#i crave the moment they pip and he sees one of their little heads peek out and he starts sobbing

[belphieslilcow]

do you think levi gets baby fever by watching snake hatching videos

[hollywoodx4]

Hamliza: Phillip’s Recital

Alternatively titled Pistachio Ice Cream 

Okay, so this is here bc @oosnavi is a good friend and I continue to get pictures of Pip and kids bc they’re my weakness and thanks for trying to kill me with the beauty of it all.

Anyway, Jordy’s over here feeding my future!Hamliza brain so here’s a fic from her idea and my flailing. It’s kind of in the swts universe bc that’s just me but it’s all good as a standalone 

The night of the elementary school talent show is a hectic one in the Hamilton household. Eliza is changing a fussy Angie as Phillip runs up and down the hallway between the kitchen and front door, singing a variation of their ‘getting ready to go’ song. There is a slight chaos in the level of noise, most which comes from Alexander, who follows his wife around the kitchen with words that clamber into one another in an anxious excitement.

“He’ll be alright, Alexander.”

“What if he messes up?”

“Then he messes up, it's a part of life. Then we take him to get the pistachio ice cream this baby is making me crave and teach him that everything's alright.”

“You're just in it for the ice cream.”

“That might be true. Hey, it's your fault we’re having a third child in the first place. I deserve some ice cream.”

“We’ll see. Are you ready yet? We’re going to be late.” Eliza chuckles, handing Angie to Alex while moving to reign in Phillip with her waddling walk.

The curtain rises, and Eliza is met with the sudden rush of air of her husband’s movement. In a swift collection of rushed feet he's clamored his way to the front of the crowd, ducking on the carpeted floor of the auditorium. She giggles as he turns to wave at her, pointing his camera to the stage as tiny footprints join the sound of shuffling in chairs and Alexander’s barely-stifled whisper.

“That's my son!” He nudges the man in the chair he's leaning next to and the portly redhead simply chuckles as Alexander’s eyes remain glued to the stage. Phillip sits at the baby grand piano, his mother’s trademark glittering eyes looking down at his father. He shoots Alex a thumbs up, and immediately the nerve-wracked father can feel the beginnings of tears prick his eyes. He turns back to Eliza again.

Look at him! A very pregnant Eliza can barely make out the words on her husband’s lips through his wide smile. She's already sitting as far up as she can in her chair, one hand clutching a fresh package of tissues.

“Hi, my name is Phillip Hamilton and I picked Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” Their son’s tiny voice echoes across the auditorium, his vibrant smile already lighting up the stage. Just like his mother, Alex muses as his son begins plucking the keys.

It isn't the greatest sound ever heard. Phillip Hamilton is no prodigy, but the way his tongue pokes out of his mouth in concentration keeps their eyes fixated on him. Watching the way he works, smile never fading, Alex can feel the tears that have rolled down his cheeks. He's not even sure if the video is recording, but at this point he doesn't even care. When the sound of clunky piano music stops Alex shoots up from the ground, fingers in his mouth to illicit a whistle that breaks through the slight applause.

“Way to go Pip!” He can hear Eliza from the back, clapping wildly. The entire auditorium training their attention between the two parents, who have made the applause last much longer than necessary. Phillip is finally ushered off stage by one of the teachers, who looks into the audience with an amused grin. This is the Hamilton’s first school soirée. Now, the community of parents and teachers watch Alex run back through the seats, scooping up their toddler daughter before high fiving an ecstatic Eliza. The school now knows what to expect.

There is a reception in the lobby, parents mingling with one another as their children steal treats off of a long buffet table. Phillip stands next to his mother, holding her hand as she chats with one of his teachers. Alex is on the other side of the room, phone turned to a group of dads as he points back at Phillip with extreme enthusiasm between bouts of long-winded rambling.

“My wife taught him everything he knows.” His finger moves to Eliza with pride and she grins at him, shaking her head in embarrassment as she waves at the group of men. There's a moment-always a familiar moment-where Alex’s newfound friends do a double take. Then, there's the light of eyes-the connection of dots that trails his name to hers, and hers to her fathers.

“Excuse me, are you Elizabeth Schuyler?”

“Hamilton. Elizabeth Hamilton.” She corrects the stranger with slightly narrowed eyes-not menacing, or rude, just blatant. She had chosen to take his name. She had chosen him. There was nothing that filled her with pride more than being a Hamilton now. The correction was necessary.

“Sorry, I didn't mean,”

“-it's fine. It happens more than you'd think.”

“It's just-my son, Henry, he says he plays with your Phillip a lot?” She recognizes the name immediately. Henry Trench, the boy who had been Phillip’s friend from the first day of school. Henry, who'd made her a card once after she'd run the bake sale. Now, the sweet-hearted brunette stands behind his mother’s leg with a shy smile and reddened face. “Say hi, Henry.”

The boy waves a hesitant hand at Eliza, who attempts to bend down to his level. Her protruding stomach stops her but she gives him a warm smile anyway, extending her hand in a wave. Phillip runs from Eliza, hugging his friend.

“He really wanted to ask you-if it’s not too weird-if he could take a picture with you?” Eliza holds back a chuckle as she looks back up at the boy’s mother. Her face is contorted in a strange arrangement of awkward movement and a hesitant smile, her hand moving down to ruffle Henry’s hair. He groans in embarrassment-just as Pip had done before his performance-but lingers next to her leg.

“Of course he can.”

“Hey Henry, honey, come and have your picture taken with Miss Schuyler. She said it was alright.” He peeks out from behind her leg again and Phillip moans with irritation, tugging on his friend’s arm.

“Come on, Henry.” Please don’t pull on him, Pip. “Hurry up so we can go play.”

The nervous boy stands next to Eliza with a grin plastered on his face-she places her hand on his shoulder in a half-hug, saying cheese as the camera clicks. A bemused Alexander watches from the sidelines as the boy thanks her, hugging her before running off to play with their son. When her conversation with Henry’s mother has ended Alexander makes his way back across the room to his wife, Angie balanced on his hip.

“If I didn’t know you any better I’d have to be jealous.” His voice is close to her ear, a warmth of his breath on her neck. She shudders; slightly, but just enough for him to catch on. “I guess you’ll have to prove that I’m the only one for you…”

His voice trails at the suggestion, then a domino effect; Angie has one hand on Eliza’s earring, tugging at it as another round of tight pressure presses on her bladder. Then, there’s Phillip’s cry resounding across the lobby as he runs to them, face full of tears and a fresh bruise that’s sure to last more than a few days. Eliza takes the baby from Alex’s arms before kissing Phillip’s forehead, drying his tears.

               “Grab Angie’s teether from my bag-no, not that one the grey one-and then there’s a half-frozen water bottle in there we can put on Pip’s head.” Alexander follows her requests immediately, responding to her business-like tone of voice as she settles the kids down in her soothing manner. It takes all of two minutes for them to calm, yet it had only been a mere thirty seconds for that chaos to even begin. He knows he still looks dumbfounded by the way his wife looks at him-twinkling eyes, raised brows, and a hand on her protruding stomach.

               “We have two busy children and a third that won’t stop kicking me. Angie needs a bottle, Pip needs a rest, and I need pistachio ice cream.” She narrows her eyes at him then, in a stern gaze he had seen a few times before-only when she was carrying one of his children. “I don’t know what you think you’re getting tonight-I mean come on, Alexander, using my taking a picture with a six year old with a crush as bait? Until I have my ice cream you’re getting absolutely nothing.”

               Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton was a woman of many titles; senator’s daughter, mother, PTA member, teacher…but right now, the only title that fit perfectly was pregnant. Or, in Alexander’s eyes, “Yes, we can stop for ice cream.”