ReluctantRavenclaw
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It looks like he’s about to say something. Maybe well done, maybe thank you, maybe I’m so proud of you.
I love you, Jason.
They never find out.
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In every lifetime, again and again, John Laurens dies. Well, everyone dies, and nobody understands this particular sentiment more than one Alexander Hamilton, but in any case, John Laurens always dies first. It doesn’t seem to matter where they are or when they are. The end result is always the same. John Laurens always dies first, and Alex is always left behind to pick up the pieces. They often look different, and on rare occasions, they have different names, but those are small matters, compared to the other issue at hand. John always dies.
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He stood in rooms where people walked through him. He stared straight into the eyes of those he'd loved most and they stared blankly back, like he wasn't there at all. Because he wasn't. Not really. Nobody could see him until one day, quite suddenly, somebody could.
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"But what has become of our dear father? It is an age since I have heard from him or of him, though I have written him several letters..." (Alexander Hamilton to his brother, 1785)
Alexander's father left him. Alexander left his own children. Are the sins of the father always destined to be repeated? In trying so desperately hard not to be his own father, an identical copy twenty years later, he fails to notice that he might just be passing on the same memories to his children, the very children he swore he'd never leave.
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His name is Philip.
Philip has always been a poet, even before he knew what that word was or what it meant. Before that, he thought that everyone made up rhymes on the spot, and scribbled down the lines that popped into their heads. But no, Mother says they don’t.
Life, death, love, legacy and forgiveness seen through a young poet's eyes.
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Alex knew John Laurens. He knew the crease of his neck, the birthmark on his leg, every freckle on his body. And this. This wasn't John. Sure, it looked like John, but it was more like everything inside of him had been wiped out and left unreplaced.
Bookmarked by ReluctantRavenclaw
27 Jul 2021
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The world felt right when John was nestled in between the French general and Washington’s favorite aide-de-camp, the freckled man exchanged or treated to both of them at once. The wily man was calm when he was tamed by the two other men, and he was more than loving when he was loved in return. He absolutely adored when they would be panting out soft coos and demands in French, though none were ever frantic or scared.
They had enough time to be scared on the battlefield. This was their time to enjoy each other, and who was to say that this was ever to happen again?
The primary worry was always for John’s safety, and there was good reason.
Bookmarked by ReluctantRavenclaw
01 Jun 2019
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John Laurens was never meant to love.
The world would not let him love.
But oh, was he loved.
And he loved in return.
Bookmarked by ReluctantRavenclaw
01 Jun 2019
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They haunted him. That shade of violet blue, so unique and mesmerizing. They had been the first thing John had noticed that night in the bar. The way the candle-light reflected off his eyes, igniting the flames within as he spoke. And the way they had contrasted with his hair. He can smiles sadly as he remembers how the soft sunlight would stream through his hair, pulling all the shades with it. That auburn, burnt orange, hair paired with those eyes had made his knees weak. And then Alexander had sent him that smile from across the room, just a quirk of his lips, his eyes half lidded.
So John had manned up and strode across to introduce himself under the guise of teasing Aaron. Laf and Herc had followed him over and the five had spent the night chatting away. Then burr had left and the conversation had gotten louder and Alexander had gotten more passionate, his eyes brighter…
John choked back a sob. What he wouldn’t give to see Alexander once more.
Bookmarked by ReluctantRavenclaw
29 May 2019
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Hamilton looked at his own history textbook.
Bookmarked by ReluctantRavenclaw
25 Mar 2019