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Hello out there!
I recently made myself a side account to post my fics as I had an abrupt and unwanted real world clash with someone else and my stories.
That being said, if you'd like access to this new account to read my fics and you are someone I know and have interacted with, please message me and I'll share it.
Holy crap I posted something on AO3...
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
My entry for this month's @hamevents2024 getting it in at the last possible minute.
***
The additional heat is instantaneous and awful. Out of instinct John leans away.
To which Lafayette responds by bonelessly falling across his lap.
“Lafayette-” John grunts, tries to extract himself without having to move. He tenses as Lafayette shifts against his hip. He might blush if his cheeks weren’t already so red from the day’s exposure to the sun. “My friend, it is much too hot to… to touch in any way.”
Yes hello I've completed a fic for the first time in I don't even know how long. Maybe two years? More?
ANYWAY Please enjoy. This is part of my The World Turned Upside Down series, where John lives and Alexander dies. I'll make a separate post with the timeline and a list of all of the involved stories. This is the ninth story I've written in this series, but it's the 8th chronologically.
This is Not a Game
The announcement comes off unexpected, but met with delight by Eliza's family. John's anticipated the reaction. His new fiancée is still a young woman. They have all the time in the world to make a happy life.
A fine household, her father says. And more children, her mother adds.
John catches her gaze from across the room and offers a small smile. No one has asked about their true feelings, how the impending marriage is more a deep bond over loneliness than anything else.
Eliza smiles back at him and follows her parents out of the room as they continue discussing plans for the future that might not have happened at all if John had not impulsively opened his mouth.
He places his empty glass of wine on a table and turns to leave the other way. After all, he ought to write his father.
As John exits the room into the hall, he nearly bumps into-
“Oh. Mrs. Church, I'm sorry.”
“It might as well be Angelica now, hm?” She regards John with some cool, unreadable expression. “Since you're about to become my brother-in-law.”
John stares at her a moment. “Yes, I suppose.”
Angelica takes a step closer, her dark eyes boring into John's like she's trying to discern something.
“If you intend to humiliate or hurt my sister, Colonel Laurens-”
“What?” John balks, jerks back like he's been burned. “I have no intention to harm Eliza in any way. I care for her. Deeply.”
“You don't love her.”
John doesn't answer, instead eying Angelica warily. When he doesn't speak she rolls her eyes.
“Eliza tells me everything. I know all about your plan. Your arrangement.”
“Then you know I have no intention to cause any harm to Eliza, or Philip, or your family.”
Every word is true. He does not need money or property. His own family has plenty. The match makes perfect sense to everyone. Until now John’s believed everyone believes this union is real, bound by love. Angelica’s sharp gaze remains fixed on him.
“Do not make the mistake of thinking you were the only, or the first to have cared for Alexander, either.”
John draws a sharp breath, the air freezing abruptly in his lungs. “I don't know what you're-”
“Relax, Colonel Laurens. Your secret is safe.”
John shakes his head, wary. His brow furrows while he tries to breathe again. He’s never told anyone about he and Alexander- before.
“How did you know?”
“Alexander used to write to me,” Angelica says as if she wasn’t discussing a damning secret. “He told me about you and the way he wrote, it was easy to tell how he felt about you.”
“You knew-”
“Does my sister?”
“No.”
He’s never told Eliza that truth. Anxiety gnaws at him, and has. It’s more than the guilt of Alex’s death. It’s more, a truth that John has never told her and never will. Revealing the past will open a rift far too wide to patch. Not only a rift in his friendship with Eliza, but a deeper rift into the past and Alex-
John stops, clears his throat.
“What about you? Do you love your husband, Angelica?”
Angelica eyes him a long moment, “I think I prefer you referring to me as Mrs. Church.”
And then she continues on her way.
Oh I wrote a piece of a something. Angst ridden Whamilton ahead. Enjoy!
***
“Somebody knows,” Washington mutters, his voice barely audible with the heavy weight of revelation. The words are simple, yet they suck every breath of air out of the room. Washington sits, tense behind his desk, a scrap of torn parchment clutched in his fist. There’s an unfamiliar intensity in his eyes Alexander has not seen before.
Alexander’s brow furrows, eyes narrow. He tries to catch Washington’s gaze but he keeps just barely avoiding him. “Knows what, sir?”
The General hesitates, closes his eyes. His knuckles go almost white. “They know about us, Alexander.”
The words hit in a punch, driving the air out of Alexander’s lungs. He stands, frozen, stunned. “What?” At last he manages to speak, throat dry. Alexander reaches out for the parchment clenched in Washington’s hand-
Only for him to draw it away. Alexander barely touches him and he acts as though he’s been burned.
“Sir, do you not know who-”
“Do you think for a moment if I did I wouldn't have taken care of it?”
The pain in Washington’s voice makes Alexander's heart ache too. He wants to scream, rip the paper from the General's hand. The room spins around him.
“What do we do?”
Apparently this was for whumptober. When I tell you I have no memory of writing this...
Like seriously, no idea where this plot was going. Apparently Alex has a leg injury here but yeah no clue.
(I often wake up and write things waaay too early in the morning)
***
Washington freezes mid-stride, turns back to his quarters. The sound registers with the movement he's just seen and instinct takes over the three steps to get to the doorway. He peers again into his quarters and in those seconds the blankets have dropped to the floor and, flushed and panting, he sees as Hamilton tries to stand.
"What are you doing?" Washington takes a cautious step. Dread rings off like cannonfire in his mind. Another step. "Hamilton."
Dark eyes meet Washington's. Heavy, exhausted, delirious. "Sir, th'messages," Hamilton slurs.
Hamilton pushes himself from the bed. He seems to recognize Washington and mumbles to himself, pats at his oversized shirt in confusion. His face is flushed, cheeks red and dark circles ring the boy's eyes.
"Hamilton, what are you doing? You're meant to stay in bed." Washington moves his hand to the doorway, grasping at it to steady himself. He's physically frozen, willing the boy back to the bed as he stares in horror.
Those weary dark eyes find Washington again. An instant passes, and he takes a step forward.
"No!"
Washington bolts forward in the same heartbeat Hamilton takes a step. Or he tries to. His leg refuses to support him, and the poor boy begins to crumble.
It's a mercy that he falls into Washington’s arms instead of the floor.
A tiny lil' snippet of something I'm working on for Whumptober:
Awareness creeps back, sluggish and incomplete at first. John's head pounds like a hammer against his skull and he nearly succumbs to the welcome of painless dark. But something is not quite right, something stifling that forces him to open his eyes.
Everything comes out a blur. John closes his eyes and tries again. His mind remains slow to process what he sees.
A face. Dark eyes boring into his own, conveying silent urgency.
Washington.
John's startled reaction is silenced, smothered by Washington’s hand over his mouth. There gazes lock, John abruptly shocked into full consciousness by movement. Footsteps just above them.
Washington does not so much as flinch, his expression alone conveying his order.
Do not move.
John blinks his understand. His peripheral catches the briefest glance of a red coat.
"Do you see them?"
"Nothing. They're on foot. Can't have gone far."
A grunt. "Keep looking."
Here's the short version of this:
Kay is at Disney with her bestie and got drunk at the Magic Kingdom, then went on Pirates of the Caribbean. And at the end a pirate is offering his rum to a cat and says something about "be a good little pussycat."
And that's where this Whamilton bullsh*t comes from. It's a snippet that is not at all edited. Enjoy!
* * *
"And what did they say?" Alex glances up from his letter, a perfect combination of cross and encouraging. His pen tilts away from the parchment. The interruption is expected then.
"They said," Washington moves closer, steps heavy. "They are unsure whether I have employed a young gentleman or a tomcat, some feral beast not fit for his role or this army."
Alex's lips quirk and Washington is unsure the boy is amused or annoyed. He scoffs quietly and his attention returns to the letter. "What did you tell them?"
Washington huffs at the indifference. He quickly,deftly closes the distance between them and takes Alex by the wrist.
The pen chatters to the floor.
"Against what might be the advice of many I told them they have no say in my choice of aides, and I ordered them out. But do you know what I ought to have told them?"
Their faces are so close. Washington feels the boy's breath on his cheek. There's the slightest hitch and he grins.
"What?"
"That's you're no tomcat. Feral perhaps, but you are far more a pussycat. Screaming until you get every scrap of attention you want. That's what you are, my boy. A pusstcat in heat."
Anon who keeps asking me for Washington whump for Whumpril, you have no idea what you've started...
