#but nothing happen to them it looked like Charlottesville

[haissitall]

my review of Civil War 2024. contains spoilers

The Fall of the Empire

So that's how empires die - with the clicks of camera shutters.

The situation is this: there is a civil war in America. It is unclear who is fighting against whom and for what. The movie tries very hard to avoid the sharp corners of real political contradictions, so it draws a very vague, murky picture where Californians and Texans can unite for the same cause. This detail, however, is not at all important because it is impossible to understand what is happening anyway. This way, the movie tries to be impartial, otherwise it risks stepping on the real landmines of American political life.

In such a fog, what is happening does not seem to be quite a civil war, but rather a “decay in chaotic motion,” as described in that scene from [the infamous Ukrainian TV-show] The Servant of the People. It is a rare case when the title in the Russian translation, The Fall of the Empire, is better suited to the movie than the original one.

"So America is no more?" "Why so… Where is it… Ah, here it is: The Legitimate America. And there: That Very America. Over there: The Original America. And here's The Great America. There was one, and now there are four, to cater to all tastes."

The movie turned out to be extremely americanophobic. It immediately makes it clear that if the Americans start fighting each other, they will do it with exceptional sadism. They will torture looters at gas stations. Shoot prisoners of war with a machine gun. Kill civilians, shoot unarmed women. Yesterday's regular American army will rush to commit war crimes against its own citizens. I'm not even talking about a huge mass grave with a mountain of corpses which are thrown there from the dump truck - at least, it is presented as a one-off case.

The team of our main characters, however, are not like that at all. They are the conscience of the nation, journalists, reporters, and they look at all this with detached sadness. They seem to have nothing in common with this country and its inhabitants, who are divided either into bloodthirsty ghouls or comatose zombies and silent victims. The only people close to them seem to also be reporters. Both main characters' parents stay on their farms and "pretend that nothing is happening" - so it's not worth worrying about them. For such a point of view, they deserve arrogant contempt at best.

Despite the fact that they seem to care (unlike the simpletons!), the characters look more like outside observers and hardly like Americans experiencing the horrors of war in their native country. Emotions can only be aroused by the deaths of their fellow journalists - torture and deaths of randos must be endured steadfastly and photographed with a stony face. They documented all the terrible wars that America brought to the world, and now that the war has come home, they will document it just as dispassionately. They're from Reuters, the worldwide faceless eye. They do not feel especially sorry for their country, they feel sorry that their profession is losing value. They rush to take pictures of corpses like vultures, either to convey the Truth (tm), or for their own vanity, in search of the scoop and recognition. They are annoyed by the indifference of people, although they themselves can only sigh and vehemently hate the sad cornered president.

The script was clearly written under the impression from 2016. They constantly repeat the name of the "frontline city" of Charlottesville. This makes the movie tragically outdated - who remembers Charlottesville in 2024?

The whiff of moralising superiority of impartial, honest American journalists seems particularly callous. The characters lament that they are not respected, that their work is not appreciated, and that somewhere they can even be hung on a reporter's badge. It is difficult to sympathise with them, though, knowing the real world context: since 2016, the American journalistic community has enthusiastically destroyed its reputation by spreading the Russiagate hysteria. Hell, they barely had any reputation at all at that point, given, say, "weapons of mass destruction in Iraq." American journalists have repeatedly lied to their people and lied big. So how is the hostility surprising?

The movie tries to hide its political position, but it is still obvious. For those who are aware of the vicissitudes of the American Cold Civil War, it is clear which side the creators of the picture are on. These fictional journalists, these real directors and actors are all, frankly, one class. They sound insincere and phoney when talking about kindness and cooperation in the tent camp in the destroyed stadium. But they talk fervently, with a spark, about the mass murders by a charismatic redneck in cool glasses. He has no respect for Reuters and probably the New York Times; he is a maniac, a fascist and the most memorable character. For this, the movie can be respected, for the fact that it does not slide into predictable snot about holding hands, and being brothers, getting along in the end and general messages of unity... No, instead it stirs the pot even more!

The characters are fixated on the president, the evil Ron Swanson, who doesn't have political views, but has a potbelly and a thick red tie. The whole plot revolves around the desire to have an interview with him. To look him in the eye, so to say. His execution, a bullet to the head right on the floor of the White House without any trial or mercy, gives the characters and the movie itself a dark, bloodthirsty satisfaction. The credits reveal the photo of unnamed soldiers surrounding the corpse in the Oval Office - they smile and sit around it like hunters showing off a boar carcass.

It's hard to believe that publishing such a photo will contribute to the unity of the nation. The ending leaves no doubt: the Americans will continue to kill each other, and these people will continue running around and photograph corpses to their heart's content. They'll probably get a Pulitzer - if there's anyone left to present it.

#civil war 2024 #Cabo don't look #i did this inbetween writing for the thesis i swear

[halfwaytofreedom]

January 7, 2024 - Charlottesville, VA

We rolled into Charlottesville, and I was hungry. This was half the length of Raleigh, and only a bit longer than Raleigh->Charlotte. I was happy to get out, and happy to get food.

I'd never been here, so I spent no shortage of time looking at Google Maps to figure out where we're eating. I had to plan a bit; someone was meeting me here!

(You should know, the advent of GPS and Google on our phones mean I watch Google Maps throughout my travels. I see the major cities as we pass them, I get my relative speed, and I can see the remaining duration, even without internet.)

Greensboro was along this route, back and forth. The last time I went to Greensboro was 2022, for the Junior Olympics. The rail line conveniently rolled within view of the university. I recognized a few buildings as we went by, as well as the graffiti. It was short-form nostalgia, and I found myself longing for that last little bit of peace. Traveling always felt "safe" in my old life. No time for Biscuitville, though, I was going to C-Ville.

Charlottesville is a unique stop on the ride: One rail, the Cardinal, heads out toward Chicago through West Virginia. It has better views and a shorter trip, if that was the direct route. A 16 hour ride wasn't worth the nice views, though, and I had people agreeing to meet me here and in Washington DC.

The other rail in Charlottesville is the Crescent, and it rolls through to Washington DC. That's the train I took out of Charlotte; it's interesting, because the two different sides of the train building go to two different rails.

I had to claim and re-check my bags for this one. I'd bought my Crescent ticket back in December, but I hadn't decided on Washington DC until soon before I left. See where it says "Northeast Regional Service?" That was me, too. I checked my two big bags onto the NERS train and walked out to...

See that bridge in the picture, out the window? In this case, the rail runs under the street. If I was going to get food, I was going to walk upstairs. With my injury, and my bags. The city sits up and away from the train station, which is a common trend: cities don't like being near the train. Why did trains fall out of fashion? Probably because they're noisy.

Lunch was with Daria, a local who I've been chatting with for months on Facebook. This would be our first meeting, and it would break the veil of "online only." That moment is always nervous, for me: Even though I believe I'm even better in person, I have a hard time believing I'll be liked until we meet.

We chatted nicely at the Miami Grill, where I had reserved my budget to spend freely. Was it like food in Miami? Only sort-of; I went to University of Miami, and dated a Cuban woman the whole time, and I can say with confidence that Charlottesville is not Miami. Still, the food was more familiar than not.

Daria was beautiful, and wonderful company. I didn't want to say goodbye when we were done, but I was flustered and feeling rough. I forgot a picture. All I have are memories. I'll say, though, that if I get a job in DC, I'll be taking the train back to C-Ville again. I'd love another day with her.

Charlottesville is a college town, but it was still Winter Break there, so the town was especially dead. It was a weekend, too, so nothing was happening otherwise. CVS didn't let me put money onto my Cash App, either - that's important for Washington DC. But with nothing else going for me, I went back to waiting in the train station.

My NERS train was running late, so we sat around nervously. I remember one passenger asking if the Richmond connection was there yet, and I loudly remarked, "That's a loud one, you won't miss it." I thought he meant a train, but I was in luck. The shuttle-bus had a loose belt, and was screeching the whole time it sat in the parking lot. It WAS loud. Still, I heard one of the attendants remark, "It wasn't loud at all," when it pulled up. I haven't been able to forget my mistake.

Finally, the -reason- for the late NERS train went by. A freight train was running behind, and blew through the station thirty minutes after it should have. So an hour late, I was climbing onto my next trip. Only about three hours to DC; I hope it wouldn't be TOO late, I had a hostel room waiting for me. At least I was spending the night; I couldn't miss a connection.

This is how you board. It's out of the building and across the parking lot, and Amtrak announces which location is appropriate for coach. I crawled with my three bags out to this, and over to my coach boarding. They don't check tickets, you just climb on.

Next stop, Washington DC.

#amtrak #amtrak cardinal #amtrak crescent

[discreetcompanion]

I promise I'm not dead. I'm still here. I've been traveling a bit but really dealing with so much - family stuff. Health wise, I'm doing so much better but there was a bit of yo-yoing there for a bit. Feeling great then feeling like shit, feeling great then feeling like shit but I'm in a good place. It's been quite the journey but it could be worse right?

Omg can we talk for a minute? You know what I can't stand for the life of me? Men that are all talk no action. Estelle, I really like you, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, I want to spend my life with you, I want us to (fill in the blank) and then when it comes time to take action it's nothing but excuses. Do you know what's that's like, it's like sex that feels really good without an orgasm or chai tea without sugar. It's like... it's like... bologna. Can't remember the last time I had that but yeah that's what it's like LOL. The bottom line is men like this make my vagina drier than the sahara desert. Please don't be that guy. If you're going to contact me OR just happen to run into me and want to take me out on a date (most likely impossible these days), bring the energy. Its crazy to me how people have gotten so used to doing the absolute bare minimum. When I like a guy, I fuck his brains out, i dote on him, i text him alll the time, i'm all over him, i'm' giving him all this sexy chocolate goddess energy. If he doesn't match my energy, i pull back and move on to someone else. Guys, learn to bring it. It's sexy.

You know what i'm so over the Travis/Taylor thing. I'm so sick of hearing about those two. It's like you can't even escape them. Last year i decided to get rid of my iphone because i wanted to stop drinking the apple koolaid... big mistake. big. My google phone is worse than any social media app out there right now. I'm constantly being bombarded with notification of news i don't give a damn about and i'm like wait... there's gotta be a way to turn this off... nope. I haven't figured it out. If you know how to turn off the site notifications on the google pixel fold, please let me know lol. But yeah like I don't find Travis Kelce attractive at all and i'm sorry but Taylor swift is the most basic looking white girl ever. Blake lively? I'd fuck her with your dick. She's HOT as hell. Hearing about Taylor swift is the equivalent of someone saying "nice weather out today right?" It's like uh yeah? lIke the sun is just there. The fact that this relationship is the biggest thing in america right now is fascinating to me and not in a good way. In other news, i was just in charlottesville a few days ago and you guys. How is it that you never get sick of me? ha! I had so much fun. I can't thank you enough for all your luv and support. There's so much I want to share but due to the nature of my blog there's only so much i can say but you guys are the best. I'm traveling with to Missouri with my bf in two weeks but until then i'll be in Charlotte. I'll also be posting new pics this week. You'll have to tell me what you think of them. Hopefully see you soon.

xo,

E

[fahrni]

Saturday Morning Coffee

Good morning from Charlottesville, Virginia! ☕️

It looks like we’ll be getting heavy rain all day with chances of flash flooding. I think we’ll be fine where we are as far as flooding goes but I wouldn’t be surprised if we lose power.

Good thing my coffee is brewed and in hand. 😃

Sarah Vogelsong • virginiamercury.com

Youngkin declares state of emergency ahead of Tropical Storm Ophelia

So, yeah, this is why we have a state of emergency here in Virginia. Overnight we got a bit of rain, enough to have standing water in the yard, but we’ll be fine. I feel for folks in lower lying areas. The town of Staunton often has flooding issues. Here’s hoping everyone stays safe and dry today. 🤞🏼

Nathan Edwards • The Verge

Mastodon, the federated microblogging platform, has been updated to version 4.2, which comes with massive improvements to search and the web interface, particularly for logged-out and first-time users.

The tiny open source crew behind Mastodon continues to deliver excellent features and they do it right unlike Space Karen’s company.

While I wish some friends would leave the bird place I’m still extremely happy to have this space to share and have wonderful conversations with amazing people every day. ❤️

Paul Sutter • Space.com

The loss of dark skies is so painful, astronomers coined a new term for it

This is pretty sad, isn’t it? I read this great piece in The Bitter Southerner a few years back that talked about a small town in Georgia Astronomers love because it’s so dark out there. 🌚

Joe George • Den Of Geek

The Star Trek Next Generation Story That Connects the Borg to The Original Series Crew

My question for Star Trek fans, do you love this or hate this?

I like it! 👍🏼

Vjeran Pavic • The Verge

Apple recently extended its deal for Qualcomm modems despite years of effort to develop its own — now we know why. According to a detailed report from the Wall Street Journal, Apple’s attempt to develop its own in-house 5G modem has been stymied by issues resulting from the iPhone maker underestimating the complexity and technical challenges of the task, and a lack of global leadership to guide the separate development groups siloed in the US and abroad.

This is a surprise to me. I can’t see it being because of the technical challenges. I could understand them saying “It’s just not ready.” But a technical challenge? Perhaps? 🤔

Joel Chrono • joelchrono12.xyz

This post was inspired by Rob Fahrni’s post, Saturday Morning Coffee. It has absolutely nothing to do with the content itself, but I got up, served myself a coffe, and wrote all this…

Hey! I inspired someone to write on their blog! That’s never happened before! It’s really wonderful and I hope Joel continues to write and bring us interesting content. Thanks for the love, Joel! ❤️

Ageist

I believe we’ve got retirement wrong. Hear me out. In the early 1990s, I attended my first business trip as a fresh-faced 23-year-old eager to make my mark in the world. I found myself at a workshop, listening to a speaker discuss the concept of retirement. At that age, retirement was a distant, almost foreign concept. Still, one statement from the speaker stuck in my mind: “People know to prepare financially for retirement but don’t know to prepare mentally.” He revealed a startling fact: mortality rates increase dramatically within the first three years of retirement. This revelation has stayed with me ever since.

Right. Do not retire and live like Blue Zone folks live. I actually love this idea.

Not retiring can take on different forms so go read the piece. Folks that know me know I want to write my own software if I ever achieve the financial stability to do it. I’ve considered doing part time work for someone like Starbucks just to socialize a bit. When we lived in Exeter I would frequent Exeter Coffee Company and hang out with a ragtag gang of folks. That’s living in my book. 👍🏼

Robert Harrington • palmerreport.com

What does it mean should Trump’s bail be revoked? First it’s important to recall he’s out on bail on four different felony charges in the first place. In other words, “out on bail” means he’s free and at liberty at the pleasure of four separate jurisdictions. If that bail is revoked in any of those jurisdictions, US marshals will be sent to wherever Trump is at the moment and summarily drag him out — in handcuffs — and take him to jail.

I know some people don’t believe a former President should be indicted of a crime much less be prosecuted or spend time in jail if convicted. I’m certainly not one of those people. TFG is a criminal and as such deserves a bit of time in the clank. 🚓

And, yeah, even at the risk of violence. If we allow certain people to get away with anything we don’t have a democracy or the rule of law. 🧑‍⚖️

Catherine Thorbecke • CNN

Alyssa Henry, the CEO of Square – a unit of Jack Dorsey’s fintech company, Block – will leave her post at the company next month.

I wonder if Jack plans to sell Block off to Space Karen so he can realize his everything app? 🤣

Valerie Ettenhofer • /Film

While you won’t find a “Joker” alternate ending available to view online, rumors about one persist thanks to a tidbit shared by filmmaker Kevin Smith on his “Fatman Beyond” podcast (via CinemaBlend). In a discussion of the film, Smith explains that he was told about a proposed original ending for the movie in which Arthur himself is revealed to be the Wayne family’s killer, and Bruce Wayne ends up in his crosshairs.

This would’ve been an amazing ending for Joker! The only problem with that is we couldn’t have sequels where Joker and Batman tangle.

I want so badly to see a Batman movie or series of movies that feature Joker exclusively. That may be too much to pull off so at the very least give us A Death in The Family in movie form. In Superman vs. Batman we get a glimpse of Robin’s — Jason Todd — armor in a glass case with Jokers writing on it. Great Easter egg.

Dave Rogers

The second night I was there, two more of our classmates joined us. One was a retired Air Force E-9 who’d worked in meteorology his whole career. The other is a highly trained engineer. Climate came up again, this time from the engineer. He’s convinced we can solve the crisis. Our host told him not to ask me, because he wouldn’t like the answer. But our Air Force friend was in my camp. It was interesting to me to listen to his take. Our views differ somewhat, but our conclusions are the same. It’s too late to avert a general collapse of civilization, likely before this century is out.

I like Dave’s writing a lot. He’s very open in what her shares and is extremely concerned with the state of the state of Florida. It’s a complete nightmare to live in if you’re an empathetic, caring, person. The GOP lead government doesn’t care about anyone or anything.

Dave’s take may seem a bit dark but I think he’s hit the nail on the head. We have screwed ourselves in the name of capitalism and investor return. And we’ve screwed future generations. 🤬

Bradley Brownell • Jalopnik

The United Auto Workers strike has expanded from three facilities to 41, as contract negotiations continue to slog on. Ford and the UAW have come together to form a tentative agreement, and while there is still a lot of work to be done, the union has chosen not to expand its striking efforts against Ford facilities.

Here’s an industry where we need radical transformation, now. I know the piece is about workers and I hope they’re able to negotiate and get what they need to survive and thrive.

At one point Detroit was a model of the middle class because of the automobile.

<img border=“0” src=“https://static.crabapples.net/troll-picking-nose.JPG" align=“right” alt=“Beware of Trolls.”/>

James Robins • defector.com

Musk’s life and personality, it turns out, is not so hard to contain. It is flat and shallow and open for all to read. The difficulty comes when Isaacson tries to impose some fabricated complexity on a not-very-complex man, and uses that illusion of knottiness as an excuse to paper over a much truer and more interesting story.

Space Karen isn’t the genius everyone thinks he is. He’s a bully who needs someone to smash his nose a few times so he’ll understand that treating people like crap has consequences.

Garbage human who managed to con his way into crap tons of money.

[lifeat1337carlton]

So the building was half ass clean today as usual. 5 hours later the floors are dry and the wet floor signs are still up because the lazy ass employees do not take them down and put them away.

And of course she'll see that the stairwells they don't get cleaned because they're behind closed doors.

The steps were neither swept nor mopped. There's trash there's spells there's dust bunnies all over the place. But I'm sure that maintenance person is going to collect a paycheck even though he did not do his job.

Just like Clark is going to collect a paycheck for sitting on her ass hiding in the office when she says the building is clean I see it being done myself.

It's just like the sunrooms furniture doesn't get put back where it should be. The floors do not get swept the floors do not get mopped. The same Band-Aid has been laying on the floor next to the chair for over a month now. The same piece of black cloth has been laying on the windowsill for over a month.

But again lazy ass Clark says I know how to do my job I am the manager.

You're a glorified secretary that's all you are you're not a manager you never will be a manager you have extremely low work ethics you have extremely low work standards.

You will never ever be the level of management.

Just because you have a title does not mean you are something the people here on the property neither respect you nor hold you in regards of being a manager you're known as the lazy ass who sits in the office all day long.

And that is why so many people who have lived here since the beginning of the opening of the building or looking for someplace else to live.

They haven't made remarks they don't feel safe they don't feel comfortable they're tired of the cockroaches they're tired of the hoodrats and the gangster wannabes.

And they're expecially tired of the employees of Piedmont housing Alliance disrespecting them.

Remember you sign the same contract we did you are obligated by way of contract.

But you see Piedmont housing Alliance doesn't even want to do the simplest thing is giving us a clean facility.

That is why I Piedmont housing Alliance is known as the premium ghetto slumlord management company of Charlottesville Virginia.

You are happy to take everybody's money but yet when it comes time to do something you do nothing but bitch moan and complain.

You always say it's the residence fault you always come up with an excuse why you can't do your jobs.

And let's get serious blaming covid for the reason why you can't do your jobs is ridiculous.

Covid is very real which means you need to protect your residence you need to give them a clean environment in which to live that's what the CDC says.

But you see you can't even follow CDC guidelines.

No one wipes down anything in this building no door handles no hand railings no push buttons no light switches nothing gets cleaned.

These are the laziest employees that Piedmont housing Alliance has.

And these are the people that allow it to happen they're even lazier because they allow it to happen they're greedy the only thing they want is your donation your land grants your money they don't want to do anything for the residents.

[bringiton]

I was always taught to never throw the first punch. Never instigate. Defend, but don't attack. But then I saw a video of the white nationalist Richard Spencer being punched in the face during an interview, and I realized Spencer was in a pressed suit, wearing a tie, being interviewed like his opinion mattered, like he should be considered part of the conversation, like Neo-Nazism was just one political point of view. And then I realized there's no better way to show some speech is not equal. Some speech requires a more visceral response. It's like Overton's window. That's the term for which ideas are tolerated in public discourse. Well, Overton's window doesn't mean shit unless it comes with some enforcement. So, yeah, this is enforcement. It's time to punch a few Nazis.

THE GOOD FIGHT (2017– ), Season 3 - Episode 5.

#gifs* #mine* #the good fight #tgfedit #thegoodfightedit #nyambi nyambi #bbelcher #cinemapix #userstream #ruinedchildhood #throwbackblr #chewieblog #pocsource #dailypoctv #I'm raging yesterday we had a neo-nazi parade here in Brazil it was only 20 people #but nothing happen to them it looked like Charlottesville #and it was insane but also our Education minister loves to post nazi propaganda on twitter #and also the fucking president makes jokes with white supremacist symbols #so yeah it's time to punch some nazi in fucking 2020

[rantingcrocodile]

There are scoffing discussions about bisexuals in opposite-sex relationships having “straight privilege” and we actually need to have an open, honest conversation about it, because it automatically reverts to vicious biphobia.

It is true that a bisexual in an opposite-sex relationship isn’t going to be harassed in the street like a lesbian couple, a gay couple or a bisexual in a same-sex relationship. But that is privilege that comes to a couple in public, nothing more, nothing less.

A lesbian couple where one of the women happens to be butch and “passes as a man” will avoid homophobic abuse, because outsiders will glance and see “straight couple.” Is that “straight privilege”? No, it’s not. It’s conditional safety, only existing right up until the moment that a homophobe realises that they’re a same-sex couple.

A bisexual in an opposite-sex couple has “straight privilege” that is conditional, right up until a biphobe realises that they’re bisexual.

Any kind of “passing privilege” is always conditional, and perpetuates bigotry. Jews who are light-skinned are called “white passing,” but that didn’t stop the infamous Charlottesville neo-Nazis chanting “Jews will not replace us” and doesn’t stop antisemites attacking and murdering Jews for being Jewish. 

“Passing” only adds to minority stress, because “passing” automatically means “hiding under the threat of being found out.”

Everything’s great for a bisexual woman in a relationship with a straight man... until he finds out that she’s bisexual and rapes her because he believes that her bisexuality is automatic consent, even when she screams no. Until he cheats on her and pressures and manipulates her into threesomes that she doesn’t want. Until he begins the domestic abuse and control because she’s bisexual and he makes her “prove she won’t cheat.” Until he threatens to out her. Until he threatens to use her bisexuality against her in court.

Everything’s great for a bisexual woman in a relationship with a good straight man... until “friends,” family, colleagues etc find out that she’s bisexual and then harass her partner about how automatically untrustworthy she is, how she’s going to cheat, how there’s something not right about her, pressuring and pressuring the relationship until they break up and she feels even more depressed and automatically unlovable.

But that so-called “straight passing privilege” erases and turns all of those issues invisible because... if she walks down the street with a boyfriend, she doesn’t run the risk of homophobic abuse compared to someone in a same-sex relationship?

The worst part of the “straight passing privilege” rubbish is that it centres the original biphobia that bisexuals are nothing but objects. That we only deserve any care at all if others can pretend that we’re either lesbians or gay men. That others need to look to our partners, and our partners decide whether we’re worth anything at all.

Pointing to the bisexuals who happen to have good lives and who don’t face severe biphobia like that means that we’re not oppressed as a group is based in the same misogynistic and white supremacist ideas that, “Oh, you say that your group is oppressed, but [really rich and successful person] exists, they’re definitely not oppressed so none of you are oppressed, you just want special privileges and attention above everyone else!”

And then the bisexuals with internalised biphobia then parrot this same biphobia to say, “I’m in an opposite-sex relationship and I’m fine, other bisexuals are just lying and desperate for attention and stupid!” because there’s no class consciousness, exactly the same way that there are women who exist who haven’t ever been raped, who haven’t been the victims of domestic violence, who have been lucky to be in a position where they haven’t noticed or realised any misogyny against them who are out there saying, “Feminists are just lying and desperate for attention and stupid!”

Only, in this space, we recognise that the anti-feminist women are victims of internalised misogyny and patriarchy, but bisexuals with the same kind of internalised misogyny are praised and biphobic attitudes supported.

Class analysis and honesty is promoted for everyone, unless it has anything to do with bisexuals. 

#crocodilian ranting

[a-simple-gaywitch]

Embers to Ashes

hotch x unsub!reader

Summary: When (Y/N) leaves the BAU, she doesn’t expect to get wrapped up in a crime spree

Word Count: 2609

Warnings: abusive relationship, pregnancy & mentions of childbirth, typical criminal minds violence

“The real monsters are humans without conscience.” -Robert E. Keller

~

Your decision to leave the BAU was not an easy one, but it was what was best. After your mother fell ill, you decided to move back home to care for her, as she was alone. Your team protested, not wanting you to leave, of course. Penelope fought for you to stay the hardest. She was like the sister you never had.

The team followed you to the airport to see you off. Hugs went around, followed by promises that you’d call when you land. The only person who didn’t hug you was Hotch, which you found weird for a number of reasons. Even Spencer hugged you, and he wasn’t big on physical affection. And you’d always thought you and Hotch were close.

“Hey, promise me you’ll keep in touch,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah, of course,” you said.

“Oh, I need another hug!” Penelope said, squeezing you tight again. She’d been crying the whole time and her mascara was running. “I’m gonna miss you so much, Peaches.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, Pen,” you said. You glanced at your watch. “Okay, I really have to go now. I love you guys so much.”

~

You were grocery shopping for your mother when you ran into him. Nicholas Gully, one of your old high school friends.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N) (L/N)?”

“Nick! Hi!” you said, tossing the box of pasta into your shopping cart. “How have you been?”

“Oh, great. What about you? Big FBI agent out at Quantico.”

You laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah, uh, I actually quit.”

“What? Why? All you talked about in high school was getting into the academy.”

“Uh, well, it’s because of Mom actually. She’s sick. I quit to move back out here and help her until she… Well…”

“Yeah. Well, I’m here if you need to, I don’t know, let off steam?” He handed you a business card. “Here. My number. Give me a call, we’ll go out for drinks or something.”

You smiled. “Thanks, Nick. It was good seeing you.”

~

Your mom died about a month after you moved home. You were an only child, so it was your responsibility to handle all of her affairs. It was stressful, and you felt isolated. Alone.

You looked at all the funeral plans spread out on the kitchen table, and before you knew it, you’d called Nick and asked him to come over.

What happened next was a blur. You buried your mother next to your father, Nick stayed by your side the whole time. While your mind was clouded with grief, you thought the only good thing to come of it was your new relationship with Nick.

He was nice. He treated you well and helped you through your grief. Only, he didn’t like how much you talked to Penelope and Emily, saying that it was unnatural to be so close to your ex-coworkers. So you stopped talking to them.

Nick moved in with you not too long into your relationship. He said that living in your mother’s house alone wasn’t healthy for you. He helped you sort and pack up her belongings, taking the things you weren’t keeping or throwing out to the thrift store.

You were together for about 8 months before your relationship changed.

You hadn’t been feeling well and you had your suspicions. You took a trip to the drug store and bought a few tests while Nick was at work. You took all of them, trying to rule out a false positive.

When you heard Nick come in from work, you decided to tell him.

“Hey, Nick? I have some news,” you said after he put his work bag down on the couch.

“What’s up?”

“Um, you know how I haven’t been feeling well lately? Well, I went to the pharmacy and picked up some pregnancy tests. They were all positive.”

“Are you serious? You’re pregnant?”

You nodded. “I’m calling my doctor first thing tomorrow to schedule an appointment.”

Nick’s tone should have tipped you off to his true nature. But you were in too deep.

~

A few months passed. You were showing significantly, though your doctor was worried about your health. The bags under your eyes grew, and you were showing up to your appointments with more and more bruises on your arms. One day you came in with a poorly concealed black eye.

One day, you came home from a doctor’s appointment to see Nick packing some bags.

“Nick? What’s going on?”

“We’re going on a trip,” he said. “Roadtrip, it’ll be fun.”

“Nick, I’m 7 weeks away from my due date-”

“You’ll be fine,” he snapped, thrusting a bag at you. “Get in the car.”

You headed outside, Nick’s hand firmly on your back. He steered you away from your old clunker towards a shiny new SUV. “Did you buy a new car?” you asked.

“Sure, buy. Let’s go with that.”

“Nick, what did you do? What did you get us into?”

“Don’t worry about it. Get in.”

“Nick-”

“I said, get in.”

~

“Des Moines PD has a case for us,” Penelope said. “As do St. Louis, Louisville, and Charleston.”

“Carjacking?” Morgan asked, flipping through the case file. “Why are they asking us to come in?”

“It’s the same MO,” Hotch explained. “It’s a couple, a man and a woman, presumably his wife or girlfriend. They find a home just outside the city and take the car at night, leaving the previously stolen car.”

“They’re active at night? How do we know it’s a team?” Spencer asked.

“The second victim had security cameras installed. They caught glimpses of the couple, but not enough for us to identify,” Penelope explained.  

“Why are they only bringing us in now?” Emily asked. “It says the first theft was over a month ago.”

“Because this one ended in a murder and assult. The surviving victims are at the hospital. Wheels up in 30,” Hotch said.

~

When the team landed in West Virginia, Hotch divided the team up between the hospital, the crime scene, and the coroner’s office. Hotch and Emily took the hospital to interview the victims. One was a woman in her mid-30s, and the other was her 6-year-old son. The husband had been the murdered victim.

“Hi, Mrs. Foster? I’m Agent Hotchner,” Hotch said, taking a seat next to the woman with Emily. “Would you mind answering a few questions for us?”

“Well, I’m-I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to remember but…”

“Anything you tell us can help us catch these two,” Emily said, gently patting the woman’s hand. “We’re going to try something called a cognitive interview, to see what your subconscious picked up, okay?”

The woman nodded. “Okay.”

“Go ahead and close your eyes,” Emily said. “So, it was late. You and your husband were getting ready for bed. Then what?”

“Neil heard a noise,” she said. “He said it sounded like a man. He grabbed Micah’s little league bat from beside the front door. He told me to wait inside. Micah had fallen asleep on our couch and came to see what was going on. I-I heard Neil yell and I heard a gunshot. I ran outside and I saw a couple. A man and a woman.”

“What can you tell me about them? What did they look like?”

“I didn’t see the man too well, but the woman, well, I only saw her face. But she looked bad.”

“What do you mean?” Emily asked.

“Well, her skin was sunken and sallow. She had bruises all over. She looked like she was ready to drop at any second.”

“Okay. What happened then?”

“Neil was bleeding on the ground. I-I ran over to him and felt for his pulse. It was already gone. Then the man hit my head with the gun, and I fell to the ground. But Micah- I didn’t know Micah followed me. The man pointed his gun at Micah. I was terrified. I thought he was going to shoot my son, too. But then the woman stood in front of the gun. She started pleading with the man. I was fading in and out of consciousness, but I heard her.”

“Nick, don’t!”

“What did I tell you? You don’t get to call me that, whore.”

“I-I’m sorry, sir. But, please, don’t hurt him. He’s just a boy.”

“He saw our faces. You know the police are already on our trail. We can’t have a kid squealing to the cops.”

“No, I… I won’t let you.”

“You won’t let me?”

“He hit her,” Mrs. Foster said. “Hard. It was so hard I thought he shot her, too.” She shook her head. “After that, he knocked me out. I don’t know what happened next. I just remember waking up here.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Foster,” Hotch said. “This was very helpful.” Hotch and Emily got up to leave.

“Wait, Agent Prentiss,” she called after Hotch left the room. Emily turned around. “When you find them, go easy on the woman.”

“Why would you want us to do that?” she asked.

“I work at a battered women’s shelter. I see women like her all the time. She’s profoundly abused. She’s not a criminal, she’s a victim.”

~

Micah Foster was able to give a detailed description of the man to the sketch artist. Thanks to his description, they were able to track him down outside of Charlottesville, Virginia. What they weren’t counting on was seeing you, in the passenger seat.

Nick didn’t want to go down without a fight. But his idea of a fight was to use you as a human shield. He held you in front of him, his arm bracing against your throat. He had a gun in his other hand, training it on the team.

“You shoot, you hit her!” he said, pressing harder on your throat.

“Okay, okay,” Morgan said, holding his gun up in surrender. “We won’t shoot. Just let (Y/N) go.”

Nick turned the gun and pressed it to your temple. “Why are you so concerned about her?

“Because she’s a person,” Derek said, trying to negotiate. “She doesn’t need to get hurt.”

A gunshot went off. You screamed and stumbled forward, Morgan catching you. Nick fell to the ground, dropping his gun and gripping his thigh. Hotch had snuck up behind and shot him in the leg.

~

The next thing you knew, you were in an interrogation room with Hotch and Emily.

“(Y/N), what happened?” Emily asked you, her voice gentle. “You look awful. What did he do to you?”

Your eyes were trained on the table. “Nothing. He treats me with nothing but respect. I did this to myself.”

“(Y/N), we all know that’s not true,” Emily said. “Talk to us. You know us.”

You kept your eyes on the metal table and you stayed quiet.

“Damn it, (Y/N)!” Hotch yelled, slamming his hands on the table. You flinched back, closing your eyes and wincing like you were bracing for a hit. Hotch took a step back. “Prentiss, take over.”

He left the interrogation room and stormed over to the second room where Morgan and Reid were interrogating Nicholas.

“Hotch-”

“What the hell did you do to her?” Hotch nearly screamed, his blood boiling.

Nick smiled. “I didn’t do anything, she did it all to herself.”

“We both know that’s not true, you piece of-”

“Aaron!” Rossi said, cutting him off. He then proceeded to pull Hotch from the interrogation room. “What the hell is going on with you?”

Hotch took a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his face. “You saw her, Dave. You saw what that asshole did to her. You saw her flinch away from me. That’s a woman who has faced down some of the worst humanity has to offer, and she’s been so badly abused that she’s…”

“Aaron, you know what abuse does to people. We’ve seen it more times than I ever want to count.”

“But it’s never been someone we know. It’s never been someone we love.”

“Ah. So that’s what this is about.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Why don’t you sit this one out? Prentiss and I can handle it.” Rossi walked into the room and sat next to Emily. Emily had given you a glass of water.

“(Y/N), why did you save the mother and her son?” she asked you.

“I don’t know,” you said, twisting the glass around in your hands.

“(Y/N).” Emily reached out and put her hand on yours. “You specifically looked out for the boy. Why?”

A tear rolled down your cheek. “Nick made me leave mine,” you whispered.

“What?”

“He said she would slow us down, that she was a burden. He made me leave her at a church. I didn’t even get to hold her.” After that, you broke down sobbing. Emily slowly crossed to the other side of the table and cautiously put her arm around you.

~

The team worked out a deal for you with the DA. You would be acquitted if you testified against Nick, and you would be closely watched by the team.

“She can’t keep sleeping on the couch in the conference room, Hotch,” Rossi said as the team gathered in the bullpen. You were asleep and the team wanted you to have peace. “She can come stay with me. Lord knows I have the space.”

“Wait, why should she stay with you? She’s my best friend,” Penelope argued. “She can stay with me.”

“Babygirl, you don’t have a spare room,” Derek reminded her. “I can take her in.”

“She just spent the better part of two years under the thumb of an alpha male, do you think she’d feel comfortable staying with another one?” Emily said.

“Did any of you think maybe she should make her own choice?” Spencer piped up. “I mean, she hasn’t been able to make her own choices, I think we should at least give her that.”

“Reid is right,” Hotch said. “We should let her make the choice. And please, don’t pressure her. She’s not the same (Y/N) she was when she left. She’s been through hell and back.”

~

In the end, you chose to stay with Aaron. Something about him made you feel safe. Slowly but surely, you started warming up again. You spent your days taking care of Jack when Hotch was on cases. When Aaron was home, he spent time with you and Jack. The two of you grew closer and closer.

You’d stayed with Aaron for a few months before there was a shift in your relationship. You weren’t sure when it happened, but you and Aaron were closer. You became more comfortable with physical contact, and you found yourself curling up on the couch with Aaron for movie nights after Jack went to bed.

You kissed Aaron first. He’d come back from a case with a book he knew you’d been wanting to read. It was something simple, but it meant the world to you, knowing there was someone who listened to you and wanted to do something nice for you.

Your relationship blossomed from there, and Aaron made sure to show you he respected you and never wanted to hurt you. Of course, there were bad days and there were days you argued, but Aaron never raised a hand against you. He never wanted you to experience the pain Nick caused you ever again.

~

“The difference between the right word and the almost right word is like the difference between a lightning bug and the lightning.” - Mark Twain

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #x reader #em's fics

[primordialsoundmeditation]

Today is International Holocaust Remembrance Day, the 77th anniversary of the liberation of the Nazi concentration camp at Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Several years ago I visited Israel, first making a stop at the Mauthausen concentration camp in Austria. I had never visited a concentration camp before and tried to steel myself emotionally before I went. It’s hard to even grasp the level of cruelty, sadism, complete lack of humanity that can lead to such unimaginable horror as the Nazi death camps; even more difficult that such a phenomenon as the mass murder of Jews occurred less than a hundred years ago. Every time a small picture and bio comes up on my twitter feed from @AuschwitzMuseum, I am gut-punched once more when I see the pictures of people who were prisoners at the camps and did not survive.

Below is a picture of a German Jewish girl named Marion, born in Berlin in January of 1928. In November 1942 she was deported to Auschwitz, an experience she did not survive. Looking at her laughing - obviously a happy child when the picture was taken - one can only imagine the trail of fear, incomprehension, grief, pain and horror that led from the moment of that picture to the moment of her death. It is important that we remember her.

At Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, the Israeli Holocaust museum, there is a separate building called The Children’s Memorial. The museum, like Holocaust museums around the world, is a devastating experience. But for me, the children’s memorial took the emotional overwhelm to a whole new level.

Of the six million who perished in the Holocaust, a million and a half of them were children. The children’s memorial itself was donated by a couple from California whose son Uziel was murdered in Auschwitz at the age of two and a half. Memorial candles, a customary Jewish tradition to remember the dead, are reflected infinitely in a dark and somber space within the memorial, creating the impression of millions of stars shining in the firmament. Pictures of children who died in the Holocaust are illumined in the midst of an infinite darkness. The names of murdered children, their ages and countries of origin can be heard in the background

But one thing, more than anything else, has remained with me as permanent spot of brokenness within my heart. It is this: Hitler was eager to kill Jewish children, of course. because what better way to exterminate a race of people than to kill its children. It is almost impossible to imagine the grief and hysteria of mothers seeking to get to their children as they were led to the gallows. And many of the children would look out into the gathered crowd, see their mothers, and say, “Mama, don’t look.”

They knew, as their mothers knew, that this was the end.

Thinking about that, and writing about it now, I cry of course. In thinking about how many millions of times the experience was repeated, I cry more. And I am reminded, on this Holocaust Remembrance Day, that my tears are an appropriate response to the utter evil of the Holocaust. This is not a happy day, nor should it be. It is a day of remembrance, and also a reminder of the utter depths to which a society can descend. Germany at the time was an advanced, democratic country which many would have considered invulnerable to the cult-like machinations of one evil man. Yet ultimately it was not.

And we should never forget that.

Subscribe now

As a child, I was raised to believe that what happened in Europe during Hitler’s reign of terror was a horror now past. I was raised to believe that nothing like that would ever happen here. I was raised to believe that Nazis threatening our country was something that we, as Americans, would never need to worry about it.

Yet anyone with even the slightest knowledge of Hitler’s rise to power can see uncanny and terrifying comparisons in much of what is occurring here today. Nazis on the streets of Charlottesville, Virginia, chanted the old anti-Semitic trope “Jews shall not replace us,” while the president of the United States said “there are good people on both sides.” Flyers with anti-Semitic language have been distributed in neighborhoods in Florida, California and Colorado even during the last week. And anti-Semitism is on the rise around the world.

Like racism, anti-Semitism (a form of racism, after all) is an ancient virus in the psychic bloodstream of humanity. It is something that each of us is responsible for recognizing, and rejecting, in ourselves and in the world around us.

Today, we remember those who came before. We remember those who died, and we remember those who fought and even died so they could live. As I was leaving Mauthausen, I read a plaque in honor of the Allied soldiers who liberated the camp. I was particularly struck by the fact that the soldiers who arrived that day were on the average twenty years old. They were practically children too. Children who lived, so that others would no longer die.

Dear God,

On this day of painful remembrance,

Please bless the souls of those who died in the Holocaust.

Bless the souls of those who were targeted,

and bless the souls of those who helped them.

Heal the hearts of those who carry the scars of evil,

and awaken our hearts and strengthen us

for the work that we must do today.

Help us

to create a world in which evil such as the Holocaust

will occur no more.

Amen

In the words of Elie Wiesel, a survivor of Holocaust who dedicated his life to our deeper understanding of its significance, “For the dead and the living, we must bear witness. Not only are we responsible for the memories of the dead, we are responsible for what we do with those memories.”

Today, we must do a lot with them. Today may we all bear witness.

(see my article Holocaust Remembrance Day at MarianneWilliamson.substack.com)

[writing-imagines]

Jackson’s Favorite Trader // An Ellie Williams imagine

Request: Since you said you wanted more ellie requests I thought I send one in so how about a Reader x ellie where R is like the one every girl likes and they're really cool and confident and ellie is just head over heels for them it's cute and fluffy

Warnings: none, just fluff and some angst if you squint hard enough

Saying you were tired was an understatement. Your eyelids felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each, taking a single step felt like running a marathon, and your shoulders felt like they had the literal weight of the world on them. Even though you were exhausted you still put on a happy face for everyone.

The trading trip hadn’t gone as planned, resulting in you coming back nearly empty handed and fully experienced in being caught in a life or death situation. The freezing cold temperatures and seemingly endless amount of snowfall didn’t help either. You replayed the trip in your head, wondering what Tommy and Maria would say about the lack of supplies.

“Y/n is back!” A high pitched voice called out the second you walked out of the stables, effectively pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked up from the snow covered ground to see a small group of children sprinting towards you. You instantly smiled when you saw the kids running towards you, knowing exactly what they wanted.

“Did you get us any candy?” A little redhead girl asked while excitedly jumping up and down.

“Yeah, did you get us any candy, y/n?” A smaller boy with green eyes asked while tugging on your jacket.

“What about crayons?” A little blonde girl asked and tugged at your jeans.

“No candy or crayons, kiddos. But I did manage to get you these.” You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out three small wooden race cars. The kid’s eyes all widened as you held the cars out for them to take. They each grabbed one and smiled as if they had just received a puppy.

“Thanks, y/n! You’re the best!” The little boy threw his arms around your legs before quickly running back towards town. The little girls also gave you a quick ‘thanks’ before following the little boy. You felt a warm feeling form in your chest as you watched them run away. There was something about seeing people smile in the terrible world that made you happy.

You continued your journey to Main Street, practically following the kid’s footprints. As you rounded the corner of the tailor’s shop, an oh so familiar voice called out for you.

“Y/n!” You quickly turned your head towards the sound of the voice to see Jesse making a beeline towards you. His smile was bigger than all of the kid’s smiles combined.

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to come back to Jackson. The whole town thought you abandoned us for Rockwell.” Your best friend pulled you into a hug and lifted you off the ground for a moment. You would never admit it, since it would only grow Jesse’s ego, but you actually really missed him.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily. I would have been back sooner, but things went a little haywire once I crossed the river outside Charlottesville.” You pulled away from the hug and immediately noticed Jesse’s furrowed eyebrows.

“What happened?” You looked away from your friend’s eyes and nervously bit your lip. You really didn’t want to relive that part of the trip, but you knew Jesse would pry if you didn’t.

“A horde came through and I had to hide in an abandoned hunter’s cabin until it passed. It took two days I think.” Jesse’s face fell before he let out a sigh.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that alone, y/n. I should have gone with you.” Your best friend dropped his head, obviously frustrated that he didn’t go with you on the trip. Not wanting him to feel bad, you placed a supportive hand on Jesse’s shoulder.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. I came back in one piece, didn’t I?” Jesse raised his head, his sad expression was replaced with a slight smile.

“Yeah, you did.” You allowed your hand to drop back to your side as Jesse’s smile grew a little more.

“Then there’s nothing to feel bad about, Jesse. If anything, discovering the horde is a good thing. I’ll tell Tommy about it and he can warn the patrols to stay away from that part of the river.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I’m definitely tagging along next time, okay?”

“We’ll see about that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find Tommy.”

“No, I’ll find Tommy and tell him. It’s the least I can do.” You opened your mouth to protest, but allowed your lips to press together again. Normally you would protest and insist on telling Tommy yourself, but you were growing more exhausted by the minute.

“Okay. Remember, it traveled-”

“On the other side of the river outside Charlotteville. I got it, y/n. Now, go home and get some sleep.” Jesse playfully slapped your shoulder, effectively bringing smiles to both your faces.

“Thanks, Jesse. I appreciate it.” You waved goodbye to your friend and spun around on her heels to continue the journey home.

You only made it a few steps down the Main Street before people started noticing your return home. Constant strings of “Y/n is back!”, “look who it is!”, and “welcome home!” rang out as you made your way home. Of course, you gave every passer by a smile and wave to let them know you appreciated their warm welcome home.

By the time you reached your shared home, technically garage, you were running on fumes, your whole body feeling ready to give out. The moment you stepped through the door you took your coat off and kicked your boots off, fully prepared to climb into bed.

“You’re back.” An almost shocked voice said from the other side of the room. Your head shot up from your feet to see your girlfriend standing in the kitchen area, fully dressed in her usual patrol clothes. The sight brought a smile to your face.

“Yeah, I am.” You barely got the words out before Ellie strutted to you and threw her arms around your shoulders.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again, y/n. I thought something bad happened.” Ellie pulled away just enough to cup your face, her thumbs running over your cheek bones.

“I’m sorry. I got caught up with...some stuff.” Ellie’s face fell at your words. She knew whenever you were “caught up” with something it wasn’t good.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay. I was really fucking worried.”

“I know and I’m sorry, babe.” You tightened your hold around her waist, effectively pulling Ellie flush against you. You two stood in silence for a while, simply enjoying the feeling of being back in each other’s arms. The peaceful silence was inevitably broken by a deep yawn that slipped out of you.

“Someone sounds tired.” Ellie said with a small laugh. She pulled away, making you instantly miss her touch and warmth.

“Yeah, I’m just a little tired though. I did only travel from one side of the county to the other and back. No biggie.” You shrugged your shoulders and watched as your girlfriend rolled her eyes at you.

“Okay, smart ass. Go change and lay down.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

You quickly placed a soft kiss on your girlfriend’s cheek before making your way over to the dresser. With little care, you picked out a fresh pair of clothes and quickly discarded your cold wet ones. As you changed you looked over your shoulder, wondering if Ellie was watching you. Usually after you returned from a long trade, Ellie would watch you like a hawk. Sure enough, she was watching you, but from the comfort of the bed.

“What are you doing?” You asked as you slipped an oversized shirt over your head. Ellie watched contently as you slid on an old pair of sweatpants.

“Waiting for you to get in bed, duh.”

“Don’t you have patrol this morning?” You asked before climbing into bed and facing your girlfriend.

“I do, but I can be late.” Ellie draped an arm over your side and pulled you closer to her. You raised your eyebrows with a questioning look.

“Can you now?”

“I think Maria will understand this time.”

“If you say so. Just don’t blame me when she lectures you about responsibility.” You chuckled as your eyes threatened to flutter shut.

“I won’t. Now, get some sleep.”

You didn’t respond, instead you nuzzled your face in Ellie’s neck. Before you fell into a very much needed deep sleep, you felt Ellie hold you a little tighter and place a soft kiss on your head.

“I love you.” She whispered, unintentionally keeping you awake for a few moments.

“Love you too, El.” You mumbled before finally succumbing to exhaustion. While you slept peacefully all Ellie could think about was how relieved she was that you were finally home, in the safety of her arms.

#ellie williams #Ellie Williams x reader #Ellie Williams x female reader #Ellie Williams x male reader #Ellie Williams imagine #the last of us #the last of us part 2 #the last of us part ii icons #the last of us imagine #the last of us part 2 imagine #the last of us part ii imagine

[mismaeve]

♕ Burning Lights ♕

Chapter 6 of the Burning Lights series Pairing: Katherine Pierce x Elijah Mikaelson Warnings: None POV: Katherine _________________________________________________

Charlottesville was cute for a small town. Katherine had asked the concierge for directions for the nearest park, and as she walked around looking for a place to sit and relax, she felt herself slowly unwind. She picked a secluded bench nestled in neatly between shrubs and flowerbeds. Katherine sat down and enjoyed the pleasant silence. She closed her eyes for a moment, relishing herself in the serenity which surrounded her. She took a couple of deep and soothing breaths and opened her eyes again. If there ever was a moment to contemplate one’s life, it was now.

ㅤ

She was human now, she had allowed that reality to set in the day after she had met Elijah. But was she really human? Unlike in 1492 when she had been as human as one could possibly be, it was different now. She had been a 544 year old vampire before Elena Gilbert had shoved the cure down her throat causing her to loose her immortality and turn human. Did anyone really know how the cure worked aside from the very obvious? Were there any side effects? Say if she were to get hurt, would vampire blood heal her? And more importantly, if she wanted to be turned back into a vampire, would that be possible? Katherine sighed. These were the questions that were really important to her, questions she needed answered in order to get a picture of how she should live her life. Sadly for her, no one had any answers seeing how Katherine, to the extent of her knowledge, was the first vampire ever to be cured of vampirism. Not even Elijah could provide her with any insights. She had to know for sure whether she was human or simply a cured vampire. She supposed she could ask Elijah to lend her a hand in figuring this out. She could cut herself and then have his blood heal her to see if it would work. 

Say it would work and his blood would heal her, it would also mean that she could turn again, wouldn’t it? Katherine didn’t like this, too many variables, too many gaps. She wanted to live, no matter whether she was vampire or human. If only she would know for certain that it was possible to turn back into a vampire. It would provide her with a sense of security. That was settled then, she’ll tell Elijah of the experiment she has in mind, and then she would take it from there. Assuming he would go along with it..Why wouldn’t he? It’s not like she’d ask him to turn her, just a drop or two of his blood to heal a pesky little cut on her finger. As simple as that, no muss no fuss. 

ㅤ

And if it didn’t work and his blood wouldn’t heal her? A heavy sigh escaped her lips. Katherine wasn’t one to panic or brood, so if his blood wouldn’t heal her, she would deal with it then. Just like she had dealt with things in her past. Even though becoming human was the last thing she ever wanted to do, she would deal with it. Katherine didn’t believe in self-pity or self-loathing, she didn’t believe in moping around or wallowing in one’s misery. No, that wasn’t her. She was a survivor. She knew she would survive this because she had survived worse. If she had to live her life as someone who couldn’t be healed by vampire blood, then she would live accordingly. After all, that’s how humans lived anyway. She glanced over to where people were taking their daily strolls in a park, slowly, casually, seeming carefree and serene. She would bet her life that none of them knew of any supernatural existence. Were their lives better off that way? They didn’t know that they could be healed by vampire blood. They lived their lives as always, and if something happened, sickness or accidents or you name it, they went to a doctor who would do their best to patch them up and send them on their merry way. She would have to do the same. Katherine nodded to herself, worst case scenario and Elijah’s blood does nothing, she will live, she will take care of herself as best she can and she will try her absolute best to make a life for herself. What was so bad about a ‘white picket fence’ type of life anyway? Okay, maybe not that, but a penthouse in New York sounded appealing, or a Malibu beach house.. And who said she would have to stay in the States? She could leave for Paris or Barcelona, hell, she could move to Bali and live out her life on the beach with a tropical drink in hand. A tiny smile crept up on her lips as she listed all the possibilities. Her brow furrowed some as she felt something flutter inside her stomach. A tiny voice in her head said that she was missing something. Something or.....someone? 

ㅤ

With a heavy sigh, Katherine slouched on the bench she was occupying. Elijah freaking Mikaelson. Now that the Original vampire wasn’t looming over her shoulder, she figured she could allow herself a moment of brutal honesty. Currently, Elijah was being a royal pain in her ass, preaching about the perks of her having turned human never once permitting her to express her feelings on the matter. She expressed them alright but he didn’t seem to hear it, he dismissed them as one dismisses ramblings of a lunatic. That appeared to be the case with their other issues as well. Elijah Mikaelson, the man who claimed to know what’s best for her. As if. If he could spare a fraction of his time to actually listen to her and take her feelings into account, maybe then they could move forward one way or the other. But for as long as he remained set in his ways, she didn’t stand a chance at being heard, let alone accepted. She could live with his rejection, but what she couldn’t live with was him refusing to let her be her own person. My Katerina, he used to call her and at the time it seemed kind of sweet but she was more than that. Katerina was innocent, naive and believed in true love. She had lost her innocence the night she had fled for her life trying to escape Klaus, and if anything of that innocence was left after that, it had shattered into a million pieces when she found her entire village and family slaughtered. She stopped being naive once she saw just how cruel the world could be, so in order to survive in it, she had to become crueler still. She wasn’t just Katerina, she was also Katherine Pierce. Strong, wilful, resilient, smart, cunning, independent, confident, fierce and brave. She no longer needed to rely on others, she didn’t need a hero and she sure as hell didn’t need to place her faith in anyone else other than herself. Her faith was in herself and her alone. Yes, she had been forced to do some despicable things to survive, she had manipulated and she had lied, and she had killed. So freaking what? She refused to believe that the noble Elijah Mikaelson hadn’t done the same and worse. His brother had. Elijah wasn’t noble, he was a hypocrite as far as she was concerned. 

ㅤ

Katherine bit her lip. And yet.... If she closed her eyes and evaded all her reason, she knew that she loved him. She wanted him. But she didn’t need him. Katherine Pierce sighed and allowed herself a moment of innocent daydreaming. If Elijah managed to pull out the stick stuck up his ass, listen to her and allow her to be herself, she could consider giving him a chance. Even him apologising, sincerely so she knew he meant it, would go a long way. Katherine chuckled lightly, wouldn’t that be a sight to behold - Elijah Mikaelson on his knees begging her to forgive him. Her smile slowly turned into a sad one as she knew better than that. She knew heaven and earth would move before Elijah would even consider begging her for anything. He once told her that him wanting to believe her was like a disease, maybe her loving him was her disease. Maybe the sweet poison that was Elijah Mikaelson had poisoned her so deeply to her core, that no antidote would ever rid her of it.  

She had decided to stay for a moment longer, not really thinking about anything. There was only so much heavy thinking one could do before their mind threatened to run away screaming. She let herself enjoy the last moments of peace and quiet before getting up to head back to the hotel. As dusk settled over Charlottesville, Katherine entered the fancy hotel they were staying at. 

_________________________________________________

#kalijah #kalijah au #katherine x elijah #elijah x katherine #katherine pierce #elijah mikaelson #katerina petrova #tvd #tvd fanfiction #tvd fandom #the vampire diaries #kalijah fanfiction #kalijah fic

[astralaffairs]

freedom of the press 05.2 | thomas jefferson

title: freedom of the press 05.2, or the point of no return

pairing: thomas jefferson x reader

words: literally 20k. remember when my estimate for both parts of 05 was 20k total?? hahahah

warnings: shitty weather, sexual tension finally comes to a head, mild embarrassment, death mentions, trashing on politicians, implied 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 @superbarriobrothers @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 @cloudywlw @tinywhim @lolidunnoaboutnow  @siriusorionblackiii— hope i didnt miss anyone; lmk if you want to be added!!

IT WASN'T A day later when Y/N saw Thomas again, but that time, she was in no mood for his antics.

It was one of her first days back to work at the diner, and while she'd known it was busy during lunch and dinner, she had entirely forgotten how overwhelming the crowd was during weekend rush hours. So, unfortunately, that Sunday was a wakeup call.

She'd already been on her feet for five hours; it was just after 1 PM, and she'd elected to take the opening shift that morning (it meant she could leave earlier, and that was good enough for her). However, with the sea of customers that continued to leak into the restaurant, her exhaustion was growing and growing. Moreover, Jac had let it slip to her that the tenant who lived above the diner had just moved out, and she was stuck in her head trying to figure out a way to bring it up to Mira that didn't reek of desperation. Her focus was entirely elsewhere, by then.

"Hi, what can I get you?" She'd just rushed back from making two cappuccinos and still had to get back to the ovens to make sure her bread didn't burn, so with how preoccupied she was, she hardly noticed who was standing before her. He, however, realized immediately.

"Oh... Hey." Thomas's eyes were wide as he looked down at Y/N, but her reaction to him was nothing but expectant. He cleared his throat, trying to bury how stunned he was, and she turned her attention to the screen as he gave her his lunch order. She didn't look up as a grin began to grow on his lips. By then, she'd obviously taken note of his presence, but she was far too tired to care. "So you're a barista now?"

He quirked up an eyebrow as she frantically typed in his order. It seemed to be as complicated as possible, and she would be lying if she said she didn't suspect that it was intentional. She huffed. "We can't all live in penthouses on Capitol Hill," she bit back at him irritably, and his expression went from playful to surprised.

"Hey, now." His tone was lightly offended as he furrowed his brow. He swiped his credit card, eyeing her warily as her stare bore into the keypad before her. "Was just gonna comment on your many talents, but alright."

She sighed as she met his eyes with a tired gaze. "Name for the order?"

He furrowed his brow. "Seriously?" She stared at him expectantly, though the corners of her lips twitched up almost imperceptibly. He rolled his eyes. "It's Thomas."

"And how do you spell that?"

"Like you've never written it before?"

Y/N was growing progressively more amused, tongue-in-cheek as she looked up at him, but her smile was well-suppressed. She wasn't going to let up. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." She raised her eyebrows, silently challenging him to call her out. However, he'd apparently decided to play along instead.

"I'll let you guess that one, Ms... " He trailed off, squinting at her nametag, and she was having trouble swallowing the laugh that had begun to bubble up in her throat. She pursed her lips, trying not to find the whole ordeal endearing. "Y/N?" He looked up with an eyebrow raised, as though to confirm the pronunciation, and she gave him a sarcastic smile.

"Your order will be out shortly."

He grinned. Despite the irony in her expression, his was heavy with mirth. "Thanks so much, sweetheart; be sure to vote Jefferson in the primaries." He added a wink to his words as he put his wallet away. She rolled her eyes, biting back a scoff.

"I'll keep it in mind."

She finished sending in his order as he walked off with a grin before she retreated back into the kitchen, the other barista appearing to momentarily relieve her of her cashier duties. She was still in the thick of the lunch rush, and she couldn't lose track of her priorities -- especially since they were running quickly out of lemon bars, and it was rising unfortunately rapidly in importance for her to finish the yet-to-be-baked batch. Not that it contributed to her decision to move to the kitchens or anything, but she also couldn't stamp out the heat rising to her cheeks or her unyielding smile. (She couldn't explain them, either.)

"What's got you all smiley?" Jac raised an eyebrow as he packaged carry-out orders, and she quickly pressed her lips into a thin line. She slid the uncooked pan of lemon bars out of the refrigerator.

"Just glad to be back at the diner." She turned away from him with her dismissive excuse. The oven was always preheated for one reason or another, so she just slid in her pan, quickly withdrew her finished loaves of bread, and continued on, but Jac wasn't ready to let it go just yet.

"So it doesn't have anything to do with--?"

"I've gotta go back to mixing drinks, Jac; the line is a mile long," she cut him off abruptly, and he deadpanned. His pointed glance out the kitchen window toward the table where Thomas was sitting said all it needed to, and though she didn't miss it, she ignored it. "Let me know if you need me back here for anything. Can you take the lemon bars out when they're done?"

"Mm-hmm."

She ignored his suspicion as she rushed back out to brew another pot of coffee. She was still at work; she couldn't let herself ruminate on a two-minute interaction when there were customers who'd been waiting for at least half an hour, and so she let it slip to the back of her mind as she jumped from one task to the next, until finally--

"Order up for--" She heard a pause as she glanced toward the other end of the counter, seeing her coworker squinting at the receipt, before calling out, "Secretary Jefferson?"

When he went to collect his food, Y/N was perhaps overly pleased with herself, but she was also wholly unashamed of it, especially as she couldn’t help but notice his amused smile. He raised an eyebrow as he passed her, and she met his eyes brightly.

"Enjoy your food, Secretary Jefferson."

"That's a new way to spell 'Thomas,' huh?" he commented dryly, a brow raised, and she shrugged.

"Gave it my best guess."

"I'm sure you did."

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

UP UNTIL THEN, Y/N had spent the past week letting her writing take a bit of a back seat, her focus instead on her more recent financial crisis. However, it seemed Ashley wasn't going to let her off that easy. She'd reminded her on an abundance of occasions (more than twice a day over text and whenever they crossed paths in the office) that researching everything there was to know about Thomas Jefferson was still her job, that she'd still need to go to campaign events -- it as only a matter of time until the other shoe dropped. To her dismay, the 'other shoe' apparently meant she was required to make another day trip to Charlottesville, and it may have been one of her only work commitments, but she wasn't going to refrain from grumbling about it.

The only benefit of the situation was that her gracious host and temporary landlord also happened to be going, so she didn't have to go miserably navigate another black-tie political fundraiser alone.

When Lafayette pulled up in a Mercedes, she rolled her eyes. They were going to spend almost as much time in the car as they were at the venue, but it also appeared he wasn't going to let her slip under the radar as she'd hoped.

The mocking went both ways, though. Where he was excessively flashy, she was astoundingly fixated on her own comfort, rather than style. Lafayette laughed outright when she came to his car in a formal dress and a pair of slippers, pearls and pajama pants. (It was the middle of a blizzard, though, for fuck's sake. She didn't intend to freeze, and she certainly didn't intend to try and traipse through the mounting snow in four-inch heels and stockings.)

The ride south was painless if she didn't consider Lafayette's substandard taste in music or how poor visibility was. (She wasn't behind the wheel, so the latter wasn't her problem.) When they reached Monticello, though, she wasn't sure painless was how she could've described the rest of her night.

It was already dark when they arrived, the snowfall not having let up for a moment, and she whined about having to trade out her slippers for her heels, almost unwilling to sacrifice her pajama pants. However, entering the mansion had her almost immediately forgetting her strife.

Monticello was a grand estate. Staircases curved up either side of the entrance hall, coats being taken near one wall as everyone was funneled into the grand parlor -- not before passing the first of many elaborate chandeliers, though. The atmosphere was alight; the air held the warm, sweet scents of cinnamon and cherry wine -- at least, by Y/N's best, unrealistically-specific guess, but regardless of whether she was correct, she'd already begun to salivate.

"Shall we sit?" Lafayette offered her his arm, which she took, not for the sake of appearances, but because her feet were absolutely killing her, and she was desperate to take a load off. She looked up at him gratefully.

"Yes, please."

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

MUCH OF THEIR evening was uneventful. Lafayette socialized while Y/N networked; he drank four glasses of wine as she worked through her first; he pulled people to his sides to sing with him to the music of the cellist at the back of the room, and she took vigorous notes about the statuses of every campaign patron she interacted with. Needless to say, they had rather disparate experiences.

"Oh, Y/N!"

She stumbled backward as she was all but jumped on the edge of the parlor, being pulled into an enthusiastic embrace, and her eyes were wide when she recognized the smiling face of her assailant.

"Dolley! Hey!" She pulled away with a laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The woman had become increasingly affectionate as Y/N had begun to see her more often, and if she'd been comfortable hugging her when they first met, then being tackled that evening did seem to logically follow. "How are you?"

She shrugged. "Been better, been worse. I'm at another campaign event, so that should tell you all you need to know." She checked her hip lightly against Y/N's with that, wearing a playful grin, and Y/N couldn't help but laugh.

"You and me both."

"I take it you're here on work, then?" Dolley took a sip of her wine, an eyebrow raised. (Y/N was rather impressed that the glass hadn't sloshed all down her dress, what with Dolley immediately ambushing her upon entering her line of vision.)

Y/N sighed. "I always seem to be. Not even allowed to get drunk at these events. How fair is that?" The complaint held little true bitterness, though, with the playful glint in her eyes.

Dolley looked indignant on her behalf. "You poor thing; they've really put you through the wringer, huh?"

"You don't know the half of it." Y/N's mock exhaustion provoked a laugh from Dolley, who pursed her lips, ultimately shrugging.

"You did gain me from it though." Her matter-of-fact tone made Y/N roll her eyes. "Count your blessings, Y/N."

"Really. I can be so ungrateful." She shook her head, upholding her exasperated facade, though when a grin split through Dolley's mask of disappointment, Y/N couldn't help the corners of her lips quirking up.

"What's tonight's article about, anyway? A critique of the baked brie? 'Thomas Jefferson Doesn't Know How to Throw a Party: An Exposé'?"

Y/N let out a huff of mirthless laughter. "If only. Instead, I'm supposed to be digging up some of Schrödinger's dirt on the campaign funders. My editor has no idea whether it exists or not, but here I am anyway." She paused with that, cocked her head to the side, pondering the question. "Now that you mention it, though, maybe my true calling was to be a food critic."

"Follow your dreams," Dolley agreed, nodding. "It'd probably be more exciting than this thriller of a crowd."

Y/N laughed at that. While the atmosphere was upbeat, she'd hardly seen any signs of life among its attendees, if she didn't count Lafayette's drunken instrumental karaoke. "What, the over-60 crowd of doctors and lawyers isn't doing it for you?"

Dolley grinned. "That's where you come in, dear."

"Suppose I should be glad to hear it," Y/N sighed as she eyed the room, forcing the false nonchalance into her voice. "Might have to change my exposé to how our prospective second lady is just using me for her own entertainment."

She hummed in agreement. "Mm, be sure to mention how cold and aloof I always am."

"You truly are cruel to me, aren't you?" Y/N met her eyes once again, her gaze wistful.

"Bet your readers will love to hear such a scandal."

"I can see it now," Y/N agreed, holding up her hands to paint the headline as she continued, "'My Toxic Relationship With Dolley Madison. Be Ready for the Articles of Impeachment.'"

As she laughed, a self-content smile adorned Y/N's lips. "What, are you planning to impeach me from the role of 'possible future second lady'?"

"Of course; I figured the implication was obvious," Y/N agreed, making the older woman roll her eyes.

"I wish you the best of luck with that, sincerely."

"I'll need it."

Dolley had been about to respond with a dry quip of her own, but Y/N's gaze was over her shoulder, not realizing she was cutting her off as a smile split through her face. "James!"

(Dolley wasn't too hurt as she learned who she'd been cut off in lieu of.)

The man in question was approaching the pair of them with two full glasses of wine, presumably one to replace what Dolley had just finished throwing back. (Why not? No one was counting.) "Y/N." He gave her a curt nod, amused smile playing at his lips.

"James." It was then Dolley who addressed him, reaching out to grab his extra glass from his hand without a second thought, expression longing, but James pulled it just out of her reach with his eyebrows raised.

"Haven't you had enough?" he asked his wife with a glint in his eye, who in turn huffed, folding her arms.

"Don't you dare," she complained. "I'm here for you; let's not forget."

"Of course not." He leaned down to press a kiss to the side of her head as he handed her the glass. Her small smile altogether betrayed her glare.

"Dunno why I put up with you." She pursed her lips into a pout, and he shrugged.

"Your prerogative, Doll."

She held his warm gaze for a moment longer before she seemed to remember herself, and she took a step back from him, turning to Y/N as her tender expression was immediately replaced with a grin. "Anyway, James, Y/N is here covering the demographics of your and Thomas's donors."

She gestured toward Y/N with the hand still bearing a full glass, and Y/N didn't comment when upwards of a tablespoon sloshed over the rim with the motion. James raised an eyebrow, wearing his forever-unshakeable look of composure. "That right?"

Y/N nodded with a light sigh. "Unfortunately."

"And what have you found, so far?" James's lips were pressed into a thin line at how exhausted she appeared, giving his best effort to hide his amusement.

"Oh, it's been real exciting stuff, hasn't it, dear?" Dolley wore a facade of sincerity as she addressed Y/N, her brow knit as though deep in thought, and Y/N matched her disposition.

"Absolutely scintillating, truly. I've only fallen asleep about fourteen times, which is a real feat for corporate America." She nodded to James earnestly as to corroborate, and he raised an amused eyebrow.

"Consider me impressed." Y/N gave a cheeky grin, and he continued, "Have you enjoyed what you've found thus far?"

She hummed skeptically. "Couldn't tell you. I was asleep the whole time."

That coaxed a laugh out of him, though. "I expect this will be a glowing article, then."

"The less I learn, the better?" She cocked an eyebrow as she glanced around the room, her gaze drifting from one wealthy businessman to the next.

"The less you conclude, the better," he corrected her with a knowing smile as he followed her gaze across the sea of patrons. "Don't assume anyone you speak to has the full story."

"Would you care to comment, then, James?" He turned to her with her eyebrows raised. "Because I really need some actual information, and I really don't want to go interview Jeff Bezos."

"'Jeff Bezos'?" he repeated quizzically, and she shrugged as she looked back to him.

"Seems like his type of crowd, no?" James chuckled, shaking his head as she continued, "What about Steve Forbes? I wouldn't mind getting a quote from him before the writers who actually work at Forbes can manage it."

"We aren't taking donations from CEOs or super PACs, actually."

"Really?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Is this on the record?"

"It can be." He looked mildly pleased with her reaction as she scrambled to create a new audio file on her phone. "We didn't want--"

"Shh! Gimme a minute. It hasn't started recording," she chastised him, and his smile grew at how exasperated she looked. "Alright, now speak."

"I'm a politician, Y/N, not a trained monkey." His indignation was wholly in jest, but she sighed dramatically, looking at him with a deadpan stare.

"Of course you aren't," she consoled him with an air of faux-sympathy, but he seemed to expect -- and rightly so -- that she wasn't done making fun. "You don't tell monkeys to speak; that's for show dogs. I'm not stupid."

He ignored the sigh that accompanied her words, raising an eyebrow. "So you're comparing me to a dog?"

Again, she plastered on a front of fatigue, which only compounded upon his amusement at her demeanor. "James, please, I'm supposed to be the one asking the questions here."

He rolled his eyes, but it seemed he'd exhausted his banter for the time being. "Please, ask away."

"So, back to CEOs and PACs. Why won't you take their donations?"

"We want to show that we're really here, in this, for the people." She cocked her head to the side, lifting the phone to be sure to catch his words, and he continued, "We want to demonstrate that we have no conflict of interest with the corporate sector. And if we don't receive enough donations for the campaign, then we don't have enough support to properly represent the people."

Y/N was silent a moment, brow furrowed, and she nodded ever-so-slightly as she pondered his words. Finally, she admitted, "I didn't think this was that kind of campaign, to be honest."

Her reaction seemed to gratify him; his eyes shone with pride. "You thought we lacked principles, you mean?"

She pursed her lips. "It's... possible that I may have made some assumptions."

"Well, I'm always happy to be the bearer of good news."

"Glad to receive it," she agreed quietly. The look in her eyes was absent, but her momentary trance broke almost before they'd noticed it, and she donned a wide smile. "Maybe you'll actually have some common ground with my readers this week, hm? Truly bridging the partisan divide. What a feat." While her enthusiasm was contrived, her words were sincere, and Dolley grinned.

"We knew you'd come around to our side."

"Woah, woah, woah." She held up her hands in playful defense. "I'm not the one changing sides. This was our political territory first."

"You really think Adams is rejecting corporate funding?" James looked at her expectantly, and she deadpanned.

"John Adams is not representative of his entire party, I can promise you that much."

"But he's the candidate."

"Not yet, he isn't," she resisted, and James raised an eyebrow. "It isn't fair to hold him to the standard of the party nominee when we've hardly started the primaries."

He tilted his head to one side as he regarded her, lips pursed. "Maybe not, but Thomas has been consistent with his values since the very beginning of our campaign."

"Who said Thomas was the standard?"

"What are we callin' me the standard of, now?" The southern drawl caught Y/N off-guard, and she flinched, her eyes widening. She turned reluctantly to see James's ever-so-principled candidate in the flesh, an eyebrow raised and wearing an amused grin as he came up on her left behind Dolley.

"Thomas!" To her relief, Dolley's overwhelming affection bought her a moment to gather her bearings as she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. "Oh, how are you? I haven't seen you all night!"

Y/N couldn't explain why her throat was suddenly dry as Thomas slowly removed Dolley from where she'd latched onto his shoulders, nor why her stomach turned at the sight of him. He was beaming almost as brightly as Dolley as he held her by the forearms, but Y/N missed what they were saying. Her heart had begun pounding in her ears, and she wiped her sweating palms on her dress as discreetly as she could, tucking her phone back into her purse in an attempt to busy herself with anything other than his presence as he went on to embrace James. She prayed she'd find an opportunity to remove herself from the conversation unnoticed.

Her opportunity never came. She emerged from her bag to see Thomas looking over at her with an eyebrow raised, apparently entertained by how abruptly flustered she'd become. "Y/N."

She pulled the straps of her purse back up to her shoulder with a weak smile.  "Thomas. Hey."

She couldn't fully explain her sudden anxiety, didn't know quite why her heart was racing. Maybe it was just that he'd surprised her, or that he'd walked into a conversation that he was the focus of -- or maybe, though she discarded the thought deep into her subconscious, she was simply blindsided by being confronted with his presence in public, still struggling to figure out where it was the two of them stood.

Though she shifted uncomfortably, folding her arms, he didn't look away for another moment. The silence grew deafening, but she didn't have it in her to break his gaze, and she swallowed roughly. When he finally turned his attention from her, he chuckled almost imperceptibly; his smile had broadened.

"So what'd I miss?" He looked brightly over to James, making no effort to conceal how pleased he was. "You all talkin' about how great I am?"

"You're not far off, actually," James informed him, wearing a knowing smile. Thomas's eyebrows shot up. "We were discussing our campaign funding policy."

"And we're not already bein' smacked in the press for it?" He looked at Y/N with mocking disbelief, and she just rolled her eyes. She elected to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks.

"Quite the contrary," James said with a nod. "Y/N was impressed."

James looked contented, but Y/N could almost see Thomas's ego tangibly swelling, and he turned to her with wide eyes, surprise flashing in his gaze. "Is that so?" He sounded as smug as he looked, and Y/N fixed him with a flat stare.

"Are you really looking for acclaim just because you aren't corrupt?" she asked dryly. When he didn't respond, it became increasingly obvious that praise was exactly what he wanted, and she rolled her eyes. "Congrats, Thomas. You must be so proud."

"Trust me, sweetheart, I am." His smirk had taken root, by then; there wasn't anything she could've said or done to knock him down a peg. "Thought it'd be a cold day in hell before you'd support anything my campaign was doin'."

"Then maybe there are a few things you should re-evaluate," she replied, voice stiff, and he laughed.

"Or maybe," he began, raising a cocky eyebrow. "You should re-evaluate your party loyalty. Y'know, the primaries aren't gonna end for another couple months. You aren't runnin' outta time just yet."

"It's gonna take a lot more than that to convince me to register as a Republican, Thomas."

"You'll come around." His words came alongside a wink, which evoked a scowl from her.

"We'll see about that."

"Mm, sounds like a challenge, Y/N," he teased, a singsong lilt in his tone. His eyes narrowed as he took a sip of his drink, and the preying glint in his gaze sent a shudder down the back of her neck. "But I think you'll find I can be very convincing."

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

“HEY, HOW MUCH longer do you want to stay?"

She'd finally managed to track down Lafayette near the refreshments table at the back of the room, and by then, he was well past tipsy.

"We cannot leave yet! Where 'ave you been all zis time? You 'ave been missing all ze fun!" He threw an enthusiastic arm around her neck, throwing her off balance a moment, and as his wide grin didn't waver, she sighed.

"Laf, I have to work in the morning."

"Ah, loosen up, first," he pleaded, tugging her alongside him toward the crowd near the music. (She wasn't sure how he'd managed to get a crowd of politicians and businesspeople turnt to Brahms, but she was undeniably impressed.) "You will regret not enjoying yourself, chérie!"

"I think it's a little too late for that," she muttered bitterly, though he was too absorbed with the energy of the room to notice.

"What was zat?"

"Nothing," she told him, louder that time. "I'm gonna go find a bathroom, real quick."

"Non! You are just trying to get away from me!" He was more insistent that time as he pulled her to the cellist, and she huffed.

"C'mon, I'll be back in a minute, okay?" She hesitantly removed his hand from his shoulder, and he gave her a disappointed glance. "I've just had a little too much to drink; gimme a break."

As feeble as her excuse was, seeing as she'd hardly had a drop of anything all night with her effort to stay painfully sober (and their drink options didn't go far past wine), Lafayette released her with a pitying wince. "Ah, no worries. I understand." He hesitated a moment, before adding, "Do you need me to 'old your hair back?"

She couldn't help her laugh at his genuine concern. "I think I'll be alright. Thank you, though."

"Be safe, chérie!" His voice was all but slurred as he pressed a sloppy kiss to the top of her head before wandering off, and she pursed her lips, amused as she watched him go. She would've tried to keep an eye on his blood alcohol content, but he was already drunk to the point of no return, and he seemed too enraptured by what he'd made of the evening to break away for long enough to refill his glass again.

She chuckled lightly, shaking her head as she turned to leave. The first left she took just led her into the dining room, so she turned back toward the entrance hall, trying to find any nook or cranny that split off into a part of the estate where she could have some quiet. She wasn't sure what she was trying to find, necessarily, but she wasn't about to get wasted with Lafayette. One of them had to be able to drive home.

A right, a left, and another right later, she'd gained next to no information on where exactly she was heading, other than that of the sitting room she'd just passed. Her watch told her it was just past 11 PM, and she sighed. She wasn't sure when she'd be able to drag Lafayette back out the front doors, at that rate.

The hall she continued down didn't lead her into a bathroom, to her dismay, but what she saw had her footsteps gradually stalling as her gaze raked down the walls around her. She'd stumbled upon a rather grand library, and one look to her right told her that it would only continue on the further they walked.

She glanced back over her shoulder, and seeing only the empty room she'd just left with its empty armchairs, gave in to her curiosity, wandering toward the side of the room with wonder in her eyes.

The bookshelves reached the ceilings, and every book was bound in aging leather, many torn or cracked at their spines. It had to be some sort of a collection, with the sheer number of novels -- and biographies, and anthologies of poetry, of short stories, even memoirs and atlases, as she realized just moments later. She ran her fingers over the gilded edges as she continued on into the next room.

The hall ended in a small sitting room, one that didn't have nearly the same pomp and circumstance as the rest of the estate, but it was cozy, with its red sofa and armchairs, its wood-burning fireplace and little lamps. The room was illuminated softly with the only light filtering in being from the adjacent rooms and the moon, and the small fireplace cast a warm glow before it.

She bit her lip, wore a small smile as she drew closer to the window at the back of the room. Her gaze was fixated on the bookshelf beside it, and -- as every book, every spine and title came into clear focus -- despite her hesitance, she pushed herself up onto her toes, reaching for a volume more than a foot above her head. Before she could pull it down, though--

"Should've known you'd find the library at some point."

"Thomas!" she squeaked in surprise, recoiling from the bookshelf -- she'd recognized his voice immediately, her eyes wide. She whirled around to see him leaning against the doorway and unconsciously took a step back, feeling much like a child who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

He didn't look angry, though. In fact, his expression was far from it. His gaze was soft, his arms folded and ankles crossed, and though he looked amused, his smile held none of its frequent mockery despite her clear panic.

He raised an eyebrow, and she blinked hard, immediately began to try to excuse her presence there. "Shit, I... I didn't mean to end up here, honestly, I was just looking for the bathroom, and I--"

"Relax, sweetheart, you're not under fire." He chuckled lightly as he pushed himself off the doorway, walked toward her into the room. "Looks like I'm not the only one who needed some air, huh?"

His gaze flickered down just a moment as she bit her lip. "Really, I was just trying to find the bathroom," her words were quiet, hesitant, and he raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Oh, really?" She nodded. "Go ahead. It's down the end of the hall and to your right." He tilted his head toward the rooms behind him, and her brows shot up. She hadn't expected to be put on the spot about the excuse -- she'd initially produced it just for Lafayette's sake and wouldn't have thought it needed to be any more thorough than it was.

She was reluctant to take a step forward, and she glanced back over her shoulder at the bookshelf, desperate not to leave after she'd just struck gold, as it were.

"I..."

"You...?" He waited for her to continue, his skepticism never subsiding, and when she didn't, staying rooted to her spot, a smug smile began to play at his lips. "That's what I thought.

She hated how easily he'd called her bluff, and she refused to meet his gaze as it grew increasingly self-satisfied. She scowled. "And what are you doing back here?"

"Didn't I just tell you I was lookin' for some peace and quiet?" He raised an eyebrow. "Or did you think someone just left that fire to try and burn this whole place down? Hm?"

She could feel herself flush as she crossed her arms; she hadn't thought that far into the fireplace that was active long past when it should've been, admittedly. "So you're just trying to run off while you have a parlor full of people giving you copious amounts of money right around the corner?"

"Somethin' like that."

She furrowed her brow. "Why?"

"Do you have any idea how exhaustin' this gets?" He looked down at her, wearing a timid smile. "I've been gettin' grilled all night; you'd be tired too."

Y/N raised her eyebrows, putting on a playful expression of shock. "You're telling me you actually get tired of talking about yourself?"

He cracked a grin. "Nah, just talkin' about the rest of the country. Y'know, the voters, the ones I'm supposed to be representin' or somethin'."

"Be careful, or this is gonna end up in this week's editorial," she warned him, though she couldn't inhibit her smile, and he cocked a brow.

"Oh, yeah? You gonna expose me?" The skepticism was heavy in his words alongside his confident smile, and she shrugged.

"Don't tempt me."

He chuckled, taking a few more steps toward her, the gap between them slowly closing. She swallowed. "Anyway, what's got you tryin' to escape? Lafayette gettin' a little too handsy?"

His teasing quickly had been restored, and she rolled her eyes, ignoring the latter half of the question. "Turns out talking to old philanthropists is just as exhausting when you're the one asking the questions."

"No!" He gasped mockingly, placing a hand on his heart. "You mean workin' till midnight isn't doin' it for you anymore?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong; this is exactly my idea of a good time," she said defensively, though, with the sarcasm in her voice, she couldn't hide her own growing smile. "Usually more of a weekend activity, though. Can't handle this much excitement on a Wednesday."

"And ransackin' my library sounded like a good way to relax?"

"Glad you follow.".

"Find anything you like?" She raised her eyebrows as he further encroached on her space, feeling her breath catch. He stopped beside her, scanning the bookshelf along the back wall, but she was struggling to focus on his words as his shoulder brushed against hers, and she tensed, shied away from the contact. Before she caught herself, her absent stare rested at his lips in the closing proximity; her heart rose to her throat. He raised an eyebrow when she didn't answer, and upon seeing how she was looking at him, he gave a smug grin. "Not includin' me, I mean."

Her eyes widened; she prayed she didn't look nearly as red as she felt as vindication flashed in his eyes. He only continued to watch her expectantly, until finally, she turned alongside him to the books she'd been eyeing. Her gaze didn't take long to find where it'd been fixed before he interrupted her musings.

"I..." She went to reach for the book she was eyeing, but she trailed off as she stopped herself short, glancing nervously back to Thomas. "Can I?"

"Go ahead, sweetheart." He grinned as she stretched up toward the shelf that housed it. She let out a soft, frustrated sigh when she couldn't reach it, pushing herself further up with a hand on a lower shelf, almost jumping for it; all the while, Thomas's smile grew. "Need a hand?"

"Please." Her expression was defeated as she looked to him, and he pulled the book down with ease. She could only focus on his hand resting at the small of her back as he reached above her, his fingertips seeming to burn as they grazed the thin material of her dress, though he was just being careful not to inadvertently tumble into her. He didn't notice how she shivered under the fragile touch, and he raised an eyebrow as he looked the volume over.

"Lord Byron? Really?" He looked down at her curiously, ever-present teasing in his eyes. "Didn't take you for such a romantic."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Thomas," she replied, looking up at him with her gaze soft, before she cracked a grin. "Besides, what better way to relax is there than reading poetry about the ravages of war at midnight on a Wednesday?"

He laughed. "That's an awful specific type of self-care."

"Can't help that the over-fifty crowd you've assembled has me so riled up."

"I'd think the 19th century would be even wilder."

"So it'll help get my energy out," she quipped. Her gaze was tentative as it flickered back to the book he still held, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Then don't let me get in your way." He held the book out to her, smiling at her hesitance, and she accepted it readily, looking pleased as its title, embossed in gold foil, flashed in the moonlight.

"Always a philanthropist, huh?" Her reply was soft, absentminded, though; she wasn't looking for a response. By then, she was already caught up in the grandeur of the aging anthology of poetry. She settled into one side of the sofa as she hesitantly cracked the spine, terrified by the prospect of damaging it.

She didn't notice Thomas watching her with endearment, didn't even realize when took a seat on the couch beside her until the side of her thigh brushed against his. And when she did notice, she didn't react, though her skin jumped under the thin material of her dress. "This is gorgeous," she said, leafing gently through the book's weathered pages, running her fingertips along little stray marks and notes penciled in. After a moment, she looked up at Thomas. "Where'd you get it?"

"Think it was my great-grandfather's. It's been in the family for a while."

Her eyes widened. "How old is it?"

"This edition's from around 1900," he said, shrugging. "Bought it secondhand years later, though."

"It's more than a hundred years old?"

He chuckled at how dazzled she was, her eyes gleaming and her mouth hanging ajar. "And this is probably its first time bein' opened in fifteen years."

Her eyebrows shot up; she was appalled that anyone would have such an ornate, century-old copy of the book and leave it to collect dust on a shelf. "Why have it if you're never going to read it?"

"My family's been collectin' books for as long as we've been around, sweetheart."

"Writing isn't meant to be collected." She let out a sigh as she looked back to the collection of poetry that lay open in her lap, fiddling absentmindedly with the ribbon attached at the spine. He raised an eyebrow at her statement. "It's supposed to be experienced; it should make you feel something. It's a waste to just lock something like this away."

"Feels like that hit close to home." Though his voice was teasing, it was quiet, inquiring. She laughed, but the sound was hushed.

"I am a writer, Thomas." She looked back up at him with a demure smile to find that his gaze hadn't left her as they'd sat. "Or have you forgotten altogether that's why I'm here?"

He furrowed his brow, frowned, though his voice was playful. "So you mean you aren't here just to see me, sweetheart?"

She laughed again, unabashedly that time, as the mock disappointment faded from Thomas's face. His grin matched her own. "Please, I haven't even talked to Mark Zuckerberg yet. I thought it was fairly clear that I didn't come for the company."

"Not even for Dolley? Lafayette?" She shrugged innocently, and he teasingly bumped his shoulder against hers. "That's tough."

"I trust you won't rat me out."

He winked mischievously. "Don't count on it."

"Hey!" Her offense was far from sincere, with the joking lilt to his voice and the laugh close to the surface of hers, but she couldn't help her huff at how immediate his answer was. She pursed her lips, plastered on a pout. "If my secrets aren't safe with you, then brace yourself. You'd better get ready for an exposé about how Thomas Jefferson absolutely despises every one of his donors."

He chuckled. "Do I, now?"

"You are back here instead of out there with them."

"Mm, and you're obviously not exaggeratin' at all."

"I don't need to." She shrugged. "Since apparently these books don't even get read, you don't have much of an alibi for 'needin' some air.'" She leaned into the last three words in a painfully contrived southern accent, air quotes and all, and he grinned at her mocking impression of his voice.

"You think I sound like that?"

"Precisely." She nodded, her tone matter-of-fact, and he rolled his eyes despite the laugh he fought back.

"Anyway, some of these are bein' taken out every once in awhile, but since it's not my library, I've gotta take advantage of them while I can."

"'Not your library'?" she repeated quizzically, and he shrugged.

"I mean, it's the family library, but I don't come down here much." She couldn't help but notice how fond his voice was as he glanced around the room. He grinned when he turned to find her watching him. "I am still livin' on Capitol Hill, in case you forgot."

She pursed her lips, trying to conceal how her smile was growing. "And you'd sacrifice your night of schmoozing patrons and getting donations just to be back here?"

"I've schmoozed enough donors for one night. Besides--" Y/N shifted in her seat, slowly closing the book in her lap as she turned further toward him. "--James was always better at understandin' people."

"So we're just gonna pretend that slacking on the job isn't the reason you're back here?"

"Shh, c'mon. I'm makin' informed decisions as a professional." By then, he'd shifted the same way as she; they were facing one another on the couch, despite being shoulder-to-shoulder. He grinned in self-satisfaction. "I'm takin' on the responsibility of bein' the only person who reads these books."

"How truly self-sacrificing."

"I'm a man of the people, sweetheart." She chuckled lightly, leaning into the cushion on the back of the couch, and for a moment, they were both silent; she bit her lip at the heavy pause. His gaze flickered down to her lap, to the collection of poetry she'd shut but still continued to run her fingers over, tugging at the top of the spine, fiddling with the stacked corners of pages. He cocked his head to the side, and though he looked uncertain for a moment, his voice was decided. "Take it."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"The book." He nodded toward where it sat, all but ignoring her surprised stare. "Borrow it. Don't worry too much about returnin' it, just get it back to me whenever you're done with it."

Another beat passed as she sat stunned, certain she couldn't have heard him right. When he raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to answer, she exhaled softly, glancing down at the book. "Thomas, I couldn't possibly."

"Why not? It's a library; we're supposed to be loanin' 'em out, aren't we?"

His nonchalance about it had her entirely dumbstruck, and she bit her lip. "And what if something happens? What if it gets ruined?"

"I'm the only one who's gonna notice; I promise." He grinned. "No one's readin' it here, anyway."

She took a shaky breath, looking him in the eye. "Are you sure?"

His smile had softened at the awe in her expression. "Positive, sweetheart."

"Thank you, Thomas." She covered his hand that still lay on the couch with hers, squeezing it lightly.

"It's nothin'."

"Maybe not to you." She knocked her knee gently against his, and it was her expression that was playful this time, though her words were nothing but genuine. "But it means a lot to me. Really."

His eyes sparkled with affection as he threaded his fingers into hers. "I'm glad."

She bit her lip, holding his warm gaze. The room seemed to slow as she felt herself hesitantly shifting toward him. With her movement, when he saw how she drew deliberately closer, Thomas unthinkingly reached up with the hand that wasn't enclosed in hers to brush a stray lock of hair away from her face. The feeling of his calloused fingers as they grazed the side of her head sent a shiver down her spine, and when his hand didn't fall, ghosting his thumb across the expanse of her cheek, she leaned into the touch.

"Thomas." Her grip on his hand tightened in the slightest, her stare fell unabashedly to his lips. Though hesitantly, she pulled closer to him.

However, he hadn't moved. Reluctance lay thick in his gaze as he searched her expression. As she looked expectantly up at him, waiting for him to close the space between them, he just swallowed.

Finally, he spoke. "What are you lookin' for, from me?"

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"You're harder to read than you realize, sweetheart." She blinked. Was the implication not obvious? Wasn't she laying out in the plainest terms possible what she was looking for? Did he need really her to ask for it? He pursed his lips. "Whenever I think I've figured you out, somethin' changes."

"What do you mean?" she breathed. She pulled back to where she'd initially been sitting, almost hurt but certainly embarrassed as she withdrew, and his hand fell from her face. He didn't release her hand that still lay in his.

He sighed, shaking his head. "I mean the mixed signals. Wantin' me when we're alone and avoidin' me like the plague in public. Askin' me to kiss you in Detroit and then runnin' out on me. I can't just keep guessin'."

She stayed silent, unsure of what she could possibly say -- it wasn't often that she was left speechless, but this time, he was right. She'd always been of two minds with him. Rationally, she couldn't have him, not when they were from such different worlds, had such conflicting careers, but when she was alone with him, she couldn't help herself. However, she couldn't have expected him to so plainly call her on it.

"I wanted to talk to you about it at Lafayette's, but I've never been able to figure where you stood. And now this..." He trailed off, raking a hand through his hair, breaking her gaze. He huffed. "I just don't know what to make of you."

It was guilt that sunk in her chest at his words, but indeterminate regret weighed heavily on her conscience. "Thomas, I..." She couldn't go on with the response. There was nothing for her to say, not when her head was still in pieces, not when her career needed one thing but her libido demanded another.

He held her gaze another moment, shaking his head when it revealed absolutely nothing, when it couldn't tell him what he needed to hear. He took a deep breath as he stood up. Her hand that'd been holding his fell to the soft corduroy of the cushion. "Just... forget it. I shouldn't have brought it up." He started toward the hallway, and her eyes widened.

"Thomas, wait." After the initial shock of the point-blank confrontation began to subside, she scrambled to catch him as he began to leave, tucked the book under her arm and rushed out toward the hallway. When he heard her giving chase, he reluctantly turned to her with raised eyebrows.

"Y/N?" His tone was expectant, almost hopeful, but it was still disappointment that flickered in his eyes. She paused; she didn't know what to say, but she didn't want to let him leave like this, not when uncertainty hung so heavily in their atmosphere. He sighed. "Sugar, until you figure out what you want, I can't help you."

She didn't look away just yet, though. She wanted to have an answer, something, anything to tell him -- she was desperate to find some way to create some normalcy between them, to make things as easy as they always seemed to be. She had nothing to offer, though, other than, "I'm sorry."

He gave her a faded smile. "No need."

Y/N couldn't help her small frown at how gentle his voice still was, as though he was worried about hurting her, of all things. She glanced down at the leather-bound book she still held, and she pulled it out from beneath her arm.

"I suppose I should give this back, then." Her voice was soft as she looked up at him, and he shook his head lightly.

"Keep it." His gaze was kind as he pushed back on the book where she'd offered it up. "It's alright. Leave it with Lafayette when you're done."

He looked down at her expectantly, and she took a deep breath, hesitant. "Or I could return it next time I see you?"

Despite its tone of melancholy, his smile grew at how hopeful she sounded. She couldn't bear to let this feel so final. "Whenever works, sweetheart."

She swallowed, nodded, but her shoulders slumped. A moment passed in silence as she stared up at him, and though he looked inexplicably composed, even casual as he waited for her response, she couldn't help but feel defeated. "Alright, Thomas."

He nodded; she could hear him swallow in the complete silence as his laid-back facade faded, the noise undisturbed save for the soft crackling of the fireplace. He released his hold on the book."I'll... see you around, Y/N." He gave her one last, drained glance, before he turned, leaving her alone.

She didn't respond.

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

THOSE FINAL FEW minutes played on a loop in her head throughout the entirety of the next day, and the article she was writing didn't help -- every time she typed up any pieces of information about his funders, her mind regressed to his dark, quiet library, their soft banter as she learned he was sneaking off right in the middle of his own party. And with that, inevitably, came her picture-perfect memory of the heaviness of his gaze, the hurt that still lay dull in its depths. She didn't have any way to alleviate the guilt that rose from her stomach like bile.

She could only ruminate on that night for so long, though. That past Monday, when she'd asked, Mira had offered her residence in the flat above her diner. As a tenant, she'd still cover rent and utilities, but Mira had readily cut her a deal in the share of the bills she was paying -- one that made the small apartment more than affordable for her, and in exchange, her only new commitment was to closing up the diner in the evenings.

She'd spent the first half of the week moving in, and by Thursday, the space was finally livable. Angelica insisted on inviting herself and the Hamiltons over for a housewarming party that evening.

"This place is great, Y/N." Eliza smiled as Y/N emerged from her kitchen holding four glasses and a bottle of sparkling grape juice. (They'd all abstained from drinking in solidarity with Eliza.) Y/N didn't comment on how none of the furniture was different even in the slightest from when she'd lived with Angelica, that there wasn't anything new for her to have even been appreciating; she was too satisfied in having found a place at all.

"Glad you think so." She grinned as she passed around the drinks, ultimately taking a seat in the armchair beside the couch. "Moving was a bit of a pain, but I'm glad to be at my own place, now."

"Lafayette wasn't a good enough host?" Angelica interjected, a playful eyebrow raised. Y/N rolled her eyes.

"He was great, but staying with him was..." Images of Thomas walking in on her right out of the shower flashed in her mind. "Complicated."

"What do you mean, 'complicated'?" Alex asked with a wide smile, doing his best to derive some hidden meaning from her words. Y/N rolled her eyes.

"I mean I was freeloading in his expensive penthouse, Alex," she huffed, and he pursed his lips.

"It isn't freeloading if he's getting something out of it."

"And what exactly do you think he was getting out of it?" She narrowed her eyes, and he held up his hands in his own defense, shrugged innocently.

"I'm just saying!"

"Oh, don't you dare act like--"

"Enough, you two," Eliza cut them off with a tired stare. "We're here to celebrate Y/N finding her own place, not for you to bicker like children."

Though she was addressing both of them, her words were directed explicitly at Alex, her gaze burning into his. He gave a guilty simper.

"Of course not, love." He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, and she gave him an affectionate smile despite how she was shaking her head at his antics.

"How are you feeling about living alone, then, Y/N?" Eliza changed the subject readily, more than happy to alleviate any of the tension Alex had been building in the room.

"Not that this could ever meet the standard of living with me, she means," Angelica added, and Y/N grinned, gave a timid shrug.

"Well obviously the loss of Angelica is utterly heartbreaking," she lamented with a sigh, "But I guess besides that absolutely irreplaceable loss, it's pretty good, all things considered. It's a bit of a trade-off with the late evenings I'd otherwise spend at my office, but c'est la vie."

She gave a rather stiff smile, and Angelica reached over to squeeze her knee with an empathetic frown. "I'm sorry, honey. I know it's not easy for you to put something else before your career."

"Nah, it's alright, I'm just getting a well-needed break from the excitement, not screeching to a full halt. Besides, my article from today's been getting me more than enough love." Y/N paused, her fingertips tapping on her wineglass as her gaze fell to the floor; she'd done a marvelous job pushing them down, but once again, the reminder of the article had brought the previous night's events dangerously close to the surface of her mind. She pursed her lips absentmindedly. She couldn't seem to think straight when it came to her predicament. "Actually... Can I get a bit of advice?"

Her friends all shared an inquisitive glance, before Angelica spoke. "Always. What's up?"

She let out a soft sigh, finally looking up at them. "So... it's about someone who I met through work." Alex's eyebrows shot up. "It's really silly and menial but... I just wanted someone else's take on my situation."

"Everything alright?" Eliza's voice was soft but heavy with concern. Y/N cracked a smile.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course, it's severely inconsequential." She took a deep breath as she tried to find the words for her situation that wouldn't immediately incriminate her. "There's just this person, and they're unfortunately incredibly hot, like undeniably attractive, and I'm having a really hard time not shamelessly throwing myself at them."

When she paused, Angelica furrowed her brow. To that point, her state of limbo didn't sound like much of an issue. She went on. "I also know they're into me, so it's not that I'm shooting for someone unattainable, but trying to screw them would make my life... complicated."

"Is it because you met them through your job?" Traces of suspicion leaked into Alex's tone, but Y/N was too focused on her deep-seated angst to notice. She nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly, actually." He furrowed his brow. "Like, in another context, I'd totally hit that, but given the circumstances, it's a little riskier."

"Is it one of your co-workers?" Eliza asked, glancing at Angelica, who shrugged.

"If it was, I'd hope I'd know about it." Angelica took a sip of her drink, wearing a small frown, and Y/N shook her head.

"I'm not hooking up with a coworker, don't worry. It's nothing illicit."

"So who is it?" While Alex simply sounded curious, Y/N knew him well enough to detect the suspicion buried in the question.

"I'd really rather not say."

"It'd be easier to help you if we understood the situation a little bit better."

Y/N looked to him with a sigh. "Alex."

"C'mon, why can't you tell us?" He pressed, pursing his lips. "There's no way it's that embarrassing, Y/N. What, do we know them, or something?"

When she didn't answer, just biting her lip, his eyes widened. "Do we know them?"

She scowled. "It's not important! Can you just... help me? Who it is doesn't matter."

While Alex looked more than ready to continue to interrogate her, Eliza cut him off. "So how well do you really know them? How involved are they in your life?"

Y/N looked to her with a relieved smile, grateful that someone was taking her pseudo-sob story seriously. "I haven't known him that long. We met pretty soon after I started with my current assignment at the Post." (About an hour after, specifically, but who was counting?)

"So it's a 'him'!" Alex interjected unhelpfully.

"Yes, it's a 'him,' now stay focused." Y/N gave him a tired stare.

"And how long have you been, y'know," -- Angelica shrugged -- "trying to jump his bones."

Y/N laughed lightly at that. "I am not trying to jump his bones, Ang. I'm trying to figure out whether I should jump his bones."

"Fine, whatever." Angelica waved away the technicality impatiently. "How long have you been into him for?"

Y/N pursed her lips. "I mean, there's been some level of... tension," --she cringed at her own word choice-- "since day one, but I guess it's just been the past couple weeks that it became an issue."

"The past couple weeks... ?" Alex was more thinking out loud than actually inquiring, and Y/N rolled her eyes. She could see him trying to do the calculations in his head, as though he knew everywhere she'd been at all recently.

"What d'you mean, 'became an issue'?" Angelica's eyes were shining with the question, her eyebrows raised, and Y/N laughed.

"I came into this conversation asking about whether I should sleep with someone, and you're really trying to act like I'm being all coy about it?"

"Alright, fair enough, I'll give you that," Angelica conceded, grinning. "Have you actually had a chance to sleep with him yet, though?"

She tilted her head to the side, reflecting for a moment, and the list didn't take long to build -- his office, the hotel in Detroit, Lafayette's apartment, the back room of his estate, to name a few -- and she sighed.

"Once or twice, I guess."

"And what's been holding you back?" Eliza asked gently, and Y/N gave a small smile.

"That's exactly the problem: it's my career." She shook her head lightly. "I can't justify putting how horny I am before dreams as a journalist, but I'm not sure I can have both, either."

"How exactly would the relationship hurt your career?" Angelica asked. "You're being too vague."

"First off, it’s not a relationship," Y/N corrected her, bordering on exasperated. “He’s just hot. It’s not that deep.”

"Yeah, fine. Don't avoid the question."

There was a skip. Y/N chewed her bottom lip, considering. "I mean... it wouldn't destroy my career or anything. If something went bad, though, or I ended up burning a bridge, it'd get real awkward real fast."

"How often do you see him?" Alex spoke up that time, still appearing to be fixated on dissecting every detail of the situation. His eyes were narrowed, and Y/N ignored how his question was more probing than in an effort to help.

"I dunno," she shrugged, exhaled softly. "I've seen him at the past couple of events I've covered, and I've been seeing more of him outside of work ever since Detroit."

"Ever since Detroit," he repeated, a knowing smile growing on his lips. Y/N's stomach dropped. He couldn't know who she was talking about, right? He'd have looked absolutely appalled if he suspected anything close to the truth, or so she hoped. He chuckled. "You've really been denying being into Lafayette this whole time, and now you're asking us for advice on whether you should screw him?"

Y/N's eyebrows shot up. "Hang on--"

"Oh my God, you're right," Angelica agreed, eyes wide, and Eliza cocked her head to the side, looking as though she thought the idea was more than reasonable. "The whole situation makes perfect sense."

"No, wait, I'm not--"

"First the gala, and then Detroit," Alex continued, undeterred by Y/N's pleas of innocence. "And 'seeing him more often outside of work'? You just spent a week sleeping at Laf's apartment. You'd have had more than enough opportunities to bone."

"That explains why you were so anxious to find a place!" Eliza looked fully convinced of the theory, by then, and Y/N groaned. "It would get awkward quickly if you tried to screw him and then keep living at his apartment for weeks afterward."

"You guys, I'm not fucking Lafayette."

"Not yet, anyway." Angelica grinned. "That's why you wanted advice, right?"

"And you were out with him last night!" Alex's eyes flashed victoriously. "The timing only makes perfect sense."

Y/N scowled. "Y'know what? It doesn't matter who you think it is."

"Sounds like an admission--"

"But," she cut Alex off with a pointed glare. "You have all the relevant information, and I still really need some input."

Her three friends shared a glance, all looking rather pleased. It was Eliza who finally spoke.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Y/N." Her voice was soft, reassuring. "Any relationship, professional, platonic, or otherwise, can go wrong without sex ever being an aspect of it. You can't let the inevitable risk hold you back from the things you want."

Y/N was silent another moment; she couldn't help but feel that the advice was colored by their unfortunate theory of who was behind her sudden need for advice on her sex life.

"Besides," Angelica added, "If you're seeing him at the campaign events you cover and outside of them, the sexual tension's just gonna make it weird until you bang it out." She rolled her eyes at the crude guidance, and Angelica just shrugged at the weak glare she gave her, taking another sip of her drink.

"This sounds like suspicious logic."

"She's kinda right, Y/N," Alex agreed, nodding to Angelica. "It's awkward now, and the worst-case scenario after you two fucked would be awkwardness later on. Nothing to lose."

"I never said it was awkward now," she protested, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Is it?" He took her lack of a response as an answer in the affirmative.

She huffed at how smug he looked. "Most of this advice only applies if it's Lafayette."

"Perfect."

"Alex," she seethed, her tired glare burning into his nonchalant expression. "What about giving me some advice for the off-chance I just might not be referring to him, hm?"

Angelica shrugged. "The same doctrine follows, doesn't it? There's always a risk, and it's already awkward."

There was truth to her words. However, what Y/N hadn't and couldn't have shared was exactly how it would reflect on both her and the man in question if anyone were to find out they were sleeping together -- the Republican frontrunner screwing his most outspoken critic. She knew it'd raise eyebrows, she knew it would hurt both their careers, but was the risk real enough that it was worth placing at the crux of her decision?

Eliza was the one who eventually pulled her from her train of thought, reaching out to squeeze her arm reassuringly. "Hey. We support you no matter what decision you make, but it really seems like there isn't a downside to going for what you want here."

"Yeah?" Her voice was quiet.

"Yeah." She lifted her eyes to meet Eliza's gaze as she continued. "Now, it just comes down to you deciding whether this is something you really want."

She wasn't sure she bought into the idea of it as being as simple as that. It felt reductionist; it felt like it ignored all the variables she'd spent hours upon hours weighing in her own head.

However, if that really was the question, she knew without a doubt exactly where she stood.

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

Y/N WAS GETTING incredibly sick of leaning against the metal counter of the diner kitchen, counting down the seconds until she could actually close down for the night.

It was finally Friday, the end of her work week, and she was absolutely dying to finally reach the end of her shift. She was still waiting on a batch of brownies from the oven behind her, finishing up with washing the dishes to occupy her time, but no matter how she tried to distract herself, time only seemed to slow, taunting her. The keys to the diner were in her pocket; her fingers itched to turn the lock on the front door.

She checked her watch again. 9:56 PM.

The diner closed at 10.

She groaned as her watch didn't move any faster, glanced out the kitchen window to see that the last customer had already cleared out. She was growing tired, in part due to lack of sleep, but mostly, she was tired of her week of tearing her hair out in stress. Out the front window of the diner, she could see it still snowing; there was no way anyone was going to come through the blizzard less than five minutes before closing and demand service.

Her over timer pinged. She put down the mug she'd been drying and withdrew her tray, setting it on a cooling rack for the time being, and put the now-clean mug back on its shelf. She picked up another glass. The monotony was grating on her nerves, but she'd promised Mira she wouldn't close the diner until 10 PM sharp, so there she was.

She racked the glass. She reached for another. She dried it. She racked the glass. She reached for another.

Just as she began to wipe down the rim, though, the bell above the front door rang. Her grip on the cup tightened, frustration and disappointment shooting through her veins.

"Three minutes to closing," she called out from where she stood, trying (and failing) to keep the exasperated warning from her tone. With a sigh, she retied her apron and started toward the kitchen door.

"I know, I know." Whoever had decided to ruin her evening had the audacity to sound defensive. She furrowed her brow as she turned, beginning to push the door with her back as she finished cleaning the cup. The voice was eerily familiar. "'M just lookin' for a cup of coffee, and I'll be outta your hair."

With how preoccupied she was, though, she couldn't place where she knew it from until she saw him, looking as fatigued as she as he came in toward the counter, burrowed in his winter coat. She tried not to let her disbelief show across her face.

"Thomas?"

It wasn't until then that he saw her, either, emerging from the back with a skeptical gaze. He froze altogether; his eyebrows shot up. "Y/N. Hey. I, ah... I was expectin' Mira to be here." His voice was soft, and she looked at him expectantly for another moment, waiting, before he blinked hard, and continued. "...I can go, if you really... I mean I know you're just tryin' to close, and I don't wanna... I just, I--"

"It's fine." The words sounded at least as tired as she felt as she cut off his rambling. She reluctantly continued toward the front counter, and hesitantly, he did the same. She discarded the cup she'd been washing on a shelf along the back wall. "How do you take your coffee?"

Though she huffed internally, she tried to ignore it when she realized that she'd just washed the coffee pot not five minutes before. While she started brewing his drink, he took a seat in one of the stools across the counter from her.

"Doesn't matter," he shrugged, wary. His qualms were still written clearly in his gaze. "Whatever's easiest."

As he'd had no problem coming in three minutes before she intended to close the diner down, his sudden respect for her time made her roll her eyes. She glanced back over her shoulder as the coffee began to drip, giving him a flat look. "Thomas. It's just cream and sugar. I promise it isn't life-changing. Just tell me."

When she raised her eyebrows, he reluctantly said, "One cream, two sugars?" She nodded, bending over to pull a mug from the cabinet below. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Though he couldn't see it, she wore a small smile as she drew back to her full height. Fatigue was heavy in his quiet voice. "It's nothing."

The silence stretched on as neither of them seemed to know quite what to say. Thomas's gaze was set on Y/N as she walked behind the counter; the only sounds were the soft thud of the bag of sugar on the counter, the click as the refrigerator door fell shut, and the clink of ceramics. She pulled the pot of coffee from where it'd been brewing, and the plink of the drink against the bottom of the cup grew higher as she poured. When she reached for the sugar, she again looked over her shoulder, and she found him watching her.

"Am I allowed to ask what you're doing here at 10 PM on a Friday?"

"Technically, I got here at 9:57," he said matter-of-factly, and she cracked a smile, sliding open the silverware drawer to withdraw a spoon.

"Then what about what you're doing here at 9:57 on a Friday?" Her tone was mocking as she looked back at him, and despite the sleep in his gaze, he grinned.

"'M here for coffee, of course." He shrugged when she turned to him with the full mug, unamused -- the 'duh' at the end of the sentence was implied heavily in his tone.

As he gladly accepted the piping hot coffee from her, taking a delicate sip, wincing at the temperature, she raised an eyebrow and leaned across from him on the counter. "And you couldn't have gotten coffee anywhere else right now? Dunkin' Donuts? Your house?"

"Not this coffee."

"You mean the coffee I just brewed in a pot for, like, three minutes?" He nodded earnestly, and when she gave him a dramatically disbelieving stare, he shrugged, holding up his hands in defense.

"What? Mira roasts her own coffee. Can't find it anywhere else." He looked her up and down dubiously as though questioning why she could ever think his late-night pit stop wasn't justified. "And she won't sell me any without me comin' here every time I want it."

"So you'd have no issue busting in here right now if it was just Mira?"

"Somethin' like that."

Y/N furrowed her brow, leaning down onto her forearms. He looked nonchalant as he took another small sip of his drink despite the suspicion in her eyes. "When did you start coming here, anyway? Mira's annoyingly taken with you."

He grinned, his cocky lilt restored to his voice. "Can't help bein' such a charmer." When she scowled, rolled her eyes as she turned to put away the sugar and milk, he continued. "Three or four months. Stopped in here for a quick cup of coffee on my way outta work one night, and couldn't help stayin'."

"The coffee's that good?" she asked, cocking a disbelieving brow. He shrugged.

"And the atmosphere. Mira's a real sweetheart; she's always good to me."

"So, what, you and she are just best friends now?"

"Jealous?" His eyes flashed playfully. Y/N rolled her eyes.

"Of you or of her?" she teased.

A wide grin broke through his expression at that. "Either one."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Hate to disappoint, but it's neither." She bit back a laugh at how hurt he looked; the pout he plastered on. "Anyway, is that why you're trying to crash the closing shift? Wanted to spend some quality time with Mira?"

He shrugged, unabashed. "More or less."

She nodded, the corners of her lips quirked up. "Sorry to disappoint."

"You could never."

Y/N had to laugh at how contrived his conviction was, at what bordered on offense in his voice even at the idea of it, and the sound made him smile. "Thanks, Thomas."

She rolled her eyes as she turned to the shelves, finishing with the cup she'd been wiping down before he'd showed up, and she unplugged the coffee pot. As she began to wipe down the back counter, he spoke. "Should I get goin' then?" When she raised a questioning eyebrow at his sudden change of tune, glanced back at him, he added, "I mean, since I missed Mira 'n' all, and I don't wanna hold you up here later than I already have, I just thought--"

"That's alright. We're out of to-go cups for the rest of your coffee, anyway." When he didn't respond, she finally turned around, wiping her hands on the rag she'd been using to clean. She wore a teasing grin. "Or are you just that anxious to get away from me, hm?"

"'Course not." His smile broadened to match hers as she rested her hands on the counter before him. "Just figured you were countin' down the seconds till you could get rid of me."

"Don't worry, I don't have the patience to count by seconds." Y/N shrugged. "I've been counting by minutes, instead."

"Aw, sweetheart, I'm hurt." He put an offended hand to his heart, drawing back from her where he sat. "Thought we were friends."

She huffed out an involuntary laugh. "Shut up and drink your coffee."

She went back to her tasks with that, shaking her head lightly, tongue in cheek to stifle her amusement. She heard him take another sip of his drink, but when the cup met the saucer, he asked, "What smells so good?"

Her eyebrows shot up as she glanced back into the kitchen. "Oh, right, almost forgot about those." She looked over her shoulder at him. "I've been making brownies, still need to cut them." While he nodded indifferently, there was a wistful look in his eyes as he sat up straighter on his stool to see into the kitchen. She folded her arms. "You want one?"

His eyebrows shot up, and his gaze snapped to where she stood. "Really?"

She shrugged, mildly amused. "Sure. Since I can't seem to get rid of you, anyway."

"That's tough!" he called after her, offended, as she exited into the kitchen, laughing lightly.

She emerged not minutes later, holding two of the brownies; they were still just slightly warm from the oven, so cutting them was no ordeal. She pursed her lips. Thomas's mouth was all but watering as she walked back toward the counter, handing him the napkin one of them was housed atop.

"Enjoy," she commented mildly, suppressed her amusement at the longing in his eyes for the dessert.

"Thanks, sweetheart." His voice was soft. She pushed herself up to sit on the back counter as she ate hers, and when she looked back up, she saw him bite into the dessert, a soft moan escaping his lips. She laughed.

"Is it that good?"

"'S incredible," he mumbled, covering his mouth as he tried to speak, before he swallowed. "Shit, Y/N."

"You're just flattering me because I'm not booting you out of here, but I'll take it anyway."

While she looked rather pleased, he frowned. "You accusin' me of bein' ingenuine?"

"Where did you ever get that idea?" she asked sarcastically, shaking her head. He scowled.

"Hurtful."

"I'm sure."

He put the brownie back on the counter, took another sip of his coffee. "How'd you end up workin' here, anyway?"

She shrugged. "I've told you about my most recent financial crisis. I needed a second source of income."

"Why here, though?" He cocked his head to the side, and she raised an eyebrow, not quite following the aim behind the question. "I just mean, I haven't seen you around here until the past week or so. Was it just 'cause they were hirin'?"

She gave a small smile. "Not quite. Mira and Orlando are my godparents."

His eyebrows shot up. "Yeah?" When she nodded, a small grin formed on his lips. "That why you're so jealous of me and Mira bondin'?"

She rolled her eyes. "Like you could ever replace me?"

He shrugged noncommittally, making Y/N scowl. "I dunno, sweetheart. She and I are gettin' pretty close."

"Get your own mother figure, Jefferson."

"Aw, c'mon now, don't be greedy." He grinned at how progressively annoyed she was beginning to look. "What? Why should you get two mother figures and I don't?" She wasn't quite following his line of reasoning as she cocked an eyebrow, and he shrugged. "Don't have a godmother, feels like fair game to me."

When she didn't answer, he creased his forehead. His voice was hesitant. "Y/N?"

Another beat passed, before she raked a hand through her hair, offering him a smile. "I guess so."

With how weary she suddenly sounded, though, he didn't leave it at that. "What is it you're not tellin' me here?"

She cracked a grin as she met his eyes, amused by how he was looking at her. "Don't look so worried. Geez, Thomas. Mira and Orlando raised me, alright? That's all." She pushed herself off the back counter to discard her napkin.

However, as Y/N walked back toward where he sat at the counter, Thomas bit his lip. Her forced nonchalance didn't seem to quell his concern. "'M I allowed to ask why?"

She shrugged, but her voice grew quiet as she leaned onto the counter. "My parents passed on when I was pretty young." She chose not to meet his eyes, swallowing as she fiddled anxiously with her watch. "Mira and Orlando took me in, so they're all I've had for a family most of my life."

"What happened?" he asked softly. One of his large hands enveloped hers on the counter, and his touch was tentative, nervous, waiting for her to brush him off. When she didn't, he squeezed her hand lightly, and she looked up at him with a sad smile.

"Cancer." He looked crestfallen; she just pursed her lips. "Dad got sick when I was around ten. He was in and out of the hospital for a few years, and my mom spent most of her time with him, getting him treatment, taking care of him, waiting at his bedside. When she wasn't with him, she was working overtime to pay his medical bills. I was alone at home almost every night, so I started going to sleep at Mira and Orlando's when I was twelve."

Y/N's chest was tight. When Thomas didn't interrupt her, just watching her, waiting patiently, she bit her lip, apprehensive to continue. When he didn't fill the growing silence, she went on. "We thought Dad made a full recovery when I was thirteen, but by my fourteenth birthday, Mom was diagnosed. And it just felt like the same thing all over again."

She swallowed hard; tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she forced a smile, blinking hard, and huffed out a laugh despite herself. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to launch into a monologue on my childhood trauma. You don't need to listen to the full story just to be polite."

"'S alright." He offered her a soft smile, and when he brushed his thumb over her knuckle, she found herself squeezing his hand in return, a silent 'thank you.' "Go on. 'M listenin'."

She hesitated another moment when she saw the worry that clouded his gaze. “You sure?” He nodded with full conviction, and though her reluctance didn’t clear, she went on. "...Right. Then, well, after that, Mom was in chemo, and about five months later, Dad had a flare-up. Hospitalized him immediately. That's when I started living with the Murillos full time."

"Mira and Orlando?" he questioned, and she nodded.

"They got me through high school. I visited my parents when I could, but life went on, and as far as I knew, they were recovering." She shrugged, but her tone grew spiteful. She rarely talked about her parents, didn't want to think of how unfair fate had been to her growing up. "My junior year, they passed on within eight months of each other."

She pressed her lips together, and Thomas didn't release her hand. "I'm so sorry," he breathed, and she gave a soft smile, finally looking back up at him.

"It's alright, really." She shrugged, but she didn't move, didn't break his gaze. "It's been more than ten years. I miss them, but I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"I've had a decade to mourn them, and even though grief doesn't ever really leave, it subsides. I'm just fine."

He nodded as she gave him a mournful smile, and alongside the empathy in his gaze, she couldn't help but notice his own sadness shining through. "I know what you mean," he said softly, and Y/N tilted her head to the side.

"Yeah?" As far as she knew, Thomas wasn't an orphan, and she'd done extensive research into his background.

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "Just... about grief never quite leavin'." She waited for him to elaborate, and it wasn't until she raised an eyebrow that he did. "I mean, it's normal. You still think about them every day? Wonder what they'd think about you if they were here now? Feel like you still owe them something, like you have to live your life as though they're around?"

She frowned. "Yeah, exactly." He nodded, and she furrowed her brow. Hesitantly, she asked in a quiet voice, "Thomas, who have you lost?"

He shrugged as he released her hand, instead taking a sip of his coffee. He seemed like he almost thought better of giving her an answer for a moment, but then he spoke. "My fiancée died when I was twenty-three."

"That's terrible." Y/N's brow had immediately knit; she rested on her hands at the edge of the counter. When Thomas saw how she was looking at him, the sadness in her eyes, he chuckled despite himself.

"Wasn't the best time of my life, if I'm honest."

"I'd imagine." His smile was warm at the dry quip as he looked down into his coffee absentmindedly. He didn't look up, never saw the concern in her eyes. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Was a freak accident. Came outta the blue a year after we moved in together." He let out a bitter exhale, somewhere between a huff and a mirthless laugh. "She was hit by a drunk driver, and it took her life on impact. I couldn't handle it."

It was her turn to take his hand, then. He'd begun to withdraw. Vulnerability showed through his gaze, through his clenched jaw, through his antsy, almost undetectable movements. He looked up at her, when she did, and she weaved her fingers through his.

"Of course you couldn't, Thomas." She put her other hand atop where she held his. "No one would be able to. Mourning doesn't make you weak, it makes you human. It also means you were strong enough to carry on."

"I wish I had." He looked dejected, by then, almost apathetic as he reflected. When she looked at him questioningly, she could hear him swallow thickly. "I didn't carry on. I ran. Moved away before her funeral 'cause I couldn't stand to see her casket. I didn't grieve for almost three years, just came to DC and started pourin' myself into my work."

"And what's wrong with that, hm?" His eyes had dropped again, and she leaned down into his line of vision, broke his absent stare. "Hey. What's so wrong with that?"

He let out a shaky sigh. "Never honored her memory. Didn't go to her grave or talk to her family until years after she was gone."

"You were trying to cope. That's all you can do. Everyone deals with loss differently."

"But she didn't deserve that," he pressed. She creased her forehead; concern rested in her eyes.

"But what about what you deserved, Thomas?" He cocked his head to one side; his gaze was brimming with inquisition. "Don't you deserve to take care of your own needs? Do you really think she would've wanted you falling apart?"

"Sweetheart, 'm not the one who was killed."

"You don't deserve to suffer just because you're the one who lived."

"But I shoulda been there, at her funeral, at her grave." He drew in a shaky breath. "Feels like I abandoned her."

You did what you needed to do," Y/N insisted. "Wherever she is now, whatever afterlife you believe in, or don't believe in, she obviously hasn't been forgotten."

He nodded, sniffed as he pulled back. He rubbed the corner of his eye, taking a breath, and she didn't comment on it. He ran a hand through his hair as he forced his composure, restored his easygoing manner. His grin was back as though it'd never been gone. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

They shared a smile for a moment, and he pursed his lips. "Can I... ask you not to do anythin' with this?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "What d'you mean?"

"We were never married, so almost no one knows about her, other than close friends and family." He sighed. "'S not information you can find online. And I just..." He trailed off as he looked up at her, tone tentative. "I know you're a journalist 'n' all, but please, can I ask you not to take this to the press?"

While anxiety was clear in his gaze, her eyes were wide, surprised that he thought he even needed to ask. "Of course, Thomas. I would never. It's safe with me."

"Thank you." A beat passed as she just stared into his eyes; with how he was day-to-day, with what she knew of him before, she could've never guessed how much pain he carried with him. He exhaled softly, gave her a grateful smile.

His trance seemed to break a few seconds later when she reached out to lightly squeeze his hand. He shifted in his seat, glanced at the clock above the kitchen door. "Shit, sweetheart, it's almost 10:40. You've gotta be dyin' to kick me outta here."

An apologetic grin accompanied his words, but as he searched her expression for some kind of response, Y/N recognized his question for what it was -- if he'd really wanted to go, he'd have already been pulling himself up, but did she want him to stay?

She shrugged, wearing a kind smile. "I mean, until our final customer is gone, I can't technically close up." He raised an eyebrow. "So really, I'm in no position to be kicking you out."

He shook his head, amusement slowly being restored to his features. "Really, now? An hour ago, you couldn't wait to get rid of me."

"Maybe I was just a worse employee an hour ago."

He laughed. "Aw, someone's gettin' attached, huh?"

She deadpanned as she met his shining eyes. His tone was nothing but teasing. "I take it all back. Get out. Go on."

"Aw, c'mon, sugar, I'm just kiddin'," he pleaded, though he showed no traces of regret. Y/N fixed him with a tired stare.

"You know where to find the door."

"Now, really?" he pouted, brow knit, and she rolled her eyes. "What'd I do to deserve this, hm?"

She scowled, though the amusement she tried to hold back lay clearly in her soft gaze. "Do you really want an answer to that?"

He seemed to think better of it at her words, and quickly changed tacts. "What about the rest of my coffee?"

"Dumping it out. No problem." She shrugged, and he huffed, giving her a fully manufactured look of disappointment.

"Thought we were connectin', and now this is how you treat me?" She held her skeptical stare, and a grin broke through his facade. "Now, what's Mira gonna think when I tell her you kicked out her favorite customer?"

Y/N regarded him wearily, in no mood for his schtick. His eyes were gleaming; he looked up at her with warmth coloring his gaze, and ultimately, when she found no malice in his stare, no ill intent, nothing but goodwill, she huffed.

"Fine. Whatever. Finish the coffee. In the meantime, since apparently, you're shamelessly becoming a parasite, I'm gonna get myself something to eat. You gonna want anything so I can save myself the extra trip?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Wouldn't mind another brownie."

"And now what's Mira gonna think when she realizes all of our bakery is gone tomorrow?" She folded her arms, turning his own words back on him, but he was unfazed.

"That you gave it to her favorite customer, of course."

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

AND AS THE night slowly stretched on, the pair went on like that for more than another hour, recounting their pasts to one another, each passing judgment on the terrible haircuts the other had in the 90s, reminiscing on college. Y/N was surprised to hear Thomas played the violin (she couldn't tell whether he was joking when he offered to play for her sometime); Thomas couldn't help but poke fun at her when he learned she wrote sappy poetry in high school (and in turn, she threatened again to kick him out). They always seemed to find an excuse for him to hang around just a little longer.

Eventually, midnight struck; both Y/N's and Thomas's attention was drawn to the little clock above the door that finally chimed.

They met each other's eyes for a moment, and while Y/N just waited expectantly, letting him make the call on his next move, Thomas sighed.

"I really should head out, sweetheart."

Y/N smiled softly; her teasing expression couldn't seem to mask the affection dancing in her eyes. "Finally. Can't close until you're outta here, remember? It's kinda rude that you didn't leave earlier, really."

He scoffed, despite that there was no real scorn in her gaze, and raised a brow. "Mm, and it was really rude of me to accept the coffee, and brownies, and leftovers you kept offerin' me every time I tried to leave."

"You didn't put up much of a fight, to be fair." She pursed her lips, giving him a pointed look, and he chuckled.

"Won't deny it."

She'd long since finished wiping everything down, including the dishes she'd been giving Thomas, and though she was far from pushing him out the door, she wasn't going to resist some much-needed sleep.

Thomas finally stood up from his stool, fished his wallet out of his coat pocket. "How much do I owe you?" He glanced back up from where he was leafing through bills, and Y/N shrugged, wearing a small smile.

"This one's on the house."

His eyebrows shot up. "You sure?"

"Mhm." She nodded, cracked a lopsided grin as she still leaned against the counter. "Consider it payback for the century-old book I've got stashed upstairs."

"Upstairs?" he repeated quizzically, and she nodded.

"Yeah, didn't I mention? This was the housing plan I figured out," she told him. "Mira cut me a deal in exchange for taking the late shift every night."

"Every night, huh?" he asked, mischief creeping into his expression. She raised a suspicious brow. "So you're tellin' me, if I was gonna show up at 9:58 next Friday--"

"Don't you dare!" she warned him, but when he laughed, his smile was contagious. "I'm gonna have to start closing up at 9:56 here on out."

"I can adjust." He sent her a wink before tucking his wallet back into his pocket, glancing out at the snowstorm beyond the store windows. Y/N was shivering just looking at it. He pursed his lips. "You sure you've got no to-go cups left?"

"No more coffee, Thomas," she said sternly, giving him a pointed look.

"Alright, alright! Geez," he laughed. "Guess I'll just have to show up tomorrow three minutes before openin' huh?"

She shrugged. "Be my guest; I don't work Saturday mornings."

"Noted. Shouldn’t be too hard to figure out your schedule."

"That anxious to see me again?" She cocked her head to the side, smug, and he winked.

"Always." He exhaled softly before finally turning toward the exit. "I'll see you around?"

"You know where to find me." He nodded, chuckled as he tucked his hands in his pockets, burrowing into his coat as he neared the door. "G'night, Thomas."

He cast her one final glance over his shoulder, eyes shining. "Night, sweetheart."

She shuddered at the gust of cold air that entered the diner upon his exit, finally going to lock up the front, drawing the shades before she went up to her flat. The brownies she'd made were put away, the chairs were all up; she did one final, brief sweep of the place, and hit the light.

She couldn't deny her fatigue as she reached her apartment, locking the front door behind her, but after discarding her apron into her hamper, she made the executive decision that she needed to shower before she could go to sleep. She'd been going all day long and had begun to smell like a mix of old ham, coffee, and melted chocolate -- three good things in isolation, but not quite something she’d be purchasing as a Dior fragrance anytime soon.

She emerged from the shower less than half an hour later, and though it'd woken her up just a bit, it was nice to feel clean, putting on clean pajamas, being in her clean apartment.

She was just on the inoperational side of sleepy as she walked back to her room, yawning into one of her sweater paws, checking her phone once more for the night, going through the notifications from the past few hours.

She was already burrowed halfway under her blankets when she saw the message that made her freeze. It was on her Twitter account.

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: are you still up

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: im so sorry about this

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: but my car won't start

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: im still out in your parking lot

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: think the weather broke something in the engine

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: im so sorry to ask this

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: but if you're awake, would u be willing to let me back in ?

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: just real quick i swear

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: please it's less than freezing out here

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: im so sorry about this y/n

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: really i dont mean to take advantage of your hospitality

@Thomas_Jefferson is typing...

Her eyes widened; her eyebrows shot up. She was already in bed, she was dying to finally just get some sleep, but she couldn't just leave him out in the cold knowing she was the only one around to help him out. She sighed.

@Y/N_L/N sent: jesus christ, thomas stop rambling

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: im so sorry

@Y/N_L/N sent: relax, ill come down to let you in now

She huffed as she pulled herself out of bed, bringing one blanket with her to the stairs, mildly bleary-eyed.

Once again, her phone pinged.

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: thank you

@Thomas_Jefferson sent: ill come to your door

Sure enough, when she made it down, shifted the blinds to peer through, ensure that it was actually Thomas and that she wasn't about to get abducted in her booty shorts and men's XL college sweatshirt, she saw him standing there, shivering, and her eyes widened. She rushed to unlock the front door, and Thomas didn't waste a second coming in.

"Jesus, sweetheart, I can't thank you enough." He let out a deep breath, seemingly reveling in the warmth of the room. She closed the door quickly behind him, though the wind certainly put up a fight. "'M so sorry about this. Really, if I could fix it now, I would, but I think somethin' in the motor froze while I was parked out there for a couple hours. I--"

"It's ok, Thomas," Y/N said softly, doing her best not to sound as though she was half asleep, and she pulled her blanket tighter around herself. "Really. I'd rather you not freeze to death; it'd put a bit of a damper on my career."

He grinned. "So self-centered."

She scowled. "Go back outside."

He laughed as he unbuttoned his coat, tucked his gloves in his pocket and withdrew his phone. "Did I wake you up?" He eyed her choice of attire dubiously, looking amused, and she shifted her blanket to cover her shorts.

"Nah, I was just on my phone in bed. You're fine."

"...Right." She ignored his disbelieving tone.

"How long were you out there for before you messaged me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. He sighed.

"'Bout half an hour. 'M sorry, I couldn't take the cold any longer."

"Don't apologize, geez," she huffed. "You think I'd have rathered you stayed in your icebox of a car and said nothing?"

"I'm gonna guess by your tone that it's a no, but I gotta say, I wasn't so sure."

"Oh, shut up!" Y/N scowled, and he grinned. "Can I call someone for you? A tow truck? A mechanic?" She asked, rubbing the side of her nose, eyebrows raised, and Thomas shook his head.

"Nah, don't worry 'bout it." He seemed engrossed in whatever he was typing into his phone, staring down at it intently and hardly sparing her a glance as he furrowed his brow. "I'm gonna call myself an Uber. I'll be outta your hair in five minutes, and I'll come by to get my car in the morning. That ok?"

She nodded, hardly even processing his words. "Yeah. Yeah, fine."

She stifled another yawn as he grew increasingly frustrated with his app. Several moments passed; she saw him repeatedly pressing the same button with no increasing degree of success. It took him longer than it should've to admit defeat, letting out a sigh.

"Everything ok?"

He shook his head. "Uber isn't runnin' in this storm. Can I take you up on that tow truck?"

"Yeah, d'you want the number?"

"Please." His expression plainly revealed his increasing desperation as she pulled up the contact in her phone, rattled off the digits to him.

She spaced out gradually after taking a seat on one of the stools by the counter, absentmindedly watching him make the call. His relief was written clearly in his eyes when someone answered, and she listened to him go back and forth with the person on the other end of the line at such an ungodly hour. Whoever it was didn't seem to have any more patience than Thomas. It wasn't until he was cut off mid-sentence that his face finally fell.

"Yeah, yeah, I understand," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You have a good night, now."

"Bad news?" Y/N raised an eyebrow when he finally hung up the call. He looked to her with pursed lips.

"The roads are closed through downtown 'cause of a severe weather warnin'." Her eyebrows shot up, and he let out a defeated sigh. "I'm so sorry; 'm sure I have someone in the area who I can call and just walk over to. Gimme a few more minutes."

While he searched frantically through his phone, brow knit in worry, she could see the panic beginning to show through. She pursed her lips. His solution seemed flawed at best and downright suicidal at worst; the weather was brutal. "Thomas," she began, swallowing her qualms, but she didn't get a chance to go on, not in the midst of his rising anxiety

"You know of any hotels close to here, sweetheart? Even just--"

"There aren't any, Thomas," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. She knew she had to offer him residence for the night, by then, but exhaustion colored her reluctance.

"How far d'you suppose the nearest is?" He raised an eyebrow, glancing up. "'Cause I can walk to some--"

"Thomas." She looked at him tiredly. "I live upstairs."

He blinked, hesitant to draw the only clear conclusion from what she was saying, too afraid of the idea that he could've been being presumptuous. "...Okay?"

Her gaze was flat. "Just come crash at my apartment for the night. I have the space; I can't let you try to walk seven miles in the storm to some dingy B&B."

He bit his lip; he appeared anxious to accept her offer. "Listen, I don't wanna impose, sweetheart; I can--"

"You aren't imposing. Calm down." He raised an eyebrow; tentativeness still lay in his gaze, but he seemed to be realizing the futility of his situation. "I'm offering, alright?"

He paused. "You don't have to take me in just cause--"

"Thomas." She huffed, cutting him off for what she hoped was the final time. "Stop worrying about it. Seriously. If it'd really make you that uncomfortable, I guess I could bring a pillow down here for you to sleep on the floor, if that was what you really wanted, but otherwise, just come upstairs."

He raised his eyebrows, and his voice was quiet when he spoke. "You sure?"

She chuckled. "I'm sure. Now, stop making such a big deal of it. C'mon."

She nodded toward the staircase before going back to lock the front door to the diner, and she hit the lights again as he followed her up. "Thank you so much, Y/N, really, I--"

"What'd I just say about making a big deal out of it, hm?" She glanced back at him as they reached the top of the spiral staircase up to her apartment, and she unlocked the door. He gave a soft smile.

"Still, sweetheart. Thank you."

"It's not a problem," she chuckled. He came alongside her through the entrance, and she shut her front door behind him as he glanced around the flat curiously.

"What should I do with my coat?"

"Just put it on one of the hooks by the mirror. Leave your shoes wherever; it doesn't really matter." She flipped the kitchen light on as she walked in. "So, the couch is a pull-out; if you're still up when I go to sleep, the bedding and mattress pad are in the closet at the back of the hall. The bathroom is also back there, first door on your left, and you're welcome to help yourself to anything from the kitchen."

He raised an eyebrow as he shrugged off his coat, kicked off his shoes. "You got any more of those brownies up here?" he asked innocently.

Y/N paused where she stood, sending him a warning look. "That better be a joke."

"Of course, sugar." He'd begun wandering through her sitting room while she poured herself a drink. "Seriously, though, were you goin' to sleep when I messaged you? Don't wanna keep you up any later than I already have."

She shrugged. Despite her exhaustion, despite how she knew it'd have been impossible for him not to catch onto her fatigue, going to sleep didn't seem like the best of her options -- first off, she felt guilty to try and leave him alone there when he was all hopped up on caffeine, but second, and far more importantly, she didn't want to leave all her personal possessions out for him to poke through. (He'd probably go poking around, too, and she wouldn't blame him in the slightest; it wasn't like she hadn't dug through his belongings before.)

She finally answered, "Nah, not just yet. Was gonna pour myself a glass of wine, though; you want any while I'm at it?"

He hummed, considering it as she reached up for the bottle where she'd stashed it. "Wouldn't mind one."

So with that, she withdrew two glasses, pouring her cheap Cabernet Sauvignon out for the pair of them. With a sigh, she discarded her blanket on the side of the rug next to the couch, unable to carry both glasses along with it.

When she rejoined him, he stood before her bookshelf, arms crossed, leaning forward ever-so-slightly to get a better look at the titles.

"See anything you like?"

Her voice made him turn, matching her smile as he accepted the glass of wine. "I just might." His playful wink as he looked her over made her laugh. "Thanks for this, by the way."

She shrugged as he nodded to the drink she'd poured, lifting her own glass to her lips. "It's no Sassicaia, but it does the trick."

He took a sip, the corners of his lips quirking up. "Could be worse."

Though her gaze drifted to the bookshelf before him, she laughed lightly. "What high praise," she commented dryly.

"Isn't it?" Thomas grinned, glancing down at her, and she rolled her eyes. Her reaction didn't seem to deter him, though. "'M kiddin'," he reassured her, as though she'd taken any sort of offense at the statement. "Really, hope you know how grateful I am for all this."

His tone was light as he gestured to the room around them. While he seemed unfazed, Y/N couldn't help but feel absurd, as though the whole situation still could've been some strange, lucid dream.

"Ah, yes, I'm such a guardian angel," she agreed, tone dry with sarcasm. "I've provided an old mattress and an eight-dollar bottle of wine. You really struck it lucky."

He gave a cheeky grin. "The company more than makes up for it."

She scoffed, shaking her head, but she didn't suppress her growing smile. "You really owe me big, then."

"I'll find a way to pay you back."

She took another sip of her wine, and for once, the warmth blossoming in her chest wasn't just fast-acting heartburn from having cheaped out on dollar-store alcohol. She watched him another moment, waited to speak until he finally met her gaze. "Anything on my bookshelf holding your interest?"

His shrug revealed next to nothing. "No surprises here."

"Oh, because you know my taste in literature so well?" Her skepticism made him smile. Really, any resistance she provided didn't come from him being incorrect, but instead from how uneasy his discerning gaze made her; he spoke as though he could see right through her, as though he'd long since figured out what makes he tick. She couldn't help but feel exposed.

"You're easier to read than you think, sweetheart." She didn't answer, but instead raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to go on. "Keats, Austen, Plath..." He quirked a brow. "... seven different copies of The Princess Bride."

"Hey, it's a classic!" she defended, and he laughed.

"'Course it is." He took a sip of his drink, eyes shining. "It's interestin', though."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "Rest of this apartment is almost completely bare, but this bookshelf is almost overflowin'."

She cocked her head. "Care to enlighten me on what makes that so interesting?"

"'S just predictable." He shrugged, his gaze turning to Y/N with a small smile. "Says somethin' about your priorities, huh? Nothin' you need straightened out."

His wink made her grin. "And who gave you the right to come into my home and judge my lifestyle?"

"Hey, I'm just validatin' you," he defended. "Besides, last I checked, you gave me that right by invitin' me up here."

Y/N huffed at how pleased he looked with himself, going to take a seat on her couch behind him. He raised an eyebrow as she did, and when his gaze followed her, he found himself turning, leaning against the bookshelf as she addressed him. "Don't make me regret it when you've hardly been up here for ten minutes."

"Aw, but I'm touched by how much you care, savin' me from the storm."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "I didn't want you to freeze to death, try not to let it go to your head."

"But sweetheart, you saved my life; how could I not be forever in your debt?" At that point, he was playing up his gratitude, having plastered on a full pout, wearing a wistful expression, and Y/N hoped in vain that her amusement didn't show on her face.

"Don't be so dramatic; I just saved my career." She hid her smile behind the rim of her glass.

"C'mon, do I really mean that little to you?"

"You really want me to answer that?"

He laughed, coming back around to join her on the couch. "I'm gonna let that one go, just cause I know you don't mean it."

"...Right." The couch cushions dipped beside her as he sat, and she shifted, turned to him, pulling a leg up beside her onto her seat. He raised a dubious eyebrow before taking another sip of wine.

"You really expect me to believe that?" While his voice was light, the question itself wasn't in jest. The fact that she chose to ignore her adamant attraction to him didn't make it any less obvious, apparently -- it was forever bubbling just below the surface, hanging tense in the air between them. She sighed.

"Alright, I guess you caught me. It's true, my motives aren't purely selfish. I confess." She looked him in the eye with faux solemnity. "I'm also trying to save James and Dolley from having to plan a funeral."

He only shook his head, amused. She was deflecting again, and not subtly, either. Thomas was trying to tread lightly, but she wasn't making it easy on him. "Ever the humanitarian."

"I do try." His gaze was growing empty as she held his eyes. He looked as though his mind was elsewhere. When she drank more of her wine, eyeing him, he hadn't moved a muscle, his expression was blank. "Thomas?"

He blinked hard when she waved her hand in front of him, forcing a wide smile. "Sorry, sweetheart, just spaced out a minute."

"What are you thinking about?" The question was innocent, but it made him tense. He shrugged, pausing a moment.

"Just wonderin' where you got that century-old book of Bryon poems hidden." Though she raised an eyebrow, she tried not to let her skepticism pervade her expression. He raised an eyebrow. "You clearly don't have it packed into that same old bookshelf. Lose it already?"

"Not quite yet." She elected to ignore how he was deflecting in turn. "It's at my beside. I was doing some light reading last night."

"Enjoyin' it?"

"So much." Her excitement was genuine, then, when he raised a brow; her eyes were shining. "D'you know it's been annotated by like, seven different people? It's so interesting, seeing different interpretations from the past hundred years."

His lips quirked. "And what'd you think of my notes?"

"Some of those were yours?"

He nodded. "Everything in purple."

"You have pretty handwriting." When he grinned outright, her gaze drifted to his mouth a moment. She caught herself before he could react. "Anyway, I thought you said no one had read that in almost fifteen years."

"'S cause no one had. Those annotations were all the way back in college."

She raised her eyebrows. "Now, I definitely didn't expect you to be a fan of Byron."

"Oh yeah?" He crossed one of his legs over the other, shifting to face her, and draped an arm over the back of the couch. He looked curiously at her. "Why's that?"

"Definitely didn't take you for a romantic."

"Hey, now." His offense was entirely a facade, and his smile despite it didn't help his case. "I'm hurt. I've always been a romantic."

She snorted out a disbelieving laugh. "I'm sure you have."

"I'm not kiddin'!" he defended, but her clear skepticism amused him regardless. "'M a sentimental person."

"Could've fooled me."

"And why's that?"

"I dunno." She shrugged, taking another sip of her drink as she glanced at him. While his tone was lighthearted, his gaze was inquisitive, searching -- he didn't respond, letting the silence stretch on, and she felt as though she owed him an answer. "You're just so... laid-back and carefree. You're all confident, and brash, and have a flair for the dramatics. I guess I wouldn't have pegged you as a softie."

"I like to think I'm pretty empathetic." His voice was soft. "I've devoted my life to public service, to makin' people's better. You've gotta be compassionate to put the time and money into runnin' for president, right?"

"Or you have to be power-hungry," she contended, and though her tone was light, he creased his forehead.

"'S that really what you think of me?"

With how he was looking at her, bordering on hurt, Y/N could feel guilt building at the back of her throat. She'd come into her current job with so many preconceptions about him that she couldn't have known whether were true, but she hadn't hesitated in entertaining the ideas regardless. "Not anymore." She was sure she looked as embarrassed as she felt. "But I may have made some unfair assumptions, once upon a time."

He gave her a mild grin. "Don't sweat it; it goes both ways."

"Excuse me?" She sat up straighter, raising an eyebrow, and he only seemed amused as he regarded her.

"Oh, you're actin' all offended, now?"

"I am offended."

"You shouldn't be." She squinted suspiciously at him as he continued. "Never thought you were a bad person, or anythin', just didn't expect all this from you." With his words, he gestured to the room around him, and she was slow to reply.

"What d'you mean?"

"Lettin' me stay so late in your diner, takin' me in with the storm out there..." He trailed off, shrugging. "You're bein' more generous than you're givin' yourself credit for."

"To be fair, you would've been able to get home without a problem if I'd just kicked you out earlier."

"But you didn't." How perceptive he'd suddenly become had her shifting in her seat. "Feel like I owe you for it."

She smiled bashfully, sipping her wine. With how he was looking at her, heat had begun to rise in her cheeks. "Really, Thomas, it's not a big deal. It's the least I can do."

"It means a lot, though. Really. Didn't have to do any of this for me." His gaze roamed her apartment thoughtlessly, and he wore a small smile. Her eyes were fixed firmly on him all the while, drinking in his expression, the smallest details of his face, from the little patch below his ear he'd missed while shaving, to the stray curl that always seemed to fall across his forehead. "Thank you, Y/N."

What happened next caught them both off guard, despite how slow, gradual, even how nervous it was.

Her action was unexpected, but not sudden, and for once, Y/N didn't think about it. She just acted. He'd turned back to her in surprise when her fingertips grazed his stubble, no longer caught up in eyeing the room around them, and before he said anything, she was leaning in, kissing him.

The action wasn't rushed, and at first, it was chaste -- he was breathless, kissing her back without thinking twice, and his hand rose to cup her cheek, following her movements.

It took him a minute to pull away, and when he did, Y/N backed off immediately, wide-eyed. "Sweetheart--"

Her stomach dropped. Rejection hadn't been an outcome she'd considered, not after how he'd been coming onto her time and time again, not after the other night, with how frankly he'd asked her what she was looking for from him. "Shit, Thomas, 'm sorry." Her apology was breathless. "I... I didn't mean to make you--"

But he didn't let her go on, his hand moving from her cheek to the nape of her neck, stopping her from retreating to the opposite side of the couch as she lay her glass of wine on the coffee table. "Is this what you want?"

His question made her freeze. He wasn't shooting her down; his eyes searched hers, and she swallowed roughly. "Yes," she breathed. Another beat passed. She bit her lip, waiting for him to react, waiting to see what he'd say or do, but he didn't move.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice quiet but firm. "'Cause if you're gonna run out, rebuke me again, I can't--"

"I'm sure." She didn't waste another moment in pulling him back down to her, pushing herself across the couch, closer to him, and as her lips again met his, he discarded his glass, instead tugging her onto him by the waist.

She pulled him close that time, abandoning her hesitance. He didn't want to stop her, either -- not when her arms snaked up around his neck, not when she swung one of her legs over his, straddling his lap, not when she knit a hand into the curls at the base of his neck, and his self-control was fleeting as he bit down on her bottom lip, making her moan. But despite how she was kissing him, despite the sheer desire in her actions, his concern hadn't subsided.

When he held her face just inches from his own, thumb tracing patterns into the top of her hip, her stare was saturated with surprise. "Y/N, really," he started, worried. She raised her eyebrows. "I've gotta know--"

"I've thought this through," she cut him off firmly, rolling her hips teasingly down against his, and the action made him groan. "I want this. I want you. I'm not going to regret this; I'm not going to run off. If you want me to stop, tell me, tell me now, please, but I swear, Thomas. I know what I want." She'd withdrawn a hand from where it hung at his upper back, instead running it down to the top of his chest, her fingernails ghosting over his shoulder, across his collarbone. "Do you?"

There was a skip as he paused, but when he found no reservations in her gaze, only reckless abandon and want, his mind was made up.

"Beyond a doubt." His words were hardly a whisper, lost quickly in both of their rising thoughts, in the growing cacophony of pleasure as her lips returned to his without hesitation, lost in the rising sighs and low moans as she pressed up against him, and finally, finally, they both stopped thinking and overthinking, doubting and hesitating.

The rest of the world seemed to fall away as Y/N tugged on the tie Thomas still wore, as he pulled her closer by her waistband She was breathing heavily when his lips found her neck, shivering when his teeth scraped over the sensitive skin, when his fingertips dug into her hips. It was easy for her to lose herself in him, after weeks of waiting and wanting and wishing, and easier still when she pulled on his soft curls, making him groan against her skin, when his grip on her tightened as she ground her hips down against his.

She could feel him shudder underneath her when his hips jerked, when he pulled her down against him, when she let out a soft whine. By that point, his tie was sloppily loosened, hanging crooked around his neck, and Y/N had managed to undo the first few buttons of his shirt despite how preoccupied she'd quickly become.

She had no caution left to cling to. She'd shaken him off time and time again; she'd rebuffed his unshakeable audacity, but it took her until he backed off to realize what it was she was really looking for.

Something about it all scared her, made her heart race and her head spin, but as his hands traveled further south, her pulse spiked, and she couldn't bring herself to mind it. He asked where her bedroom was; her answer was just a murmur between hot, fervent kisses as he returned to her mouth.

She knew she wouldn't regret this all come morning. She wouldn't regret it two days later, nor two weeks later, the risk of it all only compounding upon the excitement. With his skin against hers, with him picking her up by the thighs, making her yelp as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, she was struggling to remember that there was any big picture to it. There would always be her job. There would always be the election. There would always be their nosy mutual friends and a bloodthirsty political landscape. But just then, in her low-budget apartment with her secondhand furniture, as the blizzard raged on within six inches of her warm, comfortable living room, as all of Washington D.C. was buried under a cloak of snow, as frozen in space as it felt in time, the two of them were all there was.

#hamilton #hamilton x reader fic #hamilton x reader #hamilton x reader smut #hamilton smut #hamilton fic #hamilton fanfiction requests #hamilton fanfic #hamilton fanfiction #hamilton scenarios #hamilton scenario #hamilton imagine #hamilton imagines #hamilton x reader imagines #hamilton x reader scenarios #hamilton x reader imagine #hamilton x reader scenario #thomas jefferson #thomas jefferson fanfic #thomas jefferson x reader #thomas jefferson imagine #thomas jefferson imagines #thomas jefferson scenario #thomas jefferson scenarios #thomas jefferson smut #thomas jeffershit #jefferson x reader #jefferson x reader smut #thomas jefferson x reader drabble #thomas jefferson oneshot

[fahrni]

Saturday Morning Coffee

Good morning from Charlottesville, Virginia! ☕️

I’m getting more and more excited about writing code full time at work. I’m sure that won’t last but I’m going to enjoy every minute of it while I can. 😃

I ran into issues getting my git SSH keys to work earlier in the week and while I find that frustrating it was also a nice challenge to fix. I’m up and running and ready to break some stuff! 👍🏼

I hope you enjoy your coffee and the links.

Sarah Burns • The Irish Times

Irish singer Sinéad O’Connor has died at the age of 56, her family has announced.

The 80’s was my era of music and I most certainly remember Nothing compares 2 U, it was a big hit.

The thing that really struck me is, she was 56 years old. As I age my mortality has occupied more of my thoughts than I care to admit, but there you go.

God speed. ❤️

Jacob Zinkula • Business Insider

ChatGPT creator says AI advocates are fooling themselves if they think the technology is only going to be good for workers : ‘Jobs are definitely going to go away’

Emphasis is mine. I’ve not used ChatGPT but we’re pushing into AI hard at WillowTree. It’s such a hot button item at the moment all agencies will have to take it very seriously.

For my daily work I see it as a really smart auto complete. The next evolution in code assistant. It felt like cheating early on but as a developer you still have to validate the output. Did you get valid and good code? It may not work all the time. Yes, it’s fallible but it’s also early days. I am certain I’ll use it at some point to help generate some code.

Give it another 10 years to mature. I’ll be really close to retirement by then and the next next generation can use it to their advantage. 😃

Owen Bellwood • Jalopnik

According to General Motors boss Mary Barra, Chevrolet has backtracked on its plans to completely kill off the Bolt, which has so far seen its sales more than double in 2023. Now, the company is working on a next-generation Bolt, which will join Chevy’s other electric models: the Silverado EV, Blazer EV and Equinox EV.

I found this really encouraging! We need more little EVs in the market and I always thought the Bolt was a nice little car.

Hopefully the next generation gets its fire issues under control.

Oh, the only downside I can think of is Chevy’s insistence on building their entire infotainment system.

Manton Reece

Dave Winer posted a 12-minute audio recording on his blog, addressed to me but applicable to everyone who is creating tools for the social web. Listening to it, I have a bunch of thoughts. In this post, I just want to start with server-to-server ActivityPub, and leave some of the other technologies Dave brings up for later.

Dave Winer has created a bunch of the technologies we rely on everyday in the blogging world; blogs, RSS, and Podcasting delivery. Now he’s trying to unify the mechanism to span posting to multiple social networks and blogging.

Manton Reece is the creator of Micro.blog — the service I use to publish this site — and is into open standards like MetaWeblog and ActivityPub, so much so Micro.Blog is a Fediverse server by federating with Mastodon.

To see these two chatting about putting something together to bride these systems is nice to see. I see what Dave is proposing as the next version of MetaWeblog, perhaps extended to accommodate new blogging and social network norms.

Perhaps Micropub could serve to do this? I’ve not looked into it but it seems like it could be the way to go?

I have my own opinions on the matter and I’m sure I’ll voice them at some point. In the meantime it’s nice to see this happening and I’m going to keep an eye on it. 👀

Robert Reich

Someone who has tried to overthrow the U.S. government cannot be president.

Mr. Reich is point out what may sound obvious at first but what he’s really saying is it shouldn’t take a conviction to eliminate TFG. We all know he tried to overturn a fair and valid election in 2019. We all know he rallied his supporters to storm the Capitol and try to stop the formality of recording the election results.

He doesn’t need to be convicted. He’s a danger to democracy and the rule of law. That’s disqualifying. ⚖️

leboncoin Engineering Blog

I recall how, when I was a junior developer, I often felt happy and reassured when I was writing software. It felt like a safe place compared to the overwhelming complexities of the world. The simple, deterministic functions, mechanical in their way of working, offered comfort. If you inject an input, it always gives the same output. It’s controllable, manageable, uncomplicated!

If you’re good at what you do eventually someone will notice and give you more to do with greater responsibility. Eventually you’ll be mentoring people and more junior developers will naturally look to you for your experience.

It’s not a bad thing. It’s just what happens and isn’t isolated to software engineering. This happens in all fields.

While I enjoy working with Junior folks there’s also this big part of me that’s ready to sit in the corner and just work on features and bugs, and that’s all. A simplified dev life. 😃

Dean Obeidallah

Barbie not only broke box office records, she destroyed the GOP’s Barbie Boycott

Barbie isn’t a film I plan on seeing but it sounds like the GOP is once again up in arms over cultural issues dealt with in the film.

I hope it breaks all the records. 🎬

Tony • arcadeblogger.com

I was visiting my family in the Chicago suburbs recently, when my niece mentioned she saw “some TRON thing” sitting on a curb while she was riding her bike through the neighbourhood.

As a teen I remember well the arcade in Exeter. It was called the Quarter Slot. Ahhh, good times. Anywho, I will never forget the Tron game — not the one mentioned in the article — because there were two guys who spent a crazy amount of time playing it and taking copious notes on how to beat every level.

Yes, those were the days.

James Surowiecki • Fast Company

Threads has one big advantage over Twitter: Zuckerberg understands advertising

If Threads can pull people away from Twitter — I mean, ahem, X — does that help to extinctify the ailing bird?

Who knows. Musk is crazy rich so I’d imagine he can keep it afloat for a very long time.

All I want to know is when will he be selling Twitter.com and for how much? It would make for a great Mastodon instance. 🐘

Ryan Erik King • Jalopnik

The Alpine F1 Team is currently competing at each race weekend with the odds slightly stacked against them. The Renault power unit used by the French factory team is believed to be 30 horsepower behind their rivals. Under normal circumstances, Alpine would be told simply to improve on their own, but there’s currently a freeze on engine development. The FIA, the sport’s governing body, wants to allow Alpine to catch up.

Alpine is kind of what remains of the Renault team and it seems like they’re going backwards.

I’d love to see them move closer to the front of the pack but they continue to be one of the “back of the pack” teams with flashes of brilliance on rare occasion.

Formula One is an extremely tough sport to compete in. Teams with extremely deep pockets can buy great engineering and dedicate huge resources to land their teams in victory lane. It also makes the races really boring. 😃

Here’s hoping Renault is given a chance to fix their horsepower issue ahead of next season. At this point I suppose it doesn’t matter much.

I’m a Haas supporter myself. It’s the only American team on the grid so why not support them? They also have Guenther Steiner who is the most entertaining of all the Principals in F1. 😃

Oh, by the way! Since you’re an American team why not use American built power? I mean, you run Ford motors Stuart Haas Racing, why not work with them on an amazing F1 power unit? I’d love to see that! Don’t let Red Bull be the only team doing it!

Who else is looking forward to the next season of Drive to Survive?

Tim Hardwick • MacRumors

Apple has become the target of a £785 million ($1 billion) class action lawsuit on behalf of over 1,500 developers in the UK over its App Store fees, reports TechCrunch.

Unfortunately this is pocket change for Apple. I don’t make much as a developer of apps for Apple devices but to those who do giving up 15 to 30% of revenue is a big deal.

Even if Apple allow for third party stores or payment processors they’re still going to charge their fee. Might as well keep the App Store as it is and be done with it.

Daring Fireball

Translation From Hostage Code to English of X Corp CEO Linda Yaccarino’s Company-Wide Memo

I mean, if Yaccarino isn’t actually asking for help to get out now I suppose she will be in six months to a year because Space Karen won’t agree with her about something and drive her insane or sack her.

Just let Twitter fade away, sell off the domain, and let’s move forward with the open web.

Janis Mara • berkeleyside.org

Peet’s is widely credited with transforming the industry — after all, the three founders of Starbucks learned much of their craft from founder Alfred Peet — but there’s much more to it than that.

I’d always known Peet’s was a big influence in the coffee world but I had no idea how much of an influence it really was.

This story is a fun read about one employees view from the inside. ☕️

[markeffie]

Tickets at the door, add $5.

Tickets at the door, add $5. The process often goes quickly horno teka hc 610 me blanco but this year that's probably up to James and his advisers, because teams in the running for him probably won't move on to Plan B until they know his intentions. "Our board is looking forward to working with Jeff and his team to continue to implement Scotsburn's growth plan through product innovation and operational efficiencies.". Against Ensworth, Sanders hauled in eight receptions for 100 yards and one touchdown. As Jon scratched Ghost behind the ear, Toregg brought up Val’s horse for her. The group has Mens ADIDAS ORIGINALS haibike e mtb 2020 severalrecords and have topped music charts. The sale of slaves to the south is carried to a great extent. Raab book, crazy as it is, is a cure for this kind of thinking, or, as the case may be, non thinking. She had never looked so young as she did in that moment, still half a girl, but there was nothing he could do. The rear driven model has sold well enough too, even though it is the LS version that remains the most popular D Max.. Yet while SilverStone designs moved the power supply and 5.25" bays to the top of the enclosure, Corsair made the enclosure wider and created a separate chamber for all the parts that didn need direct, active cooling. Blackheart, his men had named him, for the sigil on his shield. Marino completed nearly two thousand more passes than Starr attempted. The father first and then the son, so both die kings. Way that we finished the season, we peaked nike rpm sb at the right time. It took Dany half the morning to climb down. Each trip is unique and offers its own rewards. “Unhand me, ser.” Every time Suggs spoke to her, it left her yearning for her axes. It is only when the monster Legree commands him to inflict undeserved chastisement upon his fellow-servants, that Uncle Tom refuses obedience. April, 2012: Staff Sgt. Saturday, April 10 on the Great Lawn at Bellingrath Gardens. It was later discovered Lux received a ride from the residence on Hillside Ct. Guest passes are available for download at Rhea Lana's of Broken Arrow Facebook page.. "It's a group that's unencumbered by business and can just float in blue sky," says Jay Meschter, the lead designer on Flywire who's been part of the Kitchen since it was founded. Hikes Mens ADIDAS ORIGINALS is that her students . Key players this year are Di Cultura in Piazza, with its packed to the brim program of cultural events and family fun (piazza del Carmine); Easy Living on the Arno beach, a sandy spot for catching rays or catching up over a drink (piazza Poggi); Serre Torrigiani in Piazzetta, a "secret urban garden" with street food and extensive programming in English during August (between piazza della Repubblica and via dei Calzaiuoli); and LIGHT Il Giardino di Marte, the summer hub near the stadium (viale Fanti). Some researchers have posed a "hygiene hypothesis," suggesting our cells are fighting pollen in the absence of truly harmful things, such as parasites, that our forebears encountered more often than we do (germy cellphones and keyboards notwithstanding).. It creates an incentive structure that is not good for the game. It is Dorothee v. The large body color bumper with integrated fog lights makes it look even bigger than the regular F 150. Whether you're going to Yellowstone, , Pictured Rocks National Lake Shore in the middle of winter, or just spending an afternoon in your city park with friends and family, the value of nature is something we must yell from the mountaintops. "Judy brings in her core group of dancers and she's adidas eqt rose gold shouting out commands and in three seconds flat they're whipping around doing all these things and you're standing there going 'ya, that's not gonna happen! dolce gabanna adidași bărbații Somebody speak to me in English, please!'". Maester Rhodry stood beside him, a raven on his arm. The sale was not for a moment interrupted, and none of the crowd appeared to be in the least affected by the scene. If Salla abandoned Stannis and his cause, he pointed out, he abandoned all hope of collecting the gold that was due him. It was asserted that Nikolay Sergeyitch had seen through the young prince’s character, and was scheming to take advantage of his failings for his own objects; that his daughter, Natasha (who sandalias doradas gioseppo was then seventeen), had ensnared the affections of the twenty-year-old boy; that the parents had fostered this attachment though they had pretended to notice nothing; that the scheming and “unprincipled” Natasha had bewitched the youth, and that by her efforts he had been kept for a whole year from seeing any of the girls of good family who were so abundant in the honourable households of the neighbouring landowners. They led anybody who followed them down to First, over to Church, along to Mint, then ended at a drainage grate in the shadow of the two much more frightening looking Panthers guarding Ericsson Stadium's east gate. Then a few cards brought me 1600x1200 and then 2560x1200. Rhaegal had snapped at Irri, and Viserion had set Reznak’s tokar ablaze the last time the seneschal had called. Shall we therefore condemn in the gross those relations, and the rights and authority they imply, from their occasional abuse? I could mention many instances of strong attachment on the part of the slave, but will only adduce one or two, of which I have been the object.. Their aged and venerated mother, raised up from a sick bed by the stimulus of the glad news, was there, weeping and giving dolce gabanna adidași bărbații thanks to God. The red priest stood on the forecastle facing the storm, his staff raised above his head as he boomed a prayer. Surely R’hllor would vouchsafe her a glimpse of what awaited him. "Everything. Extremely dry and windy conditions have forced a total of 24 counties in Tennessee to stop issuing burn permits. “That is not for you to judge.” j s authentic vans tibetan red true white Ser Barristan paused, wondering if he had said too much already. The Dornishmen were new hands, raw recruits, arrow fodder, three amongst two thousand. Chairman, that this is the most solemn moment of my life. Some folks, dey’s married by de book; but den, what’s de use? Dere’s my fus husband, we’se married by de book, and he sold way off to Florida, and I’s here. 6, 2017, in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. More likely, Charlottesville passengers might wish to try their luck at the new casino three hours away at the Greenbrier Resort in White Sulphur Springs. Be fair. "You have to understand what your value is, and you have to be committed to doing that job. Hughes grinned ruefully, amazed at how much that delivery lifted, and two balls later his aggressive innings came to an end, as he tentatively poked at an Ishant delivery that crashed into the stumps.. “Do you take me for a fool, Obara?” The prince sighed. When it comes to gaming performance Itook a quick look at GTA V and found that bumping up the cache just 300 MHz gave us about half a frame per second higher frame rate on average. He is also survived by his wife's family; Marsha Slow, Evan and Roberta Slow, Francine Slow and Nowel Lustgarten; nieces and nephews, Jared, Hannah, Paulina and Elijah.

[hamliet]

Hey. I’m kinda scared at the state of the US with the roots and police brutality. Are you?

Yes. 

What happened to George Floyd, like what happened to Ahmaud Arbery, Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, Walter Scott, Philando Castile, Atatiana Jefferson, and SO MANY more, is so horrific I don’t even have words. The police are racially biased as a collective whole here in the US (and in many other places. Actually, I’ve never lived in a country where I trusted the police). And they have power that they wield to abuse those under them, and if you look at the US’s entire justice system, it’s racially targeted and a joke to call it justice. It’s terrifying, and it feels trapping because how can nothing have changed in the years and years since Trayvon Martin and Ferguson and--just, it’s that deeply ingrained. 

And you look at the difference between the Orange Menace calling literal white supremacists “very fine people” in Charlottesville and referring to protestors as “thugs,” and the Orange Menace encouraging white protestors whining about stay at home restrictions to protect them from dying and then literally talking about mass murdering protestors who simply don’t want to get murdered for... walking down the street/taking a jog/watching TV/a traffic stop/a misunderstanding? 

It’s hard to know what to say besides that I’m sorry. As a white person, I benefit from a system that is set up in a racist way, and that’s nauseating. I’ve never personally trusted or liked cops because of a traumatic incident when I was three or four, but I also know that the color of my skin gives me privileges in terms of interacting with them. Listen to your black friends. Their lives matter!

Anyways, to everyone protesting: please stay safe. To quote MLKJ, “riots are the language of the unheard.” 

Black Lives Matter. 

#ask hamliet #rambles #politics #i will not answer anyone defending the cops in response to this #you'll be blocked on sight #racism tw #racism #current events #Anonymous