#Dolley Green | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

astralaffairs · 4 years

Text

voltaire to versace 03 | thomas jefferson TEASER

title: voltaire to versace 03 TEASER

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: a lil over 10k

warnings: sex jokes n references again, dolley simping for james again, but probably more this time, implied sex except dolley’s having it instead of mc, maria and angelica are girlfriends, lafayette is basically everyone’s plug for weed so like,, drug references and alcohol references??

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

tags: @lunariasilver @tinywhim @nyxie75 @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @cubedtriangle @lunariasilver @lexylovesfandoms @fanfic-addict-98 @stephyra17 @notebookgirl30 @exorcisms-with-elmo @kmsmedine @itshaileyn @honeyand-roses — let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

"Are you sure I was included in that invite?" Y/N's voice was skeptical as she crossed the green toward Thomas's office. Apparently, Dolley and James had spent their afternoon together, taking a walk through the city. (When Dolley told Y/N that the two-mile loop near the Lincoln Memorial had taken them two hours to walk through, she had a sneaking suspicion walking wasn't all they were doing. Hopefully, they'd at least escaped the watchful eye of our oversized 16th president.)

"Yes, I'm certain you were," Dolley insisted from the other end of the phone's line. "He said it'd be great if I brought you."

"... This sounds suspiciously like a pity invite."

"It isn't a pity invite!" Y/N could hear the indignance in her voice.

"Dolley, why, exactly, would he want me there if it wasn't a pity invite?"

"... Because you're my best friend, and he's decided to make an effort to get to know you better?"

She laughed. "As much as I appreciate this idealized James Madison, I have a feeling it was more to the effect of 'I just saw your roommate and feel obligated to invite her'," Y/N corrected her. "But go to the party without me! Don't let me hold you back from having your fun, alright?"

"Please come? It wouldn't be the same without you." Dolley's voice was high, containing traces of what almost smelled like desperation. "It'll make me much more comfortable to have you along."

Y/N groaned. "So when you and James go make out in the bathroom, I'm supposed to, what, play truth or dare with all the other PhD candidates?"

"Why not?" Dolley's tone was mild, which made Y/N roll her eyes.

"No offense to James's friends, but I'm not sure I want to spend an evening making stunted small talk with them."

"You're such a warm person, though! You'd be quite alright."

"It'd be awkward!"

"Please, Y/N? I'll beg you if that's what it'll take."

She scowled at how soft, forlorn Dolley's voice had become. As far as she was concerned, this was akin to emotional manipulation. "Does it really mean that much to you?"

"Yes. I like him so much."

She sighed. "I'm gonna say yes solely because I have somewhere to be and can't deal with this argument anymore. But you owe me."

Y/N could almost picture Dolley’s sappy smile. “Thank you so much, dear. You’re too good to me.”

"Yeah, yeah, what else is new?" Her words elicited a laugh from Dolley, and Y/N continued, “But you know I’d do pretty much whatever you asked if you asked it in that I’m-about-to-cry voice, so I’m not sure this relationship is healthy for me anymore.”

“Oh, of course; I’m truly a parasite,” Dolley sighed. “Taking you in as my roommate, paying for your ramen — how evil of me.”

“I pay half the rent, and ramen costs fifty cents!” Y/N defended, but the words were lighthearted nonetheless. “Next time you give up five perfectly good hours of a Friday night so that I can get laid, we’ll call it even.”

“Don’t make any calls about Friday just yet. You haven’t even seen James’s friends.” Dolley’s voice was just teasing enough to placate Y/N. “I may not be the only one having some fun.”

“Have you even seen James’s friends?” Y/N asked dubiously, and Dolley’s silence told her all there was to know. “That’s what I thought. He’s an econ student, so it’s probably gonna be about eighty percent entitled rich men attending school on family money.”

“Or they could all be just your type,” Dolley reasoned, but by then, any efforts to talk Y/N out of her convictions were futile. “Tall, hot, and older.”

“First off, I don’t have a type, and second, just because you’re dating an ‘older man’,” — The final two words were said mockingly — “doesn’t mean that his older friends aren’t still douches.”

“I hate to have to be the one to break it to you, but that is absolutely your type.”

“Based on what?”

“That professor of yours?”

“Dolley!” Y/N scowled, turning down the volume on her call just in case some passing pedestrians were notorious gossips with super-hearing. It was certainly possible. “Can you please stop talking about him like that? Don’t make it a thing,” she murmured, jaw tense.

“Oh, we’re well past that, dear,” Dolley said matter-of-factly, and Y/N could only roll her eyes. “But if you’ve agreed to the party, I won’t push my luck.”

“Smart choice,” she muttered bitterly. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Talk to you later tonight?”

“Of course.”

With that, she hung up the phone before Dolley could take advantage of her giving mood and start making further outlandish demands, tucking it into her coat pocket as she pushed open the door to Melos Hall. Unfortunately for her, the elevator was broken, and Thomas's office was several flights of stairs above her.

After at least eight long pauses for her to catch her breath, heaving as she leaned against the railing in the stairwell, and three stomach cramps, Y/N knocked on his door. "Anybody home?"

"C'mon in." His voice was soft, muffled through the door, and she opened it to find him all but slumped on his desk, resting his head on his hand as he graded papers he appeared to be rather cross with, and with more of said papers covering the entirety of the desk’s surface (and much of the floor). He glanced up when she entered, and a soft grin split his expression. "Hey, I thought that was you."

"I'm in absolute awe of your pattern-recognition skills, really," she replied, tone dry as she let the door fall shut behind her, and despite the playful smile she wore, Thomas rolled his eyes.

"You actually here for anything, or am I gonna have to kick you out?"

She laughed. "I'm not here to derail your work, I swear." He raised a dubious eyebrow. "I was just stopping by to let you know that, assuming it's still on the table, I'd love the TA position."

"Oh, yeah?" His smile widened almost imperceptibly at her words, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "'M glad to hear it. Could've just shot me an email, though."

She shrugged. "I was headed this way anyway. Figured I may as well stop by."

"I'm not complainin'." She let out a soft huff of laughter at the words, but she could feel heat beginning to creep up the back of her neck. "'S good timing, anyway. Intro to IR just turned in an essay on Kant."

The soft groan she let out only served to amuse him further as she surveyed the wreckage of his office. "That's what all this paper is?" He nodded in confirmation, and she scrunched up her nose. "I'm not sure if I feel worse for the freshmen who had to write them or for you having to read them."

"Well, I should hope it's the freshmen," he said matter-of-factly, sitting back in his chair. The smile he wore was concerningly self-righteous. "'Cause, now, readin' these is your job, too."

Her eyebrows shot up; the dread in her gaze was the furthest thing from contrived. "... Is it too late to rescind my application as a TA?"

He shook his head. "Mm-mm. You're welcome to abandon ship."

She didn't like the satisfaction which grew in his gaze as she weighed her options; they both knew she wasn't considering turning down the position in earnest — that simple fact left Thomas unnecessarily smug. Another beat passed, and she sighed. "You're lucky this is going to look good on my grad school applications."

He laughed. "Sure am. I could use all the help I can get, right now."

"I can see that," she replied, voice laden with amusement at the state of his office.

However, Thomas said nothing more, and she shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the drawn-out silence. He raised an expectant eyebrow, and it took her a moment to grasp his intention. "Wait... d'you mean, like, right now?"

"Unless you're busy." He shrugged. His gaze was hopeful as she eyed warily the small stack of papers she'd spent the past few minutes trying not to crush under her boot. She sighed.

He grinned when she bent over to pick up the papers that'd floated to her side of the desk. "As depressing as it feels to say, I've got nowhere else to be on this fine Friday night."

"That's the spirit." He winked, and though she rolled her eyes, her amused smile was deep-set. "So, you're gradin' for accuracy and watchin' out for grammar, of course, but the points are really earned for analysis. The paper's on changes in the international system. They’ve gotta connect ‘em back to Kant's maxims."

She let out a low whistle as she took a seat across from him, plucking a red pen from his cup and dropping her bag onto the floor. "That certainly sounds pretentious."

He laughed lightly. "You really tellin' me you didn't have to do anything like this as a freshman?"

"Oh, I wish I could say that, but unfortunately, my professor was apparently every bit the pseudointellectual you are.” She nodded sadly, and Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Hilarious, sweetheart, really." In the dry sarcasm of his tone, the casual pet name didn't seem to register with him, but Y/N couldn't help but notice, and her breath caught. "Here, lemme get you a copy of the rubric. 'S nothin' too complicated; go easy on 'em. Got some STEM majors in the class who're just takin' it for the graduation requirement, so I'm not expectin' much."

She pursed her lips. "Are the essays that bad?"

He deadpanned as he turned back to her, sliding the rubric across the desk. "At least as bad as I'm makin' 'em sound."

Y/N let out a long, dramatic huff, rubbing her temples, and Thomas looked thoroughly entertained at her reaction.

"I'm in for a long few months, aren't I?"

68 notes · View notes

algebraicvarietyshow · 4 years

Link

The National Garden should be composed of statues, including statues of Ansel Adams, John Adams, Samuel Adams, Muhammad Ali, Luis Walter Alvarez, Susan B. Anthony, Hannah Arendt, Louis Armstrong, Neil Armstrong, Crispus Attucks, John James Audubon, Lauren Bacall, Clara Barton, Todd Beamer, Alexander Graham Bell, Roy Benavidez, Ingrid Bergman, Irving Berlin, Humphrey Bogart, Daniel Boone, Norman Borlaug, William Bradford, Herb Brooks, Kobe Bryant, William F. Buckley, Jr., Sitting Bull, Frank Capra, Andrew Carnegie, Charles Carroll, John Carroll, George Washington Carver, Johnny Cash, Joshua Chamberlain, Whittaker Chambers, Johnny “Appleseed” Chapman, Ray Charles, Julia Child, Gordon Chung-Hoon, William Clark, Henry Clay, Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain), Roberto Clemente, Grover Cleveland, Red Cloud, William F. “Buffalo Bill” Cody, Nat King Cole, Samuel Colt, Christopher Columbus, Calvin Coolidge, James Fenimore Cooper, Davy Crockett, Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., Miles Davis, Dorothy Day, Joseph H. De Castro, Emily Dickinson, Walt Disney, William “Wild Bill” Donovan, Jimmy Doolittle, Desmond Doss, Frederick Douglass, Herbert Henry Dow, Katharine Drexel, Peter Drucker, Amelia Earhart, Thomas Edison, Jonathan Edwards, Albert Einstein, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Duke Ellington, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Medgar Evers, David Farragut, the Marquis de La Fayette, Mary Fields, Henry Ford, George Fox, Aretha Franklin, Benjamin Franklin, Milton Friedman, Robert Frost, Gabby Gabreski, Bernardo de Gálvez, Lou Gehrig, Theodor Seuss Geisel, Cass Gilbert, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, John Glenn, Barry Goldwater, Samuel Gompers, Alexander Goode, Carl Gorman, Billy Graham, Ulysses S. Grant, Nellie Gray, Nathanael Greene, Woody Guthrie, Nathan Hale, William Frederick “Bull” Halsey, Jr., Alexander Hamilton, Ira Hayes, Hans Christian Heg, Ernest Hemingway, Patrick Henry, Charlton Heston, Alfred Hitchcock, Billie Holiday, Bob Hope, Johns Hopkins, Grace Hopper, Sam Houston, Whitney Houston, Julia Ward Howe, Edwin Hubble, Daniel Inouye, Andrew Jackson, Robert H. Jackson, Mary Jackson, John Jay, Thomas Jefferson, Steve Jobs, Katherine Johnson, Barbara Jordan, Chief Joseph, Elia Kazan, Helen Keller, John F. Kennedy, Francis Scott Key, Coretta Scott King, Martin Luther King, Jr., Russell Kirk, Jeane Kirkpatrick, Henry Knox, Tadeusz Kościuszko, Harper Lee, Pierre Charles L’Enfant, Meriwether Lewis, Abraham Lincoln, Vince Lombardi, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Clare Boothe Luce, Douglas MacArthur, Dolley Madison, James Madison, George Marshall, Thurgood Marshall, William Mayo, Christa McAuliffe, William McKinley, Louise McManus, Herman Melville, Thomas Merton, George P. Mitchell, Maria Mitchell, William “Billy” Mitchell, Samuel Morse, Lucretia Mott, John Muir, Audie Murphy, Edward Murrow, John Neumann, Annie Oakley, Jesse Owens, Rosa Parks, George S. Patton, Jr., Charles Willson Peale, William Penn, Oliver Hazard Perry, John J. Pershing, Edgar Allan Poe, Clark Poling, John Russell Pope, Elvis Presley, Jeannette Rankin, Ronald Reagan, Walter Reed, William Rehnquist, Paul Revere, Henry Hobson Richardson, Hyman Rickover, Sally Ride, Matthew Ridgway, Jackie Robinson, Norman Rockwell, Caesar Rodney, Eleanor Roosevelt, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Theodore Roosevelt, Betsy Ross, Babe Ruth, Sacagawea, Jonas Salk, John Singer Sargent, Antonin Scalia, Norman Schwarzkopf, Junípero Serra, Elizabeth Ann Seton, Robert Gould Shaw, Fulton Sheen, Alan Shepard, Frank Sinatra, Margaret Chase Smith, Bessie Smith, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Jimmy Stewart, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Gilbert Stuart, Anne Sullivan, William Howard Taft, Maria Tallchief, Maxwell Taylor, Tecumseh, Kateri Tekakwitha, Shirley Temple, Nikola Tesla, Jefferson Thomas, Henry David Thoreau, Jim Thorpe, Augustus Tolton, Alex Trebek, Harry S. Truman, Sojourner Truth, Harriet Tubman, Dorothy Vaughan, C. T. Vivian, John von Neumann, Thomas Ustick Walter, Sam Walton, Booker T. Washington, George Washington, John Washington, John Wayne, Ida B. Wells-Barnett, Phillis Wheatley, Walt Whitman, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Roger Williams, John Winthrop, Frank Lloyd Wright, Orville Wright, Wilbur Wright, Alvin C. York, Cy Young, and Lorenzo de Zavala.”

donald trump ki kicsodája az amerikai történelemben

23 notes · View notes

ms-march · 4 years

Text

12 Days of Turn- “Festival”

uhm yeah you’re not being deceived by this header collage. Happy day 3 of 12 Days of Turn! Here is a collaboration with @tallmadgeandtea on a ss:sp and lbl crossover! While it is not inherently holiday themed, like at all, it was just too good to not post for the prompt “festival.” If you like it please be sure to give it a like, comment, and/or reblog! Disclaimer: there will be some serious lbl spoilers ahead!

May had blossomed in Virginia once again, and Belvoir’s grounds were as beautiful as always. Ever since John had resigned as an aide de camp and taken a fighting command in Nathanael Greene’s Southern Army, Adrienne had occupied herself by taking trips and hosting extravagant parties at her childhood home. The guest lists and menus never ceased to distract her from whatever certain peril John placed himself in daily. Today she dressed in a blue and yellow polonaise gown with a blue brimmed straw hat for a garden party, hosted in the extravagant and freshly manicured gardens behind the Manor. Her blonde curls were arranged perfectly atop her head as she walked down to the large main entrance hall with a grand doorway leading straight out into the gardens behind it.

Adrienne stood atop the landing on the grand staircase, and the footmen opened the large front doors, two more appearing and stepping outside to assist guests out of their carriages. Adrienne gladly smiled at each of them, motioning them behind her and out the doors to the garden. Most of the guests were members of Virginia high society: Martha Jefferson, Dolley Madison, Elizabeth Wythe, Martha Washington, Elizabeth Randolph, Catharine Greene, Dorothea Henry, Anne Lee, and many more. But none of them piqued Adrienne’s interest as much as the additional guest requested by Martha Washington.

Adrienne had known the older woman for as much of her life as she could remember; the woman was as a mother to her, so she was more than willing to grant such a request when it was brought to her. Upon hearing the name Mrs. Elizabeth Tallmadge, however, Adrienne became excited. She held Major Tallmadge in high esteem, considering him a friend of hers, and was more than delighted to extend an invite to his wife, even if she would likely be unused to such luxury as was provided at Belvoir. Adrienne trusted Martha would make her presentable, but when Martha began to ascend the stairs, there was not some pretty faced and practical middle-class girl following her, rather a well-dressed and beautiful tall blonde woman. She was mesmerizing to Adrienne as she climbed the staircase, her blue and white chintz gown brushing the steps. It was slightly clear the girl had no governess or formal studies of such, but Adrienne was entirely confident that she could perform to the highest tier without so much as a headache appearing.

The blonde had a radiant and warm smile, complimenting Martha’s own motherly grin, as she looked around the extravagant hall in awe, admiring the murals across the walls and the marble of the stairs. Her hand hovered over the ornate railing as she floated up the stairs. When she finally joined Adrienne and Martha atop the landing, Martha smiled, waving the slightly shy girl over to them. “This is a lovely house, madam,” she spoke clear and confidently, “It is certainly a rarity in the colonies.”

“Yes,” Adrienne offered her own warm smile to the woman, seeking to ease her shyness, “It is solely a European style house, based around the classics of Hampton court and the elaborate plaster halls of the baroque style. My father’s pride and joy.”

She nodded politely, and Martha began to speak, the motherly smile still soft across her face, “We shall see you in the garden, dear.” And the blonde was whisked away, her eyes lingering on Adrienne for a moment as she was led by Martha.

When the long parade of guests had all arrived and been accordingly received, Adrienne slowly made her way to the doors leading to the stone staircase leading down into the gardens. She took her time as she descended, allowing the chatter to wash over her in waves. The musicians began to play their light and jovial music- the newest pieces straight from London - as Adrienne exited the doors. There was no need for the crowd to hush and greet her- this was not a formal ball after all-but there were still a few who made to greet their hostess once again, giving her curtseys as she passed. Adrienne nodded at each of them with a respectful smile as she drifted through the group of merry guests. She floated happily from table to table before stumbling upon Martha engaging in a conversation with Catharine Greene, and the blonde from earlier observing the party from an ornate bench with a small flute of cherie in her hand, untouched.

“You do not drink?” Adrienne asked as she approached, “I can send for another beverage if you would like, madam.”

“Oh,” the girl startled from her observations, flushing light pink in the cheeks as she gleaned down at the untouched glass before looking back up at Adrienne, “No, that is really unnecessary. I just find this place too intriguing to be bothered with my drink. There is far too much to observe.”

Adrienne smiled. This woman was undoubtedly Major Tallmadge’s wife. “It would be no trouble,” she assured her, “Please notify one of the servants about or myself if you should find yourself in need of anything at all.”

“And if I find myself in need of your name, madam?”

“Then it shall be readily given,” Adrienne smiled brightly, “Lady Adrienne Fairfax Laurens of Virginia. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam.”

The blonde answered her own question in response. “Mrs. Elizabeth Walker Tallmadge of Philadelphia,” she bowed her head for a moment to acknowledge Adrienne’s title, “My Lady.”

Adrienne’s face turned to a quick shock, followed quickly by excitement as she rushed to sit beside the woman. “Walker?” she asked excitedly, “As in the same family that owns the mysterious Walker Manor?’ An amused nod was given to signal that her assumption was correct, allowing Adrienne to continue in disbelief, “That old brick house with closed gates, locked doors, and empty grounds? No one has been seen living there for years!”

Elizabeth laughed at the younger girl’s seemingly naive antics, “I have indeed been living there, though mostly alone for the past 10 years.”

“Alone?” Adrienne asked, astounded, “Without so much as a governess?” Another nod, “Then I should imagine you cherished social outings during such a period, madam, for I cannot fathom such a miserable experience.”

Elizabeth shook her head in dismissal, “Unless you count Sunday church as a social outing, which I am sure you do not.”

Adrienne’s jaw dropped open slightly, her eyes widening slightly, “How horrid! I do believe I would suffer greatly under such circumstances.”

Mrs. Tallmadge looked around the gardens at the decor, servants, and guests galore before responding, “I do believe that you would, my Lady.”

“Oh!” Adrienne reached out, placing her gloved hands atop those of Elizabeth, “Please call me Adrienne or Miss Fairfax at the very least. I do believe it is well deserved after allowing me to pester you so carelessly.”

“Oh, it is no problem at all, believe me. I rather enjoy being pestered.” Elizabeth grinned at her, allowing a happy laugh to escape, with Adrienne’s own laughter joining her. “Now, allow me to pester you in return,” she continued, “Are you at all perhaps related to the Laurens’ of South Carolina? I am friends with Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, who has recently retired to a field command in the southern campaign.”

“Yes, I am” Adrienne spoke, and forcing a smile, she felt a good deal of joy seep out of her body at the mention of her reckless husband, “I married Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens in 1778- our son is inside with his own governess as we speak.”

“Oh!” The woman sounded shocked; Adrienne supposed it was from the lack of such knowledge. She was sure that John did not speak of her often, if at all before he resigned from the northern campaign. “You must be delighted. He is a good man. I was married myself in ’78. He attended our wedding.”

“He is a good man,” Adrienne sighed, attempting to keep the smile on her face, “Even if he is occasionally a little too reckless for my liking.”

“Like taking up a field command in South Carolina?” the older blonde asked, lips pulled into a humorous smile with knowing eyes and raised brows.

Adrienne did laugh lightly as she sighed, stress seeping into her voice, “Yes, precisely like taking up a field command in South Carolina.”

This time it was Elizabeth’s turn to reach her hands out to hold Adrienne’s, “I am sure he will be ok. He has the tendency to pull through even the most difficult of situations, I assure you. It is something he and my husband have in common.”

A servant came around to Adrienne’s side of the bench from behind, presenting a singular letter upon a tray. Adrienne took the letter carefully, curiosity seeping through her fingers as she broke the seal. Her hands unfolded the paper delicately, and she held it in her lap as she began to slowly scan the words.

“On May 12th, 1780, Charleston, South Carolina, was captured by His Majesty’s Royal Army forces under the direction of Lieutenant-General Sir Henry Clinton. Major General Benjamin Lincoln provided them an unconditional surrender, turning over himself and all 3,000 men under his command to the mercy of the British. Those included in these troops are as follows…”

Adrienne’s eyes scanned quickly down the list, heart pounding against her chest as they searched for the one name that mattered the most to her. Her heart ceased in its incessant pounding, stopping entirely as her eyes glazed over the words on the paper before her.

“Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens”

Her throat was dry, and her layers became constricting. She did not notice as the blonde’s astute eyes beside her examined the paper in Adrienne’s hand. Until Elizabeth spoke up, “Adrienne, I am sorry-”

She stood abruptly, swallowing thickly, “You will have to excuse me, Mrs. Tallmadge. I need to get some fresh air.” Adrienne hurried away as quickly as she could into the house and to the room directly to the right of the garden’s entrance, drawing Martha’s eyes and mind from her conversation with Catharine Greene. She excused herself from the woman and began to make her way into the house, Elizabeth trailing closely behind.

Adrienne had called for her son, just a year old, and swaddled in blankets. She sat on a chaise against the wall of the entirely empty bluish-gray room, the letter lying face-up beside her. She did not look up the sound of heels on the tile, attention focused solely on her child.

“What happened?” Martha asked Elizabeth as she rushed through the doorway.

“She got news of her husband,” she replied, electing to forgo discretion in this instance, “And it is not all good.”

“Not good as in he prefers the new position or not good as in he is dead?”

“Neither,” she replied as they rushed into the room, the swishing noise of their silks and the click of their heels across the tile having no effect on the young girl who sat, holding her child. “Charleston has been lost and the Lieutenant Colonel taken prisoner.”

“Oh, not good,” Martha spoke, cutting the conversation off as they approached. Martha took a seat on one side of Lady Fairfax, moving the letter to her hands so that she could sit, with Elizabeth sitting on the girl’s other side. “Adrienne, dear,” Martha spoke, placing a hand on Adrienne’s forearm, “Tell us what has happened. We only wish to help.” She continued trying to soothe the distraught girl for several minutes to no avail. Martha finally excused herself to send for some cold water and a washrag, hoping that would be enough to pull Adrienne out of the shock that had overtaken her body.

Elizabeth stayed with her, observing the young woman as she cradled the baby in her arms, holding him close against her chest. She watched as Adrienne softly shushed the baby, bouncing him just slightly. “May I hold him?” she asked, pulling the girl from her stupor.

Adrienne’s eyes glanced over to the woman in blue beside her before clearing her throat and snapping to attention, “Yes, of course, you may.” She carefully handed the bundle of blankets over to Elizabeth, her eyes never leaving the baby’s face. “Be gentle with him,” she spoke in what sounded a bit like a plea, eyes still focused on the baby’s face, “Little John is still just barely a year old, and he is very precious to me.”

Elizabeth nodded, the baby taking her full attention as well. A happy smile rested on her face as the baby cooed, but unlike Adrienne, she made no attempt to shush him. “He is named after his father?” she asked the young girl softly.

“Yes,” Adrienne smiled in a similar way to Martha Washington as she looked upon the baby, “He shares his father’s eyes.” The baby whined, prompting Adrianne to reach out and caress his soft cheeks and comfortingly hum to the child, Elizabeth recognizing the song as the chorus of “In Days of My Youth.” When the boy finally quieted, satisfied with her attentions, “And his temper as well.”

Elizabeth laughed a little at that, making faces to baby John. “He is an angel,” she whispered to the young woman beside her.

“He is incredibly well-behaved today,” she agreed, “But do not let him fool you.” She whispered, caressing his cheek, “His lungs are as strong as can be. I should think he could give Colonel Hamilton a run for his money once he is older.”

“As his father already does?”

“Precisely,” Adrienne replied, prompting the two girls to begin laughing once more.

A moment of silence passed over the room and between the young women, the coos of the baby being the only things stopping the room from falling into complete silence. Finally, Elizabeth spoke, turning to look at Lady Fairfax, “I could write Benjamin for any news on Lieutenant Colonel Laurens if you would like, Miss Fairfax. It would be no trouble at all.”

Adrienne opened her mouth to reply before closing it with a sigh, “No, it is likely the news has not yet reached the northern campaign.” Elizabeth opened her mouth, no doubt to offer a statement of hope or a plea to at least attempt the contact, but Adrienne waved her off kindly with a tired smile. “There is very little General Washington could do for John, besides make his situation worse. No,” she brushed invisible dust from her skirts, “I shall go to Charlestown. As a member of the British Aristocracy, I benefit from accommodation by any of His Majesty’s forces. And they will be forced to heed to my wishes out of respect for the hierarchy of British society.”

Mrs. Tallmadge placed a concerned hand over Adrienne’s own once more, her brow furrowed in concern, “Are you sure that is a good idea?”

“It is the best idea I have got, and the best chance John has got,” she spoke, attempting to sound convincing, to herself as well as Elizabeth, “Even if he will be cross with me for my interference.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips slightly, trying to pull them into a smile as she did so, “Are you sure you do not wish for the General to interfere on your behalf instead?”

“Yes,” Adrienne nodded, forcing out a shaky breath, “Unveiling any further connection between the Lieutenant Colonel and Uncle George will only make easing his situation even harder. They will make it worse, attempting to dangle him before the General.”

Elizabeth nodded, observing the girl a little closer upon her comment, ‘Uncle George? That is certainly new.’

Adrienne looked away from the older woman, down to the baby now sleeping peacefully in her arms. Adrienne laughed quietly at his little snores, “Would you mind coming with me to put him to bed? I fear it will wake him if I were to take him.”

Elizabeth nodded and rose slowly, following the shorter blonde out the light blue room’s large entranceway, farther into the house. She followed Adrienne up an elaborate white staircase, across an upper terrace of a small tiled ballroom, through a paneled door to a less ornate but large room of yellow and green. The room had a plush alcove bed with two doors on each side of it, several chairs, and a chaise. There were toys of obvious expense that the baby could not yet hold arranged decoratively on the floor. Adrienne led her to the bed, instructing her to place the baby atop of it. She pulled a little lever connected to a wire with her finger and sat on the edge of the bed. Elizabeth watched as she sang softly to the baby in the bed.

“From the court to the cottage convey me, away for I am weary of grandeur and what they call gay; From the court to the cottage convey me, away for I am weary of grandeur and what they call gay. Where pride without measure and pomp without pleasure, make life in a circle of hurry decay.” Adrienne continued to hum the melody softly until the door left of the bed opened and a woman, a servant, stepped out, curtsying to the two ladies. She rose wordlessly, smiling warmly at the woman as she took a seat in the room before ushering Elizabeth out of the room with her. “I like to have someone watch over him as he sleeps,” she explained to the older woman, “It makes me feel better when I leave him to rest.”

Elizabeth nodded at her, smiling back to Adrienne, “A mother never stops worrying about her child.”

“Are you yourself one?” Adrienne asked politely as they stood in the hall outside the bedroom.

“No, Miss Fairfax,” Elizabeth smiled sadly, “As badly as I wish for a child of my own, my husband wishes to wait till after the war. Though I cannot help but agree with him. I can not imagine how hard it is to be a mother during times like these. And who knows how I would manage.”

Adrienne smiled comfortingly up at the tall woman, “And I have no doubt you will make an excellent one.” She offered her arm to Elizabeth, who looped their arms together as they walked down the hall, turning before reaching the terrace they had crossed originally, slowly strolling down a long and wide hallway with a series of proudly displayed portraits.

Elizabeth’s eyes scanned the walls, recognizing one of them, a very young little girl with blonde hair with a white linen gown and blue silk sash wrapped around her waist. It was Lady Fairfax, she realized. Her eyes darted away, noticing another young woman, not as young as Adrienne, but a child nonetheless. She had wavy brown hair and wore a solid blue dress similar in shade to Adrienne’s own. There was a plaque underneath the portrait that read “Lady Anne Fairfax 1748-1763.” The girl was only a mere fifteen years old at her passing.

The next portrait that caught her eye was one of a man in a blue and gold silk coat, this was also labeled, “Viscount George William Fairfax 1729-” there was no year of death, and Elizabeth realized he must have been older than the General. The final portrait that caught her eye was not dressed in blue or white, but pink. The plaque read “Sarah Walker Fairfax 1719-1754” and Elizabeth paused, jerking Adrienne’s attention to her. 1719, that was a Walker older than her own father.

“Is everything alright, Mrs. Tallmadge?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth cleared her throat, giving the girl a smile, “I was just admiring this portrait, and the name startled me.”

“Oh!” Adrienne exclaimed with a large, genuine smile, “That is my grandmother, of Virginia’s original Fairfaxes. Do not let her poise fool you. She was born in the Colonies, rather than England. Was raised in the Caribbean, actually.”

“And born where?” Elizabeth asked curiously.

“Pennsylvania or Maryland, I think,” Adrienne replied, “I am not sure. Why do you ask?”

“I have seen this portrait before,” Elizabeth spoke, eyes examining the painting, “In the storage of Walker Manor. Every time I asked about it, my father would simply ignore me.”

“Walker Manor,” Adrienne asked, moving to stand beside the tall blonde, “Do you think she could be related to you in any way?”

“Who were her parents?”

“I do not recall her mother, but her father was a man named John Francis Walker.”

Elizabeth gasped, turning quickly to Adrienne, “That is my uncle! I have never met him, he has long since passed, but my father has spoken of him several times when complaining about old fixtures around the house. He likes to say he was the one who inherited both the Philadelphia status and the messes that came with it.”

Adrienne’s face lit up as well, not caring about the previous comment by Elizabeth’s father. She reached out to hold each of Elizabeth’s hands in her own, “That is very exciting, madam, that I could have just met you today only to find out that we are related!”

“Indeed it is!” Elizabeth spoke happily as she laughed at Adrienne’s childish joy. “Though I suppose it is not too surprising. Old Philadelphians may complain about Old Virginians, but we have all found a way to get into each society’s most prominent families.” She turned to face the rest of the hall, eyes scanning portraits until they landed on a pair of paintings, each of a young man in a red and blue military coat. She walked to them gladly, Adrienne trailing behind her.

“Oh!” Adrienne exclaimed as she realized who the two twin paintings that hung from the walls were. “Those were gifts from Mrs. Mary Ball Washington. The one on top is Uncle George when he was a Colonel in the British-American Army during the French-Indian war.” She pointed up to it, “And the one below it is his elder brother, Lawrence Washington, a Major in His Majesty’s Army. I was engaged to him for a short period between the deaths of my sister, Anne, and his own.”

“His elder brother?” the woman asked, astounded, “But the general is approaching fifty years of age if I am correct!”

“Yes,” Adrienne laughed, “There would have been quite the age gap between us.”

“Would a child even be possible in such a match?” Mrs. Tallmadge asked as they continued to walk along, turning from the hall and down a separate set of marble stairs with even mural-sized portraits lining the walls.

“Yes,” Adrienne replied, “But I would have been married far younger. With Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, I was given the luxury of time, and I am very grateful for it.”

The women descended the stairs, and Adrienne ushered her out the door underneath the staircase that led out to the gardens. “I must collect Martha. We will return to the party shortly,” she assured Elizabeth, “I have already been absent for too long. It is unbecoming of a hostess to abandon her guests in such a manner.”

Elizabeth reached out, grabbing Adrienne’s elbow as she turned away from her, causing Adrienne to look back at her as she stood in the doorway. “If you ever should find yourself in need of anything, please, let me know,” she smiled softly, letting her hand fall back to her side. There was a knowing gleam in her eye, “I have a way of getting things done.”

Adrienne smiled brightly back at her, laughing happily at her statement, then turned around entirely and disappeared down the sunny corridor.

#this was..lots of fun #i always love writing Belvior #and I also love liz #so i really hope you all like it #lbl #ss:sp #martha washington #adrienne fairfax #liz walker #lady adrienne fairfax #elizabeth walker #john laurens #ben tallmadge #benjamin tallmadge #12daysofturn2020 #12 days of turn 2020 #12 days of turn #turn amc #turn: washington's spies

30 notes · View notes

manilaenvy · 7 years

Photo

Recasting My Ships as POCs:

Kamille Upshaw as Dolley Madison

Okieriete Onaodowan as James Madison

#historicedit #dolleymadisonedit #jamesmadisonedit #historic #james madison #dolley payne #kamille upshaw #oak onaodowan #mine #maria ships #poc recast #moodboard #edits 2k17 #maria summer #otp #otp: all the colors of the wind #red & green for these two are kind of my go to color schemes for them

3 notes · View notes

communistkenobi-archive · 5 years

Text

didactic

they need to teach each other a thing or two.

a short sequel drabble to this fic. it’s part of a much larger wip, but i may end up scrapping these scenes in the final draft for pacing and/or tone reasons even though i really like them, so up on tumblr they go!

—

It’s like the Pug had been waiting for her to come back—grey skyscapes and the smell of rust and the sound of endless crowds. All the same as she remembers it, all completely opposite to the Green.

She re-shoulders their packs and looks up at the transit line boards, scanning for trips to Midway. Ezra hadn’t mentioned anything about it, but she’s sure it’s uncomfortable for him to carry his gear on his back, and the only thing to her name now is her music player and journal, so she doesn’t mind being their mule. The look of gratitude he’d given her when they’d departed the freighter had been more than enough.

“There’s a line that leaves in a few hours,” she says, pointing up at the boards. He follows her pointing finger, but quickly shakes his head.

“Don’t be hasty,” he drawls. The syrettes she’d given him would wear off soon, but until then, he’s still a little out of it. “We’ve got hearty business in this Bench yet.”

“Like what?”

“Firstmost, we need to find a buyer.” He nods to the pack. “Restock supplies and the like. And I don’t know about you, but I’d like to camp out in a place with running hot water for a spell.”

“Like a motel?” She looks at him. It’s hard to even hear herself speak in the din of the crowd, and she has to keep close if she wants to catch what he’s saying. “Can we afford that?”

He smiles. “That and a tick more, I reckon. But we’ll start with selling.”

She nods. They both need clothes, he needs more syrettes, and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to find a clinic, either. The freighter’s nurses had kept him alive—for the price of an aurelac pull—but it hasn’t escaped her notice that he’s trailing behind her, or that his hand is clamped around the strap of her pack for support.

The smell of the food plaza fills the air as they pass by, and they both slow to look down into the court. Stalls line the back wall, hocking greasy, hot meals that make her lightheaded with hunger.

“I also want lunch,” she says, and Ezra offers a cough and a nod in agreement.

—

She’s quick to realise that they can’t sell his entire haul off in one go unless they want to be carrying around a dangerous amount of money. Ezra dodges the question of whether they can just keep it in a line of credit to his name, and she’s not too keen on using her own, either. Her father owes a lot of money to a lot of people, and inheriting that burden isn’t something she’s eager to accept.

So they sell off two for now and take to the market. They rent a dolley and load it with clothes, medicine, food, new packs, and a few things that aren’t strictly necessary but are nonetheless needed. She finds a new copy of Streamer Girl and Ezra buys smokeleaf and spirits. It’s topped off with a massive takeaway lunch before they haul it all back to a motel that won’t ask for ID to check-in.

It’s the first time in weeks since she’s been able to lay spread eagle on a bed, and she feels herself slowly depersonalise as she stares up at the ceiling while she listens to Ezra sing in the shower. She’s already devoured her lunch and now all she wants to do is change into fresh clothes and sleep so that she doesn’t have to hear the inside of her own head for a while.

She snaps back to herself when he comes out of the bathroom, wearing pants but no shirt and poking at the jagged incision stitched closed on his chest. He seems so much skinnier, so much smaller out of his suit, and she finds it quietly, bitterly amusing that she was ever scared of someone like him.

“Whoo,” he breathes, and coughs immediately after. His hair is still damp, awry from towel-drying, and he hadn’t bothered to shave. “It was a battle to wash all the animal off, but I feel like a fresh-minted man now.”

“You need help?” she asks, sitting up on the bed. He goes to his own, sitting down heavily on the corner of the mattress.

“Itches something fierce,” he mutters, not really to her.

“How’s your arm?”

“Still can’t seem to find it,” he replies absently, digging his knuckles into the skin around the stab wound on his chest.

She rolls her eyes. “Shoulder. Stump. Whatever. You know what I mean. And don’t scratch.”

He doesn’t respond, so she goes to the pile of stuff they now own and digs out bandaging, antiseptic cream, and a vial kit of syrettes. He’d left the bathroom door open, and she can see the trash bin is full of his old wound dressings.

“How much does a prosthetic cost?” she asks, walking back to him.

“Prosthesis,” he corrects her, still occupied with his injuries. “I’m not sure.”

She sighs and nudges his good arm, hand still poking at the stitching, making him look up.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Just—in general.”

He’s more cooperative after that, letting her redress his injuries the way the nurses on the freighter showed her how to do. She knows he’s still weak because he doesn’t talk much, though he brightens when she passes him his half of their lunch.

“I’m going to shower,” she tells him, grabbing a fresh set of clothes and not waiting for him to respond. He’s too engrossed in his food to do anything more than nod.

When she stands under the spray she expects the canister of pressured air lodged in her chest to finally burst, but it doesn’t. She scrubs at her scalp and she doesn’t cry. She scrapes at the dirt under her fingernails and elbows and ankles and feels calm. There’s a large bruise on her knee and when she presses a finger into it until it goes white, there’s pain, but it goes away the moment she stops. The static in her head never leaves, but it doesn’t get any louder and she can’t figure out why.

She eventually runs out of places to scrub clean and still no tears come, so she shuts the water off and decides that there’s just something very wrong with her, and even that doesn’t really bother her in the way that it should.

She dresses and dries her hair, brushes her teeth, and feels exhausted. Her back hurts from hunching in the pod and her feet ache from all the walking they did. She’s even excited about laying down in bed, and she wonders what’s broken inside of her that a mattress can elicit a stronger emotional reaction than her father dying. Maybe she should ask Ezra. Or maybe she should be more angry at him. Neither of those options sound appealing.

Cee emerges from the bathroom twenty minutes later and finds Ezra exactly where she’d left him, except he’s done with his meal and now he’s got a sweater on and he’s trying to tie off the right arm one-handed.

“Perhaps we should add a tailor to our list of merchants to visit,” he says amusedly, and she walks over to his side to help.

“Or you can just let me do it,” she says, grabbing the sleeve and tying it in a ball. “We should go to a clinic instead.”

He coughs before answering. “I’m fine,” he rasps. “Nurses said I’m peachy enough to walk around.”

“They also said no physical labour for at least two weeks.”

“Easy advice to give from a steady job,” he murmurs, and she goes back to her bed to sit down.

“The crofter,” she says. They can have this conversation now—it would be a good distraction. “Tell me more.”

“Not much to,” he replies, standing up and going to their stockpile. He unearths a paper bag and sets it carefully on the bed. The clink of glass is unmistakable, and he pulls a small liquor bottle from the bag a moment later. “Met her hopping slings back in—”

“What are you doing?”

He looks up from the bottle, bolstered on the mattress with his hand around the cap. “Drinkin’. You want some?”

“You’re on meds,” she says, pointing at the vial kit on the nightstand. “You can’t mix it with alcohol.”

“Pfft. Done it many times.” He struggles with the cap and she finds herself hoping that he spills it all over the bed.

“That’s not a good reason.”

“Well then help me drink it.”

“I’m not old enough,” she argues, and that makes him look up in surprise.

“How’s that now?”

She shrugs. “Legal age in most places is nineteen.”

“You’re—?” He blows out a breath. “You’re what, eighteen then?”

“Seventeen,” she corrects him. “But my birthday is in two months. What?”

His eyes had gone wide, and he’s staring at her now as if he’s never seen her before. His throat works, and he looks back down at the bottle.

“You’re young,” he murmurs. “More than I thought.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s just—” he waves the bottle in the air, still capped. “It’s a cruel age to be without parents.”

The canister still doesn’t burst, but a bubble of its air lodges in her throat and pressure builds behind her eyes. She focuses on the pull in the blanket by her feet so she doesn’t have to look at his startlingly soulful expression. He looks more upset about than she does.

She realises she hasn’t said anything and clears her throat of the air bubble. “Doesn’t matter,” she whispers. “Tell me about the crofter.”

Ezra says nothing for a long moment, before he comes into view and she looks back up. He’s holding the bottle out to her.

“Help me,” he says quietly. “And take the first pull. It’ll keep everything soft.”

She takes it from him and reads the label. It’s bushgrain whisky, but she doesn’t know if it’s considered high-end or not. Not that it matters.

She unscrews the cap and takes a whiff, then coughs. “That’s disgusting,” she croaks, holding it out to him. He laughs and pushes it back.

“Go on, take a drink. It helps, really.”

A cold drip trickles down the back of her skull—a warning, and it’s not the first time it’s occurred to her. She gives him a wary look, suddenly very aware of her age, suddenly very aware of his, and he sobers.

“Why?” she asks instead.

His jaw works. “I am not one for fickle promises,” he tells her, clearly catching her meaning. “Protection means just that. No funny business.”

“But if you didn’t promise it’d be on the table?”

“No,” he says, tone resolute. There’s no trace of humour in his words now, and he sits down across from her on the edge of the bed. “I’m not in the business of hurting little girls.”

“I’m not a—” She takes a deep breath and looks away. “Fine.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I don’t know you.” She sets the bottle down on the table. “I don’t know anybody. I still don’t even know if this is real.”

He nods at that, like he understands, and it makes her furious.

“I underst—”

“No you don’t,” she hisses, but she still can’t quite muster the rage to yell. Everything has to be quiet, soft, inside-voice only. “You have no idea.”

“Cee—”

“I can’t, I don’t—” She looks at the door. “I don’t want to do this.”

He struggles with the reality of that admission, and the only tell that he’s even heard what she’s said is for him to fidget with his empty right sleeve. It would be easier if he was just cruel and violent, she thinks. If he’d jump on top of her, try to hold her down, then she’d have something to fight against for a while. There’s nothing to hit here, nothing to sink her knuckles into. Today had been easy, seamless, and for an instant she thinks she misses the Green.

She doesn’t know where she wants to be. Even the fantasy of rolling it all back to before any of this happened doesn’t sound satisfying, because she’d still be alone and she’d still be fighting, just with someone she knew far better.

“My brother,” Ezra finally whispers, a break in the silence that startles her even though he speaks softly. “Is in prison. The crofter we’re goin’ to hates me something wicked, and I owe some people money that I have no intentions of paying back.” He shifts on the bed, making the frame creak. “I’m well familiar with that demon in your head, it’s just a different colour.”

She looks at him, skinny and small sitting on the edge of the bed, looking forlorn and old. He’s not rock solid like her father; he’s all over the place, wearing every thought that comes into his head on his face, and yet it still feels like he’s an unknown.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” she whispers back, and his mouth twitches a little.

“He’s good company,” he tells her fondly. “But he’s a moron.”

A snort escapes her, more of a nervous release than real humour, but it eases the tension in the room.

“Tell me about the crofter,” she whispers then. It’s the only thread she can still cling to.

#prospect #prospect 2018 #my stuff #my writing #also ahjfkdghd i havent posted any writing in like three weeks so here we are #i feel like this might be too similar emotionally to the first fic so hrm. idk if ill keep this or not #like i might redo their convo entirely #but anyway

49 notes · View notes

ao3feed-turn · 5 years

Text

Bound By Love

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/38KlN65

by IWroteTheOther51

When Alexander Hamilton, a young omega sneaks into the war with a beta scent, he comes across two alphas named John and Aaron, the two instantly click together,and things start to get very deep when John and Aaron get the news that their omega has been captured by enemies, more specifically the British. War is shit, no one is faithful and you can't trust absolutely no one when it comes to the war. Either your friend could possibly be a spy, or someone in hiding or looking to get away, but Alex got captured and John and Aaron freak out when they can't find the kits nor a single trace of Alex. Will they be able to find him?, or will they have to wait for it?, Read to find out!.

Words: 1403, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi

Characters: Alexander Hamilton, John Laurens, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Thomas Jefferson, Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Aaron Burr, Hercules Mulligan, George Washington, Angelica Schuyler, James Madison, Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler, Maria Reynolds, Philip Hamilton, Charles Lee, Theodosia Prevost Burr, Martha Washington, George III of the United Kingdom, Theodosia Burr Alston, Angelica Hamilton, John Adams, Frances Laurens, Henry Laurens (1723-1792), Dolley Madison, George Eacker, Philip Schuyler, Martha Laurens Ramsay, Alexander Hamilton Jr., Samuel Seabury (1729-1796), Theodosia Burr, Alexander Hamilton's Children, John Church Hamilton, Rachel Faucette Buck, Lafayette, Philip Hamilton (1782-1801), Sally Hemings, John Barker Church, James Laurens (1765-1775), John Jay, James Hamilton Sr. (c.1718-1799), Henry Knox, William P. Van Ness, Hugh Mulligan Jr., Nathanael Greene, Nathaniel Pendelton, Philip Schuyler (1733-1804), Charles Lee (1732-1782), Culper Ring (Characters), Aberdeen (Turn), Benjamin Tallmadge, Caleb Brewster, Corporal Eastin, Nathaniel Tallmadge, Samuel Tallmadge, Francis Marion (c.1732-1795), Charles Lee (1732-1782)'s Wife, Robert Townsend (1753-1838), Thomas "Sprout" Woodhull, Walter Havens, Mary Graves (1772-1860), Tench Tilghman, Richard Montgomery (1738-1775), Sarah Townsend (1724-1800), John Robeson, Akinbode | Jordan, Captain Wakefield, Abraham Woodhull, Mary Woodhull, John Graves Simcoe, Edmund Hewlett, Abigail (Turn), John André, John Baker White (1794–1862), Martha "Patsy" Parke Custis, Selah Strong, Lieutenant Gamble (Turn), Lucas Brewster, Thomas Lynch Jr

Relationships: Aaron Burr/Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr/Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Thomas Jefferson/James Madison, Angelica Schuyler/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Maria Reynolds/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/George Washington, Aaron Burr/Theodosia Prevost Burr, George Washington/Martha Washington, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, John Laurens/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Theodosia Burr Alston/Philip Hamilton, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton/Angelica Schuyler, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/George Washington, Alexander Hamilton/Maria Reynolds, Benjamin Tallmadge/George Washington, Thomas Jefferson/Angelica Schuyler, Adrienne de Lafayette/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, George III of the United Kingdom/Samuel Seabury, Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson/James Madison, Thomas Jefferson/John Laurens, Aaron Burr/John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/James Madison, Maria Reynolds/Angelica Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/Hercules Mulligan, John Laurens/Hercules Mulligan, Dolley Madison/James Madison, Aaron Burr/Charles Lee, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler, Aaron Burr/Hercules Mulligan, Angelica Hamilton/Martha Jefferson, Sally Hemings/Angelica Schuyler, Francis Kinloch (1755–1826)/John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/Angelica Schuyler/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, John Laurens/Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/Benjamin Tallmadge/Original Male Character(s), Martha Laurens Ramsay/Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler, Rachel Faucette Buck/James Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson/James Madison/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, John Laurens/Maria Reynolds, Adrienne de Lafayette/Dolley Madison/Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler, Aaron Burr & Sally Burr Reeve (1754-1797), Cornelius "Burt" Cosgrove/Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Pinckney, Aaron Burr & Jonathan Dayton (1760-1824), John Adams/James Reynolds, John Adams/John Hancock/Charles Thomson, Jonathan Bellamy (d.1777)/Aaron Burr/Theodosia Prevost Burr, Alexander Hamilton & Hercules Mulligan, Theodosia Prevost Burr/Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler, Anastasie Louise Pauline du Motier/Frances Laurens, John Hancock (1737-1793)/Thomas Jefferson, Adrienne de Lafayette/Martha Washington, Hercules Mulligan/Nathaniel Pendleton

Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Smut, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Anal Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Love, Blow Jobs, Kissing, Family Drama, Pregnancy, Mpreg, Depression, Hand Jobs, Heavy BDSM, Jealousy, Eventual Smut, Swearing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sad and Happy, Sad Ending, Porn, Getting Back Together, Rimming, Explicit Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Dirty Talk, Masturbation, Daddy Kink, Gay Founding Fathers (Hamilton), Established Relationship, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Abduction, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abuse, Bathing/Washing, LGBTQ Character, Prompt Fic, Trauma, Self-Harm, Omega James Madison, Alpha Thomas Jefferson, Omega Alexander Hamilton, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Praise Kink, Fingerfucking, Illnesses, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Multiple Orgasms, Period-Typical Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Sad, Angst and Drama, Death, Dating, Dark, Roughness, Self-Hatred, Mental Health Issues, I'm Sorry, Love Triangles, Sexual Confusion, Sexual Fantasy, Sibling Incest, Crushes, Crying, Break Up Talk, Forced Pregnancy, American Revolution, Suicide Notes, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Idiots in Love, Violence, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Pre-War, Culper Ring, Pregnant Sex, Gang Rape, Public Humiliation, Semi-Public Sex, Gangbang, Rope Bondage, Forced Orgasm, Forced Marriage, Major Character Injury, Timeline What Timeline, Forced Bonding, Cheating, Breakups, Omegaverse, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Knotting, Babies, Giving Birth, Miscarriage, Adopted Children, Cock Rings, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Bondage, Alternate Universe, Face-Fucking, Unplanned Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/38KlN65

#fanfic #turn: washingtons spies #turn amc #IFTTT #ao3feed

9 notes · View notes

ao3feed-lams · 5 years

Text

Bound By Love

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/38KlN65

by IWroteTheOther51

Words: 1403, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/38KlN65

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Hamilton #lams

5 notes · View notes