Inspired by THIS POST about gay Disney Princesses.
When the old beggar comes to the door, Addy knows better than to let her in. She doesn’t look at the rose or the woman too long; she shuts the door.
Some will call her arrogant or selfish, but what is she to do? No guards, parents in the capital (not, here, not here), and the knowledge that she is the damsel in all those fairy tales weighs heavily on her mind. Oh, little princess, far from home and alone, so alone.
The Enchantress (for they do not call her witch) makes sure that she stays that way.
Alone except for her wilting rose.
(She did not want it, would not take it, so she was bound to it. Such is the way of Princesses.)
Addy used to have frightful bursts of temper. Her face would turn red, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, mouth screwed into an upside down kidney bean. Anything could set her off; a too tight corset, a walk ended too quickly, another toy sword taken away. She’d wail and scream, kick her feet and punch the air, tear and rend anything within arm’s reach.
The first time she has a fit in her new form, it’s after Mrs. Potts reads the King and Queen’s decision on her…condition. She’s to stay here, on the outskirts of their kingdom, until a Prince comes to release her from her spell. Alone until a different sort of bond is forced on her, until she is made to change from princess to beast to bride.
Addy know why they refuse to save her. It’s because she’s always been too big, too strong, too ill-tempered, too–
In her rage, Addy upends the tea tray, forgetting, forgetting, forgetting.
She is reminded when fine china falls to the hard ground, when it rattles, when it shatters, when it screams.
“No!” Addy falls to her knees next to her dishes– no, her friends and frantically rights them, apologies tumbling from her lips, eyes brimming with tears.
“Temper,” Mrs. Potts murmurs, more out of reflex than anything, looking obviously terrified. She hops from her side to her base, better able to control her new body than any other castle resident. Her lid is sitting askew and her eyes are wide (so wide) as they dart from one cup to another. “Daniel? Daniel!”
Addy cuts herself on broken porcelain and flinches. She–she’d killed him, she’d been so thoughtless, how could she? “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”
“I’m okay,” a little voice says. “I’m okay, Mom!”
Addy sobs as she locates him under the silver platter, on his side, trapped. She throws the platter too hard, lodging it in the wall, and takes Daniel in her paws.
“It’s okay, Princess Addy,” Daniel chirps at her. He’s a little older than her, just a few years, and he’s always trying to be strong. His eyes are wide (too wide), but he offers her a tremulous smile. “I’m okay.”
“Thank goodness,” Mrs. Potts says and her china clinks as she hops forward.
Addy’s eyes lock on the horrible, huge chip in his rim.
I did that.
She’s across the room before being aware of setting Daniel down, of standing, of leaping away.
“Princess,” Mrs. Potts says from her low, low position on the floor. “What–”
“Don’t call me that,” Addy grits out. Her huge body leans heavily against the door, making it groan, as she desperately tries to wrap her paw around the handle. She can’t stop looking at the chip, the proof of harm, the proof that something much worse can happen so easily. “Don’t call me– I’m not–I’m not the Princess. I’m the Beast.”
The door crashes open and she disappears.
It’s weeks before the servants realize that she’s never going to answer to her name again. She no longer sleeps in her princess bed or attempts to wear her princess clothes. She wears pants scavenged from the servants’ quarters, tunics from her father’s closet, ties her mane back with twine instead of ornaments.
Hey, Luke, it’s me. I know I’m not supposed to be calling, but I am not doing really great right now, and– I was just wondering, if, do you remember in The Way we Were, how Katie and Hubbell broke up because his friends were joking and laughing, and the president had just died, and she yelled at them and he was mad and he was going out to Hollywood, and, I mean, which she hated, and he broke up with her and she was really upset. And she called him and asked him if he would come over and sit with her because he was her best friend and she needed her best friend, and he did. And they talked all night, and they went out to Hollywood, which was a disaster, but it was good at first. With the boat, and uh, putting the books away. I’ve seen this movie a lot, so if you don’t remember the putting the books away scene, don’t feel stupid or anything. I was just sitting here thinking about it, because…
I love this request because I literally have the worst asthma and I like to project my own life problems into my writing, so here we go.
Request: Hi! Could you write something where Alex has asthma and hasn’t been feeling well all day and then at a Cabinet Meeting, starts having an asthma attack and is super embarrassed, especially in front of Washington, and panicked until Thomas rushes to his side to help? Tyxx.
Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x Alexander Hamilton
TW: Asthma attack, public embarrassment
Word Count: 824
Alexander knew something was wrong when his breath started coming in shorter waves. He always knew when he needed to keep his inhaler near by, because his chest would start tightening, it would begin to feel like little weights were sitting there.
Only this time, he left his inhaler at home. The air had been clear, low humidity, and the recent rainfall had washed the left over pollen away, and he assumed he was in the clear for the day. He hadn’t had an attack in months. He was wrong.
He forced himself to take a deep, slow breath, counting as he went. One, two, three, four, He counted as he breathed in. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. He counted as he breathed out. The weight lifted on his chest, but not enough to stop the oncoming attack. He clenched his jaw and forced another breath, hoping it held off until he was back home and alone.
He pain in his chest had returned, and he could feel himself wheezing every couple of breaths, and he knew he couldn’t leave work for at least another four hours, after his meeting with President Washington and Secretary Jefferson.
That was an issue in and of itself. Every time he walked near Jefferson, his heart raced, his breathing was thrown off kilter, and he choked on any smooth words he could have prepared. What came out next was a slew of insults, childish mockery and general foolishness that made his own skin crawl when he thought back to it.
He wasn’t sure when he realized he had looked past Thomas’ moronic political views. All he knew was one day his thoughts were consumed with an overbearing urge to hit Thomas, and the next they were consumed with an overbearing urge to kiss Thomas.
One, two, three, four, he breathed in, one, two, three, four, five, six-
He panicked when his breath halted two counts before it was supposed to. Alexander knew once this started, he couldn’t stop it.
He just hoped it held off until after the meeting.
He was sitting in the conference room, leg bouncing from the anxiety coursing through him, knowing he needed him inhaler right then, but he had to be at the meeting. Washington would be pissed if he missed it.
Alexander pulled his collar away from his throat, trying his best to breath as well as he could, but nothing was working. He was edging towards a massive attack, and he had no way to stop it. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he just wanted to get the hell out of there before-
He stood up, interrupting the meeting as his chair slammed into the wall behind him. “I-” He choked, coughing and wheezing as he tried to speak.
“Alexander?” George stood, alarm written across his face.
“Shit, Hamilton-” Jefferson muttered, rushing around the table.
“I-” He tried again, gasping for air. “-can’t breathe.” He forced the words out, vision blackening around the edges. He felt his knees starting to give out, only being stopped by Jefferson lunging forward to catch him.
“I’ve got him,” Thomas’ voice faded out as Alexander’s eyes fluttered shut, lack of oxygen finally over taking him.
Alexander awoke some time later, fluorescent lights blinding him. He groaned, voice hoarse and throat aching.
“You’re a fucking moron.” He rolled his head towards the intrusive voice, blinking in surprise when he saw Jefferson sitting there. “You could have died, Alexander.”
“You’re lucky I knew you had asthma from always seeing you carry around your inhaler.” Alexander felt a small squeeze and looked down, surprised to see their fingers laced together. He held back a smile, enjoying the way their hands fit together. “Washington was scared shitless-”
“Oh shit,” He muttered, face flushing with embarrassment. “Washington probably thinks-”
“That you overload yourself with work and that’s the cause of your impeccable word vomit?” Jefferson cocked a brow, releasing Alexander’s hand as he popped his knuckles. “Washington is fine. He called earlier to see how you were.” He smirked. “I told him you passed out, but you were fine. Awake and babbling like normal.” Hamilton blushed, smiling sheepishly.
“I thought I was in the clear because of the weather.”
“You weren’t in the clear.”
“Yes, I know that now, you insufferable asshole.” Hamilton winced internally, skin already shivering at the insult. Thomas laughed, smiling widely. “What?”
“You talk in your sleep.” Hamilton’s eyes widened, head snapping towards the other man. “I like you eyes too.” He flushed a deeper shade of red, scratching he back of his head nervously.
“Yeah, well I liked when you held my hand, I guess.” He muttered, avoiding eye contact. He smiled, feeling the fingers lace back through his.
“Yeah, well I like when you’re breathing.” Jefferson brought their intertwined hands to his lips, smiling. “Think you can do that?”