soft but sure. “To Bosnia, that is. Not to Norway.”

Satine shrugs. “Yes, and no. Sometimes I think I do. But I think ultimately what I want is to go back to an idea that doesn’t exist anymore. Maybe it never existed.”

Asajj nods. “Before…”

“Yes,” says Satine. “Before the fighting. An idealized version of what I left.”

Asajj breathes out. “I never knew that version of my village,” she says. “But I heard about it. The Elders…some of them had parents or grandparents who had known it. Who had seen it. I wish I had.” She breathes in. “So I understand. It’s why I don’t go back, I think. I mourn what I never got to see.”

Their food is set before them, and they thank the server.

Satine takes her first bite of wild rice. “Maybe,” she says. “Maybe the work you’re doing will allow future generations to see it.”

Asajj looks off into the distance. “Perhaps,” she says. “If so, it would be worth it.”

---

The next morning, Satine goes to her usual spot in the library. Campus is empty, with most of the undergraduates and graduate students - and the faculty, for that matter - off on Spring Break. It’s a nice change of pace, though she admits to missing the chaos of a busy semester. It’s easier to get lost in.

Satine sets her jacket on the back of her chair and drops her bag at the work station, heading to the stacks in search of a text. When she gets to the call number, she frowns.

The book isn’t there, even though the online database had indicated it hadn’t currently been checked out.

“Looking for this?”

Satine feels her heart stop for a beat. She turns to face Derren Malek, who is holding up the book she’d been searching for in his tattoo-clad hand.

Satine doesn’t move.

The corner of Malek’s mouth turns up. “It’s been difficult trying to find you on your own since we last talked,” he says. “Your friends seem to have set up a system. Thought I’d take advantage of there being literally no one else in the library today.”

Satine swallows. “How closely have you been watching me?”

He’d known exactly where to find her. Had he followed her to this spot before? Had the presence of students been the only thing not stopping him from approaching her then? 

She curses herself, realizing her phone is back at the desk.

“Close enough,” says Malek. “Curious, isn’t it? You’ve had the undivided attention of two men this semester. Kenobi, of course, and myself. A madness shared by two, indeed.”

Satine clenches her jaw. Her thoughts drift to her and Ben’s conversation, back when he’s proposed their thought experiment.

“This is madness, though, you know,” she says.

“Folie à deux,” says Ben. “A madness shared by two.”

With a growing horror, she remembers the way the floorboards had creaked behind them.

“You were there,” says Satine. “That day.”

“The Secretary said you were smart,” says Malek. “I’ve come to have my doubts, however, considering how absolutely idiotic you’ve been when it comes to Kenobi.”

He steps toward her.

“Not that he’s been any smarter about you,” says Malek. “The Secretary has all the evidence he needs.”

Satine steps back.

“You’ve been recording us.”

“You made it easy.” He laughs. “The Secretary knew of your first weakness: your research. You’d do anything to protect it, and, thus, to protect your reputation to ensure your work can continue. But now we have an insurance policy. Because, as it turns out, the formidable Satine Kryze has not only one weakness but two. And the second happens to be Ben Kenobi.”

“Leave him out of this.”

“But you’ve brought him in! And that’s on you.”

Satine reaches out to steady herself against the stack of books beside her. “What do you want?” she hisses.

“To remind you,” says Malek. “You’re toeing the line. Accepting the invitation to speak in Paris in September puts you in a position to cross it. Depending on the contents of that speech.”

Satine glares at him. “The Secretary wants to see the speech before I give it.”

Malek laughs again. “Stupid girl. He wants to write the speech you will give.”

Satine shakes her head before thinking about it. “When hell freezes over.”

Malek reaches out to grab her elbow, gripping her tightly. Satine has to force herself to not gasp at the pain.

“Your career is not the only one at stake now,” Malek says. “You’re conspiring with Kenobi, a conspiracy that involves an arranged marriage while you’re applying for citizenship. I can’t imagine that’s something that USCIS will take kindly to hearing. Beyond the knock to Kenobi's academic reputation, that could doom him to an avalanche of legal troubles.”

He pulls her closer so that her body is flush against his, forcing the book into her hand.

“Toe the line, Ms. Kryze,” he hisses. “Your first step will be to ensure that Kenobi discerns nothing of this conversation. The second will be giving that speech in September exactly as the Secretary has prepared it.”

Ben’s name from his lips lights the fire that sparks the match, and Satine remembers her first few self-defense trainings. She considers what Ben, Asajj, and Quinlan have taught her.

Use what you have available.

Well, right now, what she has available is twofold: the element of surprise, and the book she’s holding with a death grip.

So Satine pushes the book upward with all her might, feeling it collide with Malek’s face and hearing the telltale sound of delicate bones crunching. She jumps back and races toward the staircase, grabbing her bag and stuffing her jacket and the book - now bloodied - inside while never breaking stride. Once she’s out of the library, she runs to the nearest bus stop and joins the line boarding the bus that has just arrived, checking over her shoulder to make sure Malek hasn’t followed her. She holds her bag to her chest as she finds a seat, trying to figure out where she's headed.

Mercifully, the route takes her toward her home, and Satine jumps off the bus only a few blocks away. Still checking behind her, she speed-walks to her condo.

She holds her composure until she's inside, shutting the door behind her and bolting the lock. 

Then Satine doubles over, wincing, finally letting herself vocalize her discomfort. But instead of picking herself up, she sinks to the floor, breathing heavily, dropping her bag to the ground.

Then she dials 911.

The dispatcher assures her a uniformed Georgetown University police officer is on their way and will arrive at her home within minutes. But as soon as Satine hangs up, doubt begins to seep in, and she hesitates.

Should she have made that call? Would it have been better not to report it?

She hesitates. The force with which Malek had gripped her elbow would no doubt leave bruises. It was technically assault, and she’d been justified in her response, knowing that it was possible he could become more aggressive. She knows his history.

But she also knows how these types of cases usually end, why women don’t bother reporting abusers. She knows the statistics, the numbers of women who make reports to police but who aren’t taken seriously. More than that, reporting Malek is likely to lead to retaliation from him - or, even worse - the Secretary. 

Had she just crossed that line that Malek had warned her about? Had she just ordered her own deportation with that phone call? And why hadn’t she waited for a clearer head before making the call?

In shock, she waits for the squad car to arrive.

Five minutes pass, and then five more. After half an hour without hearing sirens, Satine crawls from her place on the floor to the couch, forced to reckon with the reality that help isn't on its way.

She’d heard stories of the American law enforcement system. She can hazard a guess as to why the police haven’t arrived.

So she calls Asajj.

Fifteen minutes later, Satine opens her door to Asajj and Quinlan on her porch.

“Tell me everything,” says Asajj, stepping past her.

Satine rolls up her sleeve and reveals the purple bruises near her elbow as Quinlan shuts the door behind them and locks it. Asajj reaches out to take her forearm, studying it. 

Then she puts an arm around Satine’s shoulders and guides her to sit back down on the couch. “Call Kenobi,” she says to Quinlan, who reaches for his phone and steps into the kitchen.

“Malek followed me to the library,” says Satine. “It was the same threat he gave before. A reminder.”

Asajj looks at her with discerning eyes. “You didn’t call the cops because you’re worried that will make him escalate this threat further.”

Satine bites her lip. “I did call the cops. They never showed up, and it’s been almost an hour.”

Asajj lets out a sharp breath. “Judging by your tone, you don’t think it’s just because they triaged you to the bottom of the list.”

“No,” Satine agrees.

Asajj sighs. “There’s blood on your blouse,” she points out.

Satine looks down and notices she’s right.

“I’m assuming you managed to land one on Malek?”

Satine nods.

“Good,” says Asajj. “Did you break his nose?”

“Probably,” admits Satine.

“Even better. Look, if you’re right about the reason the cops didn’t come, you don’t need to worry about Malek reporting you for punching him. He won’t want to draw attention to it - because he won’t be able to explain his injuries without explaining what provoked you. But just in case…we need to take pictures of the bruising. And since I don’t see blood all over your knuckles, I’m assuming you struck him with something else? A library book? I’ll get Vos to see if he can find it after he finishes talking with Kenobi. Anything that leads credence to your story, if the cops eventually do decide to do their job and investigate.”

“No need for Quinlan to go anywhere,” says Satine. “I have the book. In my bag.”

The first traces of a smile cross Asajj’s face. “You didn’t check it out? You rebel.”

Satine lets out a half-laugh, half-sob, and Asajj grabs the throw blanket from the back of the couch to toss around Satine’s shoulders.

“You’re too cold,” Asajj says. “You're coming down from an adrenaline high.” She moves to the thermostat to increase the temperature, then sits down next to Satine.

Quinlan emerges from the kitchen at that moment. “Kenobi’s headed back,” he says, and Asajj fills him in on what Satine has told her.

He cracks his knuckles. “We’re going to need to establish a schedule,” he says to Asajj, who nods.

“A schedule?” asks Satine.

"Like keeping watch,” Asajj says. “We’ll take turns. You shouldn’t go anywhere alone - on campus in particular - for a while. And Kenobi’s about to become your shadow, so you should prepare yourself.”

Quinlan takes a few steps into the living room. Into the silence, he says, “There’s a flight out of Madison in two hours. Lands in DC this afternoon. We’ll stay with you until he gets here.” He holds out his hand to Satine, and she realizes he’s holding a couple CBD gummies. “Kenobi told me which cabinet you kept them in; he figured you could use them.”

Satine takes the gummies gratefully. “Thanks,” she murmurs.

“He’ll text once he’s checked in at the airport,” Quinlan says. “I’m going to get some lunch for us. Any requests?”

“Something warm,” says Asajj, and Satine realizes she’s shivering.

Quinlan nods and slips out the front door. Asajj stands to lock it behind him, and then she moves toward Satine. “I’m going to grab you a different shirt,” she says. “Is that alright?”

Satine nods, not even really registering the question.

She’s vaguely aware of Asajj leaving the living room, less so of her coming back in with Satine’s sleep shirt. Satine lets her friend lead her toward the washroom, and Asajj steps out as Satine changes into the other top. Satine drops the blood-stained blouse to the floor like it’s on fire.

She follows Asajj back to the couch wordlessly, and they both sit together. Asajj turns on the television to something mindless.

By the time Quinlan returns with steaming bowls of pho, the CBD has clearly started taking effect. Satine manages to get down most of the pho, and she sets the empty takeout styrofoam on the coffee table.

And then she sinks back into the couch cushions and into blissful oblivion.

[workingtowardsthatphd]

Monday 6th May

The plan for today is to submit my dissertation and then get some chores that I have been putting off done, that way I have the rest of the week to write my final essay and then I am done?? With my entire undergraduate degree??

Incomplete from Yesterday:

Nothing!

To do:

Read back over the full draft of my diss, look for spelling/grammar errors and any newspaper names that I haven't italicized.

Submit dissertation.

Laundry - change the bed sheets.

Take all the trash that has built up out.

Complete:

Checked through all of my dissertation, found a few minor errors, corrected those. And I submitted it!

Cups of coffee: ☕

[maniculum]

So I’m pretty close to having a complete draft of my dissertation (after like… four years). And yesterday evening, right as I was being pleased with myself for being on the verge of having it done, just need to add some connective tissue and do a bit of formatting before I send it to my advisor, I turned around and made sudden eye contact with a book on my shelf.

One that my advisor had lent me from his personal library.

One that I had completely forgotten about and failed to incorporate into the dissertation.

All right. All right. This is fixable. I moved the book from my shelf to my desk so I wouldn’t forget it existed again and decided to dedicate the next day to reading through it and working it into my text.

This morning, I sat down and started reading the book. Introduction sounds quite interesting, makes some good points, hey i should write that bit down. I grabbed the little notebook I have dedicated to dissertation material and started looking for the next blank page.

And I froze. There in front of me was a page of notes on this very book which, judging from its position in the notebook, I had written earlier this year.

Me:

Also the notes are pretty brief and unhelpful (thanks, past me… but given that this is right next to a bunch of notes on Piers Plowman, i recognize that you were probably going through some stuff at the time and you’re forgiven) so I’m rereading the book anyway. But I’m very annoyed that not only did I forget I had this book, I forgot I read this book and the introduction completely failed to ring a bell when I started reading it again. And even now that I know I’ve read it before, I still don’t remember doing so and none of the text feels familiar.

[childotkw]

Any tips on how to write a dissertation? I’m in my final year of uni & cannot stop procrastinating 😢

Oh god, I've never had to write one before and it's been a hot minute since I was in university 😅

For procrastination though? Yeah, I can provide some tips on how I try and combat it.

Begin saying "no" aloud when you catch yourself procrastinating

I find this starts slowly changing what type of tasks I drift towards and helps me break out of the headspace. Saying it aloud also makes it stick better for me. Makes it more official so my little gremlin brain actually listens.

Pace yourself

Break the work down into smaller (much much smaller) segments so they don't seem as daunting. Rather than looking at it as a chapter, or a page, or a paragraph, go right down to a sentence. Finish one sentence, then another, then another. Sentence by sentence, you'll find yourself chipping through the project a lot faster because you're focussing on individual trees without getting disheartened by the size of the forest.

Have breaks

Don't burn yourself out by trying to power through everything. Build breaks into your timeline and try and stick to them.

Have a reward / punishment system

This sometimes works for me. Depending on what you, psychologically, respond better to, implement a system to reward or punish yourself whenever you successfully avoid procrastinating / when you don't succeed. I respond better to rewards, so I give myself a little treat when I avoid procrastinating and complete the work I'm doing. You might respond better to a punishment - e.g., "I won't watch this episode of my show because I procrastinated for x hours", "I won't read this fanfiction of the rest of the week because I didn't finish xyz of my project", things like that.

I will say to be especially careful with the punishment side of things. It can be a slippery slope because this is a kind of conditioning and you should be aware of how it might backfire before attempting anything of the sought.

Set realistic timeframes

What I mean by this is set yourself a goal of "for the next ten minutes, I will only work on x" and then commit to it. If you work to a specific cadence (i.e., I often do 20-5-20, 20 minutes working, 5 min break, 20 mins works). This can be a great way to keep yourself on track.

Accept that it doesn't need to be perfect

This go through a drafting phase. Your first go through doesn't need to be perfection. Once you push through that mentality, you'll have an easier time getting your initial draft done. Then you can go through and edit.

--- -- --- -- --- -- ---

Hope these help!

[wild-oats-and-cornflowers]

guess who is like. one day away from submitting the paperwork to be officially recognized as a doctoral candidate

comps: passed. committee: selected. dissertation prospectus: outline being drafted. coursework: well, there is one paper that was supposed to be finished in May, that was not finished in May and is about 2/3 done, that I need to finish and submit to my advisor to complete that. however, I am almost there

[fachefaucheux]

WriteFest! // Day 1 + Goals

It’s that magical time of year again! You know, the one where amateur writers all across the internet take on stupidly ambitious word count goals and drive themselves batty trying to reach them. I am no exception.

I’ve been doing word count goal challenges during the last two months of the year off and on since 2001 (really dating myself here, eh?). And despite all the terrible business that’s been going on with the most infamous one, I’m not going to quit a two-decade long habit just because other people are asshats. 

The OG Word Count Challenge helped me write my first “novel” Way Back In the Day, actually. That story was a bizarre fever dream about a guy who found a nuclear warhead in the supply closet of the care home he was working in…and getting rid of it required him to go undercover as vicar and infiltrate MI6??? Obviously, that didn’t end up going anywhere. But you can see glimmers of the same tried-and-true plot devices in it that I’ve been using ever since: a mix of action and humor, the fantastic and bizarre, shady con men pretending to be religious authority figures. (I don’t know why fake priests seem to be a running theme across my stories. I blame Catholic grade school and an overactive imagination.)

Since I tend to favor quantity over quality, I’ve escalated over the years to usually setting my word count goal for November at the 100k mark. But this year, I’ve been confronted with a challenge too insane for me to resist! I do a lot of my drafting on a website called 4thewords that I discovered nearly two years ago (great site, tbh, I highly recommend it to anyone who is more productive when they gamify their life), and this year, they’ve raised the challenge bar to a whole other level. For this year’s WriteFest, the top goal is to write 250k in 44 days. That’s roughly 5,700 words a day, for those of you who don’t feel like whipping out your calculator app.

So, of course, I had to do it.

Is this a good idea? Probably not. Am I still going to try my hardest? You’re goddamn right.

But I am cheating juuuuuust a little. I’m not doing it all on one WIP. This year, I’ll be working on completing Mushroom Picking Season (maybe 20k left? hopefully), the first volume of Canticle (if there’s more than 200k left on that, I’m totally cooked), and making a pitiful attempt at pushing my dissertation to the 25k mark, which is about halfway. (Yes! I do stuff other than write gay shit! My dissertation contains no gay lunatics, sadly. But it does contain an overabundance of (yugo)slavs.) Tally all those up, and you’ve got the 250k, with some wiggle room for just writing some unhinged smut to pad the total when I’m too tired to write anything semi-coherent.

As tradition dictates, I started on November 1st. Not at midnight, because I’m old and decrepit. But at six in the morning. And the results are in!

Day one, done and dusted. Total words: 8,226. For a brief moment, I’m ahead! Only 241,774 to go!

Of course, it’s the second now that I’m posting this. Once again, at six in the morning. I think I’ll try to snag another couple hours of rest before charging into the breach once more. Today’s goal is at least 6,000 words. But probably more, since I owe ya’ll an installment of Niv/Yule hijinks on Sunday. If I get really ahead this weekend, maybe I can even take a very small breather sometime this coming week. (I’m going to need it. For Reasons.)

Stay tuned to see how fast this project goes off the rails! (And snag a sneak peak at some writing snippets, if I’m feeling ambitious.)

[webanglikethat]

all my prior rants aside, if you like someone’s writing please tell them. and if someone sends you a google doc of their writing, leave comments I beg you because there is nothing better than the feeling of me checking my WIPs and seeing 60 comments left by my friends. it could even be just a simple “AAAAA OMGGG” and I’m smiling ear to ear for the rest of the week.

it’s utterly terrifying to put your heart into something and release it into the void, unsure if anyone will ever see it, let alone like it.

so if you’ve ever read something that made you feel something—joy, heartbreak, excitement—imagine how much it would mean to the person who created that feeling for you to hear it !! even a small comment like, “This line is genius” or “I couldn’t stop thinking about this” can remind a writer why they started in the first place.

“But what if it’s been years?” doesn’t matter. writers always reread old comments, especially when they’re feeling down or wondering if their work was worth it. even if they’ve moved on, hearing that their words impacted someone will mean so much. works especially well with ao3 since we get emails!

“What if I don’t have anything deep to say?” you don’t have to. sometimes the simplest comments—“THIS DESTROYED ME” or “OMG I’M OBSESSED”—are the most effective. the enthusiasm is what matters. you don’t need to write a dissertation to make someone’s day.

“What if they don’t even write anymore?”

it doesn’t matter! whether they’re still writing or not, knowing their work is still appreciated will mean so much to them.

“It feels weird to comment on something so old.”

it’s not weird at all !! writers love hearing that their work has stood the test of time and continues to resonate with readers — like are you kidding?? my work is timeless? THANK YOU?

“What if I only have one specific part I liked?”

then highlight that part! “This line gave me chills omg how did you come up with it?” or “This description was beautiful” will mean so much than you think.

“What if the fic is unfinished? I don’t want to remind them of something they didn’t complete.”

you are not reminding them of a failure; you’re celebrating what they did create. that’s worth so much. (and ps: maybe they will finish it knowing they’re still avid readers!)

if someone sends you a draft or a WIP, please leave comments. seriously. writers pour their souls into their work, and when it feels like no one notices, it’s easy to spiral into insecurity and think nothing is worth it. there is nothing worse than silence.

there is this false idea that once you write something, it’s done, and you move on. but that’s not true for most writers. we live with our stories long after they’re shared. we think about how they could’ve been better. we wonder if anyone else loved them as much as we did. your feedback—even years later—can be a lifeline for someone who’s doubting their talent.

so please, if you love someone’s writing, tell them. leave a comment on that ancient fic. send a DM to the friend who shared their WIP with you. scream in the margins of their Google Doc. you have no idea how much it means. your words might be the reason they pick up the pen again.

[bedlamsbard]

About 600 words written today. I think I'm coming up on the point where I need to do voice checks, because this is a big group scene. Still dissertating. (I have to have a complete draft done by the end of the month, which is, hmm. approaching.)

Snippet from Of Home Near chapter 16.

Rhodey eyed the cereal. “They have that in 1945?” Bucky picked up the box and looked at it. “Not anything with little marshmallows in it.  You’re going to rot your teeth, Steve.” “They’ll grow back,” Steve said.  “And they don’t rot anyway.  Lost another tooth when I got kicked in the head a bunch a couple days ago, though.  It grew back.” “There’s something very wrong with you,” Rhodey said. “Uh-huh.” “Yeah, people have been saying that one since 1918,” Bucky said as Steve spooned up more cereal. “Doesn’t seem to have ever had an effect.” “To be fair, the first couple years people were saying it because they thought I was going to die,” Steve pointed out. When they all looked at him, he explained, “I was early, I was too small, and I was sick all the time.”  He felt a muscle in his jaw work before he looked back down at his bowl of cereal.  “After that –” “You think normal people volunteer to get shot up with god knows what and stuffed into a radioactive box?” Bucky said, his voice very dry. “Uh –” Bruce said. “I don’t think you’re allowed to answer that one,” Rhodey told him kindly. Bruce grimaced. “This is probably the wrong crowd for that kind of question,” he pointed out.

[cassiasims]

Regarding your fic 'twenty and some change', will it ever be finished/released? I just need closure.

wow i didn’t even know people were even still reading it!! this is such a blast from the past haha. anyway, short answer is: YES, it will be finished eventually.

longer answer is: i didn’t lie when i said in the notes of that fic that it had been entirely pre-written—i have to rewrite the epilogue and edit the chapters before that, but it’s mostly ready to go. the fic has mostly been on hold because, as i kind of alluded in my last note on it, i had a prolonged mental health crisis between late 2022-mid 2023 (aka just after i wrote the first draft of twenty) where i basically stopped writing fic completely and when i eventually came out of it the last thing i wanted to do was go right back to what i’d been doing just before it started lol. i am doing much better now luckily! but editing twenty does put me in a bit of a weird headspace because of that. it doesn’t really help that i have, uh, some very particular interpretations of the TMI cast (particularly isabelle) and that twenty is, above all else, an isabelle/simon fic in a fandom that usually relegates the ship to the background—i was not exactly getting tons of feedback on it as it was uploading, and while i am of course very grateful for the comments/kudos i DID get, it was kind of demotivating to be putting my absolute heart and soul into a longer fic and getting barely any reception for it. i don’t say this to imply that the fic was abandoned out of spite or anything, but truth be told i figured nobody was reading it anymore so it didn’t really matter when it got finished lolol.

i could probably get the whole thing done in a few days if i were to take a few days off and dedicate myself entirely to getting it finished. the big draft doc with all the chapters on it (relic of when the fic was intended as a fucking ONE SHOT) is sitting at like 30,000 words at the moment and literally will not load on my phone anymore haha so editing it is a bit of a job. for various reasons this is not exactly feasible at the moment — i know i complain endlessly about my uni workload on here but it is seriously difficult trying to balance 2000 word essays every week with dissertation work, translation seminars, the occasional ‘bonus’ essay, all of my extracurriculars (including the fucking theatre company i run lmaoo), my original creative writing AND fanfic stuff!! but it will get done eventually—probably over the winter break. i can’t give exact timelines because tbf i will inevitably miss any deadline i set for myself (and also i don’t want writing fic to become a source of stress for myself), but it will get done in the next few months most likely. twenty is really my love letter to isabelle lightwood + simon/isabelle specifically—it will probably be my last shadowhunters fic since TLH confirmed that i’m not really on board with the way the series is going anymore after 11 long years of being on this train lol, so it really is very special to me. i always say that isabelle lightwood is my favourite fictional character of all time, and that’s still true. pls have patience!! and thanks for checking in—again, i didn’t think anyone was reading this fic anymore lol, so it’s nice to be proven wrong!!