Running Home to You

George Washington x Reader

Time Period: Canon Era

Words: 2,263 (i keep getting carried away with the word count, there ! :o )

Warnings: Nothing much ? Just mentions of war ?

Tags: (*cries because this is my first tag tysm* ; - ;) @nervous-crossbow

A/N: Hi everyone! So basically I heard this song, fell in love, and tried my hand at a songfic for the first time ! I am so sorry it takes so long for me to write ! 
I literally have like five stories (including that one request) that are halfway done but I can’t seem to finish them ! Again, sorry ! :(

BUT IN OTHER NEWS !!! I’VE REACHED A HUNDRED FOLLOWERS !!! I am so very honored thank you all so very very much *ugly sobs* ; U ; 

I hope you all like this ! Please tell me if it’s okay or what I can do to improve it ! Feedback is the absolute best and thank you to all who give me any type of feedback !

Without further ado ! Enjoy !

Originally posted by romanovass

Can’t say how the days will unfold

Can’t change what the future may hold

She had received another letter from the battlefield. The courier had arrived not long ago, and upon seeing the name of the sender, (Name) had rushed to her room and all but tore open the envelope.

George had sent her a missive.

Reading the words, her heart grew heavy - as if the sentences were weights upon her chest, making it infinitely harder to breathe.

They had lost yet another battle. There was no official number of casualties as of yet, but George expected them to be plentiful. But that was not the worst part. Now, the army would settle into their winter encampments at Valley Forge. 

Already, George had received reports of disease claiming the lives of his soldiers - appendages lost to frostbite because the army could not spare no shoe nor glove. George knew they were low on rations, and starvation seemed inevitable.

The general knew very well he could lose half his army to the unforgiving winter ahead, and with the dollar devaluing as much as it had, he was unsure of their ability to finance another campaign.

With all odds stacked so clearly against their favor, hope was as scarce a resource as the food on their tables.

This was the end of the revolution.

But I want you in it

Every hour, every minute

(Name) couldn’t stifle the sob that escaped her lips at the sight of the written words.

The script was untidy and almost unreadable - as if her husband’s hand had shaken profusely upon writing. The ink ran where teardrops that had long-since dried fell; black smudges at the margins where fingers hastily tried to wipe the salty drops away.

She buried her face in her hands as her heart bled with the pain of it all. Never had she felt so helpless. So unable to do anything to help the man she loved so dearly, when his world was crashing down around him.

Her place was at his side; to be there to take his hand even when they faced the darkest of times. 

So why, then, was she here - beyond her husband’s reach when he needed her most? 

This world can race by far too fast

Hard to see while it’s all flying past

There seemed to be new developments everyday. News of battles that would shape the outcome of this gruesome war.

In such charged times, rumors were as common as the events themselves - taking on such detail and life that they resembled reality.

She wondered if there would come a day when her heart wouldn’t stop when she heard someone whispering of her husband’s rumored capture.

Now, however, fighting was at a standstill as the armies retreated into their winter camps. In those freezing quarters, it would be a fight for survival - the chill as lethal as bullets and bayonets. Here, even the greatest of generals could not outmaneuver the hunger their men had to suffer - helpless and unable to fight back.

And George… he would be alone. Nothing but his darkest thoughts to keep him company on the long, winter nights. Blaming himself. Loathing himself. Suffering.

It was those thoughts that finally made the decision (Name) had been debating upon for some time now.

The answer was quite simple: she could not let that happen.

But it’s clear now

When you’re standing here now

“Please tell the coachman to ready the carriage. I shall ride for Pennsylvania tonight.”

I am meant to be

Wherever you are next to me

It was a ten-day journey - traversing over hundreds of miles to reach the military encampment. A weariness had settled into (Name)’s bones from the unforgiving travel.

But that did not matter.

Not when she was getting closer and closer to her husband with each turn of the wheel. Not when she felt as if she could nearly burst with happiness at the prospect of seeing him again. Of having the chance to be there for him and to console him - to take him into her arms for he would have no one else’s.

She could not keep the smile from her face at the thought. 

To be his wife.

He did not have to face the dark winter alone any longer. Not when she would be there.

Outside, the dark forest, faintly lit by the light of the moon, passed by. (Name) gazed out the window - determination shining clearly in her eyes.

‘I am on my way, George.’

All I want to do 

“Sir? There is a woman at the door, asking for you.”

“A woman?” George questioned, looking up from his writing in confusion. Another letter to congress, begging for supplies.

“Yes sir,” the soldier continued. “She says it’s urgent.”

The general’s brow furrowed.

“I have five minutes. Send her in.”

Is come running home to you

Come running home to you

“Five minutes, George? I’m quite certain you have more time than that.”

The quill in the commander-in-chief’s hand froze mid-stroke. The ink began to blot as the stain grew wider - effectively ruining the letter and ensuring he would have to rewrite the missive.

But George could not bring himself to care. 

He knew that voice. With its tone colored in amusement, and the smile practically visible in the words…

But it could not be.

She was hundreds of miles from him, in the safety of their home. Perhaps he was imagining things.

But… did he dare to hope?

With a shaky breath, the general raised his eyes from the piece of parchment.

And like an impossible wish granted, there she was.

His eyes were wide with awe and disbelief - a single word ringing in his stupefied mind.


And all my life I promise to 

Keep running home to you

In great strides that bordered a run, George swiftly closed the distance between them, and took his wife into his arms.

He embraced (Name) as tightly as he could without hurting her. His hold was almost desperate - a strong hand resting protectively behind her head to shield her from the world outside.

And if (Name) could feel hot moisture trickle from where her husband’s face was buried in the crook of her neck - she did not mention it.

Keep running home…

“You cannot be here, dearest,” said George urgently, eyes almost frantic when he fully realized the dangers of their situation.

To this, however, (Name) smiled with eyebrows raised - as if taking the worried words as a challenge.

“If you think I am leaving you to brave this winter alone, you are sorely mistaken, my dear.”

Adamantly, the commander shook his head.

No. I will not have you in danger. I will not risk it. I need you safe, (Name). I need you to go home, this instant.”

To you.

“I am home, George.”

Oh, and I could see it

Right from the start 

Right from the start

From there, everything had changed.

The soldiers and staff could see it; the way the general walked with something of a spring in his step. He was more sure, more hopeful. His voice was clear and confident - his decisions certain and precise.

His troops could notice the change as well - the commander’s new-found vigor, boosting morale and spreading hope amongst the army like a wildfire.

And ever-beside the great commanding officer was his wife - never faltering in her duties as the Mrs. General.

The soldiers smiled to themselves whenever they caught sight of the couple.

It appears Mrs. Washington had packed the renewed spirit of the army in her trunks.

That you would be

Be my light in the dark 

Light in the dark

When spring came, and the snow melted, the fighting inevitably resumed. (Name) knew of the risk of staying with the army in these times, and knew it was far too dangerous to remain. And so she exchanged a somber goodbye with her husband, before returning to Virginia.

But in some ways, it felt as if she had not left.

Her letters kept the flame of hope blazing brightly in the general’s heart. In the most trying of times, she was George’s beacon of hope - his raft upon sea. She was not there in person, no - but he felt as if she was still near. As if still with him in heart and spirit.

She was there, by his side, through the bloody battles - when the smoke of gunpowder choked his lungs and it seemed all was lost.

She was there when he grappled with congress for supplies - his frustration, near-overwhelming.

She was there when his nightmares woke him in the wee hours of dawn.

There when they finally began to win more and more victories over the enemy.

There when he began to prepare battle strategies for final attack.

And she was there, by his side, when Cornwallis surrendered his troops at Yorktown.

Oh, you gave me no other choice but to love you

On the 3rd of September, 1783, Washington received word that their delegation had signed the Treaty of Paris, containing the British terms of surrender.

And for a few seconds, he could do nothing but sit in stupefied silence.

Against all odds, they had done it. 

They had won.

All I want to do

It was nighttime when the carriage crossed the border into Virginia. Foreign fields transformed into familiar landscapes - into panoramas he knew well since childhood. And at the sight, George Washington could not help the tears that sprang to his eyes.

For so long, he wondered if he would ever be able to return. On those infinitely long nights - miles and miles away, in a camp with his army - he feared he had bid the place of his birth his final farewell. He knew not if his endeavors would end with a victory, or end at the gallows. If he would be able to come out of the war alive, or if he would perish with the rest of his men.

But now… all of that was over.

And he was coming home.

The carriage moved swiftly, but not nearly as fast as George would have wanted.

How could one be patient, when their home was so close after being out of reach for so long? How could one be patient, when the love of their life was on the other side?

‘Just a little longer,’ George thought to himself. 

'I’m coming home, (Name).’

Is come running home to you

Come running home to you

At Mount Vernon, a piece of parchment found its way into the hands of (Name) Washington from the courier.

On it were four simple words, written hastily - tears staining the cheeks of both author and recipient.

'Will be home soon.’

And all my life I promise to

Keep running home to you

It was dawn when (Name) saw the carriage coming - like a scene she had imagined so many times before. 

She did not know for certain who its passenger was. It could very well have been another acquaintance or perhaps even a tradesman.

But her heart - oh, it was screaming George’s name.

And so against all logic and reasoning, she ran.

She knew it was undignified for her to do so. Unladylike. Unbecoming of a woman of her stature to run like a youngling in a game of tag.

And it did not matter the slightest bit. Not when George was on the other side.

So she kept running.

Keep running home…

He did not know what made him do it. It was instinct - a tug in his heart he knew well never to ignore. It went against all sense; he was mere seconds away from the front doors of his home.

But he did it anyway.

“Stop the carriage,” he barked almost urgently to the coachman. 

He nearly pitched forwards at the abrupt stop, and tumbled almost clumsily out of the carriage - his footing not quite so secure.

But then he looked up, and what he saw made his heart swell and his eyes water.

Because his wife was there - smiling more radiantly than a thousand suns because he was home and he was safe.

And she was running towards him.

His feet were moving - leaping, striding, before he could even think of what to do next. Then suddenly, propriety was worth as much as a handful of ash, and he was running towards her with an urgency he had never felt before in all his time on earth.

She was getting closer.

And closer.

Home to you

And when they met, the world melted away - fading to the background and of no consequence whatsoever.

Suddenly, all the struggle, the heartache, the worry; years of tears and fear and helplessness and hopelessness… it meant nothing.

Her husband was back home to her - breathing - alive. So wonderfully, wonderfully alive. And nothing on the face of the earth mattered except the man she had in her arms.

And for the battle-worn general, everything else could rot in hell for all he cared.

Because he had his wife now. That was all that ever mattered.

He was home.

Can’t say how the days will unfold

Can’t change what the future may hold

Neither of them knew what would happen in the days or the months or the years to come. What hurdles lay ahead - what seemingly insurmountable mountains they would have to climb. Their role in the birth of this nation was not yet finished - on the contrary, just beginning - and the future would not be an easy one. It never was.

…But now was not the time to worry about such things.

Now, the sun was rising above the horizon.

Now, husband and wife were reunited.

And that was everything.

But I want you in it

Every hour, every minute…

The spectacular new camera installed on NASA’s Hubble Space Telescope during Servicing Mission 4 in May has delivered the most detailed view of star birth in the graceful, curving arms of the nearby spiral galaxy M83.

Nicknamed the Southern Pinwheel, M83 is undergoing more rapid star formation than our own Milky Way galaxy, especially in its nucleus. The sharp “eye” of the Wide Field Camera 3 (WFC3) has captured hundreds of young star clusters, ancient swarms of globular star clusters, and hundreds of thousands of individual stars, mostly blue supergiants and red supergiants.

The image, taken in August 2009, provides a close-up view of the myriad stars near the galaxy’s core, the bright whitish region at far right.

WFC3’s broad wavelength range, from ultraviolet to near-infrared, reveals stars at different stages of evolution, allowing astronomers to dissect the galaxy’s star-formation history.

The image reveals in unprecedented detail the current rapid rate of star birth in this famous “grand design” spiral galaxy. The newest generations of stars are forming largely in clusters on the edges of the dark dust lanes, the backbone of the spiral arms. These fledgling stars, only a few million years old, are bursting out of their dusty cocoons and producing bubbles of reddish glowing hydrogen gas.

The excavated regions give a colorful “Swiss cheese” appearance to the spiral arm. Gradually, the young stars’ fierce winds (streams of charged particles) blow away the gas, revealing bright blue star clusters. These stars are about 1 million to 10 million years old. The older populations of stars are not as blue.

A bar of stars, gas, and dust slicing across the core of the galaxy may be instigating most of the star birth in the galaxy’s core. The bar funnels material to the galaxy’s center, where the most active star formation is taking place. The brightest star clusters reside along an arc near the core.

The remains of about 60 supernova blasts, the deaths of massive stars, can be seen in the image, five times more than known previously in this region. WFC3 identified the remnants of exploded stars. By studying these remnants, astronomers can better understand the nature of the progenitor stars, which are responsible for the creation and dispersal of most of the galaxy’s heavy elements.

M83, located in the Southern Hemisphere, is often compared to M51, dubbed the Whirlpool galaxy, in the Northern Hemisphere. Located 15 million light-years away in the constellation Hydra, M83 is two times closer to Earth than M51.

Object Name: M83

Image Type: Astronomical

Credit: NASA, ESA, and the Hubble Heritage Team (STScI/AURA)

Acknowledgment: R. O'Connell (University of Virginia) and the Wide Field Camera 3 Science Oversight Committee

Time And Space

Here sitting on the world, she thought, for she could not shake herself free from the sense that everything this morning was happening for the first time, perhaps for the last time, as a traveller, even though he is half asleep, knows, looking out of the train window, that he must look now, for he will never see that town, or that mule cart, or that woman at work in the fields, again.
—  Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse, p. 144

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Tartt family photo, 1928, West Virginia. Photo courtesy of the Tartt Family.

This picture taken in the Spring of 1928 is of my grandmother, Lucy Tartt, grandfather, Simmie Tartt, and uncle Arthur Tartt. Although a simple studio photo, it embodies all the stories my mother told about her upbringing in a small coal camp house at the intersections of Lewis Street and Lehman Avenue in Fairmont, West Virginia in the 1940s. Mom had few photos of her parents. Nonetheless, the truths and travails of Mama Lucy, her brood of 15 children, her beloved siblings in far off Baltimore, and, especially, my grandfather who had been tragically killed, leapt off the paper and into the imaginations of us kids as we felt the plastic that kept it safe in the album, and sometimes held it in our hands. Those stories have stayed with me through my 46 years. When I began to research my family’s enslaved past and prior existence as people on the African continent, it was the stories sparked by this photo that unerringly lead the way from the coal camps of northern West Virginia to the cotton fields of Society Hill, South Carolina. Remembered tones of voice and shifts in conversation as she told and retold the stories guided both heart and intellect as I reconnected through DNA testing with individuals from the Guinea-Bissaun ethnicities from whom my fourth great grandmother likely came. Mom’s oral testimony on this side of an African continuum spanning millennia resonated with the realities of folks on the continent today with stories of their own, stories which very often overlooked the details of the chapters concerning transatlantic slavery. Those untold stories are as much a part of us as is this picture; both affirmations not only of the strength of my grandparents, but also of the hope of those who came before them who, if they can’t be known, must at least be remembered.

Story from Nathan Hinton 

Prayer Interrupted

Balthazar was resurrected, and ever since then he’s had to live with hearing Dean’s prayers to his brother. Enough is enough. 

Balthazar is a patient man.

Alright, that’s a lie. He’s neither a man nor patient.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t claim to be both, and indeed does so on a regular basis.

Most boys and girls wouldn’t want to play around with angels, after all.

Therefore, Balthazar is a patient man.

But even he has his limits.

And he doesn’t think he can take Dean Winchester’s manpining over the angel radio much longer.

You would think he’d be busy with keeping hidden after escaping the FBI and entertaining Mommy dearest, but no.

Hey Cas, buddy… Where are you? You’re not picking up the phone. Just wanted to check in.

“Sure” he mutters. “Just checking in on your buddy pal man friend”.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

How did the introduction of the standard 4x8 sheet of plywood and its concomitant savings in cost and ease of construction inflame the poor proportions of today's homes?

It was actually the balloon frame method of building that was the catalyst for this. The balloon frame method of construction allowed houses to break free from the simplicity inherent in previous construction methods (namely the post and beam method). Creative house shapes were reserved for those who were rich enough to build their houses out of stone and other masonry.

Wooden structures are cheap, and when the balloon frame method proved to be cheap and flexible, that’s when houses started to be built in crazy shapes that weren’t feasible with the old method.

That’s why residential styles after 1800 were so much crazier than the styles proceeding.

Sources: McAlester, Virginia. A Field Guide to American Houses, 2nd ed. NY: Knopf, 2013.