i feel so so so bad for phillip

Betrayed

Pairing: Phillip Hamilton x Reader

Warnings: implied smut, death, kinda long.

Summary: Y/n Eacker meets Phillip at a ball, and they instantly connect. Because of the sadistic nature of fait, he was snatched from your grasp.

Bam: hey, so, like I said I’m not to good at angst. But I tried! So, I sincerely hope you like this. Love always!

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You met the love and the ultimate demise of your life at the Winters Ball, like everyone else. Only, the peculiar case was that he was never your suitor, your courter, or your husband. No. That liberty was taken away from the both of you.

Dances, especially in large and unnecessarily frilly gowns, were not your thing. You were idly sipping your glass of champagne in the corner, trying not to vomit from the taste. At the meek age of 16, alcohol had not yet become something you could enjoy. You haphazardly looked at the twirling colors that radiated from the other women’s gowns, when an unexpected tap on the shoulder took you from your spell.

“Hello Miss. I couldn’t help but notice that you look rather unsatisfied with your current position. Care to dance?” The boy with curly hair and a devilish smirk offered his hand to you.

“Well, Sir. Your assumptions aren’t wrong. I would love a dance. Anything to take this awful taste out of my mouth, really.” You roughly set down your glass and took his hand. He led you to the center of the ball room, which oddly enough was the least crowded.

“I take it you aren’t much for champagne, then.” He pulled you close, to the point where your chests were touching.

“Well, not exactly. Fermented beverages haven’t quite piqued my interest quite yet. I do, however, enjoy a good fruit juice.” He smiled and shook his head at your silly comment.

“Fruit juice? A classy drink for a classy lady.” He added his playboy smile into that mixture of words. If it hadn’t been for his comforting aura, you would have been a flustered mess.

“Your words are charming good Sir. For all this flattery, I would certainly like a name to place to it.” He spun you elegantly before bringing your face within an inch of his.

“I’ll tell you my name, but only my first. I would ask that you do the same. I find that it attaches personality rather than wealth to a person.” He raised his eyebrows as to challenge you.

“As you wish. My name is Y/n.”

“Mine is Phillip. It’s a pleasure.”

You danced a total of four songs, then he led you off the dance floor.

“Would you care to walk with me in the gardens?” He held your hands to his chest.

“I couldn’t refuse such a gentlemanly invitation.” His eyes lit up and he led you to the courtyard. The moon was a mere crescent, yet it still shone its silver light upon the roses. He kept walking until you hit the edge of the lake.

“It’s a beautiful night. You know, Miss Y/n, it’s at times like this where I cannot resist my flirtatiousness. Though the stars shine bright and the moon dwindles valiantly, your eyes are far brighter that both combined.” He kissed your palm as you cupped his cheek.

“You certainly are quite the charmer. I’m pleased that you asked me to dance tonight.” Your cheeks were bright red.

“I hate to be to forward, but may I write to you?” His hands were tracing shapes on your hips.

“I would love that.”

———————————————–

“Y/n? Y/n? Who are you writing all the time?” Your brother, George, was pestering you again. He was always curious to who this mysterious Phillip was.

“You know who I’m writing, George. Now please, do you need something?” You turned in your chair and sealed the letter you had in hand.

“Actually, I was wondering if you want to go to the theatre with me tonight.” He played with the ruffles in his cravat.

“Alright. I have nothing planned, and Lord knows I haven’t gotten to spend any recent quality time with my sweet Georgey,” you cooed. He rolled his eyes and made his way out the door.

“Be ready by 4, oh sister of mine.”

The theatre it was then.

———————————————–

The theatre was packed, but it was a Friday night. You adorned yourself in a lilac dress to match George’s coat. It was a warmer night, and the breeze made it even more pleasant.

The show was very pleasant, until the end. The actors were taking there final bow, when the theatre doors swung open. You quickly turned around with the rest of the crowd, only to be met with the face of someone you’d least expect.

Phillip, your love.

His eyes searched the crowd and he stormed over to your brother, who was in front of the hoard of people.

“Eacker! I heard you were talking bad about my pops. You have something to say to me?” In all the times you had met up with Phillip, you had never seen him this enraged. But then again, your love was secret; never to be shown in public.

“Yeah, so what. Everything I said is true. Your dad is a lying, cheating, radical whore. I feel so bad for your poor mother.” You were appalled at your brothers words. Was this the same person?

“Eacker, if anything you’re the liar! I’ll kick your ass in front of everyone here!” Phillip was seething. You just wanted to go and comfort him.

“Whatever you say, Philly dearest. You couldn’t even fight a child and come out on top.” Your brother was acting so pompous, and it was making you feel ill.

“Duel me.” The room went still.

“You’re on.” You couldn’t speak. Tears were streaming down your face. Phillip walked out, and you quietly slipped away after him. He was quickly making his way down the street. He was hunched over and looked smaller than usual.

“Phillip,” you said weakly, your throat feeling like nails. By a grace to powerful to name, he heard you. He turned around, hard faced. He looked at you for roughly half a second before rushing towards you.

“Oh, my love. Please tell me you didn’t see that…” he buried his face in your hair. You clung tightly to him.

“….. you challenged him to a duel…” you choked out. You were tugging in your mind on who to side with. George. Phillip. George. Phillip.

“My sweet, I will make it out. I cannot promise, but my love for you will take me beyond the chains of death.” He rocked you back and forth under the oil street lamp.

“Phillip, I have to tell you something.” You pulled away.

“Yes, Y/n?” He cupped your cheek.

“The man you challenged to a duel is my brother.” An ear splitting silence spread between you. His face looked heartbroken.

“Y/n, I cannot sacrifice my honor. If you are asking me to back out I-” you stopped him.

“No. That’s not what I’m asking. I have a feeling on who your family is. Hamilton, if I’m not mistaken. I know you Philly. You talk about them a lot, and you hold them above your own life. You’re not going to back out. Just, give me tonight.” You closed your eyes and rested your head on his shoulder, listening to his rapid heartbeat. He pulled you away and looked in to your eyes. They held hope, love, but most of all, desire.

“Let’s live tonight like it’s our last.” He took your hand and led you down several streets, only to stop at a two story house. It was bigger than most, yet still modest. He opened to door quietly. Wait, this was his house. You quickly trotted up the stairs and down to the last room in the hall. He opened the door and closed it directly behind you.

You turned around, grabbed his collar, and smashed your lips to his. He immediately responded by picking you up and pinning you against the wall. He moved to pepper hot kisses down your neck, and reached for the first button on your dress. He stopped and rested his hand there.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He looked at you, concerned.

“Yes.” He immediately unbuttoned your dress quickly. This was going to be one heck of a night.

———————————————–

You woke up in Phillip’s bed with no one beside you. Instant dread hit the very essence of your being. There was a note on the pillow, and you knew who it was from. It said:

“My dearest Y/n,

Words cannot express how in love with you I am. Your smile, your laugh, your mind, your body. All of it is simply indescribable. Even if I die today, know that I died happy. You have provided me with light in a world of darkness. Thank you for being my flame.

Love Always,
Phillip”

It was short and heartbreaking. It was already past dawn, so you dressed and rushed out of the room. When you got to the bottom of the stairs, you were met with Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton. They looked shock, but saw the letter you were holding. Eliza started sobbing and hugged you. You hugged her back but gave Mr. Hamilton a pleading stare. Eliza let go and rushed upstairs. Mr. Hamilton took your hands.

“I suppose you’re his lovely Y/n. I’m afraid he’s….. g-gone m-y d-dear.” He turned away his gaze, but still held your hands. You were crying, but no sound was being made.

“Y/n, he wanted me to give you this.” Mr. Hamilton pulled out a simple silver band. You stared at it for a few seconds before breaking down.

He wanted to marry you. He loved you. He would always be with you.

You put the ring on and collapsed into Mr. Hamilton’s arms and wept. You could hear his muffled sobs as well. You only stopped when Mrs. Hamilton came down, ignoring her husband, and took you to the kitchen for tea.

“He loved you, so now we will also love you.”

———————————————–

I have a lot of things (so many things) to say about Hamilton, but this, I feel, is the most important part:

I want to see bad productions of Hamilton.

I want to see productions where somebody gets stage fright. I want to see productions where Alexander forgets his lines. I want to see productions where so few dudes auditioned that Hamilton has to go up against Thomasina Jefferson (n.b. I legit think that would be cool to see, but that’s neither here nor there). I want to see productions where so few people auditioned at all that John Laurens has to double Phillip Hamilton AND King George. I want to see productions where Angelica has no flow to speak of. I want to see productions where the costume budget is twelve dollars, where all the music is in the hands of one harried pianist, where absolutely everything that can go wrong does.

You know why? Because some school and community theater companies are just not very good.

If a work is going going to be part of the fabric of American non-professional theater- and I genuinely think Hamilton will be- sometimes it will just suck. But that opportunity, that chance to be part of the landscape, to worm your way in, to give strength to people who see themselves in the work, to quietly change the minds of people who don’t, that is so much more important than being performed perfectly every time.