tw poorly written

May Nothing But Death Do Us Part (Philip x Reader)

TW: Death, swearing, poorly written angst

Summary: V sad and emo (I need to stop listening to Fall Out Boy)

A/N: Requests are open!

Masterlist

My dearest, (Y/N),

It pains me to write this. I can picture your distraught face as you read this; it almost makes me want to reconsider everything, but what’s done is done. I must meet Mr. Eacker at the dueling grounds in Weehawken. I know how you feel about such matters, but I had no choice. He disparaged my father’s legacy in front of a crowd. I couldn’t let him get away with something like that.

I’m sorry I never told you, but you wouldn’t have let me go. (Y/N), I love you with all my heart. I didn’t want to hurt you. No matter what happens, I hope you will understand why I did this. You must know that I will not shoot him. If I lived because I killed him, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

If I do die, please find someone else, be happy, and remember me. I don’t want my poor decisions to negatively impact you. You deserve so much more.

With all my love,

Philip Hamilton

You cry as you read the letter. The ink is smudged with your and Philip’s tears. He was too stubborn for his own good. If he had just talked to you, he would be laying in bed beside you right now. Everything would be perfect.

You throw a jacket over your dressing gown and run into the chill, November air. You run to the Hamilton’s house to tell them what’s happening. When Eliza opens the door, you start sobbing, muttering bits and pieces about what Philip is doing. You gasps and wakes Alexander, who leads you both to the dueling grounds; Eliza scolds him along the way.

“Fire!”

You jump in front of Philip before he can react and knocked him to the ground.

“(Y/N),” he gasps, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“You can’t die on me. I couldn’t let you die.” Tears fall from your eyes, onto his chest.

He strokes your hair. “I love you so goddamn much.”

He gently kisses you, before Eliza comes over to you. “(Y/N),” she whispers. “You’re- you’re bleeding.”

You pull away from Philip and look at your arm and scream, pain rushing over you. The fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins when you got shot acted as a painkiller. He grips your side in an attempt to control the bleeding. Your vision starts to blur.

“We need a doctor!” Philip calls. He gently strokes your hair. “It’s going to be okay. I love you so much, more than you can ever imagine.”

You grab his face. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

He pulls you closer to his chest. “You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay.”

The doctor tells Philip that he has to let you go. “I love you, Philip.”

Tears cloud his eyes (he promised himself that he wouldn’t cry in front of you). “I love you, (Y/N).”

You grab his hand. “My love, take your time; I’ll see you on the other side.”

~~~

Philip walks down the street by himself. He moved uptown after his wife’s death. He needed to get away from the city life. He needed to be in the quiet. He thinks about how you would want him to find a new wife and have kids, but he can’t bring himself to meet other women. Every time he speaks to someone else, he thinks that they aren’t you.

He walks back to the dueling grounds. “This is the last place I saw you,” he mutters. “It’s going to be the first place I see you again.”

George Eacker laughs. “Let’s make this quick. No girl to save you now.”

He nods, raising his pistol to the sky once more. He feels a sharp pain in his side and smiles. “My love, I’ll see you on the other side.”

He hears doctors shout around him, but he’s only focused on you. “Hello again, (Y/N).”

You smile and walk closer. “I thought you would have taken longer. Let’s get going. We have a lot to catch up on.”

Sherlock: John. John. What are you doing?

John: Stay there, Sherlock.

Sherlock: John.

John: Stay… there. Will you? Will you please just - (A laugh, fractured and wet, more like a cough.) Will you do as you’re told? Just this once.

Sherlock: John. No, John.

John: Listen to me, Sherlock. I’m doing this. There’s no - there’s no clevering it away, so just- just listen to me, alright? Listen to me. 

Sherlock: John, stop it. I’m coming up there. Alright? Alright, John? Just hold tight. I’m coming now.

John: Sherlock. (The tone of it stops him dead, gaze raised in horror to the silhouette poised on the skyline.)

… Are you listening?

(Silence. John’s sigh.)

I’ve had - 

(A breath. A swallow.)

I’ve had the best time, Sherlock. The best. You’ve given me… I want you to turn around. Yeah? I want you to turn around and walk / away

Sherlock: John

John: I don’t want you to see this / Sherlock

Sherlock: John

John: I’m going / now

Sherlock: John I can make this better whatever it is I can make this / better

John: (More of that horrid laughter, words and wet coughs all part of the same sound.) You made it better, Sherlock, you made it / 

Sherlock: / John / 

John: / so much better you made my life, Sherlock, you made it -

Sherlock: Don’t do this, John -

John: I’ve got to - I’ve got to go now, Sherlock,

Sherlock: John.

John: Go, alright. Go away, close your eyes. You don’t need to see this -

Sherlock: I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere, John, you’re not going anywhere -

John: Goodbye, Sherlock.

Sherlock: John -

PERFECT FROM NOW ON//BUILT TO SPILL//1997

“I’m gonna be perfect from now on, I’m gonna be perfect starting now…”

The first time I listened to Perfect From Now On, I knew it was something special. I originally picked it up for its interesting song titles; songs called “Randy Described Eternity” and “I Would Hurt A Fly” appealed to me as a gloomy existentialist kid with no place in the world. Perfect From Now On quickly proved to be much more than a few punchy titles.

Impressive guitar arrangements are the focus the album, with melancholy cello pieces adding to the overall mood. Doug Martsch’s desperate, wailing vocals rise from the mix to deliver philosophical lyrics over intense crescendos and dynamic shifts. It’s the brilliant tension and release that makes Perfect From Now On an essential album.

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