My Hands Are Not Clean
  • Reads 8
  • Votes 0
  • Parts 1
  • Time 1h 33m
  • Reads 8
  • Votes 0
  • Parts 1
  • Time 1h 33m
Ongoing, First published Apr 30, 2020
"... she felt like she was wading through water in heavy fabric. Carrying dead weight, sinking under, drowning in everything she couldn't say."

When Angelica would think back on the best and worst decisions she had made in her life, they would all come back to Alexander: his hands on her back, his lips on her neck, the heat of all his mumbled declarations and promises-- and the worst things of all, her fear of what would happen if her sister found out.

(This fic contains infidelity and-- fairly brief-- abuse. If any of that upsets you, DON'T READ THIS. Any other triggers are available in the tags.)
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28 parts Complete

*this is currently being edited* I am horrible at descriptions so I'm just going to put an insert from it for now: Alexander Hamilton had never experienced snow. Never. Growing up in the Caribbean he'd never had the chance. Never until he'd moves to New York. Sure, he dreamed about seeing snow. But he never imagined that it was so cold. Yeah, it was pretty and all, but it was way too cold. The first year was the worst, but each year made Alexander dislike snow more and more. John was happy, though. Growing up in New York, John was used to the snow. Alexander on the other hand, he wasn't used to snow at all, as he grew up in the Caribbean. "Hey, Lex," John said, walking into his and Alexander's apartment. Alex looked up from his huddle of blankets on their couch. "No," he muttered. "What was that?" John asked, cheerfully. "No," Alex muttered again. "What?" "No. I'm not going outside." Alexander glared at John. "At least not until Spring."