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astralaffairs · 3 years

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I JUST THOUGHT OF SOMETHING I NEED YOU TO KNOW ABOUT. LONGTIME POLITICAL RIVALS THOM AND MC RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT AGAINST EACH OTHER

omg

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"You've gotta be kidding me."

Y/N's grip on her glass was slowly tightening; her narrowed eyes were locked on him from across the room. "What is he doing here?"

Priya, her campaign manager, sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Want me to have him thrown out?"

"No," she huffed. "He'd make a scene of it, and that's the last thing I want."

A moment passed in (relative) silence, save for the sounds of chatter scattered throughout the room at Y/N's campaign fundraiser. She tapped the toe of one of her black pumps impatiently against the polished floor, and it took all of her will to stop herself from snapping the stem of her wine glass; instead, she threw the rest of her drink back in one heavy sip. "How do you figure I should handle this?"

She turned to Priya with a weary eyebrow raised. Priya frowned. "I think you're best off proceeding as usual. Keep talking to prospective donors, and don't let him derail your night."

"You're probably right." Y/N's sour expression didn't fit her acquiescence. "But this is so obnoxious. Who the hell does he think he is?"

"Watch yourself; there are reporters all around." Priya nudged her, nodding toward the lively crowd, but she wore an amused smile at Y/N's words.

"I'll behave if he does," she said, scowling.

"Good luck, then," —Priya's gaze flickered between Jefferson and Y/N— "because he'd headed this way."

Y/N had to resist the urge to groan loudly as Priya slipped away, offering her an apologetic shrug as she did so, but Y/N couldn't really blame her. Realistically, as Jefferson approached her, giving an annoyingly nonchalant smile when he caught her eye, nodding to her in greeting, Y/N knew Priya would have to let her handle it — still, she would've rathered Priya stick around to restrain her from throttling him.

Her eyes flickered down to her glass; for a brief moment, she regretted having already drank all of it.

"Attorney General L/N."

When Y/N looked back up, Jefferson stood only feet in front of her, a hand tucked into his pocket and the other holding a shallow glass of whiskey. She was too tired to even glare.

"Secretary Jefferson." Her voice was thick with resentment. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He shrugged, glancing about the room as he came up beside her. She sighed internally. "Well, it's an open event, isn't it? 'M here for the same reason as everyone else."

"To donate to my campaign, you mean?" Y/N folded her arms, and he grinned.

"I was referrin' to the open bar." He nodded toward the edge of the room, taking a sip of his whiskey as if to prove his point.

Y/N scoffed. "All that family money you're freeloading on, and you're still looking for free booze? You're such a fucking cheapskate."

"Language, Ms. Attorney General," he said, scandalized tone entirely contrived. She rolled her eyes. "Besides, it's much more satisfyin' to be drinkin' on your dime. I appreciate the generosity."

"Believe me, it wasn't meant for you." He frowned. "Is there really nowhere better for you to be on a Friday night than getting drunk at one of my campaign events?"

"Not really."

"That's almost sad." She looked at him with disdain, and despite how patronizing her tone was, he didn't look offended in the least.

"Aw, can't I just wanna hang out with you?" he asked, brow furrowed. "James was busy, so I figured this was the next best thing."

"Because we're best friends now?"

He shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. "I mean, don't flatter yourself. James 'n Dolley are still both far ahead of you on that list. And then there's Lafayette, too. And even Burr, really, but—"

"I get it," she cut him off, her cheeks flaring with heat as he wore a self-satisfied grin.

"But, hey, you're up there, too. Don't worry," he assured her, and she couldn't even bring herself to come up with some kind of biting retort.

"Right."

A moment passed in annoyed silence (well, Y/N was annoyed; realistically, Jefferson was enjoying himself), and Y/N glared down at the distinct lack of wine still sitting at the bottom of her glass. She didn't want to let him have the reaction he was looking for from her.

"You should leave," she said bluntly, and his eyebrows shot up.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not going to give you what you want and make myself look bad by having security throw you out. So you're going to get nothing out of being here," she hissed. "Please, just leave. You stick to your campaign, and I'll stick to mine."

"C'mon, now, where's the fun in that?"

"I'm just trying to fundraise; can't you leave that alone?" Her teeth were gritted as she spoke, and his smile was broadening; he was seemingly taking pleasure in how quickly she was getting worked up, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She just wanted him out. "Some of us can't just ride it out on daddy's money. We aren't all heirs to millions."

He quirked a brow. "Sounds like a personal problem."

"It is. That's my point," she scoffed. "I know we disagree on literally everything, but outright classism is stooping low, even for you."

"If you really need money, 'm sure there are a couple Super PACs on Capitol Hill that'd be glad to fork over a couple million." A mischievous glint shone in his eyes with his words, and he glanced back at her, taking another sip of his drink. Her glare didn't waver.

"If you're trying to create ammunition against me, it isn't going to work," she warned him. "You're wasting your time."

"Well, I'm hurt, now, Y/N." He frowned, free hand held to his heart. "Thought we were friends. Maybe I just came to see you."

Her huff was heavy, and he couldn't maintain his mild expression, his stupid, smug grin cracking through the facade. "We aren't on a first name basis, Jefferson."

He managed a pout. "After all these years? Aw, sweetheart, 'm devastated," he said, and when she looked away from him, her furious gaze instead turning to the hotel ballroom before her, the corners of his lips quirked. "We were even coworkers, once. Now, what happened to that?"

"As if we got along while we were working together." She didn't meet his eyes. "You've always been fixated on sabotaging my career, so I guess I'm not surprised that this is no different."

"Hang on, I never sabotaged your career," he said defensively, but when she cast him a disbelieving glance, his eyes flashed mischievously. "You did that perfectly well all on your own."

"I'm eight points ahead of you in the polls." She eyed him disdainfully. He shrugged.

"Don't get too cocky, now; the debates haven't even started," he replied, undeterred, "I've just gotta wait till the whole country gets to see you on live TV makin' a mockery of your party."

"Everyone knows people only watch the debates for confirmation bias," Y/N said dryly, again turning away from him. "You may as well drop out now. You've got no shot at the presidency."

He hummed skeptically. "I dunno about that, sweetheart—"

"Don't call me that," she seethed, but her annoyance only seemed to spur him on.

"So hostile," he sighed. "Now I guess I don't have to feel guilty that I'm stealin' all your donors, hm?"

"All my donors resent your policies almost as much as I do." Y/N couldn't maintain her anger, although she remained annoyed. Was this really his best shot at derailing her fundraiser? "Go back to pandering to Citizens United; you won't have too much luck with my pool of attendees."

"You sure? I've been told I can be real charmin'," he said matter-of-factly, and she huffed out a bitter laugh.

"By who, exactly?"

"Undisclosed sources," he said, shooting her a wink, and she pursed her lips; with the playful grin he wore, her smile was no longer all anger and resentment. "You'll have to take me at my word."

"I don't believe it, but I guess I can't really contest it," Y/N replied, and Thomas's grin broadened at the amusement he could hear seeping into her voice.

He raised a teasing eyebrow. "So you're tellin' me you agree, then?"

"That is not what I'm telling you." Her smile fell flat. Her tone was biting, but she turned away from him, folded her arms, and she could feel the heat rising in back of her neck. Her willing it away had little effect. He looked smug. "I'm saying that if you can't tell me who the sources are, then I can't fact check you, so there's no way to contest your claim. That's what I mean."

She was rambling, and he took another nonchalant sip of his drink, satisfaction obvious in his expression. "Mhm."

"I'm serious. It was a stupid fucking claim, anyway, and you know that wasn't what I said," she said, and the words were biting. Thomas looked down at her mildly, his smirk lazy.

"'Course."

"Stop being so damn condescending," she huffed. "I didn't agree with what you were saying. Now will you shut up about it?"

"What am I doin' wrong, sweetheart?" He folded his arms, turned fully toward her with an inquisitive look and a self-satisfied smile. "I didn't contradict you. You're allowed to think whatever you wanna."

"It's not me 'thinking whatever I want,' I didn't say that you were—" She cut herself off with a scowl as his smile widened, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly. Warmth was flooding her cheeks, by then, and she couldn't even bring herself to finish her sentence, didn't even want to admit aloud what she was defending herself for. She felt ridiculous. He looked unswayed. "God, I refuse to have this conversation. Why do you feel the need to antagonize me every fucking time you see me?"

"'Antagonize' seems extreme," he pointed out, and arrogance laced his voice. "I hardly said a word. All that spiralin' just now was all you."

"Because you were being a dick."

"Hey, all I did was ask an innocent question," he defended. "Why're you gettin' so worked up?"

"Don't act like I'm being irrational," she bit back, eyes narrowed, but he shrugged. "You only came here to get me worked up, and you know it. Stop treating me like a child."

"I'd never. I entirely respect you." She eyed him skeptically. He nudged her arm. "'S okay to get a little flustered now 'n then. I know I've got that kinda effect on people."

"I'm not flustered," she replied through gritted teeth, and he winked.

"Sure you aren't. No judgment here," he said, and the disbelief in his voice made her scowl.

"Whatever. I need to get back to fundraising. You're derailing my evening." The words were hard; her tone made it clear she had no interest in any further back-and-forth with him, and when he sighed, it was dramatically weary.

"You don't wanna spend any more time with me?" he asked, brow creased in faux disappointment. "Now, Y/N, I came all this way just for you, and I've gotta say, I'm hurt. Thought you were enjoyin' my company more than that."

"I wasn't."

He clucked his tongue. "Too bad. I was enjoyin' yours."

"You were enjoying making fun of me, you mean?" she countered, and he grinned.

"Believe what you want, but I said all of four words, before, sweetheart—"

"That isn't my name," she interjected, but he didn't stop.

"and you were still busy defendin' yourself for a whole lot longer," he continued. "And I'm not sure why you were defending yourself for so long, really. Didn't I tell you I wasn't passin' any judgment? I get that I make you nervous. It's okay."

"What? You don't make me nervous. I've literally worked with you for years," she huffed, eyes narrowed. When he raised a disbelieving brow, she shifted uneasily where she stood, breaking his gaze. "Whatever. I'm done with this conversation; you can show yourself out."

"Just walkin' away so unceremoniously?" he asked incredulously when Y/N turned on her heel. "Aw, c'mon, now, no hard feelings, alright?"

"Maybe not from you." She glanced back at him over her shoulder, eyeing him disdainfully before starting off in the other direction. He grinned.

"See you at the debates, Y/N," he called after her, and satisfaction lay heavy in his voice. "Always a pleasure."

She rolled her eyes, and her pace didn't stutter, but as she retreated back to the room full of overgenerous millionaires, the tips of her ears still burned. If she lost this election, she'd never hear the end of it.

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lightleckrereins · 3 years

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Hamilton female ensemble costumes by track part 4/12: Woman 4

I thought I had programed this one for friday but guess it stayed in my drafts.

The Woman 4 track (originally played by Sasha Hutchings) is also known as the dead mother track, as she plays Hamilton's mother during the opening and in flasbacks during Hurricane and The World Was Wide Enough. She is also one of the two women talking to Philip during Blow Us All Away playing a character called Dolly (in honor of Maddison's wife Dolley, but it is unclear is the character is meant to be her).

It is identified as the corset with two wide bands going all around and the zig-zag trim over the front. What I love about this one is that while most of the ensamble corsets decorations are inspired by bodice and stomacher decorations, this one is clearly based on spyral lacing, the most common lacing style for stays (corsets) during this period. This track wears a shawl during My Shot (it can bee seen in the proshot).

All photos come from either the performer’s instagrams, the official instagram accounts or are screenshots from the hamilton proshot.

W1 | W2 | W3 | W4 | W5 | SW1 |SW2| SW3 | SW4 | USW1/SW4 | USW2 | SW6

#hamilton #hamilton costumes #fun fact #this was one of two runner ups when I was deciding which corset to make #fun fact number two #this skirt is elusive #on the early days there were at least partial views of the other four main ensemble skirts #but nothing of this one

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sonofhistory · 7 years

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I think the ghost asking anon means they wonder if you have ever looked into reports/claims of the founding fathers appearing as spirits. Such as the popular beliefs of Lincoln still roaming the White House and George Washington riding a horse through Gettysburg.

I heard Benjamin Franklin’s ghost has been claimed to haunt the Philosophical Society in Philadelphia. A cleaning lady in 1880 said she had an accounted with his ghost and this was not in the age were one were prone to concoct stories as such. He ghost has supposedly also been seen outside of the building–apparently he was doing a “jig”. You can read more about this here.

Josiah Quincy III claimed to have a spiritual interaction while at Mount Vernon in the early part of the 19th century. Quincy had visited Mount Vernon to meet with Bushrod Washington, George Washington’s nephew in the spring of 1806 and it was a story that he himself had not remembered due to his age, however, it circulated around the family. Quincy was staying in Washington’s bedroom–the room where he also died. While staying in the room, his father supposedly saw Washington’s ghost. You can read more about this here. His ghost has been sighted in six different locations. You can read more about this here.

A few have reported seeing the ghost of John Adams at his home in Quincy, near Boston where it is said to be rather “glum”. You can read more about this here. The ghost of Abigail Adams has reportedly been seen hurrying toward the East Room of the White House, which is where she used to hang her laundry [x]. She can be recognized by the cap and lace shawl she favored in life. It is also said John Quincy Adams haunts the House of Representatives where he died. You can read about that here.

It has been reported that Thomas Jefferson plays his violin in the yellow room and his ghost has been seen a few times around the halls [x]. There have also been reports of people witnessing Jefferson’s ghost wandering the grounds and whistling, something that Jefferson was prone to doing as he toured the property [x].

There are no records of a James Madison ghost ever been seen anywhere but a few times at his plantation Montepelier in Virginia. You can read more about this here, however, the ghost of Dolley Madison sure enough has. Apparently, when the second wife of Woodrow Wilson, Edith Wilson, occupied the White House, she ordered gardeners to dig up the Rose Garden that Dolley had planted nearly a century ago. They never started because her ghost arrived to upbraid the workmen for what they were about to do to which the men fled from the scene. Not a flower was disturbed and Dolley’s garden continues to bloom today. You can read more about this here. She also haunts the Octagon house.

Alexander Hamilton possibly haunts the home where he was initially brought after being shot in a duel with Aaron Burr; 27 Jane Street. The tennant says she has been aware of footsteps, creaking stairs, and the opening and closing of doors; and even the unexplained flushing of a toilet. On one occasion, she found the toilet chain still swinging, when there was no one around. She also has seen a blurred “shape,” without being able to give details of the apparition; her upstairs tenant reports that one night not so long ago, “a man in eighteenth-century clothes, with his hair in a queue” walked into her room, looked at her and walked out again. You can read more about this here.

The ghost of James Monroe has been sighted around Hollywood Cemetery in Richmond, Virginia where he is buried. Monroe’s ghost has been said to rub his left shoulder as if reminiscing from when he was shot at the Battle of Trenton. His ghost is said to be calm and undramatic. The ghost of Monroe lingered in the Marble Cemetery in Lower Manhattan where he was initially buried in New York before sightings changed to where he was again laid to rest twenty-seven years later in a different place. There have been no sighting of Monroe at the White House or of his wife, Elizabeth Monroe, however, their two daughters Maria Hester Monroe Gouveneur and Eliza Monroe Hay are sometimes seen at the White House. Eliza’s ghost showed up during James Buchanan’s presidency and was rude, popped up out of no where and rearranged cards. Maria has been seen at the Decateur House where she appears distraught. You can read more about this here.

#I loved doing this one #Flood pressles box #sincerely anonymous

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fourteenacross · 7 years

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Someone seeing John's tattoo for the first time and getting (a drunk?) Alex or John to explain its origins.

So, no one’s drunk, and I feel a little off my game today, but it was one of those days that went progressively downhill, so this is my attempt to salvage it. (And also keep myself awake until at least 9pm so I can take another dose of my antibiotic before I go to sleep.)

“I hate running,” John groans, lifting one foot and then the other to check the laces on his sneakers.

“You run all the time,” Molly says. She watching both him and Dolley get ready like they’re prime time television while she eats raspberries right out of the container. John’s not entirely sure why they’re meeting in von Steuben’s lab and not Washington’s, where he works, or Adams’, where Dolley works, or even the fucking locker rooms at the gym, but here they are, stretching and preparing for a few laps around the track.

“Yeah, but I hate it,” he says. “I’d rather to go to the gym. Running is garbage. It’s hard and gross.”

“I agree with you one hundred percent,” Molly says. “That’s why I don’t run unless something’s chasing me.”

“You agreed to the run, Laurens,” Dolley reminds him.

“Yeah,” he says, “that’s because Jamika agreed to it and she’s my gym buddy on Friday afternoons.”

Jamika McHenry and John both have a two hour gap in their Friday schedules. At the start of the semester, they made a pact to use that time to go to the gym for an hour unless work interfered, and with the exception of breaks for sickness or paying IP jobs off campus, they’ve generally stuck to it. Dolley, on the other hand, usually has class Friday afternoons. On this particular Friday, with that class cancelled, she’s using the time to squeeze in a mid-day run. She invited Jamika, who accepted and, faced with going to the gym alone or running with his friends, John found himself accepting as well.

He hates running.

“You could use the extra hours to sleep like a normal person,” Molly suggests.

“If I lose my girlish figure, Alex might throw me over for someone else,” John says. “Also, running or going to the gym are like, the only times I can turn my brain off.”

“I’m pretty sure you could grow an extra head or turn into a lizard person and Ham still wouldn’t throw you over,” Molly says. “I feel you on the turning off your brain thing, though. That’s why I cross stitch.”

Out in the hall, John can hear Jamika whistling and a few moments later she breezes into the room, already in a sports bra, running leggings, and sneakers. “You guys ready?”

“Almost,” John says.

“He’s being a shit about running,” Dolley says.

“He hates running,” Jamika says.

John looks up solely to give both of them pointed looks and finishes with his sneakers. He stands up, sighs theatrically, and then pulls his t-shirt over his head.

“Let’s get on with this torture,” he says, but the words are barely out of his mouth before Molly says, “Whoa, what’s that?”

John, Dolley, and Jamika all look different directions, attempting to pin down the source of Molly’s confusion.

“No,” she says, “I mean–” She puts her raspberries down on the desk and then gets up and crosses to where John is standing, tapping him on the back of the right shoulder. “Since when do you have a tattoo?”

“Oh.” John reaches back and touches the tattoo absently. He hopes he’s not flushing too obviously, but even if he isn’t, he can’t help his automatic smile. “Um.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember you having a tattoo before,” Jamika says. “Is that new? It’s cute.”

“Ah–”

“And we were literally just talking about tattoos like, two weeks ago,” Molly continues, inspecting it more closely.

“That’s nice,” Dolley says, “but if we’re gonna finish this run this century….”

“Yeah,” John says, because the alternative is explaining this to everyone. “We should definitely get moving.”

Jamika steps back and frowns at him. “Okay, now I know something’s up if you’re trying to talk us into running with enthusiasm. What the fuck is up, Laurens?”

“Um.” John looks back and forth between them, but before he can come up with an excuse, Molly puts at least some of the pieces together. Understanding dawns on her face and she slowly starts to smirk.

“Oh my god,” she says.

“Let’s just–”

“I’m not sure how he fits in, but this is clearly something to do with Ham.”

Busted.

All three of the girls are staring at him now. John touches his tattoo again unconsciously and fights back the urge to hide his face.

“He drew it,” John admits.

“Alex Hamilton tattooed you?” Jamika says, a skeptical furrow in her brow.

“No, no, jesus christ, I’d never trust him with a tattoo gun,” John says. “That night at Steubs’–the speakeasy? When we were all shitting on Ben?”

“And your takeaway from that mockery was, ‘I should go do the same thing?’” Molly asks.

“No,” John says. “Not…initially.”

Jamika walks around his back to inspect the tattoo again and Dolley finally gives in and follows. John tries not to twitch under their attention.

“That night,” he continues, mostly for Molly’s sake, “I woke up in the middle of the night and he was tracing constellations on my back in a marker that he didn’t realize at the time was permanent–Alex, I mean, obviously, not Ben. So the next day, I’m walking around with these designs he drew all over me, killing time while my car is in the shop, and I ended up at a tattoo parlor by chance and…I don’t know.”

He wants to tell her, And we gave Ben a lot of shit, but I understand why he did it. He wants to tell her about how he carries this piece of Alex with him all the time now. He wants to tell her that it’s not even really about Alex–it’s about him and the life that he chose and the person he was afraid to be and how Alex has proven that person is lovable, that person is worth fighting for. He wants to tell her that he never thought he would meet anyone so eager to map him out and learn him.

He won’t tell her any of those things. He likes Molly a lot, but half that shit he can barely say to Alex on a good day.

“It means a lot of things,” he settles for saying. “It means…more than just what it looks like, I guess.”

“I can’t decide if it’s cute or just over the top,” Molly muses. “Can it be both?”

“I still think it’s cute,” Jamika says.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I think it’s cute too,” Dolley says.

John ducks his head and grins, reaching up one more time to touch it. Molly gives him a good natured shove and then goes back to her desk and Jamika and Dolley back off, no longer crowded at his back.

“If we’re all done fawning over Laurens’ tattoo, maybe we could actually start running?” Dolley says, glancing at the clock.

“Do we have to?” John asks.

“Yes,” Jamika and Dolley say in unison. “Just let me get a hairtie,” Jamika adds.

As she goes through her bag to find one, John pulls out his phone.

going on a run with jamika and dolley, he sends to Alex. Then, don’t go to your next class without seeing me okay?

Sure thing, Alex sends back immediately, which is a clear indication that his current class is boring the fuck out of him. I’ll probably be in the office. There’s a pause, then he adds, Is everything okay?

everything’s fine, John assures him. just i love you and i want to see you okay?

Always okay. I love you too, babe. I’ll see you later ❤️

“Laurens!” Dolley calls from the door. She and Jamika are already in the hall. “We don’t have all day!”

“Coming, coming,” John grumbles, but even with the prospect of a five mile run in his future, he can’t get the smile off of his face.

#fic by me #lams #john laurens #molly ludwig #dolley payne #jamika mchenry #they call themselves the trash of the thing

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knee-breeches · 7 years

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So I've noticed how much you love James Madison (I do too!) and was wondering if you had any opinions on a biography of him and Dolley. It's by a man named Bruce Chadwick and I'd love to get it but I've heard mixed things about accuracy. Could you possibly clear things up so I know whether or not it's a good read? If not that's fine. Would you know of any good recommendations? Thank you!!!

I have read many essays and biographies about James Madison, and that book, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is the worst I’ve ever read.

Here are excerpts of a review I wrote on it back when I first finished it:

...with dense composition on every page and repetitive analyses from time to time, it often felt as though the author wanted to bolster the wealth of information between James and Dolley Madison by inserting filler to increase the page count. Either the editor was in a hurry or dead, because the entire novel was laced with intermittent grammatical and spelling errors (how many times Chadiwck flipped between spelling it "Dolley" and "Dolly" was incalculable); not to make like Chadwick and repeat my complaint of repetition.

The author's elucidations of certain details occasionally had me questioning his credibility... one of the first that comes to mind is the mention, of some point, of James Madison returning to Montpelier while his father "was in his eighties"...James Madison, Sr., died when he was seventy-eight years old. Another section of the book talked at length about James Madison's insistence on federal subsidization of roads and canals when every other biographer would claim to the contrary that Madison, hidebound, refused to allocate the federal government with power to fund any sort of internal improvement except for postage. Toward the end, there was mention of slave Sukey inquiring of Madison what the matter was when the latter couldn't swallow, while it was actually a niece of Madison's that had asked this question; while some of these errs are trivial details, it's a wonder that a writer who desires to capture the lives of two very important historical and political figures in American history would somehow manage to be so unthorough as to make mistakes that casual studiers of history would not. Another thing, Chadwick kept saying that Madison's eyes were hazel; I myself have heard conflicting records of his eye color (although his portraits usually show a dull blue or grey) but Chadwick didn't show any cognizance of this conflict, which ordinarily I wouldn't have batted an eyelash at, except he also included a contemporary description from Edward Coles who had described Madison's eyes as blue. It's not that tiny detail itself so much that bothers me, but more that it's a representation of the inconsistencies and misinformation found for the entire duration of the book. [Like? Did Chadwick write the entirety of his own book?]

I also dwelled for a long time on how I disliked what, at the time, I thought was Chadwick’s mishandling of the issue of slavery as it pertained to Madison and his involvement (or lack thereof), but that’s more arbitrary and controversial, and because it’s been a while and my views have changed, I won’t go into it here. Just know that, regardless of how you feel about slavery and how the Founders dealt with it, it was analyzed with laughable lack of eloquence or examples/substantiation in this book. But then again, everything is.

Looking back on it, I think there are some things in there that Chadwick threw in on assumption or things that he just made up. I remember there was one part where he talked about how Madison and Dolley used to argue about her turbans, but I have never before or since seen or heard anything from another source mentioning this, and it would surprise me if somebody as blatantly unthorough as Chadwick accumulated historical details that a myriad of other biographers missed. I’m not saying new information doesn’t pop up and that I know everything there is to know, but it’s an example of how dubious any of Chadwick’s information is because so much of what he says is either wrong or not backed by anything at all.

Anyway, there are some decent-ish things about the book. It had one of the better accounts on the War of 1812 that I’ve come by in a Madison biography (his biographers always breeze over it for some reason), and has a good plethora of more minute physical descriptions, which is something I personally like in historical nonfiction. But the things that are bad about it--redundancy, pacing, spelling, grammar, inaccuracy--aren’t made up for by the couple of okay aspects.

Over all, it’s just a carelessly-written book. It’s impossible to cite because there are so many silly mistakes and unabashed non-facts that a casual reader could never know what’s true and what’s not. I would never recommend this to (anybody, but especially) a person who’s not already very well-acquainted with the Madisons because they’ll walk away with a wealth of misinformation and contradictions.

If you’re interested in a decent piece on James and Dolley jointly, I recommend Mr. and Mrs. Madison’s War by Hugh Howard. It’s obviously focused more on the War of 1812 than a thorough recount on the subjects’ lives and relationship, but there is still great content to that end, plus a better look into the War that the Madisons played such a huge role in, which, again, most Madison biographers tend to overlook.

So yeah, please don’t buy the book. Unless you’re specifically looking for an example of a piss-poor biography.

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lot2like-blog · 6 years

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astralaffairs · 4 years

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on fear under stark, dying lighting || thomas jefferson, fotp-verse

title: on fear under stark, dying lighting

pairing: thomas jefferson x reader, an fotp-verse oneshot

words: 5k

request: how would thom react if lets say maybe his neo-nazi supporters get too passionate abt their anger towards mc’s articles and um try to shoot/mug/harm her to stop her from writing anything else against thom?

notes: ok so first off lemme preface this w the fact that thom is a self respecting black man who has another self respecting black man as his running mate so tbr the neo-nazi white supremacists r not exactly his demographic of supporters. that said i fucking loved this prompt; set in the universe of freedom of the press, but not canon w/ the storyline

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8@assbuttstyles777 @distinguishedpotsticker @fukaaaaaaaa@hereforthepsyche-assessment @ivetoldamillionlies@fangirl570 @thealaddinkid @lasciviouspeach@snazzydoesthings @shy-and-awkward-daveed@rachelhermionerose @soft-weeb-s @gryffinclxw @anamrnk@daveeddiggsit @ayayayayana @marinovakovich@cryinghazelnutt @thefandomgirl03 @a-hopeless-fan @cloudynblw @tinywhim @lolidunnoaboutnow @siriusorionblackiii @fanfic-addict-98 @checkurwindow @nyxie75 @i-know-i-can @yxseminx @yavin4andor @sugacita @sstrawberry-fanta @youtxbemusic @queenwilty — hope i didnt miss anyone; lmk if you want to be added!!

Beep.

Y/N scrunched up her nose as her eyes fluttered open, the gritty, incessant sound of the machine grating on her nerves — while she was no stranger to the sound of her own heartbeat, she'd never heard it like that. When she finally tried to look around the room, she winced. The sterile-white LED lights lining the ceiling made her eyes burn; as she adjusted to it, slowly waking up, she began to notice the steady click of an IV drip not far from where her head rested.

She didn't move at first, blinking hard as the ceiling was her entire range of vision, but when she tried to sit up, a sharp pain shot through her shoulder, and she cried out, her hand flying up to the spot.

"Hey, hey, hey, sweetheart, lay down, okay? Relax, please. You're gonna hurt yourself."

The beep of the heart rate monitor accelerated in a fleeting moment, and steady, familiar hands came to rest gently on her good shoulder and her upper back, easing her into the crinkly mattress beneath her. She turned with wide eyes to find the last person she expected at her bedside as he propped her head up onto a pillow.

"Thomas?" she asked breathlessly. "Shit, I... What are you doing here? Did you bring me here? I don't..." Her brow furrowed as she eyed his worried expression, the small, scared frown he wore. As she tried to shift in her bed, turn to look at him, she gasped at the throbbing in her upper arm — with that, it didn't take long for her to recall exactly what she was doing there, though the details were hazy. She didn't know what to make of her current circumstance, though.

"Here, d'you want me to raise the back of the bed so you don't needa hold yourself up?" Though she'd screwed her eyes shut, her jaw clenched as she tried to bear the pain, as his hand ghosted down to her forearm, as he brushed his thumb across her skin, he could hear her pulse beginning to settle. She nodded, laying onto her back with a grimace.

A moment passed in silence while she tried to collect her thoughts. She let out a soft hum when the reclined top of the bed began to fold upward, letting her shift into a sitting position, she withdrew her right arm from Thomas's grasp, pulling it back to instead lace her fingers into his. "Better?"

"Mhm." When she again opened her eyes, he'd pulled his chair closer. She frowned. "How are you here? You... We're in public, Thomas; you can't..." She trailed off, but when the concern in his gaze didn't subside in the least, she said, "Did I die? Am I... Is this even real? I don't understand."

Despite everything, at her words, a teasing grin split his grim expression, and he squeezed her hand lightly. "Well, first of all, 'm flattered that you think wakin' up here next to me might actually be heaven—" She rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help her soft, endeared smile. "—but no, you're alright, just in the hospital. You're gonna be fine."

"I guess that's a relief," she sighed, pursing her lips. She eyed him with concerned hesitance. "But what are you doing here?"

"What d'you mean, 'what am I doing here?'" he asked incredulously, his voice soft. "Three of my supporters just tried to fucking kill you 'cause they were tryin' to defend my image. Did you think I wasn't gonna come see you? Make sure you're okay? I've been worried sick, Y/N."

"I..." She swallowed the lump building in her throat as she remembered everything that happened, how quickly it'd all gone down. With the way they'd cornered her, she was lucky to have escaped with a bullet in her shoulder. She was lucky to have even made it out alive. "I'm really, really glad you're here," she said with a weak smile, "but we aren't exactly holed up in your penthouse, right now. How do you plan to explain that you came to visit me in the hospital?"

"Well, officially, 'm here to offer my deepest apologies on behalf of myself 'n my campaign and to let you know that I entirely denounce what happened," he said, and as his gaze fell, as he couldn't bear to meet her eyes, she could see the remorse in her demeanor. "Everyone's just gonna think it's damage control, and I get why. Some of that was just an excuse for me comin' to see you. But really... I can't tell you how sorry I am that this happened. 'M so, so sorry that people came out 'n tracked you down, tried to murder you in my name. You can't... I can't begin to tell you how much I wish I could go back and do somethin' different to stop this from happenin'. That I didn't spend so much time messin' with you on Twitter. That I woulda—"

"Stop it," Y/N said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. She could see Thomas's eyes welling up, his stare glassy; she could hear his voice beginning to waver. "Stop. You know this wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could've done to prevent it. You're a good person, okay? I know you. Please, please don't blame yourself."

She squeezed his hand, and he shut his eyes tightly. "Fuck, I don't—" He sniffled loudly, reaching up to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "Don't know why you're comforting me right now. 'M not supposed to be the one who needs it; I don't wanna make this about me. 'M sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You aren't responsible for this, and I don't blame you for it in the least." At her gentle tone, he let out a ragged huff, still not meeting her eyes. She frowned. "Hey, look at me. You didn't do anything to incite this."

"You're too forgivin'," he finally said, lifting his head to meet her gaze. "I don't deserve it."

She scoffed at the words, breaking his gaze to shake her head in exasperation. "Thomas, if you don't deserve to be forgiven, that's because there's nothing to forgive. Please, this isn't your burden."

There was a skip, silence aside from the IV drip and the staticky beep of the heart rate monitor. "That's enough talkin' about me," he finally said. Y/N sighed. His deflecting was overt, but he didn't seem to care. "How are you? I don't just mean your shoulder, either. No one would judge you for bein' rattled after everything that happened."

She shrugged, and he could see the pain in her eyes. "I'm not great, if I'm honest. I was just so scared." She drew in a shaky breath. He took her hand in both of his, pulling his chair closer to her side. "How'd you even find out about this, anyway? Lafayette?"

"Now, why d'you think Lafayette woulda heard about you bein' in the hospital before I did?" He could only feign offense, but the eyebrow he raised was playful. She couldn't stifle her amused smile. "That hurts, sweetheart, really. He matters that much more to you than I do?"

"Shut up; you know that none of my other friends would tell you about this," she groaned, but any exhaustion in her voice was contrived. "Alex and his sister-in-law are my emergency contacts. Which one of them would've ever called you?"

"Alright, alright." Thomas huffed, trying to purse his lips to hide his grin. "James called me. Dolley saw it on the news."

"Oh my god, it's on the news?" Her eyes widened, and Thomas was struck with a pang of guilt as he heard her pulse begin to spike — there wasn't much she could hide when hooked up to a heart rate monitor. "Shit, I– I need to call Mira and Orlando; they've gotta be terrified. And Angelica, holy shit, I'm sure she's heard. What time is it? How long has it been since the story broke?"

"Hey, calm down, okay? They're outside. They know you're gonna be alright," he murmured, rubbing the back of her hand comfortingly, and he sighed as he heard her heartbeat slow. "Everyone's out there. James 'n Dolley came, Lafayette came... Hamilton brought his whole family. I met Angelica, just now."

Her eyebrows shot up, but a laugh was etched into her surprised smile. "Oh, no, tell me you're lying. I can't imagine that went well."

He hummed in agreement, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched her enthusiasm begin to grow. "Nah, not so much. Think she woulda throttled me out in the lobby if Mira hadn't stopped her."

Y/N groaned. "Of course Mira's out there defending you. Some priorities."

"Oh, would you rather your friends killed me with their bare hands?" He raised an expectant eyebrow, and when Y/N only shrugged, he scowled.

"Listen, all I'm saying is that if someone shot you in my name and James tried to throttle me for it, I'd understand."

Thomas gave a reluctant hum. "Forgot how much you liked havin' people's hands around your throat. Guess you'd probably enjoy it, huh?"

Her eyes widened as her breath caught, blood rushing to her cheeks. She could feel her skin burning, and somewhere in the background, she was vaguely aware of the rush of her heart rate monitor. "Thomas. Shut up, I swear to god."

He laughed when she tried to shove his hands away, yank her right arm out of his grasp, but when he just squeezed her forearm teasingly, she turned her head. She couldn't meet his gaze with the scowl she wore. "Aw, what's the problem? You only into that when I'm the one doin' it?"

"Thomas." She whipped her head back around to him with a wearing look, appearingly taken aback, but her teeth were sinking hard into her bottom lip. When she saw the mocking pout he wore, a chill ran down her back; her stomach turned.

"Y'know, I'm kinda havin' fun with bein' able to hear your heart rate." When he winked, the corners of his lips turning up into a knowing smile, the heat in the back of her neck flared.

"You're exhausting," she grumbled. He shrugged.

"Mmh, I can see that." When she turned to him with an eyebrow raised, he grinned. "Nothin' to be ashamed of, sweetheart. I know I—"

He was cut off by the click of the door being thrown open, and a nurse rushed into the room, closely followed by the small army of people there to see Y/N. They both pulled abruptly back from one another. Y/N's heart was pounding.

"Y/N! Are you okay? Did something happen?" Eliza asked pushing through to see you with wide, worried eyes. Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but when she just gaped at everyone for a moment, Alex immediately cut in.

"Jefferson, I swear to god, if you laid a finger on her, I'll end you. I knew it was a bad idea to let him in here," Alex scowled, glaring at Thomas as he strode toward them, but Y/N's brows shot up.

"Hey, woah, stop it," she said holding up her right hand, a silent request for him to come to a halt. Reluctantly, he did, still eyeing Thomas skeptically. "Nothing happened. I'm okay. Why'd you all come in here like this?"

"Your heart rate was rising, dear. We thought you could've been having a seizure, or a heart attack, or... or something," Dolley said, and Alex glared when she pushed her way in front of him. "How are you? I saw the video online, and oh, Y/N, it was awful. I couldn't bear to see such a thing happening to you."

"Dolley, hey." Y/N wore a soft smile as Dolley came to her bedside, resting a hand on her calf. "I'm okay. Not the best I've ever felt, but it isn't anything I won't be able to sleep off. That, and some painkillers, of course."

Dolley gave her a wry smile. "Let me know if there's anything I can do. I have a neglected bottle of rosé sitting in our pantry and two pints of ice cream in the freezer, so go ahead and pick your poison."

Y/N laughed. "I'll have to see what flavors of ice cream you've got stashed away, but either option is dangerously tempting."

Dolley was about to reply, but when Angelica emerged to her left, she jumped back, startled. "Anyway, why was your heart rate so high? You don't look like you're going into a coma, so what'd he do?" Angelica nodded toward Thomas, the look in her eyes all business and her brow furrowed. Thomas raised an affronted brow.

"Oh, please, Thomas wouldn't hurt a fly." As everyone began to disperse themselves around her bedside, the group who'd come to see her made Y/N's heart warm. She resisted rolling her eyes at the doting smile Mira gave Thomas alongside her words, which he returned gratefully. (Suck up.) However, Mira also turned to Y/N with a hesitant look. "Right, mija?"

Y/N pursed her lips, glancing between Mira and Thomas dubiously, but Thomas looked smug. "Yeah, yeah, he's in the clear," she agreed reluctantly. "My heart rate spiked because I stupidly tried to use both my arms to shift where I was sitting. It didn't feel so great for, y'know, my bullet wound." When she gave a weak smile, there were sighs of relief scattered throughout the group (Thomas's was the most adamant; he hadn't expected her to bail him out quite that easily).

"Well, we are glad to see zat you are alright." Lafayette offered her a soft smile, and when she found him standing directly beside Thomas, she reached out to squeeze the hand he had resting on the rail of her bed. A flicker of dejection passed through Thomas's expression, gone almost the moment it came.

"I'm glad to see all of you here. It was really sweet of you to come," Y/N said, looking around the group. Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of James standing just behind Dolley, a small smile resting on his lips. "Aw, James, even you showed up?"

"Of course, Y/N. We on Thomas's campaign have been incredibly concerned."

She rolled her eyes at his formal tone. "Yeah, yeah, talk all you want about your political agenda, but we both know Dolley dragged you along to visit."

"I truly can't help but take offense at that," James said, his brow furrowed, and he shook his head. Regardless, he wore an amused smile. "As though I'm unable to cross partisan lines for an injured acquaintance?"

"Aw, aren't we friends by now?" Y/N asked, plastering on a pout, and James laughed.

"I suppose so." He squeezed Dolley's shoulder, an eyebrow raised, and she shuffled aside, inadvertently crowding into Angelica's space. When James took a step forward, Y/N's eyebrows shot up at the bouquet of flowers he held, the envelope attached to them. "These are for you, on behalf of our entire campaign."

She had to shift in her seat to turn and take them from him in her right hand, but as she did so, she grimaced at the dull pain in her shoulder when she moved it. Thomas's hand shot out to support her before he realized where he was, and he stopped himself short, pulling his hands back into his lap with a wince.

"Thanks so much, James, these are beautiful," Y/N said, inhaling deeply as she held the flowers up to her nose. "Who picked them out?"

"I did." The sound of Thomas's voice among the group surprised her. Her eyebrows were raised when she turned to him, and she struggled to stop her small smile from widening at his words.

"Well then, thank you, Secretary Jefferson. I appreciate the gesture."

"It's the least I could do, Ms. L/N." She pressed her lips together; it was all she could do not to laugh at the formality in his tone. He gave her a sympathetic smile, but as she met his gaze, it was doting. "I'm terribly sorry that this happened. Please, don't hesitate to reach out if there's anything further we can do to support you."

She cocked a brow. "Care to pay my medical bills?"

"Gladly."

"Wait, seriously?" Her eyes widened. "I was joking, but I'm holding you to that."

"As you should," Thomas said reasonably, giving a shrug. "I understand how difficult this has gotta be for you, and for your family, too. We'd like to support you in any way we can."

While his gentle tone made her smile, holding his stare, but Alex scoffed loudly.

"Oh my god, don't fall for that, Y/N," he interjected. Y/N raised a brow. "He's just trying to avoid a lawsuit. Or convince you not to start bitching online about how he almost killed you."

"He didn't almost kill me," she huffed. She glanced back hesitantly at Thomas, and he was watching her with guilt heavy in his expression. "One of his supporters did. It's not the same thing."

"Yeah, they tried to kill you in his name. Why are you giving him a pass?"

"If you shot him in my name, would it be my fault?" She pinned Alex with an expectant stare, and he huffed. "You know it wouldn't, and this is no different. If you're gonna spend the next few minutes attacking him, go wait in the hall until he and James leave. My head already hurts, so I refuse to listen to you picking a fight."

Alex folded his arms. "Why aren't you kicking him out?"

"Because you're the one getting worked up, right now," Y/N said matter-of-factly, but Thomas sighed.

"I understand that you all want me gone. I won't impose," he said, and when he began to push his chair out, Y/N and Mira wore identical, dismayed expressions.

"No, no, you aren't imposing!" Mira insisted. "Please, stay."

"'S alright, Mira. I know when I'm not wanted. I should be goin'," he said, giving her a reassuring smile, but his nervous gaze flickered back to Y/N. "Unless, of course, you've got any more grievances you wanna air? I'd be happy to listen, but I don't wanna overstay my welcome."

"Actually," Y/N started, pursing her lips. Thomas's tense demeanor softened as she went on, "I have a few more things I'd like to say before you go. You aren't off the hook just yet." Though her expression was hard, Thomas was struggling not to grin at her not sending him away. Y/N looked back around to her friends and family. "If you'd all give me another minute? I need to get some things off my chest."

While everyone obliged her easily, turning to give her space as they started toward the exit, Dolley and Lafayette shared a knowing look. Y/N's nurse smiled. "I'm glad to see you awake and feeling better. I'll be on call if you need me."

"Thanks so much," Y/N said quietly, and Lafayette caught her eye with a grin.

"We will be back in a few minutes, chérie. Do not do anything rash."

Y/N's eyebrows shot up when he shot Thomas a wink before following everyone else out, and they sat another moment in silence until the door finally fell shut. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief.

"So, now that everyone's outta here, you gonna rip me a new one?" he asked playfully, and Y/N rolled her eyes, finally letting herself grin as she turned to him, leaning fully back against her bed.

"Don't tempt me," she warned, and he laughed lightly. "But I just wanted another minute with you. If you want to go or have somewhere to be, I'll understand."

"I'm gonna stay as long as you're lookin' to let me," he replied, and when he rested his hand on the bed's rail, she took it in hers.

"I don't know how long I can believably pretend to be yelling at you, but I don't want you to leave just yet. I'm really glad you're here." She swallowed hard, glancing down at where their hands were linked. "I've just... been so distant recently. Is it silly to say I was afraid I was going to die without seeing you first?"

He let out a light, breathy laugh; the look in his eyes was akin to relief. "Jesus, I hope not, 'cause I've been up all night worryin' about the same thing."

Her eyebrows shot up, and he gave her a sheepish smile. "You've been up all night?"

"How was I supposed to sleep?" he asked, his eyebrows raised. He shook his head in disbelief. "You have no idea how scared I was, sweetheart."

"I can imagine," she said with a sigh. "Thank you for coming. I'm sure it wasn't easy to get in here with my friends all ready to bite your head off."

"Mmh, not exactly," he agreed, tone dry, and when she caught sight of his irked expression, she raised an eyebrow. "I didn't get too warm of a welcome."

"How'd you convince them to let you stay here until I woke up, anyway?" she asked, and a lopsided grin split his expression. He shrugged. "Don't tell me you just waltzed in here, and they let you into my room. I know them better than that."

"Lafayette vouched for me."

"Seriously?" Y/N furrowed her brow. "And said what?"

"That it'd be best for you to be able to get everything off your chest before everyone came in to see you." He shrugged, and though Y/N rolled her eyes, his smile was smug. "Guess I'm lucky you're takin' pity on me, huh?"

"Really, Jefferson. I should consider being a little harsher next time. Really making you pay for being thoughtful enough to show up here and comfort me when I'm terribly injured." She bit her lip, eyeing him tentatively. "Hey, can anybody see us right now? Are there any windows or security cameras I'm missing?"

He shook his head, brow furrowed. "Uh-uh. Relax. It's just you and me, alright?"

"Then will you come sit with me?"

His eyebrows shot up when she looked at him hopefully, shifting over on her bed, but it wasn't until a moment later that he answered, his words hesitant. "I dunno, sweetheart. I know you're in a lotta pain, and I don't wanna accidentally hurt you. You should just rest."

"Please?" The look in her eyes was hopeful, and she ran her thumb across his knuckles. "I just... wanna be held. I know you've gotta go soon, but..."

She couldn't finish her sentence, instead just trailing off, watching him with pleading eyes, and he sighed. "God, I hate not bein' able to say no to you. Move over."

Y/N grinned when he stood, delicately propping himself up onto the edge of her bed and swinging his legs up beside hers. His left arm brushed against her right shoulder, and she winced, trying to prop herself up onto the side of his torso. His hands found her waist. "This okay?" he asked softly, shifting her to lay against his chest, and her smile went soft.

"Yeah. This is good." She hummed contentedly when he absentmindedly began tracing patterns into her hip through her hospital gown. "Thanks for being here. Not many people would be willing to fight through my friends just to see me for a few minutes."

"Well, I did have some help," he murmured, his lips just above her ear. "I mean, since you gave Mira the power of attorney and all, she got the final say on who was allowed to come in and see you. You know she's got a soft spot for me."

Y/N giggled. "I guess your whole 'golden boy' act does come in handy once in a while."

When Thomas huffed, she could feel his warm breath tickle the side of her neck. She shivered. "Y'know what, I'm gonna let that one go, but only 'cause you're injured."

"Or because you know I'm right," she teased, craning her neck back to look at him with a wide smile, and he raised an amused eyebrow.

"Mhm, 'cause I'm secretly a terrible person, huh?"

"Good thing we agree." She pushed herself up to lightly kiss the underside of his jaw. "I just wish you could stay longer. I know you probably have a million things to get done, but I hate that you have to use some bullshit excuse just to come see me."

"So do I," he sighed.

"I just wish we could do... whatever this is in the light of day."

"What if we could?"

"Thomas," Y/N groaned lightly. "It's a nice thought, but you know it isn't possible. You aren't going to drop out of the race for president, and I'm not going to stop covering the campaign. I like my job too much. I don't want to give that up."

"And I'd never ask you to," he assured her, "'S just a nice thought."

"Yeah," she agreed reluctantly, her gaze downcast. A beat passed in silence; they were both too caught up in their own heads to pay attention to the steady click of the IV drip within a foot of them, the buzz of the dying LED lights overhead. Finally, Y/N said, "Is there any chance you can come up with some excuse to come back and visit me tomorrow? I'll have my phone on me, so I can text you when the coast is clear."

"I'd love that," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. He hadn't realized it, but she'd begun to doze off, her eyes fluttering shut as she laid her head against the warmth of his body, the steady feeling of his heartbeat in his chest lulling her to sleep.

"Thank you," she murmured, covering his hand with hers. "I love..." She trailed off when she could feel him inhale sharply, his chest rising against her back, and despite her fatigue, she knew enough to hold her tongue. "Love that you could make it here. Thanks again."

"'S been my pleasure."

She didn't respond, content to just rest in his arms, and his smile was soft as he looked down at her. Several minutes ticked by, and the pair was at peace in the sterile environment, relaxed despite the bullet wound in her shoulder, the danger she'd been in hours before, despite the tension that always hung heavy in their dynamic, unavoidable with the risk they were taking being together.

"Thanks for keeping me around, sweetheart," he whispered, and his words were met only with the heavy sound of her breathing, leveling out as she drifted further and further from consciousness. He swallowed hard. "I love you."

She was too far gone to hear him.

A few more minutes later, the room's door clicked open, and Thomas's eyes widened, realizing the position he was about to be found in. His eyes widened.

"Y/N, is it alright if everyone else—?" Lafayette emerged from the doorway alone, cutting himself with a soft smile when he caught sight of Y/N laid against Thomas's body, perfectly at peace in his embrace. "Ah, Thomas. I am glad to see zat she is being well taken care of," he said softly, a teasing lilt to his voice. Thomas couldn't take it too personally. "Is she... asleep?"

He nodded. "Has been for a few minutes. Think she's been needin' some real rest," he replied, warm gaze drifting down to Y/N's calm, absent face. "Y'know, the kind that doesn't come from faintin' in pain and some anesthetics."

Lafayette chuckled lightly, folding his arms. "I think zat it is for ze best," he said. "But I was sent in 'ere to see whether or not Y/N was done, ah... lecturing you for ze 'arms done. I am not sure I 'ave any way to tell everyone zat she is still busy in 'ere."

"Sounds like it's time for me to head out, then, huh?" Lafayette nodded, and Thomas looked down with a reluctant smile. "Alright, gimme a minute. Send everyone in when I get out of here, yeah?"

"Of course." Lafayette departed without another word, appearing to be rather pleased with the scene before him. Thomas sighed, trying to shift Y/N off of himself without rattling her, and when he gently laid her shoulders back down onto the mattress, her head resting to one side on the pillow, he leaned down to kiss her forehead softly.

"I'll be back for you tomorrow, okay?" he whispered, disregarding entirely the fact that she didn't hear a word of it. He finally lifted himself off of the side of the bed. "Goodnight, Y/N."

His footsteps stalled another moment as he stood beside her; his tender gaze swept down the entirety of her stature, but it was clouded with remorse when he once again glanced to the bloodied bandage wrapped around her shoulder. He swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat.

He turned off the lights on his way out.

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fourteenacross · 7 years

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ficlet: well-deserved recognition

It’s @thisstableground‘s birthday (at least in Boston, it might no longer be across the Atlantic. Time zones! How do they work!) and I told her I’d write her a little thing if she wanted and she asked for Alex having so much work to do that he can’t celebrate his own birthday. Alex’s birthday falls outside of the semester schedule in this verse (and also I already wrote a very dumb thing about it), so here’s the next best thing: Alex being so busy working he can’t go to a party about how great he is. (Also I fail at the “little” part of “little thing,” this is 2300 words long.)

Happy Birthday, Sophia! The year I turned twenty-five I very abruptly moved to Boston and it worked out PRETTY OKAY for me, so I wish you similar luck in the year to come!

"It's ironic, if you think about it," Alex mutters aloud absently. It's sandwiched in between thinking out loud about the nature of the conflict between scientific and spiritual explanations for the intuition-based components of parapsych. He doesn't even realize he's said it until John says, "What's ironic?"

He glances up from his laptop. His fingers are still typing. "Hm?" he asks.

"Babe, you've gotta take an hour or two off," John says. "It's just the award ceremony and the cocktail thing beforehand. You can spare it."

"I can't," Alex says. "The deadline for this stupid thing is midnight and if I want it published next quarter I've gotta get the edits in."

"You're one of the people getting an award! In part for the fucking study this article is on!"

"That's why it's ironic," Alex says. He looks back down at the screen, frowns, and then highlights and cuts a sentence, moving it to the middle of the paragraph. "Accept it on my behalf. Half the people who work here think we're the same person. Latino guys with long hair are apparently interchangeable to half the administration of this place. Which, don't get me wrong, I'm gonna take as a compliment because you're gorgeous and I mostly look like I haven't slept in a week."

"Well, that's not inaccurate," John says. "You and your eyebags, I mean." He waves a hand to get Alex's attention and Alex loves him very, very much, so he doesn't grab his wrist and shove it out of the way. "It's just two hours. You've earned this recognition, you deserve to, like, revel in it or whatever."

"You say 'two hours,' but we both know it'll be more. Washington'll wanna have a drink back in the lab, then Laf and Herc will wanna buy me shots at the bar, then, before we know it, it's eleven o'clock and I've still gotta get home and finish this thing."

"We can turn down those invitations."

"But we won't, cause we're idiots," Alex says. "Honey, just get the fucking plaque for me and hang out with our friends, I'll be fine."

"First of all," John says, "please never call me 'honey' again." Alex snorts. "Secondly, you're the one who's earned it! Jesus christ, I never thought it would be so hard to get you to go somewhere and listen to people talk about how great you are."

"If they want to postpone that talk until after this article is submitted, that would be excellent. Until then, I'm going to have to coast by on the ego boost from knowing they're just spouting compliments to me behind my back."

He hears John's chair scrape against the floor, but doesn't look up to see where he's gone. He's back a moment later with his iPad, which he leaves next to Alex. "Will you at least FaceTime me for the stupid thing?"

"What, so you can hold your phone up as you accept the award on my behalf? Maybe hold it in front of your face so it looks like it's really me picking it up. Or, me if I had a very small, square head and the sort of banging body that I'll never in a million years have without giving in to your entreaties to go to the fucking gym." John sighs heavily. "Get that? That's a pun. Banging? Because I--"

"I got it," John says dryly. "Alex, just--"

He's quiet after that, which is suspicious enough that Alex's typing slows and he looks up. John's leaning against the table, frowning. "What?" Alex asks.

"I just...I'm really proud of you," John says. "And I really want you to have that moment, you know? Of standing in front of people and being handed this thing and shaking the dean's hand. I want everyone else to see how amazing you are."

Alex's typing peters out. There's an unexpected lump in his throat. "John...."

"Oh god, don't turn this into like...a thing," he insists, pink blooming across his cheeks.

"What do you mean, don't turn this into a thing, you just fucking--"

"Oh my god..."

"--stood there and said something really...."

Alex trails off. He takes off his glasses and squeezes the bridge of his nose. His entire body aches from leaning over his laptop for the past two days. He's exhausted and sore and itching to go out and make some trouble with his best friends and the love of his life. He wants to stand on a stage and accept an award and have every asshole in the room--including fucking Jefferson, who's getting some dumb political science bullshit honor--see and admit how great he is. He wants to hear whatever Washington is going to say about him, because getting compliments from Washington is usually like squeezing water from a stone.

But he's made his bed. He went out over the weekend to celebrate the end of term and went out on Monday to celebrate the end of grading and he got up to have breakfast with John and Laf and Molly and Dolley and Jamika and Sybil and a few other people who are leaving for the summer, and now he's blown all of his time to work and he's stuck racing to the finish line. Sure, he could submit this now--it's pretty good, definitely better than most of the other shit published on the subject--but it could be better. It could cover more, it could be cleaner, and if he's going to make a name for himself, he wants to present the smartest, best version of himself possible.

He's already won Washington's award, it doesn't matter if he's there to actually take it in his hands. Not when he could be working on something he hasn't won yet.

And, of course, John has to rush in and throw that whole plan into disarray. John, who always seems to get under his skin and catch him off guard by just saying the simplest things. I’m really proud of you. When was the last time someone had said that to him and had it mean so fucking much, so much that Alex feels like his chest is going to split open?

He wraps his fingers around John's wrist and tugs him forward, down into a kiss. It's a weird angle--John's standing above him, leaning over him and kissing him almost sideways--but he'd still be able to recognize it anywhere. Simultaneously confident and shy, like he's sure of what he's doing but a little awed by why he's doing it. It's another thing about John that Alex struggles to put into concise words, like the things that he feels when they're kissing like this: joy, safety, disbelief, reassurance, passion, affection, fidelity. He squeezes John's wrist with one hand and laces the other into his hair. John licks gently against his bottom lip, his teeth, cradles his jaw. He takes Alex's glasses off with his other hand and, reluctantly, Alex pulls away just far enough to breathe.

He taps a finger against John's lips when he tries to go in for another kiss. "You can't fuck me into agreeing with you."

"I think you'll find that I fuck you into agreeing with me all the time," John says.

"Well, it's not gonna work this time." He holds out a hand and John sighs and puts his glasses in his open palm. "I'm serious. I have to finish this tonight. Go to the thing. Say something nice about me. Drink a glass of champagne for me and let the guys buy you drinks on my behalf. If you're still out when I finish, I'll come join you."

"You don't have a car," John says. He sits on the edge of the table, right next to where Alex is working. The solid curve of his thighs makes another good case for why Alex should give in and let John do whatever convincing he wants.

"I'll call a Lyft." He taps John's knee, a compromise between the part of his brain that's determined to get this done and the part of his brain that wants John to wrap his legs around his waist. "Go on, let me finish. The faster I get done with this, the faster I can come meet up with you guys."

John hops off the table and just looks at Alex for a moment, chewing his lower lip.

"You're really not going to come?" he asks.

"I can't," Alex says, and it's a more disappointing admission than he expected. "There'll be other awards. Probably about a zillion of them--I'm pretty brilliant, if you hadn't noticed." John rolls his eyes. "You can show me off then. I can show off for you then. I've gotta miss this one."

"Yeah, okay," John says. He shoves his hands in his pockets and leans over to press a quick kiss against Alex's mouth. "I'll see you later. Love you."

"Love you too," Alex says, and then makes himself focus on his screen again so he doesn't watch John walk out the door and change his mind.

He falls into his revisions, moving to the living room once it's clear the table isn't going to be big enough to hold all of his books and papers. He sits on the floor with his back against the sofa and spreads his materials out around him and all over the coffee table, neatly piling each document as he finishes with it. The sun starts to go down eventually, but he only notices it because it means he has to get up and put on the light. Otherwise, his attention is glued to his screen. The very back of his mind spares half a thought for his friends--out celebrating him right now while he's writing a fucking paper--but otherwise he forces himself into hyperfocus on his words. There'll be plenty of time for regret once he's finished this stupid thing.

That's probably why he doesn't really think about the door opening until whoever has opened it is already inside the apartment. Even once he acknowledges it, it takes him a moment to slow his typing and actually think about that fact. Someone is in the apartment. What the fuck time is it if they're home already?

"Hey, babe," John says. He lowers himself onto the floor next to Alex, leaning similarly back against the sofa.

Alex blinks at the clock on his computer. "It's not even eight. I thought the thing started at six?"

"It did," John confirms. He hands Alex a plaque. At the top is the school's crest, followed by The Faculty of the Morristown University of New Jersey's Parapsychology Department formally recognizes Alexander Hamilton as the 2014-2015 Distinguished Graduate Scholar. "Washington said some great stuff about you. Some of it might have been a little backhanded complimentary--'The first one in and the last one to leave, unceasingly questioning of his results, very confident in his findings' et cetera, et cetera. The sort of shit he says with a raised eyebrow in that kind of dry 'you assholes are gonna drive me to drink' voice."

"Yeah, I know the one," Alex says. He's still staring at the award. It's so strange to think how blasé he's become about working for George Washington in the past year, but here, holding this award, he's suddenly reminded that the most important scholar in his field is recognizing his brilliance.

"Anyway, I picked it up and just said a quick, you know, 'He couldn't be here tonight, but he's very honored' et cetera, et cetera, 'I'm proud to know him and delighted to see him recognized formally in front of the school,' blah blah blah. Herc taped the whole thing like a soccer mom at a school play."

A smile creeps onto Alex's face. "'Delighted.'"

"Jubilant, ecstatic, euphoric," John says. "Something like that. You know, 'he's an asshole, but he's pretty and smart, so I'll keep him around.'"

"Sounds like you," Alex says.

"Mmhm."

He needs to put the plaque down if he wants to keep working. He's so close to being done--maybe another two hours--but it pains him to set it to the side. "And, what, you want to change before you meet the guys?" He tugs John's tie, a green and navy chevron pattern that's clearly an expensive remanent of his previous life as a trust fund kid.

"Nah," John says. He loosens the tie a little and scoots across the floor until he's close enough that Alex can feel his body heat. "I'm home for the night."

Alex blinks at him slowly. "They're coming here?"

"No, they're going out," John says. "I'm coming here."

Alex blinks again. "Why?"

"Because I'd rather spend the night in with you then go out drinking with our friends knowing you're back here by yourself, asshole." John elbows him. "They should take back that award, you're pretty slow, as it turns out."

"Fuck off," Alex says. "I just...." He tries again, tries to find those elusive words, the magical sentences that can contain all these things that John makes him feel. "Thanks," he says finally.

"Nothing to thank me for," John says. He stretches his legs out and leans a little against Alex's shoulder. "Write your thing, Molly finally remembered to bring that book she wants me to read." He produces it out of his bag, a beat up paperback novel.

"Okay," Alex says, dazed.

"And when you're done and everything's submitted, we'll have a celebratory drink and then a celebratory you fucking me stupid."

Alex chokes on a laugh. "Sounds like a good plan."

"Of course it is, I came up with it," John says. He gestures towards Alex's computer with his book. "Go on. Write your thing."

"Only because you asked so nicely," Alex says. And it's easy to slip back into writing after that, working even faster now that John is beside him, even though he's only reading a novel. There will be other awards, other reasons to celebrate. He's not missing out on anything, especially since he has the most important part of that celebration right here, next to him, warm against his side in the quiet of the empty apartment.

#thisstableground #hamilton #alexander hamilton #john laurens #lams #fic by me #they call themselves the trash of the thing

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