#pip should learn some more poems by heart

[the-oc-lass]

Second Chances - The Prologue

*Waves* Hi there. I wanted to promote my book Second Chances (I will put the links to my Wattpad and Ao3 accounts at the bottom of the post - or remind me to post them if I forget to) by posting the prologue here and letting everyone have a taste of my work. So, like, weeeeee. 

(Note: I know my work isn’t perfect so feel free to leave suggestions on how I can make my writing better. I need to get better with criticism)

(Note #2: This is a Hamilton AU fic from the perspective of OCs, so there you go)

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO...

The End and The Beginning:

It’s a dreary day, yet so beautiful. These days are always nice. The lovely day is shattered as a single gunshot, followed by another, rings through the air. I freeze and listen, before creeping through the streets slowly. I look around, ever careful. Then my eyes find him, lying there on the cobblestones. I gasp.

“Philip,” I breath, before rushing to his side and falling to my knees. His hands are pressing against a bleeding wound. Although I know how little it will help, I pull a handkerchief out and press it over the wound in a feeble attempt to absorb the blood. His breathing is ragged, and I’m scared.

“Someone get a Doctor!” I scream, looking around the streets. Whoever had shot him is nowhere to be seen. A coward! I look back down at Philip’s face. It’s contorted in pain and agony, and his eyes hold so much fear as they stare up at me. 

“Everything will be alright. Come here,” I say gently. I lift his head and place it in my lap, and he hisses in pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. He has tears on his face, and looks so afraid. I run my fingers through his hair slowly, hoping to soothe him and calm him down. He makes a strangled noise, and I shush him softly.

“Hush. I’ll take care of you until you’re brought to a doctor. Please, save what strength you have. You must survive, for your family,” I say, pausing to brush my thumb gently across his freckled cheek. Blood smears across where I touched. He coughs, and I shush him again softly, still stroking my thumb across his cheek, ignoring the blood. The expression shaping his face is breaking my heart. I want nothing more than to comfort him. He reaches a hand up toward me, and I pull one of mine from his hair to hold it. His hand is still covered in his blood, but I don’t care. Mine is too.

“Who are you?” he manages to ask in a strained voice. He doesn’t know who I am...Of course he doesn’t. I smile softly down at him, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. 

“It does not matter. I am just someone who could not leave you here all alone. For, fear only grows in the privacy of one's own thoughts,” I say. He makes a strangled noise that sounds something like a laugh. He’s smiling at me very slightly.

“You are a poet?” he asks. I give his hand another squeeze and continue to run my fingers through his hair.

“Something of the sort, Mr. Hamilton,” I say kindly. He continues to smile at me.

“Philip. Call me Philip,” he says. I smile back at him.

“Philip,” I correct myself quietly. He coughs again, and I frown with concern. 

“Let us take him!” Men cry, and I raise my head to see them coming. They’ll take Philip to get the help he needs. I nod, and they hoist him from my lap. 

“One minute,” I say, stopping them before they go. Philip is still holding my hand, and I hold it tightly before leaning down and kissing his forehead.

“All will be well, Philip. I promise,” I say softly. He squeezes my hand weakly, before he’s hauled away. And I stand there in the street for a moment. Blood sits sticky on my hand. My handkerchief is gone. It’s okay. As long as he is okay.

“M-mother, you cannot be serious,” I stutter, eyes wide with horror. My mother shakes her head.

“Too serious, my darling. He passed many hours after he left you. You are likely the last person outside of his blood that he saw,” she says, holding my hands in hers. Her eyes shine with sympathy, but all I can think of is the darkness from her words. Philip is dead. He didn’t recognize me, but I’ve known him for my whole life. He’s...The first man I’ve ever loved. And I knew the fear on his face as he laid in my lap, dying. And now he’s...I shake my head and draw back, refusing to believe it.

“They have lied. It is not true!” I say, voice overtaken by emotion. My mother reaches out for me once more, but I flee from her, into my father’s study. I lock her out, and move slowly to my father’s desk. I know he keeps a pistol inside the drawer. It’s a man’s job to carry on the legacy in the first place. This will not matter. I take up a quill, dip it in ink, and write. My words spill desperately across the parchment. For I am running out of time. My last poem, my last words. And the words I’m Sorry curling at the bottom. I do not sign my name. I place the quill down gently and lean down, opening the drawer containing my father’s pistol. There is a bang on the study door, and my mother is calling my name. I do not answer. I draw the pistol out. It is loaded, as it always is, and I know how to use it. Father was adamant that I learned how. I move over to the window, and I stare out it. The gun somehow doesn’t feel heavy in my hand. In fact, it feels nice. As if it were made to sit there. My mother is still calling for me. I lift the gun, and the metal feels cool against my head. I whisper an “I love you” into the air, and close my eyes. The air smells of books, paper, and ink. All of the things I love. 

“I’m sorry, Philip, mon amour,” I whisper. My finger moves to the trigger. I take in a last deep breath, and push it down. Bang. 

I open my eyes. It’s bright and beautiful here. For a moment, I wonder where I am. I wonder how I got here. And it all comes back. I look around, searching for anything or anyone. 

“It’s you.” I turn toward the voice. And there’s a freckled face, framed by bouncing locks of curls. Philip. I reach a hand out slowly, carefully. He does too. Our hands meet, and his is...Warm. His hand is bigger than mine, and he has the calluses of a poet. The same as me.

“What did you do?” he asks me, a sad look on his face that should never sit there. I frown and turn my head away, hand dropping.

“I lied to a dying man. I removed the liar,” I say softly. His hand takes mine again, holding it.

“Miss, you said what was necessary to comfort a dying man. I do not feel as though you lied to me,” he says. I risk a glance, and his gaze on me is one that is kind and soft. Everything but angry. 

“This is her?” another voice inquires. I turn. He’s a man in uniform, from a war long gone. A bouncy head of curls tied back. Something about him reminds me of Philip. Perhaps it is the freckles and the curls.

“This is her,” Philip confirms, and I glance back at him. My other hand is lifted, and a kiss is placed upon my knuckles. I stare at the top of his head for a moment, until he straightens. 

“Who are-“

“John Laurens, Miss,” he says. My eyes widen.

“Laurens...My mother’s Laurens?” I ask. His brows wrinkle in confusion. 

“Your mother?” he asks. I step toward him, tears in my eyes.

“Mr. Laurens...My name is Lilith Derven. I’m your goddaughter,” I say. His eyes widen, and he reaches out to take his face in my hands. 

“You’re...My Anastasia’s daughter,” he says. I nod, and he pulls me to him. I bury my face into his chest. 

“You’re just as beautiful as your mother. I can see her intelligence in your eyes...She must be so proud of you,” he says, holding my head. I laugh slightly, a tear running down my cheek.

“Lilith?” Philip mutters. I turn my head, and his mouth is agape as he stares at me. 

“Hi, Philip. I was waiting for you to recognize me,” I say, smiling through the tears. He runs to me and sweeps me into his arms, lifting me and holding me close. 

“How long has it been...My Lily. My beautiful Lilith. My best friend in this world, a poet greater than I, and the girl I’ve-“ He pauses, and sets me down. 

“Laurens, could you-“

“I’ll leave you two be. I’d like to check up on Alexander anyway,” Laurens says. I hear him retreat, but my eyes are only on Philip. He takes my hands and stares me in the eye, cheeks flushed. 

“I wish I’d told you when we were both alive...Maybe we wouldn’t be dead in the first place if I had. We’d just grown apart. I was busy with school, as were you, I’m sure. I’ve always known you wouldn’t require a man to become successful, so some part of me was afraid that if I told you...You’d turn me down, or I would hold you back from your dreams. I didn’t think I could. I wanted to be bold like my pops, but it seems like the boldest thing was the one thing I couldn’t do,” he says. I tilt my head slightly, giving him a kind look. 

“Pip, what are you talking about?” I ask, using his old nickname. He squeezes my hands and looks down at them for a second, then back up into my eyes.

“Lilith...I’ve been in love with you since I was ten years old,” he says. My face flushes and my lips part in surprise. 

“You...Love me?” I repeat, still shocked. He swallows and nods. 

“I do,” he says. I smile at him and pull one hand away from him to raise it and touch his cheek. 

“Mon doux petit poète (My sweet little poet), I wish you would’ve told me sooner. Je t’aime aussi,” I say, caressing his face with my thumb. He stares at me for a moment.

“You do?” he asks. I smile wider and nod.

“Have I ever lied to you, mon amour?” I ask. He grins at me. 

“Probably, when we were children,” he says. I laugh and lean my forehead against his. 

“I’ve missed you, ma douce (my sweet) Philip,” I say. He chuckles, putting a hand respectfully at my hip. I pull back slightly to look at him through my eyelashes. 

“Pip?” I ask softly. He tilts his head to show he’s listening. 

“How much French do you know?” He hums in thought for a moment, looking at me curiously.

“Only what you taught me,” he says. My stomach twists nervously. Damn this corset. I take a deep breath and lean toward him.

“Embrasse moi,” I whisper in his ear. He pauses as I pull back. He swallows and licks his lips.

“That...Kiss you?” he asks. I look away shyly and nod. He smiles bashfully, before gently taking my face and turning it toward him. His eyes sparkle with adoration as they look at me, before they drop to my lips. His eyes close as he leans toward me, and mine do too. His kiss is soft and sweet, warm like the morning sunlight, and a bliss unheard of. I smile against his lips and I feel him do that same. It lasts for only a few seconds, before we pull away from one another. Blushes spread across our cheeks, and smiles curve our lips. 

“Wow,” he breathes. I giggle and throw my arms around him. 

“Je t'aime,” I say, holding tightly to him. He laughs, kissing behind my ear. 

“I love you too, ma beauté française (My French beauty),” he says. I giggle, and then shriek as he lifts me up. He’s spinning with me, and I hold on tighter. When he finally puts me down, I step back and sway.

“You’ve made me dizzy!” I giggle, grinning at him. He laughs at me, and I hug him tightly. Someone clears their throat, and we jump, moving away from each other. Laurens smiles at us. 

“I take it your feelings were mutual?” he asks. Philip blushes and nods.

“U-um, how are my parents?” he asks, changing the subject. Laurens’ face drops. 

“They’re...Grieving. Not just you, but Lilith. And they’re still searching for Evangeline,” he says. For a moment, my heart breaks. The Hamilton’s are grieving for me as well? I’m not even their daughter, I’m not of their blood at all, but they still grieve for me? Then my attention is drawn away from the fact. I look at Philip and raise an eyebrow. 

“Who’s Evangeline?” I ask. He looks at me for a moment, silent. 

“You are,” he says. I crinkle my eyebrows in confusion, tilting my head.

“What?” Laurens and I ask in unison, each with differing ratios of shock and confusion. Philip takes my hand, seemingly planning out his response.

“My mind was so blurred after I got shot. I was looking at the sky and still didn’t know which way was up. When I saw you, I couldn’t see your face. Not in the literal sense, but it didn’t click. In my mind you were a pretty stranger with pretty words, and I couldn’t see you as Lilith. Maybe it was my own mind’s way of trying to be merciful, because knowing that it was you I was dying on would’ve been many times worse than believing I was dying in the arms of a stranger. I tried to describe you to my mom, I wanted to have you speak at my funeral,” he looks up at Laurens to address him instead. “We couldn’t just call her ‘the girl in the purple dress,’ so my mom decided to call her Evangeline. It’s supposed to mean bringer of good news, which she associated with Lilith comforting me.” The way he’d described it all had been so poetic and sad. And he’d wanted me to speak at his funeral? What...What have I done? I turn to Philip.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling overridden with guilt. He puts his other hand over mine. 

“Lilith, it’s perfectly fine-“

“But it’s not. I caused your family so much pain and uncertainty. They may never know that it was me who sat with you, and they’ll live the rest of their lives wondering who I was. Not to mention that I’ve caused them more grieving by taking my own life,” I exclaim, tears welling up in my eyes. The outburst is so unladylike, and nothing like how my mother taught me to act. Yes, speak to be heard, but stand strong. Women are already seen as weak, do not allow yourself to show weakness if you wish to be taken seriously. Show emotion with words, not with your tears. Philip wipes a stray tear from my cheek, kissing my forehead. 

“Don’t cry, mon amour,” he mutters softly. I hiccup and nod, taking a deep breath to pull myself together. There’s a long silence.

“I want to show you kids something,” Laurens says, placing a hand on each of our shoulders. I grin slightly. 

“You just aged yourself a lot, Mr. Laurens,” I giggle. He sighs and rolls his eyes fondly, shaking his head. He turns and waves for us to follow him. We do so, hand in hand. Eventually, he leads us to a cliff. The horizon is a painting of beautiful colors, which reflect serenely off the waves of the deep blue waters below the cliff. 

“It’s beautiful,” I say, awestruck. Philip is at a complete loss for words beside me. 

“As is everything in heaven,” Laurens says, eyes remaining glued to the horizon. I release Philip’s hand to climb a bit higher on the cliff, standing beside Laurens. He looks at me and I look back.

“As much as it saddens me that you’ve both come so early...Welcome to the afterlife,” he says. I smile slightly. 

“Thank you, Mr. Laurens. I’m glad to have finally met you.”

~~~~~~

“My mother talked of you often, Mr. Laurens,” I say, staring across the sky. I pull at the petals of my flower crown absently. Laurens turns toward me.

“Did she?” I nod, smiling softly.

“She would tell my brothers and I stories of you, and read us your letters. And she told me once that when you saw me as an infant, you looked at me as if I were yours. You had the same love in your eyes as my father did, which is why they decided to make me your goddaughter,” I say. I try to imagine it. My infant self in his arms, a look in his eyes that can be described only as the all too pure pride of a loving father. I will never be able to feel that pride. I have robbed myself of it. Somehow, though, I do not worry. I am with Philip now, and John, and other family that has passed. I am content.

“Mon bien-aimé (My beloved) Anastasia,” he says, soft and fond. My smile is sad now, and I place the flower crown in my lap to prevent myself from crushing it.

“You loved her, didn’t you?” I ask. I miss my mother. My father. My blessed little brothers. 

“Not in the way that I love my Alexander, or in the way she loves your father, but, yes. She and I loved each other deeply,” he says, smiling sadly. I nod.

“She told me that she saw you at that ball and could tell you were different. She approached you, and you looked at her with all the politeness of a man that thought he was going to have to fend her off like other women. But the first thing she did when she reached you was turn her gaze across the room to Alexander, and whisper in a tone only you would hear ‘you love him, don’t you?’” I say, remembering the story my mother told me when teaching me to accept others. We never owned slaves. We claimed to, but we paid them and treated them as humans. And we’d never harmed them. They had families, children I’d played with. I smile softly at him, and he returns it.

“She’s always been such a strong, intelligent, and accepting woman. I never felt as though she was disgusted by me, and I never felt unsafe in her presence. She and your father were more of a family to me than my own blood,” he says, pausing for a moment before reaching for my hand and adding, “and when you were born, you were as well.” I hold onto his hands and gaze at him softly. 

“She’s always wished you could have loved him openly,” I say, unaware of the tear rolling down my cheek. He reaches up to wipe the tear away, and pulls me to him. 

“Mon petit tout (My little everything),” he mutters. I can’t help but laugh.

“Mother told me you called me that,” I say, pressing my cheek against his coat. We sit silently for a moment, the both of us reminiscing on our individual memories of my mother - his Anastasia - and longing to be back with her. We move away from each other in unison, and he smiles at me with an adoring look I’ve only ever seen from my father. He lifts the flower crown from my lap and places it on my head, grinning at me. 

“I didn’t know it was possible for people to accept this part of me until I met your mother. She looked at me with a teasing and playful twinkle in her eyes, and I could always talk to her without fear of judgement,” he says fondly. I touch the flowers in my hair, a fond smile on my own lips.

“She taught us that we do not choose how we are made, or how we are born. She said that we must treat everyone as we feel we should be treated. It is why we never owned slaves,” I say. John chuckles.

“Yes, your mother and I were adamant abolitionists. She had so much passion, especially when she was young and newly wedded. She went against the societal standards of women and we all admired her for it. Lafayette was quite taken with her,” he says. I gasp and put a hand over my mouth.

“Marquis de Lafayette and my mother?” I ask, mouth agape with a surprised grin. He laughs at my expression.

“Yes, but as far as I am aware, all that was shared was a few dances and some flirting in French. Your mother knew about his wife, however, and respected his love for her. Ever self sacrificing, your mother,” he says. I sigh and nod. 

“That she is, ma chère mère (My dear mother),” I say. He pats my shoulder.

“She’s-“

“Mr. Laurens!” We both turn when we hear Philip. He looks panicked. Afraid. Laurens and I both rise.

“What is it, Philip?” he asks, voice steady. Ever the soldier. Philip swallows

“It’s my father. He’s about to duel with Aaron Burr.”

~~~~~

Laurens has descended to be with Alexander for the duel. I hold tightly to Philip’s hand as we watch from above. He flinches when his father is shot, but Alexander seems quite calm considering the situation. Typical Alexander. He’s taken to a doctor, and Laurens comes back to retrieve Philip. 

“We should be with him,” he says. Philip nods, and his hand slips from mine. 

“Time passes differently when you don’t watch. It will only be a few minutes for you. We’ll be back soon,” he says, looking briefly at me. I nod, and I watch them go. Then I’m alone. Is this what it was like for Laurens? Long and lonely silence? I wait, eventually sitting in the grass. Sounds of nature surround me, so it’s not a deafening quiet, but I miss the presence of another person. I find myself weaving more flower crowns, and singing a French lullaby my mother sang to me as a child. I’m about halfway through my third flower crown when a voice breaks through my song. 

“My dear Laurens...And Philip?” I look up. It’s Alexander. He’s been reunited with his lover and his son. For a moment, I think to rise. I decide against it. Let him have his moment with the ones he loves first. I return to my flower crown, and continue to sing. I sound nothing like my mother, but it’s comforting nonetheless. 

“Lilith?” My singing stops as I look up, and I smile. Dropping the half-made crown, I rise to my feet.

“Monsieur Hamilton,” I say with a curtsy. He breaks away from Laurens and Philip to come forth and embrace me.

“Do not be so formal with me, my dear. You are like a daughter to me,” he says, sounding...Heartbroken? I wrap my arms around him in an effort to comfort him. 

“Darling, why did you do it? Why did you leave your poor mother in the manner of which you did? You have no idea how much heartbreak we felt in losing you. Lafayette returned for your funeral. Why, Lilith, why?” he asks desperately. I...I caused all that? 

“Because she’s Evangeline.” Alexander pulls away from me to look at his son. 

“She’s...What do you mean she’s Evangeline? You would’ve recognized her, and you didn’t know who the woman was. That’s why we’ve called her Evangeline,” he says. Philip shakes his head and moves to my side, taking my hand.

“My vision was blurred and my mind wasn’t working correctly. Think about it, Pops. Look at her. She’s exactly as I described Evangeline,” he says. Alexander looks from Philip to me and stares for a moment. 

“I don’t understand why being Evangeline would cause her to-“

“I felt guilty. So guilty that it hurt. I couldn’t take it,” I say, fingers twitching in Philip’s grasp. Alexander stares at me, shocked. Then suddenly he has my face between his hands.

“You had nothing to feel guilty for. I should’ve stopped him,” he says. I blink back tears.

“I should’ve told him I loved him sooner. Perhaps the three of us would not be here in this moment,” I say. The hand against mine flexes.

“Do not think in what if’s. What if’s will only destroy us,” Philip says. Alexander releases my face to look at his son, and I look at him too. 

“Mon doux petit poète,” I say with teary eyes, releasing his hand to touch his cheek. Alexander chuckles a little.

“We always hoped you’d fall in love,” he says. I grin a little bit.

“The plan always was to have us married anyway, wasn’t it? You wanted Derven-Hamilton grandchildren. That’s what mother said anyway,” I say. Alexander and Laurens both laugh, and Philip turns his head away to hide a blush rising to his cheeks. 

“It has been a while since I’ve been to a Derven wedding,” Laurens says. Mother mentioned that the four had come to her wedding. Laurens had given a speech, and danced with her. She said that until the day I was born, the day she married my father was the best day of her life. Not just because of her marriage to my father, but because of her friends, whom she loved so dearly. I can see why. 

~~~~~

As the years go by, more join us, and I meet many whom I never had the chance to meet. I’m reunited with others. My parents, my brothers, Eliza, all of Philip’s siblings. I’m properly introduced to people whom I haven’t met since I was born, or very young. I meet spouses and nieces and nephews. They all remain in their best form. Some being as they were when they died, and others appearing younger. Many reunions are tearful, joyous. When I first saw my mother, some ten years after my father passed away, I broke into sobs and collapsed in her arms. We all spent years in the blissful afterlife together, creating memories we never got. Philip and I get married in the presence of our families and friends. In the year 2016 on the regular Earth, I see a young woman portraying pieces of mine and my mother’s stories in a big theater in New York, in a show that is big on what is now known as Broadway. It is after I see this that the disappearances occur. The first to go is General Washington. Then my grandparents, and Philip’s. Years pass and Angelica is gone. A year later and Mr. Mulligan and Lafayette, then my father. The following year, Mr. Laurens, Alexander, my mother, and Eliza are gone. Two years and Aunt Peggy disappears. Very soon, it is Philip and I, and our siblings and their families. We await the certain fates of disappearance. And it is to my horror that Philip is gone first. Months later, I see a bright light. Each memory of my life flashes through my mind rapidly, and the light swallows me. The last thing I can see in my mind is Philip. Philip. Philip. Philip…

Yo. So that’s the prologue. It probably reads better on Wattpad or Ao3. It’s not updated as frequently on Ao3, but every time I finish a chapter, I update on Wattpad. I’m up to Chapter 14 there. So like. 

Wattpad (Main platform): https://www.wattpad.com/story/238070007-second-chances 

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28575150/chapters/70031022

[miraworos]

An echo sharp and strange

No one:

Me: Here, have some Ineffable Husbands plotty angst/fluff chapter fic

~~~~~

Aziraphale examined himself in the mirror, smoothing an errant curl back into place with a practiced finger. Not that he was going anywhere special or was wearing anything differently than usual, but Crowley was on his way over for a visit, and Aziraphale wanted to look his best. That is, he didn't want to look his best for Crowley, of course, but for company in general.

He felt a brief twinge, as if he'd just told a small half-truth, and he huffed at himself. Sometimes it was rather inconvenient being an embodiment of heavenly morality all the time. Even angels should be allowed to lie to themselves now and then.

With a sigh, Aziraphale abandoned the mirror for a cup of tea and the restoration he'd been working on of a 1633 edition of Poems by John Donne. So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame…

The words could not capture Aziraphale's attention completely, though. Or perhaps the words underscored the very thoughts he kept trying to avoid. In any case, his mind returned again to the clock, half past the hour. Crowley was due a quarter of an hour since, but he was often late. It didn’t mean he wasn't coming.

Aziraphale got to his feet, pacing between shelves, pretending to dust with a feather brush Crowley had brought him once a few decades back. Lord, even the duster reminded him of Crowley.

He set the brush down and straightened his waistcoat, reprimanding himself sharply. Crowley was his friend. That was all he would ever be. They may have joined forces to shield humanity from a war that would have meant earth's end; they may have…grown attached to each other in the process; they might even sacrifice their own best interests to rescue each other occasionally. But any other feelings of-of fondness that Aziraphale might feel for his companion could not possibly be reciprocated. Aziraphale may no longer have reservations that his best friend was a demon, but that didn't change the fact that Crowley was a demon, and would no doubt laugh himself silly upon learning of Aziraphale's growing regard.

Aziraphale shuddered at the mere idea of Crowley knowing the true depth of Aziraphale's feelings. Better to suffer the many twinges from half-truths and white lies than to weather the heart-flaying reality of an unrequited…well, something. Or worse, Crowley pulling away from him entirely.

Aziraphale had chosen to flout Heaven's will to the point that he'd been branded a traitor. The only friend he had left in all existence was Crowley. He couldn't risk losing him. Crowley could easily survive as a lone wolf. Aziraphale, however…

Well, it didn't bear thinking about. Aziraphale wouldn't say a word, and he and Crowley could continue their existing friendship unimpeded. It was for the best.

Aziraphale was still trying to convince himself that sorrow was an inappropriate response to this decision when the bell above the door tinkled.

The angel marshaled his features into a smile and turned to greet his friend, coming face to face with the archangel Gabriel instead.

“What in Heaven are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked with no small amount of fear. He was supposed to have had more time. They were both supposed to have more time.

“Just dropped in for a little chat. No need to—what is it the expression—get your knickers in a twist?”

“I have nothing to say to you. You tried to burn me with demonic fire. I’m still struggling to get the sulfur stains out of my coat.”

Gabriel meandered deeper into Aziraphale’s shop, picking up books absently and setting them back down out of order, the monster.

“I will thank you not to touch my things.”

“And I will thank you to address me with the respect befitting a divine archangel.” Gabriel did not refrain from manhandling Aziraphale’s belongings. If anything, he continued to do so, only more pointedly. “You may have slipped the traitor’s noose, but I am still your boss. Or, actually, your boss’s boss’s boss.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever. The point is, I will not tolerate any further insubordination on your part. Do you understand?”

“I hardly think—“

“Do you understand, Principality Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale, still miffed but not willing to cause an interdivinity incident over it—the paperwork alone would be insufferable—decided to keep his mouth shut and wait for Gabriel’s intentions to reveal themselves.

For his part, Gabriel strode over to Aziraphale’s favorite chair and sunk down into it, filling it indifferently with his perfectly muscled body and sanctimonious judgment. Aziraphale briefly debated miracling the chair out from under him.

“Why?” Gabriel asked finally, his fingers steepled ostentatiously as he studied Aziraphale’s face.

“Why what?”

“Why did you side with the humans, of all ridiculous things? They are chattel. They serve a purpose, but they are not divine.”

“They are part of the Almighty’s plan. They are...they are Her children, just as we are.”

Gabriel scoffed. “Come now, you don’t believe that. They are no more worthy of Her attention than a swarm of gnats on a summer’s day.”

Aziraphale goggled at him. How could the head of the entire Heavenly Host have gotten it all so very wrong?

“They are destined to sit at Her right hand, Gabriel. For all your disdain, you cannot rewrite the sacred texts.”

“Can’t I? Who do you think wrote them in the first place? It sure as Heaven wasn’t Paul. That cretin could barely tie his own sandals without help. Besides, even dogs get into Heaven, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale tugged at his lapels. Damned if he was going to sit still and listen to Gabriel of all people question the very fabric of God’s Plan. He’d had quite enough of this conversation, thank you very much.

“I didn’t side with them, like Armageddon is some sort of football match,” he said, lips tight with disapproval. “I followed my conscience. The way I was instructed to do. The way we were all instructed to do. Now if you don’t mind, I would rather you leave. Immediately, if you please.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t move. “I am not finished yet.”

“Well, I am. Quite. So, off you go. Pip, pip.”

Aziraphale waved a hand from Gabriel toward the door, but before he finished the gesture, the Flaming Sword he’d stupidly returned to Heaven was leveled point first at his throat, holy fire scoring the blade with white-hot flame. Gabriel must have had it stashed in the same metaphysical plane that hid his wings.

“There’s no need to bring weapons into this, Gabriel. You’re being unbearably rude.”

“What, this old thing? I just brought it along as insurance in case your pet demon decided to make an appearance. Where is the little snake, by the way?”

Now that was going entirely too far. Pet demon? Really?

“My friend,” Aziraphale corrected through gritted teeth—might as well own it openly, now that he’d officially abandoned his duties to Heaven. “Should be here at any moment. And he won’t be happy to see you. I’m afraid you made a rather poor impression on him the last time you met, so you may want to be on your way before he arrives.”

Aziraphale didn’t actually know what Crowley would do if he came across Gabriel in the shop. He might just as well take off in the other direction, assuming that Aziraphale had invited the heartless archangel for tea.

“That’s a shame,” Gabriel said, finally getting to his feet, thank the Lord. He banished the Sword as he said, “I had a message for you and everything.”

“What message?”

“Oh, no. I would hate to impose upon you for a moment longer, when I am so clearly not welcome.”

“Gabriel!” Aziraphale said, raising his voice in consternation. “What is the message?”

Gabriel turned, a feral smile on his lips.

“The Almighty wants to speak with you. In person.”

chapter 2

[monami-laurens-blog]

blow us all away - chapter one

Hi again! After listening to Blow Us All Away I thought of this AU where Phillip has a twin sister named Phillipa, if this is already an AU please make sure to tell me please but this AU is called hamilton!twins until I can come up with something better! Also this series will have either 2 or 3 chapters!! Enjoy!

Word Count: 1445

Phillipa Hamilton, the forgotten Hamilton child along with her little sister Angelica but even she was well known due to her name, but not Phillipa. She is the twin sister of the greatest Hamilton child alive, Philip Hamilton. He was pretty much perfect, he was a poet, talented, very intelligent (according to King’s College), and very handsome. Phillipa and Philip did look alike, but Phillipa always thought that Philip was the better of the two.

“Phillipa! Could you take a break and come down for supper?” her mother Eliza called.

Eliza loved her daughter dearly, but Phillipa was very different from other girls. She doesn’t play with dolls and refuses to do her chores. Phillipa also never had a crush before, or that’s what Eliza thought. Eliza tries her hardest to have her daughter act like a woman and not so much like a man. Eliza once took away all of Phillipa’s clothes and replaced them all with dresses, Phillipa didn’t talk to her for a week. Phillipa also wants to learn instead of staying home, whenever Eliza’s sister Angelica would come around Phillipa would ask her to teach her how to read and write and ask to learn about the government. Eliza had also heard from one of Phillipa’s friends that she wanted to be a president. Eliza doesn’t want that happening because it would break her daughter’s heart to find out that she’d be rejected just because she is a woman.

“Mother, just save my plate…” Phillipa calls out with a groan following.

“Phillipa!” Eliza calls out, “There is a little surprise before supper! It cannot wait.”

“Okay, Okay…” Philippa says lifting herself off her bed. She closed her notebook which were filled with writings, much like the poems her older twin brother Philip wrote.

Phillipa made her way down the stairs and walked to the dining room and saw the one person she wanted and needed to see, Philip. Phillipa ran to her brother hugging him tightly, she started to cry for some reason, she did miss her brother. He went off to King’s College some time ago and Phillipa had not seen him since.

“Phillip!!” Phillipa cried out, she didn’t let go of her older brother. It seemed like if she were to let go he would leave again.

Phillipa then felt two strong arms wrap around her and pull her closer, it was Phillip.

“I missed you Philly…” Phillip whispered into Phillipa’s ear.

The two pulled away, Philip wiped his sister’s tears away, he missed her just as much as she did. The twins sat at the table after that, not realizing that Eliza was tearing up.

“Now my boy, How’s college hm? I’m assuming you are on another break?” Alexander, their father, says taking a sip from his cup. “Well, not really…” Phillip said with a smile.

Phillipa knew that smile, he smiled like that when he knew something. Phillip pushed himself up and pulled out a piece of paper.

“Meet the latest graduate of King’s College!” Phillip says with a smile. Phillipa smiled back at him, Eliza started to cry, and Alexander was ecstatic.

“I told you Eliza that one day our son would will blow us all away!” Alexander sing-songed.

Phillipa felt left out, her father never really acknowledged her. One day Phillipa wrote something for her father when she turned nine, Alexander asked her if she took Phillip’s poems. After that day Phillipa and Alexander were very distant. Phillip was loved by Alexander though, whenever Phillip came back from the college for break the two would go uptown. Phillipa wasn’t allowed to go according to her mother. She has asked Phillip to bring her something back though, and he always has. Alexander did put a stop to this because “they couldn’t afford it”.

“Phillip that is AMAZING! Now when do you do you want to--” Alexander was cut off by Phillipa’s chair being pushed back, dramatically.

“I...I need to be excused for a moment…” Phillipa said, not waiting for a yes or a no. Phillip wanted to go after her but Alexander said that she was a girl and needed space. But what Phillipa needed was someone to talk to.

“They didn’t cover that in boarding school..” Phillip said under his breath, he picked at his food the rest of supper and made his way to his room. He had his own bedroom, Phillipa on the other hand shared a room with their younger sister Angelica. Phillip didn’t think much of it until now.

“Phillipa isn’t the same…” Phillip said, and he was right she was very different.

                       - It was morning and Phillip decided that Phillipa and himself would go to draw. He remembered during the times he was in college, Phillipa was slip in small sketches of things into their father’s letters. They were well drawn, every week he would always find a drawing of Angelica or their mom, but never their father. But eventually the sketches stopped coming, and Phillip never found out why.

Phillip cleaned himself up and went to the kitchen for breakfast and saw a feast before him on the table.

“Mom? What is this?” Phillip asked, in awe. The food looked and smelled delicious, and probably tasted amazing.

“Oh Pip, I didn’t see you there! All of this is for you! Since you graduated I decided we would have a big breakfast! Could you call you sister down? Angelica is still sleeping so please stay quiet.”

Phillip nodded and made his way to the shared bedroom, he knocked on the door lightly and the opened it. Phillipa’s bed was empty and just as his mother expected, Angelica was sound asleep in her crib. Phillip looked around for her but instead he found a note on the bedside table.

Dear Phillip,

I went out to receive some breakfast today, tell Mom that I have already eaten, and that I will be out with my friends. I should be home around sundown.

P. Ham

Phillip sighed, he did want to spend quality time with his sister. After he left, he decided that he will go out looking for her after breakfast.

                       -

Phillipa was walking through the plaza, it was a nice summer day and it seemed like a great time to explore, she needed to leave that house.But just as she expected, she was getting strange looks due to her clothing, she wasn’t wearing a dress. She was wearing Phillip’s clothes, she never went out just because of dresses. Phillipa did not want to wear a dress so she would stay home most of the time and write.

Phillipa held her sketchbook and pencil in her hand as she looked for a place to sit. Her long puffy and curly hair got in her way so she pulled it up. She spotted a bird sitting on a bench and began to draw it, every line looking perfect. She was then interrupted by a touch.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry for interrupting you but I just wanted to say I like the way you dress.” a voice said.

Phillipa moved her head to the voice, and you could say that Phillipa instantly fell in love. That’s why she didn’t fit in with all the other girls. She liked both women and men, she was strange, but the woman that stood in front of Phillipa wore a warm colored dress much like her aunt Angelica’s but it was different. It was shorter, and only thin string held the the rest of the fabric. But not only did the dress catch Phillipa’s attention, the way the woman looked was astonishing. The woman's hair was just a fluffy as hers and were put into two buns. The woman also possessed sweet brown eyes, and wore red lipstick and shimmery highlighter (from what Phillipa believed) which matched her outfit accordingly.

“O-Oh...thank you…” Phillipa managed to get out. The woman took a seat next to Phillipa and smiled at her. A blush went across Phillipa’s face, she couldn’t help it. The woman repositioned herself and looked at Phillipa’s face, smiling after.

“Are you blushing?” she asked, touching Phillipa’s hand which made her blush even more.

“N-No…” Phillipa stammered.

“You're cute you you stutter darlin’ what is your name?” The woman said, Phillipa might have been seeing things but she saw a pink tint rise on the woman’s face.

“Um...Oh! I am...Phillipa Hamilton…” Phillipa said, tightening her ponytail, she tried to hide her blush but she wasn’t doing a good job at it.

“Hamilton...I’ve heard that from somewhere, but I am Dolley Payne...I’m the New York Times editor’s daughter.” Dolley said, “You are interesting Phillipa, I like you…”

That’s when Phillipa did the unimaginable, she kissed a girl.