#Department of Political Science

[jcmarchi]

MLK Celebration Gala pays tribute to Martin Luther King Jr. and his writings on “the goal of true education”

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/mlk-celebration-gala-pays-tribute-to-martin-luther-king-jr-and-his-writings-on-the-goal-of-true-education/

MLK Celebration Gala pays tribute to Martin Luther King Jr. and his writings on “the goal of true education”

After a week of festivities around campus, members of the MIT community gathered Saturday evening in the Boston Marriott Kendall Square ballroom to celebrate the life and legacy of Martin Luther King Jr. Marking 50 years of this annual celebration at MIT, the gala event’s program was loosely organized around a line in King’s essay, “The Purpose of Education,” which he penned as an undergraduate at Morehouse College:

“We must remember that intelligence is not enough,” King wrote. “Intelligence plus character — that is the goal of true education.”

Senior Myles Noel was the master of ceremonies for the evening and welcomed one and all. Minister DiOnetta Jones Crayton, former director of the Office of Minority Education and associate dean of minority education, delivered the invocation, exhorting the audience to embrace “the fiery urgency of now.” Next, MIT President Sally Kornbluth shared her remarks.

She acknowledged that at many institutions, diversity and inclusion efforts are eroding. Kornbluth reiterated her commitment to these efforts, saying, “I want to be clear about how important I believe it is to keep such efforts strong — and to make them the best they can be. The truth is, by any measure, MIT has never been more diverse, and it has never been more excellent. And we intend to keep it that way.”

Kornbluth also recognized the late Paul Parravano, co-director of MIT’s Office of Government and Community Relations, who was a staff member at MIT for 33 years as well as the longest-serving member on the MLK Celebration Committee. Parravano’s “long and distinguished devotion to the values and goals of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. inspires us all,” Kornbluth said, presenting his family with the 50th Anniversary Lifetime Achievement Award. 

Next, students and staff shared personal reflections. Zina Queen, office manager in the Department of Political Science, noted that her family has been a part of the MIT community for generations. Her grandmother, Rita, her mother, Wanda, and her daughter have all worked or are currently working at the Institute. Queen pointed out that her family epitomizes another of King’s oft-repeated quotes, “Every man is an heir to a legacy of dignity and worth.”

Senior Tamea Cobb noted that MIT graduates have a particular power in the world that they must use strategically and with intention. “Education and service go hand and hand,” she said, adding that she intends “every one of my technical abilities will be used to pursue a career that is fulfilling, expansive, impactful, and good.”

Graduate student Austin K. Cole ’24 addressed the Israel-Hamas conflict and the MIT administration. As he spoke, some attendees left their seats to stand with Cole at the podium. Cole closed his remarks with a plea to resist state and structural violence, and instead focus on relationship and mutuality.

After dinner, incoming vice president for equity and inclusion Karl Reid ’84, SM ’85 honored Adjunct Professor Emeritus Clarence Williams for his distinguished service to the Institute. Williams was an assistant to three MIT presidents, served as director of the Office of Minority Education, taught in the Department of Urban Planning, initiated the MIT Black History Project, and mentored hundreds of students. Reid was one of those students, and he shared a few of his mentor’s oft repeated phrases:

“Do the work and let the talking take care of itself.”

“Bad ideas kill themselves; great ideas flourish.”

In closing, Reid exhorted the audience to create more leaders who, like Williams, embody excellence and mutual respect for others.

The keynote address was given by civil rights activist Janet Moses, a member of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) in the 1960s; a physician who worked for a time as a pediatrician at MIT Health; a longtime resident of Cambridge, Massachusetts; and a co-founder, with her husband, Robert Moses, of the Algebra Project, a pioneering program grounded in the belief “that in the 21st century every child has a civil right to secure math literacy — the ability to read, write, and reason with the symbol systems of mathematics.”

A striking image of a huge new building planned for New York City appeared on the screen behind Moses during her address. It was a rendering of a new jail being built at an estimated cost of $3 billion. Against this background, she described the trajectory of the “carceral state,” which began in 1771 with the Mansfield Judgement in England. At the time, “not even South Africa had a set of race laws as detailed as those in the U.S.,” Moses observed.

Today, the carceral state uses all levels of government to maintain a racial caste system that is deeply entrenched, Moses argued, drawing a connection between the purported need for a new prison complex and a statistic that Black people in New York state are three times more likely than whites to be convicted for a crime.

She referenced a McKinsey study that it will take Black people over three centuries to achieve a quality of life on parity with whites. Despite the enormity of this challenge, Moses encouraged the audience to “rock the boat and churn the waters of the status quo.” She also pointed out that “there is joy in the struggle.”

Symbols of joy were also on display at the Gala in the forms of original visual art and poetry, and a quilt whose squares were contributed by MIT staff, students, and alumni, hailing from across the Institute.

Quilts are a physical manifestation of the legacy of the enslaved in America and their descendants — the ability to take scraps and leftovers to create something both practical and beautiful. The 50th anniversary quilt also incorporated a line from King’s highly influential “I Have a Dream Speech”:

“One day, all God’s children will have the riches of freedom and the security of justice.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Expert agencies and elected legislatures

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/21/policy-based-evidence/#decisions-decisions

Since Trump hijacked the Supreme Court, his backers have achieved many of their policy priorities: legalizing bribery, formalizing forced birth, and – with the Loper Bright case, neutering the expert agencies that regulate business:

https://jacobin.com/2024/07/scotus-decisions-chevron-immunity-loper

What the Supreme Court began, Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy are now poised to finish, through the "Department of Government Efficiency," a fake agency whose acronym ("DOGE") continues Musk's long-running cryptocurrency memecoin pump-and-dump. The new department is absurd – imagine a department devoted to "efficiency" with two co-equal leaders who are both famously incapable of getting along with anyone – but that doesn't make it any less dangerous.

Expert agencies are often all that stands between us and extreme misadventure, even death. The modern world is full of modern questions, the kinds of questions that require a high degree of expert knowledge to answer, but also the kinds of questions whose answers you'd better get right.

You're not stupid, nor are you foolish. You could go and learn everything you need to know to evaluate the firmware on your antilock brakes and decide whether to trust them. You could figure out how to assess the Common Core curriculum for pedagogical soundness. You could learn the material science needed to evaluate the soundness of the joists that hold the roof up over your head. You could acquire the biology and chemistry chops to decide whether you want to trust produce that's been treated with Monsanto's Roundup pesticides. You could do the same for cell biology, virology, and epidemiology and decide whether to wear a mask and/or get an MRNA vaccine and/or buy a HEPA filter.

You could do any of these. You might even be able to do two or three of them. But you can't do all of them, and that list is just a small slice of all the highly technical questions that stand between you and misery or an early grave. Practically speaking, you aren't going to develop your own robust meatpacking hygiene standards, nor your own water treatment program, nor your own Boeing 737 MAX inspection protocol.

Markets don't solve this either. If they did, we wouldn't have to worry about chunks of Boeing jets falling on our heads. The reason we have agencies like the FDA (and enabling legislation like the Pure Food and Drug Act) is that markets failed to keep people from being murdered by profit-seeking snake-oil salesmen and radium suppository peddlers.

These vital questions need to be answered by experts, but that's easier said than done. After all, experts disagree about this stuff. Shortcuts for evaluating these disagreements ("distrust any expert whose employer has a stake in a technical question") are crude and often lead you astray. If you dismiss any expert employed by a firm that wants to bring a new product to market, you will lose out on the expertise of people who are so legitimately excited about the potential improvements of an idea that they quit their jobs and go to work for whomever has the best chance of realizing a product based on it. Sure, that doctor who works for a company with a new cancer cure might just be shilling for a big bonus – but maybe they joined the company because they have an informed, truthful belief that the new drug might really cure cancer.

What's more, the scientific method itself speaks against the idea of there being one, permanent answer to any big question. The method is designed as a process of continual refinement, where new evidence is continuously brought forward and evaluated, and where cherished ideas that are invalidated by new evidence are discarded and replaced with new ideas.

So how are we to survive and thrive in a world of questions we ourselves can't answer, that experts disagree about, and whose answers are only ever provisional?

The scientific method has an answer for this, too: refereed, adversarial peer review. The editors of major journals act as umpires in disputes among experts, exercising their editorial discernment to decide which questions are sufficiently in flux as to warrant taking up, then asking parties who disagree with a novel idea to do their damndest to punch holes in it. This process is by no means perfect, but, like democracy, it's the worst form of knowledge creation except for all others which have been tried.

Expert regulators bring this method to governance. They seek comment on technical matters of public concern, propose regulations based on them, invite all parties to comment on these regulations, weigh the evidence, and then pass a rule. This doesn't always get it right, but when it does work, your medicine doesn't poison you, the bridge doesn't collapse as you drive over it, and your airplane doesn't fall out of the sky.

Expert regulators work with legislators to provide an empirical basis for turning political choices into empirically grounded policies. Think of all the times you've heard about how the gerontocracy that dominates the House and the Senate is incapable of making good internet policy because "they're out of touch and don't understand technology." Even if this is true (and sometimes it is, as when Sen Ted Stevens ranted about the internet being "a series of tubes," not "a dump truck"), that doesn't mean that Congress can't make good internet policy.

After all, most Americans can safely drink their tap water, a novelty in human civilization, whose history amounts to short periods of thriving shattered at regular intervals by water-borne plagues. The fact that most of us can safely drink our water, but people who live in Flint (or remote indigenous reservations, or Louisiana's Cancer Alley) can't tells you that these neighbors of ours are being deliberately poisoned, as we know precisely how not to poison them.

How did we (most of us) get to the point where we can drink the water without shitting our guts out? It wasn't because we elected a bunch of water scientists! I don't know the precise number of microbiologists and water experts who've been elected to either house, but it's very small, and their contribution to good sanitation policy is negligible.

We got there by delegating these decisions to expert agencies. Congress formulates a political policy ("make the water safe") and the expert agency turns that policy into a technical program of regulation and enforcement, and your children live to drink another glass of water tomorrow.

Musk and Ramaswamy have set out to destroy this process. In their Wall Street Journal editorial, they explain that expert regulation is "undemocratic" because experts aren't elected:

https://www.wsj.com/opinion/musk-and-ramaswamy-the-doge-plan-to-reform-government-supreme-court-guidance-end-executive-power-grab-fa51c020

They've vowed to remove "thousands" of regulations, and to fire swathes of federal employees who are in charge of enforcing whatever remains:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/11/20/24301975/elon-musk-vivek-ramaswamy-doge-plan

And all this is meant to take place on an accelerated timeline, between now and July 4, 2026 – a timeline that precludes any meaningful assessment of the likely consequences of abolishing the regulations they'll get rid of.

"Chesterton's Fence" – a thought experiment from the novelist GK Chesterton – is instructive here:

There exists in such a case a certain institution or law; let us say, for the sake of simplicity, a fence or gate erected across a road. The more modern type of reformer goes gaily up to it and says, "I don't see the use of this; let us clear it away." To which the more intelligent type of reformer will do well to answer: "If you don't see the use of it, I certainly won't let you clear it away. Go away and think. Then, when you can come back and tell me that you do see the use of it, I may allow you to destroy it.

A regulation that works might well produce no visible sign that it's working. If your water purification system works, everything is fine. It's only when you get rid of the sanitation system that you discover why it was there in the first place, a realization that might well arrive as you expire in a slick of watery stool with a rectum so prolapsed the survivors can use it as a handle when they drag your corpse to the mass burial pits.

When Musk and Ramaswamy decry the influence of "unelected bureaucrats" on your life as "undemocratic," they sound reasonable. If unelected bureaucrats were permitted to set policy without democratic instruction or oversight, that would be autocracy.

Indeed, it would resemble life on the Tesla factory floor: that most autocratic of institutions, where you are at the mercy of the unelected and unqualified CEO of Tesla, who holds the purely ceremonial title of "Chief Engineer" and who paid the company's true founders to falsely describe him as its founder.

But that's not how it works! At its best, expert regulations turns political choices in to policy that reflects the will of democratically accountable, elected representatives. Sometimes this fails, and when it does, the answer is to fix the system – not abolish it.

I have a favorite example of this politics/empiricism fusion. It comes from the UK, where, in 2008, the eminent psychopharmacologist David Nutt was appointed as the "drug czar" to the government. Parliament had determined to overhaul its system of drug classification, and they wanted expert advice:

https://locusmag.com/2021/05/cory-doctorow-qualia/

To provide this advice, Nutt convened a panel of drug experts from different disciplines and asked them to rate each drug in question on how dangerous it was for its user; for its user's family; and for broader society. These rankings were averaged, and then a statistical model was used to determine which drugs were always very dangerous, no matter which group's safety you prioritized, and which drugs were never very dangerous, no matter which group you prioritized.

Empirically, the "always dangerous" drugs should be in the most restricted category. The "never very dangerous" drugs should be at the other end of the scale. Parliament had asked how to rank drugs by their danger, and for these categories, there were clear, factual answers to Parliament's question.

But there were many drugs that didn't always belong in either category: drugs whose danger score changed dramatically based on whether you were more concerned about individual harms, familial harms, or societal harms. This prioritization has no empirical basis: it's a purely political question.

So Nutt and his panel said to Parliament, "Tell us which of these priorities matter the most to you, and we will tell you where these changeable drugs belong in your schedule of restricted substances." In other words, politicians make political determinations, and then experts turn those choices into empirically supported policies.

This is how policy by "unelected bureaucrats" can still be "democratic."

But the Nutt story doesn't end there. Nutt butted heads with politicians, who kept insisting that he retract factual, evidence-supported statements (like "alcohol is more harmful than cannabis"). Nutt refused to do so. It wasn't that he was telling politicians which decisions to make, but he took it as his duty to point out when those decisions did not reflect the policies they were said to be in support of. Eventually, Nutt was fired for his commitment to empirical truth. The UK press dubbed this "The Nutt Sack Affair" and you can read all about it in Nutt's superb book Drugs Without the Hot Air, an indispensable primer on the drug war and its many harms:

https://www.bloomsbury.com/us/drugs-without-the-hot-air-9780857844989/

Congress can't make these decisions. We don't elect enough water experts, virologists, geologists, oncology researchers, structural engineers, aerospace safety experts, pedagogists, gerontoloists, physicists and other experts for Congress to turn its political choices into policy. Mostly, we elect lawyers. Lawyers can do many things, but if you ask a lawyer to tell you how to make your drinking water safe, you will likely die a horrible death.

That's the point. The idea that we should just trust the market to figure this out, or that all regulation should be expressly written into law, is just a way of saying, "you will likely die a horrible death."

Trump – and his hatchet men Musk and Ramaswamy – are not setting out to create evidence-based policy. They are pursuing policy-based evidence, firing everyone capable of telling them how to turn the values espouse (prosperity and safety for all Americans) into policy.

They dress this up in the language of democracy, but the destruction of the expert agencies that turn the political will of our representatives into our daily lives is anything but democratic. It's a prelude to transforming the nation into a land of epistemological chaos, where you never know what's coming out of your faucet.

[ranger-kellyn]

"I'm just saying, it's easy to make stuff sound absurd, but then if you look a little bit you're like, Oh, well, it's probably OK that the government is spending money trying to understand the neurochemistry of the relationship between PTSD and alcoholism, and scientists probably know how to do that better than I do.

Much easier to destroy trust with tweets than it is to do science, though..."

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[davidaugust]

Makes me not want to take a swim 🏊

[arolesbianism]

Doodle I did of my girl Juliet earlier

[carefreefc]

watching football through a leftist intersectional feminist lens is so painful i could write a sub stack essay about this

[jcmarchi]

Misinformation is all around. How can we combat it?

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/misinformation-is-all-around-how-can-we-combat-it/

Misinformation is all around. How can we combat it?

Political misinformation is a hard problem. False statements pervade contemporary politics, sowing division and distrust, and making it harder for society to operate on the basis of fact and law.

Even in matters of health and medicine, where people would seem to have a strong self-interest in knowing the facts, problems such as vaccine misinformation abound. So, what can be done to battle the false stories floating all around us?

Misinformation is durable and highly resistant to small-bore solutions, and it will take a consistent, multifaceted effort to make progress on this front, political scientist Adam Berinsky told an MIT audience on Monday.

“Rumors are sticky,” said Berinsky, who was one of the first scholars to run rigorous experiments about misinformation, starting about 15 years ago.

In his lecture, Berinsky outlined what we know about political rumors, and how we might tackle the problem. Significant pluralities of the U.S. public believe many false statements; another chunk of the public remains noncommittal about them. As Berinsky’s research has helped establish, corrections by neutral fact-checkers have little impact on the phenomenon. A better debunking tactic involves having political leaders issue corrections in circumstances when it does not benefit their self-interest — but such interventions can be hard to create, and setting the record straight may only have short-lived effects.

“It is really hard to correct misinformation,” Berinsky said. “But it doesn’t mean that we should give up.” Instead, he added, experts and leaders need to be “thinking collaboratively about how we can bring all [our] different research together, to come up with solutions to a problem that’s not going to go away.”

Berinsky delivered his lecture, “Why We Accept Misinformation and How to Fight It,” to an audience of about 175 people in Huntington Hall, Room 10-250, on the MIT campus. His talk was followed by moderated small-group discussions. Chancellor Melissa Nobles gave introductory remarks at the outset of the event.

“Misinformation, as we know, encourages polarized thinking,” Nobles said. “It divides us. It creates conditions where hate can grow and fester. And when we can’t agree on what’s true and what isn’t, it’s hard for us to talk with one another. It’s hard to evaluate complex issues. It is hard for us to use our problem-solving skills and our humanity to arrive at common ground.”

Berinsky is the Mitsui Professor of Problems in Contemporary Technology in MIT’s Department of Political Science and the director of the Political Experiments Research Lab. He has co-authored dozens of research papers and is the author of the book “Political Rumors,” published by Princeton University Press in 2023. He has been on the MIT faculty since 2003 and has won a Guggenhein Fellowship, among other honors.

One key facet of the battle against misinformation, Berinsky observed, is that qualified experts are often held in lower esteem now than in the past, a trend that cuts across U.S. political parties. Additionally, while false political rumors are an age-old phenomenon, it seems clear that social media has exacerbated the problem.

“I’m not a huge fan of arguing that technology changes everything,” Berinsky said. “But certainly, technology changes certain things. One of these is the way that these rumors spread.”

Most U.S. citizens are also not following politics closely, at least on an ongoing basis, which may also help false rumors gain traction. Political misinformation often exploits, and then reinforces, partisan divides.

“Most of the people, most of the time, don’t pay attention to politics, but they do pick up on what’s going on in their social circles and what’s going on around them,” Berinsky said. “So, if you’re in an environment where you’re hearing these kinds of stories, this is potentially very problematic.”

As a central case study in his talk, Berinsky outlined the false assertion that the Obama administration’s Affordable Care Act contained “death panels” to decide if the elderly might no longer be granted care. That was never the case. The legislation did have a provision making counseling available about late-in-life care options.

Studying this controversy helped Berinsky observe the partisan split often present in political rumors, as well as the potential usefulness of different remedies. Interventions by neutral fact-checkers did little to change beliefs on the subject, but  corrections by Republicans (a GOP senator had co-authored the late-in-life counseling provision) helped induce a 10-percentage point increase in those accepting the actual facts. In general, people who change their beliefs mostly come from the pool of uncommitted observers; those who believe false claims tend not to move off those positions.

“The people who say they believe these things really believe them,” Berinsky said. “And so that’s a problem for democracy.”

Partisanship, as well as a tendency to believe in conspiracies, helps shape whether particular individuals believe false claims, including the incorrect assertion that President Obama was not a U.S. citizen, circulated largely by Republicans; the notion that the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001 were some sort of “inside job,” which Democrats have been more likely to believe; and false claims by many about the validity of the 2020 election.

It might be that in each separate case, a slightly different approach to countering misinformation might be most effective. For starters, that means carefully considering which kinds of political leaders might, in theory, best correct the record — although even so, there are no guarantees that a given politician will persude even their own partisans.

“Given the world we live in, we really need to think about who delivers the message and how can we have an effective message delivery system,” Berinsky said.

More broadly, he added, “We know now that there’s not going to be one magic bullet that will solve everything.”

That means thinking about what combination of messaging, messengers, and tools might make a dent in political falsehoods. Even if the result just changes public opinions by a few percentage points, that kind of change could well be worth pursuing.

After his talk, Berinsky fielded questions about the possibility of restoring trust in experts, and the deep historical roots of some rumors; he also received a query about the way AI might exacerbate the spread of misinformation. While Berinsky said he takes that issue seriously, he has  also been involved in a research project, along with Professor David Rand of the MIT Sloan School of Management, to evaluate if AI tools can actually help counter misinformation.

On the AI front, “It’s not all bad, but we want to be very cautious in thinking about how we deploy this,” Berinsky said.

Overall, Berinsky emphasized, that project is an example of pursuing a whole suite of solutions to fight back against misinformation. Rather than feel dejected about the lack of a simple fix, he observed, people should explore “the possibility of having different kinds of solutions that might come together.”

The event was sponsored by the offices of the Provost and Chancellor, and the Institute Community and Equity Office.

[robertreich]

Project 2025: The MAGA Plan to Take Your Freedom 

A second Trump term would be more dangerous than the first — in part because of something called Project 2025, a plan to extend Trump’s grip into every part of your life.

Trump’s gross incompetence in his first term wasn’t all bad. It kept some of his most extreme goals out of reach. That’s why his inner circle, including more than 20 officials from his first term, have written a step-by-step playbook to make a second term brutally efficient.

At nearly a thousand pages, it’s longer than most Stephen King novels, and a lot scarier. The Associated Press wasn’t kidding when they called it “a plan to dismantle the US government and replace it with Trump’s vision,”

Project 2025 is a road map to ban abortion, give greedy corporate oligarchs everything they want, and strip Americans of our most basic freedoms — all without needing any support from Congress.

There’s more to it than I can get into, but here are three things I want you to know.

#1 How would Project 2025 work?

Every nonpartisan government agency would be turned into an arm of the MAGA agenda.

Some of the worst things Trump reportedly tried to do as president — like having the military  shoot protesters or seize voting machines to overturn the election  — were only stopped because sensible leaders in the military or the professional civil service refused to go along with it.

In a second term, there would be no sensible leaders in the military or professional civil service because Trump would fire anyone more loyal to the Constitution than to him.

Trump started the process in October 2020 with an executive order that would have let him fire tens of thousands of civil servants and replace them with MAGA henchmen. I’m talking about traditionally non-political positions, like scientists at scientific agencies and accountants at the IRS.

Trump could not act on the executive order then because he lost the election. If he wins now, he’s pledged to pick up where he left off and go further…

TRUMP: …making every executive branch employee fireable by the President of the United States.

#2 Project 2025 is about controlling Americans’ lives & bodies

Restricting abortion is such a big part of Project 2025 that the word “abortion” appears 198 times in the plan.

Trump largely made good on his campaign promise to ban abortion.

Thanks to Trump’s Supreme Court justices, 1 in 3 American women of childbearing age live in states with abortion bans. Project 2025 would make that even worse, without needing new laws from Congress.

Page 458 of the playbook calls for a MAGA-controlled FDA to reject medical science and reverse approval of the medications used in 63% of all abortions, effectively banning them.

Page 455 plans “abortion surveillance” and the creation of a registry that could put people who cross state lines to get an abortion at risk of prosecution.

Another way around Congress is to enforce arcane laws that are still technically on the books. Page 562 plans for a MAGA-controlled Justice Department to enforce the Comstock Act of 1873, which bans the mailing of “anything designed, adapted, or intended for producing abortion.” This could be used to block the shipment of any medications or medical instruments needed for abortions.

But Project 2025’s control of American families goes even further. It plans for government agencies to define life as beginning at conception — a position at odds with the process used for in vitro fertilization.

Page 451 declares that “Families comprised of a married mother, father, and their children are the foundation of a well-ordered nation and healthy society,” thereby stigmatizing single parents, same-sex couples, unmarried coparents, and childless couples.

Project 2025 even takes a stand against adoption, declaring on p. 489 that “all children have a right to be raised by the men and women who conceived them.”

#3 Project 2025 would turn America into a police state.

Maybe you live in a blue city or state, where you think plans like arresting teachers and librarians over banned books (which is on p. 5) could never happen. Well, guess again.

Trump has said one of the big things he’d do differently in a second term is override mayors and governors to take over local law enforcement.

Page 553 lays out how to do this, and even plans for Trump’s Justice Department to prosecute district attorneys he disagrees with.

Immigration enforcement is to be conducted like a war, with the military deployed within the U.S., and millions of undocumented immigrants rounded up and placed into newly constructed holding camps. This is outlined starting on p. 139.

Members of the Project 2025 team also reportedly told the Washington Post about plans to invoke the Insurrection Act to deploy the military against anti-Trump protests.

There is much more to Project 2025. There are more than a hundred pages of anti-environmental policies that would help Trump make good on what he reportedly promised to do for oil executives if they contribute a billion dollars to his reelection. It would make drilling and mining a top national priority while killing clean energy projects, barring the EPA from regulating carbon emissions, and replacing all government climate scientists with climate deniers.

There are even cartoonishly cruel plans like slaughtering wild horses. Yes, that’s really in there on p. 528.

I thought I understood the stakes of this election, but reading this plan… Well, it gave me chills. If Trump gets the chance to put this plan into place, he will. The country it would turn America into would be hard for any of us to recognize.

[markashtonlund]

The Final Third

[reportwire]

US defense secretary tells CNN he hasn't spoken to Chinese counterpart for a 'couple of months' | CNN Politics

Washington CNN  —  US Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin told CNN that he and his Chinese counterpart have not spoken for a “couple of months,” with Chinese Minister of National Defense Wei Fenghe refusing to take a call in the wake of the US shootdown of the suspected Chinese surveillance balloon. “The last time that I talked to him was a couple of months ago,” Austin in an interview with Kaitlan…

[grison-in-space]

you know what else fucks me up about the US election? one of the things that has left me reeling in bewilderment and grief this month?

I'm a scientist, y'all.

That means that I am, like most American research scientists, a federal contractor. (Possibly employee. It's confusing, and it fucks with my taxes being a postdoctoral researcher.) I get paid because someone, in the long run ideally me, makes a really, really detailed pitch to one of several federal grant agencies that the nation would really be missing out if I couldn't follow up on these thoughts and find concrete evidence about whether or not I'm right.

Currently, my personal salary is dependent on a whole department of scientists convincing one of the largest and most powerful granting agencies that they have a program that is really good at training scientists that can think deeply about the priorities of the agency. Those priorities are defined by the guy who runs the agency, and he gets to hire whatever qualified people he wants. That guy? The Presidential Administration picks that one. That's how federal agencies get staffed: the President's administration nominates them.

All of the heads of these agencies are personally nominated by the president and their administration. They are people of enormous power whose job is to administer million-dollar grants to the scientists competing urgently for limited funds. A million dollars often doesn't go farther than a couple of years when it's intended to pay for absolutely everything to do with a particular pitch, including salaries of your trainees, all materials, travel expenses, promoting the work among other researchers, all of it—so most smart American researchers are working fervently on grants all the time.

The next director of the NIH will be a Trump appointee, if he notices and thinks to appoint one. NSF, too; that's the group that funds your ecology and your astroscience and your experimental mathematics and physics and chemistry, the stuff that doesn't have industry funding and industry priorities. USDA. DOE, that's who does a lot of the climate change mitigation and renewable energy source research, they'll just be lucky if they can do anything again because Trump nigh gutted them last time.

Right now, I am working on the very tail end of a grant's funding and I am scurrying to make sure I stay employed. So I'm thinking very closely about federal agency priorities, okay? And I'm thinking that the funding climate for science is going to get a lot fucking leaner. I'm seeing what the American people think of scientists, and about whether my job is worth doing. It's been a lean twelve years in this gig, okay? Every time the federal government gets fucked up, that impacts my job, it means that I have to hustle even harder to get grants in that let me support myself—and, if I have any trainees, their budding careers as well!—to patch over the lean times as much as we can.

So I've been reeling this week thinking about how funding agency priorities are going to change. I work on sex differences in motivation, so let me tell you, the politics reading this one for my next pitch are going to be fun. I'm working on a submission for an explicitly DEI-oriented five year grant with a cycle ending in February, so that's going to be an exercise in hoping that the agency employees at the middle levels (the ones that know how to get things done which can't be replaced immediately with yes men) can buffer the decisions of those big bosses long enough to let that program continue to exist a little while longer.

Ah, Christ, he promised Health & Human Services (which houses the NIH) to RFK, didn't he? We'll see how that pans out.

I keep seeing people calling for more governmental shutdowns on the left now, and it makes me want to scream. The government being gridlocked means the funding that researchers like me need doesn't come, okay? When the DOE can't say fucking "climate change," when the USDA hemorrhages its workers when the agency is dragged halfway across the country, when I watch a major Texan House rep stake his career on trying to destroy the NSF, I think: this is what you people think of us. I think: how little scientists are valued as public workers. Why am I working this hard again?

This is why I described voting as harm reduction. Even if two candidates are "the same" on one thing you care about, they probably aren't the same level of bad on everything. Your task is to figure out the best person to do the job. It's not about a fucking tribalist horse race. A vote is your opinion on a job interview, you fucks. We have to work with this person.

Anyway, I'm probably going to go back to shaking quietly in despair for a little longer and then pick myself up and hit the grind again. If I'm fast, I might still get the grant in this miserable climate if I run, and I might get to actually keep on what I'm trying to do, which is bring research on sex differences, neurodivergence and energy balance as informed by non-binary gender perspectives and disability theory to neuroscience.

Fuck.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Android x Reader (I)

It is the future and you have been tasked to solve a mysterious murder that could jeopardize political ties. Your assigned partner is the newest android model meant to assimilate human customs. You must keep his identity a secret and teach him the ways of earthlings, although his curiosity seems to be reaching inappropriate extents.

Yes, this is based on Asimov’s “Caves of Steel” because Daneel Olivaw was my first ever robot crush. I also wanted a protagonist that embraces technology. :)

Content: female reader, AI yandere, 50's futurism

[Part 2] | [More original works]

You follow after the little assistant robot, a rudimentary machine invested with basic dialogue and spatial navigation. It had caused quite the ruckus when first introduced. One intern - well liked despite being somewhat clumsy at his job - was sadly let go as a result. Not even the Police is safe from the threat of AI, is what they chanted outside the premises.

"The Commissioner has summoned you, (Y/N)." 

That's how it greeted you earlier, clacking its appendage against the open door in an attempt to simulate a knock. 

"Do you know why my presence is needed?" You inquire and wait for the miniature AI to scan the audio message. 

"I am not allowed to mention anything right now." It finally responds after agonizing seconds.

 It's an alright performance. You might've been more impressed by it, had you not witnessed first hand the Spacer technology that could put any modern invention here on Earth to shame. Sadly the people down here are very much against artificial intelligence. There have been multiple protests recently, like the one in front of your building, condemning the latest government suggestion regarding automation. People fear for their jobs and safety and you don't necessarily blame them for having self preservation. On the other hand, you've always been a supporter of progress. As a child you devoured any science fiction book you could get your hands on, and now, as a high ranked police detective you still manage to sneak away and scan over articles and news involving the race for a most efficient computer.

You close the door behind you and the Commissioner puts his fat cigarette out, twisting the remains into the ashtray with monotonous movements as if searching for the right words.

 "There's been a murder." Is all he settles on saying, throwing a heavy folder in your direction. A hologram or tablet might've been easier to catch, but the man, like many of his coworkers, shares a deep nostalgia for the old days. 

 You flip through the pages and eventually furrow your eyebrows. 

"This would be a disaster if it made it to the news." You mumble and look up at the older man. "Shouldn't this go to someone more experienced?" 

He twiddles with his grey mustache and glances out the fake window. 

"It's a sensitive case. The Spacers are sending their own agent to collaborate with us. What stands out to you?" 

You narrow your eyes and focus on the personnel sheet. What's there to cause such controversy? Right before giving up, departing from the page, you finally notice it: next to the Spacer officer's name, printed clearly in black ink, is a little "R." which is a commonly used abbreviation to indicate something is a robot. The chief must've noticed your startled reaction and continues, satisfied: 

"You understand, yes? They're sending an android. Supposedly it replicates a human perfectly in terms of appearance, but it does not possess enough observational data. Their request is that whoever partners up with him will also house him and let him follow along for the entirety of the mission. You're the only one here openly supporting those tin boxes. I can't possibly ask one of your higher ups, men with wives and children, to...you know...bring that thing in their house."

You're still not sure whether to be offended by the fact that your comfort seems to be of less priority compared to other officers. Regardless of the semantics, you're presently standing at the border between Earth and the Spacer colony, awaiting your case partner. A man emerges from behind a security gate. He's tall, with handsome features and an elegant walk. He approaches you and you reach for a handshake. 

"Is the android with you?" You ask, a little confused. 

"Is this your first time seeing a Spacer model?" He responds, relaxed. "I am the agent in your care. There is no one else." 

You take a moment to process the information, similar to the primitive machine back at your office. Could it be? You've always known that Spacer technology is years ahead, but this surpasses your wildest dreams. There is not a single detail hinting at his mechanical fundament. The movement is fluid, the speech is natural, the design is impenetrable. He lifts the warm hand he'd used for the handshake and gently presses a finger against your chin in an upwards motion. You find yourself involuntarily blushing. 

"Your mouth was open. I assumed you'd want it discreetly corrected." He states, factually, with a faint smile on his lips. Is he amused? Is such a feeling even possible? You try your best to regain some composure, adjusting the collar of your shirt and clearing your throat. 

"Thank you and please excuse my rudeness. I was not expecting such a flawless replica. Our assistants are...easily recognizable as AI."

"So I've been told." His smile widens and he checks his watch. You follow his gesture, still mesmerized, trying to find a single indicator that the man standing before you is indeed a machine, a synthetic product.

Nothing.

"Shall we?" He eyes the exit path and you quickly lead him outside and towards public transport. 

He patiently waits for your fingerprint scan to be complete. You almost turn around and apologize for the old, lagging device. As a senior detective, you have the privilege of living in the more spacious, secured quarters of the city. And, since you don't have a family, the apartment intended for multiple people looks more like a luxury adobe. Still, compared to the advanced way of the Spacers, this must feel like poverty to the android.

At last, the scanner beeps and the door unlocks. 

"Heh...It's a finicky model." You mumble and invite him in.

"Yes, I'm familiar with these systems." He agrees with you and steps inside, unbuttoning his coat.

"Oh, you've seen this before?"

"In history books."

You scratch your cheek and laugh awkwardly, wondering how much of his knowledge about the current life on Earth is presented as a museum exhibit when compared to Spacer society. 

"I'm going to need a coffee. I guess you don't...?" Your words trail as you await confirmation. 

"I would enjoy one as well, if it is not too much to ask. I've been told it's a social custom to 'get coffee' as a way to have small talk." The synthetic straightens his shirt and looks at you expectantly. 

"Of course. I somehow assumed you can't drink, but if you're meant to blend in with humans...it does make sense you'd have all the obvious requirements built in."

He drags a chair out and sits at the small table, legs crossed.

"Indeed. I have been constructed to have all the functions of a human, down to every detail." 

You chuckle lightly. Well, not like you can verify it firsthand. The engineers back at the Spacer colony most likely didn't prepare him for matters considered unnecessary. 

"I do mean every detail." He adds, as if reading your mind. "You are free to see for yourself."

You nearly drop the cup in your flustered state. You hurry to wipe the coffee that spilled onto the counter and glance back at the android, noticing a smirk on his face. What the hell? Are they playing a prank on you and this is actually a regular guy? Some sort of social experiment? 

"I can see they included a sense of humor." You manage to blurt out, glaring at him suspiciously. 

"I apologize if I offended you in any way. I'm still adjusting to different contexts." The android concludes, a hint of mischief remaining on his face. "Aren't rowdy jokes common in your field of work?"

"Uh huh. Spot on." You hesitantly place the hot drink before him.

Robots on Earth have always been built for the purpose of efficiency. Whether or not a computer passes the Turing Test is irrelevant as long as it performs its task in the most optimal, rational way. There have been attempts, naturally, to create something indistinguishable from a human, but utility has always taken precedence. It seems that Spacers think differently. Or perhaps they have reached their desired level of performance a long time ago, and all that was left was fiddling with aesthetics. Whatever the case is, you're struggling not to gawk in amazement at the man sitting in your kitchen, stirring his coffee with a bored expression.

"I always thought - if you don't mind my honesty - that human emotions would be something to avoid when building AI. Hard to implement, even harder to control and it doesn't bring much use."

"I can understand your concerns. However, let me reassure you, I have a strict code of ethics installed in my neural networks and thus my emotions will never lead to any destructive behavior. All safety concerns have been taken into consideration.

As for why...How familiar are you with our colony?" The android takes a sip of his coffee and nods, expressing his satisfaction. "Perhaps you might be aware, Spacers have a declining population. Automated assistants have been part of our society for a long time now. What's lacking is humans. If the issue isn't fixed, artificial humans will have to do."

You scoff.

"What, us Earth men aren't good enough to fix the birth rates? They need robots?"

You suddenly remember the recipient of your complaint and mutter an apology. 

"Well, I'm sure you'd make a fine contender. Sadly I can't speak for everyone else on Earth." The man smiles in amusement upon seeing the pale red that's now dusting your cheeks, then continues: "But the issue lies somewhere else. Spacers have left Earth a long time ago and lived in isolation until now. Once an organism has lost its immune responses to otherwise common pathogens, it cannot be reintegrated."

True. Very few Earth citizens are allowed to enter the colony, and only do so after thorough disinfection stages, proving they are disease free as to not endanger the fragile health of the Spacers living in a sterile environment. You can only imagine the disastrous outcome if the two species were to abruptly mingle. In that case, equally sterile machinery might be their only hope.

Your mind wanders to the idea. Dating a robot...How's that? You sheepishly gaze at the android and study his features. His neatly combed copper hair, the washed out blue eyes, the pale skin. Probably meant to resemble the Spacers. You shake your head.

"A-anyways, I'll go and gather all the case files I have. Then we can discuss our first steps. Do feel at home."

You rush out and head for your office. Focus, you tell yourself mildly annoyed.

While you search for the required paperwork - what a funny thing to say in this day and age - he will certainly take up on your generous offer to make himself comfortable. The redhaired man enters the living room, scanning everything with curious eyes. He stops in front of a digital frame and slides through the photos. Ah, this must be your Police Academy graduation. The year matches with the data he's received on you. Data files he might've read one too many times in his unexplained enthusiasm. This should be you and the Commissioner; Doesn't match the description of your father, and he seems too old to be a spouse or boyfriend. Additionally, the android distinctly recalls the empty 'Relationship' field.

"Old photos are always a tad embarrassing. I suppose you skipped that stage."

He jolts almost imperceptibly and faces you. You have returned with a thin stack of papers and a hologram projector.

"I've digitalized most files I received, so you don't have to shuffle a bunch of paper around." You explain.

"That is very useful, thank you." He gently retrieves the small device from your hand, but takes a moment before removing his fingers from yours. "I predict this will be a successful partnership."

You flash him a friendly smile and gesture towards the seating area.

"Let's get to work, then. Unless you want to go through more boring albums." You joke as you lower yourself onto the plush sofa. 

The synthetic human joins you at an unexpectedly close proximity. You wonder if proper distance differs among Spacers or if he has received slightly erroneous information about what makes a comfortable rapport. 

"Nothing boring about it. In fact, I'd say you and I are very similar from this point of view." He tells you, placing the projector on the table.

"Oh?"

"Your interest in technology and artificial intelligence is rather easy to infer." The man continues, pointing vaguely towards the opposing library. "Aside from the briefing I've already received about you, that is."

"And that is similar to...the interest in humans you've been programmed to have?" You interject, unsure where this conversation is meant to lead. 

"Almost."

His head turns fully towards you and you stare back into his eyes. From this distance you can finally discern the first hints of his nature: the thin disks shading the iris - possibly CCD sensors - are moving in a jagged, mechanical manner. Actively analyzing and processing the environment. 

"I wouldn't go as far as to generalize it to all humans. 

Just you."

[lovelookspretty]

not so bad

— in which rafe and y/n absolutely despise each other in public but crush in secret. rafe is failing his humanities class & is assigned y/n as his tutor . . . maybe all it took for this relationship to form was just a bit of forced proximity and some time.

college!rafe cameron x reader au

warning(s): n/a. just a bitchy rafe whos generous n gets awkward as fuck when it comes to u

authors note: college!rafe is lowkey nicer to y/n since he can’t help his buried feelings !! but he’s still an ass. i wouldve casted drew as himself but drew is too sweet i cant even imagine him having like a female sworn enemy that he lowk has a crush on

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

the door swings open, revealing rafe himself. he’s silent as soon as he sees you. “lock the door,” he says as he turns around and starts to head further inside, leaving you at the entrance.

“lock the door,” you mock-mumble under your breath as you enter, closing and locking the door behind you like you’re told. you look around, realizing you’ve never actually seen rafe’s dorm before. his friends’ dorms maybe, but never his.

his dorm is surprisingly clean, with only empty to fully filled water bottles scattered around, but very few. both sides of the room are displayed with posters on its walls, you can fell which bed is his and it’s made with its sheets tucked tightly in the crevices with two large pillows at the head of it.

you watch as he walks over to his desk and sits in the chair, opening up his laptop to the online textbook provided for the class.

he peers over his shoulder to glance at you, “can you fucking—i don’t know—sit down somewhere? the furniture isn’t coated in poison, you know.”

you fight the urge to make a remark, and you just sigh and let it go. “kay!” you say, and carefully making your way over to sit on the edge of his bed, placing your bag by your side. you catch his eye when you reply so eagerly without a problem, but you ignore this.

“where’s your roommate?” you ask him, looking around. “just wanna make sure when i need to expect someone- also, typically i charge for tutoring, and if crawford is making me tutor you then i’m charging you double. hundred-fifty an hour.”

rafe looks pissed, shaking his head and opening his mouth like he’s about to argue before closing it again. finally, he sighs, leaning against the wall by the kitchen. “my roommate’s just . . . out . . . today. he’s running errands. whatever, can we just get this over with? i’ll pay you after.”

you grin, feeling even satisified that rafe has to use his own cash to pay for however long this will take. “have a girl coming over tonight?” you guess from the way he’s rushing you. you reach into your bag for your ipad, “this wouldn’t be happening if you’d just pay attention in class, you know.”

“i know," rafe mutters, still annoyed but trying not to show it. "i just don't get how humanities could be important in the real world," he says, running a hand through his hair before resting the side of his head against his spread index finger and thumb, looking at you. “or my world, i mean.”

“still trying to do real estate?” you puzzle, pulling up the notes you took during class for him to look at. “it’s like your dad’s job, right? the cameron department thing.”

“cameron development,” he corrects you, hissing through his teeth.

“whatever. just surprised you’re not pursing sex work from all the girls i see you pull into bathrooms at parties,” you mutter out the end of your sentence under your breath, in a way not wanting to bring up that you’ve even noticed that before . . . again . . . and again . . .

“yeah?” he seems amused. “sex could sell more homes than fuckin’ humanities ever could.”

“sex?” you repeat with raised brows. “damn near prostitution versus political science, sociology, journalism, anthropology,” you name off as you lean left and right in your seat, pretending to think and weigh out your options. “yeah, maybe passing your humanities class can be a good thing! pull up your notes, please?”

“i did," rafe grumbles, gesturing to his laptop.

“i said notes, not the textbook. i wanna see what you’ve even written down while in class,” you say.

he’s silent as he opens up his documents, and he pulls up his most recent document filed under notes. he hands his laptop over to you as he leans back in his seat. you look over his text.

furrowing your eyebrows, you say, “okay, so you . . . you wrote the title of his lesson yesterday. that’s good. but under that you didn’t even write down any notes, you just have someone’s phone number. are you that predictable?”

he chews on his dog tag necklace and shrugs, taking his laptop back. “she was new. just wanted to make a friend,” he insists, closing out the tab.

you hum. you don’t really believe him but it isn’t like you care enough to argue over that. you hand him your ipad to show him your notes. “we’ll start at the beginning of the unit,” you tell him as he takes it.

rafe lets out a breath from his nose as he matches your energy from before, “‘kay!” he skims over your writing, gnawing on his pencil quietly.

you almost catch yourself smiling that he does this, but you refrain.

the lesson seems to be going better than you thought, though there are some pissed glances here and there from both sides. it takes two hours to go over the unit with examples and practices. you’re already exhausted.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, the lesson ends. rafe slumps back in his chair, relieved to be done with the humanities assignments that you made him do for now. he looks up at you, barely casting a smile your way. “thanks for the help,” he mumbles, awkwardly meeting your gaze.

“thanks for the money,” you say, half-reminding him that he needs to hold up his end of the deal as you stand from your seat.

as he stands, he bumps into your ipad on his desk. it collides with his opened water bottle he’d been drinking out of the past hour or so and both of you know what’s about to happen. you blurt out a noise and try to dodge the water coming your way but fail, getting his water on your legs and even more pouring at your crocs that invite even more liquid in. you can just feel your socks absorbing it now.

rafe grimaces as he stares down at your wet legs, and the least he does is reaches down to grab the bottle and the cap that flew off the desk. he closes it up and sets it on his desk as you take off your shoes and socks, holding them with barely your fingers.

“i have uh . . . towels, paper towels,” he says, and you just nod immediately, accepting whatever to dry yourself off.

when he comes back, you grab the paper towels and shove your soggy socks into his chest which he takes out of instinct before exclaiming and dropping them on the floor. you can’t help but look back and glare at him before patting your legs dry, and then tossing the paper towel into the nearby trash can that sat at one of the ends of his desk.

you can see rafe shrug as he picks up your socks and hovers over his trash can too. “might as well,” he murmurs.

“wh— are you serious?” you try to catch the socks, but then again, he’s too far and you have no business carrying some wet ass socks back to your dorm. your hands fall to your sides as you sigh.

it’s like he’s visibly contemplating (or debating with himself) before he walks over to his dresser and rummages through a drawer, finally pulling out a pair of socks. “here,” he says, tossing them to you, which you almost fail to catch from the sudden surprise. “they’re clean. swear.”

you give him a doubtful look. “i didn’t need your socks. i have plenty in my own drawer, thanks,” you say, placing the pair on his desk to reject them, and he stares at you.

he shakes his head and turns around. “so difficult,” he murmurs under his breath, and he quickly cleans up his drawer before closing it.

he grabs his wallet from on top of the dresser too, pulling out the wad of cash. you can tell from the look on his face that he’s not only doing this to count his money properly but also to subtly flex right in front of you. you roll your eyes and look away.

he counts out his three-hundred before handing it to you, scrunching up his nose as he stuffs his wallet into his pocket. you stare at the money, then take it while giving him a glare.

you quickly count it but bless, there’s two hundred dollar bills and then five twenty’s. perfect.

“okay, good luck on your exam,” you say and grab your bag, heading for the door like you’re in a hurry this time.

“wait,” rafe says, and you almost groan from annoyance. you just want to go back to your dorm. “here,” he mumbles to himself, and he steps over to the mini-fridge in the corner. he opens it up and grabs a water bottle, then tosses it to you.

“rafe,” you say, not really expecting all of these ‘gifts’ just for screaming at him for two hours about humanities. you toss it back to him, which he catches.

“just for the road,” he insists with a shake of his head. “since i spilled mine on you.”

you stare at him like he’s stupid. “dude, i live down the hallway.”

when you see his awkward reaction, you almost feel bad. actually you do. and it’s weird. usually you don’t notice this at all, but something about rafe feeling dumb about trying to thank you just makes you feel guilty for how you’ve treated him. fine.

you give him a look like you’re saying okay. that it’s okay to give you gifts and that you’re okay with receiving them. rafe doesn’t even cast a smile, he just nods. you squint your eyes at him before heading for his door again.

rafe meets you there and holds out the water bottle for you. you look up at him and take it. you almost smile, and it seems like he might too, but you both catch yourselves and quickly look away.

“ace your exam so you won’t have to hear from me like this again,” you say, half-joking to keep up their normal behavior.

“i’ll try, i’ll try,” he says simply, and stands at his door while you leave. you raise your eyebrows once before heading off to your dorm, taking your bag and your water bottle with you. you hear his door shut from behind you.

as you walk away, you can’t help but replay the moment in your head, the weird sense of camaraderie that just occurred. maybe, just maybe, rafe cameron isn’t the most horrible person on the planet. and it doesn’t help that he’s unfortunately attractive, which makes it slightly more difficult now to keep up the mutual hatred you have for each other.

from inside the dorm, rafe stands there for a moment, staring at the closed door. he shakes his head, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“not so bad,” he mutters to himself before turning back to his desk, ready to tackle his upcoming humanities exam thanks to you.

[phoward89]

Professor!Coriolanus x Innocent!Reader

Masterlist

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Dark!Coryo, Obsessed!Coryo, Innocent!Reader, Sweet!Reader, Naive!Reader, manipulation, obsession, professor/student relationship, power imbalance, age difference, cussing, drugging, dacryphilia, smut, dub con, non con?

Based on a request a while back where your professor's obsessed with you and manipulates you to be with him.

Part 1

Coriolanus Snow flourished in his studies at the University: a double major in Political Science and Military Strategy. He also impressed Dr. Gaul while interning with her as a gamemaker. But, although his ideas were implemented and well liked by the mad scientist, Dr. Gaul didn't feel like Mr. Snow had the raw, insane, sadistic gumption that it took to be an official Gamemaker.

The mad scientist also didn't like Coriolanus’ presidential aspirations. Truthfully, she feared the young Snow because, in her opinion, he was too ambitious. Ambition is a very dangerous thing when given the absolute freedom to bloom into real, tangible, outcomes and goals. Dr. Gaul knew if Coriolanus became an Assistant Gamemaker that he'd stop at nothing to attain her job; use that position to further his goal of politics.

Coriolanus Snow dreamed of becoming the youngest President Panem has ever had. And Dr. Gaul knows that in order to do that, well, her little pupil has to win people over; kill a lot of them too in order to clear the way for his stepping stones to the Presidential Palace.

Coriolanus Snow as the president is the last thing Dr. Gaul wants on God's green earth. Her former student is very cunning, but uncontrollable. He likes to be in control; doesn't want to be told what to do. Has a godlike complex too. And the mad scientist can't have that because, in reality, the President of Panem is just a figurehead- a puppet that Dr. Gaul pulls all the strings of.

And after mentoring Mr. Snow for his 4 years of University, well, Dr. Gaul has come to the conclusion that he's a failed experiment. To a certain degree he passed some of her tests, but not the one where ambition and falling in line were concerned. Plus, the woman has a suspicion that Coriolanus poisoned Highbottom a few years back; no way in hell is she letting an arsenic happy little sociopath work close to her.

She's not crazy enough to trust Coriolanus Snow not to poison her. Give Dr. Gaul some credit, she didn't become the Head Gamemaker and the Head of the War Department for nothing. She's very bright, just a bit insane and morally evil.

But, since Dr. Gaul, his personal mentor during his entire University career, claimed that he just wasn't the best of the best or the brightest star out of the University students under her tutelage, Coriolanus wasn't offered any positions that could be of power or use to him in his dreams of politics. He was blackballed from the Citadel and from anything Gamemaker related, per Dr. Gaul's request.

But he was offered a position as a professor in the Political Science department of the Capitol's prestigious University. But the class he was assigned to teach just happened to be an elective class.

Political Policies In Utopia/Dystopia Pre-Panem Literature/Media

It was basically a class that broke down what was right and wrong with the politics of various pre-Panem books and movies that were usually apocalyptic or post-apocalyptic (sometimes even sci-fi in nature). Coriolanus felt that the class was idiotic, but he was stuck teaching it. Apparently the class was designed as something fun for the Political Science students, as something light amongst their heavy coursework. But still something that'd keep their minds on the strengths and weaknesses of politics; the importance of them.

The first couple of years teaching the course, Coriolanus would cringe at some of the books and movies he was forced to make the class read, watch, and disect. But as the years went on, well, he got immune to some of the source material he was teaching. Sad to say, but after a while the shocking things in his lessons didn't phase him.

So, as his old classmates and acquaintances made their mark in the world in either politics, banking, or business, Coriolanus was a University Professor. He was trapped in a mundane life, year and year.

And one day he woke up, a man nearing 28 and going nowhere. He was frustrated with his life: bitter over his dead dreams. But, when you walked into his class on the first day of the Fall semester looking like a fresh faced innocent school girl that had recently graduated from the Academy during early July, well, he knew that his luck had changed.

Yes, he might be stuck being a professor of a useless elective class forever, but at least now he had a sweet angel- you- to lust after and corrupt. And the darkness looming inside of Coriolanus’ soul demands that he corrupts you; takes you as his life partner to smother and never let you.

He swore to never fall in love again and he intended to keep that vow, but that didn't mean that he had to keep fucking useless, faceless, nameless whores. No. It was time for him to get a good girl and unfortunately for you, well, your youth and innocent aura attracted Professor Snow to you like a moth to a flame.

Except he's not the one that's getting burnt in this scenario, but you are.

You're one of the only girls enrolled in Professor Snow's class, but that's because it's a Political Science course. Actually, it's an elective class for Political Science majors of all year levels. But still…it's a political class.

Your parents weren't too thrilled when you enrolled at the University as a Political Science major. Your father, Colonel Javanis Halvir, felt that you should've joined the Nursing Core or should've settled on becoming a socialite and looking for a husband like other pretty Capitolite girls did.

But much to your father's disappointment you did neither and decided to study politics instead. You're older brother, Rein, who was an Officer in the Peacekeepers thought it was hilarious that you defied your father. He backed up your decision to major in Political Science. Your mother could care less; she even told your father to ignore your University major and course load; that you’d either get tired and quit because it was too hard or you’d find a future politician to marry.

So far neither of your mother's assumptions have come to pass. You're still enrolled in all of your classes and you're still single.

Your last class of the day was Professor Snow's and you found the class to be very interesting. Very intriguing in fact. Oh, how you found the class to be unlike any you've ever taken before.

Political Policies In Utopia/Dystopia Pre-Panem Literature/Media.

Oh, the class made you think about how things could be worse in different realities or universes. Yes, you're only on the first assigned book for the semester’s reading, but so far The Handmaid's Tale seems like hell on steroids. Fuck, that book makes you shudder and you're only halfway thru it. You honestly can't wait til it's over and Professor Snow lets you move onto the next one.

When you walk into the classroom, Professor Snow's sitting behind his mahogany desk. He's got reading glasses on and he's nose deep in a book. It's not one of the class assigned reads, so you quickly figured out that it's a personal book.

As you take your usual seat, you can't help but think that your professor (who’s a good decade older than you) looks handsome in reading glasses. That the dark frames make his icy blue eyes pop and contrasts against his slicked back platinum hair. Shaking your head to clear any and all wandering thoughts of Professor Snow, you open your bag and take out your supplies for the class.

Coriolanus discreetly looks over the top of his book to check you out. Oh fuck, how he thinks you look so goddamn perfect and sexy today in your sweater, blouse, skirt, stockings, kitten heels, and your pearls.

Fuck, a simple strand of pearls around the neck and simple pearl earrings in the ears always makes his cock twitch. Oh, how he wants to do some pearl play with the strand and your pussy.

Oh, yes, with how young you are and how innocently pretty you look, he's sure that your cunt's tighter then a Nun's chuff. Oh, how he'd love to take your strand of pearls and slide them up and down your wet slit; tease your clit with them until it's swollen and you're begging to cum. He wonders if you’d suck your juices clean from the pearls too.

But then Coriolanus remembers where the hell he's at, his classroom in the damn University, and suddenly he's thinking of his ex, Livia Cardew, to make his dick soft. Ugh, that shrew can kill a wet dream.

And when he sees all of his students are sitting in their respective seats, he eyes the clock on the wall to check the time. When he sees that it's about time to start class, he closes his book and places it on his desk before standing up and standing in front of the large blackboard. He writes on it in his impeccable handwriting.

The Handmaiden's Tale Chapters 26-28 Review

You listen as Professor Snow goes over the material you read over the last couple of days, literally giving a cut and dry summary that barely touched the topic of the latest chapters. But then, when he's done, he starts asking the class questions. Questions about the book that makes the class think and ponder.

“In chapter 28 Offred muses about the fall of the United States and the creation of Gilread. Now, we find out that women's rights are slowly striped and all bank accounts women have are given to the husband or male in the family, amongst some other revelations about the occupation Gilread slowly does to the government. Now, my question is, do you think the flashback Offered provided about the fall of the United States and the subtle, but sure, takeover of Gilread could happen today in Panem?”

A young man with beige hued hair raised his hand, only for Professor Snow to nod and acknowledge him with a simple, “Mr. Arnoult, you share your answer with the class.”

Eros Arnoult, in your opinion, was a pain in the ass; know it all. Or at least he thought he was a know it all. And he just had to answer Professor Snow's philosophical question with the idiotic and incorrect answer of, “What happened to the United States in the book would never happen here in Panem. Panem has Peacekeepers.”

And you knew Eros’ answer was wrong by how Professor Snow’s cerulean blue eyes narrowed and turning into a pair of cold icicles; how his lips frowned in a thin line.

Before thinking better of it, you turned around in your seat to look at Eros and told him, “You’re such an idiot, Eros. You're wrong, because what happened to the United States could happen to Panem.”

“Miss Y/N, please elaborate.” Professor Snow insisted with a spry smirk on his face.

You turn around to face your professor before telling him and the entire class, “What happened to the United States in the book A Handmaiden's Tale could happen to Panem if, gods forbid, the Districts rise up again like they did during the war; the Dark Days.”

“The Districts would never dream about rising up again. Not with the Hunger Games keeping them in line.” Eros told you before Professor Snow could even make a remark about your thoughts.

Turning around to face your classmate, again, you counter his remark with one of, “The Hunger Games can only do so much to keep them in line. People, if pushed too hard or if they feel too hopeless will try to rebel or will follow the pied piper into something worse than what they have and everyone else will be stunned when it happens because they never thought it could.”

Coriolanus was very impressed with your political insight. For being in your first semester of your first year at the University. At first your beauty and innocence caught his eye, but he has to admit that the more time you spend in his class the more he discovers he appreciates your wit as well.

So much so that he tells you, “Very good answer, Miss Y/N.”, before explaining in length what the United States did wrong in the book to fall and become Gilread and, of course, explaining how those lessons can be implemented and used in politics today.

One day after class you're walking with your neighbor in the courtyard whenever Professor Snow comes marching up to you, seething. You didn't understand what was wrong; why he seemed so upset.

“You need to leave my student alone.” Professor Snow ordered your neighbor, Odysseus, in a firm baritone while using his hand to separate you and your bronze haired neighbor.

“It's fine, Professor Snow. Really, he's my neighbor.” You assure your tall and imposing teacher as he places a protective arm around your shoulder; pulling you into his side while acting as a large buffer between you and Odysseus.

Odysseus’ lips curled up into a deriding smile that dug into his dimples cheeks. Cocking his head slightly at the pristine platinum haired professor, he remarked in a mawkish tone, “Yea, Professor Snow, I live across the hall from her so we'll be seeing plenty of each other.”

Keeping you under his protective wing, Coriolanus craned his neck forward as he towers over the peacock of a bronze haired boy, while coldly stating, “I know exactly what boys like you, Mr. Odair, want from girls like Miss Y/N and I’m not going to let you taint her reputation. Neighbor or not.” Waving him off with a dismissive flick of the wrist, the professor ordered your neighbor to, “Stay away from Miss Y/N or else you might find yourself on an academic probation.”

Odysseus shook his head in disgust and disbelief before stalking off. Honestly, he couldn't believe that you just let your cold, overbearing, astute professor take control over the situation that was your neighborly friendship and turn it into some knight in shining toilfoil coming to an unneeded rescue moment. The sea-green eyed man couldn't help, but have an uneasy feeling about Professor Snow swooping in on you under the guise as your protector.

You're a freshman at the University, you don't need some distinguished professor that's all washed up (everyone in Capitol City knows how Coriolanus Snow aimed high and fell short in his ambitions) ‘protecting’ you from a young man your age.

Coriolanus couldn't help, but to let a smug, triumphant smirk paint his lips as he watched Odysseus Odair slump his shoulder and scurry off in defeat. Yes, once again Snow lands on top.

And Snow’s going to be the only man landing on top of you too. That he'll make sure of.

Coriolanus’ face contorted from a smugly victorious to stricken with concern before he turns to you. His baritone is deep with care as he tells you, “Although Mr. Odair's your neighbor, you need to stay away from him, darling. He's a skirt chaser with a nasty reputation on campus; boys like that'll just use you and leave you.” Patting your cheek, he adds in, “I'd hate to see my best and brightest pupil get hurt.”

Unable to believe your ears, you ask in awe, “I’m your best pupil?”

“Yes, Miss Y/N, you truly are.” Professor Snow nods. Clutching the strap of his leather satchel, he informs you with a thin lipped smile, “In fact, I find your insight on the course material we're currently working on to be very refreshing and mentally stimulating.”

Did you just hear him right? He can't mean that, can he? “Really?” You blurt out in a surprised tone.

“Really.” Your platinum blonde professor nods. “Do you have a class I could escort you to before I leave, just to make sure you're safe from Mr. Odair's nefarious intentions?” He asks, sounding like a concerned angelic man with a heart of gold.

But little do you know that he's as angelic as Lucifer himself; his heart of gold is pitch black and full of selfish desires.

“Oh, I don't have any more classes. Yours was my last one.” You innocently inform Professor Snow, causing the cunning and calculating man to do a mental happy dance hidden behind a neutral mask.

Coriolanus knows that what he's going to do is unethical, but he doesn't care. As long as he gets what he wants, which is you in his bed, he'll break every rule. All of his other dreams are unobtainable, but not you.

No.

His dream of being with you is right in reach and he's going to snatch it up greedily in his large hands.

Coriolanus gives you a smile that's more manic then friendly, as he suggests, “Why don't you join me for a bite to eat? We can always discuss your thoughts on politics or anything related to my class, if you'd like.”

Professor Snow thinks you're his best student and wants to grab something to eat with you to discuss politics and his class with you. Oh wow! You can't believe it. You didn't think you were that great of a student, surely one of the boys must have a higher aptitude for politics. It is, after all, usually a man's world and subject.

“Okay.” You simply reply with a small, flattered smile.

“I know the perfect place.” Coriolanus told you, guiding you into the direction of the parking lot and in extension his black luxury sedan was parked. “I'm positive you'll enjoy the food there.” A slightly sinister smirk crossed over his face as he lightly remarked, “And the wine’s to die for.”

“I'm not old enough to drink wine, Professor Snow.” You remind your professor, who has to be close to thirty.

“Well, you just let me order for us and nobody’ll know how young you really are.” Professor Snow tells you, his tone sounding mirthful and secretive, as he sips his face a bit too close towards yours.

His disposition changes as he holds his head up high and points his car out on the approaching lot. “That's my car right over there, darling. Nice, isn't it?”

“Yes, it's very nice.” You agree with a nod. In fact, his car seems nicer than the one your family has. You even tell him that too, earning you a chuckle from him.

The place Professor Snow took you to was a quaint, but upscale restaurant close to the Corso. The food was very delicious and the wine, as he said, was to die for. True to his word, your professor ordered for both of you and nobody was none the wiser that perhaps you shouldn't be drinking the wine.

But right before desert was going to be served you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. And that's when Coriolanus decided to enact the most vital part of his plan. Something that you knew nothing about; would never believe if told either.

As you wash your hands in the powder room, you look in the mirror and wonder if it's odd that you feel a bit giddy from eating with Professor Snow. You'd be lying if you said that you didn't have a tiny crush on the handsome, distinguished man. Because, you really do have a teeny tiny crush on him. But a girl would have to be blonde not to simp over the man with the perfectly styled platinum curls, striking baby blue eyes, prominent nose with a set of perfect pearly whites.

Deciding that you needed to stop being silly, you splashes some water on your face and took a deep breath before exiting the ladies room.

“Our deserts just arrived, darling.” Professor Snow smiles,gesturing towards the rich dark chocolate cheesecakes set in front of your place settings.

“Oh, you didn't have to wait for me, Professor Snow.” You tell him, feeling a bit embarrassed that he's been sitting and looking at his cheesecake instead of eating because he was waiting on you.

“Nonsense, Y/N.” The platinum blonde picked up his fork. “My Grandma'am taught me that a gentleman always waits for a lady arrive to start a course.” Professor Snow scoops a piece of his cheesecake with his fork while you reach for your own fork. Bringing his bite of the chocolate desert to his lush lips, he smirks, “That includes desert.”

You're using your fork to dig into your own desert whenever your professor pulls the fork from his lips and tells you, “Please, call me Coriolanus.” Digging back into his cheesecake, he adds, “Or Coryo, if you'd like.”

In between eating your desert, you ask, “Is that allowed? I'm your student.”

“I can't see why we can't be friends outside of class. We're two adults that can manage a friendship, aren't we?”

“Yes, but you're like 30.”

Coriolanus narrowed his icy eyes; his mouth sourly puckered as he tarly told you, “Oh, darling, don't age me. I'm a Scorpio; I’m only turning 28 this All Hallows Eve.”

“Oh, you're the same age as my older brother.” You blurt out, causing Coriolanus to just let out a silent huff.

Honestly, he already knew that. He knows that your older brother's Rein Halvir. He remembers the idiot from their days in the Academy. And, frankly, he's glad he hasn't run into him since being back in the Capitol.

“Yes, I believe I attended the Academy with him.” Coriolanus said, pretending to take his brain for your sake. “Is he faring well?” He asked, his eyes lighting up with a slight sparkle as you reached for your win glass.

You think it's nice that Coriolanus asked about your brother. So, of course, you answer his inquiry with, “Rein’s an officer in the peacekeepers. He's stationed in District 12; has a girlfriend and two kids.”

“Capitolite or?...” The cerulean man asks, his deeply smooth tone falling of a cliff of a silent question. A question of District.

“Ashlie's from District 12- the Seam to be exact. Their kids were born on PK Base-D12 so they're registered as Capitol citizens.”

“Aha.” Coriolanus lifts his nose up, in both superiority and disgust.

Coriolanus once spent the summer of his 18th year of life in District 12 as a peacekeeper grunt while foolishly fancying himself in love with the songbird victor of the 10th Hunger Games. Unfortunately, it didn't end well. Sometimes he'd wonder if things could've been different, but then he remembers that him and the songbird were too different to ever work. And that if she truly loved him she wouldn't have betrayed him; try to poison him with a snake and leave him to die.

No, he's much better off without that Covey frontrunner whore in his life. Her love was toxic, made him feel like a fool. And if things had worked out with her then we would've never met you.

Coriolanus is without a doubt certain that you're the girl for him. Innocent, beautiful, young, and intelligent. Oh yes, he's surely met histch in you. And he's certain that you'll never betray his love.

No, not with how kind and gentle your smile is.

“My family's proud that my brother followed our father's military footsteps, but they're not too fond of his girlfriend or their kids.” Your father's still pissed that his grandchildren are half-District. “Believe it or not, I'm the family disappointment.” You admit to your professor, even tho a part of you knows you shouldn't, before taking a large sip of your wine.

Your admission took the platinum haired professor a back. He was quite befuddled by it. How could you, a smart and innocent angel of a girl be the family disappointment? It doesn't make any sense.

Scratching his chin in a pondering way, Coriolanus asked, “Why would you be a disappointment?” Resting his elbow on the table and curling his hand into a fist, which he rests his jaw against, he remarks in a stunned baritone, “You're my best student and I'm sure you're excelling in your other classes as well.”

Yes, Professor Snow just couldn't fathom why you're not good enough for your family. In his eyes, you're absolutely perfect. But yet again he does have an obsession with you that's just crossed over a dark line; maybe even a sick one too.

“I'm studying Political Science instead of enlisting in the Nursing Core or taking my place in society as a socialite.” You wanted to go back to eating your desert, but you were suddenly feeling a bit odd. You felt as you were getting a bit hazy. Maybe it was too hot in the restaurant? “My mother told my father to just let me study politics as a way to find myself an aspiring politician to marry.” You add, concluding your explanation of why you're a disappointment to the Halvir family name.

“I once had political aspirations, but alas it wasn't meant to be and I'm a political professor for the great University in all of Panem instead.” Coriolanus said with a bit of veiled excitement in his smooth timbre.

Oh, Coriolanus was internally giddy. His plan was perfect. Just a few more minutes and he'll have you right where he wants you.

“Are you alright, darling? You seem a bit flushed.” Coriolanus asked, fake concern in his baby blues, as he placed his fork down on his plate.

“I'm not sure, Coriolanus. I feel a bit hazy.” You honestly tell him. Oh no, are you tipsy? You can't be, it was only a glass of wine. “Maybe the wine was too strong?” You offer as you begin to feel as if the room's going to start spinning.

Coriolanus’ brows knit as he gives you a worried look. “I think we should get the check and leave, Y/N. You really don't look well and I'm a bit concerned.” Your professor suggests, making you believe that he truly was concerned about your well being.

“Okay.” You nod, feeling dizzy and drowsy.

You must've passed out because the last thing you remember is feeling dizzy and drowsy while getting ready to leave the restaurant and then the next moment you're waking up in a strange bed. You automatically start panicking as you sit up. But before you can scream or scramble off the bed, a voice next to you sounds out with, “Oh, you're awake. Are you feeling better now, darling?”, and kills your fight or flight reactions.

You're with Professor Snow- uh Coriolanus. And he's not in his three piece suit anymore, instead he's in lounge pants and a casual shirt. What the?...

You look over at him, only to discover that he's laying on the bed, legs crossed at the ankle with his back leaning against the headboard. A pair of black frame glasses are perched on the bridge of his prominent nose as he reads a book. A book that’s cover looks well worn and battered.

“What happened? Why am I in bed with you?” You ask, feeling a bit confused.

“You don't remember walking out of the restaurant and falling out in the parking lot near my car?” He asked, closing his book and setting it on his nightstand before taking off his reading glasses and placing them on top of the book.

‘No.” You shake your head. “I don't.”

“Well, my darling,” Coriolanus gave you a sympathetic, but pointed look with his icy eyes, “Since you blacked out before I could get your address I brought you to my Corso penthouse.” Placing a large hand on your knee, he gave you a closed lip smile. “I don't want to startle you, but I took the liberties of changing you into a shirt of mine, for comfort.” Raising his hand up, to stop you from even thinking about opening your mouth, he said in a gentlemanly tone, “Don't worry, I didn't cross any lines; your underwear is still on.”

You should be creeped out, but instead you find it endearing that he was worried about your comfort and changed you into one of his shirts while you were passed out. Oh, no. Now you feel so embarrassed and stupid blacking out after a glass of wine. What's wrong with you? The wine couldn't have been that strong, could it?

“Thank you.” You murmur, casting your eyes down to stare at the hand that's on your thigh- Coriolanus' large hand. “I guess the wine was too strong for me.”

“Yes, I suppose it was.” The platinum blonde man next to you nodded. “I was worried about you; kept vigil by your tipsy side.”

Pushing his hand off your thigh, you tell him, “Thank you, but I should probably dress and catch a cab home.”

“Darling, you don't have to leave. You can stay here til you regain your senses; you'll be safe with me.”

“I'm fine.” You assure him, tone a bit snappier than you meant for it to be, as you sat on the edge of the bed.

Knowing you’d be dizzy and at risk for another blackout, Coriolanus leaned over and took your arm in his hand; stopping you from getting up. When you turned around to look at him from over your shoulder, his icy eyes had a hint of something guileful in them.

“Don't go, darling. Please.”

“Profes- Coriolanus, I can't stay here. You're my professor; it'd look bad and you could get into trouble.”

“Why would I get into trouble? I'm just letting you rest after getting tipsy off of some very strong wine.” The imposing man, who's more dangerous than sinai poisoning, pointed out while quickly taking a seat right next to you. Taking his hand off of arm and placing it on your chin, tilting it in a way so you'd be able to look him in the eye, he huskily asks, “Or are you afraid to stay with me because you want to get fucked by your cold, stoic, and oh so serious Professor Snow?” His face inches closer to yours as he asks, “I know I'm quite a handsome man, Y/N. So, I must ask, do you get all hot and bothered for your teacher?”

“You shouldn't be asking me this.”

“No, I shouldn't.” Coriolanus agrees with you, his lips ghosting over yours.

Your brain's in a fog and you're beginning to feel a bit woozy again whenever Coriolanus’ lips press against yours in a kiss that's a bit hard and hungry. A kiss that makes you feel lightheaded. And when you attempt to pull away from him, to break off the kiss, he places his hands on your cheeks and pulls your face into his.

His hands, so large and strong, hold your face still as his lips press against yours over and over again with messy enthusiasm. You gasp for air, parting your lips slightly, but it's all Coriolanus needs to deepen the kiss. His tongue slips effortlessly into your mouth, exploring it, as feelings of both dizziness and pleasure wash over you.

Honestly, you don't know how to feel. Your brain's like scrambled eggs right now. You can barely think, can barely tell what's up and what's down right now.

All you know is that your head’s spinning and your body feels like it's on fire; that your professor’s making out with you on his bed as if you've been lovers for years instead of barely knowing each other then inside of his classroom.

“Coryo-” You say when he ends your kiss, allowing you both to catch your breath, but you don't say anything else since that feeling of falling into a dark abyss threatens to take over you once more.

Your eyes grow spotty causing you to blink them in an attempt at clearer vision. All the while, Coriolanus is tenderly stroking your cheeks with a strange look on his face. “I know you're a bit tipsy still and as the older one amongst us I should do the honorable thing and let you rest, but after that kiss we shared I'm afraid I can't be a gentleman with you anymore.”

Coriolanus knows that you're about to lose control of your senses, from the spiked wine you drank, but he needs to have you agree to what he wants to do. He has to get you to say ‘yes’ so that he can remind you later on when you're fully functional that you want him; that you agreed to spend the night with him in his bed- fucking.

Yes, he might be a manipulative bastard that's a tad bit possessive and obsessive, but he's not a monster. Coriolanus does want you to trust him, despite that trust coming from his own tongue weaving a silver tale for you to believe and feel comfortable with.

“You want me, don't you, darling?” Coriolanus asked, softly running his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks while cradling your face in his large hands. Gazing into your eyes with his icy orbs, he demanded, “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

Your a bit light headed and Coriolanus' words float around your head. It's as if you're underwater and his voice is just a garbled echo. Your ears seem to be ringing and you feel dazed.

All you can manage to do is give Coriolanus a lost look. You're feeling a bit wonky, can barely even make out what he's saying.

Coriolanus’ chest heaves and he internally chastises himself for being a bit heavy handed with drugging your wine. Yes, he wanted you pliable and to his will, but he doesn't want you blacked out the entire time he has his way with you.

Deciding that he needs to do something to sober you up, Coriolanus slaps you across the face. “Snap out of it, Y/N!” He orders in a deep, loud shout.

That seemed to stir something inside of you. Yes, you still felt a bit hazy, but the slap across your face paired with Coriolanus' loud shout seemed to cause your focus to return to you for a moment.

“I'm sorry, did I space out?” You ask your professor, whose baby blues are burning like hot coals with desire.

“Yes, baby, you did.” Coryo told you, soothingly stroking the cheek that he had just slapped. “I asked if you wanted to be with me; wanted to fuck me, but you just stared at me with glazed over eyes.”

“Coryo…” You sigh, feeling an unbearable heat cross over your cheeks. “We shouldn't do anything.”

“You haven't done anything before, have you?” The platinum blonde professor asked knowingly while subtly guiding you to the middle of his king sized bed.

“No.” You shake your head. Wringing your hands in your (his) shirt, you avert eye contact with him and add in, “Not really.”

“You're very special to me, Y/N. I've never met anyone as beautiful, bright, and innocent as you.” Coriolanus reveals in an eloquent speech that has your heart beating fast against your ribcage.

Truthfully, your heart's probably beating fast due to the drugged wine in your system, but since you're unaware of your state you just assume it's a romantic effect from his words. His carefully woven words.

“There's nothing wrong with us taking pleasure from each other, my darling.” He tells you like the master manipulator he is. He's working his magic on you, making your resolve start to crumble under his smooth and amorous words. Pressing his forehead against yours, he promises, “I’ll stay with you and I'll protect you, baby. I won't hurt you like those pervy boys your age would.”

Coriolanus pulled his forehead away from yours, only to press a kiss to your lips. A kiss that was soft and sensual. A kiss that he meant to be persuasive.

Time was ticking and Coriolanus knew that you'd be going back into lala land soon. Either he got you to say yes or he'd just tell you that you said yes once you came to later. But either way he's fucking your tight cunt.

“You want me to fuck you, right, baby.” The platinum blonde with a regal air around him told you, not asked.

You felt yourself begin to grow hazier by the minute. Your limbs even feel a bit heavier. Your tongue began to feel dry and heavy in your mouth and all you could manage to do was nod your head.

You felt as if your head was plunged back underwater. You felt everything around you feel muddled, but you did see Coriolanus give you a Cheshire grin before eagerly shedding his shirt and kissing you. A kiss that you barely felt due to the feeling of falling into an abyss.

You blink your eyes and seem to come back to your senses once again as Coriolanus, your handsome professor, is naked above you, thrusting his cock in and out of your pussy.

You couldn't help, but wonder how drunk you got to agree to this. Yes, you find him attractive, but Professor Snow's your teacher at University. This violates so many cod of conduct ethics.

“Oh my God!” You blurt out, causing Coryo to smirk at you.

“My big cock feels good in your tight cunt, huh, baby?” Coriolanus asked as he snapped his hips in a certain way that had his cock pressing deep against that special spongy spot deep inside of you. “Fuck, your cunt feels so good. So fucking good ‘round by cock, darling.”

Your cunt’s dripping wet and every movement Coriolanus makes causes you to shudder. It does feel very good. Hell, it feels better then all of the times you've ever been fingered.

“It feels good, Coryo.” You admit in a wispy moan.

You try to move your arms, but they feel a bit heavy. As if they're asleep. Coriolanus notices you trying to move your arms and just takes his hands off of your wrists and laces his hands in yours, all while telling you the saccharine lie of, “You're still a bit drunk, baby. Just let me hold your hands while we fuck; you can hold my back or something later."

He brings his face close to yours. His breath fans against your lips as he tells you, “You’re my good babygirl with such a sweet, tight cunt.”

“Coryo…” You whined as you felt pleasure begin to wash over you.

“That's it, baby. Cum for me. Cum right now like my good girl.” Coryo ordered in a husky tone as he pounded your pussy with such force that your body was moving up and down the bed.

His hard and fast thrusts had you cumming harder then you've ever cummed in your entire life. His name's spilling from your lips; your legs shake and spasm from your orgasm as you soak the sheets.

“Oh, I knew you were perfect.” Coryo groans at the sight of you squirting. Watching your juices gush out of you, only to roll down your crimson coated thighs has him in overdrive. His cock’s even harder and his balls are twitching; begging to empty their cum deep inside of your cunt.

Coriolanus wants to grab your legs and bend you like a pretzel so he can fuck you into his mattress, but he's afraid that you might try to lift your arms again. The less you move (without his help) the better. He can't have you realizing what he did to your wine, now can he? So, he settles for just using your laced hands to brace himself as he digs his knees into the mattress and fucks into your cunt as fast as he can.

Your limbs feel tingly as Coryo pistons into your cunt mercilessly. You feel a bit overwhelmed, perhaps even a bit oversensitive. “Coryo, it's too much.”

“You're getting oversensitive, baby. Just be a good girl and take what I give you for a few more minutes, yea?”

“Coryo, please.” Feeling a bit overwhelmed from everything, you cry. “Please.”

As sick and twisted as it sounds, seeing salty tears leak from your eyes and roll down your cheeks has Coryo shooting thick ropes of his hot cum deep into your puffy cunt while moaning out your name.

Coriolanus lets your hands go, only to slowly pull his cock out of your cunt. His icy eyes roll back into the back of his head at the sight of his white cum dripping out of your abused hole alone with a trickle of crimson- the proof that he took your virginity.

You're all his now...

He lays down next to you and pulls you into his side. “Don't worry, Y/N. You're my girl now and I'll take very good care of you.” He assures you while covering you both with his duvet.

“I'm your girl now?” You ask with an arched brow.

“We'll talk more about it in the morning when you're a bit more sober.” Coriolanus kisses you, making you think that when you were in the thick of your tipsiness you must've agreed to get involved with him.

Oh hell, how strong was that wine to make you so tipsy that you became Professor Snow’s girlfriend?

“Just rest, baby. You're safe here with me.” The platinum blonde, whose arms are protectively wrapped around you, coos in his deep baritone; lulling you back to dreamland.

A place that you've been in and out of all night.

And as you doze off Coriolanus looks at you with obsession shining in his cerulean eyes and a manic grin spread across his face. The darkness in his soul's quelled with the thought that you're his forever now.

Oh, yes. Now that he's got you in his penthouse he's never letting you go. But before he can truly begin to be the doting and devoted boyfriend to you, he needs to get rid of Festus Creed- the old Academy friend that gave him the drug he spiked your wine with. Well, Coriolanus supposes that if he poisons him at a teahouse and drinks the poison as well, but in a smaller dose, he'll be able to kill two birds with one stone.

He'll get rid of Festus before he can talk and he'll get you moving into his penthouse to take care of him after a near death experience.

Snow lands on top. And who knows, maybe one day with your father's backing Coriolanus might be able to wiggle his way into politics. And if not, well he has you.

And that's all that truly matters, isn't it? It should, considering what dark deeds he did to get you into his bed.

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