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practical-tactical-brilliance · 2 years ago

Text

I’m Willing to Wait for it. (Part 2)

Aaron Burr x f!Reader

A/N: thank you to the people who read and liked the last part!

————

“So, care to elaborate on what happened last night, Burr?” Hamilton stood by his side, busying himself with something or other in a poor attempt to disguise his interrogation of him.

“I had a good night myself. How was yours?”

“You’re avoiding the question Burr, I can tell something’s changed in you, I can see it in your eyes.” What was it that Hamilton saw in him? Was it despair from the knowledge of the coming battle that they would be outmanned and outgunned in or was it something else entirely?

“What happened between you and the young lady you left the tavern with yesterday? Did you find out who she is?” Burr felt like he was staring down his own death and potential future life at the same time. He couldn’t shake the impressionable memory of Y/N from his mind nor could he distract himself from the battle that she had warned about.

“Her name is Y/N.”

“That name sounds familiar.”

“She’s employed as a teacher for the children of British officers stationed here.”

“Oh shit.”

“So why was she there last night? Too bored by the British pomp and looking to find some fresh American blood to warm her bed?”

“She was just looking for conversation. Nothing like that.”

“Is that so?”

“Alexander! She’s a respectable young lady. I walked her home and that was it.”

“All young ladies and all young men tend to respectable too when they’re out in public. What they do behind closed doors is an entirely different matter.”

“She told me even before we left that she wouldn’t let me stay the night at her home.”

“And since when has that stopped you?”

“Since she bid me goodnight at the door. She knows what she wants, and she won’t settle for a compromise.”

“Smart woman.” Alexander chuckled, “So what do you make of her?”

“Well, she’s passionate about her ideals and witty, very well-read. I really like her.”

“Are you falling in love, Burr?” Hamilton asked bluntly. For once, Burr was struck speechless and when his friend saw this he merely clapped a hand on his shoulder in reassurance. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Give it time, once this battle is over, you’ll have plenty of time to chase her.”

I can only hope to stay alive long enough to come back to her, Aaron thought to himself in silence and he prayed that his time would not be up just yet.

————

“Aaron Burr? What made you bring him up out of all people?” Eliza questioned curiously. Three pairs of wide eyes studied you in anticipation, the tea forgotten in favour of hot gossip.

“He approached me last night actually, and he was kind enough to walk me home. I wanted to know if you know more of his character than I do.”

“He’s a flirt, Y/N. He probably tries his luck with anything on two legs.” Angelica snorted in disgust.

“Oh yes, just the other day, he tried to hit us up,” Peggy piped up.

“I got that impression too, he was unusually bold. Does he send everyone letters too?” Taking out a folded letter from your bag, you presented it to the girls, letting them pour over it in fascination.

“Dearest Y/N, it was my utmost pleasure to have met you last night. It was delightful for me to find a companion in you who I can share my thoughts with openly and honestly. Your charming disposition, your wit and your dedication to your cause have captured my affections deeply and I wish for you to know that I think of your friendship often with respect and much fondness. I do hope to see you again, perhaps at a more appropriate time if it pleases you to do so.

With warmth and affection.

Your friend, A.Burr.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of him writing letters. But he seems genuine enough in his intent. I would still be wary, but you seem to have caught more than just his eye.”

“You should write him back!” Peggy squealed in excitement.

“Do you like him back though, Y/N?” Eliza asked calmly, “you shouldn’t feel pressured to accept his flirtations if you don’t feel the same about him.”

“If I’m being honest, it’s a bit early to know for sure. I enjoy his company but that’s not the same as affection. Between us though,” you added in a low conspiratorial whisper, “I do find him quite handsome.”

—————

The night air, cool and crisp assaulted you both as you stepped out of the bustling tavern. The gentle lapping of the waves on the docks, the silver lined glow of the streets under the moon felt almost too romantic for the moment as you linked your arm through Aaron’s. You’d only just met him, but somehow it gave you comfort and you felt a sense of calm settle over you.

“What made you decide to pursue teaching in the first place, Y/N?”

“Long story short, I wanted to provide more opportunities for educating young women in particular about the world outside of the roles that most are taught to fill within the social sphere.”

You continued on, “There are few avenues for formal education for girls at the moment, but I we should realise that women have as much to contribute as men in all manner of things provided they are given the same opportunities. A woman’s education grants her the power of independence and self identity.”

Burr watched with intrigue as you described the trials and tribulations of your fight for equal education and beliefs. There was a passion that burned bright as a fire when he stoked it and he was drawn to it’s warmth.

“… some men think I’m crazy for devoting myself to such a cause, but if nobody fights for us, who will?” You were curious to see what Aaron would think of such a thing, whether he saw these issues the same way that you did.

“You bring up many valid points, it is a matter that is tied to the very success of our future nation. Half of our population consists of women who have ideas of their own or who may possess talents that surpass any man. But how will she know of them if she is not given an education? I’ve read Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman and I very much agree with it. If I had a daughter, I would want her to have the same opportunities as if I had a son.”

“Ah! I’m glad to know you’ve read it! Wollstonecraft is a trailblazer and at the forefront of the fight.”

“I aim to keep up with the current affairs and besides, it’s something that I agree on.”

“Now it’s your turn, Aaron! Hercules tells me that you were a prodigy at Princeton college and that you were studying law before you joined the army. How did you do it?”

“It was my parents’ dying wish before they passed.”

“Oh Aaron, I’m so sorry. You were an orphan?”

“It was a long time ago but I still remember their faces. I want to make them proud and grow into the man that they would have liked to see me become.”

In the warm glow of lamplights, his dark eyes looked so determined and so gentle at the same time. And though he remained poised and resolute as ever, you didn’t have to imagine what a childhood filled with hurt and loss would have been like for him.

“You’re a survivor and as long as you survive, I think they would be happy.” Just stay safe, and return home after the war. You thought to yourself. He was barely just a man, no more than 20 if you could chance a guess and he had so much to live for.

“You carry the future of the nation with you now, they will be proud no matter what happens.” You decided to say instead.

“I carry just as much as you do in the war. Do your parents know that you work for General Washington?”

“No! Not at all. I want them to have deniability if I am ever exposed. Maybe one day, when all this is over, I’ll tell them the truth.”

For a moment you let the conversation hang in a comfortable silence, enjoying Aaron’s warmth at your side.

“When the war ends, what will you do then?” He mused.

“Well, I want to continue my own education if I can, or maybe start a school for girls. Maybe I’ll even find a nice husband of my own to settle down with. I’ll just have to see which way the wind will blow. How about you?”

“I’ll probably finish up my studies in law and practice it. But I’m sure the nation will need people to shape it, and if the opportunity arises, I will gladly take it. I want a family one day too, but I’m taking my time to make sure I find the right person to start it with. I’ve never had a domestic leaning, but I don’t wish to speak too soon.”

“I can understand that. Marriage is a great commitment to make. I must admit, I never took you for someone who would like to be a family man.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?” He said curiously.

“The courteous answer would be that someone of such ambition and resilience would not bend easily to such a life.”

“And what’s the not-so-courteous response?”

“I hope you have the heart to forgive me for saying this, and truly, I mean no offence in telling you the truth. The honest answer is that I heard that you were a cold-blooded debaucher of young women and I had made that judgement of you long before I had met even you.” You said with chagrin. To your surprise Aaron was shaking with laughter.

“And you were afraid that I would make you my next debauchee?” It all made sense to him now, the avoidance and the wariness that he was met with at the beginning.

“Well, quite frankly, yes.“

“I admire your honesty. It’s not something many people would dare to say to me directly.”

“I’ll admit, that I initiated our conversation today with the intention of seducing you, but having met you, I find you even more entrancing as a friend than I could have imagined as a lover. I can also confidently say that I am no more licentious than any other young man.”

“Ahh, so you mean to say that all young men are as licentious as you?”

“I mean to say that all young men that I have known are licentious.”

“If you say so. I wouldn’t know either way.” You quipped cheekily.

“Have you ever been dissipated yourself?”

“That’s a bold question to be asking, Aaron!”

“A bold question for a bold lady.”

“In any case, I’ve never had the good fortune to fall in love or be courted for that to happen. I’m sure the right person will come around eventually, and even if I am to remain unmarried all my life, I’ll be able to support myself.” You finished resolutely.

“I can see you making a name for yourself whatever you choose to do.” Aaron reassured you, as you arrived at your house.

“This one’s mine!” You pointed happily over to your modest home. “Thank you for walking me home, and given me some much needed the company on the way.”

“The pleasure’s mine. I enjoyed it as much as you did. Will we meet again some day?” There was a tinge of boyish hope in his voice.

“I hope we will.” You grinned widely. “Goodnight, Aaron. And stay safe in the coming days.”

Survive.

#aaron burr #Aaron burr x reader #burr x reader #alexander hamilton #hamilton musical

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dcbutinamrev · 3 years ago

Note

“Look me in the eyes and repeat what you just said.” 👀👀

Ask and ye shall recieve!

~~~

Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton sits down at the aide-de-camp office with a grunt. He tries to remain his focus on his tasks at hand, completeing more corrospondences for General Washington, shuffling through Lafayette's rough drafts and occasionally checking any spelling errors as the Frenchman is still learning the American language. But he couldn't help but feel his eyes tick up towards the narrowed staircase a few feet behind him. His chest fills with fire, ready to burst.

Hamilton forces his eyes back down towards his papers in hand, yanking the quill near the new aide-de-camp, James McHenry, who was recently added to Washington's staff not long ago. A few days ago perhaps and Hamilton must admit it is a surprise, indeed, that he's caught up with the routine quite quickly. As quick as Laurens.

Hamilton scowls and shivers at the thought of Laurens, his words--hurtful words--echoes through his mind as he clutches onto the quill tightly. He presses his lips together and bites his tongue behind clenched teeth in hopes it would hold back the low growl cojming from the back of his throat. His fingers curl tighter around the stem of the quill as the tip scratches Washington's name near the bottom of the corrospondence.

"Hamilton?" a voice says, snapping him out of his thought. A Southern voice, might he add. It's not as distinct as Laurens' but Hamilton can hear a twinge of the South in the man's voice.

He ticks his eyes towards his peripheral, his brows furrowing together to form a crease in his forehead and swallows hard when he sees Richard Kidder Meade seated beside him with a worried expression upon his face and a hand clamped onto the Caribbean's shoulder. Hamilton relaxes at Meade's touch but still is somewhat tense.

"Kidder..." Hamilton sighs as he runs a hand through his dark red hair and puffs out a breath, his freckled cheeks puffing out as he does so.

Meade smiles softly as he pulls the wooden chair beside him out and slides on down next to him. He folds both arms over his chest and leans against the edge of the table with his head tilted to one shoulder. He presses his lips together, pondering what to say next before finally clearing his throat and leaning back, somewhat relaxed.

"Are you alright, my Little Lion?" Meade says affectionally. In all honesty, Hamilton loves it when his dear friends call him their little lion, especially by Laurens.

Hamilton sighs audibly through his nose, setting his quill down after signing his corrospondence. He shakes his head. "No. I...well...perhaps...."

"Perhaps?"

"Yes...it's just..." Hamilton shakes his head, glancing over his shoulder towards the stairs where Laurens still remains in the bedroom where they shared their last argument. A childish argument, Hamilton thinks. One of Betsey and one of his roles as a soldier and him insisiting I be locked up here like a woman.

"Alexander?" Meade tries again.

Hamilton sighs, finally explaining, "It's Laurens." A pause. Hamilton glances up at Meade, expecting him to question him but thankfully he doesn't. Hamilton continues. "He...he...he and I...we had argument..."

"Oh..." Meade says softly. Hamilton nods.

"Yes." A pause. "I just don't understand him, Kidder. Can't he see how much I care for him? As much as I care for her? As much..."

"Her?" Meade prompts, quirking an eyebrow, though he has a feeling he knows who the "her" is.

"Betsey," Hamilton says, taking a small sip of his coffee before setting it back down. A loopy grin on his face as he sees his beloved newly wedded wife before his eyes, her dark eyes on his, entrancing and almost like a bottomless pit, her dark hair--dark as chocolate--loose around her shoulders. Her pale blue dress down to her waist... "My wife..."

"Ah," Meade says, pating Hamilton's arm. "I'm sure he understands. He knows how much you care for him."

"Yes, but..." Hamilton sighs. "It's..." He glances back up at the stairs, his expression of what was once anger now disappiated into softness. "It's complicated, Kidder, between us." A short pause. "You wouldn't understand."

"I know," Meade says. Hamilton whips his head over his shoulder towards Meade with surprise, his face paling and his blood goes cold. Meade chuckles, causing Hamilton to frown with confusion and tilt his head to one shoulder. Meade, however, continues chuckling and and pats the redhead's shoulder. "I know. Oh, trust me, Alexander, I know. I know love when I see it."

Hamilton swallows but Meade only returns the expression with high, arched eyebrows. Hamilton glances back up at the stairs and instantly scoots his chair back, his chest squeezing as though a hand were clamped around his lungs.

Perhaps there was one.

Hamilton fumbles over the flaps of his buff blue Continental coat as he stumbles his way up the stairs towards his and Laurens' shared bedroom. He slams the door open rather ungentlemanly and marches two steps forward before slamming it shut behind him. He sees Laurens plopped down at the desk where Hamilton would usually work into the late night hours if he had extra work to finish, scribbling something onto paper.

"Stop," Hamilton says, catching his breath, breathing sharply in and out.

Laurens surprising stops without a protest, the tip of his quill hovering above the parchment. Laurens doesn't say anything.

Of course, he doesn't.

He's waiting for an answer. He's wanting Hamilton to answer.

"Stop it, John," Hamilton huffs.

Laurens lowers the quill scarily slowly yet gently as well and cranes his neck of his shoulder to glance at Hamilton before him, both eyebrows high and a small smirk of amusement? on his face.

"Oh? And why should I, Hamilton?" Laurens says. "You've made your point very clear."

As soon as Laurens turns around in his chair, Hamilton rushes forward and instantly dropping down to his knees and grasping both of Laurens's hands in his. Laurens freezes, his eyes narrowed at the paper before him and breathes in slowly, his breath hitched at his throat and holds it in place.

"Enough of this, John," Hamilton whispers, reaching out to tuck back a loose stray honey colored hair behind his ear. "You know where my heart lies."

"And it lies with that woman!" Laurens hisses, barks loud enough to be mistaken as a dog.

Hamilton flinches but tries to remain calm and steady. He never takes his eyes off his beloved Laurens' even though Laurens may take his eyes off of Hamilton himself, avoiding his gaze entierly. Hamilton shakes his head.

"No," he says, catching Laurens' attention. "It lies with you as well."

Laurens opens his mouth to protest but Hamilton promptly cuts him off.

"What is wrong with me loving another as much as I love you?" Hamilton whispers.

"That's not how relationships work, Alexander. You've never been in a relationship with anyone besides me. Haven't you? You don't know what heartbreak is like."

Hamilton feels his lips twist into a tight scowl and scoots foward onto his knees so he's in between Laurens' legs, his hands still clutched into his. He gives it a firm shake as he snarls, his eyes eyes twitching, "Look me in the eyes and repeat to me what you've just said."

Silence.

"I have experienced heartbreak throughout my childhood, John," Hamilton explains in a quick, hushed voice. Almost like a snake. "My father abandoned me when I was ten. My mother died because of an illness the doctors couldn't treat while I survived. My cousin committed suicide not long after my brother and I moved in with him. My brother, the only person I had left, was seperated from me. A hurricane destroyed my fucking home. Demolished it. Burned it to ashes! Killed thousands and thousands of people...innocent people...John."

A pause.

"So don't you dare tell me what heartbreak is like, I know what heartbreak is like."

"That's besides the point," Laurens growls. "That's different. I'm not talking about that. If you would just stop blabbering and just simply listen."

Hamilton growls low, yanking his hands off of Laurens and standing upright, placing his hands on his hips now. "Well then perhaps you should do the same."

Laurens pushes himself up from the chair and towers over Hamilton, so Hamilton has to shrink slightly. Laurens folds his arms over his chest.

"You did the exact same thing he did," Laurens growls as he shakes his head, blinking his eyes. His voice cracks, causing a spear to go through Hamilton's heart. "Claimed you loved me. Say that you loved me. And I thought you were mine, you said you were mine! I...I wanted..."

"And you are!" Hamilton whimpers, cupping both of Laurens' stubbled cheeks in his palms. He searches the blonde's face, his eyes ticking back and forth quickly. "You are, John! You are mine and you always will! I love you...so much...just as much as I love Betsey!"

"No!" Laurens snaps. "You stated yourself there was no one you loved but her!"

"I had to say that, John! I had too!" Hamilton cries. "We were surrounded by the others! You know..." Hamilton pinches the bridge of his nose and huffs out a breath, trying to calm himself. "John...I love you..."

"No," Laurens says instantly. Hamilton sniffs and glances back up at him. Laurens rests a strong hand onto Hamilton's freckled cheek, the pad of his thumb wiping away a stray tear Hamilton didn't realize had escaped. Laurens smiles, though the anger and annoyance is still clear in his bright blue eyes, and leans down to press a kiss to the edge of Hamilton's mouth, his nose nudging against his cheek. "You should be married." Hamilton lets his eyes flutter shut as Laurens pecks his earlobe and whispers, "For both of our sakes."

"Jack--" Hamilton begins but Laurens cuts him off with a sudden kiss.

Hamilton hisses sharply through his nose, taken aback and completely off-guard. He lets his eyes slip closed and slowly lifts both hands up to squish Laurens' cheeks together while Laurens lets his hand slide down Hamilton's sides and grip his wrist, pulling him close so his chest nearly touches the blonde's.

Laurens tilts his head, trying to find a perfect angle, letting his lips trail down the side of Hamilton's neck and up his jaw. Hamilton grips Laurens shoulders to keep himself steady as he tilts his head to the side to allow Laurens room. Laurens, however, gets a little greedy, needy and slams Hamilton against the closed bedroom door, pinning his arms to the side as he kisses the redhead's lips, his knee nudging agianst Hamilton's inner thigh, causing Hamilton gasp sharply with surprise. Laurens grins with triumph, the corners of his lips quirking up.

"John..." Hamilton gasps against Laurens' rough, yet soft rosy pink lips. "John!"

"My apologies," Laurens sighs as he pulls back, pressing his forehead against Hamilton's. "Do not leave me, my dear boy."

Hamilton hums, a small smile on his face, slowly opening those breathtaking deep blue eyes. Laurens' heart flutters and his breath hitches in his throat when he sees flecks of violet in those deep ocean blue irises.

"I won't leave you," Hamilton promises. He pauses, furrowing his brows in thought as he scratches Laurens' light stubble with his fingers. "But..." Laurens raises both eyebrows, gesturing him to continue. "You have to promise me not to leave me as well."

Laurens breathes in sharply. A curt nod.

"I promise."

That will be a lie.

#asks #ask liz #prompts #fics #ficlet #requests #writing #liz writes #melissa!#lams #historical lams #alexander hamilton #john laurens #hehehe suffer <3 #angst #amrev #read more

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aswithasunbeam · 3 years ago

Link

December 1814

“Hush, darling,” Eliza whispered. “It’s all right.”

Angelica curled up further on the bed beside Eliza with a soft whimper. At least she was resting, finally, after hours of panic about invisible demons reaching out from the walls to take her away. Eliza had had to push the bed away from the walls before she’d been able to convince her daughter to lie down.

Eliza closed her eyes, the press of the day weighing on her already. Servants were bustling through the halls just outside the door, heaving trunks from little Eliza and Phil’s rooms. They were all bound for New York at first light tomorrow to celebrate Johnny’s wedding to his dear Maria. A joyous occasion to be sure, especially as she anticipated having their children together for the first time in years: William was meant to be coming down from West Point, and Alex and Jamie had secured time away from their posts, as well. Joyous, yes, even as it hurt that so much of her family wouldn’t be there, with Angelica and Peggy both gone, her parents, and Philip…. She swallowed around a lump in her throat at the thought of her eldest.

Her younger daughter shrieked suddenly from down the hall. “Give it back! Now!”

“I’m using it!” Phil yelled back.

“It’s mine!”

Eliza sighed, easing herself from Angelica’s bed to go see what all the fuss was about. Phil and little Eliza were engaged in an all out tug of war over a bit of ribbon in the hallway between their rooms. She watched silently for a moment, frowning, her arms crossed, waiting for them to notice her displeasure.

Phil noticed her first and abruptly let go of the ribbon. Little Eliza stumbled backwards, landing hard on her bottom. She yelped, glared up at her brother, and aimed a swift kick at his ankles.

“What are you two doing?” she demanded.

“She started it,” Phil said, jumping hastily out of the line of fire.

“He stole my best ribbon and he was using it to hang toy soldiers out the window.”

“I was going to give it back.”

“It’s got dirt all over it and you got it all wrinkled.” She held the ribbon up to show her mother. “See? I wanted to wear it to Johnny’s wedding.”

Phil stuck his tongue out at his sister. When she noticed, she aimed another kick at his ankles. He jumped back again, shouting, “Stop it!”

“What is all the yelling about?” Alexander asked as he slowly wheeled himself around the corner, to their collective surprise.

Despite the gathering dark outside the hall window, she was shocked to see him home; she’d hardly seen hide nor hair of him in the past days as they prepared to leave for their extended trip home. Both the children went quiet at his unexpected arrival, and little Eliza bounced up to her feet.

“Sorry Papa,” they both mumbled quickly.

“We seem to be having quite the disagreement over a bit of ribbon,” Eliza supplied when they failed to offer further explanation.

Alexander looked at her with a hint of a smile. “Want me to send them to help dig out the new latrine by the camp? That’s what I do with the men who mouth off. Very effective punishment.”

They both paled considerably, sending her matching pleading looks.

She made a show of considering for a long beat before smiling as well. “I think we can give them one more chance before we put them to hard labor.”

“We’ll be good,” Phil promised solemnly.

“I expect so.” Alexander tilted his head to the side to dismiss them. “Off you go. Stop making your mother’s life difficult.”

If only he’d take his own advice, she thought fondly.

They scampered off down the hall, both giving their father an affectionate peck on the cheek as they passed. He shook his head as he watched them go, then looked back at her, the laugh lines in his cheeks creasing. “Imps.”

“Well, we did complain the house was too quiet without them,” Eliza said. Indeed, when Alexander had sent them off to stay with family over the summer for their safety, the house had felt empty without their constant bickering and antics. She paced over to him and leaned down to kiss him, as well. “It’s good to have you home finally. You missed dinner again.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry I haven’t been much help getting ready for our trip. I’ve been in endless meetings. When I at one point raised the concern about the endless meetings, one of Jemmy’s secretaries quite unironically asked if I would like him to schedule a meeting to discuss it.”

She laughed.

He grinned at her, but his eyes turned serious when he glanced towards the door to Angelica’s room. “How’s Geli today?”

Eliza sobered as she, too, glanced back at her daughter’s door. “She’s been having a bad day.”

He sighed. “She’s been having a lot of bad days, lately. I heard her whimpering and muttering when I got home late last night. She was wide awake when I peeked in at her. I doubt she got much rest.”

Eliza hardly needed reminding, having been up much of the night with her. “She’s resting now, finally.”

“That’s something, I suppose.”

His hands fidgeted on the wheels of his chair. She watched him a moment, sensing he had something else to tell her. The expression twisting his face usually signaled some sort of indigestion. When he failed to say anything more, she asked, “What is it?”

“Well,” he started, his hand going up to scratch at his neck uncomfortably.

Anxiety started to build up at his continued reluctance to speak. “If you say you can’t come to New York for your own son’s wedding—”

“No, no, it’s not that.” He sighed, resting his hands on the wheels of his chair once more, as though contemplating an escape even as he spoke. “It’s just, I need to meet with some people before I leave. And the only time they would both be available was tonight. So, I may have suggested they stop by the house before we leave. They’re on their way over now, actually. For tea.”

She felt her own expression twisting to match his, heartburn flaring in her chest as a suspicion about his guest list occurred to her. “Who?”

“Burr,” he said.

“Burr,” she repeated, disbelief in her tone even though that’s exactly the name she’d expected to hear. “You expect me to serve tea to Aaron Burr?”

“Well,” he started again.

“You promised me. You promised, when you suggested him for his position, that I wouldn’t need to be alone with him.”

“I said not just the three of us.” He fidgeted in his chair again, clearly not relishing delivering his next bit of news. “Someone else is coming, too.”

He seemed somehow more reluctant to tell her the next guest. How could it possibly get worse? “Who else?”

He gritted his teeth, hesitating again before saying, “Monroe.”

A wave of cold fury washed over her. “Monroe!”

“Shh,” he hushed, pointing towards Angelica’s room behind them.

Her nostrils flared as she forced a deep breath, jerking her head to indicate he should follow her down the hall before moving around him towards his office. He liked to praise her as an endless fountain of love and patience, she thought, but much as she might try, she simply wasn’t. Her nerves were already frayed from sleepless nights and managing ornery children and overseeing the packing and planning for their journey. Now he wanted her to cap off her night by serving tea to two of the most loathsome men on earth.

He rolled in to the office behind her, and she snapped the door closed.

“No,” she said firmly.

“Eliza—”

“No, Alexander. No. You ask too much, sometimes.”

He smiled softly, highlighting the dimples in his cheeks, and reached out for her hand. “You’d send me into the viper’s nest without my trusty mongoose for protection?”

“You can’t charm your way out of this,” she hissed.

“Betsey,” he sighed, expression turning serious. “It can’t be helped.”

“They’re not welcome here. Not in my home. Neither of them.”

“You know I try to keep them away as much as possible. I know how you feel.”

“Do you? Because sometimes, the way you act, especially around Burr—”

“I understand. I do. But I need to see them before I go. It’s important.”

“What’s so important?”

“Campbell submitted his budget, just before he conveniently resigned to see to his health. He estimated an appropriation of $25 million would be needed, which is far, far beyond the expected tax revenue of $11 million, and all that’s before factoring in the cost of rebuilding the capital.”

She sank into the chair near his desk, sensing a lengthy conversation. “Go on.”

“Then there’s this…this treasonous…convention.” She could hear the quotes around the last word as he spit it out. “Otis has called a meeting of Federalists all across New England to propose a radical change in our national compact. Because what we need in the middle of a war, apparently, is a new constitutional convention intent on gutting the Federal government.”

“Were you invited?”

He snorted. “As if I’d stoop to attending such a farcical proceeding.”

She smiled a little. She knew he’d have gloried in attending, monopolizing the conversation until his voice went hoarse telling them exactly why they were all idiots and cowards, had he been given the opportunity. “So no?”

He shot her a glare, but then smirked, caught red-handed by her knowing look. “I think they knew what my answer would be.”

She threaded her fingers between his. “I know how stressed you are about the war and fate of the country, sweetheart. But I don’t see what a meeting with those two—” she paused, hunting for a word, and, finding none, continued with only the empty space to define them, “—helps accomplish.”

“Monroe is acting Secretary of War, and, with Campbell gone, probably acting Secretary of the Treasury as well at this point. I need him to call on Congress to establish a new national bank, which in turn will help fund additional men. At least 100,000 to start.”

“And I’m sure he’ll take your direction with great enthusiasm.”

“Not with enthusiasm, perhaps, but he’ll take my direction, once I explain the need.”

“And Burr?”

“The Hartford Convention needs to be minimized. We need a shot of patriotism in that part of the country, a call to arms to rally flagging spirits. Since the Northern theater quieted, they’ve been shouldering the financial burden with none of the chance for glory. Meanwhile, the enemy is starting to gather with an eye towards New Orleans. If we can start mustering troops in New England, threaten an invasion of Canada, we might be able to press England into peace and herd New England back into the fold at the same time.”

“And you want Burr to head the effort,” she said, intuiting his plan now. Once Monroe agreed to call upon Congress to fund new troops, Burr would ride north to start mustering a force to take on Canada again.

“Exactly.” His eyes bore into hers. “And it needs to happen now. Immediately. Congress can’t be frightened into cutting back on the army, or we’ll be a British colony again by New Year’s.”

She squeezed his hand.

“So?” he pressed.

She held his gaze. “I suppose I’ll let them in when they knock. I won’t agree to more than that.”

He leaned over in his chair to catch her lips. “That’s all I need from you.”

That she managed to bring in the tea service without pouring the scalding water over either of their two unwanted guests ought to have qualified her sainthood, in her opinion. She didn’t stay in the room with them, didn’t even mutter a greeting. She did stay near the door, however, listening, while Alexander laid out his plan. She couldn’t quite bring herself to abandon him, even when he’d invited the viper’s nest upon himself.

“I wasn’t a particular supporter of your bank the first time around, Mr. Hamilton,” Monroe said. “Why should I call on Congress to re-charter it now?”

“How else are you going to pay for more troops, Mr. Secretary?”

Monroe answered in a measured tone. “We’re mere weeks away from a peace treaty, according to my intelligence in Ghent. Once that’s signed, there won’t be a need for more troops. We can cut back, limit spending to match our more limited revenue stream temporarily, until imports duties return to their pre-war levels.”

“You don’t think the British are also gathering intelligence?” Burr asked. “They’ll be watchfully waiting for our new budget proposals. If we’re seen dismantling the army before the war is over, why would they ever agree to a peace deal? Might as well take us for their own again.”

Monroe scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’ve practically already signed. And I think we’ve proven far too troublesome to bother with as a colony again.”

“Too troublesome thirty years ago,” Burr pointed out. “And we were lucrative. If we can’t mount a solid defense, no reason not to give it another try.”

Alexander added, “You need to get the dissent in New England under control. And you need funding. Even without the additional expense of more troops, rebuilding the capital will be an expensive endeavor. You need to do this.”

“I don’t like the bank,” Monroe said sourly.

Alexander laughter bitterly. “It’s me you don’t like, Mr. Secretary. And that’s quite all right. I assure you the feeling is mutual. But you have to do this. Don’t make me go over your head to Jemmy to force you into action. It will only waste time.”

There was a long silence, tension palpable. “Fine. I’ll propose re-chartering the bank and adding funding for more troops. But I can’t promise it will pass.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find the votes, Mr. Secretary,” Alexander insisted. “Necessity is a great motivator.”

Sensing the meeting was coming to a close, Eliza moved to summon the servants to bring the hats and coats. She didn’t want them lingering in the front room any longer than necessary. In the moments she’d stepped away, however, something must have happened, because she suddenly heard raised voices coming from the office. She hurried back, opening the door to the office to find Burr standing in between Monroe and Alexander.

Monroe was all but shouting, “You think just because you’ve blinded Jemmy with nostalgic appeals to a long-dead friendship that you can always have your way, just as you did with Washington. I’ll not be so easily taken in, Mr. Hamilton, I promise you that.”

Burr placed a hand on Monroe’s shoulder, trying to ease him away from Alexander.

Alexander looked blithely unconcerned, all but smirking at Monroe as he said, “I’ll remind you there is no guaranteed succession in this country, Mr. Monroe, however many hats you acquire during this administration. I wouldn’t be so assured of victory in the next election, if I were you.”

Color rose in Monroe’s face as he pushed around Burr, holding a finger out in Alexander’s direction. “Enjoy your influence while you have it. Your days are numbered.”

“That’s quite enough,” Eliza said, voice deadly quiet, fury taking wing in her chest at the implied threat.

Monroe spun around to face her. “Mrs. Hamilton—”

“You have nothing to say to me, Mr. Monroe.”

“I apologize for raising my voice,” he continued, bowing his head slightly.

“No. No. If you mean to offer anything other than a full and sincere apology, not only for the unforgivable words you just uttered, but also for all the slanders and stories you circulated against my husband in the past, I have no interest in hearing it.”

Monroe frowned. “If you mean…the business with the Reynolds papers was hardly my doing. Your husband—”

“What my husband did was a matter we have long since settled between us. But that the rest of the world was involved was very much your doing. He has earned my forgiveness. You’ve never even bothered to ask it.”

“Mrs. Hamilton—”

“And you now have the…the gall to come into my home, drink my refreshments, and then threaten the person I hold dearest in the world. Please leave, Mr. Monroe. Now.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Burr patted at his shoulder, encouraging him forward. Just before Burr himself stepped out, though, he glanced back at her husband. “You’re a real pain in the ass, Ham. You know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Alexander had the nerve to look fond as he addressed Burr.

“Out,” she insisted.

Burr at least had the decency to avert his eyes as he passed her, collecting their coats and urging Monroe out the front door without another word.

When the door had closed, she looked back at Alexander, still sitting in the middle of the room. He gave her plaintive look. “I’m so sorry, Betsey. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand. Or for you to be pulled into the middle of it.”

She pointed in the direction the two men had just disappeared, her hand shaking slightly from rush of rage and fear that coursed through her. “That man is never, ever setting foot in my home again.”

“Of course. Never again.”

Promises, promises—how he could make them. Her heart was still beating in her throat. He rolled forward and took her hand, placing a kiss to the back of her fingers.

She softened as she looked back at him, calming somewhat with his easy agreement and solid feeling of his hand in hers. The reason for his insistence on the meeting in the first place re-occurred to her, and she felt a niggle of concern despite herself. “Do you think he’ll still put forward the proposal to Congress?”

“Yes.” He sounded completely confident. “He doesn’t have a choice. Jemmy will back me if it comes to a contest, and he knows it. I just don’t want to lose time on the argument when every minute counts. We’re too close, balanced on the edge of a precipice. I’ll not let our experiment fail over pigheadedness and pride.”

She considered the exchanged she’d walked in on again, eyes locked on her husband. “You said that to him, didn’t you? You goaded him into shouting at you.”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “I do so enjoy winding him up with impotent rage.”

She wanted to be angry with him, but amusement was quickly outpacing the sensation. Damn him, his charm, and his sweet smile, she thought. She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head at him. Relief washed over his face.

“I really didn’t mean to drag you into it, though, my dearest.” He kissed her hand again, looking more relaxed. “Though I confess I enjoyed watching you kick him to the curb. My darling mongoose.”

His darling mongoose, indeed, she huffed internally.

#hamilton fanfic #alexander hamilton #eliza hamilton #hamliza #life hereafter

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nordleuchten · 4 years ago

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La Fayette in Prison - Part 3 - Neisse

We continue our journey from Magdeburg to Neisse, a town in the region of Schlesien. Schlesien originally belonged to Austria but was annexed by the Prussian King Frederick the Great in 1741 and included into the territory of Prussia. Neisse is today part of Poland. At first La Fayette was the only one of the prisoners who was transferred to Neisse. Alexander Lameth was too ill to be transferred. He stayed behind in Magdeburg and was eventually released on parole. He recovered and enjoyed many more years on this earth. The two other prisoners, Latour-Maubourg and Bureaux De Pusy, were first transferred to a prison in Glatz and only from there to Neisse were they stayed roughly twelve days before being brought together with La Fayette to the infamous prison in Olmütz. La Fayette therefor stayed the longest in Neisse. He arrived there, once more heavily guarded on his way, on January 16, 1794 and stayed until May 17 of the same year.

Now would be the perfect time to wonder why the prisoners were so frequently removed from one place and brought to another. Wesel was never intended was a permanent solution. It had simply been the nearest secure prison at the time of the groups arrest. But what with Magdeburg? After all, in 1805/6 Magdeburg was by far the safest and most secure fortress in all of Prussia. The problem in 1794 was, that there was a war going on – and it did not looked too good for the Prussians. The Prussian King was slowly but surely considering the possibility that he would be force to make peace with France. Such a peace treaty would most certainly include handing over his prisoners. He therefor brought the prisoners to Neisse, a town close to the Austrian border, and negotiated with the court in Vienna the transfer of the prisoners in order to prevent their release. The court in Vienna obviously agreed and that is how the prisoners came to Olmütz. La Fayette was distraught about being separated from the others but as soon as he could he wrote them that he was well and that they should not worry too much about him. I wrote in the post about Wesel, that his servant Augustus stayed with him and that another man, Pontonnier, was forced to leave him. Well, it seems as if Pontonnier was not a valet but his secretary and therefore stayed with him. There is also mentioning of another valet, a man who was called Pierre Compte/Comte, who also stayed with La Fayette ... you see with regard to his staff I am a tiny bit confused .... but it seems as if Pierre and Pontonnier were certainly with him and concerning Augustus, well, I think I have to go on and do little bit of digging to find out where exactly his guy had been in 1794. In Neisse La Fayette once again fell ill and this illness seemed to be so worrisome that he thought he would not make it. He also feared that this sudden move from Magdeburg to Neisse was in preparation of his execution. With these two things in mind he wrote a short farewell-letter to his family:

“Adieu, then, my dear wife, my children, my aunt (...) whom I shall cherish to my last breath.”

There were other letters from that time, not from La Fayette but from his friends, that I would like to show you. But first, there is actually one handwritten document from La Fayette from his time in Neisse. It is the short excerpt from a written statement that La Fayette made and today part of the online collection of the Wien Museum.

Now, on to the other letters. The first letter is by Joseph Brown who wrote to George Washington from England, giving a short report upon a recent debate in the House of Commons. He wrote on April 2, 1794:

“N.B. You will probably Sir before the receipt of this Letter have heard that an ineffectual attempt has been made in our Ho. of Commons to stir the Governmt to interfer in behalf of your ill-fated Friend (my respectable & ⟨va⟩lued Correspondent) M. de la Fayette: Burke opposed it on the ground of his having been in Arms against this Country: whereas he saw no improperiety formerly in himself moving for the enlargemt of Mr Laurens, who had been a President of Congress from the Tower, & afterwards meeting him at my House, though the motion was not immediately successful.”

The next letter is from Doctor James McHenry. McHenry wrote Washington on April 3, 1794:

“I thought that perhaps it might come within your view at this juncture to send a commissioned person to Vienna to solicit the release of Mr la Fayette with powers to proceed to France on a like errand in favor of his wife and children, in order that the whole might be removed to this country. I perceive by the act of Congress for discharging his pay during the war the new obligation you have laid up on your unfortunate friend. If it is possible to go beyond pecuniary aid, or so far as to restore him to liberty and his family how would he rejoice to owe that blessing to the man he affectionates most upon earth; and what sublime pleasure to me to be an humble instrument in its accomplishment. The friendship he has always expressed for me; the friendship I feel for him; a conviction of the patriotism of his principles and purity of his motives; the esteem in which he is still held by America; a remembrance of the moment and his youth when he embarked in our cause, and the services he rendered it in the course of our revolution, all conspire to make such a project peculiarly interesting to the feeling heart: at the same time, Sir, you must be sensible, you who on former occasions have not deemed me unworthy some portion of your confidence, that such a mission would reflect upon you its author, and from whom alone it ought to proceed, as long as exalted friendship shall be ranked among the virtues, a lustre which philosophy must delight to contemplate and history to diffuse among mankind for their benefit or instruction. The friendship of Achilles for his dear Patroclus, as celebrated by Homer, has survived the fate of empires and the charges of time, as if destined to serve as a perpetual monument sacred to friendship. May not another Homer arise to consign yours for Fayette to equal immortality, and tears of pleasure flow at its recital like an exhaustless stream through the long period of future ages.”

McHenry was aide-de-camp to Washington was well as to La Fayette during the Revolutionary War. His letters touches on McHenrys feelings for La Fayette, on Washington’s friendship for La Fayette and how this friendship was perceived by others but also illustrates how many people tried to help La Fayette. It also touches on the act from Congress that I discussed in the Magdeburg-post. Furthermore, there is a little, almost comical detail. McHenry wrote this letter in a town in Maryland, conveniently named Fayetteville after the Marquis de La Fayette.

Last but not least there is this wonderful letter from Washington himself addressed to the Prussian King. A cabinet meeting some time prior had deemed it acceptable for Washington to write as a private citizen on behalf of La Fayette. Here is the protocol of said cabinet meeting:

At a meeting of the heads of departments at the President’s, on the fourteenth day of January 1794. It was propounded by the President, whether in consideration of the eminent services of M. de la Fayette, to the U. S. and his present sufferings, it be not adviseable for the President, in a private, and unofficial character, to address to the King of Prussia a letter, requesting his release on parole, founded on motives of personal friendship only. The opinion is, that such a letter is proper to be written. H Knox Alexander Hamilton Edm: Randolph

And here is Washington’s letter – it gets me time and time again ...

“Philadelphia Jany 15th 1794. Sire, However unusual it may be for your Majesty to receive an address from a person, who, at the very moment of making it, disclaims the exercise of any public function, and acts as a private individual; yet it is believed from your illustrious character, that the Motives, which lead me to the Measure, will serve as an ample apology. I cannot longer resist the impulse of friendship, to lay before you, who know so well, how to appreciate its force, my personal and affectionate anxiety for the welfare of M. de la Fayette. Report informs us, that he is under confinement in the dominions of Prussia, and therefore at your disposal. At an early period of his life—at a season, and on an occasion, far remote from the time and causes, which have subjected him to his present condition, he pursued his military career, with so much benefit to my country, and honor to himself, that he acquired a most endearing place in my affections. A sincere attachment then commenced was strengthened by an intercourse which continued after the return of peace had seperated us until more active and interesting scenes served to interrupt it. Upon the events, which succeeded, I shall be silent; only entreating your Majesty to be persuaded, that as I seperate myself, in this letter, from my official station, to render a tribute to your liberality; so I beg to be understood as intending to observe that delicacy, which becomes every man, whose country has, with perfect sincerity, cherished peace and impartiality towards the whole world. Permit me then to ask and obtain from your Majesty, a favor, in which the most lively sensibility of my fellow-citizens is engaged—the release of M. de la Fayette on his parole—If his word should not be deemed a sufficient pledge, I shall regret, that your Majesty does not entertain the same conviction of fidility, as a full experience has impressed upon myself. But I can never be persuaded of the possibility of his departing from that innocence of conduct, which is always to be expected from a prisoner of war. This request, unsolicited by, and unknown to him asks the patronage of your Majesty’s sensibility; and is dictated by a confidence, that he could not be in the power of any sovereign, who would more delight in indulging a friendship, which cannot acquit itself, without thus endeavouring to deliver him, under your benevolent auspices. I pray God to preserve your Majesty in his holy keeping Go: Washington”

Washington made it clear that he wrote as George and not as President Washington. He send the letter to Thomas Pinckney, the ambassador to Great Britain, who in his turn passed the letter on to John Markham Marshall for him to deliver the letter to the Prussian King. In June of 1794 Marshall wrote Pinckney how things had developed:

“I deliverd your letter to Prince Henry of Prussia on the 28th of April and at the same time declared to him my intention of following implicitly his advice in the business which had been entrusted with me—he appeard highly gratified by the confidence which was placed in him, and express’d himself in terms of the warmest admiration of our President, & friendship for M. de la Fayette. Whilst I remain’d with him he wrote a letter to the King his Nephew—informing him of the letter with which I was charged, and urgin⟨g⟩ a compliance with the request which it contained On my departure from Rheinsbg—his Royal highness gave me a letter to the Minister of State on the same subject who immediately inform’d me that nothing could be done for M. de la Fayette, as an agreement had actually taken place by which he was to be deliver’d up to the Austrians and he added that probably the agreement was already executed. he spoke favorably of M. de la Fayette & lamented that it was not in the power of Prussia to comply with the request of his friends[.] As the only chance which remain’d, I endeavor’d to discover if it were possible to prevail on the ministry to favor the escape of Fayette from the fortress where he was confined. [Philipp Karl] Alvensleben the Minister of State to whom I made the proposal, acknowledged his wish that it could be done but declared to me that it was too late[.] I could not press the subject further but as the Minister had not said that M de la Fayette was actually in the hands of the Austrians, I wrote requesting permission to se⟨e⟩ him before that event took place, intending if my request was grantd to renew my proposal. I enclose you the answer of Alvensleben, my business with him was at an end. I wrote, as I had promis’d, to give Prince Henry an account of my want of success, & to enquire if he could point out any step by which I could yet be of service to M. de la Fayette[.] the answer by the Baron [Karl Friedrich Hieronymus] Münchausen I enclose you, I can not very well understand it, but I clearly perceiv’d that Prince Henry could do nothing for Fayette, and as I did not wish to be obliged to converse with him, on what our government might possibly yet do to procure his enlargement, I declined the invitation to Rheinsburg”

La Fayette had met Prince Henry in the autumn of 1785 during the Prussian Review of 1785. They were on rather friendly terms with La Fayette writing to Washington on February, 6 1786:

“(...) prince Henry I Have Kept for the last, because it is By far the Best Acquaintance I Have Made—I don’t Examine who is the Greater General His Brother or He, a Question that divides the Military World—But to Abilities of the first Rate, Both as a soldier and a politician—to a perfect litterary knowledge, and all the Endowments of the Mind—He joins an Honest Heart, philantropic feelings, and rational ideas on the Rights of Mankind—I Have spent a fortnight with Him in His Country seat and We Keep up an epistolary Correspondance (...)”

With that in mind, I actually believe Prince Henry when he expresses his sympathy for La Fayette.

There is not much more to say about La Fayette’s stay in Neisse and so we can finally move on to Olmütz. Olmütz will take some time because there is simply sooo much to discuss. La Fayette’s imprisonment in general, his failed escape, the arrival of his family, and more. Bevor we tackle Olmütz though, I would like to take the time to talk about Adrienne’s fate in the meantime.

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angelqueen04 · 4 years ago

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Hamliza Month, Day 19

@megpeggs @historysalt

Pain Summary: Alexander races back to Philadelphia after receiving a terrifying letter. Warning/Note: Discussion of miscarriage, references to/implied depression (hence why there is no preview for this one and everything is under behind the Keep Reading link). The angst and sadness is strong in this one, folks. Fair warning.

Among other reasons for wishing your return is Mrs. Hamilton’s earnest desire. It seems she has had, or has been in danger of a miscarriage, which has much alarmed her. But Doctor Khun by whom she is attended with Doctor Stephens, assures that she is in no danger. However she is extremely desirous of your presence in order to tranquilize her. [1]

The words, read only once, still managed to burn through his mind. A miscarriage. This had never happened before, not once. Eliza always maintained excellent health when she was carrying their children. She seemed to blossom, keeping a rosy, healthy color about her cheeks as her belly grew. The births were always painful, that was true, but she came through each time without cause for alarm. Why was it different now? What had happened?

He really ought to be truthful with himself. He knew what had happened, what was different. Barely a year ago, both he and Eliza had nearly lost their lives during the yellow fever epidemic. It had only been thanks to the miracle of Ned’s tender care that they had survived. Then, there had been a great deal of sickness among the children, particularly little Johnny, which had only added to the stress Eliza labored under.

Then, of course, there was Alexander himself. Though he had done as much as he could to aid her in caring for their children while they were ill, he had seen even then that Eliza was not doing well. Then he had insisted on accompanying the army as they dealt with these rascals in the back country. She had asked him not to go. Just once, but she had asked. When Alexander had insisted that he had to go, if only because of Henry Knox’s lengthy and irritating absence from Philadelphia, she had fallen silent and not brought the subject up again, not bothering to argue with him.

He could still remember his last sight of her as he’d ridden off. Pale almost to the color of milk, a strange thinness about her person even though he knew she was eating regular meals. She’d looked exhausted, despite her frequent efforts to rest whenever possible.

Her condition had not improved in his absence. Mother Schuyler and his brother-in-law, Philip Jeremiah, had visited Philadelphia while Alexander had been away, and they had been much alarmed by Eliza’s fragile health. They had even tried to convince her to travel back with them to Albany, where she could rest among and be supported by the family. She refuses to leave without you, Philip wrote, and will not hear of the children leaving either.

Hurry back, brother. End this and come home.

Alexander recalled wincing when he read of Eliza’s refusal to leave the state without him accompanying her. He could guess very easily as to why she refused to go, even if she had not confessed her reasons to her mother and brother. So, he had had done his best to hurry things along, but everything could be handled only so fast. After Philip’s letter, there had been little news. Eliza wrote to him when she could, but she said little of her health, focusing instead on the children. She said nothing of him coming home either. The tone of her letters was brittle, almost wooden. It had only increased his disquiet, but there was little he could do except keep doing what he was doing so that he could return home.

And then, finally, came the letter. Knox said Eliza was ‘extremely desirous’ of Alexander’s presence. Knox wasn’t known to exaggerate in his choice of words, and really, they had only confirmed the unease he had been living more and more with as the weeks passed.

She needed him. She had needed him before, but he had still gone away, so certain that he was indispensable to ending this crisis with the whiskey rebels. So he’d left her alone in a way he had never done before while she was carrying a child.

And now that child was gone.

Alexander could feel the tears stinging his cheeks as he guided his horse onto Market Street, the setting sun shining now directly into his eyes. He barely noted passing the Presidential Mansion, his focus solely on locating a familiar gate in front of a lovely house of red brick.

He spotted the hitching post first, the one Alexander had ordered installed in front of the house for the use of guests or government officials that might arrive there on horseback. It was deserted at the moment, but that meant little. The doctors might have arrived on foot, or their horses may have been put in the barn behind the house, particularly if their stay was going to be of some duration.

Bringing his horse to a halt, Alexander vaulted off of his horse, and stumbled a bit when he landed hard. It had been a long time since he had done something like that, and he was no longer twenty-one. Getting his feet back under him, he looked toward the men of his escort, who had actually managed to keep up with him. Tossing one of them the reins of his horse, Alexander turned on his heel and strode to the front door.

Someone must have been watching for him, because the door opened before he could even reach for the knob. In the doorway stood Ned, stripped down to his waistcoat and breeches, with tired, dark-rimmed eyes. “Ham,” he greeted solemnly, stepping back to allow Alexander to enter the house.

“How is she?” he demanded as he entered the front hall. He struggled out of his military coat, both because it wasn’t needed – the house was more than sufficiently warm – and the sudden feeling that it did not belong, that it was almost insulting to be wearing it in this house of mourning. Eliza had not wanted him to go, had not wanted him out there risking his life when his family needed him here, but he had insisted on doing so, had insisted on playing soldier again, to relive the glories of his youth.

Well, he had, and now he, they, were paying the price for it.

Ned, to his credit, didn’t try to delay or prevaricate in his response. “Mrs. Hamilton is resting comfortably upstairs,” he said. “Mrs. Washington has been here for some hours, sitting with her so that she is not alone.”

Alexander barely waited for him to finish before he started to move toward the stairs, but was brought to a halt when Ned’s hand closed around his arm. “Ham, wait.”

He tugged at the other man’s grip. “Not now, Ned,” he said impatiently. “I need to see my wife.”

Ned didn’t relent, however, meeting him with an equally firm gaze. “You need to collect yourself first, Alexander,” he said. “You’ll do Mrs. Hamilton no good if you go rushing in there and disturbing her from the sleep she needs to preserve her health. Plus, there’s more that you need to know.”

Alexander wanted to shrug his old friend off and continue on his way to reassure himself of his wife’s survival, but his words struck him. Eliza needed to rest to get better. He shouldn’t disturb her. This was about what she needed, not him.

“Fine,” Alexander said through gritted teeth, and allowed Ned pull him into the dining room. There remained a fair bit of food on the table, looking like the remains of a buffet. There had been others here, but must have left before his arrival. At Ned’s gesture, he sat down at the table, eyeing the food warily. He wasn’t hungry.

“You should eat, Ham,” Ned said firmly as he joined him, seemingly reading his mind. “The last thing anyone needs is you fainting from lack of food.”

He shot his old friend an impatient look, but decided not to bother arguing. He picked at some of the meats and bread, avoiding the fruits.

“The children?” Alexander asked suddenly as he began to eat, the silence of the house falling heavy on his ears. Surely there should have been some noise coming from them? It was too early for them to have gone to bed.

“The President took them to stay at the Presidential Mansion,” Ned informed him. “He thought it best so that Mrs. Hamilton wouldn’t be disturbed.” He paused before adding, “Young Philip proved himself very responsible, keeping his younger siblings in hand.”

Alexander nodded. Under any other circumstances, he would be pleased by the news that his firstborn had handled himself so well. When he finally finished what was on his plate, he made to stand, asking, “Are you satisfied now, Ned? Can I see my wife now?”

“Just a minute, Alexander,” Ned said. “It’s important that you know her condition before you go up there.”

He stilled. Her condition? What did that mean? Was Eliza in further danger? “What is it?” he demanded.

Ned took a deep breath. “While I know that Secretary Knox’s letter intimated that Mrs. Hamilton suffered a miscarriage, Dr. Kuhn and I are more inclined to judge it a stillbirth. The babe was well formed, but was small, too small to have survived.”

Alexander closed his eyes. Poor, poor lamb, he thought, fighting back a wave of tears. He’d focused so much on Eliza that he had not given the child much thought. “What was it?” he asked. “A boy or a girl?”

“A boy,” Ned responded, his expression shifting from professional to sympathetic.

Another boy. They’d hoped for a girl this time, to give Angelica and Fanny a baby sister on which to dote, but they would have welcomed a son with equal joy. In either case, he and Eliza hadn’t had the chance to discuss names. Their poor boy would go into the grave without anything to mark his existence.[2]

Taking a deep, shaky breath to stem the tide of tears, he whispered, “I’d like to see my wife now.”

Thankfully, this time Ned didn’t try to stop him when he stood and strode toward the stairs.

Just as Ned had said, Mrs. Washington was with Eliza, having pulled a seat close to the bed. An embroidery hoop sat in her lap, but it was clear she had given up on working on it, perhaps due to the fact that only a single candle was lit in the room. The older woman looked up as he pushed the door open further and stepped into the room. A relieved expression crossed Mrs. Washington’s face.

“Ah, Colonel,” she said upon seeing him, “I’m glad to see you’ve returned.” She glanced toward the bed. “She’s been dreaming, and calling for you.”

Mrs. Washington was kind enough to quickly vacate her position and depart, leaving Alexander standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at his sleeping wife. Though the candle provided little in the way of light, he could see how, if anything, Eliza’s color seemed worse than it had been when he’d left. Her dark hair had been braided back away from her face, but that only emphasized how gaunt and haggard she looked. Even with her eyes closed in sleep, he could see the furrow of her brow, and Alexander knew that if he touched her cheek, he’d feel the clammy sensation of dried tears.

“Oh, love,” he murmured, drawing in a ragged breath. Sliding around to the side of the bed, Alexander unbuttoned his waistcoat and shrugged it off, tossing it carelessly onto the chair Mrs. Washington had left behind. After removing his boots, he crawled into their bed and curled himself around Eliza’s side, draping an arm over her and gently pulling her close. He buried his face into the crook of her neck.

Her belly was still swollen, he realized, like the baby was still there, though Alexander knew from experience that that would soon fade. Eventually, Eliza’s body would begin to return to its normal shape, and although the marks of her pregnancies would remain, there would be no other sign that there had ever been a sixth Hamilton child.

She’d had to deal with this all by herself. While Alexander recognized that she had had the support of friends like the President and Mrs. Washington, and the care of talented physicians like Ned and Dr. Kuhn, Eliza had still been alone. Who had been here that could truly share in her grief and sorrow?

Who should have been here? He should have, but he hadn’t, placing the suppression of a bunch of unruly rascals over Eliza’s health and wellbeing. Oh, there had been many good reasons, all of which Alexander listed to Eliza before he left, in his own head in the ensuing weeks he was away, and on the frantic, harried race back to Philadelphia.

But now… lying here, cradling Eliza’s frail, fragile form in his arms, he realized just how hollow those reasons were. Alexander should have been here, taking care of his wife during her time in need. But he had turned his back on this duty, the sacred duty of any husband, and now God saw fit to punish him for it.

The tears came silently and, while part of him fretted about disturbing Eliza, once they started, he had not the strength to stop them. “I’m sorry, my Betsey,” he whispered into her neck, clutching her even more tightly to him. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Alexander held her close all through the night. He must have slept at some point, because when he opened his eyes, he found, first, that the dawn’s earliest light was beginning to creep through the window, second, that he was lying on his back and, third, Eliza had shifted away and now lay on her side, her back to him. Tremors shook her body, and he could hear the sound of repressed sobs.

He sat up hurriedly and reached for her, saying, “Betsey?” He pulled at her shoulder gently, urging her to turn back to him. He could feel the stiff resistance in her body for a moment, but then it gave away and she let him bring her around to face him.

Eliza’s cheeks and eyes were flushed and red from crying, and he wished he had a handkerchief to wipe away the tears. Instead, Alexander gathered her back into his arms, cradling her close and letting her bury her face in his chest while he rested his chin on top of her head. He rocked her as he would rock one of their children when they were ill, trying to soothe her even as he struggled to keep his own grief in check.

They stayed like that for a while, remaining undisturbed by the outside world, for which Alexander was grateful. Much as he longed to see his children, right now it was their mother who had to be his first priority. She had suffered his neglect, his disrespect, for far, far too long, and this was the terrible, terrible result.

“We’re going to leave, Betsey.” The words flew from his mouth before they’d even fully formed in his head, but as they settled into his thoughts, everything began to take shape. Correspondingly, her shaking body stilled in his arms. “I’m going to start writing my resignation.[3] I’ll submit it to the President, and I’ll start making preparations for us to return to New York.” He leaned back and looked down into her face. “We can perhaps stay with your parents for a time? Would you like that?”

She stared up at him with watery eyes, and he was not blind to the naked skepticism in them. He winced, knowing that she had a right to be doubtful. Alexander had talked of resigning before, had made vague promises that they would return to private life, but he had never followed through. He had made excuses for it, citing this or that crisis that required his guiding hand. Eliza had endured and soldiered onward, even as their continued residence in a city that she had never truly warmed to wore on her. She’d even endured a scolding by letter from Angelica when she heard the rumors of Alexander’s considered resignation from public service, though he didn’t think she ever responded to it.

“It’s time to go home,” Alexander said, and then he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I know you have cause to be suspicious, darling, but I truly mean it. We’re going home.”

Eliza did not respond, but she slowly sank into him, relaxing into his embrace for the first time in months. She buried her face into his chest, and her fingers gripped his shirt in the grip of someone who had been drowning, but now had something to keep them afloat.

Alexander refused to disappoint her. Not again.

-----

[1] Henry Knox to Alexander Hamilton, 24 November 1794.

[2] In truth, we don’t know the gender of the baby Eliza and Alexander lost at this time. No record was ever left that I know of, not even where they might have buried the poor mite. I chose to go with the baby being a boy because it seemed more likely to me. Out of eight children who came from successful births, six were sons, indicating that, on a physical level, Alexander was more apt to father boys.

[3] Alexander Hamilton to George Washington, 1 December 1794. Alexander certainly did not waste time, did he? Knox’s note above was dated November 24th, and literally within 7 days, Alexander had received it, raced back to Philadelphia to Eliza, and then wrote his dated resignation, which I imagine Washington received that same day or close to it, given its important contents. One week.

#my fanfiction #hamliza month #hamliza #alexander hamilton #elizabeth schuyler hamilton #edward stevens #martha washington #tw: depression #tw: miscarriage

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katie-writes24 · 4 years ago

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Last Chance

Pairing: Alexander Hamilton x reader

Warnings: Language, suggestive material, brief religious content ig, angst, fluff, weddings, bad officiant script (if that makes sense), irl it’s kinda wrong but just go with it.

Part 2

I’ll just get straight to the point, Taylor Swift was the cause of this..... That’s it! You’re welcome, enjoy! Lemme know if you want to be tagged. Oh and also, can we appreciate that I finally figured out to put the ‘keep reading’ feature on because I finally set tumblr up on my computer? Yay me, this is a life changer you don’t even know!

As a kid, Y/N would be dragged to church every Sunday, told to represent her supposedly "religious" family. Her mother would force her into a dress, always reminding her to "sit like a lady" since there were always boys present, and you just never know. They would go and learn about the god above, be thankful that they were brought here, cheer his name.

When she was fourteen, she went into church on a Monday, this time for a funeral. She automatically noticed the change in tone, obviously, but since then she looked at churches a bit different. They weren't praised as much, they held an entire different meaning, one that wasn’t very happy at all. No, she learned that churches could be just as devastating as celebratory.

Like now, where people gathered in front of the steps, mingling and wearing expensive clothing. There was a truck on the lawn, workers were shoving different table sets across the road, where a large tent was set up. There was a group of people laughing a couple feet away, all looking down at a little girl with a white dress on. A stretch limousine rolled around and a few women climbed out with grace, all wearing the same pale color.

Truly devastating.

Y/N tugged at her own dress, hoping that the simple color would at least help her blend in with the crowd. Maria had told her it would be just fine, and it’s not like a new fancy dress was in her budget.

Besides, it’s not like anyone here cares about her appearance. They’re not here for her. In fact, she hadn’t found one familiar face yet, which should be a good thing, but Y/N couldn’t help but wonder how many of these guests both parties even knew.

“Would you ever get married?”

He scoffed, “Marriage isn’t very meaningful is it, why should I have to document my love for you? As long as we both know it right?”

“Okay...I guess you’re right, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a nice tux.” She wiggled her eyebrows, but it didn’t bother him.

“Is that all you’d want a wedding for? Because I will gladly put on a fancy tux if it meant you’d be down to-”

“Shut up! No, that’s not all. I’d like one, I’d think it’d be nice. It wouldn’t even have to be a big one.” She could see them by the beach, perhaps even getting married at the courthouse and use their money to blow on a big dinner after. She wouldn’t even mind a service in their apartment, it’s roomy.

“Well, not like I have anyone for a big wedding anyways…”

She sat down next to him and stroked her fingers through his hair. “We’d invite our friends. I could invite my mom, you know she loves you. We don’t need a bunch of people to have a wedding.”

“Good, because I don’t want a giant guest list where there are different number tables and- a full service and a grand ceremony. I just...I just want you.”

She wonders how much of this is total bullshit.

From where she’s standing, Y/N doesn’t think anyone would approach her. The lake is quite breathtaking, but the crowd is full of anxiousness and people are patiently waiting for the ceremony to start by the front of the church.

Some people pass her by, and she picks up on certain terms, like how “beautiful the church is” or “she picked out the perfect dress, Philip was crying it was so pretty” and her favorite “just wait till you see this guy, they are just perfect for each other.”

Perfect.

“I told you I can’t dance.”

“And I was a fool to not believe you. My feet are killing me,” He smirked and then laughed as she hit his shoulder.

“Fuck off! Why are we doing this again?” She looked up at the sky that cracked before her, grey clouds mushing together.

“Because dancing in the rain is on my bucket list,” He twirled her around, pulling her close when she fumbled out of the turn.

“Okay, what does that have to do with me? You’re telling me all your years before we met you couldn’t have gone outside and danced?” She grimaced as she felt drops of water against her skin.

“Maybe I was waiting for the perfect person to do it with?” A hand wrapped around her waist and she chuckled.

“Perfect? I am far from perfect,” They met each other’s stare and she got butterflies just seeing that look in his eye.

“Well, then this is perfect,” The rain started to beat against the cement below them. “You and me, here right now, together. It’s perfect.”

Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t hear anybody approach until they called her name. Y/N turned her head a little too fast, scared that she would be caught, there would be a giant scene, and then she would lose her chance at-

At what exactly? She didn’t know either.

“That’s really you, isn’t it?”

Hercules always was so welcoming, she never felt out of place when she was around him. In fact, he actually had a small smile on now, dressed nicely in his, most likely own, tailored suit.

“Hey, Herc,” Y/N gripped her own arm, unsure if it was appropriate to go in for a hug. “You look nice.”

“Thank you, I made it myself.” He chuckled and opened his arms, allowing her to view his form. He looked just the same as she had seen him almost two years ago.

“It’s definitely you! Did that business of yours ever hit it off with the investors?” Maybe she was aiming for small talk in hope of a distraction, she wasn’t ready for the obvious to be out in the open just yet.

“No, but I’m working with something better. Got a lot of new line ups, good people to work with…” Hercules trailed off with a fond smile on his face.

“I’m really happy for you, Herc. You deserve it!”

He smiled, “What about you? What have you been up to?”

Y/N winced and tried not to fidget. “Still working for the same place, I actually got a promotion a couple months ago, so I’ve been busy with that...But everything else has been...things are going well.”

Hercules nodded, and just like a wave, tension flooded the air around them.

Y/N refused to look up and meet his eyes, to either see full curiosity, disappointment or any other mood that would just make her feel sick to her stomach, will have her asking the same question over and over to herself. However, the silence couldn’t stay too long.

“Y/N, what...why are you here?”

An older woman was yelling at a worker, wanting more champagne for the bride's suite. She was aggressive, and yet the guests around her weren’t baffled at her behavior in the slightest. Y/N hated entitlement, hated more when the rich forgot that other people aren’t as fortunate enough as them.

Y/N also hated that Hercules was still staring at her while she was wondering if her own mother would be so stressed as to the point of lashing out at others.

“How long have they been engaged?” She finds herself asking only to quiet her thoughts of if they were stuck in one place and never seemed to want more.

“Eight months,” Hercules sighed, never being one to push and always being honest. “Eliza’s sweet, she has a good heart. She’s loyal-”

Ouch.

“And she makes him happy.”

“Do you think we were ever… not happy?” Her eyes finally met his, instantly going soft and trying to word his answer carefully, even though Y/N could see a straight answer on his face.

“I think...you guys worked around each other well. I think you enjoyed each other’s company, and maybe you might have been in love once, but that’s in the past. Right now, over a hundred people are going to celebrate what’s best for him and Eliza…”

He’s not marrying you, he’s not with you.

It was something unspoken, but Y/N knew that was what Hercules was trying to get at, letting her know that her presence was unwelcome and that this was for the best.

Why was she here? Why did she think that today would be the day to confess her feelings that never drifted away? Why was she so selfish, and think that her happiness was more important than-

Someone approaches them rather quickly, and it makes her turn and brace for an attack.

Instead, it’s just John.

“What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here, you weren’t invited!” He was loud and he was causing a scene, something Y/N definitely did not want. He actually looked like he was about to jump her, but before he could move any closer Hercules puts his arm on John’s chest to block him.

“Relax, John,” Hercules looked back at her with a pointed look. “Y/N was just leaving.”

There was a pause, and she almost believed that yes, she was leaving. This was her cue, no one wanted her here, she wasn’t supposed to be here. Who is she to ruin a wedding? How could she do something so terrible?

“You should move in,” He ran his hand over her back, listening to her slow breaths.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’d be nice, having you here all the time?” He knew she was drifting off and probably wasn’t even registering what he was saying. He was proven wrong when she raised her head to look at him in the dark light.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt seeing you all day,” Y/N smirked as he nudged her with his leg. She kissed his chest and smiled down at him. “If I move in, there’s no turning back. Rent is too high for me to be switching back and forth.”

“I couldn’t think of anywhere else I'd want you to be.”

Y/N gave him a curt nod, walking backwards a bit before fully turning around. She walked all the way pass the church, passed the parking lot, all the way down to the end of the lake. She was out of sight.

But there was no way she was leaving. There was no way she was going to give up her last chance.

Even from where she stood, she could hear the beats of the traditional wedding music pick up, cheers from the crowd pick up as everyone hustled inside.

Her feet moved before she could even make a decision.

There was an elderly couple just walking into the room, and luckily the man held the door open for her. She thanked him and took the grand venue in. On each bench there was a bouquet of flowers, a white row leading up to the altar. It was packed, and Y/N could only imagine how many people she was about to shock.

She sat in an empty aisle seat in the back, and finally realized that Eliza was just reaching the top of the stairs, kissing her fathers cheek before he gave her over to him.

“Should I get a haircut?”

“No. I like it the way it is. You have nice hair, it’s soft and always so full. Why would you want to chop it off?” She caressed said hair.

“Eh, it’s too long. I think it’s a hassle to work with when I’m getting ready for work. I don’t know…” He looked in the mirror with a pained face. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, leaning her cheek on his back.

“Well, personally, I like it. But it is your hair. You know I’d love you either way.”

“Are you just being biased?”

“Mmh, well, I can’t say I don’t like having something to pull on.” She tugged and he whimpered before turning and kissing her, a full grin on his face.

He looked just like Y/N imagined him. In fact he hasn’t changed, except maybe the circles under his eyes got a bit darker. His hair was neatly wrapped in a ponytail behind his head, sharp tux on, a smile on his face.

Except none of that was for Y/N, it was for another woman.

Swallowing back the lump in her throat she cleared her throat, tapping her foot nervously as the officiant started speaking.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the love of Alexander and Elizabeth.”

“Stop being such a poor sport.”

“You so cheated! You know what, it’s fine. Because I know what really happened.”

“I’ll tell you what happened: Mr. Hamilton sucks at Mario Kart!”

“You take that back!”

“Through their time together, they have realized that their goals and dreams are more meaningful through a combined effort and mutual support provided in love.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“You got promoted, Alex! You’ve come so far since we met. You work so hard, you stay late at work, you stress yourself out far too much for my liking. But you got exactly where you wanted to be! And from here you can only go up! I’m proud of you!”

He smiled, kissing her knuckles and thanking her.

“As we create this marriage, we create a new bond and a new sense of family.”

“I hope our kids have your eyes.”

“If we’re thinking about children, I have no problem shoving them right back if they don’t look exactly like you.”

“Alex, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m just saying. Your eyes, your nose, I even want them to be as witty as you.”

“I hope they don’t have your sense of style.”

“Hey!”

“Now, before we begin the vows, if anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony-”

“You’re acting crazy!”

“No, I’m acting reasonable! You can’t seriously think that you were just going to let this go?”

“Where are we going, Y/N? We’re stuck in this one spot, and I can’t do it anymore!”

“Then don’t!”

“Let them speak now, or forever hold their peace.”

“I think I’m falling in love with you…” She wiped the tears from her eyes as he held her closely to his chest. “And I’m terrified.”

Y/N stands without letting herself have any more doubts.

Almost immediately, attention is drawn. There are gasps in the crowd, one woman even let out a horrid yell. The man sitting a couple feet away even scoffs, like Y/N’s idea was ridiculous. It’s enough commotion that causes the bride and groom to look her way.

Warmth filled her as his brown eyes connected with hers.

It went in flashes, Alexander’s emotions. First he was a bit confused, almost as to why their loved ones were making such noise. Then, it was anger, finally realizing that it was because someone was objecting to his wedding. And as their eyes connected, it was like he was sad.

Maybe it was because he hasn’t seen her since she walked out. Maybe it was because she was ruining his special day. Maybe it was because he knew she lost her chance years ago, and that even he knew it was too late.

Maybe it was because he knew the outcome of this.

Y/N took a shuddering breath, before saying the three words that could easily crush the hearts of everyone in this room. But she ignored the appalled crowd, she ignored the angry face of John right next to Alex, she didn’t even want to see how broken Eliza must look right now.

Instead, she focused on the very small quirk of Alexander’s lips, the small chance of hope that was promised.

#alexander hamilton x reader #alexander hamilton x oc #alexander hamilton imagine #my writings #alexander hamilton fic #hamilton fic #hamilton fanfiction #hamilton fanfic #I should probably rewrite this #but it's whatever for now #I've had no inspiration for the past four days and then suddenly at 4 am I finished this #soooo yeah #hamilton imagine #okay but this is totally inspired by speak now and exile

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monoxidecahedron · 4 years ago

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febuwhump day 3- imprisonment (whamilton)

this is really late, I know! I did a fuckton of research that ended up being obsolete :/ anyways have this! it’s nearly 2000 words and I’m proud of myself!

cw for depictions of getting beaten up

When Alexander begins to regain consciousness, the first thing he notices is that he can’t see- a black cloth is wrapped around his head, covering his eyes. Certain that this is not some sort of prank, especially not something his friends would pull in the middle of a war, he gets up slowly, feeling the wall he’d been propped up against. It’s plaster, the kind of wall that you’d find in a permanent home. Odd.

He parses his memory. All he comes up with is getting into his cot and actually trying to sleep for once instead of working some more. And look where it got me, he thinks dryly. I’m never sleeping again.

A door creaks open and then slams shut. “Well, well, well,” a man’s voice says. It’s somehow oily, if a voice could be oily, and Alexander cringes away from the source. “Look what we have here,” he continues. “Washington’s little pet.” Alex’s first, panicked thought is how does he know?, and then he realizes this man cannot possibly know just how deep his affection for his commander runs. Besides (and much to his chagrin), it’s not like Washington’s ever done anything about it, no matter how certain Alexander is that his feelings are reciprocated. He’s too virtuous, Alex often thinks. But then again, he’d never have him any other way.

“Stop smiling,” the man snaps. Alexander instinctively smiles harder, grinning and exposing his teeth in a mocking Cheshire-cat-like expression. That was a mistake, he notes as the stranger slaps him hard, expression scrunching up as the stinging pain spreads across his cheek. It’s not so much a sudden, sharp pricking of pain as it is a million little needles poking at him at the point of contact, almost tingling. He observes this all with an odd sort of detachment, absentmindedly rubbing at his cheek as the person withdraws.

“Are you done messing around?” the man growls, and suddenly it all comes back into focus and Alexander is very, very aware that he’s likely not in friendly hands. Which means he’s a hostage. He supposes it could have been worse- he’s not on one of those prison ships, which would practically guarantee his slow, inglorious, practically unnoticed death by sickness or suffocation- but even so, this is a situation in which he should tread carefully.

So he tilts his chin up and nods, not saying a word. “Good boy,” the man sneers, and Alexander has to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something. “Now. What is your army’s next move?”

This time Alexander can’t help himself, snorting, “you really aren’t a subtle one, are you?”

His cheek is still smarting from the first hit, and it hurts even more when the man backhands him across the face, bony knuckles knocking into soft flesh.

“None of that. Tell me, now.” Alexander gives him the best incredulous look he can manage from behind a blindfold.

“Bitch, I’m not telling you,” he says. The next thing he knows there’s a fist connecting with his stinging cheek, adding to the pain. He groans as his head jerks sideways and knuckles connect with his jaw, knocking his teeth together. He can feel it practically in his bones, dull throbs reverberating through his skull, and it hurts. Still, he clamps his mouth shut.

“So that’s how you’re playing it,” the man says. “Well. I can’t say I expected less.” A punch to his stomach, knocking the breath out of him as he leans forward, doubling over and wrapping his arms around himself. The man laughs. Shoves him onto the ground. He manages to catch himself, but the floor is hard, and he can almost feel the bruises forming on his palms. A foot comes down harsh on his back, slamming his stomach onto the ground. He thinks he might be screaming. Another kick to the face. If there wasn’t blood before, now it comes streaming out of his nose and he isn’t sure why he isn’t feeling any pain there until it comes rushing in, sharp and insistent and oh god it hurts. So bad.

“I could do this for hours,” the man says nonchalantly. Kicks him again. “Exactly six hours, in fact. If you don’t crack by then, well, bye-bye to you, we’ll just drag John Laurens in here and do the exact same thing. How’s that sound? Hm? You gonna die for nothing and let your buddy die too?” Alex gasps, trying to breathe through the fog of pain. No. No. Not John. Anyone but John. Anyone but John and- “Or maybe that dear Marquis,” the man continues, light and cheerful as he shoves his boot into Alex’s stomach. “Do you think he’d talk? I would hate to ruin that pretty face, of course, but you know, we all make sacrifices in war.” Alexander wants to scream. Familiar rage comes rushing in. This stupid Loyalist knows nothing of sacrifice. Nothing.

“Fuck- you,” he manages to get out through gritted teeth. Instead of snarling at him, the man just chuckles, and somehow that’s worse, the icy edge of the sound digging into him.

“Oh my, oh my. I was expecting Washington’s right-hand man would be smarter. But then again, perhaps it wasn’t exactly your wits that got you to where you are,” he says. Another harsh kick accompanies the blow to his pride. “Not denying it? Hm. What a whore,” he continues, tone as light as if he were carrying a nice conversation with a casual acquaintance. Alexander writhes on the floor.

“You’re actually quite lucky, you know,” the man says. “I wanted to bring out the knives. Arnold wouldn’t have that, though, says it’ll be better to have some physical proof that you’ve been in pain.” Alex inhales sharply. What? Arnold as in Benedict Arnold? “Ah yes, that’s right! How delightful. You still don’t know about dear Benedict!” the man says cheerfully. “Well, he’s ours. I’m surprised you hadn’t figured that out by now. But then again, of course, you know nothing about us. Yet we-” his tone drops significantly, and he leans down to Alex’s ear- “know everything.”

He’s rescued, of course. He holds a high position and someone was bound to notice his absence fairly quickly, and put the pieces together. But it’s not quick enough to stop him from accumulating bruises all over his body, purpling up around the edges and reminding him of his pain with even the slightest pressure. His nose is broken, and there’s blood all over his face, and he’s spent the last five hours taunted and tortured. He thinks he might have a broken arm, but he’s not sure. They put him on Washington’s bed, presumably because it’s one of the only ones that actually have a mattress and it’s isolated, and he drifts off, glad for the escape from his own hurting body.

They bring Alexander in. Washington is immensely worried, and clearly not in any state to make any sort of decisions, and Lafayette, seeing this, immediately takes charge (bless him). He’s very capable, and Washington trusts him. He sighs. He should have seen this coming. No matter how much they put on an air of bravado and condescension towards the revolution, the British know they’re in a bad place. They’re getting desperate. He should have anticipated they’d make a move like this.

He looks at Alexander again from his seat at his desk. He would look almost peaceful, if it weren’t for the smattering of purpling bruises across his face. Washington shakes his head, trying to quell the surge of protectiveness he feels at the sight of his boy so hurt. He still hasn’t woken up.

It gets late, but Washington stays up, kept company by his own persistent thoughts. He should have done something. There must have been some way to prevent this, some sign that he’d missed.

“George,” he hears. He whirls around. Alexander is smiling at him, more pained grimace than happy expression. He’s never called him that before. Washington decides he likes it. “George. I need to-” he breaks into a round of coughing.

Washington is at his side instantly. “What is it?”

“Arnold,” he manages to get out in between coughs. “Be- Benedict Arnold- traitor-”

Washington is more worried about Alexander. “Okay,” he says, because Alexander is trying to emphasize his point and it’s worsening his coughing. “Okay. I believe you.” If Arnold is a traitor- and he surely is, because his Alexander would not lie about these things- he must be dealt with. He writes a quick letter and gives it to Lafayette, who is just downstairs. He will handle it.

“Alex. Alexander. It’s okay,” he says. Alexander is still trying to speak. “It’s alright.” He shakes his head fervently.

“No-” he manages, although his voice is hoarse and rough- “no- one more- one more thing- I-” He stops. “M’- gonna- sleep- but-”

“Alexander. Just sleep. It’s okay.”

“I- I love you,” he blurts. Washington answers without hesitation, almost on impulse.

“I love you too.”

Alexander seems to deflate, as if that was the only thing keeping him hanging on. “M’ sorry,” he mutters.

What are you sorry for? “Don’t be sorry.”

Alexander recovers fairly quickly. Lafayette is grateful, although he cannot help but note that he still limps, and winces if someone bumps into him too hard. He worries, of course, but nothing in the world could separate Alexander Hamilton from his work except physical restraints, no matter how much his friends might try to dissuade him.

There’s other changes, too. He seems much more protective of Lafayette and John, taking to following them and always inquiring as to where they are, and panicking when he doesn’t receive a definitive answer. John jokes that it’s like having a guard chihuahua, but both of them make sure to stay within Alexander’s sight whenever possible.

The biggest change, however, lies in Alexander’s relationship with their general. John is not particularly perceptive, and thus continues unaware, but Lafayette has spent his whole life observing and taking invisible cues in order to insert himself in the right places and charm the right people, and he sees it almost as clear as if it were written in bold for him to read, so glaringly obvious in the way Washington pulls him closer when they’re not in public, the way Alexander leans into him, the glances they share from across the room, heavy with intimacy and care.

Even so, even with it laid out in front of him, he turns away, covers his eyes. Maintains plausible deniability. What those two have is fragile, new, and he won’t ruin the new happy spark in his friend’s eyes when his general is mentioned.

So when a month goes by, when Alexander is healed enough for more exerting physical activities, when he passes Washington’s door late at night and hears them whispering together, tender and affectionate in the privacy of Washington’s office, he blocks it out, walks right on by, hopes Alexander knows what he’s doing.

i really just went “mmm ✨commas✨” didn’t I

comments are very very very very much appreciated, as are reblogs!

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2021 #hamilton #hamilton fanfiction #whamilton #alexander hamilton #george washington #marquis de Lafayette

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btxtreads · 5 years ago

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whispers || min yoongi

CHAPTER ONE

➳ Fate is such a fickle thing. So easy to tamper with.

↳ Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Based off of the Daechwita MV)

↳ word count: 1.5k words

↳ rating: PG-13

↳ genre: fluff, angst, historical AU

↳ Warnings: Swords, Death, A gun, Battle Scenes, Forced Engagement, Failed Execution, Assassination

↳Trigger warning note: PLEASE BE CAREFUL IN READING THIS FIC. IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY THE THINGS LISTED ABOVE–PLEASE DO NOT PROCEED UNDER THE KEEP READING SIGN.

↳ a/n: i wrote this for like three days until i realized oh maybe it should be a series so enjoy this first chapter lol also!!!!! i put a lil final fantasy thing here and its kind of a central point to the story lmaooooOoO guys send me some asks im like really bored bls

Empress Y/N

Empress Y/N (1384 – 1461) was the second emperor of the Baekje kingdom during the early Joseon era and one of the best-known queens of the Joseon dynasty. Born to a consort, the ongju only became the heir to the throne when Gongju Sun, only child of the Baekje emperor and the late empress Shin, became the empress of Goguryeo after her marriage with the Emperor—father of the late crown prince Geum—after his queen’s untimely death. Y/N became the first empress to rule without a king in 1413, until her marriage to her royal guard Park Jimin in 1420. The empress was then succeeded by her son, Park Il-Guk, after she and her husband stepped down the throne in 1446. She died of natural causes in 1461.

It was a normal day at the temple when the empress suddenly visited. It was dark and silent—the time of the pig[1].

The heavily pregnant empress of Goguryeo, ever the superstitious, approaches the oracle with a careful bow as she cradled her swollen belly. She was due to birth any time.

“Your highness,” greeted the oracle.

“Priestess Cho,” the empress nodded back. “Apologies for having barged in at such an inconvenient time,”

“None-sense, your majesty.” The priestess replied. “The stars have called you here. Who am I to disagree?”

The queen nodded solemnly before setting her hand on her stomach. “I am to birth at any time. I would like you to tell me about my child.”

And tell her she did.

The priestess whispered a prayer as she lit an incense, then closed her eyes.

As if magic, a prophecy tumbled out of her mouth.

A family of greatness

Birthing a child of weakness

As one approaches his end,

A brother prepares to reign.

The queen gasped as tears welled up in her eyes.

She touched her stomach as she felt her child respond to his mother’s touch.

The stars have spoken.

The unborn child will not reach his seventh year, and he will not see his brother crowned as the heir to the throne.

It had been seven years since then.The country prospered and was better than ever.

The crown prince, Geum, grew up to be a cheerful, kind and intelligent boy. He had an affinity for diplomacy and is exceptionally skilled in warfare and battle strategy. The kingdom loved him.

Prince Yunki, however, was a sad child. Perhaps that was because he was constantly ill and born with a death sentence.

The boy was born with snow white hair, which the queen supposed was the result of his illnesses—though quite unheard of. Despite his affinity for swordsmanship and politics, the boy could barely even wield one.

The queen was disheartened.

Agitated by her son’s fate, the empress once again visits the temple. Once again, she sits across the same oracle.

“Your highness,” greeted the oracle. “You have returned.”

“Priestess Cho. I came for my son,” The queen replied with urgency, no time for pleasantries, “The fates have told you that he will die as his brother ages for the throne.”

“They have.”

“Geum will be groomed for the throne soon,” The queen rushed. “Is the death of Yunki really mapped by the gods?”

“No gods, your grace. Stars—the planet. Destiny. Fate. Whatever it is called.”

“Fate dictates the death of my son?”

“Alas, the stars have changed course.” The oracle whispers. “The spirits whisper.”

“What do they say?”

“That your son will be the fiercest king Goguryeo will meet.” The oracle tells. “The emperor that defies fate and destiny.”

“Priestess Cho, forgive me. I was not talking about Geum.”

“Neither am I.” The priestess replied, shocking the queen into silence as she continued. “He will not die tonight, my queen. Not yet. Not for a long while.”

Perhaps the mistake the queen did that night was not to ask what this entailed.

For the following year, the queen was delighted at what she saw.

Yunki loses his illness, recovering at a fast pace. He grew up a strong prince with fair skin, maintaining his white hair, and a sharp gaze. He became strong and fierce.

The queen perished happily that year, joyed at the fact that her son will live. She returned to the planet as her country mourned.

For years to follow, all was well in the kingdom—they had a crown prince who would rule kindly and another who defied fate.

It wasn’t until years later that it all crashed down.

Prince Geum fell in battle, and the emperor died from grief. Prince Yunki immediately ascended to the throne.

The bitter child that he grew up to be, Emperor Yunki became the mad king. All he did was pillage and burn.

That’s what he did to terrorize nearby cities, that’s what he did to eliminate rebels, and that’s what he did to conquer the Kingdom of Silla.

It was because this that fate finally fixed itself—the planet called the whispers[2].

Min Yoongi was simply… Yoongi.

He didn’t think anything was special about him—well, except for the fact that he was a time-travelling assassin sent to different moments of history to fix details that would change the course of destiny.

It would be nice to see an ancient Korea after the mess I made in America, Yoongi thought as he headed to his mission.

He shuddered at the thought of his previous mission—Yoongi spent two whole years egging Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton’s rivalry to end in a duel rather than amicable terms.

Never again.

Shaking his head, Yoongi stepped through time and landed where he needed to, Joseon era—the year 1411.

Yoongi gazed around at the busy street and the lively Goguryeo culture—but that really wasn’t what he’s here for.

Yoongi breathed and nodded to himself.

He was back here to do his mission: assassinate Emperor Yunki and restore the timeline.

Securing his straw hat on his head, Yoongi started to walk through the busy marketplace.

While he did feel weirdly out-of-place, he found that didn’t actually care as long as his cover wasn’t blown.

Three loud bangs on a drum and airy horns were suddenly heard, making him feel alive—Yoongi came at the same time they were playing the Daechwita [3].

Yoongi has always liked music. He liked to play, to listen, to sing and dance and rap. He liked it modern, classical, and traditional—and the Daechwita was one of his favorites. Perhaps it was the ties to his culture.

Intrigued, Yoongi went to watch the captivating performance.

“You really like music, don’t you?” A soft voice hummed next to him. “Obviously, right? A person wouldn’t smile that big while watching the Daechwita if they didn’t like music.”

He turned to see a girl, donned in a plain-looking blue and purple hanbok, tilting her head at him.

Yoongi blinked and turned to leave. “Hey, wait!”

The girl ran after him. “Hello!”

“Goodbye,”

“What’s your name?” The girl persisted, as Yoongi turned to another pathway, his hands in his pockets.

“None of your business.” Yoongi quipped, shooting the girl an irritated gaze.

“Sorry, I just found it really sweet that you were so happy, watching the Daechwita,” the girl continued. “While I do like music too, I really don’t listen to the Daechwita much.”

Yoongi sighed, deciding to humor the girl.

“You’re a commoner, what business do you have listening to the Daechwita?”

“You’re right, nothing!” She smiled.

“Right.”

Yoongi continued walking, vaguely aware of the footsteps following behind him.

“So, what’s your name?”

Yoongi glared at the happy girl, who only smiled back.

“If you refuse tell me, I will call you Daechwita until you do.”

Yoongi huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Listen, don’t you have anyone else to bother?”

The girl shrugged. “Not really. Besides, everybody in the country is busy these days.”

At this, Yoongi snapped into attention, turning to the girl to gather intel on his mission. “Why? What’s happening?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The girl snorted before shrugging. “The emperor of Baekje and his… ah… daughters have arrived. The gongju[4] is going to marry the emperor.”

“Emperor Yunki? A wedding?” Yoongi asked. That bastard is getting married?

“Yes.” The girl nodded, smiling.

“Have you seen the emperor yet?” Yoongi asked curiously, taking note of possible locations.

The girl slowly shook her head. “No, I’ve never seen him. I’m just a visitor.”

“From where?” Yoongi asked.

The girl gulped. “Baekje.”

“Ah,” Yoongi nodded. “What was your name again?”

“…Y/N?” The girl replied hesitantly.

So, this is Empress Y/N of Baekje, Yoongi noted before he shrugged. Didn’t know she was this annoying.

“Okay, then.”

He turned to leave.

“Wait, that’s it? That’s your response? To what I just told you?”

He turned his head and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, was I supposed to say anything else?”

The girl’s eyes lighted up. “No!”

Yoongi rolled his eyes and turned to leave when the girl bounded up next to him.

“So, where are you from?”

Yoongi let out an exasperated sigh.

This was going to be a very long day.

LORE GUIDE:

[1] In the Joseon era, people told time via sundials and water clocks. As they did not follow the modern format of time yet, they based off of animals. The time of the pig means 9:00 – 11:00 PM.

[2] Based off of the Final Fantasy 7 remake, Whispers were entities that were meant to keep destiny in line. They appear at instances where destiny could possibly change course and make sure that whatever needs to happen, happens. However, this can be broken as Cloud and his team destroys all entities and changes the past, present and future—altering the timeline and creating a new one.

[3] Daechwita is a genre of Korean tradition music played with snares and woodwind instruments. This is usually performed during marching or when the king is out.

[4] Ongju and Gongju are both princesses. Gongju, however is the daughter of the king and queen—a crown princess. An ongju is the daughter of the king and a consort.

For other questions DM me,,,, also i just really want people to talk to u

128 notes · View notes

crescent-quill-writings · 4 years ago

Text

The Best Way to Break Tradition

Fandom: Hamilton - Miranda

Words: 6784

Relationship: Thomas Jefferson/Hercules Mulligan

Additional tags: Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Smut, Morning After, Modern AU

A/N: (belated) Merry Christmas, everyone! Have a happy holidays and a hopeful New Year ^-^

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Well, we’re here… When does your flight depart?”

“In just about an hour. I should probably go, get through security before I end up late.”

“Yeah, I guess you should…”

Every year Thomas would drive James down to the airport to catch his flight down south. Every year Thomas would try to convince his best friend to stay for the holidays, and every year James would leave to be with his family. Every year they had this conversation, and every year it ended the same way.

It was like a strange, sad Christmas tradition.

“But you still have a little bit of time, right? Do you wanna grab a farewell coffee?”

“Thomas, don’t do this,” James sighed with a shake of his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “My parents have invited me over for Christmas, everyone will be there. You know that family is complicated, I can’t just ditch them last minute.”

“And you know this isn’t easy for me,” Thomas refutes with a huff and a sharp glare that was met with crossed arms from James. “At least you’re wanted by them…”

James could only sigh again, his expression softening as he placed a hand on his friend’s arm. “They’ve always said they’d be more than happy to see you too. You don’t need to spend Christmas up here alone.”

“Family is complicated,” Thomas echoes, shaking his head as if it would physically rid him of the thought of his own family before beginning to get out of the car.

They went quiet again as James followed suit, waiting as Thomas retrieved his rolling suitcase and book bag from the trunk.

“Text me when you land?”

“Of course,” James affirmed with a nod as he took his bags. “I’ll be back just after New Years'.”

“Yeah, just like last year,” Thomas murmured with an awkward shift as he rubbed his arm. “Have a safe flight and a Merry Christmas and all that…”

James simply nodded in response as the two friends shared a final, awkward, and unsure parting glance. Thomas watched as James turned and began to walk away, not moving until the airport’s automatic doors had slid closed behind his friend.

He wasn’t sure why he always waited until James was out of sight. Perhaps he hoped that one of these years James would change his mind at the last minute, or maybe his flight would be cancelled and he’d have to stay another day.

Whatever Thomas wished for, it never came true. Just like the year before, he was always left alone as he slowly drove away.

*~*~*~*~*~*

A few days had passed since James had left for Virginia. Thomas never responded to any of the texts he sent, just staring at the well-wishes from down south and the photos of the Madison family’s celebrations.

With Christmas just around the corner, Thomas did his best to hide away from the holiday cheer. It was hard to be festive when you’d be spending the season alone.

“Junk, coupons, bill, junk…” He listed off his mail with a frown, flipping through the envelopes left at his door and tossing them onto his kitchen table. “… And this.”

Thomas paused as he turned the blue envelope over in his hands. He could recognize the handwriting on the back any day. It was an invitation from Lafayette to attend his annual Christmas party.

With a sigh, he moved to toss the letter in the trash. Another strange, sad Christmas tradition.

Even if Thomas knew, or at least assumed, what the invitation contained he decided to humour his foreign friend just this once. After all, what harm could some textbook holiday greetings and Christmas wishes do?

He slipped his finger under the edge of the envelope and ripped the blue paper open, tossing it in the trash. As he read, he wandered into the living room and found himself pacing in front of the fireplace.

Mon beaux ami,

I know that you will most likely never read this like all the other years… Still, should you ever change your mind I am hosting a party for family and friends on Christmas Eve. There will be a buffet dinner, open bar, and as always, people who will be very happy to see you. All I ask is that you give it a chance. Perhaps it’ll be easier to enjoy the holidays with a companion, non?

Either way, I hope to see you at my house at seven o’clock sharp. Don’t be late!

Your friend, Gilbert

Thomas stopped as he read over the last few lines, the paper crumpling around his fingers as his grip tightened. He’d never even considered that Lafayette took the time to personalize his invitation, nor that he would notice his absence when there were so many other people attending the party.

With a deep sigh, he rooted a hand in his curls, nodding slowly as he closed his eyes.

“Just this once… Just one little break in tradition.” He murmured to himself as he folded up the invitation and grabbed his keys.

Thomas had some Christmas shopping to do and there was only one place that’d be reliably open this late into the holiday season: the liquor store.

He knew he’d need to get something from the top shelf. It was the least he could do after all the years he’d missed. Lafayette liked sweet more than savoury, though he probably had enough wine from his home country to last a lifetime. Thomas figured a nice bourbon would do, or maybe something foreign and fancy-sounding like blue absinthe.

Thomas ended up buying both and picked up a box of Merci chocolates on his way home, just to be safe.

With a nice bag and a couple of bows, it would’ve looked like he planned this from the beginning. At least, that’s what Thomas hoped. He wasn’t sure if dessert and booze was the best way to make up for several missed Christmases, but it was the best shot he had.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Standing in front of Lafayette’s door with his last-minute present in one hand and the other raised to knock, Thomas still hesitated.

Luck would have it that the weather combined with a miscalculation of his GPS made him more than an hour late. Lafayette must have already assumed he wasn’t going to show up, meaning that Thomas couldn’t be sure how the Frenchman would react to him showing up. It was tempting just to turn around, forget he ever changed his mind and enjoy the booze and chocolates in the comfort of his own, lonely home.

“You’re a coward, Jefferson,” Thomas muttered as he closed his eyes, knocking on the door before he could second guess himself again.

While he waited for someone to answer he listened to the sounds of muffled conversation accompanied by occasional laughter. Whoever was inside seemed to be having a good enough time without him, and as the minutes passed with no answer he began to regret ever changing his mind about the holidays.

Just as Thomas began to turn away there was a click behind the door before it swung open. Standing there with surprise in his eyes was none other than Lafayette.

“Hi… Sorry I’m late--”

“Thomas!” The Frenchman cheered, pulling his friend into a hug that ended before it ever really began. “Do not apologize, I am just happy to see you. How long have you been standing here? Come inside, it is too cold to keep you waiting any longer.”

Thomas tried not to think too much about the hug, instead, he just smiled and let himself be happy about not having to stand out in the snow anymore. “I, uh, I got you something. It’s not much but it’s… something.”

Lafayette took the shin red bag the southerner was holding and tilted his head while he inspected its contents. “You just being here is more than enough. Let me take your coat, and please, make yourself at home.”

Thomas smiled a bit more as he shrugged off his coat, watching Lafayette walk off before he turned his gaze to the other guests.

He knew Lafayette had a big family and even larger social circles, but Thomas only recognize about a quarter of the people present. If he already felt like a third wheel, now he was no better than a stranger.

With a deep breath, Thomas slipped off his boots and tried to casually pass by the various congregations and conversations dotted around the room. He saw a drunken Alexander flirting relentlessly with a relatively sober Aaron Burr by the Christmas tree. He saw the Schuyler sisters chatting with Maria and a blonde that he assumed to be Adrienne, one of Lafayette’s childhood friends. He saw John Laurens ducking under Lafayette’s arm with a pair of champagne glasses while the Frenchman introduced him to a series of aunts, uncles, and cousins. It seemed that everyone had a friend, family member, or lover to spend their time with.

Everyone except Thomas.

With that spirit-lifting conclusion Thomas decided it best he made his way to the food and booze. He picked at some of the fondue options first, dipping a few strawberries and pineapple slices under the free-flowing chocolate before the sugar became too much. He went searching for something more savoury, only to find that either the other guests had eaten them all, or there were no savoury options to begin with.

“I knew Gil had a sweet tooth, but this is just excessive,” he muttered with a shake of his head as he turned his attention to the booze.

As he was looking through the alcoholic options, he found the bourbon and blue absinthe he’d brought with him to the party. He gave a dry laugh at the sight, shaking his head as he set down the blueberry wine he was considering and poured himself a glass of bourbon. He didn’t blame Lafayette for the decision he made, he couldn’t, and at least this way he wouldn’t feel guilty for drinking all of his friend’s booze.

It was stronger than wine anyways, and Thomas needed stronger.

He finished the first glass quickly and quietly, wanting to be drunk before he let himself try and enjoy the amber liquid. As he sipped at his second glass, he scanned the room again with a small frown. Even in a room full of happy faces and cheery conversation he was alone for the holidays.

At least he had good taste in bourbon.

As Thomas was wallowing in self-pity and jealousy a giant of a man began to approach. He browsed through his options with pursed lips, whistling when he noticed the bright bottle of blue absinthe.

The sound startled Thomas, his bourbon sloshing in his glass as he suddenly stood up straight and took in the stranger’s appearance.

Thomas had heard a lot of people described as being built like a tank but by god did this man live up to it. He was about a foot taller than Thomas, who stood at a clean 6’3” in his own right, with broad shoulders and muscular arms that could barely be contained by the classic ugly Christmas sweater he was wearing.

He realized he was staring when he made eye contact with the stranger, though the moment ended when he quickly tried to distract himself with his drink.

“Just when I thought this party could use a pick me up you show your stunning little face,” The stranger spoke as he grabbed himself a shot glass and uncapped the bottle of blue absinthe. Seeing Thomas’ confusion out of the corner of his eye he flashed the man a grin. “I was talking to the booze, not you. Unless you’d like me to call you stunning too.”

“Are you drunk?” Thomas blurts, a little put-off by how charismatically carefree the stranger was being.

“A little, but not as drunk as I will be,” He replied with a shrug before tossing back the shot and swallowing it without a quiver. “The name’s Hercules, by the way.”

“Thomas Jefferson.” The southerner introduced as he watched Hercules pour himself more of the blue absinthe to sip on. “Y’know, that stuff’s, like, eighty percent alcohol, right? It might be better to stick with the shot glasses.”

“Eh, I’m Irish, and this is a taste of home. I’ll be fine. Probably,” Hercules replied, flashing Thomas another one of his stunning grins. “Don’t know how Laf got his hands on it, though, haven’t seen any kind of absinthe since I moved over here.”

“I brought it, actually,” Thomas admitted with a small clear of his throat and a little smile, lowering his glass to meet Hercules’ gaze. “The liquor stores uptown keep some stock of fancy foreign-sounding things. Luck would have it I decided on that one.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.” The Irishman replied, taking a sip of his drink before he moved to lean against the wall with Thomas.

They were quiet for a few minutes, both sipping at their respective drinks as they watched the party unfold in front of them. Alexander and Aaron had started slow dancing, much to the former’s chagrin. John was sitting on Lafayette’s lap teasing him by telling stories to a handful of the Frenchman’s siblings and their significant others. Adrienne and Maria had found a quiet corner to talk in while Eliza sat back as Peggy and Angelica flirted with Lafayette’s cousins.

“They seem to be having fun,” Hercules commented after a moment, bringing Thomas’ focus back to him.

“Yeah, seems they are…” The southerner replied with a small sigh, watching his bourbon as he twirled his glass before taking another sip. “You could join them, have fun too.”

“And miss out on the show? No thanks,” Hercules replied with a rumbling laugh, tilting his head back as he sighed before slowly shaking his head. “Really, though, they all got their own thing going on. I’d just get in the way.”

“Aren’t they your friends?” Thomas asked, lowering his glass again as he tried to decipher the far-away look in the Irishman’s eyes.

“Well, sure. I’m their rock, the ‘dad friend,’ the one they go to when they need advice, but…” Hercules trailed off for a moment, hesitating to continue before he took a drink of the blue absinthe. “That’s kinda it.”

From the way Thomas’ brow had furrowed in confusion Hercules could tell that he didn’t quite understand. With a sigh, he began to motion between his friends that made up the various couples in the room.

“Alex couldn’t tell if he was obsessed with Aaron because of love or hate before I stepped in. I told John that Gil already adored him when he was freaking out ‘cause he thought his feelings were one-sided. The Schuyler’s- Well, they don’t really need my help, but they still like to hear my advice. And just tonight I helped Maria work up the courage to introduce herself to Adr- Adrie- Blondie over there. My job is done.”

“You forgot to save someone for yourself, is that it?” Thomas concluded with a frown, watching as Hercules began to nod.

“Basically, yeah. It’s kinda sad, isn’t it?” The Irishman commented with a dry laugh before he took a swig of his drink, nearly finishing it in one gulp. “I get all these couples together and at the end of the day I’m still alone.”

“I get the feeling, sort of,” Thomas admitted as he cleared his throat, regretting trying to follow suit and finish his bourbon in one go. “Mainly the alone part… this is my first time at one of these parties, actually. Usually, I just spend the holidays holed up at home.”

“Guess this year we get to be alone together,” Hercules hummed, grinning as he knocked their glasses together before tossing back the rest of his booze. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Yeah…” Thomas murmured, only taking a small sip of his bourbon as he began to space out.

Instead of calming his nerves, the alcohol only made his anxieties worse. The southerner couldn’t reason why he’d just shared some of his biggest fears with a man he just met or why Hercules had told him most of his. It had to be sympathy, or empathy, or pity or something else like it. He was drunk, not a thesaurus! Whatever it was, Thomas had convinced himself that it would only end in him getting hurt.

“Excuse me,” Thomas spoke as he abruptly set his glass down, already beginning to walk away from Hercules before he continued. “I should- I gotta go.”

“Wait, what? Why? Was it something I said?” Hercules began to ask, but his questions fell on deaf ears.

Thomas was already lost in an ocean of his anxieties as he rushed to the front door, bumping into a few people on the way as he stumbled past congregations and couples.

He was almost at the front door when he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder and met with a pair of worried eyes.

“Thomas, is everything alright? You’ve gotten yourself in such a hurry…” the Frenchman commented with a sigh, reaching to cup Thomas’ cheek and focus his gaze before his hand was pushed away.

“Nothing I just- figured I should be getting home,” Thomas replied, hoping his words weren’t too slurred as he forced a smile. “The party was good- great. I’ll drop by again next year.”

“Mon beaux, wait. Please,” Lafayette begged, grabbing onto Thomas’ wrist before he could run any father. “I’m not going to let one of my friends try to drive home drunk in this kind of weather, it’s a death wish. Stay for the night, I insist. You can go home after breakfast.”

Before Thomas could come up with something in his defence Hercules was standing behind them, awkwardly opening and closing his mouth as he tried to find something to say. “Are you… Okay?”

“Everything is fine, mon nounours,” Lafayette filled in with a little smile, though there was a glint of something coy in his eyes. “I was just telling Thomas that he should rest before he ends up too hungover. Could you do me a favour and set him up in one of the guest bedrooms? The one right next to the master should be just fine.”

“Yeah, sure, I gotcha,” The Irishman replied with a clear of his throat and a nod, looking to Thomas with an apologetic smile before placing a hand on his shoulder and leading him away from the party.

As the sound of chatter and laughter slowly faded, Thomas wasn’t sure if he wanted to curse Lafayette or thank him. He was drunk and about to be alone with a very handsome man he somehow managed to personally connect with.

Things were about to go very, very wrong or very, very right.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Both Hercules and Thomas were quiet, awkward as they found their way up the stairs to the bedrooms. Neither were entirely sober and Lafayette’s house, which he inherited from some rich great uncle, was large enough to make it a task for them to find the guest bedroom the Frenchman had directed them to.

“I think this one’s it,” Hercules muttered as he scratched the back of his head. “Guess that means you’re all set for the night…”

“Yeah, guess I am,” Thomas murmured, voice breathy and barely above a whisper as he rubbed his arm.

He’d gotten scared earlier because Hercules had gotten close. Now that they had been pushed back together, the thought of coming so close to… something only to end up alone on Christmas Eve again was even more terrifying.

They both opened their mouth to speak at the same time, then they shut themselves up to let the other speak first. It made them laugh, the sound was nervous and awkward yet still genuine.

Thomas made a motion for Hercules to speak first, and the Irishman obliged.

“Listen, I don’t really know what happened downstair but I know I had to have done something, so,” He started, clearing his throat a little to give him time to figure out his next words. “I guess I’m trynna say sorry? You’re a good guy- a great guy and I made a shitty first impression and I really wish I had a do-over or something right now to make it up to you.”

Hercules was rambling, whether from the alcohol or because he was genuinely nervous Thomas couldn’t tell. Still, it made him smile as he placed a hand on the Irishman’s arm to calm him down. “You’re fine, you didn’t do anything I just… freaked. No real reason for it.”

It was a lie. A little white lie, but a lie nonetheless. If Hercules pried, he could probably blame it on too much booze. Thankfully the Irishman just sighed in relief before flashing Thomas one of those carefree, charismatic grins of his.

“Guess that settles it, then.”

Their resolution was mutual, but neither made a move to leave.

Thomas kept his hand on Hercules’ arm, trying to subtly feel the muscles beneath his sleeve as the Irishman grinned and took a step closer. Nothing was ever really subtle when you’re drunk, after all.

“Is this where we’re supposed to say goodnight? Go about our lives?” Thomas asked as he traced the colourful pattern of Hercules’ sweater, coaxing him into stepping closer.

“Supposed to and have to are two very different things,” Hercules replied with a low laugh, placing a hand on the southerner’s hip. “I mean, we’re adults, we can make our own decisions.”

“That’s true, so what do you want to do?” Thomas hummed, looking up to meet Hercules’ gaze, swallowing thickly as he watches his words ignite something in the Irishman’s eyes.

There was a moment of silence as Thomas licked his lips, tightening glancing down over Hercules’ broad chest as he pulled at his sleeve. The action made Hercules laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

In a moment Thomas was gasping as he was pushed back against the door and Hercules caught his lips in a hungry kiss. He gave into it. He gave more than he thought he could into a single kiss as he clung onto Hercules’ shoulders and lifted a leg to wrap around his waist. Hercules was more than happy to help, squeezing his ass as his hands hooked under the southerner’s thighs and lifted him up off the ground.

Before it would’ve scared Thomas how easily he preened under every touch and practically purred as Hercules tugged at his lower lip with his teeth. He was vulnerable, at the mercy of Hercules’ every little whim, and he was loving it.

Every moment they spent pressed together, tongues tangled as they tugged at each other’s clothes were just as intoxicating as the absinthe on the Irishman’s lips.

Thomas was left panting as Hercules broke the kiss to run his teeth over his ear and fumbled with the doorknob as the southerner tugged at his sweater. He gave his ass another squeeze as a tease before he dropped him on the bed.

Thomas couldn’t help but whine as he lost the contact he so desperately needed, only end up swallowing thickly as Hercules made quick work of his sweater.

“Like what you see?” The Irishman laughed as he flexed his arms above his head.

Thomas would be lying if he said anything other than a resounding yes. “Fuck. You could bench press me without even breaking a sweat!”

His comment made Hercules laugh again. It started as a low rumble in his chest before it turned into a hearty bellow that vibrated within Thomas’ core. “Y’know, of all the things I’ve heard, that’s a first.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Thomas asked, shifting onto his knees as the mattress bent under Hercules’ weight.

“Nah, it’s a good thing,” The Irishman reassured as he pulled Thomas into his lap and had him straddle his hips. “Means that you’re gonna make this fun.”

His comment made Thomas laugh this time, tucking his face into the crook of Hercules’ neck. The Irishman made an almost purr-like hum in response as he wrapped his arms tight around his waist and kept Thomas close even as he began to paint bitemarks and hickeys along his jaw and down from his pulse point. All the attention was wonderful, and by god did Thomas want more, but no matter how tempting it was to tilt his head back and let Hercules have at it he couldn’t bring himself to move.

A sob echoed in the room over the sound of lips and teeth against skin. Thomas wanted to ignore it, pressing closer to the Irishman to try and coax him into continuing.

He didn’t realize that the sob came from him until Hercules pulled back with worried-looking eyes.

“You doing alright?” He asked quietly as he began, hesitantly loosening his hold.

“Yeah, I’m just fine,” Thomas replied, forcing a smile as he pretended he didn’t have to swallow back another sob to keep his words from wavering. “We’re good, we’re great. Pretty as a peach.”

The southerner wasn’t entirely making sense and he knew it, but he needed Hercules to stay more than he needed to find the right words.

“Look, you don’t gotta lie just ‘cause you feel bad for leading me on,” The Irishman tried to explain, letting Thomas go and beginning to slide off the bed to give him the space he thought he needed. “I’ll go, let you get some sleep, forget this ever-“

“No!” Thomas cried, voice a little too loud as he scrambled to grab into something of Hercules’ to make him stay.

He ended up latching onto his wrist and, though his grip was tight, he knew he couldn’t stop the mountain of a man from leaving if he really wanted to. At the very least, it gave Thomas a chance to look Hercules in the eyes one more time as tears began to drip down his cheeks.

Hercules paused, watching Thomas’ expression for a moment before he sat down on the bed again. He reached out to wipe away a few of Thomas’ tears with his thumb, cupping his cheek in the process. He couldn’t expect the southerner’s reaction.

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, his tears now falling from his lashes as he leaned into Hercules’ touch as much as he could. He held Hercules’ hand to his cheek, lacing their fingers together as he pressed little kisses to his palm and inner-wrist.

“Just- stay. Please… I don’t care what else we do, just stay.”

Hercules hummed lowly in response, nodding as he shifted closer to Thomas and took hold of his waist again. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head over a thing, I’m right here.”

Thomas gave a small nod in response, sniffling quietly as he tried to wipe away his tears staining his cheeks with his free hand. “I’m sorry… I killed the mood, didn’t I?”

Hercules shook his head, slowly laying Thomas back onto the mattress as he slipped his hands under the hem of his shirt. “I said not to worry, didn’t I? You’re just fine and still pretty when you cry too.”

His comment made Thomas laugh, the sound a little dry and mixed with a hitch in his breath, but a laugh nonetheless. Hercules took it as a sign he was good to go, pulling Thomas into another kiss as he began to unbutton his silk shirt.

He was being gentle this time, slower and sensual yet soft. For a moment, Thomas even felt cared for. It was a funny feeling, a foreign feeling, but Thomas allowed himself to relish in it as Hercules pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the floor.

Now with his chest exposed Hercules occupied his mouth with painting matching marks onto Thomas’ collarbone as his fingers hooked around the waistband of both his dress pants and his boxer-briefs. Thomas couldn’t help but whine, unsure whether he liked it more when Hercules’ lips were busy with his own or when they were sucking beautiful bruises into the skin just below his throat.

Either way, he wasn’t exactly pleased when Hercules suddenly stopped and realization flash across his expression.

“I was thinking we were gonna have to do this the old fashioned way, but…” he trailed off as he reached for the nightstand, feeling around in the drawers before his fingers wrapped around a small bottle of lube. “Horny bastards.”

Thomas couldn’t help but pout as Hercules began to laugh. As much as he loved the sound, he loved the attention and affection more.

“I might not be a bastard but I am horny, and I’m right here,” he muttered, still pouting as he pawed at Hercules’ chest and kissed at the corner of his jaw. “So, can we fuck now? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Hercules was still laughing, now because of Thomas’ little plea instead of whatever he found in the nightstand. “Keep that pout up and I might make you beg for real.”

“I bet you’d like that,” Thomas murmured, pressing his forehead into Hercules’ chest as he openly trailed his open palms up his arms and down his back. “What’s so interesting anyways?”

“Just something that’ll let us get to the real fun,” Hercules replied, teasing his lips down Thomas’ torso and tugging at his waistband with his teeth. “Wanna do me a favour and help me get these off?”

Thomas was almost too eager as he quickly kicked off his dress pants before he reached for Hercules’ fly, only to stop as Hercules ran his teeth along the edge of his Adonis belt. It sent a shiver up Thomas’ spine as he was made very aware of just how hard he was. He whined, reaching for something of Hercules’ to hold to distract him from the heat rising to his cheeks.

“I’m right here baby,” Hercules murmured, voice surprisingly soft for his size as he laced his and Thomas’ fingers together. “But if you want my dick you need to let me prep ya first… I’d hate to hurt you, after all.”

Though Thomas pouted in response with another whine he reluctantly let go of Hercules’ hand and laid back. He shifted a bit as Hercules spread his legs apart, swallowing thickly as he heard Hercules pop the cap off the bottle of lube.

He was needy and nervous and on fire and shivering all at the same time. He trusted Hercules, he really did, but being left open and vulnerable he felt like a virgin.

Thomas was certainly acting like it, after all.

He went tense as Hercules pushed the first finger in, a quiet hiss slipping past his lips as he clenched around him. They’d barely begun and already Thomas’ was finding it hard to breathe.

“Relax, you’re fine. This won’t hurt,” Hercules murmured, kissing down Thomas’ calf from his knee in an attempt to calm his nerves. “It just won’t feel as good if you don’t.”

Thomas huffed quietly in response, whining quietly again. Still, he managed to force the tension out of his muscles as Hercules began to work him open.

Hercules’ fingers were this and his pace was steady as he diligently worked Thomas open. He was right, it felt much better when Hercules wasn’t fighting against artificial tension.

Even with only one finger, Thomas was panting as he tried to stay still for Hercules. With the second he was moaning, squirming as Hercules began to push deeper and press against his prostate. With the third he was gasping, both in surprise and pleasure from the stretch. Hercules’ fingers were thick to begin with, he couldn’t begin to imagine how thick his cock must be.

Luckily he wouldn’t have to try and imagine for long.

“See? that wasn’t so hard,” Hercules muttered as he pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, watching with a grin as Thomas began to whine from the loss of contact. “Your dick, on the other hand…”

He trailed off as he gave Thomas’ length an almost playful stroke, earning a sweet and needy whine as he reached for Hercules again. “Please… I want you, need you. Just-“

“Shh, I’m right here,” Hercules murmured as he pulled Thomas into a slow kiss, giving him the attention he needed while Hercules stripped himself of the last of his clothes.

The sight of Thomas beneath him and his all-too beautiful moans were enough to get him hard. All it took was a pair of quick strokes to spread lube over his cock before he was lining up with Thomas’ entrance.

“Wait,” Thomas murmured as he placed a hand on Hercules’ shoulder before he could go any farther. Nervousness beat neediness. “Hold me?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Hercules murmured with a small laugh as he took Thomas’ hand from his shoulder and laced their fingers together. “This better?”

Thomas gave a hum in response as he let out a small sigh, relaxing under Hercules’ weight as he bit his lip in anticipation for what was next.

Hercules flashed Thomas one of those charismatic, carefree grins that made his knees go weak as Hercules squeeze his hand and began to push in.

Thomas didn’t have a chance to get a good look at Hercules’ cock earlier. He didn’t think it’d matter. Now, Hercules had barely pushed two inches into him and he was already left gasping at the burning of pain and pleasure that came with the stretch.

He wanted more.

“Hercules, please- Don’t tease me now…” he whined, beginning to pout again only for Hercules to catch his lips in a kiss.

Thomas was eager to kiss back as Hercules gave his hand a sharp squeeze, making him gasp. In a moment their tongues were tied together as Hercules rocked his hips to ease Thomas into the stretch as he pushed deeper.

He didn’t stop until he was buried deep in Thomas’ ass, pressing against all the right places as Hercules groaned lowly at the tightness.

“You feel good, baby… Makes me wish I met you sooner.” Hercules muttered through the kiss before nipping at Thomas’ lower lip.

Thomas opened his mouth to respond, panting quietly as he tried to find his words. A moan lingered in the back of his throat as he clenched and unclenched around Hercules’ cock. He was starting to adjust to the burning stretch as his muscled learned to accommodate Hercules’ sheer size. Still, each rock of his hips helped reignite the spark and draw another moan from Thomas’ lips.

It was game over when Hercules began the real fun.

The first thrust made Thomas moan into the kiss. Hercules didn’t even need to try to find his prostate when his cock was so thick it pressed against everything at once. The pace he set was steady and strong, making Thomas gasp each time Hercules bottomed out just to bring back the burn of stretched-out pleasure he was desperate for.

As a hot tightness began to pull at his gut Thomas could only gasp. He squeezed Hercules’ hand as he tried to follow his movements, hips beginning to buck under the pressure and pleasure that built up with the push and pull of Hercules’ cock.

“Ha- Herc! Hercules, please~” He practically purred as a shivering moan ripped through his throat. Part of him was desperate for the pressure to give way to something even better while another part of him wanted the burn to last forever.

Hercules was getting sloppy, each thrust now accompanied with a grunt and a creak of the mattress as he pinned Thomas’ hand down next to his hand. “What’s that now? You want something?”

Thomas could only nod in response as his free hand shot up to wrap around Hercules’ neck, pulling him down into another kiss. His movements were feverish even as he gave up control and Hercules’ strong arm lifted his hips up off the bed.

“Please, I wanna- I gotta-!” Thomas couldn’t get his words out, he didn’t even know what he was trying to say anymore.

All he could think about was the perfect burn of Hercules’ cock and the building heat that made him want to burst.

Hercules seemed to contemplate Thomas’ words for a moment even as his own endurance began to wear thin. He was panting, grunting, and even a few moans of his own slipped through with the low sounds of pleasure.

“Don’t hold yourself back, baby.”

Thomas didn’t need to hear anymore. The pressure and heat unravelled like a spring wound up too tight, sending a shock of sharp pleasure through Thomas’ system as he tightened around Hercules’ cock and made a sticky, hot mess of his stomach.

It didn’t take much more before Hercules came tumbling over the edge after him, hips suddenly stilling with a sharp thrust as he came with a groan.

They laid there as a tangled, sweaty mess as they tried to catch their breath between kisses. Eventually, Hercules pulled out and fell next to Thomas on the mattress, pulling him into his chest despite the mess they’d made of each other. Thomas preened as Hercules pulled him in for one last kiss. Even after everything, there was still a faint taste of absinthe on his lips.

Thomas was still clinging onto Hercules as they separated once more. He wanted him close, he wanted to keep those strong arms around him for as long as he lived. He hadn’t felt this hopeful about someone in a long time and as he and Hercules slipped into sleep, it was all he could think about.

Hope as sweet as this would make for a good Christmas tradition.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Lafayette hummed quietly to himself, drumming a little rhythm against his granite countertops as his Nespresso machine finished his perfectly brewed morning coffee. It was Christmas morning and while most of his guests had gone home after the snowstorm blew over a few were resting in his various guest rooms.

As he took his festive mug from the machine and began to search his cupboards for the cinnamon sugar, he heard the sound of running water from somewhere upstairs. The Frenchman smiled to himself at the sound, knowing breakfast would be soon.

As he passed by his oven, he made sure to preheat the grill. Christmas morning crepes were one of his specialties, after all. Some of his guests stayed the night just to have a taste of the delectable breakfast treats the next morning.

While he waited Lafayette took a seat at the breakfast bar, taking a slow slip of his French vanilla latte and smiling the added hint of cinnamon. Perfect as always.

He heard two sets of footsteps start to come down the stairs together, a smirk pulling at the Frenchman’s lips at the sound. He stood, moving around to the other side of the counter and leaving his latte behind. Lafayette pretended not to have noticed the approaching pair as he busied himself with preparing the batter.

When he heard the stools shift as two more people took a seat at the breakfast bar he turned around with a sweet smile. “Bon matin, mes amis! Did you sleep well?”

Hercules gave a small grunt as Thomas mumbled some unintelligible response. They both looked tired despite having a full night's sleep, obviously hungover.

Thomas seemed to be a little more careful with himself as he sat down, shaking some water droplets from his curls. Hercules, well, he was shirtless and not-so-subtly smirking at how Thomas crossed one leg over the other as he tried to find a way to sit comfortably.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Lafayette replied, smiling more at the sight and humming under his breath to pretend he was simply happy because it was Christmas. “I am glad you two made friends. That is what you did, non?”

“You could call it that, yeah,” Hercules muttered with a low laugh as he stretched his arms above his head. Considering he was shirtless and still damp from the shower, it was quite the sight.

Thomas was trying not to stare, lowering his head into his hands as he rubbed his eyes. “Uhm… Breakfast, coffee! Are we gonna be able to have either of those?”

“Very soon, mon beaux,” Lafayette replied, a coy twinkle appearing in his eyes as he rested his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his folded hands. “But first, I think you two have some secrets to spill~”

#my writing #Thomcules #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #hurt/comfort #smut #morning after #Hamcember #Hamcember 2020 #Hamcember prompt 25 #Tradition #Hamilton #hamilton: an american musical #modern AU

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littlewritingrabbit · 4 years ago

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Hello! I don't know if you take fanfic requests, but in case you do, may I rewuest Edward Stevens' reaction to Hamilton's death? I love your writing and Ned needs more love.

Yell heah I can write requested things, thank you so much for this anon! You’re very right, Ned Stevens needs more attention, so here’s some angst...

A Helpful Instinct

Academics, Edward Stevens knew, frequently had lively debates about the nature of instinct. Where it came from, what purpose it served, to what extent things people did could be considered instincts. He’d heard the debates himself during his time as a professor at Kings College, ringing out from those high-ceilinged lecture halls like church-bells that called one to question, not to pray. That had been long ago though. In the interim, he had served as a doctor, then a diplomat, and now he was… not engaged in much. Oh sure, he reasoned, there was the upkeep of the house to see to, and the correspondence to engage with, the brief matters of political or medical importance that his expertise was wanted in, the teas, the dinners, the walks along the shores of St. Croix that lacked nostalgia almost entirely now that all the hurricane-induced wreckage had been cleaned up and built over with bright new buildings. There were things to do, but, he had to admit, they weren’t much after the busy life he had once led.

That was where the instinct came in. Perhaps it was because he was an eldest sibling, or perhaps he just needed something to explain it, but ever since his return from his diplomatic endeavors in Haiti, Stevens had felt incredibly restless. None of his occupations had felt purposeful. He had spent so long in the sole dedication of helping people that it seemed as if there was some imperative he wasn’t fulfilling now.

Stevens dropped a sugar cube into his tea and stirred it around. Someone knocked on his office door.

“Good morning,” he called without looking up, “Come on in!”

“Morning sir,” said the visitor, with a conspicuous lack of the usual ‘good,’ “I’ve a letter for you. The postman seemed rather anxious that you should have it as soon as possible.” It was one of the clerks that sometimes came to ask his advice. What was the lad’s name, Carlisle?

“Thank you Carlisle,” said Stevens, hoping desperately that that was, in fact, his name. The clerk gave no sign to the contrary. “If you have a question, I can certainly answer that before I get to the letter if you’d like,” he took the letter, looking over the clerk. Yes, this was Arthur Carlisle. He was the same rather mousey-looking one with the dark hair and upturned nose who had come to ask about the international impacts of American currency standardization last week. As far as Stevens could remember, the lad was quite clever.

A worried expression crossed Carlisle’s face like a shadow. “Perhaps you’d better read it sir, it’s from Mrs. Hamilton.”

Stevens looked down at the letter only then. It was indeed Eliza Hamilton’s writing. His mind went from she never writes me, to why, to God help you Alex are you well faster than the crease of a frown could form between his eyebrows. “Yes, er, thank you Carlisle, I will be with you in just a moment then.”

He reached for the letter-opener with hands as steady as only a physician trained with needles and scalpels could make them. He sliced through the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. His eyes read faster than his mind could make sense of what he was reading. He read it over again. Duel… ribs… internal bleeding… condolences… it couldn’t be true. Knowing his education as a physician, Eliza had done her best to describe the medical aspect of the tragedy. Perhaps she knew, Stevens thought bleakly, that he would be analyzing the description for days, trying to figure out if he could have done a better job of treating the gunshot wound than the doctors that were present. Unfortunately, this also meant that he understood right away exactly how much Alexander had been pained in the last hours of his life, such terrible, excruciating pain, he was given to understand, that men had compared it to hell-fire. He felt sick.

“Carlisle,” he managed to say, eyes still fixed on the letter, “Is there any chance you could come back another day?”

“Of… of course, sir,” said the clerk.

“My apologies,” said Stevens, “It’s simply… a friend of mine has had… has been… well, there’s been a tragedy. Thank you for seeing to it that I received this.” He managed to look up. Carlisle was, understandably, genuinely concerned-looking, so he attempted to nod reassuringly. Make sure nobody was in a panic. Send them away, if not contented, then at least calm. That was the sort of bedside manner they expected from you in his profession, and he’d be damned if he let that slip now.

“My condolences, sir,” said the clerk with a nod. Stevens stood and accompanied him to the door, gave his shoulder a friendly pat, and closed the door behind him. The second he was gone, Ned Stevens pressed his back to the door, and let his knees give out in a measured sort of way that let him slide into a sitting position.

Alexander was dead, and he’d never even had the chance to say goodbye. He hadn’t been there to help, hadn’t even been close enough to know that it had happened until this letter travelled all the way across the ocean and…

He should’ve been there. He had a responsibility, he thought, to help his family, and no matter if neither of them had ever really known if they had been related, Alexander was family in all the ways that counted. I should’ve been there, he wanted to cry, I should’ve helped! It’s my job, as a physician, and a friend, and hell, maybe even a brother, to be there for those I love, and I wasn’t! He rested his head on his hands, his hands against his knees, his entire lanky frame curled in on itself with those characteristic auburn curls falling in a mess over his shoulder.

He had been there, he remembered, to help the angry red-headed newcomer to his household bandage his knees after tree-climbing accidents, sitting on the table in the kitchen with his trousers rolled up. He had been there to tend to mysterious black-eyes and bruised knuckles while Alexander swore he hadn’t been trading anything with the pirate crews that somehow managed to find places to sell their goods on St. Croix. He had even been there as Alexander and Eliza sweated and coughed their way through a nasty bout of yellow fever in Philadelphia.

And then, when Alex had needed him most, he had been oceans away.

Ned Stevens knew, on some level, that he could hardly blame himself for Alexander Hamilton’s death. But wasn’t it easier than facing the fact that it might well have been inevitable? He hated the thought that anyone had to suffer and die, least of all someone as close to him as the man who was, at best, his dear childhood friend, and at worst, his bastard half-brother. If God had simply decided to take Alexander from the world without another chance, how could that possibly be fair, or just, or good?

He was going to have to get up, he reasoned. He was going to have to tell Hester, and then the clerks, and eventually, probably the papers. He could hardly hold all this hurt inside himself, even if he wanted to protect everyone else from it.

Ned Stevens stood, gathered up the letter with hands forced steady, and wiped his tears with a gaudily lacy handkerchief. Alex, wherever you are, he thought, I hope you are no longer in pain. I shall miss you terribly, little brother. He crossed the room, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

#History and Writing #Time For a Ficlet #Ned Stevens #Alexander Hamilton #Eliza Hamilton #Uhhh so it's been a while #I may have taken a little hiatus #I'm so very sorry for that and the lack of communication and all #I hope you're all doing well!

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alifeasvivid · 4 years ago

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I hc that alfred is a lefty and growing up he had a speech impediment and hated, absolutely hated, talking to others in large crowds. When he was alone with someone he trusted, boy could talk a mile a minute, but when he was in a large crowd, even in groups with kids his own age (like when he physically looked like he was 7 or 10 or 13) he would just stutter over his words the whole time. He worked with with and through the stutter well after the rev war but the biggest breakthrough was when he sat listening to arguments for secession in the 1850s and 1860s, boy WENT OFF every lie or trickle of misinformation set him on fire and when he finally got to speak he was filled with so much righteous fury that this 15 y/o looking kid Alexander Hamilton-ed tf out of secessionist in thar room. They still seceded, but damn did the ground shake when he uttered, 'if the south can not sustain itself without the cruel practice of slavery, then perhaps the south should not exist.'

This is great, anon. It gave me a lot to think about (hence the delay in response)... and I think I like it... however, one thing I can think of is one of the earliest defining factors of the American colonies were their rowdy and vibrant and slanderous and loquacious newspapers. To me, this doesn’t speak of someone who has trouble asserting himself in words.

It could be, however, that he might have been afraid to speak up in person, but had no problem letting people have it in print. I might even be persuaded to agree that he was unable to overcome his stutter until the point you mention. Despite what Hetalia canon says, the American troops during the war for independence were almost completely incompetent, particularly George Washington as it turns out and he himself almost cost them the war a few times. The reason that they eventually won was because the British general (I can’t be arsed to look it up rn) was super hesitant to commit to actually fighting for fear of losing too many troops with no back up handy (and indeed offered freedom to slaves who would come fight for the Brits to compensate). He surrendered because he thought no reinforcements were ever to arrive when in reality they were just on the horizon. >.> TL;DR way of saying there was no epic showdown between Arthur and Alfred, I bet Arthur wasn’t even there and thus Alfred would have had no need to overcome his stutter in that moment; in fact he was probably very hurt and disheartened by Arthur not even showing up to confront him--which might have made him withdraw further and feel unable to speak.

Not to mention that because of the massive political unrest following the revolution, he might have felt uncertain of what to say even if he hadn’t had the stutter.... so yes, I think I can get on board with that.

I think that the moment when they’re all about to tear him apart (over something he knows is wrong and should have been dealt with from the start) could have been the moment in which he for once truly knew himself and therefore finally felt compelled to speak with the conviction he always had felt and I think he can be a great orator when the situation calls for it, but I also see Alfred as a person with a tad more kinetic energy than mental energy, so he prefers doing to saying.

As for the left-handed thing... I mean maybe, but even late into the 20th century, many US schools were taught to "train” (read: force) left-handedness out of children and in the 17th century, Alfred would have been thought to have the sign of the devil and/or be cursed and then beaten severely, probably by Arthur... so since that kinda makes me sad I’m gonna say he’s probably ambidextrous.... I would imagine all of the nation-tans are... when you have the kind of time that they have XD why not teach yourself to write with both hands?

#aph america #hws america #I don't know if I fully *adopt* this hc but it's certainly interesting!#Anonymous

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dcbutinamrev · 3 years ago

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You Said You Were Mine, I Thought You Were Mine

This just came to me so I figured I'd write it down before it disappears. But basically this is another Hamilton discovery about Manning and we stand a protective Lafayette-

(Some lines are from Duty and Inclination)

~~~

He's married... Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton hisses to himself with clenched teeth as he sits at the aide-de-camp office late one particular evening, a few days to be exact before his dear Laurens returns from the Southern Campaign. Hamilton blinks his opal, blue eyes rapidly breathing in slowly as he holds his breath. He grits his teeth behind his closed, petal pink lips and clutches onto the letter. Hard enough that it crinkles on the margines and his knuckles turn white, white as snow.

Hamilton shakes his head, reading the words that in her handwriting. Her. Her. He growls low, a low rumble of thunder coming from the back of his throat. His eyes are narrowed as they skim through the letter from her addressed to his dear Laurens. Hamilton's lips twist into a tight scowl and his throat burns as he reads her signature in elegant cursive handwriting:

Your dearest wife,

Martha Manning.

Hamilton is thankful none of the others are currently around him. He recalls Meade having an errand to run, Tilghman and the Marquis de Lafayette in the back of the house with General Washington, and Harrison upstairs in his room to work on his corrospondences in peace. Hamilton trembles, the parchment shaking in his clenched hands before tearing the letter to shreds. With a grunt and a snarl, he rips the parchment to pieces one by one.

Hamilton stares at the crumbled pieces of paper that are in a small pile in front of him, huffing and puffing as he tries to catch his breath. Hamilton lets out a choked sob, as he feels something wet trickle down his freckled cheeks before slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the sob in hopes it wouldn't cause anyone concern if they were nearby. He wouldn't want to have to explain his situation. He squeezes his eyes shut as he bites his lower, trembling lip and swallows hard, letting out a shaky breath before putting his face in his hands, his elbows digging onto the table. His back shudders with each sob he makes, a choked and strangled sound, a whimper.

He's married...Hamilton thinks again. Of course he would be. Why shouldn't I? God was I really that niave to believe he didn't...? Of course he would be fucking married. Of course! Every man wishes for a wife, I should have expected no less from him...

Hamilton sniffles, blinking his eyes as he lifts his head up from his hands. He remembers the morning the letter was accidentally thrusted into his arms. Was it really just this morning? Hamilton gulps down a few breaths of air, sniffling occasionally and glancing around him, reminding himself of who he is and where he is and his intentions. After he manges to calm himself down, Hamilton scoots back from the table, slumping against the chair as he tips his head back, closing his eyes. He thinks of the days before Laurens left, before he discovered about his wife, before his heart is filled with betrayal. He thinks of the stolen kisses during the night, grimacing at the thought of those same, rough lips and the scrape of the same stubble he loves so much, on that woman's own lips. He thinks of the times he and Laurens would have their romantic evenings: candles lit around their shared bed, Laurens on top of him, shirtless and bare, exposed, revealing those strong muscles Hamilton loved to drum his fingers against, whispering: "Alex...Alex...Alex..."

He remembers clearly Laurens teaching him how to dance after the others had gone to sleep, pushing trunks and chairs and tables back for an open space. Laurens a foot taller than him, rests his larger hand on his waist and with his other hand, intertwining his fingers through Hamilton's slightly smaller hand, stretching their linked hands out to the side while Hamilton rests his hand on Laurens's shoulders, glancing up at the man he thought he loved, at the man who thought loved him, bright blue eyes--blue as the sky on a early spring's morning.

Hamilton grimaces as the thought of that woman crossing his mind, thinking Laurens doing the same for her. Hamilton bites his lip again, shifting himself up into a straighter position in the chair in which he sits in, gripping the edges as he hunches forward. He swallows the lump down his throat, feeling his stomach twists in tight knots. He thinks he might be sick...

"Hamilton?" a voice says, interrupting Hamilton's negative thoughts.

Hamilton glances up to find Richard Kidder Meade finally back from his daily dispatch delieveries. Meade, a man with a strong frame, an inch taller than Hamilton himself, dark brunette wavy hair which is pulled back into a tight braid secured with a black ribbon, his rich chocolate brown eyes are wide, hooked nose, a slight angular, handsome face. Meade stands still at the entranceway, trying to make sense of his surroundings, gripping his black tricorn hat underneath his arm as he slips off his white gloves and tucking them into his buff blue coat pocket. He rushes forward instantly, dropping to his knees to Hamilton's level, shocked at the sight of his hurt friend.

"My God," Meade whispers, gripping Hamilton's shoulder tightly before glancing over his own at the pile of ripped papers before him before turning back towards Hamilton himself. Hamilton, feeling ashamed for some reason though he can't figure out why, ducks his head towards his chest, squeezing his eyes as he wills himself to stay calm. "Alexander...what happened?"

Hamilton shakes his head, refusing to speak. Meade's heart squeezes. He knows something happened, something bad and horrible. Tragic, perhaps? He knows how close Hamilton and Laurens are and perhaps Hamilton have recieved news of Laurens's... No...

"Is it Laurens?" Meade asks softly, calmly.

Hamilton nods shakily, slowly. He keeps his head down, staring at his lap.

Meade swallows. "Is he...?"

Hamilton shakes his head, still refusing to speak.

"He's not dead?" Meade asks.

Hamilton nods, still not meeting Meade's eyes and still refusing to speak.

If Laurens is not dead, Meade thinks, furrowing his brows together. Then what...?

"Why won't you speak to me, Alexander?" Meade whimpers. "Please, I am your dear friend and I care about you...Tell me...I'm worried for you, Alexander. If it's not Laurens...then..."

"It is...it is him..." Hamilton finally whimpers, his voice barely above whisper, tight and choked.

"What about him then? If he's not..."

"You wouldn't understand..." Hamilton sniffs, a stray tear rolling down his cheek.

"Then get me too. Get me to understand! If I can't then find who will," Meade insists, tucking a loose dark red curl behind Hamilton's ear affectionately. "You are like a brother to me, Alexander." At this, Hamilton glances back up at him with a blurried vision. Meade smiles softly. "And I love you as such. And to see you like this...it hurts me..."

Hamilton ducks his chin back towards his chest again, grimacing. Yet, Meade continues.

"It does," he says. "Help me understand, Alex. This isn't like you. I know something happened between you and Laurens. And if it's not because he's dead...then what?"

Hamilton hesiates. He wants to tell Meade about his relationship with Laurens, about his love for him, and about their first kiss, and about their first love together. But yet, Hamilton is frightened at the same time. He trusts Meade with all his heart, and Meade trusts him just the same. But due to society, he fears what Meade will think of him. He fears if Meade will still care for him if he tells him about he and Laurens, he fears Meade will abandon him just like the rest of his family.

"I..." Hamilton chokes, struggling to find the right words. "I can't..." He shakes his head. "I just...I just can't..."

"What was the letter then?" Meade insists. He nods his head, gesturing towards the ripped pieces of parchment piled on top of each other. "What was that about, Alex?"

Hamilton presses his lips together tightly, his deep blue eyes ticking towards the paper and then back to Meade and then back to the paper and then back to Meade again. Hamilton sighs heavily out his mouth, slumping against the chair, his head hanging low in shame.

"It's from his wife," Hamilton finally gives in.

"His wife?" Meade asks. Hamilton glances up at the surprise in Meade's tone of voice. Perhaps Meade hadn't known Laurens was married as well.

Hamilton nods, glancing back at the ripped paper. "Mhm."

"And you're upset about that?" Meade asks.

"Like I said," Hamilton says softly, swallowing the lump of tears that threaten to roll down his cheeks as he turns back to face Meade. "You wouldn't understand."

"It shouldn't be a surprise," Meade says. He gestures towards the papers. "That he has a wife. Shouldn't you be happy for friend's successful matrimony."

Hamilton swallows, licking his lips as he fiddles with the hem of his cuffs. "He hasn't told me..."

A pause.

"He hasn't told me that he's married," Hamilton growls, narrowing his eyes. "If he's married, he would have told me. Why wouldn't he tell me such important information, Kidder? Why?"

Meade just stares at him, unsure how to answer. After a few minutes have passed, Hamilton shakes his head, feeling his lips twist with hatred and betrayal. Meade blinks with wide eyes at the snarl upon Hamilton's face. Hamilton scoots back immediately from his chair, the legs of the chair scratching against the wooden floor. Meade stumbling backwards but luckily catches himself with the edge of the table.

Before Meade could utter a word, Hamilton spins around on his feet sharply and marches towards the stairwell, tears finally escaping down his freckled cheeks as he presses the back of his hand against his lips. Once he reaches out of Meade's line of vision, Hamilton slams his back agaisnt the wooden wall and slides down it.

And never gets back up.

~~~

Hamilton finds himself standing on the front porch the next day, awaiting his dear Laurens' arrival. He curls and uncurls his fists at his side, pressing his lips together tightly as he stares off into the distant woods across the field from him. He swallows hard, shaking his head as he does so, allowing himself a few moments to collect himself.

He straightens up as though he were a puppet and being pulled by a string, his arms stiff as he clasps them behind his back and he inclines his head slightly with his eyebrows high as he hears familiar hooves clopping against the grassy field. Hamilton blinks a couple more times, letting the very few tears that slip down his freckeld cheek just before Laurens comes into view.

Hamilton puffs out a breath of relief, forcing a small, tight smile to form on his face. He feels his eye twitch when he sees Laurens galloping towards him, bobbing up and down on the beautiful Carmillo white horse, gripping the reigns tightly and occassionally snapping them to urge the horse to go faster. As he nears the house, Laurens swings himself off the horse as its still galloping and hands the reigns to a nearby servant.

Laurens stands just at the bottom of the frosted white porch steps, gripping the rail. He smiles softly as he tips his head back to meet Hamilton's beautiful, breathtaking deep blue eyes and lowers the black tricorn hat from his head and tucking it underneath his arm. He slowly climbs himself up the steps.

"Hamilton..." Laurens says softly, his face relaxing instantly with releif at the sight of his dear boy still safe and out of harm's way.

They now stand chest to chest, nearly. It's now Hamilton's turn to tip his head back to meet Laurens's eyes as Laurens looks down at him.

"Laurens," Hamilton says as steadily as he can. Though, he cannot help but hear the low growl coming behind his clenched teeth. He blinks his eyes as he speaks.

"You look well," Laurens comments, scanning Hamilton up and down.

Hamilton swallows as he nods in return. "You as well."

Laurens gestures towards the house behind them. "Might you give me...a...a tour?"

Hamilton glances over his shoulder before back and Laurens, nodding once sternly.

"Right. Of course."

Hamilton turns swiftly, the flaps of his coat flapping behind him with a whoosh and smacking the back of his thighs. Laurens sighs, instantly knowing Hamilton's frustration.

"Here we have the parlor," Hamilton says, gesturing towards a settee and a fireplace on their left. "And our current office." He then gestures towards a large, rectangular wooden table in the middle of the dining room with seven chairs surrounding them, a few candles lit along with opened and closed ink pots and parchment sprawled out around the table. Laurens brows furrows when he notices a small pile of ripped pieces of parchment.

"Upstairs, we have our shared bedrooms and you will be--" Hamilton begins but Laurens cuts him off, catching his elbow before he could climb the steps.

"Alexander," Laurens says sharply. Hamilton tenses as he stills, his one foot on one step. "I know exactly what you ask of me."

Hamilton arches an eyebrow, his eye twitching. "Ask? Ask?" Hamilton whips his head sharply over his shoulder. "Why should I have the need to ask anything when I should have been told!"

"Hamilton, please..." Laurens whimpers.

Hamilton shakes his head, yanking his elbow away from Laurens' grasp and marching up the steps. Fuming.

"Alexander, I understand what you have learned in my absence."

"Yes," Hamilton hisses as he swings a bedroom door open. "I have learned the value of correspondence and how revealing or not it may be."

"You say so, but I believe that is just the crux of it," Laurens says as he fumbles over his own boots as he climbs his way up the stairs, trying to keep pace with Hamilton, hoping he could reach the hurt redheaded boy before the door slams on him. "I am convinced many of my letters to you were miscarried or obstructed and you may not have recieved the whole of my feelings while apart--"

"Oh?" Hamilton says, poking his head through the cracked open doorframe, one hand gripping the doorframe while the other presses against the wall. He arches both eyebrows high. "Did a letter never recieved contain a certain detailed explanation as to the truth of your matrimony?"

Silence.

Laurens clicks his half-opened mouth shut and swallows hard as he narrows his eyes down towards his dear boy.

"That's what I thought," Hamilton hisses. "Now, if you'd excuse me. It's beginning to get late and I am very exhausted so if you please."

Laurens goes to protest but Hamilton slams the door in front of his face before Laurens could utter a word.

"Ah, Monsiure Laurens!" a familiar French accented voice comes from behind Laurens, a voice he knows all too well.

Laurens tenses, looking frantic almost as he knows how close Hamilton and the Marquis de Lafayette are. They seem to be almost like actual siblings than rather just part of a military family.

"You are back!" Lafayette exclaims as he pulls Laurens into a tight embrace.

"Yes," Laurens huffs. "Yes, that I am. It is uh...it's very good to see you again Marquis."

"You as well," Lafayette says. He frowns and furrows his brows. "Where is Alexander? I'd figured he'd be out here to greet you and welcome you home."

Laurens grimaces and swallows, scratching the back of his neck as he shoves a hand into his coat pocket. "Um...he's uh...he's..."

Lafayette arches both eyebrows high.

"Uh...he's um..." Laurens swallows again and gestures his head towards the door. "He's in there. I um...I tried to get him out...but he won't...uh...come out so I thought maybe you could...knowing how close you two are..."

Lafayette nods slowly in understanding before gently twisting the silver doorknob and pushing the door open, poking his head through the sliver crack, a worried expression on his baby-ish face.

"Mon petit lion?" Lafayette says softly. "Are you in here? Do you mind if I come in?"

Lafayette's heart cracks instantly as he steps through after another moment of silence has passed. He sees Hamilton crouched by the fireplace on his knees, hunched over slightly with a stack of letters nearby. Hamilton's dark red hair loose from its tight braid, falling over his shoulders beautifully. Lafayette pinches his lips at the sight before him, seeing Hamilton only wearing his white, linen hunting shirt, the sleeves loose and baggy and his cuffs ruffled and a waistcoat and breeches. No stockings or boots or coat. Just that.

Lafayette has never seen Hamilton looking so broken.

He rushes towards the redheaded boy instantly, looping his arm around Hamilton tightly. "Mon ami...what...what happened?"

"Laurens happened..." Hamilton mumbles in a monotone voice, staring blankly at the fire crackling before him.

Laurens tenses at the entranceway to the room when he feels Lafayette's eyes on him. Lafayette shrugs it off momentarily before turning back towards his broken friend.

"What about him, mon ami?" Lafayette asks softly, stroking Hamilton's tangled dark red curls soothingly.

Hamilton lets out a shuddering breath. "He hurt me..."

Lafayette tenses, breathing in slowly through his nose. He grips Hamilton's shoulders tightly as he slowly cranes his neck over towards Laurens just as soon as Laurens takes several steps back.

"Oh?" Lafayette says.

Hamilton nods as he leans against Lafayette's chest, tossing a letter absentmindedly into the fire before him.

"How...how did he hurt you, Alexander?" Lafayette says.

Hamilton swallows. "He lied to me."

Lafayette raises both eyebrows higher than before as Laurens takes more steps back. Hamilton continues.

"Lied to me for...for...for..." Hamilton chokes. "For nearly a year..."

"Do not speak, mon ami," Lafayette shushes. "I know everything now."

"Gilbert...you do not understand..." Hamilton whimpers into the Marquis's chest. He sniffs and blinks his eyes as he lifts his head from his chest and his eyes lock with Laurens' bright blue ones. Hamilton snarls. "You said you were mine...I thought you were mine..."

"Alexander...you know...I am sorry..." Laurens tries. "I truly am...you know this...you know..." Laurens lets out a shuddering breath. "My heart only cares for you and you alone. I have no intentions towards her. I do not love her. She was a mistake."

"Was your daughter a mistake then?!" Hamilton hisses, tears staining his cheeks. His chin wobbles. "Was I a mistake?!"

Silence.

"If you love me, John, you would have told me you were married instead you lied to me. You lied to me for a fucking year. I had to learn of your matrimony due to a letter accidentally thrusted into my arms!"

"Alex..." Laurens whimpers.

"You and your...your destiny for glory...you and your words...obsessed with your duty."

Laurens tries to reach forword but Hamilton shuts him off. "Alex...please..."

"Don't take another step in my direction!" Hamilton snaps. "I can't be trusted around you! Don't think you can talk your way into my arms!"

Hamilton releases his grip on Lafayette and crawls over to the pile of letters Laurens had written him during their months apart and clutches onto one, holding it dangerously close to the bright orange and yellow flames. Laurens' eyes widen.

"I'm burning the letters you wrote me. You can stand over there if you want. I don't know who you are. I have so much to learn..." Hamilton whispers, tossing the letter into the fire. Hamilton lets out a final choked sob and a final glance towards Laurens before burying his face into Lafayette's chest, unable to hold it in for any longer.

"Get out," Lafayette growls, clutching Hamilton tightly.

Laurens, looking at the two pleadingly, opens his mouth to protest or to explain, Lafayette couldn't care less.

"I said 'Get. Out.'," Lafayette hisses.

Laurens clicks his mouth shut and nods once before the door clicks closed behind. Lafayette puffs out a breath of relief and rests his cheek on top of Hamilton's russet curls, soothing him.

"Laurens?" Lafayette calls suddenly as soon as Hamilton's sobs begin to die down into soft sniffles and he's dozing off.

Laurens opens the door immediately. "Yes?"

Lafayette snarls, a twisted scowl onto his face. Laurens gulps as Lafayette hisses:

"Congratulations."

#lams #historical lams #fic #ficlet #this took me forever #it took me all day to write-#whew #im exhasuted #bedtime now #alexander hamilton #john laurens #marquis de lafayette #angst #hurt/comfort #i have been working on this since this morning-#around 9:00 or so #it's been 12 hours-

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accidentally-a-writer · 4 years ago

Text

just for a moment

Hello! Chapter five of ‘the end for which we live’ is out! We hope all of you have been safe, healthy, and happy. As always this was a collaboration with my wonderful friendo @stegekay.

If you have not read part one of the Past Patiently Waiting series it is in my masterlist and on my a03 called ‘waiting in the wings’ as is chapter one through four of this piece, part two!

Read it on A03 here!

tw: implied/referenced non-con, non-consensual drugging, references to torture: beating, burning, cutting, references to captivity

...

Alexander cannot hold on for himself as they ride, so Washington keeps a tight grip around the boy’s waist, not daring to go any faster than a gallop. Whatever Davies forced down his throat is long past the point of being able to get rid of through sick.

It’s surreal, the general realizes, this entire night has been surreal.

He has Alexander Hamilton back, he himself is unharmed, Davies just… let them go. Why? Why would he do that?

He stalked Alexander for months; he was nearly killed in his first attempt, and now that Washington has reclaimed his stolen aide, surely that madman knows he won’t let anything happen to the boy again.

And yet, Washington has the distinct feeling that he is not the one with the advantage.

The nighttime air is still, quiet, but Washington knows that there are predators out here still.

He tightens his grip on Alexander and urges the horse just a little faster; he wants to go home. He hopes that there is still a scrap of home left in his poor aide. Alexander doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, through the entire trip.

The first emotion his men at camp feel that Washington can tell is relief, and understandably so. Until… well, until the last five minutes of that encounter that dinner was a suicide mission.

And then after the relief there is shock, because he’s brought Alexander Hamilton back.

He does not care what emotions his men are feeling however - well, perhaps one, wherever Laurens has gone off to tonight - right now he focuses on shouting for a medic and carrying Alexander into his own quarters.

That spike of fear is still ever present in his chest, after this it would probably never go away, and he moves quickly for fear that the shouts of celebration and preparation outside would startle Hamilton, pull whatever foundation he has out from under his feet, but there is nothing, still.

Alexander stares up at him blankly and waits for his orders.

The general does not want Hamilton’s comrades seeing him in this state, and he is sure in his right mind Hamilton would not either, so he locks the door behind him once he’s up, promising to open it for no one but the doctor.

A miracle with talons indeed, Washington can already tell that the road to recovery will be a long one.

The doctor will likely arrive within minutes. Washington isn’t totally sure what to do. He sets the boy on his feet and pulls an extra blanket from a trunk. Anything to keep the boy more comfortable.

“Hamilton, if you’re cold…”

Nothing. He doesn’t even blink.

“Hamilton?”

The boy doesn’t even acknowledge him. He does not move as Washington carries the blanket to the bed.

“Alexander…?”

He turns back to the boy, this skinny shadow of what he was some months ago, and this time there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. But before he can speak, there’s a commotion in the hall.

“No, let me pass. I need to see him, dammit!”

Laurens. In the few minutes since they’ve arrived in camp someone must have found him and told him that Hamilton has returned.

There’s still no reaction from Alexander himself. The boy stares at nothing in the direction of the far wall. Washington frowns and leaves him there as the footsteps in the hallway grow heavier.

Washington barely has time to close the door before Laurens bumps into him and tries to push past, eyes wide and frantic. “Hamilton, you found him? You brought him back?” There’s a wild look to his eyes, like he won’t believe it until he can see his friend himself.

“Yes,” the general struggles to keep him at a distance. “John-”

“I need to see him,” He tries to push past Washington again. There’s desperation to his voice that crushes him all the more. “Please, sir-”

“In the morning,” Washington says quietly. That’s his final answer. Laurens freezes, looking crushed.

“But-”

“I’ve no doubt that Hamilton is exhausted. I’ve already called for a doctor,” Washington is able to let go of Laurens, and the boy steps back. “Allow him to rest for tonight. I’m sure he’ll be better able to speak to you in the morning.”

“Is he hurt? Is he okay? Sir I-”

“As far as I can tell he is in no danger, you will be able to speak with him tomorrow.”

Laurens doesn’t look any less upset, but he seems to understand. He nods slowly and steps back as the next set of footsteps approach. The doctor. Washington nods in a short greeting, clasps Laurens’ shoulder for a moment, then steps back into the room with the doctor right behind him.

Alexander hasn’t moved. He still stands in the middle of the room, gaze fixed and empty on the wall. Worry curls in Washington’s gut. He approaches the boy and guides him to the bed to sit. Alexander offers no resistance, no comment. He follows and sits with ease. As the doctor sets down his bag and takes a few supplies, Washington leans into Alexander’s line of sight.

“Can you hear me, my boy?”

“Yes.” The answer is instant, emotionless. Alexander doesn’t shift his gaze in the least.

This evening he let Davies rest a gun in his mouth, and Washington is reminded of that now. It is not a reminder that he wants.

Washington has to force himself to step back when the doctor approaches to examine the boy. He stays close, barely more than an arm’s length from the bed. He won’t let Alexander further away now, not when he finally has him back.

Even if it’s only some of him.

The doctor asks questions, asks what happened to Alexander during his captivity. There is no answer.

Washington can answer a few though, the words from Davies’ letters still branded into his mind, how Davies taunted him with Alexander’s torture.

“Take off your shirt please, Colonel,” the doctor asks, stepping away to give Hamilton the room he needs.

There is no movement.

Hamilton stares.

The doctor clicks his tongue, and his expression is not one that Washington welcomes. He looks worried almost, concerned.

“More… more direct,” Washington says in a whisper, recalling how Davies had spoken to the boy earlier, and how he hadn’t responded to his last name just minutes ago. He does not want to emulate that man in the slightest, but he swallows his disgust and does it, for Alexander’s own good.

“I’m sorry?” The doctor raises an eyebrow.

“Take off your shirt, Alexander.” Washington has to force himself to speak, and when he does it is the general’s voice, not the father’s.Hamilton moves, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it down his shoulders immediately.

“Does that have anything to do with that concoction you mentioned to me?” The doctor speaks as he rounds Alexander’s back, pulling on the boy to get him to turn where he needs him.

“I imagine so, yes,” Washington chokes.

Alexander’s back is scarred, most of them are still red and raised. It’s not from whippings it’s-

“A blade,” the doctor examines them clinically, almost tracing the scars, “these are all from a blade, except… these here,” he points a cluster of scars out, more coarse and jagged than the rest, “these I believe are burn scars.”

Washington feels sick.

That’s not even accounting for the bruises scattered along Hamilton’s chest and arms, and the newly bloomed one along his cheek.

Some are yellowed and faded, some are black, some are varying shades of purple; they all amount to the same conclusion: Alexander was beaten, often.

“You might want to step out for the next part of the examination, for the boy’s decency.”

Washington furrows his brow, about to insist he stay, when he realizes what the doctor means. He needs to see the rest of Hamilton.

“I have a privacy divider,” he mumbles, “I’ll stay in, but we’ll move it here.”

The doctor nods and stands to help Washington move the divider, and Hamilton once again stays absolutely still when they move away and come back.

Washington hears the order for Hamilton to take off his breeches and has to grip the wood of his desk to keep himself from shouting in frustration. Now more than ever the unfairness of the situation sets in; Alexander Hamilton was a bright boy, he was brilliant, and kind - albeit reckless and foolhardy - and above all else he was innocent.

He was not this, he was not obedient and docile and empty. And what had he done to garner such treatment? Been attractive to the wrong man and close to Washington.

The doctor finishes his exam and collects Washington, Alexander is sat on the bed fully clothed when the general looks back around the privacy shield.

“There is much the same along his hips and legs, Your Excellency,” he informs Washington, “and there seems to have been quite a severe fracture to his wrist, it has not set right. I do not think that even rebreaking would help it.”

“Well, what does that mean?” Washington’s brows knit together as his arms cross. This cannot mean… Hamilton could not have lost-

“His motor control has most likely been impacted, I do not know if he will be able to write as he once did.”

Is there any limit to what Samuel Davies can take from him? He cannot walk properly, he cannot write properly, his emotions, his mind, what is left of the boy Washington knew? His body? Even that is scarred by that psychopath.

“General,” the doctor pulls him from his thoughts, “if you’d be willing, we might step into the hall to discuss… some of my other findings.”

Dread curls sour in Washington’s gut, but he nods jerkily. He does not think Alexander will move while they are gone.

The door clicks shut behind him and the doctor, and he cannot but help to feel like he’s abandoning Hamilton all over again.

When the door shuts however, Alexander stands. He blinks. Knows this place.

He pads lightly over to Washington’s desk, where parchment and quill wait, and the quill up, dips it into the inkpot and hovers it above the blank parchment. But he can’t get himself to write a word, he has a thought… wants to write it out, break through the fog, but- he can’t.

It’s not as distressing as it once was, that he can no longer write, but it is curious. He feels like he should be able to do something but can’t. The thoughts no longer become movements, and his wrist spasms painfully from holding the quill anyways.

Maybe he isn’t able to write, instead. Funny, he thought he could.

The door knob turns and Hamilton is back sitting where Washington left him almost instantly, carefully placed and sitting straight, waiting for new orders.

He watches warily as the general enters the quarters once more, looking paler than he had before. He glances once at Alexander and then crosses to his desk, withdrawing a small coin purse from one of the drawers. Small as it may be, Hamilton knows it would carry a considerable amount of money when full, which it looks to be.

There are murmurs outside, if Hamilton concentrates he can hear some of them.

“-this stays between us.”

“Of course, General.”

And the doorknob jingles again. Washington returns without the coin purse.

The general steels himself before turning back to Hamilton, donning the most reassuring expression he can manage. “Well,” he starts softly, “I think we ought to head to bed, my boy.”

Alexander grins and nods, standing up and taking a few steps towards Washington.

Washington’s expression morphs from confusion to horror as Alexander begins to unfasten his breeches a few paces away from him, and then unbuttons his shirt, stepping forward as if to do the same to Washington.

“N-no, Alexander,” Washington hurries to stop him, catching the boy’s wrists gently. “Not like that. Just lay down on your bed,” he points to Alexander’s bed which he never had removed, “that one, and… just go to sleep.”

Alexander tilts his head, blinking in confusion a few times before he silently nods and backs away.

This silent spectre that he’s retrieved is so different from the Alexander Hamilton that Washington knew- knows , it breaks his heart.

He makes sure that the boy actually gets under his covers and waits for his breathing to even out into sleep before even trying to get into his own bed.

He doesn’t sleep, feels like he might not sleep ever again. No, Washington stays up and curses Samuel Davies to Hell and back, and vows that he’ll send him there one day, properly.

…

Washington wakes before the sun comes up to a soft, insistent knocking at the door. He’s slept in a chair next to the bed, waking often to make sure Alexander is still there, still breathing. It wasn’t a dream. Washington got him back, he’s safe.

He lights a candle on his desk and crosses the room to the door quietly as he can. Before he opens it Washington glances back to the bed. Alex is lying there, candlelight glinting against his eyes. Quiet as the general tried to be, he woke him.

Laurens stands in the hall with a small stack of letters in his hand. Washington sighs and allows him in; clearly he hasn’t slept at all.

“Letters from Congress,” he explains quietly, offering the papers to Washington. “Smith’s just returned as well.”

It takes a moment for the name to register in Washington’s mind, but then it clicks. One of the scouts that had encountered Davies, and ridden straight to Congress. So these letters surely contain inquiries about what he is doing to capture Davies.

Washington nods and sets the letters on his desk. As soon as he has Laurens kneels next to Hamilton, movements slow and gentle just instinctively. Washington could reprimand him for not being given leave to do so, but he hasn’t the heart.

Alexander’s disappearance took such a toll on Laurens as well.

“Hi Hammie,” John whispers, watching Alex’s eyes belatedly focus on him. Washington isn’t sure if the drug has worn off yet, and he's about to tell Laurens so when Alex grins, reaching out and brushing a piece of hair away from John’s face.

“Hi John,” he whispers, “missed you.” His eyes flicker to Washington, he takes a moment, finding the name. Not He, but Washington. “Hello, Sir.”

...

Please tell us what you thought, leave a like, comment, or a reblog and make our writer’s muses verrryy happy. We hope you enjoyed this chapter and can’t wait to see you in our next update!

#the end for which we live #past patiently waiting #alexander hamilton #george washington #john laurens #hamilton fic #writing #angst #whump #washingdad #protective Washington #Samuel Davies #implied/referenced non con #referenced torture #captivity

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tales-of-spring · 4 years ago

Text

Satisfied | Tony Stark x male reader

Pairing / Ship: Tony Stark x reader

Featuring: Tony Stark

Words: 1.8k

Category: Angst

Warning: Sad and angry reader, feelings of helplessness, stubborn and overly-ambitious Tony, Angst, broken marriage.

Summary: Hamilton!AU where Alexander Hamilton is Tony and reader is Eliza Schuyler Hamilton. Reader and Tony fight about him working too much and not spending enough time with them, or being satisfied with what Tony already has. (There will be lots of references to the musical)

Author’s Note: I just had to do it, and it can honestly fit into canon on its own?? Header credit goes to: @whimsicalrogers! Check ‘em out, they make some neat stuff. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this.

You tossed and turned in your sleep, your arms feeling across the now empty side of the mattress. When you realized what this meant, you sighed out off irritation. This was night number how many that your husband didn’t spend next to you in bed, but rather in his lab. You clicked your tongue and stared at the ceiling, pondering over what you should do. You eventually mustered up the will to get out of bed, put on your bathrobe and stride down to the lab.

JARVIS automatically let you in the lab without saying anything, and you passed through the door that slid open sideways. There he was hunched over his new project, a blue light coming from the table, illuminating the dimly lit room. You puffed out your cheeks and walked over to your husband, putting your arms around his neck, rubbing his collarbone and chest. Tony did not show any sign that he noticed your presence, no movement whatsoever, he was focused on what he was doing as usual. You knew him long enough to know that he notices your presence though. He would softly tap his foot on the ground, or hummed a certain tune. You stared out in front of you, not really knowing what to do.

‘’Tony, come back to bed.’’

‘’I’m still working on this, babe.’’

Tony kept fiddling with the piece of tech in front of him that was emitting the blue light. This had been going on for months now. Tony would always be away from home and when he was home, he’d spend his time in his office. Sleeping in there instead of in his bedroom. Next to you. You bit down on your teeth. Come on, Tony. It’s like whenever he reaches a certain point, a new discovery, it’s not good enough for him. He keeps going and doesn’t stop. It’s like he’s never satisfied with what he has. Alas, you tried again.

‘’Tony, the sun is about to come up.’’

‘’Y/N, I know. I just need to work on this a bit more..’’

A pause ensued between the two of you. Tony focused again on his technology and you not knowing what to say. A thought came to your mind, a question, one that you have been meaning to ask Tony for weeks now. But you held off in hopes that Tony would realize on his own what was happening. Clearly, your hopes had gone down the sink. And so, you dropped it.

‘’Why do you work like you’re running out of time?’’

Tony’s fingers kept on fidgeting with the tiny instruments inserted into the piece of tech. His gaze fixated on what he was working on. You breathed in and out deeply, you were used to this. You could handle this, you told yourself. You stopped hanging your arms around his neck and rested your hands on his shoulders, now looking down at him.

‘’Come back to bed, Tony.’’

You begged once more in a serious tone. You had long given up on the sad, begging tone and taught yourself to be more stern and serious with Tony when you wanted something from him. But Tony, as always, was stubborn and persistent. You’ve never managed to crack him, persuade him to leave his work and come join you in bed. And you didn’t think this would be the first time.

‘’I’ll be there before you know it.’’

He promised you. An empty promise, because you would return to your bed like usual and fall asleep alone like usual, and wake up alone like usual. You had to reach him, somehow, in some way. What would be enough to satisfy him?

‘’Well then. I’m going back to sleep.’’

You tried to sound as irritated and sad as possible, but you just sounded tired and hollow. You sighed out of disappointment from your husband, pushed yourself off of him and walked out of the lab, back to your empty bed.

It had been a few weeks since that night. And every time again and again, Tony was either found in his lab or in his office or at SHIELD. You had arranged something, and you were sure, absolutely sure that Tony would stay. You’d given him months and months of notice in advance and you constantly reminded him, you even programmed JARVIS to remind him day in, day out. And tonight was finally the time; a romantic diner with the two of you at home. You were positively radiant that day. You had your suit laid out on your bed, you shaved, bought a fancy perfume. Everything was going smoothly, even Tony was in a good mood. What could happen today that would be so important and urgent for Tony drop everything, to drop you, and go away? You couldn’t imagine anything of the sort and was all the more excited for tonight to happen.

You had just gotten out of the shower and now you were standing in front of the mirror, trying on the suit you had bought earlier. It was a beautiful navy blue and cream toned suit with matching shoes. You giggled as it fitted perfectly around your body. You spinned a few turns, put on the fruity scented perfume and hopped out of your room. You looked on your wristwatch and saw that it was almost 7 pm. Perfect.

‘’Ooooh, Tony!’’ You called up from the hallway upstairs. Where was your darling husband? Maybe he was in the living room. You walked over to the stairs and leaned over the railing, your eyes darting to the lower floor. A soft voice coming from below you.

‘’Yeah. No- let’s go. I’ll be right there.’’

It was Tony. Of course it was Tony. Your face turned from happy, to stone cold. How? How could he do this?! You had planned this for months, months! And now he was just gonna drop everything to go to some dumb meeting about the next big think for STARK industries? You breathed in sharply through your nose and leaned your hands on the railing.

‘’Anthony.’’

You used his real name, which meant you were pissed off. Even he knew it. He froze in his path to the front door. He seemed to turn around and face you, but he didn’t. So he’s a coward as well as a traitor.

‘’I have to leave.’’

He said it in such a cold, absent-minded tone that a shiver ran down your spine. As if you didn’t know he was about to leave you again for another one of his work meetings. He’s unbelievable, honestly. He unfroze and resumed his path but you weren’t just done with your husband.

‘’Anthony!’’

You raised your voice because you didn’t know how else to catch his attention. This time it seemed to work though. Tony stopped once more and turned around this time, facing up to you. Looking at you as equally furious as you looked at him. How dare he?

‘’Look around you, Y/N! Do you even know how lucky we are to be alive right now at this moment? Don’t you see that I need to take this opportunity?’’

He was unbelievable. This is exactly why he should stay with you and not waste any time on stupid work meetings. This has been going on for far too long and you have had enough of this. You didn’t marry him just to have him leave at any godforsaken moment.

‘’You don’t even know how helpless and powerless I feel when I’m around you! It’s like you’re never happy with what you have, Tony.’’

‘’They’re asking me for my help, they need me, Y/N!’’

‘’No, you look around yourself Anthony Stark! Isn’t this enough?’’

You gestured around you. To the house, the lab, to you. He just shook his head and glanced off into the distance, pulling his car keys from his pocket. He really was just gonna leave you again. You tried one last time.

‘’What would be enough for you Tony? To be satisfied?’’

The door slammed shut. The car turned on. He drove away. Tony was gone. You breathed out slowly, letting your anger and frustration simmer. Tony was dancing on very, very thin ice. You pushed yourself off of the railing and walked back to your bedroom, tears welling in the corners of your eyes.

A month passed since the diner incident. Tony and you were still together, but if you two were close was an entire different story. Your ideas and attempts to console with him ran dry. You were out of options and out of ideas. And out of breath. You didn’t want to try anymore, you’ve had enough. It was nearing the summer and to be quite honest, you could use a vacation. You needed to be somewhere else, away from Tony for now. At least until he gets his shit together. Perhaps one of your siblings wanted to go with you. As the idea creeped into your skull, you got up from the couch and took a seat at your desk, grabbing some stationary paper and a pen. Writing letters may be old-fashioned, but in your family it was tradition. As the idea formed in your head, your hand started writing on the paper.

‘’I’m going upstate. To my family.’’

You announced as soon as you entered Tony’s lab, a neutral tone linger onto your voice. There he was, pencil behind his ear wearing a black tank top. You thought your eyes deceived you but no, Tony actually looked up from his work and was now staring into your eyes. He looked at you for a second, a mildly puzzled look on his face but then he have you a simple nod.

‘’Yeah, okay. I mean- have fun.’’

He walked past by you and gave you a quick peck on the cheek. The air felt dry and awkward around you two. Was he really going about it to easily? you licked your lips, you felt yourself coming back up from the dark pit. Surely he could say no to a vacation, right? It would be fun and Tony could relax, maybe even spend some more quality time together. You turned around and decided to try one last time. You felt yourself walking over to your husband, who was busy sorting out equipment, your arms instinctively go around his neck, as always.

‘’Take a break. Mhm? You could come with me upstate for the summer.’’

You rubbed his collarbone and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He seemed to - dare you say - ponder over the thought for a second. Was he really, truly thinking about leaving his work and joining you for the summer? All hope left your heart however when he shook his head and turned around.

‘’I have to finish this and get it through Fury.’’

You didn’t even care anymore. You walked out of the lab, climbed up the stairs to your bedroom and started packing for your trip to your family. Everything probably would be better after the summer, when all if this had blown over and Tony was done with late night experiments and meetings with SHIELD and Fury. Everything would be just fine you told yourself. You hoped, you really hoped. You couldn’t loose him too.

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