#thomas jefferson scenario

[astralaffairs]

voltaire to versace 04 | thomas jefferson

title: voltaire to versace 04

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: 7.4k

warnings: this one is chill just like sexual tension. sorry ive been gone for two years lol

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

tags: @lunariasilver @tinywhim @nyxie75 @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @cubedtriangle @lunariasilver @lexylovesfandoms @fanfic-addict-98 @stephyra17 @notebookgirl30 @exorcisms-with-elmo @kmsmedine @itshaileyn @honeyand-roses @laic2299 @id-do-it-for-free-babe @luckyfriesss @golddiggs-x @drreamhugs @sillyteecup @notebookgirl30 @marvelouslyemily @checkurwindow— let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

SHE STILL FINISHED grading the first round of essays for Thomas, but she dropped them off at the faculty mailboxes that Sunday afternoon — she couldn't face him at that point. On Monday, she gravitated back to her seat at the rear of his lecture hall. She did the same on Wednesday.

Her responses to his emails and his texts were short and to-the-point. He needed her to grade the recent papers from his International Security class? Sure, but she was busy during his office hours; any chance he could leave them in his mailbox so she could pick them up the next morning? Thanks, that'd be great. He wanted her to work with him on laying out the rubric for an essay? No problem. She'd set up a shared Google Doc right away.

It was a week after Y/N had last spoken to Thomas that Dolley was over his apartment that weekend with James. She was smug when she came home to Y/N.

"Thomas is looking for you," she said mildly, and Y/N glanced up from her laptop on the couch with a skeptical gaze.

"And what, exactly, makes you say that?"

"He asked me to tell you."

Y/N's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, seriously?"

"Mhm." Dolley's smile was self-pleased. "He was home when I was over, and he said he needed to talk to you."

"Thanks for letting me know." Y/N's voice was tense as she looked back to the paper she was writing, and Dolley took a seat beside her with a glass of water.

"Can I ask why that might be?"

"No clue."

"So are you going to talk to him?"

"I have class with him Monday. I'll see him then."

"Y/N." She gave her a deadpanned look, and Y/N looked tired when she met her eyes. "Did something happen? You haven't mentioned his name even once all this week."

"No, everything's fine," Y/N assured her, but Dolley looked less than convinced.

"Then why do you look so unhappy right now, dear?"

"What? I don't," she replied defensively, and Dolley raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"How daft do you think I am?" she asked, folding her arms after she put her glass on their coffee table. "You can deny wanting to sleep with him all you'd like, but I know how much you like Thomas. It isn't exactly subtle. So what happened with you two?"

Y/N sighed, rubbing the side of her nose. "It's not really that big of a deal. I'm probably blowing it out of proportion, but he drove me home from the party at their apartment last weekend, and..."

"And?"

"And I came onto him." She was wincing at even the memory. "I was drunk, though, and he knew that, but it was so stupid. I'm still kind of mortified, so I've been dodging his attempts to talk to me. I don't know how I'm supposed to face him."

Dolley took a deep breath, eyeing Y/N where she sat with her head in her hands, her laptop closed on her lap. "Well, he clearly wants you to talk to him, so I'm sure he didn't think it was quite so bad."

"But I'm gonna be an anxious wreck the next time I have to talk to him," she groaned.

"You're his TA and his student," Dolley pointed out. "You can't avoid him forever."

"I'm not trying to," Y/N said. "But… y'know. I can still put it off for a little while. Midterms are only a week away, and then it's spring break. If I can make it that far, I don't have to talk to him until fourth quarter."

"You're being ridiculous."

“I’m being practical,” she replied, “besides, it’s only two weeks till break. The only time I’m gonna need to talk to him is when I turn in my midterm.”

Dolley snorted. “I’d wish you luck, but this one’s a lost cause, dear.”

————————————

IN THE END, Dolley was right. He hardly let her get away with it for more than a week.

"Y/N, can I have a word?"

She cringed.

It was 6 PM on Wednesday; the rest of her class was filing out of the lecture hall, but she paused where she stood in the row second to last. She'd already turned to leave. She shifted on her feet as she turned to Thomas, pulled her bag further up her shoulder, but when she saw him standing at the front of the room, arms folded and brow creased as he watched her, she couldn't meet his eyes.

Her classmates shot her curious looks as they left — Thomas never asked students to stay after class. If something was wrong, he sent them emails, he asked them to come to his office hours, he’d even used Twitter messages to reach people before, but he never publicly asked someone to hang back. She’d learned that it was against his ethos as a professor; he’d told her a story or two of his college days that made her understand why.

However, as much attention as this anomaly in his behavior drew, she had a feeling she knew why he wanted a word with her. She slumped back into her chair beside the aisle until everyone else was gone, and finally, the door fell shut, echoed through the hall, and she approached Thomas's desk with a looming sense of dread. He glanced up from packing his bag.

"Hey."

"Hey." Her voice was hesitant. "You couldn't have just approached me after the class got out?"

"In my defense," he started, "you haven't been makin' yourself all that easy to find. Everything okay lately?"

He was watching her expectantly, an eyebrow raised, and she folded her arms. "Yeah. Just fine."

"Then lemme rephrase that." Then, he turned fully toward her, his bag pulled shut and pushed aside. He frowned. "Why've you been avoiding me?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "What? I'm not."

"Yes, you are." The words left no room for negotiation, and she sighed. "And I mean, 's your prerogative. You've still been comin' through as a TA, so I'm not about to try and criticize you, but can I at least get an explanation?"

He looked pretty frustrated for someone who wasn't about to try and criticize her.

"You're not that oblivious," she said. "I have a feeling you know why."

Several moments passed in a tense silence. He was eyeing her tentatively, unmoving, and she couldn't meet his scrutinizing gaze, shifting on her feet. Finally, he sighed.

"The party?"

"Got it in one."

To her surprise, he let out a dry huff of laughter. "To be honest, I'm surprised you even remember that."

"I kinda wish I didn't."

Thomas offered her a reluctant smile. "I hear that. But..." He hesitated. "Which part of that night’s still bothering you?”

Y/N furrowed her brow, looking back up toward him. "Seriously?”

She figured it was obvious. Trying to seduce your professor while well-past drunk seemed like a clear, egregious issue, and she wasn’t quite sure why he was playing dumb.

"After all that time you spent avoidin’ me, you've gotta know what I'm talkin' about. C'mon." She stared at him blankly for another moment, and finally, he sighed. "Nevermind. I'm sorry about what happened then. We don't have to keep discussin' it if you don't wanna."

"No, hang on, what are you sorry for?" she asked, disbelief clear in her voice, and he raised an eyebrow. She hesitated before she went on, "I... I'm sorry for coming onto you like that. It was really stupid, and I know I crossed a line, but that's all my own fault; I don't—"

"You were drunk. Don't feel bad about it," he said reasonably. She was searching his apologetic expression as he spoke; she couldn't fathom why he looked guilty. Had something happened that she didn't remember?

"But why are you apologizing?" she asked softly, creasing her forehead. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I got real close to doin' something I shouldn't, though," he said, carding a hand through his curls. "I shouldn't have let it get that far. 'Specially not when you were drunk. I got too close to crossing that line."

"Too close to..." Y/N repeated, trailing off with her brow furrowed, but that was when it hit her. Had she not been so mortified by her own actions, she realized, she'd have been dwelling instead on the way his hands had tightened around her waist, how he'd pulled her into himself with a bruising grip when she tugged at his hair. That evening, she'd convinced herself he was going to spend the night. "Oh."

"Yeah." He swallowed hard, hands tucked into his pockets. "So, 'm sorry. I should've shut that down, and I get why you've been keepin' your distance."

"No, no, relax." She dismissed his apology with a flippant wave of her hand. "I was in the wrong. You were trying to be considerate."

"You're givin' me too much credit," he sighed, and a flicker of a smile graced her lips.

"I wouldn't say that," she argued, and she hesitated, cocked a brow before adding, "Unless, of course, you had an ulterior motive for insisting on taking me home in the middle of the night?"

His eyes widened. "Oh! Jesus, no, I swear, I didn't— I wouldn't..." As an amused grin split Y/N's controlled expression, though, he trailed off, squinting at her. "You're just messin' with me, aren't you?"

“Maybe,” she answered mildly, giving an innocent shrug. He scowled. “But, really, Thomas, it’s fine. We can forget it ever happened, okay?”

He watched her warily as she offered him a tense smile. He wasn't sure it was fine, and quite frankly, he knew he'd have a hard time forgetting it ever happened — he felt like there was more left to say.

But as his pause stretched on, as she raised her eyebrows at his uncharacteristic silence, he didn't have the words.

"You sure?" was all he finally said.

"Yeah."

“Alright.” He eyed her for another moment, wary, before he pulled his bag up onto his shoulder. "That’s good. I… guess I'll see you around. Good luck with midterms, Y/N."

She didn't miss the final, unreadable once-over he gave her before starting up the stairs out of the lecture hall. She didn't go after him.

————————————————

WHAT FOLLOWED WAS midterms week, which came and went without much pomp or circumstance. She didn't see much of Thomas that week after finishing with his test, which was more intentional than she’d like to have admitted. On Friday night, she finished grading the papers he'd delegated to her, but she just left them in his mailbox.

When Saturday afternoon rolled around, she was perched on the couch in her apartment flipping through the same Netflix suggestions she'd been seeing for the past hour. She'd had an incredibly relaxed day, and she assumed it would stay as such until Dolley came bursting in with a wide grin.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Where are you coming from looking so excited?"

"James's."

"Ah." No further questions were necessary, but when Dolley circled around to stand right between Y/N and the television, it was clear something more was up — something Y/N had no interest in finding out about. "Do you mind? I was watching that."

"Oh, please. No, you weren't," Dolley scoffed, but her eyes were alight despite her contrived annoyance.

"Well, I was going to," Y/N grumbled, and Dolley could only smile.

"You're going to want to hear what I have to say."

"Am I?"

"Certainly." Y/N raised an expectant brow when Dolley took a step closer to her. "Spring break just started."

"What else is new?"

"James's family has a home in the Outer Banks."

"Good for him." Y/N's responses were short as she tried to lean around Dolley, scrolling through the 'New to Netflix' category. Dolley groaned, rolled her eyes. Y/N's noises of protest went entirely ignored as Dolley pulled her remote from her hand, and she deadpanned as Dolley rested her hands on her shoulders, sitting down to straddle her lap on the couch. "Seriously?" Y/N whined.

"And we are going to the Outer Banks for spring break."

"I'm sorry, what?" She let out a dry laugh at the conviction in Dolley's voice. "Alright, maybe you're going to the Outer Banks over break, but last I checked, James and I aren't exactly on the level of road trip buddies."

"Please consider it. He told me I could invite you."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Yeah, because he likes you. Not because he wants me there."

"Oh, what does it matter?" she whined. "An invitation is an invitation. James just doesn't know you yet. I'm sure he'll come to love you."

"I don't care," Y/N groaned, shoving her off, and Dolley rolled off to sit beside her on the couch with a huff. "As much as I love you, I refuse to let your infatuation with James take over my social life."

"What social life?" Dolley scoffed. "I've already taken it over. Now I'm just adding James."

"Hey, I have other friends," Y/N said, but Dolley gave her a disbelieving look.

"Your professors and your study groups don't count."

"There's also the kid I see every day in the library," Y/N defended. "He's the only other one on the sixth floor."

"Do you even know his name?"

She hesitated. "That's not relevant."

"Darling," Dolley groaned, shifting onto her side to face Y/N. "Just come with me. It'll be fun. And I'm sure James is bringing Thomas; after all, they're roommates."

"That doesn't add to the appeal, Doll." Y/N wasn’t sure she trusted herself on a vacation spent with him in the Outer Banks, sleeping in the same house as him, trying not to stare at him shirtless on the beach. "I let you drag me to their apartment for a night, and it ended up sucking. I'm not gonna subject myself to that for a whole week."

"Ten days," Dolley corrected her.

"That's worse." Y/N’s huff was heavy, and as she raked a hand through her hair, Dolley wore a pout. “Besides, I can’t. I have that scholarship dinner thing, remember? I have to wine and dine all the donors.”

Dolley wrinkled her nose. “I forgot about those. I’ve always thought they were exploitative.”

“Oh, they are,” Y/N agreed, “but they’re giving me too much money for me to be able to complain. I can be their little academic Miss America for a night as long as they keep paying my tuition.”

Dolley hummed in acquiescence as Y/N returned to scrolling through her suggested shows on Netflix. “So it’s like a beauty pageant, but instead of hair extensions, you bring your resume.”

“Feels more like a strip club. I had to go to two at my old school, and it’s just putting on a show to get rich, wrinkled old men to throw us a few bucks. May as well wear a g-string and try to find myself a sugar daddy.”

“Mmh, let me know if any of your DILFs have pretty sons, alright?”

Y/N gave Dolley a skeptical look. “You’ve already got James; leave the rich legacy boys for me.”

“Sharing is caring.”

———————————————

ULTIMATELY, DOLLEY WENT to the Outer Banks without her. She left the next morning (but apparently couldn't leave without giving Y/N a serious tongue-lashing). And from there, Y/N was left to fend for herself.

The first couple days were fine. She ate the remainder of the groceries in the apartment. She watched seven seasons of Grey's Anatomy before deciding she hated all the characters. She cleaned out the fridge. She drank Dolley's nice red wine (with no plans to replace it). She organized her sock drawer.

Alright, so maybe she was going a little stir-crazy in Dolley's absence. So much for her having a social life outside of that apartment.

However, she didn't leave until she was clean out of food, bourbon, and episodes of SVU.

She was just around the corner from the nice CVS, though, so when she left, she didn't particularly expect to have any reason to look her best — if any of her classmates saw her in her pajama pants, it was far from her greatest concern.

She emerged with two white plastic bags, both stretching around the edges of the fruits of her pseudo-grocery run; the fact that she hadn't bought anything with nearly the nutritional value of actual fruit was beside the point. Regardless, she was feeling rather self-satisfied as she turned onto the sidewalk headed back to her apartment, arms weighed down with junk food, holding her CVS rewards card in the corner of her mouth, lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to re-organize her wallet — but apparently, she was too preoccupied to realize what was immediately in front of her as she took the next left.

"Woah, there."

She screeched as she ran directly into the man on the other side of the corner. As she stumbled backward, not managing to spare herself from falling on her ass, two of her grocery bags went tumbling to the ground; three split right through the bottom of the plastic, and as her pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream rolled to the feet of her accidental assailant, she let out a defeated groan.

She dropped her shoulders with an angry huff, and when the man before her leaned down to pick up the ice cream she'd spent the past week working up the energy to leave the house for, her gaze followed it up as he rose.

"Mint chip? Really?" When she caught sight of Thomas's amused expression, the exhaustion on her shoulders only compounded. He'd clearly been out running; he ran a hand through his curls, wiped the sweat from his brow as he popped out one of his earbuds. "You've got some awful taste, there."

"Of course, it's you," she grumbled. "Because I couldn't have been bulldozed by some stranger to, at least, spare myself the humiliation."

His smile was entertained as she dusted herself off, sparing what she could of her CVS haul, tucking her rewards card into her wallet and her pack of razor heads into her purse before she stood. "I think this belongs to you?"

"Yeah, yeah." The annoyance was clear in her voice when she looked up to see his outstretched hand, offering her back the ice cream, but (although she took the pint back immediately, as her priorities were still in order) that wasn't where her gaze stopped, instead trailing up his arm to his heaving (bare) chest and the earbuds hanging loosely from one of his ears. Her breath caught in her throat.

Sweat trailed down his torso to his abs, glistening in the mid-morning sunlight and drawing her eyes down to the waist of his sweatpants where they hung low on his hips. Her stare was only broken when he pulled his headphones out, wrapping them around his hand and yanking her gaze back up to his arms. The shift didn't help; instead, she couldn't break her wide-eyed, gawking stare from his biceps.

"Y/N?"

She was jolted back to earth with a start at the sound of his voice as he stuffed his earbuds into his pocket. His grin was broad, and her cheeks were on fire. "Shit, sorry, I, um—"

"Relax, it's fine," he said, tucking his phone in his pocket. "Need a hand with your, uh..." He picked up her extra-large jar of Nutella, "groceries?"

As he watched her expectantly, she swallowed hard, shaking her head with a tense smile. "No, no, that's fine," she assured him. "I wouldn't want to interrupt your run. I can manage."

He quirked a brow. "You sure? You're gonna have a hell of a time carryin' all of these on your own."

"I don't live far."

"I know," he said, and as she did her best to collect all her goods from the pavement around them, he did the same, "but there's no way you can get these all back by hand."

"I'll be alright," she said, her words taking on an undertone of annoyance (although it was ultimately born of her unease). Thomas didn't look so convinced.

"C'mon, just lemme help you out?" he reasoned with her, and as she tried to pull her purse shut around her two bags of mini tacos, balancing a package of laundry detergent pods on her lifted knee, she couldn't put up too much resistance. "You 'n I both know you need it."

Y/N pursed her lips. "Fine. Thank you."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Call me crazy, but you don't sound too grateful, now."

"Let's just go."

Though it took them a moment longer, between them, they did manage to balance all of her quasi-groceries in their arms, and Y/N nodded in the direction Thomas had been coming from. "My apartment is back this way."

"Yeah, I remember."

"Still?"

He shrugged. "I'm good with directions. And I've taken you back there twice, now."

"Right.” Against her will, the memories from those two separate nights began to surface in her mind, and she could feel her cheeks heating up. “How could I forget?”

Her tone was dry, uncomfortable, but to her relief, Thomas laughed it off.

"Someone's feelin' hostile today, huh?" he commented. Although she rolled her eyes, her face was burning; his presence had her on edge, reacting to even the smallest of his movements, and she was still trying to shake off how mortified she was from having run into him in the first place.

"Sorry. I'm just tired." He raised an eyebrow. "My sleep schedule's been all over the place without Dolley around to nag me about it."

"Oh, yeah, she's outta town with James, huh?" She hummed in confirmation. “Why didn’t you end up goin’ with ‘em? James told me he invited you.”

She huffed out a dry laugh. “Yeah, he invited me as an extension of Dolley because he wanted her there. I’m much happier alone in my apartment than stuck in the Outer Banks with people I hardly know.”

“Yeah, you ‘n me both.”

Y/N furrowed her brow. “I thought these were your friends that were going.”

He shrugged. “James ended up bringin’ a lotta grad students I’ve never met. Some undergrads in there, too. Would’ve been a shitty ten days, ‘specially once he let me know you weren’t comin’.”

“‘Especially once you knew I wasn’t coming’?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, don’t get ahead of yourself,” he replied. “I stayed behind ‘cause I knew I could pawn more papers off on you to grade.”

“Well, that is part of my charm,” she said frankly, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“That and the pajamas you’re always wearin’ around campus?”

“Oh, come on, I’ve seen you when I was wearing pajamas once. That’s it.”

He hummed skeptically, and she glanced up at him as they walked. “I know you’re no math major, but addin’ today to the day you stormed into my office makes two days, not one.”

“Today doesn’t count,” she argued. “The plan was to go to CVS, go back home, and interact with nobody. Besides, you’re not even wearing a shirt, so it’s not like you have any room to judge.”

“At least you know that I own shirts, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you only own pajamas, sweetheart. Didn’t think I had to spell it out for you,” he said matter-of-factly, casting her a sidelong glance, and while his expression was playful, she could feel her cheeks flush.

“Oh, shut up; you know that isn’t true,” she defended. “Just because I’m partial to my sweatpants doesn’t mean I can’t dress up when need be. I have nice clothes.”

He eyed her skeptically. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

————————————

IT TOOK THE pair of them just a few minutes to reach Y/N’s apartment building, but it took several more for them to actually make it up to her apartment. Trying to get the door unlocked without dropping anything was a fiasco — it ended in one of her mini Coke cans rolling down the hall, no doubt fated to explode the minute she opened it, and a bag of pizza rolls splitting open at the corner when she dropped it. Thomas had little sympathy for her complaints about them being exposed to carpet germs.

"Thank you for all the help." Y/N turned to Thomas with a sheepish smile when she finally put her groceries down. "Sorry for ruining your workout."

"Don't mention it." He dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand after he put the rest of her things down into the pile she'd started. "After all, you're tiring enough that it doesn't make a difference."

"Shut up." Despite her scowl, he snickered, and she rolled her eyes as she went to open her fridge. "I should put everything away so it doesn't go bad, but is there anything I can get you as a 'thank you'? A drink? Something to eat?"

"This just your way of askin' me to stay longer?" He raised a teasing eyebrow, but when she turned to him, her eyes were wide.

“Oh! No, no, I didn’t mean… I mean, you don’t have to, I just—”

“Woah, relax.” His voice held a trace of a laugh at the panic that was slowly dissipating from her gaze. “I was kiddin’, alright? Didn’t mean to rattle you like that.”

“I’m not rattled,” she defended, closing her fridge, and she could feel her cheeks heating up as he eyed her with disbelief. “I just felt like I owed you something for all the help. I know I kinda derailed your day."

"I told you, it wasn't a problem," he said mildly. “But, y’know, if you wanna pay me back, I’ve got a whole lot more papers that need gradin’.”

Her groan made him laugh. “God, please don’t make me regret becoming your TA. I have better things to do with my spring break.”

“Like what?”

“Like eating all the ice cream I just bought?” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, and he rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, if I give you the rubric, you really can’t multitask?”

She sighed. “Yeah, alright, if you really need the help. I’ll come to pick them up sometime this week if that works for you?”

“That’s just fine. I wasn’t plannin’ on going into my office, though, so you’ll have to swing by my apartment.” Her most vivid memories of the last time she’d been at his place flashed in her mind’s eye. “That okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She cleared her throat when she realized how long her moment of hesitation had been. He creased his brow. “Just tell me what time you’ll be home. I won’t have any scheduling conflicts.”

“What, you don’t have any big parties on the calendar?” he asked, cracking a lopsided grin, and she let out the lightest of laughs, the sound quiet and forced. “You aren’t gonna find yourself gettin’ arrested when a professor calls the cops on your rager?”

“Nah, not this time,” she said. Her smile was stiff, and he pursed his lips as he watched her continue unpacking her groceries, bending down to tuck various packages into different cupboards.

“Good to know,” he replied. In the pause that followed, Y/N was aware of every twitch of every muscle in her body; she could feel his eyes on her as she moved through her space. “I’ll text you when I sort ‘em out, then.”

“Cool.” Her mouth was dry. She didn’t look his way.

“Alright.” The hum of the fridge had never sounded louder. They could hear footsteps on an adjacent floor of the building and the soft buzz of their AC unit. Y/N swallowed. His next words were cautious. “So, should I, uh, head on out, then?”

Her eyebrows jumped. When she turned her head to look at him, she realized he hadn’t moved from his spot. She shrugged hesitantly.

“I mean, it’s your call.” His gaze flitted away from her when she met his eyes. “If you have somewhere to be, I don’t wanna keep you. I can finish putting my food away.”

“Wouldn't wanna overstay my welcome is all. I dunno if I should be spendin’ any more time in your apartment than I need to.” His expression was nonchalant, uncaring, but his shoulders were tense. She could see the tendons in his upper arms twitching, and it was only then that she was reminded that he was, in fact, very shirtless in her kitchen.

He glanced back at her with tentative eyes.

“That might be smart.” She stood up to her full height, looking down at the counter before her. “It’s getting kinda late anyway. You should probably head back before it gets dark.”

It was nowhere near sundown, but the message was certainly received, and Thomas nodded. “‘Course. I’ll see myself out.”

“Thanks for the help with the groceries,” Y/N said softly, and he smiled.

“Anytime,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

———————————————

“WHAT CLASS GOT a multiple choice midterm?” The indignance in Y/N’s voice made Thomas laugh.

“The freshmen.”

They were at Thomas’s apartment. Dolley and James would still be gone on their road trip for five more days, though, and that left them living alone about a block away from each other. Y/N wasn’t sure she knew where they stood, but when she went to pick up the midterms Thomas needed her to grade, he first had to walk her through the rubric. Then she started asking questions, and they both ended up sitting; then Thomas returned to sipping his coffee, and Y/N started leafing through one of the papers with a pen, and it only made sense for her to stay.

At least, that was how she justified it to herself as she reached the end of her second hour parked on his couch.

“I swear to god, you coddle those freshmen,” she said, twirling her pen absentmindedly as she went through the answer key. She scowled. “And they’re still getting, like, 25% off.”

“See? I’ve gotta coddle ‘em,” he defended. “If I make that class any harder, I’m gonna have a full class of Fs on my record. Won’t be gettin’ tenure, that’s for sure.”

“If you treated them like they were competent, maybe they’d be forced to learn,” she suggested, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. When you finish grading ‘em, d’you mind calculating the curve for me?”

“This is curved?” Her tone bordered on genuine annoyance, but her dramatic reaction was only entertaining Thomas. “I’m gonna need another cup of coffee to get through this.”

“Now, this feels exploitive.”

“You don’t even pay me to TA,” she pointed out. “With the bullshit I put up with, you owe me a drink from that fancy espresso machine you have tucked away.”

“Aw, c’mon, is workin’ with me really so bad, sweetheart?” He plastered on a pout, but the casual term of endearment made her pulse jump. It didn’t feel so natural to hear him call her that anymore.

"Don't get me started," she said, but she knew how shaky she sounded. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice (and if he did, he didn't mention it).

“Alright, alright. I was just headed to get myself another, anyway.” He acquiesced easily, and she was all but relieved when he left the room, taking both their mugs with him.

She wanted there to be a way for her to shake off any of the nerves he always seemed to leave her with. It wasn’t right; it wasn’t fair — he was her professor. He used terms of endearment without a second thought. She needed to stop overthinking it, especially given that she’d heard him call both Maria and Angelica “darling” and “honey” on more than one occasion. “Sweetheart” seemed to be reserved for her, though.

Stop thinking like that.

She cringed as the observation surfaced. She knew she was reading into it, and her mind was running a mile a minute to try and replace the idea with something else, any kind of distraction. She decided to chalk it all up to the caffeine she’d been consuming en masse.

So maybe another latte wasn’t the greatest idea. She pushed herself off of his couch with a grunt.

All she wanted was a glass of water, so she didn't expect that there'd be any problem with her just barging into his kitchen since she was already at his place.

But she'd just turned into the kitchen's doorway, and Thomas wouldn't have minded it if she hadn't turned with the worst timing imaginable.

"Oh, fuck." She felt the coffee scalding her skin before she processed what'd happened. Her grimace was involuntary and pronounced as she stumbled away from him, pulling the back of her shirt as far away from her body as she could. "Shit, shit, shit, that's hot."

"Jesus, are you alright?" It wasn't until a split second later that she turned to see Thomas standing behind her, mortified and frantically going to set down his mugs so he could go to check on her.

But she only shook her head, doing her best to regulate her breathing, control her expression despite the searing pain across her upper back. “Shit, I—” Her voice broke off as she swallowed hard, far from concerned with being a considerate guest when she pushed past him into his kitchen. Thomas was frozen to the spot, watching her rush to the sink and frantically yanking off the nozzle of his sink to run cold water over her shoulder blade (she’d never been more grateful for his bougie interior design). Her focus was nowhere near him.

She had no clue how to treat a burn. However, she didn’t think twice before tearing her shirt off — it was searing her skin.

Her tunnel vision may have blinded her to the larger context of her panic (and for good reason, all things considered), but Thomas was stunned as he watched her strip off her button-down in the middle of his kitchen, run it under water to use it as a rag. She tucked it under her left bra strap so that she could press the cold cloth directly against the burn.

Thomas was gawking. When Y/N caught her breath, turning to him, she met his eyes, and— well, actually, she didn’t meet his eyes. His gaze was focused a good ten inches below her eyes, and she chose to conclude that he was staring at her chest because he was concerned about having burnt her with coffee. The fact that not even a drop of the scalding coffee had touched her chest was a nonissue.

“Do you know anything about treating burns?”

“Not…” He cleared his throat, redirecting his stare up to where her eyes actually were. “Not much. I— Holy shit, are you alright? God… lemme Google it. Hang on.” She tried to catch her breath as Thomas pulled out his phone, and the first thing he said was, “Alright, says you’ve gotta get rid of any clothes over the burn.” He glanced back up at her. “Looks like you’ve got that covered, though.”

“Yeah, I figured that one out for myself. Thanks.” Her tone was dry.

“Right.” Thomas cleared his throat. “You wanna use my shower to run it under cold water, then?”

She nodded frantically, grimacing as she pulled her damp shirt out from under her bra strap, holding that as far from her skin as she could without her bra coming off. “Please.”

It took just about all of Thomas’s willpower to keep his gaze north of her collarbones as he showed her where the bathroom was and told her how to work the shower. If any god happened to be real, he was fairly sure he was being tested that afternoon — and all because he didn’t feel like calculating the curve on his midterms. He could safely say that this was far more difficult.

He gave her a towel and some of his spare clothes to change into, but when she dug the Neosporin out of his medicine cabinet, he heard her call his name.

He knocked on the bathroom door. “Everything alright in there?”

“Yeah, I just…” Her voice was muffled as she trailed off. “I can’t reach the burn.”

“Oh.” He swallowed audibly, although Y/N was far enough that she couldn’t hear it. “D’you… need help?”

“Please.” Her voice was hesitant and nervous.

“Can… can I come in?”

“Yeah, just hang on a second.” There was a pause. Y/N didn't meet his eyes when she came to open the door; she held a towel over her bra-clad chest, one of the straps having slipped off the side of her left shoulder. "I, er… can't reach my back to bandage it. Can you… ?"

Thomas's eyes widened. "Oh, um, yeah. Yeah, I've got it."

"Thanks," she said quietly, and when she turned to the sink, passing him the ointment and gauze as she faced the mirror, she kept her hand towel held over her front. "Sorry about… all this."

"Why're you sorry?" The amusement in his voice eased the tension in her shoulders. "Sorry for gettin' coffee spilled on you? Sorry for havin' skin on your back?"

"Sorry for having burnable skin on my back," she corrected him, and he laughed.

"Yeah, alright, good point. If you weren't so damn flammable we wouldn't have this issue," he teased, but he pursed his lips. "In all seriousness, this one's on me. Wasn't watching where I was goin'; I was the one that ran right into you, not the other way around."

"Yeah, but I was in the way," Y/N pushed back, and Thomas raised a skeptical eyebrow, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

"You've gotta stop apologizing for things, sweetheart. Especially things that I think we both know weren't your fault." How frankly he spoke made her sigh, and in that moment, it felt as if she was back in the entrance of her apartment, clinging to him as he tried to keep himself from pulling her closer. She swallowed her pang of guilt. “Lemme know if this hurts, yeah?”

“Okay.” Her voice was small.

Neither of them spoke as he dabbed ointment onto her wound, and his gentle touch had a warmth filling her skin that had nothing to do with the burn. He stood within inches behind her. The air in his bathroom was tense; both of them were aware of every movement the other made, every brush of their skin against one another, and it took every ounce of her willpower to keep her eyes down, to keep from staring at him in the mirror. She glanced up to see him knitting his brow, concern in his gaze. 

He placed the ointment back onto his sink, instead unraveling the gauze he held in his other hand.

"Pass me the medical tape?" The sound of his voice made her look up, meeting his eyes in the mirror. It took her a moment to process his words, but when she did, she broke his gaze immediately, clearing her throat and nodding as she reached for it and handed it back to him.

Her skin tingled as he laid the gauze softly over her wound, doing his best to give her skin room to breathe. She shivered as he taped it down by the sides. "Alright."

"You're done?"

He nodded and although his touch was tentative as he pressed the tape down to her back, it was firm. "Yeah, that should hold. Looks good."

"Okay," she said quietly, giving him a small smile. "Thank you."

When he finished, she expected him to take a step back, to let himself out of the bathroom so she could get dressed, and so she turned to him, anticipating that he'd move out of the way and she could retrieve her clothes from the bathroom floor. However, it was at the same time that she turned that he leaned forward to put the gauze back on the edge of the sink behind the ointment. They moved in synchrony, but it wasn't the synchrony either expected.

They were both far, far too afraid to move, then.

Thomas's hand was on the side of the sink, now to her right as she faced him, and with him leaning into her, between his arm beside her and the rest of his body in front of her, Y/N didn't have much of anywhere to go. Thomas, however, could've moved. He should've moved, too, and he knew that well. But when she turned to him, he found his face mere inches from hers. His nose brushed against her cheek, and with her having used his shower, with her wearing his spare clothes, he could smell the traces of his woody cologne mixing with a sugared scent he couldn't describe as anything other than her. She swallowed hard.

This felt familiar to both of them, by then. The proximity between them was all but second nature with how much time they spent together, with all the late hours in his office or her apartment. But this atmosphere was charged.

Every interaction between them had been measured and meticulous for months — while they had both been pushing boundaries, neither dared to cross them. But this? Neither of them had meant for this to happen. Neither had meant to make it so easy for them to simply fall into each other, but something about it seemed so natural, almost fateful.

Thomas was exercising every last drop of his willpower as he looked down at Y/N's wide eyes, her wet hair, her (his) pajama pants that were far too long for her. He tucked one of her damp locks behind her ear.

"We can't do this." Y/N's words were cautionary as Thomas's eyes wandered to her lips, but there was no feeling behind them. She didn't want him to stop.

"I know." His thumb traced her jaw, and he made no move to step away. He did know that what he was doing was wrong, but with how caught up he was in everything that was her, he was having trouble remembering why. "So stop me before I do something stupid."

She couldn't take a breath. Her voice was trembling.

"I don't think I want to."

He was hesitant to lean in toward her, but when he shifted forward, she met him halfway with every bit as much trepidation, and this kiss was nothing like the night they met. His touch was careful. His lips were slow, savoring the taste of her on his tongue. He held her as if his gentle touch would negate all the implications of their actions, all the damage this might cause.

Because this didn't feel like the illicit affair that Y/N knew it to be. This was Thomas, her friend, her coworker, her fleeting one-night stand, and she held him against her in an embrace like that of a lover, her arms looped around his neck as the side of her nose brushed against his. This was easy. This was natural.

But this was her professor.

"Stop." She pulled away from him, a hand on his chest as she struggled to catch her breath, and Thomas's gaze didn't read as dejection or hurt, but instead it came with an air of concern. The silence that followed her single word was excruciating.

"Y/N?" His voice was hoarse, but it was heavy with guilt. She didn't meet his eyes.

"I… I'm sorry, Thomas. I really…" She trailed off as he took a wary step back; she let out a breath of relief when he was no longer boxing her in against the counter, his hips no longer pinning hers back. "I need to go. I'm sorry."

She left the bathroom in a rush, grabbing her shirt from the floor and pulling it back over her head without a second thought. When she took off, he didn’t try to stop her.

[ratsnu]

that awkward moment right before you embark on the “walk of shame” back to your quarters after sleeping with the guy you hate (aka hamilton) (its noon) (they cuddled and slept in) (everyone is gonna notice)

[icarusbetide]

ridiculous historical alternative scenario 1

i have seen your scottish alexander hamilton and love him deeply. may i suggest the far less plausible, actually probably impossible scenario my group chat created for the kick of it: french alexander hamilton.

we pulled a bene gesserit and went back in time to careful go through generations of genetic selection and whatnot just to insure that alexander hamilton is born in france.

his mother rachel was a huguenot french, if i'm not mistaken (or at least a descent) and i believe she was born in the west indies, her father being a physician? once again, this isn't for sure and i'll need to find a reliable source on that, but we really do lack a lot of information about her.

why this absolutely implausible scenario, you ask?

solely to imagine a world where thomas jefferson went to france and was absolutely taken by this catty frenchman - and suddenly all the things he hated about hamilton in reality are charming and vogue. he loves hamilton like he loves lafayette. hon hon hon.

and the second implausible scenario: lafayette and hamilton know each other from childhood (they weren't even in the same social sphere but this already makes no sense so shhh) and they come to america to fight together. let's just pretend hamilton is somehow from a very noble french family now. wreaking havoc onto washington's staff and waggling his eyebrows at everyone. we want to see washington squirm, a flip of the power dynamic.

imagine he meets napoleon. is he captured with lafayette? does he become a radical and agree with jefferson? whatever the hell we want, this makes no sense.

so in conclusion, this is a shitty au that has no historical basis nor is cleverly figured out. but we wanted to see alexander acting exactly like the french stereotype, flirting, drinking, dancing, wearing ridiculous clothing, taking washington by the cheek and kissing him. just chaos, to the extreme. i mean, frenchmen seemed to love him so.

this is late retribution for alexander never getting to go to france even when john laurens petitioned for him. sorry ham, you would've taken paris by storm.

it's camp.

[usafphantom2]

The Last USAF F-15C/D Eagle Instructor Pilots Are Now In Training

The instructors will help train the final cadre of pilots set to fly the F-15C/D in the twilight of its Air Force career.

Thomas NewdickPUBLISHED Jan 24, 2024 3:17 PM EST

F-15 retirement Kingsley Field

U.S. Air National Guard photo by Senior Master Sgt. Jennifer Shirar

The U.S. Air Force is training what are very likely to be its last two F-15C/D instructor pilots at the Eagle’s ‘schoolhouse’ at Kingsley Field ("the land of no slack"), in Klamath Falls, Oregon. As we have reported in the past, Kingsley Field will replace its current F-15C/Ds with F-35A stealth fighters, overturning a previous plan that would have seen the base’s 173rd Fighter Wing assume responsibility for training pilots for the new F-15EX Eagle II.

In a recent story published by the 173rd Fighter Wing, it was confirmed that Capt. Andrew Marshall — plus one other unnamed aviator — will likely be the Air Force’s last F-15C/D instructor pilots as the service continues to retire these aircraft, the youngest of which is nearly 40 years old. The wing states that “nearly all” F-15C/Ds have now been divested by the active component.

U.S. Air Force Capt. Andrew Marshall, an F-15C pilot with the 550th Fighter Squadron, steps to his jet along with two other pilots on a chilly January morning, January 18, 2024, at Kingsley Field in Klamath Falls, Oregon. U.S. Air National Guard photo by Master Sgt. Jefferson Thompson

The recent deactivation of squadrons at Kadena Air Base, Japan, which you can read about here, saw the final active-duty Air Force F-15C/Ds retired. A handful of test jets remain in use, with all other F-15C/Ds now assigned to the Air National Guard. This renders “the future need for instructor pilots minimal,” the Air Force says.

This is reflected in the Air Force’s Fiscal Year 2024 budget request which details plans to divest the entirety of the F-15C/D fleet by 2026.

The two pilots now wrapping up their training to become instructors at Klamath will be responsible, in part, for the B-Course syllabus that will prepare the final students to fly the F-15C/D — what the 173rd Fighter Wing dubs WGASF — for “world’s greatest air superiority fighter.”

Capt. Andrew Marshall taxis his F-15C across a rainswept tarmac before taking off to nearby range space for upgrade training, on January 18, 2024, at Kingsley Field in Klamath Falls, Oregon. U.S. Air National Guard photo by Master Sgt. Jefferson Thompson

Capt. Marshall says that he expects to qualify as an instructor pilot “within six months,” but adds that “there’s a lot of other factors — TDYs, weather,” that could affect this.

The seasoned F-15C/D pilot, whose resume already includes an assignment at Kadena, explains that there are 11 “thresholds” to cross before receiving the coveted instructor pilot rating.

The thresholds start with close-range dogfighting and expand to a “very broad scenario involving many aircraft performing defensive counter-air and everything in between, and a couple of ‘top-off’ events following that.”

Capt. Andrew Marshall suits up for another sortie on his way to becoming a rated instructor pilot in the Eagle, at Kingsley Field in Klamath Falls, Oregon, on January 18, 2024. U.S. Air National Guard photo by Master Sgt. Jefferson Thompson

“It’s much more refinement in how you go through the instructor upgrade; now you have to be able to not only understand and do it yourself but you have to convey that knowledge and execute it in a way that shows credibility as an instructor.”

Overall, the timeline makes it abundantly clear that the days of the F-15C/D with the regular Air Force are now numbered.

Ultimately, Marshall expects to stay on at Kingsley Field and convert to the F-35A, once the stealth fighter begins to arrive at the base, planned for 2026.

TAP ARROW BUTTON TO VIEW VIDEO ☝️

Last May, The War Zone reported on the Air Force’s decision to transfer all Eagle training, both for the F-15EX and F-15E Strike Eagle, to Seymour Johnson Air Force Base in North Carolina, starting from early 2026.

The first two U.S. Air Force F-15EXs fly together. U.S. Air Force

Aircrew will then complete specific F-15 model training (F-15E, F-15EX) once they reach their first operational unit, a concept that we have considered in the past.

Meanwhile, Kingsley Field will become home to an F-35A Formal Training Unit (FTU). This was a reversal of previous plans, in which the 173rd Fighter Wing would have become a training unit for the F-15EX.

This will help address the growing need for F-35A pilots, with the FTU at Kingsley Field supporting similar outfits at Luke Air Force Base in Arizona and Eglin Air Force Base in Florida.

An F-35A of the 56th Fighter Wing from Luke Air Force Base flies at low level. Jamie Hunter

These changes have also affected the service’s plans for the F-15EX, which remain somewhat unclear, although more details have emerged in recent months.

The Air Force has confirmed that the current F-15EX fleet will comprise 104 aircraft, which includes an additional 24 aircraft having been added as part of the Fiscal Year 2024 budget proposal. There remains some speculation as to where those 104 Eagle II aircraft will eventually be based, but we do know that Kingsley Field is out of the picture, while Kadena is likely in. This will ensure the Okinawa base continues its long association with the Eagle.

The Air Force has also announced plans to station F-15EX jets with California, Louisiana, and Oregon Air National Guard units, all of which currently fly the F-15C/D.

An F-15C, assigned to the 173rd Fighter Wing, Oregon Air National Guard, prepares to depart from Kingsley Field in Klamath Falls, Oregon, for a training mission. U.S. Air National Guard photo by Master Sgt. Jennifer Shirar/Released

The forthcoming end of F-15C/D operations also reflects broader changes afoot in the Air Force as regards the composition of its future fighter fleets.

As well as rationalizing its legacy fighters, beginning with the F-15C/D, the Air Force is working toward introducing its sixth-generation stealth fighter plus the advanced Collaborative Combat Aircraft (CCA) drones that will work alongside it as part of the Next-Generation Air Dominance (NGAD) program. Current plans call for around 200 new NGAD combat jets and at least 1,000 CCAs.

The winding down of the F-15C/D training pipeline is a significant step in the process of divesting the original ‘not a pound for air-to-ground' Eagle. Once the curtain finally comes down on this legendary fighter, it will have truly earned the WGASF moniker.

Contact the author: thomas@thedrive.com

[that-fandom-godess]

I will write for just about any scenario that is within my comfort limits.

*I will only write for female and gender neutral characters

Romantic Relationships

Erik Destler - Phantom of the Opera

Peter Pan - Once Upon A Time

Jefferson - Once Upon A Time

Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) - Marvel

Loki (Jotun form) - Marvel

Peter/Pietro Maximoff - Marvel

Peter Parker - Marvel

Tate Langdon - American Horror Story

Kyle Spencer (FrankenKyle) - American Horror Story

Jimmy Darling - American Horror Story

James Patrick march - American Horror Story

Michael Langdon - American Horror Story

Xavier Plympton - American Horror Story

Valiant Thor - American Horror Story

Thomas Browne - American Horror Stories

Stan Vogel - American Horror Stories

Racetrack Higgins - Newsies

Cabin Boy - Pirates of the Caribbean

Sam Golbach

Colby Brock

Jack Kline (God) - Supernatural

Mattheo Riddle - Harry Potter

Draco Malfoy - Harry Potter

Marcus Lopez - Deadly Class

Any Dimitrescu Sister - Resident Evil

Donna Beneviento - Resident Evil

Luis Sera - Resident Evil

Harry Hook - Descendents

Carlos De Vil - Descendants

Jay Farr - Descendents

Morgie Le Fay - Descendants

Wyatt Lykensen - Zombies

Chris Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo

DannyPhantom.exe

Nell Jackson - Renegade Nell

Telemachus - EPIC/The Odyssey

Platonic/Parental Relationships

Tony Stark - Marvel

Steve Rogers - Marvel

Steven Grant/ Marc Spector/ Jake Lockly - Marvel

Agatha Harkness - Marvel

Matt Murdock - Marvel

Frank Castle - Marvel

Wade Wilson - Marvel

Chris Redfield - Resident Evil

Luis Sera - Resident Evil

Karl Hiesnburg - Resident Evil

Mother Miranda - Resident Evil

Crowley - Supernatural

John Winchester - Supernatural

Dean & Sam Winchester - Supernatural

Rowena Macleod - Supernatural

Crowley - Supernatural

Killian Jones - Once Upon A Time

Charles Xavier - X-Men

Erik Lehnsherr - X-Men

Jack Sparrow - Pirates of the Caribbean

Nick Sturniolo

Penelope - EPIC/The Odyssey

Odysseus - EPIC/The Odyssey

[tornrose24]

I was researching that live action little mermaid. I knew Lin Manuel Miranda was going to do songs for it.... but apparently he also gets to be the chef that tries to kill Sebastian.

If this is accurate, then I admit that this is something I REALLY need to see now. The idea is so hilarious and I can imagine Miranda just going all out with this. 

 Also, the guy playing Sebastian (Daveed Diggs) originated the role of Lafayette/Thomas Jefferson in Hamilton. And if Lin IS going to play Chef Louis, then this means we are getting a scenario where Hamilton tries to kill Jefferson.

Alternatively: Lin Manuel Miranda gave us a singing crab. Now he’s going to try to kill a singing crab.

[there-is-cromwell]

“the most favorable possible to the faction of O-“

Attacking the protestors had been a grave mistake, you understood that quickly. But by then it had already been too late. The situation escalated quicker than you could have imagined and the angry mob of Paris forced you engage more troops. What was intended to restore the peace in Versailles became an outright battle with shifting loyalties. You fell in that battle, one of the many victims the Revolution would claim. It was a quick and clean death, for that you are thankful. What is probably the worst for a man with your taste for glory – you would end as a footnote to history, a fleeting legacy.

*fin*

Historical Context:

The historical context for this scenario is a prediction that William Short made in a letter to Thomas Jefferson on November 3, 1789:

These passions fermented a day or two and at length forced the Mis. de la fayette to march to Versailles in the manner described in my letter of the 7th. The game now seemed the most favorable possible to the faction of O———. Had the detachment of women, which had been sent off in the morning been attacked, the gardes Francaises and the mob of Paris would have forced the Marquis to engage the gards du corps and Regt. of Flanders. In this conflict he would certainly have fallen, and thus one of their principal obstacles would have been removed. If these women were not attacked, and repulsed, the retreat of the K. Q. and D. seemed inevitable, and thus an open field was left to the ambition of the D. of O. A council was held at Versailles. Most of the counsellors were for the retreat, but the King’s firmness, or if you please his confidence in the Mis. de l. f. turned the balance and saved his Kingdom from an immediate civil war. I can not omit one circumstance. Whilst the question of the retreat was undecided the King who that instant returned from hunting and got to the Chateau a very little time before the arrival of the women, asked if M. de la fa. was coming, and on being answered in the affirmative, took the resolution of remaining at Versailles.

“To Thomas Jefferson from William Short, 3 November 1789,” Founders Online, National Archives, [Original source: The Papers of Thomas Jefferson, vol. 15, 27 March 1789 – 30 November 1789, ed. Julian P. Boyd. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1958, pp. 530–538.] (09/13/2023)

The “faction of O———” is the group that had formed around the Duc d’Orléans.

I will admit that I do not fully understand if Short refers to an attack on the women when they left Paris or when they already where at Versailles. Based on the participants of this supposed battle and the reaction of the King, I would assume that he meant attacking the protestors before they arrived in Versailles. This prediction works either way though, since the participants and the general situation stays the same one way or another and this is why I used the scenario here as well.

[romance-of-three-memes]

If I ever catch anyone comparing trans people to eunuchs by saying 'they're ascribed almost magical powers and given special privileges/powers on the sole basis of their bodies' I will cut the sleeves off of every single shirt and jacket you own, as well as turning every pair of pants you own into shorts. I mean they're right in a way! There are similarities!

-Eunuchs were demonized and scapegoated because it was easy to other them since they occupied a nebulous area of society's understanding of gender so they could be blamed for the failures of that society.

-Trans people are demonized and scapegoated because it's easy to other them since they occupy a nebulous area of society's understanding of gender so they can be blamed for the failures of that society.

One minute you can be like 'eunuchs are so reliable, they can't have biological children and clearly because of that they're naturally more docile than other men, so we don't have to worry about them usurping us or impregnating the concubines and women of the imperial family!'

And the next you can go 'clearly the eunuchs are to blame for everything because They're Different, and are conniving and power mad because they feel emasculated, no one give that any critical thought or question why I'm trying to pin this on them' and no one will bat an eye.

This isn't a hypothetical scenario where I'm just making up people to be mad at by the way.

I gave up about halfway (?) through the thread (where they were saying modern America is like the fall of the Han Dynasty, in case you were wondering how mind-numbingly idiotic it is) but I'm pretty sure just reading the parts that I did made me a bit stupider. But honestly? I probably should've known when I saw the Thomas Jefferson avatar that it would probably be a terrible take.

[cynthiabertelsen]

The Housewives; or, Ladies Antebellum - Glimpsing Life through the Cookbooks of Mary Randolph, Sarah Rutledge, and Lettice Bryan

Ham hocks and onions for “soup beans” (Photo credit: C. Bertelsen) The following scenario might have happened. Who knows? We do know that Thomas Jefferson’s wife Martha used to read out recipes to the slaves working in the kitchen at Monticello, because a former slave, Isaac, recalled her doing so. It’s likely that this occurred in countless kitchens. Slaves were forbidden to learn to read and…

[thedearlydepart]

America started with the best of intentions. “Jefferson sought to establish a federal government of limited powers” (Library of Congress, n.d.), and even though a form of capitalism has always existed in America, I don’t think Jefferson or anyone at the time could have predicted the growth it would have and how dependent upon it we would become. I don’t think it was by design, but due to the inherent exploitative nature of capitalism and more to the point, the influence of wealth and corporations, America now functions more like an oligarchy..

Well, you may ask why we are having the conversation. Why does it matter how we classify or define the structure of our government? Psychology Today tells us, “Our frames of reference are extremely important for making decisions that are consistent with our values, aligned with our preferences, and relevant to our past experiences.” (Grawitch, 2021). If we think that our government is a democracy, a democratic republic, or anything of that ilk, it sets us up to make decisions that, in the best-case scenario, have no effect and, in the worst, have an opposite effect.

We have known it for a long time but haven’t had the words to explain it. Many people wouldn’t even understand what an oligarchy is. So, if you ask a regular person what kind of government we have, They have only been told that we are a democracy, that we are the only country with freedom and other patriotic epithets. In the Oxford Union Video, Cenk Uygur cites a study that says 93% of Americans say money corrupts politics. Coming to terms with the reality that it’s not and not understanding completely what that means is a scary thought. It’s even more terrifying when you realize you are already in it, and there isn’t anything you can do about it. Uygur also states that the most significant impact on policy and politics was donor contribution, NOT VOTING. So much so, according to Uygur (and substantiated by Politico), in 2008, Citigroup, via ex-exec Michael Froman, handed Obama’s team a list of people who would eventually become his cabinet members. (Wheaton, 2016).

As the video from our required readings suggests, We have a style of government in which we still vote, and that vote indirectly decides who will be our next executive. To some degree, one could argue that that means democracy still exists. However, the same video suggests that only the person who spends the most money (special interest groups and billionaires) essentially determines who will win a given election. (Counter Arguments, 2019). So, I feel it’s safe to say that We are an Oligarch.

References

Counter Arguments. (2019, April 1). America Is A Democracy. YouTube. Retrieved September 19, 2024, from https://youtu.be/lJUQKcnWzIg?si=u-BmxYU4YHmqnqEv&t=539

Grawitch, M. (2021, June 28). Your Frame of Reference Influences Your Decision Making. Psychology Today. Retrieved September 19, 2024, from https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/hovercraft-full-eels/202106/your-frame-reference-influences-your-decision-making

Library of Congress. (n.d.). Establishing A Federal Republic - Thomas Jefferson | Exhibitions. Library of Congress. Retrieved September 19, 2024, from https://www.loc.gov/exhibits/jefferson/jefffed.html

Oxford Union & Uygur, C. (2017, June 27). Democracy Is For Sale | Cenk Uygur | Part 5 of 6. Youtube. Retrieved September 19, 2024, from https://youtu.be/YrKeseMRABs?si=8JCu9dCmUulaQTTL&t=280

Wheaton, S. (2016, October 20). WikiLeaks trove shows Obama in 2008 prepping to move into the White House. Politico. Retrieved September 19, 2024, from https://www.politico.com/story/2016/10/wikileaks-obama-white-house-230114

[astralaffairs]

Don't mean to pressure you or anything but I really miss fotp and that last chap had me wanting to tear my heart open (TT)

If you're up for it, can I request for a short fluff abt mc and president t's marriage life? Or if you're still feeling villain-y, an angst will do! 😚

Hope you're having a fine dayyy, love all your works btw! 🫶🏻

astralaffairs villain era canceled. let me also refer u to late nights & speech writes for some president thom husband material

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“And where the hell have you been?” Strong hands grabbed Y/N by the waist the minute she locked the door behind her, and she squealed, stumbling over the hem of her long dress as she was pulled into a strong body. Rough wool scratched her bare shoulders. “‘S late. A woman like you shouldn’t be out all on your own like this. Who knows what coulda happened.”

Her laugh was breathless as Thomas kissed her neck, his stubble harsh against her skin, and her hands came to cover his as his arms wrapped around her waist. “Oh, please. I don’t think I’ve left the White House in the last 72 hours; I’m not exactly looking for trouble.”

“So why’ve you been out all night, hm?” He nipped at her earlobe, but she rolled her eyes. “Who’ve you been with all this time, sugar?”

“That Russian ambassador who did not want to hear that I have an early morning tomorrow,” she said dryly. “This is the worst part about state dinners. All the old men in the room still talk to me like I’m their young prospect rather than a peer in government who’s here as my job.”

“They’re all goddamn relics; don’t let ‘em get to you,” Thomas said. “They’re dinosaurs, and they’re gonna be dead in a few months, anyway.”

“At this rate, they’ll also be running entire countries when they’re on life support,” Y/N grumbled, and his laugh was sardonic.

“‘N they’re still gonna be tryin’ to hit on you when they’re hauling oxygen tanks around here behind ‘em.” He turned her around in his arms, and her drained expression made him frown. Her eyes looked empty. “‘M sorry you don’t get the respect you deserve at these events, though, sweetheart. Wish there was something more I could do."

"I don't expect you to be able to end all sexism in government, believe me," she said, reaching up to loosen his tie. "Doesn't help that they all see you as the ultimate guy's guy, though. Thomas Jefferson, the good all-American trust-fund baby who loves steak and baseball."

"Maybe I'll eat some tofu 'n take up figure skating," he suggested mildly as she slid her hands under the collar of his blazer, pushing it down his shoulders. He withdrew his arms from her waist for just long enough to shake the jacket off, discarding it on the chair by his desk in the corner. "I've always thought there was a whole lotta power in embracing the traditionally feminine."

"Sure you have," she scoffed. He grinned, taking a step back toward their bed with her in his arms as she started undoing the knot in his tie. "You regularly smoke cigars with foreign heads of state to celebrate national alliances. You're the epitome of the boys club."

"Hey, I smoke the cigars with women holdin' office too," he defended. She slid his tie out from the collar of his shirt.

"You're truly a feminist icon." The words were ironic as she pulled his button down out from where he'd tucked it into the waist of his pants, walking him back toward their bed all the while, and he raised an eyebrow.

"You're talkin' a whole lotta mess for somebody who's trying to undress me."

"You're not putting up much of a fight." She raised an expectant eyebrow, looking him in the eye as she undid his belt buckle, and when he pulled her close, she slid her hands up his chest. She fiddled with the top button on his dress shirt as he guided both of them through the final few steps between him and the foot of their bed.

"'N you're awful lucky I'm not." As he sat on the edge of the mattress, she stood between his parted thighs as he pulled her dress up her legs. "You just came home from a long night of work, 'n all you wanna do is objectify me? 'M a whole lot more than just a hot body, Ms. L/N."

Despite his words, when the hem of her dress was high enough for him to slide his hands under it, he pulled her onto the bed with him, straddling his lap as his hands ran up her bare thighs. She cocked her head to one side.

"You mean 'Mrs. Jefferson'?" she asked, and he grinned.

"Yeah, but I like it a whole lot better when you say it." He pushed her dress up her body until her hands covered his to pull it over her head, and although she didn't seem particularly concerned with where it landed, she suddenly felt very exposed in just her lingerie on his lap. His eyes didn't stray from her face, however. He pulled her closer by her bare waist, and her arms hung loosely over his shoulders. The open ends of his belt poked at her inner thighs. "Reminds all those Russian diplomats you're off the market."

"I have a feeling Nebenzya isn't trying to steal me away," she said, but Thomas shrugged. "With the way he talks about you, he might be hoping we're looking for a third."

"Unfortunately for Vasily, he wouldn't be at the top of my list," Thomas said, and Y/N's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, you have a list, now?" she asked. He gave a lazy grin.

"Sugar, I've always had a list," he informed her, and she frowned. He kissed her downturned lips. "If we're working from the number one spot, though, we might have some trouble."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I've got a feeling John Adams wouldn't be too amenable to the idea," he said frankly, and Y/N's surprised laugh was closer to a scoff. "'N I don't feel like we know John Jay well enough as a couple, so that's not gonna fly, but inviting Lafayette just feels like it'd make things weird between all of us."

"Is your whole list made up of men?”

“‘Course.” His answer was immediate, but her skeptical gaze didn’t waver. He ran his hands down her thighs. “You already know you’re the only woman I got eyes for.”

“You’re so corny,” she said softly, running her hands down his shoulders to his upper chest. She picked at the buttons on his dress shirt. "Better tone it down before I get the wrong idea and fall in love with you."

"Now, we certainly can't have that."

"Especially not now. I'm too busy to take a lover, I'm afraid," she said, working down the buttons on his shirt to reveal his bare chest. "I'm just married to my work these days."

"'N you mean that literally, don't you, Madam First Lady?" He undid his cufflinks when she finished with his buttons, and he slid them into his pocket. However, he didn't take the shirt off despite her pushing its fabric down his shoulders. Rather, he took her hands in his, lacing his fingers into hers. "You're just a regular Mrs. America."

"You're really gonna stop me from taking your shirt off after you got me down to my underwear?"

"If I let you finish undressing me, it's gonna be a while before we get to sleep," he said, and she shrugged innocently. "We've gotta be up again in five hours. We both oughta get some rest."

"Being the first couple isn't nearly as sexy as I hoped it'd be." She sat back on her heels, resting her hands on his legs, and he gave her a tired smile. "Take the rest of your clothes off and come to bed, at least. I feel like I've hardly seen you all week."

"Right now, I'm all yours," he assured her. "Lemme get up 'n get some pajamas, though. Put on something other than a full suit for once."

"Just sleep without them," she countered, and he raised an eyebrow. "I like the feeling of your skin against mine. Just makes me feel more connected to you, I guess."

"You're adorable." He kissed her on the forehead, his smile endeared, and she could feel the heat rising to the tips of her ears as he leaned back to take his shirt off. After he did, though, he pulled her in closer, picking her up by her thighs as he stood, and she yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders. When he deposited her on his side of the bed, he undid his dress pants, taking them off before joining her on the mattress.

He crawled atop her where she lay on her back watching him, and as he dipped down to kiss her, one hand slid under her back, and she arched up against him. However, as he kissed down her neck, he unhooked her bra and leaned back to slide it down her arms. When he discarded it onto the floor, she was watching him with wide eyes, but he only kissed her forehead before rolling off of her and pulling the covers over them both. He reached over to turn off the lamp at his bedside.

"For what it's worth," he murmured as he wrapped an arm around her waist, and she rolled onto her side, letting him pull her into his body, "we've got plenty of time to sleep in on Saturday morning."

"Oh, yeah?" She rested her arm atop his, lacing her fingers into his.

"Mhm." He kissed the back of her shoulder. "So Friday night, you better not come home too tired."

"I'm gonna need all my energy for when I find you and Adams in our bed, huh?" When his hold on her tightened, his cold feet brushed against her shins, and she shivered.

"Not this time, sweetheart," he promised. "Once I get you alone, you better bet I'm not sharing you."

[ratsnu]

Pirate AU angst.

Is it gay to cradle your crewmate you despise after he’s been shot? probably.

[georgewashington-official]

It's a what if scenario. People like to think about how a relationship between two people would work out, if it were to happen. And they think they look good together. Like, an OTP. One True Pairing. Alex is shipped with Thomas Jefferson is well, you know why? Enemies! People love the enemies to lovers scenario where they get mad at eachother and tease eachother relentlessly, hate eachother while also feeling something for eachother. It's exciting, it's great to think about, it's creative. it's fun!

Well, I see the reason behind this... and as long as no one gets hurt, I guess it is a pasttime for some people to imagine those things.

They are linked to those "fan-fictions"?

[icarusbetide]

back on my bullshit y'all. implausible historical scenario: southern alexander hamilton (pt 1: lavien & laurens version)

Part 2: Washington's son dramatic-ass version

my favorite hobby is shoving historical figures into impossible scenarios so i can get them to do what i want. once again made up some convoluted series of events just to create a hamilton wildly out of character- god forbid, a southerner who might even get along with thomas jefferson. here's the first implausible scenario that make it possible.

Alexander goes to live with his half brother Peter Lavien.

Peter Lavien was the legitimate child of Rachel Hamilton’s first marriage. He moved to Beaufort, South Carolina in 1764 at eighteen and became a prominent merchant and member of the church. However, he returned to St. Croix in 1769 to settle his mother’s estate, aka get everything that she had wanted to go to James Jr. and Alexander. In 1769, the two boys were taken in by their cousin Peter Lytton (who died), and then Lytton’s father, who also died a month later. Probable that this happened after Lavien had once again left St. Croix, but let’s just imagine that he for some reason takes pity on the boys - and takes them with him. Nothing makes sense here, roll with it.

It would be even sadder and morbidly funny if he only took Alexander. I say this because in his 1778 last Will and Testament Lavien left “Alexander Hamilton and his brother Robert Hamilton” a fairly substantial amount of money. One brother must’ve left a greater impression on him and maybe poor James Jr. hears this half brother who took his inheritance say “Alex and Robert can come with me” and goes “Who tf is Robert, fuck this” and peaces out. 

Now, politically: Extrapolating since I’m not sure how prominent “prominent merchant” is, but maybe this means that Alex has the chance to meet prominent southerners early on, who like many others, are charmed by his energy and precocity. Does this mean he has more affection and allegiance for South Carolina than he did in real life for St. Croix? Does his politics and economic experience change? Assuming that like Washington, wartime experience is enough to make him a nationalist and he still had some experience at Cruger’s (and maybe helping Lavien) and thus does not have differing economic beliefs, his enemies would lose out on a major attack: perceived bias to the North. His connection to the Schuyler family would still serve, but maybe without as much weight, since he has those southern connections. 

I love the idea of a South Carolinian Alexander Hamilton who grows up in a fairly secure American home with a steady guardian. The personal implications! The family drama of being forced to rely on a half brother who resents you for taking his mom, and who you resent back for taking your inheritance! Does this give him more issues, less issues? No idea! Even worse, Lavien was apparently a Tory, so there’s that. Two brothers who perhaps got closer over the years, split apart again by political differences. “I take pity on a bastard brat and you repay me with this?” type shit. Lavien moved out to Georgia in 1777, and apparently died in 1780 or 1781 which means Hamilton would’ve been a prominent aide de camp to the commander in chief, and potentially married into a great New York family when it happens. How would he react to that?

And I can’t give up the idea of Colonel Alexander Hamilton of South Carolina meeting John Laurens of South Carolina. Maybe I push it further and say they meet early on and become childhood friends, even.

This is really stretching it but idc, they get to be childhood friends and Hamilton gains the favor of Henry Laurens. Maybe they even go to Europe together, wreak havoc on everything, and then disobey both Laurens' worried father and Alexander's Tory brother to join the army as aide de camps.

Maybe in this universe, Hamilton is chosen to go to South Carolina instead of John Laurens and their fates are switched. Maybe Henry Laurens who still wants to keep his kid out of danger asks Hamilton to go in his stead and pushes Washington about it, and Hamilton, wanting a command, readily agrees. Maybe that continues on after Yorktown, when Hamilton returns to South Carolina. Maybe Laurens has to learn that Hamilton died in a skirmish through a letter from his father and vows to continue on their shared dreams and Hamilton's plans, becoming the influential but even more abrasive leader of the federalist party. i want to see the switch, where it's the more idealistic laurens who isn't a good politician either (the two of them are a disaster) enters the public arena to be slandered and corrupted - laurens who is isolated from his fellow southerners and who seems to be mourning someone constantly and washington knowing exactly who it is. a laurens who looks back and yearns for a promising, brilliant young man who could've done so much more if he only had the chance WAIT WHO SAID THAT-

[beardedmrbean]

Ugh great now racists, are saying any type of black Mc means diversity hires

But here the issues like yes we can have more black rep in like in fantasy stuff

But there are fundamental difference between how I handle it vs they do

Okay it not rocket science, but as you know tumblr have the idea of diversity is middle schooler one

Also how people use my culture and people struggles to demonize white people…wait.

When these people learn about the dark side of American history? Are they blind to the several dark jokes we have towards Thomas Jefferson or why black Americans often have their ancestors slave owner last names?

No to mention most Congressmen got their slaves from inheritance

But the black characters are so UGH

Also why they all act like rootless urbanites? Yes I understand orphans was often used in stories (but anyone who a writer knows it for easy storytelling)

Also where the family? Like a black fantasy character man who struggled under his family shadow? Of course they exist and such. But like a black man and his son having a falling out but they slowly patch up

“But that says you want people to stay in their toxic families!” My brother in Christ my father and I have a complicated relationship

BUT I use our relationship to created a Jrpg scenario where a BLACK male Mc at 16, accidentally get his girlfriend knocked up

WAIT DO BREAK THE SEVEN SEALS YET- the mc named Darius decided to settled down and raised his son named Cyrus.

Now this is the first act of the game, Darius gf then wife named Maria leaves in the middle of the night when Cyrus is 4. Now 3 years after that, Darius decided to go on a quest and he bring his 7 year old son along with him.

Yes I can hear the new god of war similarities between my ocs and Atreus and Kratos. But the thing is that they are very different execution. My OC was standard Jrpg adventurer that accidentally became a father and still in his 20’s. Kratos was a Spartan who became a god and well we all known how he was in the og gow games.

But Cyrus is mainly a mage who overtime because a marksman as he get older becomes there a Industrial Revolution going on in this fantasy setting and Darius think that giving his son a long range weapon (Cyrus get taking around 9 or 10) suck as rifle would be easier for him to use for offensive

Also a gameplay mechanic that Cyrus gave a magical backpack that actually like your moveable inventory. You known how parents used your book bag on field trips?

Though as Cyrus getting older and level ups. He picked on the tactic and after a big boss battle when you try to put an item into his back bag. He goes “HEY!” because his magic is also develop so he needs room too.

But think about my fantasy idea, I’m subverting the deadbeat teen dad stereotype AND using the father and son roadtrip formula as inspiration.

Wouldn’t you want to play a Jrpg where you fish with your son, watch as his skills grows, loot powerful dungeons together, teach him how to unleash plagues on bandits. And then how to loot their corpses for money or items.

What we already kill them, let take their shit

Oh wait I can control my daddy issues, so something fresh and rare like my Jrpg idea wouldn’t work

Ugh great now racists, are saying any type of black Mc means diversity hires

Not sure if that was the plan of the people pushing forced diversity or not but it's the outcome most people with sense saw coming, Justice Jackson that biden appointed is gonna have that hanging over her head forever too, regardless of the fact that she was (is) very qualified to have the job.

When these people learn about the dark side of American history? Are they blind to the several dark jokes we have towards Thomas Jefferson or why black Americans often have their ancestors slave owner last names? No to mention most Congressmen got their slaves from inheritance

Several of them freed their slaves too, at least to the extent that they could,

But the black characters are so UGH Also why they all act like rootless urbanites? Yes I understand orphans was often used in stories (but anyone who a writer knows it for easy storytelling) Also where the family? Like a black fantasy character man who struggled under his family shadow? Of course they exist and such. But like a black man and his son having a falling out but they slowly patch up “But that says you want people to stay in their toxic families!” My brother in Christ my father and I have a complicated relationship

I'm enjoying how you're covering my side of this too here.

Hey writers, maybe try writing and working out a solution occasionally, like, as said, patching up a familial relationship issue.

That doesn't work as well for the YA dystopian fantasy novel and those are what's cool now I think.

Maybe Stephanie Meyer can work some of that in to the Twilight thingy she's supposed to be working on......

BUT I use our relationship to created a Jrpg scenario where a BLACK male Mc at 16, accidentally get his girlfriend knocked up WAIT DO BREAK THE SEVEN SEALS YET- the mc named Darius decided to settled down and raised his son named Cyrus. Yes I can hear the new god of war similarities between my ocs and Atreus and Kratos. But the thing is that they are very different execution. My OC was standard Jrpg adventurer that accidentally became a father and still in his 20’s. Kratos was a Spartan who became a god and well we all known how he was in the og gow games.

lol

But think about my fantasy idea, I’m subverting the deadbeat teen dad stereotype AND using the father and son roadtrip formula as inspiration.

I'm enjoying the progression here, be fun to see Cyrus with a firearm too, even if he never uses it, not after teaching his kid at least, good father and son bonding time over learning gun safety n such.

Wouldn’t you want to play a Jrpg where you fish with your son, watch as his skills grows, loot powerful dungeons together, teach him how to unleash plagues on bandits. And then how to loot their corpses for money or items. What we already kill them, let take their shit Oh wait I can control my daddy issues, so something fresh and rare like my Jrpg idea wouldn’t work

Ahh you beat me there on all of that then, lmao.

This all sounds like a good start on all of this.

[tomsquitieri]

“You Know The Conflagration That Will Come”

The Press Club bar closes early now, to the regret of many of the dwindling number of old timers. The younger members were full of energy as they dashed out to begin a weekend of holiday parties. The bar emptied as quickly as if it were 40 years ago and a hot story just broke.

I thought I would sneak out and go down the hall and maybe pretend to find the once-hidden 24/7 poker room. No such luck. The efficient staff was already cleaning up and making sure all were leaving; they also had parties to burst forth later.

So I did what comes naturally on a dark windy evening in downtown DC. Walking though the streets of our beautiful Capitol, remembering the history made — shivering from both the Potomac River wind and the visions of what I sensed was coming.

As often the case, I rambled toward the monuments and wound up near my namesake, Thomas, at his memorial near the river. My hope was he may offer up wisdom to my tiring eyes and my shaking soul.

Across the river the Pentagon stood in subdued light, looking like a fortress from the outside. Yet I knew better. Even there, the system was crumbling and false words tried to make everyone sound brave and smart. No doubt they were patting themselves on the backs for their new promotions and laughing smugly about how they evade reporters’ questions.

“You wrote something before, Mr. Jefferson. Several things actually to pull together an unruly bunch into one voice. Please do it again,” I said to his stoic statue. He merely looked forward, out at the Tidal Basin.

“He is not going to answer you,” said a faint voice from behind me. “Even they are unsure what to say.”

I turned to see the Old Geezer, moving slowly, his eyes sunken and his breathing halting as he slowly walked up, paused, and sat on the marble steps.

“That is my fear also, Old Geezer. That the wolves that sit outside the house of democracy finally have the key and they have determined how to guide the sheep to dinner,” I said.

The Old Geezer finally made it to the top of the steps. I had not seen him for a few years, years that had taken a toll on the country and on most of us. He seemed shorter this year, more bent over but his smile reappeared as he pulled an old flask from his pocket.

“Isn’t fun to still break national park regulations,” he said as he took a taste, then handed me the metal container. I took a sip and recognized what I thought was a long lost elixir — moonshine from the hills of western Pennsylvania.

It warmed my body and at least for the moment my spirits.

“That taste reminds of days when politicians were not a threat to democracy, when reporters were not targets all over the world, where challenges always eventually met with teamwork,” I said.

The Old Geezer sniffed and wiped my mouth with a handkerchief. “Those days are in a hibernation that extends long past the natural winter, Tomaso,” he said.

“Everyone hoped — and that is the word hoped — that 2023 would be ‘normal’ again,” I said. “Well, it is, but not the normal they expected or wanted. It’s the normal where the bad guys wear the badges and the dwindling number of good guys have no idea what to do.”

He took another sip and looked again at the water. So I continued.

“I thought the nightmares of the past were aberrations. That ethnic cleansing and war rapes were not to happen again, that the last elections were to correct the course, that the words of those honored here would ring loud and true again, and rouse the slumbering to see the nightmare that is unfolding. But I feel this is a planet of the apes scenario, where I am going to wake up soon and see things that once meant greatness are graveyards.”

“The wrong things have been emancipated,” I said. “We are living in country now where the information we need to govern ourselves has been replaced by political spin and propaganda, hate and vile bravado.”

“What are your dreams telling you, Tomaso,” the Old Geezer said, “Have you learned to listen to them yet?”

I nodded yes. “Very much so and yet unclear. They show turmoil and voices from the past trying to help. Reporter friends reappearing, offering smiles, and even phone numbers, and reassurance but then leaving with no pathways. Lots of trips to places that seem to be on earth but on no maps.

“And there was even a call on a land line, with man’s voice — not computer calls — saying my name, as if pleading for help, or warnings.”

The Old Geezer took another sip and said, “And I bet you did not respond.”

He knew. “No I did not,” I said. “I was hoping that what you told me once — that the quieter you become, the more you are able to hear — would work.”

He spoke his head no and looked at Jefferson. “Those once wise guidelines are perforated,” he said. He turned to me. “You have to work harder than ever before, and strip it all away to think clearly and wisely now, Tomaso.“

My turn again to take a sip. “You know, Old Geezer, when I was a little boy, I used to run as fast I could from the darkened basement, afraid of the monsters that I knew where there, only to be laughed at by my father. ‘There is nothing there to be afraid of,’ he would say.

“Well, I am no longer afraid of the dark. In fact, sometimes I long for it for I see much better in it. And those monsters are still there.”

The Old Geezer nodded. “They were always there,” he said. “You just knew how to get out of their grasp before.

“Don’t them catch you now,” he said. “Many are obvious… but many remain hidden just around the corner as you walk you dog.”

We were quiet for a moment, and the Old Geezer looked back at Jefferson. “You know the conflagration that will come,” he said.

Then I had an idea.

“Old Geezer, we cannot save the world tonight but we can save a few old trees. A friend sent me a note saying how the police department in her city told her that the left-over trees from their annual tree sale would be free, lying on the ground at a street corner. That seems to be the perfect conclusion for how the year transpired — good things tossed aside. So let’s go grab them and decorate them all and keep some bright lights glowing.”

The Old Geezer nodded. “A good idea from you, Tomaso. I guess miracles can still happen. You go get the Jeep and I will wait here.”

I walked slowly down the slick steps, as I listened to the Old Geezer part some more wisdom with Jefferson. Soon, though, his voice faded and as I walked by the other monuments I heard Dr. King praying for a new dream and FDR voicing about a new fear as they struggled to find words and a way to heal a plummeting, broken nation.

And I heard Lincoln crying.