#aph hamilton

[marionettedupaincheng]

How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore And a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean by providence impoverished, In squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?

[rcrp-ontario]

OT: How do you plead? HML: (looks desperately at TO) TO: (mouths 'not guilty') HML: Hot milky! TO: (bangs his head against the desk) Just lock her up.

((Ham

Ham no

Ham why

[ryuukatamae]

A Nation & His Boss

[rcrpquotes]

You gotta Drake safely!

@rcrp-hamilton

[fallenfirebird]

Do Ham and Toto sleep with rifles like they're teddy bears

p r o b a b l y

[hetaliawillbethedeathofme]

[hollowrosewood]

Hamiltalia Excerpt: Unbecoming

This is just an excerpt from a hamiltalia fanfiction I’m working on. Title may or may not stay, I just needed a fancy word. Anyway, enjoy! Tell me what you think and what you would like to see in the story!

“Give me my damn quill! I know for a fact that Lauren's took it from me last night and he must have come in here and given it to you to hide. For the love of God Gilbert, if you do not give me my damn quill back god only knows what sort of plan I will come up with to avenge myself.” The man cursed. Lafayette just chuckled, having calmed down from being awoken so rudely.

France noted how the new comer called Lafayette ‘Gilbert’ and it occurred to him that the two must be close and the angry visitor didn’t even flinch at the sight of a pantless Lafayette. This, Francis thought, must be the little lion.

“I do not know what you are talking about. I’m sorry I do not speak English.” Lafayette said, pretending to examine his nails, leaning against the doorway. Francis bit his tongue, holding in a chuckle of his own at the look the Little Lion had given the Frenchman.

“I need that quill.” The Little Lion growled.

“Do you not have others?” Lafayette questioned in a sing-song like voice. While Lafayette teased the poor lion, France glanced around the small room, looking for the quill. He spotted it quickly, a white feather peeking out from underneath the shameful bag that dared called itself a pillow.

“Of course I have others!” The Lion howled, throwing his arms up in agitation. Francis could see the irritation in the smaller man who wasn’t finding this comical anymore, though he probably didn’t see the comedy in it in the first place.

“So use those!” Lafayette responded with a small chuckle, but it was evident he was resigning his fight and going to cut the poor man some slack. “Why do you need this one?”

“Because I forge Washington’s signature with it so if you could please!” The Lion hissed in a rushed whisper, glancing down the hall in case anyone had heard.

“Oho?” Lafayette asked, his eyebrow raising and his interest was piqued once more. “Monsieur Hamilton is copying the signature of the General now, is he~?”

Lafayette had already known this information, he just loved watching Hamilton get flustered. Alexander Hamilton, France had realized, was the Petit Lion. When Lafayette was talking about his friends on their ride here, he did not use their actual names but fond little nicknames he had given them. France had heard of both Hamilton and the Petit Lion, but didn’t make the connection that they were the same person. This little angry man in front of them, Francis acknowledged, was a force to be reckoned with. He watched the beautiful man open his mouth to retort and it was then that Francis Bonnefoy decided to make his presence known. He stood, keeping the sheet of blanket around his waste before carefully slipping the quill out from beneath Lafayette’s pillow and held it out in his palm, standing beside Lafayette.

“Is this yours?” Francis asked, looking down at the other man. He couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face as Alexander Hamilton looked up at him with such a confused, almost unhappy expression.

“…And you are?” He asked apprehensively, eyebrow raised as he slowly took the quill out of Francis palm and held it away from Lafayette, who was only smiling at the encounter. France could tell by Alexander’s tone of voice that the man knew precisely who he was, after all if rumors were true, Alexander was supposed to be a genius.

Francis took Alexanders hand in his and he could see the ridges of calloused fingers, feel the heat emanating from the man’s palm and if France didn’t know any better, he could feel the pulsing and overworked nerves against his own skin.

“Francis Bonnefoy, otherwise known as the country of France.” France introduce, bowing a bit and pressing his lips to the top of Alexander’s hand. He could feel the heat from his skin on his lips and it took every restraint in Frances body to stop himself from grabbing both of the boys’ hands and massaging them to ease. Francis could feel the eye roll and warning glare from Lafayette, but chose to ignore it. He glanced up to see Hamilton staring at him, brilliant eyes wide as a doe. The Lion glanced back and forth between Lafayette and Francis before he locked eyes with Lafayette and an unexplainable sound escaped his throat. He ripped his hand away from Francis, the two Frenchmen glancing at each other in confusion before watching Hamilton, make another squeak of frustration again before going on the move. A string of curses escaped the wondrous mouth of Alexander Hamilton, the shorter man suddenly running around the house.

“You have got to be kidding me Lafayette? Why didn’t you tell me he was here earlier dear god, there was a meeting with the General schedule for 9:30 and it’s…” Alexander paused before entering a room just down the hall, staring at the grandfather clock. “9:20.” The Scotsman deadpanned. He disappeared into the room before returning with a bundle of clothes that he more or less threw into Francis face.

“Put that on. And put your hair up.’ Alexander said no, ordered, then turned his wild eyes to Lafayette, ‘and why aren’t you dressed yet?! I’ll be back in two minutes. Two!”

With that Alexander Hamilton turned on his heel and scurried down the stairs so quickly, even Francis was amazed at the speed of him. His hair bouncing with each step, his hand gliding down the rail, his footsteps light. Alexander paused in the foyer of the headquarters and turned to look back up at France, who was still staring at him in awe from the doorway. The look turned vicious as Hamilton snapped up at him,

“Get dressed!”

[hollowrosewood]

Imagine France during the Revolutionary War and he’s been following Lafayette around for the majority of the time and he see’s Hamilton while he’s working and running around doing things for Washington and France starts blatantly flirting with him.Alexander ignores him for a little bit while he works and he allows France to try everything to no avail because Ham likes to be difficult. France is on the verge of giving up then Hamilton turns to him, amused with France’s antics, and starts flirting back in fucking french and France is aaallllll for it. Like;

“This hot american speaks french honhonhonhon”

And while they continue to tease and flirt, the both of them getting closer to each other, George Washington comes riding by on horseback and snatches Alexander by the scruff of his neck (like a kitten; little lion misbehaving) and onto the horse and while they ride away, GWash looks back at France like;

‘you ain’t touching my kid’

So the rest of the war is just France trying to get in Alexander’s pants and George Washington being a cockblock.