#benjamin tallmadge/reader

[way-too-addicted-to-fandoms]

😭😭😭😭😭🥰🥰🥰🥰

Captured

Pairing: Ben Tallmadge x Reader 

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, violence 

Summary: Ben thinks keeping your relationship a secret will protect you from danger until a red coat appears on camp. 

A/N: Gamble slightly might be a little out of character compared to the show. I was using how Captain Randall is portrayed in Outlander as guidance. I like to think if Starz had produced Turn, we might’ve seen more violence and cursing in the show, so I applied that to this fic, if that makes sense? Hopefully you all forgive me <3This was going to be my initial submission for the Valen-TURN’s event but I didn’t finish in time! 

WARNINGS: Kicking, slapping, violence, inappropriate language, cursing.

Archive of Our Own Link 

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[knowltonsrangers]

theoretically

TURN!Benjamin Tallmadge x F!reader

check out part one here!

[a/n: got a lot of love on this ask, and I really enjoyed writing a part 2! swearing & minor mentions of death ahead.]

“Ben—Major!”

You hiss, hiking up your skirt as you follow him outside the tent, a handful of steps behind him as he moves through the camp.

“Must you, y/n? It is something that is not up for debate.”

You nearly fall in the mud as the two of you approach a brick house at the head of the camp, men similarly dressed to the patriot in question stationed out front.

Annoyed, Ben sighs, stopping in his tracks to allow you to catch up to his pace.

“I told you, once you were to be questioned, the General wanted to see you.”

“You didn’t tell me that the general was George Washington!”

You watch with mild amusement as Ben’s eyebrows raise, watching the gears turn in his brain, realizing he’s never told you the General’s full name.

“So you must know something—“

“‘Cause he’s the first…fuck, I don’t think I can say that.”

“Manners, please.”

“You’re one to talk,”

You offer the best glower you can, reminding him of just how rudely he treated you when you both crossed paths for the first time.

“Just…y/n, in front of the General, please.”

You drop your scowl and your skirt, letting it graze the ground as Ben extends his hand, helping you up the steps.

“Thank you.”

You whisper, subconsciously missing his touch once he reaches past you to open the door. The soldiers at the entrance nod expectantly at the major, and you can’t help but wonder how much trouble you were about to get into.

How did you end up in this room? Pleading with the ghost of the first president of the United States to not execute you because you really just are a stupid idiot that somehow ended up in a revolutionary war encampment?

The man himself, just as intimidating as the books say he is, tall enough to make your neck hurt, yet his features remain soft as if he isn’t quite sure what he’s looking at.

You wish you could think the same.

“This is the woman you found in the woods?”

“Yes, but not the clothes I found her in. I did not want to raise suspicions.”

Ben gravels, standing directly behind you, successfully blocking your only exit, as if he intentionally did so.

“What is your goal for entering the camp?”

Washington asks, and you’re hyper aware he’s speaking to you, so the best you can do is begin to warble out a bunch of nonsense.

“General, sir—I would just like to go home, and I know that this sounds insane, but you must believe me—“

“y/n.”

Ben takes his turn to hiss your name, seemingly appalled at your inability to form a coherent sentence, when the man in front of you sighs, sitting at his desk that was littered with documents and maps.

“Tallmadge, she seems rather frightened.”

“I can assure you, that was not by my doing.”

“You suspect she is a spy?”

“Spy, I…I do not think so. Confused, surely.”

Your gaze flits back and forth between the two, palms clammy as you run them down the front of your dress.

“If I was a spy, I’d be a shite one.”

You mumble, not intending for the two men to hear you.

“That was a joke, oh my god—“

“y/n, was it?”

“Yes, sorry, yes.”

“Your accent and your mannerisms are not something I am familiar with. I am inclined to agree with the major, you are seemingly unwell to me.”

“If you think I’m sick, that’s totally fine, just please don’t kill me.”

Your hands clasp, ready to get on your knees and beg for it, when the general laughs, standing from his chair and crossing the room.

“The thought never crossed my mind. Tallmagde brought me up to speed, he seemingly is on your side, miss,”

Turning over your shoulder, you are horrified to find that Ben is smirking to himself, so you so kindly flip him the bird behind your back, away from the general.

You hope the context is all the same.

“I beg your pardon, but then what was the point of all this?”

You suddenly realize your brashness.

“Sorry. Sir.”

“I would like to hear more of your story, because though it sounds fabricated, I have no reason to suspect you of anything. Yet.”

“Fair enough.”

You shrug, watching as Ben takes a step forward and addresses the general.

“She has pleaded with me that she has transported in time, and though it may account for her strange actions, I do not believe it,”

“Run her name through the camp. See if it rings any bells.”

Your mouth opens, and your raise a finger, ready to interject, when Washington calls another name you recognize.

“Hamilton will see you out. Tallmagde and I have some things to discuss.”

“But, I—“

The door opens fully, and by the time you go to turn, a hand lands softly on the crook of your arm.

“Best we get going, miss.”

“Oh, for fucks sake—“

Yet another officer in a blue coat, a fiery redhead that all but yanked you from the room.

[ricekirpsees]

|| A Harvard Undergrad Becomes Delusional and Has Vivid Hallucinations of the American Revolution: Chp 1 ||

Synopsis- a Harvard Undergrad becomes delusional and has vivid hallucinations of the American Revolution

Note- i like. history

----------------------------------

“The American Revolutionary War lasted from 1775 to 1783, whereby the Thirteen Colonies secured their independence from the British Crown and consequently established the United States as the first sovereign nation-state founded on Enlightenment principles of the consent of the governed, constitutionalism and liberal democracy--”

The pages turn.

“In late 1774, in support of Massachusetts, twelve of the thirteen colonies sent delegates to Philadelphia, where they formed the First Continental Congress and began coordinating resistance to Britain's colonial governance--”

The pages flip.

“In the summer of 1776, in a setback for American patriots, the British captured New York City and its strategic harbor. In September 1777, in anticipation of a coordinated attack by the British Army--”

The book slams shut.

Dropping my head against the cool marble table, I shut my eyes and slump. Hours of studying left me with a raging migraine, an empty mind, and one too many paper cuts. I was exhausted in ways only studying could afflict a person and I cursed myself for my ability to blank out when important information was recited to me.

If only I could pay attention during lectures. If only I could focus on the rolling waves of words on the glaring, glossy sheets of textbooks. I breathed out heavily. If only. Sadly the world said “fuck you” and fucked I am.

Peeling my eyes open, I stared blankly at the portrait of Charles C. Pinckney I came to despise seeing day after day and debated whether or not I should call it quits or push through researching for that damned paper. Quickly, I opted for the former. I sighed. Three hours was good enough for today.

The Boston Public Library was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because I have access to all kinds of documents on America’s history. A curse, because I have access to all kinds of documents on America’s history. There was a sort of obligation to write about it, especially since I was at the heart of the Revolution, the home of Hancock and Adams, and also because I assumed it would be far easier than it was.

I dragged my head to look at the shut textbook and felt my heart crumble. This will be the death of me.

But if I can prolong such death, then I shall. I sat up, stretching my cramped bones, and shoved away the awful books before pushing myself up and throwing on my bag, wincing. The weight of my bag crushed the knot of stress on my shoulder blade, sending an aching pain down my back. I groaned rolling my shoulders while wishing I could snap my arm off to give myself relief.

Maybe someone in the library would just walk up to me and rip it off, but until that day comes I’ll settle with endangering myself with exploration. Giving one final stretch, I began to make my way out of the ancient marble library.

---

Boston. Boston, Massachusetts. A place deeply ingrained in good old American history from massacres to floods of molasses and my personal city-wide jail cell. As unfortunate as it is to be trapped, it could’ve been worse. I shudder to think what would’ve happened if I had gotten caught in a Chicago or New York tar trap.

I push through the ornate, metal doors of the library and out onto the streets of Boston, beginning the familiar walk to the apartments. Traversing through streets of old and new, there was a certain sense of deep familiarity. It was another lucky thing about Boston being my jail cell.

I only moved here a few months ago and usually one would be stiff and awkward in a place far, far away from their origins, but seeing those brick buildings and cobblestone roads hidden by those of steel, glass, and concrete, I adjusted unexpectedly easily.

Not that I was an inflexible person in general. I’ve had my fair share of traveling every which way, up and down and across the country, staying in brief intervals with restlessness plaguing my every action. No, this was different. How or why, I’m not entirely sure, but I think it’s nice.

Seeing the park centered on Commonwealth Avenue, I sped up and turned onto my side of the street, working my way around tourists and neighbors and crossing over the bustling traffic. Occasionally I gave a quick, polite smile to someone I accidentally made eye contact with, before continuing onwards.

It’s going to be a quick stop at the apartment, grab my gear, and go back out again just before the sun begins to set. A grin makes its way to my lips and a burst of speed pushes me forward. Danger is my happy place.

I arrive in front of my apartment building and quickly walk in, flying up the stairs, before pushing into my section. Throwing my work bag onto the dingy couch I sped into my room, quickly changing and grabbing my gear, listing them off in my head; pants, shirt, jacket; goggles, respirator, gloves, headphones, charger, cash, first-aid, phone, camera, put them in my bag.

I rush back into the living room and throw on a pair of boots. With a satisfied smile, I threw on my bag feeling the knot easing, and back out the door I went. I passed by another neighbor, giving her a little wave and smile. She smiled back and I flew back down the stairs to the edge of the street to hail a taxi. This is my kind of relaxation.

---

The barn door is ripped open. The hinges cry out, still weary of being used after nearly two centuries of slumber, but they’ll get used to me. They will.

A puff of dust bursts free from the idle inside and breezes past me, some specks brushing against my respirator and goggles. With ease, I waved the dust cloud away with my glove-clad hand, and casually walked inside as though this was my real home.

I discovered the old barn around the time I was brought to Boston when I had attempted to make a break for it.

I just ran. And ran. And ran. Until I came upon this decrepit forgotten beat-up barn in the middle of a field only a couple of miles away from the edge of Boston and it surprised me, I won’t lie, with how praise-heavy of history the city was. You assumed that everything within 100 miles of the city would be tended to with major tender loving care, but that was clearly not the case for my darling broken barn.

And so the only sensible thing to do with such a discovery was claim it as mine! So I did and obsessively explored every single crook and corner to my heart’s content. I had no clue where such adoration for the old building came from, but I didn’t give two shits. It was mine and I was its.

Owner.

Unofficially.

No, I’m not weird.

I made it in the nick of time, arriving just as the sun started to journey its way to the other side of the world to ruin someone else’s sleep. I brought out my stolen 55-dollar flashlight and flicked it on. A good beam of light lit the dusty barn, waking up the sleepy nats that tumbled around in the glow. Time to get cracking.

Throwing on my headphones, I ambled deeper into the barn with a hand trailing lightly on the grooves and ridges of the splintered, ancient planks.

Each step I made was delicate and calculated, feeling each pebble and speck of the uneven ground of dirt and old hay left behind centuries ago. But no matter how much I tried to feel, there was a distance between me and the old barn, easily kept with the heavy protection and gear of my time. And I was far too lazy to take it off; a subconscious fear of accidentally destroying something or something destroying me. Like lead… or traps.

I shook my head, quickly skipping the sad song into punk rock. What the hell was all that moaning and groaning about? I dragged a quick hand over my mask and goggles and picked up the pace to move farther back into the barn, the flashlight staying steady and bright as ever.

I began to berate myself until I saw the ground looking far closer than it should. A shock of panic shot through my chest and I threw my hands in front of me to brace for the brutal impact.

And brutal it was.

I collided onto the jagged gravel and landed with a heavy thud. I could feel the ragged ground scrape against me and I clenched my eyes shut, groaning, the sound muffled by the mask. My arms and stomach ached and burned with a thousand tiny rocks embedded into my clothes and skin scrapes on my knees. I had tripped on… something.

My confidence was hurt the most, not that I had any in the first place, and absolute embarrassment burned fiercely in my chest. Ugh, I felt stupid. Scrambling up from the ground, I dusted off the pebbles and dirt on my now dust-stained jacket, before scooping up my fallen flashlight. I shook my hands loose and adjusted my skewed headphones. Ugh, I felt really stupid.

I pivoted to look back at what damaged my self-esteem, pointing my flashlight at the ground. The light illuminated the drag marks in the dirt from my fall and the hay pushed away from the force and… oh?

A small rusted knob stuck out from the ground, now freed from the years of dirt that built up with the help of my fall. Creeping closer, I crouched down, reached a hand towards it, and began to brush away the rest of the dirt.

Immediately I felt a difference. Below the dirt wasn’t more dirt, it was something else. I placed my flashlight on the floor beside me and a shiver of excitement rushed down my spine.

Adventure.

Brush by brush, I could make out strips of wood that were embedded into the dirt floor, and with one last stroke, a trapdoor was revealed. I leaned back onto my knees, gazing at my discovery in awe. I grinned. Oh, hell yes.

It took far longer and far more strength than I had expected to get the door opened. Shockingly, It was worse than when I tried to pry open the barn door for the first time. All I could imagine was all the grime, mud, and paint stuck deep in the hinges and grooves that mixed themselves into a superglue, refusing to let just anybody in like some dirty glue guardian of secrets.

Luckily, I’m far more unwavering than some false glue and pried that sucker open with pure strength. And a stick. I couldn’t help that swell of pride that blossomed once I was showered in a puff of ancient dust that wooshed freely after being trapped for who knows how long. Hopping on my toes, I nearly leaped into the void of darkness that was the crypt without precaution.

I managed to reel in my enthusiasm and picked up the flashlight before I directed the beam into the hidden cellar. The shining light revealed some highly suspicious-looking steps that led deeper in, all rotted and splintered and utterly unstable.

Immediately, I stepped in and made a quick descent into the basement, ignoring each creak, groan, and shudder from the steps before landing on a dirt floor. I paused my music and pushed down my headphones, gazing in wonder at my discovery.

It was like a pause in time, a portion of history untouched and kept secret. Shifting the flashlight’s beam over the small room, I drag my eyes across every square inch of the cellar. Over every cracked pot, crooked shelf, shattered counter, rickety wooden table littered with old parchment, and every single speck of dust. It was beautiful.

I crept towards the table that sat back against the room, an intense pull of curiosity filling my veins and I stood before the collections of yellowed paper. My heart began to pound the moment I caught a glimpse of the faded stains of ink that swirled on the pages. A long-kept secret for more than 200 years, just inches from my hands.

Fuck yeah. I reached for a page and with the most delicate of touches, lifted it from its dust-framed seat and slowly brought it close.

The thought of accidentally damaging it in some way screaming in my head for brief seconds was not enough to deter me and so, with the flashlight held beneath it, I read the date.

April 1st, 1774--

Suddenly, I was thrown into darkness, pitch black filling my senses. I flinched nearly, dropping the paper and flashlight, as I stumbled back in surprise. What the hell?

I quickly and delicately placed the piece of paper down on what I hoped was the table and frantically shook the short-circuited torch. Mumbling hisses and curses at the thing, I desperately flicked at the switch hoping for something, a flicker of light, anything. I gave it another shake to no avail.

Nothing.

“Oh fuck…” I breathed out, muffled from the labor of my breaths and doused in panic. Fifty-five dollars and it already busted. I paused for a brief moment. That means I was perfectly justified to steal it, I shoved it into the pocket of your bag, it was a scam.

I continued to step back, hesitantly triple-checking each step that was placed. The last thing I wanted to do was trip again in the black void and possibly bust my head open on some rogue stone. Taking a few more steps back, my heel hits the back of what I hoped was the bottom of the stairs and I pivot to face it, leaning forward to lay my hands on the wood plank, before crawling up the stairs on all fours.

I’ll come back. I swear it. But exploring abandoned places with no reliable light source is stupidly dangerous and not the kind of danger that’s relaxing. So much for police-grade utilities, cheap bastards.

Also, the dark is scary.

Each step was a drag and I felt a weight sink in my limbs as I slowly made my way out of the cellar. The darkness was deafening and heavy, weighing down upon you.

Weird, I thought deliriously as I made another slow step up. My eyes started to droop and began to stumble, my head whirling and swooning like I was stuck on a rocket-fueled turn-table ride. I take another leaden step. I was getting closer. And with another step, my head hits the trapdoor.

Sighing, I placed my hands on the door and pushed up.

Instantly I’m blinded, a piercing white light burns into my eyes and I yelp, yanking back into the darkness.

I slapped a palm against my eyes and cursed as a tearing pain streaked across my forehead from the intense light while my ears began to ring. Gritting my teeth, I rub at my burned eyes. What in the world is going on out there, did someone bring floodlights to the barn?!

Squinting my eyes, I climb back out the trapdoor, facing the full force of the light as the ringing grows more shrill. I wince and put a hand out against the radiant beam, finally stepping onto the barn floor.

The ringing ceased. The light faded. Rapidly blinking my burned-out eyes, my vision began to clear and soon what I saw left me thunderstruck.

The barn looked… different. New, as though it was just built from freshly chopped trees, free from any stains, chips, and rot. The musty scent of age was gone, filled with the fresh breeze of newly laid hay. Not only that but it seemed to be smack dab in the middle of the day. The sun’s light breached through the openings between the wood planks and settled its glow in the barn. I furrowed my brows as I looked around the barn I swore I knew. I couldn’t have possibly been in the cellar that long for it to be day.

I swiveled back to look at the opened cellar door and quickly leaned over to shut it, before stepping back and staring at it. Darting my gaze between the trapdoor and the brightly lit new barn, I grew more confused by the second that I pulled off my hood and lifted my goggles to rest on my forehead to get a clearer look at the place. I needed to see I wasn’t losing my mind, and yet the barn still looked new.

Slowly, I nodded and started to accept that maybe I was far more oblivious than I already believed I was and that this barn took it to a whole other level. I waded through the new heaps of haystacks, deciding that I should go back to my apartment and book an appointment with the eye doctor, as soon as possible.

Sliding the barn door open with surprising ease, I tumble out into the open nearly slipping on some mud. A quick leap of my heart made me see the heavens for a split moment before I came back down to face with a horse.

I stared and the horse stared before it tossed its head as it stepped back and to the rest of its fellow equine. To say I had questions would be an understatement. There were never horses nearby, the barn was abandoned. At least that’s what I thought. I needed to go home. Immediately.

Quick as a skittish mouse, I ran down I supposed-to-be familiar path back to the lone tar road that I could follow into Boston. But I paused as I arrived next to the tree that marked its location.

It wasn’t there.

I stared at the wild shrubs and tall grass that covered the unfamiliar land. Why isn’t it there? My gaze darted along each pebble, leaf, and stick. It should be here. There’s no reason why it shouldn’t be here. Slowly, I began to run down what I hoped was the path of the vanished highway only to come across more shifts throughout the area.

Missing roads and metal signs, new wooden fences, narrow dirt roads, far more flora, and a disturbing absence of noise replaced by the deafening sounds of the air and birds. Everything felt different. Everything was wrong.

Every once in a while I would stop and turn in circles trying to find that specific marking on my mental map to find absolutely nothing before continuing to run in what I hoped was headed in the right direction. But as I sped on, it only became more apparent that I must’ve made a wrong turn.

I should at least be able to see the industrial towers and the outskirts of the city line, but nothing. There was nothing. I wasn’t sure how to feel as I slowed down to let my feet mindlessly guide me through the wilderness.

I’m… confused. Which isn’t much of an improvement, but it’s better than nothing. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what happened with the barn. I wished I had something that could conveniently tell me where I was and guide me back with the safest and fastest route it could provide. A heavy pail of realization tipped down onto my head.

Oh, yeah. I have a phone.

I slid my bag to face my front and quickly snatched my phone from the designated phone pocket. The bag fell back and I opened my phone to Google Maps, glancing at the bars. Only one, that’s fine. I looked back at the screen and sighed, seeing it frozen. It’s not fine. I shut off my phone and shoved it into my jacket pocket, trudging on.

And with that, only one little thought circled my mind: I’m lost.

Somehow, some way, I got lost. I had no clue what happened with the barn, no clue where I was, no clue where everything was, and by golly, did I want to drop to the floor and roll around in the grass. But I didn’t. I put one foot in front of the other through the shrubs and the dirt as the sun shone obnoxiously through more trees than I’ve ever seen near a city such as Boston.

One foot forward, the other followed, a part of me refused to acknowledge my situation fully and was perfectly content to walk mindlessly through the foreign world. One then the other, one then the other, a nice smooth walk through the lovely forest that I chose to walk through. One then the other, oh, are those buildings?

Squinting, I peer at the curved silhouettes that stand apart from the natural forms of the flora that scarcely surround them. Have I finally made it back to Boston? They don’t look like those on the outskirts, though. Perhaps I arrived from a different direction. I lift my head and stare at the pale blue skies. Yes, a different direction, at least I’m back home.

Back home, indeed.

Stumbling closer to the buildings, I come across a dirt road I’ve never seen before that seemed to lead into the city. I ignored the tracks of hooves and parallel streaks and walked along the edge, unclipping my respirator to hang from my other ear. Soon, I began to hear the faint hustle and bustle of people being people and the city going on with its busy life. A cool sense of relief washed over me, but I couldn’t help but furrow my brows as I listened closer to the noise. It didn’t sound… right.

A chill trickled down my spine and I stopped. Something isn’t right. I’m not supposed to be…

Suddenly I became aware of the creaks and rattles of metal against wood trembling over the uneven dirt road from behind me at an alarming pace. My eyes popped open in panic and I scrambled away from the road just before I was hit by a gust of wind as something whisked past me. Alarmed I whipped around to see what could have possibly been hurtling down the road only to stop and stare in disbelief.

It was a cart. With horses.

A cart like those that are displayed in the halls of museums, all broken and rotten and barely living in the 21st century. But rather than the cart crumbling at the mere breath of a butterfly, it rolled on, built brand new with fresh wood like the barn, and carrying large wooden crates stacked heavily atop each other.

The wheels were coated thick with mud and pebbles which left behind indents in the dirt, adding to those already printed into the ground. It continued its journey, clearly heading towards the city and oblivious to the pedestrian it nearly hit.

And I could do nothing but follow after it.

--------------------------------

More Notes- wheeee

[calebbrewsterr]

anyone anyone at all wanna help me out with this beta reading shit? I AM BAD AT GRAMMAR.

[tallmadgeandtea]

Turnsgiving 2024: Day 6

Favorite Underrated Character

In honor of the horse girls (Washington, Hewlett, and Tallmadge) I’d like to dedicate today’s post to Ben Tallmadge’s unnamed steed. Real life Tallmadge was very attached to his horses (see the story of him going back for his horse during the retreat from the New York Campaign) and was an excellent rider due to his career as a cavalry officer.

Although Turn doesn’t include the proper mounts for Benjamin’s 2nd Dragoons— dapple greys— it’s still nice to see him riding across a battlefield or racing through the woods. Also, the 2nd dragoons have the best uniform out of the entire cavalry line so Ben can look every inch the “cavalry lad” Rogers claims he is.

Before watching Turn, I didn’t care for military history or have a favorite branch. Now I can confidently say my favorite branch is the cavalry, and I’ve done three separate research projects featuring them!

If you want to learn more about cavalryman and their horses, indulge your inner horse girl with this collection of essays! One of my favorites:

And there is this book for young readers about Tallmadge in the New York Campaign with his horse! For kids but still looks fun/cute:

[enchi-elm]

On this day, September 5 in 1779, the historical Benjamin Tallmadge and Caleb Brewster were briefly united in person—a rare event, contrary to their portrayal in Turn: Washington’s Spies. The occasion was an attempt to oust a nest of Loyalist marauders—privateers—who were menacing the northern coast of Long Island in the very area where Abraham Woodhull was conducting his spy activities. The Loyalist “freebooters”, as Tallmadge describes them in his memoir, were encamped near a fortified post, the garrison Fort Franklin, on a “promontory or elevated piece of ground next to the Sound, between Huntington Harbour and Oyster Bay”. The site is known today as Fort Hill Estate.

Tallmadge and Brewster and their men (a detachment and Brewster’s whaleboat fleet) arrived on Lloyd’s Neck at 10 pm after a five hour row across the Sound and set about attacking the encampment. Tallmadge’s plan was to take them quietly—without a single shot fired—so that once the marauders were dispatched they had a clean shot at the nearby British garrison. They captured almost the whole band, with only a few escapees, one of which fired a shot that alerted the British—their chance at the garrison was foiled. Still, Tallmadge, Brewster, and their prisoners departed quickly after destroying all the boats they could find. They rowed back to Connecticut (presumably another five hour row, argh) and arrived before sunrise without the loss of a single Patriot.

244 years later, on this day, September 5 in 2023, I finished my Tallster fanfiction “You’ve Caught Me Between Wind and Water”. I did not include any pirates, to my great regret. This story is my longest project to date and one that’s very dear to me.

I was pondering its 1-year completion anniversary—today, September 5, 2024, and whether I should write an epilogue for the story. What would they be doing a year after the events of Wind and Water? Bonus, what would they have been doing in that September of 1779 specifically? Imagine my tickled surprise, dear Readers, when the historical record delivered such serendipity. (Big BIG thank you to @ollieoliveoboelo22 for giving me photos of Tallmadge’s memoir and Alexander Rose’s book on the passages in question).

Of course they’re together in real life. Of course they’re ousting pirates. Of course they’re performing a raid.

And—the garrison! As readers may or may not know, taking down a garrison head-on was the planned finale for much of the time I spent writing the story. (It’s not subtle, there are a lot of hints.) In the end, I ended up shifting the focus to taking down a bunch of marauding Loyalists who were terrorizing the country-side and hassling Patriots. That fictional raid ended up being a major reconciliation for Ben and Caleb, who were on the outs.

So to go back in time and read about the events of September 5, 1779, and find out that Ben and Caleb were brought together in real life to take down a garrison—and failing that, settled for taking down a bunch of marauding Loyalists who were terrorizing the country-side and hassling Patriots… well, it must be some sort of divine sign.

[meerawrites]

for the WIP ask thingy! 3 & 12

Nobody’s innocent, nobody’s proud, now that the chips are down… — Hadestown

WIP.

Read more.

meta.

art for art's sake.

Q: favourite character in the fic?

A: presently tied between my original character, Audrey and Benjamin Tallmadge. In Magdalena's defence, I came up with her on the fly and in Lestat's defence, he is our antagonist as much as there is one in a fic where everyone is a lying liar who lies and is slipping morally or has already slipped and simply doesn't care or pleads the keenest observation that morality is relative.

Q: What do you expect readers to feel?

A: well, this is a self-indulgent fan fic, so what people take away from it is up to them. Mostly, I would like to remind the reader that to quote Anne Rice, "evil is always possible and goodness is eternally difficult." You can sympathize with a liar, spy, monster, or murderer, you can even love them. That doesn't make it less monstrous. It is about seeing ones self in the ‘monstrous�� other and against your better judgement, forgiving your own and learning to love it better.

Suddenly it all fell into place. It stung like a slap to the face. The thought of Audrey facing such indignities on his behalf and yet… he wants to run de Lioncourt through with a bayonet. How can he possibly be sure this isn’t some elaborate game to ensure he leaves alone, or… worse, sold out to the English. The war, after all, had not yet ended.  “I think you should step outside,” Audrey’s voice came sweetly. Breaking him from his disheartening reverie. She only means for him not to get killed.  “I’d rather stay,” Tallmadge insisted gently, simply. He only means to protect her, and what remained of her dignity. It hurt like an ever-twisting blade, the thought of Audrey indulging others. Yet, still, even then, she was protecting him. She was the weapon, the leverage, and the bargaining piece. He only wished this wasn't a twisted gamble for freedom. ‘All I ask is that you fight for what you believe!’ He had said, to a friend of his, Abraham Woodhull, once. Was Audrey not fighting for their way out, and keeping him alive? Though why he still didn’t know.  “As you insist, ma chér,” Audrey murmured, not pushing the issue.

( chapter 13, Anti-hero )

[megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms]

I love that you have some request open! Thank you!

I love your Townsend soulmate AU could you write a soulmate AU for sweet Benjamin Tallmadge? I’m partial to “see soulmate see color for the first time” and “first touch leaves a mark” but I’ll take anything you feel like writing 💜

Reader is from a loyalist family who has settled in Setauket and meets Ben when he comes to visit his father.

Female reader preferable please.

I almost never turn down a Soulmate AU. Absolutely added to the list! (1/10). Thank you

[pagetreader-archived]

Dearest, Gentle Reader,

This author is rarely stunned by the fantastical tidings that spring from the bustling ton at the advent of a season, and yet I can assure you that I was well and truly astonished to hear of the moonlight elopement of a certain spinster, one Miss Penelope Featherington, and the Bridgerton's family tutor, Mr. Benjamin Tallmadge.

After a rather alarming display between Tallmadge and Lord Bixby engaging in furious fisticuffs on the Bridgerton lawn just two days past, all in the name of Miss Featherington's honor, the sudden marital absconding is quite the scandal.

Rumor has it that the two will soon be leaving behind the high society of London for the states, which might be home to Mr. Tallmadge, an American whose presence has always protruded like a sore thumb, but is entirely foreign to the young and unseasoned Miss Featherington who has never deigned to venture father than her bookshelf permitted. Indeed, to see how this curious affair unfolds will surely be what everyone so eagerly watches for.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown.

In her haste, she'd made things so much worse, and in the end, much to her dismay, the majority of her motivation had been to preserve Whistledown rather than keep Benjamin safe. For that, she could hardly forgive herself.

What's more, there was no telling if Whistledown would even continue now that they would likely move from London and to the states, at least if they wanted to keep this ruse going. If they were going to keep Lord Bixby at bay, they really hadn't much choice.

Back in the safety of the Featherington garden, and chaperoned at a distance, at least until the word was out, Penelope took a seat on the stone bench, unable to bring herself to look Benjamin in the eye after the fiasco at Bixby's house.

"I'm...so tremendously sorry..." she confessed, "I panicked...but I should never have presumed to involve you in my excuses. It wasn't right of me. And after all you've done for me..."

Finally, she looked up at him, distraught and a pleading for forgiveness shinning in her eyes.

"I will not hold you to this. You are free to walk away right now and I will not think poorly of you for it."

“I cannot accept your secondary terms, Mr. Bixby, for I am already married,” Penelope announced.

The room fell deathly still, and Benjamin's head whipped incredulously in her direction.

She squeezed his hand, and he swore he could feel her wildly jumping pulse as she declared, “Fearing the worst was to come, Mr. Tallmadge and I recited our vows at the church late last night. An official announcement will be made within the week.” 

Oh?

Oh.

Visibly stunned, Benjamin prayed the pink in his cheeks coupled with his shock could be easily explained away, so he spluttered a clumsy reply: "Dearest, I thought we agreed to keep it secret until we could get away to the states."

At this rate, perhaps he should return to America. He loved the Bridgertons dearly, and being Gregory's tutor was a joy, but it seemed he'd caused more harm than good within the social rungs of the ton.

Bixby appeared genuinely livid as Penelope barreled on, “I will happily consent to any other terms you give for me and me alone, but I am now a married woman who can no longer accept such a proposal.”

"Preposterous!" the man seethed. "You are a spinster. You do not get passionate, whirlwind romances when you...w-when you...!" Trailing off, he caught sight of Benjamin's searing glare before closing his mouth. At this moment, the tutor would be in the right to call for blood, if Penelope truly was his wife, so in a fury, Bixby childishly stamped his foot and conceded his defeat. "Very well," he gritted. "You will not marry my nephew -- your loss, not his, by the by -- but you will wash my floors for the remaining week. I find it only fitting that you remain in a contrite position on your knees until I garner a scrap of forgiveness."

Benjamin felt the need to strike the smug, upturned nose Bixby presented, yet this time, he kept his temper in check and looked to Penelope, not wishing to obstruct her any more than he already had. "Whatever my wife deigns proper, I will support," he gritted.

[musicboxmemories]

Valen-TURNs Day Ship Bingo hosted by @viola-ophelia! <3 Prompt: Men in uniform Title: At Your Service Summary: You've always loved a man in uniform. Ben x Reader (this ain't for kiddos) https://archiveofourown.org/works/44643181

[amberlynnmurdock]

New Love, New Haven

Chapter Thirteen: Relations between Wethersfield and New Haven

Pairing: Benjamin Tallmadge x Original Female Character

Summary: Ben and Sadie communicate through letters, but keeping up is harder than it seems.

A/N: I hope you enjoy this update, friends! We're approaching the final chapters, which makes me sad, but we have some fun chapters coming soon!!

New Haven 

End of August 1773 

Ben’s first letter came as soon as a week after he left town on horseback for Wethersfield. Sadie snatched the letter from her father’s hands. Her sprint caused her father's hair to sway over his forehead. 

“Aye! No running in the tavern,” Richard scolded, like Sadie was still a child. She didn’t care. Sadie sat at the end of the bar and ripped the wax-sealed envelope open. Suddenly, the noise of the tavern drowned out as Sadie began to read the letter in Ben’s voice. 

Dear Sadie, 

I’ve finally settled into my temporary home. I just arrived tonight, and after unpacking, I immediately wanted to write to you so I could send this letter by morning. You would love this abode I’m in. It’s small, but it’s got a lot of character. There’s a fireplace for when winter comes around. I have a big enough bed—anything is better than the small cots Yale made us sleep on. At least my desk is large; perfect for grading papers, reading, and of course, writing to you. I think I’ll find myself doing that a lot here. 

I miss you so much. I’ve not gone a day without thinking of you and our last night spent together. It’s on my mind, constantly. I better stop thinking of it now. 

I hope you’re enjoying the books I’ve left for you. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on them. I know we may be apart, but my heart feels like it’s with you.

Class starts next week. I can’t wait to tell you about my students. 

Yours, 

Benjamin Tallmadge 

Sadie read and re-read the letter, feeling her heart jump in her chest. This letter easily made her day. She tucked it in her dress’ front pocket and continued the rest of her shift, with Ben tucked in the back of her mind. 

☆☆☆☆

That night, Sadie sat up at her desk and began to write her response to Ben. 

Dear Benjamin,

I’ve been re-reading Shakespeare’s sonnets. They remind me of you. Reading them makes me feel like there isn’t such a distance between us. 

I can hardly wait to hear about how your first class went. I’m sure by the time you receive this letter you’ll already be on your fifth or sixth class. I know your students will love the way you teach, like I do. It’ll be hard for them to be distracted because of how captivating you are. What will you be teaching first? You forgot to mention in your letter. You know I love every detail when it comes to learning. 

Your dwelling sounds cozy. I can imagine how it looks. Your desk is large? Similar to the size of the desks at Yale? I bet you and I could fit both our work on there and work side by side. Then again, maybe we wouldn’t get much work done if I were there with you. 

I’m sorry if that was crude. 

I haven’t stopped thinking of our last night together, either. It makes me yearn for our next one even more. 

It’s tough without you and Nathan. I can’t lie. But it’s nice to have Genny here. The tavern is still busy, but I always half expect to see you and Nathan bounding through the doors.

Until your next letter. 

Yours, 

Sadie Hale 

Sadie’s eyelids began to feel heavy. She placed her quill in the ink pot and blew out her candle. Her room felt so very dark, and very cold, without Ben. She laid her paper out for the ink to dry and tucked herself in bed, thoughts of Ben lulling her to sleep. 

☆☆☆☆

For many weeks, it looked like that first week without Ben. 

Like clockwork, Sadie checked the mail for his letter every week or so and she wouldn’t hesitate to write a response that same night. She loved to receive his letters—it felt like it was Christmas each time a new one came in. What would Ben have to say now? What new updates? How was school going? How was the weather in Wethersfield? 

His letters have been positive for the most part, but it wasn’t until Sadie received his last letter, in October, that things started to feel as uncertain as the night he left. 

Wethersfield 

October 1773

The ocean was so dark blue that it was almost black. The sound of the water running up the shore and then falling back into itself put Ben in a trance. His feet dug into the sand. The night was completely still. The color of the sky matched the color of the ocean, save for the stars that twinkled. He looked up at them as they formed a new constellation, one he hadn’t seen before, one he thinks he’d name Sadie. He’s alone. 

And with a jolt, Ben wakes up in his cot, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. His tiny room was hot and stuffy. Leaving a window open hadn’t helped at all. Ben kicked the thin sheets off of him and groggily stomped over to his desk. He was sure he was supposed to be up in a few hours for school. The next class is about basic algebra. But Ben’s not thinking about the lesson plan or what comes after that—his thoughts, and now he supposed, his dreams, were consumed by Sadie. He was struggling more than he thought by being so far away from her. 

Rubbing his eyes, he sat at his large wooden desk and lit a candle. 

Ben stared at the flame for a few moments before he searched for his ink, quill and paper. He began to write a letter to Sadie. 

Dear Sadie, 

It’s the middle of the night, and I’ve just woken up from a dream about you. I was at the beach alone. I felt completely in solitude. Something about the environment made me feel safe like you were there. And the stars in my dream formed a constellation I hadn’t seen before; it probably doesn’t exist, but when I looked at them, I thought of you. And then I woke up, to this reality of you not being here with me. I miss you terribly. I can hardly wait for the winter. I’m going to try my hardest to see New Haven before I go to Setauket. 

Tomorrow’s class is on algebra. I can’t teach them the complex subjects we studied together yet. When I do, I’ll take what I’ve learned from you and incorporate it. I think you’d love my pupils, Sadie. They are young and bright; eager to learn. 

I miss you, terribly. Please know that I think of you every waking moment—even when I dream. 

Yours, 

Benjamin Tallmadge 

Ben sighed as he laid the paper out for the ink to dry. He pulled out an envelope and laid it next to the letter to serve as a reminder in the morning to drop it at the post. He wished he had something of Sadie to hold close: a piece of clothing, a chain, one of her bows…anything. Anything, he wished he could hold close to his heart. But he had nothing. Nothing but his memories and whatever they translated to in his dreams. 

Feeling a wave of exhaustion hit him again, Ben returns to his cot. It’s so hot, he doesn’t bother throwing his sheets over again. 

New Haven

November 1773 

It was a misty morning in New Haven, and Sadie was preparing for the day ahead. 

New Haven felt much quieter these days, without Nathan coming by in the afternoons. Everything in the town was still the same: she saw the same shops open early, and the same townsfolk coming to the tavern at night, but with Nathan and Ben away, the changes felt like a big ripple in a small pond. Sadie kept to herself and did her chores quietly around the tavern. She helped her father carry new ale barrels up the stairs. She cleaned, she served, she smiled. 

She missed Nathan dearly. Sadie kept the thought of him constantly, like carrying a satchel on her shoulder. 

And of course, her thoughts always wandered to Ben. But she tried to only think of him at night before she was about to go to bed. It was too painful to think of him during the day—Sadie wouldn’t be able to get anything done if she did. So, she saved him for the night, because the night reminded her of him in so many ways: their late-night secret meetings, meeting him down by the door to go to the shore, that last night they had in her bed… 

She laced up her boots and got up from her bed. Before she went downstairs to prep the bar, she paused at her desk, which had Ben’s most recent letter displayed. She picked up the paper and read it again. It was about a dream he’d had of her. Yes, it was November now, and Ben’s most recent letter was from mid-October. 

If Sadie’s predictions were right, he should have received her response right before the end of October. But now it was mid-November and almost the holidays. Nathan would be coming back to New Haven in a few weeks, and Ben? Well, she didn’t know, because she hasn’t heard from him. 

For a long time, Sadie convinced herself it was because he was busy. Taking on a new teaching job came with a lot of responsibilities. He’d have to keep up with a lot of students and grade a lot of papers. And Sadie knew Ben’s work ethic—he practically threw himself into his work, letting each subject and lesson consume him, he must’ve gotten too busy, Sadie thought. Maybe his lessons got mixed up with his letters. Maybe he was planning on writing her a large update and was saving it for now. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

Maybe he met someone else. 

She shooed the thought away as soon it crept into her mind. 

Sadie felt her heart wrench as she read and re-read his letter. She was transported back to her late summer evenings with Ben, trading sweet nothings and poetry, his notes…for a moment, she wasn’t pretending like she didn’t miss him. But then she heard her father call from the bar, and Sadie placed the letter back down and went downstairs. With each creak of the step, an image of Ben faded from her mind. 

Cleaning the tavern was a good distraction from it all. And it got even better when people began to trickle in, asking for ale or water. Asking Sadie what it was like to be without her brother. Saying they missed Nathan’s shining smile, too. Genny came in around noon, to Sadie’s delight. 

“I’ve got great news,” Genny beamed as she met Sadie at the bar. Sadie leaned over and rested her head in her hand. 

“Go on!” Sadie urged. 

“My father said if we wanted to, and your father would allow it, we could spend the spring next year in Middletown,” Genny said in a hushed tone. “You know, to study the herbs and learn about healing.” 

Sadie opened her mouth to reply but found herself at a loss for words. Well, what would happen if Nathan came around then? What if she needed to help her father here? What about Ben? How long would they stay there? 

“I…”

“Sadie, what is it?” Genny asked. “I thought you’d be excited. Middletown! A new place.” 

“It’s not that I’m not excited. It’s just that I have so much going on here in New Haven. What if I leave and Nathan decides to come back for a weekend? I’ve got to see him. And… you know, there’s Ben,” Sadie explained sheepishly. She felt a dent in her heart when she explained her grievances. 

Genny gave her a sympathetic look. “Sadie. You can’t place your life on hold, waiting for other people. Of course, Nathan is your brother—you’ll see him. But Ben? Has he written you back since October?” 

Sadie’s face darkened as she looked away, embarrassed. “Not yet.” 

Genny shrugged her shoulders. “This would be a good opportunity for us both. Get us both out of here. The boys did it! Why can’t we?” 

Sadie bit her lip. You can’t place your life on hold. 

“Well, all right. I guess the reality of it is what makes me nervous. I’ll speak to my father tonight. Perhaps, he may be more convinced if your father came in to talk about it. Over ale,” Sadie added. 

Genny smiled, “Perfect. I’ll see if he can tonight.” 

After Genny left, Sadie felt another dent form in her heart; things were changing and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. 

☆☆☆☆

Later that evening, Sadie sat at her desk, contemplating bringing her ink and quill out to write a letter to Ben. Since when did she feel so unsure of herself, when it came to Ben? Would it be strange to send another letter after he hadn’t replied to her? The last she checked, Ben was writing about dreams of her and telling her how much he missed her. What had changed? 

After much convincing, Sadie told herself that the purpose of this letter would be to inform Ben of her new ventures starting next spring. She’d be in Middletown, with Genny, studying healing. Middletown was not that far from Wethersfield and Sadie hated the hopeful feeling this thought brought. 

Dear Benjamin, 

I haven’t heard from you in a while. I hope everything is all right in Wethersfield. I can’t wait to hear about your lessons and pupils. I think I wrote that in my last letter. Are you okay? I’d love to hear from you. It’s been a while. 

I’m writing this letter to inform you that next spring I’ll be staying with Genny and her father in Middletown. We will be studying healing and herbs. After her father came in to talk to my father, he was convinced it would be a good learning opportunity and agreed to let me go. Of course, what’s heavy on my mind is what happens to us. But there’s not much I can do if I don’t hear from you. I can’t say no to an opportunity like this. 

If it’s meant to be, it will be, you and I. 

I’m holding on dearly to what we have, but I can’t hold on forever, Ben. 

I really do hope I hear from you soon. 

Yours, 

Sadie Hale 

A tear fell down Sadie’s cheek, splotching the word “Yours.” But Sadie didn't notice when she folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope. 

[knowltonsrangers]

The cutest thing just popped into my head: ben tallmadge x female reader where the reader is from the modern world and is stuck in colonial america so she doesn’t know how to put on a corset and is struggling af. she’s at the continental camp and ben notices out of the flap of her tent that she’s struggling so he walks into her tent and decides to help her lace up her corset and then does her hair in a braid (bc it’s down which was like considered immodest back then) HEHEKSJSJAJWKSJKAS and there’s hella tension n stuff between em and ben can’t help but admire her long hair down and the feel of it ykyk yeah thank u i love ur fics sm <333

TURN!Benjamin Tallmadge x reader

[a/n: aw, this is absolutely adorable! tysm for the request, I hope I did it justice!]

Ben ambled throughout the camp, pacing along the row of tents with his hands clasped behind his back. Every time he heard the flap of a tent open, his blue eyes would bounce to his own tent, hopeful that you would emerge dressed, and yet, it would be another officer going on with their day.

“Oh, for crying out loud—“

His boots meet the dirt in a dramatic manner, storming over to his tent, not quite sure what to be expecting, but it was most certainly not you struggling to lace a corset.

Staring in the entrance, hand pulling the flap back, he’s left stood completely still for a moment, then he clears his throat loudly.

“How long must this take you?”

In return, you yelp, your back to the tent opening. You were never expecting someone to be standing right there.

“Why?! Why did you just do that?”

Your heart clamps over your heart, in an attempt to qualm its fast beating.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry. But, haven’t you ever…?”

Ben notices your hands, and the messy loops, how you’ve been struggling for the past ten minutes trying to figure out the right way to lace the bodice.

“No, why would I? You found me in joggers and t-shirt,”

You deadpan, mirroring Ben’s expression as he sighs, letting the tent close behind him so the two of you are enveloped in complete privacy.

“May I?”

Your cheeks burn red, the tips of your ears as well, but you nod, spinning around once more as the officer approaches, gently undoing all the terrible knots you had made prior.

“You are aware I don’t entirely believe you about your nonsense, right?”

“Please. If this doesn’t prove it, I don’t know what will,”

Ben lifts your hair so it drapes over your right shoulder, out of the way as he begins to lace and weave the ribbon down the bodice.

“Your story is infuriating, but infatuating. I would be lying if I said that I don’t appreciate your story-telling.”

You gasp when he pulls it just too tight, your eyes blinking rapidly as he continues.

“Your stubbornness is infuriating, as well.”

Once he’s satisfied, you spin around, glancing up at the Major as he lets his hands fall to his sides.

“Thank you,”

“Not necessary. Though, you have to do something about that.”

He gestures to your hair, now back over your shoulder as it lays down along your back.

“Can you do it in a cute little braid like yours?”

It was a joke, you had all intentions to put it in a bun atop your head like so many ladies you’d seen around the camp, but Ben sighs, motioning for you to spin around once more.

Your mouth flubs, ready to tell him it was a reflex comment-and yet, the feeling of his calloused palms and soft fingertips running through your hair makes you snap your mouth shut.

“This is a customary hairstyle, I don’t understand why you must make fun of it.”

“It was just a joke, I’ll keep them on the DL from now on.”

Ben makes a face at the ‘DL’ comment, but doesn’t ask what it means.

“May I ask you something?”

“Sure, y/n.”

“If you really don’t believe me, why are you going to all this trouble?”

Ben hums, quickening his motions as the braid begins to descend down your back.

“I’ve determined you are no spy, when you didn’t even know which one was the Lieutenant.”

“I can’t tell all those uniforms apart, who could—“

“Like I said, a portion of me believes you. Maybe you just hit your head too hard and don’t know where you are. Maybe you’re telling the truth.”

“I am, but I’ll do whatever it takes to convince you, Major.”

There’s a bout of silence, and right when you feel him go to tie your hair with a ribbon, you offer him your hair tie over your shoulder.

“I’d like you to use this, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Ben says nothing but it takes him a good minute to figure out how to use it, and tie it securely into your hair.

“Thanks. Maybe it’ll keep me sane for a bit longer.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, y/n. But I am enamored by your…way of doing things.”

The pink color returns to your ears, and you turn slightly, watching the way Ben takes a hesitant step back, admiring his work.

“Best to get you to the General.”

Your stomach flips, palms sweaty as he goes to exit the tent.

“If you don’t believe me, what makes you think the General will?”

“General Washington? He’s…he’s very good at listening.”

Ben misses the way your jaw falls open, mumbling about how on earth any of this was real, your shoes sinking in the soft dirt as you scramble after him.

[pagetreader-archived]

Viserion, Rhaegal, and Drogon were as much Daenerys' companions as they were her guardians. Wherever she went, the loyal bloodhounds would follow. Ever since they'd been wrangled and detained somewhere far away from her, she'd felt significantly more vulnerable and unsafe.

Thankfully, they hadn't been shot like her accompanying diplomat, Barriston Selmy, and Ambassador Mormont had. Both had been good men who hadn't deserved such a fate.

If Benjamin really could be trusted, then she needed to ensure that he would act as her protector for however long she was to be a prisoner -- and if General Washington had his way, she would remain so until the end of this war.

Taking a seat at the table, she placed her napkin in her lap, smoothing out the material before glancing back up to speak. It was then that she realized Benjamin had begun to pray -- reminding her to do the same. However, when she tilted her head downward to do so, Daenerys noticed a small folded piece of parchment just beneath her plate. How strange...

Was this intentionally placed note meant for her or for Tallmadge? Whichever the case, how would the messenger have been certain that one or the other would have gotten it instead of the other person finding it? Regardless of her confusion, her curiosity was peaked and she grazed her fingers over the rim of the plate, hovering just above the parchment and wondering how she could take it without drawing attention to herself.

To keep from looking suspicious, she took small sparing bites of the provided meal, not really hungry to begin with but less inclined to sit there in total silence while the thought of what the note could be continued to claw at her mind.

"Do you read, Princess? Or rather, do you like to?"

"I do," she answered, attempting to keep her attention focused on Tallmadge rather than the table, "I assume you ask because you are an avid reader. Do you have a favorite author?"

Talking was a distraction, but it wouldn't be enough. She needed something more, to get his attention off the surface in front of him for just a moment if she were to successfully retrieve the paper unnoticed.

In the middle of his answer, she reached for her goblet, purposefully keeping her eyes upon him to make her spill look more accidental. The chalice toppled over the edge and fell to the floor with a clang.

"Oh, dear," she exclaimed, leaning over as though to assess the damage until Benjamin had bent down. Then she plucked the parchment from its hiding spot and tucked it in her bodice. The contents of the message would have to wait, but at least she'd managed to swipe it.

"Apologies. That was terribly clumsy of me," Daenerys continued, offering her napkin to help soak up the spillage.

"But your superiors sent you to me. Would they allow you to keep your distance?"

Daenerys was a clever woman. No matter how little he respected her father, he could at the very least acknowledge that much.

"My superiors trust me enough to not keep tabs on my actions," he replied. "Still, I see your point..."

She didn't need to know that he and Washington, in particular, were presently locking horns about the ring and the best methods of attack. She wouldn't know any of his deepest, innermost anguishes, and a part of Benjamin lamented the fact. He'd always wanted a wife...a confidant...a friend. Even now, it would seem he wouldn't be granted even a modicum of true companionship. Benjamin had sacrificed everything, everything for this Cause, and now, it seemed, he would also sacrifice the happiness he dreamed of one day attaining.

"I appreciate your gallantry. Truly. But, I must confess I feel safer with you nearby...if you would consider staying."

Somehow, the sentiment warmed him. He never felt needed. Even with his high rank and personal detachment, he never believed himself indispensable, nor desired, so to hear Daenerys somehow believed herself safe in his company filled him with a semblance of pleasure.

"All right," he softly agreed. "I can stay...though I still meant what I said: whenever it comes time to sleep, we can do so in shifts."

At that moment, a young serving wench stepped into the room. She appeared as though she were trying to make herself as quiet and unassuming as possible. Almost fearful, her eyes averted and she set down their meals before making a brisk path for the door.

Daenerys glanced his way. "It would also appear that it is expected you remain here..."

Taking note of the two plates and cups, Benjamin flexed his hands and nodded. "So it would seem," he agreed. "Will you join me?"

Despite their prior vitriol, he felt oddly inclined to please her -- perhaps because he wished to prove he was, in fact, someone she could find safety in -- and moving toward the table, he was quick to pull out the nearest chair in offering. After he'd seated her, Benjamin moved around to claim his own seat with a soft clearing of his throat, his eyes darting toward her face, the table, and then back to her face again.

A part of him wished to ask if they could pray together. A man and wife should do as such, should they not? And yet ultimately, Benjamin settled upon praying by himself, his head bowing as he whispered words of thanks under his breath.

Afterward, he stabbed a piece of chicken onto his fork and ate in silence, shifting with discomfort as the minutes ticked on. As a boy, Benjamin had never been particularly well-versed in appealing to women, and he felt even more at a loss here in adulthood. What sort of things did they like to talk about? Were the rumors true? Did they only enjoy fripperies and frivolity? Personally, Benjamin preferred scholarly stimulation, so he asked, "Do you read, Princess? Or rather, do you like to?"

[foundingdaddyhamsdaddy]

Benjamin Tallmadge x Reader Baking christmas cookies headcanons

So, for my first headcanon list on tumblr, I’m going to go with everyone’s favorite puppy. It’s just soft cute stuff. No gender for the reader. Modern au.

-So

-Ben would actually know how to bake. Look at that man. He looks like a man who knows how to make cookies. -That is not to say that it’d be easy to bake with him.

-Poor kitchen by the end of this

-Huge mess.

-At first, it’d be just slow, because you’d be giving him kisses every few minutes.

-But then, one of you would spill flour on the other.

-This means war 

-Both of you would be completely covered in flour within the next two minutes.

-You’d calm down, and agree to a truce for a bit, you do need to bake those cookies

-Said cookies would nearly end up burned because you decided to cuddle while they were baking and got lost in eachother’s arms.

-Of course, while decorating, one of you would spill icing on the other and it’d all start again.

-Once the war ends and the cookies are decorated, it’d give Benjamin the opportunity to suggest a warm bubble bath together. -Can’t say getting floury and sticky wasn’t worth it when you’re sitting in the bath and those strong hands are washing your hair.

[demigoddessqueens]

Writing out the fluff alphabet for Turn AMC

A Big Fat Mood™️: Giving Ben and John Andre all the fluff and TLC 💞 in the world

[docshollidaze]

The Grapes of Wrath

pairing: Benjamin Tallmadge x reader

warnings: i don’t even think this one has a cussword in it, lmao

a/n: i was listening to The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck and i was really inspired by his writing style, so i tried to mirror it in this; with a little twist of my own of course. i'm planning on a part two!

       The town of Setauket was a very sleepy place. The only remotely interesting thing that would happen was a brawl in the Strong tavern or a child who played too hard and broke a bone. All one could really do is sit by the window and watch the bees and butterflies land on the flowers outside while one embroidered. That was until Abraham got himself wrapped up in this spy business.

       Y/N's family was wealthy. They owned a beautiful, large house near the creek and by the tree line. She watched Abraham Woodhull sneak to and fro many times. But that all changed when Abe came back with company.

       The man he came back with was rather handsome, wearing a blue continental army uniform. He wore an odd hat, tall with white hair coming out of an ancient-roman looking thing. He had beautiful dirty blonde hair, tied back with a navy blue ribbon. He looked around cautiously before Abe reassured him and they kept moving.

       You racked your brain, trying to place the familiar, handsome face. No luck of course. You know what? Screw sitting and watching when the pair comes back this evening, you'd be there to confront them.

       You put up the book you were occupying yourself with and got up. You drug a rocking chair behind the house, beside where Abe's rout was. You took your father's musket (he didn't have to give up his firearms, he has friends in the right places,) in case the army man gave you any trouble.  You sat in the rocking chair and watched the sun go down, patiently waiting for your targets. Soon enough, they arrived.

       It was late into the night when they came back. You were conveniently concealed in the shadows. They scurried along as quietly as they could.

       "Isn't it past your bedtime boys?" you asked, tightening your grip on the musket. Abe jumped. The other man's hand went down to his Flintlock. You stepped out of the shadows, musket aimed at the mysterious man.  "Drop it." He did as told, and laid the pistol on the ground gently. "Now, Abe, what is this business you've gotten yourself into?" I see you sneaking around all the time and now since you've brought someone else, what's going on?"

       "You know this woman?" the blonde asked. Abe swallowed hard and nodded. The blonde looked up at you. "I'm Benjamin Tallmadge and we're-"

       "Uh-huh," you interrupted. "I want to hear it from Abraham."

       "Listen Y/N," Abe started. "Y-you can't do anything rash, I know your father is a big tory but-"

       "That certainly does not mean I am." you interrupted again. Benjamin smiled.

       "We're spies, spying on Major Hewlett for the Continental army." he finished.

       "I'm Benjamin Tallmadge, 2nd continental light dragoons and head of intelligence."

       "Fantastic!" you clapped your hands together. "Where do I sign up?" you whisper-yelled. Abe sighed and seemed to deflate in relief and Benjamin smiled brightly.

       "Listen," you started. "You're probably thinking, well, what does she have to offer? Well, my father is a big and well-known tory. He owns several plantations down south and sells most of his goods to the king's army in New York. Perfect really."

       "That's brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!" Benjamin exclaimed. The man you only met a couple of minutes ago rushed forward and enveloped you into a bone-crushing hug. He let go, hands still on your shoulders. "This is serious... what you're getting yourself into. You could-"

       "I know. But, I've been waiting for an opportunity like this for a long, long time. Please let me do this... and perhaps, let me go." a look of realization came across his face and he took a step back.

       "My apologies," he replied and paused for a moment. "Check with Anna strong for instructions, she'll be the one to receive them when they're ready.