Summary:
Famous author, playwright, and lyrical genius Alexander Hamilton- or Lin-Manuel Miranda as he is known by the public- is in a bit of a pinch. His latest series was a huge hit, however he only meant it to be a singular book. Now, here he is, working on the third book as he sits in a twenty four hour coffee shop running on nothing but caffeine and borderline insanity. When the- admittedly cute- barista starts gushing about the book and dearest Alexander falls head over heels, what's a man to do? Well, what he does best, of course. Write.
Yeah, yeah, "What the Hell?! You literally havent finished a single story? You're writing another one?" I know, I know! I go where inspiration takes me, hence the reason I don't have an update schedule. I will finish all of them, it just won't be very fast, sorry.
So the song in the media inspired me to write this thing, great song, love it, even though I hate the conclusion Alex comes to. Seriously, who in their right mind would think the Reynolds Pamphlet a good idea by any means? Damn it Alex, are you that sleep deprived? Anyway, I'm not too sure on how I should write these characters so if anyone is OOC, please tell me what I can do to fix it! Thanks!
I DO NOT OWN HAMILTON OR THE CHARACTERS WITHIN! IF I DID EVERYONE WOULD BE GAY!
Also, warning for some light swearing? I know it might bother some people so just to be safe
In the eye of a hurricane there is quiet for just a moment, a yellow sky. When I was seventeen a hurricane destroyed my town. I didn't drown, I couldn't seem to die. I wrote my way out, wrote everything down far as I could see. I wrote my way out. I looked up and the town had it's eyes on me. They passed a plate around and total strangers moved to kindness by my story raised enough for me to book passage on a ship that was New York bound.
I wrote my way out of hell, I wrote my way to revolution. I was louder than the crack in the bell.
(Needs more substance))
And in the face of ignorance and resistance I wrote
(wrote... what?)
And when my prayers to God were met with indifference I picked up a pen, I wrote my own deliverance.
In the eye of a hurricane there is quiet, for just a moment, a yellow sky. I was twelve when my mother died; she was holding me. We were sick and she was holding me, I couldn't seem to die.
I'll write my way out. Write everything down, far as I can see.
I'll write my way out.
(Needs more substance)
This is the eye of the hurricane (Continue, writers block be damned)
I sighed as I leaned back in my chair, the wood digging into my shoulder blades as I took a sip of the coffee that I had ordered: black, extra espresso- and taking out the previous two books in my series titled 'Stay Alive' and 'History Has It's Eyes On You', respectively, hoping to inspire me and spark my imagination again.
"Oh my God, you read that series too?!" My head snapped up, my dark brown hair falling into my face as the barista who had served me my coffee hopped over the counter and into the seat across from me. "Its my favorite! Lin-Manuel Miranda is an absolute genius! A gift to this world, honestly!" I swallowed hard, closing my laptop and pushing it to the side.
"Eh, well, it's good I suppose." His eyes widened, the lights of the coffee shop dim compared to the spark that was lighting his light- what even was that colour? Hazel with flecks of green? Either way, the colour was stunning- eyes from behind.
"Oh come on, anyone who doesn't think it's incredible hasn't gotten the true meaning of it!" His arms waved wildly as he spoke, the movement dropping a single chocolate curl so in hung just in front of his eyes. He quickly brushed it back, barely seeming to notice the action. "The way Lin writes the series is so incredible! It's poetry in story form! Like when the main character was going through the hurricane, you could really feel for him, you know?" He frowned, the action drawing my eyes to his lower face and stopping at his freckles. Was it possible to have that many? "Or when his mother died. That was especially sad. I actually cried!" I tore my eyes away from him as he turned back to me, thanking my lucky stars that he didn't catch me staring at him.
"Yeah, I guess, but it takes him a while to publish each one, and no story is perfect. There's flaws in every story; plot holes, unexplained facts, inconsistencies." I sighed, glaring at the book in my hands.
"Of course it takes a while! He's an author, and writers block is a bitch!" I internally snickered. He had no idea how true that was. "He tweeted the other day that he was pulling all nighters to try and get past a block in his thoughts. That's not good for him of course, and I wish he wouldn't, but it just shows how dedicated he is to it and to making others happy!"
"You wish he wouldn't pull all nighters to get the content you want?" I asked, perplexed. If he wanted the next part of the series so badly, shouldn't he be glad that I was doing these things?
"Of course not! I want the next book- what did he say it was titled? Hurricane, right?- like, yesterday, sure. But nothing is worth someone else's wellbeing!" His eyes hardened as he shook his head, his curls bouncing around his neck as he did so. "I wish he would take care of himself, actually. I know it's kind of weird and stalker-y, but even though I don't know the guy I want to help him, ya know? Make sure he's okay. I mean, he's basically opening up his heart and soul in these books, so it's kind of like I know him, right?" I let out a small chuckle, smiling up at him as he gazed down at me. He had no idea how much he really knew me.
"Yeah, I suppose that's true." His smile widened, his eyes snapping up to mine as he jumped in victory.
"See, you get it! Oh! I just realized that I never even gave you my name! I'm John, John Laurens!" His hand was suddenly in front of me, the man before me suddenly filled with more energy than he knew what to do with, judging my the twitcting of his fingers and shifting from foot to foot.
"Alexander Hamilton. Alex is fine."
"Well Alexander 'Alex is fine' Hamilton, I enjoyed taking to you, but I should probably get back to work before I get fired. Here-" he pulled an order pad out of his apron, scribbling something on one of the order sheets before placing it face down on the table. "I have to go help Lafayette in the back room, lazy ass, but I hope you see the Revolutions and Revelations series in a little better light." He grinned at me one more time before hopping back over the counter and through a doorway as I packed up my things. Maybe John was right; I shouldn't be pulling these all nighters. I grabbed the order sheet and pushed my way out of the cafe doors and into the cold, unforgiving darkness of the outside.
I enjoyed our talk, text me if you want to talk again! 555-0173
XOXO ~J. Laurens
Smiling slightly, I made my way home, intending to get a full nights sleep tonight if it killed me. First, however...
To: 555-0173
Goodnight, John. I hope we can see each other again soon. XOXO ~A. Ham
I collapsed into bed, not even bothering to change as the last seventy-two hours caught up to me, my eyes slipping shut as my phone chimed on my nightstand.
"I'm a general, wheee!" Yes, truly the God of serious war dialogue. "Before he was your friend he was mine" "Chick-a-plao!" Of course. Love you, though, Lin! (Do I have the right to call him that? I am technically writing fanfiction about him and Anthony...) Seriously, best guy ever! Anyway, comment on what's good, what's bad, things you notice, whatever! Your enthusiasm keeps me inspired!
~HA
(I also just noticed that my username initials are Alex's backward, I'm very happy)