I've got a few more for today! (On a side note, I'm in need of more prompts, so if you have a few you'd like to see, send 'em in!)

Foster kid Alex (modern AU) looking at George's library in awe?

"These are all yours?"

George chuckles at the awe in Alexander's voice as he scans the towering bookshelves in the man's office. If he was being honest, a good portion of them were just for show, but the way Alex is running his finger over the spines makes him think the teen would read all of them then and there if given the chance.

"Sure are. They can be pretty dense, but you're welcome to borrow them if you'd like."

Alex's eyes light up. "Any of them?"

George smiles warmly, fondness unfurling in his chest. Alex truly was a wonder-he didn't know any other sixteen year olds that were dying to unpack the schematics of a two-party system, but if Alex enjoyed all that political jargon, who was he to stop him?

"They're all yours, son."

Alex beams, arms already piled high with volumes and eagerly flipping through the titles for more.

I like to bake-do the Schuyler sisters? They sure do, anon!

"Augh! Ange! Watch it!"

"Watch what? Oh, Pegs, sweetheart, you've got a smidge of flour on your nose-"

Eliza laughed as Peggy squirmed away from Angelica's teasing hold, shouting the whole time over their sister having "No respect! No proper etiquette!"

It was a frigid mid-December day, but inside the Schuyler kitchen all was warm and smelled of honey, if not spattered with dough. Eliza stamped out another snowflake-shaped sugar cookie and placed it carefully on a metal tray. A puff of flour hit her apron and she looked up, startled.

"Sorry!" Peggy cried. "I was aiming for Angie." Her eyes went suddenly wide, gaze locking behind her sister. "'Liza, look out-!"

A smattering of sugar crystals sprayed over Eliza's face and she scrunched her nose as Angelica laughed.

"Oh, it's on, now!"

Five minutes later, the cookies were no closer to being done, but the kitchen had descended into disaster. All three girls were collapsed against the cupboards, covered in the ingredients they were supposed to be using.

"'Liza, your face," Peggy giggled breathlessly, reaching out to poke her. Eliza swatted her hand away and picked out a stray bit of eggshell from Peggy's curls.

"My face! Look at yours!"

"Look at Angie's…"

Angelica huffed, a grin tugging at her lips as she shook powdered sugar from her apron. "So much for baking."

A sort of sad one with Alex as a workaholic?

His hand smeared ink along the page as he dragged the quill across it furiously. Words tumbled out of him far too slowly for the speed at which they were multiplying in his mind. But this was better than the alternative-trying to make something out of nothing, and something impactful at that, was like trying to catch empty air. At least this was exhilarating, all-consuming until time ceased to exist. At least here he could forget anything and everything that wasn't capturing the mounting importance of his words.

"Alexander? Your dinner will go cold."

He might have muttered something in response, or maybe he just bent his head over his desk, scribbling harder.

Hamiliza, leaving, sad:

The worst part of it all was the way she said his name.

It was so different to the way anyone else said it. So different to how Maria would whisper it in his ear. That was bliss, sure, but Eliza...Eliza was a hot mug of tea slipped into his hands at three in the morning when he couldn't sleep. Eliza was long, meandering walks through the woods, breathing in the crisp autumn air and talking about nothing in particular. Eliza was a sweet melody drifting down the stairs as she sang their children to sleep. She was...God, she was everything. And now his everything stood in the kitchen with shaking hands, and he knew he deserved whatever came next.

It still sent an aching agony through him as Eliza threw together her things, the pamphlet resting on the dining room table with its pages still opened mid-read. She had read enough, he figured. She had read far too much to stay.

"Alexander."

Her voice broke and she lifted her eyes to his. They were misty with hurt and betrayal, and something else akin to embarrassment. Shame.

"Eliza-"

She held up a hand and his voice died in his throat.

"Don't. Just...I need to go home."

Home. He hated that this couldn't be home for her anymore. The door slammed shut with a ferocity that made him flinch and he retreated to his office before he stared at the space she'd left behind for too long.

He had...to write. He had nothing, and so he wrote, trying to make something-empty promises, shatterable hopes-for himself to try and ease the pain. Writing had always gotten him anything he'd tried for; maybe this time it could get him back everything.

Thank you for reading, and let me know what you think in the reviews! They always make my day. :)