#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.

[gadunkie]

i think the rtvs half life vr series and the game mouthwashing are two great examples of how fandom interaction has ruined many peoples ability to interact with art normally.

half life vr is a fun machinima esque series done by a bunch of friends who enjoy sharing their creativity online, it aint anything complicated its just friends playing toys. yet somehow Ive seen people try to assign headcanons like the fucking miku binder thomas jefferson to all of the people involved in the production of hlvrai. insane.

mouthwashing is a horrific game about a bizarre nightmare scenario in a bleak future. yet Ive seen people terribly dumb down each character into memeable funny guys as well as make sexual headcanons about them??? keep in mind the main antagonist of the game is a legit rapist and another main character is a rape victim of said antagonist. so idk its kinda weird to be doing this I think.

anyway its ok to interact with art without trying to fandom-ify it or whatever, not every art piece needs headcanons or alternate representation. both of the art pieces I listed were made by real people with effort and emotion, dont be disrespectful by robbing their context from the source material, they worked very hard on it and wanted to show the world what they created.

if you wish for different aspects of what youre presented with then I encourage you to make your own original art inspired off of your favorite series, its not hard and youll be rewarded with your own creativity.

[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

[california-112]

TLG: E08 'Live'blog

Welcome to 2025! I am still on this train! Next stop: a Byers-centric ep!

TL;DR - This ep. This ep...we got the hurt/comfort. We got protective!Jimmy and Jimmy-Byers friendship. We got the 'sneaking into a prison' trope done EXCELLENTLY. This might be my fave so far because when I said Byers-centric, I was so right...my boy... ;-;

Oooh, big ship!

Langly I love your outfit! When did you get your shirt bestie

Frohike, down boy.

We stan a man who keeps his mind on the job tho

BASEBALL CAP BYERS!!!

Elvis impersenator?

Please say it isn't. Who I think it is. Please.

NO

Actually? Get it Jimmy. You're pretty good.

Not the fingerprint being 'read' by the screen lmao

Wait they thought this was a legit Elvis??? Dafuq?

Mic flip???

However. It does clearly show us that that mic is missing an XLR cable so. Hm.

F*ck.

Credits B)

He's still wearing the wig lolll

Byers I love you. Nothin in particular that this comment goes with I just love him

"I'm starting to think that maybe Elvis is really dead" Lmaooo

Is that the French Attache guy from the last ep?

Langly having a fight or flight moment

Jimmy's smile is nice! :)

Byers proper smile moment (rare!)

Actually I don't think it is the French Attache but he's certainly been in something TXF-related before

Your OUTLAW son?

A Team reference!

Are we going to get our own 'sneak into prison dressed as an inmate' ep? 👀

Byers putting a Thomas Jefferson quote into the mix for no reason

Jimmy's going in?

Wait why is Byers undressing. And what's with the cuffs

Texas?

Byers AND Jimmy!

Wait they put them straight on DEATH ROW what the f*ck???

Byers,,,

Ohhh I feel a panic attack fic coming on

I bet this guy kills the cockroach

Called it

Jimmy :(

And they are breaking into a burger place because...?

He had a silent alarm in a burger joint???

"Take my word for it! Pfeifer is absolutely a murderer!" Ah yes. That surely sounds trustworthy.

"He don't? Uh, uh..." Getting into character lmao

EXACTLY Yves. Glad you're here to put some sense into them.

Femenine wiles lol

Wait Byers. Byers. Wait. Byers

"You're not the fighting type." / "I won't have to be." Whump-lovers dream scenario coming up I fear

HE'S MY B*TCH???

PROTECTIVE JIMMY YESSS

Also he's in cell DR-007 lol

Byers.

Get! It! Yves!!!

Not the bubblegum and everything lmao

BYERS NOOO

"Where's John?" 🥺😭

Jimmy is just completely entranced lol

"I miss you baby..." / "Yeah? Oh!" They are made for eachother

Jimmy stop.

THE GUARD LMAOOO

Oh nice move

Peebo.

He broke his f*cking arm?

Byers nooo. My boy :(

Steady on Pfeifer damn

Oh yeah like he'll be able to wear that unobtrusively. Tf???

Aw f*ck.

Alright so what do we reckon Byers and Jimmy are '''in for'''

The lawyer!

The way they're showing us (the audience) this over-ear display absolutely rocks

Wait so Byers got whumped for NOTHING?

Jimmy look out!

Is the mom involved somehow?

They're sleeping on camp beds in their motel base...

Bet you it's not Yves

CALLED IT

LANGLY you need to get better at hiding things

You're actually being pretty cute in this scene tho ngl

"She's agreed to marry me!" WHAT IS THAT COVER STORY

Yes Yves. Toad boyyy

He's outside. He's outside!

Jimmy, don't trust this man.

He wants to farm cockroaches. (Different man)

Wait how is Byers' arm ok

Bro take the damn smoke.

Yes Byers!!!

Turn those puppy eyes on, damnnn

Ah yes. Prison officers

Why didn't we get a Byers + Frohike and Langly reunion??? He's been hurt, hello???

What's with the cowboy hats in the waiting room lol

Tell him!

They're rangers?!

Yeeeah! Happy Elvis montage!

Not 'Roach Rescue' 💀

Don't slap my boy lady your son literally did it

Something about how Byers just stands there in the rain and Jimmy walks over and covers him with the umbrella. My heart...

HUG!? 🥺

THIS EPISODE oh my god. Oh my goddd

[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.

[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

[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"?

[astralaffairs]

freedom of the press 09 | t. jefferson

words: 13.5k

warnings: sex

desc: the 2020 republican presidential frontrunner is an obnoxious, morally bankrupt people-pleaser, but what happens when you become the person he’s most eager to please?

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @distinguishedpotsticker @fukaaaaaaaa @hereforthepsyche-assessment @ivetoldamillionlies @fangirl570 @thealaddinkid @lasciviouspeach @snazzydoesthings @shy-and-awkward-daveed @rachelhermionerose @soft-weeb-s @gryffinclxw @anamrnk @daveeddiggsit @ayayayayana @marinovakovich @cryinghazelnutt @thefandomgirl03 @a-hopeless-fan @cloudynblw @tinywhim @lolidunnoaboutnow @siriusorionblackiii @fanfic-addict-98 @nyxie75 @i-know-i-can @yxseminx @yavin4andor @sugacita @sstrawberry-fanta @youtxbemusic @queenwilty @someinsanefangirl @foudre-aqua @whatevs2000 @rwr-ites @maxi-ride @moose-on-the-l00se @itshaileyn @toxicidity @malos-moving @luckyfriesss @lovecass123

THOMAS HAD WOKEN up feeling sick.

At first, he couldn't place the reason. He'd been drinking enough water and taking his multivitamins, he hadn't eaten anything bad (as far as he knew), and despite what Lafayette thought, he hadn't been drinking.

It was only when he pulled himself out of bed that the prior night’s events caught up with him, the information surfing on the fresh wave of nausea that rolled over him as he stood. When he glanced over at his mirror, the face staring back looked bedraggled and gaunt.

He powered his phone off immediately after checking the time when he was met with a screen full of texts from the last person he wanted to hear from; he dragged himself through his morning routine in a haze as his thoughts spiraled, inventing increasingly creative stories for how he’d ended up at that point. Who had given the interview? What else had she been lying about?

"I got a lot more attached to you than I meant to, alright?"

What finally broke him out of his stupor was a knock at the door at half past three P.M. He cupped a hand around his mouth to check his breath; he hadn’t had anything to eat but coffee, but he was grateful to have convinced himself to take a shower and brush his teeth.

When he opened the door, Thomas furrowed his brow. “Lafayette?”

“I ‘ave come with food and cigarettes.”

“I don’t smoke cigarettes.”

“Y/N told me what happened.” His discerning gaze made Thomas hold his tongue, wavering on his intention to tell Lafayette to kick rocks. “I did not think you would want to be alone, and I assumed zat you could use a cigarette.”

When Lafayette raised his eyebrows expectantly, Thomas sighed.

“Alright, c’mon in. Can't have you stay long, though; ‘m busy getting ready for my rally tomorrow.” He stepped aside to let Lafayette by, and he started toward the kitchen as Thomas locked the door behind him.

“I am sorry to hear what happened.”

“What exactly did she tell you?”

“Zat she hurt you,” Lafayette said simply, and Thomas’s eyebrows shot up. “She told me that her editor has ze article about your past and that she told you about it. I hear you did not take it well.”

“Oh, gimme a goddamn break,” Thomas snapped. “How the hell am I supposed to take the news that the person I’m seein’ has been planning to tell the whole world I was an alcoholic?”

“Poorly. There is no other way to take it.” He put the bag he carried on Thomas’s counter and started withdrawing styrofoam boxes. “Why do you think I am here? I am on your side. And I ordered southern American food. I did not know much about it, so I ordered one of everything.”

“One of everything?” Thomas repeated curiously, reaching for a box, and Lafayette nodded. Thomas’s eyes widened when he opened it. “That’s a lotta macaroni ‘n cheese.”

“I also have fried chicken, grilled asparagus, waffles, shrimp and grubs—”

“Shrimp ‘n grits?”

“—Collard greens, cornbread, and something called a ‘hushed puppy.’”

“You didn’t need to come here ‘n do all that, Laf.” Thomas’s demeanor had softened considerably as Lafayette had withdrawn his many containers of food, laying them out on the counter. “‘S awful sweet, but I’m doin’ fine. I’m pissed, but I’ve handled a whole lotta abuse from the press already this campaign cycle.”

“Not like this, and not from her." At Lafayette's knowing look, Thomas appeared perturbed. "You may lie to yourself all you want, but you cannot lie to me about zis. I see it. I see ze two of you together, and I cannot imagine zis being anything like what you have experienced with ze media before.”

Thomas hesitated, not meeting his eyes, but as he stared down at the boxes of greasy takeout, his gaze was unfocused.

“Yeah,” Thomas finally said, pulling open a drawer to withdraw two forks. “I didn’t expect this from her. Thought she had more integrity than that.”

“Try, just for a moment, to understand ze dilemma she faces.”

His skeptical gaze shot to Lafayette. “Thought you said you didn’t come here to defend her.”

“I did not, but I do not know zat zis is a question of her integrity,” Lafayette reasoned. “Someone is out there giving interviews with ze press about your past with alcohol addiction. If she does not write zis article, someone else will.”

“She shoulda come directly to me about it, then. I coulda got out in front of it.”

“You still can, and you still should,” he said, “but her job is to write about you. She hasn’t betrayed anything you’ve shared with her in confidence, she simply interviewed someone with much to say about your past.”

“Yeah, till the article comes out and it’s everything I told her about Martha,” Thomas said cynically.

“The article does not mention Martha. It makes no reference to any past lover or to your engagement.”

“I can’t take her at her word on that anymore,” Thomas said incredulously. “Be serious, she’s gonna do whatever she wants with what she knows.”

“I can assure you, it does not even offer an implication. I ‘ave read it, Thomas.”

“You’ve read it?” His voice was stunned, and he froze as he was opening a container of food. “How long have you known about this?”

“Not much longer than you. After she wrote it, she came to me for guidance.”

“And you didn’t tell her to shut it down?”

“I advised against her publishing it, but she is not ze editor of ze Post. I am not sure how long zat remains in her power for. So I told her to talk to you.”

“Yeah, ‘n look where that got us,” Thomas grumbled, and Lafayette sighed.

“Would you not rather know?”

“I’d rather you told me the goddamn minute you found out about it,” he snapped. “God, I’ve known you for years; where the hell’s your loyalty? A pretty girl walks into the scene and all of a sudden I take a back seat?”

"You know zat is not what zis is," Lafayette shot back. “Oui, she is my friend, but I refrained from coming to you about this because I know zat she cares about you. And you care about her, so you should understand why I wanted to give her ze chance to make things right."

"Oh, please. Don't come here telling me she cares and didn't mean to hurt me." His voice was sharp and dismissive. "She knows what this article's about. She knows what she's doing."

“She is under pressure you do not understand.”

“I think I understand just fine. She’s got priorities; she’s got a career, ‘n that comes before me. Shoulda realized how far that went, but I didn’t. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“She does not have security in the way that you do, Thomas,” Lafayette reminded him. “She works two jobs and still has problems with paying her bills. She cannot afford to lose zis job.”

“She's got plenty of people she could stay with while she found another.”

“So you think zat you should be more important zan her income?” he challenged. Thomas didn't respond, only frowned. “She should be quitting her job to delay her source finding a journalist willing to publish zis story?”

“I don't mean it like that.” His frustrated voice had grown quieter. “She shoulda never let it get this far, though. She could've lied to her editor about the interview ‘n never written the article.”

“Her manager knew she was interviewing someone. What would she have written about after?”

“I don't know, alright?” His words came as an outburst, and they were followed by a huff. He continued, voice softer, “I don't know what she shoulda done. All I know is this wasn't the right answer. Y'know what she told me? Said she cared too much about me to know how to write about me, and that she got too close. But none of that stopped her from writing this, so I dunno what to believe anymore. Nobody who cared would try ‘n air this out.”

“The way she writes about it is not flippant.” Lafayette's gentle tone matched Thomas’. “She writes about you as someone who ‘as succeeded in the face of struggle, not as someone who chose a life of vices.”

“I don't wanna hear it anymore, Laf. You oughta leave if you're just here to defend her. We both know that, no matter what you say about it, telling voters a presidential candidate was an alcoholic is a nail in the coffin.”

“For whatever it is worth, I see you as someone who ‘as overcome great animosity against all odds,” Lafayette offered. Thomas shot him a sidelong glance as he closed the container of macaroni and cheese. “Truly. You have everything to be proud of. Regardless of how people may react to zis, do not forget all zat you have done to become who you are today.”

“Thanks,” Thomas said weakly. “I can only hope the voters are gonna see it that way.”

“If you do not win this election, you will still forever be who you are.” Lafayette's words made Thomas purse his lips as he reached for the small plastic container of gravy sitting atop the tin of mashed potatoes. “Remember that your whole life has not been leading up to this moment; it will continue on after it regardless of the outcome.”

A long silence passed as Thomas stared down at the gravy, visible through the barely-opaque white plastic. A dent was forming in the styrofoam container he'd placed it onto as he held it in his tense hand. The styrofoam tore, and he snapped back to the kitchen.

“I know,” he finally said. “But I do appreciate the reminder.”

“I trust that you will keep yourself reasonable throughout this election cycle. You are a smart man.”

“And if I don't, that's what I've got you for.” The smile he gave Lafayette was weak but wholehearted. “Now, we've got a whole lotta food here. You gonna hang around and help me eat it all?”

“I thought you said you needed to prepare for your rally tomorrow,” Lafayette said hesitantly, and Thomas shrugged.

“I think I could use the distraction. ‘N they just put Jurassic Park on Netflix.”

“I am glad to hear it. I cleared my calendar before I came over; I would hate for it to ‘ave been for nothing.”

Thomas' laugh was surprisingly earnest. “Would it be too on-the-nose to break out the bourbon for the occasion?”

“As someone who has written no articles about you lately, I cannot imagine why it would be.”

—---------

GIVEN WHAT SHE had told him, Thomas couldn't break his pace campaigning. He went through with his rally the next day and appeared at a nonprofit-sponsored event the day after as the keynote speaker. He shook hands and took selfies, kissed babies and signed foreheads. He politely declined one woman's request to sign her breasts as a stencil for her next tattoo.

He was playing his role as a media darling the way he always had, blithely and jovially, and his numbers were up in the polls. (James was telling him so, at least; he'd stopped checking for fear of seeing how far they might drop.) Part of that, however, was keeping the Washington Post far from his events. Regardless of who at the Post filed for press admittance, they weren't coming, and he was making sure of that himself. Besides, he had enough coverage.

He was waiting quite patiently for the other shoe to drop as he buttressed his image, though, checking Twitter between podcast interviews and university appearances. He'd become quite sly about sneaking glances at his phone as it poked just a degree out of his pocket, but all he ever saw were texts he had no intention of answering and DMs on Twitter that conferred Y/N's assumption that he'd blocked her number. James had caught on, however, to how preoccupied Thomas was. He would trail off in the middle of a sentence when he noticed his averted gaze, and he watched his eyes glaze over when interviewers made small talk before his appearances, and Thomas caught his skeptical gaze on many occasions. Thomas averted his eyes quickly when he did so.

Nothing damning ever crossed the headlines, and Thomas, too, began to realize he was operating on borrowed time. He wasn't sure how much time he'd borrowed, and he wasn't sure how much he'd have to give back. Neither realization was a relief. It only built his anticipation for the weeks that followed, and he grew more scattered and more concerned about what was to come until—

“Thomas.”

His head snapped up at the stern sound of James’ voice. It was a tone usually reserved for Charles Lee and his father, and Thomas had a hunch as to why he was hearing it just then.

“We need to talk.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He was in his office at the space they were leasing for their campaign headquarters, a dingy old building that may have been considered glamorous in the early ‘70s, but its interior had never been renovated, so it now simply looked dated. James took a seat across from him.

“Where the hell has your head been at for the past couple weeks?”

“What do you mean?” He answered a little too quickly, and James narrowed his eyes.

“You're always on your phone. Even when you're making appearances in public, you're not entirely there, and in meetings, you definitely aren't. Something is obviously up.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “What're you accusing me of?”

James looked taken aback. “Nothing. I'm asking: I can tell something happened, but what? I want to know if you're okay.”

“You wanna know if I'm okay?”

“Yes. Of course I do,” he said, frowning, and Thomas’ creased brow softened a degree. “We've been friends for years. I'm worried about you, not upset.”

“Right, yeah. ‘Course.” Thomas dragged a hand through his curls as he took a deep breath, not meeting James’ gaze. “Sorry. ‘M just stressed.”

“I can tell.”

“I learned somethin’ last week that's bad for us. Bad for me, really, but it's a problem for our campaign if it pans out, y’know?” His words were agitated and scattered, and when he finally looked James in the eye, he sighed. “A friend in the press told me there's somebody out there giving interviews about my history as an alcoholic. Sounds like they claim to know more than they really do, but at any point now, that information might come out.”

“I see.” James’ lips were pursed. “Would that friend happen to be Y/N L/N?”

Thomas frowned. “Yeah. Why?”

He hesitated, looking down as he collected his thoughts. Slowly, he said, “You two seem quite close in a way that concerns me. Is there anything I should know about that?”

Thomas’ stomach had curdled. “Nah, I mean… Dunno what you mean, really. She's just a professional contact.”

“And the dynamic between you two at work events? Your choice to rent out the restaurant she works at for a rally?”

“Hey, I've been goin’ to that restaurant for a whole lot longer than she's been workin’ there.”

“That's beside the point.”

“I dunno if it is.”

“Thomas. Be straight with me.” James eyed his stiff shoulders and the way he sat rigidly upright in his chair; his stance was unnatural. “You're communicating with her outside of professional channels, and you aren't taking the things you learn straight back to us. Frankly, it's unprofessional of you.”

Thomas eyed him with a knit brow, trying to keep his surprise peripheral. “I… Yeah, sorry. Shoulda communicated better.”

“And why didn't you? Something about Y/N L/N seems to cloud your judgment, and I'm not sure where that's coming from.”

He'd have to remind himself to thank Dolley for her discretion. “Dunno what to tell you. We haven't really been communicating, it's just this, ‘n I've been distracted cause I don't know what to do about the interview somebody's been givin’ about me. You don't have to worry, either; we're not friends, ‘n she's not gonna be around in the future.”

James furrowed his brow. “What does that mean?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but it took him a moment to collect the words, “Just haven't seen her at our events. Her assignment must've changed.”

“...Right.”

As they looked across Thomas’ desk at one another, neither had the heart to note all the media inquiries he'd declined from the Post in the preceding weeks.

—--

Y/N WASN'T HAVING the time of her life either. In the weeks that followed, every media request she submitted was painstaking, wrenched from her hands by her manager and laced with shame and anxiety. She was having increasing trouble justifying why finding a reliable source for her article was giving her so much trouble, but her countless declined media requests had been giving her an easier out.

The closest she came to him for several weeks was his open speaking events—rallies, cocktail hours, fundraisers and the like—despite her numerous texts and calls. She even managed to get James’ and Lafayette's ears on a couple different occasions, but the only person who gave her the time of day was Dolley. Even then, in contrast to James’ and Lafayette's dismissal, all she received was passive pity. She'd asked her how she'd liked the Pacific Northwest — that was where Thomas’s campaign had led them most recently.

“Oh, you know. Lots of rain.” Dolley’s words were accompanied with a sad smile. “I'm glad to be back on the east coast, I suppose.”

“Would you really consider DC to be the east coast?”

She only shrugged. “Maybe not. But all the same, it's good to be home.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Sorry campaigning hasn't been all it's cracked up to be.”

“No, no, it's been fine. Don't worry about me, dear. How… how have you been, though?”

Y/N's hopeful expression froze, and although Dolly's was unchanged, she couldn't help but feel that something had shifted. She swallowed as she regained her warm smile.

“I've been good, Doll. Working lots of hours, but nothing too terrible.”

“Good, good. I haven't seen you at too many campaign events recently, you know.”

“Right, well. Traveling that far would just be a bit of an ordeal.”

“Of course.” Dolley touched Y/N's arm as she glanced over her shoulder. “I really can't linger, but it is good to see you. I hope you've been taking care of yourself through everything.”

“Through everything?”

Again, Dolley shrugged. “All the hours you've been working. I imagine it doesn't allow much time for you to rest.”

“Right, yeah, no, for sure.” Y/N shook her head quickly, offering a light laugh. “For sure. I've been fine.”

“Right.” Her smile was tight. “I do hope I'll see you around.”

Y/N was doing her best not to read into Dolley's words, but they occasionally floated to the forefront of her mind on her commute to work and in the shower. She couldn't help but dwell on the hesitant way she asked how she'd been as she sat at her computer redrafting articles. She couldn't gauge the sincerity in her voice when she said she'd hoped to see her around.

She found Lafayette no more than a week later, and it appeared he'd already been cornered by none other than Ben Arnold. She wasn't sure when the two had been acquainted, but Lafayette was looking rather weary as Ben grew ever-closer to him with his notepad.

While she was trying to decide whether to approach the pair, Ben noticed her over Lafayette's shoulder.

“Y/N!” He flagged her down with a hand, and Lafayette turned sharply in the direction he was facing. Both she and he were tense as she approached. “You know Lafayette, don't you? I can't place it, but I'm sure I've seen you both talking together before.”

“Right. Yeah, we know each other.” Her smile was tight, but Ben didn't seem to pick up on it. “What's going on over here?”

“We're talking about Adams’ speech from the other day. I wanna root for the guy, but God, he sure fumbled that.” He shook his head in disdain. “He has me starting to think he might just be too old to be the candidate.”

“Yeah, well. No candidate is perfect.”

“You're one to talk, with the way you've been tearing into Jefferson. You're doing great work, though, don't get me wrong. And don't let me dissuade you.” When Ben nudged her playfully, she pursed her lips.

“Thanks.”

“How's your day going, though? Have you gotten any content out of this rally?” The concern in his brow was aimless, and when Y/N shrugged, he frowned. He followed her gaze as she snuck glances at Lafayette.

“It's been fine. I, um, I should get going, though. It looks like you two were in the middle of an interview, and I really don't want to take your time. I have some work to get done this afternoon.”

“Will your article finally be hitting the front pages?” Y/N inhaled sharply when Lafayette spoke, and his polite tone was in contrast with his stern, knit brow.

“Not today.” She spoke softly, and when she looked him in the eye, she was almost afraid to look away. “There have been some complications.”

“Of what sort?”

“That’s somewhat confidential, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure it is.” He hesitated. She didn’t move. “Is everything alright?”

“Is everything alright?” she repeated incredulously, and he shrugged.

“I am only wondering.”

“I’m fine.” She answered the question he didn’t ask.

“Glad to hear it.” Ben nudged her with a lopsided smile, and the one she put on to match was stiff. “Looking forward to your article, then.”

She and Lafayette shared a look.

————

PER NOBODY’S WISHES, she thought dryly as she read her email, they’d be seeing her again soon. Thomas was holding a speaking event at the university she'd attended, and it was being moderated by a professor she'd had as an undergrad. Although Thomas’ campaign may have blacklisted her, her persistent participation in journalism seminars appeared to be paying off well into her career. There was, of course, a media junket in the hours that preceded the speech, and she was, of course, always welcome back at her alma mater. When she was younger, people would tell her time and time again that her GPA barely mattered if she wasn’t looking to attend graduate school, but there it was, pulling strings she figured had long since frayed.

She arrived early. She’d barely slept the night before, so she figured it wasn’t ultimately worth waiting the extra hours before leaving the house, and she showered before the sun was even up. She stopped by her old professor’s office to thank him along with an extra cold brew and her thoughts on his recent book. She lingered in the bookstore afterwards, eyeing the merchandise they’d updated since she attended. She walked by her old dorm building. She made uneasy eye contact with the security guards placed every five feet.

Vans with tinted windows went in and out of gated driveways, and she wondered which of them had reason to appear so incognito. Although she hadn’t the slightest clue, she didn’t allow her stare to linger on any of them for too long.

She checked in for her time slot four hours early.

—-------

THOMAS HAD MIXED feelings about university speaking engagements. Young people barely voted, and many of them had obviously come only to network regardless, trailing behind him with questions about his campaign staff and his cabinet. Nevertheless, the optics of caring about the next generation were helpful if not essential, so there he was in a van being driven through closed-off streets toward a university convention center.

He shook hands and learned names he had little intention of remembering for multiple hours before the event even started, and he was led by his security detail down a long hallway for the press junket that he should have anticipated.

He asked for a cup of coffee before they started, chatting idly with one of his bodyguards in the hallway outside, and then he asked for another. He arrived at the first interview thirty-eight minutes late.

He cut each interview short. They were with outlets he’d spoken to time and time again: CNN, Fox, the Associated Press, the Guardian. The questions they asked were routine.

Eight interviews took him less than an hour, ultimately, but he was informed that he’d be giving sixteen that day (it would’ve been fifteen, but the university newspaper snuck in a reservation).

After each, he took a breath, fixed his tie, and opened the next door to meet the interviewer he’d be speaking to next.

Nine was from NBC.

Ten was the Times — he shuddered when he saw Ben Arnold, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen his face before.

Eleven was the LA Times.

Twelve was NPR.

He walked out on autopilot toward the next room after shaking his interviewer’s hand and wishing her well. His eyes were glazed over as he opened the door to room thirteen.

He fixed his shirt cuffs as he walked in. “Mornin’, how’s your day—?” He stopped short when she lifted her head, eyes as wide as his. “Who the hell let you in?”

“Please, just give me five minutes.”

He looked over his shoulder to his security personnel. “Gimme the room.”

“Sir, we’re under instructions not to leave your side.”

“Instructions from who? You work for me.”

“I understand that, but our manager—”

“Wait outside. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure, Secretary Jefferson?”

He nodded before turning back toward Y/N. “I only need five minutes, hm?”

“Yes. Please.” He sat across from her as the security detail filed out into the hallway, and her hand was shaking atop her notebook when he met her eyes.

“What part of ‘stay away from me’ was unclear?” he spat.

“It’s my job; I couldn’t stop trying to get to your events.”

“And what did you think would happen when you did?” She was silent. “How the hell did you get in, anyway? My staff knows that you—”

“I went here. For college. I used to work for the professor interviewing you later, and he reached out to me, not the other way around.”

“Management and I are gonna be havin’ a serious talk about his role in organizing this event, then.”

“Hey, come on, it’s not his fault,” she protested. “You can’t ruin his credibility just for this, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” he snapped. “It’s not fair? It’s not right? All of a sudden, you’re worried about protecting somebody’s reputation?”

“Come on, you know what I’m saying. He did nothing wrong.”

“And I did then?” He raised his eyebrows, folding his arms. She sighed, shoulders dropping. “‘S that what you’re saying? Is that all you meant? He doesn’t deserve that, but I do?”

“No, of course you don’t. Please stop making this something it isn’t.”

“What is it then? Hm? If it’s not you playing favorites? You’re allowed to drag my name in the streets, but I can’t do it to somebody you care about?”

“Thomas, I do care about you; just listen to me.”

“What is there left to say?” His tone was sharp, and he didn’t go on, just watching her expectantly. The only sound was the hum of the AV equipment switched on in the corner. She hadn’t set any of it up.

“I just want you to understand that this is my job.” She spoke softly. “I didn’t know this was what I was signing up for, but I did, and it’s too late for me to back out.”

“You didn’t do this by accident. I don’t care what your assignment was; you sat down and spent hours writing down the worst things you could find about me.”

“I had to. My editor—”

“You had to? There was no other way out?”

“Yeah, maybe unemployment,” she bit back. “I need my job, Thomas. I have to work.”

“You’re a big name in media now. Don’t act like you have no sway.” He looked her up and down. “You made your choice. Now live with it.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she urged. “Someone was going to come out with this eventually. If I didn’t write it, I would’ve been scooped.”

“You always have a choice.” When he stood, he was looking down his nose at her. “Hope it was worth spending your day here just to make mine worse. I’ll be more careful about the press at my events goin’ forward.”

He started toward the door, and her hurried footsteps behind him didn’t give him pause.

“Wait, please, I—” Her fingers were soft on his forearm, and he jerked it away, turning to face her.

“Don’t you dare touch me. You hear me?” His tone was harsh, and she pulled her hand back, balling her fingers lamely in front of her. “I don’t know where you find the goddamn nerve.”

When he left, he slammed the door behind him.

——————

SHE WAS DREADING the office on Monday. The speaking event had been local, so she couldn’t skate by on travel complications for another day working remotely. She slipped into the office early so her editor wouldn’t see her come in, and when eleven AM came and went undisturbed, she found herself ticking off the minutes before she could slink away while Ashley was out on lunch.

At 11:38 AM, there was a knock at her office door.

“Coming.” Her voice was soft.

She opened the door. The usual culprit.

“Ashley,” she said, honey-sweet, “Morning. Happy Monday.”

“Good morning, Y/N.” Her smile was tight. “What do you suppose there is to be happy about today?”

“Well, the weather is beautiful, my apartment’s heating was fixed, my friends are—”

“That was rhetorical.” Ashley breezed past her into her office, and Y/N sighed. “Where the hell is my article? I know you went to the Georgetown event last weekend, and you have yet to even send me notes from it.”

“He wouldn’t speak to me.” She turned, closing the door behind her.

“And why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because all my writing treats him terribly?” Y/N asked. “This is your own fault. Being upset with me for not being able to get his ear when you told me to drag his name through the mud is insane.”

“I don’t need a new interview with him. I need you to finish the draft you sent me weeks ago. If you don’t, I’m giving it to another staff writer to finish.”

“You’re bluffing. It’s my intellectual property; you don’t own that article until it’s published,” Y/N said. “If you could assign it to someone else, you would’ve by now.”

“And if someone had sent me your interview tape, I could’ve had it in the paper immediately,” Ashley seethed. “Why are you holding out on me, L/N? You got this assignment because your supervisors before me believed in you. This doesn’t just reflect on you; it reflects on them now, too.”

“Yeah, and they weren’t breathing down my neck trying to push their own agendas on my writing.”

“What did you just say to me?”

Y/N paused, sucking her teeth. Ashley raised her eyebrows.

“I think Adams lied,” Y/N finally said.

“And why do you think that?”

“He has an agenda. No one will even corroborate his story.”

“He worked with Jefferson, and the facts line up.”

“How would you know if the story lines up?” Y/N asked incredulously. “You weren’t on Washington’s staff with them.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care if you don’t have a secondary source, and I don’t care if you don’t believe him,” Ashley insisted, “because you haven’t published in weeks, and this is front-page news. You never sit on a story like this.”

“Don’t you care about our integrity? This affects our reputation as a paper, too.”

“If it turns out to be false, we’ll print a retraction.”

“I don’t want my name attached to a slanderous article,” Y/N said. “We could get sued. I could get sued.”

“We have the best lawyers in the game, L/N. What you need to do is grow a pair.”

“Jesus Christ, don’t talk to me like that.” Y/N’s nose was crinkled as she eyed Ashley. “However good you think our lawyers are, you underestimate Jefferson’s.”

“I’ve been in journalism a long time. I know what we can get away with.”

“What if I don’t want to just be ‘getting away with’ things?” Y/N asked. “I came here to report the truth.”

“From what we know, this is the truth.”

“But we don’t know that.” Y/N’s firm gaze met Ashley’s narrowed eyes. “I’m not finishing the article.”

“You work for me.”

“If you press this, I’ll walk away,” Y/N warned. “You need me here this late in the game.”

“You need me a whole lot more,” Ashley said. “If you don’t get me my finished article by Friday, you’re fired.”

“Then I quit.”

Ashley’s narrowed eyes softened. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ll pack my office. Effective immediately.” Y/N’s expression was unchanging. Ashley drew back, folding her arms.

“Fine. You have thirty minutes. After that, security will see you out.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

—————

SHE HADN’T PLANNED for that. When she went home, she was all but convinced it had been a fever dream. Was she sick? She took her temperature—98.5° F. She checked her email. It had already been disabled. Her Google Drive was gone, which meant her draft was gone, which meant her career was over.

She hadn’t given two weeks notice, and she had burned a bridge. Ashley wouldn’t be listed as a reference on her future job applications. She hadn’t published in weeks, and she had lost all her contacts on the Jefferson campaign. Who would hire her?

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot despite her nine hours of sleep. She needed to go to sleep.

Laying down didn’t help. Maybe Tums would do something, but the sinking feeling in her stomach wasn’t nausea. She figured an antacid couldn’t hurt. Maybe she was stopped up. Maybe she just needed a laxative. Maybe she needed antipsychotics. Had she gone mad?

She didn’t check her phone for three hours. She could only stare at the ceiling. She had no dental insurance, so she would need to postpone her appointment. She had no health insurance, either, so she was rather lucky that flu season was over. Her car repairs would have to wait, but the Metro reached her part of town. She didn’t have to travel for work anymore, anyway.

She had opted in on a financial nightmare. It wasn’t until later that afternoon that she even remembered why.

It was with trembling fingers that she called Lafayette. He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t blame him. She sent him a text. Quit my job. Not sure what to do. Call me back.

She couldn’t call Alex, and she couldn’t call Angelica, and she didn’t have Dolley’s number. None of her closest friends would understand the decision she’d made.

She went downstairs, and Mira was in the kitchen idly doing the dishes. The lunch rush had passed, and the dinner one hadn’t started.

“Hey, Mira,” she said softly. “Do you have a minute?”

“Dishes have to get done, mija, are you going to help me?” Her tone was all business, and it almost made Y/N smile. She had her own concerns.

“Yeah, I can. Lemme load the dishes.” And so as Mira scraped and rinsed each plate, Y/N put them one by one into the dishwasher. She fell into a rhythm so passively that it caught her off guard when Mira spoke.

“You wanted to talk about something with me?” she asked, and Y/N went still.

“Yeah,” she said, “I did.”

“I am listening.”

“I quit my other job.”

Mira turned the water off. Her brows were knit when she faced Y/N. “You quit?”

“I did.”

“You worked hard for that promotion. What happened? You were famous.”

“My editor wanted me to publish some things I didn’t quite believe in,” Y/N said quietly, and Mira nodded, turning back to the sink. She turned the water on and reached for another glass.

“Ya veo. About Thomas?”

Y/N paused. “What makes you say that?”

Mira only shot her a sidelong glance, raising one skeptical eyebrow. Y/N shrugged, and Mira turned back to the sink, shaking her head. “What did they want you to say about him?”

“I…” It occurred to her that Mira hadn’t answered her question. “Things I don’t want to repeat. I don’t want to spread rumors.”

“Are they true?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then I will not repeat what you tell me,” Mira said. “Tell me.”

“There are claims he was an alcoholic,” Y/N said, and Mira pursed her lips, nodding.

“Is that just a rumor?”

“Only one person has claimed it. They say it was years ago.”

“He does not seem to me to be an alcoholic.”

“Me neither,” Y/N said. “If it’s true, he’s clearly recovered. With how much energy he has, I’d sooner believe that he does cocaine.”

Mira laughed softly at that. “He is always moving, no?”

“You’re telling me.”

Mira turned off the water as she handed Y/N the final dish. “So when did you quit?”

“This morning.”

Her eyebrows jumped. “Today?”

Y/N nodded. “I didn’t even give any notice. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were being brave,” Mira replied. “You did what you believed.”

“And now I’m paying the price.”

“What price?” Mira asked. “You left a job that you hated. You… what is it… seguiste a tu corazón.”

“Followed my heart?” Y/N repeated, and Mira nodded.

“Thomas means something to you,” —Y/N opened her mouth to protest, and Mira only raised a hand to stop her— “He is in your life, at least. He is your friend. You did what he needed.”

“I know. God, I hope so. I was just trying to do the right thing, and now I feel like I’ve blown up my life.”

“What is blown up? You have a roof over your head. You have food on your table. Also you have this job.”

“It’s not enough for me to be able to pay you rent money,” Y/N admitted. “Not with my student loan payments. I understand if I can’t stay, but when I find a new job, I can get you all the money later, and if you want interest, it’s—”

“It is not my worry,” Mira said. “We have enough money. We do not need yours. We will not remove you from your home.”

“Thank you, but I’ll pay you when I have the money. I’m sorry.”

“Do not be sorry. Be proud that you have done what you believe.” Mira took Y/N’s damp hand in her own, dishwater running down in beads from her elbow. “I am proud of you. It is allowed to feel that for yourself, too.”

—————

SHE THEN CALLED Thomas. He didn’t pick up, and she wasn’t expecting him to. He hadn’t read any of her texts in weeks, so she didn’t bother sending them anymore, but they were still marked as delivered. Lafayette didn’t call her back, but he texted— I am happy for you.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Can you call?

He texted back immediately. Later. I am working.

Are we okay? It took her a long moment of staring to press “send.”

We will need to have a longer conversation, he sent. Her stomach turned. Then— But yes.

She called Thomas again.

That was her routine for the rest of the evening. She applied for a job at CNN, she called Thomas. She made herself dinner, she called Thomas. She took out the trash, she called Thomas. She applied for five more jobs, she called Thomas. She took a break to read through the texts she’d sent him, and she called Thomas.

She texted Lafayette again. Can you tell Thomas to call me?

I can try, was his reply. Should I tell him you quit?

I’d like to tell him myself, she sent.

Then it will be difficult.

By eight PM, he had 47 missed calls from her. It was more than she’d tried in the weeks since he had cut her off, but she supposed he would have chalked it up to the fight they’d had over the weekend. Every time the phone went to voicemail, she heard his disgusted voice ringing in her ears— I don’t know where you find the nerve.

Frankly, she wasn’t sure, either.

At 9:47, she had just finished another job application, and it was time to call Thomas again. She was sitting on her couch, and she put the phone on speaker beside her as she reached for her glass of wine. She closed tabs on her laptop as she listened to the first four rings, and she pulled up another application as the fifth went by.

The sixth ring never came, and the phone didn’t go to voicemail. There was faint static coming from her phone’s speaker. She froze.

Tentatively, she spoke. “Thomas?”

A beat passed. Finally, “I only picked up as a favor to Lafayette. You can tell him I did my piece.”

“Wait, no, don’t hang up,” she said frantically. “Please. Are you still there?”

“I’m done wastin’ time here. I’ve given you a whole lotta chances. Goodnight.”

“I quit my job.” Her words were rushed. Silence followed, but no dial tone.

“You what?”

“I quit my job,” she repeated. “The article’s scrapped.”

“Y’know, it’s not so easy to trust right now that you’re tellin’ me the whole truth.”

“I know,” Y/N said softly, putting down her wine glass. She picked up the phone and took it off of speaker. “But that's it.”

“You’re not goin’ back?”

“Never.”

“And that article’s never gonna see the light?”

“It would be illegal for them to publish without me on staff. They don’t even have the interview tape.”

There was a long pause. “Why’d you do it?”

“Are you serious?” she asked, huffing out a disbelieving laugh.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“Because I couldn’t publish that article. I’m sorry I ever even wrote it. My editor has been hounding me for weeks to get it finished so that they could publish, and I delayed it and delayed it, but it came down to publishing or leaving. So I finally left.”

“‘Cause I yelled at you in a conference room at your old college?”

“Because you were right when you did,” she said. “No one who cared about you would publish that article.”

“What about all those bills you have to pay?” The question was steeped in disdain.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted, and her voice was shaky when she explained, “I’m applying for jobs, but I’ll take on more hours at the diner, and I can delay some of my payments. And Mira and Orlando are my landlords, so they won’t evict me, so I won’t need to couch surf. I’ll take on a little bit of debt. I’ll figure it out.”

He hesitated a moment. “Sorry for askin’. You don’t owe me all that information.”

“Right now I owe you any explanation you want.”

He sighed. “Y/N.”

“I’m serious. I’m so sorry, Thomas. This whole ordeal is finally over. You never have to think about this again.”

“Well, if somebody’s giving interviews about it, I’m sure I’m gonna have to worry about it soon enough.”

“...Right.”

“But that’s not your fault. I shouldn’t put that on you. ‘M sorry.”

“You don’t owe me any apologies,” she said softly. “I’m glad you picked up.”

“Yeah.” A beat. “I am too.”

Nearly a minute passed and neither of them spoke. Neither seemed to have the words to offer, but he didn’t hang up, and she didn’t want to.

Finally, “Can I come over?”

He hesitated. “I’m at James’ right now.”

“Oh.” Her voice went quiet. “Right. Of course. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry, I’ll let you—”

“I’ll be home in an hour,” he cut her off, and her eyebrows shot up. “Think you can wait that long?”

She checked the time. It was past ten. “I suppose I don’t have anywhere to be in the morning.”

He didn’t laugh. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

—-

IT WAS MORE than an hour later when he texted her. In fact, it had been eighty-one minutes. She'd begun to abandon her hopes when he sent— Headed home. Come by whenever.

She didn't love being on the Metro at that hour. She couldn't call an Uber. She brought nothing but her phone, wallet, and keys.

It was nearing midnight when she arrived, and ten minutes passed between when she buzzed in and when she knocked on his door. Most of them were spent standing outside working up the courage to do so.

When she finally did, he opened the door immediately.

“Hey,” he said softly, looking her up and down.

“Were you waiting by the door?”

He frowned. “It's the middle of the night, and I buzzed you in twenty minutes ago. What else would I be doing?”

She chose not to correct him on the time. “Right, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m sure.”

She didn't respond at first, shifting her weight between her feet. “Can I come in?”

He sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Lemme take your jacket.”

“Thanks.” The brush of his fingers against hers when he took it sent chills down her arm. She followed him inside.

“Would it be too on the nose to offer you a drink?” he asked. “I think we could both use one right about now.”

“It'd be more than welcome,” she agreed weakly, and he nodded, walking toward the kitchen. She didn't follow him right away, and he glanced back at her.

“Well, c'mon in, act like you've been here before. You know where the glasses are.”

“Right. Sorry.” She slipped off her shoes before continuing toward his cabinets. “What are we drinking?”

“Wine?”

“What kind?”

“Zinfandel.”

“Right.” She handed him two wine glasses as he took a bottle from his shelf and pulled the cork.

“Thanks,” he said. She nodded.

A moment passed in silence as he poured two glasses, and he turned his head to look at her as he put the cork back on the bottle. “Take your pick.”

“Right. Thanks.” She took the glass closest to her.

“Cheers?” he said as he picked up his glass, tilting it toward her. Her smile was tight as she clinked her glass against his. He sighed. “Relax a little. You wouldn't be here if I didn't wanna see you. You're not on trial.”

“I know,” she agreed softly, “but I did fuck up. You don't have to be this nice to me right now.”

“I know.” He took a sip of his wine. “That's what makes me such a good person.”

She rolled her eyes, and his small smile was self-satisfied. “My savior.”

“Hey, I don't wanna hear any snark from you in these circumstances,” he warned, and she shrugged.

“Then you shouldn't have invited me over.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The way I remember it, you invited yourself.”

“How rude of me.”

“I oughta kick you out just for that.” She cast him a sidelong glance as she took a sip, and amusement danced in his smiling eyes. “You wanna come sit down?”

“I… yeah. I'd love to.” They both migrated to the living room, and when she took a seat on one end of the couch, he sat beside her without hesitation. “I still feel like I owe you an apology.”

“You've apologized. Not much more you can say about that.” His tone was dismissive.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, sweetheart.” He took a heavy sip of his wine, and she frowned. “What I do want, though, is an explanation.”

“I… don't think I have much of an explanation to offer. No excuses I haven't already given you.”

“I don’t want an excuse. Why’d you do it?” he asked. “When did this start, who gave the interview? How long have you been sitting on it?”

“I can't tell you who.” Her response came quickly, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “I'm sorry, I know that's unsatisfying, but it's just not something I'm willing to break. Their anonymity, I mean.”

He hesitated a moment. “Y’know it's not your job anymore, right?”

“Yes, I'm aware.” Her voice had an edge. “But… this is about my reputation as a journalist. This is an integrity thing.”

“Whoever you're interviewing doesn't seem to have a whole lotta integrity.”

“That isn't my problem.”

“You know this affects me, yeah? I'm not asking this outta spite; I need to know who's claimin’ this.”

“I can't be the one to tell you.” Y/N pursed her lips. “I'm sorry for that. Honestly. But I can't.”

Thomas took a heavy breath. “You're not makin’ it real easy to forgive you, y'know.”

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly. Her ears rang in the silence that followed.

“Fine,” he finally said. “When did you write the article, then?”

She swallowed. “Shit… I… Almost three months ago? Maybe less?”

“Three months?” he repeated.

“I told you my editor was at the end of her rope with me delaying this. It wasn't for no reason.”

“So every time I've seen you for three months you've been sittin’ on this.”

“I mean… yeah.” She shrugged. He was watching her incredulously.

“That's all you've gotta say about it? Yeah?” Her nose crinkled at his pitchy impression of her voice. “Every time I've seen you you've just been pretending you weren't gonna destroy my reputation?”

She sighed. “It's not like that. I mean, it is, but c'mon. It's not like I've been putting on such a promising act as your fun hookup. All we've done for the past three months is fight.”

“What about that night at the diner?” he asked. “We did a whole lot other than fightin'.”

“Do you mean your rally?” she asked, and he nodded. “Thomas, I hadn't written it then. I didn't even have my source yet. I didn't know about any of this. I… it was the last time I woke up here that was the day I wrote it.”

“Don't sound so self-righteous about my question, then; you were still stayin’ over here when you were writing it.”

“I was not,” she defended. “I haven't even been here since I wrote it. After that morning, I barely saw you for weeks.”

“And apparently I shoulda kept it that way.”

“Do you want my side of the story or not?” Y/N asked weakly. “I know you're upset, but you asked me to explain. I'm just trying to fill in the blanks.”

His jaw ticked, and he sat back against the couch. “Yeah. ‘M sorry. Go on.”

“Well, the article was the reason I didn't try to see you in those weeks. At least not for anything more than a talk. I think some part of me knew from the jump that it was wrong.”

“Then why'd you do it?” he asked. She sighed.

“My career. My money. I really needed that job, and I worked so hard for it, and at first I thought I might be able to discard the article without it seeing the light, but my editor doubled down. It was obvious pretty early on that my job depended on it. I was hoping I would be valuable enough that they wouldn't fire me over it, but once it was drafted, there was no way to stop it and stay at the Post.”

Her voice shook, and she reached over to put her wine glass on his coffee table. She rested her forehead in her hands.

“I know I fucked up, but even now, some part of me feels like I made the wrong choice. What now? What's next for me? Who's even going to hire me after I quit the Post with no notice? What about my loans?”

She jumped at the feeling of his hand on her shoulder, and when she looked up at him, he looked as bewildered at her reaction as she felt.

“‘M sorry. Didn't mean to… scare you, it's not… Shit. Whatever. I'm sorry.” His fingers were stiff as he rubbed her upper back, and it drew a soft laugh from her.

“God, when did we get so awkward? It's okay, it's not your fault.” She took his hand from her shoulder, lacing her fingers into his.

“‘Course. Right. But y'know… if I'd never gone for you, you wouldn't be in this type of spot. I shoulda just left you alone from the jump.”

“That would've made both of our lives a hell of a lot easier,” Y/N agreed, and his smile was reluctant. “Too late, though. If I didn't care about you being in my life, I wouldn't have just thrown away my career for you.”

“Y’know, the campaign could always use more speech writers.”

“Not helpful.”

“I know. Sorry, sugar.” He squeezed her hand. “But your career's not down the drain. You're real smart, and you're real talented. Somebody else is gonna wanna hire you.”

“Maybe, but the industry is so tight. If word travels that I left the Post with no notice, I'll seem unreliable. Nobody wants that.”

“Somebody’ll hire you. I promise, alright?” His words held great conviction, and she could only sigh.

“Thanks, Thomas.”

He offered an encouraging smile. “‘Course.” He paused for a moment— “Now, I don't wanna reopen old wounds or anything, but I gotta ask.” She creased her brow. “Was the article the only reason you were avoidin’ me? Changin’ all your shifts at the diner, boltin’ for the door when I saw you at Lafayette's… was that all this?”

“I… I don't know.”

“Right. ‘Course, ‘m sorry for askin’. I shouldn't have brought that back up; it isn't even—”

“No, no, listen to me.” Her voice held traces of frustration. “I like you, you know I do, as if me quitting my job isn't evidence enough, but I just couldn't,” —her words were defeated— “let myself get attached to you. There's no good ending to this. The good ending was sex until the election and then neatly going our separate ways. And I fucked that up a couple different times.”

“So you didn't?” he asked. She frowned.

“Are you serious? Of course I got attached. You're all swagger and confidence, and suddenly the Republican presidential frontrunner wanted me, of all people. It all felt like a dream. It felt like too much of a dream. There's no room for dreaming in my future, only planning.”

“So you just saw it as temporary.”

She nodded. “I did. I fucked up by getting to know you, though, and you fucked up by being so much kinder and more complex than I took you to be. I didn't account for there being anything under the surface.”

He smiled softly. “Sorry, sweetheart. I'll try not to let it happen again.”

“You're too considerate.” She pulled her legs up onto the couch, sitting with them slanted at her side. “All of that to say, no, it wasn't just the article, but you did nothing wrong.”

“This is night ‘n day from you accusin’ me of trying to control you a couple weeks ago,” he pointed out, and she huffed.

“Hey, I was trying to keep us from having to figure all this out. It would've been easier if you'd given me a good reason to lose your number.”

“I'm glad I didn't.”

“I am too,” she agreed. She picked up her glass of wine, and she took a slow sip, choosing her words. “So, are we, like, good?”

He laughed. “Mhm, we're, like, good.” Y/N rolled her eyes at his impression of her voice, but when he squeezed her knee, her stomach turned. “C'mon, lighten up.”

“I don't think this is all that funny,” she protested, and he sighed.

“All is forgiven, alright? Relax. We'll laugh about this soon enough.”

“I'm not ready to laugh at it yet.”

“You'll get there.” His hand was creeping up her thigh, rubbing circles into her skin, and she frowned before covering it with hers.

“What exactly do you think you're doing here?”

He smiled as his hand tightened around her leg, fingertips pressing into the skin, and she gasped when he pulled her toward him. “Clearin’ the air.”

“You're so corny.”

“‘N I missed you. Gimme this.” He took her glass of wine out of her hand, placing both his and hers on his coffee table.

“I was drinking that.”

“‘N now you aren't. Y'know, alcohol really isn't good for you. Take it from somebody who knows.” Her eyes were wide as he pulled her legs over his lap, his hand settling on her lower back when her thighs were draped over his.

“You're invading my space, Jefferson.”

“You gonna write an article about it?” He held her face by the chin, then only inches from his. The mocking pout he offered made her roll her eyes. “Sick of seein’ that frown.”

He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, and when she smiled at the gentle action, he turned her head to kiss her on the mouth. “There's that smile,” he said softly before kissing her again. “All I've been getting these days was your little furrowed brow,” —he swiped his thumb over the bridge of her nose— “always so angry with me. Always pouting.”

“It was for good reason.”

He snorted. “Uh huh. ‘Cause I've just been such a nuisance.”

“You've been the cause of all my stress for months now.”

“Then lemme relieve some of it.” His hand drew back to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as he kissed across her chin and down her jaw. He hooked his other hand under her thigh. “Come here.”

She squealed when he pulled her all the way onto his lap, and she shifted to face him, tilting her head back as his lips traveled down her neck. She wrapped her arms around his neck, unable to stop the little whimpers that escaped her lips as he sucked on her skin, and she squealed when he suddenly bit down hard on the skin above her collarbone.

“Thomas,” she whined as a hand flew to his hair, and she whimpered as he sucked the soft skin into his mouth, pulling her in close by the waist. The skin smarted as he pulled away, his breath heavy. “That hurt.”

“D'you mind?” He raised his eyebrows, expression flat, and she swallowed.

“No.” Her voice was small.

“Good.” His mouth returned to the skin of her chest, kissing and biting her upper breasts. He released her waist to undo the top buttons of her blouse, brow furrowed as he did so, and after a moment, he huffed and grabbed the bottom hem of her shirt. “Pick your arms up.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he said, hands slipping under the fabric around her waist, riding it up to the band of her bra. She put her arms above her head, and he immediately pulled her shirt off, discarding it absently onto the floor. He grabbed her by the waist and tossed her on her back onto the couch beside him, and she yelped when her bare back hit the cool leather, arching away from it.

When he climbed on top of her, he slipped a hand under her back to undo her bra clasp, sliding it down her obliging arms. She inhaled sharply when the cool air hit her sensitive nipples, watching him in anticipation.

“Touch yourself,” he said softly, and she raised her eyebrows.

“What?”

“C'mon, play with your tits for me. Wanna see you make yourself feel good.”

“I…” Any protest in her voice died when his lips returned to her skin, kissing down her stomach, shifting down the couch. He settled between her legs, nipping the skin above her hip lightly. He met her eyes with an expectant gaze.

She tilted her head back, arching up against her hand as she reached for her breast, pinching her nipple. Her breathing was heavy; she reached for the couch cushion behind her head with her other hand, gripping it tightly.

“Fuck.” The sound escaped her lips as a whisper as she rolled her nipple between her fingers, and her hips twitched involuntarily. Thomas’ hands ran up her bare thighs under her skirt.

“Look at me,” he demanded, and she did so with a deep breath, squeezing her breast in her hand. His heavy gaze made her squirm. “Good girl.”

The words made her groan as she took her other breast in her hand, circling the nipple with her fingertips as it hardened. Although she was watching Thomas, his eyes were fixed on her chest, and she pushed her tits together, rolling her hips toward him.

“Please touch me,” she breathed, and he smiled, pushing her skirt up to her waist.

“Do you deserve it?” He ran a finger lightly over the outside of her panties, and it brushed over her clothed clit, making her whine. She pinched both nipples, pulling her tits up her chest.

“Please. I'll behave. I'll be good for you.” She arched harder toward him. He watched with hungry eyes as she squeezed her breasts.

“Finally got tired of making trouble?” He didn't wait for an answer before pulling her panties down her legs, leaving them dangling off one of her ankles as he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her toward him. She inhaled sharply.

“So pretty,” he commented, running a finger up her slit. He smiled at the wetness that collected on his fingertip. “And so well behaved. This all for me, sweetheart?”

She moaned when he circled her clit with his thumb, and she nodded, desperately grabbing at the couch. He landed a sharp slap to her thigh, and she yelped.

“Did I say you could move your hands?” he asked, and she frowned, bringing them back to her hard nipples. “Keep ‘em there.”

She swallowed hard when he returned to her sensitive clit, rubbing it in light strokes. Her breathing was heavy, and any movement from her hands was absentminded as her chest heaved. His fingers dipped down, teasing her entrance, and when his tongue flicked her clit, she stiffened, arching involuntarily as she rolled her hips toward him. When his lips wrapped gently around her clit, his teeth scraped it, and her legs jerked. She whined.

“Fuck, please, Thomas.”

“Be patient.” His hands moved to her hips, arms hooked under her thighs to hold her legs open, and he sucked hard on her throbbing clit. She moaned, and he didn’t stop her when one of her hands flew down to the back of his head, knotting her fingers in his hair.

“Oh, god,” she groaned, and she could feel his smile grow against her skin as his tongue traced patterns on her clit. “Fuck, you’re good at that.”

“Mhm.” Her legs shook under the vibrations of his voice on his tongue.

Her eyes fell shut as her body tensed and twitched, and he didn’t let up, pushing her hips down into the couch as he worked her up. She whimpered when he released her thigh to slip a finger into her ignored pussy, curling it gently inside her.

“I need more.” Her voice was needy when she eventually spoke, her orgasm starting to build inside her. Everything was just shy of enough—his lips were too gentle, his fingers too slow, and all it did was frustrate her. Thomas didn’t respond. She huffed, but she could only stay quiet another moment. “Please?”

He pursed his lips as he lifted his head to look up at her. “You think you need more?”

“Yes, I do,” she whined. “I can’t cum like this.”

“What d’you need?”

“Just… more, please,” she said desperately. “Harder, or faster, or… something. Just… more.”

“Oh yeah?” He added another finger to her dripping pussy, and she gasped. His fingers pumped quickly in and out of her. “You need more?”

“Yeah, yeah, just like that. Oh, god.” She moaned, dropping her head back onto the couch, and his lips returned to her clit. She squealed. “That’s so good. Just like that.”

He sucked her clit hard into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, and her hips jerked uncontrollably against him, chasing her orgasm. Her eyes rolled back when he curled his fingers inside her. “Fuck, Thomas, I’m close.”

“Yeah?” he murmured against her, and he lifted his head. “You gonna cum for me? You almost there?”

“Yeah,” she moaned, and his tongue returned to her clit. Her legs were shaking in his grasp, and one of her hands gripped his hair while the other sank into the couch cushions, scrambling to ground her. “I’m so close, fuck, don’t stop, I’m gonna—”

She was cut off abruptly by her own loud whine as he pulled back from her entirely, and she could feel her building orgasm dissipate. “No, no, no, please, I need—”

“Who said any of this was about you, hm?” He raised an eyebrow as he lifted his head between her legs, and her hold on his hair loosened. Her deep-seated pout didn’t stop him. “Do you think you deserve to cum right now? After everything you did?”

“You said we were all good,” she protested, and he hummed in agreement.

“‘N I feel great right now. Don’t think I see the issue.” She groaned when he sat up, running his hands up her thighs. “Should be real grateful I’m not still upset with you. I could be doin’ a whole lot worse than this right now.”

“What, you want me to thank you?” she said dryly, propping herself on her hands as she sat up. Thomas pulled her closer by the thighs as he raised his eyebrows. “...Do you?”

“I mean, some manners would go a long way. I’ve been awful generous toward you, sweetheart.”

“I’ve said please.”

“‘N I don’t owe you anything for that,” he said, looking her in the eye as his thumb circled her clit. “You don’t have any kinda control over me. You don’t own me.”

If it weren’t for the punch in his tone, she wouldn’t have realized he was throwing her own words back at her, and she exhaled heavily. “C’mon, play nice.”

“I’ve been plenty nice to you.” His hands ghosted down her legs to her calves, and she sighed. “If anybody has reason to be upset, I’m pretty damn sure it’s me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. He looked her over for a moment, and he swung his legs over the side of the couch to stand, making her furrow her brow. When he reached his feet, she followed suit, “Hey, wait don’t—” She squealed when he leaned down suddenly to throw her over his shoulder, holding her by her legs.

“It’s alright sugar, I know you’re sorry. Think it’s my job to make you sorry, though.”

She groaned. “Put me down, let’s just talk about this first.”

“Don’t think so.” She squeaked when he pinched the back of her bare thigh, reaching around to swat his hand away. Her eyes widened as she recognized the door to his room retreating behind them as he walked through his apartment, and she yelped when he threw her down onto his mattress. “We’ve talked plenty, haven’t we?”

He didn’t waste any time before loosening his tie, and when she scrambled backwards on the mattress, he grabbed her by the ankle to pull her toward him. “Where the hell d’you think you’re going?”

“I don’t want this to be how we resolve this; we should—”

“D’you know your safeword?”

“...Red.”

“Then shut the hell up.”

Her chest heaved as she watched him undo the buttons on his shirt, but her gaze fell to the growing bulge in his crotch all the while. He seemed to pay her little mind, barely sparing her a glance as he pushed his shirt down his shoulders. His undershirt was tight, and when he joined her on the mattress, climbing atop her, her hands drifted to its lower hem, pulling it out of the waist of his pants.

“You should take this off,” she said softly, and he kissed her bare shoulder.

“Don't think I will.”

She huffed, and he reached for the waistband of her skirt. When he tried to pull it down, it caught on her hips, and he furrowed his brow. “Where the hell's the zipper on this thing?”

It was without warning when he grabbed her hips to flip her onto her stomach, and she yelped when he immediately pulled her hips back toward him to pull down the zipper of her skirt. He pushed her flat on her stomach to pull it down her legs, and when he did, she pushed her torso up to turn and look at him.

“Why am I the only one naked?” she asked, and he pushed her chest back down onto the bed with a firm hand between her shoulder blades. He slapped her ass absentmindedly.

“Relax. I'll take care of you.”

Although she huffed, her heart was racing as he ran a hand down her bare back. She twitched when his fingers dipped between her bare legs, and she parted them reflexively. The pads of his fingers were warm as they ran up her slit.

“So wet.” His tone was condescending. “So pretty.”

It was abrupt when he grabbed her by the thighs, pushing her to her knees, and he parted her legs by the calves. She braced herself on her forearms, arching her back, and he hummed agreeably. It was nervously that she glanced back at him, and she found him settling on his knees between her legs.

“You okay?” he asked softly. He kissed her bare lower back, and her tense shoulders softened. He leaned over her to kiss the back of her shoulder, and she felt his hard, clothed dick against her ass. She whined.

“Thomas, please, just fuck me.” She pushed herself back against him, shaking her hips. She dragged her ass down against his boner. “Don’t you want to?”

He hummed absently. “I’ll think about it.”

“Come on,” she pleaded, voice breaking. “Don’t make me wait any longer; I need you, I need you now.”

He laughed. “Aw, sugar, that badly?”

“Please?” she said softly.

“Yeah, alright.” The clang of him undoing his belt made her heart rate jump. The smooth sound of leather against fabric, and then the muted thud of the buckle hitting the floor. When she felt his dick tap her clit, sliding against her center, her hips twitched, and when his tip gently nudged her entrance, she pushed her hips desperately back against his, and he let her.

She could only take half of him on her own, and with a hand on the small of her back, he pushed himself the rest of the way in. She groaned.

“Fuck, that’s deep,” she said. He hummed in amusement, rolling his hips against hers, and she whimpered. “God, please move. Please?”

“Mhm.” When he began to thrust into her, it was shallow at first, and his pace was slow. Impatient, she snapped her hips back against his, fucking herself on his dick, and he moaned. “Yeah, just like that, sweetheart. Keep going.”

Although she did so vigorously, fists twisting in the sheets to brace herself to feel him deeper, he grabbed her by the hips, pulling them back at his own pace. As it quickened, she went limp in his grasp, doing her best to keep matching his movements, but her actions grew increasingly pathetic as he took control. He slapped her ass, gripping the meat of it.

It was a moment later when he grew impatient, grabbing her by the waist to push her down into the mattress. She squeaked as she lost her hold on the sheets she had been gripping for leverage, her cheek squished into the mattress beside her hands.

“Jesus, you feel good,” he grunted, leaning over her. His pace quickened, and she gasped. “You like that? You like it when I hold you down and fuck you?”

“Yeah,” she whined. “‘S good.”

“Yeah? You missed me blowing your back out? Huh?” He slapped her ass, and she squealed. “Say it.”

“Missed it. Fuck, please, I missed you,” she said. “So good. You’re so good.”

“Yeah, good girl,” he cooed, leaning over her back. He kissed her shoulder as he weaved a hand into her hair, and she whimpered when he pulled it back with a tight grip at the roots. Her head lifted off the mattress, mouth agape. “Taking it so good for me. So well behaved.”

His lips latched onto her shoulder, sucking her skin into his mouth, and she sagged against the mattress, eyes rolling back when his teeth sank lightly into it. When he pulled away, the skin was red and smarting. He kissed the resultant mark.

“Thomas, I need more,” she pleaded. “I can’t cum like this. Please, touch me.”

“Beg for it,” he said, releasing her hair, and she groaned.

“Please, please, I’ve been so good. I’ll be good for you, Thomas, anything you want,” she pleaded, and he hummed, his thrusts growing increasingly aggressive. His grip returned to her waist, pushing her down. “Need you, need you, need you.”

Her words were muffled as her face was against the sheets, and the movement of his hips against hers was becoming frantic.

“Keep going,” he panted, accelerating his thrusts, and she could feel that he was growing sloppy, beginning to lose his rhythm.

“Fuck, I’m desperate, touch me, make me come. You’re the only one I need; you’re the only one I want, but please, I need you.”

“Yeah? You need me? How bad?”

“So badly.” Her words were nearly a cry. “Please?”

“Fuck, I’m close,” he groaned, and she let out a broken whine.

“Please, let me cum, touch me,” she begged, and he leaned forward, pushing her down by her upper back. For only a moment, she could barely breathe as his hips hammered against hers.

“Oh, god, sweetheart.” His hips stilled against hers as he came, and after a moment, he released his hold on her back, leaning over her to kiss down her spine. She let out a shaky breath as he ran a gentle hand across her hip. “That was so good.”

“Mhm.” Her response was bitter and short, and he chuckled.

“What’s wrong, sugar?” He kissed her shoulder as he pulled out, and she didn’t respond, only going limp as she lay on the mattress. “Cat got your tongue?”

“‘M fine,” she said roughly. He hummed skeptically.

“Yeah?” His hands ran up her lower back, and he grabbed her by the hips to turn her over on the bed. She met his eyes with an impatient gaze. “C’mon, what’s the problem?”

As he settled between her legs on the mattress, she tensed, and his grip on her thighs was gentle.

“Thomas.” Her voice was warning.

“Mhm?” He blinked up at her innocently as he grabbed her hips, pushing them back.

“Please don’t tease,” she breathed, and he kissed her stomach softly, moving toward her center.

“When have I ever?” he asked, and when she rolled her eyes, he grinned. “Relax. I didn’t forget about you.”

“Thank god,” she murmured, and she jerked when his thumb brushed over her already-sensitive clit. She whimpered when he rolled it under the pad of his finger.

“This what you meant when you said you wanted me to touch you?” His fingers dipped down to her soaked entrance, gathering both their cum before returning to her slick clit. Her hips twitched away from his hand, and he frowned mockingly. “Aw, sweetheart, are you sure you're not too sensitive? Maybe I should stop, I don't wanna push your limits.”

“No,” she groaned. “No more teasing. I need to cum.”

“You're making demands now?” His thumb was flicking her clit back and forth as he raised an eyebrow at her, and she pouted. Her hips rolled against the pattern of his movement.

“Please. I've been good.”

“Yeah, you have.” He kissed her thigh, and when his tongue took the place of his fingers on her clit, she let out a heavy sigh.

“Oh, fuck.” Her voice shook. He pushed one tentative finger inside her, but she was sore enough that she barely felt it. “Keep going.”

It was easy to lose herself in the feeling as he picked and sucked at her clit, curling his fingers inside her, and with how sensitive she already was, her orgasm built quickly. She could feel her pulse in her center, and her cunt tightened sporadically around his long fingers.

“So tight,” he commented, moving a finger back to her clit, and she groaned at the loss of feeling. “Such a perfect cunt. And you've been so good, so obedient.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, hands twisting into his sheets as he worked her over.

“You gonna keep being good for me if I let you cum, sweetheart?” he asked, flicking the tip of her clit lightly, and her breathing was short. She nodded frantically.

“I'm close, I'm close, I'm close.” The words were a whine, and when he returned to rubbing circles into her clit, she let out a squeak.

“That feel good?”

“So good,” she whimpered.

“Cum for me, then.” His grip on her hip tightened; the pace of his finger accelerated, and that was all she needed to send her over the edge. Her whole body tensed, back arching and legs stiffening as she came, and she was panting as she came down from it.

He didn't stop the movement of his hand against her. As she squirmed under his touch, she had to reach down and take him by the wrist.

“No more,” she pleaded breathlessly. “I can't take any more.”

He chuckled as he moved away, kissing down her leg. “Alright. No more. You were good for me.”

She hummed softly in response, and his hands came to rest on her calves just below her knees as her eyelids drooped.

“You okay?” he asked, and she sighed.

“I'm okay.” She rolled her head to one side to look down at him. “Does this mean we're good?”

He chuckled and kissed her knee. “I'll get over it.”

“Yeah?” She reached for his hand when he came to sit beside her on the mattress, and he turned his head to look at her when she gave it a squeeze. His smile was halfhearted.

“Yeah.” He turned back to look at the ceiling. “I did miss you. It's worth having you back.”

“I feel the same,” she said softly.

“‘M gonna find some pajamas and a rag real quick; you want me to grab you something to wear?”

She sighed, pushing herself off of the bed to sit up. “Yeah. Thanks. Don't bother with a rag, though, I should pee anyway.”

“Alright. Be back in a minute.” He sat up to kiss her forehead, taking her face in his hands as he did so, but when he pulled back, he didn't move for a moment, just watching her. His thumb swept over her cheek. “Alright.”

She swallowed when he stood to go to his closet, and she followed suit, heading to the bathroom. After she used it, she eyed her mussed hair in the mirror while she washed her hands, and her gaze settled on the hickies on her neck. She sighed and turned the water off.

Thomas wasn't back yet when she went to bed, but she was cold and so burrowed into one side of the sheets regardless. He would return minutes later with clothes for them both, but she was already beginning to drift off, the fatigue of the day weighing her down.

It was at the corner of her consciousness that she heard him come in and chuckle when he saw her. The sheets were pulled up to her cheekbone. She didn't stir when he dipped down to kiss the side of her head, taking his spot in the bed beside her.

“G’night, sweetheart,” he whispered. She didn't move. Her breathing was slow. “Love you.”

The words didn't break her rest, but she heard them. She also heard him hesitate and inhale harshly, and she heard the way his voice slowed when he, again, said, “I love you.”

She would wake up and write it off as a dream.

[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.

[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-

[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.

[kerringtonthoughts]

The Shadows of America

Hey there, screen junkies and digital voyeurs! Today, we're diving into the mesmerizing world of "Black Mirror," where technology and human nature collide like a clumsy Tinder date. Buckle up for a sarcastic, unfiltered journey through the eerie parallels between the dark tales of "Black Mirror," the shadows of early America, and the bizarre Twilight Zone of our modern culture. Because who needs a comfort zone when you have a Black Mirror?

Early America, where communication meant quills, ink, and the occasional carrier pigeon. Fast forward to today's "Nosedive" episode, where social ratings reign supreme. Forget about gossiping over the white picket fence; we're giving each other side-eye based on how many likes our latest Instagram post gets. Ah, the sweet smell of social validation in any century.

In the episode "San Junipero," Black Mirror takes us on a soul-searching quest for immortality through simulated realities. If our ancestors had Black Mirror, they might have opted for the eternal colonial spa experience, complete with quill massages and horse-drawn carriage VR tours. After all, who needs to face the grim reality of early America when you can escape to San Colonial-ero?

"White Bear" introduces us to a world of public shaming on steroids. But hey, early America did it first with the Scarlet Letter. Puritans would probably watch "White Bear" and say, "Back in our day, we just made them wear an 'A' for adultery, not run a surreal obstacle course."

In "The National Anthem," we witness a scandalous scenario involving a beloved public figure and a pig. Early America would've been like, "Hold my quill; we wrote the book on scandalous scenarios. Just ask Alexander Hamilton." Modern culture may be shocked, but our forefathers were busy dueling over affairs.

"Bees" and hashtags unite in "Hated in the Nation" to wreak havoc. Early America may not have had robo-bees, but they had the town gossip buzzing about everyone's business. Imagine if our forefathers had Twitter; Thomas Jefferson's drafts would have been buzzing like an apiary.

"Black Mirror" is the modern-day looking glass into the dark corners of our tech-obsessed minds, but the echoes of eeriness resonate through the annals of history. So, the next time you're tempted to rate your neighbor based on their lawn-mowing skills, remember that the digital dystopia of "Black Mirror" is just a high-tech remix of the quirky, unfiltered tales of early America. Xoxo, my digital time-travelers!