#thanks for giving me more excuses to draw buff women

[moxiepoxart]

Fem Freed garnering a large audience who want to kiss her is so real Thank you Moxie🧎‍➡️🧎‍➡️(laxus are you ready to fight)

Laxus is always down to fight in animal print

[aswithasunbeam]

Just Like Magic

[Read on AO3]

Rated: Teen and Up

Summary: Eliza is a witch, just like all the other women in her family. Unlike the rest of her family, however, she is a witch who has never been in love. At least, not yet. When Colonel Hamilton arrives in Albany to meet with her father, she finds he may have a kind of magic all his own. 

A Halloween-inspired Hamliza AU

“You are certainly a little sorceress and have bewitched me, for you have made me disrelish every thing that used to please me, and have rendered me as restless and unsatisfied with all about me, as if I was the inhabitant of another world, and had nothing in common with this.” –Alexander Hamilton to Eliza Schuyler, 8 August 1780

__

A shower of bright red and gold leaves rained down upon Eliza. She smiled and looked up from the jewelweed she was trying to slice free from the undergrowth to see a squirrel skittering across a branch with a nut secure in his mouth. Gently brushing a leaf off the brittle page of her mother’s recipe book, she returned her focus to her task, her eye flickering to back to the line drawing to confirm she’d found the right herb.

She wasn’t usually the one to go foraging through the forest for ingredients, but she’d volunteered today to escape Peggy’s constant teasing. All she’d said what that she didn’t understand how Angelica—steady, logical Angelica, blessed with intuition and the uncanny ability to size people up in a moment—had fallen prey to the likes of John Carter. Peggy had looked at her like a simpleton. “Haven’t you ever been in love, Eliza?”  

Of course, Peggy knew she hadn’t. “Have you?” she’d retorted.

“Oh, as often as possible. It’s the best sort of magic. Maybe I’ll cast a spell to help you along to understanding,” Peggy had suggested.

“Don’t you dare,” Eliza had hissed. When she fell in love (if she ever fell in love) she wanted it to be real, natural and wonderful, not cooked up in her sister’s cauldron by the light of a full moon. Peggy had sensed this weak spot in her, as sisters do, and had relentlessly been pressing it ever since.

“Whoa, boy! Easy.” Eliza’s head popped up at the call coming from nearby. She heard the shuffling of dead leaves accompanying the clomp of a horse’s hooves, moving quick and with an odd sort of rhythm. Tossing the jewelweed into her basket, and the recipe book atop it, she rose and hurried towards the road. As she drew closer, she heard a terrible thud, along with a distinct, winded, “Oof.”

Emerging from the woods, she saw a soldier in the blue and buff of the Continental Army rolling weakly onto his back, sprawled across the road near an exhausted looking horse. “Are you all right?” she called to him.

He raised his head enough to see her, his hand going to his forehead. A slow trail of blood had started from a fresh cut near his hairline. His fingers came away smudged with dark red, and he examined them with curiosity before he answered, “I think so. Just a little bump.”

“But you’re bleeding,” she said, hastening her pace to his side.

“My horse was spooked, for reasons known only to him, and I lost my seating,” he said, a sheepish smile curling at the corners of his lips. “I think we’ve both been riding too long.”

She knelt beside him and urged, “Lie back. Let me have a look.”

He obeyed easily, resting his head back on the road. The cut was bleeding heavily, as all head wounds were wont to do, but it didn’t look deep enough to be dangerous. She hunted through her basket to locate the delicate green herb with the little white flowers she’d found earlier. Though it would be better properly crushed and mixed with something to relieve pain, crushing it in her fingers would do well enough.

“What is that?”

“Woundwort. It will slow the bleeding and prevent infection,” she explained, carefully patting the makeshift paste over the injury. He hissed as her fingers brushed the broken skin; the sound of his pain tugged at her heart. Biting her lip, she hesitated, then felt a little spark at her fingertips. Just a little something to help along the healing, she told herself.  

His aura was bright as flames under her, glowing with a mesmerizing sort of beauty, but something else clung to him, as well, a dark cloud hovering about the edges. Impeding illness, she sensed, something serious. Certainly nothing she could fix here on the road. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the tension had eased from his brow. Golden light glowed from the skin at his temple, his wound already beginning to stitch itself closed.

“Wow,” he mumbled, reaching to prod at his forehead. “That worked fast. That was woundwort, you said?”

“Umm, yes?” She hadn’t meant it to sound like a question. Please don’t ask more questions, she begged him silently. What on earth had she been thinking, using her powers on a complete stranger? Only, he didn’t feel like a stranger: he felt like someone she’d known all her life, a person she’d been waiting all these years to meet. But that wouldn’t be an excuse. It sounded ridiculous even in her own head.

Mama would kill her if she ever found out.

He pushed himself up into a seated position. “I’ll have to remember that.”

She helped him up, suddenly self-conscious about the dirt on her apron and the leaves in her hair. His hand went to his hair as well, as though he shared the same thought. The motion shook loose some twigs and dead leaves.

“Thank you for your kind assistance, Miss.” He bowed formally and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. “Colonel Hamilton, at your service.”

“Elizabeth Schuyler,” she replied. Her cheeks felt warm. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Colonel Hamilton.”

“Schuyler?”

“Yes.”

His eyes lit up. “I’m on my way to see your father.”

“You are?” It shouldn’t have surprised her. What else would a Continental soldier be doing so close to her home?

“Yes. I’ve just come from General Gates. He was rather less than helpful. General Washington advised me to speak with General Schuyler if I were to run into difficulties. His Excellency thinks most highly of your family.”

The praise for her father endeared her to him even further. Poor Papa, who had endured so much humiliation at the hands of that most ungrateful Congress, remained committed as ever to the cause of liberty. “I’m sure Papa will be happy to give you counsel, Colonel.”

He inclined his head. His eyes sparkled with humor and kindness, and the smile he gave her was warm and wide. Something tugged at her, deep inside, like her soul had caught on his. His smile seemed to have stolen her heart surer than Peggy’s best love spell.

The comparison gave her pause, and her eyes widened.

Peggy wouldn’t have? Would she?

“Is something wrong, Miss Schuyler?”

She tried to shake the thought away and vaguely gestured down the path. “Oh. No. Only, I should be getting home.”

“I see.” He dipped his head for a moment, and she fancied she saw him fighting disappointment. When he looked up again, he caught her again with his gaze. She’d never seen such beautiful eyes as his. “You know, I think I’ll need to walk my horse the rest of the way. Perhaps we could keep each other company on the journey?” His words were smooth and charming, but a hint of  insecurity revealed itself in the coloring of his cheeks.

She felt that that tug again, her heart pounding a tattoo in her chest. Gazing up into his eyes, she found herself nodding. “Yes. Yes, of course, Colonel.” The resulting joy apparent in his face made her feel light and giddy.

Oh, this wasn’t good, she told herself. The back of her hand brushed against the back of his, and the brief touch jolted through her like lightning. So very, very not good.

**

“What did you do?” Eliza flew down the stairs to the kitchen as soon as Papa had greeted Colonel Hamilton. It must be her sister’s doing, she told herself. It was the only explanation.

“What?” Peggy glanced up from the line of herbs she was drying, her face a picture of innocence. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You cast a spell, didn’t you? A spell to make me fall in love.”

An enormous grin spread over her sister’s face. “No.”

“You did. I know you did. You need to undo it.”

“Betsey, I didn’t do anything. I swear.” Peggy was still grinning at her. “Why would you think I had? Are you falling in love with someone?”

Eliza felt her cheeks growing hot. “No.”

“Oh my God, you are! Who is it? What’s his name?”

“Nobody. Just…forget it.”

Footsteps echoed on the stairs, and Mama’s voice carried down, “Girls? Do you either of you know who Papa has in his office?”

When Mama appeared at the foot of the stairs, Eliza tore her gaze from Peggy to answer, “An officer from General Washington’s staff.”

“Ooh, an officer,” Peggy repeated, her voice high and dreamy. “Officer Nobody, perchance?”

Eliza elbowed Peggy in the ribs and hissed, “Shut up.”

“Eliza,” Mama scolded.

“It’s all right, Mama,” Peggy assured her, rubbing at her rib daintily. “Eliza’s just in love. It’s such a very emotional, unstable sort of state.”

“I am not,” she contradicted immediately, louder than she’d intended. Mama frowned at her. In a more measured tone, she repeated, “I’m not.”

“Hm.” Her mother gave her a skeptical look, but blessedly didn’t press. “Well, I was going to ask you both to accompany me to your Aunt Van Rensselaer’s for the evening, but if we have a guest, I suppose at least one of you should stay behind.”

Guilt warred with relief as she realized Mama wouldn’t see the lingering effects of the magic she’d done on Colonel Hamilton’s injury. Her thoughts wandered back to that dark cloud she’d sensed around him as she’d worked the spell. One of her healing teas would surely aid him, if not ward the illness away entirely. And Aunt Van Rensselaer’s brewing always ran more in line with Peggy’s interests than Eliza’s anyway. “I’ll stay home, Mama.”

Peggy cackled, provoking another elbow to her side. “Ow.”

“Eliza,” Mama said again.

“Sorry,” she said, in a tone that easily communicated she was anything but.

Peggy stuck her tongue out at her. When their mother’s back was turned, her little sister whispered in an annoying sing song, “Love, love, love, love, love.”

“I hate you,” she muttered.

“No you don’t.”

**

Twilight lit the paths of her mother’s herb garden just enough for Eliza to see the neat rows of plants and their labels in her mother’s careful looping hand. She’d already set the cauldron to boiling; all she needed was the Burdock leaves to help repel the fever. The scent of jasmine wafted from nearby as she knelt down towards the little purple blooms of the Burdock plant.

“It’s a beautiful evening.”

Eliza inhaled sharply and spun around. “Colonel Hamilton. You startled me.”

“My apologies, Miss. Your father suggested I take a stroll in the garden before I settled into my room for the night. I see you must have had a similar thought.”

Papa should know better, she thought. Almost everything in the garden would have lost its bloom months ago were it not for Mama’s very special green thumb. Thankfully, Colonel Hamilton didn’t seem to have found anything strange or amiss. He must not have been very experienced with gardens.

She adjusted her shawl around her shoulders. “Yes. Or, no. I was just preparing some tea, and I needed an herb.” The flustered speech made her wince with embarrassment.

“What sort of tea?” He’d moved closer to her.

“It’s for you, actually.”

“For me?”

“Something to keep you warm and well this winter when you’re back at General Washington’s headquarters.” That’s where he was headed, she’d learned at supper with him and her father. Once he had collected sufficient reinforcements from General Gates, he would ride back to Pennsylvania to rendezvous with Washington and the main army at their winter headquarters: Valley Forge. The words had conjured terrible images of bloody snow and cries of pain, and sent a shiver up her spine.

He looked slightly taken aback, almost startled at the kind gesture. “How thoughtful of you, Miss. I’d be very grateful to receive such a gift.” The gratitude was so clearly sincere, much more so than it ought to have been for what would to him seem a small token. How long had it been since someone had concerned themselves with his wellbeing, she wondered.

“It’s no trouble, really.”

A silence stole over them.

He broke the quiet a beat later, glancing around at the moonlit garden, “It truly is beautiful out here, but I must confess I’m already feeling a touch chilled. The autumn air has a bit of a bite once the sun’s gone down.” The quickness of her heartbeat and the warmth in her face kept her from feeling the cold, but she nodded in agreement anyway. “Would it be a terrible intrusion to sit with you in the kitchen while you prepared the tea?”

That little hint of insecurity had appeared again. She couldn’t entertain the thought of refusing him. “I’d like that.”

They began to walk back to the house, their strides matching each other.

She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and chanced a glance at him. He made her feel shy, nervous, but in the most wonderful way. When he felt her gaze, he looked over, and that warm, beautiful smile lit up his whole face.

“What was it you needed in the garden?” he inquired.

“Burdock leaves.” His blank expression confirmed his lacking knowledge of  herbs and gardens. “It will keep away fevers.”

“It will?”

She nodded.

“I really need to learn more about plants,” he muttered earnestly to himself. She couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped, nor fond expression that spread over her face. He didn’t seem to mind the mirth at his expense. “If this tea is anything like that woundwort of yours, I expect to be exceedingly healthy this winter.” He touched the skin at his temple again absently, a wondering fascination in his voice.

She wished it were so easy. Not every injury could be neatly healed; not every illness warded off. The Good Lord allowed only so much meddling in fate, or so Mama had explained it. That dark cloud still lingered menacingly around him, threatening to extinguish the golden flame that burned so brightly inside him.  

“I pray that will be so, Colonel.”

He held the door to the kitchen open for her. Only when they’ d both stepped inside did she consider how his presence might complicate things. The cauldron she’d set before she’d left was bubbling merrily, and a sweet lavender fog spilled over the sides,  obscuring the wooden floor beneath them.

“Is it…supposed to be doing that?”

“Yes,” she said tentatively. He seemed to accept that, but he did pace over with her to peek inside. “It’s a reduction. It brings out the healing properties, and makes the flavor more potent. A few drops added to any old tea or water will be all you need.”

All that was true, mostly, she consoled herself.

She released the leaves over the cauldron, and they slowly floated down in a spiral pattern, just a touch too slowly to be entirely natural. When the leaves all landed, she stirred her brew twice, counterclockwise, and inhaled the fragrant fog that rose up around them. The heady scent seemed to be going to Hamilton’s head: his pupils were large, reflecting the flickering light of the fire below.  

His eyes tracked the rolling fog out around the room before landing squarely back on her.  He seemed amazed, but not the least bit fearful. In a low whisper, he observed, “It’s like magic.”

She grinned at him. “Yes. Just like.”

**

“Was that Officer Nobody Mama and I passed on the road?” Peggy asked casually as she removed her gloves in the entryway the next morning.

Eliza had seen Hamilton off mere minutes before, laden with a flask of her special tea, along with a pouch laced with every protection spell she’d ever learned, which she’d completed after he’d gone to bed. She’d slid it into his breast pocket while Papa was ordering his horse. “For luck,” she’d whispered.

“I don’t believe in luck,” he’d replied with a challenging sort of quirk on his lips.

She’d leaned close, and whispered, “Neither do I.  Just keep it with you. Trust me.”

Though he’d clearly been more than a bit confused, he’d laughed, and agreed. “I would gladly trust my very life to your hands, Miss Schuyler.”  

The annoyance she’d felt towards Peggy yesterday had eased significantly. She felt more charitable towards all the world today. The sun seemed brighter, the birdsong more lovely, the crisp scent of fall a lovely perfume on the cool breeze.

“Very likely it was,” she answered her sister. “And his name is Colonel Hamilton.”

“Colonel Hamilton,” Peggy repeated, turning the name over on her tongue. “He was very handsome. A strong jaw, and just the figure to look agreeable on horseback.”  

They shared an appreciative smile.

“You didn’t cast a spell on him, did you?” Peggy asked.

“Of course not.” The lie was audible even to her own ears. At her sister’s smirk, she insisted, “Nothing like that. Just a few protection spells. A helping hand to see him through the winter. I think it’s going to be a hard one.”

“If you didn’t cast that sort of spell, my dear sister,” Peggy teased, “I think it’s just possible that your Colonel Hamilton has a kind of magic all his own. You’re utterly besotted with him.”

“I’ll probably never see him again.”

That didn’t make Peggy’s observation any less true.

**

A few weeks later, she felt that tug again, accompanied this time by an insistent little nagging sensation deep in her gut that told her something was wrong. The feeling worried at her all day. However much she tried to put it from her mind, she knew somehow that it was him, and that dark cloud she’d so feared.

The tug kept sleep at bay most of that night. It was growing more noticeable, like a rope being strained across a great distance. She tried not to think about where the soul on the other end might be drifting, to make the connection feel so taut. Only when she’d curled up in her armchair by the fire to let mesmerizing patterns of the flames distract her had her eyes started to slip closed.

Lightning streaked across the sky in her dreams. Harsh winds whipped at her face and rain pelted down from the heavens in drenching sheets. She turned in circles, trying to get her bearings, searching, until finally, she saw him.

He was standing beside the ocean, staring out at the horizon.

She was beside him without having to move, in the funny way of dreams. Her hand brushed his arm to get his attention. While he didn’t look at her, he seemed aware of her presence. “I think I’m dying.”

“No.” A comforting certainty filled her as she said it. He wouldn’t die. Not yet.

Amusement danced over his face. “Of course it would be you here, wouldn’t it? I knew there was something about you, something not quite of this world.”

“You are not going to die. Not today.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know.”

He turned to face her. His hands clasped hers and he stared deeply into her eyes. “How? How do you know? Who are you? What are you?”

She cocked her head to the side. “What do you think I am?”

“An angel.”

She twisted her hands out of his to slide them up over his shoulders. As she swayed with him, the rain began falling in the opposite direction, floating around them back up into the sky. The lightning stopped, replaced with rays of sunlight bursting all around through the thick dark clouds. He watched the floating rain in the fragile light with fascination.

Her lips were close to his ear when answered. “You’ll have to get better to find out.”

A weak smile played on his face. “Am I dreaming?”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

His hands clutched at the fabric of her nightgown over her hips. “You don’t feel like a dream. You feel solid.”

“Do I?”

He nodded.

“Odd,” she said with a mischievous smile. “Almost like magic.”

He leaned in, closer and closer, until his lips brushed against hers.

She woke with the ghostly sensation still on her lips. Touching her fingers to them, she sighed, relief flooding over her. The tugging had stopped; the danger had passed.

An angel, she thought, as she laid back in her bed. Not quite accurate, perhaps, but  as explanations went, she could live with it. She would be more than happy to be his angel.

 Three Years Later…

Eliza adjusted closer to Alexander, pillowing her head on her new husband’s warm chest. His fingers brushed through her hair in a soothing, rhythmic motion, his other hand resting low on her back. She pressed a sleepy kiss against his bare skin.

“Betsey?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember our first kiss?” The low rumble of his voice vibrated through his chest as he spoke.

She tried to swallow a yawn. “Of course. We were standing in the snow, just outside Aunt Gertrude’s. It was beautiful.”

“Yes,” he said, with almost a sigh.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, tilting her head to see his face. He looked pensive.  

“I just.. I had this feeling that it was earlier than that.”

“Earlier?”

“After we first met, while I was sick with that awful fever, I had the strangest dream. You were there. You felt so real. I was sure you were an angel sent to save me. I remember leaning in, brushing my lips on yours, and when I woke, I could still feel it, that kiss. It was…magical.”

She squeezed him tight in her embrace. “You thought I was angel? And you kissed me?” He shrugged a little, a smirk starting at his lips. Reaching up, she stroked her hand over his cheek. “I’m glad some part of me could bring you comfort when you were so ill.”

He hummed. “I suppose it was only a dream.”

“Must have been,” she agreed. “Visiting each other’s dreams would be impossible.”

“Mm.”

“Like magic.”

He tensed subtly beneath her, but his arms remained tightly embracing her. “Yes.”

“Hm.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and relaxed against him. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“It certainly would,” he agreed, giving her a knowing side glance as his lips brushed over her temple. When they’d snuggled in, all tangled up around each other, he added, in a sleepy mumbled, “Would you close the bed curtains?”

She raised her arm slightly from his torso, gave a lazy flick of her wrist, and the bed curtains swished closed on either side of the bed.

“Thank you,” he muttered. “My dearest angel.”

Well, he’s not going to call her a witch out loud, is he?