#a second anniversary post cause i found these two images on my phone and i couldn't not put them together | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elizabethhamilton1780 · 7 years

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Because She Can

A/N: Most self-indulgent fic ever. Also my first Hamilton fic. I planned on having this be a one chapter fic, but it ended up getting too long. Because I’m trying not to lose my nerve, I haven’t really proofread it so let me know if there is any huge errors. I’m posting the first half now and working on the second. Enjoy!

They said no.

Eliza wasn’t sure what she was expecting. She had been warned. Multiple times, in fact. By her father, with whom she ran over her presentation with multiple times. By her older sister’s new fiancé. Her ex-husband had even warned her when she had begrudgingly approached him for advice.

“It’s a beautiful, admirable thing you’re doing, Betsey. It’s an amazing cause.” he had said. “But banks don’t see those things. They see only profit. What they’re going to gain from a potential loan.”

She hadn’t wanted to believe him. He was a liar, a cheater. What did he know?

She had tried to raise money the conventional way. Benefit dinners, fundraisers, schmoozing her way and the Schuyler name through fancy galas. Without a well-known and established foundation name behind them, no one in the city was going to donate anything substantial.

Her heart aches, thinking of the terrible house the children were living in. The loose floorboards, the doors that never seem to completely shut. At minimum, six children to a room, with two beds.

“Mrs. Hamilton,” John Wakefield, the head of the bank, and a friend of her father’s said after a short pause.

It had been over two years since the divorce and people still call her that. “Oh, um. It’s Schuyler now. Again. Miss Schuyler.” Eliza babbled, over explaining herself. Something she had been known to do.

“Well. My apologies, Miss Schuyler.” Mr Wakefield said, tipping his head graciously. It made Eliza’s stomach tighten. It was a better alternative to the pitying look she had grown used to. “But, as I was saying. We admire and fully support your cause, but without a proper foundation behind it, the bank cannot…” She tuned the rest of the rejection out.

She had worked on this presentation for months. She had really thrown herself into the organization after the divorce was finalized. She lived, ate and breathed for these children. She wanted their lives to be as amazing as they possibly could. Not everyone in the system was as fortunate as herself and her two sisters. Just because they wouldn’t grow up in a traditional family, doesn’t mean they couldn’t grow up in a real home.

She’s brought into the present as a heavy taxi horn sounds. She feels tears form in her eyes and fall down her cheeks at a steady pace. Her heels click against the New York City pavement, the ridiculous pencil skirt she was wearing making it hard for her to walk as quickly as she wanted to.

She rips her shoes and skirt off as soon as she’s in the safety of her own apartment, her small but usually steady hands shaking as she rips the cork off her last bottle of wine. She sets it down on the countertop, opening the cabinet that contains her wine glasses. She quickly abandons that idea and takes a long sip straight from the bottle, tears continuing to fall from her eyes.

Her phone starts ringing, her older sister’s dazzling face and smile appearing on her screen. She sniffles and ignores it, taking another large gulp. It took a solid three minutes before her phone was blowing up again, all texts from the group chat with her sisters

How’d it go?! AS

Lizzy. AS

Eliza. AS

Betsey. AS

Angie. She’s clearly not able to answer at the moment. PS

No. She’s reading our messages right now. My Liza senses are tingling. AS

Christ, Ang. Bets, call us once you get the chance. Love ya xx PS

They said no. ES

Oh, love. I’m so sorry. AS

Want me to come over? AS

Eliza swallows roughly, thinking of her current state. Wearing nothing but her panties and ridiculously itchy lavender sweater. Mascara tracks undoubtedly rolling down her cheeks.

No. I need to be alone. ES

I’ll text you tomorrow. ES

We love you. PS

I’m here if you need anything. AS

She puts her phone on silent and curls up on her sofa, hugging the bottle to her chest. She feels ridiculous. Why is she so upset over something she knew was going to happen? ‘you know why.’ A voice screamed inside her.

Alex’s face flashed in her mind. His brown eyes were wide, large purple bags under them. He looked sick and horrible. A wreck. The last of her things were shoved inside the heavy duffle bag hanging over her shoulder. Alexander’s face had become blurry with her own tears.

Before she could respond to his pleas, Angelica had wedged her way between them. She was taken under her mother’s strong arm and led to the awaiting elevator.

That was three years ago. To the date. It was like some mock anniversary- Eliza tried to forget about it. But every year the same image pops into her mind.

Her phone buzzes again. She doesn’t look this time, instead taking another long drink from the bottle.

George Washington deciding to run for president. That’s how their downfall started.

He had been gone more and more, being the head of his former boss’s campaign. For every night he spent at home, he was absent for three. She didn’t mind, not really. This was a huge opportunity for Alex, for their future family.

“It’s going to be worse.” He warned her after a particularly sweet reunion. His hand rubbed up and down her bare back, his voice hoarse and tired. “When he wins the primaries. Which he's going to.”

“Mm. The campaign isn't going to last forever. I can deal with a few more months if you can.” Eliza pressed a few kisses to his shoulder, her arm slung around his middle.

“You’re just…” Alexander had sighed, unable to form his thoughts, tilting her head up for a long kiss. “perfect.”

And things were fine for another few months. Until the campaign smearing started happening.

Washington’s opponent had accused Alexander of embezzling funds, all those years ago when he had worked as the then Secretary Washington’s right hand man.

“Can we really trust Washington? Look at the man he’s appointed as his head campaign chairman. A liar, a thief of our own government?!” He had raved on and on about how Washington and his entire team couldn't be trusted. Eliza had been horrified, watching the news coverage.

He evidently had enough evidence for Alexander to be thoroughly examined, a bunch of CIA agents had raided their New York home as Eliza looked helplessly on.

“Did you really… did you really steal, Alexander?” Eliza had asked after he had finally been able to fly her out to D.C., her teary voice muffled by his chest.

“No. I didn’t, Liza. You have to believe me.” His voice cracked, the stress of the past few days finally breaking him down. She believed him immediately, without question. And then proceeded to distract him with one of the few ways that had never failed her before.

After a few crazy long days, all charges and allegations had been acquitted.

The public had been puzzled, the story had taken so many twists and turns. Alexander decided that he needed to face this head on. He was going to give a speech.

“You don’t have to stay for this.” Alexander swallowed, his shaky hands clutching at Eliza’s knee as they ride from the hotel over to the press conference.

“I want to. I’m going to be here to support you. You aren’t alone in this, Alex. I won’t let you be.” She had pressed another sweet kiss to his lips.

They both ignored the half sob that escaped Alexander’s chest. Eliza didn’t think much of it. Nerves, she blamed it on.

‘I love you.’ he had mouthed to her before he takes the stage, the camera flashes blinding even Eliza who had been instructed to wait backstage.

After a brief introduction, his speech began. “Everyone is wondering what on earth Senator Newton was able to get away with such harsh allegations. And I’m here to clear the air and give a well deserved explanation to the American people and to our future president Washington.” There’s a pause while the audience cheers. “ Whose campaign doesn’t deserve the blow it received based on my younger self’s stupid decisions. The charges against me come from a connection I once had with a man named James Reynolds. I became well acquainted with him five years ago while I was serving under Washington…”

Eliza couldn't breathe.

An affair. He had an affair that summer she had gone abroad with her sisters. He had proposed before she left- only a week before, in a vain attempt to get her to stay with him.

Maria Reynolds. She went to college with them, Eliza would soon discover in a later conversation she would have with the recently divorced woman.

She graduated in English the same semester Eliza had graduated with her own degree. She married James the semester before, after an unplanned pregnancy. The relationship turned south. She recognized Alexander standing behind Washington on a news article. Desperate for help, the young mother waited outside the treasury building for the familiar face to appear. He was lonely, she was lonely. He didn’t say no. It continued for a month- until James Reynolds had found out.

Be it because of his connection with the Schuyler family, or his job at the treasury- Reynolds had assumed he had money. Blackmailed him for nearly half of his yearly salary. Alexander would later say he paid with no hesitation. “Anything to keep you from finding out. Anything to keep you unhurt. Anything to keep you with me.”

About halfway through her husband’s confession, she felt a gentle but strong hand placed on her shoulder. “Eliza.” Eliza hadn't turned to look at the source. She ran.

She didn’t know where she was running to. Anywhere but there. Anywhere away from her husband’s calm voice as he casually and publicly explained an affair.

She found an abandoned hallway, sinking down to the floor, sobbing into her knees.

It was Washington, who found her. He held her while another fresh wave of tears hit her after seeing the man she had teasingly referred to as her father in law while introducing him to her parents a little over a year earlier. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Is all that he could manage.

While the officially proclaimed President Elect Washington was preparing for his inauguration, the self proclaimed Elizabeth Schuyler was preparing to divorce the love of her life.

She ran out of wine.

She wasn’t anywhere close to being done with drinking away her self pity. After cleaning herself up the tiniest bit, by pulling on a pair of loose ripped jeans and a baggy cotton shirt, she finds herself in a bar.

She felt ridiculous. Here she was, thirty years old, sitting in a bar with drunk college students surrounding her, toasting to the end of midterms week.

This wasn’t like anything she had pictured her life being. No babies, nothing to show for her hard work. No Alexander. Damn him. He ruined everything.

Why did she miss him?

She takes another sip of the Manhattan cocktail she had just ordered, looking at the clock behind her. 12:30 am. He’d be awake.

“Liza?” The sound of his voice makes her go weak at the knees. She’s suddenly very glad to be sitting down.

“I miss you. I miss your kisses. I miss when you’d kiss my thighs.” The words come tumbling out before she can stop them.

A beat of silence from the other line. “Are you drunk?”

Okay. Not the reaction she was expecting. “Don’t you miss me?”

“You know I do.” He says after a short pause. “Everyday. Who are you with? Peg or Ang?”

“No one. ‘M by myself. And…” She pauses, looking at the bartender, squinting her blurry eyes to find his name tag. “Liam the bartender.”

“You went out drinking by yourself?” He sounds appalled. “That’s not like you. At all. Are you-?”

“The bank denied my loan. For the orphanage.” She interrupts him, feeling a fresh wave of tears fall over her.

“Sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” His voice was soft. He means it.

“No, I. It’s stupid. I knew they were going to say no. Being paid back with money from benefit dinners and donations is a ridiculously preposterous and sketchy thing for a bank to do- I just. I hoped they would have seen the pictures of the kids and the home they live in and maybe wanted to help? I just. I don’t know how I’m going to face them on Monday, I- oh, god.” She covers her mouth as another sob escapes her lips.

“Oh, love. It’s okay, I promise it’s going to be okay.” Alexander’s voice fills her ears, making her heart soar and sink at the same time. How is that possible?

It takes a couple minutes of listening to his words for her to calm down.

“I’m sorry.” She says, wiping away her leftover tears with a napkin Liam the bartender had placed in front of her. “For calling you so late.”

“Don’t ever apologize for that. I’m always going to be here for you.” The serious sincerity of his voice frightened her.

“I. This is ridiculous. I can’t believe… I’m in a bar, alone at this hour.” She laughs bitterly.

“You’re a grown woman. If you want to go to a bar and get shit faced drunk, you’re allowed to.” She can just see his crooked grin through the phone.

“I’m thirty-two. Way too old for this. I should be emotionally stable by now.” She winces at the wrecked sound of her voice.

“I’m thirty-four and I still do the same. Keeps us young.” There was that stupid grin again.

“You’re a bad example.” she says.

“Perhaps I am.” Alex allows and then she can hear something that sounds like papers rustling. “You okay, though? Really?”

“No. But I’ll get there. I just needed… a night of self pity before I figure out our next move.” Eliza sighs, running a hand down her face. He hums but doesn’t otherwise respond. “I really do miss you.”

“That’s just the booze talking, Betsey,” Alex says sadly. “You’re going to hate me again in the morning.”

“I could never hate you.” She frowns. “You broke my heart,” she pauses when she hears his sharp intake of breath. “Very.. publicly. I should hate you. But I don’t. I still love you.”

Nothing but a beat of silence on the other line. He clears his throat. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

“Well, I just did. Don’t you love me too?” She says, a teasing tone to her voice.

“You know I do.” he sighs.

“Say it, then.” Eliza challenges.

Another pause. “I love you, Liza. More than anything.”

She sighs happily, leaning her chin on her hand while her elbow rests on the bar. “Show me how much, then.” When he doesn’t reply, she frowns. Maybe she needed to clarify? “I mean… I want you to come and make love to me, Alexander.”

On the other line, a sharp intake of breath. “Please, Liza. Please don’t do this. Don’t make me say no to you.” Alex says weakly.

“Well, don’t say no then.”

“I can’t.” He says. “I can’t make love to you. Not when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” Eliza frowns, her mind a drunken haze. She doesn’t understand what’s so wrong with her idea. They were divorced, sure. But they both admitted their love for each other. Didn’t that mean something?

“Drunk. This is just the alcohol talking. You’re going to wake up tomorrow and hate me again.”

“Drunk Liza has always been more honest then sober Liza. You know this.” Her frown deepens. She starts to fiddle with the straw in her drink clumsily, her hands needing something to do.

Alex snorts. “Drunk Liza also almost gave Lafayette a strip tease in college. She most definitely would have if her sober boyfriend hadn’t intervened.”

She closes her eyes. “Please. Please, Alex.” Her voice sounds so pitiful even to her own ears that it hurts her.

His voice is hard. Perhaps even a tad bitter. Snappy. “I can’t. Not when you can’t give consent. I don’t want you to hate me even more than you already do.”

She sniffles, the red-hot iron of rejection burning a hole in her barely put together drunken heart.

“Have Liam the bartender call you a cab. Go home and go to bed, love.” His voice is much gentler when he speaks next.

“Don’t have the cash on me. Spent it all on my drinks.” She frowns, rummaging through her purse.

“Let me get you an Uber, then.”

“No. I can walk.” She throws the six extra crumbled up one dollar bills onto the counter, stumbling out of her chair.

“Walking?” He asks, his tone incredulous. “Are you crazy?”

“What happened to me being a grown woman?” Eliza counters, smiling. Perhaps she would have the last word tonight.

“Even I try to avoid the streets at night,” Alex says after taking a deep breath. She can just picture him running his hands through his hair as he always did whenever he was frustrated and trying not to lose his temper. “And I’m like, twice your size.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ll be fine.” She lets out a breath as the cool night air hits her lungs.

“Eliza, you can’t walk home this late drunk.” He says impatiently. “Let me call you a damn car.”

“Umm…” She pretends to think about it. “Um. No. Night, ‘Lex.” She hangs up the phone with a small, triumphant giggle. She showed him.

Her phone immediately starts vibrating again. She doesn't have to look at her phone to know who it is. She ignores it. Until the damn thing continues to vibrate incessantly, so much so that she ends up throwing the annoying contraption into her bag.

She makes it to Central Park before she relents. Her feet were starting to hurt and she’s fairly confident she doesn’t live anywhere near here anymore.

“Hi.” She says into the phone, slumping down on the nearest bench.

“Finally.” Alexander sighs, his voice full of relief and frustration. “Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

“Okay.” Eliza chirps happily. Alexander was better than any car he could have sent.

“Where are you?” He asks again after a beat, the definite sound of a door slamming shut in the background.

Suddenly she’s scared. An irrational fear picks up in her drunken mind. Was he mad at her? She was only joking. Why did it even matter to him? They weren’t married. Hell, they were barely acquaintances nowadays. Distant acquaintances who are forced to be civil and interact in public as they were still apart of the same social circle.

“Elizabeth.” He speaks again, that familiar harsh tone of frustration seeping through.

The use of her full name is like a dagger to her heart. Similar to the feeling she would get as a young girl when her parents would use it. “You called me Elizabeth.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. She’s surprised Alex even catches it.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” He finally snaps. “Where the hell are you?”

“It is… my name. I’m just never called that. It’s usually Eliza. Liza, Betsey. Sometimes Bets. Even Lizzy.” She swallows. “I hate being called Elizabeth. It’s too formal. Especially from you, considering…” our ten year relationship, she thinks. She knows Alexander will know what she means. It’s always been like that with the two of them. And it has been that way since the beginning. With Alexander calling her by her full name, it just reminds her of all she has lost. It hurts way more than it should.

Alex lets out a small sigh. When he speaks again, his tone is much softer. “Okay. I’m sorry. Please, please tell me where you are so I can help you get home. It’s late and I need to make sure you’re safe, baby.”

She inhales sharply. Baby, he said. He called her baby. It’s been two years. Her life is completely different than what it was then. She’s single, not a mother but instead head coordinator of a failing organization, the organization that brought her and her two sisters to her parents. She’s back at the orphanage, piss drunk on a Thursday night and she is no longer married to Alexander Hamilton.

The tears form in her eyes and roll down her cheeks in a single sweep. Her hands tremble from the cold, the tears making her phone stick to her face where it was pressed to her cheek. It’s cold, dark and she has never felt more alone.

“Eliza?”

“I don’t know!” She sobs, her other trembling hand covering her mouth. Tears continue to run down her cheeks at an alarming rate. Mournful sobs escape her chest, wracking her body. She barely hears Alexander’s frantic reassurances.

“Oh. I. uh. I-It’s okay. Shh, love.” Alex says and Eliza can just imagine the look of terror on his face. He’s never been good at comforting. All he knows how to do is yell and punch whoever was the cause of the tears. (That’s why it was so difficult him after the Reynold’s debacle. He couldn’t exactly punch himself in the gut, though it seemed he already had.) “It’s okay, baby.” The pet name made Eliza sob harder.

It took what felt like hours for her to calm herself down. She sniffled once more, using the sleeve of her sweater to wipe away leftover tears. “Central Park. South end, by the museums.”

Alex breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay. I’m on my way. Want me to stay on the phone?”

She hangs up instead of answering, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. She suddenly feels as drunk as she is. She eventually pulls herself up from the bench, making her way to the street where she would be easily visible for Alexander to see her.

It takes five minutes for him to find her.

“Eliza.” She hears behind her. She turns and her breath is once more taken away. She runs (more like stumbles) into his arms, burying her face into his neck, ignoring the small “oof” sound he makes. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” He says after a moment. She can feel his hesitation as he wraps his arms around her small, trembling frame.

He smells like he always does, like coffee and a faint bit of cologne he puts on every morning, the same one he’s been using since his early twenties. He’s beautiful and she’s missed him so much.

Eliza reluctantly pulls away to really look at him and a small gasp leaves her mouth as she does. His hair, his beautiful black locks of hair that used to hit his shoulders, is now gone. It’s clipped short on the sides, a bit longer on the top. “You cut your hair.” She says after a moment, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Alexander smiles a bit, nodding. “I did. Needed a change.” He gently unwinds her arms from his neck, shrugging off his own coat and helping her into it. “That bad?” he asks with a laugh at her still shocked expression.

“No. It’s different. But I like it.” She clings to him again, wanting to be closer.

“Let’s get you home, hm?” Alex says, once again prying away from Eliza’s surprisingly strong grip. The pair starts walking in the right direction of her apartment. He ends up having to wind an arm around her waist, mostly because she stumbles three times in about two feet.

“Mind telling me what’s got you so upset?” He asks carefully after a few blocks. Eliza tenses up but relaxes after Alexander squeezes her gently. “It’s more than the bank denying your loan.”

Eliza swallows roughly, looking down at her feet. Her hand is clutching Alexander’s that lays on her hip, the other holding loosely onto the strap of her purse. “You called me baby.” She admits in a small voice.

“What?” He asks.

“You called me baby. I loved when you called me baby. It made me sad, thinking of all we’ve lost. It’s been three years, you know. Since I left you. And it’s like, a hole in my heart. It’s been there since the elevator door closed.” Drunk Liza is as honest as she is clumsy. She stops walking, and Alexander does too, a deep frown on his face as he stops to face her.

“I miss it. You calling me baby. I miss you.” She frowns, matching his expression. She surges forward suddenly, their mouths meeting in an awkward, blessed kiss before Alexander yanks away. Tears immediately form in her eyes again. The drunken woman attempts to turn around and run away from her ex, embarrassment and hurt flowing through her veins.

“Hey, hey.” Alex frowns, barely catching her wrist and pulling her back. “Liza, look at me. Baby. Baby, please look at me.” She sniffles but obeys. Her almond-shaped eyes were full of tears, what little makeup she hadn’t cried off smearing.

His slightly trembling hands cup her cheeks, thumbs stroking her cheekbones, his dark eyes wide, earnest. And sad, Eliza can see sadness. “Fuck, you have no idea how hard this is for me. How hard it is to say no.” A small sob escapes her lips. “Shh. Please, Liza. If you were sober, a-and not in emotional distress, I would say yes in a heartbeat. I’d book us a room at that ridiculous bed and breakfast you loved on the Oregon Coast. I’d kiss and make love to you for hours at a time, days even.” He laughs tearfully. “God. If I had even the slightest inkling that you’d be willing to take me back, I’d do anything in my power to prove to you how much I love you.” Tears were streaming down both of their cheeks. “But you’re not in that position right now, Liza. And I refuse to take advantage of you. I’m not going to do anything that might make you hate me more than you already do.”

Eliza swallows a sob that was climbing up her throat. She nods once, wiping away her tears once Alex lets her face go. He hesitates before he takes her hand and laces their fingers together. That was safe.

They walk in silence the remaining few blocks. Eliza mumbles a small hello to the doorman, Alex following her inside to the elevator. “Stay?” She asks meekly, turning to face him while she waits.

He offers her a small smile, squeezing her hand. “I can’t, babe. Remember what I said earlier?”

She nods, biting her lower lip. She really didn’t want to be alone.

“You’ll be okay. I promise. You’re not going to spend the night alone.” He lets go of her hand once the elevator doors open. “I love you, Liza. Remember what I said.”

Eliza frowns a little, watching him start to walk away just as the elevator doors slide shut. It takes a bit of effort but she manages to find her keys which were hidden at the bottom of her bag. Before she can unlock the door, it swings open. It’s Angelica.

It’s her dear, sweet protective older sister. Her dark skin is bare, with no makeup, yet it still looks flawless. Her beautiful, curly locks are pulled back into a messy bun that only she could make elegant. She’s wearing leggings and her “Woman’s Place is in the House and Senate” shirt Peggy had given her as a present last Christmas. She’s so beautiful, strong and everything Eliza isn’t.

“Oh, Liz,” Angelica says softly, her eyes tender and worried.

Eliza sniffles and launches herself into her big sister’s arms. She’s in her thirties and still needs her sister like she needs air. She needs her as much as she did on her first day at the orphanage all those years ago.

The earliest memory Eliza has is of the tree. She was five years old.

There’s a big oak tree in the back of the home. She remembers curling up under its shade, the other children running around and playing. She remembers the rustling of the green leaves.

She remembers wanting to go home. Funny, now she doesn’t remember the home she once missed dearly.

“What’s a chink like you doing here?” Someone had asked her.

She didn’t reply. She didn’t know what she was doing there. She hugged her knees to her chest and hid her face.

They nudged her with a foot. “Come on, chink. Why’re you here? Huh?”

“Leave her alone.” Someone’s sharp voice spat.

Eliza had looked up, startled. The boy seemed to be startled too.

The girl who had come to her defense glared ferociously at her bully. Her curls were tight and kinky, pulled into two pigtails. She was wearing a red sundress and Eliza remembers thinking how beautiful she looked.

“I-I was just playing.” He stammered.

The girl was holding a little girl’s, who couldn't have been older than two years old, hand. The little girl was sucking on her other hand’s thumb, her eyebrows pulled together in what appears to be a glare meant for the boy.

“Yeah? Well, don’t. Leave, Austin. Or I’m going to tell Miss Windham.” She glares at him until he’s out of sight, her expression softening when she looked at Eliza. “Come on, Peg.” She pulls the girl along, sitting down next to Eliza. “Hi! I’m Angelica. And this is Peggy.”

“Hello,” Eliza said weakly.

“What’s your name?” She prompted, offering a kind grin. It was infectious. Eliza felt the corners of her mouth turn up.

“Elizabeth. But I like to be called Eliza.”

“Liza!” Peggy says suddenly, giggling.

“Liza works.” Eliza smiled at the little girl, whose short curls framed her round, adorable face. Her shirt was a bright yellow. It reminded her of the sunshine, which is exactly what little Peggy seemed to radiate.

“Well, Eliza. We were just going to go and swing. Wanna come?” Angelica asks, standing up and pulling Peggy with her.

“Sure.”

From then on, the three girls were conjoined at the hip. Eliza remembers how they all slept on the same bed, shared clothes and walked to and from school together. No one could get them to be apart for more than five minutes at a time.

She remembers being shocked when Miss Windham had called them all into her office after dinner. “Girls. We have some news. Good news.” The old woman had smiled kindly at the three little girls who sat in front of her desk. “We’ve found a very nice family who wants to adopt you. All three of you.”

(Eliza would later learn that her parents had only wanted one and had asked about herself. They had been warned about her attachment to other two girls and decided that they had more than enough room and money for more children. They had always said three was their “number.”)

The girls stared blankly up at the woman.

“They’re coming to meet you all tomorrow and sign the papers.” She continued on. “You’re going to have a home. Isn’t that amazing?”

That confused Eliza.

A home? She already had a home. She didn’t understand the other kids’ jealousy and snide remarks.

She only knew only how kind Mr. and Mrs. Schuyler were.

Mr. Schuyler had a loud, booming laugh and an infectious grin. He made Peggy laugh so hard she nearly spat out her milk. She liked him and his laugh. She also liked his mustache.

Mrs. Schuyler was gorgeous. Her long, blonde hair was beautiful. Eliza wanted to touch and know if it was as soft as it looked. Her pearl earrings were gorgeous, her smile kind.

Eliza decided she wouldn’t mind leaving her home to find a new one with the Schuylers. She knew that both Angelica and Peggy agreed.

As long as she had her sisters, she wouldn’t mind anything, she thought.

Eliza wakes up with a funny taste in her mouth and a pounding headache. Her sister hands her a bottled water and a few aspirin. She takes both gratefully, resting her pounding head on her knees. She recounts last night in one long rush.

Alexander.

“How did you-?”

“He called me. Alex did.” Angelica says, stroking Eliza’s messy hair away from her face. “I had John drive me here while he picked you up.”

Eliza stays quiet, her hands picking some lint off the sleeve of her sweater.

“Are we going to talk about last night?”

She groans. “No.”

“Then don’t talk. Listen.” Angelica says, frowning. “It’s almost been two years. You haven't been on a single date since then- not for lack of trying. Both Peggy and I have set you up on multiple dates- Stop it.” She frowns, yanking the pillow Eliza had used to cover her ears. “Shut up and listen. It’s been two years and you still say his name in your sleep.”

Eliza swallows, blinking away tears that form, startled by how quickly they appeared.

Angelica sighs. “Look. I’m not going to lie. I hate him. I hate his fucking guts and I wish I could wrap said guts around his throat and-!”

“Ang.”

“Point is. You love him. And he loves you. I didn’t believe it until last night, Bets. But he loves you. He had every opportunity last night to fuck you.” Eliza’s cheeks flush, remembering how desperate and clingy she was. “And he didn’t. He didn’t because… he told Mulligan once that if he were to be lucky enough to get another chance with you, he’d do everything he could do to make right by you.”

Eliza sits up with a glare. “You were the one who told me to divorce him.”

“I know, love. Because I’ve always known you deserved better. “ Angelica says and Eliza huffs and lays flat on her back, glaring up at the ceiling. “And what he did to you… that’s just. Not okay. But with two years and neither of you going on a single date…”

“He hasn’t been on a date either?”

“Not according to Herc, he hasn’t. And Laf.”

“Oh.” Eliza takes a deep breath, ignoring the blossom of hope that forms in her chest.

“I. I stand by what I said. I don’t think it was a mistake for you to divorce him. It put the bastard in his place.” Angelica sighs, stretching out beside her sister on the bed. “But I don’t want to ever see you like you were last night ever again. I want you to be happy, Liza. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I think for you to truly be happy, you need to listen to yourself.”

“Listen to me?” Eliza changes her stare from the ceiling to Angelica. “What does that mean?”

Angelica hums. “Remember what mom and dad said when you told them you were majoring in Social Work?”

Eliza snorts. “How could I forget?”

“Mm. So you listened to them and changed majors. Only to be miserable your entire freshman year. When did college become fun for you?”

“My Sophomore year. When I switched majors.” Eliza realizes quietly.

“One example out of thousands.” Angelica rolls onto her side to really look at her sister, pillowing her head on her hand. “You asked me what I thought you should do. And I told you to divorce him. Man cheats on wife, wife divorces man and becomes happier because of said divorce, or so the story goes. That’s how it usually works. People feel happy after grieving. Empowered. And so you did. You got a divorce because that’s the way you should have felt.”

Eliza swallows, breaking eye contact.

“But the thing is, Liza. I’m not you. I can’t tell you what’s best for you because only you know that.” Angelica continues. “You need to stop doing what I and your brain thinks is right and start doing what your heart thinks is right. You have the absolute purest heart, Elizabeth Schuyler. The best one I know. It’s never going to fail you.”

- - -

Eliza ponders her sister’s words during the next few days. She stays alone in her apartment, ordering pizza, watching movies and looking at photos of puppies from the closest animal shelter.

It’s Sunday night when she finally get’s the courage to text him.

Thank you. ES

Glad you’re safe and hope you’re feeling better. AH

When Eliza goes to work the next day, Charlotte, one of her closest friends on the board, tackles her with a hug as soon as she enters the office door. “I took two days off work, Lotts. Not a month. But hello to you too.” She says teasingly once she’s released.

“You’re a miracle worker, Eliza. Truly.”

“Didn’t you get the email? They said no.”

“The bank may have said no, but look.” Charlotte stands at her computer, pulling up the foundation’s financial statement. “Someone donated 250,000 dollars.” She squeaks before Eliza could process the numbers.

“Oh my god.” Eliza felt dizzy.

“I know!” Charlotte exclaims. “That’s like, double what we asked the bank for.”

“Who in the hell donated a quarter of a million dollars?”

“We don’t know. It was anonymous.”

Only it wasn’t. Eliza knew exactly who donated it.

Her head ran through the numbers. The work they could do with that chunk of money. They could get the kids new beds- fix the stairs and maybe even update the basement.

After another celebratory hug, Eliza retreats into her office and dials the number she knew by heart.

“Hello?” Alex answers for once. She had been expecting his secretary. His voice sounds cautious.

“Hey. Sober Liza here.” She smiles a bit, biting into her lower lip.

He laughs. “Good to know.” A brief pause. “How are you?”

“Better.” She admits. “Just needed some rest, I think.”

“I’m glad.”

“What about you?” She asks.

“I’m a lot better after hearing your voice. I uh, was worried.”

“I know it was you. Who.. donated the money.” Her heart beats faster.

He coughs awkwardly after a pause. “It’s a great cause.”

“A quarter of a million dollars, Alex? Really?”

“I had help, I promise.” He says weakly. “People at work… Burr even chipped in.”

Eliza sighs. “I just. You have no idea how much this means to me. To the kids… I don’t know how to even begin to thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m happy to help. Like I said, great and meaningful cause. And the fact that you and your sisters met there, it’s just. It’s a special place and it needs to be kept alive…” He babbles.

“Are you seeing anyone?” She blurts out.

“No.” He answers. “I. Are you?”

“No.” She smiles a bit.

“Oh. that’s.. good. I mean, shit.” Alex huffs awkwardly. “It isn't good, I want you to be happy. I just meant-!”

“Come over tonight?” She interrupts him. “I’ll make dinner.”

“I’d love that.” And Eliza can just hear the hope in his voice. “I’ll bring some wine.”

- - -

They take it slow.

Just dinner the first night, no matter how badly Eliza just wants to roll around in bed with him. No, they were going to do this right. She makes him his favorite pasta dish.

They text all the next week until Saturday when both of them are finally free. They see a movie. Some romantic Nicholas Sparks movie that Charlotte had insisted was good. And it was decent until the main character cheats on the other. She can feel Alexander stiffen in the seat next to her and can just see his mind running a million hours a minute.

She hesitates before she takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. She feels like crying once she feels the familiar spark she always felt with him— and even more so when she sees the look of wonder on his face. “Let’s get out of here.” She offers him a small smile and he nods jerkily, following her out of the theater.

They take a walk instead, holding hands the entire way. He buys her a hot chocolate from the little coffee shop down the road from his firm, insisting it was the best. She refuses to agree with him. Her mother’s homemade recipe was simply without a doubt, the best hot chocolate, she insists. Though she has to admit, watching Alexander laugh and talk animatedly across the table from her, this one was pretty damn good.

They start seeing each other every day after that. Even if it’s for a quick dinner at Alexander’s office, they make time for each other. He walks her home after a late dinner on a Tuesday night. He sheepishly asks for a goodnight kiss, his hands stuffed in his peacoat pockets that he had only just stolen back from Eliza’s apartment. She had rolled her eyes fondly and pulled him to her with the lapels of his jacket.

“I’m doing this right.” He insists later, after a short but sweet make-out session on her sofa, when Eliza had teased him for asking. “I’m not going to fuck this up again. We’re going at your pace and I’m happy with whatever you’re willing to give me.”

“Even if I decide I never want to have sex again? Become a lifelong virgin?” She smirks a little, moving closer so they were face to face again, her arms around his neck, Alexander’s forehead on her own.

“Even then. I mean it.” Alex pouts, pulling away from her grip when she scoffs. “I’ve seen what life is like without you, Eliza. I have no desire to live it again. Even if it means no sex for the rest of my life.” He wasn’t lying, she could see it in his eyes.

Eliza feels her heart melt slightly, putting a hand on the back of his neck to beckon him closer. She presses a series of sweet kisses to his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip before she pulls away, nuzzling into his neck. He pulls her into his lap, resting his chin on her shoulder, humming happily.

“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t become a lifelong virgin, though.” He says after a moment, laughing when Eliza smacks the back of his head lightly.

Four months into this relatively new but old relationship, their former intimacy makes its way back to them. She’s dreamed and thought of making love to him again from pretty much the moment the divorce papers were finalized. One last night, she always thought. So when she started dating him again, she assumed she would be ready for the physical side of the relationship. Which is why she was surprised with herself when she blanched.

They were kissing lazily, some Hallmark movie playing in the background. His lips tasted like the chocolate cake they had just had, a bit of wine from their dinner a few hours before. The kisses grew more heated when she had taken it upon herself to climb into his lap, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers running through the shorter hairs on the back of his head. His hands slid naturally from her hips to her ass, hesitating before he squeezed slightly, making her gasp.

She kissed him desperately, then. Feverishly. Her nails raked lightly over his clothed shoulders. It wasn’t until he had begun to lift her shirt up that she panicked. She had tensed up, her hands gripping the soft cotton material of his tee shirt.

To his credit, he had stopped immediately, dropping her shirt from where he was pushing it up. His hands were held up almost in a mock surrender motion. His eyebrows were furrowed, worried. “Did I cross the line?”

She swallows roughly, shaking her head. Maria’s beautiful face filling her mind. He touched her. He kissed and made love to her. On their bed. In their apartment, they had shared together since junior year of college. They had left that place for over two years by the time Alex confessed- but it still burned.

Before she knew what was happening, she felt tears rushing down her cheeks. Alexander’s eyes widened and he reaches up to wipe them away.

“Don’t touch me!” She snaps, stumbling off his lap.

“Okay! Okay, I won’t.” Alex stands up from the couch too, his hands still up in the air. “I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

Eliza swallows, getting a hold of herself and the tears that she wanted to cry out. “I met her, you know.”

“Who?”

“Maria.” His eyes widen comically. “She’s pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you.” Alex says, frowning. “When did you..?”

“A month after the speech.” She coughs. “I wanted to be sure… I was getting the whole story. I wanted to hear her side too. I can’t believe you used her real name.”

“I. It needed to be real. Honest.”

“Yes, well. You had our place and myself covered with security. She had nothing.” Eliza glares. “I wanted to be sure she was okay. It wasn’t just our life you were ruining. It was her’s too.”

“I know.” His expression looks defeated. Ashamed. “I didn’t know what to do. Washington couldn't lose the race because of me- I needed to be honest.”

“You could have used a fake name. You could have given her that. A warning, at least. A chance to get out of town. Jesus Christ.” Eliza lets out a breath, sitting down on the love seat, opposite side of the room from Alexander.

“I helped her get a divorce. Or, Aaron did. Shortly after things… ended.” He says after a short pause.

Eliza nods, pulling her knees to her chest. “I asked her questions. She had no reason to lie to me. I figured she’d be honest.”

Alexander hesitates before crossing the room to be closer to her. She doesn’t tense up, so he takes that as an okay. He sits down on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. “What did she say?”

Eliza looked down at her watch. 2 o clock, it read. She wasn’t late. Maria must have arrived early. She approached slowly, her heart clenching when she truly gets a good look at the woman. She was even more beautiful in person.

Her brown hair was perfectly curly, flowing down her back. Her makeup was perfect, lips a pretty pink that stood out against her dark skin. Her brown eyes were wide when she sees Eliza. She stood up immediately, her expression unreadable. “Mrs. Hamilton.”

“Call me Eliza, please.” She swallowed roughly, sliding into the booth across from her. That name made her sick now. “Thank you for meeting me.” Though her voice was flat. She sounded anything but grateful.

“”s the least I could do. I… you have no idea how sorry I am, ma’am.” A deep frown settled on her lips. “I am. I’m so sorry.”

Eliza felt tears brimming in her eyes. It was still so fresh at the time. The hurt. Her wound was still bleeding out.

Maria cuts to the chase.“I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking clearly. James was horrible, abusive. I didn’t go to him with the intention of sleeping with him. I needed help. I was so scared and I wanted to be loved and Alex- your husband… He was lonely too. I could see it. And so I kissed him and he didn’t say no and it. It got out of hand. It was a distraction, for me. He gave me the money I had originally asked for after the first meeting. But my daughter had gotten sick so I used it to get her to the doctor instead of buying plane tickets.”

Maria swallowed, her hands clutching a hot mug of coffee. She looked as uncomfortable as Eliza herself felt. “He kept calling. I only sought him out the one time- I’m sorry.” She frowns, seeing Eliza’s expression crumble.

“No.” Eliza looks down at the table, taking a deep breath. “I asked for honesty. Continue.”

“He’d call and I’d stop by on my way to work- I worked a night shift at a diner- for a quick round, usually. I only slept over once.” She pauses when the waitress comes over to ask Eliza if she needs anything. “James came back three weeks in. I had dropped Susan off at a friend from her day caretaker’s house for the night. I thought I’d be working, but it had been slow at the restaurant all day, so my boss called and said I wasn’t needed. So I called him. Your husband, and I invited him over. But then James came home, and five minutes later, Hamilton showed up.” She swallows, Eliza remaining silent.

“It didn’t take him long to figure things out. He blackmailed him. And then tried to sell me for money, like. ‘I won’t tell anyone and I’ll let you fuck my wife if you give me money.’ The money he always spent on drugs.” She laughs bitterly. “Anyways. He didn’t continue, obviously. We had one last night- we didn’t really even do anything, he just gave me a contact sheet for a lawyer who said he’d help me. But James kept pressing for money, threatening. I assumed he paid James off because I never saw or heard from him again. Until recently. And it was on TV.”

Eliza’s quiet for a few long moments. “Did he ever… talk about me?”

“Only once. And I had to ask. I just asked where you were and. He said you were in Europe and how much he was missing you. And that he didn’t want to talk about you because of obvious reasons. He… kept you separate. In a locked away box, almost. I didn’t ask anymore because I was worried that if I did, he’d think too much about you and would stop.” The woman’s honesty was startling. “I don’t know if this is better or worse, for you. But he only ever said your name. While we were messing around…” She trails off. “I remember being jealous of you. Not because of him, specifically- but because you clearly had someone who loved you.”

“She told me her side of the story,” Eliza says finally, looking up at Alexander.

“I am sorry. For what the speech probably did to her.” Alex says. “But it had to be done for the campaign. She was… collateral damage.”

“And I guess our marriage was too, then.” He said nothing but squirmed slightly in his spot on the coffee table. She stared at him. He opened his mouth to speak again, probably to defend his actions, but she interrupts him. “You’re… not sorry, are you? You don’t regret it.”

Alexander’s expression turns incredulous. “I regret it more than anything in my life Eliza. It cost me an entire two years I could have spent with you. We lost so much time because of that stupid summer.”

“You regret the affair, but not the admission. Not the speech.” She says, still not quite meeting his eyes.

“I regret the speech hurting you.” He says, clearly hesitant. His hand hung in the air for a moment, before moving to rest on her knee carefully. “I regret not telling you about Maria the moment you returned home. I regret not having the opportunity to grovel at your feet to beg you to stay with me like I would have. I have plenty of regrets, Eliza. I’ve hurt you so badly, I know, but… I don’t regret the admission. It was what got Washington into office- I didn't want the campaign to suffer because of mistakes I made as a dumb twenty-something-year-old.”

Eliza’s glare increases. “Get out.”

His eyes widen. “What?”

“Get out. I need to be alone.”

“Eliza-” He reaches out for her.

“Get. Out.” She glares at him, tightening her grip on her knees.

Alexander rushes to obey. Eliza never uses that tone and he didn’t want to overstep, even if his instincts were screaming at him to stay and convince her, Eliza knew. He never liked to be alone after a fight, she doubts that had changed. He shrugs on his jacket. His eyes are sad, panicked. “I love you. Only you. I never loved her.”

“I know.” She says softly, her eyes tired. “I know. And this isn’t. I’m not breaking up with you. I just need…” she doesn’t continue. She isn't sure what she needs. She just knows she can’t be around him right now.

Alexander nods, his eyes still worried but less panicked. “I’m sorry.” He grabs his jacket, turning to open the door. “Call me. When… when you’re ready. I love you.”

She nods once, looking down at her legging-clad legs. When the door is shut, she rolls onto her side, still curled up in the fetal position. Tears roll down her cheeks silently as she stared at the vase that sits on her coffee table. She lasts five minutes before she's digging through her purse to find her phone.

I love you too. ES

- - -

They text constantly throughout the entire week. Eliza doesn’t invite him over and Alex doesn’t push, something she’s grateful for. He gives her space. It’s a stark contrast from the Alexander she remembers. The one who would sleep on the floor outside her door after a fight like a Labrador. She had tripped over him in the middle of the night, as she was cold and lonely and whatever they were fighting about paled in comparison to that. She had smacked her head on the wall on the other side of the hall. It even left a tiny dent.

Alexander had insisted on taking her to the hospital, even though she knew for a fact was fine. It was comical watching her at the time boyfriend explain the incident to the doctors. She was sure they looked crazy. Alex was still wearing his suit and tie he had worn to his internship while Eliza wearing her pink pajamas with donuts scattered around, a fluffy grey robe to top the ensemble off.

She was fine, of course. They were sent home essentially right away. The cab ride was deadly silent and so was the trek up to their shoebox apartment on the fifth floor. It wasn’t until she saw the dent on the wall that she started giggling. Alex was exasperated but relieved that she didn’t seem to be mad anymore. They snapped a photo of the moment, Alexander kissing Eliza’s cheek with the dent right above their heads.

She giggles a bit into the gray sleeve of her cashmere sweater, at the memory. She was in her office, her long dark locks of hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She was wearing her glasses today, not wanting to be bothered with contacts. She wonders if she could ever find that photo again…

I forgot to pack my lunch. ES

Oh? AH

Mhm. And I’m hungry. ES

That’s a hint, Alex. ES

Is that permission to come and see you? At your work? AH

Yes. As long as you have food. Please xx ES

Give me an hour and I’ll be there. AH

Love you. AH

“She’s right in there.” Eliza can hear Charlotte’s voice, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor get closer and closer. She knocks once before her round, happy face appears in the crack. “Hey, Liz. There’s someone here for you.”

“Let him in.” Eliza says with a small, fond eye roll after she mouths ‘hot!’ at her. She beams when she finally comes face to face with Alex, a bit amused by his unsure posture. One of his hands was holding a drink carrier, the other a to go bag.

She takes the bags from him, setting them down on her desk. She cups his cheeks, his skin cold from the spring breeze outside, and pulls him in for a quick kiss.

His face is bewildered when she pulls away, eyebrows knitted together.

“What?” She laughs.

“I thought you were mad at me,” Alex says. “I prepared myself the whole walk over here to be yelled at and instead I get a kiss. I don’t understand?”

“I don’t either. I don’t know what happened the other night- I don’t understand it. Any of it. We have a lot of… Shit, for lack of a better word. We do. We have a lot of shit we need to get through because I don’t know how I feel about this. About anything. All I know for sure is that I love you and I want to keep trying to figure everything out with you.” She says, winding her arms around his neck. “If you’re willing. That would be enough for me.”

“Anything, Liza. As long as I get to be with you.” Alex says earnestly, hesitantly wrapping his arms around her waist. “It’s all going to be under your terms, you know. Everything. I’m not in any position whatsoever to be asking anything of you- sex especially. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even touched your shirt.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t just you, babe. I… well, I didn't show any warning signs. I don’t even know why I reacted like that.” She admits sheepishly. “I’m working on it.”

“You haven’t forgiven me.”

“What?” Eliza frowns. “That’s not-”

“It is true, and it’s okay,” Alex says, interrupting her. “I hurt you, baby. I hurt you enough that you left me. All that doesn’t just get swept under the rug because we start dating again. You know?”

Eliza nods once. She smiles sadly after a moment. “Guess I’ll work on that, too.”

“We’ve got nothing but time,” Alex promises, one hand tipping her chin up, pressing a few short kisses to her lips. “I promise.”

“And I’m holding you to that promise.” She pulls him down for another kiss before pushing him away once more and unpacking their food. They sit and eat in a comfortable silence, their legs tangled together under her desk while they enjoyed each other’s company.

He finishes his meal before her, wandering around her office while she continued her work, examining the different knickknacks and photos. She looks at him through the corner of her eye, noticing the photo he was looking at. It was of herself and her two sisters holding up their newly signed adoption papers on the front porch of her childhood home.

“I’ve never seen that before.” He informs her, lifting up the picture frame to examine the photo more closely.

“My mom just sent it to me the other day.” She smiles a bit, leaning back in her chair. “It’s been an hour. Don’t you have that meeting with Burr?”

“Nope, actually. He canceled. Don’t have anything until three.” He says dismissively, turning to the other wall. “Are these all your kids?”

The wall was absolutely covered in photographs. Half were real photos, the other half pieces of artwork that the children had made her. They were mixed together to form a collage of sorts. It was Eliza’s favorite thing. So many beautiful, young faces beaming at Eliza when she had taken the photos herself. Being the chairman of the organization, she and Charlotte weren’t expected to interact with the children. They both loved to, anyways. It reminds them of what they’re working so hard for.

“Mhm.” She moves across the room to stand by him. “His name is Jack. That’s Christine. She’s Lily. Jon, Erik.” She points out a few of the children on the wall. She can name every single one of the children on the wall- even though the number isn't that large, it’s something she prides herself in. She loves those kids dearly and if it were possible- she’d adopt every single one of them.

“Sorry. This must be boring for you.” She realizes a few moments later, her nose crinkling.

“No, no,” Alexander reassures her, taking her hands in his. “Don’t apologize. I love watching you talk about your work. Your eyes and face light up- it’s cute. I love how much you care about these kids. Makes me wonder how different my life could have turned out if they had someone like you running the homes back in St Croix.”

Eliza smiles sweetly at him, his words making her heart jump. “It makes me happy to hear that. Your story was always a part of my motivation too, you know. I don’t want anyone to have to go through that.”

“The world is a better place because you’re in it, Elizabeth Schuyler.” Alexander pulls her into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her and resting his chin on her head. “Mine especially.”

- - -

Eliza was on a high.

Alexander had kept true to his promise. He took a few days off work (a miracle of itself) and took her the Oregon Coast. They spent their long weekend taking walks on the beach, finding seashells, sand dollars and exploring cute shops. She finds a few knick-knacks and things for her family, feeling content and happy every time the day closes.

On the third night of their vacation, they made love.

It came on suddenly, the urge she felt coiling in her stomach. They had shared a bed plenty times in their new relationship. She was by now well accustomed to falling asleep with Alexander snoring in her ear again. But it felt different that night when he climbed into bed. She hadn’t been subtle at all when she rolled on top of him. He stared at her blankly, his hands glued to his side. He didn’t want to overstep again.

“Liza. Are you sure? I can’t exactly go anywhere if this goes wro-” He was cut off by his own groan when Eliza had moved her hips deliberately. There wasn’t much time for protesting after that.

They spent their last vacation day in bed, becoming better acquainted with each other’s bodies once more. That was probably Eliza’s favorite day of the whole vacation.

Returning to New York was a bit of a chore, but Eliza was happy. For the first time in what feels to her like forever. She even informs her parents of her new relationship, feeling nothing could bring her down.

Her father is as supportive as he always is. A bit bewildered, but supportive. Her mother, on the other hand… She had loved Alexander. She had accepted him into the family right away, introduced her to friends as her son even before they were married. She was even angrier then Philip when the Reynold’s scandal came to light.

Her voice was light and airy, a tone that meant she was displeased but was willing to move on. Eliza and her sisters had heard it plenty of times over the years. “Bring him with you Easter weekend.”

Alexander was rightfully terrified and tried in vain to come up with excuses why he couldn't leave the city that weekend. Eliza had heard none of it, and that’s how they ended up on the train ride to Albany.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Alex,” Eliza says as she feels the train start to calm down. “Honestly. My family are reasonable people. And if I can forgive, so can they.” She squeezes his hand reassuringly before she stands up.

“Easy for you to say. You know you’re in Catherine Schuyler’s favor.” Alex grumbled, hitching their shared carry-on bag over his shoulder.

It’s Angelica who comes to pick them up. After a customary Schuyler sister reunion, consisting of them screaming while holding each other and causing a small scene, the eldest sister looks at her former brother in law. They had been close, had known each other for a few weeks before introducing Eliza to him. They related to each other more than anything. So much so that Eliza briefly wondered early on in their relationship if Alex had chosen the wrong sister. He hadn’t.

The two of them were like fire. They challenged each other and pushed each other to be better. They went to law school together. They burned red hot and could do a lot of damage to each other if needs be. Eliza had seen a glimpse of that during the divorce where Angelica had represented her. It was almost as if the affair had hurt Angelica more than it hurt herself, some days.

“Alex.” Angelica brings Eliza out of her reverie. “Hey.”

“Hello, Angelica.” Alexander nods a bit nervously.

Angelica turned straight back to her sister and threw an arm around her shoulder, leading her to the car. Eliza sees Alexander let out a sigh of relief. It’s not exactly a warm welcome, but it’s a nice start.

“Peggy was just arriving when I left to pick you guys up,” Angelica informs the pair, Eliza looking happily out the window as they made their way to her childhood home. “Apparently she has a new girl.”

“Oh? How exciting.” Eliza smiles, happy for her younger sister. Things seemed to be falling into place for all of them. She shares a happy glance with Alexander through the rearview mirror, getting a nervous half smile in return.

They pull into her parent’s winding driveway and she can just feel her boyfriend’s anxiety rise. They all three climb out of the car and Eliza presses a reassuring kiss to his cheek before unloading their suitcase from the trunk of Angelica’s car.

Her parents and sister all file onto the porch, a huge smile gracing Peggy’s bright face. “Liza!” She dashes down the steps, acting more like the sixteen-year-old girl Eliza will always think of her as, and much less like the actual twenty-nine-year-old woman she is. They embrace tightly even though they had seen each other only a month prior.

Peggy didn’t even pause to think before she launches herself into Alexander’s arms, shocking both her family and Alex. He pauses before wrapping his arms around her and squeezing back lightly. “Hey, Peg.” A fond tone seeped through.

“Hey, bro.” She grins as she pulls away. “Welcome back. I won’t hesitate to murder you if you hurt her again.” Her tone was awfully cheery. “And I’ll get away with it because I happen to have a kick-ass lawyer whose already agreed to defend me.”

“It’s true,” Angelica calls from the porch, shrugging modestly.

“I don’t doubt it,” Alex reassures her, taking Eliza’s hand when she offers it. Peggy leads them onto the porch.

Eliza embraces both of her parents, whispering “Be nice,” into her mother’s ear before pulling away.

“Mr. Schuyler-” Alexander starts after clearing his throat.

“Oh, please. Call me Philip, son.” Her father dismisses his formality with a wave of his hand. “If our Liza has accepted you back, so can we.” He shakes Alexander’s hand, his usual kind grin on his face.

Alexander visibly relaxes and offers a sheepish smile. He turns towards Eliza’s mother. “Catherine, I’m so-”

“Mrs. Schuyler will do,” Catherine says politely, but the venom in her voice was almost tangible. There’s a beat of perhaps a bit of uncomfortable silence. Angelica smirks while both Philip and Peggy grimace sympathetically. They’ve all been the target of Catherine Schuyler’s wrath at one point or another and all know how scary it can be.

“Mom.” Eliza gathers her bearings, frowning. Her mother pats her shoulder comfortingly.

“Everything’s alright, dear. Let’s all head inside, yeah? A storm’s brewing, best not be out here when it arrives.” With that, she spins around on her heels and saunters inside the house.

Eliza turns to face Alexander, an apologetic look on her face. “Alex-”

“I deserve it.” He says instead, frowning and shaking his head. “It’s fine. I’m okay.” He offers her a small, half-hearted smile. She gives him an unimpressed look before she kisses his lips- he was an unfortunately good liar, but Eliza could typically read right through him. Alexander sighs, slinging an arm around her waist. “I may not be okay, but I do deserve it. I deserve everything she throws at me this weekend.”

She leads him inside her large childhood home a bit warily. She had a feeling this weekend was going to be a long one. She was already missing the crowded yet safe and secure city they had left behind.

Dinner was a tense affair. One full of awkward small talk, long stretches of silence and plenty of pleading looks from Eliza to her mother to please let up.

Alexander escapes as quickly as he can after dinner, babbling out an excuse about some conference call he absolutely had to take, even if it was well after office hours.

Once he was safely out of earshot, Eliza turns to her mother. “Seriously-?”

“I’ll go get dessert,” Peggy says, her tone a bit too high to be natural- the poor beam of sunshine had never dealt well with contention.

“I’ll help.” Their father was quick to follow his youngest daughter’s example. Angelica rolled her dark eyes at their retreating figures, staying put, her slim arms crossed over her chest, fully content to watch this spectacle unfold.

Eliza watches her mother expectantly, raising an eyebrow.

Catherine Schuyler sighs, folding her napkin delicately in her lap. “I don’t understand what you’re referring to, darling.”

Eliza stared at her for a moment. “You’re joking, yes? Please tell me you’re joking.” When her mother said nothing, she laughed humorlessly. “You’ve like, gone out of your way to make my boyfriend feel uncomfortable and unwelcome, and when you weren’t doing that, you were ignoring him. When I agreed to spend the weekend here, I was told that everyone would be respectful-”

“I’ve been nothing but respectful, Elizabeth.” Eliza groaned at the use of her full name, hiding her face in her hands. “Do you realize what you just called him? Your boyfriend. A man you were once married to is your boyfriend. Need I remind you why he’s not your husband?”

Eliza stared at her while Angelica intervened. “Mom, really?”

“No. She needs to hear this.” Her mother said stubbornly, not even glancing in her eldest daughter’s direction.

Eliza felt a flash of irritation. “You don’t get to decide what I need anymore, for god’s sake I’m thirty-two years old-!”

“He cheated on you, Eliza. He cheated on you and still proposed to you. He didn’t think to share that bit of information with you for years into your marriage and then only decides to do so publicly and only because his ass was on the line-”

“I know this!” Eliza snaps. “I fucking lived this, mother, I don’t need to hear it again-”

“Let me finish.” Her mother snaps back. “Not only did he lie to you for years, he only came forward to save himself, for crying out loud. He didn’t take your feelings into consideration at all. He dragged you to that event to let you listen to his astonishingly detailed recount of his affair. He did all of that to you even when you just had lost a fucking baby for crying out loud-”

“Mother!” Angelica snapped just as Eliza flinches back as if she had been slapped. It’s only then that Catherine softens. “I’m-”

“What baby?”

All three heads of the Schuyler woman spun around, Eliza’s eyes widening in horror.

Alexander takes another step forward, an unreadable expression on his face. “What baby is she talking about, Eliza?”

“I. I don’t,” Eliza looks between her mother, sister, and Alexander.

“Liza, did you not tell him?” Angelica asked after a few moments of stunned silence.

“What baby?” Alexander demanded again, his voice growing hard. “Eliza, what baby?”

Eliza stands up calmly, the entire room silent. She approached Alexander slowly, folding her arms together over her chest.

“What baby?” He asks again.

“I’m sorry.” She says, her voice soft. And then, she did what any other respectable thirty-two-year-old woman would do.

She ran.

#hamliza #alexander x eliza #eliza schuyler #eliza hamilton #hamilton fic #my fic #alexander hamilton #hamiliza

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gummysungshine · 7 years

Text

Time Works Wonders [FFXV Cor/Loqi] NSFW

(Request for the anon that asked) Prompt: Loqi meets a ‘de-aged’/young Cor. Pairing: Cor/Loqi Words: 3541 Rating: Gonna go with M to be safe. Warnings: Language, sex, unbeta’d so there might be mistakes. [Please note: I’m using my country’s legal drinking age (18), so there’s no underage drinking mentioned]

Permalink: http://gummysungshine.tumblr.com/post/164654901434/time-works-wonders-ffxv-corloqi-nsfw

This turned out much longer than I intended it to be. Please enjoy this Cor/Loqi smut including some time travelling via Umbra :’)

-----

The sound of voices in the near-distance slowly roused the Niff from his daze. Lifting his head, eyes fluttering open with some degree of difficulty, the surroundings seemed unfamiliar to him. He knew he’d certainly never seen the place before.

“Wha- what's...” Loqi carefully got his feet, glancing around himself, seeing nothing but a grey, stone built alley before him, leading out to what he assumed were streets.

Dragging himself along, he kept close to the wall to prop himself up as he gained his bearings. With his mind clearing of the haze, his assumptions proved true. He indeed found himself looking out onto a semi-busy street; from what he could tell it some sort of marketplace.

“Where am I?” He whispered to himself. “What...what in the name of Shiva’s tits is this place?”

None of it looked familiar, not even in the slightest. The people seemed different, too, unlike those in Gralea, or even in the rural settlements of Niflheim. Nothing was quite right.

‘Did I get drunk? No. I don't remember drinking.’ He thought to himself, recalling his last whereabouts.

The last thing he remembered was patrolling the outerwall of his stationed Imperial base, looking for any sign of the blasted Lucian Prince and his retinue. He wanted to get his hands on Noctis himself, before anyone else, hoping to hand him over to his Emperor and be duly rewarded for his work.

‘There was a dog...’ Loqi summoned the image of a black dog from his memory, seeing it wandering about the area. ‘What happened after that?’

Harbouring a fondness for furry, four-legged friends, he’d stopped to pet the animal. It’d seemed friendly enough, not showing him any outward signs of aggression at the time, but he recalled nothing more after that point. Still not understanding how he found himself in his strange surroundings, Loqi ventured further out into the streets, mingling among the people, trying to get a clearer picture of where he might be.

‘What is this place? Is this Insomnia?’ The place certainly had a Lucian vibe to it, the architecture reminding him of what he’d seen in photos of the city. ‘How did I get here? This makes no sense. I must be dreaming.’

Loqi knew he couldn’t have just walked right into the city, not with him being a Niff and things being the way they were. While Niflheim were set to stage an invasion upon the city in the very near future, he could tell the Empire most certainly hadn’t put that into action yet. Had he been somehow plucked from his position and planted inside the city walls for some sort of secret operation? Anything was a possibility to him at that point.

Reaching into his back pocket, hoping to grab his phone, he found it empty. Panicking, he began to wonder if somehow he’d been robbed. Locating his wallet in his front pocket, he realised that couldn’t have been the case, otherwise he was sure that would’ve been missing as well. Double checking the contents of his wallet, his eyes widened at the sight of foreign money - bills that he’d never used in his life. Loqi had not a clue how they’d gotten there, yet it cemented his assumption about his current location. He was definitely in Insomnia.

Passing through the streets, trying to wrap his head around exactly what was going on, he listened in on various conversations that he could make out, wondering if they could give him some sort of hint about where within Insomnia he was. Not much of what he could hear was useful for the most part; yet he’d overheard a few people mentioning their King, along with some kind of anniversary, their words catching his attention.

“Can’t believe it’s been this long already. Seemed like only yesterday that Regis took the throne.” A middle-aged woman spoke, a younger lady nodding in agreement next to her, the two of them carting around what seemed to be bags of shopping - perhaps a mother and daughter duo, Loqi supposed.

“Hm. Scary to think that two years has passed so quickly. I suppose he’ll be out this evening to celebrate, you know how he likes to visit these parts for a drink or three.” The young woman chuckled, the two of them continuing on there way.

“Two years since...” Loqi murmured under his breath, his gaze catching upon the sight of a newspaper stand, glancing at the front pages as he moved along.

‘April 5th, 731!’ He screamed mentally, reading the date in the top corner. ‘What?! Is this the past?! How can this be the past?’

The date proved the era he was in, there was no doubt about it now that he really paid attention to the small details. But it still didn’t explain how he’d wound up twenty-five years into the past. Loqi wasn’t even sure how he was existing at that point, not being old enough to have been born at that time - a couple of years shy of his birth. He guessed he must have been dreaming. There wasn’t much else to explain it, unless he’d developed some kind of time travelling ability. The former seemed much more realistic, if he had to be honest.

Unable to ponder it for much longer, chatter began to build up around him, groups of people gathering as they moved to the side. Following their lead, he waited among the citizens along the street, wondering what’d gotten everyone’s attention. Tiptoeing to see over the shoulders of taller men and women - cursing himself and his height - Loqi finally saw what was causing all the sudden commotion. It was their Lucian King.

The man was accompanied by four others of varying age. Loqi discerned quickly that one of them must’ve been the King’s shield. The remaining three he didn’t recognise, at least at first. The youngest looking there beared a resemblance to someone the Niff was sure he knew. His face seemed both familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. Following the group out of intrigue, staying hidden behind the thin wall of people lining the street, Loqi did his best attempt at eavesdropping on them, finding it difficult to hear everything over the sound of chatter around him.

“Why so glum, lad? Shouldn’t you be smiling on his occasion?”

“Lighten up, boy.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit early to be drinking? With all respect, I get that it’s the second anniversary of your coronation...”

“Let his Majesty do what he pleases. He could use some time to unwind, under supervision, of course.”

“The earlier we start, the more time we have to enjoy ourselves. Wouldn’t you agree, Cor?”

‘Cor... Is that...is that really Cor?’ Loqi pushed his way through the small crowd to get an even better look.

Armed with that new information, he could totally see the resemblance. It was certainly the man he beared a grudge against, albeit much younger...twenty-five years younger. For reasons unbeknownst to him - or, rather, reasons he didn’t immediately accept - the Niff found his cheeks warming up with just a hint of a blush, biting his bottom lip in thought as he followed the group, his mind falling into an auto-pilot state.

‘Holy Astrals. He’s hot.’ His thoughts reeled off of their own accord. ‘You were a real looker back in the day.’

He’d never actively gazed upon the man in that manner before, his contempt for him cluttering all other thought and reason. Thinking on it, now that his eyes had been opened in a new and enlightening way, Loqi supposed the Marshal was an attractive man, even at the forty-five years of age he knew him as. Continuing to follow the five, he found himself inside a cozy, tucked away bar, one that he probably would have missed unless he was actively looking for it. Trailing behind them and not wanting to look like he was stalking the group, it appeared that the King and his retinue were known regulars among the establishment.

Making his way to the opposite end of the bar, still keeping Cor within sight, Loqi watched the five converse merrily with one another, watching them throw back a round of shots as he ordered his own drink. If he was going to wind up in a bar, he thought it rude to at least not have one drink to pass the time. Now with his attention solely placed on Cor, his earlier worries seemed to float away. No longer did he care how or why he'd managed to end up twenty-five years in the past.

As time passed, Loqi’s undivided attention continued to be set wholly upon the man he called his enemy, his nemesis. Seeing Cor so young, so normal, so carefree, was what kept the Niff from leaving. Not to mention obvious attraction to the man that simmered away inside him. Having zoned out three drinks later, still observing Cor, Loqi followed the man’s movements as he broke away from the group. It wasn’t until he was halfway over that Loqi realised he was heading straight for him.

Trying not to pay too much attention to the way that Cor slid in beside him, he jumped a little in surprise as the man spoke up.

“Not very subtle are you? You that interested in me?”

“Uh... What?” He tried to play dumb, figuring he must’ve noticed him staring. Seeing him up close only served to make the Niff feel things he knew were probably wrong. Although he hated - loathed - the man, he couldn’t shake the attraction.

“You've had your eyes on me since I got here.” Cor explained with an amused lilt to his voice, looking him up and down. “You new? I don't think I've seen you around before.”

At the mercy of the man’s gaze, Loqi played it cool, or at least as ‘cool’ as he possibly could. “I guess you could say that.”

“Since you are,” Cor leaned against the bar, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Let me show you around.”

Before he knew it, Loqi was trailing behind Cor, leaving the bar and heading out into the unknown with his enemy. He didn’t know why he even agreed to Cor’s offer. He should’ve been figuring out a way to rectify the situation he found himself in, not wandering the streets of Insomnia with someone he really wanted dead. Loqi had not the faintest clue where the man was taking him, blindly following him without a question; he supposed he should have asked him, but the silence between them was too much for him to break. It wasn’t like he knew what to say to him anyway, opting to just stay quiet and see where things led. His curiousness almost got the best of him, holding himself back from uttering a word when Cor took him up to an apartment block. Thinking he’d likely headed back home for something he’d forgotten, Loqi’s assumptions were swiftly changed as he was invited in.

Pushed up against the nearest wall, thinking he was under attack, what Cor did certainly changed the Niff’s definition of ‘attack’. With lips kissing and nipping along his neck, a firm grip pinning him to the wall by his waist, all Loqi could do was let out a gasp, thoroughly not expecting such behaviour. At no point did he even consider what Cor’s motivations truly were when he’d approached him. In the short time he had to think, Loqi knew he should’ve seen it coming a mile off. There was no way that someone would offer to show a total stranger around a city, not with the kind of smirk that he’d been given. Wanting to slap himself upside his own head for his stupidness, the Niff couldn’t spare a moment for such a thought.

“C-Cor!” He choked, fingers grabbing at the younger man’s back as teeth bit into his skin harshly - much more so than he was expecting.

Pulling away in surprise, looking at the blond with a suddenly serious gaze, a hand slipped to Loqi’s jaw, holding him there with just enough force to threaten him with.

“How do you know my name?” Cor’s grip tightened, ready to strike should things suddenly turn south.

“I-I uh...I...” Loqi knew he’d fucked up royally. He shouldn’t have known Cor’s name at all, for he was supposed to be just a stranger, never having met the man in any way, shape, or form. “I just...I’ve heard about you. Heard stories of your...’supposed immortality’.”

Having seemingly bought his lie, at least for now, Loqi almost breathed a sigh of relief if it wasn’t for Cor’s lips brushing against his. The kiss was fleeting, barely anything at all, yet promised of so much more.

“Fighting isn’t the only thing I’m good at.” Cor’s voice dropped low, sending a chill along Loqi’s spine. “Say my name again.” He commanded, thumb skimming over the blond’s bottom lip. “Sounds so beautiful coming from your mouth.”

“Cor...” Loqi breathed out, obeying immediately, his eyes flitting down the younger’s own lips.

“Good. That’s good.” He smiled at the submissiveness. “Since you already know my name, how about you tell me yours?” Again he leaned in, a hair’s breadth away from kissing the Niff, keeping him wanting and waiting.

“L-Loqi. Loqi.” Answering without hesitation once more, his answer appeared to please him.

“Well, Loqi, since we’re properly acquainted...how about we skip the formalities, hm?”

Loqi was more than okay with that option. Far more so than he really should’ve been. He didn’t wish to think about it. He only wanted to feel - feel what Cor was so explicitly suggesting. Saying no was what he should have said, but Loqi couldn't find it in himself to stop him. And why should he, he thought. It wasn't like Cor even knew who he really was. For all intents and purposes they were just two strangers hooking up for casual sex; it wasn't all that uncommon.

Making it to the bedroom - just bearly - mind swimming with desire, the Niff couldn't wrap his head around the sheer confidence that Cor exuded. The man he knew him as didn't share that same wanton abandon, at least not that he could tell. Perhaps he grew out of it for one reason or another, Loqi pondered.

“You're not a virgin, are you?”

The sudden question between heated kisses caught Loqi off guard. Pinned down under the younger man, he shook his head, wondering where the question had stemmed from. He most certainly wasn't a virgin, by any stretch of the imagination. He'd dated since he was seventeen, had a number of lovers, including one night stands. Loqi wasn't particularly choosy when it came to wanting a good fuck. If someone caught his eye, he pursued them.

“I didn’t think so.” Cor sat back to pull off his shirt. “I’d be surprised if you were, with a face like that.”

The compliment never had a chance to sink in, with Loqi focusing solely on the physique on show in front of him. Following suit, taking off his own shirt, his own confidence levels began to dwindle. Where Cor was all lean muscle and broad shoulders, the Niff was lithe softness built upon a slighter frame. But it didn't seem to matter to Cor, as he immediately reached out to run his hands up the blond’s stomach to his chest.

“Pretty all over.” He commented, fingers brushing gently over dusky pink nipples.

“Pretty?” Loqi stared. “Not exactly a fitting word for a man.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I'm only speaking what my eyes see.”

Rolling his eyes, the Niff let out a small huff of frustration. “You going to keep sweet talking me, or fuck me?”

“You changed your attitude fast, what happened to that submissiveness?” Cor laughed, a smirk plastering itself on his face.

“I don't like being kept waiting.” Throwing him back a smirk of his own, Loqi tested the waters for a reaction.

“So that's how you want it, huh?” Cor raised an eyebrow. “Fine by me.”

Reaching back down to pull at the blond’s pants, Cor silently signalled he wanted them off. Doing as wanted, Loqi wasted no time in getting himself naked for Cor’s benefit, watching him do the same while he grabbed lube and a condom from the bedside drawer.

“Turn over.” The younger instructed, whistling at the fine sight he was met with. “Fuck. You have a fantastic ass.” He squeezed the pert flesh under his palms.

About to retort with a smug reply, Loqi was silenced as Cor started to push into him without warning. Grabbing at the sheets under him, he rode out the discomfort until Cor was fully settled inside.

“Gods, you're thick.”

“I'm glad you noticed.” Cor breathed against the back of Loqi’s neck, biting at the skin.

Every inch was felt with each roll of his hips, the pace steadily building. Loqi let him know without hesitation when the pleasure outweighed the pain - begging for more. Harder. Faster. He wouldn’t let him have all the fun. They both needed to get something out of it, after all, and Cor didn’t seem like the type of guy to leave things unfinished.

“Yes, yes- don’t- don’t stop. Don’t stop. Please. Cor.”

Cor had no intention of slowing down, not if he could keep Loqi crying out the way he was. There was something so delightful in the way he spoke his name, keening for more with every fervent gasp that tumbled from his lips.

For a man that he supposedly hated, Loqi had to hand it to Cor, receiving one of the best fucks he’d had in a long time. It was clear that he knew what he was doing, his stamina being definitely something that other partners had lacked. Loqi could bearly see any end to his pace. Not that he was complaining, of course. Each well-aimed snap of his hips, each growl that rumbled from Cor’s throat, only provided more means for Loqi to want him to continue. But it couldn’t last forever, no matter how much he wanted it to.

“Keep...going. So close- so close, I can’t, I’m-” A sharp gasp broke off his warning, eyes widening with the force of Cor’s thrusts.

Slowing the speed to just a few amazingly placed thrusts, Cor forced a string of choked moans from the blond, sending him into a frenzied euphoria. He could both feel and see him tense up, trembling, gripping at the sheets so tightly, unable to control the reaction. That was what Cor loved to see. With his side of the job done, he could focus on his own pleasure, driving himself forward a handful of times more until his peak was reached. Grabbing onto Loqi’s hips with a grip strong enough to leave a mark, his own ecstasy had him seeing stars for a brief moment. Falling forward, fatigue now catching up with him fast, Cor rested his head against the blond’s back, the breath of his pants ghosting over warm, clammy skin.

Neither of them said a word - Loqi unable to as his dizzied mind slowly gained its bearings again. Unsure of how long they remained in silence, Cor wondered if Loqi had fallen asleep; he hadn’t moved much, his breaths evening out into a sleep-like state. Moving away from him, he spoke up anyway, regardless of if he could hear him or not.

“I’m gonna go shower.”

“Mmm hm.” Came Loqi’s wordless reply, sighing languidly into the pillow.

He couldn’t have really give two craps about what Cor was doing, if he were honest. All he wanted to do was bask in the light buzz that thrummed throughout his body, not finding the energy to even bother to move. With the sound of running water drifting in from the other room, its monotony lulled him quickly to sleep, the echo of a dog barking in the distance doing nothing to faze him right away.

Awaking some unknown time later, the sound of birds pulled him from his slumber. Recognising his surroundings, seeing that he wasn’t on Cor’s bed any longer, Loqi jumped to his feet, staring around with a look of complete bewilderment on his face. Searching around his immediate vicinity for the black dog that he’d been petting, there was hide nor hair of the animal to be found. Checking his back pocket he found his phone again, exactly where he’d left it. The money he had on him was just as it should be, too. He was sure he was back in the present time, if his location was indeed correct - just outside the base.

“What in the...” Was all he could muster. “Did I...pass out?”

It was too vivid to have been a dream, he insisted to himself. But there wasn’t much other explanation for it. Loqi couldn’t see any way he could’ve feasibly been dropped back into the past, slept with Cor, and wound up back where he last was.

Either way, dream or no dream, Loqi had new things to worry about; namely consisting of how the heck he was going to face Cor again after what’d happened...or hadn’t happened.

#FFXV #Loqi #Loqi Tummelt #Cor Leonis #Cor/Loqi #Cor x Loqi #Corqi

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ladystylestores · 4 years

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Voices of Fashion’s Black Creatives on the Work to Be Done – WWD

https://pmcwwd.files.wordpress.com/2020/06/instagram-3.jpg?w=640&h=415&crop=1

D-I-V-E-R-S-I-T-Y.

The industry has been proclaiming its need to be more diverse for at least a decade, and proudly patting itself on the back for the steps it has taken. Companies issue press releases about the efforts they are making internally; they give donations; they buy tables at charity events supporting black causes; they might even sponsor scholarships. Only last year, numerous fashion groups publicized how they had hired chief diversity officers, established internal panels and hired outside experts to help them become more diverse and understand racial differences.

Is that enough?

The protesters who have filled the streets of cities across America, and of many others around the world, over the killing of George Floyd by four Minneapolis police officers, have made it clear the answer is a firm, loudly proclaimed: NO!

All one has to do is to look at our list to see how pitiful the representation of blacks at senior levels in the fashion and retail industries is in the 21st century. How many chief executive officers are there at leading firms? Three — and one of those, Virgil Abloh, founded his own company.

The percentage of black designers in the membership of the Council of Fashion Designers of America? Four percent.

The protests over the Floyd killing have shaken society to the core more than any other in a tragic string of past killings at the hands of police officers, or white citizens. And it isn’t the unfortunate violence that has in some cases accompanied those demonstrations. It is that these marches have caused us to reexamine — or perhaps for the first time, truly examine — whether the steps, beliefs and behaviors we have long thought were absolutely fine are truly enough to make a difference.

Racism — or even unconscious bias — has festered for centuries, and will not be cauterized overnight. What the protesters continue to make clear is that things need to get much better, and much faster, than they have been. There are no easy answers to how, but in the first of two parts, WWD asked black creatives to share their experiences of discrimination, how companies can do better, and more.

Tracy Reese Diane Bondareff/AP/Shutterstock

Tracy Reese

What unique challenges do you feel you have faced due to your race?

That’s such a huge question. Maintaining a strong sense of self-worth when you have been spit on, called the “N” word, stalked by security in stores and other public spaces, denied leases, loans, attention, opportunities and been the only person of color at camp, in classrooms, meetings and boardrooms has been challenging. My parents always made sure I knew my value and I’ve been determined to push through and succeed in spite of these experiences.

What should the fashion industry be doing now to fight racist policies and police brutality?

Our industry must stand in solidarity with Black Lives Matter, Campaign Zero, the NAACP and other organizations fighting for justice and equality. We can use our sizable voice to collectively lobby for legislation to change how police forces are trained and correct mass incarceration policies.

The fashion industry must also respond by examining its own practices. We are not employing black people in management and executive positions in production, wholesale, retail and media in proportions that reflect the population. Black people have historically been shut out of these opportunities.

Recognize and celebrate the contributions black people have made to fashion and culture

What should brands be doing to enact change from within, promote inclusion in their workforces and in their imagery and products?

Recognize the oppressive consequences of centuries of systemic racism. Institute apprenticeship and fellowship programs that lead to managerial opportunities. Have honest conversations about race and equity with all employees on a regular basis. Ask black employees what support they feel they need to level the playing field and implement action.

What role can the media play?

Media must reflect the world we really live in and keep asking the difficult questions long after the current fury has receded. Black people must be represented as humans who laugh, cry, live, love, nurture, create, rejoice and contribute to the fabric of this society in infinite ways.

What makes you feel hopeful at this moment?

The fact that we are even having these conversations.

André Leon Talley Stephane Feugere/WWD

André Leon Talley

What unique challenges do you feel you have faced due to your race?

The biggest challenge is to get up everyday and to go forward and to fight the battle.…As a black man, I could have been in a situation like George Floyd — put in handcuffs and thrown to the ground. A black man must think about racism every single day.

What should the fashion industry be doing now to fight racist policies and police brutality?

Have more awareness and discussions. People need to listen — not just have summits and things. It’s not just about having a town hall. It’s got to be something for the industry to practice where people are included — not just the big brands but the unsung hero designer as well, and not only black designers, but brown designers and Asian designers. It’s got to focus on the humanity of the fashion world, not just the megawatt brands, each individual.

What should brands be doing to enact change from within, promote inclusion in their workforces and in their imagery and products?

The brands first of all should be more aware and conscious of the times we live in, which are difficult because of the pandemic and the whole thing about social justice and equality for black people. Brands need to focus on inclusivity and diversity of black people in ways that they have not done before. Gucci has done it brilliantly. Gucci had a luncheon last year with 300 of the most influential African Americans in the industry. They have an advisory committee for diversity. People have got to be included more. It’s not just a selfish thing any more. Fashion turned in on itself and became this very narcissistic endeavor, with brands outdoing brands and shows outdoing shows.

Instagram posts from Diandra Forrest, Kerby Jean-Raymond and Nikki Ogunnaike.

What role can the media play?

Each individual has to find a way in this pandemic to be more resourceful and to create something that is exciting. When Essence wanted to photograph Naomi Campbell for their 50th anniversary cover, she photographed herself on her cell phone. That sent a very strong message. The industry has to come up with ways to be resourceful. They have to think about what this virus of racism and the virus of COVID-19 means for the future. They have to reach out to future generations. This whole Zoom effect is phenomenal. You can teach 130 students from 130 countries on Zoom, which means you can have webinars, too. You can use social media to make change. Change comes in very different ways. The powerful have got to listen to the powerless.

What makes you feel hopeful at this moment?

What makes me hopeful is a sense of who I am and that there can be progress. People have to come together — individuals within the fashion world and outside the fashion world — to continue to work, to struggle and you don’t give up. You don’t give up the dream. The dream has not been achieved. Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated April 12, 1968 and here we are on June 4, 2020 having to memorialize a man whose life was stamped out of him…and it was photographed in real time.

Brett Johnson Courtesy

Brett Johnson

What should the fashion industry be doing now to fight racist policies and police brutality?

I believe there’s a plethora of initiatives the fashion industry can implement.

First, the treatment of people of color in their stores. From first-hand experience you get one of two reactions, either being followed or completely ignored. I should be treated the same as the clients that are not people of color.

Second, the inclusion of people of color in fashion shows and events. Diversity in casting, your front row and guests, open your doors to fashion students of color.

Third, I think that one of the most powerful images that I saw was both in NY and Flint, Mich., when the police chiefs took a knee and hugged to express unity between them and the people.

Major fashion houses can express this by collaborations with designers of color. Implementing apprenticeships with people of color because I’m a firm believer in a “hands on approach”.

Fourth, I think fashion schools should also follow Aurora James’ recommendation and require a minimum of 15 people of their student body to be students of color.

Lastly, major fashion brands need to be conscious of products they design and be more culturally sensitive to people of color’s past history — including appropriation of black culture and black iconography.

What should brands be doing to enact change from within, promote inclusion in their workforces and in their imagery and products?

I unequivocally believe that the aforementioned 15 percent rule be applied to executive boards, staff and management. Presently two-thirds of my executive team are women of color. I also think women in general are undervalued and their voices need to be represented in all three phases.

What role can the media play?

I believe this truly circles back around to major fashion houses being more inclusive. When more people of color are included then this creates opportunities to put themselves around media and in the position to create relationships they will need farther down the road. Providing a platform that they would otherwise not have access to.

The media could do a much better job of covering designers of color who have no attachments to global celebrities.

What makes you feel hopeful at this moment?

Receiving uplifting messages from our global retailers and their willingness to continue to support a luxury designer of color even through an international pandemic.

Dapper Dan Courtesy

Dapper Dan, fashion innovator

What unique challenges do you feel you have faced due to your race?

There are two. One is renting commercial and/or residential spaces to use for my business. The other is being able to buy luxury brands wholesale.

What should the fashion industry be doing now to fight racist policies and police brutality?

They should sponsor a legal team and cover all costs for the legal team to represent those who are affected by racist policies and police brutality.

Instagram posts from Iman, Telfar Clemens, and Jason Rembert.

What should brands be doing to enact change from within, promote inclusion in their workforces and in their imagery and products?

I feel that Gucci’s Changemakers plan is the right direction to go in. We need more of this.

What role can the media play?

The media should implore that all the other luxury brands follow Gucci’s lead.

What makes you feel hopeful at this moment?

I grew up in a very different time in America. So, to now see so many white people supporting protests of issues that have been affecting black people, it gives me hope for America. It wasn’t like this at all when I was growing up.

Frederick Anderson Courtesy

Frederick Anderson

What unique challenges do you feel you have faced due to your race?

I so believe there is still a bias in specifically the American fashion industry toward understanding that black “luxury” designers can and do sell to women of all races and colors. I’ve heard for years this theory that white luxury clients would not buy off of black models. Keeping the black models relegated to one in a show. “Now,” well, thank God that has been proven wrong. Showing a broader view of the American woman.

Now the next barrier is to show that black American designers can sell “luxury,” not just athleticwear and urban-inspired fashion. I think this comes from the assumption that all black people grew up in the ghetto.

It’s strange as I thought the point of progress is so we can view people by their own accomplishments and not by a stereotype…the stereotype still exists.

Black designers, as designers from all other races, design from their personal history and experiences and not every black person is from an impoverished past or divided family and yes some even had very successful and educated mothers and fathers.

What should the fashion industry be doing now to fight racist policies and police brutality?

Raise up black designer role models. Create a conversation about understanding how the racist idea that black people are lesser in one way ends up in the police devaluing the life of a black person by having the same racist assumption.

There is a connection!

What should brands be doing to enact change from within, promote inclusion in their workforces and in their imagery and products?

Self-evaluate and see how you are part of the problem or the solution. False support when it’s trendy will not help. It’s actively working to change our own minds first and then those of the people we employ and influence.

What role can the media play?

Tell the truth. Never stop.

What makes you feel hopeful at this moment?

The racial mix in the crowds in every march I have seen. I am proud of the new generation. They already have made a change in attitudes by showing it’s not enough to feel sad. It affects everyone in one way or another.

Change hurts. It’s not an easy process nor is it pretty to watch. Maybe it’s a lesson we can learn in this time of COVID-19 when we actually have time to watch and absorb this moment.

I’m changed forever.

Nasrin Jean-Baptiste Courtesy

Nasrin Jean-Baptiste, Petit Kouraj

What are the unique challenges you feel have faced in fashion due to being black?

I think one of the more insidious challenges facing black people and POC-owned fashion business is not only are women undervalued within the industry but as a woman of color, we are all too frequently placed in a position of invisibility and inequality. With this imposed separateness, the responsibility has unfairly fallen on us to resist the societal messaging and conditioning we experience daily. This teaches us that our contribution and mere existence is somehow inferior. We are burdened with the call to displace that thinking and find within us the strength to operate from a place of complete abundance and worthiness. This is a daily practice for black people in general, we do it during our morning coffee before we check our to-do lists or open our laptops. It has become so normalized that we often forget that we are carrying this burden until we are reminded in subtle and not-so-subtle ways how we are perceived, upon which we repeat this inner work.

What should the fashion industry be doing now to fight racist policies and police brutality?

First and foremost, the fashion industry has a responsibility to actively participate in the fight against injustice, whether the industry likes it or not. People of color, specifically, black people have had a long history of radically impacting our fashion industry without recognition and participation is just one way the industry can preserve and acknowledge our contribution.

There are many ways the fashion industry can get involved and information on this has never been so readily available. Supporting organizations that have long been doing the groundwork in their local and greater communities is a great place to start, donate to these causes. Make your support visible so we can all be encouraged and educated on these platforms is also vital.

What should brands be doing to enact change from within, promote inclusion in their workforces and in their imagery and products?

I think brands need to think holistically, this moment requires us all to practice extreme humility and unashamedly ask ourselves the difficult and painful questions. We must objectively examine our personal basis, work culture, and practices within the business we are creating and make sure we are making ourselves accountable for the issues facing the world. When this work is done, inclusion within the workforce and boardrooms comes naturally. This is not a time for silence or passive alliance. I want to see larger brands support small POC-owned businesses, by investing in our brands on your social media, on your e-commerce web sites, and on the retail floors.

Instagram posts from Imaan Hammam and Alton Mason.

What role can the media play?

The media can help to amplify the voices, stories and businesses of POC. We need balanced and factual reporting. The media can and should help by contextualizing what is happening in America as not just a black issue but as a human issue. We are in the midst of social change and this is a perfect time to examine America’s dark history and how human behavior individually and collectively is impacting us all now.

What makes you feel hopeful at this moment?

Though we are all experiencing a very conflicting and emotional time, I am overwhelmed with the hope that a shift in our collective consciousness is taking place. To see people coming together on a national level in various forms of protest, to listen, to engage and to see the call to response globally is extremely motivating.

Any additional thoughts?

I started my bag line as a daily reminder to find the courage to create the life and world of my dreams. It is my hope that in this moment, we are all encouraged to find within us a little courage daily to create the sustained change needed for a better way of living.

Tia Adeola Courtesy

Tia Adeola

What unique challenges do you feel you have faced due to your race?

I think the fact that I’m not just black, but also a woman means that I have to be extra polite and sometimes even hold back on how I truly feel or on things I want to say so I’m not labeled as “the angry black woman.” From the second I walk into a room everyone is judging me or jumping to negative assumptions based on how I look and I have to be conscious of my every move.

What should the fashion industry be doing now to fight racist policies and police brutality?

I think the fashion industry should be restructuring their teams and putting more black people in positions of real power, donating to fundraisers and using their vast platforms on social media to support Black Lives Matter. And by this, I don’t mean only supporting the movement after they’ve felt the pressure due to their silence, but in an ongoing and meaningful way where they contribute to changing a system they’re culpable in.

Instagram posts from Corianna + Brianna Dotson and Duckie Thot.

What should brands be doing to enact change from within, promote inclusion in their workforces and in their imagery and products?

I think one of the most important things would be to start hiring more black people and when I say this, I don’t mean hiring people to work in the storefront or in the stock room. I mean hiring black people on an executive level. Let us be decision-makers, once this is enforced, everything else will fall into place as far as imagery goes.

What role can the media play?

Just like the policemen have their walkie-talkies and radio systems to communicate, social media is what we as a community are using to find people who are being abducted at protests, share organizations that are accepting donations for the black community, and educate people who don’t fully grasp the magnitude or complexities of what’s going on.

What makes you feel hopeful at this moment?

A black man was shot in Brooklyn just yesterday, another in Louisville the day before, I’m sure there are several more because these stories aren’t being reported. I don’t feel hopeful.

Larissa Muehleder Courtesy

Larissa Muehleder, Muehleder

What unique challenges do you feel you have faced due to your race?

It’s uncomfortable to discuss this because I’m very grateful for all that I did have growing up, but when you start to meet really successful people you realize how much you lacked and the reason for your struggles. White people don’t realize the magnitude of assistance they have by simply inheriting financial literacy and resources. It would have been helpful to have had parents or relatives who knew about business and raising capital so you can minimize your mistakes and increase your chances of success but most minority-owned businesses, like my own, are bootstrapped when the reality is a lot of companies raise money before they go into business. Having someone else invest in me didn’t even occur to me when I started Muehleder and managing our finances was a journey on its own. That’s why my best advice to black business owners is to seek out mentorship and organizations like FITDE for guidance, create a business plan, and never stop reviewing it. Work smarter, not harder.

What should the fashion industry be doing now to fight racist policies and police brutality?

I think at the basic level, making sure that the conversations keep going is key. Unlike the news outlets, the fashion industry does not have to be censored. They can push bold agendas through imagery that keep the conversation going and create the narrative you want to be seen. For example, [President] Trump referred to black protesters as “thugs.” How can we change that narrative and show the police as the real thugs? It’s not an easy topic, but if you really want a change you have to do what isn’t easy or comfortable.

In addition, not only hiring black creators but making sure their voices and opinions are heard and that they are comfortable enough to even share them. When you ask yourself, have I created a space where people feel equal? What is your answer? If you are not sure then you know you have more work to do.

What should brands be doing to enact change from within, promote inclusion in their workforces and in their imagery and products?

Change from within starts at the top. The right leadership means everything and it’s not just what you have to say, but the actions you continue to implement long after the riots and the noise subsides. Meaning, don’t post about it, be about it, and open the platform to different races for fresh “woke” ideas with a purpose to flow.

What role can the media play?

I find that too often the media doesn’t appear to be genuine. They are all simply posting the same viral video. They need to be more creative by diving deep into the different layers of an issue in order to have a unique voice. In return, they will not only get their audience to pay attention but inspire their audience to take action.

What makes you feel hopeful at this moment?

I’m hopeful because I myself have become more aware than I have ever been in my life. I’ve been doing nothing but research these past eight days and following all the progressive people and organizations that I feel are on top of issues I care about. My friends and I are all sharing resources and this has sparked a conversation within our group and with white people on Instagram who I don’t even know. People who were unaware are now aware and want to know how they can help. It is amazing to see everyone around the world join in our fight because racism is a global issue. We may be divided amongst some groups but the united front has never been stronger. White people are listening and trying their best to understand and that is the start, continuing the conversation is the journey ahead, and voting is our greatest weapon. We are about to vote like our lives depend on it, because for once, everyone can see that lives do depend on it.

Theresa Ebagua Courtesy

Theresa Ebagua, Chelsea Paris

What are the unique challenges you feel have faced in fashion due to being black?

Finding and maintaining space in any industry can be challenging. While there is more diversity within the fashion industry today, there are times when I feel limitations on my creative expression. The fear is always appearing “too black.” Is that print too much? Is this collection too bold? With each launch, I feel more grounded in my identity as an African designer and I find moments to celebrate that heritage.

What should the fashion industry be doing now to fight racist policies and police brutality?

Every action counts, from informative posts to conscious designs. I would embolden all of us in the fashion industry to use our collective voice, influence and creativity to challenge racist policies and maintain awareness of incidents of police brutality.

What should brands be doing to enact change from within, promote inclusion in their workforces and in their imagery and products?

As a brand, awareness is imperative. We have to acknowledge that we are in a constant battle against systemic racism. Afterwards, we can engage in inclusive reform within our respective teams and collections.

Instagram posts from Elaine Welteroth, Hannah Bronfman, and Campbell Addy.

What role can the media play?

The media is responsible for keeping the public informed and should focus on a holistic and accurate portrayal of current events. An increase in positive representation of black faces is needed. While there have been improvements, the media still falls short of uplifting the black community.

What makes you feel hopeful at this moment?

Witnessing the mobilization of younger generations, seeing their passion and strength as they fight for justice and equality makes me expectant for the future.

Any additional thoughts?

There are no right words to describe what is happening. We are experiencing waves of irreconcilable emotions: outrage, exhaustion, pain, fear. This is a time to lean on one another; together, we can and we must end racial injustice.

Fe Noel Courtesy

Fe Noel

What unique challenges do you feel you have faced due to your race?

I’d say being constantly pigeon holed. We are a proud black brand; however, being constantly grouped does not highlight our core individual strengths and focus. I’d love to be on an equal playing field with other brands of the same caliber and focus on the craft, fashion and brand messaging.

What should the fashion industry be doing now to fight racist policies and police brutality?

I’ve always believed fashion is reflective of the current state of our economy. It is political. I’d like to see the industry get innovative and create a new platform that educates and speaks on acceptable policies in a way that resonates.

What should brands be doing to enact change from within, promote inclusion in their workforces and in their imagery and products?

I think brands should reassess their core values and approach inclusion with a new lens. Rethink your hiring strategies, charitable efforts and marketing. Making these additional changes will create immediate impact.

What makes you feel hopeful at this moment?

One thing about me is that I remain optimistic at all times and I remind myself that change is constant. I am even more hopeful now with this massive wake up call.

Lisa Price, founder of Carol’s Daughter

What unique challenges do you feel you have faced due to your race?

Unfortunately there are many challenges I have faced from a young age. From age 15/16, when I began to shop by myself, up until maybe 10 to 15 years ago, I was followed when I shopped in stores. Always. To this day, I have a very hard time catching a cab in NYC. I always use Uber. Now, those don’t have a bearing on me being an entrepreneur but they are part of the “extra” with which I walk through life as a black woman. While I feel very blessed to have had my success recognized despite the color of my skin and despite the fact that I am a woman, part of that success is because my numbers were so strong and early on my first investor was an incredibly successful innovator in marketing and advertising and he was a person with whom people would not say “no” to a meeting. This combination ensured I was able to get in the room at a time when that was not an easy thing for an African American-founded beauty brand who had the African American consumer as its focus.

What should brands be doing to enact change from within, promote inclusion in their workforces and in their imagery and products?

If your brand is made for and caters to only one race, that is fine. Be that and do that. The problem comes when you say that you are for all but your marketing across all channels does not reflect that and even worse, your marketing welcomes black women but only a certain shade of black girl or maybe she is an ambiguous black girl. And the worst case scenario is featuring a model with a deeper skin tone but not actually having a shade for her in the line or having it but 90 percent of your retail partners don’t carry it. You have to be honest, authentic and transparent. It is too easy for one to be called out if you are not.

What makes you feel hopeful at this moment?

I am hopeful that there is now conversation back and forth. We are speaking to each other and making ourselves vulnerable and asking how to help. That is not an easy thing to do and it is happening. Only good can come from meaningful conversation.

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