korewritingandstuff

[korewritingandstuff]

I'm no Reynolds.

[korewritingandstuff]

“I am afraid I was so thoughtless as to omit my remembrances to Gibbes in the last Letter Tell him that I am always his sincere well wisher and hope to laugh with him again before long.”

— John Laurens to Alexander Hamilton, in a letter dated July 14, 1779

[korewritingandstuff]

I've been inspired by @aaronburrssexdungeon 's Vampire AU, and I decided to make some sad stuff

[korewritingandstuff]

I know your heart too well my dear Kinloch to reproach you for not writing to me, or to be restrained by your Silence from doing all in my power to procure myself the only dedommagement that Friends can have of Absence from each other_ indeed I should not have been so long in renewing my Application, if I had not flatter’d myself day after day with the hopes of hearing from you; but henceforward you may expect Letters from me as often as possible, without my paying any Attention to the formal Alternity which reigns in some Correspondences; especially at this time, where I may send by every Post some interesting Intelligence relative to your own Country.

John Laurens to Francis Kinloch, 6 November 1774

This is the first half of the letter listed on the NYPL archive here. Due to an archiving error, the first part of the letter is listed under a different correspondent's name.

[korewritingandstuff]

[korewritingandstuff]

happy new year, have a lam!

[korewritingandstuff]

Ты меня на рассвете разбудишь, проводить необутая выйдешь. Ты меня никогда не забудешь. Ты меня никогда не увидишь.

Заслонивши тебя от простуды, я подумаю: «Боже всевышний! Я тебя никогда не забуду. Я тебя никогда не увижу»

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

You will awaken me at dawn And barefoot lead me to the door; You’ll not forget me when I’m gone, You will not see me anymore.

Lord, I think, in shielding you From the cold wind of the open door: I’ll not forget you when I’m gone, I shall not see you anymore.

[korewritingandstuff]

🎄🎄🎄🎄

[korewritingandstuff]

there's a certain level of unhealthy codependency present in jayvik that i find deeply fascinating. Something about spending around a decade in the same shared space, becoming integral parts of eachother's lives to the point where it's almost impossible to imagine a life without the other.

They're straight up cosmically intertwined in every universe. One cannot exist without the other. It's very nice, really, i'm just struggling to put it into words

[korewritingandstuff]

Where you go, I go. What you see, I see.

I know I'd never be me without the security of your loving arms keeping me from harm.

Put your hand in my hand and we'll stand.

Let the sky fall. When it crumbles, we will stand tall and face it all together.

arcane (2021) // pompeii casts // the queen of the damned: chapter 4, the devil's minion // the two maidens // hasanlu lovers // lovers of valdaro // skyfall - adele

[korewritingandstuff]

madohomu jayvik can we please talk about it

[korewritingandstuff]

Me when I use (forbidden) magic to bring fine shyt back to life but we ain’t homo we’re just intertwined nd shit

[korewritingandstuff]

Jayce being so fucking thrilled at meeting someone who finally Gets him… someone who likes his humor and ideas and believes in him and can not only keep up with his intellect but even outpace him at times.. so ecstatic over it that he DRAWS THEIR BRAINS TOGETHER

kinda.... autistic4autistic if ykwim...

[korewritingandstuff]

we need to collectively start shaming people for talking about anything related to economics a LOT more. if someone starts talking about inflation, ask them to explain what that is. interest rates- who controls that- more importantly, how? to what end? what are tariffs supposed to do? how do labor and wages effect supply and demand? what is a market? a job market??

literally no one’s actually knows anything they’re talking about AT ALL, and if someone’s telling you they can accurately predict what’s going to happen they’re plain lying. real experts will admit there are major flaws in the data feeding several key models and indicators. even with perfect data collection methods (impossible to achieve), we still wouldn’t be sure of anything. that’s not how economic controls work.

the average person has less than zero economic literacy and I mean less than zero because they’ll insist on talking about it anyway and that shit has a negative impact. when they do it, make them look stupid- ask them to break it down like you’re a child, keep asking for more clarity, go deeper. ask for their sources, ask for their sources sources, ask if they were educated in economics and where and in what focus. Fucking grill them. and when they can’t demonstrate real comprehension, ask them why they’d vote based on something they don’t actually understand.

[korewritingandstuff]

Trump winning

German government collapsing

[korewritingandstuff]

Small Hands

St. Croix, June 1759

Sure you only balance the books. You’re a whore anyway. He knows it.

Rachel shut her eyes and took a deep breath. It was this place, that was all.

Just. This place.

Stevens, Campbell, Davies, Lawson, Cronenberg, Hamilton…

Agony- this land where she’d taken her last steps in freedom before being sold off to him, his unwanted cock and his unavoidable children. Rage- the forests at the edge of the land, through which Fort Christiansvaern loomed, wet and hollow and accusatory. Defeat- the ocean beyond which had, time and time again, failed to drag this whole damned island into its depths as it wretchedly deserved.

Why do you think he had nothing to say in your defense?

The voice was taunting, wispy echoes of it from the corners of the guest bedroom, but Mary Fawcette was dead, and it was this place that was haunted. Not her.

He’s never coming back. He must hate-

The floor creaked. Ann kicked the door open wider then stopped, staring. “You’re hearing her right now, aren’t you?”

Rachel wanted to lie, but her sister’s discerning blue eyes were like ice in moments like this, and a lack of denial was as good as confirmation. 

You made his children whore-children.

“Fuck that retched old hag,” Ann pushed inside with a basin of water cocked on her hip. “You listen to me. You’ve done the best you could by your boys- all three of them, and you’ve done more right by that man than he could begin to deserve- even if his pride’s too rankled to see it right now.” She dabbed the cloth over Rachel’s collar and wiped away the dribble of water that snuck towards her aching breast.

A raucous fight in front of their sons and her sister’s whole family, and suddenly, pregnant for the sixth time and officially-divorced at last, Rachel was once again the little girl who’d kicked a boy’s shins for tugging her skirt. Ann stepping in to save her and break up the brawl when no one else would.

Ann was the real mother among them.

Rachel didn’t deserve any of the blessings motherhood conveyed.

Motherhood was her consequence. The by-product of the only cure she could find to the sickness in her that everyone here in St. Croix spoke of, and yet none of them deigned to understand. How could they? The aching emptiness. The sinkhole that was her body. How it collapsed in on itself until her mind was a muddle of violence and desire and need that could only be sated through feeding her worst impulses. With Lavien, she picked fights that she knew she could not win, drove him to beat and ravage her into the black of elusive sleep. Without him, she found gentler cocks attached to gentler men and she worked out the excess in their sympathetic- or at least complicit- arms. How could anyone who did not experience such a thing understand that, in the throes of it, Rachel was less than half herself.

Whore.

Even with James who sated her curse better than anyone had before, whose children were her greatest joy. Rachel still hated being pregnant. She hated the illness, the dependency, the delirium. She hated the emotions and how men would blame them on her condition as if that discredited or diminished the truth of them. 

Her only solace right now was that her current condition wasn’t visible enough for Lavien to have noticed- and bring it up in the courthouse. The divorce had gone about as badly as it could have, but at least they’d arrived to settle this before there were three whore-children to drag across the sea and stow away at her sister’s home as if that would stop Lavien from showing up at the doorstep with her only ‘legitimate’ son to harass them.

Despite being her first birth, or perhaps because of it- how badly she wanted the ordeal over with- Peter had been the easiest to push out. But, Rachel was sure that, when James Jr. and Alexander grew up and inevitably found their own ways in the world, Peter would still be the hardest to have let go of, even if leaving had made him safer.

When Lavine raged, he was dangerous to everyone.

When James Hamilton was angry, he flustered. It made him incoherent and nonsensical.

As he had been tonight.

Rachel had to assume it was the sight of Peter in his tiny waistcoat and finery that made him so adamant that their boys were gentlemen too. Still, “Dancing lessons…” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. To say that their son’s dancing lessons were a necessary expense even after she had explained their budget. To pretend that the graces of society were a priority- were still available- after he had learned about the corners she’d turned to in the absence of his income.

Ann’s mouth pinched and she took the rag to dip it back in the water and wring it out. She dabbed Rachel’s face with it, then flattened her palm to her sister’s cheek and held her face up to keep her gaze, “We’re fortunate if romanticism is the worst of his vices.”

There was a question in that, so Rachel covered the back of her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “It is.”

A slow nod and Ann released her cheek, wiping away the heat her hand left behind.

After the horrors that Rachel had fled from with Lavien, it felt silly to complain about James Hamilton at all, least of all to Ann who had risked everything to help her escape in the first place, but with no other place to take these worries, Rachel had to say, “I just pray his flights of fancy either cease or find some fruition before the boys begin to understand them and believe him. I can’t stand to see their hopes shattered. I’d prefer they never formed at all.”

Ann laughed wryly under her breath, a soft sort of agreement that her sister had an unenviable task. But, “I know you can manage that part,” she said. “Or perhaps…well, I know that being here is the last thing you want, but you are sorely missed- if you ever wanted to give them a taste of their status...”

“Status which they can’t claim- by law,” Rachel said. It was the easier reason to reject this offer than admitting how humiliating it would be for her boys to learn what happened to her here- how helpless she had been. As much as she wanted to be with her sister, shame in their eyes was one of the few things she was sure she could not endure. “Besides, if he wants them to have status, he’d appeal to his family, not ours.”

His family will hate you too.

Ann chuckled for real, then nodded. “I can only imagine the havoc they’d wreak on the Grange.” She dropped the rag in the basin and set it by the nightstand then turned and stroked Rachel’s hair back soothingly, tucked it behind her ears. “They’d turn the whole Hamilton clan in on itself, trying to account for these West Indian interlopers outshining their little lords and ladies.”

That earned a snort, “I’m sure James would love to imagine it.”

Ann hummed. “Jim’s gone after him,” she said. “He’ll take him out to town, buy him a few drinks and give him a place to air out the embarrassment. Worst case, they’ll rent a room for the night and he’ll meet you at the docks tomorrow.”

Rachel nodded, tight-chested with gratitude, but before she could voice it, a soft knock at the door interrupted.

It creaked open slowly, two sets of eyes peaking through below the doorknob. Alexander was tucked under James’s arm, hunched over to see inside, but as soon as James said, “Alex wouldn’t stop crying until we came to see you,” Alex pushed out from beneath him and charged into the bedroom.

“He’s the one that was crying - because papa left!”

Both boys were obviously distraught, pink-eyed and with rosy-cheeks their pale complexions could not hide, even in the low lamplight. Rachel knew that James’s delicate strength needed the deflection of pointing at his little brother’s distress and that Alex’s pride needed the chance to defend itself. So, she opened her arms to her youngest and cooed, “Come here, my sweet.”

Alex eyed her warily as he came, already cautious that he was going to be teased, but ready to allow it if it meant being wrapped up in her arms. Jem followed, obviously relieved that the offer had gone to Alex instead.

Rachel squeezed her tiny boy tight. “I’m alright, darling, but I’m very happy you wanted to see me.”

Alex gave a little, muted huff. “Jem was worried.”

Whore children.

“I know,” she said, reaching a hand out for her Jemmy to hold. One day, his little hands would dwarf hers, and she stifled the intrusive fear that all mothers of men must have, of making the future’s monsters. Her sweet boys would never harm a soul.

As we all say.

“Papa is just taking a walk with uncle Jim,” Rachel said, holding the back of Alex’s little head and gently stroking her thumb through his unruly curls. “This isn’t like his business trips. He’ll be back with us by tomorrow before we go home.”

Alex was content to keep his face pressed into his mother’s chest, hiding himself. It unfortunately contributed to her discomfort there, but she was confident that the padding in her gown would prevent any leaking.

Jem was a harder soul to placate. “Peter said we would hate you…” his lip wobbled at the thought even as it left his mouth.

As they should.

Rachel couldn’t breathe to respond. She knew what Peter must have heard of her from his father- what he must think of her, and when Lavien showed up to make his threats and the boys ran off together, she feared what he might say. She was aware she was clutching Alex too tight, heard his little muffled whine of protest, but he didn’t pull away and she didn’t let him.

“Peter’s father is a cruel man,” Ann said for her, lingering at the foot of the bed. “He’s nothing like your papa. He treated your mother very badly and she fought back. It made him an angry man. So, she left him when Peter was very young. She couldn’t bring Peter with her, but she hoped that leaving might make his father kinder.”

It was too much for Jem to understand, but he could understand the tears streaming down his mother’s face, and he threw himself onto her alongside his brother and wept and apologized.

If she could speak, Rachel would have explained-

“This has been a difficult week for your parents.” Ann rubbed a gentle hand up and down Jem’s back. “But, your father isn’t going anywhere.” She wiped a silent teartrack off Alex’s plump cheek and gently unwound his little fingers from where they were clutching at her dress. “And, no one can ever tell you how to feel about your own mother, hm?”

Rachel was already crying, but the sorrow had turned back to gratitude. She reached a hand out for her sister to join them in the blankets, and she did, wrapping herself alongside Rachel just as she had done when Rachel was a girl and she a young woman- two small important additions to their little family with a third en route.

When the divorce summons had come, it had been a race to appear here in answer before Rachel's latest pregnancy began to show. They had not told the boys for fear of exactly what had happened yesterday when Lavien made his visit.

Now, with things as far along as they were, there was no reason not to say it. "Your mother also has something very important to tell you," she said. "We were waiting until this trip was over to keep it a surprise, but..."

Ann looked at her, both brows raised as if to check that her sister was sure about this, but Rachel just nodded and ran her fingers up against a knot in Alex's hair.

He lifted his head to look at her.

"You're going to be a big brother."

Alex's dark eyes were luminescent. His whole face burst into a grin. The fact that he was missing two teeth made it all the more endearing. "I'll have a little sister?!"

"You don't know that it's a girl," Jem huffed.

A whore-girl to emulate her whore-mother.

It was everything Rachel could do to keep her boys from squirming on top of her and kneeing her in the thighs.

"It's a girl," Alex insisted. "And, she'll be the prettiest girl in Saint Kitts, just like mama. I'll dress her up and help with her hair and I'll always let her play with us. Not like Isabella's brothers."

Of course, she'll play with all the boys.

Rachel forced the voice into the periphery, forced it into silence. After the events of the last few days, she needed this moment of joy with her beautiful, sweet sons and her dear sister. She needed this.

Ann was hugging Jemmy to keep him from kicking at Alex, laughing at their debate over the merits of little sisters over brothers. Jem considered himself the expert on the subject, and in truth, Alex should consider it a compliment to have made a positive impression on his brother in favor of his sex.

Still, Rachel had to admit, that she agreed with Alex in this case. "Little Ann will be the most well-protected girl in all the New World," she said, grasping her sister's hand and holding tight.

[korewritingandstuff]

Fable

February 1774

“That was President Cooper’s house.” Alexander let the curtain slip from his fingers as the carriage trundled on with no apparent intention of stopping. “I- uhm, I think your driver’s missed it.”

“It’s not Cooper's house we’re visiting tonight.”

A mild answer and then silence, so Mister Mulligan was not going to explain further.

Alexander sat back in his seat, twisted his neck against the stiff-ribbed collar, pulled his sleeves down so they’d stop bunching under his arms. Mulligan’s shoe buckles, his powdered hair, his rings, the fraying paper lining the inside of his coach, he struggled to find anything worth fixing his gaze on. The wheels kept rumbling underfoot.

It had made sense to assume this dinner was with Miles Cooper. Alexander had spent all his time for the last few weeks on Cooper’s assignment, and Hercules’ brother, Hugh, had been his host in Boston for the trip. He had been adamant that Alex should volunteer. So, Alex had thought- perhaps they had discussed the whole trip in advance.

But, perhaps not.

“Stop fidgeting with that.” 

Alex’s thumbnail was scratching at the hem of his cuff. He pushed his sleeve back to his wrist.

“Best manners tonight.”

Alex cocked his head in wry acquiescence.

It was a point that Mister Mulligan had impressed thoroughly. When he’d brought Alexander to his shop and put him on the step riser to fit him with a finely-embroidered waistcoat, Alex had assumed he was only doing this to support some business with the university president, perhaps another elite party he was angling to host, perhaps a new contract to provide the school with uniform designs, perhaps he was being propped up as his son's tutor in hopes of securing his future enrollment.

Obviously, he wasn’t here to impress Cooper tonight, but Alex was still dressed in ridiculous finery for a reason and if he was going to titillate for another man’s interests, it would help him to at least know whom he was dazzling and why. “You said to be prepared to discuss my essay about the tea party,” he said. “I brought my notes.”

“And we will discuss them,” Mulligan leaned to peer out the window anxiously- as if their voices might drift onto the streets as they passed. “But not with Miles Cooper.”

“Then who?”

After biting his lip another moment, the tailor finally seemed to decide they were far enough away from Broadway. He drew the curtain. “When you came to this city, you followed recommendations from the Creugers, the Livingstons, the Lees. My own brother insisted you were brilliant- the most-driven, most relentless person he’d ever met. Everyone I knew was telling me I should take care to guide your energies because you could be a force in society. I told you as much.”

Alexander was taken aback by the flattery, immediately suspicious. In truth, he had neglected countless opportunities with the university in favor of involving himself in petty local politics and debates. Despite the fancy new clothes and the arranged dinner with a mysterious friend in high society, Alexander was bracing for Mulligan to say he hadn’t lived up to his reputation.

Instead, Mulligan asked, “Do you remember what you said to me?”

Alex blinked.

“You said that you got lucky.” Mulligan smiled, a slow, slanted stretch that reached up to his brows as if the conversation still amused him.

Alex remembered it, vaguely, but he was sure, “I didn’t use that word.”

“No, you said something about destiny being kind to you...or something to that effect.” He grinned as if the melodrama in that also amused him, “And I agree. It’s fortunate that you’ve come here, and it’s fortunate that you did so now."

"So, you have some grand plans for my essay." Alex said, hoping for the point of this, "You could be straightforward with them. Just this once."

Mulligan's smile clearly said he would not. "Before I bring you into this fold, I need you to understand why I'm doing it. Out of all the rising stars in your class, all your Corsican friends and the young scions of business and law that come in and out of my shop, I'm recommending you because you understand that your success has been arbitrary. Half your friends are convinced it was their own hard work that got them there, but men more brilliant than either of us are starving to death in the gutters while we'll attend an invitation from men half as brilliant and twice as rich. It's all arbitrary. Luck."

"I didn't say luck," Alex repeated.

"Fine. Destiny. Whatever you call it, it cannot be earned or returned. Someone who knows that it was mere luck that granted them the chance to be a contender- they won't delude themselves to believe it's their own actions that grant them opportunities and power. They'll recognize it as a fleeting blessing and they won't squander it."

"It seems to me that the opportunity I'm obliged not to squander right now is my education..." Alexander said.

He was pleased with the roll of Mulligan's eyes. "We both know how much of your energy that requires."

It was true that Alex would find some other way to distract himself if not this, but, "You're encouraging me to a task that I haven't even heard yet," he said. "I appreciate everything you've done for me in the last few months, but I'm not your blunt instrument."

Mulligan's mouth pinched at that. "Hardly mine- as I said, I'm recommending you tonight," he leaned and peeked out the curtain again as the carriage started to slow. "But, you should know- we are all tools. Each of us with talents and skills that could benefit our communities and ourselves. Not many of us are lucky enough to be situated so close to someone who can use us properly.”

To use him properly, Alexander's eyes narrowed. He was no stranger to Mulligan's whiggish tendencies, and he had attended Mulligan's drawing room for enough after-dinner conversations to know whom he was referring to when he was raving over 'tools'.

"So, are we meeting with James Rivington? Preventing the publication or trying to secure the rights to final edits?"

It seemed like the obvious answer. President Cooper would arrange a publication regardless of what Alexander wrote, and the Royal Gazette would be a possibility. Moreover, it would be a forum prestigious enough to perhaps merit these ridiculous clothes, especially if Rivington was entertaining.

But, Alex quickly reconsidered- "No, this isn't about avoiding or nulling the work, you're suggesting I should make myself a tool to..."

The carriage stopped.

Alex's eyes widened.

They were at the end of John Street near Golden Hill. The list of names narrowed, and the sly quirk of Mulligan's mouth left only one answer.

"King Isaac..."

That earned a full-throated laugh.

Alex wanted to grab the guess out of the air and swallow it back down. But, there wasn't any unkindness on Mulligan's face, and Alexander knew he was right.

He knew that, before Hercules married Elizabeth, he'd been an active member of the Sons of Liberty, a steady friend to their leaders. He had not known whether those connections were still intact.

He was pleased to discover they were, but “When I hoped for a chance to be useful, I always imagined it as a sword rather than a pen,” he said.

Mulligan had the decency not to laugh.

Alex could've covered his mouth if his arms weren't so stiff in this coat. He hadn't meant to speak of his hopes. He felt the embarrassed flush in his own cold cheeks, keenly aware of how he looked- slender, paltry; how he carried himself- rangy and bookish at best. He was aware of how ridiculous it must sound, someone like him wanting to fight.

But, if the Sons of Liberty needed a reporter and they were recruiting, that meant that they were planning as well. It meant that action was coming to New York- perhaps to Manhattan- perhaps an action like that at Griffin's Wharf in Boston. An action which it seemed like Alexander was about to be asked to promote and defend in writing rather than participate in...

“Perhaps that opportunity will come," Mulligan said. "For now, I think it will be fine to seize this chance, help in the best way you can, and we can hope that fortune continues to favor you.”

Alex said nothing.

“You’re pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“You are."

The carriage door opened and Cato lowered the step for them. Mulligan didn't move to get out though, watching Alexander's face for some implacable signal of recognition.

Finally, Alex couldn't stand it anymore. He grabbed his parcel of notes and turned to crawl out of the carriage first.

They were only about a mile away from Mulligan's shop, but the only time Alexander had ever been this far north in Manhattan was when he first arrived and made obligatory visits to the Beekman family and Crueger's associates.

The houses here would be more-aptly described as mansions. The one they'd pulled up to was elegantly lit, attended by a full staff of well-dressed slaves in high, stiff collars much like the one that was currently chaffing Alexander's neck, though maybe with even more lavish embroidery.

Mulligan's heels clacked primly behind him, careful steps to avoid slipping in the icy road until he reached the carpet laid out by their host. He offered up his arm for Alex to take and they walked up the front lawn towards the columned portico.

"Y'know, I think Excalibur was a lucky sword to be put in that stone," he said. "But it still had to wait to be drawn.”

Alex laughed. The noise shocked out of him, because it was oddly kind. A trifling and silly reference to a fanciful story, but inexplicably comforting. It made him willing to trifle back, so, “What does that make you then? King Arthur?”

"Heavens, no!" Mulligan chuckled, "You're right that Isaac's already laid claim to the title 'King' around here. Merlin, perhaps?” He twirled his hands as if he were conjuring something in the air around his head, a mockery of divination. “And I see great things ahead for you. But, let's not call him 'King' here- Mister Sears in tonight's company, yes?” He patted the back of Alex’s hand where it was curled around his arm. “Best manners."

Alex nodded even though he still didn't know precisely who 'tonight's company' entailed.