#and my professor started talking about the laments!!!

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

.

[ms-demeanor]

Sometimes college professors like to hop on my posts lamenting the sorry state of syllabi these days and joke about how they haven't thought that far ahead in the course themselves, or talk about how they struggle to complete a schedule for their students.

With all due respect, that's your job. If you can't do your job, you should have a different job. If you need help, ask your colleagues or your department chair or *someone* because I know that professors aren't given a hell of a lot of education on how to educate, so you probably *need* help.

But every single time I make one of those posts I get anywhere from ten to thirty messages, replies, reblogs, and asks say "oh man, that's exactly why I had to drop out of school; I couldn't keep up with the assignments because I didn't know when they were due until the week they were due."

I have been a college student in three separate decades, and "not having a schedule of assignments in the syllabus" is new to my experience. That shit didn't fly in the 2000s or 2010s and I think it likely has to do with professors being overly reliant on apps.

AT A MINIMUM your syllabus should have:

Contact information (including preferred method of contact) for the professor

Office Hours

Grading Policy

Assignment schedule.

Your assignment schedule doesn't necessarily need to have the exact page numbers of every reading or a full assignment sheet for each project, but it should have things like:

December 1st - Major Project 3 second draft due December 9th - Quiz 10 December 12th - Major Project 3 final draft due December 15th - Final Exam

If you end up presenting a more thorough schedule with readings and homework later, that is acceptable to present a week or two into the semester but it is absolutely insane to me that students these days don't know what homework they're going to have to get done over Thanksgiving break during the first couple weeks of class.

If I had three professors at once who didn't give me a schedule, how on earth would I know if I was going to have to read three chapters of a novel, take a midterm and turn in two stats homework assignments, and complete a history research paper the same week that I'm planning to travel to see family? If I'm aware of this from the beginning of the semester I can make sure not to pick up extra shifts, or I can plan to leave a day later to accommodate the midterm, or I can start working on the paper early to complete it before the due date but if I don't know what's going to be due when, I'm going to have a big problem.

If you don't give your students a schedule you are communicating that you don't care about their schedule, and that you think it's their responsibility to contort their life (and their job, and their other classes) around your class, and honestly my advice to students in that situation is "drop in the first week and pick up another class". That's actually part of why I recommend signing up for one more class than you can really manage - if you get a professor whose class looks like it's going to be a disaster because they don't have a schedule, you can bail before the withdrawal period and get a refund for the class.

I'm only in one class this semester but the professor's response has fully dropped me into "Fuck it, I guess I'll fail" mode and I don't even know if I can pull myself out of my current D grade because I don't know how many assignments we have left in the semester.

This is a shitty way to run a class. If you can't do better than this, you shouldn't be running a class.

[hawkinsbnbg]

Silver fox Steve meets fox hunter Eddie.

When Steve accepted the teaching position at IU, he didn't expect to stumble upon Eddie Munson–an enigma—who loved metal, who wore leathers with chains and rings, who always stood out with that wild mane, those attractive tattoos and devil-may-care attitude, and who had been trying to get into his pants for months now.

“Is this still a violation to the college’s policies, Professor?” Hot lips planted by his ears, strong hands held him down, stopped him from getting away.

“N– No,” Steve gasped and rolled his eyes back as Eddie hit that spot again. They had been at it for over an hour now, and Steve only had himself to blame for being weak-willed.

He had half a mind to worry about what his colleagues might say tomorrow about having seen him slink away with one of the graduates. But his head was rendered blank when those long calloused fingers wrapped around his neglected cock and started jerking it.

“Am I still too young for you, Professor?”

“Ye– Oh, god–” Steve writhed and slobbered as his sweet spots were battered again.

“Just Eddie is fine,” the younger man nipped the tip of his ear teasingly before setting up a brutal pace.

Steve couldn't even talk, he just fisted the sheet beneath him, overwhelmed and overstimulated. He was kind of appalled and thrilled by it all. Because sex had never felt so good to him before.

“Am I good enough for you, Professor?” Eddie asked, voice husky and gravelly with lust.

Steve dropped his mouth open to maybe form a proper word or breathe, he didn't know. His brain was too fucked out to remember why he had kept turning Eddie away in the first place.

The guy clearly knew how to plow. Fucking Christ.

He nodded blindly, moaning and losing his mind as Eddie hammered into his prostate as if wanting to knock his soul away.

He came with Eddie’s name on his tongue, twitching and clenching around the thick cock that pulsed inside him. He milked it for what it was worth, and lamented inwardly Eddie had filled the condom and not him.

Once the post-coital high finally passed, the clarity of the situation dawned on him. Steve didn't regret it, but he was mildly disappointed this was just a one-time thing.

Because of all people, he knew Eddie’s kind the best. Always curious, always eager to take on challenges. And who else was better to conquer than Professor Harrington who was known for being a rule stickler?

Except, tonight was the first time he let himself be swayed by those charming smiles and big impish eyes. Maybe it was old ages having mellowed him, or maybe it was loneliness wearing his guard down.

Either way, someone brilliant like Eddie would never stick around for a boring old man like Steve. Which was completely understandable. But it didn't hurt less to think he was just another pitstop in Eddie’s life. Easy to forget, easy to leave behind.

“Hope you haven’t gotten tired of me yet, Mr. Harrington,” Eddie returned from the bathroom with a washcloth in hands, looking far too chirpy in only a pair of black boxers and not at all as drained as Steve felt.

God, what a time to be reminded that he was too old for this.

Sitting against the headboard, Steve said nothing and just watched Eddie climb on the bed and kneel over to him. When he intended to take the washcloth, Eddie just grabbed his hand to kiss the back of it instead.

“Allow me to take care of my date,” the younger man said cheekily before proceeding to wipe him down with practiced ease.

“Your date, huh?” Steve snorted, laughing at himself for being so pathetic to perk up at that.

“Yeah, my date,” Eddie smiled softly, tone still light-hearted but eyes intense when they met his own. “We’re kinda doing it backward here but I can fix that.”

Jesus. Steve didn't think he knew what he was getting himself into. And still, he couldn't help but listen to his stupid heart, the one that was telling him to give Eddie a chance.

“How?”

“I know this place has really good tacos,” Eddie rested a hand on his bare thigh and stroked it slowly. “They also serve quite decent drinks and mean buffalo wings.”

“What if I say no?” Steve raised his eyebrow.

“Well, in that case,” Eddie deflated, looking like a kicked puppy as he braved on. “I’ll respect your decision and get out of your hair soon.”

Steve sighed, wishing pretty boys with big eyes weren't his weakness.

“Listen carefully,” he leveled Eddie with a serious look. “If you’re just looking for someone to fool around with, then I’m not the right person for you. But if you want to try for a real relationship, then we can do it together. And I’ll expect you to be fully committed. No polygamy or anything alike.”

Eddie grinned at him, dimpled and bright, before cupping his cheek and kissing the side of his mouth.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been committed to you since the first time we met. Been yours even before you noticed me.”

The fact that Steve could tell it was true made his heart flutter in his chest.

“Well then, Mr. Munson, I have no problem with you fixing our date tonight,” he turned his head slightly to press a chaste kiss on Eddie’s lips.

“So polite,” Eddie chuckled and kissed him again, but it was deeper and more tender this time.

Although Steve still couldn't quite believe Eddie would stick around, he decided to take the leap of faith anyway.

And many years later, when he glanced up from his newspaper to see Eddie showing him another new sweater for their dog, he knew he had made the right choice that night.

[yan-lorkai]

Heyyy! I hope you are doing well! (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

I would like to request something!

Yan!Crowley with a darling who is his secretary! I hope you're comfortable with writing romantic stuff with the staff. If not then please ignore this request. ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

Stay safe and don't forget to stay hydrated! Byeee ♪⁠～⁠(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ a/n: This is my first Crowley request so I hope I wrote him right. Enjoy ~

Working as Dire Crowley’s secretary is a whirlwind of chaos, exasperation, and somehow endearment. On the surface, he’s an eccentric, bumbling headmaster who constantly piles his endless workload onto you while waxing poetic about how invaluable you are to him.

He often forgets appointments, dodges responsibilities, and somehow manages to create more paperwork for you with every half-baked plan he devises - it's like you are the headmaster and he is your secretary.

And yet, despite the frustration, you stay. Maybe it’s because you’ve grown used to the rhythm of his antics, or maybe it’s because he always finds a way to charm you into sticking around. He praises you endlessly, often with overly dramatic flair, declaring that no one could ever replace you. At first, you thought it was just his usual theatrics, but as time went on, you began to notice the subtle possessiveness behind his words.

Crowley has a way of making you feel both indispensable and trapped. If you so much as hint at being overwhelmed or mention needing time off, he panics. He flutters around you, begging for forgiveness and insisting he couldn’t possibly survive a day without you.

"What would this school do without my brilliant secretary?" He laments, clutching his chest like you’ve just stabbed him thirty times. "No, no, no! You must stay! For the sake of the academy and my sanity as well!"

His behavior grows more suffocating the closer you get to him. He begins to rely on you not just professionally but personally, pulling you into his orbit with every request and manufactured crisis. It’s not uncommon for him to call you into his office for “urgent matters” that turn out to be little more than an excuse to chat or keep you near him.

Despite his shortcomings, Crowley is remarkably attentive when it comes to you. He knows your favorite tea, the way you like your workspace organized, and even small details like how you tap your pen when you’re frustrated. He uses this knowledge to ingratiate himself further, always appearing with a solution or a grand gesture at just the right time.

The turning point comes when he starts making subtle comments about your interactions with others. If you spend too long talking to a student or a staff member, his demeanor shifts. The usually jovial headmaster becomes uncharacteristically quiet, his golden eyes watching you intently. Later, he’ll casually bring up the encounter, his tone light but his words carefully chosen to sow doubt or guilt.

"Ah, I see you’ve been spending a lot of time with Professor Trein lately," he’ll say, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "I do hope you’re not neglecting your duties with me, dear secretary. After all, no one understands you like I do."

Over time, his antics escalate. He begins orchestrating situations to isolate you, ensuring you spend more time with him and less with others. The line between professional and personal blurs further as he starts calling you by affectionate nicknames, brushing off your protests with a laugh.

"My dear, you work far too hard," he coos one evening, handing you a cup of tea he made himself. "Allow me to take care of you. After all, you take such good care of me."

Though his behavior is overwhelming, there’s a strange comfort in his constant attention. He’s unpredictable and demanding, but he’s also fiercely protective and utterly devoted. And as much as you might want to escape the suffocating hold he has on you, a part of you wonders if anyone else could ever match the intensity of his obsession.

[ddejavvu]

A bit late for multi-monday but what about Professor James sending students with love letters every session to Professor Reader?

How are you anywaay? How was your day?

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

--

James has chosen a blonde woman to deliver your mail today, a chem major that has perpetual bags under her eyes. You get it. If you had majored in chemistry, you'd be exhausted constantly, too.

"Professor Potter asked me to give this to you," She smiles awkwardly at you, letter in hand, "He said not to open it, and I didn't, the sticker just came off in my backpack."

"I trust you," You smile kindly at her, taking the note and nodding to her seat, "Thank you for being our messenger."

She departs with a kind nod, but you have a feeling she hadn't enjoyed running James's message. She takes her seat and you peel the letter out of its envelope, peering down at James's messy, but endearing scrawl.

'Dear Professor Y/L/N,

I'm writing to you today to speak about the administration's new budget cuts. Starting 9/01, there will no longer be Nespresso pods stocked in the break rooms, nor will there be a machine for you to bring your own. I'm sure you'll lament this loss just as much as the rest of us, but it's either that or our salary that gets cut, and I think- okay, hopefully that was enough boring bullshit to deter any unwanted eyes. The last bloke I sent to you had the thing open before he was even out the door. I'm gonna tell Allison to keep it closed, but you know nosy students. I have more interesting things to talk about than coffee machines: I managed to find a substitute to proctor my students on Friday! We can take the whole day out on the town, we'll peruse the street market and catch dinner and a show. I would have told you over text, but this seems, like, a million times more romantic. Plus I can't write in red glitter pen over text. Go with me, darling? Say you'll be sick for your Friday lecture, send out an email the night before. Students love that. Not that they don't love you and your class, though. Bet they just don't love you as much as I do. Which is a lot, I love you a lot.

Your love (who loves you a lot),

James Potter <3'

[projectbluearcadia]

The Warmth of Iolite

Comfort - Lucifer x GN!MC

[ Scenario - You've just failed an important test, and you're panicking about your future to the point of isolating yourself and shutting down. Suffice to say Lucifer's not having it. Better get ready for the BIG SQUEEZE™ ]

This one goes out to @mirai06. Also college students because university is stressful as hell and y'all need hugs.

TW - DEPRESSIVE THOUGHTS

Wordcount - 1539

Today is officially the worst day of your life. Like the other shit in your life wasn’t enough, you just bombed an important midterm exam, and now you’re essentially screwed as far as your career goes. Why couldn’t that damn professor at least offer extra credit or some assignments to balance everything out? But no, no excuses, it’s your own fault, right? In this damn world, you either sink or swim, and you got a leg cramp, so now you sink. Sink, and sink, in the middle of the sea at night where no one has the ability or desire to help. 

Haha, wouldn’t it be something if you drowned?

Not like anyone would notice. You’re insignificant to them anyway. 

Just one little human among billions. 

Easily replaced. 

So…easily…

Your hand hovers on the door to the House of Lamentation, and your lip quivers before a sudden sob erupts from your mouth, and tears spill down your eyes. I wanted to go home so bad, but what’s the point? It’s not like it’ll make me feel any better about this whole bullshit situation. Mammon and Levi will make fun of me. Satan will get pissy because he spent so long tutoring me. Asmo and Beel won’t get it. Belphie won’t care. Even my own boyfriend…

You take your hand away from the door handle and resign to sitting on the steps of the House of Lamentation, and bury your head against your knees. What else is there to do but cry? 

“MC?” Your sobs choke themselves short at the deep, surprised voice above you. Of course Lucifer has to come home now. Of course, because he’s always protective of you. “What happened?” 

“Nothing,” you mumble, wiping your eyes against your knees. Like hell if Lucifer is going to buy that frothing pile of bullshit. 

So, without batting an eye, Lucifer picks you up, drags you inside the house, and carries you straight to his bedroom, where he shortly closes and locks the door. You know him well enough to realize you’re not escaping this room unless he lets you.

“What. Happened?”

“...can we not talk about it?” 

“No. We’re talking about it.” 

“Stop being a bossy asshole. I don’t want to talk about it. ” 

“I don’t care. MC, you can’t expect me to see you so distraught and not be curious about the reason.” He’s right; you can’t. He knows when you lie, and the only secret he lets you keep is what underwear you’re wearing to bed, a secret which he usually doesn’t let you keep for long.

“Are you going to let me go if I say that my life’s a fucking mess and I don’t know what to do anymore?”  Lucifer pauses for a long, shocked moment, blinking at you once or twice before his arms are around you, tight enough that you’re almost wheezing for breath as he squeezes you. Still, the smell of his smoky clothing, the feel of the fluff on his coat smothering your face, the gentle weight against you—it’s comforting and familiar, and it reminds you of the cuddling sessions, the late night chatter, the dates… 

“I’m not letting you go for the rest of the night,” he murmurs against your head, and you feel a fresh set of tears burst forth, your body starting to shake uncontrollably. “Not when you’re like this. You can cry, MC. And when you’ve cried and cried and let everything out, we’re going to talk.” 

And you do cry. You want to cry. You’re practically bawling into Lucifer’s chest, half-screaming sobs escaping your shuddering lips while Lucifer runs his hands through your hair, nursing his fingers against your scalp and murmuring soft sweet nothings. You can’t hear a word he’s saying over your harsh, sniffling gasps, but there’s a part of you that finds it soothing nonetheless. He doesn’t say a word about the snot and tears and saliva drenching his shoulder, and you find yourself loving him for that simple fact. 

Eventually, you’re calm enough to at least tell Lucifer what happened and why you’re so upset, and he listens quietly and patiently to every word. The anger, the pain, the sadness, the despair, the dread—he takes it in as you convey it. And, finally, when you’re finished, Lucifer opens his mouth. 

“MC, whether or not you’re jumping to conclusions about the effects of this test on your career progress, this is not the end of the world.”

“But since I failed this, I can’t make the grade, and if I can’t make the grade, then I can’t pass this class, and it’s required for my major…” 

“So what if you don’t pass, MC? Just take it again.” 

“But I can’t pass it,” you retort. “Plus that costs even more.”

“First of all, MC, you’re investing in something you want. It’s no different from making a payment on a car. Second of all, you can pass it. Did you use the resources available to you? And before you answer that, if you’re absolutely certain that this genuinely isn’t in your aptitude, then you just need to find something else you want to do. Within a human limit, you can do whatever you’d like with your life—that is very much your choice. It’s your choice to let your mistakes stop you from moving forward, just like it’s your choice to open up to me. MC, the past has passed, and we live in the present.”

“But what if I make the same mistake? What if I can’t recover from the debt?” 

“If you go into this doubting yourself, you’re already part of the way to making the same mistake. MC, if you tell yourself you can’t do something, you will eventually believe it. Humans are fortunately or unfortunately adept at brainwashing themselves given enough time, so I need you to turn yourself in the other direction. I can and will help you get there, but this is your life and your mind.”

I’m not sure if I want it to be.

“My mind is fucked up too.” 

“Then we un-fuck it,” he replies, taking hold of your hands with an awry smile. “Life can throw you whatever bullshit it wants, but you can still make the most of it. Let’s suppose you really are barred from your dream job by one or two mistakes. Is that the only way you’ll be happy? Once you enter the workforce with your major in hand, then what? What if the only job opening you can get with that degree pays nothing? What if it pays, but we never get to see each other? Enjoy yourself. While you’re…” Lucifer’s voice catches, and you feel a pit form in your stomach as you see an old wound flash in his eyes. “Still alive.” 

“You’re talking about the past being already behind us, but you’re still hovering on it,” you accuse, and Lucifer closes his eyes. 

“The past is behind us. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss people that aren’t there anymore. MC, what I'm trying to say is that you can't go through your life carrying your every mistake on your back. Believe me, I tried, and you were the one who made me realize that it wasn't healthy."  

"Me?" You blink at him, almost as if second-guessing that you’re looking at your boyfriend. 

"Do our late-night talks not ring a bell?" Lucifer chuckles, cupping your face in his hands. "When I say that you are precious to me, I mean it in full sincerity. To take the words out of your mouth, you are my lightbringer, MC.” 

“Am I still going to be special to you if I turn into a worthless mess of a human being?” you mutter bitterly, avoiding his face.

“Yes,” was his simple answer, and as he turned your face back towards his own, you saw the sweetness that filled up his body—sweetness that was completely yours to ask for, because he really would do anything for you. “Even if I’m no longer in your life, you will always be special to me, and I will always be waiting for your stories of success to reach my ears. MC, you’ve been through a lot, and this setback might feel like the last straw, but there’s no such thing as a “last straw” as long as we keep living. 

“I want you to find a way to shoulder only the responsibilities you can control in the here and now. I want you to look at the weather forecast tomorrow, see a 50% chance of rain and not blindly assume you’ll receive a torrential downpour just because you go outside. That’s not how probability works.  

“Maybe you’ll have a hard time in the future because of this. But hard times don’t last forever, understand? And your family here will be with you, cheering you on through it all, pushing you forward.” 

Lucifer leans his forehead against yours, and you find yourself closing your eyes as the tranquil heat of his skin sinks into yours, a feeling of security enveloping you as he intertwines your fingers together. Here, you are protected. Here, he protects you. 

“Hold your head with pride, MC. The present is yours for the taking.”

[smaller-comfort]

Aephorul/B'st/Resh'an (Modern AU) Resh'an always gets what he wants, one way or another; Aephorul might as well accept that fact, and learn to enjoy it.

It's the fucking-on-the-kitchen-table one. Whew. I'm on a roll lately; I'm aiming for at least 1 more finished story by the end of the week.

Some general notes under the cut about how I imagine they all look in this universe, but most of these details aren't that important.

B'st:

My general image of human B'st is like...a cross between Sam from Scavenger's Reign and certain incarnations of Cable from Marvel comics. Beard is optional. (I can't decide, honestly. I think he probably *should* have a beard, but I haven't written it into anything yet and I'm genuinely too lazy to go back in and add it.)

Used to do competitive bodybuilding in his younger years (he's in his early 60s now); still works out, but does more strength training/crossfit kind of stuff, and not body sculpting. Has lots of padding over his muscles; he's just big, in every dimension. 6'4" or thereabouts.

Well groomed; keeps his hair/beard neat, always looks put together. Is entirely aware of how well his ass fills out a pair of jeans. Is also aware of how good he looks in leather, but he's been out of that scene for a long time.

He's a silver fox if a silver fox were a bear. (A polar bear? I'm pretty sure that's a thing.) Whether or not he has a beard, he's got a lot of body hair.

He drives a 20 year old Subaru hatchback that looks comically small next to him.

Resh'an:

About 5'10" and kind of squishy; he occasionally laments the fact that he's not as thin as he was in college, but Aephorul loves that he actually has an ass now. Has never willingly set foot inside of a gym in his life, and thinks it's cute that B'st and Aephorul can talk about weightlifting together.

(gotta start somewhere Resh'an weighs like 125lbs soaking wet. Runs on adderall and anxiety, and he picks up a nicotine habit during grad school, which doesn't help. Once he's better medicated, his metabolism slows down to something more human, and less hummingbird.)

Starting to go gray at his temples, which Aephorul also finds incredibly hot. Likes to lean into the mousy professor thing because it throws people off when they discover he's a trollfaced pervert.

Dark auburn hair, medium brown eyes, passes for white most of time. (Haven't quite decided what real-world analogue area his family is from. Middle east/central/west Asian somewhere, probably mixed race.)

Shaves/waxes most of his body hair because he only had to get his pubes caught in the locking mechanism on a chastity cage once before learning his lesson.

Aephorul:

He was 6', but lost half an inch or so after the accident. He's still obsessive about going to the gym, but he doesn't have the muscle mass he had in his 20s, which frustrates him a lot.

Struggles with body dysmorphia post-accident. Tends to walk with a slight limp- he has a cane he's supposed to use, but never does. His shoulders/hips are slightly crooked, which he thinks is a lot more noticeable than it actually is. Doesn't like anyone other than Resh'an seeing him naked; can't always handle Resh'an looking at him all the time, either.

His hair went white when he was a kid after a bad illness, and he's still extremely vain about it. (He is terrified of losing his hair.) Black eyes, and a darker base complexion than Resh'an; his family is from southwest Asia.

Keeps his bush trimmed but not shaved; his body hair is fairly dark. Used to shave his legs when he was younger and did drag, but doesn't anymore. (There's a non-zero amount of Gender Stuff going on with him that I don't really want to get into, but some of it might come up in later stories.)

[noyoucannotpushthevoid]

Back in Business: Raven Cycle Characters as Things People I Know have Said Because These are Fun to Make

"’You're not gelatinous’ (Gansey with his infinite knowledge) ‘That's so mean, what do you mean I'm not gelatinous!?’ (Noah, a ghost)” "Who made a Candyland wiki?" - Ronan to Gansey at 2 am "One's a family" - Adam "If this is how the session's going to start, I'm going to start [twerking]" - Henry "This [search] is just a speedrun for how quickly [Ronan] and I can get kicked" - Blue "I love forgery" - Hennessey  "There's a hamster in here, it's starving and dead" - Adam about his last brain cell "'You get energy from your brain?' (Blue) 'I get nothing from my brain thank you very much' (Ronan)" "Define 'sleep with'. Cause I think you mean teddy bear, but I wouldn't be surprised if you meant sex" - Hennessey "Wouldn't you want back up if the spider monster comes to getcha?" - Hennessey to Ronan "Why is the third image furry porn?" - Gansey: aghast, dismayed, and traumatized "So he doesn't have a little stone rattling around in his big stone?" - Ronan to Adam after listening to him shit talk one of his Harvard professors "Okay, first of all [s]he doesn't have a rat brain..." - Ronan defending Chainsaw "Okay then I would like to fire man chick the chicken chicken" - Henry, very drunk (guess who was not when they said this…) "Cock" - Ronan "Don't cry on an empty stomach" - Gansey "[Noah], do you got squishy bones?" - Ronan "'Are we dumb' (Adam)  'Yea' (Ronan)  "Why...but probably' (Blue)" "You can't take the moonshine out of [Kavinsky]'s stomach" - Kavinsky drunk on moonshine "Rejoice my chicken brethren" - Henry fucking around at the Barns "Can I go animal handle?" - Ronan "You're very tall and [she] like[s] to be on top of tall things" - Ronan “explaining” why Chainsaw likes to sit on Adam’s shoulder so much "I've been trained in harassment, I can now harass in the workplace" - Gansey, but unintentionally “You’re like really fucked up version[s] of [Matthew]” - anyone who knew Matthew first to Ronan and Declan “You might see Bill Clinton in hell” - Blue * “You know bugs. You know they always have jacked legs” - Gansey attempting to flirt “Moth-er focker” - Gansey being really unhelpful while the gang is helping Ronan clean out one of the unused barns “It’s my santa skin” - Gansey dressing up as Santa “Why wasn’t I interested in carriage etiquette?” - Ronan sarcastically lamenting his lack of knowledge when he can’t answer Gansey’s incredibly niche question “What about grundle’s mom?” - Ronan intentionally messing up Grendel’s name to annoy Gansey (hc: Gansey fucking loves Beowulf) “If you cannot be a person, be a bodyguard” - Mr. Grey’s personal mantra “He’s fruity…like the juice” - Blue about Ronan

*Shout out to my English lit prof for cheekily saying this and then moving right back on to Paradise Lost without giving us a second to process

[downontime]

"I just want to be smart like other pepul so I can have lots of frends who like me"

Fun fact, that quote is from Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes. It was a required reading when I was in middle school and I've been thinking about it a lot more recently over sixteen years later. Not for its examination and critique of the human condition, not for how education was and is structured in this country, but because I realized through therapy lately how shaky my ideas of intelligence were and are. Just like Charlie and the quote, "I just want to be smart like other pepul so I can have lots of frends who like me". Tangent: Been thinking about revisiting that book but the fact that it was for when I was a young teenager brings about a lot of shame, which hopefully I will work up the will to write about at some point. It goes along with the feelings I have about writing this at all, that any form of expression or revisiting or not acting what I believe I should feels self-indulgent and cringe. I used to be smart. I read plenty, enjoyed philosophy, did well in school, could keep up in conversations, could focus when I wanted to, and taught others. I held onto information and could apply it in novel ways. I won academic awards and scholarships. I was praised by professors and friends. I was the golden intellectual of my family and had a lot going for me and my brain. Except some of that might not be true.

My therapist asked me how much of me in the past was actually what I considered smart. This was not meant to be insulting, but it cut me and through the bullshit I made for myself a fair bit. Yes, I did well in school. But is it one-for-one, the overlap between being smart and doing well in school? What about my friends who I see as brilliant but did poorly in school for any of the handful of reasons? And what about me, someone who pretty much was trained in how classrooms worked for nearly my entire life? Someone who was forced to hold onto information to pass the next test? Did I really apply that info in novel ways or just the ways that the professors already predetermined? Was I really smart or just a good student? And now that I am not in an environment that forced me to perform and equated intelligence with classroom performance, what does that say about me, what I am, and how I use my time?

And when those questions starting creeping in, memories came back. My failings in every math class aside from statistics. My less than stellar performance in my undergraduate research lab. Difficulty focusing in classes and getting called out on those. Difficulty with abstract concepts.

Have I always not been smart? And it is worth even questioning that at this point?

I've talked to friends, doctors, and therapists about this ad nauseam. Sure, chemo might have affected my brain. But aside from the effects of stress, how much of my type of treatment actually affects the brain might not even be that significant. I am obese, which affects all aspects of the body negatively. And I spend a lot of my time mindlessly scrolling Youtube and Facebook looking for some form of fleeting stimulation. And yet I get distraught and hopeless when I find that focusing is difficult now. Or maybe it always has been and I am just now focusing on that.

Am I actually lamenting over loss, or just allowing pessimism to prevent myself from working hard enough to gain something I never actually had?

And what the fuck is smart, anyway?

There are people in my life who I think are very smart, people that I am ashamed to be around sometimes since I struggle to keep up with what they are saying. And there is no doubt that there is a bit part of why I am so obsessed with the idea of being smart. It is not just wanting to be smart; it is wanting to be seen as smart and respectable. To have value.

There are a few things I know I can do. Be more okay with admitting when I don't follow or understand. Watch and listen to stuff outside of the same handful of Youtube videos I watch daily. Try to build up my ability to read. Focus on physical health as a way to indirectly help cognitive health.

But whether it is gaining or regaining, this is going to take a long time.

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9 Ep 69: Co-Captains

The Story of a Family

A few days after their disappointing defeat against Britechester Luigi and Beau were together again, this time in Coach Silva’s office on campus.

Their coach explained he’d been carefully watching their performance all season. He’d decided that between the two of them, they would make an ideal replacement for the graduating Captain Aubrey. They were both fantastic players, and he hoped that with Beau’s keen grasp of optimal team dynamics and Luigi’s deep strategic knowledge of game mechanics they’d have a leg up when it was time to once again scuffle with Britechester.

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

The two boys exchanged an unhappy glance. It was clear they had both been hoping to be appointed sole captain of the team and didn’t fancy sharing the role with their recent rival. Luigi and Beau had come a long way since their contentious introduction but were not really friends.

After thanking the professor and discussing plans for the fast-approaching new recruit tryouts both sims rose and headed on their way. Figuring it would be good to start strategizing with his “co-captain”, Luigi slowed to keep pace with the quite pregnant Beau’s waddle and turned to chat.

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

He started by congratulating the other sim and telling him he looked forward to working together. Ever blunt, Beau shot back that there was no need to start lying to each other. “His Highness” had surely wanted the role of captain all to himself every bit as much as he had, but they could make it work.

Beau continued “if you’re free, we should go back to my place and get started.” Luigi tried suggesting meeting in The Commons instead, but the other sim scoffed, placing a hand on his belly: “This little guy and I have a date with my comfy couch, not those awful student union benches!”

Luigi sighed and agreed. They had to figure out how to manage the team together, and if his dad’s embarrassing jokes about pregnancy had taught him anything it was that growing new life was not for the faint at heart. The least he could do was let Beau be comfortable while they chatted.

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

The pair soon arrived at a modest ranch home in Hopewell Hills. Beau explained that his wife and step-daughter were at work and school respectively, but his dad owned the place, so Luigi would have to “forgive any nosy old men that come floating around”.

Once inside Beau headed not towards the living room but rather towards the kitchen, lamenting that he simply couldn’t seem to get enough to drink these days, not to mention enough chances to “let it back out”.

Quickly spotting the bar supplies in the island Luigi told Beau he knew a number of tasty mocktail recipes, and he’d be happy to whip them up something especially hydrating. Beau turned from the fridge, gingerly lowering himself onto a barstool: “Go for it, wow me!”

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

Paradise punch in hand, they settled on a couch that was as comfy as promised and got down to business. A surprisingly productive and cordial couple hours followed as they talked over the strengths and weaknesses of their current team and what sorts of new talent they should recruit during tryouts.

When they finally ran out of things to discuss Luigi started to rise to leave but was stopped by a sharp “not so fast your Majesty!”

Turning to face Beau, he found the other Sim was smiling. “That was the best drink I’ve had since I got myself knocked up, and I’d dearly love another while I educate you on the finer points of eating armadillo in My Sims Racing. You’re no real competition, but maybe you’ll learn fast.”

Luigi returned Beau’s smile, “we’ll see about that, peasant!” A few minutes later, drinks refilled, they fired up their engines and Luigi decided that while this wasn’t the path he’d been imagining for his senior year of e-sports maybe, just maybe, co-captaining wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[wgc-productions]

It's a very special day for a very special podcast!!!

Happy 1st Birthday To Small Victories!

When I (hi, it's me writer/creator Jade talking) first came up with this idea in Late February 2019 I quite literally could not have seen how this idea would have manifested.

It was originally adapted from a short story I wrote for a class at Howard. The story was about a depressed Indian American man lamenting the death of his favorite poet in 1950s New York.

Tiny, a side character in that story who appears for many 4 pages, was just so interesting to me that I wanted to see more of her. So I started writing. And writing and writing.

I planned for it to be a choose-your-own adventure story where the audience could decide what Marisol would do. But that turned out to be super complex and hard to manage so I simplified it.

I showed Small Victories to everyone who would read it. There are so many of my Howard Classmates that read the very early versions of the scripts. Somehow, I still am not sure how this happened, one of my professors, Ricky Ramon, connected me to Nathan Gabriel who ended up being the Director and Sound Designer. And Nathan connected me to Virginia Wilson, our script supervisor.

181 drafts later we had a 9 episode season! Then came casting. We were so lucky to get the great cast that we did. Mo, Yodeet, Cody, Akanimo, Jaucqir, and Chinna are truly the backbone of the show and without their skill, talent, creativity, and care the show would not be fraction as good as it is.

Small Victories is a group project through and through. There are a countless number of people who through their support (know or unknown) have made this show possible.

So, Happy Birthday to us! And may there be many many more to come!!

[myevilmouse]

For the fic writing meme: 1, 15, and 16 please!

Dear @takadasaiko!

Thank you so much for these asks!  I am trying to take some time to myself tonight and these questions are a great excuse to think about the fabulous fun that is fanfic. 

what’s the fic you're most proud of?

The fic I’m most proud of goes back and forth…I’m proud of different fics for different reasons…And also sort of depends on my mood at the time.  I think in the past I’ve said Endure for similar questions… But I guess if I had to just pick one to be my legacy this evening, with my current frame of mind, I would probably choose Interpreter (Thryce).  I am a Luke girl first and foremost, but Thrawn being an alien and Imperial allows me to indulge in two of my favorite kinks:  language and uniforms, with a healthy side of power dynamics and hot for teacher fun.  So…that one is a real fave.  So much Cheunh, so much military protocol muwahaha I really had fun with it. 

15. How do you think your writing as improved over time?

That’s an awesome question and to be honest, I’m not sure it has.  I sometimes read older fics and there will be a phrase I wrote that I’m like “damn I don’t write like this anymore.”  I think I have gotten lazier as time has gone on, as real life kicks my ass and prevents me from spending more time on my fic, so in general I’m not sure I’ve improved, sadly.

I guess one thing though—I have started to see patterns in my writing and tried to avoid them consciously.  I hate using the same words/phrases over and over—and always want to find original ways to say things.  I know there is the lament of how many different ways can you describe an orgasm or whatever, but I sort of love and hate the challenge of trying to infuse new and interesting vocabulary and imagery into my stories.  So maybe that’s one way it’s improved. 

16. Do you re-read old fics? Is there a time in your writing you won’t go back to?

ALL THE TIME.  Today at work I gave myself a tea break and reread Martial Arts, just because someone had reblogged one of my old Tumblr posts about it.  Then I was like damn professor Thrawn is hot and wanted to read more.  So while standing in line at the post office I started rereading Cold Comfort cause I still wanna sequel that, and while stuck in a boring moment I pulled up Containment to remind myself that I did actually write fic this year.  Hahah I will have to do my year end wrap up soon.

There is no time in my writing I won’t go back to…there are sometimes things I wrote that I skim over, not really cringe but within a story I find some parts less interesting or less rereadable than others, but nothing I’m super ashamed of… I will say the fic with the least rereads in my oeuvre is probably No Small Thing.  I wrote Jaime/Brienne as an anomaly as a pinch hit for a fic exchange/good Samaritan deed, and it feels sometimes like someone else did it, hah.  I love the fic, as I love all my children, but sorry Jaime, you don’t melt my butter like Luke or Thrawn.

Still, he has a nice butt

Thank you again so much for these asks! I really appreciate the distraction and chance to talk fic with you! 🥰💙💛😘

[miiishra]

A snippet of my Duskmourn Urban Fantasy AU fic.

The flickering light revealed at least a dozen corpses of moths piled behind the glass. Rowan tried counting them in order to distract herself a bit but to no avail. Just another stark reminder of the consequences of one’s stupidity. 

A smartphone buzzed again from within Rowan’s satchel. No doubt her brother Will was blowing up the messenger app demanding to know where she was at. They had agreed to meet at the Biblioplex for evening study group. Rowan huffed, a few strands of sidebang fluttering from the corner of her mouth. Will knew damn well she had this appointment today. Not her fault they were taking too long to call her in. Not her fault Will decided to show up at the library early; hell, he practically lived there, anyway. This was karma. For all the times his slow ass made her wait for him when they were kids, Will could afford to wait a few more minutes for her for a change. 

Okay, that light was starting to really bother her. 

The chair squeaked in relief when she stood up to approach the faulty light. Sparks danced lightly over the tips of her pale fingers as she reached up. One of the moths trapped inside was still alive, poor thing, wings fluttering in futile desperation as it tried to escape its fate. 

There was no escaping one’s foolish decisions. But she could at least ease its suffering. Just a tiny bit of power to steady the light. 

Darkness snapped into the hallway with sharp pop, plunging the hall into a fathomless void. “Are you serious!?” someone screeched from behind one of the doors. There was a squeal of metal hinges, and the hall lit back up immediately. Even the faulty bulb had stopped flickering. 

Oh. So magic could be used to fix the lights, after all. 

A disgruntled man with wild hair glared at Rowan from his office a few doors down. “Again, Kenrith?” he lamented with a deep sigh. 

“Sorry, Professor Zaffai,” Rowan replied sheepishly, a furious blush heating her face. “I didn’t mean – I was just trying to fix – “ 

Professor Zaffai cut her off with a shake of his head. “Miss Kenrith. Stop trying to fix things that are not yours to fix. You are a student, not a maintenance crewmember. It is not your place to worry about the lights.” 

“Yes, Professor.” 

“Nine o’clock for Thunder Note Theory tomorrow. Don’t be late this time.” 

Zaffai’s door shut with an indignant slam, and Rowan scowled. He was one to talk! Professor Zaffai wasn’t just the head of Prismari’s music department but also Grand Maestro of the elite Orchestra of the Arcane. In other words, when he blew things up with his thunder magic, it was considered musical and artistic. But when she accidentally blew a fuse with her sparks trying to fix a faulty light, suddenly it was a problem.

[082112]

Whoa. Was calling my friend Amy today and we chanced upon talking about journaling and documenting and remembering and I thought about this Tumblr account again, which I opened up. I read through all of my old posts and I’m both very pleased and impressed by my eloquence as well as (perhaps more importantly) the heart and sincerity and clearness of which I see my past self in these text posts.

Much has changed since I wrote these - oh, I do wish I kept up! It’s so nice to look back on this snapshot of who I was - but instead of steeping in regret, I will try to provide a summary of what I did for the past year and a half. It won’t make up for the spontaneity of writing live-time, but my main concern/lament is that of forgetting who I once was. So it’s better to talk about myself, past and present, now than much later.

First: sophomore year. It was hard. A brief recap of what changed for me from the last posts I wrote here:

1. R and I had this horrible, awful, friendship falling-out where she said all manner of horrible things to me after I desperately tried to salvage our friendship many, many times. It was pretty obvious that it was unraveling through all of spring semester, and during CPW weekend she came into my room and told me all these horrible things she thought of me, and I cried horribly, and she wailed harder, and even now I don’t know how to feel about that. Why did you sit for months and concoct - even optimize - horrible things to say to my face? For weeks afterwards I couldn’t think of it without shaking. She demanded all our friends pick sides and they tried to bridge the gap for a while, but everyone chose me in the end. Oh, and she gave me COVID after sucking face at a frat party and then eating unmasked next to me for a full week, and then tried to pass it off as me transmitting it to her. And it made my living community a horrible place to exist all the way until the end of sophomore year. She was a bully and a cynic at her worst to me, a gossip and a terror and a really mean person. She body-checked me sophomore spring then laughed at me when I walked back in the dorm after running out to calm down. I really wanted to say nice things about our split but I must be very honest: it taught me a lot about friendship. That some things just go to shit no matter what. And some people are just nasty because they want to be, not because I am deficient in my care. I want to say I wish her the best but in full honesty I wish her - and her upperclassman cronies, who relished drama and joined in eagerly on the bullying - the absolute worst. They will be successful and wealthy, certainly. But I hope they one day will face their cruelty and lack of kindness.

2. Much changed sophomore year. Socially everyone had much less time and I think I felt quite lonely, especially at the beginning when I was only starting to grasp that everything was changing. But I got used to it. It was still a good year (more on this later) but sometimes I look back with a special nostalgic fondness on freshman year, pain and all.

3. I joined MINCE (a cooking club) and MIT EMS (yay!!!) and they were my main extracurricular commitments throughout the year. Both were really wonderful and there were nights walking back from MINCE or days heading off from EMS where I just felt something electric in me, like a feeling that precedes joy.

4. I took 88 units fall semester and almost died. I took 6.006 (C -> PNR), 8.286 (A), 6.034 (A), UPOP, Physics Pedagogy, Intro to Archaeology (A), Japanese 1 (A), Poetry Workshop (A), and Intro World History (OX/A). I also dropped 18.06 without ever going to lecture. Dr. Max Price, now Professor, was an amazing lecturer and I loved every damn archaeology class there was, and sometimes I would go to office hours just to talk. And it was great to see Nagahara and Aiyar again - brilliant class with brilliant instructors. I loved all these classes dearly and it was a miserable fucking semester where my resting heart rate was well above normal and I would wake up with jolts of stress and I became so distressed over the 21H.009 final essay that I considered walking into traffic, and so stressed about 8.286 midterms that I thought multiple times of jumping off the bridge, and all those times I was so immediately horrified and terrified that my mind went there that I would hold my breath for a few seconds before I felt normal again. I OXed 21H.009. I cried out of shame but luckily the professors were understanding. I learned much about physical needs and the limits of conviction this semester, I think. And I was horribly burnt out and dysfunctional. At some point I thought to myself, “not everything is SUPPOSED to be painful.”

5. I took 8.04 (A), 8.044 (B), 6.009 (A), Japanese 2 (A), and Streamlined Chinese 2 (A) in the spring. Also a challenging semester (got a B+ in 8.044 and chose not to PNR it, sort of out of principle, and kissed my blood-soaked 5.0 goodbye) but much less worse, I think, than the fall. I remember hanging out in MacG with J and C doing the 6.009 lab/Japanese/Chinese sitting in their room. Also walking to lab hours together, putting myself in the little queue, and just hours and hours of (somewhat satisfying!) debugging, though often it did get stressful. It’s best in the spring when the air is becoming warm again and being outside in Boston feels quite magical. And doing physics with A and P and Z and F in the PCR and in office hours and sometimes in New House common spaces very late at night. I had a C- in Chinese for most of the semester because I didn’t turn in my essays until the last few weeks. I eked by with a miraculous A- in 8.04. Regardless it was a pretty wonderful semester in many ways, I think. Miserable and magical.

6. Ring delivery happened. I rolled my ankle walking in the beautiful Boston Commons with Eric the day of and it was sprained for AGES, but I was really struck by the beauty of the city in spring and summer. Especially walking across the bridge at dusk when the wind is warm and everything is a deep, rich blue, and the little yellow lights of both Boston and Cambridge shimmer on the water. Anyway, I got crossed to go to Ring Delivery. And I think I lost my ultrium rat already. But oops! Halfway through.

7. The siren call of capitalism. Got into DE Shaw’s Discovery fellowship where they blew money on me for three days straight, flew out to New York, saw Alice and was both wooed and disgusted by the siren call of capitalism. It did open the floodgate in my brain to desire big sums of money straight out of college, though. Maybe it was greed that awakened. Or just a consciousness about financial capital and economics and the future. I don’t think that’s 100% awful and evil. But I don’t think it’s really a good thing either.

8. I decided to take a gap year! I was definitely burned out and I find MIT to be so important of an experience I didn’t want to sleepwalk or miserably slog through any more - that would be an awful waste. The day I finished my 8.044 final I remember walking across the lawn in the space between the Green Building and the Infinite and Hayden and everything was green and in the Infinite sun poured in through the great glass windows connecting it to building 16, and I jotted down in my notes app - magical. So I’m taking this gap year to really rest well, heal as much as I can, and reflect about the future so I can return with conviction and sense and direction.

Then: summer.

1. I TA’ed at SSP UNC! Liked my co-workers a bunch, wrangled kids, stressed over their opinions of me, and ultimately found it very rewarding. I really am grateful for memories like being in Morehead during the lightning storm or just the everyday of the program and getting to interact with the participants and faculty.

[NOTE HERE - I am very sleepy and may revisit everything below later in more detail]

2. I got a UROP at MIT Kavli! I really struggled with it at first, especially managing my time, but I think I am happy with the experience I had.

3. Boston - went back for a week, just beautiful and wonderful to see people and enjoy MIT without work and the beautiful city, and the trip to Wallace and seeing lobby 7 in the early morning light or at golden hour framed by the trees - gorgeous

4. Home - did not spend enough time there.

Now: I am taking a gap year! Things I am doing:

1. Outer Coast in Sitka, Alaska for the fall. Many thoughts on this: about my core values, ancestors, cultures, social anxiety, the state of being moved, how hard it is to live in community, and listening to myself

2. Not sure what to do in the spring. It would be nice if I could get an Asana internship, but I’m open to many things, and I really want to spend it at home - studying for the GRE, teaching/studying Chinese school, CSCC classes, Starbucks barista-ing… my parents also say that we might go to Asia!

3. I signed a SWE internship for the summer with Dropbox. I hope I do well - again, the siren call - it could really be a good and straightforward path

[fuckyeahilike]

Whenever women win at something (like an award for scientific achievement, or they write the greatest novel of their generation) men are fond of prying defeat from the jaws of victory by saying that that's the ugly woman's second prize consolation for not being good at the one job they had: being fuckable, which for men always means looking good physically. They never want you (or as they say, love you) for the person that you are on the inside. If anything your humanity only gets in the way of them objectifying you, i.e. "loving" you. Stuff like this is why they claim to "love" at first site, a total impossibility.

They also say that fair enough, you won intellectually because you have the brain of a man. Transgenderism has been around for a long time, some people have no idea. I'm fifty and I've been hearing this argument ever since I was a little girl. Women with internalized misogyny frequently would say this about themselves "I have the brain of a man for math", "I have a man's brain for business, that's why I'm so successful" - anything but admit that the male and the female of the species are intellectual equals.

This was their way of only giving you the victory... at the price of robbing you of your femaleness, an integral part of your identity. Yeah, you can win... if you accept that a man (a trans man) is the person who actually won, which means that women never win. That's ok, isn't it?

So I started collecting examples of women who are both very beautiful and also great intellectuals. By that I mean women who are legit college professors, women who not only write (anyone can write) but write excellent novels, women with prestigious scientific careers under their belt, women who have proved themselves as competent and dignified MPs in parliament - women whose contribution to society made them highly valued and valuable by the society of their time. All that and beautiful too.

I like to point them out and say to misogynists "So you wouldn't fuck her because she's too ugly for you? Has someone cut off your cock? Her intelligence and talent are too intimidating and make your dick go soft? Look, I'm very sorry, but if a woman who looks like her somehow just isn't hot enough for you... Let's just say I wouldn't admit it out loud for all to hear that you are either impotent or gay, because those are the only two explanations why a man wouldn't want to fuck her". It's great fun.

Having said that, because I have kept my eyes peeled all these years for beautiful + intelligent women I have also noticed a lamentable phenomenon that sometimes (not always) happens with such women, that has taught me to fear the effect that being beautiful can have on your psyche (not that this is a problem that I need fear will ever happen to me but just saying). It's like a mid-life crisis that happens when they're just barely starting to get old - at least, I assume that it happens at the moment when they're no longer turning heads like they used to.

A lot of radfems obsess over the importance of not caring about your looks and not cultivating a beautiful, feminine appearance. But I assure you that, indeed, femininity that can be bought in a shop and consists of fine dresses and perfume is a costume that I've seen a lot of elderly women carry off with aplomb. I'm talking about real, actual physical beauty and sex appeal that can not be bought, like the one that these women possess, and that you lose as you age. Real beauty is also the one thing that everyone responds to, radfems included. Everyone wishes they could be the beautiful woman who walks into the room and everyone is just happy to see her. Regardless of what she's wearing and even if they don't respond to her sexually. Her beauty gives her power over others and power never gets old.

My diagnosis is that, at the first sign that this power is starting to slip from their fingers some of these women go into a panic of sorts that makes them think they have to do something drastic to compel the same response, and that means taking their clothes off.

I'm going to give three examples under the cut that haunt me to this day because they were all so personally disappointing to me.

1 - A woman who was one of my biggest role models, a wonder woman in every way: she always knew she wanted to be a biologist and from a fairly young age she started presenting tv shows about biology, arts and culture; she had a swell career in the US as a scientist with a few scientific discoveries under her belt, and was of course a college professor; wrote what was immediately regarded as the greatest novel of her generation by great intellectuals in their own right, deservedly so; great conversationalist that was the darling of interviewers; looked like a slimmer Kate Bush.

Then she starts getting old. A photo of her starts circulating where she is posing naked in bed, with a pile of books hiding her pubic area. She divorces her perfectly wonderful husband and marries a photographer (marrying photographers appears to be a bad move). Together they take a series of photos of her allegedly taken at the moment of climax. The couple makes an exhibit of these photos, as if they were art.

After their divorce, two years later, the ex claims the photos were just staged but she denies his version. Her star starts to decline and I hardly ever hear from her again, not that I want to.

2 - An MP for a quite left-wing political party who manages to win the respect of the parliament, in spite of the fact that she has a back story of having been in fashion and ballet and being very beautiful. Her father is a prestigious, well known psychiatrist and she carries herself with dignity and never gets emotional or upset at misogynists trying to demean her. She wins the fight.

Then she starts getting slightly older. She marries a photographer (apparently a bad move). Together they take a series of naked photos of her while she's pregnant with his child. I see them on the cover of a reputable magazine, on her face she has this sordid, sexual expression like it's going to be porn, he is next to her like she is his property now.

I never hear from her again, except when there was a minor scandal when her father died of a heart attack because they had to wait two hours for the ambulance to arrive, and she was on television arguing against the shitty national health service.

3 - This great intellectual of my mother's generation - historian, sociologist, college professor, frequent contributor to political and cultural debates on tv. In her youth she was this blonde beauty sort of like Shere Hite, with a beautiful head of Farrah Fawcett hair, an it girl in looks who had a respectable and prestigious career for her brains, not her looks.

In her late 60s she decides to write an autobiography - a perfectly good age to write one. And in it she decides to inform the world of all the men she slept with when she was young and pretty, identifying them by their names. One of them was one of her teachers, a man who was married at the time of the affair and who was still alive, as well as his wife. So if he never came clean to his wife this was the moment and the way that she was informed that their marriage was a farce. Classy.

One of her lovers was a man who, rightfully so, took pride in the fact that they had remained good friends after their affair (ex-lovers don't tend to stay friends) and that after decades of this relationship they still had lunch every week. That would mean a lot to me too. Especially as you age, being with people that you were once young with is important. It makes you feel young again.

He gave an interview on how he felt about being in the book. He said that even though he knew she was writing her bio he would never dream of telling her "Hey, you know better than to talk about us, right? You who has known me for years know that I would never give the riff raff the right to inquire into my sex life, correct? That what goes on in my personal life is my own affair?" That would've been insulting. So he just trusted her. He had no idea that after all those many years of friendship, that she would be so common as to sell her personal life and his for a bit of money and attention, as if one could ever put a price on one's dignity and privacy. So he suffered a big disappointment and had to cut off a decades long friend at a time when he was an old man. That's rough.

Why did she do it, stupidly? Well, it's because she longed for those days when she had that kind of power over men. All the awards and the respect from your peers and the tenure at your college, these are all well and good... but what about the kind of visceral power that you have over others when they are amazed just to see you, and everybody likes you just because you exist, on face value? That is a power that apparently melts that part of your brain that longs for approval and validation as a sexual being. To lose it is more than some can take, so she felt the need to remind people that she once was the it girl that everybody wanted and she had the receipts to prove it. At the ripe old age of nearly 70. Just like with the other examples, she sort of slipped into obscurity.

None of them can ever say that somehow the patriarchy has defeated them, except I suppose by inoculating them with the virus of internalized misogyny. Everyone loved them and supported them and they had a privileged existence and career. They were the ones who shot themselves down, by deciding they'd rather compete as sex objects in a community of intellectuals who valued them for who they were and do not support the kind of misogyny that involves objectifying women of any age. That is why these women were quietly dropped, not because in our society old women are trashed aside. It all depends of what circles you move in and these women could have been relevant until the day they died... but maybe they'd rather die than to not be fuckable anymore.