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Jun. 17th, 2017
(no subject)
Jun. 17th, 2017 10:17 pmAnonymous asked
Hamilton perspective anon again! Thank you, that was amazing. You're one of my favorite Ham/Wash writers. Can I ask for maybe Hamiltons perspective before/during/after Chapter 48 of Greenhouses?
i actually forgot that chapter 48 happened BEFORE the bit with him figuring out who lafayette is so it’s possible that maybe it wasn’t like.. whatever. i’m being stupid.
anyway. this.
These were the facts as Hamilton knew them:
- It was obvious that Washington was attracted to him and yet he denied himself out of some odd protectiveness. He would not take or even ask for what he wanted, maybe because he felt Hamilton could not agree to himself in the context of their relationship. Which was fair, but yet Hamilton wanted him, and made it obvious, and yet still he denied himself. It was ridiculous.
- He was talking to Adrienne - Emissary du Noalles - now. Angelica had told him, and explained the whole strategy. Hamilton knew the sort of woman Emissary du Noalles was and he found it insanely unlikely that Emissary du Noalles would agree to Washington’s suggestions. He would be disappointed.
Hamilton had plans. What he liked when he was disappointed was to lose himself in the arms of the man or woman that desired him. He would make Washington understand. He knew this area. He would delight the man.
Washington was peculiar when he came home. Sulking. Deeply sulking, if the slow drag of his shoulders and his slow steps meant something. he barely looked at the bare Hamilton.
It helped when he was down. He could be down, just differently than Washington was. But down was down. John helped with his body, when he was. So he would.
He asked, and Washington agreed. So he kissed and licked and sucked and touched him and yes, it was wonderful, firm and strong and impressive, and Washington agreed, but he was not – he was strange.
But he could not stop. He could not stop because Washington did not want him to stop, but also because if he stopped he would be forced to do something else and he had no idea what that was. So he did not stop. Washington did not deny him. Washington was firm. Erect. Could take him, when he wanted. For a moment they lay there and Hamilton felt that, it had been strange, but not bad, But then.
Washington fled. There was no other word for what he did. Threw on his clothes with unknown speed and fled. Disappeared down hallways and Hamilton followed, autumn air chill on his skin. Washington did not hear his shouts or ignored them. He must have not heard them. He must have been – had Hamilton broken him somehow? Had Hamilton pushed him over some unknown edge? Had–
Oh, Lafayette was going to murder him for his. Legitimately slaughter him and leave his limbs around as a warning. Washington kept moving and Hamilton found it impossible to follow at the speed and – where was he going???
Where was he going? How could he go? In the middle of the night with the winter prickle of cold and he did not even have a jacket and–
What had he done?
Hamilton perspective anon again! Thank you, that was amazing. You're one of my favorite Ham/Wash writers. Can I ask for maybe Hamiltons perspective before/during/after Chapter 48 of Greenhouses?
i actually forgot that chapter 48 happened BEFORE the bit with him figuring out who lafayette is so it’s possible that maybe it wasn’t like.. whatever. i’m being stupid.
anyway. this.
These were the facts as Hamilton knew them:
- It was obvious that Washington was attracted to him and yet he denied himself out of some odd protectiveness. He would not take or even ask for what he wanted, maybe because he felt Hamilton could not agree to himself in the context of their relationship. Which was fair, but yet Hamilton wanted him, and made it obvious, and yet still he denied himself. It was ridiculous.
- He was talking to Adrienne - Emissary du Noalles - now. Angelica had told him, and explained the whole strategy. Hamilton knew the sort of woman Emissary du Noalles was and he found it insanely unlikely that Emissary du Noalles would agree to Washington’s suggestions. He would be disappointed.
Hamilton had plans. What he liked when he was disappointed was to lose himself in the arms of the man or woman that desired him. He would make Washington understand. He knew this area. He would delight the man.
Washington was peculiar when he came home. Sulking. Deeply sulking, if the slow drag of his shoulders and his slow steps meant something. he barely looked at the bare Hamilton.
It helped when he was down. He could be down, just differently than Washington was. But down was down. John helped with his body, when he was. So he would.
He asked, and Washington agreed. So he kissed and licked and sucked and touched him and yes, it was wonderful, firm and strong and impressive, and Washington agreed, but he was not – he was strange.
But he could not stop. He could not stop because Washington did not want him to stop, but also because if he stopped he would be forced to do something else and he had no idea what that was. So he did not stop. Washington did not deny him. Washington was firm. Erect. Could take him, when he wanted. For a moment they lay there and Hamilton felt that, it had been strange, but not bad, But then.
Washington fled. There was no other word for what he did. Threw on his clothes with unknown speed and fled. Disappeared down hallways and Hamilton followed, autumn air chill on his skin. Washington did not hear his shouts or ignored them. He must have not heard them. He must have been – had Hamilton broken him somehow? Had Hamilton pushed him over some unknown edge? Had–
Oh, Lafayette was going to murder him for his. Legitimately slaughter him and leave his limbs around as a warning. Washington kept moving and Hamilton found it impossible to follow at the speed and – where was he going???
Where was he going? How could he go? In the middle of the night with the winter prickle of cold and he did not even have a jacket and–
What had he done?
(no subject)
Jun. 17th, 2017 10:52 pmAnonymous asked
11, hamwash
hey, i’m liking your photos at 2am because i want to make out. i’m texting you at noon because i want to make out. i woke up today because i (we don’t need words)
His employee had many habits in varying levels of actual danger and just general annoyance. one of this most frustrating was, as Hamilton surely would have called it, “fucked-up texts.” This would be when Hamilton would consume some mind-altering substances of dubious legality and send Washington texts late at night, usually of his genitalia, and occasionally him in the process of engaging in all kinds of his masturbatory habits. These were always deleted, but sometimes they fit in the back of his mind and stayed. Hamilton had sent him one with a black dildo in his ass, the line of his hole dripping with lube.
When Hamilton got to work the next day, Washington called him to his office. Hamilton locked the door and worked his pants off, a dark plug inside him.
“Remind you of something?” Hamilton said, groaning as Washington’s fingers manipulated the silicon.
11, hamwash
hey, i’m liking your photos at 2am because i want to make out. i’m texting you at noon because i want to make out. i woke up today because i (we don’t need words)
His employee had many habits in varying levels of actual danger and just general annoyance. one of this most frustrating was, as Hamilton surely would have called it, “fucked-up texts.” This would be when Hamilton would consume some mind-altering substances of dubious legality and send Washington texts late at night, usually of his genitalia, and occasionally him in the process of engaging in all kinds of his masturbatory habits. These were always deleted, but sometimes they fit in the back of his mind and stayed. Hamilton had sent him one with a black dildo in his ass, the line of his hole dripping with lube.
When Hamilton got to work the next day, Washington called him to his office. Hamilton locked the door and worked his pants off, a dark plug inside him.
“Remind you of something?” Hamilton said, groaning as Washington’s fingers manipulated the silicon.
(no subject)
Jun. 17th, 2017 10:56 pmAnonymous asked
Kickboxing ironflint alex!!!! please!! share ur thoughts
alex dripping sweat and all his old bruises, beating up a dummy or a sandbang, evidently and obviously pushed way past his limit. Hands bruised in his gloves, feet bruised, and even so he keeps doing it. even kick and punch feels like acid with the bruises but the pain spikes down his spine and straight through his chest. bursts in his eyes. teeth gritted. stray hairs falling out of his ponytail. someone’s concerned and tells him to take it easy but he’s just pushing and pushing. and probably passes out. oops
wellreadfan asked
So if Ironflint Alex did kickboxing to cope, would that be healthier for him? Or would he just take it to extremes to the point where it too was bad? Like, would he push himself beyond rationality and damage his body?
i’m sure he would also injure himself kickboxing, it’s just they would all be stress/overuse injuries and not hickies and stuff. i see a lot of strained quads. probably broken fingers. that kind of thing. of course naturally he doesn’t sit down and let any of that stuff heal up, so he has a strained quad for like 4 weeks. (unless he’s married to eliza then she’s like DO NOT FUCKING MOVE FROM THAT CHAIR.)
i imagine he would at least one pass out in the kickboxing gym and make everyone fret. that would be an effort to undo.
Anonymous asked
Okay but after Alex passed out at the gym everyone was like, so concerned? Like they made him lie down and somebody went and got him orange juice and tried to lecture him about pacin himself? Anyway it was super weird and Alex doesn't know how to feel about all these strangers caring if he's okay. That's not normal.
oh my god anon you hit the nail RIGHT on the fucking head. like, he isn’t really friends with a lot of the other kickboxers. i mean, he’s nice to them, they’re nice to him, but he’s kind of a little hardcore for the people that only come once a week, and i think the people who are REALLY into kickboxing he already accidentally-on-purpose got to leave him alone when they tried to politely indicate the value of doing rests and stuff like that. (however, since he wasn’t ACTUALLY harming anyone, he didn’t get kicked out, which makes it different from the bdsm club.)
but, yeah. stares at bag in rage. staggers once, twice. the blur of someone outside going are you okay? but then the floor.
wakes up with his head and feet elevated. gloves off, wet towel on his forehead. sitting next to him on the floor are some people: two regulars, adam the meathead, jamie-who-does-marathons. some other women too.
“jesus man, i told you to take it easy.” the meathead is trying to smile but he’s obviously worried. “i know the bag bullied you, but it’s seen the error of it’s ways. water, dude.”
tries to lift a hand but it doesn’t work. someone puts a little water bottle to his lips. tries to swallow, but coughs. a hand with a towel on his mouth, wiping it away.”I know you always gotta got a hundred percent - alex, right? - but like, maybe just 90% next time? or how about 95%. just turn it down just a little.”
everything about it triggers his flight instinct. they want something from you, they are going to take something from you, they don’t know you, why are they helping you, what do they want, they are going to get you, best to leave, right now, away from these PEOPLE, they will HURT YOU –
he tries to sit up but his limbs don’t work. jamie-who-does-marathons puts a hand on his chest, pushes him back into his nest of pads and towels they’ve made for him. she frowns at him.
“i’m ok,” he slurrs, and the group looks at each other. they don’t think he’s ok? they don’t think he’s ok. he tries to lift himself from the pile but nothing responds. WORK damn you, his brain says to his arms and legs. you have to GO. you have to GO.
“how about you finish the water and then you can go? but just. 90%. ok?”
Kickboxing ironflint alex!!!! please!! share ur thoughts
alex dripping sweat and all his old bruises, beating up a dummy or a sandbang, evidently and obviously pushed way past his limit. Hands bruised in his gloves, feet bruised, and even so he keeps doing it. even kick and punch feels like acid with the bruises but the pain spikes down his spine and straight through his chest. bursts in his eyes. teeth gritted. stray hairs falling out of his ponytail. someone’s concerned and tells him to take it easy but he’s just pushing and pushing. and probably passes out. oops
wellreadfan asked
So if Ironflint Alex did kickboxing to cope, would that be healthier for him? Or would he just take it to extremes to the point where it too was bad? Like, would he push himself beyond rationality and damage his body?
i’m sure he would also injure himself kickboxing, it’s just they would all be stress/overuse injuries and not hickies and stuff. i see a lot of strained quads. probably broken fingers. that kind of thing. of course naturally he doesn’t sit down and let any of that stuff heal up, so he has a strained quad for like 4 weeks. (unless he’s married to eliza then she’s like DO NOT FUCKING MOVE FROM THAT CHAIR.)
i imagine he would at least one pass out in the kickboxing gym and make everyone fret. that would be an effort to undo.
Anonymous asked
Okay but after Alex passed out at the gym everyone was like, so concerned? Like they made him lie down and somebody went and got him orange juice and tried to lecture him about pacin himself? Anyway it was super weird and Alex doesn't know how to feel about all these strangers caring if he's okay. That's not normal.
oh my god anon you hit the nail RIGHT on the fucking head. like, he isn’t really friends with a lot of the other kickboxers. i mean, he’s nice to them, they’re nice to him, but he’s kind of a little hardcore for the people that only come once a week, and i think the people who are REALLY into kickboxing he already accidentally-on-purpose got to leave him alone when they tried to politely indicate the value of doing rests and stuff like that. (however, since he wasn’t ACTUALLY harming anyone, he didn’t get kicked out, which makes it different from the bdsm club.)
but, yeah. stares at bag in rage. staggers once, twice. the blur of someone outside going are you okay? but then the floor.
wakes up with his head and feet elevated. gloves off, wet towel on his forehead. sitting next to him on the floor are some people: two regulars, adam the meathead, jamie-who-does-marathons. some other women too.
“jesus man, i told you to take it easy.” the meathead is trying to smile but he’s obviously worried. “i know the bag bullied you, but it’s seen the error of it’s ways. water, dude.”
tries to lift a hand but it doesn’t work. someone puts a little water bottle to his lips. tries to swallow, but coughs. a hand with a towel on his mouth, wiping it away.”I know you always gotta got a hundred percent - alex, right? - but like, maybe just 90% next time? or how about 95%. just turn it down just a little.”
everything about it triggers his flight instinct. they want something from you, they are going to take something from you, they don’t know you, why are they helping you, what do they want, they are going to get you, best to leave, right now, away from these PEOPLE, they will HURT YOU –
he tries to sit up but his limbs don’t work. jamie-who-does-marathons puts a hand on his chest, pushes him back into his nest of pads and towels they’ve made for him. she frowns at him.
“i’m ok,” he slurrs, and the group looks at each other. they don’t think he’s ok? they don’t think he’s ok. he tries to lift himself from the pile but nothing responds. WORK damn you, his brain says to his arms and legs. you have to GO. you have to GO.
“how about you finish the water and then you can go? but just. 90%. ok?”