So I’m reading a letter where Alexander is describing Philip as a baby, and it’s so fucking funny
He refers to him as a “little stranger” and writes how he was not “sufficiently aquatinted” with his son before like. Ofc you weren’t HES A BABY
“The most agreeable in his conversation and manners” He is 7 months old how the fuck do you know that at 7 months. Like I may not know much about babies but I don’t think they make full conversations and have amazing manners at that age. Maybe it’s just me idk.
“He has a method of waving his hand… that announces the future orator.” Ofc he waves his hand around he’s a baby all babies do that???
“He stands rather awkwardly and his legs not at all the delicate slimness of his fathers.” I once again remind you that he is SEVEN MONTHS OLD at the time when he is writing this letter. Just because he can’t walk then and doesn’t have slim legs doesn’t mean he won’t be a good dancer like?? He’s not even a year old yet OF COURSE HE WONT WALK WELL AND WILL BE A LITTLE CHUBBY
“He laughs too much.” HES A BABY DUDE HES GONNA LAUGH. Seriously is this his first ever interaction with a baby?? This letter makes it seem So. I really want to know if this was a normal way of describing your child/ first born back then or if Alexander just didn’t know a damn thing about babies and how they develop. Okay but in all Honesty the way he describes him is rather sweet though and you can tell how much he cares about him.
+ My friends responses
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the reynolds pamphlet and laurens' disappointment
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“That Would Be Enough” / Hamilton
“Promises” / Hadestown
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Jefferson: Will there be sausage rolls?
Eliza, sobbing uncontrollably: Th- there-
Jefferson, louder: Eliza. Your husband’s funeral. Sausage rolls?
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I drew this for Valentine's day in 2020, the art is not the best, but not bad, i think 🤧 want to redraw it.... and yeah hamliza is one of the reasons to live 😖 💘 💞 💕 💖 💘 ❤️
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All my homies hate Thomas Jefferson
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“The Lord, in his kindness,
He gives me what you always wanted
He gives me more time”
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for the 30 minute ficlet thing!!! lams + the lyrics
“I wanna think about how
I tried to change you
I wanna think about the mess
You made it all go wrong
I wanna think about the things
You never should have done
But all I can think about
Is the way you held my hand”
(it’s from Emo the Musical and the song is called “The Way You Held My Hand” and it makes me CRY and gives me feelings)
basically just like Lams and holding hands hdhdhd
is that like too much? i can try again!!!!
- NOT sid definitely not sid
Ahhhhh thank you for the prompt 💛
Absolutely not too much, I love it
John stares across the table at Alexander and his charming new wife as she smiles at a joke one of the men has told. She’s beautiful, practically glowing in the dim lighting of headquarters, lighting up the room all on her own, and her vivaciousness is almost an equal match of her husband’s. Something in John’s heart pulls uncomfortably tight.
He hadn’t known she was coming. How could he have? Alexander himself just arrived back in camp a few days before John did. He had no reason to expect Betsey would be there, a guest at headquarters, before he departed for France.
But here she is.
Young and beautiful. Laughing a delicate, charming laugh as she chats with the officers, Alexander’s hand in hers all the while.
John knows he has no claim to jealousy here. He was the one who pushed for Alexander to get married after all.
There was no other alternative. Alexander needed a wife. Status in their new country. A family. A life worthy of all of his talents and ambitions.
John can’t give him any of that.
But still, all he can think of as he stares at the two of them is how his hand felt pressed into Alexander’s, the two of them curled up together in their tent, or down by the river, or laying out under the stars on nights much warmer than this. The two of them sneaking subtle glances at one another across the workroom. Both of them up late, distracted from sleep by conversations of their impossible dreams for the future.
But even with those cherished, precious moments between the two of them, Alexander isn’t the same as John.
When he looks at his wife, there’s something warm and bright in his eyes, a spark that John has never, not even once, felt looking at his Martha. Alexander loves Betsey, it’s undeniable, and every second he witnesses it is like a knife in John’s chest, twisting incrementally deeper with each soft touch or smile, each quiet intimacy between the two of them.
He feels unsettlingly alone, the roar of voices around him nothing more than static in his ears, and he resolves to retire to his bed early.
After dinner, he makes the attempt. Tries to slip out of the room as quietly and unobtrusively as possible. But Alexander notices. Of course he notices.
“Jack,” he intercepts pleasantly, a hand on his arm to stop John’s retreat, his cheeks already flushed red from the drink he had at dinner. “You must stay and tell us about your time in Philadelphia. We can share a bottle of wine, enjoy one another’s company. You are leaving us again so soon, after all.”
“You’ll have to excuse me,” he says, a bit terse. “I am not feeling quite well.”
Never one to give up easily, Alexander’s smile softens until his expression is nearly pleading. “Just for a short while. I have missed you, Jack, and I still need to tell you about the wedding– it’s such a shame you couldn’t be there. You’ve missed so much while you’ve been away.”
Yes. He has.
“I need rest, Alexander.” The words come out more clipped than he intends, but there’s no taking them back now. Just like there’s no taking back anything else– their relationship, the way he pushed Alexander towards marriage, getting captured and held in Philadelphia, away from Alexander for all of this time. His friend’s face drops some of its cheerful light, but he nods.
“Alright. We will talk tomorrow then?”
“Of course. Tomorrow.” As he retreats towards the stairs, John is already formulating excuses for tomorrow night. Ways to avoid hearing of Alexander’s wedding while his bride sits there at his side like a ghost from John’s most haunting nightmares.
Alone in their room, he doesn’t sleep for a good while, caught up in his own thoughts.
He looked so happy with Miss Schuyler– no, Hamilton. She is Elizabeth Hamilton now.
That thought hurts more than anything else. She gave him something John never could. She took his last name. She will give him children. A family.
John’s chest feels all at once as if it will close in on itself.
He resolves not to think of it any longer, his Alexander with someone else, and grabs one of the books from the bedside table. It’s one that his father sent to camp at his request, and he allows himself to grow absorbed in the pages, paragraphs on military strategy and battle swirling in his mind until he grows so tired that he nearly falls asleep with the book still propped up on his chest.
But once sleep comes, it is not the battlefield he dreams of. It is Alexander’s hand in his own– warm and calloused and as imperfectly perfect as always. Here at least, in his dreams, it is still just the two of them.
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Eliza classic lolita inspired dress
a redraw from 2016
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Can we see Alexander cross dressing in a sexy princess dress?
Assuming you meant Disney?
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Washingdad: ...or you could die and we need you alive.
Hamham: I am more than willing to die!
Washingdad: Your husband needs you alive, son, I need you alive—
Hamham: Waitwaitwait husband?
Washingdad: Uhhh, you mean you and Laurens aren't married?
Laurens, from afar: YET!
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((Happy birthday, Eliza! I thought it only appropriate to write something for you guys on such an important day. Modern AU but with historical appearances, though you can imagine them however you want. I certainly can’t stop you :) ))
It was already dark by the time Eliza’s birthday celebrations had ceased. It was even darker by the time they'd said farewell to guests and got all of the children to bed. All that was left to do was clean up the mess left from the party and then tuck themselves into bed. However, Eliza, the birthday girl herself, had other plans.
Alexander was standing on a step stool, trying to get a banner off the wall, while Eliza cleared off the tables. She briefly stopped to stare at her husband as she returned from putting dishes in the kitchen sink. She was standing behind him, and since he was higher up and leaning forward to procure the banner, she got a wonderful view of his plush behind.
Eliza smirked to herself as she went into the living room to throw wrapping paper leftover from when she’d opened presents earlier. While she filled the trash bag, she said, mock innocently, “You know, there’s still one present you haven’t given me yet.”
Luckily, Alexander was quick to get the hint, which he more often than not didn’t. “Oh? I think you're right. How could I forget? I’ll have to amend that then.” As he put the banner under his arm and prepared to get off of the step ladder, Eliza came up from behind him and slapped his butt, just to run her message home; and for her own amusement, of course. Alexander squeaked in response, which only pleased her further.
Both of them quickly, if not hastily, finished up cleaning the house. Eliza had grabbed Alexander’s hand and all but dragged him into their bedroom. Once they got there, she pushed him onto the bed, pinning him down. He laid there submissively as Eliza sat down on top of him. She effortlessly undid the first few buttons of Alexander’s shirt as she said, “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”
He watched in confusion as she left the room. He nevertheless stayed obedient and didn’t move an inch until she returned. She was holding a plate that had the leftovers of her birthday cake on it when she came back. “Betsy, why did you bring the sorry remnants of your birthday cake into our bedroom?”
Eliza laughed and closed the door, “Sorry remnants? I’ll have you know that it’s going to be your job to eat all of those sorry remnants.”
Alexander quickly sat up and whined loudly. “You want me to...again? Why do you make me do such things?”
She rolled her eyes at his dramatic phrasing and set the cake onto his nightstand. “It’s my birthday, you have to.” He whined once again and added a pout to match, hoping his begging would dissuade her. It did the opposite, in fact. Eliza knew that he too enjoyed her preferences in bed, he was just being stubborn for the sake of it.
“Fine, I guess I’ll oblige you, but only because it’s your birthday!” he said, trying and failing to sound begrudging. Alexander was just as excited as Eliza was.
She grinned widely and pounced on him, quickly unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. Said shirt was thrown onto the floor, followed by all of the other clothes Alexander and Eliza had been wearing. His hair tie was yanked out; he was pushed back onto the bed. She hovered over him, doing nothing but admiring her beautiful husband.
To her, Alexander was perfect (physically, at least). He had all of the attributes Eliza loved. Her favorite was his soft figure, with his doughy thighs, round belly, and squishy cheeks (of both varieties). Alexander was embarrassed by this and rolled over, his cheeks just as red as his hair. “May I ask what you’re doing, my angel?”
“Just admiring my beloved,” she replied huskily, running a hand through his dark red curls.
“It’s your birthday, you should be the one who’s being admired.”
“No. It’s my birthday, I get to do whatever I want.” Eliza grinned victoriously as Alexander gave up. He always surrendered to her, just as it ought to be.
She got off of him, picked up the plate, and handed it to him when he sat up. After only a moment's hesitation, Alexander took his first bite. He loved cake, Eliza knew, and soon the plate was entirely cleared off. “I can’t believe you made me do that,” he complained as if he hadn’t willingly eaten his favorite food.
She gave him a loving kiss and delighted in the fact that his lips tasted like cake. After, Alexander groaned and laid down, rolling onto his side. “Aww, does your stomach hurt?” Eliza cooed, laying down next to him and gently stroking the afflicted area.
“I ate half of a cake, what do you think?”
“Getting testy, are we?” she teased affectionately. “I know just the thing to make you feel better.”
She went to the other side of the bed, leaning down and peppering his sensitive stomach with kisses. Alexander sighed happily and closed his eyes, enjoying the treatment very much. Eliza wrapped one arm around him, cuddling close, and using the other to rub gentle circles on his belly. Indeed, this did wonders in lifting Alexander’s mood and getting rid of his stomach ache. Eliza once again got on top of him and did the other thing she really wanted to do.
With both of them a panting and sweaty heap in the sheets, Eliza pulled Alexander even closer. He wrapped an arm around her and nuzzled his face into her neck, kissing her neck and shoulder. She lazily kissed his chest in return, but it wasn’t long before they had both fallen asleep.
Suffice to say, Eliza was very happy with her birthday present.
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ఌ︎Eliza Schuyler/Hamilton icons
Don't repost❥︎like or reblog if you save
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“Everyone falls silent as the door creaks open, and a familiar figure strides in, looking around curiously. No one says a thing, and everyone stares at him in surprise. However, at the sight of the man, the General stands in the corner with a small, knowing smile on his face.
“Glad you could make it, Hammie.””
Hamilton just happens to be shot on the birthday of Richard Kidder Meade, a fellow aide de camp during the war.
When Alexander finally makes it to the afterlife, the aides are there waiting for him, and he is at home, at last.
Helloooo everyone! Me and @in-some-future-time wrote this fic for the wonderful @critical-endangered based on her prompt of Alexander meeting Meade in the afterlife, since he was shot on Meade’s birthday!
Hope y’all like it!
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[On the phone]
Eliza: How’s babysitting going, Alex?
Alexander: I FUCKING LOST IT
Eliza: Philip driving you crazy already?
Alexander: NO I LOST THE FUCKING BABY
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„I'd die to be where you are
I tried to be where you are
Every night I dream you're still here
The ghost by my side, so perfectly clear
When I awake, you'll disappear
Back to the shadows
With all I hold, dear
I try to protect you
I can't let you fade
I feel you slipping
I feel you slipping away”
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Philip Schuyler: The less I know about other people's affairs, the happier I get. I'm not interested in caring about people. Angelica has been married to Mr. Church for three years, and I've never learned his given name. Best son in law I could even have. We still never talk sometimes.
Philip Schuyler: Now, that boy Alexander...
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None of Eliza’s letters to Alexander survive, even though she worked hard to ensure that Alexander’s correspondence, including his letters to her, were preserved. She left her own feelings out of the narrative of Alexander’s life, even though she was its main curator. So what is a musical to do when representing her?
‘Hamilton’ deals with this problem by facing it head on–Eliza’s place in the narrative -is- a major part of her narrative, as she grows from outsider wanting in to the person who directs it, and from someone who asks permission to be recorded to the person proactively recording it herself. You can almost hear Lin-Manuel Miranda interrogating the problem of Eliza in every scene, in how to reclaim the story of a woman who is only included in the historical narrative as the sidenote of a wife and betrayed woman.
[…] So, with the song ‘Burn’, 'Hamilton’ turns Eliza’s anonymity into an empowering act…
'I’m erasing myself from the narrative. Let future historians wonder how Eliza reacted when you broke her heart.’
The lyrics are pretty darn on the nose, but they’re a huge turning point for Eliza in the musical. Eliza has always said it would be enough to be let into Hamilton’s narrative, and this is the narrative legacy that he’s left her with, a legacy of cruelty done to her. A legacy of betrayal, of her naivety, and of her not being -enough-, despite her repeated begging to the contrary. The Reynolds Pamphlet caused a huge scandal, and Eliza was dragged through the mud in the media, with one newspaper famously attacking her with the words, 'Art thou a wife? See him, whom thou has chosen for the partner of this life, lolling in the lap of a harlot!’ The world has its judging eyes on her, all because of Alexander’s obsession with his legacy.
So, in the musical’s interpretation of events, Eliza does the only proactive thing she can–she erases herself from the narrative altogether.
'The world has no right to my heart…they don’t get to know what I said.’
[…] Her absence from the narrative is a choice, to prevent people from prying into her life and judging her for it against her will.
Contrast that with the very end of the musical, when Eliza sings, 'I put myself back in the narrative.’ In fact, she doesn’t just put herself back into the narrative, but puts herself in control of the musical itself, as she is the one to -create- this narrative, interviewing people and gathering letters to make sure that Alexander’s story can be told. As biographer Ron Chernow said, it would be almost impossible to have written his biography without her efforts.
But, importantly, the musical doesn’t stop there. The final song moves on, and we finally get to hear her tell -her- story, outside of Alexander… The world still has no right to her heart, but it needs to know about her accomplishments. She will no longer be part of a narrative where she is a betrayed woman, but she -will- create a narrative as an accomplished one.
‘Watching It Burn: Eliza Hamilton and Narrative’
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omg besties look its on ao3 now!!!
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166 years ago (1854) today Elizabeth "Betsey" Schuyler Hamilton died 🥀
(Also I passed my theoretical driving test today! ^^)
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