#harvard kennedy school

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Mark Lacour and Zebulon Bell at Misinformation Review:

[This study used data from pre- and post-COVID surveys to examine vaccine attitudes in the United States. We found evidence consistent with an ideological “spillover” effect: Liberals’ attitudes became more positive towards non-COVID vaccines (flu, MMR, HPV, chickenpox) and conservatives’ attitudes became more negative. These spillover effects are perplexing because the COVID-19 vaccines were developed more rapidly than the others and (some of them) were the first to use mRNA technology on a mass scale to achieve immunization. Hence, there were reasons to isolate one’s attitudes towards the COVID-19 vaccines rather than generalize them. This exacerbates current vaccine communication challenges.]

[...]

Negative spillover effects are unfortunate because people theoretically had reasons to isolate their attitudes towards the COVID-19 vaccines from other vaccines rather than generalize them. For one, the COVID-19 vaccines were developed more quickly than the others, which is one of the sources of COVID-19 NVAs in the general population (Kreps et al., 2021). Some COVID-19 vaccines were also the first to use mRNA to create immunity on a large scale (Anand & Stahel, 2021). The mRNA components in these vaccines are entirely safe and are quickly destroyed within a few days of injection. However, some members of the public mistakenly believe that mRNA-based vaccines can alter their DNA and many organizations (e.g., Centers for Disease Control and Prevention [2023]) have had to debunk this misconception.

Negative spillover effects are particularly regrettable because each vaccine already presented its own unique set of difficulties in terms of boosting vaccination rates. For example, some people harbor false beliefs that the MMR vaccines cause autism (Leask et al., 2012). By contrast, the HPV vaccine can prompt uncomfortable conversations about sexually transmitted diseases for children ages 11 to 12 years old (Daley et al., 2010). The chickenpox vaccine might seem unnecessary to many parents because they grew up during a period when children were intentionally infected with chickenpox, sometimes at “chickenpox parties” (Parad, 2012). Parents might, therefore, under-appreciate warnings from experts about the risks of chickenpox.

Post-pandemic vaccine advocacy

Since the COVID-19 pandemic, there have been two shifts in vaccine hesitancy that we think are particularly worth highlighting: a change in scale and a change in demography. First, there was a dramatic increase in vaccine refusal in the United States during and after the COVID-19 pandemic (Bolsen & Palm, 2022; Hart et al., 2020; Monroe & Savillo, 2021; Wood & Brumfiel, 2021). In fact, before the pandemic, inequalities in healthcare access likely overshadowed NVAs as a source of under-vaccination (Leask et al., 2012; Monais, 2019; Fuchs & Dicara, 2019).

The second major shift concerns demography. Before the pandemic, no single NVA group in the United States constituted a clear demographic majority. In many respects, NVA groups aligned demographically with liberals (Tomeny et al., 2017; Lubrano, 2019). Others had religious or philosophical motivations behind their NVAs, largely unrelated to politics (“A jab in time,” 2016). Before the pandemic, conservatives were just as likely to receive a flu vaccine as liberals (Enten, 2021). After the pandemic, conservatives appear to make up a majority of NVA groups in the United States (Wood & Brumfiel, 2021). This shift is likely due to political polarization surrounding the COVID-19 pandemic in the United States. Then-President Trump downplayed the severity of the virus (Oprysko, 2020) and conservative media outlets were overwhelmingly negative towards the COVID-19 vaccines, questioning their safety and necessity (Monroe & Savillo, 2021). Politically red states ended up having the lowest COVID-19 vaccination rates and the highest COVID-19 death tolls (Wood & Brumfiel, 2021). If there has indeed been a negative spillover effect among U.S. conservatives, this suggests that the previous obstacles related to specific vaccines are now amplified by partisanship and political identity.

Leveraging misinformation research

The primary findings of this study are consistent with a spillover effect, where people generalized their attitudes (good or bad) towards the COVID-19 vaccines to unrelated vaccines. There are a number of potential cognitive explanations for this. For instance, it might have occurred because of an inductive inference (Davis et al., 2017; Tapp et al., 2018; Davis et al., 2020). Some people may have thought, “If most vaccines are safe and effective, then the COVID-19 vaccine will be too.” By contrast, others might have inferred something along the lines of, “Since the COVID-19 vaccines are unsafe and ineffective, other vaccines must be too.”

A similar explanation is that people remember the “gist” of COVID-19 information (or misinformation) after forgetting the specific (verbatim) information (fuzzy-trace theory;1Reyna et al., 2021). In other words, people with NVAs might have heard several specific statements about vaccines, but the details of these statements might have faded over time. All that is left over is the “gist” of this information: “Vaccines are bad” (or “good,” depending on one’s media diet). For someone with NVAs, then, no specific statement justifies their attitudes. Rather, the “gist” of many statements has left a generally negative impression. Thus, debunking specific claims in order to vindicate vaccines might fail to compensate for the influence left over from a larger number of negative, if poorly remembered, statements that seem to discredit said vaccines.

Negative spillover effects could also be explained by right-leaning media outlets repeating false or misleading information about the COVID-19 vaccines (Monroe & Savillo, 2021). The “illusory truth effect” occurs when false statements appear more plausible merely because they have been repeated. This is often attributed to subjective feelings of familiarity and ease of processing (cognitive fluency) caused by the repetitions (Brashier & Marsh, 2020). Thus, it is important to counter misinformation without repeating the original falsehoods.

According to a recent report in the Harvard Kennedy School’s Misinformation Review, politically-polarized attitudes towards the COVID-19 vaccine have increasingly spilled over to other vaccines, with liberals becoming increasingly pro-vaccine and conservatives becoming increasingly anti-vaccine.

[indizombie]

"We do know that there is more anti-black bias among white officers than black officers but we also know that black people and black officers have anti-black bias too. We're talking about a difference in degree," said Khalil Gibran Muhammad a professor of race and public policy at Harvard Kennedy School. The Stanford prison experiment tells us that "bad things happen in places built to do bad things", he said. "Anyone who dons the uniform is more likely on average to engage in abusive behaviour directed toward a black person."

‘Tyre Nichols: Memphis reckons with police killing by black officers’, BBC

[hpcaatcop27]

With climate negotiators from around the world gathered in Sharm El-Sheikh for COP27, attention focused on a few critical issues impacting the implementation of the Paris Agreement. Hear more in this episode of the ‘Environmental Insights’ podcast produced by the Harvard Environmental Economics Program. 

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Randall L. Kennedy

Published: Apr 2, 2024

On a posting for a position as an assistant professor in international and comparative education at the Harvard Graduate School of Education, applicants are required to submit a CV, a cover letter, a research statement, three letters of reference, three or more writing samples, and a statement of teaching philosophy that includes a description of their “orientation toward diversity, equity, and inclusion practices.”

At Harvard and elsewhere, hiring for academic jobs increasingly requires these so-called diversity statements, which Harvard’s Derek Bok Center for Teaching and Learning describes as being “about your commitment to furthering EDIB within the context of institutions of higher education.”

By requiring academics to profess — and flaunt — faith in DEI, the proliferation of diversity statements poses a profound challenge to academic freedom.

A closer look at the Bok Center’s page on diversity statements illustrates how.

For the purpose of showcasing attentiveness to DEI, the Center suggests answering questions such as: “How does your research engage with and advance the well-being of socially marginalized communities?”; “Do you know how the following operate in the academy: implicit bias, different forms of privilege, (settler-)colonialism, systemic and interpersonal racism, homophobia, heteropatriarchy, and ableism?”; “How do you account for the power dynamics in the classroom, including your own positionality and authority?”; “How do you design course assessments with EDIB in mind?”; and “How have you engaged in or led EDIB campus initiatives or programming?”

The Bok Center’s how-to page mirrors the expectation that DEI statements will essentially constitute pledges of allegiance that enlist academics into the DEI movement by dint of soft-spoken but real coercion: If you want the job or the promotion, play ball — or else.

Playing ball entails affirming that the DEI bureaucracy is a good thing and asking no questions that challenge it, all the while making sure to use in one’s attestations the easy-to-parody DEI lingo. It does not take much discernment to see, moreover, that the diversity statement regime leans heavily and tendentiously towards varieties of academic leftism and implicitly discourages candidates who harbor ideologically conservative dispositions.

In addition to exerting pressure towards leftist conformity, the process of eliciting diversity statements abets cynicism. Detractors reasonably suspect that underneath the uncontroversial aspirations for diversity statements — facilitating a more open and welcoming environment for everyone — are controversial goals including the weeding out of candidates who manifest opposition to or show insufficient enthusiasm for the DEI regime.

Detractors also reasonably object to what they see as a troubling invitation to ritualized dissembling. A cottage industry of diversity statement “counseling” has already emerged to offer candidates prefabricated, boilerplate rhetoric.

Candidates for academic positions at Harvard should not be asked to support ideological commitments. Imagine the howl of protest that would (or should) erupt if a school at Harvard asked a candidate for a faculty position to submit a statement of their orientation towards capitalism, or patriotism, or Making America Great Again with a clear expectation of allegiance? Such pressure constitutes an encroachment upon the intellectual freedom that ought to be part of the enjoyment of academic life.

Demands for DEI statements are also counterproductive to efforts to undo the effects of long overlooked invidious social discriminations in academia. It is important to remember that the DEI ethos did not emerge from nowhere — it emerged from a laudable determination to free academia of attitudes and practices that impeded potential contributors for prejudicial reasons, thereby depriving institutions of higher learning of useful talents.

Universities are under a legal, moral, and pedagogical duty to take action against wrongful discriminatory conduct. But demands for mandatory DEI statements venture far beyond that obligation into territory that is full of booby-traps inimical to an intellectually healthy university environment.

By overreaching, by resorting to compulsion, by forcing people to toe a political line, by imposing ideological litmus tests, by incentivizing insincerity, and by creating a circular mode of discourse that is seemingly impervious to self-questioning, the current DEI regime is discrediting itself.

It would be hard to overstate the degree to which many academics at Harvard and beyond feel intense and growing resentment against the DEI enterprise because of features that are perhaps most evident in the demand for DEI statements. I am a scholar on the left committed to struggles for social justice. The realities surrounding mandatory DEI statements, however, make me wince. The practice of demanding them ought to be abandoned, both at Harvard and beyond.

Randall L. Kennedy is the Michael R. Klein Professor at Harvard Law School.

[jacks-weird-world]

[reasonsforhope]

"Samuel Onyango’s office at Kibera Primary School is serene and spacious. His table is neatly arranged, with an assortment of files and an array of books. One side of his cream-colored office is decked with aggregate performance scores, and another shows off several trophies in a glass cabinet. Last year, Onyango’s school performed a traditional dance and scooped third place in the National Drama and Film Festivals, where schools across the country competed for the top prize.

But today Onyango, the school’s principal, is bragging about something much more basic: Thanks to an innovative community program, his students and teachers are no longer getting sick from dirty water.

Onyango’s school, with a staff of 30 and a student body of about 1,700, is in Kibera, a neighborhood in the Kenyan capital of Nairobi that is widely known as Africa’s largest informal settlement. It is a community of houses made from mud or tin sheeting where residents have to hustle to meet even their most basic needs, like electricity or clean water.

It is also a community where creativity and innovation, at the heart of any hustle, are changing how some people can access clean water — and making major ripples in public health.

Onyango’s school has long gotten its water the same way many people in Kibera do: by buying it from independent suppliers, who truck water in and sell it for around $30 per 10,000 liters (about 2,650 gallons). But trucked water can be contaminated, despite suppliers’ promises, and Onyango’s students and staff were often using unclean water at home, too. It was common, he says, for both teachers and students to get sick and miss school because of waterborne illnesses.

Last November, Onyango’s school got connected to an aerial clean water system built by a local grassroots organization called SHOFCO, which stands for Shining Hope for Communities. “Once we got connected to SHOFCO’s water,” Onyango says, “cases of these ailments reduced to nil.”

SHOFCO’s water distribution system currently reaches about 40,000 people and distributes more than 3.7 million gallons of clean water per month.

Access to safe drinking water — and its equitable distribution — underpins public health. But for the estimated 250,000 people in Kibera, who live without any government infrastructure, clean water is often a luxury. Many people are using illegal water connections, which proliferate among the poor — there are nearly 130 in just three lesser-resourced Nairobi neighborhoods. But those DIY hookups can mix clean water with raw sewage, and Kenyan officials have recently warned of a looming public health crisis if water access is not prioritized.

Shifting weather patterns also increase the risk of waterborne illness, government officials say. The Ministry of Health and the Kenya Red Cross Society have called out severe flooding during the El Niño weather pattern as a source of a recent major cholera outbreak in parts of the country. Kibera was not spared this risk: The floods led to the contamination of various sources of water in the sprawling neighborhood.

But the aerial piping system SHOFCO built in 2012 — the one that brings water to Onyango’s school — saved some Kibera residents, quite literally. With collaboration from health and county authorities, SHOFCO has all but eliminated diarrheal disease in the communities that use its aerial piping system, according to Gladys Mwende, a program officer at SHOFCO. In the health facilities SHOFCO runs, the incidences of diarrheal infections have also gone down, she adds.

Pictured: People in Kibera’s Makina section pass by the signature blue pillars that hold up SHOFCO’s aerial water piping system. Visual: Sarah Waiswa/Harvard Public Health Magazine

“[Poor sanitation is the reason] that our water is aerial piped,” says Kennedy Odede, the founder and CEO of SHOFCO. Piping water in helps clean water maintain its integrity without interference from elements including tampering. In a huge community with no major infrastructure, piping seemed impossible — there was no money and no will to build a disruptive underground system connected to the city’s main water supply. Instead, Odede and his team put the pipes up in the air. “As somebody who grew up in Kibera, to see this clean water — which I have also drank — is powerful.”

SHOFCO’s water distribution system currently reaches about 40,000 people and distributes more than 3.7 million gallons of clean water per month — nearly 46 million gallons per year — at community water kiosks, which residents access with tokens linked to the mobile money platform M-Pesa. The water kiosks are pre-programmed to fill jerry cans that hold about five gallons at a cost of 3 Kenyan shillings, or about 23 U.S. cents.

A recent evaluation of SHOFCO’s clean water efforts, undertaken by the African Population and Health Research Center, shows diarrheal disease among children under age five have decreased by 31 percent where community members used SHOFCO water kiosks and received SHOFCO’s sanitation messaging.

“We don’t get as many cases of diarrhea even though now we are in the middle of the floods,” Mwende says. “Communities have not reported any outbreaks within the areas where we are working.”

Mohammed Suleiman is grateful for the change. Suleiman, 25, was born here, and it’s been his job for the last 18 years to fetch 135 gallons of water daily for his family’s personal needs and for their samosa business.

Two months ago, Sulieman contracted typhoid from the unsanitary water he was consuming. Once he recovered, he says, switching to SHOFCO water kiosks was a no-brainer.

“I don’t know where the other independent vendors get it from,” he says. But he trusts SHOFCO water. “Water sourced from SHOFCO is cleaner than that of other vendors,” he says. “I don’t have to treat water from [SHOFCO] kiosks before consuming it.”

And he’s the living proof: Since switching to SHOFCO water, Suleiman hasn’t been sick even once."

-via Undark, August 13, 2024

[texas-writes]

Special Girl

Cw: pining, mentions of masturbation, piv sex, protected sex, oral (m&f receiving), fingering

The sound of your front door opening and closing was normal, someone was always on the move, but your interest was piqued when you heard your brother laughing, indicating he probably had a friend over, and you prayed it wasn’t who you thought it was

Your brother’s best friend growing up was Leon Kennedy. He was just a year older than you, and you’d always had a huge crush on him. Actually, crush was a weak word for this.

You were

hand-in-your-panties-like-your-life-depended-on-it obsessed with him.

You were a slut for him and he was none the wiser.

You sat and thought for a moment before making up your mind. Timing it perfectly, you crossed the hall to the bathroom as your brother came up the stairs with his friend, letting you see who it was.

Fuck, it was Leon.

He seemed much more handsome than he was the last time you had seen him. Maybe it was because it was summer, but his skin was tanner and his hair was more blond than usual. He was Adonis in the flesh, everything you could ever want.

You spend a few moments pretending to use the bathroom, flushing the toilet and washing your hands to make it convincing. Then you duck back across the hall and into your room.

It’s begun to get dark and you're laying on your bed wrapped in just a blanket reading National Geographic. You’d gotten accepted to Penn State for anthropology, and you wanted to spend your summer preparing for when school started up. Your walls were covered in clippings from previous issues, the city of Petra, the carved churches of Lalibela, ancient statues, any picture that interested you honestly. You loved to look around your room at them all while you thought.

You’re pondering what all you’re going to take to your dorm when you hear the garage door rumble open. Your father was home, which meant it was almost dinner time.

A groan escapes your lips as you roll off the bed and shuffle to your closet to find clothes. You clutch your blanket around your shoulders like a cloak as you dig around, pulling out an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of basketball shorts. Not exactly the best dinner outfit, but decent. You knew if you looked too nice your brother would pick on you for being a try-hard later.

When you go downstairs to help your mother set the table, you're more than surprised to see Leon doing it already.

“Oh Leon, you didn’t have to do that,” you say, reaching out a hand for the remaining silverware.

“Oh, hello,” he mumbles. “Your mom said I could stay for dinner, so it’s the least I can do.”

“Honey, you can get the plates. You know, Leon goes to Penn State too? Glad to know I’ll have someone to look out for you.”

Your cheeks turn pink at your mother’s words, and you're grateful that your back is turned. Look out for you.

“So uh, how do you like it?”

“S’alright, I guess. Better than being sent to Harvard, like my old man wanted. He wanted me to be a lawyer.”

“That’s good. Are you going for criminology like you wanted?”

“Yeah. I’m really glad to have done it. It was nice, standing up to him for once.”

“Yeah…”

After dinner’s been served and you’re just sitting there, poking at your plate, halfheartedly pretending to listen to your brother ramble about the upcoming soccer season, you can finally say you’re bored. Your father replies to whatever it was David had just said when you feel a foot brush against yours.

At first, you thought it was an accident, but when it happens again, you look up, meeting Leon’s eyes as he chews before looking back down at your plate. A few moments pass without another brush, so you cautiously stretch your leg out and bump your foot against his. Leon doesn't react to your touch, he just keeps eating.

Maybe it was an honest mistake. You mentally berate yourself for thinking he would touch you on purpose. You jump slightly when you feel his foot on your calf, gently stroking it.

“You alright, y/n,” Leon questions, looking as innocent as possible while he torments you, unbeknownst to your family.

“Yeah, just a chill, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay,” he shrugs, turning his attention back to David and your father.

Your cheeks burn and you take a couple more feeble bites before asking to be excused.

You laid awake that night, wondering what the fuck that was all about. God, you really needed to piss.

You rolled out of bed and pulled on your fluffy robe before heading to the bathroom.

When you step out of the bathroom, you bump into someone.

“Sorry David, didn’t see you.”

“And where are you going, pretty girl?”

Fuck. Nobody told you Leon was spending the night.

“J-just back to bed.”

“Why d’ya sound so nervous, hm,” he questions, backing you into the bathroom and closing the door.

“You scared me, that’s all.” Your robe was riding up and the counter was so, so cold against your bare ass.

“Just like you were chilly at dinner, right,” he questions, you can hear the grin in his voice as he lowers his head beside your ear, lifting your chin with his finger.

“Leon…”

“What, baby? Say the word and I’ll stop.”

“Please, don’t,” you whisper

He leans away and takes a step back.

“No, wait- that’s not what I meant, Leon please.”

“Ah, so you do want me then?”

You nod.

“That isn’t enough, sweetheart I want you to say it.”

“Leon, that’s not fair, please. Need you.”

He chuckles to himself and returns to his original position, lips brushing against your neck as he speaks.

“You need me, hm?”

You nod again, slightly aware of how pathetic you’re being, but too caught up in Leon’s affection to care.

“What does my pretty girl want, hm? How bad do you need me,” he whispers, brushing his fingers up your thigh and under your robe.

“Nothing on under there. Was that intentional or did I just catch you at a good time?”

“I never wear anything to bed,” you murmur, bringing your hand up to rest in his hair, giving it a slight tug as his lips abuse the tender flesh of your shoulder, teeth grazing against your collarbone as he groans.

“Go wait for me in your room. I’m gonna make sure we won’t be bothered.”

You nod softly and poke your head out of the bathroom, making sure no one's watching as you scurry across the hall into your room while Leon hangs back.

After what felt like eternity, Leon comes into your room, easing the door shut behind him and sliding the lock into place. Your nerves are absolutely shot, and you shiver as you watch Leon come towards you, the way his tight shirt hugged his broad shoulders and slim waist, accentuating his silhouette.

“Is everyone asleep,” you question, pushing yourself up in the bed, tugging your robe tighter around yourself.

“Yeah,” he hums, sliding into your bed beside you, taking a swatch of your pink satin sheets between his fingers and feeling it. “Nice sheets, I see why you sleep naked.”

You giggle and rest your head on his shoulder. You had been awkward around Leon for as long as you could remember, In middle school, watching him from across the cafeteria as he flipped through an X-Men comic and filled out the mail-in sheet on the back, or in high school when he shrugged at every girl that tried to ask him out and you had been so sure he’d give you the same answer, so you’d never bothered.

Despite being dismissive most of the time, he was there when it mattered, like your junior year, when you had snuck out and gone to a local college party and gotten absolutely smashed. Leon had been there too and followed you around all night, shielding you from grabbing hands and switching your drinks out for water as the night wore on before driving you home and helping you sneak back into your window. Or when he’d come hiking with your family and you’d gotten water intoxication and he’d carried you back to the car to cool you off and taken you to get some extra salty fries while your family finished their hike.

But things were different now, you were both adults, and you knew that he wanted you as he tilted your chin up and pressed his lips to yours softly while his free hand went up to caress your cheek. His hands were calloused from his frequent visits to the gym, but they felt so good as they roamed your features, tracing the curve of your lips. The bridge of your nose, the arch of your brow. You wanted nothing more than to feel his hands all over your body.

“Leon,” you whine, tugging at the hem of his shirt, trying to get him to take it off. He finally takes the hint and pulls his shirt off and drops it on the floor. You yelp as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his lap.

“Shh, we still gotta be quiet, baby. Can’t get caught can we, then I can’t come visit anymore, hm?”

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting it,” you whisper, leaning in and kissing along his jaw.

“Mh, feels good,” he mumbles, exposing his neck to you as you trail kisses all across his throat, grazing your teeth along his Adam’s apple, making his breath hitch.

When you pull away your robe is barely covering enough of you to be considered decent. Leon looks up to meet your eyes, groaning when you untie your robe and let it slide down your shoulders, exposing your shoulders and the tops of your breasts. He allows his gaze to drop back to the soft plain of your tummy, the curve of your hips and the way the blanket wrapped around your hips pools between your legs just enough to cover the one thing he needs the most.

You can feel him, straining against his shorts as you cautiously lower yourself to brush your pussy along his sensitive bulge.

“You should take these off Lee,” you hum, tugging at the waistband of his shorts.

He nods and lifts his hips, allowing you to pull them down so he can kick them off. He groans as his cock springs free from the confines of his pants, standing at attention, so close to your entrance he can feel the warmth coming from you.

You shrug your robe the rest of the way off and drop it down with Leon’s clothes, moving from his lap, kneeling beside him and resting your head on his thigh and kissing it softly once before licking along the underside of his cock, making him grip at the sheets.

You tease him relentlessly, kissing and licking at the tip of his cock, your warm breath fanning against his skin. He lets out a deep groan when you finally take him in, tongue swirling around him as you take him deeper into your mouth. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as he tangles his fingers into your hair and guides you to take him into your throat.

“You’re such a good girl,” he whispers. “You’re taking me so well, fuck,” he moans bringing his other hand to caress your cheek.

Leon studies the way your body moves as you pleasure him, the arch of your back, the curve of your ass, the way you look up at him as you moan around him.

“M’gonna cum, fuck. You gonna let me cum in your mouth?”

You nod weakly as you take Leon deeper into your throat, pressing your nose against his tummy as he finishes. You lap at his tip, making sure you don't miss anything as you pull away, swallowing thickly and gasping softly as Leon pushes your hair out of your face and smoothing it down.

“You did so good for me,” he praises, stroking your cheek and motioning for you to lay back. “Let me return the favor, hm?”

“Please,” you whine, laying back on your bed, watching intently as Leon takes his place between your legs, right where you’ve always wanted him, tips of his fingers lazily trailing along your thigh while he looks up at you.

He teases your entrance before easing two of his fingers into you, making you whimper.

“I don’t normally do this, but you’re my special girl,” he whispers, ducking his head between your thighs and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. “But you have to be quiet, okay?”

“I’m your special girl,” you question, a warm blush spreading across your cheeks as he rests his head on your thigh, his hair tickling the tender flesh there.

“Always have been. Why do you think I look after you like I do? You promise you’re gonna be quiet?”

You nod and give him a gentle smile, laying back into the pillows and running your fingers through his silky hair. He curls his fingers into you, testing the honesty of your statement, pleased when you only let out a soft whimper and lock your ankles around his shoulders.

Leon takes your encouragement and buries his face between your thighs, tongue lathing against you as his fingers continue their steady rhythm inside you. Your soft moans and the way you tug at his hair are more than enough to drive him insane, urging him to focus his attention on your clit to draw more out of you, his fingers lazily curling into your sweet spot as he grinds his hips into the mattress, looking for a little relief of his own.

“Leon, ah- ‘m so close.”

You can feel him grin against you as he nudges his nose against your clit before taking it back between his lips, making you shove your fist in your mouth as he draws an orgasam out of you. He chuckles and just keeps eating you, not caring about the way your legs shake around him, or your heels digging into his back, or the way you’re dangerously close to ripping out a chunk of his sandy blond hair. No, all he cares about are those cute little noises you’re making, accented only by the occasional whine when he brushes his fingers against that spot inside you.

Finally he pulls away, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he crawls his way up to you, his fingers still buried to the hilt in your dripping cunt.

“How was that? Hm? Anyone ever done that for you before?”

You shake your head and he grins, leaning down to press a sloppy kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself and it’s one of the hottest things you think you’ve ever experienced.

“You think you’re ready for me, baby?”

“Yeah… I can take it.”

“We’ll see,” he teases, pulling his fingers out of you, making you whine at the sudden emptiness, and brings them to his mouth, sucking all of you off of them. “You know baby, you’re just so damn good, don’t want to waste it.”

You reach up and wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss, teasing your tongue against his lip, smiling against him when he allows the intrusion. He pulls away and you reach for him, but he doesn’t yield to your grabbing hands, reminding you that he’s just been a willing participant in your arms until now.

“You have a condom?”

“I’m on birth control.” That’s what guys really wanted to hear, right?

“Not good enough.” Oh. He actually wanted one.

“Top drawer of the nightstand, not sure they’ll fit though.”

“You flatter me. Ah, here.” He rifles through the drawer until he finds one, tearing the little foil packet open with his teeth, hissing softly as he rolls it on.

He’s back on top of you as soon as he’s got it in place, grinding his hips against yours and pulling your legs around his waist.

“See, now you can keep those pretty legs of yours around me as long as you want and we don’t have to worry.”

You giggle and reach between your bodies, taking him into your hand and giving him a couple of strokes before lining him up with your entrance. He eases himself into you until he bottoms out, using one hand to lace his fingers with yours while the other grips at your headboard.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Didn’t know what I was missing until now.”

He starts out with a slow pace, taking the time to pull almost completely out of you before sliding back in, relishing in the way you push your hips up to meet his. Taking it slow was almost unbearable, but you were his special girl after all, and he wanted you to know he’d look after you however you wanted, even if it meant torturing himself to get you used to him.

After a small eternity you tell him to speed up and he doesn't need to be told twice. His thrusts become short and deep, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the stuffy silence of your room as he keeps his lips on yours swallowing down the moans that tumble from your lips. He takes his hand from yours to knead at your breast, enjoying the way they bounce every time his hips slam into yours. He knows you’re close by the way you tighten around him, so he opts to lean back and grab your hips, digging his fingertips into the supple flesh there, setting a punishing pace as his own hips stutter and he lets out a whine as he cums, lazily thrusting to carry you through before pulling out and falling beside you, pulling the condom off and knotting it, dropping it into the trash can beside your bed.

“So,” he questions, propping himself up on his elbow. “How was that?”

You’re still laying there trying to catch your breath, so you just let out a choked sound of agreeance.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just-”

“Just what?”

“A lot of things. Good things. But-”

“Start small then.”

“None of my other boyfriends would kiss me after I sucked them off.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Sorry,” you laugh nervously, sure you’d already screwed it up.

“Don’t be. I’m not opposed to it. In fact I’d quite like to be your boyfriend, but what else.”

“And then you ate me out, and-”

“Go on.”

“I’ve never cum like that in my life.”

“Those other guys were missing out then,” he replies, wrapping his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the back of your head.

That’s what you always liked about Leon. No matter how much you could try to stroke his ego, he always took it humbly. You wiggle yourself around to face him and press a kiss to the tip of his freckled nose

“Hey, baby, I don’t want to just run out on you and ruin a good thing, but I gotta go back soon,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours before slipping out of your bed and getting dressed. You watch with a twinge in your chest as he makes his way towards the door.

“I understand. Are you gonna come see me again?”

“You know it baby,” he grins, opening the door and slipping out before easing it shut behind him.

[charlotte-of-wales]

The Belgian Royal Palace has released three new pictures of Princess Elisabeth to celebrate her first day of classes at Harvard University’s Kennedy School, where she will be receiving her Masters in Public Policy | September 18, 2024

[theroyalsandi]

Belgian Royal Family - The Duchess of Brabant has started her Master's Degree in Public Policy at Harvard Kennedy School (Photo by Max Bueno) | September 18, 2024

[oceancentury]

Working at @vogue; Like grandmother, like grandson. Jacquline Bouvier and John ‘Jack’ Bouvier Kennedy Schlossberg photographed for American Vogue. 1951 (1 day) -> 2024.

Vassar College and George Washington University graduate, Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy beat 1,279 candidates to win a Vogue junior editor position at the age of 21. However she quit at midday on her first day as she thought the role wasn’t a right fit for her. Her next job was as a columnist for the Washington Times-Herald and where she met her husband, John F. Kennedy.

In July 2024 Yale University, Harvard Law School and Harvard Business School graduate John ‘Jack’ Bouvier Kennedy Schlossberg, aged 31 became the new political correspondent for American Vogue.

[floralcyanide]

⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

1960s ᴜs ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴅᴀᴛᴇ!ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜs sɴᴏᴡ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒: 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑒.

౨ৎ 18+ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏɴʟʏ !

⊹ summary: the first time you meet coriolanus snow, you're unsure how to gauge him. but a conversation opens a new door for you politically. ⊹ pairing: young!coriolanus snow / fem!reader ⊹ warnings: consumption of alcohol ⊹ word count: 3331 ⊹ author’s note: I'm so excited to finally post this hehe. I know everyone has been so hype about this series and I'm proud to introduce to you the first chapter. any feedback is welcome. ♡

౨ৎ divider credit: @cafekitsune

౨ৎ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ | sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ | sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

౨ৎ this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

❝A man may die, nations may rise and fall, but an idea lives on.❞ ― John F. Kennedy

It’s a peculiarly warm day in New England despite traces of snow still blanketing the dead grass in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts. A blizzard had blown through the night you arrived, and the remains of the storm are now melting away with each passing moment. A veil of mist hangs in the air by the ocean, the mixture of freezing sea water and balmy air still trickling in from the middle Atlantic lingers. You’re watching the thin fog swirl around in the cool breeze as you stand in front of the formal living room window. The Kennedy Compound is just far enough from the beach that you can see it clearly from the front of the main house where you currently reside. And though a part of you longs to be outside after being cooped up for days due to that nasty winter storm, you’d rather not be bombarded with the still fairly bitter and salty air. Thin, long sleeves cover your arms as they cross over your chest despite the warmth of the fire in the den nearby. The house is still and silent. Everyone seems to be off doing their own thing after dinner wrapped up not long ago.

At 18 years old and beginning your secondary education journey, you never would have believed that you’d be where you are a decade later. You’re now 28, working toward your dual-title doctorate in political science and history at Harvard University. You’re so close to finally graduating, and it’s almost bittersweet. You wish your parents were around to see it. You’re the first in your entire family to go to university, not to mention the first to go to Harvard. Going to such a pristine school is unheard of in your neighborhood. What’s more unheard of, is your privilege to closely study and research your chosen dissertation topic. You decided you would research the life and ongoing legacy of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States. 

Except for the amount of data and information you need, you have to interview and research extensively. Which means having to eventually meet the man himself. 18-year-old you also would never believe that you would meet the President and shake his hand. Or even get to know him past the facade he puts on for the world. But it doesn’t stop there. Due to the difficulty of getting ahold of John F. Kennedy after his passing of the Civil Rights Act of 1963 and the Interracial Marriage Act, a decision was ultimately made. The chaos of Capitol Hill and the citizens of the United States pushed John F. Kennedy to leave for the holidays much sooner than usual. After getting to know you well enough over a few months, the decision was made that John F. Kennedy would invite you to stay with him and his family in Hyannis Port. Just for a few weeks, through Christmas and New Year. It isn’t like you had anything else to do or anyone to spend it with. Besides, this will be your chance to get exclusive information about the man and his family for your dissertation. 

So here you are in the Kennedy family home. In the last week you’ve been here, you’ve gotten to know Jack and his family quite well. You had insisted on remaining professional and calling Jack by his real name, but he refused that. “All my friends call me Jack.”

You’ve gotten the inside scoop on Jack’s childhood and his chronic illness that has carried into adulthood. The military history in the family has also been spilled to you, and not a single detail has fallen on deaf ears. You’ve filled two notebooks already. When you aren’t scribbling down everything, you’re nose-deep in a book Jack has written. Currently, you’re reading Profiles in Courage and have found it quite interesting. You decide you’ve done enough staring out the window and that you’d join Bobby and Ted outside at the bonfire. Once you’re outside, they’re heading back indoors. But they offer to leave the fire going for you. Graciously, you accept their offer and take a seat by the warm flames, opening up Profiles in Courage.

You’re blissfully unaware of how much time has passed, your eyes eagerly scanning each word in each line as if they’d disappear any moment. You almost don’t notice the sound of snow crunching underneath someone’s approaching feet.

“Sorry to bother you, but Jack is asking for you inside.”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of a man’s voice that you don’t recognize. You peer over your book at him and gauge that he must be safe, even if you don’t know who he is, considering the house is crawling with security.

“Alright, then,” you nod, putting your book down before standing up, stretching, and brushing yourself off. 

You look closer at the man before you as the orange flicker of the fire basks him in an angelic glow. His hair is a mess of stark blonde curls, and he’s in a white button-up, the sleeves rolled up his forearms.

“And who might you be, exactly?” you ask, tilting your head slightly in confusion.

“Excuse my lack of introduction. My name is Coriolanus Snow. Jack’s best friend.”

You quirk an eyebrow, exhaling a laugh, “But Lem is Jack’s best friend.”

The blonde man chuckles, taking a step closer to you, “Well, maybe there’s a lot about Jack you don’t know about just yet.”

You narrow your eyes at this Coriolanus Snow, not caring that your shoulder collides with him as you swerve around his tall figure. You walk briskly back to the main house, wondering how this mystery man has yet to be brought up. When you enter the front door, Jackie is holding John Jr. in the foyer. 

“I was just looking for you, dear,” she says, “Jack is asking for you.” 

“So I’ve heard,” you raise your eyebrows at Jackie, and John Jr. reaches for you. You poke the boy on the tip of his nose.

Jackie gives you a confused look, but you’re quick to explain, “Some man outside said that Jack was. He isn’t Secret Service.”

Realization crosses her soft features, “Ah, Coriolanus, I’m guessing?”

“You’d be correct.”

“He’s a long-time friend of Jack’s from Harvard. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him. His father was a New York senator for years.”

“Can’t say I’m too familiar with the Snows,” you purse your lips together, “But if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see what Jack needs me for.”

Jackie lifts John Jr.’s hand to wave goodbye to you, and you give him a big smile, waving back. You walk through the den to the staircase, trodding up the stairs until you reach the landing. The office is immediately to your right, and when you approach the door, you knock. When you do, the slightly ajar door opens wide enough to see Jack laughing and conversing with someone in the room. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt-“ you begin as you step inside the office, but you still yourself quickly.

Your eyes meet Coriolanus Snow’s steely blue ones as he leans against Jack’s desk, his forearms bearing his weight. His head is turned to you, his face appearing as if he were shocked by your arrival. 

You clear your throat, fixing your gaze back onto your original point of interest, “But I was told you were requesting my presence?”

“Yes, I was,” Jack smiles at you from his spot in his desk chair, “I’d like you to meet Coriolanus Snow, a great friend and colleague of mine. We attended Harvard way back when.”

Coriolanus stands up, straightening himself out. You notice he has an air about him that oozes confidence and prestige. His presence and towering height would seem intimidating to some upon the first meeting. Not to you, however. With your life focus being on politics, you’re quite desensitized from men and their faux personas.

“Nice to meet you,” you bite back a remark about already meeting Jack’s friend and stick out a hand, face blank and expressionless, “I currently attend Harvard myself.”

“Coriolanus, this is the bright Ph.D. student I was telling you about. She will be here until the New Year,” Jack says, a prideful grin on his face as he motions to you, “Be nice to her, she’s known to hold her ground.”

“I can tell,” Coriolanus gives Jack a close-lipped smile, his eyes averting to you.

You stand by Jack almost protectively, unsure of how to feel about the blonde man before you. The fact he managed to beat you inside and upstairs when you left him outside first made you wonder. Coriolanus’s physique in itself is alluring and piques your interest. He also seems quick-witted and the type to be a few steps ahead of everyone. It’s not hard to gauge this just from a few exchanged words. You’ve been studying and shadowing long enough to know who you’re interacting with. You study political science, for crying out loud. You know a born and bred power-hungry man when you see one. But at the end of the day, they’re just flesh and blood like those outside of the game. That’s the historian part of you trying not to judge Coriolanus so hard. You don’t know all the facts yet. If Jack is friends with him, he may not be so bad, despite the dark vibe he gives off. But you want to figure out why he appears so stiff.

“Coriolanus will be staying with us until New Year,” Jack turns to you, patting your back as he notices your shift in mood, “You don’t mind some extra company, do ya?”

“Not at all,” you smile sweetly at your mentor before turning to Coriolanus, “Besides, there’s still a lot about you that I don’t know about just yet. And I’d love to hear all about it.”

Jack hums in agreement. Coriolanus raises his eyebrows at you, and you raise yours back. He clears his throat, standing up slightly straighter than previously.

“I can always pour us some wine, and we can discuss some lighthearted details before turning in,” Coriolanus offers you, “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“That sounds lovely. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I must grab my belongings from outside, and then I’ll be available in the den, Coriolanus.”

Jack and Coriolanus watch as you leave the room, closing the door behind you. Jack feels fairly content and is proud of his esteemed shadow getting along with his best friend. Or, appearing to be, anyway. Coriolanus is silent and remains neutral in his facial expression. He carefully turns the idea of you over and over in his head. There’s something to your character that intrigues him. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t figure it out.

When Jack and Coriolanus wrap up their conversation, you’re getting settled in the den. You’re curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace, continuing your book from earlier. You circle a sentence that catches your attention, gnawing on the tip of the pen as you think of what Jack could have meant by this specific statement. You’re ripped from your thoughts when a hand delicately holds a glass of blood-red wine in front of you.

You abruptly close your book, taking the glass of wine, “Thank you.”

You don’t look at Coriolanus as he sits down, and he does so quietly without breaking his eyes from you. He keeps his focus on you as he sips his wine, and you can feel him do so as you stare into the flames in front of the couch.

“So,” Coriolanus clears his throat, “How long have you known Jack?”

You pause, taking your time to swallow your wine before glancing over to Coriolanus with little to no expression. You flash him a closed-lip smile before setting your glass down on the table, “Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.”

Coriolanus is taken aback, not showing it other than his raised brows before responding, “I see. And what makes you think I already know the answer to that?”

“Despite what society may think, a woman isn’t as daft as she appears to be. Given a man in her presence is smart enough to know that she isn’t, anyway,” you stare at him, unblinking, “No offense Senator Snow, but I know you’re a man of Harvard. And you know I’m a woman of Harvard, so let’s cut the chit-chat.”

Coriolanus slides his tongue across his teeth underneath his closed mouth before chuckling smartly, “I can see why Jack chose you. And you’re right, I did know the answer. But not every source is reliable.”

You lean down to retrieve your drink, “And why would Jack be an unreliable source?”

Coriolanus shrugs, “Well, as I’m sure you know, Jack knows his way around the ladies.”

“Am I supposed to be offended by this common knowledge, Mister Snow?” you swirl your wine around in the glass, peering up at him warningly.

“Of course not,” he furrows his brows, shaking his head in light disgust, “But you’re not unattractive by any means, miss.”

You scoff, “I’m very well aware. But your suggestion that I would entertain a superior I’m studying for one thing is pretty crass.”

Coriolanus waves a dismissive hand, “You know how Jack is-”

“Yes, I do,” you say sternly, “However, I’d never involve myself in nonsense.”

“And why is that?”

You tilt your head at the man, laughing in awe at his brazenness, “For starters, he has a loving and caring wife. Someone I rather respect and admire, actually.”

Coriolanus nods, sipping his wine without a word. It’s not the only reason, of course. But it takes anyone with common sense to know why you wouldn’t so much as poke Jack with a ten-foot stick. Yet you still decide to take this friend of Jack’s by surprise.

“And besides,” you shrug, “I prefer blondes,” you say plainly, throwing back the remainder of your wine as Coriolanus fights to keep his jaw from dropping.

“Now,” you lean against your knee that’s crossed over your other leg, holding your empty glass out to Coriolanus, “I’m studying the man and have studied him for years already. So, how about you tell me something I don’t know, hm?”

It takes a little while for Coriolanus to warm up to your snarky attitude, given he is the reason you have one. But you also take some time to soften up yourself. You aren’t always so bitey- not unless deeply provoked. And all that Coriolanus Snow has done is provoke you as long as you’ve known him, which has only been a few hours. But the more the two of you talk and drink, the more you both begin to unravel. It takes about three glasses of vintage wine to make Coriolanus crack a genuine smile for the first time in front of you. Which, by all means, was not normal for him, especially around someone he just met. More so around a woman in general. However, just as you know there’s something to Coriolanus, he knows there’s something to you as well. And he has barely even scratched the surface.

“One night during his campaign, he had a little too much to drink at a dinner, and his accent was so thick I had to translate,” Coriolanus says, his chin resting in his hand. His arm is propped on the arm of the couch that you are perched on where he now also sits. Coriolanus is far enough from you to be civil but close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him. For someone with such a cold demeanor, he could put the fireplace to shame.

You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh, “That’s actually quite funny, considering how thick it is in general. I can’t imagine how it must sound while he’s a few sheets to the wind.”

“Exactly,” Coriolanus lifts his finger from his glass to point at you, “But in actuality, it was a test.”

You look at him confused as you pour a fourth glass for yourself, “How so?”

“Jack wanted to make sure I knew what to say to voters and donors,” Coriolanus says, finishing his wine.

You offer to pour him more, to which he accepts, “Why would that matter?”

“He knew I was planning to run this year.”

You set the bottle of wine down, “To run?” you repeat, openly laughing now, “For what? Cabinet?”

“No. President.”

The burn of alcohol shoots pitifully through your sinuses, nearly exiting your nose as you struggle to cover your obvious laugh. You sniff harshly, covering your mouth and nose with the back of your hand as you swallow the remainder of the wine, recovering the best you can before answering.

“Normally, I’d believe a senator who says that, but before today I had no idea who you were, Coriolanus,” you look at him incredulously, “The election is eleven months away now. You need to, and pardon me when I say this, light a fire under your ass.”

Now it’s Coriolanus’s turn to laugh, “Shocking you’ve never heard of me, considering you’re a political science guru.”

“Shocking that I’ve never heard of you, considering you’re a senator of the United States of America under John F. Kennedy and running for the thirty-sixth President of the United States,”  you bark in response, your initial disliking of this man rising back to the surface.

Coriolanus’s jaw jerks to the side before he looks down in his lap, nodding to himself, “No, you’re right. I do need to light a fire under my ass.”

You shrug, finishing your wine and not bothering for another glass.

“How about since you made me realize this, you can help me out.”

You set the empty glass on the table before sinking back into the couch, crossing your arms as you look straight at Coriolanus, “Help you out with what, exactly?”

“My campaign,” Coriolanus says.

“You’re terribly hilarious, you know. I have too much to worry about right now to help a grown man who should already have a plan if he truly wanted to win the election.”

Coriolanus goes to defend himself, but you interrupt, “Before you give me some sort of excuse, yes, I know you’re a grown man. Yes, I do have too much to worry about. I’m literally writing a book about a man and his entire life. Yes, you most definitely should already have a plan by now if you want to win.”

Coriolanus just stares at you, unsure of what to say, but again you give your two cents, “And yes, as much as I probably shouldn’t, I will help you. But you will owe me big time. Got it?”

It takes a moment for Coriolanus to realize you’ve agreed to help out, but when he does, there’s a slight glow of gratitude in his eyes, “Thank you. I know I’m seriously behind, but I know I can do this. Especially if someone as well-endowed as you is helping me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m well-endowed in more ways than one, but politics is just the icing on the cake, sweetheart. So, let’s continue this tomorrow before I fall asleep here.”

Standing up from the couch after numerous glasses of wine has proven tricky. Your head swims, and you sway slightly from side to side. Coriolanus has to rest a gentle hand on the small of your back in order for you to steady yourself. You glance at him, letting your eyes linger in silent thanks, before collecting yourself and walking out of the den into the hallway. After putting your book and notes away, you strip your clothing and curl up under the soft duvet on your bed. Hopefully, your craving for political experience and curiosity in your interest won’t land you into trouble with Coriolanus Snow. But you’re eager to find out. 

౨ৎ taglist:

@nilletellsstories @noyatv @moonlightstuffs @slytherinholland @dominqueeekk @allcheesemelts @coconut-dreamz @rosewine-5 @hsfallingsky @imasimptoowth @tatumrileyslover  @murdocksdaughter @fauxraven @throughgoeshxmilton @thesullengrrrl @fanfictionismyromanempire @americanprometheuss @prettycove @ilikefictionalmen @etfrin @xyraphine @arzua10 @shadowolf993 @niki-is-a-thing @ashy-kit @snowsgames @impeterporker @randomgurl2326 @tspilled @tonixe @sammythecat7 @nowitsmissing @wearemadeofstardust0 @ebsmind

[unofficial-project-2025]

Check your voter's registration and go vote!

[gatheringbones]

[“People benefit from poverty in all kinds of ways. It’s the plainest social fact there is, and yet when you put it like this, the air becomes charged. You feel rude bringing it up. People shift in their chairs, and some respond by trying to quiet you the way mothers try to shush small children in public when they point out something that everyone sees but pretends not to—a man with one eye, a dog urinating on a car—or the way serious grown-ups shush young people when they offer blanket critiques of capitalism that, with the brutal clarity of a brick through glass, express a deep moral truth. People accuse you of inciting class warfare when you’re merely pointing out the obvious.

As a theory of poverty, exploitation elicits a muddled response, causing us to think of course and but, no in the same instant. On the one hand, as the late composer Stephen Sondheim once wrote, “The history of the world, my sweet—is who gets eaten and who gets to eat.” Clans, families, tribes, and nation-states collide, and one side is annihilated or enslaved or colonized or dispossessed to enrich the other. One side ascends to a higher place on the backs of the vanquished. Why should we think of poverty today as the result of anything different?

On the other hand, that was then. Notice how our voices, which can so effortlessly discuss exploitation that happened in the past, become garbled and halting when the conversation moves to how we get over on each other today. Perhaps because exploitation appears to us only in its most galling, extreme forms: enslaved Black field hands, young boys sent into the coal pits and young girls into the cotton mills. Perhaps we are captivated by a heroic narrative of progress, particularly racial progress, as if history, to quote the psychologist Jennifer Richeson, was “a ratchet that turns in one direction only.” Or perhaps we connect the concept of exploitation with socialism and don’t want to be associated with its tenets (or at least not its aesthetics). Years ago, I presented a paper titled “Exploiting the Inner City” at Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government, a paper that documented the business strategies of landlords in poor neighborhoods. The paper was straightforward. It showed how some landlords make a living (and sometimes a killing) by renting shabby housing to very poor families. After my talk, a senior scholar looked rather alarmed. “You’re going down a Marxist path,” she said. “You know that, right?”]

matthew desmond, from poverty: by america, 2023

[hpcaatcop27]

Read Professor Stavins’ analysis of the outcomes of COP27 in his newest blog.

[madamepestilence]

2024 US Election Information

We have roughly 1 year until the 2024 US election. I've put in some research, and here are my conclusions.

TLDR for those of you who don't have time or focus: Cornel West (Democratic Socialist running as People's Party -> Green Party) is the ideal candidate to vote for - normally I wouldn't advocate voting third party, but we may actually have a shot for once, and he has excellent policies. Jill Stein (Green Party) is a potential backup, though if West drops out, our best option for Democratic party is Marianne Williamson.

Please spread this information, especially to residents of Texas, Pennsylvania, Georgia, Arizona, Wisconsin, and Nevada. Detailed information under the cut.

Current Fascist and Republican Candidates

Donald Trump, Nikki Haley, Vivek Ramaswamy, Asa Hutchinson, Tim Scott, Ron DeSantis, Chris Christie, Ryan Binkley, and Doug Burgum.

I'm not going to entertain their details, but I will note that the information I picked up while being exposed to alt-right communities from the inside via my fascist parents earlier this year shows strong evidence that Republicans are likely going to split between Donald Trump, Ron DeSantis (viewed as a betrayal by Trump supporters), and openly fascist Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. (I'll cover him later).

My guess is a 6/3/1 Republican vote split between Trump/DeSantis/Kennedy, Jr..

Current Democratic Candidates

Joe Biden, Marianne Williamson, and Dean Philips.

Biden has overall failed to complete the majority of his campaign promises, and has been directly supporting Israel during the genocide of Palestine, as well as deferring to Republicans to be "bipartisan" (I don't think I have to stress enough that a bipartisan democrat is not a democrat) - do not vote for him.

Williamson is a high-school educated 71-year-old author from Los Angeles, California. She is known for being Oprah Winfrey's, "spiritual advisor," (double red flag), and dropped out during the 2020 election (another red flag).

While she supports the reinstatement of Roe v. Wade, the decriminalization of cannabis and psychedelic drugs, the reduction of CO2, and moving to 100% renewable energy by 2035, her advocacy for the outright banning of assault and semi-assault weapons for civilians without military reform of the same is a slight red flag when combined with her relationship with Oprah Winfrey (an Obama supporter, the president who authorized quite a lot of drone strikes in West Asia) and drop-out makes her not a great candidate.

Philips is a Bachelor's (Brown University) and Master's Business (University of Minnesota) educated 54-year-old three-term congressman who is noted for criticizing Biden running for a second term on account of both political moderacy and medical concerns.

Philips unfortunately wants to increase police funding for some reason, but advocated for better training, including mental health training. He also advocates for what he calls, "comprehensive immigration reform," in the form of increased border security and streamlining legal entry (this ignores the problem outlined by the UN that people seeking asylum are likely to have to enter a country illegally before they can seek support), and the only real good stance he has is giving reproductive rights to patients, rather than politicians.

Philips is essentially a moderate Republican, and is a bad candidate. Do not vote for him.

Current Independent Candidates

Fascist (not his stated political stance, but it's what he is)

Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. is a fascist that has openly quoted Nazi propaganda in his political campaigns, is an anti-vaccine activist, and has spread anti-science conspiracy theories such as vaccines causing autism and the non-existence of the SARS-CoV-2 pandemic. I cannot stress this enough, do not fucking vote for Kennedy, Jr.

Democratic Socialist

Cornel West is a Bachelor's (Harvard University), Master's, and Ph.D. (both Princeton University) educated 70-year-old progressive activist that switched his running party from the People's Party to the Green Party, despite being a both public- and self-described democratic socialist.

When asked why he wasn't running as a Democrat against Biden, he stated that, "Neither party is speaking to the pressing needs of poor and working people."

His party plans are a wealth tax on the rich, a national $27 minimum wage, a federal Universal Basic Income, 6 months of paid family leave, a 4-day work week, national free Pre-K childcare, "Immediate cessation of all oil and gas leasing projects on federal lands and waters," "Federal moratorium on fracking, carbon capture, and direct air capture technologies, geoengineering, and other false climate solutions," putting abortion rights in the Constitution, and nationalized healthcare.

Here's where I want to lay out something important. I normally wouldn't advocate for voting for a third party candidate due to the Spoiler Effect, but

Considering the United States' Democratic majority, popular vote records showing a common Republican minority, the absolutely incredible policies West stands for,

The growing support for third parties in the United States, and his policies aligning with public opinion,

Cornel West is the ideal candidate to vote for. Spread this information like wildfire - we may have one shot at the first third party win in US history in the upcoming 2024 election, and

If successful the dominant parties will be Fascist vs. Socialist, denying most, if not all, future Republican wins.

Our target toss-up states are Pennsylvania, Georgia, Arizona, Wisconsin, and Nevada.

Converting Texas to third party, or even just Democrat, will throw the Republican vote entirely and all but guarantee a Democrat, or hopefully third party, 2024 election win,

Which is absolutely possible, as Texas is majority Democrat and wins Republican votes via gerrymandering despite public opinion, which is why it swings occasionally.

Democrat states also need to be switched to majority third party votes, with particular emphasis on California, New York, and Illinois.

GET PEOPLE TO VOTE FOR CORNEL WEST!

Reference map of polling for the future 2024 election:

Libertarian (slightly Conservative to alt-right, really depends on the person)

Chase Oliver is a surprisingly progressive high school educated 38-year-old anti-war Libertarian that left the Democratic party after witnessing Obama's aggressive anti-West Asian war policies who has expressed desires for criminal justice reform and ending wars abroad, though hasn't elaborated on either.

Green Party

Jill Stein is a Bachelor's (Harvard University) and Medical (Harvard Medical University) 73-year-old Jewish doctor who previously ran for and represented the Green-Rainbow Party as the governor of Massachusetts.

Stein is notable for being an activist and protestor who has both protested outside buildings and testified before legislative and other government bodies against coal plants, mercury leaks, and unclean and unsafe groundwater.

Presumably, her stances will focus on environmental protections, trans rights, and Jewish protections, making her a potential alternative should West drop out.

Conclusions:

Again, don't fucking vote for Trump, Haley, Ramaswamy, Hutchinson, Scott, DeSantis, Christie, Binkley, Burgum, Biden, Philips, or Kennedy, Jr..

Our potential backup Democratic candidate is Williamson.

The ideal candidate is West, with Stein as a viable backup.

As absurd as it sounds, I want you to vote third party for Cornel West.

If you want a wealth tax on the rich, a national $27 minimum wage, a federal Universal Basic Income,

6 months of paid family leave, a 4-day work week, national free Pre-K childcare,

"Immediate cessation of all oil and gas leasing projects on federal lands and waters," "Federal moratorium on fracking, carbon capture, and direct air capture technologies, geoengineering, and other false climate solutions,"

putting abortion rights in the Constitution, and nationalized healthcare,

VOTE FOR CORNEL WEST AND GET OTHER PEOPLE TO DO THE SAME.

WE HAVE A CHANCE AT THE FIRST THIRD PARTY WIN IN THE UNITED STATES AND THE DENIAL OF FUTURE REPUBLICAN WINS.

[youcalledmebabe]

webgott pretty please!

75. “I’m going for a swim. Do you wanna join me?” (preferably it’s joe who asks. if you are so inclined. 🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂)

send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write you a Drabble

happy Webgott Wednesday yna!! enjoy some hot pygmalion summer Webgott. full disclosure this will 10000% be a fic someday.

Waves crash onto the shore. David can just barely make them out from the porch of the summer house. The moon shines bright tonight but his vision isn’t what it used to be; all the straining to see his journal in the dark in Europe has caught up with him. Or maybe he’s just getting old. Twenty-six tomorrow.

He lights a cigarette and takes a contemplative puff. Laughter and chatter filter out through the windows. It seems nobody has noticed the guest of honor has absconded.

The screen door creaks open and David sighs. Please don’t be his mother. He glances up to see Joe, offering him a glass.

“Water,” Joe says. “You’ve been mainlining gin all night.”

David takes a sip and pats the step next to him. When Joe sits, he offers him a drag of his cigarette. Joe doesn’t give it back.

“People keep asking me if I’m Bobby.”

David grins. He supposes Joe does have the reediness of the Kennedys but one word out of his mouth would disabuse anybody of that notion. “My roommate from Harvard. He’s in Hyannis for the summer. But maybe you’ll get to meet him.”

“You really think I’m gonna stick around the whole summer?” Joe says, but it’s a half-hearted barb. He’d come to Long Island at David’s request, had endured a week of the Websters already and earned the affection—if not approval— of everybody but his father. And David hadn’t even managed that in twenty-six years, so he could hardly fault Joe for it.

“Maybe,” David hums and lights another cigarette.

David watches Joe smoke his cigarette, how his face looks marble under the moonlight. Age is doing him nothing but favors. He feels a little guilty for not being completely honest with Joe.

“I lured you here,” he blurts out. “Under false pretenses.”

Joe stubs out his cigarette, amusement flickering in his expression. “I miss you and I want you to come to my summer home was a pretense?”

“Well, no. But it wasn’t the entire truth.”David sighs and takes a drag. “My parents want me to get engaged this summer. Or to go to law school. ‘War Hero’ got me through 1946 and Harvard student got me through now but my mother needs a new accomplishment of mine to brag about at her functions.”

“Just go to law school, Web, Jesus. You talk enough for it.”

David shakes his head. “Bobby’s going but…it’s not for me. I want to write. Lawyers have to actually work.”

Joe flicks his arm. “You’re a spoiled brat.”

“I invited you out here because I want you to get engaged.”

“So that’s why you tried to marry me off to Ann the second I walked through the door,” Joe muses.

“If you marry some wealthy heiress, your life is set, Joe. And we’ll see each other every summer. Maybe even during the year, depending on who the lucky bride is.”

Joe smirks. “I want no part of this life. You’re all crazy. If I were a writer like you I’d write some great piece on this place.”

“Very Nick Carraway,” David says, frowning. Joe was supposed to want to marry rich.

Joe snaps his fingers. “Gatsby.”

David stares at him, surprised he remembered. But then, he shouldn’t be surprised. Joe had read it too, and Joe had a great memory. So sharp, so intelligent.

“You look like you want to kiss me. Just because I get your little book joke. You’re so easy.”

“Maybe,” David sighs. “But it wouldn’t be very ethical to do while I’m trying to marry you off.”

Joe snorts. “None of these women want to marry a cab driver from San Francisco.”

But what if they did? David knows plenty of rebellious young women, plenty of fathers who would be indulgent enough to let Joe slide into the family. If David could just teach him how to walk the walk, talk the talk, he’d be in.

“I bet that I can get a girl to want to marry you. Probably more than one. I’ll teach you to be a perfect gentleman. It’ll be like Pygmalion.”

David would do Pygmalion right though. There was absolutely no danger of him falling in love with Joe. A bit of fooling around in Austria wasn’t love; Joe had made that very clear. And David was much older and wiser now. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“Whatever that means. We can talk about it in the morning. Speaking of luring,” Joe says. “Can’t believe you haven’t tried to get me in the ocean yet.”

The truth is David doesn’t entirely trust them to be around each other in a state of undress. He glances out at the water, waves pushing into the shore. It does look inviting, and so do Joe’s eyes. But his party persists inside.

Joe sheds his jacket and loosens his bow tie, scowling. He stalks down the steps. “I’m going for a swim. If you want to join me.”

“Well when you ask so nicely, how can I say no?” David retorts, but he’s taking off his own jacket and running after Joe anyway.

By the time they reach the beach, Joe’s only in his trousers. David’s itching for him to take them off; to see moonlit skin.

“You hate swimming. You just want to see me naked,” David says. “Now who’s easy?”

“Nobody hates swimming, Web. It’s just that nobody else is as weird about it as you.”

David grins at him. How he’s missed Joe’s affectionate ribbing. It just doesn’t read the same in a letter. A whole summer of Joe’s teasing; a whole lifetime of summers if he can just get Joe to marry one of Ann’s ditsy friends, or maybe one of the women being offered up to him. “I’m so glad you came.”

Joe waves a hand. “Just here for a free vacation,” he says, but he’s smiling back, and inching closer.

“Kenyon? Kenyon! Come inside. You need to say goodbye to the Gilmores.”

David turns and squints at the porch. His mother is framed by the lights, martini glass in hand. He looks back at Joe and the water longingly.

“Duty calls, Kenyon,” Joe says but his expression softens. “Come meet me back out here when the party is over. We’ll go for a birthday swim.”

“You’ll be okay out here alone?” David asks.

“Survived a war, Web. What the fuck could go wrong in rich person USA?”

Plenty, David wants to say, but it’s mostly psychological. Joe will be fine. He nods at Joe and slouches back up the beach to a woman his parents want him to marry, already counting the seconds until he can be in the water with Joe.