#//casually puts two hamilton references in there

[kcystotheheart]

🌼Recently... memories had been slipping into her mind. She would be sat at the bench of a piano with a young boy. With golden blond spikes, a checkered bracelet and a white t-shirt with a grey collar. She could never see his face, but just being in his presence while he tried to play along to her teachings... made her feel something she hadn’t in a long time.

She ended up taking a seat outside the train station, her gaze staring off at the sunset. Her fingers unconsciously as the memory played in her mind as she spoke to no one in particular. “...Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf... you always changed the melody... Yet... why can’t I remember your name...?” Any time she tried to see the boy’s face that she seemed to see in these memories... these dreams...  Why did they make her heart ache yet feel as if whatever she had lost... was finally being returned to her?

Shaking her head gently, she looked up. Her emerald gaze focusing on the clock tower above. Noticing the time, she moved to stand; remembering that this would be around the time that he... would be getting off of work and making his way home... But he was gone too... “Look around look around... so much has changed and yet... I wish you were lucky enough to be around...” She sighed softly as she let her eyes fall close as she pulled her shawl closer to her as she began to make her way down the path towards her home.

“...I will wonder if I had done enough...”

//because i love Dani and we enable each other <3 || @promisedsanctum​

[oldsmobile-hotdogs]

Questions for crossover jatp ghosts crossover fic: I hope Julian and the sunset curve boys talk about the fall of the Berlin Wall and the Yugoslav wars that happened when they were alive + Bill Cilnton. I wonder what pat and the band would talk about considering that they would of been kids when pat died? Do you think Julie would think of Les Mis and Hamilton cos Thomas and Kitty are from about the same time period as those musicals? I hope Julie calls Fanny Mary poppins.

Anon, or "Mimi", or "Lulu", or, heck, maybe even "Carl Birtles": Update: Not Carl Birtles. Carl Birtles sent me an ask and is cool, actually.

Stop. Right now. I'd say stop while you're ahead, but you are so far away from ahead at this point it's laughable.

For everyone confused, this is that "commenter from AO3" I joked about making a 2017-esque story time video about.

A couple days ago I uploaded the first chapter of a Julie and the Phantoms/BBC Ghosts crossover fic.

You know what? I’m gonna promo it here bc it’s my callout post and I can shill if I want to: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30681704/chapters/76661471

It was generally very well received and I've had a blast interacting with readers.

Except for this.

Honestly, there's so much to get into, so I’m putting it under a cut:

This was their first correspondence (email notif bc I deleted the comment, the deletion to be explained later):

(Funnily enough, the links very much do not work on AO3, making the comment only more jarring)

I gave you *so much* benefit of the doubt when I saw this comment, and assumed that maybe you're an ESL user, just very enthusiastic to share ideas, and I pretty much said so in my reply, but know that at that point I'd already had friends- who fucking know about this, don't you dare think you're getting me alone- tell me that you were being very demanding.

Below was my reply (another email notif):

I'm gonna be honest, I think I responded really well to what I was given, and now that I'd replied, I was pretty certain the situation was dealt with. You, evidently, didn't agree, as shown by your reply to my reply:

A word of advice: when replying to someone, at least pretend like you read what they wrote.

At this point I'm left wondering two things:

What do they expect from me, if a general reply is not it?

How much more shit do they have waiting to tell me to put in my- reminder, JATP/BBC Ghosts crossover, rated T, comedic- fic?

In order to avoid finding out either, I freeze the thread on AO3. I'm liveblogging all of this on Discord.

It's then that I notice that the username on AO3 isn't clickable, so even if I wanted to block or report them I couldn't. I assume, therefore, that they've deactivated, and since them seeing their comments gone and getting angry was the only thing stopping me deleting the comments, I delete the comments.

It's also at this point I see "Mimi" never left kudos. I guess I don't deserve praise until I mention "Bill Cilnton".

There's relative calm for a short amount of time, until I get another comment:

This one is much kinder than the others and doesn't mention any specific, weird, historical events, so the extent to which I think this is "Mimi" is debatable, but bestie I'm weirded out enough that anything that even uses the enter bar unnecessarily and misses out conjunctive words like "because" and "and" is going to activate fight or flight. Update: Carl Birtles is not Mimi or Lulu. Carl was just being genuinely kind and I misinterpreted it and that's on me.

However, "Carl"'s case is not helped by the fact I can't click his account either, that AO3 offers me the ability to report it as spam, and that guess who replies to "Carl"'s comment: Update: Carl, having done nothing wrong as he has, is therefore also a victim in the situation that is being replied to by Lulu. It would seem Lulu is trying to correct??? some of Carl's commentary.

You must think I didn't get a 7 on my English Literature GCSE because you seem to underestimate my ability to compare two texts.

So clearly this is "Mimi", who has also just replied to "Carl". "Lulu" is also deactivated, and I've fallen off the end of my tether, let alone reached it, at this point so I mark it as spam. "Carl" gets to stay bc he said the idea for the crossover was good. Update: Carl also gets to continue to stay because I have it on good faith that he's a stand-up dude.

So at this point you've readily admitted through your inability to shake up your writing style to using at least one sockpuppet to convince me to talk about the "Yugoslav wars".

If "Carl Birtles" is the real(-est) of them, and "Mimi" and "Lulu" are the sockpuppets, by the way, I have questions and ideas about what you do on your free evenings and I want them neither confirmed nor answered. Update: This is slanderous and I want to apologise wholeheartedly to Carl for making assumptions about him and judging his character. Once again, he is not Mimi or Lulu. He's just a normal, cool guy.

And now you come to me, on the day of my daughter's wedding on a different platform, leave me an anon ask in the exact same format as you're so fond of, and expect any different ??

Well, yeah, then I guess I'll give you special treatment this time.

Here's exactly why I will never include anything you have told me to include:

Julian and the Phantoms discussing the Berlin Wall would be highly inappropriate for the largely fluffy, cracky tone of my fanfiction, especially given how recently the event occurred, how many Eastern Germans still experience prejudice to this day because they were born within the old borders of the DDR, and because of how nuanced this, essentially proxy war, was and how ill-informed a huge amount of the world is on the actual factors in play during this time and the Cold War in general.

Julian and the Phantoms will not discuss Yugoslavia dissolving, nor the fallout and conflict that resulted, because it was genocidal. There is nowhere I can fit Julian, pantsted, casually asking Luke “hey do you remember when the Herzegovinas were killed en masse by the Serbs?” Not gonna happen.

They won’t discuss Bill Clinton because all of them know who the current world leaders are: they don’t have amnesia, they’re ghosts. The fic is also rated T, so it would be inappropriate to make any explicit reference to “sexual relations”. None of them play saxophone.

Julie wouldn’t think of Les Mis or Hamilton because Thomas is Regency, not French Revolution, and Kitty is Georgian, not Colonial.

Julie won’t be calling Fanny Mary Poppins because she is perpetually stuck in a white dress, doesn’t wear a hat, doesn’t own an umbrella or a purse and was not the nanny or housekeeper of Button House.

The ghosts will not discuss the marvels of modern transportation or how long it would’ve taken to cross the Atlantic on dinghy because the ghosts have seen Friends. The house irl is on a flight path. They know airplanes exist. Alison and Mike pulled up in a car.

I will probably have the phantoms and Willie talk to Pat and Julian about being from the ‘80s and ‘90s. That I will actually probably do.

The Captain will not mention FD Roosevelt because, again, they all know who the current world leaders are, and I doubt he expects a ‘90s pop punk band to have any insider knowledge on the man.

It was interesting to think of the phantoms’ grandparents having been alive during WW2. I wasn’t lying. But there is nearly nothing I can do with this information.

But above all: both sets of ghosts have already adapted to modern life. Because the shows are shorter, and meant to actually be able to fit jokes in them.

If you want to see any of this, write your own damn fic. I don’t own the concept of a JATP/BBC Ghosts crossover.

What you will not do, “consonant-vowel-consonant-vowel”-nim, is hound me on multiple accounts and then change platform to hound me again. I’m absolutely not having it.

I have never received an interaction quite like this before, and I cannot help but wonder if this is because this is my first work in the Ghosts/HH/Them There/Six Idiots/Yonderland/Bill fandom: that this is where you primarily camp out.

So it’s at this point I ask the Them There/Six Idiots fandom if they have/if they know anyone who has had a run-in with this person or thinks they may have, or if anyone perhaps even knows who this is? Maybe I’m just one of many. Maybe this is a necessary fandom evil I was unaware of.

This experience has left me royally freaked out, as one might imagine, especially since my anxiety in general has been acting up due to it being exam season. I want to thank everyone who’s read my rambles on Discord and on here and even listened to them irl and offered support from the bottom of my heart.

I’ve enabled comment moderation on the fic. I will continue to write it, and I will put exactly what I, and only what I, want in it.

Believe it or not, I wanted to do literally anything else today.

Anon: Fucking Leave Me Alone.

Update: Just reiterating: Carl is not Mimi or Lulu. Carl is a cool dude and I want to sincerely apologise for having brought him into this mess, passing judgment on his character, and making him feel like he should stop practicing English online.

[revolutionary-demosthenes]

Louis de Manoël de Végobre (Pt. 2/2)

So, now that I’ve written about De Végobre’s life in general, on to the second part... which I know I should’ve posted like a week ago. (Sorry!)

And as a prelude, let me just say that since there is so little on De Végobre, it is hard to talk definitively about really anything in his life. This post is going by the information that I have at the moment. 

So, was De Végobre likely romantically and/or sexually attracted to men? If so, who was he in a relationship with?

As mentioned before, De Végobre, Kinloch, and Laurens were very close while they all lived in Geneva. Even Gregory Massey, when examining their bond, points out that this was “the beginning of a pattern: he [John Laurens] continually centered his life around homosocial attachments to other men.”*(John Laurens and the American Revolution by Gregory Massey, page 40.)

(I wouldn't agree on the “homosocial” part.) 

Francis Kinloch and John Laurens were pretty likely in a relationship for at least some of their time in Geneva, but the question is, how did De Végobre fit into that?

The way De Végobre writes to Laurens after he hasn’t written for a little while also definitely points to a very strong friendship at least. Not writing for long periods of time was not unusual for John, the unusual thing here is how much Kinloch and De Végobre minded his casual attitude towards correspondence. This could also be indicative of a stronger relationship between them.

As an interesting comparison, Alexander Hamilton wrote this to Laurens on September 11th, 1779:

“I acknowlege but one letter from you, since you left us, of the 14th of July which just arrived in time to appease a violent conflict between my friendship and my pride. I have written you five or six letters since you left Philadelphia and I should have written you more had you made proper return. But like a jealous lover, when I thought you slighted my caresses, my affection was alarmed and my vanity piqued. I had almost resolved to lavish no more of them upon you and to reject you as an inconstant and an ungrateful [blank space].”

This is Hamilton after Laurens hasn’t responded to “five or six” letters.

This is Végobre after Laurens hasn’t written back to one letter (I’ve quoted this in the pt. 1):

“When I have wrote [&] sent an epistle, I am always imagining the history of it; I long to see it [illegible], arriving, read, and answered; I Keep in my memory its date, I calculate the time of its arrival, and I impatiently expect the time of receiving an answer. This longed for answer arrives at length; then I am contented, and beginning another letter I prepare myself for enjoying still such a pleasure. But—if no answer… What must I think? I am concerned, sometimes a little angry. How does my friend do? Is he sick, absent, or idle in answering? Suspense is a hard thing.

I have wrote to you on the 24th of December, you have not yet answered. If you are guilty of negligence, pray do not aggravate your fault by a longer delay. Fault, I say; indeed I think it to be a fault to let pass over a great time without answering the letter of one who deserved answer. There is the end of my chiding, and I hope my thanks will soon began: I mean, that my second stroke shall get me an answer. Indeed, I would be sorry if your continued silence would hinder me from setting pen to paper a third letter.”

“How angry they get when you don’t respond to letters” is not by any means a foolproof way to measure attachment, but the similarities between the responses are interesting. Hamilton’s is more teasing, but the basic message remains “Please write to me. I’ve written to you, but I’ll stop if you don’t write enough.”

Some more concrete examples of strong affection between De Végobre and Laurens can be found in other letters from De Végobre to Laurens, such as one written the 24th of December, 1774. In this letter, De Végobre again drops some very blatant hints to please, please write, and closes it with this:

“Adieu, I dont know if in this language I have been able to express my heart’s true sentiments; you shall see in this letter my knowledge in your tongue; you will laugh at my mistakes in grammar, but not at my sentiments.”

There are two someone’s De Végobre’s “sentiments” could be referring to. One is John Laurens, but the other is Francis Kinloch. In this same letter to Laurens, we find our first evidence that Kinloch and De Végobre could have been lovers. De Végobre writes in the above letter,

“...never, never in my life I have been so well entertained as when I read Milton; and why? First, for Poet’s Excellency, and secondly and chiefly because I read it with Kinloch. My beloved, my dearest friend is Kinloch; how happy am I, when I teach him some part of natural Philosophy, when I read with him both English and French Poets, when I talk with him about various matters plainly and heartily as with a friend! Let me say again, Kinloch is my beloved, my dearest friend.”

Well. This kind of speaks for itself. De Végobre certainly uses some very affectionate wordings here, and calls Kinloch his “beloved” and “dearest friend” twice in two sentences.

I do take note of Végobre saying “as with a friend,” as opposed to “with my friend” or something along those lines. The way Végobre phrases it could suggest that Kinloch is something other than a friend, though Végobre also calls Kinloch his “dearest friend” a couple times. Just... something to notice.

The best way to get more information on the nature of Végobre and Kinloch’s relationship would be letters between the two, but unfortunately if such letters do exist, they aren't available to the public. However, Kinloch does mention De Végobre in a letter way later, in 1804. This letter was to none other than Johannes von Müller. 

As you may know, Kinloch came back to Geneva with his family in 1804, and Müller actually might have stayed with him and his wife (after she had a baby and the midwife moved out.) Anyway, in this letter, (which thankfully is in English,) Kinloch is musing about remembering his earlier times in Geneva, and he says, “...De Vegobre I have not seen.”

So what? Well, this casual reference implies that Müller at least knew of, if not knew Végobre, especially as for most others mentioned in this letter Kinloch explains their connection to him. And there’s more-- Charles Victor de Bonstetten, Müller’s lover, also mentioned De Végobre in passing in a letter. This adds to the evidence of De Végobre being at least a little a part of this pretty-openly-gay-for-the-time-period group of people. 

In La France protestante: ou, Vies des protestants français qui se sont fait un nom dans l'histoire depuis les premiers temps de la réformation jusqu'à la reconnaissance du principe de la liberté des cultes par l'Assemblée nationale; ouvrage précéde d'une notice historique sur le protestantisme en France, suivi de pièces justificatives, et rédigé sur des documents en grand partie inédits, Volumes 7-8 by Eugene and Emile Haag, it says, “He also spent some time at the castle of Coppet with M[adame] de Staël, who more than once used his vast education and his extraordinary memory.” Here’s the thing-- Madame de Stäel and Coppet are also mentioned a lot in the book, Briefkorrespondenzen Karl Viktor von Bonstettens und seines Kreises, which is essentially what it sounds like; a ton of Bonstetten, Müller, Kinloch, Frederike Brun, etc’s correspondence. From what I can figure (the book’s mostly in German) Müller and possibly some others were at Coppet in 1804. The frustrating thing about the quote about De Végobre and de Stäel is that there’s no dates as to when he stayed with her, only that it was between 1789 and 1814. It may have been in 1807, but whether he was there before then I don’t know. But at the very least, De Végobre had some close mutual friends with Müller and Bonstetten.

As I mentioned before, De Végobre never married. De Végobre seems to have been a friendly and affectionate individual, and he lived a long time. And it was also rarer to not marry back then. Why, then, would he never marry? The reason that strikes me as most likely when put with other evidence is that he was attracted to men.

[meepmoopfanfics]

you don’t get a win unless you’re playing the game: Daveed Diggs x Reader Chapter 4 Part 2

You scoot past the long line of tourists waiting to be seated at Jack’s Wife Frida. You feel slightly cocky thinking to yourself that this was the first of many things to come easier in your life thanks to Hamilton.

You gave Michelle a huge hug and sat down carefully scanning through the menu while she told you the intimate and quite frankly sloppily drunk evening she had with Cedric. Michelle mentioned it may only be a hookup phase, but you definitely knew there was great chemistry between the two of them. You made sure to give advice to tell her to take it slow. Although you gave the best guy advice, you still to this day never take your own advice yourself.

DING

You immediately open your phone.

Diggs: I’m losing my patience over here...

Oh shit. You forgot to respond. You were too busy romanticizing the thought of the two of you later tonight to even fathom a response.

Your eyes widened as you locked your phone and flipped it face down on your table. Maybe you did need a drink. Or six. The waiter came over to the table looking irritated. She began reading off the specials in a smart ass tone. You were too high off of life to even hear her...

“Bottomless mimosas and Banana Chocolate Chip French toast” you blurted out before she even finished listing off the specials.

“Bottomless?! You out of your mind?” Michelle screeched while rolling her eyes at you. She then looked back at the waiter, “Guess I’m in too. I’ll do the same.”

You both looked at each other and laughed as the waitress gave you both dirty looks and waltzed away.

“You’re acting so weird today, Y/N! What gives? Is it the harsh light? Did I give a little TMI about my evening?”

“Oh no no no definitely not that. And my hangover isn’t exactly the problem…”


DING

You flipped your phone over and to your surprise you stare straight back at a shirtless photo of Daveed in only a towel wrapped low around his waist. His abs so defined and chiseled from the natural light... you couldn’t help but sigh aloud.

“Holy shit...” you mumbled.

You look further down to notice his obliques tapering into a perfect V just as the towel began. Your eyes drifted down to see the towel covering his full erection. Imagining exploring those creases in his abdomen with your tongue was all you could think of.

He was all yours. All yours for the taking. At least in this fleeting moment. And you needed him. Now.

“Who the hell is texting you that is so important?” Michelle yapped. She reached for your phone. You were frozen, simply starting in awe. “Give me your phone right-“ Michelle snatched the phone out of your hands and was face to face with that picture.

Oh well.

“AHH!” She squealed in her hilarious high pitched scream and tossed the phone back into your lap. “No fucking WAY!”

It felt like every table around you turned around to see the chaos that was happening at your table. You didn’t even have a sip of alcohol yet and you both were acting like idiots. All you could do was chuckle and reference your favorite TikTok sound back to Michelle,

“Uh... how do I say this in the best way... I would let this man... crack... my spine in half.”

You both erupted into even louder laughter.

“Maybe let’s just do one drink so you can get yourself ready and get ya ass out of here.” Michelle said. “Daveed Diggs sent you a PIC.” She said in a loud whisper.

She called over the waitress before she charged you both for bottomless. You both chugged your mimosas, had a lovely conversation all while enjoying the decadent French toast, completely eliminating your hangover.

You finally were hit by the bubbles and typed back quickly:

Y/N: “Damn... Trying to make me act up in public?”

Daveed started typing...

Diggs: “It’s the least I can do 😈”

Y/N: “And what would that make the “most” ?”

Diggs: “Why don’t you come over and find out?”

Y/N “Think I could make arrangements...”

He then sent his address on a pin to you.

A fucking PIN of his apartment.

Diggs: “I’ll send you a car, angel. The thought of that lavender lace is driving me over the edge... can’t stop looking at this pic of you...”

You turned to Michelle, “He’s sending me a CAR.”

Michelle’s jaw dropped as she packed her credit card back in her bright pink Marc Jacobs zip wallet and shoved it into her tote bag.

“Let’s get outta here,” Michelle said as you both stood up and sucked in to avoid hitting any of the chairs in the extremely crowded restaurant. “I’ll make sure you get in the car safe.”

You were thankful you only put natural makeup on. Everything was shaved from before the party, of course, so you didn’t have to worry about those basics. You still had your lavender set on. You thought he’d appreciate your casualness in your hoodie and leggings with the special set on underneath for his eyes only. You took your hair down out of your top knot and shook it so it fell down perfectly how you liked it.

“You look hella hot!” Michelle said as your car approached the curb in front of the quaint restaurant. “You tell me everything the instant you leave.”

You hopped in the backseat, reached in your back for your compact and Kiehl’s lip balm. You wanted this to be perfect. You put one spray of (fave perfume of choice) to make you smell amazing and confident. This was going to be an afternoon and hopefully evening you’d never forget.

You had to make him beg for it.

Y/N: “I can’t wait to get on my knees for you...”

Daveed: “You’re making me rock hard. Tell the driver to speed the fuck up”

You began to lose your inhibitions.

Y/N: “You better not be stroking yourself...”

Daveed: “Fuck Y/N...”

Y/N: “Are you thinking about the bullet sucking you off now? I can’t wait to take all of you in my mouth...I’d love it if you’d push your thick cock deep in my throat”

Who were you? You... saying all of this?! You have never acted this way but you were so horny and desperate you didn’t have a filter anymore. If you were about to sleep with your all time celebrity crush, you were gonna make sure it went perfectly.

Daveed: “I want to fuck the shit out of you, Y/N. I’m going to fuck the shit out of you...”

The uber stopped in front of his apartment building.

At this point your fake confidence turned real. You were wet and ready for him. You looked into your compact one last time while in the elevator. The doors opened and you were face to face with his door.

Y/N: “Well then stop touching yourself, get up, and unlock the door.”

Game on.

@alexander-hamilhoe

@lonelydance

@riiyy

@braidedchallah

@lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa

[wristcheckstore]

Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 “Save the Ocean” Special Edition One of the Most Requested Seiko Watch at WristCheck.Store

o many Customers can't be wrong Right why is the diving watch so popular? I took a closer look at it for you and found out some amazing things.

About WristCheck.Store

The Internet portal WristCheck.Store is specialized in the online sales of watches of considerable manufacturers such as Gucci, Emporio Armani, Oris, Tissot, Hamilton, or Seiko.

Buying a luxury watch is a moment to cherish, but it shouldn’t cost you an arm and a leg.

My name is Joel. I love watches and I wanted to create a place where others could search for the best watches online for a great price. In my experience, finding the best price online takes a lot of time and effort. Many people do not have the time to shop around and miss out on the best prices.

That’s where I come in. With WristCheck, you can be sure to get a more competitive price than most web retailers and save 20% or more on your purchases. You can choose from our wide selection of watches or send us a special request via email to get you the best price. We source our watches from several vendors within the US, Europe, and Asia. This allows us to offer wholesale prices for a wide variety of luxury watches, produced with the highest quality in material and design. Because we ship from multiple warehouses, please allow for up to 4-5 working days for any items that may ship from international warehouses. In cases where the delivery is quicker, we shall send you a message to let you know.

Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 “Save the Ocean” Special Edition Review

Seiko’s Prospex with the reference number SRPF79K1 and the nickname Samurai is in many ways an exciting watch, which offers a lot at first glance and appeals to a wide target group. A well-known manufacturer, a professional diving watch with an automatic movement and an iconic design are just four of the features that Seiko’s Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 uses to captivate potential buyers. Understandably, who wouldn’t be intrigued by these features?

The Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 is all about Seiko’s “Save the Ocean” campaign, which the traditional Japanese manufacturer uses to advertise. In the spring of 2018, they entered into a partnership with ocean conservationist Fabien Cousteau.

The oceanographer is fully committed to protecting marine biodiversity. The Fabien Costeau Learning Center has been in existence since 2016. The facility is intended to become an information center for the protection of the oceans. Costeau wants to bring together marine biologists, environmentalists, divers and other experts here to educate about climate change and its consequences. As a world-renowned manufacturer of diving watches, Seiko is supporting the project. Across its product range, there are model collections in a “Save the Ocean” special edition. When you purchase one of these products, Seiko donates a portion of the proceeds to the Fabien Costeau Learning Center. That sounds worthy of support and somehow too good to be true. What’s the catch?

The first impression

From a black cardboard box with a silver Seiko inscription, I take out the Seiko watch still wrapped in protective foil. “Prospex – Save the Ocean” is written on the inside lid of the box.  The Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 is a bulky diver with a massive buckle closing the silicone strap. I twist and turn the watch. Immediately, the wave design of the dial catches the eye, revealing that this is a “Save the Ocean” model. Last year, Seiko already introduced two new Prospex models from the “Save the Ocean” series that bear the distinctive surface structure. On a blue background are manta rays that seem to float across the dial. Combined with the blue bracelet, this is a perfect match for a diver’s watch with this name.

I touch the cold surface and touch the Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 for the first time. The watch feels very valuable. Huge dashes as indices, a date magnifier, and a countdown bezel give the Seiko model its classic diver design. In terms of naming its watches, Seiko is in a class of its own. The Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 owes its nickname “Samurai” primarily to the design of the hour and minute hands. This is inspired by historical samurai swords. The watch manufacturer is proud of its roots in the country of Japan.

The Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 on the wrist

Flipping it over, I’m amazed how light the Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 is on the wrist. With a diameter of a massive 44 millimeters and a height of 13 millimeters, the diver’s watch really doesn’t have to hide. The low weight, on the other hand, is astounding. Finding matching outfits for the Seiko watch does not turn out to be a great difficulty. The sporty casual design suits many occasions. At the same time, the Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 brings a certain prestige to the wrist with its sheer size. However, you should like the size and flashiness of a watch. The timepiece does not know the word understatement. But for me, these dimensions simply belong to a diver’s watch!

The Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 in detail

The case

For the case of its Prospex Samurai in “Save the Ocean” design, Seiko put a lot of emphasis on good build quality. The solid case structure is made of stainless steel, which has both polished and brushed surfaces, depending on the component. As you can easily see on the back, the middle part is visually separated from the lugs. The dial is protected by sapphire crystal. In the manufacturing process, Seiko made it anti-reflective, which benefits the readability under water. Those who really want to use the watch on the high seas or underwater will quickly appreciate this feature. I find the date magnifier at 3 o’clock very useful and well done. Most of us will probably associate Rolex watches with it.

The crown has a size that matches the watch, which makes it easy to operate. In the first stage, it is completely covered by a crown protector. In everyday life, this improves the wearing comfort immensely. The screw-down crown also stands out due to its easy-to-grip surface structure. If you turn it now, you’ll notice the slight play that the crown has. In my experience, this is a great relief when setting the time and date. The hands never shoot forward too quickly, so you can set the time accurately.

Bezel and case back

The bezel is a diver’s bezel or countdown bezel. The tactile feel when the clicks engage is outstanding! Visually, it frames the lighter dial.

The cashback is screwed down six times. Instead of the usual date window, you’ll find the famous engraved waves on Seiko watches, reminiscent of “the great wave of Kanagawa”, a famous Japanese painting. If you search a little bit, you will also find your production number. 163 is the number of my Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K.

In its case, the Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 withstands a possible water pressure of 20 bar. 200 meters maximum diving depth would be possible. However, hardly any amateur diver will penetrate into these spheres.

The movement

For the movement, Seiko uses an automatic movement from its own production. In this case, it’s a Seiko 4R35 caliber, which is very reliable and durable. For the number freaks among you: with 23 jewels, the Seiko 4R35 has a power reserve of 41 hours. The oscillation frequency is 21600 vibrations per hour.

The Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 shows itself at its best…

…with the dial. The wave structure is something completely new, which I actually haven’t seen on a diver’s watch like this before. With the neatly printed rays, it gives the Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 a very interesting design.

And it is practical, too. That should be the focus for diving watches. The large line indices ensure perfect readability. To guarantee that even at night and in the dark, Seiko has given Samurai hands and indices a luminous function. Apart from the manufacturer’s lettering, the 200M indication, and the rectangular date window, there are no other elements on the dial. But that’s how it should be, after all – simple and straightforward.

Perfect for the water: the silicone strap of the Seiko Prospex Samurai SRP

Silicone and rubber straps have emerged as one of the best solutions for diving watches. They do not age and are easily adjustable. This is also the case with the huge specimen that my Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 is equipped with. The buckle is made of stainless steel and bears the engraved Seiko lettering. However, what I liked the most about the bracelet is its practicality. In addition, it is quite comfortable to wear.

My conclusion about the Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 – a diver’s watch for everyone.

I can understand why this Seiko diver with the reference number SRPF79K1 is so popular among customers. This Seiko Prospex in the “Save the Ocean” special edition is the diver’s watch for everyone! It looks exactly how you would imagine a diver’s watch to look: large, blue-black, with a bezel and a dial to match. On top of that, there are good materials, a high-quality finish, and stand-out features like the maritime skate design.

This already very good overall package is comparatively affordable. This makes the Seiko Prospex Samurai SRPF79K1 interesting for collectors and beginners alike.

If you have any questions or feedback, we would love to hear from you! Please contact us at sales@wristcheck.store and we will be able to help you with any inquiry you have.

[secondhand-trash]

Dick Grayson(Nightwing)- Goner

A/N: Based on this modern day fake dating au by @queenpotatothegreat ! (btw I hid a Hamilton reference in there. Tell me if you found it and you’ll be my favorite person ever uwu)

Description: (See linked prompt, I’m too burned out to come up with a smart description)

Wordcount: 3083

Playlist:

She’s So High//Tal Bachman

Best Friend//Rex Orange County

You nearly choked on your drink when you heard what your friend just asked you to do.

“You want me to what?”

“Pretend to date me for two weeks.”

You stared at Dick, searching his face for any sign that he was just messing with you but he did not look like he was joking at all. There were things that people simply should not do, this was one of them. You grew up watching dumb rom-coms and seeing the overused trope a million times, you knew for a fact that this wouldn’t end well.

“Uh.... Why?”

Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Because there is a gala coming up,” you raised a brow and he hesitantly added, “and I kinda told the fam that I’ll bring a date out of annoyance.”

And somehow you think that bringing a fake one is the best solution? “Why me then? You could have just ask one of the people you went out with.”

“How am I supposed to go to an ex with something like that,” he whined, “please (y/n), you’re the only one I can count on to pull this off.”

Boom. All sense of logic was gone. Maybe it was the way he looked so helpless, or maybe it was how you used to have a hopeless crush on your now best friend, all reasons flew out of the window the moment he turned those eyes on you.

To be fair, everyone who grew up in Gotham who were somewhat attracted to men have had a crush on Dick Grayson at some point. But it was different for you because you actually got to be there to witness those small moments that made people swoon. You got to hear his laughs, you got to listen to his circus stories, you got to be there to witness that one summer he went from being a boy to the way he looked now in all his Adonis-like glory. You knew that he never liked you the way you wanted and you were alright with that. You were the civilian best friend he needed to keep him anchored and you took up that role gladly, trading your heart to keep his eyes in your life. It hurt so badly at first, seeing him look at so many different people the way you always looked at him. But as time went on, the wound mended. The faces of the one he embraced changed through the years but you were the one that stayed.

And that was why you could never say no to Dick Grayson, not even when he asked you to do something you knew would end in chaos. Dick Grayson could ask you for the world and you would gladly give it to him, not that you would ever let him know.

Looking into those damned puppy dog eyes, you sucked in your breath and said, “Ok, fine.”

His pout quickly turned into a toothy grin, “You are honestly the best! Seriously, what would I do without you?”

There it was, that smile that used to make you toss in your sleep. You felt a long forgotten but familiar flutter in your stomach at the sight of his eyes lighting up, and you knew immediately that you were a goner down this disastrous road.

“So, how are we doing this whole ‘fake dating’ thing?” You asked, laying on Dick’s couch. You caressed the fabric of the couch subconsciously, feeling the touch of the soft fabric. Dick’s taste with decor was questionable but that couch was truly a good asset. “Well, of course,” you thought to yourself with a childish sense of pride, “I was the one who picked it.”

“People who fake date in fiction always ended up torturing themselves because they caught feelings, right?” he said, “We don’t want that.”

You throat tightened and you almost felt bitter. Right, of course we wouldn’t want to catch feelings. Of course.

What you didn’t expect is what he said next, “Which is why I proposed that by the end of the two weeks, we would sit down to have a chat and we’re gonna be honest to each other if either of us got feelings.” Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

You managed to hide everything you felt for him under the facade of platonic love for so long and now he had the decency to suggest being honest? You swallowed the breath you were holding in. He said that you two would be honest, but he wouldn’t know if you do lie. After all, god knows how many times you succeeded in fooling yourself into thinking that friendship was all you wanted for you two.

“So you’re basically assuming that I will catch feelings? Narcissistic much?” you teased with a dramatic eye roll, pretending that the heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach wasn’t there.

He laughed and you couldn’t help but smile. Come on now, get a grip. “I’m not implying anything but people do say that I’m a bit of a charmer,” he winked and you cursed the quickened beating of your heart for selling you out, “maybe I can make you fall in love with me by the end of this.”

Oh, if only he knew. If only he knew.

If you had doubts at first, then you were most definitely sure that you were a goner when introduced you to his friends for the first time.

The gala was a one-time thing, so you weren’t really sure why Dick insisted on bringing you to a dinner party hosted by a work friend from his ‘day job’. “Legitimacy.” he said as he put an arm around your waist and grinned. Your body stiffen at the contact and your determination that you could brush everything off as an act was shaken just a little.

You put on a purposefully nonchalant expression as you were greeted by the host of the gathering. A man that seemed to be in his mid-30s opened the door and pulled Dick into a hug with a wide smile, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder before pulling away. The man looked at you and turned back to Dick with a teasing smile, “Well, Officer Grayson, why didn’t you mention that you’re bringing a special someone?”

Out of habit, you were prepared to hear him clarify that you two were merely best friends with a light-hearted smile. You almost couldn’t stand firmly when he casually threw his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him, “This is (y/n). We’ve been friends since we were kids and we just started seeing each as something more recently.”

He said it so naturally you almost forgot that it was all part of the plan. There was a time when you painted scenarios after scenarios in your head of what it would be like if he realized how in love with him you were and what would happen if he realized that he loved you in the same way. How ironic that this was how you finally hear those words you used to dream of after believing that it was not something you longed to hear anymore.

You forced a polite smile and shook the man’s extended hand, “Darren.” He led you into the dining table that was already set up, all while making fun of Dick for ‘keeping this one all to himself’ by not mentioning that he was seeing someone. You couldn’t really focus on what Darren said, not when you could feel the way his muscles contracts every time he moves with his arm so permanently on your waist.

It was a bad decision. All this pretending felt like pure torture because you enjoyed it a little too much. You were indulging in it and you hated how you let yourself sunk in the phony warmth despite knowing at heart that it wouldn’t last. Days later, things would go back to the way it was. Yes, exactly the way it was, with your heart falling safely in line of your role as the supportive friend. Not unless that rush in your pulse when Dick gripped your hand on the table got the better part of you when time of confession comes and you end up spilling everything you held back for so long.

No. You pushed that dangerous thought to the back of your head like you always do. That would be too much risk. You could not risk everything you had. Not even for the way chills went through your spine when he brought the back of your hand to his lips as his friends remarked on how lovely you looked together. Not even for that unmistakable pounding in your heart when he oh so casually called you ‘babe’. Not even for the fragile chance that maybe, just maybe, this little game of pretend could last as long as you wanted to.

You laughed along at a witty remark someone made at the table, only because he was laughing too and how were you suppose to not be affected by that?

Two weeks was more than you had ever bargained for. And for that, you were grateful.

Dick knew he was a goner the moment he realized that he had no intention of letting go of your hand even after it was only the two of you.

In all honesty, he was just as shocked as he was delighted when you actually agreed to help him with this tomfoolery. At heart, he knew that all of it could be avoided if he just stayed calm for a moment instead of blurting out that he was seeing someone for real when his brothers were poking fun at him for always ‘mindlessly messing around’. Somehow, it hurt his pride more than it should and he felt so guilty for dragging you into the mess for this petty reason.

He couldn’t be more than concerned when you didn’t even do so little as utter a word after leaving the dinner party. Was it too much for you? Did he went overboard and acted too lovey-dovey for you to feel comfortable with?

It was only the two of you walking in silence and the occasional screech of tires from the distant highway. Finally, you softly breathed in before opening your mouth and Dick didn’t even notice how fast he turned to you upon the barely audible sound, “Is it just me or is that truly a really small plate of pasta because I’m starving.”

He snorted and it turned into a full-body laugh as you hit his arm. You were laughing too, and all worries that clouded him were gone. “What?” you said, panting between laughs, “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Dick Grayson. It was barely half the serving for an regular adult!”

He grabbed your forearm to steady himself and despite the glare you were sending his way, you lifted your arm just a bit higher so he could regain his balance. “I’m sorry! But I was so worried that I made you uncomfortable back there because you were being so quiet just then and you’re telling me that you’re just hungry all along. You were the one saying you were full when they asked if you want another serving for god’s sake!”

“Uh excuse me? Is that not basic manners? When a guest said they don’t want more, the correct response is to ask again, not letting it slide!” you huffed.

His hand slid from your forearm to link with yours, with the smile lingering on his lips, “Whatever you say. Chinese takeout on the way to your place?”

“Only if you pay.”

Playful bickering filled the streets of Gotham as the two of you made way to the Chinese restaurant that was very conveniently located just around the corner of the street you lived on. You brought him here when you just moved there, excited that you discovered a store that he didn’t know of. Dick had gone there so often that he had the both of your usual’s memorized by now. No matter how busy life got, you would always greet him with a smile if he showed up unannounced with food in his hands at your doorstep.

He didn’t even realized that your hand never left his grip on the whole way until you pulled back to let him reach for his wallet, you did not seem to notice it as you were still chuckling at a dumb joke he made. He frowned at the sudden emptiness of his palm.

Wait, he frowned?

Now that he was thinking of it, why did he hold your hand? It wasn’t like there was a need for you two to act like a couple when it was literally just the two of you. At that point, he only did it because you two were laughing together and he just acted on instinct without thinking about it at all. And boy, did that made him feel giddy.

Just like that, Dick Grayson was hit by the realization that he had tumbled down the very hole he dug for himself.

The gala itself was pure agony for the both of you.

You were not in the high society and that meant you would have to introduce yourself as “Dick Grayson’s best friend turned lover” at every turn. Each time someone would ask anything regarding your well-fabricated relationship, it felt like a stab to your chest as a reminder that this all was a ‘what could have been’ to all of your fantasies. As you followed Dick across the grand ball room with arms linked together, you knew that denial wouldn’t be as easy as it used to be now that you got a taste of the sweet poison that left you wanting more. Dressing in his sharpest attire, he was like the sun, radiating charm and so captivating. There wasn’t a time in your life when you could recall your eyes not following him whenever he entered the room. But now you were right next to him and the light was so bright that you could barely open your eyes. How cruel that life decided to mock your pitiful effort to hide your feelings for years by showing you that it only took two weeks for you to go so far down the spiral that you didn’t want to climb back up anymore.

Although it was a sweet gesture on his part, you could almost hear your heart shattering into a million pieces when he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before leaving you alone in front of the door to your apartment, knowing that you could not hide from the screams in your heart anymore.

Dick did not think of himself as a possessive person but he wanted nothing more than hiding you from the gaze of the crowd right after you walked in the huge room with him. His heart stopped every time your arm started sliding away from his and he could not help but let out a relieved sigh upon seeing that you pulled away just to tighten your hold on him. The odd swell of pride when people asked about your relationship did not went unnoticed by him and he found himself more than willing to tell people those lies that you two made up. You and him, what a lovely thing to say. He wished he could keep saying that. You had always been a piece of hidden treasure to him, always something more to add to your charm even after knowing you for years. But now he felt the inner conflict of wanting to let the world see your shine and wanting to keep you all to himself. After all, everyone wants a piece of treasure in their lives.

He was not a love-struck teenager anymore, or so he told himself but that did not stop his heart from stammering after he gathered all his courage to kiss you on the cheek as you parted. Why the nerves? It was just a kiss on the cheek. As he left, he wondered what you would say if he ask to kiss you for real next time.

“So...”

“So, it has been two hectic weeks.” Dick said, tapping his finger on the side on his mug and you nodded in response. You averted your gaze from him but forced yourself to look him in the eye as you thought of how suspicious you were looking.

You had avoided this for so long, you weren’t even sure if you wouldn’t just combust here and there when the time finally came for you to confess everything.

"How do we feel about, well, us?”

Us? As if you didn’t know the answer way before you even realized it yourself. Still, you kept your composure to the best of your ability and motioned for him to continue.

Dick tried to chuckle but it sounded more like a cough. He said in a bashful manner that you had never seen him in, “Alright then, let’s just say it together and get it done and over with.”

Alright, just casually confessing your love for your best friend. No big deal, no big deal....

“IhavelikedyouforsolongImightaswelladmitit.” “IdidntexpectittohappenbutIfellinlovewithyouforreal.”

You two stared at each other after the sudden outburst of rapid words and like best friends do, burst into laughter at how ridiculous you both sounded.

As you laughed, you felt the weight in your heart slowly shifting away. You watched him threw his head back and hid his mouth under his hand as he tried to calm down, the crinkling in his eyes you loved so much being ever so bright. You would give him the world if he let you. “I was saying,” you spoke those lines that had been buried deep down inside you for so long, “I have liked you way even before you asked me to be your stupid fake date and I’m not afraid to admit it anymore.”

He smiled, “Oh wow.”

“Yeah, wow.” You could feel yourself grinning from ear to ear as he reached out to place his hand on your cheek, leaning forward from his seat.

“I’m sorry for not noticing that earlier.”

“All forgiven.”

His gaze flicked between your lips and your eyes and your head almost hurt from the drumming from your ear. “Let me make it up to you.” he whispered before finally closing that painful distance between your lips and his.

That kiss was better than you had ever imagined it to be.

[ragnarachael]

Blue Moon

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Word Count: 2,273

Summary: After a rough breakup you head back to the one place that'll help you drown your impending sorrows: Josie's.

Warnings: beer and whiskey are a thing here! Matt Murdock is a life ruiner with his charm! Stop him! Please!

A Note: Matthew Murdock said that I had to write this. And so I did. This is cross posted on my AO3 account, and based off of the small excerpt from Billie Holiday’s “Blue Moon”!

MASTERLIST !  FEEDBACK !

              "...you saw me standing alone

                   Without a dream in my heart

                   Without a love of my own

    Blue Moon, you know just what I was there for."

               — "Blue Moon" by Billie Holiday

You walked into Josie’s with what little dignity you had left after your horrendous and very public break up at the hole in the wall restaurant just a few blocks over, hands deep in your denim jacket as you smiled small at Josie, already placing an Alexander Hamilton on the clean marble bar.

“Whiskey?”

“Neat please,” you said kindly, as the woman smiled sympathetically at you, taking the cash on the counter. Part of you knew you shouldn't have whiskey on a work night or in general, but hell you've earned it after your shit day.

You took a moment to look around, noticing how empty it was. A small group of four playing at the newly replaced pool table, a happy looking middle-aged couple playing darts, small groups scattered in seating.

It was pleasant. You took a moment to note that were two men on your right conversing happily, one nursing a beer while the other had a beer and whiskey glass of his own. They both seemed somewhat dressed up and that caught you by surprise. The people that come to Josie's are usually casually dressed and nowhere near looking like they've ditched some nice business party.

However, the guy in the black button up sure did make it work, even if you could only view him from behind.

“Thank you, Josie.” Almost the second the glass was placed in front of you, you took a sip or two and ignored the sting as you took a deep breath in.

“Rough night?” She questioned softly, knowing what exactly happened, most likely.

“I guess you could say that,” you responded with a bit of venom in your tone. “I shoulda listened to you when you told me about Cameron.”

“Oh, he caused this?” Josie’s tone shifted into a motherly one as her arms crossed over her chest. You took another sip followed by a nod.

“Took me to that small Thai place a few blocks away and practically staged a play where our break up was the main plot line.”

You heard the men next to you laugh at one of their own jokes as you smiled painfully, swirling your glass around as Josie clicked her tongue.

“The second that prick walks through the door I’m giving him a piece of my mind,” she insisted.

“He’s not worth the time, Josie. Good news though,” you started, placing the glass on a coaster. “He’s never liked Hell’s Kitchen anyways. Always said it wasn’t safe due to that Daredevil guy or whatever. So, no piece of mind needs to be wasted.”

“Now that’s just horseshit! The kitchen's better with 'im in it.” Josie said sternly before letting one of her hands grab your free one near your glass. “He wasn't worth any of your time.”

You started to smile sadly now as you looked up at Josie. “Thank you. Now go tend to the other people and stop tryin’ to make me cry.”

The two of you laughed before Josie was off and walking down the length of the bar, starting to strike up conversation with other patrons while you just stared at the amber liquid in your glass, moving a hand to start swirling it around.

At least you can drown in your sorrow in peace now without feeling pathetic.

You swore that you could feel your phone going off in your jacket’s pocket, and you’re not sure why. But you were electing to ignore it and imagine it was your body buzzing from the whiskey you were drinking as you took another sip, almost draining the rest of what was in the glass.

Your eyes found the bottom of your glass through the small amount of alcohol again just as a voice came from your right.

“You can’t drown in the whiskey, y’know.”

“I can sure as hell try,” you started, turning your head to see the man next to you, suddenly taking in his features.

He wore 5 o’clock shadow well along with the fluffy looking hair he had, red circular sunglasses hiding his eyes from your own, and a few buttons of his shirt were undone and showed a small amount of chest hair. You were definitely right earlier. He did make it work in his favor.

Something in your mind made you think he could be danger with a handsome face.

"If you're really wanting to try then," the man started, shifting in his seat to face you completely now, his legs spread slightly as if you were going to slot right in-between them. Oh, would you love to, your mind echoed. "Try the Halál Angola, you'll be all set after a few sips."

You snorted and turned to face the man with your body now, your spread knees knocking gently against his. Your eyes were still locked on his sunglasses.

"Halál Angola? Is.. Is that Hungarian?" You questioned, clasping your hands loosely in your lap. The man let out a light chuckle, his head tilting up a bit as his gaze moved to look over at your left.

"Maybe. If it is, I think I might've butchered the name." He smiled. It felt like the wind was knocked out of your chest before he leaned an arm on the counter, reaching for his glass of whiskey. "Matt Murdock."

You grabbed your near empty glass from your coaster and rose your glass slightly like you were having a toast, "Y/N L/N."

Matt caught on to what you were doing and smoothly clinking his glass with yours before you knocked back what little liquid was left in your glass.

"So, Matt," you started just as you placed your glass down on the coaster, Josie wandering back to your side of the bar. "Why the glasses in a bar?"

He tried not to laugh as he swallowed the mouthful of whiskey he had before you received a small shrug. "'Cause I can."

"Alright then, Corey Hart, I can't masquerade with a guy in shades," you joked, smiling with yourself due to your reference to the song. You nodded to Josie as she reached for the whiskey glass you were drinking out of for her to give you another round.

"Oh no," Matt quipped, his voice echoing in his glass before taking another sip. You huffed out a laugh.

You thanked Josie as she topped you off, starting to lean against the counter.

"So, Y/N," Matt started just like you had a moment ago, clearing his throat slightly as his glass found its home on the coaster. "Why are you wanting to drown in whiskey on a night like this?"

You scoffed and sat up straight again while ignoring your heart beating a little faster from the way your name came from his lips, already reaching for your drink as you turned your body back to the bar.

"Long story. We'll be here all night if you get me rambling long enough."

"I've got the time."

You turned your head to look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as he had a hint of a friendly smile on his face, his hands already resting on the tops of his thighs as he leaned against the back of the bar stool. You noted how his friend had seemed to have left him now, the beer he was drinking was gone, along with his coat that once draped over the back of the chair.

Heaving a sigh, you took a gulp of your second glass, half of the liquid gone before speaking. "Ex-boyfriend put on a show in the Thai place down the block that got him thrown out."

That answer was half true. After Cameron's outburst, it was clear to you he really only cared about himself and was overall a douche who was mad that you wouldn't give him head or anything like that in the end. Even if you'd been dating for a long period of time, you never felt comfortable enough to be intimate with him.

Now it definitely made sense why you weren't.

It did look like a long time coming for you two after you thought about how he treated you when you were together, and your heart seemed to clench at the fact that you're single again.

There was a long sigh that came from you, the tears starting to gather along your waterline as you shut your eyes tightly. You will NOT cry here. Not in front of this Matt guy, not in front of Josie, or ANYONE ELSE in this bar. You will NOT—

"Hey, you're okay," Matt gently reassured as you felt his hand fall onto your denim covered shoulder. Part of you wanted to shake off the hand. Like, really really bad and just walk out into the cold New York night.

But the buzzed part of you could feel the heat of his hand through your jacket, and you couldn't bring yourself to shake it off. Even if you've just met the guy, it felt comforting.

The heels of your hands gently pressed against your closed eyes to try and get them to stop watering with your tears as you took slow breaths, feeling Matt's hand move to rub your back now. You couldn't help but be thankful in this moment that you already had taken your makeup off at the restaurant.

It took you a bit to recover and get your emotions back to normal like they were when you first walked into Josie's. You personally blamed the whiskey, this usually happened after you've had a glass or two. This is why you steered away from most strong alcohols that you could handle, since your barriers you've made crash and cause things to happen much against your will.

Yet, Matt sat with you, still rubbing your back like a champ while you just got your shit together.

It made you feel even worse.

"I'm sorry," you said suddenly, taking in a ragged breath as your hands finally came back from your eyes to start gently tugging at your denim sleeves. "Like, really sorry. I know how awkward this probably feels for you right now and—"

"You're perfectly fine," Matt said almost sternly, his hand stilling on your back.

"We literally just met, I don't see how it's fine."

"Y/N." Matt's hand went from your back to gently grip your chin so you'd turn your head to look at him. There are those stupid sunglasses again. "It is fine. If I didn't want to try and help, I wouldn't be here, trust me."

You let out a huff and rolled your eyes, ignoring the feeling of his calloused hand under your chin still. "Your friends must think you're a saint of some kind with that attitude, huh?"

Matt snorted and let his hand fall back into his lap as his head ducked down as a small chuckle slipped out.

"I guess you could say that."

Sniffling, you gently ran your hands over your damp eyes one last time before reaching for your whiskey glass.

"Well," you started, your voice coming out a lot more choked up than before, "thank you. I really appreciate it. For someone who just met me, you're showing a lot of kindness that I don't really deserve."

Matt pulled a face as he looked back over one of your shoulders again. Why does he do that?

"We may have just met, Y/N, but I can already tell you're not a bad person."

You rose a brow. "This sounds like you're trying to tell me that you've got superpowers of some kind."

"No, I'm just a Catholic with a soft spot," Matt quipped as he started to slide off of the stool, grabbing his jacket in the process. You let out a soft laugh as you sipped at the whiskey in your glass again, your heart beating a little faster.

"Then wow am I thankful for you, Mr. Catholic With A Soft Spot. Maybe you should get that on a card."

Matt laughed as a smirk started to settle on his face while he swiftly pulled on his jacket.

You tried to hide your disappointment of him getting ready to leave. You had to remind yourself that you've only just met the man tonight, forchristsake.

"I'll think about getting it onto one if I ever have the money for it."

"Then I better be the first to get a copy," you quipped, pointing in his general direction before knocking back what was left in your whiskey glass. Matt scoffed dramatically as his hands dug around for his wallet in his pockets.

"But of course! I can't let down a potential client." Matt placed down some cash for what you could only assume was his beer before shoving his wallet back in his pocket as he kept a small smirk on his face. "I'll see you around then, Y/N?"

You turned to face him in your stool, noticing just how tall he actually was.

Jesus Christ.

You took a deep breath in before nodding probably a little too fast in response. "Y-Yeah, see you around, Matt."

Matt gave you one last smile before sidestepping to navigate his way to the door after waving to a few people and Josie.

It took you a brief moment to regain the breath you didn't know you were holding before letting out a huff.

You guess you'll have to start coming to Josie's more often then.

[zigzagzipwriting]

WMaCC? Relationship Between Your Characters

The way your character interact/act around others, how they think about other characters, how their love life affects them and their journey, and a character’s opinions and grudges show your readers a lot about your character without directly telling them. For example, it showcases your character’s thoughts and views, their flaws and strengths, and establishes other characters in your story. Relationships don’t always have to be cliqued romance. While those are perfectly fine, try adding some diversity to your story to make it stand out in your reader's mind. Some examples of relationship types are:

Aromantic or Asexual relationships

Parent/Child

Siblings

Aggressor/Victim

Rivals/Adversaries

Best Friends

Boss/Employee

Caregiver/Receiver

Cop/Criminal

Partners (in business, crime, etc.)

Slave/Master

Human/Environment

Human/God

Human/Pet

Casual Acquaintances

Unrequited/one-sided love

And of course, romance

So, what can you do to utilize these relationships in perspective of showcasing your character and making your story unique/leave an impact on your reader?

Make your character stop and think about others

Give an introspect/insight to your character’s inner thoughts

Uses pros and cons, love and hate, doubts, opinions, likes, and insecurities in   inner dialogue add more building and relatability to your character

Use a soliloquy

Challenge your character's thoughts and feelings, especially of others (specifically people they know personally)

“I love him, but why?”

“What’s the real reason I hate her?”

“What needs to happen so I can get over this?”

“Will they like me?”

“Will they understand me?”

“Who am I against?”

“Who am I for?”

Give your character strong opinions

Opinions and personal values make your character unique and let them stand out in a crowd. Opinions are your character’s voice; every character has different opinions and expresses them differently, even if they might seem similar, and they can change over time due to experiences, growth, and conflict

Even if your character is shy or introverted, let them showcase their opinions in their inner dialogue and thoughts. While it should match your character’s overall personality (unless they are being suppressed in some way on the outside or suppressing inner thoughts), allow your character to show how they feel about a certain person or event. Remember, no one (except the reader, who does not exist in your story) can hear your character's thoughts, so they don’t have to worry what others think of their inner opinions

Not every character needs to be good at expressing their opinions. Some might stutter, or not know the right words to use, or become frustrated. The big ‘rallying speech’ might come naturally to some characters, and some might mess up. It all adds to the differences between characters

What are your character’s opinions of others? What are their thoughts? Their feelings for/against certain people, events, actions, places, etc.? How do they react to the conflict?

Remember, if a character has personality traits or feelings of anger/fury, they are more likely to show their strong opinions either as thoughts or to other characters. The same can be done using ‘extreme’ emotions or situations with high pressure or atmosphere, like love, stress, or when a character simply has enough

Use gossip, love, callousness/hate, and shallow or deep thinking for a wide variety of opinions. Some characters have simpler thought patterns, while others have deep logic based. Some are driven by emotion or creativity, and those thoughts might be a little messier

Play a game of risk with your character

Have your character make sacrifices/risk something for another. It can be anything from a friendship, job, personal, or the arguably most impactful, personal safety and risking their life or even dying for someone

Putting everything at stake despite personal interest/safety - raises the stakes of the conflict and adds high tension to the scene. Show that you’re not afraid to let a character be injured or even die to add realism to the scene (you do not have to kill the character, but if the threat is real enough, your reader will take the story more seriously and worry for your character). Essentially, make one of your characters willing to die for another, and put them in the position where that could happen

Risks are a test of character - what are they willing to do, and what is their limit

Risks and the threat of loss in any way make your reader root for the character

Add a hypotenuse/triangle

I know, it’s been done to death already. But there is power in a love triangle, square, or a change in the rules for something unique. It’s a huge test of each character, and reveals traits, both positive and negative, in the ‘competition’, and causes tension between all characters involved. It also leaves an emotional impact on the reader, especially when one character ‘loses’ or intentionally gives up for another character’s sake.

Complications in love, especially across multiple people, can lead to complex relationships

Make all characters flushed out and 3D for full impact - Don’t show immediately which two characters are going to ‘hook up’ in the end (if any pairings do) by having one character have no impact or form. It’s boring, cliqued, and drops

Make a reason why a pair can’t be together

Human, animal, career, addiction, a call to adventure, obligation, etc.

Emotions & relationships aren’t rational - motivations that can lead to quick, bad decisions

Some examples of unique and impactful love triangles are ‘Angelica, Eliza, and Hamilton’ from the musical “Hamilton”, the complex love square between two characters with secret identities such as ‘Marinette/Ladybug and Adrien/Cat Noir’ from “The Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir”, or complications between the ‘villain’/antagonist and the ‘hero’/protagonist (especially with hidden identities), which often leads to hurt from either end and emotional sympathy from the reader

Leverage the group

People act differently depending on the situation and who they are with. For example, a normally cheerful person might turn cold around someone they dislike, or a social person in a group might get awkward in a one-on-one. In a group, relationships and alliances are ever-changing, depending on circumstances

Some places where leveraging the group takes place are a mob, gang, organization, work, school, or large event

A character might put on a ‘social/public mask’, especially if they are a victim of abuse or other forms of suppressant (be it personal or outward)

Befriend ambiguity

Don’t over explain relationships; let the reader make inferences. Not everything needs a full detail story on all the ‘wrongs’  a character has done, or every interaction. You don’t have to say this person is a lover, or that this parent is an alcoholic. Instead, use body language, descriptions, and how that character interacts with the main character to show who they are

Show, not tell

A reader’s instinct is to assume that there is more than meets the eye; they recognize a person has many layers, and that some layers are more hidden than others. For example, use contradictions to show diversity, like how in every adult, there’s a bit of a child, or in every cop, there’s a bit of a criminal. There’s a little ‘good’  in your antagonist/villain, and a little ‘bad/evil’ in your protagonist/hero

Tap into the power of a grudge

Show your reader if your character is the kind who holds grudges, forgives, or acts on revenge. It adds to your relationships, especially when a character has been ‘wronged’, even accidentally, and can be impactful in the relationship between the protagonist and antagonist. Does one character forgive the other? Do they take action against them out of vengeance? Grudges can be from either side, and they can be both ways. In addition, a grudge doesn’t have to be suited on facts. There should be a reason, not just instant ‘hate’, but it can be accidental or a misunderstanding

Characters with a certain type of personality are more likely to hold and act on impulsive grudges to the point of vengeance & destruction. For example:

Someone with very low self-esteem but a big ego (ie. the stereotypical ‘popular/mean’ kid)

‘Eye for an eye’: those who suffer pay back the world (the more suffering the character has induced, the more grudgeful revenge) ~ this is a common backdrop of victims, and a possible backstory for antagonist/villains

A sensitive character + suffering mass injustices, intolerable shame, stress, and degrading = believable eventual snap/murderous rage ~ it’s possible for a sweet character to have a realistic snap, especially if they hold everything to themselves without an outlet

Make the reader wish for the character to snap back

Don’t overlook everyday interactions

A chance encounter with a stranger can be powerful enough to transform a moment, or a day, even to change your life

Acquaintanceships and how your character interacts with close strangers shows the reader your character’s social views/standings

No relationship is clear-cut/black and white;  little details scatter off to form webs of interconnecting stories

Let your characters approach others, glance off them, then continue on different trajectories - everyone has their own story in life, and sometimes stories interconnect through a shared space, goal, or person

If you have multiple stories that take place in the same universe, it can be a fun nod to subtly include references or characters from other series for readers

[wckdhook]

A Winter’s Ball - Harry Hook

Request: Request for Harry Hook x reader. Both harry and reader like each other but Harry doesn't want to go out with reader because he thinks he'll only hurt her so at the upcoming dance, reader goes with her best friend Jay. Harry sees them dancing and laughing, gets jealous and confronts the pair only to have reader tell harry that she isn't interested and Jay is already dating someone else (your choice).

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2,188

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this one! Also someone please tell me they caught the Hamilton reference in the title lmao.

**** "I don't understand why you just don't ask her out?" Gil mumbled.

Gil and Harry had been sitting at a bench outside, watching as you sat under a tree studying. Harry had been trying to get the courage to go over and talk to you for about fifteen minutes now and Gil was beginning to grow frustrated. Harry had a crush on you since the moment Ben allowed more VKs to come into Auradon. He sat next to you in one class, and he took every opportunity to talk to you in it. But talking outside of class was a different story, he just couldn't move his feet to go and talk to you.

Gil nudged Harry's shoulder. "I'm being serious alright? Back in the Isle you used to talk to girls with ease. What's the problem with this one?"

Harry sighed. "I'm scared, alright?" The frustration was clear in his tone.

"Poor Harry, scared of talking to a little girl. She's just some princess or someth-"

Harry cut him off, angrily. "She is not, just a princess. Her name is (Y/N) and she is lovely." Harry's eyes drew back to you. You looked so peaceful under that tree, it made his heart smile.

"Okay. So what's the big deal?" Gil face palmed.

"The big deal is she's not just any girl from the Isle. The girls I flirted with on the Isle were just flings, I didn't care much. They all had nasty attitudes and we're trying to backstab me. (Y/N) is so different from that. She's sweet and kind and beautiful and way too good for me. I don't deserve her. I'm just a dirty old pirate from the Isle. What if I hurt her? What if I end up hurting her so bad that she's no longer sweet and loving and kind? I don't want to take any chances with that. I don't want to ruin her." Harry's eyes were on the floor and his shoulders were slumped. "C'mon Gil, let's just go."

Gil tried comforting Harry as the two walked back to their dorm rooms and called it a night.

"Class please turn to page 172 on your textbooks." The teacher ordered.

You sighed as you flipped through the pages of your Magical History textbook. You looked at the seat across from you to see Harry Hook with an empty stare looking towards the floor.

"Pss. Hey Harry. What's up?" You whispered.

"Nothing." He whispered back.

"I'm not an idiot there's obviously something up, Hook. You can tell me." You smiled.

"Well obviously I don't want to tell you so how about lay off?" He bit back.

Woah. What was his problem? You tried playing it off cool like you didn't care, but you really did. You had the biggest crush on Harry since he first stepped into Auradon. Magical History class with him was sometimes the highlight of your day. You two mostly just goofed off the whole time. And sometimes you felt as though Harry shared those same romantic feelings towards you. But his attitude towards you today proved you wrong. Maybe he somehow found out that I like him. Maybe he doesn't want to be my friend anymore. A million thoughts ran through your mind. You brushed them off.

After class ended you immediately called your best friend Jay to tell him about this. He told you to meet him at the tables outside the cafeteria. You sat there waiting for awhile until you saw Jay run up to you.

"I have the MOST amazing idea!" He yelled.

"Woah, woah, woah. Slow down there, Jay. What do you mean?" You laughed.

"I mean I have a plan for figuring out if Hook really likes you or not." He explained.

"I can definitely tell you that he doesn't after today. He completely pushed me away!" You grumbled.

"Who said it had anything to do with you though? Maybe something personal is going on and he just really doesn't want to talk about it. We wont find out if he likes you or not unless we try."

"So... what's the plan?" You asked.

"You know how the winter ball is coming up soon?" You nodded in response. "Well, since we know Harry's lazy butt won't ask you himself, what if you went with me instead?" You began laughing. "Seriously, hear me out. If you go with me to the ball, and we see Harry get jealous, we'll know he has a thing for you. We can find out if he likes you without even asking!"

"Okay, sounds good enough to me. But what about Lonnie, don't you want to ask her?" You questioned. Jay has had a crush on Lonnie for awhile now, but he never seemed to make a move on her.

"See that's the thing. We don't know if Lonnie likes me either. But, if she sees me at the ball with another girl and shows signs of jealousy, we'll know she likes me too. It's knocking two birds with one stone!"

"Jay, you're a genius!" You exclaimed and ran up to him, giving him a hug. "What would I do without you?"

"Probably be single for the rest of your life." He responded casually.

You nudged his shoulder. "Shut up." You laughed.

It was the night of the ball, and you were all dressed up. You looked into your mirror and smiled to yourself, you honestly looked gorgeous. Your dress was a low v-cut light pink ball gown, with simple white embroidered flowers on the bodice of the dress. The bottom of the dress flared outwards and just barely grazed the floor. Your hair was slightly curled and pinned back, and your ears had simple pearl earrings attached to them. You looked like a petal from a flower. And you felt beautiful.

You met Jay outside of the ball and smiled at your best friend wearing his black suit with a light pink tie to match your dress.

"Ready to go make some people jealous?" He asked.

"Ready." You smiled.

You both confidently walked into the ball with arms linked together, you immediately caught sight of Harry the moment you walked in. His eyes were on you and his mouth was slightly ajar.

"I think it's working." You whispered to Jay.

"Okay you sit down at a table, and I'm gonna go get us some punch. Let's see if Harry tries to talk with you." He whispered back and you nodded, taking a seat at the nearest table.

Just as Jay had suspected, Harry immediately walked up to you.

"Hello, (Y/N). You look beautiful tonight." Harry complimented.

"Thank you. As do you."

"So... you came with Jay to the ball?" His voice was on edge.

"Yes I did. Why?"

"Oh nothing.. just wondering. You know, I was also wondering if you'd like to da-"

"Hey (Y/N) I brought us some punch!" Jay cut Harry off. "Oh, hey Harry! What are you doing here? Doesn't (Y/N) look so lovely tonight?" Jay asked.

"Yes. She does." Harry gritted through his teeth. "I was actually about to ask if she'd like to da-"

"Welp better get going now, (Y/N) and I were just about to dance. Isn't that right (Y/N)?" Jay cut Harry off again and you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from laughing.

"That's right. Catch ya later Harry!" You replied, leaving Harry all alone at your table. "This is totally working! Did you see his face? He looked like a poor kicked puppy, I almost feel bad."

"Don't. He deserves it, it his fault for not making a move sooner." Jay responded.

"You're right."

"Now let's dance!" Jay laughed as he twirled you around. In the corner of his eye he could see Lonnie standing staring at you two with her arms crossed. He applauded himself at this tiny victory.

Harry stood alongside Gil and Uma and watched as you and Jay danced and laughed the night away. He was so angrily annoyed there was probably steam evaporating off his skin.

"Look at them. All happy. That should be me right there. Jay can't even dance very well, either. I could take his place so easily if she jus-" He crushed the empty plastic cup in his hands.

"Well, that could've been you in the first place if you would've just ASKED HER OUT like we told you." Uma scolded.

"I know, I know but still. What does he have that I don't. I have devilishly handsome looks, and charismatic pirate charm. What's not to love!" He flashed a toothy grin.

"Don't flatter yourself, Hook. Just go talk to her." Uma sighed.

Uma and Gil both shoved Harry towards you, and he straightened up his tie as he walked in your direction.

"Hello again, you two. Do you mind if I have a quick word with Miss (Y/N), Jay?" Harry asked.

"I don't mind at all." Jay smiled and left with a wink.

"Let's sit?" Harry offered and the two of you sat  back down at your table. "So how's the dance going?"

"Oh it's going great, Jay is such a great dancer!" You over exaggerated.

"Yeah speaking of that... are you two a thing?" Harry asked.

"What makes you think that?" You innocently questioned.

"Well I mean, you both came here together. You both were laughing and dancing together. You both hang out all the time after school."

"And why does that matter to you?" You asked.

"Because it just... does." Harry replied, feeling uneasy.

"It wouldn't matter to you unless you were jealous." You laughed.

"Me? Jealous? Of Jay?" He scoffed. "Oh please. I'm not jealous of him. There's nothing to be jealous of."

"So you won't mind if I go back to dancing with him?" You sat up.

"No! Please." He ushered you back down and sighed. "Listen. Maybe I was a little jealous. But that's because I saw you dancing and laughing with Jay and I couldn't help but think that that should be me. It made me so angry to see you with him with that beautiful smile of yours, the one I should be putting on your face. I guess what I'm trying to say (Y/N) is I like you, a lot, and for awhile now too. But I understand you're with Jay and you don't wan-"

"I'm not with Jay." You replied, breathless.

"What?" Harry asked with confusion.

"Jay's my best friend. We came together to get you jealous and find out if you liked me. We also did it to see if Lonnie liked him. I wanted you to ask me but you just pushed me away when I tried talking to you in class the other day. It seemed like this was the only way to find out if you felt the same way, and I guess the plan worked. You're not mad are you?" You spilled out.

Harry felt a weight lift off his shoulders and he smiled brightly at you. "Of course I'm not mad, darling. I'm actually quite amused that you came up with this whole plan just to get me jealous. And... I'm sorry for pushing you away that one day. I thought that if I got too close, I would hurt you. But it turns out, being away from you is what hurt you the most." Harry apologized.

"And I'm sorry I made you jealous."

Harry stood up and held a hand out in front of you. "Care to dance, love?"

You swore you could feel your heart leap out of your chest. "I would love to."

"Alright, let's get all the couples out on the floor for one last song!" The DJ announced.

How cliche. Here you were with the boy of your dreams, slow dancing at the winter ball. It felt as though you were part of some cheesy teen romance movie. It felt unreal.

You hooked your arms around Harry's neck and he wrapped his arms around your waist. You laid your head on his chest and looked behind his shoulder. There stood Jay with Lonnie wrapped in his arms, dancing. The plan had worked for both of you. He gave you a wink and you flashed a playful smile at him.

Harry smiled to himself as butterflies flew throughout his stomach. You two swayed to the slow beats of the song as the night dwindled down, and he held you tightly in his arms as if he was afraid you would disappear if he didn't. Harry realized he didn't have to be afraid of love, he didn't have to resist feeling this way to protect you. He knew pushing you away would only cause more harm. Harry knew deep down inside that the only place he could truly keep you safe, was in his arms. So he held you close to his chest, softly ran his fingers through your hair, and placed a kiss on top of your head. And he felt content knowing that as long as you were with him, you would never come to harm.

[kentremendousblog]

Tom and Lin-Manuel: An Appreciation/Jealous Rant

Every writer has a golden period – a chunk of time when her brain is ripest, when the veins he is tapping are the richest, when the ideas, big and small, spill out over the sides of the bucket instead of having to be patiently collected like drops of rain off a leaf. This is true for songwriters, playwrights, novelists, screenwriters, anyone who writes anything in any genre. Go look at John Hughes’s IMDb page and marvel at his golden period, which I would bookend as 1983-1990. It’s outrageous. He wrote Vacation, Mr. Mom, Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, Weird Science, Pretty in Pink, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Some Kind of Wonderful, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, Uncle Buck, and Home Alone in eight years. Eight years?! That’s absurd.

But then look at his next 20 years. You won’t find one movie that is better than the worst one he wrote in those seven years. The vein ran dry. It always does. That’s just the deal.

Tom Petty’s golden period never ended. Or, at least, the silver periods on either side of his golden period were seemingly infinite. No matter where you think he peaked -- Full Moon Fever, or Wildflowers, or Damn the Torpedoes -- the decades on either side were wonderful. He was great from the moment he released his first album in 1977 to the day he died last month. For forty years he wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and the songs he wrote were good or great or amazing.

Tom Petty wrote “Breakdown” and “American Girl” in 1977. He wrote “You Don’t Know How it Feels” seventeen years later, in 1994. He wrote “You Got Lucky” in 1982, “King’s Highway” in 1992, “The Last DJ” in 2002. He wrote “I Won’t Back Down,” “Runnin’ Down a Dream,” Free Fallin’,” “Love is a Long Road,” “A Face in the Crowd,” Yer So Bad,” and “The Apartment Song,” and “Depending on You,” all in 1989, and they were all on the same album, and that’s absurd.

He wrote “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around” in 1981 and “Big Weekend” in 2006. He wrote every song on Wildflowers – and they are all great – in or around 1994. He wrote fifty other great songs I haven’t named yet, like “Don’t Come Around Here No More” and “Jammin Me.” He wrote great songs you've heard a million times, and great songs you've maybe never heard, like "Billy the Kid" (1999) and "Walls" (1996) which was buried on the soundtrack to She's the One.  He took a break from the Heartbreakers and casually released “End of the Line” and “Handle With Care” and “She’s My Baby” with the Traveling Wilburys in 1989-90. He wrote “Refugee” in 1980 and “I Should Have Known It” in 2010. Is there any rock and roll songwriter alive who wrote two songs that good, 30 years apart? (Paul McCartney wrote “Hey Jude” in 1968, and only 12 years later he wrote “Wonderful Christmas Time,” which is so bad it nearly retroactively undid “Hey Jude.”)

He wrote about rock and roll things, like ’62 Cadillacs, getting out of this town, and dancing with Mary Jane. He wrote about love and loss and heartbreak. He wrote legitimately funny jokes, and moribund memories, and personal narratives, and imaginative flights of fancy. One of his characters calls his father his “old man” and it somehow isn’t cheesy. He was from Florida and California and wrote about both of them, and every time I’m on Ventura Boulevard I think of vampires, because the images he wrote are indelible. 

Petty didn’t just write songs directed at women, like most rock stars. He wrote about women, and he wrote for women, and he wrote with women. He treated the women in his songs as lovingly and respectfully as he treated the men. He cared about them as much, he spent as much time thinking about them, and he liked them as much, and all of that is rare.

He wrote simply, but not boringly. He made his characters three-dimensional, somehow, in a matter of seconds. There’s a famous (probably apocryphal) story about Hemingway bragging he could write an entire novel in six words, then writing: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” I prefer the 18-word novel Petty wrote as the first verse to “Down South” –

Headed back down south Gonna see my daddy's mistress Gonna buy back her forgiveness Pay off every witness

When I was working on Parks and Recreation, whenever we needed a song to score an important moment in Leslie Knope’s life, we chose a Tom Petty song. It started with “American Girl,” when her biggest career project came to fruition. It was “Wildflowers” when she said goodbye to her best friend. It was “End of the Line” at the moment the show ended. For the seven seasons of our show, Tom Petty was the writer we trusted to explain how our main character was feeling, because he wrote so much, so well, for so long.

*******

It seems like a joke, Hamilton -- a joke in a TV show where one of the characters is a struggling New York actor, and is always dragging his friends to his terrible plays. Like Joey in Friends. There’s an episode of Friends where Joey is in a terrible musical called like Freud!, about Sigmund Freud, and you get to see some of it, and it’s predictably terrible. Freud! the musical is arguably a better idea than Hamilton the musical.

I’m far from the first person to say this -- I’m probably somewhere around the millionth person to write about Hamilton, and the maybe 500,000th to make this particular point, but it needs to be said -- a hip-hop Broadway musical about the founding fathers is an astoundingly terrible idea. Lin-Manuel Miranda should never have written it. As soon as he started to write it, he should’ve said to himself, “What the fuck am I doing?!” and stopped. And after he got halfway through, he should’ve junked it, gotten really drunk, and moved on with his life, and made his wife and friends swear to never mention the weird six months where he was trying to write a hip-hop musical about Alexander Hamilton. I literally guarantee you that when Lin-Manuel Miranda first told his friends what he was writing, every one of them reacted with at best a frozen smile, and at worst a horrified recoiling. Some of them might have been outwardly encouraging – “sounds awesome bud! Go get 'em!” But then later, alone, they would call each other and say What the fuck is he doing?

There is a moment, in Hamilton, when what you are watching overwhelms you. (It’s not the same moment for everyone, but most everyone has one, I suspect.) It’s the moment when the enormity, the complexity, the meaning of it, the entirety of it, overpowers you, and you realize that what you are experiencing is new – new both in your specific life, and new, like, on Earth.  The first time I saw it, that moment was a line in the middle of “Yorktown.” Hamilton sang the line And so the American experiment begins / With my friends all scattered to the winds, and I burst into tears in a way I hadn’t since I was 10 and a baseball went through a guy’s legs in the World Series. Something about how casually he says that – And so the American experiment begins – just settled over me, like a collapsing tent, and this thing I was watching wasn’t in front of me, it was everywhere around me, and it was exhilarating and transformative.

(If I could put this part in a footnote, I would, but I don’t know how to, so: I should mention that I am very far from a musical theater aficionado. I have seen maybe eight musicals in my life. Not only did I not expect to cry, hard, during Hamilton, I did not expect to enjoy it. I saw it like a week after it opened on Broadway, kind of on a whim, knew nothing about it, and the last thing I said to my wife, as the lights went down, was: “We’ll leave at intermission.”)

The second time I saw it, that moment came much earlier (I knew what I was getting into, this time, so I was more ready to be subsumed). It came barely three minutes in, when the entire cast of the show, in a piece of choreography that can best be referred to as “badass,” all walk down to the very front of the stage and stand, shoulder to shoulder, and sing very loudly about how Alexander Hamilton never learned to take his time. The cast has, to this point, trickled on stage, slowly, one by one, telling you Hamilton’s origin story, and then suddenly there they all are, all of them -- maybe 20? 50? It seems like 1000? – as close to the audience as they can get, and they are every size and ethnicity and gender, and their voices are loud, and I thought to myself, oh my God, this is a cast of people descended from every nation on Earth, all singing about the foundations of the American experience, and yes I “knew” that, intellectually, but holy shit, now that I see them all, I know it, like in my stomach, I understand it, and what a thing that is.

The third time I saw Hamilton, that moment was during “It’s Quiet Uptown,” when this enormous, sprawling, improbable, otherworldly, multi-ethnic, historical, art tornado presses pause on all of its historical-cultural-ethno-sociological-artistic investigations, and spends four and a half spare minutes with a couple who are grieving an unimaginable tragedy.  Specifically, it was the lines

Forgiveness Can you imagine? Forgiveness Can you imagine?

What a thing to do, for your characters -- to give them four and a half minutes in the middle of an enormous, sprawling, historical swirl, to just be sad. What a piece of writing that is.

(Again, should be a footnote, but: as long as I’m talking about writers here, I should point out that if the late Harris Wittels were alive, he would, at this moment, text me and hit me with a “humblebrag” for writing about how I have seen Hamilton three times, and he would be right. Miss you Harris!)

In the hundreds of hours of my life I have spent thinking about Hamilton since I first saw it – far more hours than any other single piece of art I have ever experienced – I have revisited that same thought over and over: he never should’ve written it. It was an absurd thing to do. It took him a year to write the title song, then another year to write the second song, and how did he not give up when two years had gone by and he’d written two songs?  He must’ve known in his heart it needed to be a 50-song, 2 1/2-hour enterprise, and he had two songs after two years, and he kept going. How did he keep going? I've been trying to write this blog post about two writers I admire for different reasons since the week Tom Petty died, and I’ve almost given up five times.

At this point, the entire musical is that "moment" for me. It's the whole thing, now – the thing that overwhelms me is the whole thing. The conception of it, the writing of it, the rewriting of it. The music and the motifs and the themes and the threads and the dramatic shape and the characters and their inner lives, and the eagle-eye writer’s view it took to keep all of that in his head, all of it, the whole time. The writing of it. The utterly impossible writing of it. 

[icarusandtheson]

“Bastard, orphan, son of [redacted]”: The Hamilton-Washington Connection Through a Maternal Lens

this originated as an 800 word meta post here on tumblr. my followers were very supportive. it escalated. here we are clocking in around 4.1k. thanks everybody.

summary: an analysis of hamilton and washington’s relationship as fictionally portrayed in “hamilton: an american musical” considering hamilton’s relationship with rachel faucette, themes of loss, abandonment, and remembrance.

find it on ao3!

also, this is apparently a series now

Rachel Faucette is mentioned in precisely four songs of Hamilton: An American Musical. She is never named, references to her are brief at best and insulting at worst, and yet her life and death haunt the narrative. Anyone who has followed me in this fandom, even briefly, knows I care about her, and her relationship to Alexander, very deeply. I’ve yet to receive a question about why I care about this dynamic so much, which I think speaks to some deeper understanding we all share -- we know Rachel is important, we know her relationship with her son is important, and all that I intend to do here is dig a little more deeply into that knowledge.

If you know about my feelings on Rachel, then you also know my feelings on Alexander and Washington’s relationship. Even the casual fan would be hard-pressed to explore this dynamic and not come across the plethora of theorizing that has been done about the parallels between this dynamic and Alexander’s relationship (or lack thereof) with absentee father James Hamilton. Now, Rachel is only mentioned four times in the musical, but James is only mentioned twice. As far as I have encountered, there is precious little material exploring her role in a similar context, so for the next little while I’m going to give Rachel her due, as well as delve into some of the complexities that make Alexander and Washington’s dynamic so frustrating and so rewarding.

This is, of course, all conjecture -- there is no other description I can use, with so few textual references to either parent. Moreover, Washington and Hamilton’s canon relationship is fraught, to say the least, and open to countless interpretations. I draw connections to Hamilton’s behavior that I believe make sense, from a narrative perspective, to have stemmed from the loss of his mother. As always, I’m coming at Hamilton as a fictional text, not a piece of history, and all analysis is based within this framing, for my own entertainment, and the reader’s.  

His father split, full of it -- On James, Rachel, Washington, and parallels therein

According to Genius.com, the Off-Broadway version of Alexander Hamilton says “full of shit” instead. I mention it here to frame the argument that follows.

People tend to draw connections between Washington and the absentee James Hamilton, for fairly obvious reasons. Absent father, would-be father figure. In many ways, this is what gives Alexander and Washington’s dynamic, in whatever iteration, so much struggle and difficulty and complexity. There are many different emotions at play on various levels, both past and present. Whether Washington’s relationship with Alexander parallels or contrasts James’ is not often dissected in much detail -- the extent of the argument usually rests on Meet Me Inside, and Alexander’s discomfort and anger with being called “son”. Since Washington is a man and a father figure, the explanation for this discomfort is usually boxed away as “daddy issues” and not revisited.

However, unlike James, Washington wants Alexander. In Right Hand Man he requests him specifically to work for him, and trusts him almost immediately -- enough to share his private concerns to the extent that even Alexander asks, “Why are you telling me this?” When they fight in Meet Me Inside, Washington calls him back, and does so again in Non-Stop. I do not doubt that James’ abandonment lingers behind the scenes and influences some of the strain between these two characters, but I do doubt that solely considering James’ influence yields a complete picture.

If James is “full of it”, Washington is utterly grounded -- in both his perception of himself and of his reality. We see this often throughout the musical, but we see it especially clearly in Right Hand Man: regarding the reality of the war, he’s fully aware his troops are “outgunned” and “outmanned”. Regarding his own reputation --“ men are all lining up to put me on a pedestal, writing letters to relatives embellishing my elegance and eloquence”. He is fully aware of his own limitations, and the way others seek to obscure those limitations in service of a greater narrative. Despite this, or maybe because of it, the narrative perceives him as honorable. Alexander, regardless of his tension with the man, perceives him as honorable. LMM mentions in the Right Hand Man Genius.com annotations that he wrote Washington as “an unimpeachable moral authority”, and it shows. He is as far from the man who abandoned Alexander and his mother as could possibly be.

This brings us to Rachel: a woman, referenced only briefly, and often referred to outside of Alex (and Eliza’s) recounting as “a whore” (for the record, my tally of Rachel’s mention in the play do not count the many, many times this is mentioned -- I count the time Alexander’s “mother” is referenced). At first glance, she has less in common with Washington than James does. Something worth noting: Genius.com confirms that she was not a literal prostitute -- it’s an epithet, probably alluding to the fact that she wasn’t married to James, but to someone else. She was also accused of cheating on that husband who was, by all accounts, horrid to her. On that note, let’s talk a bit more about “moral authority” and who has it.

Lee insults Washington, particularly attacking his fitness to lead. We know Lee is in the moral wrong for several reasons: Washington has already been set up as the “only … man” who can lead the revolution, and Lee’s attack is framed as a peevish response to consequences of his own cowardice. The chorus gasps, and Washington continues to exert his moral authority by ordering Alexander to not do anything, assuring him that “history will prove [Lee] wrong”. Washington even takes the high road after the ill-advised duel -- he thanks Lee for his service. Therefore, Washington retains moral authority in the narrative, and Lee has none. But even more important is how Alexander views the insult -- he disobeys Washington (through a loophole, but the fact remains) in order to see Lee pay for the insult. If the musical is told more or less through Alexander’s eyes, following significant events of his life, and if Washington is the moral authority of the musical, we can begin to lay the foundation for a more complex connection.

Rachel’s parallel to this runs throughout the entire musical via the “whore” designation, most often used by Burr in the opening lines of songs. Burr’s moral authority within the play is… difficult, to say the least. He kills the protagonist, but only because he fears he himself will be killed, thus orphaning his daughter. There are doubtlessly moments in which we as an audience sympathize with him, even side with him. I talked in my previous essay about the difficulties of considering “Burr the Narrator” versus “Burr the Character”, but within this context, I believe it’s safe to assume we are dealing with “Burr the Narrator” -- calling Alexander the “son of a whore” seems to be less Burr’s own judgement than it is a reflection of the views of their society and how it remembered him. Alexander, the “bastard orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman” -- the entire musical is taking up the task of dismantling this definition and showing who he really was, how he was so much more than these epithets. Therefore, Burr’s moral authority is less of an issue, here (though it’s interesting to note that in Ten Duel Commandments, Burr is Lee’s second). The grievance should be directed more at general tendencies of labelling women as “Madonna or whore” extremes -- this is reinforced by Alexander’s fondness towards his mother’s memory, and the fact that she was, by all accounts, a good and loving woman despite what is said about her by others. In this way, Rachel retains some measure of moral authority after her death -- significantly more so than James, who is remembered fondly by no one, not even his son. We never get Alexander’s response to hearing Rachel insulted directly -- however, I would expect a fairly explosive reaction.

I would argue that Rachel and Washington occupy the same type of place in Alexander’s life -- perhaps what Washington would call “a pedestal”. It’s worth bringing up The World Was Wide Enough to make this point -- there’s clearly a connection between the people Alexander remembers (or sees, as the case may be). Laurens and Philip, connected by their untimely deaths, Philip and Rachel by virtue of being Alexander’s family and him taking some comfort at the thought of Philip being cared for as he himself once was, and -- Rachel and Washington. Moments from death, as honest as we have ever seen him be, Alexander links them through order.

Further explanations for this order will unfold as we continue.

 I grew up buckwild -- On parental legacy

 When we discuss Alexander’s reluctance to let Washington close -- Meet Me Inside being the most obvious example of this tension -- I would argue that there is a substantial amount of his trauma over Rachel’s death in that, not just James’ abandonment. By all accounts in the text (again, “full of [sh]it”) James care little for his son, so the pain Alexander is protecting himself against by refusing Washington’s attempts at affection and comfort, I would argue, stems from the loss of the one person Alex ever drew affection and comfort from. James was by all accounts distant, certainly didn’t try to reach out and establish a connection like Washington does. Like Washington repeatedly does, from their first meeting to their last.

One Last Time, and the fact that Washington does eventually split, will be addressed later on.

If it was just about “daddy issues”, why do any overtures of affection incite so much anxiety and reluctance from Alexander? Wouldn’t he want that? Maybe, maybe not. It is difficult to determine what paternal abandonment did to him. However, by all accounts he was very close to his mother. They were together when she died, both having become ill around the same time. She was holding him, and he was twelve already -- still a child, but not a young child. There’s a closeness denoted there, a standard of love and care, and it is reflected by Alex’s clear grief discussing her in Hurricane and his assertion in Helpless that he’ll “never forget [her] face, that was real” (’that’, we can safely assume, indicating their love for each other), that can safely be drawn to their entire relationship. I posit that Alex runs from George’s affection because he’s already had it. He had it, he treasured it, and it was torn from him before its time. If he barely survived it the first experience of that kind of loss, it’s difficult to imagine why would he willingly put himself back there a second time -- in a war zone at that, where risk is even higher than in his previous experiences.

In my previous Hamilton essay, I talked at length about Alexander and his struggle with his work under Washington, and how that ties into Alexander’s many issues with toxic masculinity. For this paper, I want to suggest a derivative of that: Alexander equates glory, even if death, with manhood, and I would further argue, adulthood. The opening of Right Hand Man supports this: “As a kid in the Caribbean, I wished for a war, I knew that I was poor, I knew it was the only way to rise up”. He only starts to relent when Washington notes that a “head full of fantasies of dying like a martyr” is a characteristic of someone who is “younger”. Even still, in The Story of Tonight (Reprise), he tells Burr he wishes he had Burr’s command, “instead of manning George’s journal”. This indicates to me a desire for Alexander to distance himself from childish things -- one of which involves being kept back from action, kept safe, under the watchful eye of a benevolent authority figure. Part of that, I argue, stems from the fact that he’s already been that child, has already been protected (again, we return to Rachel holding him, protecting him in his illness) and knows intimately how unwise it is to put faith in that. He’s wary of repeating past mistakes -- that is, wary of making himself vulnerable to elements out of his control. He’s not afraid of being abandoned (or not only that), which would be the case if the James theory held true -- he’s afraid of being held too close.

If there’s a moment I would say we see James’ legacy, it comes right after Washington tells Alexander to go home in Meet Me Inside. The “but sir”’ is performed in the OCR in such a small, lost voice; I think here, in this moment where Washington seems to have removed all affection (even though, ironically enough, he hasn’t, he’s trying to save Alexander and return him to his family) that we maybe see an echo of the boy who watched his father walk away.

But the extra knife in the gut to that is that he knows, at some point, the affection was there. It’s reflective of both his parental losses, and it is triggered by him acting on his affection for Washington and defending his honor. Washington’s assertion that he is “not a maiden in need of defending, [he is] grown” both hits the mark and misses the point. Alexander wants to protect Washington, not because he believes him childish or incompetent, but because he is keenly aware that people do not cease being vulnerable as adults. It was a lesson he learned well as a child.   

George’s “Son, I need you alive” and Alexander’s’s strong reaction to it in Meet Me Inside could be explained by this theory too. I find it hard to believe that Rachel didn’t express that same sentiment before she died, in some way or other. Washington is deeply afraid of losing Alexander, and by taking control of the situation and denying Alexander the command, he places Alexander in a renewed state of vulnerability. It is a painfully fraught moment on every level -- both men want to protect, both are so close to understanding and yet so far from it.

Interestingly, we do see a resolution -- History Has Its Eyes On You shows Washington elaborating his tragic past and offering the closest we (and Alexander) ever have to an explanation of why he is so concerned about sending Alexander to fight. Washington is worried about Alexander dying, about failing him as Washington failed the soldiers under his first command. “Or you could die!” has so much more emotional power after this confession. Washington relents, they win the day -- but not before Washington offers one last bit of advice. “You have no control: who lives, who dies, who tells your story” -- Alexander never seems to fully grasp this theme, though it will follow him for the rest of his days. Nevertheless, it echoes Washington’s earlier assertions in Right Hand Man about youth and the pointlessness of martyrdom. It also reads to me as preemptive forgiveness -- if soldiers die under Alexander’s command, Washington wants to spare him the guilt of it. But at this point in the narrative, before the battles, before any of the significant deaths, who has died in a significant way in Alexander’s life? Only Rachel. In Hurricane, Alexander notes, “we were sick and she was holding me, I couldn’t seem to die.” There is so much survivor’s guilt in that song, and the OCR performance of it sounds, to me, like the grief is still fresh. Decades later, and the wound has not yet closed.

I doubt Washington knows about Alexander’s past -- our protagonist is much too eager for advancement to admit to his roots. But we as the audience know. Intended or not, Washington’s line, caution and forgiveness all at once, offers if not a solution, then comfort, for the trauma Alex has carried and will carry until he sees both Rachel and Washington at the ends of things.

 How to say goodbye -- on One Last Time

Fans of the Washington/Hamilton dynamic will, most likely, be a fan of One Last Time. This may seem counterintuitive; it is, after all, their final song together, where Washington exits the narrative and Alexander’s life permanently. In reality, the fondness for this song comes from the fondness shared between the characters. The most representative of this, in my opinion, is Washington’s gently exasperated, “Shh, talk less,” expressed when Alexander still believes the issue at hand involves Jefferson. It’s a fascinating twist of the words Burr used at the musical’s beginning to undercut Alexander’s loudmouth tendencies. We know this because Washington urges Hamilton to “pick up a pen, start writing” later in the song. Washington sees the value in Hamilton’s words, so him saying “talk less” is more endearment than insult. This line, and the closeness it gestures at, serves my purposes here because it indicates a strong bond between the two characters that Alexander simply did not have with James. He has accepted, up to a point, Washington’s affection, and seems happy enough with it until Washington informs him that he’s leaving. This is in and of itself significant -- just as I posit that Alexander’s reluctance to become close to Washington stems from Rachel’s loss, so too does his relative acquiescence indicate to me the beginnings of healing, or at least coming to terms with the loss of a much-beloved parental/authority figure.

And then Washington leaves.  

There is an interesting creative choice made towards the end of the song. Alexander, finally (if reluctantly) accepting Washington’s resignation, echoes Washington’s intent: to “teach [America] how to say goodbye”. Washington finishes the thought, “You and I,” and then, “Going home.” At a glance, these are two separate thoughts that happen to be placed back to back, and as a result, when sung, sound like one thought. They don’t make narrative sense otherwise: Alexander and Washington are never in the same place again while alive. The lyrics hint at a unity, a home, that doesn’t exist. I see a connection, here, between this strange line and Alexander’s assertion in Helpless that he’s “been without a family since [he] was a child”.

That’s the crux of it. Alexander isn’t going home. He is, in a very real way, losing the one home he could reliably depend on since the war: Washington. Here is perhaps the greatest argument that James is the ghost haunting Alex, not Rachel. Washington leaves. However, we once again look to the end of Alexander’s life -- he sees his mother, and he sees his general. James’ abandonment was never forgiven, but Alexander does not equate Washington leaving office with that trauma. There is far more of Rachel’s legacy here, of love and remembrance and loss, than James’. To explain this, we have to look at the purpose One Last Time serves within the narrative: it’s Washington’s last song, in every meaning of the word. He dies, sometime after the song, and that twists his exit into an echo of Rachel’s. It is, in many ways, the goodbye Alex never got as a child, from either parent. Of course he sees Washington at the end of it all. Of course he sees him immediately after he sees Rachel. All of these threads have always been tied together.

 What is a legacy? -- On the point of it all

 More talk about Rachel needs to happen, or at least the idea of the maternal figure in Alex’s life, in the way that James is obliquely referenced as a void in discussion of Alexander’s “daddy issues”. Because Rachel is there. Rachel is a literal ghost in the musical, and the characters that take on her mantle are Eliza and George, from the beginning. They are the characters that sing about Alex’s childhood, they plus Angelica are the ones warning him in Hurricane. Eliza tries but she is ultimately not enough -- through no fault of her own -- to stop Alex from destroying his (their) life, or from dying. This is rather baldly demonstrated at the end of Act One -- Eliza asks, heartbroken, “Isn’t this enough to be satisfied?” as Alexander rips his arm from hers and Angelica’s grasps to climb the scaffolding to Washington. Here, “this” is her, and Philip, and the idea of family and domesticity that Alexander referenced in Helpless. It isn’t enough -- explanations for that could take up a separate paper, but for my purposes, it’s enough to say that much. But, as a brief aside: it’s telling that his contact with his son goes from the idealistic newfound joy of Dear Theodosia to the distance in Take a Break, his mind still on work on his son’s birthday: “Hey, our kid is pretty great,” Alexander says, with something that smacks of surprise. There is another, significantly less optimistic, paper in that -- Washington isn’t the one carrying on James’ legacy in any sense. There’s an argument to be made that Alexander is.

Therefore, if the end goal of this entire intellectual exercise is to seek a hypothetical solution of some sort, we have to briefly return to One Last Time and Alexander’s relative comfort with Washington’s emotional proximity. There’s a glimmer of hope, both there and in the well-established fact that Alexander will uproot his entire life to come when Washington calls. Despite his best efforts, Alex is allowing an emotional closeness that I would argue he has not seen or experienced since childhood.

We see this foreshadowed in Meet Me Inside. Hamilton wants to die, has wanted to die since Rachel did. In Hurricane, we hear him say, grief-stricken after all these years, that he “couldn’t seem to die”, a word choice that definitely indicates a desire, or at least an exhaustion that acted similarly, to die. In MMI, he says he is “more than willing to die” for the revolution, and, it could be drawn from the context of the argument, for Washington. And to die for Washington? To see him victorious, or at the least safe? Isn’t that a way to somehow staunch that lifelong ache, that sense of guilt and failure and regret from his childhood? There’s something to be said for the warmth in Alexander’s voice during Yorktown: “I see George Washington smile.” In the midst of this glory, this victory he’s been craving from the beginning of the musical, Alexander takes time to make note of this. To me, it reads a bit like shorthand for a greater theme we’ve been dealing with. They’re both alive, and Alexander is satisfied without dying a martyr’s death, because he helped lead them to victory -- and, I’d argue, because Washington made it. He’s alive, he’s victorious, and that’s enough -- enough to make Alexander go back to being his “secretary” even after the war is over. He’s reframing his definitions of success based on what Washington taught him, and we see genuine growth here. There is also an unmistakable echo between “I see George Washington smile” and “I’ll never forget my mother’s face” from Helpless. That was real. That had meaning. Alexander so rarely comments on faces, on physical appearance (unlike the Schuylers in Helpless/Satisfied, as has been mentioned extensively) that this connection seems fairly significant.

If it’s possible for Rachel to have a successor in caring for Alexander, I would make an argument that it’s Washington -- or at least that from all the characters we see in the musical, he’s the only one with the potential to take on that role successfully and have Alexander listen. We know this because he has done it, successfully, throughout the musical. Much has been said about how Alexander’s life goes to hell after Washington leaves, and that’s the point. Alexander has been without a family for years, and that means he has been without guidance. Washington fills that role, without a doubt.

If Washington were played by a woman, I doubt this would be overlooked -- indeed, I wonder if this essay would be necessary at all. To miss these connections on the basis of gender, I think, does a disservice to the many possibilities of analysis presented in this musical.

Alexander made a lot of promises in Helpless that he fails to live up to as his story unfolds. The World Was Wide Enough proves that he keeps at least one. He never forgot Rachel’s face, “that was real.”

He never forgot Washington, either. That was real, too. The fact that Washington is the only hallucination/ghost who is actively “watching” Alexander suggests some reciprocation on this theme, or at least a desire for it on Alexander’s part.

“Daddy issues” isn’t even the half of it.

[bazookapussy-stankhoe-5000]

BMC Headcanons

I have literally been thinking about this all day so

Christine knows sign language and taught Jeremy and Michael some and now they wont stop signing “i love you” at each other

(Rich doesnt know sign language and thinks theyre pretending to be at a rock concert)

Christine loves Disney and makes references all the time but Rich doesnt understand them bc hes never seen a Disney movie so she makes him watch a bunch of them

(his favorite it “Tangled”)

Michael drinks weed tea bc “I’m a refined stoner”

Rich is a musical buff so he and Christine sing musicals all the time together

Christine is also a history buff and her favorite musical is “Hamilton”

Rich is actually really good at sewing/cooking/etc bc his dad wont do any of that so he had to learn himself

Michael cronches bathbombs

(like if he and Jared existed in the same universe they would bond over cronching bathbombs)

sometimes Jeremy cries himself awake bc he misses his mom

Christine spends her weekends volunteering at the animal shelter and she spends so much time there they keep offering to pay her but she wont let them

Jake is actually really good at school he’s just kind of a ditz

(like he’s a complete math whiz and can recite the entire Constitution w/o hesitation but he forgets things like the role of Juliet in “Romeo and Juliet”)

Michael plays the saxophone

Brooke drinks five cups of tea per day

(during midterms and finals she pours monster into her tea)

Brooke and Michael are really good friends

Jenna has a bunch of hamsters and has dedicated almost her entire room to them

Chloe is a cat person and her parents got her a ragdoll kitten for her eleventh birthday and they are literally inseperable

(she taught it little tricks and everything and it likes walks and baths but it will literally only listen to her)

Brooke is totally more of a dog person and her family owns a chihuahua and a newfie

(they like to sit on her lap specifically chihuahua on top of newfie on top of Brooke)

Rich is a complete nerd and loves things like “Lord of the Rings” and “Harry Potter”

Rich has a bearded dragon named Voltron and he likes to put wings he made himself on it

(Jake thought Voltron was a band)

every Halloween the squip squad gets together to go trick-or-treating and watch “The Nightmare Before Christmas”

(Jake refuses to throw anymore Halloween parties)

despite burning his house down Jake doesn’t care and he and Rich are still best buds

when the squip squad has sleepovers Brooke and Chloe do everyone’s makeup

(the guys get more excited about it than the girls)

Jake wears crop tops

Rich exclusively wears tank tops even in the winter

Rich also almost exclusively listens to 2000s bops and literally prays to Beyonce

Christine’s favorite scents are citrus

Chloe writes faster in cursive than she does in print

Michael has terrible handwriting whether it’s cursive or print

(like to the point that even he cant read it)

Rich and Michael watch anime together (especially “Voltron”)

Rich is terrible at video games without his squip

Jake calls Michael “Mike” even though he initially told him not to

“Michael’s gotten so used to it that he doesn’t care anymore and is actually surprised if he calls him anything else)

Christine and Jenna get really really excited about the holidays and buy everyone gifts

everyone celebrates Hanukkah with Jeremy

Rich absolutely hates eggnog because he only knows about the alcoholic kind that his dad drinks and he’s actually a little scared of it

once Rich becomes friends w/ the rest of the squip squad he celebrates the holidays with them every year

(before he didnt really celebrate bc his home life kind of sucks)

(also after he first celebrates with the rest of the squip squad he lovesthe holidays as much as Christine and Jenna)

without his squip Rich has no idea how to flirt of be in a relationship so he is incredibly awkward

Jake doesnt know how to dab and cant seem to get it right

(like this vine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q4Hl6Rx-n_s )

Chloe insists on Brooke carrying her and it’s to the point that she’ll just lift up her arms and Brooke will pick her up

Jenna and Christine are the groups’ moms

Rich and Jake play Wii Sports together

if Michael and Jeremy are playing a game against each other Michael lets Jeremy win sometimes

Jenna runs a blog and is working on starting a project to save the bees

Chloe plays soccer

Brooke sometimes insists that she and Chloe have a movie marathon

(their marathons can span days)

Jenna and Christine are the Platonic Power Couple™ that everyone thinks is dating but really theyre just good friends

(both of them are hella ace)

(Christine is aro/ace and Jenna is an ace lesbian)

the group would go to pride together

(Rich would wear the bi flag as a cape)

(Brooke would paint everyone’s faces w/ their flags)

Jake’s the kind of person that would casually mention he’s not straight and then be surprised that youre surprised

Jake would fist fight anyone who made his friends upset

(except for Rich because Rich would have already fought them)

Rich wants to open a bakery when he’s older

Brooke wears a pan-colored beanie

(even at school bc the teachers dont care enough to tell her to take it off)

Jake has his left ear pierced

Brooke is really good at drawing and runs an art blog

Brooke is very empathetic and acts as the group’s counselor

Mr. Heere’s first name is Greg

(don’t ask why it’s mostly cause he reminds me of Greg from “Steven Universe”)

on father’s day everyone gives Mr. Heere a little gift cause he acts like everyone’s dad

Jenna is a fanfic writer

sometimes the squip squad gets together to play Kahoot

(it gets really competitive and friendships are tested)

Jeremy understands that grades are meaningless in the long run but still gets really stressed when he’s not doing well in school

Michael likes to quote really obscure movies that no one knows

Jake owns a melodica

(he also knows how to play the piano really well)

Michael insists that he and Jeremy take pictures together to put on holiday cards and send them to all their friends

(Jeremy wears a Hanukkah sweater and Michael wears a sweater that says “HO HO HOMO”)

Rich likes to stand on top of things to feel taller

Michael wears light-up heelys

Michael always forgets which is left and right but instead of making Ls with his hands he checks his headphones

Rich believes in leprechauns

(every St. Patrick’s Day he makes Jake go leprechaun hunting with him)

(Jake anticipates it every year and keeps the day free so they can)

Jake is actually really bad at using electronics

Rich insults Jeremy affectionately

(one of his favorite’s is “noodle-boy”)

(at first Jeremy was offended but now he doesnt care)

Jake has owned his jacket for a really long time and it’s falling apart but he refuses to get rid of it

whenever Michael has to say the word “squip” he purposefully mispronounces it (ie squemp)

Rich calls people “godfucker”

the squip squad celebrates the fourth of July and Jeremy’s house because Mr. Heere likes to grill hamburgers and hot dogs for them

(Rich likes to help him cook)

Brooke has two moms

Michael drinks milk straight out of the gallon

Jeremy keeps buying new patches for Michael’s hoodie

Christine has an obsession with button pins so everyone pitches in to buy her a button maker for her birthday

the girls like to go to the Ren Faire

Chloe makes her own incense

Rich has Jake help him make snowmen in the winter because he always makes the bodies too big for him to reach to put its head on

Jenna runs a joke tumblr blog that posts cringey facebook memes

Brooke taught Chloe everything she knows about makeup

Christine stays up late sometimes to surprise her friends with gifts she made

Rich asks Michael to teach him curse words in Spanish

Jenna basically lives in Barnes and Noble

(Christine would but she doesnt have as much spending money so she lives in the library)

Michael likes “Undertale” because it’s got a cool storyline and he adores the animation

(he and Jeremy do voices for it when they play)

Rich bakes cookies for everyone during the holiday season

everyone has gifted Michael a new hoodie at least once but he only ever wears his red one and no one can figure out why

Jenna is in the color guard

after joining the play that one time Brooke found that she actually really likes acting

I am so sorry for such a long post, but feel free to add on if you want

[buttsonthebeach]

I hope you don't mind me dropping another prompt for you! "Passionate kiss", Solavellan~

Oh man, this one got away from me in a good way! Have some post-balcony scene, pre-sleeping together Ellana and Solas, with a mini-retelling of “Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts” thrown in, AND a Hamilton quote I’ve been dying to use since I first started writing these two crazy kids.

If you are interested in my original/longer WEWH retelling, which is from Bull, Vivienne, and Varric’s POVs, you can check out the chapter “Helpless.”

@stardustlings - I think this also fulfills your prompt for “when did Ellana realize she was in love with Solas”!

Pairing: Solavellan, Inquisition timeframe

Rating: Mature for some steamy make-outs and sexual references (incidentally, it references Ellana’s first husband Mahanon and the fact that they were quite young at the time of their arranged marriage, but they were both considered adults by their clan. Just a heads up.)

****

Ellana had slept with her small share of men. Always casually, always with an understanding between them that it was a dalliance. Rarely more than once with the same man. Sex for her was a physical release like any other, like going for a long hike through the woods and climbing the tallest tree she could find, or practicing trick shots with her bow, or hunting, or sparring with one of the clan’s hunters or warriors (which did, now and then, lead to sex). She needed it sometimes, when her own fingers weren’t enough, and there was no shame in seeking it.

It was different with long-dead Mahanon of course. Mahanon and his brown eyes and his nervous, fumbling hands and his determination to please her. They’d found sex together. Found something in those six months they were bonded that she might have even called lovemaking, by the end. She wondered now, a decade later, if what they had was really love, or just the rush of two adolescent virgins who’d been asked to play house by a desperate new Keeper. She wondered sometimes what they would be like now if he hadn’t died. How many children they might have had. If that love would have grown or soured. It was a pointless exercise, anyway. There was no going back in time. She remembered him fondly when she did think of him.

What Ellana hadn’t had much of in her life was men who would kiss her.

Really kiss her.

Not until Solas and his full soft lips and his hands clutching her to him in the Fade, the little shake of his head when he drew back, and then the way he dove back for her, again, like he was drowning without her lips. Or like the way he did on her balcony - slow, gentle, and consuming.

Or the way he did in the alcove of the door that led from the rotunda to the ramparts the day after - a soft, reverent press of lips. He let out a little breath when he pulled back. His lips moved like he wanted to kiss her again. He’d been holding his breath for her.

Then, of course, there was the kiss a few days after that, the eve of their departure for Halamshiral, when she stopped by late at night under the pretense of telling him what time they would leave in the morning, the good night kiss that wouldn’t end. She’d put her hand on his chest when she said it. Good night. He’d put his hand over hers, just to keep it there, and then his other hand under her chin, lifting it towards him.

“Good night, vhenan.”

It was a soft kiss at first, lips fit perfectly together. Then she cupped his cheek to hold him close - and then his arms slid around her back to hold her - and then she was holding his face in both her hands and he’d sucked her bottom lip between his. When she opened her mouth against his he followed, flicked his tongue against hers, and the grateful noise she made came straight from her chest. His hands dropped down to cup her ass and bring her closer, higher, so she was on the tips of her toes, and that made her wobble, so it was natural that they fell towards the couch, her underneath him. She had a moment to look at him then. His eyes dark. His lips pink and his face flushed. Her heart raced. What a wonder it was to be kissed by someone who wanted you for who you were and not just for a night. To be kissed by someone who loved you. She’d forgotten.

She pulled him down by the collar of his tunic and kissed him again, hard, and this time he was the one who made a grateful, hungry sound. He didn’t seem to know where to put his hands. On either side of her head - on her cheek - on her side, just barely grazing the swell of one breast. She wasn’t entirely sure either. She wanted ran her hands over the smoothness of his scalp, down his neck, along his shoulders, down his back. Steady wet heat pooled between her legs - an ache began, a pressure, a need to have this man, this man, closer and closer and closer. And the noises he made as they kissed - needy and greedy and worshipful noises, all hers. She threw one leg over his hip, hauled him closer, pressed their bodies together and felt at once the swell of his own desire pressed against her thigh and she had to rub against it. He groaned, dropped his weight further, ground once, twice into her center, and she didn’t even have the dignity to be embarrassed by the high sound she made. Yes. He wanted her, he wanted her -

He pulled away.

Not far. He just raised up on one knee and planted his other foot on the floor. He was out of breath. Flushed all the way to the tips of his ears now. He looked down at her.

“I apologize,” he said. “I -”

Now he rose completely from the couch and turned his back. She caught a motion of his hands that he probably thought was discreet, and had to suppress another thrill despite her confusion.

“Have something to hide there?”

He froze. Of course, she said it before she thought about it. Damn her.

“Solas, I’m not bothered that you were - ah - that is to say - I was rather enjoying myself.”

He turned around and folded his hands behind his back. Then he seemed to reconsider, and offered her a hand instead, helping her off the couch.

“I had that impression.” His voice. Damn him and his voice. And the quirk of his lips. Never a full smile from him, but she knew what it meant. “I did not draw away because I was bothered by you. And I was reasonably sure you were not bothered by my - state. It is only that we must both get an early start tomorrow, as you so thoughtfully came and told me.”

It wouldn’t take long some part of her mind shouted. She’d had her share of those encounters. Quick, searing, breathless affairs. But she stilled herself and looked into his eyes instead. There was something else here that held him back. He’d been alone for a long time. She shouldn’t rush him.

“Yes. True.”

Solas looked down, quickly. “I hope I have not disappointed you.”

“No - of course you haven’t, vhenan.” She curled her fingers into fists just to hold onto the sweetness of that word. “I am happy to steal any moment with you I can.”

The truth of those words followed her back to her own room. She would take any moment with him she could. Even in the midst of death, of chaos, of the gnawing, debilitating fear she felt at the thought of what waited for her in Halamshiral - in the midst of the nightmare that was Haven, that was Redcliffe - she would take any moment with him that she could. She’d run down to his room impulsively the day he told her he loved her, and said the words back to him. Now she felt their weight.

I love him.

Again and again on that trip to Halamshiral those words ran through her mind - when she caught glimpses of him riding ahead of her, or when she saw him bickering with Dorian and Vivienne about some particular of magic, or when he sat next to her at their campfire and helped her run through the list of Orlesian nobles whose names she needed to know, never once losing his calm, even when she swore and threw down the paper whose words still seemed to swim in front of her barely literate eyes. She thought it when he stopped and offered to help a farmer whose well had run dry, when he closed the eyes of a soldier who’d been left for dead, when he and Blackwall played Diamondback in the evenings. He was kind, and brave, and worldly, and there was nothing that his mind couldn’t do, and somehow he loved her.

The sight of him alone kept her anchored in that long, hellish night of secrets and betrayals and masks. It was the only thing that could lift her heart at the end of the night when she stood, tired and sore and disillusioned, on the balcony in the warm night air. He put his hand on the small of her back, and she felt the weight of the words again.

I love him.

They danced, and eventually he leaned in and kissed her slowly, deeply, just out of sight of the party, and she felt them settle into her bones. She loved him, and it was not a small love, or an easy love, or a young love like the one she’d known. It was a root that went from her chest deep down into the earth. It took her breath away.

“I love you,” she said when the kiss ended. Quietly. A whisper against his mouth. Not the brash confession she’d offered him hours after he kissed her on her balcony. A promise.

He closed his eyes. He kissed her forehead, and, without looking at her, gave the words back to her.

“I love you.”

Both their voices were more unsteady than the first time they said it. Ellana wondered why. They were solid words - but there was a helplessness in saying them. An utter surrender. They held tight to each other in the shadows outside the ballroom, and in the back corner of her mind, in a place not consumed by fear and darkness and all the danger to come, she began to imagine a world where they could make good on that promise. That surrender.

[thefederalistfreestyle]

Hamilton: how Lin-Manuel Miranda’s musical rewrote the story of America (New Statesman):

[. . .] Because of the success of Hamilton – it has been sold out on Broadway since August 2015, won 11 Tony Awards and the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for Drama, and is on tour in Chicago and Los Angeles – there is now an industry devoted to uncovering and explaining its references. Yet the sheer ebullience of the soundscape is not enough to explain why it became a hit. To understand that, we need to understand the scope of its ambition, which is nothing less than giving America a new origin story. “Every generation rewrites the founders in their own image,” says Nancy Isenberg, a professor of history at Louisiana State University and the author of a biography of Aaron Burr. “He [Miranda] rewrote the founders in the image of Obama, for the age of Obama.”

In doing so, Miranda created a fan base that mirrors the “Obama coalition” of Democrat voters: college-educated coastal liberals and mid-to-low-income minorities. (When the musical first hit Broadway in 2015, some tickets went for thousands of dollars; others were sold cheaply in a daily street lottery or given away to local schoolchildren.) He also gave his audiences another gift. Just as Obama did in his 2008 campaign, Hamilton’s post-racial view of history offers Americans absolution from the original sin of their country’s birth – slavery. It rescues the idea of the US from its tainted origins.

[. . .]

There is, of course, a great theatrical tradition of “patriotic myth-making”, and it explains another adjective that is frequently applied to Hamilton: Shakespearean. England’s national playwright was instrumental in smearing Richard III as a hunchbacked child-killer, portraying the French as our natural enemies and turning the villainous Banquo of Holinshed’s Chronicles into the noble figure claimed as an ancestor by the Stuarts, and therefore Shakespeare’s patron James VI and I.

James Shapiro, a professor of English literature at Columbia University, New York, and the author of several books on Shakespeare, first saw the musical during its early off-Broadway run. “It was the closest I’ve ever felt to experiencing what I imagine it must have been like to have attended an early performance of, say, Richard III, on the Elizabethan stage,” he tells me. “But this time, it was my own nation’s troubled history that I was witnessing.”

Shapiro says that Shakespeare’s first set of history plays deals with the recent past, ending with Richard III; he then went back further to create an English origin story through Richard II and Henry V. “Lin-Manuel Miranda was trying to grasp the fundamental problems underlying contemporary American culture,” he adds. “He might, like Shakespeare, have gone back a century and explored the civil war. But I suspect that he saw that to get at the deeper roots of what united and divided Americans meant going back even further, to the revolution. No American playwright has ever managed to explain the present by reimagining so inventively that distant past.” And where Shakespeare had Holinshed’s Chronicles, Miranda had Ron Chernow.

There are Shakespearean references throughout his play. In “Take a Break”, Hamilton writes to his sister-in-law, Angelica:

They think me Macbeth and ambition is my folly. I’m a polymath, a pain in the ass, a massive pain. Madison is Banquo, Jefferson’s Macduff And Birnam Wood is Congress on its way to Dunsinane.

Shapiro says that these “casual echoes of famous lines” are less important than the lessons that Miranda has taken about how to write history. “Another way of putting it is that anyone can quote Shakespeare; very few can illuminate so brilliantly a nation’s past and, through that, its present.”

[. . .]

I love Hamilton – I think the level of my nerdery about it so far has probably made that clear – but I find it fascinating that its overtly political agenda has been so little discussed, beyond noting the radicalism of casting black actors as white founders. Surely this is the “Obama play”, in the way that David Hare’s Stuff Happens became the “Bush play” or The Crucible became the theatre’s response to McCarthyism. It’s just unusual, in that its response to the contemporary mood is a positive one, rather than sceptical or scathing. (And it has an extra resonance now that a white nationalist is in the White House. One of the first acts of dissent against the Trump regime was when his vice-president, Mike Pence, attended the musical in November 2016 and received a polite post-curtain speech from the cast about tolerance. “The cast and producers of Hamilton, which I hear is highly overrated, should immediately apologise to Mike Pence for their terrible behaviour,” tweeted Trump, inevitably.)

Hamilton tries to make its audience feel OK about patriotism and the idealism of early America. It has, as the British theatre director Robert Icke put it to me this summer, “a kind of moral evangelism” that is hard for British audiences to swallow. In order to achieve this, we are allowed to see Hamilton’s personal moral shortcomings, but the uglier aspects of the early days of America still have to be tidied away.

There’s a brief mention, for instance, of Jefferson’s relationship with his slave Sally Hemings – whom he systematically raped over many years. But the casting of black and Hispanic actors makes it hard for the musical to deal directly with slavery, and so the issue only drips into the narrative rather than being confronted. There’s a moment after the battle of Yorktown when “black and white soldiers wonder alike if this really means freedom – not yet”. Another sour note is struck in one of the cabinet rap battles between Hamilton and Jefferson, in which the former notes acidly, “Your debts are paid cos you don’t pay for labour.”

In early workshops, there was a third cabinet battle over slavery – and the song is available on The Hamilton Mixtape, a series of reworkings and offcuts from the musical. When a proposal is brought before Washington to abolish slavery, Hamilton tells the cabinet:

This is the stain on our soul and democracy A land of the free? No, it’s not. It’s hypocrisy To subjugate, dehumanise a race, call ’em property And say that we are powerless to stop it. Can you not foresee?

Ultimately, though, the song was cut. “No one knew what to do about it, and [the founding fathers] all kicked it down the field,” Miranda explained to Billboard in July 2015. “And while, yeah, Hamilton was anti-slavery and never owned slaves, between choosing his financial plan and going all in on opposition to slavery, he chose his financial plan. So it was tough to justify keeping that rap battle in the show, because none of them did enough.”

***

In March 2016, Lin-Manuel Miranda returned to the White House. This time, one of the numbers he performed was a duet from the musical called “One Last Time”, sung with the original cast member Christopher Jackson playing George Washington. After Alexander Hamilton tells the first US president that two of his cabinet have resigned to run against him, Washington announces that he will step down to leave the field open.

It is the political heart of the play’s myth-making, comparable to Nelson Mandela leaving Robben Island. The decorated Virginian veteran was the only man who could unite the fractious revolutionaries after they defeated the British. Washington could have become dictator for life; instead, he chose to create a true democracy. “If I say goodbye, the nation learns to move on./It outlives me when I’m gone.”

For a nation just beginning to think that Trump could really, actually become its president, seeing the incumbent acknowledge that his time was nearly over was a powerful moment. For Obama watching it in the audience, it must have felt like his narrative had come full circle.

Towards the end of the song, Hamilton begins to read out the words of the farewell address he has written, and Washington joins in, singing over the top of them. It was a technique cribbed from Will.i.am’s 2008 Obama campaign video, in which musicians and actors sing and speak along to the candidate’s “Yes, we can” speech.

In his memoir, Dreams from My Father, Obama had written, “I learnt to slip back and forth between my black and white worlds, understanding that each possessed its own language and customs and structures of meaning, convinced that with a bit of translation on my part the two worlds would eventually cohere.”

This was the promise of his presidency: that there was not a black America or a white America, a liberal America or a conservative America, but, as he said in his breakthrough speech at the 2004 Democratic convention, “a United States of America”. The man who followed him clearly thinks no such thing, but nonetheless the nation must learn to move on.

In his farewell address in January 2017, Obama returned to the “Yes, we can” speech, using its words as the final statement on his presidency:

I am asking you to hold fast to that faith written into our founding documents; that idea whispered by slaves and abolitionists; that spirit sung by immigrants and homesteaders and those who marched for justice; that creed reaffirmed by those who planted flags from foreign battlefields to the surface of the moon; a creed at the core of every American whose story is not yet written: yes, we can. Yes, we did.

For the playwright JT Rogers, this is the true triumph of Hamilton – giving today’s multiracial America a founding myth in which minorities have as much right to be there as Wasps. It is political “in the sense of reclaiming the polis” – the body of citizens who make up a country. “The little village we live in outside the city, everyone in the middle school knows the score verbatim,” Rogers adds. “They recite it endlessly and at length, like Homer.”

the full long-read here!

[elizabethhamilton1780]

Because She Can

A/N: Most self-indulgent fic ever. Also my first Hamilton fic. I planned on having this be a one chapter fic, but it ended up getting too long. Because I’m trying not to lose my nerve, I haven’t really proofread it so let me know if there is any huge errors. I’m posting the first half now and working on the second. Enjoy!

They said no.

Eliza wasn’t sure what she was expecting. She had been warned. Multiple times, in fact. By her father, with whom she ran over her presentation with multiple times. By her older sister’s new fiancé. Her ex-husband had even warned her when she had begrudgingly approached him for advice.

“It’s a beautiful, admirable thing you’re doing, Betsey. It’s an amazing cause.” he had said. “But banks don’t see those things. They see only profit. What they’re going to gain from a potential loan.”

She hadn’t wanted to believe him. He was a liar, a cheater. What did he know?

She had tried to raise money the conventional way. Benefit dinners, fundraisers, schmoozing her way and the Schuyler name through fancy galas. Without a well-known and established foundation name behind them, no one in the city was going to donate anything substantial.

Her heart aches, thinking of the terrible house the children were living in. The loose floorboards, the doors that never seem to completely shut. At minimum, six children to a room, with two beds.  

“Mrs. Hamilton,” John Wakefield, the head of the bank, and a friend of her father’s said after a short pause.

It had been over two years since the divorce and people still call her that. “Oh, um. It’s Schuyler now. Again. Miss Schuyler.” Eliza babbled, over explaining herself. Something she had been known to do.

“Well. My apologies, Miss Schuyler.” Mr Wakefield said, tipping his head graciously. It made Eliza’s stomach tighten. It was a better alternative to the pitying look she had grown used to. “But, as I was saying. We admire and fully support your cause, but without a proper foundation behind it, the bank cannot…” She tuned the rest of the rejection out.

She had worked on this presentation for months. She had really thrown herself into the organization after the divorce was finalized. She lived, ate and breathed for these children. She wanted their lives to be as amazing as they possibly could. Not everyone in the system was as fortunate as herself and her two sisters.  Just because they wouldn’t grow up in a traditional family, doesn’t mean they couldn’t grow up in a real home.

She’s brought into the present as a heavy taxi horn sounds. She feels tears form in her eyes and fall down her cheeks at a steady pace. Her heels click against the New York City pavement, the ridiculous pencil skirt she was wearing making it hard for her to walk as quickly as she wanted to.

She rips her shoes and skirt off as soon as she’s in the safety of her own apartment, her small but usually steady hands shaking as she rips the cork off her last bottle of wine. She sets it down on the countertop, opening the cabinet that contains her wine glasses. She quickly abandons that idea and takes a long sip straight from the bottle, tears continuing to fall from her eyes.

Her phone starts ringing, her older sister’s dazzling face and smile appearing on her screen. She sniffles and ignores it, taking another large gulp. It took a solid three minutes before her phone was blowing up again, all texts from the group chat with her sisters

How’d it go?! AS

Lizzy. AS

Eliza. AS

Betsey. AS

Angie. She’s clearly not able to answer at the moment. PS

No. She’s reading our messages right now. My Liza senses are tingling. AS

Christ, Ang. Bets, call us once you get the chance. Love ya xx PS

They said no. ES

Oh, love. I’m so sorry. AS

Want me to come over? AS

Eliza swallows roughly, thinking of her current state. Wearing nothing but her panties and ridiculously itchy lavender sweater. Mascara tracks undoubtedly rolling down her cheeks.

No. I need to be alone. ES

I’ll text you tomorrow. ES

We love you. PS

I’m here if you need anything. AS

She puts her phone on silent and curls up on her sofa, hugging the bottle to her chest. She feels ridiculous. Why is she so upset over something she knew was going to happen? ‘you know why.’ A voice screamed inside her.

Alex’s face flashed in her mind. His brown eyes were wide, large purple bags under them. He looked sick and horrible. A wreck. The last of her things were shoved inside the heavy duffle bag hanging over her shoulder. Alexander’s face had become blurry with her own tears.

Before she could respond to his pleas, Angelica had wedged her way between them. She was taken under her mother’s strong arm and led to the awaiting elevator.

That was three years ago. To the date. It was like some mock anniversary- Eliza tried to forget about it. But every year the same image pops into her mind.

Her phone buzzes again. She doesn’t look this time, instead taking another long drink from the bottle.

George Washington deciding to run for president. That’s how their downfall started.

He had been gone more and more, being the head of his former boss’s campaign. For every night he spent at home, he was absent for three. She didn’t mind, not really. This was a huge opportunity for Alex, for their future family.

“It’s going to be worse.” He warned her after a particularly sweet reunion. His hand rubbed up and down her bare back, his voice hoarse and tired. “When he wins the primaries. Which he's going to.”

“Mm. The campaign isn't going to last forever. I can deal with a few more months if you can.” Eliza pressed a few kisses to his shoulder, her arm slung around his middle.

“You’re just…” Alexander had sighed, unable to form his thoughts, tilting her head up for a long kiss. “perfect.”

And things were fine for another few months. Until the campaign smearing started happening.

Washington’s opponent had accused Alexander of embezzling funds, all those years ago when he had worked as the then Secretary Washington’s right hand man.

“Can we really trust Washington? Look at the man he’s appointed as his head campaign chairman. A liar, a thief of our own government?!” He had raved on and on about how Washington and his entire team couldn't be trusted. Eliza had been horrified, watching the news coverage.

He evidently had enough evidence for Alexander to be thoroughly examined, a bunch of CIA agents had raided their New York home as Eliza looked helplessly on.

“Did you really… did you really steal, Alexander?” Eliza had asked after he had finally been able to fly her out to D.C., her teary voice muffled by his chest.

“No. I didn’t, Liza. You have to believe me.” His voice cracked, the stress of the past few days finally breaking him down. She believed him immediately, without question. And then proceeded to distract him with one of the few ways that had never failed her before.

After a few crazy long days, all charges and allegations had been acquitted.

The public had been puzzled, the story had taken so many twists and turns. Alexander decided that he needed to face this head on. He was going to give a speech.

“You don’t have to stay for this.” Alexander swallowed, his shaky hands clutching at Eliza’s knee as they ride from the hotel over to the press conference.

“I want to. I’m going to be here to support you. You aren’t alone in this, Alex. I won’t let you be.” She had pressed another sweet kiss to his lips.

They both ignored the half sob that escaped Alexander’s chest. Eliza didn’t think much of it. Nerves, she blamed it on.

‘I love you.’ he had mouthed to her before he takes the stage, the camera flashes blinding even Eliza who had been instructed to wait backstage.

After a brief introduction, his speech began. “Everyone is wondering what on earth Senator Newton was able to get away with such harsh allegations. And I’m here to clear the air and give a well deserved explanation to the American people and to our future president Washington.” There’s a pause while the audience cheers. “ Whose campaign doesn’t deserve the blow it received based on my younger self’s stupid decisions. The charges against me come from a connection I once had with a man named James Reynolds. I became well acquainted with him five years ago while I was serving under Washington…”

Eliza couldn't breathe.

An affair. He had an affair that summer she had gone abroad with her sisters. He had proposed before she left- only a week before, in a vain attempt to get her to stay with him.

Maria Reynolds. She went to college with them, Eliza would soon discover in a later conversation she would have with the recently divorced woman.

She graduated in English the same semester Eliza had graduated with her own degree. She married James the semester before, after an unplanned pregnancy. The relationship turned south. She recognized Alexander standing behind Washington on a news article. Desperate for help, the young mother waited outside the treasury building for the familiar face to appear. He was lonely, she was lonely. He didn’t say no. It continued for a month- until James Reynolds had found out.

Be it because of his connection with the Schuyler family, or his job at the treasury- Reynolds had assumed he had money. Blackmailed him for nearly half of his yearly salary. Alexander would later say he paid with no hesitation. “Anything to keep you from finding out. Anything to keep you unhurt. Anything to keep you with me.”

About halfway through her husband’s confession, she felt a gentle but strong hand placed on her shoulder. “Eliza.” Eliza hadn't turned to look at the source. She ran.

She didn’t know where she was running to. Anywhere but there. Anywhere away from her husband’s calm voice as he casually and publicly explained an affair.

She found an abandoned hallway, sinking down to the floor, sobbing into her knees.

It was Washington, who found her. He held her while another fresh wave of tears hit her after seeing the man she had teasingly referred to as her father in law while introducing him to her parents a little over a year earlier. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Is all that he could manage.

While the officially proclaimed President Elect Washington was preparing for his inauguration, the self proclaimed Elizabeth Schuyler was preparing to divorce the love of her life.

She ran out of wine.

She wasn’t anywhere close to being done with drinking away her self pity. After cleaning herself up the tiniest bit, by pulling on a pair of loose ripped jeans and a baggy cotton shirt, she finds herself in a bar.

She felt ridiculous. Here she was, thirty years old, sitting in a bar with drunk college students surrounding her, toasting to the end of midterms week.

This wasn’t like anything she had pictured her life being. No babies, nothing to show for her hard work. No Alexander. Damn him. He ruined everything.

Why did she miss him?

She takes another sip of the Manhattan cocktail she had just ordered, looking at the clock behind her. 12:30 am. He’d be awake.

“Liza?” The sound of his voice makes her go weak at the knees. She’s suddenly very glad to be sitting down.

“I miss you. I miss your kisses. I miss when you’d kiss my thighs.” The words come tumbling out before she can stop them.

A beat of silence from the other line. “Are you drunk?”

Okay. Not the reaction she was expecting. “Don’t you miss me?”

“You know I do.” He says after a short pause. “Everyday. Who are you with? Peg or Ang?”

“No one. ‘M by myself. And…” She pauses, looking at the bartender, squinting her blurry eyes to find his name tag. “Liam the bartender.”

“You went out drinking by yourself?” He sounds appalled. “That’s not like you. At all. Are you-?”

“The bank denied my loan. For the orphanage.” She interrupts him, feeling a fresh wave of tears fall over her.

“Sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” His voice was soft. He means it.

“No, I. It’s stupid. I knew they were going to say no. Being paid back with money from benefit dinners and donations is a ridiculously preposterous and sketchy thing for a bank to do- I just. I hoped they would have seen the pictures of the kids and the home they live in and maybe wanted to help? I just. I don’t know how I’m going to face them on Monday, I- oh, god.” She covers her mouth as another sob escapes her lips.

“Oh, love. It’s okay, I promise it’s going to be okay.” Alexander’s voice fills her ears, making her heart soar and sink at the same time. How is that possible?

It takes a couple minutes of listening to his words for her to calm down.

“I’m sorry.” She says, wiping away her leftover tears with a napkin Liam the bartender had placed in front of her. “For calling you so late.”

“Don’t ever apologize for that. I’m always going to be here for you.” The serious sincerity of his voice frightened her.

“I. This is ridiculous. I can’t believe… I’m in a bar, alone at this hour.” She laughs bitterly.

“You’re a grown woman. If you want to go to a bar and get shit faced drunk, you’re allowed to.” She can just see his crooked grin through the phone.

“I’m thirty-two. Way too old for this. I should be emotionally stable by now.” She winces at the wrecked sound of her voice.

“I’m thirty-four and I still do the same. Keeps us young.” There was that stupid grin again.

“You’re a bad example.” she says.

“Perhaps I am.” Alex allows and then she can hear something that sounds like papers rustling. “You okay, though? Really?”

“No. But I’ll get there. I just needed… a night of self pity before I figure out our next move.” Eliza sighs, running a hand down her face. He hums but doesn’t otherwise respond. “I really do miss you.”

“That’s just the booze talking, Betsey,” Alex says sadly. “You’re going to hate me again in the morning.”

“I could never hate you.” She frowns. “You broke my heart,” she pauses when she hears his sharp intake of breath. “Very.. publicly. I should hate you. But I don’t. I still love you.”

Nothing but a beat of silence on the other line. He clears his throat. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

“Well, I just did. Don’t you love me too?” She says, a teasing tone to her voice.

“You know I do.” he sighs.

“Say it, then.” Eliza challenges.

Another pause. “I love you, Liza. More than anything.”

She sighs happily, leaning her chin on her hand while her elbow rests on the bar. “Show me how much, then.” When he doesn’t reply, she frowns. Maybe she needed to clarify? “I mean… I want you to come and make love to me, Alexander.”

On the other line, a sharp intake of breath. “Please, Liza. Please don’t do this. Don’t make me say no to you.” Alex says weakly.

“Well, don’t say no then.”

“I can’t.” He says. “I can’t make love to you. Not when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” Eliza frowns, her mind a drunken haze. She doesn’t understand what’s so wrong with her idea. They were divorced, sure. But they both admitted their love for each other. Didn’t that mean something?

“Drunk. This is just the alcohol talking. You’re going to wake up tomorrow and hate me again.”

“Drunk Liza has always been more honest then sober Liza. You know this.” Her frown deepens. She starts to fiddle with the straw in her drink clumsily, her hands needing something to do.

Alex snorts. “Drunk Liza also almost gave Lafayette a strip tease in college. She most definitely would have if her sober boyfriend hadn’t intervened.”

She closes her eyes. “Please. Please, Alex.” Her voice sounds so pitiful even to her own ears that it hurts her.

His voice is hard. Perhaps even a tad bitter. Snappy. “I can’t. Not when you can’t give consent. I don’t want you to hate me even more than you already do.”

She sniffles, the red-hot iron of rejection burning a hole in her barely put together drunken heart.

“Have Liam the bartender call you a cab. Go home and go to bed, love.” His voice is much gentler when he speaks next.

“Don’t have the cash on me. Spent it all on my drinks.” She frowns, rummaging through her purse.

“Let me get you an Uber, then.”

“No. I can walk.” She throws the six extra crumbled up one dollar bills onto the counter, stumbling out of her chair.

“Walking?” He asks, his tone incredulous. “Are you crazy?”

“What happened to me being a grown woman?” Eliza counters, smiling. Perhaps she would have the last word tonight.

“Even I try to avoid the streets at night,” Alex says after taking a deep breath. She can just picture him running his hands through his hair as he always did whenever he was frustrated and trying not to lose his temper. “And I’m like, twice your size.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ll be fine.” She lets out a breath as the cool night air hits her lungs.

“Eliza, you can’t walk home this late drunk.” He says impatiently. “Let me call you a damn car.”

“Umm…” She pretends to think about it. “Um. No. Night, ‘Lex.” She hangs up the phone with a small, triumphant giggle. She showed him.

Her phone immediately starts vibrating again. She doesn't have to look at her phone to know who it is. She ignores it. Until the damn thing continues to vibrate incessantly, so much so that she ends up throwing the annoying contraption into her bag.

She makes it to Central Park before she relents. Her feet were starting to hurt and she’s fairly confident she doesn’t live anywhere near here anymore.

“Hi.” She says into the phone, slumping down on the nearest bench.

“Finally.” Alexander sighs, his voice full of relief and frustration. “Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

“Okay.” Eliza chirps happily. Alexander was better than any car he could have sent.

“Where are you?” He asks again after a beat, the definite sound of a door slamming shut in the background.

Suddenly she’s scared. An irrational fear picks up in her drunken mind. Was he mad at her? She was only joking. Why did it even matter to him? They weren’t married. Hell, they were barely acquaintances nowadays. Distant acquaintances who are forced to be civil and interact in public as they were still apart of the same social circle.

“Elizabeth.” He speaks again, that familiar harsh tone of frustration seeping through.

The use of her full name is like a dagger to her heart. Similar to the feeling she would get as a young girl when her parents would use it. “You called me Elizabeth.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. She’s surprised Alex even catches it.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” He finally snaps. “Where the hell are you?”

“It is… my name. I’m just never called that. It’s usually Eliza. Liza, Betsey. Sometimes Bets. Even Lizzy.” She swallows. “I hate being called Elizabeth. It’s too formal. Especially from you, considering…” our ten year relationship, she thinks. She knows Alexander will know what she means. It’s always been like that with the two of them. And it has been that way since the beginning. With Alexander calling her by her full name, it just reminds her of all she has lost. It hurts way more than it should.

Alex lets out a small sigh. When he speaks again, his tone is much softer. “Okay. I’m sorry. Please, please tell me where you are so I can help you get home. It’s late and I need to make sure you’re safe, baby.”

She inhales sharply. Baby, he said. He called her baby. It’s been two years. Her life is completely different than what it was then. She’s single, not a mother but instead head coordinator of a failing organization, the organization that brought her and her two sisters to her parents. She’s back at the orphanage, piss drunk on a Thursday night and she is no longer married to Alexander Hamilton.

The tears form in her eyes and roll down her cheeks in a single sweep. Her hands tremble from the cold, the tears making her phone stick to her face where it was pressed to her cheek. It’s cold, dark and she has never felt more alone.

“Eliza?”

“I don’t know!” She sobs, her other trembling hand covering her mouth. Tears continue to run down her cheeks at an alarming rate. Mournful sobs escape her chest, wracking her body. She barely hears Alexander’s frantic reassurances.

“Oh. I. uh. I-It’s okay. Shh, love.” Alex says and Eliza can just imagine the look of terror on his face. He’s never been good at comforting. All he knows how to do is yell and punch whoever was the cause of the tears. (That’s why it was so difficult him after the Reynold’s debacle. He couldn’t exactly punch himself in the gut, though it seemed he already had.) “It’s okay, baby.” The pet name made Eliza sob harder.

It took what felt like hours for her to calm herself down. She sniffled once more, using the sleeve of her sweater to wipe away leftover tears. “Central Park. South end, by the museums.”

Alex breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay. I’m on my way. Want me to stay on the phone?”

She hangs up instead of answering, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. She suddenly feels as drunk as she is. She eventually pulls herself up from the bench, making her way to the street where she would be easily visible for Alexander to see her.

It takes five minutes for him to find her.

“Eliza.” She hears behind her. She turns and her breath is once more taken away. She runs (more like stumbles) into his arms, burying her face into his neck, ignoring the small “oof” sound he makes. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” He says after a moment. She can feel his hesitation as he wraps his arms around her small, trembling frame.

He smells like he always does, like coffee and a faint bit of cologne he puts on every morning, the same one he’s been using since his early twenties. He’s beautiful and she’s missed him so much.

Eliza reluctantly pulls away to really look at him and a small gasp leaves her mouth as she does. His hair, his beautiful black locks of hair that used to hit his shoulders, is now gone. It’s clipped short on the sides, a bit longer on the top. “You cut your hair.” She says after a moment, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Alexander smiles a bit, nodding. “I did. Needed a change.” He gently unwinds her arms from his neck, shrugging off his own coat and helping her into it. “That bad?” he asks with a laugh at her still shocked expression.

“No. It’s different. But I like it.” She clings to him again, wanting to be closer.

“Let’s get you home, hm?” Alex says, once again prying away from Eliza’s surprisingly strong grip. The pair starts walking in the right direction of her apartment. He ends up having to wind an arm around her waist, mostly because she stumbles three times in about two feet.

“Mind telling me what’s got you so upset?” He asks carefully after a few blocks. Eliza tenses up but relaxes after Alexander squeezes her gently. “It’s more than the bank denying your loan.”

Eliza swallows roughly, looking down at her feet. Her hand is clutching Alexander’s that lays on her hip, the other holding loosely onto the strap of her purse. “You called me baby.” She admits in a small voice.

“What?” He asks.

“You called me baby. I loved when you called me baby. It made me sad, thinking of all we’ve lost. It’s been three years, you know. Since I left you. And it’s like, a hole in my heart. It’s been there since the elevator door closed.” Drunk Liza is as honest as she is clumsy. She stops walking, and Alexander does too, a deep frown on his face as he stops to face her.

“I miss it. You calling me baby. I miss you.” She frowns, matching his expression. She surges forward suddenly, their mouths meeting in an awkward, blessed kiss before Alexander yanks away. Tears immediately form in her eyes again. The drunken woman attempts to turn around and run away from her ex, embarrassment and hurt flowing through her veins.

“Hey, hey.” Alex frowns, barely catching her wrist and pulling her back. “Liza, look at me. Baby. Baby, please look at me.” She sniffles but obeys. Her almond-shaped eyes were full of tears, what little makeup she hadn’t cried off smearing.

His slightly trembling hands cup her cheeks, thumbs stroking her cheekbones, his dark eyes wide, earnest. And sad, Eliza can see sadness. “Fuck, you have no idea how hard this is for me. How hard it is to say no.” A small sob escapes her lips. “Shh. Please, Liza. If you were sober, a-and not in emotional distress, I would say yes in a heartbeat. I’d book us a room at that ridiculous bed and breakfast you loved on the Oregon Coast. I’d kiss and make love to you for hours at a time, days even.” He laughs tearfully. “God. If I had even the slightest inkling that you’d be willing to take me back, I’d do anything in my power to prove to you how much I love you.” Tears were streaming down both of their cheeks. “But you’re not in that position right now, Liza. And I refuse to take advantage of you. I’m not going to do anything that might make you hate me more than you already do.”

Eliza swallows a sob that was climbing up her throat. She nods once, wiping away her tears once Alex lets her face go. He hesitates before he takes her hand and laces their fingers together. That was safe.

They walk in silence the remaining few blocks. Eliza mumbles a small hello to the doorman, Alex following her inside to the elevator. “Stay?” She asks meekly, turning to face him while she waits.

He offers her a small smile, squeezing her hand. “I can’t, babe. Remember what I said earlier?”

She nods, biting her lower lip. She really didn’t want to be alone.

“You’ll be okay. I promise. You’re not going to spend the night alone.” He lets go of her hand once the elevator doors open. “I love you, Liza. Remember what I said.”

Eliza frowns a little, watching him start to walk away just as the elevator doors slide shut. It takes a bit of effort but she manages to find her keys which were hidden at the bottom of her bag. Before she can unlock the door, it swings open. It’s Angelica.

It’s her dear, sweet protective older sister. Her dark skin is bare, with no makeup, yet it still looks flawless. Her beautiful, curly locks are pulled back into a messy bun that only she could make elegant. She’s wearing leggings and her “Woman’s Place is in the House and Senate” shirt Peggy had given her as a present last Christmas. She’s so beautiful, strong and everything Eliza isn’t.

“Oh, Liz,” Angelica says softly, her eyes tender and worried.

Eliza sniffles and launches herself into her big sister’s arms. She’s in her thirties and still needs her sister like she needs air. She needs her as much as she did on her first day at the orphanage all those years ago.

The earliest memory Eliza has is of the tree. She was five years old.

There’s a big oak tree in the back of the home. She remembers curling up under its shade, the other children running around and playing. She remembers the rustling of the green leaves.

She remembers wanting to go home. Funny, now she doesn’t remember the home she once missed dearly.

“What’s a chink like you doing here?” Someone had asked her.

She didn’t reply. She didn’t know what she was doing there. She hugged her knees to her chest and hid her face.

They nudged her with a foot. “Come on, chink. Why’re you here? Huh?”

“Leave her alone.” Someone’s sharp voice spat.

Eliza had looked up, startled. The boy seemed to be startled too.

The girl who had come to her defense glared ferociously at her bully. Her curls were tight and kinky, pulled into two pigtails. She was wearing a red sundress and Eliza remembers thinking how beautiful she looked.

“I-I was just playing.” He stammered.

The girl was holding a little girl’s, who couldn't have been older than two years old, hand. The little girl was sucking on her other hand’s thumb, her eyebrows pulled together in what appears to be a glare meant for the boy.

“Yeah? Well, don’t. Leave, Austin. Or I’m going to tell Miss Windham.” She glares at him until he’s out of sight, her expression softening when she looked at Eliza. “Come on, Peg.” She pulls the girl along, sitting down next to Eliza. “Hi! I’m Angelica. And this is Peggy.”

“Hello,” Eliza said weakly.

“What’s your name?” She prompted, offering a kind grin. It was infectious. Eliza felt the corners of her mouth turn up.

“Elizabeth. But I like to be called Eliza.”

“Liza!” Peggy says suddenly, giggling.

“Liza works.” Eliza smiled at the little girl, whose short curls framed her round, adorable face. Her shirt was a bright yellow. It reminded her of the sunshine, which is exactly what little Peggy seemed to radiate.

“Well, Eliza. We were just going to go and swing. Wanna come?” Angelica asks, standing up and pulling Peggy with her.

“Sure.”

From then on, the three girls were conjoined at the hip. Eliza remembers how they all slept on the same bed, shared clothes and walked to and from school together. No one could get them to be apart for more than five minutes at a time.

She remembers being shocked when Miss Windham had called them all into her office after dinner. “Girls. We have some news. Good news.” The old woman had smiled kindly at the three little girls who sat in front of her desk. “We’ve found a very nice family who wants to adopt you. All three of you.”

(Eliza would later learn that her parents had only wanted one and had asked about herself. They had been warned about her attachment to other two girls and decided that they had more than enough room and money for more children. They had always said three was their “number.”)

The girls stared blankly up at the woman.

“They’re coming to meet you all tomorrow and sign the papers.” She continued on. “You’re going to have a home. Isn’t that amazing?”

That confused Eliza.

A home? She already had a home. She didn’t understand the other kids’ jealousy and snide remarks.

She only knew only how kind Mr. and Mrs. Schuyler were.

Mr. Schuyler had a loud, booming laugh and an infectious grin. He made Peggy laugh so hard she nearly spat out her milk. She liked him and his laugh. She also liked his mustache.

Mrs. Schuyler was gorgeous. Her long, blonde hair was beautiful. Eliza wanted to touch and know if it was as soft as it looked. Her pearl earrings were gorgeous, her smile kind.

Eliza decided she wouldn’t mind leaving her home to find a new one with the Schuylers. She knew that both Angelica and Peggy agreed.

As long as she had her sisters, she wouldn’t mind anything, she thought.

Eliza wakes up with a funny taste in her mouth and a pounding headache. Her sister hands her a bottled water and a few aspirin. She takes both gratefully, resting her pounding head on her knees. She recounts last night in one long rush.

Alexander.

“How did you-?”

“He called me. Alex did.” Angelica says, stroking Eliza’s messy hair away from her face. “I had John drive me here while he picked you up.”

Eliza stays quiet, her hands picking some lint off the sleeve of her sweater.

“Are we going to talk about last night?”

She groans. “No.”

“Then don’t talk. Listen.” Angelica says, frowning. “It’s almost been two years. You haven't been on a single date since then- not for lack of trying. Both Peggy and I have set you up on multiple dates- Stop it.” She frowns, yanking the pillow Eliza had used to cover her ears. “Shut up and listen. It’s been two years and you still say his name in your sleep.”

Eliza swallows, blinking away tears that form, startled by how quickly they appeared.

Angelica sighs. “Look. I’m not going to lie. I hate him. I hate his fucking guts and I wish I could wrap said guts around his throat and-!”

“Ang.”

“Point is. You love him. And he loves you. I didn’t believe it until last night, Bets. But he loves you. He had every opportunity last night to fuck you.” Eliza’s cheeks flush, remembering how desperate and clingy she was. “And he didn’t. He didn’t because… he told Mulligan once that if he were to be lucky enough to get another chance with you, he’d do everything he could do to make right by you.”

Eliza sits up with a glare. “You were the one who told me to divorce him.”

“I know, love. Because I’ve always known you deserved better. “ Angelica says and Eliza huffs and lays flat on her back, glaring up at the ceiling. “And what he did to you… that’s just. Not okay. But with two years and neither of you going on a single date…”

“He hasn’t been on a date either?”

“Not according to Herc, he hasn’t. And Laf.”

“Oh.” Eliza takes a deep breath, ignoring the blossom of hope that forms in her chest.

“I. I stand by what I said. I don’t think it was a mistake for you to divorce him. It put the bastard in his place.” Angelica sighs, stretching out beside her sister on the bed. “But I don’t want to ever see you like you were last night ever again. I want you to be happy, Liza. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I think for you to truly be happy, you need to listen to yourself.”

“Listen to me?” Eliza changes her stare from the ceiling to Angelica. “What does that mean?”

Angelica hums. “Remember what mom and dad said when you told them you were majoring in Social Work?”

Eliza snorts. “How could I forget?”

“Mm. So you listened to them and changed majors. Only to be miserable your entire freshman year. When did college become fun for you?”

“My Sophomore year. When I switched majors.” Eliza realizes quietly.

“One example out of thousands.” Angelica rolls onto her side to really look at her sister, pillowing her head on her hand. “You asked me what I thought you should do. And I told you to divorce him. Man cheats on wife, wife divorces man and becomes happier because of said divorce, or so the story goes. That’s how it usually works. People feel happy after grieving. Empowered. And so you did. You got a divorce because that’s the way you should have felt.”

Eliza swallows, breaking eye contact.

“But the thing is, Liza. I’m not you. I can’t tell you what’s best for you because only you know that.” Angelica continues. “You need to stop doing what I and your brain thinks is right and start doing what your heart thinks is right. You have the absolute purest heart, Elizabeth Schuyler. The best one I know. It’s never going to fail you.”

- - -

Eliza ponders her sister’s words during the next few days. She stays alone in her apartment, ordering pizza, watching movies and looking at photos of puppies from the closest animal shelter.

It’s Sunday night when she finally get’s the courage to text him.

Thank you. ES

Glad you’re safe and hope you’re feeling better. AH

When Eliza goes to work the next day, Charlotte, one of her closest friends on the board, tackles her with a hug as soon as she enters the office door. “I took two days off work, Lotts. Not a month. But hello to you too.” She says teasingly once she’s released.

“You’re a miracle worker, Eliza. Truly.”

“Didn’t you get the email? They said no.”

“The bank may have said no, but look.” Charlotte stands at her computer, pulling up the foundation’s financial statement. “Someone donated 250,000 dollars.” She squeaks before Eliza could process the numbers.

“Oh my god.” Eliza felt dizzy.

“I know!” Charlotte exclaims. “That’s like, double what we asked the bank for.”

“Who in the hell donated a quarter of a million dollars?”

“We don’t know. It was anonymous.”

Only it wasn’t. Eliza knew exactly who donated it.

Her head ran through the numbers. The work they could do with that chunk of money. They could get the kids new beds- fix the stairs and maybe even update the basement.

After another celebratory hug, Eliza retreats into her office and dials the number she knew by heart.

“Hello?” Alex answers for once. She had been expecting his secretary. His voice sounds cautious.

“Hey. Sober Liza here.” She smiles a bit, biting into her lower lip.

He laughs. “Good to know.” A brief pause. “How are you?”

“Better.” She admits. “Just needed some rest, I think.”

“I’m glad.”

“What about you?” She asks.

“I’m a lot better after hearing your voice. I uh, was worried.”

“I know it was you. Who.. donated the money.” Her heart beats faster.

He coughs awkwardly after a pause. “It’s a great cause.”

“A quarter of a million dollars, Alex? Really?”

“I had help, I promise.” He says weakly. “People at work… Burr even chipped in.”

Eliza sighs. “I just. You have no idea how much this means to me. To the kids… I don’t know how to even begin to thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m happy to help. Like I said, great and meaningful cause. And the fact that you and your sisters met there, it’s just. It’s a special place and it needs to be kept alive…” He babbles.

“Are you seeing anyone?” She blurts out.

“No.” He answers. “I. Are you?”

“No.” She smiles a bit.

“Oh. that’s.. good. I mean, shit.” Alex huffs awkwardly. “It isn't good, I want you to be happy. I just meant-!”

“Come over tonight?” She interrupts him. “I’ll make dinner.”

“I’d love that.” And Eliza can just hear the hope in his voice. “I’ll bring some wine.”

- - -

They take it slow.

Just dinner the first night, no matter how badly Eliza just wants to roll around in bed with him. No, they were going to do this right. She makes him his favorite pasta dish.

They text all the next week until Saturday when both of them are finally free. They see a movie. Some romantic Nicholas Sparks movie that Charlotte had insisted was good. And it was decent until the main character cheats on the other. She can feel Alexander stiffen in the seat next to her and can just see his mind running a million hours a minute.

She hesitates before she takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. She feels like crying once she feels the familiar spark she always felt with him— and even more so when she sees the look of wonder on his face. “Let’s get out of here.” She offers him a small smile and he nods jerkily, following her out of the theater.

They take a walk instead, holding hands the entire way. He buys her a hot chocolate from the little coffee shop down the road from his firm, insisting it was the best. She refuses to agree with him. Her mother’s homemade recipe was simply without a doubt, the best hot chocolate, she insists. Though she has to admit, watching Alexander laugh and talk animatedly across the table from her, this one was pretty damn good.

They start seeing each other every day after that. Even if it’s for a quick dinner at Alexander’s office, they make time for each other. He walks her home after a late dinner on a Tuesday night. He sheepishly asks for a goodnight kiss, his hands stuffed in his peacoat pockets that he had only just stolen back from Eliza’s apartment. She had rolled her eyes fondly and pulled him to her with the lapels of his jacket.

“I’m doing this right.” He insists later, after a short but sweet make-out session on her sofa, when Eliza had teased him for asking. “I’m not going to fuck this up again. We’re going at your pace and I’m happy with whatever you’re willing to give me.”

“Even if I decide I never want to have sex again? Become a lifelong virgin?” She smirks a little, moving closer so they were face to face again, her arms around his neck, Alexander’s forehead on her own.

“Even then. I mean it.” Alex pouts, pulling away from her grip when she scoffs. “I’ve seen what life is like without you, Eliza. I have no desire to live it again. Even if it means no sex for the rest of my life.” He wasn’t lying, she could see it in his eyes.

Eliza feels her heart melt slightly, putting a hand on the back of his neck to beckon him closer. She presses a series of sweet kisses to his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip before she pulls away, nuzzling into his neck. He pulls her into his lap, resting his chin on her shoulder, humming happily.

“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t become a lifelong virgin, though.” He says after a moment, laughing when Eliza smacks the back of his head lightly.

Four months into this relatively new but old relationship, their former intimacy makes its way back to them. She’s dreamed and thought of making love to him again from pretty much the moment the divorce papers were finalized. One last night, she always thought. So when she started dating him again, she assumed she would be ready for the physical side of the relationship. Which is why she was surprised with herself when she blanched.

They were kissing lazily, some Hallmark movie playing in the background. His lips tasted like the chocolate cake they had just had, a bit of wine from their dinner a few hours before. The kisses grew more heated when she had taken it upon herself to climb into his lap, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers running through the shorter hairs on the back of his head. His hands slid naturally from her hips to her ass, hesitating before he squeezed slightly, making her gasp.

She kissed him desperately, then. Feverishly. Her nails raked lightly over his clothed shoulders. It wasn’t until he had begun to lift her shirt up that she panicked. She had tensed up, her hands gripping the soft cotton material of his tee shirt.

To his credit, he had stopped immediately, dropping her shirt from where he was pushing it up. His hands were held up almost in a mock surrender motion. His eyebrows were furrowed, worried. “Did I cross the line?”

She swallows roughly, shaking her head. Maria’s beautiful face filling her mind. He touched her. He kissed and made love to her. On their bed.  In their apartment, they had shared together since junior year of college. They had left that place for over two years by the time Alex confessed- but it still burned.

Before she knew what was happening, she felt tears rushing down her cheeks. Alexander’s eyes widened and he reaches up to wipe them away.

“Don’t touch me!” She snaps, stumbling off his lap.

“Okay! Okay, I won’t.” Alex stands up from the couch too, his hands still up in the air. “I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

Eliza swallows, getting a hold of herself and the tears that she wanted to cry out. “I met her, you know.”

“Who?”

“Maria.” His eyes widen comically. “She’s pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you.” Alex says, frowning. “When did you..?”

“A month after the speech.” She coughs. “I wanted to be sure… I was getting the whole story. I wanted to hear her side too. I can’t believe you used her real name.”

“I. It needed to be real. Honest.”

“Yes, well. You had our place and myself covered with security. She had nothing.” Eliza glares. “I wanted to be sure she was okay. It wasn’t just our life you were ruining. It was her’s too.”

“I know.” His expression looks defeated. Ashamed. “I didn’t know what to do. Washington couldn't lose the race because of me- I needed to be honest.”

“You could have used a fake name. You could have given her that. A warning, at least. A chance to get out of town. Jesus Christ.” Eliza lets out a breath, sitting down on the love seat, opposite side of the room from Alexander.

“I helped her get a divorce. Or, Aaron did. Shortly after things… ended.” He says after a short pause.

Eliza nods, pulling her knees to her chest. “I asked her questions. She had no reason to lie to me. I figured she’d be honest.”

Alexander hesitates before crossing the room to be closer to her. She doesn’t tense up, so he takes that as an okay. He sits down on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. “What did she say?”

Eliza looked down at her watch. 2 o clock, it read. She wasn’t late. Maria must have arrived early. She approached slowly, her heart clenching when she truly gets a good look at the woman. She was even more beautiful in person.

Her brown hair was perfectly curly, flowing down her back. Her makeup was perfect, lips a pretty pink that stood out against her dark skin. Her brown eyes were wide when she sees Eliza. She stood up immediately, her expression unreadable. “Mrs. Hamilton.”

“Call me Eliza, please.” She swallowed roughly, sliding into the booth across from her. That name made her sick now. “Thank you for meeting me.” Though her voice was flat. She sounded anything but grateful.

“”s the least I could do. I… you have no idea how sorry I am, ma’am.” A deep frown settled on her lips. “I am. I’m so sorry.”

Eliza felt tears brimming in her eyes. It was still so fresh at the time. The hurt. Her wound was still bleeding out.

Maria cuts to the chase.“I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking clearly. James was horrible, abusive. I didn’t go to him with the intention of sleeping with him. I needed help. I was so scared and I wanted to be loved and Alex- your husband… He was lonely too. I could see it. And so I kissed him and he didn’t say no and it. It got out of hand. It was a distraction, for me. He gave me the money I had originally asked for after the first meeting. But my daughter had gotten sick so I used it to get her to the doctor instead of buying plane tickets.”

Maria swallowed, her hands clutching a hot mug of coffee. She looked as uncomfortable as Eliza herself felt. “He kept calling. I only sought him out the one time- I’m sorry.” She frowns, seeing Eliza’s expression crumble.

“No.” Eliza looks down at the table, taking a deep breath. “I asked for honesty. Continue.”

“He’d call and I’d stop by on my way to work- I worked a night shift at a diner- for a quick round, usually. I only slept over once.” She pauses when the waitress comes over to ask Eliza if she needs anything. “James came back three weeks in. I had dropped Susan off at a friend from her day caretaker’s house for the night. I thought I’d be working, but it had been slow at the restaurant all day, so my boss called and said I wasn’t needed. So I called him. Your husband, and I invited him over. But then James came home, and five minutes later, Hamilton showed up.” She swallows, Eliza remaining silent.

“It didn’t take him long to figure things out. He blackmailed him. And then tried to sell me for money, like. ‘I won’t tell anyone and I’ll let you fuck my wife if you give me money.’ The money he always spent on drugs.” She laughs bitterly. “Anyways. He didn’t continue, obviously. We had one last night- we didn’t really even do anything, he just gave me a contact sheet for a lawyer who said he’d help me. But James kept pressing for money, threatening. I assumed he paid James off because I never saw or heard from him again. Until recently. And it was on TV.”

Eliza’s quiet for a few long moments. “Did he ever… talk about me?”

“Only once. And I had to ask. I just asked where you were and. He said you were in Europe and how much he was missing you. And that he didn’t want to talk about you because of obvious reasons. He… kept you separate. In a locked away box, almost. I didn’t ask anymore because I was worried that if I did, he’d think too much about you and would stop.” The woman’s honesty was startling. “I don’t know if this is better or worse, for you. But he only ever said your name. While we were messing around…” She trails off. “I remember being jealous of you. Not because of him, specifically- but because you clearly had someone who loved you.”

“She told me her side of the story,” Eliza says finally, looking up at Alexander.

“I am sorry. For what the speech probably did to her.” Alex says. “But it had to be done for the campaign. She was… collateral damage.”

“And I guess our marriage was too, then.” He said nothing but squirmed slightly in his spot on the coffee table. She stared at him. He opened his mouth to speak again, probably to defend his actions, but she interrupts him. “You’re… not sorry, are you? You don’t regret it.”

Alexander’s expression turns incredulous. “I regret it more than anything in my life Eliza. It cost me an entire two years I could have spent with you. We lost so much time because of that stupid summer.”

“You regret the affair, but not the admission. Not the speech.” She says, still not quite meeting his eyes.

“I regret the speech hurting you.” He says, clearly hesitant. His hand hung in the air for a moment, before moving to rest on her knee carefully. “I regret not telling you about Maria the moment you returned home.   I regret not having the opportunity to grovel at your feet to beg you to stay with me like I would have. I have plenty of regrets, Eliza. I’ve hurt you so badly, I know, but… I don’t regret the admission. It was what got Washington into office- I didn't want the campaign to suffer because of mistakes I made as a dumb twenty-something-year-old.”

Eliza’s glare increases. “Get out.”

His eyes widen. “What?”

“Get out. I need to be alone.”

“Eliza-” He reaches out for her.

“Get. Out.” She glares at him, tightening her grip on her knees.

Alexander rushes to obey. Eliza never uses that tone and he didn’t want to overstep, even if his instincts were screaming at him to stay and convince her, Eliza knew. He never liked to be alone after a fight, she doubts that had changed. He shrugs on his jacket. His eyes are sad, panicked. “I love you. Only you. I never loved her.”

“I know.” She says softly, her eyes tired. “I know. And this isn’t. I’m not breaking up with you. I just need…” she doesn’t continue. She isn't sure what she needs. She just knows she can’t be around him right now.

Alexander nods, his eyes still worried but less panicked. “I’m sorry.” He grabs his jacket, turning to open the door. “Call me. When… when you’re ready. I love you.”

She nods once, looking down at her legging-clad legs. When the door is shut, she rolls onto her side, still curled up in the fetal position. Tears roll down her cheeks silently as she stared at the vase that sits on her coffee table. She lasts five minutes before she's digging through her purse to find her phone.

I love you too. ES

- - -

They text constantly throughout the entire week. Eliza doesn’t invite him over and Alex doesn’t push, something she’s grateful for. He gives her space. It’s a stark contrast from the Alexander she remembers. The one who would sleep on the floor outside her door after a fight like a Labrador. She had tripped over him in the middle of the night, as she was cold and lonely and whatever they were fighting about paled in comparison to that. She had smacked her head on the wall on the other side of the hall. It even left a tiny dent.

Alexander had insisted on taking her to the hospital, even though she knew for a fact was fine. It was comical watching her at the time boyfriend explain the incident to the doctors. She was sure they looked crazy. Alex was still wearing his suit and tie he had worn to his internship while Eliza wearing her pink pajamas with donuts scattered around, a fluffy grey robe to top the ensemble off.

She was fine, of course. They were sent home essentially right away. The cab ride was deadly silent and so was the trek up to their shoebox apartment on the fifth floor. It wasn’t until she saw the dent on the wall that she started giggling. Alex was exasperated but relieved that she didn’t seem to be mad anymore. They snapped a photo of the moment, Alexander kissing Eliza’s cheek with the dent right above their heads.

She giggles a bit into the gray sleeve of her cashmere sweater, at the memory. She was in her office, her long dark locks of hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She was wearing her glasses today, not wanting to be bothered with contacts. She wonders if she could ever find that photo again…

I forgot to pack my lunch. ES

Oh? AH

Mhm. And I’m hungry. ES

That’s a hint, Alex. ES

Is that permission to come and see you? At your work? AH

Yes. As long as you have food. Please xx ES

Give me an hour and I’ll be there. AH

Love you. AH

“She’s right in there.” Eliza can hear Charlotte’s voice, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor get closer and closer. She knocks once before her round, happy face appears in the crack. “Hey, Liz. There’s someone here for you.”

“Let him in.” Eliza says with a small, fond eye roll after she mouths ‘hot!’ at her. She beams when she finally comes face to face with Alex, a bit amused by his unsure posture. One of his hands was holding a drink carrier, the other a to go bag.

She takes the bags from him, setting them down on her desk. She cups his cheeks, his skin cold from the spring breeze outside, and pulls him in for a quick kiss.

His face is bewildered when she pulls away, eyebrows knitted together.

“What?” She laughs.

“I thought you were mad at me,” Alex says. “I prepared myself the whole walk over here to be yelled at and instead I get a kiss. I don’t understand?”

“I don’t either. I don’t know what happened the other night- I don’t understand it. Any of it. We have a lot of… Shit, for lack of a better word. We do. We have a lot of shit we need to get through because I don’t know how I feel about this. About anything. All I know for sure is that I love you and I want to keep trying to figure everything out with you.” She says, winding her arms around his neck. “If you’re willing. That would be enough for me.”

“Anything, Liza. As long as I get to be with you.” Alex says earnestly, hesitantly wrapping his arms around her waist. “It’s all going to be under your terms, you know. Everything. I’m not in any position whatsoever to be asking anything of you- sex especially. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even touched your shirt.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t just you, babe. I… well, I didn't show any warning signs. I don’t even know why I reacted like that.” She admits sheepishly. “I’m working on it.”

“You haven’t forgiven me.”

“What?” Eliza frowns. “That’s not-”

“It is true, and it’s okay,” Alex says, interrupting her. “I hurt you, baby. I hurt you enough that you left me. All that doesn’t just get swept under the rug because we start dating again. You know?”

Eliza nods once. She smiles sadly after a moment. “Guess I’ll work on that, too.”

“We’ve got nothing but time,” Alex promises, one hand tipping her chin up, pressing a few short kisses to her lips. “I promise.”

“And I’m holding you to that promise.” She pulls him down for another kiss before pushing him away once more and unpacking their food. They sit and eat in a comfortable silence, their legs tangled together under her desk while they enjoyed each other’s company.

He finishes his meal before her, wandering around her office while she continued her work, examining the different knickknacks and photos. She looks at him through the corner of her eye, noticing the photo he was looking at. It was of herself and her two sisters holding up their newly signed adoption papers on the front porch of her childhood home.

“I’ve never seen that before.” He informs her, lifting up the picture frame to examine the photo more closely.

“My mom just sent it to me the other day.” She smiles a bit, leaning back in her chair. “It’s been an hour. Don’t you have that meeting with Burr?”

“Nope, actually. He canceled. Don’t have anything until three.” He says dismissively, turning to the other wall. “Are these all your kids?”

The wall was absolutely covered in photographs. Half were real photos, the other half pieces of artwork that the children had made her. They were mixed together to form a collage of sorts. It was Eliza’s favorite thing. So many beautiful, young faces beaming at Eliza when she had taken the photos herself. Being the chairman of the organization, she and Charlotte weren’t expected to interact with the children. They both loved to, anyways. It reminds them of what they’re working so hard for.

“Mhm.” She moves across the room to stand by him. “His name is Jack. That’s Christine. She’s Lily. Jon, Erik.” She points out a few of the children on the wall. She can name every single one of the children on the wall- even though the number isn't that large, it’s something she prides herself in. She loves those kids dearly and if it were possible- she’d adopt every single one of them.

“Sorry. This must be boring for you.” She realizes a few moments later, her nose crinkling.

“No, no,” Alexander reassures her, taking her hands in his. “Don’t apologize. I love watching you talk about your work. Your eyes and face light up- it’s cute. I love how much you care about these kids. Makes me wonder how different my life could have turned out if they had someone like you running the homes back in St Croix.”

Eliza smiles sweetly at him, his words making her heart jump. “It makes me happy to hear that. Your story was always a part of my motivation too, you know. I don’t want anyone to have to go through that.”

“The world is a better place because you’re in it, Elizabeth Schuyler.” Alexander pulls her into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her and resting his chin on her head. “Mine especially.”

- - -

Eliza was on a high.

Alexander had kept true to his promise. He took a few days off work (a miracle of itself) and took her the Oregon Coast. They spent their long weekend taking walks on the beach, finding seashells, sand dollars and exploring cute shops. She finds a few knick-knacks and things for her family, feeling content and happy every time the day closes.

On the third night of their vacation, they made love.

It came on suddenly, the urge she felt coiling in her stomach. They had shared a bed plenty times in their new relationship. She was by now well accustomed to falling asleep with Alexander snoring in her ear again. But it felt different that night when he climbed into bed. She hadn’t been subtle at all when she rolled on top of him. He stared at her blankly, his hands glued to his side. He didn’t want to overstep again.

“Liza. Are you sure? I can’t exactly go anywhere if this goes wro-” He was cut off by his own groan when Eliza had moved her hips deliberately. There wasn’t much time for protesting after that.

They spent their last vacation day in bed, becoming better acquainted with each other’s bodies once more. That was probably Eliza’s favorite day of the whole vacation.

Returning to New York was a bit of a chore, but Eliza was happy. For the first time in what feels to her like forever. She even informs her parents of her new relationship, feeling nothing could bring her down.

Her father is as supportive as he always is. A bit bewildered, but supportive. Her mother, on the other hand… She had loved Alexander. She had accepted him into the family right away, introduced her to friends as her son even before they were married. She was even angrier then Philip when the Reynold’s scandal came to light.

Her voice was light and airy, a tone that meant she was displeased but was willing to move on. Eliza and her sisters had heard it plenty of times over the years. “Bring him with you Easter weekend.”

Alexander was rightfully terrified and tried in vain to come up with excuses why he couldn't leave the city that weekend. Eliza had heard none of it, and that’s how they ended up on the train ride to Albany.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Alex,” Eliza says as she feels the train start to calm down. “Honestly. My family are reasonable people. And if I can forgive, so can they.” She squeezes his hand reassuringly before she stands up.

“Easy for you to say. You know you’re in Catherine Schuyler’s favor.” Alex grumbled, hitching their shared carry-on bag over his shoulder.

It’s Angelica who comes to pick them up. After a customary Schuyler sister reunion, consisting of them screaming while holding each other and causing a small scene, the eldest sister looks at her former brother in law. They had been close, had known each other for a few weeks before introducing Eliza to him. They related to each other more than anything. So much so that Eliza briefly wondered early on in their relationship if Alex had chosen the wrong sister. He hadn’t.

The two of them were like fire. They challenged each other and pushed each other to be better. They went to law school together. They burned red hot and could do a lot of damage to each other if needs be. Eliza had seen a glimpse of that during the divorce where Angelica had represented her. It was almost as if the affair had hurt Angelica more than it hurt herself, some days.

“Alex.” Angelica brings Eliza out of her reverie. “Hey.”

“Hello, Angelica.” Alexander nods a bit nervously.

Angelica turned straight back to her sister and threw an arm around her shoulder, leading her to the car. Eliza sees Alexander let out a sigh of relief. It’s not exactly a warm welcome, but it’s a nice start.

“Peggy was just arriving when I left to pick you guys up,” Angelica informs the pair, Eliza looking happily out the window as they made their way to her childhood home. “Apparently she has a new girl.”

“Oh? How exciting.” Eliza smiles, happy for her younger sister. Things seemed to be falling into place for all of them. She shares a happy glance with Alexander through the rearview mirror, getting a nervous half smile in return.

They pull into her parent’s winding driveway and she can just feel her boyfriend’s anxiety rise. They all three climb out of the car and Eliza presses a reassuring kiss to his cheek before unloading their suitcase from the trunk of Angelica’s car.

Her parents and sister all file onto the porch, a huge smile gracing Peggy’s bright face. “Liza!” She dashes down the steps, acting more like the sixteen-year-old girl Eliza will always think of her as, and much less like the actual twenty-nine-year-old woman she is. They embrace tightly even though they had seen each other only a month prior.

Peggy didn’t even pause to think before she launches herself into Alexander’s arms, shocking both her family and Alex. He pauses before wrapping his arms around her and squeezing back lightly. “Hey, Peg.” A fond tone seeped through.

“Hey, bro.” She grins as she pulls away. “Welcome back. I won’t hesitate to murder you if you hurt her again.” Her tone was awfully cheery. “And I’ll get away with it because I happen to have a kick-ass lawyer whose already agreed to defend me.”

“It’s true,” Angelica calls from the porch, shrugging modestly.

“I don’t doubt it,” Alex reassures her, taking Eliza’s hand when she offers it. Peggy leads them onto the porch.

Eliza embraces both of her parents, whispering “Be nice,” into her mother’s ear before pulling away.

“Mr. Schuyler-” Alexander starts after clearing his throat.

“Oh, please. Call me Philip, son.” Her father dismisses his formality with a wave of his hand. “If our Liza has accepted you back, so can we.” He shakes Alexander’s hand, his usual kind grin on his face.

Alexander visibly relaxes and offers a sheepish smile. He turns towards Eliza’s mother. “Catherine, I’m so-”

“Mrs. Schuyler will do,” Catherine says politely, but the venom in her voice was almost tangible. There’s a beat of perhaps a bit of uncomfortable silence. Angelica smirks while both Philip and Peggy grimace sympathetically. They’ve all been the target of Catherine Schuyler’s wrath at one point or another and all know how scary it can be.

“Mom.” Eliza gathers her bearings, frowning. Her mother pats her shoulder comfortingly.

“Everything’s alright, dear. Let’s all head inside, yeah? A storm’s brewing, best not be out here when it arrives.” With that, she spins around on her heels and saunters inside the house.

Eliza turns to face Alexander, an apologetic look on her face. “Alex-”

“I deserve it.” He says instead, frowning and shaking his head. “It’s fine. I’m okay.” He offers her a small, half-hearted smile. She gives him an unimpressed look before she kisses his lips- he was an unfortunately good liar, but Eliza could typically read right through him. Alexander sighs, slinging an arm around her waist. “I may not be okay, but I do deserve it. I deserve everything she throws at me this weekend.”

She leads him inside her large childhood home a bit warily. She had a feeling this weekend was going to be a long one. She was already missing the crowded yet safe and secure city they had left behind.

Dinner was a tense affair. One full of awkward small talk, long stretches of silence and plenty of pleading looks from Eliza to her mother to please let up.

Alexander escapes as quickly as he can after dinner, babbling out an excuse about some conference call he absolutely had to take, even if it was well after office hours.

Once he was safely out of earshot, Eliza turns to her mother. “Seriously-?”

“I’ll go get dessert,” Peggy says, her tone a bit too high to be natural- the poor beam of sunshine had never dealt well with contention.

“I’ll help.” Their father was quick to follow his youngest daughter’s example. Angelica rolled her dark eyes at their retreating figures, staying put, her slim arms crossed over her chest, fully content to watch this spectacle unfold.

Eliza watches her mother expectantly, raising an eyebrow.

Catherine Schuyler sighs, folding her napkin delicately in her lap. “I don’t understand what you’re referring to, darling.”

Eliza stared at her for a moment. “You’re joking, yes? Please tell me you’re joking.” When her mother said nothing, she laughed humorlessly. “You’ve like, gone out of your way to make my boyfriend feel uncomfortable and unwelcome, and when you weren’t doing that, you were ignoring him. When I agreed to spend the weekend here, I was told that everyone would be respectful-”

“I’ve been nothing but respectful, Elizabeth.” Eliza groaned at the use of her full name, hiding her face in her hands. “Do you realize what you just called him? Your boyfriend. A man you were once married to is your boyfriend. Need I remind you why he’s not your husband?”

Eliza stared at her while Angelica intervened. “Mom, really?”

“No. She needs to hear this.” Her mother said stubbornly, not even glancing in her eldest daughter’s direction.

Eliza felt a flash of irritation. “You don’t get to decide what I need anymore, for god’s sake I’m thirty-two years old-!”

“He cheated on you, Eliza. He cheated on you and still proposed to you. He didn’t think to share that bit of information with you for years into your marriage and then only decides to do so publicly and only because his ass was on the line-”

“I know this!” Eliza snaps. “I fucking lived this, mother, I don’t need to hear it again-”

“Let me finish.” Her mother snaps back. “Not only did he lie to you for years, he only came forward to save himself, for crying out loud. He didn’t take your feelings into consideration at all. He dragged you to that event to let you listen to his astonishingly detailed recount of his affair. He did all of that to you even when you just had lost a fucking baby for crying out loud-”

“Mother!” Angelica snapped just as Eliza flinches back as if she had been slapped. It’s only then that Catherine softens. “I’m-”

“What baby?”

All three heads of the Schuyler woman spun around, Eliza’s eyes widening in horror.

Alexander takes another step forward, an unreadable expression on his face. “What baby is she talking about, Eliza?”

“I. I don’t,” Eliza looks between her mother, sister, and Alexander. 

“Liza, did you not tell him?” Angelica asked after a few moments of stunned silence. 

“What baby?” Alexander demanded again, his voice growing hard. “Eliza, what baby?” 

Eliza stands up calmly, the entire room silent. She approached Alexander slowly, folding her arms together over her chest. 

“What baby?” He asks again. 

“I’m sorry.” She says, her voice soft. And then, she did what any other respectable thirty-two-year-old woman would do. 

She ran.