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paperweight-inshadesofgreige · 5 months

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⋆ now i'm getting colder ⋆

characters ☆ alexander hamilton, george washington, john laurens, marquis de lafayette pairings ☆ alexander hamilton & john laurens, alexander hamilton & marquis de lafayette, alexander hamilton & george washington

tws ☆ minor mentions of blood & gun violence

whumpcember day 3. hypothermia

fic under cut

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It was cold. So, so cold. Alexander fumbled in the snow, footprints trailing after him as he struggled to make his way forward. He could only pray that he was going the right way, back to camp, but the pine trees in the forest were identical to each other.

He hadn’t planned to get separated – of course he hadn’t. The battle had just taken him like a hurricane, the gunshots echoing around him until silence had fallen. He had paused, watched the redcoat he had just shot fall. Then his gaze had flickered around, the blood staining the snow, the blur of red and blue jackets too much. He had felt bile creep up his throat, the instinct to run overwhelming him.

So he had run, the red of the blood changing to the steady, calm green of the pines as he kicked up snow in his wake. Eventually he had stopped, bending over, placing his hands on his knees as he catched his breath. Then he had looked around, and realized with a flash of dread that he was lost.

Alexander flexed his fingers, exhaling shakily. His breath formed a cloud of moisture in the air. Another shiver shook his body, causing him to wrap his arms around himself. The snow crunched under his shoes.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been wandering in the woods, with no sign of life around. After finding himself alone in the middle of the forest, he had tried to go back the way he came. However, due to having run away in a daze, he couldn’t find the way he came. He had tried calling for help, but the only thing that had replied had been the echoes.

A long time, he supposed. At least that’s what it felt like, each of his steps growing slower as he felt the warmth leave him. That wasn’t a good sign.

Alexander stumbled, his weak steps guiding him to lean against a tree before his knees gave out. Slowly sliding down, he curled in on himself, bringing his numb legs up against his body. His head hurt.

It was so cold. It was so cold. It was so cold. He felt tears flowing down his cheeks, his eyes shutting in pain as his teeth chattered.

He was so cold. And so alone.

✮

“Alexander!” John rushed outside. He had seen the troops returning from his room, and had something to tell Alexander — but he froze after a while, his gaze flickering in the crowd. There was no sign of his blue-eyed friend.

“Where’s Alexander?” he demanded, turning to one of the leaders of the troop. He watched confusion shift to recognition and guilt on the other’s face. John furrowed his eyebrows. No. “Where’s Alexander?”

He asked again, raising his voice this time, a stern look in his eyes. The soldier bit his lip, clearing his throat. “We couldn’t find Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton after the battle was over. We had to leave.”

“You mean he’s still out there?” John’s voice was panicked, his mind whirring. “Alone? In the cold?”

“That would be right,” the soldier’s voice was barely a whisper. “That is, unless he…”

“Died,” John mumbled, the other nodding. John took deep breaths as he felt rage coming over him. “What the fuck!? Say it! Say it, you motherfucker! Tell me you left him to fucking die !”

John grasped the soldier’s collar with a rapid motion, spitting the words out of his mouth with disgust. He could hear people gasping, people shouting, but all he cared about was that they had left Alexander. God, they were about to pay for i—

“Laurens!” a strong, determined voice boomed and John could feel arms around him. He kicked as they pulled him away, leaving the soldier to fall, gasping. John looked up and — oh, he had fucked up — saw Washington.

“Mind explaining yourself?” the commander asked, one eyebrow lifted. He certainly wasn’t pleased, but that wasn’t what John worried about.

“Your Excellency, sir,” he said, saluting. Washington offered a small nod in response as John struggled to get his words out. “I apologize for my rash behaviour– it’s just- Alexander—”

“Yes, that’s what I was planning to ask you about,” Washington hummed, his gaze turning to the returning men. John watched them freeze, saw the glances exchanged. “I have some work for him, where is he?”

Silence. Cowards , John thought, grimacing as everyone’s gazes flickered away. Therefore, he stepped up. “They left him, sir.”

Washington blinked slowly, taking in a deep breath. “Pardon me?”

“We couldn’t find him, he had run off somewhere, we had to—,” a soldier started, but Washington cut him off, eyes closed.

“Laurens?” John replied with a quick sir as Washington continued. “Get a group of men, I’ll deal with these.”

John nodded, moving quickly. He knew that there wasn’t time to waste. Alexander could be anywhere out there, freezing, alone—

“John?” he turned around to be met with a confused Lafayette. “What’s happening? Where’s Alex?”

“They left him, Laf,” Laurens answered, frowning. Lafayette’s expression shifted to rage and then sadness. “Come with me, get some people. I’ll go grab the horses.”

His French friend nodded, turning around. Laurens headed for the stables, praying that Alexander could wait for a while more.

✮

They couldn’t find him.

John hated himself for not going with Alexander when he had volunteered to lead the next troop. He hated Washington for allowing Alexander to go — it was just a small battle after all —, he hated the other soldiers for leaving Alexander behind, he hated—

“Laurens!” a sharp voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He blinked, exchanged a glance with Lafayette before dismounting his horse. With quick steps, he rushed to the voice. A couple of men were standing in a huddled group around a tree. John halted near them, clearing his throat to get their attention.

A couple of them lifted their heads, nudging the rest as the group backed up with worried glances and low whispers. John’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he saw the body leaning against the tree.

Alexander.

“Oh god no,” he mumbled as he frantically threw himself next to his friend. John gasped at Alexander’s coldness, fumbling to get his jacket off, throwing it around the other. Alexander looked so fragile, so weak. “No no no no no, stay alive, Alex, please .”

A wave of relief washed over him as the younger opened his eyes, a bleary but confused look in them. Alexander coughed a few weak times before blinking, his gaze flickering to John. “Whuh- where–”

“Is he alive?” another figure — Lafayette — kneeled down, wrapping his arms around Alexander, who let his head drop, let his eyes close. John sighed, standing up. Lafayette did the same, hoisting Alexander up.

“Alex?” a groan. John took it. “Stay alive, you’re safe, we’re here. We need to get him back.”

That last sentence was directed to Lafayette, who nodded, rushing towards their horses as John gathered their men, making sure that no one had been left behind — he wouldn’t be making the same mistake as the others.

✮

Voices.

Alexander forced his eyes open, wincing at the bright lights that greeted him. However, a silhouette covered them soon, familiar eyes greeting him.

“L- Jack?” he sounded weak, his voice shaky. Something in John’s face softened and he felt a hand grasp his own.

“Alex,” the other responded softly. “You’re awake.”

Alexander nodded, his gaze flickering around. He was laying down in his bed, he realized. Why? Shouldn’t he be working with Washington?

He inhaled sharply upon recalling his memories, a chill making its way across his body as he remembered the cold. God, he had been so cold. He could feel his mind slipping, but the grasp on his hand tightened, grounding him to reality. Alexander blinked, looking at John with thankful eyes.

“I thought… I thought I was done for,” he whispered. John sighed, stroked a strand of loose hair behind Alexander’s ear.

“Hey. You’re alright now,” John smiled, and Alexander nodded. “Do you think you can drink some tea?”

Alexander shrugged his shoulders, swallowing. It seemed fine, and he struggled to sit up, groaning as John aided him, reorganizing his blankets. “I suppose.”

As if on cue, Lafayette entered with a cup. He froze, concern shifting to relief as Alexander smiled weakly, greeting him. John stood up, taking the cup of tea as Lafayette rushed to Alexander’s side.

“I- mon petit lion, est-ce que tu vas bien ?” the Frenchman asked frantically. Alexander chuckled, accepting the tea from John, taking a small sip. It was sweet and warm.

“I will be,” he said eventually, and Lafayette sighed, a smile on his face.

“Thank god.”

A knock on the door interrupted them, startling Alexander, who nearly dropped his cup. He set it down on his nightstand after taking another sip while Lafayette walked away to open the door.

“I see you’re awake, so- Alexander,” Alexander stilled upon hearing that voice, a chill running down his spine. Although he knew the other wasn’t the type to do so, his instincts awaited a lecture mixed with shouting, the image of his father flashing in his mind. Slowly, he looked up and met Washington’s blue-gray eyes, the emotions in them unreadable.

Alexander cleared his throat. “I– Your Excellency, sir. I apologize for… for running off during the battle, it was rash and inconsiderate of me. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Silence. Alexander gulped, but then the general smiled softly, shaking his head. “None of that matters now, Alexander. Are you feeling alright?”

Alexander released an anxious breath he had been holding, his body relaxing. “Yes, sir. I… I’m doing better.”

“Glad to hear,” there was a hint of relief in Washington’s voice, his presence calming. “Make sure you fully recover before coming back to work.”

Alexander shifted under the stern look of the older, remembering his tendencies to overwork himself. He produced a small but determined nod, and Washington smiled again.

“Well, I’ll be taking my leave now. If you need anything, I’ll be in my office. Oh, and Laurens?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make sure colonel Hamilton actually is fine before letting him leave, even if he insists otherwise,” with that, Washington exited, leaving Alexander to pout while John and Laf chuckled silently.

Lafayette stood up, grabbing the cup on the nightstand. “I’ll get going too, I’ll come back later,” he said, a tone of hesitation in his voice. Alexander turned towards him.

“Yeah. I’ll be alright,” he assured, resulting in a relieved sigh from the other. “Thanks, Laf.”

“Anytime, mon petit lion . Anytime.”

And then the door closed, leaving John and Alexander alone. The latter yawned and John shot a worried glance at him. “Alex?”

“It’s nothing, Laurens. I’m just tired,” Alexander responded, receiving an understanding hum. John helped Alexander back into a laying position, resulting in a few grunts. However, soon he was tucked under the blankets, his mind growing foggy as he started slipping into sleep.

“Rest, Alex. I’ll be here,” John whispered, taking his hand.

Alexander’s eyes fluttered shut as he sighed, thankful as warmth enveloped him. He was safe now.

#whumpcember2023 #day: 3 #whump #hamilton whump #hamilton fanfiction

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evermorehaikyuu · 4 years

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~[Congratulations]~

Song: Congratulations from the Hamilton soundtrack

Word Count: 1799

Warnings: Cheating

A/N: I wanted angst. This has been in my drafts for the longest time and then inspiration flashed out of nowhere. For some reason, I was reminded of my own sister, that’s probably why I wrote this. Watch me do Kuguri next or something.

"The charge against me was a connection with one Oikawa Tooru for purposes of improper speculation. My real crime was an amorous connection to his wife for a considerable time with his knowing consent. I had fluent meetings with her, most of them at my own house. Mrs. Tsukishima, with our children, being absent on a visit to her father…"

Tsukishima Kei was staring at the pamphlet he had written. Why had he done this? Why was he so stupid as to believe that with a few words everything would be normal again? Everything he had done, everything he had worked for all came down to a single option: yes or no. And he didn’t say no.

All he could do was stay in his office in shame, knowing that once his wife came back from her respite, he would not bear to live any longer. Just to see the pain in her eyes--

The door to his office slammed open. There she was, the sister of the wife he held near and dear to his heart even though he broke hers, Y/N L/N.

“Y/N.” Tsukishima stood up to walk over to her and take her hand, but Y/N ripped her hand out of his grip. “Tsukishima. Congratulations.”

If he was scared of his wife’s reaction, he was even more terrified of Y/N’s ripostes. An intelligent woman with fidelity to her younger sisters and her sisters’ partners and the richest man in the city as her father, she was a force to be reckoned with. The first thought that came to his head was, I messed up. Horribly.

Y/N had a smile on her face, but it wasn’t the smile that you would give a friend. It was the smile that held so much rage behind it, it would be a miracle if she didn’t explode. “You have created a new kind of stupid, a damage you can never undo kind of stupid, an ‘open all the cages in the zoo’ kind of stupid.” She turned around to look at him, grinning maniacally before letting out a laugh that was terrifying to hear. “‘Truly, you didn’t think this through?’ kind of stupid.”

All he could do was not stare at her for fear that if he dared look into her eyes, she’d be Medusa and turn him into stone. Tsukishima looked down at the floor, a sheet of sweat starting to form on his forehead. He may have been taller, but at that point, he felt like the underdog, the shorter person.

Y/N strode over to him and stayed a foot away from him, crossing her arms. Usually, someone crossing their arms meant that they were taking a defensive stance. Not Y/N. It seemed as if she was taking an offense. “Let’s review.” She closed her eyes and put her hand on her forehead. “You took a rumor, a few, maybe two people knew and refuted an affair of which no one has accused you.”

The pamphlet was in Y/N’s sight and range, making her fire up and put more venom behind her words as she grabbed the object that destroyed Tsukishima completely. She shoved it into his arms and spit, “I begged you to take a break, you refused to.”

Her maniacal expression was back as she extended her arms as if asking for a hug. Tsukishima stared at the pamphlet in his hands before looking at her face for any contrition. There was none. She was more loyal to her sister than anyone else. “So scared of what your enemy will do to you.” She jammed her finger in his chest, making him take a step back. “But you’re the only enemy you ever seem to lose to.”

She was right. Tsukishima had always found a new enemy, a new rival to step on to get to the highest point in his life but there was always one enemy that he couldn’t defeat: himself. Y/N was standing by the window, looking outside as if waiting for someone or something. “You know why Kageyama can do what he wants?” She ripped the curtains closed and whipped around to glare at him. “He doesn’t dignify schoolyard taunts with a response!”

Kageyama was not the smartest man in the universe, according to Tsukishima. But he did know how to handle taunts and that was by ignoring them. Meanwhile, Tsukishima went through a whole process in order to ruin the person who dared sneer at him. It was exhausting and yet he never stopped.

Y/N laughed at his facial expression and walked behind him, staring at the back of his head. “So yeah, congratulations!”

Tsukishima’s head hung again as he tried to think of a reason why he had an affair. “Y/N…”

She cut him off again, determined to ruin him. “You’ve redefined your legacy! Congratulations!”

That’s when he snapped. He worked every single day and night to perfect his legacy to pass on to his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As intimidated as he was by Y/N, there was no way he would let her say something bad about something he had tried to do all of his life and destroyed people just to get it. He whipped around and snarled, “It was an act of political sacrifice!”

The look in Y/N’s eyes made him falter. He had not expected for this to happen, she had always seemed so tough but right now, her armor was down. “Sacrifice?” No, it wasn’t down. Something had happened to her and Tsukishima was careless enough to start her down that path.

Y/N slowly walked over to his desk and ran her finger along the table. “I languished in a loveless marriage in London, I lived only to read your letters.”

That came as a shock to him. Why would she marry someone she didn’t love? Then it clicked. She loved her sister more than anything and would do anything to keep her happy, something Tsukishima himself couldn’t do at all. “I look at you and think, ‘God, what have we done with our lives and what did it get us?’”

Oh. Tsukishima hesitated as the realization sank in. Y/N had been in love with him. She had been in love with him and yet, even then, she had decided to do something for her sister that she could never unravel. “That doesn’t wipe the tears or the years away but I’m back in the city and I’m here to stay.”

She got closer to him, looking up at him with a tender look in her eyes. If he hadn’t known better, Y/N would’ve kissed him. “You know what I’m here to do?”

“Y/N…” He tried to reach for her hand for the second time, but she strode backwards from him, glowering at him.

“I’m not here for you.” That’s what pained Tsukishima more than anything. Y/N had always been there for him. The letters they exchanged always had some sort of an inside joke or the start of a discussion and he thought that she would always be there for him, no matter what. Tsukishima had forgotten that her loyalty lay more with her family than for him.

Y/N turned to look at him, a new spark in her eyes. “I know my sister like I know my own mind, you will never find anyone as trusting or as kind. And a million years ago, she said to me--” Y/N hugged herself, as if to give herself the comfort no one had ever given her. “‘This one’s mine.’ So I stood by.” She rose to her full height again, anger laced in her words. “Do you know why?!”

Tsukishima had messed up horribly and he knew it. Now, as he faced a furious older sister, he tried to go back to the time where he could’ve said no. It was his fault. Every single time he hurt Y/N’s little sister, it wasn’t because of her or because of politics, it was because of him.

Y/N grabbed his wrist roughly, making him stop in his tracks. With tears in her eyes, she snapped, “I love my sister more than anything in this life! I will choose her happiness over mine every time! S/N is the best thing in this life!” Her fingernails were digging into his skin, hurting him. The physical pain was so much better than the emotional pain S/N was going through, he decided. He deserved it. “So never lose sight of the fact that you have been blessed with the best wife!”

She let go of him and he stared at her. What would’ve been different if Tsukishima had married Y/N instead of S/N? He reacted too slow and Y/N had grabbed his collar with both hands. Her tears were running freely down her face and they were not of sadness. They were of desperation, of guilt, but most of all, indignation. “Congratulations!”

Tsukishima had pulled himself away from her in a panic and his back hit the wall. Y/N didn’t go after him. “For the rest of your life, every sacrifice you make is for my sister, give her the best life!” She walked towards the door and looked at his petrified figure. “Congratulations!” She slammed the door shut on her way out.

What have I done? If Y/N was that pissed off with him, he couldn’t imagine the hurt in S/N’s eyes. It all hurt him more than he thought and he was clutching his chest as he slowly fell onto his knees. Panic started attacking him like bullets at the thought of confrontation. His eyes welled up with tears as he started gasping for air.

The door opened and he glanced at the person opening the door. It was his son. “Dad?”

Shit. If his son was here, that meant--

“Aito? Where are you? There you ar--” S/N, the wife he had promised to take care of for the rest of his life, the wife he had cared deeply for, the wife whose heart he had broken, saw him on the floor. If he was panicking before, hysteria was rising up as he saw her.

S/N only looked at him before saying, “Aito. Go play with your sister.” Aito left and S/N stared at the man she had previously loved. With coldness in her voice, she said, “This was a mistake. We were a mistake.”

She closed the door and somehow, that hurt more than Y/N slamming the door shut. Tsukishima let his tears fall, regretting everything.

He couldn’t fix it. He swore to love her and yet he couldn’t do that.

Everything was cracking.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu songfic #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima kei x y/n #haikyuu x hamilton #queued

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rockettransman · 4 years

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this is about gabe

TW: death, suicide

January is Gabe’s birthday month. He would’ve been... twenty? Twenty-one, I think. I’m pretty sure he was older than me. More than me in a lot of ways. Better looking, more annoying. Ruthless. Cold-hearted. More aloof. I was too much. Too analytical. Too emotional. Too quick to react. Too quick to shut him down. Too quick to threaten him right after he said something degrading. For a long time I wanted to get a memorial tattoo (the empty folding chair the school didn’t save for him with his graduation gown atop it) but I don’t know why. The guilt I live with is greater than the memory of him being such a complete jerk to me. I never imagined I’d wrestle with the grief of losing someone like this. Grief is supposed to be linear. It’s supposed to make sense. You lose someone you love. You miss them. It isn’t fair. You want them back. You’d do anything to see them again, to hear their voice, to feel their touch. But this? Man, this was the one kid I swore up and down I’d be at peace if he fucking died. Of course, it was all hyperbolic. I never wanted him to die. I just wanted him to stop being an asshole to me every waking moment. I hated him. I fucking hated him. He was my own living nightmare. This grief isn’t “I miss him because I love him.” It’s “I miss him because I want to apologize.” I’ve went around circles for years about how I feel about him. I feel guilty for being as mean to him as he was to me. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could say I’m sorry. I wish he could know that I never wanted to hurt him so deeply that I contributed to his death. I feel a lot of shame and regret. Realistically speaking, I know that I alone was not the cause for his death. But I feel like I had to be some part. I was mean. He told me I should cut myself some more, I told him he should shut the fuck up before I knocked him out with his math textbook. He teased me because it was so, so easy to get under my skin, and he loved that. I hated Gabe. I vehemently loathed him. I wanted nothing more than for him to fucking rot. And I guess I got what I wanted.

It’s dragging on to three years pretty soon since he’s been gone. I used to have his dad on Facebook. He’d make posts and live videos about how despite how tragic and harrowing this was, he still finds joy in the Lord, and knows that God will provide and keep him safe and provide all he needs. Even after losing his son, he is finding joy in all that he can. It got to be too much for me. He thinks we were friends. We were not. I decided that we were sworn enemies. Maybe I wasn’t all that much to him. Just an extremely insecure kid he knew he could use to his advantage. But he absolutely haunted my high school days. I hated him. I wanted him dead. I wanted him to feel as awful as he made me feel.

He was the only one in my math class who always called me Noah, a month after I came out publicly. Consistently. Always. No questions asked. It had its caveats, though. Sometimes he spat my deadname just to see me get all riled up. But still, I saw the respect he held for me and my identity by using Noah when no one else would. He was human. It was hard to see most days.

The last memory I have of him is getting into a fight in the cafeteria. I think I saw him wiping blood off his face. His solid pastel-colored shirt in a flash. His tan skin hitting the floor briefly. Officers came to break it up. I looked away, and laughed with my friends. “He is such an idiot. Getting into a fight over stupid shit on school grounds.” Three months later, he killed himself. He either shot himself or crashed his dad’s car. Maybe he crashed his dad’s car and decided that was his breaking point. Maybe he didn’t shoot himself. Maybe the accident was on purpose.

It will never not disturb me that Gabe and I were both extremely suicidal at the same points in our lives, but I was too blinded by red rage to see he was hurting. He hid it well, I guess. Always cracking jokes and picking on people and acting out to be the center of attention. Briefly, he mentioned his rocky home life. And briefly, my heart ached for him. That was until he leaked the app of where to find a girl’s nudes. And then, I was spitting fire at him. I never had the guts to get in his face, but god knows I wanted to knock his fucking lights out. He was a vile boy. So selfish and ignorant and mercilessly mean. I hated him. Still, I never wanted him dead.

I write a lot about him. I have nightmares about him sometimes. I hallucinate him sometimes. I don’t even have nightmares about my real trauma I experienced six years ago. And he was the first thing I vividly hallucinated.

The day I found out he died, I sobbed. I screamed. In my bedroom, with the door open, in the arms of my girlfriend. No one in the house came to check in on us. My parents, who are cognizant of the quietest snick of a door clicking into the frame, did not investigate. I screamed for what felt like hours. My mother gave me a dollar store card three days later saying “I’m sorry to hear about your friend” with a candy bar taped in it.

For days and weeks afterwards, I listened to the same two Hamilton songs (It’s Quiet Uptown & Burn) biking up and down Palmer in a haze of numbness. Constant biking, not sure where I was going, feeling the damp humidity of promised rain against my cheeks. Gabe is dead. Gabe is dead. Gabe is dead. I had a lot of nightmares about him not actually being dead. It was a sick prank he pulled on everyone. I got to throw myself into his arms and sob and tell him I was sorry, I was so sorry, and I was so happy he was alive. And then I’d wake up, and the breath would be knocked out of me. I’d disappear under the fog of grief for another excruciatingly long, empty day.

Initially, it felt tremendously like it was my fault. I was rude and mean to him just as he was to me. If he made me as suicidal as I was, surely I made him feel the same way. But I know that days before he died as he was planning it, moments before his death, I was the furthest person from his mind. Was he scared? Was he worried for his father and his sister and his brother? Did he pray to God? Did he ask for forgiveness? Was he angry? He was not thinking about how I, red-faced, embarrassed, angry and stuttering, told him to shut the fuck up in history class. Two and a half years later, I cannot get him out of my brain.

I’ve been mostly okay with accepting the fact that I did not hurt him as much as I’m sure I did. His suicide was not my fault. But it’s hard to let go completely. Every time I think I feel peace, guilt worms it’s way back in. Will I live with this forever? When I am forty-five, will I think about Gabe? Will I remember anything about being seventeen? I hope so. I miss being seventeen. I miss the people I wish I could’ve treasured more. I wish I saw Gabe as a human being. Not a ruthless monster. I know now he wasn’t. I’ll always be sorry. Happy birthday, Gabe. Hope you enjoy drinking legally. Hope you drink something better than a stupid bud light. Try a white claw. I think you’d like it. I miss you. Take care.

Love, Noah

#please like if you read #i never ever thiugjt id feel this way about him #i miss gabe so much #i hope hes at peace #noah.txt #gabe

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pendivamesh-blog · 6 years

Text

Prologue

Should.

Kill.

Him?

That was the reoccurring question constantly plaguing my every thought. I love him so much that I hate him. I hate him. No, I’m lying, I love him. It just kills me inside to have to sit back and watch him be happy with a woman that isn’t me, especially after all the things Yuri had done to ruin my life. If it weren’t for his selfishness, I’d be happily married, with children of my own, living my best life. He’s to blame… for everything.

Uncaringly, he destroyed every relationship I had, long before many could ever be thought of. And because of him, true happiness never seemed to drift my way. I’m cursed, cursed for loving a man who only loved himself.

Placing the almost empty Remy bottle to my lips, I chugged until I couldn’t breathe, my mind flipping and twisting, twisting and flipping every which way it could. I was mentally drained, angry, and flat out tired of him flaunting his perfect life in my face as if I meant nothing to him.

Frustration rumbled like thunder in my chest as I drank, and I drank, and I drank some more. And the saddest portion was that I had everything, but absolutely nothing at all. At least nothing worth living for. None of the earthly possessions in the entire world could fill the gargantuan hole of emptiness plaguing my heart. I had tried everything, and I do mean everything to forget about the love we once shared. It was beautiful. I must admit.

Internally, I was going batshit crazy. I had to do something, anything, anything I could to make me feel better. It was time Yuri knew just how I felt. My volatile emotions had been bottled for far too long. I kept quiet, the silence of it all, screaming through my agony, forever torturing me as my sentiments pleaded with me to be released. Depression, I fought it time and time again. This had to be the reason, the reason I couldn’t hold onto anything else. The reason my insecurities sometimes get the best of me. The reason I—can’t—move—on.

I drunkenly stood to my feet, my inebriated state ailing my movements as I stumbled forward. Hurriedly, I latched onto the wall for support, catching myself before I could fall. As I tried to stand straight, my thick, toned legs were wobbly, my eyes were low-slung, and antagonism warped my pleasantly soft features as I could do nothing but think of him.

“Look what he made me do. This shit is freaking unbelievable,” I giggled intoxicatedly, knocking over an empty pint of liquor as I snatched an unopened bottle of Remy and my keys from the dresser.

On the way out the room, I passed by a mirror and had to double back to inspect myself. My hair shot up to the sky, matted, frizzy, and brittle, much like I felt inside. My old, worn, tee shirt hung loosely off one shoulder, and the shorts I wore had a giant hole near the butt. These were my lucky dance clothes, and the only thing I could find before I started to get drunk. Glancing down at my legs, they were so ashen one could’ve mistaken them for two oversized, battered drumsticks, ready to be fried in grease. And on my feet, I had no shoes, but fuck it. I had to go before I changed my mind.

Heading toward the front door, I grabbed my bag off the kitchen table and rushed outside to my car without locking up behind me. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if the door was closed. Once inside my vehicle, I started the engine and cut the radio up to the max. Of all the songs that could’ve been played, Can’t Let Go by Anthony Hamilton, pumped from the speakers taunting me, and the waterworks really started.

Agonizing tears begrudgingly poured from my eyes. I was so weary I felt my soul cry. Pressing the pedal to the metal, I back out of my yard. I swerved in and out of lanes, sped through red, traffic lights, rode the tails of cars moving too slow for my liking. Luckily for me, it was riding close to 3 a.m. so the coast was almost clear.

In less than fifteen minutes, I turned on two wheels onto his street, almost jumping out the car in front of his trap before the vehicle could come to a complete stop. When I realized I was moving too fast, I took a moment to gather my composure. Slowing my pace for a few ticks, I threw the car in park. I jumped out of my vehicle, leaving the keys in the ignition, but doubled back to grab my bag and the bottle I had almost emptied on the way over. As I attempted to step on the curb, my feet slipped, and I almost busted my ass for the second time tonight, but I recovered. Oh, yes, I did. Nothing could stop me.

I stomped up the steps, my legs feeling as though they weighed one-thousand pounds as I banged on the door. Yuri’s car was parked out front, so I knew that son of a bitch was in there. “Yuri, Yuri, bring your ass out here,” I sluggishly screamed as I continued to knock.

When no one answered fast enough for my liking, I tettered backward, down the steps so I could check to make sure I was at the right house. Yuri had brought me there once before, so the place would forever be etched in my mind. After glancing up at the toward the small space between the roof and the door, and seeing the address number, I knew I was at the correct location. Growing angrier because Yuri still hadn’t come out, I aimed the bottle at the entrance before I sent it soaring through the air. It landed on the door with a loud boom, glass flew everywhere, then the pieces dropped to the concrete, shattering instantly.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Yuri asked, snatching the door open. His shirt was off, tatted chest exposed, rippled abs calling my name, muscles flexing with each movement. “Have you lost your god damn mind? You can’t just pop up at my crib whenever you want to because you having a meltdown. What if my girl was here? How the fuck would I explain this shit?”

“Fuck you, fuck herrrr, and fuck yo house you dirty son of a bishhhhhhh,” I shakingly pointed my thin, freshly manicured, finger, my uncontrollable body wobbling from on side to the other. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” I chanted, spit flying, foam gathering in the corners of my mouth as I spoke.

Yuri’s head whipped back and forth, his eyes scurrying the area before they landed on me. “Look, I need you to calm down. You got to chill before somebody call the police.”

“I ain’t got to do shit with ya nasty ass. Bitch, I’m gon’ be as loud as I fucking wanna be out here!” I shouted, my arms raised as I twirled around so anyone that was looking could see me.

Yuri stepped onto the porch, glass crunching under his feet as he moved toward me. His eyes formed slits as he studied me, gazing into red, watery eyes.

“Zuri, are you drunk?” he quizzed, frowning his nose as the stink of hard liquor seeped from my pores.

“Don’t fucking worry about me. You don’t care. You never cared. All you do is think about yourself.”

“Mannn,” he sucked his teeth, shaking his head with disgust. “If you don’t get your drunk ass in here so I can call you an Uber, we gon’ have problems. Why the fuck would you drive like this?” he chastised, reminding me of how he used to do me as a kid.

“Didn’t I say don’t worry about me, muthafucka? You hard of hearing?”

Yuri snatched me by the front of my shirt, bumping me with his hard chest. “I don’t give a fuck how close we once were. If you keep being disrespectful, I’m gon’ fuck you up. Now, I said to lower your fucking voice,” he sneered, his low tenner full of authority, scaring me enough to dig inside my bag.

“Fuck the police, and fuck you toooo,” I replied as my fingers tightly wrapped around the item I had been searching for.

Yuri’s expresso face, contorted in rage as he took a giant step toward me. “I said, calm the fuck down,” he roared, causing me to jump, and jerked from his grasp as I wielded my gun.

Taking giant steps backward, my unsteady hand aimed at Yuri’s chest. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll blow your fucking brains out. I came to talk, and you gone list to meeeeee,” I screamed, tears rapidly falling from my eyes.

Yuri’s hands shot in the air, but he swiftly lowered them as his eyes traveled from my face to the pistol, pain shouting from his expression. “You pulled a gun on me, on me of all people, me, Yuri?” he asked with disbelief while he pounded his bulging chest.

Nodding, I used the sleeve of my shirt to wipe the snot coming from my nose. “Yeah you, you, Yuri, you! It was you that did this to me. It was you that hurt me. It was you that messed up any chances I had at having a happy life. I loved you with everything in meeeee,” I cried, on the verge of breaking down completely. Sniffing, I quickly gathered myself. He didn’t deserve to see me break.

“Ever since I was a little girl, I did nothing but love you, love you with all my heart and soul. I gave you everything I had, wanted to make it work, and even tried. But while you were stopping me from finding true love, you were loving on somebody else. How could you? How could you do that to me?” I quizzed, gun trembling in my hand as I pointed it toward his head. I needed to know. Today was the day Yuri had to tell me something, something appeasing enough for me to move forward.

After hearing what I had to say, Yuri's expression instantly softened, and mist rimmed his eyes.

“Zuri, please, just put the gun down and let’s talk. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything,” Yuri apologized as he took small steps in my direction.

“I don’t believe you,” I replied, shaking my head wildly, my frazzled hair bouncing everywhere.

“You got to. You know me, Zuri. You know me better than anybody else,” he took another step closer.

Hearing that, something inside me snapped. If I were the person who knew him better than anyone, then why the fuck did he think the shit he did was okay? He should know me too. Right?

“Step back, don’t come no fucking closer. I’m not playing with you, Yuri,” I screamed, my finger gently tapping the trigger.

“Nah, fuck that. I’m wrapping my arms around you, and if you truly don’t want me to touch you, then shoot. Stop me dead in my tr—” was all Yuri got to say before I pulled the trigger.

POW!

Damn, look at where loving my supposed to be best friend had driven my sanity. Fuck, let me start from the beginning.

#ComingSoon #Amazon #BlackGirlMagic #KindleUnlimited #Kindle #IAmMeshaMesh #Books #Hotreads #writer #Author #Love #Queen #NickiMinaj #Astroworld #HipHop

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thesearebobsthoughts · 4 years

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May 31, 2020

It’s 11:14 am, and the steady thrum of helicopter rotors is the near-constant soundtrack in my tony Brooklyn Heights nabe. One possible reason for the lack of ambient noise: An estimated 40 percent of my neighbors have fled to higher, safer ground since this all began nearly three months ago.

Over 100,000 people have died from novel coronavirus. 40 million people, including me, are out of a job. And all across the country, people are protesting the killing of an unarmed black man by the police, only to be met with an overwhelming, indiscriminate response from the police. Elected officials can’t or won’t state the obvious truth, and instead are singing from a hymnal that’s been dated since the 60s. Namely, that these acts of civil disobedience and the howling rage have nothing to do with the honest, upstanding citizenry. No, nefarious “outside agitators” are not secretly plotting to rile up the normally-docile locals. It’s bullshit.

Sure, the far-right is jonesing for a race war and the anti-fascists’s hands aren’t exactly spotless, either. But the idea that a good-sized chunk of the population doesn’t crave justice and isn’t roiling with anger is deluded at best. For the last four decades, America has greedily sponsored state-sanctioned violence to defendi profit and capital at all costs. Anything resembling a public sphere has been sold off to the highest bidder and protest itself has been villified. The neoliberal agenda has shredded the social safety net, and, more importantly, the idea that government exists in any substantial way to make the our lives slightly less of a grinding, punishing slog, has been turned into a bleak joke. Of course the result is a failed state, or as Orwell predicted, “a boot stamping on a human face—forever.”

Speaking of predictions, here’s Hamilton Nolan in 2018:

These people, who are pushing America merrily down the road to fascism and white nationalism, are delusional if they do not think that the backlash is going to get much worse. Wait until the recession comes. Wait until Trump starts a war. Wait until the racism this administration is stoking begins to explode into violence more frequently. Read a fucking history book. Read a recent history book. The U.S. had thousands of domestic bombings per year in the early 1970s. This is what happens when citizens decide en masse that their political system is corrupt, racist, and unresponsive. The people out of power have only just begun to flex their dissatisfaction. The day will come, sooner that you all think, when Trump administration officials will look back fondly on the time when all they had to worry about was getting hollered at at a Mexican restaurant.

But there is one public utility that hasn’t been defunded and/or ignored to the point of atrophy: the cops, who have been armed to the teeth and unleashed whenever the working class and/or brown people dare to suggest they won’t put up with this nonsense any more. Naturally, that selfsame militarized and unchecked police force is mewling that they’re the one’s who’ve been victimized, actually.

New York City’s feckless mayor, despite being loathed by the cops with the fire of a thousand suns, has dedicated the last 24 hours to spit-polishing their (jack)boots and squealing “Antifa!” Apparently, in addition to being incompetent and wildly corrupt, de Blasio has developed some kind of humiliation kink. All of this reinforces exactly why these protests are so necessary and justified to begin with. And yes, I am terrified that over the next few weeks these communities will be hit with a serious uptick in COVID-19 cases.

I can’t find anything—any words, any noble aspirations or best-laid plans—that might stem the constant, rolling horror and my utter dread that far worse is still to come. Especially when I’m sifting through an absolute deluge of misinformation online.

So, then, amidst the plague and the brutalism and the horror, here are some images and videos from the last few days. Memorializing them, remembering how lost and utterly futile it seems, may not amount to much, and it won’t change a goddamn thing for the bloodied bodies in the street.

(There are links to videos below. You can watch them by clicking on the word “[source]” in a bold font, but they depict graphic acts of violence and therefore I’m not going to directly embed them in this post.)

I feel helpless in the face of this much trauma. So I’m going to stop talking now.

[source]

[source}

[source]

[A tweeted thread which includes many of the vldeos posted above, but seeing them all one after another after a fucking another is its own special kind of awful.]

Finally, because I, for one, needed a mental breath mint, behold: a new frontier in the art of Avant-Garde Standing.

UPDATE [12:39 pm]: Like many of the president’s tweets, he can’t legally do this. (Probably.) He smashed a few buttons on his phone to make himself feel better and throw a slab of red meat at his meathead, racist base. As with [gestures at everything] the consequences, though, will be no less real.

UPDATE [June 1, 12:02 pm]: a few more videos from Sunday and today of wanton police brutality, and direct or implicit state-sanctioned violence.

[source]

UPDATE [July 1, 7:19 pm]: In order to carve out a walkway and snag this photo op, the president ordered the cops and his praetorian guard to tear gas and club peaceful protesters. That’s fascism.

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bruhnushka · 7 years

Text

missed opportunity - (Thomas Jefferson x reader x Alexander Hamilton)

summary : Alex fucks up his one chance with you and you run into the arms of his v attractive nemesis.

warnings - mentions of sex, implied smut, cussing, lots of angst, anxiety related things, and Alex/Thomas being dumbasses

pronouns : she/her

a/n - I’m distractin myself from being unable to write the third part of the bus fic !!!!1!1!! also I love angst way too much. I’m in a relationship. this is unhealthy.

a/n pt. 2 - anyways this is after i wrote this- this had been in my drafts for three weeks ugh. im not making a part two to this. chaptered fics give me anxiety. the third fic of the bus fic is going to be the last one. sorry guys, im choosing my mental health over my fics. :/

you sipped the lemonade-cranberry concoction you had made and watched your best friend from the distance. he had invited you to this party as his ‘date’. in his words, “not like a date-date but like a date.” when he looks at your confused glare, he cleared his throat, let out an exasperated sigh, and explained.

“I can’t go alone to the ball, otherwise Jefferson will never let me hear the end of it. I procrastinated asking someone out so you’re my last choice- I just need you to come and be my…” his hand fluttered in the air as he searched for a word.

“arm candy?” you supplied, laughing.

“yes! I mean no! I just need you to come! please!” he begged, and got down to his knees as he shook your legs.

“I’ll owe you twenty favors!” he cries. you raised an eyebrow. your friendship was based on favors. not like that, but because trust was important between you two, and that if he says he owed you a favor, you were free to call upon it for anything, at anytime. his best friends funeral? too bad, gotta unclog my toilet. obviously you weren’t that cruel, but you did embarrass him. once, you had made him walk around in a Harley Quinn-esque crop top that read “daddy’s girl” when he owed you a favor for bringing him INDIAN takeout.

“know what your getting into hamilton” you laughed, and got up to go change, since the party was in two hours.

You walk down the stairs, on your phone, not noticing Alex’s jaw drop. you wore a simple black dress that cut off at your knees and had a gorgeous lace pattern behind. small blue jewels encrusted the edges of the lace trimming. your makeup, again, simple but elegant. a basic navy smokey eye with a dark blue eyeliner and dark purple lipstick was just enough to an accent to set everything off. god, you looked so beautiful right now, he could just kiss you right now.

“you look… amazing.” alex finally got out.

“huh?” you looked up from your phone, and it was your turn to gasp. he was wearing a very fitted suit, accentuating his body, and a little dark blue accent on each piece of clothing.

“so… we matched?” you laugh. he chuckles nervously. “hey, you look great.” you linked his arm into yours and grabbed your clutch, slipping into your heels.

“let’s do this thing.”

now back to your dilemma. you knew it would be a boring night, but you didn’t know it would be this kind of boring. you had promised to stay sober, but watching Alex flirt with every other person here was making it hard. you felt a pressure on the other side of the velvet couch and turned. Thomas Jefferson, the man Alex hated more than anything, sat next to you. a bitter taste filled your mouth. he had never met you before, but that didn’t stop your dislike for him and his antics.

“where’s your date?” he asked, amused at your scowl.

“still here.” you said. you couldn’t have made your plea for him to leave more clearer, but that only made him want to stay more.

“but not enchanting a beautiful lady such as yourself. I assume, if there really is a date, that he ran to the bathroom in fear of embarrassing himself in front of someone as stunning as you.” your anger didn’t help the slight blush that started to creep up your cheeks. you thanked GOD for this green lighting that made it hard to notice. but nevertheless, a smirk played on Thomas’ lips.

“may I know your name?” he asks smugly, scooting closer to you. you roll your eyes.

“ok, I like the mysterious kind of hard to get thing youre doing here.” he laughs, and that’s when you get up.

“ok listen” you spit, “no means no. I am not in a mood to be hit on by some guy while I watch the LOVE of my goddamn life basically fuck another girl on the counter.” you were seething, referring to when Alex started to make out with someone, Maria you think, in the corner. you couldnt slut shame her- she was just into a very attractive person, just like you were.

Thomas’ gaze softened. he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he peered at his shoes.

“I-uh- im sorry.” he mumbles. your eyebrows raise in surprise.

“are you now?” you ask, your turn to be amused. he looks up at you, regaining his usual composure.

“how about I make it up to you with a drink? you can forget about him for as long as I’m with you.” he smiles, and grabs your hand. you glance over to Alex, his lips still attached to some girl, this time someone else. your shrug, maybe it would be good to forget about Alex for a little bit.

“let’s head out of here.”

plot twist. Thomas Jefferson wasn’t that bad of a fuck boy. sure, he was flirty, and sure, he knew his way around words, but when you labeled it as part of his charm and started to notice other things about him (e.g: his smile when you made a joke, the nervous ticks like running his hand through his hair or bouncing his knee, his favorite drink being fancy old whiskey you couldn’t pronounce, and the fact that he had five dogs), he wasn’t that bad. but as the drinks poured in and the night went on, he went from not that bad to hot as hell.

so when he leaned in to plant a kiss on your cheek, you pulled his lips to yours and started to make out with him. none of you ‘immediately sobered up’, but you did find yourself thinking clearly. or feeling clearly was a batter word. everything about him was made more aware. his stubble, his lips, his skin.

that’s when Alex walked in. to be fair, you weren’t that drunk. but you were drunk enough to consider Thomas as a viable fuck option. but Alex had to come and fuck everything up. he had seen you two leave the venue, but when you hadn’t picked up your phone, he got suspicious. he knew you were both lazy as hell so searched the nearest bars and finally came upon this one, where the first things you could notice as you walked in would be the pair of people making out at the bar.

“y/n!” Alex angrily yelled. you pulled back and looked at alex, the grin plastered on your face replaced with a frown.

“you left! I got scared! you weren’t answering your texts!” he started to scream at you. Thomas rubbed his head as he slowly started to peace things together.

“wait… this is your date? the guy you’re in-” you put your hand over his mouth and he shut up.

“come on. we’re leaving.” Alex said, glaring at Thomas as he dragged your hand.

“but I was having so much funnnnn” you whined. Alex laughed dryly, roughly grabbing your arm and pulling you out of the bar. he shoved you into the car, muttering under his breath. he closed the door quickly and stood outside of the car door. he ran his hand through his hair.

“fuck.” he whispered. the image of your lips on jefferson’s was burned into his mind. “FUCK!” he yelled at no one in particular. he took a deep breath, and sat in the front seat. he fixed the mirror and looked directly at you.

“how drunk are you?” he asked you, as he started up the car and began to drive. you looked him dead in the eye and started to laugh.

“not that much, actually” you chuckle out. “wow, jefferson kisses great, even half-drunk” you were amused. you didn’t notice the deathly grip alex had on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, his eyes on the road. soon, you pulled up to his house. before you could even enter the house, you were pushed up against the door.

“do you know how much it fucked me up?” he growls against your neck. a deep kiss on your neck made you shiver and moan in pleasure. desperate, sloppy kisses started to line your collarbone. another moan escapes your lips, until you realize who it is and why he’s doing it. you push him off your body and force your eyes to his.

“alex… i-” you start, but were cut off by his words.

“shit! shit-” he rambles, running his hand through his hair and pacing in circles.

you place a hand on his chest gently. “Alex, just stop, listen.” he looks up at you.

“god knows I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted this for so long but i will not” you glare at him pointedly, “be used as leverage for this pissing contest you have between jefferson.”

he looks at you, his mouth agape. fire raged behind his eyes. “thats not at all-” you cut him off again. “no- no i don’t want to fucking hear it. im leaving- this is too much.” “you’re drunk.” he stated.

“im not, but whats your point?”

“you need a ride. i-ill drive you.”

“what? after all of this?” you laugh.

“i just need to make sure you get home safe. ill call john- anyone- i just don’t want you going home with a stranger.” he begs, making you roll your eyes.

“sure, fine, whatever. call laf. i trust him” you waved it away and walked into the kitchen. it was an awkward silence, waiting for Lafeyette. Alex went upstairs to his roo, muttering a ‘goodnight’. you walked around the downstairs floor. lots of memories brimmed at your minds edges, threatening to form tears. alex, of all people? you knew he was career-obsessed, but this was a goddamn low blow. a text from laf brought you out of your thoughts. you texted him a quick ok and walked outside. lafayette’s car stood there, and a solemn-looking french boy stood in front of it.

“we need to talk.” was all he said, and led you into the car.

“is this about alex? did he ask you to talk to me?” you asked, once you were inside the car.

“what? no . um. theres something i need to tell you.” he says, his accent thick. you knew it was only like this when he was nervous. his finger tapped against the steering wheel, and his knee bounced up and down.

“what is it?” you looked at him. he takes a deep breath.

“im moving back to france. my ma- she’s- she’s not well.” he breathes out. you look at him.

“laf- im so sorry.” you mutter out as a response. he starts to ramble on his french banging his steering wheel. you could only piece a few words from your limited french together but you knew enough to know that laf was not ok.

“lafayette!” you called out. he looked at you and took a deep breath. “i need to do something before i leave.” and he started to lean in. you thought he was going to kiss you, and your breath hitched in his throat. instead, he reached into the compartment and pulled out a picture of hercules.

“tell that godamn man that i am in love with him, ok?” you looked at him, confused. they were dating, everyone knew it.

“I don’t understand?” “im not coming back dammit! Je ne sais pas quoi faire. J'aime ma mère, mais je ne sais pas quoi faire. Je devrais vous laisser, mes meilleurs amis. Je t'aime tous aussi! I have a wife i left! a family i ran away from! i cant just come back! Im leaving y/n- fuck!” he yells, frustrated. you’ve reached your house at this point, crying out before stumbling out of the car. this was all so much. you ran to your room, crying into the pillows. then you got a text.

unknown number

hey, its thomas, just checking up to see if you’re ok. james gave me your number, alex dragged you off and i was a bit scared since he seemed mad. text me if you get this so i know youre ok! - t.jeff

you were tired, emotionally unstable, in denial. so maybe thats why you called him over. it started off with you spilling everything to him, ended in rough, angry, heated sex. maybe then you should have just left it at that. but you didn’t. he came back the next week then the week after that, then daily. alex began to notice the marks on his neck in the exact shape of those lips he had spent so long studying. you began to notice laf’s absence left a bigger dent in his life then he’d ever want to admit. you didn’t ever like him, oh god no, not like that. he was a brother to you when he first came to America. you were both immigrants to new york in one way or another, and you two formed a bond. with him you met alex, and with him you fell in love with alex. he was your support through all things alex-related, and now when you needed him most, he was just gone.

you had tried lafayette’s number for the eight time that day. im sorry, but the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.

you knew this. you just didn’t want to admit it to yourself. his words burned into your mind. i cant just come back! Im leaving y/n! you were trying so hard to pretend that you were ok. thomas helped. a lot. what was originally a one night stand ended up becoming a relationship of sorts. it was complicated, messy, but it worked enough that you felt safe around him. he had convinced you to go and try to to talk to alexander. at first you were surprised, thinking he’d encourage the discourse between you two.

“i’m just sayin’ , whenever you get all worked up and angry at me, its usually about him.” he says, shrugging.

“well, thomas,” you glared pointedly at him “maybe sometimes you act dumb.”

he laughed, “just give him a chance. I don’t like seein’ my darlin’ angry. if he fucks up, ill always beat him up for ya.”

you rolled your eyes, eventually agreeing. which led you here, in front of alexander’s door. no matter what, you told yourself, you were not to remember how you used to feel about him. you sighed. used to, was the key word. you had thrown away every piece of love you had for him, mostly because you were dating thomas now. he didn’t even do anything that bad, sometimes you would reason. but you were stubborn, and you didn’t want to admit defeat. you brought your hand to door, but it swung open before your knuckles reached the wood.

“y/n” he breathed out. god, he looked bad. bags under his red eyes, hair an unkempt mess. a oversized hoodie was thrown over shoulders. his pants looked three weeks old. you shook your head.

“alexander, wear some damn deodorant” you laughed. for that moment, it was like the before. your head tiled back, alex’s eyes crinkled in joy. but then the laughter died down, and the aftermath of you leaving him downed on the both of you. the silence in the air hung around you. thick in its wake, alex’s lips opened up.

“im sorry.” was all he had to say, and tears from both of you started to spill. he fell into your arms, muttering ‘im sorry’ repeatedly. you were happy and sad, but then you remembered what Alex had done. you slowly shrugged him off your body.

“listen-” you started, but Alex cut you off.

“no you listen! ok, i know, how it may have seemed. I was not using for that so-called pissing contest. i was jealous. you, the woman i have been in love with for almost three years, almost hooked up with a man that i would kill if the opportunity arrived, without question.” he says, and brings his hand up to your cheek.

“what?” your eyes widened. they started to drift downwards, towards his lips, but you stopped yourself. for so long, you had wished to kiss him. and now the one chance you had, you fucked up. thomas was waiting for you at home, what would he say? you couldn’t do this.

“i-im sorry too. i have to go.” you ran towards the uber, and slammed the car door shut, you drove to the nearest exit, and stepped out. you muttered a quiet thanks and leftit was a deserted gas station, perfect. and you started scream. crying, you slammed your fist unto the nearest pole, feeling pain prickle up your knuckles. you ran around, pushing everything in your midst. all your rage flew into the broken shards and splinters in front of you, and into the screams you let out. you broke down there, crying for about half an hour before a car pulled up. though puffy red eyes, you saw a worried thomas step out of the car. in his hand he held his phone, and rushed towards you.

“baby? are you ok? god, who did this?” he looked at your bloodied knuckles. love had made you crazy, you though to yourself, who would do this to themselves? thomas kissed your forehead and brought you into his car.

“ho-w did yo-ou find m-me?” you sniffle. he laughs and rubs your shoulder in comfort.

“find my iPhone baby.” he says softly. “i got scared when you didn’t pick up. i used find my iPhone and there you were. i got scared.” he repeated. you nodded at him.

“do you wanna tell me what happened?” he asks gently, letting you take your time. you shake your head. he nods.

“okay, can you at least answer one thing for me? can you do that darlin?”

you nod slowly.

“did alex hurt you in any form or wa-” “oh! oh god no! i- i just got really angry.”

“why?”

“i don’t know, not really. i come back to let alex apologize and instead he confesses that he’s been in love with me this whole time but im with you now and i don’t know-” you let out a sob. thomas’ eyebrows furrow. he carefully speaks the next words, already knowing the answer and knowing it would hurt both of you.

“do you- do you still love him?” he whispers. when you look up at him, eyes shining with vulnerability, thats all he needed to know. he looks away, and focus on the road. he didn’t need to deal with this. he dropped you off at your apartment and let you rest. tomorrow would be a whole different thing.

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meimyselfandi-blog · 7 years

Text

In Love With A Ghost Chapter 1 : He Was Known To Be Non-Stop

Summary: Alexander Hamilton was known to be a hurricane. A relentless force of man.Yet somewhere along the line that hurricane died down and Hamilton started to change. It was the little things at first, like how he’d tense up when Thomas approached him a little too fast. How his hands began to shake as he poured his morning coffee. Then, Thomas had noticed the first time Alexander flinched when Washington had raised his hand to pat his shoulder.It’s funny, how fast people change. How fast things can change. How fast people can change other people.

Author’s Note: I am terrified of posting this on here but I made this Tumblr for this fanfic so might as well…

Pairings: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton/Charles Lee, Maria Reynolds/Elizabeth “Eliza” Schuyler, James Reynolds/Maria Reynolds, John Laurens/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan

Warnings: Abuse; Abusive relationships

Ao3 Link: Here

Alexander always assumed that nobody really noticed. It was a relatively slow process anyway, he couldn’t blame anyone. He remembered back to when he used to talk nonstop. He was loud and abrasive, but yet passionate, determined. Alexander found that he missed those days. But, he had calmed down, got… quieter, like a raging storm, that had rained for weeks-on-end, finally coming to a close. Alexander wasn’t stupid, he did, in fact, notice the changes within himself. He watched himself become more reserved and distant. Then in long run, when all was said and done, found himself only speaking when necessary.

He knew it was better this way. Alex often wondered if people liked him more, with his mouth shut, probably. He certainly did. Alexander, often remembered He would tell him that he talked too much, to shut up and put his mouth to better use. Back then, Alex would have snapped at Him, said something snarky or taunted Him, not caring about the punishment. But now, Alexander understood completely, he was always so full of words back then, he was always so goddamn annoying, his mouth always running. Alexander understood and knew wholeheartedly everything He did was out of love for him.

—

Alexander let a small puff of air escape him as he found himself staring at the clock, damn already 8:10 he had to get home. There weren’t many people left at the office the few that lingered, he included, were filling out last minute reports or such. Alexander had noticed the lights on in an office across from him, that probably meant Jefferson was still here. Personally, Alexander had mixed feelings when it came to Thomas Jefferson. Ever since his hurricane-like of a personality had subsided, they were just normal coworkers, with the occasional taunt from Jefferson now and then.

But, there were no more heated arguments or glares filled with annoyance and possibly even if Alexander did not want to admit it, a small amount of fondness. There was no more slam of the door opening, with one of them barging in each other’s offices with stacks upon stacks of papers filled with a momentous amount of edits. Alexander missed their rivalry more than he found himself wanting to admit. Speaking of Jefferson, more like thinking of Jefferson, Alex needed to get some papers signed by him. He got off the chair, shuffled said papers, and grabbed a pen from his desk. Thankfully Jefferson’s office was just across the hall so it didn’t take long to reach it. Alexander knocked on the door, he didn’t barge in anymore He always said that was rude. He stood waiting until he heard a very tired ‘come in’. As Alex walked in the office he could see Jefferson’s back hunched over his desk, he’d never say it out loud, but the man was decent. Immediately after that thought, Alexander shook his head as if that would get rid of it, he couldn’t think that. He certainly wouldn’t like that. “Hamilton.” Jefferson had greeted him quick and short not even bothering to glance up, that was fine Alexander found eye contact made him uncomfortable recently, “What do you need?” Alex shuffled over to Jefferson, his feet barely lifting off the ground, and placed the papers neatly in front of him.

“Washington needs you to sign these.” He quietly murmured rather quickly and almost barely above a whisper. Alexander realized had he not been that close there was no way Jefferson could have heard what he said.

“Alright, I look through them,” Jefferson replied finally looking up at Alexander to meet his eyes, but Alex, very quickly, had found his shoes much more interesting.

“Thank you, goodnight.” He walked towards the exit, but suddenly Jefferson said, “Wait, Hamilton, I-” That was certainly unexpected. Intrigued Alexander whipped around so he was facing the taller man, waiting for him to continue. “I-just never-mind. Have a goodnight.”

Jefferson went back to hunching over and scribbling on his sheet of paper. Alexander slightly confused and very disappointed had turned back around and walked out. He shut the door to the office softly so it wouldn’t slam, Alex hated loud noises. He checked his phone and his eyes widened as he saw the time, already 8:30, shit. He had to get home quick, or He’d be pissed. Alexander, slightly jogging, burst into his office, shoved his papers and laptop in his black messenger bag. He grabbed his keys, turned off the light and locked the door. Alexander felt the first inkling of his anxiety, like a sharp, cold wind piercing through his body. God, he needed to get home, he needed to get home.

—

If someone asked Thomas about 5 months ago who Alexander Hamilton was, he was certain he could rant for at least an entire 3 hours, but if someone asked him now, he’d shrug and shake his head, he didn’t know this Hamilton.

Thomas knew Alexander Hamilton, at least he knew the old one. The one who would come strolling into work every day at 6:30, his eyes sharp and head high, even though there was absolutely no reason for him to come in that earlier. The one that would work relentlessly, even though he was months ahead of everyone else. The one that would gladly taunt Thomas with mocking insults that they would spit at each other back and forth.

He remembered how Hamilton would come barging in his office eyes bright like a wildfire and speaking before Thomas could open his mouth. He remembered the cabinet meetings, oh, the cabinet meetings, they were something else. It was like a battleground of some sort where they face off in a competition of intellect and wits.

Thomas missed those honestly, more than he cared to admit.

Somewhere along the line, Hamilton started to change. It was the little things at first, like how he’d tense up when Thomas approached him a little too fast, or when his hands would starting shaking as he poured his morning coffee. Then a few weeks passed and Thomas noticed the first time Hamilton flinched when Washington had raised his hand to pat his shoulder for a ‘job well done’. In a few months, he had noticed Hamilton’s decline in speech, self-confidence, aggressiveness.

No longer did the short man barge in, he would knock and wait for confirmation. The ‘New Hamilton’, Thomas began to call him, would refuse to meet his or anyone’s eyes, anymore. Even when Thomas tried to say something insulting, Hamilton would just tense up a little and walk away faster.

But, there were a few things that hadn’t yet changed, Hamilton still came into work early, still worked like hell, and even if he didn’t say much got his point across in cabinet meetings. Thomas figured those things could never really change, but then again Thomas could never imagine he’d ever shut up and well look what happened.

For the first few weeks, he admits it, he did like the ‘New Hamilton’ better, he was: polite, quiet, submissive, Hamilton let Thomas practically walk all over him, but it felt wrong, very, very wrong. It wasn’t a natural meekness, Hamilton’s personality was not like that, you couldn’t stop a hurricane and turn into a sun-shower, it didn’t work that way. So, Thomas stopped and really looked for once, he really should have been able to figure it out sooner. He always prided himself in his observational skills and yet he didn’t realize what was happening right before his eyes. But, he knew, subconsciously what was happening to Hamilton he just couldn’t, no, he refused to believe that the headstrong, aggressive, annoying, little shit, was being… abused?

It just didn’t fit in Thomas’ mind the puzzle pieces just did not, could not click. He had never expected a person like Hamilton to fall into that kind of relationship with someone, but there was no other explanation, all the signs were right there, laid out for anyone to see. He had experience with victims of abuse, his own sister, had gone through it and he had helped her was there for her. But, what? What could he possibly do for Hamilton? Hamilton and him we’re not friends, if anything, rivals, but even that was questionable. All he could do was watch in horror as someone who used to be passionate and strong-minded was reduced to nothing but meek and quiet.

—

Thomas looked up when he heard a knock at his door, “Come in,” he murmured tiredly. He heard shuffling come towards him, probably an intern or something, but when he looked up, “Hamilton.” Thomas greeted him quick, short yet slightly surprised, “What do you need?” The smaller man was already standing in front of his desk saying something very quietly he heard fragments, ‘Washington’ and ‘sign’ he pretty much got the gist of it.

“Alright, I look through them.” Thomas replied looking straight into Hamilton’s brown eyes. He noticed Hamilton had become uncomfortable under such eye contact, it wasn’t like that before ‘The Old Hamilton’ would have met his gaze eyes with a burning passion, ready for a fight. This Hamilton, the new one, looked away, his eyes wandered trying to not make eye contact. He murmured something that sounded like ‘goodnight’ and started to walk away, but Thomas felt he had to, no, needed to say something,

“Wait Hamilton I-”

Thomas began but he didn’t know what to say, how to even bring it up, but Hamilton was waiting, eyes focused on his shoes, “-I just, nevermind. Have a goodnight.” When Thomas heard his door shut close he closed his eyes and left out a huge groan while laying back on his swivel chair, as it spun slightly. What the hell was he thinking or saying or even trying to say? He felt the need to help Hamilton, but he couldn’t… at all, the ones who should be helping him was Hamilton’s friends, not Thomas. With another lengthy groaned expelled from his chest he got up and check his phone 8:30, already, might as well go home.

Thomas reached toward his desk closed his laptop and shoved it into his bag he started at the papers Hamilton had given him and put them in a folder and in his bag as well. He grabbed his keys turned the light off in his office and locked the door. Thomas began walking down the hallway towards the exit, noticing Hamilton’s lights were still on. But, as he got closer the lights turned off and the door opened and closed with such vigor he was sure it might have broke. Thomas a little curious as to what caused Hamilton’s spike in emotion walked closer, it was a bad idea honestly. Because, a second later he was on the floor with a small weight on his chest.

“Oh my god!” Thomas whined. Why the hell was it always him that got in these situations and why with always Hamilton? Thomas felt the weight quickly rise of his chest and saw a hand in front of his face, Hamilton’s face was scrunched in horror and worry.

“Jefferson, shit, I’m sorry.” He heard Hamilton very quietly his voice shaky.

Thomas took his hand and stood up with a very irritated grimace plastered on his face, “Couldn’t run any faster, Hamilton?”

“S-sorry.” Hamilton looked down and curled into himself as if he was bracing himself. Thomas immediately felt guilty, but hell if he outright said that. Instead, he replied with, “It’s fine, just watch your step.” Then with a little playfulness, he continued, “To repay me, walk with me, I’m assuming you’re leaving?” Hamilton nodded his ponytail bouncing with him and little loose strands of hair fell out, framing his face.

Cute.

Wait what? Ignore that.

Thomas shook his head he needed sleep. He began walking Hamilton matching his pace at his side. They walked to the exit in a slightly awkward yet comfortable silence. Thomas didn’t know whether initiating conversation was the right thing to do, Hamilton didn’t like talking anymore anyway so he said nothing. Soon enough they got to the parking lot and parted ways, Thomas was going right and Hamilton left.

“Goodnight.” Thomas said turning to look at the smaller man.

“Goodnight to you too and sorry about bumping into you.”Hamilton replied.

Thomas left out a little amused huff under his breath, “It’s fine.” Thomas turned to leave, but then he felt the annoying itch to just say something more. “Drive safe!” He called towards the small receding figure. Thomas saw Hamilton turn around and nod, a small smile on his face and his cheeks dusted red, probably from the cold. Thomas adjusted his jacket smiling a little to himself. It’s just been a while since he saw Hamilton smile. Thomas got into his car and started driving back to his apartment. As he waited at a red light he stared at the night sky noticing today, the stars seemed to shine brighter.

—

Alexander parked his car in the driveway of his house while pulling out his phone to check the time, 9:15. It was late already Alex hoped Charles wasn’t up or at home. He shoved his key into the keyhole turning left until he heard a click and stepped into the hallway. Alexander was not a very lucky man. Charles was sitting down on the couch beer in hand watching the news.

“Charles, how was your day?” Alexander asked quietly testing the water, praying the boat didn’t tip.

“Fine.” Charles had replied curtly. It didn’t seem as if he was in bad mood, that was good.

“Anything, specific for dinner?” Alexander asked as he placed his bag down in the hallway. Charles shook his head to indicate ‘no’ and Alexander let out a mental sigh, this was good, this was good. Alexander went to go work in the kitchen getting out all the ingredients and utensils he needed. He worked as quickly and as quietly as possible, Charles didn’t like any noise. Alexander stood in front of the pot adding some seasoning when he felt a warm body behind, an arm snake around his waist that was carefully placed just above his bruise, and a head resting on his shoulder. He honestly almost jumped and spilled the whole pan.

“Charles,” his voice breathless, “Y-you scared me.”

Charles hummed, “You know I love you. Don’t forget that, I love you.” Then continued nuzzling his face into Alexander’s neck, running his teeth over it and gripping his waist a little tighter. It made Alexander shiver whether from pain or pleasure he didn’t know they were practically the same thing now.

After they had finished their meal, Alexander washed their plates he could see Charles watching him, his head tilted, resting on his arm and eyes blown filled with want. Charles took him by his hand and led him towards their bedroom whispering sweet nothings in his ear; he had Alexander giggling. Alex’s mind could barely comprehend what was going on it had been so long since Charles had treated him this way. But that was okay, because he was now, even if it was only for one night and that was okay. As soon as they got into the bedroom, Charles pressed him into the mattress and Alexander wrapped his arms around his neck, enjoying the moment for as long as he could, because he knew moments like these, they were fleeting.

For a quick second, he caught a glimpse of the window the stars seemed a little brighter tonight.

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