#economics honors courses

[jcmarchi]

Nurturing success

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/nurturing-success/

Nurturing success

The start and finish of a degree program are pivotal moments in the lives of MIT’s graduate students. In her first three years in MIT’s Department of Political Science, professor Mariya Grinberg’s mentorship has helped numerous students start their graduate journeys with confidence and direction. Nuh Gedik, who joined the Department of Physics in 2008, looks to the finish line: he finds joy in seeing his students reach personal and professional success at the end of their PhDs. Both were recently honored as “Committed to Caring” for their support of graduate students. 

Mariya Grinberg: Commitment to intellectual growth

When Mariya Grinberg joined the MIT Security Studies Program as a faculty member in 2021, the department was in a state of flux. The Covid-19 pandemic was in full swing, several core faculty members were nearing retirement, and the program had welcomed the largest cohort of PhD students in its history. As Grinberg entered the community, she embraced these challenges, meeting and exceeding her expected duties as an advisor.

In her role as assistant professor of political science, Grinberg’s research interests center on the question of how time and uncertainty shape the strategic decisions of states, focusing on economic statecraft, military planning, and questions of state sovereignty.

As a junior faculty member, Grinberg shoulders one of the largest advising loads in the department. Despite this, multiple nominators praised Grinberg for her prompt and discerning feedback. Students note her efforts in reading through and commenting on many rounds of paper drafts, supplemented by hour-long brainstorming sessions at her whiteboard. “It’s rare that someone can become both your most incisive critic and staunchest advocate,” a nominator noted. “I never took it for granted.”

Throughout these sessions, Grinberg delivers her advice with both confidence and empathy. One nominator shared how meetings put them at ease: “Normally, I am quite anxious about meeting with faculty, but I never felt that way during my meetings with Mariya.”

Grinberg believes that failure is an integral part of the learning process and encourages her students to embrace and learn from setbacks. She acknowledges that the pressure to accomplish tasks within time constraints often leaves little room for failure, which can lead to decision paralysis. Grinberg reassures her students that investing time in a dissertation idea, even if it turns out to be non-viable, is not time wasted.

When asked about her philosophy on mentorship, Grinberg emphasizes that the advice of mentors is just that — advice. It represents their best effort to steer students in what they perceive to be a fruitful direction, but it does not mean the advice is invariably correct. Grinberg encourages students to critically evaluate any feedback and make their own judgments that may not align with their advisor’s thoughts.

Grinberg shares a concept she first learned from a creative writing professor: “When someone tells you there is something wrong with your work, 90 percent of the time they are right. When someone tells you how to fix it, 90 percent of the time they are wrong.”

Nuh Gedik: Mentoring the next generation of scientists

Gedik is the Donner Professor of Physics at MIT. His group investigates quantum materials by using advanced optical and electron-based spectroscopies. Gedik employs these techniques to study topological insulators, high-temperature superconductors, and atomically layered materials.

When asked about what keeps him motivated, Gedik says that he is driven by the professional development of his students. Gedik prioritizes the growth of his students above all else, and believes that academic output follows naturally with personal and professional growth. One nominator shared one of Gedik’s favorite sayings: “Finding a job for you is my job.”

As a result of this mindset, the alumni of Gedik’s group have achieved spectacular professional success, including members who are now faculty at top universities such as Stanford, Harvard, and Columbia universities. Several group members are also in leadership roles at companies like Intel, Meta, or ASML.

Alongside his academic pursuits, Gedik is deeply committed to promoting diversity, equity, and inclusion within his research group and the broader academic community. He dedicates regular portions of the weekly group meetings to discussing literature and practices related to these topics. Not only do these discussions educate the group on important issues, but they also help lab members integrate inclusive practices into their day-to-day endeavors.

By integrating inclusive principles into his teaching and mentoring, Gedik creates a culture where students are supported personally and academically. In fact, a nominator shared that many of these practices stem from the professional development courses that Gedik voluntarily attends. His proactive approach not only benefits his current students, but also sets a standard that influences others as well.

In addition to his efforts within the lab, Gedik is proactive in scientific outreach and mentorship within the broader community. He attends annual science fairs in educationally under-resourced communities, aiming to inspire the younger generation to pursue careers in STEM. One nominator praises these fairs for “igniting interest in science and technology among diverse audiences,” with a particular focus on inspiring the younger generation.

[ohmybueckers]

big ole freak - paige bueckers x reader

Summary: you're Paige's sneaky link and have her absolutely wrapped around your finger

Themes & Warnings: kinda sub Paige, driving while intoxicated (this is NOT an endorsement please do NOT do this), car sex, light choking kink, strap-on sex, oral sex, slight degradation, maybe one line of breeding kink, filth, like actual filth (with like a little bit of fluff at the end)

Author's Note: inspired by big ole freak by my mother megan thee stallion y'all i've had this idea brewing for a month so glad it's finally out in the world. special shoutout to my uconn hot girl twin @sierrale8ne and all the other hotties out there. In the wise words of meg... "your honor, i'm a freak bitch." happy reading <3

“He hit my phone with a horse

So I know that mean come over and ride it”

Wednesday nights were hit or miss at UConn - either you loaded all of your courses on Monday and Wednesday and had the night to chill, or you were prepping for a horrendous end to your week. You were in the former category, deciding to attend a party hosted by a friend of a friend you hardly knew - labelled a “wine Wednesday” party to anyone who asked why the fuck anyone would throw on a weeknight that wasn’t Thursday. 

You maybe made it through one glass of cheap rose before your night evolved how most nights ended up in the not-so-bustling town of Storrs, Connecticut: sitting out by the fire pit of the beaten down rental house with your friends in a circle, passing a joint around and talking shit (about professors, exes, parents… no one was off limits in the rotation) under the glow of some poorly strung lights.

Though you hadn’t touched another glass since your first inhale, knowing that you were not risking getting crossfaded tonight, it didn’t help much. You always seemed to forget that weed and parties did not mix well for you. Every sound felt heightened yet muffled at the same time, from the bass of the music to the conversation your friends were having around you. Your skin burned, heat flooding down your back in a way that almost made you squirm.

You needed an out, and soon.

Your savior came in the form of two buzzes in quick succession from your phone on your lap. Though you typically aimed at staying present when surrounded by others, you ruled this as a worthy exception. You lifted it, immediately shifting it away from your friends’ view as you read the texts from the all too familiar contact.

Paige: wyd rn?

Paige: wanna see you tonight pretty girl

“Nobody know, I fuck with him on the low”

If you told the version of yourself two months ago that you would end up fucking Paige Bueckers, she would have laughed in your face. It was no secret to anyone in your friend group, many of whom had come in close contact with UConn athletes, that she had an extensive history, none of them sticking around for longer than a couple of nights. You refused to be yet another victim to community dick (in this case, community strap). Maybe you would be a little less put off by the idea of getting with someone with a reputation like Paige if she wasn’t so cocky about it, like she got off on the idea that girls were obsessed with her. 

And then the two of you met on a night out at Ted’s, where she insisted on buying your drink (you told your friends afterwards that you let her for economical reasons). You attempted to stick with your friends that night, tired of your past filled with messy hookups that never led anywhere, but of course they all decided to mingle with the basketball team. Meaning Paige had the rest of the night to throw looks your way, practically eye fucking you. You hated to admit it, but you understood why girls were into Paige beyond aesthetic reasons: she was incredibly witty, quick to poke gentle fun at her friends while also making jokes about herself. Though it was clear in the few times she brought it up she loved what she did, it didn’t feel like the entire conversation revolved around her being a basketball star. And you couldn’t deny the way her gaze made you feel, like you were the only person there. And you hated it.

When you allowed Paige to put her number in your phone, you would also insist that it was due to bragging rights and had no intention of contacting her again. And when you texted her that night with just your name, you almost convinced yourself it was just the polite thing to do.

The two of you texted frequently throughout the week, with some time between messages due to her busy practice schedule and your insistence on not seeming like an overly obsessed groupie. You didn’t need to fuel her ego, no matter how much her attempts at flirting caused an ache between your thighs and how many times you’ve resorted to nights alone in your room, a chorus of moans filling the space as images of blue eyes and toned arms overwhelm you. Sure, you wanted to fuck her. But one thing you knew: if it was happening, it was happening under your terms.

It finally did around a week later, after a great afternoon showing for the Huskies in Gampel Pavilion. You stood in the student section, watching her light up the court in ways very few people could. The crowd was electric with every assist she made to Azzi, every time she made a clean three point shot, and with every effort she made to hype up the crowd. She truly was in her element. you would be lying if you said it didn’t tempt you.

Still buzzed from your tailgate beforehand, you texted her to say congratulations, to which she responded with a trademark Paige Bueckers flirty comment. It was certainly not the first time she had attempted this with you, so you weren’t sure why this time was any different. Maybe it was the liquid courage, but before you could think twice, you replied. 

“want me to show you how winners get treated?”

That’s how you ended the night tangled in Paige’s sheets and long, strong limbs. Basking in your post orgasm glow knowing that throughout the entire exchange you were in control, even when you were receiving. For the first time in a long, long time, a hookup felt good. 

You and Paige continued texting, this time more frequently. You were fully expecting Paige to be the type to hit it and quit it, as she had done many times before, but having a taste of you just seemed to make her want you more. And yet you never told your friends about any of it. Not because you were ashamed or anything, but because you knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. It almost never did with athletes, even ones that kiss your forehead and text you good morning every day. Though you were fully expecting it to end at some point, you really didn’t want to deal with your friends making it a huge deal. Even if there was a little part of you, a voice in your head you did everything to silence, that told you maybe you didn’t want her to go.

“We never show up together but I text him when I'm ready to go”

A half assed excuse left your lips as you walked away from the couch circle and closer to the trees, far enough away so nobody would hear when you pressed an all too familiar contact and made the call. The phone hardly needed to ring one time before her end of the line was overwhelmed by a cacophony of loud voices. Unless your ears were deceiving you, you swore you could hear KK scream “liar!” at someone

“Hey pretty gir- aye! Be quiet one moment!” Her attempt at being quiet quickly escalated to a yell, presumably at one of her teammates, before returning to your conversation with an apologetic tone, “Sorry, I’m at Aubrey’s.”

Why the UConn girls were seemingly partying on a Wednesday night was beyond your comprehension, but it was honestly the last thing on your mind in that moment. “‘Wanna see you tonight’, huh? Tryin to ditch your teammates?”

“They’re all too invested in Mario Party to care. Besides,” She paused, her voice getting quieter (and unless you were hearing things wrong, more vulnerable), “It’s worth it for you.”

You knew what you wanted, and boy you were going to get it. With a sickly sweet grin you asked, “Pick me up in ten?”

“I had a couple of shots at the bar

I'm finna play with that dick in the car"

You knew the second you shut the door to Paige’s car and kissed her that she had been drinking that night, the presence of liquor on her lips. You would be so ready to scold her for driving under the influence, tell her she should not play with her life like that, if you weren’t also just appreciative for any out you could get. Besides, as long as she was telling the truth, she was only a couple shots deep. The weed in your system had dulled down at this point, and instead of feeling overwhelmed from the noise around you, you were overwhelmed by the urge to have Paige the way you wanted to. especially with how she looked now, glasses on and hair thrown into a messy ponytail, silver chain accessorizing her sweat set. God, you didn’t even know if you could make it to her bed.

“This new?” She asks about two minutes into the twelve minute drive, gesturing to your top. It was an old one, found in the bottom of one of your bins of clothes while you were searching for a going out top that would allow you to put off doing laundry for another day. It worked well enough - a simple crop top with a flattering neckline. “Looks really good.”

“Nah, kept it from freshman year,” You replied, head braced by your arm against the side of the car staring at the girl next to you. Paige had a grip on her steering wheel, eyes focused on the practically empty roads leading to her apartment. A part of you was very thankful she was being cautious given the circumstances. But another part of you, a more sinister voice, wanted to try something.

Your manicured hands traced up your torso, your own touch nearly making you gasp. Damn, you really were that desperate. Your nails played with the hem of your shirt, gently pulling it up towards your breasts as the air conditioning hit more and more of your skin. “This is new though.”

Paige hit a red light, making a confused sound before her eyes met yours. They didn’t stay there long before trailing down, past your neck and to the bra that currently had your tits pushed to the sky, one hand reaching around to cup one as you licked your lips. Your top could hardly be considered one anymore, pooled at your collarbone as you continued touching yourself. You maintained your gaze, looking at the blonde like she was prey as her tongue met her cheek inside her mouth, a loud swallow going down her throat.

When she finally spoke, it was a breathless chuckle that revealed just what kind of effect you had on her as she shook her head. “You’re something else.”

The green light flashed into the car, prompting her to return her gaze back to the road and press on the gas. Google Maps said you were eight minutes away, but judging by the way your finger was tracing around your bra covered nipple, you weren’t sure if you could wait that long. And if the way Paige’s eyes were bugging out of her head at the road attempting to not look at you were any indication, you knew she felt the same. “Paige?”

“Mhmm?” She asked through gritted teeth, hanging on to her last thread of self control.

“Pull over.”

————

“That’s it, just like that… fuck.”

You nodded in Paige’s pussy, nails grazing her thighs. The set up could be more ideal: All six feet of her were crammed in the backseat, sweats pooled at her ankles as you sat almost diagonal in order to have a more comfortable position. Neither of you really seemed to care all that much, too intoxicated off of each other and your respective substances. Besides, judging by the way Paige massaged your neck and whined, you wouldn’t be here long.

You only needed two more minutes eating Paige out like she was your last meal before her grip tightened at the back of your neck, cumming with a cry of your name. You ate her through it, slurping her up like ice cream before slowly rising, placing a kiss to her lips so she could taste herself. She hummed with contentment into the kiss, cupping your jaw tenderly. You separated, your smirk cocky as her hand traced back down your neck, feeling the soft material of your bra for herself. “So fucking pretty,” she whispered to herself, eyes trained on how the color of the garment made your skin look radiant. Her hands switched directions, gently tracing up before reaching your neck and applying pressure with hungry eyes.

“We’re going home. Need to see you cum on my dick now.”

“I'ma make him wait for the pussy

Hit it 'til he big ole skeet”

The rest of the car ride was uneventful, Paige keeping a grip on your thigh as music propelled you guys into her parking lot. When you reached her apartment, you were ready for the inevitable fight for dominance between the two of you. Instead, Paige merely hung her keys on her hook and moved to the kitchen. “Want any water?”

You almost laugh as you follow her in, as if she was pranking you. “What are you, all talk and no game?” You joke, still taking the offer. Despite drinking Paige up just moments prior, you were very aware of just how dry your mouth was.

Paige smirked, taking a sip of her own water before grazing your torso with her hands. “Just tryna be chivalrous, ma.” 

You took a big gulp of water, allowing yourself to sink into the feeling of Paige’s touch before setting the glass down. “Don’t need all that,” You murmur, the pads of your fingers playing with the hem of Paige’s hoodie. You look up, maneuvering yourself so your lips were as close to her ear as possible before murmuring. “Just need you.” 

“Oh yeah?” She teases, already beginning to back you towards her bedroom, her tall frame overwhelming yours. Now this is what you came here for: the feeling of her tongue slipping in your mouth as your lips collided, the feeling of her properly undressing you as soon as her door shut behind you, and the gravel in her voice as she commands you to “get on the bed”.

“You have no fucking idea how bad i’ve wanted this,” Paige growled, crawling above you and connecting your lips once more before peppering them down to your neck. You couldn’t help but sigh, deciding that you would put up with a million lackluster parties if they all ended like this.“These perfect tits.” She moved to toss your bra on her floor before licking around your nipple, sucking on your breast and surely leaving a mark - she always found a way to, much to your chagrin. You allowed yourself to take pleasure in the feeling for a moment, resting up before your next move. Because while you moments like these with Paige, there was no way in hell you were letting her think the dynamic switched.

With a swift move that even left yourself dumbfounded at your abilities , you hooked a leg around her and flipped the basketball player over, catching yourself with both hands on the mattress. Paige’s jaw dropped, equally shocked and impressed. “Woah.”

“I thought you’d figure out by now that I’m in charge here,” You quipped, gaining enough composure quickly to maintain the persona you wanted. You were going to fuck Paige just as much as she was fucking you. You quickly made the executive decision that Paige was wearing far too many clothes, gesturing her to raise her arms before moving to help her remove her hoodie leaving her in her sweats and a sports bra - very typical Paige attire. You nipped, kissed, and sucked above her chest in the areas not covered by the sports bra, careful to avoid her neck or any other areas that would be visible in a jersey. At one point, you took the chain she wore in your mouth, feeling the cold metal against your lips. Paige groaned, attempting to tug your mouth back on to hers by lifting you from your waist. You tsk, “Be patient.”

“You’re making patience really hard, sweetheart.” She states through gritted teeth, one hand moving to your hair and tugging to make a point. She was desperate tonight, just the way you liked her. 

Deciding to give her a little taste of you, you sat up so only your ass made contact with her, sitting plush against her pelvis. Need to see you cum on my dick now, her voice repeated in your head. with a mischievous glint. Slowly, you began grinding your hips, your ass hitting against her. “This what you want?”

She threw her head back, realizing what you were mimicking. “Please.”

“Beg.”

You would think you said something far more outrageous the way she looked up at you, eyebrows raised. “You crazy? nah!”

Typical Paige, not one to give up without a fight. You knew all too well how this would end though.“Suit yourself.” You shrugged, continuing your actions from before, this time trailing a hand down your short skirt and lightly touching yourself through your panties.

“Fuck baby,” She swore she could feel how wet you were as you continued rolling your hips, giving her a preview of everything she could have if she just put her ego aside. “You’re killing me right now.”

“I think I know what would fix that,” you purred.

“Oh fuck,” her voice was almost strangled, any ounce of dignity she had quickly leaving her body and being replaced by the urge to make you feel good. Her eyes appeared as though they were welling up as she pleaded with you. “Please let me fuck you. Would do anything to make you feel good.”

A smile spread across your face, knowing you finally had her exactly where you wanted her. You paused your teasing, swinging your leg back aroundand reaching a standing position. Her eyes followed you, her gaze equally confused and frustrated, before she recognized the box you were reaching for in her drawer. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You asked, harness and dildo in hand as you sauntered back over to the bed.

“Ain't nobody freak like me

Give ya what you need like me

Ain't nobody got on they tip, tip toes and rode to the tip like me”

You were putting on a whole ass show for her. Your feet were positioned on each side of of her, providing stability as you bounced on her silicon dick like your life depended on it. Your tits bounced with each impact your bodies made. The room was quiet (save for the sound of both of your moans and the dull buzz of the vibrator against Paige within the strap), but it was like you were moving to a melody, alternating between fast moments of riding her and slower moments where you simply moved your hips, allowing yourself to bask in the pleasure.

Paige laid back against the pillows, practically mesmerized at the sight of you as you ran a hand through your hair, throwing your head back in the process. “Holy shit.”

“Any other girls fucking you like this, baby?” You don’t know why you felt the need to ask. For one, you were very confident in your abilities, and you also knew that Paige was likely still going home with other girls. It’s not a topic you ever cared enough to approach. 

“No other girls anymore. None could make me cum like you,” Paige shook her head, moving to grab your waist and help facilitate your movements as if she was seeking any form of control she could get. “Riding my dick like a slut, baby, fuck.”

Your eyes wandered a bit, over to the collection of photographs on Paige’s wall, the number of awards given, all the way to one particular object. Your hips began to slow progressively until they came to a complete stop, prompting a disappointed groan from the blonde beneath you.

“Stand up. I wanna try something new.”

“I want to fuck in the mirror, I like to look at your face when you in it

Come in the room and I'm giving commands

I am the captain and he the lieutenant”

The sides of the chair you were gripping were cold, in contrast to the heat rushing through the rest of your body. Paige stood behind you, pounding into you from behind as the both of you took full advantage of the full length mirror beside you giving you a full view of everything - and by everything, you meant everything, from the way Paige’s hair looked entirely fucked out to the wetness dripping down her thighs.

Paige’s eyes squeezed shut, unable to handle the way your ass looked rippling against her, how your waist fit in her hands as she slammed you back, and she especially could not handle the way you were looking at her in the mirror. “Baby imma bust,” she moaned, her words slurred together. She was too drunk off of you.

“Hold it. I’m almost there,” you instructed, reaching down to rub circles around your clit. You were dripping, cream forming a ring around Paige’s strap. You moved your hips, twerking on her dick as you looked back at it. Paige was convinced in that moment that if it were not anatomically impossible, she would have absolutely accidentally knocked you up in that moment.

“Need to cum so bad, baby. You feel so good, so fucking fine.” 

The warmth that once rushed through you from the joint was now accumulating to your core. It was all becoming too much, even more so when she slapped your hand away to help rub hard circles on you, her desperation a mix of wanting to be the reason you finished as well as the realization that she was going to blow any moment. 

“Gonna cum.” You finally moan, feeling as though your legs may snap as you let go. Paige was not far behind, gripping your waist and burying her head in your neck as she pressed herself to the base inside of you. 

“Usually I like to fuck

But tonight we gon' make love 'cause you bae”

You attempted to catch your breath as you laid down next to Paige. She had both hands on the sides of your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You’re so perfect,” She murmured, eyelids drooping as she fought the urge to pass out then and there. Her touch was less possessive this time and more tender, cupping your skin as if it were made of glass.

You let out a breathy laugh at her words, almost like you couldn’t believe them, yet you couldn’t stop the way your body nuzzled into hers further. “You’re just happy you got laid tonight,” You quipped.

“I don’t mean it like that. you know I don’t.”

Perhaps one of the most important rules of hooking up with an athlete, especially one as high profile as Paige, is to never believe a word they say. So you felt a little silly when you took note of how her blue eyes gazed at you, waking up enough to make eye contact to show you that this was the truth. It felt worse when you felt your heart skip a beat at the realization. In fact, it scared the hell out of you. 

“Stay the night tonight,” She whispered. You had never heard her sound like that, so out of control and at your whim. She was scared too. “I don’t want you to leave.”

You nodded, pushing past the voice in your head screaming at you to run just as you had after every other night you and Paige shared. You were tired, and Paige was right there, and it was just not the time to listen to your head over your heart. “Okay.”

You would deal with logistics later. All you needed now was tonight.

[sideysvault]

.𖥔˚ NEW SURROUNDINGS.𖥔˚

Cregan Stark x fem!targaryen!reader ₊ requested ₊

Tags. [sfw]; Arranged marriage, ‘cultural’ differences, misogyny, fluff, happy ending, dragonrider, weaponized fasting.

Wc. 0.8k

────────

Everyone had heard such stories. It was known that unsuspecting, kinder houses produced girls that despite aristocratic breeding, their innocence and ill preparation made them feel totally at sea in the deferential hierarchy of political marriage. 

The Targaryen Princess was nothing more than a child at the horizon of puberty, with something more akin to distaste rather than horror when she first bled. And while she’d been aware of what that meant for a woman, she desperately became aware of the danger this might put her in. There were many tears in those first months and many more to come after that. 

Weight simply dropped off, as well as her white hair. Plagued with the knowledge that outside the Targaryen's protective niche, she was determined to a less glorious fate than she had imagined when she had become a dragon rider.

And then came the preparations. In fact, it was her late cousin’s advice that helped her successfully avoid getting married in its entirety. At least for a few years. The technique was rather simple; If the Princess would get word that her husband to be was ill-mannered, brutish, stubborn or violent, the woman, in order to guarantee compliance, or to avoid the marriage, was to initiate a fast until a change of circumstances arrived. Not as a form of self mutilation, but as a means to stop the fertile blood from running between their legs, This, naturally, would only be successful as long as a male heir wasn’t yet produced, or if the princess isn't yet married.

She had even heard stories that certain houses even encouraged this behavior. All to guarantee that the husband was willing to listen to the whispers of his wife, assuring the will of her lineage.  

This technique, of course, had severe downsides, if taken too far, the body would stop tolerating food, making the wife immobile, dead, or worse; Infertile. 

However, some people denounced the practice entirely. Those who are keen to self-sacrifice for the political and economical greatness of their lineage, who saw conceiving themselves to a life of child bearing as a form of honorous martyrdom. Like her mother. 

But, when her family let her know that she was to be betrothed to Cregan Stark, she knew that all of her efforts were not in vain. His reputation preceded him. Handsome, honorable and just. 

She truly felt a sense of genuine relief. Neither the backwards ways of the Northerners nor their reluctance to respect people from the South could dissipate her enthusiasm. Despite her best efforts, The Reed Keep was never really a home to her.

The Princess, of course, had failed to foresee one important detail. The people of the North felt a genuine aversion towards her dragon, probably one of the few kind, loyal things to have been gifted to her by the Targaryen lineage, it had become somewhat of a family to her. While she was aware of the strong, devastating power Maegor possessed, all her soul saw whenever she interacted with it was all those magnificent flights, all of those years of training, and the rather small, innocent look her dragon had when it was young.

All they saw, nonetheless, was an extraordinary beast covered in scales and spines, the horns that framed the edges of Maegor’s face, running along the back of that skull that had never truly seemed to stop growing. It filled them with pagan horror. 

From common folk, who were rendered immobile by its appalling black profile dancing through the skies, children and adult alike screaming and gasping, to the highest members of the council, whose clenched jaws and tight fists were evident despite their best efforts to hide them. -Although, she supposed their terror had something to do with its rider, a foreign invader - 

Dear Gods, even her husband flinched around it. Of course, he had graciously tried to compartmentalize his fear as soon as he saw the way his wife's eye brighten when she hoped onto the riding chair and looked at the sky above them, how excited she seemed to the prospect of sharing that experience with him, how terribly tender she was with Maegor and the sweet offer she had made to the Maestres to help them map out the territory for their cartography efforts. 

It hadn't taken as much time as he had thought to become pleased with her presence. While Cregan was weary of her at first, he noticed how hard she was trying to accommodate to the region's costumes, how quick her wit was, how curious she was about the world.

Once he discovered how charmed he was with her personality, he was quick to notice how beautiful she was as well. Targaryen features had always seemed too alien to him. But on his wife? He adored the lavender haze in her eyes and the moonlit hair.

The Princess always laughed when she thought about it. She had found warmth and comfort in the coldest corner of the entirety of the Seven Realms.

────────

Notes. I've been pretty offline for some time but here is the request! Hope everyone likes it. As usual, take care, and tell me if you wanna be added to the Cregan fanfic taglist! -Sidey x

CreganTaglist. @damnedamsy @prose-before-hoes-blog

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Since you mentioned this in an earlier ask, what is your take on feminist Leona? I see people saying things like "consent king" "he drinks his respect women juice" and "leona kingscholar says men ain't shit" but I think those are mainly jokes but I've also seen a lot of for example Leona x reader fanfics where he's a lot nicer to femme Yuus than masc ones. I don't play the game so I don't know how much of a feminist he really is, could you clarify and give your own insights? Ty Miss Raven!!!!!!!

[Referencing this post!]

Admittedly, I am guilty of having made “consent king” jokes but that’s mainly because I think consent + respecting others’ autonomy is very sexy important and it’s slightly funny to have a 185 cm muscular anime cat boy championing the concept. However, I try to avoid making jokes which would imply Leona puts down his own gender or thinks lesser of them because 1) canon doesn't indicate this and 2) it can be hurtful to non-femme Twst fans. Yes, most of the fandom is women--but that doesn't mean we shouldn't make this fandom space welcoming for masculine or nonbinary Twst fans.

Let's delve into a brief history of where feminist!Leona comes from! After that, I'll discuss my own thoughts and feelings about it.

The idea first came into prominence because of an exchange that occurs in Cater's School Uniform vignette. In it, Cater is trying to convince Leona to join him for a party that he's throwing for Rosaria, one of the talking paintings at NRC. At first, Leona refuses--but he quickly changes his tune once Cater mentions Rosaria is a "she/her". Leona states, "Portrait or not, I respect ladies and Rosaria is a lady." Cater then whispers to Kalim (who is shocked that Leona suddenly agreed to come along), "Leona's kingdom is all about being respectful to ladies."

It should be noted that Leona says something slightly different in JP: “Even if it’s a portrait, a woman is a woman.” JP does not have the “I respect ladies” portion; “I respect ladies” was added to EN, which may have further amplified the interpretation that he is a feminist.

Now, as we learn from that vignette, the Sunset Savanna has a culture of "respecting women". In Leona's Ceremonial Robes vignette, he elaborates that, “[Beastwomen are] already way stronger than [beastmen]." Furthermore, Ruggie states in one of his Chats that “Girls have both the grit and the camaraderie to triumph when the goin’ gets tough.” Then, in events like Tamashina Mina and late in book 7, we are told that many of the royal guards are women who volunteer for the positions and it's common for them to have learned martial arts from a young age. From this dialogue, we can glean that the women of Leona's home country are physically strong, strong-willed, and honorable.

With that being said, I think certain interpretations of Leona's "feminism" (a term not actually used by official materials; this is a fandom take) definitely take it a step too far by either assuming Leona treats woman as a special class and/or he dislikes men. Both of those interpretations (if serious and not said as a joke) are owed to a fundamental misunderstanding of what "feminism" is. Feminism is "the belief in full social, economic, and political equality for women." Feminism is NOT misandry (a hatred of men), and nor is it female chauvinism (the belief that women are superior to men)... unless, of course, you're talking about very radicalized forms of thinking. The basic concept of feminism doesn't involve man hate or putting women on a pedestal.

Twst itself appears to go with the basic definition of feminism. As Leona himself states, he doesn't treat anyone special. "I ain't extra nothin' to nobody. As if [women] even need men fawning all over'em."

Leona, whom we know to be arrogant and unwilling to obey others' orders, appears to be more willing to listen to and carry out tasks if there's a woman involved. I already mentioned the case with Rosaria the painting (which proves that his "respecting women" thing extends beyond just beastwomen from his home country). In his Ceremonial Robes, he also grumpily puts on the aforementioned robes and takes a picture of himself in it upon the request of his sister-in-law. But--and this should be stressed--he's not exactly jumping for joy or eager to do so. Instead, Leona cites that "Goin’ against [beastwomen] only brings more trouble.” This indicates annoyance at having to carry out this chore, and gives the impression that Leona's only complying because not doing so would only overcomplicate things for him. He's not an idiot--he knows when to make a strategic retreat if it's going to save him time and effort in the long run. (For example, he immediately surrenders to the Ferrymen in book 6 rather than continue to put up a fight.)

I should note that, like in the earlier definition of feminism I shared, Leona does not simply bend the knee to every single woman. In the first Halloween event, he was still capable of scaring off the Magicam Monsters (some of which have distinctly female voices) without any qualms. He was still fully able to express anger and upset when Eliza, the Ghost Bride, smacked him. "You've got a lot of nerve turnin' me down over some nonsense!" He's also not above tricking the Fairy Queen and her entourage to steal back the special magestone from NRC.

This shows us that Leona doesn't just... "respect women" indiscriminately. If someone is going to be rude and selfish to him, he's going to respond as is appropriate. He's not going to turn a blind eye because of the offending party's gender.

In terms of Yuu interactions (assuming Yuu can be any gender), Leona acts pretty aggressive towards them in their first meeting. Even though it's clearly an accident and Yuu didn't realize they stepped on his tail, Leona is annoyed by the act and them walking away without apologizing or stopping to acknowledge him. He also makes it known that Yuu is magicless, and thus has no way of defending themselves from him. And you know what this man does? He says, "Well, can't say it'd be much fun to hurt someone so helpless. Still gonna do it, though." AND HE THREATENS TO TAKE A TOOTH. His wording, "No one gets to stomp on my tail and just walk away without payin' the price" + him still deciding to attack Yuu desite knowing they are weak/cannot fight back, implies to me that he may have still reacted this way regardless of Yuu's gender. (Key word: MAY. We don't know if this is the truth or not, I am leaving this up to your interpretation.)

Notably, there is a light change between EN and JP versions for Yuu's dialogue choices in response to Leona's threat. The EN dialogue options are far more humorous, but the JP options clearly convey fear (ie Leona is being serious about his threat of bodily harm). The top option is like noises of surprise, like "Eh, eh, eh!!"; the bottom option is along the lines of, "What, I'm going to be hit/beaten!"

There are, in fact, multiple instances where Leona acts callous towards Yuu. He refuses to let Yuu stay in Savanaclaw unless they earn their keep by beating up some mobs. He constantly degrades them by calling them and others he considers weak "herbivore". He has to be goaded into helping us or taking us along on trips instead of automatically caving. It could be argued that he would be more agreeable or polite if fem!Yuu was in these scenarios. And who knows, that might be the case--but again, I don't think he would be egregiously kind. I would like to point out a more direct example of a Leona-fem!Yuu interaction. Leona has interacted with a female Yuu before: Yuuka Hirasaka, our main character for the Episode of Savanaclaw manga. There's some debate over whether or not the NRC students know that Yuuka is a girl since the topic is never mentioned once, but I assume that they are aware because: 1) Yuuka makes no effort to hide her figure or chest; she even wears her blazer open, and 2) she has no motivation to hide her gender; she is capable of defending herself if needed and has a nonchalant personality. Proceeding with the assumption that Yuuka being a girl is a known fact, Leona does not treat her any differently than any other student.

Yuuka seems to experience the same tail-stepping scene as is depicted in game, although we don't see the aftermath of it/if Leona gives her the same threat.

The more telling scene for Yuuka, however, comes when she and her friends arrive in Savanaclaw to investigate. They are confronted by a bunch of mobs that start to pick a fight with them. Like in the game, Leona intervenes (ie he doesn't stop the fight just because Yuuka is a woman) and has them duke it out in a game of spelldrive/magift instead.

And you know what? Leona doesn't hold back just because he's playing against a woman. In fact, he kicks Yuuka's ass and then some. Then he stands over her and tells her to get back up, to keep playing. Leona isn't cutting Yuuka any slack whatsoever. He treats Yuuka the same as the boys she's playing with.

This brings me to my final prominent example of Leona interacting with a woman, which I think best exemplifies what my interpretation of Leona's "feminism" is. In the JP server's 2024 Halloween event Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas, Sally indicates that she plans on making a meal using the plants from around the cemetery. Leona is at first displeased by this, but then agrees to help her catch snakes, rats, lizards, etc. as meat for the meal. This leads into a conversation about how sad Sally's home life is, which earns her sympathy from the other NRC students. Jade, Riddle, and Epel are shocked at the cruelty that Sally faces. Jade volunteers to take the doctor out for Sally, and Epel even tries to convince Leona to help him rough up Dr. Finkelstein. But Leona just smirks and tells them Sally's not in any need of their "help"; isn't she the one who slipped the doctor a "drink"? Riddle scolds him for this "ungentlemanly" behavior and Epel refuses to believe that the "kind Sally" would do something like use poison. Leona was able to smell the deadly nightshade on her and deduce that Sally slipped some to her guardian and then slipped out on her own. She's not a damsel in distress--she's resourceful. Sally used her brains and not brute force to rescue herself from a bad situation. (We know that this would deeply resonate with Leona because he has been struggling his entire life to have his own merits recognized.) Leona praises Sally for her cunning and goes so far as to offer her his arm and tell her that he's looking forward to this evening's dinner.

In this situation, could it not be said that Jade, Riddle, and Epel were the ones assuming Sally is weak that Leona was the one who saw her true worth? I'm of course not accusing anyone here of being sexist. Society socializes us to see women as the "fairer sex" in need of protection and aid--but isn't Leona being more equitable by not underestimating Sally because of her gender?

That brings me to my conclusion. Leona respects women, no doubt about that. However, that's NOT a blanket statement. He clearly knows how to separate who is worthy of his respect and who isn't, and then he acts accordingly. Yes, he is polite, slightly softer, and more willing to listen to women he knows (his sister-in-law), women who haven't offended him/are just existing (Rosaria), and woman who have demonstrated their own strengths to him (Sally). He doesn’t become a completely different character just to bend to the whims of women. Those who have acted in ways to earn his ire, woman or not, will be treated as such (Magicam Monsters, Eliza, even Yuu when they/she enters his territory and/or steps on his tail). At the same time, I don't believe he thinks that women are delicate flowers that need special treatment (as we see with how he handles Sally + the Yuus and, more specifically, Yuuka). If anything, the women from his home country have demonstrated that they can be strong and self-sufficient. Why would he feel the need to go out of his way to be extremely lenient with the women he is around?

Lastly, nothing in official materials implies Leona treats men significantly worse than women. If he seems exceedingly rude to men, it’s most likely the result of the main cast (the characters Leona most often interacts with) being guys. If we were to compare how he treats his peers and how he treats women who have irritated him, I would say the behavior isn’t that different.

I know that was a long post but 😅 Hopefully I was able to articulate my thoughts well enough… May you find it helpful in forming your own opinion, Anon!

[synthral]

From the moment we’re born, we’re brainwashed. Fairy tales, rom-coms, religious institutions, family expectations. They all whisper the same lie, that life culminates in marriage, in a white dress, in a house with a husband and three kids. That this is love. That this is fulfillment. That this is natural. That this is what YOU should want and it is what you need.

But if we are being serious, there’s no inherent reason for a man and a woman to be together. Heterosexuality isn’t some divine truth, it’s a construct, a tool of control, designed to uphold a patriarchal system that thrives on women’s subjugation. It’s the invisible leash that keeps people trapped, convincing them that their desires, their futures, their very selves must conform to a life of servitude, serving a man, birthing more people to serve more men.

Marriage at its core, is coercion. Not just socially, but historically and legally. It was never about love. It was about ownership, about ensuring women remained dependent, about securing lineage and property for men. Even today in its supposedly “evolved” form, it still reeks of that same expectation of monogamy as a duty, of reproduction as a requirement, of sacrificing personal identity for the “sanctity” of a bond that has always served men more than women.

And what about children? The world doesn’t need more of them. Antinatalism exposes the truth that procreation is not a moral duty but an ethical dilemma. We don’t owe the world more people, in fact, with the state of things, climate collapse, economic instability, rising fascism, we owe it to ourselves not to participate in the cycle of suffering. But of course the nuclear family needs its sacrifices. The system needs fresh bodies to keep capitalism alive. So we are pressured, manipulated, gaslit into thinking that having children is an inevitability rather than a choice, one we were never meant to question. If you cannot comprehend the concept of anti natalism you have to rethink your life, even my hardcore Muslim mother can understand it.

What about gay marriage? Same-sex marriage is a hard-fought and deeply meaningful right for many, it still exists within the larger framework of marriage as an institution of control. The fight for marriage equality wasn’t just about the right to marry, it should have also been about questioning why marriage is necessary for basic rights like stability, protection and legal recognition. Homosexuals have always found ways to build love, family and community outside of traditional structures and we deserve systems that honor those connections without forcing us to conform to an outdated institution. Love doesn’t need state validation to be real and the fact that marriage remains the ultimate legitimization of commitment shows just how deeply ingrained this illusion is.

None of this is inevitable. None of this is natural. It’s all a structure, a narrative forced upon us from birth. And if we can be programmed to believe in the heterosexual fairy tale, then we can unlearn it, reject it and build something better. Because we deserve more than the life we were told to settle for.

We must dismantle the patriarchy, tear down the institutions that keep us bound with patriarchy and males, we must build something that was never meant to serve men, but to serve us.

[illyrianbitch]

One Summer— Part Three

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: alcohol use, mention of drugs, mentions of scars (azs hands), slight Tamlin slander (lighthearted tbh), reader being observant, az being… well az :)

Word Count: 4.7k

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✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Introduction to Philosophy was taught by professor Jeff Davids. 

It was one of the smaller classes you’d taken in freshman year. Though many people took it to fulfill a General Education requirement, it was more significant for you. It marked the beginning of your Philosophy major and a longstanding obsession with the ideas of ancient thinkers.

It was the same for Morrigan and Feyre, both of whom you met in Professor Davids’ class. Like you, they were Pre-Law students. And while you’d sat with Feyre on the first day out of pure chance, you were sure that it was fate that pulled you both into an assigned group with Mor— and Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. The three boys had chosen Intro to Philosophy because it had enough seats for all of them.

There were many things you remembered about your Intro to Philosophy class. Professor Davids was a rockclimber, the Allegory of the Cave was one of the most well-known philosophical concepts, Cassian always came ten minutes late, and Mor’s first major presentation was an in depth and perfectly executed criticism of Plato’s The Republic. You remembered it clearly. She argued against the idea of Plato being classified as the ‘first feminist’. Even if you hadn’t already shared Mor’s belief that Plato fell short of feminist ideals, her presentation would have won you over. Just two months into your friendship, Mor had already made a lasting impression. You remembered her eloquence, the way she commanded the room—a woman of honor and dignity.

It was strange, in an endlessly entertaining way, to see the same woman before you now down on one knee, chugging the last of her drink in the Summit Pulse parking lot. 

She let out a belch as she stood and Cassian responded with an approving whistle, giving her a sloppy high five. “Fuck,” she said, gingerly dabbing at her smeared lipstick. “Can someone pass me my bag?”

Summit Pulse had officially begun twenty-five minutes ago, at 11:30 AM. You’d arrived at 11, found two open parking spots, and began your small, almost humble, tailgate— consisting of various seltzers, shooters, and beers for the boys. 

You’d driven in two cars: Feyre and Rhys in one, and Az, you, Mor, and Cassian in the other. It was more economical to get two parking passes for the three days, so the boys had devised a plan. The idea was simple: whoever wasn’t driving in the morning would get heavily intoxicated right from the start, making full use of the tailgating privileges. Since the sets ended around 10 PM, by the end of the night one of them would be sober enough to drive. For today, Az was the designated driver, while Cassian would take over for the ride home. 

Rhysand’s plan was far simpler. He would only drink modestly throughout the day— but no matter what, he was driving home. This was for two reasons. First, no one but him was allowed to drive his car anyway, and second, he didn’t want Feyre to be worried about her ride home. 

When you’d asked the boys why they hadn’t included you, Feyre, or Mor into the shifts, they had shrugged and adamantly opposed. According to them, it was their job to take care of you, to let you have fun at a festival knowing you’d have three eyes watching over you. Not to mention that they knew their alcohol tolerances better than you three. 

Rhys, with a sly smile, had also pointed out that your edibles made predicting sobriety a bit unreliable.

He was right, of course, so you didn’t argue— even if you hadn’t brought them today.

You handed Mor her bag. Her nimble, ring-clad fingers dug through it as you grabbed your phone, offering the camera screen to her as a makeshift mirror. She sung out a small thank you in response.

It was already hot out, a fact you’d prepared for but nonetheless hated, and the seltzers in your stomach gurgled in the heat. It suddenly crossed your mind that you should’ve had a heavier breakfast. But the morning had been chaotic, so you were now forced to rely on the festival food— food that was bound to cost three times as much as it would outside of festival grounds.

Two voices joined the sounds behind you and you cranked your head in time to watch Feyre bound over, a bounce in her step. She wore simple shorts and a flowy, linen tank that swayed with her movements. The look of it seemed to perfectly pair with the outfit Rhysand wore— white linen shorts and a short-sleeved button up, a few more buttons undone than necessary, of course. An image flashed into your mind of a very probable future: Feyre and Rhys married in this very city, white linens and salt-air breezes at their reception. 

Cassian and Azriel would fight for best man, of course, and when they were both asked, they’d fight about which was number one and which was number two. Feyre’s maid of honor would be a much more nuanced choice, balanced between her two sisters and you and Mor. 

At least, if you and Feyre were still friends by then.

You pushed the thought away— a silly, irrational, and anxious thought. They appeared a lot, especially when you weren’t as busy as you’d conditioned yourself to be these past few semesters. It was strange how those thoughts manifested when you were at your happiest. But there was no room for those this summer. You’d told yourself this over and over. One summer to just live, you repeated in your mind, one summer to exist. 

Feyre wrapped her arms around your shoulder, tight enough to give you a welcome squeeze but tender and careful so as to not disrupt your mirror duties. 

“You smell good,” you told her as the sweet smell of pear reached your nostrils. She met your eyes from the side as you grinned. “Look even better too.”

A small blush painted her cheeks and Feyre smiled. “You think?” 

You nodded and Mor ran a gentle nail around her lips, picking up the excess red gloss with her nails. You watched as she struck a pose. 

“And how do I look?”

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes that seemed to intensify by the second. Her excitement grew as the drink she chugged began making its way through her system. 

“Good enough to get free drinks.” 

You felt Feyre nod in agreement against your shoulder. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Summit Pulse had been going strong for hours and you were riding the high of it all. The sun was still glazing in the sky, your ears were still ringing, and the crowd's anticipation for the next set was almost tangible despite it not starting for another hour.

You guys had staked out a great spot near the front, close enough to give you a full view of the stage. Sadly, you hadn’t come early enough to get barricade, but you were more than content with the place you held in the growing crowd. Az and Cass had ventured off some time ago to grab more drinks and a small, worrying voice in the back of your mind began to worry that the two boys would struggle to rejoin the group. 

You tried to pay it no mind, focusing on the game of Heads Up you were playing with Feyre and Mor. Feyre held her phone to her forehead and prompted the next word to come. 

SPRING.

You and Mor exchanged a conspiratorial glance, gently pushing one another to create a space between your two bodies. A mirrored grin grew on your faces— ones with such childish glee and mischief that Feyre immediately picked up on the shared thought.

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. She dropped her hands to her side. "No," she whined, "Please don't."

You frowned in feign confusion, bringing a hand to cup your ear. "What?" you exclaimed, "I can't hear you." You looked back at Mor, watching as the face she formed mimicked yours. "Do you hear anything?"

Rhys fought to suppress a grin, wrapping his arms tighter around Feyre as she let out another helpless groan. He gave her a kiss to the temple as he leaned in further, eyes bouncing between you and Morrigan.

"I-" Mor stopped, bringing a hand to her chest as she exaggeratedly examined her surroundings. "I think it sounds like….like…"

Rhysand leaned into Feyre's ear. "Like Spring?"

"Oh god," Feyre whined. The sound fell on deaf ears. "Kill me."

Tamlin Spring was Feyre's boyfriend in freshman year, a first love so smitten with her that it bordered on slightly creepy— teetering across that fine line of obsession and adoration. You found Tamlin tolerable in small portions, but the others hated him with a passion. In truth, they hated a lot of people, your ex boyfriend included, and you just chalked that up to the reality of growing up in the same small city with the same people. You thanked eighteen-year old you everyday for choosing to attend college in a different state.

"Spring, you say?" you chimed in. Mor mimicked the motion of drawing a bow across a fiddle. She gave you a look and without missing a beat, you launched into a memorized dance, feet bouncing in an exaggerated jig while your hands moved as if playing invisible fiddles.

This abomination of a dance was one you and Mor had created one random drunken night—- a way to commemorate the infamous serenade Feyre had received from Tamlin post-breakup. At the beginning of their relationship, Tamlin's musical talent was impressive, even charming. But when he pulled out his fiddle and played what was meant to be a heartfelt apology, it left Feyre cringing and you unable to defend him anymore. Thus, the iconic dance was born.

For what it counted, the tradition to embarrass Feyre with your performance of it lasted longer than their relationship ever did. 

Feyre's face was three shades redder by time you found yourselves unable to continue the dance any longer. She leaned her head back against Rhysand's chest as he laughed and hugged her tighter, apologizing for his own musical incapabilities. She tucked her phone tightly away in her pocket, muttering some off handed comment that she was never playing ever again. 

You were still giggling and catching your breath as Azriel and Cassian returned, slowly making their way through the crowd— each holding a fresh, cold can of beer. Azriel's face was neutral as always, but a glint of amusement sparkled in his eyes as they met yours. Cassian, on the other hand, wore his usual broad grin. He murmured polite, flirty pleasantries to every pretty woman they brushed past.

"Damn," Cass said, filling in the space Mor had saved for him by proxy of a strange, wide-legged stance. You’d done the same for Az. "Did I miss you hitting the Tamlin?"

You and Mor let out another shared round of giggles and Feyre groaned into the sky once more. Cassian turned to Rhys with a grin.

"Do you two have no shame?" Az said, settling into the space between you and Feyre. He took notice of Mor's lingering gaze on his drink and offered his can to her eager hands. 

You shook your head, a grin plastered on your face as Mor brought the drink to her lips. The two of you made eye contact, and maybe it was the buzz of the drinks you’d already had, the tiny high making everything funnier, but you couldn’t hold back a laugh. Mor followed suit, the sound coming out of her in a wet snort as Azriel's drink sprayed everywhere.

Once you both finally calmed down, Mor pushed Azriel's drink back to him with an extended hand, batting her eyelashes as she met his gaze. "Thanks, Az. I needed that."

"I'm good. That's all yours now." Azriel pushed the can back to Mor with a single finger, a look of playful disdain on his face. His eyes, however, shone with amusement���enough to show that he wasn't really angry, not even disgusted, despite his expression. "I'll get a new one later. Preferably with less spit."

Mor offered him a sheepish smile. "My bad."

She offered the can to you next. You narrowed your eyes at it for a moment, then shrugged with a resigned smile and raised it to your lips. You felt Azriel's gaze on you, noticing the amused, skeptical eyebrow he raised. You waited for him to say something, to speak in that low tone he often preferred in public, but he only shook his head, chuckling softly.

His eyes lit up a few seconds later.

"Wait a second,” he said.

Azriel's gaze flicked to Cassian, and without a word, he started patting him down. Cassian angled his head to the side, brows furrowed as Az’s hands wandered around his form. “Dude,” he said, “What's with the hands?”

Azriel didn’t respond, continuing his search with focused intent. He wrapped a palm around Cassian’s exposed biceps to face him further, finally reaching the fanny pack strapped to his broad chest. 

“Got it,” Az declared. When he pulled away, you caught sight of the device in his hand. Cassian paused for a moment, and you could see an out-of-pocket response on the tip of his tongue, but he simply shrugged and rejoined the conversation he had left with Feyre and Rhys. 

His camera was held securely in his hands as Azriel turned back to you and Mor. Your eyes drifted down to the way his palm held it. It looked so natural there, a perfect fit, and the glow of inspiration in his eyes sent a flutter through your body. You hadn’t realized that he had brought it— hadn’t seen when Cassian went through security with his bag. 

Az lifted the camera in a silent invitation and Mor let out an excited squeal, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you in close. You smiled and your focus fell on Azriel. He held his camera with a careful, precise grip, ensuring you were perfectly in frame. With every movement he made, either a height adjustment or a turn of the camera, he sent a quick glance to his surroundings, quietly making sure that he refrained from accidentally bumping the people around him. 

It was sweet how he managed to remain respectful in such a large crowd, how he cared enough to be aware of such things. The thought burrowed itself deeper into the area of your mind that had gained a heavy label this past week: Longings for Azriel, as you called it. An embarrassingly fitting title. 

He took the picture with a satisfied smile and lowered his camera, the sunlight casting a warm, almost golden glow over his features. For a moment, your mouth felt dry at the sight of him. The harsh sun you’d been cursing for hours now seemed to soften, bathing his eyes in a molten blend of brown, gold, and green. Azriel had been in his element all of today. You saw it clearly— the ease in which he spoke with all of you, the way his eyes gleamed and the smile on his lips persisted. Every set you’d watched had been enjoyed through two ways: dancing with Mor, Feyre and Cassian, or admiring Az as he listened. Your grip tightened around the can you still held. 

Mor leaned in to view the image on the camera’s screen and your surroundings poured into your consciousness once more, the loud sound of the crowd rising in level. You closed the gap Az had created when he stepped back and, in a moment of self-indulgence, brushed lightly against him to view the picture.

“This is so cute. I love it,” Mor fawned. She placed a hand on Az’s forearm and gave him a sweet smile. “This is such a great photo, Az.”

Azriel angled the screen towards you. You didn’t doubt her words, but Mor was indeed right. It was a great photo.  You could see it all perfectly: the bustling crowd, the stage, the speakers in the background, and you and Mor glowing with happiness. It stirred something emotional within you, a perfect memory you could imagine showing future children to prove that their parent was once cool.

You looked up at him. “This is perfect.”

He smiled, almost timidly. “Yeah?”

“I guess you're back on track?”

Recognition sparked in his eyes. “I think I just found my mu—”

Just then, the crowd moved like a restless sea and a body pushed into you. You stumbled slightly and Azriel's hand instinctively reached out to steady you, his touch warm and firm against the exposed skin between your shirt and pants. A shiver ran through you at the contact.

You turned to look at the person. He looked to be around your age, if not a few years older, with green eyes and a strange mullet that almost gave him bangs. Mor glared at him, but it was Azriel who spoke.

“Watch it,” he growled.

“My bad man,” Mullet slurred, eyes shifting between you and Azriel. “Didn’t see you.”

Azriel’s glare followed him until his figure melted back into the crowd, muttering under his breath, “Cut that mop you call hair and maybe you’d see better.”

You suppress a laugh at Azriel’s irritation, a huge amused grin spreading across your face. You’d forgotten how protective Az could be, even if it wasn’t strictly necessary. His readiness to jump to the defense of those he cared about was endearing at its core, so you swallowed the small urge to make fun of his response. 

Instead, it was Mor who broke the tension, her voice laced with mockery. “Damn, Az.” She raised an eyebrow and a small smirk grew on her lips. “If looks could kill, you’d be a serial killer.”

Az rolled his eyes but there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, betraying his true amusement despite his feigned annoyance. 

You handed Mor the canned drink back and clapped your hands together. “Alright. I need my own drink, so I’ll be back.”

Az handed Cassian the camera and turned to you. “I’ll go with you.”

You shook your head. “No, its okay. You just got back.”

Az gestured to the drink Mor had swiped. “I could use another, too.” He looked around. “And I think you might need some help getting back.”

You scanned the crowd, noting how it thickened with every passing second. Having Azriel to help navigate through would be a relief. And the prospect of some alone time with him was just as appealing.

“Okay,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The line for drinks was manageable, with only about seven people ahead of you. The festival buzzed around you, the air thick with the scent of food and the distant hum of music from other stages.

Azriel stood next to you, head slowly scanning his surroundings, silver dagger earring glistening in the sun. Your eyes lingered on the slight curve of his lips, at the way a sense of ease hung from his resting features. 

“You know, I knew you’d enjoy this,” you found yourself saying, voice carrying over the ambient noise. “The live music and all. But part of me is surprised.”

He looked at you, one eyebrow raised. “Why’s that?”

”I thought you weren’t a large gathering type of person.”

You held many memories of Azriel from over the years. The memories from the past two years were few and far between, but the ones from freshman year—- those you held in abundance. Azriel’s quietness was something you noticed before you knew him. He was content to watch, content to observe. It was why photography seemed so fitting for him, a hobby for someone who liked to collect moments, to enjoy them from a watcher's vantage point rather than that of a main actor. 

Azriel chuckled softly. Despite the festival’s noise, you heard it in perfect clarity.  

“I’m not. But that’s for gatherings where I’m expected to constantly engage. This is different. Everyone here is doing their own thing, no one is paying attention to me. I can just disappear into the crowd.” 

You let the words settle and studied him more intently. It occurred to you how unrealistic his words felt to you, how silly it was to think that people’s eyes didn’t naturally gravitate towards him. And you thought that it was a bit silly too, then, that your eyes did. 

You and Azriel were friends, maybe even in the lightest of terms. Friends that could’ve been more, could’ve had a deeper connection, platonically, had it not been for choices you made. And yet, your eyes always found him. All of this morning, all of this past week. Your gaze found him time and time again, like a magnet calling to you. 

You shook your head and a small laugh left your lips. An amused, timid sound. Azriel nudged your shoulder.

”What? He asked, but you only shook your head again, letting the smile linger on your lips. “What is it?” Azriel asked again. 

You met his gaze then, that surveying, intense gaze, and shrugged. “It’s just, you could never disappear into a crowd, Az.”

His brows furrowed and you held his gaze, watching as a flicker of confusion crossed his face—- or perhaps it was curiosity, instead. You felt a flutter of something deep and tender inside of you. You swallowed.

“At least not for me.”

The line moved forward and you sent a silent thank you to the sky, stepping ahead. Azriel lingered behind for a moment, eyes still trained on you. His brows were still slightly furrowed, but a smile tugged at his lips—-something tender, like your words touched him in a way he hadn’t expected. 

You ordered your drink, offering a grateful smile to the girl behind the table, and stood to the side as Azriel stepped up to order. The girl’s demeanor changed almost immediately—- cheeks flushed slightly, a new timid smile playing on her lips as she drank in the sight of him. You resisted the urge to laugh at it, a desire born out of total understanding rather than mockery.

Azriel was a stunning kind of attractive, a cold type of handsome that made you shiver if you stared too long. And the girl, she was pretty too, you thought, in an angelic sort of way. Blonde hair like Mor, blue eyes like Feyre. It dawned on you that you might look at Azriel the same way, with the same childish awe and longing admiration. The thought made you blush in embarrassment and you took a sip of your drink.

Azriel seemed oblivious to the effect he was having, focused solely on the screen before him and paying for his drink. She turned around to face him, drink in hand, and leaned forward to offer it. 

And then her eyes fell to his hands. She let out a small breath, a sound that seemed to surprise even her, and her eyes widened in response. Az’s drink was placed on the counter much harsher than she likely intended.

As strange as it sounded, sometimes you forgot about Azriel's hands— forgot that they weren't what were considered normal to the causal observer. You didn't know if this was a good thing, if it was something Azriel preferred or had no opinion on.

Like most people, you'd noticed them when you first met him. Azriel was a quiet observer, a motionless one at times. But in class, when you caught yourself staring at him more often than you'd ever admit, you'd catch sight of the way he'd anxiously crack his fingers with the pad of his thumb. It would bring your attention right back to his hands, to the ridges on his skin.

The scars that marred his hands were extreme, yes, and a certain sadness flowed through you when you looked at them long enough— when you thought about what pain he must've endured— but they were also beautiful. Something so entirely unique; unique enough to where you knew it was him whenever he touched you.

But as hauntingly beautiful as his hands were, eventually they simply became a part of him, something as mundane and expected as his right earlobe or the freckle on his cheek— the one that disappeared into his dimple when he smiled hard enough.

The girl tried her best to catch herself, quickly pushing forward Azriel's canned drink on the surface and giving him a timid, almost apologetic smile. But it was too late. You saw the switch clear as day, watched as something dark ran through Azriel's face— something parallel to childhood fear, to deep-seated embarrassment, to heated resentment, all in one. He pressed a button when prompted for a tip, his gaze steady on his finger as it moved across the screen.

You cleared your throat, leaning forward to grab his drink in your free hand and motioning him away from the growing line. Az seemed to snap out of the daze he'd fallen into, meeting your hurried motions with a furrowed brow. You nodded towards the crowd.

"C'mon," you said, offering the can to him. "We gotta head back."

The whine in your voice did its intended job, concealing your actions as ones driven out of an impatience to return rather than a desire to protect him. It wasn't that you thought it would bother him if he realized what you were trying to do, no, but you didn't want him to read it as something rooted in pity. You didn't want him to fall further back into his head than he already had.

When he didn't reply, you pushed his drink further towards him with an impatient hum. He raised a singular eyebrow for a fleeting second, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he took the cold drink from you, fingers brushing against yours. Nothing flashed in his face at the contact— there was no twitch, no flicker of something darker in his features.

"They're not going on for another forty five minutes," he finally said.

You sighed, a dramatic and weariful sigh, and the curve of his lips blossomed into a smile.

"Az,” you began, “Some of the best moments are going to be found in that crowd while waiting."

For the second time, you beckoned towards the crowd. You ignored the flutter in your chest as you leaned forward to grab his hand, tugging him along behind you— ignored the tightening in your chest as Azriel held onto you tighter.

You made your way back through the dense crowd, struggling to move until you finally reached your friends. Feyre and Rhys were the first to spot you, offering a cheer of greeting as you and Az squeezed into the spaces they’d saved for you. Mor’s eyes traveled to Azriel, scanning his face quickly. 

“Whats wro-“

You widened your eyes in warning, giving a small, subtle shake of your head that only she could pick up on. Mor mouthed a clarifying question and in response you brought your hand to the one that wrapped around the cold can of your drink, gently brushing your palm against the knuckles.

Her eyes widened in understanding and a small frown found her lips. She wiped it off within seconds, any trace of it perfectly concealed as she grabbed Azriel's attention with a large smile. 

"Aren't you so excited? I'm so excited."

Azriel nodded, but his expression remained a bit guarded. Your stomach twisted and Mor shot you a worried glance. You looked at Az, nudging his arm with your shoulder, and his gaze dropped to you.

”Cheers?” You said, lifting your drink in invitation. “For good luck.”

Azriel’s face softened and the remaining edge washed away. His eyes glimmered as he lifted his drink. 

“Cheers,” he replied, clinking his can against yours. 

Thirty five minutes later, the crowd came to life as the band walked on stage.

They played for a total of forty-eight minutes. 

Your eyes were on Az for around twenty-seven of them. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: they notice each other 🥺🥺 they pay attention to each other 🥹🥹 god this makes me miss having a crush— noticing every small thing, those BUTTERFLIES!!! i love them your honor

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound-blog

@melissat1254

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend

thank you for reading 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[munsonluhvr]

could i request steve with a confident reader? just anything other than shy reader 😭

WHAT'S WRONG WITH BEING CONFIDENT?

a/n: shy reader is the it girl rn, huh. thank u for ur request! hope u like it! this was very much inspired by the club scene from '10 things I hate about you,' aka my fav movie of all time. it felt appropriate for this request.

synopsis: king!steve harrington x confident!reader. after setting his eyes on you in the cafeteria, steve, and all of his ego, pursues you; though you don't fall to your knees quite as easy as the other hawkins high girls. word count - 3.5k warnings: some swearing, mostly just fluff. not spell checked, I'm tired I'll do it another day haha.

For the first time in a while, Steve wishes that he could tell Carol and Tommy to shut the fuck up. Carol, and Tommy, were on about something, Steve hadn’t paid enough attention to know exactly what, but all he knew is that he needed peace and quiet to be able to concentrate, to be able to watch you. 

You sit across the cafeteria, oblivious of Steve watching you closely. He watches as you laugh with your table full of friends, head thrown back, soft, round cheeks tinting pink, bright white teeth gleaming against the cafeteria lights. He has to have you. 

Steve leans over to Tommy, nudging his shoulder with his fist. “Who’s that?” Steve asks, bending low to point towards where you sit several tables away. “Who’s who?” Tommy asks, biting into his sandwich, looking towards where Steve points. Carol rolls her eyes, leaning forward to look in the direction that Steve’s pointer finger is angled at. 

“The blonde?” Tommy asks, turning his neck to get a better look. Steve is instantly frustrated, now making himself a spectacle as Tommy twists and turns to get a better look at where you sit. Steve shakes his head. “No, the girl sitting next to the blonde.” 

“Oh, she’s pretty.” Tommy says, sitting back into his chair. Underneath the table, Carol kicks Tommy’s chin with the toe of her shoe. Tommy yelps, shooting his girlfriend a scowl. “But I don’t know who that is.” 

Carol crosses her arms, chewing her gum more intensely. “That’s y/n. We’re in the same economic class.” 

Steve glances at Carol, waiting for her to say more. When she stares back, offering no other information about you, Steve moves his arms as if to say, ‘tell me more.’ Carol shrugs, picking her wad of gum out of mouth with her pointer and thumb fingers, placing it on a napkin that rests on the table. “She’s nice, totally out of your league though.” 

Steve scoffs leaning back in his seat, arms crossing against his chest. “Nobody is out of my league, Carol, girls love me.” 

Beside Steve, Tommy chuckles, shaking his head. “King Steve is back at it. Sayonara, Nancy.” 

Steve shakes his head, shooting Tommy a daring look. Though he was over Nancy, breaking up with her several months ago, Steve didn’t like hearing her name, and Tommy knew that. 

“I’m going to go talk to her,” Steve says, swinging his legs over the bench seat. He runs a hand through his thick hair, his confidence at its peak. For Steve, his good looks, decent sense of humor, had the girls of Hawkins High hooked, weak in the knees for him, all honored to have a little piece of his attention. Carol hums, shaking her head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Steve shrugs off Carol, making his way across the cafeteria to your table. Weaving through crowded tables all clustered together, offering small ‘excuses me’ as he squeezes himself behind tables. 

You are trapped in your own world, enamored by all your friends who giggle around you, sharing funny stories from class. You hardly notice ‘King Steve’ making his way over to you, confidence coursing through him as he strides over. You wouldn’t consider yourself popular, per se, but you had a solid group of friends, people waved hello to you in the hallway. What set you apart from the popular girls in Hawkins is that you stood on your own two feet, had good wit, funny sense of humor, and you were genuinely nice. 

“Oh my god, Steve Harrington alert,” Your friend, Heather mumbled, her eyes shooting down to the tabletop. You shrugged, assuming Steve was just passing by your table. You weren’t wrapped up in the typical high school antics, certainly never pining over Steve Harrington. You were consumed with school and your friends; you were fine with it that way. Though your body tenses, when a hand places itself on your back. Looking across the table you see Heather’s eyes are as wide as saucers, her small mouth agape. 

“Y/n, right?” A voice you recognize as Steve’s says behind you. Stiffly, you turn in your seat, glancing over your shoulder. “Yes?” 

The commotion at your table abruptly comes to a halt, all eyes placed on you and Steve. Steve crouches down beside your chair, holding on to the empty space between you and your friend. Now that Steve is at your height, you’re forced to look his face. It’s a handsome face, all his features coming together perfectly, his fluffy hair adding a playful, boyish look. 

“I’m Steve, Steve Harrington.” Steve says, his hand out stretch to you. How odd you think, a teenage boy offering to shake your hand. You’ve never interacted with Steve before, though from all the discussion about Steve, you can’t imagine girls fawning over them if he offered to shake their hands. He always seems so confident, so arrogant, yet you almost think you sense nervousness radiating off Steve. You stare at his hand, then back at him. “Yes, I know.” You say, your hands folded in your lap unmoving. 

Steve drops his hand, using his free hand to brush his hand through his fluffy, brown hair. “Well, I just saw you from across the cafeteria and I couldn’t understand why we hadn’t met yet.” You glance at your friends, an eyebrow raised. They all watch intrigued. “So, you were watching me?” You say, tossing a glance at Steve. 

His eyes grow wide, his mouth opening and closing with no words coming out. “No- yes- I-“ You giggle as Steve stammers, glancing at your friends again as you hear them giggle. Steve frowns, not understanding where his confidence is lacking. He was normally so good at this. “What I mean is, I thought you were really pretty, I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out sometime? Jason Carver is having a party Saturday night, maybe we could go together.”

Before you could reply, the bell rang, students scrambling from all corners of the cafeteria to flee to their next class. All your friends sit motionless, unphased by the bell ringing, waiting to hear if you’ll go with Steve to the party. You fold your trash neatly, taking your time. Steve stands up as you swing your legs over the bench seat. “I should be going; I don’t want to be late for class,” you say innocently, shooting Steve a small smile. 

Steve frowns as you slide past him, your back turning as you walk away. Steve crosses his arms across his chest, his ego slightly bruised, as you become the first girl to reject his advances. Well, that won’t do, not for Steve at least. He doesn’t give up easily. Across the cafeteria, he sees Carol and Tommy laughing, shaking their heads at him, their eyes flickering to you as you saunter casually out of the cafeteria, your friends close behind. 

For the next half of school, Steve’s mind is preoccupied on how you escaped him, his usual charm and good looks not working on you. Steve had asked around about you, questioning various friends if they knew you. Some shook their head, others nodded, offering kind words about you: ‘She’s cool,’ ‘She’s got a good sense of humor,’ ‘She normally doesn’t date; she says she wants to focus on getting into a good college.’ It was apparent that you were going to be a tough one to crack, and normally Steve would have given up, but you intrigued him. 

The final bell hand rung, to Steve’s delight, and while he walked out of the hall towards the parking lot, relief that he was one day closer to the weekend. Steve liked the social aspect of school though he could do without the academic learning. 

As Steve walked towards the doors that leads to the parking lot, he swings his car keys around on his pointer finger, his mind wandering to you. Were you charmed by him and trying not to show it or was it hopeless to try and ask you out until you said yes? Wouldn’t hurt to try is what Steve settled on. 

Pushing the doors open and joining the rest of the school population that flees to catch a bus or a ride with their friends, he saunters across the parking lot, his freshly washed BMW sparkling against the sunlight. Just then, you walk passed him, your backpack slung over your shoulder. Before Steve can have a second thought, he picks up his pace, sliding up next to you. “Hello, y/n. Need a ride home?” Steve asks, tossing a pleasant smile towards you. 

You roll your eyes towards Steve. “No, I’m all set. Do you need something?” 

Steve raises her eyebrows, his eyes shifting from you to the parking lot that’s stretched out in front of him. “Just finishing our conversation that was interrupted by the bell earlier.” 

You laugh softly, shaking your head. You're amused that Steve conveniently neglects to remember that you were utterly uninterested in his offer and it was that fact, not the bell, that you left him in the cafeteria. “Yeah, it was totally interrupted by the bell.”   

Steve laughs too, missing the sarcasm that laces your tone. “Yeah, so what do you think?” 

“What do I think about what?” you ask simply, knowing that Steve is referring to Jason Carver’s party. 

“The party. Going with me.” Steve says, slowing down as you reach your own car. “It would be a lot of fun, casual if you want.” 

You shove your key into the door, unlocking it with a single twist. You lean down, tossing your backpack into the passenger seat, crouching down to sit in your car. “Jason Carver’s parties aren’t really my thing; parties in general aren’t really my thing.” 

A slight panic settles in Steve’s chest. “W-We can go out to eat instead.” 

You offer a sickly-sweet smile, your eyes squinting against the bright sunlight. You wave your manicured hand, offering a small wave. “Bye, Steve.” You slam your driver’s door shut, turning your car on swiftly.. 

Feeling defeated, Steve slinks away back towards his car, formulating a new plan in his mind. 

The following day, Steve brought a new sense confidence to school. He was going to ask you, again, to go out and hopefully you would be enticed to give him a chance - you had to give him a chance, right?

It was then, as he was walking out of chemistry, his head aching from the sound of Mr. Erickson droning on and on about isotopes and ions, that he spots you exchanging your textbooks in your locker, your pink frilly dress catching his attention. Before he can change his mind, he turns in your direction, striding over to you. “The offer is still open.” Steve says, leaning his body against the locker next to yours. 

You glance at him, the corner of your mouth upturning into a smile. “Hello, Steve. Stalking me again, I see.” 

Steve lets out a nervous laugh, leaning towards you. You smell his heavy cologne, the faint smell of hair gel. “I just saw you when I came out of Erickson’s class, it was pure coincidence.” You roll your eyes, batting your thick, mascara covered eyelashes at Steve. “Well, then.” 

Steve waits a beat, his eyes taking you in. He watches as you lift your thick U.S History book into the top shelf of your locker, exchanging it for an AP Spanish textbook, locks of your hair shading your face from his glance. “So, what do you say?"

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You never give up, do you?” You were amused, to say the least; boys have pursued you before, but seldom avidly enough to show up in the middle of the hallways, pestering your further. 

Steve shakes his head, “I don’t, and I won’t. I want to get to know you.” You suck your cheeks in, your lips puckering. You squint, making eye contact with Steve. “Why me?” 

Steve shrugs. “I’ve asked around about you, everyone has only good things to say. You’re pretty too, taking AP Spanish so you must be smart. I barely passed Spanish one.” You laugh again, holding your text books against your chest. “So, you’ve asked around about me, too. You aren’t very coy, Steve Harrington.”

Steve sighs in his head, wondering why he’s so loose lipped all of a sudden. His skin heats up, nervous sweat gathering at his hairline. “So, is that a yes?” 

“No,” you say, turning on your heel towards your Spanish classroom that is a few doors down from your locker. You glance over to your left as you realize Steve has joined you for the short walk. 

“Well, is that a no?” Steve asks glancing back at you. He realizes your classroom is close by as you begin to turn into the doorway. 

“No,” You say simply, standing in the doorway. He notices your playful smile, the way two dimples appear at the corner of your mouth, adorning your plush lips. You linger for a second, then move into your classroom. 

“I’ll pick you up at 9:30, then.” Steve calls after you, noticing students who walk past in the hallway giving him an odd look. He watches as you lift your hand, offering a wave, without turning around. Steve leaves the door, satisfied, though he knows he shouldn’t expect you to ease up on him in the near future. He’s got his work cut out for him. 

As you sit in your Spanish class, ignoring the lesson that’s happening around you, your mind swirls around Steve. You were breaking your own rules by entertaining Steve; you had made a vow that you’d ignore boys in high school, they were useless anyway, and focus on your school work, making sure you got high grades to get into a great college. It’s only for one night though, going to Jason Carver’s party wouldn’t ruin your potential of getting into Harvard. 

Saturday comes quickly, in the shape of a whirlwind in fact, and you stand in front of your closet, hands on your hips, as you survey your outfit options for the party that starts shortly. Steve would be around any minute. You decide to settle on a simple purple dress, tight around your waist, cut off at your mid-thigh. It was pretty, yet casual and effortless at the same time. 

While you waited for Steve to show up, your door wide open to ensure you wouldn’t miss the doorbell ring, you sit at the edge of your bed, English textbook resting in your lap. Studying before you left is the only way you wouldn’t feel guilty for leaving your pile of homework to go to Jason Carver’s party. 

After only a few minutes, the doorbell rings, echoing throughout your home. You grab your purse, slipping on short heels on the way out of your room. With small ‘clack’ noises, you make your way down the stairs, opening the door to meet Steve. 

"Well, don’t you clean up nice,” you coo, noticing the effort Steve put into his appearance. Nothing knew, you supposed, he was well known for being full of himself, standing in the mirrors staring at himself in the boys bathroom. 

Steve shrugs, his eyes unable to pull away for the way your dress hugs your body tightly. “You t-too,” he stammers, tucking his hands into his pockets. You roll your eyes, stepping out of your house, closing the door gently behind you. Steve follows you to his car, unbeknownst to you, getting a good look at your backside. 

Since he asked you to the party, you're all Steve can think about. Though he doesn't know you well, you fascinate him, drawing him in to learn more about you.

When Steve pulls up to Jason Carver’s house, the party is already in full swing. Cars clutter the halfmoon shaped driveway, people lingering all about the yard. Inside, grey smoke lingers in the hair, congesting your nose and throat. Loud music blares throughout the house, echoing onto the front lawn. It’s almost impossible to get inside the front door, too many scantily clad bodies filling the narrow hallways. 

Steve leads, grasping at your hand to bring you along with him. Under his touch, you shiver, feeling uneasy as being seen as Steve’s newest conquest. Whatever, you think, I’ll act as if I don’t know him tomorrow, it’s not a big deal.

As you weave through the thick crowd, people clap Steve’s back, mumbling ‘what’s up’ to him happily. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your friend Heather standing in the corner, surrounded by a few of your other friends. You feel a sense of relief, feeling annoyed with being associated with Steve. You wriggle out of his grasp, his head turning to glance at you. 

“I’ll catch up with you later,” you say, turning right into the living room. The kitchen, where Steve is headed, is to the left, in the opposite direction you’re headed in. Steve stands awkwardly, frowning at your decision to abandon him. “O-Okay.” He watches as you weave through the small crowd that’s gathered in the living room, slinging your arms over your friends, all of them welcoming you happily. 

When Steve has brough other girls to parties, they always opted to stay close by him, never leaving his side. Steve shrugs it off, weaving his way through the crowd that’s gathered in the kitchen. He makes it to the table, an array of alcoholic beverages strewn about. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Tommy lingering off to the side, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. They make eye contact, Tommy pushing himself off the wall to make his way towards Steve. 

“Where’s your girlfriend, Harrington?” Tommy says, watching at Steve carefully selects his drink of choice. 

“With her friends.” Steve says simply, his pride dripping away by the second. 

Tommy sighs loudly, shaking his head. “She’s not too impressed with King Steve, huh. That’s a first.” He claps Steve’s back, his fingers digging into his shoulder.

“I wish you’d stop calling me that.” Steve mumbles, popping the tab of his beer can open.  Tommy laughs loudly, shaking his head. He offers Steve a pitiful look, squeezing back through the crowd to find Carol. 

Steve takes a swig of his beer, the cold liquid flowing down his throat. He suddenly has the urge to get wasted to attempt to heal his deeply bruised ego. Annoyed with the reality that you aren’t impressed with him as much as everyone else, he flees the kitchen, beer in hand, as his eyes scan the rooms of the Carver household to find you. Steve finds you sitting on the arm of a sofa chair, legs neatly crossed, beer in your hand, as you laugh with your friends who are strewn about the sofa. 

Noticing Steve standing off to the side, you turn your head, a smile already plaster on your face. "Steve."

"Enjoying the party?" Steve asks, his voice wavering. You shrug, taking a sip of your beer. "It's nice enough."

Steve stands awkwardly, your friends eyes lingering on him. Steve clears his throat, unsure of what to say. "Feel like dancing?"

Your friends giggle; Steve's awkwardness is so unfamiliar to them all, his confidence is well known across Hawkins High population. It was clear that you are what makes Steve nervous. "I'm good, I'm sure there's someone else that want's to dance though." You say, gesturing towards the crowd of teens that linger around the Carver household.

Steve frowns. He came to the party with you and you're telling him to find someone to bump and grind with? "I want to dance with you, not some other girl."

You raise your eyebrows, impressed by Steve talking back to you for the first time. You were getting a little bored with passing Steve off, his inability to function around you, seemingly nervous, was charming.

You look towards your friends; they shrug, mouthing "be nice," and "go dance." You sigh, kicking yourself off the arm of the sofa chair. "Fine, let's dance."

Weaving through the thickening crowd, Steve grasps your hand tightly, bringing you to the back porch where people have clustered together to dance. A boombox is set to the side on the ground, music blasting loudly with music from the radio. Groups of couples and friend groups gather together, their bodies moving rhythmically to the music.

Pulling you into the crowd, Steve places his hands on your waist, his fingers tightening on your hips. Feeling a little bold, maybe even flirty, you push your front against Steve, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

Similar to wilting flowers, both you and Steve bend forward, your foreheads pressing together, as you sway energetically, your bodies bobbing up and down, side to side. You can't help but smile, your tough exterior slipping away. Steve was just a simple guy, his title of 'king Steve' was obviously just a persona he felt the need to act like. He seems innocent, caring. You were starting to like this version of Steve you have in front of you.

"You're beautiful, you know." Steve says, his arms tightening around you. "I don't think you're as tough as you like to seem."

You laugh, shaking your head. "You aren't what I thought you'd be, Steve Harrington."

Steve laughs, his eyes twinkling against the back porch lights the gleam against the dark night. "No? How am I different?"

You shrug. "I don't think you're as much of an asshole as you like to seem. I bet you're sickeningly sweet under all that."

Steve's nose wrinkles, his cheeks flushing pink. "I guess you'll have to find out then, get to know me more." Steve dips his face lower to yours, his lips hovering over your lips. You can smell the light scent of sweet beer and the smell of his cologne distorting your senses. You bite your lip, leaning in a centimeter further. "I guess so."

Eventually you and Steve get bored of the Carver party, the excitement coming to a slowing halt. You're exhausted, your body losing all of your energy on the dance floor with Steve; your feet hurt and you curse yourself for wearing kitten heels to a party.

Steve drives you home; the windows rolled down allowing the warm air to seep into the car, the soft wind blowing your hair around. You lean against the car window, feeling the air blow across your face. You smile, feeling content with the way your night has gone with Steve.

Steve pulls his car gently up to the front of your house, the outside lights flicked on, waiting for your arrival. You unbuckle your seatbelt, turning in your seat to glance at Steve. "Thank you for tonight," you say, folding your hands into your lap. "I, surprisingly, had a lot of fun."

Steve laughs softly, nodding. His hands tighten on the wheel. "My pleasure, I also had a lot of fun."

You smile, silence rolling over you and Steve. You sit back in your seat, biting your lip. Before you can speak, Steve fills in the silence. "Would you want to go out sometime, on a proper date I mean?"

You nod. "I'd love to."

[max1461]

Thinking about different websites...

The worldview of redditors is really Bronze Age or perhaps Iron Age in a truly interesting way. Deeply transactional, concerned with honor and commanding honor, with everything founded on property relations. The comments of any AITA post will evince this. It is "patriarchal" not in the sense of being misogynistic (which it sometimes is and sometimes isn't), but in the sense that it is structurally like the morality of the archetypal Patriarch of the isolated family unit, very Indo-European. The Man who rules his own little kingdom, his family, and who deals with other such Men through a certain kind of economically-inspired honor code. Most redditors are liberal enough that they deal with their spouses as other Men though, and indeed with their children once they reach a certain age. But I think even this has some historical precedent.

It's all about who has the Right to do what, you see, it's about who can and who can't and who must. Very Norse, very Bronze Age, very Indo-European. The redditor sees themself (actually or aspirationally) as on top and as agentic. They speak positively of learning hard lessons and of teaching hard lessons. Their world is a world of contracts, not abstract and mathematical but specific and personal.

This is notably not the ideology of 4chan, which anyone who's been on that site much should know. 4chan's ideology is much less confident in itself. The 4channer sees themself as beneath, not on top, either with acceptance or with resentment. Frantz Fanon might have something to say about it. The 4channer is the subaltern.

And here? I was going to say that tumblrianas are somewhat domesticated, but I don't think this is exactly right. It's more like the world-sense of eunuchs in a harem, desperate for stimulation. Scholastic (though not scholarly) and estranged from the world—from normalcy—for reasons they can't escape. And they know this, and have mostly elected not to try. "Eh", say they, "I will read about life in one of my books," or perhaps just as commonly "I will simulate an outside-life in here with the other eunuchs, and it will be better than what they can make on the outside anyway". Maybe that's true; it probably depends on you and your eunuch crew.

I don't think I'm any of these types of guy. I've spent more of my life as a lurker than a poster. Lurkers are a whole other type of deal.

This is of course all "bullshit" you must understand.

[dorothylarouge]

Dorothy's Top Five Games of 2024

Honorable Mentions:

Suzerain: A gripping and fully-developed world of politics and international relations, Suzerain released its Rizia DLC this year, and I played through both it and the main campaign. Its realistic portrayal of political and economic processes, in the backdrop of a world almost our own, proved extremely addictive.

Goodbye Volcano High: A heartfelt and moving interactive animated miniseries about coming of age in apocalyptic times, with some great indie rock-flavored music.

We Love Katamari Reroll: A delightful followup to the original Katamari Damacy, We Love Katamari is more of the same - and what more could you ask?

Sea of Stars: A beautiful love letter to classic JRPGs, with gorgeous environments, delightful timing-based combat, endearing characters, and wonderful music, including guest tracks composed by legend Yasunori Mitsuda.

Dragon Age: the Veilguard: Now the story of a studio who lost everything, and the one game that had no choice but to get them back on track. It’s Arrested Development.

And now, the list proper.

Fifth Place: Penny's Big Breakaway (Evening Star)

I have a tremendous soft spot for 3D platformers. Some of my earliest memories of video games involve playing Super Mario Sunshine, Sonic Adventure 2, and Spyro (the bad one) on GameCube.

Penny's Big Breakaway feels like a refugee from that era of platformer, one which would have felt at home on the Dreamcast, GameCube, or even the original Xbox or PlayStation 2. It combines energetic, almost frantic platforming with a high skill ceiling and combo system with a turn-of-the-century graphical aesthetic and fantastic music by Tee Lopes to provide a return to form for a genre which has for too long been permitted to languish.

As with most 3D platformers, story is not a major focus. You play as Penny, a yo-yo-toting busker who ends up running afoul of an emperor and must escape imprisonment by his army of colorful penguins. That's it. That's all you need. This simple premise provides ample excuse for Penny to run, jump, and roll her way through a host of themed worlds. Sometimes, less is more.

With that said, this is not a perfect game. The controls take a lot of time and effort to master, and even after a good amount of play time one is liable to fling oneself off of the map. Health powerups are not as plentiful as they should be, especially in boss encounters, and a lack of camera control can be downright painful at times. Still, these complaints do not ruin the game, and hopefully they can be addressed in a sequel.

The developers of Sonic Mania have created a true gem with this, the debut game from new studio Evening Star, and I look forward to seeing what the studio comes out next - like the best platformer mascots, Penny has the charisma and style to inspire adventures for years to come.

Fourth Place: Neva (Nomada Studio)

Neva is the latest release from Nomada Studio, creators of the brilliant game Gris, and where Gris was a parable of grief and loss, Neva is an ecological fable in which a girl and her dog must make their way through an increasingly-ravaged natural world beset by decay and corruption.

The core gameplay of Neva builds and iterates upon what was seen in Gris, with a dash, double jump, and ground pound, but added in are a sword, which main character Alba uses to fight enemies as well as unlock obstacles, and abilities involving the titular dog which are unlocked over the course of the game. The combat is fun but fairly rudimentary, and I saw it as a garnish on the real focus of the game, which is robust and engaging puzzle platforming of the kind that made Gris such a delight.

The game, as expected of Nomada Studio, is gorgeous, with a beautiful art style, impeccable sound design, brilliant use of color, and haunting, atmospheric music. The level design is also excellent, spanning a number of natural environments which are slowly but surely overtaken by the creeping decay, as well as man-made structures resembling those in Gris, which are also crumbling and in a state of decay. The degradation of nature and collapse of the structures of man are linked in Neva, giving rise to uncomfortable thoughts about the state of the world today.

Neva is defined by cycles, cycles of life, death, decomposition, and the cycle of the seasons, which give each of the game's four chapters their names. The game ends in an echo of its beginning, a beautiful and bittersweet ending I will not spoil here.

Neva is a hauntingly beautiful, if frustratingly short, gaming experience which I think will stay with me for a long time. I felt compelled to hug my dog after it was done.

Third Place: Metaphor: ReFantazio (Studio Zero)

When Metaphor was first announced, the impression that everyone got was that it was fantasy Persona, with a large amount of development staff carried over from the Hashino Persona games, a lot of mechanics and systems carried over from those games, and even some summonable demons from the mainline Persona and Shin Megami Tensei games. Commentators made note that this was fantasy Persona. Journalists endlessly referred to it as fantasy Persona. Reviewers regarded it as fantasy Persona. It was such a cliche, so aggravating to fans, that it became verboten in the fanbase to refer to the game as fantasy Persona.

Metaphor: ReFantazio is fantasy Persona. This is in no way a bad thing. As in the Hashino Persona games, there is an emphasis on social simulation, with the main character forging bonds with his party members and honing his social skills - not to self-actualize as a social being, as in Persona, but to prove his mettle and worthiness as a king to a kingdom cast into chaos after the last king's murder.

It is this emphasis on fantasy that sets Metaphor apart. The game is constantly musing on fantasy tropes and the transformative nature of the genre, and it has a surprising amount to say about the appeal of fantasy narratives, to say nothing of its overarching themes of prejudice and self-determination.

In terms of gameplay, Metaphor actually takes a lot more from the Press Turn system of Shin Megami Tensei than the One More system of Persona, and it took me a while to get into the groove of it. Once I did, though, I had a great time chaining attacks to strike at opponents' weaknesses and finishing my turns with devastating damage via the game's Synthesis mechanic. The game's central gameplay feature, the Archetype system - a sort of job system like those in Sqaure Enix RPGs - was also something I took to readily after some initial fiddling. The game lets you mix and match abilities from different archetypes via the skill inheritance system, and I had a lot of fun creating an ideal build for each playable character.

And then, of course, there's the characters. Metaphor features a large cast of characters, and I was happy to see that all of the social link equivalents featured strong and compelling narratives that made the time needed to invest in each rank of their story a worthy commitment. In particular, I found the narratives of Eupha, Heismay, and Maria especially compelling, and the bonuses provided through spending time with them to be particularly valuable.

Metaphor: ReFantazio is fantasy Persona. And that's a good thing! It's a great game, and I hope it's one that gets revisited sooner rather than later. Studio Zero have produced a real gem for their debut title, and I really hope they keep the momentum going.

Second Place: Ghost of Tsushima: Director's Cut (Sucker Punch Productions)

I am a huge fan of the works of director Akira Kurosawa - Throne of Blood is my favorite film of all time - and the jidaigeki genre of samurai films in general, so when I learned that Sucker Punch was making a game inspired by the genre I was filled with excitement which turned to dismay when I learned that the game would be PlayStation exclusive. Thankfully, though, little stays PlayStation exclusive for long, and I was happy to finally play Ghost of Tsushima when its Director's Cut released on PC this year.

The setup of Ghost of Tsushima is pretty simple, and slots in nicely with its genre - you play as Jin Sakai, the sole survivor of a massacre of samurai at the hands of invading Mongols, and must use all the tools at your disposal to free the jito, your uncle, and liberate your island home of Tsushima. Along the way, you begin to chafe at the code of honor you are expected to uphold as a samurai and as your uncle's heir apparent. While Ghost does have a simple premise, it is its characters, and their struggles and dreams, which kept me invested throughout the experience.

The game's combat is consistently satisfying, with the player rotating through various swordfighting stances to counter specific enemy types, while also having access to a bow, bombs, poison darts, and various quickfire items which can disrupt enemies and allow you to control the flow of combat. It's a fun system to master and learn how to get through any encounter without taking any damage. Occasionally the game also puts you in one on one duels with certain enemies, which are always fantastic - the one at the end of the game especially.

Where Ghost really shines, though, is in its exploration. I wouldn't call Ghost of Tsushima a true open world game - the player's access to the island's various regions is gated by story progression, and you unlock more of Tsushima as you progress, while having free reign of any area you have access to at any given time. The game heavily rewards exploration with a variety of activities and collectibles, which differentiate themselves from the typical Ubisoft-style open world icons by being fun, useful, and engaging. You'll scale mountains to reach a shrine to a kami, or rest for a while in a hot spring to increase your health, or (anachronistically as the art form did not exist in the 13th century) compose a haiku to earn a new piece of cosmetic gear. You'll also follow a number of character-based side stories, one-off side quests, and mythic tales which unlock powerful abilities and armor, all of which are extremely engaging and memorable. I would liken Ghost of Tsushima to last year's Tears of the Kingdom in terms of just how good it feels to explore and discover the island of Tsushima's beautiful environments, and uncover all of its secrets.

As a lover of the genre, I could barely put Ghost of Tsushima down in my initial playthrough of over 70 hours. It more than earns its spot on the list, but there's just one game I think left even more of a mark on me this year.

First Place: Persona 3 Reload (P-Studio)

I am a recent convert to the Persona series, having first played Persona 5 Royal in 2022 and playing Persona 4 Golden when it released on Xbox in 2023. However, I have fallen deeply in love with the series, and when Persona 3 Reload was announced I made the decision that I had to play it on release day. I called out of work and preordered the game - something I never do - and through a combination of being trapped in my home by a massive storm and losing my job the next week, I ended up plowing through Persona 3 Reload in about a week. I simply couldn't put the game down.

I had very little knowledge of the story or characters of Persona 3, having never played my copy of Persona 3 Portable since this game was announced so soon after that released, and so experiencing this narrative for the first time was an experience I'll never forget. Persona 3 is a game about death which is simultaneously extremely life-affirming, celebrating the relationships, connections, and simple joys that make life worth living, while embracing the fact that everyone must someday die and using that fact as motivation to live every day to the fullest. It is a moving, emotional story anchored by rich, engaging characters. I cried several times throughout.

The gameplay of Persona 3 Reload, a refinement on the turn-based systems of previous entries, is polished to a shine, and I found myself blowing through whole blocks of Tartarus, the game's only dungeon, in a single in-game night due to how engaging and addictive the combat felt. It felt extremely rewarding to find effective combos and a synergistic team that could raise each character's Theurgy gauge as quickly as possible, and the structure of Tartarus hooked me in surprisingly effectively, given that I wasn't a big fan of Persona 4's TV Wortld dungeons, or Persona 5's Mementos, dungeons with a similar structure to Tartarus. It helps that there's a surprising amount to do in Tartarus, from rescuing lost civilians to fulfilling requests for the Velvet Room attendant Elizabeth to exploring the various Monad Doors and plundering their rare items.

Persona 3 Reload is a very special game, one that I think will stick with me for a very long time. I can easily see why fans had been clamoring for a remake for so long, and I am extremely grateful that we finally got this game as a result. It is a genuine masterpiece, and easily takes the title of my game of the year.

[lockes-woods]

Kinktober '24 Day 10

Request: modern au, professor shanks( his topic of teaching is up to you) college student afab reader, dom shanks, sub reader. reader starts falling behind in his class and nobody has time to help her because its near exams n stuff ( im not 100% familiar ) so shanks offers to help her out. i guess kinda semi public, in a library, use of vibrator reward system, fingering, degradation when she gets stuff wrong, that kind of thing if you catch me drift, totes cool if it ends with sex. ( for kinktober )

Warnings: PIV, Shanks teasing, vibrator, cockwarming, desk sex.

A/N: Will edit tomorrow when more coherent

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Aw, sweetheart we just reviewed this model today, this should be easy.” Shanks chastised you. You didn’t even need to turn your head to see his smirk; it was clear in his voice. You whined as he clicked the vibrator he was holding against your clit up to the next speed of vibration. You had been cockwarming him for the better part of the last hour and it was driving you crazy. All you had to do was answer five questions in a row correctly and then he’d let you cum without punishment. When you got a question wrong it not only ended the streak, but it also meant that the vibrator he was holding flush with your clit would go up a vibration setting. If you came before then he was gonna see that you wouldn’t cum until exam season was over. The main problem was, you’d get four down, before he’d quiz you on a model you had no idea how to interpret.

While you had gotten better since the midterm, there was no way you were going to excel at macroeconomics. You knew reasonably that it was one of those classes that, while it technically applied to your major, you would never use in the real world. Fuck the midterm was the only reason you were sat here, with the tip of your professor’s cock kissing your cervix. While you knew you didn’t need this class to excel at your career, you did need to keep and maintain a high enough GPA to stay in the honor’s program. That program qualified you for scholarships and grants that allowed you to study your passion at all. When you came close to failing the course with your pathetic midterm grade you started to go to every single office hour session your professor offered.

Over the past six weeks you two have gotten close. You were almost always the only one attending office hours, if others did attend, they didn’t stay for the entire session. It had been roughly three weeks since there was a shift in your professional relationship. It was at his latest office hours he held on Friday nights. You had come in an actually put together outfit, not your normal comfy clothing. Your friend was planning on setting you up on a date that you would never get to. You had been going over one of the dozens of economic models you needed to not only memorize the effect of, but also interpret and apply the information given when you became acutely aware of how close you were to your professor. You sat shoulder to shoulder as you leaned down to get a better understanding of the graph, unaware of the perfect angle of cleavage you were unintentionally showing your very attractive professor. You don’t remember exactly how, but you quickly switched from him teaching you, to you straddling his lap in a heated make out session. You had only given him head that night, but since then he had incorporated a sexual element to each of your study sessions. The most embarrassing part was that you were genuinely doing better in the class since your relationship had turned unprofessional. It wasn’t from him giving you extra grace while grading, if anything he had gotten harsher, you just needed that bit of motivation to keep your focus.

“Fuck, please Sir,” you whined, you were getting desperate at his unintentional edging. It was always at this point in the night that you questioned if he had purposefully made it harder for you to complete his challenge, or if you were just really that dumb.

“I’m sorry baby, you know the rules I set for tonight. You can always give up, but you won’t cum if you don’t play.” He gently reminded you, before adding, “And if you succumb and do cum without my permission you won’t be getting any more relief for the next week and a half. Though that option seems to be more and more likely.”

You let out a groan, clicking on the next set of questions he had set up for you. Now fueled by proving him wrong. You got through the first two in a breeze, the third one was hard, but you had just answered right enough that he counted it, the fourth had you stumped but the pulse of him deep inside of you kept you determined. It was now not just about cumming it was proving him wrong. After a moment you went out on a limb and were thankfully rewarded with the correct answer. Now came the fifth question. Fuck you could feel him pulsing and twitching against you; he was so deep inside of you that you felt like you could cum on the spot. You took a deep breath through your nose and keyed into the last question. You recognized it as information that you had just gone over earlier today. Fuck, you groaned internally. He had you wear a remote operated vibrator today. He had kept it on low the entire class, but it garnered almost all of your attention regardless.

Okay, Fuck, Focus; you chastised yourself.

“Aw, baby you’re wasting your time. Why don’t you just cum? It’d feel so good.” He taunted you, “I’d love to make a mess of your pussy” he grunted as you involuntarily clenched around him, “It’s only a matter of time, you can give up now or be forced to give up when I turned up the vibrator. We both know how sensitive your little clity is.”

You took a deep breath his taunting only lit a fire under you. While it wasn’t always a good thing, your stubbornness kept you strong throughout his comments. You reread the question, taking time to break down each component. You slowly worked your way through the problem before leaning back against his chest. After a cursory checking you hit the submit button. A smile broke across your face as the green checkmark glowed on the screen.

“Fuck, good girl,” he said, rewarding you with a sweet kiss.

A gasp escaped you as he pulled back and quickly slammed his laptop shut and moved it to the side. He covered your mouth with his hand as he shifted you position so that you were now bent down over his desk; vibrator lost somewhere in the process.

“Be a good girl and be quiet, okay?” he said, before you were even able to give a response, he slammed into you hard. He was as desperate if not more desperate than you to get to yours, and his inevitable release. Your eyes widened as you took in the light still on across the hallway to his office mates’ area. He had never taken you before with someone else in the vicinity. He only ever fucked you after hours. You were left stunned for a moment, before the steady hard drags of his cock took all your attention. You could feel all the stress of the last hour melt away as he quickened his pace and began to fuck you with intent. You gasped against his hand, clenching down on him hard.

“Fuck, just like that, good girl.” He groaned, picking up his pace as you only tightened more.

“Fuck, Sir I’m going to-” you started,

“Fuck, go ahead baby, you’re doing so good,” he groaned. You let out a silent scream under his palm as you pulsed around him. He grunted, as he continued to thrust into you well past your release. You were a whimpering mess on his desk, as he used you how he pleased. His hips stuttering was the only warning you got before his grip became bruising. His final thrust was hard and purposeful as he came deep inside you.

You could only whimper as he eased out of you, pulled up your underwear and flipped your skirt back down.

“You okay baby?” he asked, tucking himself back into his pants before pulling you back down so that you were flush against him. You could only whine, still coming down from your high.

“I’m okay,” you said in a small voice, once you finally felt back home back in your body.

“Good,” he said kissing you temple, “I’m excited to see what you get on the exam.”

“Really?” you asked, tilting your head slightly to the side.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, “You’ve come so far since the midterm, and I don’t just mean that in the literal sense.” He said with a smirk. You only rolled your eyes at him.

“You’re such a dork,” You said, sharing a laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MASTERLIST

A/N: Thank you as always for taking the time to read! Stay tuned for Fatgum x AFAB! Reader

[jcmarchi]

SPURS Fellowships offer time out to reflect, learn, and connect

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/spurs-fellowships-offer-time-out-to-reflect-learn-and-connect/

SPURS Fellowships offer time out to reflect, learn, and connect

Sixteen international mid-career urban planners and public administrators recently bid farewell to the MIT campus, having completed a 10-month exploration of North American education and culture designed to expand their professional networks and infuse their work with new insights as they return to influential positions in government agencies, private firms, and other organizations throughout the developing world.

Hailing from Argentina, Bhutan, China, Egypt, Honduras, India, Kosovo, Mexico, Nepal, Pakistan, Trinidad & Tobago, Yemen, and Zimbabwe, they comprise this year’s group of MIT Special Program for Urban and Regional Studies (SPURS) Fellows. Founded in the Department of Urban Studies and Planning in 1967, SPURS has drawn from 135 countries to host more than 750 mid-career individuals who are or will be shaping policy in their home countries. Along with admitting several fellows directly into SPURS, MIT has competed successfully to be among 13 U.S. universities that also host a larger group of fellows annually selected and funded by the U.S. Department of State’s Hubert H. Humphrey Fellowship Program.

Recipients of the Humphrey Fellowship have their travel to the United States, living expenses, and other costs fully financed by the U.S. State Department. Perhaps equally valuable — and some say unique among international fellowships — is a focus that frees all fellows to explore beyond classroom teachings to learn, and advance their professional development without the pressure of earning a degree.

“This is the best reward of my life, this year at MIT and Cambridge in general,” says Carina Arvizu-Machado of Mexico, former cities director for Mexico and Colombia at the World Resources Institute and Mexico’s former national deputy secretary of urban development and housing, who is sponsored by the Humphrey Fellowship. “I think this year of stepping back and stepping out of the active life that we have as professionals and being able to reflect, to learn, to exchange ideas — it’s very useful.”

Arvizu-Machado’s sentiments are echoed by many past and present fellows, says Bish Sanyal, MIT’s Ford International Professor of Urban Development and Planning and director of SPURS since 2004.

“The fellows mention that this one year has given them a real opportunity to reflect on what they have done in the past and what they are going to do in the future,” he says, adding that the value of developing professional networks with peers in other developing countries can’t be overstated. “Some have never met colleagues from another country before. The program provides the ideal setting to reflect on professional challenges, collectively, without political concerns which stifle frank deliberation in their home countries.”

While some SPURS Fellows might not be well-traveled before coming to MIT, they are nonetheless a uniformly “very highly motivated and politically powerful group,” Sanyal says — movers and shakers in their home countries in fields such as urban planning, economics, governance, and business development. Some notable alumni include the current managing director of the International Monetary Fund, a former CEO of the World Bank, former ambassadors to the United States from Colombia and Haiti, the corporate vice president of strategic programming of Banco de Desarrollo de América Latina or CAF (Latin America’s largest development bank), and a Nepalese Supreme Court justice.

“When the Ebola outbreak happened in Africa, the person who headed the Ebola response team in Liberia was a SPURS Fellow,” Sanyal says.

The benefits of having a such an accomplished and cosmopolitan group of people on campus flow both ways, says Allan Goodman, CEO of the Institute of International Education (IIE), which administers the Humphrey Fellowship for the state department.

“It really enriches MIT … and all the places that are participating,” Goodman says. “The undergraduate and graduate students interact with the fellows, and they wouldn’t ordinarily have that chance. You have a ready-made group of international consultants who are focused on the theme of your department.”

Each university participating in the Humphrey Fellowship program is assigned fellows based on a specific area of expertise. With SPURS housed within the Department of Urban Studies and Planning at MIT, the programmatic focus is on urban and regional planning. Sanyal remarks that this focus is deliberate and consistent regardless of whether fellows are sponsored by the U.S. Department of State or other agencies from the fellows’ home countries. One difference, however, is that Humphrey Fellows are required to be professionally affiliated for at least six weeks with U.S.-based organizations in their areas of work or interest — an engagement described as a cross between an internship and pro-bono consultancy that provides fellows the opportunity to develop professional relationships with U.S. practitioners.

Peter Moran, director of the Humphrey program at IIE, says the biggest value to fellows at MIT and other participating universities is the ability to step out of their past professional lives and reflect from a fresh perspective on their professional aspirations to serve their nations in an interconnected world. In the process, they also benefit from the relationships with other fellows and professional partnerships that last years after they return home.

“To say it broadens your perspective really undersells it,” he says. “The diversity of the fellows is remarkable. It’s a lot of the world … and we are putting them all around the table together.”

By continuing to put fellows from diverse corners of the world together for over 50 years, SPURS has sparked lasting partnerships between fellows, as well as among SPURS alumni, MIT faculty and students, and other professionals they encounter during their time in Cambridge.

Two factors are key to maintaining the high quality of the program, Sanyal says.

First, additional funding could strengthen the program, and, to that end, he envisions sponsoring financially sustainable relationships with over a dozen local, national, and international agencies as long-term partners.

The second challenge is to revise the program’s objective in a rapidly changing world. This is harder to surmount. When SPURS was established in 1967, Sanyal says, there was widely held public perception that the United States ought to look outward to help democratic nations of the world.

“I think the challenge now is that many countries, including the U.S., are looking inward,” Sanyal says, adding that this inward turn increases the importance that SPURS develops a diverse portfolio of funding sources.

As Arvizu-Machado prepared to return to Mexico this spring, she recounted myriad positive experiences enabled by her fellowship — from lectures she was invited to give and graduate courses she attended to practicing yoga with her undergraduate dorm mates.

“Most important, I think, is the people I’ve met,” she says. “This includes, foremost, the other fellows. They are just amazing people. They have become part of my family. But also, some of the faculty and the extended network which this fellowship allows you to have access to. I’m very grateful to be part of this program.”

One of Arvizu-Machado’s co-fellows, Tenzin Jamtsho, agrees that the opportunity for personal connections with other fellows as well as with faculty highly respected in their fields is the aspect of SPURS that will continue to resonate when he returns to his native Bhutan. Jamtsho, director of administration and finance at Bhutan’s Druk Gyalpo’s Institute (formerly the Royal Academy), who is sponsored by the Humphrey Fellowship, says he pursued the fellowship after colleagues at home told him it would be “life changing.” His actual experience at MIT affirmed this expectation.

Jamtsho says the MIT campus offers fellows a “free-flowing environment” for learning, with opportunities to take whatever classes they’re interested in. During his fellowship, Jamtsho says he came to appreciate different ways to approach challenges — viewing problems through a “systems lens,” which he calls “a valuable skill that I am taking back home.”

Also returning to Bhutan with Jamtsho are some less-tangible aspects of his time at MIT.

“I’ve been fortunate to interact with people who are very intelligent and passionate,” he says. “What I’m going to take home is the kindness and humility of these people.”

[beesofink]

Laylaaman's Story (So Far)

Ever since 79 years back, Palestine has been occupied and beaten down by the savage hands of Israel. Gaza, a oppressed city with Palestine, has been relentlessly bombed since October of last year. There were many living souls in this city, but now there are only survivors, escapees, and corpses. Not even children and ladies are spared.

Amongst these survivors are Laylaaman and her family. Laylaaman is a mother of a baby girl, and another member is soon to join that family. She hasn't had any meats, fruits, or vegetables of good quality to help her nuriosh either herself or her baby, and she has no winter clothes for him. She also has no diapers or milk for the baby girl she's currently looking after. And there's no personal phone she has either- it has been destroyed.

Before October of last year, Laylaaman had Graduated from her university, with an honors degree in the Faculties of Economics and Administrative Sciences, and major degree in Accounting in English. She worked as an accountant in a municipality, and her husband worked too, to buy things for her dear baby Sally. She lived in a beautiful house, which was of course, in Gaza. It's still the most beautiful city to her in the world.

But now, the genocide has destroyed her home, and everyone had to leave everything behind. They now have no job, and have very little money. And as mentioned, her God decided to have her become pregnant, but she has nearly nothing to give to this soon-to-be baby. She and her family deserve all the help they can get, so that not only will they have a beautiful home filled with good food and wonderful necessities, but also so that the family can truly live again.

So please, if you can, donate to her and her family!!!

[thislovintime]

Photo by Bob Willoughby.

“The boys’ suite on the 20th floor [of the Hilton Hotel] was literally cluttered with gifts from fans. There were coloring books, toys, a large homemade cake in the shape of a guitar and, of course, bananas. Peter Tork, ‘Monkee’ guitar player, views the longhairs’ loyal following as a sign of popularity. ‘Before, popularity for me was measured by the amount of money in my basket,’ explained Tork, a former folksinger at a ‘pass-the-hat-house’ in Greenwich Village. […] Dolenz believes the reason for ‘The Monkees’ success is that ‘we are playing ourselves and are natural.’He spoke admirably of his partners in ‘Monkee’ business. ‘We’re really the best of friends,’ he said, ‘of course we’re four distinct personalities and we do have occasional squabbles, but they’re only minor.’ […] Tork, the son of an economics professor at the University of Connecticut, is known to have strong feelings about Vietnam in particular, but he is beginning to realize he is skating on thin ice whenever he makes a statement.” - article by Ed Romanoff, The Washington Reporter, January 5, 1967 “‘I thought that we had no business being in Vietnam, and I said so to the New York Times,’ Tork recalled. ‘I was asked (by Monkees’ management) to retract the statement. I called the Times and did that.’ It was, said Tork, a question of honor; he had signed a contract, and he would abide by its terms.” - We all want to change the world: Rock and politics from Elvis to Eminem (2003) Peter: “Well, they wouldn’t let us criticize the war in Vietnam.” Q: “Really?” Peter: “Really.” Q: “Did you want to?" Peter: “Yup. I actually did, to a New York Times reporter, and they made me, asked me very seriously, very strenuously, to call her and ask her to withhold that section of the interview. And I did, and she did, she was very kind about it. But it was… I look back on it and it seems kind of silly, but I think that the whole point of the project was: don’t make waves. Look like revolutionary, look like something new, but don’t make waves. On the other hand, in the experience of an awful lot of our audience, we were something new. So I can’t knock that.” - NPR, June 1983 (the NPR interview - part 1 & part 2)

[nostalgebraist]

Steve DeCanio, an ex-Berkeley activist now doing graduate work at M.I.T., is a good example of a legion of young radicals who know they have lost their influence but have no clear idea how to get it back again. “The alliance between hippies and political radicals is bound to break up,” he said in a recent letter. “There’s just too big a jump from the slogan of ‘Flower Power’ to the deadly realm of politics. Something has to give, and drugs are too ready-made as opiates of the people for the bastards (the police) to fail to take advantage of it.” Decanio spent three months in various Bay Area jails as a result of his civil rights activities and now he is lying low for a while, waiting for an opening. “I’m spending an amazing amount of time studying,” he wrote. “It’s mainly because I’m scared; three months on the bottom of humanity’s trash heap got to me worse than it’s healthy to admit. The country is going to hell, the left is going to pot, but not me. I still want to figure out a way to win.”

Re-reading Hunter S. Thompson's 1967 article about Haight-Ashbury, I thought: "huh, this guy sounds like he's going places. I wonder whether he ever did 'figure out a way to win'?"

So I web searched his name, and ... huh!

My current research interests include Artificial Intelligence, philosophy of the social sciences, and the economics of climate change. Several years ago I examined the consequences of computational limits for economics and social theory in Limits of Economic and Social Knowledge (Palgrave Macmillan, 2013).  Over the course of my academic career I have worked in the fields of global environmental protection, the theory of the firm, and economic history.  I have written about both the contributions and misuse of economics for long-run policy issues such as climate change and stratospheric ozone layer protection.  An earlier book, Economic Models of Climate Change: A Critique (Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), discussed the problems with conventional general equilibrium models applied to climate policy. From 1986 to 1987 I served as Senior Staff Economist at the President’s Council of Economic Advisers. I have been a member of the United Nations Environment Programme’s Economic Options Panel, which reviewed the economic aspects of the Montreal Protocol on Substances that Deplete the Ozone Layer, and I served as Co-Chair of the Montreal Protocol’s Agricultural Economics Task Force of the Technical and Economics Assessment Panel. I participated in the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change that shared the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize, and was a recipient of the Leontief Prize for Advancing the Frontiers of Economic Thought in 2007. In 1996 I was honored with a Stratospheric Ozone Protection Award, and in 2007 a “Best of the Best” Stratospheric Ozone Protection Award from the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. I served as Director of the UCSB Washington Program from 2004 to 2009.

I don't know whether this successful academic career would count as "winning" by his own 1967 standards. But it was a pleasant surprise to find anything noteworthy about the guy at all, given that he was quoted as a non-public figure in a >50-year-old article.

[drizne]

Excerpt from the speech “Renouncing Sexual Equality”, from Andrea Dworkin’s “Our Blood”

"In 1970 Kate Millett published Sexual Politics. In that book she proved to many of us -who would have staked our lives on denying it- that sexual relations, the literature depicting those relations, the psychology posturing to explain those relations, the economic system that fix the necessities of those relations, the religious systems that seek to control those relations, are political. She showed us that everything that happens to a woman in her life, everything that touches or molds her, is political.

Women who are feminists, that is, women who grasped her analysis and saw that it explained much of their real existence in their real lives, have tried to understand, struggle against, and transform the political system called patriarchy which exploits our labor, predetermines the ownership of our bodies, and diminishes our selfhood from the day we are born. This struggle has no dimension to it which is abstract: it has touched us in every part of our lives. But nowhere has it touched us more vividly or painfully than in that part of our human lives which we call "love" and "sex". In the course of our struggle to free ourselves from systematic oppression, a serious argument has developed among us, and I want to bring that argument into this room.

Some of us have committed ourselves in all areas, including those called "love" and "sex", to the goal of equality, that is, to state of being equal; correspondence in quantity, degree, value, rank, ability; uniform character, as of motion or surface. Other of us, and I stand on this side of the argument, do not see equality as a proper, or sufficient, or moral, or honorable final goal. We believe that to be equal where there is no universal justice, or where there is no universal freedom is, quite simply, to be the same as the oppressor. It is to have achieved "uniform character, as of motion or surface."

Nowhere is this clearer than in the area of sexuality. The male sexual model is based on a polarization of humankind into man/woman, master/slave, aggressor/victim, active/passive. This male sexual model is now many thousands of years old. The very identity of men, their civil and economic power, the forms of government that they have developed, the wars they wage, are tied irrevocably together. All forms of dominance and submission, whether it be man over woman, white over black, boss over worker, rich over poor, are tied irrevocably to the sexual identities of men and are derived from the male sexual model. Once we grasp this, it becomes clear that in fact men own the sex act, the language which describes sex, the women whom they objectify. Men have written the scenario for any sexual fantasy you have ever had or any sexual act you have ever engaged in.

There is no freedom or justice in exchanging the female role for the male role. There is, no doubt about it, equality. There is no freedom or justice in using male language, the language of your oppressor, to describe sexuality. There is no freedom or justice or even common sense in developing a male sexual sensibility -- a sexual sensibility which is aggressive, competitive, objectifying, quantity oriented. There is only equality. To believe that freedom or justice for women, can be found in mimicry of male sexuality is to delude oneself and to contribute to the oppression of one's sisters. [...] I want to suggest to you that a commitment to sexual equality with males, that is, to uniform character as of motion or surface, is a commitment to becoming the rich instead of the poor, the rapist instead of the raped, the murderer instead of the murdered. I want to ask you to make a different commitment -- a commitment to the abolition of poverty, rape, and murder; that is, a commitment to ending the system of oppression called patriarchy; to ending the male sexual model itself.

The real core of the feminist vision, its revolutionary kernel if you will, has to do with the abolition of all sex roles -- that is, an absolute transformation of human sexuality and the institutions derived from it. In this work, no part of the male sexual model can possibly apply. Equality within the framework of the male sexual model, however that model is reformed or modified, can only perpetuate the model itself and the injustice and bondage which are its intrinsic consequences."

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

a big german newspaper (die zeit) recently published a more critical article on the so called „verrichtungsboxen“ (literally: boxes of execution; boxes on the street where prostituted women and sex buyers can go to consummate the sexual acts; anyone who knows german will know this is a gross terminology, fitting for a gross concept).

while the fact these boxes exist is in itself a tragedy, the letters to the editor are giving me hope that there are sane people left in this country - even though from their names and writing style i would guess they are of the older generation, pension age.

heinz wohner: „if you dont get a visceral reaction of disgust and shame looking at these obfuscating boxes called ‚eco toilets‘ and the image of what is going on in them, you have to be extremely cold. calling what is being done to these women for little money ‚work like any other‘ is sugarcoating the issue.“

wolfgang wendling: „maybe there are women who voluntarily prostitute themselves, but the majority is doing it out of necessity and under pressure. calling the oldest trade in history a profession like any other is pure mockery. its not an honor to call our country europe‘s biggest brothel. but it‘s true. we should be ashamed that women are being exploited, humiliated and abused before our eyes. the more severe the poverty is in the country of origin, the cheaper you can have them. we should finally stop this, which is the only appropriate action for a civilised country.“

brigitte kosfeld: „the photo of these boxes alone speaks volumes on the inhumane practices hidden behind the liberalisation of prostitution. when the law was introduced, there were convinced social democratic women who were holding speeches on ‚prostitution as a profession‘. the intentions behind the law might have been honorable, but the reality has always been deeply anti-woman.“

professor claudia reuter, phd: „the liberalisation of prostitution in germany has failed in all regards. according to a french study, the average life expectancy of a prostitute is 33 years. babbling about self-determination in this case is inhumane. the state is not supporting prostitutes’ workers rights and their health, but their economic and sexual exploitation. its about time for the swedish model: protection for women and consistent punishment for sex buyers and pimps.“

joachim kasten: „social democrat august bebel already wrote in 1879 (…) that ‚honorable family men‘ were contributing to uphold the system prostitution with their money. according to him, they were generously let off their responsibility to disappear in anonymity. apparently today we are still where we were at the end of the 19th century.“

sabine moehler: „the description [in the article] of typical injuries prostitutes have reminded me very much of those women in physically abusive relationships show as well. a man who abuses, humiliates and demeans a prostitute in any way will do the same to his partner, wife or lover as soon as he doesnt like her behavior. (…) even reading about this is upsetting me a lot.“

and of course the one sex buyer who just had to write to the editors, peter müller: „its one sided to use the misery in berlin street prostitution with sex on public toilets as a reason to debate the liberalisation of prostitution. there are many brothels were the ladies are treated with respect. of course working as a prostitute harbors certain risks - but there are women who freely choose this job, and in my experience, some of them are doing it with passion and love. the regular prices are not the dumping prices you mentioned (5-10 euros) [note: which is indeed normal in street prostitution] but actually 80-100 euros for half an hour - not to mention those dont include extras and humiliating sex practices. i met women who earn better in prostitution than some employees in germany.“

loose translation and highlights by me.