#pray for my girl Eliza Schuyler everyone

[mullersturtleneck]

Sticking With the Schuylers (40)

(Not only did I stay up way too late for my schedule to write this, but I also woke up earlier this morning to finish it...it wouldn’t go the rest of the day undone. I mean, I’m a teacher and it’s the end of the year, I don’t have anything glaringly important to do....no way....)

If you haven’t given this story a chance...I mean, I’m not saying you’re missing out but it might seem daunting, but don’t we all like a little emotional roller-coaster once in a while?

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   1112   I  13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18C  I  19   20   21   22   23   24   25  26   27  28   29   I  30  31  32 33 34 35  36  37  38  39

Tagging: @linsnavi  

Warnings: This story is pretty heavy on mentions of both physical and emotional abuse.

               “I need to talk to you.”

               Eliza comes home on Wednesday night with an unreadable expression, somewhere between somber and passive. It’s later than usual; the inclusion of therapy has not only imposed on their night, which they’ve wordlessly moved to Tuesdays instead, but it has also taken a chunk of her relaxation away as well. She kicks off her snow-infested boots at the door, peeling off layers with slow and careful movements. He can’t tell if she’s exhausted or tense, mulling over her words. Her keys hit the countertop with a clang and she looks up to meet him.

               He’d risen from his chair in the office immediately upon hearing her voice. It barely even reached the room, where he’d been holed up working on a case study he’d been buried in for days. Her voice falls flat. There is a worry that sinks into his heart, cold and unforgiving, and he hesitates at the door to watch her. She lets her coat hang from her hands for a moment, fabric brushing the floor before it falls completely. The knit pattern on her scarf is traced by tentative fingers that run along its ridges, carving out each space as if the feeling of wool chilled by winter weather is something she needs to memorize in this very moment. It feels like an eternity by the time she has completely shed all of her winter garb, leaving it in neat piles by the door as she finally looks up at him.

This week had been her third session with Lisa. Eliza had warned him-as Lisa had warned her-that things would only get harder before they got better. Then she’d shaken it off, pegged it as a cautionary tale not meant for her. She’d been so sure that she’d be able to make it, to leave therapy in the room and continue on with her life as if it were completely normal. It was a mistake to think so optimistically. The night had been especially tiring; ‘we’ll leave that for the next session’ had finally caught up to her, the pass cards completely used up. There were too many things to talk about in the space of time they had to be lingering on every minute, pleasant detail within her life. She’s acutely aware of the fact that she won’t be able to move on unless she begins to talk about the bad-the unpleasant. Still, wanting and needing had become two very different places in her life, distancing themselves more every second. There’s no room for compromise. Need has to come now before want or wish or hope. This premise aches, and stings. Eliza is exhausted.

               She sinks into the couch expectantly, patting the space next to her as if she’s giving herself a death sentence. Her face has fallen considerably, eyes cast to the floor and fingers fumbling idly in her lap.

               “So I don’t want you to think that any of this is your fault, okay?” Alexander nods, curious. Eliza draws in a breath-a shot of courage, and holds it in place for a moment before speaking. She has the floor. Alexander is attentive and curious and silent, poised no doubt with the perfect turn of phrase on the tip of his tongue. Her stomach turns with nerves that roll in a docile storm, just enough to shake her confidence.

               “Lisa talked to me last week about a decision I had to make and I ignored her, thinking it would just go away. It hasn’t, and she keeps giving me all of these drawn-out reasons why we have to have this talk and at first I didn’t think it was necessary but the more she talks the more she changes my mind…”

               “Okay, it’s alright, we can work this out. I can get another job, we don’t have to have an office. You can even keep student teaching, right?-because nine months give or take would bring us to September, and that might be kind of hard but if we just sit down and talk about it we can figure this out. And then your parents-shit, your parents-they can, uh, we can just sit down with them, and have a rational talk, and you might need to cry if I’m not already crying and if your dad doesn’t murder me, and a baby’s a lot of work but I think we can do it,”

               “-Wait, Alex, slow down!” She’s nearly laughing now, alarm in her eyes and the hint of a smile playing at her lips. She moves her hands from her lap to his shoulders, tracing tracks along them as his heartbeat and his scattered mind settle. “I’m not pregnant.”

               The release of tension in Alexander is visible; his shoulders drop, his hands stop sweating. He nods his head, fervently, letting the words wash over him in excess until they finally click in his mind.

               “Good-okay, not good as in I wouldn’t support you if you were, but good as in we haven’t even had this conversation yet, and this is not the right time to be raising a child, and we have careers and family and,”

               “-It’s okay, Alexander, I understand. I’m not offended. I mean, could you imagine my father if that were the case?” He had. He’d imagined it all, right down to each gruesome detail within the thirty-second span of time he had been stumbling over his words ready to provide for her. Being maimed by Phillip Schuyler after impregnating his daughter three months into their relationship isn’t exactly the kind of rapport he wants to have with the man. He’s fine continuing the simple chats they’ve had thus far, those are enough to carry him into his good graces.

               “I-uh, I did have something important to talk to you about, though.”

               May; the school year has ended, and somehow Eliza has managed to complete every task and assignment on time, and in good reflection in her grades as well. She sits on the porch of her parents’ house with Angelica, looking over her final grades with a sigh of relief. She is genuinely surprised that she passed the year. Academically, Eliza did not find it too difficult. In fact, she excelled far above the others with her knowledge taken from volunteer work and tutoring, bits and pieces of knowledge coming in handy in her development classes. Even in math, which had proven to be her worst subject throughout school, she managed to pull a grade above her expectations.

               The second semester had been trying. Angelica can see it reflected in the dropping marks, the weight of Eliza’s GPA dipping her down to just barely missing the dean’s list, which had been her goal all along. She had tried to explain, for the fifteenth time, that making the list was exceptionally hard-especially at a school like Columbia. Eliza wouldn’t listen. Watching her little sister was like watching herself through a mirror. The high expectations did not come from their parents as much-no, Phillip and Catherine wanted their daughters to succeed by trying their hardest, not by breaking their backs. This is something internalized, built into their mismatched DNA in a harrowing representation of perfectionism that fought with their minds on a daily basis. It isn’t enough that they both are going to Columbia. It isn’t enough that they’ve made high marks their entire year. To Angelica and Eliza, there is always a higher goal to be met in academics. Angelica has achieved it for the third year in a row. Eliza has missed on her very first try.

               Angelica knows the pathway that had taken her younger sister from straight A’s to lower A’s and B’s. This is entirely a fault that cannot be placed on Eliza, who had spent late nights trying to complete school work and come to class late covered in concealer with sorrow-ridden eyes. From the moment she had moved in with James, her grades began to slip. Her assignments grew harder. Her life grew harder. She had held her head up like a warrior through it all, persevered and battled herself to keep her spot at the school she had been dreaming about for years on end. It’s her family’s legacy, to move from Manhattan Prep to Columbia. It’s their dream to keep the dignity and respect alive through the deeply-rooted tradition. And she had almost lost it-according to her own thoughts.

               “You didn’t do badly at all, Eliza. Look-your Health & Nutrition professor left a note that your final project on bringing sustainable choices to school lunches was inspired. Actually, you have a lot of comments on here.”

               “I guess.”

               “Eliza, you got really good grades for your first year at Columbia. And for everything you went through,”

               “-No.” Her voice is hollow, cracked. Eliza grabs the paper transcript from her sister’s hands, burying it in her lap without sparing a second glance. She’d already memorized the marks, anyway. “We’re not using that as an excuse. We broke up in March. There’s no reason I shouldn’t have been able to higher grades than this.”

               As summer slowly crept into view, the thought of final marks never left Eliza’s mind. There were days where she seemed fine; that she was no longer pained by her experiences and could not even remember what she had been so upset about. But most days she found that time hung suspended in front of her, where the beginning prickling heat of summer took over the streets. The world was surrounded in humidity that brought crowds stumbling inside and packing the subways with sweaty bodies pressed tight together. In this chaos Eliza never stopped. She threw herself back into the things she had missed in a manic sort of frenzy that packed her schedule from dawn to dusk. Angelica went from seeing her every time she walked through the door from work to only once in a while, in sparing moments in the holes of her schedule. And when she did see Eliza-when they sat together at brunch, or spent a moment in the kitchen over some tea and cookies-she was just an average human being with an over packed schedule and a sleep pattern to match.

               Angelica knew better-she always knows better.

               There’s one morning that Eliza doesn’t leave the house, at least not at the crack of dawn. Angelica and John have both woken up, and are sitting at the little breakfast nook in the corner of their kitchen. John pours over one half of the newspaper while Angelica takes the other. They sit in a peaceful sort of silence, the sound of birdsong and small sips of hot coffee the only accompaniment. They hear Eliza before they see her. This morning she is a slow, methodical clicking of oxford flats against hardwood. John looks up from his mug to greet her and is met with blinking eyes and a grin painted unsteadily on well-made features.

               “You’re here late.” John speaks up first, eyes lifted just above the crease of the newspaper. She nods. Although the conversation has invited her further into the kitchen she does not move-her legs won’t will it. Instead she hovers in her place, staring at the couple at the table with an inward plea she doesn’t even realize she’s sending. Prod. Her mind whispers the words, begging. Ask me what’s up. Help me.

               “Come sit, Bets.” Angelica pats the space next to her on the bench of the nook and scoots over to accommodate her younger sister, holding out a piece of toast with an inviting grin.

               “So what are you up to today?”

               “I-uh, I'm meeting someone for lunch. Actually, that's kind of why I'm…I wanted to ask…well, I got a call from James this morning.”

               “And you didn't answer it, because you're a smart girl.” Eliza’s face falls, eyes cast to the table. She picks at a piece of slightly burnt toast, no longer hungry anymore. Her stomach churns with the frown of disapproval and immediate flurry this sends both Angelica and Church into.

               “Tell me he's not the friend you're going to lunch with.”

               Another silence. The slow burn of their eyes on her-judging, accumulating facts that aren't quite there yet-that burn singes thin skin, leaving reddened marks in its place. Eliza sits under their watch. This is all she can do, as if they have magnetized her to the breakfast nook and the burnt toast.

               “Elizabeth Schuyler, I know you're smarter than this.”

               “It's not as bad as it sounds; he's getting help. He checked himself into a counseling center for abusive men. He's going to get better. And in order for him to be able to do that, his group leader told him that he has to meet the mistakes of his past. He has to reconcile.”

               “At the cost of all of the progress you’ve made? I don’t think so.”

               Angelica stares down her younger sister, who peers back at her through widened eyes. Eliza pushes strands of hair back into the bobby pins that hold them from her face before her hands drop. She picks at the fairly fresh coat of mint green nail polish, wincing as it begins to chip away. She hates painting her nails-the effort isn’t nearly worth the week they last, if that long. She does, however, love the first day with a new color on. Matching the polish to her clothing, looking down and admiring blues or pinks or nude tones had become one of the simpler pleasures of her life. And each time she began to chip away at it, she’d simply start anew. It’s easy to wipe away one round of polish to make room for the next. She does it without a second thought.

               She wonders, then, if this effort would be worth it. Angelica continues to stare, keeping her rooted to her seat at the table with an iron grip made only with the fire of an older sister’s protection. Her heart is racing, then, running through the options although her mind has already been made up. The implications of her actions are real-she had felt them before, that day in March. There is not a part of her that wants that to happen again. However, there is still a draw. As much as she would never admit it, to her sister or to John or even to herself, hearing James’s voice on the phone had brought her back. There were times, simpler times, where she had been happy with him. In the beginning he’d hold her close to his side. He’d link her arm through his, walk to a bench in the smallest green oasis in the city where they would just sit and talk. In the beginning, James was gentle. He’d speak in kindness, with those hazel-green eyes that pop against chocolate, freckle-dusted skin. The summer introduced him with a sunny disposition and a warmed heart. As the weather approaches that mark again, reminiscing on that same heat has spun Eliza’s head around and back again. Suddenly, November through March are just faded memories that run on a plane of non-existence. Suddenly, there is only summer-the sweet, gentle warmth of James Reynolds before the lack of heat had turned him sour.

               As long as one looks hard enough, there is hope in every moment. Eliza hitches herself to that belief as she finally meets Angelica’s eyes, her own full and round and ready to battle.

               “God, Angelica, I’m not saying I’m going to marry the man tomorrow. I’m saying that this is an important key to his healing. I’m not going to deny him the chance to turn his life around. He’s taken the first steps. I have to do this.”

               “No, you don’t!”

               “Angelica!” She shouts her sister’s name, then, a voice unlike her own rising from the depths of her diaphragm in an uncontrolled and sudden burst of anger. Both Angelica and John sit back in their seats, then, watching as Eliza picks herself up from the table. She paces the room for a while, force-pushing the optimistic thoughts back into her mind. John shuffles the paper. Angelica’s mug clinks against her plate. They’ve reached a stalemate, Eliza unwilling to go without the permission her sister will not give. Each with a different understanding of the situation, this is the first real fight they have gotten themselves into.

               “I could go with you.” John speaks up, then, in his calm and subdued manner. He glances between the sisters, offering a peace-a compromise. His girlfriend’s eyes are lowered, angered and betrayed. She does not interrupt. There is always a judicial sense in whatever John Church has to say. Quiet by nature, his speech is thought out and significant when given.

               “I’ll hang out at a different booth-close by, to be safe. This way, you can still talk.” Angelica has loosened, slightly, but the tension is still visible in her tight shoulders and unmoving limbs. John turns to her, a hand on her hand. “If things start to go badly, I step in. He won’t even know who I am. I’ll wear a hat or a fake beard or something if that makes it any better.”

…

               May 14th is an overcast day. The clouds seem to want nothing more than to spill their contents on the thirsting earth, but they hold off. Instead they close the city in with a shadow that spills over, the day feeling immediately gloomy. Eliza holds her nerves in the lump of her throat as she waits to enter the small café James had chosen for lunch. John had gone in half an hour earlier under the premise of waiting for a date that will never show up, an excuse to keep the center table long enough to be witness to their meeting.

               She stumbles in as soon as the clock on her phone shifts to noon, legs carrying her quicker than she wishes to the table he’d saved. She passes John, bowler hat and all, on the way. He nods. She’s nearly choking on the thrumming of her heartbeat in her chest.

               He’s wearing her favorite of his shirts; a soft blue, collared cotton he dresses underneath a navy cardigan. It turns his eyes brighter, the green of the sea on an overcast day like today. James stands to greet her, holding her hand and nodding and waiting for her to sit across from him before he joins her. She sips the water already at the table and he chats as if they’re back to the beginning. It feels like the beginning. The tapping of Eliza’s heart against her chest slows into a steady hum. She leans back against her chair. She laughs.

               The conversation turns quite slowly to the topic of his counseling; he hadn’t mentioned it yet, and it had felt wonderful to just catch up with him. But glancing up Eliza notices John in a booth near them, watching over a menu. He sits on the edge of his chair. Eliza recoils at the glaring memory that comes flying back then, back to her mission and the reason she nearly hadn’t joined him in the first place.

               “So, this is for…for your therapy?”

               “We’re working on getting back the things we lost-making peace with the past. It’s a…it’s a very intensive program, but I think it’s going well.” A pause, and then, “I miss you, Elizabeth.”

               The sound of her name from his lips, the way he’d crafted it so neatly with perfectionistic diction and a near purring of syllables, stirs something within her. It is not love, not in the way she had felt so long ago although she doubts it will ever go away. Her heart, once thrumming wildly with the potential of possibility and boundless optimism, sinks and settles at the bottom of her stomach as a sea stone set cold with a fear of the rolling tide. Her full name, once beautiful and bright, is beautifully masked venom from a snake’s scheming tongue. Eliza freezes in her seat. Like any of her actions back in the cold of their fall-winter-spring together, it does not go unnoticed.

               “What?” James inches forward in his chair, a hand on the table between them. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

               “Where does your group meet?”

               “Uptown.”

               “How’d you find them?”

               “Online.”

               “Why did you really want me here?” It takes an impulse and a shot of courage to send the words across the table, and once she does Eliza immediately regrets them. James’s lips turn, just a hint of a degree, but enough to hint at the first signs of his anger. She backs further away, feet planted sideways on the floor; a getaway. She’d gotten good at escape plans in the months with-and now without him.

               “Are you even in therapy?”

               He does not want to answer her question; the Cheshire grin he has grown fill between the lines of their conversation sufficiently enough for Eliza to feel a shockwave-sparks that light within her body as warning flares. Her chair scuffs the floor as she propels it out from under her, gathering her bag. His hand is on hers before she can move away.

               “I knew you’d come running the second I called. That’s how it works, isn’t it? Sweet Eliza. Sweet, naive Elizabeth. You need me, you know. Who else is going to keep you safe?”

               His hand is all the way up her arm now, running itself up and down in a trail that leaves icy pin-pricks in its wake. She wants to recoil-she wills her muscles to punch, or tense…anything to fight back. Instead, she stays rooted-frozen. His touch transports her to a time where she could no longer move-to fall-winter-spring, where she’d been motionless under his spell of charm and wit and poise he’d saved only for the public image.

               It feels as though time has suspended itself in mid-air as both of his hands find their way to her hips. In reality, it is only a matter of seconds before John has pulled her away, throwing filthy, daggered curse words his way as he wraps Eliza in his own arms, turning so her body is sheltered from him. He bellows in a voice she’s never heard from his reserved manner, with threats to harm she’d never intended. She’d never wanted any of this to happen. She’d never thought she’d have to be saved.

               Naive; she’d trusted James. Her heart had fluttered at its reintroduction to his eyes. Her heart had been so full of hope, of stories she’d tell Angelica of his progress and his light.

He’d come to hurt her. She’d been naïve.

John does not speak to her on their way back to the apartment. Angelica does not say ‘I told you so.’ Instead, she whispers words of her middle sister’s boundless kindness as they lay nose to nose in bed that night. Eliza pretends to sleep. She is not sure whether reality or her dreams will haunt her more, and she is not willing to gamble. One word whispers her to a lurid, sweat-laden nightmare.

Sweet Eliza; forgiving. Kind. Sweet Elizabeth, always sweet.

…

               “I think we need to live apart for a while.” She holds her breath then, the words tumbling out faster than she’d expected them to. It’s easier to speak to Alexander, simpler; even when she hadn’t wanted to have this conversation at all.

               The air is stagnant and stale and Alex fights to keep his head above it all. Eliza’s suggestion-request, really-burrows deep into his mind. With it come one thousand accusations, thoughts and shouting and terse words all aimed from his mind to his heart. Although he seeks answers and the ability to understand he is suddenly buried under the premise of what she is saying, what the suggestion might mean for them. He hadn’t envisioned a life without her in a long time. The temporary piece of their living situation had gone away long ago-or so he’d thought. It’s only been a little over a month since he’d moved in-what could have gone wrong in such a short amount of time? Is she having second thoughts about him?

               Two long, agonizing minutes and Alex still has not said anything. Eliza watches the physical manifestation of his thought process in his wandering eyes and hand that rubs the back of his neck. He nods, accepting, but his mouth hinges and unhinges in the beginnings of questions that will not form. He’s not sure whether the lump in his throat is from the now arid air or the beginnings of raw emotion that have welled up in his throat. Either way, he rests his hand on her thigh.

               “…okay. Okay. I’m not going to argue with you-this is your apartment, that would be stupid. But can I just…can I ask why?”

               “Because I’ve been going through a lot of memories…this giant, holed-up mess of things I never even knew happened to me. I’ve been so busy with you that I’ve forgotten myself again.” He looks away then, poorly-hidden guilt shrouding his sinking figure and seeping into her skin. “It’s not your fault-god no, it’s really not. It’s just this fun thing I do where I attach myself to people too heavily. Right now, I really can’t afford that.”

               “Are we still together?” His tone of voice lingers somewhere between hopeful and subconsciously chilled. Alex is not angry; he could not find it in his heart to be cold to her about something like this. Disappointment sinks into his joints, his heart. The room changes almost immediately before his eyes, as if her words could erase the painting of domesticity they’d created in just a second. His mug is an intrusion in their pile of dishes, his blanket a left-behind. He pulls it from the back of the couch, cradling it in his hands before moving to their-her-bedroom.

               “Or course we are-Alex, are you angry with me?”

               “I just need a minute!” He pulls his bags from the closet, emptying drawers and cabinets and casting them by the door in a haphazard fashion. She stands in the hallway, watching his flurried actions with tear-blurred vision. The more he packs, the less control she has over herself. Eliza lingers in a limbo between being unable to see or hear anything that’s going on and taking it all in much too fast. There is no in-between. When Alex flies by her again she stops him, a hand on his, breathing his name through quivering lips.

               “I’m not angry, Eliza. I just,” He flings the last bag by the door, holding her shoulders in his hands before wiping the warm, salted tracks of tears from her reddened cheeks. She shakes in his hold, her uncertain frown a permanent fixture. “If we need to live apart, we need to live apart. I’ll call the guys and we’ll figure it out.”

               There is something more that lingers on the edge of his sentence, tucked back away before it spills over the edge. A coating of thickness creeps in and fills the air around them, turning Eliza’s breath heavy and laborious. This is important. This is for you. You’ll be alright.

               As if to pacify the thoughts she does not speak aloud, Alex shifts over to wrap her in his arms. He feels different, radiating love but lingering with a hint of the disappointment she had seen earlier. She does not like it. She can’t blame him.

               There is a bitter taste on his tongue, one he hopes will not translate as he kisses her goodbye later that night. There is no more room for words-he has lost them all in the fight to keep himself sane-to understand her request and accept it as dutifully as he should. When she shuts the door behind him, the slow, hesitant click is one last shock to his heart. Eliza watches out the peephole as he goes, bags slung over his shoulders, with a heavy heart.

               She wants nothing more than to run after him; to invite him back inside their home. She’s already mourning his place in bed beside her, which no doubt has already run cold. The chill in the air comes from a lack of his presence, not the usual air of bitter, unforgiving January. The apartment is empty. Without his furnishings; his little souvenirs on the shelf, opened and pen-marked books on every flat surface….this is not home. But the immediate hole in her heart also speaks in volumes to her mind, which is racing with the implications of what she has just done. She’s hurt him. She’s heartbroken. In that same frame of mind, there is a light. It is small, but she figures it might just be what she needs to get by. Racing to the office, she pulls out an unopened sketch book and a tin of charcoals.

               Next Wednesday, Eliza pulls the book from her bag and opens it, wordless, and watches as Lisa nods at her work. Most of the thick paper is filled with dark blues, accented only with blacks and the occasional mint in a swirling of colors resembling a thick and tumultuous sea. A red line crosses the page from one end to the other, from the darkness to a completely different masterpiece. There, at the top, is the centerpiece of it all. A quarter-sized cocktail of yellows and whites and orange stands out among the dark, coasting above the sea as a beacon. Hope. It’s the first time she’s pulled out her sketchbook since that summer-winter-spring, since it had been filled only with the mimicking of the purples and blues that were a constant ornament to her skin. This feels different, right. And although that wire, that red tether still binds her to Alexander, it is through the light and the hope. He’s connecting her from each opposite end of the art piece. He’s there.

               The apartment is empty without him. There is a lack of light, of warmth and laughter he had once radiated brilliantly. Eliza knows that this is for the best; for healing, for finding the light…for her. Her heart and her mind and her body pull toward him. The apartment is frightening without him. Living alone is a quiet she hadn’t wanted to feel. But her goal remains the same, through Alexander’s crestfallen eyes and her own tearing heart. This isn’t temporary. This isn’t over. This is a step in the right direction.

               And maybe, if she tells herself that enough, that little yellow light will cover her thick paper one day.

[miss-multifandom-mess]

I got a little bored... So I wrote this!

This short story is partly based on/inspired by the song More by Halsey.

I have recently heard that the singer (Halsey) had many miscarriages, and she has been wanting a family for a long time. I also heard that sometime recently that her doctor has said that she has a good chance at finally having a child of her own (if I heard correctly). And so I hope that she will get the family she's always wanted.

And to others who've always wanted children but couldn't: there's always going to be hope. And this goes for everyone as well. Not just for those who've had miscarriages.

There's always going to be hope, and you should never give up.

Eliza and Maria Schuyler had been married for four years, and they wanted a family. They wanted children.

At one point, before they had gotten married, Maria had been pregnant and hoped she and her wife would have the child together...

But sadly the newborn had died at birth.

Both women were devastated since then. They hoped and prayed for a day that they would be blessed with a child---day and night they prayed; day and night they cried.

They could adopt a child, but money was so scarce for them---what with the low-paying jobs they had. This was due to living in a small town with not very many places to work at (and not very many customers). But they had to work with what they were able to get.

Eliza was working full-time at a small diner that was four miles away from their cottage they had, just on the outskirts of town.

While Eliza was away and working at the diner: Maria worked part-time at a convenient store before heading back home to prepare dinner for when her beloved came back.

It was another year later that they got a phone call. A phone call that would change their lives altogether.

"Hello?" Maria picked up the phone from where it hung on the wall in the kitchen.

"Oh, Mary!" Came Samuel's voice, sounding relieved and ecstatic. "Thank goodness!"

Samuel Seabury had been a close friend of Maria and Eliza's ever since they moved to the small town of Boring, Oregon. He had also been the first to welcome them, being one of the closest neighbors to the couple.

"What is it, Sam?" She asked somewhat worried. "Is everything all right?"

"It's Peggy! She's- She's-" The young man sounded as if he was on the verge of tears. "Jus- Just come to Doctor Withers's office! Right away!"

Maria didn't say anything else as she nearly slammed the phone back on its perch. Obviously it was an emergency. She rushed to slip on her shoes, grabbing the key to the house and running outside.

Her wife took the small convertible they owned to work, so she was left with taking her bike. The couple had fallen into a traveling-to-and-from-work routine ever since moving, and they were quite alright with it:

On her work days, Eliza took the car to and from work, while Maria either walked or biked to hers---she was always more of the outdoor-sy type than Eliza---the diner was farther than the convenient store any way.

The community hospital that was established in Boring was small, but perfect for the small town and its small population. The man that owned the place, Doctor Withers, was a kind and friendly gentleman, who was willing to do whatever he could to help the townsfolk.

Maria peddled and peddled, tires kicking up dirt and gravel. She managed to arrive at the hospital in a mere few minutes. She skitted to a complete stop once pulling up to the front and hurried in getting off it. She let it fall to the ground before jogging inside.

"What's wrong?! Did something bad happen?"

"Mary!" Shouted Samuel as soon as she had walked in, embracing her into a tight hug. "Nothing's wrong; it's okay."

"Actually, it's better than okay."

"Oh my God, Angie!" Maria squealed after she and the ginger had broken away from the hug, her attention going over to Eliza's older sister, Angelica. They both embraced each other. "Eliza and I weren't expecting a visit from you for another few weeks."

Angelica smiled warmly, tears in her eyes as she rested her hands on the other woman's shoulders. "Well, plans have changed."

Maria was confused as to why both her friends were crying---she was even more confused when she didn't see Eliza anywhere.

As if knowing what she was thinking, Angie said, "We haven't called Eliza over yet---we thought you'd like to give her the surprise."

Again, Maria was still confused when the doctor himself walked into the small lobby. "Ah, Maria!" He acknowledged her at first glance. "Good news..." He trailed off for dramatic effect (like how he usually did) when Samuel cut in, obviously too anxious for a dramatic pause.

"Peggy will be delivering your baby!" He cried, his smile so wide that you would think it be impossible for someone to smile that big.

A gasp escaped past her lips, hands clasping over her mouth. So many mixed feelings flooded into her like a cascading waterfall: shock, excitement, sadness, hope, but most of all happiness. She choked out a sob, tears already flooding down her cheeks. She couldn't believe it.

She and Eliza were finally going to have the child they've always wanted; they were finally going to be parents; they were finally going to have the family they've always wanted.

It wasn't long before Maria finally called Eliza. Minutes later, said brunette came running in, looking the same as Maria did when she first arrived at the hospital.

They embraced one another, Maria crying into her shoulder. And with a soft and another sob, she told her of the news. Tears poured from her own eyes as soon she had processed everything. The couple becoming a complete mess in the lobby as Samuel and Angelica joined in the hug, too.

The four of them sat in the lobby in wait, all nervous and praying for Peggy and the baby's well-being. Doctor Withers had gone back to Peggy's room at Eliza's arrival, now already been gone for two hours.

Time passed by slowly, it seemed, and one by one, each fell asleep. (Later came Samuel's boyfriend, Charles, to stay and wait with them. "Sorry I'm late---my boss kept me." He had explained.)

It was then, after three hours of waiting, that Doctor Withers walked out and calmly woken them all up. "Care to follow me?" He had on a small smile.

Angelica, Samuel and Charles all looked to Maria and Eliza in silent encouragement. The said women exchanged looks with one another, taking deep breaths and taking hold of each other's hands before standing up from their seats. They followed the doctor down the hallway and into one of the rooms.

"Peggy," Eliza sighed, a hand over her heart. She walked to the side of the bed and bent forward, hugging her sister gently in her arms. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel wonderful," she let out a hearty giggle. "And don't you dare say, 'you didn't have to do this.' You always say that." Eliza shook her head with a playful roll of her eyes.

Peggy then turned to Maria, who now stood at the bedside next to Eliza. "Mary, it's so nice to see you again." She reached her arms up to give Maria a hug, too.

"You too, Peggs."

"Want to see your pride and joy?"

"More like your pride, Peggy," Eliza chuckled and smiled softly. "You're the one who gave birth."

"True." The three giggled.

The door freaked softly behind them as Doctor Withers walked back in (when did he leave?), cradling something in his arms---it was their baby, swaddled in a soft blanket.

The doctor walked up to the ladies, lowering the baby into Eliza's arms (at Maria's insistence).

It was a girl. A light pink, long-sleeved onesie was put on her underneath the blanket wrap she laid in; a matching hat adorned her small head. Her skin was a light chocolate color; her skin also smooth as Eliza lightly stroked her cheek.

"She's beautiful," she breathed out.

Eliza took another moment holding the little newborn before carefully handing her off to Maria. Maria held her close and smiled, a contented sigh leaving her lips. "She's lovely."

"What are you going to call her?" Withers asked patiently.

There was a moment of comfortable silence.

"I think we'll call her..."

"Margaret." Eliza finished softly. "We'll call her Margaret." It was a silent agreement between the two as they softly smiled down at their new baby girl. They were mothers now. They will be there for their daughter always, and they will become a family. A strong family, with the help of their friends and family members.

"Margaret's a lovely name." Peggy softly smiled as she was then passed the newborn, looking down at her with loving eyes. She knew that Maria and Eliza would be great parents.

[aswithasunbeam]

I have a prompt idea: Jealous Ham post-RP, some men are you know giving Eliza that “I can treat you better” energy and Ham’s like: “You can’t expect me to just sit here and not fight for you, not fight for us” Canon era preferably but whatever works best for your style. I hope you find the time to fit this in!

A combination of a couple different prompts (those above and another asking for jealous Ham) that had to do with Ham and Eliza after the Reynolds Pamphlet - thanks to everyone for the great suggestions!

–

Trifles Light as Air

Rated: Teen and Up

“Well, if it isn’t little Betsey Schuyler. It’s been an age since I last set eyes on you.”  

Eliza started slightly and looked away from the portrait she’d been studying to find Philip Van Cortlandt approaching her with a wide, open smile. Alexander had been whisked away almost the moment they’d entered, leaving her to bear the weight of the curious guests, eager to gather more tidbits about New York’s most salacious scandal to feed to the maw of the gossip mill. She’d found this out of the way little corner to hide when the stares of the room had felt too oppressive.

“Phil,” she greeted, allowing him to scoop her into a friendly embrace. “I think I was beating you to the top of that big oak on your father’s property last we met, if memory serves.

They’d had a few brief encounters since, of course, the Van Cortlandts and Schuylers entwined as they were, but Phil laughed and readily played along.

“Right after stealing all my marbles.”

“I won them fair and square,” she retorted.

He held her by the shoulders as he released her from the hug, looking at her with a fond expression. “It’s good to see you, Bess.”

“And you,” she said, surprised at the sincerity of the words. “But you know it’s Betsey Hamilton now.”

The reminder of her married name caused something to darken behind Phil’s eyes. “Yes, that’s right. I’d heard.”

She felt blood rising to her cheeks in shame for just what he’d likely heard of late. “Art thou a wife?” a recent article had taunted. “See him, whom thou hast chosen for the partner of this life, lolling in the lap of a harlot!” Her eyes were cast down towards the floor, fighting the familiar wave of humiliation and anger.

“A day of great heartbreak for me, I’ll have you know, when I learned of your nuptials,” Phil continued, a note of forced joviality in his voice. She met his kind grey eyes again. “I was always rather sweet on you.”

She smiled at that. “Really? I didn’t know.”

Wry amusement lit his expression. “I suppose it wouldn’t have risen to your notice. Half of Albany society was sweet on you, after all. What was one among the throng?”

“That’s not true,” she argued.

“It assuredly is.” He held out an elbow to her. “Take a turn with me, Bess. We’ve so much to catch up on.”

She took his arm. “Tell me, how is your dear sister?”

“Oh, Catherine’s well, married and settled. Helping me look after the manor, in fact.”

“Really?”

They settled into easy, familiar conversation as they walked.

She was laughing by the time the call came for dinner, real, true, wonderful laughs that made her cheeks ache from all the smiling. Their trip down memory lane had been far more pleasant than she had imagined, reminders of the girl she’d been sweeping over her like being reintroduced to an old, dear friend. Phil escorted her into the dining room and held out her chair, lowering himself into the seat beside her without the least bit of care for their hosts seating arrangements.

“You’d already pushed poor Peter down in the mud. I didn’t think I stood a chance,” Phil teased as the soup was ladled into his bowl by a servant.

“I didn’t push him,” Eliza said. “He fell.”

“Sure, sure,” Phil replied, tone full of doubt. She shoved playfully at his shoulder as went to raise his spoon. “See, you’re at it again.”

The sound of a sneeze from a way down the table drew her attention away from their private merriment. Alexander was snuffling into a handkerchief and waving off a chorus of “Bless you” from those around him. It was the first she’d noticed he’d rejoined the wider party. Their eyes met, and his jaw clenched before he pointedly looked away.

Unhappy with her, then.

She allowed Phil to reclaim her attention and heard herself laughing with him just a touch louder than before.

They were sipping a sweet dessert wine in a corner of the parlor when Alexander finally approached them.

“Colonel Hamilton,” Phil greeted, courteous if not particularly warm.

“General Van Cortlandt,” Alexander nodded, a peculiar emphasis on the rank. A flash of memory recalled that Phil had been promoted after Yorktown in thanks for his brave service in battle before leaving the army; an honor not similarly granted to her husband. “I suppose I should thank you for so thoroughly entertaining my wife this evening.”

“No need, Colonel. Bess and I go way back. We’ve been trading stories from our youth. She and her sisters terrorized and fascinated in equal measure every young man in New York society.”

“I have no doubt,” Alexander said, and though he smiled, he didn’t look particularly amused. He finally looked at her as he added, “Well, I hate to interrupt your reunion, dearest, but I was hoping to slip away shortly. This head cold of mine is growing a bit bothersome.”

His pallor and bright pink nose attested to his misery readily enough, though she couldn’t help but wonder if they’d be leaving so early had she been silently suffering in a corner by herself.

“I can see her home, Colonel, if you need to retire for the evening,” Phil offered.

She felt Alexander watching her, waiting for her to refuse, to jump to his aid, to coo and comfort him while they waited outside for their carriage together. Months ago, that’s exactly what she would have done if he’d confessed to feeling poorly at a dinner. But then, she thought again of that taunting headline, of Philip’s expression when she’d mentioned her marriage, something sour curling in her stomach.

“That would be lovely, Philip, thank you.”

Alexander’s jaw bunched again, and his eyes flashed. “Eliza.”

“What?”

His lips hardly moved as he hissed, “You’ve made your point.”

She straightened her posture and narrowed her eyes. “My point?”

“Just come,” he said, holding his hand out to her expectantly.

“I expect you can see yourself home and get yourself to bed without my assistance, dearest.” She hurled the endearment like an insult and noted with satisfaction his slight flinch as it landed. “I’d like to stay. I’m enjoying reconnecting with my old friend immensely.”

His gaze swiveled between her and Phil, color rising in his cheeks.

“Fine,” he bit out. He looked for a moment like he was going to stalk off in a fit of anger, but then he paused, as though thinking better of it, and bowed slightly to Phil. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Feel better, Colonel,” Phil replied.  

When Alexander caught her eyes one last time, he didn’t look angry, she noticed; rather, he looked stricken, almost betrayed.

She wanted to slap him. Her teeth clenched as she watched him retreat, her breath loud and deliberate through her nostrils as she tried to reign her temper in. The nerve of him, to act as if he were the aggrieved party in any of this.

Lolling in the lap of a harlot.

Tears pricked at her eyes.

“Come on, Bess,” Phil encouraged, voice soft. “Let’s go for a walk.”

She swallowed, swiping at her eyes quickly, and nodded. “Thank you.”

The chilly fall air helped ease her distressed thoughts, and soon enough they were laughing over old times again. By the time they’d climbed into Phil’s carriage, she had the passing thought that she didn’t wish for the night to end. She relaxed back against the soft cushions of the seat and requested, “Could we drive around for a little while? Before you bring me home?”

He smiled easily and leaned out the open window to call, “The scenic route, John, as you please!”

“Yes, sir,” she heard the driver reply before the horses started off down the cobblestone street.

Phil watched her as they rode, mouth taut in careful consideration. She kept her expression open, waiting for him to speak. At last, he said, “This may be an impertinent question, considering we aren’t closely acquainted in our adult lives.”

“What is it?” she invited.

“Have spoken to someone yet?”

Her brow furrowed.

“An attorney, I mean?”

“An attorney?” she repeated, more confused. What need did she have for an attorney; and really, if she did, it’s not as if she didn’t have Alexander close to hand to manage any legal issues she might encounter.

“Even if he’s willing to go along with you, which I’d hope he is given the state of the evidence against him, you ought to be sure your interests are being looked after.”

“I don’t—”

“And, forgive me, I know this is unpardonably forward, and you’ll need time to settle, of course, but…well, I want you to know that I wouldn’t think any less of you, any differently of you, than any lovely unmarried or widowed lady.”

If she were divorced, she understood, his meaning dawning on her with awful clarity. He would still think her suitable for courting if she were divorced.

“I’ve always thought the world of you, Bess.”

“Phil, I….” She closed her eyes a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. Alexander rose up in her mind’s eye: the little half smile played on his lips; the pattern of freckles she traced upon his back each night; the way his hand felt when it closed around hers, fitting over her palm so perfectly. “I love my husband. I have no intention of leaving him.”

“Oh.” He sat back, nonplussed. “I…I thought…especially the way you were together tonight, so cool, I just assumed…. Pray, pardon me.”

“There’s nothing to pardon,” she assured him. “And as for tonight, loving him doesn’t mean I don’t want to throttle him on occasion. More so of late than ever before.”

He chuckled softly.

When the carriage pulled up in front of her house, Phil dismounted first and held his hand out to her. She took it, pausing before him, and leaned in to give him a fond kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for a lovely evening. I hope we’ll do a better job of staying in touch than incidental dinners and family gatherings.”

“I’d like that, Mrs. Hamilton.”

She smiled as she turned towards home.

She thought she saw the curtains rustle before the window of Alexander’s office and frowned. Surely, he’d gone up to bed when he’d come home? When she let herself in the front door, she saw that, indeed, candlelight still spilled out from under the door to his office.

Sighing, she unwrapped her cloak, hung it up neatly on the stand beside his coat, and steeled herself for another encounter with her infuriating husband. She gave three short knocks upon his office door before pushing inside. “I’m home.”

He was seated at his desk, a hand pressed against his forehead as he wiped at his nose with a handkerchief. “I heard the carriage pull up,” he muttered.

“I thought you were going straight to bed to tend to your cold. What are you still doing up? It’s getting late now.”

“Quite late.” His tone turned icy. “Did you enjoy your evening?”

“I did, in fact. I know you and he don’t see eye to eye politically, but he’s a very old friend of mine.”

“A very good friend, by the look of it.”

“Stop it, Alexander,” she warned.

“It was a suitable punishment, I’ll grant you, watching you fawn all over another man all evening.”

“I was not fawning all over him,” she argued. “And what are you talking about? You think I was punishing you?”

“I suppose you’ll tell me I ought not be angry over being given a taste of my own medicine.”

Her voice turned deadly quiet. “That’s not what I was doing.”

He stared up at her, something spiteful in his expression. “No?”

She glared at him. “I have another years’ worth of late nights before it would even come close.”

He paled significantly. “So, you…you and he, you…”

She let the silence linger for a cruel moment. The devastation in his eyes wasn’t as satisfying as she’d thought it would be. “No. Nothing happened. Nothing like that. He was a perfect gentleman.”

“He wanted you. He wanted something to happen. I could see it his eyes, the way he looked at you, touched you.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong, she supposed, considering his veiled proposal. The accusation rankled no less. “Don’t be ridiculous. We were childhood friends, that’s all.”

“Childhood sweethearts?” he pressed.

“We raced, and climbed trees, and played marbles, like all children.”

“You kissed him when you got out of the carriage.” He announced this with something almost like triumph, as though he’d trapped her in a lie.

She gave an exasperated sigh. “I kissed him on the cheek, Alexander. It’s not as if you caught us in a passionate embrace.”

He was breathing hard, his cheeks a florid pink oddly juxtaposed against his otherwise sickly pallor. “I don’t want you seeing him again.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want you alone with him again!”

Her vision flashed red. “You presume to…as if you have the right, ever, to—”

But her fury cut off when she noticed a dribble of bright red blood starting from Alexander’s nostril.

“What?” he asked, visibly confused by her abruptly halted ire.

“Your nose,” she said, motioning to her own nostril. “You’re bleeding.”

He touched his fingers to his nose, smudging blood across his upper lip. A guttural sound issued from his throat as he reached for his handkerchief again, red immediately starting to spread across the bright white fabric as he pressed it to his face. When he started to tilt his head back, she moved towards him.

“No, no, honey, forward a little, or you’ll choke,” she directed. Her hand rested on his neck to encourage him into the right position. With the number of boys in their house, she’d had her share of experience with bloody noses.

Blood continued rushing into the handkerchief and started staining his hand.

“Pinch your nose,” she said. “That’ll slow it. I’ll get you another handkerchief.”

He mumbled something into his handkerchief, voice muffled and congested.

“What was that?”

“Drawer,” he repeated for her, removing a hand from the bloody mess his face had suddenly become to gesture to his desk. “More in the,” he cleared his throat, “the drawer.”

She pulled open the drawer he’d gestured to and pulled out the stack of clean, pressed handkerchiefs he’d squirreled away from himself. Holding one up, she helped him exchange the soaked handkerchief for a clean one, tossing the bloody one into the rubbish bin beside his desk. Then she squatted by his side, her hand tracing slow circles across his upper back.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered into the silence.

“Not your fault,” she hushed him. “Just relax. It will stop soon.”

“I didn’t mean,” he started, sniffling as he moved to handkerchief to check the progress of the bleed, “Not for the bloody nose.”

“Oh.” Her hand paused.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I just…seeing you with him, laughing, relaxed. It made me crazy.”

Her mood darkened. “I know the feeling.”          

“I know that. I know you do. And I can’t say you wouldn’t be right to leave me. But I can’t just…just watch you slip away from me like that. Let you run off with some other man without a fight.”

“And that little performance was your way of winning me back?”

“It’s possible I’m not thinking very clearly.”

She shook her head even as a little laugh escaped her lips. “I’m not running off with anyone, you goose,” she said.

“No?”

“No. You’re right that Phil was…interested in me.” His head whipped around, eyes the size of saucers. “He thought we were getting divorced, before you get it in your head to go duel him. He’d been sweet on me when we were young, and he made clear that he wouldn’t consider me, tainted, I suppose, if I were divorced. When I told him that I had no intention of leaving you, he really was a perfect gentleman.”

He snorted lightly, then coughed, pressing the handkerchief to his face more tightly.

“Worth it?” she asked, mostly teasing.

“Yes,” he muttered stubbornly.

“I love you, Alexander, for better or worse. There’s never going to be anyone else.”  

His expression softened. “Really?”

“Really. It doesn’t mean I’m not still hurt, still furious with you. Or that I don’t want to murder you from time to time. But I love you.” That earned her a little smile that she saw tugging at the corners of his eyes.

“I love you, too, Betsey.”

She rubbed his back again and leaned closer to inspect the handkerchief. “Has it stopped?”

He pulled the handkerchief away. The trail of blood appeared to have ceased. “I think so.”

She leaned over to press a kiss against his temple. “Let’s get you into bed, honey.”

[rafivadafreddy]

A sad little One-Shot between Alexander Hamilton and Eliza Hamilton after the death of Philip.

I watched Hamilton yesterday and thought this needed to be written.  Hope you enjoy. <3

warnings: It’s sad.. I cried writing.

Alexander couldn’t hear anything. His glasses on the bridge of his nose as he cried with his head down and eyes closed. Remembering the last moments, he had with his son. How he had given his boy advice on how to duel. How he should aim upwards to not have blood on his hands, yet it was Alexander who ended up with blood on both his hands and clothes as he held his dying son. His wife by his side, laying her head as she sobbed, crying out and begging for their Philip to return to them.

“My son… please.” Eliza begged, her voice breaking before she fell to the ground on her knees.

Alexander moved to hug her, but she pushed him away. His adultery still fresh in their mind. The Reynolds Pamphlet. Oh, how he was stupid enough to write such a thing. Because of it, his son thought he had to stand up to his fathers name. It causing the boy his life. All because his opponent decided to cheat and shot before, they reached 10.

As the next few days pass, Alexander did everything to get the funeral ready. The Hamilton family waiting for the other two Schuyler sisters to arrive to be a part of the service. Alexander was trying to hold himself together for his wife, for his children. He tried to put on a strong face for everyone, yet as the casket of his poor boy was descending down into the hole in the ground. Alexander couldn’t hold it back anymore.

His bottom lip started to tremble, as his wife cried into the arms of her sister and the children. Leaving Alexander to stand off to the side alone. The tears welled up in his eyes, making his vision go blurry. Before he knew it, Alexander couldn’t hold himself up anymore.

He dropped onto the grass covered ground and his head dropped forward. “I’m so sorry…” he would whisper out as he cried. Wishing he could take back everything and advise his son to not go on with the duel. That there was no need.

But he couldn’t, Alexander he has to work through the unimaginable. The feeling of losing a child.

How his younger kids would ask about Philip and where their older brother was. How they didn’t understand.

The family couldn’t stay in their own home, the memories were too strong, and so they packed up their things and left. Locked up the house moved uptown.

It didn’t go unnoticed by everyone. With the news of the death of Philip, the move and how Alexander was seen always walking alone in the city. The man only seen with his children when they would make the walk to Church every Sunday.

The people would watch Alexander kneel and pray. Some would say he was praying for his son to return, other say he prays for Eliza to forgive him. Some people even say that the man prayed to change places with his son. Though no one knew, Alexander found himself always praying for forgiveness.

»»  ««

“Philip, you would like it uptown, it’s quiet uptown.” Those he passed would hear the father who had to bury his son would say as he walked to the store alone. Something Alexander did every day. He would walk all over the city. Some would even say he walked the length of the city.

The man who was once so confident, the man who fought in the war and was George Washington’s right-hand man… he was a shell of that man. The confidence now gone as he walked alone talking to his son.

As he reached the house, he stopped at the gate and tried to push the tears away. Ready to leave Eliza another tray of food beside the bed. Hoping she would eat. Only to take his spot in the garden once again.

Yet when he entered the house, his daughtered informed Alexander that mother was sitting in the garden. After kissing the young girls head, he went to the garden. Seeing his wife out there sitting on a stone bench. Alexander walked over to her.

“Look at where we are, look at what we started.” He said softly, not sitting nor looking at his wife. “I- I know I don’t deserve you, Eliza. But please, hear me out? That would be enough.” He begged, finally tuning to look at the women.

She just looked forward before giving a small nod and looked down at her lap.

Walking over to her and bending down so he was crouching down in front of Eliza, he grabbed her hands in his. “If I could spare his life… if somehow I could trade his life for mine.” Alexander started to speak, but stopped, having to take a deep breath. “He’d be standing here right now for you. Just so you would smile and that’s all I want from you. Is to see your smile. That would be enough.” And as if he hadn’t cried enough. A sole tear slid down his cheek, not that Alexander moved to wipe it away.

“Alexander…” Eliza started to speak but he hushed her, shaking his head. Needing to get this out.

“I know… I know there’s no replacing what we’ve lost, my love. You need time, but I’m not afraid! I know who I married. The strong women who accepted me without a penny to my name.” He offered her a small smile through his tears. “Just… let me stay here by your side? That would be enough.”

»»  ««

And from that day, everyday Alexander and Eliza would sit out in that garden, neither one speaking. Just watching the sunrise and sunsets. Eliza and the kids started to accompany Alex on his walks around the city.

Reminiscing on his life. Meeting his friends, meeting Eliza and her sisters, winning the war and being George Washington’s right-hand man. Meeting his son when he was first born, promising to be there for him in life, unlike his own father who left Alexander when he turned 10.

When they got back to their home that night, Alexander went to his study and found a portrait of Philip. Leaving the house and heading to the backyard where the garden was. He fell down in the middle of the flowers. The night sky was filled with stars, the moon shining brightly in the sky.

“Oh Philip... you outshined the morning sun… my son.” He whispered as he looked up at the sky. “When you smiled, I fell apart. Pride is not the word I’m looking for when I think of you.” His voice broke as he spoke to Philip while looking up at the stars. “I used to think I was so smart… my father wasn’t around…. I should have been around you more. I’m sorry. I made a million mistakes. I should have made the world safe and sound for you.” Alexander’s voice became softer before he couldn’t speak anymore.

Never realizing Eliza who was standing behind him crying at the same time. Only when she sat down next to him and grabbed his hand, the hand that wasn’t holding the photo of their son.

“It’s quite uptown…” she said softly, laying her head on his shoulder and the two sat there. Both mourning over their son while holding one another. “I forgive you…”

Holding each other, the kids and Angelica soon joined them outside and just sat out in the garden. Telling each other memories of Philip, promising to never let his memory die.

Tell me what you thought <3 I take requests! :* Heart and Share! Much love from me to you! ART WORK NOT MINE. CONGRATS TO WHO DREW IT. <3

@the-baby-bookworm

[esmiblood90irisglimmer]

The Lost French Prince Chapter 13: The Conversation

I decided to bring this series back since I thought some of yall miss this fanfic

Third POV

Maria was still on the phone with her grandfather having a long deep conversation about having Lafayette meeting the Grand Emperor. It wasn’t an easy task to becoming his personal knight and rand hand man and surely this won’t be no expectation. The Grand Emperor has always pray everyday on his grandson birthday and Christmas since that was the Lost Prince favorite holiday. The elderly man would often cry in private just wondering if his youngest grandson is still alive. They’re have been many times where the Grand Emperor has almost been fooled but Maria and her grandfather have caught on the fraud letters of many men that claim to be Prince Gilbert. The Grand Emperor is known to be very kind loving to the late royal family. Until their deaths he has become very distance with close friends and relatives. Since then the Grand Emperor refuse to read any letters from many suitors that claim to be his grandson.

So then, he made Maria in charge of finding the Lost Prince herself. Through the past seven years where the young female knight first enter into Revolution High. The time where Maria was able to enjoy being a teenager despite the tragic events she went through.  Maria grandfather and the Grand Emperor have great faith within her since knowingly that she’ll find the Lost Prince of France. There has been many obstacles overcoming her way of finding Prince Gilbert. Besides the young lady could be sure that Lafayette could be the Lost Prince. The French Immigrant does resembles the late King Michael in many ways from his muscular features. The dark brown eyes that sparkles like the million stars in the galaxy. Though they also show fierce if someone dares to hurt his family and friends. Lafayette also has his wild and kind hearted personality that also reflected by the late Queen of France. Both are silly and wild in their own ways but show compassion and helping the homeless and the sick children.

Maria is clearly convince that Lafayette is the Lost Prince of France. Since the only clues she ever have was Lafayette resembling looks of the late King, the personality of the late Queen.  Though last but not least but the mischievous behavior of the eldest Prince. The two princes were very close than any other brotherly bond that anyone has ever witness. Prince Michael always care and loved his darling brother since Gilbert is the baby of the family. Everyday the two princes has always been unseparated until  the night of the assassination. Now Prince Gilbert could still be alive alone and afraid without knowing that his birth family is dead.

The young female knight glance at the newly young couple from the distance of her bedroom window. Smile happily to herself that Lafayette and Peggy has finally confess their love to each others. It was bout time that they have gotten together and would eventually married someday. Knowingly deep within her heart that Lafayette and Peggy will be wonderful future King and Queen of France. Maria knows that the French immigrant is the lost prince without a second thought. She’ll do anything to have the Grand Emperor and the lost prince reunited at last for the past decades.

“Maria...sweetie you there?” Maria Grandfather question

“Yes, grandfather. My apologizes it just...I hope Lafayette is the Prince that everyone is expecting to return home” Maria replied

“So do I my dear. It has been a painful decades for the Grand Emperor. He’s always praying for the return of Prince Gilbert”

“Poor fellow, he been through so pain and suffering”

“He has, but we can end it on the night of Christmas Eve. I’ll book all your friends for London on a private plane for first class”

“I accepriatcate you helping me Grandpapa, after doing so much for me and my daughter”

“I would do anything to protect you and my great granddaughter.”

Maria smile at the thought that grandfather has always been there for her through thick and thin. Even the elderly Knight was gladly appreciated that Lafayette and the other’s has protect her and Susan even though they didn’t have to. Nevertheless, the Hamilsquad is a large family where they don’t care if you’re blood or not. Since blood doesn’t make anyone family is the bonding and caring from others. Maria is lucky to have friends like Lafayette, Peggy, Eliza, John, and the rest of the gang. She admired them for being there throughout her entire life.

Though what the young female knight didn’t is that Angelica was eavesdropping on the conversation. The oldest Schuyler sister kept herself silent throughout the entire conversation. Hearing that they’re been traveling to London on a first class in a private plane. The mission will be harder than ever since James, Lee, and Seabury were supposed to be at London a week before New Year. Though things need to change right now at the moment. Hurrying racing toward her bedroom where Angelica hazy began texting Reynolds. Though there’s a knock at her bedroom door where it startled her. Cautiously opening the doors only to see Maria right before her.

The young female knight smile happily at Angelica in which cause her to force a smile on her face. Nervously laughing before letting Maria into her room. Kicking the bag of information about Lafayette underneath the bed. Maria and Angelica happily sat down on the bed where the eldest sister felt the air to be intense but to the knight felt quite opposite.

“Angelica, there something I need to ask you” Maria spoke

“W..What i...is it?” Angelica stutters

“Since my grandfather already book us a private flight to London. Would you mind keep an eye on Lafayette?”

“Why me?”

“So you could keep Lafayette safe. You’re a close friend of his and you’re the trust person I’ve known”

Angelica felt her heart crack a bit since hearing those words just made the young female guilty. Despite the fact that her mother is part of the assassins that murder Lafayette family. Though it had to be done since there was a reason to assassinate the French Royal family.  Though there was a time where Angelica did regret for not doing anything beside wanting to put a bullet in Gilberts’ brain. Nevertheless, getting a chance to stay close with Lafayette might give her the chance to dissuade Lafayette seizing the throne. Which could mean it could spare his life from unnecessary death. There’s no reason for her dear friend to rule a single country by themselves. Except...that this friend of her would be marrying her youngest sister in the nearby future. Without any hesitation Angelica nodded her head to the young knight who hugged her very tightly.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Maria exclaim before excusing herself out of the room.

“Um...You're welcome”   Angelica replied a bit confused

The eldest sister let out a deep breath that she didn’t know held it in. What she didn’t know is that Maria gather some of the information about Lafayette and his family under her bed. The young knight acted as if she didn’t notice Angelica was eavesdropping on her conversation. Ever since the knight first met her...there was something she knew that something was wrong about Angelica. Though there was no way of what wrong about Angelica that disturbs Maria the most. At least she’ll keep a close eye on Angelica and Lafayette during their time traveling to London. Perhaps she’ll get some details about this girl sooner or later.

[fantastic-fans]

Get Over Him

Sorry for how terrible this is. Lmao.

~Senior year of high school~

I blink my eyes open, noticing that I'm not in my room. I feel an arm around me, and I turn, taking in the sight of the most beautiful person. Alexander's eyes are closed, and his chest is slowly rising as he breathes.

I smile as I close my eyes, moving in closer to Alex. I remember everything that happened last night. Alex, Laf, Herc, and I all went to a party at the Schuyler Sisters’ house. At around ten, Alex had already gotten very drunk, and I was drunk enough to not have complete control over my actions.

When Alex is drunk, he's extremely flirty. If he's dating someone, then he only flirts with them. However, right now he isn't dating anyone, so he flirts with everyone. Usually, I'm able to laugh it off, but I must have had more to drink than usual.

No matter how much I really want to be with Alex, I know two things. First of all, Alex won't remember anything because of how much he had to drink. Secondly, Alex doesn't even see me as a possible boyfriend. Sure, he's bisexual, but I think I'd know if he liked me like that. He acts basically the exact same around me as he does with Hercules and Lafayette.

I sigh as I open my eyes again. I silently move out from under the covers and I find all of my clothes, quickly pulling them all on.

I head over to Alex's window so that his dad won't see me. Mr. Washington would probably ask Alex about me, and I’m positive neither of us wants to be in that situation.

I slowly open his window, and I jump up onto the ledge. I glance back at Alex, wishing I was still in the bed with him. I jump out the first-floor window, landing on my feet. I take off, leaving his house behind me, wondering only how I'd be able to talk to him again. Especially since he probably doesn't even remember anything, which could be even worse than him knowing.

~Junior year of College~

"John! John! John!" Alex screams, bursting into our dorm room.

I laugh, placing Shelby back into her cage. "What's up, Tom Cat?"

"Eliza said yes! I asked her to the Winter’s Ball and she said yes, then gave me a kiss. So I asked her to be my girlfriend and she also said yes!" Alex smiles widely and flops onto his bed.

My smile falters a bit. "That's awesome Alex! I told you she would say yes." And I did, I knew she would say yes. However there was a part of me that wished she'd say no, or he'd decide not to ask at all.

~Senior year of College~

Alex and Eliza have been dating for a year now. I wish I could say that they've been fighting, and are on the verge of breaking up. I wish I could say that I was the one that was being kissed by Alex. I wish I could say that I was the one dating Alex. However, none of that is true. Alex and Eliza have had probably one or two fights, and they were tiny. Eliza is the one being kissed by Alex, she's the one dating him.

I look up from the game that Hercules and I were playing, and I glance at Alex and Eliza. Alex is laying on the couch, Eliza on top of him. They're holding hands, and gently kissing and laughing with each other. My face burns with Jealousy as I look back at the game. Hercules notices and gives me a sympathetic look, as does Lafayette, from his place next to Hercules. His head on Herc's shoulder.

Once the game is over, I stand up. "Hey guys, I gotta head. I have an essay to finish for history, I'll see you later."

"You sure John? I could help you if you want," Alex suggests, lifting his head up from the couch. I wave my hand dismissively at him.

"No, I'll be okay. If I want you to edit it, I'll ask when you get back."

Alex just shrugs and goes back to saying whatever it was he was telling Eliza.

I leave Herc and Laf's apartment, and as the door closes behind me I let out a silent sob, and I run back to the apartment I share with Alex.

~Six years after College~

"He did what!" I hear Laf yell from his family room.

"I know, Peggy just told me. I was fixing her dress for that wedding she's going to for her sister-in-law. I didn't expect it either,” Hercules says.

I walk from the kitchen, carrying the plate of croissants that Laf made.

"Who did what?" I ask the couple.

"Oh, um." Laf looks at Hercules as if they're debating between telling me or not. Does it involve me?

"Well, I was at Peggy's place and, well, she told me that Alex cheated on Eliza," Herc says, his hands fidgeting.

"He cheated on- why?" I asked confused, but I can feel the anger rising up inside me.

"Apparently it's been going on for a while, a few months. When Eliza went on vacation, and Alex stayed home for work, he was at the bar and hooked up with some girl, and he never stopped meeting up with her."

My face flushed with anger, and I slam the plate of croissants onto their coffee table.

"That bastard, He's so dumb! He has everything he could ever want! He just had to have more!" I turn on my heel, and I storm from their house.

I jump into my car, and I speed off down the road.

Once I get to Alex's house, I leap from my car, throwing the car door closed. I dash from my car to Alex's front door, and I rip it open.

"ALEXANDER HAMILTON YOU FUCKING DICK HEAD!"

I watch in anger as Hamilton leaps from his couch, where he was sitting with his head in his hand.

"John! You have to help me, I made a terrible mistake."

"Yeah, you did. You had everything you could have ever wanted, you just needed to have something extra didn't you? You had to break Eliza's, heart. You're an asshole, I can't believe you would do something like that."

"I know, I know," Alex says solemnly. "However, I didn't have everything I wanted."

I lift my hand up quickly, and I slap him right across the face. “Fuck you, you had everything. You have a great job, a perfect wife, and you have beautiful children and an amazing home. How can you say you don't have everything? Some people will never have everything they could need. Some people have to wait their whole fucking life for one thing they want. Sometimes they don't get anything, so you should be fucking glad you jackass.” As I spit every word into his face, I keep pushing him back further and further, and he stumbles a few times.

Suddenly, I’m pulled back. "John! Stop!" Oh great, Aaron Burr. "We are talking, outside, now."

I glare at him, but I let him lead me to the front yard. Alex stays in the house, which is probably good, cause I would love to strangle him right now.

"You have to stop!" Aaron tells me.

"Why should I? Alex cheated on his wife, who I happen to know very well."

"John, you're not even mad because of that!"

"What are you talking about! Of course I'm fucking mad!"

"I'm not saying you're not. I'm saying you're mad for a different reason."

"Oh yeah? Then why, pray tell, am I mad?"

"You're only angry because Alex isn't cheating on Eliza with you!" He shouts at me, pointing at Alex's house.

"Shut up," I mumble. Of course, everyone, but Angelica, Eliza, and Alex knows I like Alex, but we rarely talk about it.

"You're wasting your life on someone who will never love you back." I know he's telling the truth, but I don't want to admit it. He has that sympathetic look that I always got when Alex and Eliza were doing something together.

"Shut up Burr, " I say slightly louder.

"It was a one-night thing, and he was drunk. I'm sorry, but you have to understand that Alexander-"

"SHUT UP!" I scream. I don't want to hear any more. Yes, I love Alexander. Yes I wish I was the one he was with him some way, yes I'm jealous, yes I know that he'll never feel the same way about me as I do him. Even though I know that's all true, I don't want to listen to other people remind me. "Just, just shut up. I get it. I know I shouldn't be mad for the reason I'm mad. I know he'll never love me back, I get it. I'll just leave. Whatever." I look down at the ground, shoving a hand through my hair as I walk back to my far.

"I'm sorry John," Aaron says.

"It's not your fault, I'm the idiot who thought Alexander Hamilton might actually like them back."

I open my car door, and I leave Alex's driveway, already knowing I'll never talk to either of them again.

~One week later~

John hasn't picked up any of my calls, and he hasn't answered any of my texts. So, after a week I decided I would go to his apartment. Which I did, but he wasn't there. So, I'm head over to Herc's and Laf's place.

I exit my car and walk up to their front door. I knock three times, and then Laf opens the door.

"Alex, oh, hey," He says as if he's hiding something.

"Herc! Alex is here."

"Well let him in, we should probably give it to him."

"Come on in Alex," Laf says, gesturing for me to follow him into the kitchen.

"What's wrong? What do you need to give me? And do you know where John is? A week ago he came to my house and yelled at me for cheating. Which is fine, but then he went outside to talk to Aaron, and he left after that, and Aaron came inside glaring at me and shaking his head. I asked what was wrong, but he wouldn't tell me. He said John should."

Laf and Herc look at each other and they both nod.

Hercules pulls a letter from his back pocket and hands it to me.

The letter is addressed to me and is written in John Laurens block like handwriting.

I look back up at my friends and they nod at me.

I quickly slit the envelope open, pulling the letter from inside. I unfold the letter and begin to read.

Dear Alexander Hamilton,

I know I probably should have told you this sooner but, there are two things you've never known about me. One is that I've never really been happy. As you know my father kicked me out of the house when I came out, also the two boyfriends I've had have been abusive. You always thought I was able to pull through and that it never affected me that much. But it did. A lot. I fell into depression, and I've never really been able to pull myself out. And no, I'm not killing myself, I'm not that depressed. Another reason why I was constantly upset was that of you, Alexander. I love. I've loved you for years now. When you started dating Eliza, I was so happy because you were happy, but I was also very upset that you were into Eliza and not me. Obviously, I can't control that. Love is uncontrollable, but I was upset that I wasn't the one making you happy. So, my dear Alexander, I've decided to leave. I have a friend in Wisconsin that I've known for a few years now. Maybe one day we might meet again, but for now, it's goodbye.

I look up from the letter. "He left?"

Laf and Herc nod.

"And he's always loved me?"

"Oui mon ami, he has always loved you. Il a tombe amoureux avec toi, quand nous avons ete seize ans."

"God damn it. I'm so fucking blind aren't I?" I groan.

"Oui mon ami, you are." Laf states simply.

"Damn it, I knew I should have asked him out. I knew I should have talked to him about that night in high school. I should have told him I wasn't drunk. God DAMN IT!"

"Wait, you weren't drunk?" Hercules asks, shocked.

I shake my head. "No, I thought that John would have been scared off if he knew I wanted it. I thought he was drunk too and that it was just in the heat of the moment for him. I guess I was wrong."

I stuff the letter into my pocket, and I turn to leave.

"Alex, do you want his new number?" Herc asks.

I shake my head. "I've already caused him enough pain, he doesn't need me anymore."

And with that, I leave their house, wishing I wasn't such a fucking coward.

[nanyoky]

hey gang guess who’s sick in bed and therefore not drinking but is definitely getting Fever Weird which is the next best thing really

No it’s not i’m sick as a dog and fucking miserable and probably not going to be as much fun as usual, full disclosure. Instead of sushi and cider like my usual wednesdays, i’m having tang and saltines so.... cheers.

also i want you all to know there were no working links so i had to wait for the official cw stream to go up like a pauper come on team it’s 2018 we’re better than this

mayor mac and the lodges are still in cahoots and now v knows why but you know who doesn’t yet? ME THAT’S WHO

oh wow so that’s penelope’s deal now

this is- in a darkly hilarious way- the photo negative of season one keller boys “no cruising guys today kiddo” “good GAWD dad”. “i may be a widow but i can still fucking PULL” “good GAWD mom”

i should not be laughing but oh my god CHERYL’S FACE jesus h christ

it’s veronica’s job to keep next gen riverdale chill “when the news breaks” ruh-roh

did archie say he’s going to start a band “of redheads”? so just- him on guitar and cheryl screaming into the mic like a kraken? that’s the only possibility i can envision

“are you upset?” “upset? ronnie, i’m crazy about you” that is a suburban white mom level of non-answer, archie- stop hanging out with alice cooper

RED ALERT KEVIN READS CLIVE BARKER NOVELS AND MY LOVE FOR HIM GROWS EVEN MORE

awkward betty and archie eye contact is almost as obvious as veronica’s stilted forced “we should probably all stay calm....” to the room at large

((the saltines went over pretty well so i think i’mma try some chicken nuggest pray for me team))

“my home is a dickensian nightmare- i won’t have my school turn into one too!” there is just... so much here. short version: cheryl’s origin story is that of the classic highschool bully: not in control of her home life, so enacts violent control over her school. in this way she has not changed. also jesus christ she’s so fucking dramatic i love her like this is in any way her problem but she’s automatically FURIOUS about it. but also just: wow cheryl hates poor people.

“of course. we’re fine.” kevin’s skeptical face (tm) is mint. top shelf. the good shit.

“jones- this is very lovecraftian, which i’m sure was the intention.” toni has jughead Figured Out, and i’m not sure he’s comfortable with that. 

*jake peralta voice* toni- first off your insinuating voice is way too high you sound like meryl streep in mama mia

oh my god sweetpea and fangs are just so dumb. so pretty and so dumb. just because you two wear leather jackets and flannel doesn’t mean you’re not dumb jocks. i’m calling it: sweetpea/reggie. can you imagine the angry makeouts???? so much angry repressed sexuality.

toni’s face of “oh god why are you morons celebrating” is some of the best we’ve seen of her so far my hopes are high for next gen serpent characterization with this plotline

WHAT DOES HIRAM NEED ALL THIS LAND FOR?!?!?!?!?!

POLLY MY GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

oh wow yeah actress must have gotten a better gig or something and is only available for a cameo or two if a show as drama loving as RIVERDALE is keeping the birth of twins offscreen

THE LEADERS OF THE FARM?????? NO. NO. UNACCEPTABLE.

“juniper and dagwood” *betty face*

also yes polly you are in a cult get your babies and LEAVE. go hang out with smithers and joaquin whom i command are safe and happy and healthy wherever they are

“that’s mine by the way” FUCKIN COLD.

FINALLY someone other than the sheriff’s office is getting involved in how fucking SHADY this “small” town is

“is this even legal, what you’re asking me to do?” SMART, REASONABLE ARCHIE IS HERE TO STAY I LOVE SMART, REASONABLE ARCHIE WHO HAS LEARNED NOT TO JUST ACCEPT EVERYTHING ADULTS TELL HIM AT FACE VALUE

oh nevermind one seed of doubt and he’s back. poor boy. sweet boy. dumb boy.

oh nooooo freddddd

fp in his adorkable pop’s uniform smugly nudging about betty is a great moment everyone deserves an in-law that loves them like fp loves betty

please tell me “doctor beeker” is their actual science teacher’s name

we all know that finding the lost cooper brother is going to do ANYTHING but make alice a happier, more stable person right this is not going to end well

i mean even if he wasn’t a minor and using him to get information from a dangerous criminal was a profoundly shitty thing to do, the fbi could have picked literally anyone in town that would have been a better double agent because this is.... not a subtle conversation.

GREAT SONG CHOICE FOR THE SERPENTS’ INTRO TO RHS ((my mom had a tape with this song on it that she’d play to get me pumped for kindergarten))

okay i’m only going to say this once and then probably once more in the scorecard but: how much better would this mixed school plot have been if JOAQUIN WAS STILL IN TOWN?!?!?! the joy and comedy if he and kevin got back together?? the ANGST IF THEY DIDN’T?!?!?!?!?! i am CHEATED. LAID LOW. BITCHSLAPPED.

THAT BEING SAID: this is so good already. serpents swaggering in. veronica’s stepford forced cheer. cheryl and reggie STRUTTING to create conflict.

toni’s face upon gazing at cheryl once more is just so very gay. angry gay. furious that she has to see those mile long legs again.

“no one invited facist barbie to the party” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "ragamuffins” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

oh archie. so pure. so ineffective. as always.

did jughead just sidehug sweetpea away from conflict are they there now

i haven’t been paying enough attention to outfits so far but the placement of cheryl’s iconic spider broach not over her heart like a normal broach, but ON HER SHOULDER LIKE IT’S CRAWLING was a topnotch choice by wardrobe

again this is some classic response to sexual assault in the category of “well that’s unfortunate” until it’s about someone close to you come on archie you’re better than this.

which of course reinforces cheryl’s “me against the world” attitude because NO ONE SEEMS TO FUCKING CARE that she was attacked except veronica and the cats

“of the park avenue lodges” juggie. not helping. although i’d like to think jughead has mentioned veronica enough that toni knows this is just mild teasing between unlikely friends

josie’s awkward “now just... josie...” BROKE MY HEART

“joaquin and i used to hang out. talked about you all the time” OF COURSE HE FUCKING DID THAT POOR BOY WAS *ELIZA SCHUYLER VOICE* HELPLLLLLEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS. also i’m so happy joaquin has FRIENDS that hopefully still keep in touch please just someone check on him i miss my gay biker leo

godfuckingdammit reggie

“no more serpent jackets” okay- okay- i really need to ask the writers to go to a real high school just once. once. in what world would they have not made this a rule already???? i got in trouble in middleschool for wearing a bandana okay and i was a weird horse girl and LOOKED IT.

is josie hanging out with the core four+kevin because cheryl’s weirdness was scaring her off and the cats have cut all ties? has she lost her entire support network??? i’m worried about alpha kitty guys include her in stuff

jughead is #worked up and toni is having none of it thank god for toni

“i just need to borrow one of jason’s blazers” thank GOD they haven’t abandoned creepy ties between jason and archie. please someone share my half baked conspiracy theory that they were switched at birth and archie is the real blossom twin

juggie. i love you. i genuinely do. but you are being a prime fucking asshole right now. 

i was rolling my eyes so hard at jughead’s bullshit i almost missed sweetpea’s turtleneck which would have been a TRAGEDY

this separation between jughead’s attitude and the rest of the serpents is finally bringing to light what has bothered me about his plot this season so far. he’s so fucking desperate to fit into his role as the heir apparent to the gang but he doesn’t actually know shit about being in a gang and being in danger all the time. for all he grew up poor his has this really privileged attitude and i can’t wait for toni and co. to just tell him to sit down and shut up because believe it or not his actions have consequences

OH MY GOD VERONICA’S SOLUTION IS MAKEOVERS BECAUSE OF COURSE IT IS

i was going to say “what they didn’t call ahead???” but of course not. cooper women do not call ahead

i mean we all knew this wasn’t going to go well and i think a lot of us thought it might be a possibility but...... umm.... heavens.... golly.... that.... that uh... looks like.... ayoungblondskeetulrich. .....jinkies.

oh god why do we have two prostitution plotlines in one episode why why is this a thing in riverdale now

on a lighter note they are hitting into my nostalgia funny bone hard this ep with the game in the whyte wurm being mortal combat ii it’s been years since i’ve gazed on those pixilated icons of my childhood

fp giving you advice on doing the smart thing instead of your kneejerk reaction to a shit situation is a real lowpoint i hope you realize that juggie

again, as heavy as it is, i’m glad they don’t shy away from the dreaded “R” bomb with this nick plotline. like characters seem hesitant to say it in a realistic way, but they do use it which keeps it from feeling like the creators trying to write around controversy

i like that they’re acknowledging it’s pretty shitty of archie to not care until it’s about veronica it feels like brewing #character development

BAHAHAHA TONI AND SWEETPEA LOOK ADORABLY HORRIBLE THIS PLOTLINE IS BLESSED

I mean don’t get me wrong, i love seeing nick get beat up as much as anyone else, but archie should have def talked to veronica before all that and she’s right to be upset

yess betty goin to rescue her bro and showing up in the suspiciously convenient nick of time i love it

archie being a good boy and clearing the air about the kiss before things get out of hand but also.... not mentioning the fbi agent after her dad is such a very riverdale thing to do

omg they’re making a d&d cover group i lied i’m bringing it up again HOW DARE THEY NOT HAVE JOAQUIN HERE FOR THIS WHEN HIS BOYFRIEND IS A CERTIFIED D&D NERD CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE THE BANTER

BLOSSOMS JESUS H CHRIST

god this poor lost cooper boy this is the most awkward situation ever because you know alice and hal are not going to handle this well and you know betty is going to try too hard to make it work and you know chic is probably involved in some stuff that will be Plot (tm) later on and this is just A Lot

archie.....

chic..... (we’re supposed to find this threatening, but psych, chic is noticing all the suspiciously different features they have almost like they might be half siblings instead of full siblings.....)

Episode Scorecard:

# of Sick Beat Drop Editing Sequences: None

Do I Still Miss Joaquin: Do i have to fucking elaborate YES okay goddammit someone better be working on a “joaquin never left” au to fit in with this serpents at rhs plot as we speak or i will be MOST CROSS.

Episode Hair MVP: Toni’s was looking particularly nice today

Episode Outfit MVP: sweetpea’s turtleneck. hands down. but with a close second being the placement of cheryl’s spider.

Episode Cast/Crew Shoutout: soundtrack was better than it has been this season- good choices there.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

At The Crossroads: Chapter 3

| Chapter 1 | | Chapter 2 | | Chapter 3 |

My ko-fi  My Ao3

Eliza had always loved stories.

It was a memory she would always let her mind drift back to when it was pacing like a restless tiger in the confines of her skull; a wool blanket around her shoulders, playing with the hem of her nightshirt, the low light of the bedside lamp somehow warming her right through to her bones as her father’s low, steady voice filled the room like the rising and falling tides. Those nights were always when she’d feel like she was really part of this family who’d pulled her up out of the darkness that had taken her birth parents and her old home from her, saved her from joining her previously happy life and her confidence that the world made sense as it turned to dust and fell through the cracks. She’d have Angelica on her left and Peggy on her right, in between them so their shadows stood in perfect hight order on the back wall, like there had always been a place for Eliza, a gap for her to slot into, like it had been waiting for her.

Their father would tell them stories of his own hunts, he’d tell them about the creatures he’d faced and how he’d beaten them, the mistakes and the victories alongside each other. They were no fabricated happy endings and no omitted details, their purpose wasn’t to shield his daughters or put blinkers on them. Each bedtime story was tightly woven with a lesson into a rope made for the young girls to follow, hopefully so if they found themselves in a similar situation, they would know the way out. The sisters working as a team and, later on, Eliza working with Alex, all lost count of the number of times something their father had mentioned in a story had saved someone’s life, usually their own.

Eliza had tried to do the same for her own children, finally understanding the fear that must have lived in the pit of her father’s stomach every single time he tucked his little girls in for bed, knowing how necessary the information he’d just given them was but at the same time wishing with every bone in his body that it wasn’t. That he could just read them a normal story, something with a nice neat moral and simple happy ending so the sleeping children in front of them could believe that the world waiting for them outside their bedroom door could be handled as easily.

But Eliza, Alex, Philip Schuyler, every hunter who’d thrown the dice and decided to have children, by choice or by chance, they knew that happy endings had no place in the world. Their kids needed to know what lurked after the final page and the happily ever after, what hid in the shadows that their night light couldn’t penetrate, what it was, where it was and how to kill it. Their lives would always be on the line and all they could do was prepare their precious little ones as best they could, hope that the buildup of experience from generation to generation, like rust growing on the handle of the same sharp blade, would mean their children would be better equipped for their hard, dangerous lives than everyone who’d fallen before them had been.

The first crisp, bitter autumn morning when they’d put a throwing knife in eight year old Philip’s hand and drilled him in how to get it so they would only ever land where he sent them, gradually filling the fence in the back garden with nicks and cuts and scrapes, Alex had left halfway through. Unsurprised, Eliza found him later at the kitchen table, weeping into his hands. She’d thrown her arms around him and let him soak the shoulder of her blouse, gripping him so tight, like this was a problem that would have a solution, telling him everything was okay when they knew it was both a lie. Yet another lie they were having to tell themselves to try and make the life they’d both had chosen for them, Alex by blood and Eliza by pure bad luck, gel with their new roles as parents. It was a frustrating and difficult puzzle, with sharp edges that could cut and bruise and didn’t seem to get any easier with time.

The stories were a much more subtle and secretive weapon than the knives and the spellcraft they had to teach their children but they held as much value. Information and knowledge were as necessary as anything that rattled around in the trunk of a hunter’s car or were concealed in the numerous tiny secret pockets in their coats that even they lost track of sometimes. That was a fact Alex had very deliberately forgotten that fact when he was a younger man and paid for it bloodily. He wasn’t about to let his children do the same if they ever chose to go hunting, not that he didn’t hope with every bone in his body and pray to half a hundred gods he’d never believed in that they wouldn’t.

But still the preparations had to be made. The storm might never come but you’d better damn well build a shelter or curse your own laziness when it came to bite you in the ass.

It didn’t mean Eliza hadn’t liked the stories, they’d meant a lot to her and they were one of the few good parts of her childhood that would never fade under the weight of time and limits of human memory. She hoped her babies liked theirs too.

Though as Philip’s tenth birthday arrived, Eliza gained more from those stories, those tales told in the dim glow of her bedroom, than she ever hoped she would.

***

Over and over, Eliza tried to think of a way to tell Alex that, just as his life was running out with every second that went by, another, entirely new life was moving at the same rate but in the opposite direction just under her skin. As her husband’s flame guttered and gasped, wilting down to only embers, a stranger’s spark had caught inside her. Eliza didn’t miss the irony of that, the way it made unexplainable, irrational guilt twist in her gut. It was that exact tightening of her stomach, almost like an irritated nudge from the baby in her womb, that turned her tongue to lead whenever she went to tell him and kept her quiet.

So she didn’t tell him on the first night, the night she found out herself. When she had to lie to him and say she was just going to grab some milk, banking on him not remembering that there was still half a jug in the fridge. He’d had Jamie on his lap as she’d put her head around the door to tell him so he probably wouldn’t have noticed even if she’d kicked the door off its hinges with all her strength, their youngest commanded all of his attention. That was a common theme recently, he was spending every single minute he could with all of their children, walking up and gently tapping shoulders to quietly offer help with homework, hovering while they brushed their teeth, giving in instantly to every request for bath time or a trip to the park or offer to be Player Two, showering them with bedtime stories and always saying yes to ‘just one more’. It was a treat for their babies and an utter heartbreak to Eliza.

Alex’s new sense of making the most of every second, his frenzied grasping for what little time he had, even worse now he didn’t have to hide it from Eliza, it was flavouring their nights together too. Every single evening, as soon as the children were in bed, they would crash together, pulling desperately at clothing and not caring if it ripped, not caring what surface was underneath them as long as it was flat and sturdy, moving fast and not caring if it hurt. Every night he had a different way to take her or for her to take him, like he wanted to get one last one of everything in before his timer ran out. Of course, Eliza wanted it just as bad as he did, it was impossible not to give in to the desperation but it was just so wrong for them, it poisoned every touch that before had only held passion and love. It left them aching in the best way, exhausted, satisfied, sated and crying silently into their pillows as soon as the lights went out.

As Eliza had sat on the edge of the bath, fifteen minutes and one trip to the drugstore and one purchase of milk they didn’t need later, as she stared at the two pink lines until her eyes ached and her vision blurred, she wondered which time had caused this. Which simultaneously heartbreaking and wonderful time had given them this? Eliza found herself with so many emotions at once, so many having to fit inside her brain, that she ended up feeling nothing out of sheer confusion.

Only a strong, cold resolve that she couldn’t tell Alex that night. She couldn’t put that on his shoulders, it was the only coherent thought in her mind. What was she even supposed to say?

She didn’t tell him in the week that followed either, so many moments where she lay in the dim light with her head on his shoulder, both of them panting with half closed eyes, taking stock of the treasured aches and twinges in their muscles. It could have slipped out then, just two words but two words she wasn’t brave enough to say out loud in her own company yet. She couldn’t tell him out of the blue like that, in one of the precious few moments of peace they’d had since his confession.

She didn’t tell him the time he’d kissed her forehead to wake her, making her smile. She didn’t tell him as they’d walked hand in hand down the path carpeted in autumn leaves, watching as their children swarmed ahead of them like an unruly pack of puppies, leaving their parents behind. She hadn’t told him when they’d bathed together, when she’d rested back against his chest and let him wash her hair. So many missed opportunities, even after Eliza had stood glaring at herself reflected back in the bathroom mirror and forced that stubborn, tight mouth to move, wake up and let the words pass- “I’m pregnant. I’m going to have another baby. I am pregnant.” - after she’d sobbed for nearly an hour, still stood in front of the mirror, and felt better for it afterwards. She still couldn’t tell him, add something else to the list already plaguing his mind, sitting heavily around his neck like a chain of lead, the list of things he was being robbed of.

And then, in the end, she didn’t have to.

***

It was worryingly easy to push her condition to the back of her mind, even something as momentous as another child on the way, it was easy to drown those thoughts with all the work Eliza and Alex now had to do.  

Taking on the most powerful demon they knew of, the bona fide King of the Crossroads, breaking one of his contracts and doing it in three months was a task Eliza almost didn’t blame her husband for assuming was impossible. After three and a half weeks of scouring every book they’d gathered over two long careers of hunting as well as whatever they could find in the local library that might have a useful sentence or two and their most depended on websites, of sleepless nights given over to either research in Alex’s office or fucking in whatever room of the house would serve, of the dawn finding them both dry eyed and yawning and no wiser, they’d learned nothing.

It was killing Eliza, to watch what pale and shaking hope Alex had kept alive at the start crumble and fade, to see the nights wearing him down and making him feel more wretched than he ever had when he’d kept the secret of what he’d done to himself. He’d stay sullen and quiet, working without rest for much longer than he should, shaking off food and drink and sleep and paying no attention to the clock, until the smallest thing, accidentally knocking over an ice cold, forgotten mug of coffee with his elbow, getting a paper cut, catching the chair with his foot, would send him into a rage. He’d rip papers, hurl books across the room until Eliza ran and caught his wrists in her hands, forcing him to stop. He’d just blink at her like a man waking up from a nightmare and the fire in his eyes would die, leaving them flat and lifeless as he sank back down in his chair and went back to work like he’d never missed a beat. No matter how many times Eliza pleaded with him to pull away, just for a while, come to bed or have some food or...or anything he just wouldn’t cave. Because surely the next book would have something useful, or the one after that, something that would keep him here and let him have his family for one more day.  

Eliza couldn’t help but feel like she’d lost her husband already, ahead of schedule.

It was the last day of their first month, one of the horrible, grim times when they were even more hyper aware of how time was slipping past them, when they’d now have to think a number lower than they had been recently. Not three months, two. Only two. Just one notch lower but on that day, the difference felt like a chasm.

It was taking it’s toll on Alex, that much was obvious, as he sat across from Eliza, alternating between tugging at his hair and sifting through piles of yellowing aged paper with rusty brown writing on it that gave Eliza a suspicious shiver and wrinkle of the nose, they’d taken it from a particularly vitriolic witch’s den after all. God only knew where or what or who that red ink had come from. They’d had to resort to digging through their much less savory mines of information as their hopes grew hungry and restless.

Though one stayed untouched, Eliza couldn’t help but notice. It sat at Alex’s elbow, almost like it was edging closer to try and get his attention, like a obedient and faithful but ignored hound. She didn’t need to tilt her head at an awkward angle and read the cover to know what it was; she’d been familiar with that old, ragged, weather worn commonplace book from the first day she’d met Alex. It was his mother Rachel’s journal, pages and pages of wisdom from a lifetime of hunting across two continents and two hemispheres, all in her own hand. It wasn’t just a valuable resource, though Alex and Eliza had proven that it was so many times, it was a family heirloom, a treasure, one of the few happy memories from his childhood, one of the last physical reminders of his beloved mother aside from his tattoo that bore one of her favourite sayings.

Eliza understood her poor Alex’s hesitance. He didn’t want to open that book he’d treasured and revered and depended on since it had become his only comfort and shield against the rest of the world, he didn’t want to open it and find it as useless as the rest of the texts they’d scoured. Of all the things he was facing losing, Alex didn’t want to add his faith in his mother to the list. He didn’t want to face the likelihood that he’d gone to the point that even his mama couldn’t bring him back from, that he’d drifted beyond her comfort and help. If that was true, it would put a knife through the last of his hope.

Eliza longed to reach out and comfort him, even if it would do next to no good just like every other night, she wanted to try. But she was dealing with some problems of her own tonight; the physical effects of her pregnancy were making themselves known. Not for the first time in her life, she wanted to put her bronze dagger through the heart of whatever idiot decided to call it ‘morning sickness’, it was eleven at night and it felt like there was a low level storm ravaging her stomach, making her head swim and her belly clench and the words and symbols on the page in front of her squirm and dance around like they were actively making fun of her.

She bore it grimly for as long as she physically could until she was given no other choice. She jumped to her feet, mumbled something along the lines of ‘excuse me’ though god knows that wasn’t what it sounded like, and fled the room, just about making it to the bathroom down the hall in time.

It was a process she was very familiar with, she could execute the necessary clean up without her brain really needing to engage, so it was free to stay restlessly circling round her head, following loops of logic that ended in nothing but dead ends. She couldn’t help but feel trapped, like she was scrabbling to scale walls as smooth and unyielding as bone, towering high around her until she couldn’t even see the stars. All Eliza had managed to achieve was making Alex feel worse, no answers, no real help, no further towards saving him.

She’d promised him. She’d promised him, herself, the baby inside her. That was an awful lot of promises to watch break and shatter in front of your eyes, to try and catch and only end up spilling your own blood in the attempt.

Eliza swallowed back the tears that threatened, pushing them down to be dealt with at a time that part of her accepted was never really going to come. But the lie in itself was comforting. As she walked back down towards the box room they’d turned into an office for Alex to do his writing in, she found herself gently brushing her fingers against every door she passed, each with one (or two, AJ insisted on sharing a room with his hero of a big brother) of her children behind it, wandering through dreams she prayed were warm and happy and safe.

What would they do without their Pops? How could Eliza somehow make herself strong enough to stay around for them, to be the parent they deserved all by herself, after half of her soul had been torn away? She searched herself with a fine tooth comb and just couldn’t find enough to prove to herself that she could do that.   

This wasn’t just about saving Alex. The hellhounds were coming for them all, their baying was vibration through her bones too, and their children, even if they didn’t know it for what it was.

So in a futile attempt to offer what little, shaky and uncertain comfort she could, Eliza brushed each carefully painted door as she trudged back to the office, her stomach swimming either from the pregnancy or her anxiety or a combination of the two. She had a pretty much constant belly ache these days; she’d stopped trying to decipher why.

She’d been expecting to find Alex hard at work, barely even having noticed that she’d gone. But Eliza started when she walked into the office and his eyes were on her with more animation to them than she’d seen for quite a while, like he’d finally woken up. In the low light, in the strange caste these hours between late night and early morning took, they looked grey. Grey and old and tragically lost. Eliza froze under them, her hand still on the doorknob even after it had clicked shut, suddenly knowing by some mechanism, the way that she and her husband seemed to be able to communicate through glances alone, that she’d been caught out. Not that she’d admit she’d been trying to hide anything from him. Not consciously at least.

Alex didn’t mince his words, it wasn’t like they had time for that.

“Eliza…” he rasped, having to stutter and cough and start again when his dust dry throat protested, tears in his eyes for one reason or another but likely all at once, “Eliza are you...are you pregnant?”

She hadn’t let herself plan for this moment, as much as she’d tried to force her thoughts that way. So it was a surprise as much to her as to anyone else when the only response her body had was to burst into tears, it all came rushing up her throat at once in a tide that burned with salt, a release of tension that pounced on her without warning, leaving her slumped against the door and trembling and sobbing. This wasn’t what she wanted, she didn’t want to look weak or sad or scared, she didn’t want Alex to have to deal with that on top of everything else, she didn’t want to have to look in the mirror and see that when she knew she needed to be the exact opposite right now. But there she was, falling apart with just the slightest of nudges, a building she’d told herself until she was blue in the face was made of hard, firm stone but had .

And there Alex was. In half a heartbeat, there he was, crossing the desk and taking her in his arms, holding her tightly just like he used to, so tight like he was anchoring her to him and him to her. Finally, Eliza had proof that the man she loved wasn’t gone, at least not yet, and it only made her weep all the more. They sank to the floor together, Alex wrapping his body around her’s, letting her be as small and tight and sad as she needed to be, letting her find a dislocated sense of safety in curling up against his chest, as if she could shrink right down in his hands and he could hold her safe in the warm clasp of his palms and nothing would ever find her there.

It took some time before the storm clouds waned and dissipated enough for Alex’s words to reach her and even then she had to sit up and wipe her eyes and mumble for him to say it again.

“I just said I’m sorry,” he sighed, his thumbs running along the exposed skin under her sleeves, that tiny amount of touch, of skin contact, so simple but only because it held nothing but love and affection, “I’ve been so stupid with the way we’ve been...I should have known this would happen. I’m sorry.”

Eliza was more surprised that anything, trying to wipe away the tears that sprung up to replace the ones already fallen, “It’s not your fault. It’s...it’s a responsibility for both of us. Neither of us have been really keeping an eye on things.”

Alex didn’t look convinced but he took a deep breath, like he was trying to sweep the cobwebs from the insides of himself, “But this is good. It’s good.”

She didn’t understand, thinking that the expression on his face wasn’t quite the right one for a man who’d just heard good news, “Alex…”

“No, it is,” he repeated, seemingly stuck on that one nick in his tracks, “It is because now...now after I go, you’ll have a part of me. You’ll have something to focus on, take your mind off it.”

Eliza’s heart plummeted, falling so far she lost sight of it entirely,  “Baby...no, no….”

“Eliza, this is the best I can hope for,” Alex went on, his eyes growing more and more distant as his voice firmed up, “Now I can spend the last few months I have in the happiest time, it’s a gift.”

Eliza was seized by an urge to shake him, she’d expected anger or despair, she’d hoped hard for determination, a renewed fierceness, but this was a sickeningly awful surprise, “Alex, we’re not giving up because of this! No way, this is the exact opposite of what I wanted!”

But as Eliza floundered, shock and horror tying her tongue in knots, Alex became more sure and certain, like he wasn’t even hearing her, “Betsey, I can’t ask all this work and stress of you in your condition, I can’t forgive myself for that. I’m not putting you on Burr’s radar, I didn’t like doing it before and now it’s just not happening, I can’t.”

“What?” Eliza snapped, her voice shrill, “Alex, who the fuck said this was your decision?”

“Betsey, see sense,” Alex pleaded, his arms now feeling restrictive, holding her in place, “We’ve gotten nowhere in the past few weeks, all I’ve done by telling you is hurt you. I should never have dragged you into this and now…this has to be a sign. It has to be.”

Eliza wrenched herself away, getting to her feet, her face so hot she wouldn’t be surprised if the tears were turning to steam, “Alexander. Listen to what you’re saying, this isn’t you. You don’t mean this. You can’t leave me with this.”

Alex stayed on his knees and it was then that Eliza saw how thin this sudden façade of decisiveness and certainty was, it was a thin layer of ice over a dark, deep sea. He didn’t even have the strength to stand, for fear it would all crack and fall away.

“Sweetheart, I can be happy. With this…I can leave happy, please, it’s all I want…the times you’ve been pregnant are the happiest times of my life, getting to get at least some small part of it before I say goodbye…”

Anguish flooded Eliza’s voice, “But you deserve more than just a small part! I want more than that, I want you there for all of it, I want you sleeping with your head on my stomach and talking to them, I want you holding my hand while they’re born, I want you to be the one who holds them for the first time, I can’t do all that by myself!”

Alex flinched, the reality of what this was supposed to represent, the happiness ahead of them in an alternate dimension where everything didn’t get so messy and ruined, striking him as hard as it struck her, “I’m sorry…but this is all I have.”

No.

The determination flooded Eliza all at once then. She was seeing now that she couldn’t rely on Alex, he’d resigned himself to the grave a long time ago. Maybe if he’d confessed all the day after he made this deal, she could have kept his hope alive, he could have stayed strong and dug deep for the energy. But she knew her poor, scarred Alex, Eliza knew how he will have seen this. There’d been so much suffering in his relatively short life, so many losses and hurts and goodbyes. This would just be one more, one he probably even felt he deserved. So many times she’d seen it in his eyes and heard it in the words he chose, he saw his life with her as a happiness, a treasure he hadn’t earned, like he’d stolen it from someone else. All of their children were just another debt he’d have to repay, pushing him further into the red, using up his luck and setting him up for a greater and more bone shattering fall when it finally came.

Her Alex had given up.

It was a painful realisation, one that dissipated her anger for now and sent her back into his arms, holding him tight. His hands found her stomach, the slightest of bumps that was forming there and it was so bittersweet there was a metallic taste in the back of both of their mouths.

But Eliza wasn’t going to give up. She hid her face from Alex over his shoulder as she promised herself.

Her husband had been through enough. He thought he’d earned it but she disagreed fiercely.

And if fate wanted him, it was going to have to go through her.

***

Eliza wasn’t sure why she told that particular story on that particular night. Jamie wanted the one about the witch who could talk to animals and kept an enormous crow as a familiar. Philip wanted the one where Grandpa took down an entire nest of vampires in a night, the ones that had taken over an abandoned carnival in possibly the creepiest and best decision ever made by any monster, until they all met a grisly end as Philip Schuyler stalked their leader through the mirror maze. Their doe eyed eldest always wanted to hear about his namesake’s daring exploits. AJ meanwhile wanted one of the gorier ones, the one that explained the scar that ran up his Pop’s back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, still the colour of faded paper. Angie wanted one of the funny ones, the time a different witch had taken something Alex said the wrong way in a bar one night and cursed him to spend twenty four hours as a two year old infant.

But as they’d gathered around Eliza, looking at her with wide, uncomplicatedly happy eyes that reflected the lamplight as if tiny fireflies were caught in them, stars in onyx, she’d told them a different story. One that was a little long and winding, without much of an ending, one that sat just on the side of unbelievable. More of a myth than a story really but it’s what rolled from her tongue.

Her littlest ones listened with open awe on their faces, cooing softly at the appropriate parts. But when her voice broke from the low, soothing, lilting quality it always took on when she was telling a bedtime story for her children, when she kissed each of them on their foreheads and told them she loved them and wished them the sweetest dreams, after she’d watched fondly and with a little bit of a heavy heart as they trooped upstairs to their respective beds, Eliza noticed Philip hanging around, looking like he wanted to say something.

“Philip?” she prompted softly, sitting up from where she’d let herself sink into the plush, slightly worn cushions of the sofa. She had nowhere to go tonight, Alex had retreated into himself and pointedly swept all their research materials back to continue falling to pieces and rotting into dust in the attic. Though all of it would outlive Alex himself.

Eliza didn’t go hunting after it, none of it had been any use anyway, just paths with no end. With every day that passed, she became more and more certain that they were looking in the wrong place entirely, that if she just squinted to the right degree and tilted her head just enough, it would become obvious. The sensation was maddening in itself, the knowing that it was so, so close, if she could just find the right thread to pull.

But she knew the thread didn’t lie in those old books and journals. And Alex sure as hell wasn’t going to find it in his choice of reading material, just ten minutes ago he’d been sat on the sofa beside her, his head on her shoulder, his nose in the same pregnancy and baby book he read every single time this happened.

Eliza hadn’t pressed any further since their fight, since the night he found out he was going to be a father for the fifth time over. She understood this now, Alex needed to shut himself down for his own survival, trying to scrape and scrabble after an answer he just couldn’t see would just leave him with bloody fingernails and a migraine. It frustrated her, that he failed to see his own worth so spectacularly, but she understood.

She shook her head a little, trying to focus on her eldest son.

“You said…” Pip screwed up his face as he tried to make his tired, sleepy brain find words, “You said that no one has ever found it? The gun in your story, the one that can kill demons?”

Eliza smiled softly, seriously regretting her choice of story, it felt like her own brain had been mocking her, “Well, most hunters don’t think it’s real. A gun that powerful and useful probably would have turned up by now if it actually existed, right?”

Philip paused, looking at her with his dark brown eyes and after a moment he murmured, “Not if no one ever went looking for it.”

He went pounding up the stairs on his overly long, gangly legs, probably thinking it best to get to bed before AJ made a play at stealing his blanket, missing the odd expression that fell on his mother’s face with his words. Missing the way she grew very quiet, her eyes wide, her heart fluttering as a deep and slightly unnerving sensation of realisation settled on her like a sudden, heavy rain. Like something had fallen into place in front of her eyes.

How would anyone know if no one went looking?

Eliza went to go and find her address book, the one she hadn’t opened since she and Alex had started their new lives, the ones they’d mistakenly believed would keep them safe from this kind of thing. In there was the number of a witch she’d run into a long time ago, one who was older than any other she’d even come across and had no love for humans or demons, for a multitude of reasons. But she’d saved Maria’s life a long, long time ago and they’d become the oddest of friends, a bridge between each other’s circles.

If anyone would know...if there was even a rumour…

Eliza couldn’t help but feel like she’d found her thread.

**

“It might be nothing, I wouldn’t trust the guy as far as I could throw him and it’s like, hearsay to the billionth power. But it’s the surest thing I’ve heard in weeks.”

Eliza clung to the phone with knuckles turned white with excitement, “God, Maria, I can’t thank you enough…”

“No need,” her friend’s smooth, richly spiced voice, somehow always sounding like she was singing, answered gladly, “Just promise me you’ll be careful with this, like I said, it’s nothing certain.”

“It’s enough,” Eliza insisted, feeling like she might cry, her hand on her stomach, “It’s more than enough.”

And it was. She had an actual name, an address, it was there in her careful hand on the scrap of paper in front of her. And as cautious as she was being, no one knew the underground like her friend Maria. If there was anyone who could find a centuries old gun thought by most to be nothing but legend and exaggeration, it was her.

This could be it.

Eliza wasn’t wasting a second, not with a month and one week left. She ignored the clock sternly informing her than she had twenty minutes to get to work, dropping her bag of papers and diaries and normalcy to the floor, diving in her wardrobe, reaching to the back for a much more ragged and worn bag she’d kept packed for years, always just in case but she was dizzyingly glad of it now. There was work of a different sort to be done right now, the participants in her six scheduled meetings would just have to sit tight.

She paused for just a moment as she left the bedroom, her eyes drifting down to the office at the end of the hall. She could hear her husband’s voice, he must be on the phone to some publisher or editor. Maybe...she could taste the certainty of her path, maybe now she could convince him…

Eliza found herself at the heavy oak door before she’d really made her decision, only knowing for sure that she wanted her hunting partner by her side for this, surely even he could see the hope in this, they’d rolled the dice on way trickier odds and won.

But before she could nudge the door back and hold her hand out for Alex to take, it sank in what his actual words were. After two seconds, she froze in place, her throat closing up until she genuinely felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Alex wasn’t on the phone. Or maybe he was, into some kind of recording function, but more likely, he was recording on his laptop, surely he’d want them to see his face. So they didn’t forget what he looked like.

“And you need to promise me you’ll look after the little ones,” his voice was low and desperately sad, so dangerously close to breaking apart into tears, “They’ll need you Philip, you’re their big brother, you’ll have to show them...but I know you can do it. I couldn’t be prouder of you, mijo, I really couldn’t, with how much you’ve grown and how much you’ve learnt...and I know...I know you’ll only keep getting stronger and braver and better, I...I know it. Philip...please, please don’t hate me. Please understand why I did what I did. It was only because I loved you...loved you so damn much and I just couldn’t lose you. I get it if you’re mad at me but...I just hope you can understand with a little time. I’m not gonna tell the others, I’ll leave that up to you and your mama, they won’t get it…”

Eliza couldn’t hear any more, she staggered away from the door before her sobs grew too fierce for her to keep them silent. She took the stairs two at a time before the compulsion to go into that office and cling to her Alex became too strong for her to deny. She had to do this now and she had to do it alone, that much was clear.

She shut the door behind her and left her husband to his goodbyes that, if she had anything to do with it, he’d never have to make.

***

Eliza waited until she was back in her car, walking quickly from the diner without looking back, shutting the door with a firm, precise bang and putting a few good miles and twists and turns and doubles back just for good measure, between her and the figure in the acid stained leather trench coat and wide brimmed hat. The one whose age, gender, expression, even basic features had fallen out of her mind and into the mists of forgotten details as soon as she’d finished her risky glance sideways as they’d taken the stool at the counter two seats away from her own. They’d slid a box not so much wrapped as roughly forced into yellow, faded newspaper and twine, across the Formica between them in a slow, deliberate motion. Then they’d simply gotten up and walked out and suddenly Eliza only had the package and the cold, unnerving gut chill they’d left her with to prove they’d ever been there at all.

Once she managed to shrug away that almost greasy, deeply unpleasant feeling, she brought her car to a juddering halt at the side of the tree lined road and brought the package into her lap, considering it. She plucked at the twine, ran her eyes over it for any sign of curse mark or symbol, any trace of spell. She saw nothing, only the warped, fractured print of fairly mundane news stories so she peeled it back carefully and tossed it to one side. As she did, before she turned her attention fully to the pistol in her palm, Eliza could have sworn that her eyes caught the date at the top of the front page, before it hit the bottom of the foot well and rolled into obscurity under the passenger seat.

She could also have sworn that the date her eyes glimpsed in that split second was a date not three days away from today’s. Three days in the future.

Eliza decided not to confirm that.

The gun didn’t look any different from a normal, handheld pistol, a little old fashioned, pearlescent inlay on the handle. Nor did she feel any particular power or might as she gripped it in her right hand, just cold metal and a slightly rusted, protesting mechanism. But she supposed that was part of the glamour, the disguise. If this thing looked and felt like what it was it would never have stayed secret this long and the ongoing underground war between humans and demons would be a lot less underground and a lot more bloody. It had to look like a pretty junky museum piece or part of a cowboy Halloween costume or the story surrounding it would be fact.

Or maybe it was just a completely ordinary Smith & Wesson. Maybe Eliza and Maria had been taken for utter fools. Maybe myths were just myths and she was about to go into battle with a tinfoil shield.

But that didn’t matter right now, Eliza told herself, checking the safety and sliding the pistol into the holster at her hip. All that really mattered was that Burr believed the gun was the real thing. And if she believed, he would believe.

She debated going home, maybe under the pretext of needing a few more things, a thicker coat, a forgotten talisman, a spare salt shaker. But those things were for bush league hunts, they would never be any good against the King of the Crossroads and she knew it, she just wanted an excuse to see her home, the life she’d been comfortably forgetting herself in for the past nine years, just in case this all went horribly wrong and that became the last time she ever saw it all. But doing that would only make the inevitable leaving all the more of a wrench. And more than enough time had already been wasted for her liking, her husband’s life was now being measured in days.

Eliza took a deep breath and rested her hand on the small swell in her belly, noticeable only to her and Alex, the two people who knew her body best. If she closed her eyes and pictured it with enough clarity in her mind, she could almost really feel a tiny little heartbeat under her fingertips, a rapid one that betrayed anxiety and fear.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, stroking soothingly through the thick wool of her sweater, “You know I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t absolutely have to. But if I can pull this off, you’ll still have a daddy to greet you when you arrive. I have to try, my love.”

It was then she remembered a little ritual she and Alex had always performed before any hunt, words they’d passed between them with foreheads rested together and hands holding tight, their promise each time to return to each other. It brought tears welling up behind her eyelashes to think of it again, to make her mouth let the words pass her dry, cracked lips and knowing the response would only be an empty, hollow silence. Eliza had promised herself, once she’d found her partner in Alex, that she was never going to hunt alone again and yet here she was, more alone and lost than she’d ever felt with any other job, with a price of failure set higher than she’d ever thought possible.

But still, she said the words. There was too much power in these simple little rituals to ignore.

With her hand gently soothing the baby inside her, she closed her eyes and whispered to them in the absence of their father.

“Be careful. Stay alive. I love you.”

She kicked her old car into life and drove off into the gathering dusk to find a crossroads.

***

Alex cursed out loud, his voice cracking in pain as his teeth slipped and he tore his hangnail to halfway down his finger, setting blood beading in the wound like a chastisement. The tears that spilled over his cheeks and down his face as he sucked on it could be explained away by the sudden sting but their reason ran deeper.

She said she was only running out to get groceries. Of course he’d offered to go, for her to stay behind with the children, it was getting dark and she must be tired. But Eliza had shaken her head, kissed his cheek and said that this wasn’t anywhere he’d been before, he wouldn’t be able to find it.

Then tell me where, he’d begged exasperatedly, show me and I’ll go.

Eliza had been adamant, promising that she had to be the one to do this one quick, painless job. She’d distracted him with reminders of how Jamie had been wheedling desperately for an extra bath time this week and would of course want his special bath time song from his Pops. He’d opened his mouth to object at least one last time but she’d given him another quick kiss and a promise that she’d be back before he knew it, disappearing swiftly.

Alex had bathed Jamie. He’d sang to him, he’d read to him, fed the other children and read to them too, bundled them all into pyjamas and tucked them safe into bed.

But Eliza still wasn’t back.

So, he was sat on the sofa, bouncing his leg furiously enough to make the coffee table jump, gnawing the skin off his own fingers and out of his mind with worry, eyes fixed on the clock thinking that surely there must be some mistake, that couldn’t be the right time because Eliza had promised that she’d be back soon.

You bastard, Alex couldn’t help but think, not knowing who exactly he was talking to but he saw a number of unwelcome faces appear behind his eyes as he did, three months of happiness, that’s all I asked and what the fuck have you done now?

Alex gave himself another hangnail on his other thumb as the sound of his phone chiming startled him out of his spiral. He pounced on it, praying desperately and giving a strangled sob of relief when he saw that it was in fact a text from his wife. But the words he read gave him such a twist of horror and shock in his belly that he was tempted to throw his phone across the room and pretend the damn thing had never made a single sound.

I’m so sorry. I’ve found a way to end this and I’m going to see it through tonight. Don’t come after me. I’ll text every hour to let you know I’m safe. If the texts stop, take the children and run to Washington. I love you. B xx

“No,” Alex rasped, knowing it would do no good, again not knowing who he was talking to but the words came ripping out of him anyway, “No, god, no please!”

The phone slipped from his fingers and fell to clatter on the carpet as he dissolved into sobs. That was the worst thing about living with the curse Alex had, the one that eventually took any happiness he managed to scrape out of his life and made him pay dearly for it.

It was never him it hurt, it was never him who paid the debt. It was always the people he loved.

And wasn’t that just a bitch.

***

By the time Eliza found a sufficiently dark and isolated divergence between two dirt roads, the sunset had sloughed away like so much molten wax to leave just the brittle skeleton of stars above her, the barest bones, the most basic components. An old farmhouse slumped off to one side of the crossroads, on its last legs clearly with the door blown wide and its innards exposed to the dry heat, as shrivelled and wasted as anything would be after being abandoned here. Inside was nothing but some fragments of musty hay and a pitchfork head without a handle, looking grisly like a metallic severed hand as it lay there rusting.

Eliza gathered what she needed and sat in the open doorway while she waited, her coat pulled tight around her despite her thick sweater and the parched heat of the night. Demon eyes were keen, the eyes of their monarch even keener but hopefully, if he didn’t know to look for it, he wouldn’t see her secret. If she could keep him distracted, he might not realise. Her unborn baby was leverage she definitely didn’t want to give him.

Still her coat couldn’t make the stars stop feeling to her like pale, staring, accusatory eyes. Knowing what she was doing, knowing what and who she was risking by being here.

And then suddenly, without any fanfare at all, no regal pronouncement, not even a polite cough, two of the stars weren’t stars at all. They really were eyes gazing at Eliza from across the road, set into a smooth and ageless face of dark oak, attached to a trim body that only betrayed a hint of the power that lay within it, regal and proud and confidently airy. Neat, pressed suit in colours so dark it was like they drank what little light there was in the clearing, slurping it up hungrily. But that wasn’t the only thing about him with a sense of greed, that rolled off him in waves, disarming and dislocating. It was in the delicate arch of his eyebrows, his slow, easy gait as he moved almost soundlessly across the road to stop in front of Eliza, in the way his fingers rolled and fidgeted with a single, golden coin he made dance across his knuckles, the only thing about his person that really moved.

But it was the demon’s eyes she noticed first.

Burr got the first word. He seemed to be the kind of creature who always got the first word.

“I must admit,” he drawled in a voice like honey covered steel, “I’m not as surprised to see you as I was to see your husband all those years ago.”

Eliza didn’t rise to meet him, staying crouched where she was, drawing idly in the dust by her boots, hoping it made her look nonchalant, or rather, someone terrified trying to look nonchalant. Better that he think her only purpose here was to grovel and beg for Alex’s life, better to put on an air of wounded pride.

“You knew I’d seek you out?” she asked, letting her eyes flicker up to look at him quickly. It was hard not to let the eye drift towards him, he had an undeniable magnetism.

“Well, only if poor little Alex actually confessed what he’d done,” Burr amended, tilting his head, “Only if your marriage held up which, no offence intended my dear, not many people who’ve encountered your young man believed would happen. Many find him utterly intolerable and abrasive.”

Eliza leapt at the opening, seeing no sense in not making her intentions clear, “Then give him back to me. I’ll talk him off your hands.”

Burr’s chuckle was as deep as the tectonic movements of the earth.

“A witty start, my lady, but nothing more than that,” he replied silkily, “You know fine well that a deal can’t be unmade once it is made.”

“There’s a difference between can’t and won’t,” she insisted, a little icily. The demon’s patter was annoying her.

“A purely semantic one when it comes to me,” he answered as if he hadn’t heard the tension in her voice, “I make deals. I collect on them. I do not break them.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Eliza murmured.

Burr inclined his head, “Well…demons are not flexible creatures by nature, surely you know that? But of course you had to at least try, for the sake of your husband and the father of your little ones. We’re all greatly touched, I assure you. If you’d like to beg and wail and rend your clothes, just to complete the picture and gain a little closure you understand, please be my guest.”

Eliza’s lip curled in dislike. How Alex hadn’t just taken his creature’s head off within five seconds before he could actually make the deal that cost him his life, she would never understand.

“You’re such an ass, you know that?” she hummed, raising her face to meet his eyes unflinchingly.

The demon king’s façade slipped just a little, revealing a nonplussed expression underneath, for the briefest of seconds. Clearly he’d been expecting a broken, begging window to be that he could perhaps milk a little, fatten his profit margin. This conversation wasn’t going as he’d planned, that much was obvious.

“Mrs Hamilton,” Burr’s voice was crisper now, “Your husband got what he wanted. And now he gets what he deserves. I could lie and say we in the pit will be merciful but it’s transparency would benefit neither of us. Alexander was glad to suffer to buy life for your eldest son and your good self, why deny him this? Not only that, but he bought ten years of a life most hunters can only dream about, picket fence and all. Now comes the levelling of the scales and if he is suddenly having doubts then you and he can curse and rage all you like but, in colloquial terms, he’s fucked.”

Eliza couldn’t help it, she winced at that. Any show of weakness was a failure of hers and there was strike one. The rest had to go quickly before she was out.

She stood and shook out her hair, careful to keep her coat clasped shut in her free hand, taking a step back under the guise of kicking the dust off her shoes, retreating further into the shack with a low, almost imperceptible sniffle that would make it seem to Burr like she was trying to shadow her face so he couldn’t see her tears.

“Please,” she murmured, voice quiet, playing the part very, very easily because of course if it had had the barest chance in hell of working, she would have begged for Alex until she wore out the knees in her tights, “For…for our kids’ sake, please. They weren’t part of your original deal with him, different terms…”

Burr shook his head, the moonlight flashing off the flawless pearls he had for teeth, advancing on her with long, triumphant strides, “I’m afraid not, Mrs Hamilton.”

“I could offer you something else, I could offer you me instead…” her voice faltered, her back hitting the far wall of the shack, sending dust clouds flying.

“What and make poor Alex suffer even more?” Burr laughed cruelly, “My dear, he’d be on his knees with a gun barrel resting on his tongue before the week was out and then he’d be mine in any case. Though of course, that would at least mean you could turn together. Wreak your inevitable havoc as a pair, how romantic, there would be songs written of you…”

“Please…” Eliza’s voice caught, the rest of the words going unsaid, please, just a little more…

“And then of course, where would be the first place your twisted, broken minds thought to go?” Burr’s footsteps were a regular, gentle tap on the dying floorboards, as regular and menacing as the tick of a clock in an empty room, “Why to your old house of course, to where your now orphaned children sat in tears, waiting for their mommy and daddy to come back to them…well, I suppose they would get their wish…”

The footsteps stopped.

Eliza watched carefully in the gloom as Burr’s expression turned from borderline savagery to dismay to exasperation, “Oh. That was…unprofessional.”

They both looked up at the same time, up to what remained of the farmhouse’s ceiling, upon which was drawn an elaborate and bold demon trap. Eliza never went anywhere without a single piece of white chalk, a habit she hadn’t been able to break even now she wasn’t a hunter any more.

“Got you to monologue,” Eliza grinned, drawing herself back up to her full height, standing on the lip of her trap, eyes cool.

“I’d appreciate it greatly, on the increasingly small chance you make it out of this place alive, that you not mention that little blunder I just made,” Burr said tightly, back to the effable businessman, “I do have a reputation.”

“I won’t,” Eliza drew a dagger from her boot, wicked bronze, toying with it, point resting against the forefinger of her other hand, “In exchange for my husband’s soul.”

There was a flare of anger in Burr’s eyes, the first genuine emotion she’d seen him display all night. It was almost refreshing.

“Oh, come now, be serious!” he snapped, somehow looking a lot less polished than he had a moment ago.

Eliza tried very hard not to look gleeful, though she couldn’t deny that she was enjoying playing with the creature who’d called her husband so much grief over the last decade. But it would be counterproductive.   

Burr passed a hand over his shaved head, as if reassembling his composure, “Look, Eliza, if I may be informal for a moment. I seriously hope you have something more than a demon trap to bargain with, if you mean to go through with this pointless folly. Do you know who you’re dealing with?”

“I do,” Eliza allowed herself a smile, “Which is why I brought something more. The trap was just so you’d hold still.”

She brought the fabled gun from its holster, holding it up so it’s barrel pointed squarely between Burr’s eyes, pulling the hammer down with a click that brokered no argument. The affect it had on the demon king was instantaneous; his eyes turned their customary solid black, his lips pulled back from his teeth, the air around him suddenly flared and warped with tension until it was buzzing.

“Where. Did. You. Get. That?” he hissed.

Well, Eliza thought in bemusement, maybe it was the real thing.

“From a friend,” she answered smoothly, not the slightest tremble in her arm or hesitance in her eyes, “But that’s not the important part. What is important is the fact that there is no way in hell I’m letting you take Alex’s soul. You like deals, Burr, so here’s one to consider. Tear up Alex’s contract or I blow your brains out.”

The growl that bubbled through Burr’s chest was a sound that would have made a less resolved person stagger but Eliza only narrowed her eyes.

“You pathetic human,” the demon snarled, “You have no idea what kind of things you’re messing with! The arrogance of your species never fails to astound and sicken me.”

“Want me to make it a little more interesting for you?” Eliza had hoped but still been doubtful that it wouldn’t come to this, ignoring the bile rising in her throat, “Fine. Release my husband’s soul or I won’t just kill you. I’ll go after your wife and your daughter as well, take them down with you. And with this gun, you know I can.”

Eliza had never seen fear in a demon’s eyes before. There was no triumph in it, not when it came after her threatening his family.

“See how much the people you love can motivate you?” she asked tightly, “Now you know what a mistake you made in thinking you could torture my husband and threaten my children.”

There was a long and dangerous moment of silence between the two of them, the two people who would tear down worlds, burn cities, ravage entire species to keep their family safe. A moment, of all things, of understanding.

Burr straightened up, somehow looking more dangerous when defeated and cornered than he had before, “Fine. Fine, Eliza Hamilton. I will release your husband on the condition that you destroy that foul thing before my eyes and swear never to harm my family again.”

Eliza smiled crookedly, in a way that was very like Alex’s smile.

“We have a deal, Mr Burr.”

***

Alex thought the sight of headlights pulling up in the driveway was a dream.

Even after the texts, the phone call, the explanation that had gone in one of his ears and out of the other that he’d need to hear at least five more times before he fully understood, the yelling and the exasperation and the defensiveness, the sobbing and the repeated declarations of love, even after it all, he didn’t dare believe it was true until he saw his very exhausted but triumphant looking wife clamber out of her car and stagger into his waiting arms.

They collapsed on the wet grass of their front lawn, entangled together, neither one of them noticing or caring that dawn was breaking just to their left. There would be other dawns, there would be other days. Their lives were now no longer marred with a looming expiration date, accompanied by the whispering of sand shifting through an hourglass. They could stay sobbing in each other’s arms for as long as they damn well pleased, ignoring the miracle of a new day completely. The taste of other tomorrows, other dawns that they thought they’d lost, there on the tips of each other’s tongues as they kissed was sweeter than anything.

They now both had things they couldn’t forgive each other for and things they could never thank each other enough for. They had a tenth birthday to plan, a nursery to repaint, a new name to choose for their new arrival. They had years and years ahead of them and so many things to keep them busy. Philip would never really understand why the day after his tenth birthday felt like more of a celebration than his actual birthday, why his Pops kept hugging him so tight he could barely breathe, with gratitude overflowing from his eyes.

The only thing Eliza and Alex wouldn’t have from now on was secrets. They’d had enough of those to last them a lifetime.

[the-and-peggy]

Shattered

Word Count: 2251 Author’s Note: As someone who feels and has felt like this, I just needed to write it. Plus I love Angelica. Blame @chuckisgod. <3

You had never asked to be shattered.

You had never even expected to be ruined so completely. It had hit you harder than a car crashing into a tree. You had never expected to be the tree, not with her.

Yet here you were, hidden in your room, asking yourself where it all went wrong.

You had known Angelica for years. Your fathers had been the best of friends, so you had been forced into socializing with her and both of her sisters. It hadn't taken long for you to find that you enjoyed their company; all four of you had been fast friends, bonding in the blink of an eye. But it was Angelica who had always drawn your attention.

As you grew up, you became known as the intelligent child amongst your family. It was a title you held with glee, constantly dangling it over your two brothers, proud to have obtained superiority in the continuously raging competition between you. But when you were old enough to sit back and examine the positive traits of those around you, you came to realize that Angelica was more intelligent by far. You admired her brain, her wit, and her utter independence from the rest of the world. She passionately upheld her views to all, viewing the world through a critical lens and making every effort to better it.

The day you realized you had fallen in love with her was a Saturday. You had been spending the weekend at the Schuyler house while your parents were out of town. You and the girls had used most of the day to marathon your favorite movies, devouring popcorn and sharing the latest gossip from school. With her younger sisters asleep, Angelica had dragged you out to the backyard, where you were sharing a blanket spread across the grass and staring together at the sky.

“Wouldn't you love to go to space?”

Your head turned slightly to get a better view of her as she spoke. Her eyes shone brighter than the stars she was watching, and a contented smile sat on her face. She looked at peace with the world, and you found yourself staring at her, for once at rest as opposed to her constant flurry of motion.

“I guess,” you replied quietly. Angelica's nose wrinkled in disapproval of such an answer. “I've never really thought about it before. It seems more scary than anything.”

“That's the point,” she stated. “It's supposed to scare you. The fear encourages you to explore it, so that you learn to not be scared of it anymore.”

“Oh,” you said meekly. Her head turned to look at you, and you were shocked that she did not shy away from the closeness of your faces. Your noses were practically touching. In that brief moment, you wondered what her lips would taste like. You snapped your head back to the sky as you felt your cheeks beginning to heat up, and prayed that the darkness would hide their color. Even as you watched the stars, you could feel her eyes still on you.

“I've never thought of it like that before,” you supplied, hoping to keep the conversation focused on the idea of space.

“Why not? You don't think the same way everyone else does. I can tell.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you don't look at the world for only the aesthetic beauty, if that makes any sense.”

“It does,” you conceded. “Ten points for word choice, by the way.”

Angelica laughed, and for the first time, you noticed the gentle melody of the sound, and the sweet cadence of her breathing as she gulped down air between giggles.

“Ignoring the comment,” she continued, her smile stretched into a grin, “you look at that world to figure things out. You want to understand more than just see. It's a thing that smart people do.”

Your eyes flitted to the side, glancing at her through your lashes. You saw her eyes dart over to you, as though she had felt the weight of your gaze upon her.

“How do you know that's how I think? And how it's something smart people do?”

“Because it's how I think,” she said, as though it were obvious. “And I'm smart, and I know you're smart, and that we think about things the same way.”

You started to laugh at her. You found her confidence in herself endearing, especially when she was comparing your brain to hers. A new feeling took hold of your heart in that minute, when her laugh joined yours to chorus together through the quiet of the evening. It was on this day that you knew you had loved her.

It took you a few days to come to terms with this newfound love. You spent each night lying awake in bed, your mind mulling over the desires of your heart and attempting to justify them. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't push them away, and eventually you came to a point of realizing that you didn't want to. You were proud of your feelings for Angelica, even if you were the only one who knew about them. You were proud.

Until the day came that you saw you were not the only one in love with her, and that she did not have eyes for you.

You were at a ball held by the linguistics department of your college. You and Angelica had remained best friends through high school and into college, even though she was a year ahead of you academically. But you had ended up at the same university, by her pleading that you stay together, and had navigating these new waters side by side. You still spent many nights dreaming of her face, the feeling of her hand entwined with yours in a way that was more than platonic, or the touch of her lips all over your skin. But you suffered in silence, hoping that one day she would see you as you had watched her for these past years.

Unfortunately for you, it took you until this ball that such hope was entirely false, merely another dream.

“Look over there,” Angelica whispered, pointing out one of the boys in her year. You smirked at her and tilted your head, watching him interact with his small group of friends.

“Who is he? I know John Laurens and Lafayette, but I've never seen him before.”

“Oh god, he's coming over here!” She started to playfully shove you away from her, pretending you had not just been giggling about him as he began to make his way across the room. “Please, I'm invoking code!”

“Code,” you cried in mock outrage. “Totally unfair.”

Angelica grinned as you retreated, falling back into the crowd to watch their interaction. Out of her line of sight, your smile fell as you studied her face. She was enraptured by whoever he was, and whatever he was saying. Your grip on your drink unconsciously tightened, causing the liquid in the little plastic cup to burst out, dripping down your hand and leaving a sticky trail on your fingers. Focused on trying to clean it off, you didn't notice the girl that appeared at your side.

“Who's that guy Angie’s talking to?”

“Well hi to you too, Eliza,” you huffed, still trying to shake the drink off your hands. “And I have no clue. He was hanging out with Laurens, Laf, and Mulligan though.”

“Ooh,” she cooed, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look. “A hottie in with the revolutionaries! Those are the best kind!”

You rolled your eyes at her and pushed her gently away from your arm.

“You're taken aren't you,” you asked, causing her to pull her gaze away from the stranger. “Or did you and Nate break up and nobody thought to tell me?”

“What, no we didn't break up! Come on, don't you think I would tell you if I broke up with your brother?”

Eliza quirked her eyebrow at you, her eyes lit up with a certain mischief that had you wanting to douse your brain in bleach to avoid the thoughts you knew were rolling through her head. You shoved her shoulder and focused on Angelica again.

“You're gross, and I don't want to know!”

“Aww, its only gross because he's your baby brother. But actually it's pretty-”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” you cried, covering your ears like a child. She started laughing and held her hands up in surrender.

“Okay,” she relented, “I'm going. But let me know what happens with Angie!”

“Will do,” you assured her, raising your voice as she walked away. She offered you a quick wave of her hand in response. You barely had time to turn your head back towards Angelica when all of a sudden, she had appeared in front of you.

“Oh my god,” she gushed excitedly. She was bouncing on her toes, a huge smile pulling your attention away from her words. “His name is Alexander Hamilton, and he is perfect!”

You listened to Angelica as she continued to tell you everything she had learned in their short conversation, including his phone number and the fact that he wanted to take her out for dinner the next day. You had barely processed her rushing stream of words when you felt your heart starting to sink in your chest. It took more effort to hold your excited smile with each passing second.

You knew you had lost your chance, and with it, Angelica herself. Your shot was gone, wasted in the years you had spent loving her from a distance. Yet deep in your soul, some small glimmer of hope persisted.

You had then spent a year trapped in this predicament. You were forced to watch as Angelica and Alexander grew closer, knowing you could do nothing to stop it. You were completely helpless, in the worst kind of way. But when the opportunity arose to allow you the chance of catching her attention, you seized it with open arms.

During your freshman year in college, you had befriended a sweet girl named Maria Reynolds. The farther Angelica had drifted from you, the better friends you had become with Maria. Now three years later, you had hatched a scheme together that would both protect her from her abusive boyfriend while simultaneously catching Angelica’s eye.

“Are you sure this is a good idea,” Maria whispered nervously in your ear. You were sharing a table in the park for lunch, with some of your friends scattered around you.

“I won't let anything happen to you, I promise.”

You leaned closer to her as you spoke, gently nuzzling her cheek with the tip of your nose. It was a gesture that both comforted her and kept up the act that the two of you were together. Maria smiled appreciatively and turned her head, her soft lips meeting yours for a fraction of a second before she had moved away again. A small warmth bloomed in your heart, reminding you of that night in Angelica’s backyard spent stargazing. It was something you desperately attempted to shove away as you reminded yourself that you were in love with Angelica.

“Hey Angie, nice of you to finally join us.”

The sound of Peggy’s voice made you look up to see Alexander leading Angelica over to your table. You forced your usual cheerful smile onto your face as they sat down together directly across from you and Maria. Everyone offered their own greetings before turning back to their individual plates of food. You all sat in silence while you ate, everyone too focused on their meal to talk. It wasn’t until afterwards that Angelica grabbed your arm, dragging you away from the rest of your friends. Once she was sure you were out of your companions’ range of hearing, she started to talk.

“So you're dating Maria now?”

You glanced up at her in surprise, that old glimmer of hope rising in your chest.

“Yes,” you replied, unsure of how you should portray yourself. You weren't expecting her to squeal at you like a small child, or throw her arms around you in a tight hug.

“(Y/N) thats amazing! I'm so happy for you!”

The hope you had held in your heart withered in that moment, blowing away like ash on a distant wind. You had never felt so utterly broken inside, realizing that the precise thing you had been trying to use to your advantage had just lost you the place in her story you had been yearning for. Even while at rock bottom, you couldn't shake the feeling that something worse was still on its way. Tears began to form behind your eyes, but you made yourself blink them away, keeping the small illusion of a smile on your face.

When you finally made it back to your room that evening, you locked yourself in and sat on your bed, sobbing every tear you had kept yourself from shedding in the years since you had fallen in love. You felt the pain stab through you, your heart breaking into pieces that could no longer be kept together. You had known this was coming, from the moment you acknowledged your feelings for her, and yet you hadn’t attempted to stop yourself. You fell, damning the reason and logic that told you not to allow yourself to be hurt.

But you had never asked to be shattered.

[jornami]

Life Doesn’t Hesitate

A/N: Part two of “Stuck to this Corner Like a Streetlight!” I loved writing this one, so I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. With that being said, I present to you, “Life Doesn’t Hesitate!” And before you say it, I KNOW THE LYRIC IS “LIFE DOESN’T DISCRIMINATE” BUT I “LIFE DOESN’T HESITATE” SOUNDS SO MUCH BETTER AND IT FITS THIS BETTER.

Pairing: Lin x reader

Summary: You bake cupcakes for Lin’s opening nights and he gives you tickets to the show. It's enough until it isn't.

Warnings: sadness, cursing, angst

Tagged: @congratsonhamlet @icetitan245 @plamspringsdancingontables @mcuiimagines @itsjaynebird @butlinislin @ahhhhamilton @tailored-shirt-tails @ohhothamthisismyjam @xomullenxo @hell-yes-puns-and-ships @fueled-by-space @always-blame-jefferson

Masterlist | Request! | Part 1

July 29, 2015 “So,” Lin began, snapping you out of your daze. “can you do it?”

You looked down at the soft, velvet box in his hand then at the bright, optimistic smile on his face. You wanted to cry.

“Of course!” you told him with fake enthusiasm. “When were you thinking of proposing?”

“Sunday over dinner,” he told you, “I have it all planned out! I'm going to get us a private table at her favorite restaurant with dimmed lights and candles. Then, when she wants to order dessert, I'm gonna make up some excuse and tell her I want to save money or something. Then, I’m going to give her the cupcake and BAM! RING!”

You giggled at his enthusiasm; he's just so damn cute when he's excited.

“Well, Mr. Show Off, I'll have your proposal cupcake ready for pickup on Sunday,” you told him.

“Here,” he said and handed you the box. “I hope she likes it.”

“I'm sure she will,” you reassure him, holding back the tears. “I'll see you on Sunday.”

“Until then,” he said with that award winning smile of his.

You waited until he walked out to take a peek at the ring. Holy shit, it was a rock. You hate to admit it, but you contemplated slipping it on for a second. You decided with your better judgement and closed the box.

“It belongs on my finger,” you thought selfishly.

And just like that, all the tears you were holding back clouded your vision. Sobs wracked your body and you put your head in your hands.

“Y/N, what's wrong?” Charlotte asked, clearly worried by your sudden outburst of tears.

“L-Lin’s proposing to his g-girlfriend,” you said through broken sobs.

“Oh pumpkin,” she cooed, “it's okay, if it's meant to be you'll find your way back to each other.”

Maybe she was right, but you wanted Lin and you wanted him now. The thought of him with another girl made your stomach turn.

July 31, 2015

You put the finishing touches on the cupcake for Lin’s proposal and put in a pretty mint-green box with your bakery’s name on it.

“You okay?” Charlotte asked, rubbing your back.

“I'm fine,” you lied.

“Okay, well, I'm gonna head out, but don't hesitate to call me if you need anything,” she told you.

“Thanks, Char,” you said sincerely and off she went.

A few seconds later, your favorite playwright came bouncing through the door.

“Hey, I just finished making it!” you told him as he walked up to the counter.

“You're a godsend!” he praised.

You giggled and roll your eyes. You reached over and grabbed the cupcake box then handed it to Lin.

“Do you think she'll like? What if I mess up? What if she says no?” Lin rambled, running his fingers through his hair.

“She’d have to be a fool to say no, and if she does I'll gladly marry you,” you smiled warmly to reassure him.

He laughed at what you said; it wasn't a joke.

“I guess you're right.” he agreed and picked up the cupcake box. “Thanks, Y/N. you always know what to say to calm me down.”

“Anytime, now go! You're going to be late!” you chuckled.

He glanced down at his watch, “You're right! I'll see you on the sixth!”

“Until then,” you said, using his famous line.

He flashed you a smile that made your heart melt. One more reason you wished he was yours.

August 6, 2015

“Done!” you exhaled as you put the last cupcake in the box.

Over the past eight days, you, Charlotte, and everyone in the shop worked together to make 20 dozen cupcakes. That's right, 20 dozen cupcakes, that's a total 240 cupcakes. Chocolate, vanilla, red velvet, and every other flavor under the sun. You were incredibly exhausted, but also very proud of your work. You put the last box of cupcakes in your truck and closed the trunk. You hopped in the driver’s seat and looked at the address that Lin sent to you before you drove off. For the first time it wasn’t at the place the show was. This time it was at the Mots Aléatoires Hotel, which was one of the fanciest hotels in New York City. You were so proud of him. He went from small after parties backstage to after parties in extravagant hotels with A-list celebrities.

“I’m outside, Miranda. Bring Chris, I need as much help as I can get.”

On my way. :)

A minute later, Lin, Chris, and a girl you've never seen before came out of the hotel. Was that her?

“Hey, Y/N! This is Phillipa Soo, she plays Eliza Schuyler-Hamilton.” Lin introduced the mystery girl.

A weight was lifted off your shoulders knowing she wasn't Vanessa.

“Nice to meet you, and please call me Pippa!” the girl said sweetly as she shook your hand. “Lin goes on tangents about your cupcakes, I can't wait to try one!”

“Nice to meet you too!” you said, “Alright, so in this trunk there are twenty boxes of cupcakes. Everyone grab two to start with.”

After several trips, all the cupcakes were inside. Chris and Pippa sat down the last boxes of cupcakes then left to go get ready for the show. Time to ask the inevitable.

“So,” you began hesitantly, “how did the proposal go?”

“She said ‘yes!’” Lin exclaimed.

Yay.

“Lin, that's great!” you lied like a pro, “I'm so happy for you!”

“It's all because of you that it went so smoothly,” Lin said genuinely.

“I’d do anything for you, Lin. You know that,” you told him sincerely as you looked at the ground.

You took just stared at each other for a minute. There was something broken in his eyes. Almost as if he desperately wanted to tell you something. You dismissed it, you were probably overreacting or your mind was playing cruel tricks on you.

“Your total is 243.50,” you said awkwardly, trying to ease some of the tension in the room.

“Uh, yeah, right.” Lin stumbled over his sentences. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, see you tonight!” You said in a hurry and started to walk away.

“Wait, Y/N!” he called after you.

“Yeah?” you asked sheepishly.

“You can't see me tonight without tickets,” he smirked and held up the tickets.

You chuckled and walked back over to get them.

“Thanks,” you smiled.

“You and Charlotte need to wear something nice!”

“Why?”

“The after party, duh.”

You rolled your eyes, “See you tonight, Lin.”

You picked up Charlotte and you headed to the Richard Rodgers. You and Char were absolutely starstruck when you saw all the celebrities outside of the theater. You and her vowed to stick together and then she saw Luke Evans and ditched you to introduce herself. Typical Charlotte. You managed to strike up a conversation with Aaron Tveit. He was so charming, not to mention a huge flirt.

“You may now enter the theater,” a voice over a megaphone announced.

“I have to catch up with my friend, but maybe I'll see you later,” you told him and he winked.

You met up with Charlotte then you walked to your seats where you waited until the show started. When it finally began, you loved every minute of it. All of the songs were amazing, but “The Schuyler Sisters” had to be your favorite. You were all smiles and giggles until “Satisfied.” That's when the tears began.

“But Alexander, I’ll never forget the first time I saw your face.”

You'll never forget the first time you saw Lin. Despite his tired eyes and the bags under them, he wore the biggest smile on his face. A smile that became one of your favorite things about him over time.

“I'll never be satisfied.”

You wanted Lin. Dare you say, needed him. You knew from the minute he walked into your life he was the love of your life. But now with him engaged to Vanessa, you knew he was completely unattainable.

You squeezed Charlotte’s hand so tight she almost passed out.

“We can leave at anytime,” she whispered as she rubbed your back. “tell Lin an emergency came up.”

You shook your head, and told her you had to stay; it was important to Lin that you were there. You wiped your eyes and tried to calm down. Then “Wait For It” started. The song was just a constant reminder that you waited too long.

“‘Life doesn't hesitate.’ You got that right.” you thought to yourself.

By the end of the song you cried out all your tears. You sat back in your seat and prayed that intermission would come soon.

As soon as the lights came up for intermission you got a text from Lin.

Come backstage, I have someone I want you to meet. :)

You told Charlotte that you'd meet back up with her at your seat before act II. You already knew who Lin wanted you to meet, and granted you didn't want to; however, you couldn’t avoid it forever.

You knocked on the door of Lin’s dressing room and heard him yell, “Come in!”

You opened the door to his dressing room and saw him buttoning his shirt. You looked around but surprisingly you didn't see her.

“So how do you like it so far?” he asked, fumbling with a button.

“It's great! The cast is amazing and the songs are even better,” you complimented shamelessly.

You noticed Lin still fumbling with that same button and you chuckled.

“Lin, c’mere, let me help you,” you told him and he smiled at you sympathetically.

You button from bottom to top and stopped at his collar to straighten it out.

“There you go,” you said and stared into his eyes.

Kiss me.

“Thanks,” he breathed.

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

You two couldn't possibly get any closer. You pressed your foreheads together and…

“Hey, baby!” you heard a chirpy voice sing from behind you.

You nearly jumped two feet in the air, and Lin cleared his throat and went over to kiss her.

“Y/N, this Vanessa!” he said.

“Vanessa.” she reclarified as she shook your hand.

“Y/N.” you discreetly looked down at the ring on her finger and you felt the knife drive deeper into your heart.

“The cupcake was amazing!” she complimented.

“Thanks!” you said with a fake smile.

“I saw you talking to Tveit earlier,” Lin spoke up, wiggling his eyebrows. “he really seemed to like you. Maybe you'll see him at the after party.”

“But he's not you, Lin.” You thought to yourself.

“He's a charmer!” you said awkwardly.

“Five minutes to place.” a voice said, saving you from the sheer awkwardness of the encounter.

“I'll see you two later!” you dismissed yourself.

You went back to your seat where Charlotte was waiting for you.

“How was it?” she asked.

“Awkward,” was all you said before the lights dimmed for act two.

December 24, 2015 You hadn't seen Lin at all after the opening night of Hamilton. He was busy with Hamilton and you were busy trying to avoid him. You avoided him because every time you saw him it was a reminder of what you could never have.

“Hey, stranger!” he said as he walked into your bakery.

“Hey, Lin,” you deadpanned.

“What no ‘how's my favorite playwright?’” he asked incredulously.

“Sorry, I'm just not up for it today.” you told him.

“Well,” he began, testing the waters. “I wanted to give you this.”

He handed you a deep red envelope with a silver wax seal on it. A wedding invitation. Now, you really wanted to scream.

“It's a wedding invitation,” he said.

“I know,” you mumbled.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, angry flooding his voice.

“I love you and you're marrying someone else!” you wanted to scream.

“Nothing's wrong Lin,” you said expressionlessly. “I'll be there.”

“Until then,” he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

You watched as he stormed out the door.

You chuckled bitterly to yourself,  “Am I really starting to resent him for loving another girl?”

May 16, 2016 So there you were, getting ready to go to the love of your life’s wedding and you weren't the one walking down the aisle.

You saw Charlotte's reflection in the mirror as she walked up behind you.

“You ready?” she asked.

“As ready as I'll ever be,” you smiled weakly.

She wrapped her arm around you and you both walk out to your car.

“Here goes nothing.” you thought to yourself.

You arrived at the place where the wedding was being held. It was called the “Meadowhampton Inn” and it was in upstate New York. It had a Victorian era look to it and when you pulled up it smelt like freshly cut grass. You and Charlotte got out of the car and walked in. Charlotte gave the inn worker at the front desk your names while you looked around. There was a bar that you knew you were going to be drinking at later. Probably to drink away your all troubles and feelings.

“Y/N!” Chris called as he walked down the steps. “Finally you're here! Lin’s been looking for you.”

“Is everything okay?” you asked him as you followed him up the steps.

“I don't know, he’s refusing to talk to anyone but you,” he explained.

What could possibly be wrong that only you could fix?

“He's in here,” Chris told you, gesturing to a suite.

You thanked him and lightly knocked on the door.

“Lin, it's me, Y/N,” you said.

You heard a lock twist and you opened the door to see Lin frantically pacing back and forth.

“I can't do this,” he said cryptically.

“Lin, what do you mean?” you asked.

“I don't love her,” he said and your heart dropped into your stomach.

You weren't quite sure what to say. Were you supposed to reassure him?

“What do you mean, Lin? Of course you love her!” you finally said.

“No, I don't! I love you!” he shouted.

“Lin, I-”

“I’ve always loved you, but I was always so scared to tell you how I feel. You're right, I do love Vanessa, but I'll never love her the way I love you,” he said.

You felt like the word was spinning and the ground beneath you was going to swallow you. You plopped down on the sofa and pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Y/N, say something, please!” Lin panicked.

“I love you too,”  was all you managed to say.

“So let’s run away!” he suggested on impulse. “We can get in a car, and drive far away from here.”

“Lin, you can't do that!” you said, ripping away from his grasp. “That poor girl will be crushed! Go through with the ceremony and we'll talk about this after.”

You got up from the sofa and walked towards the door. You couldn't do this right now.

“Y/N, wait,” Lin’s voiced cracked.

“I'll see you later, Lin,” you said and walked out the door.

You made your way to the room where the ceremony was being held. You sat down next to Charlotte who asked why you were crying. You waved her off and told her you'd tell her after the ceremony. You looked at Lin and saw the nervous look plastered on his face.

“Why does he look so nervous?” one of Lin’s family members whispered to the person sitting next to them.

“No idea,” the person responded.

Oh, if only they knew.

A bell chimed and Vanessa began to walk down the aisle with her father. Chris tapped Lin on the shoulder to snap him out of his daze. Lin straighten out his tuxedo and looked at Vanessa with a smile. A fake one at that. Vanessa joined Lin at the altar and they held hands.

“Does anyone object to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the priest announced.

“Now’s your chance,” Char whispered and you smacked her hand playfully.

“If there are no objections, we shall continue,” the priest said. “Vanessa Nadal do you take Lin-Manuel Miranda to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” she smiled.

“And Lin-Manuel Miranda do you take Vanessa Nadal to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the priest asked.

Lin hesitated for a second and Vanessa’s smile began to falter.

“I don't,” Lin finally said and the whole crowd gasped. “I'm sorry, I love someone else.”

Lin let go of Vanessa’s hands and ran out of the room. You immediately got up and ran after him, leaving nothing to the crowd’s imagination about who Lin was talking about when he said he loved someone else. Lin ran all the way out of the building to his car.

“Get in!” Lin shouted across the parking lot.

“What?” you called.

“You heard me, get in!” he repeated.

That's all it took, and you were across the parking lot.

“This is crazy!” you giggled.

“I like crazy,” he smiled and smashed his lip onto yours.

You and Lin drove for hours, but when the three hour mark hit the initially high started to wear off and the panic started to set in.

“Lin?” you mumbled.

“Yeah?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Pull over,” you told him.

“Why? What's wrong?” he asked in concerned tone as he pulled over the car.

“I feel like I'm gonna be sick,” you whimpered as you opened the car door.

You got out of the car and started pacing back and forth. You felt the hot tears rush down your cheeks.

“This was a mistake,” you repeated over and over again.

Lin knew what was happening; you were having an anxiety attack.

“Cariña, look at me,” Lin spoke softly as he caressed your cheeks. “this is just the anxiety talking. Maybe it was messy to leave someone at the altar, but even the best laid plans go awry. Yes, we’ll have a lot of explaining to do when we get back home, but let's relish this day as the first day we told each other the truth. Plus, we'll have a great story to tell our kids!”

You chuckled at his spiel and kissed him passionately. After all, he was right.

You two were exactly where you were supposed to be.

[the-plxce-to-be-archived-blog]

John didn’t break bones often. He was always so careful, so sure whenever he did something. If he thought he could get hurt doing whatever it was, he’d either get his parents or a new solution.

He never risked himself for something. He wouldn’t put some silly plan/scheme or idea above himself and his health.

This, is because of an incident when he was eight.

When he and his twin sister were eight, on their birthday their père Lafayette and papá Hercules took them, friends and family to the park. Hercules’s family, Lafayette’s mother and father, the Schuyler sisters, Alexander, Thomas, James, everyone as there!

It was so fun. They got to open presents and eat lots of cake and drink soda and all around be childish and play together until they were just giggling and could hardly breathe from all the running around the little kids were doing, ear splitting grins on everyone’s faces, have fun above all!

They got so many toys and new clothes as their presents too! They were equally excited about both, the twins running to their respective gendered bathrooms of the park and coming out in the new clothes, looking so exhilarated to play in their new clothes with their new many, many toys and their friends.

John’s outfit suited him well. A deep green jacket, a blue tie-dye t-shirt underneath and his black jeans. It was a chilly day, there was no need to take his jacket off. He adjusted his black and white sneakers, all neat and checkered, getting a loose rock out before he ran and hugged everyone, thanking them.

Frances’s outfit suited her as well. She got a pair of the comfiest dark blue sweatpants she’d ever worn, red slip-ons, a t-shirt of her favorite color and a deep green jacket matching John’s. Hell, they got the jackets specialized as well - on the outside of the left pocket on each, John’s had a JLM and Frances an FLM each stitched in by Hercules himself. She squealed as she saw herself in it in a nearby mirror and gave hugs all around to everyone for the gifts too.

They played together for hours on end, the children squealing and laughing and having fun while the adults drank a little and talked and laughed as well. Everyone was having fun, it was great, it was fun. Hell, it was perfect even!

That is, until John and Fran wandered away to play together, giggling and smiling, and she got her new toy ball stuck in a tree when they were seeing how high they could both throw it. On one hand, John was so impressed to see how high she managed to toss it. On the other… She looked about ready to cry, but John wasn’t having it. The moment he saw the tears formed in his sister’s eyes, her twin was scaling the tree slowly but surely, branch after branch.

He found a fear of heights, sure, any kid would. It was so high up to him and he was so small, but he’d do anything for his twin. No one could understand his love for Frances. Not really. He’d do anything for her and vice versa. Which his how he found himself resisting tears when he found himself on the highest branch, dropping her ball down to her before gripping the branch so tight his knuckles were white.

Fran looked happy, but only for a minute. Then she registered Jacky hadn’t moved from the tree branch. She looked up curiously at him, tilting her head. Why hasn’t Jacky come down yet? Why wasn’t he trying to get back down? John forced a brave smile back, tried to not shake and shiver and cry. “I’m okay,” he called. “I kinda like it up here. It’s a nice view. I’ll get down in a few minutes or so!”

Frances giggled  and nodded her agreement before she went back to playing. John felt so terrified knowing he couldn’t get back down, but he didn’t cry or scream. He waited. He waited for what felt like forever, sitting in the tree, praying help would come without him having to ask.

He got twitchy after fifteen minutes, watching from above as Frances played with their friends herself, pointed him out when the children asked where he was. Watched them laugh and wave and smile before carrying on. He was too scared to climb back down, and thus he couldn’t do it himself. And now he felt lonely seeing them have so much fun with him stuck up in a tree, with absolutely no idea that he was stuck.

Eventually, John kicked his legs a little, sighed and shifted as he looked up at the sky. Now the fear had subsided a little, he was growing bored. Lonely. Sad. That sound that slowly reached his ears sent a chill of fear down his spine out of nowhere, a cold feeling in his gut. Crack. His gaze slowly drew to the branch where it was connected to the tree and a little, fearful sob escaped him. He heard Frances. He didn’t dare look away from the tree.

“Jacky, what are you doing?” He could hear her, but he just whimpered, stared at it as it was slowly splitting. Suddenly everything slowed and he felt his heart leap into his throat, wide eyes drawing up to the sky as it slowly covered with leaves once again until he couldn’t see as he fell. He could’ve sworn he blacked out for a minute or something of the sort, because when his eyes opened again, his arm was bent at such an odd angle and he couldn’t feel it.

He slowly turned his head in the grass in time to see Frances running over, crying out his name. His eyes slid closed, and when they opened again, Frances looked so panicked crouching over him. “Jacky, Jack oh my god what happened?!” The girl shrieked.

John shifted, let out a low sob at the sharp, bone deep pain that shot through his almost numb arm before he moved his good hand to take hers, looking at her with a look between relief and pain. “G-go get père and papá, Franny..” He mumbled. She nodded quick, yelled something, then shot up and ran off. Suddenly Alexander was by his side with his good arm, Thomas by his side with the broken arm. “Jacky..” Alex breathed.

He looked up sadly at his best friend, holding his hand up and grinning weakly to see Alex wrap both his hands around John’s, then Thomas wrapped his hands around both of theirs, both boys smiling in relief at their friend. It really warmed his heart to see the two getting along for his sake.

It was only a half hour later that he found himself sitting in a chair beside Fran, the rest of their friends and family waiting at home while the doctor looked John over, searched him for any other injuries. By the time he was headed home, he had his arm in a cast already signed by Lafayette, Hercules and Frances.

Everyone was low energy and quiet the rest of the evening. It was quite the change, but John was so relieved and content. The adults put on Moana, let John snuggle up between Alex and Thomas while Frances sat by his feet. James sat beside Thomas’s other side naturally, and the Schuyler’s picked their respective spots of Peggy on the floor beside Fran, Eliza beside Alex and Angie on her other side.

It was really relieving. Really soothing. They were only halfway through the movie when they all took notice of their wounded friend sleeping. He was leaned into Alex, head resting on his shoulder with a peaceful look on his face, Thomas’s hand held in his good hand - like he was connecting them all together.

It went on like that for weeks - they were gentle and careful, took good care of him and helped him constantly. The moment John had his cast off and could move his arm properly, he was squished in a tight hug between Frances, Thomas and Alexander altogether. While he whined about being unable to breathe, he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

They were his best friends no matter what, and John was endlessly grateful for them. Sure, he was far more careful from then on, but it was a good thing. One day a year later, they got their Frisbee stuck in the tree and when they both teared up in frustration, instead of climbing up himself to get it, John went and got père and papá. Papá got out his ladder and the problem was solved within minutes.

And plus, the two got treats after as some sort of reward for going to them instead of handling it themselves and they were grateful. It was an accident they all learned from, but that was okay. If anything, John felt infinitely closer to all his friends and family than he did before due to it. So even if it was difficult and hurt so much, he wouldn’t have changed it.

[my-ships-will-never-be-sank]

Talk Less - Chapter 4 - I will never be satisfied

link to masterpost

summary: Angelica looses herself in the past

“It was glorious Peggy- absolutely amazing, he was so flustered he could hardly give the stupid lecture. And then Alex stands up and goes ‘Are you sure you don’t want to get someone more competent to give the lecture- Sir ’ and then started on this rant about why he was wasting not only his own time but everyone in the room. I honestly thought Arnolds was going to pass out - I have never seem someone resemble a tomato so much in my life…”

“You still telling this story Angie?” Alex sat down beside her and reached over to grab one of the coffees sitting in the tray, double checking it was his order so he didn’t end up with one of Lafayette’s milky lattes or worse - tea.

“I will never stop telling it - it was one of the best days of my life, i honestly thought he’d drop there”

Alex frowned at her. “Really? I don’t think I was that hard on him. At least until he…” He trailed off.

Angelica pulled her friend into a small hug. Alex tensed and Angelica found that she was worried again. He had been much jumpier lately - anytime anyone appeared behind him out of nowhere -  and the fact that a professor was verbally abusing him didn’t help. Some people might think Alex had overreacted but anyone who knew him, knew how touchy he was over the word ‘Bastard’. She wasn’t aware of how bad his life had been before he docked in America. He had only told them the basics over the years.

She still remembered how she still met Alex. She had been walking through downtown when this short guy  who was way to energetic for that hour. He had been arguing with this guy about something - she had been too far away to hear the details, it was then she saw Lafayette near holding back Aaron Burr and then saw John and Hercules encouraging whatever it was Alex was saying. His opponent (who was some guy from her Law class's she faintly recognized as Seabury, also known as Adams nephew) was slowly becoming more and more flustered and when it was obvious that Alex was winning whatever debate or argument they were having.

"Yaas Alex" She heard John scream and she smiled to herself - then she could see Laf and Hercules start chanting. "HAM-IL-TON. HAM-IL-TON" she couldn't help but laugh quietly. Obviously this 'Alexander Hamilton' had made quite the impression on Lafayette and Co.

Then, she had heard Seabury call out one last insult.

“Hamilton? Ohi've heard about you. You're the bastard immigrant the Washington's took pity on and picked up from -”

Next thing she knew she running to help the boys stop a massacre.

Alex had told them later it had been a mix of what he had said before Angelica had shown up - but most importantly the ‘bastard’ part. He'd had grown up with the whispers of it on the island and he word had haunted him throughout his childhood.

She had looked at her watch and decided that she wasn’t going to make the lecture on time so she might as well stick around with the group for a while longer.

“Oh my! Mon amour, Heracles, is that Angelica Schuyler I see before me? I think i may faint- why would such a person of such high etiquette be hanging around with us lowly peasants? Oh Herc! Hold me! I think I may faint” Falling against his boyfriend Herc had to dive to catch him.

“Jesus christ Laf! Give some warning”

Angelica couldn’t stop laughing. She had grown up friends with Lafayette, he had been more or less brought under their protection, the son of her mother’s late friend. Somehow along those days of finding themselves, of accepting their sexualities her father had come to the conclusion they were dating and had informed him that he would never be good enough for any of his daughters, before Laf had calmly informed him he had no interest in anyone’s daughters and that he should be more worried about his sons. Thank god he had stopped after adding that it was unlikely she would have been interested in him anyway.

Since he moved out of the Schuyler family home, if she didn’t see Lafayette for a least week he resorted to pretending he didn’t know her and the joke got old after the 10th time.. He was a little brother to her. She reached into her bag, pulled out her bag of donuts and wordlessly handed one out to him.

Lafayette was up immediately, donuts in hand and arms around Angelica. “It has been too long mon ami”

The small man had then stepped forward and introduced himself. “Alexander Hamilton, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Angelica Schuyler” The intelligence in his eyes made her momentarily question if was indeed gay, because dayum….

Suddenly his arm was grabbed and Alexander was spun around until he was facing... Burr? Why the hell was Burr here? She groaned. Of all the fucking people in the whole blasted city of New York.

“Do you have any idea how stupid of an idea that was Alex? What if someone else had come along? You can’t just attack someone if you don’t agree with their beliefs.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not why he -” Burr cut off John with a glare. And she scoffed. Still an asshole then- good to know.

Burr turned his glare to her. She had never been a big fan of his. They had been in the same year in high school, competed for student president (she had won), worked for valedictorian (she had also won) and so weren’t exactly friendly. She had overshadowed him again and again throughout their schooling. The only reason she had never let herself loose to tell him what she really thought of him was the fact her best friend had been dating him.

She had been against it. She had heard a rumor about how Aaron had hit his ex. She had tried to warn Theodosia but she had laughed it off.. “Don’t be silly Angie! He is a gentleman.”

Then the week after graduation, the start of summer, May 12th,  before a year free of work - a year her and her best friends were going to travel Europe -  she had been woken up just after dawn to her phone blaring. Theo was crying. Her first thoughts were that the rumors were right. Aaron had hit her and Angelica was going to murder him.

“Slow down Theo, what’s wrong - what happened?”

“I'm pregnant”

Angelica remembered freezing and feeling a little bit of her heart crack behind the shields she had built. “Theo! Your only 18 - what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know!! I want to keep it, but i can’t do it by myself! What of Aaron doesn’t want it? What if my parents try to make me….. What is they kick me out?”

“You can always stay here with me and the girls - you will never be alone Theo.”

Three days later she had been engaged and living in Aarons apartment.

The trip was cancelled. Angelica and Eliza  got part-time jobs at the Laurens’ cafe.

February 13th she was the first in hospital. She was going to become a godmother. Two hours later the most adorable child she had ever seen was lying asleep. Theodosia jr.

Summer came and Angelica was wrapped in babysitting and wedding preparations for her best friend.

Maid of honor.

Write a speech.

Then the day of.

A beautiful day.  A November morning.

She remembered praying that something would happen - the priest to be sick - a candle to fall- a fire to spread, for something to catch, anything to stop Theo from making this mistake. Angelica knew it was a mistake. How could someone as kind as Theo love Burr?

Why should she marry Burr when Angelica had loved her longer?

Then the call. She didn’t remember much of that day - only what Lafayette had told her later.

How her face had drained of all its colour. How he had barely got to her before she dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Hercules had picked up the phone. It was some Police officer that Angelica was a friend of - Hercules got him to repeat the news.

The accident.

The spinning out of control.

Off the side of the bridge.

How Theo had died holding onto her daughter.

The driver it seemed had escaped but no one could find him.

John and Lafayette were with Angelica so it was up to Hercules to pass the information to Aaron.

Hercules started the long walk up the aisle and Aaron had smiled to see his best man.

“Is she here? Wheres little Theo?”

“I’m so sorry Aaron”

Confusion. Fear. Denial.

“That’s not funny Herc. where is she? Where is my wife?”

Then Aaron’s phone rang.

And everything went to shit.

***************************************************************************************************

Looking at Alex now she started to feel the old fears creep back in.

What exactly happened under that apartment roof?

What was Burr playing at because there was no way he could have recovered in 2 years. A fiancee and a child.

Angelica hadn't had either. she'd had a best friend she was in love with and a godchild who hadn't lived long enough to see Christmas. She still woke up most nights with nightmares. All she could see was her friends face closed, hair floating above her, holding her child as tight as she can. Then her eyes open and there she is, staring at Angelica with pale eyes. “You could have stopped this” she seems to taunt. “If you had opened your mouth you could have convinced me stay with you”

She sometimes still woke up from these nightmares crying. She had long since learned to quiet her sobs.

And here he was dating Alex?  The mere thought of him harming the energetic overly boisterous young man beside her sent Angelica into a rage she hadn't felt in a long time.

Something didn’t add up. She wasn’t going to let this drop till she found out every one of Burrs’ dirty little secrets.

Until she was satisfied with what she found she would not stop.

[runawayforthesummer]

Chapter 28: Hen Party

Ok, quick note because it like legit just hit me reading the name of this chapter:

So I used to intern for a production company and we were producing a reality show on this woman who planned bachelorette parties, and I got to film some of the taking heads and ask questions, etc., and it was insane and the only part of that job I remembered/liked. 

(actually there were other things too but that’s the only one I’ll talk about).

Ok, so we’re into April!  In real life land, Ham and Eliza were very deeply in love and engaged.  Awww.

In this stupid book, however--

….

Wait hold up.

Henry arrived in early March and said they were getting married in a week.

It’s now April and they aren’t married because the opening of this chapter is:

“Oh, Eliza, isn’t it thrilling!  We’re going to be sisters!  It is a prospect almost too delicious to contemplate!”

(I SHIP IT SO HARD.)

But what is the DEAL on the timeline.  February is super long and March is three days.

Kitty is here to get her girl and throw her a party.

Due to such short notice and Kitty’s lack of acquaintance with the local mademoiselles, she had been unable to round up any guests besides herself and Peggy and Aunt Gertrude, who was now sleeping soundly over in the wing chair next to the fire.

Ok, but we’re into April, so you did have enough time.  And you could’ve brought Eliza to your house instead.  No one here is super attached to Morristown.  Also, Melissa de la Cruz did zero research, but you knew that.

To make up for the lack of guests, however, Kitty had dressed herself in enough fashion for ten women.

You get them, Kitty!

Kitty is very excited to have Eliza as a sister and cannot wait to invite people to parties.

“One day soon we’ll be able to send our invitations that proclaim ‘Catherine and Elizabeth Livingston and their husbands invite you to—“

Don’t the “husbands” sound like such an awkward addition?  Please own that you’re in love and want to be Catherine and Elizabeth Livingston.  The end.

Of course, Eliza points out that Catherine’s last name wouldn’t necessarily be the same.

“Oh, I’ve already thought of that.  I’ve always said that I’d refuse to marry anyone less distinguished than a Van Rensselaer or a Livingston.”

You’ll be unsurprised to hear the real Kitty did not marry a Van Rensselaer or Livingston.

We hear that Peggy is also very dressed up, in a dress made of fabric Stephen sent her.  The men in this book are really into sending their girlfriends fabric they’ve chosen.  Except for Hamilton who doesn’t care about that stuff.  Probably another indication that they’re actually in love and he’s the only worthwhile one.  Uh-huh.

Then Kitty gets surprised that Peggy is going to marry a cousin.

None of this should be surprising to this group of inbred fools.  Like, this is more of a plus than a negative for them.  Do some goddamn research for once, Melissa de la Cruz. Jesus.

Then Eliza tells a cruel joke about inbred children I’m not going to repeat and, thank god, Kitty and Peggy aren’t into her “humor.”

While Eliza’s party is kind of a bust, Henry’s party is everything a frat boy from 1780 could dream of, with beer, cider, sherry, and a bunch of men. 

Apparently, the barn used as the infirmary Ham and Eliza visited has been cleared out for it.

At Eliza’s party, she gets morbid about having to marry Henry. 

“Eliza!” Kitty said sharply, placing her hand on her friend’s knee.  “You are overwrought!  I tell you, you must calm down, dear.  It is a marriage, for God’s sake, not a shipwreck!”

“Isn’t it, though?” Eliza said glumly.

Send this girl on the Titanic. 

Kitty defends her brother and tells Eliza he’s being set up for politics so they won’t have to see each other all that much.

Eliza does not want that in a marriage though.

“But is that what a marriage is?  Learning how to ‘manage’ your husband so that he doesn’t oppress you? Praying for his departure rather than yearning for his return?”

“My word, Eliza, everyone always said you were the sensible Schuyler sister!”

I LOVE KITTY.  CALLING OUT HER GIRL AS SHE SEES IT.

Kitty tells Eliza her job is to marry and marry well because they are rich and powerful and must set an example. 

And, I mean, part of this is true of what they believed!  Eliza playing the 21st century girl just doesn’t work!  And it’s not like love wasn’t ever part of the equation.  In fact, as Eliza grew up, love was definitely considered an important part of marriage, which was a really knew concept, of course.  But like the idea was that love would help you and your partner have a better marriage, which helps you both (but him especially) in his career, and your social position.  So it’s not like exactly how we might think of marriage today, but how Eliza thinks about it is really not what she would think at all.  But so too the way the other girls think about it.  Peggy seems to be the only one acting like a girl of her time probably would act. 

And I won’t say every marriage then (or now) always had an element of love to it, but just that it was more complicated than Eliza’s view of “love!!!!” versus the other girls being practical to the core about it. 

And this is also why Hamilton got approval because he was smart and set to go far in life (and already had gone quite far) and that he and Eliza were in love.  All three played a role in the Schuylers giving approval and outweighed that he didn’t have money or a name. 

ANYWAY

Eliza argues against the idea that America needs high society.

“Isn’t that what we’re revolting against?  The unfair advantages of aristocracy?”

I just….I can’t.  I digressed about the actual history above.

Just…remember how Eliza hosted salons once a week under Washington’s presidency?  I do too.  You think everyone was allowed into those?  You are wrong.

And, yes, the Hamiltons had little money.  They were still part of the upper class and didn’t make an attempt to ever not be.

“You talk of politics, Eliza.  That is men’s business.”

Remember how the real Kitty Livingston was into politics? 

“We are women.  We tend to the home front.”

“And why should that be?” Eliza demanded.  “This is a new country, as you say.  Why shouldn’t it have new laws, new customs?  And why should not these customs extend to the home itself.  To—to love!”

I can’t.

Kitty shows sympathy to Eliza over Hamilton.

“He is quite a charming bastard—in every sense of the word.  However, I must point out that Colonel Hamilton never proposed to you.  You may have thought love conquers all, Eliza Schuyler, but he knew the rules of the game.

“And the truth is, dear sister-in-law, even Alexander Hamilton realized he wasn’t good enough for you.”

While that is true in life and in every other piece of fiction about these two, it’s the opposite of the truth in this book.

[mullersturtleneck]

Sticking with the Schuylers (21)

How even does this have 21 parts and people who are atually still reading it? I’m in constant disbelief of how kind you all are, thank you heaps not only for sticking around (get it? My humor is too much) but also for continuing to comment and make my days so bright. <3

In this part, we get a glance at two Thanksgivings.

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   11   12   I   13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18C  I   19   20

Laurens sighs as he paces the living room floor, eyes cast down to his watch every so often. In the background of it all the parade had just begun on television, the sound blaring through the otherwise empty apartment. He turns to watch a piece of the music but is disinterested by it, his mannerisms becoming quick and antsy. He shouts.

“Come on, Alex. We’re going to be late!”

               Alex can barely hear him over the buzzing in his mind. He’d woken up late, having only slept a few hours after a night of tossing around in bed. Eliza had called him to let him know that they’d all arrived safely at the mansion; to tell him goodnight. There was still an awkward air about their conversation as they danced around the topic neither wanted to get into. He’d hung up with a pull in his chest; a longing.

He looks into the mirror and his perception changes. Suddenly, everything is different. No longer does his ponytailed hair ‘just fit him;’ it’s disheveled and unruly. And his favorite grey sweater, the one with two buttons and a slight rounded collar, has a small hole on the sleeve and a stain on the hem. He smooths down its wrinkles as John’s voice calls him again, this time more terse and agitated.

“Okay, I’m coming!” He shoots back. Alex allows himself one last glance in the mirror, pulling a face before heading out the door.

“Took you long enough!”

“I know, I’m sorry, let’s just go.”

…

               There’s faint jazz music flowing throughout the mansion when the girls traipse down the stairs, half an hour before the festivities. Angelica opens the door for John, letting him in before he trails her around the house, deep in conversation. Peggy drapes herself over one of the coffee tables, phone in hand. Her eyes are half-closed, one leg crossed over the other and an elbow propped on her knee. The youngest Schuyler doesn’t look up from her phone as the organized chaos of Thanksgiving set-up whirls on around her. Eliza’s in the kitchen, standing by the chef’s side as she chops up the last of the vegetables for the soup. She speaks in an easy, fluent French that flows through the kitchen, radiant and bright over the noise of the music. Their chef laughs along with her, to a joke Peggy hears but does not understand.

Peggy had never had the patience for their father’s language tutors. Eliza, however, had nothing but. In the time it had taken Peggy to pick up the basics of Spanish Eliza had leaned both Spanish and French. And then the youngest Schuyler had given up, and Eliza continued. It was a talent, she’d explained with a grin. On one of their summer trips to Italy, she’d conversed easily with everyone they’d met. It made both Peggy and Angelica jealous. Eliza simply shrugged every time the conversation was brought up.

She’s taken to the kitchen as a solace to her current mood; her once grumpy disposition immediately changing with the bustling of their chefs and the work around the busy room. They sing along to the jazz as they move, effortlessly, in what Eliza has grown to see as a ballet of their own sorts. There’s never a moment of collision, even when it seems like the bustling has grown too busy and the crowd too intense. They simply move around each other, opposing magnets in an easy kind of work, as they create the biggest meal of the year.

The chefs greet her by name and warmth of tone as she slips an apron over her dress, tying silky strands of hair up and away from her face. She trades her heels for bare feet and hums along to the music, asking sweetly for her first chore. She checks her phone before beginning. He’s texted her three times. She pockets the device before picking up a large knife and a cutting board; the bustle of the kitchen is the best way to avoid her feelings.

…

               Throwing himself into the busy throng of the Laurens’ household proves to be the best way to distract himself from the consistent echo of thoughts in his head.  He’d sent Eliza four text messages on the subway here, each one longer than the last. He’s not sure exactly what he’s meaning to say-how the topic will come across in a message-so they’re mostly attempts at opening completely different conversations. There’s one about his neighbor, who he’d seen walking across the hallway in boxer shorts and an American flag scarf. Then, a story about the elderly women they walked past all the time, who liked to sit in front of the Asian-fusion café and feed the pigeons their leftover scallion pancakes. Then, two stories about Laurens; ‘he walks so slow I think he’s actually a tourist’ ‘he just tripped into the turn-style pray we make it out alive.’

               No response.

               John can tell his best friend is in a sour mood when they stand side-by-side on the subway; his eyes avoidant and cast down at his phone every other second. He doesn’t even keep it in his pocket, rather in his hand, half-raised so that he can easily keep updated. He chooses not to ask, however. It’s not his place, not his business to be involved in.

               Until they get to his house.

               The Laurens’ apartment is thankfully not too tiny-it is, however, cramped wall-to-wall full of his very large, very loud family. His Abuela takes their coats and shoves them into the little coat closet in the hall, putting a hand on the already overflowing pile so that the door will be able to shut. They’re greeted by a round of raucous voices, pats on the back and gripping hugs from every direction. Alex smiles as he’s taken into the throng of family, immediately sighing as the joy of it all overfills him.

               The chaos is cheering.

…

               The quiet is smothering her.

Eliza sits between Angelica and Peggy, listening to her father and grandfather talk politics while her mother entertains her uncles and aunt. It’s a subdued meal, a moment that feels more unsettling than the comfort it normally brought. The endless talk upon subjects that hold no interest to her makes her feel like Peggy who, from her place beside her, hides her phone underneath the table with a sly grin. The youngest Schuyler keeps this secret like her biggest talent-if one was looking at her straight on, no difference could be told. Today, Eliza is envious of it.

               Their father clears his throat, eyes poised at his daughters.

“Angelica, dear, where’s your friend…Alexander, wasn’t it?”

“Alex.” Elizabeth interjects from her place next to her sister, stabbing her fork into her tofu with a gusto that makes Peggy stifle her laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. “He prefers Alex. He couldn’t make it. And he’s my friend, too.”

Silence. Phillip Schuyler moves on to the next topic of conversation rather easily, ignoring his middle daughter’s sudden rebuttal. Angelica, however, does not. She looks over at Eliza, who is now dismantling the peas on her plate with the back of her fork. The oldest Schuyler joins into their father’s new conversation, but not before nudging Eliza. There’s a round of facial expressions exchanged between them that John recognizes as a private form of communication. He keeps Phillip entertained while the two-wait, Peggy’s joined in now, too-keep each other busy by trading looks between themselves.

The silent discourse ends in a huff on Eliza’s end, and she’s reserved for the rest of the dinner. Their father commends John on his cooking and the dish he and Angelica brought, and the two have a lengthy conversation as the sisters look on. Angelica is beaming. Eliza is passive. Peggy looks between the two, shaking her head, the beginnings of understanding hitting her.

They’re finally excused from the table after the fourth course of the meal, taking a break before dessert is served in the parlor. The young Schuylers find space in the sitting room, Peggy adjusting her dress so that she can sprawl herself out along one of the oversized armchairs. Angelica sits across from her, on the loveseat, gesturing for Eliza to find the space next to her. The middle Schuyler ignores her, walking to the window and leaning up against the wall. Her arms are crossed, vacant eyes feigning interest in the high noon sun. She picks her phone up from the table, glancing at its screen before discarding it once more.

Angelica and Peggy watch it all take place before their eyes; the change in demeanor of their sister, the way she had acted during their meal. The quiet, reserved disposition was so unlike her that it made the two find concern, watching her with furrowed brows and the beginnings of conversation brushed up against half-opened lips.

“She and Alex had a fight.” Eliza can hear the words, swift and muted, from her older sister’s lips and she feels a negative energy bubble up inside of her. She spins around, glaring at Angelica through half-closed eyes.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Eliza,” Angelica responds with the beginnings of a rebuttal but stops herself as Peggy shoots her a severe stare. Instead she takes a breath, a pause, before standing. “Eliza, what happened?”

…

               “Alex, what the hell, man?” The party has been going on for quite some time now, Alex in the height of it all for most of the night. John has watching; hanging with his family too, of course, but mostly watching. Alex has had three drinks. He shouldn’t be acting like this already.

               Alex is in the hallway, burning a hole in track he’s repeating over and over again. His feet are quick and purposeful, hands fidgeting with the cube kept in his pocket. And under his breath he’s murmuring a collage of words that aren’t cohesive, that string along in broken-up fragments of sentences heard multiple times. John crosses the hallway in only a few long strides, grabbing hold of Alex’s shoulders.

               “What’s wrong?”

               “Eliza-I don’t know-I think we might be over and I think I really offended her but her dad asks a lot of questions and Church wears khakis and I,”

               “Okay, slow down.” John makes Alex breathe, slow and meaningful, before leading him into one of the bedrooms. It’s floral, and the smell is both musty and spicy, but its privacy serves more worth than the atmosphere. Alex sits on the bed which sinks with his weight and runs a shaking hand through his hair.

               “Explain.”

…

               They retreat the subway with Alex leading, footsteps light and quick as John trails far behind. He waves a tired hand at his active-minded friend, who is now running-pushing past the people that walk the streets. The cool of the air freshens his mind; drives him toward his goals. His legs move faster. His mind comes up with about four-hundred different ways to say what he’s been thinking all day long. He wishes he had more time to plan things out, more time to think. For once, however, it is a foreign spontaneity that drives him. It’s her.

               She’s startled by a resounding pound on her door. The time on her kitchen clock reads 12:45 as she slides past it on dainty feet, making as little noise as possible. The pounding continues. Eliza creeps to the peephole, lifting herself onto her toes to be able to see outside. Her heart swells at the sight, her hands making a swift move for the lock on the door.

               “I don’t have a mother and my father left when I was ten and you know about my cousin but I come from nothing. I don’t own a pair of khakis and the most money I’ve ever spent is a tossup on that cheap laptop I bought the day I got here and really bad alcohol. I’m an immigrant,”

               “I know that.” Her voice is soothing and sure, like silken honey to his crass and rushed speech. He can’t seem to stop himself, however, finding space to wander with hastened feet around her apartment. He talks with his hands. She hides a smile beneath her own.

               “I came here from Nevis-from the Caribbean-my freshman year. I’m a scholarship student,”

               “I know,”

               “I have nothing to my name.”

               “Alexander,” There’s a wonderful juxtaposition between the comfort of her demeanor and the way her tone is laced with a tint of harshness. It’s as if she’s scolding a child, the way she puts her hands on his shoulders. Her warm eyes are laced with emotions that course from her to him, ebbing and changing with every second she has her hold on him; sadness, understanding, security. He feels an involuntary breath-a wave of calm. Eliza’s lips turn up as she brings them to his forehead, brief and demure, before resting her own head against his. “Is that why you didn’t want to come with me?”

               He nods-their heads are still pressed together and she can feel the hesitance behind him and his trembling breath. Her thumbs glide up and down along his cheeks and she repeats his name again, just barely coming out in a honeyed whisper of syllables.

               “None of what you just said matters to me. None of it.”

               “But your father,”

               “Screw him.” It’s the crudest of words he’s heard from her, the way it’s sent in a full tone of voice, sure and certain as she brings her lips to his. She’s less gentle this time, lingering longer. When she pulls away reluctantly he’s amused.  Eliza’s hands still hold the outline of his face. She traces the stubble that’s formed along the sides of it, her voice half of a whisper now.

               “Two things,” A brush of her lips against his jaw. “Don’t shave this off. I love it.”

               He nods, feverishly, hands pulling her flush against him.

               “Second,” She has to pull away from him for a moment, taking a breath to regain the air she’s lost from their contact. Eliza runs her fingers through her hair, brushing it to one side of her face to regain some of its composure. “I do want you to meet my father. It’s just-my family, we’re close. And I really like you-it’s important to me.”

Her hands find his shoulders again. Her head is tilted, eyes scanning him up and down as she brings herself-slowly, gracefully-back toward him.

“Of all of the things my father said tonight, there was one that really bothered me. Which is why it is kind of important for you to meet him.”

“Oh? And what was that?”

“He called you Angelica’s friend.” Her lips find his jawline again, the spot right by his ear. “And I don’t-I’m not trying to be that girl-the freakishly jealous one, or anything like that, but it’s just-you’re mine. Not hers.”

He looks over her with concern but she’s flushed, one corner of her lips turned up in a smirk he’s never seen before. It’s the word, too-mine­. He loves the way it ascends from her lips through the air between them. It brushes against Alexander’s ears like the finest silk, warming and inviting, his heartbeat quickening upon the syllable and her sweet tone of voice.

“Oh man, so what do I tell Church, then? I thought we had something going there.” He feels the corners of her lips turn up against his, a slight giggle passing through their miniscule partition. One hand reaches up to smack his shoulder as she pulls away from him, shaking her head.

“Jerk,” She chides. Alexander smirks back in response before moving to her apartment door, where he’d dropped the plastic bag he had been carrying on his way home from John’s. He holds it up with pride and a shine in his eye, his voice teasing.

“Would a jerk bring you back enough plantains from Laurens’s family to get us through the next six episodes of Parks and Recreation?” Her eyes light up and she moves to him, lips pursed. But when she nears him she snatches the bag from his hands, digging through it until her treasure is found. And then Eliza finds her way back to the couch, legs folded underneath her as she queues up their show. And when he’s with her-when she’s curled herself into his chest-the thought of going public doesn’t seem so terrifying. For her, for his Eliza, he’d do anything-even when she’s hogging the plantains.

[runawayforthesummer]

Chapter 7: Gauntlet (Or Handkerchief?) Thrown

The ball is still going on; Hamilton has resorted to drinking.

After taking his leave and bowing to Eliza Schuyler, Alex went back to drinking mulled cider from the Schuyler orchards spiked with apple brandy from the Pastures’ own trees and followed that, perhaps a bit unwisely, with French wine spiced with cinnamon and cloves.

He is a lightweight.  It’s not just canon.  It’s fact.

Still, he smokes cigars and drinks whisky like he’s Don fucking Draper.

Taking advantage of the general’s lavish hospitality

Why am I the only one who remembers Philip Schuyler told a 20 year old soldier to sleep in a barn?

...

OMG

Then Hamilton refers to two of the girls surrounding him as

Comely lasses

I want off this train!!!

He thinks these other girls might be fun at another party, but he can’t get over those Schuyler sisters.

Angelica, regal and self-possessed, even next to her less-than-graceful partner…Peggy, laughing vivaciously and looking as though she was dancing with a French court rather than an awkward lad…But above all there was Eliza, wearing a dress more suited to the schoolroom than the ballroom, who had insulted his name and rank at every turn, and had even stepped on his foot—and who made him want nothing more than for her to step on the other.

Why? She’s a bitch.

THE THING IS I have a hard time believing Ham would at all like a girl like this (let alone that I don’t think Eliza was at all like this).

This guy was enormously sensitive about his station and rank and I imagine there were plenty of rich girls who DID insult all those things, and to his face.  There’s a reason he married one of them who didn’t.

To me, de la Cruz seems to be lacking of understanding of who either Alex or Eliza were, and what drew them to one another.  And that’s why this book is so bad.

And idk again maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t reading it in the context of what I know.  But then again, she chose to write historical fiction.  You gotta expect this shit will happen.

What was it about the sharp-tongued lass wearing a homespun gown, a modest cotton dress that touched his heart in its bold demonstration of her alliance to the patriot cause?

What bold demonstration?  She’s making heart eyes at John Andre! What are you even talking about, Hamilton?  What have you seen her do that shows her being a patriot at all?  And I’ve talked enough about her dress, so I won’t, but GOD.  This book is stupid.

And why on earth was she dancing for the third time with that blasted British office, Major Andre?

GEE HAMILTON B/C SHE WAS MAKING HEART EYES AT HIM.

Some soldier interrupts Hamilton’s dance with one of the Dutch girls he’s using to distract himself from Eliza.  Hamilton tries to be kind to the fellow soldier, who has lost a leg in the war.  And AT FIRST I got excited that Gouverneur Morris was somehow here.

Instead, it’s a man who decides to insult Hamilton’s background.  Fun!

“Normally you would except the son of gentry to shirk the battlefield.  But in this case it is the nobody commoner who flees glory and hides behind a clerical duty or some other equally flimsy excuse while the nobleman defends his country’s honor.  But then, it isn’t really your country now, is it?”

Hamilton, leave.  Go into town.  Find a place to crash.  Do not put up with this bullshit. 

Hamilton tries to save face (without starting a duel) but it takes Stephen van Rensselaer getting involved for “Peterson” to back down.

“Everybody knows you got ‘injured’ when you stabbed yourself in the ankle with your own bayonet while you were loading your gun, and then you fell down drunk in a latrine and got it infected so that it had to be amputated.”

IMAGINE being read like that by a child! Amazing. 

Awwww!  John Church also stands up for Hamilton! Yay!

Brother-in-laws!!!! (one day)

However, Peterson is not feeling this either.

“You! A lobsterback! You dare to insult me in my own house.”

Eliza, who had been silent throughout the whole exchange, spoke up.  “Actually, Mr. Peterson, Mr. Church is not a soldier and hence does not wear a redcoat, and pray I remind you, the Pastures is my father’s house.”

Well at least she wasn’t heinous for once in this book.

Anyway, all the rich people at the party gang up on Peterson and shame him for being an ass.  Can they do that to Philip Schuyler next?  And then Eliza?

Peterson, though, has some words for Eliza. 

“And you, girl.  If your mother thinks you will make a rich match, she’s sorely mistaken.  No one is interested in a girl afflicted with intellect and opinion and a small dowry! It’s why you only have a redcoat and a clerk as your dance partners this evening!”

Actually, it was pretty common in the area Eliza’s from for girls to be educated.  The idea being that she should be smart and able to discuss issues of importance.  Yes, it was to help her husband do his job better, but it still mattered that she be well-versed in subjects of the day, especially the war. 

There was a shocked silence from the assembled, until Alex spoke, his words cold as the first frost: “You will apologize to the lady.”

“Apologize? For telling the truth?” Peterson sputtered.  “Why?  Is she your paramour, is that it?  Oh, Colonel Hamilton, do not protest—everyone has noticed your interest in the girl.  You can barely take your eyes off of her.”

You know, if Eliza weren’t such a demon in this book, I’d really love that Ham is the one more into her than she is into him.  Too bad.

Anyway, whatever, this dude storms off. 

Eliza turned to Alex.  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Good.  Now apologize for being awful earlier.

“It is an honor to come to your defense,” he said with deep sincerity, his heart hammering under his uniform.

“And I must commend you on your restraint.  An ugly situation could have grown much uglier had you not shown such decorum.”

Alex smiled.  “Those are the kindest words I’ve heard all evening.”

Eliza looked as if she was going to take them back, but she held his gaze and didn’t look away from him.  He wished he could tell her how he really felt, but somehow he understood it would not be welcome at this juncture.  Alex stepped back with a gentlemanly bow, watching Eliza walk away on the arm of a British major.

:(.  You know how normally I only care about women and men are only useful as far as they make that woman happy?  I sort of feel like that, except I just want Alex to be happy.

Oh god, hours later, Hamilton is taken to the barn.  Apparently he’d thought before that was mostly a joke! :(((((

THIS IS AWFUL.

The interior of the lofty barn at the foot of the hill was no less cold than the November night outside.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, PHILIP SCHUYLER?!

“With the house so full of guests, Mrs. Schuyler was unable to find a spare blanket, but there’s plenty of hay,” Rodger said without sarcasm.

One time, when I was like just out of college, my friends and I got to go to a really fancy New Year’s Eve party at a legit billionaire’s house.  It was great until we basically couldn’t arrange a ride home due to the Rose Parade the next morning and the host was like “well you can sleep on the floor.  Here’s a blanket for the six of you to share.”   I thought THAT was pretty cold.  This is so awful.

Before he leaves, Rodger hands him what turns out to be the handkerchief Eliza stuffed down her bra earlier. 

It smelled like her perfume, and he inhaled its sweet scent, bringing it to his nose, just as a scrap of paper fluttered out of it.

He’s so gone.  He’s so gone! 

The note reads:

Wait for me.  The hayloft.  After the ball.

If Eliza is just tricking him, I’m going to give up reading this book.

Knowing that she wants to see him makes up for having to sleep in a fucking barn. 

She would be here soon.  It was after the ball.  What would he say to her? …

And now she was on her way. 

He fought sleep, waiting.

And waiting.

This poor guy.

He falls asleep and wakes up alone in the morning.

I hate her.

I mean, real talk, probably someone else wrote the note, not Eliza, so Hamilton is going to harbor ill feelings for no reason.

But whatever. 

Right now, I hate her and feel legit awful for him.

[mullersturtleneck]

Sticking With the Schuylers (18B)

Surprise! There’s actually 3 parts to this chapter now, because after editing and re-configuring I decided to split B into two instead of having it be the mega-huge length it was (I mean, huge compared to the average length.Plus, I like to make you guys hang a little.)

As a side-note, I’m going to NYC for my birthday in less than 50 days (a product of years of saving and 3 jobs on my part) and my hotel is deadass right near the Waldorf Astoria. So I’ll be dying a slow death right in the heart of the setting of this story. 

In this part...well, you’ll see.

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   11   12   I   13  14   15   16   17   18A

Forks clinking clumsily around plates stacked with seafood, meat  that’s been carved right in front of the patrons, and greedy portions of caviar that’s been spooned on just about everything. The guests linger around the high tables set in the middle of the rooftop, eating dainty bites of the decadent array of foods while they gossip.

               There’s a certain table, one that hugs the rooftop and allows a spectacular view of the city down below. The Schuyler sisters have always had this table, no questions asked. Today is no exception; Elizabeth sits closest to the glass fencing, her eyes trained more on the traffic of the city than the bustling of politicians and businessmen round the rooftop.

Angelica is up and moving around the crowd today, standing at a high-top table with some woman in a pencil skirt Eliza has never seen before. She can tell immediately that there’s some sort of deal going on; Angelica is poised, her public smile on as she shakes hands with the woman. They laugh. The oldest Schuyler has always been a charmer in the business world.

Peggy sits across from Eliza, chatting animatedly to her middle sister as she rummages through her bag. Finally, she winks as she unearths a small, keychain-sized bottle of Sriracha.

               “Cover me,” Eliza laughs as her little sister douses her plate of seafood in the vibrant red sauce, her actions hasty as she continues to scan the room. Then she tucks the bottle back in her purse, grinning wildly before tucking into her meal.

               “You’re ridiculous.”

               “I take offense to that. I’m actually a genius, nobody has discovered my brilliance yet.”

               “Okay, sure.” Angelica’s begun to make her way back across the throng but is stopped again, putting her charm back on and leaning against the railing. Elizabeth laughs.

               “Angie’s really starting to get the hang of these things.” She gestures to their older sister. Peggy rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair.

               “I pray we don’t end up like that.” She stabs a shrimp with her fork in defiance. “The last thing I want is to be one of these old fuddies for the rest of my life.”

               “Margarita, watch your mouth.” The youngest Schuyler shrinks in her seat upon hearing her father’s voice, mumbling an apology through a mouth full of food before casting her gaze guiltily down to her plate. Eliza draws in a breath herself, raising her posture in her chair and giving her father a warm smile before gesturing to the empty seat at their table. He obliges, unbuttoning the single button on his suit coat before sitting next to Peggy, setting his folded hands on the table.

               “Are you enjoying what the chef made you today?” Eliza nods, poking her fork through the beautifully arranged mass of potato, egg, and avocado to prove herself.

               “I’ve already sent my compliments to the chef.”

               “Good.”

               “It’s really wonderful that they’re always so prepared to serve vegetarian when I’m here.”

               “It’s their job, sweetheart. That’s why we choose the Waldorf-they’re always doing their jobs just right around here.”

               The middle Schuyler sister simply smiles, taking another bit of her dish. She wasn’t particularly hungry today, or even in the mood to entertain her father. But she always seemed to put on a good show, because while Peggy was choking over their father’s blunt and entitled manner Eliza was composing herself quite well. They linger in silence for a while, the girls taking longer to eat so that they might use the social faux pas of a full mouth to excuse themselves from further conversation. It isn’t as if they dislike their father; no, he’s a good man-good with business and good in keeping their family together. However Phillip Schuyler had a habit of making his wealth and good status known-a habit that made Eliza especially uncomfortable.

               He stays at the table, clearing his throat a few times before both girls finally look up from their plates of food. Their father’s expression is serious; thin lips drawn into a straight line, eyes earnest and searching. He’s staring back at Eliza. She takes in a long, drawn out breath.

               “So there was an interesting article in People the other day that was brought to my attention.”

               “Oh?”

               “Actually, there were two. Two articles about you within the past two weeks.” She still doesn’t respond, eyes set and teeth skimming her bottom lip in a search of comfort. Peggy looks on, unsure of what to do or say other than continuing on with her meal. That, and beginning a silent search for their oldest sister. She’s sure Angelica would know how to diffuse the situation.

               “I was hoping you’d tell me a little bit more about this mystery man that’s seemed to grab everyone’s attention.”

               Her face flushes immediately and Peggy excuses herself from the table, the need to search for her oldest sister becoming more frantic upon the topic of conversation. Eliza sighs internally upon being abandoned, to have this conversation alone with her father.

               “He’s a really wonderful person, dad.”

               “And I’m sure he is. I was just hoping that after the release of that first article last week that you might have been considering something else.”

               “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” She’s quiet, and suddenly her avocado hash is much more interesting than the conversation at hand. She too begins to scan the room for her sisters, wondering where the hell could have gone off to or who stopped them for conversation. At this point, she’d do anything to escape the inevitable awkward turn this ‘talk’ would have to take.

               “Sweetheart, I mean James. He was one of the good ones-mature, handsome…a politician, even. Did you hear he’s already planning a run for office within the city council?” Her father continues his rambling, speaking with his hands as he does only when he feels great excitement or exuberance about a concept. He chirps out words like wonderful and charming between his name. Her stomach churns, and she pushes the rest of her hash away in fears of throwing it back up. And then her father rises from the table, grinning wildly as he gestures between Eliza and somebody else. And then, she looks up.

               Eliza locks eyes with the stranger.

               The man smiles, a trademark smirk she’s only seen on one other pair of filled-out lips.

               Eliza’s head begins to spin.

               “Darling, this is,”

               “Scott Reynolds. Yes, Elizabeth and I have met before, Phillip. My son continues to speak very highly of you, Elizabeth.”

               Managing to pull a seemingly heartfelt smile from deep within herself is the hardest feat Eliza has ever been forced to complete. But she does it, rising from her chair to shake hands with the man. His hands are cold. His grip is tight. And when she pulls her hand back to herself Scott Reynolds lets his eyes trail up and down her figure. Her head is spinning.

               The men begin to converse in a way that only slightly includes her, mentioning her every so often. The chatter is more about her than with her, thankfully, so for a while she is only resigned to nodding her head and smiling politely. She waits, rather impatiently, for a break in the conversation to excuse herself. But she can barely keep up with what the men are saying; the new acquaintance’s eyes are so familiar to his son’s that even standing next to him has sent shivers up her spine. She excuses herself with a reserved voice and a forced smile, kissing her father on the cheek.

               There must be at least 100 people on this rooftop. She can barely see anything through the throng of businessmen and politicians, wives standing around high tables and young children crowded around the chocolate fountain. There’s so much going on; continual babbling that’s turned to incoherent conversation from the ringing of her ears. Faces come in and out of her vision as she struggles to keep her head above the water, counting methodically from one to nine and back again. Counting like Alexander had taught her the other night.

               She frantically searches for her phone in her cross-body, pulling it out and dialing the number with shaky thumbs. Thankfully, the warm voice greets her after the first ring. She’s still trying to push her way through the throngs of people, excusing herself with a whispered voice and averted eyes. The last thing she wants is to draw more attention to herself.

               “Eliza, are you there?”

               “Y-yes, yes, I’m here. I’m…can you come get me?” She’s finally out of the mass of people, in a corner by the elevators and a leafy potted plant. She leans against the wall, phone pressed hard against her ear as she attempts to focus on her breathing.

               “I’m on my way. You’re at the Waldorf?”

               “Yes.”

               “Are you hurt?”

               “No.”

               “Where are your sisters?”

               “I don’t know.” She’s audibly crying now, breaths coming in light hiccups that tighten her diaphragm. On the other side of the phone she can hear traffic; the usual bustling of the city, just barely audible underneath his panicked voice.

               “Okay, stay where you are. I’m only a few blocks away. Breathe. One..two…three…four…” He counts to nine and back as many times as he can, prodding her with reminders to stay on the phone with him and updates on his location. A horn blares and he curses back, apologizing before promising he’ll be there soon.