I can announce that the FINALE chapter of First Impressions will be posted on Wednesday, November the 18th at 7pm EST.
If you haven’t read the previous parts, you can use these links and read them before the big finale chapter!
If you don’t want to miss it, make sure to ask to be tagged in the finale!
if anyone has any laurliza fic recommendations plzzz lmk. i have so many hamilton ships and im just in a hardcore laurliza mood rn and probably will be in it for the rest of eternity!!!
I was going to work on my extremely behind the proper pace Lams NaNoWriMo fic, and then this monster hit me out of nowhere. I have a few other ideas and I may add more to it eventually. For now, enjoy!
Feels More Like a Memory
The spell takes a great deal of concentration as well as energy, and the general has spent both to his mortal limit. Washington is exhausted when he finishes. He pitches forward, the book slipping from his fingers. Lafayette steps in and catches him around the shoulders and it’s the only reason he doesn’t collapse on the floor.
“Careful, sir. Do not strain yourself.”
Exhaustion pulls at him, dragging him to the precipice of unconsciousness, but no, not yet. He cannot sleep yet. Washington tries to speak as Lafayette struggles to steady him; the words don’t make sense even to his own ears.
“Did… did it work?”
The shapes ahead- the bed and the boy on it blur into a single, indiscernible dark shape. When Washington tries to move closer his knees give, and he is steered away.
“It is too soon to tell. We will see, come morning. For now, General, you must rest.”
There’s concern in the boy’s tone. Of course there is. Lafayette thought this madness. Not that he believed it would work. From the moment he and Laurens returned with the book, stolen from the British and a miraculous feat in and of itself-
Life. Death. The natural order of things is not meant to be tampered with. It’s dangerous.
But Washington needed to try. Not that he expects anything to be different come morning. This was a final, desperate move, and likely nothing will change-
Alexander will still be dead, and it will still be his fault.
The short walk from the small outer building to the main headquarters, Lafayette at his side the whole time. By the time they make it up the two steps to the house and then Washington’s private quarters, the boy is supporting most all of his weight.
The idea was foolish, dangerous.
“He would have done the same for you, sir.”
Was he speaking out loud?
Washington doesn’t have time to ponder on it. Next he knows he’s resting against something soft and cool. Lafayette says something but the words are lost. Moments later he slips into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When Washington awakens he’s still drained and weak, and his room is dark. He sits up slowly and oh, everything aches. He ought to lie down, rest some more. Lafayette would certainly insist upon it. Still, he pushes himself to his feet anyway.
He knows it probably didn’t work, yet still he goes to the door, lighting a candle along the way.
The house is utterly silent, surely everyone else is still asleep given that the sun hasn’t even begun to rise.
As he moves toward the front of the house Washington notices another light- faint, barely there, coming from the main room. Sneaking past Laurens or Lafayette at this hour will be difficult, especially if he insists on once again examining the dead-
Washington can’t breathe.
He stands, frozen in the doorway, gawking at the scrawny figure leaned over the desk.
The boy doesn’t look up, apparently failing to notice the general is even there.
For his part Washington is certain this is a dream, or some image he’s conjured in his grief. Alexander cannot be sitting at his desk, writing as he usually does until late in the night. It can’t be real.
Because twelve hours ago the boy was shot in the chest.
“This is… is this real?”
Alexander pauses, glances up, and smiles faintly. The light from his own candle and Washington’s plays with the color of his eyes, creating an unnatural glow. The general doesn’t pay attention to that. The boy is here, alive and breathing and…
The spell worked. Washington can hardly catch his breath. It worked!
“Hamilton,” Washington barely says the name. He takes a slow, stumbling step forward, nearly dropping his candle.
He stands to greet his general, laying his quill to one side. Washington moves quickly, closing the distance between them.
Real, this is real.
Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x reader
Warnings: Language, implied material, angst, a sliver of fluff, and injured reader.
You know what, this is on me, because I was on Pinterest YET AGAIN and came across prompts that made me want to vent!!! So here is this!! Also, I’m really struggling with this one WIP and I jsut wanted to post soemthing, so I don’t even really know if this is “finished” yet. Let me know if you want to be tagged, and give me some feedback. I apologize in advance if I hurt your heart! But…it’ll be worth it I swear!
Rain was in the forecast the entire weekend, and it didn’t seem to stop anytime soon on Monday. It took a toll on traffic, that was for sure; the roads were starting to flood and the bus routes were changed unexpectedly. The streets were in no shape for anyone to be out.
But Y/N didn’t pay no matter to that. Instead, she kept walking, despite the throbbing in her thigh and the blisters on the back of her heels. She ignored the piercing feeling in her back when she tensed. That pain in the back of her head: didn’t bother her. Not now, not when she’s in the wet streets alone at night, having someplace to be.
Another lie. It was someplace she needed to be, and maybe she wasn’t welcomed, but she had no other option. Every other door that used to be open was now closed after comments like you’re better than this and don’t come crying to me when I’ll only say I told you so were thrown at her.
Y/N should be getting her keys out to unlock her apartment door, heading to the shower and ignoring the worried cries from Hercules. She could even be knocking on the screen door and letting Eliza draw her a bath while they sipped on hot tea. Hell, she was even considering jumping the gate and climbing up to John’s window and letting him hold her as she cried herself to sleep.
What was she doing instead? Knocking on the hardwood door in front of her, not knowing what the outcome ahead would be.
Seconds felt like hours before the door was opened quickly, only going so far as the small chain up top would let it. She was met with brown orbs, in a flash they were wide in shock.
She couldn’t blame him.
She could only imagine what she looked like, it obviously wasn’t a pretty sight if the feeling in her bones had any say in it. But something told her that her appearance was not why he had the reaction.
At this point Y/N believed that he was, in fact, in shock because it’s still pouring rain and she can feel her limbs start to grow numb from the cold. He’s still staring at her with that look…
“I didn’t know where else to go,” Her voice sounded raspy even to her, and she guessed it was loud enough for him to hear, considering he shut the door before the sound of a latch being pulled again was heard, and he fully opened the door.
He looked good; dressed in his pajamas, but still good, considering the last time she saw him. He looked fresh out the shower, and she took that as a sign that he didn’t have company over.
Thomas hated leaving people waiting. Something they didn’t share in common, apparently.
He stepped aside and Y/N didn’t waste a second before stepping into the warm house.
“Just- wait a second,” Thomas walked down the hallway, soon returning with a towel that he laid across the floor. “Don’t want to ruin my floors.”
She snorted. Still the same stuck up she remembers. “Could you spare one for me, you think?”
“I was actually going to offer you a shower, and maybe help you patch things up. Looks like you need it,” He gestured to her head, which had a small gash, or at least that’s what it felt like.
“That’d be nice,” She cleared her throat once more, removing her shoes. She stopped after stripping of her jacket, standing awkwardly and hoping to give the man a hint.
Instead, he scoffed and went down the hall again. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before. Just leave your clothes on the towel, I’ll throw them in the dryer.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, but did as he said. She quickly walked to the bathroom and stepped into the tub. It all looked the same, including the bottle of shampoo he bought her months ago, still in the same spot.
She cleared her throat, mentally shaking herself clear of those warming thoughts.
A few minutes after she turned on the water, she heard a knock on the door, his silhouette behind the curtain.
“I brought a towel, and some fresh clothes,” There was some shuffling before he sighed loudly. “Did you eat? Can I get you something?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks,” Y/N cut him short, trying to ignore his caring need that he normally hid from the public. She wasn’t any different, not anymore.
“Well, knowing you, you probably had a large coffee this morning and called it a day. And I’m not quite sure what you got yourself into yet, but I’m sure it didn’t happen over a meal.” Thomas sounded so sure of himself, and damn him for knowing her so well. Her silence gave it away, and he soon clicked his tongue in assurance. “I’ll make you something quick.”
There was no resisting the water in her eyes. Pain expanded all over her body, she had an excuse. Plus, he couldn’t see her get emotional behind the curtain, and there would be no tear tracks on her cheeks later.
It might seem odd to others, to those who see Thomas as a public figure, a politician. He carries power, and never lets anyone outside these doors see his vulnerability. To them, he is a man with high standards and a precise wardrobe.
But she knew the real Thomas.
He was sensitive, caring for others, acting like he was just now. The newspaper titles were full of shit, they didn’t have any right to criticize him because that wasn’t the real him.
Of course he was passionate about his job and position, but they didn’t know what Thomas acted like in the morning. They didn’t know what Thomas’s favorite meal to have when he’s had a long day was. About his constant need to have a book to read before he goes to sleep, no matter what time it is. About what he looked like when he was in complete bliss, when he was really happy….
No, Y/N knew though.
She reached for the shower handle, turning the knob on the cold setting. She finished up washing her hair as quick as she could, then carefully dabbed her body with a washcloth, avoiding direct open wounds.
Stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a rather large t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, Y/N found Thomas at the table. He was standing over scattered papers, rubbing his chin softly as he thinks to himself.
While he’s distracted, she takes in the house, knowing she really shouldn’t, it will only hurt her or, worse, make former feelings reappear. But she can’t help but look over to the wall beside him, where dozens of picture frames line up in a pattern. Some are of his parents, some of Thomas and James, there’s even a group photo of his colleagues standing before Washington. She remembers how excited Thomas was that day, to finally be getting the recognition he deserves.
She also remembers that there used to be a frame below it, one that held two photos of Y/N and Thomas, holding hands, smiling. She remembers that the photographer wanted their hands close to the lens, getting a good capture of piece of jewelry that looked so simple, but held so much promise.
Was suppose to hold so much promise.
Should she really be sad that he took it down? Y/N didn’t deserve to feel angry or disappointed that it wasn’t hanging on the wall, to be a constant reminder to anyone that walked by of what used to be.
“Food should be ready soon. I just put it in the oven to warm up.” She jumped as she was released from her thoughts, Thomas now looking over at her.
“Thanks,” He soon walked over to her, only feet away when he lifted up his hand. She instantly flinched, swallowing hard as she realized what she did.
Thomas slowly put his hand down, looking at her with wide eyes. “I wasn’t going to-”
“I know,” Her voice was shaky, but she held a hard expression, looking at the floor.
Nodding, Thomas cleared his throat before heading to the bathroom, moments later coming out with a tube of ointment. “Let’s get you cleaned up?”
Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was just Y/N’s luck. Whatever it may be, she would never stop thanking whoever was watching over her that she got to feel Thomas’s soft touch once again.
Yes, maybe she’d like it better if it was under different circumstances, but she was appreciative of the light touch he had against her head, one hand holding it still while the other gently dabbed the cream against her bruises.
The quiet was disturbed when he winced at the scrape right above her hip. There was no hiding it; it was already layered in dried blood, purple outlining the crevice of the soon-to-be scar. Thomas shook his head slightly, and she didn’t know if it was from shock or disappointment.
Once he cleared the wound completely, Thomas pressed his thumb against her hip bone, rubbing her skin in soothing motions. Y/N smiled sadly.
“Can you stop, for one goddamn second, and just talk about this?”
“I can’t, Thomas! You don’t understand why, but I just can’t-”
“Do you know why I stick around? Do you care about what I have to say? Don’t you know that I love you? I would do anything for you, Y/N, why can’t you trust me on that?”
“I do! I trust you with my life, Thomas! That’s the problem!” The room grew silent, Thomas forming a sudden frown, eyes teary.
Her own were wet, as well. Vulnerability was not her thing, so Y/N quickly turned around, not bearing to see his reaction.
Lost in her own self deprecating thoughts, she felt a hand on her hip. His long fingers began stroking her bone, her skin lighting on fire every under the fabric of her underwear. Somehow, the simple touch completely broke her, letting out a shaky sob. Thomas wrapped his free arm around her chest, grounding her. Y/N allowed her own arms to grab at his as she shook.
“We’ll get through it,” Thomas whispered, his own voice a bit shaky. “Together.”
There used to be moments where Y/N would allow herself to completely fall into him, would just let go of all the pent up frustration and troubles she had. Because she knew Thomas would catch her, she knew that he would let her release all of her worries for him to fix, and if not fix, just to listen. He would offer comforting phrases that would make her feel like the only woman in the world. He would physically comfort her, whether it was a bath or his touch or his body, he would take away her stress.
And no matter how many times Y/N would experience such ache, Thomas never turned away. Not once. Not even after all this time separated. And she knew damn well that if she did the same thing now, he would let her.
That’s what scared her.
She couldn’t do that to Thomas, not again.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Apparently, him knowing exactly what she’s thinking didn’t change either. His soft voice rang loudly in her ears, traveling all throughout her body. Y/N had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from breaking down.
“You can let go…” It sounded like a promise.
Maybe she could count on him to catch her again, even if it’s just this one last time.
Let me know if you want to be tagged!!!
So I am currently in the process of a Charles Lee x Reader fanfic, and am hoping to at least have 20 chapters. This fic will also be something of a jukebox musical (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s a musical where all of the songs are well-known popular music songs rather than originals, like Moulin Rogue or Mamma Mia), so gonna have to learn how to incorporate music into it as well. Also, it’s set in Hamiltime. If anyone’s willing to beta-read and/or check for SPAG, please let me know and I’ll give you my email in a PM. Thank you!
Lafayette smiled at the coffee shop counter. His hair was tied up in a big poofball bun, he was wearing the signature white shirt and purple apron of the shop that contrasted nicely with his dark skin, and a perfect customer-service smile. He was ready to start his shift.
And then in came human hurricane Alexander Hamilton, the bell tinkling as he shoved the door open, clearly in a rush, cheeks pink from the cold outside. Lafayette felt his customer-service smile drop, replaced by an absolutely lovesick expression.
Title: Say No To This
Characters: Zane Donovan, Jo Lupo, Jack Carter
Ships: Zane Donovan X Jo Lupo, Jack Carter x Jo Lupo
Set: Season 5 - The Matrix
Plot/Summary: Slight AU of how things between Jo, Zane, and Carter could have gone in Matrix!Eureka. Based on ‘Say No To This’ from Hamilton.
Rating: T - for mature themes, mild language, canon typical violence, brief moments of passion (nothing explicit)
Tags: Mild AU, Matrix!Eureka, Mild Whump, Inspired by a Song, Inspired by a Hamilton song, Beta’d by the lovely @sarabahama (tbh co-written in some places)
When: Tuesdays (starting November 10th)
Where: AO3 and Fanfiction.net
Thomas Jefferson was a fuckboy.
There was no other way to say it.
Posting this for a second time, cause I deleted the first one oops! I’m an idiot who messed up the first time.
This is Jamilmads! Just some pure fluffy Jamilmads for Halloween. There is nothing scary, just BAD puns
Reblogs > Likes
Full fic under the cut!
Jefferson hates Halloween. He despises it. He hates the stupid costumes, the dumb obsession with horror movies, the kids that ring his doorbell all evening and into the night begging for sweets.
But most importantly, he absolutely despises how jumpy he is. How easily scared he is. How simple it is to get a ridiculously girly scream out of him, just someone jumping out on him rips a terrified shout from him.
Even more than that, perhaps the most, he hates how the office takes advantage of that.
Lowkey wanna write a Count of Monte Cristo AU for Hamilton
My next Hamilton fic will be my 100th, so now I’m freaking myself out.
Do I just post whatever I come up with next?
Do I post the really weird thing I’m working on right now?
Do I do something special?
Do I take prompts from those of you who have been so awesome and read my work since I started posting?
Actually yes, I’d like to try that. XD Send me a single word, on anon or not. I’ll try to work the first ten into a fic and make that my #100thHamiltonFic