Rantings Of A History Major

History memes, fics, and small prompt fills for AMC Turn and Hamilton. On ao3 as historical_ramblings. Magnificent bastard and local friendly ghost. Main blog is madi-tumbles. profile pic drawn by @readytobebolder

[chants-de-lune]

Millennials watching Gen Z organizing huge rallies and standing up to zero-action politicians 

[comp-lady]

Rock And Revolution

“Ben. I heard about your guitar. I’m sorry.” George began. “It’s not your fault. I bet it was Bradford.” Ben said. “Bradford? William bradford, the roadie?” George asked, shocked. “He told me last week he used to work for The Cabal. You know, Charles’ band? The one that hates our guts?” Ben explained. “I didn’t know that. Did he tell you this before or after he tried to climb you like a tree?” George teased. “…Shut up, old man.” Ben said bashfully.

A collage for @madi-tumbles fic! Merry Christmas, Madi!!!!

[historical-ramblings]

!!!!!!

thank you!

[iniquiticity]

9. "We’re hiding from the authorities and it’s very close quarters in here, I can feel your body against mine.'" with Whamilton?

We’re hiding from the authorities and it’s very close quarters in here, I can feel your body against mine.

with thanks/apologies from @fickleobsessions, who i have definitely talked to about this. 

above them the boots of the hunters thudded on the floor above them. george didn’t breathe - and neither did Alexander, for that matter - but Alexander was cool and smooth against him, still flesh and the silk of his clothes.  They didn’t hold their breath, but he felt like they should have. Hell knew what those hunters had come with - stakes and salt and garlic and holy water, maybe a priest with a cross and vengeance. They had been caught flat-footed. Alexander hadn’t wanted to hide, but at least he could be convinced into reason for just a moment. So now they were pressed between the floor and the ground, and the boots vibrated through his back, and crammed between his front and the dirt was alexander, glaring up at the floor, fangs visible in his mouth. 

Be still and silent. 

Alexander touched his bare forearm. Alexander met his eyes and smirked. 

[iniquiticity]

10, whamilton?

Wait, my hero’s secret identity is… you? To be honest, I’d always kind of hoped…

He was set down one one of the taller buildings in the area. There was something impossibly unreal about the whole thing, to be scooped out of sinking ferry by the very hero he secretly admired. All black wings and white mask and this never happened to him. And it had. Him. Saved. By the eagle himself. 

He took in the sunset and turned. There the eagle was standing, the silhouette of black wings tall on his back. Alex gathered his confidence and walked over. 

“Hey –” 

“Are you okay?” The wings asked, and then the eagle turned.

He knew that voice. At first baffled, and then comprehension, as he took in the man. White mask under his arm, dark skin of his face, bald head, intense eyes, thick brows. 

Alex locked his knees as to stop them from giving out. 

George didn’t quite smile, but. “One day I’m not always going to be able to rescue you, politics or ferry or otherwise.” 

“Jesus christ.” Alex muttered. 

[crowzi]

👀👀👀👀 pornstar au?

the au balanced of both super sexy events and supet UNSEXY AS FUCK events.

sexy: ben gets really daintily and prettily tied up and suspended and fucked.

unsexy: ben regularly gets waxed. he has to time it perfectly otherwise he’s fighting The Itch

[historical-ramblings]

The dreadful Itch Of Doom.

Also the first part...you have my attention...

[crowzi]

47 or 27 (or both) with benwash? pls and thank u ur fantastic

A little old arranged marriage au: gets NSFW under the cut

The celebrations lasted the week, beginning with a feast that Sunday and festivities to follow. The kings birthday, a whole forty and seven years, was always a rich event. Benjamin had witnessed it the year before, just a few short weeks following their wedding, but he had witnessed it from the confines of their quarters, hiding himself away as he lamented the loss of his former life.

George did the same, whether he admitted it or not, from his study. It was a dreary affair. Benjamin danced with him at the ball on the evening of his birth and departed soon after, falling asleep in the coldness of their shared bed. 

But this year, he thought he ought to do something better for him. Something husbands should do. Ben can count, in the last year and some odd weeks, the amount of times his husband has bedded him on his two hands. Their wedding night, as tradition holds, and a few sparse encounters in which release had to be had. Some in the heat of fights, others out of the need for comfort and closeness.

He departed the ball early, noting the way his husbands face fell when he announced his departure, and retreated back to the chambers. There, his handmaidens assisted in his bathing, making sure he is fresh for the nights engagements. One warms the oil gently before replacing it in the vial at their bedside. It sits neatly beside the cleaned glass object he uses to open himself.

The bed is tended and the bedding changed while Ben is carefully dried and re-dressed in his nightclothes. He knows from their wedding night that it is simpler to prepare himself personally for George. 

Keep reading

[crowzi]

15, supernatural

15: shooting star

Ben sits in the middle of the field behind their quaint little home, his chin tilted towards the sky as the clouds part sweetly to allow for slivers of moonlight to shimmer the grass, still wet from that evenings rainstorm. 

No one in their little town ever notices how clear skies become during the full moon, how no matter what, once a month, there will always be a clear night just for that day. No one comments or realizes that it only began to occur when George and Ben moved in.

Well, specifically Benjamin. He basks in the moonlight, and George watches him quietly from the porch. He considers Ben for a few moments, folds the shirt he left abandoned, and debates painting the porch sometime before deciding that Ben’s been out there alone long enough.

The first step into the grass, he see’s Ben’s shoulders roll back, and he knows Ben knows he’s here now. Ben knew before George stepped out though. Ben knew he would before George knew he would.

“My love,” his voice carries through the night gently, only to George, however. “Sit with me.”

The damp grass is dry when George reaches him, when he folds himself down beside his lover. He feels the warmth of Ben’s body beside him, always too-warm and too-perfect. “How was your ritual?” He asks, because he’s asked every full moon since he learned what Ben was.

“Energizing,” is the response. It’s always the response. Which, George supposes, is good. It’s what these nights spent lying in the moonlight are supposed to do to him. To reconnect this earthly form he’s been trapped in to the sun and the stars and the moon and the heavens from whence he came.

Every full moon, bared entirely to the skies so that the light can touch every part of him, so that it can seep into his pores and touch the eternal, ethereal, being inside him. 

Ben leans his head on George’s shoulder, allows George’s arm to wrap around his waist. “Look,” Ben says, his eyes glimmering in the darkness for just a moment. A little pinprick of light dashes across the sky for just a moment, “Make a wish.”

George knows Ben did that. He’s always been fond of making stars and rise fall just for him. But, it is still a sweet gesture. He twists his head and presses a kiss to the side of his beautiful night-gods temple. “All my wishes have long since come true.”

[crowzi]

9. Grinding and 20. Breaking the rules for Benwash

Stripper AU!

It’s the number one rule of every strip club ever: You keep your goddamn hands off the dancers. Ben’s already had a few instances where he needed to call over a bouncer and get some handsy guy smeared into the concrete out back and he’s only been working here for a couple months.

He had less issues at his last club, but he had to move which means he had to find a new club.

Which was annoying, considering he didn’t have any high-tipping regulars here. But still, Ben could shake his ass for cash (well, more like run his hands up and down his half-naked body and shimmy his hips and spread his legs for cash) pretty much anywhere. 

He’s halfway through the third night of his fourth month when he gets the alert from another server. “You’ve got a VIP request, should I approve it or deny it?”

Ben’s eyes scan the room. It’s a mostly empty night, and if he wants to make even a quarter of what he usually does, he should probably take it. So he nods, just once, and heads into the back after dropping off another drink. VIP rules here are the same as the other place he worked.

No touching. Seriously, no touching. He knows you paid extra, he knows you’re in the private room. It doesn’t matter, keep your hands to yourself. 

The guy sitting in the chair when Ben slips through the door is new. He’s not one of the few that Ben’s given dances to, or some of the frequent faces he’s remembered. He’s new, in a nice suit with a handsome face and Ben thinks he saw him at the edge of the bar that night. 

Not even by the stage. “So,” he purrs, getting nice and close to the stranger as the music starts on. He twists his hips with each step, making them look wider, looser, and his legs look longer. “I hear I’ve got you for a couple songs, huh?”

“Only one, if you prefer,” the man says, dark eyes flickering up and down Ben’s body. “If you’d rather, you can keep the rest as a tip. I wouldn’t want to monopolize your night.”

Ben chuckles, sliding himself into this guys laps. He sees his hands twitch and flex. “It’s dead out there. I’d much rather be in here with you.”

A rarity for a strip club, but Ben notices once he’s getting into the beginning of his routine, small talk and little movements at the song builds up, that this guy smells nice. Like fresh expensive cologne. It’s almost distracting as he drags himself back away from him to roll his back out, extending and folding away. By this point, he’s down to just the panties and the heels and this guy has a white-knuckle grip on the torn-leather chair and a tent in his pants so impressive that Ben actually accidentally grazes it at least twice.

And the third time because he hitches his breath in a way that’s almost alluring. The first song ends and Ben is inches from him. 

“You paid for three,” Ben whispers, hand dancing down the front of this guys shirt. He’s handsome, he seems nice. And well, Ben is certainly in the business of impressing the rich ones. “Would you like to see what I can do in two?”

[klovenhooves]

Two Sides of the Same Coin - A Bendre Drabble

Benjamin Tallmadge prided himself on his attention to detail. All of his intelligence reports were double and triple checked, verified, and decoded before they got to General Washington. He was borderline meticulous; one single missing detail could mean disaster or victory, and he was not about to let disaster rest on his shoulders. So when he realized that the man held in captivity in West Point was Major John Andre, he already knew everything he needed to know.

The man was manipulative, almost exceedingly so, but never in a way that made you feel used even after you realized you had been had. He was charming to a fault, suave and polite, just enough high society and new money to please both sides of the social class without favoring either one. He was a musician, a poet, an artist, an actor. A damned Renaissance man, for all intents and purposes.

Keep reading

[klovenhooves]

The First Day of School

For @tooeasilyconsidered: Overworked Benwash. 

The first day of school was always the hardest for Ben; after an entire summer of goofing off, having the house and his time to himself, waking up at six in the morning, spending the whole day standing in front of a classroom of high school students that definitely did not care about Romeo and Juliet was a slap in the face to his energy levels, and by the time the final bell rang, he was ready to fall into his bed and sleep for the next several days, despite the fact that he had to be up again at the same time to do this all over again.

A student bumped his shoulder on his way to the parking lot, and he felt his exhaustion melt into a flash of irritation. He always got like this: first tired, then exhausted, and then cranky. He hoped George wouldn’t be home until late, just so he knew he wouldn’t accidentally snap at the poor man that was somehow always used to waking up at five in the morning and being important all day long.

But his car was in the driveway when he got home, and Ben’s irritation at that one student that bumped him, plus the pain in his feet, had not abated.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called sarcastically, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door loudly and kicking the door shut. The series of loud noises soothed his irritation a bit, but not nearly enough to satisfy him.

“I’m in the kitchen,” George’s voice was so sweet, so content, that Ben was momentarily even crankier. How was happiness possible after such a long day? He trudged into the kitchen, his husband coming into view, his apron tied around his waist, a spatula in his hand.

“How was your first day?” there was a sparkle of knowing in George’s eye, and before he could stop himself, Ben was laying out the whole day; the early morning that made his eyes hurt, the too hot shower, the class after class of uncaring students that were just as sleepy as he was, the final bell and the damned kid that shoulder-checked him in the hallway. George listened with a sympathetic frown while he stirred a savory looking concoction on the stove while his husband griped.

“I figured it would go something like that,” he admitted, pulling a square bowl out of the cabinet and scooping some rice into it, and some chicken on top of that. “So I made some Indian food. I know it’s your favorite.”

He set the steaming bowl in front of Ben and came around the back of his chair, his large hands settling on Ben’s shoulders and squeezing soothingly. “And after you eat, I’ll take you to the shower,” he whispered in his ear, sending goosebumps down Ben’s neck.

[crowzi]

A sweet prompt: Original Incubus verse George/Alex/Ben, George and Alex pampering their precious human.

George says it was the restaurant Alex insisted on visiting with Ben. 

Alex says it’s a plague and has already begun the processes of searching for the most viable experts in the field to kidnap.

Ben, however, is fairly sure that it’s just the flu. One he probably caught going to a hospital for the first time in decades, even if he was only there to sneak in and make off with some more medical supplies for the home lair. He was still stuck in bed though, despite the cause. Which was good because whenever he tried to stand up the world got all tilty and he was sure was going to puke.

Or pass out. Or both.

He’s burrowed down in the blankets when the door creaks over the first inch, the wriggly, lithe body of their pet miniature dragon slinking his way through and digging his claws into the bed to clamber his way up.

“Hey Culper,” he coos, voice rough from the coughing and puking. The dragon ignores him, as he is wont to do, and finds his way under the covers. It’s only a couple moments before the heat starts to seep in, his too-warm breath making the entirety under the blanket toasty enough to stave off the chills.

Ben wiggles a hand down under the blankets to scratch just above his tail, a little thank you pat before noticing that someone else has filled the doorway.

Well, two someone’s to be precise. George, with a steaming bowl in one hand and Alex, with an armful of boxes in varying shades of blue and orange. 

“I didn’t know what kind worked best, so I got all of them,” he explains, dumping on the other side of Ben before climbing in beside him. He presses his hand to Ben’s forehead. “Is this warm? Are you warm? Are you supposed to be warm? George how warm is he supposed to be?” He only stops his ranting when George places a hand on his shoulder, effective in shutting Alex up. 

“We’ll check on his fever soon, Spitfire,” he promises, setting the bowl on the side table. “Is there room for another, though?” 

Ben pats the other side, and George dutifully folds himself around Benjamin, fitting perfectly once Culper re-adjusts himself around to settle between their legs. George keeps him awake long enough to eat, but there’s no point in lasting much longer after that, he figures. He falls asleep with Alex’s hand rubbing perfect circles on his back and gentle lips at his temple. 

[grumblebee-trilogy]

Are you interested in any merlaf right now? Maybe Laf defending his choice of a human to his family?

Lafayette clenched his jaw, afraid that more words would pour out if his lips loosened. It had come out in a gush; a rushing, breathless confession, full of wavering and cracking. He had not been traveling the seas, as he had said when he departed a few years ago. He was on land. On human legs. And he had found a human mate.

His grandmother sat hunched in the sand, her face stern. “They die quickly, dear boy.” Lafayette nodded, and croaked out a small ‘I know’

“You don’t. Humans are cruel, and unkind. Perhaps not intentionally…but that’s their flaw. Their lives are short, and so they fight and claw to possess anything that makes them feel alive in their short time here. It kills those who don’t use caution. It killed your father.”

Lafayette had not heard much about his father, only that he had been hauled aboard by fisherman, and cut in two. “I am aware that Papa paid a price. But George…my George is different, grandmama.”

“Maybe so. But he will die, and it will be sooner and more painful than you can imagine.”

[grumblebee-trilogy]

I'm sorry things are stressful for you now, and I hope it gets better soon! For a prompt, may I request summer camp counselor Benwash?

Ben liked the job, despite the ridiculous get up. The camp counselor shirt with smiley faces and trees printed on it, the baseball camp embroidered with ‘Camp Little Lake’ sitting low on his brow. Tight khakis and sneakers. Some counselors wore shorts, but Ben had gotten enough poison ivy to learn to deal with the heat. But most of all he liked George. George, the tempered older camp counselor. His fishing classes were quiet, and his hiking excursions challenging and wonderful. George was definitely something…

“Benjamin.” Ben snapped to attention, almost dropping his clipboard. “I need you to log each camper tonight. There’s been room switchings and the kids need to stay in their assigned bunks.” George said. He looked across the dining hall to the tables full of loud chattering kids, his voice falling to a hush.

“And once they’re all tucked in and in the right place, come to my room. There’s some things we need to…discuss.” His lips curled into a slight smile, and Ben felt his knees wobble.

“Of course. I’ll be there at lights out.” He returned, not as suavely, but enough to spark some more amusement in George.

“I’ll be waiting.”

[grumblebee-trilogy]

perhaps some gentle spoils benwash later on in their marriage when Ben finally takes George around the garden and they fall asleep in the gazebo just like he used to do with baker? and before George braids flowers into Ben's hair and Ben tries to find the blue flower that is the exact shade of George's eyes! just, them being sweet and happy after all they've been through!

This time the rustling of leaves didn’t stir fear in Ben’s belly. There was no shifty glance towards the entrance of the rotunda, no cowering under his blanket. Only the sound of wind tinkling through the chime George had hung in the gazebo. The hydrangeas were in full bloom, and Ben raked his fingers over their petals carefully.

“What are you doing, my angel?” George said, sleepy still from their after lunch nap. His hair had come undone from its queue, as had Ben’s, falling in auburn waves around his face. Ben blushed, and picked one tiny blossom off the head of a hydrangea.

“I think this is it.” He said. He held the blossom up to George; not to show, but to compare. Lightest blue, soft and welcoming. His eyes. “It’s your eye color.” George smiled and rolled onto his side.

“Does my little king wish me to braid it into his hair?” He said. He took the blossom, rolling its stem tenderly between his thumb and forefinger. “Or shall I wait for more?”

Ben took a look around the rotunda. His secret garden that used to be a shield from George, now teeming with his colors in the most comforting ways.

“Wait for more.”

[babyanimalgifs]

I need a big cloud dog in my life.

[yharnamsnewslug]

@comp-lady @grumblebee-trilogy @madi-tumbles

[madi-tumbles]

if anyone wants to join in a game of cards against humanity with some TURN and Hamilton, come find us!

https://pyx-3.pretendyoure.xyz/zy/game.jsp#game=12

the password is benny boy

[crowzi]

come play games with me, i’m fucking BORED

[wellreadfan]

m a d i s o n for the playlist thing?

The Playlist (and be warned, it’s a bit eclectic): https://open.spotify.com/user/1261117668/playlist/4vowMAkWYnwbEhfoJbi0n1

Moth’s Wings by Passion Pit A Sorta Fairytale by Tori Amos Do What You Have To Do by Sarah McLachlan I Had Something by Lucy Kaplansky Sunny Came Home by Shawn Colvin On Your Shore by Charlotte MartinNever Is A Promise by Fiona Apple

[historical-ramblings]

!!!!